Shield of Lies (35 page)

"Well, take the silver forward to Clovis. Let's see how well he keeps his word." The fire went out and Runa stepped back into her reserved stance.

Ulfrik arrayed his men and the cart of silver in the center of the field and flew his standard to alert Clovis. He gathered enough men with him to discourage Frankish aggression. The remainder of his force shaped into fighting blocks in front of the camp. Runa accompanied him, and at last Halla dared to insert herself. Aren was left in Konal's care, for his wounds still prevented him from doing much more than holding a child's hand. Ulfrik sounded a horn and waited to the edge of his patience for a sign of activity. At last, a group of mounted men led a column of footmen out of the wooden gates.

"That took long enough," Einar muttered, standing beside Ulfrik beneath the banner.

"It's like they weren't expecting us," Ulfrik said. "Seems like they're taking every man out to visit us. I'm flattered."

He was nothing but impatient and irritated. As the column snaked across the fields of brown grass, disappearing into dips and rising again into sight, he strained to see if any of his own accompanied the Franks. He saw no familiar faces but for Clovis and his handless son. The sight of the boy sent a cold trickle down his back.

Clovis dismounted and swaggered forward, his eyes alighting on the wagon behind Ulfrik. Ten men accompanied him, and Ulfrik gathered ten of his own to meet them.

"You're late," Ulfrik said, folding his arms and squaring his shoulders. His eyes flicked over the Franks, and he noticed Theodoric was missing from their company. "I expected you at dawn."

"Dawn," Clovis repeated the word, sharing a glance with his son and a few others. "We were delayed."

"And I thought you were drooling for the ransom like the dog you are. What were you doing all morning? Fucking your horses?"

"More of that northern bravado." Ulfrik didn't understand the Frankish word, but took it for the intended insult. "Still you dragged your cart through the mud to deliver tribute."

"Ransom," Ulfrik corrected. "The silver is all there. Cost me dear. Now my sons had better be safe."

Clovis's smile brightened the morning shadows crowding his face. "Your sons are quite active. In fact, they were the cause of the delay. Your dear friend Throst Shield-Biter let them out of their cells and provided weapons."

"What? Throst is no friend to me or mine."

"In the end he hated me more than you. Your sons never had a chance, and your brother Toki is old and slow. Completely out of fighting condition. We herded them back into their cells, but they served Throst's purposes well enough."

"And they're unharmed?" Ulfrik squinted at Clovis, and his smile twisted into a sneer.

"Your eldest son enjoyed a bit of luck. He cut out Theodoric's bowels before we subdued him. Quite a mess of guts to clean up."

Pride and dread clashed within Ulfrik, and he dared not look away from Clovis. Killing the man who had captured him was justice, but he had still been overcome.

"With Theodoric dead, I am in command of all his forces." Clovis swept a hand across the men behind him. "At least until word from Paris arrives. Theodoric's brother may assume ultimate control, but I suppose you don't care about that."

"Make your point, or I'll rip out your tongue and spare the world you blather."

"I've claimed Theodoric's hostages as my own. There were a few disputes over their ownership, but I am persuasive. Your son has committed a crime, directly against our beloved King Odo."

"You dare not harm my son," Ulfrik growled.

"And by holy law, it is said that a man must be punished in accordance with his crime."

"I'll dance in your guts." Ulfrik's hand went to his sword, but scores of Franks reached for theirs and gave him pause.

"I've heard that threat quite recently. In fact, as I administered your son's punishment."

He raised his hand and one of his men produced a box. Ulfrik felt himself dizzy, already knowing its contents. He did not want to look as the dark wood cover was lifted back to reveal the gray and bloody mass inside.

"His sword hand, Ulfrik. Just like the one you took from my son. But unlike you, I did it right. I had the wound cauterized and a salve applied. The cut was clean, and he will survive. His crime has been punished. Some would say too lightly."

Ulfrik did not realize he had lunged forward until the arms restraining him yanked back. Men on both sides of the field reached for their weapons and prepared to fight. Einar was hissing in his ear. "Get a hold of yourself. We're not ready for battle. Don't set us on that path."

