"We've been idle too long," he called back over his shoulder. "Many have been here a week with nothing to do but drink and grow bored. Lots of fighting, even some killed. Time to move on, I say."
Slipping out of the throng, Ulfrik greeted the cool air with an exaggerated sigh that drew a knowing chuckle from Gunther. They had arrived at a wide clearing populated by numerous tents, two of which stood higher and wider than the others. A bonfire blazed at the center and clusters of spearmen idled around it. Banners flipped around poles at the entrances to the tents, but did not fly true enough to see the markings.
"Hrolf dwells in that tent." Gunther pointed to the leftmost tent, brown with dirt from long years of use. It was not as large as the center tent, nor as bright.
"And Sigfrid is at the center," Ulfrik finished for him.
Two men guarded the worn tent, but Gunther ignored them and stood outside the flap, addressing Hrolf. "Lord, more warriors join your band. Ulfrik Ormsson has arrived with hirdmen, and they will present themselves."
A response came that Ulfrik could not hear, but One-Eye backed away. In the next moment, the flap opened and Jarl Hrolf the Strider ducked out of the tent. Three years had passed, but Ulfrik could hardly forget the tallest man he had ever met. Clad in shining mail and a heavy cape rimmed with fox fur, he appeared ready to leap into battle. Gold rings caught points of bonfire and gold and silver armbands sparkled with the dancing flames. Thor's hammer hung across his chest, the polished silver reflecting so powerfully the talisman seemed on fire.
He threw his arms wide; clear, fierce eyes set in a regal face meeting Ulfrik's. His presence had not diminished over the years, and the gray forming at his temples and in his pointed beard contributed to his kingly appearance. "One-Eye said you would come. Be welcomed!"
Ulfrik inclined his head. "My lord, I would not miss the opportunity to join you in such a great undertaking. I bring three ships and eighty men to the glory of your banner."
Snorri grunted beside him, and Ulfrik smiled. Flattery was not his strongest talent, but he understood its value to men like Hrolf. The grunt was Snorri's critique of his awkward delivery, but Hrolf appeared unconcerned as he surveyed the men arrayed behind Ulfrik with an appreciative nod.
"Eighty men! One-Eye, how many warriors under my banner now?"
"I can't count that high, lord."
"Find someone who can, then tell me I have more than Sigfrid."
Both men laughed, but Ulfrik noted the rivalry with a sly smile to Snorri. Hrolf put his hands on his hips, scanning the crew, then stopped and pointed at Humbert. "You took no women with you but brought an old man? I thought I knew you better, Ulfrik."
Humbert crumbled back like he had been struck with an arrow, casting his gaze to the ground. Thrand grabbed his shoulders and shoved him to his knees before Hrolf. Ulfrik laughed at Hrolf's jest. "He is a slave and a captive, a priest from Frankia I hope to ransom. He speaks our language, too, and so might be of use."
Hanging forward enough to nearly prostrate himself, he croaked his greeting, "Lord Hrolf."
"Did he just die?" Gunther joked, then slapped his leg as he cackled. Humbert was immediately forgotten when a horn began to blast.
"Sigfrid is ready to address the men," Hrolf said, pointing to the center tent. "I will join him. You are all lucky to be in the front, where you can be seen with the great jarls."
Hrolf left with his bodyguards, and Gunther went to summon his crew. Ulfrik gathered his men close, keeping Snorri and Toki to either side. Overturned carts made for a makeshift stage. The crowds of warriors gathered around the bonfire to hear their lord's address. Many drunken calls filled the night as the crowd formed.
Emerging from his tent, Sigfrid greeted his allies with nods curt enough to be insults. His pale eyes glittered in the firelight and his wide face was written with lust for attention. Leaping onto the wagon with a single jump, he landed easily and drew approving shouts for his agility.
"Bastard practiced that for weeks," Snorri's rough voice whispered in Ulfrik's ear, and he put the back of his hand to his mouth to cover his laugh.
Sigfrid raised his hand to the crowd, and men began to stomp the ground or beat their shields. Soon all joined in, Ulfrik pounding the earth with his foot. Sigfrid circled to face every man, his freshly scoured mail orange bright and his rings and chains sparkling. Shadows filled the curvatures of his muscles, making him appear stronger and larger than reality. Waving down the crowd, he shouted for silence. It took a long while, but he finally captured the massive throng's attention. Ulfrik craned his neck to look behind, seeing no end to the men gathered.
"This summer I offered the Frankish Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Charles the Fat, terms for his safety. Seven hundred pounds of silver would satisfy me enough to leave him alone. But the fool refused, and now he will pay. We'll have that silver, plus whatever we can carry away. We'll remind the Franks why they should fear us. We sail at dawn!"
Sigfrid threw his arms overhead again and roared, soliciting his audience to join him. Many were drunk and many were impatient, and so shouts followed. However, Ulfrik frowned and hollered to Toki over the din.
"What is this? We're going to remind the Franks? He makes it sound like an errand."
"Not much of a speaker," Toki agreed.
Sigfrid shouted a while longer, promised death to any Frank standing in his way, then abruptly returned to his tent. Confusion rippled through the crowd, which did not appear to understand the gathering had finished. At last, Hrolf mounted the wagon and dismissed everyone.
"How many women do you think wait for him in that tent?" Snorri asked as they turned to leave.
The tight clusters of bodies slowed their return to camp. Weary and hungry, he anticipated a meal and sleep. As the crowd broke apart, they moved faster until they found Nye Grenner's standard again. As his crew settled onto the grass, Gunther One-Eye reappeared.
"I've got a favor to ask of you," he said without preamble. He rested his heavy hands on the shoulders of a young man dressed in mail and draped with a wolf pelt. He hefted a bag, which he let drop, and carried a new shield of iron-rimmed wood that was painted red and gold. A short, blond beard hid his face well enough for his age and his features looked nothing like Gunther's. However, his mannerisms and expressions were drawn directly from him.
"I did not know you had a son," Ulfrik replied, gambling that he was correct. Gunther patted the man's shoulder and pushed him forward.
"My name is Mord Guntherson." He glanced at his father, who kept his eyes on Ulfrik while his hands pushed his son down. Mord dropped to his knee and bowed his head. "I would be honored if you allowed me to serve under you."
Ulfrik blinked at Mord, not comprehending. Snorri, Toki, Einar, Ander, and several others who stood nearby paused and watched with guarded expressions.
"I want him to learn from you," Gunther explained. "Keep him close, and teach him how to lead men in battle. If I had him with me, I'd always be worried. That'll just get us both killed. What do you say?"
Blinking again, he regarded Mord kneeling in the grass. Teaching Gunther's son was not a difficulty, but keeping him close would imperil his plans for Humbert's treasure. However, to refuse would not only be groundless, but would also ruin an important relationship. Worries and arguments passed through his mind, until Mord raised a quizzical eye to him while still kneeling.
"Sorry, but of course I would be gladdened to have Mord join my crew." Gunther's skeptical expression melted to a smile. Ulfrik raised Mord to his feet. "Be welcomed and find a place for your pack."