'The Cherusci are already with the Sigambri?' I asked, my mind whirling. Lif.
'Yes, and no,' Tudrus the Younger said suspiciously. 'Listen. He will reunite you with her. You will bring him the ring, perhaps serve him, and he will forgive you. But … '
They looked down.
I shook my head, for I knew what they wanted. 'They want Drusus dead.'
They nodded softly, ashamed, and I roared with laughter, nearly hoping Antius would be seated there, laughing with me. Gods laughed at least, I was sure of that, as I shook with mirth, and they stared bewildered, thinking I had lost my mind. What Father wished for, what Antius craved for, I, the man who admired Drusus, was to deliver. Such irony I had not imagined. Drusus, a man hostile to Augustus would fall, and now, son of Maroboodus was expected to do the deed. For Lif. Damn the spinners, I thought, and cursed myself, and wyrd.
'They expect this, Hraban,' Tudrus the Older said with some anger. 'What is so funny about it?'
'I … my father. Rome. Things I care not to explain. So, I am to be a murderer. The Oath Breaker is a fitting man for the job, eh? None will love me, no matter what I manage to do. My fame and my honor—'
'Are Armin's. He can rebuild them.'
'Not my honor,' I said bitterly. 'Only I can build my honor. And I have seen how little lords can do to unsoil one's fame. I will be a fugitive with blood on his hands. Drusus will join Bero and Balderich in the line of the dead men who liked and trusted me.'
'You will never be high, nor loved,' Tudrus the Older told me. 'But, you will have vengeance, we will have our lands, and you will be a father, Hraban. Your honor will heal.'
I rubbed my forehead, and stared at the brothers in front of me, then at Fulcher and Ansbor, who were wondering what was going on. 'Is this the way Armin wants to win? By killing this man?'
Tudrus the Younger leaned forward. 'He is realistic. There has to be a lesser man leading the Romans. Or there will be no victory. It is that simple. The men out there are half the men without him.'
'Can you reach my daughter?' I asked Tudrus the Older. 'Can you get her out and safe, and can you spare me this burden?'
Tudrus the Older shook his head. 'Armin is adamant, Hraban. Ruthless as you are. He can give us our lands back. But, he does not trust us, nor share his full plans. He only hints and promises vague dreams, and we are grasping at those dreams. He is the enemy of your father as we are. So, no. I cannot get to the girl. If I could, I do not know I would.'
I drank, and sat there for a good while until the Batavi started to look anxious. I finally nodded. 'I so swear.' Gods, I loved Drusus, and he loved me, but he would die for Lif.
He did not look pleased, but grunted in agreement. 'So, fine. This Roman army will move north, Hraban, and stage for invasion of the Luppia River. Make yourself his friend, Hraban, and slay him at Ara Ubiorium, day prior to them marching. That night, preferably. They will likely march anyway, with a lesser man leading them. If you die, I will care for her. Or Armin will.'
Woden, but I hated Armin then. 'You. You will do so.'
So we gave oaths, and swore to be true, and I agreed to perform the murderous deed. For Lif. For vengeance.
Tudrus grunted and nodded. He scratched his grayed hair and nodded at his boys, who got up like small mountains and left. He looked at Fulcher and Ansbor sitting with the Batavi, and the Batavi stopped drinking and eating as they spied the Quadi leaving, half staying at the table, half getting up. The older man was looking at me steadily. 'I want an oath from you,' he said silently, and I choked.
'An oath? You? Why?' I asked bitterly. 'Did I not just give one? It tasted bitter as shit, Tudrus. I do not wish to wash it down with piss.'
He smiled wistfully. 'We are homeless, Hraban. You and I both. If we fail and all things go to Hel, if I die, help my boys. I want an oath from you that you will help them survive the turmoil. They will follow you, and help you stoutly when things go dark, and in return, you will help them find their place. No matter where that is, help them as they would help you.'
I was playing with my drinking horn. 'Have you been following my life, old friend, and noticed how little control I have over even my own wyrd?'
He bent over and clapped the bag on my belt and the bronze helmet. 'Yes. It looks bad now, but one day, you will be a mighty lord of these lands. That much I know. Even if you are hated, you will rule as a lord.'
'Don't tell me you have sight as well,' I groaned.
