Black Monastery (21 page)

Asgrim shook his head. “Whoever it is, he’s dead now.”

“How can you be sure?”

The soldiers threw the man’s body into a ditch beside the barn. It rolled to a stop atop other corpses. The ditch was filled with corpses.

Asgrim closed his eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths. His men, his men. He had sworn to protect them. When he felt he could speak again, he whispered, “I’m sure.”

The men turned and went back into the barn, closing the door behind them. The screams coming from inside the barn cut across the dark night.

Asgrim put his head closer to Harald’s. “I don’t care if it’s impossible. I don’t care how many of them there are. We’re going to go down there and free our friends. Then we’re going to kill those Frankish soldiers. We’re going to keep killing them until they break and run. If the farmers join in, we’ll kill them, too. In fact, anything or anyone that gets in our way dies.”

Their eyes locked, and Harald nodded. “Aye.”

“Okay,” said Asgrim, “here’s what we’re going to do.”

* * *

Hours later, when the village and camp were fast asleep, the two men made their move. As if by the providence of the gods, a light fog had drifted in from the sea, providing cover for them. They approached the village from the seaward side, avoiding the farms and the inevitable dogs. Asgrim had grown up hunting and fishing, often for days at a time. When he wanted to, he could move as silently as a forest animal, and he did so this night, drifting from brush to tree like a shadow. Together, they silently slipped into the village.

They made for the barn. Asgrim didn’t know how many of his men had survived the battle and been taken prisoner by the Franks, but he would save whomever he could. He hoped only two men still guarded the barn.

They slipped past the manor house, coming up on the barn from behind. At the rear of the structure, they split up, slipping around it on either side. Trying to peer through a crack, Asgrim paused next to the barn’s wall. The interior was too dark for him see anything, but he heard the snores and rustling of numerous men.

He made his way to the front of the building, forcing himself to move slowly, carefully rolling his weight onto the outer edge of his foot. And, with each step, he paused and listened for any indication the guards had heard him. Closing in on the sentries seemed to take forever, but speed was the death of silence.

At the corner of the barn, he lowered himself into a crouch and peered around the wall. This close, he could just make out the guards in the mist. One man sat on a stump of wood, holding his spear against his bobbing head. The other sat in the dirt, leaning against the wall of the barn; his chin rested against his chest, he snored softly. His spear lay on the ground beside him.

Thank the gods for morons.

A light rain began to drizzle, and the guard who was awake shifted slightly, trying to draw his cloak tighter around him.

Now!

With his long-knife in hand, Asgrim came around the corner. The guard’s head swung toward him, but he only stared stupidly as Asgrim rushed him. Asgrim fell upon him, shoving his hand over the man’s mouth in an iron grip while yanking his head away to the side.

“Mmmrrr,” the Frank mumbled, widening his eyes in alarm and slapping at Asgrim’s arm with empty hands.

The point of Asgrim’s knife slid into the back of the man’s neck, piercing his brain. Asgrim twisted the blade, then yanked it out. Though he was already dead, the man’s legs jerked as Asgrim let the corpse fall to the ground. He spun toward the other guard, half expecting a spear in his back, but Harald was already at the other man. After a flutter of movement, the sound of a knife cutting flesh, a wet gasp of air escaped from a cut throat. Harald stepped away, leaving a weakly moving lump against the barn wall. A moment later, the shape fell over onto its side.

The night was too dark for Asgrim to make out Harald’s face, but he saw his shining eyes. Then Harald slipped off into the darkness, heading away from the barn.

Asgrim removed the wooden bar holding the barn doors closed and slipped inside. The sudden stench of blood, sweat, and human feces almost made him gag. Complete darkness met him inside, and Asgrim had to carefully edge his way forward toward the sound of the sleeping men.

Almost right away, his foot came up against a man’s body, stopping him. The sleeping man grunted, mumbled, and rolled away. Asgrim dropped and felt for his face. Placing his hand over the man’s mouth, he shook his shoulder.

“Wake up, sluggard,” whispered Asgrim. “But keep quiet.”

The man thrashed about, and Asgrim tightened his grip over his mouth and leaned in closer. “It’s me, Asgrim Wood-Nose, your fucking captain, you traitorous prick… whichever one of you whoresons this is. Quit making a fuss if you ever want to get out of here alive.”

