Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  “It’s beautiful. Silver?” Her eyes were glinting with greed.

  “I think it is silver,” I said thinly, holding it possessively. “It’s precious. I’m not sure your help is worth it.”

  “Well,” she said, a bit offended but challenged, her teeth shining, “seeing how you lied to get me out of the hall, risked a terrible outrage from all parties involved, including Leuthard, I’m sure what you are asking for will be a big deal, and I can probably deliver. I can, you know. I know the whole hill, top to bottom, and people in it.”

  “It will be a dangerous thing I shall ask for. Two things, as I said,” I mulled over the plan, decided it was a terrible plan, and knew I had no choice in the matter.

  “Do you have two torcs, then?” she asked.

  “This one will cover both things I’m asking for,” I told her icily. “It was my mother’s, after all. Here,” I said and pulled out the torc, fingering it fondly, and handed it to her, looking around like a thief, which I was and would be again. “Please keep it hidden,” I added, for her sake.

  “I’ll hide it well, deep in a mossy hole, and it shall be the first treasure in my own hoard. Thank you.”

  “Your father has a fine hoard, no doubt?” I asked her as I pulled her aside, under the shadows. We dodged some benches where two slaves were eating gruel, arguing about the finer art of crafting and carving a wooden figure. We stopped by a small alder tree on the side the red-tinted hall of Balderich, and birds escaped the roof above us. I noticed the girl was holding the torc loosely.

  “Why are you interested in his hoard?” she asked nervously, her face pale and sweaty. “It’s a fine hoard, with silver bracelets, gold, even. There are Roman coins aplenty and jewelry, but you know, it’s also my hoard one day. I cannot let you steal it.” She held my torc, and then thrust it back at me, though reluctantly, a deep, resentful scowl on her face.

  I leaned down towards her, and smiled. “I don’t want his hoard.”

  “Whose hoard do you want?” she asked, a bit relieved, though she still held the torc towards me.

  “Do you know where Bero has hidden his?” I asked her.

  Her eyes popped open so wide, I chuckled aloud. Then she hesitated, and put my torc under her tunic, smiling. “Yes. Part of it you cannot get into, unless he invites you to his bed. I think he might not be interested, but perhaps his wife? It’s buried under the bed. Much of it is in there.”

  Wife? She was cheeky. “I cannot—”

  She went on. “Part of it you might get to. That place is guarded, though. Day and night and not by his wife.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked her with wonder. “Are you sure?” She was everything I had hoped for, unless she was spinning a tale.

  She reddened. “Of course I am! You knew this when you asked for me. You know my father knows everything about his master, Bero, and you guessed he speaks of it all bitterly and freely in our hall. Home is where no secrets are kept. You guessed it, do not deny it! Don’t be a fool. Ingrid said I should make sure you’re not an idiot, and now you are being a huge damned one.” I shook my shoulders in a form of an apology, and she accepted with an impish smile. “Besides. They treat me like they would a slave. Won’t even look around when they feast and whisper secrets. I kind of collect them. Even if Father didn’t curse Bero’s riches aloud, the warriors always overlook us when they talk about their loot. And when they haul some treasure to safety and we run after, they won’t take note. Bero has many places he hides his wealth, most under his own bed, but he has plenty of it elsewhere. He’s like a squirrel. As I said, there is this one other place where there is bound to be lots of fabulous things, and it is accessible, if you are brave.”

  “Good,” I said. “He is far too rich for his own good.”

  She giggled. “And now you want it, and hope to be too rich for your own good, Chatti. Didn’t you find service in the village, and wish to move away?”

  “It is complicated,” I said, feeling uncomfortable to be a thief again, but that was my lot in life.

  “You’ll probably have to kill the guard,” she said, looking bothered for a moment.

  The treasure is guarded, I thought, and that probably meant a man was indeed going to die. It did test my resolve for a moment, but only for a moment. It was his wyrd, and I couldn’t walk away. “Yes.”

  She shrugged, apparently having decided the torc was enough to condemn someone to death. “So, I’ll tell you where you find this other great part of his hoard, and that’s one thing. What’s the other?” she asked.

  “You’ll tell your father who stole it.”

