"Are you still there?" he called out in Frankish, and when no answer came he tried again in Norse. His guard had only appeared to him once with a mug of gritty water and a wooden plate of hard bread and stale cheese. Time disappeared inside this cell, but judging from the growl in his belly, a day must have passed since that poor meal. He had not lost hope for a way out of this trap, but one had not revealed itself to him yet.
If Count Amand had not stopped him, Grimnr would have struck off Ulfrik's head in one blow. That was his mistake, and Ulfrik waited like a spider on a dark web for his moment to strike. He feared death and knew it was near, but the gods would not have taken him this far merely to dangle him from a rope before a gawking crowd until he pissed his pants in death. Just like his imprisonment in Iceland, the gods would present a path out that led through pain and blood. He would tread that path willingly and set the gods to dancing for joy at his exploits.
Until then, he tried to forget the reality of being stuck into cell with no chance of escape.
When no voice answered him, Ulfrik shifted to the door. He banged on it with a flat palm. "Talk to me, you fool. No harm in that, and I just want to know how much longer I've got to live. You can tell me that, at least."
Someone shushed him from outside the door, then a familiar voice whispered. "Be quiet while I get the key for the lock. I've never seen a real lock before."
Ulfrik began to laugh and his limbs trembled with excitement. He clapped his hands and spun around inside his cell. "Finn, your voice is a song to me."
Metal scraped against the door, and Ulfrik attempted to peek out the small window, seeing nothing but stone walls and the glow of candlelight. He glimpsed the top of Finn's head against the door.
"So, this is how it works." Ulfrik heard a click and then more metal shaking against the door. "Time to get you out."
The door swung into the cell, sweeping Ulfrik away, and Finn stood framed in the center. His innocent freckled face was splashed with drops of blood as was his gray linen shirt. A sax and dagger hung from either hip and he threw his arms wide, throwing back his dark brown cloak. Ulfrik embraced him with a slap on the back.
"Hrolf sent you?"
"Jarl Einar sent word to him, and he sent me to you. Here's a dagger for you, in case we have more killing to do on the way out."
Ulfrik searched his surroundings, finding a narrow stone hall lit by candles and several rows of doors matching those of his own cell. When Grimnr dragged him down here, he was hanging upside down between two guards and was flung head first into his cell. He never got a look at the prison. "The blood, from the guard?"
Finn rubbed his cheek, smearing the blood into a streak. "There was only one for this entire hall. I got him from behind and shoved him in the first cell. This place is empty but for you."
Tucking the dagger into his pants, he clapped Finn's shoulder. "We should get Vilhjalmer and leave. We're already beneath one of his towers, not sure which one. But Vilhjalmer is in the southwestern tower on the top."
Frowning, Finn shook his head. "We've got to get you out of here. It was a lot of work getting inside, and every guard in this place is standing on his toes looking for an enemy. We'll have to come back for Vilhjalmer."
"After I escape, they'll move his location, maybe out of this fortress altogether. We take him now."
"With two daggers and a short sword between us?"
"That's one blade for each of us then. Besides, I thought you dreamed about being a hero?"
"That was before I understood how bad it hurts to get your guts sliced open. Now we've got to move before another guard shows. There's a back gate out of here we can exploit. It's where I got in."
He let Finn lead, and kept his hand on the hilt of the dagger. At the end of the hall, stone steps lifted up toward a mellow light of an opened door. A splash of dark blood glistened on the wall beside the stairs. "I know you want to get to Vilhjalmer," Finn said. "We won't be able to talk much after we get out of here. So I want to warn you I'm not alone. I've met your wife, Runa, and she's waiting on a ship nearby to use in our escape."
Ulfrik stepped back as if he had been slapped. "She found out from Snorri, didn't she?" Finn nodded and he growled. "Why tell me now?"
"In case we've got a bunch of angry Franks chasing us to the ship, I don't want you so surprised it causes you to make a mistake."
"Good thinking. Let's go." Finn barred him with an outstretched arm.
"The ship belongs to your son, Gunnar the Black. He returned after he heard about you from our time in Yorvik. He looks a lot like your wife and is a bit scary, to be honest."
