by Trevor Bloom
She put a hand against his cheek. ‘Let them think you swim with the tide. Let them think it, and you will survive. Otherwise, they will kill you as easily as they drink water.’
He looked at her but said nothing. She folded the cloth neatly and put it back in the basket and got to her feet.
‘Ma, you want me to tell you why I came back?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It is better if you do not.’ She thought for a moment and then said, ‘Does the Hun know?’
‘No.’
His mother leant forward. ‘Then tell him, tell him everything,’ she hissed. ‘He is your only friend here. The only one you can trust.’
Ascha frowned. He looked at her and then at Tchenguiz. The Hun sat patiently, not understanding a word. What had he come to when a slave was his only friend, he thought bitterly. But he knew she was right. She always was.
At the door, his mother hesitated. ‘One thing more,’ she whispered. ‘The Cheruskkii are building a fleet. I have heard them talking.’
‘A fleet?’ he breathed. He knew it! He smacked his fist hard into his palm. So they would come by sea. He held her shoulders tight and looked into her eyes, ‘Where, Ma?’
‘I don’t know.’
He breathed in deep and blew it out. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, there was a way he could have his revenge and give the Franks what they wanted.
If he lived that is.
That night, Ascha made up his mind. He hunched down on his heels with his hands wrapped around his knees and said, ‘Tchenguiz, there is something I have to tell tha.’
Ten years before Ascha was born, Khan Aetla’s Huns had erupted from the east like a flail across a child’s face. Tchenguiz had been young then, little more than a boy, but he had ridden before he could walk and was proud to ride knee to knee with the Hunnic horde. When Ascha was a child, Tchenguiz would give him rides on his back and tell him stories that set the blood pumping through his veins. He would talk of riders in their thousands wheeling across the plains, the clang of iron on iron, arrow-storms darkening the sky.
Aetla’s Huns had torched cities from the Rhine to the western ocean and left the wheatfields of Gallia a desert of charred stubble. Eventually, the Roman general Aetius and his barbarian allies brought the Huns to battle. The fighting was vast and savage and raged all day. By sunset Aetla was defeated. Amidst the carnage, Tchenguiz was taken captive by Saxons loyal to Aetius and given to Osric, hetman of the Theodi and father of Aelfric. He began the long walk north to the Theodi homeland.
Life on the northshore had been hard. Unused to Hunnic features, the Theodi had looked on Osric’s new slave with horror. Children threw stones, and women covered their faces as he went by. But, in time, the Theodi grew accustomed to him and he was left alone. He became our Hun and, if still strange, was at least no stranger.
Now, slowly, Ascha began to talk of his time with the Franks. He began with the day when Clovis chose him as a hostage. Once he started, the words poured from him like water. He went through it all. He spoke of his life as an exile and how the Franks had given him weapons and trained him and used him as a messenger and a spy even though he was a Saxon and a half-slave. And he explained how Clovis, the Great Khan of the Franks, had sent him back to his own people, to spy on the confederation and give the Franks warning of the uprising that was coming.
Tchenguiz listened in silence. When he had finished Ascha waited for him to speak, needing the approval of the man who had been his father’s friend.
‘Well, say something,’ he snapped.
‘What will tha do?’ Tchenguiz said.
‘If I live?’ Ascha said.
‘If tha lives.’
’I gave the Franks my word.’
‘Then tha will find out the Cheruskkii war plans?’
‘Yes.’
‘And kill Radhalla?’
Ascha looked at him for a long time and then nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I will kill Radhalla.’
The broad face of Tchenguiz opened in a huge grin.
‘Wah! Ascha!’ he said, ‘Tha is warrior now. Like me!’
Ascha gave him a quick grin and squeezed his shoulder. He got to his feet and hammered on the door. When the guard came he said, ‘Tell my brother I want to see him.’
They came for him the next morning. Tchenguiz got up too but the Cheruskkii shook their heads. ‘Just the Theod. The Hun stays.’
He gave Tchenguiz a tight smile and stepped out.
He emerged into a grey wilderness. After the stench of the hut the air was clean and raw. The cold seared his lungs. Snowflakes swirled around his head, settling on his cheek and eyelids like icy butterflies. His wrists were wrenched behind his back and bound. Two strong hands gripped his upper arms and a stinking cloth was wrapped around his eyes. He was aware of Cheruskkii falling in either side of him and then he was marched away.
