“I know some men fear you,” I said, and emphasized the word “some,” so as not to seem like I was one of the men. It would have been sensible to fear the men around me, but I was determined not to show such weakness.
He smiled wildly. His eyes went to Ingulf, who was now draining a horn of stolen ale, and then to Bero, who was sitting in the shadows of the tree we had roped him in, his eyes full of worry. “Some do. Chatti and Marcomanni in the west do, so do the Quadi, and with Semnones, we have a cordial, steady relationship. We are in a state of war all the time and hate each other. We just plain fight all the time. They sure as shit do not fear us. But some do, especially in the north and south. The Boii over the mountains pay us well. They are Celts, mostly, though mixed with our kind.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said as I chewed on a fatty piece of meat. It was delicious, and I could almost forget there was likely a sizable family in the ruins of that hall that had not so long ago been milking the cow. They had been punished, but by the look in Bertilo’s face, it had been a harsh punishment.
He hummed. “And perhaps a guest should be less arrogant when eating my meat. I tell my stories slowly.” He shook his head. “But nay! I am happy to tell you! That man,” he said and pointed a finger into the burned hall, “was an oathsman of mine. The woman was a daughter of one of my enemy war-lords. That war-lord served Akkas, my rival. We made a deal and peace. The girl and Bertilo there were in love, so a marriage was settled, and Akkas and I would have a few less feuds. And last winter, things changed. During the Yuletide, my oathsman decided to join Akkas. He sent me back the sword I had given him, and took one from Akkas. Suddenly, he was married to that girl. They married in a feast where we sat. Imagine! Bertilo was heartbroken, the fool. I was too. My oathsman went over to my enemy and, apparently, all for a woman. Akkas had humiliated us by allowing Bertilo to approach one of theirs. He humiliated us on purpose. He never meant to have peace. He never meant to follow through with the offer. That woman,” he said stiffly, “and my former oaths man are now part of the land. She paid dearly, didn’t she?”
“What is this enemy of yours like?” I asked him. “Akkas?”
He nudged me. “Dangerous, but only in the daylight and surrounded by his men.” He nodded at the shadows. There, men were watching over him as well. They had bows and spears. I had not noticed them. “Well, I have mine as well. Not as many as he has, but I keep men close to me. He and I are both surrounded by men. We have both tried to kill each other for so many years. He has two guards with him all the time, and hundred around those two.” He winked. “I have two. He is, in truth, a coward. The best kind of enemy, eh? We grew up in the same village and pummeled one another with mad fervor, but he always ran away first. He inherited his father’s men, and I made up my own fame and war-band, and we both served a great Thiuda.” He fidgeted.
“The Thiuda died?” I asked.
He nodded. “A hunting accident, though they all claim I had something to do with it.” He smiled faintly, and I thought he might have had a hand in it. “When the Thiuda died, I had no oaths to keep. I drove away his youngest sons, killed a few of the older ones, and set my arse in the Wolf Hall. Akkas watched, but didn’t object, and gave his oaths to me whenever we went to war this past decade. I had more men, more followers, and I was brave. Things were well.”
“Wolf Woods, Wolf Field, and Wolf Hall,” I laughed. “You are mad for wolves.”
He smiled. “Yes. The Wolf is our guide, and it bred us in the times immemorial. Now, as for Akkas?” He shook his head. “He found his balls. No, someone else found them for him.”
“Things have changed,” I said. “He is brave now?”
“They have changed, but not the bravery bit. He is as treacherous as…” He shrugged and smiled.
“You?”
“Yes, as I am,” he said. “We must make do, Maroboodus, with treachery, when bravery doesn’t suffice. I sense you have a deceitful bone or two in your body. That’s why I think you and I can trust each other. You know how things lie. A thief wont steal from a thief, only from the fools who trust them.”
Ingulf shook his head, and I ignored him.
I shrugged. “I suppose that makes sense. Tell me more of Akkas. How did things change?”
