The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  So many others.

  My son and Wulf would be happy with a new beginning far from me.

  We would make sure none sought them out. Tiberius would be pleased.

  I drew Ebbe’s sword and looked at the noble blade. It had been carried across the lands, the Chatti heroes, one by one and their ancestors, with bravery and virtue. The nicks and the scratches along its blessed steel, ran to remind one of honor.

  I had gained it with a call for Chatti honor and sense of survival, and through my friendship with Adgandestrius. Gunda had agreed as well.

  I found it a heavy burden to carry. I carried it for Tiberius. Even the Chatti didn’t know that. They thought I wanted Germanicus dead for the same reason as they did.

  For Ebbe and Oldaric.

  They thought I wanted Armin dead, to aid their nation and to guard all from Armin later. There would not be peace if Armin lived. They knew it.

  And I had a reason far more selfish. My Gervas. Even he was gone now. It was a blade made for Chatti honor, and now carried for my revenge, and aligned with Tiberius of Rome and his goals.

  Did the Red Wolf approve of me?

  Was there honor in what Adalwulf and I were doing? There was. It would save Germania. There would be slavery, butchery, destruction like there had been in Gaul, if Rome won.

  On the other hand if Rome conquered, there would also be letters, numbers, wisdom, poetry, and a cause greater than any.

  Unity. With Rome, there would be unity.

  With Armin, it would take ages for the tribes to truly unify, I thought, and chased my doubts away.

  It was done.

  I was also frustrated by the war.

  It was not progressing. Germanicus was, and was not his father. Drusus had been meticulous in his approach. He had started from the north, worked his way to south, and back again. Germanicus appeared here and there. He had come late last year, surprising all, and this year, he had swooped for the Chatti. Granted, I had lured him. The cat had come to lick an empty bowl of milk.

  Where would it go next?

  Did he have any plans other than to have no plans, just to react to the opportunities we gave him?

  Where was he?

  What was Germanicus planning?

  I looked up and saw Adalwulf was riding to the camp. He greeted Gochan with a nod and a smile. He was looking for me, and his eyes found me as I got up. He stretched his back, eyed the walls of Alisio, where hungry, timid legionnaires were watching him, and hailed them with his sword. The men seemed to step back with fear.

  Gochan walked with him and laughed, and Adalwulf frowned at him. “Don’t. They have mothers. I should not have scared them.”

  “You’ve likely known their mothers,” Gochan rumbled. “Women whom your victories have made Roman slaves. Why would they enlist otherwise, eh? Sons of former slaves and now mighty defenders of Rome!”

  Gochan sat down next to me and Adalwulf, who was contemplating on something.

  Finally he raised himself, receiving ale from one of Gochan’s men in a cup. “So. What is going on in here?” he asked.

  “Not much, as you see,” I said. “We guard the shit hold, this damned castra. We suffer mosquitos and boredom. There is some relief. We have hundreds of formerly pacified Sigambri joining from south of the river. Hundreds have come forward from Ubii, leaving the Roman alliance. Even Ubii are disgusted with Thusnelda’s fate. We show them to Armin and go back to being bored.”

  He spat and shook his head. “Hundreds come to aid us. But not ten thousand.”

  “Eh?” Gochan asked.

  “I said, not ten thousand,” Adalwulf rumbled. “It is no easy feat, is it, to defend, always to defend. Chatti stay loyal, thank Woden.”

  “I suppose,” I said. “They will. You know why. What are you talking about?”

  He waved me down and took a drink from my horn. He grinned. “I think we get yet another chance to kill our man. Germanicus is moving. He sent half his legions in Xanten to north.”

  I blinked. “North?”

  “With ships,” he said. “He has been collecting such ships from the spring last year, and he has hundreds. He used his father’s canals and sailed the sea to the rivers from the north. Others are marching up to the Amisia River from the west, like the auxilia did early this summer, and they have all met in the lands of the Chauci. They killed Ernust’s son and nephew, who were visiting his hall, and took most all the rest of his family prisoner. He took a hundred nobles prisoners.”

