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

by Alaric Longward

  I looked after him, the scalded brute running for the fort, pulling at his cowl. My horse reared, and fought my movements, but I could not help but stare after the man. He had helped Leuthard, and where was that one? Disguised as mule drivers? I eyed the fort, where hundreds of men waited for the battle's end. There, on the wall, stood a man taller than most.

  ‘Leuthard,’ I whispered.

  They waited for the battle to end. Then, they would go and hunt for Armin. And Lif.

  Pipin shook me. 'The auxilia!'

  I despaired but spat, knowing I had to help Drusus. I stood taller on the horse.

  'Men, it is time to honor your oaths! We will go and rape the dog loving, ugly brutes, and avenge ourselves. Follow me there, and let us kill the famous Cherusci!' I yelled, and resentful eyes looked at me, though some of the braver men cheered and started walking to me.

  Behind me, Chariovalda was regrouping again, with fewer men. Parts of XVIII were still backpedaling and under attack from below. Even the Marsi from the top and the V Alaudae were fighting a nasty gutter fight, with corpses heaping up around it, the legate of the legion evidently wounded, for his fancy horse was galloping freely through the dust, the saddle slashed with an axe. The 2nd Batavi were still pushing hard at the Sigambri, and allowing V Alaudae to send leftmost cohorts to firm up the floundering ones up the hill, but it looked bad.

  A Thracian spat and shouted, 'No!'

  'You are needed up there! Drusus needs you, men, so follow me!' I said with savagery, ignoring the man. Many men looked up doubtfully, for all men loved the jovial Drusus.

  'I give the orders, an optio of the Roman auxilia, and I say we stay here,' the Thracian barked.

  'A coward optio giving orders to brave men? It’s like a weasel asking for a pack of wolves to sleep,' I asked him, and some men laughed nervously.

  He spat at my horse. 'They left us to a trap.' He pointed to the battle. 'Let them fight now.'

  'Get up, or stay in the mud,' I told him. He snickered and pulled his gladius. Pipin grimaced and urged his horse forward, kicking the man in his face, and sprawling him on his back, unconscious. I glanced back where Chariovalda's men were dismounted and in a shield wall, advancing again. I pointed my sword at him. 'There is a fat headed Batavi up there who cannot break the filthy lot, and you should consider not only the rewards Drusus will bestow on you, but that nasty Chariovalda promised gold to the man who will bring him that standard. The ugly bone face of an elk. I shall try to shit in it before I give it to him. Shall we see who manages it?'

  A Frisii shook his head. 'But, what if the Germani are winning! Should we not help them? Take vengeance?' The Frisii had a violent history with Rome, unlike their neighbors the Batavi. I casually rode to the man and slashed his throat. He fell down, and men looked at me with unreadable expressions.

  'We gave oaths. Now, let us keep them,' I growled. 'Men are brave, not cowards who wait for their master to get sick before stabbing them. Join the enemy, or rejoin Drusus and hate them later, if you will.'

  'They call you the Oath Breaker!' a Thracian laughed. 'But, I think they lied.'

  'They did. Shall we?' I asked, and they could have ripped me apart then. They could have stabbed me to death, and left the war behind, or joined Armin. Only some of the men had heard me, but when the tough Thracians screamed assent, and ran up the hill to help Chariovalda, my friend, who was staging another assault on the leering Cherusci, most of the others followed us. We charged up, cavalry and infantry mixed, passed by the remaining two hundred men of Chariovalda's command, who stared at us in disbelief.

  'Charge! The standard!' They roared, and shook their weapons, those without picking up what was lying on the ground, even stones. The Cherusci braced behind their few intact shields, and we smashed into them, wildly, madly, ready to earn our rewards. We had no tactics, no cunus nor a shield wall. We went to battle as a pack of animals would. The enemy gritted their teeth and died, slaying many with weapons, hands, and teeth as men rolled over each other, bleeding, pissing themselves.

  Chariovalda led his men to the left of us. The forlorn Aquitani, poor Frisii, the reputedly cowardly Chauci, and the tough Thracians; all wanted to fight for Drusus, and their humiliation was forgotten, as they tore at the enemy like a wild beast. I screamed as Woden danced with me, Nightbright flicking in and out, puncturing skin and shield, ripping out guts and flesh. My vision was blocked for a while as blood drifted across my helmet's eyeholes. I realized there was a dead man lying across my back, a Sigambri someone had thrown across the swirling battle line. I pushed the corpse off me and roared forward, pushing a blade through a man, howling as someone clubbed my ribs.

