The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  My attention was torn away by a shrill cry. A near-naked warrior mad with rage, wearing but a gray wolf head around his shoulders, ran out of the general enemy mass. Koun tried to stop him, but to no avail. The man spat at us, trotted back and forth before their lines, calling us spineless women, weak as sick children.

  The Quadi started to form on our right flank, and Harmod the Old made our men stand in two serried lines, the best shields in the first, the ones with the best weapons on the second, for the first line would keep them, the second kill them, and so we got ready to fight. To our surprise, and after the initial shock had worn off, it looked nearly an even fight. Vago was stuck on the other side, the Quadi boats scattered and ours rudely holed. We had hope. I thanked Woden the Quadi had managed an escape with the help of the boys in the village, and our women cajoled us, asking us to stay firm, not to run. And we would do so for their sakes, and for our honor. I cursed, for we were no men. The boys were standing behind our shield wall, uncertain.

  The enemy fighter was laughing at us now, holding his hips and shaking his head at our timidity. Then Adalwulf stepped out of the ranks. Our men cheered him gratefully. Adalwulf put away his shield as the young Vangione leered at Adalwulf's lorica hamata hungrily. The Vangione would be wealthy, and he gestured at the shield Adalwulf had so quickly discarded.

  Adalwulf shrugged. 'I do not need it, fool. A man with such a short prick,' Adalwulf gestured at the naked warriors modest manhood, 'needs a bit of an advantage. Come, and let me cut it off for you, and you can piss sitting down,' he told the furious enemy, and their priests hissed at Adalwulf, cursing him, asking Hercules and Tiw to make him weak as a feverish pig.

  Wulf stepped forward, and cursed the enemy priests with vile promises of pain and sleepless death. Wulf was a true vitka, bloodied from the sacrifices, fey and old, and I saw how the enemy flinched. Their priests were a bastardized mix of old and foreign, and even to them, less impressive than Wulf was.

  The Vangione champion's thin ponytail shook as he screamed defiance. He ran forward, grabbed a javelin with a wicked extended iron tip, an angon.

  Adalwulf watched him carefully, tipped one of his javelins in his hand and threw it before the enemy moved. The weapon streaked up into the air. The Vangione observed the javelin and laughed in derision, as it was obvious the deadly weapon was going to miss. It did not. It was not aimed at him, but impaled one of the unsuspecting priests, a mud-faced creature of bristling hair and wooden talismans, right through the groin. He fell in shock, made a meowing noise, shuddered, and died slowly.

  We laughed, but nervously, for it was bad luck to kill those of the gods. Adalwulf smiled at the enemy, making an obscene gesture at the dead one. The would-be enemy champion threw his weapon with a roar and ran in, pulling a short framea from his shield hand for the terrible melee combat. The angon missed, being hefty and slow, and Adalwulf moved forward to meet the young man. The Vangione was just that, a young man drunk on fine poems and the greatest songs of heroes, and that day, he would be part of them, as the brave victim of a Marcomanni champion.

  Adalwulf dodged the framea aimed overhand at his chest and punched his spear at the leg of the opponent, taking the shield rim with his free, shieldless hand. The young man's shriek of victory turned to one of pain as the savage Marcomanni tripped him, swiftly stomped his thin spear hand to the wet ground with a force to break bones and speared the young man through his beard and throat.

  The enemy twitched as a fish on a hook, begging bitterly, crying desperately, pissing himself in terror of death, but Adalwulf offered no comfort other than death to release him from this world.

  Adalwulf raised his gaze to Koun, promising similar passing to the enemy leader with his hard eyes. Koun shrugged, dismounted quickly, and walked briskly forward.

  The Vangiones went quiet. Koun glanced at the silent Vago across the river, and stopped some ways from us. Hulderic and Tudrus looked at each other in indecision, and took some reluctant steps forward while Adalwulf stripped the corpse of its wolf pelt, hanging the bloody thing around his own wide shoulders. Many Vangiones would go for him after the battle was joined, but Adalwulf did not care. The champion spat in Koun's direction, and we cheered ourselves hoarse as he picked up his shield and stood next to Hulderic.

  Hulderic pointed Head Taker in Koun's direction. 'What do you want? Advice? I suggest you take a piss before we start, so you die with dry pants.'

