I’d enjoy his pain in a moment, if things worked out like I hoped. I had been very lucky already.
The Boat-Lord grew impatient. ‘So, come and show me. I wish to hold what should never have left the islands. The ring and the sword. Let me have them.’
Hrolf nodded at two men who got up and lifted the chest. They walked forward, until the Boat-Lord’s guards took it from them and they carried it to their lord, who slowly climbed down from his throne. His face was flushed, spotted with excitement, and the joy for the ancient man could not have been greater. His hands were twitching, shaking, he indicated where the chest should be set, and they did, right before him. ‘Long, so long have I waited. Your men should be rewarded for saving them from fire.’ He fixed an accusatory eye on Hrolf. ‘And you should be whipped for allowing the treasures to be in danger.’
‘They were in no danger,’ Hrolf said smugly. ‘They are eternal and precious, and what you find in the chest, you have richly deserved, my Lord.’
I grimaced and held my breath, and so did every man and woman in the hall. The old man struggled with the lid, struck it with a thin roar of anger, and the guards rushed to yank it open.
They retreated with the lid.
The lord leaned in.
He stayed in that position for a long while. I half thought he had died there, looking at the treasures inside.
When he finally reached in, and took out Hel’s Delight, bloody and plain, and then the ring of branches Saxa had made me, his face could not have been more disbelieving. ‘Lord Hrolf?’ he asked so quietly I could only barely make it out.
Hrolf looked like he had been ass-speared. His face sought answers from his men, who all looked as horrified as he did. His eyes were red, his cheeks puffed out and the veins in his neck stood out so hard it looked like he had worms crawling under his skin. ‘This is---’ he began.
‘A jest, a joke?’ the Boat-Lord asked, holding his chest. ‘A fine joke, a grand jest! Is this your idea? Hughnot’s?’
And so it was my time.
Before Hrolf could answer, I stepped forward and screamed, wincing from the pain in my side. ‘There is an army by the shore! Hughnot’s men! They aim to kill you, Lord! They’ll kill you all! Fight! Kill the traitors!’
And that was enough.
What followed was a savage battle. Hughnot’s Goths were bloodied, tested fighters, and while the wealth of the Boat-Lord’s men were evident, the thirty men of Hrolf made a heap of bodies in the hall. Warlords fell, men were terribly wounded. The Black Goths fought like maniacs, and died in the midst of the craziest melee, and the white walls were awash with crimson. Screams echoed, men rushed from the dark to the hall to aid their lords and I retreated, walked down the path to stand under the magnificent bear standard, and turned to look inside. The scene was rewarding, near magical, a dance of death of the men I hated.
The gods gave me one more favor, the one I had begged for.
Hrolf, roaring in rage, pushed out of the ring of enemies. He howled as a club caught him in his face, and while spitting teeth, his ax hacked left and right, and few battered men pushed after him. They slaughtered a woman on their way, but his men fell behind as their enemies gave them chase, but the bastard lord charged the two remaining men in his path out of the door, and he fought so very well.
The guards were armored in leather, their tall spears reached out for him, and one pierced his shoulder. Despite the pain, and the fact he probably had nowhere to run, he fought and killed a man on the left with a savage hack to the neck, then slashed the blade at the man on the right, hitting his leg, toppling the fighter to the dust. Then Hrolf staggered to the door, chased by the frenzied shouts of the Boat-Lord, but his men still fought and Hrolf laughed, looking back, then across the town, seeking darkness where he might hide. His strong face was covered in blood, but the man’s grin and arrogance was unchanged, so like it had been the day Saxa had died.
He rushed forward, and I staggered to meet him and he saw my shadow.
He raised the ax, gathered determination for one more fight, and I flipped back the cowl. His eyes enlarged in horror, disbelief, and he understood what had happened in the hall. He wasn’t a coward, never had been, and though he saw his death in my eyes, he charged forward. ‘Join the whore, you draugr. She moaned, Maroboodus, when I—’
I whipped up Saxa’s ax and stepped forward.
