Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  I swallowed. “I will do this. So I survived a hanging, eh?”

  “You survived a hanging,” Hulderic agreed. “And you seek a new lord.” He smiled, and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was that of a friend, and I felt like a fool for having entertained thoughts of glory under another banner. His would do very well.

  “Shall I leave, then?”

  “Yes,” Hulderic said. “This night. You are weak, but they will heal you in the Red Hall, and I suspect Balderich will let you live there. He is lonely, and often entertains those who seek his justice. Do not go to Bero’s hall, even if they swallow your bait.”

  “What if they spied this hall and the hanging? They saw me taken down?”

  Teutorigos grinned, but it was a dark, evil grin. “Hulderic lied. The rope is not lonely. We strung up one of the corpses in your place soon after. One of the bandits. As ugly as you are.”

  They had expected me to say yes. Hulderic had probably believed I was innocent before I even woke up, and guessed much of the matter on his own. “I see,” I said dubiously.

  Teutorigos grunted. “And for not asking for a reward greater than service to Hulderic, I shall give you one.” His face was gray, as if a man who would lose something precious.

  I nodded carefully. “A gift?”

  ‘Yes,’ he said huskily. ‘So take this,’ he said, and handed me the hammer. “They didn’t take it, for some reason. If you truly wielded it with such ferocity it killed most of those bandits, then Cerunnos was partly avenged. Our gods will approve this gift, like your Donor no doubt would.” He gave me the fabulous hammer, and I took it, wondering at the great, priceless gift. It’s weight made my wounds ache, but I didn’t care as I pressed my forehead on the gory metal of the thing gratefully. Teutorigos went on. “It has a name, but you give it a new one when it’s all over. Use it until the killers have suffered like I do, and then give it to the gods, like I gave my treasures away. Name it as you let go of it. Swear you will.”

  To let it go? I fought the idea, and gazed at the man’s eyes, not sure I could do as he asked. But he expected an answer, and so I gave him peace of mind, as much as I could. “I swear. I’ll give it to the gods, with a new name, when your son has been avenged.” Then I frowned, and looked at the two great men. “Won’t it look strange a hanged man left for dead should carry such a thing around?”

  Hulderic spoke. “Use your imagination. You’ll need it in this nasty business, and especially when you deal with Leuthard anyway. Perhaps you tell them we sacrificed it to the river to gain the god’s favor, hoping to regain the sword, to honor Cerunnos, and so that the gods would give us vengeance. Many lords give precious gifts to swamps and rivers when stricken by grief,” he nodded at Teutorigos, whose eyes had not left the hammer, and I knew it was terribly hard for him to let it go. “Tell them you woke up after you were taken down, left for dead, that you found the river and dived the weapon out. Tell them you wish to bash it across my skull. Bero will like that. Balderich might frown that you stole from the gods, but then, they might see you mean business. Remember,” he said emphatically, “to call me a murderer, tell them you will ask for wergild, beg to be allowed to slay me, if I refuse to pay. Bero will wish to hear you out, even if he doesn’t trust you, knowing you were fooled on his orders to take part in this treachery. But perhaps they shall have you in their ranks. Just be crafty, Chatti. I think you shall do well. You have a speck of deviousness in you, don’t you? Horse thief, and a fighter. And when you find out anything of worth, send word to Teutorigos, and we shall all think of a way to regain the blade. Find out where it might be.” His eyes glittered with anger, and I felt sorry for anyone who might displease this lord.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  He looked troubled. “We found one of heads of the servants you sent riding to fetch me,” Hulderic said, and peered over at the Celt, as the lord looked down, holding his face. “Something ate his flesh,” Hulderic said finally. “His face—”

  “Ate?” I asked, feeling cold hand of fear claw across my back. “Animals?”

  “Be careful, Adalwulf,” Hulderic said. “Our family is not the only one touched by the gods. Do nothing alone. Let the girl in Balderich’s hall know what you plan. She’ll know what to do. Her name is Ingrid.” He got up, and looked down at me. “And as for Gisil, if she truly saw you coming, saw you helping us, knew your name, even, then there is hope, yes?”

