Chapter 33

Broeir

They sailed downstream from la Rive Droite , the skilled crew of Ran’s Ram navigating the Frisian ship along the Seine as they followed the winding river out of Paris, stopping briefly at the bustling harbor of Le Havre to load supplies and pay the toll for entrance into the Narrow Sea. Now, as the blue sail billowed and favorable tailwinds propelled them eastward toward Dieppe and the clifftop castle of Ch?teaufort , Sk?rde observed his young brother’s keen interest in seafaring and maneuvering of the ship.

The crew seemed willing to demonstrate the operation of the vessel as they patiently guided Sweyn through various tasks to assist them. Sk?rde grinned as the helmsman Rolf showed the boy how to alter the direction of the ship by controlling the rudder. "Sweyn, come here and take the tiller.”

Blond hair whipped by salty spray, bright eyes wide with delight, Sweyn took hold of the handle which controlled the rudder at the stern of the ship.

“Feel how it responds to your touch? You're steering us straight and true." Weather beaten by years of sun and sea, the leathery skin on Rolf’s bearded face crinkled as he winked knowingly at Sk?rde.

While the captain and crew entertained his young broeir, Sk?rde and Haldor Falk spoke to the nursemaid Helga. Gunni and Viggo sat with them on benches in the aft of the ship, watching Rolf and Sweyn steer the helm.

“The abductors must have placed herbs in our food or drink, because I awoke inside a moving carriage with Sweyn sleeping beside me on the seat. Although we were not mistreated, there were armed guards who made it clear that we were prisoners. We were taken to Paris and placed in the tower. They told Sweyn he was being kept safe until his father, King Harald, came to fetch him. I was told to keep the boy entertained and calm. I was terrified the entire time.” The stout, middle aged woman’s hands shook and her frail voice quavered with fear.

“Thank you for taking good care of him. When Sweyn returns to Denmark, we will arrange for you to sail home with him as well. In the meantime, the two of you will stay in my castle in Normandy, where my wife Ylva and my grandmother Gyda will welcome you both.” He glanced at Sweyn, who was learning how to adjust the angle of the sail to accommodate the direction of the wind. A flash of envy flared as he compared the inevitable. elated reaction Harald would have at being reunited with his legitimate son against the neglect he had always shown Sk?rde.

He abandoned me as an infant in Norway. I never even knew him until I distinguished myself as a fierce warrior in battle and lucrative raids. My own father was willing to betray me—bastard son of the Danish king—to save his legitimate heir.

Rancor rattled him until reason prevailed.

He had no choice. Lothaire would have killed Sweyn if Harald had refused to comply. The King of West Francia would have joined Otto the Red and his Holy Roman Empire in capturing Heieabyr and invading Denmark. Faeir would have lost his son, his kingdom, and his heir. Wouldn’t I have done the same?

Sweyn’s jubilant shouts returned him to the present. “Sk?rde! Watch me adjust the sail!” Sturdy little arms pulled on the ropes attached to the lower corners of the square sail which were secured to the rigging and the mast of the ship. “When I grow up, I’m going to lead Viking raids and conquer new lands, just like Faeir !”

Sk?rde smiled at the natural born sailor.

Min broeir. My brother. I will always defend you .

He scoffed at the irony of his life. As the Dragon of Denmark, Sk?rde had sought his father’s attention and approval through glorious victories and profitable Viking raids. He’d expected to inherit his father’s coveted crown. And yet—in a forced marriage of political alliance that neither he nor Ylva had wanted—he’d finally found the elusive love and acceptance which he had longed for his entire, lonely life. He grinned at Sweyn and shouted above the whipping, whistling wind. “One day, you’ll be a fierce Viking king. And rule both Denmark and Norway!”

Pride sparkled in Sweyn’s blue eyes like sunlight on the Narrow Sea.

****

On the twentieth of October, as Ylva, Gyda, Maeve, and úlvhild tended the last of the wounded warriors in the Great Hall, the sentinel in the lookout tower at the mouth of the river shouted from the foot of the cliff. His clear, strong voice carried on the crisp autumn wind.

“Vessel sighted! Ran’s Ram is returning to port!”

Leaving the injured soldiers under the supervision of attentive servants, the healers raced to the grassy riverbank and watched as castle workers raised the chain boom which extended between the white chalk cliffs on either side of the mouth of the rapid flowing Arques River.

Square sail lowered, furled, and hitched, the capable crew of Ran’s Ram maneuvered the Frisian ship into the harbor, past the numerous quays where dozens of drakkar warships lined the curved coast of the sheltered inlet at the base of the white chalk cliffs.

Amidst the din of shouts, the squawks of gulls, and waves crashing against the shore, Ylva spotted Sk?rde.

And her heart soared like the white gannets gliding across the sky.

She recognized Gunni’s distinctive red hair and beard, and Haldor Falk’s dark, compelling presence as they disembarked with Viggo and several of the knights from Chateaufort. Sk?rde guided a woman and a child down the wooden plank which led from the ship to the dock.

Leaving her female companions on the hilltop, Ylva dashed down to the quay, flinging her arms around Sk?rde’s neck and kissing his bearded lips. “Welcome home!”

He chuckled deeply and swept her up into his sinewy arms. Setting her down on the wooden dock, he presented her to the young lad at his side. “Ylva, I’d like you to meet my brother Sweyn. And broeir , this is my wife Ylva.”

She smiled warmly at the bright little boy whose blond hair and blue eyes looked so much like Sk?rde’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sweyn. I’m very glad to have you here at Chateaufort .”

