The Rood and the Torc Page 43

  Kristinge could hear Eomaer grinding his teeth. To his left, Aelfin too had fallen silent. Their hope of help from Wigmaer was gone, and Kristinge knew their chances of standing alone against Aldgisl and Réadban were slim. And at the mention of fighting the Franks and recapturing Domburg, even Aelfin’s normally inexpressive face had revealed his sudden interest. Would that temptation be to strong to resist? How strong of a bond did he feel toward Kristinge? Would he change his mind?

  “I will never bow before Aldgisl,” Eomaer growled softly.

  “I do not ask you to,” Réadban replied. He had stepped forward now, and spoke in a loud and haughty voice. “It is me to whom you will swear your fealty.”

  Aldgisl turned sharply toward Réadban, a look of surprise upon his face. “What—?” he began to ask. However all eyes were turned toward Réadban now, including those of Kristinge who was trying desperately but unsuccessfully to make sense of what was happening.

  Réadban did not hesitate. “It is I who will wear the torc. I will rule Friesland, and none other. As for promises for the safety of Kristinge, I make none. You are not in a position to demand promises of me. Wigmaer will not come to your aid. You have no other hope but to bow to me. It is my war band that surrounds you now. Aldgisl is but a token thane: another who will also soon bow before me. The torc belongs to me!”

  Réadban’s final words were spoken with such virulence and certitude that they were met with only a stunned silence: a silence even deeper than that which had followed Kristinge’s proclamation a few moments earlier. Goats ceased their bleating. The wind fell still. The river itself seemed to stop its constant rushing in response to Réadban’s proud words. Even the crows were silent.

  Bewildered, Kristinge could only shake his head in a mixture of fear and confusion. He knew not what to think of this sudden turn: what it would mean to his own future, as well as to that of Ezinge and Friesland. Though he had never before met Aldgisl, he had instinctively trusted him. Réadban, on the other hand, he trusted less with each passing moment. He had not been prepared for this. The strange peace he had felt since the start of the confrontation now faded to a deep uneasiness. What did this mean? He looked to Aelfin for some sign of understanding: some hint about what was to be done next. But Aelfin was as taken by surprise as any of them. Any of them except perhaps Aldgisl who appeared like a man caught naked in a blizzard.

  “YOU?” Aldgisl sputtered, absorbing what Réadban had said after an initial moment of shock. “YOU!”

  Réadban only grinned wickedly back at him. When Aldgisl saw that Réadban was serious, he took a step backward. His hand went at once to his sword, and he glanced around him as if waiting for his thanes to turn and stand with him against this new adversary: this conspiracy against him. And then came Aldgisl’s second sting. Only one of the warriors on the ramp went to his side; the others stayed with Réadban. Aldgisl was cornered and outnumbered, and he realized it at once. Nor was there anywhere he could turn for help; Aelfin and Eomaer were not about to step to his side to defend him against Réadban. His look of surprise had become one of fear. His face grew pale. Whatever words of challenge and anger had formed on his lips died suddenly, or were suppressed in discretion.

  Then it was that Kristinge guessed what was happening. It was not difficult to conjecture even without Aelfin’s help. It was Réadban’s thanes who had come up the ramp, not Aldgisl’s. Either that, or more of Aldgisl’s thanes in addition to Réadban had just betrayed him. But that was almost unthinkable! No. Though Aldgisl had spoken as one in authority, it must have been Réadban’s war band that had come to Ezinge. Then why had Aldgisl come with Réadban? The answer was clear. Because Aldgisl had not expected this betrayal. He had trusted Réadban. He had been taken by surprise. He had come to take the next step toward his receiving the torc of Friesland. Instead, he was to watch it torn away from him.

  Réadban gave Aldgisl a last, icy calculating stare, then turned back toward Aelfin. All Aldgisl could do was to stand and watch, and await his own fate even as Kristinge awaited his. “This is my offer,” Réadban said. “Give Kristinge to me now along with the torc, swear to me your service, and you may live as my thanes. Resist me, and you will die. For I warn you: if you refuse to turn over Kristinge and the torc, Ezinge will burn in the morning. I give you until then to consider.”

