Shield of Lies

by Jerry Autieri

  "We go south," he said more firmly. "Eskil, will my father find more cover there?"

  "Much more," Eskil agreed. "And we can show ourselves to the farmers there, who will be sure to send word back to Clovis as soon as we do."

  They renewed their trek and Toki offered little conversation as they walked. No one had pushed themselves, but Gunnar's legs were beginning to stiffen. Sensing the others suffered the same, he ordered them to stop and the men gratefully sat themselves in the grass.

  "Could you not have at least waited until we gained that hill?" Toki asked. "I hate the low ground."

  "That's a hill?" Gunnar looked across at the gentle rise and snorted. "I wouldn't say there's any advantage to holding it."

  "But we can't see beyond it, can we? We're blind down here."

  Eskil shook his head and volunteered to scout the hill, departing without a word. "You're not letting him rest," Gunnar chided.

  "He's young yet. Let that strength be our benefit."

  Both laughed and watched Eskil perform his same scouting maneuvers, crawling on is belly to the edge of the crest.

  But this time, he did not wave.

  He scrabbled back down, then gained his feet and dashed the final distance hunched over as if running through a hailstorm. Toki and Gunnar both stood as he stumbled to them, and others nearby turned to listen. All faces were tight with fear, and Gunnar felt his knees weaken at the sight of Eskil's wide eyes.

  "There are dozens of tents pitched in a field beyond that hill, and horses picketed in line. Maybe fifty horses. It's an army, flying Count Odo's flag of blue and white. We're practically on top of them."

  "By Odin's one eye!" Gunnar cursed, feeling his guts turn to water. "How did we not see them first?"

  Toki bared Gunnar with his arm. His other hand touched his temple as if he were in pain. "Odo should have his men in Paris, not this far into Hrolf's territories. Unless, of course, he's planning a raid, which must be Odo's intent."

  "How did we not see them first?" Gunnar insisted again. He had chosen this path, and led them right into an army they would be pressed to defeat even with his father's aid. If Clovis was headed for him, then he had consigned all of them to death between both Frankish forces. "An army like that should make some noise, right?"

  "It matters only that we've seen them now, before they've spotted us," Toki said. He dropped his arm from Gunnar's chest, then gestured for the men to gather. They had already begun, the men closest spreading the dreadful news to those in the rear.

  Suddenly Gunnar stood pressed into the center of wide-eyed men who trembled behind their shields. He could not think of what to say, nor what they should do. His mouth was dry and his head began to ache. Fortunately, the men looked to Toki for direction and not him. Being a jarl's son, their dismissal stung his pride. Yet he had expected more from himself at the moment of danger, and came up wanting. The men could not be blamed for seeking confident leadership, which Toki immediately provided.

  "We're going to back up the way we came and once away we race for Ulfrik. Depending on what Clovis brings to the fight, we should be fine if we join with Ulfrik's force."

  "This whole plan has gone to shit," one of the men said, and other nervous voices agreed.

  "Silence," Toki said in a hissing voice. "Not one more word, and no sounds. Turn and put some distance between us and the Franks."

  Gunnar echoed Toki's orders, if only as a meditation on success. If they followed that plan, they could get away. Gods, he wanted to fight in the shieldwall, but not with frightened men outnumbered by royal warriors. Once beside his father's veterans, he would have a chance at glory. It was a simple thing to move off unseen. Many were already flooding away, and a few at the far end started to run. See, it was easy, he told himself.

  Only beneath his feet was the easy trail they had left for Ulfrik and Clovis.

  Toki and he walked at a jog as more of the men began to run. Gunnar refused to look behind, as if to look over his shoulder would bring the Franks.

  It failed him nonetheless. A horn blared behind him, pealing like thunder over their heads. A full route began and the men scattered like leaves in a wind. Toki swore, grabbed Gunnar's arm and began running. "Fall back to the woods," he shouted. "We can lose them there. Run!"

