The Bane of Gods

by Alaric Longward

  I nodded thanks at Ulrich, and turned to Tudrus. I cradled him, and found he was still breathing. It was a ragged wound on his chest, with fat, flesh, and bone showing amid slowly leaking blood, and broken chainmail. I cursed the gods, wiped tears of sorrow and guilt, and when I finally looked up, I wasn’t sure how long it had been.

  Adalwulf was there, holding a man by the scruff of his neck.

  He pushed the man before me. I let Tudrus down, and grasped the prisoner’s face, and forced him to consider the eyeholes of my helmet. What the captive saw was not a man, but some evil creature committed to murder and death. I placed blood-soaked Nightbright on his throat.

  In the darkness, our men routed the enemy, and hunted them down mercilessly.

  “Bandits,” I snarled.

  “Lord?” he asked with tearful voice.

  “Bandits,” I snarled. “Bandits attacked you, and we came to your aid. Unfortunately, the bandits killed the lot of you, before we could help.”

  “But—”

  “Perhaps one shall survive,” I said with a snarl, and pushed Nightbright just through his skin. He didn’t make a sound, but shivered in pain. “Where is Segestes?”

  “Not here,” he squeaked. “He is off. I don’t know where.”

  “Thusnelda?”

  He shook his head. “This was just a trap. No Thusnelda. No. Just a trap.”

  I looked around, and nodded. I let go of the man, and Adalwulf casually stabbed his sword though the man’s heart. He fell over The Hill’s corpse. I watched how the Thracians went into the hall, where screams echoed. Soon, a string of women and children were led out, sobbing, and terrified.

  They were led off by some of Sigimer’s warriors, tied and gagged.

  Eventually, The Gold Wolf came to stand before me. He looked at Tudrus with shock, and shook his head in denial. He said nothing of my friend, but spoke of the fight. “Not one of the survivors know anything of Segestes. Not one. They would have told me. There is no wedding.”

  I nodded. “I guess it was to wed us to Hel, and that was all.”

  I looked at the Western horizon. So did everyone else.

  Roman horns were playing. Their silvery notes were calling the men to start their day, and a special day it was. The camps would soon be awake, preparing to march, finishing the packing, making plans, and so I knew we had no more time for sorrow.

  I turned to the men of Sigimer. “Take the captives and my friend to your lord. Tell him—”

  “We shall go,” said one, “and then we shall join the hundreds riding north and around the Romans. We shall do our best for him.”

  “So shall we,” I muttered, and watched them lift the senseless, pale Tudrus on a horse. The wound was ghastly, and in my heart, I knew he should not survive it. I wept for Euanthe, and for the poor girl of his, and turned to Agetan, who stared at his brother. “Do you wish to go with him?” I asked him.

  He shook his thick head, and I saw he had the ax that had touched his brother’s flesh. He vaulted on a horse.

  The Gold Wolf and I followed suit.

  We rode to the Roman camp. We were all praying for a chance at Segestes. We all wanted to butcher the pig. The camp was a beehive of activity. The legionnaires were preparing before their barracks, celebrating the trip with songs and jokes. We hiked up the road for the praetorium, and learnt that the archers had been holding a competition that morning, the Cretan auxilia winning all honors. Riders had also been riding wildly on the muddy fields, where Thracian and Gaul riders had competed stiffly for a victory, leaving one Gaul dead as he fell into a ditch.

  Also, the haruspices had been reading the portents, and every animal liver they read, apparently spoke of a peaceful, prosperous trip back home.

  I saw Varus outside the praetorium, and he was clearly happy to leave. There was a nervous energy to him, as he pulled at men and gave them instructions. He wore his gleaming, sculpted armor, and a violet cape. A legatus, Vala of the XVIII, spoke with him, brandishing a scroll. Two of the camp prefects, formerly the toughest centurions and the third highest commanders in the legions stood around looking itchy. One was called Eggius of the XIX, the other one Ceionius of the XVII. Since two of the legati and all the military tribunes of the broad stripe of their legions were not there, these men commanded the legions and none looked happy. A horde of thin-stripe tribunes was standing around, looking pretty, and had little to do.

