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

by Alaric Longward

  'How will Father conquer this?' I asked. 'Surely, no matter his fame, it will be impossible for him to stride into a Thing and talk Bero to death?'

  'By determination and magic,' he told me carefully. 'Come, there will be a celebration soon, Lord Hraban. They will like you, you will like them. They will understand you, and you will cry for their stories, which are sad and noble. You will be family. If they wish oaths, give them. Nothing is stronger than the oath you gave your father. If they ask you to betray us, play it smartly, smile and betray us until we act. I will keep Odo safe until the right night comes, the one to act. You stay true to your father, in your heart. No matter if he does not believe you to be his son.'

  I was struck by his words, which he did not mean to be malicious nor evil, but I brooded as I went up.

  Honor, Hulderic had said. Obey your father, he told me. But the bastard truly hated me.

  I saw the preparations as I reached the top of the hill, and I remember thinking back to our feasts, the Yule and others while we lived in the woods of Moenus. Ours had been homely. This was a grand one.

  Balderich took a good, long look at me when I came back to the hall. He sneezed as if I was covered in hay and pointed at Gunhild, who took me aside, smiling. She was a lot like Mother had been, but there was a barely veiled nervousness and sadness in her.

  She forced me into a bath.

  A large wooden tub, soap, a thing unknown in Rome, and vigorous scrubbing was in store for me. She let me undress in peace, but would not go away after I sat in the warm water, insisting on washing my hair.

  'By Frigg, you are a disgrace. Did Sigilind not show you how to make yourself presentable? No woman will look at a dirty mongrel like you. Is that horse shit?' She attacked a spot behind my ear.

  I gave up the desperate fight and let her work.

  'You married, Aunt?' I asked her, subdued by her energy.

  She smiled sadly. 'No, I am a widow. War party last year. He served Isfried of the south. He was a noble from the south gau, and we were married for fifteen years. I moved back here after he died. Matticati cut him down, they say. Few saw it. Now, they think what to do with me. Marry again, perhaps. I have been a tied to the blood of Aristovistus for Isfried of the south, and I doubt he is willing to let go of that. In fact, I know he is not.'

  'Like myself, I think,' I said, angrily. 'Though I do not mean the marrying part,' I added hastily. 'The part with them thinking on what is to become of me. All of them. Should not be so for a man, only a woman.'

  She slapped me with a rag, laughing. 'You seem like an untamed horse or a large hog in a pigsty. Perhaps you should be broken by a good marriage? A stern woman to tell you how to live? As for me, I just try to survive. My husband was a cousin to lords Isfried, Melheim, and Burlein. A good man. We did not have children, but he did not blame me for it.' I saw her face tighten. She was brave but unhappy. 'I was pregnant twice, but Holda the goddess took them to her care before they were born.'

  'I am sorry, Aunt. However, you are still relatively young and fairly attractive. Someone will have you,' I told her cheekily.

  She brightened and slapped me again, this time to my face, and tried to dunk my head under water.

  Gunhild sighed in exasperation. 'You are not only filthy, you have no idea how to speak to a lady!' she told me. I laughed. She did too, and I liked her, and missed Mother. 'But you are right,' she continued. 'I will marry again if Bero gets his way.'

  'Surely he is married already?' I told her. 'Is it about the blood of Aristovistus he missed out on when Sigilind married Father?'

  'So you understand some of the sordid family history. It is. Gods, your father was so handsome when he courted her. I remember it well.'

  'He is fat now,' I lied maliciously, and she laughed with a clear voice.

  'In any case, Bero has a wife, and I was married to Isfried's family to keep the southern gau in line. Balderich purposefully gave us away to anyone but Bero. That way, he would hold the balance if Bero proved hard to handle. Now, Bero makes the plans for me. Balderich and him, they know each other well by now and have common plans. Isfried of the south expects me to marry him, or at least back into his family. Bero has promised this. However, we will see. Bero has many plans as well.'

  'He could drown his wife, and finally have a shot at the blood, no?' I grinned.

  'Ugh!' she spat. 'I do not want him. However, we will see. Fathers decide for the common girl whom they marry. The needs of the tribe decide for the noble ladies.'

  'Sounds like slavery to me,' I growled, and she rolled her eyes at my quarrelsome mood.

