Gyda looked at Ragnar. She saw the reckoning in his face. She saw the trap.
"You are going to bring him low," she realized.
"I'm going to school him," Ragnar corrected. "The law of weights is a harsh master."
He turned to the crew of "Broken Men" who were manning the winches.
"Load the Heavy Stone," Ragnar commanded. "And set the stone-basket to Maximum."
In the western reach of the camp, Jarl Einar sat on a pile of furs, drinking ale from a silver cup he had stolen in Frankia. He was a mountain of a man, with a beard braided into three thick forks and a reputation for cruelty that made even other Vikings uncomfortable.
Around him sat his shield-brothers men who believed that the only good making was a sharp edge. "The Carpenter calls for a parley," a scout laughed, entering the circle. "He wants to show you his toy. He says bring shields."
Einar laughed, a sound like grinding stones. "He wants to show me his toy? Does he think I fear a pile of wood?"
"He is scared, Jarl," one of the shield-brothers sneered. "He knows his 'True Measure' is garbage. He wants to make peace before we burn his sticks."
Einar stood up, tossing the dregs of his ale into the fire.
"We will go," Einar decided. "We will watch his machine fail. And when it breaks, or when the rock falls on his own foot, we will laugh. And then we will take the iron back."
"What about the shields?" the scout asked.
"Bring the Great Shields," Einar commanded. "If he tries to shoot a pebble at us, we will block it and shove it down his throat. Even a dragon has to bow to a shield wall."
The sun was high overhead. The "Proving Grounds" was crowded. King Horik sat on a folding stool, watching with the intense interest of a man at a holmgang. Ulf stood beside him, looking nervous.
On one side stood the Builders. The one-legged men, the one-eyed men, the old men. They leaned on their crutches and their measuring sticks, looking terrified but defiant.
On the other side marched Jarl Einar.
He arrived with fifty of his sworn Huscarls. They were terrifying. Clad in heavy chainmail, carrying massive oak shields rimmed with iron. They marched in lockstep, chanting a low, guttural war song.
Einar stopped twenty paces from the trebuchet. He looked up at the towering machine and sneered.
"It is big," Einar shouted, his voice carrying over the wind. "Like a cow is big. But can it fight?"
Ragnar stepped forward. He was unarmed, holding only his slate.
"Jarl Einar," Ragnar said, his voice polite. "Thank you for coming. We heard you had concerns about the... strength of our work."
"I have concerns that you are wasting the King's iron on firewood!" Einar yelled. He gestured to his men. "You say this machine can break a wall? I say it cannot break a shield wall."
Einar turned to his Huscarls. "Lock shields! Shield-fort!"
The Huscarls slammed their shields together, interlocking them to form an impenetrable wall of wood and steel. It was the ultimate Viking defense. Nothing got through it.
"We stand here!" Einar shouted, planting his feet about fifty paces from the machine. "Fire your rock, Carpenter! If it hits us, we die! If it bounces off, I burn your machine!"
The crowd gasped. Einar was insane. He was standing in the path of the stone.
King Horik leaned forward. "Ragnar," he called out. "Do not kill my best infantry."
"I have no intention of killing them, my King," Ragnar said calmly.
He turned to Bjorn. "Master of the Yard," Ragnar said. "What is the reckoned reach of the God Hammer with a heavy throwing stone and a grand-weight basket?"
Bjorn looked at his slate, sweating. He moved his lips, counting.
"Uh... three hundred paces, Brother."
"And how far is Jarl Einar standing?"
"Fifty paces."
"The law of weights says?" Ragnar asked.
"The law of weights says... it flies over," Bjorn grinned.
Ragnar turned back to Einar.
"Jarl Einar!" Ragnar shouted. "You are too close! The machine is designed for reach! Please, move back!"
"Ha!" Einar laughed. "He makes excuses! He knows it won't reach! Fire, coward!"
Ragnar looked at King Horik. The King shrugged. "He was warned."
Ragnar raised his hand.
The "Broken Men" on the winches tightened their grip. Sven the Strong held the release rope. He looked at Einar and smiled.
"Clear the path!" Ragnar ordered.
"Loose!"
Sven yanked the rope.
The heavy rocks in the basket dropped straight down, speeding with the brutal certainty of a falling boulder.
The long arm of the trebuchet whipped up.
The sling, dragging behind it on the wooden slide, sped to terrifying speeds. It whipped around the tip of the arm.
Einar and his men flinched behind their shields, bracing for the crash. They squeezed their eyes shut, waiting for the ruin.
And they waited. And waited..
The rock did not hit them. It didn't even come close. It sailed fifty feet over their heads. It was moving so fast it was a blur. It climbed higher and higher, tracing a perfect, majestic arc against the blue sky.
Einar opened his eyes. He looked up. His mouth fell open.
The rock kept going. It flew over the dunes. It flew over the supply wagons. It flew toward the sea.
Out in the bay, anchored about three hundred paces away, sat an old, rotting fishing boat they used for target practice.
The boulder struck the fishing boat dead center. There was a spray of water and splinters.
One moment it was a boat; the next, it was driftwood.
Silence...
The Huscarls slowly lowered their shields. They turned around to look at the wreckage in the bay, then back at the machine, then at Ragnar.
Jarl Einar stood frozen. He looked at the spot where the rock had landed three bowshots away. He realized, with a sickening lurch in his stomach, that his shield wall would have been as useful as a paper umbrella.
Ragnar walked up to Einar. He stopped five paces away.
"You see, Jarl Einar," Ragnar said, his voice loud enough for the army to hear. "The machine fights the horizon. Your shield wall is strong. But it cannot stop the falling stone."
He pointed to the "Broken Men" who were already reloading the machine with practiced skill.
"These men... the ones you beat... they reckoned that arc. They knew exactly where that rock would land. They hold the power to crush a ship from a distance where you cannot even throw a spear."
Ragnar leaned in closer. "Do not break my True Measures again. Because next time... I might mistake the weight. And the rock might drop early."
Einar looked at Ragnar. He saw a man who had harnessed a giant invisible hand.
Einar swallowed. He looked at his men. They were looking at the trebuchet with fear.
"The... the machine works," Einar grunted, his voice hoarse.
"It works," King Horik announced, standing up and clapping slow, heavy applause. "It works beautifully."
The King walked down the dune. He stopped in front of Einar.
"You doubted the Builder," Horik said softly. "You attacked his men. You owe the Hoard fifty pounds of silver for the 'blood-price'."
Einar looked like he wanted to argue, but he looked at the boat wreckage again.
"I will pay," Einar whispered.
"Good," Horik beamed. "Now, get out of the way. I want to pull the rope next!"
As the King ran toward the machine like a child at a feast, Princess Gyda walked up to Ragnar.
"That was... heavy," she said, eyeing the destroyed boat.
"It was necessary," Ragnar exhaled, feeling his knees shaking slightly.
"You missed Einar on purpose," she noted.
"I didn't miss," Ragnar tapped his temple. "I aimed for his pride. It's a bigger mark."
He looked at his crew Bjorn, Sven, Leif, Erik. They were hugging each other, cheering.
"The army is ours now," Ragnar whispered. "No one will question the reckoning again."
"Don't get boastful, Master Builder," Gyda smiled, touching the hidden trigger of her Twisted Sinew Spring. "York is still waiting. And walls don't get scared like Jarls do."
Ragnar looked north. The smoke of York was visible on the horizon.