  Likely, the legions would get a late start.

  Probably the civilians were delaying the departure. The wives of some of the civilian officials laughed merrily at some flute music played by a talented old man in rags, and Varus seemed to brush off Vala’s complaints as he turned to listen as well. The local chiefs, most men of Segestes, were suitably impressed by everything taking place, looking on as some of the Romans celebrated the last morning of summer camp.

  Segestes was there.

  He was pushing past Vala, and soon speaking with Varus, leaning towards the great man, who turned to listen, reluctantly. Despite the failure to capture Armin, it was probably true Segestes had done well to grow Varus richer, and probably looked forward to continuing his relationship with Rome.

  Segestes saw us.

  His eyes rounded, and he looked pale. He straightened and stepped away. Varus turned as well, and waved the man further. I stopped, bowed to him, and spread my hands wide, as the usual sign of my failure with Armin.

  They all looked at our state.

  Eggius spoke. “By Mars, what have you been doing? A wild feast?”

  I turned my eyes to him. “Battle.”

  “What battle?” Varus asked, excited. “Did you find him? Armin?”

  “Bandits,” I snarled. “We heard a rumor there was a wedding Armin might attend, but Armin didn’t show up. Instead, there were bandits in there. But we took care of it.”

  “Truly?” Ceionius breathed. “Do you know who lead the bandits?”

  My eyes went to those of Segestes. “Not sure, but I lost a friend.”

  Segestes choked, and went quiet, then smiled thinly as his men stepped closer.

  Varus noticed the tension and smiled wryly, shrugged, and waved me inside.

  I walked after him, entered the buildings, looked around, and to my shock, my eyes met Thusnelda.

  The tall woman whose life I had once saved, and who had saved mine later, looked at me carefully. She was older, with lines of worry under her eyes, and her hair was far longer than it had been. She sat on a bench, and stared at me with wonder, as if she saw a ghost of some long past time.

  Varus stopped and turned to me, and pulled me closer, so Thusnelda would not hear what he had to say. “So, he tried to get you killed? Segestes, not Armin. For your mutual dislike.”

  “Likely,” I said dryly. “He probably did. He has been harassing me and my men for weeks. There have been threats. He probably set us up, rather than Armin. But he failed, mostly.”

  He sighed. “He has tried to convince me you are a traitor. But I know his reputation is bad. Greedy and murdering scum they call him, though he has been of use as well. Very well! You won’t do a thing here in the winter, but we shall get back next year. You shall have to come with me, then. We march in an hour or two, get your gear.” He looked mildly disappointed, but clasped my shoulder. “We shall find the man yet.”

  “Speaking of which,” I told him. “There was something I heard—”

  He saw a scribe approaching, a harried bald man carrying a scroll. “One moment. Just one.”

  I bowed to him, and he left to speak with the man.

  I turned to look at Thusnelda.

  She bowed her head to me and I approached her. There were two men, both Cherusci of Segestes who took a step forward to stop me. I touched the hilt of Heartbreaker. “Go away,” I snarled, in no mood for people to deny me.

  They stepped back, then further, and I kneeled before Thusnelda, who was seated on a bench, her hands on her lap. I smiled at her. “Lady.”

  “Bastard,
” she said with a small smile, to soften the insult. “I hear you are looking for …” She smiled and waved her hand to the south.

  “Armin,” I said softly. I smiled at her and whispered. “No. I am not.”

  “They said you are,” she said vehemently. “They tell me stories of him. Of his battles, and how he tried to betray Rome with some bloody stupid plan that obviously failed.” She shook her head. “They say he is here, there, all around us, but I think he is a ghost.”

  “I was there when he planned to betray Rome,” I told her, and resisted the urge to squeeze her hand to assure her. “I was. And he is here.”

  “You were?” she said nervously and then her eyes went to slits. “Then, probably, he didn’t succeed because of you.”

  “He and I have been playing a foolish game for years,” I told her. “Always on the opposing side. We are lucky to be alive. But this one time, I was on his side, or at least not against him. Are you on his side?”

