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

by Alaric Longward

  Bero got up, embraced me warmly and left.

  I felt nothing but shame. Woden was watching, and likely thought me a worthless maggot. I had kept no oath but failed them all.

  That night, I toyed with the idea of going to find Nihta, of telling him everything. I also nearly went to Balderich, to tell him about the incident with Isfried.

  I did not sleep well. In fact, I did not close my eyes. I kept reminding myself of the foul oath I was forced to give to father, and how I still might save Ishild, even if there might not be more than gentle friendship between us.

  Next morning, Nihta was not there to train me, but there was a gladius under my bed. It was an old one, used yet sharp, and I wondered at it. It was half the weight of the useless wooden sword and moved fast like a snake. I loved it with all my heart. I hid it under my tunic and belt, already crowded with the seax.

  Many famous chiefs were calling on Balderich, who hailed them from his great stool as he ate.

  I walked around the green hill, cursing the torture of indecision that made me unhappy. I thought about Nihta and how he had survived after seemingly impossible suffering, to conquer, and I wondered if this was the way other men grew up. I was betraying my father and in my heart, I was trying to forgive myself. The fanciful, ancient gear they had placed at my feet, the promises of honor and fame all tasted sour as the driest sand in my mouth, and I suspected I would hate myself after father was dead.

  I went to the river, and thought of what I had done. The day was beautiful enough, light gray clouds were racing across the solemn sky. Some daring black grouse could be heard in a thicket not far from me, fighting, as was their wont.

  The day turned to a beautiful evening full of bird-song, and I still fretted. On top of the clamoring hill, great preparations were ongoing for the Thing of the Marcomannic chiefs.

  A man suddenly sat next to me, and I rolled in surprise, drew the sharp seax, and abruptly got stuck on a stubborn root by the hidden gladius hilt sticking out behind me. The man laughed merrily, holding his sides.

  'Easy!' he chuckled. Catualda. 'You look more startled than the yon fish does!'

  The glittering fish was staring up at us with its eyes bulging, mouth open. Catualda's blond hair was hanging wetly on the sides of his head, his fat lips were pursed as he regarded me suspiciously.

  'It cannot be that you seriously think I aim to murder you. Even if my father welcomes you to the family, I am his true son. You are needed, perhaps even liked, but I am the heir. I would not kill you here, in the sunlight, if I harbored such thoughts.'

  I sat up and put the seax away. 'I am to be feared. Especially by my family.'

  He laughed and pulled me next to him. 'Yes, I sense you have been given options that are hard to accept, if you are a good person. But do not worry about them, Hraban.'

  'Why not? I seem damned no matter what.' I spoke freely to him, for I needed someone to unload my heart.

  Catualda swiped his hand towards Bero's hall. 'He is not a good father. Not sure if it is the hardships, or if he was born backwards, but sometimes I do not wonder that Hulderic fled the north. Allies like him? Bero? Faugh. You would have to learn to read poetry and write meaningless letters to know what he is doing,' Catualda spat. 'A scribe more than a warrior.'

  I snorted in derision. 'I hear all the great war chiefs knew how to do those things. How else would you convey your will across far hills and deep forests?'

  He nodded and blinked at me with surprise. 'Yes. However, those chiefs also had particularly good skills with sword, and leading other swords. They were more warriors than cowardly diplomats, who are trying to give your lands to the enemy.'

  I sighed. 'Give the lands off to the enemy? Your father, I assume, is the diplomat you are talking about.'

  He hung his head in shame, holding it with both hands, breathing deeply. 'I sought you out for we both face harsh choices. Your father has treated you with severity uncommon in a family, implying things about your mother one should avenge, I agree that much. Yet, I have lived with my father all my life. The ring was his greatest possession, even above Maino and me. He hoped to carve a kingdom in the north with its power.'

  'It's just a ring, and men should not rely on such things,' I told him.

  'I agree. However, lacking the ring, he has made life here, and served Balderich like a filthy dog. But Balderich, your grandfather, he is no Aristovistus.'

  'I warn you, Catualda, not to…'

  'I am leaving, Hraban. I cannot stand the shame, and if you will not listen, all I can tell Woden in my prayers is that I tried to warn you.'

  'Warn me?'

