Hagano’s beardless face appeared out of thin air, it seemed. I had not noticed him before, but he was a sneak. I saw he had been listening in on the stranger, who was now talking about northern Italy and Noricum, a kingdom taken by Rome. The man told his audiences as the great Alps were now Roman, things would change for all of us. Some argued with him, but I had to turn to Hagano and missed the rest of the discussion. Hagano whipped some light hair out of his gray eyes, and looked at the girl sauntering around, serving full mugs to the smiling men. He shook his head knowingly, and I groaned.
He would tease Wandal again.
I smiled at him, wondering how he would deal with us becoming men. Hagano had the beginnings of a beard, but soon, we would receive our spear and shield, and he would not. It would change things. He leaned forward, and Wandal, the dolt, mimicked the gesture.
Hagano gazed around mysteriously, and told us a story of Sigfried. 'There was a Chatti slave like her living with the Quadi, near Tudrus's village. Last summer, you see? She looked suspiciously like that girl, the one serving drinks. Perhaps they were sisters.'
I spat. 'That slave girl is a Celt! And how would you know, since you have never visited—'
Hagano made swift and significant glances at Wandal, and I let him have his damned fun. 'I went with my cow-trading cousins, and saw her,' he lied. 'They could be near identical sisters. This beautiful girl was a slave, and as a slave, she should have been obedient and meek. She should have attended her many chores, obeyed the wise master and fair mistress of her pleasant hall, and kept her lustful eyes down. Yet, she did not.'
'What happened, eh?' Wandal asked, and Ansigar snickered a bit too loudly and then bit his tongue.
Hagano whipped his hands up. 'She set those eyes on Sigfried. A dolt like Hraban here, the eldest boy in the house! The similarity ends there. Sigfried was strong as a draft horse, and had famously killed a Hermanduri in single combat. He had an elegant horse, many cows, and was going to marry a distant, beautiful cousin. He was a fine hero in the making.'
I laughed, tired of the game, but Wandal pushed Hagano, for he loved stories.
'Did he marry the cousin, or the slave? Eh?' Wandal asked.
Hagano shook his head sadly. 'Neither. The impatient slave might have gotten her dearest wish. Had she been patient, she could have forced the desperate Siegfried's hand, and the poor fool would have told his befuddled father he wished to marry the slave, not the cousin. It happens however during a feast like this, she set out to seduce him, swaying around before his mead-sodden eyes. She encouraged him mercilessly, so he took her to the woods nearby, and there, he kissed her like a drunk kisses a woman, slobbering and lusty. And he did other things.'
'Wandal could not kiss the back of his hand. The fool is afraid of girls,' I said, although I was intrigued by the story.
Hagano shook his head as he took hold of Wandal's mug. Wandal resisted fiercely, but Hagano raised his eyebrow slowly. 'You want to hear what happened?' Wandal cursed and let go of the dented mug. Hagano grinned as he drank the mead, savoring the taste. 'They were seen by many. The father deemed the girl to have used seidr magic to seduce his idiot son. The old warriors agreed on her guilt, and the vitka sentenced her to death by drowning. They drowned her indeed, and her shapely ass sunk in a fetid swamp, not far from here.'
'And Sigfried?' I asked despite myself, cursing. Hagano was full of ox crap, but I wanted to know anyway.
He made a meaningful gesture at his crotch. 'Sigfried's cock shriveled. It was the size of a horse, and then it was like a twig. It was the curse of the dreadful, dead girl. She screamed as they tied her flailing arms and legs to the trees that would drag her to the bottom of the deepest swamp. She promised to return from the waters and silt to avenge herself on all the weak-willed men who take a woman, but run from their holy duties.'
'That is terrible, eh?' Wandal said. 'A twig? Did she come back? An evil spirit?'
Hagano stared at the girl sauntering around the hall. Wandal followed his eyes, and Hagano started to nod uncertainly, his face a mask of fear. 'I think so. She looks exactly like her. I remember the face. Perhaps that one is the very same girl. They do look alike, and I do think she smells of swamp. Must be all rotten through under the dress,' Hagano said, as he gazed at the shapely Celt serving many more drinks.
Wandal looked at the girl in suspicion, taking a step back, touching wood to ward off the evil vaettir.
