The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  I did not really know much about the nefarious Bero. The old, unforgiving enemy of ours was Hulderic's age, and, like Hulderic, a feared warlord. Both came from lands faraway beyond the Gothonia, past the hills and flatlands of the north, from beyond the mysterious Mare Gothonia. They disliked each other, like the worst of rivals fighting over the last seat in Valholl. They had both come to the Marcomanni, tired and destitute, seeking a new life, competing for the attentions of mighty Balderich, the famous grandson of the ancient doomed hero, Aristovistus. Hulderic had got the beautiful Sigilind, Balderich's young daughter, to marry Maroboodus, my father, and so Balderich became my other grandfather, one I had not seen.

  Their happiness ended there. Bero managed to grasp much power away from Balderich and the foolish Maino. Bero's dull son died, rumors say by my father's swift hand. Maino had also competed for Sigilind. It ended up in an unsolved feud, one that was seemingly settled openly, as my smirking father could not be proven guilty. In the end, Maroboodus left for the Roman lands and the harsh Roman service. He would visit the home every now and then during those early years, and so Gernot, my smaller, weasel-like brother, and I were born.

  It is said Maroboodus found power and success in Rome, and there he was to this day. Hulderic avoided speaking about him, though sometimes he did, in short, terse sentences, always a bitter disappointment playing on his old features.

  With my father absent, Bero became increasingly powerful under Balderich while we grew with Balderich's famous blood running through our veins—blood denied to Bero. Hulderic guarded us, nervous, knowing Balderich was very old, and one day soon, many things would be decided. Occasionally, some men died and disappeared during their simmering feud. When Hulderic travelled to the tall Hard Hill where Balderich ruled and Bero governed, usually for a great Thing of the Marcomanni gaus, he went well-guarded and used unexpected routes.

  I mulled about these things as I was carefully examining the strength of my new shield and waiting for Hulderic to come to us. My friends smirked at me in derision. I had lost many such shields, as I was not patient and built them shoddily. I should have spent much more time crafting them sturdy and tall, but I wanted to get to the part where you paint them, and so I suffered sharp pains and humiliation for it. Hulderic was merciless when he trained us. I had begged Woden to keep the latest shield in one piece, hoping the lord and all-father would make it magical and thick.

  Hulderic turned from Adalwulf and came to us, in a mood to match a budding storm. He saw us waiting and walked first towards Ansigar, as a wolf would pick a trembling colt as the easiest of the prey.

  'We have a stave for you—' started Ansigar carefully, but Hulderic slammed his shield in Ansigar's face, though not overly hard, I noted. Our friend flew flat onto his back, sinking to the snow with a scream of pain and shock. 'What for?' Ansigar asked, painfully holding his nose as he ambled up. 'I was not ready.'

  Hulderic grunted in smug satisfaction and smiled, showing his teeth, apparently feeling better after bashing his shield in Ansigar's unsuspecting countenance. 'You answered your own stupid question, maggot. Now, come on, the rest of you sniveling boar hides. I have things to do.' Next in line were Wandal and Ansbor. 'Is Hagon here?' Hulderic grunted.

  'Hagano. No, he is much younger, remember?' I chided him, and he shrugged, uncaring. Hagano was our younger friend at least by a few years, but he was part of the Bear Heads. He was hugely amusing, very useful and a sneaky bastard.

  'Gernot?' he asked with a bored voice.

  I spat, and he grinned. Gernot, my weakling of a smaller brother, was not part of the Bear Heads, nor did he care to train his few weapons skills like the rest of us. He had other interests, like the tedious law and governance of the community. What skills he had with spear and shield had to be forced on him.

  'Bero causing havoc?' I asked him, curious.

  He hesitated, then mumbled something. 'Him, or the Vangiones, Matticati or some other bastard of a murderer. Irmin was killed, weeks past it seems. Hung like a rooster, and his cattle stolen. We saw him today. Nasty business, that.'

  I grunted, my eyes glinting angrily. 'Irmin will be avenged,' I told him bravely, and tried to remember the man in Hulderic's band of a hundred men, with no success.

  'He was not living in this village, but the one to the south,' Hulderic said. 'Yes, I will hang a man of Bero's, just in case we find one too adventurous for his own good. We will, no doubt. We won't see Bero or his closest men, I am sure.'

