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

by Alaric Longward

  Ansbor heard him, and turned his face towards me. They stared at me, unable to speak, and I looked away only to see Gernot near my mother, his shifty eyes calculating and hard as rocks as if he knew of my pain. He laughed softly at my tears.

  I grimaced, hardened my heart, and wiped the tears away savagely. 'Hagano is dead. I do not know who killed him. A Vangione…'

  Euric, having heard me, leaned closer. 'Hagano is dead? That news will kill his aunt. She loved him dearly. Why did he die, Hraban?'

  He looked stern, but I pushed him back, surprising him.

  'Because I called him a damned coward,' I said viciously.

  I avoided Euric’s grasp, and slipped away through the crowd towards Gernot.

  It was my brother who had taken my shield. It was his fault Hagano was dead.

  I prayed to Eostere for forgiveness. Gernot was about to have his rotten bones broken, no matter the cost. He saw me coming, and he was unlucky, as Mother left him in that exact moment to step next to Hulderic. His eyes betrayed his terrible fear as he took steps away, and ours was a game of discreet cat and mouse amidst blissfully ignorant people celebrating a holy night. When I bumped into someone, I smiled benignly. Gernot did the same, desperately maneuvering to keep me at arm's length. I managed to grab his shoulder once, trying to tear a piece of meat off it. He yelped softly as he evaded me again, finally taking refuge next to Euric. Gernot's eyes pleaded as he gazed at the disgusted smith, who was not happy at all with us.

  I stopped abruptly and panted in anger, peering at Wandal's father, who now had a hammer in his hand, warning me with his usually gentle eyes. We liked each other fine, but that night, he was stopping me from doing what I dearly wanted to do. I glanced in the direction of the warriors, and saw Hulderic had invoked Woden.

  Mother was going around the men and women of the first rank, starting with the warriors of Hulderic's war band, as she was the highest-ranking lady present. She held a horn of sweetest and most hallowed mead and passed it to people, who made solemn oaths, fanciful boasts, and gave humble thanks, hoping for the gods to hear them.

  Adalwulf shuddered as mother came closer, bowed his fair head, and closed his eyes while offering his hands. I cursed Gernot, took my chance, stepped forward, and grabbed the great horn inches before it could reach Adalwulf's waiting hands.

  People looked aghast at my rudeness, Mother frowned deeply, and Adalwulf was grasping air with his hands, eyes closed, looking the fool. He opened his eyes when I saluted Hulderic with the horn.

  'Grandfather, people and the gods. I give no fine boast, nor a promise, just a fair warning! I swear I tell the truth when I say the Vangiones are in the Marcomanni woods, ready to attack us!'

  Silence. An owl flew in the dark, chasing mice, hooting lazily.

  Hulderic glanced appraisingly around the silent trees. Men and women mumbled angrily. I eyed them in distress. I had interrupted something crucial, and if there were no serious reason for my buffoonery, I would be in deep trouble, and so would the whole village. If the harvest turned out bad, if there were unexpected illness and sudden death, some bastard of an old man would remember Hraban interrupted the celebration of Eostere.

  They all glared me with hostility, and I scowled back. I took another swig of mead from the horn to show I did not care for their disbelieving, angry looks, and because the mead truly was of the best possible quality.

  That was too much for them. Wulf sucked his breath and trembling with anger, he ran unsteadily at me. He grabbed the holy horn from my hands and screamed, 'You interrupt this holy sacrifice with such foul lies! You try to evade your punishments with unlikely stories.' He struck me, spitting bitterly.

  Adalwulf grabbed me in anger for his humiliation, Hulderic strode forward to help them, and then I was proven honest.

  On the other side of the river, pale torches flared in the dark woods of the Quadi. Nervous horses whinnied ominously from the dark, and rhythmic thumping was heard as a massive number of shields struck by spears echoed over the water.

  All eyes turned that way.

  A ghostly, brilliant figure rode forth, and with it, a dark, beautiful woman with a sad face. The man was silvery, glittering with armor, and his helmet was like Hulderic's, except more sinister with a faceguard resembling a snarling dog's snout. It shone all the way to our side with a silvery radiance. There were a dozen other shadowy riders, their horses prancing as they entered the yards of the first hapless houses in sight.

