Black Monastery (20 page)

Harald swung an overhead blow aimed at the side of Asgrim’s neck, missing, but following almost immediately with a reverse stroke that was the real attack. Asgrim countered, giving only a foot of ground before launching his own attack. He faked a high slash at Harald’s face before altering his strike and coming down instead at Harald’s front thigh. This time, Harald only just managed to back away.

Harald screamed, using both hands on the battle-ax this time in another overhead strike that would have split Asgrim’s skull—had he not stepped in at exactly the same moment, catching the ax head with his blade and pushing it aside. Harald’s eyes, only inches from Asgrim’s, widened in surprise as Asgrim, drawing power from his hips, brought his elbow up and smashed it into Harald’s jaw. Harald fell onto his back, letting his battle-ax fall beside him.

Asgrim dropped onto Harald’s chest, pinning his arms with his knees. Harald’s face twisted into a mixture of rage and fear as he bucked wildly, trying to dislodge Asgrim. He dropped his sword, then grabbed Harald’s ears in both hands and head-butted him. The resounding crack made Asgrim see spots, but Harald’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

Asgrim picked up
Heart-Ripper
again and climbed to his feet, standing over the half-conscious man.

“Skull-Splitter, my ass,” Asgrim said. “Where’re my men?”

* * *

Watching Harald, Asgrim sat with his back resting against a tree trunk. He had used the rope he had found on
Sea Eel
to tie the other man’s hands behind his back. Harald glared at him. Glistening blood ran from his nose into his mustache and beard.

“Just do it, you ugly bastard. Kill me, and get it over with,” Harald said.

Asgrim hefted the waterskin in his hands, letting the fluid slosh about. He pulled the wooden stopper with his teeth, then drank deeply, noting the sudden flash of desire in Harald’s eyes.

“I’ll kill you when I want to kill you,” Asgrim said.

He approached Harald, and the other man jerked back in fear, but Asgrim gripped his hair with one hand, holding him in place while he poured water into his mouth. Harald coughed and gagged, but still managed to drink.

Asgrim sat back again, drew his long-knife, and began to cut into an apple. “Where are my men, Harald? What are you doing out here skulking about in the woods by yourself?” Asgrim bit into a slice of apple.

Harald stared at his own feet. “Dead, I expect.”

“Dead?”

“Or worse.”

Asgrim felt a sinking sensation in his gut. Everything on this island turned to shit.

“How is it you found me here?” Asgrim asked.

“Saw you at the beach. Saw you talking to the Frank knight, the
draugr
. I was hiding.”

Asgrim cut off another piece of apple, popped it in his mouth, and chewed it as he watched the other man. “You took the men to the village, yes?”

This time, Harald met Asgrim’s eyes, if only briefly, and he nodded. “The men wanted revenge. I wanted slaves.”

“Slaves?” Asgrim practically spit the word.

“I thought we could sell them.”

“Women and children, I expect, right?”

Harald nodded. “The men are too much—”

“Too much trouble for the voyage,” Asgrim finished. He paused, watching Harald. “Tell me, Harald Skull-Splitter, great war band leader, how exactly would you have kept these slaves alive on the voyage home? Even with our losses, we still had almost a full crew. That’s a lot of mouths to feed—and very little provisions.”

“I…”

“Wait. Don’t bother answering. There’s still a hole in
Sea Eel
big enough for a frost giant to stick its cock through—and no mast. How did you plan on getting home at all?”

“It’s a fishing village. They have ships.”

Asgrim groaned and ran his hands over his face, then back through his hair. He sighed and shook his head. “Fishing boats? You were going to sail into northern waters in fishing boats?”

“Just… just along the coast, close to the shoreline.”

“You and all your slaves? In an armada of small fishing boats?”

“It seemed like a good plan,” said Harald in a small voice.

Asgrim shook his head again, cut off another chunk of apple, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed as he spoke. “You’re too fucking stupid to be in charge, Harald. You know that now, right?”

The other man stared at his feet again, and they sat there in silence for a few moments.

“So what happened to this grand plan of yours to sail your fishing fleet and all your slaves?”

