Norseman Raider (The Norseman Chronicles Book 4) (25 page)

“I’m glad you feel that way, King Godfrey, because I’m about to ask again for your trust.”

Though Leif’s prodding and suggestions had helped Godfrey this far, the king sighed.  “I think we’ve pressed our luck enough for one adventure.”

Leif frowned.  After a time of reflection, he nodded his head.  “You’re right.  You’re right, lord
king.  We’ve taken enough treasure.  Who could ever want more?  Even if to get more would take such little risk.”  Leif was baiting a hook.  To what end, I knew not.

When a reaching king was Leif’s
quarry, the baiting worked.  Godfrey peered up at the sun and mumbled to himself about how much time was left in the day.  “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“You are correct, King Godfrey.  We don’t need to run into the woods to watch for an approaching army.  I’ve used my ability to divine that there is another treasure in the east woods.  We go there to gather it for you and will present it upon our departure.”  I furrowed
my brow as I waited for Leif to let on what was really going on.  “It is a gift that will give you great pleasure.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” asked Godfrey.  Then he wagged a finger.  “Know that we’ll not wait for you if you’re delayed.  We’ve risked much.  We’re heavy laden with
plunder.  We’re short on crewmen.  We must go as soon as possible.”

“Understood,” answered Leif.  We left Godfrey to his work.

I led us down the way we’d come when we assaulted the citadel.  My plan was to cross the creek, circumvent the still-burning village around the southern, landward side, and surprise the blacksmith and his allies.  I planned on killing the smith.  I hoped the other townsfolk just ran away.

“What was all that about more treasure?” I muttered while pushing through the thicket.

“There’s none,” said Leif.

“So I gathered,” I said.

“I thought that the treasure was that little rascal of a thrall,” said Tyrkr.  He’d wrapped a cloth around his elbow and therefore carried his arm awkwardly.  Leif’s slave was serious about Aoife being the treasure.  I thought she was, too.  Perhaps even Godfrey would admit it if forced to do so.  However, it made no sense to risk three warriors for a thrall worth just a penny.  Forgetting Tyrkr’s ability to wage war, even he was worth at least twelve times what Aoife would fetch on the auction block.  It made no sense to tell Godfrey we went to rescue the girl, even though she brought laughter to his hall.  So Leif had lied.

“If we make it back, then what will you give Godfrey as the treasure you just promised?” I asked.

We slunk across a narrow field and back into the cover of a copse of trees.  It wrapped around in a curving arc toward the forest into which the blacksmith and Aoife had disappeared.

“These,” said Leif. 
He had fished into his well-worn pouch and pulled out a cylindrical piece of iron that was just over a hand’s width in length.  The rest of the contents of his pack showed.  Inside was another five of the short rods.  Leif held it admiringly.

“Will you hit him over the head with it?  The king’s head is hard.  That iron appears soft,” said Tyrkr.  The thrall crouched low at the sound of voices coming from a
ravine.

Leif set the rod back into the rucksack with
a clinging sound.  Up ahead, the voices in the woods abruptly stopped – except one.  Aoife rambled on rather loudly to her captors.

“I’ll tell you this,” the girl was saying.  I don’t have any idea if they understood her words or not.  “If you want a proper fight, it’s best if you set me free.  I mean to kill a few men in battle.  I thought it would be more of you English.  But if you set me loose, I’m sure I can arrange to chop up some Norsemen if you prefer.”  A harsh shushing sound, followed by a slap, shut Aoife up.

Leif giggled.  “Do you still want to save the wretch?” he whispered.  “It sounds like she’ll happily gut you if given the chance.”

I ignored his goading.  “How do we do this?” he asked.

“You’re the one with all the ideas,” I countered.

“Not this time,” Leif said as he carefully set his pack on the ground.  Tyrkr and I followed his lead, getting rid of anything that we wouldn’t need in a fight.

“Then we rush in, yelling like Berserkers.  They’re frightened townsfolk.  They’ll think they’re under attack and run.  We kill the smith and take my saex and slave.”  I expected a smart retort from young Leif.  Instead, he nodded and stood.  He drew his sword.  Tyrkr whitened his grip on his sturdy spear’s shaft.

