ADALWULF

THE TWO SWORDS

- GERMANI TALES -

AUTHOR: ALARIC LONGWARD

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

MAP OF NORTHERN EUROPE B.C. 12

NAMES AND PLACES

BOOK 1: THE HANGED MAN

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

BOOK 2: WOLF BAITING

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

BOOK 3: TORN FACE

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

BOOK 4: THE DEN

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

BOOK 5: THE THREE FATES

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

AFTERWORD

Copyright (C) 2016 Alaric Longward

ISBN 978-952-7101-98-8 (mobi) ISBN 978-952-7101-34-6 (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 the readers -

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

Greetings, and thank you for getting this book. I hope you enjoy it and also read the The Oath Breaker, Hraban’s story. 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.

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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)

MAP OF NORTHERN EUROPE B.C. 16

NAMES AND PLACES

Adalwulf – would-be champion of Hulderic.

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.

Bait – servant boy of Balderich

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 to have his vengeance. Foe to Maroboodus.

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

Catualda – son of Bero, cousin to Maroboodus.

Cerunnos – son of Teutorigos

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

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

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.

Ear – brother of Raganthar, cousin of Leuthard

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

Elisedd – Celt woman in Sparrow’s Flight

Ermendrud – daughter of Fulch the Red

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

Gaius – scribe of Tiberius

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.

Galdr – magic, spells, rhythmic spell singing.

Gau – a Germanic county, administrative area.

Gernot – Hraban's weak-willed brother.

Gothoni – old Germanic tribe from the Baltic Sea.

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

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

Guthbert – Batavi rider of Maroboodus, brother of Leuthard.

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

Harmod the Old – champion of Hulderic.

Helm – warrior of Leuthard

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

Hraban – the Raven, the Oath Breaker, son of Maroboodus.

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.

Ingrid – slave of Balderich, serves Teutorigos

Iodocus – Celt, servant of Hulderic

Issa – Alpsman, servant of Tiberius

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, former lord of the Brethren

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

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

Marcus Lollius Paulinus – governor of Gaul, responsible for losing an eagle to the Sigambri

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.

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

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.

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

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

Raganthar – leader of the Brethren, brother of Ear, cousin of Leuthard

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

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

Seisyll – Mediomactri lord and relative of Teutorigos

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.

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.

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

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

Tencteri – Germanic tribe from the Lippe River.

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.

Tiberius Claudius Nero – brother of Drusus, stepson of Augustus, and a fine general who recovered the Aquila lost by Lollius

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.

Visurgis River – Weser River.

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.

Wyrd – fate in Germanic mythology.

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

“One sword from a Goth lord,

To kill a Roman bore.

Another from a beast,

To enslave the god of feast.

Three fates shall entwine,

Tears will fall on a grave of pine.”

BOOK 1: THE HANGED MAN

“Yes, we’ll come and fetch the sword. We’ll not burn you out, but eat you raw.”

Raganthar to Adalwulf

CHAPTER 1

NEAR HARD HILL  (CAPITAL OF THE MARCOMANNI, B.C. 16)

Thief.

The stabbing shame was back.

It’s impossible to escape it, I thought. I chased it away, but it returned like dog to its vomit. I tried to drown it with a smile, but it turned the smile sour. I pressed the sides of my head with both hands, and rapped my skull, trying to squeeze and beat the bothersome, stabbing knowledge of my crime out, but the brief pain didn’t help at all. I reasoned with the shame, hoping it might dissipate like a cloud on a hot day, but the irksome thought remained there, shaming and mocking my efforts.

And so, I let it win.

A thief. A damned, thieving bastard. That’s what you are, I thought, and let go of my skull before anyone saw and thought me mad, and I sulked instead.

Not even the distance helped. While I rode far from my home that bright summer day, long miles and miles from the hills of my homeland, I would not escape the humbling thought of my crime. Awake or dreaming, the thieving crime was there, always there. I had escaped my homelands, hoping for new winds. While I loved the new sights, the odd lands I passed, embraced the possibility of a fresh start so far from the lands of the Chatti and Mattium, I felt the same. Occasionally, the shame grasped my heart, squeezed it brutally. I had never imagined shame might be so strong it could physically hurt one.

“Gods, let the distance heal me,” I whispered, but only the insufferably happy birds answered, their high, excited calls glorifying the summer as they flew low across a barley field. The crime took place in the lands of the Chatti. That oppidum, a mighty hill fort was far, it was true.

But not so the object of the crime.

The reason for my hardship was between my legs. Nay, there was no woman involved.

The horse.

I had stolen a horse, and rode it. I had my thighs wrapped around my shame, I thought. I chuckled at the irony, felt my belly rumble from hunger, and contemplated on eating Snake-Bite, the horse, not for the first time since I entered the lands of the Marcomanni. Would that erase the crime?

No.

The horse had little real worth, I kept telling myself. It was old, though a great beast of ancient bloodline, but I loved it because of what it was. It was an anchor, like the heavy stones men throw to the river, tied to the boat to keep it still in the currents. I would not part with it.

It had belonged to my father.

Yet, fathers die, no matter the age of their sons and daughters. He was gone one morning of winter, dead of snot and cough, and then everything he had owned belonged to my uncle, Germain.

No, do not think I hated Germain. I did not. Nor did I hate his wife, or my cousin, with whom I grew up. He was Ansgar, near my age. How could I hate a man who found me hugging my dead father, assured me I would be fine, that life would go on, and I’d meet father in the halls of the gods, one day? How could I hate the man for showing me how to be a man, how to hunt, how to fight? Wasn’t he the lord who gave me a shield and a spear before all his warriors?

And yet, I’m a thief.

Like any orphan living under someone else’s rich roof, there were moments I hated Ansgar. He always had that special position, the attention, and the smile from a proud father. I knew Ansgar would have more opportunities, and successes I would not be able to mimic, because he would be rich, and Germain was a famous warlord. And while Father had been rich enough, I knew it would not be easy to regain his former lands from Germain. Uncle had grown richer and mightier with the fields, woods, and halls of Father. With those riches, he had gained fame, and such fame was not easily halved, if one meant to pay his men in cows and recognition. Life was not fair, and that was all there was to it. I knew it, somewhere in the back of my mind.

I stroked the horse, and it whinnied, as if in agreement.

Death robs us of happiness. Woden kick Father in the balls for dying.

I frowned, and swatted at some stubborn flies, as if to chase away the guilt. Germain had treated me well, while not as a son, but well enough. Perhaps I was a selfish, stupid bastard, as well as a thief. If my extended family now had a feud against me, which they surely did, then I had deserved it.

“Thief,” the voice whispered to me, and I noticed I had uttered it aloud as Snake-Bite’s ears shot up.

Feuds would come back to haunt me. Men would hunt me. That was the other nagging thought which had bothered me down the lengths of the wooded hills of the Chatti lands, even after I left Mattium’s fortified top, the great oppidum’s gates. A thief, and a failure, I added in my head, should be hunted down. Uncle would hate me for my ill deed, for my disobedience, for shaming him. Why shouldn’t he, despite the low worth of the horse?

Pride would force him to find me.

He would send men, and forget the blood, because he would not let men see him as a weakling. That would mean some of those men would challenge him, steal from him, and threaten him and Ansgar.

I stroked the beast again, and it shuddered appreciatively under the touch, and seemed to nod its head as it navigated some large ferns. I stopped it to look around. I gazed at the sky, where perfectly white clouds travelled like peaceful thoughts, and I wished I were a hawk, so I could find the great river I was seeking. I was committed, I decided. It was too late to undo the deed, even if I had nearly turned back so many times, especially when I was still riding across our own land, the land of the Chatti.

I had still occasionally considered returning after I had left the lands of the last lord, exited the furthest of the border gaus, and arrived at the banks of the River we called Silver Scales, and the Romans called River Moenus. I had travelled the north bank of the river, headed west for the great River Rhenus as the Romans named it, hailing the Quadi Suebi tribes living on the northern shore, brave men who squatted in the middle of our hostile Chatti tribes, the savage horse-warriors of the Matticati of the northern hills, and the eastern menace of the mighty, merciless Hermanduri, and I visited their halls as a guest.

They asked few question, cared little for the reasons of a lonely Chatti riding their lands, shared food and shelter willingly, and stoically planned their raids, cattle rustling expeditions—some against my people—and dispensed justice while I looked on. A Quadi, a lord of a gau called Tallo, had spoken with me, and boasted how many horses he had stolen from my people. We had toasted each other, and he had made me feel better about my thievery. It was a matter of livelihood in Germania, to steal. He had seen my turmoil, smiling wistfully, and gave me useless advice.

He had clapped my back like a father. “Speak it all aloud. I stole my brother’s flock once, because he had hidden some of the herd from our raid for himself. I felt guilt, being young, so I kept reciting it to the birds, and that helped, boy!” he had said. “Forgot all about it in a few days. You do that as you travel. We all steal. How would we eat otherwise? I have a cow in my stable that has changed hands at least a dozen times, and some bastard will probably steal it this summer.”

I had liked Tallo and the Quadi.

I had tried his advice. I kicked the horse, and it moved off and tried it again, despite it having been unsuccessful previously, and spoke with as much confidence as I could muster. “Why shouldn’t I have left? And taken the horse? Was it not a matter of my livelihood? Hadn’t Germain taken his entire household for himself when Father died ten years ago? He had. Yea, he had raised me as his own, and I had loved him and his son, Ansgar, well enough. All true! But that wasn’t enough, having a roof over one’s head! A dog has that.”

I sat on the horse, and brooded, stroking it gently.

What happened that last day had been too much.

Germain gave me a shield and a spear, made a man of me during the Drimilchi, not two months past, and I had had hopes I’d be accepted, revered, and elevated, allowed to share what had been Father’s, but that day, the hammer had struck, and it had been a heavy blow. I remember the terrible betrayal, and would forever. It felt like voiding yourself of all hope, and feeling utterly empty with nothing left to wish for in the world.

I had seen Ansgar, my cousin, come out of the hall, and he had stopped, looking troubled, his thick beard swinging as he shook his head and avoided my eyes, and he had walked away. That day I had asked him to ask his father when he would let me serve in his warband of a hundred Chatti. It was only natural to think he would, but for some reason, he had not suggested it.

By the look on Ansgar’s face, Germain would not have me in his warband at all. He naturally took Ansgar in, but not me.

I dodged some branches as Snake-Bite navigated a dry patch of grass, and smiled wistfully. While the day was warm, the memory was chilling, bitter as winter, or perhaps just like life. No god ever designed our journey to be an easy one, but full of piss and shit. Only those who resolutely tread in such a morass can one day look back and smile.

I hadn’t smiled when I had stalked to the hall to confront Germain. I had paid no heed to the people there, as I squinted my eyes and coughed, as the ever-present smoke invaded my lungs. It drew attention to me, and I had seen Germain’s wrinkled brow wrinkle even more, as he guessed what was coming. I doggedly tried Tallo’s advice, and spoke aloud on the horse, trying to catch my mood that day. “Am I not as worthy as he?” I had asked him. “Ansgar,” I had added needlessly, because he was not a fool.

He had sat on his seat, a bit drunk on his bitter, ash-colored ale, already greatly bothered by the many petitions from his servants, and his oaths-men. He had stroked his beard in a way I recognized as annoyed and short-tempered. I took his voice, and the horse raised its ears in shock, because I was not a half bad mimic.

“If you are asking me whether or not I think you can fight like he does, then, yes, I do think so. Neither has been tested, mind you, Adalwulf, not once in a shieldwall, but I think you’ll do very well. Your young beard is a man’s beard. Your speech is confident. You are strong and sturdy, and brave, no doubt, since we are related. You did well while we trained all these years, and Old Hand said you’d make a very good warrior.” He seemed to bite on a rock as he went on, his voice tight with determination to press out his words. “And I don’t need Old Hand to tell me this. I know you are stronger than Ansgar, and there is something about you that makes me think you will perform great deeds during your lifetime.”

“Then why?” I had demanded. The horse chortled, and I wondered if the answer would have been obvious to Snake-Bite, even if I had had no clue.

He spoke plainly. “I asked a vitka. He looked at you, and said there is a cloud of storm hovering around you. It’s a stench of a god breath. It lingers on your skin like the stink of death, like a promise of violence. I see my boy, and he is just like the rest of us, but when I, and many others, see you, we see shadows and dust, and rage and that makes you queer. I can’t put my finger on it, neither could the vitka, really, but I think you’ll be a rare warrior, your life will be glorious. No matter how short.” He had looked troubled, and people had sensed it and moved away.

His words put me back. I had stood there, shuffling my feet. Stench of death? Was that an insult? Or did it make me more valuable? I had decided to find out. “And why, lord uncle, do you not let me serve under your standard? I would do you proud. You hint, but do not give an answer,” I had asked. “I saw Ansgar, and he didn’t look at me. It was no god’s breath that made him look away, but shame and sorrow. You said “no,” when he asked you for me.”

And he, reluctantly, had answered. My voice no longer sounded like his, because I was enraged, but still I mimicked him. “A warband, Adalwulf, is a tight knot of brotherhood. I decide what we do, as dictated by Oldaric, of course, or his family, and they respect me enough to obey me. They object little, and they do so because I feed them, take care of their families, praise them, and make them famed men who hear their names sung in the halls of their fathers, but the men are one, and learn to love those who are ablest. And one day, I will be gone, and who shall they turn to?”

And that was the reason.

I was more able, more promising than Ansgar.

Had he not asked a vitka about it? The vitka had warned him. It was his warband, his to do with as he wanted, and when he died, he didn’t want to see his brother’s son take it over, no matter if he had grown richer by his brother’s estate.

“I see,” I had said, seething inside. He had seen I understood and hated the reason, and he had waved his hand weakly, half sorry, half determined to air it all, as I had called the bear out of its hole.

“There are thousands of men in Mattium, Adalwulf. Dozens of warlords, ring-givers, and I’m sure you will find one that pleases you. I can help you find one, indeed,” he had said, bothered. “You could be happier there.”

“I’ve lived with you and your men for—“

“With my men, indeed,” he had interrupted and scratched a dog, and I had felt insulted by the fact the mutt received attention and favor, when I was being robbed of all of it. “I’ll not have you lead them,” he said plainly.

A sprit had whispered to my ear, and it was called Malice. “And if I choose Sigimar?” I had asked him, unwisely.

That old lord was a deadly Chatti rival, and Germain and he had more feuds between them than Donor had with the Jotuns. Blood had been spilled for decades in the woods and hills, and while the Thing often settled such disputes between rivals, and Oldaric’s rulings carried a lot of weight and the spells of the vitka determined rights and wrongs, Germain would hate his rival forever. He had lost a flock of cows to the lord, once, years past, and I should have known better than to twist his tail in such a manner.

“Then,” he had eventually said thinly, and even the dogs in the hall slunk away, knowing well the tone of their master’s voice, “you will regret it. Find a lord, boy. Even him, if you will, but expect no quarter for our shared blood if one day you meet us in battle. Your father, my brother, will weep in Asgaard, but this is how it will be. You are grown up, and know what’s what, well enough, no? You choose, choose wisely, and I might one day forgive you.”

I had stood there, swallowing my anger, and did, finally. I had been left empty, shivering, and lost. I had reached out with a sudden, final thought. “And will you give me the horse and land my father held before? Even some of it? I could start with that.”

He had snorted and wiped his brow. He had considered it, but Germain was also a greedy man, and Father’s hall had been set amidst rich, fertile woods and fields. He spoke harshly, “And what would that teach you, Adalwulf? To start rich? No, you father would have wanted you to find your own way, to build a life that was your own. Expect nothing but toil and work. And the horse, Adalwulf, Snake-Bite? It stays with your cousin, because why should I make you so mighty, if you think about joining my enemy?”

And that was all there was to it. I shut my mouth as I rode, wondering if the Quadi’s advice about speaking all of that aloud would ever really help me accept the righteousness of my actions, because all it did was to make me confused.

I had stalked out of the hall, and had sat by a small steam all that evening. When the anger still hadn’t abated, I had gone up the hill, waited until the men were feasting, and took the horse for a ride.

And I was still riding.

A thief. I should not feel sorry.

But I was sorry.

Gods cursed man with conscience, and they had none for themselves.

No, I’d not turn back. I’d carry the shame, and suffer it.

I let the horse move again, towards what I thought was west. I couldn’t be sure. I had never been that far from home. I had passed the Quadi lands, watching the northern hills of the Matticati with trepidation. Even if the tribe was a shoot-off of the Chatti, they were friends to few Germani, and often raided the lands of the Quadi and the lands I rode, where untamed men made a living. One night, I had seen burning hall far ahead, heard whoops of the Matticati. The next morning, I crossed the river to south, swimming by the horse, braving some strong current, and came to the lands of the Marcomanni, a Suebi tribe and allies of the Quadi, but far more powerful.

It took days, but I was sure I had nearly reached the river that kept Gauls and Germani apart, and also kept the Roman power at check, the Rhenus River. I was on my way to the banks of that river, where the Marcomanni lived, and for the northern gau that was ruled from a hill, the Hard Hill, the former home of the legendary Aristovistus, the hero once defeated by the famed Roman, Caesar God. There men with no homes often found one, with the Bordermen. I spat away my remorse, and hoped to find peace ahead, but it would not come easily.

The Marcomanni were rich, it was evident. I rode across fine, ripening fields, all swaying with rough barley, and saw many villages in the distance. Amidst woods and lakes, there were pastures full of cows, and some wheat fields. My horse whinnied and warned me of a possible danger, and I held my framea—a thin-tipped short spear ideal for melee and throwing both—steadily, turning to look around, and spotted a homestead I had missed.

Bearded men on horses herded some small cows lazily across a stream near it. I guided my horse expertly around some boulders, keeping distance to the Marcomanni guarding their flocks of cows. I cursed myself for a fool, and stuck the spear under my thigh and balanced the shield before me as I started to twist my hair into a knot. Most Suebi wore such a thing, often braided carefully, some decorated richly, and the more elaborate the knot, the higher the man. The Marcomanni would see my hair, long and wild, and uncut at forehead. The Chatti often cut it only after killing their first man. They would know I was not a Suebi, not from their lands, but a stranger. As I was tall and blonde, with wide shoulders and piercing blue eyes, they’d remember me. If the Chatti sent men to find me, I didn’t want to seem too conspicuous.

I managed to twist a loose knot in place, and saw some of the Marcomanni had guided their horses near a stream, staring at me. I grabbed my shield and the spear and hailed the men, who now held spears tightly. I knew I would have to be careful. The men were tense, and didn’t hail me back. Perhaps they had been raided recently. Cow theft was one of the ways to make a man rich in the lands of the Germani, and horse theft was probably as lucrative for a thief. I was no threat to the men, and they knew it. I might be a scout for the neighbors of these men, or even one for a large scale war party aiming to wreck terrible havoc in the land.

The men finally pulled their horses away and whistled for their dogs, which I only now noticed running ahead and behind me. While my hair was now twisted with the unfamiliar Suebi knot, I’d not easily fit in. The Chatti were not Suebi. Our gods were mostly the same, though spirits, ancestors, and many of our stories were our own. Their habits and speech were subtly different. Where Chatti lived amongst the mountains, stretching to the north where the Cherusci and the Sigambri lived in the flatter lands, the Marcomanni were living near savage enemies at the edge of the Black Forest. Here, the Marcomanni, the Bordermen, ruled with an iron fist, the only Suebi nations to live here, so far in the east, the scions of great Aristovistus. They lived in the junction of the rivers Rhenus and Moenus, and across the river, the Germani Vangiones, ruled by Rome, lived amidst Roman legionnaires, Mediomactri and Treveri Gauls.

I might not fit in, but as a stranger, I would be in a large company. Many men like me trekked there, they said, for the land of the opportunities, where war lords sought men to raid rich Gaul lands. And not only across the river, the Marcomanni warred in the Matticati hills, and raided far southern lands, where few lords ruled. The Black Forest ringed the land, the rich pastures littered it, and I stared hungrily at earthy halls, where smoke rose to the heights of the skies. My nose picked up scents of gruel, and I also made out the scent of some sort of wheat bread, lentils, and even roasted meat. Worst of all, I could smell the beguiling aroma of sweet mead. I was starving, having not eaten well since the Quadi lands, and cursed my crumbling belly.

I stopped feeling sorry for myself, and straightened in the saddle. Even Snake-Bite’s ears perked up, as if it had sense my excitement.

Because far in the distance, a hill could be seen.

It was hazy, partly wooded, and streams of smoke surged lazily from many points. Brown smudges around it hinted at halls and villages, and it was clear there was a major settlement in sight.

I stopped the horse by a small stream, where it bent its neck to drink, and noticed a man riding near. He stopped to look at me, and I nodded at him. “Hard Hill?” I asked as the Marcomanni guided his mount closer, two ugly hounds jogging next to his horse, and both eyed me with curiosity, their tails wagging.

He nodded, and I bowed to him in greeting, and he stopped to admire my horse, smacking his lips. Then he turned to look at me, and despite my disheveled condition, he nodded at me respectfully. “Now there is a man with a dangerous glint in his eyes, eh? Come to find work? You will.” The man, a Marcomanni of advanced years, cocked his head at me. “May Frigg smile on you, and, yes, that is Hard Hill.”

“And you, old man,” I answered. “I’ve ridden a long time to find it”

He nodded, and inspected the braid in my hair. “I’ve seen better braids and knots, and yes, most of you restless men try to make one. I saw you were talking to your horse as well. You sane in the head? Just making sure.” He smiled at me disarmingly.

“I … was having an argument with myself,” I said sheepishly. “I’ve been riding alone for a while. I’m not dangerous, at least, I don’t think so.”

“Not dangerous? Good, good. Where do you hail from? Not nearby, unless you are riding in circles, talking to yourself?”

I shrugged. I waved my hand over to the north, then east. “Lands not that far, but far enough.”

“You are a Chatti,” he chortled. “You smell like a Chatti.”

I stiffened with indignation. “And what does a Chatti smell like?”

He roared with laughter, and his dogs started yapping excitedly. “Pride and blood.”

Mollified, I spoke to him with a grin. Pride and blood, indeed. He had an easy manner, and I had missed speaking to men who treated you with respect. Snake-Bite was a very silent companion. “I’m from Mattium,’ I told him, and he nodded in thanks for my openness.

“Herold of Highwater,” he answered, and waved his hand behind him, where Highwater apparently was nestled in the woods. “You really came to the right place, boy. Our lords are fully aware the savage reputation of the Chatti. Many are often granted access to a lord’s warband.”

“I’m seeking such a man.’

“And men seek you,” he stared at me and stroked his beard. “But what kind of warlord, I wonder. You look young,’ the Marcomanni noted. ‘Have you fought in a shieldwall yet?”

“I’ve—“ I said, and then swallowed. I shook my head, and the old man roared with friendly laughter and slapped my knee to reassure me.

“Your hair is uncut. Don’t the Chatti cut it when they kill a man? Your forehead should be clear if you are a killer, no?” he asked mirthfully.

“Well—“ I said, brushing the offending hair aside.

He smiled and waved down my discomfort. “Have not. Never mind, young lord. Perhaps one of the lesser Marcomanni lords will have you, if you are not quite ready for the tall ones yet. They are most all there for the feast and the Thing of Balderich. It’s the time of the year they all travel to the Hill.”

“Who are they? Whom should I approach? You say some coming man?”

The man shook his head to calm me down, and I slumped in my saddle as the man pondered the answer. I remembered the great Things of the Chatti, where all the free men would gather at the end of the feast months to hail the gods, celebrate the harvests, and to give oaths and settle feuds with wergilds, or spear. In Mattium, the grand oppidum, much like the settlements many Celts lived in, the hill-fort of the eastern mountains, it was also the time when men sought service. Few found a lord, if they had not served in war or raid before. A fameless man would be competing with others like him, and many lied about their deeds. Most, in fact.

Mayhap being a thief is enough, and I’ll not shame myself more, I thought, as I had not been able to lie to the man about my ability and past. It was possible I just needed practice. A day more of hunger would do it, perhaps?

The old Marcomanni smiled at me, and shooed his dogs away. He fished a bit of meat from his saddle and handed it to me. I took it gratefully, despite the astonished looks of the departing dogs. He spoke on. “You should think about it, young man. Take your time. Stay. Or perhaps you should go home.”

“You know nothing of my home,” I told him stiffly. “I’d rather not think about that option. It’s not an option, in fact.”

He rubbed his neck, embarrassed. “Home is where people miss you, eh? No matter what you’ve done.”

I pushed the remorse away. They wouldn’t miss me there, not after I shamed them. “Are there, or are there not, lords here I might serve one day?” I pressed on, chewing the meat ponderously.

He shrugged. “As I said, you will find some lesser lord. A captain who leads men for the warlords. But there is no reason why you shouldn’t go for the higher men first. Try! There are the southern lords in the Thing, Isfried the Glum. Melheim, his brother, and one more brother I’ve never seen. Drinks too much, they say. Burlein! Now I remember. In the south, their family holds sway, and their gau is prosperous enough. And perhaps far from the Chatti as well, if that is what you desire, since you seem to think none will miss you in Mattium?”

“Far is good,” I agreed, wondering at his shrewd mind.

He went on after a wry smile. “A fugitive, eh?”

I shrugged. “Possibly.”

“You don’t look too dangerous,” he chortled. “Not a murdering scum like many. Perhaps a thief, possibly a horse one?”

“I—“ I said chokingly

He sighed. “I don’t care, boy. You’ll fit in. This is the hub of the Marcomannic power, and I hope you succeed here. I sense you will settle for nothing less than being the first spear of the Balderich.”

“Would he have me?”

He looked astonished. “How would I know? Do I look like a seer?”

“You speak quite wisely, my friend,” I said suspiciously. He might have been a former vitka, and had sight. “You guess my mind very well. And my past.”

He winked. “But I cheat.”

“How do you—”

He waved me down and went on. “As for Balderich, grandson of Aristovistus, who is the ruler in these parts, well, he is the great man, but he is old, and rarely goes to war.”

“But he has high lords who—“ I said and nearly choked, chewing and swallowing desperately on the last bite of the meat, cursing and blessing the food both. I managed to swallow, and he found I was thirsty as my horse. The man smirked and handed me mead in a gourd, which I tried to drink down with dignity, but could not resist closing my eyes out of a sheer pleasure for the sweet, honey blessed liquid even the gods loved.

“Thirsty bastard, aren’t you? I’ll drink water with my horse, I guess. No, have it all, really. As for Balderich, he has warlords, dozen or more, in the northern gau. Many raid the Matticati, but there is one who is closest to Balderich’s heart. He is not a Marcomanni, but comes from the north. It is a Goth lord who serves him, called Bero. He is a gaunt, twisted man, keen enough with traders, and I suppose he has a lot of worth when it come to governing the land, but not so much in the business of war. He has done well to keep Rome and the Marcomanni off each other’s throats these past five years, at least so not too many men have died, and no major wars have been waged for that time. Yes, of course we fight with the Romans occasionally, when we must, but mostly raid their dependents only. And lately, there have been very few raids at all. Peace it is. Bero won’t need you.”

“But Bero has chiefs who need spears?” I asked, disappointed the Marcomanni were in a relative peace. “I’d love to hear about the men who might actually give me a position.”

“He has many,” he said with a chortle. “Fulch the Red. He is a warsome one. He’s been here for a long time. Eight others like him, mostly older lords. They command some thousand spears all together on the hill. But one is above the others. And that is the great warrior, Leuthard. Another far from here. A Batavi, I think. Tall, wide as the hill itself, deadly, not like a man at all. A living murder, he is.” He shook his head before I could ask. “And I think there is a long line of men who kneel before Leuthard’s bloody seat. Illustrious men, not as starved and thirsty as you are, Chatti.”

I shrugged. “The south gau it is then. What of Isfried? He has a long line of men ready to kneel before him?”

“Their family,” the man said with a frown, “from Grinrock, days to the south, rarely hire outside their family, to be honest. I am sorry I mentioned them. They are an inbred lot, my friend. But perhaps they will. You will have to ask. Ask them all.”

I was nodding. It was always thus, I thought, that doors were closed long before you get to them. Few found a hall of a famous warrior he could serve until later age, and I would have to crawl in shit before I found my place. “You give me no names worth remembering, and little hope. But I’m grateful for the food and drink.”

He was scratching his chin, smiling. “Very well. A name then, and some hope. If you will look for service, Chatti, after you visit Hard Hill, then I think you should ask for Bero’s brother.”

“Oh?” I asked him suspiciously. ”Is he famous?”

He laughed. “It might be a problem for you, boy. He guards the East. He lives near the Moenus River, near our Quadi allies, and is actually one of the lords who keep the Chatti in line,” he said with twinkling eyes, “and he also holds the Matticati of the horse tribes in check. They don’t get along, mind you, him and Bero, and so he is a rare visitor in the Hard Hill,’ the man nodded sagely towards the far away hill. “He is there now, well guarded by his friends and allies, and he might serve as a lord. He is a fine man, I think.”

“Does he have wealth?” I asked resentfully. East. No.

“He does, but his villages are few, his thirst for power less,” the Marcomanni said as he clucked his tongue to some of his men. “Worried you might be a thief. And that you will skewer me.”

I nodded gratefully, and shifted my framea far from the man. ‘I thank you for the food, the god-like drink, and the sound advice. So many men would turn away, but you rode to me, and gave me more than most.’

He turned his horse away. “Hulderic the Goth. Remember the name, Adalwulf.”

I thanked him, and began to ride away. Then I stopped and turned the horse, bewildered. “How did you know my name?” I yelled after him.

The old man turned in his saddle. “I told you I cheated, didn’t I? I’m so tempted to tell you it is galdr singing after midnight that gave me a vision of you, or that a dozen naked vaettir, spirits both pretty and willing took me to bed and spoke of you in the heat of the passion, but no, I get none of that. I’m not that special. Someone was looking for you, and told me a lot about you. Told me, and many others no doubt, to look out for you. To help you reach the Hill. Wanted you this very day, even. I did help, and perhaps I did well to do so?”

I felt claws of fear along my back. “Was it another Chatti? How many?”

He laughed. “No! A woman. Go and talk with her. She is most beautiful. I think you will like her. I liked her, but I like all the girls, even if they avoid me.”

“Talk with her?” I asked, confused. “What—”

He stopped and looked at me. “In Hard Hill. She’s there, no doubt. Or go home. Do as you will.” He laughed and rode away, and I sat there, stroking the horse, looking around the swaying fields, and frowned. There was a strange wind in the air, a bit chilly for a summer, and it smelled salty, perhaps like a sea would smell like. Goths came from the northern seas, I thought morosely, and decided to ride to find the Goths in the Hard Hill. And the mystery woman.

Go home?

No home for thieves. It was Hard Hill or no place.

But someone knew of me in the Hard Hill. Maybe they knew also I was a thief. I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet the girl.

CHAPTER 2

It was early afternoon when I arrived at the great hill. Chatti villages tend to sprawl, and I suppose the Marcomanni did as well, but such oppidum, hill-dwellings, were more close affairs. Hard Hill was much like Mattium, except there were no walls or gates, only the hill. There were dozens of wealthy villages scattered around the land, and rutty roads led to them from the wide hill. It all looked strangely welcoming.

I glimpsed the gleaming, silvery Rhenus River, the ancient river and border between the Celts and the Germani, though everyone mingled, traded, and married across it. As I had seen from afar, the hill was full of tall trees. There were pine and fir woods on and around the hill, and old halls of many colors dotted it. There were many ancient Marcomanni families that settled there after Aristovistus was driven from Gaul, and the oldest and most ancient lines had built their homes around the top.

I grunted with envy as I spied rich herds of cows and horses, corralled and well guarded, and wondered at the several war parties riding slowly for patrol or raid, shields on their back, holding tall spears and wearing the odd piece of armor, mostly leather, but usually wearing only tunic. Men were proud of their beards, and unlike the Chatti, didn’t cut their foreheads bare after killing a man.

“I’ll fit right in,” I whispered to the horse, which whinnied with surprise, as a wild trio of children raved past, as I began to navigate up the hill.

It was not only the children who were happy that evening.

The whole hill was festive, with many men riding lazily around, walking with their neighbors and women. Many such women walked the paths wearing fabulous fibulae on each shoulder to keep their brown and white tunics up, their arms bared, and most gossiped incessantly. Many of the younger women turned to look at me, smiling and giggling at a young fool who was blushing, unaccustomed to the attention, since the Chatti had a calmer way of life, and while the women were worshipped and admired everywhere, they acted less brazenly in Mattium.

I sat on my horse, looking up the sprawling hill, past markets filled with produce and animals, and wondered where to begin. I squinted to the very top of the hill, and saw a large, red-hued building there, and guessed that would be where Balderich lived.

“Bero, Isfried, Leuthard, Fulch, Hulderic,” I breathed, memorizing their names, and wondered about the girl who apparently knew mine. “How, how, in Donor’s heavy hammer’s name would she know my name or anything about me?” I spoke aloud the question that had haunted me for the past hours. And the horse quite predictably didn’t answer, and I decided I needed some other company than Snake-Bite. I had to stop speaking with myself.

Surely Germain would not send a woman after me? No, impossible. If he tried to kill or capture me, to regain Snake-Bite, he’s send men, armed and well-travelled, and that would probably be the end of me.

Perhaps the woman was a priestess? How else could she know my name? Such völva might know a man’s name, if the spirits whispered to them.

I snorted. Perhaps I thought too highly of myself.

There had been many vitka and völva, the holy ones, galdr and seidr singers aplenty with the Chatti. Their law-speaking, their deep, dark powers and connections to the vaettir, the spirits and knowledge of the future and the past and of the gods unsettled any man. Their power over even the war-kings and nobles was rarely challenged. Yes, such men and women died like any, sometimes in war, often by a fool, drunken warrior not afraid to challenge them, but few dared.

I shrugged. I would find out soon enough, if she were even to be found. I’d be ready, nonetheless. I clutched the spear, and gained some confidence from it.

I guided my horse past a thick-timbered hall.

A troop of Marcomanni was riding hard from the top, their shields banging on their thighs. They were a merry, wild lot, and led by a scarred man with leather armor, his hair billowing behind.

A girl ran from the hall, barefoot, perhaps three years old.

She was pretty as an apple, her smile wide. She turned to look at me, then the riders. The bastards had not seen her, it was clear. She froze in terror.

“Heyaah!” I screamed instinctively, and Snake-Bite burst into speed. I dropped my spear, cursed, as I knew it would be close. I heard a man shriek in the hall but I was there, and I bent to grasp her as Snake-Bite galloped, his ears back with worry.

“Out of the way, vagrant!” yelled the leader of the party. I found a firm grip on the girl’s tunica, and yanked her to me. Snake-Bite surged out of the way, and I felt a spear shaft strike my back, and wild laughter as the bastard rode past. The girl was crying, clutching me, and then she wiggled free as she jumped down and ran to a strong jawed man, who was cursing the riders profusely. He turned to look at me as I stared at my destroyed spear forlornly. The shaft was in three parts, and I dismounted and picked it up, cursing my luck.

“You’ll take mine,” the man said with grateful emotion thrumming in his voice. “I have two, and you’ll take the better one. For her life, I owe you many. I’m Danr, a hunter.”

I turned to look at him. He was a large man, with powerful shoulders and a dangerous glint in his eyes. I nodded at him. “I’ll take the lesser one. I have no mouths to feed, save the horse’s.”

He chuckled, stared at his little girl with utter adoration, and turned to hand the girl over to a rotund woman, old slave, no doubt. He walked to me, clasped my forearm, and gave me a hug, and I felt him shivering for the fright. “Those men will pay, if I see them again. I know them well. Think they own the hill.”

“Do they?” I asked him as he let go of me.

He chuckled. “Sort of. The leader is Helm, a minor lord of Leuthard. They do own the hill by their high position, but they can’t take it with them to the afterworld. I won’t forget. And as I said, I owe you many lives. Come.” He led me around his hall, and there a beautiful woman walked to him, whispering angrily, gesturing for the hall, where the girl was speaking excitedly with the slave. He whispered back, and I saw she had to calm herself visibly, her fists clutched. After hugging her husband, she turned to me, and nodded, her face grave as that of most noble goddesses. “She is Gertrude,” Danr explained as the woman took my hand.

“I thank you. Danr will repay you. Anything you ask,” she said. “Come.”

They fed me. I ate well, simple vegetables, some mead, and Snake-Bite had very good hay. I drank his ale, and enjoyed their company. We sat in Sunna’s waning light around a bench, and Danr, a famed hunter, brought me his spear, a well-crafted framea with a thick point, removed the one in my broken spear, and gave it to me.

In the end, their son rushed up, a sturdy fellow fresh out of a fight with some local rival, and he joined us, stole some of my ale, and they sat down to throw dice, though I declined to join them. “I must leave. But I thank you for your hospitability.” Gertrude was laughing gaily in the sweetly warm evening as the boy raged after a narrow loss. “Where might I find Balderich, or lord Bero?” I asked.

The man looked up the hill, tilted his head at the hall on top. “Balderich sits there. An old man, though. Not sure if you will find anything up there, if you are looking for service.”

Gertrude pointed a finger over the hill. “As for Bero, the twisted lord is probably at the harbor.”

“Twisted?”

She nodded. “Stands strangely. To his side. He’ll be counting Roman coin and attending to his trade, but his hall is a tall, gray one overlooking the harbor. His son, Catualda, might be there, harassing their slaves, the girls, you see?”

I frowned at that.

Danr smiled wryly. “Yes, he is a bastard. But Bero rules well, and none can prove his son is worthless. Come, come, stranger, do not be such a sour block of frowns. You seek employment? Bero might take you, but you must talk to one of the Ten.”

“Ten?” I asked, nodding thankfully. “I assume you do not mean his fingers or toes, but men, like Leuthard? I was told there are many like him.”

The boy chuckled and cheated, as his parents were looking at me. He turned the dice very deftly, and waited for his father to turn back to the game. He gave me a small, secretive leer, which I tried to ignore, so as not to give him away. The woman nodded for the west, while slapping the boy’s hand gently, having noticed anyway. “The harbor. And if you need a place to stay, you are welcome in our hall. If you need anything, come and ask.” She nodded towards the big man who was now staring the dice, frowning. “Danr knows the lands here, and across the water. But go and find Bero, and talk with his chiefs. Leuthard, possibly. A bald, big man.”

“I’ve heard of Leuthard,” I said carefully. "A shield breaker.”

“He comes from the north as well, a Batavi?” Danr said, as he held a hand on top of the dice, which made the boy roll his eyes.

“I’ll win anyways, Father,” he said, and Danr pulled his ear playfully.

“Speak to him, if you will,” Gertrude said with a smile, and I bowed to them, happy to have met such a generous family. I pulled the reluctant Snake-Bite from the last hay stalks and turned him to the west. We rode away up the hill towards the general direction of the river, where I expected to find the harbor. The horse was neighing softly as he sensed the mares in nearby stables. The ways between the halls were plagued by more of the barefooted children, running excitedly after each other, girls and boys mixing harmoniously, though many girls were helping their mothers with chores.

It’s much like Mattium, I thought. People were happy, sad when they must, but it was not a miserable country, with hopeless people. I had ridden through the Quadi lands, and there, despite the hospitable and brave tribesmen, the embattled frontiers were full of burned halls where Hermanduri raided every summer, and you could read such hardships in the faces of the women and children especially. War in your own lands made you hard, unable to enjoy life, knowing you might find the wrong end of a spear in your belly any day. Or in the belly of your loved ones.

Not so there, in Hard Hill. Not at all, even if the Roman enemy lived just across the water.

It was a curious state of affairs.

The Marcomanni were enemies to the Celts and the Romans, but apparently, Bero had found some middle way, which was neither a full-blown war, nor peace. Roman navis lusoria and trade vessels travelled the river below, and Vangiones, the sworn enemies of the Marcomanni, grew in power under their king, Vago, across the rivers. And yet everyone thrived.

Vago. We had heard of the rogue Germani king. That king had many sons, they said, powerful sons, and even more on the way. He planned to find himself more land, Oldaric had told the warriors of Mattium during the last Yule feast. It was easy to guess where such land was to be had, if Rome agreed. But, so far, peace. I guessed a man could admire Bero for that, if he still offered his warriors some wealth torn from the Gauls. But Herold had said even those kinds of raids were few.

I guided the horse past some cellars, which would be mostly empty after winter and waiting to be filled during the fall, when a sheet of yellow flowers filled the land, the last to blossom. The horse neighed happily, and struggled to take a bite of some blue and white wild flowers, and I let him, as we reached the point where the hill ran downwards.

I was looking across the trees and halls to squint at the harbor that was now in sight. It was something I hadn’t seen before. There were huge buildings, crudely built, some obviously only warehouses, others made for business, pillared and strange to Germani, and there was a well-made planked pier. Many ships could moor in to Hard Hill. Sturdy pine planks thrummed under industrious feet, as slaves, boatmen, and locals carried trade goods back and forth. Their calls echoed from below, and carried far over the water.

And the old man, Herold, suggested I’d serve Hulderic? Somewhere so different from this place, I thought, and smiled, though I checked the scornful smile, trying to keep a cool, level head. I might not have a choice on the matter.

After the flowers had succumbed to the horse’s gluttony, I guided the beast down towards the harbor, dismounted, and stopped by a hall, or what was likely a blacksmith, judging by the thick smoke sprouting from the holes in its roof, and gazed anxiously at the bustle of the harbor area. I brushed my tunic, cursed the unkempt, smelly garment, which had suffered days and days in the saddle, sleeping in the dust, and felt grime on my skin. Not only was a thief, but also looked like one.

I took some tentative steps for the harbor, trying to see any sign of the great lords of the village. A powerful looking man carried a bale of hay past me, apparently about to feed a horse in the back of the smithy, and I hailed him. “I’m looking for Bero, the warchief of the Marcomanni.”

“I’m looking for some peace and quiet,” the man growled. ‘Running the blacksmith is a bastard’s job. I’d kick the man who told me to take over this place, if he wasn’t so rich.”

I chuckled. “Surely it cannot be that bad.”

“No, I guess not,” he laughed, tottering with his load. “Perhaps it’s my lot in life. I am a bastard, all right,” he winked. “Never knew my parents. Gods like to kick my balls,” he said with a crooked smile. “They poke them with a stick, hoping to see they are healed, and then the kick comes again. Call me Bellows. They all do. I shout too much, they claim. Bad hearing, you see. You get that when you hammer iron all day.”

“Adalwulf,” I said, and cursed myself softly for voicing my name. If the Chatti looked for me, there was no need to sing it aloud at every junction of Hard Hill. Might as well just sit down on the road, and wait for a spear in the back.

“Adalwulf, eh? Looking for a lord, no?” he said shrewdly, and I didn’t like the sudden twitch on his face. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you.” He was about to speak more, but then he cursed and threw down the hay, but shut his mouth. I thought there was something clever in the way he smiled. Finally, he pointed a finger for the harbor. “That would be your man.”

I turned to look at a cluster of men where a tall, older man in a fine, white tunic stood. He was lithe and dark, and stood strangely twisted to one side, as if one of his legs was too short. He had a black a hair, with a hint of gray on the hairline, a drooping moustache, and a long, forked beard entwined with silver. Silver and gold rings glittered in his fingers, and his shoes had a furry lining, expensive but extravagant in the summer heat.

“Foppish fool, but he has really changed things for Hard Hill. Plenty of trade, though I think some of that ends up lining his hidden hoard, no? And Balderich doesn’t mind.”

“What lord wouldn’t mind their underlings becoming too rich?” I wondered aloud.

Bellows chuckled. “You might be right. Not sure what Balderich can do about it, though. He always seems to give Bero there the attention the fool craves, and Balderich just smiles regally, and gratefully, when Bero gives him his due on trade and raids. Who knows what the old man thinks? He’s been a Thiuda for a long time. Probably knows how to shit his pants and not give it away.”

I was barely listening. I had begun to hope for a place in Bero’s circle of warriors. Might radiated from the man; it was clear from his relaxed pose, and the general ease which he conducted his business. Everyone leaned on his every word. I would be untouchable with him, I thought. No Chatti could threaten me. I’d grow rich. Not so with this Hulderic, surely, especially if they were enemies. “He must be the next coming man for the tribe, when Balderich dies. Or, are there sons with Balderich?” I asked, feeling self-conscious as the fine throng of high Marcomanni warriors were milling around the great lord. I felt filthy, and my throat was parched with fear.

“You sound like you are hoping to marry Bero. He is married, boy,” he chuckled and waved away my protests. “He is the coming man and isn’t,” the man said uneasily. “He already rules for Balderich. Is that not high enough? Will he take over one day? I know not. He doesn’t have the blood of Aristovistus. He is a strange one. A Goth, from the north? Lord Balderich has no sons, but two daughters. One is married to Isfried’s kin, some weak fool from the south, and that means the southern gau might find power, if Gunhild will ever give a son. That will mean something, and trouble for Bero’s ambitions. If he has any beyond getting rich.”

“The other daughter?” I asked him.

He nodded, looking at me shrewdly. “Strange deal that. Something that leads me to think Balderich is not totally mad and indifferent. She, Sigilind, has sons with one of Bero’s worst enemies, with Bero’s brother Hulderic’s exiled son Maroboodus, the man who killed Maino, Bero’s son.”

Bero was Hulderic’s brother, I though. And they have feuds.

Bellows elbowed my leg, standing there next to me as I sat on the horse. “That‘s what they all say, of course, there was no proof, but come now. It happened. Everyone knows Hulderic left Gothonia as an exile, and Bero followed him like a whipped dog. So there must be something there, no? Wars, murders in the north, and they continue here. The Goths are terrible enemies to each other. But the only sons in Balderich’s family are sheltered with Hulderic, far from the Hill.”

“Truly?” I wondered.

“Yes,” he answered. “Bero rules here, but Hulderic guards the future of the tribe. Strange balance. Perhaps as Balderich hoped? Though it seems likely to me it ends up in a feud that splits the tribe.” He spat on the mud, and gave my horse a long look. “I can feed it. Can you pay?”

“It ate. Too much, I think.”

“It will need to eat again,” he chuckled, and clapped Snake-Bite’s thick side. The horse gave a whinny that could only be described agreeable.

“I can work," I said with shame. “I have no hall, no livestock. I’m looking for work, in fact.”

“We take the Roman coin here,” he said, without hope. “Bronze, silver, though not—“

“I have nothing like that. Yet,” I said apologetically.

He was rubbing his scraggly beard and finally nodded. “Adalwulf, eh?” He made it sound like the name might pay for the care of Snake-Bite. “Pay me when you can. Its only hay, bits of crude nourishment our god Freyr grows for the animals, and who am I to deny the high lord’s bounty to this fine one, eh? I’ll give him—the horse, not the god—a place in my stables, and feed. You look like an honest sort.” He ran his gaze over my disheveled form. “Though a bit ruffled. You stink worse than the poor thing, and the horse hasn’t been washed in ages, has it?” His eyes turned to Bero, critically. “So you will ask to serve one of them? I’ll get paid that way, eh?” He nodded for the group of high warriors, now conversing with a strange, well-groomed man dressed in a red tunic. Roman? Gaul, possibly?

“Serve one?” I asked after a while. “I hope to,” I told him, though the prospects of success didn’t look too great. The man was right. I smelled like a horse. Worse, even.

“You should try.” He thumped his fist on my thigh, and appraised me with a critical eye. “Solid shoulders. You have strong limbs. Lie, lord, and perhaps you will find your place, eh?” His eyes went into slits, and I thought he looked like a horse-merchant out to sell someone a lame nag for a full price. “Talk to the jotun. He’s in there, in that hall they use as barrack for the harbor, though his own hall is up the hill near Bero’s. He’s here, though. Look. Coming out.”

Jotun. The giant. My eyes picked him up quickly enough as he exited a dark-wooden hall. Well-armed Marcomanni with square shields and gray tunics followed him. He was a giant indeed, a bald, dangerous looking man. His face was lean, his jaws wide and tight, and eyes deep in the skull, glinting under a heavy, scarred brow. I had never seen one as wild, and when he reached Bero, the other men, many of them champions like him, took a step away from him, which he seemed to regard as a normal reaction, as if he was a pack leader of an old, grizzled band of wolves. And wolf he was, because he stood under a standard of skull and wolf tails. They ruffled in a gentle wind that reached out over the glittering river. “Northern wind,” I whispered, and the man with me agreed.

“Northern,” he agreed, and that was a saying even in the lands of the Chatti that there was trouble brewing. “He is trouble, but only to his enemies. I know you are seeking such deployment, and Leuthard’s warband sees much action, but be careful of him, boy. If he asked you to kiss his ass, I’d definitely pucker my lips, if I were you.”

I shrugged, not able to enjoy his humor. There was an air of exclusivity in the band of Marcomanni lords and their men, that was true, but something whispered of danger, and while I tried to push away the uneasy feeling, it was hard. Leuthard stood before a dozen ring- and chainmail clad men with thick spears and iron reinforced cudgels, axes, and even a sword for a few. All the shields bore animal marks, mostly wolves. Near him, there was another man, a red-bearded man of great height, who was listening to Bero intently. “That is—“

“Fulch, the Red,” the man said softly. “Another of Bero’s warlords. One of the ten high Marcomanni gods of war. All bow to them.” He made a derisive, simpering dance, and then glanced towards the band of Marcomanni to make sure Leuthard hadn’t seen his mockery.

“Fulch the Red, eh?” I said, and wondered if I should ask him instead.

“Ask him later, perhaps,” the man insisted, reading my mind. “Leuthard first. But wait until Leuthard is isolated from the other lords, because if he says “no,” it’s going to be embarrassing and awkward to go to the others. It’s like a child begging for a honeycomb, when he already has been denied one.”

“Of course,” I hissed, exasperated. “I’m not an idiot.”

Bellows went on. “It would be like farting while a woman pulls your arm to go for a walk in the woods with you. Not impressive.”

“Now that I see him,” I said, “I’m not sure I wish to approach him. He seems like a lord of fame, but perhaps not a …”

“Good man,” the man agreed with a chuckle. “None of them are. Ask him, and judge him for yourself. A man should never be judged if you haven’t even met his eyes and exchanged words. You might find him different from his reputation.”

I shuddered and looked at the huge man, who was wiping a hand across his bald, thick head and neck, and brushing his thick, brown beard as he listened to Bero negotiate some deal with the Gaul. Perhaps he was selling prisoners to be sold as slaves over the river. I doubted Leuthard had many faces, but Bellows pushed me. “Under that scowl he manages a hundred men, and all of them are wealthy. Few leave him, many die for him.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I allowed. His men did look wealthy.

“I am. Wait a bit, and go to the champion. If you ask him kindly, and he likes you and thinks you are worth more than shit on his shoe, you’ll do well. Follow him to the hall, wait at the doorway until he is unoccupied, try to be unseen so nobody throws you out, and then, close the deal. You can, you know.”

“Oh, very well,” I said, and squared my shoulders. “I’ll try it, then.” And as I had committed myself, I felt some of the doubt drift away. I turned to look at the man. “Have you seen this girl …”

He chuckled and waved his hand around. There were plenty of girls around. “You came here to find kisses or glory?” he asked me.

“I guess both,” I allowed. “Well, wish me luck.”

‘Good luck, my lord,’ he said with a wide-mouthed smile, the sort you see when a trader has cheated you. “Come back and tell me everything. Go in but stay out of sight until he is free from any other business.”

I nodded and dismounted, left the horse with him and walked for a small ditch that separated the harbor from the town, crossed over a small bridge, one that was sturdy enough to carry a cavalcade of men, and walked over it, and braced myself as the group around Bero, all of the men walked away, dispersing. Fulch the Red marched for the pier, Bero and the Celts went with them, and dust flew as they stomped away. For a moment I was tempted to smell my armpit, wondering if I had such an adverse effect on them to drive them to the four winds. I lost sight of Leuthard. The hall, he’d be there.

I rushed forward, but was blocked by a group of slaves pulling at some spooked horses, and one nearly bit me. The backs of the powerful Marcomanni warriors disappeared, but then I saw Leuthard’s wolf-tail standard by the hall he had exited from and shadows disappearing inside it, and knew he had gone back inside. I hesitated, and saw how lord Bero climbed on a horse and rode away, separating from Fulch the Red. Should I rush after that lord instead?

I cursed, trying to force myself to make a decision, finally, and I did. I turned like man carved of wood and went after Leuthard. I’d enter with all the confidence I could muster. I’d wait until he is free. I’d hold his baleful eye, kneel before him, and smile wickedly, as I proclaim my worth, hoping to serve him. Perhaps he will see through the grime, the young age, the obvious nervousness, for yes, I was nervous.

I reached the hall, hopped up the creaky stairs, and glanced inside like a naughty child might, hoping to steal mead. There was a silence in the small room, with rows of benches and some doors to the sides, where I finally sensed a drone of voices. One voice was Leuthard’s, I was sure, because it was deep, merciless, guttural, the sort of a voice that compels men to tighten up in a shieldwall, and fight on.

But there was another voice.

It was also guttural, demanding, deep, but there was a maniacal pitch in it, as if the man was unaccustomed to speaking with civilized men. There was something unkind about the voice, wild as the forest, inevitable as death. One would imagine hearing such a voice in some ancestral grove of trees, where a mad, undead thing, a draugr, might live. I stopped to listen, but the voices faded, and so I sneaked forward to the darkness, and knew I should probably stay out, wait for the lord in the light of Sunna. I crept inside, made my way to the door, and waited, trying to ignore the words drifting from the hall.

I couldn’t help myself.

I tried to be careful, saw there were shingles lighting the next room, though it was full of shadows, and so I risked it. I looked inside, very quickly, and stiffened with fear.

There was a band of warriors inside. There were dozens. Silent as trees, still as stones, like dangerous statues.

They were a coarse lot, their beards long. They all had gnarled hands, bronzed skins, as men who lived in the woods and under the stars. They all wore cloaks of fur, all had spear and other weapons. They stared at Leuthard respectfully, the giant who was standing in the middle of the room, and a red-headed man of equal stature, with hugely thick hair and beard, with a wide brow faced him. That man held a shield, an unusually wide, black shield, and a crude sword on his hip, and wore a ring mail of darkened metal.

Leuthard was speaking, and there was clear tension between the two. “I don’t care shit’s worth what you will do with the thing. Bero wants it gone. It’s a thorn in his flesh, has always been, and so you make sure it will never come back to Hard Hill. You’ll do it this very night.”

“A nervous master, this Bero,“ the red-head said gravelly, “Not worth the service of the Brethren. Why you serve such the man, is beyond me.”

“I’m not of the Brethren anymore,” Leuthard rumbled. “I left them with you. I’ve got bigger plans than mercenary work, living in squalor, and—“

“And yet, you need men who live in squalor, run under the moon, and don’t spit on their god,” the odd warrior said critically. “You need us, as much as you disdain our company. I just don’t like your lord, no matter how many times I’ve done his bidding before.”

Leuthard took a deep breath. He deliberately placed a finger on the chest of the man, and pushed the ring-mailed man so hard he had to take a step back. “Don’t push your luck, Raganthar. I led you, I can take that leash back. You remember who made you. I was there before the lot of you, and what you are, or think you are, is for me to take away, if I wish.”

Raganthar’s eyes glittered in the semi-dark, and I was sure he would slam the huge, wide shield in Leuthard’s face. He fought the urge, he struggled, and finally nodded swiftly. “We will do it as agreed. But I warn you now. We have more plans for this thing than just simply hiding it or throwing it to the river. We’ll get paid by someone else if we use it for something.”

Leuthard spat on the ground. “You can saw it in your ass-crack for all I care. I told you. Gods might care what you plan to do with it, but I don’t. Make sure it doesn’t come back to Marcomanni lands.”

Raganthar was not done with the subject. “It won’t. But it might stir trouble for the Marcomanni. There is someone who sees value for it. It’s as famous a weapon as your Feud Settler,” Raganthar said, and pointed his thick finger at Leuthard’s hip, where a dark-hilted, hugely long sword hung.

The Feud Settler? A famous, fine sword, it sounds, I thought, and hoped to have such as it one day. And were they speaking about another weapon like it? Whatever they were planning, I should not be there, I realized, but could not tear myself away from the doorway.

Leuthard clapped a hand on the hilt. “Feud Settler is as old as it is. Ancient. Our family sword,” Leuthard said lovingly, as he ran a finger over the pommel. “It was given to me, so stop drooling after it, Raganthar. I’ll make this more famous in time. Bero pays you, if you do what we agreed. If you get paid by someone else for something else, I care not,” Leuthard said. “Any trouble it will stir, I can deal with.”

“I wonder,” Raganthar chuckled. “We are done then.”

Leuthard shook his head and snapped the fingers. “Not quite. Bero wants the distraction, as I told you already. If he appears before the evening, make sure the boy is there. Inside the hall. Leave him there, dead. I’ll make sure everyone knows where he hails from, as my lord Bero asked. It will cover the tracks.”

Who were they talking about? I thought, and felt cold breeze in the room. I turned to look around, but saw shadows, and none of them moved.

“She will make sure he will be there, if he even appears,” Raganthar growled. “I’m no slave or a boy to run such simple errands. We will go there this night, and he had better be there if you want to distract them. The weapon is the most important matter, and you can tell Bero to grow his balls into man-sized danglies. Distraction! Bah. Your Bero will get his most heartfelt wish, no matter if the waters are muddied or not.”

“You’ll tell your girl to do it well, then,” Leuthard insisted. “If it is possible.”

Silence. I could feel Raganthar pushing back another savage retort. “I’ll speak with her,” he said at length. “If I see her before. She said it might be too late now.”

“Good, whatever. Just try,” Leuthard muttered. “So that is how it shall be,” he said, and then the two grasped forearms, though reluctantly. “If something changes, I know where to find you.”

Raganthar shook his head. “No, we won’t be there. As I said, the weapon has a use. We will be out for a week. But we will leave our old man in the Den. He knows about it, if the need is dire.”

Leuthard stepped back, his hand on the sword. “Leave Ear there,” he said, and it sounded like an order. “In case I need him. Tell him where you are. He is unpredictable anyway.”

‘Ear?” Raganthar laughed. “My young brother is always a bit of a problem, isn’t he? He loved you best, always did, and I don’t trust him. He’ll be there, in the Den. I dare not, and care not, take him. Can’t take the brute with us anyway. Would spook everyone. Just one more question. What if that lord is in the hall? Shall we slay him then, as well?”

Leuthard smiled. “Trust us. The lord shall be away. They shall be elsewhere, and they won’t bring their weapons, the sword, or any other. The hall will be empty this night, save for the guards and the boy, if you find him. Will there be … more questions, friend?”

They would kill men, I thought, and cursed I had heard anything at all.

‘There won’t be any more questions,’ said Raganthar darkly. “None.”

“I have one,” Leuthard asked, and I saw his grip on Feud Settler tighten. “Where did you take the poor fool who was asking all the questions two days past? The one we captured?”

“The visitor?” Raganthar asked timidly, and looked embarrassed. “You gave him to us after he left Balderich’s hall. You gave him to us.”

“I did, “ Leuthard said with a growl and nodded quickly. "I should have known better. But there was a Gaul merchant here, speaking with Bero just now, and he told a story of a man being ripped open in the woods. He had seen it from his ship. He said he saw men chasing another, and then, like a pack of animals, they tore him apart. You killed him here, in Hard Hill? So near my home?”

Raganthar snorted. “We did. It was the night for it. You know it. Full and bright, and a sacrifice was needed. It makes us stronger before battle, like it used to make you. By Hati’s hairy balls, you don’t have to get so damned upset. I am no fool, and a Gaulish merchant means nothing—less than shit under your shoe—and so we shall do the deed today, and be careful. We shall, as we have given you an oath. We’d not risk that or our pay. What else do you want?”

“I do want the sword taken away,” Leuthard growled. “I want it, because Bero wants it. It’s a sword that should be his, like the ring, but that is lost with Maroboodus. We will find that golden treasure one day. But if you make a mess of this by slaying the wrong Marcomanni before this work is done in your damned bloodlust, then we have a problem. Don’t make mistakes again. You should have killed him later, far from here, and screw your sacrifices. The god would have understood if there were none. Careful this night, then get the Hel out of here. That’s all you need to know, you turd snuffling hound.’

“Yes, Leuthard,” Raganthar said bitterly. “But I’m a lord as well, and have been since you left. I’m the Black Shield, and Hati’s Claws, and you should remember that. And I tell you, if this brother of Bero’s will be there nonetheless, I’ll not spare him.”

What were they planning? A hall-burning? Theft, certainly. Bero’s brother?

Hulderic?

They were after Hulderic’s sword, a weapon of fame.

“Bark,” Leuthard said.

“Bark?” Raganthar growled. “You mock me? I’ll bite rather than bark, cousin.”

“Bark is the vitka of the town,” Leuthard said with a threatening voice that left no doubt he didn’t fear Raganthar. “They will sit down for the last Thing tomorrow, south and north gau and all the chiefs, and will ride to the Flowery Meadows this night for a ritual. Bero paid Bark well, and so Bark had a miraculous sight. This night, it is forbidden for any men to bring weapons to the Meadows. Not one. They must be left behind, everyone has to be there, and so all the warlords and their men will come with their shields alone. If Bark says god Donor will have no weapons there, then they will come without.”

“Fine,” Raganthar said. “Fools to listen to a corrupt vitka of a weak god, but I guess it will be fine.”

I was nodding in panic. They were almost done with their business, and while they were plotting against each other, against a man I had heard great things about, perhaps Bero and this Hulderic were no different from each other. They plotted theft. Murder, perhaps. Was it important? No, I thought. It was all normal, it was as things were, and so hearing all this evil changed nothing, I insisted in my head. Still, I felt uneasy about stepping out, asking to join their ranks. Leuthard might say yes, knowing I had heard their plans, or they might kill me. Raganthar had killed someone, hadn’t he? Leuthard said so. They had killed someone badly, which upset Leuthard. They were plotting to take someone to Hulderic's hall while they steal the sword?

I’d not go to Leuthard, I decided.

They would not hesitate to kill me, if my service was declined. I’d have to ask the great man later. I’d sleep on it, and find them the next day, when it was all over, their planned mischief. After a small break to gather myself, I’d know what to do, and I needed time to think, to sleep. I’d go to the hall of Danr, or the blacksmith’s, where a bed awaited me, a nice meal, likely, and think deep on my choices.

I turned to exit the room.

A mass of dark rose before me.

Instinctively, I slapped at it, but it was a feeble move, born of fear, and I hit nothing. It was a man-sized shadow, smelled of sweat, and I thought I saw a fur cape, but then, suddenly, it seemed much taller, and I realized it had charged me. It moved like fog in the wind across morning swamp, silent and ethereal. The man, if it was one, struck me across the face so hard I saw darkness even in the dark room, and everything slowed down. I rolled in the dust and broke a bench or two. I heard yells nearby, feet stomping floor, and remembered the casual murder Raganthar had mentioned, and saw myself being ripped apart in some green field where none would witness it.

I rolled, dodged a stomping foot where my face had been and rolled again, and then vaulted forward and out of the hall. I did it with great energy, fell down the stairs, and struck my face on a stone. I tried to get up, but my legs decided against it, and I fell again, this time bumping into a thin man with a scar, who fell besides me, cursing. I felt like a wounded hare, being stalked by a pack of ravenous bears, and inspired by that, I pretended to be unconscious.

Men gathered around, and squinting, I saw, to my relief, they were not men from the hall, but guards, craftsmen, and slaves, and some foreign merchants. It would not save me, I knew, because should Leuthard demand it, they would give me over to him with a smile and probably gifts. I felt him there, coming, heard the weight of his steps bending the floorboards. I also distantly heard the whispering of many men, including Raganthar.

I didn’t move. I prayed, even when a girl pulled my face up to her, and she smiled gently. She was beautiful as the stars, with pursed lips and intelligent eyes. There was a hint of sorrow in them, as well, as if she had suffered terribly lately. “He is badly hurt,’ she proclaimed, and I frowned in my show of senselessness.

Was I? My head hurt terribly, and I felt sick.

“Let’s carry him away,” she said. I saw there were soldiers around her, Marcomanni, and I knew Leuthard was not happy. I could feel it, his malice reaching out, and that of Raganthar as well, as they looked on from the hall. There were men you needed not see to feel their hatred, and Leuthard was one of those men.

She smiled at me, as I opened my eyes fully. “I am Gisil.”

“Thank you, Gisil,” I said. “Look—‘

“Shh,” she said, and looked over me to where the enemy was, and I realized it was likely so. They would be my enemy now. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered.

“You?” I asked, bewildered. “They said there was a woman—“

“They didn’t lie,” she smiled and helped carry me, as someone grabbed my arm. “Come, let’s take him inside.”

I turned to look at the man who had been carrying hay, Bellows. He looked down at me sheepishly, holding on to my spear and shield with one hand. “Sorry. I guess it was a bad idea.”

“You—“

Gisil beat me to it. “You damned, rat-bitten dog,” she hissed like an irate cat. “I told you, if you see him, get him to safety. Keep him safe. How is sending him to meet Leuthard safe? It’s like showing a mouse in a cat’s mouth and hoping the beast’s not hungry.”

“I’m sorry,” he rumbled. “I serve Hulderic. Not you. I wanted to know more of their plans for my lord’s benefit. There were those queer men inside, and I figured this one would go and hear things. He’d tell me because I feed his horse, right? Besides I don’t know why this Chatti is so important—“

“I serve Hulderic as well, and I dare say I serve him better. This one? He has a destiny,” she said tiredly. “We have to take care of him.”

“Don’t look like a destined one to me,” Bellows said mulishly. “More like minced liver.”

“He is destined for Woden’s work,” she said stubbornly. “He will help guard Hulderic in the future, you see. And you nearly got him killed.” They were dragging me, and people gave way. We reached the bridge, and I fought the urge to look behind.

“What are you talking about?” I asked groggily.

She patted my cheek. “You can stop pretending soon. I’ll take you to rest, and then you tell me what you heard in there, since you already took a spear for us.”

“I don’t have a spear in me—“

She put a finger on my lips and nodded towards Leuthard’s hall. “Shh. You are with allies. They hate me, you see, as I, too, like the idiot Bellows here, am friend to Hulderic the Goth. I’ll help you.”

‘Thank you, lady,’ I told her and she smiled. I admired her dark red hair, which was braided into a thick bun, and felt invigorated by her brown eyes burning under her lively eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. We shall need you. Didn’t I tell you this? Hulderic will need you, and so you will help us with some dangerous matters. You will have to help us against the lot you just eavesdropped on.”

“Donor’s hammer, but I don’t know if I—“

“You will,” she smiled. “You are brave.”

She was hard to deny, and I gave up. I looked behind me.

Across from the bridge stood Leuthard and Raganthar, and twelve men with furry cloaks, and I knew I was in trouble.

CHAPTER 3

Gisil sat next to me as I was taken to the living quarters of the blacksmith. I heard my horse whinnying in the next room, and looked at the woman working above me. Her fingers were strong, and she frowned when I yelped as she probed my skull, pressing it gently, and then forcefully. She gave an offended, exasperated sound when I winced again, and that forced me to man myself up. She went on as the touched the back of my skull, her leg on my lap.

Her face and breast were uncomfortably close to my cheek. Her proximity had an intoxicating effect on me, and I fought to think of something that would prevent me from getting too excited. Her reddish hair was spilling on my shoulder, the bun undone, as she took a close look at my skull. Bellows was standing and staring at us as if he was witnessing the upheaval of the whole hill, and liking it. I was sure he tried to open his mouth many times, as he was a man not used to being left speechless, but there he was, gawking lecherously, and then sucked in his breath as Gisil’s bosom pressed on my neck, which made me groan as well.

Her tunic had shifted, and I was sure her breast was bared and I nearly choked holding my breath, and so did Bellows. His eyes were shocked, and that confirmed her tunic had indeed suffered a malfunction. I could hardly blame him. Gisil was very unlike any Chatti girl I had seen, and seemed much less reserved about being close to a man than most married women to their husband.

“Hulderic,” I stated finally, to break off the silence and hide my glorious discomfort.

She pushed back, and I regretted saying anything, as I still felt her breast on my skin. She frowned at the look on my face, and my eyes shifted to look away from her perfectly pink nipple. She adjusted the fibula so she was covered again.

“Hulderic indeed,” she whispered as she turned my face to one side, then another. I sighed as she regarded me like a recent kill, a prized stag about to be eviscerated and the head taken as a special trophy. “I serve the people in his village, like my mother did, and I am a völva.”

Seidr mistress, I thought, cursing myself for flinching. She was a mistress of Freya’s red magic indeed, a woman of seducing power, even if she was young, and while they often wore white tunics and carried staffs and wands, this one was much like a high-born noblewoman. Seidr was like galdr, song magic, which the vitka practiced, but with a darker side, a woman’s magical callousness attached to it. It was dangerous, and the woman hovering over me was certainly seductive. “I—”

“Ask away,” she grinned. “I’m not putting a spell on you. Your safe with me.”

I nodded gratefully. “Can you explain what is going on?” I asked as respectfully as I could, but winced like a girl as she again pressed my temples with her fingers. It hurt like Hel’s fires roaring inside my skull. She kept probing, and at that, I growled, and grasped her hands and held them. I cursed myself for a moment, but then steeled my voice. “I’m fine. I’ll live.”

She shook her hands free, stood away, scowled at the blacksmith, and then back at me. “You are not fine, actually. You were hit savagely in that hall. You might have fractured the skull, or worse.”

“Surely the Woden’s chosen fighter for Hulderic survives a small incident like that,” Bellows chuckled. “He fell down some stairs!”

She pelted him with a small log and turned to me. “You have no blood coming out of your ears or mouth, so perhaps you are right, and you’ll heal. You really should be resting for some days, but I doubt you can, since we need you. And as for explanations, I guess you need to understand why I was looking for you.” She sat down, adjusting her dress, and I could not help but notice how shapely her hips were. I massaged my skull and cursed softly, trying to focus.

I spoke. “I was riding here, when a man hailed me and told me about Hulderic and Bero, and that I should find a lord from the Goth stock. He also said a woman was looking for me. I take it the woman is you?”

She was smiling nervously. “It was I. I had a sight.”

Sight. I trembled with fear. I didn’t want to be part of the games of the gods. “You had a sight. About me?” I asked her. “What kind of sight was it? Did it have a happy ending?”

At that, her façade of coolness broke. Her face turned ashen, and she looked away, the eyes full of bottomless sorrow. There was something else, like a mask of normality had fallen for a second and revealed … madness? Then she straightened her face and turned to me.

“I was dancing to the goddess’s tune two nights ago, in a shrine to the gods, not far. It’s called the Flowery Meadows—“

“They mentioned it,” I said.

“They did?” the blacksmith said, but Gisil raised her hand, and he went quiet, seething with impatience, wishing to question me.

“And while many vitka and völva see spirits, vaettir of the dark night woods, dead spirits, and things that never lived, I only see them when I drink certain boiled herbs.”

“When you are drunk, you mean?” the blacksmith stated more than asked, and then bit his lip so hard blood flowed, looking down.

“Something like that,” she said so coldly the hall felt like the icy ass of a jotun of Nifleheim had descended over it. “When I’m close to the gods, I see signs, shady answers to my questions and such. Seidr magic is not ordered and simple, but wild and uncertain. But the spirits know I serve a great, fine lord, and aid me sometimes.”

“Few völva have allegiances to a mere warlord,” I stated, but that was the Chatti way, and perhaps not the same there, with the Marcomanni.

“Few do. But Hulderic is special,” she said, and again looked like she was going to be sick. “I live in a village, days and days that way,” she said, and pointed a finger towards northeast, where Moenus ran for Rhenus, “and our lord is Hulderic the Goth indeed, a wily, strong lord who keeps the peace in the fringe of the gau. There, I found a good home. I lived in my mother’s hut, I had a husband, and lacked for nothing.” She hesitated, and couldn’t force out a word.

Husband, I cursed, but saw the look on her face and decided the sorrow in her was about him.

“Something terrible happened?” I coaxed her gently.

She nodded swiftly. “When I lost something dear, Hulderic made sure I survived.”

“What did you—” I began, but clamped my mouth shut, as she looked away, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I’ll not speak of that. I’m not married, suffice it to say. But with Hulderic, I have a good life, and I am grateful for the lord who gave me home and food when I had nothing left, and who cared for me enough to make sure I was not lonely.”

Her husband died. Mother as well?

She went on. “Such gratitude may have pleased the goddess, who gave me a vision, and didn’t foul the sight with lies, nor shades, but the sight was clear and loud. And I was not drunk when I received it.”