His ax came in and struck my chainmail in the chest, but my ax swished in the air with a deadly, nearly hungry purpose and struck his temple with a bony crunch. I jerked the weapon off his skull, and was rewarded by an astonished, frightened look as his life fled, and then his corpse fell to my feet. I spat blood, having bitten my lip in pain, and I felt fire in my chest, where the wound by Ingulf had opened. My side bled profusely. I dropped the ax, pulled out the Head Taker, and struck the man’s throat. I struck again, like a butcher and the head rolled free. Then I grabbed his head and staggered weakly. I saw a shadow, cursed, yet happy because I had killed the murderer, but saw it was Ceadda. He grabbed me, looked over my shoulder, and pulled me as we rolled downhill to the darkness, as Boat-Lord’s men came rushing out.
He pulled me along as we made our way down to the harbor. ‘You fucking idiot,’ I said as I collapsed into the rowboat.
‘Yes, my friend, I am,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But I had to see it. It was a great use for a weapon. Best I ever saw.’ He nodded at the head. ‘And you didn’t lose the ring?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t,’ I said, as I thumbed Draupnir’s Spawn. It felt heavy, supposedly one of the first spawns from Draupnir, Woden’s magical ring that spat out nine such rings every eight days, but it also felt bitterly disappointing to hold it, and I knew I would never enjoy it without Saxa. It granted men power in the north, but what was a man without his woman?
Perhaps I’d find a new one, I thought, and smiled.
Ceadda lifted my head, smiling. ‘I’m taking this to my kin in the lands of the Saxons. They hate it, and I’ll be famous for it.’ He thrust the great standard of the Boat-Lord in my lap, and laughed like a demented spirit as we roved to the chain, which had been lowered. Njord was busily loading the ten fox furs he had reclaimed from the greedy bastard in the small fortress, and we rowed out, short one man who had died taking the fort. I held on to Hrolf’s head, until it began to stink and in time, delirious with fever, we reached the Saxon coast.
RAVENNA (A.D. 37)
It was late when Marcus got up. We had been sitting thus for days, drinking, him writing furiously as I told the story, and while I had been reluctant to speak of my past, now I found it annoying when he wanted to stop for the night. Marcus had an annoying habit of sleeping, where I could go on indefinitely, especially fortified by wine. He paced to the windows, and sniffed the surprisingly humid night air, for while Ravenna was often saved from the plague of summer’s warmth by the refreshing winds from the sea, it had been oddly hot the past days.
‘You left the land?’ he asked. ‘You became a Saxon?’
I smiled and stretched. ‘Well, no. Not really.’
‘But Ceadda and Njord—’
‘Ceadda,’ I cursed. He had been having terrible trouble with the names of my people, and while in the beginning I had got perverse joy out of seeing him curse and fix what he made a mess of, now it was just annoying.
‘Ceadda,’ he said, ‘took you in. Right?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘He helped me, but I didn’t become a Saxon.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, just like it is in the Roman world, pater is the tyrant of the family. In all matters, big or small, Father rules. And Hulderic was my master still.’
He sat down to write that bit down, but looked puzzled. ‘But he let you leave Marka? You did indicate the guards didn’t care if you left or stayed. That they hated you. And you said you hated him. Blamed him, even? That you didn’t even tell him you would go?’
I snorted. ‘Well, it turns out Father had found he could be a bit dishonorable
after all,’ I said. ‘Listen. After we arrived at the Saxon coast, I was taken to a hall. It was Ceadda’s hall, and their Saxon women and Chauci slaves took care of me. I was nursed to health and when I awoke one day, I had a visitor.’
‘Your father?’ he said with astonishment.
‘Yes,’ I agreed heavily. ‘He was there. He was there with Harmod, Dubbe, Sigmundr and many of his men. And Erse, of course. This is how our adventure ended.’
‘Tell me this, and then I’ll go to sleep,’ he said tiredly, wiping his brow.
‘Try not to make mistakes, if you can,’ I chided him.
He nodded and I let him write.
