by Bilinmeyen
It was a trip I shall never forget.
We were on our way to Rome, Hadewig. We left home, the Germania you have never seen. Future looked dangerous but happy, and while Maroboodus still lived, many of our enemies were gone. Antius the Fat, the Roman go-between for Maroboodus and whoever was responsible for the death of Drusus, was a prisoner. He’d tell us everything. Your father, Armin, was on his way to Rome with Antius. Rochus, the brother of Armin and your uncle, rode with us, and we had so many dreams and hopes back then. Cassia was pregnant, and I missed Lif, but I knew she was safe.
Life was full of hope, even if the death of our lord saddened us.
But, hope doesn’t equal success, Hadewig, and so, while we rode south from the lands of the Germani, escorting the body of Drusus to Rome for his glorious burial, life conspired against us, and our wyrd, fate, changed.
Read, Lord, while you heal, and I keep an eye on our Catuvellauni lords, who wait for Rome’s armies. We have to change our plans, as things look hopeless. Unless the gods of the seas aid us, things will seem terrible, indeed. I will make inquiries.
We are never safe, before we reach the ends of the world.
Listen, while we wait, and plan.
BOOK I: THE SNAKE ARM
“You will stay in Rome. You will listen. You will watch. You will obey.”
Tiberius to Hraban
CHAPTER 1
Near Segusio, Alps (B.C 9.)
I signaled Tudrus with my hand. He flicked the hair out of his eyes, and, in turn, flashed a hand signal to Wandal, who was riding around tough evergreen trees far to our right. Wandal was tugging his horse away from the sparse vegetation in the small valley, forcing it forward, Brimwulf at his side. The archer was holding a bow and arrow ready. Agetan and Bohscyld were near Tudrus and me.
We watched at a group of ten Salassi tribesmen making their way down the flowery hillside. They were dragging stolen cows, and a packhorse laden with looted armor and weapons.
“The bastards are in a hurry,” Tudrus murmured. “I told the Batavi patrols they would be near, hiding. But, no, they charged all over the place in terrible haste, like drunks after golden ale. Never tried to track cow thieves, I bet. I would have found them in a day.”
“Brimwulf found the tracks in half a day,” I teased him. “But, you are right. They have been doing this for a long time. Stealing and butchering from travelers in the passes.”
“That ends today,” Tudrus said viciously. “Probably rob from their own people as well.”
I chuckled. “Germani do as well. And they are poor as shit, Tudrus,” I said, “unable to pay taxes, and starving here in the mountains. But, yea, it ends now.”
His mountainous brothers snorted. He spoke with vicious disdain. “Poor? Should have fought harder against the Romans, then.” Tudrus spat with disgust. “Best be dead than a starving dog.”
I saw Wandal and Brimwulf were still guiding their mounts from shadow of a tree to the next shadow, slowly and tentatively, until they were in a thicker copse of trees, very near the Salassi.
The thieves had not noticed them.
It was time. “Shall we?” Tudrus asked. “We will miss food. The Batavi will eat it all again.” He glowered in Wandal’s direction. “And he’ll help them.”
Wandal had eaten his portion the day before, unable to resist the temptation.
I drew Nightbright. “Yes, let’s go. Carefully. Herd them well, and don’t let them gang up on you. They’ll fight for the cows, and some might have slings. Look out for them.”
“Right,” Tudrus said, and shifted in his saddle. He whistled softly to the brothers. They nodded, their thick necks bulging with muscle.
The robbers would be desperate as drowning men, but they would shit themselves when they saw us. We all wore Roman gear, held oblong shields of the Batavi auxiliary, and hefted tall hasta spears, with wide, glinting blades. Chainmail and bronze and iron helmets guarded our bodies and heads. They glinted in the light of Sunna, though we used our saga, the military cloaks, to cover some of the martial shine. Agetan and Bohscyld shifted the spears to their shield hands. They grasped a bundle of wicked javelins, so did Tudrus, and I guided them down the hill at a canter.
The thieves, who had attacked isolated part of the escort of Drusus and stolen cows and killed some guards, were too busy to get to their villages in the north to post scouts, or even to look around. They had skulked in a secluded valley for a day, and we found them, when none else had. Brimwulf was the best tracker I knew.
