‘I’m not sure what I’m calling you,’ he whispered as his bloodshot eyes took stock of our weapons. ‘Strange you are. We have men here to guard the land and the halls, but you should be at war.’
‘We meet Segestes here,’ I hissed at him. ‘He is coming. We captured Roman gold from their greedy slavers, killed Roman soldiers doing it, and I do hope to become a warlord of his with that gold. If I take it to his camp, Sigimer might want a cut.’ I looked at Fulcher, who nodded and kicked the chest on a packhorse. It jingled happily, and the horse nearly bolted.
The man frowned, apparently thinking about taking the gold but relented, knowing Segestes would find the coin no matter if our bones were lost. Such an amount of coin would not easily disappear. ‘The hall. There are servants and slaves to take care of the horses. Do not go to the northern side of the building. There is a party of wounded men there, resting.’
I bowed my head, and we rode through the silent groups of men and children, who had come to gape at us. Antius chuckled. ‘Oddglade. They trade here in Roman coins and know the sound of it. That man is Ketill and a famous thief in Gerlach’s former employ. Had better be careful with the chest and pray Segestes is coming.
We settled in and waited.
Antius enjoyed the food; venison and fat trout and so did the Batavi, and I drank ale and ate modestly, too nervous to enjoy the feast. Fulcher sat with me silently until I got up and went to the door that took one to the stable part of the hall. I turned to look at the shadows beyond the fire pit and saw three well-armed Cherusci staring at the merry company from the doors of the sleeping area. Fulcher grunted. ‘Must be an important lord. Some of them have chain mail.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed and went to the stable. There stood our horses and then a dozen more, for it was a large, prosperous hall, and the stables were spacious with very well tended stalls. There were fine warhorses, well bred and tall, unlike normal Germani horses that sometimes looked like large hounds. I growled at a thin, bushy-haired slave who was startled from his sleep in the corner and stepped to one of the horses and let it nuzzle me. Then I spied wounds on its legs, healing. ‘Been to the battle?’ I asked the man. The slave was keen enough to smell profit. He kept his mouth shut and smiled.
Fulcher flipped him a copper coin.
He looked at it and shrugged. I put my hand on Nightbright’s pommel, and he brightened. ‘They were indeed. The lord who came from the great battle had to rest here. Near death, he was.’
‘Many lords are near death.’ I laughed and nodded. ‘And his name?’
‘He shared no name and had no standard,’ the slave told us.
‘But do you know his name?’ Fulcher said.
‘Yes,’ the man agreed with a small smile, his hand out.
But at that moment, a great number of riders arrived at the yard and the slave blanched and ran out. In the hall, I could hear benches screeching as men pushed up. Fulcher and I walked to the door and headed for the middle of the hall. A warrior in a steel helm popped his head through the door, then Ketill came in. ‘Stand at ready. The Lord Segestes is here.’ His voice sounded terribly disappointed, and his eyes went to the chest that was placed next to Antius.
Ten men entered.
They were warriors, well dressed in practical leathers, shiny chain, and rich furs, most wore helmets, and their shields were painted with stags. They spread out in a semi-circle and silence reigned. Grimwald and the Batavi sat down and were soon taking swigs of their ale, their blond beards foamed, but they were near their weapons.
Then, the man I had seen in the Thing of Drusus, the failed meeting of the tribes before the war, entered. I had hard time deciding if he was fatter than Antius. He was red of face, his red and blond beard was plaited in silver, and he carried a huge, round silvery shield of Roman make, sculpted with figures of animals and embossed by beasts, especially that of a snake-haired woman; the Medusa. It was far too heavy to be used in battle by him, but it was a gorgeous thing, and his expensive sword with a golden hilt suited the shield well as a companion. His clothing was Roman and Germani, rich and embroidered with silver thread. His eyes took me in, then Antius, and the men. After him, came a champion, and I knew the man and groaned.
It was Ragwald, the wide-faced, ring mailed brute of dark hair and irascible demeanor.
He had been drunk in the Thing of Drusus, and I had struck him down. Then I had pissed on him in front of the lords of the Germani.
He stared at me with an open mouth.
I grinned, gathering bravery. He had boasted of having fought a hundred duels and even if just a part of that was true, I would be in trouble. I had my Woden given gift, the berserk rage, but most fights end badly for the less experienced. ‘You!’ he shouted thinly.
