My mother's sister, Gunhild, was walking at the end of the hall, with a severe look on her face. She was tall and thin, like Mother had been, yet with nervous energy in her, where Mother had been calm. She had been the pawn of the alliance between the Southern and Northern Marcomanni, the one available woman with Balderich's, and thus Aristovistus's, ancient blood, and Father had had no intention of giving her to Isfried. He had married her himself, taking the place of Bero, and, as Balderich was missing, at his orders he now enjoyed true legitimacy.
I would try to change that.
I pitied Gunhild, the poor woman I loved. She liked me just fine, but she was also a virtual prisoner with Maroboodus. My father had not been the loving, heroic lord she had imagined. Once, she had envied her sister for Maroboodus; now, she tried to survive. I spat in disgust as my father was kissing a slave girl. Many Germani frowned at this, the old families who respected modesty and family, but he was now at the pinnacle of his power, and out to change the tight ways and minds of the Germani. I wondered when a Thing was last held, and if the men attending truly had a choice to voice their opinions. Father hated our ways, like Gernot had.
He wanted to become a king, something most Germani abhorred, being stubborn and intractably proud, wary of any loss of their ancestral freedoms.
I asked an older man to fetch Gunhild to me. He complained, and I growled, as I gave him silver. He nodded and went, though he was still complaining. Gunhild came out, putting on a cloak of fox fur. 'Yes? Who are you?' She was worried.
I bowed to her deeply, my hood swiping the dust on the doorsill. 'Tell me, lady, are you happy with your hero, Maroboodus?'
Her mouth opened in astonishment at my audacity. 'Who are you to ask such things? Answer me, man.'
'My father's business does interest me,' I said calmly. Her eyes narrowed, and then she looked utterly shocked.
'Hraban?' she whispered softly, shaking in terror. I nodded slowly, my eyes on Father, who was now laughing happily. Oh, I would make him cry, I would. Men were passing by, and glancing at us curiously. 'Why are you here?' she asked with a show of calmness, and pulled me outside, and then to the side, beside some Roman jars.
'You do not know?' I said scornfully. 'Come, Aunt. I am here to avenge my mother, your sister, and my grandfather. My father set the whole thing up, and Catualda was his follower. It is a long story, one that will disgust you, I am sure. Have you seen Gernot?' I glanced around, sensing trouble, and noticed the youthful face of blond, handsome Vannius coming outside, where he threw up near the corner of the doorway, drunk and sick. I had liked him once, but he was a schemer my father had lured with golden promises. I wondered if Father had kept them.
Gunhild glanced nervously at Vannius. 'No, but they say he is alive. He is with Odo. Your father holds Tear and Ishild. He wishes Gernot back, though I hear your brother has a life with your enemy now. It is possible Tear is not alive, even. I know not. He is wondering about the fate of his ring, the Draupnir's Spawn, for he needs it for the Cherusci. He is holding Ishild … safe for the ring, I think. Odo was supposed to have the ring. And then, there is Koun,' she said softly, shaking. 'None have seen him since the Matticati attacked us.'
I nodded. Koun, Hunfrid's and Vannius's brother, had been my friend, and Gunhild had fallen in love with him. 'Odo had it only briefly. Catualda took it from Koun after a battle.'
'Took it from Koun?' she said with a small, shivering voice. 'Is he—’
'Catualda murdered him. I know it is of little condolence, but Koun tried to come here, and trade the ring for you. He was a good man.'
She was sobbing briefly, her face torn with unfathomable sorrow, but her survival instincts took over and she calmed herself with such a struggle, I had to admire the survivor inside the daughter of Balderich. 'Why did Catualda want the ring?'
I sighed. 'It was Bero's ring originally, remember? His father's ring. He wanted it, and as he is also related to the Cherusci, the latter tried to get the ring without burdening themselves with Maroboodus. But, I have the ring now, here.' I showed it to her.
'Is Catualda dead then?' she asked hopefully, eyeing the beautiful thing.
'I know not, lady,' I told her, truthfully. 'One day, he will be. Let it be while he is still young.'
'Let it be so,' she sobbed. 'Why are you here? You have no hope … ' She put her head down and looked at her hands. 'I am alone, Hraban. Very alone. He has not even bothered to lie to me. He only holds me as a relic to Aristovistus. He plans a wedding with the Cherusci Thusnelda, and I know he is not alone at nights.'
