The Bane of Gods: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 5)

by Alaric Longward

  I felt evil tug at my soul and wanted to hurt him. “I had Julia. For years, I had her. We have that in common.”

  His bloodshot eyes turned to me and his face twitched with rage. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” I told him. “She loved you still. But you loved fame and Celt oppidums, and amber. So, she loved me, until I betrayed her.”

  Adalwulf was hissing a warning, but I little cared.

  “She told me that she liked me better than she did you,” I said simply. “Who knows with women, eh? I imagine that I know your son Postumus better than you do.”

  The fist of Maroboodus came fast, and I caught it, and thus we stared at each other for a long while. His men were coming closer, spears pointed at me.

  “Your family,” he said with skeletal grin, “is safe. I could marry off your Cassia, you know, but I won’t. I know men like her, and would have her. But as you know my son, I know yours. Perhaps your son will serve me, one day.” He pulled away. “He grew in my hall, didn’t he? So many years! The important years, they say. If I get a son of my own, he will still get a third of my kingdom, and perhaps he won’t let you settle in his lands, since he too, will hear of the Oath Breaker, and knows I have guarded him.”

  He left me, and I knew he could be right.

  That evening, we rode up to a large, wide hill, rather like Hard Hill, and spied the great walls around the thickly packed village on top.

  “Amber Hall,” Maroboodus announced, “of Goldhelm. That is my place on top.” He slapped his knee, bothered. “In a Thing tomorrow, you must answer for a crime. Helmut. You killed a man of mine, for some damned reason. You will have to pay a wergild to his three brothers, Hraban. I know Cassia has gold from Livia’s domus, but I won’t take that. What can you pay?”

  I shrugged. “I will give them ten aurei. That is all I have.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “More than sufficient. Why did you kill him?”

  “It was my family on the line,” I answered, “and I didn’t trust him.”

  He stared at me for a while, and then rode on. “Ten. Fine. A high price for a Hermanduri. Granted, he was my champion, but still a high price for a youngest brother.” He nodded. “It will be enough. Come then.”

  We rode to the den of his power.

  It was oddly homelike to see Marcomanni living in great halls, sprawling fields and woods filled with cattle and horses, and wealthy Germani. All our years in Rome seemed far, far behind.

  At the gates, I saw Cassia.

  She put a hand over her mouth, her beautiful face in disbelieving shock, and the tall, sturdy boy on her side clutched her arm. A tall, gaunt, white-haired, warrior was hovering near, hand on his sword’s hilt, and his eyes burned as he stared at me.

  I stopped the horse.

  Years of separation, all the mistakes I had made, and there, amongst the terrible enemy, I vaulted from my horse, thinking of Drusus, Julia, Gaius, and everyone who had fallen during the quest, and poor Postumus as well, and buried my family in a crushing hug. It lasted for a long while, but in the end I was herded to a modest, clean hall at the edge of the hill, and there, I wept with Cassia, as my son hugged me.

  I would stay with Maroboodus, for the time being. Wandal and Ulrich didn’t follow us in. Adalwulf didn’t either, for he had a house with Gisil and his boy. The others, I supposed, went to live with Tudrus and Euanthe, and Agetan, friends whom I had tried to save, but were nonetheless in trouble with us.

  I had no idea what Maroboodus wanted from me, or would want.

  I had no idea if I still had friends even.

  But I had, finally, after years, my family, however briefly.

  ***

  For two days, I didn’t see anyone, except my family. I lived off the love of Cassia, gathering resolve for the deeds I had yet to perform, and in the end, I was summoned.

  Cassia held my hand. “Do not die. Do not make trouble.”

  I nodded, and spoke to her. “I will not. Die.”

  She grasped my chainmail. “Are we still going to go through with this?”

  “He might even kill us both,” I said, “but we shall try. Did you succeed in what I asked of you? You said you had.”

  Her eyes flickered to a shadow on the doorway. There, the warlord, whom Maroboodus had set to watch us, stood, waiting for me to leave. He and his men would stay near my house, as they apparently always did. She nodded sadly. “Yes. I succeeded.”

