Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (15 page)

"What?" Ulfrik acted out indignation, though he had expected nothing less. "You promised I'd be released for a payment of gold."

He grabbed Gunnvald's shirt and hauled him close, but Erp and others leapt up and drew their swords.

"I never said this band was payment for releasing you."

"And I never swore an oath to you! I should beat you senseless."

"But you won't, because Erp will cut off your head." Ulfrik looked up to find himself surrounded by armed men, Erp's swollen face practically in his own.

"Let go of him." Erp sounded like he had wool in his mouth.

Shoving Gunnvald away, Ulfrik pointed at him. "This isn't finished."

"Be careful of your words, Ulfar. Do not threaten me, or you will regret it."

Ulfrik pushed aside one of Gunnvald's crew and stormed off. Having expected just such a betrayal, he already had the next step in his plan prepared. He waited until the camp disappeared behind him, then circled back to the camp. Between the midden pit and the tents, a small rise provided a place for him to lay flat and observe.

As expected, Gunnvald was coming out of his tent to speak with the others. Obviously he was filling them with lies about what had just transpired, but Ulfrik did not care. With the sun now set and darkness only relieved by campfires, he jogged hunched low toward the back of Gunnvald's tent. He listened at it, placing his hands on the dirty cloth to feel for heat or motions of anyone inside. With little time to spare, he pulled up one of the rear stakes and shimmied under the tent. Inside was a mess of furs, broken weapons, a rack for his mail, and his bedding. Despite being the largest of all the tents in his camp, he had managed to crowd it with enough junk for it to feel small. The front flap waved in the breeze, and Gunnvald and his crew were standing outside in conversation. They were too far off for the words to be more than mutterings, but Ulfrik froze when he thought one of the crew was looking at him.

He was still half outside the tent, looking like a turtle popping out of shell, while he searched for the location of his armband. Gunnvald's bedding was close to the rear wall of the tent by Ulfrik's left arm, and he noted how one corner of the blanket was folded back. He pushed it aside and discovered a small board under the bed. Smiling at his success, he flipped up the board to find his armband sitting atop a bag. Ulfrik lifted out the bag which sagged with the weight of its contents, then pulled out the sheathed dagger he had hidden at his back.

The jewels on the sheath winked with reflections of the campfire outside. He had spent all day following one of Grimnr's guards waiting for his chance to lift this from him. He had paid a servant to spill Frankish wine on the guard, which was so poorly done it seemed more as if he had poured it on the guard's head. He hoped the servant appreciated the silver, for he would take a beating for his actions. Yet it had the intended effect. A man could bathe in ale and think nothing of it, but the foreign stench of Frankish wine was an insult. The guard went to the river and washed off the strange scent of wine. Ulfrik had plucked the dagger from his discarded clothes and now slipped it into Gunnvald's secret cache.

The board replaced and the bedding fixed as it had been, Ulfrik then slipped from the tent and set the stake back in place. As he glided away from the camp, he considered that he was turning out to be as good a thief as he was a warrior. Wouldn't that just make my family proud, he thought. A bit like proclaiming myself the best cheat in the land.

He stayed away until the campfire began to wink out, and then he returned. The few men still awake regarded him coolly, but Gunnvald and Erp simply watched him retire to his tent. He lay awake, confident Gunnvald wouldn't discover the dagger but still worried for the success of his plan. At some point he did fall asleep, for roosters were crowing and a dim light shined through the thin fabric of his tent. He rose quickly, still dressed in his clothes of the prior day, and shot out from his tent. As usual, no one in Gunnvald's crew was keen on early rising, and Ulfrik used it to his advantage.

The camp was coming alive, and sleepy men tired from a night of standing watch paid him no heed as he sought the guard house. As expected, he was stopped before he could reach the front doors by a guard whose hair was nearly as white as snow with eyes to match. He barred Ulfrik with his arm, wearily addressing him.

"Hold on, where are you going in such haste?"

"I've got to speak to Vigrid, who is quartered in that building. I know who took his valuables."

