Sword Brothers (19 page)

"If he is returning, then he must not have his priest," Hakon said. He shared a nervous glance with Finn. "Let him greet us in the hall. If his news is bad, I don't want others to read it from our reactions."

Runa nodded and all three returned to the hall to await Gunnar. Hakon seated himself at the high table with Runa, and Finn sat beneath them on a bench at the side. He seemed to meld into the shadows, only his white face showing. The wait dragged on in tense silence, and the servants sat uneasily with the somber mood, searching between Runa and Hakon for a command. At last the doors opened and Gunnar was framed in the morning light, a lone black shadow.

He strode inside, turning his head side to side as if expecting an audience. He walked with the arrogance of first-born royalty, something Hakon wished he could emulate. His mother had always been after him to sit up straighter and hold his head higher like his older brother. Even after losing his hand, he had not bowed his head nor let it keep him from the shield wall. He had to fight from the rear, for he could not lock a shield, but any man who challenged his ability learned how much he had practiced. For years it was all he did. Now even as he returned clearly in defeat, he stood beneath them with his chin back.

"If you think to sit up there and have me kneel to you, you'll have to break my legs to do it," Gunnar said to Hakon, his smile never wavering.

"No foolishness," Runa snapped. "You've returned alone. Tell us what you have done."

Gunnar's smile vanished. "Father Lambert has been hidden in Rouen. We found another priest who knew nothing else of use. We could never get to Rouen and so we turned back. Hrolf's men are patrolling your borders, so I went to my own home first then came here. There are fewer patrols around my lands."

Hakon watched his brother deliver his news and he wished Aren were here. He would be able to determine if Gunnar was withholding something from them, and guess at what it would be. Hakon just harbored an uneasy feeling that the story was incomplete.

"So you just left the other priest with his villagers?" Runa asked, voicing Hakon's concerns. "You did not kill witnesses or take hostages, but simply turned back?"

"The important thing is the number of warriors on our borders," Gunnar said. "They don't all appear to be Hrolf's men, which means they may be either bandits come looking to pick at us as we leave or men wanting to stake a claim to the land. We have to be ready to leave now."

"But Aren has not returned," Hakon said. "And we've heard no news from Hrolf."

"News from Hrolf are the men at the border," Gunnar said. His face now darkened and he pointed at him. "If you're playing at jarl, then gather all the treasure and men you can and start moving toward the river for a quick escape. That is what must be done. I'm returning to my family to do the same."

He stalked from the hall, ignoring Runa who called after him. He left the doors standing open, as if the hall wore an expression of shock.

"Shall I go after him?" Hakon asked.

"No, he has done something wrong that he will not admit." Runa removed her head cover and ran her fingers through the tight curls of her hair. "We best do as he advises. Our situation will only worsen now."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ulfrik lay sleepless on the bed, staring into the midnight darkness above him. He had counted more than a week's passage for his confinement to this one-room home, but now he struggled to remember which day was dawning. Was it day eight or nine? He should have marked the time on the wood frame of the bed, or on the simple table and bench he had been provided. He did not believe he would be held long. So much for trusting Hrolf to make the right choice.

Sighing, he flipped to his side on the goose-feather mattress. Hrolf had at least provided the most comfortable prison he had ever been confined to. He picked at goose feathers peaking through the cloth, teasing one out and letting it float to the dirt floor. Day or night, he had nothing to do but think. He had come to anticipate the arrival of meals, for the servants and guards would speak with him. Now they would say nothing, just as children stop petting a favorite pig before the slaughter.

More than shock, disappointment at both himself and Hrolf filled his thoughts. He stared at the dark of the wall next to him, the gray of a discarded cloak on a stool the only relief to the black. He struggled to understand what had happened to turn Hrolf. He had not seen his jarl in the year since the peace began, but in such a short time he seemed to have changed. He was now fearful, desperate to hold what he had grabbed. Yet why did he need fear anything? If King Charles broke his word, all would go back to war. Ulfrik would actually prefer it. Only a year ago, killing a bishop was cause for raucous laughter, congratulations, and a gold armband. Today, it cost him his name and honor.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Ulfrik shot upright, hand vainly searching for a sword that had been confiscated. He waited as still as a cat hunting a mouse, staring into the darkness where dull orange light flickered around the doorjamb. He crawled out of bed, and took up the cloak as a shield and the stool as a weapon. He crouched as the bars on the door lifted away.

