Brimwulf nodded. ‘He is slow and weak still and is not faking it. I have to get to know him. He is the type to run, and I wish to know his temper if I have to hunt him.’
I snorted. ‘If you think I will run, surely you should tell Ragwald or Helmut?’
He spat. ‘I will not speak to Ragwald if I can help it. He is a—’ His eyes settled on me. ‘And here you are, again trying to get under my skin. Faugh!’ He tried to calm himself but failed and shook his head and went outside.
Vulcan looked at me shrewdly, his skin pockmarked by small burns. ‘Helmut’s daughter Mathildis is to be married to Ragwald’s son,’ he said with perverse relish.
The subject confused me. ‘The freckle-faced thing? Surely Ragwald’s pup would marry a noble?’
‘Helmut is a noble, impoverished one, but a noble. Beware of him. He takes men to the woods and some do not return,’ he told me seriously. ‘Sometimes they are men Segestes would like to keep alive. He says they escaped; Helmut does. They did not, and Segestes forgets, after awhile. But I do pity Brimwulf. I was young once.’
‘Brimwulf?’ I asked shrewdly, eyeing the man kicking at a log outside, murmuring angrily. Then it hit me. ‘He is here for her? He is in love with the girl.’
Vulcan’s eyes glinted with an agreement, but then he sniffled. ‘He served Sigimer’s warlord and met her once in a Thing. I know he is loyal and hates Segestes like a rat hates hunger, but he did not waste much time riding to Segestes after his lord died. Didn’t even attend the funeral. It's none of your business, boy, of course, but I suppose you have to keep busy, trying to find holes in the impregnable wall you might escape from. Now. See here.’ He showed me all his tools and explained their names and how to prepare the forge. I learned or at least tried to, and the old man was patience incarnated when it came to teaching the basics of the trade.
Wulstan came in the evening and placed a rope around my neck. Vulcan eyed him evilly, but the boy of thirteen or fourteen took no heed. ‘Come, you ugly mutt,’ the bastard chortled and tugged at me. I gritted my teeth, but let Wulstan guide me to the stables as he would a dog while he chortled at my dark mood. Brimwulf followed us, his face a mask of stone. ‘Here, slave,’ Wulstan said and pushed me inside. ‘You know the pretty pigs, but here are the sturdy workhorses and fat cows. Clean the shit; new straw in place when it is moldy. Do it well, or I will have you do it on your knees.’
I considered murdering him.
He was much like Ansigar, my friend from the time we still played war in the woods of the Marcomanni, I decided. He had turned to Odo with Gernot, my brother, and I think there had always been a dark spot in his soul. Wulstan was a sturdy boy, evil and full of malice, and I did all I could to hold my patience as I regarded his ugly face. I nodded, my eyes flickering dangerously. The bastard seemed to inflate with power as I did. After I had cleaned the stalls, dirtying myself, it was dark. People were eating nearby, and I realized there was a door from the stalls to the main hall. I noticed Wulstan had disappeared, and there was Brimwulf alone guarding me.
‘Good job, Hraban,’ he noted tiredly. ‘Seems you have cared for horses before.’
‘I helped my Mother Sigilind and Grandfather Hulderic with our beasts,’ I told him.
‘Got to go and eat soon. Yearning for something warm,’ he said with a relish.
I snorted. ‘I doubt you will get anything hot, Brimwulf. I will be doing this twice every day.’
He glanced at the stall. ‘Looks clean to me. What do you mean?’
‘Matters not. He is a little shit,’ I told him.
‘Ahh!’ Brimwulf began, and then Wulstan came in, and without inspecting my work, he struck me with a cane.
‘Again, on your knees. Brimwulf. You can go eat.’
The archer shrugged and hesitated, evidently tempted by the offer. Then he shook his head. ‘I best stay here. He can crush your skull faster than you can fart. And do not order me around, boy. I work for Segestes, not your dull father.’
The boy’s eyes opened wide in shock, and he gritted his teeth in anger. Then he hit my back with the cane again. ‘But this dog works for me. Do it! On your knees, dog, I said!’ I went on my knees, picking up stray bits of straw and shit with my bare hands, and it took an hour before the little evil vaettir was happy. ‘Lock him up for the night,’ Wulstan told the archer, bored by my silence. Brimwulf walked me back to where I had slept so many months. My face was burning with shame and anger, and I did not even smile when I found the girl serving some cold porridge on a table for me, along with some sour ale. I nodded at her and sat down. Brimwulf was standing at the door, eyeing her with obvious and desperate desire, and she glanced at him, many times.
