The fierce pride on Skårde’s beaming, bearded face made Ylva’s heart soar.
Chapter 26
A Royal Puppet
Alberic, Count of Soissons, leaned across the table of the Sapphire Chalice Tavern in the Frisian trade center of Dorestad. His dark brown eyes glinted with greed. “Badelbert has taken Fécamp. He has six hundred men to defend the castle. Two hundred were lost in the battle on the beach, includingHarald’s Hammer.”He scoffed and downed a large gulp of mead. “But the Raven Warrior did slice Skårde with theDökkálfarsword. It’s been more than three days now. The Dragon of Denmark is surely dead.”
Lothaire sipped his mead, adrenaline surging at the thought of Badelbert’s success. The first Frankish fortress in the covetedPays de Caux. “Where is the sword? I paid an exorbitant price for that Dark Elven blade.” He grinned at the blacksmith seated at his side. Guldur was theDökkálfarwho had forged the Raven Warrior’s otherworldly sword.
“Taken by the red beard who ordered the retreat. The warrior who withdrew Skårde’s body from the beach.” Alberic eyed the sapphire chalice on the wall and grinned before returning his gaze to Lothaire. “Do you want me to attack Étretat?”
“Not yet. Richard has undoubtedly returned from Rouen. He’s most likely atChâteaufortwith his daughter, consoling the grieving widow.” He took another pullof mead. “Bluetooth agreed to the meeting?”
“Through his royal messenger, yes.” Alberic searched the tavern and snapped his head back to Lothaire. “Bluetooth is here now.”
“Escort him to the table. Tell his guards to wait near the door.” Lothaire summoned the serving girl. “Refill the pitcher of mead and bring another goblet.” While she complied, he considered theDökkálfarat his side.Despite the ominous black eyes, murky skin, wiry hair, and yellowed teeth which gave him an unnerving, unsettling appearance, Guldur was an unparalleled Dark Elvenblacksmith who also served as Lothaire’s royal translator, for he was fluent in both Frankish and Old Norse. And since Lothaire paid him extremely well for his silence, Guldur would disclose nothing of today’s clandestine meeting.
Alberic, suppressing a gloating smirk, ushered a visibly harried Harald Bluetooth to the table. Bowing before Lothaire, who pointedly remained seated as a sign of his dominance over the compromised King of Denmark, Alberic announced, “My king, I present Harald Bluetooth, King of Denmark and Norway.” To Harald, he said, “King Lothaire of West Francia invites you to join us. Please be seated.”
A towering savage brute, whose long blond hair and beard were both heavily streaked with silver, Bluetooth lowered himself onto the bench and accepted the mug of mead which Alberic handed him. As he took a large gulp, his suspicious gaze fixed on Guldur.
“May I present the owner of this fine establishment, Guldur Náttblár. He will translate for us.” Lothaire introduced theDökkálfar,who in turn translated the Frankish words into Old Norse.
“Why have you summoned me?” Harald’s eyes were as dark as his distinctive blue front tooth.Like the sapphire in the chalice that I bequeathed to this tavern. Or the magnificent gem in Dökksafír, the Raven Warrior’s Dark Elven sword.Which I will reclaim when Normandy is mine.
“To enlist your aid in reattaching Normandy to my West Frankish crown.” Lothaire bluntly stated the purpose for today’s meeting. There was no point in frivolous formalities. “And, since I have your young son—the heir to the kingdoms of both Denmark andNorway—you have no choice but to comply.” He savored the exquisite flavor of the golden mead, heightened by the intoxicating taste of power. “I have already taken Fécamp and established a Frankish Duke in Richard’s former ducal palace. Now you will attackChâteaufortand defeat the Dragon of Normandy.”
Stark realization and somber resignation extinguished the blaze in Bluetooth’s fiery gaze.
“I understand that your forces are diminished, given the generous bride price you offered Richard the Fearless, compounded by the recent losses due to an attack onHeiðabýr.I will therefore grant you four weeks to assemble an army and amass a fleet of warships. You will sail toChâteauforton the fall equinox. Seize the castle and establish a second Frankish fortress in thePays de Caux.OrHeiðabýrwill fall to the Franks. And your heir will simply disappear.”
Lothaire waited for Guldur to translate before continuing. “You will help me drive the Vikings from Normandy, back to Denmark, Danelaw, and Norway. Once I have reclaimed Normandy—and rescinded the disastrous treaty that my ancestor Charles the Simple forged with the Viking chieftain Rollo—I will return your son unharmed. And ally with you, to defend Denmark against the Holy Roman Empire and the powerful army of Otto the Red, who has his sights set onHeiðabýr.Should you refuse to comply… or fail in your attempt… your son will be sacrificed and Denmark will fall.”
