Stranger from Another Land

by Hector Miller

  We travelled thirty miles that day, keeping the Oder River on our left. The peasant farms gave way to dark forests. The towering trees grew increasingly closer to the road, until the greenway was reduced to a path through the woods.

  At dusk we arrived at a small settlement on the bank of the river. Around a longhouse the trees were cleared for a hundred paces, the ground covered with grass. At least ten oxen were bunched together in a pen behind the timber building.

  While Abdarakos and his guards procured an animal for meat, all set up camp on the field.

  I was tasked to collect firewood while Leodis and Sigizan pitched a tent.

  The Hun warned: “Do not go far, boy. These forests will swallow children who foolishly stray away from the ears of their kin.” The pickings of dead wood were sparse, but I needed no further encouragement to stay away from the dark gloom of the trees.

  Before long I was seated with my companions in front of our tent. A substantial piece of meat was suspended above the fire, the fat and juices hissing as it dripped onto the glowing embers, releasing a mouth-watering aroma. Leodis produced an amphora of wine and filled the cup of the Hun before helping himself. He added a bit of the wine to my cup of water.

  I was used to the daily ritual by now and removed my right boot.

  Leodis stripped the bandages and warmed a dollop of salve by rubbing it between his palms. He spoke while he massaged my foot to loosen the sinews. “We will travel on this road for three more days, following the river, until we arrive at Budorigum. It is where the ancient trade routes intersect.”

  He stared at me, expecting his pupil to offer an answer while he stretched the sinews in my bad foot.

  “We are on the Amber Road which leads to the Ice Islands in the north. The other route connects the Sea of Grass with the vast oceans of the west. The two routes cross at Budorigum. From the north the traders bring amber and furs, from the east, honey, wax and timber. Iron is brought from the Saxon Ore Mountains and transported to the far reaches of the world.”

  The Greek nodded, no doubt pleased with my knowledge, and tightly wrapped a new linen bandage around my foot and ankle.

  Sigizan drew his dagger and cut a chunk from the meat roasting over the fire. He placed it on a flat stone and divided it in three. We all took a piece of the juicy meat.

  While chewing, he said: “The Heruli controls Budorigum.”

  He wiped the juices from his chin with the back of his hand and pointed to the north, the meat still impaled on his dagger. “I have heard of a new people settling north of Budorigum. They have driven out the remnants of defeated Germani tribes.”

  The beardless Hun spat out a piece of gristle. “They never shave the hair of the face, but grow long, ugly beards to look like the god whom they serve.”

  The Greek added: “They are the Longbeards, the Longobardi.”

  “That’s what I said”, countered the Hun.

  Leodis refrained from offering an answer and cut another piece from the meat. He passed half to me.

  “The boatmen who’ve been troubling our lord are Longobardi, or that is what I’ve heard. They have taken control of a portion of the Amber Road from where the goods pass onto the boats that travel down the Oder.”

  I heard the words spoken by my minders, but I did not listen. To a child, the talk of strange men of the north mattered not. Were I blessed with the gift of foresight, I may have paid attention.

  Chapter 6 - Longobardi

  On the morrow we rose early, before first light.

  I rekindled the fire while Sigizan strolled over to the longhouse for fresh milk. Leodis expertly packed our goatskin tent and strapped it onto a packhorse.

  Soon we were breaking our fast on hot salted milk, leftover meat and hard cheese. After the hearty meal we set off, trailing behind my grandfather and his warriors.

  The road meandered through the trees, following the natural flow of the river. Every so often, a cleared area provided a glimpse of the water and I noticed that the Oder had changed from little more than a shallow stream into a river forty paces wide.

  While staring at the river on my left, I heard a branch snap within the forest and my head jerked in the direction of the sound.

  Sigizan gestured with his hand to the woods surrounding us. “Many wild men dwell deep within the forest, boy. They hunt for food and mayhap they even keep a cow or a goat. They watch from the trees, but are no threat to us. Who would dare to poke the wolf and risk its ire?”