'I do not, but Woden is my friend, and surely he does not wish for the sisters to cut your strings, my boy; he must enjoy this great poem too much,' Tudrus the Older rumbled, and I noticed how tired he was. Heart broken, torn. He noticed my look and shook his head. 'My wife died this winter. So forgive me my moods.'
'Yes, lord,' I told him, and mourned with him. I gave him the oath, and he was happier for it.
'I thank you. If Woden tires of you, Hraban, then let Freya guard you with her ready blade, for I hear she loves desperate causes and homeless vagabonds. And next time you tell anyone we are Celts, I'll slit your belly. Stay close to your Drusus this night, Hraban, and you will be his man. Guard him, not at the feast, but after it. And for all the gods' sakes, kill Vannius and Sibratus for me, should my boys also die in battle. Just add them to your list, at least.' He walked off with a tired grin, and I got up.
I never saw him alive again.
CHAPTER XXIV
I walked off with my sated, if unhappy, entourage, as a man ran to the Batavi leader. He was summoned to the temple of Mercury, and he cursed me generously for the delay, despite their unexpectedly full bellies. I felt weak as I walked on, thinking about the terrible oath. We soon neared the austere temple, and the men murmured in awe. Few Germani tribes had temples, and thought only the Romans built the massive buildings and worshipped in them. Romans were wise enough to preach how their gods were our gods, and all the men serving Rome knew Mercury was Roman Woden.
I gazed at the temple, where a statue of a young man, wearing a winged helmet, his ankles adorned with smaller wings, was staring over the multitude of men milling before it. I cursed him, as I stared at his stony countenance, for I could use some help outside a battle as well. Oh, he gave me the will to fight like a mad dog, a berserker, but he also made it so I was constantly being drawn into filthy plans. And I was of his blood? Bah. I spat as I walked forward.
Bastard. He likely laughed.
I remember Bark telling me he was a complicated god. The vitka had not lied. From misery to victory, from victory to exile, from exile into a promise, one that would make me a murderer in order to be a father again. 'Wyrd take me,' I cursed, as I walked the Roman road, wondering at the well-fitted stones and sand that would make the way so durable, it would last for decades. Ignoring the god's gaze, I studied the temple. The columned wonder ahead was in some strange way a simple, sturdy, powerful, and ominously holy complex next to the castrum's north wall, easy to reach from the northern gate. It boasted some slabs of marble, tastefully arranged so the plain concrete under it was pleasing to the eye. Six columns of gray-shaded stone were guarding the portico.
Before the temple, a huge row of benches was apparent. They were arranged in a square and the spot before the temple was clearly left for the Romans. On the sides, bonfires were burning, and harried slaves were roasting meat, mounds of dead animals prepared for the feast, and ale and mead was abundant, though there was very little wine. It was much like our Thing. Many of the Germani were already there, milling in tribal groups, avoiding the others, for most had feuds. The Batavi gazed at the preparations, and the leader grunted at me and guided my steps for the temple and the area behind it. There stood a horde of merchants and artisans.
'What is this?' I asked.
'You will look presentable,' said the tall Batavi darkly. 'Your tunic is shredded in places; you stink of piss and goat. Your men look like shepherds.'
'I was fine enough for the parade, though!' I said.
He shook his head. 'Chariovalda w
as reprimanded by Lord Drusus. And your woman gave me this.' He handed me a small pouch of coins. 'Old Roman coins to buy you fineries.'
I groaned and dismounted. Cassia had guarded my wealth ferociously for long months, and so I would look like a perfumed man-whore. I bought a clean Roman tunic, made of wool. It was a legionary tunic, white, slightly lower behind the knees than in the front. It felt uncomfortable and tight in the chest, and they were all the same size.
'One size fits most!' cackled the merchant, eyeing Ansbor's belly dubiously, but they were to go with their old gear.
I also bought brown leather pants and dressed behind the wall, guarded by the tall Batavi, who did not let me out of his sight. I had my beard trimmed by a crippled Gaul specializing in doing this for the Romans, and another merchant, a red-cheeked young woman, sold me a pair of caligae, military issue, well-made with no shafting edges on them, all the hobnails in place. I walked about with them awkwardly, to Fulcher's and Ansbor's silent amusement, until I made them wear similar things, though I did not fuss with the quality in their case.
