Chapter 7: King Harkon (2)

When he reached the base of the steps leading to the dais, he stopped short. The king watched him expectantly. Yngvar drew in a deep breath.

"I am Yngvar Hakonsson, son of Harald Finehair and grandson of Gorm the Old. I come to seek justice for my father's murder."

"Justice?" King Hakon leaned back, crossing both hands over his belly. The gold bands around them glittered in torchlight. "Why have you sought me out? Who sent you? Do you think I can deliver justice to you?"

Yngvar glanced at the others. Their faces remained blank, even though their expressions mirrored his own shock. This couldn't be real. Yet how else could this end without blood?

"My name is Yngvar Hakonsson, son of Ulfrik Ormsson. My grandfather was killed while trying to free you from captivity. If that wasn't bad enough, I've been told that King Erik Blood-Axes murdered him. Now I am going to kill him."

King Hakon laughed. It was a sharp bark of laughter. Everyone looked uncomfortable except Yngvar. He met the king's eyes again.

"Kill King Erik? Is that all?" He shook his head slowly. "I see why you came here. Your story has some merit. Unfortunately for you, I cannot help you. You will not find justice in Denmark. Go home and tell your friends about these good tidings. They'll laugh and make jokes of you. No one cares for your family. Nothing changes because you're gone."

He waved off any further explanation, then stood. Everyone bowed to him. Yngvar did as well. When he rose, King Hakon nodded once.

"Thank you for coming. Farewell."

They filed past him into the hall. Once outside, Alasdair whispered, "What happened just now? That didn't seem right."

Everyone agreed with him, so no one answered. Yngvar led them down the corridor. At last they found themselves in the courtyard where they began their journey.

Thorfast rubbed his arms and exhaled loudly. "Well done, lord! Well played!"

Bjorn let loose an animalistic roar. "That bastard better pay us our silver when we get it back!"

"It must be nice to meet someone who knows exactly what you need to say," Yngvar said.

"Yes, yes, very smart thinking. But don't forget we still got shit to do tonight."

"True, true. Let's go."

They hurried across the yard toward the gatehouse. Halfway there, however, they heard shouts echoing behind them.

The guards were calling after them. "Stop! Stop or we shoot!"

Their pursuers appeared from between buildings. The four men wore mail coats and helmets, carrying spears tipped with iron points. Each held a shield painted red and black. Four more joined them, their shields bright yellow. These carried swords.

"Run faster if you value your life," Yngvar shouted.

None wished to turn aside. They had made such easy pickings of the Danes during their escape that none expected trouble now. Even those running ahead dropped back to join the chase. Soon they numbered eight men chasing four companions.

"We should fight," Bjorn said. "Just take 'em on now."

"No time for that," Thorfast said. "Besides, they might kill us before we get to the gates."

Bjorn puffed up like a bull preparing to charge. His face reddened and his brows knitted together.

"Cowards!" he bellowed. "Come on, little boys, give us a battle!"

With a shout, he charged straight at his pursuers. Despite knowing the odds against them, two of the pursuers broke ranks and followed suit. The rest turned aside.

At first glance, Bjorn seemed invincible. Taller than most men, he possessed shoulders wide enough to carry two grown warriors atop each other. A thick beard covered half his cheeks. His hair hung long and wild down his back, but was combed tight and oiled to shine beneath the moonlight. All of this combined to make him look like some kind of warrior god.

But he was only human. In the blink of an eye, his momentum collapsed under the weight of his enemies' superior numbers. Before he fell flat, a spear tip pierced through the fleshy part of his lower thigh. Then another stabbed deep into his upper arm.

He screamed and crashed onto his side, rolling until he fetched up against a wall. By then, three enemy soldiers surrounded him. One stepped forward to finish him.

"Wait!" Gyna grabbed his attacker by his chain shirt and pulled hard. She nearly tore him away from Bjorn, whose body quivered as blood flowed freely from both wounds.

She threw her dagger at the man holding Bjorn's sword hand. It clattered harmlessly along the ground. Her next throw flew true, burying itself in the chest of the third soldier. Both she and Bjorn slumped to the ground.

Yngvar stared dumbfounded at what had become of his plan. Now he stood alone with Thorfast and Alasdair beside him. Only moments ago, they were escaping the Danish prison. Yet now they faced death.

Alasdair drew his shortsword, which gleamed palely in the night. He raised it high overhead.

"Lord, run!"

***

The hounds bayed again. This time Yngvar knew their master would soon follow. Their cries echoed over the walls surrounding Gamlebyen. For days they had been howling to announce their arrival. And now Yngvar understood why.

His captors dragged him out of bed. As dawn light peeked through the window shutters, he lay naked on cool stone. Someone prodded him awake. Cold air bit at his exposed skin.

"Get dressed," said the voice of his guard leader.

Yngvar sat up and looked around. Two armed men flanked him. One remained seated while the other paced back and forth.

"Where are my clothes?" Yngvar asked.

"You've already worn these last few weeks," the pacing man said. "Now hurry and dress yourself, slave boy."

Yngvar did not want to call himself a slave. After all, he was Norse and no one could own him here. Still, he felt as much a prisoner as any Dane ever taken captive. At least the Danes treated their slaves well compared to this treatment.

"I'm sorry I can't help you," he said. "Please tell me where my belongings have gone."

"Your things will be returned when King Hakon pays us our ransom," the man said. "Until then, you're nothing but a burden."

It took every ounce of strength Yngvar had left to keep from screaming. Instead, he swallowed a bitter lump of saliva and glared at the man who had spoken. His eyes widened with fear, so that Yngvar thought perhaps he had struck a blow after all. But the moment passed, leaving only the memory of its passing behind.

Then he realized he must appear threatening even to these guardsmen. They backed off several steps and lowered their spears.

He struggled to pull on pants and boots. His hands shook too badly for him to do anything more. When finished dressing, he went to sit on the edge of the cot.