The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3)

by Alaric Longward

  ‘They didn’t under Armin,’ Chariovalda said glumly. ‘They starved while they waited for us. And so we have to make sure Armin will no longer entice them to act so uncharacteristically wisely. Too bad he got away. Too bad.’ He glanced up at me with a raised eyebrow, and I shrugged.

  I spat out an inedible part of gristle and poked a finger his way. ‘I led the Beast to him. I left that golden haired bastard with Leuthard. I had Lif to find. And what I did, leaving him with Leuthard? That was a near death sentence, and they fought, they fought hard. Leuthard butchered Briscius and his men, some of the Cherusci but still Armin got away. So did his woman, Thusnelda. I cannot capture everyone. I only have two hands. A Jotun would fail killing all these people we have to kill. And Drusus will want even more heads, now that I serve him. Armin is gone. Now we have to find him. He lost, his men are scattered and Drusus—’

  ‘About that,’ Chariovalda said, rubbing his face and then getting up with a groan. ‘By the wrinkled balls of Hercules. I’m getting old!’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, and he gave me the evil eye. ‘About what?’

  ‘He want’s a word with you,’ Chariovalda said. ‘Go and have it.’

  ‘Where?’ I asked for I knew he was speaking of Drusus.

  ‘At the castra,’ Chariovalda nodded at the gate of Alisio. ‘Hurry. Not much time left before we dash after the Fox’s tail and end up buried in some sad wood somewhere, starved and hacked to bits.’

  ‘I’d rather hear Fulcher sing than you mope.’ I grinned. ‘We will chase the Fox and see him run.’

  ‘This fox shows its teeth occasionally,’ said a burly Batavi Pipin as he held Chariovalda’s horse still.

  ‘I’ll make a necklace of them if I can,’ Chariovalda told him. ‘Ride after us. When you can.’

  I nodded and headed for the fort. Fulcher was following me on his horse, nodding at legionnaires readying for the march. I stopped and dismounted before the gate and adjusted my chafing lorica hamata, the fabulous chain mail of Leuthard, one with a bronze beast head on the chest. ‘Its too big for you, isn’t it?’ Fulcher wondered. ‘He was the size of a horse. You look like a child in it.’

  ‘Child or not, I’ll not let it go after slaying the thing,’ I growled. ‘Boot the ass,’ I told the gate guard who had heard the day’s watch phrase so many times his face no longer twitched.

  ‘And kiss it after,’ he said tiredly and nodded inside. Fulcher giggled, and we gave him an incredulous eye. While he hated hunger, he had turned from the somber, melancholy bastard into a merrymaking poet. Pissing on the skull of the killer of his son had done him good. Or he had hit his head too hard when he fell from his saddle before the battle, I thought.

  ‘I’ll wait here and you go ahead. He is your Lord, and I don’t want to intrude on your ass kissing or even the booting part,’ he chuckled. I cursed him and hiked up the Via Principalis, the guard elements of the XVII Legion lounging near their contubernium tents. I slapped some stray mules, dodged a procession of slaves carrying amphorae of wine for the departing troops, and stopped before the praetorium, where Drusus was dictating a scroll. On the side, the principia tents were shuddering for many officers were running around in absolute madness, and a quaestor, the supply officer was in tears by his tent. Drusus noticed me, and there was a ghost of a smile as he finished his dictation. Then he walked to me, his lictors with their fasces over their shoulders were following near. Those men trusted me like none else. I had jumped before Drusus and arrows once, had I not?

  ‘I’ve got some supplies,’ he told me. ‘Not enough, but some. I’m tempted to rage at the camp praefectus, but I’m too tired and dignified to do so.’

  ‘You have tribunes for that. And legates,’ I stated as he turned me to the main gate.

  He snorted. ‘I know. But I still need the supplies.’

  ‘They burned many of the warehouses back in the Castra Vetera.’