  I yapped and growled at my foes. Woden was loving the turmoil, as he danced his bloody dance in the recesses of my mind.

  I was in a berserker's heaven.

  A man in such a battle was no man at all but a primal being of tools that slay. In the fort during Matticati war, I had been a monster who ripped limbs apart, rent hearts, and so it was again. I lost Nightbright, and pulled the Head Taker, flaying around me, my eyes open wide, adding my roars to the cacophony of Hel, stalking the men who would die. A man in his death throes was groping for my leg, trying to kill my horse. He managed to puncture its belly, and I jumped down, ignoring him as the horse fell. I pushed forward, barely knowing the Cherusci and the Sigambri, and the few Marsi from our men.

  Blades and stones went up. Our men yelled, the enemy answered in kind.

  Then, the enemy's line collapsed in many places.

  We climbed over them, all cohesion gone, scared and mad. We carried forward, and hacked at backs, not chests and faces. Horns were blaring up in the ridge, and the remains of the 2nd Batavi smashed to the back of the Sigambri and the Cherusci. Some Sigambri were seen fleeing in a dark mass, Maelo's standards with them. I was not sure, but I thought I saw Tudrus's sun disk standard amongst the enemy, far in the valley. I briefly prayed he would not come against me. I was merciless and angry, seeing the enemy before me but an obstacle to reach Leuthard, who was somewhere behind me, there in the chaos, soon looking for Armin and my daughter.

  It was a Thracian who got to the elk skull standard first, ripping it from the Cherusci champion he had split in half, waving it in utter madness over the enemy corpses, dodging swings of cudgels and spears, and he stood on the corpse of a horse. The Cherusci saw this, and moaned in dismay. Many turned from their flight, and were surging to save their pride. The men of the auxilia and Batavi turned to stop them, the elk skull rattling on top of the pole madly. I do not know how many men died taking it, and Rochus made a name for himself that day, even more than he had previously. He killed two Aquitani champions at the standard, but in the end, the standard was dragged off by a half mad Thracian, and I faced off with the young prince, who was breathing hard.

  'Lay down your weapon, you Hel-spawned turd,' I said, as I punched the Head Taker weakly towards his chest, but he dodged.

  'My brother, Armin, told me it was unlikely you would slay the Roman,' he spat as he swung his sword at my blade. We locked weapons and struggled, and he hissed as he tried to dislodge me. 'I am happy to see he was right. Hate men who slay their hosts. A filthy plan it was, and you dodged it. Though your daughter is still out there.' He laughed at me bitterly, wiping tears while seeing his men getting slaughtered around him.

  A Cherusci was speared in his belly next to him, screaming so hard I could not hear Rochus’s words well. His eyes glittered, as the pale man nodded towards the north, pushing me back. 'They are at Freya's Tears. Armin holds them. Wodenspear knows … should I lose,' he said, and shook his head tiredly, shaken, and then charged me, desperation and fear burning in his eyes.

  I cursed the proud fool, as the young adeling, son of Sigimer, came, and the Head Taker moved faster than his sword. I jumped aside, and my weapon drove down at him, carving his side from armpit to the hips, and he fell back, screaming. A cry of despair reached the skies from the Cherusci as he fell, his young face
frozen in agony. I yelled a scream of triumph, holding my sword in the air, but it was also one of grief, for he seemed like a decent sort. The Cherusci hands pulled at him, as they tore him back. They grimaced and wept, as they fled the field, grabbing horses, many falling to the Batavi charging them from behind, and I lost sight of Rochus. A Thracian was dragging the elk standard with him, trying to find Chariovalda. I could not move; my head was spinning.

  The battle was over.

  On top of the ridge, Armin blew his mournful horn, and the enemy retreated all over the field. The legions cheered, their yells echoing across the land and the woods.

  Wodenspear. I had to find him. I spat and picked myself up, found my weapons, took a strong horse, and headed up the hill.

  I passed one of the Pipin brothers, who were both wounded.

  Gods damn, but I could have used their help.

  CHAPTER XXXV

  Later on, it was called a victory. A grand victory, a battle where we butchered the enemy, and the day when mighty Bructeri, stubborn Sigambri, and brave Marsi lost so many men, they would never fully recover. They had tried to work together, however, and they would always remember how well they had done, when the odds were not on Rome’s side.

  That memory was impossible to destroy, no matter the many dead Roman swords produced that day.

