Shield of Lies (23 page)

"The sooner we mount that hill, the easier I will feel," Toki said. "Low ground is a poor spot for battle. If you have doubts about something beyond that crest, then what should you do?"

Toki had deferred leadership to Gunnar, and even though it was more ceremony than actual trust in his abilities, it gave him enormous pride. The men following him were near strangers, but he still enjoyed being a part of them. Toki guided his decisions, and Gunnar appreciated the help even if it felt strained. Right now, black dots of birds circled beneath clumps of iron gray clouds high above the ridge, and he could not shake the image of a man crouched atop it. The shape had risen from prone and briefly silhouetted against the morning sky. Or had it?

"I'll send Eskil to scout the crest before we mount it." He gestured for the guide Ulfrik had assigned them to come forward, then dispatched him up the hill. Eskil was the only man who knew the way to Hrolf's settlements near Rouen. As he neared the crest, he went to his belly and crawled the final distance to peer over the side. He sat motionless, pushed himself higher after a time, then finally waved his arm to signal the ground was clear.

Gunnar smiled in relief, and Toki chuckled beside him. "Caution is right for our situation," Toki said. "We have plenty to fear and being caught without Ulfrik's support would be a disaster."

They followed the crest line, both to keep watch for danger and to display themselves to Clovis and his allies. They left a clear trail behind them, both for Ulfrik and Clovis to track them. Gunnar slowed their pace, fearful of outstripping his father, but Toki insisted there was nothing to fear. He took heart from his uncle's easy confidence, even if his men appeared as skittish as a herd of foals. Soon the crest led them down to the grasslands that spilled out to the horizon. Eskil advised Rouen was still days away though most of their journey would be through forest paths after they cleared the plain.

"If we gain the forest, then it will be harder for my father to close the trap, and if we stay on the plains he will be spotted before he can." Gunnar looked at Toki for affirmation, and his uncle nodded slowly but offered no advice. He frowned and gazed across the plains in silence, considering the safest action to take. "But we're not really headed to Rouen. So let's head south, as if we plan to follow the Seine. It will bring us closer to Clovis's borders anyway."

Again he searched Toki's face, but found nothing but indifference. Making decisions for thirty men was a lot harder than he had thought, even for something as banal as this. If he chose poorly, men could be killed, but if he led them straight he would risk spoiling the trap. Had his father only told him what do, he would have followed. Frustration yielded to shame as he realized his father had entrusted him to figure out how to make the trap work. If he would be a man, he would have to make choices and live with them.

"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.