"You'd better hope your god puts his hands over your throat before I slice it open." Snapping the sax to Humbert's neck again, the priest tilted his head back to avoid being cut. "If you won't agree to work with us, we can always force you. We can skip your revenge, and get right to the treasure. I know plenty of ways to make you reveal it, trust me."
Humbert grew still, and Thrand now stood while keeping the sax at the slave's neck
Kolbyr stood as well, chuckling. "I say you give him a demonstration. Maybe hold his head under the river water for a while, just to see how he likes it."
"Yes, we don't have to leave marks for Ulfrik's eyes, do we." Thrand traced his sax down to where Humbert's red cloak was held with a button of deer antler. He hooked the tip beneath it, as if to pop it off. "I could choke you with this rag you love so much. Would you like that? If you cooperate, you can escape all of this."
Humbert scuttled away and pushed the blade aside.
The sound of the commotion reached Thrand and he stepped back. Turning around, the crowds on the shore were like angry bees and making as much noise. Thrusting his sax back into its sheath, he spared a snarl for Humbert before running to the prow. He called to the other crewmen boarding a neighboring ship.
"What is happening? Paris is surrendering?"
Men shook their heads and called back. "They want a fight."
Thrand and Kolbyr looked at each other in surprise. After a few moments of the news sinking in, Kolbyr broke their silence. "War complicates things. Ulfrik will try to move on this treasure during the fighting."
Nodding in agreement, Thrand stroked his beard. "It's not so bad yet. Many will die in battle, and not many know of the treasure. Sounds encouraging, doesn't it?"
Kolbyr's brow furrowed, then realization showed as a wicked smile. "I didn't expect that even from you. Still, sounds challenging."
"In the madness of battle, young Kolbyr, no one knows who kills what. We only need aid Fate a little; wherever one of Ulfrik's inner circle survives, we correct the mistake."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
November 26, 885 CE
"There are only two hundred men to defend all of Paris, so take heart." Ulfrik stood on the northern banks of the Seine, his forty warriors arrayed into two blocks. Dressed in mail and helmets, bearing spears and shields, they arrayed for battle. Behind them, in the dull morning sun, a vast fleet of dark ships crawled past. The shouts and war cries of their crews filled the air, where dark birds circled in anticipation of the killing to come.
"Lord, Humbert claims his god protects them from our arrows and blades." One of his crew, an older man with a white scar over the bridge of his nose, raised the concern. He glanced nervously at his peers. "Is it possible?"
"Our people have been sacking the new god's churches for generations. The new god is a dead god, and his hands and feet are nailed to wood. Did you notice? The man promising his god will save the Franks is lashed to a mast." Ulfrik joined his men in laughter. Having drawn duty for land assault, Ulfrik had to leave his ships behind, and tied Humbert to the mast to prevent his escape. "Both god and slave are unable to move, and so the Franks are doomed."
Toki arrived with two other men, each of them carrying skins tight with ale. They began distributing the skins into the ranks of men. In his youth, Ulfrik let his fury carry him into battle, and scorned drink. Now, older and with more to lose, he needed the courage found in the skins. Men guzzled ale as Ulfrik paced before them. A hot tightness filled his stomach, and his eyes flitted to the dark gray tower looming to the east. Once the skins were in circulation, he reviewed the plan a final time.
"When the horns blow, each block picks up their ladders." He pointed to the two huge siege ladders stacked between him and the warriors. Gunther and his men delivered them in early morning, along with instructions. They were longer than both of his ships lined up, and wide enough for one man to climb at a time. Two rough-hewn timbers accompanied each ladder, to steady it.
"Don't draw your weapons, but hold your shields against arrows. If our fellows are doing their work, the Franks won't dare come to their battlements from all our own bow fire. We lay the ladders at the tower base like we practiced. Then it's up and in. Sigfrid is offering a reward for the first men up a ladder. Hrolf will match it, as will I. But you have to live to collect it, so nothing passes to your families. Until the city is breached, accept no surrender and take no prisoners."
He commanded the men to wheel toward the east, and prepare for the order. The army of Danes and Norwegians converged on the banks behind Ulfrik's position. Jutting from blocks of troops were banners of the northmen in every size and color, waving in the gentle breeze. Ulfrik gestured for Toki to raise Nye Grenner's standard. As he hoisted the pole overhead, the green banner unfurled with a snap. Ulfrik pumped his fist in the air and roared. The throaty cheers of his men joined his. All across the banks and spilling out into the water the ceremony repeated.
The great army was waking, roaring like a beast of war. The land shuddered with the furious shouts.
At the fore of the army stood Sigfrid's forces, and his white standard of a boar's head with bloody tusks flew over scores of warriors in glinting mail. Hrolf's forces were anchored to the river bank, and would support a direct assault. His red banner embroidered with a golden dragon bobbed as he drove his ranks of men to join Ulfrik's position. Gunther followed with his men on Hrolf's left flank.
Lumbering ahead through the crisp, clear morning air went Sigfrid's war machines and their crews. Settling into positions along the banks, the massive wooden arms cocked back as their crews worked heavy cranks. Ulfrik strained to see the workers, who had been busy throughout the night moving and arming the giants. He heard wood groan as boulders were loaded into the slings of the machines.
"A few good hits and the tower will fall." Mord, who Ulfrik had placed in his block, waved dismissively at the fat tower in the distance.
Snorri spit on the ground, then grunted. "They'll have to hit the tower to do that. Not sure these things will."
Ulfrik reserved his opinion, studying the pantomime of the siege engineers. Men from the distant south with olive skin and brown eyes commanded these machines, and if the rumors were true, demanded a jarl's take of the spoils for their knowledge. He held his breath in anticipation. The war machines, dark against the morning sun, dipped back and quivered.
Silence swept out over the horde of Danes. A thin and lonely voice shouted. Then the great arms released.
The explosive violence of the machines made Ulfrik twitch in surprise. The sound reminded him of the grating, rocky crash of a collapsing iceberg. The arms struck bars with deep thuds and the slings lobbed rocks over incredible distances.
The boulders aimed at the tower missed, falling short or sailing past. The defenders jeered, their voices faint and weak. The boulders aimed at the city fared better. Many plopped into the river with enormous splashes, but others sailed over the walls to careen into the building beyond. One boulder hit the wall and exploded in a cloud of dust and stone fragments.
"Ranging shots. It will be better this time," Hrolf called down the front of his line. Ulfrik realized Hrolf positioned himself only ten files down from his own. He had no time to relish the honor the proximity gave him, for the next volley of stones released.
Boulders hurtled and tumbled through the air, and one crashed into the tower. The hit exploded into a bloom of rock dust. Ulfrik found himself stepping forward to cheer. All of the Danish army joined him. Men on land and on the water banged their shields and screamed victory, as if the single rock had destroyed all of Paris. As the glittering dust poured to the ground, the point of impact showed. The tower wall had been cratered, but little more.