Black Monastery (22 page)

“Kill, kill, kill,” chanted the men, berserk with rage and battle lust.

Asgrim grinned, loving the battle and needing it. This! This was what the spinners had intended for him.

A Frank, his sword raised overhead in two hands, ran at Asgrim, who caught the man’s clumsy attack on the rim of his shield and then brought
Heart-Ripper
down on his clavicle before yanking the weapon back, cutting through tissue and killing him.

“Forward, forward!” commanded Asgrim.

The men stomped over dead and dying Franks, sweeping them away. From the shield wall’s flanks, Asgrim heard the release of bow strings, then the short whistling of arrows before they hit the Franks almost at point-blank range. Asgrim glanced over and saw that Steiner and his men, armed with their bows, had rejoined the shield wall. Franks spun away and collapsed with arrows embedded in their bodies. And the shield wall kept advancing, now more than half way down the second line of tents.

Someone among the Franks was screaming orders, and a small group of soldiers tried to form their own shield wall. Several even held shields.

“No you don’t,” yelled Asgrim.

He turned the shield wall again, sending it to confront the growing knot of Frankish soldiers. The men had trained in this maneuver so often even the young lads could have done it in their sleep. The men stomped toward the Franks, yelling and slamming their ax heads against the metal bosses of their shields. The wall of angry Danes hit the Franks hard, shattering them. Each time the Franks tried to organize themselves, Asgrim hit them, again and again. The ground was littered with the dead and the dying.

A group of Franks armed with spears rushed forward, thrusting at the shield wall with the longer weapons. Some of the spears got past their shields, and several Danes fell back with wounds. Asgrim saw Gjuki Horse-Dick fall back, his neck a bloody ruin. But then the shield wall swept into them, and up close—without a shield wall to provide cover for them—the Frankish spearmen were defenseless. The Danes hacked them down.

The only chance the Franks had was to put shield and spear together in their own wall and hold the Danes long enough to let their numbers give them the advantage, but Asgrim much preferred slaughter to a fair fight.

“Forward! Kill! Forward! Kill!” he screamed.

A pair of Franks on horseback rode hard for the shield wall. The men riding the horses leaned into their spears.

Idiots! Horses don’t charge shield walls.

At the last moment, the horses balked, reared up, and pawed at the air with their hooves. One of the riders fell off. The other managed to gain control over his animal and turned away, intent on escape. He didn’t make it far before two arrows hit him in the back and he fell off. His horse disappeared into the sunrise, its hooves pounding the earth.

A soldier rushed Asgrim, who, caught up in the excitement, leaped out past the rest of the men in the shield wall. He rammed his sword point into the man’s surprised face, tearing through his cheek and into his eye socket. Two other Franks came forward, trying to get at Asgrim from either side. He braced himself, getting ready to leap into them, but then hands grabbed him from behind and dragged him back into the shield wall. The two soldiers paused, but then arrows drove into them from the flanks, sending them reeling. A moment later, the wall shoved forward, finishing them off.

Just ahead, Asgrim saw another Frank, an officer wearing chain mail and carrying a shield and sword, yelling orders and trying to overcome the confusion. Franks flocked to his side and began to form ranks. Some even held shields, which they locked together as they formed into a group. Asgrim turned the shield wall and advanced into them. Within seconds, the two forces smashed into each other with a bone-jarring shudder. Men cried out in rage, yelling incoherent curses. The axes of the men in the front rank rose and fell, beating a bloody tempo against the Frankish shield wall while the men in the second rank shoved their spears over the heads of the men in front and into the faces of the Franks they battled. Asgrim roared curses and shoved forward with his shield, knocking Franks aside in his rage to get at the Frankish officer. The officer, recognizing Asgrim as the Danish leader, also pushed to get at him. Then the two men were carried together by the press of the shield walls. Shield locked against shield, and both men were shoved up against each other.

