“Where did you learn this, Trokondas?” I asked.
“That”, he said and grinned, “is still none of your business, boy.”
* * *
Over the period that followed, I was taught the basics of the art through repetition. And, an art it is, because even after many moons of practise, I still felt that I had much to learn.
Trokondas showed me how to use the blunt end of the blade as one would a war hammer. The months became seasons and I finally learned how to use the blade of the axe.
The seasons flowed into years. When I look back, I am not sure when it happened, when I became a man. But I do recall the moment when I realised that I was no longer a boy.
Chapter 23 – Warrior (March 469 AD)
My left hand gripped the throat of the axe, palm facing down, with my little finger closest to the iron. The haft was held diagonally across my body with the head close to the ground. The whetted blade pointed away from my adversary. My right hand gripped the haft close to the butt, thumb facing the head.
My right leg was bent at the knee, the left straight, protected by the axe.
I reversed the grip of my left hand, slowly shifting the thumb so that it faced towards the head. Simultaneously I slid the hand closer to my right, as if preparing to sweep for the legs. My opponent’s eyes picked up on the slight adjustment and he raised the head of his weapon in a high guard, ready to block the anticipated sweep, ready to counterstrike with the head.
But rather than sweep, I again reversed the grip of my left hand, lunged forward and thrust the butt at the midriff of Trokondas. The Greek was no fool and responded by stepping back, my thrust just failing to reach the intended target. I took a step back to end up in the same pose as moments earlier, the only change being that the blade of the weapon pointed outwards.
A smile cracked the bearded face of my mentor and he nodded in appreciation of my effort. Almost immediately he mirrored my reversal of grip as I had moments before, but it was no feint. He drew the butt in closer to his body with his left hand and allowed the head to accelerate in a downward arc towards my head.
My left foot moved back and I raised the shaft in a head guard, parallel to the ground, blocking his strike. His haft struck my axe with such force that I could feel the shock reverberating through my entire body, even though I was moving backwards.
The immense power of the strike, coupled with my retreat, caused Trokondas to overextend and he was unable to pluck his weapon out of the way as I hooked the butt-end of my axe under his haft and circled it around. He was left with no option but to release his grip and I caught his axe with my left as it tumbled to the ground.
It was the very first time I beat him.
For a moment I saw the beginning of a scowl appear on his face, but it turned into a grin as he stepped forward to embrace me.
“Well done, bo..” He raised his open palm.
“Never will I call you a boy again”, he said, and I nearly burst with pride.
He came to a halt in front of me, his face inches away. I had seen nearly sixteen summers and I was as tall as my mentor, but not as broad in the shoulders.
Trokondas embraced me in a bear-hug, then stepped back, holding me at arm’s length. “Well done, Ragnar”, he said, and tapped his finger against his temple. “You used your mind to defeat me. That is good. Tonight we celebrate!”
I allowed my face to drop for an instant. He sighed. “I know I cannot compete with the girl, and you have probably told her already that you will be there tonight.” He looked up at the sun shining down through the canopy. “Go now, but return before the sun sets.” He held out his hand and I passed both weapons to him.
I followed the familiar trail that meandered through the forest. Only when I stepped out of the confines of the woods did I stop for a moment to stare at the village on the slope of the hill. It never ceased to amaze me how the settlement had grown and prospered over the past few years. More than a hundred folk now called Runaville their home. The original large longhouse still stood at the crest of the hill, but twelve smaller ones had sprung up all around it, all within the protection afforded by the wooden palisade. Most of the folk who had swelled the numbers of the town were survivors from nearby villages who had lost their homes due to raids by the Sea-Danes.
Not that the men of the village were a force to be reckoned with, but even an oldster or a boy becomes a formidable adversary when wielding an iron-tipped spear from the walkway of a palisade.
Runa was still alive and did not look a day older since I had first laid eyes on her four summers before. She was the unofficial headwoman of the village, and the official spiritual leader.