The blacksmith said nothing, but nodded his head empathetically as the beautiful creature that resembled a growing winter storm frowned at him. “Yes, mistress. Not drunk.”

She sighed so sorrowfully that I placed a hand on hers, and cringed in terror as I realized I had. But I kept it there, holding myself still, and she didn’t take it away, but actually thumbed my palm. “I can see how a goddess would grant you a warning, if you serve such a lord,” I said, and felt regret for approaching Leuthard at all. “I was looking for service, and didn’t want one near my homelands.”

She snickered. “A Chatti, yes. I see.” She winked. “And the much honored heroes live here in Hard Hill, and you dreamt of a shiny coat of Roman lorica hamata, a Roman sword, enough glory to drown in self-importance, and a fair wife who sets up a fine hall for you, preferably near the Red Hall?” she stated, and nodded up the hill. “You are vain, my young Chatti.”

I grunted with embarrassment. “Perhaps that is so, then. Perhaps it is. But it nearly got me killed, didn’t it?”

“It did,” she agreed gravely, and looked furiously at Bellows. “Though he no doubt poured honey in your ear, the bastard. He could sell fish bones to a starving man.”

“I said I’m sorry,” he rumbled. “But no, I didn’t pour honey in his ear. He was all ready, and chomping at the bit. I just pushed him. Come, let him tell us what they spoke of. That mercenary band is queer, to say the least.”

She leaned close to me, and I could picture her pouring honey in my ear indeed. “I think the goddess knew what she was doing, and so she guided your greedy Chatti feet to the right direction, and led you here. You survived, despite Bellows and his stupidity. She sent me there to save you. What I saw in my vision, my young friend, was a burning pyre, and the pyre was lit around the hall where Hulderic lives in our village. His grandsons were there, boys still, Gernot and Hraban. There will be a day when the Goth lord burns, I know this, but that day should be far from now. I felt the spirits whisper to me. They said the hall would burn soon, if I do not find Adalwulf. It will burn later, if I do. I found you. You can save Hulderic. There was a woman of fiery red hair,’ she said, and stroked her own with some badly hidden pride, “Freya, her spear held before me as I tried to approach the pyre, and she told me to hurry. I rode around, leaving word, and gods heard me. You are here.”

“I’m Adalwulf,’ I said softly. "That is I.”

“Good, he knows his name,” the blacksmith said softly and shrugged at me. “Head injuries. I didn’t mean you are an idiot by birth. I had a man serving me once who fell and split his skull on a bucket full of urine, and I swear he could never piss straight again.”

“Shut up, Bellows,” she told the man with exasperation. “Drunken grandmothers gossip less than you do! I think you have a duty to help Hulderic, though I am not sure how.” She cocked her head. “What did you hear in the hall?”

“Finally,” Bellows breathed.

“They intend to do a hall-burning,” I said softly. “Or at least a theft.”

“When?” she asked me sternly, and looked worried.

“Tonight,” I stated, while fighting a small part, stubborn I might still benefit from Bero’s sponsorship, but the beautiful woman before me made such selfish thoughts evaporate into fog, and I went on. “They will attack his hall this very night.”

“That makes no sense,” Bellows said in low tones.

“Who is he, after all?” I asked her, and nodded at the man.

“Bellows served Hulderic,” she said with a smile. ‘And still does. Hulderic has many eyes in the Hard Hill, Adalwulf, to spy on the harbor and Bero. I guess Bellows has to move back to Hulderic’s villages now. He built this place, not one year past, and now he has to let it go.” The man shrugged. It didn’t bother him at all, and she went on. “But as he said, this makes no sense. Hulderic is here for the great Thing, but the high lords will all be attending a sacrifice this night in the Flowery Meadows. There will be many men with him. It’s well known all the lords shall be there, not sitting in their halls.”

I snapped my fingers. “They are not after him. They want this thing. A sword?”

“The Head Taker?” she breathed. “It is a very famous weapon. Legendary, you might say. Old as time.”

“The Head Taker? They plan something evil with the blade, I think, and it will go ill for Hulderic. Or even the Marcomanni, though Leuthard didn’t care. There was more, something I didn’t understand. They killed some poor man days ago, and I think this Bero has even more plans for some other fool so as to distract Hulderic as to who stole the sword. They seek a man this very day. That’s what I heard, sort of—”

“Forget the men. What kind of plans they have for the sword?” Bellows asked brusquely. “Tell me!”

I scowled at his tone, but he didn’t relent, and kept scowling at me, and so I spoke. “There is that Raganthar, a mercenary of some band called the Brethren, and they will take the sword and use it for some purpose they didn’t mention. They said it might go ill for the Marcomanni. Where is Hulderic’s hall?”

“He doesn’t have a hall here, he stays with his friend Teutorigos the Celt,” Bellows said, “a Gaul lord who left the Mediomactri a decade ago. What—”

“His sword,” Gisil said softly, gazing at me strangely. “Nothing more? You know nothing else?”

“They said no names,” I said. “None. Except Raganthar. A queer man—”

“We have to go,“ she said, her face tight with worry. ”We must stop them. They are coming for the sword. They’ll frame some poor fool, and the sword will go and wreck havoc on all the Marcomanni. We have to hurry. Will you help us?” she asked me.

“Surely the lord has his sword with him?” Bellows asked.

“Not this night,” she said nervously. “They are not allowed to go armed.”

“That …Bark,” I said, stammering, hoping I got the name right, and I had since she was nodding. “They said he was paid to tell everyone to leave their weapons behind. He spun a lie that god Donor wants men unarmed in tonight’s ritual.”

“And Bark did indeed send that message to the lords this morning, Hulderic included,” she said breathlessly and pulled me up. “We must hurry.” Her eyes begged me.

I opened my mouth to question her. To commit or not? Was I already committed? My heart was, because she had a nice smile and her nipple had rested on my cheek, but Germain had always told me to be prudent in my alliances. Wyrd cannot be changed, once your orlog, your choices, are woven into the fabric the Norns master, he had said often. I opened my mouth to tell her I had no part in any of the issues of the Marcomanni, their Goth warlords, and nefarious mercenaries, and would need time to think. My head swum, there was an ache in my head, and the voice that came out was a croak.

Germain had given other advice as well.

Kill those who threaten you, because they will not stop before they have what they want.

Someone had nearly killed me. That was true. They would try again. I could fight for Hulderic, save the sword. I gazed at Gisil, and found her face honest. She thought highly of Hulderic. And Hulderic, no matter his rustic, far away dominion, would be a great lord, nonetheless. And his sword, a mighty weapon in itself, was well-worth saving. Was that not Goddess Freya’s wish?

And then, most of all, I wanted to help the girl.

“Let’s go, then,” I told her, and she smiled with relief. She slapped her hands together so hard the hall echoed, three times. There were men running nearby, my horse neighed, but she didn’t care as she waited for the echoing noise to end. We stared at her with anxiety, and finally, she smiled.

“It was for good luck, and no spell,” she said, and got up. She opened the door, looked around, and nodded at Bellows. “Saddle the horses.”

Bellows grunted with agreement. He had a shield and an ax, and he looked far more dangerous than he had previously. He dropped my weapons at my feet, and I went to prepare Snake-Bite.

CHAPTER 4

The hall of Teutorigos was not on the hill. Few visiting nobles stayed in the Hard Hill during the great Things. Hundreds of chiefs travelled there, and while many families welcomed the high lords in their halls, it was uncomfortable when you had to share such limited space. And in Hulderic’s case, he didn’t wish to stay near Bero at all.

Gisil shrugged, when I asked where we were going. “It’s a small valley, an hour away,” she told me, as she rode a horse expertly, her hair flying behind. “A fine hall of his friend, the Celt, who is a bit of an enigma. He serves Balderich faithfully, and has many relatives over the river, though he is not welcome there. Not sure why. Teutorigos and others like him are uniquely useful when we go to war with a tribe there.” She glanced my way with amusement. ‘You don’t see many Celts in Mattium, do you?’

“Some,” I lied, and I had not truly seen many. Mattium was too far, hidden by hills and small mountains, ringed by lush valleys, and guarded by spears at the end of River Moenus. “We had two slaves in the household, and they taught us the language. I can speak the language some. We see their handiwork, occasionally. Great swords, spears, even well-bred horses. And there are crumbling hill-forts they once occupied in our lands, all over it in fact, but few live there now. I’d love a weapon they craft.”

“You would,” she said reverently. “Teutorigos has a metal shield, and a chain mail, golden belt. And a most incredible warhammer. It’s long as your arm, and crafted by some skillful smith, ages ago. He is an old lord, but tough as a pine.”

“Is Celt a tough warrior, though?” the blacksmith grunted. “Seems they fell to Romans so fast some didn’t even notice there was war taking place. Hesitating and plodding, their warlords squabble, and enjoy luxury overmuch.”

Gisil ignored him. “Hulderic saved Teutorigos’s son once,’ she said. “Hulderic has great many friends, and none because he pays them for it.”

“But not enough to keep this Bero at bay,” I stated, and the blacksmith grunted with agreement.

“No, not enough,” he said. “He has great many enemies as well, and not all are Matticati, bandits, or your people, Chatti. He has them, partly because he refuses to pay for friends. Too honorable for his own good. Has very little real power on the hill, because he doesn’t give gifts to those who dislike Bero.”

Gisil rolled her eyes at me. “Bellows is full of shit. Ignore him. Bero has taken over the daily management of the gau. He is Balderich’s second hand man, and while Balderich wages occasional war and deals with his chiefs, Bero makes sure everyone eats well. The trade rolls in, and that has made him prosperous and invaluable.”

“He knows,” Bellows murmured. “He’s not blind!”

Gisil leaned closer to me. “He has high champions bowing down to the dirt for him, and Balderich, while the leader of all the Marcomanni by the blood of Aristovistus, is still the highest man, near a king,’ she whispered. She raised her eyebrows at the scandalous words, as kings are not easily tolerated east of Rhenus River, because all Germani loved their individual rights. Kings were a temporary, if necessary, evil during war. “Bero is near equal in power and influence to him. But Sigilind, the daughter of Balderich, is married to Maroboodus, Hulderic’s exiled son. Hulderic is therefore the guardian of the blood of Aristovistus. Gunhild, the second daughter, had not conceived a child with the southern noble. Hulderic is always worried about his grandsons, Hraban and Gernot.”

“He doesn’t need this now,” Bellows despaired. “Let’s just hurry.”

“What are they like?” I asked, starting to think service to Hulderic might amount to riches and fame after all. If the boys were the true heirs to Balderich’s power, then they would need warriors one day, should Bero be unwilling to bow his head. And, of course, he would be unwilling.

She laughed. “They are stubborn as nasty pigs, wily as foxes. Hraban is quite powerfully built, with the temper to match. A leader, perhaps, in the making, and Gernot?” She shook her head so hard her braid opened. ”He has smarts, even more smart-ass, and there is something unresolvable about his nature. Hates deeply, hates easily, keeps bad company, but I see he’s not totally a lost cause. Doesn’t like his brother Hraban much. Or at all, to be honest.”

“And Maroboodus?’ I asked her. “He is likely the next ruler of Hulderic’s lands, if not more—“

“He is not,” she said acidly. “He is an exile in Rome, or somewhere far from here, Adalwulf. We don’t know where he causes his mischief, but its not here, and he shouldn’t come back. He disobeyed his father when he was your age, risked the whole lot of them, in fact, and he killed Maino, son of Bero.”

“No proof,” the blacksmith said. “But he did.”

She shrugged. “There is no doubt about that in anyone’s mind. They acquitted him in the Thing, but not in Bero’s mind. The two hated each other, Maroboodus and Maino. They left the north, travelled here after many adventures, and here, Hulderic finally sent Maroboodus away. The man disappeared with the family treasure, Draupnir’s Spawn, a ring of old, ancient, a miracle of golden glory. They say it is Woden’s own gift to the first men. It is famed enough to summon an army amongst the northern Suebi. It has influence with the Semnones, Goths, and other old Suebi tribes.

“Maroboodus took it from Hulderic after his last visit home, when he sired Gernot, having already had Hraban, and begged Hulderic to topple Bero, to burn his hall, to slay their foe. Hulderic refused, gods know for how many times. They are an old family, but their past is full of bad blood and chaos.” She glanced at me. “This sword is part of their feud. As old as the ring, Bero carried it once, and their family has a history of kinslaying. He fears the blade. It makes sense he’d try to steal and send it away. He can’t wear it after pinching it, and he is too afraid of it to hide it for himself, so he wants it gone. He’s been plotting to be rid of it for a long time.”

“I see, and so I should not mention Maroboodus,” I stated.

“You can, if you wish to meet a sour warlord,” she laughed.

We rode over rich barley fields, took small tracks through two small hills with a village on each, and I admired the land. It was a wonder Rome had not taken the place yet, but then, the Germani didn’t easily part with land, and few Roman men travelled over the river and saw the true riches nestled in valleys and hillsides. The Romans mostly thought the Germani lived in smoky halls and ate grass in midst of spirit-haunted woods. The Celts had to endure all of the Roman malice, losing millions of people, some poets sing, and even traitorous Germani tribes have taken their bits and pieces of Gaul with the blessings of the Romans.

Then, when Sunna was being dragged beyond the horizon by the celestial horses, chased by the feral day-wolf, Sköll, we saw the hall of Teutorigos. It was a peaceful looking abode in the edge of a forest, and many rich fields and corralled horse-pastures could be seen.

“The stables are open,” Bellows said, and probably the lords had left, since the day was nearly gone. No guards could be seen.

The grand hall was guarded, though, surely, I thought, and then I saw it was indeed. Men got up from benches in the shadowy side of the hall as they saw us approaching, and some had colorful bracae pants in the Celtic style, others wore simple pants and tunics of the Germani. All were suddenly armed, their drinks and dice forgotten, and there were but seven of them. Gisil waved her hand as some of the men recognized her, and walked to see what the rush was all about. Some servants peeked out from an open doorway.

“Is there trouble?’ a balding warrior asked, his moustaches drooping, and stepped aside as the wild woman vaulted down from her horse. A younger man with wild, golden hair and a long scar on his face scowled behind the man. He had a belt with golden hoops, rich as a fat king’s.

“They here? Are they? Or did they leave?” she panted.

“No, no, and yes,” the balding man chuckled. “And the holy völva would do better than rush around, her legs bared.” Indeed, the men stared at the woman whose dress had left her shapely legs visible, and blushing she fixed her attire.

“Is the sword home?” she asked abrasively.

“Sword?” asked the golden-haired man with the scar. “Why? Do you wish to bring her news? She might refuse to see you.” he asked, half serious, but saw she was in no mood for being made fun of. “All the swords are home,” he affirmed. “There are no weapons with the chiefs, only the guards and they’ll not get to go near Flowery Meadows. You heard them in the morning. They sent instructions—”

“That is terrible,’ Gisil said, pushing past the men. “Damn. We have to protect it. Hide it. Maybe get it to him.”

“You need … it was the vitka, Bark, who decreed this “no weapons in tonight’s feast” at the Meadows,” the balding man said, puzzled. “They demanded all the mighty weapons be left at home. It’s unprecedented, but the vitka said men who carry malice and tools of death near the place shall be cursed by Donor, and if the god has send him a sight, who are you to take it to Hulderic? You must not touch it.“

“Donor is a bloody god,” Gisil said with a suffering voice, “a gentle father, a fine husband, but he does not care for men’s swords … Bark is taking coin from Bero. Where is the sword? Quick now.”

“Who is this man?’ the golden youth asked, stepping before me and squinting up. “Looks half starved, and perhaps a bit desperate.”

She pushed him aside. “This is Adalwulf. He’ll serve Hulderic one day, Cerunnos. Your father’s guest will have his service, so give him the courtesy of your respect,” Gisil said. I bowed in my saddle at the beautiful young man. Cerunnos was son of Teutorigos, who nodded back stiffly, and stepped aside. Gisil smiled gratefully, and pulled the balding man around. “Gunter. Where-is-the-sword”’ she said very softly. “Now, please.”

“Hulderic left it on his seat,” the man answered. “Look, what’s this all about? I’m getting worried, and when I get worried, I get belly aches. I don’t want to rush to the bushes like some wet eared pup. Please tell me what’s going on?”

She was tearing at the door. “Bero’s sending men to steal the blade. Or Leuthard is, and they are not Marcomanni. They are up to no good when they get here. They’ll take it, and they are planning for something evil with our lord’s sword.”

“Surely Bero knows we would guard it?” another man said.

The blacksmith spat, so far silent. “Yes, he would,” he said ominously. “He might not be able to kill his brother, but he means to kill us all,” he finished. Men began to cast long looks at the shadows around the hall, a man rushed inside, another around the hall to make sure nobody was sneaking up on us.

‘What, exactly, do you think they are sending here?’ Gunter asked, fondling his spear.

“Mercenaries. Dozens,” I told him grimly.

He muttered and yelled inside. “Get a slave here! Two! Someone who can ride like the wind!” he added to a younger warrior who popped his head out. Then he fixed an eye on me. “What do you want with us, anyway? Will you help? Why?”

Gisil sighed. “I had a sight—”

I patted her hand, and Cerunnos and Gunter both rolled their eyes as I spoke. “I heard them speaking. There was Leuthard chatting with some mercenaries,” I told them, carefully, since I felt lost in the woods. It was not an easy thing being the gods’ chosen champion, and I felt reluctant for Gisil to share that bit of news. Instead, I tried to sound helpful. “They are a savage looking lot. They tried to kill me in a dark room by the harbor, and so I’m here to help your lord.”

“Mighty gracious,” Gunter said. He nodded at me. “Guess we cannot spit on any offer of help, even by a vagabond.” He turned to receive two bewildered slaves, who were rushing like feral dogs were chasing them. “Get two horses. The fastest ones. Ride for the Flowery Meadows, and get Lord Hulderic and Teutorigos here, with all their oathsmen. Tell him there is trouble, and they shouldn’t dawdle around.”

The slaves were shaking their heads, older men both.

‘They don’t speak Germani?” Gunter despaired at Cerunnos, who shrugged.

The golden-belted youth pulled at his very long moustaches. “They are both stupid. Afraid and dumb as mules.”

“You go,” Gisil said, as she got ready to enter the hall. “Get your father. I think you should.”

Gunter shook his head. “We need him here for the defense. He’s damned good with a blade and spear. Damned good.”

Gisil tilted her head at Cerunnos. “You are also the best rider. Get him here.”

Cerunnos hesitated, but not for long. “Fine. I’ll go. I’ll take the two dolts with me.” Gunter spat in disgust.

“Go, then. Take the idiots with you,” Gunter shouted, and pulled the young man around. “And take care. Be fast. I don’t like this.”

“None can catch me when I mount a horse, unless it’s beautiful with nice hips and young,” he laughed, and ran inside to get his gear and to saddle a beast.

Sunna’s last light disappeared with a red flash, and shadows shot through the yard. There was something uncanny about the sudden darkness and the ominous silence, the deep shadows, as if we had all been pushed to the land of the damned. I felt the hair stand in my neck. “Shall we defend the hall?”

Gisil nodded, looking around. “We dare not leave. Hulderic is coming here, and we must be here as well.”

Gunter slapped his spear on the wall. “I’ll decide such matters, not a woman. I think we’ll be sorry to see Cerunnos gone.” She fixed him with a cold glare, and he raised his hands defensively. “But I agree. We’ll block the doorway,” Gunter said, and pointed a finger that way. We took the horses to the northern end of hall, where the stables were. We dodged as the young Cerunnos—wearing a sword—and the two terrified slaves rushed out with their beasts, and we left the horses there.

“Do not take the harness and the saddle off,” Gisil said darkly. “Block the doors, but leave the horses ready to ride. It’s uncomfortable for them, but must be done.”

The blacksmith and I grunted with agreement, left the horses in the stable, and entered the main hall from the stable end. We pulled the heavy, well-made doors closed as we entered the hall of Teutorigos, and lifted a bar in place. Then we did the same with the main door. While the doors were closed, I thought I saw something moving in the fields at the wood’s edge, but it could have been anything; a bear, fox, or a wolf, so fleet it was, but I felt cold and unreasonably afraid. We latched the door with a heavy bar. I saw the blacksmith‘s face was drawn and white. I was about to ask him if he had seen something as well, but he shook his head, and didn’t say a word, pulling me after him for the main hall.

It was much like Germani halls. It was long and wide, and smoke billowed in the rafters, where it slowly escaped from holes to the dark sky. A series of fire pits littered the floor, shingles burning in the corners, where a slave dutifully crouched next to them, ready to change the burning bits of tarred wood when they burned far enough and became dangerous.

Hay littered the floorboards, but Teutorigos had some finer ornaments; hunting weapons set on the walls and hung from thick ash pillars, gray and white drapes to separate parts of the hall into a more private sections. There were meticulously carved tables and stools with strange Celtic symbols of men with inhuman eyes and long faces, and animals, spirits likely, set in a long strings around the edges of the tables. There were many spinning wheels, which the great man’s daughters apparently used dutifully, as they were well cared for, but there were no women in the hall, as they had gone with their father. Gisil had no interest in such contraptions, but stepped up to a dais set in the middle of the hall. Two plain chairs sat empty, waiting for the master and his guest to return.

But they were not empty.

On one seat was a sword, ancient and long, what the Romans might call a spatha.

It was well oiled, sharp, and old as time, as if the blade was thinner in some places than others, but still a very beautiful, deadly weapon of much honor and fame. On its blade, countless of lives had ended. It whispered to me, I thought, in the dim light of the hall, the glinting edge beckoning for me, and I stepped near Gisil. The weapon had no words a man might know, of course, but for some reason, the blade made me frown. I felt reluctant to step any closer to it.

Gisil smiled crookedly. “I thought you might sense it’s not all metal and leather. It’s the steel, they say, that soaks up the men it kills, their blood and their past, and grows into a sentient thing over a long time. Warriors are forever saying it is possible, and while they are fools most of the time, perhaps it is true in some cases. It is not a kind thing, but cold. I think it loves winter, that blade, because it is as bitter. It has taken countless of lives in its time.”

“Truly,” I told her. “I’m a simple man, and know nothing, but that blade is odd.”

She snorted, and went serious as she removed a hair from my brow. “I said I thought you might see what I see. You are not a simple man. I didn’t see that before, but I did just now. You are like the blade. You are young, but with an old soul.”

“Old?” I asked her nervously. “What are you saying?”

She looked uncomfortable, guilty, sorrowful, and shrugged. “Touched by the gods. Some of your soul is woven from the ancient weaves. Perhaps you are mad.”

“You mean I’m crazy?” I said, and remembered what Germain had said about asking a vitka about me. God touched? “That is not very—”

She snorted. “No! I’m a völva, and I know when a man is touched by the gods, and it doesn’t always mean you are crazy all the time,” she answered, and saw my frown. “I think you are mad when you fight. Only in the battle are you truly crazy. I see it in you, though it evaded me earlier. You are not like some men you occasionally see weeping and laughing at the same time under the former roof of some old, moldy hall, truly without sense and hope, but you will be mad as Hel’s dragon in a combat. You are a berserker. Old soul, they say, made of old stories. Like the blade. Born to fight.”

“I’ve never—”

“Never really fought before,” she said with some trepidation. “You’ve been trained, but not tested. It will be seen this night how well you’ll do.” She didn’t sound happy about the fact.

“Why frown?” I asked her, a bit proud thanks to her words. “If that is the case, we will need such power here this night.”

She nodded. “Perhaps so. You will hear the call. I think Hraban is like that as well,” she mused, shifting her gaze to the ancient blade. “They brought it from Gothonia. It’s the land of the first humans. Aska and Embla and all others followed, and I think their blood is the very oldest.” She was quiet for a time and frowned, and I was sure she indeed had some sight. At least I hoped it was so, because she was saying all my dreams could come true. Such a man would have no shortage of fame and lords to serve.

“It is a blade worth fighting for,” I breathed.

She went on. “Hulderic’s family carries the curses of the gods, but also many mighty artifacts of the old. That sword is one of them. Gods alone know where that one came from, but it’s very old, and when something like that excels in the task of killing, it often comes alive. I hear it, too.”

“We are both as mad, then,” I whispered, and tore my eyes away from the old weapon to the other seat, where a shield of metallic beauty leaned on the chair leg. The shield was not over large, and would not cover a man’s legs. It had very strange carvings running on the edges. A simple, pure beauty. It was darker than a sharpened blade, but it was unmistakably a precious guard of the purest metal. Also, a long hammer sat on the seat. It had a block-like, foot-sized head, and a thick wooden and metallic shaft the length of my arm. I felt envious of it immediately. It would be a bone-breaker in battle, a terrible thing in a duel, and the Celt lord who wielded it must be a powerful man to do so.

“We will sit tight,” said the blacksmith from the side. “Post guards on all the doors, and set the dogs out. Let them run around a bit and guard.”

“Had a fox here yesterday,” Gunter grunted. “Might take after it.”

“Might rip the balls off some bastard out to rob our lord,” Gisil said ferociously, and grabbed a horn from the table, which a guard filled. Gunter opened up the door, and three happy, large hounds loped out, as excited as any dog when they were allowed to run free, and the door blocked again by the heavy bar. “I’ll bless us in Donor’s name in a bit, but first, I want to be a bit drunk.” We laughed at her, and she did have a way to lighten our hearts. She burped after she quaffed the mead down, smiled at our nervous, roaring laughter. “There. Let them come and see if we let them hurt Hulderic, and take what is his.”

I smiled at her. “You are nothing like any völva I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s right,” she agreed with a small grin. There was the odd look in her eyes again, one of doubt. She shrugged off any such feeling and pushed me. “I’m nothing like the simpering Chatti women you have seen previously. Sit down, and throw dice with me.”

I did. Every Germani had dice and a board to throw them on. I could not easily concentrate on the game, but kept glancing around the odd, Celtic hall and the two famous weapons.

Gisil took an advantage of it mercilessly. “You gamble like my mother,” she laughed when I lost again, though I was not sure what I lost, and I didn’t care.

“Is she alive? I take it your husband …” I began, and bit my tongue.

She looked joyless and gray of face. “I forgot. She is dead. They are dead,” she told me, and I wanted to comfort her, though there was an odd, lost look on her face, but didn’t know how. She saw my desire, and smiled gratefully. “Dead or not, she’d throw dice better than you.”

“Don’t speak of the dead as if you see them,” the blacksmith admonished her from the side where he squatted, inspecting his framae spear. “It’s not proper.”

“Unless she does see them,” I chuckled, and by the smug look on her face, I decided I didn’t want to press the issue, no matter how much she intrigued me.

So we passed the time. The servants went back and forth to the larder, bringing more drink, some food, but they did it quietly, and even the wooden clatter of the dice on the board seemed over loud at times. Finally, I could not take the tension. “Surely Hulderic’s on his way already?”

“Perhaps,” Gisil allowed, and her face shot up, as she probably heard something, or sensed it.

I grabbed my spear, as I saw her reaction. Gunther also stopped mid-swing, as he was spitting some firewood in the corner with a small ax. “What is it?”

“Horses,” she said, frowning. “Very close.”

“Hulderic, then?”

She turned her head, and our horses were neighing in the stables. They were nervous, unwelcoming neighs. The approaching horses were not familiar to them, or if they were, they were not alone, and there were strange beasts with them.

A dog barked somewhere. It was a surprised bark, and then angered one, ferocious with a killing intent.

Then the dog howled, and the howl was cut short as if hacked by an ax.

I shot up from the seat, and five men grabbed their spears, while Gunther ran to check on the doors to the sleeping quarters. I walked to the barred door, and my hands went up and down the door, trying to find a crack. “Damn well-made,” I grumbled. ”Like some expert has crafted it.”

“The Celt has skillful men,” she agreed. “There.” She pointed a finger at the bottom half of the door. She had a framea on her hand, I noticed, and then I leaned to check in a lower right corner of the doorway as she instructed.

“Not perfect, happily,” I breathed as I finally found the hole and look outside from a thin crack. The torches were fluttering there, casting a wide swath of sputtering light across the yard. There was nothing, no sign of people or the dogs, and I prayed in my head to Woden a glorious lord would ride to sight.

And he did.

I saw movement and stiffened as I saw steaming, sweaty horses arrive. There were three. The first horse rode lazily, swaying from side-to-side and Cerunnos, the Celt, sat on it’s back. There were two other horses, and on them, I thought, slouched the two slaves who had accompanied the Celt. I was not sure they were the same slaves, though.

I could not be sure, because none of the men had their heads.

Instead, there was a ragged, flapping bits of skin where their necks would be, their clothing was red and dark, and the corpses had been tied to the saddles. Cerunnos’s sword was on his belt, and I knew it was he, because someone had stuffed his golden, now bloody hair on his golden belt. The horses disappeared from sight as the beasts made their leisurely way towards the stable end of the hall, their home, and I straightened, noticing I was holding my breath. I let it out, and men stared at me curiously. I turned to address the roomful of nervous faces.

“Well, by Donor’s tiny balls! Tell us!” Gunter yelled.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing Hulderic for a while,” I told them thinly, feeling sick.

“Why?” Gunter growled. “There are horses outside? What did you see?’

I rubbed my face, not sure how to tell him. “The riders you sent are dead on their horses, headless,” I said, holding back dread.

Gunter’s face went slack from shock, and Gisil stood up, shaky on her feet. Gunter shook his head in weak denial. “That was Teutorigos’s son. No! It cannot—”

“He is dead,” I said harshly. “Unless someone can stitch a head back on and call his spirit from Valholl.”

Gunther looked at Gisil with bottomless sorrow. “I told you he should have stayed here!”

I shook my head at him, and he cursed, desperate.

“They are coming then, and we are alone,” Gisil said with a shaky voice, and her huge eyes were suddenly not so brave.

I felt the stirrings of anger deep in my soul, and clutched the spear tightly. Gisil held her framea with shaking hands, and I walked up to her. The blacksmith was smiling to himself, in a sort of a sarcastic way, his eyes following her, and I decided he was in love with her. It was no wonder, since she was an oddly alluring creature, brave, wise, and … free?

More so than most women, I thought. But she had made a mistake, and Cerunnos was dead. She was also a human, and feared death.

And now, she was in a mortal danger.

I wasn’t afraid any longer.

“I’ll fight well for you. And Hulderic,” I told her bravely. “No matter how many there are. Perhaps you are right. Woden will give me strength to kill and rout them.”

She smiled, and there was some strange sentiment in her eyes, which she pushed away, though I was sure it was guilt. She placed a hand on mine, and squeezed. “I’m sorry I dragged you here. Thank you. That’s why the gods showed me a vision of you, Adalwulf.” She stuttered, and placed a hand on my face. “I wish I had met you year ago.”

“You are welcome,” I said, and then we all heard the rumble of horses. There were dozen, perhaps more, and they stopped in the yard. I turned to face the main doorway. Gisil pushed past Bellows to rush to the side door, one we could not see beyond the sleeping quarters, and to help the men and servants there, but we, five of us, stayed to guard the main doorway. There was a silence for a long time, then some horses neighed with agitation, and we heard men gathering, for shields were banging together. And then, the familiar voice of the man I had heard in the hall, Raganthar, called out.

“The sword,” he yelled with a manic pitch. “That’s all we want. Throw it out!”

Gisil shook her head, terrified, but gathered herself and called out. “I’m a völva. I’ll beg for the gods to curse you thieves, if you do not go away. There will be a feud, you dog-faced cowards, and you shall pay, if you—”

“Shut your mouth, or we fill it with a spear, woman,” the voice called out harshly. “I fear no goddesses. We fear no evil spirits. I’m one myself. We have a job to do. Spare us your shit-talking, and come out. Come out already.”

“You know we won’t give the sword away easily, murdering sell-spear of Bero, so you might as well stop asking. You’ll have to come and get it,” I yelled, and that paused them. Finally, the voice called out again.

“Who’s this? The young pup in the hall at the harbor?” it called out, and then we saw how the door moved a bit. Someone was testing its sturdiness.

“Yes, the pup you tried to kill,” I growled. ‘Now it’s not so dark inside here, and I have my back covered.” I looked at Gisil, who smiled at me bravely. “Come and face me!” I felt surprisingly brave, but then, I had a door to guard me still.

There was hollow laughter outside, the sort that chilled your backbone to its core. “I am Raganthar,” the man laughed. “I’ve not been beaten by seasoned, armored champions, and you would? You would beat the Black Shield? Bah! There are twenty men here. There are but a few in there, isn’t that so? Your young lord’s head in in my bag. Yes, we shall come, and fetch the sword. We’ll not burn you out, but eat you raw. Kill them!”

The door shuddered with heavy strikes. Axes cut to the well-crafted timber, one hit after another. A plank cracked. “Get ready!” Gunther said, and we moved to surround the doorway. More planks groaned, one flew in and clattered past us, and a flicker of shadows showed in the light of torches outside.

A face, hairy and scowling looked inside, and the rage I had felt since they arrived in the yard burst out in action. I was fast, quick as a snake on a cool rock, and the spear flickered forth. The eyes of the face shot open with panic, the mouth opened up with surprise, and then he shrieked, as his lips and teeth met the iron, and the man fell away, howling. I felt elated by the brief success, but then the strikes on the doorway intensified, it shuddered terribly, and two more planks cracked. One fell in near the bar.

Hands groped inside, trying to lift the bar, men pushed it up and we charged the door. Spears flickered, punched in to the holes, and the groping arms, backed out, punched again at the limbs. Some spears were grabbed, and a terrible pulling and pushing match ensued. At least one man was hurt outside, as Gunter pushed his spear in a chest of a shadow that had held on to a spear point for too long.

Gisil was next to me, pale and shivering in the animal like brawl, and I feared the men would hurt her. That thought made me rage twice as hard. I thrust the spear to the hole, again and again, and felt it puncture through flesh, meat, and skin. The howls of the men outside the door were more animal than human in pitch and intensity.

Then, a guttural command, and the hands disappeared.

We bunched together, not sure what to expect.

Arrows flicked through the holes, dark as birds, and deadly fast.

Gunter screamed, and so did another man, who fell on his face, holding his groin. The balding warrior had a shaft in his chest, and he dropped his shield to roll on his back with horrible pain, until the shaft broke, and Gunter was nearly still, panting, bleeding profusely. The other man was a hideous sight as he rolled on his back, the broad bladed arrow having punctured his lower belly, and blood was spurting in a wide ach. “Get the men from the side, if they can be spared!” I told Gisil desperately. “And then, hide yourself!”

“I can’t—”

“Go!” I roared, and prepared my spear as the arms again appeared in the cracks. The bar was lifted as we hesitated too long. The few men and I pushed into the hole again, drawing blood, but this time, a thick, muscled arm had pushed the bar all the way up, and the door exploded in.

Men appeared, hunched and savage, dark-dressed in leather and hides, furry-haired men who slept in the woods. They were the same unkempt lot I had seen, smelly, dangerous looking, fast, and ferocious as wolves, as two of our men fell under their speed and weight, the enemy feet thrumming the boards as cudgels and axes beat down. I threw my spear with desperation, and one man fell back, holding his chest, an astonished look on his darkened face.

More men appeared, one pointed his spear at me, and I was sure I saw the huge shield of Raganthar looming outside.

I’d die, and my boasts would be in vain.

Then Woden whispered to me. It was the first time the terrible rage was kindled in my head. Perhaps it was the presence of the old blade that did it, magical and odd, or just the desperate need for a savage, merciless fighter with no fear, or, simply, the wicked gods wanted to give me a chance, but I received what I needed.

Woden was there.

I heard him encouraging me, or thought I did, because the gods did not truly speak to us, not in ways we’d remember or understand, but his message was clear as careless fury filled my limbs. He wanted me to fight with all my heart, and bring death to our enemy. I saw, in my mind’s eye, a figure of war, shadowed, dancing ferociously, and I joined him in the dance. I looked around, saw the splendid hammer of Teutorigos, and grabbed it. Its balance was perfect, the weight deadly, and the shaft fit my hand. I lifted my shield, braced my legs, and held the heavy hammer high. I turned back to see the last Celt getting stabbed by three fur-clad spearmen over a bench, and charged.

I held the heavy weapon overhanded, and tore into the enemy mercenaries with wild abandon. Their faces looked nearly comical as they lifted their weapons from the butchery, but they were too slow, and the hammer came down in an arch. I was fast as a weasel, powerful as a young bear, and the heavy bit of round metal chopped through a forehead as if it was an egg, swiped past a man’s nose, so close it drew blood, and buried itself in a skull of the third. I pulled the weapon out effortlessly, bone bits flying, smearing my face with blood and brains, and the last, nose-bleeding man, strong as an ox, tried to tackle me, dropping his spear. I let him, pushed back with my feet and shield, stopped him in his tracks, and hammered the shaft down on the hairy neck, breaking it, and his head lolled to the side crazily as he rolled away.

I forgot about him, like I would discard the entrails of a deer after a successful hunt, and turned to look at the doorway. Five men were there, gazing at me with hate, rage, and even fear, and I laughed at them, sure I’d die, but I’d die very well, indeed. “Crawl to the bosom of the gods you believe in, thieving rats, because I’ll open the door for you!” I screamed as I hurtled for them.

I remembered little of that fight.

I was hit by an ax blade, but for some reason, I found no wound later. A club struck my leg, and the pain was intense, but not enough to stop me. I was in midst of them, the hammer coming down with such brutal power, it broke bones, cracked weapons, and bruised flesh, even breaking a floorboard. I ripped it across my vision at the enemy again and again, throwing it around me in the close battle, and slapped down man after man.

Some tried to get back up, two crawled out, terribly hurt, and I recall stepping on a neck of a blood-soaked man, breaking it. More men surged in, some fell, and how a berserker could kill and maim so many men in such a short time, I didn’t know. Maybe it was not a short amount of time, after all, but took a long while. I lost all sense of time, and the floors and the walls were red with gore, bits of bone, and bodies littered the floor.

“Lord of the Hall, Lord of the Hall!” I screamed again and again hysterically, tearing the weapon around and around, tirelessly.

Then I saw the huge man enter, fast as an otter, and he bashed his huge shield in my face, and his dark reddish hair flailed around with the strength of his next move, as his weapon, the crude sword slashed down from the side. I blocked it with my shield, and our strength seemed equal. Raganthar’s face was dark with fury, bestial and inhuman as he roared, and spat, and pushed his shield in me.

I jumped back, bashed my shield in his, and hammered at him from above. His huge shield blocked my attack effortlessly, he pushed again at me, lighting fast, and the rim of my shield struck my own face. I fell back, dazed, but ground my legs on the boards, felt his sword hit the rim of my shield. I pushed at him, and he stopped and we stood thus, like young boars, grinding at each other.

His face looked bony, hairy, as he struggled against my strength. We pushed, grunted, and I struck across the rim with the hammer, but the shield was so large, he merely moved it up to block the hit. His sword came at me, and the shield shuddered, about to break. I spat at his face, and he pushed me against a pillar. There, we exchanged strikes, all of which our shields blocked, until he heaved with a roar. His sword came in, my shield broke, and I let go of it. He kept me against the pillar, but cursed, because his sword was stuck on the remains of my shield.

I had only a moment to live.

I roared with desperation, and fell to the side. He crashed against the pillar, turned, tossing my shield’s frame from the blade, kicked at me, and he slipped in a pool blood. He fell on his knee, then his back, cursing, holding on to his sword and shield. There was a groan from his men, and I slipped as well, regained my balance. With such joy of battle I had never imagined possible, I brought the hammer down, crushing his shield against his chest, and he howled with pain. The sword came at me, weakly, but I kicked if across the floor. Spear flew past me from outside. An arrow crashed in the pillar. I stood there, uncaring, the mighty weapon hovering above Raganthar’s face. There was a flicker of fear in the beastly visage, finally. I exploded with happiness, and saw the horror in the faces outside the hall as well, as their lord was about to die.

And then, a voice screamed behind me.

It was one of anguish, of soul-wrenching agony. I was Gisil. Someone got to her. I began to turn.

I felt a stabbing pain in my back.

I fell, trying to catch my breath amidst the throbs of pain, knew I was badly hurt, and hit my face on the planks. I got to my elbows, but saw a fist coming my way, and Raganthar’s powerful punch made me see black. He grabbed me and threw me across the floor to the corner, where I gagged, squirming with the pain of the wound on my back. There was a framea there in my flesh, at least the head of it. I pulled it away and that pain was too much. I was losing the fight, and could not fight any longer.

Raganthar was screaming. “So many dead! This is Bero’s fault. We didn’t need this shit. Did you know what he was?”

A hand pressed on my neck. It was cold, and I tried not to move. It hesitated, and then went away.

“Dead? I asked, did you know what he was?” Raganthar roared. “A berserker!”

I didn’t hear the answer.

I passed out.

BOOK 2: WOLF BAITING

“They call me Bait.”

Bait to Adalwulf

CHAPTER 5

I dreamt of a cool mountain stream I knew well, very close to Mattium. It ran down from great heights of a mountain we called Ram’s Tumble, silver, gray, and blue cascade of bright waters. When the water reached the hills, just next to Mattium’s, it streamed brilliantly over perfectly round stones, gushed past tall pine woods. It sprang life wherever it streamed, made the land fertile and often soggy, and the priests thought Freyr, god of fertility, especially loved the water. On the hills, flowers of the spring grew wildly along the slopes, all the way to the top, where the mountain began. Women took full advantage of the stream. Since it was believed to be holy and good for growth, maidens visited it to get the blessings of fertility and beauty.

And men knew this.

Where the stream ended below the hill closest to Mattium, there was a deep, cool body of water, a holy spring the women bathed in, and that was where the warriors visited first when they went hunting, though they usually didn’t show their faces, but stayed in the woods. There, they gazed down at the lithe bodies, braving the anger and feuds of the fathers and brothers of those maidens, perhaps hoping to marry one of the girls one day.

In the dream I was having, I was there, one of these lecherous warriors, sitting on Snake-Bite, who didn’t care much for the women. I was looking at a dozen such nude creatures, who were frolicking in the small pool below. I reached out to remove an offending branch hampering my sight, when I accidentally pressed the sides of the horse with my calves, and the damned fool thing took a step forward.

Suddenly there was rubble under the hoof, and the rubble gave away. The hillside betrayed us, the horse fell, toppling me with it. It happened so fast, I had no time to yell. We rolled crazily down a mossy bank of flowers, and while we rolled, the horse kicked me in the chest, stealing my breath. I hit the water.

I fell amidst the shrieking, nude group of feminine beauty and went under. I went deep, much deeper than I thought possible, and felt my lungs burning. There was a pain in my back as I hit the bottom. I swam up to the surface, looking apologetic as a child with his hand in a jar of honey, and hoped they’d forgive me. Around me a group of young women flocked, furious, gloriously naked, sputtering, but then the women smiled, and I smiled back, relieved. They dragged me out of the water with happy whoops, but instead of kisses and care, they began to kick me so hard I felt my morning gruel surge for the daylight.

I woke up, saw an older, armored champion heave above me, and another of his kicks struck my belly. I emptied my belly weakly on the planks.

“Enough, Harmod,” said a murderous voice, and I turned to see another man, high lord of the Marcomanni, his armor glittering with golden hoops at the hem, and a fabulous helmet of a carved beast head under his arm. His spear was at his side, and all around me stood a scowling group of Marcomanni warriors. I tore myself up, and howled, as my back—flesh and tunic—ripped out of the floor, and I dimly remembered I had been wounded there. I fell back, writhed with shock, and knew the blood had dried up and glued me to the floor. I groped for my back, twitching with pain, but the older warrior placed an implacable foot on my chest, and pushed me back to the floor, and made me gasp breathlessly.

Then I noticed some other things.

First, I was wearing a cloak of hair and skins, similar to what the attackers had worn, and the dead enemy mercenaries were all heaped on the side of the hall, red, grisly streaks on the floor showing where they had been dragged across the floorboards. Some dogs were sniffing their corpses experimentally.

The dead of Hulderic and the Celtic lord, who was not apparent in the hall, were heaped by the doorway.

Save for the blacksmith, Bellows.

He was on his back next to me, dead as a stone. He was bleeding from a very thin wound on his throat, or perhaps from a wound to his belly, where there was a spear buried. The shaft was broken.

And I held half of the broken shaft.

“Shit-faced thief,” the warrior hissed. “They left you for dead, didn’t they? You Chatti piece of shit.”

“What?” I asked, and let go of the broken weapon like a viper had been slithering in my hand. ‘No! That’s not—”

“Where did you come from?” the older warrior asked venomously, and pressed down so hard, I had to grab the foot in hope of wrestling it away. “They tell us you are a Chatti. That another Chatti looked for you, Adalwulf, earlier this week. You lot came here, one-by-one, and did you thing, eh? But you live. For now.”

A Chatti had been looking for me earlier? The man Raganthar had killed? I stiffened with horror. They had wanted to have some fool in this hall. And apparently, that fool had been me. And Gisil had taken me in for them, not knowing better. “Wait—”

The warrior went on, grinding down as if he was determined to see how much the floor could take. “Is that so? You are a Chatti out to kill our lord, Hulderic? Because he beats your warbands every year? Beats them like a band of small boys, eh? And you can’t take it like men. Hall-burning and robbery in the night is your lot. Lucky for us, you failed to kill my lord. You failed, because Woden spits on cowards. But answer this,” he said icily, with a chilling threat thrumming in the voice, and I didn’t expect to survive the man’s wrath much longer. “Where, my friend is Gisil and the sword? You filth. Where do you hole up in? Tell me this, and you’ll go on your way with a snap of neck, and need not suffer.”

“I came here—”

“To rob, to murder, and you did, didn’t you?” the man continued, and I turned my face for Hulderic, hoping to find a more reasonable man there, one to hear me out, at least.

It was a face carved of stone, his brown, long beard finely plaited, and his eyes gave nothing away. I tried to talk to the statue anyway.

“I didn’t come here to rob you! I fought them! This is not,” I said, and tugged at the cloak that had been tied around me, “mine. I have nothing against the Marcomanni, and I have left the Chatti. They didn’t do this, anyhow. Not their way, no matter how many warbands you beat previously. I was looking for work, for a lord in the Hard Hill, when Gisil found me, and claimed she had seen how I’d help you, Lord Hulderic the Goth! But they left me here as a scapegoat—”

“Help yourself to his things, yea?” the man above me growled, his face red with fury, the sort that built up like a storm. “Gisil found you indeed. She found you having a fight, and helped you. In reality, you were pretending to have one, and so you got inside, because she had a good heart, and you are filth.”

“No, I—”

“You killed our men. You killed Cerunnos. Teutorigos, his father? He is outside. You should be glad he is still crying over the body of his precious boy, because he’d be ripping your guts out right now, if he saw you here alive. Oh, no. Don’t you hope to survive this,” he chortled, though in reality, I had experienced no such thoughts of hope. “No, you will die. But it is best to die with dignity then be eviscerated. Yes, this crime will be paid back, and we start with your life. We’ll string you up right now, if you don’t speak. Where did your kin take Gisil and the sword?” He kicked me hard on the side, and I yelped.

“Easy, Harmod, ” the older Goth lord rumbled, and spoke to me softly. “Did you come here with the Chatti, boy? Whose warband do you belong to? Or do you truly claim you are not their warrior? I know your speech. You’re from Mattium, or thereabouts.” He had a powerful jaw, and keen, blue eyes. His face was scarred, and his skin leathery and brown, and while his voice was not unkind, I knew he was about to decide on my fate. His men looked on, having lost brothers and friends, and I’d pay the price. This was all so far from Gisil’s vision, me serving as this man’s champion. Perhaps the gods had played her a fool, and were laughing like demented idiots?

“I am a Chatti named Adalwulf, and yes, I was born in Mattium,” I said thinly, not sure how to slither out of the dilemma. There was no reason they’d believe me. “But I didn’t come here with others of my kind. Nor were there others waiting for me. No. I know nothing of this Chatti who supposedly was looking for me! Except—”

“They say there was a Chatti in the town, some days past, nonetheless,” Hulderic said. “He was looking for you, Adalwulf. Explain that.”

I sputtered. “I cannot! And who are “they”? I wouldn’t know why someone would be looking for me. Or, yes, I do.” I hesitated, and decided I had nothing to lose. “I’m a thief. I left them, you see, on a stolen horse. I was looking for work, and a new start. This is the truth, by Donor,” I stated as steadily as I could, looking into his eyes.

He stared at me, and then shrugged. “They say in the village there have been many other Chatti—”

“Many Chatti visit the Hill!” I yelled, losing my composure, and regretted it as Harmod’s foot found my ribs.

“We don’t have time for this,” Harmod said with a voice dripping malice. “He keeps lying, and he won’t speak. If he does, it will be days from now. The Chatti are stubborn, and he thinks he is protecting his kin.”

Hulderic rapped the spear into the floor and dust flew. He aimed the head of the spear my direction. “You are right. Stubborn as a pig.”

“What do you wish to do?”

Hulderic shrugged. “If he tells us where they hole up in, we might get a trail. We have nothing else to go on. But I doubt we get it now.”

“Let me break him, and he will sing like a sparrow. Let it take days. Then we’ll ride—” Harmod began.

Hulderic waved his hand. “He might tell us where the robbers have gone, eventually, but they won’t be there any longer. If they are wise, they will have moved away already. And the Chatti are not stupid. The trail is the best we can hope for.”

“They were not Chatti!” I yelled, and heard commotion outside. Before I could focus on that, Harmod kicked me.

“He’ll speak today, not days from now,” Hulderic said darkly, and poked my side with the spear’s shaft. “He’ll do it as he swings. Few men remain stubborn when the rope tightens and the feet leave Midgard. Some do, but perhaps not him.”

“Hear that, Chatti? Start barking!”

“But—”

“Bring him up,” Hulderic said with a bored voice, looking down at me as if I was a bit of rotten meat as Harmod pulled me around. He tore me up from the floor, and a stabbing sensation left me half-delirious with pain. He tore the cloak off me, slapped my cheeks to make me focus, and pushed me face first against a wall. I tried to move, but he ripped my tunic, and apparently looked at my wound. I had a sickening feeling as he poked at something, and I felt there was a slab of skin and meat hanging loose. “Looks like your rib saved you. Damn lucky! What’s your name again?’ Adalun? Don’t want to hang a man whose name I forgot.”

“Adalwulf, you shit,” I hissed. “Wait! I was fighting for you!”

The Goth lord shook his head and let out a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s why your spear was in Bellows’ gut. Shut your mouth, unless the truth comes out. I live near your lands, Adalwulf. You know this, don’t you? We, the Quadi and Marcomanni, Suebi tribes both, fight your lords every summer. Men we capture are usually honorable warriors. Be one as well. You said they were not Chatti. What are those men, then?”

“They are mercenaries. Some kind of men Leuthard knows, and—“

“Leuthard,” Hulderic said, his eyes in slits. “You are saying Bero is behind this?”

“Yes!”

He smiled. “I guessed this already. I knew it, in fact. Bero. But also the Chatti. They have common interests in pacifying me, and Bero has conspired with them before. Bero hired you?”

“No! Gisil told everyone she was looking for me! She—”

Hulderic turned to a man on the side. “Bero and the Chatti working together to discredit me? To kill me? He is the go-between for the Chatti and Bero’s men.”

“No! I don’t know Leuthard! Or Bero!”

Hulderic whistled, and someone approached. “See here, Adalwulf. I know you have met them. Leuthard at the very least. He the one?” A man with thin hair and a scar on forehead walked forward. It was the man I had fallen on in the harbor.

“That man walked out of Leuthard’s hall in the harbor. Your völva thought he was hurt, and helped him,” he said guardedly.

“I didn’t walk! I fell, after being hit! They were the thieves! Not Chatti! And I was looking for service—”

Hulderic rubbed his face. “And found it, perhaps, with my enemy. You fooled Gisil. Came here, and helped them in. I have no time for this. Who is to blame? It all matters little. I believe Leuthard and Bero are up to no good, and they are plotting with the Chatti. They have before, as I said. You cheated your way inside the hall and helped your friends and so, we lost so much. Teutorigos, his son. I lost my weapon, men, my oathsmen, and I failed to protect them. I have nothing more to say. Here you are, and ready to hang, my friend. Where are they?“

“I don’t know—” I began, but Hulderic slapped my back, nodded at Harmod and Harmod spat, grabbed me by my neck, and dragged me for the door. It took no time at all to reach it, and I practically flew.

“I’ll show you how we did it in Gothonia, boy, when the Svearna or the Saxons had to be strung up. They sure fit in nicely with pinecones, believe me, friend. Their corpses were green after a week, like fresh cones, or brown like the ripe ones, if it was hot. It’s a rare skill to hang a man to match the color of the fruits. Be happy! While we don’t let you die too fast, you’ll not feel much. We’ll split your gut with a spear in the end, Chatti. Sing a song, and I’ll just crack your skull fast.”

“Wait!” I yelled, but he didn’t and then I was out.

A man, older and a bit rotund but powerfully built, was there, hunched over the body I took to be that of Cerunnos. As he got up to look at me, his eyes light with a desperate need to kill me. It was clear as a nose on a head. Harmod left Hulderic to talk with the man, and I was dragged past the stables where a lonely beech tree stood.

“I know,” Harmod rumbled. “Not a pine. You’ll have to settle for this.”

We reached the tree, and there, the preparations didn’t take long at all, as the rope was ready, and it was hung around my neck very deftly. My back was a mass of pain, and as I struggled, Harmod punched me in the wound, hard enough so I could barely speak, and then I felt my feet leave the ground. There were bearded, gleeful Marcomanni pulling at the rope, and Hulderic, Teutorigos, and Harmod were standing under the tree, and the Celt lord held a hasta, a wide-bladed spear, ready to give me a death when I had suffered enough.

I fought to speak. I had no breath, no air, and then, I managed a sentence, spittle flying. “They will use … the sword for something evil.”

I don’t know how long I hung there, but I heard them speaking, harshly arguing, and then I kissed grass.

And passed out again.

CHAPTER 6

When I woke up, my state had vastly improved. There was a bed, and my wound had been dressed, though the ragged thing burned like someone had stuffed a smoldering coal under my skin. The pain throbbed through my ribs, making my head, and even teeth, ache. When someone placed a horn full of water on my lips, I let part of it drip on my chest, as the cool liquid felt wonderfully soothing on my skin. Then I gagged, because my throat was sore, my neck itchy.

“You hung me,” I stated the obvious, assuming there was a guard there, nearby.

There was.

“I also took you down. Why? I’ll need to know some things and perhaps we were hasty,” I heard a gruff voice, Hulderic’s. He sat in a shadowy alcove with me, and a man wearing a dirty tunic bowed his way as he left the sleeping corner with the water.

The hay on the bed rustled as I tried to sit up, but decided against it and instead just rolled on my side. “Gisil—”

“Gisil is a völva, and we have a good … had a good relationship,” he said with a strained voice. “I do not wish to discuss her with a criminal. I don’t need the lies.”

“I’ve got nothing to do with what they did,” I coughed. “Not a thing, unless serving as a scapegoat.This odd Chatti must have mentioned me before they killed him. They wanted to leave me here, dead, so you would think the Chatti did all of this.Gisil helped them, the poor girl. Didn’t know she was doing their bidding. I didn’t lie. I fought them.”

He leaned forward, his eyes burning with simmering rage. “And yet you know what they mean to do with the sword? I say “they,” and I could say “you,” but I play along for now.”

I nodded like my life depended on it. And it did. “Because I heard them speaking in that hall by the harbor. Because your man Bellows tricked me into entering the hall, and hoped I’d hear things, and I did. And I didn’t kill Bellows, and I’ve been framed, you see?” My head swum with pain. “They said Bero wanted the sword gone from the Hard Hill. They also wanted to have a man in here to blame. To muddle the issue. And I have no idea who this other Chatti was. I know they killed him. Leuthard was very upset at this Raganthar for that. They know each other from the past. Some sort of band they have, odd and dangerous.”

He sat there, mulling it over for a time, looking at me keenly, and I had no doubt other men, in other times, had been thus judged. His son, Maroboodus, his enemies, and friends alike had been found guilty, and he was not a man to be trifled with. Finally, he shrugged. “And they knew you were coming?”

“Many knew I was coming, probably from this other Chatti. Gisil knew as well. But that was different. She had seen me in a vision. I tell you, she had had a vision from Freya that I’d fight for you. I’d stave off your death.”

“Stop,” he growled.

“She said it,” I sulked, and wiped sweat off my face. “They needed a Chatti to blame, had heard of me, and were looking for me.”

“So why not use this other Chatti? The one they supposedly killed and interrogated?” he muttered.

“He had visited Balderich. Probably shared his mission with the old man, so he couldn’t be blamed. They wanted me. Nearly did catch me, too. I got lucky and escaped.” I shook my head in despair. “In the end, it mattered little. Gisil brought me right where they had wanted me to me.” I stammered. “Well, it did matter a little. I fought well and I fought for her. For you. It cost them many lives. Your brother Bero is responsible. How did that scarred man from the harbor get here?”

He shrugged. “He is one of mine. Gisil and Bellows didn’t know about him. I have many spies. He wasn’t sure you actually escaped Leuthard. He thinks it was an act. Granted, he is not the sharpest spear in the warband.”

“I fell on him after they tried to murder me,” I murmured. “It was no act.”

“I see,” he smiled. “So, tell me about Gisil,” he said harshly. “Since she rescued you and spoke of this … vision, you probably know something of her as well? Or did she just bring you here to be healed, being a kind-hearted girl, and you betrayed them and opened the door for the curs without even knowing her? Tell me about her.”

I was gulping and shaking my head. “She—”

“Tell me of her. And perhaps something of Bellows?” he smiled and cocked his head.

“You sent Bellows here, and he settled in the smithy. He was a coarse bastard. Nay, a true bastard. He never knew his parents,” I said.

Hulderic grunted. “True. They died of hunger when he was young. What else?”

“Gisil said you treated her kindly when she lost—”

“She lost much, and I did help her,” Hulderic interrupted as his eyes bore into mine. “She trusted you enough to tell you about her past?”

“She did,” I said with anger. “I’d told you, before your man began to kick my head in,” I cursed. “You weren’t interested.”

“Possibly,” he allowed, but his voice suggested he would take no more temerity from me.

I felt breathless and waved my hand, and he waited as I steadied myself. I felt my throat, which was raw and sore, and it was hard to speak, but I tried. “She told me something. Not much. She probably lost her husband. And her mother, another völva. She was obviously … hurt by what she has endured. But she is loyal to you. She said she respects you, and had a vision of me some days ago. That I’d help you. Help you survive.”

He snorted. “You nearly hung at my hands. Might still. Don’t try to weasel your way into my service. Surely she would have mentioned it to me. ”

That notion sobered me up, and I concentrated, and spoke frankly and to the point. “I don’t know why she didn’t. She has left messages around Hard Hill, guidance for me to find her. She has. Ask Herold of Highwater.”

“Herold of Highwater is Bero’s oathsman,” he said simply.

“Who isn’t around here? But she had left messages! I helped her. I fought for her, and for the hall, and your sword.”

He eyed me with doubt, and finally grunted. “I’ve been lied to a lot in my past.”

“Your son, Maroboodus—”

He slapped a hand on his seat. “I’ll not speak of Maroboodus with you. Did she? Truly?”

“Some,” I said carefully, and begged the gods I’d not anger the warlord further. There was something about the man. While it was clear he was rich, powerful, and noble, the stories of the Goth blood and ancient bloodlines rang true and he could be very cruel at a whim. “She spoke of your troubles, of your grandsons’ issues. She said you do not wish to discuss Maroboodus, his theft of your ring, and your past in the north.”

He calmed, and I could almost see the anger leave him, cheered by the mention of Hraban and Gernot. He thrust his legs forward and leaned back. “Hraban and Gernot. The best mischief Maroboodus ever created. Those two are trouble, more than I thought, but I guard and love them. Maroboodus is a subject I do not touch with anyone, and not with a rogue Chatti I just had swinging, especially. But I see she trusted you well. As for Gisil, I liked and trusted her back. Its not always so with a völva, for they are intractable and irresponsible and have their own agendas, but so do the vitka. Especially those Bero pays for. Gisil is young, about your age. I took care of her when her mother died, and when her husband and son were taken by the fever—”

“Her son?” I gasped.

He smiled and looked to the rafters. “And she didn’t mention that, did she? That’s the thing that broke her. You survive the loss of a loved husband. You endure the loss of a mother. But a son? Yes, her son died. A beautiful boy he was. I’ve never lost a son.” He looked embarrassed, as he had just claimed he would not speak of Maroboodus with me. “Or perhaps I have. He’ll never forgive me. Wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to murder me one day. Gisil is precious. I say, “is,” as I keep hoping she’s alive. She is a seidr mistress, boy, can charm a man and a beast, but she could do that without her spells, as she is beautiful, wild, fun, and special. She touched your heart, I see.” He smiled wistfully, and I could see she had touched his old heart as well.

“A bit,” I said with a blush. “Though I don’t know how. What does it mean, such brief affection? Nothing? Everything? Not sure what I should tell her, if I see her again. I just sat there and stammered as she sat before me, probably cheating in dice.”

He smiled. “She has loaded dice, boy. She can’t help herself when it comes to gambling. And as for the rest, you won’t know what she thinks if you don’t do anything about it. Love depends on the man, more often than the woman,” he advised me with a chuckle. “My Erse was like that. She wanted me to act, and not wait for her to speak out. When two uncertain souls love, it takes a tediously long time for the spark to ignite. We wasted years like that, and I have to say, it’s a miracle she waited for me. Remember this. If you do speak out, you might get rejected, son. Better know sooner than later.” He leaned over me and scowled. “But be careful with her. She has had a rough time. You can only imagine. Their family did well that winter, as well as they could. They laughed one day, and died the next, and gods only know why.” He shut his mouth and looked embarrassed. “Not sure this advice will do you any good, since I might still string you up.”

I ignored the threat. “You speak as if I have hope of seeing her again. You believe me, then?” I asked him.

He ignored my question. “After her family died, we put the corpses in a high tree, roped them there to keep the wolves off. Draped them in thick pelts to give the birds a pause.” He breathed a sad, long breath. “When we hoped to burn and bury them in the spring, he was gone.”

“Gone?” I asked, terrified. “The boy? Spirits?”

He nodded, fiddling with a finger, nervous. “Spirits? No. Animals. They probably took him no matter how tall the tree was. It happens. It was harsh time for her. She disappeared for weeks that winter, and came back. She became a wreck, Adalwulf, a wreck, and after I made sure she would not harm herself, she began to worry for my well being. She had nothing else to do, I suppose. She was close to me, to all my business and advised me. She has seen dangers to my life in her spells before, and while her sight is often incorrect, I do think she is really connected to the world of the vaettir, the dead, and the spirits. Losing a son can drive anyone close to the spirits. I have kept an eye on her, she has on me, but I should have kept two. She spoke with you, and said you would serve me?”

“She claimed the gods have a mission for me,” I said, trying not to sound pompous. “And please. I am no bandit. The Chatti didn’t do this. It was your brother, and mercenaries he hired. And those mercenaries have some evil use for the Head Taker.”

He was quiet, looking at his hands, until he finally let out a huge breath. “I don’t know if I believe you,” Hulderic said. “Men claim the Chatti are plotting against me, and it is certainly possible. It’s a good lie, if it is one. We are enemies most of the time. But Bero is an enemy as well, as you know. They have acted together before.” I nodded, and he smiled coldly. “We don’t get along, though it was never my intention to hate him.”

“You should believe me.”

He snorted. “Should? I don’t know what I should do. Harmod doesn’t, not even after Bark the vitka gave order to the lords that the swords and weapons of the nobles were to be kept home and far from last night’s sacrifice. It was odd, I give you that, and reeks of Bero, and you met with Leuthard, though you claim Bellows initiated it. Perhaps so. It’s hard to get good advice these days. Harmod’s been with me for a long time, and he is not a fool, but he has turned heavy-handed in his older age. He was very upset we wasted the perfectly good rope and skipped the hanging, but there you are. Now we have to figure out what to do, and mind you, I might still have you strung up like a goose. The rope is still there, lonely. So, I’ll hear you out. Tell me everything, and keep to the point.” He leaned close, and spoke very clearly and softly, with threat evident in his voice. “And tell me about my sword, and what they plan to do with it.”

I did. I began with my theft, and ended with the way Raganthar had struck me in the battle. He listened on, his face not betraying anything as I gasped out the story. When I told him of my fight with the bandits, what I remembered, he was nodding like he knew the rest. “I used the hammer, the weapon, and it fit my hand perfectly, just right.” I hesitated. “I guess they took it.”

Hulderic shook his head. “They left it. They took the sword, yes, but they left the hammer and the shield. I think they feared it. Judging by the wounds of the dead mercenary dogs, you killed terribly many with it. They dared not touch it.” He got up and pulled at the curtain, and I could see the room. The Celt lord was leaning on a table, looking at the hammer, his old face wrinkled with tears and sorrow. The hammer was gore-covered, still magnificent. On the table, there was a huge sack of silver and gold, spilled half out, his treasure, a fabulous hoard.

Hulderic spoke softly. “They had no time to look for the wealth of Teutorigos, either. He had it well-hidden, and now, he will sacrifice it to give his son a proper send off. Camulos, his god, might listen and help Cerunnos in the afterworlds.” The Celt nodded at his men, one a very thin, wolf-like man with striped bracae pants and leather mail. That one, and some of the servants, carried the silver and gold out, and the shield as well, and walked outside. The Celt lord grabbed the hammer and sat down listlessly. Hulderic pulled the curtains closed, and shrugged. “He is terribly hurt. I’ve not lost a son, as I said, not that I know of, but what they did to Cerunnos? Animals. Took his head. Took it with them. Some Chatti hunt heads, no?”

“It wasn’t the Chatti,” I said tiredly.

“So, let us agree then,” he coughed, and walked back and forth. “Here it is. They are going to use the sword for some evil, something beyond Bero’s knowledge, and as the blade is well-known, and I suspect the evil they plan with my weapons is similar what they planned with you. A lie, a diversion. A cause for war?”

“They wish to frame you for something,” I agreed. “And the Marcomanni with you.”

“Me,” he said. “And the Marcomanni. I’ll assume Bero isn’t aware of their plans. Perhaps he is. And you said Leuthard didn’t care either way. Thinks he can benefit from war, no doubt. And there may very well be war due to my blade. The victims will blame me, no matter across the river, or in our own lands. Men will judge me, exile me, and kill me. It’s possible. But you say this Raganthar said it is not Bero’s plan, and so it is someone else’s. In any case, it must not be allowed to take place. They wish to use my ancient blade to smother the Marcomanni in blame for some grand act of violence. Someone is doing something that might bring down the sky on our necks,” he stated. “It is a very famous Marcomanni sword. The most famous one. Someone will know it. A death will take place? A famous one? And then, vengeance?”

“Yes, it is possible,” I said breathlessly. “They would have us fight—”

“Rome,” he said darkly. “We make war, but it is a war of dogs. A dozen men raided once a month across the river. Few Romans really plan to cross to this side. They have lately been fighting in the south, with the Dalmatians, the Pannonians, taking the Alps from our kin. Noricum may have already fallen? Their lords Tiberius and Drusus, praetors both, are taking Roman arms north, slowly towards us, for the river they call Danubius, and things have been gentle and silent here near the river they call Rhenus. They own Gaul, but they need the Alps to link with their dominions here in the north and with Greece. They have been doing that for years, and we have been spared major wars as they fight elsewhere.”

I nodded, and felt like a peasant. “You know much. We Chatti don’t know that much about the troubles of the world,” I said. “Well, perhaps Oldaric does, and others, but—”

He sat down and thought deep for a while, running his hand across his helmet, which was set on a table. I had missed it in the shadows, but he pulled it to light. It was a masterful, fine thing of metal, and its eyeholes bored into me eerily. “There are things happening across the river in the north, though. There was a war with Rome, a full-blown one. Marcus Lollius, the governor, lost an eagle to the Sigambri alliance earlier. Legio V Macedonia was shamed,” he said, the foreign name twisting uncomfortably from his lips. “The Romans are angry and hurt, and the great man, Augustus, is probably hungry to punish them up there. They may bring legions against the Sigambri and the others at some point in the future.” He pointed a finger at me. “We need no such trouble here in the south. Rome got the eagle back, because of this Tiberius, who went there to show his sword to the Sigambri. The Sigambri saw it, shat their pants, and gave Tiberius their oaths, which they will break and everyone knows it. The Roman is touring the river now, and let’s make sure he hears no complaints about the Marcomanni. Someone will probably try to kick our names high in the list of Roman enemies. Many would love to see that. Treveri Gaul’s, the Mediomactri, both. Vangiones? Yes. So you have a job.”

“You accept my—” I begun excitedly.

He snorted. “Not yet. You have a job, I said. Perhaps soon, maybe when things are clearer, and if you succeed. It’s a test, if you will. Since you have your innocence to prove, you shall help us with this problem?”

“I could fight for you, but how do I help with a missing sword?” I asked, exasperated. It was like he was asking me to find lost tears of Freya. “I’m just a warrior from the east. I doubt anyone else is tested like this for service?”

He smiled grimly. “The others have not been found with a spear in the guts of my oathsman. And no, you are not just a warrior from the east. I’ve seen plenty of men with the battle madness. You have it, no?”

I stammered, embarrassed. “I think I do. I just found it out here, in this hall. My uncle hinted at it. Gisil said Hraban might have it, and she saw it in me.”

He hummed. “Hraban has it. I know. He dreams, and those dreams are odd. He belongs to Woden. So do you. Now, I need a berserker. I don’t like it. One caused much trouble for my son, until he … solved it. Some think it to be a disease, leaving men listless with fatigue if they are lucky, dead more often than not, and it changes a man, like illness does. When you fight so, you will die in battle, and probably young, eh? A normal warrior can choose to give up a fight and surrender, no matter how dishonorable that might be, or to retreat to fight again, if he is wiser than most Germani. But a berserker, one who goes first to break the shields and crush the skulls, won’t give up until he is victorious, and leaves the battle last, dead or alive. I see you are very young, boy, so I met you at an opportune time to help you develop some sense. I’ll not be a lord to send you to your death, and I’ll ask nothing from you that might get you killed needlessly.” He rapped his hand on the helmet, as if to invoke the gods to help us. ”But before that, I need a man of reckless bravery.”

“But what can I do?” I asked darkly. “Reckless bravery doesn’t help find lost swords.”

“It might,” he said. “You’ll have to be recklessly brave to find it. It will help you if you do find it, at least,” he added regretfully. “But there is more. Be a fox for a while, Adalwulf, not a bear. You are in a unique position to help us, it will be madly dangerous, and I cannot help you much after you begin.”

“How am I in unique position?”

“You are my enemy, and everyone knows it,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll go, and pretend to hate me. Men who also hate me, naturally think highly of you.”

“I see,” I said, rubbing my face. “Is it honorable—”

He slapped the chair. “No. It’s not, thief. But I’ll accept your service after you have solved our issue. I’ll lift you high, give you honor and fame to cover your shame, and I’ll give you wealth and a hall to die for, and you shall lack for nothing. I’ll set you against your kin, and our other enemies, and you will be my sword-lord, and you shall lead my men well. The price is my sword. Find it, dishonorable or not.”

“And Gisil,” I breathed.

“And her,” he agreed, sorrow darkening his face. “Though a woman caught in such a trap is going to suffer before she dies, and well you know it. Have hope, but let it not cloud your judgment. Even if she is alive, she will be fragile, and they will have hurt her.”

I dragged myself up to my elbows, threw my legs around, and fixed an eye in his. “So, where should I begin?”

Teutorigos pulled aside the curtain. He had an absent look on his puffed face, and Hulderic frowned as he stood there. “He agreed?” the Celt asked. He had been listening in on our discussion.

Hulderic looked at me and let out a long breath. “We agreed.”

“Leuthard,” Teutorigos said hollowly, and ripped the curtains to the ground, silencing the hall. “Cerunnos is dead, and that bastard, that bald deer-fondler knows more about this than any man. So you will begin with him.” He ambled forward, and I knew the Celt was drunk and unsteady.

“I shall go and challenge him, and he will sing like a bird?” I asked harshly, and regretted it as Teutorigos’s face went ashen gray. Hulderic got up, and the Celt let his friend speak, while taking deep breaths.

“You will get help from Teutorigos, Adalwulf. We know a slave with Balderich who will be there to aid you. She helps us, because she wishes to serve Sigilind one day again. Sigilind is Balderich’s daughter, and lives with me, you see. And Teutorigos has men who are near, ready to jump in when you have a plan, and the girl will know how to get them. To find the sword will be much like hunting for a wolf. You follow tracks. The tracks we have are made by Leuthard and Bero, and if someone knows where this Raganthar is to be found, it will be the champion of Bero.”

