‘Bero’s a damned coward fool,’ I agreed.
‘Well met,’ said the huge lord of the Black Goths to Hulderic and Bero. He ignored the armed men surrounding the area and looked up at the body of his brother, his face unreadable. His men were pulling the last of the sleek rowing ships to the beach as Ingulf and Ingo; the red-haired champions stepped closer to him.
‘Our hall? You have one set up for us?’ Hrolf the Ax asked brusquely as he followed them to Hughnot. Son of Hughnot was not in a patient mood, his square beard quivering, and his strong, savage face was twisted with impatience as he eyed the army Bero had summoned. Bero scowled at him, but nodded at his own hall.
‘Bone-Hall has space for you, lord, but not your …friends. You get to sleep in our father’s old rooms. Your men are numerous,’ he stated unkindly as he stared at the disgorging men. ‘We were … not prepared for a full warband. You were quick to fetch them, though why? I wonder.’ There was no answer and Bero pointed a finger towards his village. ‘Space is sparse. But something will be arranged, of course.’
‘Thank you, my fine nephew,’ Hughnot said and thumbed the warparty. ‘They came along to give me honor, and my brother.’ I noticed the villagers collecting near the Bone-Hall, many of whom were Friednot’s former men, and many of them, older families seemed to pick up the tension between the relatives as they were whispering.
And then I saw Maino.
He walked up from a large group of Bero’s men and Hrolf spat at the sight of him, subtly, to the side, his eyes never leaving Maino and while I didn’t exactly like or know Hrolf, and Hulderic had warned me about him, that gesture made me smile like the very best of jokes had been told by the wittiest man in all the lands under Sunna. I noticed Hughnot’s eyes on me as I smiled and I straightened my face as fast as I could, but my joy had not gone unnoticed to the lord of the north gau. There was a strange moment where the gathered champions, men and lords looked awkward, as there were no laws and rules at to the behavior at funerals. Many fingered their weapons, as if ready to fight, in order to skip the bothersome demands of good manners. ‘Frigg’s milky tits, but why isn’t Bero taking control?’ I whispered.
Aldbert shrugged. ‘He’s afraid.’
He was out of his depth. Perhaps he was just learning, and would know what to do when given some time to grasp the oars in the storm he would be in, but he didn’t have time, and was doing poorly. Even Maino looked dubious as the silence reigned.
‘Shall we prepare?’ Hulderic asked finally.
Men relaxed and were nodding. Hughnot waved his hand at the lot of us. ‘Yes, indeed. Shall we burn and bury my great brother and your father and our lord? And then we have things to decide. Important things, my friends. And changes to be made, I think.’
BOOK 2: THIRD CHOICES
‘You will die sad and reviled one day, Maino. It is evident as an eye in a head.’
Hulderic to Maino.
CHAPTER 6
The hlaut vessel would be filled to the brim from the open, gushing wound in the horse’s throat, but it takes time for the sacrifice to calm down enough to do so, and so we waited, eyeing the bloody ritual take its course. Bero stood on the side, holding a seax, which was dripping dark blood to the sandy, partly stony beach. It was supremely hard to keep the dying beast still, but the men struggled, wrestling the beast down while whispering words of comfort to its ear, and Friednot’s horse slowly calmed down to accept its fate. Its eyes were like pools of cold, lifeless water, though it still twitched when two old vitka strode purposefully forward and finally managed to fill the stone urns to the brim with the lifeblood of the mighty animal. The other holy man was a scarred, ancient creature, and had previously blessed the site with pleas to Donor the Thunderer and the other one, a bald man with very light blue eyes was now begging Woden to receive Grandfather in his halls. Then, a high woman, Bero’s wife Sigurd walked around, about to offer the very best of mead to the highest ranking warriors standing around the bonfire and the sacrifice, while the first volva used an evergreen sprig to sprinkle the blood on the watching villagers. The people received the blessing stoically, while anticipating the boasts and oaths made by men who would be draining the fine mead either arrogantly, or reverently, depending on their fame and stature.
