‘I will give you my word you can take that worthless shit and go in peace. But I will not leave my helmet, nor my weapons. Nor the shield, and I will take the finger and the ring,’ I told him, and he glanced at the pouch with the cut membrane. I began to remove it from the pouch.
He thought about it, glancing at the ruby, and I saw him lose his struggle. ‘You will leave the ring.’
I cursed, he tensed, and then an arrow was jutting in his skull. He fell on his back, dead.
I charged for my shield after the initial shock. Another arrow clanged on it. I shuffled around in the dirty grass and jumped to grab the helmet. An arrow went past my face. ‘Shit!’ I cursed, pulled the helmet on my head, hid behind the shield and ran to the woods. I grabbed the ax with me as I stomped on the dying Svea. I thanked Woden as the trees covered me, and I pulled the shield on my back, hoping it would deflect any sagitta that might reach out to slay me. One hit a tree as I ran; another tore near my legs when I got to the edge of the valley.
I ran for an hour, then two, an arrow or two swishing past, constantly reminding me of the danger. Finally, one banged on my shield, and I fell on my face from the impact. I got up, spat moss and dirt, and ran until I went up a hill. I dodged and ran erratically while praying to Woden, scared of being captured again, cursing a rock formation I had to climb and nearly pissing myself as an arrow smacked next to my hand.
Then, I was on top of the rocks, stopping for just one second, for I saw the majestic sight of Castra Flamma below me, only some few miles away, and admired the beautiful wet land near the springs of Luppia River. It had grown indeed. The agger was now crowned by a thick wooden vallum, a palisade with towers full of siege machines and the fossa was wide and deep. The wooden barracks and lined streets ran like arrows inside the fort and the praetorium area with principia and quaestorium were partly made of stone. A small village had grown on the banks of Luppia River, around the harbor. As ever, Roman castra was attracting locals and traders, and there were clearly many cohorts occupying the area for troops were marching and training on the fields around it.
I suddenly remembered my danger and started downhill, weaving my way down the treacherous decline, the weight of my armor pulling me in a roll down the green slope. After I had stopped my roll painfully on the side of a tree, I got up, dizzy, and heard distant laughter. I did not place the voice before an arrow smacked into my buttocks, and I screamed in pain.
I cursed and sobbed as I flew on my face. The pain was intense, and when I tried to get up, the shield on my back was caught on a branch. So, I thrashed, cursed, and swore until a foot pushed my face down, a pointy thing in my neck. A voice hissed near my ear. ‘Hraban. You bastard. Next time you spread lies about bedding Mathildis I will aim higher.’ Brimwulf pulled me up, and Mathildis was there, giving me a warning look as she bent to pluck the arrow from my ass. I sobbed when she did, and I thought she twisted it a few times too often and on purpose. ‘You run fast, though. We had a hard time keeping up with you. Like an armored rabbit!’ Brimwulf smiled. ‘Or a chicken.’
‘You call me a rabbit and chicken? After I killed the two Svear?’ I asked, bitterly.
Mathildis shook her red hair. ‘The other one was still alive.’ The arrow came off, and I howled. She handed it to Brimwulf and stood some steps from me, folding her hands under her breasts.
‘So, Brimwulf. You took her away then,’ I noted, and he went to stand next to the girl. ‘So much for your honor.’
He looked unhappy. ‘Yes, after you killed Helmut and Wulstan, Segestes lost his finger, and many men died in his burnt hall, I heard they blamed Thusnelda. She stood up to them, but they needed a scapegoat. Wulstan was there, incoherent and mauled, and he was trying to say her name.’ He nodded at Mathildis. ‘So I took her away,’ he added while eyeing the girl. ‘You have a terrible influence on men of honor. That arrow was warranted, but I thank you for her,’ he said proudly, and the girl shook her head at me, gently and softly as I scowled at him, rubbing my rear. Should give him pointers on what she enjoys, I thought but decided against it.
‘Why are you here? Other than pay me back for the … insult?’ I asked him.
‘Well, it seems I need a lord,’ he said uncomfortably.
I pointed at the fort. ‘You wish to join me in Roman service?’
He looked that way carefully. ‘I suppose I might. I have little wealth and will need all I can get.’