  I admired Hulderic. The old man was a legendary hero and a warlord of note, and he looked splendid. He casually held a red, oval shield, painted with a white bear paw mark in the middle, save where Ansigar's nose had marred the paint. His beautiful, carved steel helmet was lying on the bench next to the hall, and the elaborate suebian knot in his hair was hung with a string of wicked bear fangs. His long beard was shivering with mirth as Wandal and Ansbor lifted their staves. His face was wrinkled and ruddy in the cold, but his eyes glinted dangerously as he regarded my hapless friends. He got tired of waiting and mocked them with female-like saunter. Wandal glowered at Hulderic, and pulled the visibly scared Ansbor to him, whispering urgently, concocting some silly tactic that had no chance of success.

  We all waited, and I gazed at Hulderic's gear more closely.

  The sun glittered brilliantly from Hulderic's lorica hamata, the chain mail. It was a rare thing for any Germani, as was his old long sword, the Head Taker. It was an ancient blade, bane to the foes of our family, and it was said Bero feared it, that it was a blade destined to slay him or his family. Germani used framea, a spear with a thin iron tip, well-suited for both close fighting and throwing, but the champions went much better armed.

  'Are you coming, you two asses?' Hulderic asked venomously, tapping his foot.

  'Just give us a moment,' Ansbor growled with a high-pitched voice, angered as Hulderic made another obscene hip movement. I spied the champion, Adalwulf, and the oldest man in the band of warriors, Harmod the Old. They were sitting by our hall, huddling in the cold, making amused wagers as they waited for their lord to finish the game. They also wore chain armor under their tunics and cloaks, and Harmod the Old held a rare sword on his hip, given to him by Hulderic for long service.

  Then, Wandal and Ansbor were about to show Hulderic just how ferocious we could be. Both stopped plotting, and spat at Hulderic's mocking antics. Wandal, the big, dull fool, suddenly pushed Ansbor to the other side of Hulderic, who was now looking at his dirty fingernails, waiting, apparently amused by the sudden split in the enemy forces.

  My friends sported short, new beards, and thought those marked them as men worthy to down Grandfather. I grinned in anticipation, not considering the possibility of my own ineptness.

  'Go and do it already, Wandal, you oaf. I want my turn,' I yelled.

  Wandal grunted like a wild auroch and charged as fast as he could. Ansbor followed suit from the other side, but Hulderic moved like a slippery snake. His war-shield's rim shot up to Ansbor's belly, and my friend went down with a sad huff and a gagging noise. Wandal swung his stave. Hulderic seemed to know exactly where the hit would come from, and he stepped under it. Then, he was face-to-face with the still charging Wandal. My poor friend crashed into Hulderic's brutally armored chest, crunching his face on cold iron, his spittle flying. Grandfather grabbed Wandal's beard in a vice-like grip and ran for Ansbor.

  'Let go! It hurts terribly, please! Eh?' Wandal begged sadly as Hulderic tossed him over our prone friend, who was still gagging.

  'You are pathetic,' Hulderic told them with little emotion as they were picking themselves up. 'Go sit with the women,' Hulderic spat with a smile, pointing at Ansigar, 'and let Hraban come and cry.'

  I laughed arrogantly, and got up to my full height, equal to Hulderic. I picked up my shield, which he glanced at curiously. I stretched my broad chest, rolled my large arms, and flicked some of the dark, errant hair away from my eyes. Then I fixed a feral eye on Hulderic, who gestured for me.
r />   'Hungry, Hraban. Come, and let me go eat and plan with my men. They already wasted much of my time.' He thumbed towards my friends.

  I saw Adalwulf and Harmod the Old again make wagers, arguing savagely. They shook hands, finally agreeing on one. I grinned. One must surely wager on me, for how would they both bet on the old man? That made my confidence swell like a bloated cadaver.

  I pointed at his gear. 'The chain mail, the shield and the sword, old man. You will promise them to me if I win. When you die, and let the day be far, they are mine.'

  He rolled his eyes, and Ansbor groaned. They all knew I coveted Grandfather's war glory.

  Hulderic spat. 'You want Minas, too? And the Roman saddle?' Minas was his gray warhorse, a big beautiful one. It was scarred, strong, and came to his master when one whistled a certain lively tune. It looked like the Romans had bred it, tall and broad.