‘Oh, you remember me,’ I told him with a lopsided grin. ‘After all, the last thing you might remember of Hraban was his cock over you and then the rain—’
‘Hraban! The Oath Breaker! Gods’ laugh, but this is my day!’ he shouted hoarsely and swung out a huge two-handed ax. Segestes slapped a hand over his chest and other men grabbed his ringmail armor. The Batavi smirked at him, and I grabbed a horn of ale and took a long swig, staring at the barely constrained beast.
I saluted him. ‘I had better drink more. My bladder is empty, and if the needs arise, I will empty it again on your flat face.’
‘Well,’ Segestes said with humor. ‘You will not. Relax. I welcome my friend and the Raven.’ He meant Antius and me. ‘I heard an interesting tale not a day ago of Roman gold as a young man came to me in the camp. I was bored, the mosquitoes were making me crazy, and then I realized I could be feasting and making friends. And so I’m here.’
‘I’d have words with you, Lord Segestes,’ I told him with as much respect I could muster, which was not much.
‘We shall have words,’ he agreed. ‘But first, we shall eat, feast, and make merry.’ He ambled in and let Ketill give orders to the servants and slaves. Mead and ale were brought in from the cellars, cold meats as well, and I heard people yelling for more to be roasted. Antius brazenly walked to sit next to him, and there was no room left for me as Ragwald sat down on his other side with a huff, his feral eyes never leaving me. I shrugged and sat down with Fulcher to continue our meal though suddenly we both felt left out like naughty children given a lesser table at a feast. I gave Grimwald a sharp look, and he made a nearly imperceptible nod. We would be ready.
The day turned to evening, and the men enjoyed themselves.
Segestes was happy as he was chatting with Antius, now apparently about worldly matters for Segestes was Roman minded and yearned to hear of the lands beyond his borders. His lands were apparently very well stocked to help out our beleaguered troops. Ragwald was drunk by the time the sun had set, and he had not smiled once. ‘He will be trouble,’ said the sober Fulcher. ‘I can smell it.’
‘All I can smell is vomit,’ I told him, for one of the Cherusci was throwing up by the wall into a bucket. The guards on the north door had not budged one bit, their eyes taking in the strange meeting. ‘But I agree.’
Then, Antius got up, and Segetes sighed as he looked at me. The fat Roman left the corpulent Germani as he came to me and nodded gravely. He leaned down to me. ‘So, Hraban. Tomorrow I will ride out to the Roman army and tell your Drusus the good news. I just bought us a month’s worth of food and feed. And now he will discuss whatever it is Drusus wants to discuss.’
‘Now?’ I asked.
‘Go, fool. And be polite. He might look luxurious, insolent, and ugly, but he is a lord and thinks deep. Make no mistakes that will cost us dearly,’ he told me and went to sit at the end of the table. I got up and dragged the scroll of Drusus from my bag, avoiding the eyes of Antius that were sure to mock me. I felt clumsy and foolish, but I did manage to smile as I approached the Lord. He made an impatient motion with his thick hand, and I sat on a bench next to him.
The Lord was nodding at me sagely, and then he burped. He thunked his chest with his fi
st and smiled. ‘Well. It is a while since you sat at your worthless brother’s feet in the hall of Maroboodus. You have come a long way since. From a fool into a Roman. I do admire sensible choices, boy. You know where you belong now and can make a living for yourself. Your father loathed you. What does he do now?’
‘I have no idea, Lord,’ I answered. ‘Are you not marrying Thusnelda to him to cement the alliance in war against Rome?’ I asked him with a faint sneer. Father had once summoned many high lords to help him with his plans, and the fools did not know he would betray them to Rome after Drusus died. I did not bother educating him.
He giggled. ‘What a strange world this is. That was an option, once. Now, perhaps not? I do not need Maroboodus’s Germani alliance nor did I ever wish to fight Rome. I think you are here to give me something that might prevent such a marriage?’
‘Yes, Lord. A strange world it is. And as you guessed, I’m here with a scroll.’
