In the Shadow of the Beast by C.J. Adrien

Author:C.J. Adrien
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action, france, war, medieval, vikings, norse, celts, viking age, viking fiction
Publisher: C.J. Adrien

10

Reputation is Everything

A fleet of thirty ships appeared on the horizon two weeks after I arrived. They sailed straight for the Concha, wasting no time in running ashore and rushing the village. The warriors’ painted shields made for a colorful display, with no two painted the same. A king’s warriors would carry identically painted shields gifted to them by the man to whom they’d sworn loyalty. These men fought for someone far less powerful.

The dozens of warriors who raided the village soon ceased their screaming and yelling. We had sent the villagers inland to hide, protected by Nominoë’s soldiers. They had taken most of their belongings with them, so there was little left to destroy except the houses. The fighting men had stayed behind, and we were ready.

The attackers stared up the hill at the monastery and Skírlaug’s ravens that hung from the gateway. A line of archers with arrows nocked stretched the whole length of the palisade ramparts. Underneath them at the bottom of the wooden wall, a row of pikes jutted out from the moat like menacing shark teeth.

More warriors arrived from the shoreline and gathered at the docks. We could not see their leaders from the palisade, but we knew what they would do next. It felt strange standing on the battlements the Franks had built to protect the monastery. I remembered what had happened to them, and I hoped we had done enough to prepare ourselves so that we would not share their fate.

Several dozen warriors broke away from the lead group and strolled toward our defenses flying a white banner.

“We wish to speak with your leader, the pretender named Skírlaug,” one of the warriors said, projecting his voice so all could hear.

Skírlaug peered down at them. She wore a leather breastplate the men had fashioned for her out of a man’s jerkin, and she had loose-fitting linen britches tied off at the knee like the rest of us. She reminded me in that moment of Halldóra, the only other woman I had met who wore men’s clothing. Necessity demanded it.

“Hello, Ragnar,” she sneered from above, her arms clasped behind her back.

His name sent my heart into a flutter. I had not expected him, but it did not surprise me that he would join the long line of warlords seeking to invade my island. I could not believe my luck. Ragnar owed me his life. I watched from my hiding spot below as Skírlaug spoke with him. Our plan was underway.

“This was King Horic’s land,” Ragnar declared, “and he gave it to Hasting. Hasting is gone, and with him any claim to the wealth of this land that you think you retain. We have all waited for his return. What has it been, five years?”

Skírlaug taunted him and said, “I have more claim than you ever will. How dare you come here and threaten me? I could send word to my brother and tell him what you’re doing. Or what about Hakon of Lade? These are his sons, Kjartan and Grjotgar, and Hakon and Horic shared this land.

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