I gazed at her beautiful face. ‘Yes, they are all coming here. I cannot go anywhere.’
Cassia held my hand. ‘Paullus will send this information ahead and then Drusus can deal with everything. Or your scroll will do the deed if Paellus is lazy. Just wait for Drusus, and you and he will scythe down all our opponents one by one,’ she begged. ‘One by one, together. You don’t really need to go and free Sigimer. Armin never did anything for you. Just … wait.’
I stroked her cheek. ‘I was never any good at waiting. I have ever gone out to find my enemy. Odo will not expect me. I could just end this. You see? Many problems will be solved if I only take Odo’s head. And I did promise Thusnelda. I’d be dead now without her. I told you. Mutilated. You would not find me very attractive skinned and devoid of this peak.’ I tapped my nose.
‘I would. And I am tired, Hraban,’ she whispered. ‘Tired of fearing for you. You left me behind. You will leave me behind again. We found each other once, through many troubles and hardships, and we just barely ended up together in Castra Vetera. Is it my turn to get what I wish for at some point? To tell you what we should do? Or Fulcher?’
I grabbed her hands. ‘I understand. But I will have to help Drusus. I will take the Head Taker and right the wrongs. There are so many men who have to fall.’ I turned to Fulcher. ‘I will need my sword, Fulcher. It is time it fulfills all the oaths I have given. It was Hulderic’s blade, and I will gut Father with it. At least him. Others if I can.’
She slapped my hands away and leaned over. She rapped her hand on Fulcher’s bed and there was a muffled metallic sound under the blankets, and I knew where the Head Taker was. ‘Ever since this sword came to our life, you have been living perilously close to madness. I know your father gave you a bad deal, love, and I know Lif’s loss changed you. Maroboodus gave you a scar with this blade, and you see it as some kind of a holy relic. It is a blade. Old as time, but you are a handsomer man without it. I love the Hraban who does not carry such a great, evil weight around with him. It is a cursed thing. It takes heads, they say, for the glory of Woden. I say it is the Winter Sword, a cold, bitter blade you will clutch in your hand until you die for its past.’
‘Winter sword,’ I said and pulled at Fulcher’s bedding. There, on the bed was the Wolf’s Bane, the fine spearhead of Aristovistus, an ancient relic. But there, next to the spear was also Hulderic’s Head Taker, the ancient Gothoni blade of brutal, simple beauty. I had ever coveted it and when Father had fooled Burlein and me with it, giving it away and having men lie to us of his death, I had used it to carve my enemies. Father had given it away for a ruse, and I had kept it. I ran my fingers across it, ignoring my friends and thought about the blade. I had loved it when I had been a child. Hulderic had gone mad as I pestered him for it when I was growing up. Now? It was heavy. It no longer made me happy, inspired. It reminded me of Hulderic’s death, of Father’s betrayal. It had been there when I lost Burlein and when I lost Lif.
It was not something I loved, not anymore.
I was proud of it, yes, for it was a fine, ancient weapon, but it had changed, I realized, from an honorable weapon with a past and a proud name into a demanding beast of oaths. It was the weapon I wanted to use to kill Father, Odo, Catualda, Antius, and Cornix. Even Segestes now. It wanted blood. I spoke heavily. ‘Winter Sword. It is that indeed. Cold and undesirable. But it has a job to do.’
Cassia eyed it and my hand on it. ‘I hate it. I love you best on those very rare moments you are not driven somewhere after vengeance. Then you are happy and foolish, handsome, and generous. That sword is a hateful thing. You never smile when you hold it. You will die with it. I feel it,’ she said miserably.
‘I think she might be right,’ Fulcher agreed softly.
‘I ...’ I began and stopped stroking the blade. I nodded at Fulcher and pulled Cassia to me and kissed her neck gently. ‘I’ll rename it then. It is the Winter Sword. Give me some time to mull things over.’ I hugged her tight. ‘I have lost everything, Cassia. Their spirits are restless. My family and tribe and friends are watching me in my dreams. They gaze at me with envy and anger, and they stare at this blade and urge me on. I will try to tell them to go back to the shadows. I will be happy and foolish again. Will you bear with me for awhile yet?’
‘Yes,’ she told me heavily and pushed me back. ‘But do not think I am happy as long as that thing is lurking in our lives. When you were ... dead, I did not have to fear. I was only very sad and lonely and hopeful one day you might come back. But you were declared dead. It helped, somehow. Now I am afraid again.’
