Banners of the Northmen

by Jerry Autieri

  "Sit with me, Humbert. We have not spoken in a long time."

  Humbert looked about at the rest of the crew throwing down their burdens and stretching on the grass. Only after satisfying himself of safety, he sat a respectful distance away. Ulfrik chuckled at his caution, but understood it. Men often treated their tools better than a slave.

  "Tell me, Humbert, what do you think of this gathering?"

  "It smells like a dead whale and sounds like a dying moose."

  Ulfrik rocked back in laughter, both from the apt comparison and the heavily accented Norse. "Are there moose in Frankia?" Humbert shook his head, and Ulfrik laughed again. Snorri settled beside him, and others dropped their packs close. Thrand and his blond-haired friend, Kolbyr, joined as well. Thrand offered him a rare smile.

  "I was more interested in what you think of all these men. Do we have enough to conquer Paris, and the cities beyond?"

  Humbert scowled and threw a cursory glance at the crowds of warriors. "Maybe enough."

  Laughter met Humbert's mumbled assessment. Toki, who had just fastened Nye Grenner's standard of black elk antlers on a green field to its pole, stood over Humbert. "Maybe? There are enough warriors here to conquer the whole country, maybe the whole world."

  "Who would be king of the world?" asked Darby, whose head still bore the scars from the sheep raid. "Would it be you, Toki?"

  "And why not? A fool like you would spend all his days counting the sheep in his kingdom. But I would count the women, and sample each one!"

  Someone playfully tossed a clod of dirt at Toki and all laughed. Ulfrik's mirth was tempered by a strangeness he sensed from Toki. The closer they had come to Denmark, the more carefree he had become, but it seemed tinged with something Ulfrik could not place. Ignoring the sensation, he returned to Humbert.

  "You don't think an army this size will prevail? You still doubt, or are you too proud of your people?"

  "This is no army," Humbert's dark eyes glittered in the darkness. "No one leads them. Loyal only to yourselves, you will not last when trouble begins. Humbert thinks the master has never seen Paris before. When master sees, he will know Humbert's meaning."

  Ulfrik was about to probe Humbert's meaning, but then his slave looked up with surprise. Ulfrik turned and found a dark shape wavering behind him. The outline of the wolf-pelt across the shoulders and the massive body defined Gunther in an instant.

  "No trouble finding the gathering spot, I bet!" Gunther's voice boomed over the cacophony, and he extended a hand to help Ulfrik to his feet.

  "None, but finding a coin at the bottom of the sea felt easier than finding you here." Gunther's rough hand was hot with sweat as it wrapped onto Ulfrik's forearm. Groaning, he hoisted Ulfrik to his feet and the two clasped together in greeting. Gunther's stiff wolf pelt pushed into Ulfrik's face, smelling like ale and coppery blood. They drew back, and Ulfrik swept his arm across his camp. "All eighty warriors answered Jarl Hrolf's summons. We are here for gold and victory."

  "Can't be gold without victory!" Gunther softened his expression, a genuine gladness drawn into the lines and scars on his face. "I'm glad you chose to answer the call. You will never regret it."

  Ulfrik nodded, and Einar and his chosen men returned with armfuls of firewood. "We haven't even built a fire yet. How did you find us so fast?"

  "You're as late as can be, and we sail tomorrow. So I've had boys watching every open landing spot for you. Not too many new arrivals now, so you were easy to find. In fact, leave your gear here but go see Hrolf. He'll be heartened to greet you and your eighty warriors."

  Ulfrik waved his men to their feet, instructing them to leave their packs. Humbert stood, nervously clutching his cloak to his throat. Thrand stood beside him, dusting down his pants. Ulfrik pointed at him. "Keep an eye on Humbert and don't let him wander."

  He shot Thrand a knowing look, and he replied with a solemn nod. Humbert meant too much to his plans, and though Ulfrik did not fear his fleeing, he worried for theft. Anyone looking closely would notice his bearing and intelligence, and might be tempted to steal him as one would steal unattended silver. The red cloak marked him out as well. Relieved once Thrand grabbed Humbert's arm, he followed Gunther.

  As they worked through the press of men, he heard the Danish accents spoken everywhere. He glanced at Toki, who as a native of Denmark blended with the local language. Norwegian accents drew glances, most indifferent but some disdainful.