  There was something in her voice that was off, but it was not the time to ponder it deeper.

  I kissed her and Gervas, pushed past the warrior, and went to meet my father, and to face justice. If things went well, and as I had planned, I would live, so would my loved ones, and only a few had to die.

  And we would be on the right road, once more.

  CHAPTER 28

  The great Thing of the Marcomanni and the Quadi was a lavish affair set in the finest of dwellings. The Marcomanni oppidum of Goldhelm was filled with round, huge houses, and the walls of most were whitewashed inside, giving light to the halls. Still a smoky affair, the Germani had adopted Celtic decorations for their halls. Well-made swords, decorated with amber and gold lined the walls, silver Roman drinkware and glass pitchers made with the intricate skills of the Gaul’s sat on the tables. The armor and shields of the men were of excellent make, and even metal helmets were abundant with the warlords and the minor chiefs. No shields were as unusable as the one the Cherusci Segestes used to carry around, but most were decorative, huge affairs that spoke of the riches and honor of the man carrying it.

  And those warlords were most all there, since not long before there had been the threat of major war with Rome.

  That ring of seated men in my father’s hall was the most impressive collection of Germani lords I had ever seen. There were no vitka, no völva, no elders or law speakers, save for Father.

  Only warriors.

  And these men had agreed to make him a king. Over half were Marcomanni, there were Quadi, Hermanduri, and Sarmatians, but together, they were all subjects to a Marcomanni king.

  I looked around the hall, as I waited for the men to clear the middle of the room. There were dozens thronging before a raised dais, and I glimpsed Father’s hair and face, and then his eyes. I came wearing armor, and the great helmet was on my head, and slowly, people realized there was one man who wasn’t there to feast.

  Some had expected me.

  They all knew of me.

  I even knew some from Hard Hill, though only by looks. I caught a glimpse of Marcus, even, sitting nervously to the side. The hall of Maroboodus was a large one, and a huge table was filled with pitchers of wine, mead, ale and steaming meats and vegetables on platters. Mercenaries sat by smaller tables in the shadows and Father’s own oath’s men and rich merchants were seated closer to him. Some, I was sure, were Roman speculatores.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, people began to turn to me. I looked around. I saw Wandal, leaning on a doorway, staring at me coldly. Adalwulf was next to him, his thoughts hidden, and Tudrus hesitated as he witnessed me. He looked well, but he looked wary.

  I kept staring at him, not sure what he thought, and finally, the man flipped his hair off his eyes, and came to me. “Hraban,” he said, his gaunt, lean face glistening with sweat.

  “You are here, then,” I said, eyeing the men around me. “You were not supposed to be here.”

  He grinned. “They gave us a choice, the mercenaries,” he answered. “To go away north, or west. We chose to escort your family to safety, instead. They argued, we insisted, and then they had to move, and we came along. Then it was too late. Imagine my shock, Hraban, when Maroboodus received us.”

  “I am sorry,” I said. “But you were not—”

  “Supposed to be friends any longer? Fool. So, Hraban. What next?” His voice was emotionless, and suspicious. “I hear things went to shit.”

  “I thank you for thinking of my wife, Tudrus. I don’t deserve you.”

  “You don’t,” he answered. �
��But answer me. How will we leave this place? I know you agreed to let Gervas stay here, but the rest of us might never leave if he wakes up cranky one morning.” He nodded towards Maroboodus.

  “Yes, I know,” I said simply. “But we shall leave.”

  “Yes? I hope you are right, Hraban,” he said. “Though, I can see you have indeed been making plans.” His eyes went to a man at one of the tables, sitting next to a set of drunken Germani, all sharing their drinks. He nodded at Wandal. “He is moody as Hel’s hound, dangerously so, angry. Damned unhappy with life. And you. He is suspicious, and thinks you have lied to him.”

  “Wandal is,” I said, avoiding looking that way, “unhappy with how things have fallen apart. I tried to give him a way out as well.”

  He was nodding. “He made an oath to guard Gaius. He also made an oath to avenge our friends. He is hurt you didn’t tell him about this deal with Maroboodus. He thinks you are not telling him everything. And he thinks we shall all die here.”

