Shield of Lies (7 page)

"And he wouldn't expect us to realize we're being baited," Konal said. "So he will expect us to head straight for the prize he's waving before us."

"But we won't do that. We will comb these woods until we kill all his scouts and find where his men are hidden. Then we will attack inside these trees, where his cavalry are useless."

"And so is our shieldwall." Einar raised a brow in challenge, but Ulfrik only laughed.

"The Franks are tired from marching up and down these lands and expect surprise to carry them. They will try to drive us toward their fortress where I don't doubt scores of archers await panicked targets. But we're not giving them any of that. I'll trade the shieldwall for the pleasure of destroying those plans."

"I'll get the best scouts we have ready to go." Einar shared Ulfrik's smile, and hefted his ax onto his shoulder.

"In the meantime, we'll continue to march ahead as Clovis expects. I don't doubt the first of his scouts are nearby and we don't want to raise suspicions. If we do this right, we might still get what we want."

The column resumed the march, most of the men unaware of Ulfrik's plans. He did not doubt his men's ability to adapt to a new plan. The majority had fought with him for years and they all knew Clovis had a weakness for complicated bluffs. Even with so many aware of Clovis's wiles, they had all been misled when offered what they wanted. He would not forget this lesson again.

He had kept progress slow enough to give the scouting teams time while not arousing suspicions of Clovis's hidden watchers. Men began to cluster and bunch, and Ulfrik used it as an excuse to stop and reorder as well as whisper the new plan to his warriors. Soon, scouts returned with fresh blood sprayed on their leathers or fewer arrows in their quivers. They reported no fewer than ten kills along the lightest pathways through the woods. Most anticipated was the location of Clovis and his main force. As expected, they hid at the edge of the woods, with cavalry and their horses a good deal away from the main lane of approach so that the animals would not betray them.

Now Ulfrik began his encirclement. Among his men were Franks who served him, just as other Danes had gone to serve the Franks. These men had proved their loyalty and usefulness too often to count, and Ulfrik had clapped gold armbands on them to ensure they never had cause to leave him. He found two of them now, and sent them on an important task.

"Go ahead of us, to where Clovis's scouts were set, and send word back to Clovis that we are delayed with an argument in our ranks, but are coming as expected."

"What if we are found out?"

"You won't. Be hasty and play your part well. Don't approach their main line, just relay your message to the first man you find. Speak from the shadows. Just as we so readily believed what we wanted to hear, so will Clovis and his men."

Knowing smiles shared all around as the two Franks slipped farther into the brown darkness of the underbrush. Ulfrik now let his scouts lead them to where the cavalry was positioned. The proud animals were patient and quiet, constantly comforted by their riders who stared out of the edge of the woods toward the bright field of amber grass. Two dozen mounted warriors awaited to spring their trap and not one noticed Ulfrik's careful approach.

He drew his men into two lines to hit from different sides. Swords remained sheathed and helmets and mail had been hastily splashed with dirt to prevent an errant glint of the dappled light filtering from the canopy of leaves. Every snapping branch or disturbed bush made Ulfrik seize in fear, yet the Franks waited oblivious. Nearly upon them, he slowly drew his sword and others followed, a gentle sigh of metal echoing through the trees.

A horse began to nod and toss its head and its fear spread to its companions. The Franks stood in confusion, and Ulfrik knew the moment had come. "Kill the horses first. Go!"

Hundreds of screaming warriors burst through the trees at the astonished Franks. Horses screamed as axes and swords bit into their necks and spears drove into their bellies. The lightly armored riders barely had a moment to arm themselves before fending against a dozen strikes. Blood sprayed the ground, men shrieked in death, and war cries shattered the silence. A few horses bolted into the field, one with a spear hanging out of its flank.

Ulfrik did not strike a blow beyond the first hapless Frank he met, chopping him at the shoulder and then through his neck as he flailed on the ground. Confident the isolated cavalry had been defeated the moment he had ordered the charge, Ulfrik turned to his rear lines which now became his main defense. Einar, Konal, and his other best men formed this group, for they would turn to receive Clovis's charge.

