Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (8 page)

“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.

T
he 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.”