  “Yes, lord,” I said, and felt there was no hope in my heart.

  “And try to find out about this other man who died before you arrived,” he said. “This other Chatti. It could be important. Take your horse, say you stole it from the stables and escaped. Good luck.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Once, I saw father bait a predator, which had developed a taste for our cows. It was a bear, that much was evident from the huge tracks, one of the great, rare mountain ones, but still a weird one, because it seemed to disappear in the depths the mossy glades and woods of Mattium, where so many people lived. None ever saw a glimpse of it. Hunters went after it, trackers set up traps, but it kept coming back, three, then four times, and took more animals, near exclusively from our halls and estates.

  Father had taken an older cow, one intended for a sacrifice later in the year, and removed it to woods that evening. He bled the poor thing, and I watched as the old animal suffered and shuddered in its misery, mooing its unhappiness across the hills, and we waited. The bear’s luck ran out, it appeared that night, sniffling the air, but we were downwind from it, and it sensed nothing. It charged the cow, grunting with excitement as it loped along, and that was the end of it. It was pelted with arrows and javelins and it died a quick death, and its fur gave us warmth in the coming winters and we ate well, thanks to it. No better food than bear’s haunch.

  The cow, of course, died. We ate it as well.

  I felt like the cow as I stood waiting in front of the Red Hall, hoping to be allowed before the seat of Balderich, the highest man of the Marcomanni, grandson of the great Aristovistus, whom Caesar beat across the river. He had been informed of my request to meet him. He had been told the reason.

  And still I was kept waiting. An hour? More? Snake-Bite was in their stable, eating well, but not I.

  Balderich was clearly in no hurry to receive me. I felt dizzy, hot, hurt, weak, and also angry, as one would expect more hospitability from such a famed Thiuda. Of course, I came with accusations, not gifts, and I might have been something to be forgotten, until I slunk away.

  While I sulked, I thought about the dilemma.

  Bero would not buy it. I was sure of it. Didn’t he deal with shady liars all day, every day? Didn’t he practically manage Hard Hill, trade and alliances? And a simple Chatti was to convince him with a simple lie? No. I was the sacrificial cow that had survived one bear attack, and an animal like that isn’t suddenly the best in the flock because the bear didn’t kill it. No, the cow is still the one least wanted by its masters.

  And in my case, a potential cause for embarrassment.

  I had a hunch Bero would consider me a risk, and he didn’t take many, did he? How would I get close to them was a mystery. Hulderic thought too highly of my worth, I was sure.

  So, that left me with the other option.

  To be their enemy, and to find a way to Leuthard. First, I had to find the favor of Balderich, unless I wanted to sleep in the stables. My throat and neck ached, and I massaged my shoulder, trying to forget the throbbing pain on my back. I should have died. Whoever checked on me after the fight was a sloppy fool. But gods bless the fool.

  I groaned, and ran a finger across the rash on my neck.

  By Woden’s balls, I had hanged. Hanged! Not long, but hanged still.

  Now I was working for the man who had done that to me, to retrieve a sword he thought was important, both to him and the Marcomanni. A simple sword still. Another wanted me to use his hammer to fulfill the oath to revenge Cerunnos. Both were mad. I was not being fair, I knew, and I was aware
I was looking for reasons to ride away from the doorway and the hill, and never to come back.

  Another part of me was angry. Angry at Hulderic for hanging me?

  No, it was all Bero’s fault.

  All of it. He had planned on using me as bait. That made him an enemy.

  And I felt something for Gisil.

  I felt sorry for her, naturally, but also anxious, and I knew her unknown fate wouldn’t be meaningless to me. It would bother me forever.

  In fact, I thought I loved her.

  I couldn’t deny it. It was stupidly mad thing to let one’s fate be guided by such a simple, fast, and one-sided romance, but there it was.

  I forgot about my doubts and stood there, despite the many pains and frustrations that were mounting up. I fidgeted and cursed, as the ache in my back was horrible. It was throbbing with molten pain, and I struggled to stay upright, but the Marcomanni guards stared at me relentlessly, and so I would not move or show weakness. They saw the chafing around my neck, and they could see the bandages under my bloody tunic, and still they offered me no comfort, and I thought Balderich was a bastard. I’d fall before I would kneel or sit down.

