"Where's the bravery now." His voice dropped as he commanded his men. "Hold him still and put his arm on the anvil. Have the brand ready."
"You can't do this. This is madness. My father will kill you."
"Your father deserves this. He deserves to have his eldest son made into less than a man. He deserves to look at you and see nothing but weakness, a man with no ability to fight or lead. A cripple."
"No!" Gunnar was swept off his feet as men grabbed his legs. His hands were unbound, though his right hand remained tied. One of the men yanked on the rope and wrestled Gunnar's forearm over the anvil. "That was done in battle. This is wrong. Stop!"
"Get a good look," Clovis said to his son. "I do this in your name, to take the revenge you will never take on your own."
Gunnar bucked against the crowd of men restraining him, but their weight held him down. His feet had no leverage being held off the floor, and his left arm was pinioned. He watched Clovis position the ax over his forearm, saw his lusty smile. His son watched dispassionately, cradling the stump of his arm against his body. The brand was lifted out of the brazier, glowing white with heat as smoke rolled off its tip.
"I will kill you," Gunnar stammered between clenched teeth. "I will dance in your guts."
No one acknowledged him. Clovis laid the cold edge of the ax across the middle of his forearm. The keen blade stung as it drew a line of blood. Gunnar held his breath. At any moment, his father would burst into the room and cut the heads off all his enemies in one swoop. The Franks would die, and Gunnar would join his father in safety. They would laugh together in the hall at sunset, joking of the frailty of their enemies.
The ax crashed down and clanged against the anvil. He lurched back, suddenly freed from his binding.
He saw the stump.
Just behind his wrist, a clean, slanted cut had severed his hand. Bone jutted from the flesh and blood pumped in bright scarlet jets. He felt nothing. It wasn't even his stump. The arm was someone else's. But how had he come free, and whose arm was it?
The confusion vanished when the searing iron brand rolled along the stump of his arm. One man used tongs to yank flaps of skin over the bone and another burned it shut. A lightning bolt of pain surged up his arm, overpowering him so that he screamed with all the might of his body. He thrashed and flexed in agony while the men worked on his stump.
"This is more aid than you deserve." Clovis had retrieved Gunnar's hand, and held it up to him. "I'll send this back to your mother. If I don't have my ransoms today, I'll send along Hakon's head as well."
The pain consumed him and though he heard the words, he did not understand. He comprehended only fire and fear, and smelled the sweet tang of his own burnt flesh. He coiled and twisted, but was immobilized as the men continued to bind his stump.
They doused him with water to keep him awake, but in the end he could withstand no more. The last thing he saw before succumbing to blessed darkness was the sorry eyes of Clovis's son studying him as he collapsed.
Chapter 52
The wagon of silver rolled behind Ulfrik as he approached his camp. Draft horses plodded through the soft ground and the wagon's weight caused it to sink, necessitating frequent stops. It was one final aggravation amid many Ulfrik had endured all week. People had run to him, each one crowing different versions of the events during his absence. In one, the Franks had decided to shorten the time and killed all the hostages. In another, Toki, Gunnar, and Hakon were seen escaping from Clovis's fortress in the early dawn. He was inclined to believe it, as many repeated similar versions of three figures seen fleeing. Yet they had not arrived in camp, and no one had an explanation as to why. Soon, Ulfrik stopped listening and smiled blithely at the various tales.
Runa met him at the edge of the camp. Aren held her hand, clinging to her leg. In her other hand, she held a shield and had belted a sword to her waist. Her face wore no expression, though he could feel the pulse of her fury stretching across the grass to him. A dozen men crowded behind her and Snorri and Konal both leaned on spears and bowed their heads. A slight smile came to his lips, knowing how thoroughly defeated those men must feel when dealing with Runa's anger. Ulfrik searched for the other women, but found neither Halla nor Bera come to greet them. Likely Runa had frightened them off as well.
"He's going to kill Hakon first," Runa shouted to him as he closed the distance. Einar, who had led the wagon of silver packed in boxes and sacks, slowed the horses behind him. "Today. The ransom was due at dawn."
"Dawn tomorrow," Ulfrik corrected. He had counted the days carefully, had pleaded with Gunther One-Eye to hurry, and knew he had barely made time. He had been seven days in constant motion, bringing everything together while the sun shined so that his plans would succeed. He could not have been wrong about the day, but Runa stood shaking her head.
"He gave me a warning yesterday. If you hadn't sent a messenger, I'd have already been gone to fetch the ransom myself." Runa let go of Aren, who watched them thoughtfully as Runa met him. They did not embrace, but only offered a curt nod and smile to each other. "You are late, and I was ready to bargain for more time."
He pointed at the shield. "Planning on joining a battle?"
"Whatever must be done," she said. "I am getting older but I will still fight for my children."
"So what happened at dawn?" Ulfrik started past her, greeting Snorri and Konal then the other men. He squinted past the rows of tents to the black shape of Clovis's fortress hiding in the sunlight.
"Nothing, but a horn was sounded. Some of our scouts claim men escaped over the wall, though they did not dare to get closer with the sun rising. Maybe it was Toki and the boys." Runa's voice was disbelieving, and she glided past the idea without allowing more speculation. "Whatever happened, it has delayed Clovis and that frightens me. He was eager for you to break your word, and I expected him at dawn with Hakon's head."
The image was made more gruesome for the dispassionate delivery. He faced her, brow raised, but she merely frowned into the morning light like he had done. The anger was in her, as well as hate, fear, and hopelessness, but she buried it. Ulfrik had known his wife's tempers better than she did, and after so many years to see her acting out of stride with what he expected frightened him worse than any battle. With only this last piece of the plan to carry out, he hoped she would return to her old self when all was done.
"Staring at me won't get our sons out alive," she said. "Is it true that Gunther One-Eye has agreed to your plan?"
"It is, though it took longer to get him to act on it. There was trouble with an oath he had given to Hrolf." Ulfrik thought back to the tumultuous argument they had on the morning when Gunther refused his offer. After a night of feasting and toasting each other like best friends, the next morning he claimed his oath did not allow him to leave the land. They nearly drew swords on each other. Yet Ulfrik soon realized Gunther had not been enticed enough. A mercenary consideration, yet once understood, Gunther became more tractable. It was awful business, and a stain on their friendship, but the oath had been real enough as well as the danger. Had the situation been reversed, he might have done the same.
"But don't worry about Gunther. He's warm and fed in our hall, if not crowded." He smiled, thinking of all the work to smuggle men into Ravndal without Clovis's own spies catching them. "You should see it. There are swords and spears in every room of every building."