CHAPTER XI
Winter arrived with a brutal force, unleashing the times of frozen death upon us and all the Marcomanni, no matter whom they called their lord. They all fought the same enemy: hunger and stinging frost. For our Grinrock, our relative success against Maroboodus brought unexpected issues. Many a Marcomanni from the north took shelter in Grinrock and the south, and Burlein's people were hard pressed to provide food and shelter for such families. Yet, he welcomed them all, buying what he could from across the river. He sent hardy men, hunters and travelers, to scout the northern lands and to gather news. Some men he sent to Hard Hill itself, pretending to be supporters of Maroboodus. From these brave men, we got a wealth of news. Many villages around the Hard Hill were empty, their people having fled, but my father had returned to Hard Hill, and sat there, brooding amidst dust and ash, trying to rebuild his fame. Men told us he was sick from a spear-made wound, the one Burlein had thrown, and there was hunger and disease making the once formidable lord nearly pitiful.
We burned our dead ones, and mourned. I gave neither Guthbert nor Leuthard a holy pyre, but hoped Father would send their ashes north to the faraway lands of the Batavi, at the end of River Rhenus, near the fabled sea in the north. I prayed to high Woden for Guthbert, and knew he was waiting for me in the halls of the god, bickering with Vago, likely, on who gets to slay me first, for in Valholl, men engage daily with each other in the joy of battle, and feast in the evenings, happy and carefree, swapping stories.
I felt like I was aging at double the normal rate, and the scar in my face made me feel self-conscious, no matter if the face itself was no longer puffy like a rotten fish, and I started to gain back a semblance of a normal man's looks. For once, though, I was not poor. Bero's long lost riches saw to that. We had a bag of Roman gold, and even more glittering silver; bronze aplenty. With that, we purchased precious food and even some small cows. We all had horses, and two ill-tempered pigs.
And, when I say pigs, I meant Ansbor and Fulcher.
Ansbor was not happy with his lot. He rarely was. I spoke to him often about Wandal, and what we should do to regain him. I planned on sending men to find if the Matticati held him. It was also possible the Vangiones or even Romans had captured the dolt, and we both went quiet when we thought about that. How we would find his trail in the Roman world was a mystery to us.
Of course, he could be dead.
Eventually, we promised each other we would find a slave trader in Moganticum, and start there. We would venture in a world we did not understand, and we would be in danger for our friend. We nodded at that, but Ansbor was nervous, for Maroboodus had to be dealt with first.
Also, he was in love.
He did not admit it, but it was clear as rain when the woman passed by in the room. He was utterly stricken by Cassia, and deathly afraid of losing her. She was a striking woman, and disturbed me as well. She had been strange in Bero's tower, but I chased the husky words she had uttered there away, and hoped Ansbor the best of luck with her, though that thought bothered me as well. I did not think he suited her, but felt like a bastard for thinking like that, for I did not truly know her. I suspected I was jealous.
As for Fulcher, he brooded. He had taken to visiting Hunfrid, the unhappy king of the Vangiones, and had found out from him the man who had led the attack on his hall, Bricius, was not even a Germani, but a Celt of the west, and he commanded a motley crew of vagrants who tracked men. Mercenaries, obstinate, never in one place. They had likely left the Vangione lands, the brooding Hunfrid confided to Fulcher after my friend had drawn a seax. They worked for pay, and Hunfrid could not pay them. This made Fulcher his morose self again, and it was impossible to draw even the off-smile I had so enjoyed out of him.
Bricius could be anywhere.
So, we had two brooding pigs in the house.
Pigs, for Ermendrud was utterly furious when they tracked mud and twigs in to the great hall she and Cassia kept religiously pristine and clean. The women quickly formed a trinity of unholy leadership in my Hall, one that us, the divided men, could not cope with. Euric had wisely purchased a hut for himself, snorting at the antics of the three horrible creatures, whenever we hid away at his place.
As for the coins, Cassia pushed me quickly aside, and took hold of my fortune. I did complain for having to beg for a piece of bronze to purchase a dozen arrows, for example, but in truth, I was lucky to have her in the house, even if Ansbor was grumbling and nervous when she walked past.
