Chapter 14: Safety (2)

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, can we focus on getting us all safely away from here? We don't have far to travel to reach our destination, but when night falls, it will be nearly impossible to hide ourselves. Let's hope the gods favor us tonight."

***

They followed Hakon through the forest. By late afternoon, the trees thinned out. Beyond lay rolling hills covered in grasses and wildflowers. In the distance, white smoke drifted into the sky above a village built around a central square. Smokehouses dotted the landscape, along with barns that housed livestock. Yet none of this made up half of the buildings lining the main street leading directly to the center of town. These structures were stone and timber, though most lacked windows. Their doors were thick planks reinforced with iron straps. Black marks stained the doors where they had once painted symbols of power.

"That's your church," Hakon whispered. "And that building belongs to Duke Richard who rules this region. It's called Rouen. There's an archbishop and several bishops, including Bishop Odo. Do you remember him?"

Yngvar frowned. He did not recall such a man, nor was he familiar with Normandy.

"This is new land to me. What do you mean 'this'?"

"Normandy. This is the duchy ruled by William Longsword. I'll explain later, just follow me quietly."

He led them down the road past the small houses clustered outside the church walls. A few people glanced at them, but otherwise ignored their passing. The sun set behind them, casting shadows across the fields. Soon only the tops of the distant hilltops glowed red under the light of the setting sun. Shadows grew deeper beneath the eaves of the woods surrounding the village.

At last they stopped before a house surrounded by a low wall. Inside, two guards stood watchful beside a door decorated with silver crosses. Both wore helmets adorned with horsehair plumes. Neither looked young enough to serve in battle. One held a spear while the other carried a shield and sword.

"Stay here," Hakon ordered. "Keep quiet until I give you permission to speak."

"What about food?" Brandr demanded. "How are we going to survive without supplies? Our horses need grain!"

"Those things aren't important right now. Stay hidden and keep calm. Don't make yourself known unless you absolutely must."

He took off running toward the gate. Before reaching it, he turned sideways so they could pass unseen. Once inside, he waved them forward. The wooden gates shut with a thud after the first group passed.

Inside, torches burned in brackets spaced every twenty paces along the path leading to the front entrance. Banners hung overhead between these posts. At first glance, Yngvar thought they depicted angels carrying swords and spears. But then he noticed the banners bore crossed hammers. All warriors knew those signs.

"It's true," Brandr said. "King Harald died years ago. So why would anyone claim his name for themselves?"

Yngvar shrugged. "Perhaps someone else wants to rule Norway."

"Haraldsson," Hakon corrected. "Not Haraldson. Not yet anyway."

They walked slowly up the road flanked by torchlight. Yngvar wondered if more men waited within the dark hallways ahead. How many lived here? Was there any family left? Had King Erik taken everything for himself?

Hakon paused before entering the great hall. The golden cross emblazoned over its doors blazed in the flickering firelight. He raised his hand to knock, then paused.

"There should still be some servants in residence. If not, we may find others wandering the halls. Be careful what you say."

Again Hakon knocked. Again nothing happened. His shoulders slumped. Then he tried the latch. After finding it unlocked, he pulled open the heavy oak door. Its hinges protested with groans and creaks.

A dozen faces stared back at them. They appeared surprised, even frightened, as if they expected a fight. Some scurried aside like mice fleeing a cat. Others remained rooted to their spots, staring wide-eyed. Hakon stepped inside, head bowed.

The room seemed twice the size of Thorfast's or Bjorn's entire homes put together. Tapestries lined the walls. Most showed scenes of battles and hunts. Weapons of all sorts sat arranged neatly on tables against the rear wall. Shields leaned against each other, stacked three high. Swords hung from hooks, and axes rested upon stands. Everything gleamed in the soft candle glow. Two braziers filled the air with warmth despite the cool evening breeze blowing through the windows.

In the center of the floor, four hearths roared hot flames into the night. In one corner, an old woman huddled next to a table holding her knees. She had long white hair that reached nearly to her waist. Her face was wrinkled like dried fruit. Yet she smiled warmly at Hakon.

Her smile vanished when she saw the strangers. Everyone backed away except for the old woman.

"You're early, lord," she said. "I told you to wait outside."

"My apologies," Hakon said. "We came too soon."

She pointed out another doorway where the rest of the household slept. Yngvar noted how she kept looking at the strangers, never quite making eye contact. Perhaps this place belonged to a wealthy jarl who commanded respect. Or perhaps the king had been murdered and no one wanted to live here anymore. Either way, it did not look good for him.

But Hakon continued onward. He followed the old woman to a bedchamber far larger than anything Yngvar imagined existed. It might have fit ten beds comfortably. Four massive fur rugs covered most of the stone flags. More furs were piled around the edges of the chamber to form pillows. A thick rug lay across the middle of the floor. This was a man's workroom but also likely served women during childbirth. The smell of herbs lingered throughout.

The old servant placed a small lamp on the sideboard, then closed the door behind her. The light revealed a huge pile of gold coins stacked atop a chest. Other chests stood beside the bed and two chairs near the window overlooking the sea. Both were empty. No weapons or armor either. Whatever treasures once resided here had been removed.

"Where is everyone?" Hakon asked.

"Gone," she whispered. "Every last soul has fled."

***

Yngvar watched the old woman shuffle away. When she disappeared down the hallway, he looked to Hakon. Though his expression was grim, he wore a sheepish grin.

"What are your plans now? Do you want us to leave?"

"No, I don't think so," Hakon replied.