“I thank you, lord,” I answered and got up. I walked to him and squeezed his hand.
He smiled in thanks and leaned back on his seat as I sat near him. “So, the trip was kind, then? Nobody died? Everyone was happy?”
I fought the need to look at Cassia. We had spoken so little. So very little. I had tried to apologize, but I had been unable to. I was barely able to sleep next to her. She sensed it. It hurt her. It hurt her like a red-hot knife on skin. I often heard her weeping when she thought I wasn’t near.
Wandal had tried to apologize for me. She had not accepted.
“One of my men died of fever,” I answered eventually, when the silence grew uncomfortable. A Thracian had indeed succumbed to a disease of shit and sweat, and we had buried him as they did in Thracia. Their gods, ours, all mixed well enough, but with the Cherusci, things were subtly different. The Cherusci had a notion they were one of the oldest people in Midgard, or at least noblest, to be sure. It was a notion most every Germani nation entertained, of course, but the power of the Cherusci was a tale spread wide and far. Despite the current situation, where Segestes ruled them with Rome’s blessing, Sigimer and Inguiomerus, his brothers, commanded an equal number of men to the fat bastard, and Sigimer’s nobility was far greater than that of his Roman loving brothers. Sigimer did look like a wounded, old god, except when he stared at Euanthe, and then he looked like an old hound in love.
Euanthe came up, handed him a horn of mead, and Sigimer beamed a smile at her.
“Gods, help, me,” Tudrus cursed, but Agetan pushed him to silence, and he muttered as Euanthe sat next to Sigimer, smiling at him with adoration.
Sigimer was speaking, tasting the mead. “I expect you wish to know what kind of sanctuary you have brought your family into. Well, the Chatti are still ferocious enemies, at least occasionally, the Hermanduri are treacherous beasts, the remaining Sigambri stubborn fools, the Ubii arrogant traitors who ride our land as auxilia, but the Cherusci are still rich and powerful. Our losses in battle have not been too many. Only our pride has suffered.” He muttered as he drank the mead. “And that pride has suffered indeed. Eh, son?”
I turned to look at Armin, who gazed back at me.
There was burning hate and distrust in the look, but he was as handsome as he had ever been, with golden hair and a perfectly chiseled face, and he had listened carefully, and said nothing. Now he seemed startled from his thoughts and shrugged reluctantly.
“Yes,” he echoed his father. “Our pride has suffered. But let me ask a question, as well, Father. How did you escape? With so many people? Women, children?” He gave The Gold Wolf a quick glance. “Mercenaries?”
“We bought men,” I said simply. “And there was a man who owed me favors. He helped us. And—”
I watched Cassia, and turned my face away. Armin noticed, and frowned. “And you picked up your family, and came here?”
His eyes went from man to man. I had told them not to let Armin know where our families had been holed up in.
“We had some hardships, but we escaped,” Adalwulf said. “That is all.”
He grimaced. “You rowed the length of the Danubius, and its tributaries to reach Gaul. Then you trekked past the rich lands of Gaul’s interior, and then past the Vangione lands, where you are well known.” He gestured with his hands. “You moved to Moganticum, where you no doubt prayed to Woden on a massive tower erected on the cliff that overlooks the rivers. That’s the monument the soldiers built for your friend Drusus.” Sigimer sighed, but Armin went on. “Did you see Hard Hill? It is Roman now.”
“I saw Hard Hill,” I said simply, and I had as we rode across the land by the river. “And it seems nobody is looking out for me.”
“You are not wanted by Rome?” he snarled. “I am!”
“I am not, and I do not know why,” I said. I threw the scroll of Tiberius on the table. “I have this. It helped us through all the trouble you just mentioned. None questioned us. It was tense and dangerous, but I would rather risk Rome than Hermanduri. So, we took the rivers and it worked.”
He was silent as he pulled the scroll to him. “When did you get this?”
“When I began watching over Postumus,” I said. “Poor boy.”
