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

by Alaric Longward

  ‘I’ve seen Maroboodus,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘There are some Chatti as well. If Drusus dies—’

  ‘Segestes won’t kill Romans after Drusus falls,’ I said sadly. ‘He will abandon you and Rome will win, without my lord.’

  ‘If Drusus dies, we have a chance to beat anyone that replaces him,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Now, I have to endure your father’s Warlords, Inguiomerus, Segestes himself though Woden be thanked his shield was stolen, and we no longer have to endure that travesty.’ He grinned at me and winked. ‘And Catualda. The bastard mocks me at the side of Segestes. But together we have a plan.’

  ‘What plan?’ I asked him.

  He snorted and clapped my back. ‘You will find out. I began this war with no hope, but I have some now. What are you doing here, behind the Roman army?’

  ‘Because I promised Thusnelda I would help you,’ I said bitterly. ‘She released me so I would help you. And so, now we have done so.’

  ‘How did you help me?’ he said with curiosity. ‘She hinted at you trying to do something for me but did not tell me anything specific. Was probably afraid I would ride to help you and die in the process. But you did, didn’t you, if it is your doing Segestes joined me.’

  ‘I visited Odo’s hole,’ I said happily and pointed at the benna. ‘Sigimer is there, on that wagon. She thought he would be able to summon his old lords and Inguiomerus to the war for you. But it all went to Hel.’ His eyes turned that way, and he shivered. He tried to get up, but I pulled him down. His face turned to angry red, his hand groping for a sword, and I heard his troop rumble. ‘What of us?’ I asked him.

  ‘You?’ he said with a throaty voice, his eyes creeping to his father. ‘What of you?’

  I cursed. ‘Us. Shall we go in peace? Or shall you keep us as we know your plans.’

  He shook his head. ‘You don’t know their … our plan. And I won’t tell, no matter if you kill him or not.’

  ‘I will not slay your father.’ I sighed. ‘Not even if you slay us. Just spare my wife,’ I stated bitterly. ‘She needs help. She is with a baby. And she is hurt.’ My voice shattered, and I held my head briefly at the sorrow of it all.

  ‘Cassia?’ he asked. ‘This is that Cassia Thusnelda mentioned. She is pregnant?’ He had great eyes.

  ‘She is,’ I said desperately. ‘If you will kill me here, at least—’

  ‘You can go to Drusus,’ Armin laughed. ‘It won’t matter. There will be a great battle, and I don’t care if your lord finds out about our allies.’

  ‘You realize,’ I said in wonder, ‘that Segestes will likely give Thusnelda to Maroboodus after the battle. To cement their alliance. They will likely sit on your corpse as they agree on it.’

  He went very silent as he sat there and then shook his head. ‘This will be a grand battle, Hraban. It will be fought very soon. Segestes will not survive it. I have made sure of it. But I need his men and those of your father so it will be all about timing. Or it will end as you described, and I will go to Woden or Freya, and she will also die.’

  ‘Thusnelda?’ I asked him. ‘Will die?’

  ‘She will follow me,’ he breathed. ‘No matter where. She promised me this.’

  ‘I see.’

  He waved his hand around. ‘But now, with my father free? I will have a much better chance challenging Segestes. So, this is my gift to you. Go free and tell your Drusus there will be some thousand Marcomanni Suebi men breaking to his flank. Go and tell him this, Hraban. In the end, the Cherusci will fight, and that is the way to end battles.’

  ‘You prefer to assassinate your enemies,’ I said suspiciously.

  He smiled at me and clapped my back. ‘Sometimes I too, prefer a fight. Perhaps this time.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ I cursed. ‘Is Inguiomerus with you?’ I asked him.

  ‘He bowed to Drusus not days ago,’ Armin said carelessly as if he was describing a boring fishing event.

  ‘They are finished?¨I asked him in stupefaction.

  ‘Not really,’ he said smiling. ‘Only partially. One surrenders. One changes one's mind. We will see.’

  ‘And he has changed his mind?’

  He shook his head. ‘Some might come, but not all. The Suebi attacked him after Drusus forced him to submit. I thank you for Thusnelda. For her life. And for my father. We found you a day ago, and I suppose I did save your hide just now.’

