Black Monastery (10 page)

“Have you seen something?” Asgrim whispered.

Both men shook their heads.

“Not a damned thing,” said Sigmund. “But a few minutes ago, we began to
feel
something.”

Gjuki nodded, fear in his eyes. “Something is out there, a
dra
—”

“Don’t name it, you damned fool,” said Sigmund. “You’ll draw its attention.”

Asgrim leaned past them and looked beyond the fort’s entrance. He saw nothing but the dark bulk of the monastery in the distance and the trees surrounding them. “Whatever it is, I think we already have its attention,” he whispered.

“You feel it, too, Captain?” Gjuki whispered. “There, in the trees?”

Asgrim nodded. There was
something
there, watching them. He was certain of it. The air was becoming moist, and a fog was settling around them, obscuring his vision. Once again, he smelled the sea.

“Should we wake the others?” asked Sigmund.

In the daylight, Asgrim might have felt differently and told himself it was his imagination, just as he had in the courtyard when he had been absolutely certain someone was sneaking up on him. But as he stared out into the dark woods, he had no doubts. His breathing was rushed, as were his thoughts; this time he was certain someone or something was watching them. And so, apparently, was Hopp. “Yes,” he said. “Quietly. If there are men out there, they’ll wait for the sun to rise before attacking, but let’s not take that chance.”

As the two sentries left to rouse the men, Asgrim remained behind, watching the woods. His crew made some noise as they woke up, as all men do, but overall, they seemed to quickly grasp the seriousness of the situation and quietly moved to take up positions along the wall. Gorm joined Asgrim, but Bjorn was nowhere to be seen. When Asgrim asked Gorm if he had seen him, Gorm nodded.

“He’s near the other side,” he said, “sitting alone in the dark. I asked him if he was all right. He told me to go fuck myself.”

Asgrim felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. “Has he slept?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s this damned island, Asgrim thought. His brother would be better again once they were out to sea, far from the island.

“Leave him, then,” said Asgrim. “He knows his business. If we’re attacked, he’ll fight.”

“I wouldn’t want to run up against him in the mood he’s in,” said Gorm.

Putting his concern for his brother aside, Asgrim forced his attention to the dark woods outside the fort, looking for a sign that an attack was imminent. The men huddled silently against the wall. Any attempt at whispered conversation was quickly put to an end by Asgrim or Gorm. Time advanced slowly, turning from night to early morning. In the east, the first red glow of the rising sun appeared over the trees, and Asgrim and Gorm could see more of the forest.

Asgrim glanced at Gorm. “Anything?”

Without taking his eyes from the forest, Gorm shook his head and whispered, “No.”

But the feeling that they were being watched remained. Then, still staring intently into the darkness, Gorm reached out and gripped Asgrim’s forearm. “There,” he whispered excitedly. “The trees near the far edge of the closest salt field. About three fingers in, there’s a man.”

For several moments, Asgrim saw nothing. Then his eyes locked onto the form of a man standing beside a mimosa tree. At first, his gaze had passed right over him, as if he wasn’t there, which was odd, because he didn’t seem to be trying to hide. Instead, he stood in plain sight. Asgrim squinted in the early morning light. He had no doubt in his mind that the presence he felt came from this man. Even from this far away, Asgrim could see that the man’s face was shaved, in the manner of Frankish warriors, but that was about all he could make of him.

“Go get the prisoner,” he whispered, keeping his eyes locked on the man.

With a soft rustle of movement, Gorm slipped away. Asgrim saw no one else out there. If there were other warriors, they were very well hidden.

No. No one was that good at hiding. This man was alone.

Asgrim heard footsteps coming up on him from behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Gorm, Knut, and Amalric. All three men knelt beside him. Gorm pointed out the man in the woods to Amalric, with Knut softly translating in a hushed whisper. When Amalric’s gaze locked on the man, he inhaled sharply.

Asgrim glanced at the prisoner and saw the fear on his face.

He recognized him.

“Ask him who it is,” Asgrim ordered.

Knut translated the question, then listened to Amalric’s reply, but Asgrim had heard the name himself from Amalric’s whispers: Cuthbert, the Frankish knight sent by his king to bring the monks to the mainland. So this Cuthbert had somehow survived the battle with the monks. And now he was watching them. Why?

“I think he’s alone, Captain,” whispered Gorm. “Should we… try to capture him?”

