Wulstan grinned and bowed mockingly at us. ‘He can finally hit back, Old Saxon,’ Wulstan slurred at the old man. ‘He will be the hammer, there will be an anvil, and we shall cheer his efforts and laugh at his struggles. He will work tomorrow, surely. Or the day after, surely. Come, mutt!’
‘Be strong, Hraban,’ Vulcan told me. Brimwulf marched after me, his face unreadable. I was pushed in the middle of the drunken Cherusci, and I found myself ringed by feast tables.
It was not hard to guess who I would wrestle with.
Helmut himself hopped over the tables to oppose me, and I could barely breathe for the rage I felt for the humiliation I was about to endure. Segestes was sitting on his seat, happy and drunk, barely aware it was Hraban before him. I saw Thusnelda, her face cast down in the crowd. Helmut squared off against me, his huge, hairy chest twice the size of mine. He pushed me, grasped for me suddenly, dancing on his feet as I dodged him and the men roared encouragements at him. I whirled around the huge man, but in order to beat him I would have to grasp him and that meant I would lose. I kicked his knee, punched him in the face, and he leered at me as if I had the strength of a fly. He danced before me, mocking me and the men roared even louder. I sighed and closed in, throwing another huge punch at his meaty face and not even the Woden’s song hammering ferociously in my head could help me put the bastard down. He spat blood, grinned, charged, and I could not dodge him. He pulled me up to him and then he squeezed me like I was a sack of hay, and I howled and cried in pain. I managed to put my finger in his eye, forcing him to release me. I screamed in anger, tackled him to the ground. I saw his hand coming for me, his fingers splayed as he would squeeze my face. I grabbed it with both my hands and twisted. There was a crack and Helmut screamed. One of his fingers was twisted to the side, and I spat at his face. He kicked me off him, darted after me like a spirit, and I did not manage to get out of the way and so the fight was over. He punched me hard, I tasted blood and sensed he was hovering over me. He took a spear off a guard, hesitated and turned it around and clubbed me half senseless, and Brimwulf had to stop him in his rage. Men pulled him off.
I got up unsteadily and pointed a finger at him. ‘I, Hraban of the Batavi will have your guts in my hands, you shitfaced coward, and your son will show you the way to Hel. And your daughter—’ I began and then I got an idea.
I did not need Brimwulf. Not really. But Mathildis was the key, indeed.
Later on in the stables, Helmut and Wulstan beat me again; both were drunk, and I did not work for a week. I healed and eventually worked again, and I asked Vulcan what was taking place, for horses were being saddled. He knew little of what was happening in the wide lands, but in that week of Junius, Segestes went to war and rumors told us Roman cohorts joined him. They were trying to find Armin, and I prayed to Woden Lif and Drusus were spared.
Time passed, the summer wore on, and I worked. I was thinking about my plan, felt terribly afraid to attempt to put it to action and decided to wait until I knew more. Then it was fall; the leaves were abandoning the trees, people spending less time outdoors. Segestes was still gone. I saw Mathildis daily though she had stopped talking of anything of consequence with me after our last awkward discussion, but she brought me meat and vegetables, always smiling prettily. I assisted Vulcan now with the actual smiting, and he rarely scolded me. We were making spear points, not for the framea, but heavy, hasta points, and he would hold the metal with thongs after being happy with the color of the heated metal. He would ask me questions and growl if I answered wrong. Then, he would show me where to hit, and I would use a sledgehammer so hard the metal began to flatten, ever so slowly, but flatten it did. He kept marking spots for me, and I hit them. I grunted and enjoyed the work, happy for the cooler air, for the summer had been hot, the crops had been partly failing, and it was as if the gods had decided to make life hard for men. It would be a harsh winter.
I wanted it to be hard.
I was steeling myself for my escape and knew I had no more time to think about it. I was frustrated with the terrible fear I felt in my gut when I thought about Helmut, afraid I had lost my valor with my weapons and vented my rage on metal each day. I swung the sledgehammer and the metal gave. Vulcan grunted appreciatively. I was strong, perhaps stronger than before, my muscles grown and my stamina was much better. Wulstan’s beatings did not make me bat an eye.
‘You can soon make your first ax head,’ he said proudly.
I glanced at him before striking. ‘I would like to try, master. Perhaps I can keep it.’
