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face growing hot. Of course the unspoken words were that the trap has been Mord's fault and that the failure at Chartres was his idea. Of course Ulfrik would get all the credit for anything good, as he always did. Mord cleared his throat.
    "I think we have the gods to thank for our escape tonight."
    Hrolf looked down his nose at Mord and squinted. "Yes, Ulfrik and the gods. The two seem to go together, don't they? Would that all my men be so favored, then Paris might have been mine by now."
    The jab stung and Mord turned aside, face on fire and heart pounding against his ribs. "I will see to my men, Jarl Hrolf."
    "I've not dismissed you," Hrolf said, a hint of irritation in his voice. "See to this barricade's construction and close it up once the last man has come through. When Ulfrik arrives direct him to me immediately, and if he does not, then we will post a guard for him. Do not fail me in this simple task. Build a barrier of shit, but build it high and wide enough to halt the Franks long enough for us to be back at Rouen."
    When Hrolf stalked off, the guards following in his wake gave Mord sly smiles. He shook his head and cursed Ulfrik's ridiculous barrier. Yet it was now his task to make the idea real, and to do it to Hrolf's satisfaction. Swearing as he went, he gathered up all the uninjured men he could find and set them to work.
    The effort was more than he had expected, and hours later he had organized dozens of crews to fell trees, gather debris, and assemble a chest-high wall from the banks of the Eure up the slope and into the woods. The men were animated and positive, glad to have escaped with their lives. Whenever he heard Ulfrik's name mentioned, he was sure to interrupt and redirect the men. By the time a vague light stained the eastern horizon, most of the ships had departed, including Ulfrik's whelp Gunnar the Black and Ulfrik's lackey, Einar Snorrason. They had wanted to wait for Ulfrik, but Hrolf insisted they return to safety.
    Now Mord presented his wall to Hrolf, who had returned with his full crew at his back. Hrolf nodded and patted Mord's shoulders. "That's a tangled mess if ever there was one. It won't fall over easily. Is that a deer carcass woven into it?"
    "Someone threw it into the mix," Mord said. "Anything to keep the Franks from crossing. I've anchored it to the deep woods, where the density of the trees does the same job as the wall. They won't be skirting this."
    "And Ulfrik has not come. I fear the worst, but he is the most resourceful man I've ever met. Whatever his fate, he and his band will arrive here, and I will not leave him behind. We owe him our lives."
    Mord stared at Hrolf, unwilling to add any more praise. His father, Gunther One-Eye, had told him his contempt and hatred for Ulfrik was too open. He counseled to praise him and show support no matter what he felt. The advice was too hard for Mord.
    "You've done all you can," Hrolf said. "Get to your ship and leave. I will select men to stay."
    "Allow me to leave some of my own," Mord said. "I was harsh in judging Ulfrik's plan and it's the least I can do now to make up for it."
    Hrolf patted his shoulder again. "Good for you. If the Franks arrive before he does, then get to the ship and flee. Ulfrik will either be dead, captured, or following another escape route."
    As Hrolf set about his final preparations choosing a guard for Ulfirk, Mord located his own second in command. He had been his father's man, only leaving Gunther because he had grown too old to fight and too blind from the cataract on his single eye. The strong man was devoted to Gunther and had passed the loyalty onto him. He found him now, Magnus the Stone, leaning against the barricade with arms folded and watching him. Magnus had a fiercely weathered face, deeply lined, and a hooked nose with a red scar on its bridge. His dark hair was shot through with gray.
    "I have a job for you," Mord said. "Hrolf is assembling a guard for Ulfrik's return."
    Magnus did not