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

by Alaric Longward

  'Why do you go to war, Father? Why not go to Hard Hill and face Bero?' I asked, trying to remain calm.

  He laughed, slapping his strong thigh. 'Bero is the power there. He commands many champions. These champions command too many spears. If he chose to, he could discard the customs of hospitality and slay me. And he has bought the vitka and the völva. These foolish priests, the ones like scowling Wulf there, command the divine right to condemn a man to a swamp death. You think anyone would support me, fearing these men? No, I go to war, become famous in these lands, gather both unsavory and loyal men under my banner, and plan deeply. I do have one, a plan though it is fragile and depends on many turns of events.'

  'As long as you give me a chance, Father.' He flinched at that. 'Let me fight Vago, I will do my best. What is expected of me?'

  'I expect you to be there, in Hard Hill,' he said, musing, his eyes glinting as he regarded me. 'You will get to know old Balderich, and Gunhild. You will let the mighty Nihta and troubled Odo work their magic, and perhaps you shall have a part to play as well, other than looking pretty. Be wary of Bero.'

  'Did you kill his son, this Maino?' I asked.

  He grinned maliciously. 'Yes. It was the night of the great Thing, all these years past. It was in fact the same night, as I will try to topple Bero, when I come to Hard Hill. The great Thing night of spring, beginning of Drimilchi. Back then, that night was a happy start for a new life for me, as Sigilind and I had married in terrible hurry and secrecy. Balderich and Hulderic had agreed it so, to avoid just such bloodshed. Maino, the dolt, was a large, stupid Gothoni, Bero's eldest, and had entertained the notion Sigilind liked him.'

  'But she did not?' I mused.

  'No, of course not. So, that night, he was following me around. The Thing was ongoing in the Hard Hill, hundreds of Marcomanni arguing and discussing mundane things. I did not care for Things or arguments, for I was still young. But Maino did interest me. I saw he was deeply disappointed and shadowed me around. Therefore, I rode out of Hard Hill, singing happily, and he came after me. I rode north to the dense, swampy woods. There is a small valley there, just next to the river I had taken Sigilind often to, when I had tried to win her heart. It has an old stone, left from the old people or deeply secretive dwarves, I know not.

  ‘There I waited until the dolt crashed after me. He saw me that night, we both had weapons, and I murdered him. I had loaned Head Taker from my father and this blade—' He glanced at the great sword. 'This blade is sharp and deadly. Maino did not stand a chance. In the end, I crushed his bleeding skull on the stone and pissed on his corpse. I buried the skull there, threw the carcass to the river for the fishes to feast on and smiled when Bero accused me later. They could prove nothing, and I was set free, even if Hulderic paid him many cows to smooth over this…crime.'

  'Maino attacked you?' I asked, impressed.

  'He would have, one day,' Maroboodus said carelessly. 'He followed me in the night so I did not ask for his reasons. Perhaps he only came to congratulate me!'

  I did laugh at that, and he smiled at the memory, but then settled into a calmer pose. 'Maino haunts the stone, you know. It is possible to see his spirit there each year on the night of the Thing, at midnight. It is so, for I sometimes ventured there, those early years of exile to mock him in his sad undeath.'

  'Truly?' I asked, my eyes round.

  'Truly,' he stated, nodding happily. 'But now I have to kill his father, his champions, and vitka, and anyone foolish enough to think things are fine as they are. No, things will change.'

  'And Nihta will topple these champions of Bero?' I wondered, glancing at the lithe man who smiled at me.

  'I will try, Nihta will try, and Odo, he will deal with the priests, who are all Bero's foolish puppets there,' he told me. 'Odo insisted you go, by the way, not Gernot. He must like you.'

  'They think I am the key to this prophecy.'

  'Prophecy.' He grinned, shaking his head. 'But you and I, we do not believe in that. Therefore, we will have them as our personal vitka and völva and let them think gods can die by our vanity and mistakes. Such fools—but powerful ones.'

  I shook in anger. 'They will expect things from me.'