I brightened. “Yes, he knows. He said he knows where they live. He led them once,” I said.

Teutorigos was smiling coldly. “Yes. We don’t need anyone else, do we? Leuthard it is, and he will give us the rest. Bero will wait.”

“Will he give us the rest?” I asked, not so confident suddenly. “That one looks harsh as a disease. He looks like a stone hurtling giant from Jotunheim. He is a beastly large man,” I said. “What if he won’t let me near him, no matter if I’m enemy to Hulderic, or not?”

Teutorigos shrugged, tired to his bone. He had not rested since he found his son dead. “You will not antagonize him, but try to find a way to speak with him. Find a way to his favor.” His eyes flashed. “And if that doesn’t work, be his enemy. Either way, find his weakness. He has to have one. In the end, find something that lands him in our lap, in a place he will be alone, tied up and under our blades. Then, boy, we will make him speak. He is brave as an enraged bull, but is he loyal to Bero or anyone, if he is promised his life in return of the sword? No.”

Hulderic nodded. “He’ll speak. He is as mercenary as this Teutorigos is. He’ll tell us everything we need, if properly motivated.” He didn’t sound certain as he spoke, and I was about to question his logic, but he waved a hand to silence me. “And when I have the sword, Teutorigos here shall take his life. Slowly, quickly, as he pleases. But only after we have the sword.”

Teutorigos nodded curtly, his eyes glinting evilly. “No need to remind me, friend. Leuthard is also a key to this Raganthar, the man who probably took my son’s head. I’ll be patient, though it irks me.”

Leuthard. They wanted me to find a way truss up the beast of Bero, and give him to them. It made my belly twitch with fear. “The sword. They say it is cursed,” I said.

“Gisil said that?” Hulderic asked with a small smile. “Or did she say our blood is?”

I nodded. “Both. I think she might be right. Maybe the sword will cause death to those who stole it? And what if we cannot find it? We could just tell the Romans something evil is afoot.”

“Reneging on this deal?” Teutorigos asked with simmering rage. “You coward. I—”

Hulderic shook his head and placed a hand on Teutorigos’s shoulder, and the Celt relaxed slowly. Him helping me? He was not well.

“We must regain it. First of all, the Romans do not care for our excuses. They’ll see it was used against them, and that’s enough. Someone will use it to gain power and prestige. They won’t sit down to ponder who did what, when they have evidence like that. But there is more. The sword is important because it has a function. Our family, Adalwulf, it is as evil as it is old. Gisil is right. This family of ours is cursed, and has been since no other men walked the land but our family.”

Teutorigos snorted. “All people have stories of them being the first.”

Hulderic waved a hand at him. “But our story is true. We are of the first men and women, born of Aska and Esla, weaned in the cold shores of Gothonia, the islands of the northern sea, Adalwulf. Woden made us from wood and stone, other gods cursed his creation, and so my son, Maroboodus, was born of such cursed blood. He was tormented with an old spell of a dark god, who wants to see the Nine Worlds in a watery grave. There’s bad blood in him. I should have killed my son many times. It is the family way. That blade has killed many men like that. If I ever gather the strength to use it against Maroboodus, if I need to, I’ll need it. I’ll need that blade. I’m weak without it.”

“You look as weak as a sturdy bit of Roman steel,” I said, and he chuckled gratefully.

“I should have killed my son, whom my mother claimed him to be the Bear, a harbinger of destruction. And then, there is the Raven, another similar creature of the cursed blood, but I cannot do it easily. I love them both, Adalwulf. But if the need should arise one day soon, I will want that sword, and I’ll need it. If the blade truly is the bane of family and foe alike, I shall need it to do something terrible, and then I’ll know what my friend here goes through.” Teutorigos shook his shoulders, and I saw tears stream helplessly across his old cheeks. Hulderic went on. “And Bero, my foe, the relentless foe to me and Maroboodus both, he fears the blade. He held it once, you see, like he held the Draupnir’s Spawn, the ring my son stole away.”

I rubbed my face. The old man was superstitious, thinking the blade was magical, but hadn’t I felt it was strange as well? He needed it against his son, a man he thought might end the world one day. Madness?

It didn’t matter.

He had a quest. So did I. “Right. Leuthard. And you won’t let the sword go. I get it.”

“And you will be rewarded,” Hulderic said sadly. “As I told you. I’ll need it back soon. And as it happens, I’m travelling home shortly.”

“You are leaving?” I asked, my eyes slipping to Teutorigos, and I thought I was in deeper trouble than I had thought I was. The grief-stricken man was my only ally in the mad quest.

Hulderic shrugged. “I cannot rule my lands from Hard Hill. Nor do I wish to. I have a warparty to gather, a small war with the Matticati to fight, laws to uphold, and I have to set up two new villages, as there are too many people in at least three of ours. I cannot stay here, and I’d do little good, if I did. They would watch me carefully. Harmod is useless as well.” He leaned close. “We are all useless. They all know us. But they don’t know you, not really. Teutorigos will have men about, but it will be mostly about you.”

“Just tell me what to do, lord,” I told him. “How do I go about following these tracks to Leuthard? What shall I do first? Go to Bero?”

He spoke as if he was describing what he ate for breakfast, instead of making plans of treacherous nature. “Nay. You must not. Let them come to you. First, you shall seek justice against me, Adalwulf. You shall go to high Balderich, Lord of the Gau, and demand reprisal against me for the bit of hanging we did.”

“I will do what?”

Hulderic cursed and lobbed me with a horn, and I dodged and yelped, as the wound throbbed madly. “Concentrate. You will be my enemy, Adalwulf, and then, when Balderich gives your cause consideration, you shall see Bero and Leuthard appear. They will. You’ll get to their good side, and you might, since you will hate me. They used you, they might find another use for you. If you fail, just find their weakness. Find a way to capture Leuthard, and get him here into this hall, and then find out the truth of what happened to my sword.” His face darkened. “And Gisil.”

I swallowed. “I will do this. So I survived a hanging, eh?”

“You survived a hanging,” Hulderic agreed. “And you seek a new lord.” He smiled, and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was that of a friend, and I felt like a fool for having entertained thoughts of glory under another banner. His would do very well.

“Shall I leave, then?”

“Yes,” Hulderic said. “This night. You are weak, but they will heal you in the Red Hall, and I suspect Balderich will let you live there. He is lonely, and often entertains those who seek his justice. Do not go to Bero’s hall, even if they swallow your bait.”

“What if they spied this hall and the hanging? They saw me taken down?”

Teutorigos grinned, but it was a dark, evil grin. “Hulderic lied. The rope is not lonely. We strung up one of the corpses in your place soon after. One of the bandits. As ugly as you are.”

They had expected me to say yes. Hulderic had probably believed I was innocent before I even woke up, and guessed much of the matter on his own. “I see,” I said dubiously.

Teutorigos grunted. “And for not asking for a reward greater than service to Hulderic, I shall give you one.” His face was gray, as if a man who would lose something precious.

I nodded carefully. “A gift?”

‘Yes,’ he said huskily. ‘So take this,’ he said, and handed me the hammer. “They didn’t take it, for some reason. If you truly wielded it with such ferocity it killed most of those bandits, then Cerunnos was partly avenged. Our gods will approve this gift, like your Donor no doubt would.” He gave me the fabulous hammer, and I took it, wondering at the great, priceless gift. It’s weight made my wounds ache, but I didn’t care as I pressed my forehead on the gory metal of the thing gratefully. Teutorigos went on. “It has a name, but you give it a new one when it’s all over. Use it until the killers have suffered like I do, and then give it to the gods, like I gave my treasures away. Name it as you let go of it. Swear you will.”

To let it go? I fought the idea, and gazed at the man’s eyes, not sure I could do as he asked. But he expected an answer, and so I gave him peace of mind, as much as I could. “I swear. I’ll give it to the gods, with a new name, when your son has been avenged.” Then I frowned, and looked at the two great men. “Won’t it look strange a hanged man left for dead should carry such a thing around?”

Hulderic spoke. “Use your imagination. You’ll need it in this nasty business, and especially when you deal with Leuthard anyway. Perhaps you tell them we sacrificed it to the river to gain the god’s favor, hoping to regain the sword, to honor Cerunnos, and so that the gods would give us vengeance. Many lords give precious gifts to swamps and rivers when stricken by grief,” he nodded at Teutorigos, whose eyes had not left the hammer, and I knew it was terribly hard for him to let it go. “Tell them you woke up after you were taken down, left for dead, that you found the river and dived the weapon out. Tell them you wish to bash it across my skull. Bero will like that. Balderich might frown that you stole from the gods, but then, they might see you mean business. Remember,” he said emphatically, “to call me a murderer, tell them you will ask for wergild, beg to be allowed to slay me, if I refuse to pay. Bero will wish to hear you out, even if he doesn’t trust you, knowing you were fooled on his orders to take part in this treachery. But perhaps they shall have you in their ranks. Just be crafty, Chatti. I think you shall do well. You have a speck of deviousness in you, don’t you? Horse thief, and a fighter. And when you find out anything of worth, send word to Teutorigos, and we shall all think of a way to regain the blade. Find out where it might be.” His eyes glittered with anger, and I felt sorry for anyone who might displease this lord.

“Anything else?” I asked.

He looked troubled. “We found one of heads of the servants you sent riding to fetch me,” Hulderic said, and peered over at the Celt, as the lord looked down, holding his face. “Something ate his flesh,” Hulderic said finally. “His face—”

“Ate?” I asked, feeling cold hand of fear claw across my back. “Animals?”

“Be careful, Adalwulf,” Hulderic said. “Our family is not the only one touched by the gods. Do nothing alone. Let the girl in Balderich’s hall know what you plan. She’ll know what to do. Her name is Ingrid.” He got up, and looked down at me. “And as for Gisil, if she truly saw you coming, saw you helping us, knew your name, even, then there is hope, yes?”

“Yes, lord,” I said, and felt there was no hope in my heart.

“And try to find out about this other man who died before you arrived,” he said. “This other Chatti. It could be important. Take your horse, say you stole it from the stables and escaped. Good luck.”

CHAPTER 7

Once, I saw father bait a predator, which had developed a taste for our cows. It was a bear, that much was evident from the huge tracks, one of the great, rare mountain ones, but still a weird one, because it seemed to disappear in the depths the mossy glades and woods of Mattium, where so many people lived. None ever saw a glimpse of it. Hunters went after it, trackers set up traps, but it kept coming back, three, then four times, and took more animals, near exclusively from our halls and estates.

Father had taken an older cow, one intended for a sacrifice later in the year, and removed it to woods that evening. He bled the poor thing, and I watched as the old animal suffered and shuddered in its misery, mooing its unhappiness across the hills, and we waited. The bear’s luck ran out, it appeared that night, sniffling the air, but we were downwind from it, and it sensed nothing. It charged the cow, grunting with excitement as it loped along, and that was the end of it. It was pelted with arrows and javelins and it died a quick death, and its fur gave us warmth in the coming winters and we ate well, thanks to it. No better food than bear’s haunch.

The cow, of course, died. We ate it as well.

I felt like the cow as I stood waiting in front of the Red Hall, hoping to be allowed before the seat of Balderich, the highest man of the Marcomanni, grandson of the great Aristovistus, whom Caesar beat across the river. He had been informed of my request to meet him. He had been told the reason.

And still I was kept waiting. An hour? More? Snake-Bite was in their stable, eating well, but not I.

Balderich was clearly in no hurry to receive me. I felt dizzy, hot, hurt, weak, and also angry, as one would expect more hospitability from such a famed Thiuda. Of course, I came with accusations, not gifts, and I might have been something to be forgotten, until I slunk away.

While I sulked, I thought about the dilemma.

Bero would not buy it. I was sure of it. Didn’t he deal with shady liars all day, every day? Didn’t he practically manage Hard Hill, trade and alliances? And a simple Chatti was to convince him with a simple lie? No. I was the sacrificial cow that had survived one bear attack, and an animal like that isn’t suddenly the best in the flock because the bear didn’t kill it. No, the cow is still the one least wanted by its masters.

And in my case, a potential cause for embarrassment.

I had a hunch Bero would consider me a risk, and he didn’t take many, did he? How would I get close to them was a mystery. Hulderic thought too highly of my worth, I was sure.

So, that left me with the other option.

To be their enemy, and to find a way to Leuthard. First, I had to find the favor of Balderich, unless I wanted to sleep in the stables. My throat and neck ached, and I massaged my shoulder, trying to forget the throbbing pain on my back. I should have died. Whoever checked on me after the fight was a sloppy fool. But gods bless the fool.

I groaned, and ran a finger across the rash on my neck.

By Woden’s balls, I had hanged. Hanged! Not long, but hanged still.

Now I was working for the man who had done that to me, to retrieve a sword he thought was important, both to him and the Marcomanni. A simple sword still. Another wanted me to use his hammer to fulfill the oath to revenge Cerunnos. Both were mad. I was not being fair, I knew, and I was aware I was looking for reasons to ride away from the doorway and the hill, and never to come back.

Another part of me was angry. Angry at Hulderic for hanging me?

No, it was all Bero’s fault.

All of it. He had planned on using me as bait. That made him an enemy.

And I felt something for Gisil.

I felt sorry for her, naturally, but also anxious, and I knew her unknown fate wouldn’t be meaningless to me. It would bother me forever.

In fact, I thought I loved her.

I couldn’t deny it. It was stupidly mad thing to let one’s fate be guided by such a simple, fast, and one-sided romance, but there it was.

I forgot about my doubts and stood there, despite the many pains and frustrations that were mounting up. I fidgeted and cursed, as the ache in my back was horrible. It was throbbing with molten pain, and I struggled to stay upright, but the Marcomanni guards stared at me relentlessly, and so I would not move or show weakness. They saw the chafing around my neck, and they could see the bandages under my bloody tunic, and still they offered me no comfort, and I thought Balderich was a bastard. I’d fall before I would kneel or sit down.

I heard commotion, and turned my head, noticing a large group of men riding up the hill.

One was Bero.

There was the brother of Hulderic, and the highest man in the tribes after Balderich. He was tilted in his saddle, his long dark hair blowing in the wind, his forked beard glimmering with silver, and his chainmail made him glitter in the sun. His wealth no longer impressed me, his power made me sick. There were others with him. One, Fulch the Red, was the thick man with ruddy face, a leather helmet on his head, and a very long spear, and a champion who obviously lived in the nearby hall, because someone young and fleet rushed out to greet him from there. I smiled as his daughter dashed from their elaborately carved doorway to clasp the man’s leg, and the man, to my pleasure, could not help but smile. She was ten, twelve? Tall for her age. Looked devious as a squirrel and climbed like one, as she tried to scramble up onto her father’s saddle.

One man, huge, like a malignant shadow, cast back a leather hood.

He didn’t smile, probably never, even when something joyous took place.

Leuthard.

His eyes squinted at the girl, and it was clear he found her annoying. The bald, huge man sat on an equally huge, dark horse, and adjusted the famed sword Feud Settler, an ancient spatha on his side and glared at Fulch, as the girl’s happy whoops disturbed the horses. He looked ready to call her a pest, and deal with her accordingly, and Fulch sensed there was trouble brewing. The thick warrior looked back at Leuthard, gazed hard at the man, then at Bero, who shook his head, and so the father of the girl steered them aside, spat with disgust, and didn’t look back. He took her to their hall, and slaves rushed out to deal with her, but not before she pecked him a kiss.

The rest rode past me.

Bero ignored me.

He didn’t know me, of course, I realized. He gave me a glimpse, and rode for the stable end of the Red Hall, but Leuthard’s eyes grew large and guarded, though briefly furious, as he saw me. I looked back up at him, fighting an unreasonable bout of fear. He stopped his horse and sat there, surrounded by warriors.

Bero noticed something odd was happening and turned around lazily. “Who’s this, then?” he asked after a while. “Someone who has insulted you, Leuthard?”

I stepped forward, shook my head arrogantly, and answered. “I’m Adalwulf the Chatti, and here for justice.”

“He is a …” Leuthard opened his mouth, but shut it. He stopped short of betraying his master, and went on with a sarcastic voice. “The Chatti.” His eyes looked at Bero, who sat on his horse, until his eyes enlarged, just briefly, his hands clutched the bridle, and his face lost color.

“The Chatti?” he breathed.

Leuthard chuckled at him, softly like a mad man who enjoys danger and is bathed in madness. “Looks like something the dogs dragged from the woods, leftovers, torn and worn. They do that, when they’re not hungry.”

I dragged out the hammer from behind my leg and leaned on it. I scowled at the warlord of Bero, and my displeasure made him laugh. It was a horrible sight, as if his jaws would dislocate from the effort, but he did laugh and shook his head at me. Bero pointed a finger at the weapon. “You are that Chatti we hear about? The murdering thief? And you are here for justice?”

“What Chatti is that, Lord Bero?” I asked, cocking my head at him. “I only know one Chatti in Hard Hill, and that Chatti was betrayed and wrongly accused these past days. I keep hearing rumors there are many, though. I was just nearly killed because of these other Chatti I know nothing about.”

Bero cursed under his breath, but Leuthard lifted his hand.

“We heard there were others,” he said with a carefree voice. “It is reasonable to assume there was a plot by your people to hurt your worst enemy in the Marcomanni ranks.”

He knew I had heard him. He was toying with me. Or did he? Perhaps he was testing me, not sure I had heard anything at all. I lifted the hammer over my shoulder, and Leuthard’s eyes followed the weapon. Had he seen me use it? Had he been there that night? “I’m a Chatti, and my only crime was to seek a lord to serve. None believed me. Not one. They tortured me in that accursed hall, and my honor has been pissed on by everyone living on this shitty hill. I fought the robbers, and then the ones who should have thanked me hanged me. Here, again, people look at me like I am a liar. I hate that. I hate Hulderic, that old Celt, and I hate my luck, but should I hate someone else? Do you think I’m a liar?” I felt myself shaking for the effort. It was the best I could do.

They sat there, looking at me steadily. Bero’s face betrayed interest, guile, and greed, as he probably thought how best to use the former sacrificial cow, but Leuthard was scowling, distrustful, and with a good reason.

His face hardened.

He wouldn’t risk it. Bero would, but not him. Gods be cursed he was there that morning with the brother of Hulderic.

He would reject me.

Or, I thought, he will accept me, just to kill me later in peace. I felt dizzy with the lies.

Bero nodded at the hammer as he looked at me closely. “I’m not sure what to call you. But I do see many reasons for an innocent man to be upset. If you are one, indeed. For a hanged man, you do look mighty springy. And wealthy. Quite a weapon. That belongs to the Celt, doesn’t it?”

“A mighty weapon,” Leuthard said, scowling at it. “Famous. Still bloodied.”

“Not as famous as Feud Settler,” I allowed, looking at the hilt of the great, famed sword.

He nodded and tapped it lovingly, his face truly happy for just a moment. “It’s been alive for a long time, this blade. Men of my family have carried it since the gods walked the lands, when Midgard was young, and they still cared for the woods and the hills and lived here. It is what I am, and I am it. We suit each other.“ He was speaking of it like a better man would praise his wife.

“It is much like the sword they stole,” I stated, trying not to sound accusatory. “The Head Taker.”

Bero twitched, and Leuthard nodded, his eyes glinting. “Tell us, how did you survive, Chatti?” the champion prompted, and men, even the stoic guards in their chain armors, turned to listen.

I was no poet, no singer of songs, or a mighty storyteller. Such men spoke of the past, of the battles, and were wanted by the lords for their ability to spin a tale of some puny raid into a mightiest of battle. I cursed myself as I thought of ways to brag, and tried my best to stay within the boundaries of truth. “Yes. I was there when his hall was attacked by the … bandits,’ I said, and nearly struck my head with the hammer, as I made the word “bandits” sound accusatory. I didn’t want to seem to doubt Bero was to be blamed, but I saw Leuthard scowl. It was not going well, but I went on. “This woman, a völva, and a blacksmith brought me there after someone struck me in the harbor.”

“Struck you in the harbor?” Bero asked, cocking his head nervously. “You got into a fight? Where?”

I pointed a finger at Leuthard, whose eyes went into slits. “I was looking for a lord to bow to, to serve. I stumbled inside this building where his banner was posted. I waited by the doorway and then someone hit me across my face. I hit my skull on a post. I fell, crawled out, and this beautiful woman took me to the hall to heal. I don’t know who struck me. I admit, I stood there for a while. Perhaps someone thought I was a thief? I was waiting for Leuthard here to come out. He was seeing some men, and I didn’t wish to disturb them.”

They looked at each other, and I breathed a sigh of relief as Bero’s demeanor broke for just a moment, happily smiling, and the fool believed me. He might have been a keen trader, but he wanted to believe me, to use me against his brother. But Leuthard didn’t, it was clear by the warning look on his face. Leuthard spat and spoke. “Perhaps he thought you were eavesdropping. Did you hear what we were talking about?”

I shrugged proudly. “I was looking for a master, and I wasn’t interested in your business. It was dark as Hel’s ass, and I don’t know who’s to blame for what took place. I was just waiting there. Is that not how men greet the host of the hall? By entering and waiting? None challenged me at the door. I heard nothing but whispers. In any case, I was taken to heal. What followed was a nightmare instead.”

“Yes,” Leuthard said, and I was sure he though of ways for me to have more nightmares. He was mouthing the word softly. The man was pooled in madness. He knew I was lying. He would, if they had questioned Gisil, and she had told them what I had heard.

Then I groaned. Had I not challenged Raganthar before the battle? Had I given away anything then? No? Perhaps not? Leuthard knew the truth, I decided. And so would Bero, when Leuthard spoke with his master privately. I had failed Hulderic already. I went on, nonetheless. “I was struck down in the battle. They were bandits. There were many, they were harsh, cave-dwelling lot of deer-humpers, who took the head of Cerunnos, son of Teutorigos.” Men were murmuring at that, the guards looking at each other as if it was not the first time they had heard such a thing. And it wasn’t.

One guard called out. “Head? There were man’s remains in the woods without one not three days ago. They said it was a bear that did it, and it took the head with it.”

I shrugged, wondering if it was the other man they had spoken about, a Chatti like I. “I know nothing of that. But I fought. I fought hard. I used this,” I said, and showed them the hammer, which was still unwashed, and crusted with blood in places, “and killed many, many of them. I slapped it through their skulls, broke their bones, and finally nearly killed their leader, a huge, shield bearing bastard.”

“That’s impossible,” Leuthard said, surprised.

Everyone turned to look at him curiously.

“Why is it impossible?” Fulch grunted from the side, gazing at Leuthard suspiciously. “You know the man?”

Leuthard flashed Fulch a look that promised discomfort for the warlord, sometime in the future. Fulch flinched, but held the look. “This Chatti looks too weak to kill so many men,” Leuthard said tightly. “He looks like a boy.”

“I did kill them,” I growled. “But someone got behind me, and they stabbed me down, yet, for some reason, I survived.”

“Lucky, very lucky,” Bero murmured, nodding at me to go on. “And then you landed from one trouble into another. You met my brother. Ah, I know him well. He’d not listen to an innocent man. He’d roast you, if it suited his ends. And he did, didn’t he?”

I nodded heavily. “I awoke to this man called Hulderic standing over me, and the Celt, bereft of a son, blamed me for being part of the band. Blamed the Chatti,” I said thinly as I gazed at Bero, “for having planned it all. All because I happened to be one. Didn’t listen to my explanations. They hung me next to the hall, lord, and all I remember was swinging. I saw them carry his treasures. Teutorigos gave a fortune in silver to the gods, threw them to the river, so they would grant his son peace and him vengeance, and he gave the hammer to gods with the gold. I saw him do it, while I hung there, half-dead. To the water it went. Hulderic said he’d find his weapon. I heard it. He is going home, no doubt, to wage war on the Chatti.”

Bero’s eyes looked at me with wonder, and one could not help but notice he was distraught when his brother was mentioned, but also, like a child, relieved as I mentioned Hulderic having taken his bait. He was nodding sympathetically “They didn’t believe you, I can see that in the wounds around your throat. But to murder a man in cold blood. Surely that is injustice, no?” His eyes snaked towards Balderich’s hall, and I knew he didn’t care if I lied. He wanted to believe me. He wanted to use me against Hulderic. Leuthard was smiling a small smile as he looked upon me.

“Yes, lord,” I said gutturally, wondering if I had succeeded after all. “I was taken down, left for dead, for the animals to gnaw on, but Woden saved me, and I crawled away. I was going to escape, but instead, I wanted to shame them. I fished out the hammer for my own, and I’m here to blame the lords who tried to kill me. I will want justice. And justice I shall have. If they’ll not pay a wergild, I’ll kill them with their own weapon.”

Leuthard grunted and nodded at Bero, who guided his horse to his side. His eyes never left mine. Bero leaned to listen to Leuthard’s plot, and I fought hard to keep my face straight. Finally, Bero straightened, and looked down at me, his eyes hard. “If you are looking for justice, I can champion you. But nothing more.”

“I thank you, Lord Bero,” I said gratefully. “I’ve been waiting here for ages, and nobody has come forth to help me.”

And a voice answered from the shadows of the hall. There was a large man there, obviously old by the stooping back, and his hair was gray and lank. “I’ve heard your story now, boy. Your name?”

“Adalwulf,” I said. “A Chatti.”

“A Chatti. Often do we entertain your lords here. Oldaric, more than the others,” the man said, and came to the sunlight. He leaned on the doorsill, an old, fat man whose youth was past him. “I am Balderich, of the blood of Aristovistus, Lord of the North Gau, and of all the Marcomanni, Thiuda of both gaus. War kings are chosen for the duration of war, but here, for life. Enemies always threaten us, you see. You bring sad tidings to us, Adalwulf.” He gazed at Bero, who barely kept his mouth shut. “I respect Hulderic, you see, and even Teutorigos, one of the men I’ve welcomed from the other side of the river, a rich man who grieves for his son, and I failed to protect him. I feel sorry for him, and sorry for you. A sad day for all, and sadder if you wish to right a wrong, when he is so hurt.“

Bero intercepted me. “No matter who died, Balderich, a free man can expect justice for injustice. Death does not give us leave to murder at will, especially if the man is innocent, nay, even a hero. Gods will frown at the insult. Woden will look at us with a frown.”

“Gods,” Balderich said with humor, “got Hulderic’s sword stolen and the son of Teutorigos dead. I think they are watching all of this, amused.” He turned to me, and looked at the hammer with disapproval.

I clutched the weapon, though tried to keep a respectful look on my face as I bowed to the old chief of the Marcomanni. “It’s mine.”

He snorted, and I noticed one of his eyes was gray and foggy, and he probably didn’t see anything with that, but the other one made up for the deficit as he winked at me. “He’ll be wanting that back,” he noted as he looked almost enviously at the fine craftsmanship of the weapon. “He’ll be here, moaning about it, and what shall I say?”

“I found it?” I snarled. “I fished it out, after he threw it away.”

“Did you take his treasure?” Balderich asked. “Since it was thrown in with the coins. Would make sense to rob it all, no?”

I shook my head. “I only found this. The gods took the coins. This is all I need, anyway. I don’t give jotun’s shit what Teutorigos thinks about it. I escaped with my life. I found it. Now, I want justice.”

“I say give him to me,” Leuthard said from the side, tilting his head. I noted Balderich cast his eye on the bald champion, and smiled to himself. The old man was no fool at all, not one bit. He had doubts about the guilt of the Chatti, and knew Bero very well. “He’d blame any man here, rather than accept blame himself. Teutorigos hung him for a reason. He’s after cows and riches, that’s all. Bold but stupid. Let’s finish the job.” And with that, he had cast doubt on anything I might blame Bero with. More, I was in mortal danger. Again.

I growled. “I’m not someone to be given away.” The guards moved a bit at that, worried. “And I’ll not be insulted again. You smear my honor.”

“Do I?” Leuthard said. “Want justice for that as well?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Gods, it was all going wrong.

He laughed. “Will you challenge me as well?” Leuthard said, with amusement, and leaned forward. “Then let it be me first, Teutorigos next.”

My lips twitched, and a sour taste filled my mouth. I felt unreasonable anger at the casual brutishness of this man who was used to getting his way, and I was willing to bet the other champions serving Bero didn’t love him. Fulch, the stout man on the side, at least cast a baleful look at Leuthard and Bero both.

Balderich saved me.

“Enough,” said the great man heavily, moving out of the doorway. I turned to look his way, and saw he was staring resolutely at me, willing me to be silent. I did shut my mouth, though it was hard.

Bero didn’t. “Lord, let him hang. He is obviously a liar. But at least question Teutorigos and Hulderic for the crime. I’ve come to—”

“Foment trouble,” Balderich finished with neutral voice, but smiled at his warlord and administrator of the Marcomanni to put him at ease and soften the comment. “That’s what you do, when you first demand this man has a cause to be angry after being hung a hero, and then you decide he should be hanged again when your warlord thinks he is trouble. You know not your own mind, Bero, not today. Hulderic and Teutorigos shall not be challenged. Not now. The Celt’s son died, Bero. I shall think about this, I shall, I’ll give it time, and I’ll not be rash. Now, we have to figure out a place for the young Adalwulf until I have decided what we shall do, and when.” The old man was nodding his head, clearly trying to figure out a way to bury the issue so deep it would be forgotten.

But why? I wondered. What did he want?

Balderich waved his hand. “No more hangings today. He stays with me.” That didn’t please Bero nor Leuthard, but Balderich didn’t back down at their clear, silent, and sullen disapproval “Come, and speak with me, then,” he told me. “I will handle this from now on, Teutorigos included.’

“Lord—” Bero started, but the old man gave him such a baleful stare, even the twisted, rich warlord went silent. “I was going to speak with you, Balderich, about an issue over the River.”

“It can wait a moment,” Balderich said as he disappeared inside. “Have ale with Fulch, while I sort this young man’s anger, and find him a room. He is a guest, unless something changes. You wait until I call for you.”

“Very well,” Bero said, as Balderich went inside. Bero was red-faced, clearly displeased by being subjected to such a delicate insult, and Leuthard turned his horse so violently I was afraid it would fall. He rode my way, not caring for Fulch’s ale. Leuthard looked at me, and the way he shook his head from side-to-side made me shake. The rest went about their business, but the man stopped the horse before me and clearly wanted words with me. I took steps towards him and stopped near him. He leaned down.

“Well. What shall I do with you?”

“I didn’t lie,” I said, grasping at straws. “I wanted service.”

“And you heard nothing?” he asked, arching his heavy eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I said stubbornly.

“And you don’t lie, you say?”

“Never!” I hissed.

He chuckled. “Well. That is curious. You don’t lie? First of all, if the hammer was thrown in a river, how come it is covered with blood?”

“I—”

He slapped his thigh. “And there is the curious matter of the river itself. There is no river running next to the hall. They have a well. You cannot see a drop of water as you hang in a tree, none at all. To the water it went, indeed. What say you to that?”

I stood there, a terrible liar. A horrible and awful one. “I—”

He shrugged. “We all lie, Adalwulf. You had no chance. You came here to profit, and how you got the hammer, is a mystery to me. Did you steal it? Or did they give it to you? Is Hulderic trying to find if Bero had his claws on the business? No. I don’t trust you. And I’ll make sure Bero won’t. He’ll want you gone after his evil little mind lets go of the thought you might be useful. He’ll come around. You’ll go. One way or another. And you know,” he whispered sibilantly, “no matter your lies here today, I know the truth.”

Gisil. They had spoken with her. “Is she alive?” I asked weakly.

He shrugged. “You think too much, Adalwulf. I think you think too much of her. It’s all about her, isn’t it? Whether you escaped a hanging, and stole a hammer, or agreed to some scheme of theirs to murder my lord Bero, you should forget the girl. Disappear, go far, or stay. Up to you.”

He thought I was after Bero, I thought. Not him. Bero.

I bit my lip and nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

He chuckled. “Gisil. This girl. You are in love with her,” he stated with pity. “Men in love cannot be trusted. And no, you don’t wish to know about the girl, not even if she is alive or dead. It would break your heart, in any case.” He pulled his horse away and rode away, and I wiped a tear from my eye.

She was dead. I was sure of it.

Leuthard was my enemy, and we both knew it.

I turned to look at the hall of Balderich.

“Are you coming?” a guard asked with a bored voice, having waited for me to follow his lord.

“Yes,” I said, knowing he was my best bet to figure out a way to capture Leuthard, a way to the tribe, if not Bero’s service. I had failed utterly to get close to them.

I’d try to find Leuthard’s weakness.

CHAPTER 8

I followed the great man inside the smoky hall, and even in the throws of remorse over my failure with Bero, I wondered at the walls of the place. They were hung with weapons, and banners of vanquished enemies, each one a fabulous story. It had been erected a bit after the Romans beat Aristovistus, Oldaric had once told Germain, as I had eavesdropped on their discussion. The great Suebi king had fled back over the River Rhenus, and stopped on this hill, and it was here where he had organized the survivors, gazing at the remaining men of the beaten tribes returning home, and searched for his wife and children. They were not amongst the refugees. They were Roman prisoners.

Here, they said, the man watched the Vangiones betray him and join the Romans, and here, his heart broke, as so many of the beaten tribes spat at him. Only the Marcomanni and the Quadi stayed faithful, while others went home, taking the story of his failure to all the corners of the lands where Germani lived. He rebuilt what he could, brooded over his losses, hoping for Rome to return his family, and they never did. It was a hard hill indeed, and they said he died a hard, lonely death, in that very hall. I looked at the smoky, red-gray walls, until my eyes stopped where an old spear with a blue-tinged steel was strung, and then I looked above it, where there was a thick, rusty chain.

Balderich smiled at my scrutiny. “Out of all the trophies, you spotted the right one. Your Oldaric and his brother have halls far older that this one, but they have no more ominous artifact than that chain there. Caesar sent my grandfather that, before the fateful battle. Aristovistus was to make ready his own fetters, but he kept the chain, flaunted it, showing his disdain of the Romans. Now its here to remind us of that fateful, sad war, and those who survived it. It was hung there by him, right above his spear, Wolf’s Bane. The Marcomanni are strong now, but one must be a careful Thiuda to keep the clans happy, and that is why it is there. To remind us all that the fetters are not far. Rome is still out there, just across the river.”

“That is what Hulderic said as well,” I said, and bit my lip so hard I winced.

He chuckled and sat down, and I cursed myself under my breath. “Gods, but you are a terrible liar. I’m not sure if I like that about you, or hate it. Oh, I know you didn’t steal the hammer. I realized you spoke utter shit out there, and so did Leuthard, eh? Did Hulderic speak of the Romans before or after he hanged you?”

“I cannot remember,” I said sullenly. ”And he actually did hang me. He meant to kill me, that was no lie.”

He snorted. “He spoke of Rome after, then. After he took you down, eh? I doubt he’d chat at length with someone about to visit Woden.”

“Yes,” I agreed, uncomfortable, and feeling naked before the great man whose one good eye seemed to see more than dozen normal eyes.

He smiled, and waved a lazy hand across the room, while grabbing a leg of roasted bird from a wooden platter. It looked delicious, and my belly rumbled loudly. He ignored the noise and went on, his mouth full of juicy flesh. “This is the edge of our world, Adalwulf,” he said, gesturing with the fleshy bone. “The very edge. Beyond the river, we have rich Gauls, traitorous fellow Germani, and Romans with their swords. Those swords. Everyone wants one. Every warrior who comes to us is lusting for such a weapon, a proper-sized horse, a flock of fat Celt cows, and this is the place to be. Up north,” he said, while shaking his head, “the Germani are in dire straits. Your people, the Chatti and the Cherusci even, trap them against this same river, and on the other side, the Ubii serve Rome, and Rome is not at ease up there. Dangerous place to live, north. Here we have more space. There, the heroes get mounds to sleep in. No matter if they occasionally do well.”

“I heard this Roman governor—”

“Marcus Lollius,” he smiled. “Go on. Hulderic was talkative with a man he hanged.”

I blushed. “That one, lost a standard of his legion to the Sigambri, Tencteri, and the Marsi.”

“Aquila. He lost an eagle. Not just some shitty lesser pole, but the very honor of the legion. Last year, yes,” he said absentmindedly as he sucked the last meat off the bone, smacking his lips as he did, trying to keep the juices from running to his chin. “They lost an Aquila, indeed. The Sigambri gave it back, as the great General Tiberius went there to make sense out of the mess. He is touring Gaul and our river now.” He indicated I should sit, and I did. He turned across the table and looked at me carefully. “Nasty abrasion on your throat, boy. I guess he really meant to make bird feed out of you, eh? Good thing he changed his mind. But hear this. We are living well here, but the chain is real, nonetheless. They are taking lands all around us, the Romans. And soon? Perhaps old Augustus would have a new river to call border? One near the Cherusci, far east of Rhenus? We will have to be careful.”

“We’ll fight,” I growled. “If they try, we’ll fight.”

He chuckled. “Yes, we will. Of course we will. And then, we’ll move.”

I nodded to the north. “We won’t. The Sigambri, Tencteri, Usipetes, and the Marsi don’t let Rome push them, and they are still there,” I said, feeling strangely proud and belligerent. “Why should it be any different for us?”

He laughed softly. “They’ll move as well. We have met nothing yet. Few of their armies have crossed the river so far. When they do, they will bring tens of thousands of soldiers, and we will fight them, but never together. Rome has begun to build their castra all along the river,” the great man said. “Forts. Its surprising it didn’t start earlier, but the castra—”

‘They fear you?’ I asked. “Surely a good sign. The forts mean they are settling in, and fear your people.”

He snorted, and then laughed raucously, nearly choked on his phlegm and the bird’s flesh, and coughed, until he could finally calm himself. “Fear us? No, boy, no. They do not fear us at all. The Castra are nothing. They build them, and take them down like ants. They are not defensive. They are offensive. Back in the day when Aristovistus met the Romans, Caesar had never fought our people before, nor really, and, yes, some cowardly Gauls demoralized some of the legions before Aristovistus attacked, but most Roman soldiers just yawned. They had killed half of Gaul, and slitting a throat of a man head taller than they was just normal daily business for them. No different from taking a shit. My grandfather did great disservice to our people by listening to a fool vitka, who received a warming from the gods that the battle could not be won before the new moon was born. Imagine that! Going to battle but not really attacking, because of some fool damned old man had a vision while eating mushrooms, drunk. Aristovistus lost, because our people fear their shadows. Rome doesn’t fear us.”

“Gods are mad and love chaos, and the vitka just speak their will,” I said. “Romans are different, I guess.”

He leaned on the table, and moved the plate away, throwing the bone on it. “Bah! The vitka are liars. They are like children who desperately crave attention. Aristovistus should have buried the man in pig-shit before letting him scare the tribes. As for Romans, their priests tell the soldiers what the generals want them to hear. Our priests tell the men what the most influential chiefs want, unless they want to be petulant and make up stories for their own amusement, like it was with this vitka of Aristovistus. And there are far too many chiefs, with too many agendas, and they don’t bow down to anyone. Not really. Not even to me. No, I need to be delicate, careful Thiuda. And I can’t sit on my hands when things go into a cow’s anus.”

And that was the message. He needed something. “I see,” I said cautiously.

He slapped the table. “They do go to Hel. They do indeed go to shit. It might not seem like that to a young man out to explore the world. You’d need to deal with higher powers to fully understand when the balance of power is rocking unfavorably. We are here, still here, the Marcomanni. We are slowly regaining our strength. There are tens of thousands of us. This was an empty land of great wealth, and we took it. Now we hold it with a great force. To hold it, I need certain kind of men. Men like Bero. And Hulderic. Unfortunately, they keep killing each other’s men, and plotting to kill more. Hard to balance in the middle as their lord, I tell you that. But I guess you know all about that as well, my young friend.”

I blinked nervously. Then a short, pretty blonde girl offered me a horn full of sweet mead, and I received it gratefully. My back was throbbing, and I grimaced, groping the wound instinctively, and the girl’s eyes went to Balderich, who grunted assent and nodded. She sat down behind me, and despite my brief attempt to shrug her hands off me, she persisted and pulled my tunic up.

I clutched the horn, balancing it from hand to hand as she lifted the tunic off entirely, and sat there as she went to work. I glanced at her again, and she flashed me a smile. Was she the girl who had used to serve Sigilind, Hulderic’s ward, the mother of Hraban and Gernot, and Balderich’s daughter? Ingrid? Possibly. She had a pretty freckled face, and her eyes delved into mine with reassurance, but it was painful sensation all across my back when she tried to find the end of the wrap, nonetheless. She found it, and then she began unwrapping the wound to take care of it, and I cursed and sweated as the pain throbbed from my toes to the top of my skull.

“Gods, above, but that is terrible,” I whispered, and Balderich snorted.

“Wounds are meant to be. Our flesh we give for our causes, and sometimes, we lose some of it. But man up. Many such wounds kill you after weeks of festering, so let her work. But as I said—”

“You need certain kind of men to lead such a troubled nation,” I stated with a high wincing voice as the girl clucked her tongue and poked at the wound. Something was loose there, and I begged it was not flesh, but the wrap.

“Yes,” Balderich said with a wry smile. “And yea, I had an idea you might help me with.”

“I—”

“Shh,” he said, with a ferret-like, clever smile. “I know. You have a job already. And I will not ask what your plans are with Hulderic. I trust he loves me enough not to have asked you to kill Bero. He knows I need Bero. And while Teutorigos might like to see Bero’s head on his lap, I’d be upset.”

“Can we speak of such matters here?” I asked him, and nodded at the girl.

He lifted a finger to shut down my protests. “We can speak at ease. I trust her. And, as I said, I care not what you planned together with Hulderic. As long as Hulderic is not trying to get Bero killed, and is only hoping to regain his fine sword, I care not a shit’s worth. I wish you luck.” He leaned forward, and whispered, “But this is an opportunity for me as well. As I said, there is trouble in the tribe. Ultimately, Rome is our problem. It will be, one day. Secondly, to fight Rome, we must be fierce, battle-hardened warriors, not a collection of traders and cow-rustlers. And that’s Bero’s job, and it is a hard job, I give him that, but still, it is his job. And he is failing.”

“Failing, lord?”

He nodded. “Failing. He is a merchant. Not a warrior. This is a nation full of hungry men. I’m old. I have an alliance with the southern gau, where Isfried’s ancient family rules. My daughter, Gunhild, lives there, and though I think she is quite unhappy, there has not been any cause to doubt the southern Marcomanni are anything but devoted to the nation, to making sure we stay a strong tribe, together. I have men like Leuthard, who serve whom they serve, Fulch the Red, whom I made a lord after a terrible battle with the Matticati.” He looked at the wall where a standard of horsehair was hanging. “Fulch, and ten others like him. But they needed a lord. I was too old, and I gave them Bero. It was a mistake.”

“I see.” I bit my lip as the girl was testing the stitches.

“I should have made him a merchant lord, not a warlord,” Balderich grumbled. “While Bero commands them, I have heard men are unhappy with him. Not the commoners mind you, because trade bustles, but the warriors. And Adalwulf, we need the warriors, experienced, savage warriors who are rich but still hungry for more, and have a cause to fight well. We have a merchant who lets them loose every now and then, but we lack war. And so while you work with Hulderic, and have an interest in Bero, I have something you will take a look at as well.”

“You are asking me for a favor?” I asked uncertain of what I was getting into.

“Favor?” he gawked. “Are you a king? A noble with thousand spears?”

“No,” I answered needlessly.

“In that case, no, I need no favors,” he said simply. “Favors have to be repaid. You’ll get an order. And I might reward you, if you do well.”

I rubbed my face, both for the pain in my back and my horribly knotted future. “So. The commoners love Bero. But the warriors are unhappy?” I asked, and gave one before he answered. “They are not getting their fill of what they came here to look for? They are not ready for war, should Rome come suddenly? I’ve heard this before, and I’ve only been here a day or two.” I realized I didn’t even know if I had slept in the hall of Teutorigos for more than a moment. Days might have passed.

Balderich smiled like a fox. “As I said. They want the horses and the cows and that Roman sword,” Balderich stated. “That’s what they all want. Some get it, but many do not. Bero is being very peaceful with Rome, because of the trade. He has grown rich as some decadent god of the Asgaard, and while I do get my share, he also has to worry about the second aspect of being a warlord. He is a noble lord. The second is being a war-like lord.”

“You need war,” I stated. “How can I help with that?”

He was nodding. “I don’t need war with Rome. Bero’s right in that. I need wars with the Vangiones, the Matticati, the Gauls, something much more that what we are doing now. We raid, but when is the last time we sent a thousand spears into battle? Even a hundred? We need warriors growing rich of loot in order to attract more warriors. We also need men dying, so we have heroes and songs, and fewer men eating and growing fat. We need victories, we need losses. We need feuds against our enemies. We raid, but there is no real energy or purpose in the raids. Bero mainly fights the Matticati, and rarely raids their villages. He fights off some aggressive Celt lords, but never takes men deep into their lands. He makes war with the poor tribes of the Black Forest. Our foes are growing unafraid of us. Hulderic, and others like him, keep the Chatti and the Hermanduri in check, and they actually fight wars in the east, but what we need is a proper conflict with the Gauls and the Vangiones. We need that. Even if we lose men. Young men will soon start to go elsewhere for their adventure. We need battle-hardened, experienced men, and you don’t get such men while Bero sits on top of his trade.”

“Isn’t a war with the Vangiones and the Celts a war with Rome?” I asked. “Excuse me, Lord Bero probably is a genius in these matters, but I doubt I know how many villages one can burn before Rome takes exception.”

He smiled. “What Bero misses when he comes to this hall, is the chain on my wall.”

“Lord?”

“The chain,” he laughed. “On the wall. He never looked up to it. Not once. That chain, Chatti, reminds us that the war will eventually come. It is unavoidable.” He sobered, and sat there for a moment. “His trade won’t save us. So I need your help. Give him a reason to make war. Something grand. Something that men will notice across the rivers, and reminds us we are still enemies. Leave Rome out of it. If they take exception, so be it. I doubt they will.”

“Very well,” I said, laughing harshly. “You are asking for something simple, and, sure, I’ll do that. I’ll just double the raids over the river, then. I’ll arrange for a grand war with the Celts. I, after all, have Bero’s ear. He will sit with me, hold my hand, and weep on my shoulder as we share stories. He’ll probably wish to squat next to me when I go and take a shit.” The girl giggled softly.

“Don’t be stupid,” Balderich grunted. The girl pinched me, and I resisted an urge to glare at her. “It’s a mess, and I know it. You are already looking at Bero. Hulderic’s sword is out there, and Bero knows where, probably. Think hard. Help me. Find a way to push Bero so he takes an active interest in a shieldwall, and not so much in a Roman wine jar.”

“Can’t you just command him to raid the Mediomactri?” I asked him loudly.

That was a mistake. His face darkened. The girl pinched me again, harder. Balderich opened his mouth, and closed it, and spoke again. “And what if he refused?”

I was quiet, brooding. The blood of Aristovistus was old. He had been the power behind the Marcomanni, but he wasn’t so sure he still was. Money, coin, paid the warlords now. “I see.”

“Do you?” he breathed sadly. “I’m glad if you do. I could elevate some of the champions, even Hulderic, your so-called foe, but Hulderic is the caretaker of our nation’s future. His grandsons carry the blood of Aristovistus, and also, as their father Maroboodus is a high Goth of the north, the blood of the Raging Bear and the Boat-Lords. They are our future. They will rule well. Hulderic also guards the east and the north, and we need him there. And the champions might refuse me if I just go past Bero. Leuthard guards Bero like a dog. That man might not hesitate to draw a sword for Bero, even against me.”

He feared Leuthard, I thought, and felt sorry for him. He still worried for the Marcomanni, still tried to lead, waiting for his grandsons to grow, playing time, but he was also desperate, leading from the shadows. He was desperate enough to thrust a foolish Chatti into the game, trusting a man he barely knew.

A fool Chatti, who had failed so many times since he arrived, and before it.

I sat there, forgetting the prying fingers and mutterings of the girl. What was he asking? “Lord. You asked me not to tell what I am doing with Hulderic, for him, but he is asking a great deal for finding this sword. I didn’t fool Leuthard out there at all. He’ll want my head. I was hoping to, wish to, find a way to their confidence, but found they will never have me. Now you ask me to find a way to make Bero raid the Gauls and the Vangiones? I am just a simple man.”

He smiled shrewdly. “I sense you are not an ordinary boy, and as Hulderic trusts you, I shall as well. You are uniquely placed, boy, in such a way that you have no hold on Hard Hill. You and I both know they will want you to die as soon as possible to hide Bero’s crime. I know he did it. They have been hurting each other since they moved here, and Bark’s strange request that no chief carry a weapon in the prayers smelled of Bero’s coin. Now he fears you. Leuthard hates you. I’d say you are properly motivated. So you will help find a way to get Bero’s juices flowing. You will get a reward,” he said a bit guardedly, “if you succeed. That reward shall be a leave to serve Hulderic. Fail, and you will not live in my lands. I still have that much power over the Hill. You’ll be thrown out. It’s that simple.” I felt the girl disapproved the man’s words, and I stiffened, as I was being blackmailed. Though, perhaps, the man was desperate, and could be forgiven.

“What is his weakness?” I asked frankly, at loss how to tackle the issue. “Riches?”

He nodded, complimenting me for my question. “Wealth indeed. He is far too rich for his own good. And for my good.’ His eyes went to the girl, who seemed not to listen to him, and then he eyed me. “Ingrid knows my problems here in Hard Hill. Now you do as well. Say “no” at your own peril.”

She was Ingrid indeed. I resisted the urge to turn to look at her.

“I’m a poor bastard Chatti who—” I began, then grimaced as Ingrid poked a finger in the hole in my back, and I knew she had done it on purpose, “would love nothing better than to help you,” I finished. My mind was whirling.

He shook his head as he had noticed the poke, and I felt Ingrid smiling, even if I didn’t see her. Balderich got up with a groan, holding his knee. “Gods damn old age, and its humiliations. I’ll have to take a piss now. You don’t wish to see it. You find out the truth about the sword for Hulderic. Find the sword, if you can. While you do, give us war, make Bero a soldier. I know you have little hope of figuring out a scheme I haven’t been able to, but try.”

Ingrid spoke, her voice clear as rain. “Won’t that stop the trade? A war? It should, no?”

Balderich shook his head. “Nothing stops trade. That’s what Bero does not get. Traders trade, no matter if the soldiers die, and perhaps trade even harder, though under the cover of darkness.”

I nodded at the great man who walked around me. He was mumbling with Ingrid, who finally hissed at him, and came to stand before me. “Someone poked a framea at your back. Thin wound. Got lucky, didn’t you?”

“I don’t feel lucky right now. I’m to find an ancient sword for a place in Hulderic’s table, and a way to make a cowardly warlord into a raging wolf. It seems I might as well jump over Sunna, or fetch Hel’s dagger from beyond Gjöll.”

“Are we clear?” he asked, ignoring my whines.

I hesitated. “There was a Chatti here, days ago. In this hall, asking for you. Did he say what his business was? Was he looking for me? What was his name?”

Balderich shrugged. “There was one. I assumed he was a trader. I sent him to Bero.”

He sent him to Bero. And Bero figured out a way to blame another for something he was planning. “I see.”

“Didn’t even talk to him. I’m sorry,” Balderich said. He leaned close, and tapped his finger on my hammer, then my head. “Brave up, now. These will help you. Eat, drink, and sleep here in my hall. The Thing is over, and chiefs go home, and you can start plotting. I have some faith in you, Adalwulf. It costs me little to have you try, and you might make it, since none know you, and you are desperate already.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I don’t care about your age, your lack of wealth, only for the fact you came to my door, ready to serve Hulderic in something very dangerous. That speaks a world of you. That’s why I’m asking something nearly impossible. But, remember, impossible or not,” he said, and leaned close, his one good eye sharp as an eagle’s. “I am of the blood of a king. There have been few kings with the Germani. It is our way to succeed where others fail, and if you do fail, you pay the price.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Do not fail, Adalwulf. Or you leave the land.Do not betray me, or you will swing. Ingrid, take him to his quarters. You have some time, Adalwulf, before Bero becomes suspicious, and starts to wonder if I’ve made up my mind about you and your issues with Teutorigos and Hulderic. Rest, but do not rest too long.”

CHAPTER 9

I waited uneasily, as they settled me in. There were no real rooms, but simple alcoves at the back of the great hall, mostly living quarters for the servants and family members, but since Balderich had no family present in the hall, some were empty. Few halls were as big as the Red Hall, but it was also moldy, and the bed was old. While they changed the hay on the sad, narrow thing, I walked around, trying to get to know the place. There were warriors, Balderich’s old warriors, noble men who greeted me, and judging by the suspicious way they looked at me, it was clear they had been told to remain vigilant around me.Ingrid came upon me while I was exploring a meat larder. They also appeared to use the same room as a bathing chamber. The lure of a bath was strong.

“Too late for that today,” she smiled, reading my mind. “We do it in the mornings. But you can take one down in the river, by the harbor, of course.”

“I should,” I said, and lifted my tunic, sniffing it. “I’ve smelled sweeter turds, to be honest.”

She took a step forward. “Refrain from smelling sweet turds while Balderich is present. You were told there is a slave in the hall of Balderich who will help you?”

I nodded and smiled. “One Ingrid.”

“I am that Ingrid,” she said happily, and I instantly liked her. “I was Sigilind’s slave when I was a child, and Hulderic told me she still misses me. They told me I’d be welcomed in his hall one day, if I keep my eyes open for the Goth.” She looked ashamed, and then swiped her hair back. “As long as I’m not hurting Balderich, I’m happy, and so I’m here to help you. I’ll take messages to Teutorigos and his men in the town, and I’ll advise you. Iodocus is nearby.”

“Iodocus?” I asked.

“A thin, great warrior,” she answered. “Probably saw him with Teutorigos. Be sure to tell me before you put yourself into any danger. They’ll keep an eye on you. Bero and Iodocus both.”

I smiled. “Great! Can you tell me where I might find Hulderic’s sword, and that other thing? Can you advise me how to kick Bero into having a war or two? Why did he—”

She chuckled as she pulled at my filthy tunic. “I know. But you figured it out already. He is afraid of Bero and Leuthard, he still wants to lead the tribe wisely, but has lost the reins. And he trusts Hulderic, and if Hulderic trust you enough to set you on a mad mission, he wanted to see if you might help him as well. Do your best. He might not hang you if you fail, after all.”

“If I fail,” I chortled. “Not when.”

“We got you a new set of clothes. Here.” She showed me a gray, woolen tunic.

“Gods, thank you,” I breathed. She threw it to me, blushing as I pulled off my bloody, dirty tunic and dropped it on a bench.

“Gods be thanked, indeed,” she smiled.

“I’m not that pretty that you need to thank the gods for this sight,” I murmured. “But I’m grateful for the clothes.”

She raised her eyebrow. “I’ve seen prettier boys.”

“Oh?” I said, feeling I had made a fool of myself.

“Some,” she allowed, smiling mischievously. “We can afford to waste some finery on a rogue Chatti thief. Take these as well.” She showed me a set of pants, new shoes with fine leather, and a rope to serve as a belt.

“I’m no thief…” I began, but of course I was and went quiet.

“I’m no expert, but most warriors steal for living,” she grinned. “Didn’t they take me from my family in the lands of the Matticati when I was herding the cows? I was only eight,” she added. I kicked away my broken shoes, and pulled down my pants.

“You aren’t squeamish, are you, Adalwulf?” she said a bit breathlessly as she averted her eyes. “I haven’t seen that before,” she murmured, her cheeks flushed.

I hesitated, and shrugged. I had never been shy, nor cared to be. Most men and women were very moral and chaste east of the great river, and while Gisil had seemed very carefree, even more than I was, Ingrid was more like the Chatti, as she looked away, still blushing and murmuring something. I chuckled as I struggled with the pants. “Germain, my uncle, told me once I used to run stark naked across the house when his guests arrived, especially their daughters. Says he gave up, told everyone I was a lecherous wood spirit, and should be ignored.”

She giggled and nodded enthusiastically, as I pulled the rope belt around my waist, while sneaking peeks at me. “You have grown up, I think.”

“I hope so,” I told her with a smile, though Gisil’s face flitted in my mind, and I looked away from her, because Ingrid was pretty as a flower, and what I felt for Gisil confused me.

She slapped her hands together, rousing herself to the business at hand. “Start thinking about the dilemma. In the meantime, I have errands to run in the town. You should rest a bit. Your back isn’t horrible, seen worse, but it might very well go angry red, raw, fill with puss, and then you’ll die. I’ll take a boy with me, and we’ll get you something from the market. You have no wealth? That belt makes you look like a peasant, not a warrior.”

I nodded. “Only my horse. It’s at the stables. It’s old, but it’s a good one.”

She smiled as she heard the love dripping in my voice, and perhaps there was a brief scowl of jealousy. I noticed a small boy of perhaps thirteen, runty and thin-necked, peeking at her from behind a curtain. She left and pulled him after her, babbling and speaking, but the boy’s eyes held mine briefly, full of suspicion. He was in love with Ingrid.

I went to lie down to my alcove, closed my eyes, and let the blissful exhaustion chase away the tasks I had been given. When I woke up, it was very late.

I awoke with a startle. I grasped my hammer, and I saw the roof, and then realized I had not woken up naturally. I saw the boy there, looking at me nervously. I shot up, stopping myself from shouting out with the surprise. I took some breaths, waited for him to say something, and then lost my patience. “What is it?” I asked him with a growl.

“I heard you,” he whispered.

“Huh?”

He waved his hand. “When you spoke. There’s something you should know. But first, here.” He put a leather belt of good quality on the bed, and there was a fine buckle with metal rings and hooks. “Ingrid’s gift,” he said seedily. “Better than most. Better than what Balderich gave you. Much better.”

“Oh!” I said, frowned and took it, looking at it reverently. “It must have been costly.”

“She likes you,” he said resentfully. “She has no man, you see, and Balderich is looking to find one for her, but the lord told her she could look around as well, and she likes you a lot.” He sounded like he had a rotten bit of meat in his mouth.

I stuttered and fumbled with the belt, as I pulled it around me, while tugging at the rope one. “You are very forthright about it.”

“She is a fool, I think. You look trouble,” he said unhappily.

“You’re probably right,” I told him with a chuckle as I admired the belt around me. “What did you mean when you said you heard me?”

“It’s about your horse,” he stated. “You were speaking about your nag. There’s an issue you don’t know about. Trouble.” He sounded almost happy about it.

I stared at him, willing him to speak, feeling something terrible was about to unfold. His eyes glinted maliciously, but he looked away, ashamed, and shrugged. I poked him. “Go on. My horse is in the stables. It’s right there in the other end of the hall.”

He shook his head. “While you were speaking with Ingrid, Leuthard took your horse. Or rather, his man did. I saw it. Many did, in fact, but few question him.”

My blood froze, and then boiled. I clutched the hammer with savagery.

“Where, exactly, did he take my horse? Where does he live?”

“It’s not in his own stables,” the boy said nervously. “We all know where he takes his animals. He holds horses, stolen like this one, in a stable further in the woods, down the hill. It’s a village near the river.”

I stood there for a moment, I knew I should be cautious, but I wasn’t in the mood. Snake-Bite? Oh, no. He’s mine. I pulled my hammer, and leaned down on the boy. “You will take me there.”

“I don’t—”

“I didn’t ask. I told you to do it,” I said threateningly. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one,” he said with a scared voice. “They call me Bait.”

I laughed, and pushed him out as fast and stealthily I could. I’d get Snake-Bite back, no matter the cost. I pulled him out from the side door, and ignored Ingrid’s voice calling for me. I was in a hurry.

***

The trip down the dark hill felt foolish. I should wait until the morning, I thought. I should have told Ingrid, I decided, but it was too late. That horse was mine. We went past lazy Marcomanni sitting outside their homes, drinking ale and mead, enjoying warm summer evening, which was quite dark since there was a bank of clouds travelling the velvet sky. We walked for quite a while, down tracks and even better roads, passing many practical houses of the craftsmen, larger stables, cowsheds, and even a rare pigsty, where the plump animals stuck their snouts from cracks in the wall to greet us. A grouse was startled to flight as we pushed into thick undergrowth. Soon we were no longer on the hill, but hiking through ferns, wet branches, and Bait was cursing and shaking with cold.

Or fear, I realized.

“Bait,” I said, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, scared out of his mind. He hugged himself, his eyes huge. “Are there guards there?”

“Probably,” he murmured. “Of course. But they might be asleep? It’s never been robbed.”

“I’m not robbing it. Just taking back what’s mine. Lead on then. Is it far?” I asked, and he was nodding and shaking his head both.

“It’s called Bramble, a village a short walk away, but, in the dark, a bit more,” he said, and pushed on.

I followed him, hoping he knew what he was doing. In the end, it took thirty wet and confused minutes, and we nearly fell into the dark Rhenus River, which was conspicuously quiet for such a great body of water. Bait collected himself, and finally found a well-trodden trail. In the end, we found Bramble.

It was deserted.

The halls were home to owls, the mice they ate, and flowers. The roofs were gone, the doors ajar and broken, and a fire had ravaged some halls at some point. It all felt strange and I had a nasty suspicion that made my belly churn with anxiety. I pulled Bait around. He looked back at me, and said nothing, but his eyes betrayed his fear. “So,” I murmured. “Where is my horse, Bait?”

He stammered and put his hands on his face. “It’s not here. It’s not alive, even.”

“Not alive,” I said softly and pulled him around. “What do you mean? Where did you lead me? Trap? And why?”

He sobbed, and I shook him and pushed him to a tree. “Why?” Bait breathed amidst his sobs. “They said they would kill her. Ingrid.”

I was in trouble.

I asked, though I knew the answer. “Who said that? Leuthard?”

Bait opened his mouth, croaked, but turned his head to the darkness.

I heard noises. There were horses whinnying nearby, and three mounted, man-sized shadows emerged from the dark. They spotted me, and a man rode before the others. He dug around his saddle, and tossed something our way.

It rolled over the dark, wet ground, stopped by a boulder, right in front of us. Even in the night I could see it was a bloody horse-jaw, the teeth gleaming weakly, white and yellow.

Snake-Bite.

I let go of the boy, who hesitated, and got up, and sprinted into the darkness, dodging the horses that were again advancing steadily. Fear was cursing its way down my spine, but I stood my ground. I didn’t so much as budge, holding the hammer with shaking hands. The men were grizzly, tough veterans, their beards long. Two were obviously brothers, their beards and hair similarly knotted and braided, and they all wore leather armor. One was the scarred man who had nearly ridden down Danr’s girl. I heard rusting from the village as well.

“My name’s Helm,” said one of the brothers, the man I recognized. He had a half an eyebrow, and a wound mangled the face around his eye. There was a mass of scars stretching over his forehead, and he looked evil as his long spear that was pointed my way.

I took some steps back, but the river was there, below a bank of mud and sand, and I had no place to go. Gods curse me for being an idiot, I thought, and begged for a quick end. It was not likely.

I looked around, and three men were advancing on me with hunting bows, clutching at bundles of arrows. As I had no shield, they would simply kill me or wound me before taking their time to send me to another world. “Why,” I asked, “would I care about your name? I’ve certainly not heard it before. But why should I, since they don’t sing songs of cowards who ambush men in the woods.”

He didn’t care enough to show anger. Instead, he shrugged. “You’re not from these parts, Chatti. You’d know better otherwise. And a man should know the name of the one to slay him,” he chuckled. “It is likely they will ask for it in Valholl. Fight now, fight well, and go there. I hear everyone thinks you are a wonderful fighter, and so you’ll get to show us just how good you are.”

“I take it Leuthard doesn’t want to give me a fighting chance, eh?” I asked. “Why don’t you fight me one-on-one, famous Helm, and if I win, I’ll walk free?”

Helm shrugged, smiling. No, was the obvious answer.

I lifted my hammer, and put my back against a tree. The horses moved closer, the spears were flashing, and the archers, trying to keep an eye on me in the shadowy ferns came forward.

Helm winked at his brother, the brother whistled, the archers raised their bows, and Woden helped me enough to shrug off the fear. The god changed my desperation into anger, then rage. His savage voice sounded in my head, demanding deaths, and so I fought for my life. I rolled to the muddy ground, and heard warning shouts. Arrow slashed above me; one went past me to hit the river with a plodding sound, and another cut the ferns near me. I got up, knowing they would reload in an eye blink, and saw the horses milling nearby. I charged for them.

Helm spat and moved his horse for me, the spear reaching for my chest, and I slapped the hammer across my vision with desperation, and hit the spear’s tip. Sparks flew, another horse tried to flank me. The arrows flew again, and a horseman screamed and clutched his leg, where an arrow jutted. The horse whinnied with fear as the man tried to jerk it around. I fidgeted in the middle of the beasts, pushed at Helm’s horse, making it bolt, and jumped at the man who was late coming to the fight, the man I thought was Helm’s brother.

I reached up in the dark, took a heavy club strike on my shoulder, but got a hold of his beard. I held on as I jerked him down, but he tried to hold on to the horse, yelling with pain, and the horse fell. We rolled, fell down the bank to the river’s edge, and both lost our weapons, as we grappled. He was strong, probably stronger than I was, as he rolled on top, his fist coming down.

I didn’t care for the pain. I shrugged it off. Woden’s anger hammered inside my skull as I managed to put my hand on his face, then in his eyes, and he screamed in pain as I pressed them savagely. We rolled twice, and ended up in the freezing water. There, yelling with desperation, I pushed him under me, exerting all my strength, and pinned his snarling face under my knee, and pushed it below water. He flailed desperately, trying to beat me off. I saw Helm on his horse, heard him screaming at the archers, and they appeared. I cursed, wanting to take one man with me to Valholl.

Woden helped me one more time.

My hand landed on my hammer, and I picked it up. I lifted it lightning fast and slammed the shaft down at the face under the dark water, and the shaft broke the surface and the face. The man convulsed, his back arched, as I staggered up and away from him, as he slowly drifted away with the river, looking like some hideous water-spirit.

“Ivarr!” Helm screamed, his horse prancing around, and then the archers lifted their weapons. I considered diving to the river, but I couldn’t swim, and didn’t want to die like that, ending up in Goddess Rán’s nets in her gray land of the drowned. I turned to face them. I closed my eyes.

I was saved at the last moment.

Spears and javelins flew in the air.

One archer fell down the bank, his arrows breaking under him. Another turned in shock, holding his shoulder, where another javelin protruded, and the third released the arrow in haste, missing my face by hair’s breath. He ran into the darkness. There were eerie screams and yells, and the archer no doubt died there.

Helm blanched, hesitated, looked at me with such malice I should have died. He pulled his horse away, as men were rushing near, and forced the horse into the darkness. His laughter and mocking curses could be heard as men chased after him, and I staggered up to the bank see a line of men in the shadows.

It was Teutorigos and the thin Celt, Iodocus.

The old Celt was kicking a moaning heap of a man, who went quiet, and he looked around, as if expecting someone else. “No Leuthard?”

“No,” I said, breathless. “I think not. I cannot be sure.”

“He would have showed his murderous snout, if he had been around,“ Iodocus said calmly and then flashed me a huge smile. “But you survived. Ingrid rushed to tell me you left the hall.”

I laughed, relieved. “I did.”

Teutorigos was not smiling, though, but cursing, and he snorted. “So, I hope you have another plan.”

“This was not my plan,” I said.

“Not your plan?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

I shook my head, embarrassed. “No. It was their plan. I rushed into a trap like a fool. They had my horse.”

Teutorigos shook his head. “And you are to lead this endeavor. Fool. I was visiting my men in the hill, saw Ingrid rush in, and thought you had done your bit very well indeed, and here I am, killing mere servants. Waste of time. I’ll return to my hall, but these men will be around, as you know.”

“I know,” I growled.

He shook his head. “Build a plan, idiot, and do not let them corral you. I take it they didn’t believe you? Ingrid told us you failed in that as well.”

I nodded, angered by his abusive manner, and I was worried. Had Leuthard been there, would he still be alive, if Teutorigos got his hands around the man’s throat? He seemed desperate and impatient. Maybe desperate enough to forget Hulderic’s sword. “They didn’t believe me. But that was likely.”

He laughed dryly. “How surprising it is they would not believe you!” He looked down to the waterline. “Two got away, but at least my hammer claims lives still. Keep at it.”

“I will,” I said, not sure I could. I shivered in the aftermath of my near death, and climbed up the bank. I stopped to look around. All the archers were dead. Two of the horsemen escaped. I looked up at Teutorigos, and found a blank, brutal face looking down at the dead. I addressed him. “When, if, we catch him, you must keep him alive. For Hulderic. For a while, at least. Some of these men might have known something useful, as well.”

He growled. “I know the plan. And as for these dogs, they know nothing. I took two such men yesterday in the woods, Bero’s servants, and they squealed for hours. They know nothing.”

I shuddered at the thought of the torture, and wondered if the lord was spirit-taken in his hate. “I’ll get him. Then you’ll play with him. But he’ll die when we have the weapon.”

He didn’t answer, but nodded darkly, and Iodocus gave me a warning shake of head. “Will you go back now?” the thin Celt asked, and nudged me.

“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

They turned to go, and Iodocus snapped his fingers at me and thumbed towards the woods. He would take me home, I guessed, and I followed him. He was better in the woods than Bait, and I could soon see lights shining ahead from the hill’s many halls. His men were around us in the shadows.

“How crazy is he?” I finally asked.

He stiffened with indignation at first, but shrugged after a while. “The lord,” Iodocus said softly, “may have forgotten Hulderic’s sword. You would not have enjoyed seeing what he did with those two servants of Bero yesterday.”

“Do we really need him there when … if I figure out a way to Leuthard?” I asked him.

He smiled in the dark. “He’ll be there. He keeps visiting the hill. He’s gone mad with the loss of Cerunnos. Unbalanced. He spies on us as well. He is sending men all over the place to find the bandits, in case they were locals after all. He pays men to find out if someone has heard of Raganthar. He sent his daughters over the river, to relatives. Probably thinks he’ll die trying to get his vengeance. And what he did to those two Marcomanni?” He was silent, but it was clear he was shaken. “We’ll have to keep Leuthard alive for a time, if we catch him. You and I.” He nudged me.

“Why do you care?” I asked him. “You serve the Celt.”

“I’m a Gaul, and some Gauls are faithful to the death, but you know Hulderic is a fine lord. He has many people on the hill, and Bellows was only one. He has Ingrid.”

I stared at him. “And he has you. Bellows said he has few friends, because he refused to pay for them. Was he wrong?”

He grinned. “He pays some very well. Hulderic pays me well, and one day, I’ll serve him, when I’m of no more use to Teutorigos. Hulderic spies on his friends as well, and it’s wise in Hard Hill, in case such friends host you, and suddenly take coin from Bero. I’ll do my best to help you, though I’m not sure I can fool Teutorigos when the time comes. And when will that be?” he asked me.

“I don’t know how to trap that man,” I told him honestly.

He shrugged. “Inspiration strikes when you are not thinking about it. Have fun. Get drunk. Have a girl. Ask for advice from Ingrid, find a way, or it will be—” He gasped with terror. He stopped walking, shaking his head.

I passed him, holding the hammer, and stopped as well, trying to fathom what I was seeing.

There was a large beech tree, and it stood in the middle of a well-used hunting path. Men often hung their prey there as they skinned and prepared the meat, and so it had been used again.

There was a body of a boy hanging on the tree. It had been impaled into some broken branches, and the arms were stretched on its sides.

“Bait,” I whispered, and knew it must be, though I couldn’t be sure, because the skin had been torn from his face. The scared boy’s jaw, skin, nose and eyes hung in tatters of bloody, wet mess as his head rested on his chest. His belly was open, and an incredible about of snake-like guts wound their way down his legs to the ground, where blood was thick.

“Gods, above and below and far across the horizons,” Iodocus said, “What did this?”

“Leuthard,” I whispered, and felt his eyes on me, gauging, tormenting, and enjoying a game that was now very personal.

Iodocus was shaking. “Shit. He’s seen me now. Probably the others as well. He knows what’s hunting him. You had best figure out a way to take him, or we will all end up like that,” Iodocus said with a small, scared voice. “Find something he values. Make him react to you. You must,” he whispered, and shuddered as Bait’s hair rustled in the wind, “play the game as he plays it, without remorse. There is no honor here, only survival. Find out what he fears, or needs. Do it fast.”

“I will,” I said resolutely, and walked up the hill to find Ingrid, who welcomed me with a worried face and frowned at my condition.