  'Of course, but the war gear first.'

  'Come and earn the promise then, grandson, and stop yapping.'

  In truth, he would not easily let go of such treasures, and I doubted I could use the weapons as well they should be used. Only with experience and age, would I be worthy of them, but we had forever played this game. In my mind, I had somehow twisted the truth into something other than what it was. I had decided he would give them to me, and he did not exactly deny it, and that was that. They were mine. I raised my suddenly not-so-impressive shield and waded through the snow. His eyes followed me from behind his shield's rim. It was insulting he had not even picked up a practice stave, but that was his problem. When I got closer, I charged. It was much harder than I thought due to the slippery snow.

  Ansigar snorted. 'Moves like a drunken cow.'

  Wandal agreed. 'Going to be beaten like a naughty child. Eh? Join us girls, Hraban!'

  I ignored them as I bellowed loudly, slamming my shield into Hulderic's. I felt it tremble and the rim crack. I tried to roll like an otter in shallows to his left side in order to hit him from the side. He fell back, and took my first weak hit with his shield. I lost patience and charged again, jumped as high as I could, hoping I would be able to smash the stave on his head and bring my shield down on his so he could not wield it.

  I heard mocking laughter.

  I was not sure what had happened, but I was lying on the ground, and snow covered my face. My shield was in splinters, I felt that much as I dragged it up. I spat blood from a split lip as I sat up groggily.

  Hulderic placed his shoe on my chest, pushed me back to the white brilliance, and leaned over me. 'Next time, fool, keep dancing with your foe. Why do you jump up and down like a hare surrounded by dogs? Deft leg work; tire them down, especially if they are like me, far better than you. Oh, and when you build your next so-called protection,' he toed the remains of my last one, 'it is not enough to ask poor Woden to bless it. I heard you, you know. He will only do so if you make it good enough.'

  Having given this bit of useful advice, he walked to his men, picked up his fabulous metal helmet boasting faded runes of Woden and Tiw, and went into the hall. I got up, painfully. My friends surrounded me, but I pushed them away as I yelled after Adalwulf and Harmod the Old. 'Which one made a wager on me? I saw you. One did!'

  Adalwulf turned. He was young and blond, and a fearsome warrior who brought Hulderic much honor. 'You are a fool, Hraban, to think we wagered on you. We wagered on how many hits it would take to bring you down. Neither won, as it took only one. However, I was closer with the wager of two, but he refuses to pay. Sad showing, Hraban, sad.'

  They followed my grandfather into the hall. I heard them laugh, and one apparently mocked my jump with cruel mimicry. There was a thump and more laughter.

  'Dogs,' I called after them though not loud enough for them to hear. 'Dog faced bastards.' I spat warm blood.

  'He's right,' Ansbor grumbled, holding his sore belly. 'If you wanted to be humiliated, you could have just danced like a girl in front of him, your bottom bared.'

  I glared at Ansbor, then looked away.

  It was then when I saw a man on a horse. He appeared out of the woods, wiping snow off his horse, and I felt a strange foreboding, as if the man was some kind of a harbinger of ill fortune. He was silver-haired with tanned skin. He rode a shaggy, gray horse, and had a huge, rectangular shield hung on his Roman, four-horned saddle, and a spatha, a fur-covered long sword on his back. He looked outlandish in a red tunic bright under his heavy cape. A guard strode cautiously for him from the hall. They talked, and the guard nodded at the man's words. Then the guard pointed his spear at where the stranger stood, and ran toward us.

  'Asking for Hulderic, eh?' Wandal said. I nodded, and we gathered at the door of our hall.

  Hulderic came out, glanced at us, and walked to the man. They greeted each other warmly and spoke with whispers. Hulderic was mostly listening patiently. After a while, they walked towards our hall.

  We heard the man speak. 'So if you agree, I would gladly spend the Yule here. I hear the snows to the east are not over heavy, and I know some people with the Chatti. I will leave for home and visit them on the way.'

  Hulderic was nodding. 'You are welcome. But you said you had something for me?'

  The stranger jumped down. 'Ah! Age! I am sorry. Here! Something he told me not to forget, or I would lose my precious parts.'

  The man gave something golden to Hulderic, who stiffened. He did not say anything, but glanced at me, and his eyes told me he was worried.