If killers were come to finish him in the night, he would not go meekly.

The candle was as bright as a bonfire after hours of darkness and Ulfrik could not penetrate the glare. At least two men stood in the small door frame, but only the one holding the candle entered. In the globe of golden light, Ulfrik saw Vilhjalmer staring at him with his face caught between shock and laughter.

"I don't want to ask what you do in here alone in the dark, but this is a strange sight."

Ulfrik lowered the stool, but held the cloak in his fist. "I was just preparing a seat for your royal ass. Pardon my lack of hospitality, but my room is bare and I have nothing but water to offer."

"And a cloak," Vilhjalmer pointed at Ulfrik's hand then set his candle down on the small table.

"This is for catching any knife that might come at me in the night. You wouldn't have one of those?"

"Not for you, old friend."

The two embraced, each slapping the other on the back.

"You've grown up," Ulfrik said. "You look more like a king every time I see you. I guess it's in your blood."

Vilhjalmer sat at the table and Ulfrik followed. The fresh candle wavered between them, and Ulfrik folded his arms.

"It's bad news, isn't it?"

"Worse than you know," Vilhjalmer said. He turned aside, studying the crowded room and frowning. "Aren went to Rouen to find me, and told me about the bishop. I can't blame you for killing him, honestly. I think they are all conniving snakes who no more believe what they preach than I do."

"He was your mother's cousin."

"Would knowing that have stopped you from thrashing him?" Ulfrik shook his head, and Vilhjalmer laughed. "That's good. I am here in secret, as you probably guessed from the midnight visit. Aren gave me the news four days ago, but I have delayed contacting you until I finished my arrangements."

Ulfrik leaned back and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're on the edge of a cliff and about to fall off, but you can't see it from inside this room. My father does not want to do what his new responsibilities require him to do, so he wavers and creates an opening for you."

"He's being a fool. Is that part of his of new responsibilities?"

"Those words don't suit you, Ulfrik. You know as well as I that my family is now Frankish nobility, at least in title. There's nothing foolish in defending that authority. But let's talk of important matters. When Aren visited, he wanted my aid in speaking for you. Yet within the hour of finding me, my father's hirdmen tried to capture him. They had been told one of your sons would attempt to take me hostage and barter me for your release."

"What? That would ruin the agreement for a safe passage. My sons would not be so foolish."

Vilhjalmer gave him a skeptical look. "You might recant that in a moment. But, yes, Aren is the smartest man I've ever known. He wanted me to persuade Father, and that makes a good deal more sense. He evaded his would-be captors, but he could not go directly home. I'm not sure where he went, but my guess is he traveled to Eyrafell. It only makes sense."

"What's happening?" Ulfrik let his arms fall to his sides. "Why has Hrolf done nothing to me yet, but is sending men after my sons and preventing them from returning home?"

"You are being set up to fall, preferably on a sword. Killing the bishop was the lightning strike that set your forest aflame, but someone has been wanting you out of the way for a long time. Those men got their warning not from my father, but one very close to him. Gunther One-Eye."

Ulfrik stared at Vilhjalmer, his hands turning so cold he tucked them beneath his arms. "Gunther has ever been a friend to me. His son, Mord, that I could believe. But not Gunther."

Vilhjalmer shrugged. "I've no proof he has done more, but of his orders I am certain. You do not doubt you've had a hidden foe working against you? No man climbs as high as you without making enemies."

"I know my enemies. They're on the opposite side of the shield wall." Ulfrik now looked away, his heart in his throat.