  Gunnar and Toki ran, but their mail caused them to lag and the others plunged on ahead. The grassy plains no longer seemed flat, and every dip or rise thwarted the fleeing men with stumbles and falls.

  Then the thud of hooves and the first Frankish riders zoomed past on both sides.

  Their horses pounded the earth, sending clods of dirt into the air. The riders' cruel spears lowered and men howled as the shafts pierced them. Gunnar saw a man lifted from the ground, a broken shaft square in his back and brilliant scarlet flowing over his green jerkin.

  "Shieldwall!" Toki shouted, and jerked Gunnar short. "Don't die in shame. Fight!"

  Gunnar spun with his uncle, who pulled his shield onto his arm. "Get your shield on," he snapped as he drew his sword.

  A dozen of Toki's men gathered to their sides and shields raised as spears pointed at the Franks. The riders plunged to either side, bypassing them for the cowards who fled. Their dying shrieks were wet and short, and the whoops of the Franks gave a voice to evil.

  Gunnar drew his sword and touched his shield to the man at his side. His neck throbbed and his vision hazed. No one could help him now. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon, the rough sharkskin wrap biting into his sweaty palm. He stood at the center of the small cluster, sweat rolling from his forehead into his eyes. More Franks bolted past them, but as one strayed too close, Toki licked out with his sword to slash the beast's legs. The animal screamed and both beast and rider crashed behind them.

  "Sell your lives well," Toki shouted. "We will meet in Valhalla soon."

  Gunnar did not doubt it. As more riders galloped past, giving them a wider berth, a solid block of Franks approached on foot. They were a black mass of sharp spears and conical helmets. Their long, tear-shaped shields were painted blue with a white diagonal stripe, the colors of King Odo of the Western Franks. At the fore of these men came a standard bearer and beside him a regal man in bright mail. Gunnar wondered if it was the king himself.

  The block of Franks halted and Gunnar crouched behind his shield, expecting arrows to rain upon them. Nothing happened. He looked to Toki, who just stared at the enemy with his teeth bared. "What will they do?"

  Toki shrugged. "Stay close to me if they charge. Each of us is worth ten of them. I know the Franks, and they fight like old women."

  From the enveloping scent of blood, Gunnar doubted the Franks were so weak. In the next instant, the horsemen returned. They galloped their mounts in a wide circle. The beating of hooves drummed Gunnar's head and their dizzying pace confused his vision. The men drove their beasts with careless ease, seeming to delight in the blurring speed.

  "They're playing with us," said a man to Gunnar's left.

  "This will be the last game they play," Toki replied and he rapped the edge of his shield against Gunnar's. It galvanized him.

  "We will have too much horseflesh to carry back home," Gunnar added with bravado he did not feel. "It will be a shame to leave so much on the field when we are done."

  A few of the men laughed, and Toki glanced at him with a weak smile. Gunnar straightened himself at the approval, and snarled at the circling Franks. As long as he died fighting, he would be rewarded with a place in Valhalla where his uncle and father would surely meet him. Fear had no claim on him now. He need only to trust his sword and fate.

  The mounted Franks suddenly broke away, turning back for the rear of their lines as the footmen approached. Gunnar again raised his shield, but the arrows did not come. Toki hissed between his gritted teeth. The spears lined up against the Franks wavered as the men gripping them began to lose courage.

  "Steady now," Gunnar said. "We'll take ten of them for every one of us."

  The haughty
Franks stopped within spear-throwing distance, as if to tempt them to waste their weapons. The leader stepped forward and scanned the line, his eyes settling on both Toki and Gunnar. Their mail coats betrayed their status, and Gunnar suddenly wished for more humble furs rather than mail.

  "The young one must be important to stand at the front of his line," Gunnar heard the leader say to another warrior who came to his side. Unlike his parents, Gunnar had learned Frankish nearly as well as his own tongue. Many of his friends were Franks and the language was everywhere. He could hardly remember a time when he didn't speak it, and realized that now he was likely the only one who understood.