  'I know, and you will obey, as long as it does not hurt my interests. We have to be both careful and bold. You will soon see how scheming Bero works, when we speak with Wulf there. Bero is not one for shield walls, but foul treachery and deceit.' He nodded in Wulf's direction. 'In Hard Hill, obey Nihta. Be brave. You will give me a solemn oath here, over the dead ones you so loved. You will obey me, now. A mother you no longer have, nor a grandfather. Only a doubtful father. A father you will obey well and fully. Make no mistake on that,' he said with sudden force.

  I was clenching my fists, then tearing at the grass in anger.

  I growled at him. 'I will obey you as Hulderic, the man you curse, told me to. I am your son. Why should I give you an oath? This is insulting.'

  He shook his head. 'It is not enough you are supposed to be my son. A father needs no oaths from a true son, in that you are right. Yet I demand it, for you do not know your proper place, and I do not wish to be betrayed, my boy with strange dark hair, so unlike mine. On your weak knees.'

  I gritted my teeth, and did not budge.

  'I told you that I am your son. I do not have to give oaths to you!'

  'Be that as it may, you will give me one,' he hissed.

  I shook my head and clenched my jaw in defiance.

  He roared in sudden rage, reached out fast as a snake, and grabbed my neck in a vice-like grip, pulling me down. 'On-your-knees, boy!'

  I was on my knees before him, and his breathing was heavy on my neck. I considered fighting him, but the thought of doing so in front of my dead family shamed me deeply, so I did nothing.

  'Swear to me that you will obey your father, Maroboodus, mighty and sole lord of this family, in all matters, large or small, obediently, immediately, and with only the best of our family in your mind. You need no rewards to do so. Swear this!'

  I hissed at him. 'It is customary for the mighty oath-lord to swear solemnly he will be a worthy lord.'

  He laughed wildly. 'Oath, boy. Now.'

  His grip was strong on my neck.

  I swore with a trembling voice, in front of the dead eyes of my mother and grandfather. A needless oath to my own doubtful father. It was an oath that tasted bitter as dirt to me. It was an oath I knew I would find hard to keep, even if Hulderic had told me to honor my father. It was a deep insult, one that would hover over us, always.

  He finally let go of me. 'Woden is listening to you, boy. Remember that, and if you do not, remember I make a bad enemy. In addition, you will obey the mad Tear, by my word,' he said, and got up.

  I glared at him angrily, and he stared back until I looked down, bile in my mouth. Then he gathered the fine sword, the heavy mail, and shield, and walked away briskly. His two men followed closely, both giving me blank looks.

  'Father,' I said, and he turned, a quizzical look on his face.

  'Hulderic told me he should have killed you rather than send you to Rome,' I said evenly. 'Your own father entertained such thoughts. Perhaps, one day, I will sit on a riverbank like this, over your cold corpse, wondering why you did what you did, holding your gear. If my children are next to me, I will be unlike you.'

  Maroboodus said nothing, looking at me thoughtfully, as if trying to fathom if such a future was likely. Then, after a while, he shrugged, leaving the matter to the fates. The wind blew as he nodded at some men to come and lift away the corpses. They did and carried them to our hall. I trailed after these men, and sat down in the forlorn shadows. Wandal and Ansbor observed me, worried, but I did not go to them. I watched men lift my grandfather and mother up to the house, over the timbers, and they planted Hulderic's standard precariously on top, where it looked lonely and old, as dead as its lord. I barely noticed, as I hated my father for his disdain of me, and for his foul thoughts of my mother's fidelity.

 
I did take notice when they lit the hall while praying loudly, and I saw the wood of the hall starting to burn here and there. A mound would be raised over my home, housing our dead. Soon, it was blazing, and people prayed. I saw the Quadi carry piles of bent weapons to the wet riverbank. The lost gear of the Vangiones. Spears, fine axes, rent armor and fancy belts, jewelry of bronze and even silver. Tudrus the Older had promised Woden a mighty sacrifice, and so it was to take place. It all went to the greedy river, the warriors disposing of it amidst many prayers of thanks, amidst oaths and deep thoughts, and tears. Then I saw my father raise his hand. One of the Quadi had lifted a broken vexillum, the Roman flag from the pile. Father, flanked by Gernot, went to Tudrus the Older, and they had a heated discussion. Tudrus evidently wished to sacrifice the mighty symbol, Father to keep it. Gernot pulled at Father's shoulder and whispered something.

