Free Sword Brothers by Jerry Autieri Page B

south once a year to test the resistance of their new enemies. He had never expected his days of warfare would end so soon. Even raiding had no purpose other than to risk his life. His father told him to be glad for it, but he saw it in Ulfrik's eyes too. They were both restless and bored. Peace was fine for a season. Not for a year.
    Certainly not for a lifetime.
    Bekan cleared his throat and Gunnar shook his head. "So I assume you bring me the joyous news because you fear Hrothgar will become violent and that I should put a stop to it?"
    "That was the intention. I left a few men with him, but the priest and his flock have gathered in strength. It's complicated. Those are our people too."
    "Franks were the enemy not long ago." Bekan glowered at Gunnar from beneath his brow, causing him to chuckle. "But I know times have changed. Hrothgar was on the land first, so he should be compensated for its use."
    "Then you had best tell Father Lambert that. Should you ride to him now?"
    "I hate horses," Gunnar said. He shared his dislike for animals with his father, for no one in his family had any affinity with beasts but for Aren, who had raised a puppy once.
    "But you are more commanding on horseback," Bekan said. "You should look down on this priest as if you might step on him if he displeases you."
    "So you say. It is not a bad idea, though. Bring us two horses and we shall see what bold Father Lambert will do."
    He returned to the hall while Bekan fetched mounts from the stable. Morgan and his two daughters were spinning wool while other women labored over the looms. Letting them know he would be gone until later, he kissed the heads of his two girls then fetched his sword from his room. Having lost his sword hand years ago to a mad Frankish warlord, he fought with an ax rather than a sword, which had far more utility for his fighting style. The sword was more recognizable as a symbol of authority to laymen, so he chose one for today. Back outside, Bekan had selected two horses with sleek seal brown coats. The beasts snorted at Gunnar as he approached.
    "She smells the mead on you," Bekan joked. "You remember how to ride?"
    "Help me onto this monster and let's get be gone."
    The journey across his lands was effortless from horseback, though Gunnar had only one hand for the reins of his horse. They followed trails that had been worn around old stumps, deep-set rocks, or other unnavigable patches. He waved at the farmers in their fields but did not stop to chat. He was never as good as his father with building relations with his people. He preferred they worked their farms, paid their taxes, and visited him only with good news.
    His territory was not wide, but was deep. Hrothgar's farm was at the northern tip closer to the Seine River, and he heard the shouting long before he saw the farm. They crested a rise then paused to review the situation. Gunnar easily spotted the squat, long buildings of Hrothgar's farm and the fences built around it. He scanned east of it to where the shouting echoed and saw the crowds gathered.
    "That's right in the middle of his pasture," Gunnar said.
    "Something Father Lambert does not understand."
    "Let's help him understand."
    Gunnar kicked his horse's flanks and guided the beast by its mane. He had difficulty in making it take a direct route. "Did you find the most contrary horse you could find?"
    "Ander said she was the most docile one of the bunch."
    "He is a liar."
    Their horses picked their own path down the slope and, true to Bekan's prediction, their arrival on horseback gained everyone's attention.
    Father Lambert stood in his black robes, his hair cut blunt and short, making his fat round head look like melon. His flesh looked like white clay to Gunnar's eyes, and he appeared doughy, as if he had never lifted anything heavier than a quill pen. Hrothgar was his exact opposite, a gnarled mass of lumpy muscle weathered from years under the sun both behind a plow and a shieldwall. He had three