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

by Alaric Longward

  She frowned and let me sit there, close to her. “What then?” she asked huskily, and I wasn’t sure she was talking about the plan.

  But I had a plan.

  She had helped me see it. “You told me what is Leuthard’s weakness.”

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “Bero,” I whispered, as if the twisted lord were in the next room. He might have been, anyway, since he visited the Red Hall often. “Bero is his weakness. Bero expects him to guard his causes, his life.”

  “Why would Leuthard fail in that?”

  I chuckled. “Because of Bero’s weakness. Leuthard is the man who guards Bero’s riches. Gods hump him, if he loses that. He’d have to recover it at any cost.”

  Her eyebrows crossed, and she smiled. “That is …I see.”

  Gods, but Woden had thrust an idea in my head.

  I sat and thought it through. It was a volatile plan. A terrible, dangerous plan. But, when mired in the troubles of the noblest houses of the Marcomanni, what did I expect? I looked down, found Ingrid’s hand on mine, and frowned at her face. She was there, very close, and still I hesitated. She would say yes, she would love and help me. She leaned closer.

  Gisil.

  They had taken her. The warmth faded from me.

  My imagination did me few favors. Völva or not, her capture meant she had suffered terribly, and if she was alive, she would be a broken woman. Perhaps she was dead, and that would be merciful. She was possibly a slave somewhere. I squeezed Ingrid’s hand, let it go, and looked away. She withdrew, holding her arms around her, looking down. “I need time,” I said. “There is—”

  “That woman,” she stated, sighing. “I know.”

  “I’m not saying no,” I said.

  “That might be the problem, eh?” she smiled sadly. “You have to decide these things and not look back. But I have time. I’m insulted, but I have time. So, how will you start to make Leuthard’s downfall a reality?”

  I hesitated, feeling miserable. I walked out of the room, and she followed me. Avoiding the main hall, I took to the right, until I reached the side door. I pushed the door open, and sat down heavily outside, staring across the river. There was still some light, and my eyes scourged the horizon of the Gauls, where the land was just like ours, with rolling hills, rocky beaches, birds flying from one bough to the next, hunting for insects. There were pillars of smoke rising to the pale blue sky, where bigger settlements dotted the Celt lands.

  “Who is living out there?” I asked her, as I sensed she was leaning on the doorway.

  She nodded at the smoke. “Haven’t you been listening? Mediomactri Celts. Treveri, Vangiones. Mostly Mediomactri here, and the Vangiones hole up in Burbetomagus to the south, near Isfried’s lands. There are some other tribes, a string of Roman watchtowers, and Moganticum, a base for the Romans, and it is growing quickly, actually. There’s a village where none stood a year past, and a beginnings of a castra. We should be worried about that. You heard Balderich,” she said with some criticism.

  “I know,’ I said thinly. “I meant directly over the river. Exactly who is living there?”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, and continued with a soft voice, “I’m disappointed. But I’ll wait for you.”

  “I am happy you will,” I answered, and decided I should probably drown myself, because she deserved better.

  She nudged me with her foot to lift the mood, and I gave her a ghost of a smile. “But over there, right there, there are mainly Mediomactri Celts. Some twenty higher Celt lords live over the river. Most are fairly powerful.”

  I sighed, because I had an idea. It would solve both Balderich and Hulderic’s issue, and ultimately, hopefully, that of Teutorigos. “Give me a name. Someone close. Mustn’t be too far. A Celtic noble the Marcomanni battle with? I know Balderich would like to have many more raids and wars with the local foes, but are there any we consider a bitter enemy? Anyone who would dare attack our side?”

  She smiled and squinted as she looked at me, brushing her blonde hair away from her eyes. “Yes. Some raid our lands. I know a few. Seisyll is one, certainly.”

  “And if I’d ask Teutorigos, could he make contact with this man?”

  “Teutorigos?” she asked. “Oh. Yes, I suppose,’ she said. “Especially since they are relatives. Hate each other, but still relatives. It sounds like you have a plan”

  “I do. What is the name of that girl of Fulch the Red?”

  “Ermendrud,” she said with a small, nervous voice. “I thought you said you don’t trust Fulch. Why—”

  “I don’t need Fulch now. Later. Now I need her. Can you get me something valuable, a bit of jewelry made of silver?” I asked her, and she nodded while frowning.

