The Wolf

by Alaric Longward

  We turned to look at Akkas. He wore his armor, chainmail that was hanging down to his knees, and boots of leather. He held a sword and wore a golden belt. On his head, there was a bronze helmet with red horsehair. He looked like a troll in armor, and his eyes kept flickering from his men to us.

  Tyr pointed a piece of meat at us. “They are trying to beat sense to Heinrich’s head. I think they are saying we have all been betrayed.”

  Akkas blinked and wrung his fingers. “Tamura?” Akkas asked, his voice betraying fear. “What is this? What has happened?”

  Tamura rode to him, and a man dragged Marcus with him. We watched in fascination as Akkas’s face changed from confused, into surprised, and then frightened.

  Tyr was speaking. “They are right. The war with the Quadi must wait. You have all their oaths, Thiuda. You are the lord of us all, even Red Raven. You shall both fall, if you do not act.”

  “My men…Cenhelm? Truly? I must—”

  “The men are being mustered to the Wolf Field,” she said. “You must make sure Antius doesn’t tell the Romans we are marching. We must march now.”

  “Are we?” Akkas asked. “Marching?”

  Tyr spat. “We are.”

  “Where are the vitka?” Akkas asked, lost.

  “They are asleep,” Tyr snarled. “We must act.”

  Akkas was pacing back and forth like a peacock. “Prefect Cato! Traitor. Rome has forsaken me. How can we survive?” He hammered his skull and then seemed to find some courage. “Call for Antius! I must know the truth,” he yelled, and then, his eyes went to Marcus. “You.”

  Marcus, wringing his hands, went to his knees, white of face. He looked at me, and flinched, and decided I’d truly butcher him, if he didn’t speak the truth. “Great Thiuda. It is true. We have been… It is wrong. We have been plotting to put Cenhelm on the throne all this time.”

  All eyes turned to the Roman camp, where men were frowning at the sight of a sudden Thing taking place and armed men so agitated. I saw Antius, he saw me, and then, he saw Marcus and hesitated. And then, he ran.

  “Kill them,” the Red Raven hissed. “Akkas! Thiuda. We must—”

  Akkas nodded. “My men?” Crow and Ulger turned with shock on their faces. “Kill the Roman guards. Capture Antius. Marcus?”

  “Thiuda?” he asked, miserably. “I have been harboring the secret for weeks. It has eaten me up alive.”

  Akkas was nodding, his face a mask of black rage. “Indeed. You made me a power over Heinrich and promised eternal support, hoped he would die, and then, you would murder me and put Cenhelm above me. Who would have been the murderers? Who did you hire to kill me?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Antius… I know not. He knows all your men.”

  Akkas visibly stepped away from his warlords. He hid behind his two guards and the Sarmatians who had hands on their sword hilts. Tyr was spitting and shaking his head, eyes on Red Raven.

  I turned to see a hundred Germani jumping on their horses, led by Crow and Snake. Ulger was trying to find his spear.

  Crow lifted his spear, and his horse was rearing and bouncing. “Kill them. Kill the Romans. Loot them and bring the Thiuda their heads! Show him we are his men!”

  The Sarmatians backed off as the Hermanduri thundered for the Roman camp, framea and spears at the ready. All around the fields, men were turning to look at the sudden battle, and chiefs, newly arrived and even the old ones, were wondering at the sight from the side.

  The Romans, not sure what was happening, confused by the sudden flight of Antius, all twenty of them, were picking up their gear slowly. Then, they were yelling warnings. Crow led them in. He, holding a large ax, crashed into the first guards, hacked down, and left one dead. Snake was behind, his long spear stabbing at the other one, and he put the man down. A Roman guard threw his heavy spear at one rider, and the Hermanduri fell off the saddle, howling with his guts flowing over his hands. The Romans were rushing to form a line, the new slaves in recently emptied wagons were screaming, some for joy, and then, we saw little more as the Hermanduri broke into the midst of the Romans. There, a bitter fight took place, and men fell from saddles, as the doughty Roman guards, all mercenaries with years of experience in slaving business, fought for their lives. They stabbed up, hacked and formed small groups, and finally, frustrated, the Hermanduri threw their framea in volleys. One by one, the Romans fell.