  The worm looked my way, his face screwed by glee.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to look at the fair Ishild. Her face was pinched in concern, but she smiled as she slid next to me. I smiled briefly and slid a bit further away. She looked startled at my unexpected timidity, but let me sit in peace.

  Wulf hopped on one foot, hollering as one last Vangione was speared in the belly. He looked for signs in the guts that slowly spilled from the twitching body as an expert Quadi with a wide-bladed spear opened the wound. The vitka was arching his scrawny neck this way and that as the intestines fell out. Gernot left to fetch something, and Maroboodus and Tudrus looked at each other, waiting. Wulf shook his head, scrutinizing the mess at his feet and hands.

  'He is looking at the omens, but he will not like them,' she whispered, putting a hand discreetly on mine.

  I let her and thumbed her hand, carefully. She was pretty, but was daughter to Tear. Hulderic had warned me. Hagano's tale of Sigfried came to me, and I stopped thumbing her hand. I glanced at her, tried to remember our kiss, but the memory was far, far away, and somehow, I found it strange she would sit so freely next to me, as if we had an agreement. Did we? The kiss? I shrugged.

  'Why?' I asked, 'Do you see something you don't like?'

  She shook her head. 'No, Woden approves of the deaths.' She nodded at the dead prisoners. 'But Wulf, he is enemy to Maroboodus, for he loves Bero best. He has his own agenda. He tries to stop the prophecy. You heard your father roar, so you believe in it now, as well.'

  'I don't, and I think it is all crazy. Any man would roar like that, when they lost their family.'

  'You didn’t.' She sighed. 'I always just wanted to live happily, and have a fine husband. My mad family is always thinking about our blood and your blood. Forever plotting and praying to the lost one. I wanted something else.'

  'Why not grasp it, then?' I said.

  'You did not leave, Hraban, when Mother offered it. I wanted to leave with you.'

  I felt ill at ease at her words. I was still apprehensive about her. The way she made such assumptions made me feel like a caged animal, but she was very pretty, and men do not make their doubts known when faced with such a caring female face and suggestive curves under a well-fitting tunic.

  'Perhaps we will, one day,' I told her instead, carelessly, and enjoyed her demure smile, though I could not imagine myself a married man, at least not to her.

  'You mean it?' she asked, looking anxiously at my face, and I glanced at her, mystified by her intensity over my words. They were just words and not oaths. It unsettled me, but the liar in me nodded with a brief smile. She came closer to me, and I thought she did not have the gift of sight, if she was convinced so easily.

  'Remember, Hraban. I will try hard to make it so, but I cannot disobey my family. Trust me, I will do my best so we will have something between us, after it is all done.'

  'Ragnarök seems pretty damned final to me, being the end of the world and all,' I smiled sarcastically, hoping to change the subject. 'Not much cuddling left when the seas swallow us.'

  She nodded. 'Perhaps it takes time, maybe even generations for it to…'

  Gernot came back, diverting my attention. He was carrying Hulderic's fine armor and strong, blood-spattered shield. He smiled at me viciously.

  Both Wandal and Ansbor turned towards me at the prompt of the bloodied Euric, positioning himself between Father and me.

  'Do not, love,' she said.

  I looked on as Tudrus the Older took the fabulous shield of a hero and grudgingly traded it for the flag.

  'Gernot's idea. He knows he could never carry such armor, man or not. He wishes to hurt me,' I hissed.

  'True,' Ishild said. 'But bear it, the coiling hate. Eat it, love, grow stronger by its nurture, and one day, remember his face as it is now. Then you kill him.'

  Tudrus took the famed shield, a precious thing I had once coveted, and flung it to the river. It swirled for a while on the strong currents, the red color washing away from the leather, making it look like fresh blood. Woden approved, surely, for it was a great gift.

  'What of them?' Wulf asked suddenly, yelling rudely. He was pointing at two shivering men, both heavily hooded, and bruised in their bared upper body.

  Approving mumbles answered him from the crowd. Two last prisoners.

  'Woden wishes them, Maroboodus!' Wulf screamed.

  Tudrus the Older gestured at the Quadi guarding the men. They were brought forward on tired legs. They stumbled towards the water, where Maroboodus and Tudrus stood, waiting. There, they were pushed on their knees, and the crude sacks covering their faces were removed. The other one was a quivering boy, not much older than I. The other had long mustaches, and an angry red wound on his face.