The hobnails were awkward; I felt like a horse. Cassia appeared with a guard, looking splendid with her hair braided and pulled high, her neck bared, and gods curse me, but I stared at her until she blushed. I stumbled in some slabs of rock, the hobnailed sandals treacherous, and she giggled with a high voice. 'Grace of a three-legged horse,' she mocked me, until I finally slapped her in the rump. It was a mistake, of course, for Ansbor's face turned from unhappy into sour, and both Cassia and I went silent. He was festering with jealousy.
Next, Chariovalda rode up, grunted appreciatively, and dragged me after him, as I was tying my belt and sword. Fulcher was at hand, with my chain mail and helmet. He was gazing at the sun, wondering how much time we had. 'Who was the … Gaul you met?' he asked, and I shook inside. If I killed Drusus, this man I liked would be my enemy.
'A man who used to visit Grinrock, a Gaul trader. He— '
'I thought you said he visited Hard Hill,' Chariovalda said amusedly, as he focused on a low building, with steam escaping from small crags.
'There as well,' I told him sullenly, and hated Armin, and myself.
'I am keeping an eye on you, Hraban. I have a feeling you are lying to me. Those Gauls of yours disappeared, my boy, and by the description I heard, it was Tudrus the Older. I have fought him, you know.'
'I am not sure, my friend, what to think of your suspicions. Surely there are plenty of men who have fought with you,' I told him, and he glanced at me.
'I like you, Hraban. I hope you make the right choices. I do not wish to fillet you, son. Now, let's clean you.'
I stopped walking. 'I just dressed myself!'
'Now you undress,' he growled, and I was pushed forward. I was allowed to use the legionary bath situated behind the temple, and stepping inside the hall, I stopped to gaze at many tubs full of water. Chariovalda shook his head at me, as I gaped. 'Usually there are baths made of stone, but this is temporary until the one in the camp has been rebuilt. There was a fire. That one is cold water, that one is hot. That is the scalding one. The slaves will throw you in each one of them; they will scrub and massage you. We have to hurry. Thanks to your … Gauls.'
'I think I don't—' I began, but he snapped his fingers, and the Batavi grabbed me, stripped me, and helped the slaves torture me.
The Germani bathe. We do so in warm water, as well as cold rivers.
However, for the Romans, bathing is a way of life. Off-duty legionnaires lounged in front of the building and on the benches around the tubs, gambling as they enjoyed one of the two places where all ranks were somewhat equal. Some muscular men, who were legionnaires on duty, worked huge bellows, warming up the waters. These men spotted the struggle first, as the cursing, slipping Batavi carried me across the hall.
I received gawking looks from the soldiers, and amused by the spectacle of a struggling group of Germani, they encouraged me to first dip into the scalding bath. I, of course, had no choice, and was thrown in. I came up sputtering, and the hands grabbed me and pulled me out of the tub like one would pull a snail out of its shell, and they promptly pushed me to the ice cold one, even if I managed to drag one man with me. The shock of it nearly made me squeal like a rabbit, but I did not, for I was underwater with the Batavi. I came up, pushing the bastard off me, and did manage to preserve some of my dignity by cutting off my scream in the middle.
I spied Cassia laughing by the door, holding her belly, and even Fulcher and Ansbor enjoyed themselves immensely. I shrugged the grasping Batavi off and walked myself to the hot waters, where I slipped in and glowered at the bastards staring at me.
Chariovalda spat. 'I asked you once not to over-indulge yourself and drink my mead. You did not heed me. I asked you who the men were. You lied. Next time, you lose my confidence.'
I nodded at him, for he was a great man and felt sorry for what would come between us, the bloody act still hidden in the shadows. I got up as a slave oiled me, and I blushed as Cassia's eyes lingered in my naked body, but I decided to forget her impish smile, as she was chased from the door. The oil was scraped off with a curved strigil, and I did feel clean. Finally, a pretty girl guided me to lay on a stone slab, and the massage, lord, was one of the best things in Rome and the nations she stole the habit from. The girl left me standing by a row of tables, and an older, bent backed man approached me, showing me a table, but next to the table, there was a dark, large-bosomed beauty oiling a man, and I decided that I would wait for her, which the old man took surprisingly well. The girl gave me a flash of a smile.
