THE OATH BREAKER

A NOVEL OF GERMANIA AND ROME

HRABAN CHRONICLES: BOOK I

Alaric Longward

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE OATH BREAKER

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

MAP OF NORTHERN EUROPE B.C. 12

NAMES AND PLACES

CAMULODUNUM, ALBION (A.D. 42)

PART I: THE BEAR AND THE RAVEN

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

PART II: THE BEAR ON THE BURNING HILL

CHAPTERVII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

PART III: THE OATH BREAKER

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

PART IV: TORN MASKS

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CAMULODUNUM, ALBION (A.D. 42)

AFTERWORD

Copyright (C) 2014 Alaric Longward

ISBN 978-952-7114-18-6 (mobi) 978-952-7114-19-3 (paperback)

Cover art by Markus Lovadina (http://artofmalo.carbonmade.com)

Cover design by (http://www.thecovercollection.com/)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

For my wife Marjo, whose long patience, not-so-silent suffering and infinite love and understanding have helped me navigate this cumbersome ship through many dangerous shoals. Love you honey.

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

Greetings, and thank you for getting this book. I hope you enjoy it and also read the Raven’s Wyrd and the Winter Sword, books two and three in the series. Also, check out Maroboodus.

Grab them from my AMAZON HOMEPAGE

When you have completed the story, I would appreciate if you could take the time to rate and review the story on Amazon.com and/or on Goodreads. This will be incredibly valuable for me going forward and I want you to know how much I appreciate your opinion and time.

Please visit

www.alariclongward.com

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OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

THE HRABAN CHRONICLES – NOVELS OF ROME AND GERMANIA

THE OATH BREAKER – BOOK 1

RAVEN’S WYRD – BOOK 2

THE WINTER SWORD – BOOK 3

BANE OF GODS – BOOK 4 (COMING 2016)

GOTH CHRONICLES - NOVELS OF THE NORTH

MAROBOODUS - BOOK 1

THE CANTINIÉRE TALES – STORIES OF FRENCH REVOLUTION AND NAPOLEONIC WARS

JEANETTE’S SWORD – BOOK 1

JEANETTE’S LOVE – BOOK 2

JEANETTE’S CHOICE – BOOK 3 (COMING LATE 2016)

TEN TEARS CHRONICLES – STORIES OF THE NINE WORLDS

THE DARK LEVY – BOOK 1

EYE OF HEL – BOOK 2

THRONE OF SCARS – BOOK 3 (COMING 2016)

THIEF OF MIDGARD – STORIES OF THE NINE WORLDS

THE BEAST OF THE NORTH – BOOK 1

QUEEN OF THE DRAUGR – BOOK 2 (COMING 2016)

'The Bear will roar, beware you gods,

for time is come to break the bars, sunder the rules, break the words.

The road from the shadow will begin,
the Raven to bleed on the evil, rocky skin.

A sister, a brother, wrongful act share,
a deed so vile, two children will she bear.

The Raven will find the sister,
the gods to look on as blood spills onto the Woden's Ringlet.

A raven will show the way, a bear is slain,
cocks will crow, men feel pain.

Youngest sister's blood is needed, her heart rent,
onto the plate of Woden, her life is ended.

Released is the herald, the gods will bow.

After doom, life begins anew.
A selfless act may yet the doom postpone.'

MAP OF NORTHERN EUROPE B.C. 12

NAMES AND PLACES

Adalfuns the Crafter – mysterious old man trying to help Hraban fight Tear. Will help Hraban three times if Hraban proves himself worthy.

Adalwulf – champion of Hulderic.

Adgandestrius – a Chatti adeling, son of Ebbe, brother to Gunda.

Adminus – Catuvellauni noble in Britain, brother of Togodumnus and Caratacus. A schemer and former exile in Rome.

Agetan – son of Tudrus the Elder, brother of Tudrus the younger, twin to Bohscyld.

Albine – daughter of Ebbe the Chatti.

Albis River – Elbe River.

Ansbor – Hraban's rotund friend, sarcastic yet staunch.

Ansigar – Hraban's scheming friend.

Antius – also Gaius Antius. A trader and negotiator, a servant of Rome who is plotting the downfall of both Germania and certain Roman nobles.

Aristovistus – in the past, a famed leader of a confederacy of Suebi. Tried to conquer Gaul 58 B.C. Defeated by Gaius Julius Caesar. Grandfather of Balderich, the old leader of Marcomanni.

Armin – Arminius, a Cherusci noble, son of Sigimer, husband to Thusnelda, foe of Rome, of Maroboodus and of Segestes.

Arrius Vibius Bricius – a Mediomactri Gaul noble living near Rheine, father of Cassia.

Aska – first man created by Woden, Lok, and Hoenur.

Balderich – grandson of the famous Aristovistus, grandfather of Hraban, leader of the Marcomanni.

Bark – brother of Wulf, priest of Freyr, foe of Maroboodus.

Bero – brother of Hulderic. Followed Hulderic from Gothonia to regain his ring and vengeance. Foe to Maroboodus.

Bohscyld – son of Tudrus the Elder, brother to Tudrus the Younger, twin to Agetan.

Burbetomagus – shared capital of the Mediomactri Celts and the Vangiones.

Burlein – youngest brother of Isfried and Melheim, noble of the southern Marcomanni.

Camulodunum – city of Camulos, former capital of Trinovantes, now lorded over by the Catuvellauni.

Caratacus – Catuvellauni in Britain, brother to Togodumnus and Adminus.

Cassia – daughter to Arrius Vibius Bricius, a Gaul, and a healer.

Castrum Flamma – a Roman fort in the lands of the Luppia River.

Castrum Luppia – a Roman fort in the lands of the Matticati.

Catualda – son of Bero, cousin to Maroboodus.

Catuvellauni – a tribe in Britain, foes to Catuvellauni and Atrebates. Lords of Camulodunum, where Hraban is hiding Thumelicus.

Chatti - a fearsome Germanic tribe living north of the Maine river, south of the Cherusci.

Chauci – mighty Germanic tribe of the north.

Cherusci – a mighty Germanic tribe living at Weser and Elbe Rivers.

Chariovalda – lord of the Batavi, allies of Rome, client to Drusus and Hraban's captor.

Cornix – optio of the nineteenth legion, servant to Gaius Antius.

Danubius River – Danube River.

Draupnir – ring of Woden. Every ninth day, this wondrous, dwarven-crafted ring would spill eight others.

Draupnir's Spawn – spawn of Draupnir, Woden's ring, and the influential ancient ring of Hraban's family.

Ebbe – Chatti noble, father of Gunda and Adgandestrius, ever ready to oppose Rome.

Embla – first woman created by Woden, Lok, and Hoenur.

Ermendrud – daughter of Fulch the Red, lover to Hraban, then Wandal's wife to be.

Euric – father of Wandal, a blacksmith.

Felix – a Celt slave to Maroboodus and Hraban. Hraban's friend.

Fulch the Red – warlord of Bero, father of Ermendrud.

Fulcher – Hraban's conscience and friend.

Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus – the first man of Rome, seemingly keeping Rome a republic, but in reality, creating an empire where he would hold the power over the military and much of the legislative power. Strove to ensure the continuation of his line in charge of Rome.

Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus – Caligula, the Roman Emperor whom Hraban sacrificed to elevate Claudius.

Gaius Sentius Saturninus – a Roman consul, supporter of Augustus. In the book, he is helping Drusus with the wars of 12 B.C. to 9 B.C. A fair ruler, a wise general. In reality, he would not arrive in Germania until 4 A.D. and would he replaced by Varus in A.D. 6.

Galdr – magic, spells, rhythmic spell singing.

Gau – a Germanic county, administrative area.

Gernot – Hraban's weak-willed brother.

Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso – son of famous Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso, a praefectus of auxilia.

Gothoni – old Germanic tribe from the Baltic Sea.

Grinrock – capital of the southern Marcomanni, home of Isfried.

Gulldrum – ancient abode and shrine of Tear's clan and god by Elbe River.

Gunda – a Chatti noble, daughter of Ebbe

Gunhild – sister to Sigilind, Hraban's aunt. Daughter of Balderich.

Gunnvör – Burlein's archer, slayer of Guthbert.

Guthbert – Batavi rider of Maroboodus, brother of Leuthard.

Hadewig – Thumelicus's real name.

Hagano – Hraban's friend, youngest of the Bear Heads.

Hands – a Chatti bounty hunter.

Hard Hill – capital of the Marcomanni, oppidum hill next to Rheine.

Harmod the Old – champion of Hulderic.

Hengsti – the war king of the Matticati, allies of Rome, famed riders.

Hermanduri – vast Suebi nation covering much of the Weser River. Roman allies.

Hraban – the Raven, the Oath Breaker, the main character of the story. Son of Maroboodus, he is telling his story to Thumelicus, so he might one day have his fame redeemed and his daughter Lif know him.

Hulderic – Hulderic the Gothoni, noble of ancient house, father of Maroboodus, grandfather to Hraban, brother of Bero.

Hunfrid – a Vangione noble, son of Vago, brother of Shayla, Koun, and Vannius.

Inguiomerus – a Cherusci noble, brother to Sigimer and Segestes, foe of Rome, but envious of Armin's growing power and of Armin's ability.

Isfried – lord of the southern Marcomanni, head of his own large family. Ally to Bero, Balderich's lord. Brother of Melheim and Burlein.

Ishild – daughter to Tear, sister to Odo, she is a girl entwined in her mother’s and brother’s attempt to destroy the world. Torn between her family and her love for Hraban, she makes Hraban's life full of hard choices.

Koun – a Vangione noble, foe to free Germani. Brother of Shayla, Vannius, and Hunfrid, son of Vago.

Leuthard – a Batavi warrior who served Bero, then Maroboodus. Brother to Guthbert, Maroboodus's bodyguard.

Lif – Hraban's and Ishild's daughter.

Lífþrasir – son of Odo.

Lok – a trickster, half deity, half giant. Bound by the entrails of his own son for causing the death of Baldur, son of Woden, and for his chaotic nature.

Lucius – a man of Maroboodus, who deserted.

Luppia River – Lippe River in middle Germany. Where much of the Germanic wars took place.

Maelo – famous opponent of Rome, Sigambri Germani noble.

Marcomanni – the bordermen, Suebi Germanic tribe divided into two gaus, counties. Led by Balderich and Maroboodus.

Maroboodus – son of Hulderic, father to Hraban and Gernot, husband to Sigilind. A man returning home after a long period, bringing with him war and threat of destruction of the whole world.

Marcus Romanus – a Roman exile living with Hulderic, teacher to Hraban. Servant of Maroboodus.

Mare Suebicum – the Baltic Sea.

Mare Germanicum – the North Sea.

Mattium – famed capital of the Chatti, home of Ebbe. Oppidum.

Mediomactri – Gauls living west of Rheine River, opposite to the Marcomanni. Share their land with the Germanic Vangiones, foes of Maroboodus.

Melheim – brother of Isfried, brutal and treacherous. Noble of the southern Marcomanni.

Moenus River – Maine River, where Hraban lives as a youth.

Moganticum – a major Roman military base started by Agrippa, it kept growing into a naval base and a trade city. Mainz of today, located where Maine River combines with Rheine.

Nero Claudius Drusus – Stepson of Augustus, son of Livia, brother of Tiberius. The leader of the early wars against the Germani east of Rheine, and the greatest, best liked leader of his time.

Nihta – a Germani warrior of the Rugii tribe, a harii, night fighter, and champion of Maroboodus. Deadly with a sword.

Odo – son of Tear, brother of Ishild. The driving force behind the god who wants to destroy the worlds. Hraban's nemesis.

Oldaric – the other Chatti lord, father of Albine. Stubborn and slow to oppose Rome.

Pipin – a Batavi guard of Hraban.

Quadi – a Suebi tribe, allies of the Marcomanni north of Maine River.

Radulf – a Batavi guard of Hraban.

Ralla – a völva at Hard Hill.

Rochus – a Cherusci noble, brother of Armin, son of Sigimer.

Ragnarök – the final battle of Germanic mythology, the end of most of the living things, the gods included.

Segestes – also Segestes the Fat, a Cherusci noble, brother to Inguiomerus and Sigimer, uncle of Armin and father of Thusnelda. Roman sympathizer. Ruler of the Cherusci lands west of Weser River.

Seidr – magical power of Freya, the war goddess, mistress of seduction. Völvas use it.

Shayla – a half Celt, half Germani druid, opponent of Tear, trying to steer away the prophecy of the end of the world. Sister to Vannius, Koun, and Hunfrid.

Sibratus – Quadi noble, brother of Tudrus the Older and Tallo.

Sigambri – old Germanic tribe living around Lippe River. Always at war with Rome along with the Bructeri, Usipetes, Marsi and Tencteri.

Sigilind – daughter of Balderich, wife of Maroboodus, mother of Hraban and Gernot.

Sigimer – a Cherusci noble, father of Armin, brother of Segestes, ruler of lands east of Weser River.

Suebi – a vast confederacy of Germanic tribes stretching from Sweden to Danube River.

Tallo – Quadi noble, brother of Tudrus the Older and Sibratus.

Tear – also called Zahar, the mother to Odo and Ishild. Reluctant servant of her old god bent on destruction of the world.

Tencteri – Germanic tribe from the Lippe River.

Thumelicus – the man Hraban is spinning his story for. Son of Armin and Thusnelda, rescued by Hraban. He is recovering in Albion, Camulodunum.

Thusnelda – a noble Cherusci woman, wife of Armin, daughter of Segestes and mother of Thumelicus.

The Three Spinners – norns, the Germanic deities, or spirits, sitting at the foot of the world tree, by the Well of Fate, weaving the past, the present, and the future of each living creature. Also called Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld.

Togodumnus – king of the Catuvellauni, lord of Camulodunum where Hraban is hiding Thumelicus. Brother to Adminus and Caratacus.

Trinovantes – a tribe in Britain, foes to the Catuvellauni.

Tudrus the Older – brother of Tallo, nephew of Sibratus, a Quadi noble, and leader of the westernmost of the Quadi.

Tudrus the Younger – eldest son of Tudrus the Elder, the brains of the three Quadi brothers.

Vaettir – Germanic nature spirits.

Vago - king of the Vangiones, foe to Marcomanni and the Quadi. Leader of I Vangiorum, a Roman Auxilia unit. Father of Shayla, Koun, Vannius, and Hunfrid.

Vangiones – a Germani tribe serving Rome.

Vannius – a Vangione noble, son of Vago, brother to Shayla, Koun, and Hunfrid.

Varnis – Sigambri Germani noble.

Varus - Publius Quinctilius Varus, supporter of Augustus, took over Germania from Saturninus. Did not understand how to treat the Germani, and Armin took ample advantage of Varus's shortcomings, causing the destruction of three legions.

Veleda – the girl Hraban must find for Tear and Odo.

Visurgis River – Weser River.

Wandal – Hraban's ham-fisted, slow-witted friend. Son of Euric.

Woden – also known as Odin, the leader of the Aesir gods, one of the creators of men and the world.

Woden's Gift – spawn of Draupnir, Woden's ring, the influential ancient ring of Hraban's family.

Wulf – a vitka from village of Hraban. One of the few who are trying to stop the prophecy that will end the world. Hraban's former tutor, foe to Maroboodus.

Wyrd – fate in Germanic mythology.

Yggdrasill – the world tree, where the nine worlds hang from. Source of all life.

Zahar – see Tear.

CAMULODUNUM, ALBION (A.D. 42)

Wyrd.

East of the Rhenus River, this is the ancient word for fate.

The holy vitka and the völva tell us of the old gods, and how these beings carved Midgard from the rotting carcass of ancient Imir. They created the vast Nine Worlds and inhabited them with vaettir, alfs, dwarves, and jotuns. The gods populated the empty lands until Aska and Embla—the first humans—were sculpted in the shores of frigid Gothonia far in the north.

It is a wonderful story. The gods were as mighty as mountains, their minds keener than the sharpest blade, and the worlds they created seemingly endurable beyond time and decay.

Yet, all of this wonderful creation is governed by fate, and even the gods bow to wyrd. The Nine Worlds and time are its slaves, my Lord, bound to it by unbreakable chains. Nothing escapes fate. The Three Spinners serve and govern it humbly and diligently, and spin away with their bleeding fingers. They work on all our lifelines, while squatting by the mystical well of Urðarbrunnr. One sister meticulously constructs the past; one works on the present, one pulls together the future. Yet, we are not helpless as babes at their mercy. Our choices shape the fate they spin for us all. This is the gift of men, to choose their fate. The options we pick from, every day, in things that are both humble and important; they are called orlog, and they create the wyrd.

Considering that the humble sisters will eventually govern the end of the world itself, it is no wonder railing against one's wyrd is useless and foolish. An old man should know this. However, I still curse wyrd profusely, and I know I am not alone spitting at the faces of the sisters. Men often utter this word in tears and despair. Perhaps there has been a young death in the family, a bad harvest following terrible torrential rains, or a powerful neighbor has stolen their cattle. If one's fate is generally positive, then one thanks it. One often does it silently, as if afraid the good fortune will change at a whim of some god who witnesses the joy. Yet a man's fate changes from hour to hour, depending on his choices, no matter if they celebrate or hate it.

My choices led us both here, to a war-torn hill of Camulodunum in Albion, as exiles. Our wyrd is uncertain. Yours even more than mine. Not even the gods know what the spinners are spinning on now as they craft our future. Our wyrd, my Lord, had better improve, or we will meet the gods face-to-face.

Not a short month past, I served a highborn lunatic. The man was the terrible child Caligula, as the soldiers spitefully called the unstable, bastard son of the equally cursed Germanicus the Younger. It was an excellent service, in a way. Coaxing that beast to greater madness bitterly hurt the Rome I so much hate, and as my later life has orbited around my hatred for Rome, I was happy. If one can call murderous rampage of vengeance a joyous pursuit. Yet the Spinners spin wildly, and the choices I inadvertently made changed everything. It was so the monster Caligula died at the hands of a horde of cuckolded husbands and angry, tired senators, and one might argue I had pushed Caligula a bit too far into his reckless attempt at finding godhood.

Next, and to my everlasting surprise, I found the simpering, half-witted uncle of my former lord, Claudius, was no half-wit after all, but a survivor, a chameleon of the first degree. And so I nearly died at his hands, where I had expected him to shiver, shake, and obey. I escaped, though only barely, and, in my rage, thought of new ways to cut and bleed the whore wolf of Italy.

Then I remembered the discarded oath I gave your father, Armin the Great: the Sword of the Cherusci, Hope of the People, and Slayer of the Eagles. The shining man who should have been a king to all of us quarrelsome fools of the wooded hills and deep woods. I was not his comfortable friend. I was intractably proud, uncontrollably willful, and obsessed with other goals than his, but I did give him the meaningless promise in his sorrow to try to free you and your mother from the Roman thralldom. I did not really think I would. I am sorry, Lord. You had your wyrd, and I had mine. I liked Thusnelda fine. Your mother was a good woman, but I had concerns of my own.

Now, I have kept that pledge.

I did it for entirely selfish reasons, to hurt Rome and to serve the beast inside me, the one slavering for the blood of the southern men. Imagine, Lord, the son of the Slayer running free! Gods, I loved the brilliantly wicked idea, and so I mustered the loyal men I still knew, sacrificing many of them to free you.

Wyrd, you are now severely hurt, near death from that struggle to flee, and I have to fret over your fate here in our sanctuary while you travel the lost lands.

Wyrd.

I look upon your drawn, pallid face and think back on my past life and my wyrd. There has been great happiness, enough to fill my memories with love and joy, fornication and fidelity, victory and companionship, and there has been plenty of tragedy, where I have lost the joys of all those things I just listed. It is as life goes. Nothing lasts forever, though few have lost so many great things and fine people as I have. I was never a man to grow sturdy roots in any one place, but I know my home, the one my thoughts turn to, is still in the lands called Germania. I spent countless years, my Lord, trying to regain honor and position. I was to be a Marcomanni, a Germani noble, a mighty man who would be much honored across the vast lands where our ancient folk sit in their old halls. This was denied me, and I am known as the vile Oath Breaker on that side of Rhenus, greatly hated, and mostly despised, not altogether without reason.

In Rome, my Lord, I am also now a fugitive, a hunted murderer and traitor to the state. They want me captured and slain, preferably silently, and they desperately want you too, my Lord. They will come for us one day, to this faraway shore, the former land of the sad Trinovantes that are now lorded over by the brutal Catuvellauni tribe. This place, across from the straits of the seas between Albion and Gaul. It is full of angry Celts, and few here heed Rome’s words. The three brothers, Togodumnus, Caratacus, and Adminus are our hosts. Togodumnus is the war king, conqueror of the hapless town of Camulodunum. I paid him good coin for our sanctuary, though I do not trust him or his brothers, even if I trust them more than the downtrodden and starving local tribes.

Now, I have time to sit and think, and I find there are still things other than vengeance I desire before I die. I have rarely had so much time. My journey has been dragging me from one place to another at a ceaseless pace.

Should you live, there is a humble request I would make. Hel knows I have no right to ask you for anything, having betrayed my oath to your father, coming for you many years after I could have, and even then, not for your wellbeing. However, should you grant me this wish, Lord Thumelicus, I will reserve a sturdy seat for you near your mighty dead father in the bright light of the halls of the fallen heroes. I will fight savagely and win such a seat for you, toppling any great hero to achieve it, and after this, I will sit in the dust at your feet and serve you as a trusted slave. I swear this, my Lord.

What do I want?

I ask you shall tell a story to an old woman.

A man who has been a fiend bent on vengeance for decades is generally a cold creature, one that cares little for bitter tears, and the pain of others. Yet, I am also an old man, though still strong as an ox and fast as a fox, but my age bends my thoughts towards the past. I sit here, think, and mourn some of the terrible choices I made in the past. It is likely no poems will be sung of Hraban by the warm hearth fires of our stubborn kindred. I know this, my Lord. No matter what you tell them, they will revile me. Even so, I want this woman to know me. The true me.

There is a woman whom I lost when she was but a few years old. She was Lif, my beautiful daughter, and should she be alive still, she likely does not remember me. She hangs her head in shame as people recall the filthy traitors to our people, and names me as one of them.

Gods, I wish it were different. Now, as we sit and wait for sharp Roman swords to arrive, perhaps it is time to let her know who her real father was. A man, though not a perfect one, but still a man whose thoughts seek her face every day. She was beautiful as a rose on a summer pasture, wise far beyond her years, thanks to the immortal blood in her veins. She was perilous, mixed up in the old prophecies of the first gods, but she was also a sweet child, and losing a child to war, even for her safety, is an ulcer on the soul, often bleeding and heaviest on both a father and a daughter.

Therefore, my Lord, I will write, and you will sit down before her and tell her my story. Survive your wounds and find her, Thumelicus, and also know of your own family. Hear the story of great Armin and your brave mother, Thusnelda, from a man who knew them.

Now, I shall start, and tell you of Hraban the Oath Breaker.

PART I: THE BEAR AND THE RAVEN

“That one should not kill a hollering holy man is a ridiculous thing invented by these holy men.”

(Adalwulf to Hraban)

CHAPTER I

Moenus River, Southern Germania (B.C. 12)

I still remember the beautiful day. The air was very crisp and bright amidst snow-laden trees. Our frozen, groaning long houses were half-buried under a brilliant white blanket, and the docile river was nearly iced over. I was sixteen, and living in the unfathomably deep, uncharted lands east of Rhenus River, south of Moenus River, like the Romans called these waters. Some called the area the Hercynian Wilds, others claimed it was called the Black Forest. All outsiders feared these woods, for spirits and the savage Germani inhabited them. For us, the natives, it was home, the Land of the Rivers. We had many names for the various, god-blessed streams and the greater rivers, but the meticulous Romans were good at labeling things. So I shall call them by their simple Roman names.

We were squatting in snow that cold day, miserable as a glutton missing a feast, waiting for my old grandfather, Hulderic, to arrive and appraise our battle worth by a trial of the spear. I was ready, I thought. I glanced at my muscular arms, strong and large palms, and nodded in self-satisfied approval. I was stubborn as a goat, and considered myself handsome and tall, a hand taller than most boys my age. The plentiful hair on top of my block-like head was unusual in our lands. It dark, near black and silky with slight curls, and I loved to brag.

I had gloated I would beat my grandfather that day, boasted loudly, and told everyone I met I would put the tottering old man on his wrinkled rear, and walk over his shamed shield as I left.

I was not modest, you see. Such modesty was discouraged amongst the boys who were to take up the sharp spear and sturdy shield to cover the man next to him in the battle line. A true man was expected to boast ruthlessly before going to battle, and he should brag shamelessly and fight with mad bravery and unyielding honor. A silent man was an unworthy coward, or so the Germani thought. Yet, the stoic Romans stayed quiet and grim during battle, unless they were losing, and they were no cowards—far from it.

I was also anxious and impatient, hating to squat there in the snow. I sulked, thinking such a wait an insult to my honor. I disapproved Hulderic for forcing such shame on us. I was the mighty son and grandson of equally mighty warlords. Men who lead spears to horror, and gave the rings of the vanquished to their victorious men. I wanted to be famous, so famous the gods would take note of me, and marry me to a Valkyrie when I died. Gods, I remember these thoughts still, and now, I can but chuckle at the memory. It was not all that strange I thought as I did. Of such fiber were the simple Germani tribes made, and our ancient tribe, the Marcomanni, was no different. We thought of honor and fame.

It was important for us to impress Hulderic. Come spring, we hoped and resolutely believed we would be elevated to manhood, to be given our strong shield and quick spear in the Thing, where the free, bearded men would furiously bang their shields with their spears in approval. They would sing a song to Woden and Donor, to our hopefully glorious and long service to our worthy lords. We had trained harshly, and now, we waited for our reward.

Hulderic was late. We were getting unbearably cold, and I saw I was not the only one upset by the ignominious fate. My friends suffered equally, shifting their feet, and I cursed them as well. Hulderic would test them before he tried to stomp me down.

I tried to forget our misery, and watched how active the women were while preparing food. They flitted in and out of our high hall, busy as honey-mad bees in the summer. Our hall was moldy, gray, and large, with a pair of carved wooden colonnades framing the gaping door, though that day snow was heaped high to cover much of them. The small cows and precious horses on the river end of the hall were enjoying a momentary influx of fresh air. The twin doors were open as some of the unluckier cattle were dragged from the dank stable end of our house to be butchered.

The much awaited Yuletide was close, the mid-winter celebration of Woden. We would feast mightily, bury and invoke feuds, give solemn oaths and fanciful presents, and enjoy plenty while the land was dead and cold. Tens of thousands of Marcomanni would celebrate, and gods know how many Germani there were in all the other lands. Romans could count, and some reckoned the number to be millions, though I do not know, having never travelled to the steppes of the east where Sarmatians raided our stranger, faraway Suebi tribes.

After we celebrated Yule, before the spring spared us from the cold suffering, there would be hunger and sickness. Even so, we all awaited the many feasts of the Yule celebration with great anticipation.

'Where, in Freyr’s name, is the old fart?' the thin, lean-faced Ansigar yelled, finally at an end of his patience, and interrupting my thoughts of warm foods. He was loud enough to be heard all the way across the river. He was of a poor family, and his tunic was a thin rag, his shoes used and torn. He was fingering his stave, the long and sturdy shaft we used as spears in training. I never quite liked him. There was something profoundly depressing about his company. I endured him only when my other friends were present.

My friends were all anxious now. Wandal, the son of the finest smith of the near woods, fidgeted with his stave. Euric, a large, boulder-like boy, grunted at Ansigar's sudden rage. He did not mind discomfort, his blond, new beard frosted as he chewed on a piece of dark bread.

Ansbor was the last sad soul waiting for Hulderic, his enormous belly stretching his leather tunic, his red-blond hair a frozen mess under his leather hood. He looked at Wandal with barely disguised disgust. 'And he eats. Drinks, eats again, and farts. That is his lot, I suppose. How can you be so happy? And why didn’t you bring us anything?'

Wandal gave him an uncaring grin, and Ansbor damned the large, calm boy. I gazed across the river, reluctantly holding my peace, though I wanted to voice my growing frustration as well.

Across the river, I saw Quadi warriors riding home from some odd foray.

Wandal's eyes followed mine carefully until he saw what I was staring at. 'You think there is trouble out there?'

'The Quadi can handle it. If they need help, they will ask the Marcomanni,' I said, unconcerned, even if one was always on a lookout for our aggressive fellow Germani tribes who were always raiding the Suebi tribes. 'The Suebi help each other. Usually.'

Wandal swallowed the last of the sturdy piece of bread with great difficulty, coughing as he almost choked, but nodded his head carefully, unsure. 'Not the Hermanduri Suebi. And Matticati and Chatti raid, even in the winter when it’s hard for us to go help the Quadi.'

'They are stupid hunters, dolt," Ansbor spat. "Matticati and the Chatti will come again in the spring, they always do, just like the sun rises in the morning and goes down in the evening. Our men will help the Quadi, but those riders have a deer strapped on a horse. They are preparing for the Yuletide, same as us. Except we are only wasting our time.'

‘We are,’ Ansigar agreed.

'Preparations like ours, that's all. Can you shut your rotten mouths now? You whine like girls,' I said a bit too forcefully, and Ansbor did shut his sour mouth, in shame. Our tempers were being stretched, save for Wandal’s.

'I bet there has been some trouble, though,' Wandal said softly, not taking my words at heart. 'Hulderic has been gone for a long time, eh?' he stated stubbornly, and Ansbor groaned and forgot my request.

'The old fart, as Ansigar called him,' Ansbor said, glancing around to make sure Hulderic was not stealthily sneaking up on us. 'Is testing us. Our resolve. This might be the true test, you know, not the fight.'

Ansigar looked nervous, and nearly lost his balance. 'He might be punishing us for the theft. Last summer, remember?'

I chuckled, despite my sour mood. Ansigar was ever the careful one, always worried over the punishments the elders would inflict to the ones who were caught in mischief.

Dangerous but profitable cattle rustling, the art of war, and occasional bit of hunting were the pastimes of the Germani, but so were dealing with the feuds. We had feuds against our numerous, savage enemies, the mighty Chatti in the northeast, the Matticati in their hill to the north, with the Roman Germani Vangiones across the great river Rhenus, and the Hermanduri Suebi to the east—even families and allied tribes had feuds. Our most persistent feud was with the fellow Suebi of the Quadi, Tudrus the Younger, and Bohscyld and Agetan, sons of Tudrus the Older just across the river, the sons of the man who ruled their west most gau. Our competition was not a graceful one, full of bruises and broken bones. We called ourselves the Bear Heads and they were the Wolves.

The summer before, we stole a barrel of mead from Tudrus the Older, and the sons got blamed for it, just like we hoped they would. Few would believe we dared to sneak to their very doorstep. We did, and we were proud as young gods for it. We witnessed the abundant beating as we enjoyed the fresh contents of the stolen barrel from our side of the river, and toasted the fools when they were cleaning their bleeding hides in the swift river. There would be reckoning, come spring.

'There's trouble,' I said, seeing movement on our side of the river. 'Wandal is right,' I allowed. I saw Hulderic striding forward firmly, snow flying, and he was talking agitatedly to Adalwulf, the blond, lithe warrior and champion of Hulderic's personal band.

Adalwulf was trying to calm the older man with little success. Grandfather stopped urgently to discuss some matter, and gestured wildly to the west. It was likely about our foe, Bero, a feud much more dangerous than our games with the Quadi.

I did not really know much about the nefarious Bero. The old, unforgiving enemy of ours was Hulderic's age, and, like Hulderic, a feared warlord. Both came from lands faraway beyond the Gothonia, past the hills and flatlands of the north, from beyond the mysterious Mare Gothonia. They disliked each other, like the worst of rivals fighting over the last seat in Valholl. They had both come to the Marcomanni, tired and destitute, seeking a new life, competing for the attentions of mighty Balderich, the famous grandson of the ancient doomed hero, Aristovistus. Hulderic had got the beautiful Sigilind, Balderich's young daughter, to marry Maroboodus, my father, and so Balderich became my other grandfather, one I had not seen.

Their happiness ended there. Bero managed to grasp much power away from Balderich and the foolish Maino. Bero's dull son died, rumors say by my father's swift hand. Maino had also competed for Sigilind. It ended up in an unsolved feud, one that was seemingly settled openly, as my smirking father could not be proven guilty. In the end, Maroboodus left for the Roman lands and the harsh Roman service. He would visit the home every now and then during those early years, and so Gernot, my smaller, weasel-like brother, and I were born.

It is said Maroboodus found power and success in Rome, and there he was to this day. Hulderic avoided speaking about him, though sometimes he did, in short, terse sentences, always a bitter disappointment playing on his old features.

With my father absent, Bero became increasingly powerful under Balderich while we grew with Balderich's famous blood running through our veins—blood denied to Bero. Hulderic guarded us, nervous, knowing Balderich was very old, and one day soon, many things would be decided. Occasionally, some men died and disappeared during their simmering feud. When Hulderic travelled to the tall Hard Hill where Balderich ruled and Bero governed, usually for a great Thing of the Marcomanni gaus, he went well-guarded and used unexpected routes.

I mulled about these things as I was carefully examining the strength of my new shield and waiting for Hulderic to come to us. My friends smirked at me in derision. I had lost many such shields, as I was not patient and built them shoddily. I should have spent much more time crafting them sturdy and tall, but I wanted to get to the part where you paint them, and so I suffered sharp pains and humiliation for it. Hulderic was merciless when he trained us. I had begged Woden to keep the latest shield in one piece, hoping the lord and all-father would make it magical and thick.

Hulderic turned from Adalwulf and came to us, in a mood to match a budding storm. He saw us waiting and walked first towards Ansigar, as a wolf would pick a trembling colt as the easiest of the prey.

'We have a stave for you—' started Ansigar carefully, but Hulderic slammed his shield in Ansigar's face, though not overly hard, I noted. Our friend flew flat onto his back, sinking to the snow with a scream of pain and shock. 'What for?' Ansigar asked, painfully holding his nose as he ambled up. 'I was not ready.'

Hulderic grunted in smug satisfaction and smiled, showing his teeth, apparently feeling better after bashing his shield in Ansigar's unsuspecting countenance. 'You answered your own stupid question, maggot. Now, come on, the rest of you sniveling boar hides. I have things to do.' Next in line were Wandal and Ansbor. 'Is Hagon here?' Hulderic grunted.

'Hagano. No, he is much younger, remember?' I chided him, and he shrugged, uncaring. Hagano was our younger friend at least by a few years, but he was part of the Bear Heads. He was hugely amusing, very useful and a sneaky bastard.

'Gernot?' he asked with a bored voice.

I spat, and he grinned. Gernot, my weakling of a smaller brother, was not part of the Bear Heads, nor did he care to train his few weapons skills like the rest of us. He had other interests, like the tedious law and governance of the community. What skills he had with spear and shield had to be forced on him.

'Bero causing havoc?' I asked him, curious.

He hesitated, then mumbled something. 'Him, or the Vangiones, Matticati or some other bastard of a murderer. Irmin was killed, weeks past it seems. Hung like a rooster, and his cattle stolen. We saw him today. Nasty business, that.'

I grunted, my eyes glinting angrily. 'Irmin will be avenged,' I told him bravely, and tried to remember the man in Hulderic's band of a hundred men, with no success.

'He was not living in this village, but the one to the south,' Hulderic said. 'Yes, I will hang a man of Bero's, just in case we find one too adventurous for his own good. We will, no doubt. We won't see Bero or his closest men, I am sure.'

I admired Hulderic. The old man was a legendary hero and a warlord of note, and he looked splendid. He casually held a red, oval shield, painted with a white bear paw mark in the middle, save where Ansigar's nose had marred the paint. His beautiful, carved steel helmet was lying on the bench next to the hall, and the elaborate suebian knot in his hair was hung with a string of wicked bear fangs. His long beard was shivering with mirth as Wandal and Ansbor lifted their staves. His face was wrinkled and ruddy in the cold, but his eyes glinted dangerously as he regarded my hapless friends. He got tired of waiting and mocked them with female-like saunter. Wandal glowered at Hulderic, and pulled the visibly scared Ansbor to him, whispering urgently, concocting some silly tactic that had no chance of success.

We all waited, and I gazed at Hulderic's gear more closely.

The sun glittered brilliantly from Hulderic's lorica hamata, the chain mail. It was a rare thing for any Germani, as was his old long sword, the Head Taker. It was an ancient blade, bane to the foes of our family, and it was said Bero feared it, that it was a blade destined to slay him or his family. Germani used framea, a spear with a thin iron tip, well-suited for both close fighting and throwing, but the champions went much better armed.

'Are you coming, you two asses?' Hulderic asked venomously, tapping his foot.

'Just give us a moment,' Ansbor growled with a high-pitched voice, angered as Hulderic made another obscene hip movement. I spied the champion, Adalwulf, and the oldest man in the band of warriors, Harmod the Old. They were sitting by our hall, huddling in the cold, making amused wagers as they waited for their lord to finish the game. They also wore chain armor under their tunics and cloaks, and Harmod the Old held a rare sword on his hip, given to him by Hulderic for long service.

Then, Wandal and Ansbor were about to show Hulderic just how ferocious we could be. Both stopped plotting, and spat at Hulderic's mocking antics. Wandal, the big, dull fool, suddenly pushed Ansbor to the other side of Hulderic, who was now looking at his dirty fingernails, waiting, apparently amused by the sudden split in the enemy forces.

My friends sported short, new beards, and thought those marked them as men worthy to down Grandfather. I grinned in anticipation, not considering the possibility of my own ineptness.

'Go and do it already, Wandal, you oaf. I want my turn,' I yelled.

Wandal grunted like a wild auroch and charged as fast as he could. Ansbor followed suit from the other side, but Hulderic moved like a slippery snake. His war-shield's rim shot up to Ansbor's belly, and my friend went down with a sad huff and a gagging noise. Wandal swung his stave. Hulderic seemed to know exactly where the hit would come from, and he stepped under it. Then, he was face-to-face with the still charging Wandal. My poor friend crashed into Hulderic's brutally armored chest, crunching his face on cold iron, his spittle flying. Grandfather grabbed Wandal's beard in a vice-like grip and ran for Ansbor.

'Let go! It hurts terribly, please! Eh?' Wandal begged sadly as Hulderic tossed him over our prone friend, who was still gagging.

'You are pathetic,' Hulderic told them with little emotion as they were picking themselves up. 'Go sit with the women,' Hulderic spat with a smile, pointing at Ansigar, 'and let Hraban come and cry.'

I laughed arrogantly, and got up to my full height, equal to Hulderic. I picked up my shield, which he glanced at curiously. I stretched my broad chest, rolled my large arms, and flicked some of the dark, errant hair away from my eyes. Then I fixed a feral eye on Hulderic, who gestured for me.

'Hungry, Hraban. Come, and let me go eat and plan with my men. They already wasted much of my time.' He thumbed towards my friends.

I saw Adalwulf and Harmod the Old again make wagers, arguing savagely. They shook hands, finally agreeing on one. I grinned. One must surely wager on me, for how would they both bet on the old man? That made my confidence swell like a bloated cadaver.

I pointed at his gear. 'The chain mail, the shield and the sword, old man. You will promise them to me if I win. When you die, and let the day be far, they are mine.'

He rolled his eyes, and Ansbor groaned. They all knew I coveted Grandfather's war glory.

Hulderic spat. 'You want Minas, too? And the Roman saddle?' Minas was his gray warhorse, a big beautiful one. It was scarred, strong, and came to his master when one whistled a certain lively tune. It looked like the Romans had bred it, tall and broad.

'Of course, but the war gear first.'

'Come and earn the promise then, grandson, and stop yapping.'

In truth, he would not easily let go of such treasures, and I doubted I could use the weapons as well they should be used. Only with experience and age, would I be worthy of them, but we had forever played this game. In my mind, I had somehow twisted the truth into something other than what it was. I had decided he would give them to me, and he did not exactly deny it, and that was that. They were mine. I raised my suddenly not-so-impressive shield and waded through the snow. His eyes followed me from behind his shield's rim. It was insulting he had not even picked up a practice stave, but that was his problem. When I got closer, I charged. It was much harder than I thought due to the slippery snow.

Ansigar snorted. 'Moves like a drunken cow.'

Wandal agreed. 'Going to be beaten like a naughty child. Eh? Join us girls, Hraban!'

I ignored them as I bellowed loudly, slamming my shield into Hulderic's. I felt it tremble and the rim crack. I tried to roll like an otter in shallows to his left side in order to hit him from the side. He fell back, and took my first weak hit with his shield. I lost patience and charged again, jumped as high as I could, hoping I would be able to smash the stave on his head and bring my shield down on his so he could not wield it.

I heard mocking laughter.

I was not sure what had happened, but I was lying on the ground, and snow covered my face. My shield was in splinters, I felt that much as I dragged it up. I spat blood from a split lip as I sat up groggily.

Hulderic placed his shoe on my chest, pushed me back to the white brilliance, and leaned over me. 'Next time, fool, keep dancing with your foe. Why do you jump up and down like a hare surrounded by dogs? Deft leg work; tire them down, especially if they are like me, far better than you. Oh, and when you build your next so-called protection,' he toed the remains of my last one, 'it is not enough to ask poor Woden to bless it. I heard you, you know. He will only do so if you make it good enough.'

Having given this bit of useful advice, he walked to his men, picked up his fabulous metal helmet boasting faded runes of Woden and Tiw, and went into the hall. I got up, painfully. My friends surrounded me, but I pushed them away as I yelled after Adalwulf and Harmod the Old. 'Which one made a wager on me? I saw you. One did!'

Adalwulf turned. He was young and blond, and a fearsome warrior who brought Hulderic much honor. 'You are a fool, Hraban, to think we wagered on you. We wagered on how many hits it would take to bring you down. Neither won, as it took only one. However, I was closer with the wager of two, but he refuses to pay. Sad showing, Hraban, sad.'

They followed my grandfather into the hall. I heard them laugh, and one apparently mocked my jump with cruel mimicry. There was a thump and more laughter.

'Dogs,' I called after them though not loud enough for them to hear. 'Dog faced bastards.' I spat warm blood.

'He's right,' Ansbor grumbled, holding his sore belly. 'If you wanted to be humiliated, you could have just danced like a girl in front of him, your bottom bared.'

I glared at Ansbor, then looked away.

It was then when I saw a man on a horse. He appeared out of the woods, wiping snow off his horse, and I felt a strange foreboding, as if the man was some kind of a harbinger of ill fortune. He was silver-haired with tanned skin. He rode a shaggy, gray horse, and had a huge, rectangular shield hung on his Roman, four-horned saddle, and a spatha, a fur-covered long sword on his back. He looked outlandish in a red tunic bright under his heavy cape. A guard strode cautiously for him from the hall. They talked, and the guard nodded at the man's words. Then the guard pointed his spear at where the stranger stood, and ran toward us.

'Asking for Hulderic, eh?' Wandal said. I nodded, and we gathered at the door of our hall.

Hulderic came out, glanced at us, and walked to the man. They greeted each other warmly and spoke with whispers. Hulderic was mostly listening patiently. After a while, they walked towards our hall.

We heard the man speak. 'So if you agree, I would gladly spend the Yule here. I hear the snows to the east are not over heavy, and I know some people with the Chatti. I will leave for home and visit them on the way.'

Hulderic was nodding. 'You are welcome. But you said you had something for me?'

The stranger jumped down. 'Ah! Age! I am sorry. Here! Something he told me not to forget, or I would lose my precious parts.'

The man gave something golden to Hulderic, who stiffened. He did not say anything, but glanced at me, and his eyes told me he was worried.

'Shall you take the horse?' asked the man, and I was roused by a shove from my scrutiny of the hidden shiny object. He was talking to me, holding out the wet reins.

'I'm not a slave,' I told him arrogantly.

'I know,' he told me testily. 'You look like your …' he started, but Hulderic took the reins and thrust them to me with a jerk. The stranger smiled and pulled out a tarnished bronze coin. He flipped it expertly, and I caught it less expertly but did nonetheless. A Roman coin.

'We don't use them here,' said Hulderic, bemused. 'But take it, Hraban. Perhaps you can use it in the Hard Hill or Grinrock of the south gau if you ever visit there.'

I nodded gratefully, and they disappeared inside the hall.

'A beautiful mount,' said Ansigar, stroking the animal.

'Who was that? Eh?' asked Wandal as he tried to take the coin.

I closed my fist. 'I think he knows my father,' I said, and took the horse to the stables at the other end of our hall, wondering about the object Hulderic had received.

In the coming days, I thought about the stranger, and hoped to have words with the man. It was not to be, and I suspected Hulderic had decided I knew too much already, which was next to nothing, of course. Yet I tried. 'He rests,' a slave told me daily, testily. I cursed, tried to sneak to the bedchamber reserved for the man, and failed many times. Finally, Hulderic found me an endless amount of things to do outside to divert me. I was frustrated, stiff, and sore from the manual work, but still I wondered. The stranger had given Hulderic something golden, and Hulderic had acted strangely ever since. He was beset with issues and management of the villages, but he would sit and stare at an item in his hand, never heeding the many things he usually dealt with.

Soon, Hulderic's men began to arrive for the two weeks of feasting for Yule. We ate well and made merry, enjoying life as best we could. It was getting far colder outside. The wind was heaping snow on the banks of the Moenus River. Sometimes we could not sleep in the biting cold, but feasts we held, and enjoyed. As for me, I found I could not enjoy them as I usually did, and half the time I discovered myself staring at the absentminded, contemplative Hulderic, and the stranger. The other half, I spent building a shield, meticulously choosing the wood and using proper leather. When I was done, it was nearly as good as the ones our warriors used. It was oval, covered me from chin to knees, and I painted it with excellent images of red ravens, for my name was Hraban, which meant the raven.

On the last days of the Yule feast, Hulderic rewarded his fine men, smiled at their children and toasted them all, blessed the meetings and peace offerings of the rivals, and made oaths with people we had upset previously. There were plenty of those, especially stubborn grudges over the small domestic beasts lost that past summer. Hulderic returned a bay horse to a happy chief of the Quadi, and received back some pigs and a few old cows. Yet Hulderic was careful, even amidst the joyous revelry.

On the last day of the feasts, he did not drink mead or ale. I saw him gazing at our strange guest, fingering something small—the thing he had been looking at ever since the man returned—his face dour, yet there was a more resolute glint in his eye, and I knew the old man had made some sort of a decision. I grabbed a piece of juicy ox meat and slurped on it, contemplating the stranger. The man had been silent most of the time, politely accepting our hospitality, but now he was more drunk than usual, and he was telling tall tales of bloody foreign wars. They were stories of the dangerous Rome.

Gernot, my brother, was also inquisitive about the stranger. He had not been present when the man arrived, but had picked up the scent of something unusual quickly enough. I saw him, hidden in the darker shadows on the side of the hall, leaning on a wooden column. He looked pale and nervous, as he usually did. His eyes darted this way and that, taking in much. He had a weak, brown beard, a sharp nose, and a frown that rarely changed to a genuine smile.

Familiar voices came from the doorway, along with a momentary whipping cold. Wandal came in with Ansigar, and they shook snow off their shoulders, hoods and hair, and hailed me in the pleasant firelight. A shapely young woman went past, carrying sloshing mead, and we took cups off her hands. She smiled demurely at us, her eyes twinkling mysteriously under her long eyelashes. We gave each other a knowing look and grinned like idiots, then admired her shapely buttocks, which were swaying gently under a light gray dress.

Ansigar snorted. He was not in favor with the beautiful girls of our village. He was not very handsome, but I think it was more due to him being sour half the time. He slapped our backs sharply. 'Let it go, friends. Hagano! Come here and tell the fools what happened to Sigfried in the Quadi village, miles to the east.'

Hagano’s beardless face appeared out of thin air, it seemed. I had not noticed him before, but he was a sneak. I saw he had been listening in on the stranger, who was now talking about northern Italy and Noricum, a kingdom taken by Rome. The man told his audiences as the great Alps were now Roman, things would change for all of us. Some argued with him, but I had to turn to Hagano and missed the rest of the discussion. Hagano whipped some light hair out of his gray eyes, and looked at the girl sauntering around, serving full mugs to the smiling men. He shook his head knowingly, and I groaned.

He would tease Wandal again.

I smiled at him, wondering how he would deal with us becoming men. Hagano had the beginnings of a beard, but soon, we would receive our spear and shield, and he would not. It would change things. He leaned forward, and Wandal, the dolt, mimicked the gesture.

Hagano gazed around mysteriously, and told us a story of Sigfried. 'There was a Chatti slave like her living with the Quadi, near Tudrus's village. Last summer, you see? She looked suspiciously like that girl, the one serving drinks. Perhaps they were sisters.'

I spat. 'That slave girl is a Celt! And how would you know, since you have never visited—'

Hagano made swift and significant glances at Wandal, and I let him have his damned fun. 'I went with my cow-trading cousins, and saw her,' he lied. 'They could be near identical sisters. This beautiful girl was a slave, and as a slave, she should have been obedient and meek. She should have attended her many chores, obeyed the wise master and fair mistress of her pleasant hall, and kept her lustful eyes down. Yet, she did not.'

'What happened, eh?' Wandal asked, and Ansigar snickered a bit too loudly and then bit his tongue.

Hagano whipped his hands up. 'She set those eyes on Sigfried. A dolt like Hraban here, the eldest boy in the house! The similarity ends there. Sigfried was strong as a draft horse, and had famously killed a Hermanduri in single combat. He had an elegant horse, many cows, and was going to marry a distant, beautiful cousin. He was a fine hero in the making.'

I laughed, tired of the game, but Wandal pushed Hagano, for he loved stories.

'Did he marry the cousin, or the slave? Eh?' Wandal asked.

Hagano shook his head sadly. 'Neither. The impatient slave might have gotten her dearest wish. Had she been patient, she could have forced the desperate Siegfried's hand, and the poor fool would have told his befuddled father he wished to marry the slave, not the cousin. It happens however during a feast like this, she set out to seduce him, swaying around before his mead-sodden eyes. She encouraged him mercilessly, so he took her to the woods nearby, and there, he kissed her like a drunk kisses a woman, slobbering and lusty. And he did other things.'

'Wandal could not kiss the back of his hand. The fool is afraid of girls,' I said, although I was intrigued by the story.

Hagano shook his head as he took hold of Wandal's mug. Wandal resisted fiercely, but Hagano raised his eyebrow slowly. 'You want to hear what happened?' Wandal cursed and let go of the dented mug. Hagano grinned as he drank the mead, savoring the taste. 'They were seen by many. The father deemed the girl to have used seidr magic to seduce his idiot son. The old warriors agreed on her guilt, and the vitka sentenced her to death by drowning. They drowned her indeed, and her shapely ass sunk in a fetid swamp, not far from here.'

'And Sigfried?' I asked despite myself, cursing. Hagano was full of ox crap, but I wanted to know anyway.

He made a meaningful gesture at his crotch. 'Sigfried's cock shriveled. It was the size of a horse, and then it was like a twig. It was the curse of the dreadful, dead girl. She screamed as they tied her flailing arms and legs to the trees that would drag her to the bottom of the deepest swamp. She promised to return from the waters and silt to avenge herself on all the weak-willed men who take a woman, but run from their holy duties.'

'That is terrible, eh?' Wandal said. 'A twig? Did she come back? An evil spirit?'

Hagano stared at the girl sauntering around the hall. Wandal followed his eyes, and Hagano started to nod uncertainly, his face a mask of fear. 'I think so. She looks exactly like her. I remember the face. Perhaps that one is the very same girl. They do look alike, and I do think she smells of swamp. Must be all rotten through under the dress,' Hagano said, as he gazed at the shapely Celt serving many more drinks.

Wandal looked at the girl in suspicion, taking a step back, touching wood to ward off the evil vaettir.

'He is an extraordinary idiot, is he not?' Ansigar asked in wonderment.

'Why? Eh? She could be the dead girl. The vaettir and spirits are real,' Wandal said with trepidation in his voice.

I spat in extreme frustration. 'That's Essi. She was captured by Harmod the Old from the southern Celts when he was not called Old yet. She lives with his household. You have seen her before, though not often.'

Hagano shrugged. 'Oh, right. I forgot. I guess it's not her, and it's Wandal who smells of swamp.'

We laughed as Wandal sulked, rewarding us with his pouting. He was not the quickest weasel in the forest.

Wandal huffed and sat down at a table full of happy men roaring for a poem from one of the few sober men. He grabbed a lonely mug from the mead-sodden table, glaring at any man who dared claim ownership. None did, and he happily drank it down, savoring the taste. He burped rudely and pointed a finger at us. 'You will see, eh? Magic is real. Such things happen. So, the stranger, do you know more of him?'

'No, but I will find out. Ansbor?' I asked. 'Where is he?'

Ansigar stretched on a long bench. 'He is on cold guard duty with his unfortunate father, who just made it into Hulderic's warrior band.'

I nodded and swallowed my acute dislike of Gernot as I edged close to him. I dodged rushing men and tripped on an unlucky dog running around happily, wagging its shaggy tail. Then I was close to my silent, brooding brother.

'Do you know anything about him?' I asked him indifferently, and nodded at the stranger.

Gernot jumped into the air, and turned his startled gaze in my direction. His eyes were red from the smoky air. He was a year younger than I was, nearly fifteen. He laughed with his high-pitched voice, ever nervous and shrugged. 'He claims he is a Naristi, from the east. If I were Hulderic, I would strangle him in the dark,' he said crudely and sipped his mead loudly. His weak beard was dripping with the drink.

‘Why, my sweet brother?’ I asked him. ‘Would that not break the spirit of Yule-feast?’

He shrugged. 'He is telling tall tales of wonderful riches, and foolish men will leave us for Rome come spring.'

I grunted. I did not care about that. He glanced at me, expecting more questions. I sensed his growing annoyance, but I did not utter a word.

Angrily, he continued, 'He tells that Rome will have no more Senate. That’s like a Thing, if you will. They will have only one man, a mighty king, or close to it. A wise choice. Why we hate proper rulership, I know not.'

He enjoyed challenging the Germani habits, especially our yearning for personal freedom and the suspicious disdain for kings. Our few kings were elevated for wars and then expected to be lords again, and few dared reach higher. He was always more interested in such boring matters, much more than I was. I just wanted my well-earned spear and shield. He enjoyed law and power, but I thought no stupid law meant anything without the power of the spear, and I pitied him.

'That one king will show Rome what one man can do,' Gernot mumbled.

'Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus, you mean?' I said, enjoying his look of utter distress. I hid my wide grin under the drinking horn as I took a swig. I knew a terrible lot about Rome, and had let Gernot pretend to be an expert, only to squash him like an annoying ant.

The reason for his suffering was our Marcus Romanus. A Roman man, slight of build, he came to us years past and lived in the village with a slave or two, and still wore fine, fancy Roman tunics, which we scorned, especially in the winter. Marcus was the strange man who was teaching me Latin. Father had sent him. That was one of the few times we had heard of Maroboodus. Even Marcus claimed he knew little of his faraway benefactor, except for his generosity in offering this sanctuary for small services he had helped Maroboodus with. The Roman was in terrible trouble and needed a secure place to live, and was remarkably nonchalant about that place being the dark backwoods of Hercynian forests, our home. Whatever he left behind was far worse than our deadly winters and uncouth manners. He was grateful for his sanctuary, and, in return, Hulderic had him teach me Latin.

Marcus sat near Hulderic now. I glanced his way, and saw he was tired of the many feasts, slouching on the seat. He was a man with a curiously delicate face, yet blessed with strong arms. He was keen, his swift eyes darting this way and that, and he, too, was looking at the stranger most of the time. There was something there.

Gernot spat and shook his head in bitter anger. 'Even if Grandfather ordered it to be you who learned the language of the Romans, I know things, too, and I know why this stranger is here. Besides, Marcus told Hulderic you speak Latin like a demented idiot, one with a thick, malformed tongue. Perhaps I will be more useful after all when father returns.'

I watched him go and cursed him. So, that was it. I had been right; the stranger knew Father, or at least of him.

Marcus clapped his hand on my back and leaned to whisper in my ear. 'Merry Woden's tide, Hraban. This night, Hulderic will dismiss the men early. Stay here with Gernot.'

'Is Father alive? Coming home?'

He stopped and hesitated. 'He is alive. He is coming home, but he is a hunted man. Your grandfather will speak about this.' I nodded, impatient as ever. I saw Hulderic scowl with concern, and even if I did not know it, I was about to learn a story of mystery and magic Wandal would have loved.

Later that night, Grandfather was lounging amidst the wreckage of the feast. A dog was growling loudly in the dark corner, hunting for dirty scraps, which were plentiful, as we had not had time to clean the room. Hulderic was about to speak, but the dog started to bark loudly, for it was not alone hunting for scraps. Hulderic scowled, walked up to the beasts, and groped savagely in the shadows. Then he walked to the sturdy door, which he kicked open, and tossed both out with a huff. Hulderic spat on the floor, drawing an angry hiss from Sigilind, who was entering the main hall, and the old man shrugged apologetically at her.

'Sorry, my dear. Old habits. Very old.' He inspected us, apparently weighing whatever he was going to say. We stared back impatiently as he sat down, willing him to speak. He shook his head at me. 'You are stubborn as a dull boar, where your brother is soft and scheming like a boy-loving Roman.' We opened our mouths to refute him, but he glowered and made a curt gesture. 'Shut up. Spring will come. You are not ready by far, neither one of you, but at Drimilchi, when cows are getting fat and snows are gone, there will be great changes. I will make you men in the Thing. It will take place when we hold a feast to goddesses Holda and Freya. Perhaps earlier.'

Gernot grinned, but I nodded and stepped forward. 'Gernot should wait for his turn. I am the eldest—'

'No!' Hulderic spoke the word loudly, grimaced, and was about to spit. Mother looked at him sternly, her blonde hair shuddering as she empathetically shook her head, fingering at her silver fibula in anger, one given to her by Balderich, her father, when she was young. A deer was engraved on it, and it was as beautiful as she was. Grandfather swallowed his nasty phlegm, grimacing and gagging. He continued after having dealt with the issue. 'No. We will need all the spears, even the weakest we can get, for I do not know how Bero will react. It is possible we'll have to try to kill him. Though I never wanted that.'

We looked at him blandly. Kill the mighty Bero? Why not? I grunted and spoke, 'He is plotting against us, Grandfather. Why should we not try to kill him, if we are in danger? Why do you not want this?'

He shook his head tiredly, took out something, and showed it to us. 'He is always plotting against me, and I have my many reasons for not wanting him a corpse, even if I have to punish his men occasionally. Now, he might make a desperate move. You see, this has finally come home.'

It was a thick, golden ring, carved with intricate flowers and ancient runes running around it, delicately beautiful and blessed with unique details. Somehow it left one with an impression of very, very old work. We both stared at it with our mouths open.

He nodded. 'It has that effect on people. This is Draupnir's Spawn, Woden's Gift. You know already my son is coming home. Your father. You have guessed it, at least, sniffing around the corners. There will be trouble, one way or the other.'

'Draupnir?' I asked. 'Woden's famed ring? The one that spawns nine others every so often?' My eyes were fixed on the brilliant thing.

Hulderic snorted. 'I know not how many rings the real one spawns, but they say the old Gothoni, of whom our family is from, were the first men and women created, and that Woden, Hoenur, and Lok breathed sweet life, untamed spirit and keen mind to them. Woden considered them his greatest creation, so he gave Embla and Aska this, a ring to the first man and woman to tie them to him.'

We nodded, mystified. Dwarf-made, I thought, like most of the greatest treasures of our gods, hammered on the anvils of underworlds under the bushy beards of the wide, short folk. 'They were the first, our Gothoni ancestors, and all others sprung from them.'

'How come we have such a treasure?' Gernot asked, resisting a desperate urge to touch it. Hulderic saw it, clenching the ring in his hand, scowling, and I cursed Gernot for his greed. I was a hypocrite, of course.

'Our family has always held it. Our family is close to the first men and women. It is a blessing, a mark of unchallenged rulership in the north, and, I dare say, especially the Suebi revere it across the lands, north to south. I took it when I left our old lands for these far southern woods, but your father took it from me when he went to his exile in Rome. Now, it is back. The Naristi man brought it.'

'He must be an honorable man not to have stolen it,' I wondered. 'Why would Father part with that now?'

'It was his, sort of,' Hulderic said, fidgeting uncomfortably. 'It usually goes to the first boy to marry in the family, but he took it from me without permission anyway, and now, he sent it back. He wants peace, for I sent him away.'

I looked at Gernot in wonder, and he glanced at me, as mystified as I was.

'I thought he left due to Bero?' Gernot asked.

Hulderic shrugged, taking a deep breath. 'No, not exactly, even if there was the unfortunate business of Maino, Bero's son, whom I know Maroboodus did kill, he had good reason. I have asked Adalwulf and some of my men to scout this winter, to see how many champions and men Hard Hill has, and if there is anything unusual afoot. There will be many, too many men there, but we will fight, should it come to that. You will both get a new spear, and you, Gernot, will start to learn the weapons quicker. You wield them like a limp dick; there's no energy in you.'

We were silent, waiting for him to elaborate on Maroboodus, and he sighed, seeing this. 'The guest in our hall claimed Maroboodus is preparing to leave Rome, having been unhappy with his lot in the deceitful city. He will leave, or has already done so, even though he ranks high in the Germani Custodes Corpores. A Decurion, he called your father. The man told us Maroboodus has made a sacred oath, and he will do something rash for some slight he has suffered. He will be a fugitivus. A deserter.'

I glanced at Gernot briefly, and he looked at me smugly. He had known this already.

My mother sighed, not calm and stoic anymore, but distressed. 'I see,' she said heavily.

Hulderic fixed an eye on her. 'I am sorry, my dear, that he was sent away, but I had my reasons.'

She shrugged and spoke, 'I know them, and even if I might not approve, or believe as deeply in these matters as you do, you are the lord of the house, and have guarded my family. You have been a terrible foe to any who would hurt us. But how do we know for sure this is so, that he is coming? Can you not ask Balderich, my father? He lives near Roman dominion, and perhaps he has news from the Romans who constantly row past the Hard Hill?' She looked down, her eyes moist with emotion, for she was worried. 'Why would the Bear leave Rome now?'

Hulderic groped the string of bear teeth adorning his suebian knot, the intricate braid all Suebi wore to keep their unruly hair in place. 'I still talk with Lord Balderich occasionally. He does not hate me. Only his tiresome Lord Bero does.' He looked miserable as he mulled it over, but continued reluctantly, 'I doubt he knows more. Maroboodus sent the ring ahead as a sign of some sort. Mayhap he wants to say he is sorry, to a degree. I hope so. But make no mistake, he is coming.'

A thought occurred to me. 'So, if he is coming home, will I get the ring when I marry? Gernot will marry a rancid goat, after all, so I should be the one to continue the line.'

Gernot spat in uncontrollable anger and got up, trying to strike me. I sprang up as well, blocked his slowly descending hand and pushed him over so quickly he hit his hand on the fire pit. A shrill scream tore from his throat. He sprung up, crying in pain, then hissed at me and ran out of the room. Hulderic frowned after him, and Sigilind followed swiftly, pointing at me with her long finger, angry at my loss of control and cruel mockery. We sat in silence. Grandfather glared at me now, and I stubbornly pretended I had done no ill.

Finally, he spoke. 'It will not be easy, you know.'

'What? Beating Gernot?'

'No,' he said, anger playing in his voice for my foolish bravado. 'Getting along with your damned father. There is a legendary crafter, Adalfuns, who will come here in the early spring, if he is able. He has a large stake in the cataclysmic events that will shape up with Maroboodus's return. The ring contains doom. Adalfuns will help me reason with my Maroboodus, but you have to be very careful. Do not be rash.'

'I don't understand,' I said, confused. 'A crafter? Cataclysmic event? What doom?'

'You will understand in time. Maroboodus is coming home. I hoped he would never do so, but we will do as we must.' He looked tired.

'You hoped he would never… ' I said, angry with him. 'He is my father!'

He nodded. 'He is that, and my son as well. There are faraway events you do not understand, reasons why I left the home in the north, mainly to do with your poor father and possibly you. I hoped Maroboodus would find life in Rome, far away from here. To be sure, I should have killed him before he went, or rather, after he sired you. I love him, so I did not slay him, but sent him away. Curse my weakness.'

'Kill my father?' I asked, shocked to the core. He did not answer, but looked down, as if there was something terribly unusual running around in the straws.

'He wanted to stay and fight the dastardly Bero, but I did not want him to wage war in our lands.' He sighed despondently, and his eyes became glossy. 'I left the north with your father, because of my mother's words. She was a fine seer.'

‘Great-grandmother was a seer? Völva?' I asked, happy Gernot had gone. I would know something he did not, but Hulderic's mood was strange, and I looked around to see how many mugs of mead he had drunk. Not many.

He groaned as he stretched, and then nodded his head. 'Yes, one of the revered ones, usual in our line of blood. We are an old, ancient family, and Woden's hallowed blood runs in our veins, like fire through a dry field. Such blood and fire hold doom. She had a forewarning sight, Hraban. She saw the ring, and a Bear and a Raven, and deemed war would come to the lands of the Germani when the Bear roared. After that, the very end of Midgard would be near. The Bear and the Raven, and the ring of Woden hold some part in the events. She believed the Bear was your doom-ridden father.'

'And the ring was Draupnir's Spawn?' I asked, and continued, 'End of times? Do you mean—'

He nodded. 'I do not know if the ring was this one, or if anything is certain when a Völva dreams. Ragnarök is indeed possibly the terror she spoke of. There are many prophesies in the vast land of the gods, but only one that speaks of the end of the end. She knew of the doom few know of. The gods, and Midgard itself will one day sink like a weighted net into the sea, dragging with it all we hold dear. This will come to pass. She told me it would be happen if the men close to Woden's family make severe mistakes, and yet hold no sacrifices.

‘In the past, our family has made great ones to avert this evil. But, Maroboodus is not one for sacrifices. He is selfish and wild. Even so, I could not kill him. Instead, I took the ring along with your father and fled. There was a brutal war coming to the north. I did not really know what I would do, nor where I would go, but I only knew I could not kill him. After we arrived here, I exiled him after Bero threatened us with another war. Your father left us, cursing me for a cur, but he returned for a short time. He was just married, and you and Gernot were born soon after. When he left again, he took the ring, and did not come back.' He scratched his chin and stared blankly at the ceiling. 'We lived well for nigh over a decade, but now Maroboodus is coming back, and there is much war in the land. Will the Bear roar? Then, I will have to act. Finally face my duty. Adalfuns will help me. You will too, I hope.'

'I am not,' I said carefully, 'very comfortable with the thought of fighting my own lost father.' I nervously looked at Hulderic. I realized I did not feel any dread for obscure curses and old, vague prophecies, or their givers. Yes, we all knew, or thought we knew, such things existed, but I did not think my father was a key to the destruction of Midgard. Yet, I saw Hulderic believed in these things.

He saw my doubts and scowled with genuine anger. 'Just keep out of the way, then. Did I say your great-grandmother also saw a Raven? Your father named you Hraban—Raven. I did not like it, and tried to call you another name, but Sigilind forced me out of the habit.'

'You did mention it, and I will not ask what you wanted to name me. I am sure I would not like it,' I said with humor. I did not think much of that part of my great-grandmother's ramblings either. For Hulderic's benefit, I sighed, and with a massive effort, summoned a well-astonished look on my doubting face, and was awarded by his approving nod.

He poked me in the chest. 'It is possibly you are the raven of my mother's sight, and you should heed it. Understand there are gods and their vile servants out there that wish to see the cursed prophecy transpire. There are gods who hate Woden, and would like to see him and his creations fall to Helheim. We carry the hallowed blood of Woden. Likewise, our enemies also have the blood of their filthy gods and demons, and they are bent on the destruction of all our people. There are people who would like to see the world burn like kindling, sink like a broken corpse, and replace all this with their own future. So, you will stay far away from Zahar, the Tear.'

I looked confused. 'The old hag living in the thick woods to the north, on the Quadi side?'

He nodded, his eyes glittering. 'She and her nasty son, Odo, are bad news. Ishild, her daughter, in some way too—especially to you.'

'Very well,' I said. 'I have no interest in them.'

He snorted in deep disgust. 'I know you have seen fair Ishild, in the fort of the old people, at the very hilltop? She told you about old spirits and canny elves, and you were like a beached fish. Helpless before a lovely girl. She said'—he leaned on me, hissing lecherously—'that she cares for you. Then, she kissed you as if she was married to you. It's been awhile this happened, but these thoughts of young lips and lovely hips do not gallop away from a man's mind like a wild horse, but stay with you like the most docile, tame nag.'

I blushed and stammered. In the past, I had indeed met with Ishild, but I had not seen her for two long years. The last time we had met, at the old oppidum of the ancient Celts by Marmot's Ford at the edge of the village, I had sat on some wet moss, which she claimed housed an angry fairy. I had laughed, and she had slapped me, then she had indeed kissed me. It was my first kiss, and nothing stokes a man's confidence more than a beautiful female showing such interest, and that sweet kiss did just that. I felt proud for months. To be that special, my Lord Thumelicus, was a thing every man should experience early on. True love or not, it felt wonderful as the sweetest water to one dying of thirst.

'It was a long time ago,' I told him morosely, 'and I had forgotten.'

He smirked despite himself, and continued, 'It is likely Ishild is there to support her family against us, and so she appears like a spirit soon. And you will avoid her.' Hulderic squinted at me and cursed, as I was clearly not well-convinced. 'She is the daughter of the Tear of Woods, a mighty seer and a dreaded magician. She knows seidr magic, which Freya, the war and shadow goddess, grants her in abundance. She can seduce men like a frog eats frostbitten flies. How do you think Zahar got a man to sire her children? She looks like a dead deer. And I think they do not love Woden, nor us.'

I nodded and groaned inwardly. Had Ishild indeed enchanted me? No. I did not believe in such magic, for I was not foolish. 'I know, Grandfather. I am careful. Was it Gernot who spied me with her?'

'It matters not who told me.' Hulderic slammed his ham fist on a rotten beam, cracking it. 'I told you to avoid her. Not to be careful with her.'

I bowed to him, and he calmed. 'You think they are dangerous, and have a stake in the events that might lead to the prophecy,' I stated seriously, humoring him. 'So I obey.'

He looked relieved. 'Adalfuns thinks so. They came here after I arrived, and asked strange questions about our past. Perhaps that has meaning.' He smiled ruefully. 'Your father does not forgive easily, Hraban. He wanted me to kill Bero. I said no, and threw him out. I failed then. I hope not to fail now. But I will ask your father to leave again, and I will fight Bero should he make a move for us, for the ring, for Maroboodus.'

I looked down to my toes, and turned away.

He pushed me around. 'Ah, you wonder still why I did not defend the family honor and slit Bero's throat. I am not weak, Hraban. I have good reasons why I did not try to slay Bero when your father assumed we would naturally do so. Now, if Bero threatens you and Gernot, I will forget those reasons and break my oath.'

'What oath?' I asked, but he shook his head stubbornly. I glowered at him and continued, 'And I suppose I should be hugely thankful you did not slay me as well? Though you might have done this to Gernot, and I would not have been worse off.'

'Leave your brother out of this. Bero and I have a history. This blade, Head Taker, took his son's life. Maroboodus wielded it then, but it did happen, and he fears it. A völva once told him it would one day end his life, and so he has ever since bought the holy men and women in hopes of diverting his fates. He fears war with me, and he fears this blade like ice jotun fear fire, but I am loath to hurt him. It was not always evil between us.'

'He came from the north as well?'

He smiled and walked off stiffly, ignoring my question. I heard him call out after he disappeared to the sleeping area, like a spirit from another world. 'Keep your oaths, Hraban. Oaths to me, to your family before all. Oaths to your father first and foremost, if I fail and die. Then you will be in peril, indeed, but that is wyrd, and gods know if you can find the path to the right choices, even if it means great sacrifices. Few Bears and Ravens in our family have lived a long and happy life, but maybe you will. Keep to your precious honor. Rather die than sully it. There is only honor in a man's life, and the rest is meaningless gibberish. Oh, and do not speak to Wulf either. Priests, the vitka, are weak to Bero.'

I sat down to contemplate what he had said. Father was coming home. Hulderic was worried about him and some ancient, obscure curse and wanted him gone, even dead. Bero would have to be faced and fought, should he learn of Maroboodus's return, which he would, for tongues wag. Things would change for us. Wandal would love the idiotic story. A story that was going to tear the people I loved apart.

I nodded to myself and decided to keep my peace, bide my time, and work for reconciliation. Oaths I would hold like any Germani, and I would struggle mightily by growing my honor and gathering warrior's fame. I would rather die than fail in that. I was a Germani, after all, and this is what we are famous for. Dying for honor. I expected nothing less. Let Hulderic deal with confusing matters, and I would pray Woden would let father come home. I had missed him.

Or, at least, the thought of him.

CHAPTER II

After the joys of the Yuletide, the gods blessed us as the cold blissfully gave up for a while, although it was likely the winter spirit was only gathering strength. The Naristi, our mysterious guest, came to the frigid hall early one morning while I was eating moldy porridge. He saw me, stopped abruptly, and grinned. 'Hraban. You do look like your father. Same pose, same stance; you even eat the same way, with your mouth open.'

I nodded and closed my mouth, then decided it did not matter.

'I suppose you won't tell me of him,' I asked dourly while he grinned.

The stranger eyed the closed doors of our bedding area. He hesitated, but shook his head. 'I promised my host I would not. But when you meet him, do not complain like a girl. Serve well and hard, no matter how hard it is. Do so, if you truly want to be his son. And know how to make compromises.'

I nodded at him, not really understanding.

He glanced the glittering snow outside. 'Hard in this weather. Hope you will not find my corpse out there, come summer.'

'Where will you go?'

'To my sweet home in the north.'

'I thought you were a Naristi. They do not live in the north.'

He shrugged. 'A wise man keeps his origins secret. To be honest, I am a Cherusci, and I have people to meet up in the north.'

'For my father?'

'Yes, for him. I will meet a man and settle down with my wealth, marry some young thing and finally have my sons.' He grimaced at the cold as he opened the door. 'I hope to see you again, Master Hraban.'

I nodded, and he dodged outside with a curse, shutting the door behind him.

We endured hunger that winter. Yule feast is time for the plenty, but after the celebrations, we ate meager porridge, old, frozen meat, and scoured our cellars for scraps of vegetables. Sometimes, when it got mortally cold, we slept fitfully in the cellar, all sharing warmth as if we were a litter of foxes, shivering uncontrollably in the cold. People died, some were born. Gods were thanked profusely by those who survived, and as hallowed Lenzing, or as the Romans call it, Martius, finally arrived, the first warm winds began blowing from the south. We emerged from our houses like some strange trolls, enjoying each sight as if it were brand new.

Our village was unusually large, housing some two hundred people. It was generously spread out amidst patches of forests and haphazard fields. Few lived like the Celts, in walled and controlled oppida, though some Chatti did. Hard Hill was such a place, though it had no walls.

People met and discussed various important issues, and gossip was shared. Womenfolk, having spent the winter making fine cloth and mending items, were the first to know the various news, and especially the scandals. Animals were let out, and they were visibly thrilled to eat fresh, bitter grass. Hulderic's men gathered under the open skies, some hundred, minus a few who had died or disappeared in the winter. Adalwulf brought news Hard Hill was peaceful, and there was nothing unusual going on. It was a beautiful month, and flew by with the swift wings of an eagle.

Sigilind came to find me at the end of Martius. She stopped to regard us suspiciously as we were checking our makeshift weapons, sitting by the warming fire pit. We ignored her long look. We were busy with heated planning and arguments. We had no spears, of course, as we were but youth, unelected still for the honor of the manhood and wielded staves, except for Wandal, who carried a cudgel. That night would mark the end of Martius, and the start of the new month, the month of Óstar-mánór, of Eostere. She was our goddess of fair dawn, much revered by everyone and plentifully thanked for the end of the damned winter. As for us, we were preparing for the month of thanks by making devious plans to attack the unsuspecting Quadi youths across the river. We knew they would want revenge for the stolen mead and the beating we witnessed, and we planned to make a humiliating pre-emptive strike.

I was frustrated with other matters. Hulderic had not made it clear if we would get our spear and shield that night. He had hinted at it after Yule, promising it for the next month, Drimilchi, but I was impatient. I pushed it out of my head, as Wandal grumbled again. 'Who shall lead this year? Eh? It's my turn.'

I laughed and mocked him. 'I will lead. You would not outsmart Tudrus and his brothers if they were asleep at your feet.'

Ansbor rolled his eyes. He did that too often, annoying the lot of us. 'Between you two bickering, we will never catch them. Likely, as usual, we will be the ones getting hurt. Why not let me lead?'

Wandal growled, while ignoring Ansbor's last sentence. 'Did I not find their mead last year? They got punished for it, and we laughed at their tears. That is a victory for us. One of the few. I did that, eh?'

I clucked my tongue at him. 'You found it, yes. But I led us to their very hall without being seen. Ansbor is too cautious, you are as sharp as an ox, and Hagano is a bleeding coward. I will lead.'

Hagano opened his mouth, and hopped to his feet. His face was red, but Sigilind interrupted him by clapping her hands sharply. 'You lot, clear out.' My friends blanched and ran off at her simple words. Mother was lithe as a willow, small as a wolverine and as formidable as one when crossed.

I turned to her. 'What is it, Mother?'

She sat down slowly. 'I do not approve of your useless and dangerous Roman lessons,' she said gravely. 'You would do better to learn our laws, animal husbandry, and estate management. Already Gernot is better at these things.'

'He is not!' I shouted with rising anger, but she put an iron–like finger over my mouth. She was right, and I knew it. I slumped, unhappy.

She smiled sadly and continued, 'But perhaps the Roman lessons are not all useless. I am ill.'

'Ill? How? I can fetch Wulf,' I said, alarmed. Wulf was the village vitka, a wise man and a healer.

'No, I don't know if it is serious. An ache in my belly, that is all. I only know I want to speak to your father. And you can help me. A scroll with words? Is that what they call it?' She looked like she was having a bad supper with a murderous robber as she spoke of the strange Roman ways.

'It is. I can try.' Then my head swam. It had not occurred to me I could speak with my father. 'What do you wish to tell him?' I asked her, wondering if I was up to the task as I stumbled to fetch a wrinkled piece of leather left over from my shield. She said nothing, and I went to fetch my stylus and ink powder, some of which I mixed in water. When I came back, she was still thinking, silent, unmoving. I realized she did not know Father either. I sat down swiftly and got ready, proud to show my skills and knowing she would not see how bad I was.

She sighed and adjusted the two shiny fibulae, the brooches holding her dress up at the shoulders. When she was deep in her thoughts, she often fingered the fancy one with the silvery, startled-looking deer. 'What do I want to tell him? Many things. That I miss him, and that he should take care when he comes home. I …worry. I hear many men who go and serve abroad change. They adopt Roman morals. Gunhild, my sister, your aunt in Hard Hill? She just lost her husband last year. I lost mine some fifteen years ago, and now, I do not know what to think or what to tell him.' She spat on the floor in a sudden fit of anger. I stayed quiet, despite the insistent voice in my head demanding I reprimand her for the spittle on the floor.

'I cannot ask Marcus to write this, Hraban. I do not like him, nor trust him,' she said evenly.

I smiled. 'Marcus is not bad. He even has a fine sense of humor. He made me write gladius and vagina, they’re clunky words for a sword and sheath, and after I had recited them aloud twenty times one after another, he burst out laughing like a maniac and told me they have different meanings or more than one!'

She smiled uncertainly. 'What meanings?'

'They mean … well. It’s this snail and its shell, from the Alps.' I blushed and shrugged.

'And how is this funny?' she asked, suspicious.

'It is a Roman thing. I will write now.' I kept my eyes down, and knew she was contemplating on pushing the issue, but after a few moments, she sighed and continued.

'Very well. Tell Maroboodus, your father, this,' she said.

She spoke, and I wrote furiously. She eyed my awkward writing style, and waited patiently as I managed to write down most of her words. I felt remotely angry when the task was done. She had not asked Father if he had been true, though perhaps she had been wise not to do so. She had only humbly assured him of her own virtue and patient feelings of eternal love. She gazed at the writing on the skin, and tears fell from her eyes, smudging some of the letters. I took it gently from her hands. She nodded in thanks, her eyes tired.

Wandal came in, his expression guarded as he saw my mother. 'Tudrus and the brothers are on the other side of the river. They are mocking us,' he said with an angry tremble in his voice.

'Go show them your hairy ass. We'll deal with them later,' I told him.

Mother scowled at my words.

Wandal looked sheepish. 'They have your new shield.'

'What?' I asked, trying to understand what Wandal's meaning. 'Who has my shield? Ansbor?'

Wandal looked embarrassed. 'No, Tudrus the Younger has it. He is flaunting it across the damned river. He sat on it.'

I stared at Wandal for a long moment. My shield had been leaning on the doorframe of the alcove I slept in. Then I cursed and kicked up from the seat. Gernot would pay dearly. I grabbed the skin, rolled it up, stuck it on my rope belt, and went for my stave. He would pay. I rushed out to the beach, as if chased by rabid dogs.

The River Moenus flew by on its peaceful way to the great River Rhenus. The chirping birds skimmed low over it, hunting for lazy insects. The gentle banks were swaying with the early grass and pale flowers. It was a beautiful, familiar sight, except for the three dangerous young men on the other side.

A wiry and muscular, gaunt-faced youth of my size was dragging my shield around. Two rock-like creatures, his brothers, shadowed him. Tudrus the Younger, for that was the troublesome leader of our enemy, carried a brutal black stave on his shoulder as he prepared to mock me. I could see his wicked smile. They were anticipating many pleasures for their prize, my poor shield. He hammered the stave on the shield, making a loud booming noise, and I winced, hoping it would bear the trashing. I saw many unrelated Quadi looking on to our much-awaited confrontation from their busy feast preparations. Tudrus the Younger looked like a young cat with a fresh bowl of milk, one that was not his, but one he would devour nonetheless.

I was not afraid, just angry and disappointed. I would fight them for the shield, of course, very likely take a beating. Then I would go and dig up the culprit, Gernot, from whatever foxhole he was hiding in. I would hurt him back like I would be hurt. I would force a fresh turd down my brother's throat. I had no doubt he was behind this great insult.

'Hraban!' Tudrus called. 'Bear’s ass? Is that you or an ugly girl? I cannot make out the difference from here!' he hollered loudly across the water, but his brothers remained silent.

Usually, their rare humor was reserved for brutal hits in a fight, then they would laugh like angry boulders, their noise deep and reverberating, and their beady pig eyes glistening with unholy joy.

'Hraban! Look what I got!' Tudrus yelled devilishly, hefting my shield.

I saw Ansigar flitting our way, his face nervous as he regarded the cruel brothers across the river. Ansbor was fidgeting and murmuring, and Wandal was growling angrily in my support. Hagano was dejectedly untying a hollowed out log, and I nodded his way, gratefully. We called the rotten log the “Draca.” The Dragon.

I laughed at Tudrus with a show of contempt. 'Can you carry it? It is heavy, meant for a man. Did you sneak here to steal it, or did you pay my thief of a brother to fetch it? I doubt you dared to cross the river, as you cannot swim.’

He snapped. ‘Steal? It was you lot who stole the mead last year. We suffered for it while you laughed, drunk. See here, your shield? A fine thing.’ He flung it casually to the ground.

‘Did Gernot bring it to you, like the bastard he is?' I asked forcefully, and he shrugged, utterly uncaring of my inquiries. It was Gernot. We did not want him to join our band of Bear Heads, and he was forever betraying our plans to harm the Quadi, though we could not prove it.

'Come and get it?' Tudrus the Younger taunted.

I could see his great father, one of the highest three leaders of the Quadi, standing in the shadows. A great warrior, a man feared and widely respected, his face was ruddy and strong. He was looking on as his son challenged me.

'Come, Hraban, or I will toss it into the river. But I will start the coming humiliation like this.' He pulled out his penis and pissed on the shield. I looked on, incredulous as Tudrus kept pissing, his face betraying relief and joy.

Paint smeared on the surface of the shield—washed away, like my honor.

Ansigar snickered, but sobered quickly as I glanced at him in savage fury.

There are men who hear the call of battle, and forget everything else. Some call it Woden's Rage, to go berserk with violent anger, to yap like a feral dog, howl like an upset wolf and charge your poor enemy headlong, little caring for coming wounds and looming death. Some berserkers live on unscathed, while others die more quickly, but all are full of a god's wrath.

Woden's Rage was born inside me that day.

Tudrus the Younger pissed on my creation in front of my friends and the snickering villagers on both sides of the river. The horrible insult was utterly unbearable, and I felt a painful thrumming on the sides of my head. Rage clawed inside my wide chest, and I felt blood hurtling in my ears, rushing around in dizzying anger. In the mists of my mind, I saw a massive, brutal figure, his helmet adorned with twin dragons as horns, his outline pounding the ground in unrivaled savagery.

I grabbed my stave and walked over to Draca as my friends filed in after me. I turned on them, and made my point of wishing to go alone clear by shoving Wandal back out of the raft.

'What are you doing? Eh? They will kill you!' he said, exasperated as I pushed the raft off. Hulderic and Marcus ran to the shore, having heard of what had passed.

Grandfather was yelling at me, his face red. 'You fool! Do not beat them and make us enemies. A rabid dog, Hraban, will end its days hanging from a tree!'

I ignored them all, as I shoved the unsteady boat closer to the other shore. I saw Tudrus the Younger tie his pants, and all three angry brothers made ready. I smiled and made an animal-like growl as I shoved the raft forward, the icy water seeping in to wet my legs.

Then I was there, ready to take my shield and honor back.

Tudrus the Older held his hand out as the Quadi came to look on at the unexpected fight. I grabbed my stave two-handed, the point quivering in the general direction of my nemesis. I walked for Tudrus the Younger, who raised his black stave in an overhand grip, not using it like a spear, but a club.

'Know keen pain, humiliation, and let the first tears of this year flow, Hraban the Piss-Shield. Let us see if you have learned anything useful this past winter.'

He came at me resolutely and bravely, but I did not break stride. He swung at me, I blocked, and we turned and turned like struggling bear cubs, looking for the next angle to hurt each other. A battle, Lord, as you have been taught in the efficient Roman captivity, especially a one-on-one combat, is all about fast, sure legs. You need to keep moving and anticipating their moves, need to know where the other one is weakest. Your legs take you to assured victory, if you know how to use them. He turned again, a bit unbalanced, and I danced out of the way. I laughed, feeling nothing but a curious mix of mad passion and unbridled joy bursting from every fiber in my body.

For some reason, he seemed to move much slower than usual, and I knew the strange anger that boiled my blood made me faster. Fast as an otter in the water. His face was screwed up in concentration as the black staff swung for the third time, aimed at my ear. This time, I let it come, placing my stave spear alike, aimed low. I saw I could sidestep the swing and perhaps stab him from the side, but I wanted him to hurt me. I managed to twist my head enough for Tudrus's stave to slap onto my neck, and it did hurt. I saw red and black in my stabbing pain, and should have gone tumbling down. Everyone cheered my foe. I heard my friends groan in disappointment all the way across the calm river, and my whole head throbbed painfully, but I ignored the pain.

I embraced it, too angry to care.

While Tudrus the Younger was gloating, I punched the stave at his groin, and surprised him entirely. He fell heavily on his side, so quickly I doubt he understood what had happened. He yelped while he lay there, out of breath and writhing in pain. My next thrust went for his throat; snake fast, intending to mangle and kill quickly. It would have done bloody damage to him, but the quarrelsome and surprisingly alert Agetan barreled into me, with Bohscyld ambling behind to save their elder brother. I growled in disappointment, spat and then laughed madly as Agetan's pig eyes squinted at me. He hovered over me with his hand around my throat. I let go of my useless stave and pressed my fingers quickly and savagely into his eyes, forcing a scream of surprised pain from his lips, and he rolled away. I got up, fast as a plummeting eagle, grabbed a jagged rock, and looked for my next prey.

Bohscyld took a step back, raising his cudgel in a warning.

A bronze-helmeted Quadi champion grabbed my arm.

No matter my rage, I could not break free from his grip. Everyone was quiet. I struggled, not sure for how long. The warrior was whispering to me, calming me, but his fingers continued to pinch into my skin. Finally, I let out a shuddering, ragged breath, and the mighty champion relaxed his grip. The rock fell from my nerveless hand, and the savage dancer in the mists of my mind faded away. He was lurking there, somewhere, and I knew I would see him again.

Everyone was gazing at me in unnerving silence.

Hulderic was on a boat, being rowed across by Adalwulf, the oars splashing desperately at the old man's growling commands. Marcus was with him, precariously trying to keep his balance. I spat, confused, and gazed at the men around me like a wolf would gaze at trembling lambs.

I do not know what possessed me in that moment. Mindlessly, I grabbed my stave and piss-soaked shield, and ran in the direction of the dark, green woods.

I heard Hulderic yell, 'Do not go there. Hraban!'

I ignored him, and plunged into the shadowy, green landscape with my shield and honor, but without my innocence.

CHAPTER III

The woods of Germania were wild and deeply magical, ancient as the gods themselves, and the moving shadows whispered to you with the willow voices of the animals and spirit kind. Under the canopy of old beech, fine alder, great fir and so many other wonderful trees, you found uncanny peace, but also unexpected danger. Sometimes that danger walked on four stealthy legs, sometimes but two. There were, they say, old forgotten gods in the deep places where few men have visited. Vaettir, and the many dead were said to haunt the ancient groves the invisible fairy and careful dwarf folk visit from the various nine worlds. Those who practiced magic come there, and sometimes they did not return. If you hunted, you hunted in practiced pairs, and then you found elk, the great grouse, and careful deer, lumbering moose and even irate bear, if you were brave and foolish. Spirits rarely disturbed groups of determined men, only those who ventured out alone.

That day, I embraced the danger.

I needed to bend my mind on what nearly passed. I had wielded a sharp, deadly rock in my hand, and I would have mauled with it, giving little heed to demands of reason. I would have rammed my stave inside Tudrus the Younger's skull. He had been the prey, and I the hunter. I had been so enraged, strong like an auroch, fast like a fox, feeling no mercy. The being that had danced wildly in the mists of my mind had forced a dangerous bloodlust on me. Somehow, I knew the shadow dancer had always lurked in the recesses of my mind, savage, odd as a crooked back, never speaking, yet reeking of both wisdom and godly joy of carnage.

I walked the emerald green woods, moving the foliage aside with my wet feet, trying not to make a sound. I felt older, somehow fiercer. I felt like I could lift a mountain, and then I felt silly. Had I dreamt the whole episode? I walked for a long time, my mind confused.

Then I saw them.

Ishild, and her brother Odo, hunched in a small depression.

I went to my knees, and spied on them from amidst some dank, smelly ferns. She was beautiful, lithe and slender like a young sapling, her blonde hair glimmering eerily in the misty air. There was a familiar, quick-witted look on her delicate face. That face flashed in my direction, though she seemed not to notice me. She was listening carefully to her brother's hissings, and I shuddered at the sight of him. His red, greasy hair was hanging in hanks around his shoulders, his chest was flat and bony, and he was hunched in a curiously animal-like way. His face was lean and mean, the inhuman look completed by rotten teeth. He was a vitka, a holy man. A boy, still, but reputedly powerful.

They were hovering over a small plant, digging around it with careful movements. I remember Ishild telling me how a plant must not be harmed, and how the spirits would curse a person who twisted so much as a leaf. They worked diligently. Odo hissed at Ishild, who cowered before him as she made some sort of a mistake. She was prettier than I remembered, with the round hips of a woman and the curved bosom, too. Her face was no longer the face of a child. She had a pert nose, full lips and quick eyes, all blending together into a creature of beauty, not unlike a perfect doe. I remembered the kiss from a girl and grinned, but for some reason, I felt the woman before me was not that girl, and I was troubled. Hulderic had warned me to stay away from her.

A hand grabbed my foot, and I scrambled and turned, my heart rent with beating terror. It was Hagano.

'Hey, why did you run here? You fought like …' he started, his face gray with fear, but went quiet as I put my finger on my lips.

I held my chest and glanced at Ishild and Odo. They had not noticed. I grimaced as Odo held Ishild's arm, obviously painfully. Her lovely face was screwed up in agony.

I hissed at Hagano. 'What are you doing here? Where are Wandal and the others? Did they—'

He grinned and looked pale. 'You called me a coward, did you not? The others were reluctant to follow, and Hulderic ordered them back. He sent Adalwulf after you, but the dolt went the wrong way,' he said, trembling with the effort of speaking softly. Shaking his head, he regarded the two siblings. 'Are those … alive?'

I nodded. 'Yes. Tear's children.'

'What? The völva? Let us go. Hulderic was angry, truly angry. He has the feast to prepare, and now you—'

'Shh. I know. I will clean the stables, apologize, suffer, and grit my teeth while I bow and lie that I will change my ways, but I had to get away,' I said miserably as I spied the dissimilar siblings moving away.

'Fine, but let's go,' Hagano said with chattering teeth. I did not follow him, and his brows drew down in a frown. 'It is best to go. The priest can call nasty things from the shadow lands. Things that will make us weep. Damned spirits and gibbering demons that will eat us like mutton. I want to stay as I am.'

I smiled. 'Bah! Any change is an improvement.'

I stealthily sneaked after the siblings. Hagano tensed, trying to grab my pants by the rope belt, but instead, managed a hold on my leather shoe, which I promptly discarded. I grinned, and Hagano sobbed as he came after me. We stalked after them, and they led us deeper into the heavy woods. Sunlight started to fail as the canopy above grew dense as a bone.

'Why are we doing this, Hraban? Just tell me that,' Hagano asked.

I shrugged. Ishild? Something else? I felt drawn like an insect to a bright light. Then, the siblings were gone.

I shook my head uncertainly and looked around. Hagano's eyes were wide, the whites shining in the semi-dark. He did not see them either. Up ahead, there was a curious haze of sorts, and I thought it might be caused by fire. I smelled bitter smoke, and I moved slowly forward to see and smell better. There seemed to be a clearing, and I could make out a sliver of weak sunlight, but the smoky haze was flitting around the woods, obscuring the sight, and I felt strange foreboding as I gazed at the area. Then, in the haze, something moved, as if a distant dream was walking, fast, ever so quickly amongst the haze.

'Did you see that? Did you?' Hagano demanded.

I grunted, noncommittal. I was not sure what I had seen. A fragile arm, a long leg or perhaps a hint of an ethereal body? Not human, perhaps.

'We are going, Hraban. We are going, you numb-skulled ass.' Hagano pulled me so hard, I fell on my face.

I turned around, slapped his hands off, and pulled his face closer to mine.

'Do you trust me, Hag?' I asked him, and then shook my head before he could answer. 'Well, I trust you. If I do not return, go and find Adalwulf. He must be lumbering about somewhere. Or the Quadi. Get them, at least.'

'You are going there?' His eyes were wide to the point of looking ridiculous. 'Why?'

'I have to. I do not know why. I will never call you a coward again, I promise you that.' I clapped his shuddering back lightly. He was my friend, I trusted him, but he would be of no immediate help, if my idiocy got me into hot water.

I continued on, leaving Hagano behind me.

When I got closer to the clearing, the apparitions faded. They had been flickering shadows, lingering heat, perhaps something not of Midgard, likely something that a man should worry about. They were replaced by something else. It was a clearing of ancient moss, an old and rotten tree, and a large stump where a woman sat, painfully posed.

It was an old woman, the woman Hulderic had vehemently insisted I should not meet.

It was Tear, Zahar. She was hunched over an unlit heap of kindling, mumbling something very slowly. Her bony shoulders were sagging, her greasy hair bouncing as she was trying to make the kindling light. Next to her was a fresh looking sprig, or a wand, her magic talisman of deep power. She was a wand carrier, seidr user, a seer and a sorceress. A woman to be feared. Yet, when I looked at her, I did not fear her. While dirty, there was something melancholy about her ways, and when I saw her face, I could see she had once been fair. She was chanting as she grabbed her wand. Then she took a deep green leaf, which she started to rub vigorously on the wand. After a while, she chanted harshly, and then went still.

I did not move. Every fiber in my body insisted I leave and forget the clearing and its uncouth inhabitant, but I could not move.

Suddenly, the fire sprung up with a curious hiss, and soon, it was burning fiercely, with bluish flames. She mumbled something about wildfire, something more about a weak life force, a mysterious guardian, and strange spirits.

She took out a well-used clay jar from her bag and opened it. She drank from it with greedy swallows. Time went by, I do not know how long, and then I saw her dirty head jerk a bit, just a bit, and whitish breath escaped her mouth. She began speaking in a voice strange to an old woman, a near-masculine voice full of sinister menace. Her elbow bent unnaturally, a loud popping noise evident as it stretched out to her side, yet she made not a sound of pain. I could hear vague names, great names, our old gods. Woden, Donor, Tiw, Freyr, and Freya, Sibb, familiar names we hear in feasts and at hearth, when the old speak of the old gods.

'What is needed? Is it truly so?' she pleaded, with a voice of a young woman now. She shook as she recited something in the sinister, masculine voice. Something that sounded like a wicked spell.

‘The Bear will roar, beware you gods, for the time has come to break the bars, sunder the rules, break the words. The Raven will find the sister, the gods to weep as blood spills onto the Woden's Ringlet.’

There was more, much more, but she screamed, and soon she was crying, weeping painfully and tearing at the wet ground with her haggard hands. She was communing with mighty beings, who were not of this world, and she was beyond frustrated. Then she went still, her elbow popping back into a relatively normal position, and she turned her surprised, hazy eyes towards me.

'Hraban?'

In panic, I got to my knees, ready to run, but I felt a sharp, dizzying blow to my head, and things went dark as the deepest night.

I do not know how long I was unconscious. Finally, I clawed my way out of the gray lands and opened my eyes, feeling rotten to my core. Pain was throbbing through me. I retched and nearly threw up, and my thoughts went out erratically and desperately, trying to find clues as to what had happened, what time of the day it was, where I was. I listened to my body, trying to figure out if I was badly hurt, and if there were any bones broken.

I felt the back of my head. There was a sore lump there, but there was no blood on my fingers when I pulled them away. My fingers blurred before me as I tried to focus.

Then I felt more pain, but it was a different kind of pain, and suddenly, I could focus my eyes.

I had a caliga, for that was what the Romans called their harsh military sandals, resting on top of my chest, its ragged hobnails grinding down hard on me. I struggled briefly and tried to grab the impossibly strong foot. It pressed down with more strength than Donor's gauntlet crushing a jotun's skull, and I gasped from the pain. My hand swiped the stave lying on the ground, but I could not reach it.

I cursed and turned to look at the man. A Roman. Clearly. He had huge, light brown eyes, wide and staring with little emotion. It was like a bear gazing at a carcass. He was hairy as an ape, and clearly touched by the gods. He cackled at my struggles, drool dropping from his mouth. His hand went to his well-used gladius, hanging from a fanciful balteus. The sword was decorated with bronzed, leering suns. His cingulum militare belt with its silver studs brushed against my chest.

'Fabricati diem,' he growled with a high, bloodthirsty voice, meaning 'make my day,' as he grabbed my hair. He pulled out a pugio, a wide, elegant Roman dagger.

I saw his face, and recoiled, with no place to recoil to. He was hideously scarred by fire. His left cheek and the skin around his left eye were wrinkled in ropy, angry red slabs of meat.

'Hold,' called Tear.

I turned to look at the other people in the clearing, forgetting the pugio for now. There was a warrior with long, thin mustaches and intelligent eyes, wearing a lorica hamata that reached down to his knees. The fabulous chain mail armor was glimmering in the fading sunlight. He blinked back at me impassively. Another man was seated on a small rug before Tear, a fat man with a Roman-style tunica smeared from wine and food. His jowls hung far down his chest, and jiggled as he laughed at my discomfort. He did not seem the sort of a man to hike around in the thick woods, but a man that would die of exhaustion if he tried. Yet, there he was.

The fat one spoke in a bored voice, while he struggled with some sharp stones under the rug, his big belly getting in the way. He rumbled in Latin. 'Cornix. Let the boy be. The ugly hag wants him alive. Best not kill him. I knew a Claudii who murdered a youngster in his house, and while the boy had been humping his wife, the noble was later to find, to his discomfort, that it was the son of his principal creditor. He went bankrupt, naturally, and died in the darkest and dankest of mines, whips dancing on his fleshless back. We will let him live. Our dignitas and good sense demands we keep our hosts alive. Koun, you agree?'

The mustached one shrugged and spoke. By his accent, I realized the warrior was a Germani, a Roman serving Vangione from across the river.

'Gaius Antius,' Koun said, with a thick Latin. 'Let your man gut the boy. He is useless to us. I think the hag is too. She refuses to tell us anything about our man.' He peered at Tear carefully, as if to judge if she understood Latin.

She did not move a muscle.

Antius sighed and spoke to Koun like he would to an idiot child. 'Koun, my contact in Hard Hill has already told you where he lives. The contact sent you a scroll as well. You do not need her for that. Your little war will go on. You are here to help me on another matter, and I beg you to be patient. You will be back with your father and your men momentarily.'

Hard Hill? War? I wondered, and thanked Marcus Romanus for the lessons he had painfully endured to teach me the hard language of the Romans.

Cornix grunted, reluctantly put the pugio away, and let go of my hair. He whispered half to himself. 'Well, you look poor as a rat. Dirty, too. I would have robbed you and humped your virgin ass, but you are out of luck. The fat one prevents you from knowing the best cock in the XIX Legion.'