‘I am sorry I am alive,’ I told her with a smile and waved down her protests. ‘Fulcher, can you hold on to Wolf’s Bane? Keep it safe?’
‘I’ve kept it safe so far.’ He grinned. ‘Take the blade, but remember what she said.’
‘I will,’ I said, put Cassia down and grasped Hulderic’s former battle blade. It was cold and heavy indeed. ‘I will write that scroll for Chariovalda, Fulcher. And you deliver it so that Paellus will not find out.’ I looked at them, and they seemed bothered. ‘What?’
‘He has some news,’ Cassia said softly, and she nodded at Fulcher. She was eyeing the sword with a frown.
‘More about the Decurion?’ I asked him.
Fulcher shook his head. ‘We go to the village tomorrow and deal with that. But before that, you have to do something. You came at a very opportune hour to honor someone. I doubt it is a coincidence.’
‘What is it?’ I asked, puzzled
‘Tudrus the Older is dead. They are burying him tonight at a Sigambri village twenty miles from here,’ Fulcher said softly, looking down. ‘Write your scroll and then we ride.’
CHAPTER 23
‘You paid too much for it,’ Fulcher admonished me as I led a horse around. It was a beautiful beast, dark as night, and its mane was glistening with health. ‘It’s old.’
‘It’s beautiful. And young,’ I told him with a voice that brooked no argument with my horse trading skills.
‘The coat’s been oiled,’ Brimwulf said from the side.
Fulcher was nodding. ‘I was just about to tell the fool that.’
‘Of course, you were,’ Brimwulf quaffed and came to stroke the beast, his hand coming off greased. ‘It’s older than it looks.’
‘That I did say,’ Fulcher complained, clearly unhappy with Brimwulf. His eyes turned mischievous as he regarded the archer. ‘Who is the pretty one?’ he asked me.
‘This is Brimwulf,’ I grunted. ‘Our newest companion. He helped me along. At least he made my way to castra fleeter.’ Brimwulf chuckled at that.
‘No,’ Fulcher said. ‘I meant that one behind him.’
He meant Mathildis, who blushed, and so Brimwulf developed a serious dislike for Fulcher. ‘I hear you are married?’ the archer stated. ‘Fulcher? Right? Perhaps I shall meet your wife one day? Surely she is here, where you take care of her?’
‘She is …’ Fulcher began and stammered, ‘not here. I am alone.’
‘Truly?’ Brimwulf said with faked surprise. ‘Pray your wife is as well.’
I slapped my hand on a Roman saddle. ‘And that is enough, friends. I need you both, you need each other, believe me and stop annoying each other so you won’t be tempted to fail all of us when the need arises.’ Fulcher frowned and shook his head as Brimwulf looked away, bothered. He finally nodded and gave a small bow to Fulcher and he answered, but they did not love each other. ‘Brimwulf, Cassia will show you where you are to sleep. Not with the other Batavi, not yet. And Mathildis should stay in the town …’ I raise my hand to forestall his rising anger. ‘But she is going to help her with her healing duties. So she stays with her. They have a house in the camp.’
‘Fine. And you will go out to find more friends?’ Brimwulf asked. ‘Need me?’
‘I know these men. They might or might not dislike us, and I don’t want to risk you, Brimwulf. You will keep Cassia alive and help her find Nero Claudius Drusus next year if I don�
��t come back. She knows what to do. But yes,’ I said and mounted the horse. ‘I hope I shall find some friends.’ Damn them, I thought irascibly, the horse is a beauty. ‘I will see if they still remember me. Keep the girls safe. And give the scroll to the man Fulcher spoke of.’ I had written a clumsy scroll and prayed it would go forth. I waved at Cassia who was swathed in her cloak just beyond the gate.
‘I will, no worry.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t get lost, Suebi,’ he called to Fulcher who spat and turned his horse away.
Cassia was clearly unhappy about being left behind, but she had duties in the castra, and she seemed happy as Mathildis walked to her. They were giggling, and I swear they said my name. I was happy Brimwulf was with her.
