Up close, Ulfrik found they were not as short as children, but their prideful and disdainful faces were immediate aversions. Two men went before, dressed in mail and wearing fine linen surcoats of blue and white. One had a round head with thin brown hair that clung to it as if soaked. Dark circles ringed his hooded eyes, and a barely contained snarl trembled on this thin lips. The other man was older, with a long and narrow head and curly gray beard. His motions were crisp and lively, and despite his obvious years, he held a posture like a man half his age. Ulfrik guessed him a fighting man. A heavy wooden crucifix hung about his neck. Behind these two were eight men-at-arms in helmets and mail, gripping spears. Ulfrik noted their knuckles were white and their eyes wide behind their noseguards. He held the gaze of one man until the Frank's eyes darted aside.
Both parties sized up each other, sounds of the river current rushing by filling the awkward quiet. Ulfrik noted a crow passing overhead. Hrolf and Sigfrid noted it too, and like himself, Ulfrik guessed they surely took it for a sign of the gods' favor. Sigfrid watched the bird glide toward the city, another good sign, and he nearly laughed. This drew a frown from the Franks, who finally decided to speak.
Their language sounded like the twisted speech of an animal. Ulfrik thought of geese. The round-headed man spilled them like beer, and once finished looked to another man Ulfrik had not noticed. The man had been obscured from Ulfrik's sight, and he was no more than fifteen years old. His beard had not yet formed on his soft jaw. He spoke fluidly, with a Danish accent.
"My lord is the glorious Count Odo, defender of Paris. With him is the esteemed Joscelin, abbot of Saint Germain-des-Pres and bishop of Paris." Ulfrik heard the name of the priest as one long slur of weak sounds. "He knows of the great Sigfrid, but does not recognize his companions."
"Tell your goat-fucking lord that Sigfrid and Hrolf, stand before them."
"Courtesy, please." The abbot spoke Norse fluently enough to fool Sigfrid to searching his own men for the source of the admonition. When he realized Abbot Joscelin spoke, Sigfrid howled laughter. Ulfrik raised a brow, and thought of Humbert's pained rendition of the language. He also wondered if this priest was Humbert's enemy, and so studied him carefully.
After Sigfrid recovered and the boy translated, he continued. "Some of you are clever men. That is excellent, since I'm certain clever men must also be reasonable men. You see the ships filling your river. There are thirty thousand warriors at my back. Go ahead and tell them. I want to see their faces."
The boy rushed his translation, emphasizing parts of his babble. Ulfrik admired the young boy's pliant mind, for he doubted his own ability to learn foreign tongues. Odo and Joscelin both nodded, but betrayed nothing. Ulfrik instead studied the guards, whose expression told more. Fear and terror passed across their faces. They attempted to mask them, but widened eyes, hard swallows, and tight lips betrayed them. Hearing of their enemies, the guards took furtive glances to the distance where ships bobbed at anchor. Ulfrik sneered and turned his chin up at them, letting them know he feared nothing.
"Count Odo wishes to understand what Lord Sigfrid desires."
"Is he getting this right?" Sigfrid turned to his own interpreter, who nodded. Assured, Sigfrid raised his voice and spoke at a level of courtesy Ulfrik could never imagine possible from such a brute. He bowed his head low, and spoke directly to Abbot Joscelin.
"Have compassion on yourself and on your people. We beg you to listen to us, in order that you may escape death. Allow us freedom of the city. We will do no harm and we will assure that whatever belongs either to you or to Odo shall be strictly respected."
The boy translated into Odo's ear, while Abbot Joscelin required no assistance. Instead, he bowed his head, and used the same respectful language. "Merely freedom of the city? When the great Jarl Sigfrid last visited us, he demanded a large tribute."
"Of course," Sigfrid said, as if just recalling a trifling point. "The tribute still stands. Seven hundred pounds of silver will see to the safety of Paris. I give you my word, which is worth more than silver or gold."
Count Odo deepened his snarl as the boy fed him the translated words, though Joscelin stood composed. He smiled and inclined his head as he replied, placing a firm hand on the ever-angering Count Odo's arm.
"The Emperor Charles, who, after God, is king and ruler of nearly all the world, has entrusted Paris to us. He has put it in our care, not that the kingdom may be ruined by our misconduct, but that he may keep it and be assured of its peace. If you had been given the same duty of defending this city, and if you were to do that which you ask of us, what treatment do you suppose we would deserve?"
The clear notes of the abbot's warm and deep voice gripped Ulfrik's attention. Such a voice and manner of language was seldom heard beyond the skalds of the great jarls. The abbot's words had even stilled Sigfrid to a thoughtful silence. As if waking to his senses, he shook his head and glanced at Hrolf before answering.
"I'd deserve to have my head cut off and thrown to the dogs. Nevertheless, if you do not listen to my demands, by tomorrow my war machines will destroy your walls and my men will raze your city. Your wives and daughters will pleasure us, and your boys will be slaves to row our ships. All others will die. I promise there will be no end to this, for every day that a Dane breathes, your people will suffer."
The veneer of politeness shattered, Sigfrid's posture tightened and he drew himself taller. The Frankish guards began to lower their spears at the threat, but the abbot held up his hand. "Then you have your answer. God protects us and God will drive your ships back to the lands of ice and snow in sorrow and despair."
The groups stared at each other, Ulfrik searching the resolve of Abbot Joscelin. Humbert had not named his enemy, but Ulfrik held no doubt this fierce and intelligent man was the one. He turned with the confident finality of a king leaving a beggar to grovel for mercy and shoved through his guards. Odo lingered and cursed them in his language, which Sigfrid's Frankish traitor translated, "By tomorrow you will suck the devil's prick in hell."
As both parties pulled away, Sigfrid began to laugh and rubbed his hands together. "At last! It'll feel better taking the silver out of their hides anyway. Tomorrow, it's war!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thrand's temples pounded as he drained his skin of ale while idling on the deck of Raven's Talon. Ulfrik had disappeared beyond his sight, gone to glorify himself with the mighty jarls. Raven's Talon bobbed placidly in the shallows of the river bank. Surrounding her on the river and on the shore were enough ships to make it appear as if the Seine had disappeared beneath them, their masts like black spines on the back of a river-sized dragon. Thrand did not care if Paris would be a tough fight. He was not planning to remain for it. He did worry that Humbert and his treasures would slip through his hands, dooming him to a life of servitude and poverty under Ulfrik.
He decided to ensure that would not happen.
Most of the Raven's Talon crew had drained away. Humbert sat against the gunwales with his head down and tethered to the mast by a rope long enough to span the deck but no farther. He could untie or cut the rope, of course, but his guards would prevent it. By now, sitting idly on benches and consumed in their thoughts, only Snorri and Einar remained. Mord, Gunther's son, had left to find old friends.
Einar picked his nose, examined the results, then flicked it away. Snorri appeared about to doze off. Both men pitied Thrand, and though pity offended him, he knew it could also be a useful tool. If he could get them off the ship, even for a short time, he could work on Humbert.