Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (15 page)

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.

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.”