‘Where are we going?’ he said:
They made no reply.
He felt gravel under his feet and frozen mud. Somewhere a pig was grunting. They took him through the village and up the village-mound, and he guessed that they were going to his father’s hall. They stopped and a Cherusker banged on a door. A voice said, ‘Come!’
The door opened and he was shoved inside.
The rag was pulled from his eyes and the rope untied. He felt himself pushed forward with a hand in his back.
There was an odour of wood smoke and warm bodies. A fat log was smouldering in the sandbox and he could feel its warmth pricking his face. A dozen Cheruskkii lazed on benches, drinking beer, scratching and belching companiably. He could hear the click of dice. They looked up as he entered and then resumed their game. In one corner, under a blanket of pelts, a man and a woman were moving, their bodies joined in a rhythm as old as time. In another corner a group of young women from the village sat together. When they saw him they lowered their gaze and looked away.
Hanno sat at the table, his long body folded into Aelfric’s great chair, picking his teeth with a bone toothpick. He looked relaxed, his pale skin slightly flushed. Behind him stood the big hulking Cherusker he had seen with Radhalla wearing two deep-bladed seaxes shoved crossways under his belt. On the table were the remains of a roast goose, a joint of beef, fresh loaves and a soft white cheese.
‘Ascha! Come in, come in!’ Hanno said. He pushed back his chair back with a loud scrape and came out from behind the table. He put one long arm around Ascha’s neck and patted his face and ruffled his hair.
‘I am sorry tha was held so long. An oversight while we ensured the village was secure. Come and sit. Has tha eaten? Have some beef. No? Well then, some beer perhaps?’
Ascha took the beaker Hanno offered him. He drank the beer in one long gulp and then in one sudden movement flung the beaker away and pounded the table with both fists. The dishes jumped and clattered.
‘Hanno, he was our brother!’
The big Cherusker lunged around the table, firelight glinting on the iron edge of his seaxe. Hanno looked startled. The Cheruskkii looked up from their game, dice poised. There was a long silence, like waiting for the pebble to hit the bottom of a deep well. The log shifted in the hearth, and Ascha heard the crackle and popping of burning wood.
The big Cherusker’s eyes flicked to Hanno. Do I kill him now?
Hanno flapped the thug away. The Cherusker shoved the knife back into his belt and leant against the hall post with arms folded and watched Ascha. The Cheruskkii resumed their game but continued to cast dark glances at him, muttering under their breath.
Hanno sighed and said: ‘Ah, Ascha what am I going to do with tha?’
‘Why did tha kill him, Hanno?’ Ascha said softly.
Hanno looked weary. ‘I didn’t want Hroc’s death,’ he said. ‘If he had acknowledged me it wouldn’t have happened. I mourn his passing, as does tha. He was my brother after all. But sometimes these things are necessary, and they can turn out for the best. Tiw appreciates it when we serve him with honest men and not the crim
inals and thieves he is usually offered.’
Ascha closed his eyes and opened them again.
‘Tell me, why did he have to die?’
‘He stole my birthright, that’s why,’ Hanno said in a peevish tone. ‘I was the first-born. It was my right. All I did was reclaim what was mine.’
There was no remorse in Hanno’s eyes. It was as if he had reworked the ugliness of Hroc’s death lest it spoil the idea of his own piety.
‘Father chose Hroc to lead us, not tha.’
Hanno’s face twisted in a snarl.
‘Father was stupid. We’re a northern nation, part of the Saxon family. Our future lies with the confederation.’
‘Under Cheruskkii leadership? They are not even blood-linked, Hanno. Look at them!’ He swept his arm towards the dice-players. ‘They’re not a nation. They’re scum! The gutter sweepings of the north.’
There was a low warning growl from the Cheruskkii.
‘Radhalla dreams of uniting the Saxon tribes,’ Hanno said. He spoke in a dull flat tone, as if explaining things to a child. ‘We could be part of that. Hroc would have kept us small and powerless. The Cheruskkii are the rising tide, Ascha. If we join Radhalla, we rise with them. It’s what Tiw would wish.’