‘Is this honorable? To serve the enemy of Cherusci?’ I squinted, mystified.
‘I want her to be safe,’ he explained, talking about Mathildis while looking away from me.
I thought about it for a moment and finally nodded. ‘I was told to gather my men. You will be a Batavi if you like. Swear to me, and you have plenty of coins. Plenty of dangers too,’ I said happily. ‘But she should be safe.’
‘I will have to sign something? They are always signing something in the hall of Segestes,’ he asked suspiciously.
‘You will get two hundred and sixty denarii and part of anything we might loot,’ I agreed. ‘And you will have to sign up.’
‘Sure.’ He grinned warily. ‘And as I’m a hunter, perhaps I should get more? I will feed the lot, no?’
‘They will feed us in the castra,’ I told him. ‘You will have a lot to learn.’
‘Fine!’ he said and helped me down the hill.
As we walked towards a waiting Batavi horse patrol, Mathildis leaned on me. ‘Not a word.’
‘We only kissed,’ I whispered. ‘And you twisted that arrow—’
‘The guards heard you bragging, Hraban. They could have thrown me into a bog for that. Your ass hole is a minor problem in comparison.’
‘Ass hole?’ I asked in shock.
‘Hole in the ass, you ass,’ she whispered.
‘You remind me of Ermendrud,’ I said wistfully. ‘She had a very foul mouth, as well.’
‘Perhaps you have that effect on women,’ she sulked.
‘Just like I destroy the honor of good men,’ I chuckled.
‘Not a word!’ she warned.
‘Fair enough,’ I agreed and grinned at her. She smirked back at me, happier than a young otter in a creek.
We walked to Castra Flamma and were met by a group of hard looking Batavi riders.
CHAPTER 21
The snow began to fall hard just as the Batavi guided us to the gates of the Castra. Beyond the wall, Luppia River looked gray and even stormy with white tipped waves whipping the shores and men were running after some escaped horses on its banks. Two sleek ships were tied to the sturdy docks, and a muddy military road ran away to the west on the north side of the river, where men worked under guard. A sturdy stone bridge crossed it north of the harbor.
‘Bructeri and Marsi at peace with us?’ I asked the grim Batavi rider who looked at me suspiciously. He had known me, but he did not speak much, his eyes staring at the woods cautiously.
‘By Hercules, no,’ he laughed. ‘They still field troops every spring and aid the Sigambri.’ Only the very river and its immediate surroundings are ours, but I would not walk the road alone. I hate that road. It is like an invitation for any young warlord to come and fetch loot and hostages. Easy to find, always there, and folks walk down it as if they were at home. Romans are too attached to such things,’ he told us bitterly. ‘And then we have to go find whoever did something, and sometimes the ones that were the victims.’ We reached the gate. ‘Wait here.’ He dismounted and plunged in through the gate where a pair of XVII Legion’s legionnaires wrapped in their military cloaks stood guarding it.
They stared at us for a time and then looked at each other. One noted to the other, ‘a wild-looking bunch. You think they will eat us?’
‘Pilum practice. Aim for the tip of the beard and you will leave them meowing like a cat,’ the other instructed his friend. A centurion with his traversed helm appeared, shadowed by the Batavi. He was a young man, belligerent, full of fire as he bellowed something to immunes, evidently a hunter
who had brought in some rabbits.
‘You will take part in the digging duty tomorrow, brother. No man gets special treatment and extra pay for such fucking skinny rabbits. We need meat in the cauldron, for Juppiter's sakes!’ he yelled at the glowering legionnaire who looked forlorn with his pair of rabbits. The centurion saw us, walked over to us, the Batavi in tow.
‘Hraban?’ he asked me and nodded as if he knew the answer. He used a Germani accent.
I answered in Latin. ‘Yes, it is I. I rode out on a mission for Nero Claudius Drusus a year ago after the battle of the Buck.‘
He nodded happily. ‘And Fox, Armin took you, prisoner. Welcome to Castra Far the Fucking Away, as we call it! All the joys of home!’ He glanced expectantly at the guards, one of whom had been staring at me sheepishly after learning I spoke their language.