The color drained from Harald’s face. “
Everything
. Frankish soldiers were waiting for us at the village, a war party—with horses. We stumbled right into them, came out of the woods expecting to find farmers and fishermen… and women to plow. Instead, we ran into warriors. They were even already in a shield wall, with archers on the roofs of the village huts. We tried to form our own wall, but the men on horseback kept hitting us from behind. We…
I
couldn’t get the men organized. They wouldn’t give us a chance.”

Heat rushed into Asgrim’s face, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. No scouts? They had sent no scouts forward first? Had his crew wanted to die? Asgrim could understand the young, inexperienced ones being that stupid, but the others should have said something.

“Where were your scouts? What happened to Steiner?” He ground his teeth, tensing, fighting to control his anger. Steiner was a good man. “Did you kill him, too?”

“No. He’s alive.” Harald paused. His eyes met Asgrim’s for only a moment before looking away again. “At least he
was
. He tried to talk me out of going to the village, but I… wouldn’t listen to him. I thought he was still loyal to you, not me. I told him to shut it, or I’d kill him.”

Embarrassment filled Harald’s voice. He closed his eyes and nodded. So they had walked right into an ambush set by Frankish soldiers, not peasants.

“The young ones broke first,” continued Harald. “Then it all just went to shit, with everyone running to save their own skin. We just… fell apart… all at once.”

Asgrim shook his head. He had fought in enough shield walls to understand exactly what had happened. If cohesion and discipline held, the fighting could go on and on, with neither side suffering too badly—
until
one side broke. Then it became a slaughter. The hairs on his skin stood straight, and a chill ran through him just thinking about it. They may have betrayed him, but they were still his men. He had brought them to this. And besides, not all of them had participated in the mutiny.

“And you?” he asked.

“In the confusion, I… I managed to reach the trees. Hid.”

“The others?”

Harald’s face went scarlet with shame. “I don’t think so. The horses.”

“Prisoners?”

“Some… maybe most. I saw them with their hands in the air. But I don’t know if—”

Asgrim jabbed his knife at him. “You know you really screwed up, Harald. You get that, right?”

Harald’s silence was answer enough.

Asgrim finished the apple and threw the core away from him.

“I… I didn’t mean for this…” Harald said. “What do you think the Franks will do with them? Slaves?”

Asgrim snorted. “I don’t know, Harald. Probably. Or they’ll kill them for sport. Whatever does happen, that’s on you now.”

Harald, still staring at his feet, nodded slowly. Asgrim suspected he had already come to that realization. At least he had the good sense to feel badly about what he had done.

Asgrim looked away into the trees, considering his options. Really only one choice was left to him. His mind made up, he rose and came at Harald, his long-knife in hand. Harald’s eyes widened in fear, and he tried to crawl away, but didn’t get anywhere before Asgrim grabbed him and threw him onto his belly, putting his knee on his back to hold him in place.

“Please,” Harald said. “Not like this. At least put a weapon in my hand.”

“No,” said Asgrim. “No easy way out for you, oath-breaker.”

Harald closed his eyes, and Asgrim slashed the bonds over his wrists. Then he got up and sat down again, his back against a tree, watching Harald. The other man rolled over, sat up, and rubbed his wrists, staring at Asgrim in confusion.

“There’s some food in the hut, not much, but enough,” said Asgrim. “The woman who lived here was alone.” He glanced away, not wishing to let Harald see his face. “Take whatever you find. You’ll need your strength.”

“Why?” Harald asked.

“Because we have some Franks to kill.”

Fourteen

The village,

August 7, 799,

Near midnight

A dark, moonless night blanketed the countryside as Asgrim and Harald silently slipped toward the village. They moved slowly, cautiously, approaching the village from the woods and making sure they avoided the outlying farms, which would have dogs. They had to leave the darkness of the forest and make for a series of hills and ridges along the seaward side of the village, where the hills would provide cover from winter storms.

