Sword Brothers (33 page)

Heads whipped around toward the thundering beat of the horsemen. On foot, the distance would be great enough to allow Ulfrik time to face a new enemy, but charging horses were already halfway to his position before all his men understood the threat.

"Shield wall! Spears!" Ulfrik ran toward the charging cavalry. Finn planted his banner and touched his shield to Ulfrik's. Men lined up with them, huddling together like children in a storm. No matter how well trained the horse or how bloodthirsty his rider, no animal would crash itself into a shield wall.

The first riders broke around them like a wave over a boulder. The snorts of the beasts and beating of their hooves were louder than a clashing shield wall. He could smell their musky scent as the wide-eyed animals flowed around them. Typical of the Franks, they hesitated to throw their spears and so repeated mistakes Ulfrik had expected.

The riders circled them, scores of horses with their colorful riders wheeling around them as if playing a children's game. Their banners cracked with their whipping speed. They waited for Ulfrik's men to break formation and give in to the temptation of an easy target. Then the riders would push into the gap and crack their shell as easily as crushing a snail underfoot.

"Tighter! Close the gaps," Ulfrik shouted, and the men obeyed. He smelled sweat and urine as he backed into the shadows of his shield wall. He only needed one horse to fall. "Give me a spear."

The smooth weight of it in his hand was comforting. The hoofbeats were like thunder. The whirling blur of brown, blue, and yellow dizzied him. He waited then thrust the spear low into the gut of a passing horse. The beast screamed and it stumbled. The other riders had anticipated this and their circle disbanded as quickly as it had formed.

The cavalry was not as interested in attacking them as it was in herding them. In the instant the horsemen galloped away to prepare a second charge, Ulfrik saw Apple Cheeks leading the flight away from Mord's levies.

"Run for the trees!" Ulfrik screamed, and the men needed no encouragement. In three heartbeats, his hundreds of men were fleeing for the safety of the tree line.

Mord's archers flooded out of the hall; at least thirty men shot arrows into Apple Cheeks's men. An arrow landed at Ulfrik's feet as he ran. He was not sure where it had even originated.

The screams of routing men was a horrible note in the song of battle. Ulfrik saw the tidemark of bodies left beside the hall. He saw men stumble with shafts quivering in their backs. He heard the rolling thunder behind him, and as the trees drew closer, he heard his own men's dying curses as they were run down.

He crashed into the underbrush. A quick survey revealed Gunnar and Hakon had likewise gained the safety of the trees, and Finn was close at his side. His banner dragged behind Finn, and the sight of that disgrace filled him with rage. He snatched it from Finn, nearly knocking his friend to the ground.

"What kind of scouting did you do?"

Finn's face was white with shock, and he had no answer. Ulfrik pulled his banner from its pole and continued to flee with his men. The Franks and Mord's warriors pursued them, their whooping victory cries echoing through the trees. Ulfrik's forces scattered, and soon he was fleeing with only a handful of his own men. He had not only been defeated, he had been broken. Broken like a piece of kindling to be thrown on the hearth fire. His hopes for revenge burned up just as fast.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Ulfrik awoke on the deck of his ship, a dream of clashing swords and dying men skittering away into the blackness of memory. He sat up with a start, and his cloak fell from his chest. He grabbed the sheathed sword lying beside him. As the sleep drained from his head, he realized the heavy weight was his mail shirt. He had not bothered to remove it before he had collapsed in exhausted sleep.

Struggling to his feet, the remainder of his crew was sprawled out on the deck, either in their sleeping sacks or using cloaks for blankets. The size of the crew had diminished once again. He had not counted his losses from the rout of the prior day. The survivors were uninjured for the most part. Men had either escaped or fallen behind to be run down by the rapacious enemy. As he buckled his own sword to his side, he realized he had not struck a single blow with it yesterday.

The sweet chirping of birds greeted him and the morning breeze was chill. A faint orange glow announced a new day, and Ulfrik rubbed his face as he surveyed the rest of his ships. They lined up on the riverbank, ready to launch into the water should another ignominious retreat be required. The scent of a cooking fire wafted from Oskar's hall. It was a placid scene of a quaint hall with white smoke curling overhead while chickens wandered about it, pecking at the dirt. A rooster crowed in the distance. If Ulfrik did not know that scores of demoralized men had flooded this hall the night before, he would have smiled at this vision of the good life.

