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

by Alaric Longward

  He tottered, he held his forehead, and then fell wordlessly. A spear struck his back, as he lay there in the mud. Wandal roared, killed that spearman, and pushed into them, and leaned over Agetan’s body with his shield. A man tossed a javelin at him, but I jumped forward and simply rammed my blade into that man’s throat. I pushed him away, as Adalwulf stabbed at another man. I ran at two remaining Cherusci, who turned to run. One was the thin man who had thrown the rock.

  I slammed my shield on the other man, and he fell. I went after the thin bastard, tackled him, and pushed the blade into his back, and stayed there, twisting the blade, looking around, trying to see danger.

  “Victory, victory!” screamed The Gold Wolf, and I saw one final, fleeing Cherusci crashing to the woods with the few Thracians after him.

  I turned to look at my friends.

  Agetan was still, as Wandal grouched next to him.

  Agetan’s face was bloodied, and odd, with a part of it flattened and crushed.

  I knew he was dying, or dead. The huge Quadi champion had died before killing Segestes.

  Adalwulf walked to them. Wandal sat and stared at Agetan, swaying.

  “Javelin,” Adalwulf whispered as he kneeled next to Wandal, who now fell to his side. “Caught it while trying to save Agetan.”

  I shook my head with despair and made my way to them, walking as if in a dream. I held my head, and watched as Adalwulf turned him around. Ulrich appeared, hesitated, jumped down, and helped him.

  “Will they live?” I asked with tears flowing. “Woden! You warned me, but this is too much!”

  Adalwulf shook his head. There was a broken bit of javelin in Wandal’s side, crudely torn through the chain. He spoke bravely. “It might have been worse,” he said and looked at Agetan. “We can only comfort him. That stone hit him squarely.”

  The Gold Wolf came and stood next to me, hand on my shoulder. “I can’t find Segestes. Or that boy of his.”

  Ulrich shook his head. “I didn’t see them.”

  Adalwulf stirred and let Wandal down. “We must away.”

  I didn’t listen.

  He saw I had not moved. “They are warriors,” he said hollowly. “They are friends. They would do it again. Remember, you and I both agreed, and knew there would be a price to pay—”

  “Shut up,” I told him miserably. “This is too heavy a—”

  Adalwulf lifted his hand, and whirled, and I followed his eyes.

  To the north, Segimundus was riding hard. He was chasing after a horse burdened with a fat man, and I cursed tiredly.

  Price has been paid, I thought, feeling the need to vomit and curl up into a ball of misery. “No more, Woden. Please. Save Wandal.”

  Forcing myself to move, I turned to The Gold Wolf and Ulrich. “Take my friends to the halls of Sigimer. Guard them, and help Cassia heal … at least Wandal. Adalwulf and I must finish this.”

  Ulrich bowed, and The Gold Wolf nodded reluctantly. “If you don’t come back, know it has been an honor.” He winked. “Even if your brother paid me well.”

  “Make sure my children and Cassia get to Armin, eventually,” I told him.

  “As agreed,” he answered. “I will do it.”

  I got up, grabbed Heartbreaker, sheathed Nightbright, and with Adalwulf, we vaulted on two horses. We were handed spears and shields, and we rode after the two men. Adalwulf said little, and I wept as I rode, for the price for success had been terrible, and while I had known it might have to be paid, I had not wanted to see any of them falling.

  “He might live, I’ve seen worse,” Adalwulf said again. “Even Tudrus might.”

  “We must catch them, or it was all for nothing,” I answered.

  “The fat shit won’t get far,” he growled.

  “But his son will,” I retorted. “His son will.”

  We rode like the wind, and bleeding, tired, exhausted, we followed the road north.

  Up ahead, I watched the dark-haired, gaunt man on a horse. He was whipping his beast furiously. He was gaining on his father, who was riding a magnificent beast. When the road combined with another, one the Romans had used and followed the river, the young man caught up with the king.

  And there, on the river’s bank, something odd happened.

  The man reached Segestes, and the sword of Segimundus flashed.

  Segestes looked back, screamed, and the blade stabbed down. The fat man rolled off his saddle, disappearing into bushes by the river’s edge, and his horse bolted to the west. We looked at each other in wonder, and then at Segimundus, who saw us coming. He hesitated, and turned his horse, and rode off north.