Asgrim was close enough to spit into the face of the other man, so he did. Then, the press subsided for a moment, allowing both men the room to stab at one another. Asgrim saw the Frank’s sword coming at his face, and he dropped his shoulder and turned at the same moment that he thrust at the momentary opening between the man’s shield and his body. Asgrim felt a burning sensation on the side of his head, but ignored it and rammed
Heart-Ripper
into the Frank’s armored chest. His blow ran right through the man, cutting through the chain mail links and coming out his back. The Frank, a gaze of profound surprise on his face, collapsed.

And then the rest of the enemy, seeing the fall of their leader, broke and fell apart.

A cheer rose among Asgrim’s men as they realized the Franks were defeated, reeling, and running for their lives. Survivors fled in every direction, desperate to get away. Steiner and his bowmen kept putting arrows into them as they ran. Several of his men broke ranks and went after the fleeing Danes.

Asgrim yanked his sword from the body of the Frankish war leader. “Get back, you damned fools. Let ’em run. Let ’em go!”

Panting heavily, his injured shoulder throbbing from the effort of holding a shield all this time, Asgrim bent over and gasped for air, taking huge gulps. Stinging sweat rolled into his eyes. The sun was above the horizon, and he could see the entire village around him. Terrified peasants—men, women, and children—joined the fleeing soldiers. He couldn’t tell how many warriors had gotten away, but the ground around the campsite was littered with dead Franks.

Someone clapped him on the back, and his men were cheering, yelling his name over and over.

With forty men, and in a span of only minutes, he had routed more than twice as many Frankish soldiers.

Fifteen

The village,

August 8, 799,

Early morning

In the quiet aftermath of the battle, Asgrim’s blood lust disappeared, leaving him exhausted and sullen. The Frankish officer had cut through his scalp, and although the cut had bled badly at first, the bleeding had almost stopped. Asgrim walked the battleground, brooding, as his men plundered the camp and the village, reveling in the spoils of victory. They stripped good leather armor from the dead, and each Dane claimed his own Frankish sword, laughing as he cut the air with the finely wrought weapon. Two of the dead Franks, including the one Asgrim had killed, had worn coats of fine chain mail. Perhaps they had even been knights. Asgrim gave the one with the ruptured rings to Harald and the other to Steiner, and the two men smirked as they tried them on, taking turns slapping each other’s chest and shoulders. There were axes, daggers, shields, bows, and spears—more weapons than they could ever possibly use. Such a surplus, particularly the Frankish swords, would sell for a fine price, far more than they had made raiding that damned black monastery. They found some silver as well, not much, but again, more than they had taken from the monks. In addition, they collected several silver arm rings, necklaces, and Christian crosses; some were cast in bronze. And, in the now-deserted village, the men found some small coins of silver and copper, as well as food: meat, fish, vegetables—and best of all, beer.

It had been a one-sided victory. By Asgrim’s count, more than seventy Frankish soldiers were dead. His men had quickly killed the wounded Franks, a kinder fate than they had been giving his men when they had the same chance. That meant some thirty Frankish soldiers still ran loose on the island. This was a problem. During the battle, Asgrim had lost another six men. An additional four were likely to die of their wounds. That left him only thirty-one fit men: even odds. Those Frankish soldiers were scattered, but they would regroup and perhaps even force the villagers to fight with them. If they came back, they might even outnumber his men. He would not have surprise on his side again; attacking half-asleep, half-armed men had given him an advantage that would be hard to duplicate.

Asgrim ran his eyes over the large piles of shields, spears, swords, and armor neatly piled for transport to
Sea Eel
.

Screw them! They could come back and fight if they wanted, but he had their weapons.

And it was an arsenal, to be certain. The foreign soldiers had been well-equipped and well-armored. The Franks made excellent swords; everyone knew that. They were not crucible steel, but excellent just the same. Even after sharing the armor and giving each man a sword, Asgrim still had plenty more to sell. The profit wouldn’t pay his wergild, but even if he sold only half the weapons and armor, he would still have enough left over to equip a replacement crew. And while he couldn’t go home, he knew of other ports along the northern coast, perhaps among the Norse, where he could find like-minded men seeking profit.

And he would continue to live by the sword, killing and killing and killing. Once more, he saw the bloody face of Freya and her dead eyes staring accusingly at him.

