The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  Hands winked. “She is a fine lady. And I agree there is no reason to take them to Rome. There is madness in that land, isn’t there?”

  “There is,” I agreed.

  He hesitated. “About Gunda.”

  “Yes?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes. “Never mind. You shall see later. Perhaps. Good travels,” he said. “And good fortune!”

  I was confused by his words and nodded, and Gochan bid our men goodbye, most rich after all the war we had seen, and we traveled the land.

  I rode long ways to Rome, and there, I arrived in time for the triumph of Germanicus.

  EPILOGUE

  Flavus and I leaned on the pillars of Circus Maximus. Vendors of all kinds were hawking their wares and doing brisk business in wine and bread. Nero Julius Caesar, perhaps ten, his brother Drusus Caesar, eight or so, the tiny lad Caligula, six, then the girls, Agrippina the Younger, Julia Drusilla, were in their pretty mother’s arms, nestled in the great golden chariot, surrounding their father.

  There, before them, marched Libys with many others. He had been captured when he had delivered messages for Segimundus. He, too, had done everything he could for Ebbe’s honor and the Chatti future. He would be strangled later on in the Mamertine prison, in the Forum. Men who saw it said he smiled. There marched Mallovendus and Theudric the Sigambri, miserable fools both, and would die in a horrible way in Circus Maximus. There, too, many other relatives of the enemies of Rome, some mere skeletons strapped on mules, enemies who had been captured for years.

  “Here,” Flavus said, and I stepped back. “Look up first.”

  “I see him,” I said, and looked up to the Palatine, where Tiberius watched the great parade of Germanicus from a terrace, not far from where Julia had once lived. It was Segestes and Segimundus who stood amid the senators, and Segestes, he was watching Thusnelda and the babe in her arms.

  The Rome was jubilant with the victory in the war, deceitful that it was, and with the great games, with the joy, and with the admiration for Germanicus. It made me sick. Men of V Alaudae, singing lewd songs of him, some far too true, were marching and carrying the loot of Germania that was not in the wagons filled with riches.

  There were famous swords, shields of the great Germani heroes, lost eagles of Varus, save for one, and paintings of the battles. There were riches brought in from richer parts of the land, amber by wagonfuls. Wagons filled with gold and silver passed us, much more than there were in the entire Germania.

  They were there for show and were a simple ruse to convince the people that the losses in the war had been worth it.

  They couldn’t show what they had really stolen.

  Small horses and tiny cows?

  No.

  Germanicus was their dream. They dreamt of him sitting in the throne or Rome one day. Tiberius was not well loved. He was not of Augustus’s blood.

  And then, people went quiet.

  Thusnelda walked the streets before Germanicus. She was barefoot, her breast bared in Germani garb, and she carried Thumelicus, and she was pale and sick.

  There were whip marks on her shoulder, and Rome, the land of the mobs and filth, was silent.

  Despite her condition, she seemed like a goddess. Proud, noble, she reminded people of Rome of old, when her virtues had been untouched.

  Silence reigned, and admiration was clear on every face.

  Germanicus, ecstatic, didn’t notice a thing.

  She walked past us, and I remembered the oath I had given Armin.

  Later.

  I watched Germanicus.

  Flavus spoke to me softly, as the silence reigned around us. “Tiberius grants you leave to finish this. Germanicus will go to east, and he shall rule there with Piso. His wife, she is soon pregnant again. I know not if it is his, or someone else’s, but Sejanus will go with you, Hraban. He will be his guard, and he has set up some especially beautiful servants for him. They are ours. He will tour the land and visit every land in the east, except for Egypt. He shall be happy for time, careless. He will squabble with Piso, for the governor of Syria is not his friend. Then, at some point, you will be given an opportunity to find out where Ulrich is, Hraban. After, you will go to Tiberius. You shall serve him and his son Drusus, as agreed, and perhaps you shall love again in Rome.”

  “Give me time to find Ulrich,” I said. “I need that.”

  “He knows it. I told you. You will be given the opportunity. This is the gift of Tiberius to you, despite your failure in the north.”

  I watched Germanicus, and I waited until he left Rome.

  Gochan and I followed him and then sailed with his fleet to Lesbos, where another daughter was born to him. We went after him on his trips across Syria and Armenia, and I watched him ruling the east. He quarreled indeed with Piso and his wife, as had been expected.

