The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  Adalwulf was looking at the wall on the shores of Visurgis and wondered at the ancient boundary between the Ampsivarii and the Cherusci. The many miles long wall of dirt had been erected to run northeast from the river and continued on the other side of it.

  I shook my head. “They could build like legions, eh?”

  “Ironic, that we shall use it, when it was meant to be used against Cherusci.” Adalwulf chuckled. “Gods, I am tired.”

  I was too. I turned my head and looked north.

  Behind the wall were deep, thick woods and smelly swamps. There was no easy way to run away.

  We would wait for the enemy behind it. We would fight to the end.

  It wasn’t hopeless.

  Every day that passed, more and more Germani were arriving. We had been twenty thousand strong, many wounded and spent, weapons lost, and every day, new men, old, young, from far away, Suebi with knots, wild Germani of the north, the plains men of the east, mercenaries from Stone Home had flocked to Armin and Inguiomerus.

  The army was strong again. It was gaining confidence.

  “It is hard to believe,” said Gochan irascibly. “You nearly killed Father. We were supposed to throw dice for it.”

  I picked mine up. I threw it. It came up one.

  He grinned, picked it up, and tossed it.

  One.

  He spat and looked disgusted and tossed it back to me.

  “He didn’t ask for your presence,” I told him, and touched the wound on my back, a ragged, bleeding thing. I touched my head, where stitches held my skin over the skull. “I was very lucky.”

  “You’ll need a new helmet,” Adalwulf grumbled.

  I wore a wolf’s mask around my shoulders, and the pelt was heavy around me. I had been having fever and chills.

  I smiled as Adgandestrius arrived, grimacing sadly. He had liked Aerumer well, despite the man’s irascible reputation. The man was true Chatti. “Armin,” he said, “asks for you.”

  I nodded and got up. I walked with Adgandestrius and held a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep my balance. I watched the heavy woods beyond and knew that was where Armin’s tent be pitched, and his wound attended to by the vitka.

  “If we survive,” Adgandestrius said, “he shall be a king.”

  “If he is the king,” I told him, “you shall never have peace from Rome.”

  He nodded. “It seems we must teach Rome never to come here again, but at the same time, pretend they won.”

  “They might yet,” I reminded him.

  “They will not,” he snarled. “No matter what they do. The men are bitter and not afraid.”

  I begged gods he was right.

  He guided me forward. I found the hide tent half-hidden under some thick fir-trees and ducked under the flap.

  Armin was there, looking at his hand, which was bleeding. I sat near him, and he stared at me with silent anger. “First, you and I betrayed each other in the Hard Hill.”

  I nodded.

  “Then, you betrayed me with Drusus,” he told me,

  “After you held Lif,” I said.

  He nodded, acknowledging the fact. “Then, in Rome, while I served Augustus, you left bodies behind, and feuds enough for a nation. I was nearly taken by Germanicus, and you fled just in time.”

  “It was Woden’s will,” I said.

  “Woden is a liar, like you are,” he said.

  “And you,” I said. “You conspired the Pannonian War. That war left behind lots of bodies, didn’t it?”

  He nodded again deep in his thought. “Then, here, in the north, you helped me against Varus. And I finally trusted you. She didn’t. Thusnelda.”

  I said nothing.

  He was weeping. “She is held in Ravenna. For a triumph.”

  “I have seen Ravenna,” I said. “It is peaceful, and the climate is kind.”

  He didn’t appreciate my levity. “My wife and son are in Ravenna,” he said. “So many took the oath to return them to me. I cannot do it. I cannot beat Germanicus. They are lost to me. So, all I have is this nation. I shall make it what Maroboodus made his.”

  “He should aspire after you, not the other way around. Rome—”

  “Will come again, and again, and I shall let it come,” he snarled. “Can you give me Maroboodus?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it.

  “I hear you met with Catualda, and again,” he said. “I hear Semnones and Langobardi no longer heed him. I know you hurt him and likely saved us.”

  I nodded.