‘Why Brimwulf, I can eat on my own,’ I told him happily. ‘Weren’t you hungry? Starving?’ I teased him, and he cursed me profusely.
‘There will be a guard at the door, Hraban. Keep your senses,’ he told me, casting one last look at the girl as he left.
‘Do you need any bandages, anything for pain?’ the girl asked me. ‘I can ask Hilda, the old healer to bring some of her herbs.’
I shook my head. ‘No, just some more ale.’
She smiled. ‘Tomorrow. Only water for now.’ She gave me a gourd of it.
‘What is your name?’ I asked her. ‘Mathi—’
‘Mathildis, Lord,’ she said and blushed as I laughed, my mouth full of porridge.
‘Lord? Not many have called me that in a long while!’ I said, chewing vigorously on a piece of vegetable.
‘Hraban then. You are famous,’ she said. ‘And perhaps you are a lord. Of pigs?’ She smiled mischievously, not maliciously, and I slapped her rump like I would Cassia and realized my error. I had been too familiar with Mathildis, for her eyes opened huge as she rubbed her rear. I shook my head in apology.
‘I am sorry,’ I said while bowing my head. ‘I’m used to pigs and thus they moved out of the way when I had to dig for food amidst them. I am a famous pig herder, a recently promoted woodcutter, and a shit collector,’ I said, gruffly. ‘I have no skills left with beautiful girls.’
‘You took me for a pig!’ she giggled.
‘No!’
She caressed my face briefly. ‘Grandfather said that a man has to start low to be a true lord. And perhaps you skipped such service in your previous life?’ she said with renewed humor.
‘I did not. And if your father Helmut was taught like that, then why is he such a—’
‘He didn’t listen to grandfather much,’ she said patiently.
‘Time to go, girl,’ a tall guard said from the door. She nodded and waved at me, locking the door. I ate and lay awake, dreaming of strangling Wulstan with my hands.
I was strangely happy.
I had a routine now, and I would grow stronger.
And I had a makings of a plan. It had no form nor details, and it would be, when finished, a perilous, hopeless plan, for it depended on a woman.
Wyrd.
CHAPTER 15
Every morning, Wulstan stomped through the door, put a rough rope around my neck and pulled me back to the smithy. It was better than the fetters of Helmut, but the way Wulstan spoke to me, as if I was his dog, made the insult near insufferable, and I was glad to be rid of him for the day. The insult would resume when the evening arrived, and I picked up shit with my hands, swept and changed the hay.
The smithy was my salvation. Vulcan needed an apprentice, and he treated me like one. During the first few days, he showed me what he was doing. He worked from morning to evening, got up early to heat the forge, which took time while gathering suitable metals for his purposes. He made axes, spear points, hinges and tools, even saddle parts and bridles. In his own time, he fashioned animals out of scrap metal. He was not married.
He repeatedly explained the tools to me, showed me how to hold them, how to hammer carefully, and when not to. He was in the business of bending and shaping metal, and just like the metal, he was unyielding when I made silly mistakes. His patien
ce was restricted to explaining the theory and the tools and did not extend to the actual business of creating a useful item. That part was a matter of pride, and he would suck in his breath, horrified at my ineptness, tearing his hair with his smudged hands as he yelled at me. ‘No, boy, if the metal is white, then it is too hot! You will just make a fucking mess out of it, the result something to hide in a shit hole. No, the color of the metal has to be light orange, yellow, something in between, and only then this iron is ready to be shaped!’ He showed me a dozen times how to do it on a prospective horseshoe. He showed me how to draw metal and how to bend soft metal like copper. In his hands, the metal began to take shape as if magically, and I had a renewed respect for Euric and Wandal. He was more than a smith; he was an artisan. For example, when he was making hammers, he used a chisel to make perfect holes in the handle. No matter if the handles themselves would hide them, he wanted them to be perfect. Little had I thought about the practice of making the things I so admired. He showed me how to use flux to clean a surface and how to weld items, and how the temperature was to be kept just right to accomplish this. I did not understand half of it, but it seemed to me Vulcan needed someone to talk to, and he talked constantly as if desperately trying to pass his wisdom off to someone.