  As Tiberius had instructed Piso to do.

  We watched the fool as he sailed his way to Egypt, against Tiberius’s orders, challenging his authority, for the pup was growing balls, and was drowning on his own importance. We followed him like a dog to the great Antioch, and there, the man was sick for days, weeks.

  There, Sejanus finally let me close to him.

  I was let into the palace that night. There were no guards.

  Sejanus walked me through the empty corridors.

  He smiled at me and picked up discussion, as if we had not been apart for years. He had a way to feel people at ease, something we would all be sorry for later.

  He leaned closer. “Piso feasted with Germanicus days ago, hoping to make peace. The damned governor of Syria has questioned Germanicus’s authority for a long month or two, and while they achieved peace, our lord is sick. That illness made him watch the shadows with quivering fear.”

  “But he is just sick,” I said. Gochan was outside, keeping an eye on the streets. I was impatient, sweating with it, hoping for revenge, but not sure I still would get it.

  I fingered the bottle in my bag.

  He grinned. “Just sick. His lover, a man called Antius, is his food taster, and he had simple cold. This plan of yours is quite evil. I like it.”

  Antius was one of Tiberius’s men.

  Tiberius didn’t need me.

  He was truly doing me a favor, or else he was about to murder me. It was uncommon for him to let one of his servants kill one of his exalted family, though his adopted son as Germanicus was one because Augustus had insisted on it.

  I had failed him, and he had forgiven me?

  No.

  I had solved his issues in Germania. I had killed Armin. He was dead. He had died, unpopular, reputedly violent, morose for his losses, waiting for his wife and son to be returned by those who swore to help him, in vain. He was a tyrant in the making, and Inguiomerus ruled the Cherusci, but little else.

  Thus, died the Summer Sword, Armin the Cherusci, the best of us, and still just a man. His sword was soon lost as Inguiomerus and lesser adelings fought for power.

  I missed Armin’s glory. I missed the hero.

  Rome would rule, but from afar, avoiding wars. Germania was in a state of a shock.

  Tiberius would want something for what I was about to do.

  He would extract the price later. It would be a heavy one.

  Sejanus lifted a hand and pointed at a set of gilded doors, before which fires burned. There were no guards. There had been none before the doors and none in the house. He leaned on the wall, and inside, I heard the sounds of vigorous lovemaking. It went on for a while, and Sejanus was mocking Germanicus, making faces to match each pleasured gasp.

  Then they ended.

  He lifted his finger and pointed at the doorway. I waited by it.

  The door opened, and Antius, a handsome freedman, walked out, tying a robe. He nodded at Sejanus, who nodded at me, and I slipped in.

  I walked in and saw the bed that practically filled the room. There was a table filled with mugs and wine pitchers, all silver and gold, and he was laying on the bed, naked, on his belly
, half asleep.

  I watched him, his beautiful body exhausted from lovemaking. I saw a scar on his back from the pila I had thrown at him.

  He didn’t touch his wife for love, only for the offspring, and if rumors were true, sometimes that seed was not even his, for Agrippina was lonely and had affairs. But he was happy with the arrangement, and Agrippina was as well, and that night, she would be a widow.

  I stood before him, my sword out.

  Antius would testify, if it had to be proven, if Piso would not suffice, how a Germani had killed him. It could lead to me, if there was no other way. I knew it.

  Tiberius would protect himself.

  I didn’t care.

  I walked next to him. I pulled out a familiar arrow and slapped it on the flat of his arse.

  I watched him open his eyes, smiling, thinking Antius was back, and I smiled as he watched me. He said nothing, his eyes didn’t blink, and I knew he thought he was dreaming.

  I slapped him in the arse, this time harder.

  He jumped up and held his arse. I saw the wounds in his thigh and side, and the arrow wound’s scar in the belly.

  “Hraban!” he yelled.

  I put a finger over my mouth and lifted a small, empty clay bottle, placing it upside down next to a drained wine mug. “Antius had the antidote. He should be fine.”

  His eyes went to the empty bottle, his other hand on the hilt of his sword.

