“No, I—”
“You killed our men. You killed Cerunnos. Teutorigos, his father? He is outside. You should be glad he is still crying over the body of his precious boy, because he’d be ripping your guts out right now, if he saw you here alive. Oh, no. Don’t you hope to survive this,” he chortled, though in reality, I had experienced no such thoughts of hope. “No, you will die. But it is best to die with dignity then be eviscerated. Yes, this crime will be paid back, and we start with your life. We’ll string you up right now, if you don’t speak. Where did your kin take Gisil and the sword?” He kicked me hard on the side, and I yelped.
“Easy, Harmod, ” the older Goth lord rumbled, and spoke to me softly. “Did you come here with the Chatti, boy? Whose warband do you belong to? Or do you truly claim you are not their warrior? I know your speech. You’re from Mattium, or thereabouts.” He had a powerful jaw, and keen, blue eyes. His face was scarred, and his skin leathery and brown, and while his voice was not unkind, I knew he was about to decide on my fate. His men looked on, having lost brothers and friends, and I’d pay the price. This was all so far from Gisil’s vision, me serving as this man’s champion. Perhaps the gods had played her a fool, and were laughing like demented idiots?
“I am a Chatti named Adalwulf, and yes, I was born in Mattium,” I said thinly, not sure how to slither out of the dilemma. There was no reason they’d believe me. “But I didn’t come here with others of my kind. Nor were there others waiting for me. No. I know nothing of this Chatti who supposedly was looking for me! Except—”
“They say there was a Chatti in the town, some days past, nonetheless,” Hulderic said. “He was looking for you, Adalwulf. Explain that.”
I sputtered. “I cannot! And who are “they”? I wouldn’t know why someone would be looking for me. Or, yes, I do.” I hesitated, and decided I had nothing to lose. “I’m a thief. I left them, you see, on a stolen horse. I was looking for work, and a new start. This is the truth, by Donor,” I stated as steadily as I could, looking into his eyes.
He stared at me, and then shrugged. “They say in the village there have been many other Chatti—”
“Many Chatti visit the Hill!” I yelled, losing my composure, and regretted it as Harmod’s foot found my ribs.
“We don’t have time for this,” Harmod said with a voice dripping malice. “He keeps lying, and he won’t speak. If he does, it will be days from now. The Chatti are stubborn, and he thinks he is protecting his kin.”
Hulderic rapped the spear into the floor and dust flew. He aimed the head of the spear my direction. “You are right. Stubborn as a pig.”
“What do you wish to do?”
Hulderic shrugged. “If he tells us where they hole up in, we might get a trail. We have nothing else to go on. But I doubt we get it now.”
“Let me break him, and he will sing like a sparrow. Let it take days. Then we’ll ride—” Harmod began.
Hulderic waved his hand. “He might tell us where the robbers have gone, eventually, but they won’t be there any longer. If they are wise, they will have moved away already. And the Chatti are not stupid. The trail is the best we can hope for.”
“They were not Chatti!” I yelled, and heard commotion outside. Before I could focus on that, Harmod kicked me.
“He’ll speak today, not days from now,” Hulderic said darkly, and poked my side with the spear’s shaft. “He’ll do it as he swings. Few men remain stubborn when the rope tightens and the feet leave Midgard. Some do, but perhaps not him.”
“Hear that, Chatti? Start barking!”
“But—”
“Bring him up,” Hulderic said with a bored voice, looking down at me as if I was a bit of rotten meat as Harmod pulled me around. He tore me up from the floor, and a stabbing sensation left me half-delirious with pain. He tore the cloak off me, slapped my cheeks to make me focus, and pushed me face first against a wall. I tried to move, but he ripped my tunic, and apparently looked at my wound. I had a sickening feeling as he poked at something, and I felt there was a slab of skin and meat hanging loose. “Looks like your rib saved you. Damn lucky! What’s your name again?’ Adalun? Don’t want to hang a man whose name I forgot.”
“Adalwulf, you shit,” I hissed. “Wait! I was fighting for you!”
