Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) (33 page)

He pulled his arm back. ‘For Ingo. For him,’ he panted.

Then, finally, Agin attacked.

He and his men charged from the harbor road, a line of bristling spears, and they struck fear in all of us with their guttural, animal-like, screams. They were bleeding, wounded men aplenty with them, and I knew they had met more Goths as they’d tried to move in. Ingulf looked that way, shocked, Hughnot’s mouth fell open and then there was a general chaos as our enemy turned to face the new threat, which was a threat to us as well.

The Svearna were slaying Goths indiscriminately.

They bowled men over, felled a dozen, then ten more, and Ingulf rushed away, screaming orders. I slithered back, bleeding, and saw how Hughnot joined in shouting warnings to their men. Near me, Bero was being pulled back, wounded, as our men turned to create a thin wall against the wild Svearna and the Black Goths alike. I cursed, for everything was going to Helheim. I saw Agin pulling at his men, screaming at them with a red face, pointing his ax at Hughnot. Slowly, they obeyed and attacked Hughnot’s men alone, giving us some time to breathe and so the battle churned around the tents. I was looking around desperately, and then I saw men dragging a struggling woman to Hughnot’s standard.

‘Saxa!’ I screamed but lost sight of her as dust filled the air where Svearna and Black Goths fought savagely. ‘Charge them! Now!’ I screamed and then caught a sight of Hughnot in the dust, now holding Saxa in an iron grip. He was looking my way, grimacing. I pointed Hel’s Delight to where Hrolf would be. ‘Hughnot! Leave the girl alive and I’ll spare your son!’ I screamed.

His eyes flashed, and he hesitated, growled, and pushed Saxa to some of his men, and went to battle.

‘Charge them! Now!’ Bero screamed weakly, as they dragged him away. Bero’s men hesitated. Most had broken weapons, many were wounded and shocked by the butchery, and I cursed them.

‘Form a fucking battle line. A shieldwall!’ I screamed. ‘A shieldwall! No, charge! Kill Hughnot! We have to kill him! He is the key to the fight!’ Some of the Black Goths were turning to look at us warily, but took the opportunity to press on to kill as many Svearna as they could while our side hesitated. Some Black Goths were blowing horns, and soon, no doubt, Hrolf’s men would discover something was amiss. We had to hurry.

I gave myself to gods, rushed forward, bereft of a shieldwall, and thanks be to Woden, Bero’s men followed and pushed for Hughnot. The enemy lord and many of his best men were at the edge of the raging battle with the Svearna, and I thought Hughnot was hoping to escape. The way to him was clear. Some of the Black Goths around Hughnot fell to Svearna, and I knew I might catch them. I’d kill Hughnot, save Saxa.

I surged forward.

Then a man pulled me around. ‘Not now!’  I screamed, pushing at him.

‘Lord! Bero!’ he yelled, and pointed at the man who had pulled the lord away from the battle, and it was Osgar.

Hrolf was with him, ungagged, unbound.

I staggered and realized many things at the same time. Osgar had worked for their side all along, and he had not lied about hating Bero, that he had wanted to give his oaths to another, though obviously not to my father as I had assumed. He had protected Friednot that fateful day and failed, probably on purpose. Perhaps he had made sure Hughnot found Bero in Wolf Hole as well. I’d never know, and I realized what Hrolf was doing.

Hrolf was pulling at Bero’s finger, tearing at the ring. Osgar was guarding them, though our men were near now, pointing spears at them.

The ring came off. The enemy lord kicked Bero and pulled out the magnificent Head Taker and hissed at Osgar, who was nodding, backing off.

‘What shall we do, Lord?’ the man who had stopped me asked desperately as Hrolf left, Osgar in tow, running around the battle for the boats. I took running steps after them. The ring, the sword, and they must not get away, ever with the treasures. They were fast, I was tired, and so I stopped. Aldbert’s lines drifted into my mind.

To choose between a woman and a noose? I chose a noose, the ring? Over the woman?

I turned to look behind.

Hughnot and Saxa were gone.

I roared my anger, standing there like a fool.

The boats. That’s where they would all go. Saxa and the ring and the sword. All would go there.