My eyes narrowed in confusion, and I looked away in disgust, trying to make out the meaning of his words. Surely, he did not mean he wanted to take me like he would a woman? I hid my dishonored face so he would not know I spoke Latin, and I was afraid and horrified at the implications of his words.

Antius grabbed a purse that clinked uncannily and threw it on Tear's lap. 'For the deal. You will help him.'

'Who will she help?' Koun asked, confused.

'That is not for you to know. Wait,' Antius said tiredly, a hint of anger playing in his deep voice.

Tear shrugged as she weighted the sealed purse. It was fat as the merchant, full of coin. She gestured towards Koun and spoke, 'Indeed. And your part, Roman? I asked for no coins. The ancient scroll?'

Antius looked at Koun, scowling as if daring Koun to ask more foolish questions. 'Koun, you are here for this question.'

'Scroll?' the Vangione asked in Latin, ignoring Tear, apparently making a stupid question, for Antius cursed.

Antius nodded, calming himself. 'I mentioned this earlier, remember? Your sister, Shayla, may gods keep her safe, holds a key to some old prophecy. It is a scroll, I hear.'

'I know little of damned scrolls, Antius, but is this the prophecy my father is so interested in?' Koun said while sulking, his eyes in slits. 'Part of the reason for what we are about to do?'

'It is. Our host will not risk his profits, so answer her,' Antius said, bored.

'But if we succeed this night,' Koun continued stubbornly, 'surely she will be dead?'

'She will not, and she has her uses, no matter what happens,' Antius spat angrily, and Koun shuddered, giving up.

Koun spat and spoke to Antius with the utmost effort, still in Latin. 'Indeed. My sister, Shayla, has such a scroll. I have not seen it, but I doubt she will want to part with it for a wretched Germani witch. What is it, merchant, that this witch is to do? Who is she to help? If we would part from the scroll my sister reveres, we need to know how this old woman helps us.'

Antius shrugged, exasperated. 'Well. Koun. She will help me, not you, to be exact. You need not understand what, or how. And you know things will change one day, and you and your younger brother might need help against your elder brother.'

Koun narrowed his eyes, but changed his mind quickly enough. 'Very well. If you deem her help worth it, I suppose we can get her a copy of the maggoty prophecy.' He spoke to Tear in Germani, full of strange grunts, and she nodded arrogantly, making Koun redden with indignation. Koun turned to Antius and switched back to Latin. 'And the boy? If he walks, he will tell them about us.'

'Let the hag deal with him,' Antius said, smiling at me briefly.

Koun shook his head. 'Let me detain him, just to keep tonight's surprise a secret, and I promise to do my best with the scroll. Take him for a slave.,' he was gesturing towards me.

A slave.

I blanched at the thought, and blurted out angrily, 'Koun? A Gaul name. Dog, is it not, the meaning of the name?' I asked loudly, grinning at him though I was scared, speaking with an uneven voice.

They turned to look at me in great surprise. Koun's eyes narrowed as he hefted his large hasta, a heavy cavalry spear.

'You understand Latin?' he asked with a voice subtly curious and doubtful.

I lied. 'I don't speak the language of the dogs, but I hear your master call for you, like he would his favorite hound,' I told him, blushed with anger and indignation for my pains. I cursed myself for being a stupid ass, and imagined Gernot smirking at the news of my cold corpse being found hanging from a tree.

Koun stepped forward with a growl, his intent clear.

'He will live,' Antius said, stopping the uncertain Koun in his tracks. The merchant got up with difficulty. 'Remember, Tear. Help him, and we will all prosper. I will deliver unto you what Koun promised.'

Tear nodded, uncertainty playing on her old face. Antius turned to go, Cornix following him.

Koun pointed a finger at me, anger playing on his fine features. 'The forests are deep, boy, and I belong to the deepest of the shadows. Fear the shadows from now on, for dogs stalk you,' Koun muttered. He stomped my shield into several pieces, and left ponderously after the swiftly retreating Romans.

I regarded my broken shield and panted in anger. I saw Antius glance back at me, the scroll I had scribbled for Sigilind in his hands. He grinned at me and waved the scroll. He had realized I understood Latin, but had left me alive. Did he trust Tear to take care of me? She could, perhaps.

I stared at her sharply, but the bitter words of Koun popped into my mind, and the fact they were looking for someone was foremost amongst them. They were looking for someone, who was known in Hard Hill and someone in Hard Hill helped the fat merchant. Koun had also spoken of war and a sinister deed for that very night. Then an odd question jumped into my mind, and I went rigid with doubt. Father was a fugitive to Rome, by the words of our former guest. 'Were they asking you about my father? Where we live?'

She smiled carefully. 'Smart, boy. They did, at least Koun did, but as you heard, I did not tell them, and Antius already knows. The Vangione thought they were here to learn more of your father, but my agreement with the lard sack was of something entirely different. Now, sit, Hraban.' Her voice had a compelling quality in it.

I reluctantly obeyed, and sat down where she indicated, swooning with the pain in my head. She was a völva, and to disobey one was to risk all. She briskly rummaged around her satchel, pulling out sticks with carved runes. She was mumbling to herself, giggling a bit, and the hair on the back of my neck was standing straight from terror. It took her forever to find the crude rune sticks and moldy stones she wanted.

'Making an enemy of Koun there, Hraban, was not wise.' She seemed to have found what she was looking for, the last rune stick carved in darker wood than the others on her lap were. 'He seems like the sort to finish his many feuds.'

'Why are you dealing with them?'

She was toeing the smoldering remains of the fire she had lit earlier, but then she glanced at me and ignored my questions. 'I know you were looking for dear Ishild. She is not here, but she is safe. She is a bit different from when you last saw her, two years past, but she is still Ishild.' She smiled, strangely calm, beguilingly benevolent, and I tensed, waiting for her to pounce. She did. 'Odo wishes you to stay away from her,' she said with force. 'I think it is wise.'

'I am her friend,' I said angrily and unwisely, considering the company.

She sat there for a while, seemingly collecting her thoughts. She stared at me with her cold, feverish eyes, and finally, it seemed she had made up her mind. 'Ishild is not your concern today. You came here because I will test you. There is a prophecy, boy.'

'I came here because I got lost. And about the prophecy? Hulderic warned me, but I do not believe in this superstitious nonsense.'

She nodded. 'Accident. You coming here was not due to divine guidance, no. That is good, and it makes you much more likely to be useful to us, as you are a nonbeliever. A rare thing in your family that. But that is what we need, I think. A nonbeliever who will gallop along the path, never heeding warnings until it is all done.'

'In that case, I am the most devout believer in this nonsense,' I told her in all seriousness.

She laughed happily, clapped my cheek with a twinkle in her eye, but then sobered and went fey. 'I see Hulderic told you some of this, but let me explain. You know Woden is the mightiest god at this time and age? True, some tribes worship Tiw, and others Freyr over him, but Woden has power across the nine worlds, Niflheim, even Jotunheim. Over Alfheim the most, likely. And then Midgard. This is so because he created men.'

'The Three Spinners,' I recited, bored, 'will one day cut all the strings. We will all die. Because of a Raven, a Bear, and the Ring. Yes, yes. Hulderic told me this fanciful, exciting fairytale.'

She sneered. 'Woden created the young race of men, making them from his very own immortal blood, giving them a speck of his wisdom and poetry, and so, some of the men living in this world are…purer. Look at your unusual hair. In your family, there are many with that hair, Woden's pure color, and dark as night. You and your family are his strongest tie to this world. Yet not all the gods agree on his predominance. A god, a great and merciless rival to Woden, put a patient curse on the men the day they were born. One day, one of your family, Hraban, will betray Woden's misplaced, over-emotional trust, and fail.'

'I will not fail, if it should be so,' I said, nervous at her intensity.

'We will see. The god who cursed his creation, Hraban, came to Gulldrum, far to the north of here. There, he made my family, just as ancient as yours. He nurtured us, shaped in the ingenious mold of Woden—but we are different, you see. We will be rewarded, if we help with the prophecy our god laid down, and if not, it is still his will, and we are his humble tools to use and discard. Even his amusement is a worthy cause. One day, my hallowed god will shape the new Midgard to his beautiful image. Our god's faithful people will live in it, even if most of the other gods and men die as sacrifice to fuel the fine work. Wyrd.'

'Wyrd, indeed,' I said, thinking her mad.

'So I will ask the wayward spirits, and make sure you are of Maroboodus's seed. You must be of the blood.'

'I am my father's son,' I said indignantly.

She shrugged. 'Sigilind has been alone, and Bero might have had a man rape her in revenge, or she might have gotten lonely.'

'I will not have you speak thus. Nor will I help you destroy this world, even if I was some damned mysterious Raven and my father a flea-bitten Bear, and your lot whelped by a mad, rancid spirit.'

She regarded my rage calmly, and hesitated. 'There are indeed some ways you could avoid this fate.' She lay the runes aside. 'Previously, through the ages, either the Raven or the Bear has been noble. They have believed in their father-god and the fey prophecy and have been obliged to lay down their own good for the honor of their family. Yet, you, Hraban, I know by your own words and actions you do not believe in such things, and I think you are utterly selfish and deeply stubborn, not willing to sacrifice your excellent goals.'

A deadly looking snake appeared in her gnarled hand, yellow-skinned as poison, its dead, black eyes an inch from my face. Large fangs opened in front of my suddenly bloodless nose, and I froze, terrified.

'Be noble, and die then, Hraban,' she hissed. 'Prove to me you are as holy as the ones from your family have been, in the past. Be braver than Hulderic, who failed in slaying his Bear, after his mother had been given a warning in a dream.'

We sat there, looking at each other intensely. I was sweating, but I said nothing for a long, long time. In my heart, I knew I was not ready to die. She saw it.

'As I said, a survivor,' she hissed and relaxed, but the snake stayed in place.

'I do not think,' I said, struggling to keep my voice calm, watching the snake, 'that dying like a fool for foolish words uttered by foolish people too religious for their own good is worth moving to Valholl early. I think the ones who prophesize should show example, and let their snakes bite themselves first.'

She cackled happily, nodding, agreeing on either my foolishness or hers. 'Woden's blood is growing thinner. Not only did Hulderic fail when he learnt his son was a herald to doom, but so fails Maroboodus the Bear by spitting on the prophecy. And so fail you, Hraban, my Raven, by refusing the damnable snake.'

There was a faint scream in the woods nearby, and I thought I could hear some muffled yells. I turned to get up, but the hag stopped me. She rapped my head painfully with her wand, and the snake was even closer if possible.

'Sit down. Spirits haunt the wood. Pay them no mind. They will go.'

I stared at the swaying woods, and for a second, I thought I saw movement, but then it was gone. I grunted, worried over poor Hagano. 'Do the spirits hurt people?'

She gazed at me shrewdly, again ignoring my question. 'In your selfishness, you can benefit from our relationship. You will find very soon, boy, your hair sets you apart from your people. Moreover, when you have fallen from grace, you will see I can be useful to you. It will be a long road for us, for I do not know the full prophecy.'

I snorted. 'You are madder than a bat in sunlight. You think I will help you destroy Midgard, but you don’t even know how.'

She ignored me. 'But I will learn how. It is part of the road. Gods and goddesses know what is passing, and their servants try to stop us, for the gods wish to live, and there are people out there who kill us and try to thwart us.'

'What is this scroll you so desire?' I asked her carefully.

She snickered. 'You are right to mock us. Ironically, our god's people, my people, do not know the prophecy. Woden made it so it would be a hard road for us to help the Raven and the Bear along, but we know some. My god gave the full prophecy to the world, but either Woden fought him or our lord is a tricky one. It was given to the Celts, who are not friends to us. Now, a woman who is both Celt and Vangione holds it. She is young but powerful, I think. Yet perhaps now, through the Roman, I will get it for the aid I give to him and if not for that, I will help your ominous father. He will help me gain a powerful man as a sacrifice. I will give his life force for the ability to part the mists and get the whole verses from the elusive spirits. We will find the truth; the path. However, for now, we know some and now, I will know if you are part of our future. And, no, do not think to offer Gernot in your place. He is but a simple mortal.'

'Help my father? Why would he want your help?'

'He is like you, Hraban, and intends to ignore your simpering grandfather and his weak pleas to stop what we want to come to pass,' she said, smiling. 'He is selfish as a Roman, which he truly is. Maroboodus is that.'

'It is not selfish to survive madwomen, and spear them at a better opportunity,' I hissed like a cornered fox cub.

'Well, we will see, god's child.'

Despite myself, I felt pride at her high estimate of my blood's worth. Gernot a mere mortal; I, a godchild? I sobered. 'How will you find if I am this … creature?' The snake hissed at me in answer, but I had asked Tear.

She smiled. 'Now, look at the snake. It looks ordinary enough, does it not? What you do not know is that life force attracts snakes, for snakes feed on it. Always distrust snakes, Hraban. They are not useful to you. They are to me. If you die by a snake, this snake for example, it will drink your life force as I just told you. I assure you there is no escape. Dying with the filthy curse of the snake, Hraban, is not something you should want to experience. I would sit still.'

I was still, very still, staring at the black, lifeless eyes.

'So let's see, shall we,' she said, and she cast the many rune sticks on the wet ground. Very slowly, she looked down at them, and I was praying very hard to Woden for deliverance, my face wet with cold, clammy sweat. If I was not this Raven, I might die, and if I was, I was to serve the insane völva. Time was standing torturously still. She was sitting there with that bastard of a snake in her surprisingly steady hand for an insufferably long time, looking at the myriads of sticks and stones. Then she sighed greatly, and I realized she had been holding her breath.

She sat up painfully, drew the snake away from me, and threw it aside languidly. She kept glancing at a dark rune that was sideways, neither up nor down, but nearly on its side. 'You are a lucky boy. The other ones, the unlucky ones not of the high blood, in other times and strange places, met the spirit-consuming snake. Spirits are speaking in fey voices to me though in riddles. They always talk in riddles, hard to understand.' She suddenly wept bitterly and mumbled sadly to herself, consumed by sorrow. Her voice was barely audible. 'You are the one. Your father is the Bear, you are the Raven. All the pieces are on the board, and for the first time in the long history, both pieces are arrogant bastards who spit on their own past. Woden's worlds will tumble down to the past, for you two are fools. It will be so that the three fateful cocks crow, and the tall jotuns and the bitter gods do mighty battle across the worlds, and those worlds end. It might take many ages of our puny lives, but the horror of Ragnarök is coming, and you and your father are dangerous heralds for it.'.

Surprised, I felt strangely sorry for the crazy, dirty woman who had threatened me with a poisonous snake. I gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder. I also felt cold shivers running up and down my spine. No man is happy to be called the herald of the end, no matter if they believe in such things or not.

'You should be happier if it is indeed so,' I said slowly, still not believing anything about the prophecy.

She looked at me hopefully, patting my hand, and I took it away gently. Then she dropped the heavy coin purse on my lap. 'You did not choose to die, Hraban. Some of those who came before you had the same choice. They believed in this curse, and loved Midgard and Woden. Some died rather than risk the end of the world. Some accepted this offer, to walk away and disappear far, far away. They thwarted the prophecy, fearing it though my family hunted them forever. There are many stories of these men and women in the past. So take these coins the Roman gave me, find a life elsewhere, and avoid Odo.'

I eyed the open purse full of brilliance. There was glittering gold there, duller silver. Things Germani usually disdain deeply, preferring horses and cattle to coin, practical things of use. Yet I knew it was worth a great deal across the far rivers, and there were places, where it could buy me arms, horse, armor, men and even a lord, and I could travel far and become what I wanted to become. I could be a great man.

But not at home.

'First, you tell me how you will serve your god, and now, you offer to thwart the fates?'

She shrugged. 'Even if I am of our clan and loyal to my gods and past, I know there is a terrible price I have to pay, one that any old woman would find hard to bear. Once it starts to live its life, the snake-like, slithering prophecy, it is too late to stop the storm. Then, I will do all I can for it, and so will Odo. Now, I can avoid it still, and let others at other times struggle. I am just a woman.'

Her eyes were desperate, pleading. I considered it, but then the image of Gernot, supreme in the family, came to my mind. He would meet Father; he would be the first son. She saw the look on my face, one of sullen denial.

'No?' she asked, anger playing on her suddenly dangerous features.

I brought my strong chin up. 'I am a Marcomanni noble. I will be a man of the family, obey my grandfather while he commands us all, and perhaps I shall be my father's right hand and the ring giver to my men. I will rule well, live as long as spears allow me, marry high and make weeping widows of our enemies’ women. I wish no evil to you, but I am not your chosen one, and my family will protect me from all schemes and prophesies your clan conjures in the damned, dark corners of these foul woods.'

She looked away and nodded. She got up and put the coins away.

'So be it, Hraban. When you meet your father, know that you will also serve us. We will ask you for a deed, one thing we know is required by the prophecy. You will find a sweet girl, a little girl, or rather you will bring her to us. For I know where she is,' her voice cracked as she walked off.

I spat. 'Your chanting spoke of spilling blood on a ringlet. Is that Woden's Gift? Our holy ring? I will not do anything like this, Tear. Bring little girls for a bloody sacrifice. I know it happens, but I shall not—'

She turned at the edge of the woods, tired. 'We need something from her, Hraban. Perhaps not her life. However, I told you, I do not know everything yet. The wayward rune that fell on its side still leaves me some hope of avoiding my fate. Perhaps, despite your choices, some way these unfortunate, ancient curses will fade away, and I am spared my pain.'

She disappeared.

I got up, but she called out from the dark woods. 'Go home, Hraban, for Vangiones know where Maroboodus might be found. I told them nothing, but they know already where your village is. Vago, their king, is here, and they will want Maroboodus for Rome, and perhaps you as well. I know. They hunt for us, and no doubt for you, too, for you are perilous. Be wary of Vago and his daughter, Shayla.'

As her voice faded into the woods, I ran, as that night was a great feast night. Few old Germani tribes would attack others during such a night, except the Roman Germani, who did not always follow our old ways.

The Vangiones.

CHAPTER IV

Tear's words haunted me as I jogged through the darkening evening, in a wood splintered by the moon's meek light. I wanted to be home as quickly as possible, and tell Hulderic everything that had passed. The ominous woods streaked past me as I rushed on, and I cared neither for a night animal nor for a plant as I ran.

I ran until I remembered Hagano.

Reluctantly, I turned back, cursing myself for an idiot. At first, I could not find a route in the suddenly strange, dark wood, but I managed it after many time-consuming wrong turns. I saw the depression where we had seen Ishild and Odo, and then I strode north, swallowing the pressing need to see Hulderic.

Soon, I saw the damned clearing again and looked around, covered in a clammy sweat. The sun was finally down, and only the moon and stars shone in the sky. There was no sign of Hagano, but I was sure I had left him there. Had he gone for help? He had seen the Romans and the Vangione, and had obeyed me. I cursed and blessed him, and turned in the underbrush, much relieved, ready to leave when a strange bird took off from the wet foliage a few feet away. It was a crow, and it was trailing something glistening and reddish from its beak. I walked that way, dreading what I would find. I brushed the foliage with my bare foot, and my breath stopped as I hit a lump of flesh.

I kneeled beside a husk of a boy that had been Hagano. His face was ashen gray, his one remaining eye listless, and I sobbed in fear and anger. I threw up violently. When I finally recovered, I sat down and stared at the corpse, calling for him, my mind confused. He was gone to Valholl, or to Hel, depending on if he had fought bravely or not. His neck had been cut, and he had bled out. Perhaps he had not even seen who attacked him.

I remembered the distant scream while I had been held by Tear. Koun had been out there, the master of shadows as he had claimed to be. Cornix, the Roman, might have been there as well, despicable and dangerous.

Finally, disbelieving the nightmare, I spoke to Hagano's cold face. 'I promise to take vengeance for you, Hag. I am sorry I called you a coward.'

I placed my trembling hand on his cold palm, and left him there for the unseen foxes, wolves, and crows, for what else could I do?

I ran hard in the near dark woods, thinking of death. Koun. Cornix. Both guilty. That fat Antius as well, for he led them there.

I stumbled many times, cutting and bruising myself, and cursed at the throbbing pain.

Finally, I burst out of the woods near Tudrus's fine hall, and sprinted like a bee-stung hare for the shore. Draca, our raft, was still there. I pushed it off, aiming for our side. I could see bonfires burning at the Trout Grasses, our hallowed meadow, and on this side, near the hall of Tudrus, I saw glimpses of a large clearing filled with the Quadi, all dressed and armed to their best. I paddled hard and cursed harder, and nearly fell into the cold murky river, but then the log hit the beach, and I was over the Moenus. I ran for our people, my feet cold to the bone, shivering.

I saw them all there. Many people had gone to the surrounding villages of Hulderic for their similar celebrations, but over a hundred men and women of our village, Hulderic, and some twenty of his best men were standing in serried ranks, with the vitka Wulf in the middle. All wore the finest of pelts and the best-mended cloaks, their good tunics and cleanest pants. Many had wide belts with fine, carved buckles, and all wore the best arm jewelry they possessed and a few fine Celt torcs. Men had bizarrely painted shields, even the ordinary men, and most held deadly framea spears and javelins. Many had cudgels with iron enforcements. Keen axes and haphazard pieces of leather armor were evident amongst the bearded men as they rhythmically beat their war-tested shields, while Hulderic was addressing the community. Hulderic wore his splendid war glory, same as Harmod the Old, the sun-bitten old bear of a man.

The moon was full, and it was not entirely dark. The three mighty men of the band were wearing lorica hamata looted from Romans and Celts. Hulderic's was fringed with golden hoops. His war helmet, a silvery thing of steel, carved with runes, was at his feet. The standard of Hulderic, a pole with tall bear fangs, was by the stall. Wulf stood next to it, hunched and important enough not to need visible wealth. Harmod the Old was leading Deór, his old, tired warhorse forward to be sacrificed.

I moved for Hulderic, pushing the common folk out of my way until a stern, huge hand grabbed me. It was Euric, Wandal's mountainous father, his gray and black beard jutting. Wandal, Ansbor, and Ansigar were there, all eyeing me with deep wonder.

I tried to free myself from Euric's grip, but he sneered, 'Be still, boy. Hush! Your grandfather will have words with you after he is done.'

Wandal pushed next to him with Ansigar and Ansbor.

'Hraban!' Wandal said loudly.

Euric slapped Wandal gently to reprimand him for his lack of decorum in the holy event, and Wandal spoke more quietly as my friends leaned on me. 'Hraban? What happened? Eh?'

I tangled in Euric's fierce grip as Ansbor roughly pulled my tunic aside, having spied the reddened marks of caliga on my chest.

His eyes widened. 'A strange vaettir marked you? Spirits?'

I shook my head, tired to the bone, and in no mood to answer their questions, and they saw I had some tears in my eyes.

Ansigar sneered and asked: 'What? You afraid of your heavy-handed grandfather? You should be, he—'

Wandal pushed him away, scowling, and inspected my chest appraisingly. 'Shoe? Eh?'

I nodded as Hulderic raised his hand up to the air. His forearm glittered with the silvery bracer of the law speaker, the first man of the village, as he placed his hand on Deór's flank, making the horse shy nervously. His voice took on a reverent tone, which faltered as he spied me. His eyes narrowed, but he recovered quickly enough. Wulf stepped forward and silently hallowed the place with prayers to Donor the Thunderer, the god of guardianship. Wulf asked for his protection, and then Hulderic walked next to him. He gestured around the clearing and spoke with a loud voice, meant to invoke the gods:

‘Eostere, lady of spring, hear our plea. The land has awoken; the winter is broken.

See our bellies fill with plenty, and our hearts with joy.
Hear us, lady of growth, and see our hand toil and men groan.

Much work lies ahead, and beast and man will plough the soil. Aid us in this, the growth of our land, and see us reach out to you with smiles and boons.’

With this, he reached for a glittering dagger and slit Deór's throat with one fluid movement. Men clung desperately to the horse as it whinnied in surprise and pain, and Wulf came forward with hlaut vessels, hollow clay jars to hold the sacred blood of the sacrifices. The vitka worked quickly, drenching himself in the tangy stuff, but he did not seem to mind, and vessel after vessel was filled to the brim.

'I have to speak to him,' I told Euric steadily, but he shook his stubborn head. 'But I must!'

He glared at me, and I saw Wandal reach for his father's arm, which would surely have meant a not-so-gentle slap. Marcus saved Wandal. The Roman appeared like a wraith, nodding imperiously at Euric, who let go of me, though reluctantly.

Marcus took me aside in a huff.

'What is wrong with you? You ran to the deep woods, even after your grandfather told you not to. Now you come here, insisting on speaking with him, during the holy rituals? You will be punished, and punished hard. No wild tales can change that. You are not a simpering child anymore. A warrior failing in his duty can expect to be thrashed, and he will thank the lords for it, for it is right.'

I glared at him. 'I do not run from my damned punishments! There are …'

Marcus stopped me with a finger and moved behind me. Wulf was swiftly circling around the happy people, holding a hlaut vessel and a reddened sprig of evergreen. He was chanting slowly, smiling as a dull child, and using the fresh sprig to sling many droplets of dark blood on all the people in the circle. They received the messy blessing gladly. Only Marcus blanched.

The Roman gestured towards Wulf. 'Careful, or Wulf will spill some of that stuff on me. I once bought a blessing of the Magna Mater and went through a dreadful taurobolium. I was drenched. I felt inclined to bathe, but it was impossible to find a respectable bathhouse that would take me in. It looked like I had killed someone, and then rummaged around their innards. I found a less respectable bath house, but they robbed me.' He glanced anxiously at Wulf. He was half-expecting the old vitka to run at him with a hlaut-vessel held high, forcing the grim blessing on the unhappy Roman.

I grabbed his tunic, and put my face close to his. 'They are coming for Father.' He did not flinch, and I thought for a moment he misheard me. 'Vangiones. They know we are here, and that Father is coming.'

Again, nothing. Marcus looked away.

'Stay with me, Hraban, if that is indeed the case. Maroboodus would like to keep you alive,' he said carefully.

'You know something?' I asked him in shock, but he shook his head in swift denial and took a step back.

He shrugged at Euric and walked away.

How could Marcus possibly give me sanctuary?

Wandal nudged me, forcing me out of my confused thoughts. 'Where is Hagano?'

I shook my head, and took a ragged breath. Marcus's strange mood evaporated from my mind. An irreversible, bottomless feeling of doom filled me as I thought of our friend's cold corpse.

Wandal's eyes were huge and round as he understood my sorrow.

'Hagano? Eh? Is he lost, or dead?' he asked.

Ansbor heard him, and turned his face towards me. They stared at me, unable to speak, and I looked away only to see Gernot near my mother, his shifty eyes calculating and hard as rocks as if he knew of my pain. He laughed softly at my tears.

I grimaced, hardened my heart, and wiped the tears away savagely. 'Hagano is dead. I do not know who killed him. A Vangione…'

Euric, having heard me, leaned closer. 'Hagano is dead? That news will kill his aunt. She loved him dearly. Why did he die, Hraban?'

He looked stern, but I pushed him back, surprising him.

'Because I called him a damned coward,' I said viciously.

I avoided Euric’s grasp, and slipped away through the crowd towards Gernot.

It was my brother who had taken my shield. It was his fault Hagano was dead.

I prayed to Eostere for forgiveness. Gernot was about to have his rotten bones broken, no matter the cost. He saw me coming, and he was unlucky, as Mother left him in that exact moment to step next to Hulderic. His eyes betrayed his terrible fear as he took steps away, and ours was a game of discreet cat and mouse amidst blissfully ignorant people celebrating a holy night. When I bumped into someone, I smiled benignly. Gernot did the same, desperately maneuvering to keep me at arm's length. I managed to grab his shoulder once, trying to tear a piece of meat off it. He yelped softly as he evaded me again, finally taking refuge next to Euric. Gernot's eyes pleaded as he gazed at the disgusted smith, who was not happy at all with us.

I stopped abruptly and panted in anger, peering at Wandal's father, who now had a hammer in his hand, warning me with his usually gentle eyes. We liked each other fine, but that night, he was stopping me from doing what I dearly wanted to do. I glanced in the direction of the warriors, and saw Hulderic had invoked Woden.

Mother was going around the men and women of the first rank, starting with the warriors of Hulderic's war band, as she was the highest-ranking lady present. She held a horn of sweetest and most hallowed mead and passed it to people, who made solemn oaths, fanciful boasts, and gave humble thanks, hoping for the gods to hear them.

Adalwulf shuddered as mother came closer, bowed his fair head, and closed his eyes while offering his hands. I cursed Gernot, took my chance, stepped forward, and grabbed the great horn inches before it could reach Adalwulf's waiting hands.

People looked aghast at my rudeness, Mother frowned deeply, and Adalwulf was grasping air with his hands, eyes closed, looking the fool. He opened his eyes when I saluted Hulderic with the horn.

'Grandfather, people and the gods. I give no fine boast, nor a promise, just a fair warning! I swear I tell the truth when I say the Vangiones are in the Marcomanni woods, ready to attack us!'

Silence. An owl flew in the dark, chasing mice, hooting lazily.

Hulderic glanced appraisingly around the silent trees. Men and women mumbled angrily. I eyed them in distress. I had interrupted something crucial, and if there were no serious reason for my buffoonery, I would be in deep trouble, and so would the whole village. If the harvest turned out bad, if there were unexpected illness and sudden death, some bastard of an old man would remember Hraban interrupted the celebration of Eostere.

They all glared me with hostility, and I scowled back. I took another swig of mead from the horn to show I did not care for their disbelieving, angry looks, and because the mead truly was of the best possible quality.

That was too much for them. Wulf sucked his breath and trembling with anger, he ran unsteadily at me. He grabbed the holy horn from my hands and screamed, 'You interrupt this holy sacrifice with such foul lies! You try to evade your punishments with unlikely stories.' He struck me, spitting bitterly.

Adalwulf grabbed me in anger for his humiliation, Hulderic strode forward to help them, and then I was proven honest.

On the other side of the river, pale torches flared in the dark woods of the Quadi. Nervous horses whinnied ominously from the dark, and rhythmic thumping was heard as a massive number of shields struck by spears echoed over the water.

All eyes turned that way.

A ghostly, brilliant figure rode forth, and with it, a dark, beautiful woman with a sad face. The man was silvery, glittering with armor, and his helmet was like Hulderic's, except more sinister with a faceguard resembling a snarling dog's snout. It shone all the way to our side with a silvery radiance. There were a dozen other shadowy riders, their horses prancing as they entered the yards of the first hapless houses in sight.

Wulf went to his weak, old knees. 'The Wild Hunt! Hraban has brought the Wild Hunt onto our lands!'

Hulderic looked dubious. The Wild Hunt was Woden's and Holda's legendary procession of the unsavory dead, set to spread terrible chaos and ceaseless destruction amidst the unworthy living.

That is what these riders brought, indeed.

I saw to the east, the Quadi stop their happy celebration as they realized something terrible was amiss. I cursed myself for not rousing them before I came home. It seemed the stealthy Vangiones had made a mistake on which side of the river we lived on.

Vago, for that was the name of the king of the Vangiones, was the man Tear had warned me about, and he was the glittering warlord, dangerous and ill-fated. Now, he set his men on efficient butchery.

Some of the Vangiones dismounted and entered households, where screaming slaves were hunted down and dogs slain. I saw a woman dragged to the yard and raped there brutally by one of the ghosts. It was a sight that was disgusting, repelling to our honor, and our men hissed in uncontrolled anger at the woman's pain and humiliation as the warrior was thrusting inside her, his friends mocking her feeble struggle to free herself.

A Quadi warrior exited from a hut, a sick man not able to celebrate. He went forward unsteadily, shield erect, a bundle of fine javelins in his strong hand. He began to throw them at the unsuspecting riders. The first impaled a rider in the face, a superb throw. The man screamed briefly, and the horse spilled him in a tangle of legs. Then the man threw another, impaling a prancing horse, which faltered, spilling another rider to the shadowy ground, leaving him howling in pain. His last javelin missed Vago, who was swiftly charging the man with a spatha, a thick, long sword held up. As Vago passed the Quadi warrior, he chopped him down, splitting a framea spear, the hand that held it and the face of the man. Vago turned to look at us across the river and raised his sword in a furious salute of the victor, while the Quadi warrior died slowly at his horse's feet.

The pillage and murder continued for a short time and then, out of the dark, a cornicula blasted mournfully. I did not know it then, but that was the Roman instrument for moving masses of men in battle. We saw hundreds of men emerge. Hundreds. Not Romans, but men like us, hugely bearded, armed haphazardly, each holding a shield of different color and shape. Some were dressed only in cloaks. There were a few better-armed champions and some strange-looking vitka with them, but most were commoners following Vago's splendor to war. Their strong feet stomped, and they licked their lips in anticipation of loot and murder, the battle upon them.

They marched under brilliant Roman standards.

A vexillum they call it, auxilia unit standard. Theirs was a newly created unit for Roman service. The flags were red with golden thread depicting the name of the unit, and there were several out there, one for each century of eighty men.

Vago loved every moment. We heard him laugh wildly. He gestured imperiously towards the east, and the dark mass marched that way. We saw the Quadi huddling into a shield wall three ranks deep, the men uncertain, some going forward to see what was coming. Each man in the wall was protecting the man to their left with a shield, encouraged strongly by their women. Tudrus the Older was at their head, his brilliant, golden sun disk standard waving high above them, reminding them they fought for a great lord.

Buildings sprung to scorching fire, torches were tossed along the Vangione path. Loose horses and terrified cows ran around in panic. Surprised women and weeping children were beaten as they were taken prisoners and carried back to where the enemy had come from. It was the first time I had witnessed such terrible sights. I shook uncontrollably, and so did my friends.

Hulderic roused himself and pushed Wulf off me. 'It is no Wild Hunt, you fools! Hraban is right. It is Vangiones. Gods know how many of the bastards there are. Our large boats are at Marmot's Ford. We must make it there and help Tudrus!'

I grimaced for we would have to run all the way to the other side of the scattered village. Hulderic's men began to separate the women from their men. The men they pushed into a cunus, a column shaped like a spear point, thick and full of shields and spears, intended to break shield walls. It was like a boar's head, full of massed spears, tipped by the best warriors, who were the terrible tusks of the savage boar.

Hulderic pulled Ansbor's young father aside. 'Take word to our Lord Balderich. Tell him what is happening here. There is evil afoot. If the enemy takes Hard Hill, find us here, or with the remaining Quadi. Rouse the villages on the way, unless they already know or are fallen!'

Ansbor's father nodded nervously, afraid, but grinned the hampering emotion away and bowed as Hulderic gave the reins of the skittish Minas to him. The warrior mounted the horse as our column began to form. Ansbor's father spurred the horse to the west, towards Rhenus and Hard Hill. To this day, I never knew his name.

I looked around and saw my mother go to the shadows, her large eyes on me, bidding me to take care. Wandal was stubbornly arguing with Euric. Ansbor and Ansigar were going ahead like lunatics, ordered by Adalwulf to go and get the large boats ready. Other boys followed them, but Gernot was nowhere in sight.

Hulderic jerked me close while pulling on his helmet. 'Hraban. Romans involved?'

He glanced across the river. There, the Vangiones had formed into three columns of packed spears, meant to break the shield wall. They cajoled the Quadi line, which had around a third of the men our foe had. Men screamed in challenge, the priests hollered and chanted, and many enemy men danced before the lines, hurtling curses at Tudrus. I saw Tudrus the Older scream encouragements to his men, the Quadi laughing resolutely at their terrible enemy.

Then, Vago yelled, cornicula blared, the flags waved crazily, the Vangiones charged, and spears and javelins flew in sharp and deadly rain before them. Screams of hate and bottomless pain filled the formerly holy night, sounding eerily across the water.

The two forces collided over wounded men, and a fierce pushing match ensued as shields met shields and sharp blades flashed. The Quadi were forced back relentlessly, and back again as the Vangione formations flattened themselves on the Quadi shields. Men fell and died in twos and threes, lost forever.

Hulderic slapped me sharply. 'Hraban?'

I shrugged. 'Tear was talking with two Romans, but she said Vangiones would—'

'Tear? You spoke with Tear? After I told you … Never mind. I will kill her finally, and you can forget the prophecy.' He turned away. 'Run after the other boys now.'

He stepped in front of the cunus, and I subtly attached myself to it. Wandal, grinning, did so as well. We ran. Marmot's Ford was not that far, but men were sure to be lost in the confusion, and some would go and try to secure their precious cows. I did not see Marcus, but Wulf jogged unsteadily near us, his eyes wild, and Hulderic and his champions were herding men to the right direction. We passed our fine hall. I was scared to my bone, and felt like dropping my pants and voiding myself.

On the other side of Moenus river, we saw the Quadi had desperately retreated to the edge of the forest that ran across their village. A determined enemy warrior had grabbed Tudrus's standard, winning it from the youth holding it, and was waving it in the air, screaming gleefully while the rest of the Vangiones were pushing at the thinning Quadi line. Seeing the standard lost, a champion of Tudrus, the man in a bronze helmet, the savage man who had stopped me from making serious mistakes earlier, bellowed so loudly it could be heard all the way to our side.

He cut left and right with an axe, wedging himself between two attackers, pushing the one on his left to the spear of the Quadi standing behind, hacked with an axe on the skull of a man on the right, lopping off part of his forehead. He fixed his stare at the captured standard, and the man who had taken it. The enemy tried to stop the Quadi champion, but to no avail. He laughed off their ineffective attacks, and it seemed no force on Midgard could touch him as he pushed on firmly, men falling before him.

The man who captured the standard seemed paralyzed by the specter of his death approaching. Some Vangiones put shields and spears together, and the champion growled and jumped on them, scattering the smaller men, taking wounds, hacking with his axe, abandoning it on the arm of an unconscious enemy. He grabbed a blood-spattered cudgel, and with his eyes wild, jumped at the standard thief, who could only pathetically try to lift the pole to hold the specter of a very violent death away. The Vangione fell with a caved-in skull, and the champion grabbed the standard, heaving it with all his might to the Quadi lines where it could be seen gloriously recovered, the gold flashing in the moonlight. The champion turned, suddenly exhausted, and yelled insults at the enemy, proclaiming his worth, reciting his long line of ancestors and his great deeds, and as the last act, he pulled off his bloodied helmet and threw that in Tudrus's direction.

We barely heard him bellow. 'Yours, Lord. For my service ends here! Remember me!'

He was stabbed from behind and fore, and he was seen no more.

We later heard brave songs and heroic poems about him, the Quadi hero called Blood Helm.

Then, we saw the Quadi break and run for Marmot's Ford, exhausted, bloodied and utterly beaten, some fifty of them alive, abandoning their wounded to a swift death. The desperate women and small children were going as fast as they could for the eastern woods. Some fell, exhausted, became easy prey for the Vangiones.

Vago began to mount a chase, sending men after the weak ones as well.

Our desperate plan of taking the fight to the other side was dashed.

Adalwulf glanced at me as he jogged from the night, his eyes scanning the dreadful sights. 'We will have to bring them to us. Too late to cross. Hope the boys have understood that.'

They had.

When we arrived at the previously serene Marmot's Ford, our small natural harbor, which was shadowed by the old Celt oppidum hill, we saw our long boats were being rowed over and then back to our side. They were filled by exhausted, some wounded and angry Quadi men, looking on as the northern forests filled with thick smoke and desperate screams. Some of their womenfolk had fled to the dangerous forest.

They had lost their fight, but still wanted more, or, at least, the indomitable Tudrus did. The warrior chief was propped precariously at the bow of the next boat, one where Ansbor rowed with sweat running down his brow. My friend was staring at Tudrus the Younger and his brothers, all morose. The golden disk standard was high as a young warrior held it.

Tudrus regarded the forest where some Vangiones were threatening the twenty or so men who still guarded the other side. Another boat hit the beach across from us as the remaining Quadi men waded into the water before the probing horsemen of the Vangiones, soon clinging desperately to the vales, being dragged across without their shields. Some Quadi stayed behind to help others flee, and these men fell under spear and club of the enemy.

Tudrus the Older raged and cursed. He spied Hulderic, and I noticed his gray hair had a streak of blood in it as he barreled out of the boat.

He stopped in front of winded Hulderic. 'We will go back! We will go back and harry, kill and brutally rape the man-loving dog eaters. We must! Will you help us?

Hulderic nodded resolutely.

Then, the plan changed before it had begun. The Vangiones had not made a foolish mistake on which side of the river we lived on.

Shields were banging again, but on our side. In the direction of our hall, dogs barked, then whimpered. A scream was heard. A female slave hurtled out of the darkness and fell with a quivering arrow in her back, gasping in final pain. Minas, Father's horse, galloped out of the woods, its flank bloody. Ansbor screamed in hopeless anger. His father was not seated on the horse. In the shadows, we saw a long line of men approaching. They held swaying standards, and harsh horns sounded. They cheered mightily and buildings burst into fire behind them, heralding the bringers of sharp spears and horror of death.

'We could go to the old fort,' Hulderic said, his voice crackling in anger, pointing at the nearby mound. It was full of rubble and ruins and had a sad semblance of a wall. 'They will come and attack, and we will kill many of them.'

Tudrus the Older was staring at the sudden fires on our side and cursed, realizing their misfortune was not the only one that night.

The Quadi chief swallowed his rage, though barely. 'We let our boats loose, and you should sink yours. Make it harder for those shit walkers to cross.'

Hulderic nodded and gave brisk orders, and our men started to painfully hack at the precious boats. They were clinker-built, with the thick hull planks partly on top of each other, and it was hard. Then Hulderic noticed our women tending to a dozen wounded men, many who could not walk.

'We have to hurry,' Hulderic shouted desperately. 'Carry them up the hill!' he yelled at the women, but it was too late. Vangiones advanced from the familiar wood, led by a man in long chain mail, flanked by a younger man in a similar dress, both on the finest of horses.

It was Koun.

Their foul priests preceded them, the dirty creatures eying us hungrily, and many of our men blanched. Some of the holy men hopped forward, cackling like things from Hel, and our men took an involuntary step backwards. The mass of the bearded enemy thrummed their shields, making a deep, reverberating yell with the shields before their mouths, hitting their spears and fine axe shafts on the shield rim.

On the other side, Vago was sitting on a bloody horse, the beautiful woman next to him, and our eyes locked. She stared at me, and I shivered. Was Tear right? Were they looking for me, as well? Was the woman, was that the Celt, the Vangione woman she had mentioned?

My attention was torn away by a shrill cry. A near-naked warrior mad with rage, wearing but a gray wolf head around his shoulders, ran out of the general enemy mass. Koun tried to stop him, but to no avail. The man spat at us, trotted back and forth before their lines, calling us spineless women, weak as sick children.

The Quadi started to form on our right flank, and Harmod the Old made our men stand in two serried lines, the best shields in the first, the ones with the best weapons on the second, for the first line would keep them, the second kill them, and so we got ready to fight. To our surprise, and after the initial shock had worn off, it looked nearly an even fight. Vago was stuck on the other side, the Quadi boats scattered and ours rudely holed. We had hope. I thanked Woden the Quadi had managed an escape with the help of the boys in the village, and our women cajoled us, asking us to stay firm, not to run. And we would do so for their sakes, and for our honor. I cursed, for we were no men. The boys were standing behind our shield wall, uncertain.

The enemy fighter was laughing at us now, holding his hips and shaking his head at our timidity. Then Adalwulf stepped out of the ranks. Our men cheered him gratefully. Adalwulf put away his shield as the young Vangione leered at Adalwulf's lorica hamata hungrily. The Vangione would be wealthy, and he gestured at the shield Adalwulf had so quickly discarded.

Adalwulf shrugged. 'I do not need it, fool. A man with such a short prick,' Adalwulf gestured at the naked warriors modest manhood, 'needs a bit of an advantage. Come, and let me cut it off for you, and you can piss sitting down,' he told the furious enemy, and their priests hissed at Adalwulf, cursing him, asking Hercules and Tiw to make him weak as a feverish pig.

Wulf stepped forward, and cursed the enemy priests with vile promises of pain and sleepless death. Wulf was a true vitka, bloodied from the sacrifices, fey and old, and I saw how the enemy flinched. Their priests were a bastardized mix of old and foreign, and even to them, less impressive than Wulf was.

The Vangione champion's thin ponytail shook as he screamed defiance. He ran forward, grabbed a javelin with a wicked extended iron tip, an angon.

Adalwulf watched him carefully, tipped one of his javelins in his hand and threw it before the enemy moved. The weapon streaked up into the air. The Vangione observed the javelin and laughed in derision, as it was obvious the deadly weapon was going to miss. It did not. It was not aimed at him, but impaled one of the unsuspecting priests, a mud-faced creature of bristling hair and wooden talismans, right through the groin. He fell in shock, made a meowing noise, shuddered, and died slowly.

We laughed, but nervously, for it was bad luck to kill those of the gods. Adalwulf smiled at the enemy, making an obscene gesture at the dead one. The would-be enemy champion threw his weapon with a roar and ran in, pulling a short framea from his shield hand for the terrible melee combat. The angon missed, being hefty and slow, and Adalwulf moved forward to meet the young man. The Vangione was just that, a young man drunk on fine poems and the greatest songs of heroes, and that day, he would be part of them, as the brave victim of a Marcomanni champion.

Adalwulf dodged the framea aimed overhand at his chest and punched his spear at the leg of the opponent, taking the shield rim with his free, shieldless hand. The young man's shriek of victory turned to one of pain as the savage Marcomanni tripped him, swiftly stomped his thin spear hand to the wet ground with a force to break bones and speared the young man through his beard and throat.

The enemy twitched as a fish on a hook, begging bitterly, crying desperately, pissing himself in terror of death, but Adalwulf offered no comfort other than death to release him from this world.

Adalwulf raised his gaze to Koun, promising similar passing to the enemy leader with his hard eyes. Koun shrugged, dismounted quickly, and walked briskly forward.

The Vangiones went quiet. Koun glanced at the silent Vago across the river, and stopped some ways from us. Hulderic and Tudrus looked at each other in indecision, and took some reluctant steps forward while Adalwulf stripped the corpse of its wolf pelt, hanging the bloody thing around his own wide shoulders. Many Vangiones would go for him after the battle was joined, but Adalwulf did not care. The champion spat in Koun's direction, and we cheered ourselves hoarse as he picked up his shield and stood next to Hulderic.

Hulderic pointed Head Taker in Koun's direction. 'What do you want? Advice? I suggest you take a piss before we start, so you die with dry pants.'

Koun grimaced, but the other Vangione moved forward and spoke arrogantly, 'I am Vannius, son of great Vago, brother to Koun. I spit on your arrogant words and old, ugly face, Marcomanni swine. We…'

We laughed. His voice was boyish, and, despite the expensive chain mail and sharp, fine sword, he was about my age.

Koun pushed him back gently.

'Silence, brother,' he said, 'let me address the half-wits. You, the helmeted one? They tell me you sport bear claws in your suebian knot. True?'

Hulderic was surprised, but recovered quickly. 'Yes. Are you here to look for hints on how to dress yourself like a man, then?'

Koun smiled and pointed his sword at Hulderic. 'No. I am here for your family. I was told a man with bear claws leads this muddy village.'

Tudrus the Older growled. 'Why attack the Quadi then? Why not come and challenge the lord here, man to man? Why war on our helpless women and children?'

Vannius spat at his words, and Tudrus the Older grinned at the boy who blushed fiercely.

'Spirit, that one has,' the old Quadi whispered gleefully to Agetan, standing behind him.

Koun gestured at the man over the river. 'Our Lord Vago, our great father, made sure no Quadi came to your help while we take the lord and the sons of this village. The man with bear claws, I was told, has a son we are looking for. Maroboodus, that is his uncouth name. A foul fugitivus from Rome. He is the cowardly murderer of great consul, Agrippa. It is a little advertised fact but true. A man who wears fangs in his hair. Bear fangs, like you do. We want him.'

Murderer of Agrippa? I flushed with pride. Was this the reason he was fleeing? Agrippa was the most famous general of far Rome and its second most powerful man, known even in the rude woods of Germania. Heroes, even those of our enemies, were revered and respected. There were many songs of Agrippa, an old, grizzled warrior who had toppled strong nations.

'And how did you learn we live in this village? You were told? By whom, Vangione? You are far from home,' Hulderic asked him warily.

'Not all love you, it seems,' Koun shrugged and continued, 'Maroboodus and his son. We want his son, as well.'

The Marcomanni turned to look at me in surprise. Koun noticed this, his lynx-like eyes growing huge as ripe apples from surprise.

He grinned. 'You? Had I known it was you, I would have killed the filthy crone. Then I would have let the lusty Roman have you, and kept what is left of your quivering husk for my grateful father. But your filth of a father, where is he?'

Hulderic spat at Koun, interrupting my answer. 'My helmet, dog. It is yours, if you kill me. Beware that you do not end up like Agrippa, young man. The Roman general is truly dead by my son's hand?'

Hulderic sounded uncommonly happy about such an honor in the family, no matter his reservations about Father's return.

Koun's eyes glittered in dry humor. 'He is. They do not advertise it, but Maroboodus killed him over an insult and fled Rome, they say. I didn’t see it. But enough banter and niceties. As for your helmet? So be it. It does look grand, nearly good enough to match my father's!' He turned, and Vannius nodded at him bravely.

The leaders went back to their men, and so did ours.

Both sides stood still for a moment, trembling in anticipation. Everyone got ready, and there were many men who were hopelessly drunk and praying devoutly on both sides. We sweated like pigs, seeing the nervous eyeballs across the grass and over the shield rims.

Vannius nodded, and a horn blared harshly. The Vangiones screamed wildly, we answered in kind, and two shield walls of men rushed forth. Spears flew back and forth. Arrows impaled unlucky men in our wall. A stone whizzed by my face.

The walls collided with brief thunder, and I saw dark mist jump crazily up to the night air when weapons met weak flesh.

Wandal and Ansbor were flanking me as I looked for an opening in the mad melee. Before us, we saw the strong backs of our village's men. We were no longer playing, and we were scared shitless. A boy of our village was bleeding profusely near us, an unfortunate one with a twisted javelin in his chest. Other men were crying with bleeding wounds while others were lying still.

On the other side of the river, well over a hundred Vangiones had gathered on the beach, restlessly looking at the battle.

Hulderic was cleaving his way forward with Adalwulf, both unstoppable, their shields pushing weaker men back, sword and axe claiming blood and lives. He was trying to break through the second line of the enemy, the first dead at their feet, aiming for Koun under the impressive red standard.

Harmod the Old screamed defiance as a battle-axe severed his suebian knot. The women and boys were throwing rocks over the men, hitting many unwary enemies. A terrible thing, the battle in the night. I smelled the coppery smell of blood mixed with a pungent smell of innards, piss and shit, as men, victorious or dying, screamed in terror and fear. A framea hit the ground nearby, quivering crazily. I heard Woden's wild dance in my head, and felt the need to join the fight, desire to hurt the enemy and to gather fame.

Then, before us, a wide Vangione breached the wall.

His huge shield slashed left, felling an unlucky man of the village. The enemy stepped on the man's writhing face, killing him. Laughing hugely, he swiftly speared a youth on his right, the son of the village fisherman, and turned his ferocious eyes at us, his reddish blond, bushy beard covered in dripping gore. Behind him, the Marcomanni plucked the hole with desperation born of fear, but this man would kill more.

'Boys!' he screamed, spying us there. 'Come and lick my bloody nuts!' he yelled while laughing, seemingly unstoppable.

Ansigar took a step back, blanching.

I heeded the dancing figure in my head, grabbed a rock and ran at the man, screaming, terrified and excited, knowing we would die. Wandal followed me, sobbing in fear. The enemy laughed as his shield turned to cover him, and he smashed both Wandal and myself to the ground with ease that should have shamed us. He pulled his spear out of the dead young man, blood dripping from its shaft. He saw Ansbor coming, and our friend was shaking in terror, followed by the reluctant Ansigar. They both froze at the man's murderous look. The enemy stepped on me painfully as I struggled to get up, and the freshly bloodied and freed spear turned my way. I grimaced and stretched my neck to bite at his shoe, which was still keeping me down, and I felt his toe in my mouth as I bit as hard as I could. He screamed and jumped off, nearly pulling my teeth out. Wandal recovered, still obviously dizzy, and grabbed his foot, unbalancing him to his knees. Ansbor and Ansigar charged and rained hits on the man.

Retching, I got up and struggled with his shield, and when his pained face turned my way, I brought the rock down on his dirty forehead. His eyes rolled over crazily, and he fell. We kept pummeling at his quivering corpse as butchers would make a beef tender, and when we were done, I took his framea and punctured his belly, laughing like a maniac as he grimaced in his unfathomable, final pain.

Hysterical and proud, we laughed. We would win this yet.

We were fools.

Out of the darkness of the river, we heard steady, ominous drums and rhythmical splashes. The sound was eerie. These were not the sharp splashes of the Germani oars, but slow splashes made by expert rowers, and a drum was beating slowly, very slowly, as the ships emerged from the dark. Two light galleys slid out of the ghostly night like silent shadows. They were Roman ships; the type they call navis actuarial. They were lethal in the coast and river war, for they could operate in but three feet of water. Transports of brave men and abundant trade, these were there to do the former, for Vago had prepared well. This was how they got up the Moenus though many should have seen them and warned us in plenty of time.

They were not large ships, having but fifteen pairs of short oars, drawn by free men, peregrine non-Romans hired for the job. We could see men running on the decks as torches flared. The men in the bows, who were called proreta, stood there with strange oil lanterns, trying to make sense of the chaotic situation. They saw our lines on the right bank in the light of the torches that had been thrown about. They saw the Vangiones waving torches crazily on the left bank. The Vangiones cheered, and the bowmen in the ships gestured at the other side of the river where Vago was yelling at the shore, his helmet shaking. The ships had two naurarchus's, commanders who shouted orders to celeustas, burly men in charge of the muscular rovers. The ships turned abruptly, and we could see the Vangiones rushing to the bank of the river, men dismounting.

'Kill them, quickly!' Tudrus the Older screamed in determination born of fear.

Koun's men tightened their ranks, desperately holding on. Help was coming for the Vangiones. We doubled our effort, gritting our chattering teeth in fear. Koun's thinned shield wall held. They were looking expectantly at the ships, now at the other side of the river, being loaded by dozens of fierce men clambering onboard. On the deck, I could see Vago’s silvery mask of dread. He was spitting his orders, cajoling his men to hurry.

Tudrus the Older cursed as he struggled with two large men in Vannius's bodyguard. 'Their bodies and weapons, Woden, Freya, Tiw! For the victory. I, Tudrus, so pledge!'

Tudrus the Younger was on shaking knees near him, bleeding from the scalp. Then more Vangiones rushed in from the dark forests, latecomers and looters. They saw us and came for us, some twenty all, their long spears and savage clubs hammering down our exhausted and spent men, slaying villagers I had known all my life in the middle of our wall. Suddenly, our shield wall was split and broken, and death loomed.

Ansigar ran away from us, his face a thing of terror, and the Vangiones cried as they bowled over some of the remaining Quadi in the middle, leaving them dead and suffering.

We were going to lose.

Grandfather saw this, and gave one final, desperate push. He killed two weary men, going berserk and seemingly as mighty as Freyr the boar god as he flailed the enemy down, his sword dancing like a wraith. Hulderic finally reached Koun, Head Taker flickering around Koun's shield, the two men struggling like bulls, punching, bleeding profusely, slicing until Koun slipped on a steaming heap of guts, and lost his balance.

Head Taker came down hard on his collarbone. Koun screamed in terrible fear and pain and went to his knees, wounded. Hulderic was breathing heavily, eyeing the horror warily, temporarily spent. He saw our women retreating before some probing Vangiones that had come from the side, the ships splashing over, the first, daring men already in the shallows on our side.

I yelled a warning. Koun was not dying but had survived the cut.

His sword came up from the ground, his eyes wild, and Hulderic turned too late to see the bitter blade enter his firm chest, slicing to his throat. He fell like a tree, on his back, his helmet half off his head. Koun screamed in victory, groping for Grandfather's famous helmet. Adalwulf screamed back at him, and Harmod, wounded, roared as the failed men of Hulderic sought death as atonement for the death of their lord.

More men fell, and I took my looted spear and went for Koun, wild with rage. We were to die, our women enslaved, and we only had our honor left. Tudrus's standard fell forlornly, so did that of Hulderic.

Then Woden stepped down from Asgaard.

I saw a slender man in the shadows raise a horn, blow it shrilly and out of the dark, and steaming horses materialized.

On them sat glorious men.

CHAPTER V

The men who crashed from the woods looked magnificent. Even amid the desperation we looked in great wonder at their fine bronze helmets, tall frames, long, thick spears, and painted shields. Their great horses trotted in line, calm and controlled. There were twenty of them. The leader got high in his seat and yelled orders. Ten men broke left, and nine followed him. We thought them the enemy. Surely they would hunt down the survivors, and we would fall under the merciless hooves, mocked by the enemies, our last men sacrificed under the filthy gods of the Romans.

I saw there was something familiar about the leader. He had fierce, red hair sticking out from under the open-faced helmet. His shadowed face had a hawk-like quality, and I realized he must have looked a lot like Hulderic had as a younger man, having the same keen eyes, erect pose, broad chest, and commandeering air.

It was my father. I screamed for joy.

He spurred his horse towards the groups of desperate stragglers. The deadly riders with him screamed in defiance, and burrowed into Vangiones, drunk with premature success. Spears impaled, axes and swords slashed and hacked, and battle mad horses bit. The Vangiones, suddenly terrified, fled.

Vago was at the beach now, looking carefully at the battle. The woman who had been with him, called to him from the ship. Finally, cursing, he climbed back onto the deck, obeying her demands.

On the right, Vannius fell under Tudrus's thick shield, his last bodyguards slain and captured, standards trampled on the wet ground.

Koun put up a desperate fight.

He straddled Hulderic, and fought like an old bear would to defend its kill against a pack of bleeding wolves. Men gave way as he cut and slashed. Koun pushed Harmod the Old to the ground, cursing. The Vangione finally managing to push his blade into the older man's belly, leaving him shuddering and gasping, waiting for the Valkyries. Then Koun injured another man in his battle frenzy. The man fell back, hissing in pain.

I saw the swift riders spurring for the Vangione. I pulled my spear back and threw it in haste. I wanted to kill him for Hagano and Hulderic. The spear flew straight at the man. Vangione turned, and I saw blood spurt from his face. He howled, holding his gouged face. Then the riders closed, and the Vangiones fell under blade and hoof, and I lost sight of Koun.

I looked around wildly, suddenly tired to the bone. One rider was lying very still under his felled horse, not far from me. Father was riding around casually, his horse trampling the corpses. He was followed by a huge man with cropped beard, and a lithe, small man who carried himself with snake-like grace. Their eyes were fixed on the enemy ships, where torches flared, and the now careful leader of the enemy stood, staring at us from under his dog-snouted helmet.

Euric howled in anger, pointing at the ship. They had not boarded alone. They had many of our women with them.

Vago grabbed one of the women, and pushed her brutally forward. 'Dogs! You! Rider scum! Who is your leader? You are Maroboodus's fugitives, are you not? Show yourself!' Vago turned and cursed the hapless men who got in his way. He tore off his helmet and threw it at a sailor, who nearly dropped it into the cold river, but Vago was beyond caring. His scarred face twisted with anger and loss. 'Show yourself, or the women die! I shall have them raped while you watch, and then I shall sacrifice them to Hercules, so I swear! Show yourself!'

He pulled the woman he had grabbed before him.

I felt the ground shake under me. It was my mother in Vago's gauntleted hands.

The riders had concentrated in the middle of the bloody field, and their horses were sweaty and silent, reflecting the mood of the riders. The survivors of our butchered village stared at the ships in anger. Ever so slowly, my father rode forward, his horse picking its way amongst the fallen ones, many of whom were still alive. With him went the agile rider. The man held a crosswise on his lap, one of the standards of the two butchered centuries.

Father stopped at the bank of the river. He stared stoically at his wife for a long moment, and then opened a chinstrap, slowly tipping his head forward to slide the heavy bronze helmet off his head. He had a strong, wide warrior's face, one you would follow willingly to the realm of the dead. His nose was broad and broken, his eyes shadowed by bushy eyebrows. It was a face of the king, framed in reddish hair, very like Hulderic in nobility.

'I am Maroboodus, the lord who taught your men a lesson in war. They fought bravely, and yet their leader retreats and hides among the women.' He rumbled in a reverberating, deep voice full of mocking scorn.

Vago looked furious, for he was no coward. Yet he had indeed retreated like a lonely wolf before a raging bear. It seemed he much regretted the rash decision of re-boarding the ship. He glanced at the woman in fury.

She shook her head, bone-white, and scared.

Maroboodus saw the exchange. 'Not only do you fight women, but obey them. So what do you want? You wish to fight children next? They might be a good match for your spineless pigs, no? Come here, man to man? Fight me, Lord. Fight me, or are you afraid?'

Vago spat and barked a laugh. 'Fight you? You are a coward, a murderer, and a damned traitor to Rome. Would you keep any of your simpering oaths, you faithless dog? I would die to your honorless men, and you would bury me in pig shit. No, I think not. What I want is your head, fugitive, but there are many ways to remove the foul thing. I will have it later. For now, I think we can trade. This one looks proud, but not so proud after my boys have her, no?'

Vago gripped at my mother's arm. She flinched in pain while staring resolutely at her husband.

There was silence, save for the slow splashing of the oars as the rovers tried to hold the galleys in place.

Maroboodus stared at Mother. I could see the struggle in his movements, the lure of throwing caution to the wind and taking the spear to Vago, but it would be impossible to survive.

'What is it that I could possibly offer? Advice on how to fight wars? How to make love to women? What do you want?' Maroboodus asked with a scornful voice.

Vago trembled at my father’s coaxing. The darkly dressed woman walked quickly forward, and put a steadying hand on his glittering, armored shoulder. She gave a baleful glance at Maroboodus, who just stared back, tight-faced.

'I will sell the women.' Vago gestured at the throng of hostages. 'For the standards. I want those back. Now.'

Maroboodus was not happy with the offer, but dared not show too much interest in the woman standing on the deck in Vago's dreaded hands.

He glanced at the bleeding, hopeful men and weeping children, and nodded heavily. 'Take the piss-sodden standard. I have captured much better ones, and there was no honor in taking these. Nevertheless, your Roman masters will know you lost here. Bringing them back won't make them lose count of the men and gear, nor believe fantastic lies.'

Vago's eyes glittered, and he nodded at the ship's captain, who growled something back, shaking his head. The dark woman hissed at him. The captain gave in, nodding at the burly headman of the rovers, who shouted at the men. The galley lurched forward, ever so slowly.

Vangiones started to push the frightened women forward, and one by one, they were lowered or pushed into the water.

One of Vago's bodyguards, a burly man with very long mustaches, climbed down with the scrambling women and half climbed on the bank, holding his shaking hand out. Maroboodus stared at him in disdain, but nodded at the lithe man holding the hacked and bloody standard.

'Do not mind the blood, old man! It could not be helped!' Maroboodus shouted at the Vangione leader.

The burly man took the standard, and waded his way back to the galley side, handing the pole over before being pulled up.

Our women clambered ashore, soaked and weeping. The few surviving menfolk helped them. Children ran desperately to their mothers, clinging to their skirts. Only my mother remained on the ship, sneaking glances at my father.

Vago inspected the standard. 'There is one missing!' Vago said again, cursing bitterly.

'It is somewhere in the field, fool, or the cowardly bearer ran away with it, I know not,' my father spat.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the men stared at each other. Finally, Maroboodus spoke, his tone bored. 'And her? Do you have a price? I will not kiss your shit-smeared ass, no matter how much you would like it.'

Vago smiled, slowly running his hand through his gray hair. 'My sons led the two centuries that you wiped out. I have one other, but they were my oldest. And you killed them.'

Maroboodus's horse moved nervously under the sudden pressure as my father hugged its flanks fiercely with his thighs. 'I know not if they are dead.'

Vago ignored him. 'They were good boys, and now they are lost. The price for their death is her.'

My father moved forward. 'I said, I do not know if they are dead.'

Vago licked his lips, scanning the sea of moaning men. 'They are gone. They lost. However, if you crawl to the water, your hands held up in submission, I will trade her for you. She is a noble lady, is she not?' He caressed my mother's neck with a finger. All eyes turned to Father, but he made no move. They stared at each other, Vago sweating, Maroboodus glowering at him.

My mother closed her eyes, and I could not tell what she was think.

'Your sword then? I will trade her for your sword.' Vago said, with a malicious voice.

My father did not move. Vago was playing with him.

Vago laughed. 'So you will not help her. You are a hard man, Lord Maroboodus.'

'And if I did, would you keep your word? I am no harder than you, who will not find out if his sons live,' Maroboodus spat at him.

The woman whispered to Vago, who listened intently.

Vago nodded. 'I tell you what. You give your son to me, and I will let her go.'

Maroboodus looked back at us. 'Which one?'

Vago looked at the woman who whispered something to his ear. 'Both. I want them both.'

My father hesitated, his eyes darting around. He said nothing, clearly indecisive.

I was about to step forward, but Father took the decision away from me.

Maroboodus shook his head. 'No. I cannot do that. You make no deal I trust. Let her go, and I will pay you for her. I have coin.'

Vago's eye twitched, and he licked his lips. 'Coin? Hah! At least I know where they are now, Maroboodus, your children. With my boys gone, I will come for you and them. The gods will reward me, if not today, then soon. Shayla, my daughter, bless this bitch's blood.'

There were tears in Vago's eyes as he took his helmet from the sailor and put it on.

'Hold,' Maroboodus yelled, but Vago did not listen.

The woman, Shayla, was the druid Koun and Tear had talked about, the one who held knowledge of the prophecy. She was young, strangely sad, and hauntingly beautiful, and did not look dangerous. Yet Tear had said this woman wanted me, and in that, Tear had been right.

She hissed at Vago, who shook his head. 'Later, daughter. Today, I want sweet blood.'

Vago pushed Mother over the ship's side, holding her by the hair.

Maroboodus was gritting his teeth in sudden desperation, and was about to say something, but Vago cut him off with a harsh laugh. He grabbed a blue-tinted knife from the woman's belt, twisted my mother's head back and cut her throat with a quick, fluid motion. Thick blood spurted from a ragged wound before anyone could say anything.

Vago twisted Mother's form over the side of the ship, and let the abundant fluid flow to the river. He grinned as he noticed her silver deer fibula. He tore it off with his other hand, and laughed with a harsh bark as he placed it in his wide belt.

Shayla was chanting in Celtic, praying reverently to the river goddess Abnoba. Her eyes were as shocked as my mother's. Vago picked Sigilind up, her blood spurting over his armor and heaved her to the river shallows like a useless sack of meat.

I could not fathom what had happened.

I remember staring at the corpse of my twitching mother, and remembered Marcus whispering urgently in my ear, but what he said, I know not. Shayla's gaze fixed on me as if she knew who I was. She staggered, her lips thin. I spat in her direction.

Father reacted differently—Maroboodus roared.

He roared like a giant bear of the high mountains, raging like a most savage, injured animal. His roars echoed in the deep valleys and thick forests while all others were silent. It was a sound that men sang about, later. I listened to the scream and the mighty roar, and the words of the prophecy came to my suffering mind, and I wondered if Hulderic had been right after all.

After he had screamed and raged, several men had to run to restrain him, holding his flailing arms and muscular waist. Maroboodus had dismounted in rage, trying to reach my dying mother.

Vago stared at Father's impotent rage. 'She was your wife. How fit. Cold man you are, Maroboodus. Hercules and Shayla's gods have smiled on us after all. Know this, Maroboodus, you are a hunted man. You cannot hide. What happened to her is like a swat from a feather compared to what will happen when Augustus gets ahold of you, traitor. My boys died, your wife died. You bring nothing but death and despair in your wake. You risk the whole Midgard. I will raise new men, and eventually, no Suebi filth will live along this river. I will haunt you forever, and I will take your boys, too, for none of your breed must live on. I know what you are; Shayla has told me. Your deaths will buy great favor from the gods, cur!'

He turned away and gestured to the captain, who rowed him swiftly back to the other bank. Vago and his men mounted their horses, and the remaining troops formed up. In the distance, we could hear men herding cows and prisoners, the prizes for the Vangiones.

I ran forward as he started to depart, the spell of doom broken. I had stood there, my face blank, looking at the dead and the dying, but now I found my voice. 'I shall carve you, Vago, with that very blade, one day! I swear! And your witch!'

The druidess turned on me, her face strange and expressionless, as if she had sight. She blanched, fingering her dagger uncertainly. Vago ignored me. He flashed his red-tinted sword at my father, who was now staring at his new enemy, and paid no heed when Wandal's father Euric dragged Sigilind up from the shallows, leaving her resting on the muddy bank.

When Vago had disappeared into the darkness, Maroboodus put his heavy helmet back on to hide his grief, and went to his knees next to my mother's cold body. He spoke softly. Mother was dying quickly, feebly twitching in Father's gauntleted arms. I felt unsurpassed grief, deep loss, and seething anger. The loss was so keen I felt I was floating, and I did not feel the passage of time. It could have taken an hour, or but a minute, as we all stared at her lifeless body.

It was as if I was no longer at the Marmot's Ford but had gotten lost in some strange world where all the faces seemed uncannily unfamiliar and unbelievable things could happen, things one could wake up from. But it was not so. It was real. The many dead, the horrid, flame-scorched carnage. Vago. Vago would pay, I swore to myself, and spat at foul fate.

The world had changed. I had lost my mother and grandfather, and gained a father.

The Three Spinners were busy.

Father was on his knees for the longest time. Finally, he turned to Adalwulf, who stood with a grief-stricken, anxious face next to him.

'Lord, your father. He is asking for you,' Adalwulf said.

I saw Adalwulf staring at my mother, and knew he was suffering as well. He had admired her. Then I realized what Adalwulf had said. Hulderic was still alive? Maroboodus stood up and looked at my mother, shaking his head for the finality of all that had passed.

Maroboodus slumped and clapped Adalwulf on the shoulder, leaning on it. He moved with him towards the terrible center of the battle, where Hulderic had fallen amidst his victims. I trailed behind him, not sure how to proceed. I saw Wandal looking at me, sorrow for my losses in his eyes. Tudrus the Younger was being taken care of by our women. The Quadi women who got away this night were on the dangerous side of the river, and there was dreadful worry in the eyes of their surviving men. I also saw listless Ansbor stalking the field, stopping all people, asking about his lost father. Our men were finishing off the enemy wounded, and cries of desperate fear rang out in the once familiar riverbank.

I trailed my father to where Hulderic was laid next to Harmod the Old. It was clear he, too, was dying. He had lost a lot of blood, so much blood his body was dark from it, his armor caked with it. The blade had ripped a deep hole in his throat. His helmet was next to him, the twin dragon symbols of Woden woven intricately in its silver surface.

My father kneeled next to my grandfather. He glanced briefly at the galleys that had started to row back down the river towards the Quadi village, where they would load up the loot and slaves before returning to Moganticum, at the confluence of Rhenus and Maine.

Hulderic saw my father through his pain, and grabbed him with his right hand, pulling him gently closer. I stood near them, and could hear Grandfather's voice rasping. His breath formed bloody bubbles on his sword-split throat. He strained himself as he grasped Maroboodus's armored shoulder. 'Son, you should not have returned. He will not have forgotten. Bero. And the prophecy …'

Father did not seem to hear.

'They killed her, Father. I could not save her. I cannot save you. They came for me. I am sorry.' Maroboodus clutched his father's hand hard, and the older man slapped his back weakly to console his son.

'Worry not. I will hail her, if I see her, but she was a good woman. You must believe it. You have two sons. Two, remember that, and one is better than the other. Two sons, believe it.' His voice got noticeably weaker.

'Who is a better boy, Father? What do you mean?' Father was saying tiredly, and I felt deep foreboding, and remembered what Tear had uttered about my future with Father.

Hulderic grasped Maroboodus close. 'The curse, the prophecy. Promise me you will take the boys, and go away from Germania. It is necessary.'

Maroboodus shook his head. 'No, Father. I don't believe in it.'

'I promised the mail and the sword to Hraban,' my grandfather whispered sadly.

Hulderic shuddered, his back went rigid, and he died, Draupnir's Spawn rolling from his hand. Maroboodus picked it up gingerly, and bent his head in grief.

I saw Gernot approaching, smiling briefly at me, the spark of betrayal behind his beady eyes.

Betrayal by those who are closest to you was the ultimate trial for any man. I failed that day.

Gernot appeared slightly bloody and bleeding from a small puncture wound. He placed his foul hand on Grandfather's cold arm, and turned his tear-filled eyes to Maroboodus. In his hand, he held the bloodied framea I had thrown at Koun. I stood shocked with my mouth hanging open, for I knew what was going to happen. Gernot was making his bid for power in our family.

'Father, I am your son, Gernot. It was I who threw this spear at the leader of the dog. I did this so you would be proud of me, Father, and to avenge my beloved grandfather and mother.'

Gernot gave the spear to Maroboodus, and most everyone but Wandal and Tudrus the Younger and his brothers were either nodding in gentle approval or cheering softly, a strange sound in such a terrible place. The lithe man in my father's war band was looking at the boy shrewdly, then he was looking at me, and I think he anticipated what I was about to do for he tried to move between us, but he was too late.

'Liar! Bastard liar! You were hiding. You should have saved Sigilind, you sniveling little swine,' I screamed, and pounced quickly for him.

His face distorted in terrible hate, and Father sprang up snake-fast, just before I could grab Gernot, who backed away quickly. Maroboodus moved like the swiftest viper, and I felt the back of his brutal hand connect with my face. I fell, my head aching. I could hear Wandal screaming I had spoken the truth, and I heard my father scoff in derision. I was hurt, bereft of the family I knew and utterly betrayed. I hated my brother, and that hate would never truly go away.

I struggled to my elbows and peered weakly at father, who was staring back at me. 'I am Hraban. Your son,' I said, bitterly.

Instinctively, Maroboodus licked his thick lips and kneeled next to me in sudden tenderness and regret, brushing my hair away from my face. His hand froze, and his eyes fixed on the hair, so unlike his, and I could see the doubt playing on his face. At that moment, my fate was sealed. He hesitated. I saw him glancing at the body of Mother, and I could see him pondering over what Hulderic had said to him, but jealousy is a beast hard to kill, doubt is its friend, and both were heavy in his mind. Instead of tender care, he steeled his face and soul.

‘Your claim your brother should have saved my wife is untrue. You are the eldest; it was for you to do. You failed. Marcus, take the lad and have him cleaned up.'

Marcus, carrying a horn, came for me, his eyes neutral.

Maroboodus turned to Gernot, who was kneeling by Hulderic. My brother had removed the hallowed Head Taker from Hulderic's hand, handing it reverently to Maroboodus, and then I mercifully lost consciousness, and saw no more of the travesty.

I dreamt of a roaring bear, and the bear had my father's face.

CHAPTER VI

I suffered from terrible, feverish nightmares. I dreamt of Hagano standing alone in the gray woods, white as bone, tearfully unhappy and lost. I begged Sigilind in her mercy to come and guide him away, but she did not come, nor did anyone else. I dreamt of murdering the vile Vago, spearing him with a spear made of dark iron, filthy and crude, but he would not die, only laugh at me in derision as I tried to stab him unsuccessfully. Vago's deed constantly sneaked into my troubled dreams, the callous, crude cut, and the horribly flapping body on the water, not breathing, not dead either, only confused and unable to raise.

I dreamt of Gernot as well.

They were not brotherly dreams of affection and well wishes, no. In my dreams, I did not blame my long-awaited father. He was a fine hero, a great warrior, a man who had lost a beloved wife and father. Curse Gernot for the opportunistic pig he was. Our father did not know what we were like, but he would see the clear truth in front of him, and would accept me as he should. Though in the dream, I was unsure if he really would. I was hopelessly nervous and endlessly impatient, wishing him to say kind words, open his arms to embrace me, but the dream was unkind, and did not reveal if my desperate wishes would come to pass. I did not wish to wake up and face the truth, for sometimes the truth was worse than the nightmare.

Eventually I did wake up. Tudrus the Older kicked me, and not over-gently.

Startled, I got up to my elbows, and glanced around in confusion. I lay in an oxhide tent, which smelled of a strange oil-like substance. Later, I learnt they were legionnaire tents, meant for eight men of a basic contrebentium. Looking around, I saw Tudrus the Younger whose scalp was bound, and Agetan, with a wide, undressed puncture on his leg. I had some deep, festering scratches, but it was my head that hurt like a dwarf was hammering it from the inside. Someone stated that my skull was fractured, although not very badly. My father had hit me hard, and so had Cornix.

Wandal and Ansbor were there.

We stared at each other, Ansbor and I, and I nodded at him, beckoning him over. I grabbed his arm, and he stiffened. 'I am sorry, Ansbor.'

He nodded. 'I found his remains yesterday in a small patch of weeds by the river. He was a fool. He rode straight into them, as if he was taking a calm summer ride over his own pastures. He should have ridden south first. What kind of an idiot does not understand that? That there might be enemies on our side of the damned river? But I am sorry for your sweet mother, and for great Hulderic.'

We embraced warmly, and I mouthed the word 'Euric?' to Wandal, who nodded happily.

I smiled briefly. He was alive.

Ansbor grunted and separated briskly. 'Ansigar lost his uncle at the shield wall. He is alone now. Like me.'

'Euric will look after us, eh?' Wandal said, sheepishly.

How the poor smith could feed the lot of them was a deep mystery to me, but one for later speculation. We heard Ansigar talking agitatedly outside, and someone answered him with a thin, imperious voice. It was Gernot. I gritted my teeth so hard, there was a grating sound.

Tudrus the Older smiled to calm me as he pulled the groaning Agetan to a semi-sitting position. 'Gernot, your brother? He is talking a lot, singing songs of his mighty deeds, smelling his rare opportunity to rise above you. He does make you look, sound, and smell like soft, fresh shit. Some few listen.'

I shuddered in uncontrollable anger, and tried to get up. Tudrus the Older stopped me with a swift shake of his head.

'The small damage is done, boy. Gernot has some of your father's ear. He is a piece of rotten gristle, I grant you that. You should hear how he embellishes the fanciful lies about your laziness.' He cherished the hurtful words, and grinned perversely as if enjoying my vast disgrace. 'If he lied over me that way, I would fillet him in public, I would.'

'I will shit in his emptied skull,' I promised, seething. 'I'll do it as soon as I can.'

The old Quadi shook his head, frowning. 'I can fillet people who lie over me because I am a man and a great chief, able to handle feuds, but if you try it, you will be here with another injury, perhaps a more final one. Give it time, boy, and grow.'

Tudrus the Younger groaned as he turned on his belly and then nodded at me. 'I saw you kill a man, Hraban. I did not see your weasel-like brother in the bloody battle, the liar. For years, he has been giving us subtle hints of his plans, sneaking after you like a sullen, beaten dog. He gave us the shield, too, or rather, we found it on the beach, and spied him rowing back home.'

His father nodded. 'You have our respect, Hraban. I liked Hulderic. I knew him very well, and often stood with him against our common enemies. He spoke gravely with me when you scampered off to the woods.' The old man was scrutinizing me carefully. 'He was much worried about your wayward father. He asked for my help, in case Maroboodus proved difficult to handle, and did not wish to obey his legitimate authority. He was also equally worried for you.'

I spat. 'He was right to worry, it seems.'

'So,' Tudrus continued with a nod, 'I said I would help him, if I could. Yet, now Hulderic is slain, and your surprising father saved my life, and those of my kin and tribe. So here is what I will do. I will help you, and I will pay Maroboodus back by helping him as well, if possible, and pray the two walk hand in hand. If not, I will look to extract you from trouble.'

I drank warm water he offered as he examined Tudrus the Younger's scalp. 'Festering still, boy. Need to ask the pretty girl to look at it.'

Tudrus the Younger reddened. 'Yes, Father.'

Wandal whistled softly, embarrassed, and I felt annoyed. 'Girl?'

Tudrus the Younger grinned at me. 'That one from the north woods. She comes here to heal people. Ishild? She pushed Wandal over a log when he tried to stop her from undressing you.'

'What? Has she been here?' I asked, blushing deeply, glancing at my groin. I had my dirtied and torn pants on.

'She has, eh. Took your blooded tunic away. Then rubbed something nasty on your chest. Not proper,' Wandal said, embarrassed. 'She and I have an agreement. I am here when …'

Agetan laughed roughly. His brother smiled.

'She does not keep her end of that idiotic deal, Wandal,' Tudrus the Younger said, with gentle mockery. He handed me my bloodstained tunic from the side of the tent.

I grabbed it, and the old chief contemplated me. He cleared his throat. 'Do you know your family history? Hulderic told me some of it.'

I shook the tunic on. 'Hulderic told me something, as well. I know we came from Gothonia, but I always did. He told me about some strange prophetic words my great—'

He interrupted me. 'Not about Bero? Your great uncle?' he asked, regarding me.

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. 'My great uncle? Bero?'

He smiled happily, and took a better position. 'Ah, then there is a fine story to tell. You see, if I help your father, I will be at odds with the powerful Bero, the second strongest man of the Marcomanni, perhaps even the most powerful. It is a dangerous road to annoy such men. However, Maroboodus saved us, and I will help him—within limits. It is a terrible gamble.' His voice took a priestly note, and he shifted his position. 'There was war in far Gothonia. Your grandfather had a vile cousin, a man who was power-hungry beyond reason, yearning for the rights to lead all your formidable family. Hulderic's father was recently dead, and he inherited the few remaining men and small fortune.'

I nodded. 'My great-grandfather. He was a man who raided the intruding Langobardic tribes, drove many to ruin, and became rich from the loot.'

Tudrus continued, 'Yes. Therefore, Hulderic had men, some riches, and some small fame. However, war was looming from inside your family. Your great-grandmother. She knew of a prophecy…'

I waved my hands, sick to my stomach over the damned prophecy. 'I know this part. War, the Bear, the Raven, and a lot of shadowy, mightily evil gods. Rings and blood.'

'Your father has a fine gold ring now, Draupnir's Spawn, eh?' said Wandal drowsily. 'Was that the one Hulderic got from the Naristi?'

I nodded darkly. Maroboodus had most likely grabbed Head Taker, and everything of value Hulderic had owned. Gernot would have made sure he kept some for himself, no doubt.

Tudrus grinned, as if he knew what I was thinking about. 'Yes. Hulderic believed in this old prophecy. They say it is so in your old family, that at times these unwanted harbingers appear, and a father is expected to hold Woden's trust sacred.'

'Death or exile,' I said, thinking about Tear.

'Death rather than exile. Yet he chose exile. He took your doom-ridden father and the old ring. He let his men go and serve others, and rode off in the deep night, leaving everything. He lived with the strong Cherusci, and the brave Bructeri, keeping Maroboodus with him. He kept him close. Hulderic's wife died of fever while with the Bructeri.'

'I never met Grandmother,' I said.

'I know,' Tudrus told me, clapping my shoulder. 'Few do see them, boy. It’s a harsh world.' He sighed and shook his head. 'Bero travelled after him. Hulderic claimed Bero would follow him to the ends of the world for his ring.'

I shrugged. 'It is sacred.' I had a hard time picturing the man who hated us, a relative, and then I thought of my feelings towards Gernot.

Tudrus grinned, and I understood I had missed something. 'I said his ring.'

'What?'

Tudrus the Older shook his head, and spoke softly and slowly as if to a half-wit. 'The ring goes to the first boy to marry in your family, and so Bero was naturally upset and angry,'

I frowned at his words, and he lifted his thick, sarcastic eyebrows and laughed. I realized what he was saying, answered his merry laughter with mine, and then winced with a vile curse as my head hurt bitterly.

'It was Bero's ring. Hulderic stole the ring? Woden's hoary beard!”

Tudrus was still giggling like a woman. 'Perhaps. Perhaps he thought the prophecy was more important than Bero's lawful right to the bloody ring. Whatever the reason, Bero followed his elder brother out of hate, out of honor, or maybe their enemy in the north had forced them all out, like marauders would toss a widow to the cold night. I do not know for sure. Eventually, shadowed by stubborn Bero, Hulderic came to the Marcomanni, the Suebi furthest from all the other Suebi, the border men of the south. He did not go far enough. But in the end, after much trouble, your father was removed from Germania, though not killed, and he was, I guess, not a willing exile.'

'Why didn't Hulderic kill Bero?' I asked. 'Hulderic said he had reasons.'

Tudrus the Older shrugged. 'They are brothers. Even you might find it hard to kill your mother's son? They might have been close once?' He shrugged. 'Battle mates? Perhaps he had promised his mother not to slay Bero.'

I growled, and they laughed, knowing I would not hesitate if I found Gernot alone in the woods, but instead, I would burden Mother with his presence in the afterworlds.

'Give me Gernot, and—'

Tudrus the Old waved me down, stopping my rant.

'Beware of Bero. He is rumored to be a patient man, not unlike a fat spider, but now, he might finally make a move. He missed out on Sigilind, missed out on her sister, Gunhild, missed out on his justified place in the north, and then, he lost the holy ring he was to wear, and use to further the glory of his family. He lost Maino, his son. Who knows what else the fool has lost, but I think, he is done with losing. He controls many vitka with fine promises and coin. He will be utterly ruthless. So will your father. Give it time, and be happy with what Hulderic taught you. Become a good man, even if it might be different from what has been promised to you. What did Hulderic tell you?'

'To obey my father, should he be gone,' I said woodenly. 'To mind my honor. I wonder if they are aligned.'

'There.' He clapped my shoulder sharply. 'Go and find out. You will meet him this fine evening. He has called for you.'

'Do you,' I asked secretively, 'have a plan? How will you help him?'

His eyes twinkled. 'I will help him overcome certain stubborn obstacles to his continuing well-being. I will be there to offer him steady protection until he has his deserved place in your tribes. Be patient with him, Hraban. But call me, if it becomes impossible.'

'I am not sure I can stomach Gernot,' I told him, miserable.

'You should not,' said Ansbor. 'He is making Wandal and me look bad, too. He claimed we are docile and fat mules.'

'Not Ansigar?' I asked, as I glanced at Ansbor's fat belly.

Tudrus the Older grabbed my friends by the scruff of their necks and pulled them up.

'Does not matter. Be a man, Hraban, and conquer with guile, if spear takes you nowhere,' he said. He poked me hard on the forehead as if trying to kill a fly. 'Come to your hall before the sun goes down. We will sacrifice to the mighty ones, bury the heroic dead, and hold a quarrelsome Thing.'

He pulled Ansbor and Wandal with him and left.

Tudrus the Younger was grinning at me. 'You can serve me, if you have no home here. You can prepare my food, clean my shoes, carry my spare spears, and …'

I made a rude gesture at him, but my mind was whirling. I had a great uncle. A great uncle who desired Draupnir's Spawn, his by divine right. Hulderic had told me to stay true to my father, so I chased the thought away, but it was there, lurking underneath my seething anger. Perhaps Bero was a good man, after all. There was a reason why Hulderic had not killed him, and I, gods’ laugh, might like him.

Outside, some man hailed Tudrus the Older urgently, and great commotion rose as Tudrus bellowed for a horse. Something was afoot.

We emerged from the dark tent to a gentle summer evening with swaying beech trees and lazy flies buzzing around, and an enormous number of happy birds singing, uncannily. The waning light of the sun stabbed through my head, and made me swoon with pain and nausea. The moldering hill fort was nearly empty. Some women were tending the remaining wounded amidst a smattering of old ruins. Many had died, as is the case after battle. Tudrus the Younger groaned as he followed me. Agetan, his barrel-like torso pushed us aside as he tottered along, grunting at the pain from his leg wound. He turned to an old, unfortunate oak to take a long piss. I saw Wandal and Ansbor waiting, looking down the hill to Marmot's Ford, and I joined them at the edge of the moldering oppidum and looked down. It was a disquieting sight. There was Marmot's Ford and a heap of Vangione corpses. They would stink horribly, being consumed by opportunistic forest animals, fat maggots, and flies. Their formerly deadly weapons and personal gear would be gathered by now.

I shuddered at the sight.

'Come, they are making a grave fire at your hall,' Wandal said.

'Mother, Grandfather?' I asked forlornly.

'They are at the hall, too,' Ansbor said, looking down. 'With all our fallen. The Quadi included.' We trekked that way, observing the heap of dead faces, most missing eyes, for crows loved the delicacies. The softer parts of their blue and white bodies had been partially gorged and gobbled by beasts at night. It was uncanny what death does to a man, and I could see the corpse has little value after one passes on. There were religions that believed in the foul preservation of the flesh, this we had heard from far-travelled merchants, but this was not our way. We worshipped spirit over rot.

'By the gods, that is…eh?' Wandal said, then retched, and let go of his bowels.

Tudrus the Younger grimaced at the sight of vomit though not so much of the dead. 'Best not lose your food, bear pup. It is scarce.'

I tore my eyes off the macabre corpses and looked at the place where Mother died. I remembered her twitching arms and legs, the horror of my dreams and masked my forthcoming tears by questions. 'Why is food scarce? Where are Hulderic's men? We had twenty living in this village, but what of the others in the villages around us? Some sixty men should be here. Did those villages get attacked as well?'

Wandal shrugged. 'Father told me they did not come. Your father's riders found some of them dead in the nearby woods. Killed by Vangiones, or someone else.'

'Bero? Has he been seen?' I asked absentmindedly, and forced my eyes away from the shore. I could not get the sight of my mother from my mind.

Wandal dodged a rotting horse. 'No help has come. Various riders are seen in the distance. They are apparently Marcomanni men, but they might as well be foxes. They do not come to us, as if we were diseased. Bero's work, no doubt.'

We trekked through the silent, burned-out village, madly churned up pastures, and destroyed crops of rough barley and formerly precious wheat, and the small woods where we had played all our lives. Smoke was still rising from most of the ruins. Cellars had been unearthed, cows and pigs stolen. Coming to the familiar home I had known but a few days before, I stopped. Tudrus the Younger clapped me on my shoulder, shrugged, not knowing what to say, and pulled Agetan to the side where I saw his father and Quadi on horses, looking on steadily. The hall was half burned down, it's gray walls blackened. Men were around it, heaping wood over the corpses of our village. There was already a huge pile of cut timber around the hall, and Father's toiling men were hauling more with their sturdy horses, and the few, hale men helped.

Many men sat near, their limbs bandaged, some feverish, and I saw Quadi wounded amongst them. On the other shore, I noted, more Quadi stood in ragged ranks. Their dead had been brought there, too.

The Quadi were many, all armed and packed, the women hurrying to make ready. They were going somewhere.

I looked at the copse of formerly fine trees near our house. There, men were hung for the honor of the gods. Old Wulf was hopping around the swinging legs the hanged men, the few Vangione prisoners. Directed by Wulf, men thrust broad bladed spears at the corpse's bellies, while others held them still by the ankles. The old man was examining the innards of the foes, still hot and steaming as they burst out like writhing maggots. It was Woden's death and great magic to read such signs.

I saw Euric on another tree, further off. In the distance, Marcomanni forced trembling prisoners to hug the trunk of a large tree. The smith stepped forward quickly and hammered large nails through their skulls, pinning them to the wood. Wulf nodded appreciatively, overseeing the sacrifice with an appraising eye.

The trees were now a shrine. There, bloody Woden, even-handed Tiw, siblings Freyr and Freya and so many other gods would get their due. It was a holy place, even if it smelled of man-dung and piss that day. Some villagers were looking on at the butchery, awaiting the result of the omen reading.

I spied Adalwulf standing at the shore. He looked haggard, suffering and exhausted, his hair matted and unwashed. He wore no armor, but a very plain tunic and trousers, and held a simple framea, unadorned shield, and the wolf fur he had captured. I gestured at Wandal and Ansbor to stay behind, and went to him.

Adalwulf smiled at me sadly. 'Your father is down there.'

He nodded down the river, where I could see the man sitting cross-legged on the sandy bank, his reddish hair gleaming in the lingering evening sun, hands on his knees. He wore no armor, but simple dusty breeches, and Roman caligae in his feet. In front of him, on the bank of the river were the bodies of my grandfather and mother. The lithe warrior and a gigantic man in dark chain mail were sitting on warhorses, guarding Maroboodus.

'That's Guthbert, a Batavi, your father's bodyguard, and the smaller man, his right hand man, is Nihta. The new champions in your much changed family,' Adalwulf noted laconically.

I cared not for the names of the men. I was looking at my mother and grandfather, heroes of my past life, and I felt tightness in my throat.

I realized Adalwulf was not only saddened by his losses, but also lamenting his own downfall. He was no longer the famous champion of Hulderic, but a leaderless man. A man whose lord had died in battle—and so he was shamed. To have your great lord die, while you survive, was a terrible blot on your honor.

‘I am sorry, Adalwulf,’ I said.

He took a deep breath and nodded at Maroboodus. 'He must be grieving Hraban. Sigilind was a good woman. Your grandfather was a generous and noble man. He will be missed. We will sing about him, and how well he died, sword in hand, his foes rent by blade. I only hope the gods will forgive me for failing to guard him.' He sighed and looked down at the ground. 'The gods will make him an immortal in the Valholl, for he was famous. I doubt it not.'

He was musing half to me, half to himself.

I nodded, knowing he was right.

Adalwulf glanced over at me. 'You are now the second son, Hraban. I wonder if you can handle it?' He laughed, brutally. 'I am sure you cannot. You are too much like me.'

I looked at him curiously, and with hope.

'No, no. You get no ally out of me, boy. Despite Hulderic's death, your father asked me to join his band, and I would do very well to do so. Rich and noble I will become. Yet he thinks you are not his son.' He shook his head and sighed. 'It is not any love I feel for you, but for Sigilind, your mother, who was a good woman. I cannot stand to serve a cur of a man who thinks she is anything less.'

I looked at him in askance. He all but admitted he had feelings for my mother.

He noticed my look. 'I have done nothing to be ashamed of, but your father thinks she was not clean. Therefore, I will give him the fine spear, heavy axe, and the fabulous hauberk his father gave me when I started to serve Hulderic. I will find my way elsewhere, and try to find solace.' He shrugged. 'I would never rank above the two warriors down there, and I would resent being less than I was. No. I’ll ride away. I know where. There is a man I gave oaths to. There’s a woman I will see. I’ve served my time here and will go find them, perhaps.'

He laughed softly, shaking his fair head.

'You killed a priest,' I mused, angered at his apparent drive to leave us.

He looked at me, amused. 'You think that is what brought ill luck to us? Fool.'

I turned on him in anger. 'You did not have to kill that one!'

'Your father,' he spat, 'killed three. Perhaps your mother died because of that? No, Hraban. Gods do not care about these mongrels. They care about our deeds. That one should not kill a hollering holy man is a ridiculous thing invented by these holy men.'

I wanted to argue, but felt too tired, disappointment raged through me. 'So, you go as well, then,' I said bitterly.

He nodded, gave me a brief clap on the back, and then walked away.

I turned to my family, the dead and the living, and walked towards them. The warriors had seen me from afar. They flashed grim looks around, keeping their lord safe. Father glanced at me only once but ignored me otherwise. I stood there, looking at my pale, rotting mother with the gaping throat wound, remembering the look on her face when she had died. She had been silent, but afraid, and I wondered where she had travelled.

I saw the white face of my grandfather. For some reason, death had robbed him of any familiar features. He looked like a pale stranger, or a wax-colored piece of rotting timber. I had no feelings for the strange-looking corpses, and felt shame for it. I shook, cold tears rolling down my face, which I tried to wipe away. My father sighed, and gestured at a spot next to him. I shuffled over and sat down, feeling the ground wetting my breeches.

'Not all tears are shameful, Hraban. I shed mine, too,' he rumbled silently, and I was looking at him.

He had cropped his beard, and his long red hair was sporting the bear claws our family wore, the ones my grandfather used to wear. He was a large man, with a powerfully heavy chest, and very little fat in his midsection. He sported a multitude of savage scars over his arms, many from spears and arrows, I imagined, and some of the thicker ones from blades, no doubt.

He noticed my eyes probing the fanciful decorations, and gave me a brief, baleful grin. 'They have names, the scars. “General's Folly,” is that large one on the shoulder, for our general was an idiot of herculean scale, and the men had to fish out his quivering hide from an obvious trap. One is “the drunken Spaniard” for he would have won, had he been sober.'

He looked the warrior incarnate, and I nodded, thinking I would name the healing scratch on my forehead “Gernot's Mistake,” after he had paid for his lies.

He turned away from me and nodded at the corpses. 'Shedding tears keeps you human, boy. The stoic Roman nobles, they are like us, made of the hardest of Egyptian marble. Yet, they, too, cry like babes when it is beneficial, currying favor from the masses by their show of emotions. And what happened here, Hraban, will be sung over the rivers during the coming months. Balderich will know I cried bitterly for her daughter, my lost wife, and it will all count for us and against the bastard of Bero.'

I shivered at my father's tone, and shuffled uncomfortably, unable to understand the manner of his grief. 'Are any of them genuine, Father? Your tears?'

Maroboodus smiled coldly. 'I loved her, I think, though I barely knew her. At first, before she was mine, she was a cold, distant star, but I grabbed her from the sky. Then she was warm and beautiful, but that did not last. I only held her close for a while, before I was forced to let go of her again. She was mine, true, but again far, far from my side, again a cold star in a far northern sky. A near-forgotten love, a promise of a faraway family at the end of the unknown, winding road of shadows.

‘This is what all this was to me in fabled Rome, and old memories are driven gray and stale by new ones, until I barely remembered her.' He spat on the ground, his lips twisting in a snarl. 'Thanks to Hulderic, it was so. My roads, they have been long, Hraban, full of bitter choices and memories. Hate is a snake I bore all the years of my life. Many times I longed to be here, when life was harsher than I could handle, yet I could not come home, on pain of death.' He sounded bitter, and he clenched his fists. 'No, I was driven out like a beaten pup because my father was not strong enough. He feared foolish prophecies, and loved his coward brother too much to slay him. He was indecisive and weak when it came to the bad branches in the family tree, unable to cull them. I had to leave, and I took the ring, even against his well-known wishes, against his damnable superstitions. It was a great ring that could summon Suebi men to my service, men who heed the old stories. It has power. Bah! Exile. It cost me her, at least. And so, I hated him, even if Hulderic was my father, my lord by right. His death makes things easier, hers makes them much harder.'

His hostility startled me, and I felt a stirring of anger inside my belly, like a small, enraged animal trying to get out, growing savage and larger with each uttered, bitter word.

'Father…' I started, but he waved me down, swallowing angrily.

He continued. 'He would not play the game, Hulderic. He paid the bastard Bero, even when I was acquitted in the Thing, for the death of Maino, Bero's weakling, stupid son. He sent me away. I suppose I should be glad he did not have me slain, but it left me a servant to the cruel Romans. So I served, and served well. I served the confused state, the tottering senate, and the uncaring foreign gods of the Romans, and especially the mighty man, Octavianus Caesar. I saved his life in Hispania and in Tarraconensis.' Maroboodus had an intense look in his glittering eyes. He continued, speaking as if to himself, 'I was rewarded well after their fashion. I was made a man of their world, given promises. So I forgot home. I loved Rome for a while. It was easy. But even that failed. I ached for one thing, the one great woman I could never have.'

I nodded. His words were comforting. The longing in his voice melted my anger, and I could feel love for this magnificent man, who had been run away from his home, his family. He was a man who had missed us.

Hulderic had erred, perhaps.

Then he trampled on my stirring love like he would crush a delicate flower.

He gestured at my mother. 'Aye. I longed to be here with Sigilind as well, and I longed to kill Bero who would never forgive his many losses. Hulderic, the fool. I wished to take our family to glorious fame, but I could not for I did not have men back then, being just a foolish young man.'

He whispered, and I could swear I saw a tear in his eye.

Whom was he talking about? Be here with Sigilind, as well? Was my mother the second woman, someone else the first, perhaps in Rome? Had Mother's fears been on the mark?

He shook his head, looked at the corpses, and sighed. 'Well, I am here now, and the dice are rolling. I have lost most all I hold dear, but I can still have my long-awaited revenge, and make our ancient family into something more than it was with your simpering grandfather.'

He swiped the fabulous sword next to him on the grass. It was the sword promised to me by Hulderic, and there was Hulderic's mail on his other side, with the golden hem-loops glittering and his shattered, formerly powerful shield.

He nodded at the corpses. 'I will give these two a proper burial, fit for heroes, and, aye, my father did die like one, and so did my wife, unflinching when the blade came. When I saw Hulderic there with the few men he had, I felt he had redeemed much of what he had not done, and some of what he had.' He glanced at me again. 'Yes, I saw you fighting, as well.'

I straightened and held my chin up, and he laughed, fully aware of the power such simple words held over me.

He continued, 'It is not that I think you are weak. I just do not know my wife as well as I should have. I blame my erring father for that. I guess you will blame me for it in your turn.'

The animal broke free and burst through my mouth, ripping my jaws apart and dragged angry words with it.

'Father,' I said spitefully and coldly, drawing concerned and surprised looks from the great men on horses. 'Mother had me write you. She was worried you had not stayed true to her. I had that scroll when the fat Roman took it from me. Who was the one woman you could not have, the one you talked about?'

He said nothing for a while, looking at her corpse. Then he shrugged, uncaring. 'I am a man, and in Rome, men do as the Romans do. The old man of Rome might be worried about women's morals, but Augustus is a goat. These words, Sigilind's words, the words you penned down, are a woman's words. They are words, just words, running through a man like the ale he drinks, tasting fine, but meaning little, turning into useless, time-consuming piss. No doubt she assured me she has been chaste, that the hair color of yours came from my loins? How could I know? Really? I was not here. Perhaps Hulderic failed in guarding her as well? I loved a woman once, in the north. Saxa she was called. I loved your mother. I loved others. I trust none. Swallow it.'