The guard perked up, squinted at Ulfrik, then nodded. "Wait here."

Within moments six bleary-eyed men emerged from the barracks with the white-haired man pointing at Ulfrik. Vigrid was a slender man, with a fuzzy beard which made his head seem oversized for his body. He might topple over from the weight of it. Yet all Ulfrik saw this morning was a hateful scowl that burned through Ulfrik as he charged straight for him.

"How do you know I've been robbed?" he snapped.

"Because I stole it from you."

The six men recoiled at the sudden honesty. Vigrid's shock wore off the fastest, and he grabbed Ulfrik by the shirt and cocked his fist. "So you're here to return it?"

"In a way," Ulfrik said, holding up his hands to show he intended no fight. "I was ordered to steal it from you. I'm new here, and Gunnvald Hrethelson took me on. Ever heard of him?"

"No," Vigrid said, still keeping his fist cocked.

"No wonder, since he's a gutless bandit living on the edge of the camps. He had me steal something of value to prove my worth to him. He also stripped me of a gold armband when he said your dagger was worthless."

"Worthless?" Vigrid's oversized head reddened and appeared about to pop off his shoulders. "That was given to me by Grimnr himself. It's worth more than that piss-pot would earn in a whole year."

"Look, I agree, and I am no thief. I haven't slept since I took the dagger. I want you to have it back, and to accept my regrets for what I've done."

Vigrid held him, glaring into his eyes, but Ulfrik saw the corners soften. "Did you arrange to have that wine spilled on me?"

"So you'd go to the river to bathe. I know I couldn't stand the scent of Frankish wine in my hair and guessed the same was true for any man. I needed a way to get the dagger while you were not looking."

He let Ulfrik go and patted his shoulder. "All right, then, take us to Gunnvald."

All of them barreled through the camp and arrived as Gunnvald was seating himself at his log by the expired campfire. His straw hair fell over his face as he snapped up at the sudden arrival of hirdmen. "What's this?"

"You've got my dagger," Vigrid said. "Had your lap dog steal it from me."

Gunnvald stared at Ulfrik and they locked eyes. He saw the realization dawn in Gunnvald's eyes, and he grew still and cold. "It wasn't orders from me."

"But you have it," Vigrid said. "Is it in your tent?"

"I don't know." He never wavered from watching Ulfrik. "I suppose you're going to check."

Vigrid entered the tent and began throwing items out the flap, skins and bags followed by a shield and other junk. All of his crew came to watch, standing like children whose parents had just spoiled their games. Within moments Vigrid shouted and emerged with the dagger, Ulfrik's armband, and the heavy pouch.

"Look here! Want to tell me how this came into your possession?"

"Obviously it was planted. I never saw it before in my life."

Vigrid slammed his fist into Gunnvald's stomach, and he doubled over with a moan. Erp and a few others reached for their weapons, but Vigrid's friends had spears, alarm horns, and were also Grimnr the Mountain's hirdmen. Erp and the others checked themselves when the spear points lowered.

"Well, you slept on the fucking thing all night. Should've had time to get to know it. Listen, I don't know what sort of games are being played here. The whole thing smells like a whale carcass. Here's how it will be. I take my knife and whatever is in this bag, this armband goes back to your new recruit." Vigrid tossed Ulfrik the armband. "If I ever see you or your men within bow shot of the barracks, you'll all be rounded up for thieving and hanged the next morning."

"I think we should bring this to Grimnr for judgment," Ulfrik said. "I want him to rule on my service to this band of thieves. They're claiming I owe gold to leave them."

"No need for that," Gunnvald said, raising his hands. "I don't want you about. Leave if that's your wish."

With everything settled, Ulfrik asked Vigrid to guarantee his safety while he collected his gear and broke down his tent. When all was ready, Ulfrik hefted his travel pack and nodded at his former companions.

"You're in charge of the cooking pot now," he said to Burr, who stared wide-eyed at him.

Gunnvald scowled, and Erp muttered through his fat lips, "You'll get yours soon enough, dead man."

