The next morning, Rollo didn’t have to worry about finding Aethelred and returning the challenge. Aethelred stormed into the main room while Rollo was breaking his fast with Derelie seated next to him. Gurim still hadn’t recovered from his excesses of the night before. He was still snoring on the bench. Brest was also at the table with his wife and two of her sisters.
“Rollo,” Aethelred spoke with fierce determination. “I demand satisfaction for your unprovoked physical assault against my person. Be prepared to die. I look forward to sending you headless into the underworld. Valhalla will not be your reward for your death at my hand.”
Rollo looked up at the man who was almost four years his senior, and grinned. “In a few moments, Aethelred. Don’t be in such a hurry to die. I wish to finish my meal with my wife. I will meet you shortly.”
Then with those words spoken, Rollo turned away from Aethelred. A warning look from Derelie had Rollo turn just in time to block a sword strike with his own sword which had been in his lap.
“So, you’re in a hurry to die, cousin? So be it.”
Getting up, Rollo moved to a clearing in the room, away from the tables and the benches. Aethelred wasted no time in charging, his sword cutting at the air only a fraction from Rollo’s cheek. Rollo quickly dropped his devil-may-care attitude and transformed into a focused warrior, a dangerous man. As he parried Aethelred’s blows, he soon discovered the patterns which Aethelred favoured. Ready to end the challenge, Rollo slipped in close to Aethelred and punched him in the head with the hilt of his sword. Aethelred dropped, stunned. Another blow to the head knocked Aethelred unconscious.
Dragging his unconscious cousin outside of the main hall, into the yard, Rollo tied Aethelred to a post with his back exposed. With Aethelred coming to, Rollo delayed the taking of his life. He waited until word of his victory over Aethelred drew more people to witness the end. Gurim had appeared along with Kettil. Then, satisfied that enough were present, including some of Aethelred’s own men, Rollo turned to those who had come to witness the final blow that would send Aethelred to Valhalla.
“Aethelred has dishonoured my wife. He has dishonoured the name of my father. He has slandered both Danes and Picts. As the link between both of these clans, I claim his head as payment for the dishonour.”
The crowd nodded their agreement. A few of the Norsemen were noticeably upset to see their leader tied to a post. They accepted the fate of their leader as justified, but the scene before them boded ill. Rollo walked up to his cousin and sliced open his back down the centre. Then, he broke Aethelred’s ribs, eliciting a scream from him. Peeling back the ribs, Rollo pulled out the lungs which lay like wings on the ribs. By this time, Aethelred had become silent, deathly silent. Then, with one mighty swing, Aethelred’s head rolled off to land in the dirt. Rollo gave the head a gentle kick so that it rolled to stop at Gurim’s feet.
“A present for you, brother. See to it that Aethelred’s father learns how his son died at the hand of Rollo Kettilsson.”
Aethelred’s men were given the option of joining Kettil’s band or returning back to their overlord, King Haraldsson. To a man, they chose to stay with Kettil. They knew that the King would have them all killed for allowing his son to be executed. Still, Kettil didn’t trust any of these men, and was certain that more than a few of them would willingly die in the attempt to kill Rollo who had executed their leader using the Blood Eagle.
~
“Rollo, you will be leaving at the next high tide,” Kettil instructed his youngest son. “The other eleven longboats will be here, the gods willing, later this afternoon. You’ll prepare eleven of our boats, along with the five Pictish boats, for the journey across the water to Picardy. These eleven boats are now yours, with you as their viking captain. I will take the remaining boats with me, back to Danmǫrk tomorrow.”
“Are they really going to be mine, father?” Rollo asked in surprise. “And the men?”
“Yes, Rollo, they are now yours. Just remember to whom you owe allegiance. I am still your king and your father. If I ever have need of you, your men, and your boats; you will answer my call.”
Rollo stood tall with a young man’s pride. “Yes, father. I will always give you, my allegiance.”
“Good. Now go, you have much to do before sailing. Oh, and I am assigning Halfdan as your second in command. With him beside you, there will be no question that you are in charge.”
For the rest of the morning, Rollo’s men packed the longboats with as many tools and implements, water and food needed for the crossing and for use in Picardy. The Picts who were to go with Rollo were divided up between the sixteen boats, rather than have them grouped together. Not all of the Picts were going to go to Picardy. More than half of them would remain in the village with the Norse who were too old or too young for viking.
Derelie and the children, along with Brest and his wife, were to ride in Rollo’s longboat. The livestock and poultry were assigned to the five Pict boats along with their keepers. A core crew for each of these five boats was drawn from the crews of the eleven longboats now under Rollo’s command, with a Norseman appointed as captain for each of those longboats.
High tide came in a hurry. Kettil and his remaining men, with Gurim standing beside him, saw Rollo’s small flotilla sail off, with the long oars hastening their departure. The other eleven longboats had arrived with the tide and were waiting for their chance to dock and take on supplies.
After a period of four days of constant rowing and just over a week of favourable winds, Rollo finally reached the mouth of the River Samara, and the tiny community of Saint Valery. They had stopped along the way at a few coastal ports to refresh food and water supplies. Unknown to Rollo and his men, Haraldsson had already set sail for the Western Isles in an attempt to claim the islands as an extension of his own kingdom in Norway. A different story was slowly beginning to unfold, one that would change Rollo’s destiny forever.
As the longboats entered the River Samara, the pace of travelling began to slow down. Brest stood beside Rollo as the boat was rowed against the current. A mild breeze made the rowing less strenuous. Brest watched for the signs which indicated which branch of the river needed to be taken. Every so often, a few scattered dwellings indicated a hamlet. The going was slow as they pushed against the current heading upriver. The rowers’ pace slowed as they navigated through the maze of lagoons. Finally, Brest pointed out a pair of docks on the northern shore.
“We’re here,” Brest said as he clapped Rollo on the shoulder. “Derelie, you are home.”
Rollo had planned on a two-day stay before travelling further upriver to establish a new village following his father’s instructions. But first, there was the obligation of reestablishing his position with the Ambiani within the village of Long.
Gerloc and Bran, Derelie’s parents rushed to greet their daughter and scoop up their grandchildren. Rollo didn’t mind for a moment that they hadn’t first greeted him. Bran, with Apadeva held in the crook of his left arm, greeted Rollo. “Thank you, Rollo, for bringing our family back together.”
“I am hoping that you will allow Derelie and the children to stay with you while I prepare a home for them further upriver.”
“But of course. With your permission, I will show you the proposed location tomorrow morning. If it meets your approval, our men will assist you in constructing the buildings for the village.”
“Tomorrow morning is good,” Rollo replied. “The sooner we get started, the sooner all those who have travelled to establish new homes will get to work building the village.”
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