‘You think Tiw wants this?’
Hanno closed his eyes. He sat down again and laid both hands on the table. ‘I know the Cheruskkii are rough,’ he said, dropping his voice. ‘A little primitive, maybe. They do not have our traditions and customs, but we can work with them. We can become – ’
‘This is all shite, Hanno,’ he shouted. ‘What does tha want of me?’
Hanno looked at him with a pained expression on his face, ‘I want to talk.’
‘Tha wants my loyalty-oath?’
Hanno gave an apologetic smile, ‘There’s no need,’ he said levelly. ‘Tha’s only an unweaponed half-slave and tha cannot take up arms against me. I would prefer to have thi support, but if not it doesn’t matter.’
Ascha flinched. Maybe he had always known, but it was painful to hear all the same. He remembered his mother’s words. He would have to choose. Right now, Hanno and the Cheruskkii had all the power, and he couldn’t be sure Hanno wouldn’t kill him too. If he was to survive, he would have to tread carefully.
The door opened with a gust of cold air, and the blonde Cherusker with the pink face came in. He walked briskly to the fire, rubbing his hands together.
Hanno turned and smiled. ‘Ascha, this is Sigisberht, the nephew of hetman Radhalla of the Cheruskkii people. Sigisberht, my half-brother, Ascha.’
The Cherusker held out a plump hand and smiled a professional smile. Ascha hesitated and then took it. The hand was cold and soft. Sigisberht wore a cowhide cloak over his tunic with the edges thrown back to reveal a lining of lambskin. There was the glint of a finely worked gold brooch at the shoulder.
‘My uncle has spoken of you,’ Sigisberht said.
He unpinned the cloak and let it fall.
‘Yes?’ Ascha said, unable to hide his surprise that Radhalla had spoken of him to Sigisberht.
The Cherusker dragged up a bench and sat. ‘You came home overland?’
His voice was precise and neat, every word in its place but the tone was soft, as if he sweetened his breath in honey.
‘I did.’
Sigisberht picked up a beaker and dipped it into the beer bucket and looked at Ascha with an appraising eye. ‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘But one thing puzzles me.’ He took a little sip of beer and wiped the corner of his mouth with a knuckle. A frown appeared between his eyes. ‘I do not understand how a half-slave hostage could escape from a Frankish military camp? Perhaps you would explain?’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can’t explain?’
‘One day I just walked out and kept on walking.’
A cold stare. ‘And they did not think to pursue you?’
‘I think they thought I would go north to get a boat home. Or south to Roman territory. They may have thought I would make my way west to Armorica to find refuge among the Bacaudae.’
‘The Bacaudae?’ Sigisberht frowned, clearly uncomfortable with what he didn’t know.
‘Renegade slaves.’
‘Ah!’ Sigisberht said, tapping his lips with his forefinger. ‘But you are going to tell me that you did none of those things?’
‘No.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I went east. I crossed the Rhine at Colonia and then travelled up the Lupia and then over the top until I found the Wisurg and headed north.’
Sigisberht gave Ascha a long and thoughtful look.
‘One of my people thinks he may have seen you before. In Gesoriac or Parisi maybe? Is that possible?’
There was something in Sigisberht’s tone that dropped ice in Ascha’s belly. His tongue worked a dry mouth. Could the Cheruskkii really have spies in those cities? Or was he bluffing?
‘It’s possible,’ he said carefully. ’Sometimes I took messages to the Roman towns. I ride well and I speak Latin. I was an obvious choice.’ He looked down as if ashamed at having done the Franks’ work.
‘You speak Latin?’
‘My mother taught me,’ he said and immediately felt the blood rise on the back of his neck. Among Saxons, a mother who spoke Latin was always slave-born.
Hanno jumped in, bored with where the talk was going. ‘Sigisberht, did you know that our Ascha is a carver? Perhaps you saw the gable panel over the door as you came in? He has the gift, a true artist.’
Sigisberht gave Ascha a long and thoughtful look. ‘A woodcarver?’ he said, rolling his bottom lip to reveal a pink wetness. ‘There is always a need for good woodcarvers.’
There was a sudden whoop of laughter followed by a long drawn out groan from the dice-players. Someone had won, someone lost.