Where did I fit in? I was something of an anomaly. I was Runa’s son in the eyes of the people. The one who visited the sacred forest to commune with the gods. Unsurprisingly, the story of how Njord, or Trokondas as I knew him, delivered us from the predation of the Sea-Danes had developed over the years. Folk who had not even been present would retell the story as if they were eyewitnesses. They told of how the god materialised out of the forest and smote the Danes in a blur of lightning. Of course, all of us who had actually seen it happen, did nothing to gainsay these ‘eyewitness’ accounts.
In any event, as I walked up to the longhouse, a beautiful young woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes appeared in the doorway. Unni smiled when she noticed my approach, and I reciprocated.
I waited until I was inside before I blurted: “Unni, I beat Trokondas! For the first time ever!” She extended her arms in the beginnings of a hug, which caused a cough from Runa, who was stirring some or other brew in the copper cauldron suspended over the fire. “You know our way, Ragnar”, she said. “None of that until you are betrothed.” She grinned and turned her back, intentionally of course, to allow Unni to hug me.
“Will you sup with us tonight?” Unni asked, knowing the answer already.
“He has asked me to join him, to celebrate my victory”, I replied, trying to supress my eagerness to join Trokondas.
“You spend more and more of your time away from us, Ragnar”, Unni said, and turned away from me to cut some greens for Runa’s pottage.
I noticed Runa watching the argument develop with raised eyebrows, although she did not take sides.
“It is because of him that we have been safe for four years, Unni. Do you think it is coincidence that we have been spared from the attacks of the raiders? They see a town with strong walls lined with men armed with iron-tipped spears. That is the reason they leave us be.”
Unni nodded, her eyes downcast, immediately making me feel bad about my ranting.
“We will go pick berries in the forest tomorrow”, I said. “The whole day. I will make sure that I return in time for the morning meal.” My answer seemed to mollify her. “Good”, she said, not looking up. “Go celebrate and be back tomorrow.”
I realised that by staying I would just make it worse. “Till tomorrow then”, I said, and started towards the gate of the town.
Men passed me on the path and all greeted me with a nod. I returned the gesture without stopping to converse. I had been training the men of the village in the use of the spear for long and they knew me well from our weekly practise, but never did I engage in friendly conversation. Years ago I had taken to heart the advice given by my mentor: “Never be friends with the sheep.”
Before the sun set I was back at the abode of Trokondas. A small wild boar, suspended on an iron spit, was grilling over a fire outside his cave. He stood and gestured for me to take a seat opposite him on an old fur. He turned the meat before he sat down again, the juices dripping onto the glowing embers.
“I was just starting to suspect that you lost the fight against Unni and stayed there for the evening”, he grinned and poured us each a cup of mead.
“It was close”, I said, grinning back.
“Trokondas”, I asked, “why is it that you approve of my association with Runa and Unni? They are also villagers.”
&nb
sp; “Runa is the leader of the village”, he began, and took a sip from the cup. “Your association with me and them increases their perceived worth in the eyes of the villagers. Their association with you, also, in turn, elevates you in the villagers’ eyes.”
I took a moment to ponder on his words. “Trokondas, it is wise words, indeed”, I replied. “I will ask you once more, but never again if you refuse. Where do you hail from and why are you here?”
He took another sip from his cup, this time a large one, and allowed the sweet liquid to warm him from within.
He stared into the fire and rubbed his bearded chin. “I might as well tell you, Ragnar”, he sighed. “One day when I cross the river, at least one man will know my story.”
For a long time he stared into the fire and I had to get up and turn the meat because my mentor did not notice that it was burning. When I sat down again he had still not spoken, as if it was physically challenging to form the words.
Then he took a deep swallow from his cup. “Listen carefully, I will only tell this once.”
