Thrand pounded after him. Ulfrik's roar made his neck hairs stand on end. His battle fury was legendary, and Thrand had seen enough of it to know he never wanted to be the target. So his legs pumped and he held close to Humbert.
The priest waved both hands in the air, screaming in Frankish. The Frankish trenches drew near, and now men threw torches down to illuminate the ground by the tower. Humbert's barrage of Frankish never ceased. Brave Danes had laid boards across the trenches, and some still remained. Humbert raced over one, and Thrand followed. Ulfrik's cries grew fainter. Clad in mail, he could not match their speed.
Humbert now banged on the iron doors. Men shouted to him, and his voice registered desperation, fear, and anger. Still the door did not open.
"You whoreson! Your head will hang from my mast. Humbert, you pig-fucking bastard, do you hear me?" Ulfrik's shape emerged from the dark, following his curses.
At last, Thrand heard the bolt drawn and the metallic clank of a door opening. Humbert shoved himself inside, and Thrand followed. He trusted the Franks more than his own people at this point.
He tumbled into a wide stone room, glowing orange with torchlight. Humbert chattered away in Frankish to six men in full mail, spears leveled. Their confused faces darted from Humbert to Thrand over and over as he rattled on in a language that sounded like a man speaking underwater. Finally, he seemed to be influencing them. The men backed away, and Humbert looked at Thrand with a face alight with victory. He raised his arm, extending a trembling finger at Thrand.
"Are we going to be safe? Did you convince them, Humbert?"
Humbert's smile threatened to split his face. He shouted one word that Thrand did not understand. "Norman!"
Six spear points jabbed into Thrand's stomach, threatening to puncture into his guts. He froze in place, careful not to help the Franks impale him.
"At last, I am home. Thanks to you and your utterly stupid companions." Humbert's Norse flowed clearly, with a command and arrogance Thrand only heard from jarls. "My name is Humbert no longer. I am Anscharic, a noble of the Ile de France. And you, swine, are my prisoner."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The long walk back from Ander's burial mound passed in silence. His death replayed constantly in Ulfrik's mind: him crashing to his knees, blood flowing over his chest, all his strength draining into the dirt as he flopped to his side. Ulfrik stumbled on a rock hidden in the brown grass as the small procession shambled back to camp. Like that rock, I never saw the attack coming, he chided himself. I underestimated the foe and a good man paid for it with his life.
The mass of white tents were cheerful in the cold, clear morning sun. Smoke from cooking fires billowed up across the sprawling camps, and men tended their duties uncaring and unknowing of the death of the night before. So many fine men like Ander had died that one more made no difference to anyone but close companions.
Ulfrik's new men were scattered throughout the camp, sharpening weapons, checking belts, carrying water back from the river, and all other manner of chores. They hardly knew each other, but were united in their loss of lords and friends and the need for a new leader. No one spoke as the procession of Ander's friends, with Ulfrik at the lead, joined them. The men of Nye Grenner had dwindled to nearly half their number, and Ander's loss pained them. Yet none suffered the pain more than Ulfrik.
"Do you need anything?" Toki asked Ulfrik, hobbling up with his crutch.
"Leave me to my thoughts. I'll be in my tent." He turned toward Paris, clouds of smoke rising where fires had started from the constant barrages of the remaining catapults. "I am counting the days to those walls come down."
Ducking inside the tent, the air was warm on his face. He threw his helmet onto the floor and stripped off his mail, having worn it to Ander's burial. Sitting on the pile of skins that made his bed, he put his hands over his head. The names and faces of all his lost men, not just Ander, jumbled in his thoughts. So many had died in a lightning flash of violence, only now could he count the cost. Tears began to bead at his eyes for those he led to death.
The flap of his tent opened and Snorri ducked inside. His face was slack and tired as he lowered himself opposite Ulfrik. The two stared at each other long moments, then Ulfrik dropped his head and clasped his hands behind his neck.
"If Ander could read the futhark, then why did he not see this? Why did he have to die at the hands of a slave?"
"Maybe his did see it." Snorri's gruff voice was low and thoughtful. "No true warrior wants to die in his bed anyway."
"I have led too many men to death here. Thrand's treachery was enough, but then to couple it with murder. And Humbert. That turd will pay for this. We are here because of him."
"We're here because this is our chance at being more than farmers."
"No!" Ulfrik snapped, staring into Snorri's eyes. "Ander came here on the promise of gold. Thrand betrayed me for the same gold. Humbert lured us to our deaths. My men are rotting at the feet of Paris because of him! What glory is to be had here, falling from high ladders or being burned to death by an enemy out of reach?"
Ulfrik's temples throbbed and his eyes grew hot. Snorri's gaze faltered and the two sat in tense silence.
"A good leader grieves for his men," Snorri said. "It is a hard thing to bear, knowing you've ordered them to death. But your oath-holder has asked this task of you, no matter what else motivated us. Do not shoulder a burden you don't need, lad. We're in for a long wait yet, and you have to hold up."
Turning his head aside from Snorri, whose words rang true but seemed impossible to heed, his eyes fell on the ball of Humbert's cloak. He had retained it as a reminder of the slave's treachery.
"This is Humbert's cloak," he said as he gathered it into his fist, holding it before Snorri's sweating face. "It belonged to his father and he held it dear. It will by my new standard. I will fly it beneath my banner and will not remove it until Humbert is dead."
"He deserves death." Snorri grabbed a hank of the cloak and held it up. "Fly it from the banner pole, let the worm see it flying so he knows we come for him."
Ulfrik nodded, blinking away the wetness from his eyes. "For Ander and all who have wasted their lives for his treachery, Humbert will die. Let's go tie this rag to the banner pole."
The two of them exited from the tent, and crashed into Hrolf who was about to enter. Gunther and Mord accompanied him. Stepping back from the tent, Hrolf's expression was grave. "I heard what happened, and I came as soon as I could."
His appearance was so unexpected and uncommon that both Ulfrik and Snorri cooled. They exchanged confused glances, Snorri finding words sooner than Ulfrik. "Thank you for coming, Jarl Hrolf. You bring honor and glory to Ander's memory."
"I cannot admit I knew him well, but he served loyally and so dies with honor. We will revel together in the feasting hall one day." His expression shifted, the contrived sorrow slipping enough for Ulfrik to notice. He addressed him in a lowered voice. "I want to speak with you a moment."
The two walked off a short distance, leaving Snorri with Gunther and Mord. "There is celebration in Paris this morning," Hrolf said as they walked toward the edge of camp. "Do you know why?"
Ulfrik shook his head. Hrolf nodded and gave a slight laugh.
"A great nobleman has returned to them. Anscharic is his name, though you might know him as Humbert."
An ember dropped into his stomach. "My slave? He was a noble? Is that why they opened the gates at his command?"
Hrolf nodded, smiling without humor. "The Franks are shouting the news from their walls. A valuable ransom was in your hands, and he has escaped to give the Franks hope. They say Anscharic's brother will send his army to aid Paris."