  Wulf went to his weak, old knees. 'The Wild Hunt! Hraban has brought the Wild Hunt onto our lands!'

  Hulderic looked dubious. The Wild Hunt was Woden's and Holda's legendary procession of the unsavory dead, set to spread terrible chaos and ceaseless destruction amidst the unworthy living.

  That is what these riders brought, indeed.

  I saw to the east, the Quadi stop their happy celebration as they realized something terrible was amiss. I cursed myself for not rousing them before I came home. It seemed the stealthy Vangiones had made a mistake on which side of the river we lived on.

  Vago, for that was the name of the king of the Vangiones, was the man Tear had warned me about, and he was the glittering warlord, dangerous and ill-fated. Now, he set his men on efficient butchery.

  Some of the Vangiones dismounted and entered households, where screaming slaves were hunted down and dogs slain. I saw a woman dragged to the yard and raped there brutally by one of the ghosts. It was a sight that was disgusting, repelling to our honor, and our men hissed in uncontrolled anger at the woman's pain and humiliation as the warrior was thrusting inside her, his friends mocking her feeble struggle to free herself.

  A Quadi warrior exited from a hut, a sick man not able to celebrate. He went forward unsteadily, shield erect, a bundle of fine javelins in his strong hand. He began to throw them at the unsuspecting riders. The first impaled a rider in the face, a superb throw. The man screamed briefly, and the horse spilled him in a tangle of legs. Then the man threw another, impaling a prancing horse, which faltered, spilling another rider to the shadowy ground, leaving him howling in pain. His last javelin missed Vago, who was swiftly charging the man with a spatha, a thick, long sword held up. As Vago passed the Quadi warrior, he chopped him down, splitting a framea spear, the hand that held it and the face of the man. Vago turned to look at us across the river and raised his sword in a furious salute of the victor, while the Quadi warrior died slowly at his horse's feet.

  The pillage and murder continued for a short time and then, out of the dark, a cornicula blasted mournfully. I did not know it then, but that was the Roman instrument for moving masses of men in battle. We saw hundreds of men emerge. Hundreds. Not Romans, but men like us, hugely bearded, armed haphazardly, each holding a shield of different color and shape. Some were dressed only in cloaks. There were a few better-armed champions and some strange-looking vitka with them, but most were commoners following Vago's splendor to war. Their strong feet stomped, and they licked their lips in anticipation of loot and murder, the battle upon them.

  They marched under brilliant Roman standards.

  A vexillum they call it, auxilia unit standard. Theirs was a newly created unit for Roman service. The flags were red with golden thread depicting the name of the unit, and there were several out there, one for each century of eighty men.

  Vago loved every moment. We heard him laugh wildly. He gestured imperiously towards the east, and the dark mass marched that way. We saw the Quadi huddling into a shield wall three ranks deep, the men uncertain, some going forward to see what was coming. Each man in the wall was protecting the man to their left with a shield, encouraged strongly by their women. Tudrus the Older was at their head, his brilliant, golden sun disk standard waving high above them, reminding them they fought for a great lord.

  Buildings sprung to scorching fire, torches were tossed along the Vangione path. Loose horses and terrified cows ran around in panic. Surprised women and weeping children were beaten as they were taken prisoners and car
ried back to where the enemy had come from. It was the first time I had witnessed such terrible sights. I shook uncontrollably, and so did my friends.

  Hulderic roused himself and pushed Wulf off me. 'It is no Wild Hunt, you fools! Hraban is right. It is Vangiones. Gods know how many of the bastards there are. Our large boats are at Marmot's Ford. We must make it there and help Tudrus!'

  I grimaced for we would have to run all the way to the other side of the scattered village. Hulderic's men began to separate the women from their men. The men they pushed into a cunus, a column shaped like a spear point, thick and full of shields and spears, intended to break shield walls. It was like a boar's head, full of massed spears, tipped by the best warriors, who were the terrible tusks of the savage boar.

  Hulderic pulled Ansbor's young father aside. 'Take word to our Lord Balderich. Tell him what is happening here. There is evil afoot. If the enemy takes Hard Hill, find us here, or with the remaining Quadi. Rouse the villages on the way, unless they already know or are fallen!'

