The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  Armin had been right about the Cherusci. They made him Thiuda for life. The men who had followed Segestes joined those who had followed Sigimer, and only Inguiomerus’s absence dulled the glory.

  And as for the others?

  They all seemed to agree with Armin. They loved him. Just not enough.

  Not even when they saw Ernust giving him an oath on a knee, promising to follow Armin in war and peace. For it, some very high Chauci noble and Armin’s first child would marry. Ernust was now a strong ally, and Armin flaunted the Chauci willingly and often to bolster the bravery of the others. Sigvaldi of the Tubantes, Herman of Usipetes, the Gray Wolf of Tencteri, all nations whose lands would burn in the coming war, were there willingly. Their many adelings and nobles, the best of their war-lords sat with them. Ampsivarii, a tribe forever unsure of their alliance, northern neighbors of the Cherusci, had send an adeling, but I didn’t hear his name. The Marsi and Mallovendus were seated on Armin table in a place of honor. Sigambri and Theudric was not there, but ill.

  The Aquila were hung on the walls.

  The Marsi held one of the eagles that had been captured, and Armin one. The Bructeri with Helm, also there, the last one. All of them were shown in that hall, and the mighty items were mocked.

  I still remembered them from the day we had taken them. They had looked unbeatable in the light of Sunna, but there, in the depths of the woods?

  They had dulled. They had lost their bravery.

  I remembered how they were taken. The XIX, the XVIII, the XVII had fallen, one by one, the bravery of their many standard bearers legendary, though that legend didn’t live with Rome, but only with the Germani. They all remembered Armin and his sword, and then, with the sword of Varus, thrusting it to air where he passed his victorious troops.

  It was Armin’s legacy.

  Sword and eagles.

  These were the things everyone remembered.

  A hero, Armin.

  And still, despite the Chauci marriage, and oaths from Ernust to follow Armin’s commands and even if the Chatti were coming there to join blood with Armin, no other gave him such oaths. They gave him promises to follow him to war, as they had for years, but they didn’t make him oaths to follow the Cherusci for good.

  The feast was success, even if Armin didn’t get all he wanted.

  He still hoped Arpus going on a knee would change the minds of the others.

  He was waiting impatiently.

  Bards were singing of deeds of that war and of many others. One was singing of the sorrow of a Thiuda, and a lost queen, and many a man cried and swore vengeance, drunk already. Friends and foes were mentioned in poems, and some mocked, others honored, and great homage was given to the fallen of many a war, but most of all to those who fell against Varus. Thousands had died.

  Many watched the skull in Armin’s banner.

  It was that of the coward Vala.

  The head of Varus had been sent to Maroboodus, who had sent it to Rome, but Varus’s hands still circulated in Germania, and the great many standards of the enemy were heaped in the hall of Armin.

  Semnones were there, silent, and Langobardi, joyful, listening to the tales. Armin was showing the Suebi his might, and they were watching.

  They feared my father more than they feared Armin and his tales. The Suebi feared his ancient line and knew they would find it hard to challenge the man who claimed to hold Draupnir’s Spawn.

  I had not told Armin about my father’s plans. Not yet.

  Inguiomerus was not there. Nor was Segestes, obviously. The latter was mocked, the absence of the former tactfully ignored.

  Still, despite these issues, it was a promising feast for Armin. Perhaps it would be enough they promised to come and fight with him, even if it wasn’t for him. They might all still swear oaths after Arpus the Chatti did.

  Together, those people would be able to summon well over fifty thousand men, though less would be realistic, and even they couldn’t be fed for long in the field.

  I shook my head.

  No.

  Harvest had to be reaped, and men had to stay in war for a long while. Germani didn’t like that. They would be aching for their halls, their family, their feasts, and again, Armin was just a hero. There was no cause high enough to change the men in that hall. No knee-taking could make men less free. They had to love Armin for more than his heroic deeds. They had to feel and see his greatness every day.

  They would, if I succeeded. I drank mead and pushed away the thought.

  I looked at the scroll. It had been read.

  It had invoked anger, hatred. Then, men had forgotten it.