"A sad waste of horseflesh," Ulfrik said as he joined Einar. "We'll not be able to carry all that back to Ravndal, and I hate that we just did Clovis a favor." Einar gave him a quizzical smile. "He's got two dozen fewer men to feed and hundreds of pounds of horse meat for the others."

Their laughter was short-lived. With no more need for stealth, the Franks bolted through the trees with curses and war cries driven ahead of them. However, the first clash did not come from the front where Ulfrik expected. Franks sprung up from Ulfrik's right and were among his men before anyone realized.

"Where in Loki's name did they come from?" Einar shouted, not knowing which way to turn. "Are those Clovis's men?"

"Who else?" Ulfrik saw the first flashes of enemies from the front hurtling through the spotted light. "Must be guards for the cavalry that no one saw. No matter now. This is going to be one gods-be-damned fight!"

Einar planted Ulfrik's green banner emblazoned with black elk horns and readied his ax. In moments, Clovis's banner of a white swan in a black square appeared and the first of his men rushed to battle.

Ulfrik braced his shield as screaming enemies launched themselves over fallen logs and low rocks to collide with the loose line he had formed. Throwing spears flew over his head, though the trees, and chaos foiled ranged attacks. The first Frank rushed forward, but Einar stepped in with his long-hafted ax and slammed the man away as easily as hitting a child's ball. Einar's ax was intended for use in the second rank to hook or break shields for front rank attackers to exploit, but he was tall and mighty enough to wield it as his main weapon. He worked in tandem with Ulfrik, for after he struck he appeared overextended and enemies targeted him only to find Ulfrik's sword in their guts. The ploy worked in every battle, for few lived to warn their companions.

More Franks joined and Clovis's banner wavered and dipped as he fought through to where Ulfrik stood defending his own. Weapons hammered on shields and men shrieked in pain and anger as metal found flesh. In moments, the battle became a swarming mass of men hacking and cursing each other. The woods offered horrible footing, increasing the lethality of the combat. Rocks, roots, slippery leaves, and logs tripped men from both sides and falling to the ground in combat meant death followed in moments.

Ulfrik moved little during the battle, tenaciously holding his ground and avoiding the problem of footing. He fought in a tight circle about the banner, sending men reeling with blood trailing from their wounds. The carnage was the worst he had seen since Paris. A Frank who had taken a spear to his face staggered past him with his eye missing and the meat of his cheek torn to reveal his teeth. One of his own men had his sword arm hacked off at mid-arm, but instead of falling he howled in rage and stuck the bloody stump into his enemy's face while bashing him with a shield. Another man rested in the bole of a tree, holding his glistening guts in his hands as he cried. Dismembered corpses littered the ground, piled atop each other like stacks of firewood. All around his banner disorganization and chaos consumed the men, so that any semblance of lines had disappeared.

He watched Clovis's banner drawing nearer, and finally he stood before his own standard and shouted. "Clovis, come meet your death. I am right here if you're man enough to get through to me."

Both he and Clovis understood each other's language well enough. While Ulfrik had forced himself to learn the Frankish language, his mouth could not form the misshapen and twisted sounds. His challenge had its intended result, for Clovis broke through to Ulfrik.

He was not a large man, but strong and fast. He had a narrow and royal head with close-cropped black hair turned gray at the temples. Even in the heat of battle, smeared with mud and gore and wading through ground smelling of blood and urine, he still appeared above the disorder. He was clean shaved, wearing only a thin mustache that framed his disdainful snarl.

"You ignorant fool," he shouted at Ulfrik, drawing his shield to his body and setting his bloodied sword low for a strike. "You are trapped here. Now die!"

With no time for a rejoinder, Ulfrik danced away from Clovis's strike, but lamely hit him on his mailed shoulder as he spun past. All around them, men chopped and stabbed and bled and choked in death. Clovis recovered, drawing up short before Ulfrik's banner. He paused as if considering whether to topple it, and Ulfrik jumped into that moment, slamming into him with his shield and following through with a wicked stab. His blade turned on Clovis's mail, but he heard the crunch as links broke. Clovis screamed as Ulfrik's blade dug into his shoulder blade.

"Now you go to sing songs with your dead god." Ulfrik drew back his sword for the killing thrust. Clovis crawled forward, a pitiful yelp escaping as he clawed through the wreckage of the forest floor.

