Chapter 6

Plotting Revenge

The medieval city of Laon was known as la Montagne Cournonnée— the Crowned Mountain—because the fortified royal castle, residence of the Frankish kings, was built atop a towering mountain of white limestone and encircled by massive walled battlements, like an imposing crown upon a monarch’s majestic head.

Although its lofty location and solid construction were ideal for defense, King Lothaire of West Francia was trapped, surrounded by powerful enemies eager to dethrone him.

His cousin Otto the Red, King of East Francia and Holy Roman Emperor, anxious to expand his empire to equal the grandeur of his ancestor Charlemagne. His uncle Bruno, Archbishop of Cologne, the royal guardian during Lothaire’s adolescence who exalted in the superior strength of East Francia. Another cousin, Hugh Capet, Count of Paris, who—despite being Lothaire’s appointed vassal—ruled over the royal capital like a crowned Frankish king.

And now, still reeling from the recent disastrous defeat at Dorestad where his Frankish army had been vanquished in Frisia, Lothaire had just learned of the renewed alliance between his two greatest enemies. A duo of ruthless Viking monarchs.

Harald Bluetooth, King of Denmark and Norway.

And Richard the Fearless, Duke of Normandy.

Lothaire stared sightlessly out the window of his castle, gazing at the dense forest beyond the crenellated curtain wall surrounding Laon. Frustration and fury simmered as he reflected on the failures of the past.

Twice before, the same duo of violent Vikings had allied against the Franks.

In 942, a humiliating defeat had forced Lothaire’s father, King Louis IV, to recognize Richard as the reigning Duke of Normandy.

Seven years ago, Bluetooth’s bastard—the monstrous brute known as Sk?rde the Scourge, the Dragon of Denmark—had fought alongside his Viking father, allied with Richard the Fearless, in the battle where Lothaire would surely have perished had it not been for the valor of his finest knight, Marcellus of Soissons.

The inimitable prowess for which I awarded him the Ulfberht sword which had once belonged to King Charles the Bald, grandson of Charlemagne. The priceless blade stolen when the Dragon of Denmark slew Marcellus in the slaughter at Dorestad.

Lothaire gulped his goblet of fine French wine, grimacing at the vile, bitter taste of defeat. Sk?rde the Scourge had not only repelled Lothaire’s army, he’d driven the Franks back into Frisia and pillaged the port of Dorestad at the mouth of the Rhine River.

Lothaire spun away from the tall windows draped in royal blue and adorned with the golden fleur-de-lys, emblem of the glorious Frankish king Clovis. He strode across the vast chamber and plopped down upon his royal throne, squeezing the velvet tufted arms of the gilded walnut chair as if he were strangling the accursed Sk?rde the Scourge.

With Bluetooth arranging a royal marriage between his bastard and the daughter of Richard the Fearless, the renewed alliance of voracious Vikings poses an intolerable threat to my Frankish crown. Precisely why I have summoned Alberic and Badelbert. They will destroy this treacherous alliance and help me exact revenge.

An obsequious servant appeared in the doorway. “Pardon the interruption, Sire, but your expected guests have arrived.”

“Usher them in. And bring more wine.” Lothaire adjusted the glittering golden crown which rested over his long, dark curls. He draped the ermine-lined cloak over his broad shoulders in a most majestic pose as his royal valet Ragno escorted the Frankish Count of Soissons and the Frisian Count of Embda into the throne room. Both elegantly dressed nobles bowed before their sovereign king.

“Greetings, gentlemen. Please, be seated.” Lothaire gestured to the two velvet tufted chairs on the opposite side of the oval table from his lavishly gilded throne. He waited for his two most trusted men to settle themselves while Ragno filled goblets of wine and retreated from the chamber. With a solemn nod, Lothaire issued his royal command. “I’ve summoned you today for a vital mission. The opportunity for us to avenge the grievous losses inflicted by the murderous Danish king.” He sipped his burgundy wine, eyeing the Count of Soissons over the rim of his ornate silver chalice. “Alberic, you will avenge the death of your brother, the finest knight I have ever known, and retrieve the priceless sword stolen when Bluetooth’s bastard slew Marcellus.”

A greedy grin stretched across Alberic’s bearded face.

Lothaire placed his goblet down upon the elaborately carved walnut table and directed his attention to the Count of Embda, whose shrewd gaze conveyed curiosity and eager anticipation. “And you, Badelbert, shall retaliate for the devastation of Dorestad, your most thriving seaport.”

Crossing long, sinewy arms over his fine woolen tunic embroidered with golden thread, Lothaire leaned back in his throne, his thick brows furrowed into a contemptuous scowl. “Bluetooth and his bastard have sailed west with an enormous fleet of drakkar warships and a sizable Viking army. Harald has arranged for his son to marry the daughter of Richard the Fearless, forming a powerful, intolerable alliance between the Vikings of Normandy, Norway, and Denmark.”

Alberic and Badelbert exchanged uneasy glances, shifting in their uncomfortable chairs and sipping from their silver chalices of wine.

“Despite the disastrous implications of this Viking alliance, we can nevertheless turn the ominous tide to our advantage. While Bluetooth and his bastard celebrate the month-long traditions of a royal Viking wedding in the white chalk cliffs of Normandy, we shall profit from the rare opportunity to attack while both the king and Dragon of Denmark are conspicuously absent. ” Lothaire grinned as he gulped from his goblet. “Badelbert, as the Frisian Count of Embda, you’ve already established lucrative trading centers in the Danish port of Heieabyr. You and Alberic, disguised as shipping merchants, will sail there with two Frisian ships, laden with Frankish glass, wine, and commodities to sell. Conceal your finest warriors in the hull of the vessels, with orders to remain hidden until nightfall. Procure lodging as Frisian vendors to avoid suspicion. Under cover of darkness, send your assassins to infiltrate Bluetooth’s royal longhouse, striking swiftly and silently to eliminate all the guards. Abduct Bluetooth’s heir—his seven-year-old-son, Sweyn, and bring the boy to me here in Laon, the very same castle where the young Richard the Fearless was once held hostage by my royal father.” Lothaire sipped his wine and scoffed as he set the goblet down and wiped the moustache above his sneering lip. “But, unlike my paternal predecessor, I shall succeed in reclaiming the Frankish lands lost to the Viking chieftain Rollo in the infamous treaty of Saint-Clair-Sur-Epte . I shall be known as Lothaire the Great, the powerful Frankish king who finally expelled the Vikings from Normandy. By forcing Harald Bluetooth to break his alliance with Richard the Fearless and betray his bastard son.”