'Why don't you tell her how you feel, you idiot?' I asked him finally, when I grew tired of his sighs and groans. 'You had months to do so, and here you are, miserable as a near drowned dog.' His face took on a suffering look as his eyes tracked the movements of the dark-haired beauty, and his hands made inconspicuous movements as he tried to tell me it was not my business. The dolt was dead scared.
As for me, Ishild and I lived a lie.
It was a nice lie, full of odd, tender feelings, despite all that had passed. I still did not know her secrets, and Tear would hover around, but overall, the pregnancy and her company gave me strange peace I had lacked. I was happy, happy enough, I suppose, though dreading the future.
Euric surprised us before the Yule feast, for he bid us farewell. Winter was no time to travel, but the damnable fool was adamant to go to the east, being so close to the people inhabiting the high mountains. He wished to live there for a while, and learn new things about iron. He also wished to forget his constant worry over Wandal. He would spend the winter in the east, amongst the high hills of the Black Forest near the mountains, and Fulcher bought a guide to show him the way. Well, Cassia gave him the coin to do so, but Fulcher dealt with the practicalities for he knew the hills and the best guides.
Wrapped head-to-toe in dark furs, Euric stopped by before leaving. 'I will be back in the spring, Hraban, unless the filthy gods take me. Then, we will find Wandal, or at least his bleached bones,' he told me, sitting on a sturdy horse. I nodded, unhappy to lose him. It was strange how a man who was once a distant father of my friend was now a man I had taken oaths with.
As for the spring, Burlein was preparing.
He had changed. He was no longer the drunk merry third brother, a useless wastrel, nor the spineless, beaten man, but now he was a warlord, a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, as if he was the giant Atlas himself. He had turned into a lord of men, though he was spending too much wealth, perhaps on needless endeavors. Yet, he was also generous with praise. He was dispensing justice, taking care of his people, and meddling in Maroboodus's affairs, as he made inroads towards the north, finding allies amongst the Marcomanni who formerly bowed to Maroboodus. Tear had reservations about him, her bony shoulders shrugging when Burlein passed, but for me, that Yuletide was time of hope. Burlein was doing almost everything right. His blunt axe-like brutality had honed itself to wiser ways.
And then, there was Gunhild.
Oh, he courted Gunhild patiently, and with respect, but it was hard going. Gunhild had dead Koun on her mind, her shame over the many humiliations still vivid in her thoughts. Had it not been Melheim, Burlein's bullnecked brother, who had tried to take her by force? She must have seen Melheim's mad face in Burlein as well. However, she had a history with the south. Had not the lords of this very village wanted her for marriage? Indeed, she had once been married to a noble of Grinrock, until the man had died, and so the village itself was no den of pain for her. Yet, she had truly loved Koun. Sometimes she would sit with us, listening to Cassia and Ermendrud bickering with Ansbor, then asking me softly if it was true, absolutely certain that Koun had died. I would hold her as she sobbed. She would have to move on. That was the rule of life. Not to do so is the road to slow death. That was something I would have to remember myself many times in later life.
Then, one night, Fulcher and I saw her talking with humbly kneeling Burlein, deep in the wintery scene of shadows and light near the riverside. They spoke at length, and in the end, she embraced him. He was a
good enough man, and so her healing began.
It was a good winter.
CHAPTER XII
That Yuletide, we celebrated raucously. We gathered in Burlein's hall, the hall where I had deceived Isfried, luring him to attack Hard Hill. It was much the same kind of a celebration, for that distant night we had been very drunk with Burlein, and had gambled like fools. We did it all again that Yuletide, and he was in a greatest of moods, and not only for the gentle Gunhild.
Men travelling south had brought him great news.
A great many chieftains in the northern and eastern lands of the Marcomanni had declared neutrality in this war. Burlein's men were competing with Maroboodus's men on swaying some chiefs to our way. Father had sent men on the same mission. They had fought bitter skirmishes, and even if Maroboodus had hung some of Burlein's men in the villages of the Moenus River, Burlein had had great success with few others. Some said the Quadi had not abandoned Maroboodus yet, but neither were they entirely for him. Vannius was still with the Quadi as well, apparently until spring.
