Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [110]
Merrik and his men shouted with laughter. “And what did the king do?” Old Firren asked, then spat over the side of the longboat.
“His men picked him up and held their breaths. They were scared he would order them to kill Rollo. They weren’t stupid men, and they knew many of them wouldn’t survive such a contest of sheer strength. King Charles stood there, dusting off his beautiful robe of purple wool, and just stared at Rollo. The men shuffled their feet, their fear growing. Then, to their joy, King Charles smiled. Then he threw back his head and laughed. He told them all that he was pleased by Rollo’s insolent violence because it proved to him that the Viking overlord would control any marauders who dared to sail down the Seine and plunder the towns. He is called Charles the Simple, you know, a name he does not merit, at least in his dealings with my uncle. He gave all the northwest lands to Rollo in exchange for protection. There have been no raids of any seriousness in five years. All the Danes and Norwegians respect and fear my uncle, for he has many well-trained men and is also building fortifications and manning them. The Franks under King Charles live in peace for the first time in many, many years.”
Oleg scratched his four-day growth of beard. “I heard it said that your uncle refused to go to Paris to swear fealty. I heard he sent a message to the Frank king telling him that ‘We know no master. We are all equal.’ Then he spat upon the message and rubbed his thumb in it.”
“If my uncle said that, I don’t know of it. It sounds like him though. He is ruthless and arrogant; he fears no man. He did go to Paris, I do know that for certain. Also I never knew Weland to lie. Otta, my uncle’s minister, also tells the same story.” She paused a moment, then added, “Perhaps Rollo was wary of King Alfred of the Saxons a long time ago. But Alfred has been dead now nearly two decades so there is no one to disturb Rollo’s sleep, even his relatives, the earls of Orkney, who occasionally send him threats that they will destroy him if he doesn’t give them some of his vast holdings. Aye, the earls of Orkney are a vicious, nasty lot.”
“So it is true that Rollo comes from the Orkneys?”
“Aye, it’s true. Uncle Rollo told me once a long time ago that they were a savage clan.”
“How savage?” Roran called out.
“They’re so savage they even piss in their longhouses.” She let the men’s laughter warm her, then turned her face to the southern breeze off the longboat’s port side. It was very calm now, the water a deep blue, the whitecaps small and lazy. They sailed just beyond the coast, always keeping land in sight. They would reach the river Seine by nightfall, if the wind held and the rain kept to the north of them.
“The giving of land to Rollo and making it a duchy—it is the poacher turned gamekeeper,” Merrik said, as he picked up his oar and rhythmically pulled on it. The other men soon joined him. “No, this Charles the Third isn’t at all simple. He gave to your uncle what he already occupied. He is a wise man.”
“You make it sound as though my uncle were a naïve child to be led about by the nose.”
Merrik laughed. “Nay, acquit me, Laren, of speaking thusly of the sainted Rollo. He is a man to fear and to respect. Your uncle wanted permanency and he assured it. Aye, he saved himself much trouble and got what he wanted for his people and for his heirs. If you wish to farm and settle, it makes no sense to want to make war on your neighbors. Tell