Some birds were startled into a frenzied flight amidst the river’s many reed banks, and their upset honks filled the early morning air. Then, there was a sturdy boat emerging from the semi-dark, a thick, blond-haired man on its prow. The boat was a sleek one, the man on its prow pointed at us, and the boat rocked gently as the bow aimed for the river bank. The brute waved at Ragwald, and I felt fear grasp at my innards. The rovers guided the ship to us, and the man hopped out of the boat. He had a wicked knife under his belt, one that looked well used. His thighs were thick with muscle, so were his arms and you could barely see his eyes from under thick eyebrows and a sloping, dirty skull.
Ragwald guided his horse towards me, pointed at the man and smiled. ‘Meet Helmut. He is the caretaker of Segestes’s estate. Helmut, meet our new slave. He is, as you see, a famous warrior, but only for the next few moments. His chain is expensive and his helmet precious. That has to be peeled off him to begin our work on shaping Hraban into a more humble man. The armor goes to our lord’s armory.’
‘Get down,’ said Helmut with a voice that clearly desired I put on a fight.
I obliged him with the fight part.
I glowered at him, and he stepped forward. I waited until he got closer, and then I kicked him full in the nose, crushing it. It was like kicking a wall for all the effect it had, and he swatted my foot off his face and pulled me out of the saddle, painfully. I punched him in the face, this time drawing forth a sharp hissing sound, but that was all. He picked me up with one hand and punched me on the chest, and I fell to my ass in the muddy bank. I heard Woden’s dance in my ears as I struggled to get up but found the long knife under my chin. The man was fast. There was a strange light burning in his eyes.
‘Give up?’ he asked with a barely controlled savagery.
‘No,’ I managed to wheeze, and he nodded, got up, kicked me in the face of the helmet and my ears rang.
‘Strip him, Helmut,’ Ragwald said, and men descended on me. Helmut sat on me, ripped my hands apart and then punched me so hard I doubled over. He pulled the mail over my head, savagely, and pulled off the helmet along with it.
‘Ugly and angry,’ he smiled wickedly.
‘And coming from a man who looks like a bear’s shitty ass, that is a true insult,’ I gasped and got up to me knees, but he placed a knee on my chest and pushed me back down while waving the other men away. I fought him still, Woden demanding I do, but it was hopeless without a weapon. He turned me over, pulling my pants and caligae off so quickly that he dragged me on the ground after him. The men in the boat laughed at my futile struggles.
‘Well, finally Hraban,’ said Ragwald, as he saw my disgrace. ‘I hear you were betrothed to Gunda the Chatti. She needs a man. Perhaps you are still growing?’ His men laughed hugely.
‘At least I can still wipe my ass,’ I said with a smile, and Helmut punched me, and the world blackened.
‘You called yourself a warrior, Hraban. You called me the pig of Oddglade. Now you are a pig,’ Ragwald said with rage bubbling in his incoherent voice, and they pulled me up to the boat. I opened my eyes and saw Cornix receive something from Ragwald, and he waved to another boat, backpedaling near us. He was going south.
Ragwald left his horse with a man and boarded the boat.
‘Let us go and see your new home,’ he spat. We rowed for many hours, the men occasionally laughing at my nakedness. Ragwald was looking appraisingly at my mail, trying on my helmet. ‘Segestes has your sword, eh? I would have wanted that one. The one that treacherously took my arm. I would have taken a shit on it, then given it to the gods, and they would have returned my arm. It is possible, no?’ he told me while prodding me with his toe. ‘I’ll buy it off him.’ I said nothing, aware that Helmut sat over me. Ragwald shrugged at my silence. ‘Yea, best keep your trap shut. Hilmsheim is Segestes’s abode. You will learn a new life, Hraban. A humble, sad life. Like I suffer from my loss, you will suffer from my ill will.’ I closed my eyes and suffered the cold.
In the late morning, they woke me with a kick. I looked up, and Ragwald grabbed me by my short, dark beard. ‘There, dog. See?’ he said and guided my eyes to the left side of the boat. A curious estate was sprawling there. It was surrounded by cultivated fields; horse corrals full of fine steeds and countless rows of sheds, one of which was a blacksmith by the river. Others were places to butcher animals and to store food, wood, and weapons. The hall itself was like Vago’s had been. It had a traditional long hall look and feel, yet it had two stories and side building with large stables. Ragwald leaned down on me. ‘There was Thusnelda born and raised, and from there, Segestes holds sway over the Cherusci, raiding the northern weaklings in their hill mounds. The Chauci fear him. He is keeping the wald, the forests of Teutoburg free of the starving Bructeri. And you thought to fool him, a hero.’