The Goth lord shook his head and let out a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s why your spear was in Bellows’ gut. Shut your mouth, unless the truth comes out. I live near your lands, Adalwulf. You know this, don’t you? We, the Quadi and Marcomanni, Suebi tribes both, fight your lords every summer. Men we capture are usually honorable warriors. Be one as well. You said they were not Chatti. What are those men, then?”
“They are mercenaries. Some kind of men Leuthard knows, and—“
“Leuthard,” Hulderic said, his eyes in slits. “You are saying Bero is behind this?”
“Yes!”
He smiled. “I guessed this already. I knew it, in fact. Bero. But also the Chatti. They have common interests in pacifying me, and Bero has conspired with them before. Bero hired you?”
“No! Gisil told everyone she was looking for me! She—”
Hulderic turned to a man on the side. “Bero and the Chatti working together to discredit me? To kill me? He is the go-between for the Chatti and Bero’s men.”
“No! I don’t know Leuthard! Or Bero!”
Hulderic whistled, and someone approached. “See here, Adalwulf. I know you have met them. Leuthard at the very least. He the one?” A man with thin hair and a scar on forehead walked forward. It was the man I had fallen on in the harbor.
“That man walked out of Leuthard’s hall in the harbor. Your völva thought he was hurt, and helped him,” he said guardedly.
“I didn’t walk! I fell, after being hit! They were the thieves! Not Chatti! And I was looking for service—”
Hulderic rubbed his face. “And found it, perhaps, with my enemy. You fooled Gisil. Came here, and helped them in. I have no time for this. Who is to blame? It all matters little. I believe Leuthard and Bero are up to no good, and they are plotting with the Chatti. They have before, as I said. You cheated your way inside the hall and helped your friends and so, we lost so much. Teutorigos, his son. I lost my weapon, men, my oathsmen, and I failed to protect them. I have nothing more to say. Here you are, and ready to hang, my friend. Where are they?“
“I don’t know—” I began, but Hulderic slapped my back, nodded at Harmod and Harmod spat, grabbed me by my neck, and dragged me for the door. It took no time at all to reach it, and I practically flew.
“I’ll show you how we did it in Gothonia, boy, when the Svearna or the Saxons had to be strung up. They sure fit in nicely with pinecones, believe me, friend. Their corpses were green after a week, like fresh cones, or brown like the ripe ones, if it was hot. It’s a rare skill to hang a man to match the color of the fruits. Be happy! While we don’t let you die too fast, you’ll not feel much. We’ll split your gut with a spear in the end, Chatti. Sing a song, and I’ll just crack your skull fast.”
“Wait!” I yelled, but he didn’t and then I was out.
A man, older and a bit rotund but powerfully built, was there, hunched over the body I took to be that of Cerunnos. As he got up to look at me, his eyes light with a desperate need to kill me. It was clear as a nose on a head. Harmod left Hulderic to talk with the man, and I was dragged past the stables where a lonely beech tree stood.
“I know,” Harmod rumbled. “Not a pine. You’ll have to settle for this.”
We reached the tree, and there, the preparations didn’t take long at all, as the rope was ready, and it was hung around my neck very deftly. My back was a mass of pain, and as I struggled, Harmod punched me in the wound, hard enough so I could barely speak, and then I felt my feet leave the ground. There were bearded, gleeful Marcomanni pulling at the rope, and Hulderic, Teutorigos, and Harmod were standing under the tree, and the Celt lord held a hasta, a wide-bladed spear, ready to give me a death when I had suffered enough.
<
br /> I fought to speak. I had no breath, no air, and then, I managed a sentence, spittle flying. “They will use … the sword for something evil.”
I don’t know how long I hung there, but I heard them speaking, harshly arguing, and then I kissed grass.
And passed out again.
CHAPTER 6
When I woke up, my state had vastly improved. There was a bed, and my wound had been dressed, though the ragged thing burned like someone had stuffed a smoldering coal under my skin. The pain throbbed through my ribs, making my head, and even teeth, ache. When someone placed a horn full of water on my lips, I let part of it drip on my chest, as the cool liquid felt wonderfully soothing on my skin. Then I gagged, because my throat was sore, my neck itchy.