  “Huh?” she whispered, and squinted at me. “This is strange. You wish for me to tell my father you stole it?”

  I shook my head, and thought of a man Teutorigos had spoken of that morning when I had met him in the woods, fetched by Iodocus. He had been happy with the plan, but he had little to risk. “Another man.”

  “Who will that be?” she asked me, a quizzical look on her face, like a small, devious marten.

  “Tell them one Seisyll took it. He is a—”

  “A Gaul lord across the river?” she queried, her brow creasing. “One of those we raid, and who raids us. An enemy! Will he?”

  “Will he what?”

  “Take it?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes, but none of his men shall enter Hard Hill,” I said, and hoped she was not over-zealous about being a Marcomanni. She clutched the torc under her dress, and that was enough to chase away the sudden misgivings she had towards my plan. She nodded heavily. I went on. “You tell your father you heard some of the Celts whispering in the harbor. You tell Fulch they spoke with a man in the village, scheming. Use your imagination. Make sure your father understands Seisyll is involved.”

  “I’ll tell him I heard Seisyll’s name mentioned. Fine. What Marcomanni supposedly spoke with these Celts?” she asked me, tilting her head with curiosity.

  “Any man of Leuthard’s,” I said, and then froze, and figured out a way to alleviate my guilt over the fact a guard must die. “You will see a man speaking with a Celt of Seisyll’s. There is a man of Leuthard’s, a curious, scarred man. He had a twin, Ivarr. Helm is his name.”

  ‘Helm,’ she said softly, contemplating on what was going to happen. “Helm is a nasty man. One of Leuthard’s, indeed.”

  “I think he is nasty as well. Does he ever guard the place where these treasures are hidden?”

  She was nodding. “It’s a stable near Bero’s hall," she said. “And yes, he does. At least once a week, or so. I’ve seen him there a few times at night. I can’t possibly know when he’ll be there next, though. I’m no seer.”

  I spoke with her for a moment longer. Then she showed me the stable. In the afternoon, I sat down to drink mead with Balderich’s guests. Ingrid sat next to me. Her head tilted as Balderich came to the hall, and eyed me with displeasure. I gave the great man a salute and a confident wink. He beamed a smile back at me, keenly aware this meant I had a plan, and he went off, singing softly. I turned to Ingrid.

  “Tell Iodocus to tell Teutorigos he should send Seisyll a message," I said. “And that I’ll need some men. They should be here, ready as soon as possible, up to one week. Perhaps more.”

  She nodded. “Iodocus has many men here already. Just tell me more.” I did, she smiled, pressed her lips on my cheek, and gazed at me for a moment, before she left.

  I hesitated, and rose from the table. It was all set up. I’d make a move for Hulderic, and likely for Balderich, and gods knew how it would go.

  But something was wrong. A twist was missing, that special something all great warriors had. I was missing a backup plan. I needed a plan that was only mine, and one that might save me if things went badly.

  I sent a servant on an errand, and didn’t tell anyone when a man met me in the night.

  Then, I waited, knowing I had done all I could.

  CHAPTER 12

  Helm, the scarred Germani, looked bored.
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br />   Trees and shadows from Bero’s hall on the hillside, above the harbor, sheltered the stable. While most halls housed animals in the one end of the building, there were those meant for the bigger herds of cattle and horses, and few men would happily enjoy guard duty in such a place. They stank, but so did every other hall, and that was not the problem. The problem was the absence of the things that made life joyous. Men serving in warbands missed such life, and Germani were reluctant to serve when there was nothing to be gained for it. Helm was bored. I could see it in his slouch as he sat on a bench outside the building. He might have been thinking about the brother I had killed, dreaming of killing me. It would be my pleasure to send him to his brother.

  “You sure none followed us?” I whispered.

  Iodocus grunted, and I took it to be affirmative. “We’d be dead if they did. They don’t follow you every day, nor us, and we know them all.”

  They had been keeping an eye on the stable for days, and that evening, Helm had walked out of his hall to take his reluctant turn. They had fetched me, and I had slipped out of the hall, without even giving Ingrid goodbye. It was best that way,I thought, as I struggled with my conscience. I owed her a goodbye, but I was a coward in the matters of the heart.I owed it to her to tell her I’d not easily forget Gisil, but a man is always keeping doors open, and I hated myself for that as well.

