'Well,' Antius said evasively, 'it is not Augustus who planned this, but some other party in Rome, who thinks it is best to help Augustus with his agendas, but I won’t speak more of that. You are now free to die a relieved man, Hraban. You know the truth now. Oh, I gave the fibula to Catualda, by the way. Balderich had nothing to do with that, but of course, it is now clear to you. And you know who gave the scroll of Sigilind to your father.' His face was oddly sympathetic and relieved as if he had needed a man to speak with about his many crimes. 'Die well, Hraban. You, the sad Tear and the even sadder Koun were fine fools in this nasty game, but every story needs fools, and they should not feel slighted by their part.'
'I will die,' I said, hissing at him, 'but only after Maroboodus is dead, and so is the bastard Odo, the traitor Catualda and you, and this shadowed master of yours in Rome.'
'A rustic Germani,' he smiled, his jowls shaking in laughter, 'hailing me thus amidst blood and filth, behind bars is not something to make me lose my sleep, by Jupiter.'
He turned and left, and I wept in desperation. I had been a fool, and now it would all end in blood. Father would reign. My friends were lost, my baby a plaything for the bastards. Catualda would thrive and grow fat, and laugh at the memory of Hraban. I would die helpless and alone. I did not care when Antius took the burnt-face Cornix and left, or even when Vago rode by the wagon, holding my sword and helmet. I turned my face away from Catualda, whose eyes were gloating in the shadows as he rode on, slumping in pain for his wounds, his nose purple and red. Thus, I arrived in famed Burbetomagus, the capital of the strong Vangiones and of the downtrodden Mediomatrici, the Celts they settled with after Aristovistus lost his war with Caesar.
The town was nestled between two great, beautiful rivers flowing to and from Rhenus. A river the locals called the “Icy One” was on its south side, flowing into mighty Rhenus and another one, an azure river was on its northern edge, flowing deeper into vast Gaul. The first thing I saw was a squat castrum built of stone, a small one but a castrum nonetheless, with alert Roman forces guarding the land. The town spread around the castrum area. There were large temples, their marble and stone edifices standing out amongst the wood and thatch buildings. They had rich, long houses, bustling trade markets and many, many workshops with thick smoke rising out of the brick chimneys.
Vangiones rode in and out of the gates. It was an oppidum on a shallow hill, with well-repaired wooden walls with proper gates and palisades, and towers and the prosperity of the Vangiones was evident. The Celtic people were hard to see amongst the multitude, but they were there, mixing in with the Germanic people in peace. Here, a tall, thin Roman praefectus in a toga flanked by guards reminded them about the Roman power. He was hauling along men in chains who had not been able to pay the ludicrous taxes. There, a Roman matron in a long, curious silky dress and green jewels was haggling with a local trader over some amber earrings. I stared at the woman, who was regal like a goddess.
I felt listless, tired, and felt Vago's eyes on me. 'We will see, boy, if the gods will reward me for your death, the cur that killed Koun,' he told me, looking strangely at me.
So, Catualda had pinned that on me.
I did not bother to refute him. We rode forward. The fumes were both terrible and occasionally wonderful. The smoke made my eyes hurt, and there was much shit in the thin alleyways. We rode into a compound inside a long wall, hosting a fortress-like villa almost in the middle of the town. There were gray barracks there, I Vangiorum soldiers were being trained hard in the art of swordplay, in pilum throwing, in finer archery and even horsemanship, and there were bored Romans overseeing the meticulous training. They were already rebuilding the lost men, in Roman style with Roman weapons. The hall itself was a whitewashed, multi-storied house with a lush garden out front, and white Roman sculptures stood on alcoves around it. Men rushed out to take the horses, and I saw that there were sheds and stables around the perimeter.
I saw a dark woman emerge from a pillared staircase leading down to the shadowy ground near the house, her silver jewelry shining dully under a dark silk hood. It was Shayla. She glanced at me, and I could see her teeth shining. She embraced Vago and walked with him to the massive doors, and then I was locked up.
I sat there in the dark for days, or even hours, I know not. My fever got worse, and I sweated like a pig. There was no window, and the only light came from the cracks on the small hole they used to push food in. I crawled to eat but could keep little of it in. I felt the walls weakly; they were damp and restricting, and terror crept into my heart. Few free Germani survive locked out of the free air.
