Norseman Raider (The Norseman Chronicles Book 4) (15 page)

They stood me up a
nd bound my hands.  Killian stepped back and studied my appearance.  “We don’t have to do anything to your mail,” he said absent-mindedly.  “It’s seen better days.”  He ran to the edge of the lake and gathered a handful of mud and smeared it in my hair and face.  My eyes flashed with anger and I stepped down hard on his foot.  He withdrew it, yelping.  “Would you rather I had Randulfr or Brandr beat you senseless so that it looked like you were captured in battle?”

“Try it,” I said.

“Shut up, you two,” scolded the king.  He turned to address the men.  “Keep your mail on under your cloaks.  Helmets and even swords go into your packs.  We have to look like we’ve just fled.  As we draw closer, I want most of you to stagger and limp as if you’ve just barely escaped with your lives.  And you,” Godfrey said to Ketil, “do this right or I will personally run you through before you utter even one word of treachery.”  Godfrey turned to Killian, “Lead the way.”

Killian called, “Aoife!  You’ll walk in plain sight next to me.  Do nothing.  Say nothing.  Just walk.
  Cry if you like.”

The girl scurried next to the priest, who followed around the north side of the lake with the rest of us in tow.  Leif, behind the priest, held a long rope that was tied loosely around my neck and led me like livestock
to slaughter.  Further back were the king and the rest of our bedraggled bunch.  Godfrey was careful to keep Ketil within the reach of one quick sword stroke.

Killian found the River Ffraw.  The lake emptied into the winding creek and if we followed its course, we would soon find ourselves at Aberffraw, the seat of power in Gwynedd
, Maredubb’s capital city and port.  Though we were all anxious, the priest and Aoife set a slow pace as we ambled out in the open along the north side of the river.  He peered back and scolded us for not limping enough.  Aoife repeated the priest’s scorn, but Killian cuffed the side of her head as a reminder that unless she cried, she was to stay silent.

After a short time, Killian dug th
rough the pack at his waist and pulled out a large silver cross.  He held it aloft and began chanting words in Latin that would somehow see us, the refugees, safely through the dangerous lands.  Above his cross I could see the sky opening up wide and blue.  The scent of the air changed from tilled earth and lush green growth to the freshness of salt.  We approached the sea and Castle Aberffraw.

. . .

Despite the threat of our raid and subsequent dispatch of King Maredubb and his army, the inland gate remained yawning wide open.  It was almost welcoming.  “If a raid ever hit their fortress, they’d expect it from the sea,” whispered Killian between his Latin words.  He crossed himself and murmured, “May their defenses be like clay.”

A lazy sentinel stood up on the watch platform
surveying our approach.  It was only when the priest’s voice rose to a new level that the guard was shaken from his brain-numbed slumber.  He barked down to unseen men behind him.  Soon those men approached the gate and stood at its center.  Three wore helmets and mail in fit condition.  Another three were less well-equipped.  They still assembled their gear, tossing helmets atop their heads and cinching belts about their waists.

“Wait here,” muttered Killian.  “Sit.  You’re exhausted, remember,” he said as he shoved Aoife forward.  The men, even King Godfrey, crumpled to the earth and panted.  They put on a terrific show.
  Horse Ketil copied what the rest of the men did, but he also studied the guards on the wall as if he looked for someone familiar.  He turned away, frowning.

I stood tall and proud, for I felt like I represented my entire race to these Welsh guards.  A proper Norseman wouldn’t let a handful of peasants wear him out.  Leif tugged down on the
rope around my neck to get me off my feet.  I kicked him.  He cowered away, which was against his nature, but likely set the hook better than anything Killian would say.

“What have you caught yourself there, priest?” asked the leader of the Welsh soldiers.  He had stepped out onto the short wooden bridge that crossed a man-made channel cut outside the fort’s earthen mound and wooden palisade.  “He looks like a proud one.”

