The Half-Slave

by Trevor Bloom

  He felt a tug at his sleeve and looked down to see a scrap of a girl dressed in rags holding out her hand.

  ‘What you got f’the pot?’ she said.

  He must have looked puzzled because the child shrugged and said, ‘Don’t give, don’t eat.’

  Then he understood. The woman cooked whatever was brought in. Those who gave got a share of the pot, and the woman and her daughter ate whatever was left.

  He looked up as a man shouldered his way towards him.

  ‘You the Theod?’ the man muttered. He had a sharp face, a weak chin and dirty hair. Dressed like a trader, but with a seaxe and a long-shafted hatchet stuffed in his belt. He spoke in a Frisian dialect, his breath fouled by beer and onions.

  He nodded. ‘You Dagobert?’

  The man scowled. ‘Not here!’ He dragged a cloak around his shoulders and left without another word.

  Ascha followed him outside. He saw the Frisian disappear down an alley and followed warily. The alley stank of rotting food and pigshit, the snow filthy and trampled to slush. Just when Ascha thought he had lost him, the man stepped out from the shadows.

  ‘How did you find me?’ Ascha said.

  ‘I asked around,’ the Frisian said. ‘One of the drinkers said he knew you, said he’d pass on the message if I gave him a beer.’ He flapped a hand towards the inn

  ‘You were supposed to be here a month ago,’ Ascha said.

  The Frisian wet his lips and looked over his shoulder. ‘Well, I’m here now,’ he said. ‘What have you got f’me?’

  A dog appeared around a corner and looked at them and then went on its way.

  ‘What do you want?’ Ascha stalled.

  Dagobert squeezed his arm. ‘Listen, Theodling,’ he hissed. ‘You know what I want.’

  Ascha thought it over. If the Cheruskkii discovered he’d given information to a Frankish spy, he would die slowly and horribly.

  ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ he said.

  ‘You don’t!’ Dagobert grunted. He hesitated and then said grudgingly, ‘Before I left, that fat poof Flavinius said you owed him a beer.’

  Ascha allowed himself a thin smile. He missed Flavinius.

  The alley was quiet but for the sound of water dripping from the eaves. Ascha looked about him. If the Frisian was going to betray him he would know soon enough. He was in and had to go all the way. Throw the dice, see what happened.

  He breathed in and blew it out.

  ‘There’s going to be an uprising of the Saxon and northern tribes against the west. It will come by sea and will be lead by Radhalla of the Cheruskkii. The Cheruskkii are building a warfleet here in Radhallaburh.’

  Quickly, he went over what he knew of Radhalla’s plans, running through the names of the tribes involved and the numbers of ships and men.

  ‘Tiw’s blood!’ Dagobert breathed. ‘It’ll be like wolves to the slaughter.’

  Ascha nodded. It would.

  ‘When do they sail?’

  ‘In two weeks time, after Eostre.’

  Dagobert gaped. ‘So soon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Frisian gave a low whistle. He seemed taken aback by the size and speed of the uprising. ‘Where will they strike?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Ascha felt a knot of anxiety in his chest. It was the only thing he had not been able to discover. Only Radhalla knew where the Saxon host would land.

  Dagobert swore viciously. ‘Listen, you Theod bog-trotter, we have to know where they will land. Whether it’s above or below Gesoriac, otherwise they could lay waste to half the province and be out before the army moves up.’

  ‘They won’t be leaving.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dagobert said.

  ‘It’s not a raid. It’s an invasion. They aim to seize land and hold it.’ He remembered Radhalla’s words, ‘Radhalla wants a slice of Gallia.’

  ‘The fuck they do,’ the Frisian said. ‘Saxons are raiders, not settlers.’

  ‘Not anymore,’ Ascha said. ‘They want the land.’

  Dagobert stepped in close and peered at him. ‘Are you sure?’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Dagobert scratched his chest. ‘I have to get this to the Franks,’ he muttered, ‘but first we have to deal with Radhalla.’

  ‘We have to do what?’

  ‘Kill Radhalla and Clovis will give us anything we want,’ Dagobert said. ‘All the gold we can dream of.’

  Ascha shoved his hands deep inside his tunic and gave the Frisian a grim smile. ‘Easier said than done. You might as well stop a rabid dog.’

