'A thief!' Chariovalda told us, as the squad beat the man, led by a sadistically grinning centurion wielding a stick. We were shown a barracks, one that held supplies, but we were happy to rest, though I despaired at the lost time.
That evening, I saw a man staring at our door from the shadows. It was Cornix. He noticed me, and disappeared. Antius's supply master. My enemy. Men my father worked with were watching us.
CHAPTER XXI
I despaired more, as two long weeks went by without Drusus, and I thought Lif was far, far away. I was begging she would be alive, but felt hopeless, and I was brooding. Then, Chariovalda's men celebrated Drimilchi at the end of the month. It was one year since Hulderic and Sigilind had died, and everything was different. I was scarred in face and body, and I was a father to a lost child. I had tried to kill my own father. I still would.
I thought about these things as they took us to the feast, as the Batavi celebrated outside the Roman camp, in the deep night by a fire. They made fine offerings to the old gods, a fat cow, and one of his men was a priest, as well as a warrior, and they sang songs about their past deeds. They were Germani, through and through, but they served Roman Gods as well, and I admired their character, as they lived a life on the edge of old and new, navigating those murky waters easily, and without a care. Woden was with them, I was sure, and I doubted any Roman god would think less of them for their long beards and merry ways, even if a Roman noble would smirk at them with amusement, and arrogance.
Chariovalda sat next to me later in the evening, put a hand on my shoulder, and smiled.
'Where is Cassia?' he said, surveying the crowd. 'We do not mind having a pretty face amongst us.'
'She is at the camp, a bit sick, she told Fulcher. A man of yours is watching her.'
'Not pregnant, no?' he asked, and I shook my head, remembering Ermendrud's lost baby. 'Perhaps I shall visit her, and make sure she is fine,' the old lecherous bastard suggested, and immensely enjoyed the startled look on my face.
'I am thinking about Lif, not Cassia,' I pouted after I recovered.
'Lif. Yes, yes. Anything to ease your thoughts, boy? Do not hesitate to ask. Anything, save for freedom, and an excessive amount of my mead,' he laughed. 'Except this very night. The mead, that is.'
I shook in tired anger. 'Lord, I do not think I am good company. My sorrows weigh me down. I can only think about riding out there, finding them, and getting back what is mine,' I started to leave. He grabbed me, and pulled me back so hard I fell over the log I had been using as a seat. He let me scramble up on my own.
He grinned. 'Now, shut up, and enjoy our company, even if yours is miserable. Don't want to force my men to abandon the feast, and look after your sorry ass. We will have even more company this night … wait. They are here.'
I started to ask what he was talking about, but he didn't have time to answer. A line of ghostly horses was approaching from the south, the riders’ faces shrouded in mists, only their silhouettes in sight, as if they were dead and stalking the living. They looked like shadows, with an occasional glitter of armor, not daring the flames and light.
Yet, it was not so.
They did brave the light, and we saw they were a dusty line of men seated on great horses, Romans in chain armor, a cavalry unit one hundred strong, with a great purple, red, and gold banner. A silver and gold eagle was perched inside a circle of leaves, and gazing imperiously from the lofty perch. Then, a less glamorous sight at a first glance rumbled along, a wagon, four-wheeled raeda was rolling forward with them, and then under the dust, we saw it was shiningly silvery and breathtakingly beautiful, led by white horses. The column stopped by us. The Batavi got up, and Chariovalda nudged me with his foot. We joined the Batavi. A man jumped out of the wagon's side, pulling aside a dirty curtain. It was an ugly man, with a strange hunched back and a scowling countenance of a suspicious beast, its hair matted with grease.
Chariovalda leaned on me. 'Better bow to Drusus, boy. That is his standard. He will want you to bow low, for he does not know you. A fool gawking like you do, while he stands before you, a bad idea.'
'But is—'
'Suit yourself, Hraban,' Chariovalda said, shaking his head in dread. 'You are a brave one, to be sure.'
I gave him a very evil eye, and scrambled forward. The beast-like man turned to squint at me in return, a bit of drool escaping his lip, and I shuddered. Gods, where was Armin, I thought, hoping to be rid of Rome, though I liked the Batavi just fine. I avoided looking at the thing, and went on one knee before the ugly man. A wave of snickers rose around me as a handsome, short man rode up on a grimy gray horse, while dusting himself off. He gaped at the sight of me on my knee, and jumped down like a true rider, agile as a cat.
