“While Ivar and I were on the river searching for you,” Hastein said, addressing all of the scouts, “I took note of the course of the river, of its bends and twists, and marked them on this board. I have copied it onto this map.”
“Here is Ruda,” he explained, pointing to a circle painted at one end of the line near the top of the sheet of parchment. “And this is the course of the River Seine upstream from Ruda, where you scouted.”
“Do all of you understand what this shows?” Ragnar asked. We nodded, and a few of the scouts grunted in assent.
“I want each of you to tell us about any Frankish troops you saw—how many, and what type—and show us where along the river you saw them,” he ordered. “And if you located towns, or roads, and can mark their location for us, do that also.”
It was a clever idea. Although Ragnar had explained it to us, I suspected Hastein had thought of it. Unfortunately, most of the men had never seen even a simple map before. Captains of ships and leaders of armies, like Hastein and Ragnar, have uses for such things, but carls—simple freemen and farmers—do not. As a result, they had difficulty relating the locations where they had scouted in the Frankish countryside to the mostly blank piece of parchment lying on the table before them.
One by one, the scouts stepped forward and told their tales of what they’d seen. All, on both sides of the river, had seen patrols of Frankish cavalry. Determining exactly where they’d seen them, though, was a different matter. As each man spoke, Hastein became visibly more and more frustrated. In most cases they could only roughly estimate where each sighting of Frankish troops had been, and even that was based primarily on Hastein and Ivar knowing where along the river each scout had been put ashore.
Finally only Einar and I were left. Einar stepped forward and touched his finger to the map. “There is a large town about here, to the south of Ruda,” he said, pointing to an area below the line of the river. “I found a road running across country from north to south, which I believe is the same road that leads south from Ruda. I followed it, and it led me to the town I saw here. Many Frankish warriors are in it, and it is protected by a high wall. I watched the town for more than a day. Patrols of mounted warriors rode in and out frequently.”
“Are you sure the town is here?” Hastein asked, tapping his finger on the spot Einar had pointed to. After his experiences with the other scouts, he sounded skeptical.
Einar shrugged. “I cannot say for certain. It is not easy to compare the distances I traveled to this,” he said, gesturing at the parchment. Hastein sighed. “But if I am correct that the road I saw is the same road that runs due south from Ruda, then the town I saw also lies to the south, and I believe it would be about there.”
“Einar is right,” I volunteered. “There is a Frankish town somewhere in that area. I myself did not see it, but the prisoner I captured told me of it. She called it Evreux.” I pronounced the strange Frankish name with difficulty. “And she said it is on the road leading south from Ruda. I, too, traveled on that road for a time, though I was to the south of the town. And the same road also eventually leads to another town, even farther to the south, which she called Dreux. I think Dreux would be about here,” I added, pointing at the map, below the spot Einar had indicated.
“Here? You are certain? And there is a road running north to south that connects these two towns and Ruda?” Hastein asked. I nodded.
Using the small brush and bottle of dark liquid, he leaned over the table and drew a line running down the map from the circle marking Ruda’s location, then marked the line with two more circles where Einar and I had indicated the two towns lay. He straightened up, looking pleased.
Ivar put his hands behind his head and slouched back in his chair. “What good does this do us?” he said to no one in particular. I wondered the same thing. Hastein ignored him, and addressed me again.
“Earlier, aboard the Gull, you told me you saw a large number of Frankish troops at a fort. Where was the fort?”
“Over here. There is another road that runs east from this second town, from Dreux,” I explained, tracing the line with my finger. “My prisoner told me that this road leads eventually to a large town the Franks call Paris. It is larger even than Ruda. I found the Frankish army here, just off the road leading from Dreux to Paris.” I tapped my finger on the map where I estimated I’d seen the huge Frankish fort.
Hastein stared at the map, frowning. “You say you saw them here?” he asked. I nodded. “Are you certain you traveled this far south? It is a long way from the river. I put you ashore far to the north of this area.”
“Yes,” I told him. The more I studied the map and thought about where I had traveled, the more confident I felt. “It was there. And I am certain it was the main Frankish army that I saw.”
“You say you found the main Frankish army?” Ragnar interjected. From the tone of his voice, he was clearly skeptical. I wondered if he’d have been so quick to doubt had the fort been seen by a scout other than me. “Why do you believe that?” he continued. “All of the scouts, on both sides of the river, saw Frankish troops.”
“They mostly saw patrols of mounted warriors. I saw those, too. But the warriors I saw here were building a fort,” I explained, pointing again to the area of the map I’d previously indicated. “A huge fort, to enclose their encampment. Many, many men were working on it. Its walls, when they are finished, will be as tall and as strong as those that surround Hedeby, and they will enclose almost as large an area. It was a fort being built to hold an army—a very big army.”
Ivar and Bjorn exchanged glances. “How many warriors did you see there?” Ivar asked.
“I did not even try to count them,” I told him. “They were far too numerous. But I saw many, many more than we fought here at Ruda. There were units of mounted warriors constantly on the move throughout this entire area, and I also saw foot soldiers marching toward the fort—a column of them, two abreast, that stretched so far down the road I could not see its end.”
