After I had translated, the count quickly offered, “I will pay you six pounds of silver for my daughter’s release.”
Six pounds of silver was more than I’d thought to gain. I thought we should accept. But Hastein, when he learned what the count had suggested, looked incredulous. Again he spoke, and I translated.
“You would pay the same ransom to free your daughter as was paid for one abbot or for one monastery?” Hastein exclaimed. “Frankia has many, many monasteries and many abbots—they are common here. But is there another Count of Angers, and Tours, and Paris, and all the many other towns you rule? There is not. You are not, in any way, a common man, and your noble daughter is an uncommon prisoner—one of special value. Does not the honor of your name and your position increase your daughter’s worth? What would men say about you if it was learned you would rather clutch tightly to your purse-strings and let your own daughter be sold into slavery than agree to pay a greater ransom for a child of your own blood than was paid to protect the buildings of a monastery from being burned?”
“I will pay eight pounds,” the count said, after I translated Hastein’s speech. “But no more.”
When I told him of Count Robert’s offer, Hastein let out a loud sigh and shook his head sadly. “Explain to this Frank that the king of the Danes has but one queen,” he said, “but he has many concubines. And he views the Franks as his greatest enemies, and treasures every victory over them, large or small. Tell him I am certain our king will pay us at least eight pounds of silver for this girl, when he learns she is the daughter of so powerful a leader of his mortal foes—especially when he learns she is still a virgin whom he can deflower. Why should we ransom her to this Frank for eight pounds of silver, when we can easily sell her to our own king for the same amount, and by doing so gain his favor? Ask the count that.”
I knew Hastein was bluffing. It was my decision what would happen to Genevieve if her father failed to ransom her. And I did not intend to sell her—to the king of the Danes or anyone else. I had come to know her too well—and had known the effects of slavery too intimately—to do that to her. I thought it was a fine argument that Hastein made, though, and I enjoyed seeing the effect it had on Genevieve’s arrogant father. The count’s face turned a most unhealthy shade of red, and his voice trembled with rage when he spoke.
“You shall have your ten pounds of silver,” he snarled. “And may God in heaven damn your heathen soul, if you even have one. Let us be done with this. I wish to spend no more time in the company of those who would use a father’s concern for his defenseless daughter, and for her honor, as a weapon against him.”
I would have been more impressed with the Count’s speech had Genevieve not told me how little her father cared about her or her honor. It was, in truth, his own honor—or as she had explained, his pride—that he was protecting, and I felt no shame that we were making him pay a high price to do so.
The packhorse was led forward, and one of the Count’s men removed a scale from one of the saddlebags and began assembling it. Another began removing small, bulging leather sacks from the saddlebags.
“Is the spare horse for your daughter to ride?” I asked the count.
“It is,” he answered.
“If I may take it, I will go into the town and fetch her,” I told him.
When I entered Wulf’s home, Genevieve, who was seated at the table holding baby Alise in her lap, looked up.
“You are back from meeting with the Frankish soldiers?” she asked.
“It is not just Frankish soldiers,” I answered. “It is your father, Count Robert. You must come with me now. Your ransom has been agreed upon. Your father brought silver to pay it, and you are to be freed this day.”
Genevieve just stared at me, speechless with surprise.
“I am happy for you, Lady Genevieve,” Bertrada said, reaching to take Alise from her.
“Aye,” Wulf added, nodding his agreement. “Though our home will not feel the same after you are gone.”
It was a gracious thing for Wulf to say. I remembered how reluctant he’d initially been for her to stay under his roof. What he said was true, though. Genevieve had become a welcome addition to the household, cheerfully assisting Bertrada with the cooking, the children, and the other chores Bertrada did. In fact, since Genevieve had come, the house was cleaner by far than it had been when I first saw it. And the gloom and tension that had seemed to permeate it in the days before Genevieve had arrived was no more.
