Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2)

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Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 49

by Alaric Longward


  We glanced to the dark. Besieged?

  'How did the battle at the rivers go?' he asked uncertainly, sensing not all was well with the scene, after all.

  'We are not Usipetes,' I said casually, and he slumped. 'The Tencteri have crossed the river?' I asked.

  He gritted his teeth and shook his head bravely.

  'Hang him,' I said casually, and the Batavi grunted and dragged him to his feet. Very soon the man had a thin rope on his neck, and the two hulking Batavi started to hoist him up. I watched, waiting.

  The man suddenly found motivation to speak. 'Yes! Hold! Yes!' he started to babble, and soon we learned from his eager lips not only had Tencteri done so; they had done it two weeks past, and had nearly succeeded in taking the fort on the bank of Luppia. It was not a finished fort, but only had an agger and the fossa, with the stakes on top all the legionnaires carried. Yet, they were horsemen, and fighting up the walls was much harder than they had thought it would be, and so now they just tortured the Romans with nightly attacks and sleeplessness. The Batavi had to draw him up again for the next question, for he suddenly tried to be brave again, but he came around.

  'How did you know to expect a fort?' a Batavi asked again.

  He licked his lips, rubbing his throat. 'Rome always builds them. And … spies.'

  'The Sigambri? Are they on this side as well?' I asked, fearing the answer.

  'Yes, the Sigambri, too. They went north. Weeks ago!' he told me croaked.

  'But, our scouts told of vast numbers of men in the Sigambri villages. How is that possible?' I demanded.

  He shrugged. 'We left the women home, and moved all the old men from east to west!' he laughed at us nervously. 'The warriors left.'

  'Whose idea was that? Varnis, Maelo?' I asked while eyeing the rope, and he answered willingly.

  He grinned sheepishly. 'No, some Cherusci visited us early spring, just after the snows had melted. They were riding around, making deals, and they told us to do this. They argued, of course. The Sigambri did not wish to leave their lands nearly undefended. Finally, they agreed. Maelo agreed. Baetrix reluctantly after that. That Cherusci was insistent and famous, despite his age.' He blabbered for the rope was getting tight on his neck. 'Armin,' he added happily. 'A young pup.'

  'And they are out there, waiting for Drusus?' Fulcher asked.

  'Yes,' he answered, insulted by such a stupid question. 'They are not here herding cows, are they?'

  'Where?' I asked.

  'That I do not know. We were to attack the forts,' he said, with a small voice, afraid to disappoint us, but there it was. We had to decide his fate, happy with his answers, or not.

  'Do it, Hraban?' Fulcher asked.

  'He cannot tell anyone he saw us,' the other Batavi mused.

  'I can make it quick,' growled Fulcher, eyeing his spear.

  'Lord, no! Please! I would go home to my wife, and children, if the Ubii have spared them!' the man wept. 'With the old men defending the village, the Ubii have savaged many families and clans of the Tencteri and the Sigambri. Please spare me, and let me go.'

  I sighed. 'Fulcher, break his left foot, then we go.'

  The man screamed, and screamed even more when we left. We took his horse with us, and I soon forgot him. In war, be cruel. That was what my father had taught me.

  I was thinking hard, as the sun made its way to the sky. Drusus thought he had surprised the tribes, but they knew all about his plans, and there would be perilous danger for the young god. The Germani were fighting a different kind of war now, and they were ready. Sigambri had been living out there for weeks, with little food, no doubt, but they were patient. Uncommonly so. If things went well for them, the battle would be fought on their terms.

  What was waiting for the daring Drusus out there?

  Wyrd, but I would find out soon.

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  We rode towards the west slowly, and finally spied an estranged fort from the top of a wooded hill. It was in a valley, near the bank of the river, and the ground outside was littered with corpses. Legionnaires stood guard on its walls and around it; some Germani horsemen rode around, while most sat in a haphazard camp. The siege looked peaceful enough from afar, but for the trees, where captured Romans were pinned to terrify the defenders, and for the amusement of the Germani and their gods. The enemy seemed to be a bit over a thousand strong. The fort was filled with mules and bullocks, and there was a huge number of amphorae piled on one corner of it, evidently part of the supply the army must miss terribly. A makeshift harbor had been destroyed; a plank swinging on the currents by twisted nails and ropes.

