“I do think a lot, lord,’ I said, thinking I disliked his cold manner. My voice revealed the fact, and that was not lost on the great Celt. “They’ll be coming here with an army, but not a huge one. I hope you can counter it. And Leuthard must be taken alive.”
Seisyll pulled back his cloak, showing me his expensive lorica hamata, chain armor, decorated in a Celt style with silver coins, and the hilt of a fabulously decorated sword. He pointed a finger at me. “We are rich enough in arms, though the Romans try to make it so we starve. We are many, we are armed well. Mediomactri still have honor and power. You didn’t lose the man who were to inform us of the happenings on the hill? And there was someone who tells Bero it was my men who stole it?”
I nodded. “It is all settled. Fulch the Red will be lied to about the affair, and he’ll speak to Bero, no doubt. A girl will sing a song to her father, who will seek his lord’s favor by breaking him the bad news. The man who will keep us informed didn’t die this night.” I hoped it was so. “They will come for this hoard.” I tapped the bag that jingled, picked it up, and spilled some of its contents on the grass. The Celt lord did a commendable job at holding his mouth shut, but his eyes enlarged and finally, he nodded. I had a hunch his price for his help was right there, and it was enough to make him much more affluent amongst the Mediomactri.
“How can you be sure Fulch does not try to gain favor by coming here instead of Leuthard? On his own, perhaps?” he asked me, his eyes resting on the treasure, which his men dismounted to pick it all up. “He has a hundred men, at least.”
“I doubt Leuthard would let him. He’ll be here,” I said, trying to sound convinced. The plan was full of holes.
“We will see,” he stated dryly. “We have lots of men ready, though it will cost us dearly. Leuthard has killed kinsmen and friends, burnt our halls, and stolen our cattle and horses. Some of this treasure comes from me. We will wait, then. We will be ready. And you get to speak with Leuthard at length before I’ll string him up for a plaything for the crows.’
“He will speak, lord,” I said, and hoped Seisyll didn’t lie, as Leuthard was the only one who would know where Raganthar’s bandits were. He was my only hope of ever finding the sword. I had risked everything for it. “And you’ll string him up after I have what I need.”
“Let’s go,” Seisyll ordered. “They’ll spy the village. I’ll celebrate, gossip, and brag. Bero will hear about it, and he’ll see we will be ready. We’ll keep everyone we don’t know out. They will not guess how ready we are. Prepare yourselves,” he said, and we left the shore.
BOOK 3: TORN FACE
“He’ll be here soon. Nobody walks away.”
Iodocus to Adalwulf
CHAPTER 13
We were guided to a small oppidum, a hill-fort. Seisyll said little, his eyes hard as he rode, probably thinking about the inevitable raid by the Marcomanni. The treasure certainly warranted an attack.
Iodocus smiled next to me, riding easily. “Leuthard sure has his plate full as he tries to explain this to Bero. The bastard’s ears will be hot, won’t they? He’ll know Helm didn’t betray him, but they won’t have the body either. Bero will choke on his meat, sputtering like an idiot, running around weeping. He’ll put some of the blame on Leuthard. No matter what they think this is about, revenge or simple robbery, they’ll come.”
I nodded, and worried. “I doubt they’ll just rush in.”
He gave me an assuring wink. “Too late to dwell on it now. Seisyll will deal with this. The treasure is in that village,” he said, nodding up the hill, where we could see a wooden palisade. “They will come with many men, though hardly more than a warband or two. They’ll send their spies, and Seisyll will flaunt the wealth, though …” He hesitated.
“What?”
He shrugged. “He should be careful. He need not flaunt his new wealth. Why? Because Rome rules here. Yea, things look about the same as they do in our lands, but in truth, there is the iron hard heel of the legions resting on their scrawny necks. While Seisyll there,” he said, and leaned closer conspiratorially, “looks like a mighty lord with estates, men, and power, the truth is there is a power higher than even our gods. That’s taxes. Taxes will be paid to the local publican, often some Treveri Celt lord, who taxes the Mediomactri double, and more will be paid to the local thieving soldiers who patrol the land from the guard towers and the castra. Seisyll will have to be careful with flaunting too much wealth. There will be Marcomanni spies gazing at the village, but Seisyll will know them. He’ll keep the place closed. He can’t keep it closed to the Romans, though. He really should just wait silently.”