She was wearing the red gown she had worn last night. “I must change back into my habit,” she said and went into the back room. Considering the temper her father had been in when I’d left him, it seemed a wise choice. He would be angry enough at her over the amount of silver she had cost him by her capture. If he interpreted the fine gown from Hastein as a sign she had in any way enjoyed her captivity, no doubt her welcome—if it could be called that—would be even grimmer.
We both were silent while we rode through the town and out the main gate. It was not a comfortable silence. I felt I should say something, but words would not come to mind.
“Will you be glad to return to the abbey?” I finally asked.
“It is not a bad life,” she answered. “It is quiet and peaceful. And I will not have to wonder or fear what the next day may bring. Life there is very…” she paused and frowned, as if searching for the right word. “Predictable,” she finally said. “Yes, that is it. Life in the abbey is very predictable. My life as a nun follows a set pattern, a strict routine.”
I would not wish my life to be so fixed. I would not want to know what path it would follow, day after day, year after year. I had known such a life as a slave.
“There is a religious holiday not many days hence. I suppose I shall be back in Paris, back at the abbey, by then. It is Easter, the feast when we celebrate the rising of our Lord, Jesus, the son of God, from the dead.”
I thought it would be grim if the most you could look forward to, to break the monotony of your life, was a religious feast day. If such was the high point of Genevieve’s life, though, I was glad for her sake that she would not miss it.
“In Paris, on Easter morning,” she continued, “there is a special mass in the Church of St. Genevieve. The church was built on Mt. Genevieve by the first king of the Franks to become a Christian. Special prayers and requests are offered at the Easter mass by the people of Paris to Saint Genevieve, who is buried in the church. We believe she gives extra consideration to prayers made to her on that day, and asks God to grant them.”
“Who is this Saint Genevieve?” I asked.
“She is the protector of Paris. I am named for her. Saint Genevieve lived long ago. She saved Paris from the Hun army of Attila. Genevieve, who was a very good and very holy woman, called upon God to spare the town and when she did, God listened, and Attila’s army turned aside. Through the power of her prayers, Saint Genevieve saved Paris when the power of men, and of arms, could do nothing.”
I knew of this Hun she spoke of. He had been a great and fierce warlord, and was remembered even among the Danes, who knew him as King Atil. I had heard tales about him during the long winter nights in my father’s longhouse.
“This Attila lived many hundreds of years ago, did he not?” I asked.
“Yes,” Genevieve answered. “This happened back during the time when the Romans still ruled over these lands.”
“And this Genevieve who saved Paris, she was just a woman? She was not a goddess?”
“She was a very holy woman,” Genevieve repeated.
“But she is dead, is she not?” I asked. “Holy or not, she is dead, and has been dead for many, many years. Hundreds of years. Yet you pray to her?” I did not understand why the Christians would offer prayers to a dead person. What could such do to help the living?
“I do not expect you to understand, or to believe,” Genevieve said. “You are not a Christian. But I told you about Saint Genevieve because I wish you to know that on Easter morn
ing, I will pray to her and ask her to protect you from your many enemies. Christian or not, I think you are a good man. I know that had I been captured by any of your people other than you…” She shook her head silently, but did not express what she was thinking. She did not need to. We both knew what probably would have happened to her.
“I will always be grateful for how you have treated me,” she said, beginning again. She turned and looked me full in the face, her dark eyes glistening as if they were wet with tears. “I am certain I shall never forget you. You are truly a man who does not merely speak of honor, but who lives it.”
Her words surprised me. I would have thought she’d have been glad to forget me—to forget the time when she’d been a prisoner, to forget the killings she’d been forced to witness. I did not know what to say or how to respond, so I said nothing.
Later, as I watched her ride away in the company of her father and his warriors, I felt an unexpected pang of loss and, remembering her words, regretted I’d said nothing in return. I confess that in my heart, part of me wished that her father had not agreed to the high ransom we had demanded. Part of me wished that she was with me still.
7 : Escaping a Trap
“Ugh,” Tore said. “They are starting to stink. We should have done this last night.”