Then men swarmed him, knocking him aside. His sword fell from his grip and he lay atop his shield as someone wrestled with him. His left arm was pinned, but his right hand was free to search for a weapon. The man atop him was too close to see, but he felt the cold knife blade press into his throat in preparation for the slice. In the same instant, Ulfrik laid his hand on the hilt of his boot dagger.

Freedom. The man lifted from him and Ulfrik reacted as fast as a cat. He ripped out his sax, the short blade warriors hung from belts across their laps, and turned on his opponent. Konal had pulled the attacker from Ulfrik, and now hovered over him with sword ready to plunge into the Frank's throat.

Clovis scrabbled to his feet and raised a horn to sound the retreat. He blew three short notes; Konal rammed his blade into his enemy's throat with a wet crack; and Ulfrik shouted as he charged Clovis. But men were fleeing in both directions. Everyone had broken, the danger and death too thick to withstand. The Franks fled to the open field, running for their distant fortress and Ulfrik's men running back through the paths they had cleared. The fight was done, and Clovis darted off like a deer before woodsmen.

Finding his sword in the dirt, Ulfrik picked it up and looked for Konal, who was calmly rummaging through the fallen's possessions even as men fled all around him. Einar stood beneath the banner, face covered in blood, and looked to Ulfrik for orders.

"Sound the retreat, at least to save pride for the men already running." Ulfrik scanned the scene, bodies and parts of bodies littered this patch of woods, and he saw many of his own lying among them. "We will be hard pressed to call this victory."

Chapter 10

Night fell early on the battered men. They marched in ragged groups towards Ravndal where dark shapes of men gathered on the walls showed against the purple twilight. Heads were bowed in shame and defeat as they trudged across the last stretch of field before the sharp rise of the hill. They were less grand than when they had set out in the morning, helmets lost, shields broken, swords bent, and mail rent. They carried some of the dead they had found in the scramble to escape, though most had been left where they had fallen. The injured either hobbled behind the main group or were carried on the backs of their companions. Ulfrik bore one man on his back, a young warrior named Gert, who had his left thigh hacked to the bone. Gert moaned with every step, and Ulfrik sweated and strained under the weight, but his step quickened as Ravndal drew closer.

The gates opened as they approached, no cheering or bragging men greeted them, only worried faces of kin searching for their loved one in the weary group. Despite their own condition, Ulfrik knew his army had done enough harm to Clovis that he would be silenced for a while. The destruction of his cavalry was a rare victory, though the cost had been heavy. Whatever the true situation, for the men and for those who had died under his leadership, he would declare this a valiant triumph worthy of a song. Gert moaned again, as if reading his thoughts, and Ulfrik spoke over his shoulder. "Hold on, we're at the gates now. You'll get that leg stitched and be dancing on tables before you know it."

People crowded him as he led his men inside. A dozen questions assailed him at once, and he spun around looking for someone to relieve him of Gert so he could address them. Ornolf, a fat man who was nearly as old as Snorri, came forward and took Gert. Ornolf was his best surgeon, skilled at extracting arrows, stitching cuts, and amputating what could not be saved. "Be careful with him," Ulfrik said. Gert was only a few years older than Gunnar and the similarity tugged at him. "You've got a busy day ahead."

As more straggled through the gates, questions turned from Ulfrik to the new arrivals. The mood was solemn but still laughter sprouted up where an uninjured man returned to his kin. More painful to hear were the names of men he already knew to be slain. As the dead were carried in, wives and daughters cried and young sons stood trembling with balled fists.

Runa burst out of a crowd of women straining to find their own. She dragged Aren by his hand like a doll flying behind her. "Where is Gunnar and Hakon?"

"They're with you," Ulfrik said, and Runa froze. Her mouth made half-formed words and Ulfrik's blood turned to ice.

She shook her head slowly, then she punched him on his mail hard enough for her knuckles to come away bloodied. "They've been missing since you set out. Gunnar followed you!"

"With Hakon?" Ulfrik could see Gunnar disobeying him, but not Hakon. "He's only a child; Gunnar wouldn't ..."