  Koun grimaced, but the other Vangione moved forward and spoke arrogantly, 'I am Vannius, son of great Vago, brother to Koun. I spit on your arrogant words and old, ugly face, Marcomanni swine. We…'

  We laughed. His voice was boyish, and, despite the expensive chain mail and sharp, fine sword, he was about my age.

  Koun pushed him back gently.

  'Silence, brother,' he said, 'let me address the half-wits. You, the helmeted one? They tell me you sport bear claws in your suebian knot. True?'

  Hulderic was surprised, but recovered quickly. 'Yes. Are you here to look for hints on how to dress yourself like a man, then?'

  Koun smiled and pointed his sword at Hulderic. 'No. I am here for your family. I was told a man with bear claws leads this muddy village.'

  Tudrus the Older growled. 'Why attack the Quadi then? Why not come and challenge the lord here, man to man? Why war on our helpless women and children?'

  Vannius spat at his words, and Tudrus the Older grinned at the boy who blushed fiercely.

  'Spirit, that one has,' the old Quadi whispered gleefully to Agetan, standing behind him.

  Koun gestured at the man over the river. 'Our Lord Vago, our great father, made sure no Quadi came to your help while we take the lord and the sons of this village. The man with bear claws, I was told, has a son we are looking for. Maroboodus, that is his uncouth name. A foul fugitivus from Rome. He is the cowardly murderer of great consul, Agrippa. It is a little advertised fact but true. A man who wears fangs in his hair. Bear fangs, like you do. We want him.'

  Murderer of Agrippa? I flushed with pride. Was this the reason he was fleeing? Agrippa was the most famous general of far Rome and its second most powerful man, known even in the rude woods of Germania. Heroes, even those of our enemies, were revered and respected. There were many songs of Agrippa, an old, grizzled warrior who had toppled strong nations.

  'And how did you learn we live in this village? You were told? By whom, Vangione? You are far from home,' Hulderic asked him warily.

  'Not all love you, it seems,' Koun shrugged and continued, 'Maroboodus and his son. We want his son, as well.'

  The Marcomanni turned to look at me in surprise. Koun noticed this, his lynx-like eyes growing huge as ripe apples from surprise.

  He grinned. 'You? Had I known it was you, I would have killed the filthy crone. Then I would have let the lusty Roman have you, and kept what is left of your quivering husk for my grateful father. But your filth of a father, where is he?'

  Hulderic spat at Koun, interrupting my answer. 'My helmet, dog. It is yours, if you kill me. Beware that you do not end up like Agrippa, young man. The Roman general is truly dead by my son's hand?'

  Hulderic sounded uncommonly happy about such an honor in the family, no matter his reservations about Father's return.

  Koun's eyes glittered in dry humor. 'He is. They do not advertise it, but Maroboodus killed him over an insult and fled Rome, they say. I didn’t see it. But enough banter and niceties. As for your helmet? So be it. It does look grand, nearly good enough to match my father's!' He turned, and Vannius nodded at him bravely.

  The leaders went back to their men, and so did ours.

  Both sides stood still for a moment, trembling in anticipation. Everyone got ready, and there were many men who were hopelessly drunk and praying devoutly on both sides. We sweated like pigs, seeing the nervous eyeballs across the grass and over the shield rims.

  Vannius nodded, and a horn blared harshly. The Vangiones screamed wildly, we answered in kind, and two shield walls of men rushed forth.
Spears flew back and forth. Arrows impaled unlucky men in our wall. A stone whizzed by my face.

  The walls collided with brief thunder, and I saw dark mist jump crazily up to the night air when weapons met weak flesh.

  Wandal and Ansbor were flanking me as I looked for an opening in the mad melee. Before us, we saw the strong backs of our village's men. We were no longer playing, and we were scared shitless. A boy of our village was bleeding profusely near us, an unfortunate one with a twisted javelin in his chest. Other men were crying with bleeding wounds while others were lying still.

  On the other side of the river, well over a hundred Vangiones had gathered on the beach, restlessly looking at the battle.

  Hulderic was cleaving his way forward with Adalwulf, both unstoppable, their shields pushing weaker men back, sword and axe claiming blood and lives. He was trying to break through the second line of the enemy, the first dead at their feet, aiming for Koun under the impressive red standard.

