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

by Alaric Longward

  There was little to tell. The Germani were slow to war against Rome.

  Had I been wrong? Was Armin out there, cursing his reluctant allies, and there was no threat to the forts we held?

  There had been very few skirmishes, and then mainly with some probing cavalry, but the Bructeri had sortied some ten ships to fight on the river. There had been losses and blood on the water, as the Roman Navy had torn into them. Mostly the riders of the army had found few enemies along the river, but many empty Bructeri and Marsi villages.

  After chasing the Bructeri ships away, the marines had raided the other side of Luppia. The nearest villages were alight almost the entire length of the Luppia, from Castra Vetera to the wild hills near the vast, rich Cherusci lands. The legions had already built a fort forty Roman miles away from us, and another was begun sixty miles away, with the rest of the XVII split amongst them. They were built on dead Bructeri and Marsi settlements, just to make a point.

  The Batavi had found Bructeri and Marsi retreating north, thin streams of non-combatants, mostly old people, with the cattle and spare horses, and the legions had started to march after them, leaving smoke and fire behind them, and the clanking of slaver chains. Apparently, Drusus wanted to capture the elders and the families, thinking the warriors would defend them. It would be a ruthless war. Fulcher was deep in his thoughts, and I started to wonder if I should ask him to leave the army, and try to reach Armin. He was allowed outside, after all. I cursed my lot, praying as I sweated on the walls.

  On the fourth day, some grim slavers brought in new slaves.

  I walked outside one such cage, bored, gazing at the rare enclosure, for it was holding warriors. Fulcher was with me. 'How is it out there?' I asked him, as we looked at the men in the cages. 'Does the decurion keep an eye on you?'

  He shrugged. 'The Decurion? He eats, shits, and walks his horse around us. He keeps an eye on me as well, at least when he can. I might be able to slip away, but I don't have a good horse. On purpose, of course. It is eerie out there,' he said. 'There are no tracks that we can see. It is like time stands still. Perhaps they have all gone east, and will die like heroes in some nasty battle. All the Usipetes villages are empty, devoid of life.'

  'I will have to do something soon, Fulcher,' I said. 'Will you see to it she is safe, if you survive? Cassia.'

  'I’ll escort her to safety,' he said, with a small smile. 'Yes, of course. Perhaps she will like my wife, and we can help each other until we find a home. I likely do not have one where your father now rules.'

  I placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Get her wealth back, serve her, get your wife and daughter, and sort it out, like I will sort out things with Leuthard and Armin. Odo as well.'

  He nodded, his eyes moist. 'I will, lord. I will get them, and serve her. Ansbor? I know you are hiding something. I told you not turn your back on him. I told you to deal with it. Many times.'

  I shook my head. 'He would be alive, if I had. And I did turn my back on him. Let us not speak about it.'

  'Let it be some way down the road, Hraban,' he said, 'when we can mourn all the terrible choices thrust on us.’

  'This shitty war will be terrible and quick, it seems,' I rumbled. 'Armin is not acting like I thought he would. He is not fighting, but running. I overestimated him.'

  But, I had not.

  We walked around the rest of the cages. There were sad children and a few hungry women, then another cage full of younger men. Some were lightly wounded. After I had passed it, looking at the women and crying children, a man said something to another, and so I stopped, and returned. I stood in front of the cage, looking at the man who avoided my stare. I remembered him from somewhere. He was a strong man, well-muscled, with a high forehead, and then it struck me. He had been one of the men standing with Sigimer and Armin the day of the great Thing. He had a red hair, and had taken the standard off Armin when the young lord spoke with me.

  He was a Cherusci.

  I stared at him for a time, shocked at my discovery. His face hardened, and he spat in my face. 'Oath Breaker. Roman shit rooting pig.' I nodded at him furiously and walked briskly to the praetorium of the camp. After being informed by a slave the primus pilus of the XVII was in the stable, I marched there. He was not there. A stable hand thought he saw him enter the latrines.

  And so, I went in as well.