I was not sure I was the perfect pupil. In fact, I was sure I was not. His patience ran out, mine did as well, and once I threw a hammer out of the shed, and he had me cut wood all day. Next day, I paid more attention, but our sessions were sometimes loud, full of curses but often peaceful and happy, as well when things were going fine. On one such occasion, I decided to ask him about his past.
‘Have you had a wife?’ I asked him one day when he was not entirely displeased with me.
He grunted. ‘Of course, I had one! Do I look like a man who does not enjoy a soft, plump wife?’
‘No, you look like you might enjoy a plump wife. Anyone might,’ I told him with a grin. ‘My grandfather Hulderic told us it is easier to escape a plump one when she is enraged. Which is often. Gods know if that is true.’
He looked mollified. ‘She was plump. Pretty and plump. And she was kind, so I did not have to escape her. But she died. They say she stole food from Segestes during a very hard winter, and perhaps she did. She served there, in the hall. They claimed she also stole a brooch of gold and some silver rings as well.’ He looked up darkly at the great house. ‘That I did not believe. And then she was gone.’
‘What?’ I asked him, shocked. ‘They condemned her? Surely a wergild would have—’
He poked me. ‘She was condemned by a Thing headed by Segestes and yes, it was a crime that could have been made good by a cow or a horse, but Segestes did not want that, no. He wanted the gold and silver returned, and I bet Helmut stole them and blamed her. She did not have it, of course, and then the free men voted as Segestes did. I told them I ate some of that stolen food as well, and I had wondered why our table held goose and trout when we had survived on porridge, but the Thing spared me. She was not. They exiled her. Took her away,’ he said, his voice choking. ‘I went after her, of course. She was not very intelligent, but she was mine.’
I fiddled with some straw but asked nonetheless. ‘You found her?’
He glared at me but nodded. ‘A wolf.’
‘Why did you stay here?’
He shook his shoulders. ‘I had to pay the debts.’
‘What?’ I breathed. ‘No, you owed them nothing!‘
He shrugged. ‘When it was paid, I had nothing left. Now I only work. I have nothing else. It keeps me going. Don’t want to remarry, even. I feel … old. I am old.’
‘You must hate Segestes,’ I whispered, and he shrugged.
‘Everyone does, save for his sycophants,’ he agreed, eyeing me carefully. ‘My, but you do work on us to find an escape. Work on the metal instead.’
I nodded and worked.
Maius was soon replaced by spring, and he let me sit outside in the mornings, eating my breakfast. The girl still brought it to me in the mornings. ‘Mathildis. It is a pretty name,’ I told her one day, and she beamed at me.
‘Thank you. May I call you Hraban?’ she said, glancing at Brimwulf, who was still my guard, though he often stayed in the hall, sitting and whittling at a block of wood.
‘You may. Do you call him Brimwulf, as well?’ I asked, nodding at the warrior.
She shook her head. ‘No, I am not allowed to speak with him. Wulstan beats me when he sees me do it.’
‘But you like the archer, no? Surely there is nothing wrong with this?’ I asked her innocently.
‘I like him, he eyes me, smiles at me shyly, and he is so handsome. But I am promised to Ragwald’s son.’ She looked about nervously.
‘Have not seen him,’ I told her, gulping down porridge. ‘Is he as mad as his father?’
She sat next to me. ‘He is serving with Rome for some months. In Castra Vet …’ she stammered and smiled. She nodded towards the west. ‘Roman side of the Great River.’
‘Castra Vetera,’ I told her and paused to wonder at the fact I had not been there for such a long time.’
She nodded. ‘He is there in Roman lands, but comes back here soon.’
‘What is his name?’
She smiled. ‘Turd.’ She giggled, and I liked her.
I shrugged at her and told her a secret. ‘Most men are turds, but sometimes, a woman’s touch gives the turd a purpose and it might sprout something worthy. Perhaps he matures from manure to a likable man when he has you,’ I teased her.
She looked troubled. ‘Manno. His name is Manno. I know not, Lord. I do not know how to make a man happy. My father thinks I am a nuisance, my brother beats me. I will be a disappointment to the Turd as well,’ she said, sullenly. ‘Thusnelda speaks with him, quite often, and he seems nice enough, but he is Ragwald’s son. Must be something wrong with him.’
