This did nothing to warm the bleak look in her eyes. “We lost four,” she said as if she admitted to a crime.
“And you rescued ninety-six. It was remarkable! Why do you think only of what is lost? All came out exceedingly well, I would say, and it was a fine end to this warring season. In one summer we freed that cursed salt spring—for the third time. We reclaimed all the rich farmlands in the valley of the Wetterau. And Baldemar’s brother now will die on his own soil. Cannot you snatch one moment of pleasure from all this?”
Decius came up beside her. Had they been alone he would have put an arm about her waist, but with the Companions so near he dared not; he contented himself with offering a warm, protective presence. “And you! You are becoming legend, as your father was.”
Auriane’s dark look remained. “Had I persuaded more warriors to join us, those four might have lived,” she said, eyes bright with tangled misery. “The gods alone can help us if we failed to frighten their soldiers out of accepting this new emperor. You are certain Domitian will turn all his fury on us and make war?”
“I would wager my last piece of this boot-leather you call meat,” Decius replied, brandishing a strip of dried venison in her face, “that he cannot restrain himself. For too many years he’s been lusting for battle like a half-starved hound lusts for a fat hen. And here we are, the perfect target—troublesome, defiant, and primitive enough that a good, solid victory is assured. You are baiting a bull and have been for years. If they do accept him, you can be certain we’ll be a sacrificial gift to Domitian on his accession. But this”—he gestured toward the fortress below—“is just one camp. I’ve little notion what’s happening at Argentoratum or at Vetera, or among the legions in the East—or for that matter, at this moment in Rome.”
Auriane was quiet but he sensed it an active silence, in which she never ceased considering, planning.
After a time she spoke. “I did not tell you what I learned from the last meeting with our spies.” She had long cultivated informants among the market women of the native settlement that served the fortress. “The mountain cats are not being taken to work magic against us. Geisar is wrong.” The Romans had been observed trapping mountain cats in pits baited with lambs, and carrying the creatures off, writhing and hissing, in wooden cages; her people had been greatly disturbed by this of late.
“Of course not. But you tell it,” Decius said with an amused smile. She knew he found it entertaining to hear her mangle explanations of his people’s customs, but tried to maintain dignity nevertheless.
“They have built a vast stone temple in Rome, larger than any built before, raised up to the sky by a powerful sorcerer. It is called the Col …Colo…”
“Colosseum.”
“On its altar, men fight men to feed their blood to the sun god, and sometimes men fight and are eaten by animals. The mountain cats are for that. The Romans care not at all that they are our sacred animal. Soon there will be—is this right? Decius, what is wrong?” His irksomely self-assured smile had vanished; in its place was a look that was distant, haunted.
“Pretty close. You found better sources this time. Auriane, promise me one thing. That if ever you are captured by my people and you are certain that escape is impossible—you will find a way to end your life.”
She turned to look at him, baffled by the grim passion in his voice. “Why do you say that?”
“I just had a nightmare vision of you in that place.”
This struck her as odd, for although Decius had an overabundance of opinions about events to come, based on acquired knowledge, he was not normally given to premonitions.
“You’ve no need to make me promise, Decius. I would rather be sold into thralldom to the poorest farmer of the north than be taken alive by your people.” But even as she said it, she realized she did not believe in the possibility of her capture.
Thorgild, who despised Decius and still treated him as a thrall, was listening intently to this and growing increasingly irritated because he understood less than half of what Decius was saying. Normally he would not even address Decius, but Romilda’s mead was strong and they had drunk many toasts.
“Thrall, tell me,” Thorgild broke in with a drunken sweep of his hand, “your people have the souls of slaves—how is it that they have the mettle to refuse this new king?”
Decius felt a flash of anger. All benefited from his knowledge of war, but few, other than Sigwulf or Auriane, ever showed him gratitude. He forced himself to answer evenly, “There have always been transgressions our army will not forgive. Parricide—the murder of a parent or near relation—is one of these.” Decius enjoyed the fact that Thorgild did not catch the meaning of every word and was too proud to say so. “And it is not slavery to give strict obedience to your commanders,” Decius continued as though showing patience with a child slow to learn, “—but tactical wisdom.”