  Germania had had a chance.

  Rome had to make sure they remembered also the misery. Our cavalry took after them, hounding their men through the woods, capturing their wives, and slavers were the ones truly happy. There were hundreds of legionnaires wounded and dead. The auxilia lost nearly two thousand men, dead and wounded, most gravely for their wounded had been left behind on the ridge where the Sigambri and the Marsi had not been gentle with them, but the enemy dead and the severely wounded numbered around four-thousand, a terrible number for the Luppia River tribes. A moaning line of men, with twitching arms and legs, reached from the valley up to the ridge, and a primus pilus in charge of counting them by tribes quickly surmised it was a major loss for the foe, and nothing more was asked of him.

  I rode up the ridge where a torn purple standard could be seen. Drusus.

  He sat on a horse, not his own horse but another's, for he had lost several, and he was eyeing the field sitting amidst bloody trees. Birds were singing softly, the dead were still, as if listening to them. A slow moaning voice seemed to thrum in the air, as hundreds of incapacitated men and women struggled to stave off death. Drusus looked grave, and guided his horse to the ridge amidst the Bructeri and Marsi dead. He was staring at the deep woods where Armin had retreated. Smoke rose to the north, as Batavi chased the enemy through the villages and pastures, burning and grinding down any who resisted. They were finishing the job, but most would escape. He did not turn, but knew I was there.

  'The day Romans lose their belly for such sport is the day Rome begins to die. How many years can they fight like this, the Germani?' he mused.

  'Just as you said of the Romans. As long as they don't go soft, lord, forever,' I told him harshly, covered in blood from head-to-toe.

  'I hear you rallied the auxilia, and killed the Cherusci adeling,' he said, tiredly.

  'I know not if Rochus died, but I did,' I said, feeling no joy for my victory.

  He nodded and looked as some Bructeri women were led down, weeping. 'We saw you fight. You are the darling of the army now. V Alaudae will buy you wine. XVIII as well. They were in a hot pan, frying swiftly.' He sounded bitter, blaming himself. 'The Germani will truly revile you now.'

  'They surprised us, Drusus. We shall not underestimate them again. Though it will take time for them to regroup,' I told him.

  He nodded. 'I did underestimate them. Yet, they lost war kings and nobles, many men. But, they will recover. They have the bloody woods to go to, and time to get back on their feet. Perhaps they see the futility of resistance now, but I doubt it. And the Cherusci are now our enemy.’

  'Yes, they are,' I told him, wondering at the heaps of corpses and shattered shields.

  He fidgeted, wondering if the Germani understood how well they had fought. Armin certainly did. 'We did not even face the Cherusci army, just some warlords. We lost … many men.' His eyes flickered downhill to the fort where the wounded were being taken care of by the harried and overwhelmed medicus, capsari and chirurgii. He turned to me as some Thracians rode by, dragging a warlord, a wounded man, by his feet down the hill. 'You are a decurion of the 1st Batavi now, and will receive an award. A Gold Crown you deserve, but you are no citizen. You will get a hasta pura, a small silver javelin, and gold torc. Paltry prize, but something we can give you. Cassia once told me what you suffered for Armin and your father's schemes. Now, tell me of Armin with your own words,' he asked. ‘I’ll believe you now.’

  We sat there, amidst the enemy dead, surrounded by Roman guards, as I told of Armin, his temperament, his worries, his fears, and especially his clever and many plans. I hesitated, and told him of Thusnelda, and how her betrothal to my father had made Armin an enemy to Maroboodus. Yet, I did not tell him of the ring. Drusus listened at my horrible Latin patiently, coaxing the right words out of me.

  'I am happy the Cherusci are so divided over your father. Yet, Armin will be hugely popular after this. Insufferable. We would have won in any case, but the cost would have been much more horrible, had the Batavi, you, and the auxilia not done your duty so bloodily. My dear stepfather will not like this. He gets nervous about battles,' he smiled in mild disgust. ‘I must take some shine off Armin’s shield before this campaign is over.’

  ‘We go east then, Drusus,' I said, and he smirked.

  'Well, we will chase these bastards, eat well, rout the Tencteri and the Usipetes, and march through the Sigambri lands back home. But, first, we will go and show the Cherusci we understand their message. I have men who know where Sigimer rules. Beyond Segestes. Between the rivers.' His eyes took a dreamy look; he wanted to see the lands.

  'Is the army able to do all that, sir?' I asked dubiously.

