'Thank you for not obeying me,' I told them, and cursed my wyrd, for I would have to kill a wolf to gain Lif.
I was on Drusus's side. I had a home. And a woman.
But, I would go and fight for Lif.
CHAPTER XXX
Before the morning's pale light, the great army started to march, their shields not covered by the greased leather sheaths, their simple gear laden in the furca swinging over their shoulders. They would need the gear, especially the dolobara, their sturdy digging tool and patera, the all-purpose cooking and eating pot.
First, the cavalry passed over the river, clattering across under a thicket of swinging spears. They were fierce Batavians, skillful Aquitani, brutally armed Thracians from a harsh, war-like land. They were men raised to slay their enemies, and these were followed by swift Cretan and even strangely attired Syrian archers, jogging steadily in their chain mail. After them, the XIX legion's first two cohorts started the campaign.
We stared at the troops, standing near the bridge. We were posted on the fort on the other side of the river, and it would take a long while before we could pass. We were silent, and I felt lonely. Ansbor had been with me all the years of my life, the last of the Bear Heads, our childhood war band. Ansigar was lost to us, having joined Odo and Gernot, Ansbor was slain by his jealousy, and Wandal lost after the battle of Castrum Luppia. I stood there with a broken finger, well set in place, my lips swollen and bloody, my tongue slashed, my ribs bruised.
Fulcher had cursed, for Bricius had escaped his clutches, and we both gave each other meaningful looks. We gazed at a forlorn bonfire still smoldering at the beach, slaves waiting around it, and we saw Ansbor's bones in the midst of charred remains of wood. A mound would be raised over it. I nodded at the bones. If Lif died, I would dig the bones out and scatter them to the dogs. I would, I swore to Woden, for I was unhappy. I gazed at Cassia, who returned the look, her eye spilling a tear as she grasped my hand. I let her and pulled her closer to me, and was strangely relieved as Ansbor was not there with his sullen eyes.
Chariovalda would be in the fort. I should beg him on my knees to be allowed to travel with them. He would say no, so I would not bother.
I had a hunch the fort would not be a slow, tired place to guard. Armin had many plans, and I remember Chariovalda explaining how much food was needed for the war. All that food was there; in the town we were to guard.
No, Armin would give me a chance to ride to help Lif.
For the moment, we waited, as nearly sixteen-thousand fighting men, with the baggage, crossed the thin bridge.
After the elite cohorts, there followed a small number of wide, strong men, immunes, pioneers, men who would make sure the forts were planned and marked when the army arrived. They would take the first arriving legionnaires, and start digging the ditches and heaping the mud for the walls. After them came more immunes, a large group of grim men with a hoard of tools and sturdy horses and mules, a force that was responsible for cutting through any obstacles in the way.
And then came the baggage train, an incredible sight.
The supplies for the XIX crossed, with hundreds of mules, as well as siege equipment broken down for easy transport and any spare tools and tents that were needed. Old Saturninus followed them with his staff and the hundred men of the Roman Cavalry of the legion, and with them came the pride of the armies, the symbol of Roman gods, the fabulous eagle. After this, the rest of the legion marched up, all carrying their furca, pilum and fort stakes, seven cohorts’ worth, singing lustily in the dust, the stomp of their disciplined feet beating the bridge so hard, one would think the men wished a sudden bath. Metal glittered as the men went to war, all clad in ring or chain mail, their helmets devoid of the feathers meant for parades. Gods, they looked fierce, enough to scare anyone into a headlong flight, and again I could only wonder what Armin and the Sigambri planned to use to throw these men into turmoil and death. After this, in a similar manner, followed the six cohorts of the XVII. Then a huge force of auxilia infantry, some in near-Roman gear, some in tribal ones.
The stream of men continued.
XVIII and V Alaudae crossed, bent on revenge. Then, I Germania. Finally, after hours of staring at the marching men, we were hungry and tired, sitting down, and slaves were heaping mud and dirt on Ansbor's mound, steam still rising through the earth. Happily, for us, the last elements of the army crossed, some more Aquitani infantry, even more light Thracian and Pannonian cavalry, and the undisciplined Frisian infantry. A harried-looking group of engineers had been making sure the bridge structure was not going to break, and they congratulated each other heartily.