I spat in front of him. 'She did not ask me to write about me. She welcomed you home, and wanted to know you again, afraid you were different from the youth she knew. As for my damned hair? It is hair that runs in the family, I am told.'

'It is Bero's color. Not mine. Look at Gernot,' he said, his face rictus of a grin, growing angry.

I stared at him, silent. Then I took a deep breath and spoke. 'What is a father? Hulderic was the father whom I knew. He taught me honor, how to ride well, how to live properly, and how to fight with wits and skill." I kicked at the ground. 'And the fool taught me to miss you. He taught me everything. I knew him like I knew my dear mother.' I looked at him square in the face. 'My mother, who had nothing but ill-placed longing in her heart for you. She feared you, Father, for perhaps she knew you were an unreasonable, harsh bastard, not willing to trust anyone. I see that now, though she did not say it aloud, for she was also loyal to you. She prayed to Sibb for help, and hoped the goddess heard.' I hit my chest with my fists. 'So I look different. So what? You dishonor her by your foreign words! I don't even know who you are, except that you served Rome, masters of the Vangiones, the men who command Vago, foul slayer of my family.'

He looked shocked at my outburst, and there was a shiver of doubt behind his calculating eyes.

Then I ruined it. 'And that sword, the mail? Grandfather said he would give them to me when I was a man.' I drew in a deep breath and continued, 'The ring goes to the man who marries first, and I am your eldest.'

'Hulderic is dead,' he said simply. 'All his promises are smoke.'

I stiffened.

'I make such decisions now. I will make many that might not please you. It is time you grew up, sword or not. The ring shall not be yours unless you marry first, and I deem you worthy. It has too much power. Many a Suebi will serve me for possessing it, and no man will carry it unless I trust them. And you.' His eyes burrowed into me. 'You will do as I say. Do you understand?'

I seethed. 'You trust anyone but your son. Like the man who brought the ring to us. Where did he go?'

Maroboodus grinned. 'He rode north, boy, to meet a man I will ally with. And, yes, I trust such fine men, men I have bled with.' He grabbed the heavy sword and looked me in the eye. 'I am the lord of men, a great Marcomanni noble, a Roman citizen, and I will rule as a man of both worlds, with magnificent, greedy ideals of Rome and guts and blood of Germani. Whatever has passed is past, it gets burned and buried with him.'

He jerked his cruel thumb towards Hulderic's corpse.

'I understand,' I said, quivering in anger. 'And Vago? Will you kill him? Will you let me be part of that, as you make the decisions now? Make me a man?'

'Make you a man? Of course, when I deem you well-worthy of such honor, but not, perhaps, yet,' he said, to my continuing agony. 'Vago is my enemy, even if we used to have the same master. Not so after I killed the bastard Agrippa. Do you doubt this?'

I shook my head. 'In that case, I will serve you. I will become a man when you think me worthy, and help kill him.'

A Vangione screamed as Euric nailed him to the tree. I saw Wulf look our way, unhappy as an irate badger, intestines hanging from his fingers.

Maroboodus glanced that way. 'We will have a nasty confrontation here today. After that, you have a purpose to fill. The red-handed Hermanduri have attacked the Quadi in the east and the Matticati help them from the low hills to the north. Tudrus will go summon the rest of his sizable gau, and I will join him with my men. I will come to Hard Hill in one month's time, just in time for the year's great Thing. But you will already be there.'

'What?' I asked weakly. 'I need to go to war. I have to earn my weapons. Did you not just say so? You take him with you, Gernot? He doesn't even know how to fight!'

He laughed. 'He knows how to fight savagely, Hraban. His weapons are his quarrelsome tongue and devious mind. However, he has to know sharp spear, as well. You will go to the supposedly senile Balderich, and you will serve him humbly. You will meet Bero, my mighty foe. You will not go alone. Nihta comes with you. Odo as well.'

I hissed at him, in uncontrollable anger, trying to remember what Tudrus had advised, as did the man who brought us the ring. However, it was hard to serve when one was asked to play a meek servant. Apparently, keeping my honor and serving my father were not things that would co-exist easily.

'Odo? Her mother is working with Rome! She is to help someone for a fat Roman bastard, perhaps Bero, for he is our enemy. He will have me killed and boiled in hot oil, or is that the plan? I will serve you as a sad corpse, rallying pity amidst honorable chiefs, a son slain?'

He grinned at my vehement tone. 'You, Hraban, will serve me as I ask you to serve. As a sad corpse, if need be. In addition, I know about Tear, fool, and that she is teeter-tottering between her loyalties. She helps me, you see, for she is seeking the prophecy, and I doubt she truly believes she will get anything from the ugly Roman. I can help her with mighty, powerful magic. I will give her Bero as a plaything. And I need her, for I have no vitka or völva.'

I sat there, silent, brooding. His authority was without question. I calmed and tried to think straight. It was not his fault he did not know me. He had lost a great deal, I reminded myself, many times, trying to grasp at the feeling of compassion in order to bear his hard-to-accept decisions. But I was still unhappy with him, and his many insulting, unfamiliar words and thoughts. He was not as honorable a man as Hulderic had been, even if he was the better warrior.

'Why do you go to war, Father? Why not go to Hard Hill and face Bero?' I asked, trying to remain calm.

He laughed, slapping his strong thigh. 'Bero is the power there. He commands many champions. These champions command too many spears. If he chose to, he could discard the customs of hospitality and slay me. And he has bought the vitka and the völva. These foolish priests, the ones like scowling Wulf there, command the divine right to condemn a man to a swamp death. You think anyone would support me, fearing these men? No, I go to war, become famous in these lands, gather both unsavory and loyal men under my banner, and plan deeply. I do have one, a plan though it is fragile and depends on many turns of events.'

'As long as you give me a chance, Father.' He flinched at that. 'Let me fight Vago, I will do my best. What is expected of me?'

'I expect you to be there, in Hard Hill,' he said, musing, his eyes glinting as he regarded me. 'You will get to know old Balderich, and Gunhild. You will let the mighty Nihta and troubled Odo work their magic, and perhaps you shall have a part to play as well, other than looking pretty. Be wary of Bero.'

'Did you kill his son, this Maino?' I asked.

He grinned maliciously. 'Yes. It was the night of the great Thing, all these years past. It was in fact the same night, as I will try to topple Bero, when I come to Hard Hill. The great Thing night of spring, beginning of Drimilchi. Back then, that night was a happy start for a new life for me, as Sigilind and I had married in terrible hurry and secrecy. Balderich and Hulderic had agreed it so, to avoid just such bloodshed. Maino, the dolt, was a large, stupid Gothoni, Bero's eldest, and had entertained the notion Sigilind liked him.'

'But she did not?' I mused.

'No, of course not. So, that night, he was following me around. The Thing was ongoing in the Hard Hill, hundreds of Marcomanni arguing and discussing mundane things. I did not care for Things or arguments, for I was still young. But Maino did interest me. I saw he was deeply disappointed and shadowed me around. Therefore, I rode out of Hard Hill, singing happily, and he came after me. I rode north to the dense, swampy woods. There is a small valley there, just next to the river I had taken Sigilind often to, when I had tried to win her heart. It has an old stone, left from the old people or deeply secretive dwarves, I know not.

‘There I waited until the dolt crashed after me. He saw me that night, we both had weapons, and I murdered him. I had loaned Head Taker from my father and this blade—' He glanced at the great sword. 'This blade is sharp and deadly. Maino did not stand a chance. In the end, I crushed his bleeding skull on the stone and pissed on his corpse. I buried the skull there, threw the carcass to the river for the fishes to feast on and smiled when Bero accused me later. They could prove nothing, and I was set free, even if Hulderic paid him many cows to smooth over this…crime.'

'Maino attacked you?' I asked, impressed.

'He would have, one day,' Maroboodus said carelessly. 'He followed me in the night so I did not ask for his reasons. Perhaps he only came to congratulate me!'

I did laugh at that, and he smiled at the memory, but then settled into a calmer pose. 'Maino haunts the stone, you know. It is possible to see his spirit there each year on the night of the Thing, at midnight. It is so, for I sometimes ventured there, those early years of exile to mock him in his sad undeath.'

'Truly?' I asked, my eyes round.

'Truly,' he stated, nodding happily. 'But now I have to kill his father, his champions, and vitka, and anyone foolish enough to think things are fine as they are. No, things will change.'

'And Nihta will topple these champions of Bero?' I wondered, glancing at the lithe man who smiled at me.

'I will try, Nihta will try, and Odo, he will deal with the priests, who are all Bero's foolish puppets there,' he told me. 'Odo insisted you go, by the way, not Gernot. He must like you.'

'They think I am the key to this prophecy.'

'Prophecy.' He grinned, shaking his head. 'But you and I, we do not believe in that. Therefore, we will have them as our personal vitka and völva and let them think gods can die by our vanity and mistakes. Such fools—but powerful ones.'

I shook in anger. 'They will expect things from me.'

'I know, and you will obey, as long as it does not hurt my interests. We have to be both careful and bold. You will soon see how scheming Bero works, when we speak with Wulf there. Bero is not one for shield walls, but foul treachery and deceit.' He nodded in Wulf's direction. 'In Hard Hill, obey Nihta. Be brave. You will give me a solemn oath here, over the dead ones you so loved. You will obey me, now. A mother you no longer have, nor a grandfather. Only a doubtful father. A father you will obey well and fully. Make no mistake on that,' he said with sudden force.

I was clenching my fists, then tearing at the grass in anger.

I growled at him. 'I will obey you as Hulderic, the man you curse, told me to. I am your son. Why should I give you an oath? This is insulting.'

He shook his head. 'It is not enough you are supposed to be my son. A father needs no oaths from a true son, in that you are right. Yet I demand it, for you do not know your proper place, and I do not wish to be betrayed, my boy with strange dark hair, so unlike mine. On your weak knees.'

I gritted my teeth, and did not budge.

'I told you that I am your son. I do not have to give oaths to you!'

'Be that as it may, you will give me one,' he hissed.

I shook my head and clenched my jaw in defiance.

He roared in sudden rage, reached out fast as a snake, and grabbed my neck in a vice-like grip, pulling me down. 'On-your-knees, boy!'

I was on my knees before him, and his breathing was heavy on my neck. I considered fighting him, but the thought of doing so in front of my dead family shamed me deeply, so I did nothing.

'Swear to me that you will obey your father, Maroboodus, mighty and sole lord of this family, in all matters, large or small, obediently, immediately, and with only the best of our family in your mind. You need no rewards to do so. Swear this!'

I hissed at him. 'It is customary for the mighty oath-lord to swear solemnly he will be a worthy lord.'

He laughed wildly. 'Oath, boy. Now.'

His grip was strong on my neck.

I swore with a trembling voice, in front of the dead eyes of my mother and grandfather. A needless oath to my own doubtful father. It was an oath that tasted bitter as dirt to me. It was an oath I knew I would find hard to keep, even if Hulderic had told me to honor my father. It was a deep insult, one that would hover over us, always.

He finally let go of me. 'Woden is listening to you, boy. Remember that, and if you do not, remember I make a bad enemy. In addition, you will obey the mad Tear, by my word,' he said, and got up.

I glared at him angrily, and he stared back until I looked down, bile in my mouth. Then he gathered the fine sword, the heavy mail, and shield, and walked away briskly. His two men followed closely, both giving me blank looks.

'Father,' I said, and he turned, a quizzical look on his face.

'Hulderic told me he should have killed you rather than send you to Rome,' I said evenly. 'Your own father entertained such thoughts. Perhaps, one day, I will sit on a riverbank like this, over your cold corpse, wondering why you did what you did, holding your gear. If my children are next to me, I will be unlike you.'

Maroboodus said nothing, looking at me thoughtfully, as if trying to fathom if such a future was likely. Then, after a while, he shrugged, leaving the matter to the fates. The wind blew as he nodded at some men to come and lift away the corpses. They did and carried them to our hall. I trailed after these men, and sat down in the forlorn shadows. Wandal and Ansbor observed me, worried, but I did not go to them. I watched men lift my grandfather and mother up to the house, over the timbers, and they planted Hulderic's standard precariously on top, where it looked lonely and old, as dead as its lord. I barely noticed, as I hated my father for his disdain of me, and for his foul thoughts of my mother's fidelity.

I did take notice when they lit the hall while praying loudly, and I saw the wood of the hall starting to burn here and there. A mound would be raised over my home, housing our dead. Soon, it was blazing, and people prayed. I saw the Quadi carry piles of bent weapons to the wet riverbank. The lost gear of the Vangiones. Spears, fine axes, rent armor and fancy belts, jewelry of bronze and even silver. Tudrus the Older had promised Woden a mighty sacrifice, and so it was to take place. It all went to the greedy river, the warriors disposing of it amidst many prayers of thanks, amidst oaths and deep thoughts, and tears. Then I saw my father raise his hand. One of the Quadi had lifted a broken vexillum, the Roman flag from the pile. Father, flanked by Gernot, went to Tudrus the Older, and they had a heated discussion. Tudrus evidently wished to sacrifice the mighty symbol, Father to keep it. Gernot pulled at Father's shoulder and whispered something.

The worm looked my way, his face screwed by glee.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to look at the fair Ishild. Her face was pinched in concern, but she smiled as she slid next to me. I smiled briefly and slid a bit further away. She looked startled at my unexpected timidity, but let me sit in peace.

Wulf hopped on one foot, hollering as one last Vangione was speared in the belly. He looked for signs in the guts that slowly spilled from the twitching body as an expert Quadi with a wide-bladed spear opened the wound. The vitka was arching his scrawny neck this way and that as the intestines fell out. Gernot left to fetch something, and Maroboodus and Tudrus looked at each other, waiting. Wulf shook his head, scrutinizing the mess at his feet and hands.

'He is looking at the omens, but he will not like them,' she whispered, putting a hand discreetly on mine.

I let her and thumbed her hand, carefully. She was pretty, but was daughter to Tear. Hulderic had warned me. Hagano's tale of Sigfried came to me, and I stopped thumbing her hand. I glanced at her, tried to remember our kiss, but the memory was far, far away, and somehow, I found it strange she would sit so freely next to me, as if we had an agreement. Did we? The kiss? I shrugged.

'Why?' I asked, 'Do you see something you don't like?'

She shook her head. 'No, Woden approves of the deaths.' She nodded at the dead prisoners. 'But Wulf, he is enemy to Maroboodus, for he loves Bero best. He has his own agenda. He tries to stop the prophecy. You heard your father roar, so you believe in it now, as well.'

'I don't, and I think it is all crazy. Any man would roar like that, when they lost their family.'

'You didn’t.' She sighed. 'I always just wanted to live happily, and have a fine husband. My mad family is always thinking about our blood and your blood. Forever plotting and praying to the lost one. I wanted something else.'

'Why not grasp it, then?' I said.

'You did not leave, Hraban, when Mother offered it. I wanted to leave with you.'

I felt ill at ease at her words. I was still apprehensive about her. The way she made such assumptions made me feel like a caged animal, but she was very pretty, and men do not make their doubts known when faced with such a caring female face and suggestive curves under a well-fitting tunic.

'Perhaps we will, one day,' I told her instead, carelessly, and enjoyed her demure smile, though I could not imagine myself a married man, at least not to her.

'You mean it?' she asked, looking anxiously at my face, and I glanced at her, mystified by her intensity over my words. They were just words and not oaths. It unsettled me, but the liar in me nodded with a brief smile. She came closer to me, and I thought she did not have the gift of sight, if she was convinced so easily.

'Remember, Hraban. I will try hard to make it so, but I cannot disobey my family. Trust me, I will do my best so we will have something between us, after it is all done.'

'Ragnarök seems pretty damned final to me, being the end of the world and all,' I smiled sarcastically, hoping to change the subject. 'Not much cuddling left when the seas swallow us.'

She nodded. 'Perhaps it takes time, maybe even generations for it to…'

Gernot came back, diverting my attention. He was carrying Hulderic's fine armor and strong, blood-spattered shield. He smiled at me viciously.

Both Wandal and Ansbor turned towards me at the prompt of the bloodied Euric, positioning himself between Father and me.

'Do not, love,' she said.

I looked on as Tudrus the Older took the fabulous shield of a hero and grudgingly traded it for the flag.

'Gernot's idea. He knows he could never carry such armor, man or not. He wishes to hurt me,' I hissed.

'True,' Ishild said. 'But bear it, the coiling hate. Eat it, love, grow stronger by its nurture, and one day, remember his face as it is now. Then you kill him.'

Tudrus took the famed shield, a precious thing I had once coveted, and flung it to the river. It swirled for a while on the strong currents, the red color washing away from the leather, making it look like fresh blood. Woden approved, surely, for it was a great gift.

'What of them?' Wulf asked suddenly, yelling rudely. He was pointing at two shivering men, both heavily hooded, and bruised in their bared upper body.

Approving mumbles answered him from the crowd. Two last prisoners.

'Woden wishes them, Maroboodus!' Wulf screamed.

Tudrus the Older gestured at the Quadi guarding the men. They were brought forward on tired legs. They stumbled towards the water, where Maroboodus and Tudrus stood, waiting. There, they were pushed on their knees, and the crude sacks covering their faces were removed. The other one was a quivering boy, not much older than I. The other had long mustaches, and an angry red wound on his face.

Vannius and Koun.

I stared at them in disbelief. They were still alive, yet Mother had died for their supposed deaths.

Adalwulf turn away in anger and disgust. He was the man who had failed to avenge his lord's death, and could not face his failure. He took up a simple framea, got on a small horse, and rode away, never looking back.

Silence reigned as we regarded the shaken sons of our enemy.

Koun whispered to his brother, words of encouragement, which Vannius tried to take at heart as he looked up to Tudrus's eyes as bravely as he could. They saw their men nailed like salmons to the trees.

'What of them?' Wulf asked again.

'The old one is bloodthirsty today,' I spat, still trying to cope with the loss of Hulderic's shield, and Ishild giggled.

'Tudrus the Older owns the boy, Vannius.' Maroboodus said with great reluctance. 'Koun is a Marcomanni prisoner. However, I agree with Wulf, on this. It is proper one's enemy is given to the gods as thanks.'

'What would you have me do with Vannius, then?' Tudrus asked Koun, ignoring Maroboodus and Wulf.

I saw Father was very unhappy with this, but Tudrus the Older was no peasant, and would not let anyone order him on matters of honor.

Koun stirred. 'Let him live, Lord. He fought well against you. Let him be your humble prisoner,'

'You love your brother well,' Tudrus the Older said, and with an outstretched hand, stopped Wulf from saying anything else. 'I will hold Vannius, as you ask. He will give me solemn oaths not to break his promises, and gains his freedom, when I, or my sons'—he waved at the trio of scowling brothers standing amidst the tough Quadi—'say so.'

The Quadi banged their spears on the shields, and Vannius, eyeing Koun, went on his wobbly knees and spoke the life-saving words to Tudrus.

Maroboodus was not happy with the decision. He looked like he was chewing on something tough and inedible.

Maroboodus and Koun gazed at each other for a long time. Vannius was white as a cloud, looking at the horrible carnage and the dark faces around him. He got up and blanched when a shaking foot of one of the dying men kicked him on the side of the head. There was nervous laughter in the night.

Finally, Koun spat, but his mouth was too dry to make spittle. 'So, I cannot even spit on you dogs. It was your father I killed?' he asked Maroboodus, who began to stalk around the brothers in deep thoughts.

Koun stayed still, though there was the sweat of fear on his brow.

Maroboodus snorted at him. 'Yes, he was my father. My old father. Holding a seat for me here, guarding my lovely wife, and child. Children. Someone told you about my home. Bero, no doubt.'

People started to whisper, and Wulf scowled at this.

Maroboodus's eyes probed Koun, who was looking at the high lord's eyes over his shoulder, but shook his head stubbornly, and Father seemed briefly disappointed. Koun was apparently not cooperating with him.

Koun turned his eyes forward, his look calculating. 'Bero? Hah! Maroboodus, your father died with honor; he was most formidable. I admit, I mocked him cruelly, but a man mocks his enemy, and he did his share. And I know not what would have happened to your beautiful wife, had we won, but I did nothing you have not done time and time again. All I ask is to let me die with my sharp sword in my hand. Woden will surely see that I was noble, and brave in battle and in death, fit to feast in his vast halls.'

Wulf spat. 'You serve Hercules, not Woden, foul Roman!'

Koun scowled. 'I serve high Woden, fierce Donor and fair Tiw, as well as the mighty Hercules.'

'What happened to my wife, dog, is she was killed by your father in payment for your deaths.' My father hissed. 'Alas, I did not know you lived. Both of you. So what am I to do but equal the scales?'

'Nothing, Lord,' Koun said resolutely and bravely.

Father picked up the swords of the brothers, their armor, and ornaments. 'So …' he said, and threw them one after another to the river, and I could see Koun tighten his jaw. 'Anything to say, boy?' Maroboodus asked as the Quadi drew closer, and I could hear Vannius sob as silently as he possibly could for his brother.

Koun shrugged, swallowing his loss and terror. 'I am yours, what else is there, and I shall mock you from gray Hel or, if I am lucky to reach Woden's table even without my blade, from the mighty one's halls until you arrive.'

Father laughed, clapped Koun on his shoulder, and the Quadi dragged the man forward, not taking Koun to the trees, but the slippery bank of the river.

'Woden will have you, even with no sword. Woden, or whatever foreign god appreciates your bravery, but you will die in the cold river, as my wife did. It is proper.' Father's voice was cold.

I nodded while my tears fell. Final justice was to be had for Hagano, for my dead family. I hoped Mother and Grandfather were watching from the pyre. The Quadi dragged Koun to the water and grabbed him by his hair. Strong warriors started to push him under. Koun struggled fiercely in the water against the two grunting Quadi, which attracted hoots of mocking derision from our people.

Koun spoke as he struggled. 'I will tell to the men in any table the gods seem fit to seat me, or the sad shades of Hades, about the tragedy of Maroboodus. Vannius will make sure the truth be known about the whole affair—' With that, he plunged under, his strength finally betraying him.

Maroboodus grimaced. He fidgeted greatly and stalked back and forth, squinting at Vannius uncertainly, vengefully, and the young man looked down in fear.

'Will you have him join his brother, noble Tudrus?' Maroboodus asked. 'Woden would—'

'No,' Tudrus said carefully. 'I see no point to do that. The battle is over, and there is no need to kill more.'

Father stared at Vannius like he would a lamb, but finally cursed and yelled hollowly, 'Bring him up.'

Wulf's eyes bulged with fury.

'I said, bring him up!' Maroboodus roared.

Tudrus the Older nodded slowly at the confused Quadi. Koun was dragged, coughing, nearly choking and vomiting murky water on to the feet of my father. Maroboodus growled aloud, and people went quiet. Then he bent his knee and grabbed Koun's face. They spoke, Father brutal in his sibilant whisperings. Koun looked at him, his eyes calculating and red from his brush with Hel, but he managed to whisper spiteful words. Maroboodus sneered at him, placed a gladius on his throat, ignoring the surprised gasps from the electrified crowd. He whispered to Koun, who shook his head in denial, suddenly concerned. Then Maroboodus nodded at Vannius's direction, made a subtle fist, and Koun's resolve broke, his face doubtful, his eyes flickering at his brother. Finally he nodded, humbled.

'What the hell is he about?' I wondered.

Ishild whispered to me. 'He knows someone told Vago where your family lives. For Maroboodus, it is better it was Bero, but these two might lie to hurt him. Therefore, Maroboodus threatens them. They are a risk; they can muddy waters. Your father needs to have a fine, just cause. If they died, the problem would have been solved. If Vannius lives, he can make trouble when your father confronts your great uncle.'

'Someone in Hard Hill did tell them about us,' I hissed,

'It would benefit Bero most, I think,' Ishild mused. 'But these two can say what they like.'

Maroboodus regarded the brothers, still contemplating murder, but he saw Tudrus the Older shake his head subtly, still indicating Vannius would live, and so, in the end, Father also shook his head. 'Let them live separated, and, by the threat of sword, they will not lie over the truth we all know.'

'What is this secret, Maroboodus?' Wulf asked venomously, and some men mumbled assent. 'Free men have no secrets amongst themselves. Marcomanni do not abide secrecy!'

Maroboodus got up and surveyed the crowd. His face was ashen. He gestured at the two men. 'There is no secret, only filthy worms and slippery snakes who would save Bero, if paid enough by the dog. Now, there will be no lies. Koun will serve me, as his brother will serve Tudrus, and their mutual, deep love will make them honest.'

Tudrus the Older nodded carefully, not entirely happy about the whole deal. Tudrus had claimed to help Maroboodus, but there was something to the exchange we did not understand. But the Quadi said nothing, agreeing with Maroboodus. Vannius was to be a hostage against Koun, Koun against Vannius.

'Oath, Koun. Give it humbly.' Maroboodus pointed at the sodden ground.

Koun blanched with humiliation, and crawled to my father's impatient foot, staying there as he swore a bitter oath to my father. He trembled like a leaf from anger but loved his brother enough to obey. I snorted. If I was given such a choice, I would rather drown willingly than save Gernot.

Strangely, as I thought about my filthy brother, Gernot laughed loudly. 'A sight a man cannot stomach to see,' he said languidly, mocking Koun. I saw Father glance his way uncertainly. Gernot in his newfound position was an arrogant pup, and it gave me perverse joy to see brief doubt play on Maroboodus's face.

Koun's eyes were feverish from the unusually brave deed as he finished his oath. I suddenly felt kinship with the Vangione and then hated him again.

Wulf, scoffing at the whole sordid act, cursed. 'The gods will want a payment for it.'

Maroboodus nodded, expecting this. He pulled the magnificent chain mail of Hulderic from the ground, grunting at the glittering prize and its weight, and then heaved it in a lazy arch to the river, where it sank in a blink, the armor seeming like a dream.

I made an animal-like sound of distress. Ansigar walked briskly over to Ansbor and Wandal, and they all approached me, observing Ishild carefully. Wandal saw my feverish eyes as Maroboodus was looking at Wulf, both weighing their next words. Much of the heritance Hulderic had promised me was gone in a blink of an eye. I wanted to walk to Father, smash my fist in his face, and take no heed of the consequences.

Wandal crouched next to me and hissed in my ear. 'You must not, Hraban, Eh? As your friend, I will tie and clobber you if you try!'

Ansbor stood in front of us, his fat face quivering as he was determined to stop me.

Ansigar laid a clasping hand on my shoulder. 'If you go there, he will throw you to the river to keep the armor and the shield company. Think about it, you thrice damned idiot. Who would keep company to the young vixen then?'

Ishild nodded sagely, staring at Ansigar carefully, and Ansigar leered at her. I shrugged him off.

Maroboodus turned to the assembled people. 'It was my father's armor and previously, his shield, both worth many lives. The armor came from far Gothonia. Ancient. Strong. A legend. Will Woden be happy, men?'

The people nodded, screamed and agreed, the thump of the spear on shields rose above the crackle of a burning hall. An unbelievably great treasure had indeed been given to the gods that day.

Wulf, sweating, stepped forward. 'Fine gifts, very fine. But Woden says it must be the hallowed ring. Draupnir's Spawn? That, too, must be cast to the great river, if you wish to keep Koun. And the sword? That would please them greatly, for the omens are ill, as it stands.'

I stared at Wulf in confusion. I remembered Hulderic warning me about Wulf, a vitka, a man I had known all my life. Wulf was apparently aware of the prophecy, and was helping Bero, challenging and weakening Maroboodus, coaxing him and taking his measure, hoping to strip away his many strengths.

Maroboodus stepped gingerly to the riverbank, ignoring Wulf. 'This will suffice. Woden fights bloody wars. He does not wear fancy rings or flashing jewelry like a rancid Syrian whore in the gardens of Sallust. The sword stays, for with that sword, I killed Maino, Bero's son, and it is said a sword will also slay another enemy of mine, one day. And I do wonder how you, Wulf, know about our ring, and, no doubt, its history.'

I calmed myself, but spat instinctively in anger, thinking about the armor I had loved. The intrusive act was not lost to Wulf and Maroboodus, who glanced at me in barely controlled fury.

'Gods cursed idiot, Hraban,' Ansigar said, harshly. 'Soon, one does not dare to be seen with you.'

'Then slither to Gernot, Ansigar,' I hissed. 'He seems to have a future.'

'Perhaps I will,' he growled. 'Perhaps your father will appreciate my services.'

'He leads a mighty war party, and needs no quivering boys,' I said sullenly.

Ansigar walked away, but hissed as he went, 'He needs more than simple fools with spears, Hraban. There are others as well.'

I snorted at his back. Maroboodus had turned and walked to Wulf. The old vitka raised his chin to the large warrior fearlessly.

Wulf cleared his throat. 'It is a sad day when village vitka is discarded so callously. It is a sad day, when the omens are so bad, and an even sadder day when a chief insults Woden. I tell you great people,' he yelled. 'That the deaths of these men whisper of misfortune. Of death! More death, unless you follow my lead and turn from this vagabond.'

So the die was cast. A Thing was to take place, right then, right there, under the hanging men, next to my burning home full of blackened cadavers. Men gathered around, wondering at the sudden challenge. Sharp spears held by attentive guards were slowly riding around the perimeter of my former home, but it was indeed a dangerous mood that sprung from the words between Wulf and Father, and none felt safe, spears or not.

'Wulf,' Maroboodus smiled at him like a feral wolf would before devouring an old lamb. 'The man who bows to Bero more than to our gods. Should you not go to him? Surely, you counsel the villagers to trek to Hard Hill, to forget me, the son of their leader? Their savior?'

Wulf shifted his eyes to Tudrus the Older. 'A Quadi in our village's Thing? That…'

Tudrus the Older grumbled. 'We have bled together, and made oaths. We will be here.'

Wulf shook his head. 'I am the last lawspeaker of the village. Not you, Quadi.' We all saw he wore Hulderic's silver bracelet.

Maroboodus barked a laugh. 'This is a Thing for people my father respected and knew, not something you mold and dictate, lawspeaker for Bero with a pilfered bracelet.'

Wulf gestured around the people, the burned village, his face full of righteous hate. In Rome, I would later see how the irascible actors play the crowd in a similar aggressive manner, and I remember giggling uncontrollably as an actor playing Almaceon accused a hapless woman of causing the death of his innocent father.

Such a dramatic figure Wulf played now. He turned to Maroboodus, chin up, bears jutting, and voice quivering. 'It is you, a traitor fresh from Roman service, who caused this to take place! Not great Bero, as you no doubt will claim.'

Some of the women were hissing in accordance, and when women hiss in accordance, men take heed, for if there is no peace at one's home and hearth, there is no peace at all. Yet, there was something comical about our village vitka, opposing a god-like warrior.

Ansbor grunted. 'He looks like a crippled badger snarling at a bear.'

The Bear. Indeed. Maroboodus was the Bear.

Wulf continued, his fingers twitching, 'So few. So few of us left. So many have burned, so many lonely wives without husbands, so many good boys dead, and so many terribly maimed men, never to carry the swift spear again. The village is destroyed. They came here, burning like demons, raping as Romans do, and killing at a whim, and the month of plenty is now the month of terrible hunger. Is this not so?'

Some few men nodded, some clashed their spears on their shields in agreement, and there were whispers as women were commenting fiercely amongst themselves.

Wulf smiled. 'So, what are we to do? What is the wisdom Lord Maroboodus is offering us? To rebuild? We are not strong enough. We have no food, no proper tools, and no real strength. What if they come back to finish this?'

The women looked at each other, and some glanced into the darkness where spears had come for us once.

Wulf waved his tired hand around. 'Yes, they know we are weak, even if we managed to drive them away, a miracle it was. They can come back, indeed, with a vengeance. And when I say they, that means … anyone.' He glanced at the Quadi host on the other bank, hundreds of men and women.

Tudrus the Older stirred and laughed in surprise. 'You are speaking ridiculous nonsense. Quadi are no threat to you, and you are spreading fear amongst the quivering women, who will not decide here, just us men. There is trust between our tribes, always has been. You can stop trying to topple the Quadi. We are here for the oaths and blood we have shared lately.'

Wulf evidently did not like the light tone, for he got up. 'Trust is for fools. This is not miraculous Valholl where you awaken from death. These are your families.'

Men glanced at Tudrus uncertainly.

The Quadi looked indignant, and Euric, Wandal's father, spat. 'I, for one, do not care for a few lost cattle when we have the Quadi thieves here, with us, with ready spears and common foes.'

Men laughed, even the insulted Quadi.

Maroboodus grinned at Euric. 'Hear the great smith. In addition, our valor was no miracle, Wulf. It is in the nature of a true man to swat at lesser beings, and we did that. It was by my avenging hands we beat the enemy. We helped strong men fighting a desperate fight, men of Hulderic, the men living here and the great Quadi. We are strong together, and we slew well over a hundred of their marauding bastards. They are in no position to attack anyone for long months. I say we made ourselves famous. Stop fearing the unknown, men and women of my father. Stop listening to a shuddering scarecrow!' My father walked to stand opposite Wulf. 'An evil seer,' my father hissed. 'A scarecrow to frighten the children and the weak.'

Wulf dismissed him with a wave of his hand. 'Bah! The Vangiones fight for the Romans, and Romans are numerous and entirely unforgiving. Did you not hear the reason why so many are dead? Why your wife, a good woman, is dead? Why people are without a great leader, and why the great Hulderic is dead? The reason is you. And you live still.' He ended the sentence with a venomous jeer at my father. 'You, the foul exile. The reason why other honest Marcomanni do not come here with much-needed aid.'

Euric smirked at Wulf while Father was toeing a mossy stone on the ground, apparently bored with Wulf's rhetoric.

'What, pray tell us, should we do?' the smith asked.

Wulf nodded. 'Bero's village perhaps, Maroboodus is right in saying I, the vitka, think this is very prudent. Hard Hill will need you, skilled men, for during the winter many died of feverish illness. Bero would welcome us, who are all valiant men and women. Honest folk. Most of us.'

He looked pointedly at my father, and his eyes glimmered feverishly.

Father started to pace slowly, glancing around with an amused smile, stopped in front of the old vitka and put his hands behind his back.

Maroboodus laughed, stopping Wulf from continuing. 'So. Bero. Not Balderich. Bero. The man Wulf claims is innocent of the deed that took place here. If the Vangiones were hunters running after their prey, where was the gamekeeper? Where was Bero? Where is he now, I wonder? How did so many strange ships sail down our rivers with no word or warning, and who told them where my father rules? I would hail my great Lord Balderich gladly, my father-in-law he was, until a few days ago. He blessed my marriage, and parted with his precious daughter, Wulf. However, you speak with Bero's voice.' He scratched his beard. 'Hard Hill. Yes, I agree. I shall lead us there. I shall talk with our Balderich, and offer my sharp swords to him. He shall not refuse me. Bero would, but he is but a mongrel dog for the great man, a man whose son I once slew. You speak as Bero's man, Wulf. Not as a man of the gods. The Thing once released me for his son's death. Now I admit it, and I will demand his death for my wife's. I wonder if Balderich still loves him after he finds his daughter died under Bero's hand.'

The men around Maroboodus cheered, then started to thrum their spears on their shields.

Wulf looked on, angry at the apparent and unexpected loss of control of the villagers to the upstart. He stepped up once again, whirling madly, and people went quiet. 'Yes, Bero will answer your accusations, and no doubt we will hear the matter of dead Maino again, should you dare to appear. But as for the people here, their fate? What say we ask the gods? I am one of you, you should trust me. The omens are bad. The swinging and nailed dead men all say this, but yet you would follow this man and cheer his words of violence when there are words of wisdom to counter them. So, let us ask our gods, let them tell whom to follow? Sword or sense.'

Men went uncannily quiet. Wulf grimaced as he was drawing crude rune sticks and subtly etched stones from his pouch. He did not expect Maroboodus to dare deny this request, few Germani would, but he was also afraid. Maroboodus was a dangerous man, and sometimes such men did rash deeds.

Tudrus the Older raised his arms.

'I am Tudrus, you all know us. None of us will join Bero, nor will we join you. We are here for our mutual safety, and the great friendship our old villages have had in the past, even if our idiot children have been waging war.'

He smiled at Maroboodus, and my father clapped his armored hand on my brother's weak shoulder with apparent affection and support.

Gernot shot me a triumphant smile.

Tudrus the Old shook his head weakly at that, and continued, 'Yet I also owe Maroboodus a great debt. I have my fine wife, and he lost his. I will forever stand by him in a glorious battle line, and those who follow me will do so as well unless Maroboodus is proven unworthy, and today, he is not.'

There was a clash of rumbling spear on shield in approval amongst the Quadi men.

Wulf opened his mouth to protest, but Tudrus the Older cut him off. 'But, to defy the gods is folly. Utter folly. You should ask them what to do,' Tudrus said happily and sat down, having said his bit.

Wulf, surprised by his unexpected victory, looked around, smiling. He turned to Maroboodus, who nodded.

'I agree, we should ask the gods,' Maroboodus said evenly. 'My men and I have worshipped our gods all along in our service. No other gods will do. Woden, Tiw, Freyr and Freya, Donor and Frigg. And we brewed our own sweet mead, too.'

Men hailed him for that.

Wulf was an old man, perhaps a bit senile, apparently thinking he had won. He thought himself inviolate, able to say his mind without challenge, and, normally, it would be so. Few would defy a vitka, no matter how many spears a man commands. His was a request an honest man could hardly refuse. His eyes flickered around, his legs trembling a bit. He was ready to cast the lots, chanting under his breath.

Yet Maroboodus was not a Germani chief, helpless before a vitka, but planned his fights well.

Maroboodus interrupted him. 'I did not say you would ask the gods,' he said, savagely. 'I said we will. Why would you be the one to do this? A simpering dog to Bero.'

Wulf swallowed in surprise, and shook his old head as he regarded Maroboodus. He cleared his throat as Maroboodus walked close, Father's caligae like a wolf's paws, dangerous and silent.

'You must not kill him!' said Euric, worried, but Father just nodded.

'If not I, who? Who shall speak with the gods?' Wulf insisted.

'I will,' said a familiar voice from the dark.

We saw Tear, followed by the scrawny, half-naked Odo, and it was like an evil vaettir was slithering after her. Ishild stiffened next to me, and I squeezed her cold hand. She smiled gratefully.

Tear had painted her face a frightening blue and black, and wore a hairy, wide cloak. She was hobbling closer to Wulf, who was bone white. Ishild slid closer to me, and I noticed Odo was glowering at me, his eyes strangely wet, his mouth a thin, cruel line on his bony face.

Maroboodus bowed to Tear, and the villagers were quiet. The Quadi were looking down. She was a völva, a woman who could seduce unwary men, move them with subtle words, twist their innocent hearts if she was an evil woman, and they feared this völva. It was a fact my father knew very well.

Tear glided closer, but Father stopped her with an upraised, steady hand.

'Come no closer, woman. I summoned you here, for you alone have the power to tell us what to do,' he bellowed fiercely, and Tear, her sibilant eyes rolling in her head, did stop.

Men backed off, terrified and impressed by Maroboodus.

Wulf gathered his faltering courage. 'It is a trick! I know—'

'Tricks. That is all you know,' Tear said hollowly, and smiled wickedly at Wulf.

'I have some power, witch!' Wulf said, rather more bravely than before, but his hands were shaking.

Tear's head swiveled towards him. 'Some, perhaps. Even lies have power. Let us see then. Face me and deny me. I am old, older than you, stronger than you, and hardened by trials, pain and gods. I know wicked spirits and the dead. I have worked for the good of this land for a long time. Never thanked, ever shunned. Yet I am here.'

Wulf trembled, but spoke, 'For the good of you, perhaps. No thanks come from that! You are naught but an old bitch who hates Bero. You know what happened. He failed, and you survived. You are a witch the evil gods use to further their own dangerous aims, and those of your strange son, a mad dog. I have watched you. You have ensnared the boy—'

She raised a finger, and he shut up, his tongue swelling in his mouth. 'Bero and I do have history. Your kind have hunted us cruelly for decades only for our beliefs, and I am done with you now.'

'Snared me, Ishild?' I asked the girl next to me, arching my eyebrow. 'Did she tell the Romans where Maroboodus would be?'

Ishild sighed gently. 'She did not, for she needs you. She would not risk your life. They knew already. You know this,' she said in a small voice. 'Mother made another agreement with the fat Roman.'

I spat. 'What deal, I wonder. I know what she wants, but what will she give?'

Ishild wrinkled her face at me. 'She will not hurt you, no matter what she will do for the Romans. And perhaps she breaks that agreement, for now she is allied to your family.'

I nodded. 'I will get it all out of the fat Roman one day, and if I find out she…'

Ishild hissed impatiently for me to be silent.

Wulf was staring fixedly at the völva, and she was staring right back across the fire, looking like a hunting beast, and all could sense there was a savage, invisible fight going on between the two. It was neither a fight of wise words nor mighty strength of arms. It was a matter of keen minds and deep knowledge, and there was no real competition. We could all see Wulf was sweating like a pig at a butcher's corral, scared to the bone marrow, and we looked at him in silent surprise and disgust.

Finally, Tear smiled a crooked smile at the old man, a yellowed snake slithering around her scrawny neck, down her chest to her hand. She caressed its flat head.

Wulf stared at the weird spectacle. He fidgeted with the bright bracelet of the law speaker, one taken from dead Hulderic, and ever so slowly, he slipped off his bony wrist and dropped it forlornly in front of him to the dust.

Tear laughed shrilly in derision.

Odo pointed a finger at the old man. 'There, your vitka. I smell his fear, he shakes. No man like that can advise you.'

Wulf said nothing to Odo, but his scared, animal-like eyes darted around.

'So, the völva bewitched me, and forced me to her will! Seidr magic, women's magic! You will follow her and her filthy puppet then! I am done here, die with them, if you will!' he screamed at the scared villagers.

Tear was smiling thinly at the warriors, who looked at her in suspicion. She laughed. 'Ah, seidr. Yes, I know this magic. However, if I would like to bewitch a fine man as I occasionally do, it would not be a bony and ugly rat-faced creature. No, cowards ever have plenty of excuses,' she said languidly as an old cat.

Men were laughing softly, and Wulf jerked at the sound as if physically hit.

'Does any man trust the witch? Is she to be trusted?' Wulf was saying, putting in one final effort and looking around.

I opened my mouth. She had offered help to Rome, to a treacherous Vangione, and I did not trust her. She glanced at me, as if reminding me I had chosen to stay, and she had warned me. I gathered courage to speak anyway. Wulf dropped the sticks and stones, the runes he had been holding, backing off from us, looking like a feral dog. I closed my mouth.

She had said she would help me. But would she? Would I want her to? I was indecisive, the waters were murky. I was confused, and Ishild squeezed my arm possessively. I let her though I felt like a puppet, and I often wondered if they did indeed possess some form of magic to sway fools.

Tear looked around, smiled, and stared at the heap of the fallen runes and sticks. She kneeled stiffly before them. Soon, the snake in her hand tasted each dropped rune, and when she was done, she then straightened and her eyes, showing whites only, shone unholy light. People looked at her in wonder. Her arm rose, the pale palm turned to the heavens, and the scrawny elbow bent with a loud crack. It looked broken, a familiar sight from the day I met her.

People's faces were white; they were afraid beyond understanding.

'She is spirit-taken, eh?' Wandal said, wondering at the sight.

Ishild shuddered. 'It all begins now.'

I saw Tear open her mouth. No voice came out at first, but then she emitted a shriek of unholy intensity as she pointed at Wulf.

Her voice was manly, deep, and reverberating. 'The gods speak; indeed they speak. The vitka is false, wrong as a song from the lips of a corpse. See this man, and his true masters, reunited here today. Those masters are to blame for the pyre still burning! See him meet the feathers of a crow!'

'Lies, she sees nothing,' Wulf shrieked.

Then Maroboodus's scouts rode wildly from the deep woods, and after them, a hundred men on horses.

There was a standard looming from the dark, one of crow wings under a skull, and a fat-lipped man held it. A large warrior with a huge, dark shield came next, his bald head shimmering with sweat, his brutal face squinting at us hungrily.

Maroboodus and his men shuffled to a shield wall, and faced the strong bodyguard of Bero and Balderich, the best and largest men of the Marcomanni, all killers, for the standard was Bero’s.

The Quadi reluctantly formed with Maroboodus, our shield wall was strong, but not as strong as the force facing us.

The riders came carefully closer, and Maroboodus grunted, strode to Wulf, grabbed him by his thin neck and pushed him savagely forward.

'Go to your master, dog. Leuthard!' Father yelled.

'Lord?' the bald-headed man answered, as if awakened from a dream. Leuthard was a famous warlord, a man who had once broken two thick shield walls on the same day. He was Bero's champion and commander of his bodyguards. There were rumors of him, and some said he was not a man.

'Take this dog, and give him to your simpering master,' Maroboodus growled as Wulf went forward, uncertainly.

The standard bearer cleared his throat, as if the upset Maroboodus had assumed Leuthard to be in command. 'I am Catualda, Bero's son.'

'Whelp,' Maroboodus said casually, men laughed. 'Where are the men of Hulderic, my father's oathsmen from the surrounding villages?'

Catualda grinned jubilantly. 'Gone. Joined Bero, died in the woods. Vangiones, you know.'

Maroboodus laughed. 'Catualda, tell your father I will come to Hard Hill for the great Thing of Drimilchi. Know this, boy, I do not come to pay a bloody wergild for any imagined crime. I will come to get deserved justice for many wrongs done. And I won't take a wergild either. Insults on me and the innocent blood that was shed here for your father's treason.'

Catualda looked Father in the eye and slowly nodded, glancing at Wulf who was shuffling for a horse, his eyes sweeping the stirring Quadi army on the other bank and the standard of Tudrus. Catualda's riders were uncomfortable and whispering to each other urgently, and so had Father sown the seed that would spread amidst the Marcomanni.

The villagers watched Tear. Wulf had indeed met Bero's men here, not a moment after she made the augury.

Bero's wary son finally nodded. 'I will. We will prepare your grave-mound, Lord. What would you have the men attending your fine funeral feast eat?'

'Those men have not even been born yet, boy,' Maroboodus said.

Bero's men retreated, slowly, angrily. I saw Leuthard arguing, for they were many, their men careless and strong. But they dared not challenge the Quadi and risk war with the tribe.

Catualda shook his head stubbornly, a leader of men nearly at my age. I envied him greatly.

'Come then, Maroboodus. We will prepare for you,' he yelled, but waited as some of the villagers left after them, observing Maroboodus uncertainly.

Father nodded at them, apparently not holding a grudge, and I knew these people would go and tell the story of Maroboodus, of his mighty heroics and bitter tears, and of the great seer who supported him.

Maroboodus turned, and went to his knee before Tear. 'You were right, old one, as you should be. I will serve the good of the Marcomanni, and serve all the loyal Germani as well, if you help me get vengeance for my lost, beautiful and honorable wife, and slain father.'

Tear looked down at him, shuddering as she took the bracelet of the law speaker from the ground. 'Will you, Maroboodus, purge the Marcomanni from the filth of the false men who have made putrid this great tribe? The gods will aid you, if you so swear!'

'I so swear,' Maroboodus rumbled, and people cheered.

Tear touched his shoulder approvingly, and gave him the silver bracelet.

They shouted, made oaths, and then prepared to go to help the Quadi in their wars. Catualda, Bero's son, and his mighty men looked on at the mighty ritual of a stricken lord kneeling before a mighty völva. Such a sight would spawn poems and songs, and we all knew Father's fame would start to grow.

In one month, Maroboodus and his men would be back, if they lived, and Maroboodus would be a lord or a corpse.

'Hraban! Get ready. Nihta will tell you what to do,' Maroboodus yelled at me as he got up.

Wandal turned on me, surprised. 'Ready for what? Eh?'

Ishild held my hand, and my friends frowned at her.

I swallowed. 'I will go to Hard Hill. Gernot and you go to war.'

Tudrus the Younger appeared and clapped my shoulder. 'Take care then, Bear Ass. My brothers and I hope you cast aside your gloom, so you won't die for nothing.'

I shook my head. 'I swear by Woden and Tiw I shall have vengeance on Vago, his family, and any man who killed Hagano. I have nothing else.' Even the loss of Hulderic's gear was still heavy on me as I looked at the river and the burning pyre, and I did indeed feel gloomy and morose.

Tudrus the Younger spat but placed a hand on my shoulder. 'Fine oath. Yet, it is best to concoct a plan that gives you a chance to swill fine mead and laugh in mockery at your dead foe after taking such vengeance. You are ill-fated. Dangerous to you, and your friends.'

'I plan,' I said, 'as best I can. I am bound to my father even if he is a piece of shit.'

The Quadi shook his head. 'He seems a great lord, but he uses you like he would a dog.'

'Perhaps he has plans, and I should trust them,' I said, with little conviction, squeezing his hand, at peace with our old foe, and we smiled.

Wandal kneeled before me. 'For Hulderic, Ansbor's father and Hagano, and your gentle mother, I swear, Hraban, to help you and serve you, if you will have me, eh?'

I stared at him. Ansbor, taciturn, grunted accordance and kneeled.

Ishild smiled benevolently at them. They were my best friends, but now, they were making promises beyond friendship. I nodded, and we hugged. I noticed Ansigar eyeing us, uncertainty playing on his face, but he did not step forward. I regretted the words I said to him, but I could not remedy them then.

Tudrus looked at us, moved by our oaths. 'I swear on my side, Hraban, to help you, though not to serve you as long as we have a home. I am a Quadi, after all. But make sure you plan well, fool, and do not die a fool to the causes that are unworthy.'

I nodded at his words as Nihta came and grabbed my shoulder. 'Come, boy. We cross the damned river, and take a short roundabout to your grandfather. Say your farewells.'

Ishild turned me and stepped close. She gazed at me, and I gazed down at her uncertainly, but what she intended became clear as she kissed me painfully hard before the disbelieving eyes of my friends.

I hesitated, terrified at the immorality of the act, but finally enjoyed their looks and envy. I saw Ansigar in the dark, his face disappointed and dark. When I parted from her, there were bright tears in her eyes. I did not understand that. Perhaps I did not understand her, or even women, which was the most likely truth. Gods curse, but I had a hunch I did not love her, no matter her fine looks, a willing lover or not. She was utterly strange, unlike the sensible woman I always thought I would marry. She was too desperate, too intense, and I thought laughing with her would be rare, sharing stories of mutual interest an unlikely dream. I wanted a woman I could laugh with.

Nihta pulled me away towards a horse. I grinned at my friends, and after they were gone, I felt regret. I had not wished them luck on their terrible, upcoming war.

Before we left, Nihta led me to the riverbank, where Maroboodus stood in his war-glory.

He inspected me. 'Hraban. You were upset with the gear I let go of. Even you must understand a lord must seem generous, especially towards the gods. You spat and wanted to attack me, your oath lord. I wonder if it is safe to let you go to Hard Hill, after all.'

'It is not safe. I'd rather go to war instead, where I might replace the heritance promised to me, by war and loot. Those items were mine.' I was sour, and felt like spitting at him, but turned my head aside to spit on the ground.

Nihta shivered, and I should have been afraid, but I was too disappointed.

He sat on the horse, apparently mulling over his plans, and my part in them. Finally, he roused himself. 'It seems there are many things you are upset over, too many for your own good. You do not understand these are things Hulderic was in no place to promise you, for they are mine by right. Yet, I doubt you will see the wisdom in these words. Therefore, I shall make a private sacrifice for my own success, one that none else see but you. I would have done so in any case, to beg success for my delicate plans, and such plans need great gift for the gods.'

I was afraid for a moment, cold wind whipping my hair around, and I gave Nihta a quick glance, but he was sitting calmly on his horse, never moving.

Maroboodus smiled at that. 'I will give them something precious, boy, not you.' He pulled Head Taker out of his belt and raised it above his head. I stared at him, incredulous. 'Gods! See this, not a show to please the fools. It is a blade my enemy Bero fears, one he is terrified of. It is Maino's bane, and my father's blade, a blade with a history of corpse-making through the ages. Now, it is yours in the corpse halls. Give it back to Father, so he might properly battle our enemies.' With that, he flung the blade away to the river.

By the time Nihta let go of me, Father was long gone. I do not exactly remember the names I called him, but apparently they were not extraordinarily terrible, for I still lived. I might have just been screaming in rage, like an angry vaettir in the nightly woods.

Nihta took me forward, where Odo's eyes greeted me with vehemence. His snakelike face swiveled towards Ishild and then me, and so, he became my enemy.

It had not been a good evening.

PART II: THE BEAR ON THE BURNING HILL

'However, tell me, Hraban, if he does not believe himself your true father, is not such an oath void? Why serve a father who does not wish to be one?'

(Bero to Hraban.)

CHAPTER VII

By morning, we were raiding free to west along the clear Moenus River, in the disputed lands Matticati and Chatti claimed, as did the stubborn Quadi. We were very careful. Nihta was busy scouting around us, though my thoughts dwelled on the things I had lost. My family, the fine, ancient items worth many lives of men. Yet, Nihta's service was skillful as he made sure to guide us ways that were clear and safe in a well-populated bank of the river. Few noticed us, not even the people we called allies.

The sun had been out in the morning, but now, heavy, gray banks of aggressive clouds brought seemingly incessant rain, and soaked our poor skins with cold misery. Our horses were packed with some simple food, now wet clothes, and our few weapons. Curiously, I turned to Odo every now and then, but he was ignoring me.

I pulled at the nag they had given me and rode next to him. 'Father told me I would have to obey you.'

He was quiet for a long time, so long I thought he might be mad or his spirit some place far away, but then he spoke raspingly, 'Indeed. As far as I know, you will have one thing to do. Only one. We shall see, one way or the other.' His gaunt face was stretched as he grimaced my way unpleasantly. 'The scroll or a great sacrifice will give us the truth.'

I disliked him. His manner was imperious, speaking like a master to a dog. Odo did not want me near Ishild, and so I slapped him with that bit of knowledge. 'Then we are done, yes, and you wish me far from your sister. We shall see.'

His ugly face shuddered in anger. 'You are right. I do not want the blood of Woden near the hallowed blood of my family.'

'He has a name?' I asked. 'This god of yours, the one who humped you lot to this world, and abandoned you to this ridiculous quest.'

'Yes, he has a name,' he said, but did not utter it. 'You will serve us. You will find a girl.'

'Cannot get girls on your own, right?'

His eyes turned to me, baleful. 'Being the harbinger of Ragnarök does not imply you have to have all your limbs while we work together, disbeliever and foul thing of Woden. I can have you blinded and truly maimed, and it will work just as well. I warn you, touch Ishild and you will lose precious parts you would rather keep. You will get us a girl from a certain grove of the gods, and then you will stay far from us. Mother does not want to hurt you, but I do.'

Angered by yet another person trying to push me around, I swiftly grabbed his hair and pulled him close, though he was not surprised or afraid. 'I do believe in gods, turd. I do not believe in your prophecy. And threaten me again, and I will nail you to a tree though it would surely wither with the poison that runs in your veins.'

He hissed. 'I shall remember that threat, Hraban, one day, when there are no more duties between us, worm.'

Nihta rode up, and I let go of Odo, gazing at him balefully.

We rode in silence, and followed the river on the north bank for two long days. The afternoon of the second day saw a brightening sky, and it cheered our somber mood. The warrior Nihta, after he dried out, turned out to be a jovial man, even when stripped of his precious finery. He dressed himself in plain Germani clothes, hiding his gear on a packhorse. He teased me gently, calling me a backwoods peasant, and I called him a Roman eunuch, though I scarcely knew what one was, save from what Marcus had briefly explained to me. The ludicrous stories he told me made me laugh, yet I consumed them hungrily. He told of the many riches of the known world, the great oppida of the Gauls, and the marble laden Roman towns of the south. I wondered why Marcus had told me so little of them. Perhaps they were too commonplace for him. Most of all, I loved his stories of mighty harbors of the seas.

'The ships, boy, they are many in the ports of the Roman Sea. All kinds of ships. Warships with banks of oars, war machines, high as trees, and sailors of all colors. Triemes, and even quadriremes. Some even bigger.'

'You lie,' I told him.

'You would die of fright, Hraban, if you saw one of those ships in your silly little river. The fat tubs full of money and wondrous trade goods, slow rowboats with sails fill the seas. Some are taken by the sudden storms, horrible winds blowing them to the jagged rocks, the sea sucking them down like an amorous lover sucking on a fine tit. There are pirates who disguise themselves as friendly traders while scouting which ships are leaving the unsuspecting port, bloody murderers who rob and sink a boat in an hour of bloody orgy like an army of ants swarming over a leg of mutton.' He laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world. 'These great places. They pack anything and everything you could imagine, bringing goods from all over the known world and some from the unknown parts. There is silk from so far away we cannot imagine, and people who look truly, truly different from us, yet strong in numbers and skills in war. There is wine, all kinds of wine, like Falernian, the stuff from Pompeii in the south, and Greek Chian, and the excellent stuff from Hispania, Cerentanum …'

I stared at him, blinking my eyes. 'I'm happy with some simple millet for my dinner.'

He sighed at me, apparently at a loss with my admittedly faked humility.

'Peasant,' he spat. 'That is what you are. You have Mercury, their god of coin and commerce looking over the harbors, though judging from the many conflagrations and an uncouth horde of thieves in the filthy harbor districts, I think Mercury likes a bit of proper chaos. I come back to the fine wine, which …'

I snorted. 'Sweet mead or bitter ale is better than the weak piss.' I had never tasted wine.

Nihta looked at him in concern. 'Is it possible you drank from a rancid pisspot, and now are against this most subtle of drinks?'

I considered it, and we laughed, save for Odo.

Nihta continued, 'There are animals you have never seen, food you cannot imagine. And the smell, boy—' He wrinkled his nose. 'The smell of a harbor is like unwashed loincloth, but much stronger, like the nasty loincloth was strapped on your face. All the dead things of the sea, and unwashed men and women. It is quite overwhelming. There are so many taverns with wild names, and wild women as ferocious as the scarred cats in the alleyways. You can easily lose everything you have, no matter if it's day or night. No sane guards go near the places unless they are overdriven by a suicidal sense of duty.' He was waving his hands in excitement, and I was grinning. 'You should see it, certainly, to understand.' His voice grew quiet. 'You should.'

Odo snorted. 'Or, we should avoid their evil ways, and stick to our proper gods.'

Nihta glanced at him and grinned. 'Yes, we could do that, priest. We could if we were not busy killing each other, and thus giving the Romans a fine opportunity to come here. And here they are, not likely to go away. Hard to ignore the enemy who wishes to grab your home and wife, eh? We are not like them, and you have not seen them at war, and their unyielding strength. They are hardy people, and very proud. Quick to anger, slow to forget, and more impossible to grind down by a few victories. One should not underestimate them,' he said, looking off into the distance. 'Or their gods.'

Odo just stared ahead, and we all thought he would leave it at that, but he did not. Eventually, he spat on the ground. 'Yea. They are good at war, and have endless appetites. They gorge themselves with the stolen goods of others, and their gods are weak because their people worship stinking money and excess luxury, perverse joy over stoic pain, fornication over fidelity, and the beast that eats too much—Rugii, bursts. Fornication is ever the mark of a dwindling people. Once, they were more like us, but it is our time to change the world. One way or the other.'

Nihta looked at him in surprise. 'How did you know I am a Rugii? My tribe lives nowhere near here. And where are you from, I wonder?'

I spat. 'Theirs is some kind of a mad clan, bent on slaying the gods, weeping and bothering others with their cursed omens. They claim kinship to a nameless god, and hope for the world to end in a flood.'

Nihta laughed. 'I have seen the like. We called them actors in Rome.'

Odo eyed us, his watery eyes blinking from one to another. 'Hraban is right to call us a clan, but the only ones to weep in our hallowed cave are the ones we capture. Gulldrum is no place for the weak.'

'Gulldrum?' I sneered. 'A cave, a nasty hole in the ground? Like a reeking badger hole.'

'It is the place where our god last stood in Midgard. Holy place. Perhaps you will see it one day, Hraban. There is a root there, and rusty nails.' Odo's voice was harsh, and I felt chills in my spine despite myself. 'I know your accent, Rugii, that is how. Why did you leave them?'

Nihta looked ahead. 'The treacherous Semnones put their heels on our necks. My family resisted. We lost. I left. Simple.'

Odo laughed hollowly. 'That might be so. Yet there is more to it, is there not? You went to the Romans. Not willingly though.' Nihta was looking at Odo in simmering fury, but Odo continued, 'I could say I can see your sad past, which I, of course, could, but I need not go through the trouble. You have an obvious brand, Rugii. On your shoulder.'

Nihta frowned and involuntarily glanced at his left shoulder. It was covered with a tunic.

'Yes, that one,' Odo said balefully. 'It still burns, does it not? The branding. I saw it the day you arrived. Just for a second, but it is there. It says FUG, Rugii. You wish to tell us what that means?'

Nihta was quiet, like a cornered animal, dangerous, saying nothing, his eyes promising pain.

Odo continued, unheeding the warning signs, 'Fine, do not tell us. I will. It is a Roman brand, made with red-hot iron, and given exclusively to foolish slaves who run away. The brand is usually put on a forehead. Why did they not put it in your forehead after you tried to run?' Odo snickered. 'Did you look too good for your jewel-laden mistress? Or to the master? I am guessing you were not a field slave, pretty one, were you?'

Nihta placed a sword at Odo's chest. 'You are extremely perceptive for a whore son out of the shit-filled backwoods. Yes, I was a slave when I was young, very young. Sold to Romans by the Chauci of the north when I was stealing their cows to feed myself. Yes, I was made a creature of a beautiful and terrible villa for a powerful man, a gray-souled Roman, and his depraved wife in the lands of the Ubii. And I did run. I ran far, but I was captured by the Gauls of the Sequani.' His eyes were feverish. 'I fought, I killed, I lost, and when I was brought back, I was punished.' He trembled in hate and shame. The lithe and strong warrior was just a human, no matter his great skills and high rank. 'I ran again, and found service with the Batavii, and finally, with the famous guards.'

Odo looked at him in distaste. 'How one has the nerve to survive after being raped by his masters, is beyond me.'

Nihta sneered, the sword trembling with desire to plunge into Odo's heart. 'It takes courage to survive and fight again. Something our people would do well to understand. Foolish pride sends you to Hel.'

We noticed a dozen riders staring at us as they emerged from the woods ahead.

It was a group of men, riding on shaggy horses, their beards long and unruly, some adorned with haphazard leather armor, all with large, brown-painted shields on their back. Some were carrying large spears, but most grasped the usual framae. A few had bows and arrows, their feathers very gray in the manner of the Chatti.

A young man with lively eyes and a long hawk nose rode in front with a very noble bearing, and his men, ten in all, stopped in front of us, looking at us inquisitively, having seen the squabble. He threw his legs over the horse and dropped to the ground, his heavy, dirty hair hanging lank on his forehead, short beard jutting. He threw the reins to a fat, brutally ugly man on his right who grunted incoherently, and kept his hand on a sharp, functional axe.

Nihta bowed as they approached, his eyes calculating and judging the newcomers. 'We hail the warriors of the Chatti.'

I glanced at Nihta. They were indeed Chatti, the mighty tribe who are still to this day the terror of all the people living next to these warriors. They were not of the Suebi; they wore their hair extremely long, and their foreheads covered until they had killed a man. They made war brutally, being the most organized of our peoples, going to war with trains of supplies for extended campaigns and planned keen strategies and clever tactics with the utmost care.

'I am Adgandestrius,' said the leader. 'Son of Lord Ebbe, the war king of the Chatti for this year.'

'Your father is the war king? Who do you war against?' asked Nihta carefully. I knew he was afraid it would be the Marcomanni and the Quadi. It would not be uncommon.

'Bastards of the Cherusci and the Hermanduri in the east. Matticati are with them this year, and we are partly in the middle. No war with the Marcomanni this year,' the Chatti told us happily, but then he grunted, eyeing Nihta's sword. 'A Roman weapon, that.'

'Yes, it is,' Nihta said, hesitantly.

Adgandestrius clearly desired the weapon.

'Peace, friends,' said a fat, finely dressed man with a matted beard as he guided his horse from behind the Chatti. He inspected Odo, and Odo answered in kind though with great hostility and much alarm. 'Adalfuns the Crafter, at your service,' said the man, and my eyes opened wide. 'I believe these men are on their way to Hard Hill. Same as I was, adeling, when you offered to escort me.'

Adgandestrius smiled sheepishly as he dismissed all notions of taking the gladius. 'Indeed, we are taking words of peace to the Hard Hill, as we have no wish to wage war with the Marcomanni this year.'

The man holding the adeling's horse stared at me. Only me. He had a shaggy pair of large dogs that did the same.

'Well met, young adeling,' Nihta said.

The prince smiled benignly. 'Adalfuns here is a friend, and I have no problem to escort him, but who are you?'

'I have known young Adgandestrius since he pissed on my shoes at the oppidum of Mattium,' the crafter said happily, smiling crookedly.

'I was drinking for the very first time then, Adalfuns! Forgive me already!' Adgandestrius answered with mock anger, not slighted at all.

Men laughed at their adeling, and I could not help but join them.

'But my question stands. Who is he?' The adeling pointed a finger at me.

'Marcomanni noble,' Nihta said. 'Recently left with no family. I am escorting him to his grandfather. The vitka,' Nihta nodded at Odo, 'tagged along. Ignore him. He has a reputation of trying to seduce men into unholy acts of pleasure.'

Odo reddened in anger, but kept his mouth shut, his eyes shining with rage.

They laughed politely, though careful not to offer insult. Vitka, no matter what his preferences and ways, was a holy man. Nihta was taking risks by mocking him, but Nihta was not entirely a Germani, and his humor was ill-placed.

Adgandestrius nodded. 'Matticati have some warriors in the hills. Can the boy use a spear?'

'I killed my first man not long ago,' I said proudly. 'A Vangione.'

'Vangione?' asked the fat warrior with hounds. 'You don't say? I heard of a Vangione attack, though only on one unlucky village. Perhaps two. They were, I hear, looking for this criminal Maroboodus.'

We were silent. The fat man continued to watch me. I did not say anything more, but I knew Nihta was cursing under his breath. Odo smiled silently.

Finally, Adgandestrius nodded. 'Join us then, and we shall go together to Hard Hill and take you to your Balderich.'

Nihta looked at the savage Chatti in alarm. The adeling knew we were to meet Balderich, though Nihta had not said the great chief was a relative of mine.

The Chatti knew who I was.

We travelled to the unknown west, mirroring the calmly flowing Moenus River that separated us from the dominions of Balderich. We were close to Hard Hill as we camped for the night, and next evening, we would be there, unless the river crossing proved difficult. The insistent rain was bothering us as we combed down our impatient animals.

The Chatti prepared simple food, and we sat as comrades around the welcoming fire. Adalfuns the Crafter, the man Hulderic had trusted on the matter of the prophecy, was silent, though he looked at me with a keen glint in his deep, judgmental eyes. Adgandestrius wanted me to recite over and over the tale of the horrific battle. The tale grew larger and more terrible in each telling. Their eyes went dark at the dramatic event of Maroboodus's desperate charge and the bloody death of his family.

The fat warrior was stroking his dozing dogs. He enjoyed my stories. He thumbed at Adgandestrius. 'This is better than hearing our young lord tell of fair Albine, his cursed cousin. He is bereft of dowry, and we cannot hear another lament from his rotten mouth. So, why didn't they give you a spear and shield for such great feats?' He did not mock me; he was just interested.

I shrugged and looked unhappy. I fixed a squint at the fat man, and he smiled back wickedly, stroking a sleeping hound.

'What is your name again?' I asked. 'You never said it.'

He placed a thumb on his chest, spat and laughed. 'Hands, that is what they call me. You do, too. I hunt men, and they say none can escape my hands. Hence the name. They are right. My real name is Sigfried, but you call me Hands.' He flashed me a rotten-toothed smile, and I answered it. He certainly did not look like the young hero Sigfried Hagano had described.

Gods, I missed Hagano.

I shrugged at him, despite the shiver running down my spine at his cold stare. There was a brief increase in the rain, and we looked at each other in the dark drizzle. He had an easygoing manner, yet there was something animal-like in him. I bet the fat man was the last thing many a hunted man saw. I was sure he was not interested in feeding a live prisoner, only on delivering proof of success.

'I had no man speak for me. I hope Grandfather will give me my deserved due when we reach Hard Hill,' I said, and brightened. Such a thing was indeed possible, but I was flirting with treason, so I shut up.

Hands was looking at me carefully, a smile playing on his lips. He was a dangerous man. The rest of the wet evening they drank sweet mead and sour ale, ate well on tender hare meat, and shared everything with us, except the obvious truth—they were looking for us.

I slept near the horses, and while trekking to my bedding, I spied Adalfuns sitting nearby, carving a block of wood with a tiny, deft blade. I went to him. 'Lord …'

He laughed. 'I am no lord. Just a simple crafter. Wood, and stone, sometimes, that is what I govern. No men, no family. Not anymore. But you are, Hraban, a damnable nuisance.'

I nodded, ignoring his words. 'You are surely the most talented crafter in the world. We hear of your carvings for the Cherusci and the far people. Fabulous treasures. Something Hulderic always wanted. They would have been the wonder of ages, long, carved benches and the sturdiest of tables made by you. Though, never mine.' I sulked.

He put down the block of wood and looked at me under his eyebrows. He was deeply tanned, and had a tick on his eye as he studied me.

He shook the piece of wood at me. 'A father is a fine thing. Worth freely given oaths and even love, but only if he returns the favor. Do not dwell on the impossible. Your hair is not so rare in our lands to justify what he is thinking. It is his weakness that sets you apart. So deal with it. I have other issues with you.' He poked me in the chest, as if unsure where I sat, and I wondered if he could see whom he was talking with.

I eyed him warily. 'How do you know about the issues I have with Maroboodus? And about the prophecy? Do you know about Tear and him?' I thumbed at Odo.

'Aye,' he said. 'Tear gave you a fine choice. Why didn't you take her offer?'

I looked at him incredulously. 'To die?'

He chortled. 'Oh, she offered the snake to you, no? No, that would be foolish. The other way of avoiding all of this.' He waved his hand around lazily. 'Buggering the hell off?'

I shrugged. 'Why didn't I take coin, and go off to the woods like a filthy bandit? Leaving everyone I know?'

He chuckled. 'Yes. A man who believes in the gods would take such an offer seriously, especially coming from a völva.'

'Because I don't believe in the prophecy?' I said, morosely. 'The ring is a ring, my father is no Bear of world-breaking proportions, and I am no Raven of some god-cursed, twisted lie or drunken dream. Come! Look at me.'

He grimaced. 'Indeed. I have looked at you. I do not agree. Well, I was late. Had I come earlier, I would have taken you away from your father.'

'I am a hard man to take against my will, lord.'

He looked at me strangely. 'You only think so. But I failed. Like Hulderic failed, with his son. Sad it is that Hulderic did not kill him when he was young. He could have strangled the bastard easily, no doubt. So much for that. Staying with this story, Hraban, well, it was your choice. The problem is grave. I think you would have chosen to stay, no matter if you were the most devout believer. I think you stayed because you are overly proud, willful to the point of being an idiot, quick to anger, and monstrously greedy.'

I tried to get up in indignation, but he kicked me so I landed on my rear in a huff.

'You are just that. I feel Woden's Rage in you, a gift for hardheaded fighters. You have no humility, being dangerous and selfish. Entirely different to others from your long line who have preceded you. Funny enough, you're much like your father, though he does not see it.'

'Oh yes, I am a dangerous game piece,' I told him, sullenly. 'A boy who risks the world! Come now…'

He rolled his eyes. 'A damnable game piece you are, and a dangerous one. Prophecy is a moving thing. Like our wyrd, fate, it depends on our orlog, the choices we make. You make one choice, and things can change. You take a long, pleasurable shit one day, and it is possible that the spinners make it so an arrow does not hit you the next day. A wind can change quickly, and things can be different for it. Do you get it, boy? The gods fear our choices.'

'Woden…' I said savagely, 'does not fear.'

He shook his head. 'Of course he does. He fears his mistake at our shoddy creation will undo all the finely woven worlds, and put others of lesser breed on the throne. It might be a better world, the new one. I grant you that. Forever your ancestors, who have faced the prophecy of the Bear and the Raven, have been stout-hearted and very noble. They have feared the gods, as they should. Gods are a bunch of sodden bastards. For a man who does not fear them, does not fear the terrible consequences. If mortals fail, gods fall. This is the curse of Odo's god, and it is a real thing.'

I shook my head stubbornly. 'Tear thinks her god will rule after this thing would come to pass.'

'You just do not believe. Hulderic was right to worry. Tear does not lie about her tainted blood. If the world ends, a new one is born, and there will be few left to inherit it. If Woden falls to Hel, it is possible that the ones to survive will be of Tear's lineage, of their god. Take them seriously.'

I huffed and kicked at the dirt.

'Theirs is a god who is trapped.' He looked strangely sad. 'He is trapped. But, for eons, he has desperately looked for a way out of his torture. Woden has forever muddied the waters and helped your family save this Midgard, but you make it hard for him.'

I spat. 'Tell me, what should I do then?'

He poked my chest again. 'You could try being a better man. Make sacrifices. Refuse the enemy, even when they threaten you with harrowing promises of loss, or beguiling promises of power. We need a man who is willing to be poor and blind, not content to die old and fat.' He shook his head. 'You run after petty vengeance, and look for dog-like approval. You seek silly trinkets, and mope about the impossible-to-change past and a father who is bent on his own stupid goals. You met your father, which is bad enough. The Bear roared. Your great-grandmother saw this happening, but Hulderic would not deal with Maroboodus. Therefore, he failed. Now, it is up to you, and I have little hope. Bah! You will learn the full prophecy one day, and so will he,' he glanced at Odo. 'If you work with them, you will make an enemy of me, boy. If you work against them, or at least try, you will be my friend, and I will aid you three times. If you heed me, you might do well.' He continued chipping away at the block of wood. 'It will not be easy. I want you to become a man who stops worrying about his low place and sad position.'

I stood. 'Wulf wanted Draupnir's Spawn. If I get it, I can hide it.'

He laughed raucously until he wiped tears off his cheeks. 'Ah, you have heard part of the riddle. Boy, in the end, it will be about you, not the silly ring. Prophecies are hard things to fathom. Hiding these things and thinking you can avoid the coming evil is naïve. You must leave, or grow up quickly, perhaps even die in your shifty father's mad schemes. However, I doubt you will leave us, so let the fates see how this will turn out. Gods help us.'

I shifted uncomfortably, then started to walk away.

'Hraban?' I froze as he looked at me keenly. 'Gods want to live. Hence, they have men and women trying to thwart you and Tear. Like Wulf, and others. Shayla, as well, the druid daughter of Vago. Fear her the most. She is both Germani and a Gaul. Young or not, she knows things. She will be ruthless. They will kill you, if they can. Perhaps not the weak Wulf, but the others might. They have been trying to kill Tear's kin for eons. Many, many have died. On both sides. It's a terrible mess.'

'I can handle Wulf, and others,' I said, glowering at him, not sure I could, feeling hunted like a wounded rabbit. 'Why were you late?' I asked, shrugging off the sense of doom. 'Hulderic said—'

'I am old. I do not move fast,' he told me morosely.

I rolled my eyes, not believing his excuse.

'Yes, I was drunk for three days at a wedding I was invited to. But it would not have changed anything if I was permanently bedded to you. The Chatti were looking for you. I cannot help you. Not with them. Happily, you have a seax, and know how to use it. Be a man, Hraban. Your grandfather wants to see you, alive.'

'I have no seax,' I said, confused, wishing I had the long, thick dagger common to our people. Then my eyes bulged in surprise as I felt a weapon the length of my forearm in my loins. I stumbled, afraid it was unsheathed, and dropped my pants.

Adgandestrius passed by and frowned at my stark nakedness as I stood before the old man.

We were all silent for a second, and then Adalfuns growled at him. 'Do not let your strange imagination wonder, Prince. I have been married four times, and fancy women. Perhaps even your Albine? He claimed to be large, and I dared him to prove it. He lied.' The adeling went away, unconvinced, but Adalfuns just smiled at me. 'Hope they do not make songs about that. The Raven and the lecherous old man, eh? Would quite ruin our reputations. Go now.'

I looked at him in wonder, nodded, and went away hurt at his insinuation that I was not large, and finally gazed at the weapon. It was in a sheath, it turned out. Later, I slept, dreaming of the recent dead and of a great bear dancing around them.

Nihta came to me in the darkness. He was silent as a cat and devious as a rat. The alert Chatti guards did not notice him moving from one deep shadow to another shadow, and when they looked his way, Nihta did not move. I followed his progress with one eye open, and he noticed me looking.

'Well, young lion,' he whispered as he got close. 'The Chatti are going to your grandfather, but I think they have already been there. I spied them yesterday, riding in wide circles, asking questions. They were looking for someone. And it is probably true the adeling will get his dowry for your head. They take us close, I think to Bero, and then give you over. So, we will go.'

I rolled over silently, looking around. 'Where? Just you and me?'

Nihta nodded. 'No horses. The fat man is suspicious, and put extra guards out there with the beasts. But worry not. I will get you to your grandfather.'

He started smearing dirt on my face, making sure I carried no item that made noise, strapping my clothes so they were skin tight on me and would not catch stray twigs and unseen roots. His eyebrow shot up as he found the seax, but he said nothing about it.

'I saw you at the Marmot's Ford. You will be what you want to be, if you learn how to survive and do not die of disease. You got the cunning of a fox and the strength of a bear. You just need to get past some hard years and survive many stubborn enemies, yourself not the least of them. So learn and follow me.'

We slithered on our bellies, and to me, it seemed I made a horrific amount of noise. A Chatti guard was lounging near a tree, eating something tough, and we slipped ever so slowly by him, on our knees, one step at a time, one limb moving, and the other raising up, like animals. After an eternity, Nihta smelled the air, peering about like a silent forest mouse, he grinned and got up. We made it. Night was young, and we were free.

Nihta clapped me hard on the back. 'Right. Let us go then. It is more than a day's ride to Hard Hill, but that is far away on foot while trying to hide. We will run. and trust fair Fortuna.'

He took off in an unsteady trot, strapping his sword on his belt, grinning back at me with a blackened face. Harii, a night fighter he was, and now, so was I.

'They have fine horses and terrific trackers. Won't they find us?' I asked, while starting to jog after him.

He laughed. 'Maybe!'

'They have dogs, Nihta,' I whispered.

'The dogs are dead, Hraban, I killed them in their sleep, so we better not let them find us. There is no way to apologize for that to Hands,' he said.

I felt cold shivers on my spine. The dead dogs promised death, or at least pain, if we were caught. We crossed the river with a stolen boat. We took to the rocky ground, went south, deviously not towards the Hard Hill, and ran through the night. An owl followed us, hopping from tree to tree. We stumbled along in the dark, more afraid of the Chatti than anything living in the fields and woods of the Marcomanni gaus. I was nauseous most of the time, and Nihta cursed me, but I kept up, barely.

'It is good training for you. We will be running a lot in the future!' Nihta spat phlegm out of his mouth and nostrils.

'You will train me? Is that what father said?' I asked, trying to draw breath.

'I asked to train you.'

'Hulderic,' I told him while stumbling on a rocky incline, 'has already trained me.'

He grinned. 'Roman training is what you will need, boy. You will see the great difference.'

We stopped at a small settlement, hiding at the edge of a field. It was not a rich house, and had a few ill-tended fields and some sheds. Most were in bad repair. Yet, it had a well-tended stable, and the corral held a horse. It was wary, smelling or sensing us, and whinnying gently, walking nervously back and forth. An ugly man showed up on the door, looking around with a cudgel in his hand, wearing nothing but a cloak.

Hands followed him out of the cabin.

We froze. Nihta was frowning and fingering his sword. 'He is good, truly good. Or lucky. However, you need to be both,' Nihta whispered. 'Luck is not overrated, Hraban.' Hands and the farmer conferred for a while, and the fat man clapped a hand on the shoulder of the farmer, handing him something. Then, the Chatti walked behind the cabin. We gazed at him riding away, looking around, alert.

'We are still a few hours away from Balderich's town. With that horse, we can make it, if we are careful. And lucky!' He crept off, telling me to lie still in the tall grass.

Soon, I saw him steal the horse with the aptitude of a god of thieves and then start to lead the confused horse away. I waited until I saw him beckon at me from near, sitting on the horse under a shading tree. The horse looked happy enough to be free of his former master.

'Climb on. It's a nag, but it will have to do.'

I did, and we got on a westerly course, towards Balderich's town.

Before we disappeared from the field, the horse neighed loudly, and the man came out of his hall, staring at the corral, utterly bewildered, scanning the area haphazardly with his eyes. They fixed on us, and he took some involuntary steps forward.

Nihta grinned at him from afar, I waved, and we both laughed. The peasant dodged inside, grabbed something, and we could see it was the same thing the fat bounty hunter had left him. He unrolled the package, looking at us grimly as he pulled out a brown stub of a horn, which he deliberately put on his lips, beckoning us to bring the horse to him.

Nihta hit his heels on the horse's sides, and we stormed off.

A wailing note trailed after us. It was returned south, north, and far off.

Nihta cursed. 'Well, Raven, it is going to get nasty. Hold on!'

He hit the heels on the horse's flanks, harder and harder, and the horse galloped, almost stumbling on the forest track. I held on to Nihta. We rode for a long hour, and another. The horse was shaking, wheezing, and clearly tiring. Then, on the far horizon, we saw a hill. A hazy hill next to Rhenus, lightly wooded and shrouded in smoke. It was the Hard Hill, filled with trees and painted buildings.

It was named after my distant relative, Aristovistus, who, after fleeing the battle with God Caesar, the many tribes slaughtered and most splitting from his power, stood on top of that hill and saw how few of the Marcomanni survived. He died a hard death there as well, slain or of old age, the poems do not say.

I heard a horse whinny. Dreading what I would see, I looked behind, and my heart froze. The Chatti prince, his party, and the bounty hunter were speeding behind us on fresh horses.

'Nihta!' I screamed.

He looked behind and hit the horse so hard, it neighed in surprise.

The Chatti were gaining on us. The bounty hunter was grimacing as he sat on his Roman-style saddle, untying a rope with a weight. Nihta saw what the man intended and steered away from him, but the distance grew less.

'Come on! Come easily, Hraban!' yelled the adeling of the Chatti as he spurred forward breathlessly.

The hill was close, so close I could see some men looking from the closest buildings, and someone was on a horse. The prince was laughing madly, also taking a risk by trying to clutch me from the very mouth of the Marcomanni power.

'We will not hurt you!' he screamed. 'Trust me!'

I grinned back at him sarcastically, showing strength, and I almost slipped.

Nihta leaned on me as the riders got ever closer. 'He lives on top, it's called the Red Hall, we cannot miss it. Whip the horse until it dies, and then run for it!' He guided my hands on the bridle and jumped off.

I could see the riders rein their lathered horses, except for the bounty hunter who grimly kept closing on me. I looked back, and saw Nihta waving his hands at the milling horses, an act that spilled one rider painfully over the neck of the horse. Then he was dodging a cautious spear thrust from an angry Chatti. Some armed Marcomanni were advancing on them, spears held on guard, confused.

I sped on, hearing rope whirling in the air as the fat man prepared to bring me down. I was in the village now. Men and women were dodging aside, a scared dog was barking at me, cursing slaves were ogling the sight of us ripping through the grass and yards of the halls, and a white-faced mother grabbed her toddler out of our way. I could see the impressive hall of a lord on top. Its timber had a curiously red-tinted shade. I was getting closer and closer. There was but a small wood between my goal and me.

'Stop, fool! It is no use.' Hands was panting while twirling the weighted rope.

'We can discuss it on top,' I screamed at him.

He laughed, while throwing the rope. It tangled my horse's rear legs and quickly, so fast I could not register it, I was flying in the air, falling heavily. I hit the harsh ground, and my face kissed the turf painfully. There was a bone crunching sound from behind as the unfortunate horse rolled and hit an equally unfortunate tree.

I saw the bounty hunter stalking close by with rusty manacles, growling at some stray men who were approaching us cautiously. He got on his knee and placed the manacle on my wrist, eying the top of the hill carefully.

'Off to the man who wants you then, boy. A nice, refreshing run though. Who is that man with you? One of your father's? I could use someone like him,' he talked as he was turning me.

His surprise was complete when I pulled out my hidden seax, the dagger with the fat, long blade. Raging and despairing, I stabbed his thigh and then ripped it out. He screamed and stared at the shallow wound furiously. I clouted him on the head with the manacles, he fell heavily and I ran off, panting like an old dog, bruised with many hurts and jingling like a swamp spirit, my bloody nose sprinkling droplets on my chest and arms. I ran out of the woods, and could see the bounty hunter staggering behind me, but soon stopping and slinking behind a tree.

There was a steady hand in front of me.

I stopped and recognized Catualda's fat-lipped face. He was armored in fine leather, held an axe at ready, and was flanked by two large men.

'Hraban?' he asked incredulously. 'Maroboodus's son? From the meeting? Wulf pointed you out before we left.'

The Chatti prince was thundering up the slope.

I turned on Catualda. 'My grandfather. Is he in?' I was fingering the seax as I moved around him. He looked down the slope, and did not move his hand, his men tense. I growled at Catualda. 'I will see him. I will talk to him. He is waiting to see me. No matter what, or who stands before me,' I said grimly, and I could feel rage building inside me. Woden's legs were pumping the dirt in my mind, his dance a savage one, and I was getting angry.

'My father seems to want you, too?' he mused as he ogled over my shoulder.

I nodded carefully and grinned maliciously.

He shrugged and pursed his big lips, stroking his scratchy beard. 'In that case, your grandfather is inside. He is well, today at least.'

He walked away, whistling, and I laughed happily. It seemed Catualda was not on good terms with his father.

'You owe me, Raven,' he called out, mischievous bastard that he was.

I ran for the hall.

An armored guard was trying to stop me, confused. I dodged him and ran inside. The guards chased after me to the semi-dark, cursing profusely, getting in each other's way. The first thing I saw was an impressive banner, gray linen cloth with a grizzled white wolf howling and a heavy iron chain wound around the crossbar. It was the banner of Balderich and chain of Aristovistus before him. Then I stumbled on a loose plank and saw him. I fell on my knees before a long table, by which sat an ancient man, his right eye clear, left white. His lank hair was falling behind his back, his beard hanging on his knees, gray and white. His hands were shaking. He was stooping over a bowl, stuffing well-cut meat to his maw-like mouth. He wore a Roman style tunic and caligae on his gnarled feet, but no fine jewelry.

A couple of slaves moved for me, and a beautiful woman in a blue woolen dress dodged in from behind a hung pelt, from the sleeping area.

Balderich spat on the floor and stared at me.

I jingled as I moved, and stumbled when the manacle caught on a seat.

He started to laugh. He laughed hard and long, his eyes running with tears, bits of meat flying from his mouth.

'Yes, slave? What is it, or are you here to amuse us?' he asked finally while the guards grabbed me roughly, forcing the seax out of my tight fist.

The lady in blue came forward. 'Father, he looks like—'

Balderich cut her off. 'A bloody mess. I doubt he is a killer, though. Why would anyone send a rat on a man's job? Who are you, boy? A rat or a man?'

I calmed myself. 'I am Hraban, Lord, a man. The son of Maroboodus, grandson of Hulderic. And of yours.'

The lady smiled hugely. 'He has Sigilind's eyes.'

Balderich nodded and coughed hard, his back bending. He spat some blood on the floor.

'I am your aunt, Gunhild.' The woman at me.

She was in her thirties and beautiful as the moon, lithe like Mother had been. Grief overtook me for a second.

Balderich recovered, and saw my tear-ridden face. 'What's wrong, boy? Have you never seen anyone die of old age?'

'I have, and I also saw my family die.'

His eyes hardened. 'Your father has caused many hardships for our family. Hulderic the Gothoni was my friend, but your father, he is dangerous.' He stopped and sat back, wondering. 'Why are you here, and why do you look like that? Alone? I know about my unfortunate, delicate daughter, so do not spin any fanciful stories and remind me of the pain I can barely stand.' He grimaced, and I took it as sorrow.

I steeled my voice. 'I was being chased. By Bero, or rather his Chatti friends. I come instead of my father.' Balderich's eyes hardened, but I continued, 'I come, for he asks to be your man, like Hulderic was. He will be here for the Thing in one month. My other grandfather is dead, and so is your daughter, my mother, killed by Vago of the Vangiones of Rome before our eyes. We got no help, many of our men disappeared in the following days, and I know someone told the Vangiones about the village Father was to arrive at.'

Gunhild, grieving, sat down, and Balderich sat still, very still. He pointed a finger at me. 'I told you, boy, not to speak of her death, but you still do so. And to speak of Bero thus is not wise. To indicate he had something to do with the tragedy, even less so.' He turned to a slave. 'Get Bero here,' he said, dejectedly.

He gestured me aside, eating in silence, and Gunhild took me to the side of the table.

'Sigilind's death hit him hard, as it did me. He nearly died of sorrow, and the pain does not ease, but you are alive. It consoles him. Believe me. It consoles me, Hraban,' she told me as she sat me down. She gave me warm milk and dry, crispy and delicious fish, sat by me, and waited.

I suddenly remembered something. 'Lady, there is a man who helped me get here, Nihta, a great warrior. He fell from the horse, and I—'

She raised a stern hand and whispered urgently to a man, who rushed out. Time went by slowly and men came in, warriors with Suebi hair knots, well-armed and ready. Balderich nodded at them, his own men, likely the same men who had ridden with Leuthard for our village not so long ago. I eyed the dark hall. There were old armor and beautiful weapons on the sparse walls. Skulls adorned the ceiling, former enemies of Balderich. Men who had stood against him in the past.

Gunhild smiled as she saw my probing looks while I finished the fish. 'He enjoys Roman clothing, but used to fight like a Germani. Many of those skulls are Roman, though now, he prefers peace with the folk across the river.'

I scowled at him and spoke to her. 'The Vangiones seem to disdain peace, Aunt.'

'It is very complicated,' she said carefully. Then, there was a clattering of hooves. Men were dismounting, we heard some irate chatter and a loud clank of arms.

A man entered.

He looked like a thinner version of Hulderic, and his silky hair was dark, like mine, but his beard was long and plaited in gold loops. He stood at a curiously tilted posture, and his nose was long. His clothing was very rich with fine materials in his tunic and cloak made of sable fur.

'Lord. You asked for me?' He glanced at my manacles and then stared at me. Catualda came in after him, smiling like a fat-lipped imp.

Balderich grunted. 'That is evidently my grandson.' He pointed at me with a quivering chicken bone.

Bero glanced at me, his face neutral. 'I suppose he is. He looks the part. Fresh from a fight, stubborn like a mule, and unreasonably angry.'

Balderich smiled. 'He is the son of Maroboodus, and of my lost daughter. I see it in his face.'

'Yes, Lord.'

Balderich grunted again. 'The Chatti you have been entertaining were chasing him today. Observe his manacle and bruises. He had a man with him.'

I grimaced. So, Bero had known the Chatti after all.

Bero shrugged, speaking tediously. 'I cannot know what the Chatti have done. Perhaps they thought him a slave, running away? Surely, you should ask them? I cannot be held accountable on how my former guests behave after they leave. They are shifty Chatti, not honest Marcomanni, and could have wanted to rob them, even kill them. There is no fault in this. Wise men travel in large groups, and if one gets robbed or killed for being stupid, that is one's own responsibility. I cannot make war for each Marcomanni who disappear in the woods.'

Balderich scowled. 'Bero, you lead my men, but the northern gau is mine, and Isfried of the south gau is my oathsman. I still hold sway over this land.'

Bero smiled, nodded, and Balderich continued carefully, 'I will not have Chatti raiding our lands.'

Bero grinned. 'I cannot pretend to know much about this, but I understood from my brief investigation they were not in the Marcomanni lands when this incident started. Though I admit, they chased him all the way to your breakfast table. I doubt they would dare do so if they knew he was a Marcomanni noble. They were also bringing Adalfuns the Crafter hither as a favor they thought we would well appreciate, since there is war in the Quadi lands.'

I bit my tongue and kept quiet, barely able to scream for his obvious lies.

Balderich rubbed his forehead. 'I see. You will bring me the man who was with this one. I will find out why your former guests were chasing after him.' He threw the chicken bone on the floor and grunted with pain. 'They should have been brought here, my family, after the savage attack. At least supplies should have been brought to them.'

Bero was bristling. 'I learnt from my cowardly son and the famous vitka, Wulf, that his father assured them he would come here. They wanted no help. He did not sound, or look, starving. In fact, he was going to war, and many of the people with him.'

Balderich waved his hand. 'Hraban? Is this so?'

I spat. 'I saw no mules laden with the much-needed food, only warriors with spears. Were you bringing us spears to eat? We had plenty. The Vangiones left them on the battlefield. How did they get there, our enemy?'

Balderich looked like he was going to be sick. 'I think you blame your great uncle needlessly, Hraban. You know he is—'

'Yes, I know we are related,' I told him, sulking, feeling my grand accusation had sounded somehow foolish.

Bero snorted. 'I mean no harm to you, boy.' He walked over, and, with deft movement, took the manacles away. 'A Roman ship, Hraban, is a swift thing, and they are very clever with their river crafts. I have guards and spies, but they know how to surprise their enemy, just like we would. As for your friend, unfortunately, the Chatti are going to butcher him. A very deadly Chatti champion will duel him. Your man slashed at one foolish Chatti, and so they want him dead.'

'What?' I said, getting up. 'He is my father's warrior. There is also a vitka with them, one called Odo.'

Bero's face darkened. 'Yes, Odo is here as well.'

Balderich grunted and spoke to me. 'You will relax, boy. You are welcome here, and so is your man, if he survives. Welcome both, as we wait for you quarrelsome father. You will forget the Chatti, and forgive their silly mistake. Odo is welcome, too. We know who he is, and he can stay in the village, despite the mistrust there is after he sided with your father, and perhaps for some other things in the past, more to do with our vitka who dislike and distrust them. We are not at war with great Maroboodus, after all.'

'But Odo…' Bero started, but Balderich shook his head as he struggled up.

Bero clenched his jaw, but nodded, his eyes flickering with fire, apparently struggling with the welcome extended to Odo. The tilted lord Bero looked like he had shit in his mouth as he brooded, and I found myself agreeing with him wholeheartedly. We saw each other's displeasure over Odo and grinned briefly. Catualda frowned at that, but Balderich was happy.

He gestured for the door. 'Let us go out and clear the mess.'

I ran out, and saw Adgandestrius holding Nihta's fabulous sword. Odo was there with the packhorse, and Bero stiffened as he saw the filthy, mad boy. Adgandestrius gazed at Balderich, and went on his knee.

'Lord! This man has hurt a man of mine, and we will have him fight my champion.'

Balderich shook his head, eyes rheumy from the smoke inside. 'Only if he is a warrior, or at least, a free man. And I still have no clear idea why you chased after him and Hraban.'

Grandfather was trying to save Nihta, thinking him the underdog.

'He is a warrior,' I spat and eyed Adgandestrius, hoping Hands would show his face.

Balderich squinted at Nihta, who grinned back.

The lithe warrior nodded. 'I am indeed a free man. I have no objections. They chased us on behalf of some man on the hill. It is clear. For whom?'

People murmured at the slight man's bravado and words. 'Who hates Maroboodus, Hraban's fine father, so much as to try to slay his near helpless son?'

Most men looked at Bero, who was nodding, seeing Nihta's game had started. I cursed him for painting me a weakling.

'Adgandestrius is my name,' the Chatti said. 'My word is honest; I do not lie. No man hires a Chatti for foul murder and capture of innocents.'

He did lie, of course, and I grinned at his hurt words.

'We made a terrible mistake, Lord. Our dogs were dead, they were gone. We thought them runaway criminals, and wished to do you a favor. However, this man hurt a man of mine. We need blood to balance the uneven scales.'

Balderich nodded, looking at Nihta, gauging me. 'Hraban. It was a mistake. They will fight. This will be the end of it then. I will talk with Adalfuns later and discover more, but after this fight, peace between all our guests.'

I nodded, afraid for Nihta.

The Chatti champion grinned as he sized Nihta up. 'Not very big, are you? Can you lift a sword? I can get you a knife, if you like.'

The warrior was looking at Nihta as if he was a child. Nihta grinned at him and shook his head. I noticed Bero nod ever so slightly at the Chatti. They were in league, and wanted Nihta dead. Bero was hoping to cull Father's men, or even capture him, after crippling him.

The adeling of the Chatti walked near Nihta, and he threw Nihta's gladius to his feet. 'He slashed Mannius just fine with this, so he won’t need a knife. Ulrich here, Nihta, has killed seven men in one-on-one combat. Hope you do not mind being the eighth.'

Nihta nodded, measuring the Chatti. He did not seem overly concerned. The Chatti champion was staring at Nihta coldly, making lazy motions in the air with a wicked looking axe. Nihta started to undress, peeling off his tunic, his formidable physique shown to all, and I could see some women blush in the growing crowd. Nihta was on his pants, and he took off his shoes, for the grass was slippery and moist.

The Chatti champion gestured at Nihta's pants impatiently. 'Take them off, too. They look fine, and I want no blood on my loot.'

Nihta looked confused and glanced at his pants. Then he shook his head. 'I'm not interested, thank you,' Nihta said casually while getting his sword.

Ulrich looked confused. 'You will not fight?'

Nihta shook his head. 'Oh no, I will fight, but I remove my pants only for a woman. I know what you really want to see, but I prefer the eyes of the lusty maidens. Each to his own, I do not know the Chatti customs. No wonder you frighten your enemies.'

Nihta took up the sword and pulled it out of the sheath. It glittered in the sun. Men murmured as they admired the weapon. The Chatti was staring at Nihta dumbly, and Adgandestrius sighed in exasperation, beckoned Ulrich over and whispered to his ear.

'He meant what? That I wanted to …' Ulrich yelled. The adeling nodded, and made obscene gestures with his hips. Finally, the champion's face turned into a ferocious grimace. Before anyone could say anything, he charged with a bull-like roar, his wicked axe held overhand. Nihta turned casually to the enemy, dodged quickly as a gust of wind under the man's right arm, and stabbed upward, puncturing the man's side. The Chatti went down like a sack, whimpering, blood pumping wildly out of the surprisingly clean wound.

'I think we are done here, Lord?' Nihta asked Balderich, who looked aghast at the dying Chatti.

Grandfather nodded, and the Chatti prince shook his head sadly, kneeling next to the dying man, bloody froth bubbling from Ulrich's lips. He glanced at Nihta furiously but said nothing.

Balderich got up painfully and addressed people standing in a circle around us.

He gestured at me. 'Welcome my long awaited grandson, Hraban. There will be a fine feast to honor him. Bero will host it.'

Nihta bowed to Balderich. 'I will find Odo and myself a place to stay.'

Balderich nodded slowly. 'You will not stay under my roof?'

Nihta shook his head. 'I merely brought Hraban here. We will await Maroboodus. I will ask around and find us a hall.'

Balderich's eyes were hard. 'Make sure we know where that is.'

Nihta nodded, grinning. 'Your word, Lord,' he said, bowing to my grandfather while the Chatti sneered at him with hostility.

I was happy. Father was far, and I had people I wanted to get to know. I would be careful with Bero, but I felt safe with beautiful Gunhild and not-so-senile Balderich.

I was a fool.

I heard men around us admire Nihta, and heard them talk about his exceptional quality as a warrior.

But my father was already there, and he had subtle plans, many I did not know about.

CHAPTER VIII

I had lived in a relatively small village all my life. Granted, there were many smaller ones, but it was not a grand thing, nonetheless. We had plenty of space, and some peace most of the time. Compared to Hard Hill, ours had been a sad little hamlet, bereft of glory and interest. I was truly a peasant.

Oppidum, a hill town, was a wondrous thing. Though this one was not fortified, it was still powerful, for many of the best warriors lived in the place. It was different from our settlements, certainly, though I heard Mattium of the Chatti, and their mountain forts, were even more different.

The hill by Rhenus was beautiful. Light woods, brilliant multi-colored pastures. It was a gently sloping hill, brimming with well-built houses, halls of all kinds, and thriving life. There were plenty of buildings and smaller villages around the hill, as far as the eye could see, amidst small woods and the fields of sweet wheat and rough barley, lazy meadows, and subtle dirt roads, but the hill itself had a magical quality about it.

On that first day, Nihta showed me around. The Red Hall could be seen from many points, and Bero's brownish hall was overlooking the huge, beautiful river. We observed from an open doorway Bero's opulent Roman wares; fine glass of many colors, strange tapestries and even a painting on fabric. Many Gaulish servants ran around, most of them but boys. They conveyed orders and Bero's wishes to nobles, craftsmen and merchants. Strange traders and stranger diplomats from all the winds seemed to visit him.

Down below, Nihta showed me the harbor. We had harbors, most just a small thing of planks for ships to moor at, but here, there were proper, long stone and timber constructs for ships. There were ships, too. Most were well-built rowboats, some larger, other smaller ones, mostly traders from the south. Curiously, there were also mighty navis onageria from Roman Moganticum and the far south, even from the Alps. Roman, Gaul, and Germani ships. There were warehouses of thick wood and some halls that were a curious mix of ours, but also something I assumed was Roman, with wooden pillars and guards in Gaulish bracae pants. The harbor was guarded, we saw, with a gate and a modest moat, and some lazy archers.