  ‘You did, and I thank you for Cassia. She will need care,’ I told him squeezing his shoulder. I did not trust him, but I was grateful. ‘And Lif?’

  He smiled at me. ‘We can escort you to Drusus. We are going to meet them in battle soon, after all.’

  I thanked him but did not budge. ‘Where is Lif?’ I asked again.

  He nodded towards the east. ‘Lif is safe, I am sure. She is hidden in the Godsmount. And your Veleda is alive, and well. In fact, it was she, who made the great Consul turn around from Albis and Inguiomerus.’

  ‘She ... what?’ I asked in confusion. ‘She was just a wee little thing!’

  He shook his head in wonderment. ‘Veleda met Drusus on the banks of the tributary of Albis, some days that way. At the borders of Inguiomerus,’ he gestured to the forests and hills over the smoke pillars. ‘He met her and she cast spells for him and asked him why he comes so far. She told him that to go further would kill him. To go back, might as well. She spoke at length with him. And now he is coming back.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ I asked him.

  ‘Your family. Our family. I know Veleda. We have guarded Godsmount for ages,’ he told me.

  ‘Odo told me you were related to our family,’ I stated. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘It is true. You are Gothoni, but some say Woden set our family here to keep an eye on the Godsmount. I know the way up there. Few do, but I do. And I did ask Veleda to stop Drusus and turn him around. She did miraculously.’

  ‘Thusnelda saved me,’ I told him. ‘Women can work wonders in our world.’

  ‘We can but drift in their wake,’ Armin agreed. ‘When all is over, and if you survive, I shall send a man up there with you.’

  ‘What man is this?’ I asked him.

  ‘A reluctant man. A man of conflicting emotions. I have a need of him for now. But after the battle? He might wish to lead you up there. I have told him about it, anyway,’ he told me as he massaged his neck. ‘Yes, I think he should be the one. I’ll give him the instructions.’

  ‘Thank you,` I said as I got up.

  He laughed. ‘Come. Let us ride to end all the quarrels,’ he said cheerfully and got up. He mounted and rode to his father. I saw him nod at the older man, who laughed audibly over the water, and they embraced. I envied Armin his father, your grandfather, Thumelicus, my Lord.

  We got the horses, and the Cherusci rode with us for the east. I mulled over the situation and decided Armin would die, no matter what took place. Sigimer as well, likely. So, I gave Brimwulf some instruction as we rode, and he listened to me very carefully. At the end of my speech, he finally nodded, though reluctantly, and I clasped arms with him.

  BOOK 5: THE BEAR AND THE RAVEN

  ‘Am I not your son, Father? See? How casually I slay. Very much like you, no?’

  Hraban to Maroboodus

  CHAPTER 29

  I watched Armin’s silhouette against the rising sun. His hair was a golden halo, and he lifted his sword high into the air as his horse reared and struggled against his wishes. He grinned like a young god and rode away. The signifier, Hund shook his head at me. ‘That man and that nobody we saved will cause us much hardship yet. But it will all be put to rest soon.’

  ‘Soon,’ I agreed, and we waited as some Thracian and Gaulish exploratores approached. I hailed them, and we showed them our standard and shields, and the men nodded towards the east. We rode over heavy woods and some glittering streams of water and made it across a few low hills and ridges. Tudrus rode after me, Agetan and Bohscyld with the Batavi and so we reached a tall ridge. I looked at the lig
htly wooded plains and rich fields to the east and nudged Tudrus. ‘So many fields.’

  He nodded and looked over the fertile land. ‘Not exactly like Moenus River, eh? Rich folks here. But now it will all burn and churn produce for the Romans. Err ... us that is.’

  I shook my head. ‘The Cherusci have not lost all that much. They will survive. They have been growing rich here for decades, and now they have to toughen up. And men like Segestes? They are unlikely to last, no matter how many fools bow down to them. When the Romans go home, it will be like Luppia. Only the roads are Roman; the rest will continue thanking high Woden and sooner or later even Segestes will find himself ruling only his hall, if that.’

