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

by Alaric Longward

  The two hundred men across the ford had been guiding refugees there all night and day. Seeing us did not give them a pause at first, but then a man shouted, pointing at the helmet, and the men, after a moment’s incredulous silence and some excited whispering, charged in a haphazard mass, their leader attacking the churning water first. A herd of horses could not have churned and thrown up more water as the ferocious band. I grimaced as they came forward, and their steely faces held no promise of friendly hugs or happy banter. ‘Would you mind?’ I asked Thusnelda, who was rubbing her eyes, looking drowsily at the specter of my death.

  She immediately jumped down, resolutely strode forward, and screamed: ‘Hold, you! No! He is friendly today! Do not sully your honor!’ and reluctantly they did as she hopped energetically before them.

  ‘Did he do that to you?’ one man asked with a dire look my way. He was pointing at her torn clothing.

  ‘No! He saved me, please!’ she cajoled and slowly, very slowly they went quiet.

  The wolf garbed leader advanced on her, and I could hear her speaking in hushed tones, her hair covering the sides of her face as she leaned over to the man, and he was nodding and grunting, and the one word I could hear was Oath Breaker, and the men around her stirred and looked at me unkindly. Eventually, the warrior gestured at me, and they walked forward carefully, climbed out of the river and soon I was surrounded by ten strong men. All had spears pointed at me.

  ‘Weapons,’ said the leader. ‘Give them over.’

  ‘I am not a prisoner. I am a guest,’ I retorted with a bored voice, and the effect was not positive.

  ‘An unwelcome guest, like a plague. Give them your weapons,’ he growled. Thusnelda gave me a begging look and sighed. I shook my head.

  ‘Armin will be safe,’ she said, glowering at me.

  The leader snorted. ‘Oh yes, they will surely see the wisdom of letting the damned Oath Breaker keep his sword. They will reward me with cones of honey, silver rings, barrels of mead, and a herd of fat cows if you are wrong,’ the leader spat. He looked at Thusnelda, whose eyes were huge and wet, and his comments died in his throat as he squealed and grunted like a pig. His honor demanded he held onto his demand, but few could ever deny Thusnelda anything and so he hung his head and gestured for me to ride on, to the scorn of his men. So I did, rode over the river, to the lands of Sigimer. My horse neighed as the cold water reached its belly. Far behind, the Roman army was marching, and we heard the cornu ordering the cohorts onwards.

  We rode north through waving fields of wheat and barley, through rich vegetable gardens and lonely halls that would soon be flaming husks. We constantly saw the ragged bands of Cherusci warriors streaming off to north, south and east. The army was disintegrating like sparrows at the approach of a hawk. The Cherusci escorts grunted in disgust at the chaos in the army, and the leader glanced at me. ‘Segestes and Sigimer are in disagreement. What remains, will stop your masters,’ he said glumly.

  I snorted. ‘Segestes is the lord of the land soon, and he won’t stop us. And I am not sure Sigimer is alive, even.’

  ‘Shut up, Hraban,’ Thusnelda said softly as the men around us grinded their jaws together in rage. We rode through men lounging in the sunlight, resting, all of whom were eyeing the west with worry, seeking signs of the Roman cavalry approaching. Some men would point at my helmet and armor, and whisper. There were some wounded men, and I saw burly men guarding some Roman prisoners, evidently over-eager legionnaires who had gotten lost in a pursuit.

  Then we came to a farmstead.

  It was a huge field with a simple hut in the middle, and there were many nobles sitting on horses or crouching on their haunches, speaking animatedly. Amongst them stood, to my surprise, the gaunt brother of Segestes and Sigimer. It was Inguiomerus. He was no longer warring against the Suebi in the east, but he was there. I could see his gangly arms wheeling in the air as he was explaining something to a crowd of chiefs, men easy to recognize by their expensive armor and better weaponry, ornaments of golden and silvery splendor. They were mostly old men, rich men, men with everything to win or lose.

  There was no sign of Sigimer.