  'You call me Drusus. They are Romans. They go to Hades and back for me. And we will make Alisio and the others permanent fortresses here, and rule over Luppia Valley.'

  'I met the men who will try to kill Armin,' I said carefully. 'I would like to stop them.'

  He sat there silently, weighing my words. 'Previously, I thought it a humorless act. It would be best if that bastard had a Germani hound hunting him. Perhaps you should not …' He shook his head, and took a deep breath. 'Go then. Find your daughter.'

  'I thank you,' I told him, worried about his strange mood. 'Drusus. Stay alive, so you can conquer the bastard in Rome who wishes you dead. Whoever that is. You are the best lord I know.'

  He grunted, and his face was clouded by sorrow. 'I have no need to wonder who they are, Hraban. I know who is to blame for Maroboodus. But, I will show her.'

  'Her? Who?'

  He smiled. 'There is a woman who will benefit greatly from Augustus's vision, a woman who is scheming to see all the high Roman nobles killed in wars, and by poison, men who would welcome the Republic with open arms after Augustus dies. This woman is a selfish woman, wishing to see her son in power.'

  'Daughter of Augustus?' I asked warily.

  'We shall speak of it later, Hraban,' he said drowsily, and rubbed his face. He glanced at me and spoke, 'Speaking of the bastards who scheme against me, Antius is meeting us at the border of the lands of the Cherusci where I Germania is building a fort, Castrum Flamma. We will take the legions there, and go raise hell.'

  I said nothing. Crows were hopping on corpses, and we looked at each other, wondering how to navigate the dangerous waters threatening him. 'Yes, lord.'

  'I'll deal with Cornix as soon as we find him. I think Antius will need one less claw in his hand, and so the creature will disappear, no?' he said, and placed a hand on my shoulder. 'Hraban. I asked you once if this army might be a home to you. The Aquila was bright that day, shiny and fabulous. Now the banners are broken, the eagles cover
ed in gore, the Germani forest wolves broken under them. I think you have a home now that you fought to make them so glorious. I trust you. Will you swear yourself to me?’

  I gazed at the woods of Germania. The sweet smells of the forests mixed with the stench of blood and piss, and I prayed to myself. I nodded. 'When I made a man of myself, I swore I would do so many things. I swore I would have vengeance on my father, on Catualda. I swore to save my daughter, and Ishild. I swore I would get my position and fame back, things I lost. I swore to find Wandal. I think I shall never be famed in Germania, and so I content myself with the vengeance, finding my friend, and saving my daughter. The rest is gone. I am a Roman now. I renounce my home, and my people, and serve you in things small and large, in sorrow and glory. I am Roman, and will not betray you,' I told him, and he took a long breath and smiled.

  'Go then, Hraban, and find her. Come back. Be careful.'

  We embraced, the sticky, drying blood making a strange ripping sound as we separated, and we laughed grimly. I was going to leave, but stopped with a question. 'Lord, who was the leader of the Bructeri on the field? Wodenspear?'

  He looked around. 'The Bructeri who fell are on this ridge. I saw him at one point, and he was fighting some ways to the right of here, but I know not what became of him. You are welcome to search for him. Look out for vermin looting the bodies, and for the bodies, too. Not all are dead, or dying.'

  I hesitated. 'I need coin, lord. It might be useful with something I am planning.'

  'Lord, when you need coin. You can ask by my name for such paltry things,' he laughed, and tore a large leather pouch from his belt, clinking with heavy coins. He tossed it at me, and he turned to ride to his officia and started issuing orders.

  I saluted the young lord, whose dark hair was dirty with gore, as he looked over the moaning woods while couriers approached him. I moved away. I spent twenty minutes walking the ridge, searching amongst hundreds and thousands of wounded and dead, stepping carefully amidst broken spears and feverish, dying men, some of who still thought they were in battle. I bared my teeth at ragged men looting the dying, saved a few wounded men from these two-legged animals, but quickly found out I could not help them, and left them to their fates in the afternoon, hoping Woden would look after them, the flower of Bructeri warriors. Then, I came to the middle of the line, where a dozen large blond men were dead in a wedge, and in midst of them there was a fierce looking man, lying on his belly, naked and robbed. His hair was reddish and black, coarse, and he had cuts on his back, a pilum sticking out of his spine. He was shuddering, and I knew it was Wodenspear. I turned him around, and his lips were bluish, and his eyes tried to focus on me, but he could not move.