  Fulcher pulled at my reins. He pointed gingerly towards north.

  As we looked, a column of careful cavalry approached from the far woods, some fifty strong, flitting amidst a cover of trees, spread out, with scouts ahead. It was a fairly stealthy group of men, save a bright red cape decorating the shoulders and back of the man leading them. Clearly they suspected danger, but the leader of the men was as stealthy as a drunken thief. The Tencteri were no fools either, being some of the best cavalry in Germani lands, and had also noticed the men. From our hill, right below us, a man rode carefully towards the Tencteri camp, hoping to give a silent alarm of an enemy approaching. The approaching riders, men who had unwisely but fortunately flushed out the Tencteri guards on our hill, were Romans.

  'Those men know where Drusus is,' I said, pointing at the fifty men.

  'They are in deep shit. Why does that idiot wear a red cloak in the woods?' either Pipin or Radulf growled.

  I smirked. 'Idiots do strange things, or they would be called something else, but how one gets to lead cavalry is beyond me. Perhaps he is just fashionable? Like the tribunes. The Tencteri will be happy to explain how brown is the preferred shade this side of the river.'

  A Batavi growled in his saddle. 'We should stay clear. The Tencteri are light cavalry, some of those riders wear armor, see? They will never escape,' he said.

  'No,' I told him. 'They know where Drusus is, and so we shall save them.'

  One Batavi grabbed me by my tunic, and pulled me face-to-face with him. 'I am supremely tired of you doing what you please. We can find Drusus on our own.'

  'I didn't know the Batavi shit their pants at the prospect of a battle, Pipin,' I told him with a grin. He spat, shook his head, and let go of me.

  'Radulf,' he grumbled. 'Go, then.'

  'It will be fine,' I told him, he looked sour but pulled his weapon. I felt strangely confident, nearly jubilant to be out looking for Lif, and I wanted to find Drusus as fast as possible. And I had a plan.

  'I'll kill you, Oath Breaker, if I die,' he grunted, and waved his hand as he considered the comment. 'You know what I mean.'

  'See you in Valholl, friends!' I laughed and spurred my horse downhill, and Fulcher cursed and followed, his horse neighing, the Batavi following after.

  The scout who had started guiding his horse downhill was glancing up, for he had heard the horses neigh. He kept riding, high on his saddle, staring at the main camp of the Tencteri, looking keenly to his left at the Roman auxilia and towards us, flitting after him. I bet there were other scouts going for the camp down in the riverbank, but I did not care.

  I rode wildly, pulled my sword, and crashed after the Tencteri who finally saw us, blanched visibly, and hit his calves on the side of his dappled horse, his hair flying behind. The trees on the hill thinned out, as we dodged and weaved our way towards the camp. The young warrior before me whimpered in fear, as he guided his horse for safety, low-lying branches drawing blood, his horse stumbling in rocks. My horse was a superb beast of a tribune, well-bred in Rome, and I was lucky in my choice of route, as I dodged trees and mossy stones, keeping an eye on him through the trees.

  He saw a Batavi near him to the right, the brutal face of my companion grinning with anticipation, spear aimed the rider's way. He steered away from the man, cutting a swath that led closer to me. I got right next to him, holding his eyes, raising my
blade to the air, but I waited while he pissed himself, mumbling prayers. I was still waiting, and then we were out of the trees. Before us, there was a churned up meadow, and an army of Germani not two-hundred yards away.

  Their heads rose as one as they regarded us in surprise.

  I grinned, and then struck. A tuft of hair and skull flew in the air, and the young man screamed hideously. My horse reared, as I looked at the camp of the Tencteri. There were guards on horses, and men lounging in the sun, and they all gaped at the dead man, then at my friends and me. Fulcher and the Batavi had come out of the woods as well, and Fulcher had the spare horse which he now let go. Hundreds of eyes stared at us, and I could see other Tencteri scouts coming in to tell about the Romans probing their camp, so I raised my sword in the air. I screamed. 'Your mothers are rancid bitches not fit to lick my ass!'

  The Tencteri yelled, and so we were in trouble.