  But Armin was there, standing with his arms crossed, tired to the bone as he stooped to the side, and his blonde hair was matted with grease, dirt, and blood, his armor and bear tunic torn at the hem, a bloody scratch showing underneath at his hip. He was straddling his father’s standard, forlornly sprawled in the dust. The once mighty Cherusci were all dark-faced and gloomy, and as Inguiomerus saw us approaching, he whispered to Armin. Armin turned his head. On his face, there was a look of utter, blissful relief and a hint of tears, and I knew then the bastard had this one weakness. Thusnelda. She blissfully beamed at him; at her cousin, whom she loved with as much passion as he did her. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes off us and turned back to address Inguiomerus. We stopped our horses behind the nobles. Armin pointed a finger at his uncle. ‘Inguiomerus, I still do not understand why you come here to berate us when you had no part in it. Did we fail? Segestes failed us both. But you do not lead my father’s men.’

  ‘Perhaps I should, from now on?’ the gangly Cherusci said thickly. ‘This plan was utter idiocy. You fight on a hill, not at a ford.’

  Armin agreed, though only partially. ‘I hated the plan, but Father wanted to fight there. I agree we should not have fought there. We should have forced the enemy to march and tire itself out. But I don’t think we should have met them on any hill either, now or later unless we had some surprise in mind.’

  ‘Uphill battle, Armin, is hard even for a Roman,’ Inguiomerus told him with a lecturing voice.

  Armin spat. ‘No. It is a deathtrap. Only surprise works. Such surprises take the time to plan properly. We could have drawn them after us, harried them day and night, all over their columns. We could have cut through their army at night and denied them sleep and with ten thousand men harassing them thus it would have been very tiresome for the Romans. They would have withered. Their cavalry would have been slowly slaughtered. Then their infantry would have had to carry the wounded. Their trains of mules would have been scattered. Parts of their army would have built castrum and stayed to guard them, and they would have slowly split themselves to the winds. But it is done. Now we have to replan this whole thing. You go and fight with the Semnones. Go. You brought a thousand men, and while I thank you for doing so, it is not enough now,’ Armin told him with a hint of a command in his voice. Inguiomerus scowled at that, and Armin took a deep breath, spread his hands in a gesture of peace and continued with more respect. ‘Best take them and spare their lives, and we shall endure the ravages and get ready for the next year.’

  ‘What if Rome builds a castra here?’ a tall Cherusci warlord asked.

  ‘They won’t,’ Armin snorted. ‘They have the Castra Flamma already. They cannot support anything beyond Luppia. Not this year. What they build each evening will be abandoned.’

  Inguiomerus snapped his fingers, and the attention turned to him again. ‘Yes. It was Segestes and Sigimer who failed. I do not say you did badly. Had they fought elsewhere and our traitor brother done his bit, we would have slaughtered them there. I do not approve of such cowardly plans as you just shared. Tug at their tail? No. A hill. That is where we can win.’

  ‘We, Uncle?’ Armin asked tiredly. ‘They are armored and disciplined and can march up a hill easily enough.’

  The gaunt man scowled as Armin was not easy to manipulate nor threaten. Inguiomerus’s finger pointed towards the west. ‘They are not gods; they are men. They can be killed like the Suebi, or the Chatti, or any other man, so I say we gather your men while there is still time. We will find a good hill indeed, and I shall lead and men will flock—’ he was saying in a strained voice, his beard jutting aggressively.

  ‘No,’ Armin said, and I saw many of the remaining war chiefs disagreed with him. ‘No,’ he said again, empathetically. ‘We are scattered. We have two thousand men able to fight. Not all have weapons. The Romans have end
ured too few losses. It is too late now to fight them head on. We could have, had we not lost Segestes and half our men. This war is lost.’

  ‘Germani fight! They do not run!’ Inguiomerus said with a malicious, deep voice. ‘Where is your honor?’

  ‘My plan,’ Armin said softly and dangerously, ‘lies in beating them when we have most of the advantages! We nearly destroyed three of their legions and all their auxilia, and—’

  ‘Nearly,’ Inguiomerus sneered. ‘It’s like nearly marrying a pretty noblewoman but ending up with a toothless slave girl.’ Men laughed at his words, and Armin glowered.

  Armin was glancing at us, enduring the mockery, and his eyes met his love. She nodded at him encouragingly, and he took a deep breath. ‘Stand in set piece battle with them now and you get slaughtered unless we have thrice the men. Ten thousand? We would lose anyway, but then we could try. Like we did in the river, before Segestes left us,’ he said. Then he leaned closer. ‘And Segestes is at large. He has thousands of men ready to do battle. But not for us, no. You wish to see if he loves you like he loved Sigimer? My father? You wish to risk that? I’m sure he will turn his face your direction soon enough, and he won’t be smiling. He has been promised these lands. Why would he let you keep yours?’

