‘Where,’ Bero roared somewhere near, ‘are the Svearna?’
I turned to answer and curse him, and then disaster struck.
Ingulf attacked in a frenzy, having heard Bero’s question. He was cursing, wounded in the face, but seemingly indomitable. He pushed at the shields in front of him and shrugged off hits from axes and clubs. He held his huge ax one-handed and then jumped on the shieldwall. He was muttering, spitting, barking like a dog, and the already dulled ax spun left, it spun right, and meat and blood flew high in the air as his vengeful wrath felled the best men of Bero.
Then he fixed an animal’s eye on Bero himself.
Ingo joined his brother, his massive shield covering the maniac’s back as the terrible twins ripped through a shieldwall. I saw Bero’s face, holding his shield with trembling hands as his men tightened around him. It was a mask of naked horror. He was shaking like a leaf. On the sides, there was a battle tightening around our edges, men getting pushed, so we were about to be surrounded, and our men began to lose hope.
I cursed Agin, I cursed Fox, and prayed they would still appear.
You could nearly feel it, smell it, amidst the blood and shit and vomit. The defeat. It was there, almost readable in the very air around us. First, we had nearly won, almost grasped victory. Then, in the next moment, the gods took it away.
I cursed and pulled myself towards Bero. Ingulf would be there, very soon, ready to slay the Lord, and no matter how gutless Bero was, he was fighting now, fighting well, and his death would ruin us. Bero’s men were throwing rocks and spears at the champion, who took the hits stoically. His ax went up and split a shield in half. I clawed myself past warriors and reached Bero just as the enemy champions did. I cursed Osgar, who was nowhere to be seen and prayed, as Ingo’s shield appeared before me, protecting his brother who was grabbing Bero’s shield, growling away a spear in his shoulder. I dropped my spear, useless against the great shield, and pulled the sword and cursed as I dodged under the shield and saw Ingo’s legs. He was shuffling forward, hacking with an ax at a man on Bero’s right but he did not see me.
I stabbed the sword forward, and it went deep into his leg.
I felt flesh and leather resisting, and then I felt bone and tendon split on the blade, and he dropped down on me, and his shield’s rim struck my neck. I screamed with pain, seeing black, but I also saw a man on his knees next to me and so I stabbed up at the mass, and Ingo fell on his side, his side bleeding, screaming his lungs out. Ingulf faltered, saw Ingo and then me and cried vengeance.
He went for me.
He moved like a vaettir of the night, and tried to kick me, but someone pushed him over his brother, and he fell amidst their troops. He was soon up, I was as well, and I slithered to his wounded twin. Ingulf surged forward, but too late and I stabbed the sword down at Ingo’s throat, and the man didn’t even gurgle. Perhaps he had died already, but that didn’t matter to Ingulf. I spat at Ingo’s face in my battle frenzy, hoping to taunt the foe into a horrible mistake and Ingulf went mad indeed. He charged and bowled me over. Bero and his men tried to kill him as I punched with the blade at the man’s face. A fierce fight was being fought over us, and I saw Hughnot’s angry face near, holding a spear. The weapon went forward, and Bero howled above me as I struggled to keep Ingulf’s fingers off my throat.
It didn’t matter, I thought. Only the way I died matters, I hoped. We were going to fail. Woden, spare Saxa, give her a good life, I prayed in my head. Half of our men had fallen, at least. Then Ingulf slapped me so hard I saw red and dark, and he pulled a dagger from his belt, hovering above me. I swatted his face weakly, he stabbed down and my mail saved me. The hit hurt like hot coals, my chest was bleeding, but the blade was thick and wide, and he didn’t hit any vitals, though there would be a terrible wound.
He pulled his arm back. ‘For Ingo. For him,’ he panted.
Then, finally, Agin attacked.
He and his men charged from the harbor road, a line of bristling spears, and they struck fear in all of us with their guttural, animal-like, screams. They were bleeding, wounded men aplenty with them, and I knew they had met more Goths as they’d tried to move in. Ingulf looked that way, shocked, Hughnot’s mouth fell open and then there was a general chaos as our enemy turned to face the new threat, which was a threat to us as well.
The Svearna were slaying Goths indiscriminately.
