Pirou was not what he would call coastal, Ulfr noted as they approached, with no sign of sea in sight. Oh, they were damn close, for he could smell the salt in the air, and the whale road called more than ever, deep in his blood, but not actually there. The wheeling gulls all across the blue sky told him just how near the shore was, but Pirou itself sat among green fields and scattered copses, largely of beech, elm and yew. Here and there, though, small stands of pine and oak did little to assuage his need for the open waves, for such timbers were good shipbuilding wood, and brought back memories of the old days in Sigtun – of snow-coated shipyards, angry craftsmen, and the Sea Wolf’s construction.
Over to the left – the west, Ulfr thought – there were distant hints of dunes, which presumably marked the site of the shore, but they were a walk away, while in the green was the castle of Pirou. The village they knew to be present must be further to the north, since they had approached from the south-east and the shore lay to the west. But then, the castle was not there to protect the village, but the harbours to north and south.
There had been much discussion that morning, as they’d departed on the last leg of their journey, over their specific destination, for the plan had thus far remained uncertain. It seemed unarguable that Beatrix had come back to Pirou, based on her conversations with Ulfr, and the trail they had sporadically picked up supported that assumption. But Pirou was, from what Thurstan told them, the home of the oldest of the Hauteville siblings, Serlo, who would reside at the castle and who, presumably, had arranged Beatrix’s marriage in the first place. It seemed unlikely, therefore, that she would want to bump into him. More likely, she had gone to the village or to one of the harbours nearby, seeking either aid in some way or a ship away. In the end, they had decided that the castle had to be their first port of call. For a score of heavily armed men to arrive in the domain and start poking around uninvited might cause all sorts of trouble, and so they had decided to present themselves to Serlo de Hauteville, explain the situation, and then find Beatrix for him and finish their mission.
Ulfr heard the sound of hooves on timber and his focus drew back in, concentrating on their destination, instead of meandering thoughts about their plans and of the sea. The fortress loomed ahead. Whoever had built the castle of Pirou had done so with an eye not for comfort but for defence, and possibly with a touch of paranoia about their neighbours, too. The fortress itself was simple, a staunch timber palisade with a walkway, encircling a bailey that contained all the buildings of the castle. A single gatehouse of timber rose strong and impressive. But it was the moat that impressed Ulfr. The ringed fortress sat within a lake that was just regular enough in shape to suggest being man-made, wide enough that an arrow could just cross it, and breached only by a timber bridge that connected the gatehouse with the world outside.
It was not stone, like the old defences of the Romans or the Byzantines, but still Ulfr would not like to be the one tasked with taking the place from its owner. It would be a difficult proposition. For a moment he wondered when his perceptions had changed so. Once, back in the North a few years ago, a timber palisade would have seemed the apex of defence, the notion of stone towers a fanciful thing. Now he seemed to have a southerner’s opinion woven into his own.
The gates opened on their approach, likely because Thurstan had removed from storage the banner of William ‘Iron Arm’ de Hauteville. It fluttered above the lead wagon, declaring the column’s allegiance now that they were in family lands. The vanguard and then the wagons rumbled across the timbers of the bridge, above black, glassy water, and in through the stockade to Pirou’s fortress. Scattered buildings, some large, some small, lay around the interior, as well as fenced corrals for horses and other beasts, small areas of vegetable garden, and workshops, some belching out smoke from solid chimneys. A good number of armoured men were visible on the walkway of the palisade and at the gate and, though people in ordinary dress went about their business within, moving from building to building, there were a number of soldiers in there, too. Even one of the workshops had freshly made chain shirts hanging from the eaves. The Normans took the business of war seriously.
Ulfr paid little attention to the exchanges between Thurstan, Halfdan and the officer who had crossed to meet them. Greetings were made – offers, thanks, directions for unloading and the like – while Ulfr wandered around the wagons, checking their condition. The vehicles were bearing up well after such a long journey, and he was satisfied with them. Halfdan and Thurstan persuaded the officer that the wagons were to be kept under the Wolves’ supervision, and separate from castle stores, as they bore important cargo from Apulia. This being Iron Arm’s elder brother’s castle, he would hopefully respect that. The jarl then left the Varangians and their Norman companions with the wagons, under the supervision of Bjorn as someone that no one in their right mind was going to mess with, and then beckoned to his old shipmates of the Sea Wolf. Ulfr ambled over to join the others, grateful that such care was being taken with the gold. Since that little episode at the stable in Coutances, he’d felt a nagging worry that word of the gold might spread in the region.