"You're a world of surprises," Ulfrik said. "I'm glad he's not dead, but this is the wrong time for a family history chat. We've got to hurry."
Finn opened his mouth to say more, but Ulfrik grabbed his shoulder and spun him around toward the stairs. With a gentle shove, Finn swooped up the steps, keeping low as he peered out the door. He remained motionless like a cat watching a bird on a fence, then without looking back he waved Ulfrik forward.
The two piled out into a room where another man lay face down on a bed, a line of blood dripped from the side and pooled by a set of boots. Finn whispered, "He was asleep already, just made sure he stayed that way."
The candles lighting the small guard room fluttered and danced as the two shuffled to the door opposite them. Finn peered out, again staring like a predator on the hunt until he turned back. "I can't see the whole courtyard from here. The southwest tower is directly opposite and is also the wrong way for us to escape."
"This is not about rescuing me," Ulfrik hissed. "We need to take Hrolf's son, or you should've left me to die."
Finn's normally sunny expression went dark, but he nodded once and cautiously opened the door. He slid against the wall beside the door, and his hand appeared to wave Ulfrik outside. As he exited into the predawn darkness, he pulled the door closed and flattened against it. His legs trembled and his breath was short, but a smile creased his face. Only a moment ago he was a helpless prisoner, and now he was again a skulking devil preparing to sow confusion among his enemies.
"There are no guards around," Finn whispered. "We might be able to do this."
"They're about. We just haven't spotted them." They waited on Ulfrik's suspicions, but when no one appeared, they began to slink along the darkness of the courtyard edges.
Pausing at the last stretch, Ulfrik drew his dagger. "That tower door is guarded inside, and I'm sure it's locked. We might have to find another way inside."
"You're telling me this now?" Finn's eyes were bright in the murky black.
"I'll try the door, and you hang back. These towers all connect at the higher levels, though maybe not that one." He scanned the walls around them, but without a moon he could not discern anything more than a darker patch on the night sky.
They stared at each other, and Ulfrik set off for the door.
Torches flared into light and men rushed into the courtyard. Ulfrik froze and for an instant believed if he was still he would remain unseen. Only he was the cornered rabbit and the fox was Grimnr and two dozen guards, half of whom had arrows stringed and pointed at him.
"I'm right here," Ulfrik called, hoping to distract them from Finn. Grimnr stepped forward with his sword drawn, and it flashed with torchlight as he pointed it directly at Finn.
"We saw him enter the prison," Grimnr said. "So you're working with others after all. Put down the dagger. Even if you throw it through my neck you'll get ten arrows through your own in return. Not a good bargain. Same for your companion."
Ulfrik's blood roared in his ears and his head grew warm. He ranged the dagger before himself, snarling at Grimnr. "You're a traitor to your people."
"Don't you think I've heard that talk before?" Grimnr asked, approaching with his sword held low. Behind him the points of arrow tips gleamed with orange light. "I am loyal to my word, and I give that to whoever pays me the most."
"Mord will pay anything you ask
for that boy. Give him up and you will be wealthier than that old Frankish turd you serve."
Grimnr's feral smile widened, and he tilted his head like a hound trying to understand a new command. "Mord can pay so much? Are you sure it's not Hrolf the Strider who would pay?"
Ulfrik's hands went cold, and Grimnr laughed. He stopped before Ulfrik just as his sword point touched Ulfrik's dagger. Somehow he had discovered Vilhjalmer's true identity. Time had run out, and Ulfrik had failed. He glanced at Finn, who resolutely held his sax against a dozen archers.
Throwing his dagger at Grimnr's feet, Ulfrik lowered his head. "Set my friend free. He's here just to save me and knows nothing of what I intended."
"Oh, he'll be freed," Grimnr said. "But he's leaving with you on the hanging tree as soon as the sun rises. You've got about an hour until the two of you can greet each other again in Nifelheim."