He laughed and looked bothered. ‘I am but a humble smith. What do I know? But I would advice against it.’
I nodded and asked. ‘Do you dislike me?’
He shook his head in wonder at my blunt question. ‘Dislike you? No, not really. You eat too long, fart too often, and stink, but that is not your fault. They don’t let you bathe often enough. You are all right. You learn quickly. I do not care about your past, and who you have killed or betrayed. They say things about you, but what is that to me? Bah. You have been here a lot longer than I thought you would be.’
I hit a particularly hard spot to flatten, and he nodded appreciatively as I kept speaking. ‘They will keep me like this until they have decided what to do with me. Segestes will trade me to some high bastard, who will benefit him most. Or he will just depose of me. Either way, I wish to die fighting,’ I said, bitterly.
I did not draw a positive reaction. He glanced at me and said: ‘It is your wyrd, then.’ I stopped the hammering. He fixed an eye on me and asked: ‘What? You expect me to die for you? Why would I let you create something that could get me killed?’
I looked into his eyes. ‘Because Brimwulf would not betray Segestes for the girl. Because I have a plan, and I need steel to make it work. Because you have given me these wonderful skills. They will be lost, and your legacy is gone. I know nothing, nothing at all about this work, not even after this year, but you have given me, at least, love for the craft.’ It was true, I realized, but I needed a good weapon. He pointed at the spear point and stayed quiet as I worked on.
We noticed Wulstan coming for me in the evening, and Vulcan turned me around.
‘Tomorrow, we make a seax. It is not easy, takes a lot of metal, but perhaps you can,’ he said, and my heart swelled. I could. Both make it and keep it.
Wulstan took me to the stables and pushed me in. Brimwulf followed, bored out of his wits, rubbing his face. I stopped at the door, astonished. The stables that had been empty since Segestes rode out were now full of sweaty horses. ‘Feed them, then clean, dog. Lap up the crap, sweep the hay. You know the drill, beast,’ Wulstan said with an unhappy voice. He was unhappy, for there was a feast ongoing. At the other side of the stable was the wall with a door. It was by a stall, and there were cracks in the door and warmer air often carried fine fragrances of delicious food from the other side. That night, I could smell venison and sweet mead, juicy boar and steamy vegetables and all of the excruciatingly wonderful details of the fares wafted through. I felt famished. I also heard many noises. I went to my hands and knees, beginning the chore of cleaning up the few empty stalls first, but this night, Wulstan was not going away. He leaned on a stall.
‘What is wrong?’ I asked him. ‘They don’t invite pups to the feast?’
He stared at me with a shocked expression and then smiled like a rodent. ‘My father says you will go soon. I will miss you, but perhaps I shall get a real dog,’ the bastard told me snidely and toed my ass. I heard Segestes call for silence, and I cursed, for I was done with Wulstan. There was nothing to be done, and I got up. Wulstan blanched. ‘What? Get back down this very instant, or I will fuck you in the ass with this stick!’ he said, showing his cane to me. Brimwulf spat in disgust. Wulstan turned to him in fury, but when he turned his face back towards me, he saw my fist flying for his forehead. Something broke, and he flew in the air. He was not getting up. I bent over him, and I noticed to my dissatisfaction he was still alive.
> Brimwulf looked at me in alarm and cocked an arrow in a heartbeat. ‘What do you think you are doing, Hraban? I cannot protect—’
‘I just want to clean in peace. Will you leave me to it?’ I said, and he looked unsure, his eyes darting from the prone bastard to me, then to the door, and he finally nodded.
‘Do not kill him, and I will go sit outside. Hot in here, stinks like vermin,’ he told me, then hesitated and dragged Wulstan out. ‘In fact, let’s not tempt you. I’ll take the vermin with me.’
I grinned at him, went to the door, and placed my eye on the crack in the planking. I saw Segestes and a Roman officer, a centurion by his haughty bearing, yet a fighter with a rough face. Rome used them for more than whipping their enemies. In his finger, there was a fine ring, a ruby set amidst gold, and I noticed Segestes admiring it every now and then. Also present were a dozen of Segestes’s silver adorned chiefs. Thusnelda was standing near my wall, and Ragwald and Helmut were standing by the door. Segestes was giving a speech, his beard oiled, wearing a lavish toga, toasting.