  The stable had smelled better. The stink of all the varieties of farts and multiple forms of excrement, sauced with the whiff of rancid piss, wafted thickly in the air, as I walked in. Amidst some legionnaires, sat a grizzled man of fifty years, with a piercing, sharp nose and leathery skin, bald as an egg. I stared at him, unsure how to break his peace. He tried to ignore me, until he could not and sighed, looking at me with pleading eyes. 'What? You have to deprive this joy from me? Or is it that you think this a whorehouse, and wish to roger me? Can I wipe my ass first, or do you prefer your road a bit rocky? Huh?' he asked, and the men around us laughed raucously.

  'No, sir, I—'

  He waved me down. 'Sit down then. I am getting neck aches for staring up at you. Too tall, I always said of the Germani before a tussle. Easy to cut down as trees.'

  'I have no need to sit down,' I told him somberly. 'Look—'

  He pointed the hole next to him, resolutely. 'Sit the shit down. What is it about you people that make this so hard? Sit down and do it, for Juppiter's sakes, and tell your bowels to relax,' he growled at me, and the legionnaires laughed again.

  'Sir, I—' I begged.

  'I will not speak with you, unless you do it. Drop them. I realize that taking pants down is harder than an undergarment for us Romans, but seriously, do it,' he grunted at me.

  I sighed, and did as I was told. I sat there with my pants on my knees, as the centurion, primus pilus of the whole legion explained to me why shitting is so very important for a soldier. 'Take one too early in the day, it breaks the routines. Too late, it leaves you hungry,' he claimed. It was all about intelligent resource management. I sat there until I understood he would never quit, and so I pretended to squeeze out a sizable turd, and he applauded me happily. He gave me some further instruction on how to sit more comfortably, and when I did not heed it, brooding at him, he snorted. 'He looks like a woman when he crosses his legs, that is all I am saying,' sneered the old man, and the bastards around us agreed heartily. I moved my legs apart with a thump.

  I cursed, and tried once more as he eyed me, finally happy. 'Sir, I noted something about the prisoners.'

  'The slave auctions are at the end of the campaign, lad. If she was pretty, you just have to take your chances,' he declared in the midst of exertions and relief. 'Though I hear you are having some with the healer woman.'

  'No, there is a man …' I said, and the legionnaires laughed raucously.

  'Same thing, though I do not want to know more, boy. Men or goats, it's all the same to me. Live, and let live!' he winked at me lecherously.

  'The man is a Cherusci. A member of Sigimer's household,' I said, with no patience, and a simple threat of violence thrumming in my voice. 'We know Armin is out there, and now a man of his is here.'

  The primus pilus stared at me for a while.

  'Perhaps he changed tribes?' he asked while getting up, grabbing one wooden handled sponge and wiping his ass with it.

  'It is possible. Though if he is with the Cherusci, you should question him. He might know about their plans, if it is Armin who leads them.'

  'Here, take it. Use it.' He handed over the sponge, and I cursed the smirking legionnaires, as I stood up, unhappy.

  'They seen balls before, use it. Then we go,' he urged, and I did, flinching. He smiled wistfully. 'That cured you, young fool. Some advice though, usually we dip them in water before reusing them. That was quite disgusting,' he grimaced, as we exited. It was true I was no longer averse to entering Roman toilets. I was determined to burn them down, if I found one unguarded.

  'Go to the cages with the guard,' he told me, and nodded at two men to fol
low me, 'and bring him to me.'

  The young man was fetched, and his eyes pierced my soul with defiance as the legionnaires clamped irons on his legs and wrists and dragged him to the tent indicated by the primus pilus. What he endured there, I will never know, though I can still hear his screams today in my nightmares. But, what I wanted was to speak with him privately, and so I prayed he would survive the ordeal. I waited outside, fidgeting, feeling nauseous, thinking about Cassia, Ishild, and Ansbor. A large legionnaire came out, sweat running down his bared chest and bloody smear on his knuckles. Next, a weasel faced auxiliary with thongs and knives exited, looking pale, and he was followed by the primus pilus, who seemed unconcerned about the whole affair, eating an apple.

  He noticed me and nodded. 'He is serving Sigimer. It seems that while the Cherusci have few men to spare for this war, they sent a general, as suspected. He tried to hit his head on a spike to kill himself after I asked who this commander is. Can you imagine it? He didn't succeed, but anyway, I worry. Such a fanatic.' He looked uncertain, as he gestured at the tent. 'Few men do that unless they fear they will reveal something important. I will talk with him tomorrow.'

