Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Foreign Languages
The man nodded and ran back into the shadows. Soon, only Yngvar remained standing atop the promontory. His heart thumped madly. Why had he been so foolish? Had he really believed himself safe once more aboard Sea Snake? This was no longer a game played between friends. These enemies meant to kill him. He could feel it in the way they looked upon him. That same hatefulness that haunted him since childhood. Yet, when the fight started, he had fled without thinking. Now he realized why.
They all hated him. Everyone except Magnus. They feared him. If he stayed here, they would come for him eventually. So be it. Fate or God had brought him to this place. Now he must make use of it.
Brandr arrived with Thorfast and Bjorn close behind.
"Are you well?" asked Brandr. "You look ready to piss yourself."
"Just get everyone below deck," Yngvar said. "If those Franks decide to sail off after their plunder, then let them go. But keep the ships anchored offshore until morning. You'll need to stay awake during the day, and you won't sleep anyway. After tomorrow, you might never wake again. No matter what happens, I'm sorry about Jarl Vilhjalmer's death. None of us deserved it."
With that he shoved aside two guards blocking his path. In truth, he felt as if he could shit gold coins. Despite being surrounded by hundreds of enemy soldiers, his guts churned. His throat burned and his chest throbbed. He was terrified. Yet he knew he had to act calm. For fear of losing control, he sprinted ahead.
***
The Franks who guarded the camp huddled together beneath their cloaks. Their faces glowed red in the light of the dying embers scattered throughout the campfire ring. A few women sat nearby, chatting quietly while keeping an eye on the fire. Two young boys stood guard around them, though neither wore any armor. One carried a shield, which hung limply at his side. The other held a sword with both hands, but its blade lay flat across his shoulder. Both youths watched warily as Yngvar approached.
"Peaceful night," Yngvar called out. It sounded ridiculous even to him. Of course it was peaceful. There was nothing left to burn.
One of the women glanced up at him, her eyes widening at the sight of Yngvar striding toward her. Her companion frowned and shook his head. Neither woman moved otherwise.
When he drew near enough to hear their voices, he stopped short.
"He seems friendly," said the boy holding the sword.
"That doesn't mean anything," said the girl. She had long hair pulled back tight and tied with twine. Her clothes were simple, a thin shirt and leggings cut off above the knees. "But we've heard stories of Norsemen raping and killing women."
"Really?" Yngvar laughed. "So does anyone tell me where you got these stories? From my wife perhaps?"
Both girls blushed and giggled. The swordsman shifted uneasily, looking toward the sea beyond the dark trees.
"It's true," said the second girl. "My sister saw some of it herself. And another friend told me that her mother has seen Vikings before."
"And yet none of your sisters seem concerned," Yngvar said. "Do you not worry for their safety when traveling alone?"
"Of course I do," replied the first girl. "I am worried for myself too. But there is little choice. Father is gone. Mother cannot protect herself now. My older brother will take care of her. What else can I do?"
Her voice cracked like breaking wood. Yngvar stared down at her. He did not understand her accent, but she spoke clearly and without hesitation. Did she truly believe these things? Was she just repeating hearsay? How much of what people say is true?
"Your father died defending our king," he said gently. "Jarl Hakon sent him to aid King Charles against the heathens."
She bowed her head, blinking away tears. When she raised her face, she seemed surprised to find Yngvar smiling at her.
"Perhaps you are right," she said. "We should all pray for peace tonight."
Yngvar shrugged. "You're probably right. Peace is better than facing a battle today. We have time to talk, don't we? Until dawn, no one needs to fight. That's how I see it."
At last the men began gathering into small groups. Many still wanted ale and food. Others returned to their tents or beds. Most simply sat staring into the flames.
A man stepped from between the shadows. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing chainmail over leather pants and boots. At least three silver chains adorned his neck and wrists. He smiled warmly.
"Greetings, strangers. May Odin smile upon you this night."
"May he bless our meeting also," Yngvar answered. "Though I would rather be drinking wine in front of a roaring fire with good friends."
"Well met," Thorfast said beside him. "This must be the famous Gyna. Do you think they know what happened here?"
Brandr joined them, nodding toward the group of gathered warriors. They were mostly Frankish nobles, judging by their finery. Only a handful wore mail shirts. These were likely jarls who commanded smaller bands of troops.
"They might guess," Yngvar said. "I expect Jarl Vilhjalmer knows already. This place will be searched soon enough."
Thorfast looked about the camp, then turned to Brandr. "What happened here? You didn't kill everyone, did you?"
Brandr rubbed his bearded chin. "No, only half the Franks survived. If the others aren't dead, they'll come after us tomorrow. All of them want vengeance."
"Vengeance?" Yngvar asked. "For what?"
"Their lord was killed here," Brandr said. "His name was Count Odo. His lands adjoined ours. He attacked us yesterday morning. Killed many. Then burned everything he could reach. So why shouldn't we seek revenge? Without the count's protection, his people will starve. Or worse, go home to join the enemy."
The Frankish noblewoman approached. She carried an ornate cup filled with clear liquid that steamed in the cool air. As if on cue, the breeze picked up, carrying the scent of burning embers across the field.
"Are you hungry, brave ones?" she called out. "Then drink with me. It may save your lives."
***
Yngvar accepted the offered cup and sniffed its contents. A bitter taste spread through his mouth as he swallowed. Its warmth flowed throughout his body. He felt more alert and ready for battle than ever before. Yet the other two drank their cups dry and set them aside.
"Not so bad," Yngvar said. "But next time make sure there isn't any poison mixed with it."
The woman laughed. Her eyes sparkled beneath her veil. "Poison! Don't be foolish. No need for poison when you've got a sword in each hand. Now let us eat. Perhaps my husband will send more soldiers to hunt us down."
"Better hope not," Bjorn said behind him. "If they get close enough to smell me, they'd run back to town screaming bloody murder."
Yngvar glanced around the table where he and his companions had been seated. The remaining Franks who had followed them to this spot stood watching with interest. Some held spears or bows while others remained unarmed. All had expressions of curiosity and perhaps suspicion.
Yet none dared approach until someone brought bread, cheese, sausage, and boiled eggs. The rich aromas made even Yngvar salivate. After filling their mouths, the four of them resumed talking among themselves.
"So you can speak French now?" Thorfast asked the veiled stranger. "That's excellent news."
"Yes, though I'm not fluent yet. My mother taught me some words, but Father always thought learning foreign languages was a waste. But since I am married to such a handsome young knight, he has agreed otherwise."
Her laugh caught Yngvar off guard. She had a full round face framed by golden hair pulled tight atop her head.
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