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Authors: C. D. Baker
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stepped toward the animal. He set a hand atop the ox’s broad back and stared out into the darkness. Seeing nothing, he turned back toward the wagon with a shrug but had barely taken a step before Baldric’s mallet smashed hard into his face. The awful sound startled the ox, and the beast lurched forward, bawling loudly.
Five sleeping Gunnars were suddenly awake and on their feet, and Arnold and Dietrich sprang forward, Baldric close behind. Kurt was nauseous and dizzy. He stood and took a step, but fever blurred his eyes and he could barely feel the handle of the knife in his grip. He hesitated, but only for a moment. Anger for the shame of Sieghild suddenly pulsed through him, and it was as though he could feel his sister’s suffering. He charged forward into the fray.
The Gunnars fought hard, like their Frankish forefathers. A mighty swipe of Baldric’s mallet, however, dropped one, then two. Another wrestled Arnold to the ground but Baldric struck the shepherd on the spine as Arnold plunged his knife deep into the man’s belly.
Dietrich was in trouble, however. He tripped and lay helpless on the grass as a Gunnar rushed toward him. Kurt turned to help the miller and crashed into Dietrich’s foe. But as he did, the blow of a hammer glanced off his cheek. Stunned, he fell face first to the ground and the man quickly pounced upon him, plunging sharp shears over and over into Kurt’s arching back.
Baldric rushed to Kurt’s aid. With a vicious swipe of his mallet, Baldric crushed the head of the shear-wielding Gunnar. The man fell to his side with a whimper and lay openeyed and lifeless.
Baldric dropped to his brother’s side. “Ach … nay … Gott in Himmel!” the man cried to the heavens. He clutched his brother’s body in his arms. “Kurt!” he wailed.
Kurt felt a chill drift through his body. For a moment he felt a flutter. He heard distant voices calling him—familiar voices, perhaps Arnold’s, perhaps his father’s? He gasped for breath, then felt suddenly calm and the voices grew faint, finally fading away to utter silence.
The vanquished Gunnars lay strewn about their campsite, dead or dying. The survivors of Weyer stared disbelieving at their fallen comrade and said nothing as they carried his body to a dewy patch of unspoiled grass. They laid him down respectfully and the three of them knelt by his side.
The group was quiet and the air deadly calm. Paul the dyer approached from the darkness and bowed his head in sorrow. Baldric was fighting a tear—a battle seldom engaged—as he turned his blood-splattered face to the quaking dyer. “You? You hid?”
“Y-Yes,” answered Paul. “I’ve not the stomach for such—”
The gentle man never finished his sentence. Baldric snarled and swung his mallet into the man’s thin frame, felling him to the earth like a broken willow. Paul collapsed with a gasp and his eyes rolled as his soul flew away.
Arnold and Dietrich grunted their assent to justice served and stood to finish the night’s business. With a diabolical grin Dietrich set about the task of assuring the deaths of any Gunnar yet twitching on the ground while Arnold rifled through their purses to take whatever treasures he might find.
“Do we toss them in the river?” asked Arnold.
“Aye, fish food,” answered Dietrich.
Baldric paused. “No, leave them for the birds so their kin finds them. They needs see the price they pay for Sieghild and their threats!”
Dietrich wasn’t so sure. “Lord Klothar will learn of it and go to the abbot. Your feud is no secret.”
“Ach! Let them accuse us. We’ve oath-helpers enough who’ll swear by our innocence.”
Arnold pointed to Kurt and Paul. “And these?” he asked anxiously.
Baldric thought for a moment. “Berta needs claim Kurt died of the fever. We’ll shroud him quick and Father Gregor won’t know. He’s too fearful to ask questions of us anyway. We’ll sink Paul in the river downstream.”
“But Paul’s wife will
Five sleeping Gunnars were suddenly awake and on their feet, and Arnold and Dietrich sprang forward, Baldric close behind. Kurt was nauseous and dizzy. He stood and took a step, but fever blurred his eyes and he could barely feel the handle of the knife in his grip. He hesitated, but only for a moment. Anger for the shame of Sieghild suddenly pulsed through him, and it was as though he could feel his sister’s suffering. He charged forward into the fray.
The Gunnars fought hard, like their Frankish forefathers. A mighty swipe of Baldric’s mallet, however, dropped one, then two. Another wrestled Arnold to the ground but Baldric struck the shepherd on the spine as Arnold plunged his knife deep into the man’s belly.
Dietrich was in trouble, however. He tripped and lay helpless on the grass as a Gunnar rushed toward him. Kurt turned to help the miller and crashed into Dietrich’s foe. But as he did, the blow of a hammer glanced off his cheek. Stunned, he fell face first to the ground and the man quickly pounced upon him, plunging sharp shears over and over into Kurt’s arching back.
Baldric rushed to Kurt’s aid. With a vicious swipe of his mallet, Baldric crushed the head of the shear-wielding Gunnar. The man fell to his side with a whimper and lay openeyed and lifeless.
Baldric dropped to his brother’s side. “Ach … nay … Gott in Himmel!” the man cried to the heavens. He clutched his brother’s body in his arms. “Kurt!” he wailed.
Kurt felt a chill drift through his body. For a moment he felt a flutter. He heard distant voices calling him—familiar voices, perhaps Arnold’s, perhaps his father’s? He gasped for breath, then felt suddenly calm and the voices grew faint, finally fading away to utter silence.
The vanquished Gunnars lay strewn about their campsite, dead or dying. The survivors of Weyer stared disbelieving at their fallen comrade and said nothing as they carried his body to a dewy patch of unspoiled grass. They laid him down respectfully and the three of them knelt by his side.
The group was quiet and the air deadly calm. Paul the dyer approached from the darkness and bowed his head in sorrow. Baldric was fighting a tear—a battle seldom engaged—as he turned his blood-splattered face to the quaking dyer. “You? You hid?”
“Y-Yes,” answered Paul. “I’ve not the stomach for such—”
The gentle man never finished his sentence. Baldric snarled and swung his mallet into the man’s thin frame, felling him to the earth like a broken willow. Paul collapsed with a gasp and his eyes rolled as his soul flew away.
Arnold and Dietrich grunted their assent to justice served and stood to finish the night’s business. With a diabolical grin Dietrich set about the task of assuring the deaths of any Gunnar yet twitching on the ground while Arnold rifled through their purses to take whatever treasures he might find.
“Do we toss them in the river?” asked Arnold.
“Aye, fish food,” answered Dietrich.
Baldric paused. “No, leave them for the birds so their kin finds them. They needs see the price they pay for Sieghild and their threats!”
Dietrich wasn’t so sure. “Lord Klothar will learn of it and go to the abbot. Your feud is no secret.”
“Ach! Let them accuse us. We’ve oath-helpers enough who’ll swear by our innocence.”
Arnold pointed to Kurt and Paul. “And these?” he asked anxiously.
Baldric thought for a moment. “Berta needs claim Kurt died of the fever. We’ll shroud him quick and Father Gregor won’t know. He’s too fearful to ask questions of us anyway. We’ll sink Paul in the river downstream.”
“But Paul’s wife will
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