by Griff Hosker
Trygg came over with a rueful look on his face. “Thank you for my sword Roman and you were right about the black one.” He looked over to the horse which stood defiantly a hundred paces away. “Will you and Drugi recapture him?”
Marcus grinned. “No he will come.” Taking an apple from his bag he held it aloft and shouted, “Cato! Cato here!” It looked for a moment as though it would ignore the command but then it galloped towards the group. Snorri and the bodyguards scattered but Trygg stood his ground as the stallion came up to take the proffered apple.
“I can see that I have much to learn Roman.”
“Look on it like this. If I tried to sail your ship what would the result be after five lessons?”
Enlightenment lit up the chief’s face and he nodded as he rubbed his back. “You are also wise. I will ride the mare and we will see if there are any Suebi left to hunt.”
Marcus would have enjoyed the hunt for the Suebi had it not been for the brooding presence of Lars. Lars, whose scarred face seemed to bore into Marcus’ back as the warband trotted through the forest, Lars whose mutterings seemed somehow threatening and Lars, whose hand never strayed far from his dagger. Marcus resisted the temptation to turn around and say something. He was acutely aware that he was just a slave. He saw that Drugi had noticed Lars’ attention and the look on his face told Marcus that his friend was not happy about it either. The rest of the warband were in good spirits. It was the first time that Trygg had led them from the back of a horse and they all thought he looked almost kingly. The chief, for his part was not confident and, despite his smiles, was clinging to the mane of the mare. Marcus rode next to him and said, quietly, “Relax. She is a gentle horse and she will not throw you. Use one hand on the reins, as I do, and sit lower in the saddle.” The chief looked dubious but he did as instructed and he smiled as he found the motion easier and that he did not fall off.
“I think it will be a long time before my warriors ride.” Trygg’s dream of a mounted warband had faced with his crash to earth from the back of the black stallion.
“Were I you I would not use my older warriors as riders.” Marcus pointed at the king’s sons whose ponies were darting through the trees, their riders fearless. “I would use the boys. Train them on ponies and when they are big enough you will have a fine herd of horses for them to ride.”
Trygg nodded as he digested that information. There was a roar from their right and, turning Marcus saw yet another wounded Suebi being butchered by the jubilant Tencteri. The unfortunate corpse was stripped of anything valuable and the warband moved on, already enriched by the plunder from the dead. “Drugi go ahead, take the Roman with you and see where they are.”
Drugi grinned and loped off. As they were moving through trees there was no disparity in the speed of the hunter and the speed of the horse. Marcus resisted the temptation to speak, he knew that Drugi would be listening for clues to the Suebi whilst smelling the air and looking on the ground. Being higher up gave Marcus a better view and a movement up ahead caught his attention. He gave a short whistle and Drugi looked around. Marcus pointed to their right. Tying Cato to a tree Marcus and Drugi slipped through the woods. Hearing a noise they dropped down on all fours and began to crawl through the tangles and snow covered undergrowth. The bushes above their heads were covered in snow still but to their right they were bare having had the Suebi survivors trampling through them. They were a sorry sight. There were but fifty of them left and they were resting in the clearing. It was obvious that they did not know they were being pursued for it was two days since their attack. The disadvantage of fighting in winter was the shortness of the days. The Tencteri had eaten well and rested whereas the Suebi had expected to feast on Tencteri provisions.
Drugi tapped Marcus on the shoulder and they backed out. When they reached Cato, Marcus mounted, leaving Drugi to keep watch on the raiders. As he rode back to Trygg Marcus reflected that he had the same understanding with Drugi that he had had with Macro and he had with Rufius, that ability to know without speaking and act with the confidence that your partner would be there for you.
“The Suebi are up ahead. They are tired and there are but fifty of them.”
His eyes eager with anticipation Trygg asked, “How far?”
“A thousand paces.”
The chief turned to Snorri. “Split the men into two groups. You take one to the west and attack the enemy. They are a thousand paces ahead of us. I will take the rest.” As Snorri led his band away Trygg slipped from the mare. “I think I will fight better on foot.” Although Marcus felt happier on a horse he knew from the tone of Trygg’s voice that he expected the slave to join him. Reluctantly sliding off Cato he tied them both to a tree, along with the ponies, and then, as an added precaution against theft, he hobbled them.
Marcus found himself on the left side of the chief as they moved purposefully through the woods. Suddenly materialising from a bush Drugi stood and held his finger to his lips. He pointed forwards and held both hands up twice. Trygg understood, the enemy were twenty paces on the other side of the bushes and trees. The chief waved his men to either side of him and then, drawing the Sword of Cartimandua led them forward.
To call it a battle was ridiculous and to Marcus it was not even a skirmish. The fifty warriors they fought were tired, hungry and dispirited. They had been driven from their target by arrows and water. They were humiliated. The eighty Tencteri were rested, fed and fresh. They were undefeated and they were hungry for revenge. It was no contest and none was left alive. Trygg ordered his men to decapitate the Suebi and he had the heads placed on sharpened stakes in a semi circle facing Suebi land; a warning to other Suebi that they crossed the grotesque barrier at their peril. As they rode back to the citadel Marcus couldn’t help thinking that fighting in a warband was no different to fighting in a turma, as long as you won.
