Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) (34 page)

I
had always rowed a boat in near the land. There you knew where you were going, and while the whole coast was dotted with islands far to the sea, it felt strange to row out from the Marka. The past seemed suddenly distant, insignificant, as if my life had been locked in a box before, and suddenly that box was left ajar and behind me. The Saxons were in good spirits, singing lustily, laughing. Ceadda was happy with the calm sea, and I ventured a smile when they clapped my back, and understood the strangely comforting freedom that the open sea gifted men. I had nothing left, nothing but opportunity to build something new, and while the sorrow followed you everywhere you went, being far from where the sorrow was born made breathing easier and the pain lighter to bear. Rowing away was healing, it was hopeful, and I loved every splash of the oars, even if I was terrified we’d get lost, or a storm took us. Our exit had been easy, people occupied, and not one of the men that had been sent to watch me made so much as a squeak as I waded to the waiting boat the Saxons had pushed out. Likely, they wanted to be rid of me. I had not even said farewell to Father. Perhaps I didn’t want him to fare well at all? Or perhaps I had feared he’d not let me leave and I’d change my mind.

For some reason, there was a huge pile of furs in the boat. How they did that, I could not guess.

I was shaken from my contemplations by a wave that slapped my face and I sputtered, lost my rhythm and my oar clanked to the man’s oar before me who cursed profusely.

‘He looks like a Saxon,’ Njord said. ‘Shivering and salty, hungry and bitter! Like he was bred down south. Only if he knew how to row.’

‘And can’t see worth a shit,’ Ceadda added. ‘We’ll row out, and try to find this island, that’s not too far. We’ll spend the night there, and then we cross the open water in daylight. With luck, a day of sturdy oarsmanship, and uncomfortable night, and then, by midday, we will reach Hogholm, unless we get lost.’

‘Very well,’ I told him. ‘We will see what’s what. Just don’t get us drowned,’ I said and went white with the stabbing pain of loss, as I thought of Saxa, sunk under the water of Long-Lake, her body never recovered.

Ceadda saw it and nodded at me, sharing the pain. He thumbed over his shoulder, ‘Perhaps Hrolf is there. Perhaps not,’ he said and shrugged. ‘But he will be, won’t he? He has to be. If not? We have time.’

‘He’ll be there,’ I said bitterly. ‘I’ll see his eyes as he dies.’

‘I know a great silversmith, boy,’ Ceadda said. ‘He can make a brilliant cup out of the skull.’

We rowed, spent a cold, windy night on an abandoned beach, and rowed the day, then slowly that night, while half slept. By the next morning, my blistered hands were bleeding.

As predicted, Ceadda smirked at midday the next day. There were islands and a larger mass of hazy land. Slowly it grew, the smell of land drifted across the waters, the birds grew many, and I saw the land we hailed from, Gothonia, our own land, the land where all men were born. We slowly rowed past beaches filled with great rocky pillars, unearthly, unnatural and likely made by jotuns when the world was young. We gazed at the rich pastures filled with cows, towns and villages, and then entered a calm waterway between two lush islands and finally spied a rocky hill far, and on top of that there was a long, brown hall. Below it, a town sprawled, and a tall, thick wall of timber guarded the hall and the town. There was a harbor, ringed by jutting rocks and small islands and the only navigable way to the harbor was guarded by a huge, jutting rock from which ran a thick chain to a small island, where there was a small, earth-walled fort.

We slowly rowed next to the chain, a rusty, thick thing with dried seaweed hanging from the barnacles that covered its length, and all of that was heaped with bird shit. We approached a bit of sturdy pier on the fortified island, and the winch from where the chain was lowered and raised. Men walked out of the fort, bored, yawning, isolated guards far from the comforts of the town across the water, and I looked up at the huge hall where Friednot and Hughnot had grown, the Silver Anvil. That’s where Bero and Hulderic had probably visited often as boys, hearing tales of the past, and perhaps they had even lived there.

In the harbor, there were fine ships pulled on the shore or tied to the pier.

One was familiar, the one Hughnot had used to row to Marka. Ceadda’s eyes flashed my way, and he gave me a baleful grin and I nodded at him. Woden had brought us all there, in Hogholm, and there many debts would be paid in full. ‘I bet it’s Hrolf,’ Njord whispered. ‘If it’s Hughnot, we’ll kill him first. We have time.’