They should have left immediately. They’d soon be sorry for the mistake.
The horses felt our excitement, and threw their heads to the sides wildly. My horse tried to bite that of Tudrus, and his horse answered in kind. The rushing, unarmored, and wild looking bearded men were pulling at the cows and yelling at each other, still unaware of us, until Bohscyld’s horse whinnied, and the horse below, laden with weapons, answered.
As one man, all of the Salassi looked up and around, their eyes round with terror. They spotted us, and I could see the despair and fear in their bearded, dirty faces.
“Heyaaah!” I screamed, and kicked the flanks of the horse, forcing it to a greater speed.
Bohscyld laughed like a rock-creature with a grudge, guttural and merciless, as his beady eyes picked up targets. Agetan grunted like a feral, wounded boar. Tudrus drew back a javelin, holding on to his reins, controlling the horse, though only barely. We wheeled to left, keeping in a line, watching as a big brute of a chief, with boiled leather bits of armor hanging around his body, was pushing the men with cows and the horse to rush to the safety of the woods nearby. He and five of his men lifted round shields and spears, backing off nervously.
We wheeled again, and spread out. Tudrus and I were in the middle, the big brothers on the sides. The bandits were hunched behind their guards. They were muttering in confusion, little listening to the big brute screaming at them. A cow was running free, the men cursing as they tried to approach the small forest.
We took our time. We eased up the speed, herding them.
One, a thin-faced man, stumbled and fell.
Agetan roared, and the man threw away his weapon, his eyes full of horror, running by us. Agetan grinned, and rode after him. The man was crying out for mercy, his eyes on the intimidating pursuer. There was no begging with the Quadi, and the brutal man stabbed down at the thin thief, who screamed like an animal as the javelin punctured his back.
The rest, unnerved, ran.
“At them,” I hissed, but I didn’t need to.
Tudrus was already going, looking like a spirit of the hunt, his face a mask of gleeful joy. The enemy ran like mad hares, their legs flashing. They overtook the ones herding the cows and the horse, and javelins began to fly, as my friends started lobbing them at the hapless enemy. One missed, another hit a man in the ass, and he fell on his face, screaming. Yet another javelin struck a man in the shoulder, and he wheeled down to the mud.
The leader threw one back, but it missed Tudrus by several feet, and we both, Tudrus and I, aimed for the man. We kicked the horses, and Tudrus got there first, his heavy spear reaching for the chief, who was either cursing, or praying, as he prepared. His shield crashed the spear aside, the man hacked an ax at Tudrus, who dodged, but fell from the saddle. Agetan and Bohscyld were pulling swords, and Bohscyld hacked down one of the wounded thieves. The rest huddled into a semblance of a shield wall, bristling with spears, finally ready to defend themselves.
My horse thundered for the big bastard, who was trying to get past Tudrus’s horse, and Nightbright stabbed down. He saw me coming from the corner of his eye, rolled away, whirled, and squatted under his shield. I turned the horse, guided it for him, and bellowed as I stabbed down. The shield’s rim took the blade, but he screamed as the blade scraped his scalp. His ax hacked at me, but missed. I cursed, vaulted from my horse, and blocked another attack by the canny fighter. My shield shuddered with the strike, and I felt his breath over me. I pushed him ba
ck, but his shield struck mine savagely. Tudrus was getting up, spitting mud. I circled the man; he cursed in his language. I shrugged at him, not really caring about his threats.
“Roman,” he uttered in broken Latin, before he attacked. “Roman woman.”
That gave me a pause, but not for long, as his shield slammed into mine once again, and the ax came down with a mighty chop. I took it with the shield’s rim, pushing back at him. I struggled with his strength, saw his thigh, and stabbed at it with Nightbright. He danced away. He was very good, and I was getting angry. Woden reached for me, and the mighty god’s battle rage was filling my limbs with speed and power. I saw the god’s figure, once again, dancing wildly in the mists, driving me to savagery. I welcomed the call.
