'Ralla, the gods hear us,' he said to the older of the two women. The girl nodded vigorously. 'He will come, and Hraban will be safe. Remember, we do not condemn or touch him. This was not his fault.'
I felt squeamish at his words. I had known him most of my life. He had not often spoken with me, being an old, stern man, and I, the imprudent troublemaker, but there was a kind heart inside his bony chest. They hummed weirdly, swayed unsteadily in their strange bliss, prayed reverently, and I got utterly impatient. Finally, Wulf started nodding, apparently happy, and I wondered what to do. I cried in frustrated anger. I realized there was nothing I could do.
Then, the dozen vitka around Wulf started to shiver strangely.
I could see their blue tongues lolling from their mouths, eyes popping out strangely, beards jutting as they struggled to stand, some indeed running around, hollering madly. The smell of vile excrement filled the air as the bewildered Wulf and the terrified women tried to help the suffering men. I could not help but grin, the sight bizarrely amusing, despite my terror at the deed being useless and in vain.
Then, they started dying.
Blood ran out of their mouths, and they held their bellies in terrible pain. They could not breathe, and for the next few minutes, I stared at the chaotic scene as my victims died a shuddering, tearful death amidst trampled flowers.
I lost sense of time as I got up, sat back down, eyeing the carnage. I had killed priests. Men close to the gods. Not only that, I had killed men with poison. I was forever cursed, surely, no matter who gave me the bottle. Odo, the mongrel, was surely snickering somewhere, and I was the fool.
On the other hand, the evil, practical part of my mind whispered to me sibilantly about a chance to finish the quest, and perhaps that is how Odo intended it to be. I would have to finish it—with steel.
The women lived. Wulf as well. I was jerking with indecision as I thought how Wulf would be there when Father arrived, dooming him, condemning him amidst hostile swords, and the culprits to the tragedy of my family would smirk, and live happy and long lives. I did not know what I was thinking. Finally, one part of me decided I had already killed priests. Tricked to do so, but I had done it. They had prayed to mighty Donor and all-seeing Woden, Tiw no doubt, and while doing that, I had murdered them.
I imagined Odo's ugly face laughing at me, having put me in such a situation. I drew the swift, deadly blade. The glorious battle I had imagined with a blade like that was not to take place, but something sinister and shameful. My palms were sweaty, my face rigid with fear, and my mouth so dry I could not spit.
I made up my mind.
I drew the gladius back, and like a most silent mouse, I shuffled towards Wulf and the women who were trying to help the last barely living men. Wulf had his hand on one man's throat, trying to make him vomit, though unsuccessfully. The old woman, Ralla, was cradling a large, formerly strong man, crying and calling for the man's name.
I gritted my teeth at the horror of it all as I plunged my gladius in her back.
I was shocked as it slid off her, and she screamed an unearthly wail of pain. A rib had deflected the tip of the gladius, and only later did I learn where to place the sword for such a strike.
Wulf's eyes whipped up to me, astonished beyond comprehension. The small girl put a tiny hand on her face in terror, and I cursed my shaking hands. In the back of my mind, I knew not a soul would interrupt us here. Screams were commonplace in Germani shrines, and the few guards left behind by Catualda would not come. No man wanted to intervene on what took place here. I wanted my victims to turn their terrified faces away from me. I wanted it to be over quickly. I screamed in horrified determination. None would leave.
I pulled my sword back and pinned the squirming woman to the wet ground and felt deep shame and exhilaration at the same time. The woman sobbed and died, but the woman next to me started to scream, and I pulled the gladius out of Ralla with a savage jerk, blood pumping wildly as the woman was dying in the midst of feeble death throes. I grabbed the screaming woman, swatting away her flailing arms, and I tore her to the ground by her hair. Amidst her trashing, I slashed her throat crudely. Then I let go of her, horror filling my mind, somehow knowing I would never be the same again. I remembered what Vago had done to Mother and retched in self-loathing and confusion. Then I saw Wulf. He was running, his feathered and furred clothes making a strange hissing sound as he dashed for the misty woods, and I knew he might get away.
He had wanted to spare me. I hesitated.
A spear transfixed itself in his bony chest, and he fell on his side wordlessly, his beard red from dripping blood, and he coughed his life away on the grass. I pulled the sword out of the corpse as Hands emerged from the woods.