Nihta saw I was impressed. 'Bero is not a bad ruler. No hunger here. Trade, few major wars. Roman and Gaul down there in the harbor, side-by-side with the Germani.' I nodded, impressed. 'But your father, he is a warrior. These people will love a flashing sword more than mundane porridge, no matter how constant and reliable. I think Bero has forgotten he governs a Germani town, not a Roman one, and has forgotten we do not sing about harvest, but split skulls and spilled blood.'

'How many men does Bero have?' I asked, awed at the sights. I spied a hundred Marcomanni ride north, under Leuthard.

'Marcomanni? If a full muster is sounded, south and north gau both? Fifteen thousand? His personal ten champions, some eight hundred men. Those men riding out will guard Hard Hill. However, not from the outside foes. They will keep us in, and there are dogs and experienced guards and no doubt priests making magical wards. We are not leaving, Hraban. Of course I could, but I am a willing prisoner.'

'How will Father conquer this?' I asked. 'Surely, no matter his fame, it will be impossible for him to stride into a Thing and talk Bero to death?'

'By determination and magic,' he told me carefully. 'Come, there will be a celebration soon, Lord Hraban. They will like you, you will like them. They will understand you, and you will cry for their stories, which are sad and noble. You will be family. If they wish oaths, give them. Nothing is stronger than the oath you gave your father. If they ask you to betray us, play it smartly, smile and betray us until we act. I will keep Odo safe until the right night comes, the one to act. You stay true to your father, in your heart. No matter if he does not believe you to be his son.'

I was struck by his words, which he did not mean to be malicious nor evil, but I brooded as I went up.

Honor, Hulderic had said. Obey your father, he told me. But the bastard truly hated me.

I saw the preparations as I reached the top of the hill, and I remember thinking back to our feasts, the Yule and others while we lived in the woods of Moenus. Ours had been homely. This was a grand one.

Balderich took a good, long look at me when I came back to the hall. He sneezed as if I was covered in hay and pointed at Gunhild, who took me aside, smiling. She was a lot like Mother had been, but there was a barely veiled nervousness and sadness in her.

She forced me into a bath.

A large wooden tub, soap, a thing unknown in Rome, and vigorous scrubbing was in store for me. She let me undress in peace, but would not go away after I sat in the warm water, insisting on washing my hair.

'By Frigg, you are a disgrace. Did Sigilind not show you how to make yourself presentable? No woman will look at a dirty mongrel like you. Is that horse shit?' She attacked a spot behind my ear.

I gave up the desperate fight and let her work.

'You married, Aunt?' I asked her, subdued by her energy.

She smiled sadly. 'No, I am a widow. War party last year. He served Isfried of the south. He was a noble from the south gau, and we were married for fifteen years. I moved back here after he died. Matticati cut him down, they say. Few saw it. Now, they think what to do with me. Marry again, perhaps. I have been a tied to the blood of Aristovistus for Isfried of the south, and I doubt he is willing to let go of that. In fact, I know he is not.'

'Like myself, I think,' I said, angrily. 'Though I do not mean the marrying part,' I added hastily. 'The part with them thinking on what is to become of me. All of them. Should not be so for a man, only a woman.'

She slapped me with a rag, laughing. 'You seem like an untamed horse or a large hog in a pigsty. Perhaps you should be broken by a good marriage? A stern woman to tell you how to live? As for me, I just try to survive. My husband was a cousin to lords Isfried, Melheim, and Burlein. A good man. We did not have children, but he did not blame me for it.' I saw her face tighten. She was brave but unhappy. 'I was pregnant twice, but Holda the goddess took them to her care before they were born.'

'I am sorry, Aunt. However, you are still relatively young and fairly attractive. Someone will have you,' I told her cheekily.

She brightened and slapped me again, this time to my face, and tried to dunk my head under water.

Gunhild sighed in exasperation. 'You are not only filthy, you have no idea how to speak to a lady!' she told me. I laughed. She did too, and I liked her, and missed Mother. 'But you are right,' she continued. 'I will marry again if Bero gets his way.'

'Surely he is married already?' I told her. 'Is it about the blood of Aristovistus he missed out on when Sigilind married Father?'

'So you understand some of the sordid family history. It is. Gods, your father was so handsome when he courted her. I remember it well.'

'He is fat now,' I lied maliciously, and she laughed with a clear voice.

'In any case, Bero has a wife, and I was married to Isfried's family to keep the southern gau in line. Balderich purposefully gave us away to anyone but Bero. That way, he would hold the balance if Bero proved hard to handle. Now, Bero makes the plans for me. Balderich and him, they know each other well by now and have common plans. Isfried of the south expects me to marry him, or at least back into his family. Bero has promised this. However, we will see. Bero has many plans as well.'

'He could drown his wife, and finally have a shot at the blood, no?' I grinned.

'Ugh!' she spat. 'I do not want him. However, we will see. Fathers decide for the common girl whom they marry. The needs of the tribe decide for the noble ladies.'

'Sounds like slavery to me,' I growled, and she rolled her eyes at my quarrelsome mood.

'Now, you are here. Are you going to defend Balderich?' she asked me. 'He is the master, no matter which one of your family takes over in his name.'

I did not make a commitment. 'The old man seems nice enough, not nearly as addled as people in the country say,' I told her.

A man snorted from the dark doorway.

'Daughter, best stop talking about forced marriages, or he will try to liberate you from our evil clutches,' said Balderich thinly, leaning on the doorframe. 'Is he clean? Have him wear this.' He threw down clean clothes.

Gunhild nodded, embarrassed. 'He is old, fat and clumsy, but still can sneak up on us,' she whispered.

'Gossiping like pouting girls, no?' Balderich said, smiling at me, his rotten teeth prominently presented.

'She was gossiping, I was encouraging her,' I told him, and looked at the woolen pants, clean shoes, and white tunic.

'Belt, too. Here,' he told me and handed over a pigskin belt with a bronze buckle, a plummeting raven carved in the middle.

'Thank you…' I started clumsily, stammering, as I did not know what he wanted to be called.

'Grandfather, Lord, my Lord, or old deaf bastard, as some say in the countryside, thinking I am near death.' I blushed, but he waved it away, grinning. 'I am sorry for Hulderic. He was a mighty man. Bero does not acknowledge it, for the justified grudges he has against him, but Hulderic served us well. He made war, used spies well, and brought us lots of much-needed food in the autumns, and he also raised you two.'

The water was getting cold, and I fidgeted, wishing to be standing while speaking with the old man, but Gunhild was still there. I blushed as I tried to keep my modesty.

I looked at the old man's one good eye. 'We never met you. I am not sure what to think about that.'

'You did. You were but a toddler, a babe. Bero was here, and I did not want him to start fearing you, and he would have, had I met you more often. Bero is a good man, but dangerous heirs have died by the blades of good men before, eh? The lord of a tribe, Hraban, needs fine tact.' Balderich grunted as he shifted his considerable weight. 'Nevertheless, I got news about you, and Gernot, from Wulf.'

'So, you know of us. Then you know Gernot is a treasonous, boy lover, and well deserving of a dull axe in his rotten skull?' I told him ferociously, and he laughed hard and long.

'Aye, I know. Smart as a fox, but lazy and conniving, and I know you are hard-headed, brutal to him, and have much to do with his issues.'

'I do not! He is the liar who…'

'He would still be lazy, and perhaps even a viperous ass licker.' Balderich started to leave. 'But had you treated him fairly and more like a brother, perhaps he would be your viperous ass licker.'

I stammered and settled down until Gunhild snickered. 'You better get out, nephew. The cold water has shriveled you.'

I cursed her dirty humor and dressed up like a finest lord.

Being a guest of honor in a huge feast is a thing to remember. As I exited the dark house, a hundred bearded faces hailed me, full of happiness, their great ale and intricate mead horns high up in the air, sloshing liquids on themselves and their neighbors. Balderich was grinning, joining them, and even the aloof Bero, my great uncle, raised a horn with a wide grin. Balderich waved his hands to silence the crowd. I was blushing from pleasure.

I saw Nihta speaking with a blond, arrogant looking man in hushed, angry tones.

Gunhild grinned and brought me a fine horn as well, a beautiful, silver-lined thing made of an ox, tapering to the end, gray and brown.

Bero leaned on me. 'It is yours. Made from a sacred ox last year. Take care of it, for it cost me dearly,' he said, tilted to the side, his face a mystery. 'Enjoy,' he added and waved his arm around the tables heaped with food and drink. Boiled lentils, cuts of boar, juicy deer and plain stewed cow, turnips of unsurpassed taste, and next to them, barrels and barrels of fine drink.

I nodded at him in thankful awe, and inspired by this, Bero nodded back at me, raised his horn and announced, 'He is my blood, men. Balderich's grandson, and survivor of the attack by the Vangiones. Sigilind, his mother, your lady, lies dead. Hail him, and hail her!'

They hailed me, they hailed her, and I nodded in gratitude to my great uncle. I saw Catualda grinning at me in the thick crowd, rolling his eyes at my obnoxiously obvious pleasure, his wide lips smacking in disgust. I grinned back, and could not stop from being happy as people greeted me warmly. I was a Marcomanni, celebrated, cheered, and loved.

I would miss that evening.

I still did, and remembered the gentle, warm wind, the happy faces, and the feeling of safety and belonging.

'Come. Let us celebrate his homecoming, men, and hope he stays with us for a long time, despite his father's return,' Bero added, and I heard men agree heartily and some actually grumble. Others were silent, giving the tilted lord sideward glances.

They had doubts about Bero, some had at least. Nihta had been around for but one day, and already men knew of Maroboodus and the coming terrible confrontation. I saw Nihta speak with the serious Hands, who was listening to him with rapt attention. Perhaps my warrior was warning the bounty hunter to avoid me.

I was led to sit in the middle table between Bero and Balderich, and the feast truly began. Men drank too much and gambled excessively, some fought savagely when they lost on a toss of a dice. A man with a feud tried to strangle his foe, their families joining in, but heavy-handed Leuthard, armed and accompanied with guards, broke an arm, and they calmed down, their fight waiting for a better day or a night.

Balderich gestured at the men. 'Over a horse. Thieving dogs. They steal each other's animals, and come here to cry. It is hard being a lord to hard people. That one, a Bructeri, originally. Murderer, like his family.' He pointed at the man being led away, whose arm had been broken. 'The other one, a Semnone, young and savage, bent on fame and riches. The real thief, I suspect, but a good fighter.’

'You remember their names?' I scanned the multitude as more and more men arrived at the feast. 'Are the Chatti here? And Adalfuns? I don't see Odo.'

Balderich interrupted Bero's answer wryly, 'Odo is not here. We do not know where he is. The Chatti left, save for the bounty hunter. Adalfuns is crafting a fanciful table for me in some dark workshop nearby. He dislikes these events. Calls them a damnable nuisance.'

Bero snickered darkly. 'He hates crowds. But as to your question, we do know their names. I know not how Hulderic has trained you, but a great, righteous lord knows the men, or the men get to know a new, better lord. Our father taught us this. Warriors! They are all vain, thinking only about their worth. Forget to mention it to them every now and then, and they will get depressed. Depressed men think too much.'

'And who,' I asked prudently, 'reminds my great uncle of his worth?'

Catualda appeared, clapped my back hard and laughed. 'The fat priests and the Romans!'

Bero munched on greasy meat, burping and wiping his fingers as he gestured to his offspring. 'That there, Hraban, is my son. My remaining son. He has a big mouth, a rebellious attitude and dangerous opinions and, alas, has not the blood of Aristovistus in him. What use is such a son to a man and lord of the Marcomanni?'

Catualda sobered and stopped smiling. He walked off to the crowds, and I saw we had much in common.

Bero sighed. 'I will speak with him later. However, he is right. All men who want something from me praise me profusely; I do not lack such praise. Your Wulf, for example. He praises me. But then, he is grateful to be finally living here.'

I toyed with my mead horn, feeling a bit drunk. 'I know he has been staying with us, spying.'

'Serving, Hraban,' Bero corrected me. 'He served us. But he asked to be close to you. He thinks the ring coming here held dire meaning. He is not an old fool. He noticed Hulderic staring at it quite often, and he knows its history. He is worried about the prophecy that runs amok in our family.'

I was silent. The ring. The prophecy. I chased the thought away. I wanted to be happy that night. We looked on, cheering as some deft men and lithe youths came to dance the spears and the swords, a wild and dangerous sport where one dodged swift weapon thrusts, adopting acrobatic stances, and laughed wildly at danger. Many a woman chose their husband based on their skill in this dance, thinking it would be useful to have a husband who was adept enough to survive a battle.

'Your father has my ring?' Bero inquired, some impatience evident, as I had not picked up on the topic.

'Yes, he holds it,' I told him with a sigh, and an awkward silence reigned between us.

Finally, Balderich nodded. 'Wulf brought me many news of you. How you were doing. How my long missed daughter fared.'

I nodded, but remembered how Hulderic had warned me about Wulf. I would look out for him now, old friend or not.

Bero spat. 'My lord and I, we have not always agreed on everything. My brother Hulderic's worth was not great in my eyes. But Wulf kept him alive.' I shook my head in anger, but Bero placed a steady hand on my arm. 'He did. I chased after Hulderic all those early years, after he took my ring, and let Maroboodus live, even after the prophecy indicated he was the Bear. Now, I am not a great believer, but Hulderic was, and he betrayed me. When he finally settled here, I settled here, bent on revenge and recovering my lot. When he conquered Sigilind, I lost a son. By then, Gunhild was promised to Harumar of the south. The ring went with your father, after Hulderic refused to fight me. What did I have left but wallow in misery, trying to be useful to my Lord Balderich here? Wulf told me your grandfather was in relative peace, at my avenging spear's range, not harboring plans of desperate flight, nor had dreams of power. I let him live.'

I breathed hard. Let him live? 'Hulderic was a mighty warrior. I doubt he thought about your spears. And you killed each other's men yearly.'

Bero laughed. 'We did. We kept the feud going. However, I had a reason for the feud. Do you know why I am here?'

Balderich observed the interaction in stoic silence.

I shook his hand free. 'Other than the Woden's Ring? Draupnir's Spawn.'

Bero's eyes glittered in the dark. 'Yes. That is part of it. It was mine. I married first. It would have made me a powerful man. He took it because our fool of a mother dreamt of death. Prophecy? Your father, the ring? Hulderic took them away, and did not trust me with my legacy. I would have guarded the great ring. But what followed was innocent death. Our cousin, may Woden rape him, rode to our unprepared villages after Hulderic left, gutted by lack of leadership already by Hulderic's flight, and they burned mercilessly and killed everyone they disliked. I barely managed to escape. Had Hulderic stayed, we would have fought him and likely won. He was the warrior; I was the strategist. So, I had a feud against him, and I wanted my ring.' He cleared his throat. 'My wife and unborn child died, my mother too. I will never forget or forgive.'

We sat there in silence. He had lost a beloved wife, precious children, a mother. His loss was great.

He smiled and took up some thick, red liquid in a fine horn. 'Wine, from far, far away. It eases my withering soul, Hraban. It makes me think fewer harsh thoughts. It makes me forget what is just and what is not. In the end, your grandfather Balderich here convinced me it was the best cure for my soul, to serve and grow stronger, help make Marcomanni stronger, and let Hulderic live. I did, but I did not forgive him.'

'And now, he is dead, and I am here. Did you try to capture me, Uncle?' I asked quarrelsomely.

He shook his head. 'I did not. Adgandestrius was my guest, but that fool is not someone to trust. If I wanted to capture you, I would have sent the unerring Leuthard. He would have found you and taken you, Nihta or not. Your father surprised me. He sent you here. Why?'

Balderich leaned back in his seat, sighing. 'The boy hardly knows that. He does not know his father.'

Bero shook his head. 'No, Lord. He does not. But you see, Hraban, while I let Hulderic live, I have never forgiven your father either. If you lose a child of your own, you will find it is a different kind of loss from anything else. It can break you. It can make you hunt for revenge, heedless of the time it takes and friends you lose, and it makes you abandon all your former hopes. You will never be the man you were. No matter if your child is slow to think, or quick to act rashly. He is your son, your child.'

I took a ragged breath, and he clapped my shoulder, finding Nihta, who was again speaking with chiefs and the older, blond man I had seen earlier. 'Nihta there is offering tales of buffoonery from faraway lands. Isfried of the south is keen to listen, is he not?'

So, the blond man was the lord of the southern half of the Marcomanni. A hard man, and somehow desperate-looking.

Balderich snorted. 'He tells them of his many scars. Thus, he tells them fabulous stories of his Lord Maroboodus. Nihta!' Balderich yelled and gestured at the warrior, who smiled happily and glided forth gracefully. Balderich got up. 'Be welcome here, warrior of my son-in-law. No man will harm you, for you likely would harm them first.' Laughter and applause broke the praise for a moment. 'Here!' Balderich threw Nihta a silvery Roman denarius. 'For keeping my grandson safe.'

Nihta grabbed it deftly from the air, and looked deeply troubled as if he held a turd. Men noted it, and silence reigned. Nihta smiled, and fingered the coin uncertainly.

Bero sneered. 'Is it too little, mercenary?'

Nihta shook his head. 'It is Roman.'

Balderich frowned. 'So? Your gear is Roman? No?'

Nihta nodded. 'This coin, I will give it to someone who is needy, if you let me.'

Balderich hesitated and nodded. 'Indeed I do. But why?'

Nihta shrugged. 'My Lord Maroboodus and I took an oath. We would take no Roman coin, unless it comes from a Roman corpse. And as for my gear, it is stolen from our enemy.'

Bero huffed as if he had expected such an answer. Balderich smiled patiently, shaking his head. I thought of the many things that had been told about Bero, his skills in managing the nation, and what Nihta had said. He was right. Germani lived for fame, for stories of great, suffering heroes. Balderich and Bero both stood out in their Roman tunics, with the Roman coin. Nihta had drawn a line between Marcomanni and their leaders, and I saw many men look into their cups, full or empty, all silent, thinking deep on their own honor.

Balderich dismissed Nihta.

Bero turned on me. 'So, this is your father's plan? To make me look Roman? He will fail.'

'Great Uncle, I gave an oath to serve Maroboodus. He is my father, and a father must be obeyed. I am sorry if this puts us on different sides.'

He thought about it for a while. 'It is indeed a good thing to serve one's father. Wulf told me about a vile, hurtful oath you were forced to give Maroboodus. However, tell me, Hraban, if he does not believe himself your true father, is such an oath not void? Why serve a father who does not wish to be one?'

Bero left the table.

I was shaken at his simple logic.

Balderich nodded at his back. 'He is a good man. Hulderic was, too. He does not admit it, but while he governed the land, Hulderic led many of its smaller, important wars. Especially against Matticati and Chatti. They needed each other. Now, he has to manage your father.'

'And you will help him?' I asked, confused by my own very mixed feelings towards Bero and Balderich.

'I have daughters.' He sighed. 'A single daughter living. One who has not born children. The only thing I miss is an heir. Marcomanni need a descendant of Aristovistus to be living here, to be seen leading the tribes for the old legacy. That is where you and Gernot come in. Not your father.'

'We come in? You mean we would lead the ancient Marcomanni?' I asked, my head spinning crazily at the thought.

'Eventually. Bero will take over after I die, his son possibly leading after, if he proves to be smart enough. However, we need you, or even your shifty Gernot here. Aid us, and we will elevate you,' he said, looking me in the eye. 'As Bero said, Hulderic wanted you to obey a father. But a father who does not think you a son is not a father.'

So I broke my oath.

I thought of my father's instructions to get close to his dangerous enemies, of Nihta's claims I was a survivor, and of the advice that a lord breaks oaths to further the right causes. I took comfort from the fact I could always betray Balderich and Bero and keep one of the oaths I had given, when I knew what was right. I had time to figure it out. Nevertheless, I fell in love with my grandfather, and I even liked and understood Bero.

I nodded. 'Yes, Lord. Grandfather.'

'We will speak more, and I am proud of you, boy,' he told me.

I drank excessively. I ate the food Gunhild brought me; the best, choicest cuts of meat. Come night, I got up, swooned and fell to the ground, dying.

CHAPTER IX

I was hopelessly delirious for a week. They tell me I threw up, shat myself constantly, raved like a rabid animal and cried when too tired to rage. My belly was swollen and raw. A terrible fever ravaged my body. I remember talking with my mother, yelling at the boatman over a dark river to come and fetch me, but he just sat there stubbornly in his gray boat, counting pale silver and gold while my mother told me from the far shore to go back. She was pallid and sickly, and her throat was a ragged, bloodless wound. I saw no sign of Hulderic or Hagano, and hoped they were not in Hel, where those who die of disease go, but in Valholl, where the fighters and the slain brave meet. I dreaded Hel, I still do. Despite her new home, I needed someone to comfort me, and I yearned to go to my mother, but something kept me back, and I sat at the riverbank, weeping for long days. Still the boatman did not budge, unceasing in his counting of the coin.

Then, one day, I woke with a ragged breath and threw up some bitter soup that had just been forced in my dry mouth. I squinted at the people around me.

Gunhild was sitting there, arguing with a vile creature of dirt and red, matted hair. Nihta was next to him.

'You must not touch him. Wulf and Bark will eventually heal him, and you …' my aunt was arguing.

I saw Balderich holding her back.

'They failed,' he said with a rasp. 'Look.' Balderich pointed at me and smiled, his face drawn.

I groaned. I tried to speak, but it came out as a pig-like squeal. Odo grunted as he pried my mouth open and poured some more soup inside my swollen mouth.

'Eat, you dung-smelling fool,' he growled.

That was the only time in my life I obeyed the toad. I lay there, wondering at what had happened. I remembered the feast, and my determination to go to bed. Then, deep darkness, the troubled nightmares, and constant pain.

'What…was it?' I croaked. 'What? Poison?'

Nihta grunted. He came forward to look at my face. 'Crocus. Last year's flower. So says Odo.'

Odo pushed Nihta back. 'Why did you not summon me before?' he asked Balderich testily.

'Because,' he said, 'we have vitka of our own. Bark serves boar lord Freyr, and is a proper healer. Wulf, you know, has healed…'

'Cows. He has healed cows, and he is an ignorant peasant. Well, you will survive, lucky Hraban. However, beware of murderers. Eat what you know, and you won't die in your smelly shit.'

I cursed him and nodded to be rid of his presence. I glanced at Balderich and Gunhild, who, after Odo gave room, came forward. Wulf and another, a stern looking bald man with a tarred beard came to the room, saw Odo and stopped in their tracks, shocked to the core.

'Why is he here? He serves …' Wulf started, but Odo laughed.

'I saved your precious guest, Balderich. Your relative. Perhaps your honor. Will you let the charlatans treat me like this?' Odo asked impatiently, his head hobbling with indignation.

Balderich shook his head at the two vitka, who reluctantly shut up. 'Odo, perhaps it would be good you stay near. Where are you sleeping? I have room right here. I told you two to let us know where you stay.'

Odo smiled. 'Too kind, Lord Balderich. I wander the long, shadowy nights. I need no real sleep. I speak with reclusive spirits, and my rest is different from yours. Dangerous to mortals it is, if they are near. I will not risk you, high one. However, I will stay near, place deadly wards around Hraban, and myself. The two spew filth and poison.'

He nodded at the two vitka and left.

I glanced at the bald man, who was apparently called Bark. He looked similar to Wulf in many ways, but was obviously a harder man than the nervous, and sometimes kind, Wulf.

Nihta put himself between them and me. He bowed at Balderich. 'He speaks the truth. He walks the nights outside. Never in the same place. No disrespect meant, I am sure, my Lord. He is a vitka, and goes with the gods.'

Balderich scowled. 'Do you, Nihta, know about some missing men of mine? One of Bero's? They were lost to us recently, in the night he walks in.'

Nihta shrugged with an uncaring smile. Evidently, they had been following him. 'No, Lord. I am sorry.'

'And where do you sleep?' Balderich asked, sarcastically.

'I barely sleep either,' Nihta told him with a wide grin. 'I visit friendly men who invite me over. Many wish to do me the honor. I have not yet had a need for a place to sleep, and the fine lords of the village keep me drunk and happy long into the restless nights.'

'It is good,' Balderich said warily, 'that your fame makes you so popular.'

He would send more men to find Nihta's nocturnal movements. They had Hard Hill well surrounded by dogs and hunters, and the harbor watched carefully. Nihta would find it hard to escape.

Bark was silent as an owl, but Wulf could not contain himself. 'This is ridiculous! We tried everything to heal him. Prayers, our many skills, all the difficult to make poultices, and the gods’ blessed potions only we could come up with! And you let the cur Odo speak to us …'

Balderich made a curt, dismissing gesture with his gnarled hand. Bark pulled reluctant Wulf with him.

He looked me in the eye before dodging out of the room. 'Remember, Hraban, the one who poisoned you is likely the one who knows how to heal you.'

'I know,' I said. 'But I also know Wulf thinks I am a god-cursed risk to Midgard, and my sudden death would benefit the world.'

Bark nodded slowly. 'Perhaps so. However, know also that as long as your revered grandfather thinks highly of you, we are no threat to you. We are to Odo and his clan, though. Have always been, just like they are to us. Do not make us enemies.'

Nihta snorted in derision, and they left.

Gunhild sat down heavily, her hair greasy. Nihta said nothing but skimmed over the others in the cramped room.

'Worry not, Aunt. I feel much better. Weak, but better. I will be fine,' I told her as she wept and hugged me fiercely.

Balderich snorted. 'I knew you were going to pull through. You are tough as leather, just like I was. I once swallowed a date from the south, and it took me two weeks to pull out alive from the clutches of the poison in the fruit. You must believe me, it was not Bero who did this. When you fell there, in front of all the worried people, all they spoke about was your father and his grief. I would look at some other man to blame than Bero.'

Balderich meant filthy Odo and perhaps Nihta, but Nihta said nothing. Balderich glanced at him, but I cleared my throat to end the discussion and tried to get up, but collapsed, feeling uncannily weak.

Nihta stepped before my family. 'He needs to have rest.' His sharp eyes brooked no argument as he held his hand on a gladius.

Balderich took no apparent offence, even under his very own roof.

'We speak soon, boy. I will watch you, Nihta. Do not break your honor as my guest,' Balderich said drily, guiding Gunhild away.

A grizzled guard appeared at the doorway, his eyes never leaving Nihta.

I gazed at Nihta, who looked at his hands, silent for a long time. He did not look at me as he spoke. 'It's likely that Bark did this. Not Wulf, he is soft as a frog. Alternatively, it could well have been Bero. He is mad with his past grievances, even if he seems nearly lucid and reasonable. He is willing to risk anything to hurt Maroboodus. Just as your father hurt him. The priests are with him. They heed Bero's calls, like a good wife a husband. There are many vitka who follow him in the villages around here, many, for Bero knows how to seduce them with praise and wealth. The Flowery Meadows house crocuses.'

'What is that, Nihta,' I asked, not able to believe it was Bero. 'The Flowery Meadows?'

'A place where there is a holy grove. An ancient place where they pray in stupor and hold their nefarious meetings. A place which we will lay low when the day arrives,' he whispered to me, glaring at the guard. 'We will start training tomorrow. We have nearly three weeks to make you into a warrior, and I will be brutal tutor.' He swiped his hand over his face. 'They will ask you to betray us. When they do, tell me.'

I nodded, deeply ashamed. They already had, but I said nothing nonetheless. I had seen Nihta. He was making Maroboodus a great hero by his tales of the foreign war and the battles. Perhaps he had made Maroboodus also a sad victim. His trusted son dead at Balderich's tables? Poisoned? A worthy cause for any man to take. Revenge for injustice.

Nihta left, and I slept, confused.

Next morning, I learnt how the Romans train their men.

I ate bread made of wheat, soft and agreeable to my belly, a wrinkled apple, salty fish, and narrow lentils, very carefully as I was unsure I could keep them down. They held, but I felt weak.

I went outside and cursed the surprisingly bright sun. On the left side of the hall, there was a sturdy post, six foot tall, thick and strong. On its base leaned a used wicker shield and a nicked, wooden sword. I staggered forward and took up the sword. It was heavy, very heavy, built that way. Much heavier than the real sword Marcus had used. Nihta rapped my head sharply with his fist, having sneaked up on me.

'Why do you heft the weapon?' he demanded merrily. He was wearing a stained tunic over his breeches in a haphazard manner, his knot loose.

'Rough night, Nihta?' I asked. 'I thought we were to train?'

'Yes, I had a rough night.' He stretched his neck, then looked around. 'Your aunt here?'

'What were you up to?' I asked with a frown.

'I guarded you and Odo, you fool. I told Balderich the truth. I do not sleep much,' he said drowsily. 'I asked, is your fair aunt here?'

'She walks the planked harbor in the morning. She says she likes to be near the ships,' I told him. She went down there every morning with a vigilant guard, and spoke with strange merchants, dreaming of the faraway lands.

'Good,' he said.

'Why is it good?'

He grinned. 'Because she would try to save you from me. Now, will you put it down so we can start?'

I put the sword down, confused.

'We will run for a few hours, swim in the river, perhaps, and then we return here. Come,' he told me and pulled me along with him.

I thought of complaining, reminding him just yesterday I was near death, but I bit my dry lips and followed him. Gods, I suffered and was miserable. I threw up many times, staggered along, and nearly died when we finally ran back up the hill, long hours later.

'Come, do not eat from there! That is for the nasty, fat pigs!' he mocked me as I lay on animal dung near the stable end of the Red Hall, uncaring of the smelly trough I was slumped over.

I retched again, but there was nothing left in my guts.

'Look, over there,' he said, crouching next to me.

Nihta was pointing to the east, many miles from the hill. 'The patch of beech trees? Some few lonely firs amongst them. A large patch? See it?'

I nodded. There were trees all over Germania, and near the villages, pastures cut into them, creating some lonely islands of greenery. This one was larger than others, settled on a very small hill.

'Inside that, there is the holy shrine, Flowery Meadows. Sacred to the gods, your Woden mainly, but also to Tiw and Freyr. It's hung with strange idols, and the mysterious vitka and feared völva travel there from all over the Germani lands around us. Your Tear, I heard, suffered there.'

'Suffered?' I asked, intrigued. 'Why?'

'She is obsessed with the prophecy, but she was not always so. She used to travel with other völva, making important auguries. Once, while here, Bero tried to buy her loyalty. She refused.'

'What did he offer?' I asked.

'He offered her a lot. He knew she came from your village or the woods near it. He also, offered himself, I think,' Nihta grinned, shaking his head. 'She was pretty back then, they tell me!'

We laughed, and I imagined the old hag at Ishild's age.

Nihta continued, 'She, unfortunately, had something he did not anticipate. She genuinely had the ear of the gods, unlike many of their kind. She told Bero very publicly and rudely that he would die possessed by a mad god, chained like a criminal, and bound to lose his soul at the end of the same sword that had claimed his son. Bero did not like it, oh no. He shivered in terror. Therefore, when the völva left, visiting the Meadows there, he hired foreign mercenaries to kill them. He does that, you know, to those who displease him. They tried. They say she was raped while Bero watched, but she survived the ordeal, horribly wounded, but they spared her. None of the others lived.'

'Were the others from her strange clan from the north?' I asked, horrified.

'Possibly. I know not.'

I felt uneasy about Nihta's words. Such things happen, but they are an abomination to most men. Romans did that, and some of ours. Men caught doing that died in the bog. Was Bero like that? I had liked him. However, perhaps if Tear's followers were of the blood of the god who plotted to end Woden's reign, there was something else involved. Perhaps Bark had been party to the tragedy. They certainly seemed to have a shadowy, bloody history.

We got up and ran some more horribly painful trails.

During the midday meal, I lay on the ground in a semiconscious state. Nihta prodded me with his toe, splashed cold water on my back, and gave me the wooden sword. I pulled myself up, near crying, trembling with fatigue. He showed me how to hold the shield, and started to teach a dull series of repetitious punches and pokes against the pole. I was weak, and my back and arms ached.

Nihta laughed mockingly at me. 'You bastard! Weak-livered, piss-smelling girly boy. Hit it, punch it, and punch it! Not like that! You have to be fast, not probe with the sword. You look like a drunken virgin boy trying to court a fat maiden. Now, with your left hand!'

'I'm right-handed!' I complained.

'Yes, and if you lose the hand in battle, your duty to your lord, is not done, is it? Insulting the foe is not enough, you fool,' he said, and I changed hands.

I stabbed repeatedly until blood flowed down my arms from the raw palms. I lost sense of time but not space, since Nihta was relentless and forced me to do the routine ruthlessly and correctly. When it was suppertime, he let me collapse like a sack of salted meat and dragged me to bed by my feet. I did not notice, but the crowd we had accumulated dispersed with pitying laughs. They saw I suffered greatly at the hands of Nihta, and I bet Bero was happy about that. Balderich, too. Few free Germani take such punishment and enjoy it. It breaks our rights and shames one. They would expect me to hate Nihta.

I did not, for some reason. He was making me into a man.

Nihta pushed me to my bed with a laugh, and went to the main hall, about to leave. I saw a young snub-nosed boy with a clever face dressed like a slave beckon for Nihta from the door and heard him whisper: 'Isfried.' The lord of the southern gau. Whatever my father was planning, it involved the scowling Lord Isfried. Nihta stood there, his hand raised, casting a glance in my direction, but I pretended to be comatose.

When he finally left, I found it hard to find sleep.

The same treatment continued all that week, and next. Nihta grew tenser and more fey as time passed, apparently working hard on some scheme father had concocted, but he still joked with me, and called me fewer derogatory names as he seemed pleased by the effort I put into my training.

I was confused, for Balderich grew closer to me, and I saw Bero daily, often over fine food and kind words, and even the occasional story from the far north, our ancestral home. They took me riding, and consulted me on small issues concerning the Matticati and the Quadi. They took me hunting and praised my skills with the spear and my good instincts in finding hiding game. They did not invite Nihta. Never him. Behind all the friendship loomed the awkward discussion I had had with Balderich at the feast the day I arrived. We would speak more. I had agreed with him, though they said nothing of the matter for now. I dreaded the terrible day they wanted to do that.

I loved sweet Gunhild, and she grew less grim and much happier, as if my presence had given her an unexpected son to take care of. She did look after me. I grew heavier and thought Ansbor might soon call me fat. However, I also grew more powerful and swifter, thanks to Nihta's training.

I saw more of the Hard Hill. Nihta made me run along the outlying fields and unused pastures, the wild riverbank and the smelly bogs of the dense northern woods. We noticed men shadowing us with silent dogs. Bero was taking no chances. Nihta grinned at me as I glanced behind us. A horseman was there with some guards, near us though somewhat hidden under some fir trees, his beard dripping as he was drinking mead. I saw it was Catualda, and he was grinning.

'Many more around us, every day. Not at the night though, not anymore, however there are many men around Hard Hill with those slavering beasts, making sure we do not leave town. Odo is hiding. In one week, things will be decided,' Nihta told me, puffing. 'Finally. I might be able to sleep then.'

'So how are things going, for my father?' I asked as I nearly slipped on a wet, muddy patch. I stopped to retch miserably.

Nihta was crouching next to me, wiping sweat off his forearm. 'You are doing well. They like you, and I suppose they trust you? Have you made deals with them?'

I glanced at Catualda who seemed to notice my look, but I did not hail him.

I nodded at Nihta, giving no promises. 'I have made no deals with my family.'

I had avoided Catualda. He seemed friendly enough, and we seemed to have things in common. Yet there was something about Catualda I disliked. Perhaps that he would make me dislike Bero, whom I wanted to like.

'Why do you follow Father, Nihta?' I asked him.

He smiled wistfully and shrugged. 'You saw him in the battle. I was young, very young when I joined the guard. He is fierce as lightning in battle, jolly and happy out of it. He taught me patience, I suppose. I was always good with the blade, but he made that blade useful. He is a lord with a lord's future, and I found in him, I guess, a friend. He accepted me like he would a son.'

I stiffened at that, and he noticed, looking sheepish.

'He had a woman in Rome?' I asked him, swallowing my self-pity.

'I am sorry, Hraban. He did, a fine woman. Love is weird, Hraban. The true love we find is often the hardest one. And now, we go, before I betray his secrets.'

He pulled me along towards the Hill, and I groaned in pain. I hated to run, hated the clammy sweat, and hated the occasional vomit and spittle covering my dark beard and the pain that never seemed to end.

Nihta was speaking to himself as we jogged the last grueling moments up to the Red Hall. 'Now, in a short week, things will be decided. You will need to do a deed. A hard one. So will I. I will slaughter Bero's champions, one-by-one, and flee with Odo.'

I nodded, horrified at his casual attitude. 'All ten champions? I doubt…'

He smiled. 'No, of course not, but enough to make a difference. Most are fat, careless, and idle, and their houses are wide open, with drunken men guarding them in stupor and contentment. They will die to a stubborn, single-minded killer like I am. They have to. They have near a thousand men scattered all around us, but if some fall, those men will lack purpose and leadership, their oaths broken.'

'You came here to kill them, and make Father known? Is this going to work? Surely the men just follow Bero, should their lords fall?'

'Your father's fame will be great, and many are tired of Bero's opulence. It will be an interesting Thing,' he mused, and I felt desperation and hopelessness creeping into my soul. He noticed this, and tried to console me. 'What Odo is planning will tip the scales greatly.'

'They have hundreds of spears,' I mumbled softly. 'No flaming speech before the Thing will change that.'

'Patience, Hraban. But yes, it will be desperate,' he allowed.

'And what does Odo wish for?' I asked, horrified.

Nihta clapped my shoulder and confirmed my fears. 'He will deal with the priests. Or, rather, you will help him.'

I nodded, not sure I would. 'Why not you? I have no skills …'

He grinned. 'I have trained you hard. I know you are not the best choice. However, Odo is adamant. It has to be you who helps them. Many disagree with him, but we cannot sidestep Odo in this. That he came at all was to show people not all vitka follow Bero. And that he healed you is something they talk about. None else managed it. He risked his life many times this past few weeks, and now, it is your turn.'

'Many disagree with my part?'

'Maroboodus has many plans, and never goes to war unprepared. Bero will die, by sword or his own cowardice. But the true challenges lie beyond Bero.'

I nodded glumly, wondering if I was to find the girl the bastards were so keen on getting in their hands.

We trained, and I hurt myself many times.

I found my sharpened seax under the mattress that night. Nihta was arming me.

You might know the agony of being torn in two by impossible choices.

A thirst for revenge could make you mull over some strange thoughts, forget binding oaths.

I did not like Maroboodus. I feared him. But I also feared breaking my oaths, the ones given before Woden. I wanted to make Hulderic proud while he looked down on me from beyond death.

And I loved my new family.

The closer the night of the perilous Thing came, the more nervous I had become. I would have to choose a side. Father was my lord, but he did not think me his son. What obligation did I have towards him? To Odo? None, because both disdained and misused me.

In truth, I had already chosen a side, but I had not acknowledged it.

I wanted to hear nothing evil of my relatives, and so I played deaf and dumb when Nihta spoke ill of Bero, and even if I saw and heard Catualda complain about his father. I saw the power of Bero and Balderich, hundreds of well-armed loyal men, tall champions and wealth, and they planned to kill vitka and warriors and then talk Bero out of his seat? Gods, that plan would get me killed.

There was great excitement in the summer air as the celebration to Holda and Freya, and the beginning of Maius month, what we called Drimilchi, approached. Such early summer nights were magical, the air crisp and clear, and everything seemed possible. The great Thing was being prepared well before it was to take place, a meeting of men of the Marcomanni, most of the greatest chiefs from both gaus gathering on the hill. Game was killed, and traders flocked in. A small market was set up down in the pastures, and merchants were hawking their fares.

The talk was of Maroboodus.

All men knew it was going to be a day a lord died. Most thought the lord to die would be my father. They saw vitka and völva flock to the village, getting ready to oust shadowy Tear, should she dare come. They would condemn Father by the law they governed. Bero was also discreetly bringing in his best men to bear. Some two hundred Marcomanni were gathered under his standard of crow's wings and skull on the hill itself, hundreds more around it, and some fifty of the best bodyguards under Leuthard were busily making sure their gear was in best possible condition. His champions were tense, jumpy as hungry wolves, smelling sweet blood. They were not as drunk and careless as Nihta had claimed.

It was also rumored that in the far north, something strange was afoot. Men whispered about the Sigambri and the tribes of the Luppia River Valley, forever at war with Rome. They had been bloodily beaten, again, and they would be bloodily beaten yearly for years and years. Yet, there they were. One of their boats was mooring itself down at the harbor, full of strange Roman wares.

Nihta saw I had lost heart and nodded carefully. 'Enough then. They will wish to make a deal with you soon, and tomorrow, all will be decided.' He bent over me. 'Remember your father, Hraban, and Odo will talk with you on your part before I kill the champions. You are a warrior in the making, Hraban. Are you ready?'

I nodded. 'I find it hard to obey the filth of Odo, but yes.'

He laughed. 'Best obey when one must, and save the defiance for times when it is useful. Now we will not, perhaps, see again before the night of the Thing. Listen to Odo. What is more, obey Odo. Take care, young master!'

He left with a sideward glance.

I knew he wanted me to leave, but I was curious what he was up to.

I trekked inside the Red Hall, and from the shadows of the doorway, I saw Nihta walk with the young boy who had sought him out weeks earlier. I crept back out from the less used side door and crept closer to them. I went forward, and noticed they were whispering urgently. There was a small slat in the wall close to where they were speaking. I made my way quickly through a series of rooms, until I found the one with the open slat. I peered through, watching Nihta and the boy.

The boy was nervous but looked smart as he contemplated on something they had discussed.

'I shall tell him he is promised this by Maroboodus?' the boy asked.

Nihta turned, his eyes hard. 'Yes. He is promised it. Make it good. Much depends on it. If you fail, and I die, there are men who know about you. Harbor, just after sundown. Do not fail. Make it look good,' Nihta told him softly yet with iron in his voice and walked off.

The boy fingered his plain tunic, indecisive and apparently scared. He took a deep breath and left as well.

I decided I would be at the harbor in the evening. I would make sure no man of Bero's followed me, and would decide later what to do with anything I found out.

I turned to go, and faced a startled girl covering her nudity with her hands. She stood beside a rough tub filled with water.

Her eyes were big and round, her mouth open. She was not terribly ugly, nor a famous beauty. The softly glimmering hair was long, dripping wet and quite blonde, her plain face a bit flat, but I imagined she might have an alluring smile. I noticed, with a brief glance, her round hips and shapely legs.

I had been careless. I stammered like a fool, but shut my mouth quickly. I would suffer for being there, and gods help me should her father call the issue to a Thing.

'I am sorry, I was lost. I…'

She took a deep breath, and my impulsive legs started to move with desperation, ready to carry me out of the Hard Hill, but then she closed her mouth quickly as a shrewd look replaced her momentary confusion.

We stood there for a while until I took a reluctant step towards a bed, where I saw her dress and fibula in a heap.

Her eyes followed me warily.

'My father is hunting,' she told me with trembling voice. 'Hunting with his men and his Lord Bero. Fulch the Red, he is.'

I looked to the ceiling. Gods help me, he was one of Bero's champions.

'I will apologize to him,' I said miserably, though grateful she had not screamed.

'I am Ermendrud,' she said, but did not take the dress when I offered it to her.

'Hraban,' I told her, and looked at her, Woden curse me, for she had dropped her hands. She was nude now, with no shelter, her thighs glistening from the bath, the pubic hair enticingly curled around her wet privates. Her shoulders were beautiful, her breasts were small, and I reddened and stammered, making a squeaking sound.

'I know you,' she said pointedly. Her eyes were glistening. 'I will not scream. I have not…I just feel that…this is not so bad.'

I nodded. I should have left, but what if she told someone I had seen her thus? I had to please her, to make her happy, I reasoned to myself.

'My father is a lord,' she said huskily, but I was blushing. She saw this and tittered. 'He leads men. He can be an ally one day, perhaps?'

I was astonished for a moment. She saw me as a great, coming man of the Marcomanni. Perhaps she was right. I nodded, utterly forgetting all sense of responsibility. She stepped closer to me, and hesitantly, her tongue licking her lips, she touched my hand. I let her, and her deft hands went gingerly to my belt as she unbuckled my pants. I cursed myself in waves of surprising lust.

She slowly put her lips to mine, and I kissed her awkwardly, whimpering as her wet and warm tongue flicked around my mouth. I put my hand on her hip and stroked her, and she pulled my pants down, crouching before me. What followed was embarrassingly clumsy, yet we were both surprisingly patient, and in the glorious end, we were both very, very happy. It was a fine evening, even if I should have shuddered in fear.

However, I was not afraid enough, and we fell asleep.

I woke up to darkness. I panicked and tried to surge up, but she was still there, and pushed me down urgently, her eyes drowsy. I breathed, trying to calm myself, yet crying inside my head.

I was in terrible trouble.

She gazed at me, stroking me gently. She said, 'Speak to my father, one day soon, and we make it look like we are just getting to know each other.'

I nodded gratefully, croaked like a bullfrog, smiled like an idiot and dressed in a rush. I was both wonderfully happy and deathly terrified, and again, just like with Ishild, I was fairly sure I did not wish to marry her, though she seemed to have a plan similar to Ishild’s.

I cursed as she pulled me down, and I kissed her, but then I tore myself away and ran like a hare. Gods help me, I thought as she was singing happily. I crept through the dark hall, begging Woden no one saw me, that there were no friendly or angry dogs, slaves or surprised parents about. I made it out, and saw tired horses riding to the yard. A grim lord was on a horse, a surprised looking dead boar hung before him over the horse's neck. He was very large, apparently permanently angry and looked unforgiving as an axe.

Then I remembered Nihta's words, the strange boy and the mysterious deed at harbor after sundown, and ran.

It was nearly dark as I walked the empty paths down to the waterfront. I squatted at the deepest shadows, looking at the general harbor area. Some lazy guards were about. A drunken merchant was ambling along. I saw no sign of the boy. Perhaps I had spent too much time losing my boyhood, I admonished myself, but the thought still made me giggle silently and then brood in silent terror. I hung around for a long time, getting tense and bored, about to give up, when I spotted the face of the boy who had spoken with Nihta. He was headed for the gate of the harbor area. The boy had clever eyes and an animated, thin face with a wide, infectious grin. He was up to no good.

He was not alone.

Some men were walking after him, hooded, large men, and I sneaked like a weasel after them. The fleet-footed youngster walked brazenly to the guarded gate, the men following him resolutely, and I noticed they were carrying crude boxes and rough jars. They were obviously heavy, for they were grunting. They passed the uninterested guards, and I took to the shallow moat, climbing like a young squirrel as the guards let the men through. I followed them into the deepest shadows of the warehouses. A dog barked, an owl hooted, the men followed the boy toward a small ship.

'Gorth!' yelled the boy as they got close to it. He was also whispering to one of the large men.

A slight light was flickering in the cracks of the ship as a gaunt man appeared. A simple man, by his looks, he squinted down. 'Yes? Who is there?'

'Felix!' yelled the youngster. 'We bring the goods from Lord Bero. The finest of mead, and other things!'

Gorth smiled a toothless smile as he nodded. 'The bloody legate will be well pleased!'

Legate? A Roman army commander, Marcus had called them. I saw them go up a rickety plank, and Gorth was fuzzing as they placed the items on the unseen deck. Then, Felix pointed at the open door of the cabin, and they went in. All of them. Later, they came back, but for Gorth. Felix handed something to one of the men, who took it, grunted arrogant thanks, and left in a huff, leading his men out. Felix went towards a simple house on the side, whistling happily.

'Felix!' a man yelled as the boy opened the door. I saw him hide a clinking pouch in his belt as he took a meek demeanor and went in.

'Yes, Master Gaius. I am here,' he said, with a slightly mocking voice.

The men were going to pass me by. Germani, well to do men. They had heavy, expensive cloaks, beautiful fibula holding them. Thick belts and decorated buckles marked them as warriors. They were hard to see in the shadows, and they were hooded. Then Woden helped me. I saw one of the men scratch his face under the deep hood, and I saw his face.

It was Isfried.

He was carrying a crumbled scroll, and did not look happy, in fact, he looked deathly furious. I stood there in the dark and shook my head. I looked at the silent ship and got up on wobbly feet. I ran up the creaky plank, silent as a hungry rat, tiptoed to the jars they had been carrying and cracked the lid off one, eyeing the darkness around me for signs of trouble. I put my hand inside the jar and came up with rubble. The door to the cabin was ajar. A pale light was burning inside as I pushed the door open. The man, Gorth, was lying belly down on the floor, but his surprised face was staring at the ceiling. Whatever was going on, it was Nihta's doing.

I left, shaken by the cruel death of Gorth, silently creeping out of the harbor area, and so I missed a shadow.

A man stood up. I tried to go around him, but he stepped before me. I cursed as moonlight lit his face, and the strange, moist eyes. It was Odo. I upgraded my estimation of him. He had sneaked up on me, apparently having followed me for a while, and I would not let him do so again. I growled savagely and meant to push him out of my way, but he did not let me, stubbornly standing before me.

'Stop,' he said with impatience. 'Hraban.'

'I do not like when you voice my name, Odo. You make it sound like cold vomit,' I told him, ungrateful for his part in saving my life.

'Uttering it tastes like vomit, but I do it anyway,' he snarled. 'Tomorrow, Hraban, you fulfill your deal with Tear, and your father.'

I looked around, but we were alone. If I killed him that day, it could be beneficial.

He sneered at me, having read my mind. 'Slaying me, Hraban, would not be wise. My mother would put a curse on you. You would die, crying helplessly, spewing fat maggots. And dear Ishild would help her with the spell.'

'I knew a man who said you are all silly charlatans, so I will just be careful with what I eat and no maggots will become fat, and I'll live a long, happy life,' I told him frankly as I pulled out the seax, strangely allured by the thought of using it on the vitka.

He eyed me warily. 'Nothing good will come out of this, Hraban.'

'You would use me,' I said. 'You would use me to fetch a small girl, and I would be damned. You stand there, lording over me, ordering me about.'

Odo nodded, his eyes going to the crude dagger. 'Yes. And you will fetch this girl we need, Hraban. That way, you get the fame and riches, and we get what we wish for. But of course, feel free to try to slay me, and see what mad spirits will torment you in the afterlife.' He bared his skinny neck to me, his eyes looking strange and unholy.

'Perhaps I will take a risk,' I said, placing the seax on his neck. 'And trust Ishild to keep me safe from your sorceries, for I sense she does not like you. Perhaps she would like to be free? Your mother also surely regrets giving birth to you, and likely does not need you.'

I tried to force myself to murder, though I had only meant to threaten him to begin with. It was tempting. The vitka serving Bero's needs, especially Bark and Wulf, would protect me, surely. On the other hand, perhaps they would thank me first, and then cast me to the swift river with a stone in my ankles. One must not trust a vitka.

Odo hissed as he looked at me. 'I have lived all my life amongst your kind. Fine blade in hand, sharp spear first. You bully and torture your way forward until some more savage bully puts you down, and then you lie there, crying like sick babes to your mothers. Kill me, and you will perish sadly. Take the chance.'

I spat at the ground. 'Speak then.' I did not remove the blade.

'Tomorrow, a deed is needed. Did you see the Roman houses down below in the harbor? Yes? I will need a statue of their god, of the dolt, Hercules.'

'You said you need me to help you with the girl? Nihta mentioned I would help us topple the vitka. Now you ask me to plunder a damned foreign temple? Sounds like a foolish suicide,' I growled in confusion. 'It seems more than one deed.'

He was edging away from the blade. I was in a fey mood, and did not let him, moving with him.

He stopped moving. 'They are all one. Hercules is a god who carries a knobbed club. Looks like you, an ugly buffoon. You go and get it.'

We were quiet for a while as I wrestled with myself. It would be a favor to Bero as well, killing Odo. I needed not trust Bark and Wulf. Surely, Bero would appreciate this. But could I do it?

He continued, calmly and slowly as if speaking to a dangerous beast. 'Then, you will bring the statue, an old Roman sword Nihta will leave you with, and drop them at the Flowery Meadows where their ridiculous priests meet, and you will do this just before the Thing begins. After sundown, but well before midnight.'

'And how do I get there to leave these items? Surely, they will object? In addition, they are guarded,' I hissed at him.

'They would object, but will not. You take this.' He handed me a wooden bottle.

'There will be guards at the shrine, Odo. You think I can handle them?' I said, as I gingerly fingered the bottle.

He smiled. 'There are a great many guards, but there are men who know where they are, and how many. Men the guards know well and foolishly trust, even if they should not.'

I nodded. Father had allies here. I twirled the bottle before his eyes. 'You wish me to drink it? It will make me immortal, perhaps? In a final way?'

'No. I wish you to go to the Flowery Meadows, sneak in carefully if you can, and pour this into their spirit drink. It will be in a dank cellar to the right of an ancient ruined house,' he told me. 'They will all drink this spirit just before the Thing, praying for guidance from their gods. Thus, they would come to the Thing, full of their holy strength. We will stop them.'

I stared at him and took the seax away. 'You wish me to poison all the holy men and women there?' I asked him incredulously.

'Why not? They are all silly charlatans, you told me?' he said sarcastically, rubbing the spot where the blade had rested.

'If I am unable to cut your throat, then why do you think I would do this?”

He laughed dryly. 'You are not unable, just not ready yet.'

'And Wulf? The man I have known all my life?' I snarled. 'Poison him too?'

'Him, too. But it is not lethal poison. It will render them helpless, and they will live, though not in the Hard Hill,' Odo said calmly, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his bony hand. 'They will be cursed by the gods, vomiting helplessly, hollering in terror and running around like men in stupor, and your Maroboodus will have a chance at ousting Bero. Your father? Remember him and the holy oath you gave him?'

'Under his raised fist, yes, I do,' I told him bitterly.

'The fists above you in Balderich's hall are no less real, you fool,' he told me. 'When you go there, there is a small girl. Dimple on her sallow cheek. Not old, not even ten.'

I felt chills as he explained this. 'And I will bring her to you?'

'When she gets sick from this drink, you will grab her. You will hold her safe after the deed, and when your father is in power, bring her to me and then, perhaps, your part is done. We will need the ring, too, but your grateful father will loan it to us, and get it back. Give me an oath that you will do this, and I will help you get your position in the tribe back, even if I dislike you. One day, if the gods degree it, we will settle our other scores,' he said, his eyes glittering. 'So I swear by my god of the deep.' His voice was desperate, zealous.

I shuddered in fear, but spat. 'Your mother is not as happy about your god of the deep as you are.'

'My mother and I, we don't agree on many things,' he hissed.

'Will you kill the girl?'

He looked away, quickly, licking his lips. 'I will not.'

He was lying. I was surprised he was such a bad liar.

'And my position and riches you promise me? When the world ends, I will be buried with these riches? Why would I do this, I ask again?'

He looked exasperated. 'What have you got to lose, boy? Let us see if there is any merit in the prophecy. If it is but the spirits making a grand joke on us? You will benefit. Aid us, and aid yourself. Worlds end, one day. Be what you can be while it lasts. Give me an oath.'

'Oath? I give you an oath that I will consider it,' I said and backed off, cursing him and myself for not having cut his neck.

His eyes followed me in the dark, mocking me. I walked away, fingering his bottle. I was swimming in deep waters, and there were strong currents, much stronger than I was.

I made my way to the Red Hall. Rows of benches were placed outside on the large clearing, but when I sneaked back to my room by a side door, gloomy Leuthard was there. We made eye contact briefly. He was sitting on my bed, his bald head glittering with thin sheet of sweat.

'Your grandfather wants you,' he grumbled. 'He is not happy you left without a word. Or guard.'

'I took a shit,' I told him. 'Is that your business?'

He grunted. 'We have seen you take many a shit, boy, and do not like to miss seeing any of them. You are a bit too sneaky for your own good.' I frowned, but he ignored it, pulling me after him. 'Now come.'

I went reluctantly, and there they were, my relatives, seated in the main hall, all save fair Gunhild. Frowning Bero was lounging before the smoldering fire pit, and he smiled at me thinly. Balderich got up to stalk slowly back and forth. He looked relieved, yet nervous. Leuthard pushed me to the middle.

'I took a shit, as I told the egg head here,' I said. 'Why did you need me?'

Bero shook his head tiredly. 'We do not need you. You need us.'

Balderich walked to me. 'Your father is coming. He has helped the Quadi butcher the fools of Hermanduri, and is a famous hero amongst the tribes there, and even the Marcomanni near the lands of the Hermanduri, the Hercynian wilds.'

They stared at me as the fire slowly crackled. I sweated and took a seat, trying to find a pose that seemed fitting for a man, and trying not to look like a treasonous, greedy toad.

Balderich understood my dilemma. 'It is ever so, Hraban, that man must make hard choices. I call you one, a man, for you will get your spear and your shield after things have settled down.'

Bero was less amicable. 'Come, what is your price? I know you know I need the seed of Aristovistus to be seen near the Marcomannic throne when your great-grandfather dies, let that day be far, so you know I will hold you in very high esteem. What do you want? Remember, Hraban, you have given oath to a father, but he does not hold you as a son.'

I nodded and felt thoroughly miserable. However, he was right, Maroboodus had not acted like a father. He had treated me like a mangy, unwanted dog. He sent me to unknown fates, to the enemy-festering Hard Hill, and he sought to use me to further Odo's mad plans. Hulderic had asked me to take heed of my father, but he had also told me to thwart Odo and Tear. Therefore, I cast my dice, and felt better, for there were indeed things I wanted.

'I want Vago dead. Moreover, I want to punish my brother. Koun the Vangione as well. And my rightful place, and deserved respect.'

Bero looked down. 'Vago? You want a war with the Vangiones?'

'They killed Marcomanni. I thought we were at war with them?' I spat, but Bero was hesitant.

I spied a look of disgust deepening on Leuthard's face.

Bero stalked back and forth.

Balderich stopped him and spoke. 'Yes. We will avenge Hulderic and my daughter. Your brother, you will handle as you see best, but you shall not commit a crime while doing it. Be discreet as a wiser man. This Koun? He will suffer for his part in the downfall of my family. Respect? That you already have, here.'

All I wanted. Right there. However, Bero had hesitated.

'I have terms, too,' said a man in the shadows. It was Wulf, and he walked stiffly over. 'I want you to give the damned ring to me, in return for all of this.'

'The prophecy worries you? Bah!' Bero sneered. 'The ring goes to me. It is my price, not yours.'

Wulf fidgeted but nodded. 'In that case, I want Tear's and Odo's heads, no matter where they might be found. And I want Ishild. Evil gods whisper with their family, and that corruption must be washed away.'

There I was. Dealing death to my aloof father, my traitorous brother, and the woman who liked me, one I had flirted with, even kissed. It bothered me. I felt like a trapped animal.

Wulf addressed me. 'You, Hraban, know me. Trust me, this is needed. I could have killed you any time when you were younger, but I did not. It is my weakness to like you, but I do not like Tear, Odo, nor do I like Ishild. They are all evil spawn, and should be gone from this world before they hurt it irreparably. Your father's death will keep us safe, but I want something permanent done with the family of Tear. They will still seek you out, if Maroboodus falls. We will use you to fish them out. All of them.'

I shrugged, and with the heaviest self-loathing, I said, 'Yes. I agree.'

I would extract Ishild from an evil fate, I convinced myself.

Balderich nodded, unhappily. 'In that case, tell me where Odo and Nihta are, for we cannot find them. He has slaughtered men, many men the past week though I cannot prove it, and we think he has some renegade men to help him. We have hundreds of spears and the priests on our side, and can deal with brutal force with your father, but we do not wish to make a fallen hero of him.'

My grandfather groaned as he straightened his back, and I understood he was worried about the coming confrontations, no matter how many spears he had.

'It is prudent to squash an angry bee, even if it cannot truly hurt you,' said Bero calmly. 'Tell us, what is their foolish plan? Other than to discredit us.'

I stood up and prayed to Woden for forgiveness. 'I do not know where they are, but Odo wanted me to sneak like a thief to the Flowery Meadows and use some sort of poison in their holy spirit drink. Just before the Thing, when they are all there. They think they could handle the guards. I was also to take a girl, a small girl that seems to attract Odo's nasty attentions, and…'

Wulf hummed. 'They think you are the Raven, and that you are the one who must be the catalyst of the terrible events to come, no doubt. There is indeed a girl that lives with a certain woman, Hraban, one small girl they desire. We have kept her safe, very safe, since she came to us, years past.'

'I have no wish to hurt children, never did,' I told Wulf, meaning it.

'I know you, Hraban, and believe you,' he told me evenly, with an assuring smile. 'Yet, one has to be careful, because few know what the terrible prophecy truly asks for. It is a road, Hraban, one must either find or avoid. I am happy you are avoiding it.'

I showed them the dull-colored bottle, and Bero took it gingerly, fingering it. He nodded and put it away into a pouch. 'We guard the vitka, of course, and have some fifty loyal men out there around the place. The vitka are quite safe, and you would not have gotten anywhere near them. Nor any number of men helping your father, curse them. We are keeping an eye on everything out there, miles around the Meadows. But I thank you, for this dooms Odo. He will be a hunted man, despised through the lands for daring to raise his hand against the holy men and women. Now, anything else? On Nihta, perhaps?'

I thought about Nihta, and I thought about the unlucky, dead man in the ship, and Isfried glowering while he walked. I opened my mouth, but then thought of my father, and if I had truly done him justice. I thought of Ishild, a girl I thought I cared for, as a friend, and I thought of Wulf's request. I was indecisive, and felt like a damned coward. So I said nothing, my thoughts churning with desire for a clear road ahead and happier times.

'Nothing?' Bero asked.

I shook my head. I had thwarted the death of the vitka. It was plenty. Balderich nodded happily, but Bero leaned on me. 'Does your father carry the Head Taker?'

I brightened, happy to relieve him and not give away Nihta. 'He gave it to the gods, and none else saw it. He wanted to hurt me, I think, for I coveted it. It is in the river.'

'It is given to Woden? You saw this? And do not lie?' Bero asked, his face shining like the sun.

'I did see it and wept for it. One of the deeds that makes me hate him,' I told them bitterly.

'Good, good,' Bero said. Strange joy filled him. 'Tear was lying then, in her cursed augury about my demise. If the sword is gone, I will not die while dealing with Maroboodus.'

I was surprised by his fears, and realized his slow warfare with Hulderic must have been a very taxing thing for him if he dreamt of dying to Head Taker. Now, he was a happy, jubilant man, able to act at his will, and seemed to grow many inches by his newfound confidence.

'But you do not know where Nihta is, then?' he asked me one more time.

I shook my head. 'No, Lord.'

Bero nodded, sadly. He glanced at me, wrestling with something, took a deep breath and leaned closer to me. 'Did my son die to the blade?' he asked me carefully, hoping I knew.

'Father said he did,' I told him slowly. 'Though he fought well,' I lied, for I didn't know the truth of that. Bero nodded, gloomily contemplating my words. I hesitated and opened my mouth nervously. 'I know where he died. Maino.'

'You do?' he choked.

'Yes. Maino followed Father to the north of the village, a valley by the river, a small one. There is an old stone there. This is where Maino died, and where his skull is buried.'

'I…' Bero stammered, moved so much he went on a knee before me.

'Father said it was the night of the Drimilchi Thing, and every year at midnight, one can see him there, and speak with him, if one dares. He has witnessed it…he has mocked him there.'

'Gods will have vengeance. I will have it!' Bero said, with a quiver of anger in his voice. 'I will bury him. In a place of my choosing. I thank you, Hraban, I do thank you. Leuthard, take Fulch the Red and go and add to the fifty that guard the vitka. Take two more champions, as well. I will get ready with my men on the hill. Maroboodus has but few men. I am sorry if you will mourn him, Hraban.'

'I have to bear it,' I told him, confused at my mixed feelings.

Leuthard saluted his lord and left in a hurry. Balderich brought out a shield of thick leather, beautifully crafted with the intricate symbol of chain and sun. A strong spear made of bluish steel was placed in front of me.

'Yours, Hraban,' he said. 'The weapons of our great relative. The night you lose a worthless father.'

'Aristovistus?' I said, eyeing the great gear, running my finger across the painted chain.

'Aristovistus,' Balderich said gravely. 'Our blood, was sent that crude slave-chain by Caesar.'

He nodded sadly at the chain wound around the standard of Balderich.

He continued, 'Caesar told him to receive the simple gift, for our relative would be enslaved and taken to Rome in the chain after the terrible battle. Aristovistus hung it on his proud standard to show Caesar he did not fear. Now, it hangs there.' He smiled at the dusty chain hung from a cross pole standard over the pale wolf figure. 'Ever have we all faced grave danger and hard choices by living here, by the Romans, Hraban. Fret not.'

Bero spoke, as if seeing distant times. 'That standard waved over the Suebi tribes that day, when the legions cut them to pieces. Aristovistus barely survived to shame, yes, but soon we will have a vast, feared nation again. A strong one. That standard is the symbol of survival. You just survived, too.'

Bero got up, embraced me warmly and left.

I felt nothing but shame. Woden was watching, and likely thought me a worthless maggot. I had kept no oath but failed them all.

That night, I toyed with the idea of going to find Nihta, of telling him everything. I also nearly went to Balderich, to tell him about the incident with Isfried.

I did not sleep well. In fact, I did not close my eyes. I kept reminding myself of the foul oath I was forced to give to father, and how I still might save Ishild, even if there might not be more than gentle friendship between us.

Next morning, Nihta was not there to train me, but there was a gladius under my bed. It was an old one, used yet sharp, and I wondered at it. It was half the weight of the useless wooden sword and moved fast like a snake. I loved it with all my heart. I hid it under my tunic and belt, already crowded with the seax.

Many famous chiefs were calling on Balderich, who hailed them from his great stool as he ate.

I walked around the green hill, cursing the torture of indecision that made me unhappy. I thought about Nihta and how he had survived after seemingly impossible suffering, to conquer, and I wondered if this was the way other men grew up. I was betraying my father and in my heart, I was trying to forgive myself. The fanciful, ancient gear they had placed at my feet, the promises of honor and fame all tasted sour as the driest sand in my mouth, and I suspected I would hate myself after father was dead.

I went to the river, and thought of what I had done. The day was beautiful enough, light gray clouds were racing across the solemn sky. Some daring black grouse could be heard in a thicket not far from me, fighting, as was their wont.

The day turned to a beautiful evening full of bird-song, and I still fretted. On top of the clamoring hill, great preparations were ongoing for the Thing of the Marcomannic chiefs.

A man suddenly sat next to me, and I rolled in surprise, drew the sharp seax, and abruptly got stuck on a stubborn root by the hidden gladius hilt sticking out behind me. The man laughed merrily, holding his sides.

'Easy!' he chuckled. Catualda. 'You look more startled than the yon fish does!'

The glittering fish was staring up at us with its eyes bulging, mouth open. Catualda's blond hair was hanging wetly on the sides of his head, his fat lips were pursed as he regarded me suspiciously.

'It cannot be that you seriously think I aim to murder you. Even if my father welcomes you to the family, I am his true son. You are needed, perhaps even liked, but I am the heir. I would not kill you here, in the sunlight, if I harbored such thoughts.'

I sat up and put the seax away. 'I am to be feared. Especially by my family.'

He laughed and pulled me next to him. 'Yes, I sense you have been given options that are hard to accept, if you are a good person. But do not worry about them, Hraban.'

'Why not? I seem damned no matter what.' I spoke freely to him, for I needed someone to unload my heart.

Catualda swiped his hand towards Bero's hall. 'He is not a good father. Not sure if it is the hardships, or if he was born backwards, but sometimes I do not wonder that Hulderic fled the north. Allies like him? Bero? Faugh. You would have to learn to read poetry and write meaningless letters to know what he is doing,' Catualda spat. 'A scribe more than a warrior.'

I snorted in derision. 'I hear all the great war chiefs knew how to do those things. How else would you convey your will across far hills and deep forests?'

He nodded and blinked at me with surprise. 'Yes. However, those chiefs also had particularly good skills with sword, and leading other swords. They were more warriors than cowardly diplomats, who are trying to give your lands to the enemy.'

I sighed. 'Give the lands off to the enemy? Your father, I assume, is the diplomat you are talking about.'

He hung his head in shame, holding it with both hands, breathing deeply. 'I sought you out for we both face harsh choices. Your father has treated you with severity uncommon in a family, implying things about your mother one should avenge, I agree that much. Yet, I have lived with my father all my life. The ring was his greatest possession, even above Maino and me. He hoped to carve a kingdom in the north with its power.'

'It's just a ring, and men should not rely on such things,' I told him.

'I agree. However, lacking the ring, he has made life here, and served Balderich like a filthy dog. But Balderich, your grandfather, he is no Aristovistus.'

'I warn you, Catualda, not to…'

'I am leaving, Hraban. I cannot stand the shame, and if you will not listen, all I can tell Woden in my prayers is that I tried to warn you.'

'Warn me?'

He took a deep breath and waved uphill. 'Balderich will meet a man today. The man will give him much coin, and they will discuss things they are planning. The man is a fat Roman. You know there are many shifty Romans here, envoys some, merchants others. When Bero takes over, this land will belong to Rome. A Roman fort will overlook these fine fields and formerly free hills around us, and I cannot stand it. I have plans elsewhere. Your grandfather will retire into Gaul, very soon, into a villa. The estate is set aside at Narbo Martius. The lord of Rome, Octavianus and his men, Polybius and Hilarion have confirmed it.' His voice took a derogatory note. 'It is a large estate: sweet vine, bitter olives, fat sheep, plenty of slaves, and a brewery. The place is whitewashed, in good repair, and the grand envy of its rich neighbors. He will live richly.'

I shook my head tiredly, bitterness filling my mouth as would a rotten apple. 'And you are not trying to break my budding relationship with my new family with lies?'

He laughed bitterly. 'I wish to break my relationship with them. And I have proof.'

I shook my head in denial. 'I do not wish to see any proof. I doubt Octavianus would sully his hands in these mundane issues. A Roman fort here, Bero giving us over to Rome? I am…'

He put a hand on my shoulder. 'Giving this hill to Rome, Hraban, will open Rome a route to the backsides of the Chatti and a gateway to new lands. Octavianus is always signing such disgraceful deals with traitors. There are many Germani lords who die to their countrymen's axes if they try to sell their tribe to Roman thralldom, but Balderich is too great. The land will fall, one unhappy village at a time. I cannot stand it. And then, your surprising father returned.'

I shook my head, tired. 'Yes, he did.'

He snickered as he shook his head. 'Your father, the enemy of Rome? Imagine, should he come to power, even to modest position to thwart the plans of Bero? It would be terrible for Rome. So, they want him gone. Soon. And you, the fool, will stand by Bero, giving his actions legitimacy in the eyes of the Marcomanni. You. Or your opportunistic brother, Gernot.'

And that was enough to convince me.

I hissed. 'And you said you have proof.'

He nodded uncertainly. He licked his lips and hesitated, but I grabbed his tunic and pulled him closer to me.

'The proof, Catualda,' I demanded.

'I am sorry,' he said miserably. 'Your grandfather, as I just said, fears his plans go to ruin. He fears his people will disapprove of him and so, he and Father told the Vangiones where your father lived.'

'The proof,' I sneered, rage filling making my body tremble.

He opened his fist and dropped a fibula on my lap. It was silver, made of finest, intricate thread, the small hammer marking building it into a unique piece of art, round with an alert deer peering around. It had been the one Vago took from Mother when she died. I stared at it, unable to comprehend what it meant.

'Balderich received it as a payment for the help he gave to locate your father. He did weep, a bit, when he saw it, but he would rather lose a daughter than his own sordid future. It was in his hoard under his seat, and I risked a lot to steal it.'

I cried bitterly, and he kept a steadying hand on my back. He was patient and spoke softly to me, hoping I would be all right, and I let him console me until the tears were spent. I shuddered, crushing the fibula in my fist in anger.

He nodded and spoke softly. 'I am leaving, Hraban. I think you should come with me. We go north, and leave this unhappy land to itself. I know you betrayed your father, Bero told me as he showed me this.' He procured Odo's bottle and twirled it between his fingers. 'Should you stay and your father wins, perhaps you would not enjoy his company after what you did. And if he dies, you cannot stay with Balderich either. I wish no part of their future. Come with me.'

I did not have to think about it. I wiped my tears and swallowed in anger. I took the bottle from his hands and gazed at it. I would see them suffer. Balderich and Bero, no matter what Father thought of me.

Catualda looked moved as he sat there, understanding what I was about to do.

He gagged, shook and took a deep breath. 'You inspire me, Hraban. You do. Therefore, I will stay as well and help you, and gods hump us no matter what happens. Bero said that was to be used in the Meadows. If your father is to stand a chance, the vitka must be incapacitated. But how will you get there?'

I was thinking hard and shrugged. 'You will go and tell them to move. Tell them Maroboodus is sighted up north, and they must make haste.'

'Fulch the Red is not the sharpest man in the Hard Hill,' Catualda allowed, his eyes narrowing. 'I will do this. I will try. Let us hope Leuthard is not there, for that would doom us. I shall go at once, for the sun is setting. They should be there, every vitka present, all praying. Let us hope for the best, Hraban, and I thank you for inspiring me with your self-sacrifice and bravery!'

I nodded at him. 'Father might welcome you, if not me.'

'We will see. If he should, I shall work to elevate you in his eyes,' he told me, and we clasped hands, and he left.

I sat there, cursing my relatives, fingering the remains of my mother's fibula. They had terrible plans, and the plans had called for a sacrifice of blood, and I could not forgive them. I would do everything in my power to topple Balderich and Bero, gods help me.

I remembered Odo's request, and cursed coarsely as I clutched his bottle, ran down to the docks, and climbed the moat, unseen. I ran inside a quiet house, one that looked strangely Germani, but with something Roman about its thick, wooden colonnades and subtle details. Balderich and Bero. The two-faced bastards honeying me with sweet words.

Grandfather had received coin for the deaths of my family, Hulderic's and Sigilind's included. I felt like a leaf in the current as I rummaged around the strange, very clean house with paintings on the walls. Soon, in the foyer, I found a sturdy stone altar with weird idols. I found a statue of Hercules, a Germani looking man with a curly beard and a hefty club. I also noticed a small pendant statue of Mercury, god of thieves. Marcus had told me about the tiny wings on his feet. It was beautiful and strange, and so I took it, too. I would need all the gods on my side, and this god was tricky and likely understood young fools, perhaps better than our own gods did.

I ran up the hill and spied Balderich standing with some chiefs, laughing merrily, a bit drunk and happy. I hesitated, the fibula in my hand, and approached him. He noticed me, nodded at his companions and came to me.

'You have not,' he said, a bit worried, 'come to regret our friendship, Hraban?'

'No, Lord,' I lied. 'I just wonder at a rumor I heard. Could not be true, or perhaps it is?'

'What rumor is this, boy? The tribes are full of gossiping men and women.'

'Will you die here, in Hard Hill, long years from now, or shall you seek a peaceful, beautiful place someplace else? In far Gaul, perhaps?'

'Ah!' he said, ashamed, but apparently relieved. 'I will visit Hard Hill, Hraban, often. But the rumor is true. One day soon, I hope to relax and enjoy some peace. I will let Bero launch his war with the Vangiones, but I am too old, Hraban. Too old. I will toast his success, and pray my daughter is avenged, but you see I cannot fight, can't you?'

'Why would Rome welcome you?' I asked.

'Why? For coin. I will pay for a modest villa,' he noted. 'I am not rich enough to live like a king, but I will enjoy some comfort,' he told me. 'They won't even know who I am.'

I smiled. It was the hardest smile in my life so far, and I just shrugged at him as I squeezed the fibula in my hand. He lied like a filthy dog. 'Yes, of course. I will miss you, Grandfather.'

'I will visit, Hraban, oh yes,' he told me and turned as a man was pulling at his sleeve, and so I took my leave.

Catualda had not lied.

I ran out of Hard Hill, trying to fathom the right way amidst the twisting buildings and fences of the nightly village and the many strange fields. Then I got my bearings and ran, terrified at the many alert guards likely in place around the woods. I ran a long time, thanking Nihta for the many grueling hours of torturous training, when a cavalcade of horses rode out of the night. I fell on my face and saw them pass, and noticed Catualda amidst them, Fulch the Red, Ermendrud's father scowling behind his back. The young, fat-lipped man was gesturing for the north, and the men were whipping their horses madly. I grinned and hoped they would not hang Catualda, should things go badly for Father after all.

I ran over dark pastures, made my way across wild fields and sturdy fences, dodged sleeping cows and pasturing horses, and ran from a startled guard dog. I was panting hard, covered in a clammy sweat, and surprisingly tired when I made it to the small copse of wood. There, in the dark, I saw some men had been left behind, a few guards looking forlornly at the dark, whispering to themselves in their suddenly lonely vigil. They were pointing north, not too far, where a curious sight was taking place. A building was on fire, and I saw horses and men running about near it, like shadows briefly visiting the world of the solids, these wraiths seemed to be waging a battle. A series of distant yells were heard, and I was sure this was the troop

Catualda had left north, full of high champions and deadly warriors. What could they be fighting with? I shrugged and decided it did not matter, sneaked slowly around the few men guarding the vitka and went forward.

I took a deep, ragged breath, plunged to the holy wood, and nearly screamed at a tiny marmot crossing my path, for I was scared and tense. I looked around, and calmed myself. It was a small, ancient wood, where old idols and strange amulets were hanging from ancient alder tree branches like bizarre dolls, leering and staring at me in the weak light of the moon. I felt like a mouse on a clear field, the gods looking at me with judgment and disapproval.

There were no guards as far as I could see, only the few unhappy men I had already passed. Catualda had done his deed well, and I blessed him, and wished him luck.

I went deeper, sneaking, moving my feet like I had seen Nihta do, brushing stones and twigs aside carefully. Amidst the tress ahead, I saw shallow beams of light and headed that way. There, in the middle of the woods, was a place of flowery tranquility, a meadow full of colorful plants, lit by fierce torches. Two women were seated in front of an old, painted stone, and Wulf was sitting on it, changing his woolen clothes to heavy furs. A young girl, I noticed, was looking around behind the two women, bored, but directed to remain still by one of the women.

I caught a glimpse of the girl's pretty face and cursed.

She had a dimple on her cheek. There was something familiar about her, and I wondered how such a tiny thing could have such a part to play in the plans of the gods. Then again, so did I, and I snorted.

A dozen or more figures hunched in a shadowy circle around the stall, humming. Wulf was chanting strongly now, finally dressed in a weird suit of gray feathers and dark furs, asking mighty Donor to bless the solemn prayers and high Woden to grant them much-needed wisdom. His beard was jutting stubbornly, his neck adorned with thin silver chains. He had grown prosperous after he rode in with Bero.

I saw the ruin of an old house and groped my way in the darkness, feeling the used trail that led some ways to the side of the shack, over a flat, mossy rock. I went forward. There was a small hole, a deep cellar near a boulder. I nearly fell into a dark passageway, for the stone was slippery, and I swore softly. I looked back, but no one was coming. Soon, I was taking some careful steps into the frightening darkness. Inside the hole, a musty smell filled my nostrils, and I tried to adjust my eyes to the darkness. I groped around and found a wooden barrel where funny smelling liquid was cool to my touch, and I had to stop myself from licking my own finger. I took out the wooden vial Catualda had given me and opened the stopper.

I thought of the vile pretender, Balderich, and cursed the madly corrupt Bero. I imagined their faces as they praised me and imagined the laughter that they must have shared at my slain family's expense. I poured the small amount of liquid to the barrel.

I was going to move up, but then a man was coming, his steps heavy, and he was close enough to smell his sweat. I heard him scrambling on the rock. I froze and remembered how our warriors avoid looking at a torch or any other light before going out at night, and I realized that the man could not see as well as I did. He was muttering and fumbling his way down the stairs. Then he grabbed something that sloshed around as he carried it up. His leg brushed mine, and I held my breath. Then he was gone.

I followed him and lay down near the track. Wulf was beckoning to the man, and he brought the cask over to the stone. The old vitka was praying with a steady voice, shuddering a bit as he kept up the constant, annoying murmurs, in which the others now took part in, rhythmically calling out to the gods. I heard Woden's name several times, and I was about to lose patience when Wulf finally took a wooden bowl and plunged it into the cask. He sprinkled some liquid on the stone and then dipped his wand in the liquid. Then he offered the bowl to the girl, who tentatively took it to each of the men.

They drank, drank deeply, and the girl passed it back to Wulf, who was chanting and bowing rhythmically.

The child and the women had not drunk. Nor had Wulf.

That thought hammered at me as I regarded them, and I knew I had failed, or rather, Odo. He should have known the ritual. Wulf would be free to act, and so would the women. In addition, I would not take the girl anywhere, which was the only relief for me.

I waited. I heard distant, brazen horns from the hill, and Wulf glanced that way.

'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 sorry, 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.'

Varnis stood there, silent as a dead man and grim from the mockery until the noise abated. Some chiefs were thrumming their shields with their spears, but most were watching Varnis warily. The Sigambri sneered. 'Friendship? The Romans are no friends with any of us. No, they are building rivers so they can have a shortcut up to the turbulent sea they call Mare Germanicum, and then to east to your Mare Suebicum. Their words, for they name our very own waters after their own fashion. These seas are the keys to the rivers Albis and Visurgis, as well as this Rhenus of ours. Note, again, Roman words and Roman names. With the control of these rivers, they can put their legions anywhere with impunity. You see, they are not content on building forts Ara Ubiorum, Moganticum, Batavorium, and the dozen other smaller camps on the banks of Rhenus. For them, the forts are not for useless defense, they are useful staging grounds for an assault. That is why Drusus took his troops north with ships to subjugate the timid Chauci, Frisii, Canifetes, and whoever they want to. Then, next year? Us. And the Cherusci, our eastern neighbors? Year after, you? The Chatti and the Marcomanni? They will call it Germania! Perhaps Augustus Germania, and throw in Magna and Minor here and there as they go on! No, our problems are common ones.'

Men roared in explosive anger and unexpected support, for Varnis was a convincing speaker, and it is very easy to move a heart of a Germani.

It went on and on, their faces red with dreadful anger, some with sullen concern. Varnis waited until the Thing was nearly silent again. It took a long while. 'And here you are. Waiting. Not only do the Matticati to your north host a Roman fort, Castrum Luppia, they call it, being built in their lands, but now the Marcomanni trade with Rome. Fat Roman merchants, filthy Roman wares, strange Roman dress.' He gestured at my grandfather's Roman footwear. 'And I should be surprised if there were no precise Roman plans brewing in this town. I rowed my unsuspecting ship to the clenching jaws of the southern wolf.' Insults and agreement tore the night air. Other men started to fight amongst themselves. I saw Adalfuns in the crowd. He knew I had been to the sacred grove. He knew I had made my hard decision. He did not yet know if I would be a good friend, or a necessary enemy. I did not either.

Balderich screamed, 'Silence! Silence! Stop it!' He got up and stalked around Varnis, who kept his calm. Men went silent, neighbors stopped arguing.

'So,' Balderich started, his face ashen. 'You come here, complaining about our traded wares, the very food you eat, and the apparently unpleasant company you have. We trade with Rome? Yes. We plan with them? No. What possible use would these lands offer them, when there is little to be gained here? Mosquito-filled dark woods? Our measly, small-boned cows they sometimes think large dogs? I have led the Marcomanni to peace with Rome, for we have plenty of enemies nearer at home. They may kill you up there in the north, for they are tired of your ceaseless forays, but us? Why would Suebi fear Rome or make common plans with them?'

It was not an unusual Thing. Such discussions had been on the rise since Rome had started to build the mighty Rhenus River fortresses, and many a farseeing chief had tried to forge unlikely alliances, gotten stumped to the crack of the ground for it and opted to try warfare to bring men under common banners. They called themselves kings, and no Germani followed one willingly, and thus, they had failed. Peace and subjugation to Rome was easier to accept, I thought, and wondered if Gernot was wiser than he looked and sounded when he wanted to crush our independent ways. I felt nauseous as I stared at the sight of men arguing, drinking and waiting for my father.

Then I understood Bero was not there.

I turned around, surprised. His banner was not standing next to Balderich, and I wondered at that, since many of his champions were there, standing calmly, leaning on their shields. I looked at Leuthard, his closest man and that man got up, grunted some orders at his men, who nodded. Leuthard strode off into the dark, some fifty unusually well armored men striding after him, the bodyguards of Bero and Balderich. I shook my head in confusion, and stared at the serried ranks of the enemies and thought of Nihta's words of Father having deep plans, of Catualda and the men that had been riding in the night. There had been a battle of sorts in the dark, but with whom? My head spun as I sat there wondering, and then I understood.

I had been right.

It would have been idiotic foolery for Father to ride to the Thing, no matter if the vitka and some champions were dead as stones. Obviously Father was not going to ride in, docile and foolish. The hundreds of men on the hill would not break their solemn oaths to Bero. Fact was that Father would die, no matter what had passed, and Bero knew this. He had another plan.

However, where was Bero on his moment of triumph? What would make the old man miss this night, the very night he had so long waited for.

I stiffened in horror, the many implications of what had happened in past weeks sinking in.

Father had expected I would betray him.

All he would achieve that night was due to me. I had told Bero about his dead son. I had told him of the bane of his family, the Head Taker was gone. I had betrayed my family, and told Bero what he must have been aching to know since the death of Maino. He would be there, on that place his son was supposedly buried, willing to put all other matters aside for that.

I swooned as I thought about it, feeling used and foolish. I thought about Catualda and how conveniently he had appeared, and realized he must have been working for Maroboodus. Why had Catualda told me of the betrayal of Bero and Balderich at all? I had done my part, after all, a sickly, sadly traitorous part by telling Bero where Maino was buried, but it was done. Surely they could have killed the vitka and the völva on their own after Catualda had removed the guards.

However, Maroboodus had no vitka or völva to support him and needed Tear and Odo, and the two sibilant bastards were bent on the outcome of the prophecy, and it was the idiotic, easy to fool Raven who had to fetch the girl. In that, I had also failed, and I giggled to myself as I kept my head in my hands, shaking it gently.

Father had bet all on one stroke of luck, that I would betray him, that he could pick Bero off when he was weakest. Otherwise, he would have failed and would never have shown up in the Thing. He would have been disgraced, his face lost, and it would take years and years to gather men from outlying tribes to take Bero on in a war, a war that would leave the whole tribe shattered, bereft of power.

I glanced at the retreating Leuthard and his men marching off to the darkness and hesitated only for a moment before I got up. I was about to slip after them when a young man rode to the camp, vaulted off his wild, lathered horse and sprinted for Bark. He went to his knees, and I saw him drop the statue of Hercules on Bark's lap and showing the bloody gladius at the old, tar-bearded man. His face betrayed utter hopelessness, abject fear, and so I ran after Leuthard. Behind me rose a storm of indignant yells when the Marcomanni learnt of the murder of their holy men and women, and I heard Varnis screaming in rage, happy to point out the Romans were not to be trusted.

I ran and ran, kept under cover and saw Leuthard march out of the town with the best men of Hard Hill, where a hooded horseman joined them from a copse of wood. I saw his dark hair gleam in the light of torches, seated a bit tilted on a side of his saddle, and a man joined him, holding his banner of skull and feathers. It was Bero. My great uncle rode off towards the night and northern shores, leading the men after him. He desired to speak with his long-lost son. It was close to midnight.

I flitted after him, eager to see what would befall. I ran in the night like an old wraith, clever and unseen as the torch bearing men were leaving the village, running now through the evening, their shields clanking.

Soon, they trailed a small muddy road by the mighty Rhenus River, Bero hastening, and I felt a momentary pain at his terrible burden, one he had carried for a long, long time. He expected to see his foolish, unhappy boy, but he had loved his son, and I envied Maino for that. Yet, Bero had plans that had taken my happiness away just as Father's arrival had, and I hardened my soul at what would surely happen.

Some nightly beech trees were swaying ahead and then, a silent, moss-laden clearing of harmony and peace opened up. An old, crooked rock with carved symbols was standing in sight, and Bero took slow, involuntary steps forward in the wet grass as the spearmen spread out. I crouched in some thistles and observed the uncanny sight, wondering if Father had indeed spoken the truth and a ghostly man would appear. Time passed as Bero walked around the stone, weeping softly with his hands out, speaking and begging to the dead and the merciful gods, but nothing appeared, and he slumped to lean on the rock, clenching his fists in agitation and anger.

Father appeared with his men.

A horse whinnied in the deep dark woods. Then torches flared and flew in lazy arches to the clearing, some going out, others burning fitfully, and Leuthard roused himself and commanded his men forward. They ran, the best men of Hard Hill, Leuthard's own picked men, Balderich's iron and leather-clad guards. They formed a line of men around the stone, a double line of spears and interlocked shields, determination playing on their savage, bearded faces as more torches flew in. Bero got up, scared and unsure, but then determined as he pulled his hood down.

Horses rode out of the darkness. There were some eighteen great beasts, and Father was at their head. Bero's eyes went large as eggs at his sudden presence, and Leuthard was cursing, shield on his arm as he ran to his master's side. Maroboodus was grim to look at. He was covered in fine dust, brown dirt, and both old and new blood. His sword, which was the Head Taker, was glittering on his hip. I stared at the sword. How? Had he cheated Woden in the sacrifice, or had the gods given it back to him? I saw Bero stare at the baneful sword, as well, his face ashen, gray from fear. Another lie and scheme by Father.

Maroboodus got down from his horse. He shook his dented helmet off and handed it back, where a man rode up to take it. The man who took it was Nihta, and next to him rode Guthbert and the weak Gernot, who was carrying a new, impressive standard. A black cloth hung on a cross pole, in it a red painted, rampant bear. All of Father's men were in similar, war-torn condition. Dirty, silent, deadly. They had already fought that night, and I understood what had happened as Catualda rode after them, his face grim and featureless. He had indeed made a deal with Father, and I hated the consolations he had given me when I learnt of Bero and Balderich's plans and deeds. He was a schemer, and I would never trust him, I decided, no matter if he had spoken the truth.

'You dare to challenge me with so few men?' Bero said thinly, gathering his strength.

'No, Bero. I would never challenge you thus. You are too powerful for me to ride to the jaws of your power. I am no fool, Uncle. So, I am like a wolverine, full of rage yet canny enough to bite at your ass. The men you had guarding the hallowed Meadows are dead. Your son led them to us. None escaped.'

'My son?' Bero asked, taking an involuntary step forward as he noticed Catualda sitting there silent, brooding. He looked haughty, utterly cold at his father's agonized look.

'He will have no part in your plans with Rome, Bero,' Maroboodus spat.

'What plans?' Bero hissed but shook his head and swallowed. 'Where is Maino? Or did you have Hraban betray me, as well?'

'Hraban?' Maroboodus asked. 'That boy is unreliable, unreliable enough to serve me your head, my Lord. He betrayed me, but it is as it should be. He hates me, you see, and likely loved you for a while until Catualda spoke with him. But when he spoke to you of Maino, Hraban thought he was doing you a favor, so it may comfort you to know not everyone tried to stab you in the back. Maino did not die here.'

'He did not?' Bero asked softly, utterly furious now. 'Very well. We are here then, Maroboodus, with no vitka or …'

'They are dead, Bero. Your vitka and völva,' Maroboodus spat, grinning at the men in the battle line, facing him. 'All gone.' They stared back at him, terrified at Maroboodus's calm demeanor and news of the dead priests.

'You dare touch them?' Bero hissed.

'Your Roman friends killed them, not I, but the timing was impeccable.’

‘What Roman friends?’ Bero hissed.

Father laughed. ‘And do not lecture me of daring to touch vitka, filth who buys gods with Roman coin.'

I spat. Even if Bero was guilty of selling the Marcomanni to the Romans, Father approved of the murder of the vitka, a vile deed. I wondered which one was the fouler man.

'Roman coin?' Bero hissed. 'What other use does it have, Maroboodus? But here we are, vitka or not. You have killed my men in droves, like a murderer in the night, a foul coward, but a brave thousand remains, and you will not best the fifty fine men here. All hardened veterans, my own and those of Balderich.' The men in the line stiffened with pride and thrummed their spears on shields as Maroboodus nodded at them, grinning like a denizen of Hel.

A hand grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pushed me out where all could see me. I noticed Gernot's eyes grow large in surprise, as did those of Maroboodus. Bero glanced my way, and there was a hint of pity in his face, and I hated him for it. I turned to look at the man who had tossed me out of the woods, and it was the thick-necked Melheim, brother to Isfried. Behind him stood a hundred wild, bloodied men of the south, and so I knew where Father had got his help from. The men marched forward from the woods, and Bero's face lit in a happy grin as he saw his ally, but Isfried strode out before his men, marching ponderously, his suspicious pig eyes scanning his former ally. Bero was, indeed, a former one. I filtered to the side, looking at the shield line of the south as Leuthard commanded his men to face the new threat.

'Isfried!' Bero yelled as the southern lord threw a familiar scroll over Bero's men, where it fluttered into mud.

'A traitor and a liar. You would have married Gunhild to Catualda, and given our lands to Rome in return of kingship. I would have been dead, waiting for a wife promised to me, bereft of the blessings of Aristovistus's blood. You promised this to me, Bero, after Gunhild's husband died. And here, a scroll from Roman hands where you sell us all. A murderer and a traitor.'

'What!' Bero asked softly, reaching for the scroll, but Isfried shook his head and pulled out an axe, and they charged bravely. Spears flew in the dark, and men cried as battle was joined. Father pulled on his helmet and mounted his horse, but his men stood still, and he motioned for me to approach him. I did, reluctantly.

The butchery was bitter. Bero's men were veterans, terrible men with heavy hands and much honor, objects of poems and songs, but the southerners were many, and the shield walls hit each other over flashing axes, stubby seaxes, and quick spears. Men started to slump to the ground, hollering in pain, and many were silent, slain. Bero pulled his sword and screamed at his men to fight, and fight they did, with Leuthard anchoring the line with his dark shield.

Many men fell, but finally Bero's men collapsed in two places, tired and spent, not begging for mercy. Burlein, young brother of Isfried burst desperately through some converging enemy shields, killing a man on the right and then one on the left, and the butchery began. Soon, the few remaining men ran over the bloody grass after fleeing Bero for the river, Leuthard keeping back the exhausted, pursuing men of Isfried, all eyeing the dreaded champion carefully.

Maroboodus smiled, I saw that much, as he pulled Head Taker. 'Come, Hraban. There is a boat on the river, and Bero will try to mount it.'

'But will not get away, I take it?' I asked him, and he smiled cruelly. He was a very, very cruel man, but I doubt Bero would have been any more merciful to him.

'Come with me, Hraban. We will discuss your useful duplicity later,' he rumbled as we passed a number of wounded, bleeding men who would never fight again. I smelled blood and guts as we went forward. We stopped at the riverbank, where some forty men of the south were surrounding ten loyal men of Bero. Bero was untying a small boat, being mocked by Isfried, battle madness glinting in his eyes.

'Come, my Lord. Run now, and you will regret it. You are lost, a liar and filth of a betrayer of good Marcomanni men,' Melheim yelled, the thick-necked man throwing a spear that went past Bero.

'Hold!' Maroboodus yelled, and pointed a sword at Bero. 'I offer you a deal. Let us fight, Uncle. If you win, all you wished this night might come to pass. My men will even tell you where Maino’s bones are rotting. This I swear.'

Bero hesitated and stared at the sword. Maroboodus glanced at the blade. 'This did kill Maino. It will slay men of your family, save for Catualda, who is a sane, honorable man. But what do you have to lose?'

Bero threw his hand wide. 'I am old. You suggest I fight you?'

'Fine!' Maroboodus grinned. 'Let our champions fight, Bero. If mine loses, I will come with you to the Thing and let the men judge us. The chiefs can decide between us. The loser goes to exile. And good Isfried gets Gunhild, no matter who wins!'

'I never planned to deny him Gunhild,' Bero hissed. 'You have duped him.'

'Isfried,' Maroboodus said softly, 'is of old, ancient family that stood next to great Aristovistus in the field of blood. He is not a man who is easily duped.'

'He is a dull ox,' Bero spat bitterly, and Maroboodus had to ride his horse before Bero and Isfried, who had started to charge the hapless lord.

'Our champions, Bero. Is this acceptable?' Maroboodus asked.

Bero looked resigned, but a glimmer of hope was playing on his face. He nodded and turned his face toward Leuthard. 'Face his champion, Leuthard. Beat him and guard me, as you have promised.' Leuthard's brutal face turned to Maroboodus, who bowed at the man.

'Guthbert!' Maroboodus said calmly. 'Will you champion me? I have not eaten today, and feel weak.' Men laughed at that, for Maroboodus was the greatest warrior they had seen.

The large Batavi walked up, smiling widely, and drew a huge axe from his terribly wide back, walking up to Leuthard. The two men eyed each other.

'Leuthard,' said Guthbert. 'Where is your hair? Someone cut if off after you lost in single combat?'

The bald man spat. 'Turd. I will make your skin into a drum, or perhaps I shall stretch it over my shield though I will have to paint it. Yellow is the coward's color,' Leuthard said, idly swinging his sword.

'Kill him, Leuthard. Then Maroboodus will be proven false by the gods,' Bero urged the man, not letting go of the boat but tugging at the rope to release it.

Leuthard spat on his palms, rubbing them together. 'I am sad it is not that little braggart, Nihta, shaking like you are. He would know how to make this interesting, at least.' His baleful eyes went over Nihta on his horse.

'Alas, he is also tired, having killed Fulch the Red and others this night. He is weak as a kitten, I tell you,' Guthbert noted. 'He just promised to bring your wife to me as a reward for doing this in his place. I hear she yearns for a real man.' Nihta grinned at his words.

Leuthard grunted, his skull-like face in a terrible grimace, hefted his huge black shield and pointed his bloodied sword at the Batavi. 'My wife? This is my wife. And yes, you will get her. Right in your gut, through your ass. Are you ready?'

'I'm ready, brother!' Guthbert said, happily.

'Is Mother all right?' asked Leuthard with concern. 'Last time I heard of her, she was sick.'

'She died last winter. They sent me a message from Batavorium. But father is remarried. He lives, and is grossly fat now,' said Guthbert, leaning on his axe.

'He is a goat,' said Leuthard, scratching his neck with his blade.

'He is, but I wish to grow up just like him!'

They laughed happily together as the southern Marcomanni and the surviving men of Bero ogled at the uncanny sight.

'You are my man, kill him …' Bero stammered.

'Alas, Lord. You ask the impossible. I have made oaths to my brother here, even before you. I cannot kill him. Therefore, I will leave your service, you sniveling worm. Here, I return your sword,' Leuthard said, and threw the thing at Bero's feet. Isfried's men were snickering in the circle around us; Bero's face was a thing of terror.

'Leuthard!' boomed my father. Leuthard turned to him with a sneer.

'Lord?' he said.

'I hear you have no lord?' Maroboodus asked.

'I do not, Lord,' he said.

'Here, give your oaths to me later,' Maroboodus said, and threw a huge battle sword at his feet. The bald champion took it. Leuthard bowed deep before Maroboodus, turned to Bero and grabbed the man by his throat, snake-fast, yanking the poor man into the air and threw him in a bone breaking arch through the air. Bero's remaining men retreated in confusion and fear, and Isfried nodded at his men. None of Bero's men survived.

Bero was on his face before Maroboodus and Head Taker hovered over his back. He dared not move as Father was contemplating his next move. 'Kill him then, Maroboodus. This is what we want,' Isfried said, his men done with their killing and dragging their wounded aside. 'I lost many men this night. He commands many men still.' Nihta had grabbed Bero's standard and pulled a sword as he swung to look at the woods, where he had heard a noise.

'He is promised to me,' Tear said, as she glided out of the darkness. She was dressed in furs similar to what Wulf had been wearing, and Odo followed her, surrounded by strange, filthy men and women, creatures of dark lands and mad paths, who were of their strange clan. 'We had a deal, Maroboodus. He is of the high Gothoni blood, and for my help, you will give him to me.'

'That is the deal,' Maroboodus said calmly. 'I will need you up there, this night.'

'It is agreed,' she said, her eyes flickering my way. 'I hear Romans killed vitka and völva in the Meadows.'

'This is true,' Maroboodus said with a smirk. 'Bero's servants.'

'Lies!' Bero started, but Maroboodus kicked him hard, and he moaned in pain.

'He will die, Isfried, though not by our blade. He is promised to Freya, as Tear needs him for her dark magic.'

'Yes, I see this,' Isfried said, licking his terrified, dry lips, unsettled by Tear who kneeled next to my great uncle.

'Remember what you tried to do to me, Bero. You watched as they did their deeds. I shall see you suffer as we use you. You will fuel our efforts,' she hissed at him, but I heard her.

Odo was staring at me. His eyes were moist, his thin face sweaty. 'Where is she?' he asked urgently, and Maroboodus flashed him a warning look as Isfried was present and looking on.

I spat at his feet, refusing to acknowledge him. Father pulled me to him, his face close to me as he considered me. I saw Gernot grinning at my discomfort, and I cursed him. Maroboodus whispered to me. 'You will obey me, I told you. But I knew you would not. You are a traitor. Yet, I do not wish to give you a bad death. So tell me, are they going to be displeased? Tear and Odo?'

'Likely, Father. I did not take the girl, but let her go,' I told him resolutely.

'You will not tell them this, boy,' he said, cursing me.

'Here,' I said, and handed him the bloodied hair of Veleda. 'She is dead. Tell them that.'

He took the hair and grimaced at Tear, who came forward slowly, eyeing the bloody hair. She took the hair, sniffling at it, and her eyes sought mine, and while I did look back steadily, there was doubt in her. She nodded. 'We have what we need for many answers, Hraban. We will find what is the truth. It takes time, but not long, no.'

