I had no band of men. I had no plans. I had no life, other than the oath I tried to keep.
Help Armin. Kill Germanicus for Tiberius, so he may rule and his son after him, safe. Then, kill Armin to take Germania. Before Germanicus dies, find out where Ulrich is. Kill Ulrich.
Then? Rome?
I wasn’t sure.
He pushed me. He often did. “Do you hear me? Gather men. You have riches enough. I hold them for you, so I know. Give him a place in your war-party. You need to honor Cassia by remarrying a good woman. It cannot be what it was, but it might be fine. Gisil says this, and I believe her.”
I said not a thing.
He snarled. “I shall give him a place in my band, then. He knows sword, he knows spear, and it is time he fought.”
I bit my lip and kept my mouth shut.
“A hundred men, that’s what I have,” he said. “Most are Chatti. They know I was one, and they know what we did with Varus, and he will be honored to serve me with them. Better than serve an empty bag of sorrow and bones like you.”
I spat.
He grinned and looked at the blade in my hand. I had my chainmail, long and well-made, the bronze helmet Tudrus had given me, Nightbright on my hip, a spear on the grass, and a black sword of great length. It was crude, brutal, and ugly, and matched my moods and sorrow perfectly. I had given up on the rest.
“You sleep with your damned sword. Your sword is a sad, ugly lover,” he told me. “A slave might willingly warm your bed, Hraban. You need to empty your balls, so your head might heal.”
I bit my lip and gave up on silence. “I don’t want to talk about my balls with you, Adalwulf. And if my son wants to serve you, take his oaths. Just don’t—”
He spat. “Yea, I know. Get him killed. It is not up to me, Hraban. You fear for his life, and I fear for my Wulf’s, and still, we do not cut the strings. Tudrus and his brother are gone. Wandal is gone. Even the mercenaries are gone, that Yellow Band and Gold Wolf. I am the only one left. We are bound by secrets and oaths, and I guess I must look after you. I wonder who will make me a good man again.” He pushed me. I resisted the urge to push him off the log.
He thought we could be good men again?
Fool.
“Find a lover, eh? Hild would do well. She stares at you like a wolf might at a full moon. She is not howling, Hraban, but she is certainly going to moan if you just bed her. She has no man.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. She was his servant, as my hall had none. She often cleaned in mine too, thanks to Gisil, and I knew she was interested.
I need no women. Cassia was my woman. She was dead. It was my fault.
And I knew I couldn’t keep Gervas alive.
It was impossible.
I knew he was a fine one with weapons. Like we had once, with Wandal and others, Gervas trained hard with Wulf, who was a fine man, and a handsome bastard, like his father. Adalwulf had given both shield and sword, and Thing had accepted them as warriors. That was more than my father had ever given me. More a Chatti than a Goth or Marcomanni, Gervas was growing away from me. He even doted on Adalwulf and Gisil’s new daughter as if he was part of that family. He was happy with Adalwulf, and when he saw me, he turned serious and stared at me with…a broken look? Then, with hard eyes, he would greet me like he would any stranger.
It was not unlike I had watched my father, Maroboodus.
Gervas.
Did I not do everything for him?
I did.
I served Rome for him. I was going to betray Armin, the hope of Germania, for him, for his future, for him to finally live and love, and be free of the fears and curses of our kin, to be a Roman under the guardianship of Tiberius, to be the one who survived. I had hoped the same for Cassia.
I had lost Cassia for Gervas.
She was dead.
Dead.
“Your father,” Adalwulf was saying, apparently having given up on trying to bed me to Hild, “is growing, they say.”
“Fat?” I asked.
He spat in disgust. “He is not happy with Tiberius. Gunhild has not been returned. Cenric, the son she had with the foe of Maroboodus, remains in Rome. His own son, born there, is still with him. He is not happy. He is suspicious and paranoid, they say. He is brooding and planning. I worry for him.”
I nodded. “I worry for him too. He might very well forget Tiberius and his kingdom, and he might seek us out. All of us.”
Gervas included.
“I have men to guard us, but it takes poison alone to kill a man, and he is Roman more than Germani,” Adalwulf said with disgust. “You need a band of men. It will make things safer. Thusnelda was saying this before we rode here.”