  “I am!” she said too loudly, and people turned to look at us, even while busy with their preparations. She looked down. “Father has been looking for him. And something happened last night. I heard—”

  “He is back,” I said. “And we are still on the same side. He told me to tell you, that he shall marry you soon. No!” I warned her. “Do not cry.”

  She fought it. Her eyes were burning with hope, as if all she ever loved had been slowly squeezed from her over the years, but had been thrust back to her in but a moment.

  Cassia. She had been given, and stripped of hope, so many times. Like Thusnelda, she had hoped, waited, feared, and fought for us.

  We could have stayed with Father. Or travelled North.

  She smoothed her tunic, looked down and nodded. “Thank Frigg, I thank her.”

  “He wanted you to know that he ever thought of you,” I said softly. “Always.”

  Cassia. Why couldn’t I tell her this?

  I heard a crash of door, and turned to look at the noise.

  A man walked to the room.

  Silence conquered the hall, as a legionnaire pointed at Varus for a bedraggled Roman soldier. He was shaken, muddy, exhausted, and I just knew he was from the outpost at the River Amisia. It seemed I would not have to convince Varus with my words alone. Varus frowned, and took a hesitant step forward, leaving the scribe backtracking. “What is this?”

  “Rebellion,” the man said hoarsely. “Rebellion in the lands around Castra Nova.”

  The new fort, I thought. And now, a decoy.

  “Rebellion? What kind of rebellion?” Varus demanded with a shaky voice.

  The legionnaire, apparently an optio, wasn’t in a mood for foolish questions, not even from a governor. “The sort where they no longer obey Rome.”

  Varus’s face went red, but the man stood his ground. Varus fumed for a time, and then spoke. “That is in Bructeri and Ampsivarii lands? They are both oath-bound to Rome!”

  “They are Chauci and Cherusci lands mainly. There were a thousand of them,” the optio said. “Led by someone called Armin. He is trying to rile up the tribes over there, and he holds the tower.” He shook his head, smacking his dry mouth. “None escaped, but me. I have been riding for a day and a half.”

  Varus sat back on his seat and looked at me with fury. “What is this, Hraban? He is out there? In the Northwest?”

  “It appears so,” I answered. “He likely felt he has been hunted long enough in the South. I was going to tell you that some men I trust saw him leading a warband over there, and they spoke of an imminent attack on a Roman tower.”

  Segestes entered and cleared his throat. “Yes? Let me handle this. Do not think to go after him with your legions. Hold for one day, and we shall know the truth of it.” He gave me a victorious glance.

  One day? Why so specific?

  Varus shook his head. “The truth of it? What do you mean? The man told us Romans have died, and Corvus just told me he heard Armin has men over there.”

  “Just one day,” Segestes said sibilantly, “and we might learn more of the threat.”

  “One day to give him time to rally the locals,” I said darkly. “In a day, he can parade Roman skulls to the tribes, and there will be thousands joining him. A mistake.”

  Varus gazed at Segestes, then at his camp prefects who had entered as well. He spoke to Eggius. “Can we get to the Luppia from the River Amisia and Castra Nova? March south, or even find transports?”

  “It is possible,” the hoary, old camp prefect said wryly. “It is a week’s march, more? We will have cavalry struggling in the woods there. The wagons, we shall lose some.”

  Varus’s eyes travelled from one to another.

  I spoke. “It is my fault. We hunted him in the South, so he fled North, and is making a desperate bid for power. He is no danger, of course, save for the men he must have captured. He’ll be mocking the standards he took. He will be vulnerable for some time. But in a week or two? Or over the winter?” I shook my head. “He is rich enough to buy an army.”

  Segestes snarled. “Lord! Let me—”

  Varus silenced Segestes with his hand, and nodded, gathering resolve. “We cannot ignore the threat. We’ll march over there, and try to find this rebel. Augustus will rejoice when Armin is finally waiting for his turn to be strangled in the Mamertine Prison. His bones will join those of Vercingetorix. This dog has bitten Rome for far too often and too hard. Give the orders to march there. Over the river here, then up the bank and we turn west on that miserable road. One can suffer the woods for a day or two, no?”