‘Break them and rush their boats!’ I yelled, and turned my eyes away from Bero. I charged the scattering Black Goths; Bero’s men after me and many of them struck the backs of the Black Goths, who fell between the Svearna and us. Blood flowed, chaos reigned, Hughnot was roaring somewhere beyond my sight, Ingulf was cursing, and many Black Goths hacked down the exhausted Svearna to escape from the trap. I forgot about my pains, exhaustion, and fears, and pushed forward, killing and wounding many men. There was no line now, only running men, a chaos where warriors fell indiscriminately.

I saw Agin.

The huge man had spotted Saxa. He was running in the chaos, far ahead of me. He had hammered down a man, and I saw Ingulf turning, and that’s where Saxa would be. I prayed for my friend as I dodged through groups of fighting men, and as Agin’s huge ax went up, I was sure Ingulf would die, wounded and obviously exhausted as he was, and Saxa would be safe, and all would be well.

It would have been, but for Hrolf.

The bastard appeared, and he barreled in and pushed at Agin and the two men rolled on the ground.

‘Agin!’ I screamed, trying to slay my way through the fleeing ranks, but I saw Agin crawling in dust, his eye bleeding, looking for his ax. He found it, toppled a Goth, and hammered the man’s throat with the ax shaft, but then Hrolf appeared next to him, and I despaired as he held the Head Taker, and the weapon came down. The huge Svea shuddered; fell on his face, and Hrolf’s savage laughter echoed through the ranks as he waved the bloodied, famed sword in the air.

The Svearna moaned.

They howled and despaired and some fought, but many retreated, their heart lost. I saw Fox being carried away, bleeding and delirious.

Suddenly, so suddenly, there was calm on the field.

The Svea were going, and we, the Bear Goths stood there, but a mere ten strong. The enemy was still far more numerous than us, and many turned from their flight to regard our ragged band.

I saw Hughnot pointing a sword at me, speaking to Hrolf. I saw Saxa beyond him, her face shining with love and fear as she tried to rip free of two Goths.

What would have happened? I don’t know.

They had some forty men left, all shaken and many wounded, but many of their lords were alive. Osgar, Ingulf, grievously wounded that he was, Hughnot, Hrolf, all were there, pulling at their running men. They could have rallied, probably won the day, and we would have been wolf-feed, the lot of us forgotten.

But the gods threw their dice, and finally, the dice fell favorably for us.

Everyone stopped, as horns were blown up on the hill. An army emerged from there. Hughnot howled in triumph. He danced with glee.

And then his face fell.

It was a bloody army, recently fought, and they emerged from where we had marched down not too long ago. There was a standard, one I knew well. On top of that pole, there were rows of bear fangs. Hulderic had arrived with hundreds of our men. His warriors roared defiance at the sight of Hughnot, their voices echoing over the lake and across the hills and they rushed down and attacked.

The Black Goths ran.

We ran after them, hearing Hulderic roaring at his men to give chase. They took after the enemy with us, having routed Hrolf’s camp and joined us and then, finally by the lake, pandemonium reigned. Goths killed Goths, men surrendered, some drowned in the lake, some fought on valiantly, but some escaped on one ship.

In that boat, Hrolf, Hughnot, and Ingulf were standing. A dozen men were pushing and pulling at the boat, some standing in the water and the boat was soon out of the shore, oars treading water. We tore into the guarding few oathsmen of Hughnot with vengeance and desperation. ‘Saxa!’ I screamed, and she heard me as she climbed to stand in the boat. Hughnot was pointing a finger at me, but Hrolf was shaking his head. He showed his father the ring and the sword. ‘Saxa!’ I screamed, desperate. Hrolf looked at me disdainfully.

I stood there and cursed and wept. Men were going silent around us as we stared at the departing enemy. There was victory, but it was a hollow and useless one, and everyone knew it. Saxa was leaning on the prow, held by Hrolf now.

I raised my sword at him. ‘Come back here!’ I said, without any power to make it so.

Hrolf laughed. ‘We have her. We will have Gislin’s Svea. We have the ring. The sword. You go home and wait. The end will come soon enough.’

Then I heard a cursed voice. Maino. He stood, his hands tied, not far from us. ‘Gislin? Gislin is—’

‘No!’ I screamed.

‘Dead! Your allegiance is useless!’ he finished, and I felt the cold claws of doom rip at my guts. Hrolf’s eyes sought his father’s. Hughnot rubbed his face and spoke to Hrolf, and when the bastard turned to look at me, I knew what would happen.