  Aelfin and Eomaer did not answer, but Kristinge could guess what they were thinking. They had no choice left. No hope. To fight Réadban was sure defeat. And what reason did they have to risk their lives to protect Kristinge? None. Nor did Kristinge want them to. He would not be the cause of their deaths, nor of the destruction of Ezinge. He gathered his courage and prepared to speak. I will go.

  Once again, however, before the words were out of his mouth another sound was heard from nearby: a horse galloping along the axwei at the base of the terp, mingled with some urgent shouting. As if given a sudden reprieve from the many dramas being acted out upon the torch lit ramp, everyone turned and waited to see what news would be brought. The rider stopped at the base of the ramp where the other horses were being held. After a word of consultation with a warrior there, he dismounted from his horse and started up the ramp on foot. In the darkness, it took him a moment to find his chieftain. “Lord Aldgisl,” he spoke.

  So this was one of Aldgisl’s men, Kristinge thought. And the messenger knows nothing of what has taken place.

  “Speak,” Aldgisl said with a sideways glance at Réadban. “I trust your words are urgent.” Once again, the younger chieftain was back in the picture. As Kristinge would learn, Aldgisl was never one to be underestimated.

  “In front of these?” the messenger asked.

  Perhaps Aldgisl guessed the nature of the message, and for that very reason, finding the tables suddenly turned against him, he chose to let the messenger speak. “Speak,” he repeated. “Let everyone hear.”

  “A war band approaches, my lord,” the messenger said nervously.

  “What?” Réadban shouted.

  “From Wieuwerd?” Aldgisl queried.

  “No, my lord. They come upriver, from Hwitstanwic.”

  “How many? Is it a large war band?”

  “Three ships.”

  Theoman and Aescholt, Kristinge guessed. From Wijnaldum and Beowic. He had been taught well by Aelfin; three ships meant sixty or more warriors. They had received Eomaer’s message and were coming to the aid of Ezinge. Though Kristinge’s own plans had not changed with this news, somehow the information brought with it a rush of excitement. He could hear the Ezinge warriors stirring around him, and knew they guessed the meaning of the message as well as he did. Hope rose in his heart.

  “How far away?” Réadban asked urgently, the grin gone from his face.

  The messenger looked at Aldgisl. When Aldgisl nodded his permission for him to speak, he turned toward Réadban. “They have come as far up the Hunze as they may—as far as the ice flows allowed—and now they continue on by foot. They are no more than an hour’s march away.” He didn’t stop there, either. Though his voice was trembling, he went on. “There is more.”

  “Then speak!” Réadban shouted.

  The messenger was afraid; he didn’t like being the bearer of bad tidings. “There is another war band approaching as well. They have come by foot from Aalsum, and are yet three hours’ march away. They have stopped for the night. Your rear guard spotted them.”

  “And this band?” Aldgisl asked in doubt. “Its size?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  There was a short, silent pause, as yet another piece was added to the strange puzzle. It was Aelfin who spoke next. His voice was strong and confident. “Close enough that they will be here by first light in the morning, whether they continue to travel now or not. And so, our help is not as far away as either of us thought, nor is your enemy as weak as you might have guessed.”

  “We will attack you now!” Réadban replied, his voice sounding desperate once again. “We can deal with these other rogues when th
ey arrive.”

  Now it was Aldgisl who turned on Réadban. “Are you a fool? Attack up the slopes of the terp in the darkness? These warriors know the village by heart. You would be fighting blind. And the others might fall on your back at any moment.” His words had an effect. Réadban was clearly disturbed by the news. His confidence was shaken. And there were other thoughts on Aldgisl’s mind as well. Not having forgotten his own situation, he turned to the messenger and to the other thane who was loyal to him. “Give orders to my war band. We will depart at once.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and started down from the slope.

  Réadban stood still for just a moment, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Then he turned to his own thanes and began shouting orders. “Surround the village. And keep watch. When the other war band arrives, don’t let them get to Ezinge. Keep them at bay. Fight if you must, but make them fight us outside the village. Don’t let them add to the defense. We are still a match for all of them.” Then he turned and saw Aldgisl striding down the ramp. “And don’t let Aldgisl escape!”

