The Wolf

by Alaric Longward

  I smiled. “I do, as a matter of fact.”

  He looked surprised.

  I thumbed to the other side of the river. “They wish to speak with you. They wish to negotiate terms.”

  He laughed and looked to the sky. “Oh. Terms! Do they know I cannot go back? I am committed to sitting in my father’s hall. That’s what I am. Committed to Rome. I don’t particularly like the hall, or the rude people, but I am going to do this anyway. If not today, then another day. Perhaps I’ll just sit here for a time being.”

  “And wait,” I said, “as the Thracian auxilia comes here? It won’t be a surprise. Akkas no longer believes in Rome. Red Raven and Tyr will have more men soon as well.”

  He frowned and scratched his short beard. “Truly? Akkas lost faith in Rome. Whose doing is that? That is a miracle, you see. He would never let go of the wolf’s tit and try to stand on his own two feet, showing his teeth.”

  “Aye,” I said. “He fears even his own men now.”

  “God’s laughter,” he answered, and looked at the dead floating in the water. “You made me look bad, you lot. Anvil’s death is a nasty blow. Rome paid heavy gold for him. His men might not stay.” He grinned widely. “But it was a good fight. You are brave to touch my damned standard. Did you shit on it?”

  “No.”

  “Piss? Did you hump a goat over it?” he asked, chuckling.

  “I couldn’t find a goat, and my horse loves another,” I answered.

  He nodded. “So, why are you here? And what happened. Can you tell me?”

  I handed him his standards back. “I can tell you everything. And I have a proposal. Listen.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The White Tent had been erected on the northern side of the river. There had been frantic activity on both sides to prepare the meeting of the Hermanduri chiefs and to remove the dead and the wounded. We watched the Chatti squatting far from the tent, chanting, mourning Anvil. We saw the enemy mourning several fallen champions and war-chiefs.

  Our men and women were doing the same. Crow’s wife and boys were kneeling next to his body. Ulger was laying alone, but his hands and face had been washed, and the garish eye-wound covered.

  Akkas and the Red Raven were watching Cenhelm, and he was watching them back. Cenhelm was alone on his horse, and around that tent, there were no men. Just him, unarmed. He jumped down and walked to the tent, opened the flap, and moved in. He was there to spare further Hermanduri lives, and Akkas would have to follow suit. The roman soldier appeared as well, hesitated as he watched our mass of men and bodyguards, and went in after Cenhelm. Neither had a weapon. Three figures moved to stand near the tent. They wore ragged cloaks.

  They would be vitka, and völva, and would bless the ground.

  It was getting dark already.

  Red Raven grunted. “Shall we?”

  Akkas nodded and watched Tamura. She nodded. She led us off. We rode down to the ford, and there, the bodyguards stopped, two milling masses.

  Akkas hesitated, and Tamura led him off to the water. Red Raven went next.

  None were armed.

  Cenhelm stepped to the doorway to watch us and then stepped out. “Him. The man who brought me the standards. He fought well. He shall come too.”

  Akkas turned to look at me, and so did the Red Raven. I hesitated. Akkas sighed. “Come, then. But keep your mouth shut.”

  I pulled out the Head Taker and the Roman sword and gave them to Ingulf, who was leaning on his horse. He nodded, his eyes full of pain. “Be careful.”

  I smiled and hoped his wounds would not take him. Then, I turned and rode after the others, like an unwanted dog.

  ***

  The hide tent was hazy with smoke. A pit of fire was burning in the middle of the tent. It was a large, spacious tent, and there were only chairs and benches in it. None seemed above the others. There was a silence that was unbroken by even a cough as people stared at each other with curiosity. Then, a vitka and two völva of Cenhelm entered and were walking about. Two were women and one a man and they wore deer-skull masks. The women stood to the sides.

  Red Raven leaned on me and whispered, “You don’t do this elsewhere?”

  I shook my head. “No. Vitka and völva bless feasts and Things, but war is war. Of course, men speak, if they want peace, but there is no White Tent.”

  “Spares lives,” he said, nervous. “It is a good habit. You work harder in battle before this shit to kill the bastards, so you don’t have to mumble words of mutual admiration and pretend you want peace after. But here we are. He lost, and he knows it. He will go home.”