But his fists balled and he struck the rail of his ship. Mord had discovered his plans and laid a trap. He had enlisted aid from the Franks, not Hrolf as Ulfrik had expected. That was the worst insult of the entire disaster: a former ally using Ulfrik's former enemies against him. He bit the back of his hand thinking of it. Worse still, he had lost the jarls as easily as he had gained them. They had scattered, and survivors would find their way home, but they would never stand with Ulfrik again. He hung his head in frustration and defeat. He had nothing left to challenge Mord, and he had a handful of gold left from the sale of his treasures. Dreams of revenge were finished.

"Jarl Ulfrik," said a voice from the shore. "Four men are here to see you."

Ulfrik squinted up the banks to where two of the guards on watch stood with four men. At the middle was a wide-faced man smiling to display a broken front tooth.

"Aren!" Ulfrik shouted as he leapt from the rails. He scrabbled artlessly up the banks, heedless of decorum. He had shamed himself so deeply by now that stumbling in the dirt was nothing. They joined together in a long hug, and Ulfrik clapped his son's back while feeling heat welling in his eyes. "I thought you dead, lad. I'm so happy to see you."

They pulled apart, and Aren matched his smile. "You can thank Einar and the good work of these three men. I would not have lived this long without their help."

Ulfrik recognized the three men with him, and he gave each a solemn nod. "You have my thanks and gratitude. I will reward your loyalty, though right now the camp is in a mess. Please forgive it."

The lead man, Gils, inclined his head as he spoke. "Aren is a fine warrior, and I have learned much from traveling with him. That is reward enough for me."

"So you were with Einar? What has happened? Where is he?"

Aren's smile fled and left no trace of happiness lingering. "It has been a long and treacherous summer, Father. I have been busy making plans, and from the disaster you experienced yesterday, I see not all of them succeeded. You had no warning of Mord's preparations?"

Ulfrik shook his head. "I believed we were surprising him. Did my messengers reach you?"

"They did, but they did not return to you with messages of my own. Wake my brothers and let us share news. I have much to tell."

By the time Oskar's women were serving a breakfast of boiled eggs and cheese in the hall, Ulfrik had assembled all his sons and hirdmen. Both Gunnar and Hakon delighted in Aren's return. The news of Runa's death had somehow reached Aren already, and so spared Ulfrik the pain of describing the details. Aren had only been gone eight months, but he appeared a different man. He stood straighter, spoke with more confidence, and even smiled more frequently. As they sat at the table with Jarl Oskar, Ulfrik marveled at Aren's stories of escape and survival. It was not the contents of the stories, but the manner of their delivery. Aren had dropped his youthful shyness and now wore the mantle of confidence owned by true rulers. His youngest son had grown up at last.

After Ulfrik had described all his trials since fleeing to Hedeby and returning to defeat at Mord's hands, he returned to Aren. "So now you must tell me all that happened in Einar's hall, and why he is not with you today?"

"For one, we are all still outlaws," Aren said, spreading his hands in a gesture that reminded Ulfrik of himself. "He cannot be seen to aid us or else force Hrolf to take action against him. But even so, Mord and Gunther One-Eye have been matching wits with me all year long. In the battle over Einar's help, they have gained an upper hand. They've managed to get him recalled to Rouen and then sent on a strange hunt for so-called raiders in the north. The order came to him not from Hrolf, but from Gunther One-Eye with Hrolf's authority. Hrolf seems to issue many orders through Gunther, which I suspect might not all be true. It makes the game more difficult to manage."

"You've twice called this a game," Gunnar said. "But it is a battle to the death. Those goat-fuckers will both die."

Aren nodded with a look of patience. Ulfrik covered his smile by drinking his ale, the flat bitter taste erasing it from him. Setting the mug down, he answered Gunnar. "Your brother is fighting the battle that I so carelessly lost. It is a game of power gained not through might of arms but strength of mind. That is where you and I both failed, but Aren is best among us for such a challenge."