  Hund stopped next to us and grinned foolishly. ‘I think that is how Rome wants it. Subdue people. Set some fool to govern it, and they are sure to have a reason to come back with the legions. They will burn, enslave, and steal. Their armies get training, fools lose their heads, and then they rebuild. Rome goes home. Some chiefs get power-hungry, men weep over their past fame and honor and rebel again only to be butchered again. Rome will slowly bleed the land out like they have been doing with so many nations. In the end, no man remembers their past, their history, their fathers and the deeds that made them proud and only Rome remains. Just look at the Sigambri, Bructeri, and Marsi. Most warriors are young. Soon, they will be gone. But not the Batavi. We just keep being Batavi.’

  Tudrus snorted. ‘If the Cherusci fall, the Suebi will move west from the unknown lands and take up the spear. Rome will never truly take these fields and woods. There are many nations in that way who know how to fight. And they will get better at it.’

  I guided my horse forward, holding Cassia tight. ‘Rome will try to take this land anyway. And I have a hunch we will see how it goes. Starting tomorrow or the day after, they will fight here.’

  Tudrus yawned. ‘Then, let us hope they make a martyr out of Armin soon, and they get peace here for a moment at least.’

  ‘They will try,’ I said with a troubled voice, looking at sleeping Cassia, whimpering with pain and nightmares, ‘but Armin is not an easy Fox to catch. He has a plan again. Or my father does. Segestes is with them.’

  Hund turned to look at the way we came. ‘The bastard found out you beat Odo and knew he would be exposed as a traitor to Drusus. Turned tail and ran to Armin. They have the Chatti and your father, true, but what more surprises can he spring? There are ten thousand legionnaires, and Thracian, Noricum auxilia with many Alpine men. Gaulish? More? Five thousand more? Armin has lost.’

  ‘He does not know the meaning of the word,’ I mused as Thracian riders came to us from a game trail and saw our standard. We were escorted over a large wooded ridge dotted with abandoned halls, then down it, across a bright, beautiful stream and there, in that valley stood a Roman castra. A huge one.

  We rode up to it, dismounted and walked in via Porta Praetoria, escorted by some Aquitani auxilia, Gauls with tall mustaches and bracae pants under the Roman lorica hamata. We found a squat tent after the fifth street and demanded a medicus to attend us and the Aquitani to wait. After a while, a medical orderly arrived, blanched at seeing a female patient, and we had to explain the dire nature of our need nearly at a sword point. He agreed it was an urgent issue, left, and a medical optio arrived, wiping his hands clean of blood. The man was unsure about what he should do, and Tudrus had to explain to him that she was also a medicus, and a chirurgii was summoned. Tudrus was dirty and growing fiercely angry and amidst his growls the chirurgii fully understood our need for haste. He began to care for Cassia, gently feeling her skull, and the Quadi brothers stayed with her until I returned, for the Gaul auxilia escorting us were at the end of their patience.

  We were escorted to the praetorium.

  The command tent was large, its white sides flapping in the wind as the XIII Gemina and XVI Gallica were busily perfecting the camp. The army had marched there that past night, and the agger and fossa were being reinforced in haste and vallum and towers were nearly ready. Apparently, Drusus knew Armin was to give battle soon, and there was no reason to tear down the marching camp. I stared at the dusty, fierce legionnaires at work and the bustle of auxilia everywhere. Arrows and armor were being fitted and fixed, and there was a hopeful smile on the faces of the southern soldiers. They had been marching for months and apparently, their battles had been few. I stood in front of the tent, trying to glimpse inside but only saw the occasional foot, some with a sturdy boot on, others with the usual caligae. It was evening, and the Consul Nero Claudius Drusus was sending men out with orders for the next day, and as some of these men left, I saw him.

  There stood my lord, and he glimpsed me.

  His movement stopped, and a wide smile spread on his lips. He was obviously exhausted and perhaps ill, for his color was pale, but he was happy. I bowed to him and then the wind closed the tent.

  I waited.