“You hung me,” I stated the obvious, assuming there was a guard there, nearby.
There was.
“I also took you down. Why? I’ll need to know some things and perhaps we were hasty,” I heard a gruff voice, Hulderic’s. He sat in a shadowy alcove with me, and a man wearing a dirty tunic bowed his way as he left the sleeping corner with the water.
The hay on the bed rustled as I tried to sit up, but decided against it and instead just rolled on my side. “Gisil—”
“Gisil is a völva, and we have a good … had a good relationship,” he said with a strained voice. “I do not wish to discuss her with a criminal. I don’t need the lies.”
“I’ve got nothing to do with what they did,” I coughed. “Not a thing, unless serving as a scapegoat.This odd Chatti must have mentioned me before they killed him. They wanted to leave me here, dead, so you would think the Chatti did all of this.Gisil helped them, the poor girl. Didn’t know she was doing their bidding. I didn’t lie. I fought them.”
He leaned forward, his eyes burning with simmering rage. “And yet you know what they mean to do with the sword? I say “they,” and I could say “you,” but I play along for now.”
I nodded like my life depended on it. And it did. “Because I heard them speaking in that hall by the harbor. Because your man Bellows tricked me into entering the hall, and hoped I’d hear things, and I did. And I didn’t kill Bellows, and I’ve been framed, you see?” My head swum with pain. “They said Bero wanted the sword gone from the Hard Hill. They also wanted to have a man in here to blame. To muddle the issue. And I have no idea who this other Chatti was. I know they killed him. Leuthard was very upset at this Raganthar for that. They know each other from the past. Some sort of band they have, odd and dangerous.”
He sat there, mulling it over for a time, looking at me keenly, and I had no doubt other men, in other times, had been thus judged. His son, Maroboodus, his enemies, and friends alike had been found guilty, and he was not a man to be trifled with. Finally, he shrugged. “And they knew you were coming?”
“Many knew I was coming, probably from this other Chatti. Gisil knew as well. But that was different. She had seen me in a vision. I tell you, she had had a vision from Freya that I’d fight for you. I’d stave off your death.”
“Stop,” he growled.
“She said it,” I sulked, and wiped sweat off my face. “They needed a Chatti to blame, had heard of me, and were looking for me.”
“So why not use this other Chatti? The one they supposedly killed and interrogated?” he muttered.
“He had visited Balderich. Probably shared his mission with the old man, so he couldn’t be blamed. They wanted me. Nearly did catch me, too. I got lucky and escaped.” I shook my head in despair. “In the end, it mattered little. Gisil brought me right where they had wanted me to me.” I stammered. “Well, it did matter a little. I fought well and I fought for her. For you. It cost them many lives. Your brother Bero is responsible. How did that scarred man from the harbor get here?”
He shrugged. “He is one of mine. Gisil and Bellows didn’t know about him. I have many spies. He wasn’t sure you actually escaped Leuthard. He thinks it was an act. Granted, he is not the sharpest spear in the warband.”
“I fell on him after they tried to murder me,” I murmured. “It was no act.”
“I see,” he smiled. “So, tell me about Gisil,” he said harshly. “Since she rescued you and spoke of this … vision, you probably know something of her as well? Or did she just bring you here to be healed, being a kind-hearted girl, and you betrayed them and opened the door for the curs without even knowing her? Tell me about her.”
I was gulping and shaking my head. “She—”
“Tell me of her. And perhaps something of Bellows?” he smiled and cocked his head.
“You sent Bellows here, and he settled in the smithy. He was a coarse bastard. Nay, a true bastard. He never knew his parents,” I said.
Hulderic grunted. “True. They died of hunger when he was young. What else?”
“Gisil said you treated her kindly when she lost—”
“She lost much, and I did help her,” Hulderic interrupted as his eyes bore into mine. “She trusted you enough to tell you about her past?”
“She did,” I said with anger. “I’d told you, before your man began to kick my head in,” I cursed. “You weren’t interested.”
“Possibly,” he allowed, but his voice suggested he would take no more temerity from me.
