‘Your claim your brother should have saved my wife is untrue. You are the eldest; it was for you to do. You failed. Marcus, take the lad and have him cleaned up.'
Marcus, carrying a horn, came for me, his eyes neutral.
Maroboodus turned to Gernot, who was kneeling by Hulderic. My brother had removed the hallowed Head Taker from Hulderic's hand, handing it reverently to Maroboodus, and then I mercifully lost consciousness, and saw no more of the travesty.
I dreamt of a roaring bear, and the bear had my father's face.
CHAPTER VI
I suffered from terrible, feverish nightmares. I dreamt of Hagano standing alone in the gray woods, white as bone, tearfully unhappy and lost. I begged Sigilind in her mercy to come and guide him away, but she did not come, nor did anyone else. I dreamt of murdering the vile Vago, spearing him with a spear made of dark iron, filthy and crude, but he would not die, only laugh at me in derision as I tried to stab him unsuccessfully. Vago's deed constantly sneaked into my troubled dreams, the callous, crude cut, and the horribly flapping body on the water, not breathing, not dead either, only confused and unable to raise.
I dreamt of Gernot as well.
They were not brotherly dreams of affection and well wishes, no. In my dreams, I did not blame my long-awaited father. He was a fine hero, a great warrior, a man who had lost a beloved wife and father. Curse Gernot for the opportunistic pig he was. Our father did not know what we were like, but he would see the clear truth in front of him, and would accept me as he should. Though in the dream, I was unsure if he really would. I was hopelessly nervous and endlessly impatient, wishing him to say kind words, open his arms to embrace me, but the dream was unkind, and did not reveal if my desperate wishes would come to pass. I did not wish to wake up and face the truth, for sometimes the truth was worse than the nightmare.
Eventually I did wake up. Tudrus the Older kicked me, and not over-gently.
Startled, I got up to my elbows, and glanced around in confusion. I lay in an oxhide tent, which smelled of a strange oil-like substance. Later, I learnt they were legionnaire tents, meant for eight men of a basic contrebentium. Looking around, I saw Tudrus the Younger whose scalp was bound, and Agetan, with a wide, undressed puncture on his leg. I had some deep, festering scratches, but it was my head that hurt like a dwarf was hammering it from the inside. Someone stated that my skull was fractured, although not very badly. My father had hit me hard, and so had Cornix.
Wandal and Ansbor were there.
We stared at each other, Ansbor and I, and I nodded at him, beckoning him over. I grabbed his arm, and he stiffened. 'I am sorry, Ansbor.'
He nodded. 'I found his remains yesterday in a small patch of weeds by the river. He was a fool. He rode straight into them, as if he was taking a calm summer ride over his own pastures. He should have ridden south first. What kind of an idiot does not understand that? That there might be enemies on our side of the damned river? But I am sorry for your sweet mother, and for great Hulderic.'
We embraced warmly, and I mouthed the word 'Euric?' to Wandal, who nodded happily.
I smiled briefly. He was alive.
Ansbor grunted and separated briskly. 'Ansigar lost his uncle at the shield wall. He is alone now. Like me.'
'Euric will look after us, eh?' Wandal said, sheepishly.
How the poor smith could feed the lot of them was a deep mystery to me, but one for later speculation. We heard Ansigar talking agitatedly outside, and someone answered him with a thin, imperious voice. It was Gernot. I gritted my teeth so hard, there was a grating sound.
Tudrus the Older smiled to calm me as he pulled the groaning Agetan to a semi-sitting position. 'Gernot, your brother? He is talking a lot, singing songs of his mighty deeds, smelling his rare opportunity to rise above you. He does make you look, sound, and smell like soft, fresh shit. Some few listen.'
I shuddered in uncontrollable anger, and tried to get up. Tudrus the Older stopped me with a swift shake of his head.
'The small damage is done, boy. Gernot has some of your father's ear. He is a piece of rotten gristle, I grant you that. You should hear how he embellishes the fanciful lies about your laziness.' He cherished the hurtful words, and grinned perversely as if enjoying my vast disgrace. 'If he lied over me that way, I would fillet him in public, I would.'
'I will shit in his emptied skull,' I promised, seething. 'I'll do it as soon as I can.'
The old Quadi shook his head, frowning. 'I can fillet people who lie over me because I am a man and a great chief, able to handle feuds, but if you try it, you will be here with another injury, perhaps a more final one. Give it time, boy, and grow.'