“Which direction were the foot soldiers coming from?” Ragnar asked. As he spoke, Hastein painted a square on the map where I’d said I saw the fort. It appeared I had convinced him, at least, of the fort’s location.
“From the east, from farther inland,” I answered. “From the direction of Paris.”
“If he saw that many Frankish foot soldiers, it may well be that Halfdan did find the main muster of the Frankish army,” Hastein said to Ragnar, who leaned back in his chair with a deep frown on his face. He looked as though he hated to admit that the main Frankish army might have been found by me.
Ragnar was silent for a time, tugging at his beard as he thought. Finally he spoke.
“By now the Frank’s king will have summoned them all: the nobles and their retainers—they will be mostly cavalry—as well as troops from the garrisons of those towns beyond threat of attack by us. Those were probably the foot soldiers he saw. And now they all are gathering, in answer to their king’s command. The fortified encampment he found south of the river may well be where they are to meet.” He shook his head and sighed. “Yet other scouts saw mounted warriors, many, many of them, on the north bank of the Seine, too. What is the Franks’ king doing? What is his plan?”
“It sounds to me as though the Frankish king has divided his army,” Hastein suggested. “It appears he has placed large forces on both sides of the Seine.”
“Hmm…” Ivar grunted. “If he has, their king is playing a slow and cautious game, but a clever one. He aims to cut us off from obtaining provisions. He is using his mounted troops, who can move quickly across country, to tighten a noose around Ruda. If our raiding parties continue to ride out, one by one he will catch them and kill them. And if we can no longer raid, we will eventually run out of food. We will grow weaker while his army gathers and grows stronger. Then, once he is at his maximum strength, no doubt he will march on Ruda. If we do not take ship and retreat downriver before he puts the town under siege, we will be trapped he
re.”
“I, for one, have no wish to fight from behind these walls,” Bjorn said. Until now he had been silent. “I see no profit in it. This is a Frankish town. We will leave it eventually anyway. Why waste lives defending it?”
“Bjorn is right,” Ivar said. “I am sick of this stinking town. Men were not meant to live this way, so many so close together. I feel as though every breath I take has already been breathed by ten other men.”
“So the two of you counsel that we should take what we’ve won and sail downriver to the sea?” Ragnar asked. Ivar and Bjorn nodded. “My sons,” Ragnar said, shaking his head, “have lived in Ireland too long. They speak like true cattle raiders.” Ivar glared at him, but said nothing.
Ivar’s words made me recall something I’d forgotten to tell Hastein yesterday, in my fatigue and relief at being rescued.
“I found one of our raiding parties when I was scouting,” I said. “The Franks caught them out on the plain. I saw where they died.”
“You see, Father? It is as I said,” Ivar snapped. “It has already begun. So far three of our raiding parties have not returned. No doubt they have all been caught and killed by Frankish cavalry. It is time for us to negotiate ransoms for those of our prisoners the Franks are willing to buy back, and make our plans to depart. We came to raid their lands, not to settle on them.”
“Or be buried under them,” Bjorn added.
I thought Ivar’s suggestion was a good one. I hoped we could quickly ransom our prisoners and leave Frankia. I looked forward to being rid of Genevieve. And I was tired of this war, of seeing so much death. I was tired of killing men I had no quarrel with.
“I see a danger in the Frankish king’s plan,” Hastein said.
“That is what I have been saying,” Ivar agreed, nodding his head vigorously and nudging Bjorn with his elbow. “Hastein agrees with us, Father. We need to make plans now to leave this town.”
Hastein shook his head. “No! I see a danger for the Franks. You are correct, Ivar. By dividing their forces, the Franks can stop our raiding for now. But if he should need to, how quickly can their king reunite his army?”
“The same thought occurred to me,” Ragnar said.
Hastein continued. “I have had the Frankish sea captain whose ship I captured brought here. He may be able to answer that question.” Turning to Torvald, he said, “Bring Wulf here.”
Wulf looked nervous as Torvald brought him to stand in front of the table, and seemed not to know what to do with his hands. He finally tucked them in his belt, behind his back, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“How far upriver, above Ruda, have you traveled?” Hastein asked him.
“As far as Paris,” Wulf replied. “I have taken my ship, the Swallow, to Paris to sell cargos there.”
“How far upriver is Paris?” Ragnar asked.
“In the Swallow? She is not a fast ship, especially if she has to be rowed. And there’s usually much rowing to be done on that journey. The Seine is a twisting serpent of a river, for sure.”
“How long does it take you to travel upriver from Ruda to Paris?” Ragnar said, sounding impatient.
“Seven days, more or less, in the Swallow,” Wulf answered. “It’s faster to travel over land, if it’s speed you’re after. But easier to carry cargo by ship. Of course,” he added, “your ships are much faster than mine. I’d wager you could make the journey in half that time.”
“Are there any river crossings?” Hastein asked. “Any fords or bridges?”
“No fords at all,” Wulf answered, shaking his head. “The river’s too wide and deep. And the first bridges across her are at Paris. There are no crossings at all downstream from there, save for a ferryboat or two at villages along the river.”
