It was the third hour of the morning when Sido held up his open hand and we came to a halt. He walked his horse back in our direction. He handed me the reins of his mount and placed his finger on his lips indicating that we should remain quiet. He jogged down the track and melted into the forest bordering the path.
Boarex and I were becoming concerned about his whereabouts when he re-appeared from the mogshade. “Ten warriors on foot are approaching us”, he whispered. “We can hide in the forest, but they will notice the tracks of the horses.” He pointed to the woods. “If they trap us in there, it will not go well for us.”
In order to provide an answer, he unsheathed his longsword. “We will wait for them, kill a few, and then ride home.” I could not help but wonder if his eagerness to inflict harm on the Longobardi had more to do with settling a personal score than being the best course of action, but I kept my mouth shut and followed them into the gloom.
Trokondas had trained me to use an axe from horseback. His men, the Excubitors, when they were not on guard duty, were essentially a mounted unit. Still, when we heard the Longobardi approach, I felt my palms become sweaty and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Before I had the opportunity to dwell on what was about to happen, Sido led the way and burst from cover. He smashed into the column of men, bowling over one of the Longobardi and slicing into the arm of a second. Boarex released three arrows into the midst of the enemy, two arrows finding flesh and a third ricocheting off an iron helmet.
I was close behind the Hun, the axe in my left hand. Using my wrist, I swung the axe vertically in a lazy arc. One of the Longobardi, the first to regain his wits, had his spear drawn back, ready to cast it at the Hun twenty paces in front of me. As I passed him, the axe completed the circle and the back of the iron head struck the Longobardi’s shoulder, spinning him to the ground, the spear falling from his grip.
Sido whooped with joy, no doubt having added to his list of revenge on the invaders of his homeland. “Now, we ride like the wind”, he yelled.
Two hours later we waded our spent horses across the ford giving access to the Heruli settlement of Budorigum.
While my horse was carefully making its way across, I could not help to think about the runes I had carved into the steering oar of the Svear ship all those years ago, and I wondered whether my actions then had a hand in my return.
Chapter 29 – Alliance
What I did not know, was that Abdarakos was visiting Budorigum, nor did Sido deem it important to tell us. Mourdagos had not informed him that I was the grandson of the erilar. Boarex spoke little and kept this knowledge to himself.
I assumed that I still had at least three days before I would face Abdarakos, not to mention Leodis and Sigizan if they were still alive.
Like always, Budorigum was a hive of activity and we patiently made our way to the large longhouse at the top of the slight rise.
Sido slid from the saddle and tied his horse at the designated place. “Come”, he said. “The erilar is inside, waiting on my return.”
“Sido, why did you not tell us that Abdarakos is in Budorigum, rather than at the main camp?” I asked. He glanced in my direction and said: “Why would I?”
Of course, he had a point, which did not prevent my scowl. Sido just shrugged and walked towards the door. Boarex immediately followed him. I took a deep breath and trailed after them.
The two guards at the door nodded at Sido. One disappeared inside and re-appeared moments later. He held out a hand for our weapons, but allowed the Suebian to retain his, then motioned for us to enter the hall.
A sizeable fire was burning in the hearth and three men sat around it. Abdarakos sat on a low stool and the two others cross-legged on furs. My legs felt weak and my heart beat in my throat. I was partly obscured from view by Sido and Boarex, who stood in front of me.
My grandsire was fussing with his blade and without taking his eyes off his toil, he said: “What tiding do you bring, Suebian?”
Before Sido could offer a reply, Abdarakos looked up and the Hun inclined his head. “Greetings, lord. I am Boarex, hearth warrior to Lord Mourdagos, and escort to Lord Ragnaris.”
Boarex took a step to the side and Abdarakos fixed me with his gaze. I heard another gasp of surprise from close to the fire. My grandsire stood then. “Leave us”, he said and gestured for both of my companions to exit.
Sido wanted to protest, but Abdarakos cut him off with a glare, and the messenger skulked off with Boarex in tow. The latter closed the door behind him.