Tudrus the Younger groaned as he turned on his belly and then nodded at me. 'I saw you kill a man, Hraban. I did not see your weasel-like brother in the bloody battle, the liar. For years, he has been giving us subtle hints of his plans, sneaking after you like a sullen, beaten dog. He gave us the shield, too, or rather, we found it on the beach, and spied him rowing back home.'
His father nodded. 'You have our respect, Hraban. I liked Hulderic. I knew him very well, and often stood with him against our common enemies. He spoke gravely with me when you scampered off to the woods.' The old man was scrutinizing me carefully. 'He was much worried about your wayward father. He asked for my help, in case Maroboodus proved difficult to handle, and did not wish to obey his legitimate authority. He was also equally worried for you.'
I spat. 'He was right to worry, it seems.'
'So,' Tudrus continued with a nod, 'I said I would help him, if I could. Yet, now Hulderic is slain, and your surprising father saved my life, and those of my kin and tribe. So here is what I will do. I will help you, and I will pay Maroboodus back by helping him as well, if possible, and pray the two walk hand in hand. If not, I will look to extract you from trouble.'
I drank warm water he offered as he examined Tudrus the Younger's scalp. 'Festering still, boy. Need to ask the pretty girl to look at it.'
Tudrus the Younger reddened. 'Yes, Father.'
Wandal whistled softly, embarrassed, and I felt annoyed. 'Girl?'
Tudrus the Younger grinned at me. 'That one from the north woods. She comes here to heal people. Ishild? She pushed Wandal over a log when he tried to stop her from undressing you.'
'What? Has she been here?' I asked, blushing deeply, glancing at my groin. I had my dirtied and torn pants on.
'She has, eh. Took your blooded tunic away. Then rubbed something nasty on your chest. Not proper,' Wandal said, embarrassed. 'She and I have an agreement. I am here when …'
Agetan laughed roughly. His brother smiled.
'She does not keep her end of that idiotic deal, Wandal,' Tudrus the Younger said, with gentle mockery. He handed me my bloodstained tunic from the side of the tent.
I grabbed it, and the old chief contemplated me. He cleared his throat. 'Do you know your family history? Hulderic told me some of it.'
I shook the tunic on. 'Hulderic told me something, as well. I know we came from Gothonia, but I always did. He told me about some strange prophetic words my great—'
He interrupted me. 'Not about Bero? Your great uncle?' he asked, regarding me.
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. 'My great uncle? Bero?'
He smiled happily, and took a better position. 'Ah, then there is a fine story to tell. You see, if I help your father, I will be at odds with the powerful Bero, the second strongest man of the Marcomanni, perhaps even the most powerful. It is a dangerous road to annoy such men. However, Maroboodus saved us, and I will help him—within limits. It is a terrible gamble.' His voice took a priestly note, and he shifted his position. 'There was war in far Gothonia. Your grandfather had a vile cousin, a man who was power-hungry beyond reason, yearning for the rights to lead all your formidable family. Hulderic's father was recently dead, and he inherited the few remaining men and small fortune.'
I nodded. 'My great-grandfather. He was a man who raided the intruding Langobardic tribes,
drove many to ruin, and became rich from the loot.'
Tudrus continued, 'Yes. Therefore, Hulderic had men, some riches, and some small fame. However, war was looming from inside your family. Your great-grandmother. She knew of a prophecy…'
I waved my hands, sick to my stomach over the damned prophecy. 'I know this part. War, the Bear, the Raven, and a lot of shadowy, mightily evil gods. Rings and blood.'
'Your father has a fine gold ring now, Draupnir's Spawn, eh?' said Wandal drowsily. 'Was that the one Hulderic got from the Naristi?'
I nodded darkly. Maroboodus had most likely grabbed Head Taker, and everything of value Hulderic had owned. Gernot would have made sure he kept some for himself, no doubt.
Tudrus grinned, as if he knew what I was thinking about. 'Yes. Hulderic believed in this old prophecy. They say it is so in your old family, that at times these unwanted harbingers appear, and a father is expected to hold Woden's trust sacred.'
'Death or exile,' I said, thinking about Tear.