He stared at me for a time, his face featureless. Then he groaned. ‘Well, must I beg for it? Dance and sing to receive it? Let me have it then,’ he said with despair. ‘I think I already committed myself to your Nero Claudius Drusus by selling him food, but Romans will go home after the war and I will remain and should my family find I made riches by keeping our enemy in fighting peak? I might learn to regret it. So whatever is in this scroll … ’ he said and grasped it off me, ‘is likely agreeable should it also involve killing or capturing my fool brother Sigimer.’
‘Yes, Lord. It will make your heart content,’ I told him, and he nodded sagely. He opened up the scroll after sniffing it like a dog would excrement and then he settled over it, and I thought his eyesight might be terrible for he leaned in very close. He groped for some sausage as he read the lines and guzzled down rich mead, and I felt Ragwald’s eyes on me as I ignored him.
He was nodding, and his finger was going over the words. ‘I hear my damned nephew tried to get you to kill the young eagle.’
‘He did,’ I agreed. ‘I did not.’
‘And he had your daughter held? A baby, only a child, no?’ he was chortling in apparent disgust.
‘He did,’ I said hollowly. ‘Though he did not threaten to kill her.’
‘And I hear there are men looking for her,’ he told me. I stiffened and said nothing. I yearned for any news to be had of Lif. He glanced at me, annoyed. ‘You wish to know?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘These men live near our lands. Not all that far, in fact. And I know a man called Odo leads them. We, Sigimer that is, chased his men off our land weeks past. And I know he is after your baby, I do. I have spies with Sigimer, you see. Be happy! This Odo has not found her. The man and the baby escaped and are likely in the Godsmount. Now that is not a tall mountain, perhaps more a series of high hills but only the very keenest of vitka and völva know its secrets, so your Odo is stuck. They are holed in some nest of vipers now, brooding. She is safe,’ he told me as if he had chased Odo’s men singlehandedly off the land.
‘Thank you,’ I breathed, happy as a bird.
‘Antius!’ the fat Segestes yelled, and the room went quiet. I noticed the fat man was standing by the door, and Segestes got up, ignoring me. He walked to the fat Roman and nodded. The Roman gave me a wide smile and left. Men entered the room. Twenty, thirty. Others got up, and the Batavi sprinted up from their seats as they noticed something unexpected was taking place. Segestes turned my way. ‘I’m not a cruel man, Hraban. That is why I told you your daughter is alive as far as I know. I’ll not go into details why you must die. I am sure Lord Drusus will believe you were waylaid by Armin’s men and died well enough. And I agree to help your Lord as well. You did well. But I cannot let you touch my friend, Antius. How would I get the rest of the gold he just promised me if he were dead?’
‘Segestes,’ I yelled as Fulcher pulled me up and pushed my shield into my hand. The Lord had left, chatting outside with Antius about the hunting season. ‘Wall! Shield wall!’ I yelled, and the Batavi grimly built one around me, covering the corner. The men confronting us made a thick wall on either side of the fire pit, bristling with spears and axes. Ragwald was walking back and forth in front of them. Men were throwing tables and benches to the sides to make room for the murder.
‘Shit,’ Fulcher said. ‘Shit and bother. We are dead. I wish I had taken a piss earlier.’
‘Take it after the fight,’ I told him feverishly. My eyes turned to the men confronting us. They were warriors all. Well armed and grim, their beards jutting, eyes keen, and I realized they had been far less drunk I had thought. Ketill was gesturing at us, wordlessly urging Ragwald on to finish the business. But Ragwald was shaking his head, apparently very happy to have met me. ‘So, you vermin riddled carcass,’ I told him. ‘Do you have something to say?’
‘Piss on me? Shall you beg? You have ten men, Hraban,’ he said spitefully. ‘This will be easy. Perhaps too easy. So, make it entertaining at least. Beg!’ And he was right. There were more than thirty men there now, all staring at us hungrily, some making hushed bets on who would die last, who first, and who would get a first pick on the loot. They would simply lock shields, herd us to the corner, push, push, and push us tight and hack and stab and eventually have slaves clean up the mess. Ragwald pointed his ax at me. ‘But I hope you survive the battle. I will scald and stretch you. Then I shall have all my men piss on you. I’ll buy a skillful poet’s services, and he shall sing of your pathetic, piss sodden death across the land.’