The other one nodded. ‘A broken home with shitty food, no safety, a leaking roof, wild beasts in the muddy yard, and an unhappy, pox ridden commander. But we love it!’
Evidently, this was a standing joke in the Castra for the centurion laughed. ‘Want a drink, Hraban?’
‘I … no, not right now,’ I told him.
He took a swig of a jar. ‘All right. When we go to the praetorium, do not prance around like a whore girl in the Juventus Hill’s alleys. The commander is sick and fucking tired of the place and might just send you walking back because he can.’ He winked at me.
‘As you say sir,’ I told him, grinning.
‘Lucius Hirtius Magnus, the first centurion of the fifth cohort, XVII legion,’ he said, grabbing my arm. ‘Pleased to meet the famous barbarian. Where did they hold you?’
‘Segestes had me,’ I said darkly as we walked through the wooden gate. Brimwulf was trailing after me and so was Mathildis.
‘Segestes? He is an ally though? The big fat lump from the northeast? This is his land,’ Lucius said, gesturing at Brimwulf and Mathildis. ‘They with you?’ he asked.
‘Segestes, the bastard. Yea, the archer is with me, and the girl is my wife,’ I said, enjoying a moment’s revenge, for my ass hurt and bled. Brimwulf’s face went white with fury, but the brazen girl could not hold her face straight and giggled.
Lucius snorted. ‘More women. I pity you auxilia bastards for your right to marry. We are not allowed, but we can still bed them when on leave. Last week an optio bedded a woman in the village and she was a wife to a Batavi. We kept it quiet. Didn’t want to lose the optio.’
I smiled at his easygoing nature. We walked for the principia through the ordered street lined with barracks, many empty. ‘How many men are there?’ I asked him.
‘You sure you are Hraban? Perhaps you are here to take the castra?’ he chortled. ‘No, I suppose not. Sorry. It’s so damned boring in here in winter. Now? Just two cohorts. The military tribune commands us, nominally, the camp praefectus deals with all the real matters and just month ago two legions, the whole XVII and some of the XIX were here, supporting Cherusci civil war. We also drove south to the Chatti lands. Now? Boring. Boring. Man needs a war to keep his wits. Spring was good. We have been doing a lot of Sigambri killing, in the spring,’ he told me while nodding at some of the Romans lounging on the steps of the barracks. ‘Now? Patrol, and patrol, keeping the peace. Long winter ahead,’ he glanced at the billowing clouds. ‘Soon, no going anywhere. Will need Germani trousers and socks and triple tunics.’ He made silly dance steps and held his long tunic’s hem like a girl. Mathildis quaffed and, the centurion bowed happily.
We reached the impressive walls of the praetorium and stopped before the immaculate guards, their chainmail shining, cingulum belts silver studded and spotless and helmets proudly hoisting the two feathers. Neither man budged as the centurion walked inside and over to the side and bent to speak to a man in tunic. The man nodded. Then he walked over a small square to a building with wooden pillars and stayed there for a good while. Then he came out, smiling timidly. ‘Go on.’
I was ushered in and glanced at the principia. There were clerks and paymasters working and walking around a courtyard. There was a guard at the center of the small parade ground, and there was likely the military money chest hid under ground. I entered the praetorium and had to squint as it was very dark inside. Some officers were there, all turning to stare at us. Evidently, we were the most interesting news that day. A man snapped his fingers, and I bowed to him. ‘Wait here,’ I told Brimwulf, who nodded at me. The man sitting behind a desk in his tunic was young, a noble, but he was not one of the thin stripped tribunes, but a wide one, a man with battle experience and would command the legion if the Legate was indisposed. This man was in charge of keeping an eye on the Chatti and the Cherusci.
Now he eyed me with a look that seemed to equal me with an insect. He finally nodded, and I saluted him. ‘Hraban? Chariovalda’s man?’ he asked with a thin voice and bent down to write as if waiting for me to leave.
‘I am. Is he well?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘I do not know. I am not his friend. I am not his father. But his Batavi are scattered from here to Castra Vetera, and he is evidently there, at the end of the string with the 2nd Batavorium and the bastards of the XVIII Legion, sleeping well in their safe fort.’ He sneered at the scroll he was writing. ‘We have some of the Batavi here, and I don’t say they are useless.’ He took a long breath and rubbed his eyes. ‘And now to the ungrateful part. Lucius told me you were held by Segestes,’ he said. ‘This is a bit irregular, as he is our ally, and we are on his land. Technically. Land can change hands really fast, after all. I am tribune Paullus Ahenobarbus, by the way.’
