Adalwulf was hacking and stabbing and holding a broken shield as his sword was dancing above him. Step by step, pushing to the foe, he was closing in on the Aquila and Germanicus. I caught up with him and then fell on a bloody heap of corpses, men loping over and past me.
I got up, saw Adalwulf with a sword in the throat of a signifier, his hand on the Aquila, his men around him, being stabbed and murdered by the praetorian guards and legionnaires.
I saw Germanicus, still on his horse just next to Adalwulf, his face a mask of white horror.
Adalwulf tore the Aquila away. He slammed the blade at the enemy around him as I scrambled forward. He hacked the blade on a helmet of a man, and the cohort standard fell, him holding the Aquila and sword, laughing for the glory of it. He was turning, and then Germanicus realized he had a sword, and he stabbed down, his helmet of silver carved with beasts gleaming. I saw Adalwulf howling. I couldn’t hear him in the din of battle. Adalwulf’s men were there, around him, and I pushed there, and we pushed, and died and killed, until I saw Adalwulf, staggering amongst the foe, stabbing his sword, broken at tip, into a centurion’s throat at his feet.
I saw another centurion, who stabbed at my friend, and a praetorian who pulled the Aquila from his hands.
I lost sight of Adalwulf as he fell amongst the enemy dead.
I jumped forward, roaring. I slashed my blade into a wall of legionnaires, tore a man’s eyes out, and kicked my way through them. I felt my shield being torn away, and I hacked my black blade on the man and turned to Germanicus and his own signifier.
I felt a spear tip tearing my back, and still went forward. I hacked down a centurion of the guard, the man vomiting blood and then suddenly dead, and got to Germanicus.
Germanicus turned to look at me and found me so very close, and he shrieked.
My blade cut him down from the horse. The blade mangled his armor and tore the pale flesh beneath, ending up smashing into his thigh, barely drawing blood as it was a dull blade now. His horse fell, and the throng of Adalwulf’s men were surging around me, as I reached out for Germanicus and caught his helmet, as he crawled away, weeping. I took the helmet, pulled the man to me who held Germanicus’s standard, and slowly sawed his neck.
Then, weeping for Adalwulf, I pulled back as our men were butchered by V Alaudae. One by one, they fell below the wall under the massive number of the foe, and the few of us, dragging the standard of Germanicus, died one by one. Just two of us made it up over the piles of corpses and found Gochan was there, and his sword cut like that of a jotun as he stabbed at three legionnaires trying to pull the standard from my hands, and I let him pull me away and over the wall.
I staggered to the woods, sat with the standard, and wept for Adalwulf.
I was there, unable to move, spitting blood and vomiting, for hour and more, with the other wounded.
It was getting dark, when the battle was pushed to the woods before me, and there, Romans killed our people in the close quarters, and our spears were ineffective in such close quarters.
The tens of thousands of enemies killed, pushed, and fought bitterly hard, but for the first time in a battle, Germani didn’t run away. They took one Roman down for each three we lost, and they smiled as they died.
In the morning, the Romans gave up and marched off.
We called after them. We yelled and screamed and mocked them.
“Varus, Varus!”
We didn’t find Adalwulf in the field. Inguiomerus and weak Armin held the great sword high to the air as tens of thousands of our people screamed.
“Varus, Varus!”
I had honored the Red Wolf. We had survived the summers of tears.
CHAPTER 27
(Near the kingdom of Maroboodus, September 31st, A.D. 16)
The massive armies faced each other below us, before the mountains of Maroboodus.
We were sitting on a hillside before a pass and looking at the encounter. There were many in our party. There were a thousand men—some were Sarmatian, many Semnones, and Langobardi—and around us lay hundred Marcomanni, who had been guarding the pass. They had been surprised. More; betrayed. There was also one woman.
The massive armies below were not Roman. They were Armin’s and that of Maroboodus.
Rome was gone.
They had left the land after that second battle, hurt and unable to win, and had made their way home. Their misery had not stopped there. They had burned as much as they could while they left. Some had gone by the ships once more and, yet again, had suffered terrible calamity. Thousand had drowned in a great storm, one that had surely been sent by God Donor to punish them. The ones who marched home, suffered attacks all the way home.
