Cassia might suffer, I thought.
So, I just left him alive.
He would be proven false later. Though I was not sure he was alive. I had hit him hard, and he had fallen like a soft ball of lard on the floor. I grunted as I looked at him lie there, his mouth kissing the lower surface of the shield, his fat lips quivering.
‘So now what?’ Vulcan asked.
‘I’ll need that ring,’ I grinned at him.
‘The ring?’ he asked suspiciously, and his eyes enlarged in horror as he gazed at the ring of the centurion, glittering on the finger of Segestes. ‘No! Hraban!’
‘Yes,’ I hissed and took the hand of Segestes. I laid it lovingly next to him and the finger with the Roman ring glinted. I grinned at Vulcan and took up the ax, pressing it on the finger and the fat thing came off very easily.
Vulcan made a guttural sound reminding me of a giggle.
‘His first war wound!’ I told him.
Vulcan laughed hard and turned, cursed, and grabbed me. The door was open, and a shadow was sprinting away. I rushed to the doorway, and I saw Ragwald running. He sprinted past the tables and stopped to stare at the main doorway. I moved after him to the hall, and he hesitated, croaked, and cursed. He abandoned the idea of sprinting for the door, took up a sturdy stairway and went upstairs fast as a spider. I sighed and went back to the armory, grabbed the fabulous shield and went to the hall, hefting the axe and the metal shield. Two drunken, but still alert chiefs of Segestes were on their feet, talking with each other, confused about Ragwald and me. I walked over to them and grinned. Both were bedecked in jewelry, silver and gold. They turned and their mouths opened in unison, confusion and drunkenness making them slow, but finally their hands were groping for weapons. Sigimer’s ax came down on one’s face, the shield crushed the other one’s nose soon after.
I turned to Odo’s men.
They got up, groping for their spears, a supremely surprised look on their faces.
A spear thrown by Vulcan took one in the back, leaving him crying in pain. The other one turned to face the danger, and I stepped forward, the ax coming down from the side. The man screamed and folded in two, dying on the floor.
Vulcan edged to the room and shrugged. ‘Ragwald?’
‘Upstairs. Likely climbed out of some hole already. ‘Take a spear. Quickly.’ I walked to the door, expecting the guards to burst through. The floorboards were creaking as I rushed, but the guards were either drunk or used to such clamor in the feasts of Segestes. I grinned at Vulcan and pushed the woolen covering to the side without further ceremony. Vulcan followed me closely. ‘Guards? The Lord needs your help,’ I told the two tall men brusquely.
They turned in surprise. They stepped in and stopped to look at the chaos. ‘What in Donor’s balls has taken place ...’ one began, and then they died. Vulcan speared one with savage strength; I whacked the ax on the neck of the other and then I pulled the doorway’s blood-spattered covering closed.
‘I’ll need the wealth,’ I said and nodded at the dead men. ‘Have to be fast, though.’
Vulcan came after me, and we began to loot the drunken men, pulling off rings and pouches. One man woke up to my ungentle ministrations, and I bashed him with the ax handle. I did not care what kind of men they were, to me they were just men who had humiliated and mocked me.
I noticed movement and darted and found the poet looting a man who had passed under a table. He smiled at me inanely, and I nodded with a grin. He kept looting.
Vulcan sat at the table and started to eat and drink while pulling an oil lamp near himself.
‘That’s it, then?’ I asked him, pointed at the oil lamp, and he burped. ‘You will meet your wife this night?
‘Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll wake up the women before I do anything with the lamp. I’ll eat something first, for have I not missed so many feasts in this land of misery? May gods guide you Hraban. Best leave before Ragwald gathers his courage and finds some men. Going to take the shield? Best let it gather dirt. That way fewer men go for you in battle as that is a treasure everyone wants.’
I nodded and dropped last silver rings to a pouch. It was a heavy and splendid treasure.
‘Who are you?’ the poet asked carefully from under the table, apparently thinking about making a song.