'He is an extraordinary idiot, is he not?' Ansigar asked in wonderment.
'Why? Eh? She could be the dead girl. The vaettir and spirits are real,' Wandal said with trepidation in his voice.
I spat in extreme frustration. 'That's Essi. She was captured by Harmod the Old from the southern Celts when he was not called Old yet. She lives with his household. You have seen her before, though not often.'
Hagano shrugged. 'Oh, right. I forgot. I guess it's not her, and it's Wandal who smells of swamp.'
We laughed as Wandal sulked, rewarding us with his pouting. He was not the quickest weasel in the forest.
Wandal huffed and sat down at a table full of happy men roaring for a poem from one of the few sober men. He grabbed a lonely mug from the mead-sodden table, glaring at any man who dared claim ownership. None did, and he happily drank it down, savoring the taste. He burped rudely and pointed a finger at us. 'You will see, eh? Magic is real. Such things happen. So, the stranger, do you know more of him?'
'No, but I will find out. Ansbor?' I asked. 'Where is he?'
Ansigar stretched on a long bench. 'He is on cold guard duty with his unfortunate father, who just made it into Hulderic's warrior band.'
I nodded and swallowed my acute dislike of Gernot as I edged close to him. I dodged rushing men and tripped on an unlucky dog running around happily, wagging its shaggy tail. Then I was close to my silent, brooding brother.
'Do you know anything about him?' I asked him indifferently, and nodded at the stranger.
Gernot jumped into the air, and turned his startled gaze in my direction. His eyes were red from the smoky air. He was a year younger than I was, nearly fifteen. He laughed with his high-pitched voice, ever nervous and shrugged. 'He claims he is a Naristi, from the east. If I were Hulderic, I would strangle him in the dark,' he said crudely and sipped his mead loudly. His weak beard was dripping with the drink.
‘Why, my sweet brother?’ I asked him. ‘Would that not break the spirit of Yule-feast?’
He shrugged. 'He is telling tall tales of wonderful riches, and foolish men will leave us for Rome come spring.'
I grunted. I did not care about that. He glanced at me, expecting more questions. I sensed his growing annoyance, but I did not utter a word.
Angrily, he continued, 'He tells that Rome will have no more Senate. That’s like a Thing, if you will. They will have only one man, a mighty king, or close to it. A wise choice. Why we hate proper rulership, I know not.'
He enjoyed challenging the Germani habits, especially our yearning for personal freedom and the suspicious disdain for kings. Our few kings were elevated for wars and then expected to be lords again, and few dared reach higher. He was always more interested in such boring matters, much more than I was. I just wanted my well-earned spear and shield. He enjoyed law and power, but I thought no stupid law meant anything without the power of the spear, and I pitied him.
'That one king will show Rome what one man can do,' Gernot mumbled.
'Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus, you mean?' I said, enjoying his look of utter distress. I hid my wide grin under the drinking horn as I took a swig. I knew a terrible lot about Rome, and had let Gernot pretend to be an expert, only to squash him like an annoying ant.
The reason for his suffering was our Marcus Romanus. A Roman man, slight of build, he came to us years past and lived in the village with a slave or two, and still wore fine, fancy Roman tunics, which we scorned, especially in the winter. Marcus was the strange man who was teaching me Latin. Father had sent him. That was one of the few times we h
ad heard of Maroboodus. Even Marcus claimed he knew little of his faraway benefactor, except for his generosity in offering this sanctuary for small services he had helped Maroboodus with. The Roman was in terrible trouble and needed a secure place to live, and was remarkably nonchalant about that place being the dark backwoods of Hercynian forests, our home. Whatever he left behind was far worse than our deadly winters and uncouth manners. He was grateful for his sanctuary, and, in return, Hulderic had him teach me Latin.
Marcus sat near Hulderic now. I glanced his way, and saw he was tired of the many feasts, slouching on the seat. He was a man with a curiously delicate face, yet blessed with strong arms. He was keen, his swift eyes darting this way and that, and he, too, was looking at the stranger most of the time. There was something there.
Gernot spat and shook his head in bitter anger. 'Even if Grandfather ordered it to be you who learned the language of the Romans, I know things, too, and I know why this stranger is here. Besides, Marcus told Hulderic you speak Latin like a demented idiot, one with a thick, malformed tongue. Perhaps I will be more useful after all when father returns.'