I thanked her, and told her of Bait.

She cried for an hour, and I held her, and tried to figure out a way to trap the Beast of Bero.

I came up with nothing.

CHAPTER 10

The issue was simple. I had no idea what Leuthard’s weakness was. I had no time to think about Bero’s either, and I was failing both Hulderic and Balderich.

The death of Bait thrust me into shocked inactivity. I could see his faceless, sad death in my waking moments and dreams alike. Ingrid did as well, because despite the warnings, she was the one who went to bury him. Balderich roared, demanded the culprit be found, but the look he gave me told me he guessed much of the issue, and he couldn’t react. I tried to plan. I tried it all the time. I might as well have tried to court the goddess Freya.

I was terrified, I realized. Of Leuthard. Of failure. What sort of man did something like that to a boy?

No man.

Certainly no sane man. Some animals did, but they also ate the body.

And since Bait’s face had been missing, perhaps Leuthard did as well?

Not possible, I thought, and knew I wasn’t sure.

I spent days in the hall, eating and resting, my wound oozing a bit, but not too badly. Whenever I left the hall, I felt like a lost fox cub, looking over my shoulder, no matter if Iodocus had men watching me. “Adalwulf, the Wise,” I whispered to myself every morning I woke covered with cold sweat, after which I spent the day fretting, and in the evening, I sat down on my bed, listened to Balderich feast his quests, and fidgeted, knowing I should do something soon.

On the third day after the death of Bait, I was in such a state, that even Leuthard would have felt sorry for me. I was disheveled, had a harried look on my face, and by nightfall, I sat in my room again, holding my knees. “What Leuthard fears?” I chuckled to myself. “Not anything on two legs, for sure,” I added, and went quiet as a warrior passing my room gave me a queer look. I banged my head on my knees when he was gone and felt sorry for myself. “Frigg’s frozen tits, but what am I to do?” I moaned, and then Ingrid sat next to me. She had not been around for the past days, and I had actually missed her. My eyes rested on hers, and I realized she was a pretty girl, a slave since ten, but wise and worthy of note. I needed help.

“Are we done feeling sorry for ourselves?” she asked tiredly. “You and me both?”

“Not quite,” I answered, and she frowned. “Yes, we are?” I tried again, and she gave me a vigorous hug, which felt nice, surprisingly much so considering how miserable I had just felt. I let her cling to me, and I clung to her. Bero had men like Leuthard, I had the girl and a thin Celt with some men, but she was a good ally, wise to the ways of the village. I suspected she was far smarter than I. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’ve been a bit lost,” I added, and she pushed me back, looking into my eyes. Then came the inevitable question.

“Have you thought of something you might do to get that bald, ham-faced fucker in an early grave mound?” she asked.

“Ah! No,” I answered. “I’ve been trying though. Hard. Nothing comes to mind! So can you come up with something? What should I do?”

“Men,” she cursed as she got up quickly, a quizzical look on her face. She walked around, holding her hips, and kicked my ankle painfully. “Anything but this.”

“What?”

“Do anything but this! Sit around this damned hall, moping.”

“You have been moping as well,” I told her with a frown.

“I knew Bait, you didn’t,” she sighed, and of course she was right. “Anyway, he is buried now, and we have to do something more than this. Fine, both of us must.”

“It’s we now?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry,” she said, turning me around and groping for the wound under my tunic. I fought her, and she pushed me until she managed to get her way, and I lifted the up the tunic. Her fingers opened the wrapping, and I flinched as she pulled some skin with it. She was nodding, I saw that much. “The wound is healing nicely. You are lucky it didn’t tear open when they tried to kill you. Don’t break the scab. You might, you know, if you keep twitching on this bed. Iodocus was asking for you. Teutorigos is growing impatient.”

I snarled. “That man. I’d rather not have Teutorigos present if I do figure out a plan that might work. He is unstable,” I said. “I will ask for their help when I know what to do, but not his.” I rubbed my face, despondent. “I have too many responsibilities. It’s like trying to find a specific end of a horribly jumbled pile of threads, and there are far too many ends,” I cursed. “Balderich’s demands are not helping any more than those made by Teutorigos and Hulderic. Perhaps I should get out of the hall, but I have taken walks, and they gave me no help.”

She grunted as she bound the wound. “The enemy is getting restless as well. Leuthard’s men have been looking for you since his men died in the woods,” she said uneasily. “He has sent men to the hall, some asking for your health. Others have been asking servants if you have any habits you keep repeating. He is looking for another way to slay you, all right. Nothing’s changed, and Balderich cannot do much about that.”

“At least I have his attention,” I laughed, frowning at the hysterical tone in my voice. “Perhaps I should develop a habit. I could bathe in the river every evening, and then I might capture him in a fishing net hidden under water. Truss him up, carry him to this room, and gut him like a trout.”

“Shut up,” she said unkindly. “And as you know, twilight and night are his time,” she said and squeezed my arm. “They say you should never hunt him during the night. Don’t meet him alone in some dark alley. Never alone.”

“I could do it during the day, then,” I wondered, and rubbed my face tiredly. “A bath. Nets. Gods help me.”

She shook her head, and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Adalwulf. You have to come up with something better than that.”

“Oh, its only me again,” I growled. “How can I even capture him in the village? The hill’s so busy, someone would rush to Bero, complaining. What in Hel’s name can we do?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps, since this hill is his hunting ground, you cannot do it here?”

I stared at her, and knew she was right. I pushed at the hay in my bed, and went to lie on it, looking at the ceiling. “Where, then?” I asked. “Gisil mentioned he is hated all across the lands. If I had free hands, I’d use his enemies to capture him,” I said, thinking aloud but went quiet as I thought of Gisil. Was she alive? Ingrid put her hand on mine, and I squeezed it.

“You have free hands,” she said, and pushed my side. “Nobody said you have to capture him here. And you can do anything you like, no? Use anyone, even?” I tried letting go of her hand, because I felt like scum due to Gisil, who had not really promised me anything, but Ingrid hung on to mine like a dog to a juicy bone. “They are nice hands, Adalwulf, very nice, but you must start using your brain. There.” She tapped my head. “Be imaginative. Do anything. You will find a good way to get to it, if you apply yourself.”

“My father and uncle used to say things like that, but I never did manage,” I said. “How much time do we have, anyway?”

She shrugged, and cast an eye in the general direction of Balderich’s voice booming in the main hall. “I wouldn’t over enjoy the feasts in the Red Hall, and the ale is slowing your thinking. You have to do this in a week, or one day, you will be the feast in the Red Hall. There are dogs, you know. I love Balderich, our lord, but he has limits to his patience. I’ve seen him lose it. Not something you wish to witness up close.”

Indeed there were dogs in the hall, and while Balderich had been a gracious host, even I had noticed he had been staring at me coldly for the past days. Ingrid was right. “So, I have free hands. I have to get Leuthard out of Hard Hill. But we cannot just burst into his hall, kill his servants, and drag him off.”

“No, love. You need allies that might surprise Leuthard. He knows who we are,” she said huskily, and I remembered Bait mentioning she was looking for a man. I knew she had found him as she draped a hand on my neck, looking around carefully so no one might witness us, and nodded to the direction of the river. “It’s pretty active along the shores and the harbor. They say there are lots of Roman ships rowing up and down this spring, but I’ve only seen the few traders. Fishing’s been good as well. Helmut, a warrior in Balderich’s band, caught something that was bigger than his dog.”

“Oh?” I said with a smile. “We had some fine fishing in the mountain rivers, and some scaled monsters that could have eaten a dog.”

Her face sobered. “No, this catch had been a man,” she told me. “One from the villages below. A broken husk of a former man. Bait’s not the only one, you see, to displease Leuthard.”

“I bet he wasn’t,” I said, wondering why she spoke of the beautiful river, happy feats in fishing, and then turned it into a tale of rot and sorrow.

“It was a man of Fulch the Red. The great man—“

“I’ve seen the man,” I said. “Wide-shouldered and famous. He displeased Leuthard the other day.”

“Fulch is a greasy brute,” Ingrid said with a shudder. “He puts his hands where he shouldn’t during the feasts.”

“I—” I shot up, but she put her face near me, and I fell back.

“Will shut up.” She squeezed my hand, very close to me. “You are a hot-headed idiot, but a nice idiot compared to most of fools we entertain. You are sort of fresh, not spoiled by power, rewards, position, and battlescars. Stay that way for a while.” She rested her head on my chest, and I struggled to keep myself from not getting too comfortable with her. “When you go and fight for Hulderic, I think it will do you good. Eventually, that is. It’s less rotten over there in his lands. People are real. And perhaps, you know, I will as well? That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“Iodocus might go, too,” I blurted to hide my confusion.

She misunderstood and frowned. “He is welcome to. But I was thinking about you and I, and not him at all. Are you thinking about him?”

I opened my mouth.

Gisil.

I thought about Gisil, but Ingrid was real. She was there, and just as beautiful, but love didn’t work like that, thanks to the malice of the gods. I only thought of Gisil, I realized, but gave her a smile I hoped was non-binding. It failed as she read something in that smile that gave her heaps of hope. She kissed my cheek. I failed to stop myself from getting aroused, and begged she wouldn’t notice. Her eyes rounded, she moved and pressed herself against me, and her face was blushed and serious, and I knew I was in trouble.

“Here’s what I’m thinking, Adalwulf. Think on this. Fulch serves Balderich, but has to take his orders from Bero. He was a young man when he joined Balderich’s band of warriors, and one of those few men who built this gau into what it is now. His hall is right there, near the Red Hall. Bero lives down hill near the harbor, and Leuthard even further. But the fact remains, Bero came, dazzled, built, and managed, while Fulch fought, but fighting doesn’t feed the villages.”

“I see,” I said, my hand on her shoulder.

“Bero could soon buy a dozen such fighting champions for the Marcomanni. Now, Fulch is just one of the champions, since Balderich has left much of the management of Hard Hill’s affairs to Bero. And Bero favors Leuthard, and what can Fulch do? There will always be one who is higher than the greasy spitball. Leuthard hates him back. That’s why Fulch’s men occasionally die mysteriously.”

“Leuthard hates everyone,” I stated and nodded. “You say Fulch might help with the issues we have? Does he know any weakness in Leuthard?” She was pressing herself on me softly. I found I had put a hand on her rump, and pressed her to me. She groaned softly.

I was a bastard, I thought, but didn’t take the hand off.

She shook her head vigorously, her hair brushing my face, and she was whispering to my ear. “I doubt it. Fulch has been looking for weaknesses in Leuthard, like we have. He has been speaking against him with the other champions, but Leuthard is a hard one to catch,” she said huskily. “He drinks moderately, he boasts but delivers, and he thinks deeply and never betrays Bero, at least so openly that he might get caught. The rest of them squabble, thinking how to increase their fame and lands, and how to fatten their cows at the expense of the others. They guard their own riches, never co-operate, and so Leuthard will never be truly challenged. Few would dare, anyway. He gets his share of the loot and slaves on time. He is like the most faithful hound, and gets well-rewarded for it. He is Bero’s best man, and Bero trusts him. Fulch doesn’t know his weakness. But Fulch can help.”

“Can he?” I asked, trying to ignore her hand on my chest, and the roundness of her behind. “How would Fulch solve out issue?” I added, nearly babbling, speaking breathlessly, because she felt warm, very close, and her hips moved over me, very slowly. A man chuckled as he passed the room, and with a groan, Ingrid got up and sat on the bed, and rubbed her face. She threw her long, blonde hair back as I climbed to a seated position to hide my discomfort. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Not your fault,” she said weakly. “I should just …” She waved her hand towards Fulch’s hall. “Listen. Fulch could probably figure out a way to capture him in one of the few raids they make. Figure out a lie, have Fulch boast of some rich enemy out of the Hill, and see if Leuthard takes the bait. Then, take Fulch and his men and capture Leuthard. Kill his men, and we have him. Make the lie rich enough, and perhaps Leuthard will go and ignores Bero’s peace.”

I nodded, and frowned. “Yes, I guess.”

She arched her eyebrow. “You guess? You mean “no”? You are uncertain?” She bristled and looked annoyed. “Do you have a better plan?”

I placed a hand on her thigh and smiled disarmingly. “No. But the thing is, I don’t trust Fulch. He could just as easily chop off my head, and that of Iodocus after Leuthard is dead, and he has no friendship with Hulderic. Teutorigos is one unstable man, but at least he knows the old Goth.”

She frowned and let me sit there, close to her. “What then?” she asked huskily, and I wasn’t sure she was talking about the plan.

But I had a plan.

She had helped me see it. “You told me what is Leuthard’s weakness.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Bero,” I whispered, as if the twisted lord were in the next room. He might have been, anyway, since he visited the Red Hall often. “Bero is his weakness. Bero expects him to guard his causes, his life.”

“Why would Leuthard fail in that?”

I chuckled. “Because of Bero’s weakness. Leuthard is the man who guards Bero’s riches. Gods hump him, if he loses that. He’d have to recover it at any cost.”

Her eyebrows crossed, and she smiled. “That is …I see.”

Gods, but Woden had thrust an idea in my head.

I sat and thought it through. It was a volatile plan. A terrible, dangerous plan. But, when mired in the troubles of the noblest houses of the Marcomanni, what did I expect? I looked down, found Ingrid’s hand on mine, and frowned at her face. She was there, very close, and still I hesitated. She would say yes, she would love and help me. She leaned closer.

Gisil.

They had taken her. The warmth faded from me.

My imagination did me few favors. Völva or not, her capture meant she had suffered terribly, and if she was alive, she would be a broken woman. Perhaps she was dead, and that would be merciful. She was possibly a slave somewhere. I squeezed Ingrid’s hand, let it go, and looked away. She withdrew, holding her arms around her, looking down. “I need time,” I said. “There is—”

“That woman,” she stated, sighing. “I know.”

“I’m not saying no,” I said.

“That might be the problem, eh?” she smiled sadly. “You have to decide these things and not look back. But I have time. I’m insulted, but I have time. So, how will you start to make Leuthard’s downfall a reality?”

I hesitated, feeling miserable. I walked out of the room, and she followed me. Avoiding the main hall, I took to the right, until I reached the side door. I pushed the door open, and sat down heavily outside, staring across the river. There was still some light, and my eyes scourged the horizon of the Gauls, where the land was just like ours, with rolling hills, rocky beaches, birds flying from one bough to the next, hunting for insects. There were pillars of smoke rising to the pale blue sky, where bigger settlements dotted the Celt lands.

“Who is living out there?” I asked her, as I sensed she was leaning on the doorway.

She nodded at the smoke. “Haven’t you been listening? Mediomactri Celts. Treveri, Vangiones. Mostly Mediomactri here, and the Vangiones hole up in Burbetomagus to the south, near Isfried’s lands. There are some other tribes, a string of Roman watchtowers, and Moganticum, a base for the Romans, and it is growing quickly, actually. There’s a village where none stood a year past, and a beginnings of a castra. We should be worried about that. You heard Balderich,” she said with some criticism.

“I know,’ I said thinly. “I meant directly over the river. Exactly who is living there?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, and continued with a soft voice, “I’m disappointed. But I’ll wait for you.”

“I am happy you will,” I answered, and decided I should probably drown myself, because she deserved better.

She nudged me with her foot to lift the mood, and I gave her a ghost of a smile. “But over there, right there, there are mainly Mediomactri Celts. Some twenty higher Celt lords live over the river. Most are fairly powerful.”

I sighed, because I had an idea. It would solve both Balderich and Hulderic’s issue, and ultimately, hopefully, that of Teutorigos. “Give me a name. Someone close. Mustn’t be too far. A Celtic noble the Marcomanni battle with? I know Balderich would like to have many more raids and wars with the local foes, but are there any we consider a bitter enemy? Anyone who would dare attack our side?”

She smiled and squinted as she looked at me, brushing her blonde hair away from her eyes. “Yes. Some raid our lands. I know a few. Seisyll is one, certainly.”

“And if I’d ask Teutorigos, could he make contact with this man?”

“Teutorigos?” she asked. “Oh. Yes, I suppose,’ she said. “Especially since they are relatives. Hate each other, but still relatives. It sounds like you have a plan”

“I do. What is the name of that girl of Fulch the Red?”

“Ermendrud,” she said with a small, nervous voice. “I thought you said you don’t trust Fulch. Why—”

“I don’t need Fulch now. Later. Now I need her. Can you get me something valuable, a bit of jewelry made of silver?” I asked her, and she nodded while frowning.

“I might find something. I suppose it has to be a woman’s?”

“Yes,” I smiled.

“Don’t get her in trouble,” she told me with a deep frown. “Remember Bait?”

“I’ll get all of us in trouble,” I answered, and I was right, because I could not linger and wait for Leuthard to kill me. I had a mad, damned mad, plan.

I’d steal Bero’s treasures.

CHAPTER 11

Fulch the Red lived up to his name.

His face resembled the color of a freshly butchered heart; something a hunter might pull out of a carcass. It was crimson with withering rage. As he jumped up from his seat, he did it with such gusto, the heavy chair screeched across the planked floor and fell over with a clatter, breaking a stool. The girl, whose name was Ermendrud, made an appearance in the doorway, her brow wrinkled with worry. I glanced at the girl, and gave her a small, wry smile, which seemed to captivate her interest. She was perhaps twelve, rather tall, her face a bit flat, but still intriguingly intelligent. An old slave pulled her away, and she was protesting softly.

“Tell me again,” Fulch murmured. “Did I understand what you are blathering. Is this correct? A pinecone?”

Ingrid stood next to me, and I knew she was supremely unhappy and damning me softly. She visibly swallowed her disgust, pushed away that very sensible part of her which hated lies and deceit, and let the falsehood spill from her lips. “Our lord, Balderich, has asked me to bring Ermendrud to the Red Hall.”

“You? To bring her?” he asked for the third time. “My girl? For a damned pinecone?”

“Yes,” Ingrid said resolutely, keeping her eyes on the great lord. “It seems she, and some other children from the town, were tossing pinecones at the horse that belonged to Leuthard, while it was being groomed.”

God’s laughter, I groaned in my head. What a terrible lie. But Ermendrud had been inside all day, and I couldn’t wait. I had summoned Ingrid, told her what she should say, and it was the worst lie under the sky of Midgard. Why had I involved Leuthard in the lie? I was an idiot.

“I didn’t!” Ermendrud piped in from the doorway, where she had again appeared, having defeated the slave, but her father waved her away. She obeyed, though she didn’t quite retreat out of sight. I stood near Ingrid, playing the part of an unwilling escort, as if the chore was beneath me.

Fulch slammed his hand on the table. “And what if she did, eh? Can’t Leuthard take care of his horse? What does he want with the girl? Besides, she is grounded for the week. Stole my mead.”

“Leuthard wants nothing with her,” Ingrid said patiently. “Balderich will want a word.”

Fulch kicked the remains of a stool out of his way as he stalked around the fallen chair, and let out a string of curses so fast, we couldn’t make the words out. He calmed down, eventually, and pointed a scarred finger our way. “I have a suspicion that bald, rotten egg cannot wipe his ass without Balderich or Bero looking over him. This is just another insult. Is he truly this afraid of old Fulch? He kills my man. Now he blames my girl for a spooked horse? And why? Because I damned well hate his face. Do I not embrace death just like any man in the brotherhood? A pinecone!”

“This is about a horse. A minor matter—”

“This,” he laughed hugely, “is about the hate we share, girl! I hate him. Yes.”

Ingrid shrugged, trying to get the discussion back on the right wind, and I knew she wanted to kick me.

A day. I could have waited a day to see if Ermendrud were allowed out.

Ingrid spoke calmly. “Possible. We all know you hate him, he hates you, and so he complains like a woman, even in such a small thing as a spooked horse—” Ingrid began, and that made Fulch happy enough to roar with mocking laughter, spittle flying.

“Let him hump his horse. Better, let his horse hump him! I do hate him. I’d shit in his mouth, if I found it open and the man passed out!” He was breathing hard and settled down on his seat, which he found to be toppled. When he finally picked himself up, we pretended the humiliating trashing had not taken place at all. He picked up the chair, and made a fairly graceful and successful entry on it. He waved his hand tiredly, though he had a small, happy smile on his face. “The horse bolted?”

“It bolted,” I lied smoothly, relieving Ingrid who looked physically ill for the ongoing charade. “Like its tail was on fire. It took off, as if chased by fiery dogs of Muspelheim. The man holding it was hurt badly.”

“Must have been quite a pinecone!” Fulch laughed, and fixed me with a feral eye. “And why are you here? Escorting children, Adalwulf? That is your name, eh? Are you also wiping Balderich’s ass?”

“I do what Balderich asks. Haven’t seen his rear so far. But I would, if the choice was between that and having to serve Bero,” I said, and Fulch grunted like an animal, muttering angrily and clutched his seat so hard I could hear the armrests groaning.

Ingrid kicked my ankle. “The horse ran like a damned spirit of Hel, and it has not been seen since. Now Ermendrud, she will be all right, and Leuthard won’t be anywhere near her. Balderich wants a word with her, and has had it with the others involved, and that’s all.”

“Is this not a job for a father? Switch the back hide, and that will do the trick?” Fulch asked, and I saw small Ermendrud’s face go ashen gray in the shadows. “No, I think I shall just congratulate her, and—”

Ingrid slapped a hand on her thigh, and a slave or not, it silenced Fulch. She spoke pointedly. She had taken my lie, and was weaving it into an elaborate web of further lies as she came up with more twists. “Balderich thinks there was no horse, or that the horse wasn’t even Leuthard’s. Our lord thinks the bald beast is trying to discredit you. He is tired of Leuthard’s reign of terror, just like you are.”

“Oh!” Fulch said, surprised. “In that case—”

Ingrid finished his sentence for him. “Balderich will speak with her. If they did the deed, then switch her rear, though perhaps she is a bit too old for that already. Won’t change a thing at this stage, lord, and you should have been a sterner father.” The look on Fulch’s face was comic, a mask of shame and surprise, but Ingrid went on. “All we wish to do is to hear about the horse, if there was one, and what it looked like.” Ingrid said with scorn. “Surely you trust Balderich to keep your girl safe?”

He opened his mouth, waved his hand, and tried to retort something spiteful, but then he relented and sighed. He wiped a hand across his face, apparently happy Balderich would investigate Leuthard, not Ermendrud. Then he cast his eye at Ermendrud, and it was also clear he didn’t know for sure she hadn’t done it.  He waved her closer. “‘Fine. Be that as it may, take her to have her chat with our great leader. Make sure the bald animal is nowhere near, and if he is, you will tell Balderich to come here for the chat. I’m the father, after all, and I decide on her matters. And I hope there was a horse, and that it was Leuthard’s horse. I hope it was expensive, and I hope the wolves ate it. If there was no horse, I’ll mock the man for his pitiful lie in the feasts, and I thank Balderich for taking care of such a matter, later.“

I shrugged, and begged Woden that Fulch would not go and speak to Balderich about the issue, then realized of course he might. Maybe by then, it wouldn’t matter. “Indeed, lord,” Ingrid said, frowning because she probably had just had the same thought as I, and cursed my plans in her head for the tenth time. The withering look she gave me confirmed it.

“Ermendrud!” Fulch yelled sitting back down and scowling mightily as a father would. “Come here.”

She had been sulking in the shadows, her eyes going from Ingrid to me, and she gathered her bravery and did come forth, her feet bare as she tiptoed to stand before his father, whose eyes had a fond look as he stared at the girl. “You will go with this Chatti—”

“Adalwulf,” the girl said, and beamed me an infectious smile. I knew she had keen wits.

Fulch rapped his fingers on the chair. “This rotten Chatti Adalwulf here, with the girl, and take a telling off by our lord. You will—”

“For what?” she asked petulantly.

“Weren’t you listening in?" her father asked with a well-rehearsed scowl. ”If your mother lived, you’d be learning household chores instead of eavesdropping and causing mischief, but—”

“I heard something about a pinecone,” she said brazenly. “You screamed so loud, Alba dragged me away, thinking she was doing me a favor. I bit her, and she let me go.”

“Tell Alba to mind her own damned business,” Fulch laughed. “And I don’t care if you are guilty or not.” He leaned towards her. “If you are, then the next time you toss pinecones at a horse of Leuthard’s you make sure the bastard is bent over its hooves, or even sitting on it. He might break his knee or skull, if the gods are in a generous mood.”

“Yes, Father,” she said slowly, working out his words while giving Ingrid and me a long, speculative look. “I’ll go with Ingrid and Adalwulf.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me out, Ingrid following after. She was singing softly, and we were walking for the Red Hall, not far. She looked up at me, and I was looking behind, but Fulch didn’t come out, nor was there anyone of importance near. I decided to go ahead with my plan. “Thanks, Ingrid,” I told her, and she huffed and walked past me, pushing my back.

“You owe me, Chatti,” Ingrid said, and gave the girl a ghost of a smile. “Listen to him. But don’t let him be an idiot.”

She nodded gravely. “I’ll try,” she told her with little hope and watched her go. Then she turned to me. “What did I do, if someone asks?”

“You tossed an nut—” I began.

“Pinecone,” she corrected cheekily.

I sighed, exasperated. “A pinecone at a horse. The horse bolted, the man holding it got hurt, and it was—”

“Leuthard’s horse”’ she smiled. “The black stallion, or the roan mare?”

“Either one,” I told her, “I haven’t thought it that deep. Or just deny everything. There was no horse, after all. Just blame me. You won’t get into trouble with the champion that way. Tell everyone the Chatti is mad, hears things, and they won’t care. Balderich won’t either,” I said, hoping it was true. I hoped Ingrid would speak with the old man, claiming it was all to advance what he had asked me to do.

She leaned close. “I’ll just tell the truth, and then I won’t get beaten. I got it. So, speak.”

“Probably a good idea.” I fidgeted. She frowned, and I got to the point. “We will need you to lie, though.” I was expecting a blank refusal.

She smiled proudly. Perhaps Ingrid was right, and Fulch should have been a sterner father. “I can lie,” she said with a wink, and then looked apologetic. “You cannot. I can. I’ve lied plenty.” She was immensely proud of the fact. “Father’s easy to fool. You were lucky just now.” She punched me playfully, smiling impishly. “When you lie, Chatti, you should make the lie so waterproof that there will never be drop of filth squeezing through the seams. Trust me. You will not receive a beating if you really work out those details, really think it through for a few days. Running around before you have stopped pissing will always make a mess, eh? You can’t make up lies on the fly. So you were lucky.”

“Weren’t you just grounded for thievery?” I asked her, uncomfortable at being in the receiving end of advice from a twelve-year-old girl.

She rolled her eyes. “I was betrayed by Alba. Wasn’t my fault,” she laughed. “What do you want?”

I decided to go for it, and prayed gods would protect her. “I need someone to lie for me, eventually, and before that, help from someone who knows everything in the village.”

“A vitka? Bark might be your man,” she said mischievously. “Or some gossiping old woman. They all lie all the time. I know some. But I’m the best you can get, for a price.”

I chuckled at her deviously glinting eyes. “So, what will you want, if you would agree to help me? I could just be grateful, you know, and that’s something as well. Perhaps it’s better than a reward?”

“I don’t know,” she pursed her lips, surprised by my frankness. “It’s good to have the gratitude of someone important, but in your case, I want something tangible,” she went on, and I could almost hear her thoughts searching for something she might really want. She wouldn’t be cheap. “What do you have?” Her eyes went to my belt, but she discarded it immediately. It was a man’s thing. She squinted at me. “A horse?”

I frowned. “I’m not a rich man, and Fulch, your father, would not approve if he found you have a horse—”

“I have a horse,’ she said deviously. “But I could have two? He’d never know, since he has so many.”

“Well, you cannot have mine, because mine is dead,” I rubbed my neck, and the torc Ingrid had given me flashed to sight. Where she had found it, I didn’t dare to ask. If she had stolen it from Balderich, then I was not doing favors to Ermendrud. Caught with the thing, she would get spanked good, no matter how good of a liar she was. Her eyes caught the torc around my neck, glinting enticingly, even through the tunic.

“Oh, but that’s pretty,” she breathed. “Very nice!”

I pressed my eyes closed, pretending to be reluctant as best I could. “It was my mother’s,” I lied, but that fact made it even more precious to her, and so she really wanted it.

“It’s beautiful. Silver?” Her eyes were glinting with greed.

“I think it is silver,” I said thinly, holding it possessively. “It’s precious. I’m not sure your help is worth it.”

“Well,” she said, a bit offended but challenged, her teeth shining, “seeing how you lied to get me out of the hall, risked a terrible outrage from all parties involved, including Leuthard, I’m sure what you are asking for will be a big deal, and I can probably deliver. I can, you know. I know the whole hill, top to bottom, and people in it.”

“It will be a dangerous thing I shall ask for. Two things, as I said,” I mulled over the plan, decided it was a terrible plan, and knew I had no choice in the matter.

“Do you have two torcs, then?” she asked.

“This one will cover both things I’m asking for,” I told her icily. “It was my mother’s, after all. Here,” I said and pulled out the torc, fingering it fondly, and handed it to her, looking around like a thief, which I was and would be again. “Please keep it hidden,” I added, for her sake.

“I’ll hide it well, deep in a mossy hole, and it shall be the first treasure in my own hoard. Thank you.”

“Your father has a fine hoard, no doubt?” I asked her as I pulled her aside, under the shadows. We dodged some benches where two slaves were eating gruel, arguing about the finer art of crafting and carving a wooden figure. We stopped by a small alder tree on the side the red-tinted hall of Balderich, and birds escaped the roof above us. I noticed the girl was holding the torc loosely.

“Why are you interested in his hoard?” she asked nervously, her face pale and sweaty. “It’s a fine hoard, with silver bracelets, gold, even. There are Roman coins aplenty and jewelry, but you know, it’s also my hoard one day. I cannot let you steal it.” She held my torc, and then thrust it back at me, though reluctantly, a deep, resentful scowl on her face.

I leaned down towards her, and smiled. “I don’t want his hoard.”

“Whose hoard do you want?” she asked, a bit relieved, though she still held the torc towards me.

“Do you know where Bero has hidden his?” I asked her.

Her eyes popped open so wide, I chuckled aloud. Then she hesitated, and put my torc under her tunic, smiling. “Yes. Part of it you cannot get into, unless he invites you to his bed. I think he might not be interested, but perhaps his wife? It’s buried under the bed. Much of it is in there.”

Wife? She was cheeky. “I cannot—”

She went on. “Part of it you might get to. That place is guarded, though. Day and night and not by his wife.”

“How do you know this?” I asked her with wonder. “Are you sure?” She was everything I had hoped for, unless she was spinning a tale.

She reddened. “Of course I am! You knew this when you asked for me. You know my father knows everything about his master, Bero, and you guessed he speaks of it all bitterly and freely in our hall. Home is where no secrets are kept. You guessed it, do not deny it! Don’t be a fool. Ingrid said I should make sure you’re not an idiot, and now you are being a huge damned one.” I shook my shoulders in a form of an apology, and she accepted with an impish smile. “Besides. They treat me like they would a slave. Won’t even look around when they feast and whisper secrets. I kind of collect them. Even if Father didn’t curse Bero’s riches aloud, the warriors always overlook us when they talk about their loot. And when they haul some treasure to safety and we run after, they won’t take note. Bero has many places he hides his wealth, most under his own bed, but he has plenty of it elsewhere. He’s like a squirrel. As I said, there is this one other place where there is bound to be lots of fabulous things, and it is accessible, if you are brave.”

“Good,” I said. “He is far too rich for his own good.”

She giggled. “And now you want it, and hope to be too rich for your own good, Chatti. Didn’t you find service in the village, and wish to move away?”

“It is complicated,” I said, feeling uncomfortable to be a thief again, but that was my lot in life.

“You’ll probably have to kill the guard,” she said, looking bothered for a moment.

The treasure is guarded, I thought, and that probably meant a man was indeed going to die. It did test my resolve for a moment, but only for a moment. It was his wyrd, and I couldn’t walk away. “Yes.”

She shrugged, apparently having decided the torc was enough to condemn someone to death. “So, I’ll tell you where you find this other great part of his hoard, and that’s one thing. What’s the other?” she asked.

“You’ll tell your father who stole it.”

“Huh?” she whispered, and squinted at me. “This is strange. You wish for me to tell my father you stole it?”

I shook my head, and thought of a man Teutorigos had spoken of that morning when I had met him in the woods, fetched by Iodocus. He had been happy with the plan, but he had little to risk. “Another man.”

“Who will that be?” she asked me, a quizzical look on her face, like a small, devious marten.

“Tell them one Seisyll took it. He is a—”

“A Gaul lord across the river?” she queried, her brow creasing. “One of those we raid, and who raids us. An enemy! Will he?”

“Will he what?”

“Take it?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes, but none of his men shall enter Hard Hill,” I said, and hoped she was not over-zealous about being a Marcomanni. She clutched the torc under her dress, and that was enough to chase away the sudden misgivings she had towards my plan. She nodded heavily. I went on. “You tell your father you heard some of the Celts whispering in the harbor. You tell Fulch they spoke with a man in the village, scheming. Use your imagination. Make sure your father understands Seisyll is involved.”

“I’ll tell him I heard Seisyll’s name mentioned. Fine. What Marcomanni supposedly spoke with these Celts?” she asked me, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Any man of Leuthard’s,” I said, and then froze, and figured out a way to alleviate my guilt over the fact a guard must die. “You will see a man speaking with a Celt of Seisyll’s. There is a man of Leuthard’s, a curious, scarred man. He had a twin, Ivarr. Helm is his name.”

‘Helm,’ she said softly, contemplating on what was going to happen. “Helm is a nasty man. One of Leuthard’s, indeed.”

“I think he is nasty as well. Does he ever guard the place where these treasures are hidden?”

She was nodding. “It’s a stable near Bero’s hall," she said. “And yes, he does. At least once a week, or so. I’ve seen him there a few times at night. I can’t possibly know when he’ll be there next, though. I’m no seer.”

I spoke with her for a moment longer. Then she showed me the stable. In the afternoon, I sat down to drink mead with Balderich’s guests. Ingrid sat next to me. Her head tilted as Balderich came to the hall, and eyed me with displeasure. I gave the great man a salute and a confident wink. He beamed a smile back at me, keenly aware this meant I had a plan, and he went off, singing softly. I turned to Ingrid.

“Tell Iodocus to tell Teutorigos he should send Seisyll a message," I said. “And that I’ll need some men. They should be here, ready as soon as possible, up to one week. Perhaps more.”

She nodded. “Iodocus has many men here already. Just tell me more.” I did, she smiled, pressed her lips on my cheek, and gazed at me for a moment, before she left.

I hesitated, and rose from the table. It was all set up. I’d make a move for Hulderic, and likely for Balderich, and gods knew how it would go.

But something was wrong. A twist was missing, that special something all great warriors had. I was missing a backup plan. I needed a plan that was only mine, and one that might save me if things went badly.

I sent a servant on an errand, and didn’t tell anyone when a man met me in the night.

Then, I waited, knowing I had done all I could.

CHAPTER 12

Helm, the scarred Germani, looked bored.

Trees and shadows from Bero’s hall on the hillside, above the harbor, sheltered the stable. While most halls housed animals in the one end of the building, there were those meant for the bigger herds of cattle and horses, and few men would happily enjoy guard duty in such a place. They stank, but so did every other hall, and that was not the problem. The problem was the absence of the things that made life joyous. Men serving in warbands missed such life, and Germani were reluctant to serve when there was nothing to be gained for it. Helm was bored. I could see it in his slouch as he sat on a bench outside the building. He might have been thinking about the brother I had killed, dreaming of killing me. It would be my pleasure to send him to his brother.

“You sure none followed us?” I whispered.

Iodocus grunted, and I took it to be affirmative. “We’d be dead if they did. They don’t follow you every day, nor us, and we know them all.”

They had been keeping an eye on the stable for days, and that evening, Helm had walked out of his hall to take his reluctant turn. They had fetched me, and I had slipped out of the hall, without even giving Ingrid goodbye. It was best that way,I thought, as I struggled with my conscience. I owed her a goodbye, but I was a coward in the matters of the heart.I owed it to her to tell her I’d not easily forget Gisil, but a man is always keeping doors open, and I hated myself for that as well.

Normally, stable slaves, boys, shepherds, and warriors riding patrol for the tribe, keeping an eye on those who do not belong or are up to no good, guarded the stables and livestock. Hard Hill, like Mattium had been, was a large settlement. Despite the many incidents of thievery and raids on the cattle even by rival Marcomanni, not every bit of wealth could be guarded all the time.

Few stables, aside from the one we were looking at, had armed guards.

Ermendrud was right, I thought. Having a warrior there was plain statement. That stable was important. Bero was so rich he didn’t want to keep his riches in one place, but while he split his hoard, he was taking no chances. A guard was there, always, and if Ermendrud had been right, and I had no doubts she was, the guard confirmed this was the place where Bero stored a great hoard of Roman and Celtic coin and jewelry. This was the place his excess was hidden. It could be a vast stockpile.

My companions were still unsure. “Surely he would keep all his treasure in his own hall. He has his bed, yes, but why not bury this under his own seat? Most men do.” Iodocus wondered. “Terribly risky, isn’t this? I’d like to have many holes full of coin, but not where I can’t see them.”

I snorted. “He’s both afraid some outside enemy might raid Hard Hill, rob his hall, and dig everything up. He might lose everything on a one blow. So he hides it away, and has men guard it. As for the obvious guard, he doesn’t think anyone in Hard Hill would dare rob him,” I chuckled brazenly, and the Celt answered.

“Right,” he said easily. “Suppose you are right.”

His confidence made me confident, and I was happy he was there with me. He might have been a thin warrior, but he was a ferocious one. Had he not saved me once already? I gazed at the three other men, two Germani, meaty thieves both, and another Celt with drooping moustaches. “Remember, we won’t take any of it.” They all shrugged, but I saw greed in their foxlike faces. They had been there that night when Helm tried to kill me, as well, but, for some reason, I didn’t trust them.

One of the Germani spoke with a hissing voice. His teeth were missing. “Adalwulf’s right. There will be gold there. It’s odd, never seen gold coins. But, be careful. That Helm is a sturdy man, and no commoner. So are the others who guard it. We’ve seen them all these past days. Only good fighters sit by that stable. It’s bound to be rich bit of loot in there. Rich. Probably would have been safer not to tell everyone it’s a wealthy stable like they do now. Paranoid, Bero is,” he said. “I’ll want a look at the treasure, and I won’t take any.”

“By the look of things, he should be paranoid,” Iodocus said mirthfully, scratching for lice. “I almost feel sorry for that poor bastard.”

I mumbled a curse. “I’ve been here for a week. I saw him trying to ride down a girl. He killed my horse, tried to gut me, like he would a dog,” I growled. “Perhaps he was there when poor Bait died. I do not care for his life at all.”

“I was just jesting,” Iodocus laughed too loudly and slapped a hand over his mouth, but Helm didn’t move. We were sitting in a hut uphill from the structure, used for storing wood, an ideal place to keep a close eye on the harbor and the stables. There was a boy who fetched wood from the place every morning, but otherwise, it was quiet. One of Teutorigos’ men had slept there, and another kept a lookout, waiting for Helm. It could have been anyone, but I wanted Helm. It had cost us four days, but the waiting was over.

“How do you wish to do it?” I asked them. “Getting rid of his corpse. Sink it in the river?” I blamed myself for not having plans for the corpse.

“Way ahead of you, Chatti. There is an abandoned cellar, not a stone’s throw away. We dug a hole,’ Iodocus answered, and the other Celt was nodding with a smile, happy with the hole they had dug. The two Germani looked at me, and one lifted a muddy mattock. “You wish to do the honors?” Iodocus asked. “I’ll let you take him.”

“I can do the honors,” I answered ferociously. The stable was a long one, and we’d use the door near us, twenty feet from Helm and the main doorway. “I’ll sneak in, and take him from the door.”

“There’s a dog in there, remember,” one of the Germani stated, a man with bite marks on his upper arm. He had scouted the place the first day, and there was a hound the size of a small cow inside. Usually a docile beast, it became dangerously unhappy when people approached the pit where it slept and fed. It was right by the backdoor.

“You have the meat?” I asked.

“We have been raiding for cattle before, Chatti,” Iodocus said, with an insulted voice. “We know how to kill a dog. Yes.”

“Let’s do this then,’ I whispered, and dragged the hammer out. Gods, we would finally do something, I thought, and swallowed bile born of fear.

“Don’t make a mess of it,” the toothlessGermani said. “If you really want to make sure he thinks Seisyll stole the hoard, you must be cautious now.”

“I’m not thieving for the first time either,” I told them, but I really was, and they sensed it by my eagerness and rolled their eyes. I’d have to slay Helm with some restraint.

“I’ll help you,” Iodocus whispered sternly. “It can be hard to kill a man, and we can’t have him shouting. We grab him together from his seat, and pummel him to Helheim.”

I agreed, and we all took a deep breath. We sneaked out of the hut like a throng of night-spirits. We were careful, we were silent. That was, of course, far from the truth, since a wooded hill is littered with twigs. So we made enough noise to alert a deaf grandfather, but happily not Helm, who was still sitting before the stable, his mouth open, apparently speaking to himself.

We got to the side door, and Iodocus went to gaze at Helm from behind the corner. He nodded at me, and I entered a stick to the crack between the door and the doorway, and lifted a measly bar inside the stable. It didn’t fall to the ground as I balanced with it, and as I pushed the door open with the hammer, I let the bar down slowly, grabbed it, and put it by the door. One of the Germani, the bite-marked one, a man with a short hunting bow crouched with the weapon. The Celt pulled out a sack where a rotten bit of meat had wetted the leather, and tossed it inside, trying to see the shadows for one larger than the others.

The meat fell in a patch of hay by some stalls, and it fell perfectly, because the light of Mani from the open door lighted the patch. The Germani with the bow, an old hand at killing guard dogs, tensed, pulled back the bowstring, and I prayed the animal would go to his after world easily and with minimal sounds. Iodocus was tense on the side, staring at Helm from behind a corner. I knew he’d try to kill the man anyway, should he hear something and bolt.

Then, a shadow.

A scraggly, filthy beast appeared, its snout eagerly poking at the bag and the meat, then yellowed teeth flashed, and canine lips smacked as it took a hold of the prize. My Germani companion smiled like a wolf, and the arrow flashed away, and hit.

The arrow sank fully in the brown, furry skull, and thankfully tore into the beast’s brains.

It slumped dead, the meat still in its maw. “Donor’s with us,” the archer whispered with pride, and poked the door so it allowed entry. We took a small step forward, hesitating at the doorway. Our eyes flashed in the very dark room, and the stink was enough to make me gag silently. Rows of unusually tall and fat cows lifted their heads over some simple stalls. A fine stallion, its ears alert, turned to stare at us. The droopy-mustached Celt went in first and pushed the door all the way open.

The door creaked.

Iodocus cursed softly, and signaled with frantic hands that Helm had reacted. We were waiting still as canny mice. It took a minute, perhaps more, because time loses all meaning in a situation like that, but finally Iodocus relaxed and nodded at us, sweat pouring on his face. Helm had gone back to being bored. I walked in, and the Germani followed me. We pushed slowly forward, towards the main doorway, and I felt the hammer scrape at stalls. The man behind me slapped me, and I held the weapon with two hands, across my chest.

“Idiot,” the other Celt mumbled, and I was about to tell him to shut his mouth, when I realized he wasn’t talking about me but the man with the bite marks.

He hadn’t done a proper job at scouting the place out.

There was another dog in the stable.

It rose up before me. Its eyes were glinting, and while it had been fast asleep, an older hound, it apparently read our intentions with uncanny clarity and growled savagely.

The eyes were suddenly higher, and I realized it had jumped.

I yelped, and brought the hammer down for the eyes, and felt the impact as I fell back, the Germani next to me tumbling into a pool of shitty water, and the Celt backing off to the door.

The racket was terrible. I would have woken up a dying man.

The main door was pulled open, and Helm poked his head and spear inside. ‘What’s this, you furry thief? Mistook this for a pigsty?’ he said uncertainly. ‘I’ll skin you, and hang your tail in my belt.’

He thinks there is a fox in here, after some young pigs, I thought, as I tried not to move.

He entered, took some steps forward, and then spat. “Murk? Gloom?” he called out for the dogs. “Get him! Or was it you two fighting?” he asked, and then I got up. He saw a shadow, probably no more, but the hammer glinted in the small amount of light, and so he survived. He fell away, the spear thrusting at me, and I had to dodge aside as the sharp thing poked the air near my face. I nearly fell, as my companions were charging past me. An arrow swished near my head, but missed Helm, who stumbled for the door, breathing heavily in terror, as he realized there were two-legged predators in the stables, and not a fox after all.

Iodocus saved us.

Helm gave a small yelp as he reached the door. A fast, thin shadow pushed in, and I saw a spear point emerge from Helm’s neck. They fell into the floor, a pact of two shadows, and only one would come up. When it did, it was the grim Gaul. He was out of breath, as he tore at the spear.

“Go to Hel,” I whispered, and toed Helm, who didn’t move. One of the Germani ran back to the hut where we had been hiding, and he’d bring a torch.

While we waited, we were looking around and planning. “Take a dog here, and put his spear in it. Leave the arrows,” I said. “And—”

Iodocus nodded, nearly invisible in the dark. “We leave the arrows, I know. They are like they use across the river. I doubt they will think Helm’s involved, anyway. No matter what lies Ermendrud tells Fulch.”

“Fulch will want to believe,” I said nervously. “Leuthard will suspect it is us plotting, but Bero won’t be sure. He’ll force the bastard to come and get the treasure back.”

The Germani entered, and held a fluttering torch high. “Nothing out there. Go and get it,” he said thinly. “We’ll bury the bastard, and you get the coins. We want to see them, though.”

“Drag the corpse out,” I said, and pulled at Iodocus as the Germani stuck the torch in mud. They grabbed Helm by feet, and dragged him to his grave.

We turned to look around. Iodocus, an old thief, pulled my sleeve, and pointed at the corner, where there was an empty stall. It had hay on the floor, dry mud, and a set of planks, and had obviously never been used by an animal. Iodocus produced a large sack, and we made our way to the stall, and tore at the planking. It was not a real floor, not at all, and the wooden apparatus on the floor lifted nearly effortlessly, having been nailed together sturdily. Dust and mud flew, and we discovered a hole, and a dusty cloth. Iodocus grabbed it, and we found the hole bottom was filled with three sacks.

Large sacks.

“Shit,” Iodocus said softly as he poked at the things, which clinked. “This is—”

“Fill our sack,” I said. “And remember you serve your lord. Lords, Hulderic and Teutorigos, or at least one. You know what I mean.” I was babbling. I had never been so excited. So many riches were under our noses, but still hidden, and I was burning to open one. “Steal some, and they will find you,” I told Iodocus and the Celt, as much as to myself.

“Bero would have to look hard. I’d run far, far away,” Iodocus smiled, and raised his hands to show he was only joking. I hoped he was. “Don’t worry. I know why we are doing this. For his son, for Hulderic, and I’ll keep my oaths. So will the other ones.” I wasn’t so sure of that, as the other Celt frowned.

We pulled at the sacks in the hole, clinking with Roman and Celt coin. We opened them up, there in the dust and mud, and sucked in our breaths, all three of us. There was a stream of silver, and we let it rush through our hands. Now Germani rarely used coins, but the people by the River Rhenus did, and knew its fabulous value. What was there could make a clan of men and their families very rich indeed.

There was a sort of desperate madness in us, our asses were in the air over a heap of coins in the torch-lit stable, and we all wondered what would be hidden in his hall itself, or elsewhere where he had such troves. The Celts, of course, had been using coins all their lives, their kings and nobles minting their own since time immemorial. I could see sweat pouring from their foreheads to the hands that were holding fistfuls of such riches. There were even fine rocks, red, green, smoke-colored, and I was sure they’d be worth more than the Roman pieces of gold. I’m not sure how long we were there, drooling in a sort of madness, but should Bero’s men had found us there, we probably would not have noticed them at all.

In the end, the two Germani came back, covered with sweat. One clapped a hand over Iodocus’s shoulder. “Shit!” he said, his eyes round. “That’s a sight to die for!”

“We might die for it, indeed,” I murmured. “We have got to go,” I added. “Gods above and below, but this will drive Bero crazy. Losing this will make his soul whither.”

“Unless he had ten times the amount,” Iodocus breathed as he got up. We were staring at each other feverishly.

“He’ll hate losing this just as much, no matter how much he has,” I whispered.

“By the sun bitten ass of Teutates,” the long-mustached Celt cursed. “To die so rich!”

“It’s not ours,” I hissed. “And it’s better to live than die, no?”

Iodocus was pushing at his Celt friend, who got up, and I saw his fist was full of silver. I opened my mouth, but Iodocus shook his head and turned him around. “You know the plan. Go and hide yourself. Listen well, talk to Ingrid. You’ll bring the news to us. Every evening, across the river, you’ll be there. Is this clear? Make sure Teutorigos stays put. Don’t let him do anything rash.”

The man laughed gutturally. “I? I cannot stop Teutorigos. But I won’t tell him anything I hear in the town.”

“Gods above,” breathed the toothless Germani, startling us all. “That’s something,” he said, as he stared over out shoulder. His friend was shocked speechless.

“Helm’s buried deep?” Iodocus asked the two Marcomanni as he begun ladling the treasure into our one large bag, lifting the smaller ones inside. I helped as best I could, but there was a silvery mess in the mud.

“We heaped the dirt over him, pulled some old troughs over it,” one answered. “They’ll never find him, and we have to move. Over the river, and may the gods give us some morsel of mercy.”

“When did they give men mercy?” the silver thieving Celt said. “They’ll have us humped in the ass,” he added, and stepped to the door and turned to look at us. “Good luck then.”

He went away.

The gods humped us in the ass indeed, as we heard Leuthard’s voice calling out to a slave. It came from the direction of Bero’s hall. “Bring me my horse!” he yelled impatiently.

“Shit,” I said, feeling fear gnawing my belly. “We have to go fast!”

Iodocus closed his mouth and held his head. “No. He’ll come after us.”

“Why?” the toothless Germani demanded. “We just leave fast, carry the bag to the shore, and let him ride to his home. Why would he care one bit to—”

“The road to his hall goes by the this stable,” Iodocus whispered. “And Helm’s not out there, keeping guard. He’ll take after us.”

We stared at each other. “You damned goat-rustlers didn’t think he’d ride this way—”

Iodocus pushed me. “This is your plan, eh?”

“Right,” I spat. I hesitated, and then rushed and grabbed Helm’s spear and shield, tore a hooded cloak from the toothless Germani, and rushed out. “Stay still, and be ready,” I hissed into the stables, and heard Iodocus whispering, the clink of treasure as it was hauled to the end door. I glanced anxiously through the half-open main door, and saw their shadows coming back. They took positions out of sight, but very near me. The horses, the pigs, and the cows inside were growing restless by the strange happenings in their normally peaceful and dark home.

I heard hooves, then horse whinnying, twigs breaking.

I sat down, placed Helm’s shield next to me, held the spear across my knees and sat in the deepest shadows possible, glaring under my hood at the dark path that led to Bero’s hall. I noticed a drinking horn by my foot, and took it with trembling hands, begging the gods for mercy. Everything had gone so well that far, and there I was, shaking like a leaf, about to try to fool a lord of the night.

And that lord appeared.

The shadow came to sight slowly. A huge arm pushed aside some low-hanging branches, and then the man came to sight, sitting on his horse. He was glad in his customary armor, with a bronze beast’s head glimmering over the chain mail that was stretched across his huge chest, hanging mid-thigh. His bald head looked as massive as the horse’s, and his sword was on his side, the Feud Settler’s hilt never far from his hand. His eyes took in everything, every shadow, every movement of the night-animals in the roots and shrubs. He stared at me, as I sat there in the shadows, feeling totally naked. I forced my arm to move, and raised the horn towards him in salute. His eyes glittered, and he didn’t salute back, but rode past, twenty feet away, and I forced myself to take a sip of the drink, and looked down.

It seemed to take forever, but finally he disappeared, the shadow moving away.

I let my breath out, shaking all over, and rushed in, nearly tripping on the shield. There the others were leaning on the stalls, white as clouds. “Shit,” Iodocus said. “It was going too well, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, and wiped my face. “The gods want their fun, eh? Let’s go then. He’s gone.”

We moved for the back door, as swiftly as we could. We were tripping on muddy stones and the dog carcasses, but then we saw the outline of the side door, a shred of light from Mani shining past the cracks. Iodocus grabbed the sack, the toothless Germani pushed at the door, and then the outlines of the doorframe flickered.

“Look out—” I began, but it was too late.

The door blew in, and something huge entered. Light glittered along a long, fearsome blade. “Well, what do we have here?” a voice growled, and I knew Leuthard had not been fooled, after all. “Helm never salutes me. Never shows respect to anyone. So who are you?”

He was right there, in the midst of us.

I cursed, nearly frozen with horror, but the two Marcomanni didn’t. One thrust his spear at the terrible shadow, another charged him. Leuthard roared and moved like an evil spirit, fast as breath, and I fell on my rear inside a cow stall as the mass of three men barreled further into the stables, crashing through a cow’s stall, uprooting a pillar. The horse whinnied in terror and bolted, trying to get past us.

A man screamed with pain, there were grunts, panting curses, cows were smashing against the walls, and the stallion was whinnying with fear, kicking the air near us. Iodocus dropped the bag, and pulled me up. We rushed forward, trying to see what was going on. It was impossible. There were shadows, sounds of a struggle, more growls, and then I saw a larger shadow than the rest stand up. A blade flashed.

A man died.

I saw the blade pierce a smaller shadow, and the victim’s hands were thrown up in the air, his thin scream pierced the air. Leuthard laughed spitefully, struck the dying man off his blade, and turned to fight his next victim. That man pushed his spear at the huge champion. Leuthard moved like a spirit, and grasped the Germani by his throat, pushing him against the spooked horse. Iodocus hesitated, and we cost the man his life, as Leuthard slowly pushed his sword into the man’s gut, then through him all the way to the horse, which gave a pained, horrified whinny.

His eyes sought us over the dying man’s head, and the horse’s back.

His eyes gleamed unnaturally, his face was twisted with unearthly glee, and I heard Iodocus gasp with fear.

He’d kill us there.

I raised the hammer, rushed forward, hearing the power of Woden’s rage hammer in my ears. The horse blocked me. Leuthard pulled his sword out, ready to smite me over the dying man and the wounded beast, but I hammered the horse’s skull with the hammer and slammed into its side as hard as I could.

The dying animal toppled over Leuthard and the dead Germani. I picked myself up and stepped over the flailing horse legs, tried to make sense of the mess beneath me. I crawled over the horse, and saw a squirming, thrashing shadow below me. I felt its breath, and then felt a blade piece the air right before my face.

I couldn’t see, and knew I’d catch the dangerous blade in my throat if I didn’t move, but stubbornly I kept trying to figure out where Leuthard was.

He could have killed me. I had forgotten we should take him alive. I saw the blade glinting. I lifted the hammer, hoping to block the hit.

Iodocus pulled me away. The sword struck the horse, spattering blood wide.

Iodocus was strong for such a thin man, and he pulled me back, breathing harshly. He grabbed me, and guided me for the back door. “The plan, remember the plan,” he chanted breathlessly.

“He’s right there,” I hissed.

“We need more men,” he spat.

There was a grunting noise, one of frustration, and I saw the horse’s corpse heaving, as Leuthard sought to release himself. Iodocus pushed me out of the door, and the night’s crisp air cleared my head. I heard a clinking sound, grunts, and Iodocus rushed out of the stable, dragging the sack. His eyes were haunted, he nodded downhill to the shore, where our boat waited, and so we fled.

We ran like spooked animals, and I helped Iodocus along. We rushed through dark ferns, woods, across yards, chased by surprised dogs. Somewhere behind us, we heard the whinnying of a horse and a man’s harsh voice cursing. When we reached the shore of the great river, we stumbled into the waiting boat, pushed, pulled and splashed our way to the dark waters. Soon were heading for the others side.

Iodocus grasped his oars, and I stumbled to look behind. There, in the shadows of the Marcomanni shore, sat a man. He was a man, I told myself, but I was not convinced. What I had seen in the stables bespoke of something else, of something very dangerous. While I hoped it had been light playing with shadows and imagination incited by the fear of the battle in the dark, my senses told me Leuthard, who was sitting there, watching me, could not be called a “man” without some reservations. He sat there, lifted his hand, flexed a finger, and the finger was pointed at me.

He was not fooled. He knew me.

But Bero wouldn’t care. He’d want his treasure back.

Iodocus was quiet, until we reached the middle of the river, and could no longer make out Leuthard. He spat overboard, and cursed softly. “He knows Helm didn’t take part.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said weakly, turning my back on the east shore, holding my face. “Fulch will tell Bero what Ermendrud will tell him, and Leuthard will not have Helm there to deny it. Bero will give Leuthard hard time. His warlord will have to retrieve it. Thank you. He would have—”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “I should have fought him with you. But I was spooked, and didn’t wish to die. I’m sorry. And we wanted to take him alive, remember?” He laughed at the notion. “Gods, what a mess this is.”

“He would have killed us there in the dark,” I said, sure it was so. “He would have raped us with his sword.”

“Or just eaten us,” Iodocus said, shuddering with the thought. “His eyes?”

I shook my head, unwilling to discuss the matter. “Let’s not think about it. They’ll come after the treasure, because Bero wills it, but I doubt the Marcomanni will go for a full-scale war. Bero will want to keep the loss of his treasure a secret.”

“Bero will be careful,” Iodocus agreed. “But they’ll come expecting a trap.”

“They will,” I said. “So let’s hope that lord over there has a trap of his own.” I saw a group of Gauls, sitting on horses. There were spares, so I had a hunch they would work with Teutorigos, and not simply rob and kill us. “They are enemies of Teutorigos, no?”

Iodocus shrugged. “They don’t like each other. Teutorigos is an exile. But they both hate Leuthard.”

He rowed us across, and the Celts spread out before us. One, a rich-looking Celt with a long, blond hair and a clean chin waited, observing our progress. As we jumped to the beach, he smiled unkindly, and nodded at Iodocus. My companion bowed before him, and I took a tentative step forward, unsure if I should also.

“You have it?” asked the Celt with a broken Germani, squinting at the shore on the other side. “And weren’t there supposed to be more of you?”

“We had to fight our way here,” I murmured.

He nodded, thinking about it. “And that means they know we’ll be expecting them. Well, it was always likely they’d understand it’s a trap. We are prepared.” The man looked confident, and also greedy, as his eye sought out the sacks in the boat. “But will they? Did you rob Bero? That it?” he asked. “Iodocus? The one who serves my cousin, Teutorigos? I remember you.”

“We have it,” Iodocus said with stiff respect. “And, yes, I still serve him.” I sensed there was no love lost between the men. Celts had feuds just like the Germani.

Seisyll gazed at the far shore, and at then at Iodocus again. “I’m sorry for Cerunnos. But then, when we lost relatives in battle against Leuthard’s warband, Teutorigos never sent similar sentiments my way. I’ve lost relatives to the bastard for years. So I was surprised Teutorigos dared to ask me for help. They assured me the whole of Marcomannic power wouldn’t come over. Is that still the case? You didn’t kill anyone important?”

I shook my head, and Iodocus answered, “We killed a man of no importance. As for full-blown war, Bero would have to show Balderich how many riches he has hidden, and we think Balderich wouldn’t like that. It’s a delicate manner. I think Bero will keep this business to himself, and use only some of his men trying to regain it. They will be many, though, but not the whole nation.”

Seisyll snorted. ”You think a lot, don’t you? I hope you are right.”

“I do think a lot, lord,’ I said, thinking I disliked his cold manner. My voice revealed the fact, and that was not lost on the great Celt. “They’ll be coming here with an army, but not a huge one. I hope you can counter it. And Leuthard must be taken alive.”

Seisyll pulled back his cloak, showing me his expensive lorica hamata, chain armor, decorated in a Celt style with silver coins, and the hilt of a fabulously decorated sword. He pointed a finger at me. “We are rich enough in arms, though the Romans try to make it so we starve. We are many, we are armed well. Mediomactri still have honor and power. You didn’t lose the man who were to inform us of the happenings on the hill? And there was someone who tells Bero it was my men who stole it?”

I nodded. “It is all settled. Fulch the Red will be lied to about the affair, and he’ll speak to Bero, no doubt. A girl will sing a song to her father, who will seek his lord’s favor by breaking him the bad news. The man who will keep us informed didn’t die this night.” I hoped it was so. “They will come for this hoard.” I tapped the bag that jingled, picked it up, and spilled some of its contents on the grass. The Celt lord did a commendable job at holding his mouth shut, but his eyes enlarged and finally, he nodded. I had a hunch his price for his help was right there, and it was enough to make him much more affluent amongst the Mediomactri.

“How can you be sure Fulch does not try to gain favor by coming here instead of Leuthard? On his own, perhaps?” he asked me, his eyes resting on the treasure, which his men dismounted to pick it all up. “He has a hundred men, at least.”

“I doubt Leuthard would let him. He’ll be here,” I said, trying to sound convinced. The plan was full of holes.

“We will see,” he stated dryly. “We have lots of men ready, though it will cost us dearly. Leuthard has killed kinsmen and friends, burnt our halls, and stolen our cattle and horses. Some of this treasure comes from me. We will wait, then. We will be ready. And you get to speak with Leuthard at length before I’ll string him up for a plaything for the crows.’

“He will speak, lord,” I said, and hoped Seisyll didn’t lie, as Leuthard was the only one who would know where Raganthar’s bandits were. He was my only hope of ever finding the sword. I had risked everything for it. “And you’ll string him up after I have what I need.”

“Let’s go,” Seisyll ordered. “They’ll spy the village. I’ll celebrate, gossip, and brag. Bero will hear about it, and he’ll see we will be ready. We’ll keep everyone we don’t know out. They will not guess how ready we are. Prepare yourselves,” he said, and we left the shore.

BOOK 3: TORN FACE

“He’ll be here soon. Nobody walks away.”

Iodocus to Adalwulf

CHAPTER 13

We were guided to a small oppidum, a hill-fort. Seisyll said little, his eyes hard as he rode, probably thinking about the inevitable raid by the Marcomanni. The treasure certainly warranted an attack.

Iodocus smiled next to me, riding easily. “Leuthard sure has his plate full as he tries to explain this to Bero. The bastard’s ears will be hot, won’t they? He’ll know Helm didn’t betray him, but they won’t have the body either. Bero will choke on his meat, sputtering like an idiot, running around weeping. He’ll put some of the blame on Leuthard. No matter what they think this is about, revenge or simple robbery, they’ll come.”

I nodded, and worried. “I doubt they’ll just rush in.”

He gave me an assuring wink. “Too late to dwell on it now. Seisyll will deal with this. The treasure is in that village,” he said, nodding up the hill, where we could see a wooden palisade. “They will come with many men, though hardly more than a warband or two. They’ll send their spies, and Seisyll will flaunt the wealth, though …” He hesitated.

“What?”

He shrugged. “He should be careful. He need not flaunt his new wealth. Why? Because Rome rules here. Yea, things look about the same as they do in our lands, but in truth, there is the iron hard heel of the legions resting on their scrawny necks. While Seisyll there,” he said, and leaned closer conspiratorially, “looks like a mighty lord with estates, men, and power, the truth is there is a power higher than even our gods. That’s taxes. Taxes will be paid to the local publican, often some Treveri Celt lord, who taxes the Mediomactri double, and more will be paid to the local thieving soldiers who patrol the land from the guard towers and the castra. Seisyll will have to be careful with flaunting too much wealth. There will be Marcomanni spies gazing at the village, but Seisyll will know them. He’ll keep the place closed. He can’t keep it closed to the Romans, though. He really should just wait silently.”

“Does he have the men?” I asked softly. “Leuthard might have hundreds available to him. Depends on how Bero will play this.”

He shrugged. “There will be many warriors, waiting with us. There will be some seventy to eighty who live there, but probably double the number now. They’ll be hidden. Ready. Eating the winter supplies. More will be outside, probably. We have a good chance of catching that spawn of Hel.” We looked at each other and hesitated. The creature had seen in that stable would not be easy to capture.

“Stop yapping,” Seisyll growled from the front and turned to look at us. Despite Iodocus’s whisperings, he had heard some of our discussion. “No Roman patrol is due in there for weeks. I’ll keep it locked down, and we’ll be ready. Stop brooding, and do your bit when the time is nigh. And I’ll flaunt what I want, even my ass, if it pleases me. I’ve deserved to mock the Marcomanni.”

“Yes, lord,” Iodocus said with another respectful bow, though his face had a look of worry.

Seisyll frowned and looked away. “No matter what happens, it will all be decided up there. I have my own surprises. You’ll see. Behold, your temporary home.”

At that moment, Mani gave room to Sunna in her bright chariot, and we saw the oppidum’s gates as we turned our horses up a winding path. A sturdy timber wall ringed the place. There was a palisade, because we could see men walking its length. Towers guarded the gates. Trails of smoke rose lazily to the sky, many well-made roofs peaked on top of the palisade, and there was green grass and beautiful groves of trees all over the peaceful hill. Birds were shrieking high up in the air, and the village was named after the happy creatures. “Welcome, friends, to Sparrows Joy,” Seisyll said proudly.

It was no Hard Hill, not by far, but it was beautiful and peaceful, and the name fit it well. “Where will we stay?” I asked.

Seisyll shrugged. “There is a cobbler. They speak your language. A fine house, with room to stretch. You’ll be happy. If not, I don’t care.”

We rode up to the gate, and entered. We dismounted, and I was wondering at the strange mix of huts, small, sturdy halls, crafter’s shops, and dozens of large, round houses with low-hanging roofs. The latter were made of dry wattle and daub, and looked homely and relatively clean. Seisyll snapped his fingers and some Celts rushed from one of the larger houses. They carried away the treasure, whispering as they headed for Seisyll’s hall. By the look in the eyes of the Celt lord, there was no doubt Seisyll would later take a bath in the coins.

He pointed a finger at a couple of Celts, standing uneasily before a house. “Genovefa and Elisedd,” Seisyll said with a bored voice. “Here,” he barked, as if to dogs, and smiled cruelly as the couple rushed forward from under their roof.

I decided I didn’t like Seisyll very much. The man, Genovefa, was a wide-shouldered Celt, with a blank, scared face. The woman, Elisedd, was a younger woman, her feet dirty, face smudged, but under the dirt, she was quite beautiful, her hair brown, and thick. She had a small, displeased, and dry smile on her lips, eyes that took in everything. When she fixed an eye on me, I looked down, and begged she would not be trouble.

“Lord?” Genovefa asked gruffly.

“You will give your home to them,” the lord said, pointing a finger at us, and when he saw the woman was about to protest, Seisyll snarled. “And your wife will provide them with food. They are guests, Genovefa, and you will sleep in the shed.”

The man nodded, gave us a brief, surprised look, and bowed. Perhaps he’d be happy to have a holiday from Elisedd, because he hid a smile with his hand. He nodded. “Yes, lord. We will obey.”

“Of course you will,” Seisyll murmured, and pulled us closer. “I have forty to fifty extra men here, in the village, and a total of a hundred. They will be inside the huts, the halls, and all of them shall be fucking uncomfortable, but you shall have space. Thank me later. Only move about when I give leave. Take a shit at night, and a guard will see you take them. Don’t give me cause to doubt you. I will let you know what your men sees in the Hard Hill as soon as the news arrives late in the evenings. Enjoy your stay. Hope it’s not a long one. Stay inside.”

“Will a hundred be enough?” I frowned.

He smiled mysteriously. “Let us worry about that, eh?”

Iodocus kicked me, and I relented, turning to our unwilling hosts.

We stood there, fidgeting, until Genovefa nudged Elisedd, who forced a smile, and led us to her doorway. She dodged under the low-hanging roof, and opened the heavy door, and we entered the house after her. Inside, it was warm and spacious, with sleeping quarters, tables, benches and kitchen sensibly dividing the hall. The round shape was disorienting, odd, but not entirely unknown on our side of the river either. What were different were the walls. They were of whitish-gray color. Elisedd was leaning on a wall, blowing her hair out of her eyes, looking at us carefully. She said something, and Iodocus grunted, and nodded at me.

“Marcomanni,” he said, and Elisedd frowned, a half disgusted, half curious look on her face. I decided there was something unsteady and ferocious in the woman. She stepped forward, and saw how I admired the walls. “White,” she told me with a halting Germani dialect. “White-washed to make the interior lighter.”

I smiled and ran a finger on the wall, at which she frowned, and so I snatched the digit away, and gave her an apologetic bow. “It’s a nice change to our smoky halls. I’ll do the same, if I ever have my own hall.”

She looked amused. “You’ll need wealth for one. Perhaps you find service with our lord?”

“Not likely,” I said absentmindedly, and saw her wonder. I saw Iodocus’s face, and he wasn’t happy I was telling her anything, as he shook his head quickly. “We try to keep out of your way.”

She snorted. “Stay, stay. I’d rather not have my husband around the hall, and you saw he shares the sentiment. It’s fitting he stays with his tools. Much gentler towards the hammer and horseshoes than he is to a woman. Cares for them, but ignores me, never thanks me, so I’ll get used to you easily enough. At least you don’t seem boring. You just ask for anything. Just don’t make a mess. And if you must relieve yourself, go at night, as the lord instructed. I’ll show you where.”

“Yes,” I told her with a blush. “What if one must go—”

“Piss in a jar,” she snorted. “You’ll empty it yourself.”

We were silent for a moment, until she began humming, and started to fix food. She had a knife, and she expertly cut meat and vegetables, gazing at us as we took a seat.

“What was in that sack Seisyll brought in?” she asked with curiosity.

“Dreams,” Iodocus answered her, and I knew she was fairly certain what that meant. She gave me a long look, and I knew she would be trouble. I cursed Iodocus for being too clever and not taking his own advice.

***

That week we were both bored and terrified, sometimes at the same time. Every time someone shouted outside, one of us clutched a weapon. When children whooped, we expected an attack. Then, by the time it was darkening, and Elisedd had fixed us food, we’d wait for Seisyll’s man to stop by, push his head through the doorway, and tell us the news. Next, we would wait until we were allowed to go and relieve ourselves outside. After that blissful experience, we’d sit and throw dice long into the night, and then sleep fitfully for some hours.

The odd situation affected the village as well.

The Gauls were easygoing folk, but everyone knew we were preparing to ambush a Germani warband. That meant a lot of Celts had been summoned to the village and its whereabouts, most hidden like we were. This taxed the people of the village terribly. As the days went past, and we peeked through the doorway, we saw the customary happy faces were slowly being replaced by angry, and even scared, ones. There were fewer jovial children running around the yards. It was as if the wait was straining everyone’s patience, like a durable leather string slowly being taxed to its limit.

Then, something happened.

On the fourth day, we had news from Hard Hill. The usual messenger, an older Celt, poked his head in. “Your man came to the shore today with a bit of news.”

“What news? Must I guess?” I snapped, my patience strained.

He snorted. “That there will be no news for a while,” he said bitterly. “Your Lord Bero left Hard Hill to settle a dispute or some damned issue in the south gau. Trade, wealthy villages squabbling, a man of Hard Hill killed, and that’s too bad for us. His warbands are napping in Hard Hill, and Leuthard went with Bero. Gods know how long this will take.”

“They’ll come soon,” I said desperately, and none believed me, not even me.

He snorted. “Seisyll will keep the gold and the silver, and throw your bones into a shitter if it doesn’t happen soon.” At that, Elisedd’s eyes flashed greedily.

I went to bed, feeling the plan had failed.

I was asleep, finally, after tossing and turning, cursing Bero and Leuthard for our imprisonment. Happily, the dream made up for the discomfort.

I dreamt of Gisil.

It was a warm summer day, and the enchanting woman was sitting by a silent lake where swans swam, and a slight fog was carpeting the surrounding pinewoods. The light of Sunna created a bridge of brilliant, ethereal light across the water’s surface, and I approached her as she wondered at the colors. I stopped before her, and she said nothing, though she smiled at me, and the smile was more than warm. It was inviting, and her face blushed.

I knew, somewhere in the deep recesses of my slumbering mind, it was only a dream, but it was also a dream I enjoyed as she pulled me down next to her, and pushed me on my back. I didn’t resist. She tugged at the fibulae keeping her tunic up. Her eyes were downcast and hair disheveled, and I helped her tug the garment down. Breathless, I admired the round mounds, and touched them gently, rose up to kiss one, and she made a soft, encouraging voice while she tugged at my pants, which I eagerly helped her pull them down. I felt her hand grabbing my erect manhood, her smile was shy, and as she struggled out of her tunic entirely, I helped her sit on me, felt the wetness and warmth between her legs, and I entered her. It was a dream full of deep love, every moment filled with gentle satisfaction. The lovemaking was slow and pleasing.