The big erilar of the Heruli slowly made his way towards me until only a handspan separated his face from mine. I noticed another presence on his right, but I dared not look away from the white-blue eyes studying me, a deep frown creasing his brow.
Then the unmistakable voice of Leodis came from beside Abdarakos. “By all the gods alive, Abdarakos, he looks exactly like you!”
Leodis took a step towards me with his arms outstretched, but my grandsire stopped him with a palm against the chest. “No, Leodis. He is my grandson first”, he said, then embraced me in a bear hug.
I had always thought that Abdarakos resented me because of my bad foot. But I was proved wrong. He hugged me tight, still thinking that I was a cripple.
He kissed me on both cheeks and took a step back to allow Leodis to embrace me. “Ragnaris, the shaman was right after all”, the Greek said and repeated the actions of the erilar.
Then I noticed that the third man, still seated around the fire, was none other than Atakam the shaman. He was swaying back and forth, mumbling under his breath. His eyes opened wide and he stared at me.
He spoke in a strange, unearthly voice. “Many moons ago, a cripple boy was taken from us. That boy will never return. In his stead, the gods have sent us Ragnar, the Iron One, from the land of the Svear.”
He closed his eyes and started humming. I shivered, the power of the gods palpable in the room. How else could the shaman have known my Svear name?
For the first time I spoke, my voice hoarse with emotion. “I have travelled to the ocean’s furthest shore and have been gone for four years, but tonight I feel as if I had never left.” Then I could suppress it no longer and the tears rolled down my cheeks.
Leodis embraced me again and I could see that Abdarakos’s eyes were glistening.
That night, we did not feast.
Abdarakos summoned Sigizan to the hall and I shared my tale with the four of them while we sipped mead, and ate sparingly.
Exhausted by the happenings of the day, we retired early.
Even though I was dead tired, sleep did not come easy that night. I felt at home with my grandfather and the Heruli, yet I had this strange feeling that I belonged somewhere else.
By the time I woke the next morning it was only Atakam and I left in the hall. He sat close to the fire, fiddling with a mortar and pestle. Next to him lay a leather pouch.
“Come, Ragnaris, it is time”, he said.
I had not witnessed the ceremony, but I knew the Heruli culture well enough to know what was about to transpire.
I removed my tunic and lay down on the furs next to the fire.
He pried the stopper from an amphora and I could smell the fragrance of cedar, cypress and frankincense. He scooped up a handful of the oily paste and spread it over my face and my chest, creating intricate patterns while chanting words the meaning of which I did not understand.
He picked up a small golden container from the furs and scooped a few coals from the fire, then he fitted another, smaller, golden dish inside the first. From a leather satchel he poured hemp seeds into the dish and placed it in front of him.
Atakam inhaled the sweet white smoke and then, crouching on all fours, he slowly and methodically blew the smoke over my body.
He repeated this many times until I had been cleansed to his satisfaction. Again he sat down close by and chanted while swaying back and forth. Some time passed and I might even have dozed off. I was woken by the sham
an scraping the sweet smelling paste from my face and chest with a wooden strigil.
Atakam took the bone needles from the leather pouch and placed the pestle with wood ash, ground up with mare’s milk, next to him.
Painstakingly he proceeded to etch the circular marks of the warrior onto my cheeks. He pierced the skin with the needles and rubbed the fine ash deeply into the wounds.
The process was painful, but nothing compared to the sense of pride that overwhelmed me.
I had become a man, a warrior, and to prove it, my cheeks would forever proudly carry the blue-green marks of the Heruli.
When all was done, many hours later, Abdarakos was called into the hall.
He inspected the handiwork of the shaman.
“Tonight, we feast”, he roared. “My grandson has become a man.”
* * *
On the morrow, we departed for the main settlement of the Heruli.
Twenty of the erilar’s hearth warriors travelled with us. I rode in the company of my former tutor Leodis and Sigizan the Hun warrior, who had immediately befriended the like-minded Boarex.