Killian brought the silver cross down to his side and rested a gentle hand on Aoife’s head.  “He’s the worst creature I’ve ever seen.”  The priest ran his hand down to the girl’s neck and pinched it so that she cried.  “Do you see this dear one?  As of last night, she and her mother were models of perfection; God’s bounty was in them.  That beast raped and killed the mother and did the same to the father, I think.  They took every woman of our village with them, but he stayed behind for his insatiable lust.  That is the only way we were able to capture him.”

“Why not string him up in your village?  Why have your brought him here?” asked the guard.  He peeked around the priest to study our worn out band.

Killian crossed himself.  “Because the entire island is covered with them!  King Maredubb came to rescue us, but I’m afraid he was nearly routed.  Hundreds, no thousands, of the pirates control the coasts and even inland.  You must let us in and accept whatever other refugees come.  King Maredubb may return and will need all able-bodied men to take back his kingdom.”

The soldiers behind the main sentinel crossed themselves and breathed out audibly.  “So what do you want us to do with the Norseman?” asked the sentinel.

“We don’t have time for dallying.  Let us in and close the gates.  After that, allow one of my poor parishioners to put the first arrow into the heathen as a form of retribution.  Then, do what you will.”

“Retribution?” asked the soldier.  “I thought priests teach that is the work of God.”

“’Tis.  ‘Tis.  But I’m afraid we are a fallen lot,” answered Killian solemnly.  “And everyone in this fort will be dead unless you close up these gates and await the king’s help.”

The soldier thought about the priest’s words for just a heartbeat before he began barking orders and waving us in.

We had breached the walls of a fortress, the capital of a kingdom, with nary a drop of blood spilt.

Now, the work would begin.

. . .

The nice thing about being perceived as Welsh peasants is that no one paid
our men any mind as we slunk into the fort.  It is the same the world over.  Unarmed, weak men are disdained, nay, loathed, by other men with spear and sword.  And rightfully so.  A man who allows himself to be deprived of his own defense, granting that right to others, is offering up his manhood for castration.  Our band was viewed thus.  In twos and threes we limped and dragged feigned bum legs across the bridge and through the inland gate.  And even if they had ventured a glance in our disguised men’s direction, what the soldiers who let us in would have seen were the mostly unhealed wounds from our rough and tumble game of knattleikr some days earlier, likely confirming in their eyes that the men Killian led had been attacked by Viking raiders.

I
, not dressed as someone I was not, was the only one with whom the Welsh soldiers locked eyes.  The leader in particular furrowed his brow at me.  I met his stare and even barked like a dog, finishing with a rumbling growl.  One of the man’s comrades swung a wooden club at me.  It was only a harsh tug from Leif on the rope around my neck that spared me from receiving the blow.  He jerked me on my leash deeper into the muddy streets of the town.

“I’d bring what soldiers the king didn’t take with him to the inland wall,” suggested Killian as the gates slammed shut.

“Priest, don’t pretend to tell me how to do my business and I’ll not tell you how to run your flock,” said the soldier.  Killian shrugged and fell back in line with us as we moved down the main road.  It ran from the inland gate, across the village, past the castle keep, and down to the river that dumped into the bay.  As we moved away, the same soldier whispered to his men, “It sounds like the threat is from the island itself.  Move half the men from the river and sea side to this wall.”  His young charge rambled off to convey his orders.  “Priest, take your sad lot down to the river.  You can piss there and get a drink.  Don’t go stinking up the king’s city.”

“Bless you, my son,” said Killian.

“And keep your pet with you for now.  We’ll have some sport with him once Maredubb returns.  He might have some information to give the king.”

“It’s a good thought.  The king was wise when he made you responsible for his great citadel.”  The soldier stuck his chin a bit higher in the air and turned to shove some of his men and bark orders.

. . .

I was pulled behind a shop and unbound.  The others dropped their hudfats in the muddy alley and strapped on every weapon they had, only to hide them again under their soiled cloaks.

“Work in twos,” instructed Leif.  “Move to separate parts of the village, most of you to the inland wall.”  Leif glanced at Killian.  “Thank you for that bit about moving the soldiers inland.  Getting most of the armed men where we know they’ll be – spread out on a wall – will make our work that much quicker.”  Young Leif then addressed the rest of the crowd again.  “Lay eyes on four soldiers and see them killed as soon as the bloodletting starts.  Don’t waste time on individual warriors until the groups are dead.  Do that and we own this town in moments.”