  The camp prefects stiffened, already calculating the chaos that would follow.

  “Begin the march in the afternoon,” Varus added, giving them some mercy. “Plan it well. Segestes, you will provide us with contingent of auxilia riders.”

  Segestes stood there, frowning. He was thrumming his chest with his hand nervously. “My men have fought today, but I shall find some to suit your needs.”

  Varus frowned, and my belly twisted with knowledge something evil was about to happen. Varus spoke. “I expect we shall be in a position by nightfall to turn west. We shall spend the night north of your lands, Segestes, and you will send us your men there tomorrow morning at latest, before we start west and through the woods.”

  “Yes,” Segestes said and gave me a long look. “I have to go to my estates to arrange it all, but we shall join you on the road to the North tomorrow morning. In the meantime,” he said savagely, “do take my daughter with you. And some others. A prisoner. And my two men here to guard them. They can travel with the wives of the legati and the tribunes. She will be safe, no? Bagi, and Baldo, make sure she is … safe.” He looked at the two snake-faced men, and I knew they would kill her, rather than let Armin catch her.

  And that would break Armin’s heart.

  “We shall travel with you as well,” I said, “As you suggested.”

  Varus smiled. “Of course. Last time you brought me great luck, didn’t you? Perhaps I shall be given a triumph because you spooked Armin into foolish rebellion?” He laughed, and was likely thinking of all the praise and riches he would reap, and now, also a possible triumph, though it was a foolish dream.

  “Thank you,” I said, and avoided Thusnelda’s eyes, and the gloating face of Segestes. He left, and I turned to Thusnelda, leaning close. I felt the two Cherusci gathering resolve to push me away, and spoke quickly.

  “Where is he going?” I asked her. “Is there something I need to know?”

  She grasped my hand, and whispered to my ear. “Last night, while setting up a trap for Armin and perhaps you, he himself rode to Sigimer’s hall. He killed many of the men of Sigimer, and took him prisoner. There were too few guards for some reason. He intends to torture him in his new hall to fish out the truth of what Armin is doing, and where.”

  My mind whirled as I straightened. “I shall come for you. But for now—”

  She looked down and spoke softly. “I shall be with the legion. Kill my father. Stop him.�
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  I walked out, and when I was out, we walked after Segestes.

  CHAPTER 35 (The Cherusci, September 2nd, 9 A.D.)

  I leaned on a barracks, as the others bunched around me. Wandal was shaking his head. “Do we even know he has Sigimer?”

  I cursed. “Of course, they do! They set a trap for us, didn’t they? They attacked him while we had Sigimer’s men here. Yes, he has Sigimer and soon we shall all be in trouble. We can’t let that happen.”

  We looked on, as the Cherusci were vaulting on horses, and in Segestes’s case, helped to mount. There were thousands of people moving around, all of it a seemingly terrible chaos, but in truth rather organized as the army was preparing to move, and changing its plans. I watched Agetan hold his newly acquired ax-hilt, his brutal face in a permanent grimace, as if he was preparing to devour Segestes.

  “Where do we go?” Adalwulf asked. “He will be expecting us again, perhaps.”

  “We have to follow him, or we must find a man to guide us,” I said as we saw The Gold Wolf gesturing for us. He and his men had held our horses outside the Castra Varus and were now forcing themselves through the camp’s thick streams of men and supplies. A dozen asses escaped as he pushed forward, leaving the handlers cursing. I spat as the Cherusci group left. There were thirty of them, mostly Franks, but there was also a noble-faced, gaunt, serious man, listening to Segestes speak. “I probably burned his hall last time. Or a man who helped me back then, did. I don’t know where he lives these days. And yes, he expects us to come for him. But it matters little. We have no choice, do we?

  Wandal smiled ruefully. “It will all go to shit. We have what, twenty men?”

  “We have twenty killers,” I said. “And we won’t wait.” I watched Segestes riding over a make-shift bridge with most of his men.

  Adalwulf waved his hand. “Come, let us do it then. Whatever happens, we do our best.”