“And a serpent doesn’t have wings.”
“Auriane—!”
The lift of that chin, that will of bedrock, Witgern thought. What am I to do with it? “Get behind me, I command it! I gave my word to your fa—”
“No one commands me. And if you haven’t the mettle, I’ll answer to Baldemar.”
A moment later Decius took a place beside her. Somehow he’d found a spear, probably purloined during the confusion when all were awakened. Auriane heard Thorgild mutter, “That thrall better pray he’s felled—it’s kinder than what I’ll do to him if we live.”
“Leave him be,” Witgern whispered to Thorgild. “The Roman swine fought against us—now let him fight for us.”
Decius called out in a sharp whisper, addressing them all, “Move closer together—much closer—now, shields together. And down on your knees!”
“Decius, what are you doing!” Auriane whispered.
“A speaking thrall,” Thorgild muttered. “Next we’ll come upon a talking mule.”
But in the next instant Auriane realized—Decius is right. Our bodies are better protected that way.
Auriane then ordered softly, “Shields together!” Then she repeated all Decius’ words—he spoke their language so poorly she was not certain they’d understood.
Witgern looked at her, offended at this usurpation of his authority. But when Coniaric hesitantly obeyed, followed by Thorgild and then the majority of the others, he reluctantly did likewise.
But Maragin and two elder Companions, whom age had made stubborn, remained standing; they could not forget that the command was first spoken by a thrall. For the rest it made no difference from whom the words first came; Auriane had rendered the command acceptable by speaking it herself.
Decius commanded, voice low, “Do not break from this form, even if they attack only from the south side—it could well be a ruse.” Again Auriane repeated his words.
From the thickets below rose the dark, discordant moans of many war horns. Spears arched up; they filled the sky, then rained down, a lethal hail thudding hard against upraised shields.
Auriane cried out “Wait! Hold your weapons!”
Decius looked at her, amazed—she spoke the very words he meant to say. He judged the spears had been fired from a light war engine; their quarry was still at a distance no mortal arm could hurl a spear. An answering volley would only have divested them of weapons. He wondered, how had Auriane known? I told her of catapults but I did not tell her of anything like this—indeed, I’ve never seen anything quite like this myself. They have improvised weapons.
Spears struck wood and threw up turf; as their rhythm began to slow, Auriane heard a hoarse cry at her back. Maragin and the two elder Companions dropped, writhing, to the ground.
The thought was common among the survivors: They acted against the words of a ganna, and for it, they died.
Auriane covered the dead men’s faces with their cloaks. One high, short blast sounded, and the enemy moved out from their cover, halting just beyond spear-casting range. Auriane and Witgern crawled forward, parted the grasses and looked down.
“Mother of the gods! We are done,” Witgern whispered.
Sunlight gleamed on a small sea of helmets. Upraised spears were thick as marsh grass. The warriors wore the woad-dyed blue tunics of Wido’s Companions; one raised high the standard, a bristle-backed boar carved in wood. They were but a detachment of all Wido’s Companions and they numbered three hundred. In the rear were horsemen in scarlet-crested helmets and glittering mail; by the design of their iron-bound oval shields she knew they were men of the Roman native auxiliary cavalry—doubtless some were the same men who had taken part in the raid.
“Prepare the attack!” Witgern shouted to his own men.
Auriane stared at him in disbelief. “Witgern, no. You see our numbers are pitiful against them!”
“That counts for little in the afterworld. We fight until we die.”
“No! We know what they want.” She grasped his arm. “They want me!”
“I failed Baldemar once, I’ll not do it again. I pledged to protect you unto death. We fight them!”
“That is madness! I cannot let everyone die in a doomed effort to save me. I shall surrender to them. You are not yielding me up—I go of my own free will.”
“No, Auriane. How does it look, me returning fit and unharmed after leaving you behind in that nest of nidings, to be wife to that pig-ox of a son of his?”
“It makes you look like a man who cares for the lives of his men. Better one life of misery than that all of us should die.”
“I cannot!”
“Curses on your pride! Share my fate then. Follow me into captivity and let the rest go.”