  But it was too late. Aldgisl broke into a run. Before Réadban’s men could move, the other chieftain and his two thanes had already sprung upon their horses. Réadban’s guards at the bottom of the ramp, not knowing what had transpired, made no move to stop them. In moments, Aldgisl was disappearing into the darkness.

  Aelfin did not give Réadban time to ponder. “And so,” he said. “All is no longer as it was. Even as our numbers grow, yours shrink. Some of your prey has already slipped from your grasp.”

  Réadban turned back toward Aelfin, his eyes glowing red with anger. Kristinge could see him struggling to appear calm as he spoke. “Merely thirty men: a token number from a token chieftain. Even without Aldgisl, we stand at four hundred, far outnumbering you. And as you can see, not even Aldgisl may stand against me now.” Nevertheless, he was gritting his teeth in frustration that belied his words.

  “I see well enough,” Aelfin answered him confidently. “I know your thoughts. It is a dangerous game you play. Perhaps you have moved too early. Perhaps not; perhaps even Aldgisl can’t stand against you. Yet I guess that you are not altogether sure of yourself, or you would not have waited so long to reveal your own ambitions. Can you risk a war against me now? You cannot attack tonight, and yet if you wait until tomorrow our war band grows. Then you will face us four hundred against two hundred. Though you still outnumber us, the odds are no longer so great, for we defend the terp. If you surround us and siege the village, then you will have enemies attacking you from behind. Yet if you let our allies into the village, then an army of that size could defend against you all winter long. And we would have food while your supplies dwindle. And what of Aldgisl? Will he sit idle?”

  There was no reply from Réadban. He was still clenching his fists, glancing back and forth between Kristinge and Aelfin. For the first time that day, Aelfin had the upper hand. Or at least an even hand. Kristinge wondered what he would do with it—wondered what his own fate would be. “We have a war band. Two hundred strong, ready to fight,” Aelfin went on. “Yet we would rather fight against the Franks than against you. You have offered me a bargain, and now I offer you one. If you spare Kristinge, then we will fight with you against the Franks. If I guess rightly, Eomaer may accept your over lordship, though he will never take Aldgisl’s. Give him the task and men to find Aldgisl, and I doubt he will fail you. Then you can lead us against the Franks. The victory will be yours. And Aldgisl has spoken rightly: by such a victory a king could well be made.”

  Kristinge could see the thoughts churning in Réadban’s head, as he weighed his ambitions against his thirst for revenge. Aelfin concluded the offer, his voice once again growing stern. “The torc we can offer you in more ways than one. But know this: that I have named Kristinge as my son, and many chieftains have sworn their fealty to him. If you kill him, then we are bound to avenge his death, even if we all die. Friesland will destroy itself, and the Franks will conquer us.”

  Kristinge knew then what a sacrifice Aelfin was making. He knew that Aelfin felt betrayed, and wondered that the chieftain didn’t just turn him over to Réadban and be done with him. He wondered also if Eomaer would be so eager to agree to the same bargain. He knew that the bargain Aelfin was making held risk to both parties, for what could they give as proof of their word? Why would Réadban trust Aelfin and Kristinge not to continue to raise their war band, and bring it against him in the spring? Yet for the first time that evening, Kristinge had hope that not only the lives of his friends would be spared, but his own as well.

  “You will feed my war band,” Réadban said.

  “For one day and one night,” Aelfin replied.

  “And give gifts in your hall.”

  Aelfin smiled. “No,” he answered slyly. “It is you, as our new over-chieftain, who will give gifts in the hall.”

  Again Réadban gritted his teeth, but Aelfin had him. He turned once more toward Kristinge. Kristinge held his breath. He could see Réadban’s fierce grip on the hilt of his sword as he faced his choice.