  “I might find something. I suppose it has to be a woman’s?”

  “Yes,” I smiled.

  “Don’t get her in trouble,” she told me with a deep frown. “Remember Bait?”

  “I’ll get all of us in trouble,” I answered, and I was right, because I could not linger and wait for Leuthard to kill me. I had a mad, damned mad, plan.

  I’d steal Bero’s treasures.

  CHAPTER 11

  Fulch the Red lived up to his name.

  His face resembled the color of a freshly butchered heart; something a hunter might pull out of a carcass. It was crimson with withering rage. As he jumped up from his seat, he did it with such gusto, the heavy chair screeched across the planked floor and fell over with a clatter, breaking a stool. The girl, whose name was Ermendrud, made an appearance in the doorway, her brow wrinkled with worry. I glanced at the girl, and gave her a small, wry smile, which seemed to captivate her interest. She was perhaps twelve, rather tall, her face a bit flat, but still intriguingly intelligent. An old slave pulled her away, and she was protesting softly.

  “Tell me again,” Fulch murmured. “Did I understand what you are blathering. Is this correct? A pinecone?”

  Ingrid stood next to me, and I knew she was supremely unhappy and damning me softly. She visibly swallowed her disgust, pushed away that very sensible part of her which hated lies and deceit, and let the falsehood spill from her lips. “Our lord, Balderich, has asked me to bring Ermendrud to the Red Hall.”

  “You? To bring her?” he asked for the third time. “My girl? For a damned pinecone?”

  “Yes,” Ingrid said resolutely, keeping her eyes on the great lord. “It seems she, and some other children from the town, were tossing pinecones at the horse that belonged to Leuthard, while it was being groomed.”

  God’s laughter, I groaned in my head. What a terrible lie. But Ermendrud had been inside all day, and I couldn’t wait. I had summoned Ingrid, told her what she should say, and it was the worst lie under the sky of Midgard. Why had I involved Leuthard in the lie? I was an idiot.

  “I didn’t!” Ermendrud piped in from the doorway, where she had again appeared, having defeated the slave, but her father waved her away. She obeyed, though she didn’t quite retreat out of sight. I stood near Ingrid, playing the part of an unwilling escort, as if the chore was beneath me.

  Fulch slammed his hand on the table. “And what if she did, eh? Can’t Leuthard take care of his horse? What does he want with the girl? Besides, she is grounded for the week. Stole my mead.”

  “Leuthard wants nothing with her,” Ingrid said patiently. “Balderich will want a word.”

  Fulch kicked the remains of a stool out of his way as he stalked around the fallen chair, and let out a string of curses so fast, we couldn’t make the words out. He calmed down, eventually, and pointed a scarred finger our way. “I have a suspicion that bald, rotten egg cannot wipe his ass without Balderich or Bero looking over him. This is just another insult. Is he truly this afraid of old Fulch? He kills my man. Now he blames my girl for a spooked horse? And why? Because I damned well hate his face. Do I not embrace death just like any man in the brotherhood? A pinecone!”

  “This is about a horse. A minor matter—”

  “This,
” he laughed hugely, “is about the hate we share, girl! I hate him. Yes.”

  Ingrid shrugged, trying to get the discussion back on the right wind, and I knew she wanted to kick me.

  A day. I could have waited a day to see if Ermendrud were allowed out.

  Ingrid spoke calmly. “Possible. We all know you hate him, he hates you, and so he complains like a woman, even in such a small thing as a spooked horse—” Ingrid began, and that made Fulch happy enough to roar with mocking laughter, spittle flying.

  “Let him hump his horse. Better, let his horse hump him! I do hate him. I’d shit in his mouth, if I found it open and the man passed out!” He was breathing hard and settled down on his seat, which he found to be toppled. When he finally picked himself up, we pretended the humiliating trashing had not taken place at all. He picked up the chair, and made a fairly graceful and successful entry on it. He waved his hand tiredly, though he had a small, happy smile on his face. “The horse bolted?”

  “It bolted,” I lied smoothly, relieving Ingrid who looked physically ill for the ongoing charade. “Like its tail was on fire. It took off, as if chased by fiery dogs of Muspelheim. The man holding it was hurt badly.”