They allowed me to lead.  I spent a long time sneaking for the first dozen steps.  But I continued to make a racket by cracking the sticks that lay hidden under a bed of generations of fallen leaves.  I gave up any thought of surprise and ran toward the lip of
narrow rift.  I drew my sword while I gained speed.  My long-time, ill-fitting helmet fell off behind me.  I jumped, broken toes and all, into the unknown.

Two hundred villagers gaped in horror while I flew through the air.  My long blonde hair trailed behind me like flames on a swinging torch.  “Godfrey!” I called.  I don’t know why.  He wasn’t even there.  But he was my king and shouting the
name of the man you served was a common enough call when entering battle.  At the periphery I could see that some of the townspeople were already plunging into the deeper stretches of the forest.  Others were running back toward the main herepath that followed the coastline.

I landed on the slopping hill that was ma
de soft with eroded, silty dirt and brown and orange oak leaves.  If you’ve ever fought in war and lived, you know that the mind can run ahead of your body.  That’s what mine did that day.  Just as my heels touched the ground, my head was beginning to tell my body to run to where I saw Aoife tied to a sapling.  If the smith or anyone else stepped into my path I would fell them like a nuisance tree.

That is not exactly what happened.  My feet slapped onto the downward sloping earth.  My broken toes rattled like loose dice in a coin purse, shooting pain all the way up my leg.  My knees buckled so that I rolled forward, cutting my arm with my own sword.  It was not an
impressive display of agility.  My fall ended as I skidded to a halt in slag next to a miniscule creek.

I popped back up, willing my mind to ignore the fire
of pain that raged in my boot.  Not knowing what else to do, I growled.  The collective spread out before me gasped then broke, shoving one another to get away.  Women shrieked.  Babies and children cried.  I’m not so foolish as to think my entrance alone had been enough to drive them all away.  No, just a heartbeat after I fell from the heavens, Tyrkr bound into view.  Then Leif came howling like me.  Each of them landed in a more controlled manner than I.

The clearing was quickly vacating.  I saw the blacksmith.  He saw me.  The large man thought for a moment about seizing his prize, Aoife, but decided that he would not successfully get away with her on his shoulder if an entire Viking army was chasing him.
  Instead, he balled one of his great smithing fists and cracked the precocious little thing on the eye.  He tucked my saex into his belt.  Then he ran with the others.

I think it was because Aoife was my property
.  Just like a farmer would show red with anger if a neighbor whipped his ox, I became enraged.  I’ve told some of these tales about my life as a raider to my daughter, my Skjoldmo, and she just laughs.  She never says it, but I know she believes that I had a warm place in my heart for that Irish thrall.  When my Skjoldmo laughs, I scoff.  It goes the same way every time.

“Get Aoife back to the ships,” I called over my shoulder
, bounding after the smith.  I winced with each step.  “I go after my father’s saex,” I said, though you know the truth.

. . .

The blacksmith was a beast, brawny and strong.  The fact that he was not swift of foot was the only thing that allowed me to slowly gain on him as he darted this way and that through the woods.  Soon his path cut north, toward the herepath that stretched from the fortress on the hill, through the village, and beyond in both directions.  He paused, leaning against an alder with his burly forearm.  The smith saw me coming out of the corner of his eye and felt in his apron, probably wishing for a hammer, the tool of his trade.  It wasn’t there.  His hands wrapped around my saex.  He sucked in a chest full of air and ran on.  I limped and howled after him.

My shouting blended with the frightened calls of the villagers.  They dispersed every which direction in the woods, thinking that our entire force pursued them in order to carry the women and children off to the Dyflin thrall auction.