My eyes opened that morning to a curious sight. I was aching, some of my wounds were red and infected, and while they had told me I’d live, I still thought I was feverish. Ceadda was there, and he looked down at me. That was nothing. That was normal. What was not, was that Hulderic clasped his shoulder and the Saxon disappeared, looking guilty, and Father sat down on my bed, brushing away hay. He held a gleaming white skull with a fractured side, where Saxa’s ax had splintered it. The top was cut off and there was a silvery gleam inside it. He saluted me with it, drank from it. ‘To Saxa,’ he explained and gave it to me. ‘Drink.’
I took it weakly and noticed I no longer wore Draupnir’s Spawn. My eyes traveled to his hip, where on a thick belt was the Head Taker in a new sheath. I was about to protest, but thought about it and finished the mead, running my hand across the polished bone.
‘You gave them the furs. And they gave you the ring and the sword.’
‘I did,’ he said simply. ‘Though I took a risk. There was no way to know they could retrieve the weapon and the ring at all. But you and they did. They even parted with them willingly as I arrived. Strangely honorable, they are. Oh, don’t blame them. They love you well. If you must know, they wanted to go to Hogholm even without making a deal with me.’
‘You tricked me,’ I accused him.
‘I did. You lied to me. And betrayed me. You thrust all our lands into chaos. The Bear. He came and made a complete mess out of our lives.’
‘I won’t go back, Father,’ I told him bitterly.
He shrugged, his brutal face scowling. ‘There is nowhere to go back to, boy. After what you did, there is no place for our family there. Nowhere in Gothonia. They all hate us. Not only you. Us. So I made the deal with the Saxons, let you get your revenge, if you could, and I gained the mighty items, because I will not let Hughnot have them, and Bero doesn’t deserve them.’
‘I said I’m not going back,’ I shouted, not really understanding what he was saying.
He snorted. ‘I have Dubbe, Sigmundr, and Harmod out there with a dozen men.’
‘I’ll fight them,’ I said with all the strength I could muster. ‘I love them, but I’ll pummel their fat heads—’
‘Shut up! Listen! We don’t have a home! I’m not taking you anywhere!’ he roared and slaves ran out nearby. He slowly calmed himself and then leaned forward to look me closely in the eye. ‘I feared you. I fear you. I fear what you are. I see why the Boat-Lord disliked our family leaving the islands. The curse. It truly is real. I believe that, I always did, but even more now. I’ll have to keep an eye on you, and I shall. We shall go and seek a new home.’
‘You are leaving the north?’ I asked him, finally comprehending what he was saying.
He shrugged. ‘Yes. I tried to unite the gau. They were quarreling. Unable to meet my demands. Thought I was to blame for your deeds. Yet you are my blood. We are here because I fear you, and because I fear for you. Because I love you.’ He looked away, his face dark with anger. ‘Your sorrow broke me. Saxa’s loss, what it did to you? And still Bero and Maino expected me to condemn you. Still, they wanted me to lead the men in war. To serve with Maino? And Bero, who is a damned fool? Your tragedy made me hate Bero more than I thought possible. I couldn’t keep pretending I respect him, and while I cannot fight for him, I cannot kill him either. I promised Mother, and I keep my promises.’ He had a wistful look on his face. ‘It’s too bad he survived the Dragon’s Tail. Too bad. When I left him three days ago, I kneeled next to him and told him I’d kill him with the Head Taker if he came after us. I told him to rule, to rule well, to fight Hughnot, and to take care of our mother, who would not come with me. I came here, because I didn’t wish to kill you. I came here because I trusted Ceadda, and for the ring and the sword, and for you. And now, we shall flee to the south. We have no home here. I don’t want one here, no more.’
I looked at the ring and the sword and felt the bear rearing inside me. Had not Saxa seen me happy, a lord of men, and a king? And she had seen the ring and the sword as well.
Ceadda came to the hall. ‘All good, lords?’
‘All good, friend,’ Hulderic said tiredly.
‘I’m good, you liar,’ I told him and he grinned at me widely but then his mood changed and he fidgeted, and we both saw he had news. ‘There are some things you should know.’