'What is this you are discussing?' Burlein asked. 'We should …'

'Wait,' Maroboodus said. 'I have to decide what to do with you,' he whispered in my ear, and so I took out an item and held it up to his face.

'Gunhild,' Isfried said bitterly, 'should leave here with us.'

'I said wait!' Maroboodus told him and eyed the item in my hand. It was a club of the statue I had left at the Meadows.

I gathered my courage, a massive undertaking as he eyed me dangerously.

'She was promised to me,' Isfried said evenly, challenging Maroboodus, but Father was only nodding while looking at me.

He spoke to Isfried. 'We must give Gunhild time to mull on it, Isfried. She will come to you in a few weeks’ time.'

'What?' Isfried asked, angry and surprised, but Maroboodus raised a finger at him imperiously and turned to me.

'It is a club, boy. Does it have other uses than picking your nose?' he asked me dangerously.

'Bark has the statue at the Thing, and whatever you will try to convince the Marcomanni about would be seen in a very different light, should this surface. I might explain to Isfried here what it is, and even he might find it hard to trust a man who kills priests. No matter if Bero had sold us to Rome, this is no better deed.'

'You killed them, boy,' he told me evenly. 'It is your deed.'

I glanced at Odo, whose eyes were still staring at me balefully, the orbs moist. I hated him for what he had done to me. 'You wish to see who they believe? You will give me a chance, Father, a fine spear and round shield, and I will serve you. I betrayed you, but you made it so.' Shame enveloped me for the dishonorable acts of the past and the snake-like extortion I was attempting, but he nodded carefully, apparently agreeing.

'Is Bero here?' asked Bark balefully from the side. Men quickly turned his way. 'Balderich wants you to get up the hill and send men to find Maroboodus.'

'He is alive?' Maroboodus asked me carefully.

'He was not in the Meadows. This is not my fault,' I hissed at him.

'What has passed here?' Bark asked, and then his eyes focused on my hand, where the club could be seen, and his face went white as he knew I had been in the Meadows. He fingered the statue in his hand, going pale as he saw Tear raising up to her full height, her haggard face challenging him.

'Zahar!' he hissed. 'What is this? Bero …'

Tear cackled and kicked Bero's comatose head. 'Here, Bark.'

Bark took a step back, but Maroboodus's riders approached him. Bark shook his head in denial. 'Treachery.'

'Bero's treachery,' Maroboodus hissed. 'But you are safe, Bark, if …'

'I shall not obey you. Maroboodus the Foul, no? I know you. The Bear and a similar bastard to the Raven. Is my brother Wulf alive?' I swallowed at the painful memory of the man running and dying, Bark saw this and went to his knees from rage. 'And the women? Tell me they are alive!'

'I think, Bark, my men should take you to your house to rest. These terrible news have …' Maroboodus started, but Isfried stepped up, scowling at Maroboodus.

'No,' he said, and his remaining men surrounded him. 'I will wait for Gunhild, Maroboodus. However, Bark waits with me until I know what has passed here and what is the truth. I hope you are a better man than Bero was or you will face a split tribe and the vast family I head. Come, Bark, and we leave this place.'

Bark went, shaking in pain at his terrible loss. His eyes sought mine and devoured the sight of the club, and I knew there would be great trouble.

Maroboodus sat there for a while, mulling it over. Finally, he nodded, grabbed Bero's banner of crow's wings and skull and started to ride up. Odo and his men tied Bero and took him to the woods, and Tear followed Father.

We rode to the meeting, just some twenty men of the best kind, and we faced the silent throng of men. Maroboodus, bloodied, threw Bero's standard on the ground before Balderich. Balderich sat down, terrified as he saw Leuthard and Catualda with Maroboodus, knowing his plans were hopeless, and stayed quiet, hoping to survive the evening. Tear shuffled forward, her elbow apparently broken, hollering incoherently as spirits took her over, speaking of Bero's treason, of his deals with Rome, and how Maroboodus's family was slain as a favor to Rome at Bero's commands. Maroboodus wept at that, and in the end, threw the infamous scroll at the feet of Balderich, who, as a proper actor, cursed Bero and embraced Maroboodus as a long lost son. Most of the champions who had served Bero rode away, their men leaderless, but not for long as Nihta and Guthbert gave them their needed honor back as they purged the few loyal men of Bero, and that night many men hung by the river. Nihta purged the harbor, the Romans fled when they could, and blood flowed as the chiefs bowed down to Maroboodus and acknowledged him as the lord in Bero's place, which was properly for Balderich to grant, but he was just nodding.

Maroboodus threw Bero's standard to the flames and celebrated that night, granting men favor and riches, speaking of his plans of war and proclaiming his hatred of Rome, and men roared. He showed them a sack full of heads, one of the great Roman Agrippa, a mighty blow against Rome, others of the beaten Hermanduri chiefs and a few Matticati skulls, one of which was the cousin of Matticati Lord Hengsti, dead at the Hermanduri war. They roared and banged their shields with spears so hard the hill wobbled at the noise. Dread Tear made auguries of great success of Maroboodus and greatness in arms for the Marcomanni and proclaimed Maroboodus as the man who would return Marcomanni to the glory of Aristovistus and men, though mortally afraid of Tear, celebrated the bright future happily, forgetting Bero in a blink of an eye.

During the evening, Maroboodus presented Gernot with a shield, a spear. Father cast me a glance, inviting me to speak, and enjoyed my furious face. He welcomed Catualda to his service, a man who was meek, submissive, and fawning to his new master. Gunhild sat next to Maroboodus, speaking in hushed tones, Father holding her hand paternally. She had tears of joy in her eyes, but she also cast admiring eyes at my father, and had she not thought him handsome, when he had wooed Sigilind all those years ago? Had she been working with him, too? She had served me food in the feast. Surely, she had not been the one to poison me? I did not know, feeling alone and paranoid.

I, the traitor, stood aside, waiting for my shield and spear in vain. Adalfuns came out of the dark and kneeled next to me. 'Well, you chose your sides. Why did you take his?' he asked.

'Balderich and Bero were going to betray me, and their hands were red with my family's blood,' I told him, miserable. He hummed, waiting, and I shook my head as I told him what he wanted to know. 'I let her go. I gave Maroboodus a lock of hair, but she is alive.'

'Is she hurt?' he mumbled, in deep thoughts.

'She was not, when I saw her. Only … sad,' I said, tears in my eyes. He grunted.

I continued, 'I told Tear she died, that the wolves took the girl. Perhaps …'

'I'm sure she will believe you, especially now that they will use Bero's lifeforce to find more about the prophecy,' he said sarcastically. 'They will know. You see, that girl is her youngest daughter, Veleda,' he told me. 'She has a bond with her. She will know.'

I looked at him in wonder. 'And Odo would kill her, his own … This was the price she dreads?'

Adalfuns nodded. 'It is a heavy price to pay. She hoped you would go, and Veleda would not be in danger. Ever has it been the duty of their youngest to be the one they need for the prophecy's fulfillment. It does not necessarily mean Veleda will die. Indeed, her blood might be enough. But it might not. She will find out, one way or the other.'

I nodded, in shock. 'So, throughout history, the Raven of Woden was expected to find an errant younger daughter of this treasonous, filthy god?'

He shook his head. 'Prophecies are strange, Hraban. It is a game for the gods. When Woden is close to losing, he removes the pieces, and if the Raven is a fool, she is found.' He rubbed his face, tired. 'Well, you did not do what I asked you to do, but neither did you disobey me. I will help you. It will be a rough road; much grief and many tears ahead, Hraban. One day, you have to commit fully to something, for half measures leave you helpless. Three times, Hraban, I will help you. I promised Hulderic. What will you do?' I shook my head and put my face on my palms, crying. He spoke. 'You have lost your family. You have lost friends. Guilt gnaws you. You killed women, and men, and broke everything that you have been taught to be holy. Your words, your honor. You will have to find a way to live through this, Hraban, and regain the man you were, or hoped to be.'

I nodded, miserable. 'I will try. Perhaps my father will accept me, and I can fix what I have done. I have a vengeance to take. On Balderich, for killing my family. On Vago, for being his tool. On Odo, for making me a … murderer. Koun, Gernot.'

He huffed. 'By the gods, you are a murderous one. You are the oath breaker, Hraban. To your father, to Balderich. Make sure the rest will not know you as one, and try to change your wyrd,' he told me as he went to bow before Maroboodus.

Later, in the evening, Maroboodus came to me, waving Gernot off his heels. He stood before me and looked at me strangely, with little emotion. Apparently, he was drunk from Balderich's mead and his victory. He grunted and waved his hand lazily across the land. 'This night, Nihta is hanging men out there. He will take over the confused men of the champions, kill those few who resist. They took the sodden harbor, burnt the Roman buildings, and killed their masters. Any man loyal to Bero and Balderich will find their lives shortened. That leaves only you alive.'

'And Balderich?' I asked him sullenly.

'He has now embraced me, boy, and is safe. He will sit in his hall, and be silent,' Maroboodus said, and glanced at Balderich who was already silent, sitting amidst revelry, trying to fathom what had happened.

'I hate him,' I told Father. 'But did you know the vitka would die?' I asked him with doubt in my voice.

'Yes,' he told me frankly. 'Of course, they had to. Don't be stupid, if you can help it.'

'And it had to be me?' I asked him angrily.

'I need Tear and Odo, and they insisted you fetch this girl, and would have to be the one to find her, and hence, the one to do the deed. Otherwise, your role was a simple one. I needed you to tell Bero of Maino. That is all. Everyone played the game, Hraban. I made you mad as a wingless bee, hurting you bitterly, doubting Sigilind's honesty, and throwing away Hulderic's irreplaceable armor. You hated me, and you betrayed me. This was your role. I can hardly blame you, but still, you did betray me.'

'And Catualda betrayed his …'

'Ah,' he smirked. 'You hate Catualda for manipulating you. He found solace in me, Hraban. Bero and Balderich, damned traitors, would give us to the scheming Rome, and they had killed my family. In my eyes, he is above you.'

'A toad is …'

He nudged me with his toe. 'Shut up. Bark lives, Hraban, and that will spell trouble for us. Isfried was a useful tool this night, but now he expects Gunhild, and to be elevated. I am happy it did not occur to him that they might have killed me as well and risen above both Bero and myself that way. He is a bit dull, as I knew he is. Now, what shall I do with you? I have some men I have to consider, you and that Hands I hired to help you.'

'Hands?' I asked.

'He is missing,' Maroboodus said sullenly. 'I do not know if he did his job, and I paid him.'

'Oh, he helped me kill the innocent bastards,' I told him with spite.

'Fine, that leaves you. You betrayed me, Hraban. I knew you would as I drove you mercilessly. I think Gernot would have, too, but you are braver than him. I know that now, after the Hermanduri war, for he is no warrior. You stabbed me in the back, believed in them, and so you handed Bero to me and served me well. I should dispose of you, for it would be prudent, but I cannot. Tear and Odo might need you. They will never believe the girl dead, never. As I need Tear, she needs me. I need her to make sure Marcomanni serve me, and she is my truth-speaker in a land suddenly near devoid of other holy men and women. She needs me. I have Woden's Gift. And you. So, now, you will obey me.'

'I gave you my oaths,' I said, softly. 'And I knew about Isfried, and said nothing.'

'Truly?' he looked surprised.

'Felix, that Gaul,' I mumbled.

He stretched, looking bored. 'So, you did not speak of Isfried to Bero. That would have ruined everything, so I suppose I am grateful. Without Isfried, this would have been impossible. I needed his spears, and he deserved to know of Bero's real plans. He is dull as stone, as I said, but a true honest Marcomanni. For that, and the fact I need you for Tear, I take you back, Hraban. I am grateful for that one drop of decency in the sea of treason. Tomorrow, you will join a feast when the sun sets. The days after, you will suffer. Nihta will train you in the mornings; Koun will do so in the afternoon. Koun serves me now, thanks to Vannius. You understood this, right? You will be hurt, you will obey, and in the end, it is up to you how I will treat you.'

I nodded angrily. 'Koun? I will happily fight him. Until he dies.'

'You will not kill anyone unless I give you such orders,' he told me stiffly. He saw I was not convinced. He smiled. 'I am not too old, Hraban. I can have other sons, if you both fail me. You will learn to obey your father, and never again betray like you did with Bero.'

'The sword?' I asked him sullenly.

He patted the blade, grim-faced. 'Gods saw it fit to return it to me,' he told me. 'It was a good thing, too, since Bero dreads the blade. It was not really needed, but I enjoyed his look of terror when he faced it. Maino died of it, and it is famous.'

'Did Ansigar fetch it for you? He wanted to find a way to please you.'

Maroboodus laughed hugely. 'You are not stupid, Hraban. I see we will have a hard time getting along. I like my lords less intelligent. Brave, yes, but not with deep thoughts.'

'Gunhild goes to Isfried, now?' I asked. 'She does not wish to.'

'Why would she? He is a grisly boar. But it seems inevitable,' he grinned mysteriously. 'Do not worry about your aunt. She is safe.'

I stopped him with my hand. 'It is likely that I will never like you, Father. But I will serve you well, if you promise me Balderich will die one day, and so will Vago, and that you give me my place, no matter how little you like me.'

He nodded tiredly, yet happy as he had won. 'I promise. I told men there, today, that any man who brings me Vago's head will get his heart's desire. They cheered. Now, tomorrow, we will see many things. And Hraban? While you half betrayed me, it is not hopeless. As long as you are my spear, never again aimed at me, we have a chance to like each other one day. In addition, I did not mean what I said about Sigilind. I said those things to set you in a proper mindset to betray me. I did love her. Tomorrow, join me for a feast. We will have important visitors. But you shall not get your spear and shield now. You will earn them with pain, humility, and service, and pay back your duplicity.' He left, and I saw Gernot's eyes on me, his new shield and sharp spear on his side. I would have to worry about my brother now, who was a man, and I beneath him.

I mulled over Father's words, cursing him. If he had not meant the things he said about Sigilind, if he had only used me to gain victory over the vile, traitor Bero, I could hardly hate him. Yet, I had killed men and even women, and I felt filthy and unhappy as I sat there.

Listlessly, I looked at the happy men and women revel. Many Marcomanni men came to the feast and some not of the tribe, Koun included, were guarded by some fierce looking Marcomanni I did not know, men Father had recruited while in the war. My friends were not there, though, and I missed them terribly. I saw Gunhild stop her elegant dance when she saw Koun looking at her, and her eyes sought his. They stared at each other for the longest time, and when she finally turned away, she blushed deeply. I smiled at that, but did not enjoy the evening, twirling the club of Hercules between my hands, cursing Woden for my twisted road. In the deep night, I heard a man scream in horrid pain. Perhaps it was Bero, my great uncle who was a plaything to my enemies, or some other poor bastard at the wrong end of Nihta's sword.

Life had changed, and my wyrd was strange.

PART III: THE OATH BREAKER

'I am not in favor of my father, and the prophecy is a heavy burden.'

(Hraban to Ermendrud.)

CHAPTER XI

When the morning arrived, heralded by the chirping song of the birds and slivers of light piercing the tardy night clouds, there were many chiefs lying drunk at the tables and the cold grass outside the Red Hall. I had slept out all night, not able to face my grandfather.

The rulership of Hard Hill had changed. It was evident. Down in the harbors, the gates were gone. Merchants had been mercilessly slaughtered; some lucky ships had escaped though Nihta had managed to overtake one, now capsized on some sharp rocks. Maroboodus had entered Bero's hall, and had heaped out all the intricate ornaments, expensive clothes, and the assorted Roman finery; all he could find. Bero's unlucky wife had died, but none knew how. Many people were missing, dead or lost. I briefly wondered about Ermendrud. Her father had been one of the men who died when Catualda pulled the guards off the Meadows, but I decided I was too tired to care.

Finally, I decided I had to speak to Balderich, and tried to get inside the Red Hall to confront him over his treason, but Leuthard was there, and he pushed me out. 'You have a sorry hut, down there. Near your father's new hall, what used to belong to Bero. You will serve and slave, and be quiet, traitor.'

'I? And your liege lord, Bero? Is he enjoying his dawn?' I asked.

Guthbert guided me away before Leuthard could retaliate savagely. I noticed they had men unearthing Balderich's treasure, and I locked eyes with the old man from the doorway. He had tears in his eyes, and I scoffed in his direction. I showed him the fibula of Sigilind, shapeless as I had crushed it and threw it at his feet. He stared at it, and I spat at him, never heeding his tears as he bent down to pick it up. He shook his head in mute denial, but I did not care. I saw Leuthard take Aristovistus's spear and shield. They would hang in the hall of Maroboodus, fitting trophies for the new lord of the tribe. Finally, I trailed after the men as they went away and found my new home.

It was a small one. It had but one dirty room, its timbers grayed with mold. In truth, it was a former storehouse, with mouse droppings and old straw on the floor. A boy, the boy I had seen leading Isfried and talking with Nihta, was on his knees by a sack full of my things. Clothes, mainly, for I did not own much. The fabulous drinking horn I had received the day I arrived was in his greedy hand, as well as the fancy amulet of Mercury I had stolen. I walked up to him and toed him painfully. His narrow face turned in surprise. Then I booted him across the room.

'Wait!' he squeaked, but I did not care. I picked him up by his rich hair, punched him in the thin belly, and saw him out. Gernot was there at the doorway, and had to dodge the flailing missile while Catualda was not so lucky, and they landed in a heap.

Gernot walked in, unwisely. 'Clean this hut. A man commands you, and you shall jump to it.'

'You? A man? Gods’ laugh!' I told him as I turned from him.

I heard his intake of breath, indignant, and his sibilant voice soon followed. 'I will even marry first, I hear.' I glanced his way, and he grinned at me, his shield prominently on his side, framea hovering on his shoulder.

'Marry?' I sneered. 'Who would marry a witless fool like you? The village idiot?'

He spat and pointed the spear at me. 'A princess. You will see tonight. I shall be elevated so far above you that your nose is in my ass no matter how high you reach. Now, clean up here, then you will clean Bero's shithole.'

I grimaced at Gernot. 'You are so afraid I will clamber over you again. You are a coward and a weak fool. Gods, how you fear that, don't you?'

He trembled in anger, nervous, and I knew I had hit the mark. 'You will …'

I spat at him, out of patience. 'Out of here.'

He sneered back at me. 'Or what?'

I left Gernot in my hut, his nose nearly broken by a heavy fall. I remember I sat on him and stuffed mouse shit in his gaping, screaming mouth as I cleaned up the hut with him. In the end, I remember beating him with his framea spear so hard it broke on his back. I stepped on his shield, breaking the frame, and walked out. Felix was gingerly picking himself up and bowed to me, grinning and dripping blood. 'Your father does indeed wish you to serve Gernot, but I am to serve you. Hard to find a lower creature than I am.'

'A dead creature is lower, remember that,' I told him with a growl. He grinned like an idiot, and I did not trust him.

'Your friends are here, Lord, and the great Quadi,' he told me, making the word ‘lord’ sound like a joke. 'Riding into the village as we speak.' I nodded. Seeing them would be hard. I had made such a mess of my life, and I could imagine Ansbor's sarcasm when he heard of the happenings. Nonetheless, I started up the hill to see them, glancing savagely at Catualda, who could have spared me much grief, had he told me the truth, but no, they had planned I would betray Father and succeeded in manipulating me back and forth. I had nothing to say to him. He understood this and smiled gently, nodding, willing to leave me alone. Felix took after me, running as I strode on. 'Wait! I am to serve you,' he was panting.

'By stealing my belongings? I saw you at the dark harbor, when Isfried found the scroll,' I told him warningly.

He looked delighted. 'You did! Really? I thought we were alone. It was pretty good work, no? Do not tell your father. He would hate to know I failed to keep it a secret.’

‘He knows,’ I laughed.

‘Shit,’ he cursed and then shrugged. ‘So that is why I am serving you. It’s not fair. I was instrumental in tearing the mask off Bero's face! Your father promised me freedom and some wealth for my help after Catualda found me and introduced me to that Nihta. Few knew about that scroll, so they should reward me. Now I have to clean your vomit,' he spoke a bit too loudly and then hushed as some men stared at him. Most men had a terrible, head-breaking hangover.

'I hate all my family, and do not care for any of their masks,' I growled. 'And you are to do what if you serve me?'

'Why, suffer and spy on you!' he told me, and I could not help but chuckle at that.

'Spy on, then, but if you end up hurting me, you will learn what my brother just learned.'

'I run faster than he does,' he told me.

I nodded, and stopped. Coming downhill for Bero's former hall were not only my friends, but also the mighty lords of the north. I spied Tudrus the Older and the Quadi in the fore and then followed father, chatting amicably with strange lords. Felix stopped me cold as they approached. I gazed at them, Wandal and Ansbor, hoisting new spears and round shields, fine young warriors, fresh from war. In addition, I saw Ansigar, who was talking animatedly with brooding Ishild. Soon, Wandal and Ansbor were grinning at me, Ishild smiling, relieved, and held a hand on her chest. I glowered at Ansigar and waited for him to come closer.

Instead, he rode past, not looking at me. Father was nodding his head in our direction, and some of the men laughed.

'Who are they?' I asked carefully, not bothering with greetings.

'Hraban! We hear there were exciting times here, eh?' Wandal said and clapped my back so hard I fell forward. 'Where is your grandfather?'

'Yes, many things changed here. Including my respect for my grandfather, who betrayed my family to the Vangiones, as did Bero, who's now gone. Considering you come from war, though, likely you have had adventures that are more exciting. Who is the fat slob with the brilliant iron shield?' Indeed, a lord of the north, a corpulent, hairy beast, his triple chin bulging over his chest was carrying a rare, sculptured, round Roman shield on his side.

'We got made into men,' said Wandal carefully, forgetting my question. 'We fought in a strong, victorious shield wall though I am not sure if we helped.'

Ansbor grunted, slapped Wandal on the back of his head and pointed at the fat man. 'That is a Cherusci. I don’t know his name. They joined us last night.'

Felix huffed. 'Master, let the more intelligent ones help you out. That there is Segestes the Fat, a Cherusci lord of their Visurgis River gau, their westernmost one. A Roman minded fat ass that.' I smiled at that, and saw how Ansigar was dismounting.

'What is going on with him?'

Wandal looked down. 'He got a new master, eh? He was suddenly very much liked by Maroboodus, so he serves Gernot now. He tried to have Ishild marry him.' Wandal looked at me warily, apparently hoping to prove to me Ishild was trouble.

'What?' I said, and Ansbor held me back resolutely. I breathed hard. I had slept with another girl, and I was not at all sure of Ishild as a prospective wife. But how dare he? He did not know I felt something for the girl.

'He said you told him to go to Gernot, and he did. He is a man, and you a boy. You do not have a shield, do you? So do not touch him,' Ansbor said sternly.

Felix pulled me around, trying to divert me. 'And that is Inguiomerus, brother of Segestes, lord of the Albis River gau. He is the gaunt, thin bastard with a functional, simple armor and a suspicious mind, and he hates the Langobardi and Semnone Suebi with unrivaled passion. They are ever at war over the river there. Great warrior though.' I nodded, my head spinning with murderous thoughts. Inguiomerus was famous indeed, though he looked like a carrion bird. Felix continued quickly, 'And those two,' he said, pointing at men emerging from a group of Cherusci warriors, 'are a father and a son, the elder the youngest brother of Inguiomerus and Segestes, Sigimer. Note his famous wolf axe.' Indeed, the slight, straight-nosed man with brown bushy beard had a magnificently carved axe on his belt. A famous weapon, I had heard poets sing songs of Fur Splitter.

Then I saw your father, Thumelicus, my Lord.

'His son, Sigimer's. A dandy bastard, but a keen one,' Felix introduced him. 'Armin.'

Your father was taller than I was, with wide shoulders and a ruddy complexion. His blond beard was plaited in silver, and he carried a small but wide horn on his wide belt. A sword, long spatha, hung from his back as he regarded me, and his furs were rich, sable and dark in a kingly way. 'The Chatti are there, behind them,' said Felix. 'There is a meeting planned though the agenda has changed.' Felix laughed.

'Hraban!' screamed Gernot, and everyone went quiet. Maroboodus turned to look at Gernot getting helped out of my hut by a grimacing Ansigar. 'Hraban! Father, he attacked me, I did not see him coming!'

Maroboodus regarded his bloodied face and turned on me. 'Lords, excuse me.' He rode to Gernot, who was whispering and gesturing at me furiously.

Three Chatti riders appeared, and the Cherusci stopped ogling at us. Felix, ignoring the developing confrontation between Gernot and myself, continued. 'The old, spear tattoo in his wrinkled forehead is Oldaric, their war king. The young adeling Adgandestrius you already know.' I nodded at the young prince, who thumbed in Gernot's direction while raising his eyebrows. I shrugged at him and spat to show my disgust at my brother. He grinned, and I liked him, despite our past. Maroboodus shot me a venomous look. Felix continued nervously. 'His father is Ebbe. Lord of Mattium, their capital and a large gau. They have been fighting Cherusci this year, so they are pretty much in war.'

'Hraban!' yelled Maroboodus.

'Father?' I said casually, not turning, looking at Armin who looked like a young god.

'Did Gernot tell you to serve him?' he asked.

'Yes, Father, he did. Then he ran into the doorframe, fell on his spear and shield, and passed out on mouse shit. I left him asleep.'

The lords burst into raucous laughter, but Father was not smiling. 'Indeed. Well, I give you a choice, boy. You will take a proper whipping, or you will kiss his foot. Choose.'

I spat.

So they strapped me to a sturdy tree, stripped my back bare, and my father let Gernot use an iron studded belt on my hide. He enjoyed it, taking his time. Not a man said a word, and I bit my lip, forcing myself to be quiet. I smiled at the wild figure whispering to me, the godlike thing prompting me to violence. I felt his anger but stayed still and quiet. Father stopped Gernot at twenty-two. I bled but did not cry out, and for a second I think he was proud of my stubborn silence.

Gernot scowled as Maroboodus came to cut me free. 'Just serve, Hraban, and do not fight wyrd all the time. I give you a chance; take it. Now you will serve Gernot at the dinner with the women, inside the hall. You will do so before the lords. Humility will do you good.' Horrified, I shook my head and swore to Woden I would never serve Gernot, especially with so many high lords looking on. I collapsed, finally allowed to show pain as the onlookers lost interest in me.

My friends helped me sit, and Ishild came forward to address the wounds. I cursed as Ansigar smiled at her, and he looked at me curiously, emotionlessly, our friendship a thing of history. She eyed him with distaste. 'He will not get anywhere with me, Hraban. Trust me. I am true.' I blushed as I thought of Ermendrud. Gunhild came to kneel next to me.

I glanced at her neutral face. 'I am sorry for Balderich, Aunt, even if he is a murdering traitor,' I told her as Ishild was not gentle with her ministrations.

'He has erred, but we have your father now,' she said, hanging her head as Isfried rode up and stared at her, expecting a greeting. I glanced at the southern lord who had apparently sent his brothers south with Bark, and who now gazed at me carefully, his distrust of Maroboodus evident. Bark and the club he had witnessed. He must be thinking about them as his eyes lingered on Gunhild and me. She ignored him and muttered, 'Maroboodus will know what to do.'

'Where are you staying, Wandal and Ansbor?' I asked, wincing at the pain.

Wandal grinned. 'Euric has a smithy down in the harbor. Maroboodus gave it to him though it needs to be fixed properly. Apparently, there was a fire of sorts there.'

'I'll help, if I survive the feast,' I told them, cursing Ishild who was applying something terribly stinging on the wounds.

'Is he ready?' Gunhild asked Ishild. She nodded. Isfried turned away, his face clouded.

Ishild turned my face toward hers. 'Meet me later? Please?'

I nodded and forced a smile. I had many things on my mind, and did not think I would enjoy time with a woman, not now, perhaps not ever with a daughter of Tear, no matter if she cared for me. I got up and saw the lords of the north file into Bero's old hall, only to stop at the doorway to admire Maroboodus's men, standing by the walls in their war splendor.

'Put this on,' Gunhild said, giving me a new, blue tunic. I looked at it and shook my head. 'Hraban! You must look decent, you are bleeding, dirty.'

'I will stand out, certainly. And I do not have to obey you, Aunt.'

She gave me the evil eye. 'Fine. Do not wear it. But you will go in, and do as you are told.'

'No,' I said, sullenly, afraid and angry at the same time. 'By Woden, I’d rather be roasted and served in there, than be the one serving him!'

She poked me. 'Ermendrud serves me now. She spoke to your father. Go in or suffer, you womanizing bastard. Or you will be roasted indeed. Do it for me, please.'

I was less arrogant as I walked in. I obeyed her, but I did not wear the blue tunic.

Inside, the mood was somber. The Chatti and the Cherusci were sitting, their mead horns out. Segestes had wine. Women were tending the fire, others were serving delicious meat and vegetables, and fine, rich food and some dogs were lounging on the rugs. I saw Balderich's shield and spear on the wall. Maroboodus turned to me as he eyed his guests. 'Hraban, serve Gernot boar, mead, and then sit at his feet.'

I did not move, sweating in humiliation. Ermendrud be damned.

Eyes turned my way, interested in my response. 'You will not, Hraban?' Maroboodus said with deceptive calm, sipping mead, his eyes glinting. I saw Armin grimace slightly, and his head nodded slightly, with respect. For that reason alone, I took a shuddering breath and obeyed. I shivered and walked towards the side where steaming food and drinks were heaped. I saw Tudrus the Older nearby, seated with scowling Isfried, both speaking gently. Tudrus saluted me, his eyes mischievous. I joined the women, who avoided my eyes. Then I poured ale, not mead in a horn, and took a plate full of venison, not boar, resisting the urge to spit on both. I took them to Gernot. He pretended not to notice, taking perverse joy in my humiliation.

Tudrus grunted from the side. 'Take it, you sniveling, dog-bitten weakling.' Gernot's eyes flickered that way and then to Maroboodus, who said nothing, enjoying the confrontation and my humiliation. I stood still, his eyes on me, judging my patience, gauging my strength. I stiffened, resisting the urge to heap the food on Gernot’s head.

Armin nodded at me. 'Bring it to me, then. If the boy does not want it.'

I was about to, but Gernot snatched the plate and the horn, angry at the meddling by the mighty lords, at being called a boy, but I was grateful for it. 'Sit at his feet,' my father said evenly, and I did, my soul on fire. 'Now that they know their place, let us eat,' Maroboodus said, eyeing Armin. 'You are Armin, no?'

Armin grinned at my father, bowed, and spoke to him. 'I have heard a lot about you, Lord,' he said with a smile, and he stroked his blond, plaited beard. 'It was a surprise to us when your couriers found us and told us that a wayward exile had turned into a high lord of the gau, after Balderich, of course.'

Maroboodus tore off a chunk of venison with his perfect white teeth shining. 'I was never an exile, I just had to remove the man who thought so,' Maroboodus told him, and Armin bowed again, respectfully. My father's eyes went to slits. 'I have not heard anything of you, but I am sure I will. Please, some ale, mead? Slaves!' My father clapped his hands and more food and drink appeared. There was something shrewd playing behind Maroboodus's eyes as he regarded Armin, and I think Armin saw this, for he also looked at my father, gauging the lord of the hall.

It was an awkward meal.

The guests ate well enough and drank moderately. No great poems were recited, no toasts called. After an hour, I saw Ebbe smirk. I turned my head to see my father stop Gernot from drinking any more, for the fool was already too drunk. I ate nothing, and Gernot leaned his foot on my back, intentionally tapping it, being quarrelsome. I resisted a very basic urge to pummel him again, trembling with the effort. Segestes was fuzzing over the best cuts of meat, tasting wine, his face dripping juices, and he reminded me of the Roman trader, Antius. The lanky Inguiomerus ate little, but measured the wealth around him greedily.

Maroboodus gestured at the seated men. 'Now, if you are pleased with the fare, we have things we need to discuss. A Sigambri was here two days ago.'

Inguiomerus laughed. 'Sigambri, Bructeri, Marsi, others. All dying slowly to foolish greed, stubbornness, and Roman spears. They are fools. Why listen to him? It was Varnis?'

Maroboodus agreed. 'Yes, it was Varnis. His cousins Baetrix and Maelo are leading the warriors, and he is travelling to raise help. He has a honeyed tongue, to be sure.' I smirked to myself, wondering how much his help had cost Maroboodus.

Father fidgeted, and made a generous arch with his hand. 'However, is he wrong to say that Rome will pacify the northern tribes? Then, the rivers are open for Rome to rape us all. North first, then the war-torn and greedy middle Germania is next, you, the Cherusci with them. After that, us, Chatti, Marcomanni, Quadi. Is he wrong?'

Segestes was wiping his curly black beard and smiling arrogantly. 'You speak like the Romans. Germania? We do not see these tribes as kinsmen, but foes. Of the northern tribes, we know not. This Drusus is still in their lands, making his way through the bright rivers and small hills there, but can he pacify them? I know not.'

'They will crumble easily,' said Inguiomerus with relish. 'Rome takes them as a frog eats docile flies. They have no deep woods to fight in, nor hairy bull's balls to die as men. We will see them marching with the enemy yet, speaking Latin.'

Segestes shrugged and pointed a finger at Maroboodus. 'Enemies? My gau is not an enemy to Rome. The gau I govern is prosperous and very happy, yet free. I am not at all surprised that you wish to talk about alliances, considering you have a large price on your head by the vengeful Romans. I know what you did, and you don't need to get the head of Agrippa, I'm not impressed.'

Silence fell on the hall. My father was scowling mightily and breathing slowly, and Tudrus the Older was looking down. Ebbe shrugged, embarrassed. 'You would have more to discuss by suggesting a sensible peace treaty with the mighty Rome, Maroboodus. There is no consensus to fight them, never has been. That is likely what Bero had in mind too. I have heard he, in fact, planned to do more than ally with them.'

'He was a traitor and tried to sell us to them,' Maroboodus growled. 'Not something true Marcomanni can stomach.'

They seemed embarrassed by the meeting, ready to leave. Father stood up. 'Raise your strong arms, all of you.' They looked at him incredulously. 'Do this.' He put his powerful hands in front of him, fingers stretched, and they followed suite, mystified, except for Segestes who just glared at him. Maroboodus rumbled. 'Look at your fingers, see them, all strong and useful. Think a thousand such fingers and imagine that each such finger is a nation, each joint a gau. Imagine hundreds of tribes with their many men, all happy and born blessedly free, women less happy, but that is the way of the world.' They laughed. 'Imagine that each finger houses tens, even hundreds of thousands of people, with their ancestral homes, their gods, their possessions, their people's graves, and ancestors looking on, all the important history of their kin, the memories, and their achievements.' They looked at him in curious silence.

Segestes grunted irritably. 'You have forgotten, Maroboodus, that they cannot count to a hundred. The dolts are beyond your figures.' He nodded at the Chatti.

My father raised his voice, curbing any response. 'Imagine the bright stars then, lords. Just see them in your mind's eyes. For they are there, no matter if you count or not.' They still kept their hands and fingers up. My father made a fist. 'And then imagine they are no more, all they were, forgotten, everything that they have lived for, their very long history gone, forever. All that replaced by strange, foreign ways, by odd rules and inhuman laws that, at first, seem sweetly sensible and new, beguiling like the best of lovers. You hear your lips speaking of submission, convincing everyone how change is a good thing, how things must progress, and the Romans, how much better they are than us, rude people of the backward woods.' They lowered their hands. 'Imagine these ancient nations, all across the wide world, who now have forgotten their many songs, their fame and honor, even their very names, and how they now speak Latin, and live in controlled poverty. Such is the way and glory of Rome, and yea, I have seen it. Noble people forget whom they are and live a lesser life.' My father clenched his fists.

They looked at their fingers, stretching them. Segestes snorted. 'Those people were not Germani. We will not forget our ways, our lives. But we can take the best …'

Oldaric interrupted him and looked at Maroboodus. 'The Chatti are the greatest and most feared warriors in the land. You Cherusci claim otherwise, yet you know the truth. The tribes that leave us are all strong, and we keep our old ways, ever to fight those who would enslave us. However, we will not break our alliance. We have given our word to Rome. I see what you are saying, Maroboodus, but we cannot change what is. But we will fight if we are attacked, and we will win.'

Sigimer spit out a bone that clattered on the floor. 'You cannot win against them alone. Nor could we. That is what Maroboodus is saying. We should prepare. How much is enough? What is needed for you to believe that they want our lands? How many tribes to do their bidding, how many to bow to them? At some point, Oldaric, they need not send negotiators to Mattium anymore, they'll just send spears.'

Segestes laughed. 'All fine and well, lords. Prepare for war. So where are the other Suebi nations? Where are their men, their chiefs? We plan, plot, and then suffer the losses of war. Greedy tribes of the east see us weaken ourselves on Roman shields and swords, and they will march to finish us. Will the opportunistic Hermanduri and seething Semnones let us grow strong again when our clans and tribes, weak and destitute from the war yell for the victory? No, they will take us, kill us, and have our wives as playthings. Though they will not do so to Maroboodus and the Marcomanni, who are their kin, Suebi.'

Maroboodus spat. 'It happens, Segestes, that even Suebi seek advantages over their kin. Hermanduri are friends to no one. If they do try to betray us, we fight them. However, will they come for the conquerors of Rome, each man of ours armed and armored from the Roman dead? No. Moreover, you forget, they want such plunder, too. Do you think the Suebi youths from the east will ignore our success and beguiling strength? They live in terrible poverty there. They fight the destitute Sarmatians, and each other, growing poorer with every silly little war. Here, there are true riches. They will flock to us, to join us, not to conquer us. But if you worry, I have ways to keep the Suebi peaceful.'

'You? How?' Segestes asked, but my father said nothing. The famed ring. Armin was inspecting my father's hand.

Ebbe was nodding, carefully, taking up my father's exhortation. 'Will not the young men from the deep woods run to us in search of plunder and glory? Even now, many a restless Suebi lives with us. Or we can sit, drink fine wine and become docile Romans, and die as they wish, giving our dishonored children to them.'

'I ask again, how will you keep the Suebi peaceful?' asked Segestes with a sneer.

'I have my ways, Segestes. Gothoni are the key, and I have a key to the ancient Gothoni families as well as the ancient Semnone clans, and some Langobardi. They are men who respect the old stories, but it is my key,' Maroboodus growled.

Segestes shrugged, anger playing on his face. Armin smiled, fingering a silver ring on his finger, absentminded. Could he know about the Gothoni ways and the old stories? He noticed my look, his blue eyes pierced me, and soon, he was smiling thinly. I stared back. He was no fool, and he knew I was not one either.

Inguiomerus shrugged, taking a deep breath. 'If the Chatti agree to help us, we agree to help them in war against Rome, should it come. Moreover, I promise the same to you, Maroboodus, though we are not neighbors. Our fat brother will come along.' He nodded at Segestes who looked uncomfortable. 'He is too rich to risk our ire,' Sigimer growled. The two brothers controlled more than half of the lush land of the rich and famed Cherusci, but Segestes was rich in Roman goods.

The Chatti were quiet, then they argued silently. Ebbe got up after many heated words. 'We will agree to this, but only if we are attacked first. Our gods are watching, and to break our holy word would be a road to terrible misfortune.'

Oldaric spat and looked unhappy. He was evidently careful with Rome and guarded the simple treaty they had with them. Oldaric sighed, after swallowing some mead, thinking deeply, and raised his hands in a conciliatory way. 'I agree a prudent man sees what the ally is doing, and if there is a danger of being the last free people amongst dead tribes, we shall not remain so, next to die.' The Chatti brothers while disagreeing on Rome were still close family, and they clasped hands, grudgingly.

'What say you, fat one?' Adgandestrius said, smirking.

Segestes was red-faced, angry, and sputtering. He waved his hand uncertainly. He was a shrewd man. Ridiculous in appearance, fat in belly, vain and easy to anger, yet Segestes was a rare Germani, one who put little stock in martial achievements, and such men have the luxury of thinking deep and scheming easily. He looked at his scowling brothers and the equally scowling Chatti, and finally at the dangerous Maroboodus, and an unspoken discussion seemed to be going on between him and Segestes until Segestes relented. 'This is agreed. If Rome is a threat, we will work together. Cautiously.'

Maroboodus struck the table with his fist, grinning. 'Fine! Excellent. Isfried and I will get ready for war, and the Quadi have promised some help, as well. Next year, Rome will come for the heartland of our realms, the Luppia River, that is certain, and by Woden's one eye, we will be there.' I saw Tudrus the Older squirm uncertainly, not looking anyone in the eye. Maroboodus was speaking for him, but Maroboodus smiled. 'We will make the plans, and each have men at hand. We will crush the Roman slugs under our heels.'

Oldaric smiled, his tattoos stretching. 'Only if they plan to stay there, and we are threatened.'

Maroboodus grinned. 'You will see, lords. They will come with such armies you will see they intend to stay. They will build permanent forts and lay enduring roads. In the meantime, though, we have a problem. Hengsti the Matticati.'

The Chatti looked at each other. 'You wish us to stay put while you fillet our ancient brethren?' asked Oldaric tiredly. The Matticati were offspring from the Chatti.

Maroboodus pointed a finger at the Chatti. 'They are your brethren, once of the Chatti, but they are not your comfortable friends. They are an evil cousin to the Chatti, bent on being Roman. Your silly agreement with Rome is like the kiss of a maiden in comparison with what Hengsti is doing. The Matticati host a huge Roman fort in the middle of their formerly free lands. Castrum Luppia, the Wolf's Fort. Something you should think about, anyway. That fort will stop us from aiding each other.'

Oldaric scowled. Adgandestrius shot up. 'I know of it. I think we should help Maroboodus with …'

Ebbe pulled him back. 'Silence. Again, you want us to turn from them if you attack them?'

Maroboodus nodded and reclined on his seat. 'The only way for us to reach the war in Luppia is to have more peaceful Matticati, with fewer men and far fewer dangerous chiefs. I cannot leave my lands to war elsewhere if they are a threat to our flank and hopes. Hengsti must fall hard, so hard, he will not get up. They are lost to the Germani. Like the Vangiones and the Ubii.'

They talked. The Chatti were an old nation, but they were not blind to the dangers of the Matticati, and the famed horsemen had grown very close to Rome. Oldaric got up, looking like a man about to sell his loved son. 'We will let you deal with them, Maroboodus and Isfried. However, we will want assurances. What your messenger told us.'

Maroboodus smiled. 'Marriages, ties between our nobles, as I suggested.'

Armin stirred. 'I have not heard of this.'

Segestes rolled his eyes. 'You are not a lord of the gau. Well, Maroboodus, I have a daughter.' Segestes sneaked a look at Armin, enjoying the startled reaction on the adeling's face. Armin stiffened like a corpse. We all witnessed his handsome, happy face turn from rosy into a pale, dead color. I noticed his hand quivering in anger, and his tongue licked his suddenly dry lips. Sigimer noticed his distress and made an inconsequential gesture with his hand. Maroboodus saw it all, and he smiled. Your father Armin, my Lord, was in love with the daughter of Segestes, his famous cousin, and your beautiful mother. Segestes looked at his fat hands. 'She is Thusnelda, Lord. A fair, willful girl who could use someone to keep her in check, eh?'

Armin could not keep quiet. 'All well, lords, but the fact remains that the Suebi, valiant as they are, are few and far from us. Far from Luppia. They will still be far from war if the Matticati are beaten, and no matter if they ride there, it is us who should deal with the issue. It is our home. I say we ally with the Chatti, and if Maroboodus wishes to join this alliance, let him come. We do not need to bind him to us. Let them marry into the Chatti, if they wish, and we have enough common ground.'

Maroboodus said, 'No.'

'No?' Armin said, harshly.

Inguiomerus looked incredulous. 'Shut up, Armin. This is needed indeed. And decided. If Maroboodus has a way to free my men from our wars with the wild Suebi of the east, then one simple marriage is more than worth it. We need him.'

Maroboodus nodded his head. 'Yes, Armin, listen to him. We will create marriage ties across our lands. I have what you need to make the northern Suebi peaceful, and I will trust you better if we have this deal.'

Sigimer sighed and glanced over at Inguiomerus. 'It is agreed. Which one will marry her? One of your young sons?'

Maroboodus glanced at Isfried. 'I will marry her. I have no wife currently, and I need a young, willing woman to remind me of other things than the war and harshness of life.'

Armin shuddered in anger. Sigimer spoke carefully. 'Surely one of your sons? You are old. Lord?'

Father smiled, but I saw he was hurt by the insinuation. 'If there is a man willing to test my tottering hand in battle, I am ready.'

Sigimer and Inguiomerus conferred, looking resigned. They nodded. 'We know your high worth, Maroboodus,' Sigimer said, shifting his eyes worriedly at Armin, who was stone-faced, but apparently cursing under his breath.

'It is settled then,' Maroboodus said. 'She can bear many children?' Armin made a voice of distress.

'She is able; I am sure. She looks healthy, and I see no reason why not,' Segestes said with a lavish gesture. 'I will ask the gods to bless her.' Never has a man been tortured so as Armin, your father, Lord. His lips were white, and he held his peace only with Sigimer's arm squeezing his shoulder. He would be a great champion of the free people, but the mystery of love is a force to divert even the noblest men from the straight path. Armin, I saw, would fight this decision, and Father saw it, as well.

Ebbe took a long swig of ale and then interrupted Segestes. 'And what of the Chatti? You speak of us as the iron fist you need, yet you give away your best fruits amongst yourselves. Who shall we marry to whom?'

Sigimer took Armin's hand and squeezed it. 'Armin, a fine man, and Rochus. These are the boys I have. Inguiomerus has no one left, Segestes has a son, I think, but he is to be married? Yes. So, it is my boys.'

Armin hissed something, but Sigimer ignored him. Ebbe stared at him, Oldaric as well. They, too, looked at each other, and I suddenly felt sorry for Adgandestrius. Oldaric got up. 'I have a daughter, Albine, who will marry him,' he said, and pointed at Armin. 'She is also very fair, uncommonly wise, and healthy, with not even a bout of fever in her past. Can you afford a dowry?'

Sigimer nodded, suspiciously. A dowry for a princess was high indeed. 'It will be arranged, and Armin accepts.' Armin did nothing, smiling like a skull would.

Adgandestrius was up, his face incredulous as he shot a venomous look at Armin and stormed out. The older men laughed, tipping their horns happily to each other. Maroboodus toasted. 'To young hearts, broken in ways a sharpest spear could not.' Armin did not toast but looked down, his jaw rigid, humiliated, yet holding his peace at great effort.

Oldaric smiled at Ebbe, who shrugged. 'I respect Adgandestrius, but Albine needs to marry for dowry and power.'

Ebbe was nodding his head, uncaring. 'Adgandestrius has to grow some. If he wants Albine, he has to work it out for himself.'

Sigimer nodded. 'And Armin here,' the Cherusci noble said, 'must accept Segestes will never accept him as Thusnelda's husband. Be that right or wrong.' Sigimer eyed Segestes with hostility. Segestes snorted but did not look up.

Ebbe's keen, piercing eyes regarded Gernot and then me.

I felt like a man going to be selected for a sacrifice, and I gulped instinctively. I sat still, Gernot's toe grinding purposefully onto my back. Ebbe nodded at Maroboodus, his face happy, having apparently made up his mind. 'Now, you and the Chatti, Maroboodus. I have a daughter, Gunda. She is a very calm, very wise girl.'

Maroboodus nodded. Calm and wise and so not likely pretty. I hoped she looked like a wart-ridden hog, had a temper of an irate hog, and Gernot would suffer terribly for her. Maroboodus placed his scarred hand on Gernot's shoulder. I felt my fool of a brother get up to bow to Ebbe, but he was a drunken bastard and stumbled, trying to grab my shoulder. I saw my chance as I moved out of the way, only so much, but enough to tip him over. He sprawled over my wide shoulder with a scared bellow and a vile curse and landed on his face in the hay. I smoothed my ruffled hair back in place, keeping a stoic face as the drunken mule got on his feet in front of me.

It was all enough to make me the one who was going to be married to the calm and wise Gunda.

Ebbe gazed at Gernot, swallowed his evident disgust, and Maroboodus slumped as he guessed what was coming. 'I value my daughter very high. You value your fine boy, and I do not dispute his worth. However, since you tied yourself with the Cherusci, yourself, not your lesser boys, we reserve the right to choose our husband. So it is him,' he said proudly as a god and pointed a dooming finger at me.

'He is no man!' Gernot shrieked unmanly. 'He is but a simple brute, who …'

Ebbe slammed his horn on the table. 'He is smart enough to make a fool of you, boy, and he is my choice. He has strong character, plenty of pride but also intelligence in abundance to shut up when it is needed. What say you, Maroboodus?'

My father's eyes glittered in indecision. 'I do not trust Hraban. If he is the one to marry Gunda, he will have terribly many responsibilities, far beyond his few capabilities. I … do not know.'

Ebbe put his palms up. 'In that case, in a few short months' time, you send them both to us, and our wise vitka chooses, in the lands of the Chatti. We still prefer him, but if he fails, utterly? Then, Gernot. Perhaps.' Oldaric shook his head. They despised Gernot, and I loved them for it.

Maroboodus nodded calmly, his keen mind redoing his plans. 'So, Hraban. You are half-betrothed. Get up, sit down, and enjoy the feast.' I did, wondering what had happened. Half-betrothed?

Oldaric stood up. Despite his reservations, he was also caught up in the brightening mood of the formerly sober feast. He raised his old hands. 'So, if Rome is indeed going to try to take our deep lands, going to stay in free Luppia, then let her fear. Never have so many dangerous spears been raised to a worthy common cause. When the Matticati are scattered and weakened, we must devise a plan on how to move our men there in the spring, and …'

Isfried got up, men quieted. 'When, Maroboodus, will I marry Gunhild?'

Maroboodus was quiet for a while, long enough for the guests to start looking at each other. Armin, his face dark with anger, shifted his gaze the southern lord.

Finally, Maroboodus nodded. 'I told you, Isfried, already. She needs some time to come to terms with some of the happenings of the past days. Soon, Isfried, my friend. Soon. The blood of Aristovistus will be yours.'

Armin sneered. 'Is it not the father of the woman who gives her away? Not his warlord?'

Maroboodus played with his mustaches. 'Yes. Balderich agrees, of course. In due time, Isfried, and very soon. How is Bark, my Lord?'

Isfried opened his mouth, his animal-like eyes betraying distrust. Bark. Father was dangling Gunhild in front of the unhappy face of Isfried and would not release it until Bark was gone. Finally, reluctantly, Isfried took a horn of mead and raised it. 'So be it. Soon. After that, I give my oaths to you, Maroboodus. To spear-rending war, lords! Let them tremble!'

They yelled, save for Segestes and Armin, and myself. I sat on Gernot's seat, forcing him to take a lesser one, and I ate his food and regretted I had not given him boar, but a girl came and served me. I was happy enough for few moments, thinking about Gunda, determined to talk with Adgandestrius about the way she looked. That night, amidst the calm revelry, Armin brooded. He went outside sullenly, and I saw him talking with a man as he stood there in shadows. I summoned Felix to me. He looked upset. 'What is it, cur?' I asked. 'You stepped on dung?'

Felix growled. 'If I had, I would have eaten it. They have not fed me. I was going to stab a docile Cherusci horse, for they looked juicy. Then skin, gut, and eat it. That is what I was about to do.'

'You get food at Euric's smithy, Felix, I see to it. Some simple cereal, perhaps raw barley. You look like a spoiled rotten piece of gristle. Now, stop moping,' I said, collecting my thoughts.

'I'll eat the fat man's horse,' he said softly. 'And leave the bones in your hut.'

'Shut up. What did Armin do outside?' I asked. 'He left just now.'

'Oh, the god face? He went to have a piss. He is well hung, if you must know.'

I spat. 'I do not want to know, you twisted bastard. Did I ask about that? Be gone!' I said, but saw Felix's eyes gleaming, his mouth screwed up in a smile. I growled at him, and he leaned closer.

'He had company. That Catualda spoke with him, for a long time. It was an extended piss, Lord. Catualda is not well hung.'

'Do not call me a lord. It makes me feel dirty. Catualda?' I looked across the tables, where Catualda was now sitting next to Isfried. They were talking in hushed tones, not happily, but with gestures that spoke of argument.

'Armin, he also apologized to the enraged Chatti prince. The prince was coming for him with a quivering spear, but they ended up embracing each other. Jupiter knows what that was. Perhaps they are lovers?' Felix suggested lewdly, making an obscene motion with his hips.

I snickered and slapped him. He scattered off. 'Euric's hall, Felix. He will feed you or beat you.'

Catualda saw me staring at him and came over, gauging my mood. 'Marriage to a Chatti?' he asked, smiling uncertainly. 'High honor.'

'I cannot help being handsome, Catualda. What are you talking to Isfried about?' I asked him neutrally, disliking him for having manipulated me.

Catualda glanced at the sullen lord. 'Your father asks me to smooth the nerves of men who distrust him. Paranoid Isfried and impossibly situated Armin are such men. That makes me busier than a Valkyrie after a great battle. Bero's death has made Isfried very difficult. Bark is insisting it was not the Romans who killed the vitka, and he is paranoid about that as well. He does not know who is false, who is honorable. Try to survive,' he said, leaving, but I stopped him.

'I try, Catualda. You did well, with the business of changing your alliances. In fact, you changed them far before you were … inspired by my bravery, as you called it. Tell me, does such an act make one feel like a rodent?'

'I do not know, Hraban,' he said with a cold smile. ‘Maybe you should just bear the shame in silence. I work for your father, and he trusts me. Do not annoy me overmuch.' He ripped his arm free and left in a huff. I disliked him.

Maroboodus leaned over to me. 'What did he want?'

I shrugged. 'He annoys me, and is ugly as a bloated trout.'

Maroboodus snorted. 'Get over it, Hraban. So you cried in his deceitful arms, so what? He told you the truth.'

'Ah, he told you about that,' I growled.

'He gave you comfort for Bero and Balderich's crime, and perhaps he meant it, no matter if he worked for me already. Yes, he could have told you about our deal, but he is keen enough to know how to handle a fool like you. He has a position here, Hraban. He is trying to …'

'Smooth over wrecked nerves, all save mine,' I snorted.

He laughed. 'He does as I asked. Good.'

'You trust him to work on such delicate nerves as Isfried's and Armin's?'

'I told you; he is keen enough to handle such matters. He came to me, Hraban, and was key to killing the cursed priests and whittling down the enemy, giving information on Bero's simple plans. Now, everyone thinks the Romans killed the vitka, and that is how it will remain. I am a high lord of Marcomanni. I reward those who serve me very well. He did. You have a lot to prove, Hraban.'

'I did serve your interests, or Isfried would sit in this feast as a guest of Bero's,' I told him softly, not looking at him. He grunted noncommittally. 'If I marry Gunda, the ring goes to me?' I asked him, knowing I was pushing my luck.

He looked at me incredulously and then ran his fingers through his hair. 'You must be mad. Utterly, entirely out of your damned mind. No. You will hold it for the marriage, perhaps, but you heard the Cherusci. They will eat out of my filthy hands if I can keep the wild Suebi out of their much raided lands. And I can, mostly. That ring is a powerful thing, something Bero hunted for long years. Remember, Hraban, my father stole it. I took it to Rome. It is an elusive thing, that ring, and I would not think about it too often.'

'I hear the Semnones and the Langobardi might respect the old myths, but what if they think this is not the real one, our ring? Surely any fool could ride around, looking high and haughty, hefting a fine ring, claiming to be son of Woden,' I asked in spite, and for a second or two, I was sure he was going to turn away in disgust, but he sighed.

'The ring was given to Aska by Woden. A gift, to his fine, yet rebellious creation. So, Gothoni in the north, especially the ancient island of the Goth in Mare Suevicum as the Romans call it, bow to it, they know it by its looks over there. Gods have wooden and stone temples up there, and not these trees the common vitka adorn with silly totems. In time, men broke away from the frigid north and came south. They know its power, the old Suebi nations, for they were once all Gothoni. Semnones have myths and so do the Langobardi, and their old ones know this ring. It is hard to duplicate. It can give Cherusci peace from Suebi, free them to war on Rome.'

I found myself enjoying the moment with Father.

His calm, rumbling words and bearing were noble, and when not degrading me, he seemed like a lord of great fame, one of the heroes with generous nature and wise, keen words. He schemed like a devious sprit, he had tricked me foully, and called my mother a whore though perhaps he had not meant that, as he claimed. However, he was a hard man to hate when he gave you his time and full attention.

He glanced at me and then put a hand on my shoulder. I saw Gernot's eyes go to small slits, and his face was ashen. Maroboodus rumbled. 'I admit, you have many qualities I had when I was your age. I was brutally whipped by a dutiful Roman soldier for not being able to obey the simplest orders when I had enlisted.' I nodded, not sure how to react to his steady hand. He saw it and squeezed my shoulder gently. 'Yes, I was brutal to you. I was. I am. I will be. I am a father more than a friend, and expect you to obey and grow, not cry and sulk. I am also a soldier, and if I punish my sons with a heavy hand, it is no different from what I have learned in my bloody past. I think you will benefit from it, too. Germani are too chaotic. Too wild.'

I nodded, struggling. I wanted to hate him. Instead, I said, 'I understand.' I was miserable, but I could not help it. The sweet mead I drank, the warmth of the roaring fire, Gernot's miserable face? They all made me uncannily happy. The nightmares of terrible deeds, my loved ones who had died, the innocents I had slain all haunted me at nights and days. I needed a father, and someone to speak to me kindly, to make it all worth it. It had been the false Balderich and Bero who had given me such comfort, but Father was there then, holding my shoulder.

I was running with the wind, and the wind changed directions chaotically, and I felt helpless. 'I will try to serve you, Father, if you will have me. I will prove myself. I will avenge the wrongdoings, and keep my previous oaths to you, out of free will. I only want Vago and Balderich dead, and your acceptance.'

'And I,' he rumbled, happily, 'will do my best to repair the damage we have suffered.'

That is all it took, and I loved him.

He saw my sincerity and took his hand away, apparently reluctantly. He eyed Isfried, who was getting drunk. He noticed Armin talking with Tudrus the Older. 'Isfried is a problem,' he mused.

I agreed. 'Gunhild would not enjoy him. Like she would not have enjoyed Catualda.'

'Catualda?' he said, musing.

'Bero meant to keep Gunhild for Catualda. Lucky for us, you found Felix, who helped you find the contract, this scroll from the Roman emissary. This is how you procured Isfried's help that night,' I said and saw him flinch. 'Is this not so?'

'Quite. I knew Bero. He has always wanted Aristovistus's blood in his family. I am sure Gunhild's husband died at Bero's hands, not on a Matticati spear.'

Isfried was gazing back at Maroboodus, and I guessed he was wondering of all he had erred by supporting Maroboodus. Bark's words were weighing heavily on his mind. Bero and Balderich's treason was evident, but had he acted yesterday, it could be him sitting where Maroboodus was sitting, having spent the night with Gunhild. He was undecided, unhappy to rely on Maroboodus. Father grunted as he looked away from Isfried. 'Serve me, Hraban, by suffering. I will make Gernot a simple law speaker, and thus elevate him even higher. He will be known in Hard Hill, and eyes will rest on him.'

'Eyes will rest on him on his burning pyre,' I mumbled but shut up as Maroboodus grunted angrily.

'You will not touch him again. He will have his uses. Everyone knows you hate each other, so you will serve Gernot like a sodden, angry dog.' I growled like one. He peered at me with a glinting warning in his eyes and spoke softly, elaborating his words. 'That way, Isfried will see you as a potential ally. It is a long game. You will see that a wise lord plans for patient solutions. You will get your high position eventually, perhaps Head Taker, and possibly, when I die, Draupnir's Spawn. You will serve miserably and suffer greatly, but I will reward you for it. All will see your misery, and it will bring us victory.'

'This plan has already been tried, Father,' I hissed. 'You made me your enemy, and I betrayed you. Surely they won't …'

He laughed softly. 'It worked once, and it is surprising how many times you can use such a simple plan. They think you chose me, and they know you expected to be rewarded, but instead, they see the spite and crude treatment you will suffer, and you will rue the day you betrayed Bero. They will take pity on you.'

I looked at him prudently. 'You do not intend to give Gunhild to him?' He laughed happily and shook his head. 'And you need to topple Isfried, take Bark's head?' He nodded resolutely. 'And Tear and Odo?' I said, resisting the excitement from showing on my face.

He thrummed his strong fingers on the table, musing at the question. Finally, he shrugged. 'I have no vitka. They are making me powerful, and their words will make me seem honest. They are mine, to a degree, but mayhap I am theirs in equal measure, and it will end one day. For now, we will endure them. They will demand time and deeds from you, but we can see it does not get out of hand. I will dispatch of them when the time is right.' He was casually brutal and ultimately deceitful, but I did not care in this case.

'Ishild?' I asked carefully.

He grunted. 'Keep away from her, Hraban. I am no great believer in dark magic, but there is something creepily dangerous about her. She evidently likes you, but she will never disobey Odo and Tear. Do not let her pull you into their mad schemes.' I nodded, agreeing with his words, though I regretted losing and possibly hurting Ishild. He glanced at me with mirth. 'Besides. You have the spirited woman.'

'Is Gunda spirited?' I asked him, interested.

'I do not know. I was talking about Ermendrud,' he said with near perverse joy and took a swig of ale as his eyes laughed at my shock. He leaned on me. 'She is with Gunhild. She came to us yesterday, claiming you have ploughed her. I denied her words, threatened her with deep swamp, but I believe her. I would have ploughed her as well in your age, but it is dangerous, Hraban, to sow seeds for you never know if they start to sprout crops. A dangerous game, that. For her silence, she will expect a marriage, and now, you have the Chatti to think about.'

'What shall I do?' I moaned and slumped like an empty sack on my seat.

'You will enjoy yourself, Hraban, and find a way to get her out of your hands. She needs a good, solid man, so make her think some other man has better prospects. She will see you suffer humiliation like a mindless idiot, so she should not be hard to convince you are no favorite of mine. Even if you might be. Ploughing the pretty daughter of Fulch the Red in his very own bed! Jupiter’s hairy balls! You must be my mad son.'

I cursed my foolishness profusely as he laughed at me.

He choked and struggled greatly with his mirth until he managed to calm down, though he was still shaking his head. 'Maniac, that is you. She will want to see you, soon. She is smart as a fox. Do not take her for a simple fool. Now, to start your service, you will go and cry about your lot. Tell them you are less than a beggar in my eyes. They are like filthy vermin, strong together, and will seek you out to complement their pack of rodents. You will be my fine tool against Isfried, and then, later, you will be my honored son.'

'Who are these people?' I asked, gathering my strength for the coming trials.

Maroboodus shifted his eyes to Tudrus the Older. 'The Quadi, Tudrus. Tell him you might go with him, as he has offered.'

'How do you know about that, Father?' I asked, surprised.

'It is obvious. Go to him. Go to noble Tudrus, and complain miserably. Armin will appear. Tell him you would serve anyone other than me.'

'What part does Armin have in this? I thought you said Isfried's the problem.'

He contemplated me pensively. 'They are all rodents, Hraban, like I just said. A nasty pack of them, all simmering with discontent at my plans.'

'Tudrus …'

He scoffed. 'Is a Quadi, and, I think, not my friend. Isfried is paranoid. Mad as a gibbering prophet. He would never trust you approaching him. However, if keen Armin starts to plot for my demise, which he will for his dear Thusnelda, Isfried is a natural ally for him. He saw Isfried challenging me, as I hoped Isfried would. Armin is in love, so he will come to you. Give them something to nibble on. Do this, and you will be my dreadful sword lord. Nihta says you have the qualities. Gernot will rule in smaller, mundane issues. One day, you can settle your scores in peace, but serve me now on a darker road. One day, Vago's skull will be in my hands. My oath on it. We will kill him together and remember your mother. Balderich is suffering for his deed; trust me, he weeps like a tormented ghost. One day, perhaps, he will disappear, when he is no longer needed for his blood, the blood you and Gernot have. We will see by whose hands. And Bero?' He laughed. I understood and nodded, feeling nearly sorry for Bero. He continued, 'I will keep an eye on Catualda, too, no matter if he works for me and has done us great service. He still smells of his father. Use Felix well, he is clever. Keep him close. When life is settled down, and we rule wide lands, he will be free and rich.'

'Thank you for burdening me with Felix,' I told him dreamily, his plans and dreams overwhelming me.

'He is a thief and needs a whip, so whip him, or I whip you for his mischief,' he snickered.

We laughed, for the first time together. 'Enough of this. Let us make it look like we hate each other again. Serve me and obey.' He slapped me hard, dropping me from the bench. The room spun as he had not held back much, and people went quiet. Maroboodus ignored me, I cursed him aloud and crudely, and stalked away, holding my burning cheek. I went to the table where Tudrus the Older sat as men returned to their drinks and tales.

He smiled and handed me a mug of ale. 'You holding up, Hraban?'

I shrugged. 'I just want to get my own place amongst the Marcomanni, but he wishes me to serve Gernot. I wish to scream, rage and burn down this hill. Otherwise? I am well. How did your war go? How are the ugly mongrels you call sons?'

He laughed. 'They are fine. All men now.' He looked sheepish as I cursed. I had no spear and shield. 'Your father is a great warrior. Smart one. We cut off the arrogant Hermanduri, harried their greater number mercilessly in the deep nights, and in the end, picked off confused clan after clan until we could meet them on a level field. Then, we broke them with little mercy.' He did not sound entirely happy.

I leaned forward and asked softly, 'What is wrong?'

Tudrus the Older nodded at Maroboodus. 'He asked me if I would join the Marcomanni with my gau.'

'Oh?' I asked, surprised. 'Become one of us?'

'I said no,' he said, cautiously. 'I hope my relatives said so as well.' So that was why Maroboodus disliked Tudrus.

A grunt behind us. Armin leaned over us, his ruddy face serious. Father had been right. He spoke softly to Tudrus but looked at me. Your father, Thumelicus, looked bloodthirsty and dangerous, for that had been a terrible night for him. 'Your fellow rulers Sibratus and Tallo spoke to him?' he asked.

Tudrus looked uncomfortable, talking with Armin about such matters. 'They might have, I know not.' He clapped his knee to break the mood and laughed hugely. 'But Vannius, Koun's brother, is a happy addition to our following! The lad has balls. I have beaten him a few times, and he is learning. Great warrior one day. Misses his brother, though, but he even wears a Suebi knot on his hair. Pragmatic bastard. Excuse me.' Tudrus got up and turned to me. 'Indigestion. Need sleep. Going to leave for home tomorrow, but be careful,' he said to me, and glanced at Armin who smiled to put him at ease.

I ignored Armin as I nodded at Tudrus. 'I am thinking about joining you, Lord, if you will have me,' I told him.

He glanced at my father and shrugged, making no commitment. He smiled, thinking about my words. 'We will see, Hraban. We will see.' He walked off.

I turned to Armin. He was at ease, his face reddened from the heat of the fireplace. His eyes pierced mine, his face was very, very handsome. I was irritated by that. 'Hraban? No?' He sat down.

I nodded, morose. 'Hraban of No Consequence.'

He laughed. 'Surely not so! I saw how you took your damned beating! Bravely. I like how you kept looking at me, too. You know who is the thinker in our family. You know I have mixed thoughts about your great father.'

I nodded and spat in Maroboodus's direction. 'You need Maroboodus's ring, but you want him dead.'

He looked at my sullen face in surprise, and was about to get up, but sat back down slowly. He hesitated and licked his lips. 'Bold words.'

I shrugged. 'Bold? Why? I do hate him. He is a pig, and I want him to die of disease that makes him squeal. He has taken everything from me.' I had been too bold, indeed. This was not giving them something to nibble at; this was blunt like an axe in a skull. I gestured at the departing Quadi. 'Tudrus knows. This is not what I expected.'

He sat there, gauging me. I wanted to glance at Father, but I did not. Then, finally, Armin shrugged, taking a deep breath. 'I do wish he died. I want Thusnelda to stay at home, far from this place.'

I laughed bitterly. 'Why? Segestes will not let you touch her.'

He grimaced as he regarded his fat uncle. 'Things change. But you are right in the other claim as well. Inguiomerus was right. We need the eastern Suebi pacified. We need the great ring.'

'Ah, you know of the ring. How?'

'I am a knowledgeable adeling,' he said evenly. 'We need it.'

I sipped my drink. 'I would not give it to you, if I had it.'

He thought about it for a while. 'But you could come to the Cherusci and help us?' he said, calmly. 'If you should come to possess it?'

'How could I? Only Isfried could kill my father, and I cannot get the ring unless he is dead.'

He nodded. 'One day, Hraban, we can smile and forget all this sadness, and be great and happy. Now, when things are dark, I will help you and myself, and we will tread a sad, harsh road together. I will travel your lands, when my family leaves for the north. I will be back here. Do you know where the skulls your father took from the Matticati and Hermanduri are?'

'The skulls? Likely decomposing before they can be put on shelve and rafters. I can ask a rat called Felix to find them. Why?' I said.

'Get me the one of the Matticati. The one of Hengsti's relative,' he said, guardedly. I nodded, and he relaxed.

I fetched Felix, who grimaced in disgust, but that evening, Armin rode north with a skull. He told Father he would ride to meet some relatives in the east, and was given leave to travel the land of the Marcomanni. I glanced at my father, and our eyes met. He nodded and smiled briefly. My service to him had started. He would want Isfried, and Armin would deliver.

It was up to me. I would not fail for with just few words, my father had pulled me back from the abyss. I only had to survive single-minded Tear, dangerous Odo, hopeful Ishild, impatient Gernot, and even amorous, scheming Ermendrud, and find out who had killed Hagano. But I would manage, get my fair vengeance, and be great and happy. I finally had my father. I thanked Woden, and the Spinners spun away on my thread, shaking their heads.

CHAPTER XII

Next day, Hard Hill was moist with the morning dew, birds sang with bright voices, and the day promised to be a beautiful one.

Nihta made the morning unpleasant.

Flies bothered us mercilessly while we jogged, but left us alone when we sprinted. Before we started with the swords, he spoke to me. 'You will train with Koun in the afternoon. Best not aggrieve him. He serves Maroboodus, yes, but not out of choice. Well, yes, out of choice, but a bitter choice,' Nihta told me seriously.

'He killed Hulderic,' I said simply. 'Possibly Hagano. I will have to find out the truth.'

Nihta laughed and hurt me with a slap of the flat edge of the sword. Then we trained, and I took stab after painful stab though I managed to avoid many. He forced me to use my quick legs, always legs, to position myself.

'I have seen grandmothers who move more deftly, here,' he told me as I clumsily stopped to skewer him, and he kicked the legs out from under me. 'If you ever fight a better man, try to find his weak spot. Get to know him, if you can, before crossing swords. In battle, not much time for that,' he told me as he pulled me up. 'Go and eat. Tomorrow, we do it again.'

I wiped sweat off my chest and walked inside Bero's former hall, smelling cooking porridge. I came face to face with my nemesis. Gernot stood there, bruised in body and ego, and Ansigar was with him, scowling at me. 'You little shit,' my brother told me. 'You truly wish to challenge me? Father will never trust you. He gave me many duties this morning. To you? Nothing. The marriage is but a dream, Hraban.'

I grunted and looked over him at my friend. 'Ansigar? You ready to leave the little hog? He is a nothing.' I knew Ansigar; he was smart. Surely he had seen Gernot's lack of valor and for his own good, he might think to serve some other man. Yet, Ansigar shook his head.

He said, 'No. He has a future. And so do I.'

I nodded, curious at his stubborn faith in my bastard of a brother. 'Well, Gernot. You go ahead and rule on the number of barley fields a man can have and make judgments on the possession of the cows for bickering peasants. Such tasks need a dedicated man though such man is usually a cripple and good for little else than speaking the law, but you are not far from one.'

Gernot pointed a finger at me. 'Keep on your toes. No matter what happens, no matter if we ride together for Gunda. I will thrive, and you will not. I promise this.'

I laughed. 'You might as well promise to piss straight, but we both know you cannot. Get away from me.'

'Be on your toes, Hraban,' he said softly, as he left.

I decided against eating in my father's hall. I hiked downhill to meet Wandal and Ansbor. The latter spied me coming as he was lounging on the doorway of a ramshackle old smithy, yelled a warning inside and then disappeared in there, cursing. I grinned and followed him through to a smoky room. Euric was lifting a charred beam, and Wandal was helping him, grunting and soaked in sweat. Ansbor strode to a side room. Wandal lifted a finger to silence me, and Ansbor came out with a grimace, dragging scared Felix. My fat friend pushed the youngster towards me. 'This Gaulish bastard you sent to us? He stole our few coins! I had some from the slain Hermanduri, but he took it all. Do you really need him, or can I …'

'I did not!' Felix claimed insipidly. 'They just had awful luck at gambling. I cannot help it if they throw a coin with a man who is well loved by Fortuna!'

'You are no man, Felix.' I sat down. 'Have anything to eat? I could eat at my father's hall, but I cannot stomach Gernot. Let him go, Ansbor.' He did let go of Felix, reluctantly, but stayed next to him, in hopes of being allowed to wring the Gaul’s neck.

'Some porridge, turnips, eh?' Wandal told me, grunting, as the beam was taken clear. 'Garlic.'

Euric wiped sweat from his face. 'How's your back, boy?'

I touched the wounds, putting my hand inside the tunic, feeling skin tear, and my fingers came away bloody. I frowned at that, and Felix took the chance to escape Ansbor, who huffed as Felix ran to fetch me a bowl of simple food, and water in a wooden cup. Felix placed the food before me, carefully peeled off my tunic, clucked his tongue, and took a relatively clean rag from his belt to clean the wounds. 'Looks like a pig after a butcher is done with it. I hear fresh garlic could help, keep them wounds clean. Here.' He placed his hand on my back with the garlic. It burned like hot coals, and I screamed and slapped him. He stood away from me, grinning. Ansbor and Wandal gathered around me as I settled to eat, cursing the Gaul.

'So, our mighty, peerless and bleeding lord. What next?' Ansbor asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

I ate calmly as they fidgeted. Finally, after stuffing the final pieces of vegetable in my mouth, I burped and sighed. I gestured at them. 'Well, you sorry boys. I will train, and suffer until something changes. I will sleep up there, it seems. If you want another lord, feel free. I hear we will go for the Matticati soon, this summer, and you should be part of that. I try to be. I am also to be married,' I told them, and they blanched.

'Married? Eh?' Wandal said, full of wonder and fear. It was not the looming battle with Matticati that made his knees go weak, but the prospect of being with a woman.

'To a Chatti princess, Gunda,' I said, smiling happily, proud as a great warhorse, blithely forgetting to mention she was calm and wise, and likely not a beauty. Felix smiled back, stood up slowly, and walked away. Euric held a hand on his wide face. Wandal and Ansbor got busy with the smithy. 'What?' I asked. 'It is an honor,' I said in wonderment.

'Married?' asked a female voice behind me. I turned to see the furious face of Ishild. 'Married to a smelly Chatti princess? No? Is that what you said?'

'I had no choice, they …' I started, heard Euric snort in disgust, but she grabbed me resolutely by the arm and dragged me out of the smithy to go to the woods. We went forward for a while, dodging branches and stones. She gazed at me carefully, her eyes wild, and I was actually a bit scared. She was a völva, after all.

We stopped, and she poked a finger at my chest, painfully. 'I told you; I like you. I told you; believe in me. You kissed me, you told me you liked me as well. Today, you smile like an idiot child when you are given to another?' she hissed at me, poking my chest even more forcefully, harder with each word. She looked pretty, blonde and furious, with a lively mouth ready to chew me up. 'You will know, Hraban, that while I do my mother's bidding, you are more to me than just the Raven and an amusing pastime. You are the first and only normal man I have in my sorry life, but you stab me foully in the back, drop me like a rotten bone to the filthy dust,' she told me furiously while crying softly.

I gingerly took her hand mid-poke and stood close to her. 'Your mother and brother are making me their tool; my father is doing the same. I do not know what to make of that. You are her daughter. But I have never met the Chatti girl, and I do like you.'

'You do?' she asked, miserable. I looked at her. It was true. I liked her. However, I knew I did not love her. She was too dangerous. Too strange.

'I wish to be your friend,' I said softly, feeling regret. Few men willingly let go of a woman who is interested in them. 'I would like to be one. But perhaps, only that.'

She nodded, and hugged me, desperately, and I felt sorry for her. She cried softly. 'So, you will not be mine?' she asked with a small, betrayed voice. 'You are not my man?'

I cursed and took a shuddering breath. 'I don't really even know you.'

'We played together many times in the past,' she pouted, wringing her fair hands behind my back.

'We were children,' I told her timidly, but gathered my strength and put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her to arm's length as I was determined to make my point understood. 'I will be your friend, and aid you in anything you need. I give you that oath. Let us aid each other, and see what the future has for us. Perhaps one day …' It was a lie. I did not see us together. She was pretty as the light of the sun, and she had been the first girl I had kissed, but I did not want her. Father and Tear did not approve. It was wise, I thought. After sleeping with Ermendrud, I felt no true lust for her either. I realized I did not enjoy her company, and that I feared her strange, desperate mood. Nevertheless, I could not close all the doors that should be closed, and so I had staved off the inevitable, and given her hope.

She looked me in the eye. 'There is nothing normal about our family, and then you came along, free, happy, arrogant. I envy you and love you. They will use you like I have been used, but together, I thought …'

'I know,' I said, miserable to the core. 'I can listen to you, and be your solid rock. Friendship is nothing to be mocked.'

She nodded, shuddering with disappointment. 'They will want more of you. I came to warn you. The hair you cut did not convince them. They know she is alive.'

'Your sister is alive, you mean,' I stated morosely. 'Something you might have mentioned to me, if you really cared for me.'

She looked shocked. Then she nodded. 'She is. Veleda is. She … I barely remember her. She was taken from us to keep her safe by her father.'

'Woden took her, but the Raven is to find her, eh?' I said, tired.

'Woden or her father took her, yes. Raven is to come to find her. When you meet next time, it will be a terrible thing,' she told me sadly. ‘We will have to help her.’

'I let her go, Ishild. The prophecy is gone.'

She was silent as she gazed at me, but took a ragged breath, and spoke. 'No. It is still ongoing. I think there are other things that have to happen before you were to find her. We just do not know the riddle yet. We will soon.'

I nodded. 'I have my plans, Ishild. Perhaps part of the reason why I cannot be with you are these mad things you speak of. The secrets. I do not know you. Perhaps I do not trust you.'

She stared at my hand over hers. Then, with a shuddering breath, she continued. 'I have an obligation, to my family, one I cannot ignore. However, I will take a risk and promise you if I can get free of the obligation, I am yours. If you will have me then. If you are not married yet. I do not know you well enough either, Hraban. I see you are petty and foolish and handsome and brave, faults and goodness mixed in you, and I know you have a heavy burden, but, by Frigg, if things work out, I am yours. I will not be strange then, but happy and yours. Give us a chance. Give me a chance.'

'I swear I will,' I told her, miserable at my lack of feelings for her and over the lies slipping from my lips. 'I just wish you smiled more. I wish you had fewer secrets, so I could know you.'

'I used to smile with you, perhaps I will learn how to, again,' she told me. I held her, and she trembled. 'Secrets, one day, I will have none. Odo told me you threatened to kill him?'

I spat in anger. I would kill Odo for the crime he forced on me, but I did not wish to upset her more. 'I might, if he tries to force me to do things his way; if he stands between my goals and my spear. What does he want with you?'

'He is driven, Hraban. Mad,' she told me. 'These past years he has changed, more bloodthirsty, more inward, and I fear him, I fear for Mother sometimes. He is insane, he is … insane.'

'I cannot argue with you. You are right, I think.'

She laughed, a welcome change, but then she turned her face towards me, and we were close. She kissed me urgently. I hesitated, my eyes open. She pulled my hand to her breast and then savagely pushed it under her dress. I felt her silken thigh, and then the curled hair between her moist legs. She was panting heavily, and I struggled, cursing. Finally, I jumped away, holding my head in my hands. She stared at me. 'You refuse?' Her voice was disbelieving.

'I … I cannot, I cannot,' I said. Her face betrayed anger, as she got to her feet. She pulled my face to hers, her eyes mysterious, dark. 'I am not much of a seidr user, Hraban, since I cannot seduce a boy like you, not even when you have your fingers between my legs. Very well. I shall let it be. Later, remember I meant what I said. I needed you. I have a miserable life with my family, but I will try to find comfort in your friendship.'

'Be my friend,' I said, tired. She nodded and left. I was exhausted and relieved. I was free, even if I was burdened with the lies I told her. I would serve Father, and come what may, I would be elevated. I turned to go and saw Ermendrud standing in front of me. She was smiling.

'Well. At least you are loyal,' she said pleasantly. I nodded, feeling naked. 'Prophecy? That sounds dangerous, Hraban,' she said quietly as she came forward. She had dimples I had not seen before. Her flat face was blushed.

'What else did you hear?' I asked her, terrified she knew about Gunda the Chatti.

'Not much. I talked to your father, and he said I will marry you,' she told me. 'Before the colds of the winter.'

'Indeed,' I said, clearing my throat. Maroboodus had told me to get rid of her. She was my problem. I would not be able to marry Gunda if Ermendrud was in the way.

'I am,' she said huskily, 'seventeen, I am very useful. I have high ambitions, and while I fear many things, I will be of great use to you. I will arm you well and bind your many wounds.' She walked around me. 'Oh master of prophecies.'

'I am not in favor of my father, and the prophecy is a heavy burden,' I told her slowly. She seemed impressed by the doom hanging over my head, the threat of gods and mad vitka.

'You might be in favor again one day, and I think the gods like you. Besides, there are other tribes,' she said casually, and I despaired.

If she was willing to leave the tribe for me, I was in trouble indeed. She stopped before me and rubbed her soft lips on mine. I instinctively put my hands on her shoulders, but she pushed against me. Her breasts were hard under her tunic. I cursed and decided I would get rid of her the next day. I kissed her, she answered, and I licked her lips, her neck and her throat hungrily. She answered in kind. I felt a surging need, a passion that enveloped us as we pulled closer, entwining in each other. The kiss got increasingly passionate; her breathing was getting desperate. I took hold of her shoulders and fingered the brooches on her woolen dress, working to open them. I was clumsy. She separated from me, panting, her eyes alight with desire, and then she removed the brooches. I slid her gown down, exposing her round, firm breasts, and she guided my mouth to her neck.

I kissed her, lord, oh how I kissed her.

Afterwards, we lay on moss cover, never minding the ants and other creatures making their way to places they normally would not be welcome at.

She was serious as she looked at me. I got worried. 'Was it … bad? Did you enjoy it?'

She nodded, surprised. 'Fool. Yes. I did! However, we must not mention this to anyone, not before we are married. I hope you stay away from that völva-spawned blonde thing.'

'She is a friend,' I said, meekly.

'She wishes to be something more, and if she tries harder, I will beat her, magician or not,' Ermendrud said, matter-of-factly.

I agreed. 'Your father? I am sorry …'

Sorrow visited her face for a few moments, but then she took a deep breath and laughed, carefree. 'It matters not, Hraban. He was a good man, good to me, at least, but life moves on. He was dear to me. Like you are.' She got up to dress.

Shame enveloped every fiber of my body. I had just hurt Ishild and enjoyed Ermendrud not a moment after. I forced a smile as she waved. 'I will see you soon, Hraban,' she told me, and I nodded. I lusted for her, for she was fair enough, and I was a young man. But Ishild was too strange, and I did not enjoy her, but I felt deep guilt at refusing her in her obvious need. Again torn between decisions, I walked back to the smithy. They all turned to look at me. Felix grinned and made kissing motions with his pouting mouth. Euric frowned at me and at Felix.

Wandal came forward and removed some grass from my forehead. 'What, eh? You talked for a long time?' he said critically. I nodded, not bothering to explain.

Then I remembered Koun was waiting. 'Felix? Since you are my servant, I own your wealth, too. Give the coins back to my friends, and cheat them again at your own peril. I know you have coins from a certain night, so you do not need theirs.'

'I have no coins! Your father's men stole them, the dogs! And your friends? They are poor gamblers! I did not …' he started, and then Ansbor laughed. Felix shrieked, and Wandal growled as they frisked him.

I ran uphill and found Koun sitting near Father's hall, eating a meager dish from a cheap bowl. A strong stave was next to him, and he wore a simple tunic. He had cut his mustaches and was growing a wild beard. A warrior was watching him from the shadows of a nearby hall. Koun looked more like a slave than a famous warlord. He noticed me coming but kept eating. I walked up to him. He ignored me until I sat down before him. He looked drawn, the man who had killed Hulderic. The scar I had given him in the battle was angry red, and I half hoped the spear had hit him in the eye. Yet, somehow, the man seemed less hateful to me. Honor demanded he should die, but he did not look the mighty foe he had that day.

He put the bowl away. 'You are late. But then, I expected you to be late, so I ate. I have few things I can do anyway, but wait,' he told me, licked his deft fingers, and grabbed a stave he threw my way before picking up his own. 'Beating you is likely the best fun there is to be had in this hill of shit, so get ready.'

'I won't be as easy to beat as it is to slay a helpless boy in the woods,' I said venomously, grabbing the wooden weapon.

He looked confused but shrugged. 'Now, as for today and the future. Your father, he expects me to make this most painful and visible. Part of the many lessons he hopes you will learn. I know how to do that. Hunfrid, my elder brother, he made Vannius and me feel such pain and humiliation when he trained us. Our smallest brother, he died in such a training, but I expect you to eat it up. That death of our brother was something we swore to pay Hunfried back for, and I shall practice on you,' he told me casually as he got up.

I grunted. I noticed Gernot and Ansigar lounging nearby, grinning.

Koun nodded. 'Indeed. They will enjoy this. You two hate each other, and evidently, your father hates you as well. You do not have the talent for diplomacy, I think.'

'I have my dignity, and Father would have me sniveling on the ground before him and my mongrel of a brother,' I told him, and he laughed.

'You are much like Vannius. He also has stupid notions about his importance. But he thrives now. The idiot actually enjoys your friend, Tudrus, who treats him better than our father, Vago, ever did. The Quadi treats him like a proper son! They were both here, but I did not see him. My own brother. They keep us apart, and so, here I am, serving your father,' he told me bitterly, leering at me with hostility, gathering anger. 'So let me serve him well by thrashing you.'

'You killed my grandfather,' I said with a warning.

'So I did, and he nearly killed me. We had honor between us, and he understood,' Koun said, whirling his stave experimentally. 'He was a great lord. He would have slain me if not for my father distracting him. I was helpless as a drunken mule. My arm and shoulder still hurts, and on that shoulder, there is a wound that is hard to mend.'

His respect for Hulderic made me frown. I shook my head to focus. 'That day, a friend of mine,' I started, poking him with the stave, 'died in the woods. Boy years younger than I am. He was waiting for me while I was captured by you. Did you kill him?'

He pushed me back, nodding. 'So that is what you meant. No, I did not. However, Hraban, you know if I had seen him, I would have taken him captive, and if he had tried to run, I would have killed him. He would have warned the village. It is the way of war. But in this case, I did not.'

I shook my head in anger. 'How do I know you …'

'I do not lie!' he said, his face red from indignation. 'I do not, by Jupiter, Hercules and Woden, lie.'

I sneered. 'What was the secret you had to hide, the day Father was going to drown you? Did you not lie then, or at least betray your fine principles? Surely you are not a perfect warrior?'

He looked stricken, vindictive, and destroyed. He took the stave with trembling hands. 'I lied then, perhaps I did, Hraban, or at least betrayed my principles, but I did it all for Vannius.'

'What did you hide?'

'The truth about the man who sent us word where your father is,' he blurted, but then clamped his mouth tight as if he was grinding a stone between his molars, apparently regretting the anger.

'Bero or Balderich?' I prodded him.

'Perchance,' he hissed reluctantly.

'Well, which one? Both, according to Catualda, are guilty.' My voice had a hysterical note in it. 'Balderich …'

He shook his head, tired of the topic. 'Balderich, yes. Yes, indeed. It is all good. We will survive, Vannius and I. Perhaps all this suffering grows us stronger so we can grow famous and hardened like the best steel, and so take Hunfrid down, and save my sister Shayla from our mad father. Stop, I beg, please stop asking questions,' he damned me, and then composed himself.

I felt queasy at his words. 'Was it or was it not Bero or Balderich? This is what Father feared, that you would confuse the matter. You are playing with my head.'

He spat and breathed hard, for a while looking at me with pity. Finally, he slumped a bit and shook his head. 'Shall we begin?'

I pushed him bitterly with my fist. 'I want to know what …'

'I swore to your father, boy. I have given hard oaths to him, to my own bastard father and to the lovely Shayla, my sister, but…'

I cursed him. 'And you talk to me about Vago and Shayla, as if I give a shit? Vago killed my helpless mother. The bitch sister of yours blessed my mother's blood as it dripped down to the river. Let them both rot, I say.'

With that, he beat me. He did it for two hours straight, and it was more punishment than training.

When he finally relented, I was a shaking, black, and blue husk, and the Marcomanni surrounding the blood-spattered hall were mumbling and shaking their heads. Father would be happy. They would all think we were enemies, but Koun's words still bothered me, even through the veil of pain. He spat as he regarded me, his hair matted with sweat. 'She is no bitch, you self-loathing son of a turd, and as for Bero and Balderich, I have nothing to tell you,' he said, softly. 'Tomorrow, be on time.' He left, raging still.

With that, Ansigar came to me, moving slowly, and I got up to take water from a gourd. He shook his head. He swatted the gourd from my hand. I turned at him, but kept my peace. He gathered confidence from my sorry condition. 'No, Hraban. Now you serve Gernot, my lord, and you will not drink. I'll tell when you drink, and no longer do I have to see you and the oafish Wandal making our plans. Now, I have plans of my own,' he told me, as if to a child.

I looked at him, and the face that had once been a friend's face, and an ugly one, granted, but not as loathed as it was now. I sighed. 'I do not know how, but I hope we can patch things up. We have known each other for the longest time. Can we make peace?' I asked him.

He hesitated. He glanced over at Gernot, who was lounging by the nearby woods, gesturing impatiently for Ansigar. He said nothing, indecisive for just a moment, but then, he shook his head. 'You know, you never visited my home. A hut far from your hall? Did you know where it was? No? You never came. Never. Nor did you ask how I live, and what I have. Instead, you took it for granted that I would serve you. I did.'

'It is not my fault …'

His face was gleeful. 'Never your fault, no. I will serve your brother. You do not fully understand him and his future. And I think I will marry Ishild one day. I have always liked her, and like her now, especially since she has a heart for you. I do enjoy your futile anger as I will have something of yours.'

I shook my head in simmering outrage. Even if I had turned Ishild down, I could not ignore his insult and obvious despise for me. 'Bold, you are,' I hissed at him, 'to risk the wrath of that family and mine. You must have lost your wits.'

'No, things will change one day. I will be a great man, well worth such a woman. You just wait and see. Now, you will come, and clean the place Bero's men used to shit at. Gernot wishes it moved. You will move it. With your hands.'

The thought of the bastard taking something he presumed was important to me was enough to make him my lifelong enemy. She was, I realized, a friend, at least, and Ishild was not well. I understood her family was a thing of deepest nightmares, but Ansigar wanted her and more, wanted to see me suffer. For the death of me, I could not understand how much he resented me. I stood there, gathering strength to pummel him, but instead took a deep breath and bit my tongue so hard it bled. I remembered Father's words for patience, and knew the only way above Gernot was to crawl, and to wait for my father's plans to fall into place.

I obeyed, and I think they were both surprised I did.

I hated them both, weak Gernot and ruthless Ansigar. I shoveled old shit, served them cool drinks, and held my painful peace in terrible shame, as they enjoyed their torment of me. They would not touch me, no, but what they did to me, trying to break my honor, was worse than any savage whipping.

Days moved on, and I endured.

The Cherusci had left, save for Armin, who still rode the wide country. The Chatti left soon after, and I was surprised to find I liked the three men and missed them. Tudrus left secretively and came back. There were many Quadi riding back and forth between our lands, and there was obviously some kind of struggle going on. I would witness Father cursing Tudrus to Nihta a few times those first weeks. I trained for the whole of long Drimilchi, four painful weeks, and suffered at Nihta and Koun's hands such bruises that I forgot how to cry. Koun's words haunted me, but he would not speak to me again, being my silent nemesis, and I was burning to make him open up to me, regretting the way I had gone about finding his secret in the first place. Yet, true to his oaths, he would not let his guard down, not once. He only beat me, even if I was getting much better with my quickening legs and with the mockery of a spear in general, and got hurt less, even if he tried his best.

I served Father, patiently, and suffered Gernot, who held many an important meeting for the quarrelsome villagers, lording over people seeking justice. I supposed he did well enough, those first weeks, and men praised his even-handed way of interpreting delicate law. I supposed he did Father great favors by taking the role and sparing him such mundane affairs. When he was not doing this, he haunted me, ordered me about, had me stand in drenching rain and scalding sun, and called me uncouth names in front of the village elders. Gods know how many hard errands I had to run with Ansigar guarding. I did them well. I think it is possible none else knew so thoroughly the many shit holes of Hard Hill, for I cleaned and re-dug most of them. I hated the two bastards with unrivaled passion.

Ermendrud came around the smithy late in the evenings, and I kept her out of the sight of my friends. She brought me very good food from Balderich's table, we spoke softly, and I was surprised to find I liked her and laughed with her, and she made me happy after a day of utter misery. She never judged me, not once, nor did she ask me to stand up to myself when she witnessed Gernot and Ansigar humiliating me. She trusted I had a plan, and helped me, and I bemoaned myself for enjoying her company, reminding myself Gunda was a princess of the mighty Chatti. Yet, for our mutual pleasure, never heeding the many risks, I took her to woods, and we enjoyed the simple pleasures of lovemaking. In truth, I was in no hurry to find her another man, for I needed her.

At the end of Drimilchi, she was massaging my neck by the riverside. She whispered to me. 'I have some wealth left from Father, hidden. I will buy you a great spear and a shield, and a small horse, when we marry. But how will you get me a dowry?'

I grunted. I had neither wealth nor prospects of getting any. Even my fine horn was missing. 'I have to get my simple shield and spear before I can join any marauding lord on raids. No wealth before that.'

She giggled, though there was an edge of impatience in her voice. 'Before you get your first weapons, I cannot give you better ones as a wife would before the wedding night.'

'It is a strange world we live in,' I agreed, and enjoyed her deft fingers. I thought of Ishild for a second, and felt cold dread running down my spine at her parting words. They had been desperate, spiteful, and doom-ridden. I had told her I would be her friend, but she had disappeared, and I wondered what they had been doing to Bero. It bothered me I could not witness the death of the man who was responsible for my family's demise.

Ermendrud interrupted my thoughts. 'Your father spoke of winter, so I am sure you get your chance to prove yourself. There is talk of war with the Matticati,' she said.

I nodded, for it was true there had been strangely many incidents of Matticati raiding our side of the river in the north. I remembered Armin and the skull of Hengsti's nephew, mulling over the possibility of Armin having caused the unusually intense raiding season. I wondered when I would see Armin again and dreaded that, as well. I wished to speak with Father, but he had been gone for two weeks. Maroboodus rode around the wide lands of the north gau, rarely seen.

'There are rumors,' she said mysteriously, 'that your father is facing resistance in some Marcomanni villages.'

I had heard it, too.

It was Bark and Isfried's doing. Bark was claiming loudly, far and wide, that he knew Maroboodus had killed his holy brother Wulf and the vitka, and that the indignant gods wanted Maroboodus dead and punished. Isfried did little to silence him, but someone had been busy silencing some bolder chiefs who were suddenly reluctant to support Father, and the elusive, deadly Romans had again slain some vitka from further villages. I snorted at that. They had died mysteriously, as some of Maroboodus's men were creatures of the night, and so many grumblers kept their peace, but only barely. Bark had power in faraway places, threatening Father from surprising directions, but Maroboodus had not sent Gunhild over to Isfried. Some of Father's chiefs were unhappy, especially those who profited from trade. Isfried had changed past deals, trying to supplant Hard Hill in the greedy eyes of the Romans, welcoming them to Grinrock, Isfried's town. We would trust Maroboodus to handle these delicate problems, but I was more obsessed with Koun's past words, and I had a plan.

'Love,' I told Ermendrud meticulously. 'Do you know the mighty Koun, the Vangione?'

'Yes, why?' she asked, and we hid in haste from a party of hunters passing uphill from us. We waited until they passed, and she went on. 'I've seen how he hurts you for your father and brother,' she added hotly, 'so I do not really like him.'

'He knows the spear, yes,' I agreed, 'but soon, there is little honor in our fights. I would like to beat him fairly.'

'What do you mean,' she asked on her elbows.

'He is weaker than he was,' I told her, regret thick in my voice.

'He beats you like you were a crippled dog,' she said bluntly.

'Does not!' I told her, and she rolled her eyes, gesturing at me to go on. 'He was a great lord once. He eats scraps. Rancid lentils, little meat. He is not as strong as he used to be. He is starving of juicy, strengthening meat. And man's mead. I worry for him, and for my honor. They will soon see him collapsing, and say I am fighting a woman.'

She scoffed. 'He should be happy to eat at all. The Vangione dog. Moreover, I still think he looks very strong, savagely muscular and handsomely tall, and seems to treat you like he would a pesky, naughty child. You should be happy he is weaker than he should be.'

I shrugged, and felt annoyed she obviously thought he looked fine. 'I want to beat him fairly. I would like you to speak to Gunhild about his fare. If Gunhild could bring him the midday meal tomorrow, and ask him what he is accustomed to eating, I would be very grateful. He is too proud to do so. '

'Fine,' she said, and I let her entwine her gentle arms around me. He and Gunhild had liked each other on that night, when power changed hands in the Hard Hill.

After Ermendrud left, like many other nights, I spent time with Wandal and Ansbor, helping them rebuild the ransacked smithy. It was hard work after the pains inflicted on me by Nihta and Koun, but it helped me unload the humiliations of Gernot and Ansigar. I would sit at the hot fires by Euric's hall, joking with them as we used to joke, teasing Ansbor brutally. He was constantly sullen. Felix knew Ansbor could not resist gambling. They knew, I was sure, about my liaisons with a woman. Felix likely knew the truth. Ansbor suspected Ishild, I knew, and Wandal just looked scared at the thought of any woman, being awkward with them. Euric kept a stony face, not really telling me to take care, but he did recite harrowing tales of terrors of childbirth, and how angry spirits take women over as mothers.

Then, my plan worked.

In a few days, the taciturn, stubborn Koun was happier. It was as if the sun came out after a long, insufferably rainy period. He smiled often, grunted approvingly after a proper spear block or a savage thrust. He took enjoyment in our training, and I managed to make him laugh once as I hit him lightly on the hip. Ermendrud told me Gunhild had taken to attending Koun's meals personally, and while she looked suspicious, suspecting I had tricked her in some way, I felt very clever. I decided to be patient as a snake, letting Koun's happiness grow, and when the time was right, and we were closer, I’d ask him again about his dark secret.

The month of Bráh-mánódthe arrived with celebration though only a modest one. It was the month Romans call Junius. I had grown uneasy, and was still serving Gernot, who was increasingly imaginative, often having me serve him food while he served justice. These actions raised eyebrows in the crowds that gathered to witness the law-speaking, and I trembled in agitation and shame, but managed to endure it. Sometimes, in silence and solitude, I cried after I was released from his service, and begged Woden to intervene before I did something I would regret.

One morning, warm air blew onto my face while I still slept and in my stupor, I realized my hut's door was open.

I woke up instantly, hand on the seax. I looked outside the open door, and saw Armin was sitting on a mossy stone near my hut. He waved, handsome and happy. I jumped up stiffly and walked to him, warily, pulling on my pants. 'Lord Armin,' I bowed to him. 'What have you been up to? A rather long stay, no?'

He smiled, got up to stretch and put a hand around my shoulder. 'I have lived in the saddle. I think the horse thinks of me as his extension. I have been hunting the land and snooping around Marcomanni villages. To properly topple one’s enemy, one must know them. If the need arises one day, of course, Hraban.'

'Marcomanni are not the sort to bend over to pretty young princes,' I quipped, yawning. Armin laughed hard and long, his deep bass reverberating until I joined him.

'Where is the skull of the Matticati lord?' I asked him abruptly. 'There has been much trouble lately in the north.'

He waved towards the north, his eyes cunning and secretive. He had been visiting the Matticati, I knew. Possibly Isfried if Father had read him right. He had been very busy. Your father shrugged, Thumelicus. 'The skull is buried, Hraban, in their family mound. It is proper to honor ones enemies.'

'Indeed,' I told him. 'The Matticati were grateful?'

'Bark,' he said, ignoring my question, 'would like to bury Wulf, his brother.'

'Wulf's charred bones were buried next to the harbor, with the other vitka and völva, under a fine mound.' I felt a pang of pain at the memory, and spat the sore feeling away.

Armin looked at me carefully. 'Yes, but he wishes to rebury the bones in the Flowery Meadows. Bark actually has the bones. Men who still obey him dug them up. He will deliver them to the Meadows one certain morning, not far in the future.'

'I see. He would dare to travel here, then?' I asked him carefully. 'Very brave of him, considering Father seems to have suffered a lot of discomfort for his lies.'

Armin looked away. 'Bark is a holy man. He should not fear, despite his enemies, but these are dark times,' he agreed, picking up muddy stones and throwing them at my hut's wall.

I prodded him. 'You have a plan to kill my father?'

