Its gate opened and a group emerged. Men lined the ramparts above it, bows readily visible but too distant to be a threat. Clovis's standard of a white swan on a black square unfurled above the group as Ulfrik waited.
The two groups met and only the wind rushing over dead grass made any sound. Clovis stood at the center, resplendent in his scoured mail. At his right stood a man who could only be Theodoric, such was his refined and clear-lined features. A white scare was all that marred his regal face. Clovis's son was at his left, and he appeared pasty white and ill. He clutched his ruined stump to his side, and looked nothing like the vibrant man he had met in battle last summer. Ulfrik made sure to let his eyes linger over the son.
A line of a dozen men formed behind these three, and Ulfrik did not see his sons among them. He schooled his expression, keeping any emotion from it even as his anger festered. He folded his arms and waited for Clovis to open the negotiations.
"You have traveled this far just to scowl at me?" Clovis asked. "Have you brought the ransom with you? I could send your sons home with you this very day. You seem to have already abandoned Ravndal for me."
"The men behind me will march through the ashes of your pitiful hall if you cannot prove all my men are unharmed. Were your messengers too stupid to deliver such a simple warning to you?"
Clovis shared a smile with Theodoric, and both turned to the line behind them. "I have your proof."
For a brief moment, Ulfrik's stomach ached with fear that the head of one of his sons would be produced. Instead, the line parted and revealed Toki standing with arms and legs tied with enough slack to walk. Theodoric waved him forward and two men shoved him ahead in response. Toki snarled at them, but turned a smile to Ulfrik.
"Where've you been? A little long in getting here." His eyes slid past Ulfrik to both Runa and Halla behind him. He winked at them, and continued. "So you're thinking about getting me out of this mess?"
"Maybe not you, but your crew. You look tired, but well. Didn't you even fight these dog-shit Franks?"
He shrugged, and was about to reply when Clovis struck him on the shoulder and yelled. "Enough, tell them about his sons and your men. Be quick."
"These cocksucking Franks have not harmed any of us," Toki said, emphasizing his words with a sneer at Clovis. "Gunnar is unhurt, and Hakon is thin and weak but that was Throst's doing. He's held in another room from Gunnar and me, so we only met once. We're on the top floor while Hakon is below somewhere. He cried for joy when he saw us, even in this state. I've not seen my men or know where they're held. Clovis promises they're alive, but that's all I know."
Ulfrik nodded, paying careful attention to the directions Toki provided right past the Frank's understanding. His Danish accent probably impeded their understanding, and so they missed that he was providing details of how to rescue them.
Snatching Toki back by his arm, Clovis shoved him into the care of guards who then escorted him to the back of the line. He looked one time over his shoulder, and called Halla's name before the men cuffed him to silence.
"So now you have your assurances," Clovis said.
Ulfrik noted how he continually resisted glancing at his own son. Gunnar remained intact for now, but that constant pull of Clovis's eyes to the stump of his son's hand warned that he could think of little more than inflicting the same fate on Gunnar. The son was worse than the women Ulfrik had taken to the parley. He wilted like a cut flower out of water, and his arm tremored. Sweat beaded on his head, and the fear emanating from him shamed all the Franks. The only reason for his presence had to be as an unspoken threat against Gunnar. For now, if Ulfrik understood correctly, Theodoric held the ransom for Gunnar, Toki, and the crew, while Clovis held only Hakon. So Gunnar was safe from Clovis while Theodoric held him hostage. Ulfrik counted that a small blessing.
"So I have been satisfied, and I will pay your ransoms."
Clovis drew breath for a rebuttal, but then realization struck. Both he and Theodoric paused in amazed silence. Theodoric was the first to rouse himself, speaking in poor Norse.
"A wise decision, Jarl Ulfrik. So much blood has been spilled already, and you cannot stand against us any longer. Your people will love you for your wisdom."
"My people will be homeless and poor, and I will be broken and shamed. No one will celebrate that." Theodoric shrugged in agreement. "The silver you demand of me is far greater than what I possess."
"Don't claim poverty now," Clovis interrupted. "You and your vermin have overturned every church and home from the coast to Chartes. You stood at Hrolf's side when Bishop Anscharic delivered wagon-loads of silver to ransom Paris. By all counts you are a wealthy jarl."
"You have imagined a fatter prize than I really am, poor Clovis. But the amount is not beyond my means. Hrolf is generous and, though it galls me, I shall beg a loan from him. He is a man of tremendous honor and would never fail me in my need. Now I ask if you are a patient man or a fool? Such sums of wealth are not raised overnight, and delivering it requires care against bandits. I need two weeks to raise the funds and prepare it for you."
Folding his arms and turning his head aside, Ulfrik anticipated flat denial. Instead, Theodoric answered. "You have one week, no more."
"That is half the time I need!" Ulfrik held his head, exaggerating his dismay. A week was all he required for his plans. "You cannot demand this of me."
"It is more than I would allow," Clovis shouted, glaring at Theodoric. "If you are late, I will hang one of your men for every day overdue. I will start with your dear brother. And if all your crew are dead I will move on to your sons. I will cut off a limb for each day you make me wait until both your children are no more than stumps."
Ulfrik waited for Theodoric to countermand Clovis, and a chill silence spread as the Frankish lord stared at him. At last, understanding a response was expected, he shrugged. "It is a fine plan. Do not waste time with your mouth hanging open, Ulfrik. One week from today we begin killing. When your men are no more, I will come to collect your head."
Stepping closer, a full head taller than Theodoric, he glowered down on him then whispered in a deep, rough voice, "Piss on you, Frank."
Chapter 46
Runa's head throbbed as she sat on a blanket stretched over the grass inside her tent. Yellow light glowed along the billowing panels, a circle of brilliant white above her head where the sun shined through the clouds. Aren assisted Ulfrik with the baldric of his sword, fastening it behind him as Ulfrik pulled his chain coat straight. His helmet had tumbled out of a sack and the empty eye guards seemed to stare up from the grass at Runa. She shuddered, not wanting to think of severed heads. He reached down and placed it on Aren's head while he fussed with his final preparations.
Unlike her other sons, Aren did not laugh or appreciate his father's humor. The levity was out of place, and strange for Ulfrik at such a crucial time. He had come back from the scene of Gunnar's defeat a different man, and it frightened her. Life was adrift in a raging sea and she needed him to be constant, not to change. Not even if it was good change. She needed one thing to stay the same, one thing she could trust and predict. Her heart had been through too much; fear and anger and worry had ravaged her. A day without shock or surprise would be a prize beyond measure.
The helmet hung lopsided on Aren's head, and he pulled it off with difficulty to hand it up to his father. He took it under his arm, shouldered a bag of gold he would present to Hrolf, and let out a long sigh.