'Well done, boy. Odo will be pleased, as will be your father,' he said, and kicked Wulf over. He pried his spear off the man's body, pulling out some bits of flesh and intestines. 'Nihta and Odo hired me to…help you. Now, let us finish this. Grab her.'
He stalked towards the small girl, who was cradling Ralla. She was weeping, but there was a brave look on her face. That sight filled me with deep shame and wild desperation. I could let Hands do it, take her away. I could take her to Odo as he had asked. I looked at her. She was a girl, just a small girl. Ten, perhaps? You shall not kill her, Tear had said. Adalfuns had warned me to spare her. Odo would hurt her.
I stood between her and Hands, and my sword was no longer trembling.
'No. This was my job. I decide how it is done. Why are you here anyway? I didn't need you,' I challenged the grizzly, fat man. He eyed the weeping girl, then me, and then the girl, unsure what to make of my discontent. The girl was looking at him solemnly, and Hands looked down, unsure and uneasy.
He growled at me. 'I have a festering leg that is just now getting better, boy. I am not happy about that. I do not mind paying back for such hurts, but there is no real profit in it. There is, however, profit in taking the girl and hiding her for Odo. No one leaves this place and bring her to him, or perhaps to his mother. Those are the orders, remember?'
He moved closer.
'And what will he do with her? Give her shelter and care?' I sneered.
'You speak like a woman, Hraban,' Hands sneered back at me.
I raised my arm. I could hear distant drums from Hard Hill, and I could feel Woden's rage filling my being, chasing away uncertainty with the simple, brutal battle madness. I was not afraid, and Hands stopped in front of me, his spear quivering, licking his lips nervously.
'What is it with you, boy? You look like a mad thing,' he asked as I stepped closer. Hands was a killer, and I cared not. I raised my blade. 'Boy, I do not wish to kill you,' he stammered as he took a step back.
I could see a dog stalking the trees around us. A new one, larger than the last ones. I stared at him, and he stared at me.
Finally, he nodded despondently. 'Fine. I have been paid, and if she makes trouble, she is on your head. I will lie like a thief, if I have to, but you will take the blame. And trust me, your wise father will believe me, a nasty bounty hunter, rather than you, his supposed son.'
'Did Balderich or Bero order you to capture me the day I arrived?' I asked him, catching him off guard.
'I get paid for such information.' He put out his hand and leered.
'I have nothing.'
'The sword would do as one,' he said mischievously. I shook my head, and he laughed approvingly. 'Well chosen!'
'You will go, now,' I told him.
'In that case, take care and come to the Thing, as soon as you can. They are all here already. Did you hear the drums?'
I made no sound as he left and looked at the girl. She had stopped weeping. She was a pretty, elfin thing, who looked wise beyond her few years.
She stirred, her delicate face streaked with many tears. She pointed a quivering finger at me. 'You saved me, but killed my caretaker. Therefore, we both owe each other. Or have you changed your mind?'
I felt miserable, and the sword quivered. 'I'm so
rry, I made a choice…'
She put a hand on my hand. 'The choices we make, Hraban, are impossible to change once we act on them. What comes, comes. We shall meet again, once. Do not fret, the bounty hunter will not catch me, even if he is surely waiting in the woods. Dogs heed me better than they heed him.'
Veleda, her name was. I nodded at her. I was about to fail Odo, Tear, and my father. I stepped forward, a desperate, foolish idea in my head. I took her fair hair in my hand, and she looked at me carefully as I cut pieces of it.
'Better than your heart, girl,' I said, miserably as I wiped it in Ralla's blood.
I would give them the pitiful hair, claiming the girl was dead by Odo's poison, and hungry wolves had likely taken her body.
She pulled away and looked at me. I swallowed and nodded, and she was gone. I finally vomited, violently.
A month before, I had played and trained war with my friends, aiming to be high and honorable lord, and now I stood in the middle of foully murdered men and silent women, most by my hand.
Life would not be the same ever again. I would laugh again like a happy man would, seemingly with few worries in the world, yes, for memories fade, even of a deed like the one I had committed. However, the knowledge was there, sad and lingering, and I knew I had lost something. I had chosen, and the choice had been a wrong one.