They bowled men over, felled a dozen, then ten more, and Ingulf rushed away, screaming orders. I slithered back, bleeding, and saw how Hughnot joined in shouting warnings to their men. Near me, Bero was being pulled back, wounded, as our men turned to create a thin wall against the wild Svearna and the Black Goths alike. I cursed, for everything was going to Helheim. I saw Agin pulling at his men, screaming at them with a red face, pointing his ax at Hughnot. Slowly, they obeyed and attacked Hughnot’s men alone, giving us some time to breathe and so the battle churned around the tents. I was looking around desperately, and then I saw men dragging a struggling woman to Hughnot’s standard.
‘Saxa!’ I screamed but lost sight of her as dust filled the air where Svearna and Black Goths fought savagely. ‘Charge them! Now!’ I screamed and then caught a sight of Hughnot in the dust, now holding Saxa in an iron grip. He was looking my way, grimacing. I pointed Hel’s Delight to where Hrolf would be. ‘Hughnot! Leave the girl alive and I’ll spare your son!’ I screamed.
His eyes flashed, and he hesitated, growled, and pushed Saxa to some of his men, and went to battle.
‘Charge them! Now!’ Bero screamed weakly, as they dragged him away. Bero’s men hesitated. Most had broken weapons, many were wounded and shocked by the butchery, and I cursed them.
‘Form a fucking battle line. A shieldwall!’ I screamed. ‘A shieldwall! No, charge! Kill Hughnot! We have to kill him! He is the key to the fight!’ Some of the Black Goths were turning to look at us warily, but took the opportunity to press on to kill as many Svearna as they could while our side hesitated. Some Black Goths were blowing horns, and soon, no doubt, Hrolf’s men would discover something was amiss. We had to hurry.
I gave myself to gods, rushed forward, bereft of a shieldwall, and thanks be to Woden, Bero’s men followed and pushed for Hughnot. The enemy lord and many of his best men were at the edge of the raging battle with the Svearna, and I thought Hughnot was hoping to escape. The way to him was clear. Some of the Black Goths around Hughnot fell to Svearna, and I knew I might catch them. I’d kill Hughnot, save Saxa.
I surged forward.
Then a man pulled me around. ‘Not now!’ I screamed, pushing at him.
‘Lord! Bero!’ he yelled, and pointed at the man who had pulled the lord away from the battle, and it was Osgar.
Hrolf was with him, ungagged, unbound.
I staggered and realized many things at the same time. Osgar had worked for their side all along, and he had not lied about hating Bero, that he had wanted to give his oaths to another, though obviously not to my father as I had assumed. He had protected Friednot that fateful day and failed, probably on purpose. Perhaps he had made sure Hughnot found Bero in Wolf Hole as well. I’d never know, and I realized what Hrolf was doing.
Hrolf was pulling at Bero’s finger, tearing at the ring. Osgar was guarding them, though our men were near now, pointing spears at them.
The ring came off. The enemy lord kicked Bero and pulled out the magnificent Head Taker and hissed at Osgar, who was nodding, backing off.
‘What shall we do, Lord?’ the man who had stopped me asked desperately as Hrolf left, Osgar in tow, running around the battle for the boats. I took running steps after them. The ring, the sword, and they must not get away, ever with the treasures. They were fast, I was tired, and so I stopped. Aldbert’s lines drifted into my mind.
To choose between a woman and a noose? I chose a noose, the ring? Over the woman?
I turned to look behind.
Hughnot and Saxa were gone.
I roared my anger, standing there like a fool.
/> The boats. That’s where they would all go. Saxa and the ring and the sword. All would go there.
‘Break them and rush their boats!’ I yelled, and turned my eyes away from Bero. I charged the scattering Black Goths; Bero’s men after me and many of them struck the backs of the Black Goths, who fell between the Svearna and us. Blood flowed, chaos reigned, Hughnot was roaring somewhere beyond my sight, Ingulf was cursing, and many Black Goths hacked down the exhausted Svearna to escape from the trap. I forgot about my pains, exhaustion, and fears, and pushed forward, killing and wounding many men. There was no line now, only running men, a chaos where warriors fell indiscriminately.
I saw Agin.