From below a coarse, jubilant voice bellowed, “My friends! Have you had enough or do you want more? Send down the daughter of Baldemar and you will suffer no more harm.”
She recognized the voice below as Odberht’s. Taking Witgern by the shoulders, she said, “If you share my fate, Baldemar will be kind. At least, you did not leave me. You might get free one day. As for me, be certain, whatever they do to me they shall first have a good fight.”
Witgern looked restively down, then at the force arrayed below, and then at his own men, who had lost all taste for fighting because Auriane’s heart was not with it. All the while he scowled and adjusted his eye-patch, believing this helped him appear less indecisive.
Auriane did not wait for his reply; she approached Hylda and asked for her white cloak. As she passed Decius, she whispered quickly so only he could hear, “Farewell, great and good friend.” To her amazement Decius seemed near tears. He’s gotten dirt in his eye, she told herself.
Then she returned to the edge of the slope, holding the white cloak aloft. White was the color of truce because all that was white belonged to Fria who was called Weaver of Peace: the winter snow that parted armies, the clouds that were her thoughts, the shining white of the moon that was her raiment.
On the plain below, hundreds of spears were lowered as if by one hand. Auriane looked back at Witgern. After hesitating a moment longer, he walked at her side.
She did not realize the relief and joy of those behind her or the love and pity they felt for her then—she who bought their freedom at the price of her own.
Auriane saw Odberht on a forbidding black stallion that must have been provided by his Roman masters. He grinned at her. The bone handle of his sword was studded with rubies; his mount’s bridle was inset with flashing medallions of silver. She kept her aspect calm, but within, her spirit collapsed in despair before the polished hooves of that steed.
I cannot have come to my end. Ramis, is this your curse, after all? Look at Odberht. He is licking his lips like a dog.
She fought panic by taking stock of all about her, measuring with her eyes the space between horses, noticing how they were armed, who was alert and who was not. She looked for the contrivances that had shot the bolts and realized they must have been loaded into the wagons that followed the march.
Odberht threw a length of cord to a young Companion. Auriane’s and Witgern’s hands were bound behind them and they were put on horseback; another Companion secured them by lead-lines. Auriane judged that in two nights’ time they would be in Wido’s camp; from there, escape would be almost impossible.
Wido retired to his tent within the timber walls of the ancient Celtic fortress. Rain pelted the leather roof, causing his bones to ache. A sentry entered with a thin nervous youth called Cerdic who carried Wido’s messages.
“The maid’s been taken,” Cerdic announced. He had galloped ahead of Odberht’s company to break the great news. “They’ll arrive by sunfall, tomorrow.”
“She is unhurt?” Wido asked, not allowing himself even a fleeting triumphant smile, too aware of how all good news carried the seeds of the foul. He pulled fretfully at his scraggly mustache, then gradually allowed himself to indulge in a bit of pleasant contemplation.
That is well! Baldemar t
ricked the people into hating me. When his daughter’s one of us, they’ll have to eat that hatred. The golden luck Baldemar always hoarded for himself, he’ll be forced to share with me.
Grimelda was planted solidly behind Wido, engaged in changing the dressing of a sword wound that had nicked an upper rib; her eyes glimmered with displeasure at this interruption. Her stout red-blond braids were thick as an arm; they stuck out in a way that the messenger might have thought ridiculous, had she not made him so uneasy. When Grimelda was about, a man thought of one thing: Where is her axe? Almost any misstep could fire up that temper, except for one of Wido’s—her husband she indulged like a child. In fact, she behaved as though Wido were her true child, and her natural children cur-dogs that got in her way.
Grimelda held Wido firmly in place, enveloping him in her fleshy vastness, giving a deep grunt as she pulled hard at the dressing. Wido cursed at the fresh pain, pulling away from her, which caused her to coo a stream of affectionate curses. The boy debated briefly whether that repellent rotted-cheese odor was coming from Grimelda or the wound.
Beneath a breast that put Cerdic in mind of a partially deflated wineskin, he saw the handle of her axe.