  Ansbor's father nodded nervously, afraid, but grinned the hampering emotion away and bowed as Hulderic gave the reins of the skittish Minas to him. The warrior mounted the horse as our column began to form. Ansbor's father spurred the horse to the west, towards Rhenus and Hard Hill. To this day, I never knew his name.

  I looked around and saw my mother go to the shadows, her large eyes on me, bidding me to take care. Wandal was stubbornly arguing with Euric. Ansbor and Ansigar were going ahead like lunatics, ordered by Adalwulf to go and get the large boats ready. Other boys followed them, but Gernot was nowhere in sight.

  Hulderic jerked me close while pulling on his helmet. 'Hraban. Romans involved?'

  He glanced across the river. There, the Vangiones had formed into three columns of packed spears, meant to break the shield wall. They cajoled the Quadi line, which had around a third of the men our foe had. Men screamed in challenge, the priests hollered and chanted, and many enemy men danced before the lines, hurtling curses at Tudrus. I saw Tudrus the Older scream encouragements to his men, the Quadi laughing resolutely at their terrible enemy.

  Then, Vago yelled, cornicula blared, the flags waved crazily, the Vangiones charged, and spears and javelins flew in sharp and deadly rain before them. Screams of hate and bottomless pain filled the formerly holy night, sounding eerily across the water.

  The two forces collided over wounded men, and a fierce pushing match ensued as shields met shields and sharp blades flashed. The Quadi were forced back relentlessly, and back again as the Vangione formations flattened themselves on the Quadi shields. Men fell and died in twos and threes, lost forever.

  Hulderic slapped me sharply. 'Hraban?'

  I shrugged. 'Tear was talking with two Romans, but she said Vangiones would—'

  'Tear? You spoke with Tear? After I told you … Never mind. I will kill her finally, and you can forget the prophecy.' He turned away. 'Run after the other boys now.'

  He stepped in front of the cunus, and I subtly attached myself to it. Wandal, grinning, did so as well. We ran. Marmot's Ford was not that far, but men were sure to be lost in the confusion, and some would go and try to secure their precious cows. I did not see Marcus, but Wulf jogged unsteadily near us, his eyes wild, and Hulderic and his champions were herding men to the right direction. We passed our fine hall. I was scared to my bone, and felt like dropping my pants and voiding myself.

  On the other side of Moenus river, we saw the Quadi had desperately retreated to the edge of the forest that ran across their village. A determined enemy warrior had grabbed Tudrus's standard, winning it from the youth holding it, and was waving it in the air, screaming gleefully while the rest of the Vangiones were pushing at the thinning Quadi line. Seeing the standard lost, a champion of Tudrus, the man in a bronze helmet, the savage man who had stopped me from making serious mistakes earlier, bellowed so loudly it could be heard all the way to our side.

  He cut left and right with an axe, wedging himself between two attackers, pushing the one on his left to the spear of the Quadi standing behind, hacked with an axe on the skull of a man on the right, lopping off part of his forehead. He fixed his stare at the captured standard, and the man who had taken it. The enemy tried to stop the Quadi champion, but to no avail. He laughed off their ineffective attacks, and it seemed no force on Midgard could touch him as he pushed on firmly, men falling before him.

  The man who captured the standard seemed paralyzed by the specter of his death approaching. Some Vangiones put shields and spears together, and the champion growled and jumped on them, scattering the smaller men, taking wounds, hacking with his axe, abandoning it on the arm of an unconscious enemy. He grabbed a blood-spattered cudgel, and with his eyes wild, jumped at the standard thief, who could only pathetically try to lift the pole to hold the specter of a very violent death away. The Vangione fell with a caved-in skull, and the champion grabbed the standard, heaving it with all his might to the Quadi lines where it could be seen gloriously recovered, the gold flashing in the moonlight. The champion turned, suddenly exhausted, and yelled insults at the enemy, proclaiming his worth, reciting his long line of ancestors and his great deeds, and as the last act, he pulled off his bloodied helmet and threw that in Tudrus's direction.

  We barely heard him bellow. 'Yours, Lord. For my service ends here! Remember me!'

  He was stabbed from behind and fore, and he was seen no more.