“How will we know when to start?”
asked Brandr.

“When the women begin shrieking,” answered Killian which was good enough for Brandr.

In an instant of increased piousness, Godfrey dropped to one knee and mumbled a prayer.  Killian, I thought, would be proud, but instead he hoisted the king back up to his feet.  “We can’t waste time.  Each moment gives King Maredubb a chance to return.  The citadel must be ours before he gets tired of beating the bushes for us.”

With that, the group dispersed.  Godfrey
grabbed Horse Ketil by a sleeve.  “You’ll stay right beside me and this beast,” said my king as he pointed at me.  Ketil whitened his grip on the shaft of his spear.  I did the same on my sword as a warning.

“Is it wise to allow him a weapon?” I asked.

Godfrey shrugged.  “He’ll be in front of me.  I’d bet my swordplay wins any contest over his use of a spear.  Besides, what if the drunken fool does something good for us all?  Then we both win.”  Horse Ketil nodded at this.

“I’m not so sure he’s a drunkard,” I grumbled.

“Nor am I, but he tolerates walking around with a lot of piss on his pants if he’s not,” answered Godfrey with a wave of his hand.

Ketil looked down at his trousers.  A day old urine stain had dried
in a crusty mess.  Blotches from his vomiting on the sea voyage over covered one leg.  “I do like to drink, King Godfrey.  You’ll find I also like to fight.  I like to get things without much effort.  And once I get the throne on the Isle of Man, I’ll enjoy hanging your cousin and taking Gudruna as mine.”

Godfrey wasn’t about to be goaded to a verbal war just before
the true bleeding was set to begin.  He laughed.  “Oh, it might be worth dying just to see what my Gudruna would do to your manhood if you ever tried to come to her bed.”

A chicken squawked somewhere in the capital.  It sounded like a butcher chased it around his shop. 
I didn’t understand his words, but I knew cursing when I heard it.  Godfrey, Ketil, and I smiled at the scene that played itself out in each of our minds’ eyes.  We gave up arguing with one another.

“I don’t believe I’ll follow the advice of that Leif of yours ever again,”
muttered Godfrey while the waiting dragged on.  A cat hissed and chased a diseased rat behind some broken crates.

“I think you’re right, king.  We probably won’t survive the day to have the chance
to follow Leif again,” I answered with gallows humor.  The cat gingerly pawed at the cornered beast, not sure if he would win a fight with the sizable rat.  Godfrey pinned the feline to the ground with his boot and with a single, quick stab, pierced the rat from above.  It was his first kill of the raid.  He released the cat which ignored the two of us and sniffed at what moments earlier had been its prey.  The cat lost interest.  I swear I saw it shrug as it padded off back the way it had come.

The king chuckled at the two beasts and at our situation.  “We’re not much different than the cat, Halldorr.  Take away our quarry and we lose more than what would have been our treasure.  We lose heart.  And that, I’m afraid, can kill a man surer than any blade or coup.”

“So if we live through this, then you will follow Leif’s advice again?” I asked.  “For the hunt and excitement?”

The king didn’t have time to answer. 
Aoife’s powerful little screams were the first sounds we heard.  Then we heard Killian running through the town screaming about how invaders from the sea had penetrated the defenses.  A moment later he yelled about a breach in the inland walls.  I heard the sudden, guttural sounds of Welshmen dying at the end of sharp spears and sword edges at the nearest wall.  Our raid had finally begun in earnest.

Chaos and confusion were what we needed.  Like the struck coins of the English and Saracens, they were our accepted currency.  The Welshmen gave us
their disordered commotion by the bucketful.  They heaped it on us.  Before we even stepped out of the alleyway, I saw the terrified look on men’s faces as they skittered past.  They gathered up children and ran for what they thought might be safety in the castle keep.  I’m not ashamed to say that the sight of their fear was beautiful.  In return for the panic etched on their faces, in order to strike a fair bargain, we gave them something else entirely.