I glanced his way and wondered, for he was apparently in his forties, but looked boyish and springy, as if he had just run and won a race with a youngster, utterly dusty and happy. I noted his eyes were very light brown, his hair dark and stiff, his chin strong, and there was a certain nervous energy about him, as he fidgeted, staring at me. He noticed Chariovalda, and pointed a curious finger my way, while he scratched his temple with his other hand. 'Who is the young scar bowing to my slave?' Then, he spoke to the slave, without waiting for Chariovalda to answer. 'Garmix! Is there something uncouth going on here? I don't abide my slave having affairs I don't know about!'
'No, lord,' said the ugly man, with a bow. My head was spinning, as I realized what had happened. I turned to look at Chariovalda, who was wiping his eyes as mirth helplessly shook his body, and even Ansbor and Fulcher were laughing raucously. The slave continued, 'He is not my type, lord. I like mine more docile. This one looks as mad as a bull with a thorn in its nut. Not the loving, cuddly type, no.' The glorious man laughed as his slave, the ugly man, grinned at me. I got up, my fists balled, scowling.
'Lord … ' I began. 'I am—'
'Yes, yes, a Germani. I am sorry, my friend. I know you are not his lover, and abhor the thought. In Rome, such things are more common, though a free man should never be the one who submits. If you do desire him later, make sure he is the one bending over, and have him clean himself. Come.'
I sputtered and reddened, and he laughed hugely. The man, Nero Claudius Drusus, placed a hand on my shoulder, calming me. Despite the nervous energy in him, there was a strange quality to his face and eyes. While he had been making a joke not a moment before, now his eyes scourged my soul, and I could not look away. The orbs did not move, nor did they blink; they stared at me as if they were alfish eyes, strange and inhuman. He was formulating opinions, wondering and making up decisions, and gods forbid, if he did not like me. I stood tall as we walked to Chariovalda, who was still breathless.
Drusus nodded at me, tearing his eyes off, and then grinned at the bastard Batavi. 'Chariovalda. Well met. You should not play such tricks on such a formidable youngster. He is all knotted muscle, has the temper of a badger mother and a very thin patience, and might split your head for such affronts, you utter fool,' drawled the man, as he let me go. I felt somehow sorry for it, but the two men embraced warmly, Chariovalda bending down to the great lord.
The man laughed heartily at Chariovalda, and then threw off his dusty cloak. Underneath, he wore glorious war gear, an intricately sculpted metal cuirass, with fat medals of gold and silver. He bore himself like a god, as he spoke at length with Chariovalda. They were talking about many things, and I was unsure if I should stay, but somehow I managed to stand still. They mingled, some riders went on, a plumed legionary leaving a brace of guards with Drusus to stand in the shade, some ten men. They trusted the Batavi explicitly. Finally, the feast continued, and Chariovalda nodded my way, his face stern.
Drusus walked to me, calmly, his hands spread. 'Nero Claudius Drusus. That is I. Chariovalda calls me many names, but friend is the one I like. Just call me that, nothing what the pompous, toga-wearing fools try to push down my throat. Praetor, your highness, mighty general, most wise lord, or such nonsense. And you are … Hraban. Ra
ven,' he said, and I nodded. 'A Raven who understands Latin.' Again, I nodded. 'Well, speak!'
I shook myself and nodded. 'Yes, I am Hraban, and I do write and speak some of your language. My father had me taught by this Roman exile,' I said awkwardly, and the Romans laughed at my discomfort.
'He sounds like a damned mule,' someone quipped from the darkness, one of the legionnaires and the rest laughed with humor. I scowled that way, but Drusus turned me away.
'They are good men, and mean no evil,' he said calmly, his eyes on me. 'Hraban the Marcomanni. Son of Maroboodus.' The last words were spoken with a tightly strained voice.
'Yes,' I told him.
'Maroboodus, the man I know very well. The guard of our family, one of the Tall Ones, the iron fists of my stepfather. You know, I think he was assigned to my guard once. And to Julia. Often to Julia's guard.'