Clovis laughed, dumping the hand out of the box. It flopped onto the dead grass with a thump. No body part had ever looked so foreign, so cruelly disgusting as that hand. He wished it had been his own. He would have traded both of his hands and his feet to replace Gunnar's loss. Einar finally contained Ulfrik's struggles, and slowly released him. Another man wisely threw his cloak over the dismembered hand.

"Back away from the cart of silver," Clovis barked. "We will need a day to reconcile it, and then we will come for Ravndal. Until that time, your sons and the others remain my prisoners. Any violence from you, and they will all die. Would you rather that be your son's head beneath the cloak?"

"When this is over, I will come for you," Ulfrik said, stabbing his finger at him. "You will eat both of your hands before I cut out your black heart. I promise."

"Be ready to turn over Ravndal tomorrow," he said with no indication he had heard Ulfrik's threat. "I will release all the hostages once my men are inside and yours are marching away."

Ulfrik pointed at Clovis's son, a dark shadow behind his father. "And you, so sad you lost your cock-fondling hand. No one will find all the pieces when I'm done carving you up. You're a corpse I should've made last summer and I won't repeat that mistake."

Einar pulled Ulfrik away, and the Franks stood in confused silence, as if unsure they had won a victory or sealed their defeat.

Chapter 53

The gates of Ravndal all stood open and every resident from hirdmen to craftsmen, women and children to the elderly, milled outside the walls. Carts lined up in a rough column, piled with a lifetime of valuables. Herds of livestock were prodded into groups, dogs barking at stray sheep. The afternoon sun floated between dark clouds that shrouded the scene in periodic darkness. Despite the massive gathering, they made little noise and only muted conversation. Pensive faces were not keen to meet another's gaze, and the ground received careful scrutiny from the folk of Ravndal.

Ulfrik spoke as little as necessary since his meeting with Clovis. Everyone understood their part; all were ready to spring a trap that would destroy their hated enemies. His words were best left in his head, for he only had loathing and anger to offer. He blamed himself for Gunnar's fate. He had placed him in harm's way, then failed to save him in time. The sight of that bloodless hand, frozen into a fist when it had been hacked from Gunnar's limb, was burnt into his memory. He would never forget, nor forgive himself.

Runa's reaction had been mute shock, but the tears followed in the deep night when she curled into herself while lying beside Ulfrik. She had recoiled from his touch as if he were an open flame. He could not fault her, and half expected her to demand a divorce once all was finished. Where he had excelled as a warrior, he failed as a husband and father. She had at least the clarity to burn Gunnar's hand, placing a gold coin into the palm before dropping it into the flame. Ulfrik did not understand the tradition, but it seemed the right thing to do, and Runa had offered no explanation. Like him, she said nothing beyond the barest need.

"Clovis is coming with all his men," Einar said as he approached Ulfrik. He and the hirdmen waited at the rear of the column, prepared to turn back into the fight when Gunther sprung his trap. "They should be coming into sight soon."

Nodding, he rubbed his face and turned toward the open gates. "Feels wrong to have them open while Clovis approaches, but it's what he expects. Is Gunther prepared?"

"Prepared and frothing mad. The close quarters have not agreed with our mighty guest." Einar smiled, but it faded when Ulfrik did not return it.

"Do you think I offered enough to the gods?" At dawn Ulfrik had killed and burned his best rams and threw a tenth of all his remaining wealth into a local lake as sacrifice for luck in the day's battle. "Will they hear me?"

"I'm taller than you, but not so tall that I can see into Asgard. How can I know what pleases the gods? But you've always said they favor a daring plan, and what could be more daring than this? It's clever work."

"Clever," Ulfrik repeated. Being clever had led him to this disaster. He should have ordered Throst's death and let Clovis suffer through the winter, and his sons would be free and Gunnar's hand still attached to his arm. Clever was no longer a compliment, but a curse.

"Lad, you can't show the men that face or your battle is over before it starts." Snorri hobbled up to him, dressed in mail and carrying a shield.

"You're not fighting today."

"I've obeyed you all my days, but not today. This is a fight for home and honor as well as glory." Snorri glared at Einar. "And I'm not letting my big-headed son steal all of that fun. Besides, I'm not planning to die in my bed."