He looked happy to stop avoiding the subject. 'This is not easy, Hraban. I am a quarrelsome, murderous guest, and violating my fine hosts. However, I would indeed like to see your father learn of Bark's intentions, and I would love to see him try to kill Bark that morning. You see, Isfried expects him to do so, and will slay Maroboodus. He is very disappointed and suspicious after hearing these … lies of Bark. It is a hard plan, a risky plan. I doubt he dares to touch me, should the plan fail, but many others will suffer terribly. Possibly even his own relatives.'

I shrugged. 'I will risk it. I will be free of him.' I managed a sincere smile. 'I won't be hurt by his spite any longer, should this come to pass. That is enough to risk much.'

'Yes, free to be the lord you should be,' Armin said, gauging me.

At that, I was sincerely happy. In fact, I was giddy with excitement for a moment, and he saw this, and smiled, relieved, misunderstanding the reason I was happy. I would be a lord indeed, but a Marcomanni one, free to punish the men deserving my wrath, mighty as a young god, both terrible and fair. I adopted a calmer demeanor, and forced a look of worry on my face. 'What of Isfried? He trusts that I work against my father? He would risk his life, and trust I am not false?'

'Are you false, Hraban?' Armin asked, but shook his head. 'No, he will want you as a hostage.'

'Hostage?' I asked, starting to dislike the plan.

'Yes, of course. He wishes assurances, and none are better than the life of the one he should trust. I agree with him.' His formerly happy face was rigid with stubborn determination, and for the first time, Thumelicus, I saw in him the qualities that would make him the terror of Rome. He had intelligence by the bucketful, yet utter ruthlessness to complement it, and if these failed, unforgiving anger, all mixed together into a man one should not cross. His voice was hard. 'You will be a hostage. Then, when Maroboodus is dead, you will serve Isfried. Or me, we will see.' I nodded uncertainly, and he glanced at me. 'You still wish to do this?'

'Yes,' I said, dreading the web of schemes tightening around me, yet happy things were finally moving. 'How?'

Armin walked around me, staring at me as if he was about to devour me. 'As to how Maroboodus will learn of Bark's false plans? We will sacrifice a man, a holy vitka of minor rank. The man is mad with hate for your father, Tear, and Odo. He is Bark's servant, and lost a wife when your father came to power. Your father is coming back to the Hill, soon, I know, and Tear will bless a Thing he has called for. Maroboodus will have war with the Matticati, and the shadowed omens will be read and revealed. This man will try to kill them in the Thing.'

'He will try to murder Father?' I asked, incredulous.

'Many men and women have died in this strange shadow war the Marcomanni are already waging. Yes, he will try,' Armin said calmly. 'He will not do it openly, but with surprise.'

'Will he succeed, this man?' I asked, thinking how much I would like to see Tear and Odo slain, though not Father.

Armin smiled, knowing what I thought about. 'No, you will stop him before he acts. Do not let him succeed, not even if he goes for Tear and Odo. You will need the vitka and the völva to torture the would-be assassin. She and Odo are the only ones to make this fanatic speak. Therefore, you must capture him alive, and keep your foes alive. For now. He will suffer horrors, the poor man, and eventually tell Tear how Bark is to come to the Meadows, in secret, supposedly bent on burying his brother, as the gods have asked him to.'

'And if he does not talk?'

'Any man talks, Hraban, when tortured,' he told me sadly, and I saw he had seen such things. His eyes flickered painfully at some distant memory, but he shrugged and smiled mournfully. ‘He will speak. If not, we fail. But he has relatives in Hard Hill. Young relatives.’ He looked disgusted by his own words. ‘He dare not be silent. For them. His name is known here.’

'Why do you think,' I wondered, 'that Isfried would let me live to serve him? How is the old bastard?'

Armin smiled. 'He is very grumpy, entirely unhappy, and trying to learn to live without Bero. Bark is wearing on his nerves, relentless in his accusations, making Grinrock a hotbed of discontent. In addition, Isfried's trade with Rome, which started with great promise, has dwindled. Your father's skillful men have burned a wealthy Roman trader near Grinrock, and the blame has fallen on Isfried. The man wants poor Gunhild alive and to warm his rough bed, and he now wants Maroboodus on his pyre. He no longer believes Maroboodus is any better than Bero, what comes to Gunhild, and I suppose he disdains what happened to the vitka of Hard Hill. With this plan, Isfried gets both his wishes, possibly, and is seething to see it done. As to guarantees to your safety? He promised me. I can promise you no more than this. You have to decide whether you'll take terrible risks to change your unhappy wyrd, or stay as you are.' He looked at my sorry hut and many bruises, and I spat in agreement.

'When is the Thing?' I asked him.

Armin looked around, unsure. 'Soon. Your father has called for many Marcomanni lords who are already travelling here. I met many on the way. I will send word to you about this vitka and when he will arrive, and what he looks like. I hope you are honest, Hraban. I give you an oath to support you, and to elevate you.'

'You must love your woman very much,' I said.

He nodded. His eyes twinkled. 'Will you give me the oath to be faithful to our common cause?'

We had no common cause, however I spoke frankly. 'I so swear.' I took his outstretched arm. I reminded myself of my true allegiance, and thought Woden would approve of my lie. What Armin was planning was foul and filthy. He noticed my look and nodded sagely.

'It is,' he nodded, 'a dishonorable plan. Not unlike your father's, but I never judged him for using schemes and unusual methods to topple Bero. I, in fact, admire a man who can think unlike the men of our world.'

'Who is this madman trying to slay Tear?' I asked him, thinking he was a much more dangerous man than his pretty face made him appear.

'I'll send word. You have men you trust?' he asked.

'Yes, I have three,' I told him, though Father would stop the assassin well before the Thing. 'Can you not tell me of him already?'

'You sure you wish to know?' he asked me.

I felt uneasy at the words, but nodded. 'Yes.'

'A man in pain, he is,' Armin said heavily. 'You must know him. He survived what you did at the Flowery Meadows.' We stared at each other. His eyes flickered around, and then he regarded me and sighed. 'I know your choices, Hraban, have not been easy. You did a deed for your father; a dishonorable act, and perhaps you did not know what you were doing to begin with, but when you took the sword to the women? That was both a terrible and a brave deed. You are much like your father and me, and know when one must act and grieve later. Bark saw the club in your hand, but this man saw you, a vitka who has naught left but hate in his sundered heart. The poison burned his throat horribly, still does, but he crawled like a worm out of the Meadows, made his painful way to Grinrock, and has been serving Bark, waiting for vengeance. His wife was Ralla.'

I remembered the man I had seen Ralla hug before I killed her. Manno, the name had been. I nodded gravely. Wyrd. Armin did not exactly judge me, which was strangely comforting. 'And this is why Father has been facing so much trouble lately? They have a witness.'

'The man was half-unconscious, but yes,' Armin agreed. ‘They mainly blame your father. But they will blame you, as well, had you not agreed to this plan.’

‘And I go there, easily, and trust they will forgive me this?’ I asked, shocked by the implication of Manno being alive. They could have smeared my name all across the lands.

‘Yes,’ Armin said simply.

‘But first,' I asked, 'he is coming here?'

'He thinks he has a job he can survive.'

'How would he ever think that?' I wondered.

He will,' Armin said softly, 'kill your scheming father, foul Tear, and even fouler Odo, and as many others opposing Isfried as he can. The poor man thinks there are many, many others with him. However, he is alone. So stop Manno, Hraban, and then have Tear torture him, let your father learn of Bark's plans from his pained lips. Then go to Isfried, in absolute secrecy, claiming to all you are ill and unable to meet anyone and pray Isfried succeeds. But beware, Hraban. The man, Manno, will try to kill you as well, if he sees you. He knows you have been offered an out of this vengeance, but he likely would be unable to resist. He knows you were there that night, and hates you like he hates Maroboodus, Tear, and Odo.’

‘Gods,’ I whispered, and rubbed my face. ‘What a mess.’

He snickered. ‘Yes. Be ruthless, Hraban, and I will have a place for you if Isfried will not. I can kill men in the terror of a shield wall and use men callously out of it, even onto death if needed. I do so for fine causes, Hraban, ones you can share in. My cause is the freedom of the Cherusci and ultimately, all the tribes, from the enslavement of Rome.'

His high words annoyed me for some reason. 'I do not know of the tribes,' I said darkly, 'but your cause is Thusnelda.'

He grasped me painfully and looked into my eyes. 'You will find, Hraban, that I cherish both causes equally. Now, Manno should tell your father Bark will be at the Flowery Meadows three days from the Thing, during that morning, early morning. If you do not come to Grinrock, Isfried will not ride, but he will launch a slow war, one that will cripple your tribes for years, perhaps permanently. So do not fail, if you love the Marcomanni.' Then he walked away, pulling his deep hood up. Armin was playing a very dangerous game; a guest no longer, but a conspirator.

A few, slow days passed. Father was coming home, as Armin said. There was a rumor of an urgent Thing. Some chiefs had already arrived with their many escorts.

Adalfuns the Crafter surprised us and came to look for me while we were sitting at the smithy. The house and the work shed were nearly finished, though the thatch on the roof was still poorly mended. He sat down in front of me and whispered to Euric, who took the others out. Adalfuns smiled, tired. 'Crafting, Hraban, is a young man’s profession. My poor back is killing me.'

'Where have you been?' I asked him, conscious that he wanted words with me. He had an unsettling way of knowing what I was thinking, and I disliked it. Also, since we had last spoken, I had taken my father's side, and my father was sided with Tear and Odo. I was afraid the man was there to tell me he was my enemy after all.

'Crafting, I just told you. I have been crafting webs, not a table or a chair. I would like to warn you,' he said while gingerly picking up some salted meat from my plate. 'This is not one of the three desperate times I will aid you. Just giving some friendly advice.' He munched on the meat, juices running down his chin.

'Go ahead then,' I said, sure I was not going to like his advice.

'You, Hraban,' he said, picking up some more meat from my plate, 'are now in grave danger. I have some sight of my own …'

'Gods, no…' I whined, but he slapped me with the gravy meat. I started at him incredulously, resisting the urge to lick some of the juices running down my beard.

'My sight tells me Tear has gotten what she needs from the reluctant spirits. The rancid witch and her ill boy know what is needed. They will want you, and they expect to get you, too.' His eyes were glowing in the dark. 'You put much in risk by staying here.'

'Want me?' I asked him, dreading his answer.

'They know much more of the prophecy, Hraban. The Raven is needed for more than finding the small girl. They will need you for themselves. They will bind you, not unlike they have bound Bero, and they will take you away. I don't expect you to return, no matter what comes to pass.' He smiled with relish at the words, as if enjoying my impending doom.

'Father will guard me,' I told him stoically.

'The father who you used to hate?' he grinned.

'He did not know Sigilind, I understand that. In addition, he had a goal, and yes, he used me, but we have come to an understanding, perhaps even love,' I said, miffed.

He laughed. 'He is a great one for words. He is a lord more than a father, never forget.' I swallowed my anger, not willing to listen. 'Remember, he has tied all his rights to Marcomannic power to Tear's approving words,' Adalfuns said evenly. 'Will he risk it? Possibly. But not for you.' I shrugged, having put my faith in Maroboodus. He saw it, and to my surprise, there was pity in his eyes.

‘I cannot steer this ship elsewhere, Adalfuns,’ I told him.

'I will go.' He got up and pointed a finger at me. 'Just remember, Hraban, to fight Tear. In addition, forgive yourself for the Flowery Meadows. The women you killed were bloody priestesses and priests. They have slain many brave, innocent men, and even a crying child for the gods. I am not saying you should not suffer for what you did, but do not suffer too much. Like Armin, think of higher goals and do not wallow in self-pity.'

'How do you know these things? The Meadows and Armin? I …' I asked, bewildered.

He laughed. 'Be calm, no matter what, Hraban. And don't sleep tonight!'

I cursed him as he left. I waved goodbye to my friends and went to brood in my meager hut. I hated his advice, and his words haunted me. At some point, I lay down, and, despite his advice, fell asleep. I had tried not to, but I did. I awoke to a woman looking in from the doorway. It was pitch dark, and the moon shone briefly from small slits on the wall. I saw it was Ermendrud. I wondered at the risk she was taking as she gazed at the dark, apparently unable to spot me in the dark shadows.

'What? They will see you!' I hissed at her. Silence, then footsteps running away. I sighed in relief but nearly screamed in terror as she put a cold finger on my lips in the dark and then came close, kissing me gently.

We made love, and what usually had been wonderful lust was much more gentle that night. I felt she was somehow different, both in spirit and body. I wondered. She had subtle scars on her belly, and she was not as wildly passionate as she usually was, but in the end, she climaxed many times, and so did I. I welcomed all of it after the meeting with Adalfuns and took my time to please her. His speech about Tear and Odo haunted me; his words about Maroboodus were painful, and lovemaking helped me ease my troubled mind.

In the end, curled next to me, tired to the bone, apparently, she kissed me gently, and then got up. I heard her dressing, the brooches making tiny metallic sounds. At the door, she turned, and I froze as thin moonlight betrayed her lovely face.

It was Ishild.

She left swiftly, and I sat there for the rest of the night, silent, hugging my knees, Adalfuns's words echoing in my head. I should not have slept. I went over all of it in my head, many times, wondering if I was mad as a rabid cat. I had seen Ermendrud at the door, or had I been asleep? Had I been asleep when she left, seeing things? Was it long-lost Ishild or my lover Ermendrud? If it was Ishild, why had she come there? Was it seidr she had used, and if it were, would she be serving her family in some terrible way. Adalfuns had said they would want me. Not my help. Me. I felt cold and dared not sleep again.

For days to follow, the preparations for a great Thing were ongoing. I did not train with Nihta or Koun, nor did I serve Gernot. I sent Ansigar away with a threat of death when he came to fetch me for my humiliating duties. Instead, we finished the thatch on the smithy. I saw little of Ermendrud, and brooded ceaselessly over what had happened.

Then, Father returned to the hill, riding under his standard, haggard and dusty. His face was drawn, eyes red-rimmed and tired after having toured the gaus, elevating men who were willing to forget Bark's accusations and silencing those who were not.

With him, came many rumors, for men and women arrived in his wake. Many were outright lies and some few bitter truths, but the tale of Manno and Bark finally arrived to Hard Hill. And they had not kept my part a secret, after all. Manno’s words were slithering across the land. I heard some women whispering it was Hraban, son of Maroboodus, who had helped his father slay their holy men. I felt many unkind eyes on me from that day onwards, and uncomfortable silence reigned every time I passed a pair of gossiping tribesmen, all looking down when they spied me.

Bark was making life hard for us, but so was Father.

Hard Hill had struck their shields wildly in approval on the day he took over, but now, things were calmer, and people had had time to think. There had not been a proper Thing for weeks, though Gernot had carried much of the weight of the management and law speaking. Instead, to my surprise, some rumors spoke of men who were drafted in the far outlying villages to serve in the Roman fashion, trained like them, with harsh discipline they were unused to.

There were also rumors of Tear and Odo, the two who benefitted greatly from the death of the vitka, and of their strange power that was growing amongst the Marcomanni and Maroboodus. What had been whole and kind in the religion of the northern gau had turned to uncaring and terrifying. Few dared to beseech Tear or Oro for blessings or auguries. They said many drab men and mad things were drifting to the woods beyond Hard Hill where Tear and Odo lived, and they said they were from the north. Maroboodus could do little to curb these rumors, and did not even bother.

That evening, the Thing would take place. I seethed with impatience. Armin had not sent any word about Manno, and I was cross with most everyone unlucky enough to deal with me. My foul mood lasted until I saw a fat peasant approach me.

The man nodded and whispered, 'A pretty lord wishes to tell you one Manno will come here with a boat this very evening. His shield bears a white lizard. Have someone spot him early.'

I nodded and walked to Bero's old hall, entering the semi-dark main room, where I requested to see Maroboodus. He sat in his seat, talking softly with Nihta, tired to the very bone, slouching on his seat as an old man. He spotted me and waved me over rather lazily. He looked hard and upset, not smiling once. I nodded, hesitant as I approached. I kept quiet and gazed at his eyes, and a spark of interest lighted in his.

He sent Nihta away. 'So. Something has happened?' he asked hopefully. 'I will host an important meeting this night, so be quick.' He rubbed his temples.

'I gave you an oath,' I said, 'and I keep it today. There is going to be a vitka, a man called Manno here this evening, one who tries to murder you, Tear, and Odo tonight. His shield bears a white lizard.'

'I don't care what his shield looks like,' Maroboodus cursed, but calmed. 'Hard trip, Hraban, sorry. They are talking shit all over the woods. Bark is saying we hold part of the statue that was found at the Meadows. The part, Hraban, you had in your hands. There is a man who survived the Meadows, by the way, another chore of yours. So why is this Manno important?'

I looked around, seeing nobody and whispered, 'That Manno is the man who survived the Meadows.'

'Truly?' he asked. 'And he is coming here?'

I nodded. 'It is part of Armin's and Isfried's plot. We must take that man alive, and have Tear torture him for information. He will speak of Bark,' I said, and told him everything.

He listened, smiling like a sated cat at my words.

When I was done, he stretched, much relieved. 'Ah, Armin. Moreover, he has been talking with the Matticati, riling them up. I see. We do not have to torture Manno, but kill him silently, since we already know when Bark will supposedly be there. We make it look good, of course, in case Armin and Isfried have men here. Let’s keep Tear and Odo far away from this business. So, I am to ambush Bark at the Flowery Meadows, and they will, in turn, ambush me with an army?' I nodded carefully. He was musing, making delicate plans to ensure Isfried would not get away. He stretched his huge muscles again, grunting in pain. 'So, how is Ermendrud? Soon I must cement the deal with the Chatti.'

'I am working on it,' I said, miserable.

'I hear that from Felix, you goat,' he said sternly. 'If she is pregnant, you will marry the girl.' I nodded, not sure if that was a bad thing. But I had slept with Ishild. Woden, gods help me. 'Anything else?' he asked.

'Isfried will want me at Grinrock as a hostage. I am to go there. They will not ride otherwise.'

Maroboodus nodded. 'His army is his old, large family, and their famed men. Some hundreds of the cream of the south. He would not trust the rest of the people down there. So, we will do this.'

I grunted. 'And if they decide to kill me?'

He gazed at me in confusion. 'So?'

'I …'

He waved his hand to silence me. 'Much has to be risked in life, Hraban. If you die, I will bury and mourn you. It is not for those to become a lord of the Marcomanni who love safety.’

His words were hard but filled me with pride. I would indeed be a lord of the Marcomanni, and would risk much for that. I shrugged and nodded. 'They speak very badly of me. They think I was party to the murder of the vitka.'

'And you were,' he grimaced and enjoyed my discomfort. 'Worry not, such things will be covered in dust as great deeds rise above them.'

I nodded at his logic, hoping he was right. He did not truly understand the Germani. 'Yes.'

He was musing to himself. 'Manno. I know that name.' He snapped his fingers as he apparently found the answer. 'He, I hear, used to be a famed champion of the Chatti, before the gods filled his head with their grace, and he moved here with his family. A spear master,' Maroboodus grinned. 'Hard man to capture alive. If he thinks you foe, best you stay away from the Thing tonight. Let him try to take Tear, and Nihta will capture him. We will kill him, and you will go and let Isfried know Manno broke and sang like a bird in the spring. Soon, Hraban, we will be the masters of our own world and take more. You need not serve Gernot anymore. In fact, they told me you have not. I will tell him this night it is over, the false service.'

I cried for joy, but my brother's face went white when Father told him the news of my freedom. I should have been worried, but I was giddy with Father's promises, and forgot Ishild, Gernot, and Koun.

CHAPTER XIII

That night I sat with Ermendrud near the docks, wanting to see Manno arrive with a boat. I was sure Father had vigilant men around the Red Hall where the Thing was to take place, waiting to see the man, but I wanted to see him first. Ermendrud was shivering in the chill air, and I held her close. She was not the love of my life, but she was a sturdy, strong girl. I enjoyed her company, but I thought about Ishild, and what had happened with her, if it had been her, after all.

A silent boat was being rowed from the south, slowly approaching the crowded docks, and would pass us by. A merchant or a lord coming for the Thing, likely. I heard distant yells and glanced up the hill. On top of the hill, Father was entertaining the fawning chiefs, no matter their guarded thoughts about Maroboodus and Bark's stories. Tear would be there, in her customary trance, and Odo would be hovering nearby, his eyes gazing at men and women, scheming for his mad god. I cursed profusely. Manno would have killed them for me, but I had no luck. They would survive, for now. I waited and thought of poor Ishild again. Had it been her, and had she enchanted me? Or did my thoughts wonder, making me one of the madmen we sometimes drive to the woods. Was I a vaettir-possessed, broken-minded fool? Was it the dancing figure, whom I thought Woden, making me soft in the head?

'Ermendrud,' I said slowly. She smiled briefly and looked up at me.

'Did I dream of you in my hut?' I asked bluntly.

She giggled. 'Depends on what we did!'

'We shared love,' I told her carefully.

'You have been dreaming, but tell me more,' she told me brazenly.

I shook my head. 'So you were not in my hut, not even at the door?'

She smiled. 'Oh, you saw me? I came to check you were there. For Nihta. Felix ran away from the door like a rodent. He is forever looking after you.'

'For Father. Did you stay?' I asked, cursing the Gaul. Felix knew about my relationships.

She shook her head. 'I felt a bit sick. I was tempted though.'

I groaned. Why had Ishild come there? Was she jealous? Did she know about Ermendrud? I cursed as I saw the ship go past. A heavy, short man with a bristling beard was standing on the prow, a sturdy framea in his powerful hand. He held a shield with a painting of a dirty white lizard, and wore a thick, notched belt. It was Manno. I felt a shiver of fear.

'I must go,' I said, and Ermendrud nodded.

'Gunhild has some chores for me,' she said, bitterly. Gunhild was a hard mistress, especially for the spoiled daughter of a former champion.

I nodded nervously, kissed her briefly, and then ran carefully for the wide harbor where I hid in the deep shadows of a former warehouse. The ship arrived, slowly splashing away from the mist. The man on the prow emerged from the dark. I saw his face, and I knew it was the man who had lifted the drink from the cellar that night when I had inadvertently poisoned them and then quite knowingly butchered the rest.

I shook as the man jumped from the ship, waved his hand at the men mooring it, incautiously stomped forward and stopped a peasant with a horse. The peasant nodded carefully and pointed up to the Red Hall. There were many chiefs arriving, this was just one amongst many. I saw Manno go, a man knowing he would possibly die. There would be others to help him, he thought, but it would be a desperate fight nonetheless. He was entirely nonchalant about it, marching calmly forward as if he was going to fetch a rod and go fishing. I was going to go to the smithy and start to prepare for my perilous trip for Isfried.

Just before I entered the repaired crafts hall, Gernot appeared out of the dark.

He stopped before me, holding his unused shield and unbloodied spear loosely. He had a strange look on his face, intense, scared yet determined at the same time. 'You need not to go fetch your friends,' he told me brusquely. 'You and I have a meeting to attend to.'

'Go away, Gernot,' I said. 'I will go, forget your shivering presence and the smell of shit you no doubt will leave behind.'

'In there you will see,' he told me, flipping his hair back, pointing towards the smithy, 'Euric, oafish Wandal, and corpulent Ansbor.' I nodded, waiting. He grinned. 'But not Felix.'

My eyes narrowed. 'Felix serves my father. He spies on me. You will get in trouble with our master.'

He spat. 'Our father has made me an unimportant little law speaker for petty things while scheming with you. For a while, he was speaking respectfully and confiding with me, but then you ruined it all. He has pushed me out of his confidence. He has betrayed me.'

'So. Law giving is not enough for you? You wanted more. You did that yourself, Gernot. You are a drunken coward. Did you truly think you would fit in with a lord like that and his many heroes? You look like a shit they have squeezed out of their asses. Where is Felix?' I asked dangerously.

His face went white from fury. 'I have other plans than my father's, Brother. I have always had them, knowing Hulderic would push me down, at some point. Then came Father, but no, he, too, is playing games that will be, no doubt, unjust towards me. He gave you to me as a plaything, but now, he is scheming with you. So now, I will finally act. I know much about you, Brother. Much,' he was gloating, peering towards the smithy, where Wandal could be heard laughing dully.

'Where is the Gaul?' I asked, dangerously close to clobbering the fool.

'Follow me, and we shall discuss,' he said, and walked off. I cursed and followed him. We walked to the harbor's edge, where stood an abandoned Roman warehouse. Its door was slightly ajar, and I saw a light flickering inside. Gernot went in, glancing at me, his face drawn with scared excitement. I hesitated. There would be nothing there I would enjoy. I could walk away. Felix, while an amusing boy, was hardly a friend.

But I went in, for I liked him.

There, on the other end of the long hall, stood Gernot in the shadows. Felix was on the ground, bound, bleeding from his face, his lip rudely split. He looked at me, terrified, and his eyes were pleading for help. Gernot put a foot on his chest. 'Now, Hraban. Get on your knees before me, or you will see a death that is not pleasant,' Gernot told me, a bit breathless.

'And why, Brother,' I started, pointing languidly at Felix, 'would I sacrifice my honor and life for a slave of Father's, who is no friend of mine?' Felix whimpered.

'I was not talking about this thing, Hraban, but her,' he said, and Ansigar edged to the light with Ermendrud. She had a bruise on her cheek, and her dress was torn. Ansigar had a hand on her bare breast, and he was leering. She looked furious, not afraid. Gernot smirked at me. 'I have seen Felix. Sneaking around, speaking with strange people, forever shadowing you. I thought he might have his uses. I was right. Felix knows a lot. He is brave and hard to force to do things he does not wish to do, but he does speak when his limp cock meets an erect spear point. Then he sings finely.'

Ansigar was fondling Ermendrud's breast, looking at me in a challenge. He had a nasty club in his other hand, ready to hurt her. I heard Woden demand I let go of my fears, felt his savage dance in my head, but I kept my peace after a great struggle and took a ragged breath.

Gernot was studying my face, intrigued at my reactions. 'Felix told us you are sleeping with a girl. A crime, if people hear of it. Your reputation will be ruined. Even more ruined, that is. The story of the vitka is out, running like fever through the villages, and all look at you like they would at a pile of offal.'

'I will never speak,' Ermendrud said bravely. 'Never will I admit it!'

Gernot smiled. 'You will not? In any case, Hraban will not marry the Chatti after such a rumor. Remember, my fool of a brother. I have been given the right to call people for law speaking. I will accuse you, Hraban. I will have witnesses, no matter where I get them from and how much they cost. The only question here tonight, Hraban, is whether I will do so, or will you be humble? Not like you have been while serving me, arrogant and stiff-necked, but truly humble. Beg for mercy, and we will let you go.'

'Let go of her,' I told Ansigar, dangerously close to pouncing on him. He shook his head and leered. He put his hand on her belly, tearing the cloth down. Ermendrud's face went white. She was trembling in fear.

Ansigar sneered at me. 'Ask one more time, Hraban. Nicely. Fail, and I will slide my hand there. You care for the girl, do you not? Be polite.' They looked at me. I shook in all-consuming hate, but went on my knees heavily, thinking it just another humiliation in the line of many similar ones, which would be repaid.

'Come, Hraban. Beg, and you will scamper away in one piece, later,' Gernot said, excited. 'First, crawl to us. Then you beg in front of us.'

I went forward on all fours. I passed Felix, and glanced at him. His eyes were pleading, and I steeled myself as I went towards Ansigar. Gernot was walking next to me. Then, suddenly, he kicked my side savagely. 'Stay down!' Ansigar hissed. I obeyed, and Gernot dropped his weapons as he kicked and kicked me. I guarded my bruised face, Woden raging in my mind. When he stopped, out of breath, I had pains all over my sore face, sides, and back.

'Beg, dog,' Gernot hissed as I reached Ansigar.

I went to my face on the mud. 'I beg for you to let her and Felix go.'

Ansigar snickered. 'I will let her go to the gods, but only after we have had her. And sent you on your way, as well.' Ermendrud was trying to break free, but Ansigar clubbed her urgently, and she fell with a gasp of pain. I tried to get up, but Ansigar raised the damnable club. Gernot held his spear at my back, and I stopped.

Gernot pushed me with the point of the spear, breaking skin. 'It is over, Brother. I was ever the smarter one, but now, I am also the braver one. I take my chances, and you will go beyond this world. I am sorry I lied to you, but this way, I don't have to smear you in public. You will keep what honor you had left and, perhaps, never be found. The river is swift. Perhaps they will think you ran away,' he said, his voice calm though the spear trembled.

Ansigar shook his head. 'No, he must live. We are sending him away, not to the next world. Don’t ruin our future. We have been promised a great reward.'

'I do not care, Ansigar,' Gernot said bitterly. 'I want to …'

'All will be ruined, Gernot, if you fail. He must live. We will break his leg, but that’s all,' Ansigar said calmly. Gernot was hesitating, and then I sensed he was listening to Ansigar.

‘Yes. Fine,’ he said, miserably.

‘Don’t worry. He will suffer,’ Ansigar laughed. ‘Now, as for the leg.’ He moved towards my limb, hefting the club. The spear stayed in my back.

'You will ruin Father's plans, you idiot mongrel.' I cursed him and prayed. I would not go easily.

'I told you. I have my plans. In addition, maybe you are not really needed for these plans Father has? Perhaps I take your place, whatever it is that is happening? Perhaps …' And with that, things changed. He went silent, and the spear came off my back.

A shadow fell on the light.

The door had opened and a man was walking up to us. I turned to see the hard-faced Manno. The former vitka was soon standing in front of us, staring incredulously. Then, as if deciding the strange scene was unimportant, his face went calm. He saw me, and nodded. 'Son of Maroboodus,' he noted as if speaking of a slab of horsemeat. 'The boy with the club of Hercules, the one who visited Flowery Meadows. You two, let the girl up.'

'Who are you?' Ansigar asked, his calm broken as his voice trembled.

'They will leave,' Manno told them with savagery. 'No woman will die in this butcher yard. No innocent boy either. Let them go. I’ll find you two later, if we survive the night.'

'Let her,' Gernot said cautiously, watching the short, muscular warrior vitka. Felix struggled onto his feet. Ermendrud got up, and I nodded at her. She sobbed and ran, unsteadily, Felix following her. He glanced my way, and I grinned at him, hoping to look brave. Manno was there, and I would not leave the place he described as a “butcher yard” alive.

Gernot opened his mouth. 'I am …'

'Leaving, boy. I am Manno, his foe, and the man he owes deeply.' He nodded at me, in no hurry. 'A deed will be done here today, many deeds, in fact. My Lord Bark and the fool Isfried will have men slaughter Maroboodus and his dogs in the Thing. I was to be there, but why should I be there when there is bleeding to be done closer at hand, a debt to be paid in full. They asked me not to touch you, for some reason. But I will.'

Gods, I prayed. Manno thought he was not needed to serve Isfried in the Red Hall, and could kill me in peace. Were there really other men up there? I had not thought about it, and wondered if Armin had lied to us, hoping Maroboodus to indeed die this night, and if not this night, then by our plan.

Gernot shook his head, wondering at the man's words. Apparently, I was to die after all, and Gernot was contemplating the fact Father might fall as well. It did not bother him as much as it should have. 'There will be guards alerted, and you will …' he started uncertainly.

Manno ignored the two and turned to me. 'Did you, Hraban, poison my brethren with foul magics, unholy tricks and tricky gods' cursed poultices?'

I nodded, steeling myself for anything as I got up. 'I was told by a worm of a man your brethren would be sick, at most.'

'And did you slay my wife with a blade? You butchered Ralla, my love, did you not?'

'I did stab her to death while she held you tenderly,' I said, terrified of the dark storm rising in the small man's face. 'I did it to serve my father. When one drifts far from honor, it is hard to make choices based on it. I had reasons to do so.'

Manno grunted, animal-like, shaking his head in regret, spittle on his beard. 'Your father's turn to scream at the edge of a blade is nigh. Tear and Odo will tumble to Hel this very night, a red night, if the gods see it fit to be so. I dwelled here, Hraban, and I know people who loved me; a healer and a holy man, and some people are all too happy to help me. One told me where you spend time, lingering idly and sometimes toiling with your friends. You were not there, at the smithy, but Woden smiled, and I saw you two walk away. I have time before I go and meet my gods up there at the cursed hall, but I will take time for this, no matter the cost, you understand? Of course, you do. The killer of my wife. Will you die well, boy?'

'I will,' I told him as resolutely as possible, shaking.

'Get ready then, and spare me a seat in the halls of the plenty, if Woden or Freya will have your soul for the afterlife,' he said, and pointed at my brother's weapons. 'Take them and bear them with honor.'

'He'll not lay his rancid fingers …' Gernot shot at Manno, but I let Woden's dance take me, I growled in feral, all-encompassing rage, and rushed Gernot. I punched him hard on the side of the head, tumbling him to the dust. I kicked him and grabbed his spear and shield from his nerveless fingers. Ansigar, the prudent one, was edging away, which I regretted. I turned on Manno, who was grouching behind his shield, a framea pointed my way.

It was all simple, and there was no need for elaborate words.

'Woden!' I screamed, and rushed him. Woden was dancing at the edges of my mind, savage, demanding blood.

However, Manno was no peasant from wooded hills.

He had been a great champion once, and he was calm as gentle rain as he let my raging stabs come. I rushed him shield first, stopping before tripping over his foot, and I punched the spear at his face, my Woden given strength making me snake-fast.

His shield was there, and I danced back, avoiding a small jab.

I did not give up, mad with anger. Yet, each attack he grimly pushed back, upsetting my speedy thrusts, resolutely holding me at bay, patient. His shield covered most of him. I danced around him. I noticed Gernot being helped up by Ansigar, but Manno's calm face was all I really cared about. He kept turning as I danced. I alternated my grip, stabbing overhand, dropping the framea to grab it midair for an underhanded stab. I thanked Koun for his training, for I was brutally fast and apparently tireless. I slammed my shield at him, trying to move him.

'Ralla,' he said, as he stood there, indomitable as a rock wall.

I rushed again, aiming my spear at his skull, and he lifted his shield just an inch. I refused to retreat, hoping to surprise the man who had beaten many a warrior in battles like this. I alternated the spear to stab at his foot, and so I nearly died.

His shield slammed down on the shaft, snapping the framea. I saw my spear tip had drawn some blood, and he was grimacing in pain though it was a minor laceration. His shield met my face, and I fell back, the shield in my hand hampering me. I tried to let go of it and get up, but Manno was there, over me, his voice calm and nearly gentle at his victory.

'Ralla was a good, gentle wife. You served your father, yes, but now your death will bring balance to tormented souls.' The cruel spear point came closer, hovering near me, his muscles ready to plunge it in. I saw Ansigar had dragged Gernot near the door, and both watched in morbid fascination at my soon-to-be demise. 'I will put it slowly into your heart, Hraban. That much I want you to suffer, boy,' he told me. 'You will cry, and I'll feast on the tears.'

'Like your victims suffered, Manno?' I asked him in near panic. 'When you were a vitka and killed many a wife and husband alike?'

'They rarely suffered like you will. Scream my name. Manno! Scream it to the Valkyries. Die for Ralla. Die slowly. I would hang you, but I want you to die by my hand. I wish to feel you trembling in pain at the end of this shaft, like a trout would.' I felt the seax sticking out of my belt; the handle awkwardly under my side. Woden was still dancing in my head, but the song seemed sadder, his dance slower. I would die.

'I hope you are satisfied by my demise, and not Odo's. The man who gave me poison instead of vile liquid to make you lot sick, as he promised.'

'I, or someone else, will get him and slash his spindly spine,' he said, and licked his lips as the tip of the spear entered my chest. I squirmed in desperation, for time, for salvation.

I grimaced in pain, provoking a smile from him. I shrieked and reached out to him desperately, hoping for a miracle as I spoke. 'No, you won't. Odo will survive you, by decades! Bark wishing to bury the bones of Wulf at the Meadows? We know. It's all a trap within a trap, and you, the foolish sacrifice they are using like a sack of meat to bait a wolf!' His eyes opened large as mugs. 'Ask Gernot the foul there, he knows!' I said, though Gernot did not know anything, not really, unless Felix knew, and had sang him a song about that as well.

Manno's face turned towards Gernot in anger. 'What does he mean? Is there truth to this?' he asked, shocked. 'We are betrayed?'

His spear did not move for a few seconds, and so I grabbed his foot, where I saw blood, and felt my fingers go deep into a wound. I raked, tore at it. He howled, stumbling, a piece of flesh tangling from my fingers, slippery with blood. Freed, I pulled the seax out of my belt and saw the spear coming back down, Manno's face twisted in anger over it. I slashed the blade up, screaming, and felt blood splatter on my face as his thigh was cut. So much blood. The framea quivered right near my ear, transfixed to the floorboards.

He gasped, staggered, and fell on his side, the dark liquid flowing fast as a river. I got up, wiped the tangy stuff off my eyes and noticed Gernot's jaw trembling by the door.

'Brother,' I said, coldly. I looked like a forest demon, a maneater. They shivered. 'Come, Brother, and embrace me,' I said, malicious as a dead man seeking warmth.

He shook his head, backing off. 'Felix told me everything about her, Hraban. Everything he knows. I will condemn you. I will demand your death. I will ruin your reputation.'

I growled and ran unsteadily, but they were running to the night. I heard Wandal bellow a warning outside and Ansbor follow suit. I was utterly exhausted as all my rage fled. I fell on my knees before Manno, who was shivering.

He looked up at me, face calm and utterly white. He grabbed my arm weakly. 'I will meet Ralla.'

I nodded. 'I hope so, Lord. In addition, I am sorry for all of this. I did not lie about the poison.'

He smiled. Groping weakly for his face, he was trying to utter a few more words. 'It matters little now, Hraban. Beware of Bark, boy,' he managed, and then fell to the darkness. Wandal and Ansbor rushed inside and stared at me, not comprehending the sight they were gazing at. Felix appeared as well, out of breath, his breath rasping. Ermendrud followed him, about to saunter to me in relief. I stopped her with a warning look.

'What happened, eh?' Wandal said. I shook my head, tired.

Ansbor spat. 'He is in shit full of trouble again, and so are we. At least he is alive. We saw Gernot and Ansigar run, and no doubt the piss-sodden pair of mongrels has something to do with this?'

'I will deal with them,' I told them. 'Felix, get Father. Or Nihta.' We waited while he did, Ermendrud wringing her hands. I hoped she would stay quiet. We had trouble enough, but she did. Eventually, we heard a horse and jingling of armor as men stopped before the hall. Maroboodus came in alone, wearing a bloody tunic while his sharp sword was bared, and I saw he was bleeding from a scratch on his chest. There had been more men, after all. Apparently, Armin and Isfried had indeed tried the direct approach, and the supposed trap was only a backup plan. Father eyed me, then Manno. He nodded at my friends, Felix and Ermendrud. 'Stand at the door.'

Father came and kneeled next to me. 'This is the man?'

I nodded, dead tired. 'What happened up there?'

'They tried to kill us, four desperate men, and Tear was wounded, but not badly. I killed two, Nihta put down the others, and the Thing is in uproar while I play the victim of malice once again. Now, you will leave for Isfried.'

'What if this was their real plan?' I asked him calmly. 'What if there is no other plan, and they go to war next?'

'I told you, much has to be risked, Hraban. I will let Armin know, for the bastard is up there, that I have taken the bait. I will make a mysterious boast, that soon, one more of my enemies will die at the Meadows. I will mention Manno’s name and his cowardice. It will be well.' I looked at the wound in my chest, gingerly touching it.

'Yes, Father,' I told him, miserable and unsure of the happenings around us, and I felt like a leaf plummeting towards an uncertain destination.

Father grunted, as if reading my thoughts. 'You are a good fighter, Hraban, lucky at least, but no luck will last if what Gernot is telling everyone at the hall is believed by the Marcomanni. He discovered Ermendrud, and is making a bid for power again.'

'He is telling them of Ermendrud, yes,' I said. 'He would have raped her. He tortured Felix, and says he is making new plans, plans he drew long since, especially seeing how you betrayed him. He was going to murder me, and Ansigar insisted I was to be kept alive, even if I was to be hurt.'

Maroboodus's grim look made me feel sorry for the bastard. 'Gernot and his new plans? With Isfried, perhaps? I will find out. He will rue this, but now, he is not done. He will wish to condemn you publicly; he is working to call up a meeting. It's too late to shut him up. You already have a bad reputation, and people heed him. He has done well in the law speaking previously. I will think about this, Hraban, and of ways to fix what is broken.' I nodded, and he prodded at Manno's corpse with his toe. 'Tomorrow, Hraban. We will deal with many unfortunate things, but for now, I go and ensure Armin knows a fool of a man is captured, properly tortured and utterly broken, and I will wait for mad Isfried to come. And Hraban, it is best to marry her or find a foolish man for her, quickly.' He left and glanced at Ermendrud, as he passed her.

I sat there, staring at Ermendrud, wondering at what to do. Wandal came to crouch next to me. 'Who is the girl, eh?'

I introduced her with a ragged breath. 'Ermendrud. A friend. Not a lover, like Gernot is claiming up there.' She was worried, just like Maroboodus was. It was her life that was at risk, and her spotless honor. Perhaps she thought if we were married that day, it would be fine, and Gernot's lies would not touch us, and she was right. We could agree to this, dowry or not.

But I would lose Gunda to Gernot, and the bastard would win.

I sat there, finally having to face the issue I had staved off for so long. I knew I wanted to marry the Chatti princess. It would give me much power and high position, and I did not love Ermendrud, not more than the thought of Gunda, at least, and I was a terrible bastard.

'Gernot is making a ruckus up there, he is crying about Hraban and god cursed immorality in the same sentence,' Ansbor said drily. 'Knowing you, he is not lying.'

'I have not slept with Ermendrud,' I told them frankly. 'No, I have not.' She was growing nervous at my denials, gritted her teeth and opened her mouth, but then closed it, fury playing on her face. She had hoped I would fight for us, but I was denying everything instead. I decided to go all the way and nodded at my friends while holding her eyes and took a deep breath. 'I am promised to the Chatti.'

'What?' she said angrily then visibly struggled to be calmer. 'Chatti? You are betrothed?'

I swallowed. 'Yes,' I said simply, trying to deal with the terrible fury and hopeless disappointment on her face. 'Have been since early Drimilchi.' I looked at Ermendrud pleadingly. She was disappointed, scared and angry. I waved my hand, tired. 'His accusations are baseless. This is Ermendrud, my friend, and Gernot is hoping to hurt me, as is his wont, but he tried to go further this night. He tried to be rid of me, all together,' I told Ansbor and Wandal. Ansbor scowled, and Wandal looked suspicious. Ermendrud's pretty eyes glinted with a warning. She had heard me say the same to Ishild earlier, about friendship. She could, possibly, destroy both of us and again, Hagano's story of foolish love came to me. We could both die in the swamp if she was hurt enough.

'But you have been with Ishild, right?' Ansbor asked carefully.

'She, too, is my friend.'

'You have a lot of friends,' Ermendrud growled, nearly beyond control, and I thought she looked prettier when it was so, but shook my head to chase the thought away.

'And you have not touched anyone, eh?' Wandal asked carefully.

I threw my hand into the air in frustration. 'I was nearly murdered, and you only worry about my love life? No, I have not! It is not so. Felix? You have followed me around for my father for long months. Have I slept with a woman out of my own will? Is Gernot a bastardly piece of pig shit, who is lying as usual?'

Felix perked and spit thin blood. He stepped forward and tore his tunic to emphasize his honesty. 'Hraban only touches himself, and he has no women. He makes love to his left hand and usually cries of shame after. I swear by your Tiw and angry Donor, may they melt my ears if I lie.' Ansbor was observing his ears carefully, but Ermendrud was looking at me furiously. I cursed Felix and his imagination for he made me look bad, no matter what.

'But you have met a woman for weeks, have you not? She came to you that one day, and you two went away, and …' Ansbor kept on insisting, suspicious.

I was no longer in the mood for explaining myself. 'Felix, where is my horn? Did you steal it or is it truly missing?' I asked as I gestured for Wandal to come closer.

'Yes,' he said in a small voice.

'Stolen or missing, boy,' I growled.

'Loaned,' he told us with a small voice, and we all glowered at him.

'I saw you receive coin for your services to Nihta,' I said calmly.

'No!' he said, but went silent as Ansbor came near him, scowling, and so he gulped and nodded, almost embarrassed. 'Yes, I have that coin. And I got silver for the horn. I need it to go home as I don't trust your father to give me riches as he has promised. He should, for I know enough to make a sobbing husk of a man of him.'

'You are my slave, Felix. You will not speak to Father about my doings, or spy on me, only for me, and if you do this, then one day, I will set you free. I saved your life just now, remember it. You will fetch the coin, all of it, and give it to Wandal.' Felix opened his mouth, but only a sad squeak came out.

Wandal stopped, confused. 'To me? Eh? Why?'

I pulled him closer to me. 'See the girl? My friend like you are?' He glanced at her, and Ermendrud's mouth fell open, her face reddened, but she saw my eyes and shut up as she understood there was a warning there, one that brooked no more problems for that night.

'I see her, yes,' Wandal said, carefully, unsuspecting of his fate.

'Remember the story Hagano told us? Gernot's stories might very well cause her to die a nasty, choking death at the end of a rope or at the bottom of a seedy swamp. Gernot will accuse me in front of everyone in this accursed village, lying about us. He hates me, and he certainly does not care for her honor.'

'He is a bastard, eh?' Wandal said, growling, and I saw Ansbor's eyes brighten as he realized what I was doing. I think that somewhere deep in his mind, he was hurt I had not asked him.

'So, she needs a husband. A man who will stand by her side, swear by her honesty,' I told Wandal, and felt a sting of jealousy. I liked Ermendrud, though not enough to marry her. He looked at me for the longest time, and then looked at her, and she actually smiled. It was my turn to be terribly hurt, but I shrugged it off, thinking of Gunda I had not met yet.

Finally, Wandal, the dolt, looked back at me. 'Who will she marry? Eh? I don't know anyone who might be …'

'Wandal, my friend,' I said, patient beyond reason. 'She will need a strong man. One with a fine profession, like a smith. She needs, my friend, a future warlord.' I said this loudly, and was rewarded by Ermendrud's glinting eyes, which suddenly betrayed interest as her devious female mind was spinning new plans and abandoning the old ones. 'We need one who has coin for a dowry, and I think Felix will give you a goodly amount of silver and bronze, certainly enough for a man to marry. I know no-one else with such coin.'

'You mean me?' he said, his voice squeaky.

'You,' I told him gravely. 'Save her. She needs you.'

He was speechless. I looked at Ermendrud pleadingly, and she took a hesitant step towards us. She hated me, I saw that, but perhaps she understood that Wandal, who was not an ugly man, was a safer choice than I was. Her eyes turned to my friend, and I felt sorry for Wandal, and jealous. She was a joy to sleep with and nice company, steadfast and loyal. I resisted the urge to give him pointers on what Ermendrud enjoyed while making love.

'I … eh?' he said, and I led Ansbor and Felix out.

Ansbor growled as he saw Ermendrud on his knees before Wandal, who was lifting her up, and my fat friend spat. 'Why not me?'

'Because Wandal will never get married without help; he is dead scared of women. You are not,' I said.

'Have you slept with her?' he asked suspiciously.

'Felix swore I have not,' I said, not willing to lie more. Ansbor smiled and spat. I went to my hut, imagining what Euric, Wandal's father, was going to do when Wandal came home with her.

I went to my hut and fell into a deep sleep, clutching my seax, and saw many, many nightmares.

Next morning, I ate a meager breakfast of old apples and water, and started to pack though I practically only had the belt. When I had done so, I went outside. A warrior stopped to look at me, and I realized that he was not alone. To them, I was an abomination, a man of no morals, a slayer of helpless vitka. An evil rumor is a powerful enemy, and Gernot's stories would take root, no matter if Ermendrud was vouched for by Wandal. I cursed but decided I would ignore the looks, try to, at least, and act as if they were all lies. Wandal and Ermendrud would stand witness. However, that was not to be, for Guthbert came out of Maroboodus's hall. He nodded his helmeted head towards the inside of the great hall, hand on axe. 'Sorry, lad.'

Maroboodus sat on his high chair, slumped like a beaten man, and dismissed all others. The hall was near dark; with some light shared by some fluttering oil lamps burning on the table and a bundle of shingles was crackling in the fire pit. He waved me closer and got up, dread-looking as the flickering shadows played on his features. He offered me mead, but instead of giving it to my hand, he threw it in my face, and then grabbed me by my throat and roughly took away my seax. Surprised, I fought him, punching and hitting his armored body, even strangling him for a moment, but he was far stronger than I was.

'I just need the weapon, Hraban,' he said arrogantly, pushing me to the floor. 'Gernot has made quite a mess out of it.'

'You could have asked for the seax,' I protested, looking upon my weapon in his hand.

He nodded. 'I have cursed you, now I have fought with you, so it is convenient you leave for Isfried. I hear you dealt with the girl?'

'I have. Wandal will marry her,' I said, morosely.

'Wandal will marry her,' he mimicked me with a girlish voice full of scorn. 'If only that was enough.'

'It is enough,' I spat. 'He will defend her, and challenge any rumor the hog lover can conjure in his mad, sad mind. Wandal's no weasel to run and hide, you know this.'

Maroboodus growled. 'You god-cursed, dark-haired mongrel; things are hard enough without your trouble. I told you she was not for you. Do you think I am a fool? That I would not find you a nuisance to be discarded if you disobey me?'

I spat again, finding my mouth drying quickly. 'At the moment, you look like a turd and a fool indeed, Father. You commanded that I deal with the matter. I killed Manno …'

He laughed. 'Murderer, that is what you are. An oath breaker. Not to be trusted with your many passions. Hraban, things are happening you cannot possibly fathom, never able to understand.' He threw his chair to the wall so hard it fell apart.

'Armin and Isfried are fooled, and so I have served you well, Father,' I told him evenly.

'I know,' he said, holding his forehead as if I should understand, but did not. 'I know much. However, your foolishness is putting us in danger. Even if I oust Isfried, I cannot appear less than a perfect Germani chief for the old families. If I let you run around without rules, it will appear as if a Roman senator rules here, and that, my boy, I will not survive, like Bero did not. Some other Maroboodus will come along and fillet me. Bark's accusations echo across the villages, they are gathering momentum and will do so, even if Bark joins Wulf in the afterlife. And even that is still undone.'

I nodded, miserable. 'But as I said, she is to be married. Is that not enough?'

He sighed and put his face in his palm. 'Gernot is a cowardly ass of many loyalties, you are a brute. You plough women not meant for you, then you are an idiot enough to get caught, you rebel and spew lies. You are like a rabid dog, Hraban, and you take too many risks for unworthy causes, usually for your own. You challenge the people and their beliefs, when you should find fine, subtle middle roads. If I elevate you, I tell people Maroboodus agrees to the breaking of traditions of morals. Do you have no concept of modesty, respect?'

I stood there, red-faced. 'You admired my relationship with her not so long ago. I was brazen, and you had a good laugh back then. Now I have dealt with it. And we would not be boiling in this soup had you not put Felix on my trail.'

He sneered at me. 'I admire men who keep secrets, who grasp for what they desire, but do not try to grasp all they fancy. I told you, keep away from her. Now, we have things to distract us. Very soon, we will go and war against the Matticati. The bastards have been raiding, more boldly each week, thanks to Armin, no doubt. Hengsti is ambitious and resents that I killed his cousin. Armin took him the skull, gathered favor by his handsome face and refined, respectful manners, and riled them against us. Hengsti is a natural ally to Bark and Isfried. Villages have been burned to dust, and so I am assembling armies. The Quadi, under Sibratus, will join me.'

'Sibratus, Tallo, and Tudrus?' I asked, sensing something about his answer was strange.

'We will see. Tudrus arrived yesterday, but Sibratus, certainly.' His voice was hard, very hard, and I flinched.

'But before that, Isfried has to be dealt with.' He looked at me, his face a mask of uncertainty as I ogled him in confusion. 'I need all the Marcomanni people to stand behind me.'

'So it is not enough I have Wandal marry her?' I asked, 'and you never told me not to sleep with her.'

He smiled, finally. 'I am telling you these things,' he said, and we both heard a door open and light footsteps at the other side of the hall, 'because I am upset with you. But I know you need hope. There will be war, and war changes many things, ever has it been so, and it can restore even honor. I will protect you, but there are limits to what a man can do. You failed Odo in your simple task, Tear, too, and they have lost patience. Now, you have given them a weapon to use, by lying not only with Ermendrud, but also with Ishild. You gave Gernot an opening, he used it like a feral animal, and I cannot ignore what he is doing. You see, Gernot's new plans involve Odo and Tear, not Isfried, and Felix did tell them way too much of your women.'

'What?' I asked, terrified. Odo knew about my one night with Ishild.

Maroboodus nodded outside. 'Follow me soon, after they have talked to you, and congratulations, Hraban, for we have to think of a name.'

'What in Hel’s name are you talking about?' I asked in confusion, but Maroboodus stepped out, fast as a shadow. I saw there were men in the yard, where a small Thing was in place. Elders of the village stood around, their beards were long, their looks stern as they spied me standing in the dark hall. Gernot was there, speaking to them, but then the door closed, and I was left in the semi-dark, but not alone.

I turned to stare at the darkness behind me. Odo sat there, hunched in the shadows as an oil lamp was sputtering on a table near him, and Tear walked up from the dark. My enemies had dark rings under their hollow, mad eyes, they were exhausted by their long work of conjuring spirits and now they were there, to demand service and to judge me. Their eyes were gleaming, and I groped for my seax, but understood now why father had taken it. I saw the spear of Aristovistus on the wall as Odo was playing with his wand, his face filled with cool resentment.

'You have touched Ishild,' he uttered with a rasping voice, and I felt conscious of her mother's look, one of anger and concern. Damn Felix for telling Gernot, for he should have died rather than squeal to the little bastard. 'You have touched her. You have fouled her,' Odo hissed, 'and you failed at bringing the girl to me, our Veleda, for no strands of hair will fool me, a vitka deep in the confidence of the dark, chattering spirits.' I was inching for the spear, trying to see how it was fixed on the wall.

Tear spoke with a voice that promised swift justice. 'You knew we would not be fooled, as you know we whisper to the gods, and you know we are kin to them. We have learned some truths while away, Hraban. Goddesses and gods have been generous with us. Bero has been most useful, even if you have not. But in a way, you have not failed, Hraban, no.'

'She was meant to go free that night?' I asked them calmly as I moved slowly for the spear.

Odo's eyes smoldered as he answered, 'She was. Before she is found, she has to be truly lost, lost to us, and the prophecy moves forward because you let her go in your soft, merciful moment of tears and snot. Other things will take place before she is found, and these things you are to take part in, and so you will come with us and travel far. However, you will come with no weapons and no honor. Your father will give you to us. And for what you did with Ishild, you will come blind as a mole, deaf, and a pained cripple.' He shook his wand. 'I have put a curse on you, Hraban, and there is no happiness for you with my sister.'

'Why do you care who sleeps with your sister, you pile of vomit?' I challenged, moving next to the spear. 'I will go nowhere with you. Try to force me.'

Tear looked sad, scanning Odo and me, and I turned to her. 'What say you, great one? Will you dance to your son's wishes, or be a mighty, wise woman who can give her daughter freedom? We spoke of this once. You were worried Veleda has to die, so let her go, and let Ishild go. Surely your son is not more important than they are, and you know Odo will slaughter Veleda.'

She sighed. 'Kill her? No, we do not know if that is needed, and her blood might do. Yes, she is my daughter, too, taken from me by Woden. No matter if she has to die or not, I will find out the truth if Bero lasts or Antius finally delivers onto me the scroll of Shayla. There, the whole truth is to be found, but, for now, we have clues where the road begins, and Hraban, we are on it.'

I laughed like a cornered man would, bravely but nervously. 'But I can stop it. Remember the dark rune in the forest, on its side? I can stop walking the road, in fact, I will. I will do no favors for you, you rotten mad creatures, and I will keep my eyes and hands as well. Where is Ishild? Will you not think of her and let her go? If you do, I promise I will not touch her again, nor did I mean to start with. We are not meant for each other.'

'Again?' she asked incredulously, angry like a mother would be, not like a doom-ridden völva, and that made me feel better for some reason. No wise mother would believe I had been a victim of their daughter's schemes, even if it was true. She was truly a mother, as well as a völva.

'Let her go, and let us forget this, all of it,' I told her, near the spear now.

She thought about it, considered agreeing, walking far away and disappearing to the wide lands of the east, but Odo hissed at her, and she hesitated, gathering the will to go forward. It was hard, as if all her considerable determination, faith, and anger had been drained after Bero's fall, but she shook her head at me in denial. 'You refuse to come with us?'

'Yes,' I told her, grabbed the spear as fast I could, and got tackled by shadowy men and women, the servants of my two bitter enemies. They tore at me from the dark, cackling, and grabbing me painfully, and soon they raised me up.

'Take him out, by the backdoor,' Odo said softly, gloating at my struggles as one man placed a gnarled hand over my mouth, and I could not scream. He came closer, his hand making involuntary jerks. 'I will eat your bright eyes, Hraban. I'll do it, and feed my shit to you. Your wise brother, whom I told to find Felix and learn from him what is going on, will join me for the dinner. I like to share, and there are two orbs on the plate.' Gernot and Odo, I thought in panic, struggling like a maniac, a perfect pairing of shit and piss. I fought like a wild animal, but they dragged me along nonetheless. Then I heard a commotion outside, and men surged in. Wandal bellowed, and so did Ansbor. Maroboodus screamed orders for them to stop their mad charge, but my friends came forth to spring me from the jaws of darkness.

Javelins flew in the air, Ansbor impaled a man in the shadows, and Wandal shook a hammer in the air as he ploughed into some drab-dressed figures. A man howled, and then fell under me, spilling me on the floor. I flailed around and grabbed a club from his belt, got up, enraged as a stung bear, flaying around me brutally. A man was unlucky and stepped in the way, the club caved his head in, and he fell heavily, moaning.

'Enough!' Maroboodus screamed from the doorway. His men piled in as we formed a triangle facing all the foes, the ones we knew, and the ones we might still know. 'Enough,' bellowed Maroboodus, as determined Leuthard and astonished Nihta pushed the decrepit men out of the way and then faced us. 'How dare you fight in my own hall, fouling the seat of the Marcomanni with gore?'

'We have made oaths, eh, lord?' Wandal stammered.

‘We are doomed,' Ansbor whispered, while yanking a javelin from a dead man.

'You don't know the half of it,' I replied back, but neither did I, yet. I was about to.

Tear stepped forward. 'Peace, Maroboodus, between us all, save with your son who grabbed a spear, and so my men protected me. But since we are all here now,' she gestured at the chiefs of the village, trailing after the warriors in wonder, 'let us speak of a grave matter, one that you should take seriously.'

I sneered. 'They were going to take me by the backdoor, not to you, Lords!'

'Lies,' Odo said, calmly, his eyes moist and crazy, his fingers twitching.

Maroboodus sighed, playing the game. 'Speak, my truth speaker, what is the charge?'

Tear tore at her hair in agitation as she pointed a finger my way, as if unwilling to even witness my face. 'He has made my daughter pregnant, heavy with a girl child. She is to give birth in nine months to a bastard. He will not marry her, being a foul thing of Hel.'

The world spun around me, and Wandal and Ansbor shook in surprise. Wandal's eyes betrayed disappointment at my lie of not having slept with Ishild, but even relief, and I understood he had been wondering if I had taken Ermendrud before him after all, but now, as I was condemned, he was momentarily happy, the bastard. He could not understand I had had both. I laughed hysterically, and then went quiet as a mouse, as the chiefs, noble and moral Marcomanni all, scowled in anger at my misplaced mirth.

Maroboodus stepped forward. 'A grave accusation. What say you, Hraban?'

I swallowed and trembled, but Father had said he would try to guard me. I stepped forward. 'I do not know if that is the truth.'

Tear turned to the dark. 'Ishild!' She came, pale from the face, and turned towards me, and her words echoed in my ears. I had left her. I had hurt her. She did not need my friendship.

'Ishild …' I said, but she turned her face away.

'I am pregnant. To Hraban,' she said, resolutely. 'So swear I, daughter to völva Tear, the truth speaker of Freya. It is there, growing inside me, the seed of Hraban. I feel it already, even if it is but a few days since he gave it to me.'

They all believed her.

I looked into her eyes, and she glanced at a woman on the side. Ermendrud. She hated her, it was in her eyes. She had wanted me, and I had taken another. She had told me I was the only normal man she knew, and when I rejected her, she had suffered, not like a völva but like a girl, and girls, my Lord, are brutal in paying back for insults. Now she had done the deed, and her family used her lust and need of safety against me. Alternatively, they had put her in my bed to start with.

Maroboodus shuddered in anger. To deny her was to deny the völva who had proclaimed to all Maroboodus and his destiny as leader of the Marcomanni. 'You wish to claim the right to fight?' he asked, turning to me.

I shuddered in surprise. 'I do,' I said. 'For the truth, I claim a right to fight.'

'He is no man,' Odo snarled.

Gernot appeared and sneered. 'No man, nothing. Give him to her, Father.' Maroboodus glared at Gernot, who had pushed into his matters for a personal vengeance, siding with Tear and Odo for power, power for himself and power over me. Gernot would suffer, I knew, but for now I was to fight. I knew I would not die. I was not to die, but to be given to Odo.

'Choose a champion,' Maroboodus told Odo.

'Just give him to us, we will …'

Maroboodus bellowed. 'He is to fight for his truth. He says he does not know if he is the father. I will not have any man go to their deaths without a chance for the gods to intervene. Choose a champion.'

Odo looked suspicious, but nodded. 'Nihta, and after Hraban is beaten, he will be ours.'

Maroboodus grinned. 'No. A man of your own. Or a woman. I care not.'

They looked around their group of stragglers, filthy men with barely a serviceable weapon amongst them. Nihta grinned. 'Surely you have one man to match a boy.'

Odo's eyes glittered. 'I have one. However, he is far. Surely …'

My father raised his hands. 'If you cannot decide, we shall speak more, later. I will think on the matter and reach a decision pleasing to all.' He looked at Tear, who did not argue; patient, in control. Gernot's mouth was hanging open, foiled again. Odo walked away, silent. Maroboodus had saved me, for now. He nodded at me and guided me away from under the malevolent eyes of my brother, Ansigar, and Tear's followers. I tore free and strode to Ishild. She looked away.

'Why?' I told her. 'Why take their side against me? You know I did not know it was you.'

'Do I?' she said with a small voice. 'I am sorry, love. I have no choice. One day, you will understand, and I know you will forgive me.'

'I doubt it, Ishild,' I told her as Maroboodus strode up and grabbed me, practically throwing me towards the door. The chiefs were mumbling, shaking their heads. Yet I was saved, for now. I waved my friends Wandal and Ansbor down, both scowling at my duplicity and me mightily, especially after they had risked their lives for me. I loved them and would drag them down with me, and so I cursed myself and begged Woden for help, for things were desperate.

'Get a horse. We ride, and talk,' Maroboodus said calmly. Soon, we rode east until Hard Hill was behind us. We hunted for deer, and saw fresh wolf tracks in the mossy grounds around the Hard Hill. He smiled surprisingly often, laughed as I fell painfully from a horse stumbling in ferns and gave me fine mead to drink. He spotted a young deer in the bushes, took careful aim with a tall bow and felled it as if it was Donor hurling his famed hammer at a giant's skull. We got down to prepare it. He grew serious as he looked at me across the carcass.

'Bark has been stirring a lot of chiefs with the story of the club of Hercules, Hraban. The one he thought he saw in your hand that night. I have been very upset about that.'

'I am sorry, Father,' I told him.

'Many a man has already died for it, boy, but worry not. I think it might actually be a good thing. Marcomanni must bleed. The old ways have to change unless we wish to end up like the Sigambri are, with some allies, but forever too few. We need a king.'

I smiled. 'You sound like Gernot, except he thinks the king should be him.'

Maroboodus laughed at that, hugely. 'That bastard will learn to cross me. He will continue to speak about you and Ishild. Perhaps he will be rash and go even further. I gave him the power to call men to hear law, and he has clamored all night as he has been trying to summon such a meeting. That he would heed Odo over me is a decision he will regret.'

'Take the power to speak law from him, Father,' I told him with relish. 'Make him count sick cows in some remote hamlet. Or send him to the Hermanduri as an ambassador who demands their surrender and obedience.'

He grunted, amused. 'It seems clear you will one day kill each other. I will not stop you. It is your wyrd. Manno is dead and buried, and no matter what, you go to Isfried this night. Catualda has been speaking with Isfried, stoking his fears and confusion. I have raided the river near Grinrock, burnt Roman ships. The men who tried to kill me yesterday, well, people blame Isfried for that, and so we will have a war that will split us up, unless I kill him first. He knows this, and does not want such a war either. He hopes there is still a plan, and will go with it, if you play your part well. He dares not bring the commoners. He knows many like me, but his family has some three hundred nobles and their closest warriors, and they are gathered, spies tell me. The cream of the south is sitting in Grinrock, waiting for you to appear, and that will be a sign it is still possible to slay me. That you are a vagabond, is enough to convince him of your sincerity. Hah.' I pulled at the slippery intestines of the deer, cursing as they were stuck. Then I cursed the stench and fumes, making my eyes run. We cut away at the mess, and he grinned. 'The Matticati have been moving men our way. Armin's plans with Isfried are coming together, yes, but I have more men, and better ones,' he said.

'There are rumors you are training men in the Roman way,' I said quizzically.

'We will see,' he grinned. 'My enemies think I am the soft iron to be easily molded and broken between hammer and anvil, but perchance I am more elusive and know how to break such tools as Armin and his allies.'

'Speaking of Armin, what will become of him, should you thwart his plans?' I asked him.

'I will have Thusnelda, but Armin has so far been very useful to me. I will spare him, Hraban. He can ride home, and when I marry his woman, he will be double fooled.' We snickered at the thought, Thumelicus, my Lord. I was no friend to your father, oaths or not.

'Then you will rule the Marcomanni, Father,' I said happily.

'Marcomanni, and the Quadi, and you shall not speak with Tudrus the Older again. You will take no coin or service from him.' He put down his bloody knife as he regarded me keenly. 'He was Hulderic's friend, but that time is now past.'

I nodded carefully.

We worked hard and then, sweating, sat back. The air was hot and humid, and he gave me more mead from a gourd. He looked at me and saw I was brooding. 'Ask.'

I nodded. 'Is Tudrus in danger?'

He shook his head. 'Depends on the Quadi. Some of them will join me. Sibratus will take many men to join us in our future wars. If they let Sibratus come to us? We will see. There are young men amongst them who heed me, even near Tudrus, in addition to Sibratus. But if they deny Sibratus's right to join us? Then, perhaps, he is in danger.' He smiled strangely, and for some reason, I thought of Vannius and wondered how deep Father's plans reached. He continued, 'I do not know what Tallo, the eldest brother will do. Nevertheless, I believe in strong nations, Hraban. Not so much in tribes, but nations. Many things will happen, we will war, drive Rome out. Maybe we will grow? Marcus will be back, we will see.'

'Where is Marcus?' I asked, startled, as I had not thought of him since I was sent to Bero.

He laughed. 'He is a trader, a far-travelled man and my eyes. He is scouting for possibilities. So, you married Ermendrud to Wandal? You are a piece of gristle. Perhaps you are my boy. You certainly get into trouble like one. Killing Manno means you are lucky, as well. But this business with Ishild is serious, Hraban. You need heroic deeds, tomorrow, today, in the upcoming war. If Isfried dies, I will kill Tear and Odo. Bark dies as well,' he added. 'He must not survive. He is driven, beyond help for his fears of the prophecy. And for his losses.'

'How will you get by without your truth speaker?' I asked him, hopefully.

'I will hire some ugly madman to dance badly in drunken stupor and pay him well for favorable omens,' he told me in all seriousness. 'I learnt that in Rome. Their gods are much more pragmatic than ours.'

'If Tear and Odo really have power, won't they know you will try to …?'

'If, if. Hraban.' He waved his hands, frustrated. 'A man plans for success, and so we will have a trap, one where all the flies come,' he told me.

'Ishild? She carries my child …'

He laughed. 'Ishild. She can live. I would also like to see a grandson. It is possible we could let you marry both Gunda and Ishild.'

'Tear claimed it is a girl,' I told him, while dreadfully thinking about marrying two women.

He made a warding sign with his fingers. 'By Jupiter, a daughter. I suppose that is a start. We will marry her off to some kind chief, and we wait for the sons. I may make more. In any case, help me, and I will tell you what to do,' he said, and pelted me with an acorn.

I smiled at him but thought of Ishild and how hard it was to understand her. She would be in my life though I did not love her.

'Son, we can make it work,' he assured. 'I will also marry two women, Thusnelda and Gunhild. Obviously, I won’t give her to Bero. She and I will suit each other fine. It is possible, if the gods agree, for men to marry more than once, if a man can bear such a burden. And Tear's god has agreed.' He grinned, and I thought of happy Koun and wondered what Gunhild thought about it. 'Take this when you go to Isfried. Say you stole it from me. Might need to buy men's loyalty.' He threw the pouch to me. It had pieces of silver, some gold coins.

I swallowed and took it. He saw my face. 'Ask.' He got up to get on his horse.

'Do I have brothers and sisters in Rome? Mother worried about that,' I said.

His features hardened; a look of genuine hurt flickering on his face. 'Whatever happened there, Hraban, is past. If Nihta or Guthbert, or any of the other bastards speak about these matters, remember that warriors gossip more than women. Now I will elevate you; you will be my son and then, perhaps, we will have peace in the end. Let us go.' So we rode, the deer before Father's lap. I felt hopeful, the sun shone warmly, flies did not bother us, and the birds sang, and life was good.

When we got back to the Hard Hill, it was raining, and a man was riding for us. He squinted at me with unguarded hostility, and then whispered covertly to Maroboodus. Father stiffened, obviously angry. 'Hraban,' he called me. 'Gernot has called a law hearing for this evening. He has told everyone you will answer for your crimes. Odo has made him do this. I will teach Gernot his place, and make him live in a pigsty, but tonight? It is best you leave for Isfried now. It will look good, in fact.'

I nodded, cursing my foolish brother. Odo had found a willing ally in him. I saw Tudrus's standard leaning in a hall near the Red Hall. A plan was formulating in my mind, one my father might not like. I rode up the hill with Father and dropped the deer off to some slaves and Ermendrud, who looked woodenly at me. Then I rode for Koun.

I was not content on letting Gernot hump me in public, and would only leave after the hearing. I felt sorry for Maroboodus for having two sons with so many issues.

CHAPTER XIV

Koun was sitting outside his drab hall, using an old whetstone on a knife, a woman's knife. He was drawn, obviously tired, but he was not alone. Gunhild was there, talking softly with him while he worked on her tool. They laughed and smiled happily. She touched his hand gingerly and briefly, and his eyes shone like stars. I grinned at him as I walked up. He looked startled; Gunhild's eyes were large like eggs.

'Well. I am meeting Gernot the law speaker soon. You wish to go before or after me?' I teased Koun, nodding at Gunhild.

'Hraban!' Gunhild said sternly. 'I was bringing him food!'

'A chore for simple slaves, no?' I asked demurely, and she huffed as she blushed deeply.

Koun scowled but could not keep his stern composure. He grinned at her. 'She was bringing me food. But I prefer her company to her cooking.' She scowled at him, smiling after a while.

She ignored Koun and turned to me. 'How are you, Hraban?'

I shrugged. 'Well, you know. I seduced an innocent woman, made her pregnant. Koun here has beaten me raw for weeks, and Odo wishes to take me for a trip, save for my poor eyes, legs and arms, and possibly other parts that I value above them. I suppose the hapless women will be safe from my charms if he does, however.'

Koun laughed raucously as he handed Gunhild her knife. Gunhild blushed, but whispered at me, 'Your grandfather told me that you need to be careful.'

I spat. 'How is the murderer?'

She scowled at me. 'He is sick. Let time pass, Hraban. Perhaps it was all Bero's doing?'

'Oh, the one who took the coin from Antius the Trader for the deaths of my family claims it was Bero alone? How is it he had Mother's fibula?' I sneered, regretting it as I saw her face.

Gunhild looked upset, about to say something, but shut her mouth as Koun placed a hand on hers. The man pushed her on her way. 'Well, Gunhild. I will speak with Hraban.'

She went, smiled at me briefly and sadly, and Koun nodded at his bench. I sat down. 'The hall is empty but for slaves and a guard in the shadows. They watch me ceaselessly. Dog's life, eh?'

'Yes. It is. Did you know Maroboodus will marry her?' He stopped, and his face went white. He said nothing, licked his lips, and trembled. 'He will marry Thusnelda too. He will be very busy at nights,' I told him mercilessly. 'I bet he cannot ride for weeks when they both move in.'

He grabbed me roughly and then let me go abruptly. Then he stood up and sat back down, indecisive if he should scream and cry. 'Hercules curse him!' he said with gritted teeth.

'He is a goat,' I said hypocritically.

Koun looked at me incredulously. 'You know what they call you? Why do you torment me so? You are close to him these days. Why do you … does she know she will marry him?'

I shrugged. 'She might not. She is unlucky in so many ways. Father is a traitor, and she is smitten with a goat-smelling Vangione. There is something wrong with her.' His face brightened as if the sun had come out after a week of rain. I stood and faced him. 'I serve Maroboodus. It does not mean I hate you. If you must know, I arranged it so Gunhild started to come here with the meals.'

'Not only do you make yourself an immoral bastard by humping women not meant for you, you try to drag me to Hel as well, eh? But I thank you.' He smiled wistfully as he watched Gunhild go up the hill.

I continued, 'So, perhaps you can pay me back. You would know about the Hermanduri war. I just now heard a man brag as he insulted Tudrus the Older. I hear this man called Tudrus a foul coward. If you heard this, and were to testify so, this evening at Gernot's law speaking, I might try to help do anything in my modest power to free Gunhild from her bonds of marriage. Father might listen to me. He will owe me greatly.'

He considered it. Desire was playing on his face with deep doubt. 'I cannot have her here. Only if we can escape this place. I doubt your father listens to you, but there are other ways you might help. We will make a plan of escape, and you will provide the means to pull it off. If you help us go, I might swear that this man has done the deed. I do not like to lie, however, you know this. Who is the man who spoke so of Tudrus?'

'Gernot,' I told him evenly.

'Ah, then it is fine,' he said, delighted. Few liked Gernot and especially not Koun, whom Gernot had publicly lied about. He had not wounded him in battle. It was something no man could stomach, and I knew Koun would be my willing ally. He leaned forward. 'Am I testifying or accusing?'

'I need you to testify. Someone else will accuse. He will need a witness that was there.'

'I am that witness then,' he grinned happily.

'Yes.'

He sobered. 'But there is the matter of Vannius.'

'Vannius,' I said, guardedly. 'Is he here?'

'With Tudrus,' he told me. 'He has been ignoring me. He walks freely, armed to the teeth, so unlike me. I have a feeling he is not a prisoner anymore. I, the fool, sit here, and he might have turned Quadi. Find out how it is, and I will help you. You are, no doubt, heading that way next, since you still need your accuser.' He smiled, and I smiled back. He was a keen man. I thought of my father's words, about Sibratus and Quadi helping him and men close to Tudrus heeding his words. I wondered if Vannius was, in fact, a Marcomanni, not a Quadi.

'I am indeed speaking with Tudrus soon. I will find out,' I told him.

'This I must know, for I am bound by his safety, and will sacrifice even Gunhild for that,' he told me, not happy it was so.

'I do my best, Koun.' I got up to leave.

He nodded and hesitated for a moment before stopping me. 'You asked me about Balderich and Bero once?' I nodded miserably. I had deliberately forgotten that.

'Find out, Hraban. About Vannius. Set us on our way. I will tell you something that will matter,' he told me gravely. 'As proof of my goodwill, here.' He handed me a scroll. 'He told me you should not open it until you truly need it. It will help you escape your fate one time. His first favor, he said. Not sure why he left it with me, but I guess the bastard knew you would come to me.'

'Adalfuns the Crafter?' I asked in wonder. 'Why would he speak with you in the first place?'

He snorted. 'He lives in our Burbetomagus, Hraban. He is a Vangione by birth.' I tried to deal with that while my mouth was hanging open, and I was gaping at Koun incredulously. Vangione? The bastard.

Koun smirked at me. 'He travels all the wide lands, Hraban. He is not your enemy, nor mine.' The scroll was in my hand. It was vellum, bound in ox leather cover. I started to open it, but Koun slapped my fingers. 'When you need it! Find out what Vannius is about. If you find him working for your father, or some other lord, tell me. Then I will help you with Gernot, and tell you what I know,' he said and got up.

'Your brother,' I asked. 'If he has turned from you, will you kill him?'

He fidgeted but smiled. 'He is my brother. He has his wyrd. My wyrd, Hraban,' he said, leaning closer to me, 'is to be married to the most horrible hag in the world. Gunhild is quite unlike her. I will start over for her.'

I grinned at him. 'Looks like I do not have to punish you for Hulderic, Koun. You will find your own noose soon enough.'

'We hang on the same, strong bough, boy. I heard of Ishild,' he said, smirking at my pallid demeanor. 'Be quick, for I do not wish your father to marry Gunhild. My brother comes first, but if he is lost to me? Then I can act. Tudrus is up there, go and meet him. He is not happy, though.'

Gods laugh, but I liked Koun. Vannius, had he betrayed his brother and Tudrus? I would find out. I hiked back to the smithy. 'Get ready to ride,' I told Wandal and Ansbor, both lying on rough benches outside in the sun. 'Look at you, napping like badgers while I am about to be given to my enemy.' I spilled Wandal to the floor.

'What do you need us there for? Witness your humiliation and more lies?' Ansbor growled until I spilled him too.

'I am sorry I lied, but I did not sleep with Ishild out of choice. Do not start to refute that. That is the truth. Where is Ermendrud?' I asked.

'Working in the hall, eh?' Wandal said.

'Have you already …' I started, but my voice cracked, and I shook my head in anger. None of my business.

'We are not married yet!' Wandal said, angry at my brazen questioning, but I felt perverse joy over his virginity as I missed Ermendrud and our lustful moments.

'Where are we going?' Ansbor asked, pulling on a tunic to cover his belly.

'Grinrock, very soon,' I said with malicious joy, and they stared at me.

'Isfried's home? The enemy of your father?' asked my friend. 'The man everyone says sent killers here last night. They are practically at war!'

I nodded, nonchalant, and stirred myself. 'Get the horses ready. It is late already. Euric will give us food for our trip, and he can ask for payment from Maroboodus. You get horses from his stable,' I told them quickly.

'Did you hear what he asked, eh?' Wandal said, distressed. 'You are saying we will be roasting with you in the Thing or dying with you in Grinrock, eh? Is this how it goes? This is what you ask of us?'

'Yes, if you would be so kind,' I told them, tapping my foot.

Ansbor was looking for his comb. 'Best look good for our hanging. What are we doing in Grinrock, if we make it out of Hard Hill alive?'

'Just trust me,' I said as I left and called out, 'Father has a plan, and if it goes well? We will all be great men amongst Marcomanni.' Ansbor laughed sarcastically. 'It will be fine,' I said, and heard Ansbor snort, but then he scrambled after me.

'We will be up there, with our spears,' Ansbor said resolutely, despite his sarcasm. I did not deserve their friendship.

'Don't forget the supplies,' I said casually, but I was nervous. I hiked for the Red Hall, and soon spotted Quadi men, with blue tattoos along their arms; riding away from a hall I had seen my friend's standard at. There, Tudrus was standing in front of the door, his chest bare. Nearby, men and women were hiking to the place of judgment, before the Red Hall, the Thing ground. I spied Nihta and Leuthard up there, not far, and Gernot, in my father's saggy red tunic, was giving orders to slaves, nervous at what he was going to do. He could barely wait to see me before him, but I noticed a line of people before him, waiting for their case to be heard, a horde of onlookers around them. Gernot had other people to judge first. I had some time. I waved at Tudrus who was chatting with two Marcomanni guards. His eyes opened wide as he spied me coming. 'Greetings, where are your wastrel sons?' I asked him, and he roared, pulling me into a bear hug from my skittish horse.

'Maroboodus sent you?' he asked as I tangled with one foot still over the horse. 'They say you have been an extremely naughty boy.'

'He does not want me near you,' I said, while freeing my foot, and a slave took the horse. 'Thinks you are a poor influence.' We smiled, but he sobered quickly.

He looked about, whispering so the guards could not hear. 'You realize your father will know you came to me? He has given me hints he wants me to stay away from you.'

'That you have to worry about such things, tells me you have … reservations.' Tudrus nodded and took me inside to his bedside, strewn with rich pelts and fresh hay, and sat down heavily, leaving me standing. His assorted gear was there: a heavy silver bracelet, some bright coins, a pair of sharp daggers, and an axe.

He pointed a finger at me. 'I have reservations, yes. Your father retrieved his sacrifice, a sacrifice he had promised Woden. I had my boys spy on you after you left, to make sure you would be fine. They saw him give the great sword to the gods. He likely says the gods gave it back, but Agetan saw Ansigar diving like an otter there. He is dishonest. I work with him, but I do not like him. He has many needs. Too many. And not enough respect for the old ways and the way the tribes are set up. He, I think, never forgave me when I refused to join your tribe.'

'I have a need,' I told him, feeling sorry to ask.

He rubbed his chin. 'So you are a spearless boy, and you have no means to pay your pretty boyfriends for their meager services. Right?'

I shook my head. 'They demand much food, eat like horses, in fact, but no. That is not it. They wait patiently for my spear and shield, so we can start to serve and grow rich and famous, but I fear for them.' Euric kept us fed; Ansbor had grown heavier.

'I hear you are famous already,' he mumbled. 'Infamous.'

'Lord …' I started, but he waved me down.

'Before you go on,' he said, 'take this.' He looked embarrassed as he lifted a sack, and grunted. It had weight. I took it and peeled the sack off. In it was a bronze helmet. 'It belonged to the man who stopped you from killing my boys, remember? He died that night. Much honor in it,' he told me gruffly, wiping a tear.

'He was a great one, we all saw him die so well. But what are you giving me?' I rummaged around the empty sack.

'The helmet, you cow-licking Marcomanni,' he said and slapped me sharply. His men eyed us, laughed. I saw Vannius's face in the crowd. Tudrus noticed. 'Yes, he is with us. Popular with the Quadi, he is. Leads some men occasionally though not alone. My brother likes him.'

'Sibratus?' I asked softly.

'How do you know that? It could have been Tallo,' he asked me, his eyes narrowing.

'My father speaks highly of fine Sibratus. Why did you give me the helmet?' I asked, stricken by the worth of the gift.

He threw his horn to the wall, ignoring my question, upset over his brother. 'Sibratus? Sibratus is coming here. The Quadi who wants to make his men Marcomanni. Do you know something about that?' he asked loudly enough to be heard over the hill. I cringed. His men glanced at us, but evidently used to such outbursts from the old man, got back to their revelry. He sobered, and nodded at the helmet, embarrassed. 'I gave it to you, a lord's gift, because I like you, and I hear you still do not have what your friends have. They do not have such a device. See, there, symbol for Woden, Donor, and some other god or creature I do not know. It comes from afar, they say. Athens?'

I laughed. It was a thing of beauty. I held it reverently, turning it around. 'I thank you. I wish I had a lord like you, and a father. I think you are in danger, so I wanted to ask; why are you here?'

'Danger? I am a guest. Your father wishes to talk with Sibratus and with me, he says, to smooth over the ripples in the Quadi tribes. We won't let Sibratus break off. That would be the end of the Quadi, and so I am here to make that clear.'

'I do not know, Lord, but I hear Sibratus is not coming to smooth over ripples, but to make them. My father tells me he is preparing Quadi men to go to war for us,' I said, warily.

'Sibratus is coming here,' Tudrus said, scratching his chest, 'but not to join your father. No, that is not so, I just told you. We do not let him, both Tallo and I have said no, and it is the law Sibratus cannot leave us.'

I shrugged, worried that I was betraying my father. Yet I felt chills thinking about my father's words when we had hunted. He had plans, and he did not like Tudrus. I put a hand on Tudrus's shoulder. 'Sibratus is going to be a chief for Maroboodus. He will work with Father. My father is unhappy about your single-minded drive to being a man of the Quadi. He has bigger plans for the Quadi.' Tudrus the Older shook in anger, tried to drink, and noticed his horn was no longer in his hand. He sat still. In the hall, men laughed. One had fallen from a long bench, in a drunken stupor.

Tudrus poked me in my chest, hard. 'I like you, Hraban. However, you and your father are trying to make peace. They told me this, when I asked. He defended you against Tear.'

'As long as he is set on avenging the death of my family, I will obey him. But I will not let my friend die,' I said affectionately. 'You have enough wealth? Coin?'

'Coin? You just said I am your friend, boy, and now you beg for coin! Sell the helmet, whelp!'

I shook my head. 'I will never sell the helmet. I will die with it on my head. What I meant is I can pay you if you keep my friends safe and find Ishild if my wyrd is to die young.'

'Pay me?' he asked, surprised.

'If things go wrong, they will need a lord,' I told him. 'I can pay you some for that.'

He fixed a speculative eye at me. 'I do not need such coin. Of course, I will. Ansbor, Wandal? I assume not the rat-faced one, Ansigar?'

I sighed. 'No, kill Ansigar if you ever see him alone. In addition, a rat of a Gaul, Felix, save him as well. He is playing many games, and thinks he can profit from all of us, but I like him, gods help me. Moreover, save Ishild too. And Wandal's wife-to-be, Ermendrud.' I cursed her silently.

He ran his fingers across his face. 'You started with two and ended up with a tribe. Yes. If I can. Ishild, too. Yes. But that puts me at war with your father.'

I nodded. 'You might be in one anyway. In thanks, I can give you information. Right now, I think you should leave. Maroboodus, he is out to change things, and such men drown honest men,' I said sibilantly, and he laughed.

'You speak as if you had seen the world! Yet, you have seen but few villages, boy!' he said. Then he poked my chest. 'I will think about what you said about cursed Sibratus, and the rest. And if I leave, I won't tell anyone when and how.' His eyes glittered mischievously.

I nodded, trying to be vague, realizing I was once again taking middle roads that tended to get me in trouble. 'In a few days, he is planning for something big. Then he rides to war with the Matticati. You should leave today. Don't trust Vannius either.'

He waved his hand. 'Vannius is a good lad. Seems he is fairly happy with us; we hardly need to watch him. Gets along with the boys well enough. I hope he is on my side if your father's side no longer… suits me,' he shrugged.

'Agreed, but do not tell him when or how, either,' I said, and we grabbed each other's forearm in a fierce grip.

I decided to go forward with my plan of thwarting Gernot. 'Are you still bragging about the Hermanduri war? I heard some men talk about it just now.' An evil spirit was laughing somewhere in my head at my devilish plan, and I hoped I would not get Tudrus in terrible trouble.

'Yes, they must hear about it daily, the breaking of the shield wall.' He waved his hand at his men. 'Now, back to the drinks.' He got up and saw my troubled face, stopping midstride.

I looked up to the ceiling, apparently embarrassed. 'You, Lord? Surely, the truth could come out, and they would laugh at you? Was it not someone else who broke the enemy shield wall, leading your men?' I asked carefully.

He stared at me, dumbfounded. 'Truth? Your father broke them on the left, but it is hard to claim they did it before the Quadi broke them on the right first! That is the truth! Vannius!' he screamed, and the former Vangione came to us and looked at his master uncertainly.

'Did we or did we not break the Hermanduri on the right?' he bellowed, mad as a wounded bull.

Vannius looked at Tudrus in confusion, and then at me. He shook his head to clear it and smiled. He had an infectious smile, long, blond hair and curly beard, and I liked him, no matter what he was planning. 'We did! Though it was my first fight with you, I was there, and saw it well. Their chief fell on your blade, and his men converged on you to avenge their lord. We pushed over and through them, leaving them bleeding and dead with few men to cover the breach. Only after that Maroboodus routed them on the left.' Tudrus laughed and clapped Vannius, but I kept a stern face, looking down at my dirty shoes.

Tudrus noted this. 'What? Tell me!'

'I … well,' I started.

'Tell me!' he roared, and the hall silenced, the guards coming in to eye us curiously.

'There is a man telling it was his initiation and bravery that broke the Hermanduri on the right, that it takes a Marcomanni chief to do such deeds for the Quadi, and that you were limp as an old man's penis during the battle. That he led the charge and killed this chief.' Men shouted in rage, surging towards me, but Tudrus kept them at arm's length. His face was blue, and he was quaffing air as best he could while groping for his sword.

'Who? Who says such things? Who?' he whispered.

'Vannius heard him, too, last night,' I said mischievously and looked at the dumbfounded Vannius in the eye, flipping two bright coins between my deft fingers, and his greedy eyes flickered briefly to the coins and then to me.

He nodded. 'Yes, I did, but I told him to be silent as a corpse. Did he not shut up?'

I shook my head. 'No, he was bragging to me just now. And to some admiring women. And to the many men who are gathered on the Red Hall. He claims old Tudrus has no stamina: not in war, not in bed. It's age, he says.'

Tudrus shivered. 'What? Who?'

Vannius was shaking his head. 'He is a rat-faced runt, isn't he?' I nodded. 'And to call our lord a beggar is cheap. It is not true. He is a great man, and his horses do not look like starving cows, like he claimed,' Vannius added carefully, playing along with the lie, and I smiled at him.

'Well, this rat is stealing credit from men who died, so he is a liar,' I said vehemently. 'He has done that to me often. Lied over me. I believe you, Tudrus, that it was you. Though alas, many do not.'

Vannius nodded. 'So I hear, he …' Vannius looked at me carefully.

'Gernot, my brother. He is a bastard, and I should have known he lied.'

'Gernot, yes. Bastard,' Vannius said while smirking at me.

Tudrus exhaled angrily. 'Where is the boy now? He was hiding in the trees when my men died.' Tudrus was storming around the hall, flipping benches and looking for his shield, cursing, and it was chaos as men armed themselves.

'He is with my father up this hill. Gernot sits as the law ruler today. He is, after all, a great warrior,' I said, and so the Quadi rushed out, and I flipped the well-earned coins to Vannius.

He smiled. 'You are a rotten boy, Hraban. Shall we go see the next part?'

'Koun is there,' I said slowly, and his smile faltered. 'Best not see him, and let him suspect you and Father are …' I hissed at him softly, so a Quadi left behind to watch him could not hear. I wondered how he would react. Was he truly a man of Maroboodus, and not of Tudrus?

Vannius sighed. 'Yes. I suppose so. So, you are …' My heart fell for Tudrus. Father had gotten to Vannius.

'With my father now, he approves of me it seems,' I told him happily.

Vannius clapped my shoulder in congratulation. 'Indeed? I am happy for you. And the pregnant girl?'

'Oh, that is just a small inconvenience,' I told him. 'Here.' I handed him the pouch with coins. 'Appreciation from Maroboodus. You know what you have to do?'

He nodded and told me things that made me shiver. 'Indeed. I will wake Tudrus up tomorrow evening, claiming Sibratus is here, and I will tell him that his brother has dire news of the Matticati, who have killed his son. He will rush to see Sibratus, and that is when he will be swiftly surrounded, and … killed. He trusts me.' He did not look happy, but determined.

I nodded; sweat pouring onto my brow, and it took me a supreme effort not to hurt him. 'And then you will …'

'Will ride with my men, take over Tudrus's men, those who will, and join Sibratus as we go and war with the Matticati. His sons … won't join us.' Vannius said, looking sad.

'You have qualms,' I asked him brusquely.

He nodded. 'They have been good to me. But I am the youngest son. I have no prospects with the Vangiones, and if Koun and I escape, and one day oust Hunfrid, I have no prospects over Koun. I have to build my own land, my own fame.'

I nodded, grinned, and turned. 'Keep at it, Vannius. You are doing well. Those coins are a pittance, but more will come, and you will lead many men. I will tell Maroboodus, but best keep clear of him until Tudrus is gone.'

He grabbed my arm. 'Just remind him that he promised me men and lands when the Boii war is over.'

I inclined my head, hiding my confusion. 'I will.' Then I left. Boii? Father had far reaching plans, and my stomach churned with disappointment, as Vannius was closer to him in these plans than I was.

Vannius was left standing, frowning after me as I stalked up the hill where my friends waited. I was torn with my loyalties again but determined to navigate the shoals. They were going to kill Tudrus. I had to warn him and make him believe in the terrible danger, but without losing my hard-won place with the Marcomanni.

The boy about to judge me was in trouble, for Tudrus had made good time. I saw he was nearly there, and I sprinted. I saw how Tudrus stopped impatiently behind a thick crowd of men and women, fuming at the delay. I edged towards the Red Hall. I froze, for Balderich was there, coughing as he sat outside in the sun. The bastard looked sick as Gunhild had claimed. I remembered his words of care and perhaps of love, and his foul betrayal, and spat in anger. My father stood behind him in a simple tunic, speaking sternly with Gunhild who looked not happy at all as she gazed at the crowd while she was talking bitter words to my father. Her eyes were fixed on a spot in the vast crowd, and I gazed at that direction, and then I saw Koun.

I tried to move for him, and he noticed me. Our eyes locked. I saw him hesitate. He had Marcomanni warriors near him, guarding him. He mouthed Vannius. I made a sad throat-cutting motion. He understood. He nodded bitterly, his face dark with betrayal, but then looked at fair Gunhild, and seemed happy enough.

I noticed my grandfather stiffen as he pretended not to listen to his daughter's complaints, and I felt sorry for him, despite the fact that I hated him. Months ago, he was the great master. Now, he had the clothes on his back, and had to remain silent as his daughter argued with my father, over the marriage, no doubt. Then Maroboodus whispered to her harshly, and her face turned red. She nodded, placing a slender hand on his hand. Koun and Gunhild stared at each other, very much in love, yet bound by circumstances while she held Maroboodus's hand. Balderich stiffened, but said nothing. Gunhild was in as much trouble as I was.

Gernot was prospering and powerful for now, despite Maroboodus's simmering anger. My brother sat next to his famed grandfather, in a bright red tunic, his spindly arms lazily reclining on the great armrests as he listened impatiently to the complaining men and angry women in front of him while making imperious gestures. There was also Ansigar, fetching men before Gernot. They finally noticed me, and Gernot nodded in my direction while I saw Odo and a group of dirty men getting up, having spied me as well. If my plan failed, they would have me unless Maroboodus interfered, and he had told me to go. I saw Wandal and Ansbor on horses, sitting there at the back of the people, perplexed.

Before Gernot stood an old man, and a warrior who stepped up to Gernot, and my brother waved his hand impatiently at them, anxious to get at me. He spoke, his voice nervous. 'Speak then. We will soon hear the case of foul Hraban, the boy who has no decency or manners, but you are first. What ails you?'

The older man shrugged and pushed to the front of the younger man who had been about to speak. He was a grubby, poor-looking man. 'This man, Herulf, is my neighbor. He planted his barley in my field, claiming it was agreed that he could do so. Yet we made no such agreement.'

'We did!' yelled the younger man, Herulf.

'We did not! We talked about it, yet I told you that I am trying to clear some wood for a new field this year, and if you helped, I would agree. Well, you did not help, and the field I ploughed is not large enough to feed my poor animals this coming year.'

'I loaned a horse to you! You have none! Is that not help?' Herulf growled.

All eyes turned to Gernot who sat there, staring at me like an owl, unblinking, and after a while Ansigar leaned on him and whispered something. Gernot roused himself.

'Herulg, did you …' he started.

'Herulf. That is my name. Son of Namor.'

'Yes, yes. Did you loan a horse to him?' Gernot asked, distracted by my calmness, and Ansigar's jaw tightened as I looked at him. He would have hurt me and Ermendrud had Manno not stopped them. That was beyond repair.

'I just said I did!' Herulf said.

'I see,' Gernot said and went quiet, and I saw my father scowl deeply at him. Then Father saw me, his eyes large as he understood I had not left the village as he had told me to. I saw him cursing, and he looked away to whisper with the disapproving Nihta.

To be fair, Gernot was not a fool. He had the wits for law, but here he sat, unable to focus, for he wanted me dead, or gone. He knew he would pay a price for what he had done; nervous as Father was whispering sibilantly to Nihta, and so he dithered. I sneered at him. He would get his soon.

The old man cried pitifully. 'I saw no horse. No. I was there alone, an old man, ripping trees and trunks out of the ground, my hands bleeding, lifting rocks that a jotun could not move, rolling them out from the solid ground with my feeble arms. We will starve this year, and I blame Herulf!' the old man said, his voice stuttering, taking unsteady steps.

Herulf laughed. 'You returned the horse and thanked me! I have men who …' It was then when I made lewd hip movements in Gernot's direction, mocking him for a woman. He noticed, ran out of patience and forgot his fear of Father.

'Enough!' Gernot got up, and men looked at him uncertainly. 'We have heard enough.' Herulf smiled happily. Gernot was fidgeting, glancing around nervously. He was to make a quick decision. 'Heruld, I order you to give half the harvest from the field you sowed to the old man, and as a punishment for lying, you shall give the horse as well.' Gernot was scowling as he laid the verdict, brushing his clothes, and Maroboodus was about to step up to intervene when Tudrus pushed the surprised onlookers away from him. He appeared before Gernot, who forgot about me. Tudrus's sword was bared, and his men flanked him. Unwashed, drunk, and angry, they pointed at Gernot, and I saw Ansigar's face go white. The Quadi strode forward.

The man who had received the verdict did not see the Quadi as he raged. 'Herulf. That is my name. You must have me confused with someone else, for you keep calling me by the wrong name and then issue insane verdicts! You have not even heard my witnesses …' Herulf started but went quiet quickly, for Tudrus walked up, pushing poor Herulf aside. Maroboodus looked at him uncertainly, and I saw some of Maroboodus's men rush up in chain mail and armed to the teeth, Leuthard leading them.

'Lord Tudrus. I welcome you. Can I help you?' Maroboodus said carefully, and Balderich glanced in my direction with a hint of a smile on his old lips. I wanted the man dead, so I did not smile back, no matter how keen he was.

'Yes! In fact, you can!' said Tudrus, leaning on his dread sword.

'Go on then, anything for you,' Maroboodus said, his eyes measuring the crowd quickly. 'Herulf, please excuse us,' he added to the younger man, who nodded inquisitively. The older man staggered aside, as well.

Tudrus was shaking his head furiously, trying to calm himself. 'Tell me, Maroboodus. Who broke the Hermanduri at the battle of the Quadi hills?'

Maroboodus looked confused. 'I broke them on the left. You on the right. Then we wrapped them up in the middle? Was this not so?'

'Yes, that was how I remembered it.' Tudrus was fuming.

'What is the problem, then?' my father said with a low, careful voice.

'There is a man claiming he led the Quadi in battle. A man who is a coward and a liar. I claim a feud on him,' Tudrus said, grimly. Gernot cleared his mouth, and I saw Ansigar frown and start to say something, but Gernot waved him away.

Gernot spoke, grasping back the control. 'Is he here? In the Hard Hill? If this is true, we shall hear him,' he said and glanced at my father, looking for his approval, but Maroboodus was being circumspect and silent.

'You do not ask for them, but I have witnesses!' Tudrus waved his hand. 'Yes, he is here,' he confirmed and growled.

Gernot again waved Ansigar away. Gernot was scowling at the fuming Quadi chief, and he likely remembered the day when Tudrus had mocked him in the feast, the feast where Gernot had refused to receive the food I offered him. Therefore, Gernot adopted a brazen attitude and raised his eyebrow at the old, high Quadi. 'Indeed. Yes. But is it not likely that his word is against yours, and he has witnesses, as well?'

'All my men heard it as well!' Tudrus said evenly, ignoring the fool. All his men suddenly remembered hearing the man speak thus, and they all added colorful facts about the rumor.

Gernot got up. 'Silence!' None did.

'Silence!' yelled Tudrus. There was silence. Father was whispering something to Leuthard, who shrugged and nodded resolutely. Balderich was laughing raspingly in the general silence, and Gernot glanced at him uncomfortably.

Gernot was soon gathering his confidence, and was nodding furiously. 'It is true that your men say so, but as I said, it is his word against yours. Do you have any reliable witnesses?'

He did.

Koun stood up. 'I heard this man mock Lord Tudrus as well. He called the Quadi a walking corpse and a cowardly hairless ball sack.' Men murmured at this. Some spat in anger, for Tudrus was popular. Maroboodus looked at me, then at Tudrus and finally at Koun. I prayed he would not make a connection, but, of course, he would, and Vannius would tell him eventually. I hoped the outcome would satisfy him. I noticed Odo's devious, moist eyes suddenly delving on Koun, and wondering about his connection to me.

Gernot considered going against Tudrus, but the old man's eyes glowed like coals. My brother slumped and consented to the mumblings around him, mostly supporting Tudrus. 'Very well. If he is not willing to pay a wergild for this slander, we shall give him the option to fight you, or your champion.' I saw Gernot's eyes grow large with sudden hope as the culprit might be a strong, irascible, and famous man, one to break any Quadi champion. Indeed, what kind of a man would dare to make such claims unless a hero?

All the Quadi begged the right to be champion for Tudrus. Tudrus growled at them. 'My champions are few, currently. I seek new ones. But in the meantime, I will cleave the gutless worm and see his insides.'

'So be it. It is decided!' Gernot said with savage finality.

A silence.

I chuckled so hard I was afraid they would hear me. Ansigar whispered something.