Hughnot.
I had not thought of that. Perhaps Hrolf was home, and Hughnot there? Gods, let them both be in Hogholm, I prayed as I stared at the ship. It was a well-made thing, suitable for thirty men, had decorated sides, rich-red hue, and tall prow. The Saxons had pushed it to the sea the day we had escaped Marka, but it had been recovered and looked fine. I cursed my eyesight, fidgeted, sweated, and then I saw Hrolf.

It was he.

His long, blond hair was like that of many men in the north, but his pose, erect, and arrogant, his wide shoulders and rich tunic betrayed him, and I felt the tears of relief roll down my cheeks. They were busy, all of them. Hrolf was obviously giving orders, and then he marched off, taking a winding route that led up to the hall. Men were left working the length of the boat, carrying their gear to a nearby hall with an odd roof, where grass grew. Ceadda crouched next to me as Njord hailed the men standing on the pier. ‘Yea. It was he. That’s called Hraban’s Kiln. A tavern, a smithy. They have rooms, and sailors get to eat and sleep on the floors.’

‘Hrolf will likely sleep up there?’ I asked and nodded for the huge hall on top of the rocky path. There flapped a standard, near the hall’s doors, of a rampant bear painted in red over a black field. It was the standard of the Boat-Lord, our distant relative. It beckoned for me, for some reason, and I thought it a much finer herald of glory than what Hulderic sported, the bear jaws.

‘Perhaps he will, perhaps he won’t,’ Ceadda said. ‘It’s not too long ago they were enemies. See, there are a lot of men in the town. The Boat-Lord doesn’t trust Hrolf’s men.’ Indeed, Hrolf’s men were surrounded by dozens of idle warriors, all lounging easily, but with spears nearby.

‘Just like Marka, when Hughnot arrived,’ I said.

‘You there!’ a tall, gangly man was yelling. We turned to look at him, and it was clear he had been napping. He was a mid-aged Goth with a red, useless eye, long blond beard, and he was thin as a wand as he raised a hand to stop us. The guards flanked him. ‘A sorry-looking bunch of traders, aren’t you?’

‘Rich enough,’ Ceadda said, struggling to stand near Njord. ‘We bought something really nice from some Svea.’

The man’s eyes took us all in. I avoided his gaze, but he saw my sword, the chain mail, and that of Ceadda, who had received one in thanks from Hulderic. I pulled up a deep hood to cover my face and his eyes passed me and went to the covered pile in the middle of the boat, the thick pile of precious furs, and probably enough to make a man rich. ‘Furs?’

‘Black fox,’ Ceadda said proudly, smacking his lips.

‘You are Saxons?’ he asked. ‘I’ve seen Saxons before.’

‘We are both Saxon and Chauci. One is a Langobardi,’ Ceadda lied. ‘All dumb as oxen. We would trade in Hogholm. Or do they have too many furs this year?’

The man hesitated and eyed the pier. It was nearly full and the many boats pulled on the beaches were larger than ours. ‘There aren’t many fox furs from the west this year, or any year. I give you that. A man can make a rich profit with them. But the town is pretty damned full.’

Ceadda went to the pile, pulled away the cover and the man twitched visibly. Heaped there were some of the best-looking furs I had ever seen. They glimmered in the light, the tails and skins thick and dark. There were at least sixty of them and I again wondered how the Saxons had managed to steal them from under the noses of Father and Bero.

‘How many?’ Njord asked with a bored voice as the guards next to the lord of the harbor began to whisper to each other, making wagers on how many we were to be robbed of.

The man snapped his fingers and Ceadda threw him one. He looked at it, stroked it like he would his favorite hound, and looked down at us, greed chiseled on his features. ‘I’m wondering if these were taken from a Goth?’

Ceadda cursed. ‘They were taken from the Svea. We’ll give you ten.’

‘Thirty,’ he said, having masterfully estimated the sixty furs. ‘Or you can be on your way home.’

Njord snorted. ‘Did you know Cuthbert is dead?’

‘The Saxon lord?’ the man asked, squinting.

‘Yes,’ Njord said, whispering confidentially. ‘There is a new chief. He would like to know who led Cuthbert deep into the Svea lands. Who gave him such advice?’

The man twitched and shrugged. ‘Who did?’