When the men of the army were over and gone, the world seemed empty, and we got up to cross the bridge.
I rubbed my aching neck muscles, and turned to regard the harbor as we crossed the bridge. Two heavily armored Batavi followed us, and Fulcher grunted. Chariovalda had taken precautions, and we were closely watched. In the harbor, ships were preparing, some already being rowed up stream for the Luppia River. They were shallow barges, armed with ballistae, and they had archers and light infantry on them, ready to keep the Sigambri at bay on the right bank, while the Roman fist crushed the scattered smaller tribes on the left flank. I shook my head. If the Cherusci were truly being kept busy by the far away Semnones and the Chauci, they had no hope. If Armin was out there, leading with Sigimer and some few Cherusci, it would make no difference. I had failed him. He would know this. Woden and gentle Siff, I prayed and hoped to save Lif.
On the other side, the rough fort, with its unpolished walls and wooden towers, rose, smelling of fresh timber and mud. I saw Chariovalda lingering outside the gates. He hefted the Head Taker in his hands, weighing it, and as he noticed me, he stiffened. I dismounted and walked to him, and went to my knee.
He threw the sword to my feet. He eyed me irascibly as he sat there, and I picked up the splendid blade. The ring and the blade, together again. Cassia called it the Winter Sword. As I held it, I felt it yearn for blood. I’d feed it. I looked up at Chariovalda, and he held my eyes. He spoke softly. 'The two men were found by the whorehouse yesterday. Yet they were no lax men, who would get into trouble over whores. Nor would Cornix surprise them. They were my slaves, my trusted men. One was possibly my son, for I was sloppy with his mother once.'
I nodded and groaned.
'Drusus still trusts you, but should I?' he asked swiftly, grapping Wolf's Tear, the mighty spear from a rider.
I shook my head at his words. His bastard son. I pointed towards east. 'I made up my mind yesterday. I shall serve Drusus. I shall do so in the future. My girl is out there. Any deal I had with Armin is void now. I can only fight for her, and there are no schemes left. I will fight Armin for Lif and for Drusus. I shall not deny the deaths of your men, however. Lif was all I thought about, then.'
He nodded, looking disgusted, 'So that is what Armin did. He has your daughter. Well, I did not love the boy. He was stupid, and hated me for denying him. I was ever wary of him, for he was devious and treacherous. I forgive you his death, but I won't forget it. I shall ever be careful with you. For that, I cannot take you with me, though. Nothing has changed. You shall not ride out there. Drusus and I will find Armin, boy, and get your daughter from him.' He spurred his horse. 'You will serve here, under guard, Hraban, and you will trust us to do our best for her. There is nothing we can promise, of course. And keep the sword safe. I think it is cursed. Any man who held it, since your father returned, has lost something. It has a bad history. Take your spear as well, now that you know your side.' He threw the mighty spear my way, and I grabbed at it from the air, my Roman chain mail clinking as my sore hand failed at catching it. I picked it up.
'What did my father lose?' I asked him sourly.
'His sons,' he snorted, and rode away, laughing. 'I lost a bastard, but you took the right bastard.'
I stood and stared after him, as first smoke pillars sprang up to the sky over the embattled horizon. Villages were burning; Rom
e was purging the Usipetes out of the way and marched for the Bructeri. Gods were watching. The war was on, and somewhere out there, the tribesmen were preparing to die for their freedom and families. The wolf Leuthard and the bastard Odo were hunting for Lif.
There were three cohorts of XVII legions left in Castra Vetera, guarding the river and the harbor with the warehouses, and one, the glorious, elite First Cohort manned our shabby fort on the Germani side. The legion's primus pilus, the first centurion, was in overall command of the new fort, camp praefectus commanded at Castra Vetera. No other battle-hardened officers were to be seen, only a junior tribune who was stomping about, a young, scared man. He tried to guide the centurion once, who just ignored him. The tribune turned into a sullen, if harmless beast, avoiding any further loss of face.
