The wildling tried to hide the look of disappointment on his face, but it was already too late.
Ragnar had caught him.
It was clear the man was furious that his plan had failed.
He spat contemptuously and tried to push himself to his feet, but Torstein, who stood beside him, shoved him back down.
The man glared at those surrounding him, and a sly, almost wicked smile crept across his face.
“You will not save him,” he said triumphantly.
“You will only watch him die.”
Bjorn lunged at the man, but Ragnar caught him, almost as though he had expected it.
Bjorn was not alone in his anger.
The men gathered around them were already swearing oaths, declaring they would slaughter every one of the wildlings in vengeance.
They waited only for Ragnar to give the word.
But when Ragnar rose, those were not the words that came out of his mouth.
He stared at the prisoner for a long moment before turning to the men around him.
“Cut them free.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
The men exchanged confused glances, as though Ragnar had suddenly spoken in a foreign tongue.
“What?” Torstein asked.
“Have I not made myself clear?” Ragnar replied.
“Cut the prisoners free.
Every one of them, including him.”
“Father, have you gone mad?” Bjorn protested.
Ragnar did not even turn to face him.
“What if I have?
Do as I say.”
The men murmured their objections.
Ragnar had always explained his reasoning before, but this time he offered none.
Vikings did not follow blindly.
They followed men they believed were wise.
At that moment, Ragnar’s command seemed to defy all reason.
Freeing prisoners, especially armed men, was madness.
Still, Torstein turned to the others.
“Do it.”
Reluctantly, the Vikings began cutting the captives loose, starting with the children, then the women.
When only the men remained, they hesitated, almost expecting Ragnar to change his mind.
“All of them,” Ragnar repeated.
He had already begun walking toward the edge of the camp where the supplies and everything they had taken from the wildlings had been piled.
Torstein cut the bonds from the man they had questioned earlier and gave him a shove forward.
The wildling looked around uncertainly.
Clearly, he believed some trick was being played.
Torstein thought the same.
Surely Ragnar was setting some sort of snare.
“Give them back everything we took,” Ragnar said.
“Including their weapons.”
This time, the calm among the Vikings broke completely.
Men openly voiced their refusal.
Not one of them moved toward the pile of weapons.
Torstein and Bjorn walked over to Ragnar.
Bjorn’s face burned with anger.
Torstein simply stared at Ragnar as though the man had lost his senses.
“Ragnar…
what are you doing?
Is this some sort of trick?”
“There is no trick, Torstein.”
“But…”
“When have I ever lied to you?”
“You have not,” Torstein admitted.
“But what you are asking…”
Bjorn stepped forward.
“Maybe never, Father.
But giving them their weapons?
What do you think they will do?
They have bows.
They have arrows.
We killed their men, Father.
We took their kin.”
Ragnar looked at his son.
“Do you truly think I do not know what we have done?”
Then he turned back to Torstein.
“If you are still loyal to me, have the men return their weapons and their supplies.”
He pointed toward the freed captives.
“Look at them.
They aren’t fighting men.
They are starving and facing enemies all around them….
If you were facing 37 seasoned warriors and you could choose between fighting and fleeing, what would you choose?”
Torstein looked toward the gathered wildlings.
“Aye, before we killed their companions, they might have fled.
But now?…
They are filled with vengeance.
What makes you think they will not turn on us the moment we hand them those weapons?”
“Perhaps they will,” Ragnar said calmly.
“Or perhaps their desire to rejoin Mance Rayder is greater than their desire for revenge.”
With that, Ragnar walked toward the gathered wildlings, who were looking at him uncertainly.
“We knew nothing of you, and you knew nothing of us.
Men strike in such situations.”
He gestured toward the pile of supplies.
“You shall have back your weapons, your food, and everything else we took from you.
We ask nothing in return.”
“You may even bury your dead if you wish.
But there will be no burning.
The smoke would carry for miles.
I trust you understand that the crows are enemies to us both…
But any friend of Mance is a friend of mine.”
Thorson fought the urge to look at Ragnar in surprise.
He had not expected those words.
Whatever Ragnar intended, he dared not betray it with his expression.
“We also have information,” Ragnar continued.
He stepped closer to a small child clinging tightly to its mother’s torn dress, then looked at the men eyeing him warily.
“Mance is camped north of the Frostfangs.
I fear you have a long climb ahead if you hope to join his host.”
He paced among the men who were listening to him with torn reactions.
Several Vikings made an attempt to follow Ragnar, but Torstein stopped them.
“When you find Mance, tell him his friend Ragnar sends him his greetings and wishes him well.”
He walked back and stopped next to Torstein.
“Now return these people their belongings.
And let them be on their way.”
This time, they were not words of suggestion.
It was a command.
No man dared object again.
Standing beside Rollo, Floki watched everything unfold with quiet curiosity.
He had known Ragnar for many years.
Never had he seen the man make a decision without already knowing where it would lead.
“One more thing,” Ragnar called after the wildlings as they gathered their belongings.
“The crows know.”
He looked toward the Wall.
“I would wager you meet them before you find Mance.
If I were you, I would tread carefully.”
With that, he turned his back on them and returned to where Rollo lay shivering.
He placed a hand against his brother’s face.
The fever had grown even worse.
Under Torstein’s watch, the wildlings were handed back their weapons and possessions.
Every Viking, however, had rested a hand upon his own weapon.
Their posture made it plain they were ready for battle at a moment’s notice.
Everyone except Ragnar.
His axe remained hanging at his waist.
His back stayed turned toward the men he had just armed…
men who could have loosed an arrow into him without warning.
When everything had been returned, the wildlings began filing out of the camp.
None of the Vikings followed.
A few of the wildlings lingered until the rest of their people had gone ahead.
Among them was the man who had guided Ragnar to the feeder.
After one last look at Ragnar and his dying brother, he hurried after the others.
Another followed.
The last to leave was the man who had poisoned Rollo.
He paused and glanced once more at Ragnar.
From his face, it was clear this was not how he had expected matters to end.
His bow was held lightly in his hands.
If he wished, he could have loosed several arrows before any Viking reached him.
Yet no one moved.
When he reached the edge of the woods, he stopped.
Slowly he turned around and walked back toward Ragnar.
“How do you know about the crows?” he asked.
“And how did you know Mance is in the mountains?”
Ragnar did not bother looking up.
“Is it not enough that I know?…
What reason would I have to lie to you?…
In any case, believe me or do not.”
The wildling stood there for a long moment, staring at Rollo, whose breathing had grown weak and ragged as he muttered unintelligible words.
“You were right,” the man finally said.
Ragnar did not ask what he meant.
He simply waited.
“There was no cure…
Both powders would have killed him.”
The wildling laid his bow upon the ground and knelt beside Rollo.
“Does anyone have a knife?”
The Vikings immediately tensed.
Ragnar watched him carefully.
Bjorn looked ready to kill the man where he knelt.
Only Torstein’s hand upon his shoulder kept him from moving.
Ragnar reached to his belt, drew his dagger, and handed it to the wildling.