I roared, brawled him back, striking his shield with mine so hard he yelped as the rim shattered his lip. I took a half-fouled ax strike with my Athenian helmet, and growled away the pain. I forced his shield to the side. He swung the ax to block me from skewering his chest. The man’s eyes widened as I stabbed low instead. Nightbright snaked to his leg, split the skin in his knee, then the flesh, and jarred though the bone. He howled and fell back onto the spear of Tudrus, who was holding it two-handed, yanking the man to the ground, where we stabbed him to Hel in frenzy.
He died fast.
I turned to look behind. The rest of the enemy were still huddling and backing off. Agetan and Bohscyld had jumped off their horses, and were walking together for the six men, who were nudging each other, gathering bravery.
One, a fat, brutally scarred man, was growling orders, and the rest braced themselves, gathering resolve.
Then, the man fell.
An arrow was jutting in his skull.
Brimwulf was walking out of the woods to their back, having cocked another from the fistful in his hand, and shot it. It pierced the back of another man and left him on his knees, drawing breath that would not easily come.
The rest ran.
Wandal, guiding his horse took after two. He rode one down, killed him with a spear, and used his sword to prod the other thief into a clumsy, messy death. Agetan and Bohscyld pursued the rest.
***
Later, we had our horses, most of the cows, though the horse with the loot had bolted.
“A bit of action, eh?” Wandal said happily, sitting on his horse, looking at Agetan pulling at the cows. “Nothing better under Sunna. We have done little more than followed Tiberius around Gaul. All the fields, roads, and odd habits are fine things to see and learn about for sure. Lugdunum was a sight to remember, but a good fight is always a good fight. Reckon we get any more when we reach Rome? Or shall we just rot in luxury, eh?”
“You don’t think the mountains are worth seeing?” Tudrus snorted, massaging his sore neck. He had a bruise from the fall, and his spear shaft had cracked while killing the leader of the thieves. “Don’t you enjoy the sight of the women? Did you see the ones in Lugdunum? You prefer the hairy ass of a cow thief to the eyes of a blushing maiden?”
Wandal blushed. “Oh, the women are fine. I prefer no ass to one’s eyes. Yet, Father said a fight with a thief is always better than one with a wife. You cannot defeat a woman, after all.”
“You don’t fight women,” Tudrus said thinly. “You bed them.”
A man was riding down the hillside. He had a huge, blond hair, and he sat on a rich horse. It was Rochus, also called Flavus by the Romans for the color of his hair, and he grinned as he spotted us. He rode close and whistled at the butchery. He stopped before me, as I wiped my face of grime and blood. “Up to your usual tricks, friend. Well done. You saved the cows. They thank you, no doubt.”
Tudrus grinned, and I snorted. I liked the man, even if he was Armin’s brother. “Where were you?”
“I’m not one of your ruffians,” the brother of Armin said happily. “I was attending to business that requires brains and charm. I leave the cows to the experts.”
Indeed, I had been a friend to Drusus, and Tiberius had inherited me, but Rochus, a man I had once wounded in battle, was well-ingrained in the Roman ways. He knew Latin, like I did, having learnt it with Armin and the Cherusci, and had joined Rome willingly. He was a noble of the noblest of the Cherusci families, and the Romans knew his worth in the coming campaigns could be great. He had been conferring with Tiberius every day on the situation in Germania, and I had a hunch Tiberius would go back there to remove some more heads just to remind the enemy there was no peace, or rest, even if Drusus had fallen. Rochus was not exactly part of our troop, just travelling in the same direction.
I shook my head at him. “You have any idea what you will do in the Guard?”
He gave me a wry smile. “No. Perhaps I’ll join you for a while. We shall see what they think of.”
“I wish they told us soon,” I answered, and frowned at the nicks in my shield’s rim.
He squinted as the Sunna broke from some thick clouds, and lit the whole valley. He nodded towards the direction, where I knew Drusus’s body was being hauled to Rome. “We are getting close to Italy. You will have your part to play soon. As it would happen, Tiberius wants to talk to you today. Best get back to the escort.”
“You know what he wants?” I asked, hoping for some clarity.
He smiled. “Yes. He will tell you how to trap his wife. He seems even more certain she caused the death of Drusus.”
The statement was jarring. We all frowned, and looked embarrassed, worried, and thoughtful.
