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

by Alaric Longward

  I ran for the hall.

  An armored guard was trying to stop me, confused. I dodged him and ran inside. The guards chased after me to the semi-dark, cursing profusely, getting in each other's way. The first thing I saw was an impressive banner, gray linen cloth with a grizzled white wolf howling and a heavy iron chain wound around the crossbar. It was the banner of Balderich and chain of Aristovistus before him. Then I stumbled on a loose plank and saw him. I fell on my knees before a long table, by which sat an ancient man, his right eye clear, left white. His lank hair was falling behind his back, his beard hanging on his knees, gray and white. His hands were shaking. He was stooping over a bowl, stuffing well-cut meat to his maw-like mouth. He wore a Roman style tunic and caligae on his gnarled feet, but no fine jewelry.

  A couple of slaves moved for me, and a beautiful woman in a blue woolen dress dodged in from behind a hung pelt, from the sleeping area.

  Balderich spat on the floor and stared at me.

  I jingled as I moved, and stumbled when the manacle caught on a seat.

  He started to laugh. He laughed hard and long, his eyes running with tears, bits of meat flying from his mouth.

  'Yes, slave? What is it, or are you here to amuse us?' he asked finally while the guards grabbed me roughly, forcing the seax out of my tight fist.

  The lady in blue came forward. 'Father, he looks like—'

  Balderich cut her off. 'A bloody mess. I doubt he is a killer, though. Why would anyone send a rat on a man's job? Who are you, boy? A rat or a man?'

  I calmed myself. 'I am Hraban, Lord, a man. The son of Maroboodus, grandson of Hulderic. And of yours.'

  The lady smiled hugely. 'He has Sigilind's eyes.'

  Balderich nodded and coughed hard, his back bending. He spat some blood on the floor.

  'I am your aunt, Gunhild.' The woman at me.

  She was in her thirties and beautiful as the moon, lithe like Mother had been. Grief overtook me for a second.

  Balderich recovered, and saw my tear-ridden face. 'What's wrong, boy? Have you never seen anyone die of old age?'

  'I have, and I also saw my family die.'

  His eyes hardened. 'Your father has caused many hardships for our family. Hulderic the Gothoni was my friend, but your father, he is dangerous.' He stopped and sat back, wondering. 'Why are you here, and why do you look like that? Alone? I know about my unfortunate, delicate daughter, so do not spin any fanciful stories and remind me of the pain I can barely stand.' He grimaced, and I took it as sorrow.

  I steeled my voice. 'I was being chased. By Bero, or rather his Chatti friends. I come instead of my father.' Balderich's eyes hardened, but I continued, 'I come, for he asks to be your man, like Hulderic was. He will be here for the Thing in one month. My other grandfather is dead, and so is your daughter, my mother, killed by Vago of the Vangiones of Rome before our eyes. We got no help, many of our men disappeared in the following days, and I know someone told the Vangiones about the village Father was to arrive at.'

  Gunhild, grieving, sat down, and Balderich sat still, very still. He pointed a finger at me. 'I told you, boy, not to speak of her death, but you still do so. And to speak of Bero thus is not wise. To indicate he had something to do with the tragedy, even less so.' He turned to a slave. 'Get Bero here,' he said, dejectedly.

  He gestured me aside, eating in silence, and Gunhild took me to the side of the table.

  'Sigilind's death hit him hard, as it did me. He nearly died of sorrow, and the pain does not ease, but you are alive. It consoles him. Believe me. It consoles me, Hraban,' she told me as she sat me down. She gave me warm milk and dry, crispy and delicious fish, sat by me, and waited.

  I suddenly remembered something. 'Lady, there is a man who helped me get here, Nihta, a great warrior. He fell from the horse, and I—'

  She raised a stern hand and whispered urgently to a man, who rushed out. Time went by slowly and men came in, warriors with Suebi hair knots, well-armed and ready. Balderich nodded at them, his own men, likely the same men who had ridden with Leuthard for our village not so long ago. I eyed the dark hall. There were old armor and beautiful weapons on the sparse walls. Skulls adorned the ceiling, former enemies of Balderich. Men who had stood against him in the past.

  Gunhild smiled as she saw my probing looks while I finished the fish. 'He enjoys Roman clothing, but used to fight like a Germani. Many of those skulls are Roman, though now, he prefers peace with the folk across the river.'