I nodded at the news, and his face was flushed with the excitement, his fears in the background. I pointed a finger at him. 'Vannius will not fight us, as long as Hunfrid is prisoner. In fact, if you give him his older brother, he will lick our asses.'
He grumbled. 'Peace. We have some time to think about the Vangiones. Didn't you already promise Vannius he would fall, should he let us deal with Maroboodus? We tried and failed, but Hunfrid still lives, despite him doing his part. He might not be happy with us, if there are more demands coming his way. He might not believe us. I would not.'
I shrugged. 'We have not dealt with Maroboodus, really. And Hunfrid is your prisoner.'
He roared happily. 'Gods, I didn't realize what kind of strange games Isfried had to deal with. In any case, we have your father by his hairy nut sack.'
'How do you know it is hairy?' I asked mischievously. 'Romans likely shave them.'
He hummed uncomfortably. 'I have not seen his, if you are trying to imply something filthy like that. No. And, this claim of yours, that he is a Roman more than Germani—'
I slammed my mug on the table, and pointed a finger at him. 'He is a damned Roman. I heard a man tell me this is so, and he had no reason to lie. He hopes to use the Germani in wars that benefit Augustus, and when the time is ripe, and the internal enemies of Augustus have grown weeds, my father will subjugate us all to Rome. It is—'
'Fine!” he said tiredly. 'But, few think that far in these lands. What the chiefs out there think about is Balderich, and his lie over the old man's fate. They don't care a goat's ass for Rome. It is all too far-fetched for them.'
'Fine,' I echoed him, brooding as I took more ale. 'But, it is true, nonetheless.'
He shook his long, glimmering hair back, as his mood was ruined. We watched as men roared happily, some who had celebrated with Maroboodus not a month before. 'Vannius is alive, and they say he is fighting with Tudrus's relatives, Tallo especially. He is busy for now,' he noted. 'Too busy to help us. Too busy to go home to his Vangiones, even. He will, I am sure, but perhaps he is gathering men for his attempt to take over the throne of the Vangiones.'
I grunted. 'We can decide this thing with the Marcomanni alone, but we should seek outside help. I don't care to take any chances with the bastard.'
He shook his head. 'We will see. For now, we are doing well on our own. Come spring, we will take stock of the situation, and decide what to do with Hunfrid, Vannius, the Quadi, and the Vangiones. Nay, the gods themselves.'
'Come spring, it might be too late. We are harassing Father all across his dominion, but we should make decisions about allies now,' I told him. His face screwed up with worry, and then, he brushed the sentiment aside, clinging to confidence as he toasted men around him. 'Use Vannius to gather either the Quadi, or the Vangiones, to us. We need help.'
'I will try to find some allies,' he allowed unhappily, and I toasted him.
Then, despite the heaviest snows that had arrived and very bitter cold, we spent a very happy Yule. Ishild laughed every day. Tear and Ishild had made peace, and I felt there was some part of the old Ishild in the house, the merry child I had run around in and around our village when I had been young, before she had disappeared and reappeared as a woman.
A Yule celebration was a ten-day long affair of plenty and enjoyment, and every one of those days Fulcher, Ansbor, and I feasted. Despite a tearing hangover, I would endure Cassia's nimble fingers as she checked on my wound. She seemed strangely happy, and talked about the house, and how it could be enlarged. Yuletide was ever the happiest time of the year, and this was no exception. I nodded at her plans, and finally grabbed her hand. She sighed resolutely. 'You are going to be asking about my plans? With him?'
'Ansbor is a fool for you,' I told her with a nod. 'He will likely propose. Soon.'
Her face took on a marble-like quality as she sat back, her eyebrows cutting a severe line on her brow, not giving away any hint of her feelings. 'Yes,' she said huskily.
I gazed at her carefully, treading like a lynx into a guarded henhouse. She might be easy to speak with, but she might bite my head off as well. She was a striking woman, with hips to make any man stop, bosom to match a goddess, and like one, she could likely eat a man alive, should she be displeased with him. 'You are here, in these undecided lands, risking life and limb. And, yet, you have riches across the river, vast lands, and a husband-to-be. Is this not so?'