I have done such a thing – sold off others into slavery – during my time as a raider.  It’s not that I am so calloused as to have no guilt because of it, even more so since I’ve become a Christian.  Yet, I’ve never pondered any of the captives’ eventual whereabouts.  Why should I?  The strong enslave the weak, the powerful the meek.  If they did not, then the weak would grow strong and enslave the one-time mighty nation.  Danes have enslaved the English.  The English have enslaved the Danes.  Irish chieftains have enslaved Norseman.  Norseman kings have bought Irish thralls.  I’ve even heard of men from the south, men called Berbers who found their way north and enslaved Danes.  Killian and other priests have told me that this infamous and great Rome enslaved its enemies and her enemies enslaved her citizens.  How much more reasoning should I offer?  Enslave or be enslaved.  At the least, be strong and thump the would-be slaver.

Of course, we were in Watchet for treasure.  Besides, captives are expensive and hard to keep.  An English silver penny never once becomes ill.  It eats none of my food.
  The worst I’ve ever gotten was a condescending smirk from Aethelred’s likeness on the face of the coin.

It was just the smith and me now.  The townsfolk had scattered, each trying his best to preserve his family’s lives by separating to their own hiding places.  He burst out onto the herepath.  The smith panted with his hands on his knees
.  He clutched my saex.  The beast scanned the area.  The town to his left was mostly black, smoking ruins with only pockets of flame.  The man looked right and appeared immediately buoyant.  He stood upright again and took the first two steps to run east.  From his profile, I saw that he wore a relieved smile.

I meant to wipe it off.  With the last of my strength, I tackled him.  Our heads knocked together and we toppled across the hard-packed dirt road.  We came to rest about two ells apart and he could have gotten away, for I stared up at large white clouds.  My foot felt like it was the size of a hog’s belly.  I sucked in buckets of air.  He didn’t get away, though, for the big man was just as exhausted as I.

The smith rolled to all fours.  He spoke to me, but I understood none of what he said.  His tone was enough for me to catch his meaning.  The blacksmith planted a foot on the road to push up and try again.  I huffed a curse to Thor and rolled onto his other leg that pointed backward.  I whacked his arm, sending the saex into the dirt.

What ensued was an all out scrap between two fatigued, yet big, men.  I could give you the details, but suffice it to say that we spent many moments thumping, thrashing, and tearing at one another.
  He bit my hand.  I twisted his groin.  It ended with me on my knees astride his back.  With one hand, I held both of his hands behind him.  I pressed all my weight down on my other hand which ground his face into the herepath.

Now what?  I asked myself the same question.  If I let him go so that I could snatch
the saex from the ground or a blade from my belt, the smith could reverse the situation.  He was strong.  We sat there panting.  He groaned.  I frothed.

I heard hooves approaching, more than a single horse.  I lifted my head
to look east to where the noise came.  My skull felt heavy like a great ballast stone wedged between two ribs of a longboat.  Even my neck was tired.  I felt my muscles withering.  We’d fought and run all day.  We’d been running since Anglesey.

I was to do more running.

Cantering directly toward me were the scouts of an army.  Whether it was the reinforcements mentioned in the correspondence stolen from Maredubb or a normal patrol or specially dispatched troopers from a nearby garrison, I knew not.  I understood nothing of how or why Aethelred organized his military forces.  Some distance behind the horseman marched neat lines of infantry.  They carried spears and shields.  Behind the common soldiers trailed a short baggage train.  There must have been three hundred men, small for an army, but ample to crush the few remaining men of Godfrey’s invasion force who could still wield a weapon.

The scouts slowed to a trot as they approached
the smith and me.  Their eyes darted from the path to the nearby woods to scan for an ambush.  There were three of them, two with swords, one with a spear.

My heart raced.  I can say I was panicking.  I craned my neck to look toward the village and the ships obscured by the smoke.  There would be no outrunning the horses on foot to reach my comrades.  I was stuck.

So I did what any sane Norseman would do.  I gave a great shove to the blacksmith’s face.  I heard his nose break and saw the proof in the blood that blew to the side.  The back of his head, I used as a lever, propelling myself to my feet.  My knees wanted to buckle, but I willed them straight.  Both my sword and my saex were immediately gathered in my hands.  The weapons felt better to me than even Freydis’ lovely tits had ever felt.  I hunched over, ready to receive their attack.