  “I know now what you suffered when you were in Rome,” he said. “While I hate you, it does give me some perspective to your choices and sorrows. And Cassia…” He shook his head. “I know, Hraban.”

  “You know what?” I asked him.

  “I know Thusnelda conspired with your father,” he said. “He sent me word. He told me everything he knows about you. Also, he told me much of what he thinks you are doing here.”

  My blood drained, and I fought not to grasp my sword. Maroboodus knew very little. He guessed plenty.

  His face was drawn and bitter. “It explains many things, and what happened these past years. While I understand your pain, Hraban, and how they held your wife and child to make you serve Rome, I shall be a better man than you. I shall spare you. Nay, you shall not kill me for Tiberius. Your father thinks that is your role. I think he is right. There will be no chance for it. When the war is over, and we survive, and if you know a way for me to take the war to Maroboodus, we shall part ways. You will find my wife and son, and I shall not seek Gervas out. I will never let you near me again.”

  I nodded. “I know not what lies he has told you, but I agree we have no future together. As for Father, I know what you can do to destroy him.”

  He smiled. “I believe you in the last part, but not the former. You have caused the deaths of so many good men, so many.”

  “And quite a few bad ones,” I said. “Do not pretend to be above deceit and murder.”

  “Alas,” he said, “that we chose to deceive each other and to murder those we loved and who trusted us.”

  We looked at each other for a long while, and apparently both decided not to ask more questions.

  I nodded. “I gave you my oaths, and I shall keep them, as far as I can.”

  He looked me in the eye. “Tell me, do you think we can win?”

  I shook my head. “Germanicus will not get many more tries. Tiberius fears him.”

  He smiled bitterly. “You would know this. Very well. I shall be a great king, Hraban, and I will wait for my wife and child. Give me your father, and then fetch my family.”

  “Survive this summer,” I said. “And in the autumn, I can give you Maroboodus. You will have to fight him. I know how you can win.”

  “Thank you, Oath Breaker.” He nodded. “When,” he asked, “will you get me my love and child back? I imagine your father wonders the same about his family.”

  I shook my head. “Maroboodus doesn’t love. But if Germanicus survives, and never comes back here, I shall hunt him.”

  “For Tiberius,” he said.

  “So Maroboodus told you,” I said. “After I am done with him and Ulrich, I shall keep all my oaths.”

  “I will wait for one year,” he said bitterly. “Then I will find you and Gervas. Tell me to my face. Did you use Thusnelda to give me the kingdom I needed to win? And are you here to kill me for Tiberius?”

  I watched him. “Thusnelda loved you enough to betray me, her friend, to my father. I gave her to Tiberius, so you might win, Armin. As for your death? I deny it not, nor do I agree.”

  I walked out. He wept and roared with anger in the tent.

  Far in the night, Roman horns blared.

  CHAPTER 26

  Our position had been betrayed. It had been revealed to Germanicus, and that morning, we saw thirty thousand legionnaires and a mass of fresh auxilia cavalry approaching. Burning villages and towns marked the foe’s approach.

  This time, the
enemy was bringing his siege gear with them.

  They spread out before us, miles and miles wide, their legions set up in their lines of cohorts, each legion in three lines of cohorts, all able to support each other. The massive force of steel and oppression was waiting calmly as mules were arriving and castra was being dug.

  They were also setting up catapults and ballistae. Immunes with very special skills made good time in that duty. We could see line of them being built, tens of them, stretching across the wall.

  They had to win.

  There was war all over the land.

  There were bands of warriors attacking the Roman columns and the auxilia garrisons all over the land. The old, the young, and women took up spears. Hundreds of wounded were taken by a band of Sigambri and killed and mutilated. The supplies were not moving to the legions. They were burning on the roads and ports with the garrisons.

  Germanicus knew he had no more time, no more excuses. Rome and the Senate would balk at the great expenses and the massive losses.

  He had to win there, that day.

  Armin knew he had to survive. Inguiomerus would lead. Rome would burn villages, ravage the land, and kill anyone they found with a weapon, even if they lost, but they would go home and perhaps would not come again.