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Ulfrik sat on the dirt floor and rubbed his face. The small shed smelled like sweat and urine, much like his old cell beneath the fortress, but this one instead was outside Grimnr's hall. Three men might have fit into the space, but Finn had been separated from him, leaving Ulfrik with enough room to lie down if he had wanted. Instead he sat ready to face whatever came through the door in front of him. Currently it was only the stains of morning light, and he heard the roosters crow with the day. Through the rear wall of his shed, he heard low voices of men, but their words were indistinct.
He sucked his bottom lip as he considered the events of the morning. His chest burned with the anger and frustration at being caught yet again, and now he had Finn's welfare to consider. He tried to rethink where all of this planning had gone wrong, but soon shook the thought from his head. He could worry for the past once he survived the mistakes that had led him to this moment. As the deep voices beyond the walls of his prison shack grew louder and more numerous, he realized time for planning was at an end. He had to decide the next move or else end up swinging from a noose.
That Grimnr held him in his own camp rather than turning him over to the Franks indicated Count Amand had either lost interest in questioning him or did not know of the escape attempt. Ulfrik believed it was the latter, and Grimnr was eager to erase the embarrassing stain on his judgment by hanging him at dawn. Nor had he bothered to tie him or Finn. Seeing how they were surrounded by hundreds of enemies, binding them would have been a waste of rope.
As he rested his head against the wall, he closed his eyes and inventoried his choices. He could save himself and Finn and forget Vilhjalmer for another day, or, he could still attempt to free Vilhjalmer. Freeing Hrolf's son seemed an impossible task now that he would have to wade through a camp of hostiles and break into a fortress guarded by men well aware of his intentions. Yet returning to Hrolf in failure may mean he had saved his own life but ruined any value in living it. Hrolf would have no mercy on him, especially now that Grimnr and Amand knew Vilhjalmer's true identity. Any plan to escape had to include Vilhjalmer, or it would not be true escape.
No other choice existed but to save Vilhjalmer. Now the gods merely had to show him his moment and he would act. They had left his hands free, which was a sign they would place a weapon in them soon. He only had to watch for it.
A shadow fell over the light seeping between the planks of the door and someone pressed his face to the crack in the doorjamb. "They're getting the noose prepared. Won't be long before you're swinging like a common thief."
"Is that you, Vigrid?" Ulfrik leapt to the door then pressed his ear to it. The answer did not come, and he banged on the door.
"You used me to get closer to Grimnr," Vigrid said through the door. Ulfrik could feel him leaning against it, the two of them separated only by the planks.
"That's true, and I'm sorry for the deceit."
"I doubt you would have been sorry were you not caught. Grimnr would've killed me in your place, just because I spoke for you."
Ulfrik slid from the door and stepped back. "He is not that sort of man."
Their exchange stultified, and Ulfrik began to pace the small, empty room. Flies buzzed around him, attracted to the waste left by former captives in the corners. He paced until his leg grew sore then realized at some point the voices outside had fallen quiet. He turned in time to hear the bar lifted out of the door and have it sweep open. Mellow dawn light framed him against the wall as he faced Grimnr, his bulk filling the doorway.
"As I promised, hanging at first light." Grimnr was a shadow that turned from the door to allow two others to point their spears at him. They barked at him to exit, which he did.
Outside the fresh air hit his face like an open palm, and the two guards herded him at spear-point toward Grimnr and Vigrid. Ulfrik's eyes swept past them to the throng of men at their backs. What seemed every Northman in the camp that was not bedridden pressed from all sides. For such a crowd, their silence was more awesome than their numbers. Grim faces stared out at him, some old and scarred and inscrutable, some young, dirty, and curious. Rank upon rank of fighting men, survivors of Einar's surprise assault, had gathered to see him die.
"The name Ulfrik Ormsson is well known here," Grimnr said.
"Not all of them know me," he said, so quietly his voice was faint to his own ears. He searched the crowd for familiar men, but saw nothing more than the same beaten and bent faces common to all warriors. "Do men even remember my name?"
"Time is a battle that fame always loses," Grimnr said. "But you have not been gone so long that the land has forgotten you. I was not here for your days of glory, but I am here for your death. I've kept your hands unbound and expect you to act with honor. Do not be foolish in the final moment, when so many have come to witness how a hero goes to his death."
