We rode amongst the swaying trees and through rich fields of wheat, and occasionally, on a hillside, turned to look at the distant hubbub of legionnaire camps getting torn down as the men prepared to march. We rode by the Danubius, aiming for the northwest, and while Tiberius and his legati were busily readying the legions, planning for supply routes, and gathering information, we were riding away from all that.
Adalwulf grunted. “You think they can pacify the downtrodden Breuci fast?”
I shook my head. “It will take years. The cauldron has been boiling for years.” The entire army was turning to squash the rebellion as fast as it could, but there was life and anger in the beast we had awoken, and I knew the tribes would fight to the death.
“Where are we going?” Postumus asked, pulling us from our contemplations.
I turned to Armin, who nodded at a wooded, dark hill not too far ahead. There, next to the Danubius and on the hill, Maroboodus waited.
“There,” I said, and nodded that way. “You are going home.”
Postumus frowned, took a swig of wine from a gourd, and nodded resolutely. “No more ceremony to it? No word from Tiberius?”
I gazed at him, and lied. “He wanted it this way.”
He rode for a moment, looking backwards. “Farewell, Rome. So be it.”
We rode on, silently, avoiding people as best we could, but passed villages where farmers, terrified, would stick their heads out to see us passing by.
“Soon,” Armin said nervously. “You know how to speak Germani?” he asked Postumus.
The man shook his head, smiling like a skeleton. “No, not really. Hraban tried, but I have no skill. What does he look like?”
“Redheaded bastard with a limp that I gave him,” I spoke softly. “You will know him, and he speaks Latin just fine. He is going to be armored head to foot, he’ll be gaudy like a Viminal Hill whore, and he’ll be unable to smile.”
Postumus chuckled. “You have been a good friend. And I suppose if you are in trouble, we can watch out for each other? I have not had … friends in Rome.”
I gave him a look, felt my heart shrinking into a lump of rock, and nodded tightly. “Yes, Postumus, thank you,” I said, leaving him frowning. I turned to Armin, and considered him. I hesitated, wrestling with something I had decided, and then made up my mind. “I would see Father before the rest of you arrive. I’ll ride ahead.”
He gave me a long look, and I held his eyes. He spoke evenly. “Do not make trouble, Hraban. Remember your family. Do not insult him. He is on that hill, but if you--”
“I will behave,” I said, and rode hard. Ulrich, Adalwulf, and Wandal hesitated, then joined me, and we kicked the horses so hard it looked like a race.
Wandal called out. “Why do you need to do this, Hraban? He might very well gut you when he sees you. Doesn’t matter what he has promised, eh?”
“Hraban?” Adalwulf yelled. “What are you doing?”
“Hraban?” Wandal called out, but I rode on, and pulled off the Roman helmet, dropped it to the side of the field, where it splashed in a muddy rut, a treasure any Germani might kill for. I pulled out my old helmet, the Athenian one, and pulled it on, holding my spear awkwardly under my arm.
I looked behind, saw Armin staring our way, and then he stopped riding, and turned to look at the woods.
From there, a line of men rode out. They wore partially Roman armor, sported wild, long hair, and their standards glittered.
It was Ala I Tungrorum.
The auxilia were silent as death, their horses powerful, and the Germanic and Gaulish auxilia rode at the unsuspecting Matticati with no announcement, or mercy. I saw Flavus with them, and Germanicus, and dozen Praetorians. Flavus was screaming something and Germanicus had his sword high, his horse prancing as some three hundred riders swooped like hunting hawks at Armin’s troop.
“Hraban!” Wandal yelled.
“Follow, you damned fool!” I screamed. “There are too many!”
We rode on, and turned at the foot of the hill.
“Hraban! What is this?” Wandal demanded.
“The end,” I said harshly. “Gods, but Flavus caught them!”