Germanicus had lived. Again.
To cover the truth of his losses, he had sent thirty thousand back one more time.
They had come back and burned the Luppia Valley, and Mallovendus had given them the eagle of the Marsi. It was that of the nineteenth, and Germanicus had celebrated it as a great victory.
Then, at the end of summer, Germanicus had been recalled to Rome.
Bitterly disappointed by Germanicus surviving the war, but mollified by the horrifying losses, Tiberius had a reason to recall him.
I heard men believed his lies.
He told everyone he was one of the best generals of all time. He told them he was a genius, and that he had won. He even claimed Inguiomerus and Armin had died, and an impostor was sitting on Armin’s seat. He was still well loved by the common people, if not by the Senate, who knew what had been lost in the war that brought back no loot to Rome.
The common people who heard those words claimed he had restored Roman honor in the north.
Tiberius had reason to fear him. Alive, Germanicus would expect to be given another duty, better duty, but he even begged in the Senate, and the commoners had begged in the streets that he be allowed back north. But Tiberius had decreed the effort was not worth the time, and Varus had been avenged.
One eagle was missing, and it was for someone else to recover.
Germanicus was still Tiberius’s problem.
He was still mine.
Armin had recovered, and I had spent the end of the summer with the Hermanduri and the Quadi, to keep away from him. I had traveled to the Semnones and the Langobardi.
Then, in autumn, he had marched his army to Maroboodus, who had cost him so much.
On the plains below, the Marcomanni army was ready. Armin’s as well.
There, forty thousand men on each side stood defiant, as Armin had gathered every man capable of carrying arms to be able to finish the rapacious king to his south. He had lines of all the people in the north in arms. Chatti, Bructeri, and Cherusci still made up the massive number of them.
The Ampsivarii had left the alliance, as had the Tubantes. The Marsi had betrayed us to Rome, but only partly.
What was different in the army were the addition of the Suebi. There were ten thousand Semnone warriors, fabulous in rich tunics and round shields, and few thousand Langobardi.
Their kings were kin of Maroboodus.
Of mine.
They had seen the ring. They knew what Maroboodus had done, thanks to Catualda, and they wanted to be free of his yoke. More, they wanted the trade of amber balanced, and they would, for Maroboodus had been replaced by someone less dangerous.
It was all but done and agreed on.
Vannius, the man whom I had promised the kingship, was swathed in tunics. He pointed a finger to the field. “Hermanduri and the Quadi. Part of the former and the great part of the latter shall take the war to the Marcomanni in the middle of the battle. Armin won’t get into the land in the south, but your father is fucked.”
The brother of Vannius, Hermanduri Vibilius, and his sons, Vangio and Sido, nodded, their faces unreadable masks. Vannius had more of the noble Quadi blood as they did. If anyone could rule the Marcomanni and the Quadi with Maroboodus dead, it would be them.
Besides, Gunhild would come back and give
the new rulers her blessings, if not hand. Apparently, she had not died in childbirth. Perhaps the boy had, but it mattered little now.
Maroboodus would lose. Vannius had persuaded many to let go of him.
I had met Flavus as well and sealed our fates.
I nodded and looked at the Bear Banner of Father, the great bear rampant on a field of black. On that banner were hung many of his victories, and now, even now, I wondered if he might win still.
“Come,” I said. “Go and take the Amber Hall.”
Vannius grinned and nodded at Vibilius. “Come, then. We shall have to be busy while he is away.” He nodded at me. “Do not let him get there.”
“He is done,” I said.
He rode away and was followed by the thousand men, and in the pass, another thousand Quadi, his kin, joined him. Gochan and I stayed, and I rode to the edge of the roads, where the Marcomanni had watched one of the passes. Our Sarmatians were eating in their saddles, enjoying the unusual relief of wind in a very hot autumn season.
We watched the battle.
It was much like any one.
It was a long one, and despite the Semnones and Langobardi, Father fought well. He spread his men into Roman formations, and while not as well armored, they held Armin at bay, the cohort-like formations moving to support each other.