"Not every enemy is so easy to see. You are successful, and Gunther and Mord both are ambitious and greedy men. You may love Gunther, but I never have. He has always wanted to own me, to force me to befriend his unlucky and unlikeable son so that when I am grown into my inheritance I will favor them." He paused and leaned forward. "Favor them as I would favor you. Do you see how they may resent you?"

"Did you come here in darkness to turn me against my oldest friend?"

Vilhjalmer rubbed his face and sighed. "Of course not. I came to save your life."

"I'm at risk of dying from boredom. So thank you for the conversation."

"Your son, Gunnar, has made a mistake so big that I scarcely believe he's the same man I thought I knew. It is why I have decided to help my father make the right decision, whether or not he agrees with me. You must leave tonight. Tomorrow your head will be taken, placed in a sack, and sent back to your family. It will be escorted by an invading army and all your family will be put to death once they are captured. My father will weep in the deep of his heart, but to do less would ruin his reputation."

Ulfrik's bloodless hands clenched and he blinked at Vilhjalmer. "What did he do?"

"He left witnesses alive to his crimes, that's the short of it. But in detail, he took his men to Byrgisvik. Do you know the place?" Ulfrik shook his head. "Well, it is a hamlet of four farms with a church holding it together. Franks mostly live there, though our people have joined them. The church serves all Christians for miles around, and do you know whose church it is? Father Lambert's."

"Gunnar went to find Father Lambert?"

"He did," Vilhjalmer lightly slapped the table as if drawing the conclusion had been a challenge. "But Father Lambert was not there. He's been taken to Rouen to recover from his wounds. So Gunnar burned down the church with everyone inside, then tracked down any who fled and killed them as well. I don't know where he went now, but personally I hope he sailed off the edge of the world."

"He left witnesses, who happen to know who he is?"

Vilhjalmer snorted a laugh. "He did. A young girl hid in the underbrush while her brother was run down. The dark-haired man with one hand who led the group told him how he hated Franks. Then he chopped off the brother's hand before cracking open his head. The girl says she fainted and when she awoke her brother was dead and Byrgisvik a smoking ruin."

Ulfrik put his cold hands to his hot face. "He broke the terms and forfeited my life."

"No doubt intending to prove Father Lambert had not lost his legs. Aren voiced that doubt to me, and while it is a good thought, it is misguided. The Church has decided upon your death, and facts will not interfere with it now. You killed a bishop, and that's the only fact. Now Hrolf must execute you or he will never be able to take a hostage again."

Biting his lip so hard he tasted the coppery blood, Ulfrik stared blankly ahead, imagining how he would beat Gunnar to death if he ever saw him again. "That boy, he never grew up after losing his hand. He became someone else after that. His temper rules him, and it has killed me, his mother, and his brothers. I'll kill him myself."

"I don't disagree, but now is not the time. At dawn you will be dragged out for a beheading. I'm setting you free before that happens."

"Why? Even if I escape, I am now wanted by your father. He will bring his full weight to bear. I am a burden to anyone allied with me."

A small smile appeared on Vilhjalmer's face. "I have admired you since the day we met, and every year since I've found a new reason to believe you are my father's most important man. He is being forced to part with you, but I am unwilling to let you go."

He stood then rapped on the door. The man outside entered, a young and strong warrior with the still smooth skin of youth. He kept his head down, but in his arms he carried a bundle of mail and three swords. These he placed on the table, and Ulfrik recognized his long sword and sax atop his mail coat. The man dropped a pack from his back, along with a plain wooden shield and leaned these against the table before closing the door and leaning against it.

Vilhjalmer picked up his own sword and carefully drew the gleaming blade with a metallic whisper. He held it low, its point to Ulfrik's feet.

"I have prepared a disguised escort to take you home. You will gather your wealth, family, and what men will follow, then leave these lands. I will ensure you that my father does not pursue or interfere with your departure in anyway. But before any of this is done, you must swear loyalty to me. Put your hands upon my blade and pledge to serve me when I call, and to do no harm to my father, his people, or his reputation."