  I looked at him in horror and shock. “And that means…”

  Gochan spat. “Thusnelda or not, the Chauci are changing sides. Saddle up. We will get the men ready. Germanicus is marching south from the north, and we lack a third of our men. Germanicus means to kill us this summer.”

  I ran to raise the troops, and we rushed off to the north, to meet with Armin, who had been betrayed yet again.

  ***

  Armin’s nearly thirty thousand troops were marching.

  Six thousand Chatti led the march north to meet with Germanicus. Sigambri, with Theudric leading them, had attached two thousand men to Mallovendus’s four thousand Marsi. Their spears were swinging furiously, and their women and supplies were left far behind as they rushed forward. Bructeri, Helm, and some noblemen I had not seen were next to them with another six, their brethren Tubantes as well with a few thousand looking anxiously north, where the Roman legions lay, destroying their lands. Tencteri and Usipetes, horsemen all, in their thousands, were ranging far and forward, and many a speculatore fell to their hands, surprised by the abrupt movements of Armin. His nine thousand Cherusci came last.

  Over ten thousand Chauci had been left behind as Armin had marched off, the untrustworthy allies broken without a word, leaving them bereft of supplies, far from the battle. Ernust’s shame had been seen by many.

  The unified Germani army was marching in the night. There were losses, as weaker men left the ranks or fell to the roadside.

  Surprisingly, the Chauci and their betrayal had little effect on the Germani.

  It was due to Thusnelda’s plight. It was just more evidence in the nature of Rome and Germanicus.

  It was due to Armin, who was pressing them forward. Furious at Germanicus and his success, the man was leading the army finally to do battle. There would be no preparations, no surprise well thought of.

  He was simply confident he could win.

  He might have not cared if he could or not. He might have been thinking gods owed him victory.

  Alas, gods owed mortals nothing.

  It took three days of marching, and more adelings and war-lords were joining him.

  Then, the word came back from Tencteri, and it spoke of a Roman army nearby.

  As we walked for Armin’s camp—on a night filled with men singing, with the sounds of weapons being sharpened, and women speaking to their husbands, all of them hungry and still ready—Adalwulf was frowning. “Are we not near the woods where Varus fell?”

  I had not realized it. “It is fitting, is it not?”

  “It is, if it brings us victory,” he murmured, and I agreed. It meant nothing of the sort, of course. There were nearly twenty thousand legionnaires up ahead, if not the southern legions, and another similar number of auxilia.

  It would be hard battle to win.

  Especially since we had not the numbers of Chauci.

  Adalwulf and I found Armin surrounded by a throng of twenty. The great Thiuda and adelings were there, plagued by mosquitoes and hunger, and the lack of ale and mead, and all were grimy and savage to look at. They were staring ahead at Armin, who sat on a stump of a fir tree, on a pillow of moss and fungi, and he was leaning on his sword, the sword of Varus, the Summer Sword, looking rather like a king of the draugr, a barrow wight who craved nothing but blood for substance. He was staring at us all, weighing our worth in the most miserable of places.

  “It is in such a place,” he said, almost as if he had heard my thoughts, “where great nations are
born.”

  They stared at him and nodded.

  Helm stood forward. “Thiuda. King. What news? They say Germanicus is near.”

  “What news?” Armin said. “Yes, he is. They are burying the dead of Varus.”

  Stunned silence reigned and then they all began shouting. Armin raised his hand to silence them.

  “They are?” Theudric the Sigambri asked. “They dare to stop to bury the dead? They have the time to spare?”

  “They do dare,” Helm snarled. “Let them play with bones, I say. We have caught up with them in a land that remembers our victory. Varus is yet again doing us favors.”

  Helm’s shame for losing the Aquila, though it wasn’t his fault, was heavy on his shoulders.

  Armin nodded. “The bones are nothing. They mean not a thing. Let them play, I agree. We shall dig them back up later. They have lost days. They have men reaching far south of here and east towards us, and they have been burning Bructeri, Tubantes, Ampsivarii, and other allied villages. They took the Chauci out of the war, as you know, but that will only work once. The Visurgis and Albis rivers will be guarded from now on. We shall never again be surprised by a fleet.”