‘Well?’ I asked.
He sighed and waved to the north. ‘A trader came in after you, Lord. He visited Marka. He says there is an army of Goths there, ruled by a madman, a raging crazy lord and he thought it was Hughnot. The man lost his mind after his son died. And there is more. They took Timberscar. Your mother is dead.’
Hulderic’s shock was evident, and guilt shone on his face. ‘And my brother?’
‘He fled, with his family, though his wife died,’ Ceadda stammered. ‘They say he has declared a blood-feud against you. Calls you a thief and father of Hel’s spawn.’
‘So be it,’ Hulderic said heavily. ‘I warned him.’
Ceadda bowed. ‘There is more. The trader said there is a man called Ingulf, who has vowed to fetch that cup from you.’ He nodded at Hrolf’s skull. ‘And to make one just like it out of yours, friend.’
I looked down at the cup and nodded at Father, who smiled at me ironically, as we had a common enemy to survive. ‘Let them come,’ I said.
Ceadda scratched his neck. ‘He is already here. Our new lord is feasting him.’
I stopped speaking and nodded, indicating I was done, despite Marcus’s incredulous look. He spoke. ‘Well?’
‘What followed, I think, is a new story,’ I said, mulling at what took place that winter on the Saxon shores. At that, Marcus smiled, wrote the final words, and got up, dragging the parchments with him.
‘You wintered there, at least?’
‘That, and more,’ I said darkly. ‘There is much more to the story.’
He laughed and walked to the door, where he turned to look at me. ‘There is, no doubt. And worry not, Maroboodus. Tiberius has not yet sent word you must die. He must be relatively well for now. We have time. You tell your story, Lord. But mind you, Maroboodus, that a man can only escape so many traps. Like a cat, your lives will run out. Perhaps yours are at an end? Enjoy our time together, relax as best you can, and let us finish the story, but do not fool me. I will not be happy if the story is over long and becomes too unbelievable.’
‘I told no lies,’ I told Marcus. ‘And I’ll not die in Ravenna.’
He smiled, bowed. and left, and I poured myself more wine.
Soon, Marcus would be back, and I’d tell him how we fought that winter, and fled from the lands of the Saxons, and survived Ingulf and the Boat-Lord, and even Bero, all of whom hated us.
And I’d keep trying to find a way to survive the wrath of Tiberius, and his advisor, his assassin Hraban, my son, the one who hates me.
- The story will continue late 2016 with the book: The Bear Banner -
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SOME THOUGHTS
Writing a story that takes place so far in the north, entirely out of scope of the Roman historians of the time, is both a challenge and an opportunity. While the tribes living around the Baltic Sea were probably not all Germanic, nor did they all share gods and customs, or even speak each other’s language, I had to make some shortcuts and assumptions so that there would be enough common nominators for them to co-exist in some sort of a cultural and geographical harmony. Suiones, Svear, probably did have stormy relations with the Gothic (Gutes) tribes of the time. Generally, Goths occupied the southern part of Sweden, the Suiones, or Svear the central and gods only know what was way up north in Sweden.
The story of Maroboodus takes place in these borderlands between the Goths and Svea, and his family is a brave group of settlers from the Gothonia, Gothland, rogues who broke off from their family against the wishes of the family patriarch. They are an enemy to their relatives, and they are also in constant competition with their robbed neighbors the Svea and the other Goths who had already built powerful nations further south.
Who were the Saxons, then?
Again, very little is known of their origins. They might have been several different tribes who inhabited Holstein, Denmark, a loose confederation or no confederation at all, especially 30 B.C. when this story takes place. They are mainly mentioned as raiding the Franks and Britain in later times, but just like most of the Germanic tribes, they raided their neighbors for their livelihood, and probably and most likely raided not only the west coasts of modern Holland, but also the south, the north and the east as well. Cuthbert’s Saxons were the ones to turn their eyes to Sweden, where the tribes across from Denmark lived, namely the Svea, Goths, or whatever was there during his time.
Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) Page 36