Sweyn executed a formal obeisance and replied politely, “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Ylva.” He gallantly lowered his head to bestow a formal kiss upon her hand.

Ylva silently mused that, as the son of a king, he was well versed in the proper forms of etiquette. “Do you like dogs?” she asked him, noting the quick, enthusiastic gleam in his twinkling eyes and the adorable dimple in his smiling cheeks. “When we go up to the castle, I’ll introduce you to Poppy and Pippin, two of the border collies who help us herd the cattle. Poppy just had a litter of four puppies, and if you promise to be very gentle, you can hold them. And help us name them!”

Sweyn hugged her hips in unabashed delight. “Thank you, Lady Ylva. I promise to be careful with them. I love puppies.” He looked up at her with beseeching eyes. “Can I keep one? And bring him home with me to Heieabyr ?”

Sk?rde laughed out loud and ruffled Sweyn’s thick, long locks. “We’ll see. We have plenty of time to decide that. Let’s get settled into the castle first.” He motioned for the woman behind him to come forward and introduced her to Ylva. “This is Helga, Sweyn’s nurse. She’ll stay with him here in the guest quarters that Petroc is arranging. And accompany Sweyn on the ship when he sails home to Denmark.” While Ylva welcomed the plump, pleasant nursemaid, Sk?rde waved goodbye to Bavo, the ship’s captain. He nodded to Gunni and Viggo—who were coordinating the unloading of the ship with Bj?rn and the castle knights—and led Ylva, Helga, Haldor Falk, and Sweyn up the hill to the jubilant crowd waiting to greet them in the grassy meadow at the top of the cliff.

****

“He’s asleep now. The puppies wore him out.” Ylva laughed as she sat down in the solar next to Sk?rde. They had celebrated with an impromptu welcoming feast, and she had helped Helga settle the excited, exuberant seven year old boy into his feather bed in the guest chambers on the second floor of the castle near her own. Now, while Helga remained in her quarters with Sweyn, Ylva joined her husband, father, and the members of the war council at the oak table in the solar of Chateaufort. As she took her seat, she accepted a mug of mead and joined their ongoing conversation.

“Enguerran sent word that Conan’s army from Brittany has arrived, and that the siege towers and trebuchets have been assembled and are operational. He has positioned knights and men-at-arms in the woods and on elevated grounds west of the castle.” Richard relayed the recent reports to update Sk?rde.

“What is a trebuchet?” Ylva raised her eyebrows and glanced at Sk?rde.

“A tall, wooden catapult that hurls heavy projectiles which can destroy walls or towers. We can launch boulders, fire barrels, burning tar—even quicklime, made from the chalk in our limestone cliffs—to take out defenders along the castle wall.” He turned toward Bj?rn, the First Knight of Chateaufort and leader of the warriors who would defend the castle when Sk?rde, Haldor Falk, and Harald joined Richard in the siege of Fécamp. “Has Geoffroy sent his men from Anjou?”

Bj?rn gulped his mead and nodded. “They have been positioned east of the castle, to cut off freshwater sources to the Franks. We’ve surrounded the Rivière Valmont , l’ étang de Colletière , and la Source Saint-Léger. They now have no supply of fresh drinking water.”

Richard’s commanding voice resonated through the room. “We’ve also blocked all the main roads, so that Lothaire cannot reinforce his army at Fécamp. There have already been several skirmishes which have been squelched—with the Franks defeated and their weapons confiscated to fortify our own positions.”

“Have the knights from Aquitaine arrived from the south?” Sk?rde furrowed his brows in contemplation as he turned toward Richard.

“Not yet. But a messenger informed us last week that William Towhead’s reinforcements would reach us within days. They might have arrived as we speak.” Richard downed his mead and summoned a servant for more. “We are waiting for word that your father’s ships have been sighted from the east. When his fleet arrives, we’ll send a messenger ship to greet him and coordinate our attack.” He glanced at Haldor. “Will you sail with Sk?rde?”

Haldor’s dark, predatory eyes glistened in the firelight. “I will indeed. And summon a winged storm to attack from the sky.”

Sk?rde grasped Ylva’s hand and firmly pressed his lips against her fingers, fixing her with a compelling gaze. “I will leave the Frisian ship and the crew of Ran’s Ram here at Chateaufort —for you to take Sweyn and Helga home in the event we do not return from the battle of Fécamp.” With a meaningful glance at Bj?rn, the Dragon of Normandy commanded his First Knight. “Bj?rn and four hundred knights will defend you and the castle while I am gone. And escort you and Sweyn to Denmark if I do not return.”

Bj?rn fisted his chest as he stared at Sk?rde. Fierce fealty blazed in his loyal, steadfast gaze. “I pledge my sword, my honor, and my life. Your command shall be done.”

Petroc appeared in the doorway, the urgency of his message clearly written across his eager face. “Pardon the interruption, Duke Richard and Count Sk?rde. A message has just arrived from William Towhead’s army. They are in position south of Fécamp and await your orders to attack.” He paused before delivering the rest of his momentous announcement. “My lords, the sentinel has spotted two fire beacons burning at Le Tréport. Harald Bluetooth’s fleet will pass by Ch?teaufort in two days.” With a humble bow of his silver head, the polished steward retreated from the room.

Richard rose to his feet and raised his goblet of mead. “To victory at Fécamp. Or the glory of Valhalla! ”

Amid shouts of “ Skál !” as everyone drank to the impending battle against the Franks, Ylva shuddered and sipped her mead.

She prayed the Viking alliance would prevail.