'Death rather than exile. Yet he chose exile. He took your doom-ridden father and the old ring. He let his men go and serve others, and rode off in the deep night, leaving everything. He lived with the strong Cherusci, and the brave Bructeri, keeping Maroboodus with him. He kept him close. Hulderic's wife died of fever while with the Bructeri.'
'I never met Grandmother,' I said.
'I know,' Tudrus told me, clapping my shoulder. 'Few do see them, boy. It’s a harsh world.' He sighed and shook his head. 'Bero travelled after him. Hulderic claimed Bero would follow him to the ends of the world for his ring.'
I shrugged. 'It is sacred.' I had a hard time picturing the man who hated us, a relative, and then I thought of my feelings towards Gernot.
Tudrus grinned, and I understood I had missed something. 'I said his ring.'
'What?'
Tudrus the Older shook his head, and spoke softly and slowly as if to a half-wit. 'The ring goes to the first boy to marry in your family, and so Bero was naturally upset and angry,'
I frowned at his words, and he lifted his thick, sarcastic eyebrows and laughed. I realized what he was saying, answered his merry laughter with mine, and then winced with a vile curse as my head hurt bitterly.
'It was Bero's ring. Hulderic stole the ring? Woden's hoary beard!”
Tudrus was still giggling like a woman. 'Perhaps. Perhaps he thought the prophecy was more important than Bero's lawful right to the bloody ring. Whatever the reason, Bero followed his elder brother out of hate, out of honor, or maybe their enemy in the north had forced them all out, like marauders would toss a widow to the cold night. I do not know for sure. Eventually, shadowed by stubborn Bero, Hulderic came to the Marcomanni, the Suebi furthest from all the other Suebi, the border men of the south. He did not go far enough. But in the end, after much trouble, your father was removed from Germania, though not killed, and he was, I guess, not a willing exile.'
'Why didn't Hulderic kill Bero?' I asked. 'Hulderic said he had reasons.'
Tudrus the Older shrugged. 'They are brothers. Even you might find it hard to kill your mother's son? They might have been close once?' He shrugged. 'Battle mates? Perhaps he had promised his mother not to slay Bero.'
I growled, and they laughed, knowing I would not hesitate if I found Gernot alone in the woods, but instead, I would burden Mother with his presence in the afterworlds.
'Give me Gernot, and—'
Tudrus the Old waved me down, stopping my rant.
'Beware of Bero. He is rumored to be a patient man, not unlike a fat spider, but now, he might finally make a move. He missed out on Sigilind, missed out on her sister, Gunhild, missed out on his justified place in the north, and then, he lost the holy ring he was to wear, and use to further the glory of his family. He lost Maino, his son. Who knows what else the fool has lost, but I think, he is done with losing. He controls many vitka with fine promises and coin. He will be utterly ruthless. So will your father. Give it time, and be happy with what Hulderic taught you. Become a good man, even if it might be different from what has been promised to you. What did Hulderic tell you?'
'To obey my father, should he be gone,' I said woodenly. 'To mind my honor. I wonder if they are aligned.'
'There.' He clapped my shoulder sharply. 'Go and find out. You will meet him this fine evening. He has called for you.'
'Do you,' I asked secretively, 'have a plan? How will you help him?'
His eyes twinkled. 'I will help him overcome certain stubborn obstacles to his continuing well-being. I will be there to offer him steady protection until he has his deserved place in your tribes. Be patient with him, Hraban. But call me, if it becomes impossible.'
'I am not sure I can stomach Gernot,' I told him, miserable.
'You should not,' said Ansbor. 'He is making Wandal and me look bad, too. He claimed we are docile and fat mules.'
'Not Ansigar?' I asked, as I glanced at Ansbor's fat belly.
Tudrus the Older grabbed my friends by the scruff of their necks and pulled them up.
'Does not matter. Be a man, Hraban, and conquer with guile, if spear takes you nowhere,' he said. He poked me hard on the forehead as if trying to kill a fly. 'Come to your hall before the sun goes down. We will sacrifice to the mighty ones, bury the heroic dead, and hold a quarrelsome Thing.'
He pulled Ansbor and Wandal with him and left.
Tudrus the Younger was grinning at me. 'You can serve me, if you have no home here. You can prepare my food, clean my shoes, carry my spare spears, and …'
I made a rude gesture at him, but my mind was whirling. I had a great uncle. A great uncle who desired Draupnir's Spawn, his by divine right. Hulderic had told me to stay true to my father, so I chased the thought away, but it was there, lurking underneath my seething anger. Perhaps Bero was a good man, after all. There was a reason why Hulderic had not killed him, and I, gods’ laugh, might like him.