  "None of these people know how to talk," he said to Toki, who followed at his side like a child at a festival.

  "It's music. If my sister were here, she'd tell you the same."

  The mention of Runa hit him harder than he expected. The day he had sailed, he had offered her a kiss and a sword. Pressing his short blade into her hand, she allowed him a single kiss before pulling away. "Go with the gods, and find victory. I will pray to them for your safety."

  "Practice with the big sword, but use this one if you must fight. It will be a goose feather in your hand. It is mine, and has served me well. I pray you will have no need of it."

  "A prayer you share with me. Now, go and return in spring as a jarl rich in gold and glory. And if you don't return, I'll pass this sword to Gunnar."

  "Don't say it, Wife! Have I not always returned?" He reached for her but she stepped away. They traded stares, and her eyes warned him to silence. He left her at the doors of his hall, and did not look back. Now, he regretted his reticence.

  A man tumbled at his feet, drawing him back from his thoughts. Gunther side-stepped, but Ulfrik nearly tripped. Two more men followed, and pummeled the man on the ground who barred his face with his arms. Ulfrik and his crew flowed around the brawl, Gunther never pausing as he pushed deeper into the fire-bright welter of sweating, stinking men.

  "We've been idle too long," he called back over his shoulder. "Many have been here a week with nothing to do but drink and grow bored. Lots of fighting, even some killed. Time to move on, I say."

  Slipping out of the throng, Ulfrik greeted the cool air with an exaggerated sigh that drew a knowing chuckle from Gunther. They had arrived at a wide clearing populated by numerous tents, two of which stood higher and wider than the others. A bonfire blazed at the center and clusters of spearmen idled around it. Banners flipped around poles at the entrances to the tents, but did not fly true enough to see the markings.

  "Hrolf dwells in that tent." Gunther pointed to the leftmost tent, brown with dirt from long years of use. It was not as large as the center tent, nor as bright.

  "And Sigfrid is at the center," Ulfrik finished for him.

  Two men guarded the worn tent, but Gunther ignored them and stood outside the flap, addressing Hrolf. "Lord, more warriors join your band. Ulfrik Ormsson has arrived with hirdmen, and they will present themselves."

  A response came that Ulfrik could not hear, but One-Eye backed away. In the next moment, the flap opened and Jarl Hrolf the Strider ducked out of the tent. Three years had passed, but Ulfrik could hardly forget the tallest man he had ever met. Clad in shining mail and a heavy cape rimmed with fox fur, he appeared ready to leap into battle. Gold rings caught points of bonfire and gold and silver armbands sparkled with the dancing flames. Thor's hammer hung across his chest, the polished silver reflecting so powerfully the talisman seemed on fire.

  He threw his arms wide; clear, fierce eyes set in a regal face meeting Ulfrik's. His presence had not diminished over the years, and the gray forming at his temples and in his pointed beard contributed to his kingly appearance. "One-Eye said you would come. Be welcomed!"

  Ulfrik inclined his head. "My lord, I would not miss the opportunity to join you in such a great undertaking. I bring three ships and eighty men to the glory of your banner."

  Snorri grunted beside him, and Ulfrik smiled. Flattery was not his strongest talent, but he understood its value to men like Hrolf. The grunt was Snorri's critique of his awkward delivery, but Hrolf appeared unconcerned as he surveyed the men arrayed behind Ulfrik with an app
reciative nod.

  "Eighty men! One-Eye, how many warriors under my banner now?"

  "I can't count that high, lord."

  "Find someone who can, then tell me I have more than Sigfrid."

  Both men laughed, but Ulfrik noted the rivalry with a sly smile to Snorri. Hrolf put his hands on his hips, scanning the crew, then stopped and pointed at Humbert. "You took no women with you but brought an old man? I thought I knew you better, Ulfrik."

  Humbert crumbled back like he had been struck with an arrow, casting his gaze to the ground. Thrand grabbed his shoulders and shoved him to his knees before Hrolf. Ulfrik laughed at Hrolf's jest. "He is a slave and a captive, a priest from Frankia I hope to ransom. He speaks our language, too, and so might be of use."

  Hanging forward enough to nearly prostrate himself, he croaked his greeting, "Lord Hrolf."