“Does he have the men?” I asked softly. “Leuthard might have hundreds available to him. Depends on how Bero will play this.”
He shrugged. “There will be many warriors, waiting with us. There will be some seventy to eighty who live there, but probably double the number now. They’ll be hidden. Ready. Eating the winter supplies. More will be outside, probably. We have a good chance of catching that spawn of Hel.” We looked at each other and hesitated. The creature had seen in that stable would not be easy to capture.
“Stop yapping,” Seisyll growled from the front and turned to look at us. Despite Iodocus’s whisperings, he had heard some of our discussion. “No Roman patrol is due in there for weeks. I’ll keep it locked down, and we’ll be ready. Stop brooding, and do your bit when the time is nigh. And I’ll flaunt what I want, even my ass, if it pleases me. I’ve deserved to mock the Marcomanni.”
“Yes, lord,” Iodocus said with another respectful bow, though his face had a look of worry.
Seisyll frowned and looked away. “No matter what happens, it will all be decided up there. I have my own surprises. You’ll see. Behold, your temporary home.”
At that moment, Mani gave room to Sunna in her bright chariot, and we saw the oppidum’s gates as we turned our horses up a winding path. A sturdy timber wall ringed the place. There was a palisade, because we could see men walking its length. Towers guarded the gates. Trails of smoke rose lazily to the sky, many well-made roofs peaked on top of the palisade, and there was green grass and beautiful groves of trees all over the peaceful hill. Birds were shrieking high up in the air, and the village was named after the happy creatures. “Welcome, friends, to Sparrows Joy,” Seisyll said proudly.
It was no Hard Hill, not by far, but it was beautiful and peaceful, and the name fit it well. “Where will we stay?” I asked.
Seisyll shrugged. “There is a cobbler. They speak your language. A fine house, with room to stretch. You’ll be happy. If not, I don’t care.”
We rode up to the gate, and entered. We dismounted, and I was wondering at the strange mix of huts, small, sturdy halls, crafter’s shops, and dozens of large, round houses with low-hanging roofs. The latter were made of dry wattle and daub, and looked homely and relatively clean. Seisyll snapped his fingers and some Celts rushed from one of the larger houses. They carried away the treasure, whispering as they headed for Seisyll’s hall. By the look in the eyes of the Celt lord, there was no doubt Seisyll would later take a bath in the coins.
He pointed a finger at a couple of Celts, standing uneasily before a house. “Genovefa and Elisedd,” Seisyll said with a bored voice. “Here,” he barked, as if to dogs, and smiled cruelly as the couple rushed forward from under their roof.
I decided I didn’t like Seisyll very much. The man, Genovefa, was a wide-shouldered Celt, with a blank, scared face. The woman, Elisedd, was a younger woman, her feet dirty, face smudged, but under the dirt, she was quite beautiful, her hair brown, and thick. She had a small, displeased, and dry smile on her lips, eyes that took in everything. When she fixed an eye on me, I looked down, and begged she would not be trouble.
“Lord?” Genovefa asked gruffly.
“You will give your home to them,” the lord said, pointing a finger at us, and when he saw the woman was about to protest, Seisyll snarled. “And your wife will provide them with food. They are guests, G
enovefa, and you will sleep in the shed.”
The man nodded, gave us a brief, surprised look, and bowed. Perhaps he’d be happy to have a holiday from Elisedd, because he hid a smile with his hand. He nodded. “Yes, lord. We will obey.”
“Of course you will,” Seisyll murmured, and pulled us closer. “I have forty to fifty extra men here, in the village, and a total of a hundred. They will be inside the huts, the halls, and all of them shall be fucking uncomfortable, but you shall have space. Thank me later. Only move about when I give leave. Take a shit at night, and a guard will see you take them. Don’t give me cause to doubt you. I will let you know what your men sees in the Hard Hill as soon as the news arrives late in the evenings. Enjoy your stay. Hope it’s not a long one. Stay inside.”
“Will a hundred be enough?” I frowned.
He smiled mysteriously. “Let us worry about that, eh?”