“Poor indeed,” he muttered. “And your Germanicus is a huge pile of shit. And so is Rochus. He planned all our actions, or at least suggested them, and tried to get us all killed. He took a giant step up the ladder instead. He is the personal guard and advisor of Germanicus now.” He tossed the scroll to me. “But I do find it odd you and all your friends escaped the trap! In fact, since Maroboodus was there with two thousand men, why didn’t he attack? He might have regained Postumus.”
“I have no idea,” I snarled at him. “He was afraid of a trap?”
Sigimer raised his hand. “Peace! No more accusations. It is enough we have all suffered. Rochus, or Flavus, is no son of mine. He is a cursed, restless soul. May he die with worms eating his liver. This is a terrible burden to bear, and here you are, trying to find more trouble while the enemy laughs at our quarrels. Hraban is not here to be insulted. Tiw knows you two are both treacherous bastards, so keep it civil.”
Armin hesitated, then pulled the scroll back and I let Armin read the scroll, and thought about the trip while he did. The tower to honor Drusus had indeed been erected by his soldiers. It had been a fine epitaph for his memory, and there, I had found the resolve to fight on. For my oath, and my family, I would see things through.
Cassia was an aching wound in that resolve. I hated myself, so that I wouldn’t hate her.
We had travelled up the river, past the rich Gaul where Cassia had once lived, and rowed and marched north, eying the river bank across where the Matticati prowled. We came to the lands of the Ubii, and found many Sigambri had moved there. Varnis, the Sigambri chief I hated, still lived and rebelled across the river, but Maelo had died.
Finally, we arrived at the mouth of the Luppia River, and while some parts of the deeper woods were Roman, most were still held by much depleted tribes of Bructeri, Tencteri, Marsi, and Sigambri. Three permanent camps, erected by Drusus so long ago, were now made partially of stone, and a Roman road ran from one harbor to another, all the way to the end of the Luppia. The river was now Roman and their auxilia rode the length of it arrogantly, and only during night one had to fear the fierce remnants of the Germani of the woods and hills. The Marsi, the Bructeri, and the Sigambri had not forgotten or truly submitted. Their chiefs, living in filth, poverty, and misery, in the secluded and hard-to-get-to villages, still remembered their nobility. We didn’t travel the road alone, to keep safe. Soon after Castra Flamma, we took the paths to the east, and crossed the sad ford where we had once routed the Cherusci, and crossed the three rivers until we came to the lands of Sigimer.
A few days later, with the boys utterly bored in the wagon, and the girl of Euanthe crying, we reached the lands of the Cherusci, and a chief rode up to hail us. A muddy road ran for the east, and I guessed it would not be long until a Roman road would snake past the hills and rich fields of the noble Cherusci as well.
Armin tossed the scroll on a table. “If you are not being searched for by the Romans, then why come here? Why not go west to Gaul and disappear? You have everything you wanted now, eh?” He gave Cassia a long speculative look, and I knew he either sensed trouble between us, or he was still wondering where exactly Cassia had been at.
Or, perhaps, he was yearning for Thusnelda.
Sigimer slammed a hand on the table. “Because he needs a new beginning. He’s no farmer, is he? Nor a mercenary. Because he hopes to find a sanctuary for his family!”
“His family,” Armin snarled, “is welcome.”
Sigimer rolled his eyes and grasped Euanthe's hand and spoke to her kindly. “Do not worry, dear. I still rule my villages. You are safe. And my son is tight as a bow’s string. Looks like he hasn’t taken a shit for weeks, doesn’t he? He can only visit here every now and then. But despite his dour manners an
d apparent stupidity, he is a worthy man.”
Euanthe smiled back, gave him a kiss on a hand and sat next to him. Tudrus shifted angrily.
We sat there for a while in silence. Finally, Armin rubbed his face. “I’m working on something.”
“You failed with Tiberius in Illyricum, thanks to Flavus,” I said simply, relief filling my soul, “and now you are working on something here. I knew you would. This is the last place—”
“I’m working on a plan,” he said tiredly. “I am traveling, gathering support, finding people, and making compromises. Did you know it is Varus who commands here?”
“Varus,” I said blandly. “No, not before I reached Xanten.”