He grunted like a wild pig and tore at his beard. “This is a Hermanduri who rules the very edges of the mountain, days away. His mother was a nomad, a rider from the east, and his father a true shit bastard war-lord of the Thiuda I mentioned. Akkas ruled over some two thousand men last year. This year? After Yule? There are over five thousand men, and fifty chiefs. Many of them were mine, formerly. The Thing has been going on for days, and they have dealt with the needs of the gods and most of the petty feuds. Tomorrow, we shall decide who shall be the Thiuda for the war with the Quadi. It will also determine who shall sit in the Wolf Hall. I have just three thousand men. Two thousand men and their chiefs scrubbed the red off their shields. He will be demanding he will lead.” He spat. “I refuse to make him a Thiuda for the year, and, of course, I won’t suffer it next year. He will blame me for ruining the raiding season. More of my men will leave me. It will be a tough battle to win.” He nodded. “Aye, we must have one tomorrow. I have been stalling, but cannot stall any longer. Tomorrow, I must go to the Thing. Imagine, he is there, surrounded by his men, the stolen chiefs and the vitka, and he is sitting before my hall like he owns it already. He sleeps inside, and some say he has pissed on my bed. I haven’t been there for a while. He has not gone back to his wooden lands in the south. He is moving in.” He fidgeted. “He cannot be killed easily. I said his mother was a nomad? Yes. A Sarmatian. He has a guard of Sarmatians who rode in during the spring. Nearly a hundred of them. Dreadfully savage creatures. They stand around him at all times, as do the two guards. And I have two.” He saluted the two men who watched him, and they grinned back.
“Sarmatians?” I wondered.
“Aye. Iazyges tribe. They raid the lands in the east. They worship fire, spirits, and swords. They have small horses and powerful, leather armor, lances the size of two men, and every one of the savages can shoot three arrows in few eye blinks. They go everywhere with him. His war-chiefs bow before him, and he sleeps with the two guards, and the Sarmatians take him everywhere.” He grinned and looked at his two guards. “I will have a hundred men around me tomorrow, and those two today, but there is no place we will go alone these days. Everyone fears the Sarmatians. They say they sacrifice men to gain the favor of their fire-god. They sacrifice men to gain favor in the war. They only take men of highest of blood. They want kings and sons of kings. People are terrified of them. I think they have tried to see if they can take me a few times. Their men ride after us, often.”
“Sacrifices?” I asked. “They have vitka?”
“Their leader, Tamura, does the sacrificing,” he said. “They don’t have vitka, of völva. Akkas doesn’t mind their gods. He, part Sarmatian himself, agrees. Tamura is his closest dog. There are the better war-chiefs. Snake, Crow, Tyr—”
Ingulf grunted. “A war with the Quadi? You mentioned it.”
He sighed. “If possible, yes. We must decide on who rules, but if we can decide on that, and have the men, we shall fight the great nation across the mountain. Akkas has some plans I have no knowledge of, but the war itself is to drive them out of our former lands.” He laughed. “We go to the ends of this river, over the smaller mountains, the Teeth of Tiw, and then west over another river and a thick forest, and west, hugging mountains and hills. They took a town of ours, the bastards, three years past. Melocabus, the town is called. King Cynefirth the Quadi is a brazen shit. Riches for all men, if we win.”
“How many men do they have? The Quadi.” I asked. “And how many you?”
He chuckled. “Well, that depends on how many we lose in our battle to decide who leads. Now? We have some ten thousand men when we march. It is a massive army. We could call for more from the north, but since the death of our great Thiuda ye
ars past, we have had feuds. Some of his sons ran there, and they still cause trouble. Our men suffice. They will be hard to feed, though. The chiefs are gathered in the Wolf’s Field, not too far, and the men are making ready in the lands around it.” He shook his head. “The enemy has, perhaps, if they are ready, a few thousand.”
“Sounds like an easy war?” I laughed.
He nodded. “The Quadi are stretched thin. Melocabus was taken, but it will be hard to keep. Their tribe is far from home.”
I looked at Ingulf, who was again shaking his head. I spoke anyway. “How are you going to deal with this issue of being a Thiuda?”
He looked unhappy. “I will go there, and I shall piss on his threats, and we shall fight. We shall call our men, and we will bleed.”
I nodded. “That is one way to deal with it, I suppose.”