  Germanicus was riding the midst of the columns, his praetorian guard with him. They were grimy and gruffy looking cohorts, an armored mass of men who hated us as much as we hated them.

  Killing Germanicus was not likely.

  Butchering his men, unlikely.

  Surviving the day, possible.

  It was midday when the enemy began the assault. Their cavalry suddenly wheeled right and rode for our left, like the wind, thousands strong—the last of the Batavi, Ubii, Vangiones, Gauls, Thracians.

  They were seeking the end of our line.

  The legionnaires moved forward, in triplex acies, and Germanicus was in the second rank with a cohort of Praetorian Guard, with V Alaudea, right across from Adalwulf, Gochan, and me.

  The twisted skeins of the ballista were cracking, and men were struggling to load them with terribly long bolts and round rocks. The land beyond them was filled with mules and servants, and the castra, and supplies for the artillery were being hauled forward.

  Then Germanicus spoke to a man on his side, and orders were sent forward.

  They began by shooting the weapons. Stone balls whirled out of the ballistae with terrible power and huge bolts from the scorpions. Many crashed to the earthen wall, and others over it. The first men died, as such weapons ripped to the war-bands behind the wall, further away. Men were howling with missing limbs, and others were silent, bones crushed, and yet others, with no visible wound, dead as the stones that had killed them.

  They loaded, fired, and loaded again.

  Our men stood still, gathering courage, not able to decide if they would be next or not.

  Inguiomerus, near us, was cursing. He strode up the mud wall, and stood there, over all. “Germanicus! Germanicus! Come, dog and coward! Take the wall from me! Stop playing with stones and sticks! Come!” He lifted his sword. “Look! The Summer Sword! Varus’s blade once, but never again yours, dogs!”

  And Germanicus, his face pale and tired to his stomach with the Germani, came.

  The siege weapons kept shooting over the troops that began marching past them. Somewhere to our left, the cavalry was pouring over the wall only to find bands of warriors waiting, and bitter contests spread in that part of the woods.

  Thirty thousand legionnaires marched forward, and then, arrows and javelins began landing on them. Cherusci took the wall, Chatti to their left, and the tribes that swarmed the wall began lobbing weapons at the advancing ranks of steel.

  On and on the enemy came, not heeding their losses.

  We stood near Adgandestrius and his Chatti, to the left of Inguiomerus. V Alaudae was heaving for us, their centurions howling orders. The Sarmatians were gone to the left, to fight with the auxilia, and we had Adalwulf’s men. We would live or die on that muddy wall, and the woods behind it.

  We watched the enemy suddenly run in, tossing pila, many of their men falling to javelins. Men fell in our lines, and holes appeared and were filled. Colorful shields of the Germani, proud, bared heads, tall, powerful men yelling insults at the foe, and even some women stood there in lines, tens of thousands strong, as if we had not lost a single battle in the war. Many bore wounds from the previous battles, many were new.

  None fled when the terrible power of Rome began howling. “Varus!” they screamed. “Varus!”

  It was a word for us to yell. We would win back the right.

  The Romans, V Alaudae, was near, and then their first cohorts ran up the wall. Inguiomerus’s standard of bones and skins was heaving near us, and thick lines of men chanted behind us.

  The shields flashed at us, gladii hidden behind them, the tired, smudged faces staring at us wildly just below.

  They ran to shield walls and into long spears. The great Germani weapons worked to their advantage in that wall. Romans ran to what Persians had withered from with Alexander. Phalanx of steely tips, more and more of them, were aimed at them, and they had to run into that trap of death. They tried, many fell back, wounded, others fell pierced, dead, and a great throng of them remained just below in many places, gathering bravery to come again. The centurions led them, and up they came. Hacking at the spears, pushing up through them, crawling, and then, they finally, here and there, got to the melee range.

  Adalwulf and I were in the first rank.