  'Now, you are here. Are you going to defend Balderich?' she asked me. 'He is the master, no matter which one of your family takes over in his name.'

  I did not make a commitment. 'The old man seems nice enough, not nearly as addled as people in the country say,' I told her.

  A man snorted from the dark doorway.

  'Daughter, best stop talking about forced marriages, or he will try to liberate you from our evil clutches,' said Balderich thinly, leaning on the doorframe. 'Is he clean? Have him wear this.' He threw down clean clothes.

  Gunhild nodded, embarrassed. 'He is old, fat and clumsy, but still can sneak up on us,' she whispered.

  'Gossiping like pouting girls, no?' Balderich said, smiling at me, his rotten teeth prominently presented.

  'She was gossiping, I was encouraging her,' I told him, and looked at the woolen pants, clean shoes, and white tunic.

  'Belt, too. Here,' he told me and handed over a pigskin belt with a bronze buckle, a plummeting raven carved in the middle.

  'Thank you…' I started clumsily, stammering, as I did not know what he wanted to be called.

  'Grandfather, Lord, my Lord, or old deaf bastard, as some say in the countryside, thinking I am near death.' I blushed, but he waved it away, grinning. 'I am sorry for Hulderic. He was a mighty man. Bero does not acknowledge it, for the justified grudges he has against him, but Hulderic served us well. He made war, used spies well, and brought us lots of much-needed food in the autumns, and he also raised you two.'

  The water was getting cold, and I fidgeted, wishing to be standing while speaking with the old man, but Gunhild was still there. I blushed as I tried to keep my modesty.

  I looked at the old man's one good eye. 'We never met you. I am not sure what to think about that.'

  'You did. You were but a toddler, a babe. Bero was here, and I did not want him to start fearing you, and he would have, had I met you more often. Bero is a good man, but dangerous heirs have died by the blades of good men before, eh? The lord of a tribe, Hraban, needs fine tact.' Balderich grunted as he shifted his considerable weight. 'Nevertheless, I got news about you, and Gernot, from Wulf.'

  'So, you know of us. Then you know Gernot is a treasonous, boy lover, and well deserving of a dull axe in his rotten skull?' I told him ferociously, and he laughed hard and long.

  'Aye, I know. Smart as a fox, but lazy and conniving, and I know you are hard-headed, brutal to him, and have much to do with his issues.'

  'I do not! He is the liar who…'

  'He would still be lazy, and perhaps even a viperous ass licker.' Balderich started to leave. 'But had you treated him fairly and more like a brother, perhaps he would be your viperous ass licker.'

  I stammered and settled down until Gunhild snickered. 'You better get out, nephew. The cold water has shriveled you.'

  I cursed her dirty humor and dressed up like a finest lord.

  Being a guest of honor in a huge feast is a thing to remember. As I exited the dark house, a hundred bearded faces hailed me, full of happiness, their great ale and intricate mead horns high up in the air, sloshing liquids on themselves and their neighbors. Balderich was grinning, joining them, and even the aloof Bero, my great uncle, raised a horn with a wide grin. Balderich waved his hands to silence the crowd. I was blushing from pleasure.

  I saw Nihta speaking with a blond, arrogant looking man in hushed, angry tones.
>
  Gunhild grinned and brought me a fine horn as well, a beautiful, silver-lined thing made of an ox, tapering to the end, gray and brown.

  Bero leaned on me. 'It is yours. Made from a sacred ox last year. Take care of it, for it cost me dearly,' he said, tilted to the side, his face a mystery. 'Enjoy,' he added and waved his arm around the tables heaped with food and drink. Boiled lentils, cuts of boar, juicy deer and plain stewed cow, turnips of unsurpassed taste, and next to them, barrels and barrels of fine drink.

  I nodded at him in thankful awe, and inspired by this, Bero nodded back at me, raised his horn and announced, 'He is my blood, men. Balderich's grandson, and survivor of the attack by the Vangiones. Sigilind, his mother, your lady, lies dead. Hail him, and hail her!'

  They hailed me, they hailed her, and I nodded in gratitude to my great uncle. I saw Catualda grinning at me in the thick crowd, rolling his eyes at my obnoxiously obvious pleasure, his wide lips smacking in disgust. I grinned back, and could not stop from being happy as people greeted me warmly. I was a Marcomanni, celebrated, cheered, and loved.

