Oath bound, p.31
Oath Bound, page 31
‘Kill you?’ Eadric laughed again. ‘I was not sent here to kill you, Red Wolf. I was sent to catch you.’
Styrkar shook his head. ‘What do you mean? I was told you were hunting me. That you wanted vengeance.’
‘I wanted silver, boy. Days ago I was sent a message by the Franks. Told where your lair was. Offered a reward to bring you to them.’
‘But Kenric—’
Eadric began to laugh again. It sounded hollow as it rose over the sound of the flames.
‘Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been betrayed by someone he thought a loyal friend,’ Eadric said. Styrkar could see the pleasure in the earl’s eyes, and he fought back his rage. His thoughts turned immediately to one person…
Gisela.
Styrkar raced across the burning fort towards the horses. The rope binding one of them to the scaffold was on fire and the beast was consumed by panic. He grasped the rope, hacking it free and wrestled the horse away from the flames.
Its eyes were wide as it nickered in fright. Heedless of its fear, Styrkar leapt up on its back, loosening the rein and letting it run into the night. Guiding the horse south along the coastal path, he let the beast’s terror carry him back home.
46
BRIEN, ENGLAND, JANUARY 1068
Styrkar reached the villa just before dawn. He jumped down from the horse, expecting it to carry on its flight, but the animal had run all the fear out of itself, and instead stood panting in the darkness.
As he rushed to the door of his home he considered approaching with stealth, but there was little point now. Anyone inside would have heard the horse approaching. Besides, they already knew he was coming – they would be ready and waiting.
Styrkar kicked the door aside, the sword gripped in his hand, girding himself at what he might see. The villa was empty. In the hearth, the fire had almost burned out and there was no sign of Gisela or Kenric.
When Styrkar made his way back outside the sun was glowing red as it started to rise over the distant horizon. He would have shouted for Gisela, but he knew it was pointless. She was not here.
He mounted the horse once more, putting heels to flanks, riding on further south. As he urged the steed to a gallop, his eyes peered through the dark, the rising sun illuminating the land around. It was desolate, not a soul in sight, and Styrkar struggled to quell the panic welling up within.
Then he saw it, a mile or so in the distance. A church standing on a hillock not far from the sea. In the dim light of morning he could see torchlight emanating from inside. There was no other choice but to urge the horse closer, riding the beast almost till it dropped, in his eagerness to reach the place.
It was a small chapel he knew, long abandoned. In all the time he and Gisela had shared the nearby villa he had never known anyone occupy the place. No one worshipped here, but now there was a light beaming from inside, as though drawing him like a beacon. When he got close enough he could see almost a dozen horses hobbled by the side of the building. Frankish warhorses, by their size and barding.
He breathed deep as he dismounted, approaching the entrance with care this time. The door stood ajar, and Styrkar pushed it aside, hearing the hinge creak ominously.
At the far side of the tiny chapel, he saw her. Gisela was flanked by two Frankish knights, their blades unsheathed. All Styrkar could do was focus on her, wanting to speak, to tell her she would be all right. Instead, he stood in silence, sensing more men in the shadows around him.
‘I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,’ Ronan said, limping from the darkness. He toyed with something in his hand, and as he moved further into the light, Styrkar saw it was one of the figurines he kept atop his mantel. A small wooden wolf.
‘I am here now,’ Styrkar said, still gripping his sword at his side. ‘You can let her go.’
Ronan grinned and shook his head. ‘I think not.’
As Styrkar’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see perhaps ten knights surrounding him. Then Kenric stepped from the shadows.
‘Betrayer,’ Styrkar snarled, wanting to dash forward and strike the man down, but knowing it would only lead to his death.
‘I’m sorry, old friend,’ Kenric said.
‘Why?’ asked Styrkar.
Ronan stepped in front of him. ‘Why do you think? For the coin. Your friend Kenric came to me some days ago, offering your head in exchange for… what was it? Three bags of silver?’
‘Four,’ Kenric said. ‘And it was gold.’
‘Ah, yes. Four bags of gold for the head of the Red Wolf.’
‘So why not just kill me?’ Styrkar asked.
‘Because you’re little use to me dead,’ Ronan said. ‘But how was I to take you alive? If I fell upon your little home with my men, there would have been slaughter. You would have fought us to the death. So I had Kenric here send an offer to Eadric. If he could capture you I would reward him. His lands would be returned and all would be forgiven. Should he have succeeded in your capture, all the better. If not, I could simply walk into your home while you were away and take what you value the most.’
‘What if we had just fled when Kenric told us we were being pursued?’ Styrkar said.
Ronan smirked. ‘The Red Wolf? Flee in the face of danger? Don’t make me laugh. I knew you would rush to face such a threat, and from what Kenric told me, you would do what you could to protect the handmaid here.’ He gestured to Gisela. ‘We’ve met before, by the way. Did she never tell you? She once resisted my charms, but obviously she prefers… a more savage lover.’
‘Eadric or one of his men might have killed me,’ Styrkar said.
‘It was a calculated risk,’ Ronan replied. ‘And one that has clearly paid off. I have you here, impotent. And it has not cost me a single man, or a single penny.’
Kenric cleared his throat. ‘Almost. Look, as impressed as I am with your cunning, my lord, I think it’s time I was paid and on my way.’
Ronan shrugged. ‘Of course. Your reward.’
He gestured to one of his men, who stepped towards Kenric, swiftly pulling a knife and plunging it into his ribs. Kenric gasped and Gisela raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry.
Styrkar watched as Kenric sank to his knees. He felt nothing. If his treacherous friend had ever bothered to ask, he would have explained how remorseless, how underhanded, these Franks were. Kenric had learned that lesson on his own.
