Chapter 26

A Royal Puppet

Alberic, Count of Soissons, leaned across the table of the Sapphire Chalice Tavern in the Frisian trade center of Dorestad. His dark brown eyes glinted with greed. “Badelbert has taken Fécamp. He has six hundred men to defend the castle. Two hundred were lost in the battle on the beach, including Harald’s Hammer.” He scoffed and downed a large gulp of mead. “But the Raven Warrior did slice Sk?rde with the D?kkálfar sword. It’s been more than three days now. The Dragon of Denmark is surely dead.”

Lothaire sipped his mead, adrenaline surging at the thought of Badelbert’s success. The first Frankish fortress in the coveted Pays de Caux . “Where is the sword? I paid an exorbitant price for that Dark Elven blade.” He grinned at the blacksmith seated at his side. Guldur was the D?kkálfar who had forged the Raven Warrior’s otherworldly sword.

“Taken by the red beard who ordered the retreat. The warrior who withdrew Sk?rde’s body from the beach.” Alberic eyed the sapphire chalice on the wall and grinned before returning his gaze to Lothaire. “Do you want me to attack étretat?”

“Not yet. Richard has undoubtedly returned from Rouen. He’s most likely at Chateaufort with his daughter, consoling the grieving widow.” He took another pull of mead. “Bluetooth agreed to the meeting?”

“Through his royal messenger, yes.” Alberic searched the tavern and snapped his head back to Lothaire. “Bluetooth is here now.”

“Escort him to the table. Tell his guards to wait near the door.” Lothaire summoned the serving girl. “Refill the pitcher of mead and bring another goblet.” While she complied, he considered the D?kkálfar at his side . Despite the ominous black eyes, murky skin, wiry hair, and yellowed teeth which gave him an unnerving, unsettling appearance, Guldur was an unparalleled Dark Elven blacksmith who also served as Lothaire’s royal translator, for he was fluent in both Frankish and Old Norse. And since Lothaire paid him extremely well for his silence, Guldur would disclose nothing of today’s clandestine meeting.

Alberic, suppressing a gloating smirk, ushered a visibly harried Harald Bluetooth to the table. Bowing before Lothaire, who pointedly remained seated as a sign of his dominance over the compromised King of Denmark, Alberic announced, “My king, I present Harald Bluetooth, King of Denmark and Norway.” To Harald, he said, “King Lothaire of West Francia invites you to join us. Please be seated.”

A towering savage brute, whose long blond hair and beard were both heavily streaked with silver, Bluetooth lowered himself onto the bench and accepted the mug of mead which Alberic handed him. As he took a large gulp, his suspicious gaze fixed on Guldur.

“May I present the owner of this fine establishment, Guldur Náttblár. He will translate for us.” Lothaire introduced the D?kkálfar, who in turn translated the Frankish words into Old Norse.

“Why have you summoned me?” Harald’s eyes were as dark as his distinctive blue front tooth. Like the sapphire in the chalice that I bequeathed to this tavern. Or the magnificent gem in D?kksafír, the Raven Warrior’s Dark Elven sword. Which I will reclaim when Normandy is mine.

“To enlist your aid in reattaching Normandy to my West Frankish crown.” Lothaire bluntly stated the purpose for today’s meeting. There was no point in frivolous formalities. “And, since I have your young son—the heir to the kingdoms of both Denmark and Norway—you have no choice but to comply.” He savored the exquisite flavor of the golden mead, heightened by the intoxicating taste of power. “I have already taken Fécamp and established a Frankish Duke in Richard’s former ducal palace. Now you will attack Chateaufort and defeat the Dragon of Normandy.”

Stark realization and somber resignation extinguished the blaze in Bluetooth’s fiery gaze.

“I understand that your forces are diminished, given the generous bride price you offered Richard the Fearless, compounded by the recent losses due to an attack on Heieabyr. I will therefore grant you four weeks to assemble an army and amass a fleet of warships. You will sail to Chateaufort on the fall equinox. Seize the castle and establish a second Frankish fortress in the Pays de Caux. Or Heieabyr will fall to the Franks. And your heir will simply disappear.”

Lothaire waited for Guldur to translate before continuing. “You will help me drive the Vikings from Normandy, back to Denmark, Danelaw, and Norway. Once I have reclaimed Normandy—and rescinded the disastrous treaty that my ancestor Charles the Simple forged with the Viking chieftain Rollo—I will return your son unharmed. And ally with you, to defend Denmark against the Holy Roman Empire and the powerful army of Otto the Red, who has his sights set on Heieabyr. Should you refuse to comply… or fail in your attempt… your son will be sacrificed and Denmark will fall.”

Bluetooth clenched his teeth in stubborn, stifling silence and frustrated fury.

Lothaire finished his mead, rose majestically from his seat, and feigned a respectful bow before the royal puppet who now danced on his strings. With a greedy, gloating grin, he bid Bluetooth good day.

Guldur and Alberic at his side, a train of royal guards in his wake, Lothaire strolled from the Sapphire Chalice Tavern into the glorious, golden sun of Dorestad.