The reception afforded to the returning warband was all the sweeter for the chief as he rode in on Magpie for all could see their leader, the conquering hero. Behind him his sons were just as proud as they rode back on the ponies, the blood spatters on their tunics showing that they had been blooded in this, their first battle. As they rode close to the rocks on the beach Marcus stole a glance at the unfortunate warrior who had been executed there; his bleached body already showing the ravages of the unseen sea life. It was a reminder to Marcus that he was still in a precarious position and he too, could end up as food for the fishes.
The trouble began at the feast. Drugi and Marcus had tried to get out of it; Drugi did not enjoy that kind of thing and Marcus just wanted to be with Frann but the chief was insistent that the two slaves be honoured for their defence of the citadel. Marcus wondered if they would be given their freedom but Trygg was too clever for that. Whilst they were slaves they had to heed his orders. As freedmen they had choices. Neither Marcus nor Drugi drank much but the Tencteri did. A trader from the east had arrived and brought with him a consignment of the clear spirit they brewed across the dark sea. It was a potent drink and already many warriors were passed out having failed to drink in moderation. Marcus had been aware that Lars was consuming great quantities of the spirit and the Roman hoped that he too would pass out because he was becoming tired of the aggressive stares from Lars and his brothers. Marcus was wondering when he could slip away when Drugi grabbed his arm and pointed. Lars had left. His brothers were lying in a pool of their own vomit but Lars had disappeared. Fearing the worst and dreading what he might find Marcus leapt to his feet and raced out of the hall. Drugi was close behind.
There were no sentries at the gate which was wide open. Cursing the lack of discipline in the warband Marcus ran even faster to his hut. Before he got there he could hear the screams from Frann and the drunken voice of Lars.
“You little bitch! I’ll show you pain like you have never felt before. That whore of a sister of yours took hours to die; you will last but a moment.”
Marcus kicked the door open and there, with her legs spread wide lay a terr
ified Frann and between her legs was Lars. The only weapon Marcus could see was the branch of a tree waiting to be chopped into logs. He picked it up and struck Lars so hard that he fell off Frann and over the fire. Marcus helped Frann to her feet and put her behind him. Lars roared to his feet, his head bleeding heavily from the blow. “You fucking slave! Now you will die and then I will fuck your whore to death!” He pulled out a wickedly long sharp dagger and advanced towards Marcus.
Marcus edged to his right saying, “Frann, get out and find Drugi.”
“I am not leaving you.”
“I can fight him if I am not worrying about you, now go!” He did not see her go but the quick blast of cold air behind him told him that she had left. Marcus knew that the blade would rip him open if he allowed the barbarian to close with him and he needed a weapon. He kept edging right until he reached the fire. Without taking his eyes off Lars he reached down until his hand found the end of a log from the fire. He held the smouldering brand before him. It was little enough but he could use it to keep the drunken man at bay until he had worked out a strategy to defeat him.
Lars feinted with the knife and Marcus swung the brand, an ember flew off and struck Lars in the face, enraging him even more. He moved surprisingly quickly for a large drunken man and he leapt at Marcus with his dagger aiming for Marcus’ eye and his other hand, aiming for Marcus’ throat. The Roman managed to halt the dagger with the brand but the hand found his throat and the rapist began to squeeze the life from the Roman. Lars was a powerful man and Marcus felt himself backing out. In desperation he reached up with his left hand and, finding Lars’ one good eye poked as hard as he could. He felt the eyeball and tried to tear it out. Lars reared up screaming and Marcus could at last breathe. Unfortunately he had lost his grip on the log and, weaponless, he dived at Lars’ legs, knocking him to the ground. The blade of the knife came around in an arc and Marcus held on to it for all he was worth. He felt the point inexorably turning into him and he grabbed it with both hands. He looked into the scarred face of Lars and saw his own hand had severely scarred Lars’ cheek. The red rimmed eye told Marcus how close he had come to blinding him and he was suddenly filled with anger. “You are a sad rapist and you are going to die.”
In answer Lars spat a gob of blood and phlegm into Marcus’ face. He remembered something Gaelwyn had told him about fighting. And with all the force he could muster he rammed his knee into the groin of the half blind savage. The shock and the pain momentarily relaxed his grip on the knife as he half rolled away and the momentum carried Marcus’ hands upwards to slice through the stomach and into the heart of Lars who died with an expression of shock on his scarred and bloody face. Marcus rolled over on to his back, eyes closed, gasping for breath. When he opened them he saw Drugi and Fran peering down. The two of them looked sad. Drugi said, “I am glad he is dead for he deserved to die but I wish it was not you who killed him.” Marcus looked up, not understanding the meaning of the words. “You are a slave and you have killed a freeman, and Lars has brothers. This is not ended Roman.”