Wulf’s words seemed to please Hastein and Ragnar, though I did not understand why. They looked at each other and smiled.
“That is all for now,” Hastein told Wulf, waving his hand at him. “You may go.”
“What are you and Hastein plotting, Father?” Ivar asked. “I have seen that look in your eyes before.”
“Nothing, as of yet,” Ragnar answered. “And you are right, Ivar,” he added grudgingly. “We should go ahead and parley with the Franks and begin negotiating ransoms for our prisoners. It will encourage our men to know that soon they can trade their captives for silver. And you are also correct that we cannot continue sending out raiding parties. We will lose too many men to the Franks.”
“And after the prisoners are ransomed,” Bjorn asked, “will we leave?”
“Perhaps,” Ragnar answered. “Perhaps not. But all of the men should use this time, while they are waiting in camp and cannot raid, to care for their weapons and repair their armor, if needed. And all archers,” he added, glancing at me, “should make certain they have a plentiful supply of arrows. Perhaps, after the ransoms are paid, we shall leave. But we must make certain the army is prepared for war.”
2 : A Peace Overture
Wulf had taken Hastein’s dismissal literally, and had left the palace to return to his home, leaving Genevieve sitting alone on the bench.
“We are through here,” I told her, speaking to her in her own tongue. “We will return to Wulf’s house now.”
“Why was I brought here?” she asked. I wondered the same thing. Certainly she had not been needed at the war council. “I do not know,” I answered.
The tone of my voice was gruff and unfriendly. I still could not purge from my mind the way I’d felt there by the river, knowing I was going to die, waiting for the Franks to attack me. When danger threatens, it can be a bad thing to have too much time to think.
No one can escape his fate, and it is perhaps the truest measure of a man—or so my brother, Harald, once told me—how bravely he meets a certain death. Harald himself had shown no fear when he’d met his own end. The fear I’d felt there by the river, and the chill from it that still lingered in my heart, left me feeling shamed. I was not fit to be Harald’s brother. How could I hope to avenge his death?
Genevieve had alerted the Franks to our presence there by the river. But for her, I would not be feeling this shame. Unfairly, I blamed her for it. Clearly she’d heard the hostility in my voice, for she quickly averted her eyes and turned her head aside.
“Do not leave yet,” a voice said from behind me. It was Hastein. “Let us go to my quarters. I would talk to you and to your prisoner. And I told Cullain to prepare a special meal. It is the least I could do, after what you have achieved. I expect you have not eaten well for some days.”
As we walked behind Hastein and Torvald through the halls of the palace, Genevieve asked me in a quiet voice, “Who are these two men?”
“He is my captain,” I told her, pointing at Hastein. “His name is Hastein. He is a very powerful leader among the Danes. He is a…jarl.” The last word I said in my own tongue. I could think of no word in Latin with the same meaning.
Genevieve frowned. “He is what?” she asked.
I thought of the Count of Ruda, who’d ruled over this town before we had taken it from him. And Genevieve had said her father was the count of several towns and the lands around them.
“You said your father is the Count of Paris?” I asked her.
She nodded her head. “Paris is one of his counties,” she said. “There are other towns, also.”
“Does he rule those towns for the King of the Franks?”
“He is the king’s administrator for them.”
“A jarl is much the same. He rules a large district in our lands, in the name of our king.”
“And the other man?”
“His name is Torvald. He is Hastein’s helmsman on his ship, and is his second in command.”
“He is a giant,” she said, with awe in her voice. “I have heard tales of such, but never thought to actually see one with my own eyes.”
I wondered if all Franks knew as little as she about the world outside their own lands. Torvald was a very tall man to be
sure, and sturdily built, but he was not a true giant. Everyone among my people knew that real giants were much larger than Torvald. They live far from the haunts of men, in Niflheim, the distant, frozen lands that are always covered with ice and snow, or in their distant and hidden mountain kingdom, Jotunheim.
We entered Hastein’s quarters, where my eyes beheld a wondrous sight. My captain had indeed undertaken to reward me, for a veritable feast had been prepared. Cullain had rigged a spit in the massive fireplace located on one wall of the room. A huge goose, its skin brown and glistening with dripping fat, was roasting on it. An iron pot was nestled in a bed of coals that had been raked to one side of the hearth, and the savory steam rising from it added the smell of stewing onions and other vegetables to the mouthwatering aroma of the roasting bird. Two loaves of fresh bread lay on the table beside a sizable block of cheese. Most welcome of all, though, was a large pottery pitcher that was filled to the brim with rich, brown ale.
By the time the goose was ready, and Cullain had carved it and served us, we were well into a second pitcher of ale, and I was feeling quite mellow. Even Genevieve, who’d been as skittish as a cat carried into a room full of hounds when we’d first entered Hastein’s quarters, appeared to have relaxed somewhat, after drinking a cup of wine. Hastein had thought to offer it to her, correctly suspecting that ale might not be to her taste. She’d seemed disturbed, though, by the large, ornate silver cup Cullain had served her wine in.
“This is a chalice!” she’d protested. “It is intended to hold only the sanctified blood of Christ.”
The Road to Vengeance Page 2