Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2)

by Alaric Longward

  'I offer much, should you help me,' I told him morosely. The rider's eyes were glittering, as he regarded the enemy. Ansigar was whispering furiously to Gernot now, but my brother was shaking his head, looking towards the south. He was hoping for more of Odo's men to arrive. 'We do not have time, lord.'

  'We have some. Is that your spear?' the rider asked, pointing at Aristovistus's spear. The man holding it blanched, and nearly hid it behind his back.

  'Yes,' I said miserably, for it was a fabulous weapon.

  'A fine, old one. And that old sword as well?'

  'It was,' I said, with anger, 'my grandfather's.'

  He smiled. 'I want it. And then, you shall follow me, until we figure out a place for you,' he said happily. I grunted with an animal-like anger. Finally, I nodded, and he pointed his spear at Gernot. 'So be it. Drop the weapons, or use them,' the man said with spiteful anger. His men shifted their shields, and held their spears in an overhanded grip, their eyes boring at the men in the shield wall, choosing targets.

  The shield wall was shuddering with indecision.

  Ansigar looked like he was going to explode, as he tried to convince Gernot to fight, but Gernot, disappointed by the turn of events was walking for his horse, and he threw down Nightbright as he did. The others followed him, dropping the looted weapons, and I walked after them, picking up Leuthard's blade and handed it to Ansbor, then Balderich's spear and my Nightbright. Finally, I took the Head Taker and walked to the lord, and reluctantly handed it hilt first to the man who saw my suffering, and grinned at me under his bronzed helmet. He judged the motley lot of sullen enemies, and pointed the blade their way. 'You! Dogs. Run off, or you join your dead friends. I will have my men show you how to rape, and they are well built, I tell you. You will cry, as they have not seen a woman in long months. They won't be gentle, not even if you are virgins!' His men spread out, grinning as Odo's men ran and chased their horses, mounting them as quickly as they could.

  That was the last hour for Gernot to show his mettle. Men were whispering angrily as they mounted their beasts, as they were still many, and we were but eight, and they could have won, possibly, but Gernot did not have the heart for such a combat. He spat at my direction and trembling, turned his horse, and his men hung their heads in shame, following him. Odo would be very displeased with him.

  'Well, quite a bunch of cowards they were,' the rider spat, as he raised his helmet a bit while admiring the blade. 'An old one. They don't make such any more. Did you lose anyone to them?'

  I nodded, my face clouded over as I looked at the tall hills.

  He shrugged. 'Worry not. Your Woden will look after the dead.'

  'I lost friends and companions over the river. And here, my own blood. My daughter lives, but she is gone,' I told him with a trembling voice. 'I thank you for your timely help, but I must go after my daughter.'

  'Hraban,' Ansbor said tediously. 'We need rest.'

  The rider's eyes enlarged, and then he clapped a hand on my shoulder as he leaned over me. His men were suddenly alert; their spears pointed our way. 'Well, rest you shall have. I say you give me your weapons, that helmet, all the rich armor, and we take you with us to safety. Besides, what kind of a man would I be, if I let you go seek your death? The curs ran without a fight, but in numbers lay their courage, and they have men all around us.'

  'You know who I am, then?' I asked him, brooding at Ansbor.

  He grinned warily. 'The son of Maroboodus is not a prize I can let go with good conscience!'

  I observed the stern men around me, men who had just saved us, and now suddenly were perhaps an enemy, and I shook the battle rage away. I eyed the slopes and prayed to the gods, all I could name, that Lif would be safe until I saved her. And screw the prophecy, but I would.

  'What are you?' I asked the rider.

  'We are Batavi. Romans in a sense. And we shall take you to Castrum Luppia, where your father had a victory feast last year,' he said, and I cursed. Roman auxilia. Gods hated me.

  But, we were safe for the moment.

  CHAPTER XIX

  'Yes, we swam the river and escaped them, for a moment,' Ansbor told the merry warrior, as we rode towards the familiar northern passes for the Matticati lands. The previous year, Wandal and I had chased Catualda there, all the way to the Castrum Luppia, where Father had sprung his trap on the Vangiones and Hengsti, taking the fort. I glowered at Ansbor for fraternizing with the enemy, but he blithely ignored me.

  The man was shaking his head in wonder. 'Swam? The river? Only we do that, in full gear, that is. And not when it's running so high. Deathly cold, that is.' He looked at me dubiously.