At the sound of Asgrim’s voice, the man quit thrashing about. Asgrim could just make out the shine of his eyes. He took his hand off the man’s mouth.

“Captain, thank Odin,” the other man whispered.

“Fuck Odin.
I’m
the one freeing you.” Asgrim pushed him onto his side and felt for his bonds. He cut the straps holding his arms bound, then reached down and cut the ones on his ankles. The man sighed in relief, rubbing his wrists.

How long have they been trussed up like that?

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Snorri.”

Asgrim clapped a hand over the man’s shoulder. “Can you
fight
, Snorri?”

“Gods damned right I can fight, Captain. We’ll
all
fucking fight.”

Asgrim snorted, drew another knife, and handed it hilt first to Snorri. “Hurry. Cut the others loose. But keep ’em quiet. If the Franks wake, we’re all dead.”

“Aye, Captain.” The man paused, and Asgrim heard him inhale deeply. “Captain… on the beach—”

Asgrim grabbed him and pushed him toward the others. “Go. I’ll kick your traitorous ass later.”

Some of the others began to wake and quietly ask questions in the dark. Asgrim hissed at them to shut up and then went from man to man, cutting each one’s bonds. As the men woke, each one helped free the others. Asgrim felt their excitement rise. Hope was a powerful emotion.

As was revenge.

Asgrim needed only minutes to free forty of his men. The others were dead, killed in the battle, or tortured and executed by the Franks. The men crowded near the doors, and Asgrim had them drag the corpses of the two dead sentries inside and strip them for armor and weapons. Then he sent two men out wearing the Franks’ helmets and holding spears. The men took up positions on either side of the door; from a distance, they would pass for the sentries. The remainder of the men waited silently. Their only chance was to keep the Franks sleeping, unaware of what was happening in the dark.

One of the two men pretending to be sentries opened the door a crack and whispered, “Someone’s coming.”

Asgrim peered past the doors and saw a figure emerge from the mist, silently creeping toward them with a bundle in its arms. Asgrim smiled and pulled the doors open.

“Let him by,” he whispered.

Harald Skull-Crusher stumbled into the barn, his arms filled with spears. The others rushed him, taking the weapons from him and passing them out among themselves.

“Well?” whispered Asgrim.

Harald sighed. “There’s spears and shields in front of each of the tents, as well as bows and quivers of arrows. They’re probably sleeping with their swords.”

“I don’t care about swords. We need axes for the shield wall.”

“I don’t know,” said Harald. “Our weapons must be in one of their tents, ’cause I couldn’t find them, but there’s still weapons to fight with—
if
we’re quick and quiet.”

“Fires?”

“The campfires are mostly out, but I managed to get one smoldering again. It should do.”

“Sentries?”

“Two men roving about. I killed one, but the other is farther away, on the other side of the camp. I didn’t want to take the chance.”

Asgrim turned away and peered at the mass of shadows that was his men. “Steiner, you sneaky prick. You still alive?”

One of the shadows moved forward. “I think so, Captain.”

Recognizing Steiner’s hushed voice, Asgrim handed him his long-knife. “I want that sentry dead. Go with Harald. He’ll show you where he is. Then come back here. I have something special I want you to do.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Anyone or anything else you see awake and moving, you kill.”

Harald whispered some directions to Steiner, and together, they slipped away. In battle, things could always go wrong, but Steiner could give a cat lessons in stalking. The Frank sentry would soon be among the dead.

“What are we going to do, Captain,” one of the men asked. “Sneak away?”

Asgrim whispered just loudly enough for all of them to hear him. “No. The only way out of here is
through
the Franks. Even if we got away without raising an alarm, which is impossible in your state, they’d come after us. No. We fight them now, while they’re still half-asleep.”

“That’s just fine, Captain,” one of the men whispered, Snorri perhaps. “I got a score to settle with these pricks.”

The others mumbled in agreement.

Good, thought Asgrim. Anger will give them strength.

Waiting for Steiner and Harald seemed to take forever, and Asgrim’s worry began to grow. The sky was beginning to become lighter in the east. Soon, the camp would be waking. How much longer could they stay here? Should they move now, without Steiner and Harald?