  A ballista shot tore off an optio’s head just ahead of us, and two skulls of our men were crushed. Pila crashed to my shield, and a centurion was trying to haul me away. The Romans came up, full of anger, spending lives on the spears, until they had shields on ours and could fight. They came for their glory, enraged we were there, still there, after a lost battle and years of butchery. Summer Sword and what it meant for us they didn’t understand. It was a blade of an enemy who seemed to grow new heads, two for each lost one.

  They wanted it finished.

  Never had they been as motivated to fight as they were on that day.

  After half an hour, Adalwulf and I stepped to the second rank to rest and left dozens of enemies dead on the wall. Other men stepped up with fresh shields.

  We stood behind them and received spears.

  It was there, in the second rank, on top of the wall, that we killed again. My spear was pushing into Roman faces over the shoulder of the man before me, and I was hiding behind his huge shield from pila that enemy lobbed over to kill our men. I killed a young man, his eyes full of horror. I killed a grisly old warrior, bearded with heavy yowls. I killed a centurion, weak with fever, and a wounded pair of legionnaires, trying to pull the man before down me to their ranks.

  I killed, until my spear broke, and none were available to replace it.

  I pulled my sword and watched Adalwulf work. His men were spread out around us, and I watched him kill, methodically.

  In the afternoon, Rome finally forced its way to the top.

  Cherusci suddenly fell in many places. Romans climbed up, and just to our right, Romans were turning to roll us down from the side. Adalwulf pulled his sword as our men caught pila from the right and fell and rolled down the wall. He cursed and was fighting like a mad thing, a champion of the Chatti and of the Cherusci, the great man, highest after the adelings, a hero, and no Roman slave. He killed because he liked it, he killed for Woden, and I joined him. A man who had fought next to him died, and I joined Adalwulf in his duty to push the Romans back. We walked to the Cherusci lines, killing, our swords singing, and Romans fled before us, and for a moment longer, the lines were steadied there, in the place we owned.

  The battle hung in balance. Always there was a hero to save the line.

  In an hour, then two, the battle broke over the wall to our left. I heard the Tubantes screaming warnings and calls of the Ampsivarii killing enemy riders who had gotten past and aroun
d, the Chatti howling as they were slowly pushed back from the wall, and then, Germanicus came to us.

  He led his cohort of Praetorians through the V Alaudae, to the junction of our men and those of Inguiomerus. He thought that was the place that could fall. He hoped to force his men up and through us.

  His standard was high, his men red cloaked and the best looking, most savage former centurions and heroes, their swords out, and they rushed up with the fourth cohort of the V Alaudae and crashed into us.

  We held them with ax, sword, broken shield, bent spear, and rugged rocks.

  Inguiomerus was heaving with his bright sword, we were swimming in sea of blades, and we butchered men. Adalwulf and I, raging, danced over them, over their corpses on top of the wall, sometimes just the two of us, then again with new men who rushed up from below to keep the wall. When the enemy came up, one pushed their shield away, the other eviscerated them. They were proud, that is what they were, and did their duty, but their duty was also to die for Rome, and we held them to that one.

  There, in that place of hopeless war, I watched Germanicus below, and he was watching me, flinching, pointing a finger at me and ordering more and more men to attack us. I banged my shield to Adalwulf’s and he into mine, and our swords heaved down man after man, until a centurion of the guard made it to us, and slamming Adalwulf aside, he jumped past. I elbowed him down. Adalwulf stepped on his back, spitting blood from a split lip. He was tired, full of rage—so full, it was spilling over. Woden’s anger made him hiss and spit, and when he turned, he saw the Aquila of the V Alaudae with Germanicus, not too far below, and he lost his mind.

  He rushed forward and hacked down man after man.

  “Adalwulf!” I roared.

  He went fast, and he killed men as he went, his sword breaking skull and shield, notched and the edge spent, but still deadly, even if for nothing but a club. Germanicus was howling, and I cursed, as his men were closing in on Adalwulf. His signifier was next to him, the cohort one as well, V Alaudae one by them. Heedless of the enemy there, Adalwulf went, fast as lighting.

  I ran after him, and Adalwulf’s men followed, forty or so, all that were left.