I watched him go and cursed him. So, that was it. I had been right; the stranger knew Father, or at least of him.
Marcus clapped his hand on my back and leaned to whisper in my ear. 'Merry Woden's tide, Hraban. This night, Hulderic will dismiss the men early. Stay here with Gernot.'
'Is Father alive? Coming home?'
He stopped and hesitated. 'He is alive. He is coming home, but he is a hunted man. Your grandfather will speak about this.' I nodded, impatient as ever. I saw Hulderic scowl with concern, and even if I did not know it, I was about to learn a story of mystery and magic Wandal would have loved.
Later that night, Grandfather was lounging amidst the wreckage of the feast. A dog was growling loudly in the dark corner, hunting for dirty scraps, which were plentiful, as we had not had time to clean the room. Hulderic was about to speak, but the dog started to bark loudly, for it was not alone hunting for scraps. Hulderic scowled, walked up to the beasts, and groped savagely in the shadows. Then he walked to the sturdy door, which he kicked open, and tossed both out with a huff. Hulderic spat on the floor, drawing an angry hiss from Sigilind, who was entering the main hall, and the old man shrugged apologetically at her.
'Sorry, my dear. Old habits. Very old.' He inspected us, apparently weighing whatever he was going to say. We stared back impatiently as he sat down, willing him to speak. He shook his head at me. 'You are stubborn as a dull boar, where your brother is soft and scheming like a boy-loving Roman.' We opened our mouths to refute him, but he glowered and made a curt gesture. 'Shut up. Spring will come. You are not ready by far, neither one of you, but at Drimilchi, when cows are getting fat and snows are gone, there will be great changes. I will make you men in the Thing. It will take place when we hold a feast to goddesses Holda and Freya. Perhaps earlier.'
Gernot grinned, but I nodded and stepped forward. 'Gernot should wait for his turn. I am the eldest—'
'No!' Hulderic spoke the word loudly, grimaced, and was about to spit. Mother looked at him sternly, her blonde hair shuddering as she empathetically shook her head, fingering at her silver fibula in anger, one given to her by Balderich, her father, when she was young. A deer was engraved on it, and it was as beautiful as she was. Grandfather swallowed his nasty phlegm, grimacing and gagging. He continued after having dealt with the issue. 'No. We will need all the spears, even the weakest we can get, for I do not know how Bero will react. It is possible we'll have to try to kill him. Though I never wanted that.'
We looked at him blandly. Kill the mighty Bero? Why not? I grunted and spoke, 'He is plotting against us, Grandfather. Why should we not try to kill him, if we are in danger? Why do you not want this?'
He shook his head tiredly, took out something, and showed it to us. 'He is always plotting against me, and I have my many reasons for not wanting him a corpse, even if I have to punish his men occasionally. Now, he might make a desperate move. You see, this has finally come home.'
It was a thick, golden ring, carved with intricate flowers and ancient runes running around it, delicately beautiful and blessed with unique details. Somehow it left one with an impression of very, very old work. We both stared at it with our mouths open.
He nodded. 'It has that effect on people. This is Draupnir's Spawn, Woden's Gift. You know already my son is coming home. Your father. You have guessed it, at least, sniffing around the corners. There will be trouble, one way or the other.'
'Draupnir?' I asked. 'Woden's famed ring? The one that spawns nine others every so often?' My eyes were fixed on the brilliant thing.
Hulderic snorted. 'I know not how many rings the real one spawns, but they say the old Gothoni, of whom our family is from, were the first men and women created, and that Woden, Hoenur, and Lok breathed sweet life, untamed spirit and keen mind to them. Woden considered them his greatest creation, so he gave Embla and Aska this, a ring to the first man and woman to tie them to him.'
We nodded, mystified. Dwarf-made, I thought, like most of the greatest treasures of our gods, hammered on the anvils of underworlds under the bushy beards of the wide, short folk. 'They were the first, our Gothoni ancestors, and all others sprung from them.'
'How come we have such a treasure?' Gernot asked, resisting a desperate urge to touch it. Hulderic saw it, clenching the ring in his hand, scowling, and I cursed Gernot for his greed. I was a hypocrite, of course.