  Drusus had done it before, I thought. We had forgotten.

  Armin spoke on. “They managed to surprise us only to bury bones. And now we are near, and they might not even guess it. They might think I am on my knees before Ernust, begging him to sacrifice his kin for our great causes. I spit on the Chauci.”

  They all looked grim for the fact.

  “Can we win without them?” asked Mallovendus, doubt in his voice. It was a question many had voiced, but softly. “They are Romans. And there are more…” He went silent.

  Armin gave him a baleful glance, like he would cast at a coward who makes a man sick, and then spoke evenly. “We must. We shall move to the east of them. There, where we butchered Varus’s men, in the woods and valleys east of the place he was killed, we shall stop them. The same woods where we harassed them for days is again our place to gain glory. He had planned on marching behind us to my lands, and not Luppia, but as you said, bones matter more. He hoped to show his men and Rome the deadly road has no more magic for us to use, no power to bleed Romans, but we shall prove him wrong. We shall. And can we win the war without Chauci?” He shrugged. “We must win battles, at least. We must not falter. We will fight, and we shall let Woden decide.”

  For a short moment, his eyes glittered, and I wondered at that, for I knew he had a plan or some hidden hope.

  He was stretching his back and eyed the sword blade carefully. “If we win, they are in trouble. Tencteri and Usipetes know something. The Romans came very late in the year. The land is moist with the heavy rains we had for two weeks, and rivers have been swelling. The gods are sending storms across the north, and perhaps we shall get some divine aid. If they win, they will march to my home and back home through Luppia. If they lose, they must go back west and north. They do, however, only have ships for half their army. That means their cavalry and at least two legions must go home back the way they marched, past River Amisia, for the Frisii. But see, the land they marched through is swelling with waters. They have one way alone. They must take the long-way, the Pontes Longi, that Legate Ahenobarbus built twenty years ago. It is not in a good shape, but it is a way that runs over the swamps for southwest and ends up near Luppia and Alisio. That’s the fastest way through the swamps, but they have not used it. The rest will go back to the fleet, days to the north, but some, the ones who lead their slaves, captives, supplies, and loot, will take the Pontes Longi. So, we must stop them, and then we shall send them to the swamps and stop them there, until they are dead. Gods help us, let Germanicus be with them and not the fleet.”

  “Can we?” Mallovendus asked stubbornly.

  “We can,” Armin snarled and calmed himself. “Come now. We have had some terrible luck, or you may call it what you will. But we also have new hope. Come, march with me, and we do battle.”

  They nodded and agreed.

  “And if I, for I shall not stay hidden in any battle to come, die,” he said, and placed his sword before him, “I want you to give me your oaths.”

  They looked uncertain, and one grimy warlord stepped forward. “Of course, we shall, unless it shames us.”

  “Then give us your oaths,” Armin said. “Give me your oaths you shall follow me as your king, the man whose honor has been insulted, whose plans are constantly under threat by those who would put us in our graves. Give me your oaths that you shall follow me, and mine, until we all stand together as one, brothers and no longer tribes and fools. Give them to me, friends.”

  They had been giving such already. Now he wanted them given together.

  They stepped forward, and I did as well, used to breaking oaths. Adalwulf was white of face as he followed us. Gochan frowned and stayed back.

  Armin stopped us all with his upraised hand.

  “And give me an oath that you shall keep as your life-quest the goal of freeing my wife and child from Roman captivity, so they might one day breathe the air of the free land, for I might die tomorrow.”

  They were silent. Then Adalwulf and others stepped forward and raised their spears and swords high. “We swear! We so swear!”

  We all swore, some silently, others loudly, and for a long time, I thought I might not keep this oath.

  But I also knew Tiberius is a lion, and no lion gives away his kill.

  Thusnelda would no doubt die in Rome.

  The adelings began to leave. He waved them away, indeed.

  Armin whistled, and I turned to look at him. The others left, save for Horse-Arse and Grip. He waved a man from the woods, and I saw Donor.