She was skillful. Her nimble hands searched my body for painful sprains and unusual knots that I did not know were there. She kneaded all my aches away, and a surprising surge of energy and strength filled me. I moaned and squirmed under her administrations, and some legionnaires made lewd comments, which they thought I could not understand, but I just grinned at them.
Seeing these men, our enemies, soldiers and men at the same time, made me think about my choices. Tudrus had asked me to guide his sons, should he fall. He believed I would tangle on long into this story. My father had betrayed me; I had betrayed others. I had led my friends astray, and now, they held poor Lif, mine again should I slay a great man. I was a killer. I was a man with no honor, and they expected me to act like a bastard, but this time not for fame. I had learnt to appreciate my inner happiness, at least a bit more than the thoughts of fame and glory, but now they, the gods, were truly testing me. I had failed. I had chosen, my orlog; the choices of my life making up my wyrd had been ill-favored ones.
Could I renege on the oath?
Would I be happier with these men? Would Lif be safe with Armin, should I fail to slay Drusus?
I could never be sure. Odo was after her. Armin did not understand that creature. And Leuthard? What was he doing? Antius asking questions, in the dark?
I had to do it.
With these thoughts, I paid the young girl who smiled at my shyly, and my eyes took on her generous bosom. I felt vaguely guilty for Cassia, and thought of our kiss, when she had been ill. I smiled at the girl, knowing there was a difference between lust and love. I wanted to dress, and a Batavi handed me my weapon.
I walked to the meeting next to Chariovalda, with a Batavi shield, with Nightbright on my hip and the bronze helmet on my head, the mail of Leuthard glimmering on my torso. Fulcher and Ansbor walked with us, and their beards were trimmed, their caligae new, though they were spared the bath and pristine tunic that was chafing at my armpits. They looked strangely clean nonetheless, as I had gotten used to seeing them blooded, grimy, and sullen. The Thing of Drusus would begin soon, and on the field, a vast assembly of Germani chiefs were sitting uncomfortably on the cushioned benches, being served good ale and sweet mead, and they were gorging on sweet meats and steamy vegetables. The afternoon was warm, and many were in their tunics.
I spotted our host as we drew near the Roman end, before the temple. Drusus was clad in a white garment,
with long sleeves and a voluminous fabric billowing around him, similar to what I had seen Roman nobles and Antius use, a toga they called it, but this one had purple stripes on it. He looked fresh and clean, his curly hair oiled, and he had similarly dressed men standing behind him, five of them, with curious rods ending in small axes.
Chariovalda leaned over me. 'Lictors, former soldiers, and centurions, men who should keep Drusus alive. He has many, for he is the Urban Praetor of Rome, a famous general, and a governor. He often travels without them, not wishing to insult the locals, but the lictors are the men in charge of his life. They have a terrible job.' The lictors looked ill at ease, as they stared over their master's shoulder at the bearded men, who would like nothing more than to kill their general. Yet, Drusus seemed perfectly at ease, as he addressed familiar men who came to greet him, some soon laughing with the young lord.
Around the perimeter, before the temple, was at least a pair of cohorts of Roman soldiery, a handful of Batavi cavalry, and some tough Ubii infantry, and a few Vangiones lounged in the area. Further, two cohorts were spread around the woods and hills, protecting the proceedings.
Nero Claudius Drusus took no more chances than he had to.
I saw Armin standing tall amidst the Cherusci, his eyes scourging me as I followed Chariovalda. He was whispering to a man with a high forehead and piercing eyes, though his eyes never left me. I cursed him. How could a man so noble looking ask for such things as he had?
Chariovalda walked towards Drusus, bowed to him, and he was shown a seat nearby. I stood there for a second, until Drusus beckoned for me, and I took heavy steps forward. The general's lion eyes held me as I came to him, and he nodded at me, placing a hand on my shoulder. The Germani went silent, for many knew me, and they saw I was with Drusus, a traitor to my people. I was not sure what Drusus had in mind showing camaraderie to a man they despised, a womanizer, an apparent traitor, and the man called the Oath Breaker. The mood was brooding; I heard small voices from the crowd of the mighty lords, none pleasing but subtly mocking.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 36