'Our family has always held it. Our family is close to the first men and women. It is a blessing, a mark of unchallenged rulership in the north, and, I dare say, especially the Suebi revere it across the lands, north to south. I took it when I left our old lands for these far southern woods, but your father took it from me when he went to his exile in Rome. Now, it is back. The Naristi man brought it.'
'He must be an honorable man not to have stolen it,' I wondered. 'Why would Father part with that now?'
'It was his, sort of,' Hulderic said, fidgeting uncomfortably. 'It usually goes to the first boy to marry in the family, but he took it from me without permission anyway, and now, he sent it back. He wants peace, for I sent him away.'
I looked at Gernot in wonder, and he glanced at me, as mystified as I was.
'I thought he left due to Bero?' Gernot asked.
Hulderic shrugged, taking a deep breath. 'No, not exactly, even if there was the unfortunate business of Maino, Bero's son, whom I know Maroboodus did kill, he had good reason. I have asked Adalwulf and some of my men to scout this winter, to see how many champions and men Hard Hill has, and if there is anything unusual afoot. There will be many, too many men there, but we will fight, should it come to that. You will both get a new spear, and you, Gernot, will start to learn the weapons quicker. You wield them like a limp dick; there's no energy in you.'
We were silent, waiting for him to elaborate on Maroboodus, and he sighed, seeing this. 'The guest in our hall claimed Maroboodus is preparing to leave Rome, having been unhappy with his lot in the deceitful city. He will leave, or has already done so, even though he ranks high in the Germani Custodes Corpores. A Decurion, he called your father. The man told us Maroboodus has made a sacred oath, and he will do something rash for some slight he has suffered. He will be a fugitivus. A deserter.'
I glanced at Gernot briefly, and he looked at me smugly. He had known this already.
My mother sighed, not calm and stoic anymore, but distressed. 'I see,' she said heavily.
Hulderic fixed an eye on her. 'I am sorry, my dear, that he was sent away, but I had my reasons.'
She shrugged and spoke, 'I know them, and even if I might not approve, or believe as deeply in these matters as you do, you are the lord of the house, and have guarded my family. You have been a terrible foe to any who would hurt us. But how do we know for sure this is so, that he is coming? Can you not ask Balderich, my father? He lives near Roman dominion, and perhaps he has news from the Romans who constantly row past the Hard
Hill?' She looked down, her eyes moist with emotion, for she was worried. 'Why would the Bear leave Rome now?'
Hulderic groped the string of bear teeth adorning his suebian knot, the intricate braid all Suebi wore to keep their unruly hair in place. 'I still talk with Lord Balderich occasionally. He does not hate me. Only his tiresome Lord Bero does.' He looked miserable as he mulled it over, but continued reluctantly, 'I doubt he knows more. Maroboodus sent the ring ahead as a sign of some sort. Mayhap he wants to say he is sorry, to a degree. I hope so. But make no mistake, he is coming.'
A thought occurred to me. 'So, if he is coming home, will I get the ring when I marry? Gernot will marry a rancid goat, after all, so I should be the one to continue the line.'
Gernot spat in uncontrollable anger and got up, trying to strike me. I sprang up as well, blocked his slowly descending hand and pushed him over so quickly he hit his hand on the fire pit. A shrill scream tore from his throat. He sprung up, crying in pain, then hissed at me and ran out of the room. Hulderic frowned after him, and Sigilind followed swiftly, pointing at me with her long finger, angry at my loss of control and cruel mockery. We sat in silence. Grandfather glared at me now, and I stubbornly pretended I had done no ill.
Finally, he spoke. 'It will not be easy, you know.'
'What? Beating Gernot?'
'No,' he said, anger playing in his voice for my foolish bravado. 'Getting along with your damned father. There is a legendary crafter, Adalfuns, who will come here in the early spring, if he is able. He has a large stake in the cataclysmic events that will shape up with Maroboodus's return. The ring contains doom. Adalfuns will help me reason with my Maroboodus, but you have to be very careful. Do not be rash.'
'I don't understand,' I said, confused. 'A crafter? Cataclysmic event? What doom?'
'You will understand in time. Maroboodus is coming home. I hoped he would never do so, but we will do as we must.' He looked tired.
The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1) Page 4