Another guard shoved Finn beside him, and his young companion fell to the ground with a grunt. Ulfrik did not bend to help him, but allowed Finn to struggle to his feet. He clutched his side, the wound from the bandit camp still troubling him. His normally smiling face was contorted in fear and his freckles stood out like brown sand scattered over snow. His eyes were wet, and the threat of tears Ulfrik saw there set a fire in his gut.
"Straighten yourself," he snapped. "A man will not die until his hour is at hand, and if it is, no tears will keep it at bay. You know this."
"But I don't have to be happy for it."
"It is not our time," Ulfrik said. "The gods have not seen us this far to hang us like slaves."
"But like oath-breakers," Grimnr said. "The gods have no love of false men. Now enough foolishness."
The crowd parted as their guards shoved them forward. Ulfrik held his head up and back straight, hands loose at his sides. Even if he could grab a weapon, he had no hope of fighting out of this press. He fixed his eyes on the distance and allowed himself to be herded toward the Seine, where over the heads of the crowd he spotted the crowns of oak trees and the masts of ships at the riverside. The crowd started a low murmur as they funneled Ulfrik and Finn to the hanging tree. As they drew closer, a few voices called out, but Ulfrik did not hear what they said.
The hanging tree was the tallest of the hoary oaks that had defied the encroachment of the camp. Pines, elms, and other trees had once populated this stretch but now were either stumps or holes in the earth. These three trees stretched out their thick limbs like the Norns themselves, reeling out their skein of Fate to rule the lives and deaths of men. One shape already dangled and twisted from a limb. The mute Frankish girl's neck had stretched an impossible length. Her glossy, beautiful hair hung over her face, but he did not need to see it to know crows had already pecked out the soft parts. The black birds clung to the branches around her, staring down with what seemed hunched shoulders and greedy black eyes.
"Not me. Not today," Ulfrik muttered at them. The crowd gathered tighter, but gave the hanging tree a wide berth. He would not escape back toward the camp, of that he was certain. The only route lay toward the water, and he could never launch a ship in time. As his guards held their spears
at his back, Ulfrik scanned Grimnr, Vigrid, and the other hirdmen for weapons. Their swords were tight in their sheaths, impossible to grab without a struggle. All of them wore daggers at their waists, and were simpler to draw. He would have to take Grimnr as a hostage and bargain his way out. It was not the best plan, for one good archer could solve that standoff. Ulfrik had done it himself with a throwing ax. But desperate as he was, he saw no other way. His palms itched at the thought of seizing the dagger when Grimnr approached.
Then he froze.
Over Grimnr's shoulder he locked eyes with Konal. The angry white and red scars that flowed across half his face made him stand out among the others. Konal's expression was tight and focused, and a group of men stood shoulder to shoulder with him that must have been his crew.
Grimnr broke in between them and grabbed Ulfrik's arm to lead him to the tree. "I liked you as Ulfar the White. It's a sad thing to hang a good man."
"Then don't." Ulfrik struggled to turn toward Konal again, but Grimnr held him firm and laughed.
"You earned the noose." Grimnr held him still while others set ladders to the trees then climbed up to secure the ropes to the limbs.
Ulfrik felt the hilt of the Grimnr's dagger press into his side. Finn stood like a wilting reed, his white face, staring in defeat at the ground. Konal had come with a crew, and now Ulfrik had a true chance at escape. Whatever differences they may have over Konal's treatment of Runa, they were sword brothers once. Such bonds were stronger than iron and just as enduring. Konal had come to his aid and now waited for Ulfrik's signal.
He leaned away from Grimnr, who frowned up at the hanging trees. Finn still hung limp, Vigrid at his side.
Striking like a snake, he slammed into Grimnr's ribs and yanked the dagger from his belt. In the same motion he slipped his foot between Grimnr's and collapsed him to the ground.
Vigrid and Finn stared in amazement, but Ulfrik already leaped Grimnr's prostrate body. He swept up with his dagger, slashing Vigrid's throat from collarbone to ear. His eyes rolled back and he crashed into Finn.
Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) Page 24