"What is it? Do you think I make empty promises?"
"No, Hum … lord. Ulfrik will not take me back. He knows I planned to kill him once."
Anscharic stared at Thrand as if he no longer recognized him. His jaw twitched and he began to pace again. "I did not know this, but if you tried to kill Ulfrik, why are you alive?"
"I shifted blame to Kolbyr, then killed him. Ulfrik knows the truth now."
Anscharic gave a vague laugh. "Ruthless cunning, I had not seen that in you. Still, my offer stands. You are sly enough to come up with your own methods. My father's cloak is easy to find. I have learned that he flies it from his banner pole, so that I will know he comes for me."
"What if I can't recover it?"
Shrugging, Anscharic sighed. "Then it is not God's will for me to have it, or another may return it to me. In any case, do not return to me without it. I will know if you have it, for you will tie it to the highest branch of a tree I will show you. When my men see it, they will alert me and you will deliver it."
Thrand nodded, his pulse finally subsiding. Anscharic offered him freedom and a chance at wealth.
All he needed to do was to finish what he started with Ulfrik, and a new life awaited.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
February 6, 886 CE
The ruins of the Christian abbey offered fortunate men shelter from the unremitting rain. Ulfrik lay buried beneath piles of blankets and furs by the hearth, listening to the rain lash the roof and leaks spatter onto the stone floor. His eyes throbbed with fever and his body ached as if he had been twisted like a wet cloth. Voices murmured and restless footfalls sent echoes playing off the fire-scorched stone walls. He pulled a wool blanket over his head.
"It seems the gods want to drown us one way or the other." Snorri's rough voice grumbled close by. He too stretched out, suffering with fever that had spread among the crowded Danish army.
"Don't remind me." Ulfrik rolled onto his side. Though he had changed clothes since his failure on the Seine, his nose still filled with the mucky scent of river water.
Snorri's quip returned the horrid memory of scrambling for something to hold beneath the water. Every instinct had told him to breathe, but he had clamped his mouth shut. The cold water had sapped his strength, and the current shunted him toward the river bottom. Yet he opened his eyes and saw a length of ship rigging waving like a slow writhing snake in the murk. He had seized it, and knew he would live. Hauling himself up to the burning wreck, he exploded from a world of cold and muted sound to a screaming blaze of crumbling debris. The rope snapped from his weight, but he latched onto a floating plank. Snorri and the others then picked him from the water and escaped to the shore. The Franks conserved their arrows against their small party, and thus spared their lives.
Toki's burns were not serious, quickly doused when he had fallen into the river. Mord had dove for safety and rescued Toki. They all made it to shore and watched the ships burn so fast that they sank without catching a spark to the bridge. Less charitable men derided the failure, though both Hrolf and Sigfrid admitted the bridge had been damaged. No gold bands covered Ulfrik's arms, and he and his men crawled back to the abbey to recover.
Then illness settled upon them, and they had slept for days.
"Bera will bring us hot venison stew," Toki said. He also sat with them, though the illness had not attacked him like others.
"Good, I'm tired of river eels," Snorri said.
Ulfrik folded the blanket from his face, cool air splashing it like water. "Are you still laying with that woman? All right a roll or two, but she's becoming more like a wife."
Toki smiled and shrugged. "She is a skilled cook and knows medicine. Should I send her away?"
Ulfrik struggled to sit up, his head heavy with snot. He blew his nose onto the floor, and studied the slime he ejected. It was mostly clear, which he knew to be a good sign. "I guess if we are going to set ourselves on fire and drown in the river, we better keep a healer at hand."
A sudden stir of excited voices came from the front of the room. The double doors hung open, a gray square of light where men gestured wildly, pointing to the north. Two figures broke from the group, heading straight for Ulfrik. They were Einar and Mord, and each one rushed to deliver the same news.
"Hold on!" Ulfrik struggled to his feet as their words collided. "You may as well be speaking Frankish. Only one of you talk."
Mord cut off Einar, physically stepping in front of the stouter man. "The Seine is rising and the bridge is sagging. They think it's going to collapse!"
All fatigue and fever lifted in that instant, and Ulfrik was already bounding for the exit before anyone could react. He stumbled into the shrieking rain, the ground dancing with fat drops that pounded the grass to mud. He paused only long enough to sight the tower, and then slogged toward it through the mud. Men streamed along with him like run-off down the slopes. Horns sounded and shouts filled the air. The mud grew thicker as he came to the river and it sucked at his feet. He did not need to go farther. His position showed him all he needed to see.
His attack on the bridge had weakened it. It bowed out at the precise spot of impact. The river had risen almost to the bridge itself, which was purposefully low to the water from the start. Ulfrik's damage coupled with the mass of debris clogged between the pilings was more stress than it could take. The first of the lattice-work braces snapped. Men cheered as more cracked and broke, snapping off and plunging into the brown water.
A seal-skin cloak slapped to his shoulders from behind, but he was so absorbed in the progressing collapse that he did nothing more than tighten it and pull up the hood. Rain now sounded loud and deep in his hood, and Toki's voice fought over the song of rain, cheers, and the groaning of the bridge. "You should keep dry while you're sick. By the gods, look at that! We did it, didn't we? It's coming down!"
Franks lined the walls. Ulfrik make out a Christian cross held toward the bridge. Though he could not see the face, it must be their holy man, Joscelin. He set his god's power against Thor's, the lord of storms. His god failed.
With a plaintive screech, the bridge shattered and all of it collapsed into shattered wood. What has stood so solid and impassible now washed down the bloated river. Boards and beams plopped into the water. Spans of bridge remained intact like small rafts. Franks who tried to cross the bridge to the tower had backed up into their gateway. A wail went up from the walls of Paris, and Ulfrik watched Joscelin's arm waver and then withdraw.
In that moment, the rain slowed, and then reduced to a drizzle. The bridge was no more than pilings poking above water like the fingers of a drowning giant.
Ulfrik recognized the sign.
"Thor has won! It is a sign of his favor. The gods love us! Destroy the tower now!"
His exhortations caught and men began to chant for blood, surging toward the tower. Franks appeared atop the tower and began to fire at the converging Danes. Though they had not come prepared with war gear, Sigfrid had gathered a prepared force of men. They crashed through the raging crowd, Sigfrid at the fore with a massive shield raised against the tower. He soon took over the rabble, and organized a team to pound the front gates with a log.
Only a dozen men remained in the tower, and they rained arrows down with imprecise fury. Several men fell, but most of the Frankish attack went wide or were blocked by the many shields sheltering the ram team.
Initially caught up with all the others, Ulfrik cooled as the arrows sailed toward unarmored targets. He was not prepared to help, and could only watch. Toki and his other men stood with him, silently observing the outcome stemming from their attack on the bridge.