  Hundred men ran for their horses, their guards whipped their horses and bearded, hate-filled men raced for us, their women exhorting them. I turned my horse and whipped it, following Fulcher who had gone as soon as I pushed my sword in the air.

  We rode back up the hill, not looking back, through light woods, dodging large stones and mounds filled with ferns. Behind us, we could hear the screams and yells of an army of angry Germani. I turned my horse northwards, passing Fulcher, who had stopped to wait for us. The Batavi followed me.

  'What was that?' one of them screamed. 'You could have slain him before he got down there!'

  'We saved the Roman riders, and hopefully, they shall save us,' I told them, and galloped north along the hill.

  There were horses not too far behind now. Glancing down to the valley, the Tencteri chiefs were screaming at men to return, for the Roman camp had to be guarded. Apparently, however, a large force had taken after us. A man came out a copse of alder trees, an older warrior who raised his hand in question. We hailed him as we rode by, his puzzled face making me laugh, infecting the Batavi while Fulcher just grunted. He was still looking confused when some hundred men broke out and through the forest, surging after us, bearded faces full of glee, and shields were flashing with colors. Gods, there were many of them. The Tencteri scout ran to get his horse, and joined the sport.

  I glanced to the right to see if the Romans were still advancing in the valley below, and I could see some men looking up, pointing fingers and riding to the leader, who seemed an uncaring lout, even from up there. Then, he finally gestured lazily, and they started to gallop back up to the north, his cloak trailing behind him.

  'Quick, over there. Follow me,' I panted, and rode after them. We went back down the hill, and surged for the valley the Romans had been occupying, and in the distance saw some of them disappear into woods. We whipped our tired horses after them.

  'I thought you were supposed to avoid the enemy, and keep the scroll safe!' growled Fulcher.

  'I forgot!' I screamed, and the light horses of the Tencteri surged after us, some men spilling from saddles by low hanging branches. 'They will help us.'

  'What if they have been told to avoid the enemy, and they actually obey?' one of the Batavi cursed.

  'They won't,' I said, hoping I was right.

  A framae flew by us, and Fulcher cursed; another had scratched his ear. We whipped our horses into a greater speed, the beast trembling with fatigue and excitement.

  'Why are we always in this situation? Tell me, Hraban,' Fulcher cursed as he gripped his spear, anticipating a last stand soon.

  'Just ride, and save me a place in Valholl,' I screamed. The Batavi laughed, grinning like mad spirits.

  'Why didn't we let them die? Tell me! Some scum of auxilia Germani cavalry putting their noses into a wrong place!' he kept on while panting.

  'You sound like Ansbor!' I shouted at him. 'How many are after us?' I asked.

  'Why? Should I stop and count? Batavi friends! Count the enemy. Our lord wishes a precise number, and the color of their pretty eyes!' he bawled at our fellows. The enemy was gaining on us, forming a crescent to envelop us. Then, when we passed the woods the Roman auxilia had disappeared to, a twanging of bows could be heard, and a cloud of arrows, sagitta flew in like a hungry flight of sparrows from the woods. What ensued was chaos for the Tencteri, and for Fulcher.

  The auxilia were mounted archers from Syria and Parthia. They were men who used composite bows, made of wood, horn, and sinew. They could ride and fire a bow, fake flight, and shoot behind them with the famous Parthian shot while galloping madly away. Excellent scouts, armored yet agile, these men had taken the opportunity to sting the Tencteri passing in front of them. Arrows hit the column of the enemy from the right, and a dozen horses crashed to the ground, dropping men, and many had a shaft jutting in their flesh. One of the men spilled was Fulcher, for there was an arrow in the head of his fabulous, well-bred horse, making the prized stallion a meal for the wolves at best as the beast collapsed, spilling my friend hard, and he did not move.

  I pulled on my reins, the Batavi pulled theirs. We regarded the Tencteri who were looking at the trees with their mouths open, some but boys with nothing but a cloak on their bodies and a framae in their hands, surprised in a way they had never been surprised. Another volley tore into them, and this time more than twenty men screamed and fewer horses fell, for the archers loved still targets. I rode to Fulcher, guarding him protectively.

  An arrow hit my shield.

  'Roman auxilia, you blind vermin!' I screamed, and the third volley hit the milling enemy squarely as they had been regrouping.