  Ulger was leading ten men to the woods, and they would hunt for Antius.

  I grinned, as the Hermanduri were leaping down to cut off the heads and to loot the corpses and the tents. I turned to look at the Red Raven. He shook his head in silent anger and turned to look at him men and then at Akkas. “Thiuda. We must…ride together to fight this threat. I know you do not trust me, and I do not trust you, but I have given my oaths. They hold. I will obey them. We must ride out. As soon as possible.”

  Akkas shook his head and looked at Tyr. The man stepped forward and faced him. Akkas spoke softly. “How many men can we get?”

  “Your Sarmatians, one hundred cavalry,” he said. “Red Raven’s three thousand men, your five. We lack few thousand men of those chiefs, who are further afield.”

  The Red Raven cursed. “No. We had those men yesterday. Many have gone hunting, or home, waiting for the war. We shall have five all together, if we must march today.”

  Tyr nodded. “Unfortunately, we won’t have time to gather all our men. We have more men, though. We have the surprise. But we must move fast. The Romans will warn them if we tarry.” He gave Tamura a long look. “Can we trust you?”

  Akkas looked at the Sarmatians around him with sudden realizations they, too, might be traitors.

  “Akkas,” Tamura said softly, “is my relative. I will fight.”

  Akkas smiled uncertainly, and I hated his weakness.

  Tyr was nodding, looking carefully at his Thiuda. “King, we might be able to cut him off near the ford of Black Fox. He will cross there before he enters our woods again. We might hurry, and we can get there in time. By the next morning, certainly. We must get all our men there, all we can find now.”

  Akkas nodded and swallowed. “Make it so. Make ready and be fast. We must move very soon. Get the men ready and under the banners.”

  I nodded and looked at the Red Raven, and he leaned down. I spoke softly. “Send for your men. Get her one of her daughters. Send your son.” He gave the man a quick look and waved him over. He leaned back to me. “And then, when Cenhelm is dead or sent away, Akkas shall be alone, and we try again. Perhaps you can blame Rome and Cenhelm for Akkas’s death? You can blame anyone for it, and we will do well. We can still win.”

  “If we defeat Cenhelm,” he said bitterly. “And Roman traitors. To imagine she was going to kill Akkas for them. Roman here, Roman there. Aye. I will send my boy to fetch the girl. And you? March with my men. We need to pretend no longer.”

  I nodded and marched for my tents. There, our twenty men were standing before the place, and Ingulf turned to command them to make ready. I didn’t listen, for I dodged to the tent.

  There, Bero sat, hands tied again. His dark hair was wet with sweat, and he looked like he was starving.

  I squatted before him, pulled the Head Taker, and eyed its blade. “So. You made a deal with the Sarmatians. Your son for a grand sacrifice.”

  He flinched. “You set me up. I didn’t—”

  “We anticipated it, though,” I said.

  He leaned towards me, desperately. “I helped you now. I did. I listened and obeyed, and you must—”

  Ingulf came in. I ignored him and spoke with Bero. “I promised you I would let your boy fight me, fairly, and you agreed to it. You betrayed me.”

  He sneered, face white with fear. “Of course, I did. What kind of father would not take a chance to spare his son a battle? A terrible, bad one, I tell you that. No, I didn’t agree to anything out of choice, anyway. And I guess you knew I wouldn’t, since you are alive and not a meal for their fire gods.”

  H
is eyes followed the sword.

  “I will get what I want. And you?”

  “I shall die?” he said miserably. “Your father won’t be happy about that.”

  “My father?” I asked. “No, he shall not be happy about that. It cannot be helped at this point. I will get Erse back to him, and he may decide how he shall view things after. You need to understand, Bero, that you chose to betray me.”

  “You expected me to,” he told me. “I didn’t disappoint you. You told me this plan of yours would get Maino released, and Erse. I have no idea how, though.”

  Ingulf grunted. “I don’t, either. I don’t understand anything, but we are going to war, and you are scheming behind Red Raven’s back. Are we going to be with Akkas now?”

  “How will that get Maino released?” Bero asked with despair.