Then something changed.

She moved much faster, forcefully, demanding pleasure, and when I looked up at her, I found it was Ingrid sitting on me, flushed. To my shame, I didn’t stop, but kissed her hungrily. It was a dream, and in your dreams, many things are allowed. A dream was the gift of the gods, a taste of immortality, of a bit of immorality, and so I went with it. It wasn’t real, after all. She was less gentle, much more aggressive, and so I played her game and thrust inside her with lust. She leaned down and bit my lip hard, and so I woke up with a start, my lip bleeding.

I was not alone.

The dream had ended, but the lovemaking continued. There was a shadow straddling me, breathing heavily.

I gasped, and immediately rolled and pushed the figure, thinking the Marcomanni had surprised the village, but no, it was not the Marcomanni, but Elisedd, who held her thighs around me, not letting go, and I was inside her. Her eyes bulged with surprise as I was above her, and then she laughed with a strange, victorious note and grabbed my bare ass, and held me savagely, pulling her legs even tighter around me. I gasped, and struggled, but that only excited her more, and she kept me there, inside her, between her legs, and pulled me over her.

I was so confused. I loved Gisil, perhaps Ingrid, and he fact I had just made love to both in a dream, allowed me to feel less restraint about what was taking place. It had already, had it not? Gods knew how long I had been inside the Celt.

To my shame, I chased off the restraint.

She was fair, I was a man, and while I was betraying my feelings for Gisil, the mad woman would not let go, and so I let Elisedd kiss me ferociously. Then I thrust inside her, not looking at her eyes, and she was panting, squirming, and grinding against me. We kept at it until she scratched my back in ecstasy, threw her arms to the sides, shook and stretched while gasping, and so did I, experiencing a wonderful fulfillment.

When it was over, I lay on top of her, and she was laughing softly, holding my hair. “More,” she said, and pushed me up, turned around to her belly and pulled me over her, and I obeyed.

Later, I was exhausted, and so were she, but not enough to go to sleep. I gazed at her, saw devotion there, and knew the pains of having a conscience again. I knew I didn’t desire anything more than what had taken place, and hypocritically regretted even that. I begged Woden she would be satisfied with what we had shared, and would not share it with anyone. I felt guilty enough without explaining myself to others.

“Adalwulf,” she purred. “A dirty Marcomanni from the wrong side of the River. But quite nice for a murderous enemy, eh?”

“I’m a Chatti, Elisedd,” I answered. “But I do hope I am nice. Was.”

She climbed over me and sat on my chest. I tried to keep my eyes on hers, but could not, and she chuckled. “You were. Don’t fish for compliments. Your first time?”

“Yes,” I answered, that bothered me greatly. I had hoped my first time would be with someone I truly cared about. Wyrd. Too late for that now.

“I hear the Chatti do it with their goats,” she teased me. “If so, you are well-practiced, and your goats must miss you. It was delicious.”

“Oh, we only have cows and horses,” I said, and blushed, as I realized what filth she had meant. She didn’t miss the opportunity to giggle at me. I gazed to the side, where Iodocus was asleep, and at the door, by which her husband’s shed was. I knew if he had been awake, I’d have an enemy.

Unless he hoped to be rid of her, of course.

In which case, he was probably jubilant and thanking gods tearfully.

There was suddenly something desperate and ferocious about her eyes. “Look around, boy. You see how I live, no?”

“Seems a pretty good life to me, but am I missing something?”

“The fool, that … thing in the shed, that’s what,” she said with such scathing hatred, I had sympathy for the poor man, and half wondered why he was not dead yet. “I am not the sort of a woman to waste my life like this. I want changes. Great changes to my life. I want a better hall. Finer clothes. A man with ambition. Children. Perhaps that is now taken care of.”

My breath stopped for a moment until she snapped my forehead. Surely not, I thought. Yes, of course it was possible, I decided, and all that had passed felt somehow not worth it right that moment.

I put my hands on her hips, hoping to push her away, but she twitched with pleasure, pushed her hair out of her eyes, locked herself there with her powerful legs and kept speaking. “I want to move away. With you.”

“Oh?” I said with confusion, looking into her devious eyes. “Without your husband?”

She gaped at me with astonishment. “With you, I said. Of course without him, you fool. I want to forget him, never to see or hear of him again,” she hissed. “And for that, I need two things. One is a man. A fine, strong man, a fighter who braves enemy shields and spears and does not squat over filthy hooves all day. I have that sort of a man, I think, right between my legs,” she said proudly.

“I—”

She put a finger over my mouth, smiled, and moved my hand on her round buttock. My fingers found her ass pleasant as she moved to sit on it. She was very persuasive, I had to admit. I closed my eyes, and tried to control the lust. “Second,” she said huskily, “I need a man who will make us rich. In a quick way. Perhaps by taking, rather than waiting?”

And at that, I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to rob Seisyll, and to run away with her. I opened my mouth to deny her this wish, but she was faster, and moved from my chest to my face. I shut my mouth, and did what she wanted me to do, no matter how mad and dangerous she was.

***

In the morning I awoke with a start, and found Iodocus was sitting across the room from me, grinding wheat on a quern-stone, and the girl was not around. I stared him incredulously. “What in Hel’s name is that?”

“Food,” he snorted.

“You make food? Bread? Where is the girl?” I asked, not sure if he had heard us that night.

“She’s about,” he said with a smile. “Yes, I’ll fix us something to eat. I’m bored out of my mind, anyway.”

“Five days?” I asked him, rubbing my face and pulling on my clothes.

“The young one can count,” he noted dryly. “Day five. If Bero’s away, it will be many more days before anything happens. If anything happens anyway. It might be they are no fools, and Bero is just taking the loss like a woman. Weeps himself to sleep, eh?”

“I cannot believe they’d stomach losing what we took,” I said hopelessly. “Perhaps they fooled us, crossed the river elsewhere last night, hoping to surprise us, and are lost. They are riding around like blind drunkards, weeping, hoping someone might tell them where to find Seisyll.”

“Perhaps they did,” Iodocus said with a snort. “Relax, it’s going well enough. We will sit here until we go crazy, or until Seisyll tires of the game. We have time still. Relax, relax some more, and heal that wound of yours.” He squinted, and gave a guttural laugh. “But then, you did relax last night, didn’t you? However, that sort of relaxation likely didn’t do any favors to your wound. She was quite enthusiastic. I bet she woke half the village. And you did as well, you goat.”

I held my head and looked at him unkindly. “I didn’t. And I regret it. Sort of.”

He laughed. “Oh, you did wake them up. A boy brought us water. He said you were panting like a dog in heat. He lives two houses that way.” He nodded vaguely out the door.

I looked around, gathering my tunic. “You know, she has this plan—”

He shook his head like a father might. “It’s going to be awkward, Adalwulf,” he stated and pointed a steady finger at me. “Unless you really are contemplating on running away with the vixen and the treasure? Then it’s not awkward at all.”

“You heard that discussion, eh?” I said sheepishly. “Its her plan. I only planned on pleasing her in bed. And I didn’t even plan for that. She sat on me while I was dreaming of someone else.”

He stopped for a moment, and smiled maliciously. “Look, Adalwulf. I didn’t hear a thing. I slept like the dead. Even if the rest of the village were awake listening to your adventures, I was out of it. I saw her when she left you this morning, that’s all, and the boy told me most of it.”

I stared at him. “Then how did you know what she wants from me? How did you know she aims to run away with me? And the treasure?”

“She will want a man.” He made a surprisingly passable mockery of her face. “She’ll need an ambitious man who will make her rich! And he must not wait for riches to come to him, no. He must take them!”

I blushed. “You did hear it!”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I did, kind of. About an hour before she came to you. There’s a reason why I was so exhausted and slept like the dead. She probably sat on my chest like she sat on yours, and told me she wanted to elope.”

We sat there, and I held my head. It ached, and I had a sour taste in my mouth. “She came to you before me?”

“She sure did,” he chuckled.

I thought about it. “She sat on my face. I licked—”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m not sure how to apologize.” He chortled and then roared with laughter, and I could not help but join in. When we were done, he offered me water and gruel, wiping his tears. “At least I said no to her plans. She was smiling when she left your side, so I assume you didn’t have the balls to deny her the mad dream?”

“No,” I said miserably. “My balls were all spent. She wants that treasure, and I want neither her or the treasure, but I didn’t tell her I’d pass.”

We heard a clatter on the doorway.

She was there, looking at us, her face blushed and wrathful, and we both looked down like true cowards. She had heard us. It was clear as Sunna in the sky. I was begging gods she would accept what I had said, and dared not look at her Eventually, she let out a noise, a hissing, enraged one, like a horse when it’s preparing to kick another stallion. Then she left.

“Well,” Iodocus breathed. “That’s settled. Though I’m not sure we are safe. I’m preparing the food from now on, I guess. I’m practicing, at least.”

“Has our contact send us any word?” I asked him, desperate to escape the hut.

He laughed. “No. Why should he? It’s not evening. Nothing since yesterday,’ he murmured, regretting the fact as well. “We must stop worrying. Nothing’s changed. Did you notice while there has been no news of Bero’s wrath, neither has there been anything bigger afoot? Balderich has not been told of the thievery. Bero would hate to, since that would reveal the full extent of his riches. Probably would make the old man, the high blood of Aristovistus, livid with anger and jealousy, should it be learnt there is a richer warlord in the village than the great Balderich. They haven’t mentioned Seisyll, not at all. No, Bero will come, but only when he is ready. He is scouting the place. He will know all he can about the village, surrounding villages, men camped near, but with any luck, they won’t know about the extra war-band in the village. Or whatever else Seisyll’s planning, and yea, there must be more. It will be bitter struggle. It’s up to you and me to capture Leuthard. We just have to endure my cooking and the she-demon.”

“I wish I knew what Seisyll is planning,” I complained. I didn’t trust the man, not one bit. He wanted the riches, but would he honor the agreement. And so, I had another idea. I looked at Iodocus and smiled.

“What?” he asked, worried.

“We need a plan for Seisyll,” I stated.

He sighed and nodded in agreement, as he lifted an eyebrow at me. “What kind?” He kept grinding the flour.

I shook my head as he nearly dropped the whole affair to the floor. “That’s going to taste as bad as it looks.”

Iodocus grimaced. “You’ll learn manners, or you’ll not eat. I won’t cook for you, unless you learn to be polite,” he said as he grunted with the effort of grinding. “What kind of plan did you have in mind?”

I sat down on stool next to him, and looked deep into the crushed wheat. “If you think I’ll starve, you are wrong,” I told him, and looked aghast at his efforts. “I rather eat grass than that gritty bread of yours. I see a stone!”

He scowled. “Some stones fall in, every now and then. I’m not perfect.”

I counted with my fingers. “What did Seisyll disagree on with Teutorigos?” I asked him. “Originally. Why is Teutorigos a Marcomanni?”

Iodocus shrugged. “Teutorigos displeased the Romans. Killed a publicani, a man who was from a rival tribe. Seisyll took the opportunity to rob him of his lands and rulership.” He glanced at me. “I know that mischievous look. What are you thinking about? Out with it.”

I thrummed my fingers on the desk. “Well. You did notice Seisyll looked like a fish on a dry land when he looked at the coins. He means to keep them.”

Iodocus stopped grinding. “Yes. I bet that’s the deal, anyway. He doesn’t give a duck’s shit about Cerunnos. That’s the price of his help. The coins. Probably more, I think. Teutorigos will give him everything he has after Leuthard is dead.”

I stared at him. “He gave it all to the gods.”

Iodocus laughed. “He had it fished up after he knew it would be needed. He is a cursed man, Adalwulf. Driven. Willing to insult the gods themselves if only he can catch a hold of Leuthard.”

I looked at my nails, nervous about the whole deal. “I think we need Seisyll properly motivated to stay true to our goal. I say, when the battle begins, you sneak to his hall and get the treasure. You take it, hide it, and if things don’t work out, we can bargain hard. There it is.”

He grunted, began to argue, sulked, shook his head and went on grinding. “You eat the gritty bread, lord. You’ll clean, because I doubt our host will do anything more for us. We’ll run the place. As for what you just suggested? Perhaps I heard you. Perhaps I agree. But it’s all situational. If possible, I might do this. You just worry about capturing the bastard, if Seisyll has no plan to do so. And I’ll think about it as well. I didn’t like the look on his face in the stables. I’d have archers pierce his skull rather than take him alive.”

I rubbed my face tiredly. “It’s so damned desperate.”

“It is, as desperate an affair as this soon-to-be so-called bread. Gods, I wish we had not made that girl mad,” he cursed. “I’ll get the treasure and hide it, and myself, if things go wrong.”

***

Eventually we ate, waited, and sat in the hut. Elisedd came back that evening, and went about her business. She said nothing, and regarded us as she would her least favorite furniture.

“Look, I—” I began, but she waved me down.

Her eyes were squinted as she regarded me, the disappointment thick in the air as she spoke. “You made your choice. And left me with none. Well, perhaps one.” She smiled at me, and nodded towards the door. “You wait for news, no? I saw a man riding in. He has news. He had some yesterday, and the days before it, but today, he looks shocked. You’ll not like the what he has got to say, hmm?” She tilted her head with mockery. “Wait for it.”

I got up and walked to the door, which I opened ever so gently. True enough, a Celt warrior was in the yard, speaking with Seisyll, and the courier had a bag. The man opened it up for Seisyll, and what was in it, made the Celt lord step back, and spit. He wiped his mouth, saw me staring, and grabbed the bag. He walked towards me, and I stood in the doorway, uncertain and dreading what he had to say. He stopped before me, and looked me up and down. “Bero and Leuthard are back in Hard Hill. There is something going on with them, they say. Leuthard’s war-band has been gathering. So likely, things will take place soon. Very soon.”

My eyes went to the bag. “And that?”

He shrugged. “A price to pay. This was left at the gate. It’s so unusual it has to be tied to these events. No?” He opened up the bag, and I looked inside.

Inside, long, blond hair, with scalp attached. A woman’s hair.

Ingrid.

I was sure of it. I dropped the sack, and Seisyll grabbed it. His eyes betrayed no sympathy, but he stepped away from me as I leaned on the doorway. When I went inside, I sat in a dark corner, holding my head. I didn’t wish to see the gloating, evil eyes of Elisedd. Iodocus went out, despite having been ordered not to, and came back, having found out the reason for my shock. He sat near me, and put an arm around my neck, and I sobbed there. After time had passed, he spoke. “He’ll be here soon. Nobody walks away.”

I raised my eyes, and saw Elisedd hugging herself. She looked nervous, expectant, and outside, far in the hills, a wolf howled.

Leuthard’s message was clear. He was coming, he knew what was waiting, and he’d eat us whole.

CHAPTER 14

Morning came, and the day passed as I sat, holding my hammer. I waited, and hoped I would endure because my patience was tested and strained to the limits.

I had dreamt again.

Of murder.

In the dream, I had rowed back across the river, and just like some small demi-god of Asgaard, a creature of heroic stories, I had killed men who stood against me, one-by-one, breaking their necks, destroying their halls, breaking their bones. I climbed the hill, filled with the corpses of evil men. By the time I reached the top, I wasn’t sure if I was a good or an evil man, being covered in blood head to toe, and loving each kill like a child loves their mother. I had finally spotted Leuthard, sitting on a dark horse.

I was no man.

I knew he wasn’t one either.

We had sized each other up, while I stalked him.

I woke up to the cocks crowing before I could finish the feud, and no matter how hard I tried to slip back to the dream to finish the deed, the cocks crowed again, and I was awakened.

And so, I sat still that day, trying not to imagine how Ingrid had died. Iodocus didn’t say a word. He washed himself, set down to fix food, singing softly, and so the evening eventually arrived. Even Elisedd was mostly sitting in the corner, wringing her hands, waiting.

The news would come soon, I knew, and I hoped it would speak of a warband that was to come that very evening and night for us. We had the men, I thought, and I’d make my dream come true. Seisyll had plans. I’d trust them, and Iodocus would secure our lives by taking back the coins, if he could. But I would take Leuthard, and I’d beg to see how he dies, when the time finally came.

Elisedd’s head shot up.

Then, she was standing and cocking her head. She was also smiling. “Something is coming,” she said excitedly.

She was right, though we couldn’t imagine what made her so happy.

There was a strange change in what were the normal sounds of the village. Iodocus stood up, and so did I. We rushed to the door, our hearts pounding, and knew something extraordinary was taking place. It was an uneasy silence. We were like birds, sensing a calamity in advance. Nobody was making a sound. No men were speaking, no women laughing, even if Sparrow’s Joy had already led a subdued life those past days. The silence was near total. The flat hilltop had shut up, as if struck by a god’s hammer, and then there was a horse whinnying, men shouting. I knew the gate, a fenced, spiked thing, was being dragged aside by the creak, a voice we had grown accustomed to. I shrugged at Iodocus. “Someone is coming. Not something. Is it the man who brings the news?”

Iodocus shook his head nervously. “Someone is coming, indeed. God Taranis be damned, but they cannot fool you, my friend,” he said. “You know this is something different,” he added, and opened the door. We pushed each other in our desperate hurry to witness what was taking place. We spied Seisyll walking through a cluster of round houses and gardens for the fence, where the lord bowed stiffly the minute the doorway opened.

In rode Roman.

“Shit,” Iodocus whispered. “Shit, fuck us. I thought there should not have been any patrols for weeks?”

But there was.

It had to be a Roman, as he didn’t look anything like the Celts or the Germani, and wore a red cape over dusty military splendor. He was a sturdy, clean-shaved, and his skin was slightly darker than ours, his face beautiful as a god’s. There was a sort of a strange, inbred arrogance and confidence in his gestures, and the way he sat on his horse, as if he belonged there, higher than the rest. He held a large, oblong shield loosely on his left arm, and stretched his arm to the side to beacon for Seisyll to approach. We saw scars of battle in his well-muscled forearms and biceps.

And the armor?

Dusty as it was, it was still beautiful. It was a Roman lorica hamata, well made, mended in places, but a supreme piece of armor. Celts had reputedly the finest armor in the world, but they reserved it for their best men, like we did, and Romans armed and armored nearly all their infantry in this manner. He sat on his white horse, and the helmet with transverse crest looked supremely military on him. The helmet had a fabulous dark horse-hair billowing over his shoulders, like he were partly an animal. His caligae were hobnailed and glinted as he guided a thick horse around Seisyll. A gladius hung over his left shoulder by a balteus.

“A centurion,” whispered Iodocus. “Damn centurion. Of all the days. They usually come during midsummer, and escort a publicani, some local shit that has bought the right to collect the taxes. But why are they here now?”

Elisedd pushed us out. We turned to look at her in surprise, but she ignored our looks. The door slammed behind her, and she kept pushing us. Before we could dodge away, the centurion’s eyes had fixed on her. She greeted him shyly, adoringly, and Iodocus and I looked at each other. I resisted grasping her arm, but I didn’t have to accost her. She spoke quite plainly. “Yes, I sent word to the Roman. He came far faster than I thought possible, but he is here, and he hurried because he has no qualms taking what he wants. And now, finally, he will take me away.”

“The harlot has an affair with that one, as well,” Iodocus murmured, and I knew he was right. I wondered if we should move away, but we had been spotted already. We stood still as hares, because all the others did as well.

The woman had betrayed us. We’d suffer for it.

“What do they want?” I asked her, trying to keep a civil tone, though of course I knew the answer. It was predictable.

“The treasure,” she chuckled. “Of course the coins. And me.”

“You—”

The centurion finally spoke to the chief with a voice that carried across the yard, well-rehearsed to commanding men in battle and out of it. “Seisyll,” he said simply. My crude Celtic was up to the task, because his was as basic as mine. He waved his hand around lazily, and a troop of seven soldiers entered, their helmets dusty from marching, red capes in similarly disheveled condition, but they all looked like deadly professionals, save for one young man, a recruit, no doubt, who seemed a step behind the others.

“Oh, this is not good,” said Iodocus. “I know him. That’s a centurion of the vexillation from one of the guard towers, not far from here, close to Moganticum. I’ve seen him around when I was here last year, visiting relatives. He robbed them clean. Didn’t even leave pig-bones on the plate.”

The centurion shifted in his saddle, and Seisyll, handsome, tall warrior looked dwarfed in his glory in comparison to the representative of the true power in the land. “Call out your men.”

“What do you mean?” Seisyll growled, squinting at the centurion.

“The Legate sent us here. He received a complaint, you see,” the centurion said sternly, his eyes glancing in our direction, and I sensed Seisyll was about to be robbed of more than pig-bones.

“What is the … complaint about? We can deal with it on our own, Roman,” Seisyll said bitterly. “You need not manage every simple matter here.”

The Roman grunted, and the legionnaires twitched as they formed a solid rank of steel and red behind his horse. “Now, now. None of that. Legio I Germanica is not some fellow tribe for you to banter with. You cannot sit down with us over food and drink, and think we are fooled. We don’t do deals with robbers.”

“Robbers?” Seisyll asked dangerously.

The Centurion glowered at him. “The Treveri sent a complaint.”

“The dogs always complain,” Seisyll said bitterly. “They bark like little pups, and cause mischief. Why believe them?”

The centurion laughed merrily, and shook his head as if to a naughty child. “That may very well be so. They bark and cause trouble. So do you. But that matters not. Every such complaint must be checked out, and so I’m forced to march around like an old horse, solving these silly little troubles. I must. It is my duty. It’s for the good of all. The tensions are high. Treveri and Mediomactri steal and bleed each other, and claim lands. Gods know who is not lying. We want our people to live happily and at peace with each other, and so we must be fair.”

Seisyll chortled incredulously. “Fair? They have been taking our lands since forever, Roman!” Seisyll roared, but the Roman was unfazed and spat in dirt.

“Bull’s balls! Shut up!” The men in sight, Gauls tensed at that, but the Romans had killed enough Gauls in their time to make mice of them, and they stayed silent and sullen. The Roman yelled, “I know you have plenty of warriors in this village. More than you should. Call them all out!”

Seisyll, his face white with rage, did.

Men streamed from the halls and homes. Hundred, more, and the Roman Centurion’s eyes gauged their mood and arms. It took time, but finally a warband, Seisyll’s own, and those he had brought in from other villages, stood in two separate groups in the middle of Sparrow’s Joy.

“Should we run?” Iodocus asked thinly.

“Try,” Elisedd said with a ferocious grin. “He’ll want to speak with you. And he shall. I’ll scream if you try to flee.”

“You’ll pay for this later,” Iodocus said darkly with a skull-like smile.

“Dreaming, that’s what you are,” she laughed brazenly, but took some steps away from us. Her husband came out of his workshop, and stood there forlornly, and I didn’t look his way.

The Roman eyed the warriors, and the turned to Seisyll with a look that told everyone he’d have to punish the lord. “And you have done nothing, eh? So many men? Waiting for the Treveri to come, and—”

“I’ve done nothing to the Treveri! I’ve fought with the Marcomanni!” Seisyll yelled.

The Roman pointed a finger at the warbands. “Which ones live here? Which ones do not?” the Centurion growled.

Seisyll pointed a finger at the ones who did not. “They are visiting.”

“Visiting,” the Roman snorted and guided his horse past the man, stopping before the warband and a tall Celt leading it. “These forty men will leave this place. They will go, and they will go now. Go to your homes, or your villages shall be given to your enemies. We will take you, your wives, children, and they shall be sold to all the corners of the world. And those corners, louts, are far from home.”

The men looked at Seisyll, the threats echoing in the hill, and not one of the men who had been ready to fight for Seisyll against the Marcomanni was willing to risk the Roman’s ire. Seisyll saw this, and nodded subtly. The men turned, and in one huge column, marched away from the gates, scattering. When it was done, only Seisyll’s own men remained, and the Roman smiled.

“And you shall give me all that loot you took from the …Treveri. The truth shall be judged fairly, and the ones who are guilty shall be punished, trust me.” He had the audacity to spice his words with a roguish wink.

I snorted. He’d take it. He’d take it all, hide it and lie, if someone dared to question him, an he’d be rich in his retirement one day.

“My coins? You want my coins?” Seisyll asked him, near the brink of violence.

The Roman didn’t flinch, but knew his limits. He’s steal, but not all of it. “No, not your own. The ones brought in here days past. Yes. I’ll take all of that. I shall need a fair judge on the matter, so I will take it to where it is safe. To Moganticum.” His eyes went to the girl next to us, and Seisyll didn’t miss that look. His face was like a skull as he looked at her, and I knew she had better leave the village if things didn’t go the way she hoped they would.

“You had better hope he takes you with him,” Iodocus stated, having come to the same conclusion.

She said nothing, smiling confidently, and whether she was mad or brave, I wasn’t sure.

The Centurion went on. “We’ll stay here for the night, and I’ll leave in the morning,” he said, bored with the affair. “A sack will go with me. And there had better be everything inside it, Seisyll. Obey, and perhaps some of it will come back to you. Prepare your hall for me, and sleep elsewhere,” he said, and left Seisyll fidgeting, cursing, and then the chief spat, and kicked a dog as he stormed off.

The Centurion turned his head, and rode to us.

“Gods, damn him,” Iodocus said as the Roman skillfully guided his horse past sullen Celts. His eyes gazed at our gear and rested on my hammer, which left him frowning. The Celt girl trembled, and turned to her husband, suddenly full of doubts. He cursed softly, took a step away, and disappeared, wanting no part in her schemes. She visibly gathered herself and walked forward, and the Roman looked down at her with a small frown. There was a questioning look on his face, as if he didn’t know who she was. She spoke to him urgently, wringing her hands. I nearly felt sorry for her, because I had a hunch she was not about to find love and affection. The man seemed incapable of it.

“You came!” she beamed. “You really came. So fast!”

“Huh?” the Roman asked. “Yes—”

“Gaius, you came. I sent you a message. A brilliant ploy, with the Treveri.”

“Gaius?” he asked, and then smiled carefully. “Thank you,” the armored thief said, still confused. “A message?”

She blinked. “I sent you one yesterday. About the Marcomanni treasure. You know? What you just asked him for? And I told you about the men in the huts and the halls. And these two thieves.” She thumbed our way. “Will you take me with you now? I gave you great riches, no? We spoke about love before, and you said—”

He rubbed his chin. “I remember you now. Last month? Yes, right here. It was fun, I seem to recall. As for the treasure and the men and these thieves, yes, I was sent a word.” He turned to me. “You are Adalwulf,” he said, and pointed a finger at me, and then at my friend, “and you are Iodocus?”

There was no point to deny. “I’m Adalwulf,” I told him carefully.

“A sturdy fellow,” he grunted, and I wasn’t sure how many years older he was, but at least ten. His words and tone made me straighten my back almost immediately. I frowned at that. For some reason, I wanted him to be proud of me. He noticed and chuckled as I let myself relax. “Natural soldier. Know your place immediately. Stand up like a man when your officer calls you out. Yes. You’d do well under the Aquila. Now, unfortunately, you will not have such an opportunity.” His eyes turned to the girl, uncertainly. “But I’m confused. A Gaul found us yesterday with this bit of delicious news. He’s someone who travels the lands a lot, a horse-merchant. He told me a tale. Did you send him?”

She beamed uncertainly. “I sent a man on horse. He’s a local, though he doesn’t sell horses. I—”

The Roman turned back to us and adopted an actor’s pose. “Different man then.”

Different man? I thought, frowning.

He went on. “Now, let us be official.” His men were marching for us. “You two. Thieves.”

“I’m not—” I began.

“A damnable thief, that’s what you are,” he growled. “You helped Seisyll there. You stole that coin and treasure from a traveling Treveri lord for Seisyll. Murdered his men. And so, you will come with us to be judged.”

He spun lies like an old thief. He wanted to take us with him.

I understood. He knew there were no Treveri. He guesses someone wanted Seisyll to suffer, and he didn’t care where the treasure came from. But he had heard we brought the coin in. He had heard we didn’t belong with Seisyll. Since the treasure would never leave his greedy hands, we would have to die. He wanted no vagrants whispering tales of his crime. He could blackmail Seisyll with the loss of his lands and life, but we had no such ties to the land. He wanted us dead, and as scapegoats. He would be promoted for capturing us. Somehow, someway, he’d hang us, and we’d be blamed for everything. The girl. I spat at her feet. She blanched. “Damn whore.”

The Roman smiled widely. “She is a whore, though I cannot ever remember her name, to be honest. I usually remember the best of them, but not hers.”

“I? A whore?” she hissed, but the Roman pulled his sword, and she went quiet and resentful as the soldiers arrived, ringing us. “Lord, I sent the man last evening. Tell me you will reward me. Though I am confused. He couldn’t have reached you before this morning.”

“Strange,” the Roman said evenly. “But as I said, this must be a different man. I found out about this yesterday morning already. The names of these men, the treasure, the warbands, and the meaningless tale of the Treveri.”

“Not possible!” she said, stunned. “How is that possible? You are lying!”

He rubbed his face. “I care not how,” the man said, and waved his hand imperiously towards us. “Leave the hammer and the spear here. And do not leave the hall. Tomorrow, we shall go, and you’ll tramp with us for a while.” He snapped his fingers, and three legionnaires strode forward. He spoke Latin to them, and they nodded. I let go of the weapon, though reluctantly. They pushed us through the door. and we sat there, staring at each other.

“What in the name of Cerunnos’s wild women is this?” Iodocus breathed. How—”

“The girl deserves to be hanged. But it wasn’t her doing. It was Leuthard,” I said. “Leuthard sent word of Seisyll’s men, of us, of the treasure. He knew the Roman would come and break up everything. The village is gutted and half helpless, isn’t it? The woman,” I said, and glared at the door, where I could hear her speaking to the Roman, and the Roman laughing, “sent her own man, but he was already on his way.”

He nodded at me, his face white.

“Leuthard is coming?”

“Don’t sleep this night,” I said. “There will be news, Romans or not. Let’s wait to see the messenger arrive.”

We lounged in the house all that evening, waiting for a man to arrive from the other side of the river. The Celts were wary of the Romans, and I was sure many of the wealthier families living on the hill were busily hiding their coin and jewelry. They should have done that already, since there was a risk of an attack on the village by Bero and Leuthard, but the Romans were greedy men. Such presence in the village was a far bigger threat, since Roman demands could not be countered by violence and determination.

The evening turned into night. Mani rose majestically to the sky, a piece of it missing as the wolf Hati chased it across the blue-tinted brilliance. Iodocus was fidgeting, and I was rubbing my face. I tugged at my hair, something the Chatti kept long until they killed a man, and decided I’d cut it soon. I had deserved it. “Where is the man?” I asked.

Iodocus didn’t look at me. “He is dead. Or Seisyll’s man is, the one who meets him. No news will come.”

He was right.

Horn blew in the night. It was deep, demanding, threating.

We stood up. A shout could be heard, a challenge. Then, there was the roar of men and a huge crash, as something terrible was taking place at the gate. Celts were screaming, and horses whinnying.

A guttural Germani voice was yelling in the night, so loud it echoed across the woods.

“Find Adalwulf! I want him alive! Find the others!” The voice thrummed through the night.  We would fight, as Leuthard had arrived.

CHAPTER 15

I grasped Iodocus. “The gold. The silver. Get it, hide it. Let nobody stop you,” I told him nervously. “And then hide yourself.”

“You’ll need me out there,” he complained, but I pushed him. He scowled and nodded curtly. “Try not to get killed, you idiot.”

“I try. Let’s see if we can get out of here.”

We softly opened the doorway and peeked out. The Roman guards were gone, save for the one youngster who had been left on duty. He was hovering, taking steps back and forth, and watching the sudden chaos unfold around him. He was hesitant. There were torches flaring in the hill-fort, women and children running around in panic, and the warriors were gathering under their leaders, pushing each other to rush for the gate where the danger was looming. A tall chief held them back, gathering all he could before anyone rushed anywhere. Our hearts thrummed madly, as there was another booming voice from the gates, then a crash. We could see the wall swaying.

I nudged Iodocus, and he nodded. We exited the hall, and snuck towards the young legionnaire who turned to face us, mumbling: “Intra muros.”

Within the walls, I’d later learn, and he was right. They’d be inside in a bit, but he would not need to worry about it. As my fist met his chin, Iodocus tackled him hard, and we dragged him, his arms flailing wildly, inside the hall. There, Elisedd looked at us, aghast. The youngster was a tough one, hissing, and cursing, and he fought wildly, but in the end, he was gagged, tied, and tucked in a corner. I pointed a finger at the girl. “You should probably run, girl.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, taking steps forward, wringing her hands.

“To capture riches and a beast,” Iodocus laughed. “You run, or fight. Perhaps you should try to crab the treasure, instead of having a man do it for you? Or has your bravery left you?”

She said nothing, scowling at us.

We left her there, and dodged back out. I could hear Roman commands being issued somewhere near, as Gaius was trying to organize his men. Dozens of Celts were converging on the gate, and I saw Seisyll’s face there, with the men, encouraging them.

“I hope Seisyll really had some further plan than just relying on the men hidden in the village,” Iodocus snorted as he hefted his spear and shield from the side, where they had been unceremoniously dropped on a bench. He threw me my hammer, and it gave me comfort. “And I hope it is a good one. I’ll go then, and perhaps I’ll hide my ass after the treasure. Perhaps not,” he said bravely, but with a sad smile, and I knew he didn’t think he’d see me alive again.

“Don’t die,” I told him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “At least try not to run into a spear. Take news home, if things turn sour as old ale. You must survive.”

“You care?” he laughed and clasped my arm in a warrior’s salute. “I’m touched.”

I grinned like a skull. “If you die, there’s no way to know where you hid the treasure. Stay alive, and tell Hulderic what happened.”

“Shit,” he chortled, “you’re such a dear friend.” He waved and disappeared into the shadows.

I turned to regard the gate. Men rushed forward, and there were forty warriors there now, a thick column of men with bristling spears, colorful shields and pants. Tall Celts wore with rich armbands, listening to Seisyll, whose round shield, painted blue and red, flashed in the torch light, as he pointed his sword for the gate. The men were nodding, looking grave.

But the gate was not the problem. It was the wall.

There was a most peculiar sight. The tall, thick wall was tilted, shaking, and Celts were hanging precariously on the thin parapet, throwing down rocks and javelins.

One tower was gone. The top of it had been torn away, though the lower part still stood. That was the crashing sound we had heard.

I saw two Celts on the parapets hacking at something mightily, and noticed there were ropes around the thick lumber, taut as if a god was pulling at them, and the Gauls could not cut of pry them off the piles. There were horses neighing wildly out in the dark, men yelling savagely. The wall shook precariously, and mud flew as the piles moved. Then they groaned, and tipped even more, dismantling several men who jumped or fell away heavily, and one screamed hoarsely, as he fell to the darkness. The wall disappeared in a cloud of dust and mud.

There, where the wall had fallen, shadows flickered in the dusty cloud. Some fierce Marcomanni stepped forward to the light, nearly inside the compound, and threw some ineffective javelins at the column of Celts. One hacked at the debris where the fallen, wounded Celt was killed, and then they fled.

The remains of the wall went with them, dragged away by horses. Timbers rattled, cracked, ropes fled in the dust. Gods help us if the tower had taken the wall as well, I thought. They would be inside already. The guards must have been napping to allow that to happen without an alarm. But luckily, they had had to try again, and so we had a defense in place.

Silence.

Seisyll opened his mouth to exhort his visibly shocked and frightened men. He didn’t have a change.

Shields were being banged together in the darkness, men were yelling wildly, and then the barritus yell, men crying out fiercely behind their shield rims, creating a ferocious, thrumming cacophony echoed across the land. There were many Marcomanni down there. Many, many men. Balderich would be pleased. He got his war.

I took tentative steps forward, unsure what to do. Should I join the shieldwall? The Celts screamed defiance, even without Seisyll’s exhortations, one bleeding from a javelin. Seisyll and another chief, a tall, armored brute, pushed their men towards the hole. Then the lord spotted me, yelled something more as the Celts shuffled to form a triple line of shields and spears across the broken fence, and ran to me. “Will you fight with them?” he screamed as pointed a finger at the men.

“Yes. Will you?” I said, insulted. Of course, I would.

“What?” he snarled. “How dare you doubt—”

I pushed him, and he went silent with incredulity. “Was there more to this plan than just fighting here in the village, holding the place, and hoping Leuthard falls to our hands?”

He shook away his anger and laughed darkly. “There was. There still is. We have to hold the town, though. Much harder to do now with the betrayal of Elisedd. She—”

I shook my head at him. “It was Leuthard. The girl tried, but Leuthard was way ahead—”

He pushed me towards the gate. “Whatever. For the plan to work, I’ll have to go. I have to go fast, because that lot will not hold for a long time,” he said, flicking his gaze to the group of brave men. “Help them. Fight well.” He clapped my shoulder. “We’ll catch the bastard.”

“I’ll fight with them,” I agreed, and felt the stirrings of the familiar rage. Woden was pleased, his rage mine, and I could almost see his violent spear-dance in the shadows. “What about the Romans?”

He glanced towards his house. Gaius was marching for the gate with his men. “They’ll join in, I guess. I hope they die, even if we win. In fact,” he whispered, “if possible, let them.”

I laughed and ran for the wall, and he disappeared, fetching whatever surprise he had planned for. I begged it would not involve going to his hall, where Iodocus was probably looting the cursed treasure.

There were more yells down the hill now, a demanding voice, and the telltale clatter for men to form a column. It was a powerful voice, but not Leuthard’s guttural one, though I could swear it had been him screaming when the trouble began. “Why didn’t they charge the moment the wall broke?” I wondered aloud, and rushed for the wall to the side, as the Gauls below were still forming a wall of wood and leather, closing the hole.

The armored brute of a chief in the Celt formation stepped before them, and stopped them short of the hole. “Stay away from it, or they’ll hit you with javelins. Ready! Ready weapons, rocks, spears, and boys. We’ll throw them back down when they show their sickly faces, won’t we? Do it fast,” the chief chortled. “My supper is getting cold.” They cheered him, laughed nervously, and gazed at the darkness just shy of the gaping hole, over the churned up heaps of turf.

I passed them, jumped to a ladder, climbed up, and hoped the wall would hold, the whole thing being slightly bent and weakened by the successful efforts of the Marcomanni. I reached the thin parapet and popped my head on top of the wall. It was dark, but I saw a mass of shadows, and what I saw made my heart flutter with fear.

There was a warlord down there, horses were whinnying again, and a wall of spears glittered in the diluted light of Mani. I saw a wide, bear-pelted lord, who was dancing in front of eighty men, his own oathsmen, pointing an ax up to the wall. Somewhere in the dark someone was yelling warnings, then another, and I heard screams of battle across the land, and wondered what in Hel’s name was going on out there.

The mass below heaved, the chief settled in the first rank of the Marcomanni, and they marched up. Was it Leuthard after all? It was hard to see. It was possible, but I couldn’t be sure.

Leuthard, or not, it didn’t look good.

In fact, it looked terrible.

I looked behind, and saw the Romans were very close to the gate now, and they’d have to do miracles to hold the breach. There were nearly twice the number of Marcomanni to the Gauls and the Romans. I begged Woden spare Iodocus, and if the god should be on a generous mood, he might one day find Gisil.

I was sure I’d die.

“Get down here, you!” someone yelled at me. “Wait! What do you see?”

I looked down the Celt warlord, whose eyes glittered under a helmet’s deep shadows. I saw Gaius looking at me from the side, strangely subdued, growling orders at his men who took a place on the right flank of the Celtic formation.

I shook my head at him. “Lots of them. A big bastard in the first rank. Best take the families out.”

“Women left already,” he yelled. “How many? Come man, give us a count!”

The men all looked up at me with hope in their eye.

“Same as you. Not many,” I answered cheerfully, and saw the men take heart at my words, whispering with their shield-mates. They were well-armed, some armored in leather, and sturdy warriors all with long moustaches and powerful limbs, but they would get slaughtered.

I hesitated. I had told Seisyll I’d fight. I had been insulted he had to ask. But perhaps he was right to ask. Should I go? Take away to the woods, and wait it out? Look for Leuthard? Did I owe anything to these men?

Woden thought differently.

He had whispered to me already. I felt the rage there, in the back of my mind, in the tautness of my muscles, in that certain careless demand for a fight that overwhelmed fear. The god gave me fury that slowly filled my limbs, I remembered Ingrid, Bait, and the many others the enemy had killed. Leuthard was out there, and I’d catch him, despite everything that had gone wrong, but to do that, these men had to die. I looked down at the chief who gave guttural orders in the Celtic dialect, and the men tightened, shields banging together. Some Celts rushed from the darkness to join the lines, and there some women were still trying to hustle children and the elderly away to safety, and some horses were neighing as elders mounted them.

The people needed time, at least.

I looked down to the enemy, who were clashing their shields with their spears, as shadowy mass moved up the hill. It would not take long, they were nearly there. I, and now even the Celts, saw the standard in the shadows, the mass of killers heaving for them, and the lord was striding with them, brave as a drunk forest spirit. The Marcomanni champion spat purposefully on the hill, cursing the men who lived on it, and growled orders. The enemy tightened below us, and so did the Celts, again, as if the fear made men take comfort in a closeness of their friends. Legs bent, men crouched, prayed, sweated, and feared, and so I decided I had to act.

However, I’d not fight in the wall.

A berserker was not meant for a pushing match, a shieldwall of slow killing. He was meant to fight in the midst of his prey.

I grinned at Gaius, who was frowning, and then took a deep breath, leaped down and landed with a roll, and ran a bit downhill to the dark. I felt giddy and foolish, having abandoned my dubious sanctuary. The Gauls would think I was fleeing the battle, but they had no time to dwell on my action, only to withstand the animosity of their ancient enemy.

The formation was almost level with the hole. Men yelled, and Marcomanni rushed out to the sides, holding javelins. They loosed them at the hole. I heard the weapons thrumming eerily in the air, some fell short, jutting in dirt, others rattled on the wall and the remains of a tower they had pulled down first, but others yet struck the Celtic shields and the men behind them. More and more of the javelins flew in, the aim getting better with each volley. Men yelled, screamed in pain, some in surprise, and I heard the clatter of shields, and Gaius screaming in Celtic, and I thought he was saying: “Hold still, maggots. Don’t mind some blood on the ground. Makes it worth holding!”

I grinned at that, and made my way towards the Marcomanni. Now javelins and stones were thrown downhill, a Marcomanni man gasped pain, another fell on his face, silent, and then the great chief thundered, “Up, and over them! Leave the traitors alive!’ the man yelled, and I saw his red hair, and knew it was Fulch the Red, Ermendrud’s father and cursed, because he might die, and I had liked him.

I chuckled.

Instead of dying, he would rip our guts out, I thought, and approached the side of the Marcomanni. The pushing mass of shields and spears, men who flooded the hole in the wall, shouted their rage at the Celts, laughing like demented spirits at the wall of shields confronting and rushing forward to meet them. Dozens of javelins impaled many Marcomanni, shields rattled with impacts of the stones, but Fulch roared the men in, and the Marcomanni rushed over the broken turf, over the remains of the piles to bash up at the Celts.

The noise of meeting shields echoed dully across the hill like a distant thunder.

Spears stabbed, up and down. Men pushed at the foes, cursing and striking when there was room to do so, others stabbed over the shoulders of the man before them, men flattened on the backs of their friends in the turmoil. Celtic curses filled the air as they took steps back, then pushed back and fought, and I saw how the chief of the village slashed down with his sword at a head of a sturdy Marcomanni, whose shield was caught.

I saw blood flying in the air, dark droplets that turned to rain, and then, the milling enemy horde kept smiting and pushing, smiting and pushing. The Celts struck back amidst the screams of the wounded. Occasionally, I saw a red cape of Roman, their shields high. I ran on, wondering what I’d do and then I thought I’d be late, because the Marcomanni screamed joyfully, as some powerful warrior had fallen under their spears.

Fulch the Red was trying to make his way for the enemy chief. The Celtic second rank was hacking mightily over the shoulders of the ragged first rank, using even rocks, but mostly axes and clubs. The Marcomanni were holding their shields up like the shell of a thick bug, and spears flashed at the legs and guts of the Celts. A Gaul fell, another was dragged to the Marcomanni ranks, and then the two great chiefs heaved against each other, cursing, desperate, both afraid. Two Marcomanni braved the Celts and lowered their shields for a lunge at the enemy chief, but they fell with stabs from men who had been waiting for such an opportunity.

The column of Marcomanni thickened. It heaved forward, nearly over their enemy, which was no longer three ranks wide, but two, even one in places.

Another high man fell in the Gaul ranks, howling as his belly was opened.

I was running. It seemed to take forever. In fact, the battle had only raged for a moment.

Fulch heaved his sword at the face of the Celt chief, whose helmet held, but the man spat blood as he fell back.

It could be seen. The Celts would break in a bit. Too fast.

I streaked through the night, the last steps behind the mass of men, begging Woden help me, and Balderich and Hard Hill to forgive me, because I’d kill men I hoped to be allied with in my future. There would be men with families in the rank before me; fathers, brothers, uncles, and sons in the column trying to reclaim Bero’s lost treasure. Soon, some would die, but then, so would I.

The Marcomanni yelled together, the Celts nearly broken. Roman was yelling hoarsely in Latin, pained and horrified, the Germani jubilant in their apparent victory. Men were dying, some Celts were speared on the side, and few Germani fell as they pushed to the enemy rank. One such wounded man, yellow-bearded and young, was walking away from the battle, his face ash-colored and holding his broken arm, when he saw me. He likely thought I was a friend.

I ran for him, chopped the hammer down, and the man’s broken face fell into the shadows. I ran over him, felt Woden’s rage pumping me into higher levels of ferocity, felt him urging me on with a savage, hazy dance, welcoming my victims to his tables. Freya, the Red Lady would take some for hers, but I’d go to Woden, the one-eyed, and the one who loved me. I’d kill, kill until someone pushed a spear in my chest or back, but before that, I’d make a name for myself, one to echo through the halls of the Celts and the Germani alike.

As children, we had often played a savage game with my cousin. We had been scraggly, thin, young, and there was a small, flowery hill near Mattium, and there the children would gather in the long summer days to play war. The hill was steep, with a round top, defended by boulders and occupied by marmots, and that hill was our kingdom, my cousin’s and mine. We would scream, “The King of the Summit, the King of the Summit,” as the often bigger kids tried to wrestle it from us, and often they did, and we’d go back up, even when my cousin lost a tooth. We would take it anew, clawing our way through a horde of enemies to claim our place.

I imagined him there, near me, urging me on and holding me up. I was the King of the Summit, a lord of death that night. I screamed my hate at the backs of the Marcomanni. I slapped the hammer down in rage, and it connected with a thin man’s back, and he fell heavily. I danced left, I danced right, breaking arms, chests and horrified, surprised faces. The thick Marcomanni column could barely move or react. Most didn’t even notice me there, except the men in the back ranks.

I went after them relentlessly. When I saw two powerful youths trying to break off, scowling at me under their hoods, I rushed them, cracking one’s skull, the other’s collarbone. A man put his hands around me, another struck down with a club, but he fell over me, and took down the one who tried to hold me. I kicked them, while heaving the weapon around, connecting with surprised Marcomanni, who howled or fell. “King of the Summit, King of the Summit, Adalwulf is the King of the Summit!” I screamed, as I pushed forward, up, and went on in the thick, confused melee. Celts were there now, the shield walls gone.

Men fell. I didn’t.

I felt a pain in my hands, back and arms, pain by fatigue, not wounds. Many Marcomanni scattered, and others fled. There was something happening where the chiefs fought. I saw a blood-spattered Roman group of six holding their oblong shields amidst the survivors of the Celts, forcing them to fight. I saw desperate Fulch engage the centurion with his best men, under his banner or red hair and skull.

The Romans pushed back grimly, their swords glinted redly, and the raging Fulch screamed as three Celts fell to his men, but not the Romans, who held on grimly, taking hits with their shields, stabbing madly and efficiently, not giving an inch. The standard-bearer and twenty Marcomanni were before me now, and I growled away my fatigue, ignored the men left behind and those to the sides. I charged the mighty standard at the same time the centurion, Gaius, covered head to foot in blood, parried Fulch’s heavy overhand strike, pushed past Fulch’s shield, and stabbed at his chest.

A wail of despair rose from the Marcomanni ranks.

Fulch fell back, stumbling away, and his men caught him. Some Marcomanni charged up at the Roman shields still, the others turned to look at me with horror. I roared at the men charging me. I hacked down, slaying two. I chopped left, crumbling a third, a powerful warrior with blood red shield. Then I heaved the hammer at the skull of the standard bearing warrior. He fell nearly noiselessly, and I heard the Gauls cheer, saw them attack with vigor, and Gaius met my eyes with a grim nod. I flailed around me, hitting nothing, as the enemy retreated away like beaten dogs.

Fulch’s warband’s dishonor was complete as I straddled the standard, danced over the formerly fine, honorable thing. I mocked Fulch, who was being pulled away, his face ashen white, and he knew who I was. I laughed at him, showed him the bloody hammer. He, horrified and betrayed, wept, as he was dragged away downhill to the darkness over the bodies of his men. The Romans cheered, charged down after them and together with the remaining Celts, they completed the rout of the enemy.

I staggered and sat down.

I was patting my legs, my arms, my chest, and felt tightness in my back, where my old wound had been tested. I was not wounded further. It was a miracle.

After what seemed a very long time, Gaius appeared out of the dark. He had four legionnaires with him, all exhausted, their shields broken, pila thrown, swords nicked. Gaius approached me, staying at arms length, having witnessed the carnage. The Roman peered the wounded Celt chief nearby, who was senseless, and rubbed his face as he turned to regard me. What he was thinking was a mystery. I picked myself up, then the standard of Fulch, propped my hammer against my leg, and broke the mighty thing against my knee, throwing the thing down to the darkness. The rage was fading, and I knew we had failed. We had not captured Leuthard, had not even seen him, and even if there was still battle going on somewhere in the night, we would not likely catch the big man.

Then there was the business of the Roman and his agendas, one of which had probably been to silence Iodocus and me.

The Roman pulled me around. “Your name? It was Adalwulf?” he asked with his broken Germani dialect, probably used to speaking with the Ubii and the Vangiones, but I understood him well enough.

“Adalwulf, yes,” I said, picking up the hammer. “The man you aimed to kill to cover your theft. And I won’t easily go with you now.”

His eyes flashed. “Well fought,’ the centurion grunted. “Mad crazy, and you shouldn’t be alive, to be honest. I guess you know what I’m about. So, in a way, it’s too bad you didn’t die. I won’t give the coins away. I admired them this past night, ran my fingers through them for hours. God’s own treasure that. I read my happiness in them. You have seen them. You know how it feels to hold them. It’s worth more than a few man’s lives.”

I snorted. “Yes. I ran my fingers through them. We sat over them, ogled them, laughed madly with greed, and drooled like thirsty dogs. But it didn’t stop me from doing what I am oath bound to do. To serve my lord.”

He shrugged and laughed. “Who is your lord?”

“Hulderic the Goth,” I said, though it was not entirely true. I had none before I succeeded, and it didn’t look likely I would. “I took the coins from Bero to lure a certain man here.”

His eyes went to slits, and he was thinking hard, as if trying to recall something he had forgotten. Finally, he shrugged and sighed. “You serve your lord. I’ll serve mine, thief of not. I’ve fought in a dozen campaigns, and deserve a bit of loot for myself. This treasure will not benefit others. Rome needs no such coins, and I aim to keep them. Now, what am I to do with you?” He eyed his men, who tensed.

“They set you up, just like they did us. The Marcomanni. Sent you here to clean out the warriors. Knew you would take the bait,” I said bitterly. “And still it’s only about the coins, eh?”

He scratched his neck. “I guess they did, though I have little clue what issues your Bero and this Hulderic might be having. It all seems slightly familiar, but I’m a simple man, and care nothing for the barbaric lords across the river.” He looked nervous.

He is lying. But about what? I thought.

He went on. “If they cheated us, well, it changes nothing as far as I’m concerned. You and that other man—” He looked around the hillside. His eyes narrowed. “He is here somewhere?”

I ignored him. “Are they fleeing?” I growled and looked downhill, trying to see what was taking place. The shadows were rushing down there, men fighting, still dying. There were noises of battle all across the woods. Celts were chasing Marcomanni, and then, I realized, some of the noise was not that far, but close at hand. There were screams of women from the other side of the hill.

I felt all the blood drain from my face.

The centurion sighed. He turned to look at the village and nodded at the fallen chief. “I was telling the idiot Gaul that there is no reason for him to ignore the rest of the hill. Told him to send scouts, to hold some men in reserve, no matter how few. The buffoon insisted this attack would be it. I wonder if they caught Seisyll out there?”

“We have to go and rush over to that side,” I said.

“No, I think not,” Gaius laughed. “I’ll go and fetch the coins, and we are out of here.”

I moved fast and grasped him by throat. He looked incredulous, his men as well, and Gaius placed the gladius on my chest. I spoke to him very slowly. “Iodocus is around.”

“Huh?”

I laughed at his face. “I know you are a simple man, as you claimed, but think on this. Iodocus is still around. He has a mission. I gave him one. He is off with the coins you so love.”

He hesitated. He licked his lips, and I pushed him away. He looked to the darkness where safety beaconed, then towards the hall of Seisyll. Finally, he cocked his head at the noise on the other side of the village, knowing a terrible battle waited there. “So, you stole it.”

“We did, you thief,” I murmured. “Just in case Seisyll would give us hard time when Leuthard was to be kept alive. And now, you are needed. Fight for the coin, you mercenary filth.”

He smiled thinly. “So, let me get this clear,” the Roman said, and nodded towards the village. “In return for the treasure, you want us to risk our necks? And spare yours after?” His men didn’t look happy.

“There’s a lot of treasure there, isn’t there?” I smiled. “You played with them this night. Probably kissed and hugged them, like you would a beloved child. Go, and save your child, Roman.”

“Fuck me,” Gaius breathed, and he nudged his men. “Come, boys, let’s go and see what’s out there. And if the Germani shit lied, we’ll have some fun with him later.”

“It’s another warband,” I said. “Led by Leuthard. I need him alive.”

“The champion everyone speaks of?” he asked, tilting his head. He had the most peculiar light brown eyes, and a handsome, shaved face. I admired how he smiled uncaringly at the mention of the dreaded warrior. “Well, I still have four men. Should do the trick. Alive it is. We’ll fight them from the walls.”

I laughed at the thief, and we rushed to the village. We dodged through huts, halls, sheds, and reached the other side, and there, we stopped. “Shit,” I breathed.

There would be no fight from the walls.

The gate was open.

Before the gate, the Beast stood amidst his warriors, and the houses around the gate were burning. He was in his war-glory, the bronze figure glinting on his chest, and, in his hand, the Feud Settler glittered. He was tall, menacing, his shield tall and wide, and then he felt our eyes looking at him. I was sure of it. He turned very slowly, and his eyes fixed with mine, and I read my death there. He smiled widely, his face blood spattered from some battle in the darkness. The skull under his skin seemed to bulge, his teeth glittered as he readied to rip the head off my shoulders. He was touched by the gods.

But perhaps not by Woden.

CHAPTER 16

Leuthard’s warriors were standing around, breathing heavily after their brief skirmishes in the darkness. There was a horse running past them, neighing wildly, blood on its flank, and young Marcomanni was tying up some women. Several men were looting the closest houses, and a young warrior held the dread banner of Leuthard by the gate. The wolf tails shifted with a short gust of wind on the cross pole as Leuthard called for his men. Dozens formed a line to face us, streaming from the darkness, their spears bloodied, and more men emerged from the halls. He looked beyond me and his eyes betrayed surprise. “You beat Fulch?” he wondered. “Or are you fleeing him?”

I smiled bravely, though I was exhausted, and knew we’d die. “We surprised him. He might be alive.”

He chortled. “Looks like the night is full of surprises, eh?” His eyes turned to look at the Romans, admiring their weapons and armor. “They’ll make Bero happy, won’t they?” He bowed to Gaius with mockery. “Armor for my men, swords. Good of you to help us with this venture, Roman. I sent the horse-trader to awaken your greed, if you wish to know.”

“You have to take them first, Marcomanni,” Gaius said cheerfully. “And I’ll still walk out of here with the bait.”

“I’ll take them in a bit,” the big man murmured and looked over his shoulder. There were fires burning beyond the hill, some village Leuthard’s men had surprised. Most of his men were still out there, chasing refugees and scattering the forces that would try to resist. Leuthard cursed and whistled, his men turned and shouted to the darkness, and more Marcomanni ran up.

Woden helped us, or perhaps the Celt god, Teutates, tried to save Sparrow’s Joy, because out of the village, a battered party of ten Gauls jogged up, with Iodocus in charge. He saw me, his eyes glinted, and he looked relieved. I both blessed and cursed him, because he was supposed to hide until it was all over, and yet, he gave us hope. “At least I know where to find him after we beat them,” Gaius winked at me.

“We had a deal,” I told him with a withering look, and he shrugged and smiled.

Leuthard growled, the Marcomanni tightened into a massed shieldwall, and turned our way as Iodocus and the Romans huddled into a pathetic line, with me in the middle. They were men with broken shields, and most were hurt. Iodocus spat at Leuthard’s direction and leaned over to me. “You won? That was Fulch the Red’s standard we saw in the mud. Did you kill him?”

“I saw him wounded,” I answered. “Gaius here did the deed.”

“I’ll be wanting a word with you,” Gaius called. “As you know where my coins are, we’ll have to talk about that.”

“Oh! Iodocus knows that, does he?” Leuthard laughed, and Gaius cursed himself foully. The Marcomanni champion pointed his sword at my friend. “The silver and the gold, Iodocus. Then I’ll kill you honorably. You filthy thieves.”

“Us? Thieves? God’s bulls have smaller balls than you, liar. I spit on Bero’s silver,” I growled. “You framed me! You soiled me. You planted me in that hall to take the blame for your thievery. Gods know whom you killed before me. Some poor fool. No more dancing. Where is the Head Taker?”

He snorted. “Ah, so you were after me,” Leuthard growled. He lifted his sword, and pointed it at me. There was a feral, bloodthirsty look on his face. His skin was darker with rage, and he looked nothing like a human. “I tell you what, Chatti. Let us fight. You and I. Balderich saved you once, but he’s not here now. You beat me, and you’ll know everything, no? The lot can leave without armor and weapons. We’ve won already, and they know it.”

I looked around, saw the Celts practically shaking, licking their lips, sweat pouring out of their foreheads. The Romans looked sturdy, though they were grim and cursing under their breaths, but it would be the death of us if we fought a battle. I pointed the hammer at him. “You and me? Fine.” I felt shivers of terror as I agreed, and hoped I’d be able to fight well. I was sore and tired already.

Leuthard chuckled. “You and me indeed. Though it is hardly a fight of equals, and the poets will scald me for killing a child,” he smiled, mocking me, shaking his head. “Yes, why not. Child or not, I’ll give you this honor. A thief, murderer, and a Chatti liar doesn’t deserve it, no, but you’ll get it nonetheless.” His eyes turned to Iodocus. “He can help you. None else. In fact, he’ll not leave. He has to pay up and speak. He’ll tell me where Bero’s treasure is. Then I’ll cripple him, and set him free to the winds.”

Gaius spat, unhappy for being excluded from the deal. He took note of the thirty Marcomanni, then his four men, and the ten Gauls. Gods only knew how greed might have such a hold over a man, but it did.

He decided there would be a fight, but not between Leuthard and I.

He grasped a spear from a man near him. He lifted it expertly, and threw it with a grunt. It made a thrumming noise as it flew, and pierced a thigh of a Marcomanni right next to Leuthard.

Everyone stared at the Roman with shock.

Gaius made an obscene gesture with his hips. “We’ll stay, thank you,” he said cheerfully. “Shall we start?”

Leuthard looked at him balefully, mouthing curses. Then he nodded curtly. “Seems we shall all measure our worth this night.” He lifted his sword. He turned to his men, all of the Marcomanni who were grinning savagely, anticipating the battle, most all coveting the Romans and their expensive gear, a stuff of dreams for most of them. “Kill the lot. And leave those two alive,” He pointed his sword at Iodocus and me. “I’ll send them to the next world, personally.” The threat was made with a chilling certainty, but we had no more time to think about it. Gaius pulled me back, and we braced ourselves.

It was a desperate fight.

The Marcomanni rushed in with little heed for tactics, the fastest, savage men rushing to the shadows on our sides. That in itself was enough to break our shieldwall. The men on the ends backed off, and then the enemy crashed into us, pushing us into a ring of dying men. Roman gladius flashed in the press, it was designed for that, but the rest of us endured the terrible struggle, striking when we could.

Two Celts howled and fell immediately, one with a spear in his leg, another with a missing eye. Leuthard’s sword was coming for the Romans. It sang in the air, as the huge warrior struck down near me. Two Roman soldiers braced themselves, thrust their shields out to stop the huge warlord’s attack, but instead of letting the famed blade carve the leather, the huge man pushed himself into the middle of them with brutal savagery. He took a wound in shoulder, and while I saw he bled and that was comforting in a way, his move broke our ring. His shield thrust to left, knocking a Roman to be killed by a horde of Marcomanni, and the sword rang as it spattered a Celt so hard the skull was cut in half.

I hammered down a young warrior, then another, but suddenly a grizzled Marcomanni was there right in front of me, fast as an alf, and his fist came to my face. I tried to dodge, but Iodocus was pushed at me, and so I couldn’t. The fist was holding an ax hilt. The knuckles bashed into my temple, and I saw darkness briefly. I bit my tongue, spat blood, and fell on my back in the press, and crawled in the feet of the last of the Celts and Romans.

I saw Gaius bellowing like a crazy bull, his gladius slipping in, and out, in and out, killing unwary Marcomanni, and then Leuthard was there. The sword heaved, winged by a roar from the big man, scything for the Centurion, who threw his shield up, and the device was split as the Roman fell over me. I felt Leuthard’s foot on my back, heard him laugh savagely and spitefully over me. I knew I was about to be crippled, and felt the blood dripping from his sword on to my face.

A carnyx, a Celtic war horn, blared.

Its brazen, demanding, and deep voice boomed near, chilling the blood.

The Marcomanni stopped in their tracks, the few survivors of our band stopped retreating, and everything changed.

The ground rumbled. There were panicked Germani running in through the gates, weaponless. More screams spilt the darkness, desperate, chilling, and surprised. Horses were neighing. Many, many horses.

Thirty Celts rode in from the dark.

The grim Teutorigos led them and Seisyll was there, his eyes burning with vengeance. How long Teutorigos had been hiding in the woods of the land, I didn’t know, but he was there. He had brought his wealth with him to pay for his way back to the Mediomactri, and now he was a Marcomanni no longer. He wanted blood for Cerunnos. They were all heavily armed, armored; rich men and the best nobles in the land. My eyes sought Teutorigos, and he smiled at me coldly as his eyes turned to Leuthard. I decided all he wanted was revenge. Leuthard would die without a single word asked on the matter of Hulderic’s sword.

Leuthard pulled at his men, roared, and rushed to fight.

I pulled myself up, and hammered the weapon on a knee of the man who had hit me. He fell heavily, howling. He had been turning to join the shieldwall against the new threat, but it was too late to create such a defense. The Celts, well-supplied, fresh and mounted, tore into the Marcomanni standing over their victims.

Iodocus was there, near me, pulling me up. “Did they plan for this?” I asked him. “Teutorigos is here? Nobody said he’d be here!”

“He didn’t tell me, but I guess it makes sense,” he said softly, shocked at the sight of his lord.

‘’He cannot kill Leuthard!’ I yelled.

“Sure he can,” Iodocus murmured. “We cannot stop him.”

I saw Leuthard in the midst of his men, fighting like a spirit. The man growled like an animal, looked like it, his sword meeting the Celt nobles. Spears stabbed down at him, his men intercepted some, not all, but enough for the lord to hack high noblemen down, left and right. He howled and barked like a dog, as an ax struck his shoulder, but he pulled a man down from the horse. Many of the Marcomanni sawed and hacked at the legs of the horses, spilling Gauls off their saddles.

The chaos was total, men falling, dying, few more Gauls riding in. Leuthard pulled himself to an empty saddle, lost his shield as he did, and growled his frustration as his sword hacked at a stubborn, chainmail clad Celt noble, who failed to parry with his sword, and was ripped through his throat. Leuthard slapped the horse on the rump with the sword, and forced his way to Teutorigos, who spat and turned to meet him, holding a mace high.

Seisyll was there as well, the younger Celt armored head to knees in ring mail, and the two lords savagely attacked the charging Marcomanni. Men died in droves around them, many Marcomanni escaped to the shadows, but great many of the better men charged to guard their oath lord, Leuthard. The battle was fiercest around the lords of the war. Leuthard roared, and hacked at Seisyll, whose shield split. Teutorigos swung at the Marcomanni, but Leuthard grasped the weapon in the air and struggled with the old Celt. Seisyll hacked at Leuthard, but the famous sword intercepted the weapon.

I tried to make my way for the two lords, unsteady on my feet and spitting blood. My hammer claimed a life, then bowled over a man, and I continued my trek. The two large Celts still struggled with the evil warlord, who now had a shallow wound on his bald head. Teutorigos managed to free his mace, and swung it so hard on the side of Leuthard even the terrible man yelped and fell from the horse.

“Get him!” Seisyll roared. “Kill him now!”

“No!” I screamed, nearly there.

“Die, you bald cow-humper!” Teutorigos laughed, turning his horse and aiming the mace for the man who was getting up, spitting blood.

Leuthard roared.

He rushed to meet the weapon, and pulled the astonished Teutorigos from the saddle. A Celt staggered before me, thought I was a Marcomanni, and tried to stab me with a knife, but I swatted the hammer in his face, and he fell. When I saw the battle of the lords again, nobody was on a horse. Teutorigos was holding on to Leuthard’s chainmail. Seisyll was there, grasping on Leuthard’s arm.

The Marcomanni champion seemed to ripple in his armor, his rage such it was impossible to contain. He charged low, grasped both armored lords by the waist, one for each huge arm, and like children, he pushed them back, back. He lifted them, and ran out of the gate, bumping into a horse, spilling the rider, and bowled over two astonished Celt warriors, and the warlords rolled into the darkness.

Some men yelled warnings, and few began to follow them. Spears were thrown, and in the chaos, Iodocus and I and two remaining Romans were rushing down after the enemy lords. Gaius was nowhere to be seen. We heard a mighty struggle going on down the muddy side of the hill. I passed Leuthard’s sword, then a broken, fine sword of Seisyll. Below, in a muddy pool, I witnessed a terrible sight. Seisyll, the mighty man was being held down by Leuthard, no longer a man. The Marcomanni’s face was a thing made of rage, his teeth gleaming redly, because he had bitten the Celt in the hand. His hand was tearing at Seisyll’s bleeding face, and I saw a bloody bit of meat ripped off, and the Celt screamed like a dying dog, high-pitched and horrified.

I saw Teutorigos.

The old man was charging for the beast with his mace, limping. His nose was broken, lips shredded, but still he fought. He was coming with a vengeance, with tears and pain, as he wanted to kill the slayer of his son so desperately, he cared nothing for his life. He’d kill Leuthard, because the beast had not quit with his butchery of Seisyll, and seem oblivious to his peril.

I got down to the fight, and without thinking, I swung the weapon.

The hammer struck down.

It split the skull of Teutorigos so savagely, his neck broke, and he fell into a heap of bloody armor and bones.

Horrified, I was staring at what I had done, and only by instinct did I survive, as Leuthard bounded off Seisyll’s twitching body, holding a rock. The swinging stone went past my face. After it missed, he kicked Iodocus so hard, my friend fell down, breathless, a helpless heap of meat. I tried to intercept Leuthard who would no doubt kill him, but the maniac jumped at two surprised Romans who had followed us down.

The rock went up, came down and a Roman fell, a hole in the bloody helmet. The other one stabbed his weapon down at Leuthard’s back, making Leuthard howl with pain. The beast kicked the Roman’s leg out from under him, and pummeled over the man, hammering his face with the rock. He jumped up before I could move, fluidly like a lynx. His face was dark, eyes deep in his skull, his mouth bloody as he turned to look at me. I prayed to Woden, whimpered with terror. Leuthard was not there, but something else, a soulless monster.

Iodocus hurtled from behind. He clutched his hands around the man, and pushed Leuthard, just a few steps, and the champion raised his rock in fury as he whirled to slay Iodocus.

I had a small chance and shedding the fear, I took it. I jumped forward for the back of the huge lunatic, and heaved the hammer down at what I thought was his back.

It connected with the skull.

He tottered, fell over Iodocus, and went still, convulsing. I fell on my knees, trying to catch my breath, begging to Woden the horrible monster would not get up. I saw men surround us, heard Marcomanni retreating to the darkness while being chased. To my surprise, I saw Seisyll stagger to the sight, holding the huge chunk of his missing face. There was a mass of red meat and skin on his fist, dripping blood, and I saw hair there as well. I shuddered at the sight of him. It was dark and shadowy in the battlefield, but where his eye, cheek, and part of his lips were supposed to be, was a bleeding dark wound.

“You killed my kin,” he lisped, tears flowing from terrible pain and shock. You could see his bloodied teeth through torn skin and flesh. “You struck him down, I saw you!”

I pointed a finger at Leuthard. “He must live, lord,” I explained. “It was the deal.”

He was not sane, savaged by pain, and cared little for past deals. “Yes,” he agreed with a hiss. “He must live, so I can device a way to slay him as painfully as possible. I’ll need the imagination of the wicked gods to come up with something that will amuse me. I’ll try. I’ll try. And I piss on your lord’s sword, Adalwulf. You Marcomanni shit! You shall join this one in his coming dance. Both Germani, both bastards.”

His eyes sought Iodocus and Gaius, who had arrived there at the worst possible moment. I saw Gaius was cursing under his breath, taking steps back and Iodocus did as well. Without any given command, the Celts knew what Seisyll wanted, and they were grasped by a horde of men. More men rushed me and took my weapon off me.

Seisyll pointed a quivering, bloody finger at the hammer. “That weapon belongs to Teutorigos. He’ll sleep in my hall for a while, and we’ll bury him with honor and the hammer. Aye, and find Leuthard’s sword. It shall be at his feet.” He gazed up hill where the Feud Settler had fallen. He whirled and spat at us. “Lock them up in the cellar. Over there.” He pointed at a set of such dug-in doors on the hillside. “Bind them, legs and feet. Guard them. All of them. Even the southern thief. I’ll not have Romans meddle in my affairs any longer, nor shall I pay you any more taxes.” Iodocus opened his mouth, but Seisyll slapped him. “Iodocus, you bastard, you worked for that Hulderic as much as you ever did for us. So join them.”

“I don’t deny it,” Iodocus said darkly.

“All four. Lock them up. Chase the Marcomanni far away. Kill all you find!” Seisyll shrieked, and fell to the arms of his men, who started to carry him up the hill.

They took our weapons, tied us up and dragged us after Seisyll, and veered aside near the cellars, and showed us inside one, just outside Sparrow’s Joy. It was a large, empty one, no doubt used for imprisoning men before. They shoved Leuthard there with us, dragged him past us, and dropped him at the end of the cellar. His head was bleeding, his eyes were half open, and he spat as the Celts left.

I squirmed and sat my back against a wall, eyeing the shadows, where Leuthard sat.

He was not human, I decided, but at least he probably lived.

Though that didn’t matter, since we were in deep trouble.

Unless my little plan worked.

BOOK 4: THE DEN

“They say a true Brethren can die once and come back”

The priest to Adalwulf

CHAPTER 17

The bindings on our wrists and ankles chafed uncomfortably. We were silent as mice, listening to each other breathe. The moist cellar made Iodocus cough, breaking the silence.

“Thank you,” I told him. “For distracting him.” I could see his shadow, and he was nodding.

“Oh, to think a thin man could bring down Leuthard,” he chuckled, mocking the large man at the end of the cellar. “Who would have thought?” We gazed at the dark corner, but Leuthard had no opinion on that.

“Did you find the coins?” I asked Iodocus.

He grunted. “I did. They had left the sacks on the table. I think there was drool over the coins. I gathered and hid it.” We heard the mad, greedy Roman shift, and Iodocus murmured. “It’s as safe as it can get.”

