Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (38 page)

“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?”