  ‘But you could do it,’ Dagobert said, grabbing his arm. ‘They don’t know you are war trained. They don’t suspect you. You could get close.’

  Ascha angrily shook the Frisian off. ‘Radhalla is always surrounded by his hall-troop. The gesith would never let an assassin get close enough to touch him.’

  He remembered Radhalla by the fire and felt a pang of regret. He’d had his chance and might not get another. But he was not going to throw his life away for nothing. He’d come too far for that.

  ‘Then kill him while he sleeps,’ Dagobert said. ‘I’ll meet you and we’ll get away on my boat.’

  Ascha felt a shiver of alarm. The Frisian was too wild and too greedy to be trusted. If he wasn’t careful, he would get them both killed. He laughed. ‘You’re crazy. I wouldn’t live long enough to set foot on your boat.’

  ‘They say he killed your brother,’ Dagobert said.

  ‘He did.’

  The Frisian’s lip lifted in a sneer. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a coward.’

  ‘I’ll revenge my brother’s death when I’m good and ready,’ Ascha snarled. ‘In the meantime, you stay away from Radhalla. I’m not going to boil in a pot for you.’

  There was a sudden high pitched animal wail from the forest, like a child screaming. Ascha felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He pushed Dagobert away and turned.

  In the half-light, the grey of the snow and the grey of the sky merged into a single blur. A rustle of snow fell from the branches with a heavy plop. He heard a scrape at the end of the alley which may or may not have been a boot.

  ‘I have to go,’ he said urgently.

  Dagobert rubbed his throat and rolled his head. ‘Meet me again tomorrow night,’ he said hoarsely. ‘And think again about what I said. Kill that monster and we’re made for life.’

  Ascha ran down the alley. He paused to look around and then left the village, plunging deep into the forest. He was creeping past a tree stump, the darkness swirling around him, when the ground shifted and a figure rose at his side.

  ‘Blast! I never saw tha.’

  Tchenguiz threw back his cloak and shook off the snow.

  ‘There was someone moving in the village.’

  ‘Following me?’

  ‘Maybe, yes.’

  ‘Did tha see who it was?’

  The Hun shook his head.

  ‘Does tha think he saw me?’

  Tchenguiz waggled his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  At the edge of the village, they paused and checked behind them. There was no sign of Dagobert. The forest was quiet, blanketed by snow.

  They waited a long time listening to the water dripping from the trees.

  Then they went back to the fort.

  16

  He was working on the prow of a big war boat when they came for him. Eanmund saw them first. ‘Hold up!’ he said in his flat twang. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  Ascha looked up and saw spearmen coming out of the fortress at the run. He watched as the men loped down the riverbank towards them. A bell began to clang, and the shipbuilders stopped working and turned their heads. Ascha felt a prickle of apprehension and looked about him nervously. This was not usual. Fighting men did not bother themselves with boat building.

  The spearmen were gesith, Radhalla’s chosen men. They quickly surrounded the boat and a Cherusker with red spiky hair stepped forward.
<
br />   ‘Ascha the Theod, you are to come with us.’

  Ascha dropped his tools and ran.

  He sprinted the length of the boat, jumping from bench to bench, and leaped to the ground and was off. He heard shouts, a whistle, the sound of running feet. He vaulted a wicker fence and then he was through a dirty yard, into a shed and out the other side and down an alley. Men looked at him curiously. He slowed and pulled up his hood and then dived down another alley. He ran to the far end and came out at the fortress wall.

  He stopped and caught his breath. Nobody about, but hens pecking the dirt and pigs grunting.

  He breathed more easily.

  There was the sound of a boot on gravel.

  He turned and saw a line of armed Cheruskii slowly filing out from a lane. Half a dozen spear points swept towards him. He whirled only to see more Cheruskii behind him.

  He felt his belly churn. The red-haired Cherusker barked an order. The Cheruskkii seized him. They hurled him against the wall and slapped his face. They punched him in the stomach and threw him to the ground. Then they picked him up and bundled him back the way they had come. Craftsmen and boat-builders put down their tools and came to see what was going on.

  As they neared the river, Eanmund stepped from the crowd and barred their way. ‘What’s this about?’ he shouted. ‘Where are you taking this man?’

  The Cheruskkii pushed him aside without a word.

