William Towhead’s men from Aquitaine scaled the siege tower placed along the south wall, pouring from the assault ramps to engage the enemy atop the crenellated battlements. The knights from Anjou were quick to follow, filing from the siege tower on the eastern wall nearest the ocean.
As pecking birds swarmed the archers along the parapets, Richard led his armored knights into the siege tower positioned upon the western wall in his unabating attack to reclaim his ducal castle.
Skårde waved his men—swords unsheathed and shields raised—through the debris from the collapsed tower, over the breached outer wall, to engage with tenacious, tireless Franks on the blood soaked grounds inside the castle bailey.
Blocking a devastating blow which shattered his bossed shield, Skårde heard the unmistakable and welcome blast of an elkhorn which carried across the Narrow Sea.
His Viking father—with an army of two thousand Danish warriors—had finally arrived.
With Harald’s reinforcements storming the shores and swarming the castle, in less than an hour, every Frankish soldier was slain. Skårde, grateful for a few moments’ reprieve, sliced the lower edge of his padded, blood-stained gambeson with his dagger and wrapped the soft linen tightly around his wound. He joined Richard and lumbered up the stone stairs of the highest tower to the top of the castle keep.
Inside the observation room of the tower, Skårde and Richard found Badelbert—the Count of Embda whom King Lothaire had namedThe Frankish Duke of Normandyand had entrustedwith defending the Frankish colony at Fécamp. The grotesque corpse of the count and the four knights who had vainly tried to defend him against the aggressive avian assaultwere a bloodied, disfigured mass of raw, gouged flesh. Each of their mutilated faces was missing eyes, nose, lips, and ears.
“Drag them down to the beach and burn them. Throw every last Frank into the fire.” Richard commanded the Norman knights who flanked him. Clenching fists over their fiercely loyal Viking hearts, the six warriors inclined their heads and immediately obeyed.
Richard grinned wolfishly as Harald and several Viking leaders joined him and Skårde inside the tower. “Come with me up to the deck.” Motioning for them to follow him up the stairs, he shouted to a pair of his personal guards. “Bring my banner and horn.”
Pulse pounding, wound throbbing, adrenaline surging, Skårde labored up the stairs after his father and Richard, the Viking warlords and knights close behind. At the top of the tower, he beheld a breathtaking view of the Narrow Sea, glittering like gems of the Sea Goddess Rán. As the inimitable thrill of victory rippled through his quivering limbs, he deeply inhaled the salty, cleansing breeze and faced east.
Toward Ylva.
Toward his grandmother and brother.
TowardChâteaufortand his Norman people.
Fierce pride surged through him. He was the pulsing heart of a powerful political alliance. A trinity of valiant Viking rulers. The victorious triad which had triumphed today.
Richard the Fearless, Duke of Normandy.
Harald Bluetooth, King of Denmark and Norway.
And Skårde the Scourge, Count of thePays de Caux.
Eyes closed, spirit soaring, he whispered a prayer of gratitude to the trio of Nordic gods who had heeded his call.
Hail to Odin, Tyr, and Thor! Tonight, I will honor you with a worthy sacrifice and thank you with a glorious tribute for aiding me in my time of need.
A deafening blast from Richard’s Viking horn jolted Skårde from his respectful reverie.
While the standard bearer held the ducal banner high, strong winds whipped the red flag of Normandy as the golden light of thesetting sun gilded the duo of lions rampant that marked the heraldry of Richard the Fearless.
Hundreds of Viking warriors, Norman knights, and allied soldiers stood at attention before the invincible Viking Duke.
Richard’s deep bellow resounded like a heavy bell from the highest tower of the keep, echoing through the dense forest, down the steep slope of the white chalk cliff, and across the Narrow Sea.
Battle fervor coursed through Skårde’s still shaking limbs.
“By the grace of Odin, victory is ours!” Richard boomed from above.
Swords and axes frapped against shields amidst triumphant shouts.
“Hail to the gods who granted us their courage and strength!” Richard roared like a lion.
Warriors responded with thunderous applause and riotous howls.
“Tonight, we honor the dead. Thank the gods. And feast to celebratevictory!”
Exuberant cries carried across the castle grounds.