It was my fault we had not. Yesterday as we rode back into town bearing my new wealth, I’d been pleasantly surprised when Hastein had announced, “I have decided. We will not tell Ragnar about the two men you killed.”
Ivar had said nothing, but looked at Hastein skeptically.
“The killings were clearly justified,” Hastein continued. “They attacked you at night, by surprise, and without provocation. You had every right to defend yourself, and two witnesses have confirmed your story—though it is true that one of your witnesses, your prisoner, is now gone. Still, I heard her. Ivar did, too. We can confirm what she said if it should become necessary.”
“I only heard her speak Frankish,” Ivar pointed out. “I do not understand Frankish. I cannot say for certain what she really said—we know only what Halfdan told us she said.”
“You are just being contrary,” Hastein said dismissively. “I know you do not believe Halfdan lied to us. And you heard the other Frank, Wulf, confirm the story in our own tongue.”
“If you feel the killings were justified, why should we not tell Ragnar?” I asked.
“Because he will be angry anyway,” Ivar suggested. “Father does not like to have his orders disregarded, even for good cause. It is the frustrated king in him.”
Hastein shook his head. “That is not the reason,” he explained. “I wish to know who else was involved, if anyone. It seems obvious Snorre probably was, though it would be impossible to prove solely from the fact that Wulf saw Snorre and Stenkil talking together in the street in front of his house.
“We will make the two bodies disappear, then wait and watch what happens. Perhaps Snorre will make inquiries, trying to discover if you have been killed or injured, or if anyone knows where Stenkil or the other man are. That could help prove he knew in advance what Stenkil was planning to do. And I also wish to see how Stenkil’s captain, Gunulf, will react to his disappearance. If Gunulf searches for Stenkil, and seems surprised that he has disappeared, he was probably not involved. But if he does not question the fact that one of his men has vanished, and if he does not try to find him—something a captain would normally do—it may show us Gunulf was aware Stenkil planned murder, but now that he has disappeared believes the safer course is to let sleeping dogs, or missing bodies, lie where they will.
“And finally, we do not know who the other man you killed was—whether he was a companion of Sigvid and Stenkil, from Gunulf’s crew, or possibly one of Snorre’s men. If the latter, that, too, could help us prove Snorre was behind the attack. So let us keep these deaths quiet and see what we can learn. It is always wise to discover whom to number among your enemies.”
“You enjoy this, don’t you?” Ivar said to Hastein, shaking his head. “This kind of devious plotting. I would far rather just confront my enemies and kill them.”
I did not think what Hastein planned was devious plotting. I realized he was hunting. But he did not hunt beasts, nor use the skills of woods-lore—the kind of hunting I was used to. He was hunting men—Snorre and, ultimately, Toke. He was seeking to put together, bit by careful bit, proof of their treachery—the kind of proof that would support bringing a legal case against them, at a Thing. It was a type of hunting I did not know. I had much to learn from Hastein.
Yesterday, we’d stopped at Wulf’s storehouse, and Hastein, Ivar, and Torvald had trooped in to examine the two bodies. “Put them in barrels; barrels with small holes drilled in them,” Hastein had told Torvald. “Add some large stones, and throw the barrels into the river. They will float downstream from Ruda, far enough away so no one in our army is likely to find them, and eventually sink.”
Torvald had nudged Stenkil’s body with his foot. “They are very stiff now,” he’d said. “If we’re going to try to pack these two into barrels this day, I’d better fetch an axe.”
The thought of chopping the two dead men into pieces had seemed too gruesome to me. I’d persuaded Torvald to wait a day until the bodies began to loosen up again. When he’d arrived this morning, he’d brought Tore with him. Each of them was carrying a large, empty wooden barrel balanced on one shoulder.
Wulf watched nervously as we folded the two noisome bodies double, then crammed each into a barrel. Though they’d begun to loosen, there was still enough of the death stiffness in them to make it hard work. The flies that had found the bodies swarmed around us, protesting the interruption of their meal and making it an even more unpleasant task.