  We later heard brave songs and heroic poems about him, the Quadi hero called Blood Helm.

  Then, we saw the Quadi break and run for Marmot's Ford, exhausted, bloodied and utterly beaten, some fifty of them alive, abandoning their wounded to a swift death. The desperate women and small children were going as fast as they could for the eastern woods. Some fell, exhausted, became easy prey for the Vangiones.

  Vago began to mount a chase, sending men after the weak ones as well.

  Our desperate plan of taking the fight to the other side was dashed.

  Adalwulf glanced at me as he jogged from the night, his eyes scanning the dreadful sights. 'We will have to bring them to us. Too late to cross. Hope the boys have understood that.'

  They had.

  When we arrived at the previously serene Marmot's Ford, our small natural harbor, which was shadowed by the old Celt oppidum hill, we saw our long boats were being rowed over and then back to our side. They were filled by exhausted, some wounded and angry Quadi men, looking on as the northern forests filled with thick smoke and desperate screams. Some of their womenfolk had fled to the dangerous forest.

  They had lost their fight, but still wanted more, or, at least, the indomitable Tudrus did. The warrior chief was propped precariously at the bow of the next boat, one where Ansbor rowed with sweat running down his brow. My friend was staring at Tudrus the Younger and his brothers, all morose. The golden disk standard was high as a young warrior held it.

  Tudrus regarded the forest where some Vangiones were threatening the twenty or so men who still guarded the other side. Another boat hit the beach across from us as the remaining Quadi men waded into the water before the probing horsemen of the Vangiones, soon clinging desperately to the vales, being dragged across without their shields. Some Quadi stayed behind to help others flee, and these men fell under spear and club of the enemy.

  Tudrus the Older raged and cursed. He spied Hulderic, and I noticed his gray hair had a streak of blood in it as he barreled out of the boat.

  He stopped in front of winded Hulderic. 'We will go back! We will go back and harry, kill and brutally rape the man-loving dog eaters. We must! Will you help us?

  Hulderic nodded resolutely.

  Then, the plan changed before it had begun. The Vangiones had not made a foolish mistake on which side of the river we lived on.

  Shields were banging again, but on our side. In the direction of our hall, dogs barked, then whimpered. A scream was heard. A female slave hurtled out of the darkness and fell with a quivering arrow in her back, gasping in final pain. Min
as, Father's horse, galloped out of the woods, its flank bloody. Ansbor screamed in hopeless anger. His father was not seated on the horse. In the shadows, we saw a long line of men approaching. They held swaying standards, and harsh horns sounded. They cheered mightily and buildings burst into fire behind them, heralding the bringers of sharp spears and horror of death.

  'We could go to the old fort,' Hulderic said, his voice crackling in anger, pointing at the nearby mound. It was full of rubble and ruins and had a sad semblance of a wall. 'They will come and attack, and we will kill many of them.'

  Tudrus the Older was staring at the sudden fires on our side and cursed, realizing their misfortune was not the only one that night.

  The Quadi chief swallowed his rage, though barely. 'We let our boats loose, and you should sink yours. Make it harder for those shit walkers to cross.'

  Hulderic nodded and gave brisk orders, and our men started to painfully hack at the precious boats. They were clinker-built, with the thick hull planks partly on top of each other, and it was hard. Then Hulderic noticed our women tending to a dozen wounded men, many who could not walk.

  'We have to hurry,' Hulderic shouted desperately. 'Carry them up the hill!' he yelled at the women, but it was too late. Vangiones advanced from the familiar wood, led by a man in long chain mail, flanked by a younger man in a similar dress, both on the finest of horses.

  It was Koun.

  Their foul priests preceded them, the dirty creatures eying us hungrily, and many of our men blanched. Some of the holy men hopped forward, cackling like things from Hel, and our men took an involuntary step backwards. The mass of the bearded enemy thrummed their shields, making a deep, reverberating yell with the shields before their mouths, hitting their spears and fine axe shafts on the shield rim.

  On the other side, Vago was sitting on a bloody horse, the beautiful woman next to him, and our eyes locked. She stared at me, and I shivered. Was Tear right? Were they looking for me, as well? Was the woman, was that the Celt, the Vangione woman she had mentioned?