  I shrugged. “I have a plan. As for your help just now, Bero, for that, I will keep our original deal,” I told him, and felt satisfaction at the hope that lit on his face. “When this is over, he may fight me. The winner walks off. That is all there is to it.”

  He took a shuddering breath and nodded.

  I got up. Ingulf stopped me. “Tamura knows your plan, no?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Will you share it with me?” he asked. “I assume we are not with Red Raven. I assume we are either getting Maino in some way I cannot fathom, just like Bero cannot, and we will leave after, and perhaps we are joining Akkas for some reason?”

  I hesitated. “We are not leaving. Trust me. And fight with me. We must win a battle.”

  I smiled and felt Lok was smiling.

  CHAPTER 12

  The columns of troops were marching and riding fast, Mani lighting the way, through the day, deep into the night. They had rested for some hours and were again on the move, with some torches in the columns making them look like a snake of fire. They had been given little food, and their women were staunchly keeping up with their men. They and slaves carried water, mead, and extra weapons and filled the sides of the columns. The great standards of the Hermanduri were swinging darkly above the men’s heads, and the thicket of spears above them were an oddly harmonious sight. They were silent, grim, and surprised. They had been promised a war with the Quadi, and instead, they would fight a man who might have ruled them, if not for Red Raven. Their war-lords were wearing Roman weapons and armor, and the rumors after the sack of the Roman camp confused them even more.

  The red shields were leading the march, some two thousand of them, all that had been gathered in such a short notice. Red Raven was far in the front. Only three thousand of Akkas’s men had been found. Their champions and wars chiefs were gleaming with Roman mail and weapons, so a war with Roman sympathizing Cenhelm was disquieting. Crow and Snake were just behind us, and Tyr was riding with them, snarling orders. I came last in Red Raven’s group. Akkas was in the middle of his column with Ulger.

  They all gave me unhappy looks.

  They had no idea whom I served.

  I looked forward and saw how three champions amongst the red shields held high famous weapons, cheering the men around them.

  I enjoyed the march. It was better to march to battle than to dwell on alliances, on deceit, and on my future. If things went well, I would get all I desired.

  Scouts were riding for the columns, and women gave them room, as they sought out their war-lords first, then Tyr.

  I overheard some speaking to him. The enemy was making good time.

  I looked at Ingulf, who had been in a dark mood for the duration of the ride. Ingulf was riding behind me, and I held my spear high and wondered at the huge number of men heaving behind us. He gave me a dry smile, trying not to feel happy for the bloodshed that would simplify our lives. I grinned, he answered, and I turned. It was late night, and in the front, Red Raven had disappeared into thick woods with his men, and I knew we were getting close. Beyond the woods would be the ford the battle might be fought in. Soon, we also dove deep under the boughs of the heavy beech woods and marched on, sweating, ready for battle.

  Soon, the Sunna was making its way to the sky, chased by the wolves, herself chasing after Mani, her lover. A golden glow peeked from the horizon, and the fog in the woods was swirling around us. I turned and watched the standard of Akkas with the horse painted on black swaying behind us, he sat tiredly his horse amid his men, afraid and uncertain.

  I cursed him. Join Akkas? Ingulf couldn’t be serious. He would have us killed, just because he feared us. The battle had to be won, despite the man.

  Red Raven knew what to do.

  The war-chiefs would follow his mark—his and Tyr’s. We marched on for hour more, Sunna was now a pale disk on the sky, and I suddenly saw the Sarmatians conferring with the Red Raven far ahead. They turned and rushed off. Red Raven lifted his spear, and we began running, the columns thinning into lines.

  The enemy was early.

  We were late.

  ***

  The woods thinned abruptly. Up ahead, Red Raven’s men were rushing left along the tree line, and I heard a mad beat of the drums. It sounded ominous, thrilling, and made men shit themselves for fear. They beat like the end of Midgard was nigh, and I knew it was Cenhelm, who had been surprised in the midst of crossing a ford. We rushed forward after Red Raven’s men, and Ingulf and I guided our horses forward as we pushed to a mass of men trying to move left after Red Raven in the edge of the woods and looked down the flowery hill-side.

  Below us was a deep, golden river, glimmering with morning’s light. It was a wide one; Black Fox ford was the best place to cross it for many, many miles around us.