I imagined horrific things, noticed movement where there was none, except for the rats, which seemed to have a way to get in to try to nibble at my feet and eat my excrement. I heard willowy voices that were not there. I was going mad, and finally, I broke down and wept, and screamed, but no one came to me. I lay down, ignoring the food and water, hoping to die, cursing my father, Vago, Antius, the Romans, and Germani alike.
Then, there was bright light.
The door was opened, and I thought it was another nightmare, but the woman was standing there, her black outline showing in front of a torch held by a guard. I could see her shapes shining through the cloth. Shayla. I spat drily at her, and she laughed gently, and said something to the guards. I was carried outside, and I screamed at the sudden light piercing my eyes. My wounds were festering, and I was dragged to a hut where an old druid, or a priest of Rome, administered me. Fragrant herbs and stiff poultices were administered and hot, acidy soup and soft bread fed to me. I was finally cleaned, and I fell into a deep, healing sleep on a soft Roman bed.
Time rushed by. All the wounds I had received that summer closed and healed, and I slept the sleep of the deepest dead, dreaming of the deeds of Maroboodus, and all the men and women I wanted dead or who had died. I did not dream of Wandal and thought that was a good sign. Thus, I spent that fall, and winter was close, promising biting cold and the usual death, but I was feeling better. Still weak, but much better.
I started to think more clearly, sleep less, and feared the day I was to be given to the gods. Surely, they would not wait for much longer. Then one night, I woke up. Shayla was sitting there in white garments, and on the table between us, there was a wide tray with bronzed goblets of wine. She took one and sipped it carefully. 'You recover quickly, berserker. The wounds are already well-mended, most of them at least.' She ran her finger down the scar that had nearly punctured my gut in the fortress of the Matticati, and it was still seeping puss. I nodded and removed her hand weakly. I looked at her and remember the regret in her eyes when my mother had died, but knew she was my enemy. 'So, you remember your mother, yes?' she said, and I gritted my teeth and tried to get up, but my arms were too weak yet. 'Lie down boy. I did what Vago commanded, I know you saw this. He is my father, and even druids obey fathers, occasionally. But does it console you that her death, a death of such a high, noble lady, was quick? It also gave me brief sight. I knew of you, already. I knew your father returning home likely meant there was a foolish Raven out here, but my glorious goddess showed me it was you. You are dangerous. Many others sidestepped the prophecy, but you will go headlong and face the many dangers. You have already. You do not fear it.'
I grimaced at her. 'Your father killed a mother, Shayla. Her son does not find any ease in the manner of her death nor does she care for another one admonishing me for acting poorly under the heavy hand of this damned prophecy.'
Her eyes flashed. 'Her death was a sad thing, but in the end, just another death. Have you slain? For cursed Tear and Odo? Or for your father? Perhaps killed sweet mothers and honorable fathers, young sisters, silly brothers, and helpless children?'
I shrugged, pushing away the wisdom in her words. 'They were not my mother.' I looked at her, ashamed, despite my words. I had killed many for Tear and Odo, for my father. Ralla's face haunted me to this day, as are those many men and women, Thumelicus.
She sighed.
'Wulf should have killed you. Bark failed because he wanted revenge for his wife, I know. He could have let Isfried do it, but no. He wanted the revenge, that idiot. So few are the real vitka in your lands, but the ones that knew about you failed utterly. You and your father, the Bear, bested the weak fools by guile and stupid luck. And now you are here, testing me.'
'Now what?' I asked her sullenly.
Shayla was straightening her léine, the Celtic dress. 'Tear, she is my enemy, and I am hers. She carries the old blood in her veins. They used to live in the lands of the Cherusci, their kind. Perhaps further north as well. Where the Svear live. Descendants of the imprisoned one. Ever have they looked for the blood of Woden to serve in this deed, for much is promised to them if they succeed. Their children will survive the horror, and so in a way, they will rule,' she said. 'It is that simple. They will rule, the god who tricked Woden at the creation of your kind will rule.'
'You are a druid, you worship different gods,' I said absentmindedly, touching my wounds. She took my hands away.