Asgrim glanced at Harald, now just a dark shadow beside him, and then moved on toward the higher ground from which he intended to reconnoiter the village. They were very close to the village. Asgrim could smell the farm animals on the wind and see where the land had been cleared by human hands. And then, from nearby, he heard a horse snort, and both men froze in place. Asgrim could just make out Harald’s white eyes in the darkness, and he slowly reached out, placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder, and guided him down toward the dirt. Both men dropped to their bellies just as two Franks on horseback appeared from the direction of the village, coming straight toward them. The sound of the riders’ laughter and conversation drifted down to where the two men hid. Asgrim slowly drew his long-knife. The riders came closer, still chatting away in Frankish. Their horses’ hooves thumped against the stony ground, echoing in the night. Asgrim tensed, ready to rise and go for the closest rider if need be. But both riders passed by without noticing them, coming so close that Asgrim could have reached out and gripped a hoof had he wished to.

Thank the gods for dark nights. Had there been a moon, they would have been seen for certain.

The riders were Frankish soldiers. Even in the darkness, he had made out their weapons: spears, swords, and shields. He had no doubt they also wore leather armor. Such men wouldn’t break easily in a shield wall. These two were almost certainly a mounted patrol. On the other hand, instead of watching their surroundings carefully and doing their job, they had ridden right past the two men while chatting like women. Perhaps they felt that with the main force of Vikings defeated, they no longer had anything to fear on this island.

He shook his head in wonder. There was nothing
but
danger on the island. That type of arrogance would cost them this night.

When they were certain the patrol was well past, Asgrim and Harald climbed back to their feet and quickly covered the remaining ground toward the rocky slope of the hills that surrounded the village. As they moved up the incline, the ground became uneven, treacherous, and dotted by rugged bushes. Several times, they slipped on loose rocks, sending pebbles cascading down the slope behind them, and each time, Asgrim was certain they would be heard by someone, a hidden sentry or dog. But their luck held out, and they continued undetected. After a few minutes, they reached a suitable vantage point and sat down to catch their breath and observe the darkened village below them.

At first, it was too black to make out anything but the rough outline of several buildings, but then the clouds drifted away, momentarily letting the moon’s weak glow reveal the village. No one moved about below, and most of the village was dark and silent. This was to be expected, especially so late at night. Only the rich had enough silver to buy candles and torches for light at night. Farmers went to sleep when the sun went down. To the south, where the hills abruptly dropped off, Asgrim could just make out a long smooth beach that held the villagers’ collection of little fishing boats, the largest only several ells in length, with a single, pathetic mast.

This sad little fleet had been Harald’s great plan? Asgrim turned and glared at Harald, who quickly looked away in embarrassment. Sighing, Asgrim turned back to examine the village. It was smattered with some larger wattle-and-daub longhouses, and most of the thirty or so dwellings that comprised the village were poor, earthen-walled sunken huts; however, one of the homes near the center of the village stood apart from the others. It was a large, two-storied building with a thatched roof—obviously the manor house of the local authority or tribal leader. Next to this home, the Frankish soldiers had established their camp. Tents and smoldering campfires sat in tight lines in a nearby field. Around each campfire, men sat, talking and laughing. The Franks’ horses, twenty or so, were penned near the camp. What drew Asgrim’s attention, however, was the large barn beside the manor house.

Two soldiers stood guard in front of this building. If his men were still alive, that was where they would be.

“I count ten fires,” Harald whispered.

Asgrim nodded. “Let’s say eight to ten Franks for each fire, maybe a hundred soldiers.”

“And their leaders in the manor house.”

“Aye,” said Asgrim.

“The farmers might join in, as well.”

“They might.”

“We can’t do this thing. It’s impossible,” Harald said with a slight tremor in his voice.

“Courage, oath-breaker. The gods are watching.” Asgrim reached over and squeezed Harald’s forearm as he pointed toward the barn beside the manor house. “Look there.”

The two guards stepped aside as the barn’s double doors swung open, allowing beams of light to escape from inside. Two Frankish soldiers with bare chests dragged a man out of the barn. The man’s naked feet trailed along the dirt. His head hung down, unmoving. A third Frankish soldier holding a torch followed them.

“Who is that?” whispered Harald.