Lucius nodded at me from the vallum. ‘Looking civilized again, Hraban!’ he called out as Brimwulf climbed next to him. I nodded. I wore new caligae with socks. I was holding a hasta, a heavy spear, Segestes’s lambskin covered shield and the Head Taker on my hip again. I had left Sigimer’s ax with Cassia, but also wore Nightbright on the belt and wore a brown sagum cloak, and the smell of lanolin oil wafting from it was slightly repulsive. We rode southwest, amidst mud and battered by a chilly wind. The half-frozen ground was crunching under the hooves of the horses, and the evening was somber. Fulcher’s silence was welcome.
Tudrus the Older was dead.
The great Quadi, friend of Hulderic, was gone. He had anticipated it when we met in the Thing of Drusus. I had regarded him like a father when Maroboodus had turned out to be a cold turd. I had risked my budding trust with Maroboodus to spare Tudrus my father’s deadly schemes. Maroboodus had not only wanted to rule the Marcomanni, but the smaller tribe of the Quadi. He had struck a deal with the Quadi Sibratus to betray Tudrus and his family, and he had used Vannius, the deceitful Vangione prisoner Tudrus had so trusted to try to slay the old chief.
Instead, Tudrus had escaped. Thanks to me.
He had escaped with his son Tudrus the Younger, Agetan, and Bohscyld, his three sons and my one time rivals but now friends. He had led his own people, some two thousand to the north, through the lands of the Matticati to the Luppia River where they had served Sigambri lord Maelo, and there they had fought for him and then even Armin.
It was Tudrus who had brought me the deadly deal from Armin. Lif for Drusus’s life.
He had been ashamed of it, but he was a fugitive, and his people were dying.
And he had asked me for a favor. Should he die, save his sons. Make them Quadi again.
I snorted. I could barely keep myself alive, I thought. But then, Tudrus the Younger was a strong, wild, and wily ally. Agetan and Bohscyld were stupid as the horses they rode, yet staunch and powerful and gods knew I could use them at my side. Then again, I had fought many of the Sigambri the Quadi were sheltered with. Perhaps they did not consider me a friend? Had Drusus been beaten the past year when I helped foil their plan? Many a Quadi would be alive.
With these thoughts, we passed silent homesteads, former Sigambri, now dubiously serving Rome. After an hour of navigating forest roads, we slowly came upon the settlements of the free Sigambri. A number of burned houses began to appear, and there were dirty, tired men toiling with animals. Most stopped to look at us, suspiciously, with hate burning in their eyes as they realized we served Rome. Many were tattooed men, lean, and a mean looking lot, and some held their weapons until we passed. Few trailed after us.
‘Where to?’ I asked Fulcher, ignoring the threatening mood.
‘There is a stream to the south; then we ride west until another comes to sight. The Quadi are settled there,’ he told me, and we rode that way. We found the stream, using some well-trodden forest roads leading west and then we rode under the branches of thick alder woods. The road led to halls of wet misery, villages spattered in mud and finally haphazard fields of barley and wheat, some still unharvested.
Fulcher pointed to the north where we could hear a drone of voices.
We approached a group of men standing on a bank of a small pond, hoping to ask for directions, but saw the people there were praying amidst the remains of a huge pyre. They had recently burned a corpse, and my stomach turned in agitation. Fulcher spoke to some men, who shook their heads and pointed further west. ‘Not him,’ Fulcher noted, and we went on. Eventually, Fulcher guided me to a shallow valley as the wind started to blow harder, promising more snow soon. A village stood there, the trunks of the halls glistening with moistness. A great number of horses were huddled in the corrals, miserable at the coming winter, their manes glistening wet. A few walked around and a man was guarding them.
‘There?’ I said and pointed towards some light woods. We saw a glow in there, away to the east and passed the village. Slaves came out to see us, noting our partly Roman gear, but I ignored them. An old beggar was whispering something in the dark, and I saw Fulcher was wary.
We got closer to the trees, where we saw a hundred people standing under a banner.
I saw the banner I knew; it was the bronze disk of Tudrus the Quadi.
A young vitka was praying and a cow was led there, as the priest beseeched Donor, Woden, Freyr, and all the gods to receive my friend to their halls under a somber, wet night. He sanctified the place by drawing Donor’s hammer symbols in the air and then the vitka ordered the hlaut vessels to be brought forward. Without further ceremony, he cut the cow’s throat. It struggled, of course, spraying much of the blood on the mud, but the vessels were filled and the vitka began to dip an evergreen sprig on the blood, sprinkling the blood on the onlookers, blessing them. The Quadi stood around a smoldering bonfire, one that was partly burning on the side while men struggled to get it going. I saw some faces, men I had seen with Tudrus, one man at least from the day he had challenged Gernot in the Thing of the Marcomanni to spare me, and many women were crying behind the lines of men. On top of the pyre, his large body lay, wrapped in skins, and I could see a gray face and silvery hair.