Hrolf grinned at me like a baleful monster. ‘Maroboodus. You killed my men, mocked me, and dishonored me. And now they say there is no Lord of the Svea to ally with? If that is so, then she is useless to us, indeed. I’ll marry someone more worthy. We will finish you all without the Svea. Takes longer, but we will.’

‘Gislin lives!’ I yelled.

Maino was laughing. ‘He died! Maroboodus killed him!’

Hrolf spat in the gray water of Long-Lake and picked up an anchor stone. Saxa didn’t move. She didn’t show fear. She raised her eyes to the sky as Hrolf tied a rope around her throat and I rushed to the water. I cursed him, spat in rage and then he pushed the stone overboard.

She was gone. There was barely a splash and she disappeared under the waves.

Hrolf spat after her. ‘At least she had a real man before she met the gods!’

I heard nothing more. I went under as well, hoping for the water spirits to bring her to me, but all I felt were hands pulling me back. I was coughing water as Harmod pulled me out of the water, helped by Dubbe. But it was Ceadda who spoke, sitting next to me, holding my head on his lap. ‘Easy, boy. It’s done. Do not throw your life away.’

‘I did everything for her. For the family!’ I screamed. ‘They took her away.’

‘And we shall pay them back,’ he said. Father was nearby, his blade bloodied, and he didn’t argue with the Saxon as Hrolf’s laughter drifted across the lake.

‘
A fine joke, a grand jest! Is this your idea? Hughnot’s?’

The Boat-Lord to Hrolf.

M
arka seemed half empty.

              It was not silent, though. There was a steady drone of weeping from nearly every hall, brief howls of anguish as the wounded were tended to, and even the gods were weeping, since it was raining forlornly. Men of Timberscar and the southern villages had lost a few men, but Bero’s warbands were decimated, and the lord himself was in his hall, wounded and feverish. I had spent hours looking for Maino, but he had gone into hiding. Ceadda had forced me to abandon my quest, though he had needed Njord to aid him. They had sat me down, held me there, listened to me sob, curse, and rage, all the while forcing mead down my throat, until I had willingly drank myself senseless. After that, I had slept for two days straight. I had not even woken up to having my wounds sewn. 

Now I sat on the beach, looking at the islands, the wet cliffs, and dully wondered at the slowly gliding sea fog of that morning. There was a strange ethereal look to the sea, and it matched how I felt. The anger was there, lurking under a heavy blanket of denial and exhaustion.

Mainly, I blamed Maino. Of course I did. He was filth, had caused the deaths of Aldbert, and also Saxa. He had. He had known what he was doing. He had been the spear in the hands of death.

However, there were other such spears. I blamed the plotters and the weaklings, men of both brave and weak hearts. I basically blamed everyone, I realized and smiled bitterly as a gull swooped down to the sea and lifted a herring away, beating its wings furiously. Yes, I blamed Bero, and Osgar, cursed Hughnot and the damned Boat-Lord. I blamed Father as well.

But my anger was also fueled by self-loathing. Like the cursed lines of Aldbert had predicted, I had chosen between the noose, the Ring, and the girl. I had.

I had gone after my family treasure, even if for just a moment, and so given Hughnot time to slip away, and even if I had repented, turned around, it had been too late. Gods be cursed for their wicked games.

I blamed myself. Perhaps most of all. I shivered and hugged myself, trying to see a way forward. I needed something to think about, other than Saxa’s face.

I took some stones in my hands, letting them roll on my palm, slipping between my fingers. I had wanted power, glory, like any man would. Instead, I had seen my wife die. I had seen Hrolf take the ring, gloat over the sword.

Hrolf.

Had he raped her? I placed my hands on my face and squeezed so hard I felt blood flow down my forehead from the stones still in my hands. Hrolf. Killing him. That was a worthy goal to live for. If only I could pick myself up and find the energy to try.

And then I heard steps, and dared not look up. Someone was standing there, and for some reason I expected Aldbert to speak, to say something awkward but comforting, but no, I had let him down as well and he’d never be there again. The bastard had been protecting me, I had distrusted him, but wasn’t it his fault as well? If only he had told me the truth.

I had been a terrible friend, though.

Something metallic fell on the rubble-plagued beach, startling me from my wandering thoughts. It rattled and clanged dully for a moment and I saw it was Hel’s Delight. It was glinting, its edges sharpened, kinks taken out of the blade and I looked up to see Njord there, frowning, not his usual carefree self. ‘Will you pick it up?’ he asked.