  The auxilia rode out of the woods, led by a man in the red cape, calmly looking at the enemy, still strong in numbers as the arrows started to fall in droves, and men tumbled out of their saddles and horses squealed. The swarthy men guided their horses with their legs while shooting, letting fly from angles where enemy shields didn't protect the foe. The Tencteri were confused enough so that some attacked, some fled. It was a massacre, and only perhaps forty got out, riding for their camp. Two archers were dead, one by a thrown spear, and his horse was still guiding the man around the field, his master staring at the sky, held so by a spear.

  A chorus of groans filled the field as I got to Fulcher, who still breathed, and the Batavi helped me hoist him up and tie him to a horse, sneaking looks at the archers who were now circling us, observing us dangerously.

  The red-caped man rode up. 'Hello. Do you speak Latin?' he asked in a passable Germani dialect.

  I nodded. 'I do. My friends? I do not know. We come from Castra Vetera.'

  He brightened. 'Ah well! Perhaps you can tell us why there are Germani skulking around our forts, and the army is starving? Oh, these are the men of 1st Augusta Parthorium, a vexillation I took to war after escorting Augustus home from the east. Nice pickle the old man put us in. I am praefectus. You can address me thus.'

  'You have no name?' I asked, while examining Fulcher's head.

  He looked at me uncertainly. 'Are you a senator in the garb of a Germani?

  I shook my head, as I lifted Fulcher.

  'In that case, please address me as praefectus. It is what I am,' he sniffed.

  I would later find out that he was Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso, in command of a fresh auxilia unit forever lost in the west, originally from the east. He was a senatorial looking young aristocrat, earning his way up the ranks. Unlike many young nobles, he had a cool head and a sense of crude humor. He was young, arrogant, and smarter than he appeared. It was an honor for one so young to be a prefect. He was a likable buffoon.

  Unlike his father, as I would one day learn.

  The Batavi, who indeed spoke Latin, explained what had happened with the Usipetes, the Tencteri, and the Sigambri, and he looked bored.

  'I was sent to see where our supplies are before the troops mutiny, for there is a horde of Bructeri and Marsi waiting on a hill not a day away!' He looked around, as if expecting the whole enemy army to come bursting through the woods. 'So, Alisio is besieged?

  'Yes, it
is, if you talk about the so-called fort by the river,' I said, and he was humming.

  He got down from the horse, and looted one rich looking corpse before his men could. He grunted as he pulled at an ornate ring, which came off with a sickening pop of finger bone. 'Nice! Silver, I think, must have belonged to a Roman lady, Mercury bless her. So, that is your man?' he nodded at Fulcher.

  I grunted.

  'Sorry, I told Murtaxin not to shoot at you, but he has a thick head,' he said, as he cut open the clothes of a near-dead Tencteri.

  'Murtaxin?' I asked.

  'Well, it's not his name, but that's the closest I can manage. A Syrian? Parthian? One of the cutthroats I led here from Syria. I guess we shall never go home. I miss Syria, I do. Pretty women, rich loot, no wet wool, and fewer trees.' He gestured at the archers who had done their share of the looting. They led off horses, carried off usable armor and weapons, and jiggled silver and rare gold, bronze, and pearls in their calloused hands, bickering over some of the more precious findings. Thin men, with robber-like faces, I liked them.

  'What is your name?' he asked me, while turning another enemy around. I looked at him and saw how anxious his men were becoming. Some Tencteri were seen looking at us from afar.

  'Well, praefectus. I am a horseman, and in a hurry that might perplex you. '

  He clucked his tongue. 'I do get perplexed easily, but let us not be cheeky, or I shall roast you.'

  I rolled my eyes at his threats. 'Hraban … look—' I started.

  He laughed. 'Hraban? What is wrong with proper names, like Lucius, Marcus, or Gnaeus, like mine? You people are impossible.'

  I spat. 'You nearly rode into three-thousand Tencteri, who are, by the way, over there, behind that hill. They have few fineries, oh lord, so your bright cape would have made them happy.'

  'Indeed. Would be wasted on the scoundrels. Now that we have looted our rightfully won riches, paltry that they are, and have saved your sorry asses, we shall leave.' He got up, mounted, pocketed his loot, and I could see he had a bright cuirass under the cloak. I sighed.

 

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