He snarled. “I cannot murder him. He cannot easily murder me. He won’t fight man to man. So, it must be a shield to shield, and our men must fight and let the winner eat the loser. We might win, and if both survive, perhaps we shall sit in the White Tent and discuss again. I doubt we will both survive.”
He didn’t sound hopeful.
“White Tent?” Bero asked, not asleep after all.
He shrugged. “If none can win a battle, you negotiate. You go into a tent, and while it should be white, you don’t usually find one, do you? Any tent will do. He and I, and just few others go, drink, eat, trade tales of bravery, and try to come to terms. I doubt it will happen. I don’t have the men. But I won’t bend a knee.”
Bero grunted. “We have no such tents.”
“You make peace, if you cannot win,” he said. “Our Hermanduri ways are old and sacred. Yours might be different. In any case, we are in trouble. There is no way—”
“Tell me about Akkas, and why your men left you,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because I am a tricky man and wonder why you lost your men?” I said.
“There is a reason for it,” he cursed. “I don’t know why. And I am not sure some vagabond in the wilds should know about our troubles. I welcomed your sword, but—”
“My sword?” I said. “I have sharper weapons.”
Ingulf rolled his eyes, and Heinrich was chuckling and shaking his head. He kicked a stone. “Fine. Well. He trades slaves,” he said thinly. “And yeah, of course we all do. We do and always will. We sell them to each other, and a slave might be a warrior again soon, if he behaves well and acts worthily and honors the gods and brings his master fame.” He shook his head. “Akkas has done things differently. He always sells them south over the mountains and even beyond the river. He sells them to the Sarmatians in the east and to Dacians, Illyrians, and Thracians. He sells them to Rome.”
“Rome?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You truly are from the north, are you not? Gods laugh. Rome is the great nation that rules great nations! They have hundreds of thousands of warriors, all clad in steel.” He spat. “Let us hope the filthy bastards never try to take our lands. I hate them. I really do. They don’t belong. I used to trade with them, and then things went sour.”
We stared at him in shock. “Hundred thousand men in steel and iron?” I asked.
“It is true,” he said. “I could tell you a lot more of Rome, but would it matter? No. I tell you what you want to know. Akkas selling slaves to non-Germanic people used to upset people plenty. I did once as well, but not so many. Now, it doesn’t upset anyone. They all want a piece of what he has. Akkas has found a new way to lure people to his filthy horse banner.”
“He gives them mares?”
“No,” he said. “His horses are his pride. He travels with a herd of the best. He came to the Wolf’s Field with a thousand fine horses and sells their seed. But he, most of all, peddles in these.” He tapped my sword.
“He has swords?”
“Roman swords. And armor,” he said. “Swords and armor. He has plenty of it. It is like the gods farted armor and swords, and he is luring people to his fucking banner by giving such gifts to my war-lords. He has a new friend. Oh, I know who gives him these weapons,” he said acidly. “They usually don’t do something like this. They come, they buy the slaves, and leave. Now? The Roman trader is in the Wolf Field has been with Akkas for months, and he’s not simply buying slaves. He does buy them, but mostly sits by the side of the bastard, and schemes. He, Stick-Wolf the vitka, and Akkas conspire together. Tamura too, the Sarmatian. The Sarmatians guard Akkas, but Rome is making him powerful. The war-chiefs drink, they smile, and the fat Roman shit gives him weapons and armor to pass along. Men are begging to join him, and then, they suddenly strut around in chain or with a fine sword, and sometimes both. That’s what is happening. The Roman has taken his sides, and it sure as shit isn’t on mine. Akkas’s lands to the south of the Wolf Hall are closed off, and I think there is a Roman camp somewhere. They have a small camp with Akkas in the Field, but the weapons and armor come from some place. Akkas is keen on war with the Quadi, and I think it has something to do with that Antius, the Roman who leads their slaver lot.” He looked down, clearly hiding something.
“Roman steel?” I asked him, wondering. “But surely they cannot just hand out swords and chain.”
He grunted and laughed. “They can. They have taken much of Gaul. That’s a populous, formerly populous, land in the west. They have gone south. Far to the south, over a great sea! They have taken the gold-mines of Hispania, though I know not where it lies.”