I felt breathless and waved my hand, and he waited as I steadied myself. I felt my throat, which was raw and sore, and it was hard to speak, but I tried. “She told me something. Not much. She probably lost her husband. And her mother, another völva. She was obviously … hurt by what she has endured. But she is loyal to you. She said she respects you, and had a vision of me some days ago. That I’d help you. Help you survive.”
He snorted. “You nearly hung at my hands. Might still. Don’t try to weasel your way into my service. Surely she would have mentioned it to me. ”
That notion sobered me up, and I concentrated, and spoke frankly and to the point. “I don’t know why she didn’t. She has left messages around Hard Hill, guidance for me to find her. She has. Ask Herold of Highwater.”
“Herold of Highwater is Bero’s oathsman,” he said simply.
“Who isn’t around here? But she had left messages! I helped her. I fought for her, and for the hall, and your sword.”
He eyed me with doubt, and finally grunted. “I’ve been lied to a lot in my past.”
“Your son, Maroboodus—”
He slapped a hand on his seat. “I’ll not speak of Maroboodus with you. Did she? Truly?”
“Some,” I said carefully, and begged the gods I’d not anger the warlord further. There was something about the man. While it was clear he was rich, powerful, and noble, the stories of the Goth blood and ancient bloodlines rang true and he could be very cruel at a whim. “She spoke of your troubles, of your grandsons’ issues. She said you do not wish to discuss Maroboodus, his theft of your ring, and your past in the north.”
He calmed, and I could almost see the anger leave him, cheered by the mention of Hraban and Gernot. He thrust his legs forward and leaned back. “Hraban and Gernot. The best mischief Maroboodus ever created. Those two are trouble, more than I thought, but I guard and love them. Maroboodus is a subject I do not touch with anyone, and not with a rogue Chatti I just had swinging, especially. But I see she trusted you well. As for Gisil, I liked and trusted her back. Its not always so with a völva, for they are intractable and irresponsible and have their own agendas, but so do the vitka. Especially those Bero pays for. Gisil is young, about your age. I took care of her when her mother died, and when her husband and son were taken by the fever—”
“Her son?” I gasped.
He smiled and looked to the rafters. “And she didn’t mention that, did she? That’s the thing that broke her. You survive the loss of a loved husband. You endure the loss of a mother. But a son? Yes, her son died. A beautiful boy he was. I’ve never lost a son.” He looked embarrassed, as he had just claimed he would not speak of Maroboodus with me. “Or perhaps I have. He’ll never forgive me. Wouldn’t be surprised i
f he tries to murder me one day. Gisil is precious. I say, “is,” as I keep hoping she’s alive. She is a seidr mistress, boy, can charm a man and a beast, but she could do that without her spells, as she is beautiful, wild, fun, and special. She touched your heart, I see.” He smiled wistfully, and I could see she had touched his old heart as well.
“A bit,” I said with a blush. “Though I don’t know how. What does it mean, such brief affection? Nothing? Everything? Not sure what I should tell her, if I see her again. I just sat there and stammered as she sat before me, probably cheating in dice.”
He smiled. “She has loaded dice, boy. She can’t help herself when it comes to gambling. And as for the rest, you won’t know what she thinks if you don’t do anything about it. Love depends on the man, more often than the woman,” he advised me with a chuckle. “My Erse was like that. She wanted me to act, and not wait for her to speak out. When two uncertain souls love, it takes a tediously long time for the spark to ignite. We wasted years like that, and I have to say, it’s a miracle she waited for me. Remember this. If you do speak out, you might get rejected, son. Better know sooner than later.” He leaned over me and scowled. “But be careful with her. She has had a rough time. You can only imagine. Their family did well that winter, as well as they could. They laughed one day, and died the next, and gods only know why.” He shut his mouth and looked embarrassed. “Not sure this advice will do you any good, since I might still string you up.”
I ignored the threat. “You speak as if I have hope of seeing her again. You believe me, then?” I asked him.
He ignored my question. “After her family died, we put the corpses in a high tree, roped them there to keep the wolves off. Draped them in thick pelts to give the birds a pause.” He breathed a sad, long breath. “When we hoped to burn and bury them in the spring, he was gone.”
Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) Page 9