  "Did he just die?" Gunther joked, then slapped his leg as he cackled. Humbert was immediately forgotten when a horn began to blast.

  "Sigfrid is ready to address the men," Hrolf said, pointing to the center tent. "I will join him. You are all lucky to be in the front, where you can be seen with the great jarls."

  Hrolf left with his bodyguards, and Gunther went to summon his crew. Ulfrik gathered his men close, keeping Snorri and Toki to either side. Overturned carts made for a makeshift stage. The crowds of warriors gathered around the bonfire to hear their lord's address. Many drunken calls filled the night as the crowd formed.

  Emerging from his tent, Sigfrid greeted his allies with nods curt enough to be insults. His pale eyes glittered in the firelight and his wide face was written with lust for attention. Leaping onto the wagon with a single jump, he landed easily and drew approving shouts for his agility.

  "Bastard practiced that for weeks," Snorri's rough voice whispered in Ulfrik's ear, and he put the back of his hand to his mouth to cover his laugh.

  Sigfrid raised his hand to the crowd, and men began to stomp the ground or beat their shields. Soon all joined in, Ulfrik pounding the earth with his foot. Sigfrid circled to face every man, his freshly scoured mail orange bright and his rings and chains sparkling. Shadows filled the curvatures of his muscles, making him appear stronger and larger than reality. Waving down the crowd, he shouted for silence. It took a long while, but he finally captured the massive throng's attention. Ulfrik craned his neck to look behind, seeing no end to the men gathered.

  "This summer I offered the Frankish Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Charles the Fat, terms for his safety. Seven hundred pounds of silver would satisfy me enough to leave him alone. But the fool refused, and now he will pay. We'll have that silver, plus whatever we can carry away. We'll remind the Franks why they should fear us. We sail at dawn!"

  Sigfrid threw his arms overhead again and roared, soliciting his audience to join him. Many were drunk and many were impatient, and so shouts followed. However, Ulfrik frowned and hollered to Toki over the din.

  "What is this? We're going to remind the Franks? He makes it sound like an errand."

  "Not much of a speaker," Toki agreed.

  Sigfrid shouted a while longer, promised death to any Frank standing in his way, then abruptly returned to his tent. Confusion rippled through the crowd, which did not appear to understand the gathering had finished. At last, Hrolf mounted the wagon and dismissed everyone.

  "How many women do you think wait for him in that tent?" Snorri asked as they turned to leave.

  The tight clusters of bodies slowed their return to camp. Weary and hungry, he anticipated a meal and sleep. As the crowd broke apart, they moved faster until they found Nye Grenner's standard again. As his crew settled onto the grass, Gunther One-Eye reappeared.

  "I've got a favor to ask of you," he said without preamble. He rested his heavy hands on the shoulders of a young man dressed in mail and draped with a wolf pelt. He hefted a bag, which he let drop, and carried a new shield of iron-rimmed wood that was painted red and gold. A short, blond beard hid his face well enough for his age and his features looked nothing like Gunther's. However, his mannerisms and expressions were drawn directly from him.

  "I did not know you had a son," Ulfrik replied, gambling that he was correct. Gunther patted the man's shoulder and pushed him forward.

  "My name is Mord Guntherson." He glanced at his father, who kept his eyes on Ulfrik while his hands pushed his son down. Mord dropped to his knee and bowed his head. "I would be honored if you allowed me to serve under you."

  Ulfrik blinked at Mord, not comprehending. Snorri, Toki, Einar, Ander, and several others who stood nearby paused and watched with guarded expressions.

  "I want him to learn from you," Gunther explained. "Keep him close, and teach him how to lead men in battle. If I had him with me, I'd always be worried. That'll just get us both killed. What do you say?"

  Blinking again, he regarded Mord kneeling in the grass. Teaching Gunther's son was not a difficulty, but keeping him close would imperil his plans for Humbert's treasure. However, to refuse would not only be groundless, but would also ruin an important relationship. Worries and arguments passed through his mind, until Mord raised a quizzical eye to him while still kneeling.

  "Sorry, but of course I would be gladdened to have Mord join my crew." Gunther's skeptical expression melted to a smile. Ulfrik raised Mord to his feet. "Be welcomed and find a place for your pack."

  Mord flashed his father's carefree smile and thanked him.