‘The most twisted hero in the memory of all the Germani,’ I spat, for my defiance was rekindled.
He smirked at me. ‘Nevertheless, you are his slave. Here you will huddle with pigs, dog,’ he told me and pulled me up to a seated position. We came to a small dock, and the men pulled us close, tying the boat to a post, clambering up and out. Helmut pulled me up, and I saw the estate’s occupants standing there, waiting for Ragwald. They saw my nakedness, and I tried to keep calm as they laughed and roared, women smiling shyly. One, a red headed beauty with freckles blushed furiously. Helmut took me by my beard, yanking me after him towards the estate, the people following. We walked on the road, and I cursed softly as the people laughed at me, the children pelted me with mud, and Ragwald, disconcertingly, just watched me walk. We came to the yard, and Ragwald nodded at Helmut, who took me to the side building, kicked a door open and threw me into a pigsty. Its occupants looked startled as I picked myself up.
‘Here, you will live here, and eat what they eat,’ Ragwald told me gleefully. The pigs in their filth looked up at me, some cold snouts experimenting with my arms. I glowered at the multitude of the people peeking at me from the door and said nothing. I felt lightheaded and hurt and noticed the wound in my neck, the one Catualda had given me was throbbing.
‘I prefer their company to yours. They are more honest. Smell better and probably can finish a sentence,’ I told them.
‘Marry one, Hraban. This is your home.’ Ragwald laughed and closed the door. There was very little light; everything was covered in pig shit and mud, and I sat down to stare up at a crack on the wall, the light casting shadows in the dark. Outside, children were laughing. I despaired and fought an urge to try to fight my way out immediately.
I fought the urge only until that very next night.
Then, I gathered all my strength, peeked under the door to see the guard very close. I got up, bashed the door open with all my strength, knocking the guard down. Then I ran for my life but soon found I was weak, and my feet were cut on stones. I ran north, but soon heard the baying of hounds as Helmut set the dogs after me. I was running in the reed thickets of the river, begging for the dogs to miss my scent, but soon large, slavering beasts spotted me, bayed with feral, hungry voices, and I escaped to the river with a splash. Helmut appeared, striding calmly for me, and I contemplated trying to swim to safety. A boat appeared, and the only escape I had was drowning. ‘Come or die. I care not,’ Helmut grunted as if he had read my mind. I did not wish to die by drowning and denying myself the land of Woden. I came out, shivering uncontrollably, the dogs baying and nipping at me. Helmut beat me with no apparent emotion on his thick face, using a wooden stick. Then, in the end, he pissed on me, sighing with relief. ‘Ragwald’s compliments.’ He smiled and snapped my head with the stick. I nearly lost consciousness, and he had me dragged back by the ankles.
Next day, Ragwald crouched at the door. I managed to see his silhouette in the light and felt detached as my neck hurt, the wound slick with puss. Ragwald showed me a thick hammer. ‘Outside there is a smithy, Hraban. Run again, and I shall break your fucking ankles on a wooden block. We do that to slaves who do not learn. They l
ose one leg and can still hop around. But you will be denied both legs. I’ll not hesitate, and Segestes can still use you.’
‘Is this what Segestes told you to do?’ I asked him tiredly, aching all over my body. ‘Kill me in pig shit?’
‘Segestes told us to give you a roof over your head and work you hard. You herd pigs,’ Ragwald laughed and showed me the hammer again, brandishing it with glee. I turned away.
I cannot afford to fail again, I thought.
A girl brought us food. Us, because very soon I began to think of the pigs as friends. In my ravenous hunger, I did contemplate on eating one of them during the night, but after brushing their thick skin I decided I would fail at getting to the meat. I giggled at the thought and wept, for I felt I would go mad. Locking up a Germani is a sure way to break one, for our folk lived free, enjoyed woods and open pastures and abhorred imprisonment. I survived, barely sane and finally shared the pig’s food as the girl was throwing buckets of rotten vegetables in a hole on the floor. From then on, I would crawl there, on all fours and compete with my friends for the terrible dish.