Yes, we all thought it was Julia Caesar who had arranged for the death of Drusus, out to protect her family’s future. Her boys would be the heirs of Augustus. Yet, one didn’t voice such thoughts off-handedly, like Rochus had. Not even in a valley filled with flowers and dead thieves. But, he had, and it seemed Tiberius was not in a secretive mood.
“More certain? What has happened?” I asked him.
“He received a message yesterday from his mother,” he said darkly. “Livia told him Julia laughed with joy when the news of Drusus’s death came to Rome. With joy, imagine that! Servants heard her chuckling for hours. People were weeping, Julia was rejoicing! Now, Tiberius will want to prepare you. We will be guardsmen. It’s all because he has arranged it, but you’ll—perhaps I, as well—have some unusual duties waiting for us.” He shook his head to curb any further questions. “But, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this. Go, and hear him out. You are done here, eh?”
I nodded, and pulled on my helmet. Agetan was doing something with a corpse, and Rochus shook his head at the sight. “Not sure what they’ll think about that,” he murmured.
I snorted as they all mounted, and looked at the trophy Agetan held on the tip of his spear. A head. “Let them know we aren’t civilized yet.”
I’d be a guardsman, who had to root out highborn traitors. Drusus had told me once he needed a sword in the shadows.
So, a sword in the shadows I’d be.
Though what good would a man riding under a severed head be in the city, where games were played by rules we had not even heard about, I wondered.
CHAPTER 2
After an hour or riding, we saw a road that could barely support a wagon. On it, the funeral procession was making lazy time for Italy. We rode to take our place in the midst of the column as it snaked its forlorn way up a craggy hillside. My eyes were looking for Cassia, who was riding with Brimwulf’s wife, Mathildis, near the contingent of Batavi. My crippled brother, Gernot, would be there as well. It was hard to spot them because there was a cohort of marching legionnaires raising a cloud of dust. On the top of the hillside, I saw the men carrying Drusus, surrounded by the lictors, nobles, and local officials who had joined on this leg.
“They should have buried him in the city of Mogon, eh?” Wandal muttered. “He was a man. This is like worshipping a god, carrying an idol around the world. Poor man. Lugging him through—”
“All the lands he helped conquer,” I interrupted softly, “all the cities he built and helped govern, and all the people who respe
cted him, so they can see him one more time. They loved him well. I’m not sure if anyone else would get a funeral procession like this.”
He murmured. “He is rotting. I’m not sure that’s what people want to see, eh?”
He was right, of course. Drusus was rotting. No matter what they did to embalm him, he was as ripe as a boar’s carcass. I heard they covered his face at night so the guards would not be afraid of the lips that were shriveling and exposing his teeth.
“I wish they just covered him all the time,” I said.
“There,” Tudrus said, and we spotted the women on horses, a bit up the hill.
We rode through ragged side of a valley for the road, and galloped after Cassia and the Batavi. The majesty of the Alps spread left and right, and even above. The wind was surprisingly gentle, but not so during the night, when it could be bitterly cold. Hot or cold, I was swathed in my legionnaire cloak, sweating a bit. The legionnaires we passed saluted and grinned at us. Some knew me from the battles in Germania. Others didn’t, but they could see we had caught the thieves by the bloody head on the tip of Agetan’s spear, and it made them properly cheerful.
We caught the head of the cohort, and coughed in the dust as we passed their vexillum. Tudrus nearly fell from his horse again, as a rolling stone spooked the beast. “Not again,” he cursed, afraid to fall. “Damn it.”
Brimwulf cursed angrily, as his nearly bolted as well. “They build roads all across Gaul, rip up whole woods as they march, and build rivers with the ease. They quarry rocks of all colors, across their empire, and haul and ship them all over the place, but they cannot build a decent road across these passes?” he complained, the surliest of us.
I heard Cassia ahead. She was the last in the colonnade of riding Batavi, and I guessed Mathildis, Brimwulf wife, had mocked her husband’s foul mood. Cassia turned and flashed a wide smile at the Quadi brothers. Mathildis turned as well, just a bit ahead of Cassia, and grinned sickly at her man, who smiled widely in return. She kept the man on his toes, and she had been in a terribly sarcastic mood the past month.