‘—and Armin, Inguiomerus, both driven away, again this year. I now hold sway over all of Sigimer’s lands, and most of his men, thanks to our bravery and the cohorts of the XVII Legion, have made them retreat to Albis and Hercynian wilds. Next year, all the Cherusci are one!’ Men cheered him raucously and clapped, the Roman was nodding politely. Thusnelda shuddered, evidently holding back rage and tears. Segestes called for silence, the goblet in his hand sloshing wine on the tables. He went on. ‘This year, Nero Claudius Drusus, the governor of Tres Galliae, took the XVI Gallica and XIV Gemina Legions up the Moenus River, scattered the Marcomanni and the remains of the Quadi to the savage land beyond the Chatti. He built a castra near the Red and White Moenus and marched for Mattium, the Chatti capital! A splendid victory there, as well!’ he told the men, and my mind was whirling. Cheers filled the room.
My Father put to flight? The Chatti scattered? I thought, leaning my forehead to the wall. Had Drusus made sure Father would not threaten him after all? Had Drusus made a surprising move and had he won? Was Father dead? ‘If he is, Segestes is fucked,’ I whispered and thought Thusnelda moved and glanced at the door. On the other hand, if Father was dead, then Segestes only had Drusus. And I would die and be buried in silence.
Judging by Segestes’s happiness, Father was still alive and their plans were ongoing. Segestes’s voice broke, and he nearly choked, but he went on bravely. ‘The Luppia legions, on the other hand took the fight again to the Bructeri, Marsi, and Sigambri, building more fine castrum and a great route now runs from Luppia to our lands! Trade and wealth will roll in and out,’ he screamed, hoisting his horn up. I heard Thusnelda curse with tears. Then Segestes sobered, his eyes glancing around apologetically, for not all faces were joyous with these victories. ‘Let us honor our foes as well. The Chatti fought! They still fight. They are not defeated, but next year, Lord Drusus will finish it, and he will march here to deal with the dregs of our last enemies! The dark lands of Inguiomerus will belong to us, under a keen Roman governance. Too long have the Cherusci been reduced to fighting enemies outside, and inside. Now, we are strong!’ he continued ,and some men roared their approval. ‘Next year, even stronger!’ So, Drusus had herded all his enemies far to the east and some of them would be in the lands of the Cherusci next year. And there Drusus would die after all, for he did not know about Segestes. Father was indeed still at large. I cursed. I should have been happy with the Roman army winning its wars. Of routing Father. Hard Hill was likely taken. Yet, my heart ached for the noble Chatti, and the thought of a man like Segestes leading the Germani nations, revolted me.
‘Bastard turd,’ I breathed and kept on listening as the noises abated inside.
The fat man continued. ‘Drusus, our friend Drusus is gone to Lugdunum to finish his Altar of Roma and Augustus. There the Gauls gather and worship their masters. My son, Segimundus has been serving him in Lugdunum and will be a priest of the great cult, and I am honored, we are all much honored by this!’ he continued, and I saw the chiefs in the room stiffen. They wanted no new gods and certainly wanted to avoid worshipping the strange Roman ones, no matter the Roman ways of Segestes’s hall. Their gods lived in the air, ours on the ground and did not get along, I thought. Segestes did not see the scowls as he saluted the Roman officer, his jowls flapping as he spoke, in tears. The centurion was hard put to remain stoic, his eyes laughing, and his lips quivering.
The centurion got up with a horn. ‘Nero Claudius Drusus! Segestes the Great! Next year we will push the savage Chatti, the stubborn Fox Armin, and Inguiomerus the Gaunt to Hades! Let them weep in the Grey Lands, and see us reap the rewards they have sown. We shall place a new border on Albis, where the Suebi will shake in terror as we flash our swords at them! It will be finished here! In your lands,’ he yelled to the multitude.
‘New lands for us to rule,’ Segestes said loudly.
‘Indeed!’ the Roman centurion saluted. ‘I will also have you know that Nero Claudius Drusus celebrated the birth of his son! Tiberius Claudius Nero! His third child. It is a new era!’
They saluted him for that, if not for the rest; cheering the centurion, and Drusus for his happy family, for we all loved such news. That was also the first time I heard of the future princeps Claudius.
A man rose up in the crowd. ‘And the Marcomanni, the Quadi? What of them? How badly were they beaten?’