I looked at his hard, squinting eyes and spoke. ‘Segestes. He is a treasonous toad who is a Roman one day, Germani the next and ultimately wishes to be the lord of the northern Germania. And I would have to speak to Drusus about this problem.’
‘You mean his highness Nero Claudius Drusus?’ he asked me with resentment. ‘He is high as the moon in the sky and you would speak with him?’
‘He asked me to call him Drusus after I saved his life. And perhaps his army,’ I told him neutrally, and he flinched.
The tribune did not react for awhile as he mulled my words over. Finally, he spoke. ‘Drusus it is. But as for Segestes. The fact remains we are on his land. What was your crime towards him?’
I must have looked shocked for he smiled. ‘My crime? I am a Decurion of Roman auxilia and my crime was to find out his duplicity against our lord. He did a favor to another traitor, Antius the Negotiatore,’ I said and felt blood trickling to the ground from the arrow wound, which the tribune looked at with some discomfort. ‘He might have betrayed his kin the Cherusci, but his loyalty is not to Drusus either. They will kill him here, as soon as he arrives. Drusus.’
He scowled at me, weighing my words against his duty to keep the castra safe. ‘Armin, Armin. Arbalo was a disaster for both sides and now this. Drusus will be here the next year and you claim he is in danger,’ he said, eyeing me carefully. ‘Hraban. The Oath Breaker would advise me so.’
‘So you know about me?’ I asked him. He did not look like a warrior, even if he should be experienced in battle. His hair was immaculately cut, his chin weak, and he was obviously very well connected, but perhaps that was what a man keeping tabs on Segestes had to be like.
He nodded. ‘Nero Claudius Drusus has asked me to keep an eye out for trouble. And even you, I recall. I am not over fond of our lord, though. You can see why. This hole of Hades is hardly an endorsement for one’s career. But here I serve, and losing a fort would be even more disastrous to my career. Of course, we should convey your concerns to Drusus himself.’ Then he turned his face back to the writing. ‘Snow is coming. Soon, no man will ride or sail very far from the castra. In the spring, there will be war. We will aid Segestes, he will aid us.’
‘But Drusus—’
‘I shall discuss with Drusus on how we will proceed. After the winter. I do hate the snow.’
‘I must leave and speak with him.’
He dipped
his pen in ink and continued as if I had not uttered a word. ‘As for you. You might have to leave, but not the way you thought. As I said, we should not make an enemy of Segestes. Now, out there stands a man of the same lord. A nobody, really, just a servant of Segestes claiming to be looking for a rogue who stole a fortune in silver and gold from his lord. He is requesting peaceful handover of a rogue in question. What am I to do? He demands I give you up. I could imprison you to make them happy?’
‘If Nero Claudius Drusus only heard what I—’
‘Drusus, remember? I see your dilemma, but I also have many men I have to keep alive this coming winter,’ he said, cutting me off rather brusquely, and then he breathed deep, evidently resenting the fact that I had made him lose his patience. ‘Is there anything you can tell me to give me some way of avoiding getting Segestes very upset with us? We need his food, for one. And even they don’t have enough.’
I thought for a moment and then nodded. ‘Was there a centurion here, not long ago who rode to his hall, on a diplomatic mission?’ I asked.
He scowled. ‘There was. I used Gaius many times for taking messages to the man. Armin, I hear, killed him on the road. The body was not recovered. Why?’
I smiled. ‘In that case, there are men of the centurion here, men who knew him?’
He nodded. ‘I knew him. He was in the same unit.’
‘Then, Lord, do you know this?’ I asked and tossed Segestes’s dark blue finger on his desk, and it rolled on his scroll, leaving a nasty smudge. His breathing stopped, but whether it was from the smudge or from knowing the ring, I did not know. He looked at the disgusting digit, poked it with his pen to turn it over, and his eyes hardened as he saw the ring.
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 25