Sigurd’s dark braids shook as she strode to the middle, and then turned to measure the fame and wealth of the men around her. Where she had normally walked to Friednot, she now had to determine where to turn first. Her tight, hard face twitched as her eyes passed Hughnot, and then she walked forward and stopped before Bero first. It was a direct message to Hughnot, who said nothing, his eyes glinting. Sigurd’s husband and the lord of Friednot’s former village grasped the horn from her hands and raised it. His voice was surprisingly strong and he hailed the many gods, who might or might not be listening, as they were fickle and expected men to help themselves before giving aid to those who asked for it. We should help ourselves, I thought. I would, at least. My eyes flickered to Maino, and I felt the darkness creep inside and my fist balled. I didn’t see the girl anywhere, but she would be close and I knew Maino was keeping an eye on her. I shuddered as I thought of Hulderic’s request, nay, an order to bow to the sack of shit, of Aldbert’s words and then I embraced the darkness fully. Gods might help me, but I’d help myself, I chanted inside my skull, gathering resolve. Draupnir’s Spawn glittered on Bero’s finger. ‘All-Father, Woden, Donor the Smiter, and Freyr, God of Growth! I, Bero, son of Friednot beg you. Take our father into the wealthy halls of the Aesir and the Vanir! Let him sit on the right hand of the high heroes of old, and let him fight well for you gods, for his and your amusement, for honor, for fame. He is a shield-breaker, a gut-splitter, a law-giver, and a great father, and we shall miss him and his strength and wisdom.’ He went silent at that and I saw Hulderic look down, and Hughnot whispering with his son and champions, while eyeing and measuring Bero, who had claimed he needed his father’s strength, and so perhaps he had none himself? Bero finally raised the horn and drank from it, as men around him softly banged their shields with their weapons. So did I. Then Sigurd took the horn back. Bero nodded at her.
She turned to Hulderic.
I saw Hughnot’s jaw tighten at that, the insult echoing clear and loud in the clearing and few men missed it. The old nobles of Friednot’s were nodding sagely at each other, and it became clear to them what the Thing would truly decide. Hughnot had always drunk the mead after Friednot, being the second most important man present, and now he, the lord of a gau, was pushed out of the position of power, further down the rankings of honor and I saw how Father took the stage, and there, that day, despite his often tedious carefulness, was not a shred of weakness in him. Hulderic flipped his helmet off and dropped it to the dust, his strong face staring straight at Hughnot, who, I think, flinched at the sight of the crow’s eyes, as Father looked like a man about to commit his life to a battle. Hrolf leaned on his lord father and whispered balefully in his ear and Hughnot nodded briefly in answer to his son, knowing now who would be the sword of the southern gau, if any. Hulderic bowed to Sigurd and thanked her kindly and took the horn. He raised it high. ‘To Freya, the Red Lady, Goddess of War, I give thanks, as Father often thanked her in his prayers. Let her warm amber tears make Father rich in afterlife, let him fight ferociously for his honor, and let Freya give my brother Bero her wisdom in the rulership of the Bear and Black Goths.’ He drank and gave the horn away.
Bear Goths? I wondered.
Our gau had never born any name of the sort, but apparently Bero and Hulderic had decided to bind the gau together by naming us, and it suited us well, since the bear claws and jaws were hanging in the standards of the two brothers and you could not easily challenge or split a nation that stood under one name. Men’s chests puffed out, they recited the words to their neighbors as they thrummed their shields with spears at Hulderic’s words, and I felt immensely proud to be his son, for once.
But I’d still crawl in shit for Maino.
/> No.
Sigurd hesitated. Her eyes went over the multitude of warriors and that also was a clear message from Bero and Hulderic to Hughnot, something that again was not lost on anyone. Bero told Hughnot it would or would not be his turn, that Bero decided the pecking order, and that’s the way it would be from then on. With practiced grace, slowly, and with some reluctance, Sigurd finally turned to the great man whose eyes burned in the night, impatiently, resentfully, nearly overcome by his anxiety to show everyone who he was, what he was made of, finally. He grasped the horn so forcefully that some of the holy liquid sloshed on his hand. It made Hulderic smile coldly at him, and Hrolf looked embarrassed for his father. Hughnot visibly calmed himself as he raised the great horn. ‘I’ll not toast Woden,’ he stated bluntly and the silence was almost something you might cut with a fine spear-blade. The people looked on, clearly surprised by the vehemence in the voice of the disgraced lord. ‘Nor shall I toast the Smiter, Donor, Freyr, or Freya,’ he said with a strong, spiteful voice. ‘I shall,’ he raised the horn high, ‘toast Tiw instead, the old lord, the forgotten brother, the god whom Woden pushed aside, the silent one, the patient one, sitting in the last rowbench of the pantheon of the gods.’ He let the hidden meanings sink in to the keener ones in the crowd and went on with a sad, hurt voice. ‘He is less rash, less wordy than the younger ones. He’s the one who boasts the least, but when he is needed, he is the one whose mighty spear puts down those who would threaten the Nine Worlds,’ he said and grimaced with hate as he looked at Bero, ‘and those who would deny the old one his place. Let us not forget Tiw, my people,’ he yelled and drank deep.