  'Why is it your privilege to swim rivers in full gear?' I asked him tersely, feeling miserable, fighting the urge to ride off at a full gallop.

  He snorted. 'Because we are the Batavi, the best damned horsemen in the world. I am Chariovalda.' He put out his hand, and scowled at me until I gave mine, grasping his forearm. He nodded grudgingly, as he pulled hard on my arm in a warrior's salute. He let go and snorted. 'So, we hear you are quite a rascal. Maroboodus trying to build the Marcomanni in a proper fighting force is the news we keep hearing about over the river, but there are people who sing songs about you.'

  'Ah, yes,' I said, knowing he meant my dishonor. 'Do they sing the song on how I burned his hall last year?'

  'They do not,' he laughed. 'Truly? They only say you betrayed him, killed unwary holy men, and slept with unmarried women. Any of that true?'

  'Yes, all of it,' I told him hollowly. 'Though he himself has done much worse deeds, and all I did was obey.'

  'Did he order you to whelp babies on young women?' he asked with a small laugh.

  I said nothing, for Ermendrud's fate was pressing heavily on me. Leuthard was out there, I was sure, tracking us, and I begged to gods he would not find Hands and Lif. I had lost Ishild as well. I had lost her long ago, before I even knew I might have her. 'I have nothing to say to that, lord.'

  'Nothing? Fine,' he said calmly, his eyes on mine. I turned away first, and he rode on calmly. We were navigating the deep chasms and tall crags of the Matticati hills, and would soon witness the wonderful valleys, green pastures, swaying woods, and fields of barley we had ravaged the past year. 'Did you betray him?'

  'He made me give oaths,' I told him severely, 'against my own family. We made friends later, but it was but a lie, though I gave him the many victories he needed. He was always set on sacrificing me, even after pretending to love me. He did not even think I was his son. A dog, perhaps?'

  He was nodding as he rode on, giving swift commands to some of his men. 'Do you think,' he rumbled, and took off his helmet. His face was heavy and scarred under each eye, his eyes hazy like water, with blond curls around his face, interweaving with his huge moustaches and beard, 'that he might have treated you differently if your hair was red?' He reached out to my dark hair and I guided my horse further from him. He let me and chuckled. 'And I do not think you are a dog, Hraban, but a wolf. Wolves are not the type to let anyone kick them around, even if they are treacherous.' He smiled enigmatically, and I was not sure if he was giving me a compliment, or not. He grinned and continued. 'Now he is strong. He wishes to start his life anew here in Germania, to wash the shame away, shame of having served Romans.'

  I laughed. 'No, my lord. He is more Roman than Germani. He is going to betray the lot of us to Rome.'

  Chariovalda was staring at me in stupefaction. 'He is our worst enemy. He razed the fort we are now riding for. He is uniting the tribes.'

  'He,' I spat, 'unites them so they are malleable and easy to betray later. And there are Roman men who have to fall in this war, as I hear Augustus is nervous of his legacy.'

  'Men who have to fall?' he inquired.

  I knew I should have been careful, but I was too tired to care. I waved my hand to the south. 'In Rome, they need these wars, for the Wolf has to feed. But, I was told the truth by a fat bastard who thought I was to die. He told me Maroboodus serves R
ome. Roman lords who threaten Augustus's state, this new hegemony of his, are going to suffer in this war. Only when they are dead, and Augustus is safe, will the Germani suddenly collapse. My father, my lord, is a bastard, who will do all of this. He is Roman, serving certain unsavory Romans who wish to kill other Romans so Rome can become even more corpulent and decadent, and less honorable. And Maroboodus will be left in charge of the lands in here, a Roman lord. Faugh!'

  He was nodding his head, as he stared ahead, his eyes flickering my way, likely thinking I was mad. 'A fancy plan. To think I learnt of it from a dung-smelling barbarian out of the backwoods. I suppose you speak Latin, too?' he asked with a grin.

  'I do,' I told him in Latin, my pride prickled. 'And you smell of piss, my lord, so I suppose we complement each other.'

  He chortled. 'And you say old Augustus is pulling the string of Maroboodus, hoping he will hand over the Germani to him, after Republican leaders are dead?' he wondered.

  'No, the merchant told me there are others who would benefit from this new reign of Augustus. The old man apparently does not know about Maroboodus,' I reiterated, with a tired, bored voice. 'Someone is out there playing dangerous games. It has cost my family blood.'