Chapter 24 – Excubitor
“If one journeys for many moons down the Amber Road and takes ship to the great City of Constantine, you will not have reached my home. Then, still, one must travel far to the port of Attaleia where the East Romans keep their mighty warships. From there, you travel north and east on the rocky paths that lead to the faraway snow-capped peaks. When you find yourself surrounded by forests and clouds, and when you hear the bull-headed storm-god, Teshub, unleash his wrath, only then have you found the land of Isauria, the land of my birth.
At the mention of his homeland, I noticed Trokondas’s eyes clouding over and he paused to take a swallow of mead. After a few moments he had composed himself.
The Isaurians are a war-like people. A fearsome race of warriors who, like their god Teshub, carry the war-axe into battle. Even now the Romans have never totally brought the Isaurians to heel.
When the Great Khan of the Huns invaded the lands of Rome in the year 443, I was but fourteen years old. Initially my people seized the opportunity and raided the Roman lands stripped of its soldiers, but as the Khan grew in power, the Romans negotiated a peace with the Isaurians, paid for in gold. My uncle, Kodisa, went to live in the Great City of Constantine and because of his skill, became the Master of Soldiers, the commander of the Empire’s Eastern armies.” He smiled then and added: “The Romans called him by the name Flavius Zeno.”
“The reputation of my uncle caused many Isaurians to flock to his banner to fight side by side with the Romans. His son, Tarasis, was one of them. And I, Trokondas, was but seventeen summers old when I joined my nephew and went to live in the Great City of Constantine.
Soon we heard that the Huns had crossed the Danube and we marched as part of an army, led by a Goth general. We met the Huns and their allies at the River Utus in the Roman Province Dacia Ripensis. There we fought a great battle, the likes of which the world has rarely seen. But in the end the Great Khan prevailed, the Goth general was slain and the battle lost. But the Huns were not unscathed, and while they were licking their wounds, we retreated.
The Isaurians were recalled to the City of Constantine, which shortly before had suffered a massive earthquake that had seriously damaged the walls.
Then we heard that Hun warriors were advancing on the city. Under the leadership of the praetorian prefect, and with the assistance of the Isaurians, the citizens rebuilt the walls within two moons. Although the Huns tried, they could not breach the mighty walls lined with the axe-men from Isauria. Soon they realised their folly and went back from whence they came. My uncle Flavius Zeno was rewarded by the emperor and became consul the following year, and shortly after he was appointed to the rank of ‘patricius’, making him the second most powerful man in the Empire.
But when the gods bless a man, other men look upon him with envy, and soon the envy turns to anger and the anger gives way to hatred. And so it was with my uncle and the other powerful barbarian that had the ear of the emperor, the Master of Soldiers of the Western armies, Ardabur Aspar.
So, when the Great Khan invaded the land of Italia and the Roman Empire of the East came to the assistance of the Western Empire, Aspar made sure that many of the Eastern Empire’s auxiliaries that sailed to Ravenna in Italia were Isaurians, hoping that they would perish in the conflict.
Attila and his Scythian allies crossed the Alps in March 452 and descended on the Po valley in Northern Italia. The Huns crossed the River Po and ravaged the land. The Khan even took up residence in the Imperial palace in Mediolanum for a while.
We skirmished with the Huns and killed many, but they were reluctant to engage. Rather, they turned their scruffy mounts and retreated.
It was early April when a contingent of Isaurians were sent to repel a Hun warband that had ventured too close to Ravenna. We rode out early in the morning and engaged with the Hun horsemen, trapping them in a narrow valley. When we had killed or scattered them all, we were surprised from behind by a force of Hunnic infantry. We fought ferociously but found that the enemy infantry matched us in skill. The last I remembered was fighting a blonde giant. I woke up in the camp of the Heruli. I was a prisoner, but rather than slap me in chains, Abdarakos of the Heruli gave me a choice: give him my oath or become a slave. I chose to give him my warrior oath and became a trusted man of the erilar of the Heruli.
While in Italia, Fortuna did not smile on the armies of the Great Khan and his allies. Not only were they harried by the Romans, but soon the dead bodies of the thousands of people and livestock they had killed spoiled the water and they were beset by pestilence. Laden with loot, their wagons returned across the Danube.