  We rested when the sun was high overhead. The trees were cleared next to the river and the bank was low, making it easy for the horses to be watered. I led our mounts to the water while my minders sat in the shade.

  Not long after I heard a commotion coming from the direction of the road. Leodis strolled over to me, grinning. “It is a merchant caravan, from the Amber lands.”

  I looked towards the road longingly, aware that I could not investigate until I had cared for the horses.

  The Greek held out his hand and took the reins from me. “Go boy, and take the lazy Hun with you”, he said and gestured towards Sigizan still lounging against the bole of an oak, his eyes closed.

  “Sigi”, I yelled. “There is a caravan coming down the road.”

  The Hun was a dour killer, but he was all but mean.

  He opened one eye and squinted into the light. “Then let us see what they are about”, he said and slowly gained his feet.

  We reached the road just in time to see the first of the mules being led off the path into the clearing. A man dressed as a noble, with two burly armed men in tow, approached my grandfather. The merchant inclined his head in respect and clasped arms with Abdarakos.

  I was too far away to discern their words, but it was clear that they knew each other. While the erilar spoke with the man, I watched in wonder as mule after mule entered the clearing. The drovers efficiently unburdened the animals of their loads. Soon the newcomers had set up camp and the Heruli warriors walked amongst the traders who recognized the opportunity to gain coin.

  The only weapon I owned was a small Hun bow with an easy draw. Sigizan had been training me in blade craft for some time, but I was only allowed to use a wooden sword and a bladeless spear. It would be many seasons until I would wield weapons with iron blades.

  The traders knew the desire of warriors and laid out the goods they coveted. Brooches, weapons belts, ornate helmets and daggers were displayed on multi-coloured woollen mats. Exchanges took place, and everywhere smiling merchants were counting their coins and warriors admiring their purchases.

  I walked past a trader displaying daggers and longingly admired the ivory-hilted blades. The trader noticed my interest. “These have been made in the lands of the Saxons, little lord.” He motioned to a beautiful blade. “This hilt has been carved from the tooth of a monster fish that lives in the northern oceans. The blade is crafted from the steel of the far mountains in their land.” He nodded and I picked up the item and turned it in my hand. The steel was nearly as long as my forearm and the hilt engraved with swirling patterns. “A weapon that even the god of war would desire, little lord”, the trader added.

  I had no coin so I reverently returned the dagger to the mat. The trader was silenced by a look from Sigizan.

  I walked back to where the Greek was waiting, leaving the Hun to inspect the wares. I desired the weapon, but had no way to trade for it. I did not dare ask my grandfather. Giving without receiving in return was not the way of the Heruli. I knew that Abdarakos took care of me through Sigizan and Leodis, but yet I imagined that he looked upon me with disdain because of my crippled foot.

  They left me to feel sorry for myself until the Heruli warriors were ready to move on. I mounted and followed behind my companions in sullen silence.

  My dark mood saved my life.

  Leodis and Sigizan were arguing as was their habit. I paid them little heed, my eyes rather searching the dark woods for some beast of interest.

  At first I thought that I imagi
ned seeing the shape of a man, but after my young eyes noticed it for the third time, I kicked the flanks of my horse and forced it in between my bickering minders.

  I spoke softly. “There are men among the trees, Sigi. They wear chain and iron helmets.”

  The Hun was no stranger to war. His hand went to his strung horn bow, the other to his quiver, all while he yelled in a thundering voice: “Ambush!”

  The forest surrounding us came to life in less than a heartbeat. But Abdarokos and his men were all veterans of the never-ending wars of Attila, and that one moment allowed them to draw their weapons.

  A man wearing a chain vest ran at me. I stared at him, mesmerized. His blonde beard extended halfway to his broad leather belt. The edges of his long-sleeved tunic were richly embroidered with green and blue. He wielded an axe with a long wooden shaft and small iron head. He drew back the weapon overhead to split my skull, a battle cry coming from his wide open mouth. But like a thunderbolt from the war god, a Hun war-arrow slammed into the side of his head, piercing the cheek guard of his helmet and whirling the corpse into the mud.