  "You'll not worry for him in the shield wall," Gunther said. "I've trained him and drilled him. He knows what he's doing."

  "I'll keep him close, but I can't guarantee any man's life in battle."

  "Understood, and I won't hold you to it."

  Ulfrik watched father and son hug each other in parting, Gunther thumping him on the head and admonishing him to do well. Yet all Ulfrik could think is somehow Gunther learned about the treasure and planted his son to spy on him. Shaking his head at the stupidity of the thought, he returned to settling into camp and tried to forget his worries.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Prowling among trees again brought a joy to Ulfrik's heart not experienced since fleeing Norway. Winter had stripped branches bare, and these dueled overhead in the cold breeze. The dead leaves crunched beneath his goatskin boats as he led his scouting party of fifteen men. The Frankish wilderness was colder than promised, and far more wet than expected. Mud seeped into his boots, chilling his toes. However, the clear and earthy scent of the woods summoned fond memories that warmed his spirit. He and his men huddled beneath green and gray wool cloaks, any exposed metal smeared with dirt to prevent reflections. Ulfrik stood at the head of the group, with Einar hulking beside him. Young Einar, whose stepfather Snorri remained at camp with the remainder of the crew, had grown tall and strong. Ulfrik was glad to have his blade in his service.

  "Toki has been gone too long," he whispered.

  "How long is too long? He takes whatever time needed to find a sign of the enemy. Haven't heard a sound yet, so he's not been discovered nor has he discovered anything."

  Einar nodded, and Ulfrik returned to squinting through the sparse trees. A milky haze clung to the wet ground, and patches of slushy snow emphasized the whiteness. Far down the hill, the walled fortress called Pontoise brooded like a block of gray stone streaked with brown. The fortress had halted the progress of Sigfrid's fleet, positioned on the confluence of the Oise and Seine Rivers. Curls of smoke rose over the brown rooftops, giving it a false look of peace and comfort. Arrayed on the opposite side of the fortress were hordes of Danes and a river choked with their ships. The fortress commander had defied Sigfrid's demands to surrender, and now Sigfrid prepared to raze the fortress to rubble and ash.

  Hrolf had persuaded Sigfrid to delay the attack, hoping to find another way into or around Pontoise. Ulfrik, as eager as his lord to move on to the real fight at Paris, had volunteered to lead a scouting party. He sought a weakness in the fortress or a portage to avoid it completely. A siege of an unimportant castle delayed hi
s ultimate goal of a quick success in Paris and a return home before spring. He was unwilling to dally, and if needed would push all of the 30,000 men Sigfrid claimed he commanded to Paris.

  Something flitted between trees, and Ulfrik instinctively dropped to a crouch. He heard the crunch and creak of mail and leather as the men behind him did the same. He grasped his sword hilt, cold and rough in his hand, but did not draw it. He held his breath so the fog of it would not give him away.

  Toki's dark, curly hair identified him as he strode the last distance to their position. Ulfrik relaxed as Toki arrived, and Mord loped behind him. Toki smiled, rushing to Ulfrik and whispering excitedly.

  "We've found something! Come and see."

  Ulfrik's pulse quickened and he could not help smiling as well. "Is it another way in?"

  "Yes, but it's easier to explain if I show you. There's no one about, but men watch from the walls. Be careful."

  They followed Toki and Mord, Ulfrik and his scouting party clinging to whatever cover was at hand. The slope dropped precipitously and slowed their advance. One man fell in the mud to the hisses of his companions, and Ulfrik glanced at the fortress as if it might rise from its foundations and attack them. Yet it remained quaint and at rest, though as he neared he spotted pennants on the towers and black dots of men on the ramparts. He had to remain undetected for fear of either being killed outright or taken as a captive and tortured for information.

  Toki led them to a large stream, then turned toward the fortress until they came to the edge of the sparse woods. Clinging behind trees, he motioned Ulfrik to him. "Follow the stream down, it flows into their fortress. Can you see the grate where it enters the wall?"

  Ulfrik squinted, his vision blurry at the distance, but could see where the stream disappeared beneath the walls. "Their water source!"

  "Exactly, the weakest part of their walls. The only trouble is leading a force to attack from back here. I don't know how we'd get around without facing their arrows and worse."