“You are a monster!” she exclaimed. “How can you be so cruel?”
I knew she was speaking of the horses. I felt guilty for the pain I had caused them, even without her words.
“I did not wish to hurt them,” I told her. “And their wounds are not fatal. I did what I had to do.”
“What you had to do?” Her voice was filled with scornful disbelief.
I did not know why I felt a need to justify my actions to her. She was a source of ransom, nothing more.
“Your troops patrol this area regularly,” I explained to her. “I have seen their tracks. They will find the horses. When they do, my arrows may make them think they were the mounts of soldiers ambushed by Danes. It is better they think that than suspect these are the two horses you and I rode.” Better for me, anyway. I doubted Genevieve would agree.
I left her standing at the edge of the small wood, staring out across the plain, and turned to investigate our hideaway.
At one time, the large willow must have been growing at the very edge of the river, its roots reaching down into the current to drink from the passing waters. Over countless years, flotsam and silt had been caught in the tangle of roots, forming a low shelf of beach, only a few feet wide and several feet below the edge of the original river bank. The narrow strip of beach had been invisible from out on the plain. If we crouched low here, behind the trunk of the willow, we would be hidden from all but the closest inspection.
I carried the shield and helm down to the strip of beach, and laid my quiver and bow beside them.
“Come,” I called to Genevieve. “Bring the basket of food. We will wait down here for the ship.”
“There is no ship, is there?” she said, after she had joined me. “It is gone. You are trapped now, with no way to escape.”
I did not answer her, for in my heart I feared her words were true. The Gull would not come. We were too far upstream.
The sun had reached its zenith, and my spirits a nadir, when we saw them. Fifteen warriors—Frankish cavalry—riding slowly toward us from upstream. They looked to be following the trail left by our horses, for periodically the rider in the front leaned over, as if studying the ground. I guessed he was their captain, for a narrow pennant, striped blue and white, fluttered from the tip of the long spear he carried.
The patrol halted opposite the thicket of trees where we crouched, hidden on the low strip of beach. Could they see our foot trail? Had I failed to fully erase it? The captain and several of his men were engaged in a discussion. As I watched them, I strung my bow and pulled my quiver closer.
Finally one of the Franks kicked his horse into an ambling walk in our direction. He wasn’t following our foot trail, for he did not look at the ground as he came. He did not appear to be expecting trouble, either—he left his shield slung across his back by its long strap, and held his spear upright, resting against his shoulder. The Franks did not realize we were here. This warrior was just checking the thicket before the patrol moved on.
Perhaps he would take only a cursory look from the edge of the woods and not see us. Perhaps.
“Stay low,” I warned Genevieve in a whisper. She was staring intently at the Franks out on the plain. “Do not move or make a sound.”
As the rider neared the border of low undergrowth that formed the outer perimeter of the thicket, Genevieve gave a sudden gasp.
“What?” I hissed.
“I know their leader,” she whispered, more to herself than me. “It is Captain Marcus. Those men are from my uncle’s scara.”
Suddenly she darted away from me, down the little beach to its end, and scrambled up the bank.
“Help me,” she cried, waving her arms. “Captain Marcus! I am here!”
Startled, the approaching Frank backed his horse a few steps, while he swung his shield around to the front and lowered the point of his spear.
Dropping my bow, I clambered up the bank and sprinted after Genevieve. I caught up with her in three steps. She screamed as I grabbed her from behind.
“It is Lady Genevieve!” the Frank cried, and spurred his horse forward through the fringe of undergrowth. I sidestepped and flung Genevieve to the ground behind me as the Frank sawed at his reins, wheeling his horse to the side to avoid her. He stabbed his spear down at me with an overhand thrust, aiming for my throat. I threw myself down, and his spearhead grazed over the top of my shoulder as I dropped, scraping across the rings of my mail brynie.
He wheeled his horse again and spurred it, trying to trample me as I lay on the ground, but I rolled clear and scuttled frantically out of reach of his spear.