He looked like the hero he was.
Fulcher nudged me and pointed to a group of men standing to the side. There stood huge Agetan, beyond him his twin Bohscyld, and also the tall Tudrus the Younger. Their faces were hard, ravaged by sorrow and hardships.
We rode in, sitting on our horses behind the Sigambri and Quadi.
Fulcher pulled my sleeve. ‘It is Baetrix who owns these villages and this Sigambri gau, but Tudrus served Maelo this year. Maelo used the Quadi refugees to fight our XVII here in these woods and valleys while the Sigambri tried to foil I Germanica and XIX Legion in the west. Quadi were but few hundred by fall.’ I nodded and felt sorry for the people as I pulled on the helmet Tudrus had given me. I also took off the lambskin from the shield.
Men were staring at me, at the beautiful shield and the familiar helmet.
Tudrus the Younger turned, his lean and serious face looking at me steadily, his chin tight and clean shaved. Some of the Sigambri hefted weapons, but I did not move. Tudrus the Younger nodded at me, gesturing with his hand. We rode forward and Fulcher let me go the last few feet alone, looking around at the Sigambri. He had been scouting in the area for a year. They knew him, he knew them, and there was a wary trust between them, despite their opposing allegiances. Tudrus the Younger watched me climb down from my horse. The mountainous Agetan and Bohscyld only now noted me, their beady eyes following my every move. The vitka, a dirty creature trembled in indecision and then strode forward to turn me around, apparently outraged. ‘Who is this Roman mongrel?’
‘He is the Oath Breaker,’ Tudrus the Younger said with a ghost of a smile. ‘He also broke our army last year.’
The vitka sucked in a breath and tried to swing at me with the bloody sprig. I grabbed his hand from the air and scowled at him. ‘Best save such belligerence for the naughty children.’
He cackled as he tore himself free. ‘Woden does not approve of you, Oath Breaker. He will put maggots in your belly. He has already taken your fame, and soon he will have your eyes. You traitor. He knows your heart. Everyone knows your heart! L
eave this place and the great chief will travel in peace—’ he babbled, but I pushed him away from me.
‘Woden?’ I laughed at him. ‘Woden is my family’s father, and I fight with his encouragements ringing in my ears. You know nothing of Woden, charlatan! As for him,’ I said with a breaking voice, nodding at the corpse. ‘He was not unlike a father to me, you foul crow. Silence!’ I told him but he shook his dirty, knotted hair and turned to the assembled men and women.
‘This man—’ the vitka started to mock me, but I slammed the shield on the back of his head, leaving him moaning on the ground. The Sigambri and the Quadi glowered at me, fingering their weapons. I ignored them. I turned to Tudrus the Younger, glancing at the body on top of the heap of wood, some smoke rising from somewhere inside the pyre. The flames were lazily licking the standard. I went before him, to my knee. ‘May I give him my respects, Lord of the Quadi?’
Tudrus nodded tiredly. ‘Do so Hraban. He loved you well.’
So I prayed to Woden in the midst of the mob of hungry enemies, who all eyed me with trepidation, awe, and hate. I thanked Woden for knowing the great man, for his friendship and I prayed that the lord would find happiness in Valholl, as well as plenty of good fights, that he would hear many famous tales and have a loving woman or two. I looked up to his now smoking body, the heat starting to ignite it and then the standard burst to flame. I picked up the precious shield I had stolen from Segestes and threw it with all my might atop the pyre, which now ignited fully. The shield flew up in the air, hit a branch, and fell at the feet of the corpse with a hollow clang. ‘Thus I give it to Woden, so that Tudrus the mighty shall not go undefended in the halls of the gods, and my debt is paid by a great gift!’ I yelled, and I heard the Sigambri and the Quadi whisper in wonder, for it was a gift worth a king. Tudrus the Younger and his brothers stood in a circle around the bonfire, waiting for the corpse to be engulfed, and I wept, for I missed the old man terribly.
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 27
