I lifted her up, enjoying her face, knowing she might cause me pain and death in the future. She would never go to hiding, no. She would share my road, and to love, Lord Thumelicus, means you risk terribly much. I had already been hurt with Lif. I shrugged my pains away as above us, a crack of a broken door could be heard, then screams. A spent javelin rolled down the stairs, then a man fell down after it, a screaming legionnaire, holding a broken foot. She detangled herself from me and sighed, ready to help the man. The Cherusci above were dying, or fleeing, as I stopped her. 'I will take Fulcher, and get her back.'
'And I will help you care for her, when you do. Just make sure you get back, my love,' she told me worryingly. 'What we have has great worth, despite what might happen. I am happy you know it now.'
I nodded at her, and went to help the men guarding the fort. It was heavy work, but in the end, by the time the sun rose from the horizon, we were secure. I was leaning on a doorpost, when the standard-bearer whistled, and I turned. His small shield was riven, his face ashen from fatigue, but the standard was there, bloody and glittering, as he came up to the wall to show it to the foe. We said nothing, looking at the carnage. Nearby, the centurion who had sent me down was dead, and so was the young man. I grabbed my spear and wrestled it off the skull of the enemy I had slain. Grim men held the wall, a mix of Batavi, Thracian, and legionnaires. The corpses were being heaped in lines near the gate, and the enemy dead were thrown over the walls. The sullen enemy surrounded the fort, witnessing the hundreds of dead men rolling to the fossa.
On the other side of the river, gleeful Usipetes were herding hundreds of cattle north; the harbor was on fire, as was the village of the Gauls. Some ships were burning, some were rowing up and after the thieves, firing ballistae at the jeering enemy on both banks. The enemy dared them to do so, dancing before death. Castra Vetera had repelled the thousands of attackers, though part of the Castra was on fire as well. During the morning, most of the attackers on that side had flowed on to the bridge, intending to come to our side, and our exhausted men threw anything and everything at them, stones, spears, ballista rocks, and arrows, for they crossed very near to us. Their chief was dragged along the river bank, having been hurt in Castra Vetera, and they were done with the fighting for now, growling at our tiny force that had dared to attack them.
But, they had done well. Drusus's army was in the enemy lands, with its supply base besieged. And that meant there was something out there waiting for Drusus, and the prisoner had told me Armin would be found where Drusus was. And there might also be Lif.
I would take Fulcher, go there, and find Leuthard, and any bastard who stood against us. This time, Cassia would approve, and it gave me hope. Love is like that.
PART VI: EAGLES AND WOLVES
'I asked you once if this army might be a home to you. The Aquila was bright that day, shiny and fabulous. Now, the banners are broken, the eagles covered in gore, the forest wolf broken under them. I think you have a home now that you fought to make them so. No?'
Nero Claudius Drusus to Hraban.
CHAPTER XXXII
Morning revealed utter chaos, and brought much sorrow. We had lost some fifty men out of the two hundred and fifty, and enemy dead were still littering the whole area, numbering in hundreds. We also had many wounded, men permanently maimed, and some who were lost entirely, evidently captured, thought the primus pilus darkly. He was right. In the early afternoon, these few men were hoisted on poles before the fort, without hands and feet, tied down by their throats and waist. They were barely coherent, mercifully too hurt to care for their pains, but the legionnaires cursed, and the few archers spent precious arrows trying to put their comrades out of misery, but with little success.
Cassia worked hard to save as many men she could, and I watched her efforts. A man reached us from the fort across the river. In the Castra Vetera, the cohorts had lost more than a hundred, and the enemy nearly a thousand men. As the fires had ceased burning, our men across the river pursued the cattle thieves, and they managed to recover some of it. Much of the grain was gone, many ships burned, and the Usipetes were still huddled around our fort, with nearly three-thousand men. They could stand there for a long time, for they had much captured wealth, their women were there to take care of their wounds. They showed no compulsion for leaving, though some wounded lords could be seen pulling out with their retinue.