  I felt sickened by them.

  The Sarmatians celebrated in my hall. I yearned to leave Armin’s, to take Alde’s hand, and to carry her back to our bed, to the Sarmatians. Then I remembered what was to happen and knew it would change many things. I should not have taken Alde to bed, ever. It had been wrong, and a risk to my plan, and I had been weak for companionship.

  I shivered with doubts and fears and then steeled my heart.

  Wyrd.

  I watched Alde. She was looking happy, and I was suddenly afraid.

  Alde, as if reading my mind, was nodding and stroking my hand, like she would pet her favorite dog, and I smiled and let her.

  I was afraid, for I cared for her. No love was there, perhaps, but perhaps there was.

  Borena was there too, sitting near. She was talking with Gervas, laughing at his jokes and ruffling his hair. Her servant, as always, was silent and next to them.

  I was sure Gervas was sleeping with her.

  When the war started she would stay behind and so would the Sarmatian families. It pleased me. Gervas was too eager. He was too young to deal with women.

  I chortled and held my face.

  I rubbed my face and thought how easily I had bedded Alde, and what doubts plagued me, and I felt like a bigger fool. I begged the gods he knew what he was doing, and that Woden would work his wonders to save him and me.

  Then, there were horses, and Armin got up, smiling.

  Adalwulf crashed next to me, Wulf next to him, and smiled. “They’ve arrived.”

  “Chatti?”

  “Aye,” he said. “This will be interesting. Armin needs them.” He gave me a quick look and shook his head. He alone in that hall knew what was going to happen.

  My eyes turned to Segimundus.

  The man wore a red tunic and golden rings and had groomed himself to look almost as pretty as a woman. His hair had been cut and clothes washed, and he looked nervous to the bone.

  I shook my head and emptied a mug of ale. It was bitter and cold, and I had it filled by a servant.

  The door opened, and the flower of Chatti nobles entered.

  They had ever competed with the Cherusci. They had warred with them and competed for power and land.

  Now they had to find common ground in the face of Rome. To follow Armin would be a major step for them, a change in ages of rivalry. To combine their blood with that of their former enemy; humiliation. It was a needed change for everyone to survive, but that they would do this.

  Armin had succeeded with the Chauci and the Chatti, even if the others had not made the oaths. Chatti would. Aprus would give an oath to follow Armin in war and peace.

  It was entirely unexpected.

  They boasted a hundred heroes and war-chiefs in their families. They were people of the old blood, many famed and honorable since the times immemorial, when the tribes still lived far in the north and east. They were of the blood of gods, they claimed, and highest of that blood was that of Ebbe, and of Oldaric.

  His son, Ebbe’s Adgandestrius, entered. My friend was tired and still looked tall and fierce as he stepped in. The Chatti, a father of many by then, and the man who had saved me from Tear and her son Odo, was smiling as his eyes scourged the room. The Chatti only cut the hair on their foreheads when they had killed a man, and Adgandestrius has earned the right many times over, though once he had de
spaired over ever getting to cut it. Now he entered, spread his hands around, and bowed. His eyes took in Armin, who was moving for him, and then he looked at me, and he roared, laughed, and ran my way, leaving Armin unsteady on his feet.

  I got up and crushed him in a hug. We smiled and laughed, saying nothing.

  Finally, he pushed me off.

  I saw Arpus, the frowning, wise Thiuda of the tribe, a year younger than his cousin Adgandestrius came in. Then Aerumer, a stocky and humorless man with his dark-haired daughter Rhamis was entering. The last brother was rumored ambitious and was famous for many feuds he had never bothered to settle with wergild, but rather with a spear. Rhamis was beautiful and afraid of the nobles in the room, like a deer might fear wolves. She stood to the side, pretty, blinking in the light.

  Armin was greeting each warmly, and I felt Adgandestrius shaking my shoulders. He said nothing, but I knew he was seeking to tell me he was still sorry for Cassia.

  He had seen me, and her corpse, after she had died, and it had, I knew it, broken his heart.

  There were few men I loved better than him. There were few men more honorable. There were only a few men I was not willing to betray for a higher cause.