  Harmod the Old screamed defiance as a battle-axe severed his suebian knot. The women and boys were throwing rocks over the men, hitting many unwary enemies. A terrible thing, the battle in the night. I smelled the coppery smell of blood mixed with a pungent smell of innards, piss and shit, as men, victorious or dying, screamed in terror and fear. A framea hit the ground nearby, quivering crazily. I heard Woden's wild dance in my head, and felt the need to join the fight, desire to hurt the enemy and to gather fame.

  Then, before us, a wide Vangione breached the wall.

  His huge shield slashed left, felling an unlucky man of the village. The enemy stepped on the man's writhing face, killing him. Laughing hugely, he swiftly speared a youth on his right, the son of the village fisherman, and turned his ferocious eyes at us, his reddish blond, bushy beard covered in dripping gore. Behind him, the Marcomanni plucked the hole with desperation born of fear, but this man would kill more.

  'Boys!' he screamed, spying us there. 'Come and lick my bloody nuts!' he yelled while laughing, seemingly unstoppable.

  Ansigar took a step back, blanching.

  I heeded the dancing figure in my head, grabbed a rock and ran at the man, screaming, terrified and excited, knowing we would die. Wandal followed me, sobbing in fear. The enemy laughed as his shield turned to cover him, and he smashed both Wandal and myself to the ground with ease that should have shamed us. He pulled his spear out of the dead young man, blood dripping from its shaft. He saw Ansbor coming, and our friend was shaking in terror, followed by the reluctant Ansigar. They both froze at the man's murderous look. The enemy stepped on me painfully as I struggled to get up, and the freshly bloodied and freed spear turned my way. I grimaced and stretched my neck to bite at his shoe, which was still keeping me down, and I felt his toe in my mouth as I bit as hard as I could. He screamed and jumped off, nearly pulling my teeth out. Wandal recovered, still obviously dizzy, and grabbed his foot, unbalancing him to his knees. Ansbor and Ansigar charged and rained hits on the man.

  Retching, I got up and struggled with his shield, and when his pained face turned my way, I brought the rock down on his dirty forehead. His eyes rolled over crazily, and he fell. We kept pummeling at his quivering corpse as butchers would make a beef tender, and when we were done, I took his framea and punctured his belly, laughing like a maniac as he grimaced in his unfathomable, final pain.

  Hysterical and proud, we laughed. We would win this yet.

  We were fools.

  Out of the darkness of the river, we heard steady, ominous drums and rhythmical splashes. The sound was eerie. These were not the sharp splashes of the Germani oars, but slow splashes made by expert rowers, and a drum was beating slowly, very slowly, as the ships emerged from the dark. Two light galleys slid out of the ghostly night like silent shadows. They were Roman ships; the type they call navis actuarial. They were lethal in the coast and river war, for they could operate in but three feet of water. Transports of brave men and abundant trade, these were there to do the former, for Vago had prepared well. This was how they got up the Moenus though many should have seen them and warned us in plenty of time.

  They were not large ships, having but fifteen pairs of short oars, drawn by free men, peregrine non-Romans hired for the job. We could see men running on the decks as torches flared. The men in the bows, who were called proreta, stood there with strange oil lanterns, trying to make sense of the chaotic situation. They saw our lines on the right bank in the light of the torches that had been thrown about. They saw the Vangiones waving torches crazily on the left bank. The Vangiones cheered, and the bowmen in the ships gestured at the other side of the river where Vago was yelling at the shore, his helmet shaking. The ships had two naurarchus's, commanders who shouted orders to celeustas, burly men in charge of the muscular rovers. The ships turned abruptly, and we could see the Vangiones rushing to the bank of the river, men dismounting.

  'Kill them, quickly!' Tudrus the Older screamed in determination born of fear.

  Koun's men tightened their ranks, desperately holding on. Help was coming for the Vangiones. We doubled our effort, gritting our chattering teeth in fear. Koun's thinned shield wall held. They were looking expectantly at the ships, now at the other side of the river, being loaded by dozens of fierce men clambering onboard. On the deck, I could see Vago’s silvery mask of dread. He was spitting his orders, cajoling his men to hurry.

  Tudrus the Older cursed as he struggled with two large men in Vannius's bodyguard. 'Their bodies and weapons, Woden, Freya, Tiw! For the victory. I, Tudrus, so pledge!'

