Sword Brothers (27 page)

"Ah," Ulfrik let the cross drop back to Udolf's chest. "You seem to know much about me."

"How can I not? Your name is everywhere, with your vast treasure of jewels, building of ships, bringing warriors in search of glory and gold. You came from nowhere and yet you are as a king to your people. That's worthy of gossip, don't you think?"

"It's worthy of a song," Ulfrik said. "So, how much for Elke? I would not steal from you."

Udolf smiled. "I am afraid that's not possible. I had a buyer, and he is quite set on having her. He has come from far away, a rich prince of the south. His buyer is patient but stubborn."

"How valuable could she be to you? I've been here nearly a month and you only now bring this to me. Elke is no more a slave, and is under my protection. If your southern prince wishes to challenge me for her, then he may try his best. I have not lived to this age and grown to such wealth because I am timid and easy prey."

"You do not wish to take this stance. These men are dangerous and will not be denied. I tell you this for your own good."

"She has been gone from you for over a month, walking Hedeby's streets for almost that whole time. You and your buyer are too stupid to deserve her return. Now unless you have something besides threats, waddle back down this track to whatever box you call a home. We are finished."

"You will regret this choice," Udolf said, his eyes lost in midday shadows.

"I regret nothing." Ulfrik's voice was low and full of threat. "Challenge me again and you will find your head separated from this sack of fat you call a body."

Udolf did not back down, but instead puffed out his chest. "You are not the first raider to sail into town with a bag full of rocks and think himself king of the world. If you think your foot is on my neck, then you are mistaken. Reconsider your decision, Ulfrik Ormsson, or you will not see your fine ships completed."

"Threatening my life? Talk about a foolish decision. Lesser men have died for that, so be grateful I'm allowing you to walk away."

Udolf stepped back and bowed. "My gratitude is endless, as is your arrogance." He straightened the religious icons on his chest, then gave a wolfish smile. "You don't understand how this town works."

Udolf and his guards swept back down the track, leaving Ulfrik with Finn to watch him depart.

"He's a lot faster running away than he was climbing," Ulfrik said.

"Do you think he means to kill you?" Finn asked. "We've still got months ahead of us, and your sons haven't returned with their extra crews. I think this man is serious."

"Of course he's serious. So am I." He turned back to Elke, who hid among his hirdmen like a child afraid to be punished. He extended a hand to her. "Udolf is gone, and if he comes back I will make it the last thing he does. Though I think you should stay close to me for now. No more playing with my grandchildren unless I am there."

Elke nodded and accepted his hand as he guided her to his side. "I will never be able to repay you for this."

"If Fate wishes it, then a way will be found. But I am content to know you are free. When we sail, I will take you wherever you wish to go."

She smiled then studied her feet. Ulfrik had expected her to ask to remain at his side, but perhaps she had been too shy. He renewed his walk into town.

"We need to send a message to Aren," he said. "It has been too long and he must know my plans. I need you to organize at least five men for the task, men he would recognize and trust. Traders are leaving Hedeby every day. At least one must be going to Frankia. He and Einar will need to prepare for my return and settle a safe landing for our new fleet."

Finn nodded and they all walked in silence into the shadows of the town. Already the babble of hawkers and merchants as well as the scent of waste made his head hurt. He glanced at Elke, who walked with hands clasped at her lap and head down. Her golden hair was still short after the fashion of a slave, but she would be beautiful when it grew back.

He felt eyes searching him as he crossed the streets of Hedeby, pushing through the crowds of self-absorbed craftsmen and traders. It was as if he were entering a thicket surrounded by prowling wolves. He held his head up and continued down the road.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

"Is there no end to the bickering of these people?" Mord asked. He sat on a chair that mimicked Hrolf's high seat, but was far less ornate and much smaller. Beneath him the priest and his flock of laymen huddled in a tight knot. They were all Franks, each with pleading, wide eyes and drawn faces. They glanced down when he looked at them, suitably respectful of his authority, unlike their leader who had a habit of taking what was offered and asking for more.