Marcus and Frann discussed fleeing but they had nowhere to go. It was the middle of winter and, although Frann was barely pregnant, she was pregnant and Marcus could not risk his unborn child in a foolhardy dash across the peninsula to the coast. As Drugi pointed out they would catch them anyway. Even if they did evade their pursuers what would they do when they reached the coast? How would they get a ship? They were slaves and had no money. Their only chance was for a ship to come to Hjarno-by and for them to stow away. Even that seemed ridiculous as they had only seen one trading ship since they had been at the citadel. By the end of the night they had decided that Marcus would have to stay and face whatever consequences resulted from the killing. He knew that it was a matter of honour and blood honour at that. There would need to be blood shed at the very least.
“Whatever happens we need to get some money, coins, gold, whatever it takes to buy a passage on a ship. If nothing else the death of that piece of offal has clarified my thinking. From now on we work out how Frann and I can escape.”
Drugi shook his head. “No Roman for if you and Frann escape then I would have to be with for my life would be forfeit. Our destinies are bound together.” He looked at the ceiling, “The hawk saw to that. Your brother was a clever man Roman, and he still plans and weaves.”
Marcus remembered then that Macro’s mother had been Morwenna, one of the cleverest and most devious planners he had ever encountered. Although they had bested her there had never been anything wrong with her planning, it had always been the mistakes of others.
They decided that the best course of action was to see Trygg early in the morning and explain what had happened. It would not mitigate the crime but their honesty would put them in the right, initially at least. Of course when Lars’ brothers found out then everything would change.
The hall looked as though a whirlwind had whipped through it. Bodies were scattered everywhere with spilled ale and discarded food. Someone had gone out in the night and the doors left open so that a chill wind made it a cold and sparse space. As they entered the hall Trygg and Snorri were just coming too. “Ah Roman, I see that you truly are wise and know when to stop drinking. I think Thor has his hammer inside my head this day.” He suddenly saw that the there were three of them and that they looked serious. “What is amiss? Have the Suebi returned?”
“No chief, although if they had , then they could have walked in and slit your throats for the gates of the citadel were left open all night but that is not why we are here. There has been a death.” By now others were waking up. Trygg climbed the dais to his seat and, wrapping his wolf pelt around his shoulders he gestured for them to continue. “Last night Lars tried to rape my pregnant woman.” It had been on the tip of his tongue to say wife until he remembered that he was a slave and could not marry. “When I stopped him he pulled a knife. We fought and he is dead.”
Snorri snorted, “I knew we should have thrown you overboard Roman. You bring bad luck to this land.”
“Snorri! Did he bring us bad luck when he saved our lives with the boar? Did he bring us bad luck when he saved the citadel? You are a brave and loyal warrior Snorri but you have the brains of a fish! Now be silent and get that fire lit. It is colder than Hell in here.” Snorri reddened but went off to organise the fire. “The brothers of Lars will want blood for this. Yours, Roman, and I am helpless to aid you.”
“I know Chief Trygg. I am a stranger to your ways. How are these things settled in your land?”
“The family who are aggrieved fight with the taker of blood. They would fight you blade to blade but as a slave they would wish to fight you without you bearing arms.” Frann gave a small cry and grasped Marcus’ arm. The chief gave a sympathetic smile. “If it was up to me I would allow this Roman a weapon but it is up to the council and they will decide. Where is the body?”
Drugi spoke. “Outside my hut.”
“You six, take the body to Lars brothers. You three had better stay here. Snorri, summon the council.” Trygg shook his head. The Norns are cruel Roman, they give you hope and then they snatch it away. Even with a weapon you would struggle against Lars’ brothers for they are fierce and worthy warriors.”
Lars two brothers were both younger than the scarred savage but they had the same evil look on their face. They stormed into the hall with daggers drawn. Snorri’s voice roared out. “How dare you dishonour the chief with drawn blades! Sheathe them or suffer the consequences.”
The two men reluctantly did as ordered, but then rushed towards Marcus. “The younger of the two, Carl, pointed an accusing finger at Marcus. “This slave murdered our brother and we demand his life.”
Trygg nodded and turned to Marcus. “What have you to say to this Roman?”
It was a subtle difference but Trygg had called Marcus a Roman rather than a slave. It was wasted on the two brothers. The older, Stig, laughed. “It matters not what he says for he is a slave.”
Marcus
spoke quietly. “Your brother tried to rape the slave Frann and then he attacked me but the gods were with me and he died by his own blade.”
The reference to the gods and the suggestion that they had sided with Marcus infuriated the brothers who both shouted at the same time. “We demand his death!”
Marcus’ and Trygg’s words had not been intended for the brothers but for the council who waited to one side. Trygg addressed them. “What does the council rule?”
The ten men spoke quietly for a while; Frann nervously gripping Marcus’ arm in fear. The oldest shaman stepped forwards. “The slave did kill the freeman Lars and the brothers have the right to his life but Lars violated the hut of Drugi the hunter and this gives the slave the right to defend himself.”
Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. The council could have decided that he could be killed whilst bound. Stig and Carl grinned at each other. “The slave can not have a blade.” They were anticipating a slow death for Marcus as he tried to defend himself with his bare hands and they would hack him to pieces, slowly.
