The Wolf

by Alaric Longward

  I felt so sick, I wanted to die. I was bruised, Tudrus’s ax had likely broken a rib or two, and I had been shot through. I spat and saw no blood. I found there was no spit at all, in fact, for my throat was parched.

  My eyes went to a rope, and that rope hung from a tree.

  I turned my head to say something, but I only managed a soft croak. Ingulf was smiling at Erse, who was whispering something back to him.

  “Erse?” I heard my father’s voice calling, and she got up, straightened herself, and walked off with a bowl.

  She had been making food for Hulderic. I watched her go and turned to see her walk to a fire near ours.

  There, a Thing of war-chiefs was in progress. There stood the Quadi king Cynefirth, and Tudrus and his two remaining brothers stood near. They were all ragged and wounded. There was the old war chief, the white-haired one, and he was walking back and forth. Many of his best men, and a vitka, short and crooked-looking creature, was standing with Bero beyond them.

  Maino.

  Maino was there, thin and weak, but with a wound on his arm, looking fierce. He had been fighting. I had not seen him. The battle must have moved beyond the bridge after I fell.

  Hulderic was standing with his hands behind his back.

  Cynefirth was nodding as he rubbed his face. “Over two thousand men. That’s a terrible loss. Some hundreds will be back, but we lost too many men.

  “I did tell you,” said the war-chief. “I told you not to defend the town and the woods.”

  “We killed eight hundred of theirs in those woods,” the king said stiffly. “More.”

  The old chief put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “The Marcomanni will always march to your aid, but we cannot help each other, if we do not find common ground in a matter of tactics,” the war-chief said sadly. “I am Balderich, but even I cannot perform miracles. It was Hulderic the Goth here, and his brother Bero, who managed to guide us here, just in time. He knew you would be in trouble and gave us no choice. We should thank them.” He smiled fondly at the two brothers. Bero bowed deep.

  “And yet, I lost too many men, and you were late,” the Quadi said unreasonably, and shook his head. “I am sorry. I lost sons. I nearly lost a son to his son. He might never walk again, and he won’t ride well. I did lose a father to his son. I find it hard to thank anyone whose son led the Chatti to my town.”

  “He spared your boy, I hear,” Hulderic said. “He could have—”

  “He will hang,” Cynefirth said savagely. “He should. He should hang. I grant you are his father, and you have been hunting him for a long while, and he has wronged you, your people, and every clan of honest men he has meddled with, but it is still hard to let someone else do the hanging. My vitka wanted to give him Woden’s death, a rope and a spear in the gut. You are just looking at him, doing nothing.”

  Hulderic shook his head. “If you think the mere act of killing him will bring you peace, you are wrong. I have other reasons to finish him. It is a family business, old as time. My duty, it is. And, yes, it is a hard duty. You have sons and know it to be one.”

  Cynefirth nodded. “I know, and I am sorry.”

  Tudrus grunted. “He deserves a good death. He fought well. What they did in the town merits death, and perhaps punishment, but he fought very well. Let him have a sword and fight me.”

  Hulderic put his hand on the hilt of Head Taker. “No. He hasn’t granted that right to his enemies. He doesn’t merit it.”

  I closed my eyes and pressed my head to the mud. I felt Ingulf walking to sit next to me. He reached over and pushed some food into my mouth. “Shut up and listen,” he whispered.

  I chewed and listened.

  Balderich, walking back and forth, shook his head. “The fact is, Cynefirth, that we are too far from our own lands, the land where the fields and halls of our men are, and have been for long years. That I could summon so many men in our eastern gau was a miracle. Your lands are victims to the Matticati raiding, and we have men helping there as well, but we cannot spend blood everywhere, not even for you. The trade your marriage brought us all was a fine thing, but we cannot hold this land. They have the town. They have the river, and they will have the lake, and the woods to the west as well. We need to make alliances with the Chatti and hope they fight with us next year. You shall keep your wife and your relations to the north, and perhaps we can build the trade back in our home lands. Granted, it is a long way off, but…”

  Cynefirth nodded. “The Hermanduri will recapture the trade. They will.”