The blond decurion of the turmae summoned us to the principia. He stopped me with his upraised hand, and nodded with respect. His eyes twinkled as he gazed at the gate, and I smiled at him. In the end, no matter what kind of a bastard you were, glorious deeds in battle washed off much distrust and dishonor in the eyes of the pragmatic Romans, if not our own people. I walked over to the primus pilus, the old centurion, as if I owned the sand and blood-caked mud of the fort. I entered the tent, where the old man sat on a stool. I saw Cassia there, her eyes seeking mine, and I smiled at her.
'Well, this was an interesting night,' he cursed.
'Yes,' I answered, my eyes red and shrugged.
'You fought well at the doors. Did you get wounds and lacerations?' he asked pensively.
'No, just bruises,' I shrugged. 'Some scratches,' I allowed. 'Nothing to cry about.'
He smiled. 'Soldiers cry about everything, Hraban. If they fight well, they earn the right.'
I said nothing to that, and primus pilus nodded. I spoke, 'I lost a friend the other day. He had a lot to complain about, so much it changed him.'
He nodded, rubbing his face. 'You have spirit, Hraban. Do not give it up, even when friends die. I have lost countless, and can still joke about them and this nasty life,' he told me, and walked over, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'Better to die laughing than grim. Your Valkyries like their men funny, I hear.' I swallowed my anger, and nodded at him with a weak grin. He continued, 'We will rout the mob tomorrow, as we cannot do that today. Too many men mauled, and need to reform some units. Also have to scout around their army to make sure no more of the rogues are out there skulking. I was to send men to Drusus, as you know, but I can send but one or two now. I will need to send some this very night, to tell of this …fiasco.' He shuddered, thinking about the punishment. 'Gods, they will lack food. They will put me on half rations for allowing that to happen. They have never fought like this before.'
'They do now,' I said. 'Armin the Cherusci is a clever enemy.'
'So, shall you go?' he asked sternly, as if unwilling to admit such a thing was possible.
'I can go, but will you trust me?' I asked him, though I was determined to go anyway.
'Well, you led the men at the gate, but you are right, you will have two men with you, all I can spare,' he grinned and sobered. 'I know something of your issues. You have a daughter out there, Chariovalda said.'
'He talks too much,' I crumbled.
'You have a home with the legions, boy, so get your girl home, and play the part. Legions are full of boys like you. Men with many sad stories, and we love them all.'
'So, I shall go and tell Drusus he is likely going to get raped, and should be careful?'
He snickered. 'Yes, go. He does not like to be raped, I am sure. And he should be careful. There is something going on out there, no doubt.'
I looked around, seeing Fulcher enter. 'And what shall I do? Ride around, looking for Roman forces? What will I tell them?'
He threw his hands towards the east. 'The troops have two weeks' worth of food with them. We have been supplying the bases on Luppia, but now? He needs to know. Drusus, the legates, his council. As to where they are? Follow the fires,' the old man said, and scowled. 'They killed some of my exploratores last night, so I have no better answer. You have to find your way. Also, as the bastards have a ring around this palace, we cannot go out at daylight; we have to sneak out by night. If you manage it, I suggest you ride through the forts built by the river asking for directions, while I will kill these rancid whoresons. Take your man, but move lightly. I will send a ship and other riders as
well, when the boys down there have been sorted, but some must get through now. I trust you. This is my gift to you, boy, for what you did last night.'
The tribune who had been holed in the fort entered the tent.
'Sir!' said the primus pilus, with a malicious voice. 'Did you notice something strange this night?' The immaculately dressed tribune nodded, embarrassed. His helmet hid a deepening blush. Rumors told he had slept through it, drunk. They were likely rumors only, and he had cowered under his bed, but it was better to be a drunk than a coward. 'We will need a proper horse, sir. I assume you have no objections?' the primus pilus continued. 'You have two, after all. No, wait, we take both.'
He was trying to catch his breath, as he stammered and fidgeted. 'They are very expensive, an Iberian breed, and belong to my father, so I should probably …' he began, but his voice faltered as he regarded the cold eyes of the veteran soldier. 'I am an officer, my father is …' he started again, but the primus pilus stared at him with his eyebrows arched, like an animal about to feed. The fool said nothing more, melting in to the shadows.
