Only once she had passed all of Konal's men did she let the tears escape. She did not understand them, and did not welcome them. She was the jarl now, and treachery had to be dealt with violence. She feared her violence had not been enough, and would one day cost her more than she had gained.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
July 13, 886 CE
Ulfrik surveyed the battlefield. The piles of bodies were mostly Danes, arrows lining their corpses like feathered spines. A light rain fell from the dark sky, plinking into puddles of muddy water and blood. The cheers of the tower's defenders were like the thunder of the storm that threatened to worsen. He spit onto the grass, a foamy mass of saliva and blood. His face still burned where the Frankish spear had raked it.
Men slogged back from the northern tower to retire to their trenches. Banners were limp and sodden in the light but steady rain. Humbert's cloak hung in defeat overhead. Mord had driven the banner pole into the earth, which now grew muddy and caused the pole to list.
"Take the banner down," he said to Mord. "I don't want it to fall into the mud. See to the wounded."
"Not many survived the arrow storm," he said while dragging the pole out of the mud. Einar and several others ambled up, blood and dirt on their faces. "Either you lived or died in that."
"More reinforcements for the Franks," said one of the onlookers. "And more of our own leaving every day."
"Only the worthless fled, and the strong have remained. Never worry, for once we get the Franks to grips, we will slay them to a man." Ulfrik offered courage to his men, who smiled weakly or not at all.
"Ulfrik, come to Hrolf's quarters." Gunther One-Eye's gravelly voice carried across the short stretch of field. He waved toward the quarters, which Hrolf had built for himself and his bodyguards. Only a temporary abode, it was made from the same rough-hewn logs as the other barracks. The pale yellow wood stood out against the black line of trees behind it.
Waving back, he gestured Mord and Einar to follow. As they crossed the field, men bore their injured companions toward the tents where women tended them. Two men carried another with an arrow in his eye, and amazingly the victim still lived-cursing every god he could name.
"He should be thanking the gods," Mord said. "A man can do well with one eye."
Ulfrik chuckled as they continued past. "I know the man you speak of, but I think he sees with three eyes instead of one."
He gave Mord a knowing look. He frowned in confusion, shaking his head.
"I don't know why your father sent you to spy on me, but I hope you have entertained him with good stories. The days have been long and boring."
"Why would you accuse me of spying, Lord Ulfrik?"
"Because it's true." Both he and Einar laughed, while Mord fell quiet.
Men idled outside the hall, chatting in low voices, heads pulled down against the stiffening rain. Gunther waited his turn to enter. The doorway was small and the quarters were not meant to house large groups. Ulfrik approached his old friend.
"You look too fresh to have done any fighting. Were you pissing yourself at the back of the line?" Ulfrik clapped Gunther's back, who laughed at the joke.
"And someone improved your looks." Gunther pointed inside. "Turns out that was no ordinary reinforcement breaking through. We've got a prisoner and he's talking. That was Odo himself returning to Paris."
"He was not already in Paris?" Gunther shrugged.
Each jarl was admitted, but could only take one man. Ulfrik tapped Einar and Mord waited outside. Escaping the drumming rain was a relief, and the snapping hearth fire created a warm dryness in the room. Hrolf sat on a chair looking awkward in what had been built for a shorter man. Two spearmen in full mail flanked him. Ulfrik noted they looked dry and comfortable, while the assembled jarls and their men were sodden and miserable.
The smoke hole was not wide enough, and white haze filled the room as it backed up at the ceiling. Ulfrik and several others coughed. He was about to complain when Hrolf stood.
"Our prisoner has been willing to talk." Ulfrik noted the splotches of blood around Hrolf's knees and boots.
"I bet he's not talking anymore," he whispered to Einar. The comment, which Ulfrik had thought inaudible to others, drew Hrolf's smile.
"He will be sacrificed to the gods at dawn tomorrow. I've got everything I need to know from him, and all are bad tidings."
A murmur circulated through the group, though Ulfrik merely folded his arms and waited. He wondered how this situation could worsen.
"Odo had slipped our lines months ago, and sought aid from his Emperor, Charles the Fat. He has returned successful. Charles is bringing his army from the south, and his brother Henry of Saxony is closing from the east."
Hrolf studied the faces of his assembled men, his eyes flinty and jaw set. When he met Ulfrik's, he nodded.
"We will be outnumbered and surrounded if this happens."
"Then we should meet the fat king's army before he arrives and crush him. We'll take his kingdom," said one of the jarls. A few voices added agreement, but Ulfrik remained mute. The idea of leaving Paris to attack the emperor was foolish, and Hrolf would know it.
"A fine idea, friend, but the emperor's army is three times the size of ours at its peak. Besides, we are here to sack Paris or force a tribute of silver. I've no plans to rule Frankia, for now, at least."
His comment drew the intended laughter, though it was short-lived and uninspired.
"We should make one final attempt on Paris," Ulfrik stated. "Either we break through now or we go home."
Hrolf closed his eyes and silently nodded his agreement. Gunther slapped Ulfrik's back, adding his own encouragement to the idea. Soon all in the room had resolved to make one final push.
"I will have the siege tower repaired." Hrolf joined with the rest of his jarls, moving among them to stop by Ulfrik's side. "Ladders will be built to new heights, and we will be ready for their tricks this time. Before help can reach them, Paris will be a pile of rubble and we will be away."
"How long do we have before the Franks arrive in force?" Ulfrik asked, anxious to have a point in time that he could focus on returning to his family.
"Maybe a month before their emperor arrives, and sooner if he hurries. We can ill afford a delaying attack, but I may send men after Henry of Saxony."
"I will lead the attack," Ulfrik heard Einar suck his breath. Ulfrik's other concern was the lack of plunder and failure to find riches. A rich lord would be a fine ransom.
"Let me consider your offer," Hrolf touched Ulfrik's shoulder, and returned to his chair. Other jarls scowled at Ulfrik, but he ignored them. If they were dull witted and slow, it was not his concern.
Hrolf continued at length on details of their strengths and his plans for the final assault. Ulfrik listened and nodded at the right moments, but his mind traveled back home. Snorri and Toki would have arrived by now, bringing Runa hope as well as protection. He had drilled Runa in basic sword techniques, enough to surprise an unwary man attempting to harm her or their sons. However, it could never be enough in the face of a real attack.
He longed to feel Runa's warm skin under his hand, smell the sweet scent of her hair, and hear the gentle purr of her voice. He wanted to whisk Gunnar into his arms, and carry him on his shoulders as he did years ago, one final time before his son became too old for such frivolity. Hakon would be walking steadily now, and Ulfrik wondered if the boy remembered him. All those desires were so far away, and all that sat between fulfillment and him was Paris. All oaths would resolve when the walls fell.
At last they were dismissed and Ulfrik wandered outside with the others, still lost in thought until Einar broke in.
"Where did your heart go while Hrolf spoke? You were not in the room with us."