Thusnelda.
With Armin so busy, she had been trying to help everyone else.
He slapped his thigh. “It is not him alone. Germanicus is after us. He might hire men…and the adelings? Anyone might try to kill us. Segestes has a lot of influence still. Many of the war-lords follow him, and he has been speaking against us. He has the nerve to say we are a danger to Armin, mercenaries and outsiders. That we are cursed. You need men. I cannot do everything.”
“In that, he is right,” I said, and Adalwulf grinned.
“True,” he agreed. “We have a task. To win a war. To kill Germanicus.”
“At least, destroy his reputation,” I said. “By destroying his armies. But I doubt Tiberius will settle for anything less than his death. If Tiberius kills Germanicus Rome will hate him. No, it must be us. Like it was with Maroboodus and Drusus.”
“I want a legacy for Wulf,” he said. “One more eagle. One more cohort standard. I have been dreaming of it. Woden sends such dreams to me. If I do that, I feel I might be forgiven for the things we have done. And for the…things we still must do.”
I smiled. Berserker, like I was, Woden was close to our hearts. Adalwulf was old already, and he had fought in dozens of wars, and he had been taking our mission to kill Germanicus very seriously.
He was hungry for Roman blood, and battle. And redemption.
He wanted to capture an eagle, to be hailed a great hero. He hoped to leave it for Wulf.
He was that already.
Adgandestrius, Arpus, and their relative Aerumer hailed him one of the champions of the Chatti nation. He and I were shared by Cherusci and Chatti, in some odd way. We served and had given our fragile oaths to Armin, but we loved the Chatti best. They admired us. They had seen him, and me, wading in to kill tribunes, to put down legate, to capture standards.
He wanted more. It worried me.
“Remember, Germanicus must die, and eagles are not part of it,” I said.
“Eagles are part of it,” he said. “Losing an Aquila of a legion will make it impossible for him to pretend war is going well. It will ruin him. I should go down there and take that one.”
There, on the road, the first cohort of XX was marching, and with them, the glory of the legion, the gilded eagle high on a pole, higher than the cohort and century ones around it, a mark of sacred worship. The fifty or more in the legions pales before this one.
They had lost three with Varus.
They wanted them back.
Lose more, and it would be a disaster.
I rubbed my face, knowing he was right.
“Gather men,” he said again, looking at the Aquila. “Speak to Thusnelda, if you must. She will convince you. Just don’t sit in that hall alone. We need more men. Anyone might try to slit our throats for Germanicus, Maroboodus, or even because Segestes asks it.”
He was obsessed with more men, but also right. If we couldn’t kill Germanicus, ruining him was as important. We could do none of that if we were dead.
I had no wish to fill my hall with life. I might have to, though.
“Ware,” he said, hand on my forearm.
I nodded and saw a throng of men riding in the woods just below us. They were praetorian guards, and their dark shields were wet with the rain that had just plagued the land. Th
eir helmets were swiveling back and right, until one stopped and saw us. He turned to call out, and a man rode out. It was Flavus, the man who had reputedly married in Rome. He was Armin’s brother, and enemy. He wanted to be Roman, for he loved Rome, and while we wanted the same thing, it was for the future of our sons. They would never be safe anywhere, unless under Tiberius. There, they could not be touched.
And yet, the day we had sat down in the Block, Adalwulf and I, we had discussed one more plan, should we fail to deliver what we promised Tiberius. We were never truly sure Tiberius could be trusted. If one had to trust one man in Rome, it was him. Men change, though.
No man who has suffered what we had, could truly trust anyone, especially if we failed to do everything we had agreed on. Everything.
I shook my head.
We would deliver. We would do what we promised, and we would have revenge on those who have hurt us, but would we dare send those we love back to Rome?
Wulf and Gervas were happy now.
“What will you tell him?” Adalwulf asked. “Will you tell him Armin cannot win?”
I frowned. I knew why he couldn’t win.
I had a plan, but I was unsure I could do it. It was too much. It was beyond what any good man would ever consider.
And still, after Cassia’s death, I was cold. I was tempted.