  I heard commotion, and turned my head, noticing a large group of men riding up the hill.

  One was Bero.

  There was the brother of Hulderic, and the highest man in the tribes after Balderich. He was tilted in his saddle, his long dark hair blowing in the wind, his forked beard glimmering with silver, and his chainmail made him glitter in the sun. His wealth no longer impressed me, his power made me sick. There were others with him. One, Fulch the Red, was the thick man with ruddy face, a leather helmet on his head, and a very long spear, and a champion who obviously lived in the nearby hall, because someone young and fleet rushed out to greet him from there. I smiled as his daughter dashed from their elaborately carved doorway to clasp the man’s leg, and the man, to my pleasure, could not help but smile. She was ten, twelve? Tall for her age. Looked devious as a squirrel and climbed like one, as she tried to scramble up onto her father’s saddle.

  One man, huge, like a malignant shadow, cast back a leather hood.

  He didn’t smile, probably never, even when something joyous took place.

  Leuthard.

  His eyes squinted at the girl, and it was clear he found her annoying. The bald, huge man sat on an equally huge, dark horse, and adjusted the famed sword Feud Settler, an ancient spatha on his side and glared at Fulch, as the girl’s happy whoops disturbed the horses. He looked ready to call her a pest, and deal with her accordingly, and Fulch sensed there was trouble brewing. The thick warrior looked back at Leuthard, gazed hard at the man, then at Bero, who shook his head, and so the father of the girl steered them aside, spat with disgust, and didn’t look back. He took her to their hall, and slaves rushed out to deal with her, but not before she pecked him a kiss.

  The rest rode past me.

  Bero ignored me.

  He didn’t know me, of course, I realized. He gave me a glimpse, and rode for the stable end of the Red Hall, but Leuthard’s eyes grew large and guarded, though briefly furious, as he saw me. I looked back up at him, fighting an unreasonable bout of fear. He stopped his horse and sat there, surrounded by warriors.

  Bero noticed something odd was happening and turned around lazily. “Who’s this, then?” he asked after a while. “Someone who has insulted you, Leuthard?”

  I stepped forward, shook my head arrogantly, and answered. “I’m Adalwulf the Chatti, and here for justice.”

  “He is a …” Leuthard opened his mouth, but shut it. He stopped short of betraying his master, and went on with a sarcastic voice. “The Chatti.” His eyes looked at Bero, who sat on his horse, until his eyes enlarged, just briefly, his hands clutched the bridle, and his face lost color.

  “The Chatti?” he breathed.

  Leuthard chuckled at him, softly like a mad man who enjoys danger and is bathed in madness. “Looks like something the dogs dragged from the woods, leftovers, torn and worn. They do that, when they’re not hungry.”

  I dragged out the hammer from behind my leg and leaned on it. I scowled at the warlord of Bero, and my displeasure made him laugh. It was a horrible sight, as if his jaws would dislocate from the effort, but he did laugh and shook his head at me. Bero pointed a finger at the weapon. “You are that Chatti we hear about? The murdering thief? And you are here for justice?”

  “What Chatti is that, Lord Bero?” I asked, cocking my head at him. “I only know one Chatti in Hard Hill, and that Chatti was betrayed and wrongly accused these past days. I keep hearing rumors there are many, though. I was just nearly killed because of these other Chatti I know nothing about.”

  Bero cursed under his breath, but Leuthard lifted his hand.

  “We heard there were others,” he said with a carefree voice. “It is reasonable to assume there was a plot by your people to hurt your worst enemy in the Marcomanni ranks.”