  Balderich nodded. “We are too stretched. Now, we must decide what to do with the horde of enemies we cannot beat. We cannot, can we?”

  Bero spoke quickly. “They have some seven thousand men still. We have four. They took the bridge. We are out of supplies, and they are not. We cannot beat them in battle. Wulf, here, your vitka, has seen the signs as well. Woden cannot win this battle for us.”

  Balderich gave him a grateful smile. A brooding, thin man with a silver torc standing near Bero was nodding.

  Cynefirth shook his head. “We cannot win. I know. We cannot do a single thing right, it seems. It is impossibly hard for me to leave, and even then, they will come after. It will be a lean winter.”

  “It will be that,” Balderich said. “But we will fight them to a standstill in the west. Don’t worry about that. We shall weather this. As long as you agree to come with us, as we flee.”

  “That Roman auxilia unit,” said Tudrus. “They butchered so many of our men, there are men who say they rather flee to the mountains to die than fight them again. Tomorrow, the riders of the enemy will start harassing us. They will march hard. Let us hope we get out. I am not sure we can stop them in the west.”

  None said anything to that.

  Ingulf leaned over me and whispered, “Your father tried to kill you when you slept. Bero cheered him on, and Maino begged to be allowed the honor of drowning you. Your father refused. Offer them a solution, and he will consider it. I’ll help. Harmod will too. You always have a plan. We need one now.”

  I was thinking and nodding.

  And then, I spoke. “Father?”

  They turned to look at me. They stared at me like they would an adder in their bed. The Quadi king got up. He looked pale as winter, and just then, it began raining. He stepped forward and groped for his ax, but Ingulf got up.

  “Listen to what he has got to say, at least,” he snarled. “He spared your boy.”

  The man hesitated and stopped. “Speak,” he said softly, quivering with anger. Tudrus was watching me with a faint smile on his face. Maino was frowning and shaking his head, but Bero was thinking hard and lifted his hand to quiet Maino. Bero’s wife was sitting near and looked at Hulderic, who had not turned to me. She looked concerned.

  “Speak, he said,” Hulderic uttered. “Start by explaining yourself. Explain that night you came to my camp.”

  “I came to give you a choice,” I said stiffly.

  “A choice between death and leaving you at peace?” he asked.

  I nodded, but he didn’t see it. “Yes. I…have made many mistakes,” I said. “I wanted to build a world for myself. I didn’t want you and yours to hover around me. You disagreed. I was going to take it.”

  “You are not like other men,” Hulderic said darkly. “Have you not noticed? You never were. In this family, Maroboodus, men like you are killed, or they let themselves be shackled into those who know better. It has been so always. You cannot expect me to let you…but you know all this. You would have killed me.”

  “I object to chains and dying for some ancient prophecy,” I said. “And I didn’t kill you on the bridge.”

  He shook his head and rubbed his face. “And you are dangerous. The deaths you have caused…” He shook his head. “Our tribe, Boat-Lord, Saxons, Finnr’s people, Cherusci, and now…here. You should have killed me on the bridge.”

  I closed my eyes. “I have no explanations to give. If it is indeed so, that I am a cursed thing,
Father, then the deaths will keep taking place.”

  “Unless you submit,” he laughed. “But no. Not my boy.” He wept. He turned away as Balderich looked on steadily, and Cynefirth stepped back. Bero’s wife got up, as did Erse, and both stepped forward, but neither came close to him as he shed bitter tears, his breath shuddering.

  I didn’t have to fake my tears. They came, and I couldn’t stop them. “I am tired, Father.”

  I meant it.

  I was.

  I spoke on. “I missed people I love. I went too far, and I know it. I have forgotten all rules of war, all the lessons taught to me, and the honor of our family.”

