by Trevor Bloom
Silence fell.
They waited.
Ascha lifted his head. The crowd opened like a flower and Hanno came out. A new blue tunic, his hair swept up and tied in a knot, a jawline Ascha could have carved from stone. Hanno was accompanied by the baby-faced Cherusker Ascha had seen the day before. They were laughing at some private joke. Ascha shook his head. His mother always said Hanno could strike up a conversation with a rock and leave it thinking it had found a friend for life.
Behind them came Wulfhere.
Ascha folded his brow. What was Wulfhere doing with Hanno? Wulfhere looked up and caught his eye. He gave Ascha a wolfish grin and traced a slow and lazy forefinger across his throat.
And then Ascha knew.
Wulfhere had left his watch during the night. Wulfhere had told the Cheruskkii where Hroc and the hunters were hiding. Wulfhere had betrayed them! He saw Wulfhere turn and speak to Hanno, saw Hanno’s smiling response. Wulfhere must have been working for Hanno all along. While he was bedding Saefaru, Wulfhere was not visiting his cousin, he was taking Hanno’s messages to the Cheruskkii.
Ascha swore. How could he have been so blind?
There was a long delay and then Radhalla appeared followed by a bodyguard of Cheruskkii warriors.
Radhalla of the Cheruskkii was a powerfully-built man dressed in a winter tunic of white fox, a mail-coat sand-scrubbed until it gleamed and a black woollen cloak. Ascha took in a thick neck roped with muscle, a whirlpool tattoo in the middle of a low brow, like a third eye, and a head too large for his body. Radhalla walked heavily, like a brown bear dragging its feet, and was followed by the biggest bodyguard Ascha had ever seen. A huge brute with thighs like tree trunks, a heavy brow and a tassle of dirty yellow hair.
Nobody spoke.
Radhalla walked over to the Theodi hunters, and Ascha heard him ask Besso his name. He did the same to Wado and Ecga. As Ascha watched, the Theodi filled their chests and squared their shoulders almost as if, without realizing it, they wished to impress the Cherusker warlord.
Then Radhalla was before him, and he was staring into eyes as cold as snow.
‘What’s your name, boy?’
Ascha glared at him with hatred. ‘Ascha, son of Aelfric,’ he said.
Radhalla’s eyes narrowed, scrunching the tattoo on his brow.
‘Aelfric’s son?’
‘Yes.’
He felt the Cherusker assess him coolly.
‘You the hostage who escaped from the Franks and travelled home overland?’
Radhalla’s voice was low and gravelly, as if dug from a dark and ancient pit.
He considered not replying and then curled his lip and said, ‘I am.’
‘It was well done.’
‘It was nothing,’ Ascha spat. ‘I doubt they missed me.’
‘Maybe.’ Radhalla said, inclining his big head. ‘But if a hostage of mine had escaped I would hang the man responsible. And you should not make light of what you did. It was boldly done. Few northerners have travelled so far without the sea road beneath them.’
Ascha was taken aback. He frowned, uncertain how to respond. He hadn’t expected honeyed words from Radhalla. He had the strangest feeling that the warlord of the Cheruskkii knew more of him than he would have wished.
There was the sound of a scuffle and a group of Cheruskkii burst into the yard. They were dragging a man behind them, pulling him by a strip of rawhide around his neck.
Hroc!
Ascha saw that his brother’s arms were bound tight. He was dirty and smeared in mud. One eye was puffed and almost closed. Hroc’s top lip was split open like a sausage and blood flowed from the side of his mouth.
A moan swept the Theodi, like the lowing of a great ox. The Cheruskkii fingered their weapons and looked about them edgily. Hroc was dragged to the middle of the yard. He stood there, swaying, his chin raised towards the sky. Beneath the bruises, Ascha saw his brother’s face was the colour of ashes.
Radhalla acted as if he had not seen him. He put his hands on his hips, head jutting forward, and addressed the crowd.
‘My name is Radhalla,’ he said. ‘And I am hetman of the Cheruskkii nation.’