  “He did,” I told him, and went quiet as Cenhelm was frowning at the noise we were making.

  “Damn, they will…” Red Raven began complaining, but stopped. The vitka held a hlaut vessel, a cup full of blood, and was dipping an evergreen sprig in. Then, he walked around and was sprinkling people with blood from a sacrifice that had been performed elsewhere.

  There had been too much blood to my taste that day, and none of the others looked pleased by what the man was doing, but it had to be endured. The Roman actually wiped the bloody spatters off his face. The vitka was wearing smudged white and gray robe which was now partly red.

  Finally, the vitka nodded and stepped back. “We have been blessed,” he said. “We shall be heard by the gods, and the tent is guarded by Donor.”

  I smiled.

  Cenhelm nodded and took a seat. The Roman sat behind him and stared at the guests.

  Akkas, in his heavy chain, moved to be seated on a bench opposite to Cenhelm. Red Raven nodded at me and Tamura to stand behind and walked to take his place next to Akkas. He sat straight and towered over Akkas. His bulging eyes turned to the Red Raven. Cenhelm, he noticed, was only looking at Heinrich, and so Akkas’s heavy chin looked aggressive, and for a moment, the coward looked ready for a fight. He was cursing softly. The vitka brought everyone a horn of mead and then stepped back.

  Cenhelm, who looked tired and pale, lifted the horn. He spoke resolutely. “Welcome to my tent.”

  Red Raven beat Akkas to an answer. “A fine tent it is. You were carrying a White One just in case you got into trouble?”

  Cenhelm smirked and saluted him. “I believe in the old ways. My father’s ways. How do you like my father’s hall?”

  Red Raven laughed softly. “Akkas sits there now. Haven’t you heard? He wanted it so badly, he forgot to ask whom the Romans love best. Ask him.”

  Akkas sneered and shook his head. “I think it is damp and old, cold, and without honor, after Heinrich spent years in it. I will pull it down, perhaps. Is this what you wish to speak about? Your father’s hall? We could also discuss his mound.”

  “No,” Cenhelm said, giving Heinrich a withering glance. “We shall not discuss his hall or his death. We shall have no discussion on those issues. No more. We shall discuss Rome. You are right. Rome wants neither one of you to rule the Wolf Woods. Neither one. It was my father’s land, and I agree with them. We shall discuss my homecoming.” He took a swig of the mead. “We will discuss the terms of your surrender.”

  Heinrich leaned forward. “We will not discuss your homecoming. Your Roman allies want us both dead. May dogs hump your Roman cow-lovers, and—” Heinrich began to complain, but the Roman threw down his mead horn, and it rattled across the floor. He was scowling.

  The man spoke our language.

  “We shall discuss what I want to discuss,” Cenhelm said after a while. “I raised the tent, and so you will listen. It is true Rome does want you dead. My friend here,” he said, and nodded at the Roman, “is first to admit it. There are no secrets hidden behind his eyes. We all know the truth now. We were surprised today, and he knows it. He also knows that in the end, we can buy all your men, both your men, and we shall win. So, I shall come home. Now, or the next year.”

  “Let it be the next year, then,” Heinrich answered.

  Cenhelm looked down to his horn, and it seemed he had vomited into his mouth. He sh
ook his head. “It is impossible to say which one of you I despise more. I truly cannot say. My father and brother’s blood are in your hands. The Raven, who killed them. Akkas, who didn’t defend them. And still, I am willing to take your oaths. For the Hermanduri sakes.”

  The two rivals looked at each other in surprise. “Oaths?” asked the Red Raven. “You mean you would spare us?”

  “Oaths,” Cenhelm said as he gazed at the two. “You give them to me. You will surrender. Then, perhaps I will.”

  “Our oaths to you?” Akkas said.

  Heinrich snorted. “Surrender? Have you seen the battlefield? You lost.”

  He leaned forward, and his eyes gleamed. Cenhelm nodded at us. “Your men fought well. Your dead war-chiefs fought well. Raven, there, he managed to hold his pants up. You, Akkas? You were a woman. I don’t have any respect for such as you. I’ll put you in charge of horses and cows, as my father did. You surprised us, and next time, it won’t be so. There won’t be a next time, you see. As I told you, we shall buy your men. You give me your oaths.”