Was there nothing more to his existence but death? Perhaps not. No man could change his fate, and he was so very good at killing.

He turned away and forced his thoughts elsewhere. The Franks wouldn’t come back, not without their weapons, not after getting their asses so thoroughly kicked. Instead, they would go for help. At low tide they would make their way over to the mainland and come back with more soldiers. They would probably claim that they were set upon by hundreds of northmen, only just escaping with their lives.

Which was half right.

At any rate, Asgrim guessed he and his men had some breathing space, perhaps only days, but more likely at least a week, if not two, which was enough time to fix
Sea Eel
and sail away.

He walked among the men, forcing himself to joke with them and see to their welfare. They worshipped him now. After all, he had saved them from torture and death and won a magnificent victory against overwhelming odds. Danes loved heroes. And once the tales of this battle spread, other men would seek him out, wergild or not.

But the
djinn
was still out there. Fear of the spirit had driven his men to mutiny. It hadn’t been just the spirit; Harald had also played his part, as had the failure to find silver at the monastery and Asgrim’s killing of his own brother. And the men had been very, very unhappy when Asgrim had denied them Alda. But fear of the otherworld and a belief that Asgrim’s luck had run out had been pivotal in allowing Harald to spread his rot. Right now, their mood was good; they were happy, elated he had saved them and that they had beaten the Franks, paying them back for their mistreatment. And after that battle, no man could say Asgrim had lost his luck. But soon, they would remember the spirit. Then the fear would seep back in. Men, Asgrim could fight and beat, but he could do nothing against the dead. That left him with two choices: wait for low tide and flee on foot to the mainland to try to slowly make their way back home; or hold fast, fix his ship, and sail away like men.

This was no choice at all. He was taking his ship home.

They loaded the captured goods on the Franks’ horses. Some of the men wanted to burn the village to the ground behind them, and Asgrim was tempted to let them, but in the end, he chose not to. The Frankish soldiers, not the peasants, were the real enemy. Instead, Asgrim led his men away, each walking beside a horse loaded down with armor, weapons, and other supplies—including all the beer.

Leading his own animal, Harald Skull-Splitter walked beside Asgrim. At some point, and without making a conscious decision, Asgrim had begun using Harald as a first mate, passing his orders down to the men through him. He wondered at that. After all, Harald had tried to kill him and had even killed his dog, or had ordered Hopp killed. The gods knew Asgrim had killed men for far less.

Was he becoming soft?

Perhaps, but he also needed to focus on what had to be done. They had a ship to repair. And the spirit was still out there in the woods, perhaps watching them even now.

And what did it want? It could have killed Asgrim on several occasions: when he was wounded escaping the mutineers, when he was alone on the beach, and during the days he had spent in the woods with Alda. Why slaughter everyone else it encountered, including Alda, yet leave him alive? He pulled out his Thor’s hammer and absentmindedly let his fingers brush it. Who could say what supernatural creatures wanted with the living? It was best to just fix his ship and sail away—the sooner, the better.

He glanced at Harald. “When we reach
Sea Eel
, I want sentries and a wooden wall built all around her.”

Harald nodded, “Aye, Captain.”

Asgrim noted the lack of hesitation in Harald’s answer. It underscored Harald’s newfound willingness to follow orders. The last time Asgrim had given that particular order, Harald had mounted a mutiny and almost killed him. Now, he kept his mouth shut and did as he was told. What a difference losing a battle—and half the men—made.

“And I don’t want to see any of the men drunk, not until we’re gone from here.”

“Aye, Captain.”

He
was
getting soft. Could he trust Harald? Should he just kill him now?

He watched Harald’s face for several moments before turning away and forcing his attention onto the tasks ahead of them.

He had killed enough men for one day.

* * *

Putting up the log wall around
Sea Eel
took only a day; fear was a strong motivator. The men cut down trees, laying them lengthwise atop one another along the sand around the ship, then packing dirt, rocks, and sand against the sides. Soon, they had a chest-high barricade. It wasn’t pretty, but it would work. If the Franks came against them again, the Danes would have the advantage.