  I scowled at him and spoke to her. 'The Vangiones seem to disdain peace, Aunt.'

  'It is very complicated,' she said carefully. Then, there was a clattering of hooves. Men were dismounting, we heard some irate chatter and a loud clank of arms.

  A man entered.

  He looked like a thinner version of Hulderic, and his silky hair was dark, like mine, but his beard was long and plaited in gold loops. He stood at a curiously tilted posture, and his nose was long. His clothing was very rich with fine materials in his tunic and cloak made of sable fur.

  'Lord. You asked for me?' He glanced at my manacles and then stared at me. Catualda came in after him, smiling like a fat-lipped imp.

  Balderich grunted. 'That is evidently my grandson.' He pointed at me with a quivering chicken bone.

  Bero glanced at me, his face neutral. 'I suppose he is. He looks the part. Fresh from a fight, stubborn like a mule, and unreasonably angry.'

  Balderich smiled. 'He is the son of Maroboodus, and of my lost daughter. I see it in his face.'

  'Yes, Lord.'

  Balderich grunted again. 'The Chatti you have been entertaining were chasing him today. Observe his manacle and bruises. He had a man with him.'

  I grimaced. So, Bero had known the Chatti after all.

  Bero shrugged, speaking tediously. 'I cannot know what the Chatti have done. Perhaps they thought him a slave, running away? Surely, you should ask them? I cannot be held accountable on how my former guests behave after they leave. They are shifty Chatti, not honest Marcomanni, and could have wanted to rob them, even kill them. There is no fault in this. Wise men travel in large groups, and if one gets robbed or killed for being stupid, that is one's own responsibility. I cannot make war for each Marcomanni who disappear in the woods.'

  Balderich scowled. 'Bero, you lead my men, but the northern gau is mine, and Isfried of the south gau is my oathsman. I still hold sway over this land.'

  Bero smiled, nodded, and Balderich continued carefully, 'I will not have Chatti raiding our lands.'

  Bero grinned. 'I cannot pretend to know much about this, but I understood from my brief investigation they were not in the Marcomanni lands when this incident started. Though I admit, they chased him all the way to your breakfast table. I doubt they would dare do so if they knew he was a Marcomanni noble. They were also bringing Adalfuns the Crafter hither as a favor they thought we would well appreciate, since there is war in the Quadi lands.'

  I bit my tongue and kept quiet, barely able to scream for his obvious lies.

  Balderich rubbed his forehead. 'I see. You will bring me the man who was with this one. I will find out why your former guests were chasing after him.' He threw the chicken bone on the floor and grunted with pain. 'They should have been brought here, my family, after the savage attack. At least supplies should have been brought to them.'

  Bero was bristling. 'I learnt from my cowardly son and the famous vitka, Wulf, that his father assured them he would come here. They wanted no help. He did not sound, or look, starving. In fact, he was going to war, and many of the people with him.'

  Balderich waved his hand. 'Hraban? Is this so?'

  I spat. 'I saw no mules laden with the much-needed food, only warriors with spears. Were you bringing us spears to eat? We had plenty. The Vangiones left them on the battlefield. How did they get there, our enemy?'

  Balderich looked like he was going to be sick. 'I think you blame your great uncle needlessly, Hraban. You know he is—'

  'Yes, I know we are related,' I told
him, sulking, feeling my grand accusation had sounded somehow foolish.

  Bero snorted. 'I mean no harm to you, boy.' He walked over, and, with deft movement, took the manacles away. 'A Roman ship, Hraban, is a swift thing, and they are very clever with their river crafts. I have guards and spies, but they know how to surprise their enemy, just like we would. As for your friend, unfortunately, the Chatti are going to butcher him. A very deadly Chatti champion will duel him. Your man slashed at one foolish Chatti, and so they want him dead.'

  'What?' I said, getting up. 'He is my father's warrior. There is also a vitka with them, one called Odo.'

  Bero's face darkened. 'Yes, Odo is here as well.'

  Balderich grunted and spoke to me. 'You will relax, boy. You are welcome here, and so is your man, if he survives. Welcome both, as we wait for you quarrelsome father. You will forget the Chatti, and forgive their silly mistake. Odo is welcome, too. We know who he is, and he can stay in the village, despite the mistrust there is after he sided with your father, and perhaps for some other things in the past, more to do with our vitka who dislike and distrust them. We are not at war with great Maroboodus, after all.'