Outside, some man hailed Tudrus the Older urgently, and great commotion rose as Tudrus bellowed for a horse. Something was afoot.
We emerged from the dark tent to a gentle summer evening with swaying beech trees and lazy flies buzzing around, and an enormous number of happy birds singing, uncannily. The waning light of the sun stabbed through my head, and made me swoon with pain and nausea. The moldering hill fort was nearly empty. Some women were tending the remaining wounded amidst a smattering of old ruins. Many had died, as is the case after battle. Tudrus the Younger groaned as he followed me. Agetan, his barrel-like torso pushed us aside as he tottered along, grunting at the pain from his leg wound. He turned to an old, unfortunate oak to take a long piss. I saw Wandal and Ansbor waiting, looking down the hill to Marmot's Ford, and I joined them at the edge of the moldering oppidum and looked down. It was a disquieting sight. There was Marmot's Ford and a heap of Vangione corpses. They would stink horribly, being consumed by opportunistic forest animals, fat maggots, and flies. Their formerly deadly weapons and personal gear would be gathered by now.
I shuddered at the sight.
'Come, they are making a grave fire at your hall,' Wandal said.
'Mother, Grandfather?' I asked forlornly.
'They are at the hall, too,' Ansbor said, looking down. 'With all our fallen. The Quadi included.' We trekked that way, observing the heap of dead faces, most missing eyes, for crows loved the delicacies. The softer parts of their blue and white bodies had been partially gorged and gobbled by beasts at night. It was uncanny what death does to a man, and I could see the corpse has little value after one passes on. There were religions that believed in the foul preservation of the flesh, this we had heard from far-travelled merchants, but this was not our way. We worshipped spirit over rot.
'By the gods, that is…eh?' Wandal said, then retched, and let go of his bowels.
Tudrus the Younger grimaced at the sight of vomit though not so much of the dead. 'Best not lose your food, bear pup. It is scarce.'
I tore my eyes off the macabre corpses and looked at the place where Moth
er died. I remembered her twitching arms and legs, the horror of my dreams and masked my forthcoming tears by questions. 'Why is food scarce? Where are Hulderic's men? We had twenty living in this village, but what of the others in the villages around us? Some sixty men should be here. Did those villages get attacked as well?'
Wandal shrugged. 'Father told me they did not come. Your father's riders found some of them dead in the nearby woods. Killed by Vangiones, or someone else.'
'Bero? Has he been seen?' I asked absentmindedly, and forced my eyes away from the shore. I could not get the sight of my mother from my mind.
Wandal dodged a rotting horse. 'No help has come. Various riders are seen in the distance. They are apparently Marcomanni men, but they might as well be foxes. They do not come to us, as if we were diseased. Bero's work, no doubt.'
We trekked through the silent, burned-out village, madly churned up pastures, and destroyed crops of rough barley and formerly precious wheat, and the small woods where we had played all our lives. Smoke was still rising from most of the ruins. Cellars had been unearthed, cows and pigs stolen. Coming to the familiar home I had known but a few days before, I stopped. Tudrus the Younger clapped me on my shoulder, shrugged, not knowing what to say, and pulled Agetan to the side where I saw his father and Quadi on horses, looking on steadily. The hall was half burned down, it's gray walls blackened. Men were around it, heaping wood over the corpses of our village. There was already a huge pile of cut timber around the hall, and Father's toiling men were hauling more with their sturdy horses, and the few, hale men helped.
Many men sat near, their limbs bandaged, some feverish, and I saw Quadi wounded amongst them. On the other shore, I noted, more Quadi stood in ragged ranks. Their dead had been brought there, too.
The Quadi were many, all armed and packed, the women hurrying to make ready. They were going somewhere.
I looked at the copse of formerly fine trees near our house. There, men were hung for the honor of the gods. Old Wulf was hopping around the swinging legs the hanged men, the few Vangione prisoners. Directed by Wulf, men thrust broad bladed spears at the corpse's bellies, while others held them still by the ankles. The old man was examining the innards of the foes, still hot and steaming as they burst out like writhing maggots. It was Woden's death and great magic to read such signs.
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