‘We are to be escorted to Serlo, the lord of this place,’ the jarl explained as the officer led them off toward a huge structure at the northern end, rising above the others and sitting on a slightly raised mound.
The main building in the compound was a large timber structure on two floors. As they entered, Ulfr was impressed. The place was almost as complex as the keeps they had seen in Miklagarðr and Apulia, formed of corridors and rooms, stairs and halls, just of well-constructed timber instead of stone. The place had been there long enough that it had lost all scent of timber, and instead smelled of burned-out fireplaces, food, and what could only be the three mangy hounds that were mooching around, begging.
Their host stood at a window in the largest hall of this large building, facing outwards, hands clasped behind his back in a proprietary manner. Serlo de Hauteville was an impressive man. Neat and well dressed, and with short, severe hair, he had the grey of age but the build and stance of a warrior in his prime.
‘You come from my brother,’ Serlo said without turning.
‘Yes, my lord,’ Thurstan said respectfully, not surprised that the lord would know given that they had displayed Iron Arm’s banner on approach.
‘A dozen of William’s men and a rambling collection of Norsemen and Greeks, I understand,’ Serlo went on.
That was a pretty poor summation, to Ulfr’s mind. But as the man unclasped his hands and turned to face them, folding his arms instead, his features softened into almost a smile. The resemblance to Iron Arm was uncanny, though he appeared a little more serious and dour than his younger brother. There were elements of Beatrix’s features visible in his face, too. The family resemblance held strong across the line.
‘Not my words,’ Serlo de Hauteville smiled. ‘My sister’s.’
Ulfr blinked. ‘Beatrix is here?’ he said.
The man looked past the jarl at Ulfr, frowning, seemingly surprised at being addressed by one of the warriors and not Thurstan or Halfdan. ‘Yes,’ he said, gleaming eyes locked on Ulfr. ‘Beatrix arrived in the village a few days ago. She had no intention of visiting me, of course, and was attempting to gather what she needed for a journey. She had strange Byzantine gold with her, and was purchasing supplies for a journey. Fortunately the villagers respect their lord enough that they informed my men of her actions. We apprehended my frustrating sister in the church, and she is now my guest in the north block, here.’
‘Guest?’ Halfdan said with a knowing look.
Serlo nodded. ‘Yes. Let us say, enforced guest, since she continues to defy my commands.’
‘Frankly, I am on her side,’ said Anna, drawing a strange look from the lord. She rallied. ‘Beatrix is a strong woman, and enforced marriages to a stranger are rarely a good idea.’
Serlo de Hauteville sighed. ‘Unfortunately they are a requirement in this world of ours. Alliances are made and broken with wedding rings. My own wife would never have chosen me, I am sure, and yet she has accepted her lot for the benefit of both our houses. I have always treated her well, mind. We are happier than most.’
‘You need your sister for an alliance?’ Halfdan said. ‘I had heard of trouble in the region. Is this something to do with lords revolting against your duke?’
‘My word, but you people are full of questions.’ Serlo snorted. ‘Insolent ones, too. But yes, as it happens. Some years ago I had a little trouble at court and was banished for a time. I am back in the circles of the powerful now, but my credibility took something of a knock, and so I do what I must to bind the Hautevilles back to the duke. Most of my family are too busy stomping around the south, searching for fame and fortune, to do what is right for the family, and so it falls to me. And to Beatrix.’
He sighed again, unfolding his arms, stepping forward and gripping the back of a chair at the great oak table. ‘In truth, I would spare her this if I could. She is a good soul, and a spirited one, and I fear that this marriage will dull that spirit. But Armand de Mortain will bring much needed power and authority to the Hautevilles. It has to happen. And we are still powerful enough that he will be good to her, out of fear of reprisals from me, if nothing else.’
Anna opened her mouth to argue, but was silenced with a look from Gunnhild. ‘Sometimes our woven fate is not to our liking,’ the völva said, ‘yet it remains our fate, whatever we might wish.’