The Frank turned toward the plain and raised his spear overhead, waving it back and forth. “Captain Marcus! She is here,” he shouted. Then slinging his shield around to his back again, he urged his horse toward Genevieve, leaning over and extending an arm to her. “Come!” he cried.
She staggered unsteadily to her feet and took a step toward him. I jerked my sword from its scabbard and ran forward, plunging its blade into the horse’s belly.
The horse screamed and kicked at me. As I backed away, the Frank turned in his saddle and clubbed down at my head with the shaft of his spear. I raised my sword overhead and blocked the blow, then lunged forward again and slashed my blade across the back of his horse’s hind leg, cutting it to the bone.
The horse staggered sideways, almost falling. Clutching frantically at the reins, the Frank dropped his spear and tried to urge the crippled beast forward, out of the thicket and out of range of my sword. The horse tried to place weight on its injured leg and staggered again, crashing against one of the smaller willows.
I slammed my sword back into its scabbard and picked up the fallen spear. Running up behind the struggling horse from its flank, I thrust the spear forward with both hands, ramming its long blade into the Frank’s back.
“No!” Genevieve screamed. The Frank cried out in pain. I wrenched the spear free and he slumped forward, sliding off his horse as it staggered through the fringe of undergrowth and out onto the plain.
The rest of the Franks were nearing the trees, charging in a ragged line. I turned and ran to Genevieve. As the first rider, their captain, burst through the fringe of undergrowth, he raised his spear as if to throw it. Grabbing Genevieve by the shoulder, I spun her around so she was between the Frank and me. Holding her pinned tightly against my chest with my left arm around her waist, I lifted her feet off the ground and began backing away from the Franks’ captain. She thrashed her arms and legs helplessly as I edged toward the riverbank, using her as a shield and holding the spear at ready with my other arm.
“Stay back!” I shouted, as a second rider entered the grove, and then a third. “Stay back, or if your spears do not kill her, I will.”
By now the entire troop of cavalry was ringing the grove. Most had stopped just outside of it, uncertain what to do. Only the first three riders, including the captain, had actually passed beyond the outer border of undergrowth. One of these now slid from his horse and ran to his comrade who lay moaning on the ground. Putting the wounded man’s arm around his shoulder, he dragged him up to his feet. The second of the three who’d entered the grove walked his horse over, watching me warily, then slung his shield to his back and leaned over, extending his arm down to help pull the injured warrior up onto his horse.
I had reached the edge of the bank. Dropping the spear, I scrambled down to the strip of sandy beach and stepped behind the cover of the massive willow. Hurling Genevieve to the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of her, I snarled, “Do not move.” As she lay there, coughing and gasping for air, I picked up my bow and quiver.
I was seething with anger at what Genevieve had done. She’d almost cost me my life. The Franks would pay with blood.
Nocking an arrow and pulling it back to full draw, I stepped sideways, out from behind the cover of the willow’s trunk.
The captain had walked his horse forward, trying to see where Genevieve and I had gone. He wa
s only a spear’s length away. I saw his eyes grow wide when he saw me, and he opened his mouth to shout a warning to his men. I used his open mouth as my aiming point and put an arrow in it.
His body flopped backward against his horse, then began to slide sideways out of the saddle. Before it hit the ground, I had nocked and shot a second arrow into the chest of the Frank who’d dismounted to help his wounded comrade. As he crumpled to the ground, the remaining Frank within the grove, his arm around his injured comrade now seated in front of him, turned his horse and spurred it hard. Just as he cleared the thicket, my third arrow hit him between the shoulder blades. His horse continued running, but he and the man he carried fell off to the side.
The suddenness and deadliness of my attack panicked the remaining Franks. They wheeled their horses and galloped out onto the plain, out of range.
Four of the Franks, including their captain, were down, dead or dying. Eleven still remained, though, and they could send for reinforcements. I was trapped. I could not leave this thicket. And the Franks had time on their side.