  Vannius and Koun.

  I stared at them in disbelief. They were still alive, yet Mother had died for their supposed deaths.

  Adalwulf turn away in anger and disgust. He was the man who had failed to avenge his lord's death, and could not face his failure. He took up a simple framea, got on a small horse, and rode away, never looking back.

  Silence reigned as we regarded the shaken sons of our enemy.

  Koun whispered to his brother, words of encouragement, which Vannius tried to take at heart as he looked up to Tudrus's eyes as bravely as he could. They saw their men nailed like salmons to the trees.

  'What of them?' Wulf asked again.

  'The old one is bloodthirsty today,' I spat, still trying to cope with the loss of Hulderic's shield, and Ishild giggled.

  'Tudrus the Older owns the boy, Vannius.' Maroboodus said with great reluctance. 'Koun is a Marcomanni prisoner. However, I agree with Wulf, on this. It is proper one's enemy is given to the gods as thanks.'

  'What would you have me do with Vannius, then?' Tudrus asked Koun, ignoring Maroboodus and Wulf.

  I saw Father was very unhappy with this, but Tudrus the Older was no peasant, and would not let anyone order him on matters of honor.

  Koun stirred. 'Let him live, Lord. He fought well against you. Let him be your humble prisoner,'

  'You love your brother well,' Tudrus the Older said, and with an outstretched hand, stopped Wulf from saying anything else. 'I will hold Vannius, as you ask. He will give me solemn oaths not to break his promises, and gains his freedom, when I, or my sons'—he waved at the trio of scowling brothers standing amidst the tough Quadi—'say so.'

  The Quadi banged their spears on the shields, and Vannius, eyeing Koun, went on his wobbly knees and spoke the life-saving words to Tudrus.

  Maroboodus was not happy with the decision. He looked like he was chewing on something tough and inedible.

  Maroboodus and Koun gazed at each other for a long time. Vannius was white as a cloud, looking at the horrible carnage and the dark faces around him. He got up and blanched when a shaking foot of one of the dying men kicked him on the side of the head. There was nervous laughter in the night.

  Finally, Koun spat, but his mouth was too dry to make spittle. 'So, I cannot even spit on you dogs. It was your father I killed?' he asked Maroboodus, who began to stalk around the brothers in deep tho
ughts.

  Koun stayed still, though there was the sweat of fear on his brow.

  Maroboodus snorted at him. 'Yes, he was my father. My old father. Holding a seat for me here, guarding my lovely wife, and child. Children. Someone told you about my home. Bero, no doubt.'

  People started to whisper, and Wulf scowled at this.

  Maroboodus's eyes probed Koun, who was looking at the high lord's eyes over his shoulder, but shook his head stubbornly, and Father seemed briefly disappointed. Koun was apparently not cooperating with him.

  Koun turned his eyes forward, his look calculating. 'Bero? Hah! Maroboodus, your father died with honor; he was most formidable. I admit, I mocked him cruelly, but a man mocks his enemy, and he did his share. And I know not what would have happened to your beautiful wife, had we won, but I did nothing you have not done time and time again. All I ask is to let me die with my sharp sword in my hand. Woden will surely see that I was noble, and brave in battle and in death, fit to feast in his vast halls.'

  Wulf spat. 'You serve Hercules, not Woden, foul Roman!'

  Koun scowled. 'I serve high Woden, fierce Donor and fair Tiw, as well as the mighty Hercules.'

  'What happened to my wife, dog, is she was killed by your father in payment for your deaths.' My father hissed. 'Alas, I did not know you lived. Both of you. So what am I to do but equal the scales?'

  'Nothing, Lord,' Koun said resolutely and bravely.

  Father picked up the swords of the brothers, their armor, and ornaments. 'So …' he said, and threw them one after another to the river, and I could see Koun tighten his jaw. 'Anything to say, boy?' Maroboodus asked as the Quadi drew closer, and I could hear Vannius sob as silently as he possibly could for his brother.

  Koun shrugged, swallowing his loss and terror. 'I am yours, what else is there, and I shall mock you from gray Hel or, if I am lucky to reach Woden's table even without my blade, from the mighty one's halls until you arrive.'