Anna almost exploded at this, her mouth opening and closing, until she managed to get out, ‘But you, yourself—’
Ulfr knew full well what she was going to say – how Gunnhild had defied her own fate, and was being the very soul of hypocrisy – but fortunately Halfdan this time interrupted, addressing the lord.
‘I gave my word to your brother that we would see Beatrix back to her husband-to-be. We escorted her safely from Apulia to the edge of your lands, as Thurstan will avow. She ran from us just a few days from here, and we were fully prepared to hunt her down even to the sea, and return her to you, but it is fortunate that she has been secured already. Strictly, we should continue to escort her, taking her from here to the count at Eu, though I recognise your authority in this matter, and that perhaps our task is complete now, ending here?’
Hauteville nodded. ‘I relieve you of further responsibility with regard to Beatrix. In truth, it is impressive that you managed to get her that far without incident.’ He chuckled. ‘You have had a long journey and, knowing my sister, a complicated one, and it would be remiss of me not to offer you my hospitality for a few days while you rest and recover, and perhaps resupply for your return journey?’
‘I cannot speak for Thurstan and his men,’ Halfdan replied, gesturing to the man at his side, ‘but we will not be returning to Apulia. Indeed, we seek to secure a ship, for we are northward bound. I understand there are ships here? We are on the coast?’
Serlo smiled. ‘Nearby, but not here. There are harbours both north and south a few miles distant, though here there is nothing but beach and dunes. Pirou was built between the two harbours to guard them. But I am afraid I doubt that you will find a ship available at either harbour. The few good warships there, which are built for open sea, belong to either me or to the duke, and with the current political situation I’m afraid we cannot risk decreasing our military strength. The duke may call on me for ships at any time, should he face stronger insurrection. There will be small, rickety fishing vessels, and the odd fat merchant coming in and out,’ he gave Halfdan a sly smile, ‘but looking at you and your men, somehow I cannot see you in a fishing boat.’
Halfdan turned and looked back at Ulfr. ‘I’m sure we will find something,’ the jarl said, meaningfully. Ulfr nodded, then Halfdan looked to Gunnhild, who mouthed something to him. The jarl frowned for a moment, then turned back to Serlo. ‘We would be pleased to accept your hospitality for a few days, then, while our pilot here seeks the best vessel we can find. Might I ask that our wagons be stored away under our guard and locked away?’
The man smiled. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’
‘I shall be interested to meet your duke,’ Gunnhild said.
Every pair of eyes in the room turned to her, most frowning.
‘I doubt that will happen,’ Serlo said. ‘The duke is off to the south-west on some errand or other, and his fortress is at Falaise, to the south-east. We are out of his way here. He rarely spends time in the peninsula, concentrating instead on the lands of the barons who oppose his rule.’
Gunnhild fixed Hauteville with a flat look. She said nothing, but her silence left Ulfr with the impression that there was no doubt in her mind that they would meet the duke. He wondered whether it would be acceptable to ask Serlo if he could speak to Beatrix. She may have caused them trouble, but he still felt a little sorry for her, and she was being held against her will, awaiting her fate. He decided against it, in the end. Perhaps it would be better to draw that chapter to a close and concentrate on ships. Halfdan had made it clear that he wanted a good ship to get away, while Serlo was sure no good ship was to be found, but if there was a usable ship within a day’s travel, Ulfr was the man to find it.
He looked up as they started to move and realised he’d not been listening to the end of the conversation. He nudged Ketil. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’ve agreed to stay a few days.’
‘I heard that bit.’
‘The Norman’s going to show us around.’
Ulfr nodded as they made their way out of the keep. Across the bailey, Bjorn was overseeing the wagons being unhitched outside a palisaded compound that had, from the liberal spray of muck, been a cattle pen until very recently. As they walked, Ketil stepped across in front of Ulfr, forcing him to halt suddenly and then change his footing. The lanky Icelander kept doing things like this, unintentionally, a symptom of limited vision courtesy of his missing eye, yet he still had a quiver at his belt and a bow slung over his shoulder. He’d been practising regularly, trying to regain his mastery. He was almost there, not quite the legend he had once been, but certainly still the best of them.