“I will tell him the truth,” I said.
“Truth?” he laughed. “That we are failing. Good. He will like it. One day, we have to explain all this to our boys. Truth will make them quite sad. This will be for nothing.”
I pushed back. “They will go to Rome. And we shall never tell them what we are doing or have done. They will make Rome better and find a good life there.”
“Wulf is thinking about getting married,” he murmured. “Your boy too.”
I gritted my teeth. “All this is not for nothing. Tiberius will protect us in Rome, but only if we succeed. Damn it, but it is not over. We still have time.”
He chuckled. “And we are damned,” he said and went serious as Flavus was getting closer. He rode around us and had likely been riding around us for a long while, making sure things were safe.
Our swords and spears were there in plain sight. We were armored, and armed, but posed no threat or surprise.
Some of the Romans stayed near and looked at us. There were ten men, all praetorians, some Germani guards, tall and hulking, and one I knew well.
He was neither a Germani Guard or a Praetorian Guard.
He was a Batavi, a king, a lord of Roman allies and Tiberius’s client, after the death of Drusus, his brother.
It was Chariovalda.
While the others stopped in the woods, he rode forward.
He was older, fatter, and far less healthy looking than before. His arms had more scars, his face was slashed, like mine, and one ear had a piece missing, a lobe. His beard was plaited, his scale mail rich, if dirty, and he stared at us with apparent loathing.
We wore hooded cloaks, both pulled low over our faces.
He was looking from one to another. He pulled out a horn he had been holding under his armpit and took a long swig. It was ale, black as his horse, and it drizzled down his chin to his lap and saddle. He had lost teeth as well.
“So,” he said. “Which one of your two cuckoos is the treacherous shit I once had a misfortune of saving? Both look silly in looted Roman armor. Like two old cocks, you look, useless and dripping with piss.” He chuckled as Adalwulf shook the raindrops from his hood. “I have hard time figuring out which one of you is the stupider one. That one, I am sure, would be Hraban. Any more weapons anywhere?”
I groped inside the rotten trunk and pulled out Nightbright.
The short sword was well used, still deadly, and had killed plenty of men.
I placed it before me.
He hummed, drank some more, and waved his hand around. “No more surprises, Hraban?”
I shook my head. “None, friend.”
“Friend, indeed,” he murmured. “I have known friends, and none of them have caused me as much grief as you have. Friendship with you is a very heavy burden. And the other one? What do you have? Adalwulf, no? If it is someone else, I must take his head before I leave. I might spill my ale. I don’t want to spill any. You know me.”
Adalwulf shook his head and spread his arms. “I have nothing. Just us, Batavi. Hraban and Adalwulf.”
“Chatti,” Chariovalda said. “You can smell a Chatti, just like you can a good feast. A feast for crows.” He glowered at us for a moment longer, and then he grinned. “But here we are. You two are friends?”
I looked at Adalwulf, and he shook his head. He spoke. “I suppose we are. I suppose we must be. We have few others. It has not always been so.”
I thumbed Adalwulf’s way and found meeting Chariovalda had given me some unexpected joy. “He used to be in love with my mother.”
Chariovalda roared with laughter and nodded. “I was in love with my father’s third wife once. What are you, nearly forty?”
“I am, and Adalwulf is older,” I said, and looked at Chariovalda. “You are nearing sixty?”
He rubbed his belly and looked at me unkindly. “Now, that is not fair. It is obvious, isn’t it? Can hardly eat meat these days. A terrible nuisance, age. So many issues. All are a pain in one’s arse. And I mean, a real pain in the arse. You feel ravages of age in the arse, Hraban. I shit blood some days. The scars and wounds do not bother me, but my arse… So, Cassia.”
I went silent. The joy evaporated.
He rubbed his forehead and nodded at me. “I am sorry, lad, for that. I am sorry. I loved her well. Tiberius kept his word to you, I hear many times, and you overcame much. Found out who killed our Drusus.”
I nodded. “She yet lives.”
He squinted. “But you know who it was.”
“Yes,” I said. “She will die, and she has failed, and I shall see her die.”
I wasn’t sure of it, but I trusted Tiberius still. Well, as much as I could trust anyone.