He paused and looked about him. ‘Let us consider why we are here.’ He held up a stubby finger. ‘You are a small clan, remote in your marshes. Your only hope of survival was to become part of our confederation. But what did you do?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You formed an alliance with the Franks, that’s what you did. You sold your souls for Frankish silver.’ He swung his head from side to side as if what the Theodi had done was beyond understanding. ‘Couldn’t you see what an insult that was?’
They waited in silence.
‘Tiw be thanked, you came to your senses. Hanno invited us in to restore order, and we were happy to do so. Now that Hanno – Aelfric’s true heir – is your rightful lord once more, we can welcome you back to the fold.’
There was a shout and a teeth-jarring clash of weapons from the Cheruskkii.
‘I am a generous man and I will give you a chance,’ Radhalla said and his mouth creased in what could have passed for a smile. ‘For too long the Romans and the Franks have grown fat on the blood of others. Now, that is going to change. You will join us as we drive south. We will crush them and make their land ours. We will – ’
‘Lies! Lies! Don’t listen to him, my people!’ Hroc yelled.
A Cherusker stepped forward and smashed Hroc in the mouth, bending him to his knees.
Radhalla clenched his jaw. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
‘That was stupid,’ he said quietly. ‘Very stupid! You have no power here, Hroc. You do not rule any longer. You are a nothing!’
Hroc worked at something in his mouth and then spat out a nugget of bone. ‘You were my father’s friend,’ he said, his words slurring. ‘He trusted you.’
Radhalla looked at him, his face expressionless.
‘I’m a patient man, Hroc,’ he said, so quiet that Ascha strained to hear. ‘You could have joined us after your father’s death but you wouldn’t listen. Stubborn, that’s what you were. I’ve got no time for people like that. Hanno here showed more sense.’ He waved his hand in Hanno’s direction. ‘He’s a clever lad is Hanno, has the interests of your clan at heart. It’s thanks to him that your people survive today.’
Hanno moved forward and bent low over his brother. ‘It needn’t be like this, Hroc,’ he said, his voice silken and assured. ‘Accept me as your oath-lord and tha’ll have all the honour and riches tha deserves.’ He reached out his hand. ‘Come, I am the elder after all, and I was our father’s first choice. What does tha say, Hroc? Will tha swear for me?’
Hroc rose to his feet, wincing as he did. He stood unsteadily, his weight on one leg. The Cheruskkii moved in, alert for any sudden move. Hroc looked around. He seemed calm and unbowed as if he had resolved his uncertainties of the night before and knew now what he must do.
He spat once, clearing his mouth of blood and muck.
‘I am Hroc, son of Aelfric, hetman of the Theodi people,’ he said with a thick voice. ‘You all know me as a man of honour. I have ridden the wave-road and cut my way to glory in a thousand battles. I have made more slaughter than any man here.’
The Cheruskkii watched him carefully, fingering their weapons.
Hroc turned to Hanno and the pink-faced Cherusker.
‘Hanno, tha’s my brother and I love you before all others. Tha swore to serve me loyally, but tha’s a traitor to thi clan and an oath-breaker.’
‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ Hanno snapped. He went to move away but Radhalla and Sigisberht remained where they were, their eyes fixed firmly on Hroc. Hanno scowled and stayed put.
‘And Sigisberht,’ Hroc said softly. ‘You were my friend. I trusted you’
Sigisberht smiled a cold smile, his face blank of all emotion.
The Theodi held their breath. The Cheruskkii waited, impassive. Ascha closed his eyes, counting the moments going past.
/> Hroc drew himself up.
‘I will give you an oath,’ he said and spat blood. ‘I swear by Tiw and on my father’s memory, let me live, and I will come for you. And when I do, I promise you, I will destroy you all.’
There was a stunned silence.
Radhalla moved his big head slowly up and down. He turned to Hanno and Sigisberht and raised his shoulders, palms uppermost as if saying, what do you expect after that?
Ascha could not take his eyes off them. Sigisberht looked bored. Ascha saw that Hanno had gone as pale as parchment. He had been made to look small and was struggling to control himself. The tip of Hanno’s tongue slid across his lips and there were white spots on his cheeks.
He turned to Radhalla. ‘Do as you will,’ he snarled.
There was a long pause and then Radhalla said softly. ‘Very well, take him to the pool.’