What we saw was the end indeed. Matticati were falling from their horses. Javelins were tossed at them, and the poor bastards were trying to regroup. Spears flashed as the enemy pushed deep into the Matticati ranks, swords stabbed, and the Tungri rode hard around the Matticati, surrounding them. A large man, a savage Matticati rammed a spear at a Tungri decurion, impaling the man so hard he flew head over heels from the Roman saddle. The Matticati champion screamed as swords flashed, and he was stabbed to the realm of Woden from two sides, and his corpse fell to the muddy grass. Here and there, a wounded man howled, and some were fighting under the hooves of the horses, but the main, bitter fight took place out of sight, as the enemy had our men surrounded.
Briefly, the horses shifted away and I saw Postumus, yelling, and then surrounded by the Tungri. His sword was taken, he struggled and screamed, and a large Tungri struck him off his horse. Soon he was hauled on a saddle and dragged away towards Germanicus.
“Armin is dead,” Adalwulf said. “He is—"
“Wait,” I snarled, my belly knotted with fear.
A man fell from the saddle. It was a Tungri. A man appeared, Horse-Arse, and stabbed another down. From behind him, Armin surged out, covered in blood. Grip was next to him, bleeding from his face. Four others joined them and rode over three Tungri, and then took off with the enemy in pursuit.
They might get away.
Germanicus was screaming, but Flavus shook his head, and the pursuers were recalled. The Tungri turned and killed the rest of the trapped Matticati.
Armin rode away, looking behind. I lifted my hand, and I felt his rage from afar.
“We should have helped him,” Wandal said simply. “We should have.”
I nodded. “We can still kill ourselves, if you wish?”
“Think he makes it?” Ulrich asked.
I nodded. Armin would go home, a beggar with no victory under his belt, but still a survivor. He would go to his father Sigimer, and hide, trying to build a new rebellion in the North without a famous victory in the South.
Flavus was looking our way.
Then he spoke to Germanicus, who was arguing, but no man came our way.
“We should flee,” Wandal said. “Germanicus will want us all dead.” Indeed, Germanicus was pointing his sword at us, but was promptly ignored.
From behind, I heard neighs. Dozens of them. I saw Germanicus staring at us. Then he gestured at something behind us, his face white with horror.
I turned to meet my father.
There was a huge host of men, two thousand and more. All were armored in leather and chain, most with freshly painted shields and elaborate Suebian knots. Their beards were thick, the men healthy and powerful, and I knew it was the personal warband of Maroboodus. A chief might employ a dozen men, the rich ones a hundred, but a true king would have thousands, and he had to keep such men happy with riches and fame. Gold and silver glittered on their fingers, speaking of such riches, and fame as well.
The banner of the bear, red on black on a tall, silvery cross pole was high amidst the richly armored bodyguard.
“Hraban,” Wandal said thickly, and repeated himself. “We should flee!”
Adalwulf grunted. “Too late. Again. This is not—”
“This is what it is, Adalwulf,” I said.
Indeed, they were too near. We were caught.
I watched Father as he rode forward. He sat proudly on his saddle. A bear cloak hung around his shoulders and it was black as night. His sword, new and long, was silver hilted and girted high on his hip, and he wore a helmet with a pair of small bone horns amid golden etchings. His beard was still red, lustrous, and his eyes were steely pits of suspicion.
Maroboodus, a savage beast, huge and menacing, rode forward and I rode to him, and we met beneath a tree, as his host spread left and right. The Tungri
began to leave in almost indecent haste. Maroboodus eyed the land, took in all the details and those eyes fixed onto mine, and then he watched my men. His expression was impossible to gauge, but that is how it had always been with him. Except when he intended to kill you.
Then you could see it.
He was still thinking about it.
“Armin the Cherusci,” he said. “He survived?”
“For now,” I said. “He fled.”
“I don’t like it,” he murmured. “How did this go? As planned?”
His voice was dripping with irony.
I shrugged. “Rome has a rebellion in its hands. A rebellion that will be bloody and long. I suppose that is to your benefit.”
He stared at the group of Tungri, and I turned to look at them as well. He watched Postumus being carried away, and the Tungri retreating. Maroboodus spoke thickly. “Is he—”
“He is there, yes,” I agreed. “Now they will take him back to Rome.”
“Alas,” he lamented, “that he seems fated to be forever out of my reach.”
