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

by Alaric Longward

  'You are right, eh? They are trying to … seriously? Donor help us, for we will die here,' Wandal stammered, looking at the fort with his jaw open, eye bulging.

  'We are going to try. Do you see Catualda?' I asked, but Wandal did not say anything, he was just shaking his head sadly.

  I glanced behind me, saw Felix's pale face behind some men and prayed to good Woden he would make it through that day. I should have left him out of the battle, he had endured enough. I saw a vast mass of Matticati and Vangiones closing in, not on our heels yet but gaining, whipping their horses hard, their footmen running behind. I saw a Marcomanni standing by a collapsed horse, screaming at the enemy, throwing a spear at the horses coming closer, and then he was lost inside the billowing dust cloud where a hundred enemy standards could be seen bobbing up and down amidst a thicket of spears.

  The hill was not as thickly wooded as we thought, and the ground was churned up moss and mud after Nihta's men had passed. Roman horns, cornu and buccina, rang shrilly in the fort. Horns answered from below the hill, and a Roman horn was blowing in Nihta's troop, blown by one of Maroboodus's men who had served with Rome, mimicking exact horn blows a Roman cavalry would make. Up ahead, the top of the hill was bare, all the trees cut around the fort so they could butcher anyone with heartless impunity.

  As we started to arrive at the bare area, we could see the few hundred men led by Nihta near a wooden gate, the one they always built to face the greater danger. Nihta was on his horse, yelling through the gate. There were strange-looking contraptions on the tower platforms, men in shiny armor were bustling around them, and these men pointed down at us as we exited the forest, a vast horde of horsemen on steaming horses. Nihta was gesturing our way as well, and we could see the gate open a bit, a man in a strange helmet with a brilliant traverse crest of red horse hair talking fast with Nihta who was doing a brilliant acting job, supporting a supposedly wounded man and gesturing towards us, and then the vexillum flag above them.

  The men on top of the towers were yelling something, some were pointing towards us, and there was activity amongst the two towers facing us. Father was screaming, 'Brace, boys! Those are deadly weapons, my friends! They will kill some of us, but show your mettle and never mind them. Forward! Slowly but resolutely! Forward!' So we spurred our tired horses forward, Nihta was shouting at the Roman officer who was staring at us, then looking at Nihta, then listening to someone speaking inside the gate, then again at us. Finally, he nodded, his mind made up, the gates opened, and the ballista fired.

  There was an uncanny sound in the air as the stone projectiles flew, and one could, if one was lucky, see them screaming through the air for our ranks. A thrumming sound went by my ear, and for a second, I was dizzy. I realized a stone had passed so close that my hair had moved, and I heard a scream behind as a horse went down, then another. Men looked pale as they saw the carnage.

  The ballista operators on the wall were re-cranking the weapons with glee and gusto. This was a rare dream for an artilleryman; an army of horsemen thick as grass, and all must be laid low. Nihta's men were disappearing into the fort, and there were now archers on the finished walls. Hundreds of men in chain armor suddenly marched up, lining the unfinished parts of the wall, shield-to-shield, red, white and metal splendid in their ranks. Horns rang; I saw their leaders yelling at the men as they regarded a horde of Germani in front of them.

  Our men were dying, horses were falling, and I could see how this would end: us unable to reach the unyielding Romans, many filling the deadly ditch with their thick blood, some few bleeding at the stakes and spears of the men manning them, most falling to merciless Hengsti and Vago unless we got into the fort.

  Our horses crowded forward, and the deadly ballista and archers kept hitting their helpless targets, our small horses and cursing men, instantly slaying anything they touched. Far behind, we heard the excited neighing of the Matticati and Vangione horses and the sound of enemy horn and the constant banging of drums. Hengsti had arrived at the bottom of the hill.

  The gate was being closed after our men, and archers on top of the gate were firing white-shafted arrows at us, grinning like demons. They had tanned faces and dark hair, and were auxiliaries for the XIX legion, from Crete, which we found out later, but now they were the bane of our confused and milling troops. Our men started to dismount, and some hundreds, led by chiefs bent on glory charged the ditch like an angry wave.

