Toki nodded slowly, but said nothing. Several of the other men were less heroic and threw their weapons and shields on the grass the moment Gunnar voiced his thoughts. This drew derisive laughter from the Franks and the leader waved his hand in dismissal.
"Live to see the sunset, a wise choice," the leader said. "You are my prisoners now. Come forward, young one. You speak a real language after all."
Gunnar translated for the others, then tossed his weapons to the ground. The remaining men dropped their spears and shields in silent disgust. Only Toki held his longer than any other, and once all his men had surrendered he placed his sword carefully atop the crisscrossed pile of spears.
The Frankish lord did not look much different from what Gunnar had imagined. His head was rounder and his features softer. His beard was indeed neatly trimmed and his face clean, marred only with a white scar across his nose. Gunnar knew he was not the king, not with that scar, but he still held himself rigid and proud like royalty. When he spoke, he peered down his nose rather than incline his head.
"What is your name? Who do you serve?"
"I'm Gunnar Ulfrikson, and I serve my father who serves Hrolf the Strider, who is master of this land."
The Frank raised a thin brow, and a wicked smile formed on his red lips. "A fine ransom you will make. I'm already repaid for making this damned journey."
"And who are you?"
The leader clucked at Gunnar and frowned. "I am your master; that is all you need to know. What difference could it make to you, pup?"
"If I don't know your name then when I sing about the day I killed you I will have to call you the Frankish Pig."
The leader burst into laughter. Gunnar had expected a beating, but instead the Frank dismissed him to another who started to bind his arms behind his back.
Toki was shoved forward next to Gunnar, and he gave a wan smile. "I'd forgotten what this was like."
"You've been captured before?" Gunnar had never heard of such things. His father's exploits were always of great victories and never of defeats.
"Not something I've enjoyed, but yes. This one is hard. We only struck one blow before defeat."
Gunnar was about to reply when a Frank slapped his head and yelled for silence. Soon, all of them were bound and being led toward the Frankish camp. A glance over his shoulder revealed shattered bodies splayed out in the grass. Gunnar swallowed hard, faced forward, and dared not look back again.
Chapter 35
Ulfrik stood at the center of the dead bodies, flocks of birds circling overhead and screaming at him and his men for disturbing their repast. He hardly knew these men, having been only with him for a short time, yet their deaths pressed on his heart. Einar and the others walked quietly among the slain like cloaked phantoms, bending over the fallen to close eyelids or place hands on weapons. The corpses were already cold and hardened in death, and fat black ravens had already pecked and tore the eyes from most of the bodies. Flies buzzed over the thick pools of blood and unlike the birds persisted in their feast.
Gunnar and Toki were not among the dead. He had searched every body, scoured every inch of ground, and found nothing. It was small comfort, realizing the two of them plus a handful of others had become prisoners of whoever had overcome them. The mass of hoof prints indicated Frankish cavalry working with a contingent of footmen. The remains of a camp were over a low crest, meaning they had come from a distance, most likely Paris, though he could not be sure.
"The day is late," Einar said as he joined Ulfrik. He squinted up at the flocks of birds crying in rage. "We've no sign that Clovis took the bait yet. What will you have us do?"
Ulfrik tucked is helmet underarm and scrubbed his face with both hands. "This was not how it was to end. There was never to be another Frankish army out here. These men were not to be run down like animals. My son and brother were not to be taken captive. I was not supposed to have you do anything more than shatter Clovis's army."
He bit off his last sentence, aware that his voice was both rising and breaking. The men with him were veterans of long service, and hardened to the worst the battlefield could offer. They would understand his frustration and anger, but they would never brook indecision or self-pity. A few dark faces glanced at him, then returned to dragging the corpses together. Others searched for stones to build a rough cairn for the slain. No one had asked them to do it. They simply knew these men deserved better than to be fodder for ravens.
"This is fate," Einar said, putting his hand upon Ulfrik's shoulder. "You cannot blame yourself, for what is done is over. You've told me that yourself, do you remember?"
Ulfrik smiled and nodded. "Fate rules the lives of men, how true. But it is cruel and spiteful. Today Hakon will be freed, and Gunnar takes his place. Worse still, I fear I know where these Franks are going with him."
Both men shifted their eyes toward the east, back the way they had come, where Clovis's fort held a salient of Frankish land in Hrolf's domain. The trail leading from camp pointed straight for it.
"Then we must make haste to catch them before they can get to Clovis." Einar touched the silver amulet of Thor's Hammer at his neck and spit on the grass.
"We must travel throughout the night if we're to have any hope," Ulfrik said. "I can't be certain of their numbers, be we might be enough to challenge them. But if Clovis arrives …"
Both men stood silently, neither wanting to give voice to the thought of being outnumbered and exhausted in a fight. Ulfrik watched two men carry a stiff corpse between them, a shattered spear thrust through the trunk and thick ropes of blood dangling beneath it. He had seen worse, far worse, but the silhouette of death broke something inside him. He heard Gunnar's voice in his head, saw his eyes widen in surprise and confusion the moment he had recognized his father intended to use him as bait in a trap.
For the first time in years, he felt a hotness in his eyes and a weakness in his limbs. Einar spotted the change, and drew closer. "What is it?"
"What have I done? What have I become?" He looked Einar in the eyes, and his young friend frowned in confusion. "I used Gunnar to bait a trap that has snared him instead. I've let Hakon linger in the hands of a monster when I could have saved him. I've deceived my wife, my friends. For what? Victory over my enemies? Glory? What?"
His voice rose and he did not care. Those nearby paused to stare at him, but he was not seeing them, only noting their presence. His thoughts were filled with his sons. "Not even my father would have done this, and he could be cruel."
"Ulfrik, you could not have known the Franks were on the march."
"Don't you see it? These dead men were slain for no better purpose than to deal a clever blow to my enemy."
"And so it is for all jarls," Einar raised his own voice, though tamed it as he realized his disrespect. "This is no different from all the other battles we've fought."
"No! I sent them out unsupported."
"We are the support!"
Einar's shout stopped the others at work, and they faced him with curious looks. Ulfrik too was snapped from his self-pity, and he blinked a few moments to gather his thoughts.
"I do not deserve what I have," Ulfrik said, far more quietly. He turned away from the others and began to walk slowly away. Einar followed.
"That is nonsense. You've more than earned your renown; Hrolf respects you above all others save Gunther One-Eye. That says much."
"Yes, and while earning that respect I have shamed myself before my family. Look at what I have wrought for my sons. I did not give Hakon to Throst, but I've left him there longer than needed. What excuse do I have? What if Throst maims him in the days I allowed Hakon to remain captive? I should be fed to dogs, Einar. If dogs would find my bones worth gnawing."