The centurion snorted and thumbed the tribune's way. 'The lads always think they have an opinion, snot-nosed aristocrats. They serve as fancy parade ornaments, at best! So, you go?' the old man asked, grabbing a scroll from a pile in his cluttered desk.
I nodded, grateful for once I had someone on my side.
He fidgeted and gestured towards Cassia. 'The healer will stay behind. She will treat the wounded, and be treated well. Any man trying to molest her will lose something. What that will be, depends on my mood.'
'A hostage, sir?' I asked him, sneering. 'I would not have taken her anyway, but she has already been a hostage.'
He laughed and nodded. 'She will stay with me, in her own tent, for her own good. She is safe. In addition to my gratitude, the Batavi seem attached to her. The army does not molest healers, Hraban. Imagine if you did, and were wounded, and the last thing you saw before passing out is the woman you hurt bending over you. No thank you. But, you come back, boy.'
She came to me, and we gazed at each other, entirely in love. Fulcher was smiling happily, clearing his throat, and I swear he shed a tear. I gave her a huge hug, and she smiled at me demurely. 'Obey him, and come back, Hraban,' she told me, and left.
I gathered myself and took the scroll the old man was offering. 'A report for our prefect.'
It took all afternoon to have our weapons sharpened, and the horses checked and fed in preparation for our mission. We bantered with men who had travelled the Luppia River, finding out as much as we could about the hills, valleys of flowers, and golden wheat ahead. Then, finally, Fulcher and I went to the Primus Pilus, who was preparing the fort for the siege, and eventual sortie. We carried our gear, water and food, cloaks and our weapons. I held Wolf's Tear, and the Head Taker and Nightbright were both tied on to my wide belt.
A man in white robes was milling around the principia tent, and primus pilum stood next to him. 'I will read the omens today, and you will bless the standards with waters and garlands and be happy with what I say. Agreed?' the centurion asked the priest drily, and did not wait for an answer. He came to me. 'Juppiter is fickle, and this priest is known to be a doomsayer, and so I will interpret the signs. The cohort will love that, eh? Now, ride well, and ride hard, and if you are caught, I wish you a swift death. Soldier's lot to be in these shit situations, no?' he clapped me on the shoulder, and I nodded.
The decurion of the turmae walked up, wishing us luck with a sincere smile, which turned apologetic. 'I will have those two …' he said, and pointed at two hulking twins with green eyes and wide, shaved chins, 'to look after you. They are called Pipin. One is really called Radulf, but it is easier to call them both Pipin, as we never know which is which.' His eyes twinkled. 'Don't make them mad, Hraban.'
I scowled at them, and they scowled back, but I decided they could be useful.
I turned to the primus pilus. 'Sir, the red shields. The lord who attacked the gate? Was he famous? Fulcher made a lot of silver from his corpse, at least.' Fulcher smiled briefly at the scowling primus pilus and the decurion.
The centurion waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. 'Usually, you do not speak of such things to outsiders, definitely not to your officers, for it is expected to share the loot with the troop boy. But, I did not hear you. The lord you killed was Ingvar, a bear warrior and second-in-command to Usipetes, one of their high war nobles. You did well. His cousin is likely to lead the red shields now. You mean to take their gear? You should leave your Roman gear here; at least your man should drop the helmet, and both should shed the cingulum and the Roman capes, shields. Get some Germani footgear as well. And leave the chain mail, for Juppiter's sakes! In fact, strip.' I kept my weapons and helmet, and then we went and picked up red shields from a pile of loot, and left our Roman gear behind, reluctantly. The standard bearer of the turma said he would watch after the pricey gear, and I believed him. We wore wool and bloodied tunics of the enemy. We tore at our beards, smeared dirt on ourselves, and tried to look like men fresh out of battle. The Batavi, Pipin, and Radulf reluctantly followed our lead, looking like nobles forced to eat with peasants.
We took our horses to the gate, looking around the legionnaires, and they saluted us. The gate creaked open, we led our horses out to the dark, and we waved. I saw Cassia in the crowd, hugging herself with a small, cold smile, one forced on her lips, and I blew her a kiss before the gate closed. A legionnaire was outside, a part of the picket, and he grinned at us. 'Don't go and turn Germani now, all right?'