  The Hun hurled his hand-axe and another warrior collapsed next to me, a spray of blood wetting the flank of my horse.

  The unarmed Leodis yelled in desperation and the Hun threw him a longsword. The Greek plucked it from the air adroitly, in time to block a thrust from a heavy iron-bladed spear. The sword skilfully slid along the shaft and cut into the hands of the warrior, who staggered backwards. The Greek kicked his horse and took the head with a backhanded slash.

  But still, warriors poured from the trees.

  Although many fell, the long-bearded men were slowly but surely gaining the upper hand.

  While Sigizan and Leodis fought like gods to keep me safe, I sat on my horse, paralyzed with fear.

  Above the din of battle I heard shouts. A hedge of spear-points appeared on the far side of where my grandfather and his oathsworn were fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds.

  The spearmen engaged the Longobardi ambushers without hesitation and it was clear that they were no novices. Their long, slim spears snaked out from behind shields, reaping a bloody harvest. Soon the spearmen had broken through to the beleaguered Heruli. Leodis yelled: “Scirii spearmen, friends of your grandsire.”

  A bowstring twanged and Sigizan went down with an arrow in his arm. Two warriors attacked the injured Hun. And then, strangely, the fear left me and was replaced with the red hot rage I was warned against. My hand found the horn bow and one of the warriors attacking Sigizan fell forward with an arrow in his neck. I turned and shot at a giant Longbeard coming for Leodis. It missed its intended target, but the arrow was guided by Ulgin and entered the eye of a Longbeard who had his sword raised above his head, ready to dispatch a Scirii spearman.

  He swayed for a moment, then fell facedown in the mud.

  Cries of dismay came from the Longobardi. One wearing the skin of a bear pointed at me with his sword, yelling something incomprehensible. The bearskin man ran at me but the Scirii I had rescued cast his spear, impaling the attacker.

  As quickly as they had appeared, the Longobardi melted back into the forest.

  The Scirii spearman approached and took the reins of my horse in his hand. By the way he held himself I guessed that he was no common soldier.

  “Who is your father, boy?” he asked.

  “I do not know who my father is, lord”, I said earnestly.

  Sigizan held up his good hand. “The man who saved your life, lord, is called Ragnaris. He is the grandson of Lord Abdarakos.”

  He led the horse to where the man I had slain was lying in the mud. The hair at the back of his head and neck was shaved. The armour and clothing he wore was clearly superior to that of the other Longobardi.

  “Ragnaris, you slew the leader, the lord of the Longobardi warband. That is why they ran”, the Scirii explained.

  He turned the corpse over with his foot and cut a magnificent dagger from the ornate belt of the dead man and picked up the longsword from the mud. The Scirii nodded, turned on his heel and walked over to his men.

  Chapter 7 – Scirii prince

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “You saved the life of the son of Edeko, the king of the Scirii”, Sigizan said, and promptly collapsed.

  Leodis rushed towards his friend. “Help me Ragnaris, Sigi is hurt bad.”

  The arrow had penetrated the upper arm of the Hun. The iron head was still buried in the sinews.

  The Greek stood and searched the area frantically until he returned with an arrow of similar fletching. “Look, Ragnaris, the gods are smiling on us, the arrow is not barbed.”

  “Hold him”, he said, and gripped the shaft with both hands.

  I pressed down with all my strength while Leodis slowly pulled out the arrow. It came free with a plucking sound and Sigizan twitched with pain.

  Bright red blood poured from the wound and I wanted to press my hand on the hole to stem the flow, but Leodis intervened. “Allow the blood to remove the impurities.”

  A few heartbeats later he poured wine onto the wound, then applied honey liberally, before binding it tightly with one of the many bandages that were destined for my foot. “Your bad foot might have saved his life, Ragnaris”, Leo said and sat down on the grass, exhausted.

  “Will Sigi be alright?” I asked.

  “If the gods will it, yes. He fought with the arrow in his arm and lost a lot of blood, boy. But he is a Hun, and they are hard to kill.”