I was a harder man after that, no longer the silly boy who plays foolish games with his equally foolish friends. I would never again be one to salute naïf boasts of honor, but I would know the heroes of this world are few, and the stories of heroes are lathered in blood, much of it shed in the deepest dark. I have had nightmares of that night, of Odo's foul trick, my decisions and of poor Veleda ever since. I had burdened myself with guilt, loss of my family and treason, but this deed, trick of Odo or not, was something that made me foul, dirty. I had killed men and women, undeserving of the fate. I cursed myself for being a stupid bastard, and I prayed to Woden for forgiveness, but I thought he felt no ill will for me. We were but men. He had done worse.
A cold wind ruffled my back, and the drums sounded again from the hill.
I was soiled with shame, burdened by guilt, but I would see things through. I got up, after a while, took out the statue of Hercules and placed it on the painted stone. Then I thought of something, and bent over the statue, and broke off a part which I kept. After that, I grabbed my sword, steeled my soul, and plunged it in Ralla. I left it there, and didn’t look at her again, feeling miserable with the whole, terrible mess.
I went to Wulf, and silently thanked him for his kindness towards me. He said nothing, his lifeless hand cold in my grip.
I left, kneeled at an ice-cold stream and washed every vestige of dirt and blood off my face and hands, and made sure I looked representable. I headed for the top of the hill, where a huge throng of men was concentrated. So many, it seemed, that the whole hill was groaning and wobbling with noise.
CHAPTER X
A hundred high men were seated in the ring, and Balderich's face glowed with relief at seeing me. He got up and walked towards me. 'Where have you been? We feared you would come here late. Your father's men are coming. We have had scouts on them for days, and he will be here shortly. Tear is with them. All will be decided today.'
I was determined to keep my mouth shut, and looked at the viper that took coin for my village's death. I held Mother's fibula in my palm, crushing it so hard I felt blood flow.
Balderich clapped my back, and I nearly twitched in anger and repulsion at his touch. 'Have you seen Catualda?'
'I have seen no one, Grandfather,' I told him neutrally, wanting to gut him while struggling with the horror of what I had done. I saw a massive amount of men standing around the Thing. Champions of Bero stood there, some five of them, surrounded by their men, hundreds and hundreds of well-armed men, the cream of the Marcomanni. I despaired, for how would Father win a battle against such a force, no matter his glory.
Then I saw Bark.
I had forgotten the tar-bearded old man, who had not been at the Flowery Meadow. This would spell trouble for Maroboodus, and I groaned. All I had done might be for naught. Isfried was also seated there, eyeing the proceedings neutrally. His brother, Melheim, a blond man with an oafish face and bull-like neck was whispering to the younger brother, another blond man, but slighter of build, Burlein.
The mood around the seated men was gay, people expecting trouble. I later saw such a mood in Rome, just before bloody games. They were all waiting for the entertainment of lords challenging lords, with no hope of wergild being accepted. Blood would follow. It was then when the Sigambri, called Varnis, stood up and raised his hand at Balderich.
Varnis was a thin, wiry man, no knot on his head as he was from the north and not a Suebi, a weird bird tattoo on his cheek barely showing under his scraggly beard. Varnis stepped forward, and Balderich nodded at him and waved the noise down. He got up to address the Sigambri. 'Noble Varnis. Our priests are not yet here. The Thing will start when they arrive. The blessings …'
Varnis waved his arm to Bark. 'And him? Surely, he knows the rites? Or is he here because he has dipped into too much strong mead and cannot remember Donor's name? Eh?'
Men laughed raucously, Balderich's humor barely holding. Bark got up stiffly, his eyes drawn to the distant Flowery Meadows. He cleared his throat. 'I am here because of a sick child I took care of, not strong mead. And I do remember my rites, Varnis. Yet I am very loath to say them, for that means we get to hear you tell us of foul Rome, its bloody raids, and multitude of apparently undeserved murders in the far, far north. That is why you are here, is it not? To beg us and the others to take some pressure off your Sigambri, the hard-headed Bructeri, brave Marsi, the tiny tribes of Tencteri and Usipetes?'