Bluetooth clenched his teeth in stubborn, stifling silence and frustrated fury.
Lothaire finished his mead, rose majestically from his seat, and feigned a respectful bow before the royal puppet who now danced on his strings. With a greedy, gloating grin, he bid Bluetooth good day.
Guldur and Alberic at his side, a train of royal guards in his wake, Lothaire strolled from the Sapphire Chalice Tavern into the glorious, golden sun of Dorestad.
Chapter 27
Frisian Royal Fleece
Aboard the Frisian vesselSea Siren, whose square green sail flapped in the Baltic breeze, the silver and gold scales of the turquoise painted mermaid which was carved into the wooden prow glistened in the morning sun. After three weeks at sea, sailing around the Jutland peninsula of Denmark, navigating the Skagerrak and Kattegat straits, Skårde’s crew of thirty maneuvered the knarr ship up the fjord and into the bustling Danish port ofHeiðabýr.
Hundreds of longships and trading vessels bobbed along jetties lined with warehouses and workshops. Shipbuilders, woodworkers, and craftsmen repaired damaged vessels with timber, metal, and resin. Dockworkers unloaded heavy sacks of grain, bundles of fur, barrels of wine, and livestock, such as cattle, sheep, and prized warhorses. From shops which lined the jetties and the beach along the shore, silversmiths sold arm rings, pendants, and jewelry made with precious gems. A dazzling selection of glassware and ceramics competed with colorful silks, fragrant incense, and exotic spices from the Far East. Amidst the din of merchants hawking their wares, the shouts of men unloading cargo, and the bellowing of cows, the tang of freshly cut timber and roasted meats mingled with the salty scent of the sea.
While members of Skårde’s crew unloaded the bundles of wool from theSea Sirenthat they had brought from Normandy to pose as Frisian traders, others procured supplies for their return voyage toChâteaufort.Bearinga letter with the official seal of the Count of Lisieux and clad as wealthy wool merchants, Skårde, Gunni, Viggo, and Ildris—each carrying samples of their esteemedFrisian Royal Fleece—were escorted by armed guards into the royal longhouse of King Harald Bluetooth.
Inside the vast hall, the enormous oak posts supporting the high peaked roof were intricately carved with motifs of Nordic myths and legends. Richly woven tapestries, embroidered with threads of silver and gold, adorned the wooden walls. A central hearth with a blazing fire ran the length of the royal residence where thralls prepared the king’s sumptuous midday meal. At the back of the longhouse, flanked by royal guards, Harald sat upon an elevated dais in an ornately decorated high seat that served as a throne. Cloaked in deep blue silk over a white tunic embroidered with gold, King Harald Bluetooth greeted the Frisian merchants and invited them to display the royal fleece at the table near his feet.
“Good day, Your Majesty. We are honored to present you with our finest quality wool, which we have named “Frisian Royal Fleece” in your honor.” While Gunni, Viggo, and Ildris set up wooden racks to display their prized product and attract the attention of the king’s vigilant guards, Skårde unfolded a sample of sublimely soft fleece dyed a rare royal blue. Holding the exquisite wool for his father to inspect, Skårde flashed the distinctive dragon ring which Harald had given him along with the prestigious title as Dragon of Denmark.
Intricately carved into the etched silver, the sinuous body of a massive dragon coiled around the band, its finely crafted scales shimmering in the incandescent light. Within the finely detailed head of the fierce beast glowed two deep green emerald eyes, the finely faceted gems blazing with verdant fire and dormant power.
Harald’s perceptive gaze reflected instant recognition. While Skårde removed the ring which might be recognized by others and discretely slipped it into the pouch at his waist, the king proclaimed loudly for dramatic impact, “Truly exceptional quality. Bring it closer, that I may feel the softness and examine the vivid color.”
Skårde elaborately draped the wool over Harald’s lap and spoke quietly into his father’s ear. “Sweyn is imprisoned in the royalpalace in Paris. Richard and I will free him and bring him toChâteaufort.” He repositioned the fleece and raised his voice for theatrical effect. “"King Harald, this exceptional wool is meticulously dyed using the finest natural woad extract, resulting in this unique, vibrant color which symbolizes your royalty and prestige. It's a testament to our commitment to produceFrisian Royal Fleeceof the highest quality."