“At least they have not begun to leak yet,” Tore grunted as we lifted the filled barrels up onto a handcart Wulf had supplied to transport them to the river. “Their smell is bad enough, but leaking would be far worse.”
“Get your gear, Halfdan, and we will take it on the cart, too,” Torvald told me. “We are readying the Gull today. We leave Ruda at first light tomorrow.”
I was surprised. I’d thought, from what Count Robert had told us, that the meeting upriver to negotiate the ransoms for the rest of the prisoners would have been canceled, or at least postponed.
“That is not where we are going,” Torvald explained, when I asked. “Our entire fleet, save for nine ships whose crews will stay here in Ruda to hold the town, moves upriver tomorrow.”
“Why?” I asked.
“We are going to fight,” Tore said. He looked pleased.
“Ragnar thinks it suspicious that the Frankish Count was so eager to free your prisoner,” Torvald explained. “He suspects the Franks are even now moving their full army against Ruda. He thinks Count Robert wanted to get his daughter clear of the town before we learn of the Franks’ advance.”
Part of what Torvald said made sense. If the Franks were moving their army against us, Count Robert would not wish Genevieve to be available to be used as a hostage, hampering the freedom of his attack, even though their relationship was strained. However, I did not understand what our army was doing.
“If Ragnar believes the Frankish army is moving against Ruda, why are we taking our ships upriver?” I asked. We would be moving closer to the Frankish army, and danger. Surely it would be wiser to stay safe behind the walls of Ruda, or even retreat down the Seine toward the sea.
“Ragnar brought us to this land to fight the Franks and spill their blood, not to run from them,” Tore answered.
I remembered the great fortified encampment that the Franks had been building as a temporary base for their army. I remembered the seemingly endless column of marching infantry and the numerous patrols of mounted warriors I’d seen. The Franks had many men—too many. Our army was too small, compared to the forces the Frankish king was gathering. We could not fight them and win.
“I have seen the Franks’ army,” I told Torvald and Tore. �
��It is vast. They far outnumber us.”
“Aye,” Torvald said. “They would greatly outnumber us if we just sat and waited for all of their forces on both sides of the river to join together here at Ruda and surround our army. When they come, they will bring thousands of infantry and siege machines and attack the town and our encampment on the island. With their siege engines, they could even threaten our ships out on the river. It is a style of fighting the Franks do very well. They can be very slow to react, but when they finally do bring their full forces to bear, they are very strong. But Ragnar is too canny to play the game according to the Franks’ plan. The speed with which our ships allow us to move our army is one of our greatest strengths, and Ragnar knows well how to use it. When we fight, it will be a battle of his choosing.”
The Gull was far more heavily laden upon leaving Ruda than she had been on the long voyage south to Frankia from Denmark. The sea chests of every warrior aboard—and no doubt, those of every warrior in the fleet—contained plunder taken from the churches, monasteries, and villages sacked by our raiding parties, as well as loot stripped from the homes and storehouses of Ruda when it had fallen. Silver candlesticks and the large silver goblets so frequently found in the Christians’ churches, coins, jewelry, bolts of fine cloth, weapons, armor, and whatever else had struck our men’s fancy now filled their sea chests. The deck of the Gull was cluttered with barrels filled with Frankish wine and ale, and casks of fine glassware or pottery packed in straw. There were also penned fowl, pigs, and even two sheep, all of which were destined for our cook fires. Under Torvald’s direction, our crew pried up deck planks to gain access to the ballast stones in the bottom of the ship’s hull, and threw enough overboard to compensate for the added weight we were now carrying.
The only plunder we did not carry with us was the army’s prisoners—the ones still awaiting ransom, plus the women and children some of our warriors had taken to sell in the slave markets back in the north. Those remained under guard in Ruda, with the crews of the nine ships left to hold the town. Svein, one of the two experienced captains who followed Hastein, had been left in command of our forces there.
The Road to Vengeance Page 9