  He knew I had heard him. He was toying with me. Or did he? Perhaps he was testing me, not sure I had heard anything at all. I lifted the hammer over my shoulder, and Leuthard’s eyes followed the weapon. Had he seen me use it? Had he been there that night? “I’m a Chatti, and my only crime was to seek a lord to serve. None believed me. Not one. They tortured me in that accursed hall, and my honor has been pissed on by everyone living on this shitty hill. I fought the robbers, and then the ones who should have thanked me hanged me. Here, again, people look at me like I am a liar. I hate that. I hate Hulderic, that old Celt, and I hate my luck, but should I hate someone else? Do you think I’m a liar?” I felt myself shaking for the effort. It was the best I could do.

  They sat there, looking at me steadily. Bero’s face betrayed interest, guile, and greed, as he probably thought how best to use the former sacrificial cow, but Leuthard was scowling, distrustful, and with a good reason.

  His face hardened.

  He wouldn’t risk it. Bero would, but not him. Gods be cursed he was there that morning with the brother of Hulderic.

  He would reject me.

  Or, I thought, he will accept me, just to kill me later in peace. I felt dizzy with the lies.

  Bero nodded at the hammer as he looked at me closely. “I’m not sure what to call you. But I do see many reasons for an innocent man to be upset. If you are one, indeed. For a hanged man, you do look mighty springy. And wealthy. Quite a weapon. That belongs to the Celt, doesn’t it?”

  “A mighty weapon,” Leuthard said, scowling at it. “Famous. Still bloodied.”

  “Not as famous as Feud Settler,” I allowed, looking at the hilt of the great, famed sword.

  He nodded and tapped it lovingly, his face truly happy for just a moment. “It’s been alive for a long time, this blade. Men of my family have carried it since the gods walked the lands, when Midgard was young, and they still cared for the woods and the hills and lived here. It is what I am, and I am it. We suit each other.“ He was speaking of it like a better man would praise his wife.

  “It is much like the sword they stole,” I stated, trying not to sound accusatory. “The Head Taker.”

  Bero twitched, and Leuthard nodded, his eyes glinting. “Tell us, how did you survive, Chatti?” the champion prompted, and men, even the stoic guards in their chain armors, turned to listen.

  I was no poet, no singer of songs, or a mighty storyteller. Such men spoke of the past, of the battles, and were wanted by the lords for their ability to spin a tale of some puny raid into a mightiest of battle. I cursed myself as I thought of ways to brag, and tried my best to stay within the boundaries of truth. “Yes. I was there when his hall was attacked by the … bandits,’ I said, and nearly struck my head with the hammer, as I made the word “bandits” sound accusatory. I didn’t want to seem to doubt Bero was to be blamed, but I saw Leuthard scowl. It was not going well, but I went on. “This woman, a völva, and a blacksmith brought me there after someone struck me in the harbor.”

  “Struck you in the harbor?” Bero asked, coc
king his head nervously. “You got into a fight? Where?”

  I pointed a finger at Leuthard, whose eyes went into slits. “I was looking for a lord to bow to, to serve. I stumbled inside this building where his banner was posted. I waited by the doorway and then someone hit me across my face. I hit my skull on a post. I fell, crawled out, and this beautiful woman took me to the hall to heal. I don’t know who struck me. I admit, I stood there for a while. Perhaps someone thought I was a thief? I was waiting for Leuthard here to come out. He was seeing some men, and I didn’t wish to disturb them.”

  They looked at each other, and I breathed a sigh of relief as Bero’s demeanor broke for just a moment, happily smiling, and the fool believed me. He might have been a keen trader, but he wanted to believe me, to use me against his brother. But Leuthard didn’t, it was clear by the warning look on his face. Leuthard spat and spoke. “Perhaps he thought you were eavesdropping. Did you hear what we were talking about?”

  I shrugged proudly. “I was looking for a master, and I wasn’t interested in your business. It was dark as Hel’s ass, and I don’t know who’s to blame for what took place. I was just waiting there. Is that not how men greet the host of the hall? By entering and waiting? None challenged me at the door. I heard nothing but whispers. In any case, I was taken to heal. What followed was a nightmare instead.”

  “Yes,” Leuthard said, and I was sure he though of ways for me to have more nightmares. He was mouthing the word softly. The man was pooled in madness. He knew I was lying. He would, if they had questioned Gisil, and she had told them what I had heard.