The Cheruskkii took Hroc back down the track to the sacred pool. The rest of the hunters were driven along behind him, herded by Cheruskkii spears and followed by a crowd of wailing onlookers. They gathered at the pool, ankle deep in muddy water. Hroc stood alone, his arms bound behind his back and his head bowed. Ascha got as close as he could until the Cheruskkii shoved him back. He gazed at the scene in horror.
Silence, save for the breeze blowing through the aspens and rippling the surface of the water.
Hanno stepped forward. He took the sacred bundle of the Theodi from a Cherusker and held it above his head. In a clear rich voice, unblemished by doubt or uncertainty, Hanno offered up a prayer to Tiw, asking him to look kindly on this sacrifice. When he’d finished he nodded.
‘Do it!’
The Cheruskkii pushed Hroc forward.
Ascha felt as if time had stopped. A cold chill ran down his back. There were screams and wails from the Theodi women.
‘Wait!’
He looked up to see his mother pushing her slight form between two burly Cheruskkii. She was breathless and her face was flushed as if she had been running. Her shawl trailed over one shoulder and the hem of her skirt was smeared with mud.
She glanced at Hroc and then turned to face Radhalla. She held up a small green flask, held it high so that all might see it.
‘The potion!’ she said to Radhalla, her voice thick with contempt.
The crowd murmured. Ascha saw Radhalla staring at his mother as if he had seen a ghost. She stood small and defiant, dark eyes flashing. Lost in the moment, Ascha was confused and then he remembered. Transgressors and malefactors were always drugged before execution. It dulled their senses and made their journey to the other life easier.
The Theodi held their breath.
Radhalla slowly shook his head, not taking his eyes off the woman.
‘I want him to know what is happening here,’ he said.
He gestured with one hand, and the Cheruskkii stepped forward and pushed Ascha’s mother back.
Ascha’s mouth opened in horror. He screamed Hroc’s name and lurched forward. A Cherusker hit him in the belly with the butt of his spear and another punched him on the side of the head. He fell in the mud. Two Cheruskkii grabbed his upper arms and lifted him to his knees and held him tight. He wanted to cry out but his tongue was too thick for his mouth. He shook his head, struggled and looked down at the ground in despair. Then he watched as a rope was thrown over the limb of a birch and noosed around Hroc’s neck. Five Cheruskkii formed a short line. They wrapped the rope once around their forearms and took up the slack. Ascha craned his neck, his breath coming in short pants. There was a strange look on Hroc’s face, as if only now did he realize what he had done. He stood chin tilted high, his wrists bound behind his back, his mouth open, and his chest rising and falling in great breaths. When he saw Ascha, his lips curved in a faint smile and one eye closed in a painful wink.
He and Hroc had never been friends, but Hroc was his own flesh and blood. He turned and cried out to Hanno. Hanno, tall and fair, his hair blowing softly, glanced at Ascha and then looked away. Radhalla gave a signal, no more than a flick of his fingers and with a shout, the Cheruskkii ran, their legs splashing and squelching through the muddy water, dragging Hroc up by the neck.
An anguished moan from the Theodi as Hroc swung, dark against a cold grey sky.
The crowd fell silent. They watched Hroc dangle, legs thrashing and listened as the rope squeaked against the bark of the limb. Hroc stopped kicking, the rope was released and Hroc dropped like wet sand.
Two Cheruskkii picked up Hroc’s body and threw him face down into the pool. A wicker hurdle was tossed over him and a young Cherusker, grinning at his friends, jumped into the water and climbed on top, pressing Hroc’s body down into the mud, forcing him into the limbo between earth and water, between this world and the next.
The wicker creaked and the water boiled.
The hurdle rose and like a sea monster from the deep, Hroc’s head and shoulders reared from the water, rivulets coursing down his face, his mouth stretched in a grisly yawn.
The Cherusker rolled off the hurdle with a dull splash.
The Theodi surged forward. The Cheruskkii laid about them with their lance-butts, beating them back.
Ascha forgot who he was. He dropped to his knees and howled as he watched the agony of his brother’s death. He had heard that condemned criminals sometimes found the strength to heave the death weight from their backs and snatch a lungful of air before they finally succumbed, but never did he think it would happen to his own kin.