Iodocus kicked me, and I relented, turning to our unwilling hosts.
We stood there, fidgeting, until Genovefa nudged Elisedd, who forced a smile, and led us to her doorway. She dodged under the low-hanging roof, and opened the heavy door, and we entered the house after her. Inside, it was warm and spacious, with sleeping quarters, tables, benches and kitchen sensibly dividing the hall. The round shape was disorienting, odd, but not entirely unknown on our side of the river either. What were different were the walls. They were of whitish-gray color. Elisedd was leaning on a wall, blowing her hair out of her eyes, looking at us carefully. She said something, and Iodocus grunted, and nodded at me.
“Marcomanni,” he said, and Elisedd frowned, a half disgusted, half curious look on her face. I decided there was something unsteady and ferocious in the woman. She stepped forward, and saw how I admired the walls. “White,” she told me with a halting Germani dialect. “White-washed to make the interior lighter.”
I smiled and ran a finger on the wall, at which she frowned, and so I snatched the digit away, and gave her an apologetic bow. “It’s a nice change to our smoky halls. I’ll do the same, if I ever have my own hall.”
She looked amused. “You’ll need wealth for one. Perhaps you find service with our lord?”
“Not likely,” I said absentmindedly, and saw her wonder. I saw Iodocus’s face, and he wasn’t happy I was telling her anything, as he shook his head quickly. “We try to keep out of your way.”
She snorted. “Stay, stay. I’d rather not have my husband around the hall, and you saw he shares the sentiment. It’s fitting he stays with his tools. Much gentler towards the hammer and horseshoes than he is to a woman. Cares for them, but ignores me, never thanks me, so I’ll get used to you easily enough. At least you don’t seem boring. You just ask for anything. Just don’t make a mess. And if you must relieve yourself, go at night, as the lord instructed. I’ll show you where.”
“Yes,” I told her with a blush. “What if one must go—”
“Piss in a jar,” she snorted. “You’ll empty it yourself.”
We were silent for a moment, until she began humming, and started to fix food. She had a knife, and she expertly cut meat and vegetables, gazing at us as we took a seat.
“What was in that sack Seisyll brought in?” she asked with curiosity.
“Dreams,” Iodocus answered her, and I knew she was fairly certain what that meant. She gave me a long look, and I knew she would be trouble. I cursed Iodocus for being too clever and not taking his own advice.
***
That week we were both bored and terrified, sometimes at the same time. Every time someone shouted outside, one of us clutched a weapon. When children whooped, we expected an attack. Then, by the time it was darkening, and Elisedd had fixed us food, we’d wait for Seisyll’s man to stop by, push his head through the doorway, and tell us the news. Next, we would wait until we were allowed to go and relieve ourselves outside. After that blissful experience, we’d sit and throw dice long into the night, and then sleep fitfully for some hours.
The odd situation affected the village as well.
The Gauls were easygoing folk, but everyone knew we were preparing to ambush a Germani warband. That meant a lot of Celts had been summoned to the village and its whereabouts, most hidden like we were. This taxed the people of the village terribly. As the days went past, and we peeked through the doorway, we saw the customary happy faces were slowly being replaced by angry, and even scared, ones. There were fewer jovial children running around the yards. It was as if the wait was straining everyone’s patience, like a durable leather string slowly being taxed to its limit.
Then, something happened.
On the fourth day, we had news from Hard Hill. The usual messenger, an older Celt, poked his head in. “Your man came to the shore today with a bit of news.”
“What news? Must I guess?” I snapped, my patience strained.
He snorted. “That there will be no news for a while,” he said bitterly. “Your Lord Bero left Hard Hill to settle a dispute or some damned issue in the south gau. Trade, wealthy villages squabbling, a man of Hard Hill killed, and that’s too bad for us. His warbands are napping in Hard Hill, and Leuthard went with Bero. Gods know how long this will take.”
“They’ll come soon,” I said desperately, and none believed me, not even me.
He snorted. “Seisyll will keep the gold and the silver, and throw your bones into a shitter if it doesn’t happen soon.” At that, Elisedd’s eyes flashed greedily.
I went to bed, feeling the plan had failed.