Fulcher snorted at him. 'We are all Germani, Roman.'
He shook his head. 'You know what I meant.'
I stroked the horse, eyeing the darkness. 'Juicy meat, sweet mead, and good ale every day, that's what we eat out there, not the cruel and hard bread, and there won't be watery wine out there, no,' I told him, and he laughed and cursed us for bastards. We bade him farewell, as we sneaked to the river, making our way slowly and quietly along the bank, praying the horses would not neigh. We stopped there, and one of the Batavi went forward on foot, as silent as a cat. We waited and waited, and Fulcher finally saw him returning.
'One man,' the Batavi mouthed, and I nodded, dismounting. 'Sitting under a tree. Muttering to himself, he is.'
'I shall take care of it,' I told them.
'No, you are on our …' started Pipin, but I ignored them and disappeared into the dark.
There was a guard post, an Usipetes lounging on the riverbank under a tree, looking for ships and scouts, but it was late, the gray hours when men are least attentive. I snuck close, moving ever so slowly, brushing the grass aside with my feet, avoiding small rocks, listening, stalking, hunting, my prey in sight after twenty steps. The Germani burped and yawned. I was coming behind him, timing my moves to his breathing, and I closed the last feet between us. I thrust Wolf's Tear forward, and it sunk in his neck, and killed him sawing back and forth, and holding him down with my foot and the spear. It takes a long time for a man to die, surprisingly long, but die he did, a young man like me. I left him, and scouted ahead again, but there was no one there, and the silent, empty trails led north to the heavy woods of the Usipetes, and the Legion's trampled route for the Luppia valley ran to the east, towards the freshly built Roman fort somewhere in the morning's mist, some thirty to forty Roman miles distant.
I fetched Fulcher and the Batavi, and we rode out, silently.
We took to the woods of the valley, avoiding all roads, cursing the mosquitoes and sharp branches as we made our way east, passing burned settlements of the Bructeri and the Usipetes, and saw unsettling sights as few half-devoured corpses of men and animals littering the green fields and pastures by woods of beech and alder. There was no evidence of Roman hardships this far to the west, and the first day we rode was eerily silent, save for some lingering fires and surprised foxes and brazen wolfs eating the remains of domestic beasts. We spent an uneasy night, knowing the first fortress would not be far. We lit n
o fires, and in the night, we heard a large force of men moving east. We hid ourselves, seeing but nightly shadows, silhouettes of speeding men and horses headed for the west. I climbed on the saddle, nodding at Fulcher to do so as well, and as he did, one of the Batavi followed us in bewilderment.
'Where are you going? Stop!' he hissed at me.
'We shall fetch one, and then come back,' I told him, and we rode after the group.
'Fetch one?’ he asked with confusion, and then he understood. ‘A man?' he asked, his jaws open.
'Yes, we shall have a guest, Pipin,' I said, and we rode off with Fulcher.
There are always slow men in any cavalcade. So it was with these men.
Soon, a straggler came up from the mist and the night's dust. He was cursing at something, riding far slower than the main force, and we rode to each side of him. He looked up, expecting to see familiar faces, but instead he saw my fist. Fulcher dragged him across his saddle, hitting him again for a good measure. I grabbed the horse, and we rode away for our camp, which was surpassingly hard to find. Pipin was scowling at me, tapping his foot.
I grabbed the hair of the man and raised his unconscious face so I could see it.
He was an older man wearing an otter skin tunic, and had a fine hand axe on his belt, which I took and gave to one of the siblings before the other Batavi dragged him down from the horse. The man huffed as he fell, and was soon sitting in the dust, staring at us with huge eyes, his beard dusty and tangled.
'Who are you? Sigambri?' he spat in fear.
'I ask the questions. Who are you?' I prodded him with my spear, and drove him back towards a tree.
He looked at us in distrust, massaging his bruised jaw. 'You are not Usipetes,' I growled, and he shook his head, looking relieved.
'Usipetes! You are? Why are you so far from the confluence of the rivers? Scouting? No, I am a Tencteri, Brumarg's men. Part of the force besieging the Romans in the yonder fort,' he gestured towards the east.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 48