  “Must have been quite a pinecone!” Fulch laughed, and fixed me with a feral eye. “And why are you here? Escorting children, Adalwulf? That is your name, eh? Are you also wiping Balderich’s ass?”

  “I do what Balderich asks. Haven’t seen his rear so far. But I would, if the choice was between that and having to serve Bero,” I said, and Fulch grunted like an animal, muttering angrily and clutched his seat so hard I could hear the armrests groaning.

  Ingrid kicked my ankle. “The horse ran like a damned spirit of Hel, and it has not been seen since. Now Ermendrud, she will be all right, and Leuthard won’t be anywhere near her. Balderich wants a word with her, and has had it with the others involved, and that’s all.”

  “Is this not a job for a father? Switch the back hide, and that will do the trick?” Fulch asked, and I saw small Ermendrud’s face go ashen gray in the shadows. “No, I think I shall just congratulate her, and—”

  Ingrid slapped a hand on her thigh, and a slave or not, it silenced Fulch. She spoke pointedly. She had taken my lie, and was weaving it into an elaborate web of further lies as she came up with more twists. “Balderich thinks there was no horse, or that the horse wasn’t even Leuthard’s. Our lord thinks the bald beast is trying to discredit you. He is tired of Leuthard’s reign of terror, just like you are.”

  “Oh!” Fulch said, surprised. “In that case—”

  Ingrid finished his sentence for him. “Balderich will speak with her. If they did the deed, then switch her rear, though perhaps she is a bit too old for that already. Won’t change a thing at this stage, lord, and you should have been a sterner father.” The look on Fulch’s face was comic, a mask of shame and surprise, but Ingrid went on. “All we wish to do is to hear about the horse, if there was one, and what it looked like.” Ingrid said with scorn. “Surely you trust Balderich to keep your girl safe?”

  He opened his mouth, waved his hand, and tried to retort something spiteful, but then he relented and sighed. He wiped a hand across his face, apparently happy Balderich would investigate Leuthard, not Ermendrud. Then he cast his eye at Ermendrud, and it was also clear he didn’t know for sure she hadn’t done it. He waved her closer. “‘Fine. Be that as it may, take her to have her chat with our great leader. Make sure the bald animal is nowhere near, and if he is, you will tell Balderich to come here for the chat. I’m the father, after all, and I decide on her matters. And I hope there was a horse, and that it was Leuthard’s horse. I hope it was expensive, and I hope the wolves ate it. If there was no horse, I’ll mock the man for his pitiful lie in the feasts, and I thank Balderich for taking care of such a matter, later.“

  I shrugged, and begged Woden that Fulch would not go and speak to Balderich about the issue, then realized of course he might. Maybe by then, it wouldn’t matter. “Indeed, lord,” Ingrid said, frowning because she probably had just had the same thought as I, and cursed my plans in her head for the tenth time. The withering look she gave me confirmed it.

  “Ermendrud!” Fulch yelled sitting back down and scowling mightily as a father would. “Come here.”

  She had been sulking in the shadows, her eyes going from Ingrid to me, and she gathered her bravery and did come forth, her feet bare as she tiptoed to stand before his father, whose eyes had a fond look as he stared at the girl. “You will go with this Chatti—”

  “Adalwulf,” the girl said, and beamed me an infectious smile. I knew she had keen wits.

  Fulch rapped his fingers on the chair. “This rotten Chatti Adalwulf here, with the girl, and take a telling off by our lord. You will—”

  “For what?” she asked petulantly.

  “Weren’t you listening in?" her father asked with a well-rehearsed scowl. ”If your mother lived, you’d be learning household chores instead of eavesdropping and causing mischief, but—”

  “I heard something about a pinecone,” she said brazenly. “You screamed so loud, Alba dragged me away, thinking she was doing me a favor. I bit her, and she let me go.”

  “Tell Alba to mind her own damned business,” Fulch laughed. “And I don’t care if you are guilty or not.” He leaned towards her. “If you are, then the next time you toss pinecones at a horse of Leuthard’s you make sure the bastard is bent over its hooves, or even sitting on it. He might break his knee or skull, if the gods are in a generous mood.”