Ascha looked Sigisberht full in the eye. ‘I would like the chance to prove to you what I can do,’ he said.
Hanno waved one arm in the air and said, ‘It’s just as I told you, Sigisberht. My brother Ascha is not like Hroc.’
Ascha could hear the relief in Hanno’s voice. It wouldn’t do for the Cheruskkii to suspect Ascha’s loyalty just after they had hanged Hroc.
Sigisberht ignored him. ‘What can you do?’
‘Most anything. I’m a skilled timberer and I know shipbuilding.’
‘Who says we need shipbuilders?’ Sigisberht said, suddenly suspicious.
‘Nobody,’ Ascha smiled. ‘But if you were to need help in building boats, I’m your man.’
Sigisberht thought it over. ‘You might be able to help us,’ he conceded. ‘We are building warships, many warships. We could use your skills.’
‘I would be happy to help in any way I can,’ Ascha said softly. ‘Where are the boats being built?’
‘At Radhallaburh.’
‘Radhallaburh?’
‘My uncle’s new fortress in the forest.’
It was as if a lamp had been lit in his head. A new fortress would explain why he had seen no ships being built along the river. Radhalla was building a war fleet far from prying eyes. He would have to go there. See the fleet at first hand. He thought of the woods, cold and gloomy, and shivered. The Cheruskkii were not called the waldingas, the forest people, for nothing. But this was his chance. The Franks would want to know how many ships Radhalla was building. When they would sail? How many fighters they carried?
And Radhalla would be there.
‘How long would you need me?’
‘Until next summer.’
‘And then?’
‘And then we raid Gallia.’ Sigisberht said, with a matter of fact smile.
‘Ascha, under Radhalla’s leadership, we expect great things,’ Hanno chipped in eagerly. ‘We will strike the Romans a heavy blow and come back laden with wealth. We will be rich.’
Ascha looked at them.
‘But what if you fail?’
Sigisberht frowned. ‘Why would we fail?’ he said.
Asch
a breathed out. He had to overcome Sigisberht’s suspicions without arising them further. ‘Forgive me, I am no warrior, but I know that although the Romans and the Franks are allies, it is the Franks who lead. They are powerful, and it would be a mistake to underestimate them.’
The Cherusker frowned, clearly disliking the idea that he had underestimated an enemy. He made a little rolling gesture with his forefinger. ‘Go on’.
‘The Franks fight like us but they are better armed, well trained and there are many of them. They have learnt much from the Romans. Six weeks ago the Frankish army, the scara, trapped three boatloads of Heruli against the ocean and destroyed them in half a day.’
Neither of them had any idea what it would be like when Roman horse troopers caught the Cheruskkii on the flank, when the sky darkened before the javelin-storm and their shields shattered under the Franks’ franciskas.
There was an exasperated sigh from Hanno. ‘Ascha, the Heruli are chased away wherever they go. Stick to the woodcarving. Stick to what tha knows.’
Stick to being a half-slave, is what tha means, Ascha thought, but he smiled and shrugged helplessly and said, ‘Tha’s right, Hanno. What do I know of these things?’
What he knew was that the Heruli were tough because they’d been chased out of every land they tried to settle. For the Herul there had been no going back.
He was conscious of Sigisberht watching him, a sly smile at the corner of the Cherusker’s mouth.
‘You know, I like the way you think,’ Sigisberht said slowly. ‘You could be useful to us. You have lived among the Romans and seen what few of us have seen. You know how they fight.’ He seemed to come to a sudden decision. ‘You must come to Radhallaburh. Come and help us build our warships.’
Ascha swallowed with relief. ‘Of course, may I bring Tchenguiz? He is a good worker and knows wood.’
Sigisberht turned to Hanno, eyebrows raised.
‘The Hun-slave,’ Hanno explained.
‘Bring whoever you please,’ Sigisberht said and turned away.
As he reached the door, he turned back. ‘One other thing!’
Ascha waited.
‘You did well to come home after so many years away,’ Sigisberht said. ‘But you must remember that you are a Saxon now, one of us.’ Radhalla’s nephew smiled an efficient and bloodless smile. ‘Just make sure you don’t ever forget it!’