Gernot nodded his head furiously. 'Oh! Yes, right. Who is the man, call him forth and let him speak! If he will not pay a wergild, which I order to be a hundred cows since it is so high a lord who has been insulted, he shall fight!' His voice was sarcastic, but that would change in a bit.

'Get up then,' said Tudrus to Gernot. Gernot looked about him and glanced behind him, where stood a man.

'You?' He pointed at a bearded slave. The slave's face went white, and he shook his head empathetically.

'No, you.' Tudrus was pulling a shield on his left hand, a huge thing.

'Me?' asked Gernot, as if in a dream.

'You.'

Gernot was shaking and slobbering, getting up and down on his seat. 'I have not done this!'

'I have witnesses who say you have. You have lied about a lord under whom your father made you fight. You have called me a man lover, a whore master, a lord of rags, a spineless dog-kisser, and you have claimed to have lead the Quadi in battle while I tottered around, pissing my pants.' Gernot was shaking his head at his executioner. 'Amongst other things,' growled Tudrus. Gernot was whimpering, looking around, and Balderich laughed so hard he was wheezing. Gunhild was about to step forward to go help Gernot out of the seat, but my father stopped her, shaking his head.

'I have not done so!' Gernot said weakly.

Tudrus shrugged. 'As you said, it is my word against yours, and let us forget Koun's testimony. Let us fight.'

Gernot was trembling. 'No, he testified. It is allowed by law for me to pay a wergild, as I said!'

People quaffed and laughed. Tudrus did, too. 'Fine! A hundred cows, and you shall kiss my foot and beg for mercy. Alternatively, you fight. Or a man of yours.' He grinned at Ansigar who just looked away.

'Ansigar, will you …' Gernot started.

Ansigar took a step back, blanching. 'I am not a fighter to defeat him.'

Gernot scanned the crowd. 'Leuthard! Will you champion me!'

Maroboodus grunted, enjoying the chance to punish his wayward son. 'He is my oathsman. He will not fight.'

Gernot licked his lips. 'Father, I do not have a hundred cows …' The men were laughing at him, and so the tears came. Gernot wept in terror. Gods, I was filled with so much happiness as the multitude of Marcomanni pointed their fingers at the fool draped in finery, shuddering and crying in terror, and knowing he was forever ruined by his weakness.

Maroboodus shrugged in disgust. 'Lord Tudrus. Will you accept a deal with me? He is my son, and I cannot guarantee I would not find it hard to see him dead, and I would hate to break our alliance.' He glanced at Leuthard, who looked hard at Tudrus.

Tudrus the Older sneered. 'Yes, of course. But he will kiss my shoe on his belly. He is your son, but I understand you educate them to deserve their place, and undeserved boasts should be covered with humble acts of humility, no?' Maroboodus nodded, his eyes flashing in anger. Tudrus did not back down.

'Do it, worm,' Maroboodus said.

Never had I seen such a look of despair on the face of a man. Gernot licked his tear-smeared lips, wept and shook in shame, his fame forever gone, and he obeyed. Gernot went on his knees, then on his hands, and then I stepped forward. 'That man echoed his master's words, I heard it.' I pointed at Ansigar.

Ansigar looked at me with morbid hate. Maroboodus spoke, 'I see. And Koun and all the Quadi heard this, no doubt?' They all did.

'I have not done so!' said Ansigar nervously and indignantly.

'Then you can fight me,' I growled. 'Or crawl in shit.'

He huffed. 'Men do not fight boys.'

My father sighed and growled. 'You, follow your master, and do what he does.' Maroboodus pointed at Ansigar, who went white as a cloud and gritting his teeth, dropped his spear and shield. Soon they both slithered on their bellies for Tudrus. He took some steps backwards to the amusement of the crowd and then stepped on horse dung with both feet. He cursed, smiled, and then smeared the shit all over the shoes while the two unhappy bastards looked on at the disgusting deed.

Tudrus looked around, raising his eyebrows at the onlookers. 'Would have to discard them after the act anyway. Liar's lips would make them as dirty as the dung did. Now kiss them, long and hard, and mumble out your weak apologies amidst the turds, your brothers. You, the right boot, you, the left one,' he said, when he finally let the panting pair crawl near him. I watched in perverse fascination as their lips connected with the smeared shoes, Gernot crying, Ansigar gagging. 'Good, long kisses, boys. Pretend it is a maiden,' Tudrus said, and the crowd laughed in tears as my foes were pursing their shit-smeared lips for repeated kisses.

Then, Gernot tried to get up, but Tudrus placed the other boot on his back. 'Never lie about me again.' Gernot got up and ran away, weeping, something that would be remembered amongst the Marcomanni forever. My father looked at me deliberately as I stood there. He knew I had not obeyed him and had seen Tudrus, and his face was unreadable.

Maroboodus pointed at Herulf. 'There will be no more justice here today, but you, Herulf! As the old man is clearly drunk, and is likely too drunk all year around, too drunk to work on his field, means you owe him nothing. He will work for you coming summer, if he has not starved.' Herulf nodded and bowed. Maroboodus came to me. 'Take your horse and go. Gernot made a mistake; many mistakes. He will suffer. Suffer even more than the songs they will make up from his tears. He thought he would get away with a little displeasure, but what I told you goes with him, too. I can have other sons. I will beat him, and make him live in a pigsty. You know the plan?'

'I know the plan,' I said, while I saw Balderich get up. He shook his head at me and left.

'Good,' my father said. 'Do it, and you will be mine, and I will be yours, Son. Do not speak to Tudrus and Koun again. I asked this of you once. I shall not ask again, but I forgive you for not leaving as I told you. It would have been better if you had, being truly a vagabond, running from the law, but it will be enough I do this.'

He struck me in front of the people.

I fell on my back amidst the Marcomanni, who nodded in approval. Maroboodus went on his haunches before me and whispered to me, 'You are now on a run. When you come back, we will solve your issues.'

I nodded and spat blood, cursing the pain and shame. For some reason, be it the shame of being hit by Father or something else, I thought of Koun and the important secret he now owed me. For some reason, I also thought it would be important to know about it before I left, but I could not go to him. Maroboodus's men were on horses, looking at us. They would shadow us to the Grinrock. I could not approach Tudrus either, and my heart fell. I found it hard to approve of my father's plans, but he was my father, and so I mounted up.

Maroboodus left to punish Gernot even more, and I turned my horse to my friends. Odo had disappeared. Tudrus was in trouble, and I was indecisive, my wyrd uncertain once more.

CHAPTER XV

'We will go then,' I told my friends and rode out, with no ceremony.

'Isfried lives in Grimrock. You are going the wrong way. That way,' Ansbor said, pointing south to a muddy road, and Felix was nodding from his small pony.

I made a noncommittal gesture. ‘It's Grinrock. We go by the river.'

He did not give up. 'It is over a day away from here, no matter what it is called. If we go my way, through the shaded forest pathways, it will be faster. We have to camp anyway, and there are great halls I know of, famous for the honey and berry mead on my route. Your way takes longer,' Ansbor grumbled.

'Just follow me,' I told them irately. 'We will go my way.'

'But this is the fastest way!' Ansbor complained.

Felix agreed with him. 'There are nasty thickets by the shore. We will be scratched, and the hordes of bugs, by Minerva, will eat us!'

Wandal grunted at them. 'The best way is through the fields in the southeast, eh?' he said. 'It is not the straightest road, but the roads are better, and there are halls with fine mead there as well.'

My friends kept bickering about the way, and I guided us resolutely to the Rhenus, its beautiful waters flowing on their swift way to the grand ocean we often heard about. I longed to plunge into the cooling streams and leave all uncertainties behind, floating along to some peaceful place where I could start anew. On the other side was Rome. My father had made a fortune for himself there. I could, too, if all else failed. Or I could go to Tudrus.

Yet I knew I would not. I was Marcomanni and still hoped to get my due. I had lost so much and lied; even killed. I would not give up until my cup was full.

But I could not ignore I still had friends, either. Tudrus was one, as I patted the sack with the helmet. I dared not leave it behind. It was mine.

I scanned the heavy brushes and foliage ahead. I had a fine reason to take that route. After some hours of harsh riding, it was evening. We had trekked the small ways of the riverbank due south, pushing through dense thickets. They were still arguing. Ansbor, the more intelligent one, reasoning and proving his points, Wandal just stubborn as a mule. 'Shut up, you,' I finally told them and we made camp on a moonlit stretch of grass amidst the trees, with Rhenus flowing majestically besides us. I sat there, brooding, and ate somberly. My friends did as well, though Ansbor was eating more than his share. Father's men would be somewhere out there, waiting for morning. 'Ansbor. My fat friend,' I called out. Felix snickered as he tended our horses.

Ansbor glanced up from his meal. 'Yes, what can I do for you, lecherous one?' he asked sarcastically while wiping food from his beard and looking quizzical.

'Do you know anyone in Hard Hill who could shelter you while we ride on to Grinrock?' I asked.

'I can sleep at Euric's, if you are sending me back.'

'Hraban is evicting you, eh?' Wandal laughed while drinking sour ale. 'I hope you find your way back home.'

I made a waving gesture towards the north. 'I trust my father, but I need help. I offer to let you out of the merry troop heading for the permanently grumpy, madly suspicious, and possibly violent Isfried. No danger, that is a change, no?'

'I suppose so, but I doubt it will be any safer since it is your plan,' he mumbled morosely. I nodded, for he was right.

Wandal grunted, irritated. 'And why do you let the fat fool go? I am a better spear carrion for Isfried, perhaps. Eh?'

I clapped Wandal's shoulder. 'Truth is, I do not know how they will receive us. I need you, just like I need Ansbor. Even Felix, if we need a sacrifice or lunch along the way.'

Felix merely nodded and winked at me. 'A priest of Cerunnos put a spell on me, master. The man who kills me will die one hour after.'

I ignored him. 'You will ride back, Ansbor, and you will go hooded, disguised. You will stay far from people Maroboodus knows,' I told him, and he had a worried look on his face.

'What will I do there?' he asked. 'This does not sound safe.'

'If Tudrus the Older is still on the hill, I want you to tell him Vannius is leading him into a trap tomorrow night. That he should flee immediately and silently,' I said apprehensively, and their eyes hardened. 'I have told him to go, but I want you to make sure he does.'

'What is Vannius doing, and why? Who should I be afraid of, if I go?' he asked me.

'My father,' I told him. 'Beware his men and him.'

Ansbor grunted as he was thinking about the implications of my request. 'Tudrus is in such terrible danger? Of course I will go. You trust the runt not to escape and sing to your father?' He pointed a finger at Felix.

I scrutinized the young Gaul. 'Did I come for you and Ermendrud, or did I not? Do you serve me or him?'

We looked harshly at the young man, and his ready smile disappeared. He fidgeted and cleared his throat many times until he spoke. 'I learnt my lesson, Lord. I will be here tomorrow, and know not to cross those who give me more than promises.'

Ansbor was embarrassed but asked me something that had been bothering him immediately after I asked him for a favor. 'I am to tell Tudrus he is in danger. But is that the truth?' He looked uncertain, and I cursed the fates for making me such a man as to be doubted by my friends.

'It is the truth,' I said. 'Father is at odds with him. In addition, if you can, find Ishild for me. If everything goes wrong in Grinrock, we will take her and Ermendrud, and run like hares. If I die, go to Tudrus with whoever goes with you. He will take care of you, and give you what I cannot.'

Ansbor's face went ashen gray. 'What? Find Ishild? How the Hel do I do that?' He pointed a quivering finger at me. 'That can get me slain in a horrible, lingering way. That puts me at odds with Tear and Odo! I stood up to them in the hall, but I want no wicked power of theirs to gnaw on my soul. Some nameless spirit to flay me until I beg for release? No thank you!' His terror was evident, and neither Felix nor Wandal mocked him for it.

I nodded apologetically and got up. 'I am sorry to ask you, but you are the only one I trust, and the only one who can succeed. Hulderic taught me to give men tasks most suited to them. Wandal is a better fighter, Felix is still untrustworthy, and that leaves you, the one with good judgment. I cannot help you. However, I give you this,' I gave him the amulet of Mercury, the one I had stolen earlier from the harbor. 'The god of thieves will cloak you, Ansbor.' Felix's eyes followed the amulet. He was a thief, too.

'Thief?' Ansbor said, his voice trembling tragically as he received it. 'First you call me fat, then you give me a fool's errand, and now you put me in the arms of a foreign thief god. I doubt I am the one with good judgment, since I agree to this. How will I ever find her?'

I smiled gratefully at him. 'The hill is full of the Tear's servants. One of them must know where Tear lives. It is not in the hill but the woods where they reside, perhaps north of Hard Hill. I am not sure. Follow one of the curs. Torture one. Find out for me. Just in case things go wrong,' I looked at him pleadingly. 'She might very well be pregnant with my child.'

He shook his head, weighing the amulet. 'I am not …' His shoulders sagged, and I clasped his strong shoulder. He nodded, his eyes reserved. 'Well, I didn't plan on having a long life anyway, having children of my own, a comfortable hall, modest riches and fame. Fool's errands, those,' he said dryly and nodded once.

I returned the gesture, sad but resolved. 'We will ride out in the dark morning. We will take your horse, and ride hard. They should not miss you in the dust and the dark. As this terrible path is full of torturous brushes, you can hide well here, and make your way to the town.' He nodded, and I clasped his hand fiercely. 'I owe you again, friend.'

'Yes,' he stated. 'I will lie down and walk back unseen. And Wandal, I will tell fair Ermendrud you ran away with a fine looking blonde from Grinrock, and perhaps I shall comfort her in her loss.' Wandal snorted and clasped his wrist.

Felix grinned. 'See you when I see you, fat one.'

Ansbor turned on Felix, his eyes slitted. 'You think, rat, that burying your coins in that wet coal pile by the smithy was a good idea, the ones you did not give Wandal. I shall have a look.'

Felix went white from his face. 'Hraban told you not to go to the smithy!' he yelled but Ansbor laughed harshly, and I pulled Felix away.

Next morning, we rode hard before the birds started to sing their song. We rode like that for much of the grueling day, not stopping for food. We were riding through forlorn, swampy forests, crying and cursing for the infernal flies and mosquitoes and finally, the evening was chilly and wet as we closed on Grinrock.

Then, men hailed us from the shadows.

I raised my hand, and Marcomanni rode out to regard us. I explained I wanted to see Isfried and then I told them who I was. They led us off to the south. They drove us hard through fields and woody pathways, over some hills and across pastured valleys, and when the evening fell, we saw Grinrock ahead. The town itself was on a shallow set of ugly hills, much more like our normal towns, with a multitude of scattered buildings, apparently very few people about, many small cows and a few rarer pigs eating their fares, the constant dog barking. It had a curious, half-finished planked harbor, evidence that Isfried had had similar ambitions for the town as Hard Hill had under Bero, and there was a formation of rocks stretching out to the river, sharp as fangs and near the Roman shore was a husk of a burned Roman ship. The rock formation did have a look of jaws, and they did grin, sort of.

The Marcomanni of the south watched us suspiciously as we entered the village. Much was riding on this, much of what my father was to accomplish. I was doing him a dangerous service. I was terrified, but Felix looked bored. He threw his hand around as he looked at the villagers. 'Poor as beggars. They bring in crude ore from the southern mountains, but it just goes to Hard Hill from here. They should break away from your father.'

'They will,' I said. 'For a while.'

'Eh?' Wandal asked, but I waved him down, for we were getting closer to a hall, a grand hall with many window slits, unusual in our halls, and likely drafty in the winter.

A host of wildly decorated standards were planted outside. Isfried's famous family, the whole leadership of his closest men was there. They were feasting, nervous, no doubt, and ready for Armin's plan and its dangerous part. The bustle of a feast and men laughing drifted out from the doorway. The man leading our troop told us to dismount and nodded towards the door. 'They come to see Lord Isfried!' he yelled at a guard. 'Son of Maroboodus.' The guard went inside, and we suddenly noticed an uncanny silence.

'They seem to dislike you, Lord?' Felix asked, grinning. 'They could not be more silent if someone had announced a fiend from Hades.'

'Fiend from Hades smells better and has a better reputation, eh?' Wandal said, sore because of our sweat soiled clothing and disheveled appearance while removing his shield and spear from the horse, watching the doorway.

'At least a better sense of humor,' Felix grumbled.

'My friends,' I told them gravely. 'What happens here, and soon after, is something you must understand as the commands of my father. Forgive me.'

'What? You marrying Isfried? Eh?' Wandal asked, but I plunged inside, cursing him. He was not too far from the truth.

There, a silence reigned. Bearded faces were staring at me. In the smoky room I saw many strong men clutching their varied weapons, the loyal family and chiefs of Isfried. I wished I was a fiend from Hades. In the threatening mood of the hall, I heard the thrumming sound of Woden's dance. I had no weapon, but I was ready.

Felix poked his head inside for a second and then backed out. 'No way I am going there,' he whispered to Wandal, who pushed him in.

The mood was broken by a young, blond man. Burlein, the one who had broken through Bero's bodyguard the night Father came to power. 'Peace, peace, friends! Come to our table, Lord Hraban, and you, our friends and relatives, get drunk!' He laughed conciliatorily and nodded at me grandly, motioning with his generous hand as I wound my way towards the table where Isfried sat, dark and forlorn, his bull-necked brother Melheim next to him, with an enigmatic smile. I was seated next to the grim lord. Eyes were on us, despite Burlein's words. Perhaps they knew what my coming meant. They would likely go and kill Maroboodus. But most of them looked suspiciously at me, as well.

'They doubt you, Hraban,' mumbled Isfried. 'They are Marcomanni of my family, old as Aristovistus they are. They hold sway in the south, and they wonder why you should be here, a son to a man they hate. They think you are false, like him. Like your father. Only my brothers and I know your part in this, but to them, you are the man Bark hates, whom they should hate deeply for your rumored deed. Now we should trust you.' He did not look happy. But then again, he never did.

I snorted bravely. 'Trust you did not show me when you sent more men than Manno to slay Father and others. Did you order them to slay me as well?'

Isfried shook with soft, bitter laughter, but sobered soon. He did not answer my question. 'You came to tell me good news. Will your father be at a certain place, waiting for Bark? Soon? Informed so by Manno's tortured whisperings?'

'He will be. Manno suffered, terribly, but broke.'

His eyes grew hard on that. 'And why should we let you feast with us if all is settled?' Melheim asked, a question that Isfried did not dispute.

'Is Bark around?' I asked them, taking some mead as if their question had not made me queasy with fear. 'I have something for him.'

'Yes, why?' Melheim said. 'What do you have?'

'Get him, lords, and hear me out,' I said. They scowled at me, but Bark was summoned. After an awkward amount of time had passed, the tar-bearded man came, his eyes dark and black as he stood before me.

I nodded at him. 'I am tired of my father, Isfried, Bark,' I said. I saw Wandal nearby, his face betraying shock. 'Maroboodus, my bastard father is happy, for he is tired of you, Lord Isfried, and you, Bark, and the trouble you are causing. He will be there, waiting with hidden men to be rid of you, Bark, and he will war soon after, but not against the Matticati.'

Isfried grumbled. 'Good, good. I am tired of him, too, Hraban. He has promised me Gunhild, and I helped him that day. I helped him well. Catualda has been here making false wedding plans, then retracting them. I am fed up. Marrying her was not a great sacrifice for him since Gunhild did not bear any children for our family in the first time around, but it was important to have her here wedded to us. It makes us more than just a gau of the lord of the Hard Hill, but allies to the real power, and that is how Marcomanni have worked so far.'

'Perhaps it was the fault of your kin that there were no children?' I asked, and Burlein laughed.

'Very possible! He was not, how do you say, interested in ploughing the field!' the young lord said, and his brothers scowled at him until he went silent. I liked Burlein.

I laughed with him. 'Be that as it may, you are a fool, Lord Isfried, if you think Maroboodus will let any other man marry into the family of Aristovistus. That would spell trouble for him in the years ahead. That was Bero's plan, Maroboodus adopted it. He is to marry her.'

We sat there waiting. It was fascinating to see Isfried tremble in his seat, not unlike Koun had, his cold, clammy sweat glistening on his face. He was gagging terribly, and cursing softly. Unlike Koun, Isfried exploded. 'You come here, to mock me, whelp. It is one thing to withhold her from me, but to mock me? She is to marry him? He is to marry Thusnelda. Were you not there? He shall not touch her! I need her. I need the prestige, and possibly the fine children, and this is what Bero promised to me until he betrayed me. And your father did, too. She will make children for us, even if we all try.' I kept calm as the man raged terribly, praying for my life. His words made my spine twitch with cold hate, but I kept calm. Bark did not move a muscle, his eyes on me. If he deemed me false, I would die.

I finally saw Isfried was calming, drawing ragged breaths and waving the men around him to return to their feast, and I took my turn. 'He has betrayed me, too. Last evening, he beat me in front of the village. He has let my brother humiliate me for months in a way unfitting any free man. He thinks my mother was a whore. He hated Sigilind. I have served him well, when he has asked for it.'

'Balderich,' Isfried hissed, 'trusted you.'

'Balderich,' I retorted, 'was a fiend who schemed with Rome.'

He glowered at me and then waved for me to continue. 'So, I am here. Armin told me I could serve you. There is none else. I hoped I could trust the man who has been duped as much as I have been.' I slammed my fist on the table so hard it cracked, and again, Isfried had to wave the men to continue their drinking and eating. I saw Bark's face twitch with amusement. 'And I want to stop the monsters Tear and Odo from destroying Midgard. They are trying to.' I tried to look reverent and like one would look if one believed in such silly things. My eyes were round with fear and respect of the gods, a fiercely holy look on my face. Bark's mouth twitched again, and I was not sure if he was amused, or convinced.

Bark nodded. 'You know I wish that as well. Manno and the others failed to kill even one of them?'

'They failed,' I said.

'I will pray for Manno, and the brave men, then,' Bark said calmly, his eyes not leaving mine. 'Tear and Odo are dangerous. I know you know this.'

'I know,' I said, 'hence I am here. Kill them, and we are all safe.'

Melheim spat in disgust. 'Fools talking about foolish things.'

'Silence,' Bark said, and Melheim stiffened, but held his tongue.

Burlein grinned at me. 'Here, lord of lies. Have some mead.'

'I am no …'

Bark pointed a quivering finger at me. 'You betrayed Bero, no matter what he was. You would betray your father again, no matter what he has done. You are a boy who shifts to fish in waters rumored to be more bountiful than your own, forever looking at angles to profit more. Now you are here, fishing in these waters. Yet here, you do not fool anyone. None are ignorant of your deeds, and you know what happened to Wulf. You were there.' They peered at me silently, fingering their sharp weapons. Apparently, Isfried in his hate of father had started to think like Bark did.

My face broke into a mask tearful grief, my hands shook in shame, and they looked at me in wonder, having expected vehement, fearful denial. My grieving eyes took in Bark. 'It is true. I did betray my great uncle and grandfather, and I do not wish to hide behind their crimes towards my family. And my father? I did betray him, too, by coming here, by plotting for his demise, and there I shall not hide behind his lies and coldness. I should confront my enemies directly, but have not done so. It is my shame, and one I must endure. Was I always like this?'

'Likely,' Melheim spat in disgust.

'No,' I answered. 'I was no different from anyone. I was brave and stubborn, and my soul was hammered of honor. Yet, I changed, my hopes dashed, and my honor ripped from me.'

'How?' Burlein asked, patting my back in consolation.

'I am here to make a new start, for they made me a killer. They made me an honorless poisoner, for I was at the Flowery Meadows. I admit it.'

Bark hissed. 'We know. I saw that accursed club. That is why you will die here. We do not need such a man, an evildoer and cursed man. Slayer of the priests.'

Melheim was stared at Bark thoughtfully. He would be ready to cut me down. Isfried nodded and spoke, 'Bark is right. You are a dangerous man, a traitor and a merciless killer, no matter what I agreed with Armin.'

I shook my head at Wandal, who had started to get up. 'I did not become one out of choice. I am here for the hate I have for people who act like Romans, and who fooled me into their filthy fold.'

Bark laughed dryly. 'You can stop lying …'

I gave Bark the club of the dreaded statue. 'I broke this to keep safe from my own father. I blackmailed him for my very life. He is no father to me, and I did not trust him after they fooled me with the poison. It was Odo who told me to pour apparently innocent, yet ultimately deadly and vile, liquid in their drink, and it was Maroboodus who told me to obey them. Thus, I give it to you, Bark. You can use it; summon the nations to witness his perfidy. But you need me to testify to this. It is my atonement.'

Melheim snorted. 'Cowardice.'

'Say that again, pig lover,' I told him evenly, 'and I will show you how I beat Manno.'

'You beat Manno?' Isfried asked in surprise, nearly choking on mead.

'He tried to kill me before Father,' I said with a grin. 'I left him alive, so Father could speak with him. He did. For a long time.'

They stared at me unsteadily, shaken by my words, and I spat in anger as I grabbed my mug and drank deeply, trying to appear anything but a drowning man.

Bark laughed. 'The club is enough, Hraban, for many believe me. Why would they not, for it is the truth, after all.' His eyes glittered as he regarded me. 'Some of the vitka,' Bark hissed, fondling the club, 'died of swords.'

I took a deep breath. 'I did some of that. I see nightmares of the women I killed. But I did not kill Wulf. He ran, and I did not chase him. It was the bounty hunter, Hands, hired by my father, who speared him as he ran. I tried to let Wulf go, for he and I had a long history.' I sat there as Bark removed the statue of Hercules from his belt, thinking as he fit the club to the handle. 'Wulf died by a thrown spear. It was quick, Lord,' I said, and the shame I had harbored over my deeds was brimming over, and the tears that came were real, though they did not know it.

Bark nodded, looking down. 'Quick? He did not suffer?'

'No, Lord,' I said. Bark went to crouch next to the fireplace, holding the statue. Men gave him room.

Isfried stirred. He pulled me close to him. 'Bark is both a liability and an insurance for me. Without him, I could see if your father is honest about Gunhild. Without him, I might be dead. So, Hraban, tell me. Did Bero really betray me, or was I fooled by your father?'

I shrugged. 'I know Bero and Balderich took payments from a Roman for the deaths of my family. If that is true, perhaps Bero did betray all of us. But Maroboodus is no better.'

Isfried laughed as he pushed me further. 'If he intends to marry Gunhild, he knows I will go to war with him. Well, it is inevitable anyway. I would have fair Gunhild and his bloated head, but what of you?' I do not see the benefit of having you around. Armin's plan either works or does not work. If it does, I will rule supreme. If your father survives this mad plan, then we will make patient war, and the future is up to our spears. Bark will have tools to hurt him. The club will help, yes, and many will break away from your father. It will be interesting. But men do not respect you, Hraban. They do not care for your sodden stories about getting your honor back, nor do they care if you were duped. They will see you a bastard at my side. So what do I need you for?'

'If Gunhild dies,' I said slowly, shifting my eyes to Melheim who was now standing up with his axe at his side, 'you will need Aristovistus's blood in your family still.'

He nodded, sobered at the thought. He mulled it over, grinding his molars together. Finally, he smiled. 'Gernot, your brother, he seems easier to handle than you. I take him, and put him into bed with a docile, fertile girl. See? There will be a child eventually, and I will marry the hapless child to a useful relative of mine, and so on. It will be like planting wheat. Balderich, if he survives, will die one day soon of old age, but Gernot is there to serve my needs until he is no longer needed. His reputation as an ass-licker is not something I will endure either, but I suppose his cock works, and it will work to benefit me. What is your benefit?'

Burlein laughed. 'It is true, Hraban, that you will be a father as well? I heard a rumor that you have made a girl pregnant, and you are not married?'

Isfried looked at me disdainfully. 'Not a wife?' I shook my head and heard Wandal groan. Isfried sniffled. 'There, you see. You would hinder me more than aid me. And perhaps, Hraban, I can take the baby this Ishild carries and have your blood in my family?'

I got up slowly. Melheim grinned as he stepped towards me. Wandal was up as well, but Bark held his hand out. 'Stop.'

'You are a guest here, Bark,' Isfried said dryly though he stared at the old vitka. 'Melheim, remove him.' Melheim lifted his axe, Isfried’s hand was up, ready to give the sign for the axe to come at me, and I would have died there, without Felix.

The boy threw a mug at Melheim, who turned in confusion. All went silent. The brave Felix was shaking as he addressed Isfried with a shrill voice. 'You should thank Hraban. He is here so Gunhild could find a better man than Maroboodus. He raped Gunhild, they say, after the poor woman tried to escape him. She tried to come here, to beg for a sanctuary. No chance of success, no. He is brutal. She will be pregnant soon, if she can ever be, for so many times he has mauled her. She cries for you name, Lord Isfried, when Maroboodus takes her. We all have heard this at night, in Bero's old hall, which is a house of nightmares for her. Hraban wishes you to free her, he plans and plots in your favor, wishes to redeem himself, wishes to rescue his relative to safety. And you threaten him with death?'

Isfried's hand faltered. Anger wracked him, but now anger towards Maroboodus, not me. Isfried genuinely loved Gunhild, despite his coarseness. The man stood up and walked out, looking like an irate boar, and I felt sorry for any hapless fool who happened in his way. I pointedly ignored Melheim and sat down. With the utmost coolness, I asked a servant to bring me a heap of food.

Bark fingered the statue. He pointed a narrow digit at me. 'He will come back, give you a sanctuary, and you will tell him, where and how to kill your father. Tear and Odo? Are they to be there when Isfried rides to ambush your father? And you did not tell me: did you give her to them? The small girl they sought? The one the prophecy speaks of? Veleda.'

Do you know the prophecy?' I asked him.

'I know little. Shayla the druid, she knows it all, and we have spoken, for the holy men and women have no tribes,' he told me evenly. 'Did you, or did you not …'

'I did not. She is safe, I hope. I let her go. As for Tear and Odo, I do not know,' I told him. 'Bero is feeding them with … answers. They want me. I do not wish their company.'

He smiled. 'I thank you for telling me about Wulf, my brother. I will help you. You will come to me in the early morning. Despite Isfried's confidence in my ability to break chiefs away from Maroboodus, I indeed do need you and the club, both. If Maroboodus survives, I am not done with you, and we will raise the Marcomanni, and you will be the victim of your father, and men will forgive you, if I so ask them,' Bark said magnanimously, and I resented his tone. He continued, 'By the rock, up there. White rock. When the sun is up. A man will fetch you. I have to have words with you in private.'

'I thank you for trying to stop Isfried just now,' I said gratefully.

He smiled. 'Indeed. I do not want him to kill you.' I nodded as he left, his tarred beard dangling back and forth.

Melheim shrugged at Burlein, who put a hand on my shoulder. 'Well, our new brother. You will have sanctuary here as he said. If Gunhild is beyond us …'

Melheim interrupted his brother. 'Gunhild is a dish I would love to taste. Eh? I envy Isfried.'

I nodded, hiding my disgust.

Burlein took out tesserae, bone dice, and forced me to gamble with him. He lost miserably, and many times, I won gloriously, though what I won, I was not sure as we were getting very drunk. Then, finally, Isfried came back in. His family hailed him as he resolutely walked for us, and he took a mug of mead from a wench. He pulled me up, took me aside. 'Why did you come here?' he asked calmly. 'And do not tell me you plan to stay. You know you cannot, with your reputation. I thank you for your care of Gunhild and helping us with the monster ruling Hard Hill, but what do you wish for when all is over?'

'I have a woman, he is holding her, and I want her and the baby. Then, I will go,' I told him smoothly.

He nodded sagely. 'If Balderich and Gunhild die, and so does Gernot, I will keep the baby. You willing to take the risk?'

'Only if I am there to fight so it would not come to pass,' I told him angrily, and he nodded.

'Gunhild. Did she truly try to come here?' he asked, with bright tears in his eyes.

I nodded and lied. 'She got to the harbor, and tried to enlist the Sigambri to row her here. Varnis took coin from my father rather. She did not make it.'

'Curse him, by Woden. How many men does he have waiting for Bark at the Flowery Meadow?' he asked me.

'Some twenty, his great riders. Perhaps Tear and Odo,' I told him.

'Is Balderich alive?' His eyes were glittering.

'Yes, he is alive. Someone to rescue, eh?' I said.

'Indeed. Many people to save. I want Balderich, too, though. He knows where Bero's treasure is hidden. Your father never found it, you know this? I will want that. You will get a fair share if he talks. So, we will work together after all, as Armin hoped. But I will want an oath.'

'Yes, Lord,' I said, miserable.

He raised his strong arms and yelled to the hundred men seated in the hall. 'Hear this, my friends. Hraban the Marcomanni, son of Maroboodus, of the holy blood of Aristovistus will swear loyalty to me, for his damned father has betrayed him as well as us.' My face went white as hundreds of eyes turned my way. Isfried hopped on a table, spilling drink, dice, and scraps, and gestured before him to the dirty floor. I was to kneel. I went forward and did, heavily. Wandal looked away.

'I, Hraban,' I said, forcing myself to look at his eyes. 'Give you the oath, by Donor …'

'By Woden, boy,' he said, and I cursed.

'By Woden,' I said, and told Woden in my head to give me mercy for my deception, 'that I shall obey you as my lord, in matters large and small.' He smiled, threw his hands around the people watching, and stepped down to drink. I thanked him, bitter bile in my throat. Wandal sat next to me, and did not say anything about the oath as the murmurs in the hall apparently mulled over the implications of my betrayal of my father.

Later, Wandal turned towards me, very drunk indeed. 'Have you … well, eh? Yes, you have, with Ishild. What should I do after I marry Ermendrud?'

I mulled it over. 'It is a terrifying experience. Best done quickly, and keep your eyes closed, your hands at your sides.' He looked deeply, drunkenly disappointed, and I bit my tongue in regret. 'Enjoy it, Wandal. It is one of the few pleasures in this world where you need not pretend at all, and just give in to the pure lust and the momentary surge of love, if you feel it.'

'She is a fine girl, eh? Smarter than I am, and even Euric likes her,' he mulled slowly. 'I thank you for pointing her out to me.'

I chuckled, but he was right, she might suit him very well, and I felt clever. 'Just be sure Euric does not marry her first.' His eyes went into suspicious slits. I pushed him. 'Drink.'

'Tomorrow, we are finished,' he said. I nodded and saw Felix despondent by the wall.

'Yes,' I said.

'It will be hard to remain in Germania, eh? With your reputation,' he said, morosely. 'Bark might or might not restore your reputation, and …'

I whispered to him. 'I do not put my stock in Bark, and I hope Father can fix things,' I motioned Felix to take a place near us. He did, peering at Burlein carefully. The man laughed and gave Felix a huge mug of sweet mead.

Wandal shook his head. 'I am not as deft with words as you are, Hraban, but what you have done lately will be fixed only by a swift change of scenery, likely a change of name and a huge scar on your face, one that makes you unrecognizable, eh? You and I, and Ansbor? We will all suffer.'

'Make babies, Wandal, and fret not,' I told him, feeling rotten at his words, all true.

'She has been sick in the morning. Euric said Mother was like that, when she was expecting me,' he mumbled. 'I hope she will feel better before the marriage.'

I let that bit of news sink in, and decided to drink myself senseless. Before I did, I called Felix to me and asked him for a favor for the morning. The boy agreed though he was a bit drunk as well. Burlein roared next to me, and we wrestled, and fell asleep under a table. Next morning, hundreds of men would ride out to kill my father. Much would be decided. I would give everything in Father's service. He would elevate me, save me. If we survived.

It was very early morning, and I was having terrible dreams, most disturbing nightmares.  Burlein kicked me awake, grinning. 'Bark waits, and then you will come to the stables. We have a cousin to escort you.' He left, dressed in well-crafted leather armor, ready for war, despite the massive hangover he must have been harboring.

'To guard me, no?' I asked after him, found some fetid water, which I splashed on my suffering face. There was a bruise on my cheek, and I did not know where I had got it from. Then I went to Wandal, offering him a cup. 'I have to go to Bark, and then we ride with Isfried.' I watched his face, which was grave. 'Listen to Felix, Wandal,' I told him evenly, and he nodded, trying to focus.

Wandal got up, took his spear and shield. He did not take the water I offered him. 'Woden curse us, but I hope it will all be well,' he spat, bitterly.

'It will end well. No lord was ever made one by being meek and a sad victim.’ Wandal scoffed. 'What, eh? What will happen if this escalates to Hard Hill? If people we know die? I have a father there. What if he dies? Or Ermendrud? Whom will I have a feud against? You? Eh? Your father?'

I nodded, miserable. 'The man who kills Euric. There are things I need, Wandal, before I can be happy.'

'Vengeance and your position? Sometimes, I wonder why you wish to be a man like this, eh? You could build your life elsewhere, and avoid these shitty lies under the heels of dishonorable men.' he said, clapped my arm, and went outside. 'I will wait with these men about to ride and burn our home, then, and heed Felix, as you asked,' I heard his voice call out, disappointed at me.

Did I indeed wish to be like my father? I did not know. But I was committed.

The cousin of Isfried, in his leathery war gear, got in and nodded towards the door, and so we went. We hiked up to a hill where wild grass was abundant, lazy flies buzzed, and the sun warmed us pleasantly. My bushy bearded guide smiled and nodded down the hill. 'There, the men to change this world of ours. They are assembled.'

Isfried's banner was held high down there, by the village, in a pasture, a pole with an ominous, ragged, bloody leather and bones dangling crazily as the men were rushing about. Three hundred men, most of the southern chiefs with their personal retinues were on horses, a milling group of painted shields and knotted hair, tattooed men, of all ages, ready to kill my father. The common men of the southern gau would not take part, only Isfried, and his close family.

'Come then, Hraban,' he said, and then I saw Bark seated on top of a white painted boulder not unlike the one in the Flowery Meadows.

He did not move a muscle as I climbed up. The cousin came after, standing easily nearby. Bark nodded sagely, pointing his finger at me, nodding at the ground before the boulder. He wanted me to stand in front of him.

He smiled until I started to fidget, and he took a deep breath. 'Hraban. Sad day to see a Gothoni of such high rank pushed around by the likes of Isfried.' He seemed disappointed.

I was puzzled. 'Is that so? I thought you served him willingly. You were friendlier yesterday.'

He giggled softly, melancholy evident in his voice. He had not slept that night, for he had great rings under his eyes. 'A vitka serves gods, not men. However, Isfried saved me that day on the hill, so I suppose I am grateful and serve him in some way. Do you know why Wulf was with you? Living in your village?'

'He was spying on us for Bero?' I said, casually. 'Feeding Balderich stories of our lives?'

'Not really, no. Well, yes, he served Bero and Balderich in some small ways. He did give your grandfather news of you and Gernot, for Balderich was not a heartless man. Is not. Therefore, I suppose it was not unlike how I serve Isfried, giving service to earthly lords in their earthly needs. Yet we are of the gods. There are many shadowy secrets the vitka guard, and one is the sanctity of the gods. Our world is rife with old songs of the deeds of the gods and of the many prophecies. We guard the vulnerable gods and thus the fragile Midgard. We help the gods with their mistakes and decipher their meanings, for they are gods, and they are hard for mortals to understand. Like simpering children we are, only barely grasping at their wisdom. This is our duty, as speakers of the gods, the vitka and the völva.'

'I let her go, Bark,' I said, alarmed by his strange mood. 'I, too, guard the old songs and work for the gods.'

'Did you? Or did she escape? I think she did. I am not the kind Wulf, making decisions based on feelings. One cannot do so, when guarding the gods. It was I who forced Bero to try to slay Tear, so many years past, but he did a bad job of it, and Tear survived to breed children. Then, Wulf guarded the girl, Veleda, or had others keep her safe. I thought she should die, and that would have solved all the problems. But now, finally, I will have Tear, Odo, you, your quarrelsome, Woden cursed father and even the pretty little Ishild with the seed inside her gone from this world.'

'I doubt Isfried agrees to this,' I growled at him. 'He gave me the sanctuary, and men witnessed it.'

Bark laughed. 'Isfried will forgive me quickly, Lord Hraban, for we spoke last night after you fell asleep. I will swear some stray baby is your whelp. Isfried does not yearn for future rivals, but he will rule in Aristovistus's name, be it a babe of the simple peasants or of yours. Yesterday, he showed the men the blood of Aristovistus swearing an oath to him. That was powerful to all of them, and I will tell them you did so in order to have a safe haven for your baby. Not Ishild's and yours, for we will find someone with fewer complications in their bloodline. We want no blood of hers near us, nor of yours, both equally cursed.'

'Why did you try to stop Isfried yesterday? You could have let him kill me,' I asked him, feigning disappointment, for I was no fool either.

His eyes hardened. 'I asked him to do this favor for me. You see, I lied just now. I said I make no rash decisions based on feelings, yet I do. This one time, I do. I might serve the gods, but I am also a simple man. The other woman you killed with the cursed sword? Not Ralla, no. The one whose throat was crudely slashed? That was my wife. No, you did not die easily yesterday. I want to see you die at my feet, by my very own commands, you filthy murderer, killer of my brother and of my beloved wife. I will slit you open and piss in the wound.' And so, I understood him.

But I was not ready to die.

He took out his gnarled wand, and chanted vile curses, slowly, crudely, deliberately, spewing foul, wicked words, pleading to spirits to hurt me. I felt weak in the knees from his power. The man who had escorted me was moving behind me, and Bark nodded quickly at him. I moved though I felt slow and wondered if Bark had indeed cursed me. I gritted my teeth, anticipating a swift spear in my back. I whirled unsteadily, ready to try to dodge a nasty thrust, but I did not need to. Felix had not failed me. The man who had escorted me was cross-eyed, a thin blade protruding from his wide chest, and the rest of the framea was quivering in his back. The determined face of Wandal was ten feet away with Felix hovering behind his back. He had obeyed me, and made sure Wandal would follow us.

'The runt got me, said you were in trouble,' he said calmly. I nodded, very grateful, and turned to Bark. The old man was on his feet, looking around nervously, and the wand quivering in his hand. 'Stay away, oath breaker. This will not stop here. Shayla will find you, and …'

I grabbed the spear from the dead man's hands and walked for Bark. 'What god told you to kill me?'

'Woden did!' he said. 'Woden, he wishes to live and wants to save us all.'

'Then,' I said, and thrust the spear in his belly, 'why does the god also speak to me? I think he has more faith in me than you think.' It was true. Woden's wild dance was raging in my ears as Bark fell on the stone, his blood covering the intricate paintings. I ripped the spear out, slashing his fingers that had been trying to pull at it.

He grinned at me, with bloody gums. 'You will find Woden to be a complicated god, Hraban.'

I spat and rammed the spear through his eye, ending his struggles. 'Give dear Wulf my greetings, cur,' I hissed.

Wandal raised an eyebrow. 'Betrayed, Hraban? Eh? No oaths seem to hold these days.'

I nodded. 'Betrayer betrayed by betrayers. We must ride. Do we have horses?' Felix pointed at the beasts he had hidden behind a house and then we rode, fast as wind, to warn my father.

CHAPTER XVI

It took hours to escape Isfried, who rode after us, sending men to catch us. Soon, these men rejoined Isfried's column, giving up the desperate chase, and I realized they would ride through the night like ghosts. In the early morning, Father would be waiting for Bark. Isfried was going through with his plan, hoping to outpace us. We were exhausted, and the tired horses were swaying under us. We whipped them hard, brutally hard, and had to stop a few times to let Felix catch up. Isfried was not far behind, and sometimes it seemed he was not behind at all. Gasping with exertion, I told Wandal and Felix what was going on, and Wandal shook his head in disgust at the duplicity of it all.

'Will we make it there for the planned hour? Eh?' Wandal panted, angry with the mess we had made of it.

I nodded. 'Isfried will try to hurry. He cannot risk letting Maroboodus go. We will be there in the morning.' For us, that night was full of fear. A rider went by, close to us, but did not see us. A few more hailed us, but they were not with Isfried. We shivered, starved, and grinned in terror when our eyes met in the night.

In the morning, it seemed the dark woods, wide pastures, and well-trodden routes were clear of the early hunters and even toiling farmers, and the wise land understood there was something terrible happening. Behind us still rode the best of Isfried's power. We finally started to see familiar landmarks, our own woods, wheat fields, and even bright streams we knew, and soon Hard Hill was in sight, hazy and beautiful. I spied the Flowery Meadows, and there, that day, my father would be waiting for Isfried, and his men would be ready. The sun was up, its strange blood red orb promising a spear day. We stopped our trembling horses downhill from Hard Hill amidst small outlying huts and lesser halls. Wandal whistled and thumbed behind him. There, spears and standards by hundreds were appearing out of the woods.

Felix gritted his teeth. 'Look, all around the countryside, smoke,' he said, gesturing to the north.

I saw that, too, and like a dormant anthill, all around us, Armin's plan started to take place as scouts spotted Isfried arriving at the edge of the woods. Somewhere, a thin horn rang, answered by harsh horns from Isfried, and others in the countryside. I pushed my friend. 'Wandal, take Felix and ride to my father! Warn him. He is surely expecting it, but the Matticati are coming, and some will come to Hard Hill! Many will go to the Flowery Meadows,' I panted and guided my horse for the hill. I wanted to see Koun and Tudrus when the chaos of the coming day allowed me to do so.

Yet, Hard Hill was not safe, but would know bitter war that day.

On the horizon, I saw over two hundred wild men riding for the Hard Hill, under a strange foreign banner, white horse hair tangling from its crossbar. It was Hengsti the Matticati himself, hoping to sack the very power of the Marcomanni. More clouds of smoke were rising all across the horizon as Hengsti's men were raiding, far and wide, and I wondered if Father had prepared for everything. Behind us, I saw most of the southern Marcomanni head for the Flowery Meadows, but some fifty men broke off, riding after me. Melheim's standard of gray bones was tangling on top of the pole. I realized he was going for poor Gunhild and Balderich.

'Haiaah!' I screamed and kicked the trembling horse hard.

That afternoon the Marcomanni fought well. Father had an army with him, nearly a thousand men, eight hundred men trained in the Roman way, by no means equal to Romans, but sturdy and more disciplined than your average, wild tribal band in any case. The Matticati army, some six hundred strong, were riding for Flowery Meadows, but found this force rising up from a field, like a god's summoned shades appearing to block the enemy.

They were made of the eastern Marcomanni, simpler men who respected Father for his war with the dreadful Hermanduri, and the Matticati could not easily pass them. The men stood in fine, disciplined lines, commanded by the bravest men, and the terrific horsemen of the Matticati tried to break them, with no chance to do so. A hundred men died in the terrible spears, and Isfried was alone, unknown to him. Maroboodus was no fool, knew Armin uncannily well, and had men in Hard Hill. There were many men hiding in the lower halls, and sturdy ropes were pulled across alleys to block the horsemen from riding freely through the town.

I later heard from Wandal that Isfried and his family surged up to the Flowery Meadows, dismounted, and charged in a drunken stupor when they spied my father and his few men in line at the place the vitka had died. Isfried cursed him foully, mocked Maroboodus for a rapist and a cowardly turd, and they came swiftly; ready to kill the lord of the north gau. That was when the hidden men of Maroboodus surged from pits dug deep and camouflaged well, and closed Isfried's escape off. Then, in a spear storm, they hemmed the family of Isfried in a copse of wood, shields out, pushing them in brutally, and they killed them.

My father slew Isfried in a duel, the lord dying bravely, his arm dangling useless, and so died his unlucky cousins and the great uncles of their great, ancient family, all falling one by one, with no mercy given. Only Burlein broke out, when some two hundred Matticati rode up, late to battle, already bloodied by Maroboodus's easterners, and they failed Armin, but then, Father had expected them and likely they would have made no difference. The Marcomanni overwhelmed the rest of the cursing Matticati. Later, savage Leuthard captured the fleeing Burlein.

The fact that Flowery Meadows held the best Marcomanni men meant others suffered.

In Hard Hill, up which I rode, things were harder. There were many Marcomanni men there, but Hengsti, the old warlord, was coming to burn and raid. His men, frustrated by the resistance, killed hard-fighting guards, even speared slaves, and gave no mercy to youngsters who joined the fight.

The northern part of the hill was soon smoking in many places. The sounds of stiff battle were shrill in the air. Arrows flew swiftly, cursing men and screaming horses fell, even our women cursed the foe, and the Matticati were stopped somewhere in the middle of the hill by determined men with sharp axes, long spears, and unfettered hatred for Hengsti. From my exhausted horse, I saw the old warlord leading his horsemen between twisting buildings, and I saw him falling as his horse died from a well-thrown framea by a red-haired woman.

The Matticati, shields high, helped him up, and he was dazed, but that day, the Matticati would get their victories from the outlying villages. There, many Marcomanni died as hundreds of the Matticati burned, killed, and looted. Much of the lands around the Hard Hill and north of it would be desolate; fields burned, the precious cattle taken. Many young ones and weak elders would die of hunger that winter.

I plunged to the maze of buildings, heading up the hill. Behind me, I spied Melheim's evil face as his men started their climb. Despite Hengsti's fall, chaos was rife on the Hard Hill, men fighting the still probing Matticati and the quickly spreading fires. Thus, it was that Melheim, sporting a suebian knot, hoped to surprise the men at the Red Hall, guarding Balderich and Gunhild. I hoped to warn them.

Yet, just like with Hands, my horse fell, tired beyond survival. I rolled, hit my shoulder and head hard, and cursed. I saw Melheim's horse rearing before me, the lord licking his thin lips in anticipation, eyeing the Red Hall up ahead, and then considering me. He pointed me out to a burly old man with a salt and pepper beard. 'Finish him. Bring me his head.' The man nodded and vaulted from his horse. He was a champion, one of their family, but not an unkind man as he let me scramble up, and take my spear. He drew a fine blade.

'This is Blood Shine. My wife gave it to me the day she married me. It is a good blade to die on, Hraban. Just fight, and you will see your grandfather in Valholl,' he told me stoically.

I nodded, nervous. The blade was thin and bluish-colored, the size of gladius and obviously quick, and sharp beyond any blade I had seen, and it glittered at me invitingly.

I gripped the spear two-handed, and the old warrior grinned at me. 'Bergulf, that is my name. Distant blood of Isfried. You killed a man in Grinrock. A good man, that. One of mine. You carry his spear.'

'Was not me, but I would have,' I told him as calmly I could, and we smiled. I pulled out the sack from my horse where my helmet was, fished the fabulous thing out and put it on. The man smiled approvingly, either anticipating the loot, or agreeing with my bravado.

There was a group of some thirty nervous Marcomanni around the Red Hall, eyeing the carnage downhill. Some were undisciplined, running to fight Hengsti, and others were waving at Melheim, thinking him a friend. Melheim evidently smiled, faked friendship with the guards and then, drawing his axe, struck at a man leading the guards, one of Maroboodus's riders. The man fell like a trunk, and the battle ensued in chaos of blood and horror.

'Your master is trying to capture Balderich and Gunhild, eh?' I asked, observing the man.

'Yes, but Melheim is a sick man, and I think Gunhild will not enjoy the beginning of her life as wife of Isfried,' the man said somberly, his eyes darting uphill, his face showing disgust. I grunted, the thought filling me with anger, and I maneuvered myself in such a way that the sun was behind me. Woden danced in the mists, and my blood rushed with the joy of battle.

'Come, boy, to the blade,' he told me, squinting.

'You know, all your family are riding to a trap. They will die there, in the Meadows, and soon there will be only you, who rode up this hill,' I told him, viciously.

'There are Matticati helping Isfried,' he told me, and so I rushed him like an angry wraith. He braced his feet, I was yapping like a mad dog, and then he slashed his blade at me. He was fast though the sun was bright in his face. The blade, it came at me, wishing to slit my throat, but I held my spear at an angle to my left, and then slashed it across desperately, as fast as I could to knock his blade aside, but it drew blood. It tore a red ribbon off my chest, but my spear slashed forward, snake-fast, and Bergulf's eyes widened as the blade went crudely through his throat.

I pushed him on his back, pinned his flailing, panicky hand with my brutal foot and pried the blade from his fingers. It was still bright in places, but night dark blood covered it, most its former master's. 'Nightbright,' I renamed it, tucked it in my belt, pulled the spear from his throat and ran uphill, my chest burning. I had slain a champion. Woden's dance pounded in my head, and I felt alive, full of joy and unholy rage. I puffed as I dashed up the hill. Many men had died there, as well. Marcomanni killed Marcomanni, and as I approached, only some few men were left. Balderich was not in sight, but Gunhild had been dragged out by Melheim, mad at the loss of so many of his men. Many of his survivors had scattered, chasing our fleeing men, and only four sat on their skittish horses, eyes wild, bloodied by butchery.

'What are you doing?' Gunhild asked in horror, but Melheim was beyond politeness.

'You are coming to Isfried. He has a home for you. He is not the gentlest husband, but you do not need to worry about it. Worry about me.' He laughed and stepped up to Gunhild, and ripped the tunic off her, leaving her exposed. 'I have watched you many times when you lived with your husband in Grinrock. He kept you safe, you know, and cared for you enough to deny me what I asked him for, so many times. Now, in your queenly solitude here, a simple tool for Bero, relative to Aristovistus, you thought you had escaped us. A proud lady you have always been. I will humble you a bit, and I know Isfried will not mind. Now, undress.' He pushed her, touching her breasts crudely, and she cried in anger, red-faced with shame. 'Undress,' he growled.

'No!' she screamed, and tried to run, but Melheim slapped her, hard.

Gunhild was weeping with pain, shame and the men were leering at her, and I prayed to Woden, grabbed my framea, and jumped on a horse with blood on the saddle. I rode at them, battle madness whispering in my ears, navigating corpses and the terribly wounded men.

The enemy was not prepared for me. The general chaos, the groaning men, and crackling fires around us kept their faces turned away from me to the spectacle of Melheim's game. He tore the rest of the clothes off Gunhild who was now putting up a desperate, if futile, fight, and the men laughed as Melheim grinned at them. The shocked look on his face alerted them, but not before I screamed my challenge right behind them. I speared a man, a boy really, in the back, and the rest of the men turned, getting in each other's way. I pushed the body off the spear and turned the horse with my knees. I charged a man with a bow, a toothless old man who was fumbling with an arrow. I screamed as he shot desperately, hitting nothing, and I did not see where my spear hit, but it was caught hard, and I let go of it as he screamed in pain. My horse fell as another arrow hit its flank, and I was thrown free. I saw Gunhild being held down by Melheim, who had his axe in his raised hand, but he made no move for me, his face slack.

'You shall not have her, nor my head, you bastard turd of Hel,' I screamed and cursed, and pulled the sword out of my belt. I dodged as a spearman tried to pin me down from his saddle. I slashed at the elusive, dancing horse, the rider's foot dangling near me. I cut his foot deep and the man was thrown off the horse, screaming in pain, but I was going for the other archer, who had dismounted. His arrow was tracking me, and I cursed. I dedicated my life to high Woden and ran at him.

I remember little of what followed.

I felt a burning pain in my throat, and I was sure I would die. I raged. I spat blood and jumped at the man, discarding all caution. I ripped the sword from his crotch to his collarbone, spilling nasty guts and even shit, and pushed the screaming mess away from me. I remember Melheim slapping Gunhild so hard that she fell and whimpered. I growled at the lord as he gawked at me, a lord of the Marcomanni who was shaking in fear at an apparition of death. I laughed at him, blood flying from the bronze helmet. The lord backed off, his axe shaking in his hand, and he tried to run. I was a bronze-headed hound, my mouth rasping like an unholy thing, arrow fixed in my throat, and I ran at him like an animal. He cried for mercy.

I was told by Wandal, who had come to find me, that he saw me strangling Melheim and that I tore an eye out of the man's skull when he tried to resist. It was only with the greatest hardship that they managed to tear me off the crying man. I had shrugged them off and ran to stand guard Gunhild, growling at any man trying to get to her, or to look at my wounds.

It was late afternoon when my fierce father rode up, dusty, bloody. Seeing me and the bodies, and hearing what Nihta said, he walked bravely to me, embraced me, and I fell.

I soon woke up to pain. Wandal and Felix were there, holding my arms down. An old man was next to me, tying something around my neck, scowling at me. I saw a bloody arrow next to me on the trampled grass. He had just removed it. He gestured at my chest, and I nodded, sitting up, cursing as he fixed a bandage around it. I tried to talk and managed it. 'What happened out there?' Blood was oozing onto my chest from my throat and to my lap from the wound on my chest.

Wandal shrugged. 'It is a mess. Matticati had some thousand men, scattered all over the place, eh? While your father killed Isfried, the enemy looted and burned though Maroboodus had placed men to intercept most of the unsuspecting enemy. He had prepared his works in the deep night, and so their spies missed the hidden men. Hengsti is badly wounded, so they are going away, but it was humiliating how far they got and how much they burned and looted, eh? Now, I suppose your father rules. Burlein was captured, wishes peace, and your father agrees, I guess. You killed many men.'

'I did what Father wanted,' I said slowly, saw Gunhild, who ran to me and embraced me. She was crying bitterly.

She looked me in my eyes. 'Balderich is gone. Your father thinks Matticati took him,' she said in panic, but composed herself. 'You saved me. So I give you advice, do not be here tomorrow. It was I who poisoned you, on the request from …'

'Who?' I asked, but Maroboodus was approaching. He walked his horse towards me and grinned widely. She hesitated and got up. Then she walked away, my father's eyes following her.

He got down, took my fine sword, hesitating as I put my hand out. In the end, he handed it to me. 'Hraban. What you did here? You were magnificent like a warrior god. Now, I rule. Tomorrow, we will talk about your future. Adgandestrius will be here this night if the Matticati don't kill him, and he will take you and Gernot to meet the fair Gunda, but I will free Ishild.'

'Are Tear and Odo dead?' I rasped.

He shrugged. 'I have yet to check the many bodies. Tear was with me, I saw Odo there. I gave the orders, so likely, yes.'

I grasped his strong arm. 'Make sure, Father. Moreover, be careful with poor Ishild,' I said, carefully trying to articulate each word, my throat on fire. He smiled benignly. My eyes snaked towards Gunhild, her words burning me.

Maroboodus grunted. 'I know where they hid themselves. Now, we have much work to do. I have to recover Balderich, and organize the burned village, find food, and shelter. But tomorrow, Hraban, you will get your deserved place, lovely Ishild, and one day, we will have our vengeance together.' I bowed to him. 'One more thing. Is Bark gone? He was not there. Burlein said he died in Grinrock, but …'

'I killed him,' I told him evenly. 'They gave me to him, and I suppose that saved me, for otherwise they would have slain me at the feast.'

He laughed. 'Fortuna makes men into happy lords, Hraban. I think she loves you. Look, that arrow was in your throat, yet they say it missed all the vital parts! Incredible. I hear you gave Isfried an oath?'

'I had little choice, Father,' I told him, morose, shaking in horror at my close brush with death, staring at the bloody arrow.

'Good. We will deal with everything. Now, I will find who lives, and who died,' he told me happily.

I stopped him. 'Lord. Tudrus?'

His face clouded over, but he shook his head tiredly. 'Tudrus left the hall, dressed as a woman. His men covered for him. Vannius is looking for him.'

'He is your enemy, then?' I asked. 'And Vannius is not?'

His eyes glinted dangerously, his mood swinging from one end to the other. 'Vannius told me what you did. I forgive you, for it does not really matter. Tudrus is a Quadi to the core, and I want the Quadi to join us and become Marcomanni, so yes, he is. And Armin? The man who arranged so much trouble for us? He is gone, too,' Maroboodus growled. 'I would have sent him home with Varnis, shamed in his failure, but he is gone.' He peered down at me, speaking pointedly. 'Koun is gone as well.'

'All gone?' I asked, hoping Ansbor had managed some answers from Koun.

'Koun disappeared. Perhaps he ran,' said Maroboodus, uncaringly. 'He might have figured out Vannius is no prisoner.' He glanced at me, but I kept a straight face. I doubted he would go without Gunhild. Perhaps Father had gotten rid of him. Koun had a story to tell, as well, something Father did not want people to know about.

He nodded. 'Tomorrow, Hraban, I know more, and we decide much. It has been a confusing day. Men will hang today as we settle matters. Your prisoner Melheim is one.' His eyes scanned the smoke pillars in the horizon, trail of the retreating Matticati.

'Yes, Lord,' I told him. I was itching to find Ansbor. I watched Maroboodus go as he walked away to look at his fallen rider, mourning him, when Guthbert came to me, his massive frame shadowing us.

'Your friend? Ansbor? Did you ask him to find Ishild?' he asked me softly.

'I did,' I said, bleakly, dreading his next words.

'He is dying. Was found near the woods yesterday. I guess he found them, but now, he is …' the warrior said, hesitating, staring at the retreating back of Maroboodus. I spit blood and held my throat. Ansbor was paying the price for my wyrd.

'How? Where is he?' I asked.

Felix nodded downhill. 'Euric's place.' Guthbert nodded and looked troubled.

He placed a hand on my shoulder. 'You are a fine boy, Hraban, despite some bad choices. A worthy fight you had here, better than most. We will remember it, if you die,' he told me, in his rumbling voice. 'If I leave for home one day, Hraban, I offer you a way to come with me if you wish and can go. Think about it. Your Tudrus, I think, will have no home soon and might even die. Change your fouled name and come to the Batavii, and be happy again.'

'You are not happy here? Eh?' Wandal asked him, pulling me up.

'No,' he said honestly. 'I am not. Oh, there are no healers to save your poor Ansbor. The vitka could have, but none are left. And Odo and Tear, as you know, well … It is not only Ansbor, for many others will suffer. Many are wounded.' He looked embarrassed. 'The man who has such a bad reputation is the last in line. As are his men.' He went off to help fight some of the lingering fires.

We went down, entered Euric's hall, and found Ansbor thrashing in terrible fever, held down by Euric. Ermendrud got up to embrace Wandal, and she glared at me with hostility. 'Your friend,' she said savagely, 'is near the gods.'

'He is burning up, Hraban. He was conscious, on and off, but now …' grunted Euric. I nodded and missed Ishild for her skills. I lifted the blanket and saw the slash in his belly was red and oozing puss.

'Is there no one who can help him?' I asked.

Wandal's father grunted. 'Some, of course. However, they will not. A lot of badly wounded out there, and you, Hraban, have a rancid reputation.'

'I just did Maroboodus a great favor,' I said. 'Where are the healers?' I was going to get up, but Euric placed a hand on my shoulder.

'All they know is that you have broken custom and law, that the truth speaker of Maroboodus is after you. And …' He hesitated.

'Tear is dead. And?' I asked, dangerously.

'Burlein is alive, and in his imprisonment he has confirmed it was you who killed the holy vitka in the Flowery Meadows. That you also killed Bark. That you gave a holy oath to Isfried and reneged on it. The healers are not going to help you. You are lucky that one man took the arrow from your throat. He likely did not know who you were. They think you are going to face harsh law.' I put my hand over my tired face. Ermendrud spat at my grief. Wandal pulled her away, and I was grateful, for I needed peace. But Wandal was not going to give that to me, after all.

'Oath to Isfried,' I spat softly. 'They broke theirs just as much.'

Wandal sat down. 'Did you kill the vitka in the Meadows? It was you? Not some Romans? Eh?'

I swallowed and avoided his eyes. 'I did it, but not out of choice. I was serving my father. He will set things right.' Ansbor groaned in feverish nightmare. I wiped tears off my face. 'Where did you find him?'

Euric grunted and gestured towards the north. 'A Gaul horse trader found him. Near the woods to the north. He had dragged himself for a long time, and could barely whisper something about a moldy tower. What was he doing there, Hraban? I thought he was to be with you in the south?'

'He did what I asked of him. A fine service. I will mourn him,' I said, miserable to my core.

Wandal exploded. 'Ansigar our terrible enemy, sweet Hagano dead, our Ansbor dying, eh? You, a filthy murderer and an oath breaker? Is this part of the plan, Hraban?' Wandal yelled and threw a sturdy stool to the wall. 'You are giving us all death and ignominy!'

Euric got up and pushed Wandal to a seat. 'He suffers enough, boy. He is losing a friend. He is a father-to-be to a bastard. Most everyone he knew distrusts him. He suffers, Wandal. He has a bad reputation, a really bad one, and he has to rely on his father to pull him out.' Euric shrugged, not sure what to do. I grunted as Ansbor threw his blanket in fever. I hoped Maroboodus would help us. He had hugged me and been proud of me. Of course, he would. I would get Ishild, too, and the baby. Euric shrugged. 'Men go far for their father, Hraban. It won't go away, the dishonor, but he can save you.'

We sat there most of the night, brooding. I thought of plans to capture an unsuspecting vitka, of going and finding a healer from Gaul. Ansbor was weak. 'I need a healer,' I said, desperate. 'Today.'

Wandal laughed bitterly. 'No healer will help, eh? Not after Burlein told them everything. Didn't you hear Euric?'

'I can force one at sword point,' I growled and touched Nightbright, but Felix got up, gulped loudly, but sat back down.

'Yes?' I asked finally.

He nodded towards the harbor. 'Varnis the Sigambri. He has been staying here because the pickings are easier here than up north. He has raided one Arrius, a Mediomactri noble. My former master.'

'And?' I asked.

'There is a woman in his boat, trussed up, unhappy,' he said. 'Cassia, my former mistress before I was sold to my recent master. She is a fine healer.'

We thought about it. 'Varnis,' I said, 'will not sell her cheap. And I have no coin.'

'I have an idea, but you have to promise me not to let Ansbor hurt me when he is healed. Nor Wandal,' he said.

Ermendrud grinned. 'He is a rat, Hraban. This Gaul of yours. However, he has ideas. Listen to him.' I nodded.

'Speak.'

CHAPTER XVII

I saw Varnis and his thin, dangerous crew hard at work. The Sigambri had heaps of loot on their longship. I saw many of them hoisting fine Roman vases, fragile glass goblets, wine of many kinds, and even some bright jewels. Their forays had been very successful. Then I saw the girl, who had a bruise on her cheek. Her eyes were beautifully slanted, hair dark and long, her legs strong and shapely as she kicked fiercely at a Sigambri who was cursing her. I stared at her for a long time, feeling a flutter in my chest. It was a feeling I had not had with Ishild or Ermendrud, and I could not explain it. Then I reminded myself why we were there.

I walked up, leaving Felix in the shadows, and yelled, 'Varnis?' The man's head shot up from his ship, surprised. He regarded me with suspicion.

'Ah, Hraban, the whore-mongering murderer! Not hung yet?' he said as he got down from his ship.

'No, Lord, I am not,' I told him. 'Perhaps soon? I need something from you.'

'Well, I am loath to give anything, boy,' he told me, about to turn, when I flashed my sword at him.

'I am selling this, and have no idea how much coin I could get for it,' I told him simply, and the look on his face was one of deep greed.

'That might have some worth. Celt made, no?' he said carefully and hopped deftly out of the boat, walked over quickly, bending to examine the blade.

'They say,' I whispered to him, 'it has a name amongst the Romans across the river here. Has killed many famous men. Centurion's Fear, it is called.'

'I can buy it off you,' he said happily. 'I have use for such. Some silver?'

Felix marched over from the dark, his face angry as a small thundercloud. He shrieked. 'Hold! It is mine!'

Varnis sneered. 'What are you yapping about?' he asked. The bearded, tattooed Sigambri was licking his thin lips as he regarded the terrific blade. I saw Cassia's eyes go large as she regarded Felix. He had not lied, she knew him.

Felix smiled nervously and started to whisper to Varnis as if I was a moronic child. 'He has lost his few coins and his horse to me. The fine sword he holds, he lost, as well. Indeed, the sword is worth many Roman lives. Hraban got it from Balderich, a famous, famous blade! All Rome fears it. It's the terror of the legions, and the fool lost it to me on a game of simple acorn toss. Three barrels, and he did not get one acorn in. He is a poor gambler. He cannot resist, you see. Now, I want the sword, and he can sell his ass to you.' I groaned. I prayed to Woden, and hoped Felix knew what he was doing.

Varnis's eyes darted from the sword to me, then to Felix. Greed played on his face and so did cunningness.

'Is this a free man?' Varnis asked.

'My slave,' I mumbled, unhappily.

He smiled. 'In that case, shut up, slave. Hraban can gamble with you, lose everything, and still not owe you anything, for you belong to him. All he lost is his and so is the sword. Be gone!'

'But …' Felix started desperately, but I interrupted him.

I gestured at the boy. 'I do not think like that, Varnis. I do owe Felix, for it would be dishonorable …'

'I hear you do not care about honor,' he mused and laughed crudely.

'I do,' I told him with a growl, 'but cannot afford to pay him. It is not noble to dodge the responsibility. I only have my helmet left. Perhaps I cannot gamble for the sword, after all. He is right.'

Varnis smiled. 'But you do own Felix?'

'Yes, that is true,' I said though I was unsure if it was so. Felix looked scared, an excellent act.

'Then, if he owns your items but you own him, you can stake him, no?' Felix protested, I grinned and pretended to think about it. Varnis nudged me conspiratorially. 'Wish to gamble for the Gaul?'

'For Felix? That would solve many of my problems. I almost wish to lose! What do you give if you lose?'

Varnis jingled a pouch, his face greedy. 'Some silver?'

'No, I want the woman,' I told him, eyeing Cassia.

'Woman?' he said, angry. 'That is to be my new wife! I cannot agree to that. She is worth a fortune!'

'And Felix and all he has taken from me is worth much more. With the sword, you can buy a dozen fine wenches. Nevertheless, I want her,' I said, looking at her, and her eyes slanted in anger. She understood our language.

'Have you not gotten into enough trouble with women, Hraban?' he asked insipidly. 'Fine, I see why you have gotten into hot water, you twisted bastard.' He shook his head while mumbling, indecisive, but finally licked his lips, and agreed with a curt nod.

'Do not gamble with him!' Felix said. 'He will rob me!' Ignoring the boy, we spat on our palms and grasped each other's forearms fiercely, making the deal. He grinned, looking at my blade, and his eyes narrowed. His lips were moist as he thought of himself with such a weapon.

'Coin toss then, one time,' I told him, instructed by Felix. I produced a silver coin, a Roman coin, thick, with a ship on one side, a man with a fat neck on the other. It was a coin we had seen often when we gambled with Felix. Wandal had gotten beyond angry when he learned how the other side was heavier that the other, even more so, when we found Felix had two such coins, both weighted to favor the opposite sides, suiting any situation. I twirled the coin in my deft fingers. 'May the best man win, and which side you want to pick?' I asked, and held up the coin. Hesitantly, he took the coin and eyed it.

He spat. 'A Roman on this, and a ship!'

Felix was hovering around. 'Lord Varnis, take the Roman consul. It usually wins over the sad ship. Romans do that. Win over fools in rotting ships!'

Varnis blushed in anger. 'No Roman consul will win my battles for me. I choose the glorious ship.' I sighed in relief, having read the man correctly.

'Ship it is, then,' I said, and he tossed the coin up to the air.

A bit later, I carried Cassia towards Euric's smithy, and Felix was happily running along. We heard Varnis shriek at his men in the dark, angry beyond reason.

Wandal received us at the door. 'We won then, eh?'

'Yes, can you wait here, please,' I told him, and he nodded, reluctantly. Euric joined him.

Inside, I set the woman down. Cassia looked around, edging for the table, looking at me. Ermendrud came to us, stopping in midstride. The women looked at each other.

'Ermendrud, can you give us privacy,' I said calmly.

'This is Wandal's and Euric's house,' she spat, but I glowered at her, and she went, throwing something to the wall in the next room.

Cassia smirked and spoke with a heavy Germanic accent. 'A happy hall you have here? I will not let you have me, not without a fight. And I can fight, you know.'

I sighed and unstrapped my sword. She looked at my movements carefully, her beautiful eyes darting from me to the pallid face of Ansbor. 'You need not fear,' I told her, and she laughed.

'Need not fear? They butchered the guards in my home during the funeral of my father, burned it, stole everything of value, and took me slave, and that beast wanted to rape and then marry me. No, I am not afraid, why should I be?'

'I won't hurt you,' I assured her. 'You can heal?'

'I can heal, I know my medicine, yes, but why should I?' she asked stubbornly.

I walked up to her and gazed at her. I pointed at Ansbor. 'If you heal him, I will let you go. You can return home, enjoy your father's fortune, live free. You own your land?'

'I do,' she said guardedly. 'My father had no other relatives. My future husband is to manage it.'

'Then heal him and go back to your life,' I told her, pointing at Ansbor, and that was when Nihta came in, for it was close to morning. He walked up to us and placed a hand on my shoulder. Grim men followed him. 'Give me time, just …' I started, but he shook his head.

'Well, Hraban, no time is left, and so you will come,' he told me sternly, and Cassia was also grabbed. He took my sword and my helmet.

'What are you doing?' I asked him, clenching my fists.

'You,' he pointed at two men. 'Stay here, and … guard Ansbor.' He looked at me. Something was afoot. The men cast me blank looks. Ansbor was a hostage.

On top of the hill, men stood silently in ranks, many bandaged and grim. All the surviving chiefs were there, in the early morning light, mumbling as I came forward. I noticed Wandal and Felix running after us.

'So, not exactly positioned to promise me freedom, are you, Hraban?' Cassia asked maliciously as she was struggling up the hill behind me. I offered her my arm, but she glowered at me.

Maroboodus saw me coming and smiled. On the side stood Tear, her face haggard, but very much alive. We were guided to stand before glowering Maroboodus. I saw Burlein there, next to Melheim, whose face was streaked with tears and puss streaming from the hole where his eye had been. Maroboodus regarded me, then Cassia. 'Who is she?'

'A woman who can help heal my friend. I got her from Varnis.' I stared at Tear, and then at Father. Tear lived. Adgandestrius rode slowly up the hill, and I saw Gernot and Ansigar exiting the Red Hall in a gear meant for travelling, carrying heavy cloaks and sacks of food.

Maroboodus nodded. 'It is good you look after your friends. Continue to do so. Many dangers in this land of ours, these days.' His warning was clear, and I took a deep breath as his face was hard as rough stone. Maroboodus snapped his fingers at me. 'Son, I will soon lead the Marcomanni, both the northern ones, and the southern ones to punish the marauding Matticati. We will purge their land with fire and iron as they did ours. Now that we are united,' he smirked at stone-faced Burlein, 'we will kill the lot. I have a fine plan, one that will swallow all the little fish conspiring against us.'

'I know, Father, that you have many plans,' I said, looking at Tear. She was supposed to be dead. Would he keep his word?

He saw my furtive look. 'Tear? She is my truth speaker. Her son Odo, though, we will hunt down. He took a man of mine, Koun, because I did not give him you. Which I regret.' The chiefs nodded and slammed their thick spears on their famed shields, appreciating his words. Tear looked at me, the look in her eyes hinting at desperation. Koun was taken, and Odo was blackmailing Father. Bark was not the only one who could hurt Maroboodus and his legitimacy with the Marcomanni.

He would sell me out.

'Hraban,' he said. The villagers eyed me. 'Son?'

'Yes, Father,' I said, steeling myself for a blow. Tear looked down.

'I name you, Hraban, the Oath Breaker,' he said venomously, enjoying each word as if he had waited for a long time to utter them. For him, it seemed like a purifying bath, and he looked uncannily happy, and I froze in bitter disappointment as silence reigned around me. 'I name you thus, for you have betrayed me many times. You betrayed your holy oaths to me, to my poor father, to my lost wife, who all died. You betrayed even the fool of Isfried, for Burlein tells us of your promises to him. Shame you have brought us, and to your friends.' I hissed, but his eyes flickered at Cassia, Ermendrud, and Wandal. I shut my mouth, seething. He would hurt them all should I defend myself. I had failed, now I could only save them by remaining silent and shamed. 'I will give you spear and shield, Hraban. Here.' They were thrown before me, plain, but serviceable. 'Now you may fight for your honor.' I looked at Tear. They would send me away to Odo, but they would hurt me first. I wondered if that was what Odo wanted, or Maroboodus.

'What is it that Koun knows, that you are willing to trade for me?' I asked him softly.

He flinched and made a fist, and his eyes darted to Wandal. I tried to calm myself. He saw I was going to remain silent and continued. 'Spare us your foolishness, boy and take up your new spear and shield. I will make you a man, something you ever desired.'

I looked at the fine items on the ground, but they held no luster in my eyes. My honor and hopes were gone in his service, and he was going to sacrifice me. 'Were you ever going to kill Vago?' He didn't answer. I shook my head. 'I take nothing from you. Do what you will.'

'Fine. I will banish you for your crimes against the Marcomanni, boy, but for your crime against Ishild you will lose your hand,' he said calmly, and I nearly sobbed as Nihta took up an axe, and I saw a fire roaring, and they would cauterize the wound there.

Nihta would have fought me in any case, and I would have lost a limb no matter what. Maroboodus was keen on bleeding me there, that day. I would be a maimed proof of his justice to the Marcomanni. He would not spare his own son. I stared at Maroboodus, whose eyes gleamed with amusement, and I think he was also hoping to make sure I would not ever come back with a sword in my hand, should I escape Odo. I spat at him and despised him. Guthbert came forward, oath bound to hold me while Nihta would do the terrible deed, and I heard Gernot laughing somewhere in the crowd. Adgandestrius was sitting on his horse, clearly unhappy, about to speak on my behalf.

It was then I remembered the scroll Koun had given me, the one from old Adalfuns, and if this was not a time of great need, then what was? I glanced around knowing it was still on my horse, the one that had died under me, and I cursed deeply. Maroboodus's eyes glinted with amusement as he looked at my distress.

Then, a miracle happened. Felix threw it at my feet, and I blessed him with a gratuitous look. The boy did not look at Maroboodus, keeping his eyes on ground, and I admired his bravery, for he made a terrible enemy. I quickly grabbed the scroll, opened it with a brisk jerk and read it. Everyone was still, surprised. I read it and then I smiled widely and laughed rudely. I laughed for a long time, arrogantly, apparently carefree, and saw the Marcomanni make warding signs, for they thought me touched by the gods. I ignored Nihta, who was hovering near me, his axe half ready, and Guthbert who was hoping to hold me. I threw the scroll at the feet of my father.

'Father, it seems there is no crime against Ishild. Adalfuns claims fathership over fair Ishild and approves my marriage with her. He has spoken to some of the elders and told them it is so.' Two older men came forward, though reluctantly, both frowning at me and nodded gravely as Maroboodus's eyes desperately sought theirs, hoping they would deny such claims, but their honor held them, and they did not. Father's shoulders slumped.

Most of the others looked thoroughly astonished, and I enjoyed their slack faces. Some of the chiefs were no longer scowling at me, surprised, certainly, but apparently happy the customs were not defiled. They were whispering amongst themselves. Maroboodus glanced at them briefly, mulling over the situation, grinding his teeth together.

Tear, his truth speaker, grinned as well, glanced at Maroboodus maliciously and said, 'True. I was married to old Adalfuns once, when I was still happy. He is father to Ishild, at least to her. He saved me after Bero's mercenaries hurt me.'

Maroboodus spat and stalked back and forth. He was not a man to leave enemies alive. He had decided to be rid of me, and had hoped to make sure I was no threat, no matter what happened with Odo. Now, he could not. Not while I was in Hard Hill. A vein in his forehead was throbbing as he looked at me murderously, and I wondered at how a man can mimic love and care for his son one day, then curse as he cannot maim him the other. I saw he contemplated on butchering me after all, but the elders were there, looking calmly at him, finding no fault in me in this regard, and so Maroboodus could not appear a beast and defiler of customs.

'The charge, Father, that you planned to maim me for, was of a crime between Ishild and myself. Are you trying to find new ones as this one is no longer valid?' I asked him with spite.

He stopped striding around and took a deep breath. His finger pointed at me. 'No, you will escape once again. You will be banished, Hraban. Since you took no weapons from me, you are still a boy bound to my will, and will obey. You will ride with us as we go to war, and when the time is right, you will be dropped from our sight like a filthy turd. Your brother goes to his marriage, but you will not. You might not have broken the propriety of our manners in this regard, but you have broken your oaths.'

Most people around me looked happy with his decision. They hated me deeply, for I was ill fortune and likely, a slayer of holy men, a traitor and an oaths breaker. Gernot mounted a horse, a gold ring glittering on his finger, and he regarded me suspiciously, deeply disappointed at my escape. I could not see well enough, but I supposed it was the Draupnir's Spawn. Ansigar got up on his bay horse as well and Adgandestrius led them off, the adeling glancing my way with a mysterious look. The meeting was over, and I stood there, abandoned like an orphan, but for two guards. I noticed Ermendrud with Wandal, whispering angrily. Maroboodus was still staring at me, shaking his head and came close.

'Well, Father,' I told him bitterly, hating him. 'Seems I made a mistake. I should have helped Isfried, then.'

He snorted. He gave me another scroll, one I had seen before.

It was the one Antius the Roman had taken from me.

He whispered to me. 'A filth of a scroll for another like it, boy. Despite this unfortunate situation with the bastard Koun and treasonous Odo, you would have gone to Hel, Hraban. You see, Sigilind's assurances of love give me no pleasure. I do not trust her, never did, nor you. You betrayed me, with the damned Bero, Balderich, and even the dolt Tudrus, and I used you like I would use any shifty, yet resourceful bastard. Now your use is over, and it is indeed bad luck I cannot make sure you will never come back with a sword, but it is just a matter of time you die. When we ride, we will have time to make it so, before you go to Odo. Out there are thickets and woods where the Marcomanni will not learn of anything I do to you. I am patient as a beaver, and I have time. Soon you will be gone for good, never a son of mine. Try to run from Nihta, and your friends suffer. I will make new, finer sons, and perhaps I will even adopt Catualda, who has served me well. Do not speak to me again, someone else's bastard.'

He walked away, and I stared after him. His hateful words echoed his truest feelings. He hated me deeply, always had, and he had hated Sigilind and his father. All his honeyed words, lies. All his high promises, fine dust. He had used me like a whore, fallen women of other nations we often heard about, a woman who can be paid for, and I felt empty and devoid of life. Around me, everything I knew was hostile, my own people and my enemies both hated me. My foolish choices, my orlog, all terribly bad; my wyrd, utterly harsh. I saw his gloating eyes regard me as he went. Where had he gotten the scroll from, I briefly wondered, but then felt tired, hopelessly tired, and I dropped the scroll, not caring about it.

Wandal came to me carefully. 'Euric said the pretty Gaul woman will help poor Ansbor. They are all as safe as they can be.'

'So are you, my friend,' I said hollowly.

'Ah, no. Not safe, eh?' he said, sheepishly. 'She insisted I guard you,' I glanced at Ermendrud and Cassia, talking animatedly. Ermendrud eyed me and blushed. Cassia saw this and rolled her slanted eyes. The women were trouble, but I was grateful to both. I was also grateful for Ansbor and for Wandal, both whom I should have lost long before.

We watched as merciless Guthbert hung Melheim before Burlein's eyes, a not-so-subtle warning to the one remaining lord of the south. Father ruled with an iron fist but dared not break the laws. Not yet. And so, I still lived, and had the use of my limbs. They were all I had.

PART IV: TORN MASKS

'It is curious how strong arms and legs are dropped all over the damned field in the battle, but when you have to take them off, it is such hard work. Farewell, Hraban. May we meet again.'

(Adgandestrius to Hraban.)

CHAPTER XVIII

In a week, the tribe would march. I was pushed to a guarded hut, and Wandal resolutely stayed with me. We heard nothing of Cassia and her hard work to save Ansbor. Ermendrud was not to be seen. We waited, utterly bored, and then one bright day, we were brought out by guards, put on some slow horses and taken down the bustling hill.

There some four thousand men milled around, an incredible sight. Nihta saw us come and pointed us to a place near him, and men guarded us. An army on a march, Lord, was a fabulous thing. It made your blood surge to see so many splendid men ready for terrible war. Our tribe had some fifteen thousand men, but Maroboodus had only taken swift cavalry. There was much grumbling in the host. There would be no women with us either, and so the men would cook and clean their own wounds, a thing unheard of as no Germani went to war without their partner, but Maroboodus forced this on the men, and they reluctantly agreed.

We saw standards of many kinds, individual warlords sitting on their great horses, drinking sweet mead and sour ale, making terrific boasts. We saw thousands of sharpened spears and swift javelins, rectangular and oval shields of all colors, adorned with strange beasts, beautiful stars, and rayed suns. It was the army of the hard, bearded bordermen, best of the best. There were even over a thousand men from the south, the ones that could be gathered. It was a war to free Balderich, and I did not care. I did not wish to see my father, and wanted to see Balderich dead, both traitors. Felix carefully approached us. He peered at Maroboodus and Nihta, but came to ride next to us.

'They will not like that, Felix,' I said. 'But I thank you for my good health.'

'Maroboodus told me to join you in your exile. He didn't give me the great riches I was promised, though. You two stink, by the gods! No baths?' he wondered, but leaned on us. 'Ansbor is not dead. Not yet. Cassia is working miracles, fair Ermendrud is helping her, and grumpy, worried Euric is very unhappy with the two commandeering women in his formerly peaceful house. I think the old goat is just horny, and could use …'

Nihta turned and growled at Felix to be silent, and then turned to regard me. 'We will ride to the north and part ways sometime after the river. Make no trouble. There will be mortifying problems for your friends if you do.' He turned to assemble his men into a thick column.

Maroboodus came, wearing Head Taker, riding under the great banners of the bear and of the chain and wolf of Aristovistus, wearing his brilliant war glory and Hulderic's fine helmet on his head. He did not look my way but raised his sword high while tear-faced Gunhild stood near him, seeing him off. They had married, but she was not happy, and I felt sorry for her. She had obeyed Father and poisoned me, but she was lonely and scared. My mighty father, I knew, could dazzle most people with false promises and a few kind words. But she had fallen in love with Koun, and would now suffer lonely fear and terrible heartache.

Then Father had the harsh horns blown, and we rode forth.

We rode for a long day, witnessing many former homesteads and abandoned villages burned by the heavy hand of the Matticati. We slept uneasily, rode another day, gathering more stray men from northern villages and then came to the swift Moenus River. We spent a dangerous night crossing it, eating in our saddles, shivering uncontrollably, very cold and totally wet. It took a long time, and we lost some unlucky men and horses in the dark. After the perilous crossing, Burlein's men went and scouted stealthily ahead while the main host rode after them, already tired. Then, very late, we slept a few hours. Wandal was quiet and worried, and so was I. Only Felix kept strangely cheerful until I threw some cold mud at him.

The next day was uncomfortably breezy, and the usually happy birds did not sing. Burlein's men came back from the hills and brought two bruised prisoners with them. One was killed outright, the other persuaded by this brutal act to be free with his words, and he gossiped like a woman. The Matticati, the prisoner claimed, were not expecting us, and Hengsti was in his great village, healing from stubborn wounds and bruises he received at the battle of the Hard Hill. The man died as Nihta ran him through. A vitka Maroboodus had apparently created with a promise of wealth chanted and made mysterious auguries, and Maroboodus smiled. The omens were good, unsurprisingly.

I saw Catualda riding about, and he smiled as he spied me. He rode closer. I kept a stony face as he regarded me. 'Well, Hraban. Looks like your father made his choices. Gernot over you.'

'How are you enjoying his service?' I asked. 'He is thinking about adopting you, by the way.'

He shrugged and spat. 'He has grand plans, no doubt. But I think that it is time to start making my own. I helped him with Bero, and with Isfried. I have seen little trust though, and I want no strange father to lord over me. I am my own man, I wish to live my own life, and not end up like you or be married to a strange woman.'

'Gernot will not marry Gunda. No woman would have him, and no sane and loving father would accept him after his public humiliation,' I said morosely. 'Of course, not all fathers are sane or kind.'

He laughed, nodding, for both our fathers seemed to suffer from these maladies. 'Perhaps you are right, and Gernot held a fake ring,' Catualda said mischievously. 'Nihta has the real Draupnir's Spawn. I saw him receive it from your father.' I nodded sagely. It would make sense. If he was to give me to Odo, the red-headed bastard needed the famous ring, as well. Maroboodus did not think to cross Odo with Koun's secret hanging over his head, whatever that was. Catualda smiled at me. 'I will try to help you, when the time comes.'

I eyed him strangely, dismissed his words as useless banter, and felt cold terror at the bottom of my belly. Somewhere there I was to be given to Odo, who hated me. The army moved north, and by evening, we saw the tall, almost mountain-like hills separating the valleys of the Matticati from the Moenus River area. The army was moving forward in silent woods and wild pastures. Every now and then, we ran across bloodied bodies. Some were Matticati warriors, others mere peasants, and some even women.

Wandal hissed. 'Surely they know we are coming? Eh? This is not subtle.'

I laughed. If Wandal understood it, they would, too. Father had some plan, and it did not involve a surprise, I thought, but decided I did not care. I saw Nihta grow restless. We rode to a depression, a some kind of a valley with a few unhappy trees, and there, on the left, sat a ragged man on a dirty horse, not moving north with the passing Marcomanni army but eating bread quietly, his eyes listless. I saw Nihta stare at the man, then at me. He stopped, and so did some twenty Marcomanni.

Felix shook his head in fear, which I also felt as we waited for the high warlords of the Marcomanni pass, the bearded men gazing at us. It took a long time, and then, after most men were gone, Nihta started to ride east. The ragged man rode around us, disappearing to the woods, and we followed. I saw Wandal tense as the trees closed around us, tighter and tighter until we had to fight boughs that brushed our faces.

Another small, mossy valley opened up suddenly. We stopped and waited in the middle of the pristine field. The sun was turning red and going down, and no one uttered a word. The wind was blowing softly, the trees swaying gently, and suddenly, we saw Odo emerge from the silent woods. Nihta nodded angrily and rode forward. They spoke harshly as men started to filter to the field.

They were Odo's men, half-mad, ugly, twisted men, easy to fool with promises of a better world and the favor of the gods, or they were from the north, from this Gulldrum their whole clan apparently came from. There were many, nearly a hundred such creatures. I saw Koun there, bruised, on a horse between two men. Nihta inspected the man and made a throat-cutting motion. Odo nodded, held out his hand. Nihta pulled out a ring from his finger and dropped it on Odo's waiting, twisted palm. They argued, apparently over Koun. Finally, Nihta cursed savagely, clearly unhappy and rode for me.

I spat. 'Wandal? Time for you to go. They will kill you. You, too, Felix.'

'Can I?' asked the boy with a small voice, but Nihta shook his head.

They would not go anywhere, and I spat at his horse's feet. He did not care. Nihta turned his tall horse and stopped near me. He hesitated and took out my bright helmet and sharp sword and gave them to me. 'For the times we shared, Hraban. Use them well. I was told by your father to cut your hands here where none can see, but I won't. It will make no difference, that I can see. Soon you are his, Koun will hopefully die, and if Odo lied about that, his mother and sister will bleed. I think they, too, have some weight in the madman's plans, so we are done. You will know their plans firsthand! Good luck, my friend Hraban.' Then he left with his men as Odo's men filtered closer. We were silent as corpses, even when Gernot and Ansigar rode past us. I stared at him and fought not to show my surprise, but he had fully chosen Odo's side. My brother smiled wickedly at me as he guided his lathered horse past us. I pulled my helmet on as I staring at him passing by.

Gernot's voice was low. 'I told you I have plans. I have a new master now, Hraban. In fact, my old master.'

'You serve Odo?' I stated more than asked.

'I won't marry the Chatti girl, but I will get Ishild for my services, when they have no more use of her. I will share her with Ansigar here.' He smirked as he said it, Ansigar nodding resolutely, and I wondered if they were determined on sharing all the women I had cared for. Apparently, Ansigar had refused reconciliation with me. He knew Odo would have a powerful master, though not Father. Woden danced in the mists of my raging mind, and I breathed hard. I hoped I would die and not be taken by the bastards.

'Gernot,' Odo said hollowly, welcoming my brother, 'will see power unlike he has seen before. He is wise to abandon his father, like you should have, Hraban. Today, he will prove himself to us, again.'

'Again? You know the toad tried to disobey you and tried to kill me?'

Gernot opened his mouth to refute me, but Odo waved him down, languid and happy, enjoying his moment of apparent triumph. 'I do know, but he will learn obedience. A wild dog has to be thrashed many times and only then will be useful. The god's prophecy is stronger than his weak attempts on your life, so I knew you were in no real danger.' I scoffed and thought of Manno's spear entering my chest. Odo continued. 'I will forgive him this one time. Oh yes, he has ever been useful to us, getting close to your father, listening in on his councils, even those Gernot was not invited to. When your father started to close his mind to us, we had Gernot. We all knew Koun held a secret, and so when your father made his plans to dispose of all of us, I learnt his treasonous plans from Gernot, who is a great one for eavesdropping. Therefore, I took Koun there to replace Isfried as an anchor around your father's thick neck, though I could not save poor Mother and Ishild. I think the prophecy will guard them, as well. Now I have you and the ring, and we can begin. We will travel far. Yes, Gernot has been useful through the years. He was close to you, Hraban, growing up. Not a friend, but a sneak, even then. That was useful, as well.'

'So.' I looked at my brother's proud face. 'We did not take part in our childish games, and you found a creature to play with. This mongrel? Did he hump you, Gernot?'

'He did not!' Gernot shrieked, and even the madmen laughed at his outraged tone.

I pointed at him, and spoke to Odo. 'I enjoy it is the fool, not I, who is to be your slave. I will never find Veleda for you, with or without my hands and eyes,' I said, and drew my sword. 'I would rather die here today.'

'You will not, Hraban. Unless you kill yourself. I doubt you will,' he grinned. 'I will take from you what I promised, Hraban. Adalfuns spared limbs, Nihta as well, but that was temporary relief. In this one thing, your father and I see alike. Then we will travel to deep, dark Gulldrum. Your friends will not join us.'

I turned to my friend. 'Wandal?'

'Eh?' my friend answered, eyes full of terror, behind me.

I was whispering to him. 'Run, my friend. Try to look after Felix, and if you survive, and I do not, Ishild. My child? Please. Find Tudrus, he has a place for you, wherever he is.'

'Yes, Wandal. You look after me,' Felix said, with chattering teeth from behind.

Whatever he was going to answer, I do not know. It was then when noble Adgandestrius rode from the surrounding woods with the thirty Chatti who had been escorting Gernot until he had left them for this place. All smelled a fight, tough veterans each and every one. The Chatti lord rode to me, scoffed at the decrepit foe, and spat in disgust. 'I do not like my wards running away, Gernot. But it seems I came in time to see why.'

'This is not your business, Chatti,' Odo said evenly, his eyes calculating the numbers, weighing the odds.

'It is true,' said the adeling happily. 'But we do not run away from noble enemies, little less shit-born rabble.' He was brave, there were a hundred determined enemies facing us, not well armed, true, nor disciplined, but an army still. I looked at him gratefully. He grinned. 'Time to earn a haircut, no? Besides, this way I make sure Gernot does not marry the wrong Chatti girl.'

'Huh?' I asked him, entirely confused.

He leaned on me. 'Since my sister Gunda told me she would only marry you, that left only my lovely Albine free for a rutting by a Marcomanni bastard, and no, I will not risk our elders making such a drastic mistake, no matter if she is promised to Armin. Everything is possible in our family! My sister might have a bad taste in men, but Gunda had sight she would marry you, one day, so we should be fine in this battle unless she does so in the next life.'

I groaned at another prophecy involving me and smiled happily at his mirthful smile as I got down from my horse. The Chatti men dismounted as well and tightened around, making a tight shield wall bristling with spears. The enemy did the same, chanting harshly in the semi-dark, and all men in our wall feared. We faced a mad army, one whose leader was a baleful and powerful vitka. I was handed a serviceable shield and a spear, and I thanked Woden for the small hope Adgandestrius had given us.

Odo shrieked, grimacing at his rabble, unsure of the result. 'I will put a curse on you, Chatti. You will die before you see your child, your soul dragged to Hel by rancid dogs!'

'Best not keep them waiting, and not let the vitka start cursing the men, so they will fight bravely,' said the adeling nervously as he glanced at Odo, and I agreed, and let Woden loose. I screamed a savage yell of horrid hate, a scream of a beast looking for blood. The enemy stopped their chanting as I ran at them. We needed a miracle to win that battle, a madman to hearten us, and I wanted to be that terrible man. We needed a man gone berserk, untouchable by hurt, a terror greater than a rabid bear. I screamed a blood-curdling oath of bloody vengeance and lingering death, and all fear in our shield wall vanished.

The Chatti joined my scream and threw sharp darts. Men died and were badly wounded as the battle-hardened Chatti hit their marks, and then they ran after me in their rugged shield wall. I threw my spear at Gernot and saw him falling from his horse, whimpering in pain. I remember slashing my blade across a man's eyes, stabbing another through the chest, and ramming my shield to the first of the many men charging me, who were pummeling me back to the Chatti ranks with crude weapons and rotten shields. Nihta's lessons with a heavier weapon were making me deadly fast.

They came at me, trying to claw me down. I heard Odo scream at them to take me alive. Fingers raked at me, a man pulled me forward by my shield, and I cursed as I was yanked in the midst of the enemy, who were gritting their teeth in determination. Behind me, Adgandestrius finally earned the right to cut the hair covering his brow. His spear transfixed itself in a man's mouth, and he pulled me back. Around us, the Chatti chanted, killed, and died as they were pressed from all sides, but the fight around me raged the hottest. The fur-clad men and even hollering women managed to contain us, dying in dozens. We tired as well, our strikes falling slower and slower, our weapons spent. Wandal bellowed next to me and crushed a woman's face with a hammer, his father's tool.

Then, the disciplined Chatti were broken, for a gigantic, fat man charged us. He came with a boar spear, a huge hasta that he used to skewer a young, wounded Chatti through his belly, and he breached the wall. He lifted the Chatti up with an animal-like grunt, and ran forward with his load so that others could follow, dying in the process, but achieving much. We fought grimly, hacking at clawing arms, struggling with fearful eyes and lost many men as the Chatti rebuilt the shield wall at a great loss.

We were all praying, for it was a desperate place.

The smell of blood, strong piss, and shit was heavy in the evening air, and the thick blood and spilled guts made the ground slick. Oh, we prayed. Such a battle is a thing to make anyone the most devout of men. Odo's face was glistening with sweat as he saw our efforts, and he was cursing us, guiding his horse back and forth. Gernot and Ansigar were flanking him carefully. It took time, and too much blood and many a brave dead man and woman, but soon we fell back as the enemy stopped coming. There were some fifteen of us left, and we looked around at the carnage. Some disoriented, confused enemy still chased after us, but we killed them with trembling arms and broken weapons.

I grimaced as I saw Gernot leaning against a tree, hate flickering in his eyes, and I gestured at him, but he ignored me. There were thirty enemy left, dazed at the butchery, slipping on red grass full of intestines and blood. Many had run away, and refused to rejoin the battle. 'Come, dogs!' I screamed. 'Come!' Woden still whispered to me of blood, and I wanted to give him his heart's desire.

Odo hissed at Gernot and Ansigar, but they shook their heads. Odo pointed at Gernot. 'Lead them,' he said with a violent hiss.

'No,' Gernot said, holding his leg where my spear had scratched him. 'I have a wound …'

Odo leaned from his saddle. 'Go and die, but go! You have no other place but at my side. Run, and I will send a death hound after you! Bring the damned Hraban here alive!' Odo told him with a slap.

Gernot swallowed and took up a spear, stained with his blood. He shook in fear, pushed Koun's horse and his guards aside and came forth, Ansigar following him timidly. Odo's men followed him, heartened by his example and fear of the chanting Odo, and ran for us unsteadily, stumbling on the corpses and the wounded, and we braced ourselves. Ansigar and Gernot both aimed for me, their numbers came at us in an uncontrolled manner, in ones, twos, and the Chatti grimly hewed and stabbed the first ones down. I was facing some five of theirs, the better men, and all warriors. I grunted and spat as I only had my sword, which did not have the reach of a spear. Wandal braced next to me, a Chatti on the other side. They came at us, shields up, and Gernot poked at me from high. Ansigar tried to take me from the side, and my shield arm was tired. They scored a hit on my helmet, and I staggered, and then the Chatti fell next to me, his fur-clad assailant blocking the view from Ansigar who had been closing to slash at my leg. I stabbed at the fur-clad man from below his shield, tickling his gut with the wicked blade, and pushed him towards Ansigar. Two of the enemy came at me. One slammed his shield in my face, and we would have all died, but for Koun.

He was suddenly there, wielding a club, bloodied and raging. He had a nasty wound on his brow, one eye closed by blood, but he had killed his guards. I saw Odo, his face screwed in shock, holding a broken hand while slouching on his horse, regarding the carnage Koun was causing. Laughing, my former foe ploughed into the mass of the enemy ranks. He brutally killed the men trying to slay me, the Chatti cheered, and we gave one final, supreme effort.

I thanked Woden for brave Koun and surged past the dazed Gernot who looked at me as if I was a snarling animal. Wandal came after me and swung his hammer at Gernot, who collapsed as the weapon clipped his cheek. I slammed my sword hilt at Ansigar's face, whose spear was useless at such close quarters, and he fell over a corpse. Some men converged on us, and I roared like a bear, in bloodlust.

I went forth, keeping my shield ahead, killing the lightly armed, unskilled men and women with short stabs. I saved Adgandestrius, and Koun, I think, saved me again. Wandal followed me, hollering like a mad thing and then finally, I put down one of the last enemy wishing for a fight, a lanky older man who did not say a word as Nightbright went to his spine. Killing had become easy, leaving me cold. It was butchery work on animals, hard work, to be sure, but something I could see through. I thanked the gods for Nightbright.