  'But Odo…' Bero started, but Balderich shook his head as he struggled up.

  Bero clenched his jaw, but nodded, his eyes flickering with fire, apparently struggling with the welcome extended to Odo. The tilted lord Bero looked like he had shit in his mouth as he brooded, and I found myself agreeing with him wholeheartedly. We saw each other's displeasure over Odo and grinned briefly. Catualda frowned at that, but Balderich was happy.

  He gestured for the door. 'Let us go out and clear the mess.'

  I ran out, and saw Adgandestrius holding Nihta's fabulous sword. Odo was there with the packhorse, and Bero stiffened as he saw the filthy, mad boy. Adgandestrius gazed at Balderich, and went on his knee.

  'Lord! This man has hurt a man of mine, and we will have him fight my champion.'

  Balderich shook his head, eyes rheumy from the smoke inside. 'Only if he is a warrior, or at least, a free man. And I still have no clear idea why you chased after him and Hraban.'

  Grandfather was trying to save Nihta, thinking him the underdog.

  'He is a warrior,' I spat and eyed Adgandestrius, hoping Hands would show his face.

  Balderich squinted at Nihta, who grinned back.

  The lithe warrior nodded. 'I am indeed a free man. I have no objections. They chased us on behalf of some man on the hill. It is clear. For whom?'

  People murmured at the slight man's bravado and words. 'Who hates Maroboodus, Hraban's fine father, so much as to try to slay his near helpless son?'

  Most men looked at Bero, who was nodding, seeing Nihta's game had started. I cursed him for painting me a weakling.

  'Adgandestrius is my name,' the Chatti said. 'My word is honest; I do not lie. No man hires a Chatti for foul murder and capture of innocents.'

  He did lie, of course, and I grinned at his hurt words.

  'We made a terrible mistake, Lord. Our dogs were dead, they were gone. We thought them runaway criminals, and wished to do you a favor. However, this man hurt a man of mine. We need blood to balance the uneven scales.'

  Balderich nodded, looking at Nihta, gauging me. 'Hraban. It was a mistake. They will fight. This will be the end of it then. I will talk with Adalfuns later and discover more, but after this fight, peace between all our guests.'

  I nodded, afraid for Nihta.

  The Chatti champion grinned as he sized Nihta up. 'Not very big, are you? Can you lift a sword? I can get you a knife, if you like.'

  The warrior was looking at Nihta as if he was a child. Nihta grinned at him and shook his head. I noticed Bero nod ever so slightly at the Chatti. They were in league, and wanted Nihta dead. Bero was hoping to cull Father's men, or even capture him, after crippling him.

  The adeling of the Chatti walked near Nihta, and he threw Nihta's gladius to his feet. 'He slashed Mannius just fine with this, so he won’t need a knife. Ulrich here, Nihta, has killed seven men in one-on-one combat. Hope you do not mind being the eighth.'

  Nihta nodded, measuring the Chatti. He did not seem overly concerned. The Chatti champion was staring at Nihta coldly, making lazy motions in the air with a wicked looking axe. Nihta started to undress, peeling off his tunic, his formidable physique shown to all, and I could see some women blush in the growing crowd. Nihta was on his pants, and he took off his shoes, for the grass was slippery and moist.

  The Chatti champion gestured at Nihta's pants impatiently. 'Take them off, too. They look fine, and I want no blood on my loot.'

  Nihta looked confused and glanced at his pants. Then he shook his head. 'I'm not interested, thank you,' Nihta said casually while getting his sword.

  Ulrich looked confused. 'You will not fight?'

  Nihta shook his head. 'Oh no, I will fight, but I remove my pants only for a woman. I know what you really want to see, but I prefer the eyes of the lusty maidens. Each to his own, I do not know the Chatti customs. No wonder you frighten your enemies.'

  Nihta took up the sword and pulled it out of the sheath. It glittered in the sun. Men murmured as they admired the weapon. The Chatti was staring at Nihta dumbly, and Adgandestrius sighed in exasperation, beckoned Ulrich over and whispered to his ear.

  'He meant what? That I wanted to …' Ulrich yelled. The adeling nodded, and made obscene gestures with his hips. Finally, the champion's face turned into a ferocious grimace. Before anyone could say anything, he charged with a bull-like roar, his wicked axe held overhand. Nihta turned casually to the enemy, dodged quickly as a gust of wind under the man's right arm, and stabbed upward, puncturing the man's side. The Chatti went down like a sack, whimpering, blood pumping wildly out of the surprisingly clean wound.