‘Hraban, the Oath Breaker, the pig friend, and a blacksmith,’ I said and grinned. I bowed to Vulcan, who toasted me. He grinned at me sadly and nodded from the doorway. Then he concentrated on destroying a leg of venison while getting up. He carried the oil lamp with him and walked for the sleeping quarters where Thusnelda and Mathildis slept. I bowed to him as I left. I hope Ragwald is hiding on the top floor when the fires spread, I thought gleefully but had a hunch he would survive the night. Few men were about as I walked to the harbor, and the man sitting on the boat got up uncertainly as I approached.
‘Castra Flamma? I need to get there. Is this Thusnelda’s boat?’ I asked him with a whisper, and he nodded enthusiastically, waving at the other men lounging nearby. They rushed up, grinned at me, and climbed in. We cast off, and I heard Ragwald scream somewhere in the distance. There was smoke rising from the hall of Segestes, and I knew Vulcan had prepared his pyre. Perhaps Segestes would die.
I left to save Sigimer, Armin, and Drusus.
BOOK 4: GULLDRUM
‘He thinks there is an army out there. Not a Roman one.’
Brimwulf to Hraban.
CHAPTER 20
The trip to the south was uneventful. ‘Relax, Lord,’ said the tall slave happily, who was likely a Chauci of the north. He enjoyed the whipping wind of the Visurgis River as he held his head high, steering the boat through eddies and unseen rocks beneath the dark surface. ‘It will take this day and all of the next to row down to the Buck. We have to avoid some treacherous rocks and many strange currents. Very fast water up there, you see?’ I nodded, nervous as I looked behind us, sure Segestes would send vengeful men whipping their horses up and down the river. The men grunted and cursed, for rowing was hard work. At times, Visurgis flowed far too dangerously to row, and we had to carry the boat. I was a nervous wreck when we did, but no horses nor enemy boats appeared. We ate while we rowed, and I slowly began to enjoy my freedom as the sun came up.
We kept rowing all that day, some rowers resting while others worked.
I thought of Vulcan and drank some bitter mead the slaves had with them, toasting his memory, begging Woden would find a sturdy seat for him at his table. He had fought well, he had helped me with everything and surely he deserved a smile from the great gods. I also prayed to Woden to guard Mathildis. Wulstan might or might not be alive, but I thought Segestes had other things to think about than a simple girl and a mean little mute boy. I chuckled as I patted my belt where there was a finger lodged next to a very fat pouch of Segestean treasure. A rower had been staring at me and his eyes focused on my belt and widened. I looked down to see the finger and the glittering ring, both which peeked from my belt. I picked the finger up, opened the pouch and dropped it in while I stared at the slave until he turned his eyes away. I grunted and kept my hand on Sigimer’s ax. I was not safe yet. Not by far.
Night fell, and we had to rest properly. We holed up in a small, reedy bank for the rest of the night and lit no fires. I stayed up all night, hand on the ax. The next morning was unusually cold, and we got on board very reluctantly, our joints stiff.
By the afternoon, we saw many settlements. There were lots of burnt down ones, but some of these were rapidly being rebuilt as the Germani generally do not bow down to ravaging enemy or hardships. There were also men fishing from the banks. They were wearing pelts, and cattle by hundreds could be seen on the fields, fattening up for the winter. Some of the men were staring at us. Mostly, they just ignored the boat, but then one stood up, and he was staring at me intently. Then, he ran away, and I cursed. The rowers had noticed the man as well and looked resentfully at the helmet on my head. I growled back at them, but the mistake was mine. On the other ha
nd, after the fires of Hel I had endured, I did not wish to escape like a quivering girl. At the end of the long, cold day, darkness finally fell, and we arrived at the Buck. We rowed up it, the currents much harsher than the ones in Visurgis and finally, late in the night, I saw the place where the battle had taken place. On the left side, I could see hundreds of burial mounds and even some horse skeletons amidst grass, for the moon was high and full. On the right side, there was the remains of a Roman march camp.
‘Stop,’ I told them and they, exhausted, lost their rhythm, nearly tipping me in. ‘Put me in there,’ I said, pointing to the west bank and the castra.
‘You know where to go? I was supposed to show you,’ the tall man holding the tiller told me.