I didn’t. To pick it up meant I had a purpose in my life. Revenge? Yes, that was a purpose, perhaps, but perhaps I
shouldn’t
have one. I didn’t deserve one. Who else would die if I got up with a sword, striding to kill another man? Father? The rest of us? I shook my head.

‘Gods, really?’ he breathed. He went to his haunches and joined me in the scrutiny of the sea. ‘Like my girl, you are. She is three. Four, sorry. Perhaps five? Matters not. She sulks and mopes like you, especially when I have to leave. Fisila, my wife, says she stays that way for days, until she has to eat, eventually. Then she forgets me. When did you eat?’

I had no answer.

He went on. ‘Not eaten. Perhaps all that mead we forced down your throat keeps you going. It was pretty fulfilling, I bet.’ He smiled guiltily. ‘I drank down the rest of if. There was a lot. And told your father it spilled.’

‘What is Father doing?’ I asked him dully.

I could almost sense his pleasure for having made me speak, and I felt I had betrayed my sorrow. ‘Hulderic? Well, he is putting together a defense. He is calling all oathsmen from the gau, leaving south almost undefended, and there will be a thousand men here very late in the summer. He is gathering boats, sending out spies, taking stock of the supplies. He is doing what great men do when faced by war. You still outnumber the Black Goths. Yea, your champions are half dead, but war makes new ones, eh?’

‘Hughnot will have the Boat-Lord,’ I reminded him. ‘His men will eventually overwhelm us, even without the Svea.’

He grunted. ‘Yes. But when will they work together? Your old bastard of a relative probably heard of this loss of the Svea. Perhaps he fears treachery? He doesn’t trust Hughnot. And he has probably heard how Hrolf took that golden loop and the sword. If they want an alliance, for the Boat-Lord to send his men over the sea, I bet they’ll have to give him the ring and the sword back first, no? No alliance or forgiveness before that, is there? That’s what I think and I’m a bastard and know how bastards think. Even Ceadda thinks I’m right and he usually doesn’t.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘They will have to give them over first. Probably so.’

We sat there and there was a sudden stiff wind blowing from the sea. The trees on the islands before the village were bending, their light-green leaves waving softly, living on, unheeding the misery of the humans, and I envied them. ‘Take the sword,’ Njord said.

‘Why?’ I whispered.

‘I made a bet with Ceadda. I told him I could pull you from your misery, and I don’t like losing to the morose bastard,’ he chuckled. ‘We bet a cow, the very best we have, and I want his cow come winter. I’ll make a feast of it, and serve him the head. He’ll eat and weep, won’t he?’

I chuckled and shook my head tiredly. ‘I cannot take the sword, even if I wanted to.’

‘Why? You turned coward? Will you weep for your mistakes forever? Don’t you deserve to live again? Oh! Wait!’ he was batting his eyes, holding a hand on his chest like a surprised girl. ‘You are afraid I’ll die if you go back to war? Yes, you are afraid you are cursed and you might lose your precious Njord as well. I’m truly touched.’

I looked at him with anguish and anger, and opened my mouth to tell him he was a damned fool. For some reason, a hint of a smile made its way to my lips and I looked away swiftly as he grinned victoriously. I raised my hand to douse his joy. ‘Father told me he’d have me skewered if I make any more trouble. They
all
hate me, you see. All of them. Even Dubbe. They say Bero tried to have me hung when he woke up yesterday. And the families of the dead will all heap accusations on my neck. They’ll line up against me in the Thing, and Harmod mentioned they will spend days just to sort out who shall go first. Ludovicus’s family, I hear, don’t even want wergild. They want my skin. I mean exactly that. My
skin
. They say they will make a rug out of it for the dogs to sleep on.’

‘Well,’ Njord said languidly. ‘I know how that is. We have several feuds with some of our neighbors.’ Then he brightened. ‘Though two died in the battle by the beach with Cuthbert. I didn’t realize.’ He shook his head and concentrated. He nudged me and I frowned at him and he was whispering like a girl to another during the feast. ‘Hulderic is sending us home.’

‘He is?’ I asked. ‘Why?’

‘Well, considering we found him marching after Bero and Hughnot, and had seen how Bero was trapped on that shitty hill, he does owe us something.’

‘I’m surprised he doesn’t let you die to appease Bero,’ I spat. ‘I bet he’s still keen on licking his brother’s hairy, weak balls.’