Just then, two figures appeared out of the darkness, scurrying silently to the barn. Harald and Steiner slipped through the doors. Both men held a bundle of battle axes, which they handed out to the others.

“We found our weapons,” said Harald. “They’re in a tent not twenty ells away.”

“Unguarded?” asked Asgrim.

“They are now,” answered Steiner.

Asgrim exhaled, feeling his excitement grow. “All right, then, we’ve sat here long enough.” He turned to the men and raised his voice just slightly. “Arm yourselves—silently. Ax, shield, or spear… shit, a piece of stick if that’s all you can find.”

Asgrim,
Heart-Ripper
in hand, led his men out of the barn. His mouth was dry, but his senses were heightened, as they always were before a fight. With the eastern sky becoming lighter and the fog beginning to lift, his night vision was superb, and he could easily make out the individual shapes of his men, as well as the camp. The camp’s tents were laid out in two parallel lines. Shields and spears had been set in front of each of the ten tents in which Frankish soldiers snored. Each Dane took a shield. Those who had no weapons took spears. They moved as silently as they could, but still made some noise. And each time they did, Asgrim winced, expecting a challenge.

But none came.

Steiner led them to the tent that held their axes. The men could fight with whatever they got their hands on, but they had been training with ax in hand since childhood. A shield wall bristling with ax-armed Danes was a formidable construct.

The men beamed as they hefted their axes. Then Asgrim sent Steiner to do his special task. In minutes, the sun would begin to show. A rooster crowed.

Asgrim led the men to the first row of tents. They silently formed their shield wall, jostling one another into position three ranks deep in front of the tent. The men in the first rank locked their shields together, each man protecting the man on his right. The men with spears took up position in the second rank, so they could stab the longer weapons over the heads of the men in front of them. Those in the third rank would shove against the men in front. Most shield walls were nothing more than shoving matches between half-drunken, poorly trained conscripts, often lasting hours, with neither side moving more than a few feet. But Asgrim’s father had taught him how to fight and how to drill and train the men to move as one unit, much as the Romans had done centuries before. Asgrim’s shield wall was an instrument of death, of bloody ax and deadly spear. Each man, even the young ones, had trained for weeks back home in Hedeby to fight at Asgrim’s command. Rather than stand in place and push and shove and hack and hope the other force broke first, Asgrim’s wall could move and turn and adjust to the tempo of battle. And when the men in the front rank tired, on Asgrim’s order the second rank could move up to take their place.

And the Franks slept on, oblivious to the danger forming within their very midst.

Standing in the center of the shield wall, a Frankish round shield in one hand, and
Heart-Ripper
in the other, Asgrim watched Steiner climb the wall of the manor house. Three other men watched him from below, each one holding a bow and quiver of arrows. One man also held a half-burned log, its end glowing red. When Steiner reached the thatched roof, the man passed him the burning branch. Steiner used it to set fire to the tight bundles of thatch before quickly climbing down. The flames caught instantly, sweeping over the roof of the manor house like a wave. Orange light lit up the dawn, adding to the horizon’s glow.

Smoke drifted through the air as Asgrim yelled, “Forward!”

The men shouted and smashed their axes against their shields, then stepped forward as one unit. They hit the first tent, knocking it down and hacking at anything that looked like it might be a man. Screams of agony and horror cut through the night, and the bloody axes rose and fell, rose and fell. In moments, they were on to the next tent, from which men now stumbled out in confusion. They slaughtered the inhabitants of this tent, as well, and then the next.

The manor house was an inferno lighting up the camp. Unarmed, half-asleep Franks stumbled about in dazed confusion. The next two tents Asgrim and his men hit were empty of Franks, and they simply swept the tents out of their way, killing anyone who didn’t run away fast enough.

Asgrim turned the shield wall toward the second line of tents. Under his direction, the men moved as one. Horses screamed in fear, running wild through the camp. Steiner had cut them loose before lighting the house afire. Several of the animals ran into the terrified Franks. But now, several of the Franks had armed themselves. Men with swords charged at the Danish shield wall. But they moved without shields, without organization, and without hope. It was a brave but foolish act, and they were hacked down almost immediately by the well-disciplined Danes. Only another shield wall could stand against them, and Asgrim had no intention of letting the Franks organize themselves.