  ‘I know that as well,’ he said and rubbed his tired face. His signum, a tall pole adorned with a purple cloth with intricate, golden lettering and topped by an eagle was carried past, and a host of military tribunes followed it. He shook his head, waved at a bothersome fly and laughed bitterly. ‘I’m the urban praetor of Rome for the year, and right now I should be holed up in the Palatine, gorging myself with bribes and feasts. Would be so simple to govern the city compared to this shit. I suppose this is how they made their name in the old days? By sweating, dodging horse turds, enduring wounds and flies, and starving. Taking the Alps with my brother was a breeze compared to this Hades. I would love nothing more than call this victory, for it is one.’ He looked like he was swallowing a fistful of ants. Then he sighed and shook his shoulders, jumping up and down, releasing the tension. ‘Yes, it would be nice to see my wife and family. But your friend Armin is still at large, and I cannot settle down to rest until I have bled more men of his and his father’s, just to explain we finish our grudges. Sigimer? He has to answer for his son’s actions. He had that Raven ax?’

  ‘Yes, he is the one with the famous ax. And Armin is not my friend. I don’t know Sigimer either. His brother Segestes I have seen, and Inguiomerus—’

  He interrupted me. ‘Yes, we all know of Inguiomerus. The Lord of the eastern Cherusci, master of Albis River and the man who once flayed Roman traders and diplomats. That too is something I will remedy one day. With luck; soon. But now, I will raid the lands of Sigimer and his son and piss on the smoldering ruins of their hall.’

  ‘I hear the Castra Flamma is being extended,’ I noted. ‘In the east.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘They are making the agger and the fossa more formidable, and the vallum are built from thick wood by now. They are doing well though they are raiding the undefended Sigambri lands as well as building. Now that the Sigambri men are out here, trying to go home, our Ubii have been taking much loot from them across Rhenus River.’

  The Ubii, formerly Germani, now Roman allies were having an excellent year, I thought.

  Drusus read my mind. ‘And we will have a good time, as well. I hear from the exploratores that Armin and Sigimer are summoning much of the western power of the Cherusci to battle. Not all obey, of course, but the major lords will. Sigimer is the thiuda and they should, in theory, obey him. There will be thousands of the scoundrels. And they have so many rivers in that bastard of a land it will be hard as Hades to get anywhere. We have to cross Visurgis and beat Sigimer at least before going home for the fall. We will stay in Luppia, of course.’

  I snorted. ‘Our reluctant allies the Chatti will see that as an offensive move, as you know,’ I said sourly. Indeed, the Chatti were nominally Roman allies and those of Maroboodus as well and had warned Drusus not to stay in Luppia River.

  ‘They have a choice to make, no?’ Drusus growled, unwilling to show the thought scared him. The Chatti were feral warriors, long bearded and savage, and likely the hardiest of the Germani. And my people, the Marcomanni lived to the south of them. ‘If your father riles them up against us, I know what to do. But we have to beat the Cherusci before the fall. We have great Ebbe as a hostage and the Chatti won’t go to war this year, at least.’ Ebbe. Father of Adgandestrius the Chatti, my friend, whom Drusus took a hostage in his Thing, treacherously. And foolishly, I thought. He slapped my shoulder to get my attention. ‘But we have no food. And so I shall have to cajole and beg for it.’

  ‘From whom?’ I asked as we reached the gate. ‘Will your Mars shit us some bloody sausages and venison if your chicken priests so beg?’

  ‘I’d eat their chickens first, of the damned pullarii,’ he stated seriously of the chicken observing priests. ‘But no. From the Cherusci,’ he grinned as we dodged under the weak gate.

  ‘What?’ I blurted as Fulcher brought my horse forward. ‘Lord—’

  ‘You call be Drusus,’ he reminded me. ‘You always go ‘Lord,’ when you are afraid of calling me an idiot. There is the third leader of the Cherusci. You mentioned him just now.’

  ‘I did. But I d
on’t see why he would supply us,’ I said sullenly. ‘Segestes the Fat trades and sympathizes with you. But to betray his kin? He would roast after we left.’

  ‘With us,’ Drusus noted laconically. ‘You are with us. You are an auxilia Decurion of Batavi and Rome and no Germani.’

  ‘I’ll learn,’ I told him apologetically, unsure if I would. ‘But how is one to convince … Segestes is Sigimer’s and Iguiomerus’s brother.’

  Drusus kicked a stone, apparently unhappy at having to put so much at stake in Segestes. ‘He is fat fucking rich from trade; commands wide lands west of the Visurgis River and yes, he has answered the call of Sigimer. But his heart is not in it. I doubt he enjoys a fight in general.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked him with some concern, for I had noted Drusus had a way of downplaying facts that hampered action. It had nearly cost him a legion and more.

  ‘No,’ he told me. ‘But you will go and find out if I am right.’