Thorgild shrugged—the explanation did not interest him—and continued to watch Decius with hostility.
Decius ignored him and said to Auriane, “Sigwulf should not have given chase. If the camp at Vetera sends reinforcements, he’s leading your people to certain slaughter. In a day he’ll lose the weapons of iron it took us a year to acquire.”
“Decius,” Auriane said in a low warning voice. A former thrall should not criticize the acts of a free-born warrior.
But Thorgild had heard, and unfortunately, this time, understood. He threw the leather dice cup hard to the ground. “Do you not have some pig dung to shovel, thrall? Auriane, why do you allow this insolent donkey to prance among us?”
Auriane whipped about, low fire in her eye. “Because he often speaks truth, Thorgild. I count it foolish to muddle over where truth comes from, if it serves us well.”
Thorgild was chastened somewhat by the force of that gaze. But as he retrieved the dice cup he muttered to Witgern in a covered voice, “The counsel of that thrall—it will be our downfall.”
He did not realize Auriane overheard. Thorgild looked up to find her standing over him. “His counsel is also my counsel. Or do you also dispute mine?”
Several Companions awakened then and stared at Thorgild. But the red-bearded Companion’s mind was like some heavy-footed, lumbering animal that once set upon a course can manage no subtle shifts.
“Never would I.” Thorgild gave her an inebriated smile, and nodded at Decius. “Unless, of course, the thrall is playing the part of husband with you when no one’s about.”
Before Auriane could recover from amazement, Witgern leapt to his feet and pulled Thorgild up after him. Then he struck Thorgild a blow near the ear that knocked him to his knees.
Witgern stood over the dazed Companion, legs planted apart. Thorgild looked up at him with hurt surprise. “You are not fit to speak her name,” Witgern said calmly. “You’re fortunate that is all you’ll pay for that, Thorgild.”
Auriane felt a twist of sickness in her stomach. Witgern’s trust was so earnest and open. What would they do to her—and to Decius—if they knew? She seemed to attract secret evils like a carcass draws flies.
Auriane caught an abashed look in the faces of the Companions who overheard, and guessed they had secretly shared Thorgild’s thought.
She decided after this incident that she would lie no more with Decius. The decision was a practical one, not one that came from the soul: They trust in my holiness, she reasoned, and I must not snatch that away from them. Now that she no longer counted herself among the outcasts of her tribe, was it not proper to follow her people’s ways once more? She decided it was, though she was not certain on this matter; it was as though tribal law were a garment that was ill-fitting now.
Little did she realize when this decision was made that already it was too late.
When Auriane offered only a token number of the captured legionary swords to Geisar to be dedicated to Wodan in the groves, and granted the rest to warriors of poorer means who had none, Geisar formally cursed her before all the priests and priestesses of Wod
an’s cult. Because of Geisar’s resolve to destroy her, she dared go nowhere without a guard of twenty Companions.
As the first feathery snow fell and fragile ice sheets formed on ponds, word came to them that the new Emperor had been accepted all over the world. And shortly thereafter, a seeress of the Nine came to Geisar following one of her ambassadorial visits to the Mogontiacum fortress; in her hand was an edict from the new Emperor Domitian. No imperial edicts had been handed down for a generation; its arrival brought confusion and outrage to the people. This list of laws was to be read before the next Assembly.
On the morning of the Assembly of the New Moon, Decius traveled from the small plot of land Sigwulf had given him to the hall of Baldemar to help Athelinda and the thralls load the wagons for the four-mile journey to the Sacred Oak. Decius was surprised when Athelinda told him as he rode into the yard that Auriane was still asleep, for the sun was well up. Athelinda explained that Auriane had been ill in the night.