'You helped him, you poisoned me, made me look like Bero's victim for him,' I told her sad face, shifting my gaze to Vannius, who was retching again, seemingly insensible, or close to it. He might die that night as well, and I was not sure I enjoyed the thought.
She wiped tears off her eyes, and pushed me, forgetting caution. 'Oh? Yes, I did. It was not deadly, you know. And what have you done for him? Killed, Hraban, betrayed men and women both.'
I calmed her with my hand. 'It is true, Aunt. And so, we have a common cause, and a ton of filth to wash off our shoulders. His foul plans will crumble, if you but help me. You are not alone.' I put my hand on her shoulder, and saw Vannius grin at Gunhild, with some vomit still on his short, blond beard, his eyes twinkling.
The bastard apparently thought she had a secret tryst with a strange, fur-clad man. He raised his hands, and went inside, not appalled by the thought. Perhaps he did not love Maroboodus, if he didn’t care whether Gunhild was unfaithful, or not. In our lands, an unfaithful wife was to meet the rigid, cold waters of a swamp, weighted down by trunks of wood. Often, the other party to the crime would already be down there to welcome her. I stared after Vannius, a former Vangione, a third boy forever far from the helm of power in his homeland, now likely at the peak of his with Maroboodus. He had ambition, and yet, he had had some honor, at least, enough to help me once with Gernot.
Life would be easier for Burlein and us, should the Quadi be gone that night. And now, unknown to him, he was actually not far from the helm of power with the Vangiones.
'Vannius is my friend,' Gunhild explained. 'He knows I love Koun, his brother. He does not know his fate.'
I nodded, an idea formulating in my head, one that might make a world of difference that night. I glanced inside the hall. At least a third were Sibratus's Quadi, high warriors, with able men accompanying them. Apparently, Vannius was their lord now.
She grasped my hand, and pulled me from my devious thoughts. 'What are you planning, then?' She was sweating with fear, her voice trembling, and I wondered if she was up to what I was about to ask her.
'Is Ishild here?'
She looked around, as if uttering her words carried some ill omen. 'She is. They attacked Tear's abode in the woods, and plucked her out of there. She is with me now, but not allowed to leave the room. The baby is fine, growing and kicking like a small piglet. She is sick still, even now, vomiting like Vannius. Pregnancy does not become her, but otherwise, she is doing well. She is scared. Of being returned to Odo? Of Maroboodus? Of something else? She is distraught over something she will not share. She tried to escape once. Where she would have gone, I know not.'
'Has anyone touched her?'
She shook her head. 'Guthbert stopped Leuthard from doing that, they say. Made him swear an oath.'
I was suddenly grateful to Cassia for healing the dangerous warrior after all, and I glanced through the doorway at the huge, grizzly Batavi, with gray in his temples, his nose broken. He was a boulder-like man. He reminded me of an older version of Agetan and Bohscyld, brothers to Tudrus the Younger, my former childhood Quadi foes. 'I will want her safe. I will need you to lead her out this night, and then hide her for me. Do it after I return later. From the side door. I will let you know when. Prepare her, if you can. Also, when I return, I will speak with Vannius first. Do not alert him, though.'
She nodded at me, looking dubious, opening her mouth, but apparently decided she
would risk it. And, if I failed, she would need to do nothing. 'I will do it.’
'I have a thing to do first,' I told her. 'Do you miss your great father?'
She hesitated, but nodded. 'Terribly. You know he only wanted to retire in Roman Gaul? He had nothing to do with Rome, treachery, and such. Nor did Bero. Maroboodus promised me he would be safe, even if he was powerless, a relic more than anything, but lacking nothing.'
'Did he lack nothing after Maroboodus ousted Bero?' I asked her with a smile.
She shuddered, as she took a deep breath. 'His honor was intact, but not so his fame. He even went hungry, and they robbed him. Maroboodus promised to restore him, and I know not what would have happened, had not the Matticati taken him. Maroboodus says he did not find him, or evidence of him, in the north during the war. He says he keeps searching for him. I think he is dead.'
'He might be,' I told her carefully. 'But, if so, he died in the same place Ishild was held at.'
'What?' she breathed. 'Why?'