I saw Gaius lift his head, and a shadow of a wry smile. My eyes were growing accustomed to the semi-darkness. Some light filtered in from the badly crafted and fitted door. The Roman spoke, his voice strained. “Coins. Treasures. Damned if it hasn’t been costly for us. But it will be worth it. Poor lads, though.”

“Perhaps you should have thought about them before you threw that spear,” I growled. “And what do you mean it will be worth it?”

He chortled. “It will, just wait and see. And as for that spear, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the party poor. The boys would understand. I know they wanted a share as well. They braved their life for a better one.”

“Did any of your men survive, Gaius?” Iodocus asked, probably hoping for a rescue, though it would certainly mean rescue only for the centurion.

“His name is not Gaius,” Leuthard growled from the dark. We looked at the shadow in the end of the hole, expecting him to be standing up, unbound, ready to rip us apart. But no, he was still tied down. The wolf’s head in his chain mail glinted redly as he shifted.

“Is that right?” I asked the Roman. “What are you, I wonder. Are you even Roman? Perhaps a goblin?”

He snorted. “Fine. Enough with the Gaius shit. My name is Decimus Caecina,” the Roman said unapologetically. “I go by Gaius to the locals, so when they complain, they’ll make fools of themselves. And the women, you know how that is. You don’t give them your own name when you bed them. They’ll come weeping with a baby one day, and you don’t want to be found before you can escape. Would be a nasty surprise that, especially if you were married, fat, and happy.” We looked at him with disgust, but he didn’t notice, and likely wouldn’t have cared anyway. “But I guess this is as bad as it gets, and I’ll share my name with my prisoner friends. You won’t survive to use it against me. And, no, none of the boys survived.” I saw him gaze towards the end of the cellar, where the killer sat. He was a thief, a bastard, but also a brave soldier. His eyes spoke of a wish to slay.

“Shit,” I breathed, struggling with the bonds. “Stuck with a thin Celt, a Roman thief, and an animal.” I pulled at the bindings with my teeth.

“Don’t bother,” Decimus chuckled, as he saw my struggles. “They did an excellent job with the knots.’ His voice was almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of anger there, like a cold breeze on otherwise perfectly warm summer day. He was inspecting the bonds. “Thick as giant’s turd, these ropes. Would take a very hungry man to chew through them.”

Iodocus had not let go of hope yet. “Are your superiors not looking for you? How long have you been serving in Gaul?”

Decimus snorted. “Stories to pass the time? Why not? A long time, Celt. I’ve been with the legions for fifteen years now. And, no, they won’t expect me back anytime soon. I left a century in the tower I’m in charge of, and the optio and the tessarius are both lazy as mules. Probably thank Juppiter I’m delayed. Likely won’t have the brains to suspect anything’s wrong, even if I’m week late. I’ll get back before they know to miss me.”

I shook my head. “There you go again. Thinking you’ll be out of here. Fifteen years, eh? You don’t look that old. Much younger, in fact. Looks won’t help with a spear in your ass, though,” I said maliciously. I hated the greedy bastard. “You’ll die here with the rest of us.”

He chuckled. “Spear in my rear. How poetic. Yes. I suppose Seisyll will invent something crude like that. Celts know how to do these things properly. Saw the remains of a man once. The druid had lathered him in honey and left him draped over an anthill. But I don’t know. Seisyll’s a bit thick. No imagination, I bet. He said he’ll think of something special, but I doubt he can.”

“It won’t matter—” Iodocus began.

Decimus didn’t seem to hear him. He was stroking his face. “But thank you for boosting my ego. I do look young. I do. I look as handsome as sober Bacchus, don’t I? That’s what the girls say. That mad woman in this village did as well. What was her name? Elisedd? Never mind. I had some fun with her when I last visited. She’s lovely, and the mad ones really know how to have good time, if you know what I mean?” He squinted his eyes. “I think you do. Which one of you? Both? Gods, I’m sorry I’ll never get to know you better. You seem like an entertaining pair.” He looked at us with sympathy. “You wouldn’t know what it feels to be adored, but trust me, it is a fine thing to have looks. I’m made up of a good stock, you see,” he laughed. “In our part of Italy, we live for quite a while, and grow to look like young gods.” He sounded superbly proud of the fact.

I shook my head with disgust. “That’s about to change. They’ll bury your bones in pig shit, and none shall know if you deserted. None are looking for you?”

“None,” he said. “But I’ll survive this. As I said.”

He was infuriating. “You’ll die weeping, pretty boy.”

Iodocus echoed my sentiment. “You won’t walk out of this one,” he said with relish. “If Seisyll is unable to come up with a solution, they’ll find a druid, just like you just described. Honey and ants. Or they’ll take that pretty face from you, minute by minute, and use rough bark on the raw meat while you moan like a virgin. In the end, they’ll pack you inside a bundle of hay, string you up, and Taranis and Cerunnos will smile as they’ll douse you with tar, and light you up.”

“Nothing of the sort will happen to me,” the man still claimed. “I’ll go back to my tower and then Moganticum to explain where my men died. All I have to do is to tell Seisyll I left word with the optio on where I was headed, and there will be a cohort here digging around, should I not appear. It will take time, but Seisyll’s got too much to lose. He might be ugly now, but he’ll find the desire to live later, after he has doused his thirst for blood with you lot. And if he dies,” Decimus laughed, “there will be another man here, one who knows better than to commit a suicide. In the meantime, I’ll just consider this a small break from duty.” He fixed a calculative eye on Iodocus. “You’ll see. He’ll save me for the last, because he knows he cannot kill me.”

“You are a fool,” Iodocus laughed.

Decimus leaned forward. “Tell you what, Celt. I’ll pull your rear out of the tar-pit. You will go with me, and we’ll promise Seisyll he’s going to be spared. We’ll ride together to Moganticum. There I’ll have a chat with the primus pilus of my legion, he’ll pull the sleeve of the camp prefect, and together, they’ll whisper something to the legate. I’m sure this episode will disappear into history as we make a grave mound of the Sparrow’s Joy. We’ll split the coins, eh? Or you’ll get some, at least. What say you?”

Iodocus shifted, about to curse the man, but kept his mouth shut. The wily Celt was probably thinking of a way to save my ass. At least that’s what I hoped. I didn’t know him that well, after all. The Roman said nothing more, having thrown the fishing line.

“I think the lord might die of that wound indeed,” Iodocus said at length. “He’s in no shape to enjoy our executions. Hope they remember to feed us.”

Leuthard chuckled softly, and I could see Iodocus regretted talking about food. There was a predator amongst us. We all looked at the shadows where Leuthard was seated, and I’m sure we all thought of the possibility of Leuthard freeing his hands and feet there in the dark if we slept. We would be waking up with him leering over us. The beastly Marcomanni sat still, saying nothing more.

We sat in the silence, and despite Leuthard, we fell asleep, one-by-one.

I woke up with a start. I felt dizzy and disoriented, but realized something was happening outside.

A guard was speaking. He was outside the door, not too far, and seemed grateful, laughing softly. He was probably being relieved.

Then, there was a dull thump, a sharp groan, and something fell heavily against the door. A spear rattled on a stone. Another thump, a vile curse, and then hissed whispers. “Stay still, you gangly turd,” the voice said, and there was third thump. Shadows flickered outside the doorway.

A latch was lifted.

“Shit,” Iodocus whispered.

Decimus sat up, grinned at us, and looked ready to argue his case.

The door opened.

Decimus shut his mouth with a loud clanking sound.

“Shut up,” Elisedd said, as she entered the cellar with a torch. She also had a spear. We were fluttering our eyes at the sudden onslaught of light, reluctant to look away with the fear of men coming in after her to take us out, but unable to face the glaring torch light fully. We kept our eyes half open, water running down our cheeks, and stared up at the figure that came further in, holding the torch aloft.

“A sorry looking bunch of misfits,” she whispered. “And no doubt very sorry about our recent past, eh?”

The dark-haired woman was wearing a woolen cloak, a Celt tunic called leine, and held the spear tightly in her other hand. She smiled wickedly at the sight of Decimus, whose lips were pursed in a strangest way, half surprised, half hopeful, and a bit terrified. “Well. Gaius. Finally remember me? The whore?”

“His name is Decimus,” Iodocus said helpfully. “In case you are with a baby, remember his name. Decimus Caecina.”

“Oh?” she asked with an unsurprised voice. “He lied about his name? I’ve been calling him love, and he’s been a filthy liar, has he?”

“Said he doesn’t want any old flames finding him one day,” Iodocus smiled sympathetically.

“I might let you walk out of here, Iodocus,” she purred. “You seem a decent sort. Never lied to me, did you? But perhaps you’ll leave without your balls, because you must know you made some mistakes with Elisedd. Thank you.”

“I’m—“ Decimus began.

“Relax,” she said and plopped down next to him. “Seems my husband died.”

“Fighting bravely,’ Decimus said. “No doubt a hero.”

“He died fleeing the hill with women and children,” she said, her eyes seeking the darker wall of the cellar, and there we saw Leuthard’s shadow sitting, sibilant, silent, brooding and watching. “To that one’s men.”

“I lost my men as well,” Decimus said miserably, looking down, but she wasn’t in a sympathetic mood.

She was nodding. “You did. Even the young man they left in my care.”

He eyed her, then us. “The guard. That boy, young—” he tried.

“I slashed his throat,” she confirmed, a gleam in her eyes as she played with his hair. “And that means you have no help, no hope, and no prospects to make it out of this alive, correct?” she asked him gently.

“He thinks he will be set free by Seisyll,” I said.

She didn’t react. She was looking at Decimus dreamily. Decimus looked satisfactorily terrified, though we were all in the same mad boat. Perhaps Seisyll sent her there to torment us? But, no, she had killed a guard. The woman put a finger over Decimus’s mouth. “You were supposed to come in, take the Marcomanni treasure, and we were to split it up and love each other.”

“Legionnaires cannot marry,” Decimus said softly, but it did him not good.

She ignored that as well. “I turns out you didn’t have a heart, and you broke mine. So did many other men;” she said acidly, and I saw Iodocus was praying, “but you, perhaps most of all. I put all my faith in you.”

I cleared my throat. “I was asleep, Elisedd. Didn’t know what was happening. You sat over me, and I would have refused. Perhaps you could just let me go?”

The woman turned to look at me. She frowned, and thrust the torch near my face. I retreated. “Shut up, Marcomanni, Chatti, or whatever you are. You, too, Iodocus. I’m here to chat with my friend here. I have no intention to let any of you leave here.” She put down the spear, pulled a dagger, and placed it under Decimus’s throat. “You are an evil man, Roman. Not only a thief, but also an evil bastard, woman-breaking monster. I’ll make sure you torment no living girl again.” She pressed it on his skin. “Hopefully no dead ones either. They’ll lock you up in Hades, won’t they? They’ll make dice out of your filthy nuts.”

Decimus made a silly wheezing sound, and the girl tensed, ready to send him on his way. And us after him.

“And what then?” Iodocus asked her quickly.

“Excuse me?” she said, keeping the dagger in place.

“What shall you do when you slit his throat, kill Adalwulf there, and cut my balls?” he asked, and both Decimus and I were shaking our heads at him. He ignored our efforts. “What will you do then? Go out to the wilds? Back to your house?”

“I’ll marry again,” she said uncertainly. “There will be someone who will love me.”

“You could still be rich,” Iodocus said with a mysterious smile. “Affluent. I took the coins and treasures. I buried them. Hid them well.”

She hesitated. Greed was playing on her face. “You did? You wouldn’t be lying, would you?”

“Release me, and I’ll fetch them for you,” Iodocus said as steadily as he could. “I’ll give you everything.”

“You just might save your balls,” she said joyfully. “But you cannot go to the village. They’d kill you up there. And why would you come back with them? You’d disappear, and leave me with nothing but my vengeance.”

Iodocus pursed his lips. “See, I’m oath bound to Adalwulf there, and—”

“He won’t leave this place alive,” she said sweetly. “No, he won’t. You might. You tell me where they are hidden, and I’ll go get them. Then you’ll have to trust me to come back. I think this is a best deal you might get, no? I agree it is a long shot, leaving you desperately hoping I am more honest and better than you were to me, but still the best you might get?”

Iodocus sat there, brooding. “No.”

Elisedd fidgeted, enough so that the blade on Decimus’s throat drew blood. “No?” she asked, dangerously.

“No, you Hades-born bitch,” he said flatly.

“A bit of a dilemma this, no?” Decimus said, squinting at her. “Here’s what I suggest.”

“Speak,” she said, eying Iodocus murderously.

Decimus smiled like the rogue he was, impressively nonchalant about the blood that ran down his chain mailed chest. “I want the riches as well. Who wouldn’t? Well, except these men. The big maniac likes to kill. Probably has lots of wealth, but don’t know how to find joy out of it. Blood for him, that’s all he needs. Adalwulf and the Celt here, they want to keep their damned word. Word, can you imagine? So, they don’t, obviously, qualify as intelligent men. Otherwise they’d be living deep in Gaul covered with their own vomit after days of feasting. They don’t care for the treasure. You and I do. We share that. And more.”

“Go on,” Iodocus said, hoping the charming thief would get us out of the puddle.

“I tell him to shut up, to go on, or to die,” she told Iodocus with an unhappy scowl, and nodded at Decimus. “Go on.”

“Here’s what I suggest,” he said succinctly. “I’ll sign a confession.”

She squinted. “Sign?”

“Write, then sign,” he said carefully. “I’ll write a scroll, love, where I admit to being a thief, a bastard of a first degree. I’ll admit to buggering Augustus, if that’s what you want, love.”

“Love?” she asked, smiling thinly. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Yes, love. I respect you. I do. I loved you once, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t remember me,” she said with an unhappy frown.

He scoffed. “I cannot remember Celt names very well. I know your face. I know what we shared. It’s my fault, really. I’m a fool. I struck my head when I fell off my horse as a child. But I do love you. I’ll prove it. I’ll pour all my villainy onto a parchment. Or whatever they write on in here. I’ll give that parchment to you. If I lie, may Mars kick my skull to the bottom of the sea if I do, you can give it to any Roman officer, and my head will roll to the amusement of all the people I have cheated on. But I don’t lie. You’ll be my mistress, holding life and death power over me for the rest of my life, and I’ll love it. Then, when I leave the army, I’ll need a wife. I’ll do what you want, day … night?” His nostrils flared with emotion as he spoke huskily. “One day, you’ll not need the paper. You’ll love me again. Then I’ll be bound to obey you by the sweetest of chains, and our children? Lovely, powerful. Rich.” I felt like throwing up, but resisted the base instinct.

She was staring at the snake, her eyes hard as winter, but she took the dagger off his throat. “And how will this help us gain the treasure?”

His eyes hardened. He nodded at Iodocus. “You let me work on the bastard for a while, and he’ll sing like a bird,” Decimus grunted. “We’ll drag his ass to the woods, take him with us, and I’ll show him how the Romans do it. He was very proud of Gaul ways of torture, but trust me, those ways are child’s play to what I can do. Oh, we make birds squeak, indeed. He’ll cry for his mother in a matter of minutes.”

“Now, wait a minute—” Iodocus began, but was interrupted.

“You would marry me?” she asked. “Eventually?” There was a driven, mad tinge in her voice that told any sane man it would be very unwise to tangle with her in any way. Marriage the least of them. But Decimus knew what he was doing. All he wanted was Iodocus.

“I’ll kneel before you, let the priests bless us, and we’ll be so happy, love,” he said, and I saw the bastard actually had tears in his eyes.

She nodded, holding a hand across her mouth, moved. “I’ll need a parchment. I know some men in the village who can write. Ink? Yes, ink. I’ll get those, love. Then you’ll write, I’ll hide it. We have hours to spare. They are still chasing the Marcomanni up there and across the land. Some of the enemy came back to get the standard of Fulch, and its chaos. Seisyll’s not seen. They won’t change the guard for a long time.”

“Yes, my love,” he said gently. “Be back soon. Ink, parchment, and then, love?”

She nodded, hesitated, and kissed the bastard hard. Then she got up, scowled at me, squinted at the shadow of Leuthard, and kicked Iodocus. She left, laughing like a madwoman she was. The door closed, the hatch dropped into place.

Decimus leaned back, smiling. “Sorry about that boys.”

“You snake—” I began.

He laughed harshly. “I’ll slither out of here. Sorry. That’s the way it is. And if you, Iodocus, will not speak, I’ll just have the whole hill dug up.”

“You get the your dolobara ready then, you womanizing, rat-spawned traitor,” Iodocus hissed. “I’ll not tell you anything.”

The door opened.

Elisedd was there, and Decimus’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “What did you forget, love?”

“Your love,” said Danr, the man I had first met when I arrived at Hard Hill, the man whose daughter I had saved from Helm, stood over her shoulder, grinning, “is with her husband.” She pushed the woman inside, and she fell on her face, her head twisted crazily to the side.

Danr grinned at me. “She tried to scream. Had no choice. Adalwulf! A bit tied up, are we? Let me deal with that.” I could have cried. He was my sole insurance, and he had not let me down. He stepped in. “I see you got him?” he said, eyeing Leuthard as he cut my bonds. “Saw the fight, though I was too late to do anything. Been living in a village not far from here.”

“We got him,” I growled, and then smiled at him. “You did well.”

He chortled. “You did well to trust me,” he grinned with deep self-satisfaction. “It’s been hard following you around, but since I’m one of the better hunters on the hill, not too hard. I smell like shit after skulking in the woods for a week, but it’s been interesting.” His eyes flashed at the champion, and he looked down at me as he whispered, “Can you handle him?”

“We must,” I answered.

Iodocus looked hurt. “You didn’t trust me enough to tell of this one? That you had a man out there?”

“Not back then,” I said simply, and pointed at Iodocus. “Cut him loose, Danr,” I told him, and smiled at Iodocus. “Today, I’d trust you with my life.”

“And him?” Danr said, and thumbed Decimus. “I heard him. Cut his tendons?”

I saw Decimus go white from face, and I leaned on him. “You wanted to leave me here with Leuthard? Didn’t you? You wait here as I go up and figure out what’s to be done with you. Think of a charming line, my friend. I’ll be back.”

I crouched next to Iodocus, and took the dagger from Danr. “Where did you hide the coins?”

His eyes glinted. “I buried them in Elisedd’s husbands shack. In the corner, under a stool where he holds his tools. It was appropriate, somehow.”

I turned to look at Leuthard, who had been waiting for me to address him. He spoke simply. “I won’t tell you a thing.”

I grinned. “You will. You’ll see. I won’t have to touch you, even.”

I hoped I was right. I had another plan. It might tame a beast.

CHAPTER 18

Danr and I walked up to the destroyed wall, carefully sneaking from shadow to shadow, but there were no guards at the gate. One man, lax in his duty, was holding his head, sitting nearby on a bench. He was vomiting, having failed to stomach the losses and the terrible sights of the night. My friend pulled at my shoulder, and led me through the gate to the maze of halls and houses, we made our way to Elisedd’s house. There, in the shed, we discovered the clinking sack. His eyes were round as we lifted it.

I held it towards him. “What’s this, then?” he asked, confused.

“You’ll leave,” I told him simply.

“What!” he asked, confused. “You have Leuthard in there. You have a quest to reclaim a blade. How will you survive with that one Gaul alone to help you?”

I clasped his shoulder. “Make your way back home. Tell Balderich what’s going on, and send Hulderic word I have Leuthard. And that I’ll try my best.”

He looked shocked. “You’ll need help with him. Probably can’t even drag him into the woods,” he said dubiously. “That Celt’s thin as a stick.”

I grinned. “Let me deal with him. You take these,” I said and winked, “keep some for yourself, and do this for me. Give them to Balderich.” He began to argue, but I shook my head. “If I fail, Leuthard’s going to come back. Perhaps you should travel to Hulderic with your family. He’ll have you, never fear.”

He massaged his shoulders, undecided, but relented. “I suppose the hunting’s good there, in the east. But I should really help you. You saved my daughter.”

“You saved me,” I said gratefully, and clasped his shoulder. “Take some treasure for yourself. I insist.”

He grinned and nodded. “As you asked. I shall. Good luck. I’ll pray for you. Don’t worry, I can avoid trouble, but try to do the same, eh. See you when I see you.” He handed me a dagger, and I took it gratefully.

“Listen,” I told him. “If I succeed with what I’ll do next, then you’ll wait for a man outside the village. He’ll make his way to where we crossed over, and you hook up with him. Guard him. Help him along. Make sure none stop you.”

“You have something more to do here?” he asked dubiously.

“Oh yes,” I smiled. “It makes all the difference for the cause.”

“A man,” he breathed. “Will I know the man?”

“The Gaul,” I laughed and his eyes rounded. “Wait for him. If he doesn’t appear, then go alone.”

He shook his head. “I don’t expect I’ll see you again. Your plan had better be a sound one. Fine, you mad man. I’ll help him, though running around stealthily with a sack of clinking treasure will not be very stealthy,” he told me with nervous humor. He looked out of the shed, and nodded. “Go now. Clear.”

I smiled at him bravely, and left the hut, hoping Danr could indeed make his way out of the Sparrow’s Joy. He likely would, considering his skills. And he’d help Iodocus with what I had planned.

The way was clear indeed. Everyone was tending to the wounded, or out warring, gathering the lost and the wounded, and so I made my way for the great hall of Seisyll, which was not that far. There, a tired older woman exited, her face and hands smeared with blood, but missed me totally as I dodged under a low hanging roof. I sneaked forward, looked inside the slightly ajar door, and saw not a soul. I looked around, but nobody was looking my way. I prayed to Woden and entered. The great round hall was empty of men, indeed.

Save for Seisyll.

He was seated on his seat at the end of the hall, holding his face and weeping with pain. I cringed as I saw a glimpse of raw, red flesh glistening in the torch light. Blood and puss was dripping on to his chin, on to his chest, and a pool of it was gathered around the seat. He had lost an eye, skin, and flesh on his forehead and cheek, even part of his chin and lips, and the agony of the wound was driving him into sobbing madness. He retched and threw up weakly to the side. I hesitated as I noticed a body near him, and as Seisyll recovered a bit from his nausea, he cursed the corpse of Teutorigos. The man's hammer, or what had been given to me, was placed across his chest, and at that, I no longer hesitated.

I strode forward, kept to the shadowy part of the hall, and Seisyll turned, shocked, blinking with his one good eye, filled with tears. I pulled the dagger Danr had given me.

“What is it? Did you catch the Marcomanni? Are there more coming?” he gasped.

“There are more coming,” I told him urgently as I walked closer to him. “Hundred more crossed the river and are here soon,” I said, my Celtic clipped and broken, but it was authentic enough to tear him out of his seat, a look of horror on his face.

“Recall the nobles, and get our men ready,” he gasped and took a step forward.

I stepped out of the shadows.

His eye squinted with confusion as he tottered forward, shocked to see me.

I stepped close to support him, and the dagger flashed and sunk into his chest. His eye rounded with the shock and pain, he tried to scream, but I grunted with the effort as I wrestled him back to his bloody seat, twisting the dagger. “It’s better this way, Seisyll. Much better. You’d die anyway. And you did betray us.”

He didn’t agree as he groped at the hilt of the dagger and my wrist, hissing weak threats, but the struggle didn’t last for long. He went still, his eye open but lifeless. I ripped the dagger out, and stooped low and grabbed the hammer. I hesitated, as the dead hand of Teutorigos was holding it, but I wrenched it from his cold grip. God Cerunnos took offence at that, as the woman returned right that moment. She dodged in, carrying fresh bandages. I lifted the hammer in surprise, and she put a hand over her mouth.

I hesitated.

She fled, gasping.

I cursed my luck, and kicked around the house. I charged around the hall like a storm, pushing over chairs and tables. I had to find something, something that would make all the difference in my quest to find Hulderic’s sword.

Then I saw it.

Another sword. It was at the feet of Teutorigos, partly under his legs. It was a dark, long sword, thick, brutal and ancient, and I knew it was the Feud Settler. I rushed forward, grabbing it and the thick belt draped around it. I kicked Teutorigos’s legs out of the way, and I threw the sword across my back. Then I rushed for the door and dodged, as a man surged in, spear first. He was bewildered, ready to fight, but not ready enough as he caught my hammer in his chest. The man fell down like a log, gasping. I cursed, burst back into the room, kicked at the fiery wood in the fire pit, scattering burning timber across the beds and the hay, and surged out. The woman was there, wringing her hands and without thinking, feeling wretched by the necessity, I struck her so hard she fell down and didn’t get up.

I surged out of the compound, and found my way down to the cellar.

CHAPTER 19

“You listen to me,” Decimus hissed. “I have things to say. You—”

“The treasure is gone,” I told him with finality, and saw him clench his jaw. “Gone for good. Forget it. There is no battle to be had to save it, no way to regain it unless you command an army and cross the river. I know you are mad with the thought of gold and silver, Roman, but unless your Mars takes interest in the matter and hands it to you, you will not get it. So shut up, and cry silently.”

“You bastard,” he cursed me. “You rot-tit, barbaric thief! It was my future. Mine!”

“You’ll join your bride soon enough,” I said with a chuckle, and toed Elisedd’s corpse. “Perhaps she is waiting for you. I hope she makes you miserable in the afterlife. In fact, scream if you want, Decimus. I care not.”

“I’m not a woman,” he spat. “I’ll take it standing up.”

“No, you’ll just sit there with your legs crossed when I kill you,” I spat at him and grimaced as I turned to look to the depths of the cave. “Leuthard?”

Iodocus grabbed the spear left by Elisedd, and grimly regarded the terrible man in the end of the hall. I walked there, and crouched before him. “You killed Bait.”

He laughed gutturally. “You don’t know the half of it. I did what I promised, should he fail. He hated you, Adalwulf, but not like I hate you. You with your lies, trying to fool us. But taking my lord’s treasure, the one I guarded, was well done. And I’ll find it. I’ll find Danr.”

“No, you won’t,” I said simply. “And now, I need you to start talking. Hulderic’s sword. Where can I find the rat-eaters?”

He shrugged. “Come now. You saw me out there. You think breaking my fingers and toes will get me talking? No, I’ll come back from the dead and hunt you all down.”

I nodded bravely, his promise oddly believable. Come back from the dead? “You would do that for Bero?”

He spat, looking at me murderously. “Bero? He has paid me well. Man should serve the one who pays him. But no, I’ll do it for me. You’ve grown too tall for yourself, lad. Kill me now. I care not. I’ll find you later, trust me. Kill me. Isn’t that what you want?” he mocked me with a tilted head and an inane smile. “You need to be angry to kill me? Fine. Bait. The boy. He whimpered like a baby. And the bitch.” He smiled spitefully, and I had to stop myself from smashing the hammer in his head.

“Which bitch?” I growled, and placed the hammer under his chin. “Gisil? Ingrid?”

He smiled. “Let’s not pretend. You know everything, except what Raganthar will do with the sword. Well, most everything. There are things you’d love to know. About Gisil.”

“Is Gisil alive?” I asked him harshly and pushed the hammer.

It didn’t bother him. It was like pushing iron at a rocky wall. He thought about it and grinned. “Why not? I’ll tell you that. She’s alive. Raganthar needs her.”

“Why?”

“That I won’t tell you,” he laughed. “I’ll let you find out.”

“Their den. The place where they live. Where there are holed up in? Do you know more?” I asked him.

He shrugged, smiling. “I think I know what they’ll do with the weapon. I’ve got a pretty good guess, at least. Though not where,” he said, enjoying my discomfort, as if he was feeding off it. “Did you wish to know what I did to Ingrid? She didn’t enjoy it.”

I hated him. I hated him enough to make the darkness creep in, and Woden’s rage surged in my veins. He saw it, and smiled. “It will be interesting, if we ever truly fight. Perhaps I’ll tell you more to see how far you’ll go. Ingrid.”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

“Adalwulf—” Iodocus began.

“You shut up as well,” I roared.

Leuthard tilted his head forward. “I left her alive. A bit alive, at least. Her hair came with me. She ran, ran far in the night. I let her go for a moment, and she feared so much as she panted. I saw every movement of hers. I was always near as I ran after her. Oh, how she feared. She pissed herself. She pissed and shat herself when I caught her, and what I left for the ants, wasn’t a woman. Oh, worry not, I didn’t touch her like that. I ripped her apart, slowly. Perhaps I’ll do that to Ermendrud one day? The little bitch that told Fulch lies about Helm? She’s part of this, isn’t she?”

I hit him with the hammer.

They had left the chain mail on him, the armor jingled with the strike, and he yelped as the weapon smacked down on his belly. He turned to his side, laughing and vomiting, as I stood over him, trembling. “You’ll tell me where they are. And I’ll send you on your way. I’ll do that for you. You don’t deserve it, but I’ll send you to Hel. And you won’t come back.”

He was forcing the words out breathlessly, vomit on his beard. “I’ll go elsewhere, Adalwulf. And I’ll come back. We have that power, you see. Kill us, and the god promised us we’d return. Once. We can return once. Perhaps more, if we have pleased him well. And I have.”

“What filthy god is this?” I hissed.

“Hati,” he whispered. “Hati the Wolf, the son of Fenfir, who is the son of Lok. Hati is the Sky-Wolf, like his day-faring brother Sköll. I’ll be back,” he grinned. “Once. At least once.”

“I’ll kill you twice, then,” I roared, and pressed a palm on my face as I tried to calm myself. Ingrid. Poor Ingrid. I should have told her to hide away.

“You failed to protect them,” he whispered, looking at me, his eyes bright and deadly, and I felt he had read my mind. “And I’ll not help you.”

I grasped the Feud Settler from my back, and his face went slack and serious as I turned the sword before his eyes. They followed it, as if they would the face of a lover. “Iodocus,” I said steadily.

“Lord?” he said, calling me that for the first time.

“You’ll take this bit of coward’s steel,” I told him. “You’ll go silently and softly, and find Danr. Or he’ll find you. Then hide away near Hard Hill, and if I don’t come to Balderich's hall in five days’ time, you throw it into a river. No, better, piss on it, and have some smith smelt it. Then have it made into a plough.”

Leuthard sat up straight, still looking at the blade.

“I can’t leave you,” Iodocus whispered as he crouched next to me.

“Danr said the same thing. You’ll leave me all right,” I said tightly. “Do not worry. Leuthard here will get it back, if he aids me. I think he will do it.”

“Why would I get it back once you get what you want?” he asked, surprisingly calm and sane for once.

I poked him with the blade. “We’ll go on a trip together. We’ll plod through shit and piss, find out a very dark secret, you Hati humped spawn of evil. We will suffer and hate each other all through it. In the end, I get what I want. I get Hulderic’s sword. I get to know what happened to Gisil. I’ll be sad and filled with hate, and then you and I will meet somewhere. We’ll meet and fight to the death, and you’ll use this blade. I’ll use this hammer. And then you get to come back alive, as you threatened. That’s what you get. A fight, and a chance to keep your filthy life. And the sword. You love it more than Bero.”

He sat there, and unable to take his eyes off the blade. It was his life. It was his legacy, as old as time, handed to him by his father, and his only real weak spot. “What do you want, exactly? A trip?”

I nodded. “You will help me with everything I need. First, we find Raganthar. We’ll go to the—”

He spat. “To the Den. Where the Brethren live,” he said tiredly. His eyes twinkled, and then he was laughing softly, shaking his head. I saw him pulling at his bonds, and I heard the rope creak, but the Gauls had been especially careful with him, and so he couldn’t break free. He relaxed, though his eyes didn’t leave the sword. “I’ll take you there.”

“Then, you’ll aid me in recovering it,” I snarled, and handed the sword to Iodocus. “You’ll aid me, and you’ll fight the bastards for me.”

“You want me to fight them?” he mused. “I will, all save one.”

“That Ear?” I asked. “The one you seemed keen on keeping safe?”

“Yes,” he said with shrug. “Don’t want him dead. Raganthar, I don’t care about.”

“I don’t give a shit about your friends. I’m surprised you have any, but if he stands in my way, I’ll have his head. You’ll give your oath to me, or your heritage will be used to plough mud and shit.”

He grimaced at the thought. “Ear will obey me. He survives, and I’ll help you.”

I shrugged. “You’ll give an oath to me. Serve me until I have that sword. I’ll give you your steel in the Hard Hill.”

He glowered at me, and looked over my shoulder at the Roman and Iodocus. He smiled wolfishly, and his teeth flashed. “I give the oath. And you are right. So very right. You’ll weep after this journey. Long before we fight, even.”

I nodded. “So be it.”

I got up and walked away. Iodocus shuddered as he took the blade in both hands. “I’m to go away then?”

“Go,” I said. “You and Danr will survive this, friend. The rest is up to me.”

He wanted to say something more, but I smiled at him, clasped him to me, and whispered farewells to his ear. He smiled, spat at Leuthard’s feet, and left with the sword. I stood there, staring into the darkness he left behind, and wished him well. I ignored Decimus, who was scowling, half forgotten, and I kneeled next to Leuthard.

He growled. It was not a man’s growl, but that of an irate animal, and he shifted in his seat. “This is all fine and well. But how will you stop the man? Raganthar is more that a match for you. He has enough men to kill me, even.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” I mocked him. “I’ll try, and so will you. That’s the best we can do. Two weeks ago, I had never fought in a shieldwall, and now I have slain many. Few men do that, and live to boast about it.”

“I did that,” he said angrily. “I killed ten men in my first fight up north.” He heaved a huge breath. “I’ll lead you to them. Bero won’t be happy, but he can go hump himself. I want the sword and your head, and that’s the game, then. Sword for a sword, and one head at the end of the road. Untie me.”

“Let’s give Iodocus some time to get lost. Do you have any idea what they’ll do with it?” I asked him. “You said you have a guess.”

“I have a guess,” he said with a beastly smile. “They are mercenaries. Many use their services here on this side of the river. Some hire them over on our side. I didn’t ask, but come now. You know. You heard us speaking. He wanted the blade, and someone hired him to use the sword to—” He went silent.

“To what?” I asked brusquely. “I know they will kill someone to embroil the Marcomanni in a war. It’s a perfect tool for that. Kill a famous man, or a woman, and leave it there. Everyone knows who is to blame.”

He shrugged. “Yes. They’ll kill a man to discredit Hulderic. And more, the Marcomanni. It’s a well-known weapon, like mine,” he said with resentment. “Well-known.”

I rubbed my forehead, but Decimus spoke up. There was a note of worry in his voice. “How would they discredit this Hulderic? They’ll kill a Roman?”

Leuthard stretched his legs. “Something like that. They are planning on leaving the sword in the gut of someone high and mighty. Very high, very mighty. Roman. A legate, a noble? It will be someone who matters.”

“Do you know who hired them?” I asked him.

“Someone who will benefit from a Roman war with the Marcomanni, obviously,” he said with a bored voice. “I don’t know who. It could be anyone. He’ll be hard to stop out there. The Romans won’t trust you, or me. And Raganthar will have allies and conspirators helping him along. A plan like this must be executed perfectly. I don’t care if he dies at your hand, Adalwulf, but it is unlikely when we have no allies in the Roman service.”

We went quiet.

We turned to look at the Roman, and he had a huge grin on his face. “Did you say they plan on killing some high Roman?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Someone who matters.”

His face took on a sympathetic frown. “A noble quest you are on, Adalwulf. For a sword. For peace? For a … woman? I see you love her.”

“Yes,” I said angrily. “I’m not a woman you have humped, you fop. Stop trying to charm me.”

Decimus snorted, and the indolent look disappeared. “It sounds like a promotion to me. Money, glory. It might make me feel better about losing the coins. It would do well to explain why I lost my men, their gear. A conspiracy. I’ll be celebrated. Stopping the murder will make me a hero. I will help you. I imagine it won’t be someone meaningless they are after, is it? To start a war, you kill someone that matters. I agree with you.” He mulled it over. “Likely, it will take place in Moganticum. That’s where we should go. They will know the blade of this Hulderic. And many high Romans visit the place.”

“Shall we go to Moganticum?” I asked Leuthard.

Leuthard shook his head. “No. We might, eventually. But now, we’ll travel in the wilds. The Den of the Brethren is not far from Moganticum, and we will find men there who know the truth. A man, for sure. We should go now.”

“Yes. I think Iodocus is far enough.”

He smiled nastily. “I’ll pay him back one day. So, let us leave. To the Den. We’ll find answer there. And perhaps the fate of … a woman? She’s alive, don’t worry. A lot will be made clear to you there. And your road of suffering will continue.”

He thrust his bound hands forward.

Gisil? Was she truly alive? How would he know? I felt the hand of fate, a cold grasping thing embrace my heart. There was something in Leuthard’s words that made me flinch, to fear the truth. The uneasy thoughts thundered through my mind, like thousand spears beating the hide of a shield, and I got a hold of myself with great difficulty. “Where is it?”

“I said I’ll show you,” he snarled. “Are you too afraid?”

“No,” I lied, but cut the ropes anyway.

He got up, and looked down at me. “Let’s go find some answers. Our road begins. Free the Roman.”

“I don’t trust him,” I murmured.

Leuthard snorted. “We don’t have to trust each other. We’ll travel together for a while. That is all.”

I cut the Roman’s bonds.

CHAPTER 20

We made our way out of the cellar, looking out for trouble. There was none. A sizable fire burned in the town above us, and so we rushed out of the hill in relative peace. We crossed some fields, rushed across wooded trails, and Leuthard, who had raided the land before, found a house with a fine stable. The men were busy in Sparrow’s Joy, fighting the Marcomanni and the fires, and none stopped us from taking some mounts. The boy left to watch them wisely made himself scarce when we appeared. We mounted the beasts, and guided them to the yard.

“Will they give chase?” I wondered.

“No,” Leuthard grinned. The village could be seen well from there. There were distant screams, and terrible amount of smoke pouring to the dark sky. I decided that would be the end of Seisyll’s home. “They’ll be busy for days,” the champion said, and turned his horse away.

We made haste, and let Leuthard show the way. He was silent, gazing carefully around in the darkness, picking routes we would never have found on our own. We followed a reedy stretch of river, which led to the wilds of Gaul. I thought we were headed north. He slapped his horse forward at a canter along the river’s banks, his head turning left and right.

We kept close to him, fully aware how dangerous he might be, but then, I didn’t trust Decimus either. I spend half my time cursing I had not taken Iodocus with me, and tried to convince myself I’d do well without him. He should survive, him and Danr, and take the news to Hard Hill.

Eventually, I rode next to Leuthard, keeping an eye on the blackness like he did, suspicious of the thickets. Eventually, I had to fight a yawn, feeling exhausted after the horrible night. “How much longer?”

“Long,” he said nebulously. “Too long.” He looked back at Decimus, who held a spear uneasily as he tried to listen on our Germanic banter. “Isn’t this a strange alliance.”

“It’s a strange one indeed, as desirable as a thief in a feast,” I said, hating the man. “Built on lies, greed, hatred and we’ll do well to finish with it fast.” I looked at him, and he shrugged.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you ride after Iodocus? You might have killed us,” I said, and he rolled his eyes, as if that was a fact. “You might have found him out there, or in Hard Hill. You had five days to do it.”

He thought about it. “Why? Obviously, I might fail. You guessed right I would do much for that blade. It is precious to me. Iodocus could lose it easily, if he saw me coming. He’ll be looking out for me. But there’s more, of course.” He was nodding to himself, muttering. His head and neck were still caked with blood, and he had been wounded many timed in the battle, but he seemed unaffected, indomitable like a demi-god, ready to ride for days. “You have been very lucky,” Leuthard said at length. “They say you fought very well in the hall of Teutorigos, and that was your first fight? What, you got bruises and that stab wound and that was only a flesh one. Some slaps in the face? Raganthar was a fool not to make sure you died. A fool. And then you charged the back of Fulch’s men?”

“We stopped them, actually, he just helped,” Decimus said resentfully. “We held the Celts in line, when they were crumbling. Lost some lads in the process.”

Leuthard chuckled. “There. There’s luck, and there’s Roman steel to aid you. There will be a time you’ll get truly hurt. Then we see what kind of a berserker you are. Woden might or might not give you a seat in his hall, and it depends on if you can die smiling. I have faced many men in my past. I’ve never turned down a challenge. I do this for my Feud Settler, but also to settle my feud with you. You get what you want, I get what’s mine, and gods will watch as we settle it. You’ll be a changed man by then. It will amuse me. Yes, I'll enjoy seeing you break. That’s why I’m doing this. But, for now, we will ride for hours yet. Conserve your strength.”

We rode for a time, and I felt my eyes closing. I don’t know how long I fought it, but in the end I napped, and woke up with a start when Sunna was trekking to the sky. Leuthard had left the river, and Decimus was leading my horse. I pulled the bridle from his hands, and he grinned at me tiredly. “Had a nice nap? All rested? No Roman could sleep like that in a saddle, but our auxilia can. Lazy mules.”

“We’ll all rest when we get there,” Leuthard said from the front, before I slapped the Roman out of his seat.

We dodged a small copse of beech trees, thundered up a hillside with yellow flowers, and spotted a lonely tree on top. The branches and leaves were swaying in a light breeze like light clouds across the sky, back and forth, and it looked both peaceful and eerie, as if the spirits of the night were there, lingering a moment after the long night, warning us off. Instead, Leuthard stopped by it, and looked over the land. Decimus was speaking with his horse, some odd Roman chant, and that was the only sound other than the snapping of the leaves.

“When?” I asked Leuthard.

“Soon,” he answered with a snarl. He was fidgeting and shrugged as he guided his horse closer to me. He pointed a finger across a dark wood with elevations, rocky crags, and some green rivers snaking across the woods. “We ride northwest. Raganthar’s mercenaries are a reclusive lot, and enjoy their privacy in a secluded spot near what we call the Gray Fur Hills. The locals around here call them something different,” he said with a crude smile, “but the locals don’t come there any longer, so they have lost the right to make up names.”

“Romans might rename the hills, one day,” I said. “They don’t fear scruffy madmen. How far is it?”

“By evening tomorrow, we shall see it,” he said and chuckled. “Romans might, but they will just visit.”

I rubbed my face tiredly. “And these Brethren. They all serve god Hati? These …”

He picked his teeth, and shook his head. “Hati’s no god. Just a hunter.”

“He travels the sky after Mani. Isn’t that a god?”

He shrugged. “A god cares for power. Hati cares for the hunt. That’s all. He cares not for those who would worship him. He appreciates a good hunter.” He waved for the horizons. “The Brethren are scum. Mercenaries, criminals, madmen. Most are just like any thief skulking in the woods.” He pointed a finger at his own chest. “And some, some are like me.”

“Liars?” I asked.

He leaned close. “Do you think I’m an ordinary man?”

I shuddered, hiding my revulsion and fear. “No matter what you are, you’re still a man,” I said softly, and I saw he was irked.

“Remember that when we get there,” he laughed dryly. “Ear and Raganthar are kin to me. We have been kissed by Hati, and you’ll see.”

I nodded, and held my hammer tightly, as his horse bumped into mine as he tried to get down. I thought he did that purposefully, like a dangerous animal testing its bars. I guided my horse into his, and it shied away. He smiled coldly, as he let the horse eat some grass. He turned to take a piss. “Fine. Tell me about your family. What,” I asked him brusquely, “gives you your battle rage? I feel, see the rage. It’s there, and fills me with careless power. I see the figure of—”

“Woden,” he answered, shaking his head spitefully. “The One Eye, Woden and Freya the Red touch a warrior like that, though rarely. Freya’s brother, Freyr, also might give a warrior the gift, or a curse, but mine is nothing like that.”

“Madness, then? Hati’s madness?” Decimus asked from behind. “We have gods, plenty of them in Rome, and all are welcome, but not Germani gods from that side of the river.” He nodded towards the east. “Your gods drink blood and tears, and are unsuitable for Rome. Too primitive, aren’t they?”

“How much do you know of Hati?” Leuthard asked, visibly relieved after the piss.

“He chases the moon?” I said. “One day, he’ll catch it, while Sköll takes Sunna, and their father, Fenfir is released. Its all a story.”

“But you believe celestial horses pull Sunna the Bright across the sky? And you believe Sköll chases her? Or in the case of Mani, he is chased by Hati?” he asked, amused, as he mounted. “You do not think the Night-Wolf will grasp the brother of Sunna one day, and feed on him?”

“No,” I laughed. “You tell me nothing. You say your family is special, that you serve Hati. But—”

He slapped his thigh to silence us. “We don’t only serve him. We are of him.”

We stared at him, disconcerted. I rubbed my face. “Stories are fine way to pass time, as long as the poet knows what is too unbelievable. Son of Hati indeed!”

He laughed. “Hati is a lazy wolf. He is tired of chasing the elusive, chariot-drawn coward every night, and escapes to our world, to Midgard, or one of the other Nine. He is capricious, cruel, and gives his gifts to men with his seed.”

We sat there with Decimus, staring at the huge lunatic. “You say Hati takes women in the night, and thus are born men who are more than the rest of us? And this is why you might rip a man’s face off. Because you are more than men?”

“Or less,” Decimus whispered.

Leuthard pointed a finger north. “My father, my brother, and I loved the north. We lived near the sea,” he said. “The Batavi live there. Great horsemen, stout warriors. They are formerly an offshoot of the Chatti, did you know that? Do you have any legends of men who do what I do?” he asked me. “Come now. You must have sat in your father’s lap as the elders spun tales.”

I shrugged. “I was a bad listener. But you hunt. That’s what you do. And you say that’s because you are a god-spawned—”

“Hunt,” he said roughly. “I hunt. I hunt in my dreams, I hunt in battle, I hunt in the night, and you know it is true. I hunt like Hati, not like a man. Or have you seen a man mauled like Seisyll before? And the others? That is where my prowess comes from. From seed. You speak to your Woden, Adalwulf. I need not seek help from anywhere. It’s all in my blood.”

The others. Ingrid. Bait. And many others, I thought. His prey.

He chuckled at the look on our faces. “Believe what you will. It will do you no good. The Brethren mimic us, my family. They kill, and do as we do, but they don’t hunt, not like we do. They are a pale shadow in comparison to Raganthar, Ear, and I.” He lifted an eyebrow.

I let the message sink in.

“They are family?” I asked softly.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “Family. Now know this. You will have to prepare. Raganthar is a cousin. He is Ear’s brother. In case you get the chance, kill him fast. He’ll hunt you, if you let him out of your grasp. And then I’ll miss the chance to kill you myself.”

I gazed at him. “All related. You might have mentioned this earlier.”

“Well, you know now,” he smiled dreadfully.

“And how do you expect me to believe you would betray him?”

“For my sword, I’d feed my mother to the spiders, pup,” he laughed and shook his head. “Trust me. Our god understands. And I dislike Raganthar, though not Ear. Ready?”

“Let’s go then,” I said darkly, feeling the deal was turning sour. Relatives? I missed Iodocus. There had been something shadowy and odd about Raganthar. While I refused to believe they were wolf-spawn, for we had such stories indeed in the lands of the Chatti, I felt I was walking naked across molten iron.

We trekked until that evening, took routes the Celts had long abandoned, and rode on, and rode past valleys where some brave herdsmen were guarding fat cows. Gaul was supposed to be far more cultivated than Germania, I thought, but you could hardly notice the difference. “Where are the Roman roads?” I asked Decimus, having heard of them.

Decimus was humming as he looked around. “Not here!” he chortled. “There are many leading to Lugdunum. The ones that skirt the river in Lower and Upper Germania are still being constructed. There are some military roads in place already, but we will be building them forever.”

“Do you know who would desire a war with Germania?” I asked him, happy to speak even with the rogue than the beast. “Have you heard of anything odd?”

He burped and held his belly and he had a clever, guarded look in his eyes. “So hungry. I’ll eat the mane off this horse, if I don’t get something else soon. As for your question, I don’t know. Peace is profitable enough for the local merchants, but terrible for those who supply the army. Negotiatores, they call them,” Decimus said. “These negotiatores must feed the men, find gear, ship luxury items, and find things to replace what can’t be had, but peace is horrible, because they have to cajole, negotiate, and fawn on the local merchants. Give war, and they dictate the terms. Oh, they squeeze the fools and make riches. I wish I was one.”

“Any tribes who would want a war with the Marcomanni?”

He nodded. “Likely many local chief hope to see the Marcomanni gone. You saw what happened to Sparrow’s Joy. Mediomactri fear for their lands and cows. Though things have been pretty peaceful lately with your people. That’s just changed though, hasn’t it?” He had a shrewd look on his face. “Then again, it could be something bigger. Perhaps someone isn’t afraid, but greedy. The Vangiones? King Vago hates you lot more than he hates his mother-in-law. Give war, and they can expand their lands, not just keep their cows. They are powerful enough for such plans. There are some other rich lords who could hire these Brethren, though by the looks of their home, they don’t charge much.”

“They prefer the land here,” Leuthard growled. “They prefer hunting grounds to luxury.”

Decimus ignored him. “The legions try to protect those tribes who are furthest along on the road to becoming Romans. Many nobles take the blessing of Rome, and learn Latin, live like we live, build shrines, adopt Roman laws, and ultimately, become citizens. There are many home-born Romans as well. There are many Roman officials, many tribunes who might be a suitable target. Some are Claudii this year, even. Tribunes making their first steps into glory of Senate. Two young men, at least, in our legion. Old families. Well-known, and perhaps even loved. Also, some precious men are not nobles, but would be missed. Some are famous engineers. They will build many castra by Rhenus River,” he said with a sneeze and froze. His face looked shocked. “They are touring the land.”

“Who?” I asked him.

He nodded towards Moganticum. “Tiberius, with Lollius the Meek. Tiberius just saved the Aquila of that fool Lollius. Have you heard of the Sigambri business?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” I answered. Tiberius and Lollius were near?

Decimus’s face looked ashen gray. “That poor Legion. They are furious. Wasn’t their fault, but the idiot’s. Lollius the Dolt. It’s a deserved title, be he a governor or not. They are travelling the Lower and Upper Germania, and will be around Moganticum any time.”

“What are they doing?” I asked him. Yes, they are the targets. One, at least.

Decimus shrugged. “What? Why should I know? They don’t confide in me. They don’t invite me to their parties. I imagine they’ll draw plans for development as they tour the land. Tiberius is giving Lollius hard time, forcing him to pay attention to the mean, small matters. Call it a punishment. A dog is being taught to follow the master. Augustus will probably recall the fool, though he loves him well. Lollius did well in Galatia, but here? No. To lead a legion to battle with no idea where their enemy is? Unheard of. Primus Pilus dead, hundred others? Aquila stolen? Even Augustus cannot endure such ignominy. He’ll let Tiberius humiliate the man, and will call him home eventually, when some time has passed. Lollius will never govern anything again.” He had a thoughtful, greedy look on his face.

Leuthard squinted. “Tiberius and Lollius, eh? Touring the land.”

He had the same idea.

“Surely,” I asked, “the Brethren could not be after Lollius and Tiberius? They would be very well-guarded.”

Decimus smiled slyly, and ambition filled his eyes. You could almost see him slavering for a promotion. “I hope they are. Wouldn’t that be splendid? Eh? We have to stop them. Oh, we must!”

We rode in silence, and Sunna was dragged from the sky by the celestial horses, its last rays covering the land with a thin, red blanket. This was when Leuthard grunted, and took to a cluster of trees, pointing a finger to a triangular heap of overgrown rocks miles away, with a long, flowery hillside leading to the door. “That’s it.”

We stared at it. It looked oddly peaceful, not dangerous at all. The birds were singing forlornly, and wind was picking up, still gentle.

“It looks—” I began.

“We rest until the midnight,” he interrupted. “Don’t let the looks deceive you.”

“You say they hunt at night,” I murmured. “So why not go in the morning, or now?”

He mocked me. “You don’t sound like Woden’s hero, Adalwulf. No, we’ll go in during the night. We do so, because I am here. I’m the best hunter of them all. They’ll not doubt me. And even they sleep. Best fight drowsy men.”

“Find some water,” I told Decimus, who shrugged himself into activity, and Leuthard poked his foot at my leg. “What?” I asked.

He sat there, smiling, and I knew he had been waiting for the moment since we rode out. “Remember the man who they killed in Hard Hill before you?” he asked, his eyes glinting maliciously. “The one murder that upset me?”

I felt my belly churning. “Yes. Why?”

He chuckled. “He rode in a few days before you. He was asking for you.”

“I know he was asking for me,” I snarled. “Speak plainly!”

He kept smiling, and I wanted to slay him there for the evil in him. He found joy in my discomfort, like a spider would enjoy the struggles of a fly. “Oh, yes. He was asking after you. By name. Was worried about you, you see. He was a Chatti.”

“I know this! Who was he?”

“Patience,” he smiled. “He’ll be in there.”

“He died, though?” I asked him, confused.

“He’ll be there. He is dead, but you know him.”

“Know him? You’ll not tell me who it was?” I asked him. “This Chatti?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said harshly. “Just wanted to prepare you. You’ll learn about Gisil as well. And you will be sad, sadder than ever, and you’ll be sad for the rest of your life, should it be a long one, but I doubt it will be,” Leuthard added, and he was right.

I would be sad, indeed.

CHAPTER 21

We slept uneasily, and by midnight, Leuthard kicked us up. “Time to go, my pretties,” he chortled. “Time to fight, and to weep.” We made ready.

The preparations didn’t take long. I forgot my hunger, drank water, and we mounted up. We rode downhill, over a stream, and left our horses by a small pond. We snuck in the night like foxes for the Den, and stayed hidden by bushes and ferns, or under a canopy of low hanging pines. I was anxiously trying to see the place, but Mani was covered during our approach. I saw little but a shadowy hump of rock ahead.

“There are some guards, no?” I asked.

Leuthard nodded and went forward, dodging under some young birches. We came to the lower end of the hill. There was a half-crumbled yard of an old house right before us. Everything was overgrown, moldy, ruined, and the depressing gloom and a promise of rain from an unkind, dark mass of clouds were enough to make us anxious.

“There should be guards, “ Leuthard murmured. “But if there are, they won’t show themselves.”

“No fires,” Decimus said. “Uncanny lot.”

“See,” Leuthard said, and pointed a finger on top of the rocky formation. The night was dark, but you could see air distort there, as heat escaped to the cooler night. “There are people in there, and they have fires going. It’s a cave.”

“How many men does this friend of yours have?” Decimus asked, fingering his spear. “I miss my sword.”

Leuthard shrugged. “We’ll make do. Twenty to thirty, depends on how many have died, or joined him lately. You killed many in the hall of Teutorigos. In there, not more than eight? I’ll handle Ear.”

I finally saw movement. Something walked past a darkness midway up the hill. “The door?” I asked. “It’s there?”

“That’s it. The filthy Den of the Brethren.” He spat. Apparently, he had developed a taste for luxury since he left the lot. “A door and a way down a bit. Slippery, wet, but they take in some horses that way. The cave’s shallow, dry, doesn’t run very far, and moonlight shines in through the roof. They have stables and pens, cellars and armories in there. And prisoners,” Leuthard said grimly. “And we are seeking such prisoners. One in particular.”

“Why? Why not one or two of the men?” Decimus insisted. “What would a dirty prisoner know?”

Leuthard smiled. “It’s a special one. They have a priest,” Leuthard said. “A hermit, mad and dangerous, but he will know exactly where to find Raganthar. He will, because Raganthar would never go anywhere without asking him. That’s my uncle, and their father.”

I looked at the Roman, and he looked back at me. “Why,” I finally asked, “is he a prisoner?”

“He is a reluctant one,” Leuthard chortled, and I felt cold chills go down my back.

They keep a relative a prisoner, and still seek his advice.

Leuthard waved his hand up the hill. “He’s not happy, but they ask him for guidance, hoping for Hati to speak through him. He’ll know everything.”

“Ear won’t?” I asked.

“No,” he said simply. “He is a mute.”

We mulled it over for a moment, and saw another shadow pass by the door.

“How will we surprise them?” Decimus asked, squinting to the direction of the rising land. “Is there a backdoor?”

“Of course there is,” Leuthard laughed. “But you cannot use it to enter. We’ll use the front door. I’ll ride in there. They know me, don’t they?”

Wind ruffled the moss on the old walls of the house, and I felt death brushing our cheeks.

“What if they are all in there?” Decimus asked. “You ride there, and smile like the little sunshine you are, eh? And then they pour out. Not one or two, but twenty.”

“That’s right. I’ll grin at them like a loving father,” Leuthard confirmed. “And if they are all there, you should probably run. I’ll risk finding Iodocus on my own in the Hard Hill, rather than commit a suicide. But I should be the one to go in first, and that will surprise them to be sure. They fear me.”

“Then, I suppose, you’ll lop off the head of some poor bastard in charge?” Decimus asked.

“Yes, I’ll ask them to fetch their chief,” Leuthard agreed. “It’s some older warrior. Ear won’t do. He is a mute, as I said. And unpredictable.”

And you are not? I thought.

Decimus wiped his chin and lifted him eyebrow. “And what then?”

“I’ll kill him,” he stated, and then shrugged. “I’ll get their attention, and you’ll rip them apart as they try to kill me. All clear?”

Decimus and I looked at each other.

“Sure,” I said. “But you won’t ride your horse up there.”

“Oh?” he growled.

“Because if they are all in there, we will need time to escape,” I rasped.

“I see,” he chuckled. “As sure as the ale in Valholl is foamy and bitter, some half-breed horses won’t save you if things don’t turn out as you hope they will. Pray the dice will favor you.”

“I don’t like it,” I said.

He snorted. “Or we can always stay here. We can make a little camp, and wait around, hoping for divine inspiration to strike one of us with the knowledge what they are up to. You choose, Adalwulf.”

“Get to it,” I told him thinly. “I’ll play the game.”

The big man peered at me as he adjusted his armor, the fabulous wolf-headed bronze mask in the chest jingling, and grabbed the spear tightly. He walked to the woods to the side of the flowery hillside. I was startled as he did, his abruptness suspicious, but then his face appeared in the shady woods, and he nodded towards the hill. “The Den awaits. Stay behind, but not too far, and observe. Come fast when the time arrives. I’ll hold the door.”

I nodded at the beastly man, and we ran to get our horses. We mounted and took to the thickets, and spotted him, waiting, and guided our horses after him, slowly, hoping not to spook the men on top. The bastard was making his way over mossy boulders and thickets, and our horses picked their way through such tangled braches. Decimus was cursing on his horse before me, pushing through low hanging heap of fir braches, all of which seemed to have a particular liking for his helmet. He finally pushed his head through the greenery, his face flushed. “You think we’ll still breathe in the morning?” Decimus asked, spat, and wiped his face with his hand.

“You’ll survive nearly anything, Roman,” I told him, as I was about to endure the same treatment he had.

“I’m nearly out of lives,” Decimus said. “Had some really bad luck lately. Not only did I lose my gladius, I lost the coins, and—”

“Your men,” I said without humor, and Decimus smiled, knowing he was a bastard.

“And my brave men,” he allowed. “Hope this is worth it.”

“Your men knew they were there to rob, not serve Rome,” I said dryly.

“They knew, of course they did. We, like any Roman garrison, keep the peace, keep an eye on the Gauls, and everyone gets rich while doing it. Not only some of us, but all of us. Its only fair. They used to fight like a pack of dogs before we conquered the land. If we let them grow fat and rich again, they’ll slit our throats one day. No, we strangle their coin out of them.” He gazed ahead at the beastly man, and chuckled as I profusely cursed the firs, which tried to smother me. “Look. No matter what we tried to do to each other—”

“You tried to do to us,” I corrected him.

He lifted his hand in surrender. “No matter that, I pity you the fight with him, though. It will be terrible fate to die so young.”

“He’s not very young,” I said bravely, and Decimus chuckled throatily, and for a moment, I liked him fine.

I looked at Leuthard walking just at the edge of our sight. He was striding on the edge of the clear space now, through the hilly meadow of flowers, his huge body heaving as he made his way up a small incline, and I knew we would soon be very near the door. “We’ll see who dies. I’m no fool, you know.”

He snorted. “You’re not? A lot of damned trouble for a sword,” Decimus said, spitting out bits of evergreen he had again nearly swallowed. “Though of course it will be interesting to hear what they plan to do. Surely not Tiberius? Or even Lollius? No. Someone else.” He sounded bored. “I’m not going to be lucky enough for it to be Tiberius. How could some barbaric forest-dwellers know where Tiberius shall be? War with the Marcomanni—”

“They have a sponsor. Remember? Someone pays them to kill, and that someone is obviously a person of wealth and power. Someone knows. And that war could destroy the Marcomanni,” I said flatly. “This is important. And Gisil is. Look.”

Up ahead, Leuthard make his way towards the cave entrance. There was indeed a hefty doorway with an expertly crafted, thick door, and three burly men with dark, furry cloaks, who stirred as they spotted Leuthard. The big man raised his hand and greeted the guards, who were glowering at him, hunched, and almost scared. One nudged another, and that one disappeared inside, and the two guards took tentative steps towards the approaching beast. There was a creak, then a thud. The door was closed, likely locked and barred.

We guided our horses to the edge of the hilly meadow and looked up at the door. Leuthard was taking strides up a muddy track now, his spear held loosely in his huge fist, and the men bowed to him. “He was with these … Brethren once?” Decimus asked, worried. “Truly? And they think a god sired them? Some wolf god mounted a girl and out came this bunch of rascals? He wasn’t just trying to scare us, right?”

“I’ve seen him fight. And more. He kills and enjoys it, and not like we would, eagerly waiting for the honor and rewards from our lord. He does it for the pleasure. He’s killed a friend of mine. See how they fawn on him,” I said, gesturing to the men who took care not to offend the huge man in any way, their heads bowed, but their spears were also pointed in his general direction. “They respect him, but also fear him.”

Decimus grunted. “Let’s hope they all die of fright, and we can just walk in.”

“Let us,” I agreed, but then Leuthard was next to the men, apparently speaking animatedly, his hands sweeping around, and it looked like he was describing our presence to them, since one man looked over his shoulder. “Shit, is he betraying us—”

But he wasn’t.

The door opened, and eight men streamed out. One was shorter than the rest, and a warrior with white locks of hair running to mid-thigh. He was wearing ring mail, held a sword, a hasta of crude make, and seemed to have a perpetual scowl on his face. The other men looked on, all careful, bearded beasts. Some were hurt, with bandages, and I was sure I had seen some of them in the battle of the hall. Leuthard’s hand went up, and he beaconed for us.

We didn’t move, but looked at each other.

He snapped his finger, it could be heard all the way over the hilly meadow, and I saw his face was brutally distorted, his scowl such as he had before a battle. “I don’t think the enemy lord and his best men are there, only those men,” I whispered. “He wants us to go in.”

Decimus spat. “I bet the doorway hides at least a dozen rogues and that Raganthar lord as well, snickering as we ride forward.”

“I’ll go, you can stay,” I said heavily, and hid my hammer under my thigh. “Come if you will, or go. I’m here to stop a war.”

“I’m here to be rich,” he said. “Jupiter’s left ball, I’m coming. Didn’t I already throw that spear when we were outnumbered so heavily? This is child’s play.”

I made my way to the meadow, and the warriors with Leuthard stiffened. The beast was speaking to the leader, and I wasn’t sure what he told them, but it was alarming, because they moved to block our way on the hill, looking at us with deep hostility. I heard horse hooves behind me, and knew Decimus was there, and I looked over my shoulder to see the Roman had hidden his armor under a cloak and taken off his helmet, his hair plastered on his head. He did look Roman, short and his skin darker, and as the Mani peeked through a break in the heavy banks of clouds, the enemy would know us very soon.

I tried to calm myself. Leuthard would do what he did best. Slay with treachery.

Unless Leuthard had really betrayed us.

We got closer. The horses sensed the strangeness of the situation, and were whinnying gently, their ears going up and down. The chief of the enemy took some steps down the hill, stopping near his men. His eyes went over me, and I lifted my leg to hide the shaft of the hammer, in case he might recognize it. He looked at Decimus, and it was then he frowned. He took an uncertain step forward, holding the sword’s hilt tightly, and turned to question Leuthard.

He died with a spear in his belly.

The strike was swift and brutal, and I could hear the blade grate on the ring mail, which had given in like it was made of bark. Leuthard’s bellow was enough to shake the sleeping birds out of the trees. Rabbits were dashing like mad hermits in the shadows, a deer bolted with a warning snort, and the men beside and before Leuthard turned in shock. Leuthard moved like a wraith despite his size. He grabbed the sword from the dying man’s hand, struck right, and disemboweled a man moving for him. His fist swung left, and another man’s face turned into a mask of blood as he plummeted down the hill, neck broken and on his way to abyss. Leuthard kicked open the heavy door and retreated inside, as the men surged after him.

“Fast! Charge them!” I bellowed, and kicked the flanks of the horse. It whinnied in surprise, and I forced it forward as I stared at the group of men milling at the doorway ahead. Some of the enemy were turning for us, but most were trying to get in, stabbing their spears to the shadows. One of them seemed to disappear, as if an invisible monster sucked him in, and his death screams gave that notion credence. The others were throwing javelins, stabbing spears, and I hoped there would not be more of them inside. I hoped Leuthard had killed the lot and died in the process.

A man singled me out, and threw his spear with a grunt. I didn’t see it in the dark, and I prayed, but it sailed past me, and I felt it more than saw it. I looked at the man in the eye, as he drew a seax, a thick, short blade, skimming his eyes over my horse, which he intended to hamstring. I pulled out the hammer, and nearly fell from the saddle for its weight, but that saved me, because the horse changed direction at the last second because of my loss of balance, and ploughed over the man. Few horses do that willingly, but this one did, and it didn’t seem to feel bad about it, as it neighed victoriously.

I forced it past another man, who was indecisive between attacking Decimus, or me, but chose as he dodged away and went for my companion. I guided the horse to the doorway. I hammered down at a man who turned from the door, and the hammer connected with his chest so hard dust billowed up from his hair. He fell back and took another down. The horse turned as spears flashed at its face. One tangled in my tunic, another scraped across my chest, and I cursed, though it didn’t break skin. One man charged me, hollering madly, and pulled me from the saddle. We fell in a tangle of limbs. I sensed men moving around me, men who had abandoned the attack on the door. A spear flashed above me, and the man holding me down pulled away, grinning victoriously. I knew I’d not be able to dodge the strike.

Woden’s rage forced me to try. I rolled, but was kicked back, and the spear came for me.

I felt my belly knot with fear, and I expected death, but then Decimus bowled over the spear man, hitting him with his fist. I rolled up and smashed the hammer’s hilt in the face of a man coming for me. The hilt struck his nose, flattening it, and he fell from me, his eyes rolling with pain. I got up and saw Decimus was strangling the man he had tackled. The enemy was clawing and struggling, but weakening, and Decimus was chortling with his victory. A hurt enemy approached him, ax high, but I ran at the man and swung my weapon so hard the hammer sang in the air, and his head simply caved in. He was a quivering mass of meat, and then Decimus got up, trying to take his breath, and I turned to look for more trouble.

There was none.

“Adalwulf!” Decimus hissed, and grabbed a spear and a shield, bloodied like a fiend of butchery. “Leuthard. Where the fuck was he? We have to—”

The beast answered. “I’m here. No need to find me.” We turned to look at the armed man. His sword was not the Feud Settler, but it was red to the hilts, and so was his face. He had a savage look on his face, obsessed with battle lust, but very unlike mine. He was not done with the fight. He kept staring at Decimus and me, possibly calculating his chances, and then he licked his lips, and shuddered. “It’s done.”

I got up and faced him. “All quiet in there, Leuthard?”

He shrugged, and took a step to the side, and leaned on the door. “What was in there is dead.”

“Ear?” I asked him.

He smiled briefly. “No. He’s not there. Nothing of worth inside, except for the old priest. Go and have a chat with the man.” He flicked his attention to Decimus who was about to protest. “It’s safe. Though he won’t come back as he went in. It will change him.” He glanced at me gleefully, and then at Decimus. “Go on. Hesitate not.”

I looked at Decimus who nodded and moved near the door as Leuthard walked out, kicking over the corpses. “I’ll guard the way,” Decimus said nervously, and kept an eye on Leuthard. I knew he meant to run to me, should the deadly man come suspiciously close to him.

I took a deep breath, passed Leuthard, not showing fear as best I could, and felt his eyes following me. He spoke, as if to himself, as I entered. “Ask him about everything that puzzles you. He will answer every question. Eat the knowledge, Adalwulf, drink tears.”

I hesitated, and pushed to the dark corridor. It was not very wide, but wet, and there were bodies on the ground. I poked them with the hammer to make sure none had a surprise for me. I went forward, making my way down the stony path, partially lit by fires on the end. Soon, I saw a large, warm cavern full of shadowy crates, wooden sheds, a few stalls meant for a few horses. It was the Den of the Brethren.

There were colors in the semi-dark. Torches and a small bonfire burned in the middle of the cave, and some rocks glistened with odd green color, as if covered by glow-worms. There was water running from one end into a small pool near the middle of the cavern, and the water reflected the light from the fires and of Mani, which indeed shone thorough the shrubs on the ceiling. Roots were running down the walls, and the greenery cast strange shadows in the large hall of Hati. I walked forward and noticed there were bunks, rows of them, with hay and gear scattered all over and around them. Yet, there was order in the semi darkness, as it was clear where the food was made, where men feasted, where they sharpened and repaired weapons and gear.

There were also slaves there.

I stopped at the sight of them. Leuthard said none of importance remained, and even I had to agree with him. They were miserable, horrified wretches. They were sad Celts, mostly women, and all mistreated and malnourished. It made me cringe to see them covering in the corner, their dirty feet peaking from under their hems, their haunted eyes full of fear.

I felt my way down stone steps, and gazed at a dark corner with cages. Three were empty.

One held a man.

At least I assumed it was a man.

There was a shadow there. I pulled out a burning shingle form its holder, and advanced. I heard the slaves whispering, but I looked at the man, and found what I had been looking for. The old man was holding wooden bars, and as I looked at the cage, I decided he might actually break free quite easily. He was a sturdy fellow, with white beard, thick shoulders and a wrinkled face. “I cannot leave,” he said with a clear voice that dispelled my fears, and oddly answered my thoughts. I got closer, and saw why he couldn’t leave.

His eyes were white, his knees crooked, and he could not stand up.

I went to my haunches, looking around and trying to make sure no more of the Brethren hid in the dark. I did not trust Leuthard’s words. “I’m looking for your master.”

“My master?” he chuckled. “I smell Leuthard near. Didn’t he tell you anything?”

“Something. Where is Raganthar?”

“My son?”

I rubbed my face. Damned animals, I thought. “Yes. I want him.”

“Raganthar’s not here,” he chuckled. “Leuthard is. I don’t want to see him.” He was nervous as he said that, nearly begging. Then he chuckled and pointed at his eyes. “You know what I mean. Keep him away from me.”

I shook my head, and then cursed myself for an idiot. “I’ll do my best. He and I? We don’t share friendship. We have a common quest. That’s all.”

“One you forced on him?” he chuckled throatily. “He will think about it every waking moment, boy. He is thinking about how to eat your heart. You are a prey to him. He might seem tamed, but he is not. Be careful. Whatever deal you made to force him to attack this place, he can undo in an eye blink.”

“I have his sword,” I told him, looking behind to make sure Leuthard had not sneaked in. “I have it, and it will have it melted into a puddle of scrap if he does not help me regain the other sword your son will use for an evil deed.”

“Swords, swords, all are for evil deeds,” he chanted, and then his face turned up toward the hole in the roof.

“One sword from a Goth lord,

To kill a Roman bore.

Another from a beast,

To enslave the god of feast.

Three fates shall entwine,

Tears will fall on a grave of pine.”

He fell silent and shook his head, rubbing his face. “That’s what I got for you.”

“And what was that?” I asked, bewildered. “A poem?”

“A boon from the god,” he said with a wistful smile.

“Woden? Or yours?”

“Woden? Nay!” he chuckled. “Mine. Look around you boy. Would Woden find his ways here? Nay. This is the Den of the Hunters, of men who have been touched by the god of night sky.“

The wolf? “I’ve been told of Hati, yes.”

“He, who hates,” the man said sadly. “He makes his way to the world. While his brother Sköll chase Sunna during the day, he should chase Mani in the night, but he is a lazy wolf, hates his father Lok, and rarely obeys him. He mates with women he finds desirable, and sometimes, the offspring is different. This is so with the Batavi, and many in their family run with the moon. They walk the day, serve their lords faithfully, but rarely sleep well in the night, yearning to release the animal inside. They are no real wolves, boy, do not fear, only savage men, full of emotions you might find in an animal, and they eat their enemies.”

So they really eat them, I thought, pushing down the fear. “I’ve seen Leuthard in the dark,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “He is more a wolf than a man.”