Decius found her in the sleeping-enclosure behind the willow-withy screen at the north end of the hall; she was sunk in exhausted sleep beneath a mound of sheepskins. For a moment he lingered to enjoy the sight of her face, dimly visible in the chinks of light that came through the thatch; peace and innocence lay over her like an extra blanket. This creature, he marveled, appeared anything but fierce; it was difficult to believe she was drawn to the sword as other women were to silks and lovers.
“Auriane,” he said, grasping what should have been a leg and shaking it. She stirred, mumbled some protest, then was up at once, clinging to him, face pressed hard to his chest.
“Let me be,” she mumbled half-coherently, more asleep than awake. “I am not his true slayer…. None say it anymore!”
“Stop that,” Decius whispered. He shook her gently. “Wake up. Of course you did not slay him. Odberht did. Now wake up!” It was a well-worn ritual of reassurance that began in the days when they lived together in the forest.
At first Auriane’s look was lost; then steadiness and womanly confidence gradually filled her eyes as if she relived, in awakening, her own growing up.
Briskly she rose to her feet. “This is a gravely important Assembly,” she said as she strode about purposefully, readying herself, pausing by a great bronze bowl to splash chilled water on her face, then throwing open an oaken clothes-chest and searching impatiently through its neatly stored contents for her white woolen Assembly shift and brown plaid mantle. “We must hurry.”
“Auriane, wait,” Decius said softly. Still she never paused.
“Look at me.” He caught her hand. “Athelinda said you were ill all night. What is wrong?”
She met his gaze, her eyes wells of sadness, then abruptly looked away. “There is not time—”
“There is time.”
She shook her head vigorously, but Decius would not let her go. He pulled her back until she sat beside him on the sheepskins.
“Moss and mistletoe may grow on me, Auriane, but I go nowhere until you tell me.”
She looked down, then whispered it quickly, as if delivering a death-stroke that would be more merciful if swift. “Hear it then, Decius. I am with child.”
Decius jumped to attention, then looked quickly all about to make certain no one overheard, but only Mudrin was close at hand, idly stirring the hearth-pot, and she could be trusted.
“Nemesis!” Decius whispered. “A death sentence!” He put his head in his hands and was silent for long moments.
“Decius, you must not fear for me. I am in the hands of Fria.”
“It’s Geisar’s hands you’re in, you little fool. Gods above and below, why now!” He looked at her. “You cannot have a child by a foreign father,” he whispered fervently. Gingerly he took her hand as if it were fragile as a newborn lamb. “If only this had happened somewhere else, I would have welcomed it! But here! Even Athelinda and all your kin will condemn you. The only one who will rejoice will be that flea-ridden priest. Now you are his—how gleefully he will order your death. You must go to Sigdrifa and have her rid you of it.”
“No. I will have it.”
Decius slowly shook his head. He realized from Mudrin’s attentive but incurious look that the thrall-woman already knew.
Who else knew?
“I know this babe will have no kin-fire,” Auriane said feveredly, close to tears, “and that the babe will not know its own grandmother. No family ghost can enter this child, and it will be cursed by the Holy Ones. But Decius, life has become so barren, so vile, since Baldemar’s…death, I would rather have a child of split soul than die without any issue at all.”
Her look disturbed him. Usually when her eyes were troubled, still playfulness seemed their natural state; he could always sense it poised to return. The misery he saw there now had no bottom.
“You’ll die without issue anyway because you’ll not survive long enough to give this child birth.”
“Not if I go away in the last months and hide among Ramis’ apprentices.”
“I did not think you and Ramis parted on particularly amicable terms. As I recall, a bitch-dog was one of the more complimentary things you called her.”
Auriane realized this was true but had no reply. She knew then that she expected Ramis to look after her, and was startled by this.
By rights, the woman should want to punish me. Why do I assume she will not? Why am I so certain the words I hurled at Ramis on that day long ago were but a storm on the surface of a lake, unknown to the deeps below?