  The legionary ranks on the earth wall braced themselves. First, some Germani arrows were flying at their ranks, then pilum answered as the enemy heaved the weapons in one, smooth motion. Our men took the weapons on shields and flesh while trying to get to the ditch, many cursing for the Roman throwing spear that was impossible to remove from shields. Only in some rare cases, a silvery soldier fell back, howling as the spear and shaft wounded them. Mostly, our few thousand men were the ones receiving pain and death.

  Then there was a great commotion at the gate.

  A gust of blood came flying out of the crack of the closing door, which swung back and forth crazily. Thumping and cursing, with alarming shouts, could be heard. A huge crossbeam was thrown out of the gate. Slowly, very slowly, the gate opened, revealing a desperate chaos where Nihta's men had formed a shield wall and his men were clearing the gate. On top of it, the Cretans pointed down and looked confused, but only for a brief second. Soon their officers were pointing at whom to hit.

  Some of Nihta's men got to the wall and started to fight the Cretans, who drew weapons of many makes, thin swords and sharp, stubby daggers. Some of the archers fell, wounded and dead. One man was impaled by a framea and fell down. Down in the gate area, Nihta's men were hacking and stabbing in two ragged ranks, and the legionaries that had gathered at the end of the wide road their engineers had built were at first confused. One of the dead men lying at the gate was the red crested leader.

  Yet their firm optios and some old, experienced immunes commanded the men to rush forward, and did this methodically, in a marching step behind their shields, intending to push our men back out. There were two hundred Roman men there and pilum flashed in the air, creating chaos in our ranks. Some men pushing the gates open fell under the sudden barrage, but others replaced them.

  When the gates were fully open, we dismounted and charged, taking arrows and ballistae stones from the above. A man fell before me, and I jumped over him, scanning the crowd for Catualda as I went through the bloody gate. I realized I needed to get higher to see Catualda in the chaos. We poured into the fort, Nihta's men retreating to the sides when they could, some of them getting trampled by our charge, and some of our horses filled the narrow gateway. Maroboodus was amongst the first men inside.

  The commanding Roman optio was a young man, one with a very pale face, yet a resolute, sonorous commanding voice, and the Romans closed ranks, chanting amongst themselves. They were a glorious sight. Men with red and white tunics, caliga, hoisting oval and rectangular shields, many in chain mail armor, some in ring mail, helmets shining. They were mostly older, stronger men, with a sprinkling of young faces amongst them. They were veterans, tough as the iron encasing them.

  Our men, those who could not reach the gate in the vast throng, started advancing to the ditch and climbing the wall, cursing at the slippery agger. A thousand faced outwards, forming a guarding force against the Matticati and the Vangiones, and I thought at least half were the easterners Father had been training. Their wall was straight and tough and would hold our enemy for a long time. I admired Father, even if I hated him, for he was a glorious man, bent on spilling blood and making great songs of his deeds. I'd make my own, I swore.

  The Germani clawing up the ditch kept the Romans on the earth wall busy, though their heads started to look at the gate, where the battle was hanging in the balance. Our grimacing men could not push through; the smaller Romans could not push them out. The men trying to clear the walls on top of the gate were slipping and falling as the legionnaires hit them with shields and pilum, gladi
uses slashing and thrusting meticulously. Behind us, the arriving Matticati and the Vangiones tried to make sense of the situation. Amongst them, I thought I could see Vago in his silvery mask, holding a battle-axe, and he was screaming at his men.

  The Romans held at the gate. Stubbornly, nearly overwhelmed by our best warriors, they still held their lines; bleeding, cursing, but not running.

  Father was gritting his teeth, and there were more Romans coming. A man on a horse, in sculpted armor with a wide-striped cloth under his chest and a gorgeous bronze helm, appeared with fifty more men. Evidently having stripped the fort of all the defenders they could spare, he was throwing them at us, waiting for the Matticati and the Vangiones to finish us off. A large, old, boar-like legionary with a traverse crest was next to him, holding a cane, and with expert eyes this one countermanded the orders the young horseman was giving, and plugging the holes in their ranks, commanding archers into positions to fire on us. That was the first centurion of the cohort, the best of the best.