“She has some minor wounds that are her own fault,” Cerdic answered, taking a small step back that he prayed Grimelda would not notice. “We felled fifteen of them when they were taken,” he lied boldly. “Baldemar’s men surrendered like sheep. But later, we lost three of our own. She got loose, somebody untied her bonds and—”
“I suppose that beef-witted son of mine didn’t find out who.”
“—she fought like a polecat, they say. She killed them with their own weapons. But they’ve got her securely now.”
“That son of mine will be my bane,” Wido said, shaking his head so that his serpent curls lashed Grimelda across the face. “The boy needs more discipline. Cerdic, you’ll ride back with these words—and say them so that Odberht’s Companions can hear them. Tell them I have decided Odberht’s not to be given the maid at all. She goes to Ullrik—yes, to the idiot rather than to him.”
A sharp voice behind Wido intruded then.
“I forbid it.” The words came from a Roman emissary who had been quietly listening from a shadowed corner of the tent, a decurion of cavalry called Claudius Hilarus, who kept a close eye on Wido now that Branhard was dead. “Nor will his Eminence the Governor allow it. Your warriors would never follow Ullrik into battle.”
“Hilarus, one day you’ll say, ‘I forbid it,’ one time too many and end up in Grimelda’s soup,” Wido said with smooth malice. “Do you think I’d throw away all we’ve been given?—drown me in the mead cask on that day. Trim those Roman claws—of course Odberht still gets the maid. I just want my son to think otherwise for a while.”
Cerdic intruded uneasily, “My lord, there is one more matter I was charged to tell you. Odberht’s men caught and tortured one of Baldemar’s messengers—we’ve learned Baldemar’s daughter is the slayer of the missing cavalry Prefect, Valerius—”
“What is this?” Hilarus hissed, rising slowly to his feet. He pressed closer, the tendons of his neck standing out prominently, a hot flush beginning to spread across his stolid face. “Say it again, lad?”
“—Sylvanus…,” Cerdic finished with the falling tones of one who realizes he has said too much in the wrong company.
Hilarus turned to Wido. “By the brow of Minerva, I am among savages. She is a common murderer. Wido, if this be true, you must hand the maid over to us for execution.”
Wido required a moment to catch up. Then with oily slowness he turned, meeting Hilarus’ gaze, masking feeling with a tight, contained smile.
“Hilarus, you’ve a gift for getting in my way when a half-starved bear has the wit to stay off from me. She is no murderer. She killed a man of the Hermundures who invaded our lands. It’s not her fault he was who he was. She is mine, you unholy thief-in-the-night.”
“If the victim were of lower rank, I could accede to you, Wido.” Hilarus was a creature of dulled instincts and he unwisely chose to regard Wido’s rage as the temperamental fit of an excitable boy. “But she murdered a man with family ties to the Emperor himself, and he must be given an accounting.”
Only the boy Cerdic noticed Grimelda slowly drawing out her axe, but his throat clenched closed and he couldn’t squeeze out a word of warning.
“I say no to you, and I will hear no argument,” Wido said, settling back into calm as if that settled the matter.
Cerdic watched, paralyzed, as in one rolling motion Grimelda and the axe rose up together. The boy tried again to cry out; all he managed was a frightened squeak. In her enthusiasm Grimelda heaved her bulk forward as she brought the blade down on the back of Hilarus’ broad neck.
Thuk.
The boy fainted. Wido took a moment to collect himself. Then he bellowed for his guards. As they crowded in and looked about, stupefied by the sight of blood everywhere and the still-twitching corpse, Wido was regarding Grimelda with a proud and loving look.
“Better about the place than fifty guard dogs, my dear Grimelda. Take him out. And the lad, too. What a mess.”
Wido thought swiftly. Bury the Roman slime in the deep forest. We’ll make up a tale for them. This one won’t be badly missed—he held no great rank among his people.
“And cut the boy’s throat,” Wido added as an afterthought as the guards were dragging out Hilarus’ body by the feet. The boy Cerdic could not be allowed any chance to spread lies about his son’s bride. “And send me another messenger for instructions, at once!”
But what if the lie makes its way to the Governor? I will deny it, Wido decided. I’ll say Baldemar’s men invented it to add much needed grandeur to his crumbling name. Surely Julianus will not be fool enough to sacrifice his influence in the whole of the north for one miserable cavalry Prefect, kin to their Emperor or no.