More Cheruskers waded into the pool.
To the jeers and catcalls of their friends, they threw the hurdle back over the body and flung themselves upon it, pressing Hroc down into the mud. Others scrambled on, kicking and splashing in the water, laughing like children on a raft.
There was a final twitch of the hurdle and then no more.
13
The hunters were thrown into a hut along with some of the villagers the Cheruskkii had rounded up in the marshes. The hut was small and dark, the floor slimy with piss and goat shit. The hunters peered anxiously at each other as they shuffled their feet. That night, a great cold fell upon the village. Ascha and the others stood for as long as they could, packed together under the thatch, until weariness forced them to lie down in the freezing filth and try, with muttered groans and curses, to sleep.
The villagers were taken away the next morning. The hunters waited. Some time later the Cheruskkii came for Besso, then Wado and Ecga. The following day, they came for Morcar. The boy pleaded and sobbed. He wrapped his arms round a roof post, dug in his heels and refused to move. The guards kicked him and beat his hands. Ascha and Tchenguiz held on to the boy’s arms but, with spear-points at their throats, there was nothing they could do. They boy was dragged away, wailing.
He and Tchenguiz were the only ones left.
‘What does tha think will happen?’ Tchenguiz said.
Ascha squatted with his hands folded into a fist against his brow, his eyes closed. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘Will they kill us?’
‘Maybe,’ he said.
Tchenguiz slept. Ascha leaned back against a hut post, listening to the rhythm of the Hun’s snores and went from one part of his life to another, trying to make sense of it all. The shock of Hroc’s death could not have been greater, but he knew he had to move on. He felt both uneasy and relieved. Uneasy, because he had no idea what would happen or what he should do. Relieved, because the waiting was over. What did he care if the Theodi were overrun? He was a Frank now and owed them nothing.
But he also knew it wasn’t that simple. The game had turned and he was going to have to choose whose side he was on. To choose Hanno and Radhalla stuck in his craw – Radhalla had murdered Hroc and possibly his father too – but to choose Hroc meant death.
Ascha screwed up his eyes and saw Hroc rising from the water. He shook his head and shivered. Whatever his faults, Hroc had not deserved such dishonour. If he survived, he would have his revenge. Of that he was certain.
Ou
tside, even the dogs were silent.
Late afternoon and they heard voices. The door opened with a kick of a stranger’s boot and his mother came in, ducking under the wattle. She was carrying a basket draped with a red cloth. She stood in the doorway wrapped in her shawl, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She put down the basket, embraced Ascha and gave Tchenguiz the briefest smile before handing them the food she had brought. Two loaves, a piece of cheese and a few scraps of cold meat and sausage, wrapped in a knapkin. The bread was still warm, and the smell of it filled the hut.
They fell on the food while his mother sat back on her heels and watched. When they had eaten enough to think straight she looked at Ascha and spoke.
‘Hanno has held an oath-swearing,’ she said briskly in Latin. ‘He has promised his protection and gifts to any freeman who swears to serve him.’
His first thought was relief that his friends still lived. ‘And if they do not?’
She shrugged. ‘They have all sworn: Tila, Ulfila, Wilfred, Taki, Putta, Tota, Mucca, Wado, Ecga, Duduc, even Besso. What else could they do? Hroc is dead and they are lordless. Hanno is hetman, and the Cheruskkii hold the town. We are in their pocket.’
It took him a moment to grasp what she had said. His brother’s body was not yet cold and already Hroc’s friends had gone over to the Cheruskkii.
‘I’ll never swear,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I want faida. Vengeance!’
She looked at him and then took his hand and leaned forward, her face close to his. ‘Listen to me,’ she hissed under her breath. ‘Don’t be a fool. Save yourself! Give them what they want and they’ll soon lose interest. Your precious faida can come later.’
‘You want me to forget what they did here?’ he shouted.
She put a finger across his lips. ‘Forget, no.’
‘What then?’ he said more quietly.
‘Harbour it. Use it. Make it work for you. Wait until the time is right.’
‘And then?
Then do what you have to do.’
‘Which is?’
‘You will know when the time comes.’
‘You always told me that only dead fish swim with the tide,’ he said sourly.