  “You give me your cock,” Red Raven roared, and threw his mead horn to the floor to join the Roman one. He stomped on it. “I tell you now, Cenhelm, how it will be. You shall leave and give us oaths to never come back. Do not and you shall not buy our men, because we will chase you to your rotten grave this very night. I’ll have a vitka skin you and make a blanket for the worst warrior in our ranks. For Akkas, perhaps?” He smiled. “Go to Rome, go home to your cows and shit-born women. Take your Chatti dogs and disappear from the land. Akkas and I will decide who we shall rule the land, and you go home. Gods will let us make our own decisions. We shall have three thousand men more here—”

  Cenhelm pointed a finger at him. “I was ten.”

  “Eh?” the Red Raven asked. “What?”

  Cenhelm spoke. “Ten summer old. You were twenty, and brave, my father’s youngest warlord. Akkas wasn’t even a war-lord. He was his warrior, a caretaker. He and his Sarmatian blood got him noticed, and my father loved all his war-chiefs well, as he did Akkas. He was a good man, my father. You both gave him your oaths. I remember that. You gave them. You gave them in each Yule-Feast, and you spoke words of loyalty.”

  Red Raven shrugged. “So what?”

  Cenhelm snarled and leaned forward. “Gods are watching. You both failed, and broke your oaths. They won’t let you rule, because you failed the oaths you gave before, to my father. The gods have been watching you rule badly, Raven, to the dismay of the people. They have watched in scorn, as Akkas has failed. You two shall go on your damned knees,” he said, “and you shall bow before me, and you will accept punishment for your lies and failures. Then, I shall send you to war, to the north or west, as I please, or perhaps to the pigsty. I give you this one chance. I promised myself that much when I was told you had to die. One chance, I told myself, for both pigs.”

  Raven frowned. “You are arrogant.”

  “Oaths, Heinrich,” Cenhelm said darkly.

  They sat there, stunned, and Akkas shifted and fell apart like a hard loaf of bread under a hoof. “I didn’t kill your father. I didn’t betray him. It was too late to do anything about it when I learnt of it. I didn’t do more than serve him, and then, I gathered pieces and bits of his power and began re-building what he loved so much. A powerful land. I…”

  Red Raven made a meowing noise and shook his head. “Oh, be quiet! You collected nothing. They gave you all so you might lead men to fight me and make way for Cenhelm. That you are in this tent is a jest,” Red Raven said. “Under the banner of truce, here, this night, I tell you this. Take Akkas with you and make him your woman. Let him herd your children around and feed the cows. It was an unlucky Sarmatian who humped his mother. Never a worse match. Like a god mating with a goat. I never killed your father, Cenhelm. It was but a rumor. A lie.”

  Akkas shook his head, grinding. “Oh, I remember how your father died, Cenhelm. A hunting accident, on a day of feast, served by our sweet Red Raven.”

  “I set up feasts for my Thiuda,” Heinrich said. “but I cannot always stop a mountain bear from charging men,” he snapped. “Not even men as high as the Thiuda had been.”

  “Instead,” Akkas said sadly, “Cenhelm’s father escaped the bear, and somehow managed to hit his head on a thick branch, and then, he fell on his spear. It was a fabulous buffoonery, wasn’t it? It was an odd thing he was with this one at the time. And what happened to you, and your brothers, Cenhelm? Nay, everyone knows Red Raven took the throne—”

  “To stop Hermanduri from betraying their honor to Rome,” Red Raven said. “This is something I still cherish. It is something I still fight for. Unlike you two.”

  Akkas leaned forward. “It is you and I, Cenhelm, who understand how to rule. Aye, you used me to your advantage. But have I not shown I, too, can bite? I can serve with you.”

  Cenhelm smiled. “Heinrich. Akkas wants me to stay. I am no longer to run away?”

  Red Raven roared. “You are! And take the woman in chain with you!”

  Cenhelm’s eyes went to Tamura, and he smiled, and then, he turned to Akkas. “Oaths.”

  Akkas went on, sweating. “Fine. I will give you one, but you must keep me with you.”

  “Wife to Cenhelm, you will be,” Heinrich laughed.

