Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (37 page)

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.

“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

I
n 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?”