  He was one.

  He pulled me to him, gave Alde a concerned look, and smiled when she smiled and turned to look at the door. “Gunda. She is here, finally. She is carrying Father’s sword.”

  I watched the door. Alde did as well. She suddenly wasn’t smiling. She looked unhappy and nervous. Her eyes were on Rhamis, then the door.

  A troll might have stridden through, demanding mead, and it would have been welcomed in a hall during Yule-Tide, and few would have noticed.

  Everyone noticed when Gunda entered.

  What walked through was swathed in a white coat, her face hidden by furs. I knew she was in her thirties and judging by the blank looks and silence before her, and Segimundus with his mouth hanging open, she was beautiful.

  I felt Adalwulf kicking me, and I ignored him.

  I wanted to see her. Again.

  She was flanked by tall Chatti men, and from one, she pulled out a sword.

  The sword was beautiful and old, made by some master smith of old times, perhaps not even by a Germani smith.

  Ebbe’s sword was as ancient as had been Hulderic’s Head Taker. Winter Sword, as Cassia had called that weapon of vengeance and misery, was as long, wide, strong, and bright, with silver wire around a black leather hilt, and a wolf’s head as a pommel. A small, bright, rough red jewel had been worked into the mouth of the beast.

  Armin bowed before her, and the others followed suit.

  I didn’t.

  I watched her hands, which were trembling.

  Armin was stepping forward. She did likewise, and her coat fell open. Underneath, she wore a black tunic that reached to her ankles.

  She was not a slight woman. She had wide hips and strong shoulders. She was short, and her hair was wild and red, her powerful face lightly freckled. Her green eyes were kind, and she looked like she was always slightly amused. She was looking around, smiling uncertainly.

  Alde leaned closer to me. “She is beautiful. And you said she thought she might marry you?”

  I said nothing.

  “She is not young,” Adgandestrius was saying. “She has kept Father’s household running and had almost run Mattium after Father died and we were always in war. Aerumer dislikes her, Rhamis loves her, and the rest of us almost fear her.”

  Wulf grunted. “How come she is not married?”

  The boy was smitten.

  Adgandestrius smiled as Adalwulf was pulling Wulf back. He spoke loudly, and many heard him. “She has refused husbands. Ebbe let her. Oldaric, who adopted both her and me after Ebbe had died in captivity, danced to her tune as well. She was and is the best thing that the Chatti have bred.” He grinned. “She was always saying she would marry you. Claimed she saw it in a dream and would take none other. I think she simply didn’t want to marry and thought you might die young. Now, her time is up. Arpus is giving her to Segimundus for the alliance. Then he will give his oaths to Armin in front of all. It might make the others follow suit. Chauci and Chatti shall be humble. The others should be too.”

  I shook my head. They wouldn’t be.

  He shrugged. “We will see. The sword signifies a change for the Chatti.”

  Alde was frowning. “Well, she is not marrying my man. I still do not understand. Chatti is the proudest nation. They have said no to oaths to Armin for two years? Yes? They are not weak-willed like Chauci.”

  Adgandestrius grinned. “Thank you.”

  “And suddenly, marriages are accepted?” she wondered. “And also oaths. A marriage can change so much? So much of Chatti pride is to be forgotten by this joining of two people? It is odd?”

  Adgandestrius’s eyes flashed. “It would be. All that changed this fall.”

  “Why?” Gervas asked.

  Adgandestrius said nothing.

  “Who,” Armin called out, “will receive the great sword of Ebbe, the Red Wolf? Which one of the great men in this hall will take it, love her for it, and seal our great alliance? Let the Red Wolf and the Summer Sword find new future for our people together! Marriage, and oath will make us one!” he yelled and lifted his sword for all to see. The golden hilted spatha of Varus gleamed. He himself was the hope of Germani summers, and his victory was the summer of all our hopes. Many called both him and his famous weapon The Summer Sword. Armin had many names. He spoke loudly. “Let us find a common song!”

  Men cheered. They roared their adoration and agreement and the hall echoed.

  Red Wolf.

  It fit the sword, the name. It looked brutal and strong.