  It took all my discipline to walk forward.

  I faced the man, who was pale, almost like a corpse, his face white and sweat trickling down his face. He held a hand over his belly and was bandaged and bleeding through it like an old wolf.

  I pulled my helmet off. I smiled at him. “Did he tell you, Armin, that he rode after me to kill me? That he was fetched from Black Lodge by his men, when they saw me leaving, and left to hunt me down, not to watch me, or to stop me.”

  Armin said nothing.

  Donor held his ax in a tight grip.

  “Did he tell you who gave him that wound?” I asked.

  Armin spoke only one sentence. “Did you do it?”

  I knew what he meant.

  Donor spat blood and spoke. “You sent your boys to safety. Why then? Why did you talk to Segimundus? We know you did. Did you tell him lies? I rode in after you. He said you told him you will rule the village. Then he left.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t answer to you. And I admit. I set my enemies against each other. Did not Armin give you leave to kill me? I simply struck first.”

  “You did,” Armin said softly. “Answer him. Segimundus.”

  His eyes were gleaming. Horse-Arse had half drawn his sword.

  I lifted my chin.

  “I did nothing,” I said, “but defend myself. Aye, I sent my boys to safety. I greeted Segimundus and Rhamis, who was Gunda’s friend. I think my enemy here is lying to kill me. He hopes Armin does his dirty work for him.”

  “You pulled Donor from Black Lodge,” Armin said very softly, his eyes like those of an animal. “He no longer watched the land. No matter what he was going to do to you for his resentment towards you, of even for me, you left and knew he would be there and fight your fight with Ourbazo.”

  I snarled and spat at their feet.

  Had not Thusnelda tried to save Armin by selling my skin?

  I kept my mouth shut about that.

  “I killed Ourbazo. I dealt with those who wished me harm. And I am here, and have been here, fighting for you. Do what you will.”

  He looked at me hard, his eyes like water. “Donor is going to go away. He shall take men. He shall go, and he shall find out the truth to these many questions we have. He takes fifty of my men, and he will find Segestes and Segimundu
s. He shall kill those two. He will bring me Rhamis. If I am dead, he shall act as my hand. And Hraban, he shall know the truth from Segimundus’s lips. When he does, he is again my hand.” He shook his head. “Go. Fight. Fight for me like a dog, and die, Hraban, for if you had a hand in the loss of Thusnelda, I shall forfeit my lands to kill you.”

  “Of course,” I said coldly.

  As I walked off, I saw Donor getting on his horse.

  If he wasn’t my problem that day, he would be one day.

  I saw Armin walking to the side, and there, he spoke with Helm, who kneeled before him, shaking his head in shame. Horse-Arse and Grip were with him, looking at me.

  ***

  The army stood under the boughs of the oppressive wet woods. It was raining gently, and I was with Gochan and Adalwulf’s men. They were just a bit over a hundred in Gochan’s band and two hundred of Adalwulf’s men now, as he was fast gaining fame as a terrible enemy of Rome, and the worse men possible were joining him, no longer all Chatti. Killers, the lot, they knew Adalwulf wanted an eagle, and the men wanted the glory that came with it. Many were even Saxons, from far away in the north.

  I watched the lines of Armin’s men. Thousands and thousands filled the woods, and just on the edge of our sight, we could see a wide valley filled with watery puddles.

  Far beyond that, there was a battle.

  Armin’s Tencteri, several thousand strong, had struck at Germanicus’s first legion, one that had been marching east, the tip of their force.

  The man had stopped to bury the bones, knowing the task to be hopeless. He would also have found them frightening. The tales from the lips of those who had seen the bones when they still carried flesh, were speaking tales that were making his anxious, frightened even, and I begged to the gods he could read his fate in those bones.

  I watched the valley and the men on watch there. They all were still, as if they were petrified by some unseen evil spirit.

  “Go,” Adalwulf said. “They are all coming.”

  “All,” I said. “I hope so.”

  I saw Armin, who was sitting on his horse under his banner of Vala’s skull. It was ragged now, the red cloak that hung from it torn. It fit the scene perfectly.