'No, they are all the same. They are many, they go with different names, different stories for different people, but they are the same. Their stories have ever, and will in the future filter down through history, sometimes becoming another god, many gods or even a single god, but in truth, they are many, and they are ancient, no matter how us foolish men interpret their messages or how some greedy men write their stories. And they did create men. Tear is a vile creature of death, product of the god we all should fear. That god is a subtle trickster and a handsome deceiver. What Odo is, is viler still. You will not find Veleda. You will if you walk free, but you will not walk free. I do not wish for you to suffer.'
I said nothing, still tired, but I wondered if I had the strength to strangle her. She looked grave as she leaned over me. She sipped the wine again and took the other one, got up, and handed the drink to me. 'Danger is great. Odo knows too much now after they got Bero and used his blood for the darker auguries. They need you.'
'I know. The last time Odo tried to have me, some hundred men died trying,' I boasted, and she smiled demurely.
She sat near me, hand on thigh. 'Tear tried to get my scroll, that Antius told Vago. She was mad to try. Antius does not have so much power here as to force me to relinquish it. She must have been desperate to ask Antius for it. The Roman tried, though, but I refused.'
'Yes, I see that,' I told her, wondering at her beauty.
'Drink,' she said, blushing, as if she knew what I was thinking.
I grunted angrily. 'No, I will not. And you will join Bark, Wulf, and the men I have to kill, and the victim to ridiculous superstition shall live on,' I said defiantly, though my tongue felt like lead.
'No, you shall die as the full moon rises. You have a curse running rampant in your blood, Hraban. You accepted your fate when Tear offered you a way out of it and said no. You did, didn’t you. I know it. You must stand behind that choice. You are not a good man, Hraban. You are wild, very reckless, foolishly stubborn, and unrecoverably vengeful. You could save Veleda, but you will never make the unselfish choice.'
I snorted. 'Thank you. You think making a corpse out of me will make Vago a god? He thinks gods will reward him for killing me? He is crazy, reckless, wild, stubborn, and vengeful, and I think you are, too. So are the mad Tear and Odo. Veleda is but a girl. If I ever see her, I will let her go. Again!'
She shook her head. 'Vago is my father. He is those things, and more. Yet the gods are not ungrateful. If Vago was to give them life, he will be well rewarded. We will see how.' I shrugged, uncaring. 'Now,' she braced my head, slapped my hands aside, and I could not, for some reason, move them. She poured the wine on my lips and forced it down, and I sputtered and swallowed, terrified she would slay me now, helpless. She sat down. 'In a week's time, you and I will travel together, but first we need to know each other. You intrigue me. I wish to understand you, and to know how deep your darkness goes.'
The wine was magical.
I went limp, unable to move, and I felt both unfathomably drowsy and highly alert though it was not an unpleasant feeling. I floated in the room, and she became my anchor. She spoke to me, and I resisted, at first. She did not give up. She chanted, cast spells to the Celtic gods and asked me questions, showing compassion when I cursed her for the death of Sigilind. Little by little, she had me explain my many terrible fears, my unvoiced wishes, and my shattered care for Ishild and Ermendrud and even pride over Gunda.
I told her of my fears of fatherhood, my hate of the foul Catualda and of my fouler father, of unhappy Gernot and beaten Ansigar, and anguish over poor Wandal and Ansbor. I told her bitterly how I wanted Odo dead for Hagano. I told her how I suffered for my choices and how I wanted only to be restored to honor, which I knew I could never again easily achieve. I told her I had trusted Maroboodus, for he was my father, and I had loved him, despite all, but I had been a fool. I also told her of Koun, and how I had grown to like him. In the end, I cried bitterly, and she comforted me. Her face was puzzled.
After a long time, I do not really know how long, she got up and undressed, her high nipples pink in the light sneaking in from the cracks in the wall, her lithe body and round hips caressed by the glow of the light. Her cheeks were flushed as she took her hood off, revealing long, dark hair, much like mine. 'Perhaps you are not a vile creature after all. You are a victim of love, if also a reckless man. I understand Wulf better now. I will take a life of a good, but hopelessly stubborn man, one who makes rash decisions as easily as a child would. Wyrd, you would say. I also thank you for knowing my brother Koun, and helping him when he was unhappy. He loved and was the better man for it, and that was your doing. I regret finding out about your soul, but I will give us a gift. I want you to lie there, and not struggle, and make this pleasurable for both.'