  I looked mortified, and Fulcher quaffed. I began a desperate argument. ‘His daughter is to marry Maroboodus. He agreed to help Father against Rome. He does not know Father is Roman, but he was there when Father made plans for all the Germani to fight Rome.’

  ‘None of that matters if I give him Sigimer’s lands. He is a toad. A fat, lazy frog and loves the deep, rich end of the pond and can only stare at it enviously, as other frogs own it. We will help him take it. He will be given Sigimer’s lands. He cannot resist such a fine promise, no matter if he is related to the braver frogs. Say yes,’ he grinned.

  ‘Yes, Lord,’ I told him rebelliously, sure I was going to get killed at the hands of Segestes.

  He frowned at me and patted his horse. ‘I will have dangerous work for you in the future, Hraban. We have the world to conquer, and we all face risks. But you will have respect and home as well as dangers. And my love. And I will bury you well if you fall.’ He grinned again, Fulcher laughed. ‘Come, soon we have to find out how your father and Antius aim to slay me. Now, we have to eat.’ He was right in that. Whoever had sent Father to ally the Germani to fight and to kill Drusus was someone we would have to deal with eventually. It might take a civil war if that someone was powerful enough. Drusus loved the idea of Republic. His stepfather Augustus, princeps, his mother Livia’s husband was out to change all of Roman history, hoping to take Rome back to the era of the kings. Even if there was a Senate in Rome, it was practically giving lip service to the old traditions. It was all a sham.

  Unless Drusus brought back the old ways.

  Whoever wanted Augustus’s vision did not want him or Augustus in the picture. One day, Drusus might have to lead armies south. And I had promised to help him.

  I bowed deeply to him. ‘Yes, Drusus,’ I said, and he smiled like the sun. ‘Shall I go now? Better to die sooner than later.’

  ‘No, you don’t know where to go!’ he laughed. ‘You would meander around like a lost Syrian in the alleys of Viminal and end up clobbered and robbed.’

  ‘You have no idea where this lord is currently?’ Fulcher blurted and went silent as the great man of Rome turned to him.

  ‘Fulcher, right?’ My friend nodded with respect. Drusus always remembered the names of the soldiers. ‘No, I do not. But there is someone who does know.’

  ‘Oh?’ I asked him, suspicious for there was a nervous twitch in his eye. ‘Who?’

  He sighed, ready for a fight. ‘This man is in charge of the annona militaris. He is one of the lazy fucks who are supposed to feed this army. He worked in Moganticum but knows the tribes here as well, much better than the negotiatores in Castra Vetera. So he has been summoned.’

  ‘Antius?’ I breathed. ‘The lard pot? The one who is the go-between for Maroboodus and whoever it is—’ He raised his hand and eyed me with a warning. He did not want to share that bit of information with the lictors or any prying ear. I bit my lip.

  ‘Yes, him.’

  ‘He tried to murder me,’ I hissed. ‘Cornix, his supply optio? He stood in the same room where Ansbor died, and I think he smiled. And they have been plotting against us before. You know this.’

  ‘Yes, and you will accompany Antius and take some men with you, your Fulcher included, to meet Segestes the Fat.’

  ‘He was party to killing Ansbor, Lord,’ I said again with a low, threatening voice, and my lord stared at me with impatience.

  ‘We know why you were in the shrine, Hraban,’ he retorted, his face stone hard. ‘You were there to slay me for the Fox. For Armin. You had a reason, yes and owed us nothing. Your daughter is out there, and you did it for her. You changed your mind and elevated your soul from a murdering Germani into that of a noble Roman, boy, but you are not innocent in the slaying of Ansbor by the beast of Maroboodus. Eat it, Hraban, the guilt. Eat, chew, and swallow and know I have made many choices in my life that make me suffer every night. As a soldier, I would hang him. As a politician, knowing him my enemy, I need him near me. Near, Hraban. But you are right.’ He waved some lictors away as they had shuffled closer. ‘You are right in saying Antius is guilty of treason. He is guilty of many things, and his man Cornix is a hunted man. His is an enemy to both of us. And so,’ he stepped near me and whispered, ‘when you have agreed with Segestes on getting us fed as we march east of Castra Flamma for Visurgis River and Sigimer, you will kill him. We need him to find Segestes and to set up this deal, but after? No. In this, I will be a soldier. It is my gift to you, and the food will be a gift to me.’