While the two Huns were chatting away in their own language I spoke with my former tutor.
“Leodis, no one has ever told me who my father is. Do you know? Does anyone know?” I asked.
For a while he said naught, and it was obvious to me that he was weighing up his words before he spoke. “Ragnaris”, he replied, “I for one do not know for sure. But what I do know is that your father was a very powerful man. There are certain, er… things that you would need to ask your grandfather. I believe that he will have the answers that you seek.”
For a moment I thought to ride up to Abdarakos and ask him, but I realised that some things required privacy and also discretion. I decided to keep my curiosity in check and wait until the campaign was concluded before I would approach him.
But Leodis was not done yet and he asked: “What do you know of you mother, Ragnar?”
“All I know, Leodis, is that my mother was promised to the Great Khan, but he passed away before they could consummate the marriage. Then, to save her life, my grandfather arranged a wedding with the son of the Khan, who died before I was born. I must then be the grandson of the Great Khan.”
Leodis smiled the way a tutor smiles at his pupil, from a position of elevated knowledge. He lowered his voice and said: “Do not assume things, Ragnar. Sometimes, all is not as it seems. But on the other hand, sometimes all is at it seems.”
I offered him a scowl. “I will speak to my grandsire”, I said and kicked my horse to catch up with Abdarakos.
My grandfather was no longer a young man. When I had last seen him before my capture, his blonde hair was streaked with grey. Now, five years later, very few of the blonde hairs remained, creating the appearance that he had gone completely grey. He had seen fifty summers, yet he was still a formidable warrior. Leodis had once told me that the power of Abdarakos lay not in wielding a sword, but in his presence, his command over men, and his ability to read the field of battle.
I fell in beside Abdarakos. He issued a small nod of approval. “When we reach our home, we will call a council of the nobles. Then the Heruli will honour the blood-oath made many seasons ago. We will settle a score with the treacherous Goths that is long overdue.”
* * *
The attention of all within the spacious tent was focused on the erilar.
Finally, when the murmuring subsided, Abdarakos spoke. “Nearly twenty years ago, on the banks of the Nedao, we gained our freedom from the bickering sons of the Khan who wished to enslave us. Yet we paid a heavy price in blood.”
My grandfather met the gaze of a young nobleman seated across from him. He inclined his head and said: “Lord Kouzaios, son of Irbis, your father fought next to me in the line. On that day, he made proud the god of war. He slew many of the enemy, but in the end he died, his body riddled with arrows. I was there when he crossed the river.”
Kouzaios nodded, clearly proud of the praise heaped on his family by the Heruli war leader.
“Do we need to get involved, lord?” another young man asked from the back. “It is not our quarrel.”
A frown creased the brow of the erilar. “Lord Bochas, I have seen it happen before. If we do naught, Theodemir will crush the Suebi. For years Goths have served in the armies of the East Romans, and fought in their bloody battles against the Sasanians and the Egyptian tribes. Their men are no strangers to war. They are hardened veterans. Apart from raiding the farmers of Illyria, the Suebi has seen no war. Once the Ostrogoths have crushed the Suebi, they will bring them into the Gothic fold. Then, emboldened, they will strike at the Gepids, or maybe the Heruli, to try and consume us one tribe at a time.”
Bochas nodded. “I fear that you are right, Lord Abdarakos. I would rather fight in the lands of the Suebi than wait until the Goths attack us in our own lands.”
It did not take long for the warrior-nobles to come to a decision. They would honour their oath. The Heruli would march to war.
Once the decision was made, Abdarakos addressed the arrangements: “We will wait for the Heruli of Mourdagos and the Scirii of Edeko to reach us from the north. When they arrive, we will join them and march to the lands of Hunimund. In the lands of the Suebi, we will wait on the arrival of the Rugii from the west and the Gepids from the east.”
Chapter 30 – Hunimund
“I heard that the Suebi king has paid gold to Beuca and Babai to fight at our side”, Sigizan said, and tore at a piece of dried meat with his teeth. He passed what was left to Boarex.