'Maroboodus is a Roman more than Germani, aunt. He has great plans that serve Rome, and his own interests. Balderich had to disappear at some point, and the Matticati had to fall. He simply made it look like they took him, that day I saved you right here. He put him in that tower, where they held, or hold, I know not, Bero. And Tear. He might be alive.'
'He is a Roman?' she said, her mind whirling, but there was steely hate in her now, and I knew she would not falter.
'He led the Vangiones to our village, Gunhild. His hand struck down the Vangiones, only after Hulderic had fallen and Sigilind taken. Your sister. So, this evening is yours, as well.' She nodded, swallowing her bile, shuddering still, though only with anger this time. 'Let us see, Gunhild, if, by Woden, we might restore your father. He might be, by tomorrow perhaps, the leader of the vast Marcomanni tribe, again. With Burlein helping him, of course,' I added and grinned under my hood. She went inside, and her step was lighter, her hands in clutched fists. She was a very willing ally now, even if Balderich would not truly rule anything ever again. That much I had agreed with Burlein. He wanted new rules, and new blood, to govern the Marcomanni, and I did not blame him.
I rode downhill calmly. There was some snow billowing in the chilling evening air, as I joined Ansbor and Fulcher.
'She said yes, so let us do our hard part,' I mumbled, and rode after Ansbor.
'There will be many hard parts this night. In fact, I see no easy parts,' Fulcher said sullenly. 'Perhaps we should just wait for Burlein.'
'No, I want Balderich here when we oust Father,' I said.
'Why? What difference does it make?' he asked, exasperated.
'I don't want Leuthard to kill him, if he learns Maroboodus is dead. I owe Balderich,' I said and spat. Besides that, I did not trust Burlein to let him live, should he find the old man a prisoner where none knew of him.
'Life is short, so best enjoy some challenges, no?' Ansbor answered him. 'Suicide to serve you, my friend, always knew it.'
'Ansbor, what is it with Cassia and you?' I teased him, pulling the hood deeper.
'The boy,' Fulcher chortled, 'is as helpless as a doe with a broken leg, when that enchanting creature so much as moves.'
'Yes,' I chuckled to Ansbor's back. 'I think he would sigh with admiration should she fart,' I added mischievously.
'She is not the sort to fart! She is a fine woman, wealthy … ' Ansbor turned, fuming, and we mocked him with laughter. I was happy, even if Fulcher's laughter was brief, apparently not happy with himself for being happy.
'She is wealthy, yes,' I said laconically. 'But, a bit severe.'
'She is severe at you,' Ansbor spat out, and then pouted for a moment, continuing with a subdued voice. 'She smiles like the sun to the rest of us. With us, she is as happy as a bird hopping on a fresh turd.'
'My, what a splendid way of describing the girl,' I teased him still, but also wondered at his words. Why did the woman hate me so? Had I not saved her from slavery by the Sigambri Varnis who held her?
We rode under the canopy of trees finally, and I noticed Ansbor stiffen as he stared at a space nearby. Likely, that was where he had been found. How easily he could have died there that day, I thought. Wyrd. Now, he was alive. I shook my head, as the dark woods closed around us, evening claiming the sky, and it was gloomy and bitterly cold. I had thrown my dice. There was no turning back. There never was, I realized. Nothing I could have done would have changed Father's opinion of me. I prayed to Woden to help us that night. I am sure my friends prayed as well. Lok flashed in my mind, and I pushed him away. His shrine was somewhere in front of us.
Ansbor was conscious of the ground turning into swamp. 'This should hold. It did when I was here.'
'I thank you, Ansbor, for coming here alone for Ishild,' I told him, as I navigated Minas through the morass. 'It was a very brave thing to do.'
He grunted, bothered by the praise. 'I heard later from Cassia—'
'I bet,' I snickered.
'From Cassia,' he said indignantly, 'that this wood is called Skuld's Wrath. Ermendrud told her. They gossip terribly much. I know not what this Lok god does here, but the legend tells how Skuld, the Valkyrie, spared a fallen lord's life around here.'
Fulcher nodded. 'Valkyries are fickle. They should haul the dead off to the sweet afterlife, but sometimes the women resurrect the dead. Sometimes, they fall in love. Though they say such love is short-lived and the recently resurrected find themselves dead again.'