We turned and faced off against Gernot and Ansigar, who were on their feet again, watching us warily. Felix was standing in the field behind us, his mouth agape at the carnage. Koun was now seated on a horse, looking for Odo, but he had guided his horse away to the shadows of the woods. Koun grinned at me. 'Got this from him after I killed the guards,' he said and showed me the ring. There it was. Draupnir's Spawn. 'He was reluctant, but his finger gave it up quickly enough. Too bad I could not wring his neck, for you were about to die.'

'Gunhild,' I said, disappointed as Odo was alive, 'wants you to go and get her.'

'With this ring,' he said happily, 'Maroboodus might let her go.'

'It is mine, Koun,' I told him, and his face screwed up in anger, but I turned to regard my trembling brother. 'Well, Brother. A sorry sight we are.' The few surviving Chatti chased the last of the enemy off, killing two more at the edge of the wood.

Gernot nodded, his face ashen from deep pain and terrible fear. 'Yes, Brother. Think how different it could have been, had you just let me join your games,' he said, voice trembling.

'You were no good for such games. You were weak as a babe and lazy as a fat Gaul, still are,' I told him, remembering how Balderich had said the very same thing Gernot had, blaming me for some of Gernot's problems. I felt brief shame as I looked at him, but steeled my soul. Wyrd.

'I was stronger than Hagano and much more stealthy,' he sneered at me.

'Hagano? Why bring him up?' I asked him in puzzlement, dreading his answer.

He grimaced, shrugging, no longer caring about his secrets. 'Odo accepted me long before, but that day, when you went to meet Tear, we saw the small turd there. He saw us, and Odo told me to silence him. I did.'

I stared at him in disbelief. 'No. You …'

He wiped a tear from his face. 'I did. They were kind to me.' Ansigar sneered at him, but Gernot took no notice. 'Odo listened to me, a friend I never had. After Hagano died, I had no choice but to obey them. You see that? They would have told everyone.'

I cursed at him, but deep inside, I felt pity mixed with shame. I was suddenly tired to the bone. We were both victims to secrets, both pawns to bastards, and damned fools to boot. 'Did Hagano expect a friend when he saw you?' I asked. 'You could have let him go.'

He shook his head, tired, and hurt. 'You know, when you decide something and do it, there are no words or deeds to undo what has passed. I did it. I thought it would make me strong. It worked for a while, but then you disgraced me before all our people with lies. I am no hero. I killed none that day against the Hermanduri, but Hagano? I suppose I was happy to kill a man before you, the warrior incarnate in our family, did. But you took it all away from me.'

'I? If you had fought Tudrus the Older at the Thing, he would have respected you, perhaps spared your life. Men would not remember shit-smeared, trembling lips and wetted pants, but a young warrior, erring, but brave,' I said, tiredly.

He shrugged. 'I am no warrior, Hraban.'

I nodded at him, 'I am sorry, Brother.'

He blinked and grimaced at his light wounds. 'I am sorry, too.'

The few Chatti came back, exhausted. Adgandestrius grabbed a horse by its mane and pulled himself onto the beast, riding for us as his men started to sort out the wounded that might make it. The adeling's forehead was bare, the unruly hair crudely cut. He was now a true warrior. Gernot put down the spear but Ansigar would not.

'You will have to take it, and I am not a weakling like Gernot here. I have no sordid tales to tell. I just always hated you for riches and fine family I never had. Now, I will fight, finally,' he told me, and so he did.

I stepped forward and blocked the spear thrust he threw my way with a scream, and I slammed his shield repeatedly with Nightbright, grunting as the shield broke, and I kicked him on his backside as he turned to run. I stepped on his back, took out my thick pigskin belt, tore his shirt off, and whipped him with the buckle so hard and so long he squealed from pain, and soon, he lost consciousness as blood flew.

'For threatening women, you sad, nasty bastard,' I hissed, panting hard as the belt snapped down. 'A filthy, yellow-skinned snake at my side, simpering slave to my enemies, you bitter, evil, poor fool!' I stopped when Wandal put his hand out to catch my wrist, but Ansigar was but a quivering piece of raw flesh by then, and I even saw a bone sticking out from the mess. I spat at him and kicked dirt on his wounds, relentless as a berserker can be. Wandal pointed to the west. Koun was looking at us from fifty yards away on his horse. I yelled as I wiped Ansigar's blood off my forehead, 'Where are you going?'

Koun put hands around his mouth as he hollered. 'Well, Hraban! I am sorry, but I will trade the great, beautiful ring for Gunhild. We need not be enemies. Moreover, I can finally tell you my secret. About Bero and Balderich!' I looked for a horse, saw a magnificent white one, and started to walk for it. Then I saw Koun's horse shy at a startled bird. I also saw speeding Catualda ride hard for Koun, and before I could shout a warning, he reached the Vangione, and stabbed Koun to the side and armpit with a spear, repeatedly. Koun's corpse jerked with each hit, his face astonished. The horse tried to run, but Catualda grabbed it. He was rummaging around Koun's quivering body, and came out with something bright.

He turned my way. 'Draupnir, Hraban! No matter what it does, if it has no true power at all, it has the power over men's fates. My father was a Gothoni! He was a lord! The ring was his.'

I cursed him. 'And now you take it to Father. Killing Koun for his secret?'

'No, Hraban, I take it for me,' he told me vengefully. 'The ring is not yours. It was Bero's. And with this ring, he would have been a mighty man, with strong armies to drive the Romans back, finally able to do more than fawn at them. He was unlike Hulderic, who feared to flaunt it. It is mine by right! However, my life is in the north. My mother was a cousin of Sigimer. I am Armin's blood as well as yours, my friend. Bero met her, his second wife, when he chased after Hulderic, and so I have a life there too! Especially with this ring as a gift!'

'Both conniving liars,' I said softly, astonished at the turn of events, saddened for Koun, whom I had liked, while mounting the horse I had captured. Catualda moved his horse away.

'Armin,' he yelled, 'is a great man. You will see, one day.' I cursed Armin for his plans, and thought he was very similar to Maroboodus. The Cherusci adeling and Catualda had always planned for this. Catualda was nodding as if reading my thoughts. 'The ring. I will take it to Armin, Hraban, who awaits me by Rhenus. It is ours. I will serve him; we will ally with the mighty Chatti and be the great power over Suebi and Rome alike. My father wanted to fight Rome, but I will. Truly! You can come with me, if you like. We will need you. You can still marry Gunda, and serve us in so many ways.'

I was next to the horse when his words struck me. 'Bero? Your father was going to join with Rome. Was that not what you told me earlier? What everyone recites over and over? Now you say he was going to oppose them? And my grandfather?'

He faltered, his fat lips smacking, but he had no more words. 'I will tell Armin you are well, Lord Hraban. He will not like that you betrayed him in Isfried's matter, but he knew I would deliver this to him anyway. It was always a long shot to slay Maroboodus, no? I will see you when I see you. And I am sorry.' He rode off, the flashing hooves throwing wet mud high up in the air. I got to Koun. He was quivering on the horse, his eyes listless, but they focused as I grabbed him.

'Hraban,' he said weakly, bloody froth on his lips. 'Vannius betrayed me.'

'He did, Koun,' I said, and felt sorry for him.

'Tell Gunhild I love her,' he said with tears. 'She is a fine woman. Too good for Maroboodus.'

'She is, lord, I know,' I said, calling him a lord. He was adeling, the mighty warrior who had killed Hulderic, and I respected him. He was dying and held my hand softly.

'Your grandfather did indeed wish to live in the Roman lands. He wanted to retire and many do, like him. Old, rich Germani. That was no lie. Yet it was neither Bero nor Balderich who told us about your father’s whereabouts. It was that man. Catualda told us where Maroboodus would be.'

'But Bero commanded him?' I asked, my voice breaking.

He coughed blood and I held him. 'No. It was only Catualda. Bero and Balderich talked and traded with Rome, but only Catualda betrayed your people. When he heard of Maroboodus? He tried to get the ring then and hoped we would kill them all. He was to get it after Hulderic and Maroboodus died. As a reward. When we failed, he joined your father. Again for the ring. Which he now has.'

'My father knew Catualda did this?' I said, 'Maroboodus forgave Catualda? How?'

Koun shook his head tiredly. 'Your father wanted the power of the Marcomanni. Catualda was a key to Hard Hill, a precious ally no matter his past deeds. Besides, he likely thought Catualda had worked Bero's will, and more than likely Catualda lied to Maroboodus as well. But I knew the truth. Bero was a patient, shifty enemy of Rome, Catualda has always been its friend.' He coughed hard, spitting blood. 'Maroboodus did not believe me on that day he killed my men on the riverbank, when I said it was only Catualda. He made me shut up. He needed it to be Bero, you see. I could not let him murder Vannius. He would have, just to make sure Vannius did not ruin his plans. But Vannius sold me out to him instead, and I am a fool.' He laughed weakly.

I nodded, bloodlust churning in my chest. Catualda. The fat-lipped bastard pretending to be a friend to so many, but, in fact, was one to his relative Armin. He had betrayed me, his old, fine father, tired Balderich, perhaps even canny Maroboodus. Now he rode free and happy. With Draupnir's Spawn.

Or perhaps not.

I would catch him, even if he rode swift Sleipnir, Woden's many-legged horse itself. Koun shuddered and grabbed my neck, pulling me close. 'Get sad Gunhild free. And avenge me. On Catualda, on your father, and beat Vannius well. Do not kill him, for I love him, but beat the shit out of the bastard.'

'I will, Koun, lord,' I told him as he went still and silent. He fell from the horse, and I turned my eyes on Gernot. Adgandestrius had drawn his remaining men back; they were collecting the wounded ones, but many were dead. He saw my intent and nodded in approval. Gernot was still, in some way, his charge. I would not tell anyone of the adeling's failure to protect him. I walked up to shivering Gernot. 'Brother. You were wrong about one thing.'

He blanched. 'What?'

'You did not kill a man before me. Hagano was but a silly, funny little boy. Put your hand forward,' I said calmly. He hesitated. 'Put it forward, or die.' Hope glimmered in his eyes as he gingerly raised his arm.

'With that hand, you killed Hagano, and with that, you tried to topple me. It is best you forget the hand and live in morbid shame with Odo, if he will have you,' I spat and raised my sword. He rolled away, but Wandal pinned him down, and held his hand out.

'Do not miss, eh?' Wandal said, concerned. What would have been a clean hit took many, for he struggled mightily. In the end, he suffered and squealed, but the hand came off an inch above the wrist, and I left him there, whimpering and semi-conscious.

'He killed Hagano, eh?' Wandal said, disapproving.

'I know, but he is a mauled Germani, Wandal, Odo's slave, if he survives. Kill him, if you like. Odo is more guilty than he is.'

Wandal considered it, but turned away. 'Let him suffer, then. I hope we won’t regret it, eh?'

Adgandestrius grunted, haggard from the battle. He had been a boy before this day, now he was a man, one with a haunted look. He licked his lips as he looked around the field and then spat at the whimpering Gernot. 'It is curious how strong arms and legs are dropped all over the damned field in the battle, but when you have to take them off, it is such hard work. Farewell, Hraban. May we meet again.'

'Tell Gunda …' I hesitated. 'Something. That I was honored by … her sight?'

He laughed. 'Indeed. Now, perhaps, I will get my beautiful, wise Albine, make babies and be happy. Look at all the horses we captured. A fortune.' Indeed, his men had some fifty horses with them. Odo's men had been well-mounted. He could afford to marry now, and Armin would not marry Albine if he had the ring. The ring, likely, would make him powerful enough to dictate to his uncles and father who marries whom. But it was my ring.

'Be happy, adeling, and wish the same for us,' I told him.

'I will. Perhaps we will be relatives one day.' I laughed as they left.

We packed our little gear quickly, I checked on the shivering, unconscious Ansigar, and decided he was dying, his ribs showing from the mess I had created. I left Gernot rolling on the ground. I did not look at him, nor did I say anything more to him. Hagano would have to be happy with Gernot's hand and Odo's head, if I saw him again. I would, I was sure.

Wandal stopped me, noticed me staring at the west. 'I will follow you, but this will end badly. I have a future wife to think about. I thought we would escape and go get our friends. Eh? We could go now, no? It would be easy to go and free them all. But you must have vengeance.'

I nodded. 'You are free to do so, Wandal. I won't let Catualda go, though.'

Wandal looked tired, but nodded. 'I hope we do well, then. One day, you should ask what your friends want, eh?'

'One day, I will,' I said. Then we rode after Catualda, tired to the bone. Felix was quiet, Wandal as well, and I was angry, cursing softly. Catualda.

CHAPTER XIX

Catualda's horse was running hard for the west, and we started after him. He was heading for the Rhenus River, where he was to meet Armin. Suddenly, on a long, flowery valley leading towards Moenus, we finally saw him, but we also saw him rein his horse hard. He was agitatedly staring at the west, the horse confused by his indecision. Felix slitted his eyes as we drew closer. A huge dust cloud was billowing there in the failing light. The Celt's eyes went large. 'Vangiones. They are riding after your father?'

Wandal and I saw them, too. There was an army approaching from Rhenus, riding quickly as a storm, intent on trapping the Marcomanni. Wandal had been right. The enemy knew we were there and were prepared. Not only were the Marcomanni to face the famed, savage Matticati, but many Vangiones.

Catualda turned his horse around and saw us riding for him. He cursed, we saw that even from afar, and then whipped the sorry beast, turning the horse around and around until he slumped, and went north after the Marcomanni army. I removed my helmet and pulled on a leather hood as I whipped the horse after him. The Vangiones were not close but spread out, thousands of them, but we wouldn't linger around.

Wandal was panting hard behind me. 'Your father will know we escaped! Catualda will tell him, eh?'

Felix snorted, terrified at the army spreading out below. 'Not if he wishes to keep Hraban's ring.'

We rode hard to the foothills north of Moenus and kept Catualda in sight until he disappeared onto the rocky ground high up the hill. There, Marcomanni were filtering to the lands of the Matticati, using the evening and the night to move to the position for impending attack, apparently unaware of the enemy moving behind.

I did not care, intent on the bastard Catualda.

We went through the rough ravines, where some lame, abandoned horses walked forlornly. A few Matticati were lying in the grass, slain. We came upon some dispirited Marcomanni guards, who let us through without recognizing us, and we spent the rest of the night waiting for the morning, eating cold lentils and raw eggs Felix stole from some poor chief who had bedded down not far. While we waited for the morning, Felix patched our many scratches and shallow wounds using a crude bone needle and line. We cursed his clumsy fingers, and he mimicked a weeping girl as we did.

Before we knew it, the sun was coming up, its sliver of an orange radiance puncturing some errant clouds on the horizon, promising a beautiful day. In this first light, we saw a huge valley below, greens of many shades, full of rich pastures, many sprawling villages and dominated by a large, powerful village in the middle, apparently Hengsti's home.

Horns blew below us, horses whinnied. The Marcomanni around us were moving, and we saw, a long way down below, Father's banner wave as he charged the vast village, trampling fine fields, thousands of hollering, angry men cutting a swath of death for revenge. We picked our way down with the Marcomanni rearguard, and soon saw the village was burning, and thousands of men were milling around it. I could see individual Matticati running away from the village, horsemen hunting them across fields, laughing at the sport.

'By Woden, they are going to burn them all, eh?' Wandal said, waving his hand around the valley where villages dotted the horizon. He was right. The Marcomanni were scattering. Hundreds of men were riding for the outlying villages. Some three-thousand men, however, stayed put, milling nervously near the burning city.

Then horns sounded harshly and wailing notes filled the crisp air. But they were not Marcomanni horns, but shriller ones, and drums beat across the woods around us. The horns rang endlessly. Dust clouds appeared, and far, in the outlying villages, we heard distant screams of sudden death and battle joined. The Marcomanni had been waylaid.

'It is a trap,' I said needlessly as we reached the field surrounding the burning village, trampling barley all over the place. Out front, the Marcomanni horde was standing, men silent, listening to the sounds around them. I saw my father as we approached, and to my relief, I noticed Catualda standing at the head of the army.

Then a mass of five hundred men rode out, Nihta leading them, the bastard who had left me to Odo, though, I thought gratefully, he left me in one piece. Nihta's force struck out for the west, aiming for a hill some miles away, wooded, but with haze around the top. Suddenly, amidst Nihta's troops, the familiar vexillum rose up to the air, proud but in wrong company. It was the vexillum of I Vangiorum.

I laughed. 'He is going for the Roman fort, remember that there is supposed to be one here? Castrum Luppia?'

Wandal was not listening as he stared at the sights around us. Everywhere around the army, enemy horsemen could be seen probing slowly, the noose tightening. I saw a familiar flash of silver up the hill from red standards and knew Vangiones were out there, cutting off that route. Vago was on the field, and joining the Matticati.

'What shall we do?' Felix moaned.

'We,' I said happily, 'shall ride with my bastard of a father, and pray hard, for he has a plan.'

I saw Burlein on his horse, pointing a sharp, glittering sword at the various directions where many hapless Marcomanni had ridden, and he was furious. 'You let them go, and kept yours!' he screamed at Father.

I heard Maroboodus laugh harshly. 'Will look good, Burlein, to lose some men. Preferably men whose lords attacked me. Follow us, and remember whom you serve,' my father yelled, then turned to Nihta's troop, and got up on his saddle, addressing the men. 'After them, boys, in a bit!' boomed my father's voice. 'Follow them all the way, make it look like you want them dead, and remember, we will conquer if you listen to me!'

Catualda leaned on him and asked something. Father grunted, spat and yelled at him. 'I did not come here to break out, boy. We are here to fight a war. You will follow me, and do not get lost.' He rode away, Catualda following.

Burlein rode up with his men of the southern gau, just some hundreds left. A thousand had been riding to the dust, many never to be seen again. His face was tear smeared, and he rode towards leering, hard souled Maroboodus who did not care to argue with him.

Maroboodus turned to the army, screaming, 'Follow them! Scream, brandish the spears, look mad for their blood, but follow them. Into the Roman fort! And if the door is closed, we will defend like Marcomanni, savagely, in the woods where the horses are not needed! Ride! Ride!'

We rode.

It was a wild ride. Men with the best horses were in the lead, weaker and wounded horses fell behind, and those who carried two men were soon the last ones. There were some cursing men who were on foot and likely fell to the Matticati and Vangiones riding and running after us.

Ahead, Nihta's men were whipping their horses hard. The red auxiliary standard was flapping wildly in the wind, and Nihta's men were making it look like they were in panic, riding terrified as if the dead were on their heels. We got closer and had to slow down some in order to give Nihta's men time to get ahead. On the top of the hill, there was a haze of a cooking smoke, and we could see tops of some wooden towers reaching up before we plunged amidst alder trees.

Soon, we could glimpse the structures, the wooden palisades atop earth walls, guard towers, and gates. That was the first time I had seen a Roman fort, and the orderliness and sheer meticulous architecture whispered of absolute power and awe-inspiring strength, of cold patience and ultimately, of will to enslave others. That is what a Roman castrum was made for. It was not made for meek defense, it meant aggressive expansion.

We had been told about them, and how a Roman army on a march would send a few swift men forward to pick a good spot. How one of those tough men planted a simple flag, and how, in but a few hours, a deep ditch was dug, a wall built with the dirt discarded from the ditch and the wall topped with a bristling line of sharpened timber, which they mostly carried on their backs. Men who were marching up knew exactly what they had to do and where they would sleep. The fort was their home, and they took it with them wherever they went. Attack that, and you died swiftly.

Except this castrum was not a marching fort but one with real wooden walls, palisades and enforced gates, though it was not finished. We saw on the left strong, tall walls made of thick timber, men high up looking down, but anything we saw to the right of the main gates had only the earth walls and the sharp stakes on top. We did not see the ditch yet. There were, however, wide towers left and right. Ahead, Nihta exited the wood, and we could see men dodging trees and low branches and looking back at us, gauging our distance. Maroboodus slowed down just a bit.

'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, gladiuses 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.

Nihta cursed and released the stone ball.

It flew in the air, spinning down in the blink of an eye, hitting the centurion in the chest. He flew violently in the air to land on his back ten feet away, dead as a stone, his eyes wide open in shock. The young man sitting on a horse blanched and trembled, and looked at Nihta who was pointing at him as two men were reloading the ballista. The Roman officer took off in a wild canter. Nihta reloaded, turned the weapon to the Romans pushing at Maroboodus at the gate and fired at the optio who did not realize he was again in command. He missed the optio, but tore a hole in the ranks, and into this hole went my father.

To break a shield wall, to wreak havoc in a desperate fight; a great chief would be remembered for these things. To risk one's life was worth more than a thousand wise decisions in the Thing, and my father did that. He charged into the hole made by Nihta's weapon, and then charged through, laying waste right and left, his heart fearless, and the Romans fell.

More men came in after him with heavy axes and cruel, iron-tipped cudgels and the hole got bigger, and the Germani pushed and pulled their way in until they were through the line, and then the slaughter began. Romans who had their shields on their left hands were first to die, the ones on the other side could protect themselves better, but the slaughter was ready as our men, desperate and battle-mad, tore into the enemy like a pack of wild dogs. They knew they would die if the Matticati and the Vangiones managed to break in.

The Romans manning the earth walls and stakes saw what was happening and uncertainly, here and there, men took a step back. The Marcomanni crawling in the ditch renewed their hope, pulling and tearing themselves up the wall, and some enemy ran. Most stood their ground, and in the gate, some form of defense was regained as the optio screamed his boy-like voice hoarse. If they could hold until the Matticati and Vangiones won, they might make it. Just some minutes, but it was a vain hope. Maroboodus's well trained shields kept thousands of undisciplined enemy at bay, moving back very, very slowly in a mad melee.

This I saw as I rushed for Wandal, my friend. On the wall a final, desperate attempt by a dozen Romans was being made. They had nearly reached the ballista, and Wandal was swooning and leaning on a wall, vomiting. Nihta screamed. 'Keep them! Keep them, and we shall win.' He fired a ballista round at the largest, still fighting legionnaires, killing many, making them gape and look up, and some of our men were taking unused Roman weaponry and throwing them down at the hapless enemy. Our men outside retreated towards the fortress gate, leaving a stream of dead and wounded in their wake. The dozen Romans on the wall realized much was depending on them. They had already nearly reached us, but a voice commanded them to do their duty.

'Kill the boys. Kill the bearded, weak boys so they can meet their rancid ancestors! Blade in and out!' the voice shouted unsteadily.

I had heard that voice before. I forgot it as they charged, and there were few to counter them, only three other men and Wandal, who was wounded. More were rushing from below, guided by my father who was sending contingents all over the fort, especially for the other gates while the majority of his men tried to break the men led by the young optio. Some of our men had reached the other ballista, and from the other side of the fort, the deadly barrage now started, aimed at Vago and his Vangiones. Horses in their hundreds were milling around, neighing, and dust was rising up in the morning air, The Romans attacked our ballistae moving like they were in a cloud, with their swords glinting weakly. Wandal hefted his shield and took up his hammer, a blond man picked up an axe and two others had framea. I ran in front of them.

'We will die, but let us die well. Woden is watching!' screamed the man with an axe, surprising the tough legionnaires. The man, ululating wildly, smashed his weapon down so hard on a shield that it split, taking an arm of a legionnaire. A gladius through the heart killed the axe man, and he fell in front of the assaulting Romans, who started to push over the corpse for us, cursing and gnashing their teeth.

We went forward while they were trying to hop over the slippery wood. Wandal looked weak but was pushing his shaking shield forward, his knees trembling. I was on his right side, guarding him as he guarded my left side. He was holding a heavy hammer, I had my sword, and Nightbright snaked up towards a grinning legionnaire who blocked me with ease, and then the blade came in from below the shield, reaching for my gut. I remember little of that, except the utter hopelessness as the edge entered my skin.

I was to die, and Catualda was watching me.

I cursed in terror and shame. Wandal swung the hammer in the eye of the legionnaire. He flew into a rage, the tall boy no longer playing war with the Quadi, bashing his shield to push the veteran soldiers back. He was swinging his weapon with skill and rage to keep them off me, screaming Donor's name, mightily exerting himself and giving the supreme sacrifice, pushing for the legionnaires who were gritting their teeth, desperately trying to reach the ballista now butchering Matticati and Vangiones.

A legionnaire fell on thick blood, and Wandal swung his heavy weapon in the knee of the man, who shrieked in pain as his leg buckled weirdly. The legionnaire grabbed Wandal who fell on him, his shield flying. They were cursing and wrestling, and the two men with us charged forward to push the legionnaires back. I rose up behind them and saw Wandal bite the Roman in the face, a demonic sight. In the smoke, some more Romans were advancing, but they were anxiously looking down to the yard where our men were howling and victorious, streaming back and forth, killing wounded men, assaulting the last of the legionnaires the optio was holding in a ragged line.

'Get them! Puny whoresons! Kill the pitiful, unarmored monkeys!' the officer in the smoke called, and they renewed the assault. The two Marcomanni died nearly instantly as two men without helmets punctured them in unison. One of them grabbed Wandal by the hair and threw him against the wall, slapped the hammer from his hand, and pushed him over the parapet.

I was alone, astonished at what had happened.

I forgot the pain in my gut. Woden sang to me; I saw his twin dragon helmet dancing in the mist, in the midst of a frenzied, savage dance, and I grabbed Nightbright. I screamed a yell so primal that men shuddered and pointed at me, and the general melee below died away for a second. I charged the man who had thrown Wandal down, and Nightbright moved like a snake. I whipped my blade into his face, puncturing his eye so hard his neck broke, and I remember throwing him to the two other men.

I jumped on the next one, getting a sword in my shoulder, growling it away, hacking my light blade to the throat of the man in front of me, slicing the scarf around his neck, and then there were only two left, and the officer. They were both cautious, pushing their shields towards me. I yelped like an angry dog, growled like a mad bear, spat and laughed, and then charged. I was sure to die, but I did not, for the other one was young and scared. My bronze helmet's eyeholes were smoldering with anger, and he hesitated. I grabbed his shield, slicing my blade into his exposed thigh, taking a shield bash from the other man. I turned to him and hit his helmetless head so hard with my head that his eyes rolled over. I ran my sword clumsily at his groin, grunting at the ring mail that did not want to yield, but did enough for him to howl and jump off the wall, hollering in pain. There was just one man.

It was a Roman optio with a mad, scarred face from the time my grandfather died: Cornix, the companion to Koun and Antius. He stalked me calmly, his shield high. I laughed and jumped on that shield, and Cornix stumbled. I was going to slay him as he fell on his back, but then a man tackled me, and I fell off the wall, hearing Catualda laugh while he hung on to me as we fell. We hit the ground, and I remembered nothing else of the battle that made my father a legend.

CHAPTER XX

I recalled a man, likely old Hengsti, on his haunches before me, looking concerned. His helmet sported long, white horsehair, his face strong and lean. His eyes were sympathetic. 'Well fought, son of Maroboodus. I regret to tell you, your father does not want to trade you back, so I will not see you fight again. However, we will sing about you while we wait for your father to starve in our fort,' he told me softly. I passed out again.

I remembered Cornix and Catualda, both looking down at me, and I was awake when I was rowed over Rhenus River. I remember Catualda cursing Cornix. The Roman brusquely forbid Catualda to ride free, and I laughed. Armin would wait for him in vain. I remember seeing Moganticum, the mighty Roman fort atop a bluff, two cities of the Gauls sprawling around the harbor below.

I also remembered a legionnaire cussing foully, speaking to another one, spinning a tale of the swift Quadi who had evidently sneaked up on the besieging Vangiones and Matticati, giving Father a great victory. Indeed, it was to be a victory that would be sung across Germania, giving Maroboodus and the traitorous Sibratus of the Quadi great fame, the slayers of Hengsti, banes of Vangiones and Matticati, unheard of takers of an impregnable Roman fort and their priceless weapons. I also heard the guards speak of Tudrus, who had fled with some of his men to the north and joined the Sigambri. That made me happy for he, at least, was likely safe.

My wounds exhausted me, plunging me to deep sleep until I woke up inside a wagon at the gates of a city, which was not Moganticum. I was feverish, but managed to push up to my elbows to gaze about. I saw Vangiones around me, the dregs of a defeated army. I saw Cornix weighing a heavy coin sack a Vangione had just given him. Antius was speaking with torn and bloody Vago, and next to the Vangione king stood Catualda, upset and angry. Antius saw I was alert and awake, and ambled closer.

'Welcome to Burbetomagus, the capital of the Mediomactri and of the Vangiones, City of the Two Rivers,' he said happily.

'Where is Wandal?' My mouth was dry as sand.

'I know no Wandal, boy. But you are here, for Vago has a need of you. Your father has made a fool of him again.'

'And of Rome,' I said softly and a bit proudly, though I was no friend to my father.

'Well, that depends,' he told me and visibly mulled over something, fidgeting nervously. He took out some fine dice and threw them. I did not see the result, but he grunted and got up ponderously for such a fat man. 'I shall tell you some secrets, Hraban. It is my weakness to see no man go to his death ignorant. I make no mistake if I think you will die soon, and I know none would believe you if you tried to share the secrets. To die young is unfortunate, boy, but that is the deal I made with Vago, and it is something he desires, as well.'

I scoffed. 'His druid thinks I am something of a danger, a harbinger to the destruction of the world,' I said scornfully, touching my chest, which was infected from a wound I had received at Hard Hill, reopened by my fall from the fort. There were others, I saw; many wounds, all barely bound.

He giggled. 'Indeed. Madmen, are they not? Catualda there has served us well, and is going to serve Rome after he explains to Vago what happened to Koun and Vannius. Then he goes to Moganticum to serve the new legate of the XVII legion, Gaius Sentius Saturninus. He will be rewarded, but I think he is unhappy to be here, and I know he wished to leave after reaching Rhenus.' He chuckled. 'You know what he planned?'

I did not wish to give away the ring, but I smiled happily. 'He killed Koun.'

Antius scrutinized the Vangione king nervously. 'Best not let Vago know that. You see, this is my problem. You, a peasant boy, have survived so far, and while you have helped your father, you are a constant risk to our plans and us. You have been the only part of the plan that has been unstable and risky.'

'I won't help him again, so you are welcome to kill the bastard,' I told him. 'And I am a noble, not a peasant.'

He snickered. 'You do not understand. I am grateful for your help, but I think you have become a risk for Maroboodus. We wish him to succeed.'

'What?' I asked softly, staring at the fat man.

Antius looked at me with simple pity. 'He is doing a favor for Rome and, of course, to himself. Why do you think he is in power, why do you think he won in the lands of the Matticati? I set it up for him though he drafted his share of the plans and took the risks. Cornix made it so that the centurion thought the men under the red banner were legitimate. It was easy. Despite Cornix, he might have failed to take the fort, but the fort was not fully manned, and there were delays in building it. All my doing. It was weak, and had few men. Far fewer it should have had, most dead now. The men mean nothing, though. The expendable Vangiones have been raped twice now, the famed Matticati are scattered, the old Hengsti is dead. Maroboodus is a dread hero, slayer of old Agrippa and now taker of a Roman fort. Just like I want him to be.'

'What are you talking about,' I asked him, confused, denying his words with a weak shake of my head. He smiled, enjoying himself, for all secretive bastards like to brag when there is little danger of getting caught.

Antius came closer, whispering. 'Felix worked for me; he was my slave and helped Maroboodus with so many things. The boy is likely dead now in Castrum Luppia, the fool. He liked you enough to leave me. Just like Tear helped your father on my request, Felix was useful in so many ways. Him and yon Catualda, were both working well for me. I don't know why Catualda did. To be honest, I think he had some strange motives. There were complications, yes, with Odo insisting you kill the vitka, and you with the club, Bark surviving, you balancing on the sides, and the possibility of Maroboodus dying to some shadowed murderer or in war, but such risks are risks in any business venture, and it went well enough.' He clapped my arm affectionately, and I snatched my hand away. 'You are easy to manipulate and helped your father many times, but after this discussion, it is all over.'

I spat at him, shaking my head. 'Catualda, that worm there, told Rome and the Vangiones where my father lives and then joined him after they failed. Catualda fooled Maroboodus, and now you say you have manipulated my father to succeed? Poor Bero and my betrayed grandfather, Balderich, were innocent, I know that now.'

He sighed. 'Gods, you have a thick head. No, Maroboodus was not fooled by Catualda,' he said, as if to a child. 'Though now, Catualda has apparently left him? It matters not.'

'Was not fooled?' I asked dangerously.

He nodded and sighed, stretching his neck as he stared at me. 'Rome is changing. It is so, that one man rules its armies and much of the influence and coin. That is our Augustus. How to make that a permanent state of affairs? How to make it so the foul, corrupt republic does not return after the old man finally dies? You make sure there are none of the high, noble men to turn back time and call for the sodden republic. And so we need your father to be the hero of the Germani, and the terrible enemy of Rome. A state in war is a state that needs firm leadership, held by one man.'

'You need him to be enemy to Rome? I do not understand,' I said, afraid he would not tell me.

He nodded, speaking softly and slowly as if to a simpleton, and I bristled at his tone. 'Rome needs enemies right now. There has to be a hostile frontier where we send those Romans who would desire the Republic back. There has to be a constant war, where the mightiest of those opposing Augustus go find glory. Some will die at the hands of the Germani. Augustus will mourn, but in the end, perhaps he will not mourn if some of his enemies die at the hands of Maroboodus.'

'My father is many things, but he would not help Rome, and he killed Agrippa, who was not an enemy to Augustus!'

He snickered. 'The skull of Agrippa? A fancy story. Agrippa died of thick snot, Hraban. He was ancient and ill, and Augustus made him travel too often and too far. The skull belonged to a Syrian male prostitute. However, it was convenient to spread rumor here in the north. Few have heard this lie in the south, or anywhere else where I have not spoken of it. Yet here, many do believe it. Agrippa killed by a Germani chief? Many believe it, many local Romans do.

‘It is like building a business, Hraban. It needs stories, it needs successes. Now, after Castrum Luppia, Maroboodus is a looming shadow of chaos in the minds of old men of Rome, and even there they might think he also killed Agrippa, for he is foe to Rome. It is amusing. But, Hraban, the truth is that Maroboodus is quite Roman. He was made a Roman, and when it is all over, and his terror is no longer needed, he will be the Roman who rules vast, rich lands in the southern part of your rivers, where the Boii live now. Others of similar mind will rule the north, and Rome owns these fine men. He will get many precious things, your father, after certain men have died here fighting against him and his budding alliance, men threatening the rulership of our Augustus and his legacy. Perhaps Maroboodus even gets his son back.'

'Me?' I asked, my mind whirling.

'No, not you fool. His Roman son,' Antius said tediously, and I looked up to the sky, dreading his story, for rage was eating me from inside, and I was weak.

He sighed and wrung his fat fingers. 'He did not wish your Sigilind to die, but Hulderic was a problem. Therefore, we arranged the Vangiones to attack the village, which he then saved, as was the plan. Catualda was his middle hand, the one the Vangiones would believe. His Marcus knew about it, gave us all the information we needed to set it up. He let Hulderic die, waiting in the woods until it happened. Then Maroboodus was the victim, and the hero, in the eyes of your people.'

'I’ll crack your skull for these lies,' I said weakly, knowing he was speaking the truth.

He smiled benignly, and I hated him as he continued, 'Vago has this thought that your family threaten this world, and was happy to help. He wants you dead and to be rewarded by the gods. Sigilind was an unfortunate part of the story. Yet, Maroboodus is now in the place some in Rome wish him to be in, and he will be rewarded, and he and Vago have to get along for both serve the same master. You and Koun were fools to think Catualda has the brains to manipulate so many great men. If it helps at all, Maroboodus thinks highly of your bravery and even toyed with the idea of taking you into his circle of trust, but I advised against it. Sooner or later, you would turn on him.'

I nodded, fighting back tears of rage. 'So the princeps of Rome is building up my father, who only wanted Sigilind, and the rest of us could go to Hel? He wanted Sigilind, wishes for power and rich lands, under a foul Roman master, and wants his Roman son as a reward?'

'Well,' Antius said evasively, 'it is not Augustus who planned this, but some other party in Rome, who thinks it is best to help Augustus with his agendas, but I won’t speak more of that. You are now free to die a relieved man, Hraban. You know the truth now. Oh, I gave the fibula to Catualda, by the way. Balderich had nothing to do with that, but of course, it is now clear to you. And you know who gave the scroll of Sigilind to your father.' His face was oddly sympathetic and relieved as if he had needed a man to speak with about his many crimes. 'Die well, Hraban. You, the sad Tear and the even sadder Koun were fine fools in this nasty game, but every story needs fools, and they should not feel slighted by their part.'

'I will die,' I said, hissing at him, 'but only after Maroboodus is dead, and so is the bastard Odo, the traitor Catualda and you, and this shadowed master of yours in Rome.'

'A rustic Germani,' he smiled, his jowls shaking in laughter, 'hailing me thus amidst blood and filth, behind bars is not something to make me lose my sleep, by Jupiter.'

He turned and left, and I wept in desperation. I had been a fool, and now it would all end in blood. Father would reign. My friends were lost, my baby a plaything for the bastards. Catualda would thrive and grow fat, and laugh at the memory of Hraban. I would die helpless and alone. I did not care when Antius took the burnt-face Cornix and left, or even when Vago rode by the wagon, holding my sword and helmet. I turned my face away from Catualda, whose eyes were gloating in the shadows as he rode on, slumping in pain for his wounds, his nose purple and red. Thus, I arrived in famed Burbetomagus, the capital of the strong Vangiones and of the downtrodden Mediomatrici, the Celts they settled with after Aristovistus lost his war with Caesar.

The town was nestled between two great, beautiful rivers flowing to and from Rhenus. A river the locals called the “Icy One” was on its south side, flowing into mighty Rhenus and another one, an azure river was on its northern edge, flowing deeper into vast Gaul. The first thing I saw was a squat castrum built of stone, a small one but a castrum nonetheless, with alert Roman forces guarding the land. The town spread around the castrum area. There were large temples, their marble and stone edifices standing out amongst the wood and thatch buildings. They had rich, long houses, bustling trade markets and many, many workshops with thick smoke rising out of the brick chimneys.

Vangiones rode in and out of the gates. It was an oppidum on a shallow hill, with well-repaired wooden walls with proper gates and palisades, and towers and the prosperity of the Vangiones was evident. The Celtic people were hard to see amongst the multitude, but they were there, mixing in with the Germanic people in peace. Here, a tall, thin Roman praefectus in a toga flanked by guards reminded them about the Roman power. He was hauling along men in chains who had not been able to pay the ludicrous taxes. There, a Roman matron in a long, curious silky dress and green jewels was haggling with a local trader over some amber earrings. I stared at the woman, who was regal like a goddess.

I felt listless, tired, and felt Vago's eyes on me. 'We will see, boy, if the gods will reward me for your death, the cur that killed Koun,' he told me, looking strangely at me.

So, Catualda had pinned that on me.

I did not bother to refute him. We rode forward. The fumes were both terrible and occasionally wonderful. The smoke made my eyes hurt, and there was much shit in the thin alleyways. We rode into a compound inside a long wall, hosting a fortress-like villa almost in the middle of the town. There were gray barracks there, I Vangiorum soldiers were being trained hard in the art of swordplay, in pilum throwing, in finer archery and even horsemanship, and there were bored Romans overseeing the meticulous training. They were already rebuilding the lost men, in Roman style with Roman weapons. The hall itself was a whitewashed, multi-storied house with a lush garden out front, and white Roman sculptures stood on alcoves around it. Men rushed out to take the horses, and I saw that there were sheds and stables around the perimeter.

I saw a dark woman emerge from a pillared staircase leading down to the shadowy ground near the house, her silver jewelry shining dully under a dark silk hood. It was Shayla. She glanced at me, and I could see her teeth shining. She embraced Vago and walked with him to the massive doors, and then I was locked up.

I sat there in the dark for days, or even hours, I know not. My fever got worse, and I sweated like a pig. There was no window, and the only light came from the cracks on the small hole they used to push food in. I crawled to eat but could keep little of it in. I felt the walls weakly; they were damp and restricting, and terror crept into my heart. Few free Germani survive locked out of the free air.

I imagined horrific things, noticed movement where there was none, except for the rats, which seemed to have a way to get in to try to nibble at my feet and eat my excrement. I heard willowy voices that were not there. I was going mad, and finally, I broke down and wept, and screamed, but no one came to me. I lay down, ignoring the food and water, hoping to die, cursing my father, Vago, Antius, the Romans, and Germani alike.

Then, there was bright light.

The door was opened, and I thought it was another nightmare, but the woman was standing there, her black outline showing in front of a torch held by a guard. I could see her shapes shining through the cloth. Shayla. I spat drily at her, and she laughed gently, and said something to the guards. I was carried outside, and I screamed at the sudden light piercing my eyes. My wounds were festering, and I was dragged to a hut where an old druid, or a priest of Rome, administered me. Fragrant herbs and stiff poultices were administered and hot, acidy soup and soft bread fed to me. I was finally cleaned, and I fell into a deep, healing sleep on a soft Roman bed.

Time rushed by. All the wounds I had received that summer closed and healed, and I slept the sleep of the deepest dead, dreaming of the deeds of Maroboodus, and all the men and women I wanted dead or who had died. I did not dream of Wandal and thought that was a good sign. Thus, I spent that fall, and winter was close, promising biting cold and the usual death, but I was feeling better. Still weak, but much better.

I started to think more clearly, sleep less, and feared the day I was to be given to the gods. Surely, they would not wait for much longer. Then one night, I woke up. Shayla was sitting there in white garments, and on the table between us, there was a wide tray with bronzed goblets of wine. She took one and sipped it carefully. 'You recover quickly, berserker. The wounds are already well-mended, most of them at least.' She ran her finger down the scar that had nearly punctured my gut in the fortress of the Matticati, and it was still seeping puss. I nodded and removed her hand weakly. I looked at her and remember the regret in her eyes when my mother had died, but knew she was my enemy. 'So, you remember your mother, yes?' she said, and I gritted my teeth and tried to get up, but my arms were too weak yet. 'Lie down boy. I did what Vago commanded, I know you saw this. He is my father, and even druids obey fathers, occasionally. But does it console you that her death, a death of such a high, noble lady, was quick? It also gave me brief sight. I knew of you, already. I knew your father returning home likely meant there was a foolish Raven out here, but my glorious goddess showed me it was you. You are dangerous. Many others sidestepped the prophecy, but you will go headlong and face the many dangers. You have already. You do not fear it.'

I grimaced at her. 'Your father killed a mother, Shayla. Her son does not find any ease in the manner of her death nor does she care for another one admonishing me for acting poorly under the heavy hand of this damned prophecy.'

Her eyes flashed. 'Her death was a sad thing, but in the end, just another death. Have you slain? For cursed Tear and Odo? Or for your father? Perhaps killed sweet mothers and honorable fathers, young sisters, silly brothers, and helpless children?'

I shrugged, pushing away the wisdom in her words. 'They were not my mother.' I looked at her, ashamed, despite my words. I had killed many for Tear and Odo, for my father. Ralla's face haunted me to this day, as are those many men and women, Thumelicus.

She sighed. 'Wulf should have killed you. Bark failed because he wanted revenge for his wife, I know. He could have let Isfried do it, but no. He wanted the revenge, that idiot. So few are the real vitka in your lands, but the ones that knew about you failed utterly. You and your father, the Bear, bested the weak fools by guile and stupid luck. And now you are here, testing me.'

'Now what?' I asked her sullenly.

Shayla was straightening her léine, the Celtic dress. 'Tear, she is my enemy, and I am hers. She carries the old blood in her veins. They used to live in the lands of the Cherusci, their kind. Perhaps further north as well. Where the Svear live. Descendants of the imprisoned one. Ever have they looked for the blood of Woden to serve in this deed, for much is promised to them if they succeed. Their children will survive the horror, and so in a way, they will rule,' she said. 'It is that simple. They will rule, the god who tricked Woden at the creation of your kind will rule.'

'You are a druid, you worship different gods,' I said absentmindedly, touching my wounds. She took my hands away.

'No, they are all the same. They are many, they go with different names, different stories for different people, but they are the same. Their stories have ever, and will in the future filter down through history, sometimes becoming another god, many gods or even a single god, but in truth, they are many, and they are ancient, no matter how us foolish men interpret their messages or how some greedy men write their stories. And they did create men. Tear is a vile creature of death, product of the god we all should fear. That god is a subtle trickster and a handsome deceiver. What Odo is, is viler still. You will not find Veleda. You will if you walk free, but you will not walk free. I do not wish for you to suffer.'

I said nothing, still tired, but I wondered if I had the strength to strangle her. She looked grave as she leaned over me. She sipped the wine again and took the other one, got up, and handed the drink to me. 'Danger is great. Odo knows too much now after they got Bero and used his blood for the darker auguries. They need you.'

'I know. The last time Odo tried to have me, some hundred men died trying,' I boasted, and she smiled demurely.

She sat near me, hand on thigh. 'Tear tried to get my scroll, that Antius told Vago. She was mad to try. Antius does not have so much power here as to force me to relinquish it. She must have been desperate to ask Antius for it. The Roman tried, though, but I refused.'

'Yes, I see that,' I told her, wondering at her beauty.

'Drink,' she said, blushing, as if she knew what I was thinking.

I grunted angrily. 'No, I will not. And you will join Bark, Wulf, and the men I have to kill, and the victim to ridiculous superstition shall live on,' I said defiantly, though my tongue felt like lead.

'No, you shall die as the full moon rises. You have a curse running rampant in your blood, Hraban. You accepted your fate when Tear offered you a way out of it and said no. You did, didn’t you. I know it. You must stand behind that choice. You are not a good man, Hraban. You are wild, very reckless, foolishly stubborn, and unrecoverably vengeful. You could save Veleda, but you will never make the unselfish choice.'

I snorted. 'Thank you. You think making a corpse out of me will make Vago a god? He thinks gods will reward him for killing me? He is crazy, reckless, wild, stubborn, and vengeful, and I think you are, too. So are the mad Tear and Odo. Veleda is but a girl. If I ever see her, I will let her go. Again!'

She shook her head. 'Vago is my father. He is those things, and more. Yet the gods are not ungrateful. If Vago was to give them life, he will be well rewarded. We will see how.' I shrugged, uncaring. 'Now,' she braced my head, slapped my hands aside, and I could not, for some reason, move them. She poured the wine on my lips and forced it down, and I sputtered and swallowed, terrified she would slay me now, helpless. She sat down. 'In a week's time, you and I will travel together, but first we need to know each other. You intrigue me. I wish to understand you, and to know how deep your darkness goes.'

The wine was magical.

I went limp, unable to move, and I felt both unfathomably drowsy and highly alert though it was not an unpleasant feeling. I floated in the room, and she became my anchor. She spoke to me, and I resisted, at first. She did not give up. She chanted, cast spells to the Celtic gods and asked me questions, showing compassion when I cursed her for the death of Sigilind. Little by little, she had me explain my many terrible fears, my unvoiced wishes, and my shattered care for Ishild and Ermendrud and even pride over Gunda.

I told her of my fears of fatherhood, my hate of the foul Catualda and of my fouler father, of unhappy Gernot and beaten Ansigar, and anguish over poor Wandal and Ansbor. I told her bitterly how I wanted Odo dead for Hagano. I told her how I suffered for my choices and how I wanted only to be restored to honor, which I knew I could never again easily achieve. I told her I had trusted Maroboodus, for he was my father, and I had loved him, despite all, but I had been a fool. I also told her of Koun, and how I had grown to like him. In the end, I cried bitterly, and she comforted me. Her face was puzzled.

After a long time, I do not really know how long, she got up and undressed, her high nipples pink in the light sneaking in from the cracks in the wall, her lithe body and round hips caressed by the glow of the light. Her cheeks were flushed as she took her hood off, revealing long, dark hair, much like mine. 'Perhaps you are not a vile creature after all. You are a victim of love, if also a reckless man. I understand Wulf better now. I will take a life of a good, but hopelessly stubborn man, one who makes rash decisions as easily as a child would. Wyrd, you would say. I also thank you for knowing my brother Koun, and helping him when he was unhappy. He loved and was the better man for it, and that was your doing. I regret finding out about your soul, but I will give us a gift. I want you to lie there, and not struggle, and make this pleasurable for both.'

She climbed over me, her hands caressing my skin and rubbing my manhood, and to my disgust, I could not resist getting aroused. Her smile hurt my pride even more though it was not a wicked smile. 'Yes, that is great. Very good. Relax, Hraban. Think of plain Ermendrud, strange Ishild, unseen Gunda, or even me,' she said calmly, and undressed me. Then, soon, she was holding my erect penis, rubbing it with her thumb as she climbed on me. I remember how she moved, rhythmically rubbing herself against me until I entered her, and I remember how my weak arms could not resist her.

I think, to my shame, that I did not try very hard.

She was there for an hour, kissing me gently, yet passionately, fondling me in ways I had never thought possible, and my clumsy adventures with Ermendrud and Ishild made me blush with shame. I remember thinking if I survived this, I would be more of a man for any woman. Yet this woman, the daughter of the man who had killed Sigilind, was doing things to me I should have not allowed for someone I should hate, and so I wept after she had left.

A week went past. I grew stronger though her hold on me tightened. She came back many times that week, and I stopped resisting. We said little, and we slept together. She did not need the wine. She got to know me, I got to know her.

She had tears in her eyes the night before the dreaded full moon. 'I am sorry, Hraban,' she told me miserably that night as she lay next to me. 'Life is cruel. More cruel than my father, who does not treat me with respect.' She wept. I was surprised, and held her. She was just a scared girl then, but I had a suspicion of what her life was like, and what Vago did to her. She slept; I was awake, looking at her.

I did not want to kill her. I realized I did not hate her.

Just like I had grown fond of Koun, I had very mixed up feelings about her. I caressed her gently, both of us unhappy and sad. In the deep night, she woke up and looked up to me. She looked startled. 'I must go. I have to be someplace. He will be angry,' she told me, but I stopped her.

'I do not wish to die,' I told her, and she stopped and sat down.

'You must die, Hraban. You cannot be trusted,' she said, sad but stern.

'What for? I already let Veleda go, and you know now I will grow into a better man. I will slay those working against me, not help them.'

'Odo,' she said. 'You are not going to get away from him. Perhaps here, you would be safe, but you have your vengeance and will not sacrifice that.'

I thought about it, wishing to tell her I would abandon it. But I could not. She nodded, deeply disappointed. I shrugged and looked away as I spoke to her. 'These men have to pay, but let me try, Shayla, to remedy things. I will come back to you. I am in control now, not them. It is my move, and they do not expect me. I wish to make bodies and widows, and then return here, free of any burdens.'

'And your baby?' she asked. 'Ishild?'

'I …' I started but shut up, not sure how she would feel about me bringing them to Burbetomagus, even if that was possible.

She stroked my chest gently. 'She is facing a terrible fate, not unlike poor Veleda, and you are not the callous man I thought you to be. You will try to save her.'

'Yes,' I said, weakly. 'Of course, I will. What fate is this?'

'It's in the scroll Tear foolishly tried to get,' she said.

'The scroll, lady?' I queried. 'I would hear of it.'

She nodded carefully. 'It is famous amongst our holy kind. Do you know how gods created man, and of the gods themselves?' she asked, getting up to her elbows, her nipples brushing my side as her beautiful eyes looked deep into my eyes.

'I know about all-father Woden, and mighty Donor. Of even-handed Tiw, and boar-lord Freyr. I know what they are, what they do. Or I do not. How could I?

'Yes, how could we,' she agreed with a giggle. 'Men who write holy books about the gods are all liars. Some try, you know.'

'Is this prophecy not something written down by some fool?'

She pouted. 'That is different.'

I smiled as I continued, 'Indeed. Well, I do know the things that we sing about and the better poets tell us more,' I told her. 'But I know the gods created us, they are responsible for us, and we incredibly decide their fates. In fact, I know a lot about this part. I know a dark god cursed Woden's creation of men out of jealousy.'

She nodded. 'Few warriors know as much. Many vitka do not know, Hraban. Listen to what Argantion, my grandmother said.' Her voice changed subtly as she recited her grandmother's sight.

‘The Bear will roar, beware you gods,
for time has come to break the bars, sunder the rules, break the words.

The road from the shadow will begin,
the Raven to bleed on the evil, rocky skin.

A sister, a brother, wrongful act share,
a deed so vile, two children will she bear.

The Raven will find the sister,
the gods to look on as blood spills onto the Woden's Ringlet.

A raven will show the way, a bear is slain,
cocks will crow, men feel pain.

Youngest sister's blood is needed, her heart rent,
onto the plate of Woden, her life is ended.

Released is the herald, the gods will bow.

After doom, life begins anew.
A selfless act may yet the doom postpone.’

She stopped, and I mulled over the strange words. 'Fine. I do not say I believe in any of this, you understand?' She smiled, and I continued, 'I see that the Bear came, roared, for I was there when Mother died and Father screamed. So were you. I, the Raven, the fool, fell into his traps. I see the bastard vitka trying to take me on a final road where I would bleed, but I have refused him this. Rest is meaningless; no heart will be rent on any plate. What does Ishild and my child have to do with this?'

She shrugged. 'Yes, Hraban, all that is still ahead. But what of the sister and brother?'

'What of it?' I asked, sullenly.

'The children she will bear? The ones to continue Odo's line after the world is ended?' she prompted. 'The girl born by Ishild? Her name is Lif, by the way.'

'Lif? My girl has no name yet. You are saying the sister and brother are Ishild and Odo?' Then it hit me. 'He means to make children with Ishild?'

She nodded. 'He means to. You whelped one on her first, and he does not know how that will work. Perhaps it is enough he takes the baby for himself when she is born, and then Odo takes her and makes the ill-omened boy, but you and poor Ishild made him uncertain of the success of his delicate plans. At least it delayed them, for if he has to make her pregnant for the third time, and get rid of your baby …'

'Stop!' I screamed and pushed her away. 'She is not to be spoken about like that! That is sick. Why …'

She placed a hand on my shoulder. 'You cannot stay away from her or be in control of anything. Odo will want your child, and he cannot let go of Ishild. She will never be safe. I know you have feelings for me, but you feel obliged to your child and her. Like Tear fears for Veleda, with good cause. She is indeed to die; her blood will not do. You are a better man than I thought you would be, but your child is your weakness. Odo knows it, and it will not be a game you control, nor is it your move. So, I cannot trust you to make sensible choices if you go. You are a father, I think a good one, and few parents have their wits about them when their child is so threatened. If you go, you will face peril and still be the underdog. Odo will expect you.'

I saw in her eyes she hoped I would deny her claims, that I could indeed leave all my life behind and stay here, where they could guard me against Odo. If I never went near Ishild or Odo, then possibly I would be a man to make sacrifices, one to deny the prophecy. Terrible things would happen to my unborn child and Ishild, but I would live, and so would the gods. That might even sate Vago.

She poked me to get my attention. 'Give me the oath you will leave your daughter and Ishild in danger of Odo, rather than risk all. Give me the oath now, and I believe you.' I tried to form the words, but could not. I could not tell another lie. If I had left when Tear told me to, I would not have such a hard choice now. Wyrd.

'I have feelings for you, Shayla, but I cannot leave my daughter or Ishild in their hands, and I know it will be a game of terrible chances I would play if I got to leave. I would put her above the gods,' I said, miserable, in rage at the thought of the filthy Odo taking Ishild to bed and my daughter for himself, maybe killing her.

She took a shuddering breath. 'A selfless act could still change everything, the lines say. But how could you make one if it means losing your daughter? So, you cannot be trusted, and my father commands me. He wants me to give you to the gods, to save them and make him their favorite.' She wept gently, and I stroked her.

'I am sorry, Shayla,' I told her, sad.

'My father is a hard man,' she said, 'as hard as yours.' She sat there calmly for a while and then turned to me, resolute. 'Tomorrow, I have to send you to another world. Do not fight it, I beg. I will do you one favor though. I will travel with you, and guide you,' she told me and kissed me. 'I am a druid, and Vago is my father, but he is sick in his mind, and has done things to me I wish to forget, and you have helped me forget them. So I will make him a god and help you along, as I will help myself.'

We spent that night together, even if she was to be elsewhere.

I did not promise her to go to the next world easy.

CHAPTER XXI

I spent the following day on my own. The pale moon would be full that night, and my fate would be decided. The air felt just a bit cold like the faintest icy breeze of the north was probing the lands, a rumor of the coming winter. I weighed the choices before me. I thought about Shayla, and I think I loved her back then. She was not complicated. Ishild was; she harbored secrets and thick barriers that I could not cross, deep secrets that bound her to her family. Ermendrud was a lovely girl, but I did not love her, and she was to be married if Wandal had survived. Gunda was far, far away.

A thought of the Gaul girl Cassia flickered to my mind, sitting bound on the Sigambri ship, kicking and cursing her captors angrily, but Shayla was here, and she was exactly what she said she was. She was not happy, perhaps, but she was strong, very intelligent, amusing when she was teased, knowing how to shoot back and laugh. She was totally honest, and we made gentle love, I was sure of that. With Ermendrud, it had been mostly lust, but I was never sure if there was more to it. Ishild? I had not even known it was her that one time. I could be happy with Shayla.

But the girl wanted me dead.

If I died, nothing would matter. If I survived, I needed to get my child safe from Odo. I would not abandon Ishild to such a fate. She had betrayed me, but I could not let Odo have her, and Odo would not stop before he lay dead, if then. I gritted my teeth in desperation. He should not touch her. I realized Shayla was right. I would not make sane, well thought out decisions after I left, if I managed it. I would fight like a mad badger. And if I was to go back, then Maroboodus would have to die for his terrible crime, and so would the bastard Catualda.

I would risk the prophecy. I decided I had the right to do so.

If I wanted my revenge, I would have it, and the gods be damned. Did the others of my forgone, ancient family, the men and possibly women carrying the curse of the prophecy, the other Ravens and Bears, have to endure such sacrifices? Of their very honor, of their unborn, lovely child? I doubted it. If I could save Veleda, I would. I always intended to. But, I would take my chances.

So be it, I thought.

Revenge, and curse the filth of wyrd. I gave myself an oath to live as I wished and smiled in relief as the oaths I had broken suddenly meant little to me. I thought of Adalfuns the Crafter, and I thought I saw him smile as I tried to forgive myself for the past. It would haunt my future dreams, the past mistakes, but I had a life to live. I would be a lord and a man, and in time, gain what I had lost, by my own actions. I thought of Hulderic and his claim that honor was all, but gods know what is honorable and how honor forms. It worked like any growth, I thought. Honor grew like a boy into a man, and mine was just a toddler still, and it took mistakes to find the right path. I would be a man, and I needed no one to sponsor me nor a Thing to make it so. I felt lonely at these thoughts, but I swore to myself I would find my own path.

But first, I had to survive.

Evening fell, and I prepared. I waited, and the large, yellow moon was now up in the bright, cloudless sky full of lights, and it was full and cold as my fate. Two burly guards came to me in glittering iron armor, wearing short swords and axes, and they had some slaves with them who carried thick ropes and a small barrel. They were hooded in dark cloth and very nervous. I got up.

'Time to go, Marcomanni,' the other one said, and they tied my hands behind my back.

We went out, and a guard grabbed my shoulder roughly. 'The helmet,' he said and pointed up. Vago was standing at an open window, wearing a green linen shirt. He saluted me and held up my helmet.

'It will be remembered, Hraban, I will thank you for my coming glories! The helmet of the Raven! I, the slayer of the harbinger of doom!' he yelled drunkenly and grinned. I ignored him and saw he wore my sword on his hip, and to my disbelief, I heard Catualda speaking in the room. He was there. Why? Was that fate? If I survived, he would not.

I was led to the pillared passageway that led down to the earth, the one Shayla had exited the day I arrived. The guards nodded at the slaves who took up two torches and gingerly started to descend the uneven, rough steps glistening with moisture. A musty, pungent smell filled my nostrils. The guards showed me forward, and I went down, following the torches as they lighted the way down. We came to a wide, huge cave, and a curious sound was the first thing I noticed. It was not a roar, but a sparkling, gurgling sound as if some underground god was sucking the water down to another, faraway world. I squinted as a figure was moving in the cave.

It was Shayla.

She was in her dark robe this time, with a grave look on her face, nervously grinding her hands. I walked up to her, but the guards made me kneel before I got there. Then they dragged me behind her altar. On the stone slab were the familiar bronzed goblets, filled with yellowish liquid. A fire was roaring in the middle of the room, casting light and shadows around the area. The roof was covered in smoke though it did not increase, so there was a hole, or many, up there.

I looked around. It was an underground hall, the walls were hung with gray and white stalactites, and I could not see the ceiling. Water was flowing down many of the walls and in the back, where the light barely touched, was a huge stone wall that hosted bizarre streaks, mad swirls and mysterious coils that stones sometimes sported. Many thought them made by the dwarves, and if so, this cave had housed them once. In the corner, there was a bed and long drapes, fat barrels of curious substances, a used cauldron and some rough kettles, spoons and knives. An abode of a druidess.

On the right, I noticed a moving, living object, and I jumped back. The guards snickered, and I looked closely. In the uneven light it looked unnatural at first, but then I noticed it was water, the stream making the curious sound. One of the rivers rode under here, as well as above. That was where the sucking noise came from. I shuddered at the sight of the water going under the stone. It seemed cold and merciless, and I wondered how many screaming men and women she had sent there. She was looking at me as I kneeled there, scanning the place I was to die in. She was a woman worth having. Full of the gods, yet vulnerable and gentle, with a sense of dry humor. Hard as winter and soft as a feather she was, but she would not yield on her beliefs. I wondered what she would be like in some other place, far away, where she had no duties. What she would be like if I stayed here with her, and forgot my revenge, and Ishild. It did not matter.

Wyrd.

She glanced at me sadly, and the guards were shuffling uncertainly. She gestured at the slaves to fetch a mat with intricate Celtic signs on its rough surface. It was a black and white thing, and heavy enough to make the slaves grunt with the effort of lifting it. Yet they did so, and she then whispered to them. They carried it by the water and rolled it open. 'Go then,' she said, dismissing the men.

'Lady, we were supposed to …' the other guard started, but she pointed them up the stairs.

'It is not for your eyes, warrior,' she told them sternly, and they blanched, evidently more terrified of the druidess than of Vago. We were waiting for them all to leave. The slaves went last, taking the torches with them, and so we stood in the half-dark, looking at each other.

'If things were different, Hraban, you would be mine, and I, yours,' she said.

'If things were different, Shayla, my dear mother would live, I would be very happy, and we would never have met each other. Why speculate on that? We had some good moments; all the Spinners would give us. You wish me to drink?' She looked hurt but nodded. I tensed, getting ready to fight. It would be desperate with my hands tied behind my back.

'I need you to drink. It will make it easier for you and less painful. I do not need to ask the guards to come back?' she asked, fingering her dagger, and my eyes darkened as I realized it was the same knife that had slain Mother.

I shook my head slowly as I eyed the blade. 'No, I will drink,' I said, my mind whirling. I gazed at the streaming water. 'Won't I go to Rán if I die here, captured by her filthy nets?'

'I will travel with you, you need not fear the sea goddess,' she said and turned. 'Soon, we will meet the goddess of the rivers again, and you will see your mother.'

I glanced at the edge of the water, and I understood I was to be drowned there, or to bleed out in the water, like Mother had. She turned and dodged behind the altar, then walked to the other side for the bed, searching for something, and I looked at the filled goblets and tried to tug at my tied hands. They were tightly bound. In the dark cave, Mercury, the Roman god of thieves, or Woden, my tricky god, gave me a desperate idea. I reached forward with my teeth, grabbed the goblet nearest to me, moved it next to hers and then, too slowly and sweating with deep concentration, my back aching in the awkward position, I lifted hers closer to me.

Some wine spilled.

I cursed as I laid the goblet where my goblet had been and slowly straightened myself. She was still occupied, and I glanced at the goblets. They were not perfectly placed. I felt I had a drop of wine on my lips, and saw that some had indeed spilled on the white linen.

She came back and smiled at me, holding a bound scroll. Then she took out a wand made of white tree, and I groaned. I had enough of such contraptions to last a lifetime. She was soon swaying in front of the altar, and her gorgeous lips, which had caressed me the whole week, were mumbling to her river goddess. Then, very soon, she opened her eyes, ate a gnarled, cut root from the altar, and I was sure she noticed something strange about the goblets, but she did not say anything. I struggled with panic as she stopped chewing. 'The goddess hears, and is waiting for us,' she said dreamily, swallowing the remains of the root.

I grunted. 'I would go to Woden. Give me a blade, and I shall go and fight your father.'

She smiled. 'My goddess, Abnoba, is here. Drink.'

I smiled back, swallowing my panic, said my prayer to Woden, and swallowed the wine she offered me carefully. She drank from her own goblet, draining it. She prayed gently until her voice took on an unsteady cadence, and then she was behind me, her hands on my shoulders. She started to push me towards the water, and she grabbed the scroll she had found near her bed. I did not feel lightheaded, but I pretended to wobble.

With a light and gentle laugh, she helped me stumble forward. 'I am sorry, it was a heavy dose. Here, a few more steps,' she said and guided me to the rug, on to my knees next to the water. 'It is time, Hraban,' she murmured. I turned my head up so that I could see her face above me.

'Aren't you afraid you will become pregnant from what we have been doing?' I asked her.

She laughed. 'What was in my drink today will prevent any child growing inside me, but I would have liked that very much.' She grabbed my thick, dark hair, got up and started to push me to the water. 'The holy water waits you, and we will travel, oh, goddess of the river, Abnoba. I call you, and bring you him …' she nodded at me and drew a dagger.

She stopped, gasped in surprise, and the dagger fell from her nerveless hand as she fell sideways next to the water.

I was laughing, laughing so hard that my eyes stung, and my belly hurt. 'What …' she asked, and her nails made sharp sounds on the wet rock as she tried to move.

'Well, at least I cannot get pregnant after today. I drank yours, and you drank mine,' I said as I lay on my side, struggling to pull my hands under my legs, barely managing it.

I got up and clumsily took up the knife she had dropped. I held the thing that had killed my mother and wanted to throw it to the river, but I needed it. My hands were still tied, so it was awkward to position the knife between my legs. I managed it too, started to saw at the thick, stubborn rope, grunting like an animal, wounding myself, but not badly. I was free and stood above her. I was confused. I loved her care and understanding, and her fine, delicate beauty, and I also hated her dedication to the gods and her part in my Mother's death, but did she have a choice? I loved her.

'Hraban, I … you will destroy everything. This is what I meant when I said you will choose … wrong.' She was swooning on the rock as I went to my knees next to her.

'You are right. But come what may, I decide. None else. If I am not good enough to make such decisions, then the damned world ends, and perhaps it is just. Woden failed in his first men, as well. We are all flawed, Shayla. If I am successful and worthy, then my child will have a father instead of the filth of Odo in some deep hole of Gulldrum, they so love,' I said softly as I stroked her face. 'And a mother. My daughter will have that, even if I do not trust her, or love her, Ishild. She will have her a mother that I no longer have, Shayla. And for losing my family, my honor, I have much blood to shed as well. Men cannot ignore these things, be they god-cursed harbingers of death or not.' I looked at the sharp knife and thought about slashing her throat. I laid the blade on her neck, and she did not resist, and then I brought it up, ready to stab her in the dark cave. 'You will not let me go, I suppose?' I asked bitterly, and her eyes hardened.

'I love you, but I will not. But if you have to kill me, I understand …' she spoke, but I cut her off.

'Your father will join you in the afterlife, not I. I do hope he cannot hurt you there. If he can, I am sorry,' I said, thought of my dead mother, and grunted as I thought about stabbing the blade to her heart where it would kill swiftly. The dagger was hovering above her.

Yet I could not.

I looked away, cursing. She smiled. 'I understand, and thank you for your love. Here, I will help you,' she said, and crawled to the edge of the water.

I did not stop her as she slid in though I lunged for her after it was too late. I cursed her as the current spun her about. She held onto the rock. She looked at me and smiled sweetly, free of her troubles, and then let go. A strong current swept her off. It was a fast current, so fast it seemed she had not been real. She was gone, under the rocks, the goddess claiming her. I breathed hard and wiped away tears. I dropped the dagger on the altar cloth and noticed the scroll she had brought to the edge of the water. I felt nauseous but picked it up and opened it. In it, she had written a prayer.

I read it aloud. 'I give this man, Raven, to the gods. To you, Abnoba the Azure. And myself. Guard us on our journey. Together we greet you, great mother of water, to take us where we belong. Together.' I wept as I read it. She was mad. A victim of her bitter religion and terrible father, and likely a victim of sudden love for me. She had meant to follow me. She wanted to join me in the afterlife.

I suddenly vomited and sat up, painfully. I felt sick, perhaps of grief. Or the drink? She said that we would meet soon. She had said that what was in her drink would prevent her from getting pregnant. Perhaps it was not an herb to prevent a child, but something to kill her. And I had swallowed it.

I blanched and went to my knees. I put fingers deep in my throat and threw up, violently. I threw up until I could not throw up anymore, and I felt stronger after I wiped my face. I was weak in the knees, feeling horrible, but I would live, I thought. I got up after a while, feeling empty both in the belly and the head. I walked to the bed, and saw a neat pile of scrolls next to it on a wooden box and rummaged around. There was an ancient one, broken in places, parts of it missing, but reading it and understanding some of it, I knew it was the scroll Tear wanted. I took it.

'I won't forget, and I am sorry,' I told the gurgling goddess. I had to go home. I had men to kill, a child to save and gods to thwart. I was a man of the Marcomanni, a Germani and a self-made warrior.

CHAPTER XXII

Death is final. I wanted her back, but she was gone, no matter how many thoughts rebelled against the fact. I painfully started to climb the stairs and thought of the poor, mad Shayla. Vago would pay for her, too. I went slowly. I felt sick, and the cold, wet stair was slippery as I crept up.

Looking up to the pale moonlight, there was one of the guards standing in front of the door, between the pillars. He glanced towards me now and then, down where the shadows held me safe. I waited as he looked down and then crept up when he turned. I smeared some mud on my face and arms, and the man started to walk back and forth, his sword clanking on his side, glancing down, bored. I did what Nihta had taught me. I timed my steps to his, breathed shallowly. Even a man with his limited senses can hear tiny sounds that can alert him.

Slowly I came up to where the light shined. I glanced at the hated dagger in my hand. It was sharp. I was near the top. I was crouching some six feet down the stairs. He would see me for a second, and if he was good, he would retreat to the yard and scream for help, and I would die. I would be with Shayla after all. I lay on the edge of the light, trying to listen to where the other man was and if the slaves were up there. He kept walking by, still glancing down each time, slave to his ways, and I cursed him under my breath. They would grow tired, and come down with torches, and maybe I could surprise them. Or they would have more men come down, and I would be herded to a corner and killed, unless I followed Shayla to the maw.

I had no more time or patience. The man went past. I steeled myself, ran up, and saw how he turned, took a step back and looked down. Straight at me.

His eyes widened, and his mouth opened as he saw a large, darkly smeared demon springing forth from the abyss. I grabbed him by the beard and pulled him over me, and we fell back to the tunnel, painfully. He struggled, and I stabbed him in the neck and throat so many times I lost count. I was dead scared. He swatted at me weakly, and we slid down to the dark shadows, rolling over each other. Finally, he lay still. I looked up, heard steps and ran up. The other guard came to the doorway, his mouth agape, an axe in his hand at the ready. He saw me moving and growled, coming forward.

I was going to die.

Then he yelped, slipped on the steps and fell over me. I stepped aside and heard him tumble down into the dark, bones crunching nastily. One of the slaves stood in the doorway, his hooded face hidden, his leg still up as he had kicked the man. I stared at him, waiting for him to scream. He did not. I stepped forward with the dagger, keen on silencing him, but I saw a familiar pendant on his chest. The statue of Mercury. I stopped. He raised his trembling hands and pushed back the cowl.

'Hello, master,' Felix said flippantly.

He was thin, bony in fact, and dirty for having missed many baths, and I hardly recognized him. I laughed, too loud for our safety, and hugged him fiercely, sudden tears rolling down my cheeks. 'You lying bastard! How? How did you come to be here!' I asked, happy, despite the fact I knew he had had a part in the murderous plans of Maroboodus and Antius, and the death of my family. Yet he had saved me that night.

He glanced around while clapping my back. 'Master, now is the time to walk, not to talk. I followed you. I ran to the dark woods after you fell from the rampart. I hid and followed you. I stole a boat, lived in squalor, and travelled after you.'

'I thank you, Felix! I thank you,' I said.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. 'Well, you look fat! I have eaten scraps and sick rats while that druid fed you thick cow and fresh vegetables, honey from the comb mead and expensive wine. No doubt she gave you other things, too! Where is she?'

'She is dead, Felix. Speak no more of her. No evil words, no kind ones.' He looked suspicious but nodded. I looked around, and saw some men further away, horses being tended. 'I understand you managed to follow me, but how did you enter here?'

He looked sheepish. 'There was a guard, but …'

'Did you do him unnatural favors?' I mischievously asked him as I pushed him to the shadows. A slave was walking by slowly, in her thoughts.

He seethed, looking at the passing slave. 'What? Is that the thanks I get …' he said, his small face mad as a bull with a thorn in the nut.

'Where did you get that?' I tapped the winged god on his chest. He was quiet and trembled. I nodded at him and guided him to the side. I looked in his eyes. 'You didn't steal it, did you?' I asked.

'No,' he said softly. 'It was always mine. I kept it at that altar in Hard Hill at nights. So basically, you stole from me.'

'And the master,' I said, 'the one in the harbor, was Gaius Antius. Your infernal master. He told me this. And you worked for him, a liaison between traitors Maroboodus, Catualda, and Antius, and a useful, foolish boy to use to manipulate Bero to Hel and Maroboodus to an important seat.' He nodded. 'So, why are you here?' I asked him gently. 'Why not go back to Antius? Why did you follow us when we left Hard Hill? You were promised a lot for your work, no doubt. Why did you save me from Maroboodus to start with?'

He was licking his thin, dry lips, for I was getting madder with each uttered word, thinking of blood and death. 'You saved me from Gernot and Ansigar,' he said. 'Nobody has ever fought for me.'

'I fought for Ermendrud, as well,' I reminded him.

He shuddered. 'You did. But you saved me, and I think you would have, Ermendrud or not. Antius was my master, Maroboodus as well, but you were my friend. I hope you are.'

'Did you know Maroboodus would kill my family?' I asked him, my heart heavy.

He fell on his knees. 'I wrote the scroll for Catualda, the one he sent to Vago.' He cried but did not beg for mercy as I crouched before him, holding my head. Woden screamed for his blood. I put my hand on his thin neck, and we were in that position for ages.

Wyrd. He was young, like Hagano had been. Did Sigilind want him dead? Did Hulderic?

Did I?

I hated my father and Antius, who chose willingly to do these things. I hated Odo, who would stop at nothing to hurt me. I hated Vago, who killed people I loved callously, a weapon for my enemies. But I had pitied Gernot, and I pitied Felix. I hugged him softly and clapped his back. 'You are a rotten bastard, Felix. Like I am. But you are here, and we will go, and forget everything else.'

He sobbed. 'I thank you.'

'Wandal?' I asked hopefully, shaking the gloom off.

'I did not see him, master, I saw him fall off the wall, but nothing after it. They took many prisoners, the Matticati. Perhaps …' he ventured.

'Let us go,' I said as I went down to the dark tunnel to rummage with the guard's body. 'The other slave?'

Felix shrugged, spitting in disgust and fear. 'First man I killed. He is dead. Right there,' he said and nodded to the shadows of the villa.

'You stole the clothes?' I asked as I found an axe, the sword was somewhere down in the dark.

'I stole them. The problem with slaves in a Roman household of this size is they do not know each other. I just pretended to be one. It worked. So, the druidess …'

I pulled out the rusty armor and the tunic of the man with a grunt, cursing as they rolled on his arms and refused to budge. 'I said I didn't wish to talk about it,' I said sternly.

Felix did not give up. 'Well, yes. But she tried to poison you. I saw the other slave pick up some poisonous vials for her. He told me that anyone drinking the yellow liquid would meet his or her ancestors. Therefore, I switched it. It was yellow, and I only had one yellow liquid to replace it with,' he was blabbering while scanning the grounds.

'So you tried to save me from poisoning?' I said as the tunic came off and I pulled it on, the heavy armor after it. It felt royal, heavy, and safe.

'Yes, that is why you are alive. The poison did not work. It was just my piss,' he said, proudly.

I laughed darkly. 'Felix, the poison was for her. She meant to drug me, then bleed and drown me and kill herself with the poison. I switched the drinks. So I am not sure if I should be grateful, but happily, the wine was not worse off for your weak piss. Let us go. Do you have a plan? No, you will not mention Shayla again.'

'I, very well,' he said and looked at me. 'Killed herself. You have a weird effect on women. Your face is covered in mud, master.' I nodded and quickly scrubbed my sleeve over it as I pocketed a pouch with a few silver denarii, a silver bracelet that had been hacked into pieces to be used for payment, and a silver ring.

'Horses?' I asked gently, pulling on a pair of ill-fitting shoes. Felix nodded at the dark stables. 'We belong here, Felix, so let us walk slowly and brazenly,' I said proudly and marched off towards the stables though I had no intention of going there yet. We would pass the door to the villa. The guard at the door nodded at us, and I prayed he did not think me suspicious. I was talking slowly with Felix. I heard Vago's voice from upstairs, speaking excitedly with Catualda. 'So, Felix, I have a deed to do,' I told him with a grin.

'Where are you going?' Felix rasped at me as I walked towards the door, my hand on the axe handle.

The guard stepped forward, his head tilted in confusion. 'What is it?'

I nodded at Felix. 'Do you know this slave?' He looked over my shoulder, and I slammed the axe in his neck, ripped the weapon off, and hit him another time. I took his shield and spear, dragged him to the side and rolled him beneath the stairs, waiting for yells of alarm. None came. 'Wait here, Felix. If I don't come back, I wish you a good life,' I said to the boy who was wringing his hands above the fallen guard.

I walked in and a servant came forward, one of the two men tending the fire in a pit in the middle of the room. On the walls were expensive sconces and the whole reception hall was very Germani, yet hung with red curtains. It was much simpler than what Bero had liked. I nodded at the men. 'I have a scroll for Lord Vago. Quickly now.'

The man walked forward, his hand out. 'I will take it to him. He will not be disturbed.'

'It is important enough for him to want to be disturbed,' I growled. The man shook his head and smiled at me insolently. I took out the scroll Tear so much yearned to see. The man took it and opened it.

'What is it? I cannot make it out,' he complained.

'You would do well to read it in the light, lout,' I growled, and he nodded apologetically. I walked towards the fire pit after him. 'It is important,' I said, and they both looked at the scroll. I threw the spear at one, impaling him, and slammed the shield in the other's face. I picked up the scroll from his unconscious hands and stepped on his throat. There was a crack, and he let out a curious, wheezing sound.

I searched the room. Behind a curtain there was a stairway going up, hallways to the right and left. It was eerily quiet. I got up the stairs, and in the end of the hallway, there was a gilded doorway with torches sputtering on holders, and a single guard wearing a cloak and a helmet, with a tall spear in his hands. I left the shield and spear and took out the scroll again. I went up to the stairs, and the guard looked at me carefully. I could hear Vago behind the door. I turned downstairs and pretended to be listening to someone. 'Here? At the end of the hall? Thank you, thank you.' I turned to the guard who lazily leveled the spear. I took a deep breath and walked towards him briskly. 'Ware man, I need to speak to Lord Vago! There has been a rebellion! A murder!'

'What? Who?' he said, his spear point wavering.

'Lord Vago's son! He has been attacked. He is dying, perhaps dead! Quickly, now!' I said, and the guard turned to the door, uncertain.

'His son is inside …' he started, but I swung the axe once again, grabbing his spear.

The weapon hit him on the side of the head, breaking his leather helmet, and he flew into the room, the door breaking under his weight. I threw the spear after him, nailing him to the door. I walked over his corpse and went in. Vago looked up, surprised. He was wearing breeches, the strange, green tunic, and simple shoes, his silvery helmet on a desk next to mine. A young man with tattoos of axes on his cheeks got up quickly, wearing a toga. Catualda got up from his plushy seat, his mouth opening in terror as his nightmare came calling. His beard was foamed from the ale he had just drunk.

In Vago's hand was Draupnir's Spawn.

'Hello, Catualda!' I told the man casually. 'A bad time to visit, but not for me, I think.'

'Shayla?' Vago asked as he walked to a window.

'Waiting for you,' I said savagely. 'In the afterlife.'

He sneered in anger. 'My daughter. You would kill women.'

I pointed a finger at them. 'You both killed my mother. You killed my grandfather. What of your father, Catualda? You watched as Bero was taken to terrible torture and death. So shut up, curs.' My finger turned to Vago. I sneered. 'Why did Shayla wish to die, Lord? She was afraid of you. I know what you have done,' I said and stalked closer to him.

His confused, tall son pulled a thin dagger from the folds of the toga, looking at me uncertainly. Catualda moved for the window, glancing at the ring in Vago's hand. I acted, darting for the young, toga-wearing man and swung the axe. He dodged and tried to stab me but the voluptuous cloth hindered him and he tripped, his face a thing of hate. I swung again, and the edge missed, but the side of the weapon crunched onto the cheek of the man and he fell, spilling teeth on the bed as he bumped off it to the floor.

'Your son, eh?' I asked. Vago's eyes glittered in the dark room, his hand on the windowsill.

'Give me the ring, Lord,' Catualda said urgently.

'He is Hunfrid, my heir.' Vago's face betrayed fear as he looked down at his son, slapping Catualda's fingers off when he tried to take the ring off Vago's finger. His eyes glanced at the open, inviting window.

I laughed, resting the cruel axe on top of Hunfrid's face. I pointed at the window. 'Go ahead, Vago. There are songs about you already, this will be another one. How you ran away from your prisoner in your own bedroom through a window. “Hunfrid's Fate,” they will call it,' I mocked him, and he stiffened.

Vago shook his head carefully, abandoning any thought of fleeing. He was a famous lord and I but a recent prisoner of his. He snickered as he considered that, but sobered soon. 'You deny me my place, my godhood. You deny us our plans for overthrowing Rome. Do you know for whom your Catualda works? It is not the Romans!'

I nodded. 'He works for himself, the bastard. He wants to be a king, like my father does. Under Armin the Cherusci.' Catualda looked at the ring feverishly; so agonizingly close. I gestured at the ring. 'That ring, Lord Vago, will inspire men, and your vision of being a strong Roman, stronger than Rome itself, could come true,' I said mockingly, and tapped the axe on Hunfrid's head, drawing blood.

Catualda was anxious. 'He knows, Hraban. We will raise all the Germani as one and wipe the Romans off this world. We need all strong men to unite, you see, and plans are moving!' he said, hopelessly trying to win me over, even now.

Vago nodded as if wondering at the strangeness of it all. 'But you live, and the world is at risk, even the small piece I wanted to lord over.' He cursed foully.

'You would be a sod-ridden god of turd eaters, Vago,' I said with a sneer. 'Only queer things would follow and praise you.'

Vago shook his head, uncaring of my words. 'I will be one, though. I want no less. I have paid heavily for godhood. You killed my dear Shayla, you have likely slain Koun as Catualda told me. And gods know what happened to Vannius. He was near your filthy presence. Now him,' he gestured bitterly at Hunfrid.

I laughed and nodded at Catualda. 'It matters not what you believe, but it was him. Catualda killed Koun, and I liked him. Catualda is a worm that always has two truths readily at hand where one would serve best. I will see his innards soon. I think he has nothing human in there. He is a spineless bastard who helped my father kill my unsuspecting family, then betrayed him as well.' Catualda smiled at me, not insulted in the least.

Vago shook his head. 'I do not believe you. You'll not leave this place in one piece.'

'Your daughter said the same thing, but I will take my chances. And it is true that part of me died with Shayla, and stays down there in the cave.' I took the heavy axe head off Hunfrid. 'You can still get your due. Save your last loyal boy and fight me. Be a god.' I laughed at him. 'Catualda has no guts for it, after all!'

'The ring, Lord,' Catualda said strongly, grasping for it, and Vago grunted, slapped him hard and pushed him out of the window. Catualda fell with a shriek. Vago thumbed the brilliant ring in his finger and faced me.

I growled at him. 'That was my privilege.' I hoped Felix would not slit Catualda's throat, for he was mine.

He laughed at me with relief, abandoning fear. 'You only have one life, and it has been spared so far to make me a god. I do not want him interfering and stealing what is mine. Moreover, if he indeed did kill Koun, it was my privilege as well. The ring is mine, and I need no other men, no Armin. I will be a god soon. When the time comes, Vangiones will lead. Led by a god, wearing a god's gifts.'

'Gods do not care for your aspirations,' I scoffed.

His eyes rounded. 'Of course they care! Who wishes to die? I will slay you and fix things for all of us. Perhaps even your father will send me gifts in thanks.' He pulled Nightbright, and did not look at the window anymore.

'That's my madman, come,' I said, terrified at first, and then somehow strangely calm. Come what may, my mother would get peace, or I would die. Woden's dance filled me as I faced the terrible Lord of the Vangiones.

He roared wildly and charged like a jotun.

His swing was wild, thanks to the low ceiling and a stool he had to jump over, and it went over my head. I pushed him back, following it with an axe swing. Woden was whispering to me, and even tired, I felt fast. I saw Vago was drunk, but he was not drunk enough to be a bad fighter. He blocked the swing with swift Nightbright, and the axe handle cracked off. I let go of the remains of the weapon and desperately groped for him, grabbing his tunic and pulling him towards me. He swung the sword at my back where it was stopped by the mail. I held onto him desperately, he tried to push me back with one gnarled hand, and he tried to maneuver his gladius so that he could stab me from high. I kept pushing and pulling, and he had to try to keep his balance.

'Guards! Hunfrid!' he screamed. 'Guards! To your lord!'

I taunted him. 'What became of your privilege of killing me?'

'Guards!' he screamed and pushed me, nearly able to impale me.

I grunted, and struggled. I grabbed Shayla's knife at my belt, but he saw this, and head-butted me. The weapon dropped from my hands. I grabbed him again as he nearly got away from me, far enough to stab me dead. He cursed as I pulled him near again by his short beard. 'Desperate dog, you will die,' he spat at me as he hit me with his left hand, and I shook off the pain stoically, grunting in pain, sweating, and fighting for my life.

There were sounds all over the compound now, harried questions and men answering in panic. Vago pressed a finger painfully on my eye, and I cursed him. I wrenched my head off, and he laughed savagely, thinking he had found a way to win, but I heard the wily Woden filling me with rage, and I bit on his finger so hard it came off. He shrieked in terrible pain, and I pushed him. We fell over a stool, and I was on top of him.

Vago was lying there, momentarily too hurt to resist. I grunted, spat his finger out and sunk my teeth into his throat. I bit down hard, heard him scream inhumanly, a horrible sound which seemed to continue forever. It was so loud my ears rang. He struggled wildly, hacking around with Nightbright, but it did more harm to the bed than me, and I bit deeper, blood filling my mouth, his rough, hairy skin choking, nearly suffocating me. I lay on top of him until I heard the sword fall. Men were downstairs, and I heard them curse. I had little time. I grabbed Shayla's knife as I got up on unsteady feet and looked down on the sorry man of a mad family. Vago's throat was open, blood oozing, and I had to spit and vomit as I realized where the pieces of skin that had covered the mess were. His eyes looked feverish as I stood over him.

'Any message for your sons,' I asked unsteadily.

'Tell them to stop you, and avenge me,' he gurgled weakly.

'I will,' I said, and stabbed the sharp knife in his chest so hard he shuddered.

Vago’s eyes went white, and he died swiftly and surprisingly silently. I grunted happily, picked up Nightbright and swung it into the bloody mess on his throat so hard it nearly severed his head. I swung again, severed bone and cartridge and the head rolled off, its lips smacking foully. I picked up a thick pillowcase, gingerly prodded at the head, took it up by the hair, and threw it unceremoniously inside the case. I pulled off some gold ornaments from his thick arms and fingers and took my ring with a gleeful smirk. I enjoyed the fine details of flowers and symbols, and thumbed it as I put it on my middle finger.

I grabbed a sputtering torch off the wall and threw it on the bed. It caught fire so fast I had to retreat. As a hindsight, I grabbed the helmets off the desk, cursing the terrible heat, placed the bronze one on my head, the silver one in the pillowcase, and grunted as men came to the end of the hallway. They stopped in terror as I laughed at them.

'It's the one from the fort!' one of them said softly, his beard shaking in fear.

'He was supposed to die,' simpered another.

I yelled to them with a rasping, undead voice. 'I am dead! I am dead, and here to collect me some company. I am lonely and need men to serve me! Come!' I walked towards them briskly, but they ran away. I stopped and looked at the dead guard. I yanked the spear off his body, grabbed his shield and so made myself a man. I had kept one of my oaths, the one for revenge against Vago. No act of mine was finer so far, and I hoped it was one of the first I would be proud of. Thus did men earn their weapons before old customs were adopted, and thus did I become one.

I turned to the window. I looked down, but did not see Catualda. It was a long drop. Below, I saw chaos in the compound. Felix was a good companion. There he was, standing in the shadows with a white, scared face, gesturing, and relieved at seeing me. I nodded brusquely and threw the sack to him. I turned to Hunfrid and sighed. 'I supposed I need to have at least one enemy on my tail after Vago is dead,' I told myself with a giggle and dragged the man to the window. 'You will hate me, but I don't really care right now,' I said, pushed him out of the window and jumped after him, using him as a mat. He made a meowing sound as I fell on him, and I could not help but laugh hysterically. I later heard Hunfrid found the remains of his father, the headless bones in the fire pit of the downstairs, amidst the smoldering remains of the hall. The knife was in the ribcage, a cursed thing Vangiones feared forever.

We found our way out of the chaotic compound as men were rushing to fight the fire, many looters and runaway slaves were carrying valuable items out of the house. I cast looks at Shayla's cave when we walked out, wishing things were different. They were not. We went down to the town, avoiding the many Romans wondering at the fire. We bought some food with my loot from Vago, some simple vegetables, and some meat and heavy cloaks. We acquired two fine horses and rode towards the gate. Morning revealed a blazing inferno at the heart of Burbetomagus as Vago's compound was destroyed, and men were whispering and talking about it wherever we went.

We arrived at the gate and dismounted.

Some dogs were fighting over a bone. Whether it had belonged to a man or a beast, I could not make out. One growled at me, grabbing my trouser with its teeth. I kicked it so hard it yelped and then looked at the guards. The raising pillar of flame and smoke distracted them. 'We go, ride hard if they think to stop us,' I told Felix as I glared at the silent guards taking involuntary steps forward, mesmerized by the catastrophe.

'Which way?' Felix asked nervously.

'Home,' I told him simply and moved the horse. He did not move. I turned to him and saw his face. He looked west, and then away from me. I guided my horse next to him, and he shied away. 'I will not hurt you, Felix. You wish to leave?' I asked him gently.

He breathed deep and made up his mind. 'Yes. I do not wish to return to the dark lands. I always planned on going home.'

'Where is your home, Felix?' I asked, feeling lonely.

'Lexovii tribe, by the western sea. My father told me about them. Not many alive after Caesar, but I wish to go there. Never thought I would go poor,' he said miserably, sitting on his horse. 'I will miss you, Hraban.'

'I will miss you. Perhaps we will see again,' I told him.

'Take care,' he said, 'though it seems you do not intend to try.' I grunted and dug out the pillowcase. I rummaged around and found the silver helmet of Vago, though it was smeared in blood and skull-juices.

'Open your sack,' I said, and he did, suspicious. I dropped the priceless helmet into his sack, looking around and making sure no one saw it.

'Lord …' he started.

'Call me Hraban, and do not sell it here, but far away, you filthy thief,' I told him and turned my horse. 'You will be rich.'

I heard him go, felt sad for it, but I was finally a man with a purpose of my own. Men would die but for my causes. I guided the horse for the gate, and started my perilous journey back home, where my father celebrated, a hero to the Germani, and some in Rome as well.

CAMULODUNUM, ALBION (A.D. 42)

So it was, my Lord, I would ride home as a man, having kept one oath, bearing my simple shield and plain spear under the threatening winter. It was not to be a pleasant trip, and the next few years I would travel down roads both light and dark.

That day, in Burbetomagus, at the yawing gate, I spat on dooming prophesies, spat on my cold father, and spat on selfish men who would stand to stop me from my redemption. My father owed a great debt to me, and I was resolved to go and slay him and thwart his fine plans, whatever they were. I would gut the powerful Odo and save my child. I did not know what feelings Ishild and I held, likely none, but the baby was to be safe and she was her mother, and once my friend, so I would protect her, too.

I would find Balderich, possibly bury the poor Bero. I would finally care for my friends and find Wandal if he was lost. I would go and take my Head Taker like I had taken the great ring, and I would try to become a lord that was honored, and no longer be the Oath Breaker. I was beyond oaths given to false men, and while even such oaths were important for one's honor, I could tell the gods I had tried, at least. My honor would grow like a child. While I was called the Oath Breaker amongst our people, I had come to realize the oaths you keep mean more than oaths you do not. Senseless promises cannot be kept, and gods know we make mistakes. They do.

So I raised my spear to the sky, and I gave oaths to myself and Woden to do these things, and I felt dizzy, for there was a lot to be done.

So, my Lord. Son of Armin, whom the Romans called Thumelicus, and whom your parents named Hadewig. That was how I became a man, a man for myself. It took me time, and many bad choices, so take heed of my words. You, son of Armin, will survive, too, and find your way. Despair not.

Now, while I guard your wounded person in Albion, I will write more. Tomorrow, I will go to the town and plan deeply, find a willing or unwilling healer for you and scheme shamelessly, and I will keep you alive. Now I have worthy purposes beyond mere revenge. I will leave these words for you to read, in case I am dead, and hope you survive to grow with them. Tell them of me, Lord. Tell Lif and any Germani willing to listen of me, so they will know Hraban, and not only the Oath Breaker. Tell them of the betrayals of my kin, and how I, a boy, made many bad choices before I was free of the burdens of trying to please others. Find also comfort in your father's coming adventures, even if he was no friend of mine. Soon he would be a great, feared lord, and he would save me, and I him, when I had to navigate some very murky waters between him, my father and the famed Drusus Germanicus, bane of the tribes, the Roman I loved like a brother.

Wyrd, Lord. Fate will decide and determine if I get the words penned down, and manage to keep us alive.

Wyrd, if I do not.

The story continues in Raven’s Wyrd

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AFTERWORD

Many love stories of ancient Rome.

But what do we really know about the Germani? They were cloaked in mystery, debunked by their literate foes, yet they were the stubborn nations that would roll over the disciplined Roman and Hunnish armies, and ultimately survive anything Augustus, Tiberius, and Germanicus threw at them even when they were not yet restless, but fairly content in their lot after Caesar had drawn the lines with a sword.

One could argue the various Germanic tribes built much of our culture in the west, or at least, it survived these talented, hardy and practical men often described as barbarians. The Angles and the Saxons took Britain. Vandals, Suebi, Franks and Alemanni took France, Spain and even Morocco. Langobardi enjoyed the comforts of northern Italy, and the Goths were meddling in many rich countries. Later, the Norse, Swedes and the Danes, Germani again, would grow restless and do it all over again when they robbed and colonized great swathes of land in their Viking frenzy. So much of our culture, languages, and habits were born in the deep woods east of Rhenus that we barely understand it.

Their habits and ways were ancient, their gods and religion shrouded in mist. We know something of their gods, of Woden or Odin, as we call him. Lovers of comics know of Donor, thanks to Marvel's Thor. While the movies try to make it clear these beings were not really gods, to most of old Europe they were, and to some they still are. They are with us to this day. Wednesday was Wodensday, or Odin's day, Thursday, Donorsday. Goddess Eostere is now forgotten at the time of Easter, except in the very name of the feast. The list is endless.

The church, in its desperate scramble to stomp down the old, legitimate religions, kidnapped many of the old dates and feasts and thrust some poor saint's day on top of them, not to mention putting a church on top of an old shrine. Many times it worked, but something always survives. Let's just say Christmas is not, perhaps, a celebration of Christ in many countries. In Finland, for example, it is Joulu, Jöle, and likely Woden's feast of old, and many of the habits of any religious feast we hold dear would puzzle Christ, I think, but not so many of the old people, who invented them for their gods.

These days, few read what the middle age poets penned down of the last vestiges of this old religion, but if you should do so, you will be utterly mystified by the richness of the old beliefs. Also, it was not all bad, what the Romans wrote of the people east of Rheine. They were recognized as brave, loyal to their lords, great believers in family. The bond between man and woman was strong, honor and fame important to the humblest of men.

We know something of how they lived, the shape of their houses, what animals they ate, what they possibly did in their free time. We know they cultivated the land, raised small cattle, and they had a firm sense of law, even if a death sentence was a rare thing in the Things, and only passed for the most heinous of crimes or in sacrifice. One should not judge them too harshly for that either. Even Augustus sacrificed his enemies when desperate. One can also see it is not an unknown custom in the religion most now bow down to, if one is to mull over the Old Testament. Gods are cruel. On the old Germani, we know some, enough to create stories of tantalizing deliciousness, and let our imagination fill the gaps.

It is both the curse and the blessing of a historical fiction writer to be able to tweak the facts to suit the story, and not force the story to be the slave to the facts, which are rarely certain anyway. There will always be people reading a book, then rage bitterly, for they will “know” when a writer goes against recognized “facts,” especially when breaking accepted dates of major events or ages of main characters that actually existed. Then there will be readers who will enjoy the story as it is served.

I have to say I suffered from self-imposed purism while I was writing this, but in the end decided I could let myself get away with some deviations from the “true” story, and what the Roman historians have written about these events. After all, it is not my job to tell how and when Maroboodus came home from Rome, and when he got into argument with Armin. I not only wanted to make an easy to read and easy to accept story, I wanted to make the characters rich and complex, and to thrust the naïf, poor Hraban into the jaws of power-hungry, manipulative bastards, who were fighting to balance their greed with the needs of their tribes in a time when they could all have fallen to Rome. It is not a history book.

One thing that especially bothered me were the origins of the Marcomanni, or even what they were. A tribe or just an outwatch of some other tribes? I made them a Suebi tribe. It is hard to say where the Marcomanni and the Quadi lived before they moved to the Danube river area, supplanting the Celtic Boii and becoming a major cause of worry for Augustus and Tiberius, but I decided the soon-to-fall-to-Rome area of Maine River, and the general area of Agri Decumantes was a good place to come from. It was suspiciously devoid of life for a while, and so Hraban found a home. There is no Hard Hill, but who knows? We might one day find a great oppidum where Marcomanni lived in, after Aristovistus lost to Caesar.

It is impossible to say how many purely Roman military establishments there were in the areas of the Germani, but there are evidence of many forts, and some surprisingly well-established civilian ones, especially after Nero Claudius Drusus started his war against the Lippe River tribes and the Chatti, evidently beating the Marcomanni as well. So was Castrum Luppia in the lands of the Matticati born.

It is also true Rome had run out of enemies, and probably true Augustus yearned for his legacy in military glory, which he lacked, as Agrippa was his sword and military mind, a fine general and many time savior. This was also the critical time for Augustus to recreate the Republic into something different, and he did indeed hope to have his own dynasty, his own children running the show after his death, and he was opposed by many, some even in his immediate family. Suffice it to say, what followed in the family of Augustus was something one might call a series of bloody and suspicious conspiracies, on par with the question on who killed JFK. So I have Maroboodus ready to fill in the gaps, serving as a Germani who was Roman, a plaything for Roman and Germani politics both. We will go into Augustus at length in book three, when Hraban enters Rome.

Maroboodus was a fascinating character. His rivalry with Rome and Arminius has always intrigued me, his service in Rome, his long life and the mighty realm he built are stuff of legends. In this book, I wanted to make him a ruthless and conniving warlord, a Roman more than Germani, a true survivor, a self-made king in the land where no kings are usually brooked, and such men, my friends, are callous. Armin, or Arminius, would hate him, Maroboodus apparently hated Armin, and to imagine what the two great leaders could have achieved together is mindboggling. I have changed many of the accepted years of these men's lives, Armin is already an established man in this book, and not a child he likely was 12 B.C.

As for the prophecy I penned down, there is little left of the verses of Ragnarök. Yes, the world would end one day, and this was a fact even the ancients knew. True, Woden and two other gods created men, and so I wanted to create a dreadful curse, one more trick amidst the many tricks by Lok, or Loki, that would haunt Woden's creations, and the rivalry of Hraban and Odo will define much of the first books. It is, of course, all my imagination, that there are men closest to Woden, and then creations of Lok, but I liked the idea.

Yes, there is sex in the book. It was a risky subject for a Germani, and one of the deeds Hraban can truly mess up his life with. How rare was the threat of death for acts of love outside the marriage? We do not know. In my book, it is serious business indeed for the stern Germani, but young men are young men, and heed the uncouth thing in their pants more than the stern vitka, or priests.

In addition, on this subject, we know there were völva and vitka as some sort of priests, but we do not really know their functions and differences from each other, if there indeed were any. In this book, I made all women priestesses völva, and male ones vitka, and the women, I am sorry, a bit sinister, since theirs is the seidr magic, magic of subtle seduction, goddess Freya's domain. It felt appropriate.

So there we have it. There will be five books, and Hraban will struggle to regain his fame and have his revenge. He will sample both Rome and Germania. It will be a story of great upheaval for Rome and Germani both, time of betrayal of the highest nobles, of struggles and deep magic, and of course, desperate love. It is Hraban's story, the story of Maroboodus, of Armin, of Drusus and Tiberius, and some others I shall not yet speak of. I hope you enjoy them.