  Tudrus the Younger was on shaking knees near him, bleeding from the scalp. Then more Vangiones rushed in from the dark forests, latecomers and looters. They saw us and came for us, some twenty all, their long spears and savage clubs hammering down our exhausted and spent men, slaying villagers I had known all my life in the middle of our wall. Suddenly, our shield wall was split and broken, and death loomed.

  Ansigar ran away from us, his face a thing of terror, and the Vangiones cried as they bowled over some of the remaining Quadi in the middle, leaving them dead and suffering.

  We were going to lose.

  Grandfather saw this, and gave one final, desperate push. He killed two weary men, going berserk and seemingly as mighty as Freyr the boar god as he flailed the enemy down, his sword dancing like a wraith. Hulderic finally reached Koun, Head Taker flickering around Koun's shield, the two men struggling like bulls, punching, bleeding profusely, slicing until Koun slipped on a steaming heap of guts, and lost his balance.

  Head Taker came down hard on his collarbone. Koun screamed in terrible fear and pain and went to his knees, wounded. Hulderic was breathing heavily, eyeing the horror warily, temporarily spent. He saw our women retreating before some probing Vangiones that had come from the side, the ships splashing over, the first, daring men already in the shallows on our side.

  I yelled a warning. Koun was not dying but had survived the cut.

  His sword came up from the ground, his eyes wild, and Hulderic turned too late to see the bitter blade enter his firm chest, slicing to his throat. He fell like a tree, on his back, his helmet half off his head. Koun screamed in victory, groping for Grandfather's famous helmet. Adalwulf screamed back at him, and Harmod, wounded, roared as the failed men of Hulderic sought death as atonement for the death of their lord.

  More men fell, and I took my looted spear and went for Koun, wild with rage. We were to die, our women enslaved, and we only had our honor left. Tudrus's standard fell forlornly, so did that of Hulderic.

  Then Woden stepped down from Asgaard.

  I saw a slender man in the shadows raise a horn, blow it shrilly and out of the dark, and steaming horses materialized.

  On them sat glorious men.

  CHAPTER V

  The men who crashed from the woods looked magnificent. Even amid the desperation we looked in great wonder at their fine bronze helmets, tall frames, long, thick spears, and painted shields. Their great horses trotted in line, calm and controlled. T
here were twenty of them. The leader got high in his seat and yelled orders. Ten men broke left, and nine followed him. We thought them the enemy. Surely they would hunt down the survivors, and we would fall under the merciless hooves, mocked by the enemies, our last men sacrificed under the filthy gods of the Romans.

  I saw there was something familiar about the leader. He had fierce, red hair sticking out from under the open-faced helmet. His shadowed face had a hawk-like quality, and I realized he must have looked a lot like Hulderic had as a younger man, having the same keen eyes, erect pose, broad chest, and commandeering air.

  It was my father. I screamed for joy.

  He spurred his horse towards the groups of desperate stragglers. The deadly riders with him screamed in defiance, and burrowed into Vangiones, drunk with premature success. Spears impaled, axes and swords slashed and hacked, and battle mad horses bit. The Vangiones, suddenly terrified, fled.

  Vago was at the beach now, looking carefully at the battle. The woman who had been with him, called to him from the ship. Finally, cursing, he climbed back onto the deck, obeying her demands.

  On the right, Vannius fell under Tudrus's thick shield, his last bodyguards slain and captured, standards trampled on the wet ground.

  Koun put up a desperate fight.

  He straddled Hulderic, and fought like an old bear would to defend its kill against a pack of bleeding wolves. Men gave way as he cut and slashed. Koun pushed Harmod the Old to the ground, cursing. The Vangione finally managing to push his blade into the older man's belly, leaving him shuddering and gasping, waiting for the Valkyries. Then Koun injured another man in his battle frenzy. The man fell back, hissing in pain.

  I saw the swift riders spurring for the Vangione. I pulled my spear back and threw it in haste. I wanted to kill him for Hagano and Hulderic. The spear flew straight at the man. Vangione turned, and I saw blood spurt from his face. He howled, holding his gouged face. Then the riders closed, and the Vangiones fell under blade and hoof, and I lost sight of Koun.