‘Someone in Hogholm?’ Ceadda said darkly. ‘He visited here, didn’t he? Sent his men to buy information, and did that every spring and summer. It was information that sometimes got Goths killed, no? Do you know who spoke to him of the Svea princess and the alliance your Boat-Lord was to have with them? That bit of news drove Cuthbert mad with greed. Our new lord will want to know who lured him to that kind of a trap. The new lord is related to Cuthbert, you see? It wasn’t you, was it?’

The man twitched.

The chain was lowered, and we rowed to the harbor with our fifty furs. We went past the pier. The Saxon eyes scourged the rich Goth boat, where last of the gear was being carried away. There was no sign of Hrolf coming back. We beached, jumped to the water, and pulled the boat high onto the beach where it settled in the muddy stone beachfront easily.

Njord nodded at me. ‘So, we are here. What’s the plan?’

‘I suppose we’ll ambush him when he comes down the path?’ I asked, feeling disappointed by such a simple punishment. Perhaps I’d feel better when he was dead?

‘Let’s go and ask some questions about what’s going on up there,’ Ceadda said and pulled me with him, while Njord and the men stayed behind, making sure the boat was secure, and to unload the furs. We walked the length of the shore, and reached Hraban’s Kiln. It was busy, mead’s sweet scent drifted out of the doors with that of sweat and piss, and we pushed inside past men crowding the doorway.

There in the main hall, the huge room was surprisingly well lit, the fire-pit was high with roaring flames, and a short Goth was arranging for room for Hrolf’s crew. Men lined the walls, some slept under the tables, but there was a strange sense of order amongst the chaos. Still, there was no sight of Hrolf. No Ingulf either, thankfully, though I thought he might have been too hurt to travel so soon anyway.

Ceadda pulled the sleeve of a man, who looked horrified before my friend had uttered a single word, waving his arms around, showing how there was no room, but we had no intention of staying, only eating, and that went down well enough and they began to bargain. I looked around, saw some familiar faces in the Goth ranks, the men who had helped kill Saxa. They were carrying gear, walking to find a place for them, and then I saw a large chest being repositioned, well-carved out of pinewood and decorated with animals and strange symbols. It was sword-sized. ‘Ho, what’s that?’ I asked a young man carrying it.

‘Gifts for the Boat-Lord,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Best not think of stealing it. Hrolf the Ax would make you a head shorter, he would.’

‘Is the famous Hrolf here?’ I asked him with a smile under my hood.

‘Up the hill to make ready for the evening’s Thing. They’ll give the old lord mighty gifts,’ he said, winked and clapped the chest and dragged the thing away with his friends. They set it down in the middle of their men, and turned to fetch drink.

The sword and the ring. They were surely inside the trunk.

Ceadda appeared. ‘Hrolf’s—’

‘Up the hill.’

He nodded. ‘He’ll be feasted up there, said the tavern keeper. He’ll come back down here to gather his men later. They’ll be giving oaths to the Boat-Lord. And probably the ring and the sword. We will kill him as he comes down. Probably not well guarded, eh? If he is, we wait for the night. We’ll find a way.’

‘I have a new plan,’ I said.

‘A new plan?’ he asked nervously.

‘I want more than his death. I want to see him suffer,’ I said thickly.

Ceadda was scratching his hair. ‘Boy. It’s a fine thing to dream of. But common sense says we just gut the bastard, eh?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I want to try something. Look there. I bet that’s where the sword and the ring are,’ I said and nodded at the trunk. ‘I’m sure that’s it.’

‘Why do you think so? Granted, the size is right, but—’

‘Because,’ I said, ‘Hrolf wouldn’t dare to wear them when he meets the cranky, murderous old man. He wishes to make a ceremony out of it, and not give the Boat-Lord any excuse to get itchy about the alliance. No, they are there.’

‘Well,’ Ceadda said. ‘Shit. We can’t get to them. We’ll have to plan how to kill Hrolf anyway. Forget them.’

I shook my head. ‘That’s how we kill him.’

‘Eh?’

‘Hughnot’s men like to light fires, don’t they?’ I said. ‘So we’ll show we can as well.’ I turned to whisper to him, while the tavern keeper arranged for food to be taken to our men. Ceadda shook his head at first, then more, but finally squinted his eyes as he looked around the tavern, and shrugged.