He smiled with disbelief and Sigimer poked him with a stick. He spoke, reluctantly. “Varus rules with an iron hand. He spends his summer here, in the middle of our land. They have a camp, north of here, near Segestes’s new hall, by the river on the east side. They rule from there during the summers, and then at the winters they go home and oppress us from the Rhenus River. Their tax collectors, locals who have bought the right to gather whatever taxes they come up with, slave-merchants, and other scum have a free hand. The völva and the vitka of the deep woods and hills speak against them. Men who go to Varus for a Thing, and demand compensation as they would from Segestes or Father, can lose their life for simplest of mistakes. When Saturninus, Ahenbardus, and Tiberius warred and ruled here, the tribes trusted them, no matter if they were enemies. Now? Not so. Varus, and his greed has made it impossible. So, come spring, I shall meet someone. A völva of the Luppia Valley, the Snake-Eye they call her. With her, in the sacred woods, there will be Marsi, Sigambri, Bructeri, Chatti, Cherusci, and even some scum Chauci. Even Semnones will send men. He smiled. “We will see.”
“All those tribes,” I muttered. “And you think they will agree to your plans? And what are those plans?”
He hesitated, and held his face briefly, before he spoke to me dryly. “Oh, the past is heavy on your shoulders. But I suppose you must know something. There is a route to the northwest of Segestes’s land. Its where the Ampsivarii, the Chauci, and the Cherusci share land. A river and a fort are there, a Roman one, and …”
He went silent, his eyes smoldering.
Sigimer sighed. “If he had wanted you dead, he would hardly have brought his family to this place. All they need is Rochus and his knowledge of the land, isn’t it? They are too busy, Hraban escaped and has no place to go. And,” Sigimer said and snapped the scroll with his finger, “he can be useful.”
Armin gazed at me. “If, Hraban, you prove dangerous to the cause—”
“The cause of Armin to become a king,” Adalwulf said dryly.
Armin blanched, and waved his hand. “I shall find a way to torture you out of your mind, Hraban, should you betray us.”
He didn’t have to say it.
I had given them all the tools to make good his threat.
“And I will have everyone watched carefully,” he added.
“You were speaking of a village with a Roman fort,” I snarled.
He frowned and nodded. “Indeed, there is one. One, up northwest, past the lands of Segestes, over the river. It is mainly Chauci land, with some Cherusci around the fields. The fort is more like a tower settled amid a small Chauci village next to a major river running south for the Luppia. Amisia River, they call it. The tower holds a century of men.” He slapped his hand on the scroll. “Listen. A muddy road leads to this Chauci village from Segestes’s lands. These Romans in that tower are a particularly murderous and unhappy group of louts, and this is the place that I have been looking at. All the ingredients for a fine meal of Roman pride are there. There are rebellious people, a party of shit-footed thieving Romans, potential allies aplenty, and also an interesting battlefield, suitable for our men.”
“Ambush?” I wondered. “Of this century of men?”
He shook his head, and then nodded. “Yes, and no. I have been planning for an ambush, but not for the men in that tower. They will die fast; that is no issue. We still have thousands of good men, even with Segestes holding a third under his heel. And Inguiomerus?” He cursed. “He is too busy with the Semnones. Far too busy. Coward, one might say. No, Father’s thousands will do. And allies will help.”
His eyes were burning with joy, and I felt sorry for any Roman who got caught in his traps. “What kind of an ambush?” I asked.
He grinned. “In that terrain, as unsuitable as possible for a battle for the Romans, but perfect for Germani, I have a good chance to hurt them badly. I am hunting for some larger animals here, Hraban.”
I blinked. “An entire legion?”
He lifted three fingers.
“All three legions?”
“And auxilia?” Tudrus cursed, ignoring Sigimer who was whispering something to Euanthe, who was giggling softly.
“All of the louts and their families, merchants, officials, and damned camp followers as well,” he said simply. “There sits Varus, on the banks of the Albis River. Usually, they will march back in early autumn.” He grinned. “But what if at that time, just before he marches with his armies, there is news of bloody rebellion to the northwest? What will he do?”
“He might—” I said, and shrugged. “He will march home that way. Or some will.”