  “Let marriages seal our fates by marrying the best of both tribes!” he yelled again. There were even louder roars of approval. Segimundus looked like he would explode from happiness while Armin’s voice boomed across the rooms. Armin was smiling gently at Segimundus, who stared at the beautiful female with something akin to shock and admiration. He was stuttering and shaking his head softly, trying to gather courage to speak to the Chatti lady, ready to tie himself a woman so fine. Men were chanting and encouraging him.

  She was looking down and then around the hall.

  I was looking at her as well. I had seen her once before now. She had a rare quality other than her beauty.

  She was honest.

  Her eyes swept over mine. They stopped and hesitated, and then she turned back to listening to Armin, who was speaking to Arpus.

  “She said she would marry me,” I said, and looked at Alde. “Tell me, Alde, do you feel I am the right man for you?”

  She hesitated. “What?”

  “What does your sight tell you?” I asked. “I am too old.”

  She frowned. “My sight is silent right now. It is confused.”

  I smiled at her sadly. “Gunda once said she will marry me.”

  Adgandestrius was watching me with some amusement. “She did. Why? Are you going to steal her away? How much have you drunk, brother?”

  I got up.

  Alde reached out. “What are you doing?”

  I leaned down on her. “I am sorry. You must know I am sorry.”

  Her eyes were large with shock.

  I watched Gunda smiling at Arpus, who was whispering to her, and there was only winter in that smile. It was cold, insincere, and full of nervousness, and she tried her best to stand straight.

  Armin spoke loudly. “The great Arpus, my adelings, has brought his most precious thing to us this winter. He has brought his arm in alliance and is willing to lay down his life with the rest us. None shall stop us. None but Rome dare try, and it won’t end well for them. Varus will weep in the shadow world, as he watched their legion marching for battle.”

  Legion.

  Just one.

  Armin was not telling them how many there would be coming.

  Eight.

  Eight. Eight legions. Twenty cohorts of auxil
ia.

  Three times had Armin lost to the legions, shedding blood of the best warriors in the land. Once, he had succeeded. Few remembered the other battles; everyone what he had done once.

  Arpus nodded and turned to her. “Will you, daughter of the Chatti, take the Red Wolf to your future husband?”

  She stumbled a step forward and held the sword. Her eyes were on Segimundus’s, and she was no longer smiling.

  “I like that man not at all,” Adgandestrius said. “If only she had another.”

  “Hraban?” Alde said almost desperately.

  Gunda spoke, her voice clear and beautiful. “I need to hear that man calling for me, so I may know him.”

  Silence.

  I stepped forward.

  All eyes turned on me, and I must have looked like a bear pried out of its winter sleep, shaking, gurgling, and my eyes wild with confusion.

  I knew Armin was watching me.

  I didn’t look at him.

  I was sure Arpus was frowning, and I passed his face by. My eyes settled on Thusnelda, and she was furious and then horribly sad.

  I heard my voice saying the words. “It is I, Hraban the Goth, formerly the adeling of the Marcomanni, now the war-lord of the Cherusci, the Raven, and the man they call the Oath Breaker, who claim her hand.”

  I felt the silence. I felt the surprise and it was almost tangible, and I saw Gochan grasping his dagger’s hilt, looking down, and Adalwulf pushing Wulf and Gervas to stand behind me. They, like I was, sure it would all end in bloodshed.

  “What the…what are you doing, father?” Gervas was hissing.

  They should all have called me down.

  They should have thrown horns at me, and many should have, drunk as they were, demanded I apologize. Feuds and wergilds would be in order, and Armin’s rage should have echoed in the hall.

  Arpus, at least, should have drawn his sword.

  None did. It was silent, the hall, and smoke in the roof played gently, fire crackled and danced in the firepits, but the rest of them sat still and didn’t move.

  The adelings who sat in that hall knew me as a warrior.

  They knew my reputation. Who had once stood against me, or for me, were most all dead. The men had seen me fighting and bleeding for Armin, and while Segimundus was of the blood of Armin and had been terribly insulted in a way no man could ignore, Armin would have to.