Serlo de Hauteville led them up a timber staircase to the gatehouse, the highest place in the castle and the location with the best view. Thurstan seemed as interested as any, and Ulfr realised suddenly that although those men had served a Hauteville, he had been a different brother. They might well have never been to Pirou in their lives, and might not even have met this Serlo before.
Atop the gate, they came to a halt, and the lord of the place began to point out individual buildings, explaining their use, naming certain important personages in the castle, especially the priest. The lord’s eyes flicked to the Mjǫllnir pendants brazenly hanging around their necks whenever he mentioned the priest or the chapel, though he seemed more interested than offended. Ulfr listened attentively until the man had identified the building they would use as their own during their stay, and heard Halfdan offer to pay the lord a small fee for his hospitality, then his attention trailed away. Instead, he began to use the lofty viewpoint for more important things. The gatehouse was on the southern edge of the castle, and so he shuffled past Thurstan and looked off to the west, along the line of the timber palisade, and off into the distance. Sure enough, with the added height, he could see the dunes he’d identified earlier, and a beach, perhaps a mile to the west, and a thin, dark ribbon that marked the shore. His heart soared at the sight. It had been half a year or more since he’d seen the waves, and it felt like putting on a familiar, comfortable garment just to know how close he was.
Serlo had been right, though, looking across that mile. There would be no ships, not with such a wide, shallow beach. He would have to be more inventive, and to search wider, even though the Norman had already said there would be nothing suitable to find in either of the nearest harbours. Perhaps there were other harbours, a little further along the coast, that might suit.
He glanced at Serlo de Hauteville, standing at the far side of the platform, waxing lyrical about the chapel, the only stone building in the compound. The Norman stood in the small open space granted by the gathering in deference to his position as lord of this domain. Again, Ulfr’s gaze wandered, and it was quite by chance that he spotted the figure. A single man standing on the other side of the moat, not far from the bridge. It took him just a moment to register the fact that the man had a bow in hand, drawn back, arrow nocked.
He bellowed something, though he was far from sure what it was in the heat of the moment, as he hit Serlo de Hauteville in the midriff with his shoulder, slamming the Norman to the floor hard, winding him. Even as the pair tumbled to the timber deck, the arrow whirred through the open air where Serlo had been and buried itself in an upright timber, vibrating with the impact. It had been instinct that had set Ulfr moving. The moment he’d seen the bow, he’d known who the arrow was meant for, since everyone else was a stranger to the place.
An uproar broke out as the guards, whose attention had been on their master and his guests, and not on the far side of the moat, began to react. As Ulfr pulled himself up from the fallen lord, grasping the timber fence, he looked over and realised that the castle guards would never catch the archer. He’d had a horse beneath a nearby tree and had already vaulted into the saddle and kicked the animal to speed.
Even as Ulfr watched the man ride away, a shaft whipped past him and the would-be assassin suddenly lolled in the saddle, then slipped to the side and fell from the horse. Ulfr turned to see Ketil lowering his bow, with an aura of smug satisfaction.
Thurstan was helping the lord to his feet, and Hauteville was clearly sharp, his darting eyes taking in the arrow close to his head and then turning to see the dead man and the rapidly fleeing horse. He looked to Ulfr and nodded. ‘My thanks for your timely intervention.’ Then to the jarl. ‘I would say you have already paid for your accommodation.’
‘Who was it?’ Halfdan asked.
Serlo shrugged. ‘Any one of a dozen local lords might be responsible, let alone distant ones and foreign kings. It is not the first attempt on my life, not even this month.’
Ulfr frowned. ‘Because of your loyalty to the duke?’
‘Because of my loyalty to the duke, a number of rebel lords are set against me, but there are also those within the duke’s court who hold a grudge over past grievances, and who would also be more than happy to see an arrow in my heart. I have more enemies than friends, by quite a margin. Balancing my allegiance has always been a thing of difficulty.’
‘You’re taking this very casually,’ Leif said, his brow creasing.
‘Death is a daily hazard,’ Hauteville said. ‘I have been luckier than most. Perhaps we are done up here, though,’ he added, gaze strafing the countryside outside in search of other archers.
As Serlo began to lead them back down from the gatehouse, Halfdan delayed and joined Ulfr.
‘I stand by what I said. Gunnhild thinks we are here for a time, but this Nordmandi is as dangerous a place as we’ve ever been. I think we want to be ready to leave in a heartbeat. Take whatever gold you need and get us a ship. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. Bribe one of the lord’s warship captains if you have to, but we’re not getting caught here.’