  “He promised me Cassia would be safe, and allowed to leave with me, when everything is over,” I told him. “And I promised Gervas as his heir, and he was to let me see him any time I chose. Then, after Tiberius changed his mind, Armin dealt with him, and while we failed, he might not wish to kill the father of Gervas, if not his own son. And now I have no time to brood over people who are upset with me. I have to do a deed.”

  “Wandal is wondering why—”

  “Why I wasn’t worried when Tiberius changed his plans, and my family was here?” I asked. “I was, but I knew he would give back Postumus for Cassia, and Maroboodus would still hold Gervas for he needed an heir, and then Tiberius betrayed us and I am tired of speculating, Tudrus. I will see to it we shall leave.” I gave him a careful smile. “I will try to include you in that as well.”

  He let it go, and didn’t press. “Oh, Euanthe is with a child,” Tudrus said happily.

  I smiled. “Who is the father?”

  He bit his lip and swallowed an angry retort. “We are happy, you know. But I hope you do have a good plan.” He gave me a shallow smile. “I know some of the Quadi nobles, in this very hall, worry about me. They think I will reach for the rulership, they do. Don’t make a mess of it.”

  “You might just bow before Father, if I die,” I chuckled and gave Wandal a guarded look. “Give him a new cause as well, if I fall.”

  Tudrus smiled. “Fall? Gods, your plan sounds like a sound one. We’ll toast with you in Valholl, friend, if you fail. My son, at least, is going to far outlive me, said the local völva, a fine boy.”

  “Boy?” I said with a grin. “He can serve Gervas when he grows up.”

  He snorted. “Gervas is a fine little bastard, but I think they will settle such matters on their own.” He noticed I was looking around at the faces of the great men. “The Thing has been ongoing for days, and I guess this is the last bit.” He nodded to the right of me again. “The three on the bench. Want to know their names?”

  “Not really,” I said, and watched a mercenary toast three men I guessed were Helmut’s brothers. Then, the mercenary got up, downed his mug as he went, and adjusted his chainmail as he stepped past me. All three who remained seated were champions, probably fighters of the first class, gold and silver thick on their fingers and wrists, and all had excellent weapons.

  Marcus owed them a great deal of coin.

  I, son of Maroboodus, was their enemy.

  I had to pay a wergild.

  This was Father’s duty, to make sure wrongdoings were settled. Helmut’s spirit demanded it. To be impartial, he would judge his own blood to mend a crime, and I knew his game well. He would make it humiliating, for my hurtful words over Julia. I saw the brief glimmer of malice in his eyes, as he turned to speak to someone next to him.

  A woman was there, leaning closer with a wine pitcher.

  She straightened, and I stiffened.

  It was Gunhild.

  It was my mother’s sister, the reluctant wife of my father. She was also the woman who hated Maroboodus.

  At least she had.

  Since the day I had lost her to Maroboodus in the war of Burlein, she had been his prisoner. He would not let go of her, though he didn’t love her. The slight, beautiful woman men in that hall all but ignored, was the reason he had any power. She was of the blood of the hero, King Aristovistus, like I was, and that blood was sacred to the Marcomanni. Without her, Maroboodus would rule by force, and the old Marcomanni families would plot to overthrow him.

  She had loved Koun, then Burlein, and Maroboodus had killed both.

  She had been pregnant with Burlein’s son, when Maroboodus had taken her back.

  I didn’t see the boy. Cenric, Cassia had called him. The boy of Burlein would be around, and while I was sure Father would not be rid of him, his lot would be much like Postumus’s had been in Rome. He would receive attention only in the form of gossip, and he would be invisible most of the time. He would be loved by his mother, and well treated, but not alive or important as far as The Bear was concerned.

  I looked at her carefully. There was a scar on her cheek, likely received the night Burlein died and we had had to flee, but my aunt was alive, still beautiful with long, lustrous hair and arched eyebrows and light limbs. She avoided my eyes.

  Tudrus hummed. “They say your father is trying to make her pregnant. Maybe she already is. Some think so. That much attention he gives her. His seed.”