  I would miss that evening.

  I still did, and remembered the gentle, warm wind, the happy faces, and the feeling of safety and belonging.

  'Come. Let us celebrate his homecoming, men, and hope he stays with us for a long time, despite his father's return,' Bero added, and I heard men agree heartily and some actually grumble. Others were silent, giving the tilted lord sideward glances.

  They had doubts about Bero, some had at least. Nihta had been around for but one day, and already men knew of Maroboodus and the coming terrible confrontation. I saw Nihta speak with the serious Hands, who was listening to him with rapt attention. Perhaps my warrior was warning the bounty hunter to avoid me.

  I was led to sit in the middle table between Bero and Balderich, and the feast truly began. Men drank too much and gambled excessively, some fought savagely when they lost on a toss of a dice. A man with a feud tried to strangle his foe, their families joining in, but heavy-handed Leuthard, armed and accompanied with guards, broke an arm, and they calmed down, their fight waiting for a better day or a night.

  Balderich gestured at the men. 'Over a horse. Thieving dogs. They steal each other's animals, and come here to cry. It is hard being a lord to hard people. That one, a Bructeri, originally. Murderer, like his family.' He pointed at the man being led away, whose arm had been broken. 'The other one, a Semnone, young and savage, bent on fame and riches. The real thief, I suspect, but a good fighter.’

  'You remember their names?' I scanned the multitude as more and more men arrived at the feast. 'Are the Chatti here? And Adalfuns? I don't see Odo.'

  Balderich interrupted Bero's answer wryly, 'Odo is not here. We do not know where he is. The Chatti left, save for the bounty hunter. Adalfuns is crafting a fanciful table for me in some dark workshop nearby. He dislikes these events. Calls them a damnable nuisance.'

  Bero snickered darkly. 'He hates crowds. But as to your question, we do know their names. I know not how Hulderic has trained you, but a great, righteous lord knows the men, or the men get to know a new, better lord. Our father taught us this. Warriors! They are all vain, thinking only about their worth. Forget to mention it to them every now and then, and they will get depressed. Depressed men think too much.'

  'And who,' I asked prudently, 'reminds my great uncle of his worth?'

  Catualda appeared, clapped my back hard and laughed. 'The fat priests and the Romans!'

  Bero munched on greasy meat, burping and wiping his fingers as he gestured to his offspring. 'That there, Hraban, is my son. My remaining son. He has a big mouth, a rebellious attitude and dangerous opinions and, alas, has not the blood of Aristovistus in him. What use is such a son to a man and lord of the Marcomanni?'

  Catualda sobered and stopped smiling. He walked off to the crowds, and I saw we had much in common.

  Bero sighed. 'I will speak with him later. However, he is right. All men who want something from me praise me profusely; I do not lack such praise. Your Wulf, for example. He praises me. But then, he is grateful to be finally living here.'

  I toyed with my mead horn, feeling a bit drunk. 'I know he has been staying with us, spying.'

  'Serving, Hraban,' Bero corrected me. 'He served us. But he asked to be close to you. He thinks the ring coming here held dire meaning. He is not an old fool. He noticed Hulderic staring at it quite often, and he knows its history. He is worried about the prophecy that runs amok in our family.'

  I was silent. The ring. The prophecy. I chased the thought away. I wanted to be happy that night. We looked on, cheering as some deft men and lithe youths came to dance the spears and the swords, a wild and dangerous sport where one dodged swift weapon thrusts, adopting acrobatic stances, and laughed wildly at danger. Many a woman chose their husband based on their skill in this dance, thinking it would be useful to have a husband who was adept enough to survive a battle.

  'Your father has my ring?' Bero inquired, some impatience evident, as I had not picked up on the topic.

  'Yes, he holds it,' I told him with a sigh, and an awkward silence reigned between us.

  Finally, Balderich nodded. 'Wulf brought me many news of you. How you were doing. How my long missed daughter fared.'

  I nodded, but remembered how Hulderic had warned me about Wulf. I would look out for him now, old friend or not.