Thus, I spent a month.
There was a guard outside, night and day, and while at times I felt better, by the end of the month I was growing ill again. I had been as sick when I was taken to Vago, but now my condition was rapidly growing worse. I was weak, the wound in my neck had the stench of decay that stabbed at my nostrils even through the shit and piss of the hole. The wound was rotting. It, the mud, and the room I had been given was going to kill me.
I would die, I cursed.
And yet, I did not. Not quickly, at least.
Time passed, my beard and nails grew, and I suffered. I ate leftovers and mud, drank piss sodden water. My wound festered on, and I learnt to survive as best I could, trying not to think about the pain. I was sleeping next to the pigs, and they kept me warm, even if they seemed bothered when I was coughing, which was often. I coughed so hard there was blood in the thin vomit that came out of my mouth and nose and smeared the backs of the pigs.
The fall was coming, I thought, for one day when the door was opened, the air had a sweet, bitter feel to it as if the gods had cracked the doors of Niflheim and freezing air was escaping to our Midgard. I remember seeing faces, the girl that fed us, at least, but occasionally Helmut and Ragwald would look down at me.
I hated them enough to cling to life as hard as I could, knowing I was losing the battle.
A sow had a litter of small piglets.
The happiness of the event did not extend to me, for the sow was suspicious of me and would attack if I got too close to her offspring. This was uncomfortable, for the piglets would occasionally wonder towards me, and I had to toss mud to get them to turn back. It made eating the scraps dangerous as well, for she actually bit me twice as I tried. So, I nearly starved and froze to death, sitting in a corner. Gradually, I forgot the time and the space and all about my plans of escape and gave up on Valholl. I would gingerly eat what was left after the pigs had eaten and the sow was asleep, and I crawled back to my corner and cursed Woden for letting me die there, in fever, cold and hungry in pig shit.
Then I lost the pigs.
At some point, they took most of them out. I feebly tried to stop them, but a guard pushed me away. He was prodding me with a spear, laughing to his friend who blanched as he saw me, and his eyes were drawn on my neck. I wept. Somewhere in my mind, I knew it was close to the time in the fall when livestock was culled and my friends were to be butchered. I was left with the piglets and the sows, and so I had no friends.
Then, one day, I could not crawl to the hole; I was coughing so hard, I spat thick blood.
That day I heard a horde of horses ride outside.
I gazed up at the crack in the wall and saw some snow drifting down. It was a few weeks before Yuletide, and Segestes came home. He was not alone, for I thought a Valkyrie had come to fetch me to Woden after all, but it was not a Valkyrie.
It was Thusnelda.
I remember opening my eyes, seeing a blur of her face as she looked at me in horror. I could not see well, for my eyes were failing me. She cursed, screamed, and beat a guard with her fists, and the man ran, and soon, hands were pulling me up. I heard Segestes screaming and Ragwald making excuses. ‘Goodbye, dear friend,’ I told the sow and the lot seemed to bid me farewell with their twitching snouts.
CHAPTER 13
I woke up, weak as a newly born kitten.
I looked around, trying to see where I was. I saw a man with an ax, standing by a door. Many straw beds were scattered around me. It was a modest place. Slave quarters, perhaps a guard’s barracks. I slept again but dreamt of Thusnelda helping me eat something. Then, on the eve of the Yule celebration, Segestes came to me and sat next to me, frowning. I turned my head to him and sneered. He smiled, his fat face rather jovial. ‘Have not lost your spirit, then.’
I turned my head. ‘My time is nigh? You giving me to Father?’ I croaked.
He shook his head at me in wonder. ‘No. Where did you get that notion?’
I shook my head vigorously and rubbed my eyes. ‘Cornix thought you might use me to embarrass him if he gets greedy and beats you.’
Segestes sat there, scowling at me. I saw he was about to tell me he was a warrior like Maroboodus, but he thought better of it. He waved his hand lazily. ‘I doubt you would be able to smear him, Hraban. If he succeeds on what we are planning, he will be a hero indeed and few would care what his broken son has to say. We are making plans, and he does not know about you, and I doubt he will. He will have his hands full with the south.’