Expecting Gunnar to bridle as if insulted, Ulfrik was again surprised that Gunnar instead gave a sheepish smile. "I've shown I'm only good at knocking all the game pieces from the board. Go on, Brother, and pardon my foolishness."

"After we killed the messengers and returned to Mord's hall, I discovered that one of Einar's hirdmen had been turned against him. He maintained his ruse well, since Einar claimed the man had served him for years. Yet I could read the falseness in his actions, and I spied upon him sending secret words to new men who came in darkness to hear them."

"Who was it?" Hakon asked. "I might have known him from when I lived in Eyrafell."

"Gyrn Hagenson," Aren answered, and Hakon sat back with a frown. "He was a sly man, and Einar wanted to kill him before he killed me. I gambled that the wisest move Mord could make would be to continue to spy. So we acted as we normally did when Gyrn was around, and even when he was not. Only in secret did Einar and I plan for the future. News of Mother's death reached me not long before your messengers did. It was a hard time, but I turned my mind to planning. Einar journeyed to Mord's hall to collect Snorri's body for a proper burial. He took time to investigate what changes he made and the will of the people there. Best of all, we decided that I should befriend Gyrn, and so during Einar's absence he was assigned to protect me. We made him swear loyalty to the secret, and convinced him that we took a great chance with his confidence."

Ulfrik laughed and clapped his hand. "And so you drew your enemy out of the darkness and into the light, right beside you. That was a brilliant plan."

Aren smiled placidly, then continued. "I was never in fear, for Gils and my bodyguards were always near. The one gap in my plan was that Gyrn's protection was not needed, but he did not seem to realize this. He was all too happy to become my confidant. I told him of all the horrible things you would do to Mord. I made him believe in my helplessness, my weakness. I confirmed whatever low opinion he had of me. I know I am regarded as a weakling, but I am one no longer. The death of my mother and the ruin of my family has beat that out of me."

Both Hakon and Gunnar slapped the table in encouragement, and Aren again paused to incline his head. He blushed slightly, but continued in the same confident tone. "Once Einar returned and your messengers received, we set about planning according to your instructions. We made certain Gyrn saw everything he expected, and even let him discover things on his own. We were careful not to make it easy for him to pass his news to Mord, lest he realize how we used him. I sent your two messengers back with one message for Gyrn to hear and one true message for you. Their failure to reach you led to the disaster yesterday. I gambled too much on one task, and the gods repaid my folly with your blood. I am sorry for it."

"You did the right thing, but Fate was not on our side," Ulfrik said, waving his hand to dismiss the blame. "What was the message, though by now I can guess it."

"That we were deceiving Mord and he would be prepared for your attack and the direction of it, and that we were finding other help for you. I expected you would figure out the rest of your part in that ruse, to make a halfhearted attack that did not betray your foreknowledge. A message traveling so far had to be kept simple."

"If I hadn't been stricken by a storm nor cursed with foolish allies, I would not have needed such aid. How did you know to prepare help?" Ulfrik saw Oskar wince at his comment, but he gave his host an apologetic smile.

"I did not know you would meet such disasters. But when Einar was in Mord's land collecting Snorri's corpse, he did his own spying. He learned Mord's wife was using her family's connections to secure Men-at-Arms to aid him against your expected attack. He no more believed you were raising an army to invade another country than he believes the sun will rise in the west. If you had brought such a large army, it would force Hrolf to take action, and by engaging Mord's Frankish allies you would have drawn in King Charles the Simple as well." Aren leaned across the table. "You would have a much larger battle to fight than you had planned. You would need more allies no matter what size army returned with you."

Ulfrik sat back on the bench, rubbing his chin. He had expected to provoke Hrolf just by announcing his return, but had not expected the Franks to involve themselves. From the expressions on both Gunnar's and Hakon's faces, he surmised they had also never considered it. A battle among their own people had never involved outsiders. "I guess now Hrolf and his jarls are part of Frankia. To strike at them is to strike at the kingdom. Yet, I would not expect Mord to have such strong ties. He had at least fifty horsemen at his command."