  He took a deep breath and waved uphill. 'Balderich will meet a man today. The man will give him much coin, and they will discuss things they are planning. The man is a fat Roman. You know there are many shifty Romans here, envoys some, merchants others. When Bero takes over, this land will belong to Rome. A Roman fort will overlook these fine fields and formerly free hills around us, and I cannot stand it. I have plans elsewhere. Your grandfather will retire into Gaul, very soon, into a villa. The estate is set aside at Narbo Martius. The lord of Rome, Octavianus and his men, Polybius and Hilarion have confirmed it.' His voice took a derogatory note. 'It is a large estate: sweet vine, bitter olives, fat sheep, plenty of slaves, and a brewery. The place is whitewashed, in good repair, and the grand envy of its rich neighbors. He will live richly.'

  I shook my head tiredly, bitterness filling my mouth as would a rotten apple. 'And you are not trying to break my budding relationship with my new family with lies?'

  He laughed bitterly. 'I wish to break my relationship with them. And I have proof.'

  I shook my head in denial. 'I do not wish to see any proof. I doubt Octavianus would sully his hands in these mundane issues. A Roman fort here, Bero giving us over to Rome? I am…'

  He put a hand on my shoulder. 'Giving this hill to Rome, Hraban, will open Rome a route to the backsides of the Chatti and a gateway to new lands. Octavianus is always signing such disgraceful deals with traitors. There are many Germani lords who die to their countrymen's axes if they try to sell their tribe to Roman thralldom, but Balderich is too great. The land will fall, one unhappy village at a time. I cannot stand it. And then, your surprising father returned.'

  I shook my head, tired. 'Yes, he did.'

  He snickered as he shook his head. 'Your father, the enemy of Rome? Imagine, should he come to power, even to modest position to thwart the plans of Bero? It would be terrible for Rome. So, they want him gone. Soon. And you, the fool, will stand by Bero, giving his actions legitimacy in the eyes of the Marcomanni. You. Or your opportunistic brother, Gernot.'

  And that was enough to convince me.

  I hissed. 'And you said you have proof.'

  He nodded uncertainly. He licked his lips and hesitated, but I grabbed his tunic and pulled him closer to me.

  'The proof, Catualda,' I demanded.

  'I am sorry,' he said miserably. 'Your grandfather, as I just said, fears his plans go to ruin. He fears his people will disapprove of him and so, he and Father told the Vangiones where your father lived.'

  'The proof,' I sneered, rage filling making my body tremble.

  He opened his fist and dropped a fibula on my lap. It was silver, made of finest, intricate thread, the small hammer marking building it into a unique piece of art, round with an alert deer peering around. It had been the one Vago took from Mother when she died. I stared at it, unable to comprehend what it meant.

  'Balderich received it as a payment for the help he gave to locate your father. He did weep, a bit, when he saw it, but he would rather lose a daughter than his own sordid future. It was in his hoard under his seat, and I risked a lot to steal it.'

  I cried bitterly, and he kept a steadying hand on my back. He was patient and spoke softly to me, hoping I would be all right, and I let him console me until the tears were spent. I shuddered, crushing the fibula in my fist in anger.

  He nodded and spoke
softly. 'I am leaving, Hraban. I think you should come with me. We go north, and leave this unhappy land to itself. I know you betrayed your father, Bero told me as he showed me this.' He procured Odo's bottle and twirled it between his fingers. 'Should you stay and your father wins, perhaps you would not enjoy his company after what you did. And if he dies, you cannot stay with Balderich either. I wish no part of their future. Come with me.'

  I did not have to think about it. I wiped my tears and swallowed in anger. I took the bottle from his hands and gazed at it. I would see them suffer. Balderich and Bero, no matter what Father thought of me.

  Catualda looked moved as he sat there, understanding what I was about to do.

  He gagged, shook and took a deep breath. 'You inspire me, Hraban. You do. Therefore, I will stay as well and help you, and gods hump us no matter what happens. Bero said that was to be used in the Meadows. If your father is to stand a chance, the vitka must be incapacitated. But how will you get there?'

  I was thinking hard and shrugged. 'You will go and tell them to move. Tell them Maroboodus is sighted up north, and they must make haste.'