‘So why—’
‘The war is over,’ he stated happily. ‘For now. For this year, at least. And you shall stay here. But we did well.’ I leaned back, trying to swallow my disappointment. He was looking at me with a small smile, expecting me to ask what he meant, and I refused. I stared at him mulishly, and he rewarded me. ‘You are not going to ask then?’ he said wearily and smiled. ‘Fine. Drusus is gone home. They sacked my brother’s lands and are reinforcing Castra Flamma. But the Cherusci are at peace. I made sure of it,’ he said, sounding pleased with himself.
‘Armin?’ I asked, rewarding him that much.
A brief look of displeasure ran across his face. ‘He lives. He took a wound, they say, but he lives. He is hiding in Sigimer’s former lands, the woods and the hills. My brother Sigimer is lost.’ He looked mildly bothered by the fact and then clapped my shoulder as if he suddenly remembered something. His fat jowls were heaving up and down, and I thought he looked very much like Antius. ‘You were right. Armin is a great leader.’ His eyes were calculative as he regarded me. ‘Perhaps it is good he lives. His continuous harassment will make sure Drusus has to come back.’
‘Is that your idea or that of Cornix and Antius?’ I sneered.
He stammered, but ignored my question. ‘Your father has been planning the battle to kill him, but we decided it will likely be here. Drusus cannot ignore Armin, can he? He will be back.’
‘Really?’ I asked, trying to get up. I managed it so that I was on my elbows, trembling, but then I felt stabbing pain in my eyes, and I moaned. I struggled to keep them open. ‘Are you saying father is planning on marching the Marcomanni all the way here?’
Segestes shrugged. ‘He always did plan on marching them to Luppia River. Then you made a mess of that plan. Burned his hall and all that unpleasantness. He will bring his men. At least enough to make a difference.’ He looked away. ‘Your sight will return, fully. But you look like shit, Hraban. The wound in your neck is healing. At least that is what Thusnelda says, and with food and rest we can get you to enjoy your short life again.’ I looked at my shoulder and saw there was a herb smothered bandage covering much of my neck and shoulder. ‘It will heal,’ he said again. ‘Though it is a miracle you pulled through. Perhaps Woden helped you, after all.’ His eyes were curious, and I wondered if he had come to see if I was indeed god touched. Perhaps he will make an idol out of my skin and ha
ng it over his shield, I thought and chuckled.
I smirked at him. ‘Yes, Segestes. Woden came to me in the pigsty, cast spells over me, fed me juicy porridge, served godly mead and sang me to sleep each night. He kept me alive. Or perhaps I just refused to die, naked and smeared in pig shit. And on my own.’
He nodded as his face wrinkled unpleasantly. ‘Be that as it may. You will live, and it has nothing to do with your father. You do not understand this, but I do what is good for my people,‘ he said with an irritating, priest like voice.
‘You said Armin was wounded? How?’ I asked him while rolling onto my back.
Segestes moved his great bulk uncertainly. ‘He ambushed Drusus on his way home.’
‘He did?’ I laughed. ‘He had no men!’
The fat man shook his head. ‘The Romans were going home. They had crossed the rivers again and were marching close to the Chatti borders aiming for Castra Flamma. There are hills there, you know, and there is this old village of Arbalo. Near that there is a pass that goes between two craggy hills. Drusus’s army marched right into it, thinking the war was over. Armin, Sigimer’s loyal men, even some of mine attacked them there. Some thousands. They did well. Caused chaos in Drusus’s columns. Killed hundreds though mostly auxilia. Lost some hundred. In the end, Drusus himself chased Armin away. He will be back. That Armin could muster three thousand men after I betrayed him and Sigimer was lost? It was a miracle.’
‘They went home then?’ I asked. ‘Romans.’
Segestes nodded. ‘They were happy to. I hear they had seen many terrifying omens before Arbalo. There were bees swarming the tent of a castra praefectus of the XIX Legion, the food was scarce, Armin kept stinging their tail,’ he said, lounging in his seat. ‘Of course, I made sure they are fed, but Armin stole some of that. In return of Arbalo, I seized their lands and scattered his army, Armin’s as he returned from Arbalo. He would not fight, his men divided. But he is out there. Wounded, perhaps. But still free. Rome left you here.’
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 16