'Julia?' I said, with a small voice.
'Augustus's only daughter. Julia Caesaris,' he said, as he shook his head, walking around me. I stood still, feeling the urge to grasp Nightbright, but I noticed I did not have the sword, and my eyes sought Chariovalda in the feast. The man's eyes flashed mirthfully, as he scratched his back with my blade. He had grabbed it when he pushed me over. So, I stood still. Drusus came to eye me again. 'Yes, I know your father. I used to trust him. Now, he has turned the Marcomanni into an enemy. He is a dangerous one, he is. And the man who killed Julia's husband as well, old Agrippa. The Wall, we called the old man. Your father butchered him, they say.'
'So they say,' I agreed. 'Or, perhaps—'
'He did not,' Drusus said cautiously. 'Agrippa was sick when he travelled to Illyria. I saw him go. He was sick, and snot was flying as they carried him. But, off he went, for my stepfather ordered him to go. Something happened, indeed. Suddenly, Augustus was raging, beyond angry. He was in tears of hate, as he tore through his house on the hill that day. The funeral was furious, rather than serene.'
'I wonder if they were tears of joy?' I breathed, and his eyes stared at me dangerously.
'Go on,' he said. 'I won't bite. Talk about my family, as if you knew them.'
I had a hunch the discussion was not going well, and felt cold shivers run up and down my spine. 'I hear Agrippa had ever been the one to win Augustus's battles. Mayhap it is time for Augustus to do his bit, and he was happy to be rid of Agrippa?'
He observed me like a carnivore. A bear of small size, but immeasurable power. Finally, he smiled wistfully. 'Perhaps. But, why is it so I am here, and not Augustus?'
'Did they not name you the urban praetor for this year? I understood you should be there, and someone else here?' I said arrogantly, afraid I would make a fool of myself. 'Possibly he cannot come here, if you are here against his orders? He would lose face. He might come later, when the war is nearly won, and grasp the honor?'
'Yes, that might be so,' he agreed with a smile. 'I am here because I like it here, and I did defy some thinly veiled orders to go home. They say I should stay in Rome, but in truth, they do not fight me, for I have wars to finish. Here, the stench of Rome is far. And so are my stepfather's schemes. In truth, he killed Agrippa, by sending him all over the world. Gods know what diseases the old man had concocted. But, I agree Augustus resents his tarnished military fame. Perhaps he will appear here for the final battles, for I am sure there will be wars with your people.' He laughed hugely and sighed. 'He has before. Agrippa gave him many victories. Most, in fact. Agrippa was his soldier, his brave sword, his bravery in battle. Augustus should hate Maroboodus for the murder of his friend, enough to see Maroboodus dead at least, for he truly believes the wounds in Agrippa were made by your father. Even if they were made after the old man died of snot.'
I smiled. 'Father brought Agrippa's head home, did you know? A great deed, and many wondered at it.'
'Indeed?' Drusus smiled. 'I have heard it was so. Though the Agrippa I saw burnt on the pyre had his head very much attached. Mystery, if any. Do you know whose head it was?'
'I know the skull my father brought with him belonged to a Syrian male prostitute,' I told him awkwardly. 'This is what I was told, before I was to die. For he did not kill Agrippa, but it was decided claiming the head as the old man's would be something to make him look mighty and heroic with our tribes.'
'Who decided it?' he smiled.
'A Roman for whom Father works. I know not who that is,' I told him gravely.
'Oh?' he inquired. 'Indeed? A Roman? Chariovalda hinted at this just now. So there is some sort of a conspiracy at work.' He waved his hand dismissively. 'Such things are always likely. Rome is made of war and politics, and both are bloody and filthy. I care not. Maroboodus is an enemy to Rome, that much he has shown.'
'He has two things to achieve,' I said slowly. 'One, he will make a coalition to fight you.'
'He has been doing well with that. I hear he has spoken with the Chatti and the Cherusci, and agreed on marriages. I am holding a Thing to see where we are. And to smear his ass on mud while I do so.'
'I was there when the marriages were agreed on.'
'You were? And then you had a falling out?' he asked with a small smile.
