Chapter 29
Obsession
Alberic, Count of Soissons, and a dozen of his personal guards rode through the increasingly steep terrain of the dense forest toward the mountaintop castle of Laon, royal residence of King Lothaire of West Francia.
Built atop a towering mountain of white limestone and encircled by massive walled battlements, la Montagne Cournonnée was aptly named, for it resembled a crown upon a monarch’s majestic brow.
Summoned by the Frankish king, Alberic dreaded the imminent confrontation, for Lothaire had undoubtedly been informed of the disastrous defeat in ísland.
And that Alberic had failed a third time to conquer the castle of étretat.
While his men tended to the horses and waited in the courtyard, Alberic followed the liveried royal servants through the vast foyer of the stone fortress and into the elegantly appointed throne room.
King Lothaire, seated in his velvet tufted gilded chair, adjusted the jeweled crown which rested over his dark curls.
A royal blue velvet cloak—adorned with the golden fleur-de-lys emblem of the Frankish monarchy and edged with elegant white ermine fur—was elegantly draped over the monarch’s regal shoulders.
As Alberic entered the room and bowed before his Frankish king, Lothaire summoned a valet to pour two goblets of wine and ordered the Count of Soissons to sit at his seething royal side.
The king’s florid face was livid with barely contained fury.
Lothaire took a long pull from his silver chalice studded with deep blue sapphires, swallowing his bitter bile with the fine Frankish wine.
His piercing stare sliced Alberic like a dagger.
“You have failed again,” he spat, his noble features distorting into a sneer of disgust. “Not only were you unsuccessful in your attempt to abduct Elfi Thorfinnsdóttir, but Gúldur, the troll Narglok, and the Rus raider Skugga were all slain in ísland!”
Lothaire downed the contents of his chalice and hurled the goblet across the throne room.
The piecing clash echoed through the empty chamber as the heavy silver slammed against the stone hearth, scattering sparks of metal, shards of sapphires, and splatters of rich red wine across the gleaming pinewood floor.
Heaving with rage, Lothaire staggered from his gilded throne and stormed across the room, stopping to glare out the window at the dense oak forest surrounding the mountaintop castle.
“And now, Richard the Fearless is rallying support for Hugh Capet, calling for a coalition of clergy and nobles to elect a new king! The Viking Duke of Normandy insists that the Frankish attacks on Chateau Blanc — which led to the death of Dag Thorfinnson and the recent abduction of Lord Thorfinn himself — compounded by the disastrous battle at ólafsvik and the attempted abduction of Thorfinn’s daughter — are all flagrant violations of the Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, and as such, grounds to depose me and elect a new king! ”
Alberic sat motionless at the ornate table, palms dripping with sweat, heart hammering beneath his deep blue mantle.
Lothaire’s rage was barely contained, and Soissons knew how quickly the fractious king’s wrath could turn against him.
One wrong word, one faltering gesture—and his head might roll as surely as that shattered goblet.
He avoided Lothaire’s furious gaze and forced down a swallow of royal bordeaux.
Lothaire’s personal valet quietly entered the throne room, retrieved the hurled goblet from the floor, and placed it upon a gilded sideboard against the silk adorned wall.
As the grumbling king regained his regal seat, Ragno selected a new silver chalice studded with sapphires from the elegantly painted cabinet, refilled it with fine red wine, and silently offered it King Lothaire.
The diligent attendant bowed humbly before the disgruntled monarch and discreetly retreated from the room.
Brows furrowed in furor, Lothaire scowled at Alberic for several excruciatingly long moments as he sipped his wine and slowly regained his royal composure.
At length, he set the goblet down and leaned forward, a malevolent glint in his dark, brooding eyes.
“You will abandon any further attempt to seize Chateau Blanc. It matters not if you conquer a castle when the entire kingdom is at stake!”
Lothaire slammed back against his ornate throne and squeezed the tufted arms of his gilded chair as if he were throttling the throats of his enemies.
He hissed at Alberic. “You shall amass an army and ready for battle. Hugh Capet and his supporters will convene on the vernal equinox in the Christian church of Noyon. Since they will pass Laon en route from Paris, we will intercept them here, near the castle, arrest them as traitors—and execute them for treason against their king!” He leaned forward, reached for his goblet, and took another bracing gulp of wine.