'Yes, it is so,' she said. 'But likely my riches are gone, and should I go back, I'd have to fight for them. My husband-to-be has married another, and I think he might be happy it is so, for he never searched for me. Was there ever a request, or a messenger trying to, nay, begging to buy me free? There is as little true love in that story as there is between you and Ishild.' She looked shocked at the last words, and then she got up, visibly calming herself.
'You have no idea what Ishild and I share,' I snarled at her, aroused by her words.
'A baby,' she told me severely. 'You have a baby between you. Not even that, yet. Ermendrud told me about you two, and what Ishild did to you, the trick she played on you. You had rejected Ishild. It was wise. Despite her looks, she is not destined for this world. There are women, Hraban, that will make you smile, but she will always make you uneasy. She is not whole.'
'This is none of your business, Cassia! And what will you tell Ansbor?' I hissed. 'He is my friend, and I worry for the craven fool.'
She shrugged, as cruelly as only a beautiful woman can. 'I will consider it.'
'You will?' I asked, surprised.
She laughed dryly. 'Ah, my, you have a small opinion of your friend if you are surprised that he might win my heart.'
'I'm not sure you have one, ' I mumbled, and she fixed me with a cold stare.
She leaned forward, and tapped the scar in my face painfully. 'I feel alive here, Hraban, with you lot. If you are displeased with this, we can move with Ansbor, and find a fine hall for ourselves. Is this how you want it?'
I opened my mouth to say, ‘yes,’ but just shrugged. She was very useful in the hall. 'No. I will need you.' I felt uneasy as I said that and gazed in her eyes. Our looks lingered, very close, and finally she got up, and I felt disappointed. I felt I was a poor friend to Ansbor.
'Fine,' she said carelessly. 'I will handle Ansbor, and he will be happy, no matter what we decide, so do not worry. He is a grown man. As for your Ishild, she has all sorts of uncomfortable problems, some nausea still, and her weird eating habits are hard to satisfy. She desires half-raw millet, pinched apples, and even the sweetest of mead, sometimes at the same time, but this is normal. I will handle it.' She smiled, and was about to leave.
I stopped her. 'When you said there are other women who could make me happy, do you mean Ermendrud? She was very disappointed in me, you see. There was a baby—'
She looked at me, her face strained with anger, then she slapped me hard. 'Not Ermendrud, you idiot. Besides, she has principles. She is
not the sort to crawl to a man who hurt her. And, yes, she lost a baby. Something you should talk to her about, perhaps,' she said with freezing anger, and left. I lay back, utterly confused.
On the last day of the feast, I was pleasantly surprised.
While sitting on a long bench, Ishild next to me, her face pale from nausea. I held my hand on her belly to steady her. She grabbed it, smiled at me, and nodded at a young man with thin hair sitting at the end of the hall on a high platform, and Burlein pelted me with a pig's bone. He pointed at the man, and bowed my way.
The man was a poet, one of those few rare talents, who can dress an average man in glory, and cover foul deeds with honor. This gentle poet was singing songs in praise to our recent victories. Burlein was prominently placed in the songs, as was Isfried and even Melheim, though Gunhild had to leave when his name was uttered. This was so, for Burlein was building his family legacy again. A wise leader makes himself look like the most brutal lord in battle, yet a fair, merciful ring giver in peace, and the poet was burying past shame that weighted down the family. He sang about the heroics, and the battle of the Hard Hill, the burning of the Red Hall, the liberation of fair Gunhild, and men were praised for valor, even my father mentioned in a line of praise, for he was no coward, even if he was the enemy of all the men in the hall. He was hailed, which left a taste of sour bile in my mouth.
Then, Guthbert's stand was mentioned.
The poet gave whole lines to our heroics, the battle of the small room, where the man of great deeds fell bravely, and he named me the hero. I shrugged, for I had not slain the man, but Burlein's deed was kind, nonetheless. I felt grateful for Burlein and flashed a smile his way, but the men in the hall looked down. I had to stop myself from gazing at Fulcher, the longhaired man of too accurate predictions, for men did not wish to hail me. Burlein noted this as well and looked troubled, his eyes lingering on me. I wondered if he was calculating if I was crippling him, rather than aiding. I cursed such thoughts away, and endured the awkward silence, and Ishild held on to my hand. Despite the disappointment, the poet made a good work of the song, and I was determined to enjoy it.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 18