I gave her the bowl and drank some ale. ‘I am sure you are not,’ I told her after emptying it. ‘Ask Brimwulf. He must think highly of you.’
She shook her head shyly. ‘I said I cannot speak to him. I doubt I could please him any more than any other man.’ She blushed as she spoke of such matters.
I laughed raucously. ‘All women know how to please a man! Just by smiling at them.’
She blushed and walked off quickly. Brimwulf wondered over, glancing in her direction. ‘What did you tell her? She looked upset,’ he asked angrily.
‘I told her that she should be allowed to marry whom she will, even a rouge, honor plagued archer,’ I winked at Brimwulf, who cursed me with a red face.
‘What were you talking about?’ he demanded.
‘She likes you. I think very much,’ I said with a straight face. ‘She keeps looking at you, her eyes large as a doe’s. She sighs when you grunt, shakes her head in desperation when you speak to some other wench. She is,’ I said happily, ‘enamored with you. She would likely utter an ecstatic cry of joy if you so much as farted.’ Vulcan cackled.
‘Enamored?’ Brimwulf snickered. ‘She never looks my way. She is tearing my heart out, and you tell me she is smitten by me? No. I would know. I’m miserable as shit, and then some liar of a man called the Oath Breaker comes along to tell me my moon is within reach.’
‘But—’ I began, and he grabbed my shirt.
‘Hraban. I like you. I like her. Love her, yes. But I won’t let you go and drag her to a lengthy escape along the rivers. I’m not the only tracker in this Hel hole. Forget this and leave me to my suffering,’ he told me as he let go of me. He shook his head at me tiredly as if speaking to a child. ‘I have loved her for years. Yet, I could not leave Sigimer’s service to be close to her. No. It would have been dishonorable. Now I have given Segestes my oaths. How could I break them and be happy with her, without my fame? Stop tempting me.’
‘But—’ I started as he walked off, mumbling something about uncouth Marcomanni. I heard Vulcan snicker. I cursed, went inside and learnt about heating the iron, and why it gathered a black surfa
ce in the process.
My plan was going poorly, I decided.
Before Wulstan came to take me to my excrement gathering duties, Vulcan pulled me closer. ‘He is a fool. An honest fool. But how honest are you? Not very, I think. He won’t let you escape, not even for Mathildis.’
‘I want no ill for him or Mathildis,’ I frowned. ‘Only happiness.’
He snorted. ‘Right. You wish to be free. Give it time and find some other way. Be careful,’ he told me slowly, and I nodded. ‘Beware of Helmut.’
A month passed, then another. Drimilchi was celebrated while I was cleaning stables on my hands and knees, and the summer time, Liatha began. The celebration of Midsummer was nigh. Roman couriers came and went regularly, and I dreaded the messages they might bear. The poor bastards were visiting Segestes thinking he was their ally, yet Segestes was the enemy. For some reason that early summer was peaceful. The Roman campaign season was already partly gone, and I was sure Nero Claudius Drusus wished to finish what he had begun. But there were no sign of Roman armies. There was no news of impending invasion of the lands of the Cherusci. Segestes stayed at home.
Midsummer feast was celebrated amidst plenty, and as I was looking at the bonfires burning from midday onwards from the smithy, I cursed the vitka dancing before Segestes, all of whom were promising him favors of Tiw the Just, All-Father Woden and the Hammer Lord Donor. There was a huge feast set up before the hall and even Vulcan watched enviously at all the food that was being served. ‘I’m never invited, but if I were, I would rather eat coal than see them smirk at me over the table. Eat your snot and drink your tears, Hraban. More honest food and drink you can never find,’ he told me, and we grinned.
After the feast, Wulstan and Helmut arranged wrestling matches.
I saw Ragwald point at me, whispering to Wulstan, and I felt doom approaching, for I knew I was about to be involved in such sport. I was right, for two drunk guards came to fetch me from the smithy. Wulstan followed them. He was drunk and gestured at me. Vulcan growled, wiped his hands and pushed a guard. ‘I’ll need him tomorrow. I’m sure it won’t be a fair fight, anyhow, so scramble off, toad.’
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 18