I swallowed my terror and squared my shoulders. ‘I am the Oath Breaker. The Raven. I am the slayer of the Usipetes Lord Ingvar. I am the killer of King Vago! I burnt my father’s hall and slaughtered his men. I struck a spear through the skull of Leuthard, Ragwald. You know of him. The champion. He was no man, no. He was a beast, Hati’s spawn. You are a giggling infant in comparison. And you will slay me like a common thief in the sad shit of a hamlet called Oddglade? Murder me like you would a thief? No. Instead, you will elevate me, you piece of dung, by your cowardice. I shall think of the songs they sing about Ragwald, the pig of Oddglade. I think you will fix my fame, Ragwald, for men will hear of this, and where you expect to see faces saluting you after this poem of yours, they will stare down to the floorboards. They rather look at mice turds than an animal like you.’
Men murmured angrily as Ragwald’s face twisted with uncertainty. He opened his mouth to refute me, hesitated and eventually shook his head in defeat. He stretched out his arms and the huge two-handed ax to silence his men and pointed it at me. ‘You and me then. The winner walks out free.’
‘Don’t,’ Fulcher warned.
‘Have sight on how this will end?’ I asked him.
‘No, you fucking idiot,’ he whispered. ‘But common sense says we should fight together. They won’t let us leave, anyhow.’
Grimwald grinned and pushed me forward. ‘He is right, but at least we will see a fine show. Die well, Lord. We will be along shortly.’
I grinned at him and pulled Nightbright. The brute’s ax was huge, and I wanted to be fast and so I left the Head Taker in the sheath. Ragwald went into a crouch and staggered a bit as he eyed me. He, unlike most of his men had drunk too much, but he was also experienced, and so it would be a terrible fight. ‘You are what? Eighteen?’ Ragwald asked as the war band around him made a circle around the corner of the hall. Our men pressed into a tight shieldwall by the corner. ‘Will never know another girl, will you?’ he mocked me and made a cutting motion over his groin. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’
‘I’ll fight one today, though,’ I grinned and felt the fear and disappointment give way to rage and battle lust. I felt Woden’s call, saw a shadowy figure with a twin dragon helmet pound the ground in a savage, feral dance, spear thrumming up and down, and I knew I had his gift. I would be fast, hard to kill and dangerous, and Ragwald would not easily walk out of the hall.
‘I’ll send Drusus your lips. He can have them kiss his rear one more time. That is the Roman way, no? You boy lovi
ng shit.’ His men laughed dutifully at that, and Ragwald walked to the side.
I spat as I circled him. ‘I hear your wife has lovers, Ragwald. They all whispered about it in the Thing,’ I taunted him with the crime that was so deadly in Germania. For that crime, there was no wergild to be paid, only death. ‘They toasted with you, then called you a sad cuckold behind your back, and they pitied you for a fool. The men who toasted with you had tasted her, Ragwald, your wife. Is that why you have fought so many duels? To kill men who touch her?’ I laughed at his face and took mocking dance steps before him, baring my chest to him as I flung my shield aside.
He sucked in his breath, mumbled incoherently in a drunken rage and charged quickly as a wolf. The ax was coming from the side so fast I realized I had underestimated him, and I had no choice but to fall on the floor as the wicked blade cut the air. Skillfully, the bastard followed with the swing, the blade swishing around to an overhead position. I cursed, dropped my shield and grabbed his buckle as I fell back. He hollered incoherently and fell over me to our men’s feet, and I struggled from under him, bringing the short, slim blade of Nightbright to stab his leg or back. I missed. He held onto his ax, clawed at my face and rolled away. I spat and got on my feet, Woden’s dance demanding blood, and we faced each other. His ax was ready, his eyes bulging, and I thought he was fast enough to deal with my berserk rage and perhaps, he too, felt Woden’s call. Yes, it was possible. There were others, many others and Woden enjoys such battles. The One Eye was a god of strife as well as wisdom. He was chaotic and generous, depending on the day. He was like the men he had created.
‘Come old man!’ I goaded him, blood oozing from my face where his finger had cut me.
‘Yes, I shall,’ he yelled, preparing and stomping my shield to pieces in his rage.
His foot was caught in the frame as he charged.
He staggered, stumbled on it, and I slithered to his side as fast I could, and his face betrayed fear as Nightbright was hissing for his ribs, his ax block too late.
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 7
