Kiss of a cross

A group of ten men came running behind Ragnar, the one's who'd decided to place their fate on the future of Ragnar the Almighty. The rest of the 300 men took the reprieve to run away rather than potentially becoming prisoners of war.

As he put Erika back down, among the band of warriors, came a man who walked up to Ragnar, geared up with a bronze shield and spear.

"Milord, these are the men who have chosen to stay with you. Though you said you do not wish for men, we'd still humbly like to provide our services. We can hunt and find shelter on our own, but if you ever wish to call upon us. We will be there to provide support to you, milord."

The older man's six-foot stature gave a mature vibe, complimented with slightly gray hair and cool blue eyes.

Ragnar's teeth shone in a wide grin as he slapped the man on the shoulders.

"What is your name, my dear friend," Ragnar questioned. He'd like to get to know these men more if they were to work with him in the future.

"Marquise, milord, I hail from a previously raided French town. My father was the mayor with a title and small lands bequeathed unto him by the count of Flanders." The man replied with a slight bow.

"Ho? How did a french man end up in a camp full of Vikings?" Ragnar raised his eyebrows.

It was highly uncommon for Vikings to allow foreigners in their camp, as they mainly held value as slaves or prized warriors.

Marquise smiled mysteriously in reply, "It is fate milord. My gift with the spear was endowed upon me to be presented before you. Our god wills it." He stated, this time touching the small gold cross that hung across his neck, bringing it to his lips.

"Must have been a mighty fine warrior if they allowed you to remain Christian!" Ragnar roared in laughter, bringing over his father and Thorkell.

Harald approached Ragnar, with eyebrow's raised in question as he looked between his son and the french man.

A look of understanding flashed before a proudly paternal smile came across his face as he looked upon Ragnar with admiration. "Looks like my son has got his first band of warriors to his name, eh? Do you know what this calls for? Raiding!" He broke into unrestrained laughter, thinking about all the good times in his youth.

Ragnar coughed in embarrassment before telling Marquise to gather up his men and turned to face his father.

A look of concern showed across his eyes as he gazed upon his family for any injuries.

"Bah, don't be so concerned with your old man. I can still fight like the devil if my life depends on it." Harald retorted, bringing in Ragnar for a hug.

"I'm glad we all made it, son. When I saw Thorkell running over without you, I thought the worst had happened. He said he hadn't seen you either, and we were afraid we'd find you dead or worse yet that the entire Sigvald family line would end right here."

Ragnar responded by tightening his arms around his father's muscular back, a faint earthy smell permeating Harald, giving Ragnar a sense of comfort that he didn't know he needed.

Thorkell gazed upon the entire charade with envy, though nothing made him angrier than looking upon the wickedly erotic Erika. Which warrior didn't want a shieldmaiden for a wife? For a shieldmaiden would bring strong children with better traits.

If he let this continue, Ragnar's line might be the one to continue the Sigvald family's name rather than his, even though he was the elder brother of the two.

To make things worse, Ragnar didn't even have to marry her. Thorkell ground his teeth in frustration before coughing out loud to break up the affectionate display in front of him. "Let's get this place cleared up. There seems to be a lot of useful axes and swords that we haven't broken or killed strewn across the camp."

Ragnar split apart from his father and nodded in agreement. "Yes, this would make a fine profit. We can use the swords to equip my men. And sell all the extra clothes and food in the market for coin."

Thorkell laughed in question, "Equip your men, Ragnar? Since, when did you think that a bunch of dimwits like them could be called men? They do not deserve the equipment. We will sell all of it, right, father?"

Harald looked between his sons, noticing the rivalry between their subtle jabs. He slowly turned to look towards both of his boys and raised his voice in anger. "No! Neither of you will be getting this equipment. It will only lead to further fighting between the two of you. This bickering that you have going on will end immediately! Am I clear? Or I will disinherit both of you and end our line. Damned if I must, I won't let stupid children continue our legacy."

Ragnar and Thorkell gulped before nodding in response. Even though Ragnar had a combined age of 55 across both his lives, there was nothing scarier than getting shouted at by an enraged father.

Seeing that his boys had complied, he nodded before continuing, "The weapons will go into the Baron's armory for future expeditions. At the same time, the grain and supplies will feed the people of our Barony. Winter is coming, and this large haul will be monumental in ensuring the lives of our people last through winter. The gods have stated that it will be a harsh one for us."

Hearing mention of where the supplies were going brought back the thought Ragnar had shoved to the back of his mind a while ago. "That reminds father, where are the Baron's men? They never attacked the front of the camp as we agreed."

The wide-eyed expression on Harald's eyes said it all, "Did they not? How did you manage to get over here unharmed then?"

A tired, cocky smile broke across Ragnar's face, "Well… That's a long story that Marquise would better be able to explain."

The french man standing five feet behind them blinked in shock as the attention of all three behemoths turned to him.