Varnis nodded carefully, swallowing pride, and I thought Varnis was an unusual Germani to know how to do that. 'I am Varnis, a lord of the Sigambri. Maelo and Baetrix, the illustrious cousins of mine lead the multiple tribes, war kings forever, it seems, for the war never ceases. Much evil is indeed afoot in the north, my noble friends. Rome is, as you guessed, at war with the tribes you mentioned while you trade …'
Balderich cut him off with a tired wave. 'Trade? Yes, we trade with Rome. So do you. We have seen your beautiful ship full of equally beautiful and useful Roman trade goods, some of which we have bought with too high a price.'
Varnis grinned. 'Ah, but coin is always welcome. With coin, we buy weapons. In addition, what comes to produces you mentioned? They are Roman, yes, but I did not pay for it, but picked it up on my way here.'
Men laughed at his brazen words and shouts were heard from the chiefs, encouraging Bark to bless the Thing. Balderich glowered at the Sigambri but nodded at Bark. The man stepped forward. He invoked the hammer symbol towards the north, muttering Donor's name under his rasping breath. Then he received a magnificent horn made of lacquered wood and silver, much prized, which he presented to the gods above, and with a grunt, he threw it to the nearby fire. Then he drew out lots, strange sticks and red runes, and threw them to the ground, going quickly to his knees, his tarred beard brushing them. Men held their breath. Bark mumbled, his eyes flicking around the ground, doglike around the holy symbols.
Finally, Bark got up. His face was drawn and his eyes haunted. He made a dramatic gesture and nodded. 'This place is hallowed. The Thing is blessed. What I saw was death. Death to many, many men before morning. Some have already passed to Valholl.' Bark walked unsteadily to his place, escorted by murmurs amongst the men. The vitka's eyes were wide, and he kept looking at the direction of the Flowery Meadows.
'Very well, Varnis, tell us what you want. You have come a long way,' Balderich said, tiredly, though I saw Bark's words had unsettled him greatly.
Varnis pulled off his tunic. 'Here, you Marcomanni, all you Suebi, see a wound.' Indeed, in his chest was a slash half a foot long, scarred and scabbed, oozing blood from here and there. 'I will never forget the faces of the leering centurion with his traverse helmet
, his two men, an optio and a bastard of a standard bearer, who took me for dead while they put my sons in rusty chains and took my wife in our bed. She died later, of wounds and shame. They did this because it was spring, and they always war with us as soon as they can. Yes, we do similar deeds. We take slaves, women even, but …'
Leuthard laughed brutally, challenging the Sigambri. 'Then why complain? You should have fought harder.'
Varnis grimaced and spat, thinking twice about insulting the dreaded champion of the Marcomanni. He shook his head for the sad memories, his eyes haunted. 'We fought hard and lost a hundred men in my dominion. They attacked us, but this time with two full legions, led by Nero Claudius Drusus, a terrible man related to their weakling Augustus. Thousands of them, suddenly out of the deepest woods. They are doing more and more of this, and what they want is Luppia Valley, its plentiful barley, fields of fine wheat and sweet corn. And us, they want us. When, lords, did you go to war with the intention of killing everyone, looting everything, leaving your enemy nothing? We only take what we need.'
Balderich nodded sympathetically. 'Well said, Varnis. However, did not the Sigambri take the standard of their legion from that slug legate, Lollius? Years past? Have you and the rest in the war-torn north ever wanted peace with them? So, is this not normal, that they take to war? What is different now? You are saying they are trying to settle over the river?'
Varnis kept walking back and forth, agitated. 'Yes, that is what I am saying. I come here because here, the mighty Cherusci, the Chatti and the Suebi will meet. I know Bero has invited them, and they will arrive soon and will trade words about grand peace and limits to war amongst you. I come here because there are no limits in the north, and the tribes should agree this is wrong. Our enemy does not sleep. Nero Claudius Drusus is digging a river.'
A silence, then a harsh laugh from Leuthard, followed by many others until most of the bearded chiefs howled in mirth. Balderich was quaffing as he slurped mead. 'By all means, let them build rivers, rivers with no limits! They wish to fish in them, perhaps? And the men coming are our guests, not willing to be burdened by harsh words of war, but rather, of friendship. This is why we invited them, and not you. You are far from us, and your problems are not ours.'
The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1) Page 25