“Your son is a good man. A strong man, in case you wondered.”
He laughed. “No, I didn’t wonder. Never did. All my sons are strong men, for my seed is that of the first men, of Woden’s own blood. But they are also unlucky and unfortunate men, often causing mischief.” He smiled sadly. “So, as you said, Tiberius is too busy fighting his allies to attack me.”
I shifted in my saddle and pointed to the south. “I think he will be. All that land is burning. Will you go and help them?”
He stroked his beard, and hesitated, as Postumus was taken to the woods. He spoke with a bitter voice. “No. I think not. We shall parley with Tiberius, eh? It will be easier than losing thousands in an uncertain war, and to be honest, the Breuci are no friends to us either. Let them choke each other. We have time.” He gave Wandal a glance and then Maroboodus rode around me, staring at me. “And that Germanicus,” he said with amusement. “will be a hero. A rival to Tiberius, indeed!”
“Perhaps not,” I told him.
He snorted. “Now, what should I do with you? Should I slay you? It is a rare thing to have you in my claws, and you seem to have made a mess of our deals.”
“I won’t beg, Father,” I told him. “My knees are stiff, and I don’t find humility amusing.”
“I know you don’t, and won’t,” Maroboodus said. “Will you give an oath not to murder me while I ponder if I shall murder you after all?”
“I have made my oaths,” I told him sullenly. “But I will make another one. I will not try to murder you unless I must.”
He chuckled. “Must? Woden’s arse, but you are a nasty specimen. I am in no hurry. Come.” He turned his horse and led us away.
The Marcomanni surrounded us as we rode north.
Wandal rode with me. “He is very calm over Postumus.”
“He is happy he doesn’t have to go to war,” I answered. “Inside, he is on fire.”
He looked behind. “We got very lucky. But now we are—”
“In trouble, Wandal,” I answered. “In deep trouble. There is something you will have to know.”
He watched me like a hawk.
“When Tiberius and I planned on how to release him from Rhodes, with the help of Maroboodus, we had trouble figuring out how to make Maroboodus trust us.”
“Yes?”
I took a deep breath, and went quiet.
Adalwulf spoke instead. “The families we rescued, mine and his, are here. We hired the mercenaries to take them to Maroboodus as hostages. They are in his village. They were supposed to be released for Postumus.”
He stared at Adalwulf, then at me. “And Tudrus, and Agetan?”
“They went free,” I told him. “I wanted you all to fly free, but you didn’t wish to. We had no choice. No matter where Cassia and Gisil would have travelled, there would have been danger for them. Maroboodus was willing to hold them safe until things calmed down, in return for things he desired.”
“And he desired Postumus,” Wandal said. “A callous decision, Hraban, to send your family to him.”
“I didn’t want you on this road because it is paved with callous decisions and bones,” I told him coldly.
He pressed on. “You risked your family.”
“I did more than that,” I told him. “I gave him an heir.”
He stared at me. “Gervas?”
“I gave him Gervas, and I hear he likes Gervas just fine,” I told him. “It was a hard decision, Wandal. My son for his safety.”
He frowned. “How would Gervas have been safe, with Tiberius going to war with him? You—”
I waved my hand, and he went quiet.
Adalwulf spoke. “Be that as it may, we must see what sense he shall make of the situation.” Adalwulf was very unhappy. “We must try to fix things.”
That was aimed at me.
I didn’t let Wandal ask more questions, but rode forward, and left him with Ulrich. How could I explain to him that the sacrifice I had made had been necessary? Only Maroboodus could protect Gervas. Only he had a motive to.
Gervas was of his blood.
We followed the Marcomanni, we crossed the Danubius, and it took many hours. Two men drowned, and we lost a dozen horses. Then we rode to the depths of the former Boii lands. The afternoon and the evening seemed oddly silent in those lands, horses alone were neighing, and dogs barking deep in the woods.
At one point, I found myself riding next to Maroboodus.
Maroboodus gave me a baleful look, and then the man spoke. “So,” he said stiffly. “How did you find Rome?”
I said nothing.