Ulfr nodded, and then, as they brought up the rear of the group descending from the platform, Thurstan joined them, tapping Halfdan on the shoulder.
‘Yes?’
‘You will need a crew for your new ship.’
Halfdan frowned. ‘We have fifteen. It is light for a crew, but we’ll manage.’
The Norman’s lip curled up at the corner. ‘Three of them are women, though I acknowledge your witch is probably more than a match for any man. It is not enough, and even with the women it would still not be.’
‘Your place is here,’ Halfdan replied. ‘You are of the Hautevilles.’
Thustan snorted. ‘My lord was Iron Arm in the south, not these lords. I have not even been to Nordmandi for a decade. And you know what Apulia is like. The borders change weekly. We’ve been away a month and a half and it’ll take the same to get back, so there’s a good chance Iron Arm will be dead and the Byzantines ruling Melfi by the time I get back. No, I don’t think our future is in Italy.’
‘And not with this lord?’
‘You said it yourself not a moment ago. This place is as dangerous as we’ve ever seen.’
‘You are not sailors.’
The Norman shrugged. ‘How long does a man need to learn to row a ship?’
Ulfr frowned at that. ‘To do it right, a while.’ He’d seen desperate skippers take to the waves with untrained crews before. One oar out of time could fuck the whole thing up spectacularly.
Thurstan shot Ulfr a look and then turned back to Halfdan. ‘Give us a share of the gold and we’ll crew your benches for you. You want to get out of here fast, you’ll need enough men for your ship. You can’t afford to turn down ten warriors.’
Halfdan’s face was already twisting into that expression he habitually used when he was trying to let someone down without offending them, but Ulfr’s mind was racing ahead. Say he did manage to find and secure a warship of some kind – even a small one, the size of the Sea Wolf or smaller – it would still need more than fifteen of them at the oars. And really they were eleven, not fifteen, because Anna and Cassandra would never manage, no one would ask Gunnhild to row, and Ulfr would need to steer. But with ten more backs bending at the oars, they would stand a chance. Ulfr clapped his hand on the jarl’s shoulder.
‘He’s right.’
Halfdan turned that furrowed brow on his ship’s skipper. There was a question in the look, not spoken out loud in Thurstan’s presence, but Ulfr had known his jarl long enough to read the question plain. His answering look confirmed that he trusted their Norman companions. They had never given the Wolves a reason to doubt them, and the simple fact was that if they had wanted to, they’d had endless opportunities during the long journey to turn on the Wolves. They’d numbered a dozen to the thirteen of Halfdan’s crew. One surprise attack from within during the night and they’d have killed half the Wolves before anyone shouted the alarm. They could have had the gold and been off, but they hadn’t, and that spoke a lot for their loyalty.
Of course, both Ulfr and Halfdan knew that such a thing would never have happened, for Gunnhild would have given them warning, and they had been pretty careful and alert. But Thurstan could not have known that.
‘All right,’ Halfdan said. ‘A share in the gold, equal with the other Wolves. And it starts now. If you’re Wolves of Odin, you are Wolves from the moment you agree. And you relinquish your command. You and your men are all Wolves, free men in service to your jarl – me.’
Thurstan nodded, though there was an element of doubt writ on his features.
‘What?’
‘I’m not sure about the Odin thing. My priest would haul me over coals for allegiance to a pagan god.’
‘Is your priest here?’
Thurstan frowned. ‘No. In Apulia.’
‘Then what are you worrying about?’
The Norman chuckled. ‘Wolves of Odin it is. But we wear a cross still.’
Halfdan shrugged. ‘So do many of ours, the ones from Miklagarðr. But we don’t care. Odin is a sensible god. He takes for his mead hall those who are worthy, no matter what trinkets they might wear.’
Ulfr laughed, then. ‘Besides, it will give Bjorn someone new to argue with.’
That set the jarl laughing, too, as they walked off in Hauteville’s wake. Ulfr found himself at the back, then, as they descended, his jarl and the head of the Apulian Normans in deep conversation about their plans. The big sailor took a deep breath. Twenty-two of them. That would just be enough. All they needed was a ship.