When the Hermanduri turned on the Marcomanni, and the Quadi with them, the battle was decided, though not immediately. Father had trained his men into discipline. Riches with amber and trade had made his pockets deep, and great thousands of the Marcomanni were armored and prepared for the surprises. They turned and fought the sudden onslaught of the allies, and it made for a long fight, a shieldwall on shieldwall on three sides, and skirmishes around them, and five hours to determine the victor.
Then they finally broke, Father’s men.
It was an ugly butchery, where old grudges were brutally paid back, and while my father had built a stable, unusually powerful kingdom, I knew Vannius would rule something that was fragmented and plagued by Rome and greed.
The Amber Hall would not make him happy.
Father escaped. He always did.
I nodded and pointed my sword at my father, who was fleeing to the pass below with some of his fleetest men. His banner was waving high with him, and he was huddled on his saddle, pained by old wounds, a loser.
He had twenty men with him, and soon, before dark, he was riding near us, below.
I nodded, and Gochan lifted his eyes at me. He flipped a dice, and I did too.
His showed two. Mine as well.
I laughed at his crestfallen look and kicked my horse.
He followed, and we rode down with the last of the Sarmatians. The horses rode through a hilly meadow, and when my father looked up and saw us coming, I was finally rewarded by the loss of all hope and arrogance in his eyes. Gochan rode for him, and I did as well. His men saw us, rode against us bravely, and we crashed together. I toppled a man from the saddle and left the spear as I pulled the sword. Father was there, sword in his hand, and looked at us coming for him. He lifted the sword, tired, too exhausted to lift it, and tried to hack at Gochan. Gochan parried and struck the man across face and held his sword on Father’s neck.
I rode around him and watched his men die.
His standard was taken, and men were whooping as they rode over it. One Sarmatian, skillfully, pissed on it as he rode about it.
Father didn’t watch it.
He said nothing.
I watched him. “There is no Amber Hall, Father.”
He nodded.
“Vannius is in there, celebrating his success. The line of Aristovistus is over, and you, the usurper who ruined or killed both it and our ancient family, shall be forgotten.”
“I shall never be forgotten,” he said softly. “Never.”
He might be right.
“I forgot you already,” I said. “We threw dice with Gochan. Meet your firstborn son.”
“The handsome one in the family,” Gochan said. “Tamara sends greetings.” The sword cut a small wound to Maroboodus’s neck.
He shook his head, caring little for my mockery or the threats of Gochan. “I shall kiss her in Helheim, boy. She was a brave woman. Do it, then, son. Either son. Both of you.”
“No. Choose. Which son?” I asked. “Which son would you have done it? We both enjoy your downfall, Father. We both have brought it about. He has lost sisters and brothers and kingdoms to it. He has the right. I have the right, and you know the reason.”
He laughed bitterly. “Which one? I care not.”
Gochan rode around him, looking at the bastard, and I leaned my hand on my blade and flicked off blood. He was nodding. “Let it be the handsome boy, then. I would deny you this, Hraban.”
Gochan was laughing. “Oh, it suits me fine. Tamura, my mother—”
“Was a fine queen,” he said. “And I didn’t seduce her. She seduced me. I aided her.”
“You extorted her with the lives of her daughters,” he snarled. “Ever it is so. Strike at the weak and conquer. Now is time to pay. “
I turned to a man who had been sitting there, silent. He was coming close.
Flavus.
Gochan lifted his sword from the man’s neck, and Maroboodus took a surprised, relieved breath. “I think the dice wanted to tell us something,” Gochan said. “You will not die here.”
I nodded at Flavus. “Take him to Tiberius. Let Tiberius seal him in a cage.”
Flavus nodded.
Gochan grimaced. “It is unfortunate. But here.” He rode next to Father and slammed his fist to the face of the old man. He crumbled on his horse, and two Roman soldiers came forth to grab the reins.
Flavus turned to me. “You failed.”
“We agreed on a solution, Flavus. I will be in Rome,” I said. “Peace for Germania, and the lot shall be ruled by petty adelings after Adgandestrius poisons Armin. Thank you for the poison.”