  'Fulch the Red is not the sharpest man in the Hard Hill,' Catualda allowed, his eyes narrowing. 'I will do this. I will try. Let us hope Leuthard is not there, for that would doom us. I shall go at once, for the sun is setting. They should be there, every vitka present, all praying. Let us hope for the best, Hraban, and I thank you for inspiring me with your self-sacrifice and bravery!'

  I nodded at him. 'Father might welcome you, if not me.'

  'We will see. If he should, I shall work to elevate you in his eyes,' he told me, and we clasped hands, and he left.

  I sat there, cursing my relatives, fingering the remains of my mother's fibula. They had terrible plans, and the plans had called for a sacrifice of blood, and I could not forgive them. I would do everything in my power to topple Balderich and Bero, gods help me.

  I remembered Odo's request, and cursed coarsely as I clutched his bottle, ran down to the docks, and climbed the moat, unseen. I ran inside a quiet house, one that looked strangely Germani, but with something Roman about its thick, wooden colonnades and subtle details. Balderich and Bero. The two-faced bastards honeying me with sweet words.

  Grandfather had received coin for the deaths of my family, Hulderic's and Sigilind's included. I felt like a leaf in the current as I rummaged around the strange, very clean house with paintings on the walls. Soon, in the foyer, I found a sturdy stone altar with weird idols. I found a statue of Hercules, a Germani looking man with a curly beard and a hefty club. I also noticed a small pendant statue of Mercury, god of thieves. Marcus had told me about the tiny wings on his feet. It was beautiful and strange, and so I took it, too. I would need all the gods on my side, and this god was tricky and likely understood young fools, perhaps better than our own gods did.

  I ran up the hill and spied Balderich standing with some chiefs, laughing merrily, a bit drunk and happy. I hesitated, the fibula in my hand, and approached him. He noticed me, nodded at his companions and came to me.

  'You have not,' he said, a bit worried, 'come to regret our friendship, Hraban?'

  'No, Lord,' I lied. 'I just wonder at a rumor I heard. Could not be true, or perhaps it is?'

  'What rumor is this, boy? The tribes are full of gossiping men and women.'

  'Will you die here, in Hard Hill, long years from now, or shall you seek a peaceful, beautiful place someplace else? In far Gaul, perhaps?'

  'Ah!' he said, ashamed, but apparently relieved. 'I will visit Hard Hill, Hraban, often. But the rumor is true. One day soon, I hope to relax and enjoy some peace. I will let Bero launch his war with the Vangiones, but I am too old, Hraban. Too old. I will toast his success, and pray my daughter is avenged, but you see I cannot fight, can't you?'

  'Why would Rome welcome you?' I asked.

  'Why? For coin. I will pay for a modest villa,' he noted. 'I am not rich enough to live like a king, but I will enjoy some comfort,' he told me. 'They won't even know who I am.'

  I smiled. It was the hardest smile in my life so far, and I just shrugged at him as I squeezed the fibula in my hand. He lied like a filthy dog. 'Yes, of course. I will miss you, Grandfather.'

  'I will visit, Hraban, oh yes,' he told me and turned as a man was pulling at his sleeve, and so I took my leave.

  Catualda had not lied.

  I ran out of Hard Hill, trying to fathom the right way amidst the twisting buildings and fences of the nightly village and the many strange fields. Then I got my bearings and ran, terrified at the many alert guards likely in place around the woods. I ran a long time, thanking Nihta for the many grueling hours of torturous training, when a cavalcade of horses rode out of the night. I fell on my face and saw them pass, and noticed Catualda amidst them, Fulch the Red, Ermendrud's father scowling behind his back. The young, fat-lipped man was gesturing for the north, and the men were whipping their horses madly. I grinned and hoped they would not hang Catualda, should things go badly for Father after all.

  I ran over dark pastures, made my way across wild fields and sturdy fences, dodged sleeping cows and pasturing horses, and ran from a startled guard dog. I was panting hard, covered in a clammy sweat, and surprisingly tired when I made it to the small copse of wood. There, in the dark, I saw some men had been left behind, a few guards looking forlornly at the dark, whispering to themselves in their suddenly lonely vigil. They were pointing north, not too far, where a curious sight was taking place. A building was on fire, and I saw horses and men running about near it, like shadows briefly visiting the world of the solids, these wraiths seemed to be waging a battle. A series of distant yells were heard, and I was sure this was the troop

  Catualda had left north, full of high champions and deadly warriors. What could they be fighting with? I shrugged and decided it did not matter, sneaked slowly around the few men guarding the vitka and went forward.