He looked unhappy. “I ask no more. And I know you are now working to bring Rome glory. I know it. Still, I am sorry. I sent you to Drusus. I put you on the path. I made it so that you put your hand in the viper’s nest of Rome. I should have kept you with us. You could have stayed in the 2nd Batavorium and that would have left you happy.”
I nodded. “I had to find out who killed my family. I will see her die, as I said. You did nothing wrong. And you saved me, friend, many times.”
His eyes glinted. “I did. You can tell me no more?”
“I cannot talk about any of it,” I said sadly and hated Livia. “Now, I just want to see my…family…safe.”
“Your boy,” he rumbled. “Gervas? A good name. A strong lad already?”
I nodded.
“How old—”
“Is he here?” I interrupted Chariovalda. The man’s eyes flashed with anger and then sadness, and he looked at Adalwulf. I sensed Adalwulf was shaking his head gently, and it irritated me. Finally, Chariovalda nodded to the roads.
“He is coming, Hraban,” he said. “Flavus is with him.”
“Sejanus?” I asked.
He shrugged. “No Sejanus. Some praetorians but not him. Sejanus is high in the guard, but still with Germanicus, his man, at least seemingly. Germanicus isn’t too keen on Sejanus these days.”
“Why?” I asked.
He smiled. “Germanicus has a wife. Agrippina.”
“I know,” I said.
“And he is making children on her,” he said. “She is fertile as a field of wheat in Batavi lands. Apparently, Sejanus made a pass at Agrippina. She told him.”
I shrugged. “Foolish.”
“Others say Germanicus made a pass at him,” he said brusquely, “and he refused. He has a lot of pretty men around him, and this one, Publius, is the jewel in his eye. They are his officers, scribes, and freedmen, they say, but I think he likes a cock at least as much as he enjoys a woman’s warm...” He shrugged. �
��I don’t want to embarrass you. You are still young.”
I said nothing. It was true. What he said about Germanicus.
“And he is here,” I whispered, and swallowed my rage at the thought of Germanicus. I hated his pretty face, the son of great Drusus. I hated his deceitful mind, his lies, and murdering nature. I wanted to kill him. In that, Tiberius had the perfect man for the job.
He looked at me carefully and then at my sword. “He comes and goes. He is in Gaul, until Tiberius leaves. They say he seeks you. That he has sent men to kill you. Some say he boasted of it.”
Adalwulf looked at me and I didn’t look back. He had been right to worry.
I got up and stretched my back. “Aye,” I said. “At least, I guess that is so. It is a good thing he is a pup from Rome, and not some local adeling. I might even find him first.”
“He has guards around him, all the time,” he told me. “He cannot easily be surprised. Tiberius could be surprised, for he is careless. I think young Germanicus is far too popular, and Augustus wants him to inherit Rome, and Tiberius might be in danger even now. Germanicus thinks a world of himself. He thinks he was born to rule. Even if Tiberius sits on the seat of Princeps, Germanicus has potential of tearing Rome apart. He has the ambition.”
“I know,” I said. “I know Germanicus.”
That is what we were doing. Making sure no blood of Augustus inhabited the throne of Rome, but Tiberius and his son Drusus did.
Chariovalda nodded and turned his horse. He stopped for a moment. “Be careful Hraban. Even if he is a pup from Rome, he is smart. He will hire the right people to seek you out. He might have, already. Don’t trust anyone in Armin’s land. There is a good reason to live yet, Hraban. There is still life left for you. The winter will end, and the summer shall begin. Please remember that.”
I laughed bitterly. “For a warrior, summer is the time of death. Wars are fought in the summer. Let it come, I say.”
He shook his head and rode away.
For a while, he had seemed like a father to me. Now old and wise, and far less lecherous, he seemed even more so. He had warned me.
Don’t go and hunt for Germanicus alone. Keep your eyes open.
It had taken all my self-control not to ride away to hunt for Ulrich, to hunt for Germanicus. It had taken all my discipline to have spent nearly two years after Cassia’s death in my task for Tiberius, watching Armin slowly failing to capitalize on his successes.
The Summer Sword Page 3