Segestes made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Hard Hill hosts a Roman castra now. The Red Hall remains are a latrine. The Matticati are recovering and allied to us. The Vangiones and Drusus took it; Hunfried the Vangione king was freed from imprisonment and the Suebic scum have fled. They did not lose many, but their lands and cows are taken. There are no longer Suebi in the Rhenus. They are gone, gone, to poverty and shame, hiding with the Chatti and fearing the Hermanduri,’ he said, dramatically.
The celebration continued, and I shook my head. I had to escape and find Drusus. And Fulcher. And her. Cassia. I wondered briefly if Cassia was still waiting for me. Why would she be? I was rumored dead. And still could die. I swallowed and chased away tears, feeling alone and miserable, momentarily bereft of strength to carry on. I quit my eavesdropping and cleaned the stall, carrying the shit in my hands to a pit meant for it, and Brimwulf smiled at me from the door. ‘He is coming to. Want to wait for it?’
I nodded at him and went to sit by the wall, preparing for pain.
I heard a meowing sound, then a growl outside. Then a piteous moan. Wulstan was struggling to get up, then said something to Brimwulf. Soon, I heard unsteady running steps and pained weeping. I sighed, trying to relax. Time passed.
I did not have to wait for long.
Soon, heavy feet were thumping the ground so that dust fell from the roof beams and the door opened violently. Helmut stood there, his face red. I smiled at him and raised my eyebrows in mock question, and he came to me. He grabbed me by my face and threw me roughly outside by the scruff of my neck. There I saw Wulstan holding the left side of his face, which was dreadfully swollen.
‘You will pay for this,’ Helmut said as he came after me and held me by the neck.
‘He looks prettier now, does he not? Much better than his father,’ I told him, and he swatted me with an open hand. I took it and laughed at him. ‘He looks like a cow’s ass!’
‘Bring the dogs here,’ Helmut said darkly and Brimwulf was about to protest when a guard of Helmut placed a spear on his back. Brimwulf went silent, gnashing his teeth.
He said: ‘Segestes will not approve if you maim him too badly.’
‘Segestes is drunk, and he tried to escape,’ he said, savagely. ‘It happens.’
‘Just beat him, he knew it was coming,’ Brimwulf told him sternly.
‘Shut your mouth,’ Helmut told him and looked on in glee as two large, hairy canines were brought forward from the kennel. He dragged me up and pushed me in front of the beasts, and the creatures smelled me inches away, their teeth slavering
in front of my face, growling like mad things of Hel. Helmut was looking at my reactions as the hounds flattened their ears, and I am sure I went white from the face. To make the matters worse, Ragwald walked over from the hall, a lanky short man following him. The younger man’s face was blank as if he was deep in his thoughts, and he showed no reaction to my dilemma. I decided that was Mathildis’s Turd. Ragwald’s son. Manno.
‘What’s this then?’ Ragwald asked darkly, eyeing me, then Wulstan. ‘He did that?’
‘Lord,’ Helmut said desperately. ‘He did. I was going to—’
Ragwald licked his lips and glanced behind him for the door of the hall. It was clear. ‘Is there any way to force the dogs to rip something like a finger off, perhaps? So that he still survives?’ Ragwald mused.
‘No,’ Helmut frowned. ‘They go for the throat. I taught them.’
Ragwald shuddered as he stared at the beasts. ‘Well met, Hraban. I see you have been causing mischief.’
I spat. ‘He found trouble, the little shit,’ I nodded at Wulstan who was whimpering. ‘A man treated like a dog will eventually bite.’
Ragwald licked his lips, looking around, his eye twitching. ‘Lord,’ Helmut asked, gesturing at the lanky man beside the lord. ‘Your son. Imagine if this bad hearted southerner had beaten your son? Let my mutts tear him open.’
Ragwald nodded, showing his useless arm. ‘I know what he is.’
‘Lord!’ Brimwulf protested.
Ragwald turned his face to him, pondering the issue, but then drunken savagery conquered his doubts and fears, and he nodded. ‘Let them.’
‘Rip?’ Helmut asked carefully.
‘Him apart,’ Ragwald agreed maliciously. ’Make sure the mutts will leave something together, enough to call him a man.’
‘Lord!’ Brimwulf yelled. ‘I will—’
‘Be quiet,’ Helmut spat and pushed me. ‘Run,’ he said slowly.
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 19