  I took a deep, ragged breath, plunged to the holy wood, and nearly screamed at a tiny marmot crossing my path, for I was scared and tense. I looked around, and calmed myself. It was a small, ancient wood, where old idols and strange amulets were hanging from ancient alder tree branches like bizarre dolls, leering and staring at me in the weak light of the moon. I felt like a mouse on a clear field, the gods looking at me with judgment and disapproval.

  There were no guards as far as I could see, only the few unhappy men I had already passed. Catualda had done his deed well, and I blessed him, and wished him luck.

  I went deeper, sneaking, moving my feet like I had seen Nihta do, brushing stones and twigs aside carefully. Amidst the tress ahead, I saw shallow beams of light and headed that way. There, in the middle of the woods, was a place of flowery tranquility, a meadow full of colorful plants, lit by fierce torches. Two women were seated in front of an old, painted stone, and Wulf was sitting on it, changing his woolen clothes to heavy furs. A young girl, I noticed, was looking around behind the two women, bored, but directed to remain still by one of the women.

  I caught a glimpse of the girl's pretty face and cursed.

  She had a dimple on her cheek. There was something familiar about her, and I wondered how such a tiny thing could have such a part to play in the plans of the gods. Then again, so did I, and I snorted.

  A dozen or more figures hunched in a shadowy circle around the stall, humming. Wulf was chanting strongly now, finally dressed in a weird suit of gray feathers and dark furs, asking mighty Donor to bless the solemn prayers and high Woden to grant them much-needed wisdom. His beard was jutting stubbornly, his neck adorned with thin silver chains. He had grown prosperous after he rode in with Bero.

  I saw the ruin of an old house and groped my way in the darkness, feeling the used trail that led some ways to the side of the shack, over a flat, mossy rock. I went forward. There was a small hole, a deep cellar near a boulder. I nearly fell into a dark passageway, for the stone was slippery, and I swore softly. I looked back, but no one was coming. Soon, I was taking some
careful steps into the frightening darkness. Inside the hole, a musty smell filled my nostrils, and I tried to adjust my eyes to the darkness. I groped around and found a wooden barrel where funny smelling liquid was cool to my touch, and I had to stop myself from licking my own finger. I took out the wooden vial Catualda had given me and opened the stopper.

  I thought of the vile pretender, Balderich, and cursed the madly corrupt Bero. I imagined their faces as they praised me and imagined the laughter that they must have shared at my slain family's expense. I poured the small amount of liquid to the barrel.

  I was going to move up, but then a man was coming, his steps heavy, and he was close enough to smell his sweat. I heard him scrambling on the rock. I froze and remembered how our warriors avoid looking at a torch or any other light before going out at night, and I realized that the man could not see as well as I did. He was muttering and fumbling his way down the stairs. Then he grabbed something that sloshed around as he carried it up. His leg brushed mine, and I held my breath. Then he was gone.

  I followed him and lay down near the track. Wulf was beckoning to the man, and he brought the cask over to the stone. The old vitka was praying with a steady voice, shuddering a bit as he kept up the constant, annoying murmurs, in which the others now took part in, rhythmically calling out to the gods. I heard Woden's name several times, and I was about to lose patience when Wulf finally took a wooden bowl and plunged it into the cask. He sprinkled some liquid on the stone and then dipped his wand in the liquid. Then he offered the bowl to the girl, who tentatively took it to each of the men.

  They drank, drank deeply, and the girl passed it back to Wulf, who was chanting and bowing rhythmically.

  The child and the women had not drunk. Nor had Wulf.

  That thought hammered at me as I regarded them, and I knew I had failed, or rather, Odo. He should have known the ritual. Wulf would be free to act, and so would the women. In addition, I would not take the girl anywhere, which was the only relief for me.

  I waited. I heard distant, brazen horns from the hill, and Wulf glanced that way.