The man nodded nervously. “Him, I’m not sure of. He might actually be more a wolf than a man. And my son is also odd. Both sons, in fact. The Brethren are nothing but vagabonds, but be careful with this family of mine.”

“They’ll die as men,” I said with confidence. “They must.”

He shook his head. “They say a true Brethren can die once and come back. I think with Leuthard it might be worse. He received more than his share of Hati’s blood.”

I gazed at the man. He sounded intelligent, near lucid, almost sane. “So. You seek your god’s wisdom for them when they ask for it. They keep you like they would their dog. Now, I have questions. And then I’ll release you. This is a shitty life.” I waved my hand around the cave.

He chuckled. “Leuthard’s brother. Guthbert. He’s bereft of the mad blood, the curse that makes them all crazy as a feral hound. I wanted to go with him to Rome, after Leuthard left the Den, but Raganthar disagreed. I tried to anyway, but they made sure I’ll not go anywhere.” He bowed down and wept, and I felt distantly sorry for him. “They give me a girl, and food, but this is life most miserable, indeed. Release would be a relief. You don’t understand it, young man, but there comes a time you forget all your dreams, and only wish to travel to the gods. If you have the heart for it, I’ll be grateful for a killing blow.” He looked grimly amused. “I think you will find the heart for it.”

“I would kill your tormentor for the sword,” I told him. “I’ll kill Raganthar. Tell me about him, and then I’ll do my best.”

He nodded. “You three are tied together in the bundles of yarn running through the hands of the Norns. It is a mess, this tangle of yours. The Two Swords and two men of Hati’s, and you, a youngster out to challenge the lot. It will make a good nightmare, eh? If you survive, you will weep on a grave of pine.”

“What is a grave of pine?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

He rolled up some shit in his hand, because they didn’t clean the cage, and it didn’t seem to bother him as he tossed it aside. He cocked his head and shrugged. “You’ll find out. Make it that far, and perhaps the tears won’t matter. You’ll fight him before that.” He leaned closer. “Remember. Kill them well. Take their heads, if you can. Don’t let them rule the battle you will fight with them. Cheat. Do anything you need to make sure you win.”

I looked around and felt cold, as if I had put off the inevitable long enough, knowing I’d break my heart one way or the other. “I will. So, let me know. Where is Raganthar and what is he going to do?” I asked him.

He chortled and shrugged. “He is going to kill this Roman, someone called Tiberius with the sword of the Goth. I feel you already guessed this.”

I sat still, nodding, and his hands twitched, waiting for me to go on, and I did. “Tiberius. The high man who just recently sorted the Roman disgrace with the Sigambri. He is travelling the river now, with Marcus Lollius. I know this, and guessed it. Where?”

“Oh! You know much for such a young man from the shitty hills far in the east. Adalwulf, no?”

I felt the hair stand up in my neck. “Did they mention my name to you? They used me to distract a high lord, but did they tell you of that?”

He nodded. “I heard your name mentioned when they returned.” His sightless eyes travelled to the left, where I saw a huge pile of something. More than one pile, in fact. Then he spoke. “But you wanted to know about this high Roman. I’ll tell you. Why not? They were paid well to kill Tiberius. I know how much they got. Bags of silver. It’s all buried in the woods, and they’ll expect to be paid more. I’ll tell you where you must go to stop them. And you think you can. You think you are on a holy quest. You have been told so, no?” He smiled sarcastically. “You were told by a woman you are special.”

Gisil. I took a long breath. “Am I special?”

“We are all special,” he murmured.

“There was a woman,” I pressed. “Gisil.” He twitched, and was nodding, but said nothing. I went on. “She is a völva. A priestess who served the man who lost the blade, Hulderic the Goth. She had a sight of me, and brought me to fight for Hulderic.” I went quiet.

“But you nearly died,” he said sadly.

“Nearly. But I didn’t, and here I am. She didn’t lie. I’m on a holy quest. For her. For Hulderic. For the Marcomanni.”

He chuckled dryly, and coughed. Then he shook his head. “No, there is no such thing as a holy quest. Gods don’t give a shit. They don’t send out warnings, not to me at least. Nor to her. All is luck and our own decisions govern fate. She had no sight of you.”

“That makes no sense at all,” I whispered. “Not one bit. This woman found me and saved me. She is a völva who lives and works with Hulderic. She knew my name.”

He slapped a hand on the floor, silencing me. “Others knew your name as well.”

“There was a Chatti in the Hill, but Gisil said—”

He wiped his face tiredly. “You were meant to be a fool. Someone to distract this Hulderic. That you heard their plans was bad enough, but if you died, it would not matter. But you didn’t die, and here I am, seeing a struggle of faith. Listen. Do not think you are a chosen one, though. Nobody is. I told you. Gods do not care.”

“If she didn’t have a sight, then what did she have?”

“She had a son,” he whispered “A son.” His eyes went to the side again, and I shifted. There was not only a mound there, uneven, odd, shadowed, but also poles, I saw, many poles.

“Son?” I asked him, as I turned. “She had a mother and a husband, and the son died in the winter.”

“They died,” he hissed. “She lost them all.”

I sat there silent, unhappy. “You are not telling me anything I don’t know.” I tried to get up, but he reached out through the bars, grasped my hand, and held on with desperate strength. “Listen. This will be painful. There was no sight.”

I stopped struggling.

“There was a mad woman instead, young and pretty, grief-stricken so deep, she was not herself. She was close to Hulderic, who is a kind lord. And then there was a family of men close to a god, who claim to come back from the dead. There was Raganthar, travelling from the east, and he was scouting the village of Hulderic for Bero and Leuthard, when he saw this mad woman praying in the midst of the winter, under a tree where the dead are hoisted for the spring burial.”

“No,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said brusquely. “Raganthar has been spying on Hulderic for years. They often used our services. He has killed Hulderic’s men previously. And Raganthar, he stood behind the fair woman. There is little gentleness in my son’s heart. But what little there is, was kindled that moment. He fell in love with Gisil, Adalwulf. He did. She is fair, and she is brave.”

“Liar,” I said, and pulled away from him, scattering rocks, and sat further from him, panting under the shadows. “You damned liar!”

“I do not lie, Adalwulf. I have no reason whatsoever to lie. I’ll die in shit, crippled and broken, and probably starved, since you will go out and kill them all after this. Unless you release me, as you promised. I sense you are nearly ready to do that.” He was nodding, as if welcoming the fate. “She saw him, and fell away from him. She fought him bravely, but he captured her, and kept her with him for days. She didn’t speak to him, not at first, but Raganthar is more than a murderer. He has the wolf’s wits, boy, and slowly, he turned his attention to the dead in the tree, and there he found the boy, and he used that. He promised her—”

“Life,” I said miserably. “Life for the boy.”

“Life for the boy,” he said sadly. “He said he’d feed the corpse his blood. He said he’s bring him back from the lands of Hel. She wept, she did. She wept, her hope rekindled, and she said yes, Adalwulf. She kneeled before Raganthar, and swore she’d do anything for him, should he restore the child.”

“He—”

“He took her as his own,” the old man said sadly. “He wed her in the woods, took her to his bed of needles, as she swore, on her life she’d obey him. And so, she has. She has obeyed him in his business. She shares his bed, she shares his goals, and all for that sad, dried up corpse.” He pointed to the mound.

I gazed at the shadows. Corpses? Gisil?

She betrayed Hulderic. Me. For her son.

The man spoke softly. “She did his bidding. She had no sight. She cursed that servant of Hulderic for putting you in danger, because he endangered the small twist Leuthard had asked for. They wanted to blame the Chatti, because Bero feared Hulderic’s wrath. That little, needless wrinkle in their pans, a weakness of the lord of Hard Hill is now risking their business. Hati would laugh at that. And guess who stabbed you in the back? That small wound?”

No.

“She did,” he said simply, without mockery. “She saved Raganthar, because no matter how much she hates him, he promised to bring back her son.” He leaned near the bars. “But I think she also spared you. It was her hand that checked on you after you fell. They spoke of it here. Raganthar cursed himself for not making sure you were lifeless. You touched her heart as well.”

I sat there for a long while, weeping. I had been a fool, a lucky fool to survive, and Gisil, the poor, mad Gisil, had betrayed us all. All for a dead son. I looked at the mound, and then I knew I had to know one more thing.

“Who was the other Chatti in the village before me? The one who met with Balderich?” I asked him amidst my tears.

He stirred, having fallen deep in the darkness of his own thoughts. “They knew of you. You are a horse thief, but you were also missed. A lord, Germain, sent your cousin to find you in Hard Hill. He arrived two days before you did, they said. He knew the way, and he was fast, and he did speak with Balderich. They wanted you to come home, they said, because you had been wronged. Your cousin had spoken to his father, and they—”

“No, I—” I began, horrified to my bone. Forgiven?

He went on, playing with stone in his hand, tense. “He was useless in the scheme. He had probably told his business to Balderich. They needed someone else. They learnt of you from him, and decided to use you in the scheme, should you arrive in time. Couldn’t find anyone else in the Hill. And you did arrive. You arrived, heard their plans, but Gisil saved the day. She cast a spell over you, just in time, and you obeyed. It was her job, to charm you into that hall, and charm you she did.”

“They killed Ansgar?” I stated more than asked.

He shrugged. “And they, being what they are, killed him there in the woods. He was their sacrifice to Hati. I mentioned they need the flesh. To invoke Hati’s favor—”

I roared and charged forward. I grasped him by hair and pulled him out of the cage and splinters of wood flew all across the lower chamber. The slaves were growling with fear, their foreheads in cold, wet floor, and I dragged the man down the slope to the weak light of Mani, and there threw him over an old table. He was fighting to get up, and nearly fell to the floor, and I slapped him so hard he fell silent, weeping. I took out the hammer, and placed it on his forehead. “Ansgar was in Hard Hill? Is it true?”

He laughed painfully, holding his hand up. “I think you are ready to send me to the next world now. He was. What he is now, well, that is all here now.”

“He is here?” I choked. “Where?” I asked him darkly, tears flowing.

“There,” he said and pointed to the side, where the heaps of shadowy mounds were, and all my hope fled. I let go of him, hesitated, and walked that way. I smelled death, felt the blood drain from my body, and walked to the first mound. There, bereft of eyes, were heads. Some were mounted on poles, the fresher kills.

There was one I knew had belonged to Cerunnos. His hair was gone, but it was his handsome head, still noble.

And there was Ansgar’s as well.

He had died badly. There was a wound, old and cancerous across his face, splitting his lips and nose, but it was he. He had been my friend growing up, my cousin, the one I had fought for, and with. They had sent him after me. To take me back home. I staggered away and held my head. Stunned, I walked around the mounds. There were bones. All kinds of bones, heaps of them. It was like a bear’s den, where some of the great mountain beasts occasionally drag their victims away, so they can feast in silence and safety. I picked up a bone, a thighbone, to be exact, and looked at it. In it, there were jagged saw marks.

They ate the dead. The man had not lied.

I dropped the bone with horror. There were stories of harsh winters, the kinds you never heard in the feasts, but were whispered by the women during the first days of spring. The hushed stories were of families whose food had ran out, who had had a bad harvest, and who, sometimes, had to measure their worth as human beings against that of survival, and some of them were cannibals, forever reviled by the rest.

This was filth.

This was horror, a living nightmare. And Leuthard? He had led them, once?

On the side, I saw a stone altar. It was oddly clean, and on the altar, there was a wrapped up body of a child. Gisil’s son, I knew. I lifted the wrap, and stepped away in revulsion. What was there was little more a skeleton, and it was impossible to think he had once ran around, laughing and happy, but he had. I held my head, squeezed the throbbing rage away, panting like a dog during the summer heat.

I walked down to the old man, who waited for me on the table. I stood there. “They—”

“Yes,” he said, and looked away. “We do. They do. I told you.”

“Where are they now? How much time do I have?” I growled, trying to find a state of mind where I would not attack Leuthard the minute I went out.

He waved his hand. “A village of Treveri near Moganticum,” he said. “A day away, a bit more. That’s where Tiberius will stay in a day or two, they said. He’ll go there to solve some of the issues between the Treveri and the Mediomactri. A Roman guard tower is there. I think the name is Avenc, there is a mine near, sinkholes.” He sat up carefully, groaning with pain. “Listen. They have bribed a Roman centurion to help them enter the tower where Tiberius will sleep. I don’t know his first name. But Caecina is what they called him.”

Decimus?

He was named Decimus Caecina? Were there more men named like that? Lies, betrayals all over.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and he twitched as I squeezed. “Who pays them?”

“A King,” he whispered.

“King of Shit?” I snarled.

“King Vago of the Vangiones,” he answered. “He pays them.”

So the Vangiones wanted the war. Bastards.

“Is Gisil in that heap?” I asked. “He still has her?”

He shook his head. “She is with him. I told you. He loves her.”

I grasped the hammer, and he tensed, knowing what was coming. I lifted it and hesitated. “Is there a man called Ear here?” I asked. “Your other son?”

He held his face. “He left,” he said, and pointed a finger to the other side of the cavern. There was a lighter spot there, and air blowing in, ruffling moss and weeds. “Yes, I heard Leuthard speaking to him. When you cage a beast, it might seem docile. But like you, he makes plans to cheat you. Be careful. Ear’s not well. He’ll obey Leuthard, because Leuthard always loved to turn my boys against each other, and Ear loved him for the respect he gave him.” He hesitated. “And save the girl. She isn’t evil, just a mother.”

With that, I released him from the world. I hesitated as I watched the slaves, and decided there was nothing I could do for them. Perhaps they’d make a meal of the old one, and I didn’t really care. I found a thick sack by some crates. I went to the mounds of bones and pulled my cousin’s head off a pole, feeling coldness creep inside me. Wyrd or not, it was my fault as well. I took the head of Cerunnos and then I went to Gisil’s son, and pushed him inside the sack, feeling revolted.

Then I walked the steps out of the hole. I stopped before I exited, and held my eyes closed, begging gods to give me strength.

The old man was right. The gods didn’t care. I was on my own.

I emerged to see Decimus and Leuthard standing there, a respectable distance away from each other. I looked at both.

Murderer. And a traitor. Why had Decimus agreed to help us at all? It made no sense. He should be in his tower, waiting for Tiberius.

But now, it was my turn to lie.

They both looked at me. Leuthard’s eyes were glinting, there was a small smile at the edge of his mouth, and he knew I knew everything about him. He watched me, tried to see how revolted, how afraid I was. His eyes wondered to the sack, and he lifted an eyebrow. “Found your family, and the truth of the woman?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, and mounted my horse.

“How does it taste like?” he chuckled. “You savor it?”

“We have a date, Leuthard,” I told him dully. “All will be made clear then.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “It is well.”

I didn’t look at him, but at Decimus. “Avenc. That’s where we go.”

“Oh, I know it. My tower is—”

“There?” I interrupted.

He frowned. “No, this is north of mine,” he said, and scowled. “I know the centurion though. Very well, yes.”

Relative? I thought. Another Caecina?

“Did the man say anything else? Who’s the target?” Decimus asked. “This is excellent. Nothing could have gone better. The commander will believe me. We have—”

“Tiberius,” I told him. He lifted his fist to the air, a happy man, dreaming of a high promotion and wealth. But it was all an act, wasn’t it? I pointed a finger at Leuthard. “Take us there.”

Leuthard smiled. “You are a different Adalwulf from who went in. Sadder, not so young.”’

“I’ll burn you, Leuthard. I’ll purge the Brethren, if it kills me,” I said as steadily as I could. “And I’ll kill you, and I don’t care if it takes my life.”

His eyes answered. It will.

CHAPTER 22

We rode to the night, and I felt both dangerous men behind me. The lines of the old man thrummed in my head. Three fates shall entwine, I thought. Leuthard and I, certainly. I gazed at Decimus and Leuthard as they sat on their horses. The Roman was silent, probably calculating how to keep up the act, thinking I had been fooled. I snorted. He’d be surprised. Leuthard, indestructible, was looking around the forest roads like he belonged there.

Raganthar, the husband of Gisil. He was the third man in the old man’s riddle.

We all had a date with fate, and I’d cheat them to their graves.

I let tears fall, as I navigated the paths. My belly was rumbling with hunger, I felt weak for the lack of water, but the thought of Gisil’s spear in my back, her betrayal, all for the child who was no more than a skeleton. I felt the bag on my side, hitting my thigh, and there, also, was my cousin. I felt Leuthard’s eyes on my back, and I sat straight, as high as I could, as I hated the man and his Brethren.

“What’s in the bag?” the Roman asked.

Leuthard answered with a dark chuckle. “His cousin. And the cause of his tears.”

“What will you do with them?” Decimus asked at length. He was nodding at the bag.

“The … remains?” I asked. “The ones they corrupted and left uneaten?”

Decimus went silent, shocked and silent for once.

Leuthard spoke, like darkness itself. “So afraid you are, lamb. So scared. Have you ever been hungry, Chatti? And I don’t mean like you are now, having missed a few meals, but hungry after weeks of survival in the wild. It was so when I left the north. I travelled the land, I did. I was shunned, and hunted by the Gauls, and even my own sent men after me. Guthbert, my brother, tried to find me. Here, I captured my first lamb. He was much like you, and I was young. It was a mess. But I learnt. It drives away the thirst, the hunger, Chatti. It is fulfilling, mad, and you’ll never forget it. Eating your enemy.”

I didn’t say anything. Decimus was guiding his horse closer to me.

Leuthard went on, speaking almost gently. “I ate him. I had killed back home, oh, I had. So had Father. And others in the family. But there, we never ate them. In home, I was less skillful in hiding my hunt than Father, and was caught, and sent away with a feud over my head, but here there were no feuds. Here there were only the hunters and the hunted. When Ear and Raganthar felt the stirrings back home, their Father brought them here. And being afflicted himself, he stayed. He wasn’t in a cage when I ruled them.” He chortled. “Such a terrible thing men think it. Eating a man. It is not. They say it’s only flesh after they are gone. That it doesn’t matter.”

“My cousin matters,” I snarled. “He matters.”

He clucked his tongue. “You interrupted me. They say the dead are not men. Just flesh, just bones, joints, blood. But they are still people, boy. Some part of them linger on, and even when you carve their flesh off their bones, they still see, feel, and know the part of the prey, even if they nap in Hel’s lap. Your cousin did. Perhaps he still feels the pain, though perhaps he is a bit relieved in your clutches, smiling a sad, dry, grateful smile. I’ve seen them smile, you know. I’ve seen them sit up.”

“Shut up!” I roared, and he did, gloating under his heavy brow. “I’m not going to listen to your madness Leuthard. You are a mad dog. It’s plain as nose on face.” I pointed a finger at the bag. “Did you help kill him?”

He grunted, and leered at me maliciously. “Why? Does it truly matter? You remember I told them not to kill another in Hard Hill, so I didn’t feast on him. But, yes, I knew he would die, one day. The fact is he was just another little lamb like you, and he was torn apart in Hard Hill, and the rest ended up in that cave. Did you love him?”

I gripped the hammer so hard it hurt. “I didn’t hate him.”

“He loved you,” Leuthard said darkly. “Rode through the troubled land to find you, to bring you back. A thief you are, Adalwulf, but also the bane of those who care for you.”

Decimus spurred next to me. He pointed a finger up to a road that forked in the dark. “That way. And best stop talking to him now.”

We rode in silence until I heard the gurgle of a river. I guided the horse that way, and found a rocky, high bank of a fair-sized river, which was makings its way for Rhenus River, somewhere in the east. I grasped the bag, and sat there, and gave Woden a prayer, and let the remains fall to the water. They fell true, twirled in the dark water, and travelled away, under and over the surface. I turned my horse back, and rode up to the two men.

Leuthard smiled. “That won’t set Gisil free, you know.”

“It will set her free of your cousin,” I spat. “The rest is up to her.” He smiled and shrugged and let me ride past him.

We rode on, broke out of the woods, and reached a strange, level surface set with stones. Decimus grinned. “This is a road. A real military road. And the road takes to Moganticum, but will stop in the villages and guard towers on the way,” Decimus said and continued slyly. “So Tiberius will be in that village? I knew he was coming to some of the towers, but not mine.”

I grunted. “There is a Roman garrison in that town. And we shall have to be careful.”

“Oh, we shall be,” he said earnestly and I hated his lies nearly as much as I hated Leuthard.

“This Lollius shall be there as well,” I confirmed, looking at him. He was a superb thief and a liar, and kept a straight face. “Your Tiberius is supposed to spend a night or two there after he leaves for Moganticum. He is hearing local chiefs vent their spleen and deciding on some matters of importance.”

Decimus’s eyes glinted. “I’ll be the hero, who brings him the news, then. I’ll ride to the tower, torn and bloodied, having escaped the enemy, and bring them the tidings.”

I leaned on him. “You’ll be a bigger hero if we find Raganthar first. And I need the sword.”

He looked unhappy and fidgeted. “I would be lax in my duty should it come to pass that Tiberius is in danger.”

Was he trying to reach his men? To kill us quietly?

I snorted. “You’d be in hot water if the truth about your lost men came to be known. Don’t ride anywhere. First, we find Raganthar. Together.”

He spat, frowning, and cursed, until he finally shrugged. “No need to be so hostile, friend. We’ll see what’s what in there, and hopefully find a way to accomplish much. As long as you find a rusty sword, and I’m happily paraded as a hero, I’ll help. He glanced behind him to Leuthard. “Perhaps he gets a nice meal as well.”

“How many men there?” Leuthard asked, as if cheered by a prospect of a meal.

“There is a guard tower there with a century of men. That’s all,” Decimus said. “How would this filthy Raganthar know Tiberius would stop there?”

“They have spies,” I said neutrally, and still didn’t mention the centurion or King Vago, who had ways into the officia of any high Roman. Kings were rich. “They’ll be there for a day or two.”

“I have a hunch you learned something more in there, eh?” Decimus said nervously, and I kicked the horse off at a canter. “We are riding in blind.”

“Only this, nothing more,” I lied.

A fox ran past us, rushed for the road, and dashed towards Moganticum, until it disappeared to the night, and I guided my horse onward. I took the fox to be a good sign, and hoped what I had planned would work out. The horse seemed genuinely confused by the hard surface, and Leuthard was actually riding next to the road.

We made our uncomfortable way towards the Mediomactri village.

***

When we arrived, it was clear it would be hard to find Raganthar and his Brethren.

The village was larger than I had expected, packed with people. People slept on the fields around it, and there were a hundred horses corralled at the edge. The buildings were nothing like they had been in Sparrow’s Joy, in Seisyll’s village. These were halls, some were the round huts, but all were dirty, some in ill repair, and many sprouted ugly gray smoke to the sky.

There was a hill overlooking the ramshackle Gaul village, and on top, there was a thirty feet tall, sturdy watchtower. Its roof was made of thatch, the palisade around it was at least nine feet tall, and soldier’s bronze and iron helmets glinted at the gate, the walls, and on the top, where there was a railed observation deck, though crudely crafted.

Decimus squinted his eyes as he looked up at the tower. “They are a Vexillation of the Legio XIIII Gemina, from Moganticum. There are few legions in the area now. Most are building, shuffling around, but we have the towers. I’m in the same legion as the boys, but different Cohort, the third. Those boys are from the second.” He fidgeted and slapped his thigh. “I still think I should go up there.”

“No,” I said simply and stared at him until he stopped frowning.

He took a ragged breath. “Well, since I cannot ride up and greet my fellows, I think we need to find a place to plan. We will have to find a tavern. Somewhere to stay. Many people in the village, though. Many more than usually.”

Leuthard spat. “There’s a reason why they are here, and why Tiberius will come as well. It’s the celebration of Lugh, and all kinds of artisans are here. It’s like our Thing, meeting of the tribes during a feast.”

I saw many Gauls in fine armor riding around. We peered down at the village below. There were rich tents, guarded by tall Celts with armor. “What’s the deal with the Treveri and the Mediomactri, anyway?”

Decimus spat. “Old Augustus made Augusta Treverum the capital this past year. While Moganticum will be the capital of Germania Superior, the Treveri are split between the Belgica province and Germania Superior. They are probably begging Tiberius to help keep them a one nation, and not split them all over the place. Some of these are Treveri. And the Mediomactri,” he pointed a practiced finger to other side of the village, “will argue the Treveri in the Germania Superior are trying to steal lands they consider theirs, and combine them to Belgica province. It’s been a mess for a decade. If Tiberius is coming here from Augusta Treverum, it will take days.”

“Days he doesn’t have when he arrives,” I said, and noticed, to my surprise, that Rhenus was quite near, glittering along through a screen of beech trees. I tried to see where we might stay and plot. “Yes, we will have to find a room, somewhere in the edges of the town. Peaceful and quiet.”

“I’ll get us a room, or two,” Leuthard said darkly.

He managed it easily enough. There was a set of large houses near the river bank. As he rode in, a taciturn, strong jawed Gaul appeared, wiping his hands on his tunic. There were horses in the yard, boys taking care of them, but after some quiet words from Leuthard, the man left with a concerned look. Soon, furious Treveri nobles mounted some of the horses, and rode away to find accommodation that was likely not to be had. We settled on a house close to the river, the tavern keeper scowling uncertainly, probably trying to fathom if he would be paid, and there, we settled in. I walked out to find the man, and smiled as I approached him.

“What more do you need?” he asked guardedly. “I’ve got food coming. You want my wife next?”

“Information,” I said. “First, what are the Romans doing on top?”

He smiled deviously. “Why? What they always do. Sit, eat, shit, and keep an eye on us.”

“Who’s their centurion?”

He hesitated. “Why do you need to know that?”

“Shall I get the big bastard to ask this same question?” I retorted.

His face went pale with fear, and he shook his head, while nodding at the boys who were not taking care of our horses to hurry up. “No, I suppose you don’t have to.” He spat, and nodded up the hill to the tower. “But I don’t know his name. They changed the century last week.”

“Changed it?” So, it wasn’t Decimus?

He shrugged. “I don’t know why. They sometimes do change them. I don’t give orders in their legions. Do I look like one they consult in the movements of their troops? No. He’s like the other centurions, wide and lucky, having survived in their army for so long. He’s also a thief, like the rest. Named Gaius, that’s all I know.”

Gaius Caecina? That’s what Decimus had called himself in Sparrow’s Joy.

“You’ll have visitors here soon?” I asked him. I glanced at the doorway, and saw Decimus was there, lounging, his eyes on my back.

“We always do have lots on Lughnasadh of Equos. It’s a horse race time. But yes, the nobles are here to quarrel.”

“Roman visitors. High ones,” I sighed.

He was nodding. “Yes, the governor of something or the other, Marcus Lollius. Then that prefect, Tiberius. They’ll be here soon, they say.”

“Where will Tiberius stay?” I asked. “In the tower?”

His eyes went to slits. “In the tower, of course! The Roman commander, who fought in the Alps and pacified the north, doesn’t sleep with the horses and pigs.” In that, he was wrong, but I’d learn it much later. “You are not a Gaul, but a Vangione?” he asked carefully. “Right? From the south where the Mediomactri meow under your heels?” He smiled widely at the thought.

“A Vangione,” I said proudly, knowing the Mediomactri despised the Germani overlords living in their lands, so allowed by Rome. If the man before me were a Treveri, he would be happy to aid me. “I would ask a favor. I have a grudge against the chief who feeds his cows with my hay. I’d like a …final solution for that issue. The bastard’s here to make a plea to Tiberius. So I need help.”

He grinned and clapped a hand on my shoulder, leaning closer. “A Mediomactri? Is this man one?”

“A filthy pig of a Mediomactri,” I agreed. “Murdering scum.”

He smiled like a boy with honey. “And what can I do to help? And perhaps this Tiberius would rule in your favor? Romans often do prefer the Germani to us.” He scowled at the thought but gave me a small smile. We were talking about a Mediomactri after all.

I nodded and winked. “The thing is, I don’t wish to risk anything. I’ll not take my case to Tiberius, and want to stop him from doing so,” I told him conspiratorially. “In fact, I’m thinking I’ll take his land. It’s good land. His cows are fat and well-built. Perhaps you’d like a few?”

He squinted at me, and rubbed his chin, smelling trouble. “Perhaps?”

“I need men,” I said. “A hardy, dark-hearted band of men who would do this sort of thing for me. Help me find some. I know there is a group of Germani mercenaries in the city. Why don’t you send your men to find them, boys to ask around, and then come tell me. That’s all. You’ll do well to do so.”

He grinned. “That’s all? Sure. I’ll send my sons to find them.” He turned to fetch them.

I pulled his sleeve. “One more thing.” I looked at Decimus, and whispered my demands to Treveri. He looked at me oddly, nodded, and went to obey.

I turned away, hoping his sons were as clever as Ermendrud. Decimus headed out to relieve himself. “Inside,” I told him darkly. “We stay out of sight.”

“I have to—”

“There are guards out, the man said. We’ll stay inside,” I told him, and while he hesitated, Leuthard pulled him inside. The big man stepped outside, and I spoke to him quickly in hushed tones. I didn’t trust him, but I trusted him better than I did Decimus. He said nothing, but nodded, grimacing darkly. We settled in to wait.

Tiberius arrived during the night.

CHAPTER 23

Decimus was fidgeting as he sat and stared at the doorway late that night. We had all stayed awake, and observed the torches travelling the hill, where the great Romans settled in. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he rubbed his face, tapped a finger on the metal of his helmet, and generally looked like he was ready to chew his way through the wall. Silence reigned as we sat there, looking around at the white-chalked walls. Finally Decimus nodded at me, as I was admiring the hammer. The remains of a late-night meal were scattered on a table.

“What shall you name it?” he asked. “The hammer should have one.”

“I’ll name it later. When its all over,” I told him, wondering if I should just keep it.

“You should,” he told me and shrugged. “We all name them.” He leaned closer. “What did that tavern keeper tell you?”

I smiled at him. “That the Centurion is new,” I answered. “Someone who came in just now. Surely, you know this? You said you know this one, but he’s only been here a week.”

He wiped his hand across his face. “Rumors. It’s not my tower. Mine’s not too far, but we are surprisingly isolated, yet we have rumors.”

Leuthard, sitting at the doorway, got up and hesitated. I looked at him, and he nodded, and disappeared to the night.

“Where did he go?” Decimus frowned. “Where in Hades’s name is he going? I had to shit in a bucket!”

“Probably has to take a shit as well,” I said. “Rather he take it outside than in.”

“Right,” he breathed, eyeing the doorway nervously. “So I can go out now?”

I eyed him for a while and then slapped the hammer to the planked floor, and dust billowed up. He raised his eyebrows, and knew the answer was negative. I shrugged. “So, tell me about your family, Decimus. Something, anything? How did you become a conniving, womanizing thief in the backwoods of Gaul?”

He shuffled uncomfortably. “How did I become a Centurion?”

“No, a conniving and womanizing thief,” I corrected him. “I know you can fight. I know you are a proper fighter, brave and deadly. I saw you stab Fulch the Red down.”

He smiled pettily, but deigned to answer anyway. “My family? We were poor, or at least periodically. Father was a …baker. He had a shop, and sold to local servants, who were out shopping for their masters. Many clients, men who were headed out for their morning salutation with their patrons, visited there, in the alleyway each morning, hoping to find a delicacy so their requests would be granted. Mostly we sold focaccia. This bread, you see. Always bread.” He shook his head, and looked to the doorway darkly.

“You hated the life, didn’t you? Your little hands full of flour, up at night, late to bed.”

He snorted, and said nothing for a while. “He is taking his time, isn’t he?”

“Leuthard?” I asked him with a smile.

“Who else?” he retorted, scowling at me. He grabbed his helmet, and put it in his head. “Clusium was a great city, old Etruscan, and the hills and gardens were breathtaking. I didn’t hate all of it. I’d often sneaked out to the old tombs to look at the pictures of the life they lived there before Romans, and I could see so much wealth and happiness in those old walls. People were rich, fat, affluent—”

“That’s probably why the Romans took the land,” I interrupted him.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But it would have happened in any case. The city is by a river leading to Rome. Tiber is near, green and beautiful, before it combines with another near Rome, and turns golden. We have always been tied to Rome, one way or the other. Before the Gauls sacked Rome—”

“Gauls have sacked Rome?” I asked, full of wonder.

He smiled. “Yes. Rome was not always a city full of wealth and drenched in power. Once, it was just a city on the banks of Tiber, full of hard people living on seven shitty hills. Their pretension to having divine favor is just gilding over very treacherous politics. In any case, the Gauls tried to take Clusium first, but Rome helped us, and then Brennus and his savages went to Rome instead.” He hesitated. “It was like that for me.”

“You were tied to Rome?” I asked. I heard shouts outside, up the hill. “Wonder it Tiberius is having nightmares?”

He shook his head. “He should. He’s about to deal with the Treveri and Mediomactri. Surprised he hasn’t killed himself. As for your question, no, I was tied to someone. I tried to help him, and then I got stepped on. Father couldn’t help us.”

“Your brother?” I asked him, tilting my head and smiling coldly.

“My cousin,” he snarled. “Not all cousins are like yours were. Some are just bastards.”

“Another Caecina?” I asked him with a savage smile. “I bet his name is Gaius. You don’t seem like one for imagination.”

He shook his shoulders, and eyed me from under his helmet’s rim for a while. “Yes. Another Caecina. And yes, Gaius. But in my defense, he uses my name when he does something naughty. We have been doing that since childhood.” He was quiet for a time and spoke easily, eyeing his spear, which was leaning on the wall. “And I guess you heard this name when you spoke with whoever was in that cave?”

“He did mention a Caecina, Decimus,” I said and got up. “The tavern keeper knew of Gaius. You thought to run and warn him of us?”

He smiled nervously. “I have no idea—”

“What is this?” said a voice on the doorway. I turned to look at Roman so like Decimus in look and face, you could hardly mistake them for strangers. Both had faces like chiseled rock. “Who is this?”

“A man who tries to ruin the act,” Decimus said, getting up. “It has been tedious.”

“What?” Gaius asked nervously. “How?”

“A long story,” Decimus snorted. “I’ll explain it later.”

“And you brought him here,” Gaius breathed. “You fool. Did you at least get the coin off Seisyll?”

“No,” Decimus cursed. “As it happens, that bit of business ties to this one. I’ll explain it later. I followed them here,” Decimus murmured as he retreated from me for his spear. “I could have escaped earlier, but then how could I have kept an eye on them, eh? I had to stay with them. Things still moving?”

The man nodded. “Some fools tried to find Raganthar. Two young Gauls. They won’t find anything.”

I stiffened. That part of the plan had failed. I’d have to survive and find them and that meant confronting Tiberius. The thought made me nauseous.

Gaius stepped in fully, his sword out. “But here we are. At least you got a message out. Very good, cousin.”

Decimus frowned. “They didn’t give me the opportunity to escape, though,” he said, frowning. “And I got no message out. How come you are here?”

He squinted. “What?”

“I got no message out,” Decimus growled, and turned to look at me ferociously. “What did you tell that tavern keeper?”

I stood away from them. I was looking out of the door where more men milled, and starting to feel anxious. “I had him deliver a message. And you are both traitors,” I snarled.

Gaius agreed. “Yes, traitors, perhaps so. But when there are so many masters, it’s hard to see who one should serve.”

“King Vago bought this murder,” I said, taking my place in the middle of the floor. “He did. And he is not your lord, Roman.”

Gaius squinted at me. “You know much. Too much. But no, no flighty Vangione is a Roman lord,” Gaius stated with a bored voice. “No matter their citizenship, no matter if they spew some kind of Latin, they still herd cows north of Alps. But, here we are, and I have no need to explain it to you. You say you sent me the message? Why?”

I lifted my hammer and prepared myself. “Why? I wanted you to come down and say hello. Now that you have, I find it hard to say which one of you is the nastier specimen,” I said spitefully. “Despite having glorious war-gear, and speaking Latin, you are both drenched in piss.”

Gaius ground his teeth together. “We are equally rotten. Both bad apples.” I saw Decimus didn’t quite agree, scowling at Gaius, but kept his peace. Gaius grinned at his cousin, and pointed a finger at him. “I heard you speaking. And you heard Decimus. I got him into trouble, he claimed, but no man can force another to steal, especially from his family. He has always blamed me for his troubles. I stole his father’s money. I was starving, so was my family. We had just been dumped to the street from the insula we had lived in, because father’s business burned down. I needed food, my sisters needed a roof over their heads, and so I took it from them. Family, or not. And Decimus,” he said and smiled at his cousin, who stiffened, “he helped me. For a price. Turned out there wasn’t all that much to take.”

“We were poor as well, cousin,” Decimus said resentfully.

“Oh, come now,” Gaius smiled as three scruffy legionnaires entered, their shields out. “You smiled when you had your part of the loot.” He turned to a wide legionnaire. “Did you send men after that big bastard?” He nodded.

They had men after Leuthard. Poor souls, I thought.

Their weapons were out and of the best quality, the ring and chain mail immaculate, helmets spotless. They looked powerful and good fighters, but they were perhaps a bit drunk, by the listless looks on their faces.

“So, you’ll kill Tiberius for a war. For King Vago,” I said, hoping to buy time. I held my hammer tightly, and they all kept looking at it, being seasoned fighters.

“Yes, for Vago. And gods know if it was Vago’s idea, eh? I think not,” Gaius said simply as his men spread on each side of him, and all held wide shields up now. They’d hem me in against the wall, slash their weapons at me until I died, and then they’d go away happy. “Now, enough of this. I’m not sure why you sent word up to the tower, but I guess you think too much of yourself, eh? And no matter what you planned to do to stop Raganthar, Adalwulf, it’s too late. It’s all taken care of. My optio helps with this.”

Decimus stirred. “Kill him already.”

“Kill him,” Gaius said and pointed a finger my way. “Then we bury him and his huge friend—”

Leuthard entered behind the men like an evil shadow. Decimus whirled, Gaius rushed away from the threat.

I charged.

Woden’s rage roared in my head. It called to me. I felt him watching. I felt his savage glee, knew his door would be open should I fail, and so, I attacked. I saw Leuthard push Gaius out of his way with a savage thrust, and his crude sword cut air at the turning legionnaires. A man screamed.

I went for Decimus.

I swiped the hammer at him, he cursed, no shred of weakness in him, only the fighter, and danced back. The heavy hammer went past his face. I saw Gaius charging me from the side, having recovered from Leuthard’s assault. I spun on my feet, and the terrible weight of the weapon swung with me. I snapped it at Gaius, whose face betrayed his terror, his gladius went up and met the weapon.

The blade held.

The hammer took it with it as the weapons crashed into his helmet. His own sword cut a savage wound across his face, which filled his left eye with blood. He fell on his back, screaming like an animal. I bellowed, because Decimus was on the attack, fast as an asp. It was too late to dodge. His spear ripped into my thigh, and I fell in pain. I felt him coming, standing on top of me, and then Leuthard saved me.

A legionnaire crashed into Decimus, taking him down into a heap of flesh, leather, iron, and arms right next to me.

I climbed to my knees, and swiped the hammer blindly at the heap. I realized it was going for Decimus’s face, but the bastard kicked the half-conscious legionnaire towards me, and the hammer struck his back. There was an odd sound, similar to when the women are cleaning cloths on rocks, a strange, sharp slap, and the man’s body arched with the power of the hit. I kicked back, as Decimus made an incoherent, bull-like snort, his eyes wide, the spear thrusting under my armpit. I stumbled, and he pulled away. He charged me, the spear out again, and thrust it with all his power for my chest.

I fell back, and rolled to my feet.

Decimus was coming on relentlessly, and I saw he was not alone. Enraged Gaius, his centurion’s helmet bloodied, face slashed, was right next him, and they hacked and stabbed at me so fast, I fell to a corner. They were there, before me, trying to stab me into shreds. Decimus’s spear went though my tunic, pinning me to the wall, and Gaius struck me with his shield. Half-blind, he aimed his gladius for my throat, but I ripped out of the spear, rolled past them, and while I did, desperately grasped a dangling cingulum belt of Gaius and pulled him as hard as I could. He fell and hit Decimus with his shield as he did so they both fell over my legs with curses.

“Jupiter’s ashen balls! I’ll strip you of meat, and feed the bones to Cerebros!” Decimus bellowed, pushing at Gaius, but then I was up. The two centurions were still on their knees, desperately pushing up, and so I had a chance.

“Woden!” I screamed, and he heard me as the hammer pumped down. It struck Gaius, whose armored chest took the hit. He screamed like a child, because a bone broke audibly. I lifted the weapon, and the bastard grabbed Decimus, pulling him on top of him. I didn’t care, but kept pummeling. I had seen slaves soften meat like that, striking it again and again with a round rock, making it sweet and tender, and so I killed Decimus, the bastard who had caused so much sorrow to so many people. His eyes betrayed his fear, then terror, and finally the highest tiers of pain, as blood flew. A rib, then another was broken. Then a flailing arm, along with the spear shaft. I was breathing hard, but I was determined to strike him through the floor all the way to his Hades. From the corner of my eye, I saw Leuthard, panting, grappling with a pair of Romans. He was bleeding from wounds, especially on in his chest, where the mail had saved his life. He roared, reached out, and rammed his blade across a man’s throat. The other Roman sobbed, charged him, and clawed to get over him for the door, but Leuthard casually pulled him around, and rammed a sword through his ring mail. The man gasped, breathless and dying, and Leuthard pulled and sawed the sword inside him, looking at me.

I saw Gaius was still alive. He held his bloody hand up in the air, hoping to stave off his fate. “Wait, we can—”

I stepped on his face. “What can we?” I asked him gutturally.

“Wait!” he gasped. “We can make a deal.”

“Sure,” I laughed. “When will they attack Tiberius?”

He gasped. “Tonight. Now!”

I looked at Leuthard. He was bloodied, pale and tired, but still ready. We’d have to move. “Go, and make a deal with your god, Gaius,” I said, and rammed the hammer into his face.

I wiped blood off my face. Leuthard was smiling at me with a ferocious grin. “I think our fight will be very interesting, eh? Let’s go. We are close to ending this. And then, soon, we shall dance together.”

“If you see Gisil, do not touch her!” I panted.

“I won’t,” he said darkly. “I won’t.”

CHAPTER 24

On the top of the hill, something strange was happening. We were climbing as fast as we could, Leuthard’s brooding presence near me as I limped along. “How exactly are you going to do this without getting us both killed?”

“How?” I laughed darkly. “I don’t know. Like I did it in Sparrow’s Joy. Went in, and trusted in luck.”

“Luck. Gods amuse themselves by throwing some around when they are bored. But they get bored with giving it to only one man,” he spat, and tapped his chest that was bleeding. “The Romans knew how to fight.”

“You killed some in the dark?” I asked.

“They died,” he said needlessly. “They didn’t have time to fight.”

“You didn’t seem too bad off when you came to the hut,” I told him, squinting up the hill.

“I barely touched them,” he panted. “Barely at all.” He smiled at me. “You sent some poor fools to find Raganthar?”

“They failed,” I growled.

“Yes,” he laughed.

I gazed at him, and wondered at the smug smile on his face.

I put a hand on his chest and crouched. Up ahead, the guard tower rose to heights, and inside the gates, there was a bustle. I stared at the men rushing about, heard the clank of shield and armor, rattle of spear, and saw glinting of blade. A commanding voice demanded to know what was going on. It spoke Celtic, then Latin, and we looked at each other, wondering what in Hel’s name was going on. The voice was thin, young, and scared. “Gaius said he has an optio, some kind of a officer into this shitty treachery.”

“Optio’s a centurion in training,” Leuthard said. “There.”

The soldier’s kit kept on clinking and clanking, and then they formed at their gate. Ten to fifteen men filed out, and some were dressed in pristine armor. A younger man with a long staff was screaming orders. Leuthard grunted. “There are some that don’t look local. The guards of Tiberius? Few of them. They are leaving the tower. I bet that Gaius has sent most of his men on all sort of patrols for this night. There is nowhere near a century there. More like twenty men left after that lot leaves.” His eyes scourged the darkness. “And this is when Raganthar will try to finish his contract.”

“They mustn’t leave the place,” I growled as I saw an optio appear in front of the troops, pointing a gladius down hill. The Romans began to jog in the dark, some slipping unceremoniously in the grass, and their hobnails clanked on the road they had built, tripping others. Some sturdy guards closed the gates.

“They’d never believe us, and we don’t speak Latin,” Leuthard growled. “That optio will stop us. Let them go.”

I hesitated. We went flat on our bellies, smelling wet grass, pressing our faces in the turf as the Roman troop jogged past, their faces worried. “What then?” I hissed at Leuthard. “At least they closed the gates.”

“Hold, I heard something,” Leuthard whispered. Then he lifted his head. “There!”

Two men were rushing for the gates. A guard in the tower shrieked a warning. The men were dressed as Romans, with shields and chain, carrying Roman weapons. Yet, they were tall, wide, and different somehow. “They are not Romans,” I whispered.

Leuthard shook his head. “I bet that centurion arranged for that armor.”

“They’ll know the passwords as well, won’t they?” I whispered.

They did. The men reached the gate, and were screaming urgently. In Latin, even. They were well prepared.

The gate opened up, and we saw the tower’s yard held some ten Roman soldiers, with a grizzly centurion holding a wine stick, arm length used to disciplining soldiers. Behind them, by a door to the tower, there was a rotund man, nervous looking, wearing a strange, voluminous robe. “Toga,” Leuthard said. “That’s Tiberius, I guess.” Two olive-skinned archers wearing chain mail stepped out behind him, looking dubious.

“Doesn’t look very heroic to me,” I said, while sweating with fear. “Like a mouse standing upright.”

“Does Bero look heroic to you?” Leuthard snorted. “Yet he is rich and knows how to rule.”

And then, Raganthar attacked.

His Brethren came rushing from the darkness. They were dark, furry-caped bastards, loping along, Hati’s mad followers, Fenfir’s spawn, Lok’s grandchildren they thought themselves, and all crazy. There were twenty of them. In front of them, the Head Taker glittered in the moonlight, as the big, evil lord of the enemy led them on behind his dark shield. I didn’t see Gisil with them, but she would be close. I pushed her out of my thoughts, and took a deep, scared breath.

Leuthard pulled me around. “You took my sword.”

“I did,” I hissed. “I also saved it. We have no time—”

He looked closely at me, his eyes glittering. “It’s my turn.”

He moved away from me. I prepared, but he wasn’t going to attack me. “Where did you send Ear?” I asked him with a growl. “He’s here, right?”

He looked at me calmly, smiling. “Ear?” he asked me. “Well done, Adalwulf. Yes, he’s around.”

“And what did you tell him to do?”

“You’ll see,” he smiled. “Let’s get that sword. And settle our scores.”

“Hurt the girl, and I’ll—” I said, but he moved off. He was changing the deal. And it was too late.

I growled as Woden’s anger called for me. It was distant, I was wounded and tired, but it was still there, the demand for a good battle, the uncaring anger. I stumbled after the man. The Roman guards were yelling, the official looking man was taking steps inside the tower. The gate guards charged for the gates, throwing their weight against them, but the two fake Romans turned on the guards, their swords flashing, wounding one guard, slaying another with steel through the throat. The archers reacted, and pila fell at the two Brethren, killing both, but the bastards fell between the gates, and the men who tried to push them closed, failed.

The evil group of Brethren tore inside the compound. Arrows felled two more, but then the roaring enemy closed with the Romans.

We charged in right on their heels. There was a great confusion, and I forgot about Leuthard and his plans.

The Romans fought well.

They had their shields out, some lobbed pila at the Brethren, felling several on their faces, but the Hati worshipping bastards ripped right into their enemy, axes and clubs flailing. Men fell right and left in a savage press. The archers were cursing and yelling up to the tower, where some men rushed down to join the fray. The pudgy toga wearing man was shivering inside the doorway, yelling something at the Centurion. Raganthar saw that, his shield taking hits. He was near the Centurion, fighting two bloodied legionnaires, but his eyes never left the Centurion. Some civilians, scribes, other non-combatants, and slaves blocked me. They were running out, but when I had pushed through them, I saw the pudgy Roman lord pulled a gladius, his face pale, his many chins flubbing with fear. Again, he yelled at the Centurion, and pointed a sword at him.

A Roman fell under Raganthar’s attack, then the another. A tall Brethren was impaled by a pilum, and another got his face lopped off by a gladius, but then the Romans were nearly beaten. One was wrestling with a Brethren, a ragged, fur-cloaked attacker was pulling off another’s shield, and I charged at that one’s back. The hammer hummed in the air, and a man yelped as his shoulder was destroyed.

Another turned to eye me, and I charged him, pushed him past Raganthar, and into the sword of the Centurion. The Centurion hesitated at the sight of me, and I thought there was something odd about him. He was a sturdy, middle-age man with wide chin and hard face, but his eyes were odd. They were the sort that belonged to a man who had lived for centuries, seen the evil of the worlds and suffered for it in the past.

I parried an enemy charging with a spear, roaring, and the Roman punched his sword through the man’s side. I spun to fight next to him. The Brethren were coming for us now, ten of them, when some more Roman guards charged out of the tower. I didn’t see Leuthard anywhere, and I cursed him to Hel’s bosom. I yelled my hate at the enemy faces, and bowled over two of the Brethren, wounding one with a weak chop of the hammer, and searched for Raganthar.

I heard a scream behind me.

He was there. He had just pummeled the sword’s hilt on a face of the Centurion, and the man was on his knees, half-conscious. Raganthar’s huge shield was matted with blood.

“Come, dog-humping, pig raping shit-eater,” I screamed at him. He gazed at me briefly, and danced mockingly before him, but he didn’t take the bait, and turned to slay the centurion.

The Centurion rolled away, and Raganthar’s attack struck dirt.

I rushed Raganthar, and he spun away with a curse, his murderous intentions thwarted. And arrow flew by his face, and he crouched behind his shield.

I attacked him with wild abandon.

His stolen sword was fast, much faster than my hammer. The blade was heavy, and still very fast and it made me nervous. It struck down, and sparks flew as I parried. My knees buckled. I pushed the weapon aside, and tried to turn Raganthar to have his back to the archers, whom I saw from the corner of my eyes. He danced back instead. I charged him, cursing his ever present shield, and decided I had no time for finesse. It was then, it was there.

I jumped on his shield, and felt him chopping from the side. I knew the blade would hit, the dreaded blade of Hulderic. I felt there was indeed something sentient and evil about the ancient sword, and thought Bero didn’t fear it for nothing. I hit his shield with my body, my hammer missed his face, and the Head Taker banged on his shield’s rim, but some of the blade cleaved to my side.

It was cold pain as he staggered back, and slammed me down. I fell on his side, grasped his leg, and pulled with all my might, but the man was as enraged as I was. He stood, staggering, his feral eyes going from the Roman Centurion to me. His blade came up, and I would have died there, had it not been for Gisil.

“No,” she screamed. I felt more than saw her appear, and there was an ax on her petite hand. She struck it at Raganthar’s back, and while the blow was feeble, worth nothing, really, she managed to distract my enemy as he staggered off me. A Brethren died near, and Raganthar’s eyes flinched as his eyes scourged her.

“Are you mad? You know what this will cost you?” he roared.

Gisil was hovering near me. “I already hurt him once because of you! You promised me you’d bring him back!”

“I will! There is no time for this!” he yelled, and turned back to me.

I panted, got up, and pounded at Raganthar. He was ready. His sword cut at me savagely fast, but I dodged it. There was a stabbing, terrible pain on my side, but in the red haze, I saw him before me. Gisil was striking at him as well. He hesitated, I staggered to a stop before him. My hand grasped his face, feeling his beard, and I whipped the hammer into the red blur that was he.

It connected with his chest, and he howled, falling back, and then I fell on my face.

I heard Leuthard roar, saw men fall. There was a tall and wide, scruffy man with him, holding a hugely tall spear. I guessed that was Ear. That one rammed the spear in a throat of a Roman, and flinched as an arrow struck his chest. Leuthard pointed a finger, and Ear turned rapidly. I saw he was aiming for Gisil, who flinched with fear.

The man cackled, speared a Brethren, and Leuthard rushed forward, kneeled before me, and lifted up my face. “My sword. For Gisil. My sword for her. And then, we’ll dance. Fuck your deals, you shit.” He got up, and pulled at Ear, who had grasped Gisil. The tall cousin of Leuthard lifted her and sprung to the night. All around me the Brethren hesitated. Two men were pulling at Raganthar, and the rest threw spears at the remaining Romans. The archers were firing sagitta at the scruffy men.

I do not know where I got the strength. I panted, slipped in my own blood, staggered after them, and felt the blood flow to my legs and ankles. I pulled myself forward. Raganthar and the sword were being pulled away, past the gates to the night. I ignored him. I wanted to spot Ear and Leuthard. I grasped a pilum from the ground, and looked down hill.

There they were. One, Ear, was struggling with Gisil. The other one, Leuthard, had butchered a Brethren.

Below, some of the Romans the optio had led away were running up the hill, and I saw the two evil shadows look at them with surprise. Leuthard was pointing a finger at Ear, and Ear was nodding and heading for the river, while Leuthard hesitated and slinked to the shadows.

I ran down hill, tottering, exhausted. I could still catch Raganthar, but Gisil was there; I could see her. I gazed at Ear’s tall shadow, the woman struggling on his shoulder, and I aimed, and threw the pilum. It left my hand with enough strength for it to plummet into the night.

It went up, then down, and I prayed to Woden for luck, and finally had some. Ear screamed. He fell. There was a confused scramble, Gisil screaming with pain and Ear bellowing. I ran forward, until I fell and rolled, and ended up rolling on the girl. I saw Ear near, grimacing with pain and hate, pulling at the javelin in his back, and then the Romans arrived. The Centurion was there, leading them, and he kneeled next to me, looking from me to the girl.

Ear disappeared.

The Roman gave me a wry smile as his men rushed around him, and they were indeed his men, because he thumbed his chest. “Nero Claudius Tiberius,” he said dryly.

I allowed myself to fall into murky depths of unconsciousness.

BOOK 5: THE THREE FATES

“He’ll ride to the ends of the lands to find her, you know. She’ll see you in a later, because you’ll go to Valholl first.”

Leuthard to Adalwulf

CHAPTER 25

In my dreams, I saw Raganthar running through the night, and Leuthard stalking after a man on a horse, whom I thought was Iodocus. I was on my belly in snow, shivering, and I couldn’t warn Iodocus after they disappeared into the forest. All I could do was to croak with pain. Mani and Sunna traveled the sky, the morning lady and the dark brother taking their turns. Then, finally the cold took me, and I dreamt of death, of lying there breathless, not able to move, with an evil presence about. I was no longer inside, but in a dark room. I felt its baleful eyes on me, and thought it must be the spirit of Hati, the beast, god of Leuthard and Raganthar. It sniffled in the corners of the room, hissing wild, evil curses, and the awareness of the beast creeping closer was replaced by a drowning sensation that led to my abrupt awakening.

I looked around, and groaned with a huge headache. I stared out of the doorway, where I glimpsed clouds and blue sky dotted with swooping birds. After I came to grips with the reality that I was still alive, I turned my head to look around. I noticed another doorway leading to a stairway, and I also realized my face was drenched. “By Tiw’s one hand, what’s this?” I murmured. I lifted my face to a figure standing over me. There was a grinning man above me, having just poured water on my face from a large goblet.

“See, I told you he was still alive,” the stooping Gaul said to a frowning elder, who wore a shining white tunic and caligae. His hair was cropped short, he was clean shaven. He scrutinized the mess around the bed, the dripping water, and finally held my bewildered eyes, as if to validate the other one’s claim. Someone was shrieking angrily downstairs, apparently a victim to the water like I was, and that led me to believe I was in the tower.

The older man snorted. “I see he is, but didn’t really need you to wake him up.”

“The Patron asked for him, Marcus,” the Celt stated, his young face worried. “You said he wanted—”

“But we don’t want to tear him out of bed when he is healing well. We don’t want to infect the wound, do we?” he murmured, finally deciding I could understand him. “How are you, Marcomanni?”

“I’m—” I began, and then clamped my mouth shut, as he had baited me to admit I was no Vangione. “I’m alive,” I stated softly.

“And a Marcomanni,” he added helpfully. “Now, your wound was deep, and you have been away from this world for some days. There’s an older one on your back. It was opened a bit when you fought in the yard. You’ve seen healthier days.”

“Shit,” I cursed, trying to see my side. The sword had cut deep, though the shield had saved me. Raganthar and his shield. It always kept him alive as well. “Will I die?”

He shook his head. “You might, if you were back home. In the legions, we try very hard to hold onto the men. They cost a lot to retrain.” He thumbed towards the door. “Which leads me to the issue. There are many dead Romans in Avenc. I hear many died in a village not that far from here. Sparrow something? Yes.” He leaned over me. “My patron, Tiberius Claudius Nero, is below, dealing with some local issues, as well as having heads chopped off for the gods awful mess the night you were wounded, and he’d like a quiet word with you as soon as you are able.”

I stared at him, and he lifted an eyebrow. I scowled at him, and tried to sit up, feeling dizzy. “And he cannot come here?”

“He can,” he said mirthfully, “again. He’s been here a few times. But you were asleep like a fox cub, and he grew bored staring at a snoring, sleeping barbarian, and so you shall go to him.”

I turned to look at my side. There was a small red stain on a linen wrap around my body. “How will he react to me?”

“He’ll cry from happiness. He’ll kiss your toes, and will sing in your honor,” the man said with subtle mockery.

“Funny,” I muttered.

“I’m not sure,” the man said tiredly. “He is Tiberius. Gods know what he will do. He’ll decide after your chat. Be grateful you are here, and not in a grave.”

“I’m to thank Roman gods then, for my survival,” I muttered. “Might as well learn how to, if I’m a prisoner.”

“Rome,” Marcus said while preparing to leave, “does thank her gods piously, but you should not. Forget Jupiter, forget Minerva, Janus. You thank Tiberius. He’ll thank you back in some way, even if he’ll not utter the actual words. He is a block of marble, young Germani, but I’ve not known a more honorable man. You did fight for him.” He gestured for the door and I nodded, feeling the strength returning to my limbs. “Mind you, he is still a politician, as well as a general. He is just, but sometimes his justice might leave a sour taste in your mouth.” He leaned near me. “You probably saved his life. And that of Marcus Lollius, the disgraced Governor of Gaul. It weighs in your favor.”

“That pudgy one was Lollius?” I asked, gingerly trying to swing my legs to sit on the bed. I swiped some hay off my hair and back, and held on to my side gingerly.

“That was him,” Marcus said with a dry smile. “He’s on a short leash, for now. I doubt he’ll stay in one for long. Old Augustus loves the fool. Perhaps they are lovers.” The man chortled and muttered something, embarrassed, as I barely gave him a smile. “Not one for humor, are you?”

“I’ll smile when I’m happy and safe again. Why did Tiberius act like a Roman centurion?” I asked. “It was him?”

He chuckled. “He was hoping to avoid this Treveri and Mediomactri nonsense,” Marcus said, “hoping to press on to Moganticum, making excuses for his presence, and Lollius would have stayed to deal with the tribal foolery, but here he is, trying to figure out why so many Roman soldiers have died here lately. And perhaps you can help him with that today?”

I nodded and tried to get up. The young Gaul came forward to help me, and I swooned on my legs, towering over the two men. “I might be able to. In fact, I’d love to.” I took a hesitant step forward, and pushed the Gaul away at arm’s length. I remembered something important. “Gisil. Where is she?”

Marcus stepped out of my way and nodded downstairs. “If you mean the girl, then she is safe.” He smiled lasciviously. “Thanks to you. You fought well for this beautiful woman and the legionnaires, coarse as they are, will tease you mercilessly for it. To be honest, it’s a worthy story, one of evil sprits and brave fools. This time, the story ends well. I like such stories. I get depressed when women die. The men will speak for a long time of your wounded battle to save her from that hulking pair of misfits. The archers especially, Greeks both, love a tale of love. They do. She lives. She hit her head, but she is alive.”

“Thank Woden,” I whispered and rubbed my face. “I wish it was so simple, though.” She was mad, wasn’t she? She was Raganthar’s. Had been.

He shrugged uncertainly as she saw my face. “Well, perhaps the story isn’t all happiness and smiles. I see she’s been through a lot. It’s a cruel world. Care like yours makes it a better one, though.”

I looked hard at him. “You have an answer to everything, no?”

Marcus lifted an eyebrow again, shrugged, turning to go, and I followed. I staggered down the stairs, passed a level where soldiers were busy in an armory. Some of them stopped to look at me, some were whispering, others grinning and I gave them a ghostly smile back. The younger Gaul had to push me on, though I fought him briefly. The room looked splendid. I spied racks of pila, fine bows, a hoard arrows, piles of fine shields, armor and even swords, and mysterious gear I didn’t know.

And there, too, was the fine hammer, set on a table, cleaned. I searched frantically for the sword I was looking for, but it wasn’t there. Raganthar had likely escaped, and the Head Taker had left with him.

“How long has it been since the battle?” I asked them.

“Four days,” Marcus said.

“Four days?”

I nodded. Four days. All the bets were off. The Feud Settler should be gone. Iodocus, hopefully, would destroy it, and the next time I met Leuthard, we would only have one thing left to do. To kill each other.

He’d win.

And so would Raganthar. My hammer was slow when a man knew how to use his shield, didn’t he, I thought.

Marcus didn’t look at me, but the guards in the room shuffled uncertainly as they noticed my covetous look. The younger Gaul placed a resolute hand on my back, guiding me off. I staggered down stairs, past fluttering torches and oil lamps on alcoves, and then, there was the bottom floor, the doors thick and reinforced. The door opened, and a burly legionnaire with a broken nose peeked at me and stepped aside, his hand on his sword hilt.

I entered the room.

There were a dozen men there, and Tiberius was sitting by a desk, his jaws clamped almost painfully. He was gesturing at a thin Celt to come forward, but then he noticed me, and the look of his relief was almost comical. He spoke in a passable Celtic dialect. “Enough. I’ll rule on the matter this evening. The morning session is over and I appreciate you bringing all these grievances to us.” His voice told a different story, he wasn’t happy at all, but the Treveri and Mediomactri scowled at each other, sure the other party had been cheating in some way.

I didn’t see Lollius in the room. I sensed Marcus behind me, hesitating, and I took steps to stand before the high Roman. Tiberius looked up at me, his fingers tapping the desk, thinking. While Leuthard seemed like a spirit of the night, this man’s eyes betrayed other kinds of dangers. He might not rip off my face or eat my children, but he could device many other tortures worth the imagination of the cruelest gods of our pantheon. Hati might be a simpering child in comparison to this Roman.

He seemed to come out of his contemplations with reluctance, snapped a finger, and Marcus moved to the side, where a small mid-day meal was set up. The old Celt grabbed a goblet of something golden hued, poured it, and I smelled the distinct fragrance of mead, watching with desperate thirst as the drink was brought to the great man. I also cursed myself for not sleeping with my mouth open, as some of the water they threw in my face might have slackened my thirst.

“Do you,” Tiberius began, “speak Celtic? I learnt it while waging war against Alps tribes, and Noricum. Also, I had tutors in my youth. Do you understand, prisoner?”

I shrugged, understanding most of it. I contemplated on giving him a bow, but didn’t, and squared my shoulders instead. “I understand you, Roman. Though I know nothing of Alps or this Noricum.”

He drank some of the mead. “You detest being called a prisoner?”

“Any man would,” I stated.

He smiled coldly. “You wouldn’t know of the Alps. You look young. And I know little of the lands beyond Rhenus River, but perhaps one day, I shall? I could take some legions, and see what’s out there, eh?”

“Perhaps, lord,” I answered, bit my tongue, and a voice was screaming inside my head to shut up. It lost the struggle with my pride, which kept a firm hold on my tongue. “Though I’m not sure how much you will see. Slaves don’t travel far, and have to work very hard.”

His eyes enlarged, and I despaired. I was an idiot. Pride gets you killed, I thought, and then scowled at him. Was I not anxious, tired, hurt, and had I not saved his life? Still, he called me a prisoner.

He smiled thinly. “Slave, eh. The nerve. Your name?”

“Adalwulf of the Chatti,” I said proudly, “though I left my tribe.”

“Of the Chatti, you say,” he mused and nodded to himself. “Adalwulf, and soon of the Marcomanni? You were here on their behalf, no? You were muttering in your sleep.”

“I—” I began, and then staggered a bit as a stab of pain wracked me, and felt sweat pour to my forehead. Tiberius scowled and nodded to the ground, and I sat on the dirty planks before him like a child, but still grateful. “Thank you. But yes, I would be of the Marcomanni. I left my people, got entangled on a quest for a good man, for a …”

“A woman,” he said mirthlessly. “Ah, how love hurts a man. It elevates him to heaven, and then plummets him to the roots of misery.”

I nodded, confused by his intensity. “That’s what I was doing here during that battle. I fought to save you. And that Lollius. I was helping Rome and the Marcomanni.”

He was mulling the wine, looking at me carefully, and smiled. “That Lollius, indeed. There are two dead Centurions in a house down there in the village, Marcomanni,” the great man said stiffly. “They are related, and a Marcomanni killed them, a tavern keeper cried under torture. The description fits you and that giant, who fought everyone in the yard. And you were helping Rome?”

“Did the man tell you more?” I snarled. “Did anyone tell you how Decimus and Gaius worked for the killers? How your death was supposed to be laid on the shoulders of Hulderic the Goth, so there would be a war?” I spoke with a voice that resembled whiplash. “They were all paid by King Vago.”

He snorted, then smiled and laughed. It was unkind, a grating show of mirth, the sort that didn’t give anyone else joy. At the end, he nodded. “All the centurions are greedy bastards. They all extort the locals. And, yes, occasionally they fall into a cauldron of boiling water and lose some men when they get too far. But you are saying they hoped to see me dead?”

“They did,” I spat. “They did, indeed. And the optio was onto that plan.”

He nodded. “As it happens, I have spoken with that man.”

“Did he admit it?” I snorted. “He lies, if he says he is not party to—“

He rapped his fingers on the desk, and I shut up. “He wasn’t questioned in a civilized manner. I’m no fool. The optio was claiming there’s trouble in the village and lead even part of my men in a wild and fruitless chase. Most men sent off the night we arrive, while men in Roman gear get in and take the gate? Men who know the passphrase? Of course I know there is a plot. But he only knew his commander told him to do it for a reward, and I’m going to find out more, boy. What if you had a hand at it? What if you killed the Romans below, and then got into an argument with your captain? What if you are a weasel trying to squirm free of a trap, after all?”

“It was King Vago,” I growled. “He did this. I’ve been following their filthy trail from Hard Hill to here, and I’m telling you how it is. I saved you, nothing short of it.”

He sat still, mulling it over. Then he shrugged. “We’ll see. And if it is Vago? Perhaps. Why not? He is not a friend of mine, though he is a great friend to some Romans.” He looked at his fingertips and frowned, muttering. “A famous warlord of Balderich is to be blamed for my poor fortune, and the sword was to be the proof. Some might suspect the Marcomanni want me dead for our war with Noricum. A distant relative of Balderich died there.”

I startled him out of his soft contemplations. “I didn’t know the lord of Hard Hill had a relative in this Noricum I still know nothing of,” I retorted. “But this is what a man told me, and Decimus and Gaius Caecina were well paid to help the murder along.”

Tiberius nodded and smiled. “They nearly succeeded. The tower was all but empty. An interesting mess this.” He walked before me, handing me a goblet from the table. “The best Sigambri brew. Might be piss in comparison to what you love here in the south, but I liked it.” He meant to say I had better not complain about its quality.

“I thank you, lord,” I said, and would have kissed his knees, if it had asked me to. I tasted it, quaffing it down like an animal. The deed left me out of breath and trembling, but he saw my gratitude and smiled tautly, as if it was painful for him to do so.

He walked back to his seat and slumped down. “The Centurion who was in charge of this tower. Gaius?”

“Caecina,” I said.

“Gaius was a rough veteran of many wars. You are a barbarian out of the woods. And you tell me Gaius was a traitor and a liar? I’ll need proof.”

“Gaius has probably always been a liar,” I said, “if what his cousin Decimus told me about their past is true. I have no proof.” I cursed myself for killing him.

He stroked his chin. “Centurions and legionnaires come from rough backgrounds, and live a rough life. All of the bastards are brutal as a scorned woman, and the centurions take wealth where they can find it. They even sell their own men holidays. These two men apparently robbed the locals more than most, which can cause trouble later, and I don’t like it, but to lie to Tiberius?” He nodded, making up his mind. “But there is the optio and his story, which is condemning on Gaius as well. Fine, let’s say they took coin from Vago. Tell me why you wanted to help me? Tell me what you know, and what you think you know, or suspect. I’ll drag my feet through the morass, and try to pick up the truth from your words. In short, tell me everything, one more time.”

I told him everything. In the end, I was exhausted, and he was scowling. “So that’s how it is. And what shall I do about Vago?”

“I do not know,” I murmured, out of breath, weak and trembling. “Indeed, it is a tough situation to solve.”

“He risks much,” Tiberius growled. “Too much. Uncharacteristically much.” He looked away, thinking, and I would have given everything to know what was going through his mind. His fingers thrummed the seat as he lounged on it, peering at me like he would at a murdering thief. “Isn’t it odd,” he smiled, “that they seemed to know me, even though I was disguised?”

“Gaius told them, probably,” I said weakly.

“Nobody told Gaius it was I. I barely saw him,” he murmured. “He only spoke with my officers and Lollius. I planned to ride out in the morning, and Gaius had been told nothing of that either. He might have seen me before, but it’s also possible someone told Gaius who I was, and what I was doing. That Raganthar knew me. I saw it in his beady eyes. Odd.”

I hesitated. Then I nodded. It was odd.

“I rather suspect you are not lying,” he growled. “And I’d find out more.”

“Question the optio again,” I told him.

He smiled. “He knows nothing more than he was to lead his men out, and not come back for a long time. Well. Vago wishes a war, someone wishes me dead, and they go hand-in-hand, the two filthy goals happily supporting each other. Many people would benefit from both cases.”

“Merchants, soldiers,” I allowed. “Vago would benefit greatly.”

He didn’t seem to hear. He was in a strange mood, in an odd place, his face tight and taut. “Traitors. Locals. Romans,” he hissed, and I sensed Marcus was distraught. I looked down, and let the seething anger of Tiberius settle into cool disdain. Finally, he spoke thinly. “I need proof.”

I felt my head ache even more. Why was he telling this to me? I knew why, but I hoped I’d be wrong. “You said that once. Should I fabricate some?”

He ignored my rebellious tone. “Do you know of anyone who has seen this Raganthar deal with Vago?” he snarled.

“Do I know …” I asked, choking. “I seem to lack such men.”

He slapped a hand on his thigh. “So. There we are. I need a man who can prove this connection. That’s you. Find this man, Raganthar. He escaped, didn’t he?”

“I doubt he will go back to his den,” I said desperately. “He was also wounded in the battle. Perhaps he is dead?”

Tiberius leaned forward and locked eyes with me. “You only barely hurt him. He will take the sword to his master. He has no other place to go, and they’ll try again later. They’ll hide in Burbetomagus. Or he shall. He only had a few men left when he rode away, and you will track them.”

“Don’t you have men of your own?” I asked with a thin voice. “How would I start—”

He shook his head. “I do have men of my own. None are as embroiled in this as you are. And Raganthar and Vago? They hate you. You’ll draw them out like a mouse attracts an owl. There was a personal grudge in that battle, wasn’t there? That girl?”

“A noble comparison, lord,” I murmured. “I’m the mouse, I suppose?”

He nodded in thanks. “I do make acute comparisons. I was a good lawyer in my time. You are the mouse. That woman saved you. Was she with them?”

I ground my teeth together. “She was. Against her will.”

Tiberius pointed a finger at me. “So that is where you shall begin. The optio is useless. None of his men, the few that survived, know anything. She might. Ask her what she knows. Do it for her. I’ve not questioned her.” The ‘yet’, was hovering in the air.

I looked at him maliciously, and he twitched with amusement. He was a very volatile lord, sailing from anger to amusement in a heartbeat. “Where is she?”

“She is at the village,” he said. “She was wounded. Not badly. Will you help me? Go, and find Raganthar?”

“I’ll think about it, lord,” I said sullenly.

“Oh, you will?” he answered and his eyes were hard. “I lead armies, dispense justice, wave at politicians, kiss babies, and rarely seem to achieve anything. Yet I try. I wish I could just sit and decide if I’ll do something or not. I have the responsibility for whole nations, for families and for Rome, and cannot easily refuse even the filthiest task appointed to me. Do you think I can say ‘no’ when our lord tells me to solve an issue, no matter how nasty the solution must be? I cannot. You will have to taste this life of mine now. If you refuse, it might lead to war. It will cause grief to those you love. ” He smiled at my impotent, weak anger. “Go, and speak with her, and later, you will help me more. Have your chat, and come back. Helping me will help your Hulderic as well, won’t it? It will help her.”