  The enemy columns had half crossed it already.

  I stared at the enemy, just as Akkas’s men began filling the spaces to our right.

  There was a teaming horde of men just a stone’s throw away down the gentle slope. There were some two thousand men in the horde. They were veteran warriors, tough men, holding shields, spears, clubs, axes, and some, swords. They wore mostly just tunics, and some had chain and leathers, but most bore also scars of battle, and rings and loot of the men who had challenged them before.

  The horde of enemy was spreading before us, Hermanduri rushing to match Red Raven’s movement, guided by chiefs with white horse-hair on their helmets.

  Just before us was a thick, chanting mass of men, where the most famous standards were high. Men, nearly a thousand strong, were looking at us madly, all in black leathers and black furs, their long hair wilder than even that of the Hermanduri.

  “Oh, shit,” Ingulf said. “Haven’t been this afraid since Grandmother threatened to boil our cocks as kids.”

  “Aye,” I said, and agreed, though my cock had not faced such a daunting threat. “Chatti mercenaries. Anvil’s boys.”

  “Shit.”

  They each carried a sack, in addition to shield and spear, and many, if not most, had their foreheads bared, their hair cut high. Amid those men sat a handsome lord on a black horse, brave under a wolf banner on a silvery pole, red wolf painted on white leather. He had a short beard, silvery scale mail, and a large, white shield with the wolf symbol. He was young, he wore a Roman long sword, and held a gleaming spear. That was Cenhelm, the future husband to Tamura, and I felt a stab of envy.

  His best men, many armed like he was, were looking up with shock at our masses.

  With the man sat a Roman.

  It was clear he was one. He wore a red cloak and a helmet of bronze, with a long red plume, and he looked like he was screaming orders.

  A tall, gaunt Chatti under a banner of a hammer on anvil was nodding, pulling at his beard. The Roman had a sword in his hand, sat on a Roman four-horned saddle, and seemed to be commanding Cenhelm. Cenhelm, on his part, had suddenly had enough of such commands and snarled orders for the Chatti. Then, Cenhelm was riding back and forth as the Chatti yelled at a drummer. His drum was suddenly beating madly, and then, his men dropped their sacks, all filled with supplies, and were milling forward, like a billowing storm cl
oud, looking at their war-chiefs leading them.

  “The bastards mean to take this bit of wood,” Ingulf said. “They are coming. Just need to suck in their bellies first and to find the courage.”

  I looked left. It and what would be the center were full of men in ranks of troops. Four ranks deep, the men’s shields thick, and war-lords, either on foot amongst them or riding around, screaming orders under their banners, we held the wood tight.

  I looked right. There were just some men to our right. A thin line of Crow’s men. He was screaming, looking at the woods behind us. I turned in my saddle.

  Tyr was screaming at Akkas as well.

  He was.

  Akkas was holding back his men, ignoring Ulger and Snake, and keeping his Sarmatian guards in check. A milling mass of Hermanduri was taking steps forward behind them.

  I lifted my sword. “Akkas! Akkas! Fill the flanks! The shield-wall! Fill it! Stay in reserve with some men!”

  “Listen to him!” Tyr was screaming from the top of his lungs. “Get moving! Get moving! Bring the men there! Bring them all there! Fast, by Woden’s cock!”

  Then, it was too late. The Chatti roared, and the ground trembled as they charged. I heard Cenhelm yelling above their roar. He lifted his spear and gloated. “The Red Raven! The Red Raven! Kill the Red Raven and rape Akkas with your spears! He won’t mind any! Leave them to rot in the woods, if they won’t bend a knee!”

  The Hermanduri rushed for Red Raven. They came in a thick shield-wall, just a bit over thousand strong, but more and more were coming over.

  The Chatti didn’t form a shield-wall.

  They didn’t form a cunus, a boar’s tusk, where the best men would lead and try to break through and the others follow them, closely bunched in a deadly formation bristling with spears and axes.

  Instead, they rushed forward in a wide mass of rage, in an angry wave of men, and they came for the center and many for the weak right flank.

  That flank was just to my right.

  They came like men mad for blood, men yearning for shade in the Asgaard or in Freya’s halls, and fought like mad things, seeing the weakness in our formation.