  It took only a moment. The lure of the torc was too strong. Though he was clearly disturbed by the decision he was forced into, Réadban chose to accept Aelfin’s offer: to give up his vengeance against Finn’s son and his attack on Ezinge in order to gain the support of Aelfin and Eomaer in the greater contest he would soon face against Aldgisl. “There will be food for us in the morning. At first light, I will come to your hall with a hundred of my warriors. The rest will remain camped on the axwei. The armies of the other chieftains will also remain outside the village. If they accept my rule, and will follow us into battle against the Franks, then they will join us in the hall and receive treasure from my hand.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode down the ramp. As soon as he was at the bottom, he could be heard shouting orders to his men. “Where is Aldgisl?” he was shouting. “Find him. Track him down. Whatever happens, don’t let him get away.”

  Kristinge closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. He wondered whether Aldgisl would escape or not. He hoped he would. But for now, he was content that he had escaped.

  “Come,” Aelfin said. He and Eomaer turned and started back toward the hall. Kristinge followed, along with the thanes and torch-bearers.

  CHAPTER 23:

  Flames in Ezinge

  Eomaer was barely able to wait until they were back within the confines of the village and out of earshot of the enemy army before blurting out the question on his mind. “Will you really swear allegiance to that cowardly old fool?”

  “Réadban is many things, but ‘coward’ is not one of them,” Aelfin replied, each word slowly and deliberately enunciated. “Has he not just proven that? As to whether he is a fool, that is yet to be seen; when these events have run their course, then his wisdom or foolishness will become evident.”

  “By Tiwar,” the young chieftain swore in reply, “I’d as soon cut off Réadban’s head as serve him with my blade and acknowledge him as lord; I’d give my service to the Franks themselves rather than bow before him.”

  Kristinge was walking a few strides behind the two chieftains, only half-listening to their conversation. His own thoughts were drifting back to Luxeuil as—for the first time since leaving there some sixteen months earlier—he considered returning. He wondered if he would still be welcomed. But Eomaer’s comment caught his attention. His stopped in his tracks and lifted his head. Had he heard right? In the torch light ahead, he could see Aelfin bristling at the mention of the Franks. Kristinge took a few quick steps and caught up.

  “Curse the whole lot of them,” Eomaer went on, his voice growing louder and angrier as he continued. “I should have cut them down on the ramp while I had the chance: an opportunity I will not again let pass.”

  Kristinge winced. He knew Eomaer well enough not to doubt that he meant what he was saying. Suddenly, Kristinge was feeling less secure about the peace he thought he had bought. He could imagine Eomaer, in a hot moo
d, riding out at night and raiding Réadban’s camp just to provoke him into battle.

  “Then likely you will bring about your own death,” Aelfin replied.

  “Ha,” Eomaer laughed. “I do not fear Réadban. If he wants battle, let him have it. Theoman and Aescholt are nearby. And more help comes from Wihtred. By midday tomorrow, our numbers will have more than doubled. Do you think Réadban will even dare attack us now? He will have enough trouble with Aldgisl, I think. He has made himself vulnerable. He will not risk a battle. But if he does? Let him. The tables have turned.”

  “You judge Réadban too harshly. You underestimate him.” Kristinge was again surprised to hear Aelfin defend Réadban. Until that moment, he had never heard Aelfin utter a single good word about Réadban. Had the possibility of recapturing Domburg so completely swayed him? “I say again that he is no coward, whatever else he is. He has just stepped forward in front of Aldgisl and made claim to the torc. That was a bold move.”

  “Bold? Cowardly, I say. It was done at a time when Aldgisl’s war band was far away.”

  “It was a bold move nonetheless, and risky.”

  “Then why was he so afraid of Aldgisl escaping?”

  “It surprises me, friend Eomaer,” Aelfin said, suddenly changing the subject, “to hear you defending Aldgisl.”

  “And it surprises me, friend Aelfin,” Eomaer replied in a low, threatening voice, “to hear you taunt me. I would fight even you, if I thought it would give me opportunity to seek the weregild: an opportunity to fight Aldgisl.”

  Again Kristinge stopped short at Eomaer’s words. It was getting worse by the moment. He half expected a fight to break out in the middle of Ezinge. Réadban would not even need to attack. Fortunately, Aelfin only laughed in response. “Perhaps with Réadban wearing the torc, you will again have the chance. If Réadban becomes king, there will be no love shared between him and Aldgisl.”