  We were sure to die as more and more of our unarmored men fell.

  Maroboodus forced his way to Nihta, gesturing at the nearest ballista tower, and Nihta was nodding, his face smeared in blood. He summoned men, strong men, thirty in all to follow him, and they disappeared up the gate steps and ladders, some of them falling to thrown pilum from the fresh arrivals and archers dotting the finished wall. They would try to take the gate and the wall again and the weapons of death. I squinted at them as they got up to the wall and started to push for the ballista tower, whose operators were waiting for them and fired at point blank a shot that ripped three men in half. After that, the warriors refused to follow Nihta, hiding behind the gate palisade. Nihta, however, was screaming at the men to move, himself bravely attacking archers and legionaries who stood on the wall, before the tower. He danced like a wraith, and Romans feared him, for he was death incarnate.

  I saw Catualda there, amongst the skulking Germani, his face bloody and desperate. He was trembling near the top of the ladder, not daring to go where the Cretans and the ballista operators waited.

  He looked down.

  Our eyes met, and rarely does one see a man so scared. His jaw fell, and his axe nearly dropped as he regarded my eyes glinting from under my hood. I pushed the leather hood all the way back and pulled on my helmet. A shield and spear at hand, I pointed them at him.

  An arrow struck the shield as the Cretans noticed a man in a shiny helmet. Another swished past my chest. I cursed, struck a horse that was in my way, and pushed up towards the ladders, running up one, never letting go of Catualda's eyes. There was the thrumming sound again and more screams, and I got up to see Nihta pinned down by a Roman with a shield. The man was stabbing unsuccessfully at him with a gleaming gladius, and our men were frozen in fear. Catualda was suddenly motivated to be a hero. He ran out of the cover, desperate at getting away from me. He slashed the Roman straddling Nihta, and Nihta killed the man. Then Catualda rushed forward towards the ballista and glanced at me, his eyes terrified.

  'Hraban, if we must die, let us die with the bastard, eh?' Wandal shrieked, blood on his chest.

  'Let us, yes.' I clenched my teeth together and ran after my enemy. I felt madness creep up from deep inside of my soul. Woden's voice thrummed in my ears as I screamed my defiance at the enemy standing before me. I drew the spear back and ran screaming to the timid enemy before a section in the wall separating us from the corner ballistae, and Catualda was hemmed in-between us.

  An archer fired at me, hitting Wandal's shield as he was running after me, and I cared not, but laughed. One Cretan was on his knees, and I pushed him off the wall. A Roman was running after Catualda, but saw me coming and turned to me. A swarthy, broad-chested man, he advanced, licking his lips. I jumped onto the shield of the warrior, unbalancing him on the wall and stabbed my spear down, hitting his collarbone, slipping the blade to his throat. He fell back, thrumming his heels on the parapet. I ripped the spear off him.

  'Catualda! A thief and a murderer! Come!' I screamed and ran after him. Nihta made a careful circuit around me, letting me pass. A few archers stared at me, their eyes huge with horror.

  Catualda slowed down as he got closer to the ballista, uncertain if he should go forward, face me, or jump down. The choice was taken from him as a legionnaire hit Catualda with his fist, sprawling the damned son of Bero on his back, then retreated to the ballista, yelling orders. An arrow hit Catualda in the shoulder as he tried to get up, leaving him howling. More arrows flew, ripping a wound to my leg, glancing off my helmet, and Wandal blocked two with his shield, screaming, for one of them hurt him in the forearm. A Germani fell with an arrow in his belly.

  Wandal and I charged in, screaming madly, and the archers dispersed, jumping on both sides of the wall, and the few legionaries who were between us and the ballista crew were suddenly uncertain, filled with dread as we bowled into them. I managed to glance at Catualda before we fought them. He was breathing. In fact, he was on his elbows.

  'Fight for the enemy weapon, Wandal! We cannot kill him if they live!' I screamed, and he nodded.

  I had my shield, Wandal guarded my left side, crunching his hammer onto the legs of the caliga-wearing Romans, and one fell, the other dropped off the wall, and I slashed the last one in the arm. He disappeared under the trampling feet of our men, who now had gathered their courage. A thrumming sound and a rock flew from the ballista but a few feet from us.