Asgrim turned to Gorm and shook his head. “Something’s not right here.”

Gorm nodded quickly, clearly not really wanting to go out after this man.

“He’s gone,” said Knut.

Asgrim’s gaze snapped back to the trees. The man was indeed no longer there. He seemed to have simply vanished. The malignant presence they had all felt disappeared with the Frankish knight. Even Hopp reappeared to sniff at his master, looking sad. Asgrim, still staring into the woods, reached down and scratched behind Hopp’s ears.

They remained like that, kneeling and watching the woods as the sun rose, chasing away the mist and shadows. No attack came.

Asgrim rose to his feet. “Stand the men down. Prepare something hot to eat. We’re leaving.”

Five

The Island of Noirmoutier,

August 2, 799,

Morning

Asgrim led his men away from the fort. During the night, a thick mist had rolled in from the sea, and the last vestiges of it still blanketed the ground, reaching their shins. Asgrim rode above it, on one of the horses they had found; he had sent the other three horses forward with scouts.

Gorm walked beside him. “Why do you suppose the Saracen lied to us?”

Asgrim glanced down at his first mate and shook his head. “I was wondering the same thing. Why tell us about the monastery at all?”

“No great love between the Saracens and Franks. They’re always fighting.”

“Not recently. Not for years,” said Asgrim. “Now they trade, profit. Everyone gets rich.”

“Aye,” muttered Gorm, scratching beneath his beard. “There’s the life. No risk, no blood. A man could settle, make a real living.”

Despite his foul mood, Asgrim raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You’d become a merchant, the infamous Gorm Louse-Beard? The man who stood his ground against Tallman’s brothers at High Crossing Bridge—and chased those killers off.”

Gorm snorted. “Killed one of ’em, I did. Finehair, I think. Least, no one’s spoken of him since that day.”

Still smiling, Asgrim shook his head. “The poets should sing songs of
you
. You’re no merchant, Gorm, no more than I am.”

“I do enjoy a spot of battle.” Gorm glanced toward the monastery walls across the salt fields, and his smile vanished. “Still, some days, such a life does have its shine.”

Asgrim adjusted the scabbard of
Heart-Ripper
from where it hung across his back. “It does at that… some days.”

They walked along in silence for a few moments, but when Asgrim took the path leading back to the monastery, Gorm stopped in place behind him. Asgrim felt the other man’s eyes on his back. Then he felt all their eyes as conversation among the men died abruptly.

“Captain…” said Gorm.

Fear hid in the other man’s voice. Asgrim could tell without looking that that same fear would be reflected in the eyes of his men.

Without turning, Asgrim said, “I have a promise to keep to a dead man.”

Asgrim glared at the stone walls of the monastery before him. When he spoke again, it was only a whisper and only to himself. “I may already be damned for what I did, but I’m not leaving this place standing.”

Staring at the monastery before him, he felt his heartbeat quicken, and he kicked his horse into a trot before he lost his courage and changed his mind.

“We burn it!” he yelled.

* * *

The main buildings were stone and tile, but the framework, floors, and much of the furnishings of the monastery were wood. Within minutes, great sheets of flames and black smoke poured from the windows. The men cheered—except for Bjorn, who was as morose and sullen as ever. While the men had set the fire, Asgrim had tried once again to talk to his brother, but Bjorn had simply scowled and walked away.

His face grey, Gorm approached Asgrim. “Well, Captain?”

Asgrim stared at the flames and nodded, satisfied. He then pointed to the west, toward their ship and the sea. “We sail.”

The men needed no other motivation.

As they marched through the woods, Asgrim wondered where they would go next. This raid had been a waste of time, but at least he hadn’t lost anyone. They still had time to raid somewhere else, perhaps even farther south. He could sack the island’s small village, but he saw little point in bothering. As soon as the locals realized Asgrim and his men had landed, they would have almost certainly fled into the surrounding woods to hide out until after the raiders sailed away, taking or hiding anything worth stealing.

Many captains raided for slaves, either taking them home to Denmark or selling them elsewhere, but Asgrim had no stomach for that and hadn’t since his first raid, so many years before. Being a slaver meant slaughtering the enemy’s men first and then those too old or infirm to sell. Then came the inevitable raping, often in front of the children. Once again, in his memory, he saw flames pour from that church, so many years ago, and heard the screams of those who had chosen to burn rather than become slaves. No. He would not attack a defenseless village. He wasn’t much of a man, but at least he wasn’t a slaver.