  'Oh, I think it is possible,' he said darkly. 'But, why would they not just stab the Republicans, and this is what they are talking about lout, men who wish for the Republic to have its old powers, the rule of many over the rule of one. Why not just slay such men?' he asked me sweetly.

  'They want no martyrs, I suppose. There has been lots of blood spilled in Roman civil wars? No. A Germani must do this deed, an enemy Augustus will then conquer and be loved for,' I said.

  'Ah, but you are a wise one for a shit digger,' he smiled, as he rode easily.

  'I don't feel wise, Chariovalda,' I told him. 'And your horse looks wiser than you.'

  His men snickered, and Ansbor grumbled something about shutting my rotten mouth, but Chariovalda was only chuckling at me. 'Indeed. You are a strange man, Hraban. A very strange one.' He pulled out the Head Taker. 'I shall keep all these weapons of yours until we decide what is to become of you. You are, after all, no friend to Rome. By your own words.'

  I chuckled. 'I wonder who is my friend.'

  He nodded towards the north. 'The Cherusci, the Sigambri? Tencteri and the Usipetes? They all fight hard up there, and look in suspicion at Maroboodus and us, both. Fiercely independent, they are. Perhaps you should go there.'

  'Yes, there are some of the Quadi out there I would like to meet with,' I told him. Veleda had told me to go up there. To the Cherusci, to Armin? The man I had betrayed for Father? Was she right? Was it too late?

  'Tudrus is a nasty bastard,' he told me with a grimace. 'He is up there these days, that Quadi and a thousand of his people. We had a cavalry battle early spring, and they nearly routed us.'

  'He is much like you,' I told him, for it was true.

  'Only much older,' he added with a sniff. 'Now, shut up, we deal with many issues soon. I am happy I fished you out of the trouble.'

  I nodded at him impatiently.

  Lif.

  I would find her.

  We were taken to a hill beyond the passes of the Matticati, and a brilliant sunlight tried to permeate the misty woods below. On that light, we saw glittering men on the hill. They were a war-torn contingent of Batavian cavalry, apparently scouting. The Romans had been so impressed by my father's slaughter of the Matticati and the Vangiones and the decimation of the cohort of Romans that the commanders had sent the sturdy Batavi to find out the true manner of the suebian threat.

  The Batavi seemed Germani enough, all with beards and a dangerous squint in their eyes, blond and red-headed, some as dark as I was. Unlike the average Germani, the Batavi were heavily armored in ring- and chainmail, and armed to the extent they resembled travelling arms merchants. Most had a heavy spear and wicked darts, and a few hefted thick bows with deadly arrows. Some, the better warriors, sported fat, dangerous axes and sharp swords, all made of the best possible Celtic iron. All their shields bore the same symbol of a star and a bull, and I admired their discipline, as some men rode out on light scout animals, while others cared for the tough, muscular Roman horses.

  'We look like servants,' Ansbor told me morosely.

  'Or prisoners,' Fulcher added, 'which we are, in truth.'

  'Thanks to Hraban,' Ansbor said gloomily.

  'Shut up,' Cassia whispered. 'He lost his child.'

  Ansbor nodded savagely at her, angered as she was defending me. 'We all lost something! A home, at least. Wandal lost Ermendrud, even if he does not know it. Loss is to be born these days, and so is blame,' he told me, and vaulted down from the horse and walked off briskly to take a piss.

  Chariovalda was talking with some of the men in the camp, and then put on his helmet, motioned for his men, and got up. He pointed his finger at us, and I nodded. We would ride on down to the lands of the Matticati, and some of the scouts led us to trails that skirted streaming, clear rivers. They took us to the trails down the hills, occasionally stopping, dodging war parties of strange nature. Once, two men went back after quick consultation with Chariovalda. We sat still, getting bitten and savaged by the mosquitos, and the horses grew irritated at the flies buzzing around us. Soon, some screams could be heard, silencing the birds, but then the men returned, sheeting their bows, and the birds began to chirp away again. A ragged horse, with a bloodied flank raced past us, a man dead on the saddle.

  'Your tormentor sent men after us,' Chariovalda said casually, chewing on some dried meat as he guided his horse onwards. 'We rule these lands, not they.' I shook my head, for the dead man had had the scarlet scar of the Red Finger on his forehead. They did not work for Odo, but Maroboodus. Did they accompany Leuthard?