  We rode to where Segestes had fallen. The thick foliage ran downhill to the river, and we spotted the fat man lying face down in the river.

  “Why?” Adalwulf wondered, eyeing the fleeing Segimundus.

  “He wants the honor and the kingship,” I snarled. “After him!”

  We rode on, nearly losing him in the unfamiliar paths.

  We came to a spot where the road turned west. And there, we found the last elements of the Roman army leaving great remains of legion marching camps. The road had been widened as they marched, and churned into a muddy, wide morass. Cavalry screened the marching cohorts. Thousands of people, thousands of mules with baggage were being pulled along in the thick woods. Siege machines had been packed in lumbering wagons, and infantry was flitting through the woods and shrubs in an avalanche of red, white, bronze and steel, with standards high up in the air, rustling the branches as they went, and furca on each strong shoulder, strapped full of gear and loot.

  All marched with hide-covered shields, expecting no trouble, helmets hanging on their chests.

  There were hundreds of men riding, most auxilia cavalry from Gaul and Thrace, and some legion cavalry, but I had no idea where Varus might be.

  “Can you see him?” I asked desperately.

  “No, of course not!” Adalwulf cursed. “This is the arse of the marching legions. He is trying to find Varus, no doubt. Up the line. Perhaps far up. This is the last legion. He is sure to be with the first.”

  Three Gaul riders saw us coming, and turned our way. The tallest of them eyed me with suspicion.

  “The passphrase?” he asked.

  Adalwulf spoke it. “The eagles—”

  “—shall fly far,” the man answered. “What happened to you?”

  “Rebels,” I said. “Just a few. I’ll have to see the governor. Right now.”

  He pointed a spear to the head of the lines. “He is somewhere there, deep inside this shitty wooden murder. Mosquitos were bothering the great man, but he passed this spot long ago. Left two hours past. Legio XIX is before all, the lucky shits, so you must pass the XVII, and the XVIII first. He is with the XIX and just before their baggage. Hour or two away, at least.”

  Right then, it began to rain.

  It came down light at first, a thunder echoed from the hills somewhere far, and banks of clouds thickened in the sky.

  The auxilia were cursing, the entire XVII legion seemed to groan, and I nodded thanks at the Gaul, and we rode off. Adalwulf was swaying in his saddle as we went past clumps of men, and hundreds of women, children, merchants, scribes, other officia, and slaves struggling on the muddy road. It was wide enough for even the heaviest wagons, but already many wagons had been abandoned on the side. Legionnaires with their furcas were jumping over mossy stones, or wet puddles. Their centurions were marching next to them with vine sticks, cursing the unexpected route choice.

  We rode on, passed the XVII, then the XVIII, and again thousands of civilians, then the last cohorts of the XIX, until two hours had passed. At some point, I was sure I heard someone calling out my name, but saw nothing but a mass of wagons, cages, and civilians. Soon, and finally, I saw the great Aquila of the XIX glittering in the middle of a group of finest soldiers walking through an unexpected barley field, drenched in rain.

  There, around Varus, was a solid group of legionnaires and cavalry that guarded him,
and before them, entering the woods again were the XIX Legion’s first cohorts. An opulent wagon was just behind him, and a scribe was jumping out of it, delivering something to a messenger, a legion cavalryman waiting impatiently.

  With Varus, there was Segimundus.

  The man was talking to Varus, and I felt my heart fall. As if by magic, Varus looked behind to see me. We stopped our horses.

  Instead of giving an order to kill us, he smiled and waved us over.

  I shook my head, prayed to Woden, and rode on. Adalwulf rode after me, and I knew he was holding a hand on his sword’s hilt. I passed the Aquila, his guards, and approached Varus, who looked me up and down. “More rebels?”

  “The road behind is dangerous,” I agreed. “I—”

  He lifted his hand, and wiped rain off his face. “I hear things.”

  “Lord, I—”

  “I hear you and Segestes were ambushed by Sigimer,” he said with simmering anger. “Some of that traitor’s men are travelling to the River Amisia to reach Armin before us. You must have met them. I hear that Segestes is dead. And that Sigimer died. And that you fought bravely and lost men. Segimundus here was urging us to hurry for the River Amisia and Castra Nova”

  We watched the man, who gave me a small, near imperceptible shrug.