"You're not fighting today," Ulfrik repeated, and pushed Snorri's shoulder. As expected, he stumbled back and nearly collapsed under his bad leg. "You'll die before you land a blow."

"You're welcome to stop me, but I expect you'll have your hands full when the fighting starts." Snorri regained himself, and attempted to stride away but only succeeded in something short of a drunken stagger. Ulfrik shook his head, knowing he could not deny his old friend a good death.

Einar stared after his father. "He fears the bed more than the blade these days."

"A great warrior should draw his last breath lying atop corpses in a battlefield, not beneath a bedsheet. I just need his guidance a little longer. My sons must still learn the old ways from him."

The mention of his sons drew both to silence, and soon the first appearance of Clovis's outriders captured everyone's attention. Ulfrik joined with Runa, the families of the captured men, and Halla with her children. They studied the approach with silent awe, most of the common people having never witnessed the splendor of a full Frankish army on the march. Ulfrik disdained their love of bright colors and shining mail. All battles ended in bloody mud, with both victor and vanquished leaving their dead for the ravens. The Franks dressed as if attending a festival. Yet their ordered ranks and brilliant colors drew whispered concerns from those who did not understand the vulnerability of the men beneath that armor.

At the side of the column rode Theodoric's cavalry beneath an unfamiliar banner of blue and white. Those were King Odo's colors, but a shape of some beast was outlined over it, too far still for Ulfrik to determine what is represented. No matter. He would see that banner soon enough lying in the dirt, trapped under a dead standard bearer. Not one of those splendid champions would survive the day.

"Clovis has bought us many to kill." Ulfrik spoke loud enough for those nearby to hear, but not so loud as to arouse the notice of the approaching enemy. "Remember the advantage we have at our backs."

A grumble of agreement circulated through the crowd, though mothers and worried fathers gathered their children to the carts as if the sight of the Franks alone was enough to endanger them.

At last, Clovis mounted the steep slopes to where Ulfrik waited. His men formed into tight blocks, and for an instant Ulfrik worried he might lead a charge. Even Runa, standing silently beside him, put her hand to her chest in fear. But the Franks remained steady and did not draw weapons. The horsemen did not dismount, but instead formed two groups on either flank of the main body. Clovis rode at the front, a lone figure on a horse that he doubtlessly acquired at Theodoric's death. He dismounted with careless ease, and gathered his bodyguard before making the final approach uphill.

"Let him come to us," Ulfrik said. Runa touched his shoulder and then pointed.

"There, Gunnar and Hakon."

They followed behind Clovis's guards, with a few spearmen to herd them along. The twelve men remaining from Toki's crew shambled in a ragged, dark clump. Before them, both Hakon and Toki walked hand in hand.

The sight of Gunnar stung. He slung his left arm around Toki's neck for support, and he clutched his butchered right arm into the shadow of his body. He looked just like Clovis's son, limp and defeated.

"I'm going to carve that bastard from crotch to crown," he said under his breath. Runa's hand on his shoulder tightened, the force of it penetrating the mail and leather armor he wore.

"I'll join you in that," she said. "But he is alive. They're both alive."

Clovis mounted the final distance to stand a spear's length from Ulfrik. His smiled like a child given the gift of a toy sword at a Yuletide feast. Barely acknowledging Ulfrik or his assembled men, he swept his eyes lustily across the black palisades of Ravndal and settled on the open gates.

"You weighed the silver and were satisfied?" Ulfrik asked.

"Two pounds short, but I will not argue. No two scales are ever the same. You've kept your word." Still absorbing the enormity of his achievement, Clovis never met Ulfrik's eye as he surveyed Ravndal. Though Gunther and his men were all concealed within, a niggling fear persisted that Clovis knew it was a trap. Yet his words were breathless and seemingly sincere. "I had expected a fight from you to the last. A bid to wrest your sons away and still keep your land."

"You've got spears at their backs. How stupid must I be to attempt something like that."

At last Clovis's eyes flickered to his. "You've never been smart, just lucky. Even that pig-witted Throst ran you in circles. Anyway, aren't you Northmen all eager to sell your lives for nothing more than a moment of glory? You disappoint me, Ulfrik."