Auriane shivered beneath a deerhide blanket, her back against the rough bark of a pine. She saw a bent form lurching toward her through the night, bearing a steaming bowl of gruel, and was cheered when she recognized Ullrik’s hobble-and-skip. Odberht had doubled her guard since her attempted escape; ten warriors stood about her in a ring. But they paid no mind to Ullrik; the boy might have been a squirrel nosing about the camp.
Ullrik spooned the gruel into her mouth, for her hands were bound behind her back. Something pale and ropelike snaked through the wet leaves behind him. She realized Odberht or one of his comrades had tied a string of badger tails to the back of the boy’s tunic to torment him.
“Blessings on you, Ullrik,” she whispered between gulps. “Once again, they forgot to feed me.”
Ullrik leaned close, doe-soft eyes opened wide. “My brother comes now,” came his childish whisper in her ear, “to do an evil thing to you.”
Auriane felt her stomach tighten. “Ullrik, what are you saying?”
“My brother has just been told you are to be given to me, and not to him—and he’s in a fit of wrath over it.”
“Does Wido mean this truly?”
“No. He would never marry you to me.” The words spoken without rancor were the more pitiful to her. “But he’s made Odberht believe it. He is on his way now to…to…”
“To have one last chance at what’s to be taken from him.”
“I am sad for you. I am….” Ullrik put his hands to his head and half turned away.
“Ullrik, that drinking horn you carry—it is of Ubian glass, is it not?”
Ullrik nodded eagerly, the smallest flash of proprietary pride in his eyes.
“If you’ll give it to me, you can have my silver and garnet necklet in exchange.”
“But you cheat yourself. The necklet is worth far more.”
“That is no matter to me.”
“Here, then—I give it to you.” He tied the glass horn to her belt, then fanned her cloak about her so it was concealed. “I want nothing in exchange.”
“Ullrik, no. You have so little….”
> “Ullrik gives a gift to his kind sister.”
“Ullrik, if I live and Baldemar is victorious, I will send for you. You will be treated with kindness among us, I promise it on my mother’s name. You can serve Baldemar as a messenger.”
Five lurching torchflames approached to the accompaniment of leather-clad feet tramping in mud and leaves. Ullrik froze where he crouched, tipping the gruel, which slopped onto the ground. Auriane looked up. Lit by torchlight was a thick sweating face with a soft, pursed child’s mouth, Grimelda’s snout, and eyes that were flint-hard but vague—Odberht.
“Look, Ranulf,” he said to one of his Companions. “Did we catch them in time? I believe my wicked little brother was ready to mount the bride before the wedding. And is this young cock to be blamed? Look at her!”
He raised and lowered the torch as if to show off Auriane to his Companions. “Behold the disputed maid—strong, well formed, firm of flesh. This young mare’s still half wild—she needs a better rider than you to tame her, little brother. She’ll throw you off.”
Auriane flattened herself against the tree, feeling the blank fright of the prey-animal cringing before the predator’s claw. Odberht hoisted Ullrik to his feet, then, grunting with the effort, heaved him into the brush with a great crash.
“Brothers should share, don’t you think?” he called out to Ullrik as he hurriedly unbound Auriane’s legs. “You’ll have her all the rest of your nights. I promise to return her just as I found her—well, almost—don’t look for her maiden’s veil.”
Auriane fought to conceal her terror, sensing it would incite him the more. She shut out the picture of what had befallen her mother for fear it would send her into a fit of madness.
Odberht prodded her down the path, her hands still bound behind her back. Ranulf and the others followed at a short distance; Odberht knew every man of them might be needed to restrain her.
The path sloped sharply downward. Soon the air was like the breath of serpents; she guessed they approached a marsh. A high moon, nearly full, was reflected in oily water; they had come to the bank of a reed-filled pond. She sensed no love in Fria’s eye; that moon seemed to measure and warn. But she found meager comfort in the water, which by nature takes the form of whatever is about—it is lost, it finds itself again; it is bright, deep, eternal, its water-sounds full of whispered assurances to the dead.
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