When they finally reach the stronghold, it looks to Athelstan that like in his native land, the locals have made us of an old Roman fort, the walls being strengthened by wood planks though here, stonework has been employed a lot more. Contrary to England, stonemasonry is flourishing. He remembers the numerous quarries he had seen while travelling down on ship on the river which led to the old city further inland.
Rollo observes just as much but says nothing. As a supposed Northern Briton, barely civilized and unable to speak proper English or Latin, he prefers to stay silent as much as possible though his eyes try to register any potential weakness among the troop which lives in the compound.
Outside a group of men are discussing; a priest seems quite vocal. But the last word is to the older man. A man of power as a gold band circles his hair. A hand bearing a heavy signet is held out and men taller and stronger bow to it. If the local lord is old, his face bears the traces of battles he has won. Healed scars are visible and a cane is needed to correct a limp; still the back is straight and the grey-blue eyes are sharp. Old but not a fool while experience probably comes to the rescue of a weaker wrist. The lord is not a young chick but do not rule it out that he will take you to Valhalla while declining Odin's banquet offer.
A thick cloak with a wide red band and some precious fur rests on his shoulder to warm up his frame. Younger he must have been easily six feet, now in his autumn he looks tired. Still the voice is firm as he turns to the two survivors given back by the sea. It is a curt "Who are you?" which greets them.
"We are two Englisc men from Northumbria; we were sailing south hoping to escape long ships from the North Sea pirates when a sudden tempest has sunk our own boat and here we are, my lord. Where are we? I mean aside of the fact we know we are on the land of the Emperor…"
"The shores of Neustria, near Bayeux. Who are you? You, you have the hands of a secretary who has seen rough days and he may look like a great oaf but he does not fool me. A warrior born. Exiles?"
There is no shame in between an outcast as long one is not an outlaw. Athelstan knows the code of honour of warriors; if he looks like a clerk, Rollo has a natural imposing presence. An exile from the Northern lands of Britain can find sanctuary in Frankia with welcoming arms. His stature gives standing and ensures a position of leadership.
"King Aella of Northumbria is not his friend… though his bishop baptized him. He barely speaks Englisc; he is…"
"From the North! Do not waste my time by repeating what my ears have heard. I am not deaf!"
"No, you're not. You're blind"
The soldiers barely repress a smile. The old lord has been blinded by his daughter who stands behind him, covering his eyes with her hands.
"Poppa!"
The eyes are free again to see and two lips smack a kiss on his grey beard.
"You may not be deaf or blind. But you are growing to grow thin if you do not come to supper. Shall we walk upstairs together, our chaplain is getting fretful; you know how he is when the soup gets cold!"
"Is your master of noble birth?"
As Ragnar has risen from farmer to warrior and from earl to be called king since his 'minor' altercation with Horik, Athelstan can confirm that the brother of a … count is in sincere truth a true born aristocrat.
"You may share our meal then. Follow us!"
The Frank's manners leave room for warmth; still they are invited and climb into the highest tower. The square building is five real floors high. The wooden door at its entrance is thick and hardened by strong nails, the first floor leaves room for an armoury, the next floor shows a hall; up floors are probably private chambers and no man until admitted in the confidence of … Berenger as it is probably him would dare to climb higher up unless he would plan his death. Frankish men are not known to welcome strangers in their woman folk quarters.
From the table setting, ranks are defined. Sitting in the middle on a high chair Berenger with his daughter at is left, Rollo at his right and further down in rank Athelstan. At the left of Poppa, the chaplain, then a lady-in-waiting and then layers after layers of the Frankish cast system which here is limited to the officers and pages who are youths born into the nobility.
The food is good though a bit different, richer in Southern spices. The emperor entertains envoys from the East; the Far East. With the colourful diplomats come trades and exchanged gifts such as ivory, balsam, silks and pearls. A lot of pearls… Like the huge eardrops hanging from the ears of the maid.
Wine flows and not one flagon of mead or beer are offered to them. Rollo feels thirsty and his head reels from the wine he has been drinking. His neighbour asks him questions translated more or less faithfully by his brother's Christian slave or ex-slave. Athelstan gives answers he suspects adapted to the recipient.
"We are exiled, both of us. I have left Northumbria and we have met there where you … saved my life. A count has caused a rift between you and your brother… so you have to fight your way. Less you speak the better!"
This is given with thoughtful eyes, like the ex-priest was trying to find words.
"Berenger is related … oh…to the Emperor. He is the son of …a bastard?... He is the son of Charles the Hammer's bastard! Rollo, this is … amazing!"
"Franks fight with war hammers. Everybody fights with hammers. Thor has a ham…"
"Never pronounce this word"
The warning comes through an unstoppable laughing fit.
"Rollo, Rollo, my friend. You are a Christian. These people have massacred more than four thousand Saxons who were pagans who simply had refused to convert. Never mention your Gods or we are dead in the next instant"
Rollo says nothing, looking at the chaplain like a wolf who has been deprived of his favourite bone and smiles. Smiles simply like a wolf that waits for his prey to venture out.
"How is your master's land? Is it true it rains every day? I have been told of giant fish which blow water like the garden waterfalls of our cousin at Aix. And snow. Not like our winters, but snow and very short nights and…"
"And this poor man would like to answer to your first question!"
Poppa smiles to Rollo who smiles back. The merry smile of a doe who does not realize she has just walked into the net of a cunning predator.