  Bero spat. 'My lord and I, we have not always agreed on everything. My brother Hulderic's worth was not great in my eyes. But Wulf kept him alive.' I shook my head in anger, but Bero placed a steady hand on my arm. 'He did. I chased after Hulderic all those early years, after he took my ring, and let Maroboodus live, even after the prophecy indicated he was the Bear. Now, I am not a great believer, but Hulderic was, and he betrayed me. When he finally settled here, I settled here, bent on revenge and recovering my lot. When he conquered Sigilind, I lost a son. By then, Gunhild was promised to Harumar of the south. The ring went with your father, after Hulderic refused to fight me. What did I have left but wallow in misery, trying to be useful to my Lord Balderich here? Wulf told me your grandfather was in relative peace, at my avenging spear's range, not harboring plans of desperate flight, nor had dreams of power. I let him live.'

  I breathed hard. Let him live? 'Hulderic was a mighty warrior. I doubt he thought about your spears. And you killed each other's men yearly.'

  Bero laughed. 'We did. We kept the feud going. However, I had a reason for the feud. Do you know why I am here?'

  Balderich observed the interaction in stoic silence.

  I shook his hand free. 'Other than the Woden's Ring? Draupnir's Spawn.'

  Bero's eyes glittered in the dark. 'Yes. That is part of it. It was mine. I married first. It would have made me a powerful man. He took it because our fool of a mother dreamt of death. Prophecy? Your father, the ring? Hulderic took them away, and did not trust me with my legacy. I would have guarded the great ring. But what followed was innocent death. Our cousin, may Woden rape him, rode to our unprepared villages after Hulderic left, gutted by lack of leadership already by Hulderic's flight, and they burned mercilessly and killed everyone they disliked. I barely managed to escape. Had Hulderic stayed, we would have fought him and likely won. He was the warrior; I was the strategist. So, I had a feud against him, and I wanted my ring.' He cleared his throat. 'My wife and unborn child died, my mother too. I will never forget or forgive.'

  We sat there in silence. He had lost a beloved wife, precious children, a mother. His loss was great.

  He smiled and took up some thick, red liquid in a fine horn. 'Wine, from far, far away. It eases my withering soul, Hraban. It makes me think fewer harsh thoughts. It makes me forget what is just and what is not. In the end, your grandfather Balderich here convinced me it was the best cure for my soul, to serve and grow stronger, help make Marcomanni stronger, and let Hulderic live. I did, but I did not forgive him.'

  'And now, he is dead, and I am here. Did you try to capture me, Uncle?'
I asked quarrelsomely.

  He shook his head. 'I did not. Adgandestrius was my guest, but that fool is not someone to trust. If I wanted to capture you, I would have sent the unerring Leuthard. He would have found you and taken you, Nihta or not. Your father surprised me. He sent you here. Why?'

  Balderich leaned back in his seat, sighing. 'The boy hardly knows that. He does not know his father.'

  Bero shook his head. 'No, Lord. He does not. But you see, Hraban, while I let Hulderic live, I have never forgiven your father either. If you lose a child of your own, you will find it is a different kind of loss from anything else. It can break you. It can make you hunt for revenge, heedless of the time it takes and friends you lose, and it makes you abandon all your former hopes. You will never be the man you were. No matter if your child is slow to think, or quick to act rashly. He is your son, your child.'

  I took a ragged breath, and he clapped my shoulder, finding Nihta, who was again speaking with chiefs and the older, blond man I had seen earlier. 'Nihta there is offering tales of buffoonery from faraway lands. Isfried of the south is keen to listen, is he not?'

  So, the blond man was the lord of the southern half of the Marcomanni. A hard man, and somehow desperate-looking.

  Balderich snorted. 'He tells them of his many scars. Thus, he tells them fabulous stories of his Lord Maroboodus. Nihta!' Balderich yelled and gestured at the warrior, who smiled happily and glided forth gracefully. Balderich got up. 'Be welcome here, warrior of my son-in-law. No man will harm you, for you likely would harm them first.' Laughter and applause broke the praise for a moment. 'Here!' Balderich threw Nihta a silvery Roman denarius. 'For keeping my grandson safe.'

  Nihta grabbed it deftly from the air, and looked deeply troubled as if he held a turd. Men noted it, and silence reigned. Nihta smiled, and fingered the coin uncertainly.

  Bero sneered. 'Is it too little, mercenary?'

  Nihta shook his head. 'It is Roman.'