  Normally, stable slaves, boys, shepherds, and warriors riding patrol for the tribe, keeping an eye on those who do not belong or are up to no good, guarded the stables and livestock. Hard Hill, like Mattium had been, was a large settlement. Despite the many incidents of thievery and raids on the cattle even by rival Marcomanni, not every bit of wealth could be guarded all the time.

  Few stables, aside from the one we were looking at, had armed guards.

  Ermendrud was right, I thought. Having a warrior there was plain statement. That stable was important. Bero was so rich he didn’t want to keep his riches in one place, but while he split his hoard, he was taking no chances. A guard was there, always, and if Ermendrud had been right, and I had no doubts she was, the guard confirmed this was the place where Bero stored a great hoard of Roman and Celtic coin and jewelry. This was the place his excess was hidden. It could be a vast stockpile.

  My companions were still unsure. “Surely he would keep all his treasure in his own hall. He has his bed, yes, but why not bury this under his own seat? Most men do.” Iodocus wondered. “Terribly risky, isn’t this? I’d like to have many holes full of coin, but not where I can’t see them.”

  I snorted. “He’s both afraid some outside enemy might raid Hard Hill, rob his hall, and dig everything up. He might lose everything on a one blow. So he hides it away, and has men guard it. As for the obvious guard, he doesn’t think anyone in Hard Hill would dare rob him,” I chuckled brazenly, and the Celt answered.

  “Right,” he said easily. “Suppose you are right.”

  His confidence made me confident, and I was happy he was there with me. He might have been a thin warrior, but he was a ferocious one. Had he not saved me once already? I gazed at the three other men, two Germani, meaty thieves both, and another Celt with drooping moustaches. “Remember, we won’t take any of it.” They all shrugged, but I saw greed in their foxlike faces. They had been there that night when Helm tried to kill me, as well, but, for some reason, I didn’t trust them.

  One of the Germani spoke with a hissing voice. His teeth were missing. “Adalwulf’s right. There will be gold there. It’s odd, never seen gold coins. But, be careful. That Helm is a sturdy man, and no commoner. So are the others who guard it. We’ve seen them all these past days. Only good fighters sit by that stable. It’s bound to be rich bit of loot in there. Rich. Probably would have been safer not to tell everyone it’s a wealthy stable like they do now. Paranoid, Bero is,” he said. “I’ll want a look at the treasure, and I won’t take any.”

  “By the look of things, he should be paranoid,” Iodocus said mirthfully, scratching for lice. “I almost feel sorry for that poor bastard.”

  I mumbled a curse. “I’ve been here for a week. I saw him trying to ride down a girl. He killed my horse, tried to gut me, like he would a dog,” I growled. “Perhaps he was there when poor Bait died. I do not care for his life at all.”

  “I was just jesting,” Iodocus laughed too loudly and slapped a hand over his mouth, but Helm didn’t move. We were sitting in a hut uphill from the structure, used for storing wood, an ideal place to keep a close eye on the harbor and the stables. There was a boy who fetched wood from the place every morning, but otherwise, it was quiet. One of Teutorigos’ men had slept there, and another kept a lookout, waiting for Helm. It could have been anyone, but I wanted Helm. It had cost us four days, but the waiting was over.

  “How do you wish to do it?” I asked them. “Getting rid of his corpse. Sink it in the river?” I blamed myself for not having plans for the corpse.

  “Way ahead of you, Chatti. There is an abandoned cellar, not a stone’s throw away. We dug a hole,’ Iodocus answered, and the other Celt was nodding with a smile, happy with the hole they had dug. The two Germani looked at me, and one lifted a muddy mattock. “You wish to do the honors?” Iodocus asked. “I’ll let you take him.”

  “I can do the honors,” I answered ferociously. The stable was a long one, and we’d use the door near us, twenty feet from Helm and the main doorway. “I’ll sneak in, and take him from the door.”