  He is on our side? Was that what they had been arguing about? Sigimer’s death had pushed him over?

  It was possible.

  The rebellion was thick in the air, and many surprising allies embraced it, and Segimundus, having escaped us because he knew this was the only way to prove his honesty, was on our side.

  Woden’s laugh, but we had been lucky, even with the loss of my friends.

  I looked ahead, and saw the vastness of the Silva Teutoburgiensis, and perhaps far, far away a hill the locals called Bone Mountain.

  “I apologize,” Varus said unhappily, “for the conditions. No Via Sacra this. Will you travel with me?”

  Segimundus cleared his throat. “I will find my sister. Thusnelda.”

  I bowed to Varus. “I would have a word with the daughter of poor Segestes as well,” I told him. “She needs to be told of the calamity. I am her friend, even if I hated her father.”

  Varus waved behind him. “She is with her father’s two men and the prisoner behind the mules, with the closest wagons.” Varus, not a young man, eyed the great oak woods that rose ahead. “It looks like a gateway to Hades, does it not, Raven?”

  “It looks like home,” I answered, and he smiled ruefully.

  “I will try to make it through your home, to reach mine then,” he said and rode on. “I am sorry for your losses.”

  Far beyond the heaving mass of the XIX Legion and the auxilia, the engineers led the way. Before them, the cavalry scouts would be gazing around the green and shadowy land that would try to eat them soon. There, not far, would be Armin’s twelve thousand men spread across the woods, ready to do their bits. There would be Bructeri, Marsi, Sigimer’s Cherusci, waiting like wolves. There would be some men from the depleted Tencteri, a few rogue Chauci, and what Ampsivarii there were, and, if I was right, a thousand resolute Chatti led by Adgandestrius, who was my friend. I smiled as I thought of his sister’s sight, the one that predicted we would one day marry, and then cursed the ominous thought.

  I begged the gods Cassia would be safe.

  And I would make sure Thusnelda would be safe with me.

  Segimundus rode with us, and I watched him carefully. He gave me a wry smile. “Whoever threw a javelin me,” he said, and touched his wounded side, “I shall have him hung.”

  “One of my mercenaries,” I answered. “I need the lot, so you won’t. Why?”

  “Why?” he breathed. “Why did I do that, you mean? Why did I down my own father? Because I hate these dog-humping shits. My father has sent me to the Romans to learn, and the only thing I’ve learnt is how much I hate them, and every year even more. Is he truly out there like Sigimer claimed?”

  “Who?” I asked. “I merely came to have my vengeance on your father.”

  He shook his head. “Do not be a fool, Raven. I damned well don’t believe you. But should I help you take my sister to safety as fast as possible?”

  I smiled. “It would be a good idea to see Thusnelda taken to safety.”

  Segimundus was nodding, a fierce smile on his gaunt face. “Let me deal with Thusnelda, and I shall try to deal with the other issue as well.”

  “What other issue?” Adalwulf asked, as we passed a hundred mules with frustrated handlers, and then saw a mass of wagons and civilians, mixed in with centuries of Romans of the seventh cohort of the XIX.

  “You don’t know? Truly? When he raided Sigimer,” he told me with wonder, “there was a woman visiting, there to heal my uncle’s aching stump. She is in a slave’s wagon, near Thusnelda.”

  Cold sweat poured on my neck. Adalfuns’s warnings echoed in my mind.

  “Not Cassia?” I whispered.

  “A dark-haired woman,” he told me. “And Sigimer called her Cassia. Rich noblewoman she looked like, and Segestes thought she was your wife. He contemplated on hanging her, but then decided to save her for later. I made sure none touched her.”

  My head spun with horror.

  And then, amongst the first of the civilians in the middle of the lines, I saw Thusnelda.

  Then I saw Cassia, sitting inside a wagon with bars right behind them, and staring at me as if she had known I would appear.

  Bagi and Baldo were riding next to Thusnelda, and watched at us in shock.

  “Shit, the guards saw us together,” Segimundus cursed. “Damn it. Should have thought of that.”

  “My son?” I choked.

  He shook his head. “No children.”