Ulfrik smiled and waved at him as he left. Catching up to Vigrid, he tapped his shoulder. "I've nowhere to go now, and was wondering if you might recommend me to Grimnr's service?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Count Amand stroked his swooping mustache as he stood before the broken body of the Northman. The dungeon was his least favorite place in all of his property and he hated time spent in its dark and musty confines. Yet it was the place where God's work was often accomplished, and today was not different. His captain-at-arms, Remi, stood at attention beside him. The guard who had tortured the confession was a swarthy man with a jagged scar running from cheek to ear. He prodded the Northman on the table, eliciting a low moan from his bloodied mouth.

"This is terrible news," Count Amand said, more to himself than the others. No one could appreciate the weight of his position, particularly not after recent news.

"He's confessed to all of it, my lord," said the guard. "Captain Remi was the witness."

"It's true, Lord," Remi said. "I've had a detail of spies watching the traitors for weeks and we know they are passing information back to their Northmen kin. This exercise was to make sure we had all the names we expected, and none more."

Amand nodded and touched the heavy gold cross at his chest. The Northman on the table was unfamiliar, but his face had been so ruined by his tortures that no one would recognize him again. On a bench beside the traitor sat pliers and a pile of bloodied and crushed teeth.

"And you are certain this betrayal is confined and not gone any higher?"

"Grimnr was not named, Lord," Remi answered. "We've watched him far more carefully than anyone, as he's quite popular with his kind. I believe his loyalty is solid."

Amand cleared his throat and his nostrils flared. "At least as long as we are paying him. His kind are like wolves that need a constant supply of fodder lest they turn on you."

"The Northmen are barbarians, Lord. Not much else can be expected of their kind." Captain Remi took a poker from the brazier and examined the orange glowing tip. Amand could feel the heat of it from where he stood. "I can ask this traitor to confirm for you."

"Heavens, put that away. I don't want to have to breathe in the stink of burned flesh." Amand waved aside the brand, and Remi stuck it back in the brazier with a petulant sigh. "You've no love of Grimnr, so if you say he is loyal then it must be so. I expect you'd want to see him hanged with his kin more than anyone."

"It would do my soul good, Lord. But unfortunately Grimnr appears completely unconnected to the spies. We'll continue to watch him, of course."

"Do that." Amand locked his hands behind his back and circled the table. The Northman stared up through his swollen face, attempting a glare but looking no more threatening than a beached porpoise. He waved his hand at the traitor. "Have the others missed this one?"

"We caught him returning from his meeting with Hrolf the Strider's men, and his companions were not expecting him until tonight. No one saw us bring him down here." Remi moved the guard aside with the back of his hand and stood next to the traitor. "I believe we've got all that we can from this one. He broke far more readily than expected. Not so much of the Northman bravery in him."

"They're all like that," Amand said. "Together they are brave, but alone they're no bolder than children. You've recorded the names of the traitors?"

Remi nodded.

"Then finish this one, and round up the others."

Smiling, Remi drew his dagger and let the point hang over the Northman's eye. "Our Lord has promised an eye for an eye, you filth. Have you heard?"

The traitor tried to spit, but only succeeded in blowing a bloody glob onto his own beard. Amand watched Remi hold the man's head steady then slowly lower the dagger into the Northman's eye. The blade slid in with cruel deliberation and the Northman bucked and screamed. Remi did not increase his pace, but steadily pushed the blade deeper into the man's skull. Blood flowed out of the ruined hole and poured onto the floor. The other guard began to throw hay on the puddle of gore.

At last the Northman ceased bucking, but Remi twisted the blade to elicit a final cry from his victim. He hovered over the corpse for a moment, then pulled out the dagger and tossed it on the table with the Northman's teeth. Amand pitied Remi's hatred. Northmen had captured and raped his wife, costing her left eye in the violence of the act. She had been a beautiful and vibrant woman, probably a prospect for the courts of Paris, but the Northmen stole that from her, and Remi seized every chance to enact revenge.