  Inguiomerus did not give up. ‘Because I can defend mine. Because he hates to fight and to take my lands would lure the Suebi out in hordes. He does not want that, no. And now? You say we run. A flight? Then, later schemes and surprises? That is not the way of our fathers. You fight, and you win or die. That is the way to do battle and the way to save tribes from the displeasure of the gods, not to mention the Romans,’ Inguiomerus was saying, explaining it as if to a child, but he was staring around the woods, perhaps wondering where Segestes was.

  Armin looked around at the gathered chiefs who seemed troubled. ‘Since Sigimer is lost, I am the thiuda, Inguiomerus. I should lead this war. It has been decided.’

  ‘No, we will not make you the War King. I said you did well, and Segestes and Sigimer failed, but perhaps this is all your and Sigimer’s fault, indeed. Why did you go and help the fools anyway? The Sigambri and the Bructeri? Foolish! Had you stayed at home, there would not be a mad army of armored enemies setting up to burn our lands.’

  Armin growled and stepped forward. He poked a finger into his uncle’s chest. ‘We went because we would have fought Rome the next year. And we could have won this year. I had a brilliant plan; father had the chiefs and men all working together, and it was a chance for us to–’

  Inguiomerus sneered and pushed the hand away. Some men grabbed their weapons, and he scoffed at them. ‘What you did is you turned the Roman army into an enemy army, one which is in your lands. Your plan lost our allies thousands of men, thousands! Dead and wounded. Chiefs in their dozens. They may never recover! And now we also have a civil war on our hands,’ Inguiomerus said savagely and enjoyed the approving looks he got from several more prominent chiefs. ‘You, Armin, are useless against Rome.’ I coughed. I could not help it, but I did not like Inguiomerus. The chief escorting me tried to stop me, but I slapped his hands off and all turned to look at me.

  I cleared my throat, sorry I had made the noise. I spoke nonetheless. ’And yet, the one thing the Romans fear is not Inguiomerus on a hill. It’s Armin’s horn in the woods.’

  Inguiomerus looked at me in disbelief. ‘Hraban?’ he said. ‘That helmet is his, no?’

  ‘Yes, Lord,’ I agreed.

  ‘You! Slave to the Batavi and the Romans! Oath breaking cur and slayer of our kind. God’s cursed walking corpse. How dare you show your face here?’ he bellowed.

  I shrugged. ‘After we split your army, I found this woman in the woods. I decided to bring her home.’ I looked at Armin, and I could see him struggling. He wanted to go to Thusnelda, but his honor forbade him. ‘Or should I take her to her father? Where is Segestes?’ I continued viciously, and Armin flinched.

  Inguiomerus spat at the ground and pointed a gnarly finger my way. ‘Armin. If you wish to carry the burden of the War King, you have to be ruthless. I say have him killed. He is a traitorous dog. Nail his skull on a tree by the fords and let all Romans crossing the Holy One gaze at it,’ Inguiomerus dared Armin, and there were wagers made all around to see if Armin would.

  Armin looked at us and spoke heavily. ‘Hraban. Ever appearing to cause chaos and sow discontent.’ He turned to the chiefs. ‘I would love to have his head on my saddle. I would let it hang there as I ride around the land, giving people hope. And why not? He has failed me each and every time I have dealt with him, choosing his father, then Nero Claudius Drusus over the causes of the free people.’ He took a deep breath, and I was about to rebuke him, but he let out a sigh and pointed at Thusnelda. ‘But he is here now with my cousin, and so the storm raven is redeemed in my eyes. He shall keep his head.’

  Inguiomerus spat. ‘Yea. He shall live. All the Romans shall, in fact. And you call yourself a thiuda?’

  ‘I am a thiuda, Uncle,’ he laughed with his head up high. ‘I am a man of honor. I do not easily slay men who fight for their daughter. And that is what Hraban has been doing. He has no home, none. Even Rome will leave him cold, in the end. All he wants is his daughter.’

  ‘I do want her,’ I said softly. ‘And I thank you for sparing her when Hands was being chased by Lok’s minions.’

  ‘You are welcome,’ he smiled. ‘As for Lif, it was my duty.’

  ‘Your duty?’ I asked.

