While Skårde and his men inclined their heads in deference, Hugh greeted them with a cordial smile. “Good day, gentlemen. I am delighted that my order has arrived in time forla Foire de Saint-Denis.” He made a theatrical show of inspecting the barrels of mead before signing the paperwork to accept the delivery. “Come to my office for payment. Right this way.” Hugh led them from the courtyard to the entrance of his private apartment. While the six knights waited outside, Skårde, Viggo, Gunni, and Haldor followed the count through the large wooden door.
Inside the private apartment, a reception area offered a table and chairs beneath a window draped in green velvet which overlooked the courtyard. In an adjacent room stood a large oak writing desk and matching chair. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the scent of pine from the torches on the wall filled the autumn air. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes were displayed along the wooden walls, offering warmth and a touch of elegance to the comfortable, simple abode.
Hugh handed Skårde an iron key with a long shaft, a loop at the head, and two intricately shaped teeth. “This is a duplicate of the key to the private apartments where Sweyn is being held. Once youeliminate the guards, lock the bodies inside the room. It will gain you more time to escape.” Pointing to an area outside the window, he indicated a covered pathway which led from his apartment to a tall, cylindrical stone building. “That is the north tower. There is an exit on the ground level which leads to thePont au Change. Sweyn is on the top third floor, in the front room facing the Seine.” He met Haldor Falk’s fierce gaze. “The Falcon knows where it is.” Hugh exhaled and adjusted his fine woolen cape, preparing to depart. “I have arranged a meeting with masters of various guilds to discuss theFoire de Saint-Denis.Witnesses will attest that I was nowhere near the north tower when Sweyn was freed.” He grinned as he donned a velvet cap. “Lothaire will have his suspicions, of course. But no proof to implicate me.” Encouragement shining in his steadfast gaze, he guided them toward the large wooden door. “Good luck, gentlemen.Que Dieu vous protège.May God protect you.”
Outside Hugh’s private apartments, Skårde and his men disappeared into the covered passageway and dashed toward the north tower. The six knights quickly dispatched the two royal guards, dragging the bodies behind the stone spiral stairwell before following Skårde, Gunni, Viggo, and the Falcon up to the top level of the tower.
“You three and Gunni take the guard on the right.” Skårde divided his knights into two groups. “You and Viggo take the other. The Falcon and I will go into Sweyn’s room.” He turned toward Haldor Falk. “We need a noise, to distract the guards.” Skårde retrieved a coin from his pouch and tossed it down the hall. While one sentinel left his post to investigate, the other watched, allowing Skårde’s men to sneak up from behind and quickly eliminate the two guards posted at Sweyn’s door.
With shaking hands, he fumbled with the large key. Perhaps because it was a duplicate, the fit was off just a bit. Tamping down a wave of panic, he finally fit it into the lock and opened the enormous oak door.
Inside the room, Sweyn and the nursemaid were seated at the table, playing a game ofHnefatafl.The frightened woman looked up in abject terror and was about to scream when Sweyn bolted from his chair, hurled himself againsthis big brother, and shouted, “Skårde!” He wrapped small arms around Skårde’s waist, snuggling his head against the hard stomach.
As Haldor came into the room, Skårde quickly explained the rescue plan to Sweyn as he hugged his tense little brother. “I’ve come to free you. And take you with me toFaðir. But we must hurry. And you must don a disguise.” He turned toward Haldor, who handed him the bag of clothing. Skårde removed the woman’s cloak and hat, which he gave to the nursemaid. “You must pose as Sweyn’s mother. You are Isabelle d’ Alençon, and he is your son, Philippe.” He looked down at Sweyn, whose big blue eyes regarded him with utter adoration and unflinching trust. “You must pretend to be Philippe d’ Alençon. And call your nurseMaman. Just until we get on the boat. Agreed?”
Sweyn nodded stoically as Skårde clasped the velvet cloak with a silver brooch and placed the feathered cap on his brother’s head.
When Gunni, Viggo, and the knights dragged the bodies of the two guards into the room, Skårde stepped in front of Sweyn to block his view of the slain men and distracted his little brother by placing the feathered cap securely on the boy’s small head. Grasping Sweyn by the hand, he swept him swiftly into the hall and waited for the nurse and his companions to exit the private chambers before locking the enormous oaken door.
“We are going out the door at the bottom of the stairs and crossing thePont au Changebridge. You will walk with your nurse and pretend she is your mother who is taking you to the fair. The knights and I are going to pose as your mother’s guards while we weave through theFoire de Saint-Denisand make our way toward the ship. We must go quickly and stay together. Ready?” As Skårde looked down at the trusting little boy who regarded him with widened, adoring eyes, he felt a surge of fierce, fraternal love. Sweyn was his little brother. He was depending on him. And Skårde would die to defend him.
“Ready.” Courage and determination shone in the bright blue eyes that were so like his own. Hooking his arm through thenursemaid’s elbow, Sweyn followed Skårde and the Falcon down the spiral stairs, with Gunni, Viggo, and the knights close behind.
They exited the tower and headed toward thePont au Change,with Skårde andhis men encircling Sweyn and the nurse like the personal guards of a wealthy noblewoman and her pampered young son. Just as they were about to cross the bridge, Haldor muttered under his breath. “Two guards have spotted us. Cross the bridge and wait for me at the Hammered Hearth metalwork shop. I’ll join you there.”