'He came home, Drusus,' I braved his name, and he smiled like the sun, 'betrayed, and schemed to walk over our legitimate chiefs, my relatives all, promised me love for service, and in the end, I also was betrayed, and exiled to face death. But, I did not wish to die and went home, gave him King Vago's head, and burnt his hall.'
'What?' he asked softly with curses. 'You killed Vago? Do you know what kind of a turmoil there is down there right now? Some youngster is trying to take over, and there are damned cousins and warlords vying for power. I should hang and crucify you,' he spat, his eyes dangerous. 'What have you got to say for yourself?'
'I am sorry. I did not like lord Vago,' I grunted mulishly, and he started to snicker, shaking his head. 'He is to create a powerful army, Drusus, and then he is to—'
'To fall?' he smiled incredulously. 'Fall to the Roman blades easily, betray his people? My, that would ruin my honor and fame both. An arranged war. Bah!'
'Yes, he will hand the Germani to you. Or whoever it is that commands,' I told him softly.
'I command here, Hraban, none else,' he smiled dangerously.
'Not if you die in the war. That is what he has been tasked with,' I said. 'His master in Rome has high hopes for certain men to fall, men who would reverse what your stepfather is building. Chariovalda told me these are men who love the Republic of Rome, and do not embrace the rule of one man. He thinks you are such a man who loves the Republic.'
His face had a pallid look, his eyes flashed in anger, and his wide jaws tightened. He looked to the flames dancing in the feast fire and nodded slowly. 'Most Germani love to gossip; are you a gossiper?' he asked, with a small snicker, but his eyes were unchanged. They were weighing me, my soul, my words.
'I do. I also like to say plainly what I know, as it is. I do not lie,' I snarled at him, he gave me a cold smile, and I continued. 'I so swear, by our gods.'
'Woden?'
'Yes, Woden,' I said. 'All-father.'
He smirked. 'Juppiter promises us Romans victory; so does Mars. Do your gods do this for you?'
'The vitka claim they do,' I told him, hesitating.
'But, you do not believe it?' he asked, his eyes betraying his astonishment. 'You do not?'
'I think,' I began, cursed, and continued forcefully. 'I think the gods promise we have a chance to win. No gods step to the battlefield and decide things for us. That is our job. If we are brave enough, we have a chance.'
'Our gods claim we cannot lose,' he stated slyly.
'They are monstrous liars,' I told him, and he laughed hugely, his eyes filling with mirth, as he clapped his hand on my back. I noticed Chariovalda take a long breath, one of relief.
'Indeed, boy, indeed. They are liars, the lot,' he told me happily and sobered. 'Very well. There has been much bleeding in Rome, Hraban, over this great issue. My father fought for the Republi
c. Many families have fallen, and the whole nation is exhausted by civil wars. Some men still fall, either ruined financially, or by poison. But, few are as liked as I am. Perhaps it is so, Hraban, they seek to destroy me by enemy hands. Those who love me in the army might have to fall as well. They would happily accept the humiliation of some legions, if only I died. Then, one day, the Germani would just fall. It is a long shot for one man to achieve something grand like this. Maroboodus is taking great risks, not likely to succeed, not even with his military training. It is, I think, an impossibly long shot that would be well rewarded. But, if he fails, there will be murderers travelling from Rome one day, and poison will be poured in my wine, no matter if Rome howls and blames Augustus. What has he been promised? Lands?'
I nodded. 'Lands. He is looking southeast, I hear. They say he has a Roman son as well.' I spat, as I remembered the words of Antius.
'Ah,' Drusus said, his eyes flashing with keen intelligence. 'I know now why he would take on this desperate mission. I think I do.'
'Lord?' I asked, confused.
'He has a kingdom to win, your father. But, he might also lose a son, should he fail,' he mused sadly.
'He lost us without an eye blink,' I spat. 'After milking us like cows.'
He placed a strong hand on my shoulder. 'He did not see you grow up. He did this one boy. Even if he was not married to the mother. I shall tell you this story, one day,' he told me, and I fidgeted, for I wished to know of Maroboodus, to understand why he had done the things he had done. Drusus watched me knowingly. 'He is here to work the will of some who hate me and what I love. He is here for power. And he is here, for he loves and fears. He is attempting a desperate mission for all of these things, and gods know which truly motivates him. He is not a total beast then, even if he is that to you.'
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