“Yes, lord,” I said, and went, escorted by men. Marcus had been right. I was alive, he was indebted to me, and he tried to thank me with trust and responsibility, but at the same time, anything he gave came with a heavy baggage. He wanted my service.

***

It was a painful trip downhill. Sunna shone brightly, I sweated like a pig, felt fever creep in with chills, and I tottered along as the legionnaires guided us to the same tavern we had stayed and fought in, though a different house. There a contrebentium, an eight-man group of legionnaires stood in loose order, and when I was questioned, they let me approach the door.

An olive-skinned, small man, whom the legionnaires addressed as a chirurgii, exited just before I entered, and went sauntering up the hill. I dodged inside, where it was warm and shady. I let my eyes adjust to the dark. I saw a shadow rise from a bed, long dark red tresses curling down to the floor, and Gisil looked at me in shock. “Adalwulf!” she whispered.

I walked for her, uncertain. “Will you live?” I asked her, not sure what else to say.

She shrugged weakly. “I might. I’ll not be as pretty, though,” she said wryly. Her face was bruised badly. Despite that, she looked courageous. Her lips trembled as I sat near her. I looked into her eyes, and thought of my cousin, the attack on me in the Hall of Teutorigos, the lies, and the betrayals, and her filth of a husband. I took a deep breath, and let her break my heart. “Tell me of your son.”

She hesitated, and looked at her hands. “I love him.”

“Of course you do,” I said, sad for her. “Tell me what happened.”

She twitched, and wiped sweat off her forehead. “They let you here to speak of dead boys?”

“I wanted to talk about him,” I told her. “It’s important.”

“He has him,” she answered. “He holds him. Raganthar. He could bring him back. He could be healed, he could smile, laugh like the god of joy, and nap on my lap again. I did it all for him. I did,” she sobbed.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “And yet, you helped me the other night.”

She nodded, and I wasn’t sure if she regretted it or not. “I stopped him. I’m not sure why. All I did for Raganthar before, it was all for nothing. He has my son, and I’m afraid he’ll hurt him.”

Hurt him? He’s dead, I thought desperately, as she rocked back and forth, distraught. I placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and looked deep into my eyes. There was that same look there, the one I had seen the day I was betrayed in Hard Hill, one of regret, perhaps of guilt and self-loathing. She would have to let go of her son. “Listen.”

“No,” she whispered. “There’s nothing you can—”

“He is dead. He has been in Hel’s gray land for a long time. And he will not come back, not if Raganthar’s shitty blood be poured into his skeletal mouth by the bucketful. The monster used you.”

“No. I mean, I know he used me, but they are a special breed of men. They are—”

“Cannibals.”

She pushed me. “He has my son,” she whispered. “When he took me the first time, he told me he can—”

“He can’t. And now, it is over.”

“Why?” she asked fearfully.

I grasped her hands. “Because I took your son’s corpse. And that of my cousin, and of Cerunnos,” I said, with as steady a voice I could muster, “and buried them in the river. He never could bring him back, but now, you can let go as well.”

“No!” she sobbed, and clutched my tunic. She slapped my face, and held my hair painfully, rocking back and forth. She beat my chest, hid her face and keened. I couldn’t help her. Her desperate, mad moan rose in pitch. No Roman soldier entered the house, and so we sat, until finally she cried softly, full of sadness, curled on her side.

Her tears flowed like a gentle spring rain, bright and copious. She held her face, trying to hide the tears, but I grabbed her arm, and she had to endure my look. I said nothing, fought back the feelings I had for the girl, and couldn’t deny I still had them. Eventually, she spoke with a sad, desperate voice. “He was dead when you took him? Are you sure?”

“He is gone. What was left is nothing. Just bones.”

She got up, and buried her face on my chest, weeping painfully, so hard I feared she would break. “He died so happy,” she cried. “He died after a day of joy, getting better from a cough. I prayed to the gods, like any mother would. I beseeched them to make him better, and they answered, didn’t they? He was better. He was running around the house, giggling at the dog that tried to nip at his heels, excited and terrified, and he was so small.”

“And then, he died,” I said sadly, and she took a deep breath and nodded, her sobs nearly at an end. She clutched my tunic hard, and then stroked my chest.

“They all did. All of them. I don’t understand it. Why was I spared? I tried to wake them, and him especially. But he didn’t wake up that morning,” she whispered. “I took him to my arms, and he lay there, limp, cold, the mischievous smile still on his face, and his eyes were open, as if he was playing a prank on me. I wept, and took him to the woods, where I begged Frigg for mercy, but the lady didn’t help. I nearly froze to death, hoping I would, until Hulderic found me. I don’t know how long I had sat there. They lifted him into that tree with my husband and mother, ready for burial in the spring. Hulderic took care of me, and I endured, and later that winter, when I went there—”

I breathed. “Raganthar found you.”

She held her face. “He found me,” she whispered. “He was dangerous, like an animal, enemy to my lord, I knew, but he promised me things, and gods know I believed him.”

“Still?” I asked her. “Do you think he could have delivered on his promise?”

“I …” she said softly. “I should not. I do not. I don’t know.”

I stroked her hair. I don’t know for how long as we sat in the silence. I forced myself to ask more questions. “Did you ever hear them deal with King Vago?”

She shook her head. “They mentioned the King, but they didn’t seem to deal with him directly. They had a patron in Burbetomagus who they worked with. I stayed in a house in the woods, where they kept most of the cows and horses of the Brethren, in a well-hidden place. Raganthar didn’t take me to the Den much. But he mentioned a name, a man who was a go-between.”

“I need to find Raganthar,” I told her. “And this man.”

“For the sword,” she asked softly.

“For that, and my cousin, and for you,” I breathed. “I need to make a widow out of you.”

She nodded and smiled uncertainly, clutching my arm. “He’ll die.”

“Raganthar? I hope so. There is no cure for death,” I told her evenly.

Her eyes filled with tears again, and with shame. “I’m not ready for you. I betrayed you. I’m to be blamed for much. I told them everything about Hulderic, his plans, and his men. I helped Bero with that Chatti lie. That cost you a relative. I stabbed you. How could I just suddenly be someone you trust?”

“You didn’t tell Raganthar I survived in the hall of Teutorigos, did you? That was—”

“I’m not well,” she whispered.

I looked way and cursed the gods for their wanton cruelty. But I knew she was also right. She wasn’t ready. Neither was I. “I know. But you lost a son, and I cannot claim to know what you went through. Are going through. I’ll never know, will I? I hope I never will. Hulderic will help heal you. He will forgive you. And I can wait.”

She smiled sadly. “I have a hunch you will always love women who are troubled, or not destined for you, Adalwulf.”

I stroked her face. “I suspect you are right. Will you help me?”

She grimaced with pain and lay down, keeping my hand in hers. I felt Marcus was near, and turned to see him there by the door, his eyes calculating and neutral. I suspected I’d pay for the show of affection somehow. I could hardly tell Tiberius I didn’t care for Gisil. I turned back to her. Her lips were trembling. “You sure he cannot—”

“He is a liar. A crazy, lying and evil man. You have to let go. I’ll help you, in fact, by killing the bastards. Tell me where to find them?” I pleaded. “I need a name.”

She nodded, letting go of her boy with a huge internal struggle. “They were to go south, to the Mediomactri lands, for payment. There is a city, Vangione capital. Burbetomagus.”

“Where King Vago lives,” I whispered, coaxing her. “I know. I’ll go there. And this man? Their go-between?”

She was nodding. “City of Two Rivers, they call it. One cold, one warm. There they met with the man. Yes, the man was called …Clodius. In a temple of … Mercury?”

“Clodius,” I said, and knew Marcus had heard it all. He shifted in the shadows and left. I heard his footfalls recede, and I sat there with Gisil as she slept, well into the night, until a guard finally stepped in, and I knew I’d have to leave her. I got up, and put her hand on her chest, and saw she was breathing well. I begged gods to heal her, both in the mind and the body.

***

I stood waiting for Tiberius the next morning. He was by his desk, talking with a man who looked like a messenger. I felt weak as a kitten, but suspected I had no time to rest. I saw my gear in a heap by the doorway. I smelled trouble, by the way Marcus avoided looking into my eyes, standing on the side as if he wanted to be overlooked. There were also a number of alert guards in the room. Tiberius turned from a messenger and walked to me. He looked tired, his eyes red-rimmed. “So, one Clodius.”

“Indeed,” I said.

He crashed on his seat and rubbed his face. “Burbetomagus belongs to us.” He kicked a chalice by the chair, and it clattered past me, startling a dog. “But also to King Vago, a sworn enemy of the Marcomanni,” he stated. “We have soldiers there, but no one important. And we cannot afford to make the Vangiones an enemy. No need to give the Gauls reason to think a rebellion might actually succeed. Some try, but with Germani leading them? Gods know how far that war would echo. So, we have to be careful.”

He sat and stared into a place only he could see, until I lost patience.

“So, have you figured it out?” I asked him.

“What?” he asked, startled and groaning as he arched his back.

“What you plan to do with me, and how you will deal with Vago?”

“You’ll go there, and find Clodius,” he stated simply. “And then I can prove what I think has happened here. How they knew who I was, included. I have a filthy hunch.”

I didn’t really care. “And then I can leave with Gisil,” I said, and saw it wasn’t so simple.

He looked like he had eaten a bit of rotten fish. “You’ll serve me after, Adalwulf. You’ll leave, but you’ll serve me.”

I stood my ground, and glowered at him, wondering what this service meant, and how he would make sure I kept serving him, if I left with Gisil.

And then it came to me. I shook my head at him. “No. You are keeping her.”

His steely eyes flashed and congratulated me. “You will find a Roman noble is a man hard to call a friend, and perhaps you never will. But I need men like you. My brother, Drusus, shall as well, and, yes, Gisil will stay with us. She will stay with us until your service is complete, and I will determine when that will be. She will travel with us, serve us, and no man shall touch her, because I hate rapists and masters who misuse their servants and slaves. One day, she will be free. But not for years.”

“She is your slave?” I asked, growling dangerously.

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly, and the guards took a step forward. Tiberius lifted his hand, and they stopped. “Was she not a slave to this Raganthar? She is not going to be any safer when she goes home, is she? By the looks of things, she knows much about this Bero and the intrigues of your homeland. How many have died in this strange affair?”

“Many,” I hissed, holding my peace, but only barely.

Tiberius bent forward to look me into my eyes, as if trying to mesmerize a wild animal. “She’ll be a slave. She’ll be invisible. But she won’t labor. She won’t toil overmuch. She is safe. She will be safe to heal from her terrors, from her losses. She’ll be treated well, and Marcus here will keep an eye on her. She will heal, Adalwulf, in ways she might never mend in your lands. And you shall serve me, half because you are grateful to me, and half because you love her, and do not wish to see her come to harm.”

“I am to be grateful to you?” I asked, incredulous. “You are--” I stopped myself from calling him mad.

He snorted as he saw my struggle. “Like a tamed wolf you are. Barely able to stop from biting my head off. Listen. I’m your patron. It is no easy service, but I don’t have many men I’d trust. You should accept this as a blessing. I am one of the highest men in the lands of Rome. With me, you shall always have a sanctuary. You will have a patron who shall heed your needs. Be grateful.”

“I’ll be—” I began.

He slapped his hand on the desk. “You’ll be grateful later. Sign that.” He pointed towards the table, where there was a clay tablet. Marcus moved next to it, looking neutral and unapologetic, but I sensed he disapproved of what was going on. I stepped forward with stiff legs.

I had no choice. Would I be grateful, later? I’d have to see.

I bent over and took the stylus from Marcus, who tapped the tablet. “This details your service to Tiberius, and the circumstances of your agreement,” he said softly. “The lord wants to have his deals written down.”

I nodded. It would condemn me, should I ever step from the path and try to renege on his deal. Marcus let me sign the scroll, which I did with a clumsy scratch. I moved away from it, and Tiberius nodded for my gear.

“There will be coin a plenty, a fine horse, a legionnaire chain mail, a sword, a shield, and that murderous weapon of yours. You will dress well, and be content. You will get me Clodius. Find him, find proof, and kill Raganthar for me, if possible.”

I nodded and hesitated. I thought about it, thought about how I might succeed, and Woden must have despaired. I had no Ingrid to speed my thinking. I had no Danr, or Iodocus to rely on, and so I’d have to arrange my own victory. I’d have to face Raganthar. I’d have to pass his shield. I’d probably have to face Leuthard. How would I ever conquer them? I looked at a slave, who was wiping the floor. She was sweating, and slapped a rag over her shoulder to wipe her face. The wet rag slapped to her back, making a wet stain on the cotton tunic, not unlike blood.

That stopped me. Perhaps Woden was on my side. I thought of the old man in the cave, and how he had told me to cheat. I thought of Tiberius, a patron who said he had my back, and so, I had an idea. “I won’t need the horse. I’ll need some other things.”

“Ask Marcus, he will arrange it all,” he answered and cocked his head. “And if you survive, you will spend some years with Hulderic. If you still love the woman after I release you from the Marcomanni, you will find me in Rome. In the meantime, you’ll be visited, no matter where you are, and you’ll send me oral reports on what’s going on in the lands of the Marcomanni.”

“You want me to spy on Hulderic?” I asked him thinly.

He chuckled. “Ah, the Germani honor. Yes. Occasionally, we might have questions about the Marcomanni, the Quadi, the Chatti, whatever we might need to know, Adalwulf. There are plenty of men like you out there, and the Marcomanni do the same here. It is filthy service, but I shall not ask you to murder anyone.” He hesitated. “At least not now. But be prepared for many things. We all love honor, but there are many ways to achieve it. I think you will see that, eventually.”

I bowed to him, anger simmering in my heart. “So be it. But let us see about that later. Getting this Clodius might mean my life.”

His eyes glittered. “It might. That Leuthard?”

“Yes, lord,” I said, feeling bitter rage. “He is out there. And Raganthar.”

He shook his head. “Make sure you have a plan. And make sure,” he said pointedly, “that capturing Clodius is the first thing you do. I’ll allow you to try to regain that sword for Hulderic, but that comes after my business is secured. Plan well.”

“I have one,” I told him, and I did. “I’ll speak to Marcus.”

He got up and walked away, and I heard his voice as he mounted the stairway, the dog following him. “Go, and bring me Clodius. I’ll need him, because I doubt Vago originated this plot.”

He already knew who wanted him dead, I thought.

I turned to armor myself under the watchful eyes of the Roman guards, the magnificent bastards. Leuthard would be out there, waiting. Raganthar would, too. I wanted to sit with Gisil a bit, until the evening. Before that, I’d need some things, and pulled Marcus with me. “Listen.”

CHAPTER 26

I rested that evening with Gisil, while Marcus made arrangements. Then, in the very late hours, I made my way to the river. I took a boat from the edge of the town. It was a Roman navis lusoria, sleek, light, fast, and a bit precarious, in comparison to the clinker-built boats the Germani use. Men from the Alps, mercenaries of the Vindelici tribe who were a powerful looking lot, like small bears rowing the boat, manned it. The bearded, scarred man leading them, the trierarchus, was called Issa. He was busy with the ship, so I sat on the deck like a lost puppy, while the men rowed and bantered. I wore a hood pulled down over my face and thought about Gisil. She was as safe as she could be. Now, I served Hulderic, Balderich, and Tiberius, and loved a mad woman who was married to my enemy.

And I’d fight them. One more time. I felt weak as a kitten, a bit feverish, nauseous, and I hurt all over. The future didn’t look too bright.

And what then? Should I survive?

I was expected to go back to Hulderic, and live with the Marcomanni I had already hurt badly in battle. I had killed many of them, maimed more than a few, and there would be many a feud waiting for me. Had I found a place for myself? A home? With Hulderic?

Yes, perhaps. Hulderic would protect me. He had treated me well. He was that sort of a lord. Service with him would be honorable. It would be just. I was the one with the secret. I’d be a traitor. Tiberius would be there, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

I shook my head.

No, there would be no home with Hulderic. Time with him would be a stop, a short break from my wanderings. It would be like a warm summer day during winter, unexpected, short-lived, perhaps happy, and then I’d move on, hopefully without having to hurt my host on the commands of Tiberius. My home was with Gisil. It would be years, if ever, when I’d feel like I had found a home, and that could only happen when she was near. I felt troubled. I loved her. Perhaps I’d love others, but always her, in the end, unable to forget her. I could try. I could try to find someone like Ingrid. I would try.

But Gisil was the one.

Years. It would take years to be home.

I suspected Gisil was right. I had a habit of choosing the harsh, rubble-laden track.

But then, I’d probably die in a day. It was not likely I’d survive.

I slept fitfully, and woke when a man of the crew served me food, cold gruel, venison, and mead. The going was slow, even with Mani casting light on the river. I could see the faces of the men, and none thought highly of me for the risk they endured by rowing in the middle of the night. I sat and slept there on the deck, eying the forests and hills slip past, waiting to reach my destiny. When it was almost morning, the ship moored in a small cove, half-filled with reeds, and we slept a few hours under the roof of a rich merchant lord. We moved on, the ship struggling through some rapids, carefully, slowly, as there were ships rowing the other way.

Issa sat down after the ships had disappeared, and looked at me with question. “So. We are soon there. Time to have a chat. What do you know of Burbetomagus?”

I shrugged. “King Vago, Vangiones, share it with the Mediomactri? Not much more. I hear there are two rivers, one that runs away from Rhenus, other that runs into it.”

He spat overboard, but didn’t quite make it. Frowning at the failure that had spattered on the deck, he nodded towards south. “You know enough, then. Do not annoy the Gauls. They’ll be unhappy if you try to bully them. We own the city, or Rome does, but it is far from peaceful. Don’t flaunt your Roman authority, at least if you are alone in a dark alley. But I’ll help you. We have been given orders, and so we shall serve as well as we can. We need to find that man, and the rest comes after, got it?”

“I’m fully aware,” I snarled, and he smirked and placed a hand on my shoulder.

He smiled widely, enviably white teeth shining. “I was asked to make sure you remember. When we get there, let me do the talking, eh? You do the planning bit,” he said, and eyed my new chain mail. “Suits you.”

“You serve Tiberius as well?” I asked him dubiously. “He trusts you, I take it?”

He shook his shoulders. “We come from Vindelica, a few from Pannonia. I met Tiberius when they herded the tribes mercilessly across the valleys and murdered most everyone. He spared my son, who had fought him bravely. So, yes, I serve him when he comes this way. Otherwise we are stationed with the Classis Pannonica, in River Danubius, but he has a use for us, and likes to have men he knows near. I know Rhenus River quite well.”

“Can you fight on land?” I asked him. “Or do you only carry men to battle?”

He gave me a blank stare. “They tell me you are a mad fighter? One of those who risk everything, and often gain nothing but a sword in a gut? We’ll show you how to do it properly.” He flashed me a ferocious smile. “Sailors make the best of fighters, boy. They’d do anything to get back to their ships rich. We’ll do well enough. Wait, and stay unseen, eh? Don’t make a fuss of yourself in Burbetomagus. Rome rules, but not all the time. Remember.”

My fingers ran across the gladius I had received from Marcus. I tugged at the chain mail. There was one more item he had procured, and I hoped it would help me when I met Raganthar. I made sure it was secure around my chest.

I hoped we were not too late.

Clodius.

Raganthar had met him days ago in Burbetomagus. I’d be discreet indeed, as Issa asked me to be, but I had no time to take my time. I tapped the scroll in my pouch, with the seals of Tiberius, and knew few men would dare to deny me help,

We rowed until Sunna was getting low, and I knew we would be close to Burbetomagus very soon, because the land began to fill with villages and roads, and these roads were better built. Then, Issa pulled my hand, and grunted, and pointed a finger at some lights. “There, friend. There is Burbetomagus.”

I nodded and stood up. Torches flared in a large town. It was nothing like the hamlets of our home, and while Mattium was a great oppidum with thousands of people, Burbetomagus was fortified and twice the size, dwarfing my home and Hard Hill together. I squinted as I saw there was a low hill, and on top of the hill, a compound, which was likely King Vago’s home. There, just outside the town and clearly isolated, was also a Roman castra, small, but deadly looking with stone towers, torches flaring and lighting up the thick timber walls. I saw rivers surrounding the town, going to and from Rhenus River.

And then I saw a temple outside the city.

It must have been a temple. Our gods demanded blood and sacrifices, prayers and idolization, but Roman gods demanded riches. Those riches were evident in the magnificent construction that was the temple of Mercury. It wasn’t very large, but the high, triangular roof was held high by wooden and stone pillars, all lit by torches and cauldrons. Wide stone steps led to a maze of such pillars, and a high façade of carved stone shadowed the steps. I thought I saw small statues guarding the temple from top of the façade, looking down at people who would visit it. It was outside the town, beyond the castra, only just, and there were throngs of people standing around it.

“Religious procession?” I asked Issa.

“Whores, lord,” the man said, snorting. “Best place for business, under the eyes of the god of trade, of riches. And soldiers have money, merchants as well, and anyone wishing to be seen as a Roman supporter goes there to pray. Most natural place to find company for a price.”

“I’ll be one, I guess,” I said. “That’s where I go.”

“You’re too pretty, my Marcomanni friend,” Issa laughed. “The girls will think you hope to take their clients.”

I chuckled, and realized I had not laughed since Iodocus told me he had slept with our hostess before I had. Issa clasped a hand on my shoulder. “The lads will wish to pray as well,” the man said lecherously. “We will all visit it, and you are one of us, because we are religious lot, aren’t we? You’ll start working, and let us know what you find.”

The men laughed, and it was clear why they would happily visit the place, and that was fine with me. “I’ll find a man.”

“Oh,” he answered, bewildered.

“Not sure what kind,” I muttered. “Gaul, Germani, or even Roman?”

“Each to his own taste, I suppose,” he answered, looking at me suspiciously.

I cursed and pushed him. “Clodius. The man. He’s the man we have to find.”

“Oh, I’m relieved,” he said with a grin, spat, and moved away to yell at a man near the pier.

It took a lot of time, but we finally found a place for the boat, and we moored. We were greeted by a sleepy harbormaster, and waited in the pier as many slaves were carrying vases and pulling bennas, wagons, past us. There were slaves working on readying ships, guards with tall spears looking on, bored to death, and people preparing a small market for the morning. Issa paid something to the official, speeding our process. The crew, minus those few cursing unlucky ones who would guard the ship, piled to the harbor, where Issa met another official. We waited for him to deal with that and when he did, he had a sour look on his face.

“Robber. I brought him a perfectly illegal load of Falernian stolen from the army, and he dares to complain he already had a similar load the day before. But he paid, even if I had to threaten to tie him to an oar. We move on. We’ll row away when Adalwulf is ready. May he be successful soon, or we stay here until our toenails turn yellow. Hercules help his sorry, bony ass.” He pushed me along. “Let’s get some food and girls, and you go and find this …man of yours.”

We walked past warehouses, took to an alleyway where cats lived in quarrelsome co-existence, meowing like mad spirits, and the crew, laughing and anticipating pleasure of unimaginable stature, were in a great mood. We passed the gates to the city, manned by bored Roman and a drunk Vangione guard, who blithely ignored each other.

The gates were tall, thick and wooden, and the walls, where men walked, were seven feet high. We skirted the wall, and took more alleys towards the castra, and passed it. I could not help but stare at it. It was the first Roman fort I had seen. It was a powerful looking monster, much more intimidating than Mattium’s walls, or the tower in the village. There were guards on those walls as well, a deep fossa, high earthen walls, and stone walls before and on top of that.

Then we saw the Temple.

The roof, I noticed was far less intricate than I had thought, but it did demand respect, and gods would be watching, I thought, when I’d enter. The pillars flickered with the burning lights as the evening deepened towards the night, and the whole structure was oddly disquieting, holy and powerful, and at the same time felt somewhat disgraced, due to the number of people making merry amongst the pillars.

Issa pulled me around. He pointed a finger where a well-lit, low building stood amongst some trees. “The Oil Lamp. A tavern. Seedy bit of shit, but that is where much of the business is conducted. You know what business. You do your bit, and me and the boys shall be there, waiting, hoping you will not drag our asses needlessly from the girls and the wine, but as lord Tiberius asked, we shall do our best to help you. I’ll make sure they don’t drink too much, never fear. They are ready with their spears. All kinds of spears,” he winked. Indeed, they were all armed to the teeth, some had spears, and all had axes, and pugiones, Roman daggers, and looked like proper fighters. “Be careful,” he told me, and I nodded nervously.

“Thank you,” I told him, and as if I had uttered a password for paradise, they all whooped and ran to chase girls, many of whom pointed fingers at the bearded alps men, knowing them, their ability to pay, and some to love. The girls yelled greetings, ran to embrace the men, and I was left as alone as a piss-sodden drunk in a feast, and then there was rain.

It began to trickle down, making the braziers flutter.

I walked forward, looking at the place in awe. I saw there was a fairly large walled enclosure, and inside that, there were fluttering curtains, braziers with burning wood, slaves walking about lazily. I decided to enter, walking to the bottom of the temple and made my way up the steps for the door. I now noticed other people walking around the temple, slowly and reverently, apparently giving sacrifices for the god of trade.

The god was sitting in the hall.

I had never seen such a sight. It stopped me in my tracks. Our gods were crafted in wood, occasionally some vitka created a doll they hung from a branch to ward off wrongdoers, but a statue twice the size of man? Never. It was sitting there, at the end of the room, a hunched, dangerous looking man with a beard, his eyes empty, muscles well-toned. It was a thing made of stone, and I could not imagine who managed to craft something like that.

I made my way towards the door, and a woman shifted away from me as she exited, startled, and then her eyes hardened as she was contemplating me as a potential buyer. I ignored her and walked in, and while the temple area was not large, the cella, main room, was large enough to house a dozen people. Behind a dour, painted statue there was a doorway, where there were more rooms, no doubt.

A thin servant in a white tunic was cleaning a table, an altar, most likely, judging by the array of coins and other sacrifices dispensed on it, cursing under his breath as he nearly dropped a bowl of liquid. His eyes went to the visage of the god, and I was sure the man spat his way, but the god didn’t care. I decided to speak to the man. He saw me coming, and took a step back, as I leaned on him. “Do you understand me?” My Celtic was as broken as ever, but he nodded. “I need a favor.”

He snorted and wiped his nose. “I’m not Mercury, if you think to beseech him for a boon. Leave your sacrifice on the table, dance and sing, and do whatever you want, except piss, and then leave. The god will—”

“I’m not looking for Mercury—”

“Then why are you here?” he frowned, nearly the unhappiest man in the entire Midgard.

“I’m looking for one Clodius,” I told him, begging he would know such a man.

“Clodius?” he breathed. “There are many.”

“Someone near the King Vago?”

He frowned. “Why would you want him?”

I thanked Woden profusely in my head and grasped him, making his eyes bulge in his head.

“I need him now. Important business he must attend to.”

“So go up the hill?” the man said, struggling a bit in my grip. “Ask at their hall?”

I hesitated. “In fact, I have never met him. I need a bit of help.”

“I’m a slave. Not allowed to help rogues. I have to stay in the temple,” he muttered.

“I shall leave these,” I said, and showed him two silver denarii, “as thanks for the …god to claim.” His eyes never left the coins, and then he smacked his lips.

“Clodius is an official for his uncle, Vago,” he whispered.

“He is Vago’s nephew?” I asked, and he nodded enthusiastically. Shit, I thought. Terrible news, as he would be well-guarded. I decided to press on. “And does he ever leave his home?”

“You sure you have business with him?” the man frowned. “You sound like he might not enjoy this business at all.” I added a denarius to the other two, and he asked no more, his eyes teary with greed.

“Don’t worry about it. Does he ever leave his home? And is his home hard to get to?”

He nodded. “It’s inside their walled enclosure. Very risky. But he is also a priest,” he murmured. “He changed the name into a Roman one, when he realized it would be advantageous for him. This place is a gold mine for him. Being a priest is the best business there is.”

Gods, thank you, I thought. He’d be about the town. “He is a priest here?”

He nodded towards the town. “Here, and he also deals with trade, local laws as well. Not the warrior type you see, and that why he has no future in the war bands of King Vago. Instead—”

“Does he ever come to the temple?”

He smiled, and we waited as a Gaul walked to the table and set a loaf of bread on it. He bowed and left. “Damned mongrels with their moldy bread. Hate cleaning them crumbs up. Even the dogs won’t eat them. I—”

“To the point,” I said, and shook him a bit. “Does he come here? Tell me more about the turd.”

“Right,” he said. “Vago has many sons. Some are mighty already, like Hunfried, others less so, being young, like Koun and Vannius, but he has other family, and Clodius is his nephew. He is more Roman than the Romans, and generally looked down upon the family. Vago’s men keep their own names, and Clodius doesn’t, being an annoying prick, but Vago needs him, and so he thrives. He has some enemies, and rarely goes anywhere. Very rarely. He is a priest here, but Roman priests have few duties. He is a priest, because it gets him a title and part of these sacrifices.” He looked sour, and apparently hated the entire world, but Clodius most of all. I had been lucky. “He visits occasionally.”

“Did he,” I asked, “leave the hall just now, some days ago? Do you know?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. How could I know that, eh? He might have the trappings of a priest, but he doesn’t clean here, or even care for these duties. It’s just a golden opportunity for him to—”

I nodded. “Too bad.” I played with the three denarii, and his eyes went to the coins and stayed there. I tortured him by twitching my arm closer to my pouch, then putting the coins in sight again, but not on the platter. His mouth mumbled something, and his hand swiped his forehead. “There is—”

“You know a way for me to speak to Clodius?” I growled, and jingled the coins.

“Possibly,” he said miserably, bathed in greed. “He wouldn’t be happy, you understand. I’d need to—”

“Four denarii, that’s enough. And more if I get what I need from him,” I growled.

He threw his reluctance out of the door. “He has a woman in the town,” he said conspiratorially. “Not like these sorry, lice-ridden whores here, but a real woman.”

I stared at him, and he shrugged, and I added two more coin to my fist, making it five. I had no idea what kind of wealth I was flaunting, but the man was practically drooling. “Can I get to this woman?”

“She is the wife of a Mediomactri chief,” he whispered. “Scandalous thing, that. They meet here, when she comes to …pray. But I don’t know—”

“How will he know when she will be here?” I asked him.

“She sends him word. Sometimes he has time, other times not, but he might come, if he is in the mood.” He looked like a defeated man as he went on. “I cannot order the woman to come here, can I? I just know who she is. That’s valuable. I think that deserves some consideration.”

I tapped my finger on my chin, stroking my beard. I had a plan. “I tell you what. You have seen the woman here, this very evening.”

“I have?” he asked, confused. I clinked the coins, and he agreed that he had by nodding vigorously.

“But she has another man, doesn’t she? She is in the very same room they normally would use for their rabbit-games, but this time there is a filthy, if handsome, mercenary here with her, entertaining her so well, she can barely walk.” I leaned towards him, and let the coins fall to his hand, one-by-one. “You are a loyal servant, are you not? You serve him, you serve the temple, the Roman dominion and King Vago, and there cannot be such a situation where another man is making his woman squeal with joy. It is disgraceful, and she also called Clodius a small-pricked mouse as she spoke to the man. They laughed at that, and then he took her again. Tell him what you will. You seem to have a goodly amount of imagination.”

“Tell him?” he whispered, fondling the coins. “I should tell him—”

“That you saw his mistress bending over for a greasy Gaul from the Alps, a warrior with tattoos, and tell him you saw him laying eggs in a nest that was once that of Clodius’s. You go, and tell him this. Or if you do not wish to, then find someone else to do it. If it makes it easier for you do decide if you will take part in this, know that Clodius will not walk away from that room a free man.” I nodded towards the backroom. “He will go, and visit Tiberius.”

“Tiberius?” he whispered, his face full of cunning.

“And Tiberius can reward a wise, brave man very well,” I told him earnestly.

He left, and I walked for the tavern, and soon, Clodius would come charging.

We would succeed, I thought, and nodded at two hooded men who disappeared to the shadows.

CHAPTER 27

“What if he brings an army?” one of the Vindelica men asked me. There were eight of them; all I could drag from their women. I had been cajoling, begging, and even threatening, and Issa helped me, and so they sat in the small, smelly room, light by oil lamps as we waited. There was a back door to the temple, something that Clodius would probably be using, good for transporting supplies and adulterers to the place, but the wait was a terribly long one. Worse, the servant had not returned to tell me the news, though he should have been back by then.

“Perhaps Clodius stormed to her apartment, instead?” Issa said tiredly.

“And tell her husband he had been—”

“Perhaps, I would,” he snarled and I nodded, because he might be right. Jealous lords had no use for tact.

“We will see,” I told them. “Wait.”

We waited for long minutes, fidgeting in the backroom, cursing, and still ready and tense, but then the waiting stopped.

The attendant was rushing in the temple. I could hear his voice, calling for a man to step back, and then I knew he passed the statue. “Cursed, cripple bastard,” he called the god, to the stunned silence of those who were visiting the place. I got up, opened the door and then I saw him in the corridor, wringing his hands. He looked around and waved me closer. I noticed his lip was cut, and eyes wild with worry. “Well,” he whispered, “it worked. He is coming. He brings some men, and he’ll be here in a few moments. Please don’t fail to take him. He told me he’d kill me, and then feed me to crabs.”

I was about to retreat to the rooms, when someone entered hallway behind the attendant. I thought it would be Clodius, and I tensed, but then I noticed it wasn’t a man.

It was a middle-aged woman with a very long, braided dark hair, an expensive leine, a cloak of red materials, not wool or linen, but something more expensive and Roman, and she looked as surprised as we did. The attendant took a horrified step back, then another, and then he tried to rush past me to the room. I grabbed him by the throat, as the woman stood there, her mouth open. She spoke imperiously. “You gave my room to someone else? It was always to be available!”

The man squeaked and looked at me. “It’s her. This is terrible. Why did she have to come today?”

It was the lover of Clodius, and things would turn ugly.

Clodius stormed to the temple at that very moment. It was clear as day as the woman turned to look towards the doorway, her face a mask of surprise, of happiness, of erotic anticipation, but then she frowned. We didn’t see Clodius’s face, of course, but could well imagine it was not graced with happiness. She spoke. “Love? I didn’t have time to call for you, yet.”

“Tart! You whore!” a man stuttered, “where is he, eh? I’ll string him up by his ball-skin!”

“Who? What are you talking about?” the bewildered woman asked, and I cursed as everything was going to Hel.

At that moment, some of Clodius’s men surged to the room by the backdoor, and I heard Issa snort with amusement, because they were probably as shocked as the woman had been when she saw Clodius, but the alpsmen didn’t hesitate, and a terrible beating took place in the room. I saw the woman take a step back, and I stepped fully to the hallway. Some priests popped their heads out of the other doors, saw us there, and sensed it was best to keep doing what they had been involved with moments before. They disappeared, and Clodius appeared.

He had a limp. He was short, ugly, and yet strangely powerful, with wide shoulders, but his foot was strangely twisted, and so he’d never be a soldier, and perhaps he didn’t have the temperament for it, because there was something shifty and unkind in his eyes, and certainly evil, as he slapped the woman to the wall.

His eyes turned my way.

He snapped his fingers, grinned as he heard his men fight in the room, and ordered two men forward. “Bring him to me. In one, or many pieces. I care not.”

The men were hulking Vangiones, sporting long beards, jutting foreheads, and looked barely human as they came in. Neither carried spears or shields, only clubs. I pushed the shrieking attendant to them, and one of them hit the man so hard he flew into a room, where he could be heard cursing.

Clodius flinched. “Hurry! Take him to the woods, and we’ll hang him with her.” He kicked the unfortunate woman.

I saw Woden stamp his feet in the dark shadows, raising dust, in midst of a battle-dance, and buoyed by my god, I charged the men.

They were taken by surprise.

One bellowed to the other, but then they saw the hammer. Both tried to dodge aside, but the walls stopped one, the other fell through a doorway to smother the attendant. I chopped my hammer at the remaining man, who caught it on his chest. He made a strange sound, like dog passing gas, and fell to his back, his face a mask of red pain. I rammed a fist in the face on the warrior who was coming out of the room, but he tackled me to the wall.

And through it.

We rolled across the floor to hit the stony statue of Mercurius, and while the god wasn’t upset as we panted and tried to wrestle each other to death, clawing and biting each other, the people in the cella were.

“What’s happening?” one screamed.

“Thieves?” another yelled, and both came forward. I saw Clodius’s face, and then his eyes twitched as he looked towards the room where my rowers were doing their bit with the other Vangiones. I saw him look at the woman, uncertain, as she rolled in the floor in pain, her nose broken. Perhaps it dawned on him there was something odd about the whole deal, and if I had been the man with her, then who were in the room creating havoc?

He hesitated, his eyes met mine again as I kicked the Vangione over me to land on the statue with a pained gasp. My side hurt terribly.

He took uncertain steps away, and ran off.

“Stop him!” I roared, but the people in the room, the worshippers and the whores, didn’t oblige. I scrambled up to my feet, kicked the Vangione as hard as I could, felt a rib break, and surged after Clodius. A guard outside tried to stop me, holding his spear limply, but I pushed him over a brazier, scattering burning wood across the stairs. As people were screaming and cursing, I rushed after Clodius.

For a club-footed bastard, he was very fast.

The Vangione rushed in the dark for the gates, and I cursed my luck as he might make it. The guards would know him, I’d be dead, and Gisil a slave, or worse. He was looking back, I was gaining on him, and his face was glistening with sweat as he sped on thorough the alleys outside the main city, past halls, and the castra, where soldiers on the walls yelled encouragements and laughed at us.

The gate was there, right in front of us.

He opened his mouth to shout.

Three armored Vangione guard stepped forth from under the shadows of a half-closed gate, looking confused.

I cursed, was suddenly inspired, and so I screamed. “Fire! The temple! It’s on fire! It’s spreading to the city! Call an alarm!”

They hesitated for a second. Clodius nearly fell with astonishment, his moment of triumph stolen. “Wait! I—”

The guards were running. The Roman one rushed to the city, apparently to rouse more guards. Two ran past us to see the temple, and Clodius sobbed, horrified and nearly out of fight, but no, he still went on, weeping with fear. He disappeared through the gate, I went after him, trembling with anticipation and relief, and then we reached a maze of shady alleyways that led up the hill.

People rushed about, pushing and pulling each other, the night barely lit by oil lamps and torches, and where the Germani would usually be feasting or sleeping, many people were still up an about doing what they did during the day, shopping, visiting friends, pushing carts around, preparing for the market day the next morning. Like the Rome I’d later know, Burbetomagus, despite being a mere hamlet, had streets that never slept. Clodius pushed past some carts. Then he went right to an even darker alley, hoping to hide, but I was really close to him, sliding on some dirt, and mud, banging from wall to wall, growling at a dog to slink away from my way. Clodius bowled over a man, barely kept his balance, and turned a corner.

I’d catch him, I thought.

He hit something, and he went down.

I jumped over the sprawling, crying man Clodius had pushed over, pulled my hammer, and came face-to-face with Leuthard.

He was there, half hidden in the darkness. His immense size betrayed him, though, and so did the sword tip on my chest. And there was a growl, which sent shivers down my spine. He had a foot on Clodius’s throat. “You need him?”

“I need him,” I told him, and took a step back, and the sword tip went to rest on the chest of the Vangione.

He chuckled. “I needed my sword. But that’s gone, right? My father’s sword, and the sword of my ancestors is gone?”

I said nothing. It was too late for his sword. I looked at Clodius, who looked back up at me, pleading. I opened my mouth to lie, but closed it. It mattered little. The bastard was playing with me.

Leuthard ground the man to the mud. “That sword will be costly for you. It’s going to make you weep.”

I tried to calm the rage inside me, and managed it, only barely. “I’ve wept enough for you. That sword is gone. It’s worth nothing. Probably never was, wielded by Hati humped bastards, eh? I kept my part of the deal. You tried to change the game, didn’t you?”

He didn’t so much as nod. His face betrayed his hatred.

He grunted, and pushed the sword’s tip through Clodius. The man shrieked, shuddered and moaned like a child. He sneered at me as he pulled the sword out. “Thus passed a relative of Vago the Vangione. It is too bad, isn’t it? You seemed keen on having him. Serving Rome now? Tiberius? Oh, how he would have liked to know if it was Vago who ordered his death, or someone else who started the shitty affair. And now, he won’t.” He toed the body. “Hope Tiberius understands.”

He would not. I knew it. So did Leuthard.

He pointed the sword towards me. “But you need not worry about his anger. I’ll not wait until home to kill you. You look weak, don’t you? Weak as a woman. Bled your life away.”

I looked at the future of Gisil drip his life away to the mud, cursing my plan had failed. “How’s Ear?”

He flashed me a grin. “He’ll survive as well. He’s around. He has his orders, and he’ll take care of the business. Oh, I changed the game. Ear was to hold your woman, Adalwulf, until I had my sword. Now? He’ll be sending her to you. He’ll ride to Asgaard to find her, you know. She’ll see you in a bit, because you’ll go to Valholl first.”

And with that, he attacked.

The sword came at me like a blur, and the big man was there, right before me. He moved fast as a shadow, and sparks flew as the sword’s edge scraped the hammers metal. The strike was heavy enough to throw me on my back, and the beast jumped in after. He came at me wolf-like, loping on the ground, and I couldn’t see him, until his face emerged from the dark.

I let go of the hammer, whipped out the gladius, and swiped it across his face, but he wasn’t there, having dodged, agile as a cat. I jumped up, and looked around, panting and frightened. The man appeared before me, slapped the sword aside, and rammed me into the wall behind me. I swooned with pain from my wounds, but I butted him in the face with my forehead, and he spat blood on mine, laughing. His face was odd, not like a human’s, his eyes like fires, lips snarling, skin taut, but it didn’t matter, since his sword was up, and I couldn’t stop him.

Then he howled.

He jerked to the side, and slapped me hard as he did, slashed his sword where I had been, but I rolled away, and stabbed the gladius at him. It hit the mass before me, I heard the jingle of his chain mail, and then saw an arrow was jutting in his chest. Another appeared in his neck, as the two Greek archers, the trackers I had asked Marcus to send discreetly to Burbetomagus, appeared. They were winded, having run along and had only barely found us in time.

Leuthard turned, blood flying, and charged one of the archers. I stumbled after him, so did the other Greek, but Leuthard took another arrow in lower belly, roared with fury, and cleaved at the archer blocking his way. The man slumped, gagging, his chest a huge, red wound. Leuthard’s eyes probed us, his eyes pools of pain and madness, and then the Greek next to me, cursing in his own tongue, released one more arrow, and it hit the beast in the back. He stumbled on, into the darkness, and suddenly there was silence, save for our steps.

The archer began running after the man, but I stopped him. “His world. The dark.”

“I’ve hunted lion in the night. It’s my world,” he hissed, and ran on.

I grouched and panted, trying to catch my breath, when Issa finally appeared with some of his men. He walked forward, and kneeled next to Clodius. “Well. It got fucked up then?”

“Yes,” I said miserably. “The archers saved me, but were late saving him. Leuthard. He was in a vengeful mood.”

A scream could be heard drifting from the darkness, and Issa’s men tightened around me, gazing at the shadows. “He’s hurt?”

“Leuthard?” I said, rubbing my face, dizzy for my wounds. “He’s hurt all right. They shot him full of arrows. He has his armor, and it helped, but he might survive.”

“The archer?” Issa asked slowly, toeing the other one.

“Won’t come back,” I said darkly.

Issa spat. “Well, I doubt even that bastard can survive the arrows. They were poisoned, as you asked. Not sure if they found a deadly poison, but he won’t be happy.”

I shook my shoulders, not sure. Perhaps he would die out there, victim of poison and wounds. If he was indeed Hati’s blood, he might come back.

“What then, eh? We have to speak to Marcus about this,” Issa said, and kicked a stone so it rattled along the walls, scaring a pack of cats into a headlong flight. “Do you have any bright ideas?”

I thought about it. I looked up the hill, where the compound of King Vago was located. “They don’t know Clodius is dead.”

He shook his head, looking at me shrewdly. “The King you mean? No, he doesn’t.”

I’d have to bluff. I’d find Vago. There, I’d also find Raganthar. I would have had to find that man anyway, but there would be an opportunity up there, something Tiberius could use. “Go to your brothel,” I told them, and their eyes brightened. “Go, and be ready. Hide this bag of shit.” I toed the Vangione’s corpse and rubbed my face. “I have an idea. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Well, fine. You come there after you are done. And look out for wolves,” Issa said, looking at the dark alleys. “I wish you Fortuna’s best luck. If you won’t return, we’ll drink to your death.”

I had survived Leuthard.

I’d have to survive Raganthar and the Vangiones.

CHAPTER 28

The compound was walled. There were Vangiones at the gate, towers with archers, and the men were all tired. I’d have to get in, and it wouldn’t be hard, I hoped, since I had stalked the wall. I found the very dark, shadowy parts I could try to scale, and the walls were not all well guarded anyway.

They didn’t expect trouble in Burbetomagus, and why should they? They were in the peak of their power and wealth, allies to Rome, overmasters of the Mediomactri still living in the land, and so they were lax. The Vangiones were strong, tall warriors, much like the Marcomanni. And just like the Marcomanni, some were drunk on duty, and others were asleep in the towers. I snuck near a wall on the northern part of the city, and tried to peek in through a badly fitted bit of timber.

A dog’s eye looked back at me, the orb much like Leuthard’s, full of malice and suspicion.

I took a hasty step back as the beast settled away from the hole, where the dog was growling softly. “Why can’t they be as lazy as the men?” I breathed, and cursed the Vangiones and their curs to Lok’s bosom. I walked back towards the main gate, and leaned on a tall hall, trying to figure out a way in.

I stood there for a long while. I wondered if I could get Clodius’s body and pretend he is drunk, and play an escort, but they’d just take over at the gate and kill me when they figured out he had been skewered like a pig. I wondered if I could bribe my way in, but that was risky. I had the scroll of Tiberius, and I suppose that might help, but probably the guards would fetch someone keener, and then I’d risk losing Raganthar. I was about to try the latter idea anyway, when I heard a clanking sound.

A cart rumbled past.

It was another benna, a wheeled transport that was a truly rough ride, and it was filled with amphorae, food crates, and vegetables. There was a pair of men pushing, two pulling, and they were all a dirty looking lot. They were peasants, Gauls who farmed and served the needs of Vago’s household. Or slaves, I thought. They cast fearful looks my way, and I decided that’s what they were. They would be too afraid to speak out.

I took a deep breath, gathered my resolve, and chased away the knee-shaking fear.

I growled at them, they stopped and bowed their heads, probably thinking I was one of the guards. I glowered at them, and then grunted and nodded towards the gate, covering my armor with my hooded cloak. I stepped in and began pushing the benna, and they joined me, also pulling and pushing vigorously. I prayed I’d not get caught. We went forward, and the guards at the gate apparently woke up because the heavy thing opened up, and men leaned on the wooden doors, gazing at us with utter boredom.

“You know the way,” one told us, and I prayed they would not notice I was better dressed than the slaves, my cloak well-made and didn’t really fit in. My hood hid my face, the guards were hoping to get back to their drinking and sleeping and so I was in.

A pack of dark, shaggy hounds jogged up.

The slaves whispered to each other, and then to the dogs, calming them. One tossed them some bits of meat, and the beasts were happy enough to forget us as they attacked the food. They had seen the benna many times. We kept pushing.

Before us, there was vast hall with many stories. There were torches flaring all over it, and there were alcoves on the second floor, windows, which was not the Germani way, but Vago the Vangione had built such a hall as to be the wonder of Burbetomagus, and so I could only gawk at the excellent building.

We stopped at the end of the hall, and the slaves hesitated as they looked at me. I looked around, noticed another set of halls nearby, and took some steps that way, hoping the dogs would truly have forgotten us, and were gnawing on the scraps still.

I saw Raganthar.

The man was walking out from the hall ahead. He was tall and wide as ever, slayer of my cousin, enemy of Rome and Marcomanni both, and he wore the Head Taker. With him walked a young man, with fine mustaches and tall, thin body. I stepped to unload the benna, lifting materials and jugs out of it, and kept an eye on them, as they walked past.

The black shield of the Hati’s lord was swinging, wide and formidable. The young Vangione was looking at us, curious, respectful steps behind the mercenary. They walked their way for an odd heap of rocks, and then I saw a shady colonnade, part natural rock, and part carved, framing a doorway in the formation’s side. I hesitated and put down an amphora of wine, and took steps that way.

A slave grabbed my arm, and shook his head. “Druid,” he said with huge, scared eyes. He had guessed I was not with the Vangiones. “Koun, an adeling,” he added, and nodded at the thin Vangione.

“I’m not worried about druids,” I whispered, and made my way that way. “Only of the gods they worship. And I’ll make soup of the adeling’s bones.”

Hati’s lord walked on with the Vangione, and the enemy disappeared to the columns. I took after them. There were no hounds, no guards, and Mani was high on the sky, celebrating the fight that was about to be finally settled.

I reached the rock formation, dodged the columns, and took a look inside.

I could see their shadows descending to the depths.

The walls of the decline, a sort of a cave were slick, moist and gleaming, and I saw light of a torch flutter below. I felt under my cloak for the last gift Marcus had given me, and hoped it would help me that night. Hammer against Raganthar’s shield was a death penalty, and I hoped I had found a way around that. Below, there were people speaking, and men muttering, and there was also the voice of an older woman.

I cursed my luck for the extra audience, but I’d not stay and skulk in the dark, waiting to be found, shuddering like a child. I waited, and hoped the enemy would disappear from sight. They did as they reached the bottom. The younger Vangione, richly dressed in armor, stepped away last, and a greeting could be heard.

I picked out a weird sound, like running water, but reverberating with odd gurgling noise. The Celt gods were there, waiting and looking on. Nevertheless, I sneaked down the uneven steps, begging not to break my ankle. I followed the way the others had gone, but found ways to right and left, and gods knew where those ways would take a man. I sneaked my way down and down, until I finally reached the limit of the shadows, where darkness mated with light, and found my enemy.

The young Vangione was leaning on odd pillar, like frozen water but not an icicle. It was white stone, rising up towards the ceiling. Some light shone with ghost-like quality, so there were holes in the roof. Strange symbols had been painted in the walls, odd figures, ancient, old as gods, and there, in the end of the cavern, there was a bed, and benches and furniture, scrolls and writing equipment like Tiberius had had in his hall.

An old woman, wearing white tunic, was speaking with Koun, and Raganthar was listening. “I shall seek the signs, my lords. I shall, though it doesn’t please me. And let the girl stay, she is no ill luck.” She nodded towards a bed, and there sat a girl, Koun’s age, fifteen, fine and beautiful, who somehow radiated with calm and hidden power.

And she was staring right at me.

They all looked at her, but she was staring at me. She lifted a finger.

And pointed it at me.

They turned, curious, and so the time to hide was gone. I stepped out and walked forward. Raganthar was frowning, and Koun took a hesitant step forward. “Ware, man,” he said. “We are reading signs here, seeking answers, and this is no time to come here, and beg for boons from the druidess. If you have business with me, wait up there.”

I laughed at him spitefully, strangely relieved I was finally to solve my oaths, or die trying, and Raganthar’s beastly features twisted with astonishment. “I, too, seek answers,” I said spitefully. “And I seek that sword,” I pointed at the Head Taker. “I’ll take it home.”

Koun frowned. “Home? Are you a Marcomanni?”

I nodded. “Sort of. And you no doubt know who hired the bastards,” I spat, and pointed at Raganthar, “to kill Tiberius? Tiberius knows, now. I work for him. He’s not happy.”

Koun went bone-white. He turned to Raganthar who looked at me, not acknowledging the shocked look on the Vangione adeling’s face. Koun strode to him and pushed him. “Tiberius knows it was Father?”

“He might suspect, that’s all,” Raganthar growled.

“How did they find out? You were the only one who should have known!” Koun roared.

I chuckled. “The fool consulted their priest. I had a chat with the man. You have been ill-served.”

“Adalwulf,” Raganthar hissed the words as if they were poisonous. He strode before me. “You’ve done enough harm. Where is Gisil?”

“I saved her from Ear, you rotten man-eater,” I laughed. “And now she is going to be widowed, as well.”

“She is mine. She will always be mine,” Raganthar said darkly.

I spat at Raganthar’s face and flipped down my cowl. “See the man who’ll kill you. Dead men have no wives.”

His jaws tightened with shock, and he roared. He grabbed the famous sword and took a step back, then forward, but Koun stopped him by placing a hand on his chest.

“Does Tiberius,” asked a harsh voice behind me, “know it was Lollius who paid us to act as the middle men? The plan was ruined, but how badly?”

I whirled, my bravado stolen by a man in silver chain mail, holding a long spatha, much like the Head Taker. I had not noticed him in the shadows. His sword was a butcher’s blade, little decorated, made for war and more kingly because of it. The man was a redhead, and I could see he looked much like the young man.

King Vago.

He had named Lollius. The disgraced governor had paid for men to kill Tiberius. Why? To hide his incompetence, to shade it with war? For his hatred of Tiberius? Likely all of them. And I was sure Tiberius had guessed the culprit.

“I’m the man who ruined the plan,” I said. “And it is utterly ruined.”

Vago’s eyes glittered dangerously as he regarded me. He held the sword easily before him, and his other hand was brushing the hilt, as he pondered the issue. “Does he have proof?”

I smiled. “Clodius. He’s in the town. And so are men who will question him.”

“You have Clodius?” Vago murmured, his eyes squinting at me. “How unfortunate.”

“Perhaps there is a way—” I began, but was interrupted.

Raganthar took a step forward. “Lord. We will find a way. We don’t need him. Let me slay this Chatti bastard for you. He has been making life hard for us from the beginning. It’s a proper sacrifice for the gods. He’ll suffer like his cousin did.” He gazed at me hungrily. “Did you know he begged us not to hurt you? Until the end, as he cried.”

Woden’s rage called for me, even through my exhaustion. I hated the bastard, as much as I did Leuthard.

“That man killed my cousin,” I growled. “He tried to kill Tiberius. Why not blame it on him and Clodius, eh? The best thing for you now, lord, is to take his head to Tiberius. To expose the treason. Blame them. Tell them they fooled you. Lie, as only a king can. Let us finish our feud, and I will tell the Romans you were guiltless.” He spat and ground his teeth together, at the end of his patience. I gazed at him steadily. “You’ll not get your war now. No Romans will join you in the conquest of the Marcomanni, not this year. But you’ll keep your head and there will be other years.”

Vago, an old dog thrummed his fingers on his mail, as if wiping off filth, trying to wash off his perfidy, but the accursed old woman, a druid walked to my side, whispering at the king. “Hati’s servant is still strong, my King. Very strong. He should be trusted, and he might very well still accomplish his goals. Send men to find and kill Clodius. Send Raganthar on his way. Take a risk. You might rule the lands across, if you but trust him. I wager my life he will do well.”

Vago lifted an eyebrow at me, as if to ask me what I thought about that.

I walked toward the old crone. She was frowning at me, and I stopped before her. Behind her, there was a dark flowing stream. It looked uncanny, and where the water ended in a stone wall, it gurgled like a living thing, a monster of the deeps as it was sucked to the bowels of Midgard. It was an underground river, one that was revered by the river worshipping Gauls, and I wondered why the Vangiones would listen to a Gaul druid, rather than their vitka and völva. Perhaps their ways were so confused, they could no longer tell them apart.

“What say you, daughter?” Vago asked the girl. “Your tutor thinks I should listen to Raganthar.”

So, Vago had married a local Celt, and their family was of mixed blood. The girl opened her mouth, and closed it, frowning. The old woman clearly disliked the fact the King had consulted a mere girl. I heard her murmuring, and I wasn’t sure she meant her or me. “Anabonda. You’ll meet her, soon. Get you gone from me.”

I looked as the river churned away, and disappear under the stone.

I grasped her and pushed her. She wind-milled as she fell, rolled on the stone, and fell in with a splash. The look on her face was beyond astonished, though only briefly. Then she disappeared under the water, sucked in by the goddess, and she was gone. The girl was gasping, holding her hand across her mouth. I looked at the King. His face was one of incredulity. I heard Koun pull his sword, and Raganthar shuffling for me uncertainly. I addressed the King. “She wagered her life. She was wrong.”

He looked at me hard, grinding his teeth together. “You are a brazen bit of gristle, aren’t you? The only reason you still breathe is the fact you have Clodius. The only one. To kill a druid—”

I spat in the river. “I didn’t particularly like her. I’m fed up and not really in a mood to ponder what might come out of killing such as her. And as you said, we have Clodius. I could take a shit on your throne, and still you would have to pay attention.”

He nodded, just a bit, relaxing the hand on the sword. “True. You have Clodius. It buys you the right to drown a druid. But only just. Take a shit on my throne, and you’ll be torn to bits. And now, the feud? You wish to settle it?”

I gazed at Raganthar and nodded towards him. “I’m a warrior with debts to pay. If you would, let us fight.” I pointed my hammer at the beastly man. “If he wins, let him risk all of you by trying again. Or just kill him, and give him to Tiberius. Dead, if you don’t want him betraying your filth to the Romans. If I win, I’ll take the sword where it belongs, and you make your war later. You’ll find a way. And you and I both know Rome will make war on the Germani one day soon, anyway. You are still young, King Vago. And you already have allies that side of the river, don’t you? You will find a way to put a wedge in Marcomanni hearts, by war or schemes. Now? You should fear Tiberius.”

He snorted. “You, a child, advise me thus? I fear no-one.”

Koun spat. “But he might be right.”

Raganthar stabbed a finger my way. “I say, do as he says. I’ll slam my shield in his face again. It’s already spattered by plenty of blood from his weak veins, and then I’ll show you Hati still believes in me.”

Vago smiled tiredly and nodded. “Fine. Kill him,” he told Raganthar. Then he looked at me. “And if you win, you will tell Tiberius I had nothing to do with it. It was Lollius, Clodius, and him.” He nodded at Raganthar.

“Lollius, Clodius, and him,” I agreed.

“Yes,” the King said, and had probably decided to kill Raganthar anyway, should I lose.

“Deal,” I said thinly, preparing for the fight. Woden’s rage thrummed in my head, and I saw him dance in shadows and felt his power, his ruinous might, and I prepared to finish the issue. Raganthar didn’t care for ceremony. The huge enemy spat and walked straight for me, hidden behind his shield. He shrugged off his furry cape, the Head Taker glinting.

He charged with a roar.

The sword cut the air, and I danced away. “Come, come!” he yelled as he chased me. “Hammer at me. See where it will get you. There’s no blood for me to slip on! I’ve eaten the best you got and here I am. Do you best.”

I removed my cape.

I dropped my hammer.

His eyes enlarged. I rolled past him, and unwound the iron chain from around my shoulder, arm length and one that ended up in a leather-covered mass. Awkwardly I ripped the leather off, revealing a wicked, spiked ball. Raganthar glanced at the hammer on the ground, confused, and looked at the strange weapon and the gladius on my belt. “New toys? I’ll eat your heart tonight, “ he breathed. “Like I ate your cousin’s yellow balls.”

And that was all that needed to be said. I attacked. In a man’s life, one must sometimes brave everything. If one succeeds, one need never fear again, and that’s what I did. I gave myself to the gods. I went for him, and he came at me, the shield high, the sword cutting, and I twirled the dreadful chain at him. It was a skill to use such a weapon, a skill I didn’t have, but this was a desperate fight, and I replaced the missing skill with ferocity. I had to get past his shield, to hurt him, to wear him down, and so I had a new strategy.

But I misjudged his reach.

The shield slammed forward, spoiling my first attack, and I fell and rolled away, the chain clattering after me. The sword came for me, touching my back and armor. I rolled away again, gasping with pain as sti

t
ches opened, and the madly chuckling Raganthar roared and rushed forward, perhaps smelling blood and my weakness.

I was fast, as fast as any man with a throbbing wound on side and back, and I surprised him by charging in. He lifted the shield, and I kicked at him, and hit his knee. He fell back with a roar that thrummed in the cavern and I jumped away, the chain twirling. He had none of it. The sword was there, coming for my belly and I dodged away, the chain losing its momentum, nearly striking

me in the

my
face. I ran and felt the sword again slice the air after me. He was giving me no time to strike. “Here, you blond rabbit!” he screamed, and I felt the blade cleave once more at my shoulders, felt the jarring crash, the armor saving my life as I surged on.

I stopped abruptly, pulled the gladius with my other hand, and made a mocking attack. He flinched instinctively, throwing his shield up, and stopped his charge. The Head Taker was stabbing past my belly. I lifted the sword, he lifted the shield, and so I had a moment.

I jumped back and found time to whirl the chain properly. The ball took its time to gather momentum, but then it was riding around in the air with brutal speed, making an eerie noise. Koun’s eyes glittered, Vago’s mouth was open, and the girl shrieked as Raganthar came forward, spitting at the sight of the twirling ball. The deadly shield was ready to bowl me over, and the sword, my lord’s weapon, would be coming for my life.

I timed it as well as I could.

The ball whirled around me, Raganthar was there, shield coming for me, his evil eyes glistening with the anticipation of the kill, and then the chain slammed down with all the force I had left. Just like the wet rag had folded on the slave’s back in the Roman tower, so did the metal twirl around the wide shield rim, like no other weapon could, and the spiked ball thumped into his bicep.

Raganthar screamed.

I yanked the ball off, and set it flying again, keeping distance.

He howled, and cursed. There were deep wounds in his arm, and he lifted the shield again, slowly. He looked confused and satisfactorily horrified.

I slammed the weapon down again. His eyes enlarged as the chain again folded on the shield’s rim, the evil ball rolled across his arm, from shoulder to elbow, and red ribbons were torn off as I pulled at the weapon with all my power. The shield fell away, the huge man clamped his arm around the chain, his eyes wet with pain. He grasped the ball under his armpit, trying to yank the chain off my grip with his weakened hand, but I grunted, raged, and spat as I pulled, dropping the gladius.

He screamed as the ball tore into his flesh, but he held on, and I yanked him after me across the floor with manic strength. He howled like an animal he was and fell to his face. I dragged him around like one, until he dropped the sword, the pain so intense he tried to use his other arm to take a hold of the chain. I stopped pulling, jumped over him, and landed on his back with my full force and slipped the chain under his chin.

He thrashed like a maniac. He pulled me around, then around again, and we rolled across the floor, panting, while he was choking. I was soaked in his blood, his hands were clawing the air, trying to find my face. We ended up by the water, and with god’s own luck, I ended up on his back and pushed his gaping, carnivorous mouth under the water. He was choking, and drowning. How long it took, I don’t know. I was speaking to him gently, I don’t know why, and he was gulping down the goddess’s holy water, until it was clear he was finally gone.

I panted, clawed my way to the hammer, stood over him, and chopped the weapon into his skull, shattering it. I leaned over his shoulder to whisper to him. “May Hati eat you, Raganthar. And if you see my cousin, fear him. He is a Chatti, and no coward, and you won’t have a shield or a sword, you half-man. And he’ll have this.” I threw the chain and the ball to the river, got up, and kicked his corpse, so it rolled to the water, drifted under the surface, a dark blot, and then disappeared.

Good luck coming back, you spawn of lies, I thought

I turned to look at the Vangiones, feverish and half dead.

The King was speaking with Koun, who was nodding, stealing glances at me. Whatever he was doing, he was probably not going to honor our deals, and indeed, he had made none.

Vago turned his back and walked away, and the girl followed him. The King didn’t utter a word as he went, but pulled the girl after him and disappeared up the stairs. Koun was there, looking at me with respect. “That was well done,” he said with respect. “And you are right. There will be war with the Marcomanni, soon enough. We can wait. Father told me to deliver you where you would go. Is there—”

“A man called Marcus with Tiberius. His men are in the whorehouse near the temple,” I whispered. “The Oil Lamp? Yes. Go there, take me with you, and—”

“Clodius is dead, no?” he asked with a small smile. He looked at the doorway where his father had disappeared into and shrugged. “It was a mad plan. I don’t care if he is. You’ll go home. I’m happy to burn that bastard Lollius. You think Tiberius will buy it though? That father had nothing to do with it?”

I shrugged. “Tiberius? He is a hard man to read.” I smiled at him. “He might believe you had nothing to do with it.”

Koun laughed and agreed. “Stop scheming. You won. We’ll see how things go.” He picked up the Head Taker, admiring its length and ancient make. I fell on the bed, and rested and Vangiones arrived and carried me out.

Later on, I sat on the boat. Issa and the crew were rowing me down the river for Hard Hill. I held on to the Head Taker, my other hand on the hilt of the hammer, and slept.

CHAPTER 29

Marcus accepted Vago’s explanations. So did Tiberius. They were lies, everyone knew it, but Lollius was in a deep trouble. He would leave for Rome, having made a political suicide by trying to regain his honor with a fabricated war to avenge the death of Tiberius, a man he loathed and hated, and would hate forever, until his death much later.

I spoke with Marcus, and he told me to be patient, that Gisil was safe, and to serve Hulderic. I guessed Rome indeed had plans for the Rhenus River, and many men like me in the ranks of the free people.

It would be an honorless service.

I’d accept the service, obey, and try to find my place, perhaps love that might drive Gisil away from my soul. I prayed to Frigg, as Issa rowed me to Hard Hill, that she would find her peace in Rome.

After we moored, I was carried up the hill. Hard Hill was silent, when I arrived. Later, when I was lying in the Red Hall, it was different. I was being accused of treason. Fulch the Red was there, leaning on a sturdy staff, recovering from his wound, and looking at me carefully. Ermendrud had poked her head in, and I was happy she was alive. Fulch’s wounds were mending, but his honor, his standard had been taken. I listened on how at least ten famous men accused me of siding with the enemy, pointing the fingers at me, and no matter what took place, I’d have feuds with the families of Hard Hill. Many feuds. Harmod the Old, the Goth of old ancestry, grim and big, and my tormentor in the hall of Teutorigos was looking on, bored.

Fulch growled. “We will avenge ourselves on the Gauls,” he said icily. “There will be many wars to pay back for the deaths of our men, but we should start with this liar.”

Balderich was wiping his face. I saw him. He was smiling under his hand, and I knew I had served him well. The Marcomanni, despite Bero’s reluctance, would fight more wars. Despite the loss, there would be more men in Hard Hill than ever, and the tribe would prepare for a war with Rome. He had gotten what he wanted, but would he save me? He listened to the men for a long time, and when they had mostly vented their rage, he lifted a finger. “Out. We’ll talk more in the Thing. Yea, he has deserved your ire, but now I’ll speak with him on my own. And you lot. Stay.” He pointed a finger at Bero and Harmod.

And Leuthard.

The other men left, muttering angrily.

I gazed at the Leuthard.

He looked dead. His face was pale, his eyes dark, and he slouched on a seat, refusing to lie down. On his side, there was a new sword, longer than the Feud Settler. Bero took a step forward. “Why is that man here?” he asked and nodded at Harmod.

Harmod spat, and pointed a finger at me. “That man was sent to recover the Head Taker. He took it from thieves. And he has an interesting story about the thieves.”

Bero cursed, and Balderich raised a hand. He was holding the famed sword. “Many Marcomanni dead. Thievery. Murders and lies. Adalwulf coming back with the sword. Is he Hulderic’s man now?”

“He is,” Harmod said. “And Hulderic shall judge him, if you let him.”

“No,” Bero said thinly. “I’m missing—”

I laughed gutturally. “Silver and gold.”

“You took them,” he growled. “You murdered my men, took them to Seisyll—”

“Lies, my lord,” I interrupted him weakly and sat up painfully. “I was out there to recover the sword. A story Lord Balderich knows well.” Balderich’s eyes went to Bero, and there was something unkind there, and Bero knew better than to press the issue.

“I’m missing treasure,” Bero said simply, shivering.

But it was not really missing, since Danr and Iodocus had brought it to Balderich, which also made our lord happy, though he hid his glee well. Balderich slammed the sword on the floorboards. “Adalwulf will go and serve Hulderic. He will answer to the feuds in time, pay his wergilds, and he’ll serve to wash away the blood he had to spill in our service. There was a misunderstanding, that is all. As for you, Bero, you’ll start looking into weakening the Vangiones. I want their villages to burn, much more frequently than before. Since King Vago wants Hard Hill, we must start giving him reason to look after his own lands, no?”

Bero nodded, his face dark with rage. He spun on his heels, and left.

Balderich winked at me, and looked to the side, where Iodocus walked out. He saw Leuthard sitting there, looking at him balefully. The Celt tried his best to ignore the man, and walked to me. Harmod pulled me up, I tried to help, but I toppled to the arms of Iodocus. He hugged me, happy to see me, tears in his face. Balderich clapped my back, gave the Head Taker to Harmod, passed by Leuthard, who still didn’t make a sound, and the great lord went out. Iodocus whispered to my ear. “I found Ingrid.”

I looked at Leuthard, and then whispered at Iodocus. He hesitated, and gave me a bag, which I took gratefully. “Wait outside for me, please,” I told them.

“Be careful,” Harmod said darkly. “The hall’s poisonous and filled with vermin.” They moved out, and I stared at Leuthard.

Leuthard said nothing, but looked at the bag in my hand. I lifted it and it jingled. I walked before him, opened the bag and poured out bits of metal that fell to the floor before him. His eyes followed the stream of metal, Feud Settler’s remains and then looked up at me.

I spoke. “Like you, a broken thing of no worth.”

“Look over your shoulder,” he told me softly.

“I killed one, I can kill another,” I spat and turned to leave.

“Did you? Did you kill him?” he laughed, and when I exited, he called out. “Remember. Ear. Ear is after her. He will walk in her shadow. He will wait for years. He’ll find her, even if she is hidden in the lap of a goddess. And you go and weep over Ingrid. You and I? Don’t walk the woods alone.”

Later, I placed the hammer on the small mound, built under ancient firs. There, Iodocus had buried poor Ingrid, and there I left the hammer, its purpose spent. “Wolf Breaker,” I whispered, and then I left with Harmod, servant to Hulderic and Tiberius, whom I’d serve in the shadows, until I could go and find Gisil. It would take time, and it involved the return of Maroboodus, Hraban’s downfall, and the death of Hulderic.

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AFTERWORD

Adalwulf was meant to be a lighter reading, a lead up to the other books that delve deep into the matters of Maroboodus, son of Hulderic and Hraban, son of Maroboodus, but also seemed to develop into its own storyline during the writing. Meaning a book that was meant to be 40,000 words is now 120,000 words. Mea culpa. I cannot make short stories.

I’ve been often asked how accurate the books are. Are they historically accurate, that is.

I’m afraid we are left with guesses and assumptions.  I don’t write the story of some well-documented king or  queen, a noble of note, but the stories of lesser known people. They do walk in the shadows of the great events and famous heroes, but as a fictional writer, my job is to entertain, not to recreate events in a way where a professor might be left smiling with pride. I will not dot the books with foreign words, lengthy explanations of customs, though I will mention many of them, give hints at others and that is it. Yes, the events are there, but I do leave a lot of room for fiction. Hope this is ok. If not, I can point my finger at several, excellent non-fiction books.

Considering how very little is knows of the Germani of the time, the books are accurate enough. Since the Roman army never conquered the Germani, not really, not truly, though they came close during those years leading to the Varus incident, they failed to take the lands, and so, they never bothered recording the histories of the untamed people. The Romans knew some of the customs, the tribes, their names, the history of the wars they fought with them, but little else.

I’ve read extensively on the archeological studies and historical theories of the era, know what the people ate, what they drank, how they lived, what they likely worshipped, how close they were to each other culturally, how they waged war and what for, and kind of political issues they would have had during this timeframe. We know a lot more, if we allow ourselves to take hints from how the Viking era Norse, Danes and Svea lived like. The life would have changed, but many of the basic economic and cultural facts would still dictate how people lived. Since the ancient Germani and the Viking era nations were all of the same blood, we are going to have a fairly good picture of the lives of Germanic people of this time frame.

Adalwulf, like Maroboodus and Hraban, lived during the time of Augustus, the supreme lord of Rome who changed Rome from a Republic into an Empire, even if the trappings of Republic were always hiding the obvious truth. Augustus, despite his immense power, was not a perfect man, and his struggle to find an heir of pure blood, and how that went, is where my Germanic heroes come along. All stories, all adventures are tied to each other, so you can really pick up any of them.

Hope you enjoy them.