  An oathsworn warrior approached us on horseback. “Leodis, Lord Abdarakos has been wounded, but he will recover. We will collect our fallen and camp at the next clearing, which is less than a mile up the road.” He turned his horse without waiting for an answer.

  We draped the still unconscious Hun over his saddle and followed the convoy to the camping site. Leo and I walked on either side of Sigi to ensure that he did not slip off the horse and aggravate his injury.

  Sigi lay on the grass while Leo pitched the tent, and I collected wood for a fire. By the time I had a fire going, the Hun had regained consciousness and joined us around the fire, propped up against his saddle.

  He was in obvious pain, although the tried not to show it. “This is but a scratch. I have had worse injuries playing with my friends when I was a boy”, he said and took another long swig of the wine.

  He turned his attention to me. “You saved us all when you killed the Longobardi leader today, Ragnaris. It was a shot worthy of a Hun.”

  “Sigi, I did not aim for the leader, I aimed…” The Hun cut me off in mid-sentence by raising the open palm of his good hand. “Nonsense. Sometimes Ulgin guides the arrow. I have seen it many times. If you do not take credit for the kill, you will anger the war god. He has given you a gift. Do not spurn it.”

  I nodded in acceptance. Only a fool would knowingly anger the god of war.

  Many horses were killed in the fighting of the afternoon so there was plenty of meat available. I walked over to where warriors were butchering a carcass. Normally the erilar received the best available, but the warrior slaughtering the horse turned to me and handed me prime cuts. “Ragnaris, we all know what you did. You are truly of the blood of Abdarakos.”

  I hobbled back to my friends with the bloody meat in my arms, my heart swollen with pride.

  As soon as the meat was grilling over the fire, I raised the other issue that was bothering me.

  “Leo, I saw you fight today. How did you do that? You do not even own a sword? Did you learn to fight by reading a scroll?”

  Sigizan was countering the pain of his wound by drinking wine and his tongue loosened as a result. “It is good that you learn the lesson early. Do not judge a man by his looks.”

  Leo explained: “My father was a commander in the armies of the Eastern Roman Empire. I was forced to suffer martial training as a youth, but after he was killed by the emperor I discarded my sword for good.”

  Sigi continued: “That is the reason why Greeks will
never rule the world. Leodis was reading a scroll while Attila conquered their armies.”

  The Greek was about to retort when a warrior arrived with a missive.

  He inclined his head to my minders. “Lord Abdarakos requests the presence of his grandson.”

  It was in actual fact an order, not a request, so I stood immediately and hobbled after the oathsworn.

  I found Abdarakos and the Scirii prince sitting outside the tent of the erilar, next to a fire. I noticed that my grandsire’s leg held a bandage. To afford them privacy, his oathsworn feasted around a fire out of earshot.

  My grandfather nodded and motioned with his hand for me to take a seat.

  He waited until I had taken my place. “Today, boy, you have made your forebears proud. The men of our line, the ones who are feasting in Ulgin’s warrior hall, have sat up and taken notice.”

  I nodded in acceptance of his words, but held my tongue.

  Then the big man turned his gaze on the Scirii prince, who addressed me: “I owe you a life, Ragnaris, grandson of Abdarakos.”

  I was unsure of how to react, but he was not done. “Come, lay claim to what is yours.”

  He held out a package wrapped in leather. I inclined my head as I took it from his hand and sat down again.

  “Open it”, commanded my grandfather.

  I obeyed and flipped open the folded leather. Inside was the dagger and longsword of the Longobardi noble I had slain. With a trembling hand I reverently touched the magnificent blade.

  Abdarakos waved me away. “Go celebrate with your minders, Ragnaris.”

  I turned to leave, but the prince held up his open hand. “When you become a warrior, boy, seek me out.”

  I was bold enough to ask: “Where should I seek you, lord, and whom should I ask for?”

  The prince grinned, and nodded. “I am on my way to fight in the armies of Rome, Ragnaris. And if you seek me, ask for Ottoghar, the one born on the Sea of Grass.” He thought for a moment then added: “But should you ask it of a Roman, speak of Flavius Odovaker. In their lands they know me by that name.”