Then he thrust the horn high up in the air. ‘Tiw the Just, the patient lord, you have been hailed, and yea, I’ll also hail Friednot, my brother, my co-ruler, and the one man I’d bow my head to. But I’ll not do so again, since he is gone.’
That also, was a clear message. None clearer. Then he saluted Friednot’s corpse. ‘Let my brother find favor with Tiw, if the younger gods bore him.’ He poured the mead on the ground and let the fine horn fall, to Sigurd’s shock. It clattered on the stones and rolled to mud as Hughnot walked forward where the horse was being butchered. Some of its meat would be sacrificed to the gods, some would follow Friednot into Valholl, and the rest we would eat. He passed the carcass to where Friednot’s standard was, still tall and imposing, and yanked it off the ground, the skins flapping. He looked at us all, thrust the standard into the cooking flames and then tossed the flaming thing with all his might on top of the pyre.
Bero twitched, apparently having hoped to preserve the mighty artifact, but it was gone. There it burned, until fire caught Grandfather’s furs and slowly, then with increasing gusto, the fire spread and the bonfire was alight. The men who had torches looked surprised and awkward but Hulderic nodded at them, and they too lobbed theirs into the spots where the fire had been meant to spread from. Bero and Hulderic stared at Hughnot and the dead father, all silent as a grave mount. Grandfather burned, his shield crackled, his face turned to look at us, skull visible under the flaming flesh and the vitka looked at the spectacle unhappily, muttering charms to ward against evil of the dead who would not go to the next worlds. Men were banging their shields with their weapons, and we hoped the omens were good, as the other vitka cast lots and smiled coldly at Bero, nodding. There we stood for an hour, conversing gently, giving thanks silently, walking and stretching, heating ourselves with the blazing inferno’s warmth, and after the pyre had burned and collapsed into a red-orange heap and only a skeletal hand could be seen amidst the embers, we turned away from Friednot. A mound would be raised in the harbor, though usually we burned and buried our dead in the woods and by the beautiful streams, but he would be there, a place where the children played, a testament to our glory, and a memory of our might to those who will never know his name, should we one day fall.
Bero led us away to the middle of the village where hundreds of the village’s men gathered, as well as the hundred of Hughnot’s men. The lords and champions sat on benches that were set in a circle and torches flared. The stars were bright in the sky for a while and Aldbert pulled me to stand behind Hulderic, as I stayed behind to stare at the twinkling, bright things. Aldbert frowned as he saw me standing there. I held my belly, and shook my head. ‘I’ll have to come there later,’ I told him. ‘Something I ate yesterday. Have to find a place to void myself, brother,’ I said. ‘I will talk to you later.’
He shook his head with bewilderment. ‘Really? Pretending to be sick? Your father won’t like it.’ Then he understood. ‘Oh! You are taking my advice. Good!’
Father looked back at me, a question in his eyes, and I ignored him, determined to slink away. My eyes went over to where Bero sat and met Maino’s eyes. They were hard pools of glittering hate, his beefy face twitching with resentment, and I saw Bero look at Hulderic with worry. Apparently, Maino had heard words of calm from the lips of Bero, wise words considering the Thing’s main purpose, but the frowning thing looking back at me seemed too consumed by his stubbornness and perhaps a bit of madness. I’d do something rash that night, I should have avoided the Thing like I had intended to, but Maino’s eyes pulled me in. He was a stubborn, mad bastard.
And so was I.
Unity. We had to be united, Father’s voice echoed. I should step away. I’d get him later.
He spat as he looked at me. He got up and made an obscene movement with his hips.