  In the woods, there were skeletons picked clean by animals, as many forgotten battles had taken place there during my father's campaign. Our eyes gazed at the fox-gnawed bones, as we rode in silence over corpses left behind in the woods, unburied and unfound.

  'I knew some Batavi. Recently. One is dead now,' I told Chariovalda heavily.

  He nodded. 'Brutal campaign they had here. Your father stepped on a trap, but in fact trapped the overconfident mud eaters. It cost him some, I bet, but it cost our allies more,' Chariovalda said sourly, examining the skeletal carnage, disgusted by the ineptitude shown by the usually stalwart Matticati.

  'He sacrificed old men, and Burlein's men, a man he did not like,' I explained, 'as that is his way. But, now, Burlein is dead as well.'

  'I see,' he crumbled, his eyes flickering my way. 'Who were the Batavi you knew?'

  'Leuthard and Guthbert. Their father lives in Batavorium? I know not his name. Guthbert is dead. Leuthard is … changed. He is my father's creature.' He rode silently, nodding. 'You knew them?

  The man nodded profoundly, startled, as if torn from his thoughts. 'Yes,' he said. 'Their father died last winter. They are all there now, by Hercules, save for Leuthard. He is changed, you said? We will see them in Woden's halls, or Freya's, I suppose.'

  'Guthbert was a fine man,' I told him morosely, not mentioning he had a family in Rome as well.

  'You killed him?' he asked with humor.

  'No, but I helped,' I told him. 'Another shot him, and that man, my lord, betrayed us to Maroboodus. Gunnvör.'

  'You bragged of killing him, then?' he grinned.

  'I did not. Burlein paid a poet to sing my praises, and the man took offence,' I explained, as I guided my horse over a rotten timber.

  'We take offence easily, Hraban. Wyrd,' he said.

  'Wyrd,' I agreed, and hoped my wyrd was different.

  Cassia rode next to me. 'You worship both Roman and Germani gods? Wyrd is—'

  'They are all the same,' said Chariovalda and I, together. Shayla had taught me this. We glanced at each other in surprise, and laughed. I quickly shut my mouth, and glanced at Fulcher. He nodded. It was hard to feel happy when you should be grieving, but sometimes grief had to give room
to joy. Lif was not dead yet. Not that I knew of.

  'Hercules, Donor, I think they are the same, and I worship the smiter in any form he chooses to take. Did he not take a woman's form to slay a stupid giant once?' Chariovalda said happily. 'Bet he was a looker. Women say I am as pretty as a maid, some do.'

  'This does not offend you?' Ansbor asked, surprised.

  Chariovalda leaned on him. 'If Donor used ruses to kill giants, I happily use my beauty to bed women who admire pretty men.'

  'You do look like a handsome woman, lord,' Cassia said happily, and Chariovalda gave her a calculating look, one Ansbor did not enjoy. 'Though, perhaps, not a maid, but a grandmother,' Cassia allowed, and he cursed her with a chuckle.

  We came to the valleys of the Matticati, and Chariovalda took us directly to the old Roman fort, thundering up the forlorn hill where a thousand men had died, and entered the crow-filled woods of that embattled hill. Around the fort, there were alert Matticati, guarding the legionnaires rebuilding the destroyed fort, and another hundred Batavi, flitting in and out of the woods. They guided us inside the perimeter, forcing us to dismount, as riding in camp was against the rules of men and gods, and we walked.

  The agger and the fossa were sternly rebuilt, and the part of the stockade I lost Wandal at was again in place. There was another cohort of legionnaires building the fort, immunes most of them, all from Moganticum, craftsmen of skill. We were shown to squad tents, very similar to what my father had when he first came to us. I got my own, Fulcher and Ansbor another, and Cassia slept with the Batavi women. They split us up on purpose. She was the only one of us allowed to walk outside, free but for one guard, a young beardless and blushing Batavi, who got extremely nervous when she appeared.

  There we stayed for days. Our wounds were administered to and bound, our clothes cleaned, and Fulcher and I had our armor scraped of rust and weapons sharpened, because we saw this from afar, as they would not let us go around armed and armored. We were happy to be receiving food, though the legionnaires woke up dreadfully early to the sharp blast of the cornu, or some other horn they used in the camp.