  "All your companions are dead," the Frankish leader shouted at them. The sun gleamed off his helmet and Gunnar could not see his face, though he imagined a royal face with predatory features held in a false smile. The image was distinct in his mind, even if he could not see the man clearly. "Surrender or we will run you down."

  Gunnar glanced at Toki, who had not shifted from his snarl. He realized no one understood the ultimatum, and began to translate. "He wants us to ..."

  "Surrender or die," Toki finished for him. "No surprise in that. Now the question is do we fight or lay down our weapons?"

  He gave Gunnar a look as if the decision were as simple as choosing the best pin for a cloak. Yet he was asking Gunnar to pick between life or death, and not only for himself but for all the men who had stood with him. What value was there in a life lesson when life was measured by the breath, he thought. Death hovered only a spear's length away, and the horsemen had reformed behind their lord as if to emphasize that one charge would trample them all into pulp. There was no choice. Toki watched him impassively, as if his life mattered not at all.

  "There is no glory in wasting our lives," Gunnar said hesitantly and reading Toki's face for a reaction. His uncle held his expression flat, and Gunnar continued without knowing if he displeased him. "My father can pay our ransom, which the Franks must want if they have not finished us yet."

  Toki nodded slowly, but said nothing. Several of the other men were less heroic and threw their weapons and shields on the grass the moment Gunnar voiced his thoughts. This drew derisive laughter from the Franks and the leader waved his hand in dismissal.

  "Live to see the sunset, a wise choice," the leader said. "You are my prisoners now. Come forward, young one. You speak a real language after all."

  Gunnar translated for the others, then tossed his weapons to the ground. The remaining men dropped their spears and shields in silent disgust. Only Toki held his longer than any other, and once all his men had surrendered he placed his sword carefully atop the crisscrossed pile of spears.

  The Frankish lord did not look much different from what Gunnar had imagined. His head was rounder and his features softer. His beard was indeed neatly trimmed and his face clean, marred only with a white scar across his nose. Gunnar knew he was not the king, not with that scar, but he still held himself rigid and proud like royalty. When he spoke, he peered down his nose rather than incline his head.

  "What is your name? Who do you serve?"

  "I'm Gunnar Ulfrikson, and I serve my father who serves Hrolf the Strider, who is master of this land."

  The Frank raised a thin brow, and a wicked smile formed on his red lips. "A fine ransom you will make. I'm already repaid for making this damned journey."

  "And who are you?"

  The leader clucked at Gunnar and frowned. "I am your master; that is all you need to know. What difference could it make to you, pup?"

  "If I don't know your name then when I sing about the day I killed you I will have to call you the Frankish Pig."

  The leader burst into laughter. Gunnar had expected a beating, but instead the Frank dismissed him to another who started to bind his arms behind his back.

  Toki was shoved forward next to Gunnar, and he gave a wan smile. "I'd forgotten what this was like."

  "You've been captured before?" Gunnar had never heard of such things. His father's exploits were always of great victories and never of defeats.

  "Not something I've enjoyed, but yes. This one is hard. We only struck one blow before defeat."

  Gunnar was about to reply when a Frank slapped his head and yelled for silence. Soon, all of them were bound and being led toward the Frankish camp. A glance over his shoulder revealed shattered bodies splayed out in the grass. Gunnar swallowed hard, faced forward, and dared not look back again.

  Chapter 35

  Ulfrik stood at the center of the dead bodies, flocks of birds circling overhead and screaming at him and his men for disturbing their repast. He hardly knew these men, having been only with him for a short time, yet their deaths pressed on his heart. Einar and the others walked quietly among the slain like cloaked phantoms, bending over the fallen to close eyelids or place hands on weapons. The corpses were already cold and hardened in death, and fat black ravens had already pecked and tore the eyes from most of the bodies. Flies buzzed over the thick pools of blood and unlike the birds persisted in their feast.

  Gunnar and Toki were not among the dead. He had searched every body, scoured every inch of ground, and found nothing. It was small comfort, realizing the two of them plus a handful of others had become prisoners of whoever had overcome them. The mass of hoof prints indicated Frankish cavalry working with a contingent of footmen. The remains of a camp were over a low crest, meaning they had come from a distance, most likely Paris, though he could not be sure.