  ‘Nervous bunch,’ Hund whispered, and I looked at the faces of the men working around us. Though they were smiling, happily anticipating action, they did seem nervous, anxious. A man was whispering about wolves to another, the other one was nodding, speaking about gods riding in the camp two days prior, two strange, glowing boys, and they both seemed assured they would not see their homes again. I snorted. Veleda and Armin, I thought, had done well. They feared their own shadow. Their skills were not diminished by the gossip, visions, and superstition. Everyone I saw was working or training hard. There was a lot of noise from the men, more from the mules carrying the gear of the troops. I saw an auxilia group marching by and saw their standard. It was 1st Vangiorum. I smiled at that. Vangiones. The age old enemies of the Marcomanni. The tribe father had duped to attacking our village only to fail by his saving spear. That bit of double-dealing had spiraled Maroboodus to glory. That attack orchestrated by Father had killed Mother and Grandfather, I thought and hated him for his callousness. The marching men reminded me of that faraway day. The Vangiones were armed like the Romans, and I thought of Vago, their king I had killed in his hall. I again wondered what became of Vannius, the third of the brothers, who had betrayed Tudrus and joined my father. He had, perhaps, tried to take Hunfried’s place as the king of the Vangiones after I captured Hunfried, the ax tattooed bastard for Burlein. Hunfried had fallen into Father’s hands after Burlein fell. Had he been rescued by Rome from Maroboodus? Yes. I remember it was so.

  There they marched. Our old enemies, now allies.

  Then lictors filed out of the tent, and I turned to stare at them. They carried the fasces, the rods and axes and most were old soldiers. You could see it by looking into their eyes and the way they stopped to stare at me. I was filthy, stained in crusted blood and armed to the teeth. I flipped the helmet off my head and set it down before me. They relaxed, but not by much. I realized most were different men from those I had known two years ago, and there were more of them. A Consul, I thought, would be allowed a more extensive following.

  And then the Consul stepped out.

  He was a father, a noble, a builder, and a soldier, but for some reason he loved men like me, young and old, crude peasant-like warriors. He could have been a poet, but he wrote orders. He could have been an intellectual, but he preferred the farts of armored men to the drone of philosophers and so, to the chagrin of his bodyguards, he rushed and embraced me, tears flowing from his eyes. I embraced him back and felt like falling on my knees before him. ‘Congratulations on your new child,’ I told him, and he roared with laughter, pushing me to arms length.

  ‘You failed in finding Armin for me! But I am so happy you are here!’ he told me. He pulled me to the tent acting as a praetorium and stopped his lictors from entering. He ordered any remaining men to exit. They filed out, wonder in their eyes when Drusus seated me down on a sturdy seat with a yellow pillow, poured me sweet wine and handed it to me. Then he dragged his chair before me. ‘They told me you were dead. Chariovalda searched for you, and we sent men to find you, but they did not. Fulcher failed, even. The Trib
une in Castra Flamma could not find your body. Where were you?’ he asked. ‘I was sure you were killed after time passed.’

  ‘Who told you I was dead, Lord?’ I asked. Had Fulcher not told him everything?

  ‘Segestes did, he showed my men your helmet and mail shirt,’ he said. ‘He said that Armin had killed you when you were going to join me for Arbalo.’

  I nodded carefully. ‘Segestes held me, Lord.’

  ‘Drusus, remember?’ he told me and did not look surprised, only disappointed. He mulled his wine after a time and nodded to himself. ‘I see. And now Segestes is a traitor. He was to join us at the borders of the contested land, and he joined our enemies, suddenly. The exploratores told me he rode off while marching his men to us. Just like that. I have never been more generous with a so undeserving lord. And why did he join Armin, and why did he hold you?’

  ‘Where is Fulcher?’ I asked him.

  He looked at me strangely. ‘I have not seen him. Why?’

  I rubbed my face and worry twisted my belly like a clamp. I leaned forward in anguish. ‘I sent him to find you. He had a scroll, and he was to explain to you what has taken place.’

  ‘I see,’ Drusus said sadly. ‘Perhaps he got lost?’ I shook my head. No, he failed. He is dead, I thought.

  Drusus waited patiently and after some time, I managed to speak up. ‘Segestes is with Armin,’ I said, tasting the wonderful wine, sorrow making me ill, ‘but only until you die. He has a plan, you see. He is with my father. Always was. Antius is his friend, in more ways than business. He will rule the north and Father the south after you have died and Rome has forgiven everything. And he held me because I knew. But I escaped, you see, and he dared not march to you. Likely, Segestes would have helped you kill Armin and then they would have helped the Marcomanni slay you in some surprise. Now? They are improvising. They are all here. With the Chatti.’