Hopp walked alongside Asgrim’s mount, stopping occasionally to sniff whatever interested him. As they approached the edge of a large copse of trees, Hopp stopped. The dog’s tail rose, as did the fur on his back, and the animal began to growl. Asgrim reined in his horse and raised his hand for the others to stop. He stared into the bushes, but couldn’t see what was bothering Hopp.

“Go!” Asgrim pointed.

Hopp disappeared into the woods, a blur of light brown fur.

“What is it?” asked Gorm from beside him.

Raising his hand to silence the other man, Asgrim rose in his stirrups until he was standing. He tried to peer farther into the thick woods, but saw nothing. The men began to nervously look about themselves, obviously worried they were about to be ambushed. They began to edge closer together, to make sure they weren’t strung out. Then, from somewhere within the trees, Hopp began barking ferociously.

That was all Asgrim needed. In one motion, he was off the horse and slipping his shield off his back. He drew
Heart-Ripper
as he dashed into the trees.

“To the captain, sluggards!” Gorm called out from behind him. A moment later, he heard the men following after him.

Branches and bushes pulled at him, catching against his shield and slowing him down. Cursing to himself, he turned his shield to the side, turned his shoulder forward, and barreled through the underbrush. Hopp’s barking grew louder. The animal was just ahead of him, at the top of a small, gradual rise that overlooked the path his men had been traveling. The spot was perfect for ambushers, especially if they were armed with bows.

Expecting arrows in his face at any moment, Asgrim angled his shield to his front, assumed a mid-guard ward with his sword, and dashed up the incline ahead of him. Sometimes in battle, it was best to be bold; too much caution accomplishes nothing. His men crashed through the brush just behind him. Gorm yelled at them to hurry.

His knees pushed him over the top of the rise, and he peered over the wooden edge of his shield. Whatever he found, man or spirit, he was going to attack straight on. Ready for anything, he was still surprised by what he saw. Just ahead of him, fangs bared, Hopp stood, growling, cornering a young woman. She had her back to a tree, and her eyes darted about, looking for a way to escape the animal, but Hopp was well trained and more than a little vicious. Whenever the woman moved or prepared to move, Hopp barked threateningly and repositioned himself to cut her off, pushing her back against the tree. She was lucky she hadn’t tried to flee in terror. The slightest wrong move would have provoked an attack.

She must have been hiding on the hilltop, spying on him and his men. What a stupid, stupid thing to do, spying on armed men.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, but he saw no one else. She must have been alone.

He stalked forward. “Back, Hopp, back.”

Overexcited, the hunting dog was reluctant to give up his prey. If Hopp bit her and tasted blood, he would be nearly impossible to pull off her. Asgrim stood next to the dog, nudging him aside with his thigh. “Down, Hopp. I have it.”

Although still clearly hesitant to give up his cornered quarry, Hopp stopped barking, growled once, and grudgingly moved aside, giving Asgrim the space. The woman’s eyes darted from the animal to Asgrim. When she saw his face, though, her own went pale, turning snowy white, and she seemed to shrink in upon herself, trying to push her back through the tree Hopp had cornered her against.

It was, sadly, a far too common reaction from women when they saw his face. Sighing, Asgrim looked about but saw no one else, which didn’t mean there was no threat. Any man who thought women were no danger was a fool.

“Search the woods,” he ordered his men as they came up behind him. “Look for others.”

While some of his men fanned out to search the area, others, drawn by the woman’s presence, crowded around Asgrim and his captive. Hopp, still excited, came back, rubbed up next to Asgrim’s thigh, and began to growl again.

“Sit, Hopp,” he ordered. “Sit.”

The animal dropped his rump to the ground and did as he was commanded.

Asgrim breathed deeply and examined the woman in front of him. She wore peasant garb—a blue cloth cap and a green dress splattered with mud. She was a bit plain, not much of a beauty at all, but there was something captivating about her blue eyes that were almost the color of the sea. Obviously, she came from the island’s sole village. The village, though, was to the south. Why would she come all this way to spy on them? This was an unbelievably stupid thing to do—especially for a woman. She should have been hiding as far from him and his men as someone could get on an island.