I was asleep, finally, after tossing and turning, cursing Bero and Leuthard for our imprisonment. Happily, the dream made up for the discomfort.
I dreamt of Gisil.
It was a warm summer day, and the enchanting woman was sitting by a silent lake where swans swam, and a slight fog was carpeting the surrounding pinewoods. The light of Sunna created a bridge of brilliant, ethereal light across the water’s surface, and I approached her as she wondered at the colors. I stopped before her, and she said nothing, though she smiled at me, and the smile was more than warm. It was inviting, and her face blushed.
I knew, somewhere in the deep recesses of my slumbering mind, it was only a dream, but it was also a dream I enjoyed as she pulled me down next to her, and pushed me on my back. I didn’t resist. She tugged at the fibulae keeping her tunic up. Her eyes were downcast and hair disheveled, and I helped her tug the garment down. Breathless, I admired the round mounds, and touched them gently, rose up to kiss one, and she made a soft, encouraging voice while she tugged at my pants, which I eagerly helped her pull them down. I felt her hand grabbing my erect manhood, her smile was shy, and as she struggled out of her tunic entirely, I helped her sit on me, felt the wetness and warmth between her legs, and I entered her. It was a dream full of deep love, every moment filled with gentle satisfaction. The lovemaking was slow and pleasing.
Then something changed.
She moved much faster, forcefully, demanding pleasure, and when I looked up at her, I found it was Ingrid sitting on me, flushed. To my shame, I didn’t stop, but kissed her hungrily. It was a dream, and in your dreams, many things are allowed. A dream was the gift of the gods, a taste of immortality, of a bit of immorality, and so I went with it. It wasn’t real, after all. She was less gentle, much more aggressive, and so I played her game and thrust inside her with lust. She leaned down and bit my lip hard, and so I woke up with a start, my lip bleeding.
I was not alone.
The dream had ended, but the lovemaking continued. There was a shadow straddling me, breathing heavily.
I gasped, and immediately rolled and pushed the figure, thinking the Marcomanni had surprised the village, but no, it was not the Marcomanni, but Elisedd, who held her thighs around me, not letting go, and I was inside her. Her eyes bulged with surprise as I was above her, and then she laughed with a strange, victorious note and grabbed my bare ass, and held me savagely, pulling her legs even tighter around me. I gasped, and struggled, but that only excited her more, and she kept me there, inside h
er, between her legs, and pulled me over her.
I was so confused. I loved Gisil, perhaps Ingrid, and he fact I had just made love to both in a dream, allowed me to feel less restraint about what was taking place. It had already, had it not? Gods knew how long I had been inside the Celt.
To my shame, I chased off the restraint.
She was fair, I was a man, and while I was betraying my feelings for Gisil, the mad woman would not let go, and so I let Elisedd kiss me ferociously. Then I thrust inside her, not looking at her eyes, and she was panting, squirming, and grinding against me. We kept at it until she scratched my back in ecstasy, threw her arms to the sides, shook and stretched while gasping, and so did I, experiencing a wonderful fulfillment.
When it was over, I lay on top of her, and she was laughing softly, holding my hair. “More,” she said, and pushed me up, turned around to her belly and pulled me over her, and I obeyed.
Later, I was exhausted, and so were she, but not enough to go to sleep. I gazed at her, saw devotion there, and knew the pains of having a conscience again. I knew I didn’t desire anything more than what had taken place, and hypocritically regretted even that. I begged Woden she would be satisfied with what we had shared, and would not share it with anyone. I felt guilty enough without explaining myself to others.
“Adalwulf,” she purred. “A dirty Marcomanni from the wrong side of the River. But quite nice for a murderous enemy, eh?”
“I’m a Chatti, Elisedd,” I answered. “But I do hope I am nice. Was.”
She climbed over me and sat on my chest. I tried to keep my eyes on hers, but could not, and she chuckled. “You were. Don’t fish for compliments. Your first time?”
“Yes,” I answered, that bothered me greatly. I had hoped my first time would be with someone I truly cared about. Wyrd. Too late for that now.
“I hear the Chatti do it with their goats,” she teased me. “If so, you are well-practiced, and your goats must miss you. It was delicious.”
Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) Page 19