  ‘Stay out of it, Eanmund,’ Ascha called over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  He saw that Tchenguiz had also been seized. The two of them were driven into the fortress and towards the mara in a confusion of shouts and excited voices. A crowd had gathered. He saw Radhalla sitting on a low stool, ringed by gesith with weapons drawn and teeth bared, screaming at the crowd to get back.

  Something had happened, he had no idea what, but he suspected he would find out soon enough.

  He was pushed to his knees, spears hovering before his eyes.

  He looked up.

  Radhalla was bareheaded. Across one cheek, a weapon-slash had laid the Cherusker’s face open from mouth to ear. Blood poured down Radhalla’s cheek in thin rivulets and dripped onto his shoulder. His shirt was ripped and spattered with blood. A woman in a black kerchief held a bowl of water while another stood at Radhalla’s elbow laboriously threading a bone needle with fishing line.

  Radhalla’s skin was grey and drawn. He smiled at Ascha with cold, unfathomable eyes and, as he did, Ascha saw the wound in his cheek gape a little like a second mouth. The woman held the edges of the wound together with finger and thumb and began to sew.

  He noticed Sigisberht standing at Radhalla’s side, rocking back on his heels, both thumbs thrust into his belt. In the cold air, Sibisberht’s face seemed pink and newly-scrubbed. He watched Ascha with an air of satisfaction, like a cat that has just caught a mouse.

  Ascha remembered the stories he had heard of Radhalla’s cruelty. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be calm. You can do it, he thought. You can get through this.

  There was a bustle of bodies, and the crowd parted.

  Fighters came running onto the mara, carrying the body of a man shoulder high. The man was dead. No doubt about that. The body was hacked and battered, the skin yellow and purple, and the head lolled obscenely. The gesith threw the body to the ground; the corpse rolled and came to rest face up. A weak chin shrouded in bristles, cold dead eyes and a cheek smeared with blood.

  Dagobert.

  Ascha felt as if he had been kicked in the teeth. His heart pounded and his breath came in pants.

  Sigisberht walked over to Dagobert’s body. He lifted the chin with his toe and then let it fall.

  The mara fell silent.

  Sigisberht bowed to Radhalla and then faced the crowd.

  ‘Brothers!’ he said in his prissy voice. ‘I am sorry to have to tell you that there has been a vicious and brutal attempt on Lord Radhalla’s life. This…thing tried to murder our war leader.’

  Sigisberht brought his foot back and kicked Dagobert in the face.

  Ascha heard the sharp crack of bone.

  ‘This man is an outsider,’ Sigisberht said, stepping over Dagobert’s lifeless body. ‘A Frisian agent sent here to murder our leader. And with the cunning typical of his kind, he chose his moment well. He attempted to kill Lord Radhalla as he was coming back from his morning ride.’ Sigisberht paused as angry shouts rang out. ‘Radhalla, thanks be to Tiw, was unharmed. With his bare hands, he was able to hold off the attacker until help arrived.’ He turned to Radhalla’s bodyguard and bowed his head formally. ‘We are grateful to the gesith, most loyal of Radhalla’s followers, for their zeal and devotion.’

  The snarling hulks behind Sigisberht looked out with unrelenting eyes.

  Radhalla’s morning ride! The one time when Radhalla was alone and undefended. Dagobert had nearly succeeded. Beneath Sigisberht’s smooth words Ascha could detect the Cherusker’s fury that the gesith had killed the Frisian before he could be made to talk.

  ‘But there is more to this treachery!’ Sigisberht said. ‘There is a man here who has something to say.’

  He turned and beckoned.

  Wulfhere stepped forward, a pinched little smile on his face.

  Ascha slowly got to his feet, his stomach turning.

  Wulfhere dipped his head to Radhalla and cleared his throat.

  ‘I am Wulfhere of the Theodi and I am proud to be part of the confederation’s struggle against the Roman degenerates and their allies.’

  He paused, taking his time, and then pointed to Ascha.

  ‘Last night that man met secretly with the assassin. I saw them talking together.’ He paused again. ‘Ascha of the Theodi is as guilty of trying to kill Radhalla as if his own hand were on the knife.’

  Ascha’s heart stopped.

  A hush and then the crowd erupted with howls of rage. All eyes on him, the Theodi traitor. Radhalla wincing as the needle went in.

  ‘What do you say to that?’ Sigisberht said coldly. He gestured to Dagobert’s ripped corpse. ‘Do you know this man?