Ansbor nodded at Fulcher. 'It was so in this legend as well. Skuld, a Valkyrie, had ridden to this lord, who was dead amidst the debris of battle, soiling her mare's hooves in congealed blood, fully intending to take him to Valholl for his bravery in war. But, having seen how the man was fair and tall, a better looking man than any of us, she had felt stirrings of fierce love for him. She guided her stallion to him, refusing Woden this man, his trip to Valholl canceled, even after he begged, his ethereal spirit bent over his corpse. She ignored such prayers, and, in her lust, offered to spare his life, return him to our world, and have him as her lover.
'A fine offer,' Fulcher said. 'Few men would refuse.'
'He refused,' I said. 'Is that not so?'
Ansbor grunted with amusement. 'He did. He had no wife, no. He had a lover, a man in his war band. Learning this, Skuld was determined she would never be mocked for her mistake. Her rage was earth shattering, and so she returned him to life, but not entirely. He was left to walk the lands, a broken creature of pain, but her tears of raging anger raised a swamp around here, for a woman spurned is a creature of no mercy.'
'I know that,' I said, thinking about the unforgiving Ermendrud and disdainful Cassia.
'Thank you for this story,' Fulcher said, and pulled a cloak around him. 'A cheerful story for the fools like us, walking the very woods.' An owl glided over us, and Ansbor nearly shrieked.
The trees around us were struggling to live in watery banks of mud. Snakes slithered in the water, and mosquitos buzzed around us, as Ansbor guided us forth. We rode for a short time, and suddenly, the horses were up to their knees in murky water, their eyes flashing concerned looks. The trees turned sparse, save for rotting trunks.
'Gods, Skuld must have cried for days,' I mumbled as I looked forward. 'Are you sure this is the right way?' Around us, in the dark, spread a stinking morass.
'Yes,' Ansbor said tediously, while jumping down from his horse. He sunk his chest to the water, cursing vilely, and groped around, dragging himself towards a copse of trees. Suddenly, he climbed up to an unseen bank of sturdy land. 'I walked amiss. It's here.'
Fulcher spat as he guided his horse forward, and I followed him cautiously. 'It is just that you got wet, for missing the road.'
'I was running away when I was here the last time,' he grumbled, as he shook with disgusted shivers. 'I hope I survive to get wet again. But, we will die out there, no doubt, so getting wet is nothing.' He pointed a stubby finger towards north.
There, far ahead, a huge rock
formation rose from the rigid water. A pale light was lit on top of it.
'They are sure to have guards, Hraban,' Ansbor said, and tied his horse on the wooden remains of a trunk, his face ashen gray. ‘I was discovered around here. Lucky they have none here now. Sorry. But, I forgot the distance, and it is dark.'
I placed my hand on his shoulder in consolation. 'By gods, Ansbor. You have done well.'
'Well enough,' Fulcher said, as he eyed the rocks. 'It is good it is night, indeed. Hard place to take in the light.'
'Hard place to take at all,' Ansbor said with worry. 'They could just hole up there forever. You have men coming to help us?'
'No, cannot alert Leuthard with a clamoring war-band. We must make sure Balderich survives,' I told them, as I stared at the rock. Ansbor gaped at me, as if I was mad.
'Alone? We go there alone?' he whispered, but I went ahead.
'You will see. It is cold, the last days of the celebration. They are bored out of their minds, and they are likely drinking mead and ale, for they are Germani,' I said softly. 'Our people have little discipline, and even less when mead is on the table. Romans would be impossible to drive out of there.' I thought briefly about the Roman cohort in the Castrum Luppia, of the fabulous short men who had fought on, even when everything fell apart around them. They would have had a guard on the road. An alert one.
Fulcher said nothing, but Ansbor spat. 'If you admire the Romans so much, why did you come back? Never mind. Up there!' There was an audible voice of an opening door, revealing a sputtering light inside. There was also a chatter of gruff voices, and the light briefly shone strong enough to reveal part of the wooden tower build on top of the large rock. A man stalked the rock, dragging his framea behind him listlessly. He burped loudly, scratched his hair under a helmet of leather, as he scanned the surroundings briefly, and then went promptly inside.
'This Leuthard is keeping lax guard over the place, eh,' Fulcher said mischievously. 'How do they get up there?'
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 9