He nodded. “He will bring all of them. He must do something, but dare he split his troops? I doubt it. It is possible, but I do doubt it. There is only one road. That road can, in theory, support his wagons, his thousands of mules, his sieges train, his civilian followers. His troop will march that road for days, and will stretch for miles and miles. And on that road, Hraban, we shall hit them in ways that will be terrifying to them. It shall be a bloody chaos. They’ll be in a battle unlike any other before.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“They will have riches,” he said simply. “they will have all the loot of their summer of robbing our people with them. They will have more precious treasures as well, especially the officers will.” His eyes went to Cassia and then my boy.
“Families,” Wandal said with a sneer. “The soldiers are not to marry, but most do, and those people ….” He spat.
“They will have their families,” Armin said simply. “Thousands of them. And they will be amidst the woods, terrified, in chaos. Varus will command them, some of the legati will not be with them, and many tribunes will be on leave. It is a pacified country, isn’t it? Likely, some legions will be commanded not even by wide-stripe tribunes, but mere camp prefects. The men are not expecting anything more than local trouble, easily handled.”
“And what would be my role?” I asked him.
“They are looking for me,” he said darkly. “Tiberius sent word he wants to take me to Rome in chains. Not you, but me.” He gave me a long look. “Why is that?”
“He thinks I am dead,” I answered. “Lost already. Perhaps he thinks my father will kill me, and is happy with that. We spoke of this already.”
He went on. “We did, but you have not convinced me. Yes, your role. You are a familiar face to Varus, no?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve helped him before.”
“So, you shall pretend you are here to find me,” he explained. “And you will also bring him the news of the rebellion. Make him want me. Make me sound important, and rich.” He stared at me, long and hard. “Can you?”
I shrugged. “I suppose. But suppose there is mail, where someone has seen me travelling here, and Tiberius is indeed looking for my balls?”
“Then he shall have them,” he answered. “And you will keep your mouth shut if you are caught. Imagine the carnage, Hraban. On that final road, a few days in to the woods, between a dark hill, and a sinking bog, if gods allow it, Hraban, we will push them to Helheim. They shall line up to reach the Gray Lands, weeping, and the ferryman shall be busy. We will take them, their gear, their Eagles, and their nobles, and we shall butcher and scatter their heads and bones across the woods. Not a mule s
hall we spare. It is but a beginning Hraban. They will come for us again.”
I nodded. “They will,” I said.
“But we shall have victory,” he said, slamming hand on the table. “It will give us time. We shall be able to create something … new.”
“Kingdom?” I suggested. “Adalwulf is right.”
“Perhaps,” he answered. “A permanent Thiuda will be in place, at least, because there is a permanent war, just like it was with your father. I won’t pretend it isn’t me. I am the best man for this. I have the blood, the ability. I can make our nations into warriors, not individuals. Didn’t Augustus train me well?” He smiled. “And you have a mission.”
I snorted. “To kill your uncle? Shall I find Thusnelda as well? Should I kill her husband? I am in no mood to play matchmaker.”
He looked at the silent Cassia, then down, to avoid showing his smile, but it was there, nonetheless.
I sighed. “She never married.”
“She is unmarried, and as beautiful as ever,” he admitted, blushing.
Euanthe winked at him, and Cassia nodded with a slight smile, and the boys all looked up and frowned, whispering to each other, and probably mocked Armin mercilessly.
“As beautiful as ever,” he said with no shame. “Yes, I want you to make sure Segestes doesn’t stop us. There are traitors, there are men hungry for Roman coin, but your job, Hraban, is to make sure all eyes and such traitors seek me here in the South. Tell them there is a bounty on my head. Make sure they won’t find out what we are truly doing, eh?”
“I will try,” I said. “And I want my family, and those of my men safe. Not here. Somewhere deep in the woods.”
Sigimer slapped a hand on Euanthe’s. “A fine place shall be found. I know one, in fact. Woods there are, plenty of them. My best warlord sits over that land, and his champion retired there, a man with no arm. He has twenty men, all fiercely loyal to me, all bent on killing trespassers, and there they shall live happily.” He gave me a sad smile. “And will, even if you … fail.”
I sat there, and fidgeted. “How many men will you have? There will be legions—”
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