"Hrothgar's farm is the most suitable location for a church," the priest said. He was a thin man with a hard, crooked nose and handsome smile. He looked more like nobility than a leader to farmers, but perhaps this was the manner of task the Church gave fledgling leaders. His simple black robe offset the shinning silver cross hung over his neck. Mord imagined it had just been polished to its current brilliance. "Father Lambert nearly died to secure it, and yet Hrothgar refuses to recognize the primacy of the church. We will pay him a fair price."

Mord doubted the price would be anything close to fair, but it was better than his dark thoughts on the matter. Ulfrik's former hall was now his own. The blood stain where Bishop Burchard had died was ironically a brown shadow beneath the priest's feet. While it was a grand hall, it was built with no inspiration, as if Ulfrik knew he would abandon it. Had he planned to leave it? If so, why? Mord did not have an answer, and knowing that Ulfrik had slipped all attempts to kill him filled him with rage. His hands gripped the rests of his chair.

"Jarl Mord?" The priest interrupted his thinking, leaning in with a quizzically raised brow. "Have you been listening to me?"

"How could I not hear the wonderful word of God that ever spouts from your mouth. You can't get rid of Hrothgar. The bastard should've followed Ulfrik when he left, but he's a coward and no friend of mine or yours."

"Do you make light of God's word?"

"Father Brice," Mord said, relieved he remembered the priest's name at last. "I apologize if I have been distant and rude. Only last night I received disturbing news about the intentions of an old enemy. It has stolen my concentration."

Nodding as if in the know, Father Brice lowered his voice. "So it is true that Ulfrik Ormsson did not die on those burning ships? While I am not a man of violence, I am sorry he did not meet his end."

Mord narrowed his eyes at the priest. "How is it you are so knowledgeable?"

The priest shrugged. "The burning ships were witnessed by locals and so they passed on their news. It has taken time, but word has traveled to me. It is not much to know."

"Very well," Mord said, leaning back in his chair. He caught the eye of one of his hirdmen. "You, take twenty men. Burn Hrothgar's farm to ash and kill him and his family. Put their heads on a spear as warning to others."

The hirdman blinked, but without a word left the hall to carry out the order. Mord did not doubt it would be done. His hirdmen were not local and were known for ruthless efficiency. Father Brice blanched and his followers wrung their hands.

"We don't want to build a church over the bodies of the dead," he said.

"Why not? Wouldn't be the first time. If my methods bother you, don't come to me for aid. Hrothgar has been like a pimple on my ass, and it's time he be squeezed." His hirdmen chuckled at the coarse joke, but the priest wrinkled his nose. "Go hide somewhere while my men solve your dispute, and once the embers have cooled you can begin laying your foundations."

The priest blinked half a dozen times, then inclined his head and left with his laymen in tow. Mord watched the hall door flash with yellow light as it opened and then close the room back into gloom once more. Only hirdmen and slaves remained, and they kept a heavy silence. As he was about to leave the hall and seek his wife, Magnus the Stone stepped forward.

"Jarl Mord, may I have a moment with you?"

"I was just about to go seek Fara. Walk with me."

They exited the gloomy hall for the bright day. Since acquiring the hall and lands, Mord had not experienced the anticipated thrill. He had a wider swatch of property and more people to plague him with complaints. Even his wife had not seemed happier. They walked from the hall and the surrounding fields were wide and empty. Ulfrik's former people were as suspicious of him as he was of them, and they avoided him. A sunny afternoon should have brought people to the fields, but instead he saw them all in retreat.

"Your father's messenger arrived early this morning," Magnus said in his gruff, rocky voice. "I did not want to disturb you, so I heard his news."

"Where is he now?"

"In the stables tending his horse. His news was not urgent but important."

They stopped once Mord noted Fara returning with her women from the stream nearby. They had baskets of laundry on their hips, and Fara's golden hair blazed in the sun as she approached. She smiled at him, but he instead looked to Magnus. "So what news from my father? Does he have another list of demands that I accomplish on his behalf?"