  “Who has the key?” I looked at the driver of the wagon, a simple man in a tunic. “Tell them my wife is a healer.”

  “Bagi,” he told me. “Bagi has it. The taller one. And I shall try my best.”

  Bagi and Baldo, seated on two white horses, gave me a baleful glance, and then they frowned at the wounded Segimundus. Thusnelda was white of face, as she watched us come closer. Far ahead, in the dense, wet woods the XIX legion Aquila’s golden glory seemed to dim as the rain intensified.

  Segimundus waved at his sister. “Thusnelda!”

  “Brother,” she said softly.

  “Father,” Segimundus said tightly, as he turned to Bagi, “has been severely hurt.”

  Bagi frowned. “Is he alive?”

  “He was,” Segimundus answered. “But we shall go right now. Get the prisoner out. She is needed. She is a healer. She might be able to help.”

  Bagi hesitated. Baldo was frowning. He rode between Thusnelda and us, and gave us an evil eye. “Your father, adeling, told us to stay here with them both, and never to let either one of them out of our sights. That’s the order. No matter what.”

  “My father,” Segimundus said stiffly, “is not able to tell you to stand down. He is possibly dying.”

  Baldo spat. “You ride with an enemy.”

  “I cannot choose who joins me,” Segimundus said, exasperated.

  Baldo looked around the marching people. “You know, it is odd, that Boicalus of the Ampsivarii is the only Germani chief with Varus. See, there is the wife of Boicalus. But do you see any other wife? No.”

  Indeed, amid the civilians there were very few locals.

  Bagi nodded. “It is odd.”

  “Odd,” Baldo echoed him. “Perhaps they had to go fishing? All had a hangover? No, my adeling. I think we shall ride on with Thusnelda and the prisoner, until we reach the Castra Nova. This was Segestes’s order. To make sure Thusnelda stays near Varus. And so, she shall.” He leaned close to Segimundus. “You go and play with your damned cock now, eh? If I did wrong, I shall pay the price. We shall see.”

  Segimundus gritted his teeth in rage.

  Bagi smiled. “Move along, my friends. And if it turns out you murdered Segestes, we shall have justice, won’t we? You had better
think twice about making trouble here where so many Romans march.”

  Adalwulf pulled at Segimundus’s bridle. “In that case,” he said. “He shall ask Varus for his opinion on the matter, since he commands the soldiers.”

  The two frowned, and Segimundus turned his horse and galloped off, cursing breathlessly.

  We didn’t follow him.

  We rode with them, near Thusnelda. I stared at Cassia, who stared back at me, her eyes large with fear. I wanted to rush the wagon, to kill the driver, and to set her free from the terrible danger she was in, but Bagi and Baldo were vigilant. I rode closer, but Bagi drew his gladius and held it beside him, and Baldo was staring at us like a serpent, riding between me and the wagon.

  “Your wife?” he asked as he saw our anguish. “She is a fine one, isn’t she? Segimundus there demanded she be kept safe. None touched her. Not yet. We have time.” He winked. “You know, she called out for you not long ago. Must have seen you passing. Yes, I think we shall hold them tight. Unless, of course, Varus orders us to stand down. We will see.”

  I thanked the gods for Segimundus, and let Woden’s rage thunder with the storm that was passing over the woods, and tried not to kill the man. Not yet.

  I’d give Segimundus a chance.

  We rode on. I looked behind, and wondered at the train of over a thousand mules, thousands of freedmen and slaves, servants, camp followers, and hundreds of women. Gaul cavalry alae was guarding the perimeter, and a century of soldiers was just behind us, the men speaking with the civilians, miserable in the wooded trail. It was rough going, and the cries of a child echoed in the woods.

  There was no real way for us to free Thusnelda or Cassia by force, not then.

  “Not before the attack,” Adalwulf whispered, reading my thoughts. “We must wait for it to begin, unless Segimundus returns soon.”

  He was right. My eyes travelled the dark woods, the rolling, green underbrush, the clouds rumbling over the treetops.

  I begged for Segimundus to hurry.

  But there was no sign of him.

  Time went on, the two Cherusci stared at us like the most faithful hounds guarding a domus, and so we were forced to shadow them. Cassia and I stared at each other, and she must have seen the pain in my eyes, the despair, as she smiled gently.