  Akkas spoke on. “I can aid you. I approve of Rome. Did not the Romans themselves ally with the neighboring cities and tribes and slowly grow into a power to eclipse over others? They did. Clever allies make for powerful kings. We know this. This damned bastard,” Akkas said, and eyed Red Raven, “thinks Hermanduri can grow alone. We need Sarmatians, other tribes, like the Chatti, we need Roman ingenuity, and above all, we need the trade. We need the trade he ruined.”

  “You need shackles and a master,” the Red Raven laughed. “Won’t you bend for the Roman there? He might like his arses hairy. A slave’s collar will hang around your neck one day.” Red Raven shook his head. I am not going anywhere, Cenhelm. I’ll tell the men Akkas fell apart. Tyr is sick and tired of him. So are his men. The Sarmatians may follow him to Helheim. Is there more to talk about? Shall I go, and we start the war? No lives will be spared, and I don’t care, truly.”

  Akkas was looking at Cenhelm and wiping his face.

  Cenhelm smiled and sighed. He looked at the Roman, who stared forward with a stony face. Cenhelm got up and stretched his back. “A tent for speaking the truth after a battle is a thing cherished by our kin. It is a place of solemn honesty. After battle, and the brotherly blood that has been spilled in one, things can be settled with sense. Or, as you say, Heinrich, one can see more blood must be spilled by brothers.”

  Heinrich nodded. “Aye. More blood must be spilled.”

  “Perhaps there is a third way. You are both oath breakers and flawed men. You, Akkas, might have built the powerful alliances surprisingly well, and see things with Rome as I do. And yet, you have betrayed my father, by refusing to invite us, the sons of your former lord, back to the land. For years, you were the second power after Heinrich, but you were not brave or honorable enough to aid us. You were used, but I do feel spite for you.”

  The Roman man nodded softly as he got up as well.

  Cenhelm turned to Heinrich. “And you, the killer of my brothers, the slayer of my father, and an unkind, terrible man in many other ways, you are not worthy of the time and thought. Tell me,” he asked the vitka, as he turned to the doorway, “are broken oaths a crime in the eyes of Woden and Donor?”

  Eyes turned to the vitka.

  He nodded behind his mask and so did the two völva behind theirs. “Woden sees them and salutes their bravery in battle. The gods hate them out of battle. Donor looks on them, his fist clenched, and Woden’s one eye is turned away from them. They are oath breakers. A Thing would judge them harshly, if they were not powerful and rich.”

  Cenhelm walked for the doorway and stopped by it. The Roman turned to look at us. Cenhelm hesitated and then stepped out. The Roman stayed by the doorway.
<
br />   Akkas stared at the roman uncertainly. Red Raven was frowning.

  Then, he spoke. “Akkas. I’d not follow me back to the camp. You have made your choice. Stay here and beg. You’ll be left unburied, like he will.”

  The two völva stepped forward. The vitka turned and walked out.

  Red Raven was frowning still, even deeper. “What is this?”

  And so, I spoke. “It is the third way for Cenhelm and fourth for me.”

  He turned to look at me, leaning on his knee. “What do you mean, Maroboodus?”

  I spoke as I walked around him, Tamura at a tow. I nodded at the way out. “He tried to deal with you. He insisted. Everyone else said ‘no,’ but he tried. He is a good man.”

  “I piss on his goodness,” Heinrich said darkly. “What is this?”

  “The second choice for him is a battle,” I said, as Tamura walked past me to stand in front of the two Germani. “That is a terrible choice. He might die. He might lose, and it might take years to get into his father’s hall.”

  Akkas was looking at Tamura. “Get me to my troops. To Tyr.”

  “In a moment,” she said huskily. The völva and the Roman didn’t move.

  “This is the third way for him,” I said. “And the fourth for me.”

  Red Raven stood up. “I piss on your ways too. Speak plainly.”

  I stood before him. “I could join Akkas. He is a useless cock.”

  “Aye. And you made oaths to me.”

  I smiled. “I could, indeed, serve you. Or I could ride west, after I get my hands on Maino and Erse, even before. But you cannot give them to me.”

  He shook his head. “Who can?”

  “The Romans,” I said.

  He flinched. He turned and was struck across his face by the Roman man. His name was Lucius, and he was a centurion of a legion stationed in Greece and then the personal guard of Cenhelm.