Clovis's face turned red and rather than anger he burst out laughing. The guards held their faces stern a moment, then joined him. Only the son did not share their laughter. "Then you'd rather I take back my offer?" he asked. "It is no matter to me. Your head will be a fine gift to Ulfrik. It will be my token of sincerity when I bargain with him."
The spear points in his ribs pressed harder and broke through the cloth of his shirt. The hotness of his anger turned to chill fear, and he stepped off the spear points with raised hands. "No, of course I will accept your offer. Forgive my outburst. I had high hopes."
"A little too high for such a small man," Clovis said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Though your boldness does entertain me and you've proved yourself to be a resourceful little rat. Since you've got nowhere to turn, and I have use for your talent, you may stay on. Not with the regular men, not for a while. But you'd be a freeman, and have a warm hearth with ready food. In time, you might become a regular in my army. How's that for a generous offer?"
Throst imagined Clovis lying on the floor, both hands on his throat and blood bubbling through his fingers. He imagined stomping his face until nothing but red mush clung to his foot. He imagined this whole fucking stone prison crumbling into a mound of flaming ruins. "We would be overjoyed at your generosity."
Both Olaf and Dan exhaled behind him as Throst inclined his head. Clovis again laughed. "Not those two lumps of shit. They've no place here."
His eyes flicked up to meet Clovis. The arrogant bastard still smirked but his eyes flashed with deadly seriousness. Something cracked in Throst's heart, and at that moment he would rather die than bend one more time to this man's will.
"Then I go with them. You cannot have me without them. They are loyal men, and deserve better than to send them out alone."
Clovis stared at him, long and hard. His tongue probed his cheek as he considered, then he shrugged. "As you wish. You all go."
Throst's gaze did not flinch. Clovis straightened at the challenge and the muscles in his jaw began to work. Throst felt his own palm itch for his weapon, even with spear points a thumb's distance from his torso. He cared not at all for his own life, not if it meant he had to live with a boot on his neck.
"Wait." The son spoke at last. "Father, we need his talent for spying. He has access to Ulfrik's hall, and we shouldn't let that get away. Keep his men; it's no burden to us. Take their weapons until they've proved their loyalty."
"Ulfrik is already defeated," Clovis said, not unlocking his eyes from Throst's. "I don't need to know what's happing in that dung heap."
"Still, until the deals are settled isn't it better to have such tools available if we need them?"
The silence stretched until it grew uncomfortable, and at last Clovis capitulated. "My son has a good deal of wisdom. If you relinquish your weapons to me, and swear an oath of service, then you may remain for a while. All three of you."
Without waiting for his companions' responses, Throst bowed his head. "We will agree to that."
Clovis grunted and waved back his spearmen. They relieved Throst and the others of their weapons while Clovis and his son observed. He met the son's stare, who surprisingly did not turn away. Throst let a weak smile lighten his face and tipped his head. My thanks to you, he thought. I will spare your life when I tear this whole place to the ground and piss on your father's corpse.
Chapter 44
In the dawn of the next morning, Ulfrik awakened from a shapeless nightmare to Runa's hands shaking him. Her words oozed like sap through his sleep haze, but at the instant of comprehension he bolted upright.
"Messengers from Clovis have arrived. They're held outside the hall right now. Get up." Her smooth, cold hands pressed against his numb flesh as she hauled him to his feet. She began piling clothes next to him, while Aren held a wooden bowl of water for him to splash his face. After several moments of fumbling, Runa roughly combed his hair and Aren fetched him a cloak pin of polished silver to complete his transformation into a jarl.
"How many have come?" he asked as he ran his hand through his beard, tugging on the knots.
"There are four, one messenger and three guards. They have surrendered their weapons before entering the gates. Snorri and Einar are all over them." Runa pushed him toward the door, and Aren swung it open for him. He smiled at his son as he shuffled past, but Aren remained as stale as ever.
Taking his seat in the hall, Runa joined him. Snorri stood just inside the hall door and when Ulfrik motioned he opened the doors and spoke to the men beyond. A pale yellow light streamed down from the smoke hole and through the eastern windows. No one but a few servants remained in the hall, but that changed in moments. Snorri held open the main doors for hirdmen to file inside, taking up positions on the long walls of the hall. Next, Einar's giant frame filled the door, and finally the messengers were herded inside by the last of his own hirdmen.
They wore their hair in the Frankish style, straight and blunt-cut across their brows. They wore impractically bright clothing, fresh blue shirts with yellow pants. Royal colors, Ulfrik knew, but colors that proclaimed them to any enemy within a dozen miles. Mud stains splattered their legs from their journey, but otherwise they made a rich showing.
The lead man stopped before Ulfrik. Einar flanked them and pointed at the ground, demanding they kneel. They appeared shocked, but Einar's face reddened and snarled. The Franks quailed and took to their knees before Ulfrik. He left them kneeling until he noted their discomfort, then bade them to rise.
"You've got a message for me?" Ulfrik asked in Norse, trusting one or all of them to understand. The leader nodded and dusted off his pants with barely concealed disgust.
"I am sent on behalf of Baron Theodoric and Clovis. Your two sons, brother Toki, and twelve other men under your protection are hostages to my lords."
"Get on with it," Ulfrik demanded. "I know their names already."
"As you say, Jarl Ulfrik. My lords have commanded me to deliver you this message. For each man, excluding your two sons, the price is set at ten pounds of silver. To aid your understanding, that is one hundred thirty pounds of silver."
Gasps circled around the room but Ulfrik marshaled his feelings, showing no sign other than irritation at the assumption he could not add. "For your understanding, I can count that high."
The messenger pursed his lip and shrugged, continuing the demand. "For your two sons, silver alone is not enough, so it must be land. You are to evacuate this fort and turn it over to Baron Theodoric. You and all your people will be allowed free passage to your master in Rouen."
Runa glanced at him, her face taut with worry that the ransom would be too much for him. The land could never be surrendered unless Hrolf the Strider allowed it. That was a plain fact to everyone listening. Ulfrik nodded to her, knowing he had to delay while he considered a way out of the problem.
"Your lords demand a terrible sum from me. They seek to destroy my wealth and deprive me of my land. They ask me to die."
The messenger shrugged once more, as if he agreed, but said nothing. Ulfrik leaned forward.
"To raise so much silver and arrange for all their other demands, I will need time. I will also need surety that all of these men and my sons are still alive. Your word is simply not good enough, so do not offer it to me. I am insulted they would send you four in their stead, for I am sending you back this morning with my reply. I must see all of the hostages and be satisfied of their welfare. Then, I will discuss with them the terms of their ransoms."
Opening his mouth as if to protest, Ulfrik waved his hand. Einar helped emphasize it by stepping forward. The messenger dropped his gaze.