Black Monastery Read Online Free Page B

of silver, enough to pay his wergild.
    Days ago, at a trading camp along the coast, they had met a group of dark-skinned Saracens, black-eyed easterners. Their leader had whispered of the vast secret hoard of silver the holy men had hidden away on this island. No fool, Asgrim hadn’t trusted the Saracen, but he also felt certain the heavy hand of fate was at play. He needed treasure; the holy men possessed treasure.
    “Scouts,” he hissed, jabbing his sword point inland.
    Five of his stealthiest men, led by Steiner Ghost-Foot, the best hunter Asgrim had ever known, darted into the trees, leading the way. Five other men remained behind to guard the longship, and Asgrim led the remainder of his war band into the forest.
    Thankfully, the foliage was open, easy to traverse, and they moved quickly. The Saracen trader, generous to a fault, had also provided Asgrim with the details of the island, including the monastery’s location, about two miles inland. By the time they came out of the woods and hit the monastery, the sun would be rising. If everything went according to plan, which almost never happened, most of the monks would still be asleep.
    He needed surprise, particularly since the Saracen had also warned of a small fort built beside the monastery, manned by soldiers sent by the Frankish king, Charlemagne. If the soldiers and priests were waiting for them, the raid could become too costly. Despite the boasts of drunken warriors, most men secretly wanted easy fights with little risk. Clever captains sought one-sided fights and kept their losses down.
    As they stalked through the darkened forest, the black night lightened, turned grey. They exited the woods, coming out onto salt fields where the ground crunched beneath their boots. Just ahead of them, framed by the red glow of the emerging sun, they saw the monastery for the first time.
    They dropped to their bellies, watching the monastery from behind a ditch in the salt fields. The monastery had been aptly named. In the pre-dawn light, shadows settled over the buildings, blanketing everything in darkness. The structure was surrounded by rows of salt fields and copses of trees. The main buildings, which rose two stories high, were joined together at a right angle, forming a half square. A tall crenellated stone wall met each end of each building, extending out to complete the square. The open space in between would be the monastery’s inner courtyard. Sloping tiled roofs reached up to meet a stone bell tower where the two buildings met. The windows in the stone walls were all thin, dark slits, devoid of signs of life. Asgrim peered intently at the tower, looking for a sentry, but saw no one. He didn’t see anyone moving about the many sheds and small huts of the monastery grounds. He smiled. They must all still be sleeping. Good.
    Just west of the monastery, no more than two or three thousand ells away, sat the garrison’s fort—a log palisade surrounding a single wooden longhouse. There was a village to the southeast, Asgrim knew, if the Saracen’s description was correct—and everything else the man had said so far had turned out to be right—but it was at least a half hour’s walk away, which was too far to influence the coming battle.
    “Twenty, thirty soldiers?” offered Bjorn, peering at the dark bulk of the fort.
    Asgrim nodded. “Enough to cause us trouble. More than enough to hold the fort.”
    Bjorn snorted. “I can take that fort from them. Shove those wooden logs right up their Frankish asses.”
    Asgrim frowned at his younger brother. “They can sit all day in their wooden fort, just as long as they don’t try to stop us. We’re here for silver, not blood.”
    “Well… some blood,” Bjorn muttered in a hurt voice.
    “Take twenty killers—none of the un-blooded boys. Stay hidden. If the soldiers try to come out and help, then you smash them. Send them running.”
    “Aye,” said Bjorn.
    Asgrim stared at the monastery again, seeking signs