She climbed over me, her hands caressing my skin and rubbing my manhood, and to my disgust, I could not resist getting aroused. Her smile hurt my pride even more though it was not a wicked smile. 'Yes, that is great. Very good. Relax, Hraban. Think of plain Ermendrud, strange Ishild, unseen Gunda, or even me,' she said calmly, and undressed me. Then, soon, she was holding my erect penis, rubbing it with her thumb as she climbed on me. I remember how she moved, rhythmically rubbing herself against me until I entered her, and I remember how my weak arms could not resist her.
I think, to my shame, that I did not try very hard.
She was there for an hour, kissing me gently, yet passionately, fondling me in ways I had never thought possible, and my clumsy adventures with Ermendrud and Ishild made me blush with shame. I remember thinking if I survived this, I would be more of a man for any woman. Yet this woman, the daughter of the man who had killed Sigilind, was doing things to me I should have not allowed for someone I should hate, and so I wept after she had left.
A week went past. I grew stronger though her hold on me tightened. She came back many times that week, and I stopped resisting. We said little, and we slept together. She did not need the wine. She got to know me, I got to know her.
She had tears in her eyes the night before the dreaded full moon. 'I am sorry, Hraban,' she told me miserably that night as she lay next to me. 'Life is cruel. More cruel than my father, who does not treat me with respect.' She wept. I was surprised, and held her. She was just a scared girl then, but I had a suspicion of what her life was like, and what Vago did to her. She slept; I was awake, looking at her.
I did not want to kill her. I realized I did not hate her.
Just like I had grown fond of Koun, I had very mixed up feelings about her. I caressed her gently, both of us unhappy and sad. In the deep night, she woke up and looked up to me. She looked startled. 'I must go. I have to be someplace. He will be angry,' she told me, but I stopped her.
'I do not wish to die,' I told her, and she stopped and sat down.
'You must die, Hraban. You cannot be trusted,' she said, sad but stern.
'What for? I already let Veleda go, and you know now I will
grow into a better man. I will slay those working against me, not help them.'
'Odo,' she said. 'You are not going to get away from him. Perhaps here, you would be safe, but you have your vengeance and will not sacrifice that.'
I thought about it, wishing to tell her I would abandon it. But I could not. She nodded, deeply disappointed. I shrugged and looked away as I spoke to her. 'These men have to pay, but let me try, Shayla, to remedy things. I will come back to you. I am in control now, not them. It is my move, and they do not expect me. I wish to make bodies and widows, and then return here, free of any burdens.'
'And your baby?' she asked. 'Ishild?'
'I …' I started but shut up, not sure how she would feel about me bringing them to Burbetomagus, even if that was possible.
She stroked my chest gently. 'She is facing a terrible fate, not unlike poor Veleda, and you are not the callous man I thought you to be. You will try to save her.'
'Yes,' I said, weakly. 'Of course, I will. What fate is this?'
'It's in the scroll Tear foolishly tried to get,' she said.
'The scroll, lady?' I queried. 'I would hear of it.'
She nodded carefully. 'It is famous amongst our holy kind. Do you know how gods created man, and of the gods themselves?' she asked, getting up to her elbows, her nipples brushing my side as her beautiful eyes looked deep into my eyes.
'I know about all-father Woden, and mighty Donor. Of even-handed Tiw, and boar-lord Freyr. I know what they are, what they do. Or I do not. How could I?
'Yes, how could we,' she agreed with a giggle. 'Men who write holy books about the gods are all liars. Some try, you know.'
'Is this prophecy not something written down by some fool?'
She pouted. 'That is different.'
I smiled as I continued, 'Indeed. Well, I do know the things that we sing about and the better poets tell us more,' I told her. 'But I know the gods created us, they are responsible for us, and we incredibly decide their fates. In fact, I know a lot about this part. I know a dark god cursed Woden's creation of men out of jealousy.'
The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1) Page 49