  He was swinging his legs around, and I placed the arrow under his throat. He froze. “I don’t,” I hissed, “care to speak to you.” I pulled out another bottle, this one sloshing with liquid and put it next to the empty one. “I don’t want to talk to you about the past, and why you did what you did. I know why. You did everything you did because you are rotten, spoiled shit, and no such shit mixes well with men who expect more from you.”

  “I deserved more than I was given,” he said.

  I smiled. “Exactly. That is why I hate you. Always did. I put it down to your age, but that was not the case. I don’t mind slitting your throat with this sword. But there is one chance for you, Germanicus, sweetheart. Here it is.” I nodded at the bottle. He looked at it. “Antidote. It will give you a chance. You will be sick, and maybe dead, if you are unlucky, but you will have a chance to get a doctor here. You have been sick for a while, and this night, you drank much more than usual. You have perhaps a few moments before your legs won’t work.”

  “Why would you spare me?” he hissed, trembling with fear. “Why?”

  “For your father,” I said. “Drusus. For him. He told me to guard his children. Now, I will want Ulrich. I will spare you this time and kill you another time. This is your choice.”

  He looked at the doorway.

  “All dead,” I said. “Though your children still sleep. Your wife too. I might visit them. I could give this arrow to your wife.”

  His eyes went to it. He didn’t know it but guessed what it was.

  “Gods, Juppiter help me,” he whispered. “Antius?”

  “Antius betrayed you,” I said. “I told you. He is fine now. He drank his share of the poison and the antidote. Later, he shall be dead, of course. Just after I leave, in fact. We must keep some secrets, eh?”

  He shook in his head, the dark, clever eyes gauging me, and ultimately, the sword under his chin.

  I hated him truly. I fought not to kill him then.

  I handed him the bottle. “A show of confidence, boy. Choose.” He took it and unstopped it. I pressed the tip of the arrow to his skin. “No cheating. Ulrich.”

  He took a ragged, long breath, and spoke. “Ulrich is a dog. All this for the hand that did my bidding? I sold him. He is a gladiator, Hraban. He is in the Ludus of Pollio and quite famous now. You cannot kill him. You cannot buy him. You cannot touch him. Pollio knows everyone’s secrets. He is one of the most powerful men in Rome, even if he is lowborn. You shall fail to try to get Ulrich out of there.”

  I laughed. “I will not try to get him out. I have allies too.”

  “Who?” he demanded.

  “Tiberius,” I whispered. “I have been allied to Tiberius since he was an exile. And I also know people in low places. Thank you, Germanicus. Drink up then. Next time I shall kill you.”

  He took a long breath. “You are lying to me.”

  “I am not,” I said. “I am not like you are.”

  He closed his eyes. “Was I not your greatest enemy, Hraban? As good as my father?”

  I laughed. “You are a lucky pup, and not likely even the seed of your father. I wonder if your mother slept with slave. Drink.”

  He nodded and drank.

  I stepped back and watched him die slowly of the poison I had given him. I watched him and smiled, wept with joy, and when it was done, I closed my eyes and nodded at Cassia’s ghost, the one I always saw in my head, watching me from Helheim, and she finally smiled and walked away.

  I placed the arrow in his hand and left.

  Thus died Germanicus.

  Piso was blamed for it.

  And it ruined Tiberius. He was forever looked at like a criminal, and none doubted his guilt in the death of the great Roman. It poisoned his mind, and my failure to kill Germanicus changed him and his willingness to keep his oaths to me. He and Livia, both were blamed, but that is a tale for another day.

  ***

  I entered the tavern. It was one of many for Gernot, and it was located not in the Subura as had been his first one, but near Forum Romanum.

  He looked older, and he was a father.

  He placed his boy aside and spoke to a pretty young woman with a low voice. She gave me a crooked smile, picked up the boy, and left.

  Gervas looked at me, got up, and walked back and forth. “Pollio,” he said softly, “is dangerous. He has the methods of a wolf, and the guile of a fox.”

  “And still, I am going to—”

  He lifted his ivory hand. It was beautiful, smooth, etched with silver. “I shall be able to get you in. You are old for a gladiator. It will be a death sentence. They have a purpose for old men in such places. They are to whet the appetite before the young ones step in. You cannot be helped in there.”

  I pushed my black sword to him. I nodded at Gochan.

  “I won’t be alone.”

  - The story of Hraban shall finish in 2019 with The Oath Keeper -

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