  "The day is late," Einar said as he joined Ulfrik. He squinted up at the flocks of birds crying in rage. "We've no sign that Clovis took the bait yet. What will you have us do?"

  Ulfrik tucked is helmet underarm and scrubbed his face with both hands. "This was not how it was to end. There was never to be another Frankish army out here. These men were not to be run down like animals. My son and brother were not to be taken captive. I was not supposed to have you do anything more than shatter Clovis's army."

  He bit off his last sentence, aware that his voice was both rising and breaking. The men with him were veterans of long service, and hardened to the worst the battlefield could offer. They would understand his frustration and anger, but they would never brook indecision or self-pity. A few dark faces glanced at him, then returned to dragging the corpses together. Others searched for stones to build a rough cairn for the slain. No one had asked them to do it. They simply knew these men deserved better than to be fodder for ravens.

  "This is fate," Einar said, putting his hand upon Ulfrik's shoulder. "You cannot blame yourself, for what is done is over. You've told me that yourself, do you remember?"

  Ulfrik smiled and nodded. "Fate rules the lives of men, how true. But it is cruel and spiteful. Today Hakon will be freed, and Gunnar takes his place. Worse still, I fear I know where these Franks are going with him."

  Both men shifted their eyes toward the east, back the way they had come, where Clovis's fort held a salient of Frankish land in Hrolf's domain. The trail leading from camp pointed straight for it.

  "Then we must make haste to catch them before they can get to Clovis." Einar touched the silver amulet of Thor's Hammer at his neck and spit on the grass.

  "We must travel throughout the night if we're to have any hope," Ulfrik said. "I can't be certain of their numbers, be we might be enough to challenge them. But if Clovis arrives ..."

  Both men stood silently, neither wanting to give voice to the thought of being outnumbered and exhausted in a fight. Ulfrik watched two men carry a stiff corpse between them, a shattered spear thrust through the trunk and thick ropes of blood dangling beneath it. He had seen worse, far worse, but the silhouette of death broke something inside him. He heard Gunnar's voice in his head, saw his eyes widen in surprise and confusion the moment he had recognized his father intended to use him as bait in a trap.

  For the first time in years, he felt a hotness in his eyes and a weakness in his limbs. Einar spotted the change, and drew closer. "What is it?"

  "What hav
e I done? What have I become?" He looked Einar in the eyes, and his young friend frowned in confusion. "I used Gunnar to bait a trap that has snared him instead. I've let Hakon linger in the hands of a monster when I could have saved him. I've deceived my wife, my friends. For what? Victory over my enemies? Glory? What?"

  His voice rose and he did not care. Those nearby paused to stare at him, but he was not seeing them, only noting their presence. His thoughts were filled with his sons. "Not even my father would have done this, and he could be cruel."

  "Ulfrik, you could not have known the Franks were on the march."

  "Don't you see it? These dead men were slain for no better purpose than to deal a clever blow to my enemy."

  "And so it is for all jarls," Einar raised his own voice, though tamed it as he realized his disrespect. "This is no different from all the other battles we've fought."

  "No! I sent them out unsupported."

  "We are the support!"

  Einar's shout stopped the others at work, and they faced him with curious looks. Ulfrik too was snapped from his self-pity, and he blinked a few moments to gather his thoughts.

  "I do not deserve what I have," Ulfrik said, far more quietly. He turned away from the others and began to walk slowly away. Einar followed.

  "That is nonsense. You've more than earned your renown; Hrolf respects you above all others save Gunther One-Eye. That says much."

  "Yes, and while earning that respect I have shamed myself before my family. Look at what I have wrought for my sons. I did not give Hakon to Throst, but I've left him there longer than needed. What excuse do I have? What if Throst maims him in the days I allowed Hakon to remain captive? I should be fed to dogs, Einar. If dogs would find my bones worth gnawing."