I looked uncertain. ‘I rode through here once, but it is dark. It is over those hills?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘Rode through here once? Yea, I know what happened here last year. No matter. I will guide you. You would get lost.’
I paid the men in the boat with some of my stolen silver and told them not to flaunt it. We slept the rest of the night. It was uneasy sleep, for it was cold, and we slept back-to-back, keeping up a fire. I was tired enough to doze off, at least. Next morning we ate some porridge and vegetables, drank water for all the mead was gone, and I was going to be a Roman again. It would take two or three days to walk to Castra Flamma, through the lands where the Cherusci, Bructeri, and Chatti lived and visited and hunted, and I prayed we would meet no one, if not a Roman patrol. I cursed the metal shield and covered it up with cloth, for it would attract enemies like flies.
The tall man guided me like a weasel through to the thickets of young trees, up hills and over bluffs, where an auroch looked at us majestically. I thought it was a great sign. We waded through frigid streams, avoided some fertile, crowded valleys full of people and waited many a time for young men out hunting to pass. The woods were deep and lush with small hills of sweet smelling greenery, and we resolutely made our way west, enjoying the fine sights Woden’s world granted us. A strange storm hit us in the evening, and we spent another miserable night shivering under the boughs of a thick fir tree. Our food turned to mush, and we ate the disgusting mess silently. It snowed sometime in the night.
I woke up to my guide shaking my hand, hissing at me to be quiet.
I was covered in a thin sheet of snow and water was dripping morosely all around us as the meager morning warmth beat back the first onslaught of winter. The man was pointing down, looking very scared. Below us, in the woods, two men were walking, both holding tall bows. They were nearly unseen in the shadows, moving like sprits of the deep woods, vaettir.
‘Svear,’ whispered my guide. Terrified.
‘Svaer?’ I asked, mystified.
‘Svear! Suebi mercenaries, from the north. They are from beyond the sea, beyond Gothonia. Hunters, working for Ragwald,’ he told me, shaking in terror. ‘Savage and brutal.’
‘You sure they are not local?’ I asked him. The Svear were crouched on their haunches, and I thought my guide was right. They had a look of very dangerous men out for very specific prey.
‘I have seen them about,’ he breathed. ‘Savage and—’
I understood. ‘I am savage and brutal. Where is the castra?’ I looked towards the west, for we were on a ridge, and I saw some haze to the southwest as if smoke was rising to the sky.
‘There, yes, at the end of Teutoburg Wald. It is beyond the hill and then you have to follow the road. They have a huge fort out there.’
I nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know, I was there. Remember?’
He shook as he looked at the men stalk below. ‘It has grown while you were attending pigs and hammering horseshoes.’
I saw the men below come to light for a while. They had painted their bodies gray, with dark smudges and brown lines crisscrossing. They wore gray wolf pelts and surely did not look like the Chatti or the Cherusci. They had dark hair like mine and animal-like movements of men who knew the wilds better than halls and the fields. It looked as if they were sniffing the air. I felt a brief bout of terror, just like my guide did.
‘How many are there?’ I asked him.
‘Some ten, usually. One died last winter of snot and coughs. They hunt slaves,’ he said, mumbling prayers.
‘I see the two, but are there more?’ I looked around but saw none, as the two below were crouched again, now eating something.
‘I don’t know. They are looking for you, surely. Perhaps they don’t know you by looks, except for that scar.’ He drew his thumb across his cheek.
‘Yeah. I’m hard to miss,’ I agreed.
‘What shall we do?’ he asked. ‘Go north perhaps? Try to dodge them?’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t want them running after us as we go. We have the advantage now, but not later. Stay here,’ I told him as I left my helmet and the shield there by the tree. ‘Wish me luck!’
‘Where are you going?’ the slave hissed in panic. I ignored him.
I started to walk downhill briskly, prayed briefly to the gods for help and begun singing a lusty song, my fur cloak billowing around me. The two men were fifty yards away and melted into the shadows as I approached. I sang like a demented idiot and laughed to myself as I jumped over stones, the mossy ground nearly giving in under me, but I went on and pretended not to have a care in the world. The shadows of the trees were still covering my looks to the men, and I saw them whisper to each other. They were but two dangerous shadows, in the woods, I tried to assure myself, just shadows, and I forced a merry tune to escape my lips. They did not move. I took a deep breath, prepared myself, and stepped into the sunlight, looking to the right to hide my face. I was so close to them, so very close, still pretending to be oblivious to their presence. They began to move uncertainly, still wary. Apparently, they had not seen me before, for they did not react to me, and my scarred face was still hidden.