How did I find Rome?
Treacherous, full of lies, full of promise, full of tears and wonders, but I knew what he was waiting for.
“Well?” he snarled.
I rubbed my eyes. “You know the answer to that.”
“I know,” he said, “that no young man in Rome can survive with his honor intact.”
I shrugged. “No, one cannot. And yet, you killed my mother and grandfather when you came home. That was on you. Rome or no Rome, Sigilind’s slashed throat is your fault, as was Hulderic’s death.”
He was cursing softly, and then he sighed. “Such trouble you are. Wherever my Raven lands, it shits on my plans. My wounds ache, Hraban, and I have you to thank for that. I limp. And you, damned bastard, set Catualda free in the lands of the Semnones. He went to Stone Home, their largest trade town, and claimed to hold Draupnir as he searched for men to hunt me. It is a lie they have heard before, Hraban, because I made such a lie there once, when I was young. And yet, he has managed to strain my relations with the Semnones, our own kin. It is unfortunate, isn’t it?”
“I hear you have more than twenty thousand men,” I retorted. “More than enough to confront your foes.”
He chuckled. “More than enough. Even the wilder Hermanduri obey me after that attempt to topple me, arranged by the old goat Augustus. It was rather clever of him, I give him that. Some Sarmatian tribes serve me, did you know? They helped with the Hermanduri. It is a great alliance. Even the Quadi are growing in power again.” He gave me a long look. “Did I make a mistake by leaving Tudrus the Younger alive?”
I gave him a long look. “What?”
“Your friends decided to accompany your family.”
I rode quietly, in shock.
The bastards didn’t leave when The Gold Wolf told them to go? They followed Cassia and Gisil?
He went on. “He is of the noblest of the Quadi blood. He is a problem, since the Quadi have new lords. But so far, he has been happy in Goldhelm. That is an oppidum, which I took from the Boii. A fine hill-fort, if I say so myself.”
“Is he going to plant a spear in my guts, when we meet?” I asked him.
He was shaking his head. “Tudrus? No. He was quite surprised to find where you had sent your family. Your wife spoke sense to him. He seems happy now. So does his wife.” He smiled. “I let your wife write to you,
but I made sure she didn’t mention them. I wanted to be in possession of a surprise, in case things went wrong. And they did, didn’t they?”
“My family?” I asked him. “How are they?”
He shifted his cloak, embarrassed. “Your wife is a healer. I have men watching her. She has influence and use in the tribe, and I like her fine. Your son?” He smiled. “He loves his grandfather.”
“You bastard,” I muttered.
“I love him as well,” he told me. “Considering what just happened to Postumus, I love him even better. Though, perhaps, I shall have another son, and yours will have to settle for a third of my kingdom, when I am no longer there.”
“Another child? With Gunhild?”
His face darkened, and he rode quietly for a time. That subject, thanks to the Burlein debacle, was apparently still not something one should discuss openly. He gave me an appraising look. “In the woods of Germania, they still sing of the Oath Breaker. And now in Rome as well? People died because of you. People will die, for you, all over this land. Postumus. They will make him suffer. They will think he abandoned Rome, and they will know who his father is. And Julia. Poor Julia. You have a talent of making enemies. And corpses.”
“Poor Sigilind,” I said. “And Hulderic.”
He laughed. “Years and years, and still you cannot speak of anything but—”
“My dead kin,” I finished. “Will I see my family today?”
“I rarely make war on women and children. Rarely,” he added ominously. “I didn’t on Sigilind. You get to enjoy their company. I have plenty of business to settle, thanks to this Tiberius affair, and you being here.” He nodded at the far away rows of mountains. “They keep my kingdom more than spears. The Boii, they are slaves. Ten thousand of them there were, but Marcus scouted them, Hraban. Dacians ripped their soul out years ago, and we had little trouble taking them down. I have a kingdom, and you, Hraban, yet again have nothing but a hall I own. Keep that in mind if you wish to make trouble. Do not irritate my warlords, and people. They know of you, and dislike you. We all dislike you. We have nothing in common but Gervas.”
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