Flavus nodded. “Ebbe and Oldaric have a long arm.”
I nodded. “They didn’t want to join Armin. Nor give him oaths. I went to them and spoke of how Ebbe and Oldaric had died against Drusus. How the son of Drusus had to fall to finally avenge those deaths. They agreed. They had seen Drusus die, but that blood only covered the blood of one of the two dead Chatti. Germanicus was danger to them as well.” I shook my head. “They feared Armin’s power should Rome fall in our woods. I told them Germania would never have peace if Armin ruled it. I told them Armin would reduce them to slaves. They agreed. Germanicus had to be killed, Rome appeased, and Armin had to fall. Adgandestrius agreed to poison Armin later for the good of the north. They gave up much for this. Half their lands burned. Thousands of their men died.”
He smiled gently. “So simple. Revenge and sense.”
“No,” I said. “Of course there is more. I could see it in Arpus’s eyes. Chatti have ever hoped to be the most powerful tribe in the north. When Armin dies, they will take Cherusci lands as the Cherusci fight each other. I didn’t tell them the full story, but enough, and their greed handled the rest. They will remain powerful and they will grow in the years when Rome no longer comes for them, and Armin’s death will pull the Cherusci apart. Chatti deserve the lands they take. They helped save Germania.”
Flavus nodded. “Indeed. But Germanicus is not dead. How will they—”
“They know I will finish it,” I said.
He spoke in agreement and touched the rag over his missing eye. “Fine. Armin shall die in a few years, when everyone hates him here, a king of tears, and Rome will give them new kings. My son. He will deal with the Chatti.”
“And I shall go and finish my oaths,” I said, and thought on the oath to Armin over Thusnelda.
I had time.
First, the others had to pay.
Flavus nodded. “But Germanicus is well loved. You shall come with me. It will seem like Tiberius is involved, but it cannot be helped. It will have to be done, anyway. Alas for his luck. I believe you did you
r best. Adalwulf?”
Flavus had seen us fight.
I shook my head. “Perhaps Woden took him.” I felt sadness for him and Gisil, who was with us as well, the only woman in the party. “I shall go with you, then,” I said. “And I shall see it through. Germanicus is going east? There was someone to unsettle him there, other than me?”
He nodded. “Piso. A governor. They hate each other. Come, and we will set it up together with Sejanus. Plans are needed.”
Trio of evil, I thought.
“I know,” I said. “Can you wait over there?” I pointed to the side.
Flavus took the reins of the horse, and they rode to the side.
I turned to Gisil. “He might be alive.”
She smiled sadly. “I know.”
Adalwulf had not been found in the field. Many thought Valkyries had taken him straight to Woden.
I gave her a crushing hug, and she pulled her horse back. I reached out to my saddle and pulled out the standard of Germanicus. “Give this to Wulf. Tell him his father cleared his conscience. This is for him. As is the helmet of Germanicus.”
She took the standard gratefully and fingered the fine silk.
I lifted the helmet and nodded at Hands, who was there to escort Gisil to my son and Wulf. “Can you give it to Wulf?”
He scratched his neck. “I can. Sure. Too heavy for the lady.” He smiled at Gisil and took the helmet. He looked inside the helmet and saw the ring there, which he pocketed safely.
He winked at me. I pulled out my dark sword and gave it to Hands as well. “Tell Gervas I am sorry for everything.” Then I pulled out yet another sword, the Red Wolf. “Give this to my wife. And tell Gunda and Gervas, that perhaps we shall meet again.”
Gochan blinked. “What?”
“We decided it was time to get her to safety,” I said. “She is with the boys in a hall near Stone Home, and they will travel north. We buried another and a lock of her hair.” I clasped Hand’s arm. “See them home. See them to Hogholm in Gothonia, and make sure Gervas kneels before the Boat-Lord, whoever that is, and gives him the oaths, and if it is a relative, that he also gives him the cursed thing. Tell Gunda I love her, almost as much as I did Cassia. Tell her I shall see her, if gods deem it just.”
The Summer Sword Page 38