  “Yes, Father,” she said slowly, working out his words while giving Ingrid and me a long, speculative look. “I’ll go with Ingrid and Adalwulf.”

  She grabbed my hand and pulled me out, Ingrid following after. She was singing softly, and we were walking for the Red Hall, not far. She looked up at me, and I was looking behind, but Fulch didn’t come out, nor was there anyone of importance near. I decided to go ahead with my plan. “Thanks, Ingrid,” I told her, and she huffed and walked past me, pushing my back.

  “You owe me, Chatti,” Ingrid said, and gave the girl a ghost of a smile. “Listen to him. But don’t let him be an idiot.”

  She nodded gravely. “I’ll try,” she told her with little hope and watched her go. Then she turned to me. “What did I do, if someone asks?”

  “You tossed an nut—” I began.

  “Pinecone,” she corrected cheekily.

  I sighed, exasperated. “A pinecone at a horse. The horse bolted, the man holding it got hurt, and it was—”

  “Leuthard’s horse”’ she smiled. “The black stallion, or the roan mare?”

  “Either one,” I told her, “I haven’t thought it that deep. Or just deny everything. There was no horse, after all. Just blame me. You won’t get into trouble with the champion that way. Tell everyone the Chatti is mad, hears things, and they won’t care. Balderich won’t either,” I said, hoping it was true. I hoped Ingrid would speak with the old man, claiming it was all to advance what he had asked me to do.

  She leaned close. “I’ll just tell the truth, and then I won’t get beaten. I got it. So, speak.”

  “Probably a good idea.” I fidgeted. She frowned, and I got to the point. “We will need you to lie, though.” I was expecting a blank refusal.

  She smiled proudly. Perhaps Ingrid was right, and Fulch should have been a sterner father. “I can lie,” she said with a wink, and then looked apologetic. “You cannot. I can. I’ve lied plenty.” She was immensely proud of the fact. “Father’s easy to fool. You were lucky just now.” She punched me playfully, smiling impishly. “When you lie, Chatti, you should make the lie so waterproof that there will never be drop of filth squeezing through the seams. Trust me. You will not receive a beating if you really work out those details, really think it through for a few days. Running around before you have stopped pissing will always make a mess, eh? You can’t make up lies on the fly. So you were lucky.”

  “Weren’t you just grounded for thievery?” I aske
d her, uncomfortable at being in the receiving end of advice from a twelve-year-old girl.

  She rolled her eyes. “I was betrayed by Alba. Wasn’t my fault,” she laughed. “What do you want?”

  I decided to go for it, and prayed gods would protect her. “I need someone to lie for me, eventually, and before that, help from someone who knows everything in the village.”

  “A vitka? Bark might be your man,” she said mischievously. “Or some gossiping old woman. They all lie all the time. I know some. But I’m the best you can get, for a price.”

  I chuckled at her deviously glinting eyes. “So, what will you want, if you would agree to help me? I could just be grateful, you know, and that’s something as well. Perhaps it’s better than a reward?”

  “I don’t know,” she pursed her lips, surprised by my frankness. “It’s good to have the gratitude of someone important, but in your case, I want something tangible,” she went on, and I could almost hear her thoughts searching for something she might really want. She wouldn’t be cheap. “What do you have?” Her eyes went to my belt, but she discarded it immediately. It was a man’s thing. She squinted at me. “A horse?”

  I frowned. “I’m not a rich man, and Fulch, your father, would not approve if he found you have a horse—”

  “I have a horse,’ she said deviously. “But I could have two? He’d never know, since he has so many.”

  “Well, you cannot have mine, because mine is dead,” I rubbed my neck, and the torc Ingrid had given me flashed to sight. Where she had found it, I didn’t dare to ask. If she had stolen it from Balderich, then I was not doing favors to Ermendrud. Caught with the thing, she would get spanked good, no matter how good of a liar she was. Her eyes caught the torc around my neck, glinting enticingly, even through the tunic.

  “Oh, but that’s pretty,” she breathed. “Very nice!”

  I pressed my eyes closed, pretending to be reluctant as best I could. “It was my mother’s,” I lied, but that fact made it even more precious to her, and so she really wanted it.