Read Online Sword Brothers by Jerry Autieri - Free Book Online
Authors: Jerry Autieri
Tags: Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Norse & Icelandic
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be impressed with their displays of strength. Remember we are Northmen and they are but Franks, their greatest power is in talking us to death."
All laughed at Hrolf's jab, and Ulfrik joined Mord, Einar, and a few others at Hrolf's side. Mord led Gunther One-Eye, and Ulfrik allowed him to stand at Hrolf's right hand. "This position is yours, old friend."
Gunther smiled but said nothing, and Mord even inclined his head. Hrolf was too intent on meeting the Frankish king to notice anything else. The Franks moved with practice, as if they had rehearsed this moment a dozen times. A young boy led the king's white horse forward while his armored guards surrounded him. They all wore blue surcoats with yellow designs like arrowheads. A man got on his hands and knees and the king used him as a stepping stool, no doubt a worthless slave to be treated no better than a footrest.
King Charles was not dressed as the others. He wore a simple shirt of cream colored linen, and a brooch of gold pinned a red cape at his neck. His dark eyes were hooded and calculating, sunken into deep sockets. His hair and beard were neat and close-trimmed in the Frankish style. He wore a thin crown of gold embedded with jewels. Ulfrik noted several of them matched those in his own secret horde. Perhaps Konal had not exaggerated their value as a king's ransom.
"His Majesty, King Charles the Third," announced one of his guards. At least one priest also attended him, a bald-headed man with shrewd eyes and a heavy gold cross swinging over his belly. No doubt he would be whispering to the king throughout this meeting.
King Charles was assisted to the ground much like a lady, and Ulfrik heard men snicker behind him. He forced his own face to remain expressionless. Hrolf appeared unsure of the protocol, so he announced himself. "Jarl Hrolf the Strider, master of the Seine."
The bold shout drew disgusted looks from the king's attendants, but Charles himself parted his thin lips in a smile. Ulfrik might have guessed it to be genuine were he not convinced all Frankish royalty were born of snakes and lizards. The king approached with his interpreter, priest, and two bodyguards. Hrolf needed no one to speak for him, but had a young lad who spoke Frankish fluently. Otherwise, he took no bodyguard, confident in strength and safety.
"A fine day for this meeting," Hrolf said. "You've come a long way from Paris."
"I have, and not for small talk, Jarl Hrolf. I trust my emissaries have explained to you the terms of my offer, and your presence here confirms our acceptance."
"I'm here because your messengers interested me. As for agreeing to anything, that depends upon what I hear from you today."
King Charles's wooden smile died and he blinked in quick succession. "You will not have me negotiate with you now. My offer was clear and your arrival here is confirmation."
"You're not my king yet."
Hrolf's statement sent a ripple through his ranks. Ulfrik struggled to keep from staring at Hrolf. Was this a surrender? This was to be victory over the Franks, as Hrolf had promised when he had summoned him.
"Then I shall state the terms again, and you shall either accept or decline as is your right. Do not negotiate, for I will not abide it, nor will I idle here one moment longer to hear it. Do I make myself clear, Jarl Hrolf?"
Ulfrik bristled at the insolence of this man. Hrolf had asked for nothing more than a fair statement of terms, and this pompous Frank derided him like a subordinate. For Hrolf's part, he held his tongue and waited for King Charles.
The king cleared his throat and raised his chin to look down his nose at the assembled Northmen. "As your folk have so long occupied the coast of Neustria and earned deep respect from the people of Rouen, it is clear that you shall not leave. A new generation of your kinsmen have been born to this land, and call no other place home. It is in our mutual interests that we end hostilities of many decades and establish peace. As
All laughed at Hrolf's jab, and Ulfrik joined Mord, Einar, and a few others at Hrolf's side. Mord led Gunther One-Eye, and Ulfrik allowed him to stand at Hrolf's right hand. "This position is yours, old friend."
Gunther smiled but said nothing, and Mord even inclined his head. Hrolf was too intent on meeting the Frankish king to notice anything else. The Franks moved with practice, as if they had rehearsed this moment a dozen times. A young boy led the king's white horse forward while his armored guards surrounded him. They all wore blue surcoats with yellow designs like arrowheads. A man got on his hands and knees and the king used him as a stepping stool, no doubt a worthless slave to be treated no better than a footrest.
King Charles was not dressed as the others. He wore a simple shirt of cream colored linen, and a brooch of gold pinned a red cape at his neck. His dark eyes were hooded and calculating, sunken into deep sockets. His hair and beard were neat and close-trimmed in the Frankish style. He wore a thin crown of gold embedded with jewels. Ulfrik noted several of them matched those in his own secret horde. Perhaps Konal had not exaggerated their value as a king's ransom.
"His Majesty, King Charles the Third," announced one of his guards. At least one priest also attended him, a bald-headed man with shrewd eyes and a heavy gold cross swinging over his belly. No doubt he would be whispering to the king throughout this meeting.
King Charles was assisted to the ground much like a lady, and Ulfrik heard men snicker behind him. He forced his own face to remain expressionless. Hrolf appeared unsure of the protocol, so he announced himself. "Jarl Hrolf the Strider, master of the Seine."
The bold shout drew disgusted looks from the king's attendants, but Charles himself parted his thin lips in a smile. Ulfrik might have guessed it to be genuine were he not convinced all Frankish royalty were born of snakes and lizards. The king approached with his interpreter, priest, and two bodyguards. Hrolf needed no one to speak for him, but had a young lad who spoke Frankish fluently. Otherwise, he took no bodyguard, confident in strength and safety.
"A fine day for this meeting," Hrolf said. "You've come a long way from Paris."
"I have, and not for small talk, Jarl Hrolf. I trust my emissaries have explained to you the terms of my offer, and your presence here confirms our acceptance."
"I'm here because your messengers interested me. As for agreeing to anything, that depends upon what I hear from you today."
King Charles's wooden smile died and he blinked in quick succession. "You will not have me negotiate with you now. My offer was clear and your arrival here is confirmation."
"You're not my king yet."
Hrolf's statement sent a ripple through his ranks. Ulfrik struggled to keep from staring at Hrolf. Was this a surrender? This was to be victory over the Franks, as Hrolf had promised when he had summoned him.
"Then I shall state the terms again, and you shall either accept or decline as is your right. Do not negotiate, for I will not abide it, nor will I idle here one moment longer to hear it. Do I make myself clear, Jarl Hrolf?"
Ulfrik bristled at the insolence of this man. Hrolf had asked for nothing more than a fair statement of terms, and this pompous Frank derided him like a subordinate. For Hrolf's part, he held his tongue and waited for King Charles.
The king cleared his throat and raised his chin to look down his nose at the assembled Northmen. "As your folk have so long occupied the coast of Neustria and earned deep respect from the people of Rouen, it is clear that you shall not leave. A new generation of your kinsmen have been born to this land, and call no other place home. It is in our mutual interests that we end hostilities of many decades and establish peace. As
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