  He smiled and shook his head at me, ignoring Inguiomerus. ‘Later, Hraban. Now, I wish Father was here. Did you see what took place with him?’

  ‘I saw his standard fall.’ I nodded at the once brilliant, beautiful thing in the dust. ‘Then I tried to capture you and saw no more,’ I told him. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘We shall speak more, Hraban, soon,’ Armin said heavily . He was tired but still handsome as a young god and I felt compelled to bow to him from my saddle. I cursed myself and asked Woden to keep my head clear. I had failed to slay Drusus for him; I should not fail to serve him to Drusus. After I had Lif, I would. He owed me. I did not owe him, I reminded myself.

  Armin turned to speak with Inguiomerus and a short Cherusci came to lead us to the side. We followed him, were served some fish and rich ale. I watched the great, coming man of the Cherusci deal with the fey Inguiomerus. Armin was a few years older than I was. He had schemed against Father, afraid Maroboodus would marry Thusnelda and raised a Marcomannic civil war to topple my father, though Father had wanted him to do so to be rid of his rivals. Armin had then fled and captured our ring with Catualda’s murderous help, though Catualda, a relative had a claim on it. The fat-lipped turd, I thought and wondered where he was. I did not see him and cursed aloud. Then I waved the warrior away as he thought I had complaints about the food.

  I admired your father, Thumelicus.

  I eyed him, tired and fey, arguing for his right to rule. Not only the plots against Father, Armin had gone home and plotted a whole winter and spring to do battle with Nero Claudius Drusus. I shook my head. It was no small feat he had managed to bring together all the Luppia River tribes to grab a near victory over three legions in a pitched battle. It would not be easy to duplicate that near success, of course, for Drusus would never again ignore Armin’s capacity for a surprise, but it was a bleeding wound in a Roman heart. Now, Armin had lost the support of Segestes, his father and brother, and there he was, his back straight and demanding the right to rule.

  I hated and admired him, and that was the first time I began to wonder how far was he trying to reach. Was he to be the savior of the Germani? Free, happy, noble, and generous? Or like my father, did he wish for the ultimate power? Was there any difference between the two? Did he desire to be a king? King of the Germani? An abhorrence of the free men of the tribes, yet something we would all have a desperate need of, should we fight Rome. Us. Them, I thought, groaned and drank my ale with an angry grunt.

  ‘He is a complex man,’ Thusnelda said from th
e side. I had forgotten her.

  ‘We are all complex. I just think I have not had time to plan anything for myself so far, except for regaining what I have lost. He is reaching for kingdoms, and I am always just one step ahead of death,’ I cursed.

  She hesitated and blushed. ‘He does not wish to be a king. Do not be absurd.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked her with a smile.

  She swatted at a fly, irritated, and scowled. ‘I know him.’

  ‘Nobody knows Armin,’ I mused, half to myself and even Thusnelda stared at the man. After a while she spoke.

  ‘In any case,’ she mumbled and flinched as Armin was now angrily shouting at Inguiomerus. ‘I will help you find Lif. I know she is to stay with this Veleda Hands told us about. You are her father and have to see she is fine.’

  ‘They say I will risk the world if I find Veleda,’ I mused with amusement. ‘That Odo will slay her and pour her blood on Woden’s Ringlet and thus will incite the events that lead to Ragnarök. I have decided to risk it. But you will still help me?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m not a great believer in curses and prophecies. I think men will destroy Woden’s world indeed, one day, but not your family. Nor Odo’s. Do not be absurd. And I know you will fight for Veleda. I’ve seen you fight. I will ask Armin to help.’

  ‘He needs help, apparently,’ I said with some concern, for Inguiomerus hurled his cup before Armin and strode away, taking a good number of Sigimer’s warlords with him.

  ‘He will survive. His lands will not, but he will,’ Thusnelda said sadly.

  The rest of the chiefs argued for a time, and in the end, Armin gave some terse orders. Apparently, the army was split in two. Inguiomerus took his few men and some of Sigimer’s back home towards the east. He rode for the distant lands of Albis River and did not look back. There Inguiomerus would fight the Suebi tribes of the Langobardi and the Semnones and wait until the Cherusci begged for him to save them from Rome. Armin was left with Sigimer’s remaining lords, some rogue troops of Segestes. Hundreds would slink home to save their life stocks from the relentless legions.