Genevieve had sat up now, and was brushing sand from her face. “What has happened?” she asked.
“The Franks have retreated,” I answered, “For now.”
A tear trickled down one of her cheeks, washing a path through sand she had missed.
I could not leave her free. That was clear. I had to make certain she did not interfere with my fighting when the Franks attacked again. But I had left the rope I’d tied her with earlier on my horse’s saddle.
Pulling my spare bowstring from the pouch at my belt, I stepped over to her. She flinched and drew away. I pushed her back roughly against a thick root that drooped down from the base of the willow’s trunk to the strip of beach. Over time, the wash of rain and high water had eaten away the earth behind it, so the root stood out now from the bank. I wrapped the bowstring several times around Genevieve’s neck and the root, securing her tightly to it. If she did anything other than sit still, the cord would choke her.
“Do not touch me!” she protested, as I tied her to the root. “You are a pig. You are a coward. What kind of warrior hides behind a woman?”
Her words made my anger burn even hotter, and made me cruel.
“The kind of warrior who kills Franks. And I will kill more before this day is ended. You said you knew these men’s captain? You cost him his life. He lies dead on the other side of this tree. Had you not called out, he would still be alive.”
She closed her eyes and began sobbing. Tears streamed down her face.
I picked up my quiver and slung it over my shoulder. Twenty-one arrows remained in it. Three more were out in the bodies of the fallen Franks. Hopefully none had broken. I suspected I would need all of them and wish for more before this day was ended.
The captain and the man I’d shot in the chest were dead. The third Frank, who’d fallen just outside the grove, still breathed. Thankfully, he was unconscious, and looked unlikely to ever awaken again. After I retrieved my shafts, I stood and looked out across the plain. The remaining Frankish cavalry sat on their horses, watching me from a safe distance. I counted them. There were only ten now. They had already sent one of their number for help.
Turning away, I surveyed the willow grove. What I had hoped would merely be a hideaway must now be my fortress. I wondered if the fate the Norns had been weaving for me would end here. If so, what had been the point of it? Why had they allowed me, against all odds, to become a free man and a warrior, then brought me to this foreign land to die?
Shrugging off my thoughts, I set to work. The undergrowth scattered among the trees had been useful as a screen, helping obstruct the view from the plain of the riverbank and little beach where I’d hidden. Now, it would merely interfere with my lines of fire. I pulled my small-axe from my belt and began clearing it from the willow grove. As I cut the brush, I dragged it to a spot just outside the downstream side of the thicket and piled it there. When I was done, I built a small mound of dried leaves and twigs beneath it and lit the tinder with my flint and steel. It would not do to leave this as cover for an attacker to hide behind. As it burned, the green wood and leaves sent up a plume of thick, acrid smoke.
The small size of this patch of woods would work to my advantage. The ancient willow at the river’s edge was the only tree large enough for a man to hide behind. The rest of the trees were saplings—the largest had a trunk no larger in diameter than a man’s thigh. I would fight from the little beach, well protected by cover. The Franks would be exposed as they approached. If there were enough of them though, and if they were willing to accept that some of them would die, they would prevail.
Late in the afternoon, a second troop of cavalry arrived. Joining together with the ten Franks who’d been waiting out on the plain, they formed an extended line and began walking their horses toward the willow thicket.
The horsemen stopped just beyond bowshot. A single rider—an officer, judging by the pennant on his spear—continued on toward the grove.
“Northman,” he called, as he neared. “Do not shoot. I wish to parley.”
I watched him approach, keeping myself low and concealed, peering with one eye around the trunk of the willow, not answering. I was weighing whether I should kill him once he drew a little closer. I did not know how many clear, easy shots I would have in this fight.
“You have one of our women with you, do you not?” the Frank continued. “Is she the Lady Genevieve? Do you have the daughter of Count Robert?”
Still I did not answer.