  'How did they capture him?' I asked.

  'I do not know,' he mused. 'Slavers take them where they can.' He turned to me. 'They say you cannot be trusted. Chariovalda told us to look out for you.'

  'I have a reputation,' I told him sourly. 'And something happened the night before the army marched.'

  'That whorehouse business? I heard of it. Trouble with a woman? Eh?' he asked, bemused, finishing the apple. 'You were involved? A woman?'

  'A small one,' I told him unhappily, not willing to tell him of Lif.

  'Happens to the best of us sometimes. I once killed a man for a small woman; I do like them petite.' He nodded, and I cursed him under my breath. 'Well, you did well here today. Tomorrow, I'll find out what he is hiding, and if it is good, then I'll send men out with this information to our young god, Drusus. It might be nothing, but he bothers me, so we will ask him arduously. Well done, lad,' he said, and went off towards the principia.

  That afternoon, I stood on the wall again, impatient and waiting for the evening. All was peaceful, the banks of the river were as silent as grave mounds, and the grass was hissing in a breeze. The wooded hills revealed nothing of the plans of Armin, the man the Cherusci prisoner had tried to cover for. But, this man knew them, and he would tell me where to find Armin, and what his plans were. He would, or he would suffer pains he had never known before.

  After I was relieved of duty, I went to our tent, and brought Cassia some food. She was tired and cramped, for she had been healing men most of the day, and the hurts were increasing. The fort was situated in a wet patch of land, the air unhealthy, and mosquitoes carried fever and diseases. The sick tents were already half full. We did not speak, but we ate and made love, and I thanked gods for her as I kissed her firm, beautiful belly, then her thighs, and made life very good for her after that. That night, I awoke next to Cassia, who murmured something in her sleep, grasping at me painfully. She clutched my arm, her nails making white scratches on the skin, and I removed her claws with a brief grin, my hurt finger throbbing painfully. She looked petulant as she was left there, her breasts bared, and I resisted a very basic urge to climb back on and get close to her warmth, but I had a mission.

  I dressed in my Roman chain armor, missing the armor Leuthard had taken back, girted the Head Taker on, hanging Nightbright on my other hip, and grabbed my spear. I strapped on my caligae, and pulled at my belt, with its cingulum clinking softly. I pulled out the heavy cape, smelling of lanolin oil, and considered my helmet and shield, and grabbed them, too, and my spear. I crouched on the far wall of the tent, lifting the side gently with my spear, popping my head under the rim to stare around the night. Nothing. The men who were watching us were looking at the door. I might even escape the fort, I grinned, but I needed a horse. I decided to take care of that problem later. First, I had to speak to the prisoner. I gazed as Cassia fondly, bidding her farewell, and dodged outside.

  I walked the night, and thought about the uncanny, silent hills, and of the embattled Cherusci, the silent Sigambri, Varnis, Baetrix and Maelo, chiefs who had been fighting Rome for decades, now supposedly surprised and stuck on the wrong side of the river. I thought of the Germani, who would never lay down their spears easily, and felt uneasy at the memory of Armin's eyes. His eyes had not flinched before Drusus. He had travelled these lands all that spring, likely. Tudrus the Old had seen him with the Sigambri. Had he not found Hands and Lif with the Sigambri? He had planned, schemed, and now there were Cherusci at the fort, guarding the grain. I felt a tingle of warning, and thought I had not overestimated Armin after all.

  Fulcher appeared out of the dark and grunted, startling me. He was fully dressed and armored and ready. I took a deep breath and calmed myself. 'I asked if you would take care of Cassia.'

  'I said I will, if I survive,' he said dourly. 'I am coming along. You know why. She is a healer. They will fight for her here, and she is safe.'

  'Fine,' I told him.

  'Where are we going?' he asked.

  'To see a prisoner,' I said grimly.

  'I heard about that, yes,' he said, as he stomped along. 'Cherusci?'

  'Yes, and he will tell me where Armin is,' I confirmed. 'And what the bastard is planning.'