“Beuca and who?” asked Boarex, who followed suit and handed me the remainder.
“Babai”, Sigi replied. “Sarmatian kings, or that’s how they style themselves. They have been fighting as mercenaries all around, except on the side of the Goths. They hate the Ostrogoths and I heard it’s an old feud from way back.”
We formed the rearguard of the combined armies of the Heruli and the Scirii.
Some of the older men were veterans of the wars of Attila while others had served as mercenaries in the legions of Rome, but nearly half had only seen battle in the form of raids and tribal disagreements. No longer did Germani armies march as a mob. Their exposure to the iron discipline of the legions had imprinted a semblance of order. As the road curved to the right, I noticed the orderly columns of heavily armoured Scirii spearman leading the march. Trailing them were the Heruli, who were by comparison lightly armoured in chain. Their round shields were painted with concentric white and red circles, and slung over their backs. Unlike the Scirii, who favoured the heavy spear, the Heruli carried swords, battle-axes and long daggers. Behind the Heruli foot followed the mounted Heruli, mostly nobles, who fought from horseback, a remnant of the time spent as subjects of the Huns.
Leodis and Trokondas had both shared with me the detail of many famous battles recorded by the Greeks and the Romans. My tutors had explained the strategies used, the selection of terrain and the mistakes of the generals. Even though I was knowledgeable on the theory of war, I lacked greatly in practical experience. I had never even witnessed a major battle.
Sigizan gestured at the axe tied to my saddle. “Have you been taught how to wield that from the back of a horse?”
I nodded. “I prefer to use it with my feet planted on the earth, but yes, I can use it from the saddle.”
“I have spoken to Abdarakos, Ragnar”, Sigizan continued. “You will fight at my side, as part of the Heruli cavalry. As will Boarex.”
“Have you trained with the bow?” he added as an afterthought.
I grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I have. You gave me my last lesson five summers ago.”
Sigizan shook his head in resignation. “I will make sure you have a bow that you are able to draw. Maybe you will be fortunate enough to hit something with a stray arrow”, he said with a grin.
In any event, we marched south for two days through Heruli lands. On the morning of the third day we turned east and south, followin
g the road leading into the hills.
By mid-morning on the fifth day we descended from the hills onto a wide, flat expanse, the lands of Hunimund, king of the Suebi. We marched east for the entirety of the day, until the afternoon, when we finally arrived at the Vah River. On reaching the river we turned south, following its flow.
I rode next to Abdarakos who shared with me the exploits of the Suebi.
Late in the afternoon with the sun low in the sky, he pointed to movement in the distance. “Come Ragnar, let us see if the Suebi know of our arrival in their lands.”
It turned out that Abdarakos was better informed and prepared than I thought. He had earlier made arrangements with the Suebi and we arrived at a campsite with at least twenty oxcarts filled with provisions, including barrels of ale. In anticipation of our imminent arrival they had slaughtered cattle and sheep.
“Ragnar, we will water the thirsty horses in the river and set up camp for the night. Tomorrow we will march south, following the Vah. The Rugii king is marching along another river that flows to the south and spills into the Vah. At the crossing, the army of Hunimund is awaiting our arrival.”
That night I shared the cooking fire with Sigizan and Boarex. We roasted large joints of mutton and beef over the fire while we sipped on bitter Suebian ale.
“How many men will we have?” I asked Sigizan.
“Five thousand Scirii and five thousand Heruli march with us”, he said, and gestured to the camp surrounding us. “Your grandfather had to leave many warriors at home to guard against the incursion from the Longobardi”, he said, and took a swallow of ale from his horn.
“A large number of the men of the Scirii is fighting for Rome under the leadership of Ottoghar, so they could only provide five thousand.” He tore off a mouthful of meat and spoke while he chewed. “Maybe Hunimund has three thousand men and the Rugii five thousand. Not sure about the Sarmatians, but I would guess not more than two thousand.”
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