Skårde made eye contact with Gunni and Viggo, conveying with a pointed look that they had encountered a problem but needed to continue and hurry without making a scene. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a startled flock of pigeons abruptly fluttering into the face of a flustered guard. Amidst chattering, chirping and screeching, a sudden swarm of sparrows swooped down upon the head of the other. Just as their small group arrived at the Hammered Hearth blacksmith shop, Haldor Falk appeared at Skårde’s side. “Quickly, dart behind this building and take the back roads heading toward the river. I will fly above you, guiding you east along the side streets as we weave through the fair. Wear a glove on your left hand. You’re my falconer.” With a whoosh and whir of flapping wings, a peregrine falcon took flight, soaring east in the autumn sky.
Following the falcon overhead, they wove through the winding, narrow streets of Paris, arriving at last upon the outskirts of the grassy riverbanks ofla Rive Droitetola Foire de Saint-Denis.
Hundreds of colorful tents with vibrant banners flapping in the fluvial breeze were clustered in groups where merchants hawked their wares, their fervent shouts filled with exuberance and enthusiasm. Rows of makeshift wooden stalls showcased silk traders from Byzantium flaunting shimmery fabrics, while merchants from the Far East offered exotic fragrances of cinnamon and cloves that mingled with the crisp autumn air. The tantalizing aroma of roast chicken, pork, and lamb, seasoned with garlic and savory herbs, sizzled on spits over open fires. Freshly baked loaves of bread, sweet almond pastries, and fruit tarts mingled with the pungent tang of ripe brie and camembert and the sweet,spicy scent of mulled wine. Amidst the clinking of coins, animated chatter, laughter, and lively bartering of goods, the tinkling melodies of minstrels and troubadours echoed across the fair.
“Bonjour, Madame! Une galette pour votre fils?”A jovial baker selling an appetizing array of pastries, pies, gingerbread, and delectable confections offered a cinnamon honey cake for the nursemaid disguised as a noblewoman to purchase for her son Sweyn.
Skårde was instantly and profoundly grateful that Ylva had taught him to speak Norman French.
Because the Danish nursemaid fromHeiðabýrspoke nothing but Old Norse.
“Merci beaucoup,” Skårde said as he paid the baker with coin. “Philippe adore les galettes.”He accepted the sweet cake wrapped in a leaf of lettuce and handed it to Sweyn, who was positively drooling over the delicious looking treat. “Bonne journée, Monsieur.” Skårde thanked the smiling baker and led his overjoyed young brother, the discomfited governess, and the group of Vikings posing as personal guards in the direction of the falcon flying overhead.
Beyond the fairgrounds, in the distance, the masts of dozens of ships moored alonglaRive Droitebobbed on the waters of the Seine. As they approached the wooden bollard whereRan’s Ramwas docked, Skårde spotted a few members of the crew in front of the tent they had set up to pose as Frisian shipping merchants. While Viggo and Gunni conducted the nurse and Sweyn into the tent to remove their disguises, he hailed Bavo, the ship’s captain, to indicate their readiness to depart. Most of the crew had stayed aboard to guard the ship, but several had come ashore to procure supplies for the voyage home. Skårde was glad that Hugh Capet had kept the wooden wagon they’d purchased to transport the barrels of mead, for it would have been impossible to wind through the side streets of Paris hauling a cumbersome draught cart.
In the midst of bustling commotion as the crew hustled Sweyn and the governess aboard ship, a sudden tight grip clenched his left wrist when the Falcon swooped down to land on Skårde’s leather glove. Quickly, before the members of the crew disassembled the tent, Skårde slipped inside.
The peregrine flew from his gloved wrist to the grassy ground within the brown tent. And, before his very eyes, in a shimmery swirl of flashing colors and silken feathers, the Falcon of the Faroe Islands shifted back into Haldor Falk.
A dark gleam in his avian eyes, Haldor’s grin stretched across his bearded face. “Well done, Dragon of Denmark. You not only rescued your brother. You saved the heir to the throne. Let’s bring him back toChâteaufort.”
Chapter 33
Broðir
They sailed downstream fromla Rive Droite,the skilled crew ofRan’s Ramnavigating the Frisian ship along the Seineas they followedthe winding river out of Paris, stopping briefly at the bustling harbor of Le Havre to load supplies and pay the toll for entrance into the Narrow Sea. Now, as the blue sail billowed and favorable tailwinds propelled them eastward toward Dieppe and the clifftop castle ofChåteaufort, Skårde observed his young brother’s keen interest in seafaring and maneuvering of the ship.
The crew seemed willing to demonstrate the operation of the vessel as they patiently guided Sweyn through various tasks to assist them. Skårde grinned as the helmsman Rolf showed the boy how to alter the direction of the ship by controlling the rudder. "Sweyn, come here and take the tiller.”
Blond hair whipped by salty spray, bright eyes wide with delight, Sweyn took hold of the handle which controlled the rudder at the stern of the ship.
“Feel how it responds to your touch? You're steering us straight and true." Weather beaten by years of sun and sea, the leathery skin on Rolf’s bearded face crinkled as he winked knowingly at Skårde.