  A guard near the praetorium challenged us, and I raised my hand. 'The mother of flies!' I answered, not stopping as I walked towards the prison tent, chuckling at the passphrase of the day the tessarius of the first cohort had delivered to our decurion that morning. Evidently, the primus pilus did not appreciate the various winged insects of our homeland. The guard on the door of the tent stiffened with surprise, his eyes red rimmed, but he, too, challenged us, and nodded suspiciously when I declared that I would go in on the command of the primus pilus. 'Fine, but keep it down. Men are sleeping around us.'

  'He up?' I asked before dodging in.

  'He is praying or cursing, not sure which,' the guard told me, scratching at lice.

  I went in.

  The man was lying in a heap, his arms manacled behind his back, his foot in a strange angle. He was conscious, only by a thread, his head bleeding from his unsuccessful suicide attempt. His fingers had been mangled, and two had been skinned. I clucked my tongue at Fulcher who fetched water, and I poured it on the prisoner's face, startling him in to a seated position. I let him drink the rest of the water. When he opened his eyes, he shuddered and fell away from me.

  He croaked. 'Away, traitor!'

  I walked around him, the words clutching painfully in my breast. 'I? You know nothing of my past and choices, but I shall not bother to explain.’ He spat, defiant. I glared at him. 'Just like the Romans made you squeal today, I can as well.'

  He laughed and then grimaced at me. 'I'll suffer. I surely will suffer. But, I shall not betray my—'

  'Armin,' I said, as I crouched next to him. I placed a finger on a wound in his shoulder, and he flinched. 'I tried to help Armin, you know. What he asked was too much, even for an Oath Breaker.'

  'Do what you must,' he hissed.

  'Where is Armin?' I asked him, and pressed the finger into the gaping wound. He flinched, and his mouth opened in a shriek of pain as he fell away from me.

  'He is where Drusus is,' he told me painfully.

  'Is there a baby with him, a bounty hunter named Hands? Siegfried?' I asked.

  His eyes burned at me. 'He has your daughter. He is keeping her safe, and near him. And you shall not have her. You will not leave here alive. It is too late,' he said, and I frowned.

  'Too late?' I asked with a low voice.

  'Die, Hraban the Traitor,' he snickered. I slapped him down, and he shrieked. I got up.

  The guard came in. 'There will be none of that, do you hear? I told you, I told the slaver—'

  I lifted my hand. 'A slaver was here?'

  'He belongs to the slaver, so he has a right to see h
is merchandise, no? They spoke at length,' the guard told me defensively.

  I turned to the prisoner. 'You are a noble, no?'

  'Just a warrior,' he sneered. 'Simple cow herder.'

  I shook my head. 'No, you are a noble. A leader of men. Cherusci men. The other prisoners are Cherusci as well. Big and strong, some dozen? And the sad women are not. What about the slavers?'

  'What?' he asked me, with a quiver in his voice.

  'You are no prisoners, nor slaves, are you?' I asked him with rising anger. 'You are bloody infiltrators, guards and all. You were to lead them, but gave the slaver instructions on what to do, did you not?'

  'No!' he said empathetically, but I turned, my mind whirling.

  'Where is the slaver?' I asked the guard.

  'I don't know. Sleeping near the wagons?' he answered.

  The young man just pursed his lips tighter, but could not help grinning at me. 'It is too late. I shall see you soon.' His eyes glowed with a gleeful light.

  I kicked him in his face, the guard yelped at me, but I growled him out of my way and ran out.

  'Fulcher, go and wake the decurions and the turmae, arouse the camp!' I said, as I ran through the few barracks and rows of tents for the wall.

  'If they are in the camp, the Cherusci, should we not go to the cages?' he shouted after me.

  'They cannot take the camp alone! But, they can open the gates!' I yelled. 'Hurry!'

  In the deep night, I saw the eastern gate, and for a second, I saw a man holding a torch high in the air, and then waving it for a few times, before the torch went out. I rushed forward, cursing. I was out of breath when I climbed up the rampart, and a young man of the first cohort was shivering there, with an over large helmet. It was the elite cohort, but they had their recruits as well. I checked the door to the gatehouse for signs of the torchbearer, but there was nothing.

  'Halt! Passphrase!' he said, far too late, as I was standing next to him.

  'Whore mother of all the flies, out of my way!' I said, and pushed through him, and he was sputtering when a centurion making rounds ran up.