  “I see,” I answered. “Well. Father is like Augustus. His blood must inherit.”

  “Oh,” Tudrus said. “It starts.”

  Maroboodus was standing, with his hand high. The three men, all as tall as I was, with remarkably similar, heavy brows and blood-red hair, were swaying onto their feet.

  Silence descended slowly.

  Men were leaning on Roman and Celtic swords, and rings shone on their hands dully as they eyed me as a pantheon of ugly gods. Marcus stepped closer from the side, looking at me uncomfortably, his hands hidden in his sleeves, as if he was cold.

  He had owed Helmut. He owed these men. Likely others, but none more than these men. There was a slight quiver of hope in his face.

  Maroboodus leaned forward. Gunhild flinched as the man moved, and I felt sorry for her, and for our failure to save and protect her. A boy moved to her from the shadows, and looked at me with curiosity. He had the eyes of my mother, and something of Balderich, my grandfather, the former lord of Marcomanni, whom I had saved from Maroboodus and sent to Gaul. The old man was likely dead, but he would have been proud of the boy, who scowled at Maroboodus, and pulled his mother back.

  “Get on with it,” I whispered and waved Tudrus back. Maroboodus nodded as he saw my lips move and raised his hand. The men around him looked up at him with admiration. Grudgingly, I had to admit Father had brought the tribe much wealth and honor. Deaths by the thousands had followed his footsteps, but now, wealth filled the pouches of the man before me. Amber was the key, amber he had, traders from the North brought it, and his trading posts were where the traders from even as far as Egypt travelled, and he took tax from all sales. There were many such trade-villages, but one prominent one, no doubt in Marcus’s supervision, was hours to the west, on a bank of a river they called Summer’s Tears. There, a harbor and a fortified village hosted much of the trade of the land. So Cassia had told me.

  Though, Gernot had told me the same years before.

  As had Marcus, before I had sent him north with my family.

  Maroboodus slapped his hand on his chair. Silence conquered the room, and Maroboodus fingered a silvery bracelet on his arm. Law speakers, like the vitka and the völva, had the right to deal justice. The death penalty was still a rare thing, often only issued for adultery or treason, and a swamp awaited such unfortunates. I had done nothing to warrant such a fate. I could pay a wergild. Ten aurei. A handsome price for the dolt Helmut, but it was to be done. Usually one paid for one’s crimes in cows and horses, or land, but there, in that hall, Roman coin was as good as
fat cattle.

  It irked Father to give me any justice, at least the kind that allowed me to buy my freedom.

  He had no choice.

  While a tyrant, and a king, a thing nearly unheard of in Germania, men’s rights and freedoms were respected, and all the Germani who had accepted Maroboodus as a king, would constantly be worried he would act like a bad one. A Thiuda, a war-king, would rule for the duration of war, but Father had dropped the ‘war’ part from the title, and was now a king, but still a king of the Germani people, and such people were volatile indeed.

  He would be a careful one. No matter Gunhild and the power she gave him, he had to tread carefully, and justly.

  So, I would not bleed.

  Maroboodus showed a scroll to the assembled people. “First, before we deal with the issue at hand, a word on the war with Rome.” He smiled, and it spread. “Rome no longer threatens us. They have agreed to acknowledge me as the ruler of this land. A sovereign ruler. For all time.” He eyed the chiefs, and I saw how many struggled to look him in the eyes. I wondered how many had entertained thoughts of Roman loot. Some looked supremely unhappy. Father noticed that, and smiled crookedly. “Worry not. I know this trouble has affected the harvest, and you hoped for riches to make good such losses, but we will make forays against our other enemies. The Sarmatians, the Dacians, and some stubborn Chatti tribes will give us something back for the effort.”

  They cheered, and I knew they were already contemplating on where Maroboodus would send them. Some thousands would march, raid, loot, and come home, and it made the lot of the restless men happy.

  Maroboodus went on. “We shall keep an eye on the Roman Wolf, but this year, we have prevailed. Rome lacked the will to fight us. They pissed their thighs, and will keep crawling to us for amber.”