  Ascha felt his blood freeze. Futile to deny it. Too many knew the Frisian was looking for him. Have to tell the truth, or as much of it as he dared.

  He took a deep breath, his mouth dry as sand. ‘Of course, I know him,’ he said, all matter-of-fact. ‘He’s a trader. A cheese-head.’

  He was conscious of Sigisberht staring at him. Radhalla glanced at Sigisberht, one eyebrow raised, the needle pulling the tattered flesh together.

  Wulfhere jabbed his finger at Ascha.

  ‘That little shit spent five years with the Franks and he works for them now,’ he said, spitting out the words. ‘I tell you, I saw them together. He’s a spy.’

  ‘Did you meet with the Frisian?’ Sigisberht said to Ascha.

  ‘It’s as I told you, he’s a trader,’ Ascha said coolly. ‘I owed him for a bronze kettle. I met him and paid him. Gave him six rabbits for it. Eanmund will speak for me.’

  Eanmund’s broad vowels, right on the nail.

  ‘What the boy says is true. I, Eanmund the half-Dane, swear it.’

  Ascha heaved a small sigh of relief.

  ‘He says you’re a spy,’ murmured Sigisberht. ‘He says you were discussing Radhalla’s murder.’

  ‘He lies as often as he breathes,’ Ascha shouted. ‘He heard nothing.’

  ‘Why would he lie?’ Sigisberht said.

  Ascha thought fast. He hoped with every bone in his body that Wulfhere hadn’t heard what he had said to Dagobert, but if he had he was as good as dead. Either way, it wouldn’t take Sigisberht long to unravel his story. That was what Sigisberht did, rooting out spies and assassins. They would search his belongings and they would find the tally-stick. It wouldn’t take long for Sigisberht to work out that Ascha was a spy and to connect him to the Franks. He had to damage Wulfhere, quickly, before Sigisberht got any closer.

  ‘There’s always been bad blood between us,’ he said. ‘He betrayed my
brother and now he’s out to destroy me.’

  Radhalla looked up, suddenly interested. ‘Why should he want to destroy you?’ he said, his voice muddied as he tried to speak without moving his jaw.

  ‘He’s jealous.’

  ‘Jealous? Of what?’

  Desperately, Ascha tried to think. He had put himself into this position and the only thing to do now was carry it off. ‘Saefaru, Wulfhere’s wife …’ He let the words tail away.

  The crowd smelled a rat.

  Sigisberht smiled pleasantly. ‘What about her?’

  The mara fell silent. Everyone looking and waiting, a small cleft of uncertainty had appeared between Wulfhere’s eyes.

  Ascha shrugged and tried to appear calmer than he felt. ‘I think she’s sweet on me.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ Wulfhere snarled.

  But Ascha had seen the shadow of doubt cross Wulfhere’s face. He had to make them think Wulfhere was acting out of a grudge. He turned and looked for Radhalla’s eyes, held them. ‘Saefaru and I were lovers before I went away,’ he said. ‘Since I returned from exile, we have been seeing each other again.’ He gave a loud sigh. ‘I think it’s humiliating for Wulfhere and that’s why he says these things.’

  The mara held its breath.

  Someone began to laugh, a rich and dirty cackle. The joke caught like the plague. Others joined in. Soon everyone on the mara was sniggering and tittering. The Theod was no Frankish assassin: he was just porking the other Theod’s wife. Hilarious!

  Wulfhere stood rooted to the spot. He had gone white and his mouth worked noiselessly. He bore a look of stunned disbelief. Ascha closed his eyes. Sweet mother of Tiw, he thought. Wulfhere hadn’t known about him and Saefaru, and I just told him. He’d shamed Wulfhere in front of the tribes. Wulfhere would never let it go.

  Wulfhere wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. He swallowed, his face pale with anger, and then turned to Radhalla.

  ‘Lord! This half-slave has dishonoured me,’ he said. ‘I ask leave to kill him.’

  Ascha ran his tongue over chapped lips and dug his nails into the palm of his hand. He hadn’t expected this. He hated Wulfhere, but a Theod did not fight Theod. At least not like this. He looked at Wulfhere and then at Radhalla. For a brief moment he thought Radhalla might deny Wulfhere. And then he realized that Radhalla had no choice. A lord could not refuse a freeman who had been insulted by a half-slave.