  A man's skull was broken, gore was flying. We were amongst the enemies, hacking and slashing, kicking and biting. A huge legionnaire who had been aiming the ballista stabbed at me, opening a gash in my chest, but I grinned it away, threw my spear on the back of an archer running along the parapet to the west, and drew my sword. The legionnaire cursed and struck again, but Wandal slammed him with a shield. I put my sword in his belly, and the ballista was ours.

  Nihta ordered two of my father's men to help him, and they started to turn the ballista to point downwards to the mad melee below where the standards of Maroboodus and Aristovistus were proudly heralding the continuous effort to break the stubborn enemy. I could see the centurion below gesturing at us with his cane. Arrows were flying at us, joined by pilum, and men were running for the ladders on the wall we had not reached, in order to climb and dislodge us. They were going to retake the ballista.

  'Wait, Wandal! Catualda!' I said and pulled at him. He turned to me.

  'Hraban. We have no time, eh?' He gestured at the legionnaires grouping up, scaling the timber wall ahead.

  'We are here for the bastard!' I gestured at the traitor who was getting on his feet, looking dazedly at a broken arrow on his shoulder.

  Wandal slapped me with the back of his hand. 'They are Marcomanni! Our people, we have to help them! Remember who we are. Who you are, eh? Perhaps you have forgotten?'

  With that, he went forward. I stood there, not ten feet away from Catualda, and Wandal was going the other way. I cursed them both. The Romans ran in grimly, and some of our men, Wandal amongst them, met them. I ran to Catualda and stepped up to him, hissed at his terror and grabbed the end of the arrow in his shoulder, twisting it.

  'Hraban! No!' he begged, but I tugged at the arrow.

  'It is barbed! Not easy to take it out. But I shall try! Think of my twitching mother and betrayed grandfather as I do!' I growled as some Marcomanni stopped to look at us. I heard Nihta command more men to the fight.

  'Listen, there is more! Ask Antius and Felix! Antius especially! He can tell you if you do not believe …' he started, but I slapped him.

  'More and more lies, they call me the Oath Breaker, but I wonder how many you have broken!' I laughed as he swooned when I tugged at the arrow, the barbed tips tearing flesh. 'My mother, my grandfather dead. My father might have believed it was Bero, but not I! You wanted the ring so badly.'

  'Hraban, I …' he started, howling in pain.

  'Draupnir, dog vomit,' I said.

  He shook his head, and his eyes widened as he
saw something behind us. I dared a look. There were many legionnaires on the wall, fighting very hard to regain the ballista. The man with the officer's helmet was directing them up, and the Marcomanni with their spears could not keep them. I saw Wandal in the front, bellowing at two men, but they slammed him with their shields, and Wandal fell back.

  'Your friend?' Catualda said, with a hopeful, pained voice.

  'Draupnir! Now!' I hissed.

  'I have it well hidden. You will find it, but it will take time,' he laughed at me, the bastard.

  I swallowed my disappointment, slapped him so hard his nose broke, and turned to Wandal, praying to the gods it was not too late. It looked desperate. At the fringe of the wood surrounding the fort, a massive enemy shield wall was in place. Matticati and Vangiones, thousands strong started to advance, drums thrumming, but curiously, the sounds of battle inside made the mighty noise outside seem insignificant. Amidst the enemies, I could see some carrying the heads of the Marcomanni who had departed to raid. They were stuck on top of spears. A few thousand of our men faced that direction, many lines deep, guarding the gate and the men climbing the ditch, and I knew the easterners would hold for a long while.

  There was a massive scream as the Matticati and the Vangiones charged, and our men, in a strong semi-circle, stood their ground, holding shields out while Maroboodus still tried to win the walls and the gate from the enemy cohort. I ran past the men operating the ballistae. Nihta had now turned it at the young, mounted officer, but then clicked it left. We could see the older centurion gnash his teeth and order archers to concentrate on the weapon. Arrows flew, and I could see one tall Cretan with hair glistening from sweat aim carefully. The arrow took one of the men in the platform in the head. He fell like a log.