  I opened my mouth and closed it. I wiped the dark hair strands off my eyes and smoothed my short beard. My eyes traveled to Fulcher, who looked away, happy to let me choose our course of action. I nodded carefully. ‘You once told me you need men like me to deal with men like him. And this is what I shall be. A tool for your house. It is not honorable, but as you said, I’m a Roman now, and your cause is just.’

  ‘Peregrini,’ he corrected. ‘A non-citizen, but that will change. Like it was with your father after he saved Augustus in Hispania. And for a just cause?’ he smiled like a ghost. ‘The victors shall determine what was and was not a just cause. Kill him on the road back to the army. And you will give Segestes this,’ he told me. ‘This is important.’ He handed me a thin scroll with sealed ends. It felt heavy and official.

  ‘Yes,’ I told him and nodded, my eyes twinkling.

  ‘You will not ask what it is?’ he asked with some irritation but waved the notion away and explained. ‘River Visurgis is one wide, deep river to cross. It takes preparation and ships to get over the damned thing, and the enemy will be there to make life miserable for us. We don’t have the supplies to maneuver far and build and wait around, twiddling our thumbs. We have to be over the damned thing. Two to three smaller rivers form Visurgis, however, running from the southern woodlands, from the Hercynian wilds and these rivers come together in the lands Segestes and Sigimer share. There, I’m told; there are shallow fords across the three smaller rivers, and they allow for an easy fording to get to Sigimer’s lands over the Visurgis. They will meet us there, at that ford. I am sure of it. This year, Armin has no more tricks to spend. All he wishes is to use the winter rebuilding and gathering new allies. I have a chance to make all that a dream if I capture him there. And I have to go over those fords.’

  ‘And Segestes is already giving you food. Perhaps. And he might …’ I ventured and he nodded. Segestes might not fight at all, leaving the Cherusci army. Or, he might pretend to fight, but abandon the army and leave it vulnerable, I thought. ‘I see. And you are bringing all your cavalry. All of it.’

  ‘Yes, all of it,’ he said happily. ‘I should leave it here; harry the Sigambri into weeping desperation, but no. I want it. And I guess you guessed why, you devious little Marcomanni. They will have a job.’

  ‘Yes, Drusus.’

  ‘So, at Castra Flamma, you will escort the bastard Antius there, let him feed us and then speak with Segestes on your own. Do not fail me. This will save us a lot of blood. Perhaps my noble blood.’ He punched me to make
it clear he was joking.

  ‘We wish to spare your thin, noble blood,’ I said, and he grinned and crushed me in a hug.

  He stared deep into my eyes. ‘We live only this one time, Hraban. Guess what I dreamt of last night?’

  ‘Your wife?’ I hazarded a guess.

  He frowned with suspicion, for apparently; he had, and he was as superstitious as any man. Then he shrugged and spoke. ‘That, of course, for I am a man without a woman on a damned campaign. But this was different. I dreamt of lying on the bottom of a boat and the water around me was dark and still. It was not unpleasant, nor frightening, only somewhat sad and a sword was laid on my chest, my hands folded across the hilt, but even the weapon felt meaningless. There were low hanging, pale green leaves of spring rustling in the wind, and I suppose it would have been chilly, had I been alive. But I was dead.’

  ‘Lord … Drusus’ I breathed, my face pale from such a terrible omen.

  ‘The Parcae will spin our life’s threat out for us, and should Morta take me, I want it to mean something. Help me, Hraban, to meet my foes and be my sword in the dark. Perhaps if you do well enough, it might be so that my wife and I die happily in our bed, old and senile one day far in the future. The dream was a warning; Hraban, and I shall heed it. So go and make a dream slayer of yourself.’ He pulled himself on the horse and rode away.

  Fulcher’s face was ashen gray, and he did not smile nor sing. He stared at me, and I knew he had had a sight. I cursed his sights and then clapped his back, and we rode through the lands that had belonged to the Bructeri but were now Roman.

  At least for that summer.

  CHAPTER 3

  While the army marched east, the cavalry rode out on the flanks. The Thracian and Batavi alae were ranging everywhere, burning, killing, and enslaving. The slavers following the army grew rich in human flesh, and the enemy suffered horribly. While staring at a burning village with formerly fine halls, now blazing across a wide field, I could only wonder at what point one stopped calling them enemies rather than victims.