  'Shall you take the horse?' asked the man, and I was roused by a shove from my scrutiny of the hidden shiny object. He was talking to me, holding out the wet reins.

  'I'm not a slave,' I told him arrogantly.

  'I know,' he told me testily. 'You look like your …' he started, but Hulderic took the reins and thrust them to me with a jerk. The stranger smiled and pulled out a tarnished bronze coin. He flipped it expertly, and I caught it less expertly but did nonetheless. A Roman coin.

  'We don't use them here,' said Hulderic, bemused. 'But take it, Hraban. Perhaps you can use it in the Hard Hill or Grinrock of the south gau if you ever visit there.'

  I nodded gratefully, and they disappeared inside the hall.

  'A beautiful mount,' said Ansigar, stroking the animal.

  'Who was that? Eh?' asked Wandal as he tried to take the coin.

  I closed my fist. 'I think he knows my father,' I said, and took the horse to the stables at the other end of our hall, wondering about the object Hulderic had received.

  In the coming days, I thought about the stranger, and hoped to have words with the man. It was not to be, and I suspected Hulderic had decided I knew too much already, which was next to nothing, of course. Yet I tried. 'He rests,' a slave told me daily, testily. I cursed, tried to sneak to the bedchamber reserved for the man, and failed many times. Finally, Hulderic found me an endless amount of things to do outside to divert me. I was frustrated, stiff, and sore from the manual work, but still I wondered. The stranger had given Hulderic something golden, and Hulderic had acted strangely ever since. He was beset with issues and management of the villages, but he would sit and stare at an item in his hand, never heeding the many things he usually dealt with.

  Soon, Hulderic's men began to arrive for the two weeks of feasting for Yule. We ate well and made merry, enjoying life as best we could. It was getting far colder outside. The wind was heaping snow on the banks of the Moenus River. Sometimes we could not sleep in the biting cold, but feasts we held, and enjoyed. As for me, I found I could not enjoy them as I usually did, and half the time I discovered myself staring at the absentminded, contemplative Hulderic, and the stranger. The other half, I spent building a shield, meticulously choosing the wood and using proper leather. When I was done, it was nearly as good as the ones our warriors used. It was oval, covered me from chin to knees, and I painted it with excellent images of red ravens, for my name was Hraban, which meant the raven.

  On the last days of the Yule feast, Hulderic rewarded his fine men, smiled at their children a
nd toasted them all, blessed the meetings and peace offerings of the rivals, and made oaths with people we had upset previously. There were plenty of those, especially stubborn grudges over the small domestic beasts lost that past summer. Hulderic returned a bay horse to a happy chief of the Quadi, and received back some pigs and a few old cows. Yet Hulderic was careful, even amidst the joyous revelry.

  On the last day of the feasts, he did not drink mead or ale. I saw him gazing at our strange guest, fingering something small—the thing he had been looking at ever since the man returned—his face dour, yet there was a more resolute glint in his eye, and I knew the old man had made some sort of a decision. I grabbed a piece of juicy ox meat and slurped on it, contemplating the stranger. The man had been silent most of the time, politely accepting our hospitality, but now he was more drunk than usual, and he was telling tall tales of bloody foreign wars. They were stories of the dangerous Rome.

  Gernot, my brother, was also inquisitive about the stranger. He had not been present when the man arrived, but had picked up the scent of something unusual quickly enough. I saw him, hidden in the darker shadows on the side of the hall, leaning on a wooden column. He looked pale and nervous, as he usually did. His eyes darted this way and that, taking in much. He had a weak, brown beard, a sharp nose, and a frown that rarely changed to a genuine smile.

  Familiar voices came from the doorway, along with a momentary whipping cold. Wandal came in with Ansigar, and they shook snow off their shoulders, hoods and hair, and hailed me in the pleasant firelight. A shapely young woman went past, carrying sloshing mead, and we took cups off her hands. She smiled demurely at us, her eyes twinkling mysteriously under her long eyelashes. We gave each other a knowing look and grinned like idiots, then admired her shapely buttocks, which were swaying gently under a light gray dress.

  Ansigar snorted. He was not in favor with the beautiful girls of our village. He was not very handsome, but I think it was more due to him being sour half the time. He slapped our backs sharply. 'Let it go, friends. Hagano! Come here and tell the fools what happened to Sigfried in the Quadi village, miles to the east.'