Then I pretended to stumble on a rock and dropped the pouch full of stolen silver and rings, ornaments, chains, and they spread on the ground before me like a brilliant shower of bright raindrops. I saw the shadows tense as they stared at the scattered riches. They got up slowly; one was licking his lips, and they had forgotten the fool walking for them.
And so, I yelled and ran at the leftmost Svea, with Sigimer’s ax held high.
His half nocked arrow fell to the ground as the man realized I had fooled them. He raised his bow to block me, but it was of no use as I hurtled through the air for him. The ax made a satisfying, meaty sound as it thumped on his shoulder, and he fell, taking the ax with him. I searched for the other man in the thicket.
I saw him.
He had sprinted away to the right and now turned, pointing a longbow at me, and I prayed to Woden for help, then in thanks as I slipped on the wet ground and the arrow tore through the forest. The man ripped out another arrow; I pulled out the seax from the back of my belt. I streaked over the shuddering, wounded man I had whacked with the ax and screamed with primal hatred. The Svea hesitated for a second, but I knew he would get another arrow off. I gritted my teeth as the bow aimed for my chest, but that is when my guide threw a stone at him, one that did not hit the man, but distracted him as it hit a trunk. He turned his head instinctively, then cursed, and turned back to me to finish the job. He failed for I was there before him and punctured the blade crudely through his throat and fell over him. He went limp nearly immediately, and I felt his warm piss wet my armor. I was panting as the guide came down with my shield and helmet. ‘You hurt?’ he asked uncertainly, edging near us as I got up, pulling the blade from the man’s throat.
‘I am alive. Thank you,’ I told him and nodded, but noticed he had lost his interest in my well-being. He was staring at the wealth scattered on the snowy grass. ‘Can you collect their gear?’ I asked him. The man nodded, left my gear by the silver, swallowing in fear as he approached the dead and dying men.
I cursed at the smell of blood and piss and dusted myself off. Then I wa
lked to the scattered coins and jewelry and bent down to pick it all up. I packed it up, tied the pouch and tried to tuck it in my belt. ‘Let it be,’ the man said, with a terrified edge in his voice. I shot up and stared around in alarm, thinking the rest of the Svear were there. They were not.
My guide was aiming an arrow with the bow stolen from one of the Svea. At me.
‘You are making a damned mistake. I would have rewarded you,’ I told him with simmering anger.
He looked ashamed and utterly nervous but held the weapon steadily. ‘Drop the seax, your sword, and the treasure.’
I sneered at him. ‘I just spent a year as a slave to your filthy lord, the father of your mistress. You think I won't risk an arrow rather than roll over this easily? And I don’t die easily, man. I once had an arrow in my throat and laughed it off.’ I had not laughed it off, but it was true, otherwise.
He shook but took a wider stance, determined. ‘Such wealth can buy my family a life elsewhere. I am a slave because I have no wealth. I could leave anytime, but go where? My boys would starve. I will take that, buy cattle, a hall, and go free. Perhaps I shall be a client to Segestes, himself.’
I smiled. ‘You think Segestes might be upset when you use his rings and jewelry to buy it?’
‘His?’ he looked shocked.
‘His, and his men’s,’ I told him, sneering. ‘I ...’ The Svea I had struck in the shoulder was shuddering and moaning, and we both gave him a quick glance, but the bow did not move away.
My guide shook his head with remorse. ‘That is a fine, brave deed, Hraban. To take his treasures and escape. They would sing of it, brave men would. But I will take my chances and figure out a way to get what I need. And now I think I cannot let you go. You would hunt me if I did allow you to leave. But do not worry. I won't miss, and it will ache only for awhile.’ I cursed the man. Beyond the yonder hills was my salvation, and there I was about to take an arrow for silver.
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 24