The huge man had spotted Saxa. He was running in the chaos, far ahead of me. He had hammered down a man, and I saw Ingulf turning, and that’s where Saxa would be. I prayed for my friend as I dodged through groups of fighting men, and as Agin’s huge ax went up, I was sure Ingulf would die, wounded and obviously exhausted as he was, and Saxa would be safe, and all would be well.
It would have been, but for Hrolf.
The bastard appeared, and he barreled in and pushed at Agin and the two men rolled on the ground.
‘Agin!’ I screamed, trying to slay my way through the fleeing ranks, but I saw Agin crawling in dust, his eye bleeding, looking for his ax. He found it, toppled a Goth, and hammered the man’s throat with the ax shaft, but then Hrolf appeared next to him, and I despaired as he held the Head Taker, and the weapon came down. The huge Svea shuddered; fell on his face, and Hrolf’s savage laughter echoed through the ranks as he waved the bloodied, famed sword in the air.
The Svearna moaned.
They howled and despaired and some fought, but many retreated, their heart lost. I saw Fox being carried away, bleeding and delirious.
Suddenly, so suddenly, there was calm on the field.
The Svea were going, and we, the Bear Goths stood there, but a mere ten strong. The enemy was still far more numerous than us, and many turned from their flight to regard our ragged band.
I saw Hughnot pointing a sword at me, speaking to Hrolf. I saw Saxa beyond him, her face shining with love and fear as she tried to rip free of two Goths.
What would have happened? I don’t know.
They had some forty men left, all shaken and many wounded, but many of their lords were alive. Osgar, Ingulf, grievously wounded that he was, Hughnot, Hrolf, all were there, pulling at their running men. They could have rallied, probably won the day, and we would have been wolf-feed, the lot of us forgotten.
But the gods threw their dice, and finally, the dice fell favorably for us.
Everyone stopped, as horns were blown up on the hill. An army emerged from there. Hughnot howled in triumph. He danced with glee.
And then his face fell.
It was a bloody army, recently fought, and they emerged from where we had marched down not too long ago. There was a standard, one I knew well. On top of that pole, there were rows of bear fangs. Hulderic had arrived with hundreds of our men. His warriors roared defiance at the sight of Hughnot, their voices echoing over the lake and across the hills and they rushed down and attacked.
The Black Goths ran.
We ran after them, hearing Hulderic roaring at his men to give chase. They took after the enemy with us, having routed Hrolf’s camp and joined us and then, finally by the lake, pandemonium reigned. Goths killed Goths, men surrendered, some drowned in the lake, some fought on valiantly, but some escaped on one ship.
In that boat, Hrolf, Hughnot, and Ingulf were standing. A dozen men were pushing and pulling at the boat, some standing in the water and the boat was soon out of the shore, oars treading water. We tore into the guarding few oathsmen of Hughnot with vengeance and desperation. ‘Saxa!’ I screamed, and she heard me as she climbed to stand in the boat. Hughnot was pointing a finger at me, but Hrolf was shaking his head. He showed his father the ring and the sword. ‘Saxa!’ I screamed, desperate. Hrolf looked at me disdainfully.
I stood there and cursed and wept. Men were going silent around us as we stared at the departing enemy. There was victory, but it was a hollow and useless one, and everyone knew it. Saxa was leaning on the prow, held by Hrolf now.
I raised my sword at him. ‘Come back here!’ I said, without any power to make it so.
Hrolf laughed. ‘We have her. We will have Gislin’s Svea. We have the ring. The sword. You go home and wait. The end will come soon enough.’
Then I heard a cursed voice. Maino. He stood, his hands tied, not far from us. ‘Gislin? Gislin is—’
‘No!’ I screamed.
‘Dead! Your allegiance is useless!’ he finished, and I felt the cold claws of doom rip at my guts. Hrolf’s eyes sought his father’s. Hughnot rubbed his face and spoke to Hrolf, and when the bastard turned to look at me, I knew what would happen.
Hrolf grinned at me like a baleful monster. ‘Maroboodus. You killed my men, mocked me, and dishonored me. And now they say there is no Lord of the Svea to ally with? If that is so, then she is useless to us, indeed. I’ll marry someone more worthy. We will finish you all without the Svea. Takes longer, but we will.’
‘Gislin lives!’ I yelled.