Fulcher and I tried to sort out where we should go, until a centurion pulled at us. He grinned at us. 'Don't look so crushed, boys. Yes, the lot marching out there gets the loot, the prisoners, and some get a spear in the gut. We get to make love to their wives while they are gone. Come on, and find your decurion, the bastard who is going to order you lot about. Batavi? Yes. Good. There are some Thracians, and they do not get along well with the Batavi, so steer clear of the buggers.'
We found the riders standing in serried ranks around two hulking riders, all in glittering chain mail. They turned to look at us as we came closer. I hoisted an oval shield and wore a legionnaire chain mail, my attic helmet with god's symbols, Balderich's ancient spear, and two swords. Our decurion, a man with a plaited beard and a toothless smile, gawked at us. 'Can you carry all that, lad?' They laughed merrily at us, but I was in no mood for such humor, and glowered at him.
I gazed at the men I was supposed to serve with. The two turmae had some fifty men, Batavi of all ages, and the men looked at us with mirth. Near us were some twenty men of the Thracian cavalry. Heavy men with scarred faces, all with dark armor, tall arrows and recurved bows, short, stubby spears, and nasty axes, standing under a white snake flag.
The officer swallowed his happy mood, and sneered at us. 'In this army, you do not come and go as you please. You come on time. If I ask you to take a shit standing on saddle, you do that. I don't care if you are the best friends with the lords. Here, you are as useless as a pointless spear, if you are not present,' he growled, and men laughed at us. 'And what is the woman doing here? You bring your whores to war? Or is she your sister, taking care of you?'
'She is a healer,' I told him coldly, staring at his eyes. He nodded sourly, swallowing his next comment. Healers were not to be spat on. 'And we were late thanks to Chariovalda, who had words with us.'
'And his words are to keep an eye on you, and so we shall. Get your young bones in line with the others, and you will be handing over the food to all the men this evening. Not to mention cooking it, as we shall give our women a well-deserved rest! From cooking that is!' he barked, and we looked indignant.
'I hope he knows we cannot cook for so many. They might go hungry,' Fulcher whispered. 'I can only roast meat.'
'I'll shit on the stew,' I said, and he grinned, despite the fact I was half serious. I was in a foul mood, stuck in a muddy fort, and outside, things were taking place that would, and could, break me.
The decurion gestured around the new fort, which smelled of freshly cut wood and overturned, rich mud. 'This fort is held by one cohort of legionnaires. We are to scout the Usipetes lands around us for any sign of the poor, snaggle-toothed thieves, and there will be many Ubii going through here with supplies for the army. We,' he pointed to the other decurion, the Thracian one, 'shall have one alae out there every day. Stay alert, and do not let the enemy surprise you. If you see anyone skulking in those woods, get them here alive, and we shall question them properly.'
I glanced around the wooded hill to the north. They were a mix of wild, light woods of low hanging alder trees and thicker copses of deep green firs. Some small pastures of barley peaked through the greenery, but beyond the borderlands, there would be leagues and long leagues of fabulously rich land, with plenty of places to hide in.
The blond decurion waited until my head turned back to him, and then he was glowering at us. He continued, irritable. 'The Usipetes own these lands, but the damned Sigambri are a danger. Them, and the riders of the Tencteri, live mostly south of the river. They might try to cross. Ubii are making advances to keep them occupied, but we do not know where they are currently. Before the war started, we got reports that there were the usual number of warriors in the Sigambri villages, so they likely thought we would go for them, not the Usipetes and the Bructeri,' the decurion told us. 'Keep-an-eye-out! This is no idle posting.' He dismissed the turmae, and started to figure out specific orders, guard duties, and patrols. He stopped us and pointed at the kitchen area, where pots and pans were hanging. 'Cook. Make it good.'
So we cooked for that one evening, Cassia made the gruel taste like a scorched fir tree, I overbaked the bread in a small oven, many times, leaving the loaves charred lumps not fit for the pigs, but that was not true, for some pigs ended up eating them. We were relieved of the task quickly enough, the decurion humbled. After the evening meal, Fulcher was to be on guard duty, the change of watch announced by a tuba in the fort. Cavalry rode around the surrounding countryside at regular times, throughout the night and day, and so he fetched his horse, unhappy, wordless.