Mord could not help the bitterness seeping into his words. He had done all his father had asked of him and yet the old man was not happy. He would never be happy until Mord became someone else.

"His spy in Einar's hall has confirmed Ulfrik's son, Aren, still hides with him."

The news turned Mord's hands to ice, and he studied Magnus's face. This was no jest. "He did not flee with his brothers?"

Magnus shook his head. "He did not return home after spotting him in Rouen, and must've sought shelter with Einar."

"So they must have killed my messengers, and not bandits." Mord began to pace, worried at this new wrinkle. Aren was Ulfrik's weakest son, sheltered and unwilling to fight. His only threat lay in an inexplicable friendship with Hrolf's son, Vilhjalmer. For that relationship alone, Aren had to be handled carefully.

"What is Aren doing exactly?"

"I asked the same. No one knows for certain, but he appears to be working in a great deal of secrecy. Your father believes whatever his plan, it will be disruptive to you. It is best to eliminate him while no one knows he is there."

"Is that your opinion or my father's?"

Magnus blinked in a rare moment of surprise. "Your father's, of course."

"Of course, I could kill him, or expose Einar for harboring Hrolf's enemy, but I think it is better to learn what he is planning. You know I've also heard Ulfrik is raising a great fleet in Hedeby. Have you heard the same?" Magnus shook his head. "Well, I wonder then if even my father knows. He must, for the traders who shared that news are sure to have visited Rouen. Ulfrik claims he wants to settle in the Danelaw, but does one need to raise such a large army for that purpose?"

"If he wants to ensure his place," Magnus offered. Mord scowled at him.

"He plans to return here, and his son lingers behind to make the way for him." Mord rubbed his face and sighed. "If I kill Aren, it will alert Ulfrik and cut off our spy from Einar's hall. I'd rather know Ulfrik's next step and be prepared for it rather than gloat of the death of his weakest son."

Magnus shrugged, a careless motion that dismissed Mord's words. "Your father wants to kill him, or at the least expose him so Einar is caught in the trap as well."

"Are you sworn to me or my father?"

Magnus did not answer, but his flinty gaze did not falter. Mord continued to hold it until the old hirdman relented. "I am your man, Jarl Mord."

"Then we will wait to see what else Aren might reveal to us. If we cannot learn more then we shall have him killed. That will satisfy everyone, would it not?"

Magnus nodded. Mord waved him off, and he went to meet his wife, content that Ulfrik's whelp would unwittingly betray all his father's plans. The afternoon had ended much better than it had started.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

"I can't believe you led us into a trap."

Hakon sat against the rough wood wall of the small hut where he and Gunnar had been placed. He felt the cool damp seeping through his shirt, and the small of his back hurt from sitting on the hard-packed dirt floor. He pushed his feet against the stone of the empty hearth. The small room was gloomy, lit only by the light filtering from the smoke hole above. Gunnar was still trying to peer through cracks in the door, and for the twentieth time he pushed on it. The door rattled against the outside bolt, and he let his one good hand slide down the door.

"So much for all the goodwill and friends you had waiting for us in England." Hakon had held his tongue for as long as he could, but now that he was no longer certain of the days he had been imprisoned, his willpower vanished. He was going to beat Gunnar senseless once he regained his strength. They had not been fed more than hard bread and mead.

Gunnar did not turn from the door, but kept his head lowered and listened.

"Do you really think they're going to open the door and free us?" Hakon snorted a laugh. "You fucked the jarl's wife how many times? There's no misunderstanding that. Wouldn't that have been a good thing to tell all of us before we accepted an invitation to his hall?"

What little Hakon understood of the situation had all come from Jarl Aslak when his feigned politeness erupted into raging violence. He had accused Gunnar of too many horrible acts to comprehend, but it was clear Gunnar once had a tryst with his wife that ended in a child. Gunnar had a bastard son in Northumbria.

"She was not his wife at the time," Gunnar said to the door. "Nor was he a jarl. I should've known better the moment I saw his smug face instead of Jarl Hord's."