‘He isn’t as happy with Bero as he used to be,’ Njord said neutrally. ‘Too many things happened. Perhaps too many for Hulderic to forgive. Perhaps too many for him to handle,’ he added, and I knew he thought we’d lose the war.

We?

Not I,
I realized. I had nothing left in Marka.
Or in Timberscar
.

‘Changes nothing,’ I said forlornly. ‘It is far too late to save my skin from the malice of my own people. But I wish you happy hunting, friend.’

‘We’ll row out this night,’ he told me and hesitated. ‘I’m … we are sorry for Saxa.’

‘I’m …’ I said and shuddered, fighting the tears.

He was nodding. ‘We miss the girl. And so, here it is. Listen. I was with Cuthbert in Hogholm.’

I was confused by the change in subject. ‘You were? In Boat-Lord’s land?’

‘Your grandfather Friednot had spies there. So did we. So does everyone in these shores. The place is a virtual fortress, a cove on the western side of the islands.’ He pointed in the general direction of Gothonia, and I didn’t doubt his skill in navigation. He went on. ‘The Silver Anvil, his hall is high on the cliff, the villages sprawl under it, but the whole place is ringed by rocks, and there’s a harbor with a fine pier. Stone, thick timber. Rich trade. We all know the Boat-Lord hates you lot for taking off from under his thumb, but he also detested that your grandfather partially cut off their trade in furs from the west. You have grown rich on furs, you know? But now, that is changing. Hrolf will be going there to crown their re-established relations, to plot for your demise. He will go there soon. The loss of the Svea alliance will be a hard blow, but they will win without the Svea. But if Hulderic attacks them before they have the alliance? No, Hrolf will row his boats there very soon. For now, they are starving for furs there, though, and so, perhaps we’ll take them some?’

I shook my head, and tested his forehead for fever. ‘You’ll take them furs?’

He slapped my hand away. ‘Indeed. Hear me out. To sail to Hogholm’s cove, you need to know people. And the man who sold Cuthbert this information about the Svea girl, about Saxa,’ he said with a tight voice, ‘he is the master of the fort, the man who taxes ships who come in and out, and I know he’d love some fox furs for his wife. He’d ask few questions, he would,’ Njord said steadily.

‘You wish to go to Hogholm?’ I asked him dully. ‘But where would you get the furs?’

‘It’s not on the way home,’ he snickered. ‘It’s fall and the sea can be dangerous. But we didn’t make much of a killing on this trip, and perhaps we wish to do some trading?’

‘
Where
will you get fox furs to trade?’ I insisted. ‘And what would you be trying to do there?’

He leaned closer to me. ‘Bero has a warehouse full of them,’ he said with a wink. ‘His personal wealth. We’ll take them. Why not? He’s very few guards left. You remember you wanted to join the crew if Saxa betrayed … well, she didn’t. But the offer stands.’

‘You could just take the furs, and not go to Hogholm,’ I said, understanding what they were offering. They’d join me in my revenge.

He slapped me gently. ‘I told you. We liked her well. I say we go and kill Hrolf, we’ll gut him like a salmon, feed his eyes to the gulls, bet on how long he lives without his guts, and row south. There you shall find something worth doing, I’m sure. And perhaps someone worth knowing, as well? We have pretty girls aplenty, and some might be as brave and clever as Saxa was. She’d hate to see you suffer like this forever.’

I didn’t say anything to that. It was too early, no matter how wise the words. Instead, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t drunk. ‘How would you take the furs? It’s guarded,’ I said slowly, so he’d understand the issue. ‘Surely it is. You say he has few men left, but he has dozens. You think they—’

He smiled and pushed me. ‘Let the thieves do the thieving bit. Be here at the evening. We’ll deal with everything, don’t you worry. There’s still some of us left and we know how, eh?’

I looked at the sword and the fog had cleared. There was the sea, gray, cold, vast, and the horizon was dotted with islands, their ghostly silhouettes whispering of new tales.

There would be lands. New places to see. Father would have sent me there and I hadn’t been willing. Now I was. I grabbed the sword, felt its weight, the risk it brought of more trouble, but would I stay there, and die after a Thing? When Hughnot arrived?

No.

I got up. I’d go and see the Saxon lowlands in the south.

But before that, I’d visit Hogholm with the thieving Saxons.