The next year, the Great Khan died. Attila’s sons lacked the wisdom of the Khan, and the tribes within the alliance revolted. A year after the death of Attila, we engaged the Hun horde of Ellac at the Nedao River. We, the Heruli, fought side by side with Gepids, Rugii, Suebi and Scirii. As much as the tribes disliked each other, they shared a desire to throw off the yoke of the Hun. And we prevailed in the end. Ellac, the eldest son of the Khan, was slain along with thousands of his warriors.
That fateful day, I saved the life of Abdarakos the Heruli, and in return he released me from my oath and I returned to the City of Constantine.”
Trokondas appeared tired and drained, but I pressed him: “Why did you return? Did you not have a good life with the Heruli?”
He scowled. “There was a woman…”, he said. “She died in the fighting”, he added. “I will not say more on the subject, as it is none of your business, b…, eh, Ragnar.”
“I understand, Trokondas, but at least tell me how you came to this land. You have only told me half a story”, I replied.
I stood to turn the meat and refilled our cups with mead.
He nodded and continued.
“I returned to the City of Constantine in the year 454, only to find that my uncle Kodisa, or rather Flavius Zeno, was on his deathbed. His son Tarasis was at his side.
The following few years I drifted from one employer to the next, working mostly as a bodyguard to the rich. I spent my coin in the taverns of the backstreets of the city. I tried to forget the things that kept me awake at night. While I engaged in all sorts of debauchery, Tarasis was trying to further his military career, without much success, as Aspar had not forgotten his feud with Flavius Zeno, the Isaurian.
Three years after my return to Constantinople, Emperor Marcian died. Aspar ruled from behind the scenes and as before, made sure that a puppet Emperor was appointed.
But Aspar misjudged him with Leo, who was a Bessian from Thrace.”
Trokondas chuckled and took a drink from his cup. “The Bessians have much in common with the Isaurians. Both mountain tribes have a reputation as fearsome warriors and sometimes, when it suits them, they are robbers.
Leo the Thracian did not take kindly to Aspar pulling the strings, and Aspar did not take kindly to not being able to pull them. Soon Leo feared for his
life and he turned to a man who served under him in the legions, a man with a similar heritage. He turned to Tarasis the Isaurian.
Leo recruited an Imperial Guard of three hundred men and called them the Excubitors, the men who never slept. Tarasis made sure that I was one of the three hundred. We were the best of the best, all Isaurians, and all reported to Tarasis. The emperor elevated the rank of Tarasis, and to remind Aspar of events past, Tarasis took the name Zeno.
Zeno made me one of the ten ‘scribones’, officers commanding thirty men. I reported directly to him.
We trained hard, kept the emperor alive while Zeno became Emperor Leo’s friend and confidant. But Aspar was still growing in power and there was no way to stop him.
But then the gods smiled on me. On a dark, moonless evening I caught a man sneaking from the quarters of Ardabur, the son of Aspar, who was then commander of the armies of the east. With him he carried letters from Ardabur to the Sasanian King, asking him to invade Roman lands and promising him assistance against Leo. After dispatching the messenger, I took the letters to Zeno, who immediately informed Emperor Leo.
In the presence of the senate, Leo confronted Aspar, but he blamed his son and denied any involvement. Leo dismissed Ardabur, but allowed him to live.
Aspar found out that I was the one who had thwarted their plans and he decided to have me killed. I fled to Thrace, but there another attempt was made to kill me.
Finally I decided to go to where the agents of Aspar would never reach me. I decided to travel to the Islands of Scandza.”
He smiled then, and added. “And I arrived two moons before you did.”
Chapter 25 – Question
Leodis, my Greek tutor, had once said that the battlefield is a safer place than the Imperial Court. At least, one is fairly certain that an attack will not come from behind.
Stranger from Another Land Page 11