“Decius, I know no one else to whom…a babe is a babe, no matter who fathered it. Like the hills and groves, Ramis does not judge. And there too is this…”
He only half listened, still in a shock of misery.
“This child was conceived amidst victories, Decius. Sometimes between the time of the battle of the Rhine, when we slew a hundred, and the ambush of that foraging party in the valley of the Wetterau, we lay together and made this child. This is my time of strength. It means she—or he—will be potent with the magic of victory. If I die as Baldemar did, without ever driving the invaders from our land, perhaps this child will see it through. So you see, this is a gift to Baldemar as well.”
Suddenly there was an eruption of barking dogs, shouting stable thralls, then the clatter of furiously galloping hooves. Auriane shot up and put a cloak over her nightclothes. Mudrin was closer to the door and darted outside before Auriane passed the hearthfire.
There came the sound of a second horse, as if someone took up pursuit.
When Auriane reached the horse sheds, the field thrall Garn explained to her that a horse thief had gotten off with one of the swiftest mounts. Auriane did not believe for an instant this was a common thief—who would dare creep so near this great hall with mischief in mind, unless they were led to believe they had powerful protection?
When she realized the stolen beast had been quartered in the stall closest to the north part of the hall where she had spoken with Decius, cold terror clamped round her heart.
The theft of the horse was a spy’s cover, she was certain of it. Whoever it was came from Geisar, and she had no doubt the interloper had had an ear to the wall as they spoke.
From Decius’ stricken look she knew the same thought had seized him.
She tensed, thinking rapidly. The thrall who had taken off after the thief would never catch him. Berinhard was swift enough to catch that horse, but the dappled stallion was grazing in the western meadow, not close at hand.
We are done. I should not risk attending this Assembly.
But I must. My counsel will be much needed, for that vile edict is to be read.
CHAPTER XIX
AURIANE, FULL OF FOREBODING, SAT BETWEEN Sigwulf and Witgern in the Assembly’s inner circle. She had taken no food that day because of the sickness brought by the child, though she sipped at Athelinda’s mead. This night was already counted evil; during the opening sacrifice the boar had escaped, goring one of the assisting priestesses before it hurtled off
into the forest. Geisar and Sigreda strove to keep the foul omen secret, but news of it seemed to be carried on the wind.
Geisar stood before them, holding aloft something alien to most eyes—a bronze canister from which he drew a slender papyrus bookroll on which the imperial edict was inscribed. The ambassador from the Nine who carried it to him had been accompanied by a literate Roman courier who was to read it before the Assembly, but Geisar sent the courier off and arranged to have Decius read the edict instead, because the old priest feared he might be forced to relinquish the document afterward. This paper that had been touched by Roman hands and covered with words in their wolf-tongue could be used to work spells against them, in much the same way that magic could be worked with an enemy’s fingernail clippings or a lock of hair.
Geisar raised his staff for silence. The restless torch flame illumined the fierce furrows of his brow, a lean-lipped, downturned mouth, and left his eyes in pits of blackness—the agitated light made it appear the sockets of a skull shrank, then grew large and bold, flickering with lively malice. Sigreda stood next to him with a smile cold as the sliver of moon above, her heavy lids eased half shut; the clouded detachment in her eyes made her appear to have taken a draught. But that swift gaze missed nothing. She was a sleek black carrion bird perched on Geisar’s shoulder, hungering for his death while she studied him, yearning to draw the strength of that powerful venomous spirit into herself.
“I relate to you now,” Geisar cried out in his piercing whine that carried like an arrow on the wind, “the law of the Emperor Domitian, God-King of the Romans, handed down to us free Chattians as if we were his thralls. His titles exceed the numbers of burrs in your horses’ tails. I ask your lenience to allow the foreigner called Decius into this hallowed place, due to the mischance that he reads their tongue. Decius, come forward.”
Auriane felt a pulse of alarm. No one had warned her Decius was to be called into their midst. Was it some trap? If anyone did denounce them, now Decius could be surrounded and might never escape alive.
B007IIXYQY EBOK Page 52