  'I think we are done here, Lord?' Nihta asked Balderich, who looked aghast at the dying Chatti.

  Grandfather nodded, and the Chatti prince shook his head sadly, kneeling next to the dying man, bloody froth bubbling from Ulrich's lips. He glanced at Nihta furiously but said nothing.

  Balderich got up painfully and addressed people standing in a circle around us.

  He gestured at me. 'Welcome my long awaited grandson, Hraban. There will be a fine feast to honor him. Bero will host it.'

  Nihta bowed to Balderich. 'I will find Odo and myself a place to stay.'

  Balderich nodded slowly. 'You will not stay under my roof?'

  Nihta shook his head. 'I merely brought Hraban here. We will await Maroboodus. I will ask around and find us a hall.'

  Balderich's eyes were hard. 'Make sure we know where that is.'

  Nihta nodded, grinning. 'Your word, Lord,' he said, bowing to my grandfather while the Chatti sneered at him with hostility.

  I was happy. Father was far, and I had people I wanted to get to know. I would be careful with Bero, but I felt safe with beautiful Gunhild and not-so-senile Balderich.

  I was a fool.

  I heard men around us admire Nihta, and heard them talk about his exceptional quality as a warrior.

  But my father was already there, and he had subtle plans, many I did not know about.

  CHAPTER VIII

  I had lived in a relatively small village all my life. Granted, there were many smaller ones, but it was not a grand thing, nonetheless. We had plenty of space, and some peace most of the time. Compared to Hard Hill, ours had been a sad little hamlet, bereft of glory and interest. I was truly a peasant.

  Oppidum, a hill town, was a wondrous thing. Though this one was not fortified, it was still powerful, for many of the best warriors lived in the place. It was different from our settlements, certainly, though I heard Mattium of the Chatti, and their mountain forts, were even more different.

  The hill by Rhenus was beautiful. Light woods, brilliant multi-colored pastures. It was a gently sloping hill, brimming with well-built houses, halls of all kinds, and thriving life. There were plenty of buildings and smaller villages around the hill, as far as the eye could see, amidst smal
l woods and the fields of sweet wheat and rough barley, lazy meadows, and subtle dirt roads, but the hill itself had a magical quality about it.

  On that first day, Nihta showed me around. The Red Hall could be seen from many points, and Bero's brownish hall was overlooking the huge, beautiful river. We observed from an open doorway Bero's opulent Roman wares; fine glass of many colors, strange tapestries and even a painting on fabric. Many Gaulish servants ran around, most of them but boys. They conveyed orders and Bero's wishes to nobles, craftsmen and merchants. Strange traders and stranger diplomats from all the winds seemed to visit him.

  Down below, Nihta showed me the harbor. We had harbors, most just a small thing of planks for ships to moor at, but here, there were proper, long stone and timber constructs for ships. There were ships, too. Most were well-built rowboats, some larger, other smaller ones, mostly traders from the south. Curiously, there were also mighty navis onageria from Roman Moganticum and the far south, even from the Alps. Roman, Gaul, and Germani ships. There were warehouses of thick wood and some halls that were a curious mix of ours, but also something I assumed was Roman, with wooden pillars and guards in Gaulish bracae pants. The harbor was guarded, we saw, with a gate and a modest moat, and some lazy archers.

  Nihta saw I was impressed. 'Bero is not a bad ruler. No hunger here. Trade, few major wars. Roman and Gaul down there in the harbor, side-by-side with the Germani.' I nodded, impressed. 'But your father, he is a warrior. These people will love a flashing sword more than mundane porridge, no matter how constant and reliable. I think Bero has forgotten he governs a Germani town, not a Roman one, and has forgotten we do not sing about harvest, but split skulls and spilled blood.'

  'How many men does Bero have?' I asked, awed at the sights. I spied a hundred Marcomanni ride north, under Leuthard.

  'Marcomanni? If a full muster is sounded, south and north gau both? Fifteen thousand? His personal ten champions, some eight hundred men. Those men riding out will guard Hard Hill. However, not from the outside foes. They will keep us in, and there are dogs and experienced guards and no doubt priests making magical wards. We are not leaving, Hraban. Of course I could, but I am a willing prisoner.'