“Fables,” Ingulf said.
Bero shook his head. “No. Not fables. The truth. It is so. I know, for I spoke with a Saxon trader.”
“Old land of Greece,” Heinrich the Raven said, and threw a bone at Bero to his amusement. He stuck him squarely in the skull. “The great, famous land of Hercules, Donor himself. The smiter’s home. And further. They have taken all the coasts around them, and it is no small feat. They have hundreds of thousands of men in arms. They fart gold and steel, and more join in.”
“Are they jotun-sized?” Ingulf asked. “It sounds like none have stood up to them. If you stand up to your enemy, he will eventually go home.”
“They don’t fight like that,” the Red Raven said. “They go to war, and they don’t have to go home to care for the crops or to please their wives with loot. Their soldiers are all armored, armed, and sign up for life. They never marry—”
“Surely they hump women?” Ingulf wondered, eyes round. “Or do they hump each other?”
“They have cocks,” the Red Raven said with amusement. “They hump women and not each other, I think. They come with a train of grain, they build roads to move fast on, they build forts, they behead those who disagree with them. If they must, they will go to war, and they kill the soldiers, and if they lose, they come back with more men. They bribe the weak, kill the strong, and ally with those who can never deny them later.”
“So, they denied you,” I said.
He nodded. “I hate them, but I did approach Antius. I asked for his support, the fat cow’s. It was clear he is the key to this change in our situation.” He leaned over. “This Antius. He looked at me, flinched, and said they are not helping anyone, not one of us. That is against their ways as neutral traders. Liars. I think only the vitka, this Stick-Wolf, knows why they are helping Akkas, who is a weakling shit, but he won’t tell me.”
I frowned. “You used to rule. Did Rome tolerate you then?”
He hesitated. He shrugged. “We had a workable relationship. I might have…I do not know why they chose to hate me or perhaps just to ignore me.”
He was lying. There was a reason for it.
“In any case, I have no idea what deal they have made with Akkas. It is far deeper and more expensive than the one they had with me,” he said. “There is something behind it, and I just cannot see why Akkas, the coward, is their darling now.”
Bero shook his head, unwisely pitching in again. “Rome. They are making their way up here, aren’t they?”
�
��Are they?” I asked.
The Red Raven looked unsure. “There are many ways to make your way here. I told you. They buy their allies. They send traders, who cut deals, profitable deals. They cut deals with our chiefs the fools never want to break. The locals making deals with Rome will do anything to keep them, to stay in power, to grow rich. They’ll change the ways of the people, the laws that govern men, and give away even land to the bastards. And Rome?” He squinted at me. “What do you think they do with all this trade?”
“They grow rich, and soon, they know all the ways of the people they trade with, all their laws, and the troubles with the neighboring lands, and they have us fight each other. If we fight back and expel them, they grow furious for the shame and the loss in their profits and are sure to come back,” I said.
He nodded and made a throat cutting motion. “Exactly so. Exactly. Couldn’t have said it any better myself. They throttle you with trade, unless you… And still, even I would now be willing to give them a piece of land for their own, if only they supplied me with their weapons and armor. I hate them, always did, but there it is. It is a fool’s game. So, Akkas must go. For the good of the people. And still, I cannot claw into his secrets.”
I smiled. “For the good of the people?”
He looked embarrassed. “For the good of all the people, myself included. Aye. Come now, don’t embarrass me. I said two thieves might learn to trust each other, so you embarrass yourself now.”
I nodded and ignored Bero’s sour look. Heinrich saw the look on the man’s face. “Don’t make trouble, Maroboodus,” Ingulf said.
“This will be interesting.” Heinrich laughed and poured me some mead. “They both think you can solve my problem.”
I shrugged. “You need to know why Rome helps Akkas. There will be secrets and weaknesses, and men who know how to throw a bone into their soup. You just have to find the right men.”
“I have no time,” he said tiredly. “I cannot capture anyone of them. The Romans are guarded, Akkas is guarded. And tomorrow, they expect—”
The Wolf Page 4