“Speak to me, Northman,” the Frank cried. “It will cost you nothing to parley. Perhaps we can come to terms.”
I stood and stepped into view. By now the Frank was almost to the edge of the willow grove.
“Come no closer,” I shouted. “We will talk. What terms do you offer?”
“Let me see the lady,” he answered. “I must make certain she is alive and unharmed.”
“Call to him,” I ordered Genevieve. I had no intention of untying her just so this Frank could see her. “Tell him who you are, and that you have not been harmed.”
“Can you hear me?” she cried. “I am Genevieve. My father is Robert, Count of Tours, and Autun, and Paris.”
I had not thought to ask Genevieve what towns and lands her father ruled over. It sounded as though he was much more powerful—and hopefully, much wealthier—than the count who had ruled Ruda. She was a richer prize than I had realized.
“Are you in good health, Lady?” the Frank asked.
“I am tired and hungry, and I am frightened, but the Northman has not harmed me.”
“I have not harmed her yet,” I interjected. “If your men attack, I will cut her throat.” I heard Genevieve gasp.
“If you slay her, there will be nothing to hold us back,” the Frank replied. “We will kill you.”
“You have many men, and I am but one. If you attack me, some of you will die, but we both know you will kill me in the end. What will her father say, though, what will he do, if you cause her death by attacking me?”
I hoped her father would care, though from what Genevieve had told me earlier—that he would but grudgingly pay ransom for her—I was not certain he would. Hopefully this Frank did not know their relationship was troubled.
“Release her,” the Frank said, “And we will give you a horse and allow you to leave in peace. I give you my word that none of the men under my command will pursue you.”
I thought it an empty offer. I had no doubt that other patrols of cavalry would have been alerted by now, and would intercept me long before I reached Ruda.
“I have grown weary of riding your horses,” I told him. “Your offer does not appeal to me. Bring me a boat. A small one, with oars, that one man can handle. Then we will talk further. Until then, we have nothing to discuss.”
“Wait, Northman,” the Frank protested. I picked up my bow, and drew an arrow from my quiver.
“I agreed to allow you to approach so we
could speak. Our speech is finished now. Leave while you still can.”
The Frank wheeled his horse and cantered back out onto the plain.
Genevieve was watching me with a frightened expression in her eyes.
“You would kill me? You would cut my throat?” she asked.
“I would threaten to,” I answered, “to keep those warriors from attacking.”
“You killed Captain Marcus. You killed my cousin, Leonidas. You killed the other soldiers, too.”
I nodded. “Aye, I did. They were warriors, as I am. They attacked me, and I fought them. It is the way of things. It is what warriors do. I did kill them, but had they not attacked me, I would not have. They chose the path that led to their deaths.”
“You are a killer,” she told me, “a ruthless, cruel killer.”
I shook my head. “I am a warrior.”
“What is the difference?” she said, her voice disdainful.
“If I was a killer, I would kill you. But I will not. If those soldiers attack, I will fight them and kill as many as I can. Then they will kill me, and you will be free.”
Dusk was beginning to fall. The Franks had posted sentries at intervals around the grove, safely out of range of my bow, while the rest of their warriors withdrew farther out onto the plain and set up camp. Cook fires were burning now. I was glad the breeze was blowing away from the river. The only food remaining in my dwindling supply was a single block of hard cheese—that, and water. I did not care to be tortured by the smells of fresh, hot food being cooked.
I would have to stay awake during the night, because the Franks might try to sneak close under cover of darkness and launch a sudden attack. It would be difficult, for I had been awake all day and all of the previous night. The last time I had slept was in the ravine, with Genevieve beside me. I closed my eyes for a moment, and remembered the way her hair had felt against my cheek, and the way it had smelled.
“Why do you smile?” she demanded. I opened my eyes to find her staring at me. I shook my head.
“I was just thinking of another place and another time,” I answered.
Dragons from the Sea Page 22