Maino was laughing. ‘He died! Maroboodus killed him!’
Hrolf spat in the gray water of Long-Lake and picked up an anchor stone. Saxa didn’t move. She didn’t show fear. She raised her eyes to the sky as Hrolf tied a rope around her throat and I rushed to the water. I cursed him, spat in rage and then he pushed the stone overboard.
She was gone. There was barely a splash and she disappeared under the waves.
Hrolf spat after her. ‘At least she had a real man before she met the gods!’
I heard nothing more. I went under as well, hoping for the water spirits to bring her to me, but all I felt were hands pulling me back. I was coughing water as Harmod pulled me out of the water, helped by Dubbe. But it was Ceadda who spoke, sitting next to me, holding my head on his lap. ‘Easy, boy. It’s done. Do not throw your life away.’
‘I did everything for her. For the family!’ I screamed. ‘They took her away.’
‘And we shall pay them back,’ he said. Father was nearby, his blade bloodied, and he didn’t argue with the Saxon as Hrolf’s laughter drifted across the lake.
BOOK 5: HOGHOLM
‘A fine joke, a grand jest! Is this your idea? Hughnot’s?’
The Boat-Lord to Hrolf.
CHAPTER 21
Marka seemed half empty.
It was not silent, though. There was a steady drone of weeping from nearly every hall, brief howls of anguish as the wounded were tended to, and even the gods were weeping, since it was raining forlornly. Men of Timberscar and the southern villages had lost a few men, but Bero’s warbands were decimated, and the lord himself was in his hall, wounded and feverish. I had spent hours looking for Maino, but he had gone into hiding. Ceadda had forced me to abandon my quest, though he had needed Njord to aid him. They had sat me down, held me there, listened to me sob, curse, and rage, all the while forcing mead down my throat, until I had willingly drank myself senseless. After that, I had slept for two days straight. I had not even woken up to having my wounds sewn.
Now I sat on the beach, looking at the islands, the wet cliffs, and dully wondered at the slowly gliding sea fog of that morning. There was a strange ethereal look to the sea, and it matched how I felt. The anger was there, lurking under a heavy blanket of denial and exhaustion.
Mainly, I blamed Maino. Of course I did. He was filth, had caused the deaths of Aldbert, and also Saxa. He had. He had known what he was doing. He had been the spear in the hands of death.
However, there were other such spears. I blamed the plotters and the weaklings, men of both brave and weak hearts. I basically blamed everyone, I realized and smiled bitterly as a gull swooped down to the sea and lifted a herring away, beating its wings furiously. Yes, I blamed Bero, and Osgar, cursed Hughnot and the damned Boat-Lord. I blamed Father as well.
But my anger was also fueled by self-loathing. Like the cursed lines of Aldbert had predicted, I had chosen between the noose, the Ring, and the girl. I had.
I had gone after my family treasure, even if for just a moment, and so given Hughnot time to slip away, and even if I had repented, turned around, it had been too late. Gods be cursed for their wicked games.
I blamed myself. Perhaps most of all. I shivered and hugged myself, trying to see a way forward. I needed something to think about, other than Saxa’s face.
I took some stones in my hands, letting them roll on my palm, slipping between my fingers. I had wanted power, glory, like any man would. Instead, I had seen my wife die. I had seen Hrolf take the ring, gloat over the sword.
Hrolf.
Had he raped her? I placed my hands on my face and squeezed so hard I felt blood flow down my forehead from the stones still in my hands. Hrolf. Killing him. That was a worthy goal to live for. If only I could pick myself up and find the energy to try.
And then I heard steps, and dared not look up. Someone was standing there, and for some reason I expected Aldbert to speak, to say something awkward but comforting, but no, I had let him down as well and he’d never be there again. The bastard had been protecting me, I had distrusted him, but wasn’t it his fault as well? If only he had told me the truth.
I had been a terrible friend, though.
Something metallic fell on the rubble-plagued beach, startling me from my wandering thoughts. It rattled and clanged dully for a moment and I saw it was Hel’s Delight. It was glinting, its edges sharpened, kinks taken out of the blade and I looked up to see Njord there, frowning, not his usual carefree self. ‘Will you pick it up?’ he asked.
Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) Page 33