I was left with Cassia.
We sat in the tent, and I gazed at her. Her dark hair was long and thick, her face full of emotion, and her eyes alive with quick wit, as she was thinking deep thoughts and stitching her tunic. I knew she was a woman worth noticing. She had followed us through storms and good times. She had helped deliver my baby. She had healed my friends, when she could have gone home. I had cared for Ishild, when we were children. I had lusted for Ermendrud, for she had been my first. I had hopelessly loved my enemy, Shayla, and lost her before I truly knew her.
But, I did know Cassia. She was more than any woman in my life, and she was also my friend.
She challenged me, advised me, saved me, and laughed at, and with, me, and I desired her, I decided, often so badly my head hurt, and only the pain over Lif and Ansbor's sullen eyes had stopped me from doing something.
Ansbor?
Wyrd.
The customs of our people screamed at me, still, even after losing my fame and respect of our tribes. One must be chaste. One must honor the family. But, I was a Roman then, at least for then. I got up, put my hand around her, and pulled her to me, enduring her shocked face. 'I am going for Lif. I have to brave Odo and the prophecy, and I have my father to slay. I might lose Drusus, and his respect, like I might have lost Chariovalda's. I cannot promise you safety. But, you know this.'
'I …' she began and swallowed. 'I ask for commitment. To share these things. I will die one day, Hraban, but I care nothing for that, if my life has meaning. It has been so, this past year.'
'You were rich,' I smirked at her, her enticing eyes warm to look at. 'You had a husband to be.'
'He was fat as grease,' she said, and blushed as she ran her finger over my chest. 'I did not desire him. Only my father did, for he was wealthy and powerful, and my father understood only those qualities.'
'Ansbor stood between us, and my sorrow did as well,' I told her, as I leaned to kiss her neck, making her shiver as she grasped my shoulders. 'Now, he is gone, and I shall … mourn him. But, he asked to keep you safe. I will not, for I will love you, and that is perilous.'
'I know, Lord Hraban,' she said. Her face was near me in the shadowy tent, her eyes round and tear filled, and I kissed the tears away, her cheeks, her thin, fine eyebrows, her delicate ears, and then her neck again, for it was smooth, smelled good, and she reacted with a soft moan, which I enjoyed. I kissed her lips, the painful cuts on mine opening, but we did not care as we devoured each other, entwining our bodies together.
'It is hard to see how it will end,' I mumbled, and she hugged me, her leg around mine.
'I will be
there when it does,' she said, with heated blush rising on her cheeks. She opened a fibula holding her tunic up, and I helped her. She did not stop me as I undressed her, revealing her high breasts and perfect, pink nipples, which I promptly kissed, massaging her bared sides as she shed her garments. Soon, we were touching each other desperately, kissing urgently, and what her hands were doing with my manhood made me a very happy man.
Ansbor's face came fleetingly to my mind, the threat to Lif haunted me, but she was my escape that night, and I shared love with her hungrily. The urgency melted away after a while, and what followed were peaceful thrills and gentle pleasure in a Roman fort ready for war. It was love, and I was a happy bastard that night. Despite the god who usually ignored my prayers out of battle, I begged to Woden she would survive the times that would be full of sorrow and danger. I had to escape the fort, and leave her behind. While she slept, I thought of ways to leave.
I hoped Drusus would forgive me. Again.
CHAPTER XXXI
Over the next few days, ships rowed downriver and others came back, carrying news and sad slaves, mostly women, some men, quite a few children. I was not allowed on the cavalry scout missions, being relegated to wall guarding duty. From the rough wall, I gazed at the slave wagons rumbling in, the uncouth riders and the rough mercenaries guarding the cages, looking exhausted as they guided their horses our way. I glanced at some of the Batavi, who were watching the river and, of course, watching me at the same time and cursed them. Cassia and I took fierce comfort in each other every night, giving me relief from the pain and fear over Lif, but Leuthard's face haunted me all the long days.
Around us, the men of the XVII gossiped, having received news from the drivers of the slave wagons. I eavesdropped on their discussion, and we all yearned for news.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 45