One of Ronan’s men dragged Kenric into the shadows of the church where he moaned piteously, slowly breathing his last in a dank corner of the forgotten chapel.
‘Is Earl Eadric dead?’ Ronan asked, giving no thought to Kenric’s dying gasps.
‘No,’ Styrkar replied.
‘Pity. I could have claimed that victory as my own.’
‘What now?’ Styrkar asked, growing tired of Ronan’s imperious tone. He wanted this over with, for good or for ill.
‘Now you’re going to perform a service for me. Or I’ll cut your woman’s head off.’
Styrkar still had the sword in his hand. He made the briefest calculation of whether he could reach Gisela before one of the Franks could kill her. Perhaps. Perhaps not. But he would never have been able to fight his way out and protect her at the same time.
‘What would you have me do?’ Styrkar asked.
Gisela shook her head, the tiniest gesture, but Styrkar had to ignore it.
‘The sons of Harold Godwinson reside at the court of King Diarmait,’ Ronan said. ‘Word has it they plan to stage an invasion of their own. You will go to Dublin, seek them out, discover where and when they plan to attack and bring that information to me.’
‘So the armies of King William can lie in wait?’ Styrkar replied.
‘Precisely,’ Ronan said with a grin. ‘You’re obviously not as stupid as you look.’
Styrkar glanced over at Gisela, who stood in silence, still flanked by the armed knights. Her eyes glistened in the torchlight as she fought back her tears, and he could only admire her bravery. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he had brought her to this. Styrkar had only ever wanted to protect her and now her life hung in the balance, all because of him.
‘I will do as you ask,’ he told Ronan.
‘A wise choice,’ the knight replied. ‘Now, let’s waste no time. A boat is already waiting.’
One of Ronan’s knights stepped forward, reaching for the sword Styrkar held in his hand, and he allowed it to be taken. Before they could usher him from the chapel he fixed Gisela with a determined look.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said.
‘And I’ll be waiting,’ she replied.
Ronan’s men led him out into the crisp morning air. They mounted their horses and Ronan led the way south. Styrkar did not allow himself to glance back at the chapel as they plodded along the path, lest his desire to fight for Gisela’s rescue overwhelm him.
They rode south until the sun had risen fully from beyond the horizon. A brusque wind was blowing in from the north as they finally reached a shallow inlet. Styrkar saw a small boat waiting for them, two oars aside and a furled mast in its centre. Three boatmen were already preparing to set sail.
Styrkar dismounted, eager to be on his way, and Ronan climbed down from his own horse.
‘Don’t think about betraying me, Styrkar,’ he said. ‘She’s only safe as long as you do as I ask.’
Styrkar did not answer as he began to cross the beach. Ronan fished in the bag at his horse’s saddle and took something from within. He followed Styrkar across the shingle and waited as he climbed aboard the tiny vessel.
‘If you get the chance to kill any of them, feel free,’ Ronan said. ‘And if you want, you could use this.’ He unwrapped the sword he had taken from his saddlebag. It was Harold’s seax, the one Ronan had taken from him so many months before.
‘It took me a while, but I eventually worked out who this really belongs to. Perhaps the blade of King Harold will help you persuade his sons you are on their side.’
Ronan flung it into the boat, and Styrkar caught it, holding the weapon in his hand and suddenly regretting the day he had ever laid eyes on it.
‘Safe voyage,’ Ronan continued, as one of the boatmen pushed the vessel clear of the beach and jumped inside. ‘I hope you can sail.’
Styrkar ignored Ronan as he laughed at his own quip. Instead, he took up one of the oars, and with the other boatmen he pulled hard, propelling the small vessel away from the shore.
No, Styrkar could not sail, but he could pull an oar. It had been the one thing he was good at before he ever came to these shores.
Setting his jaw he rowed hard, eager to reach Dublin…
To betray the men he had once called brothers.
THE STORY OF THE RED WOLF CONTINUES IN BOOK TWO:
SHIELD BREAKER
Glossary
Baresark – Legendary Norse warriors who fought without armour.
Berserkergang – A violent fury said to overwhelm some Norse warriors in battle.
Conrois – A group of between five and ten Frankish knights, who fought together as a unit.
Fyrd – A civilian army consisting of freemen drawn from the shires.
Hel – Or “Helheim”, the Norse realm of the dead.
Housecarl – A nobleman’s personal bodyguard.
Jarl – A Norse or Danish chief.
Seax – A single-bladed Saxon weapon, used as a knife or short sword.
Thegn – A noble given lands by the king in return for service during times of war.
Torc – A ring of metal worn about the neck.
Witan – Or “Witanagemot”, a meeting or council of senior Saxon nobles.
About the Author
RICHARD CULLEN originally hails from Leeds in the heartland of Yorkshire. If you’d like to learn more about his books, and read FREE exclusive content, you can visit his website at Wordhog.co.uk.
Credits
Editing by: Holly Domney, Helena Newton and Annabel Walker
Production by: Rebecca Clark
Cover Designer: Nick Venables
Marketing by: Jade Gwilliam
An Invitation from the Publisher
We hope you enjoyed this book. We are an independent publisher dedicated to discovering brilliant books, new authors and great storytelling. Please join us at www.headofzeus.com and become part of our community of book-lovers.
We will keep you up to date with our latest books, author blogs, special previews, tempting offers, chances to win signed editions and much more.
Get in touch: hello@headofzeus.com
www.headofzeus.com
@headofzeus
@HoZ_Books
Head of Zeus Books
Richard Cullen, Oath Bound