And so I decided to take part in the Thing.
Yes, I’d risk even my plans to spit in his face, I decided and walked after Aldbert, and Father’s eyes glinted worry as he saw me approaching. I stood near him, as he sat down. Maino did as well, smiling spitefully.
We waited as the people gathered, and in the end everyone was ready. Finally, one of the vitka arrived. He pulled out a wand, a rod that was white and smeared with old bloodstains. He looked at Bero. ‘Will we sacrifice a Saxon here today?’
Bero nodded. ‘One of the wounded ones. I thought you already fetched him?’ The vitka shook his head sheepishly and Bero sighed. ‘Take the bleeding ones. They would die soon anyway.’ The vitka turned to nod at some men who were to fetch one of the poor souls, but Hughnot sat on his bench and grunted.
‘No, we won’t,’ he said. The vitka froze, surprised by the vehement expression of displeasure on the Black Goth’s face. Hughnot’s words cut through the air like a knife strike, severing us from the traditions, the excitement of the sacrifice. Hughnot was clearly angry, like a much wronged man seeking repayment for a sick cow and was about to use an ax rather than taking his issues to the Thing. He was high enough, in truth, to care little for the proper ways of doing things and he disdained the whole meeting now. I supposed that was a just sentiment, since he had been delegated to the lesser rank than Hulderic in the eyes of the gau. ‘Sacrifice later, if you will,’ he added darkly.
‘It is the proper way to do things,’ the vitka complained, a law-speaker in his own right, but even he dared not question the mind of the Black Goth over hard. ‘Lord, if you would—‘
‘I said no,’ Hughnot said darkly and the vitka nodded slowly. The great man went on. ‘Bear … gau. Bears indeed. Mighty sons of a mighty lord should not be called the Sons of a Weasel, but a Bear. So be it. I like it. My brother never named you, his gau, his people, but it’s proper you do. And enough of longwinded blessings and mumbled prayers, friends. Enough. The gods grow bored if we bless each and every word, stone, blade of grass in this yard. Let us move on. We are blessed, I am sure, already.’
Hulderic shrugged and bowed to the vitka. ‘Very well. With no insult offered to the vitka, I think we have had quite enough of their wands. We desire for spears and shields to deal with many important issues we need to solve.’ Men nodded with approval, and though Father meant our way of showing approval by banging the weapon on the shield, the words suggested a more nefarious possibility as well and Hughnot grinned at Hulderic as he acknowledged the dual meaning of his words. Hulderic nod
ded at the vitka. ‘Spare the fool Saxon for some other purpose,’ he said and then there was a glint in Hughnot’s eye.
He pointed a finger towards the hall near the beach. ‘And we don’t even know if some of the Saxons are worth something, eh? How many are there?’
‘Twenty are alive,’ Bero said unhappily, unwilling to hand over the proceedings to the Black Goth, ‘and two won’t walk out of the hall.’
‘Spare them all. We shall find a proper use for them later on,’ Hrolf announced easily as he sat next to his father. It made the lot of us gasp with wonder. Where Bero and Hulderic sat a bit apart from their nobles and commoners, the two Black Goths sat right next to each other, as if they were equal in rank.
Hughnot put a hand on his son’s shoulder and confirmed the rights of his son with a toothy smile. ‘Hrolf here is the co-ruler in our family. Hail him as your equals, nephews.’
Hulderic smiled wryly, nodding at Hrolf disdainfully, an act of dismissal if any and certainly in no way a gesture of equality. Bero squinted, having not nodded at all. ‘Surely his … rulership is something the men decide in your gau? Did they agree?’ the twisted lord asked, puzzled. ‘You have a fine son, but he is young, very young, and probably should learn rulership, law, and perhaps, if I might say so, war?’ Hrolf got up angrily, but Hughnot pulled him down.
‘I know war, uncle,’ Hrolf hissed, and went silent as Hughnot’s hands pressed his shoulders painfully.
‘And what does co-rulership mean in your … family?’ Hulderic asked softly, weighing the two dangerous men sitting across from us. ‘You are not too old, lord. At least you are not crippled. You could lead for a decade still. And why would we treat him equally? This gau is ours, yours is yours and this is the stronger gau, the one that leads, as has been agreed.’
Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) Page 11