  “There’s a dog in there, remember,” one of the Germani stated, a man with bite marks on his upper arm. He had scouted the place the first day, and there was a hound the size of a small cow inside. Usually a docile beast, it became dangerously unhappy when people approached the pit where it slept and fed. It was right by the backdoor.

  “You have the meat?” I asked.

  “We have been raiding for cattle before, Chatti,” Iodocus said, with an insulted voice. “We know how to kill a dog. Yes.”

  “Let’s do this then,’ I whispered, and dragged the hammer out. Gods, we would finally do something, I thought, and swallowed bile born of fear.

  “Don’t make a mess of it,” the toothlessGermani said. “If you really want to make sure he thinks Seisyll stole the hoard, you must be cautious now.”

  “I’m not thieving for the first time either,” I told them, but I really was, and they sensed it by my eagerness and rolled their eyes. I’d have to slay Helm with some restraint.

  “I’ll help you,” Iodocus whispered sternly. “It can be hard to kill a man, and we can’t have him shouting. We grab him together from his seat, and pummel him to Helheim.”

  I agreed, and we all took a deep breath. We sneaked out of the hut like a throng of night-spirits. We were careful, we were silent. That was, of course, far from the truth, since a wooded hill is littered with twigs. So we made enough noise to alert a deaf grandfather, but happily not Helm, who was still sitting before the stable, his mouth open, apparently speaking to himself.

  We got to the side door, and Iodocus went to gaze at Helm from behind the corner. He nodded at me, and I entered a stick to the crack between the door and the doorway, and lifted a measly bar inside the stable. It didn’t fall to the ground as I balanced with it, and as I pushed the door open with the hammer, I let the bar down slowly, grabbed it, and put it by the door. One of the Germani, the bite-marked one, a man with a short hunting bow crouched with the weapon. The Celt pulled out a sack where a rotten bit of meat had wetted the leather, and tossed it inside, trying to see the shadows for one larger than the others.

  The meat fell in a patch of hay by some stalls, and it fell perfectly, because the light of Mani from the open door lighted the patch. The Germani with the bow, an old hand at killing guard dogs, tensed, pulled back the bowstring, and I prayed the animal would go to his after world easily and with minimal sounds. Iodocus was tense on the side, staring at Helm from behind a corner. I knew he’d try to kill the man anyway, should he hear something and bolt.

  Then, a shadow. />
  A scraggly, filthy beast appeared, its snout eagerly poking at the bag and the meat, then yellowed teeth flashed, and canine lips smacked as it took a hold of the prize. My Germani companion smiled like a wolf, and the arrow flashed away, and hit.

  The arrow sank fully in the brown, furry skull, and thankfully tore into the beast’s brains.

  It slumped dead, the meat still in its maw. “Donor’s with us,” the archer whispered with pride, and poked the door so it allowed entry. We took a small step forward, hesitating at the doorway. Our eyes flashed in the very dark room, and the stink was enough to make me gag silently. Rows of unusually tall and fat cows lifted their heads over some simple stalls. A fine stallion, its ears alert, turned to stare at us. The droopy-mustached Celt went in first and pushed the door all the way open.

  The door creaked.

  Iodocus cursed softly, and signaled with frantic hands that Helm had reacted. We were waiting still as canny mice. It took a minute, perhaps more, because time loses all meaning in a situation like that, but finally Iodocus relaxed and nodded at us, sweat pouring on his face. Helm had gone back to being bored. I walked in, and the Germani followed me. We pushed slowly forward, towards the main doorway, and I felt the hammer scrape at stalls. The man behind me slapped me, and I held the weapon with two hands, across my chest.

  “Idiot,” the other Celt mumbled, and I was about to tell him to shut his mouth, when I realized he wasn’t talking about me but the man with the bite marks.

  He hadn’t done a proper job at scouting the place out.

  There was another dog in the stable.

  It rose up before me. Its eyes were glinting, and while it had been fast asleep, an older hound, it apparently read our intentions with uncanny clarity and growled savagely.

  The eyes were suddenly higher, and I realized it had jumped.

  I yelped, and brought the hammer down for the eyes, and felt the impact as I fell back, the Germani next to me tumbling into a pool of shitty water, and the Celt backing off to the door.