“Go to the Sapphire Chalice Tavern in Dorestad and meet with Zhúlgorr. Have him place Dokkálfar in the woods surrounding the castle just before the vernal equinox. We shall ambush Capet, Richard the Fearless, the Wolf of the Nordic Seas, Bluetooth’s bastard the Dragon of Denmark, and all of the Vikings who dare defy Lothaire le Grand! ”
Rising from his regal throne, Lothaire smoothed his majestic cloak and flashed a wicked grin at Alberic.
“At long last, I shall dispel the Viking vermin who humiliated my grandfather Charles le Simple… and reclaim the dukedom of Normandy for the kingdom of West Francia.” He adjusted his golden circlet bearing the fleur-de-lys emblem of Frankish kings.
“I shall crown my son Louis the Fifth. And by eliminating Hugh Capet—and all the Frankish and Norman nobles, including the damned Duke of Normandy who dare support him and defy me—I shall ensure my son’s ascent to the West Frankish throne. ”
Lothaire motioned to Ragno. “Escort them in.”
While Alberic grappled with the frustration of being ordered to abandon his quest for Chateau Blanc and the overwhelming task of amassing an army for yet another battle, Lothaire resumed his royal seat, and Ragno escorted two elegantly clad Frankish nobles into the throne room.
As Alberic arose and inclined his head respectfully to the high-ranking lords, Ragno brought two additional velvet tufted chairs to the table. The king made brief but formal introductions.
“Alberic of Soissons, surely you remember Lord Gauzlin, Count of Reims, and Lord Audric, Count of Amiens.” He swept a bejeweled hand, inviting the three counts to be seated as Ragno served goblets of wine to the newcomers and refilled the silver chalices of Alberic and King Lothaire.
“Alberic, you will ride with Gauzlin and Audric under my banner. The three of you will lead the Frankish forces to intercept the members of the treasonous council when they attempt to convene in Noyon on the vernal equinox.” Lothaire fixed his piercing gaze on the Count of Reims. “The Archbishop Adalbero from your city is a staunch supporter of Hugh Capet.”
The king sipped his rich red wine and eyed the discomfited count. “But you, Gauzlin, will prove your loyalty to the Carolingian crown by ensuring that my son Louis inherits the West Frankish throne.”
Lothaire pensively sipped from his silver chalice.
“I cannot simply execute an archbishop or members of the Christian clergy.” His command to Gauzlin cut like Frankish steel.
“Intercept Adalbero and his fellow prelates as they ride to the church in Noyon. Bring them in chains to Laon and hold them as traitors to the crown.” A garish grin split his cold, calculating face.
“With the aid of my cousin Otto the Red, the Holy Roman Emperor favored by the pope himself, I shall compel Rome’s censure.
Once excommunicated, Adalbero and his traitorous clergy will be executed for treason against their king. ”
As he turned to address the Count of Amiens, Lothaire’s regal gaze gleamed with promise. “Audric, once we have executed the traitors and reclaimed l’ ?le de la Cité, I shall erase every trace of Hugh Capet. And appoint you as the new Count of Paris.”
Lothaire graced the three Frankish counts with a cold, calculating smile and gestured for liveried guards to escort them from the castle. “Amass your armies. Assemble the Dokkálfar. We strike on the vernal equinox.”
In the courtyard outside the castle, Alberic, Gauzlin, and Audric mounted their horses and prepared to depart.
“I’ll bring two hundred men, including fifty knights,” Audric said as he swung into the saddle.
“Three days’ march southeast from Amiens along the Somme.
We’ll lurk in the eastern woods and strike from there. ”
Gauzlin nodded. “Once we imprison Adalbero and the clergy, my men and I will take the west.” He pointed to the thick forest which cloaked the castle’s flank. “Archers along the ridge. Dokkálfar in the woods.”
“I’ll hold the south,” Alberic announced, tightening his gauntlet.
“Three hundred men to defend the front gate.” He shrugged his mantle over one shoulder and settled his heels in the stirrups.
“We wait for Lothaire’s horn. On that blast, we strike.
” He glanced between the two battle-seasoned Frankish counts.
“Lothaire’s royal army will descend from the north.
The enemy will be surrounded. There will be no escape.
” Alberic flashed a conspiratorial grin.
“We ambush, execute the traitors, and ensure that Louis the Fifth wears his father’s crown.
” He tapped the pommel of his saddle and gripped the reins.
“Until the equinox — when we end the Capetian threat to Lothaire’s crown once and for all. ”
“Godspeed,” Gauzlin ducked his clean-shaven chin and headed southeast, home to Reims.
“Farewell,” Audric shouted as he spurred his mount northwest to Amiens.