  Ingulf grunted in agreement. Bero’s eyes were twinkling, and Maino looked so disgusted, he might have vomited.

  Tudrus was smiling. Cynefirth was listening, looking sideways at me.

  I went on. “I have no idea how I went that far. The people in the town. I obeyed. I needed not kill them, or to let my men… I wanted to… I have caused so many deaths. For that, I must suffer forever.”

  “You are clever as a snake,” Hulderic spoke, as he wiped his tears. Balderich looked at me with keen interest. “My heart is breaking, Maroboodus. It is. I feel pity for you and pity for me, and the men and women who have died for this game. You are a lost soul, and we are sitting in the ruins of a lost war. I cannot…” he said. “He should die. We have no time for this.”

  Bero nodded. “I agree.”

  “Father, lords,” I said miserably. “I can work my evil for us, for change. I might be able to stop them. I know how.”

  I spat water out of my mouth as the rain intensified.

  They stared at me as if I was mad.

  “How?” Balderich asked.

  I nodded to what I thought was east. “Trickery. It will break them apart. Let Lok’s tricks work for us, for a change. And if they do, I shall submit to my father. I’ll be a small wolf in a pack of wolves. I will work to remedy what I can.”

  Hulderic opened his mouth and closed it.

  Cynefirth looked uncertain.

  Bero didn’t. He was about to step forward.

  Balderich lifted his hand. “We need Lok now, it seems. I shall give you a home, Goths, and I shall lift you high.”

  Cynefirth shook his head. “He must make amends to me. In every case, I will want amends.”

  Hulderic spoke. “He will give you his oaths later. He will serve you until you are happy.”

  Cynefirth nodded. “Oaths to me, on his knees, and before a shrine to Woden.”

  They stared at me, and finally, Balderich asked, “How?”

  And I told them.

  CHAPTER 20

  The rain was coming down so hard, we could only barely see the Sarmatian scout who was crouched over a corpse of man. The corpse was there for a purpose, but the man didn’t know it.

  We had found a boat, many Roman miles to the north of our camps, made our careful way across the river, and had finally seen a Sarmatian riding forward.

  The man, apparently unbothered by the rain, had been scouting the flanks of the gigantic camp that was drenched and set in the remains of Melocabus.

  The corpse had a rich golden torc. We had placed the corpse in plain sight, and the rider had seen it, dismounted, and looted it.

  He tore off the torc and looked at it closely.

  His lance was set in the ground next to him, the horse was grazing, and he looked happy as a child, rain or not.

  Ingulf was shaking his head. He was holding his side, and his previous wounds were still making him weak. I had the same problem, and the wound in my back was leaking blood. By Lok’s luck, it had missed my vitals. I looked at a shadow that was moving near the Sarmatian. Harmod, gruff and cursing silently, was crouched nearby.

  I watched the last man in our team.

  It was Maino.

  The berserker was on his knees, holding an ax not too far. We all had red shields recovered from some Hermanduri that had been driven away by the Quadi and the Marcomanni after they took the bridge, and with some luck, we might be Hermanduri.

  I watched the man lift a pouch off the corpse and look inside.

  I watched Harmod and Maino get up and take steps forward, and then few more, until the horse shied away.

  The Sarmatian lifted his head and caught Maino’s sword in his face. He twitched away, grasping for his lance, but Harmod tackled him and smashed an ax to the man’s skull. He pulled it out of the skull, cursing loudly now, and the blade came off with a loud crunching and popping noise. We walked to the man and looked at the rain-drenched village standing in rain amid trampled, bloodied barley.

  There were lights where fires were burning amid the ruins and in tents, and the Roman castra, just across the river, guarding the bridge had several.

  “Where to?” Harmod asked. “We have many hours, but never enough, right?”

  “This way,” I said, and took the Sarmatian horse.

  Harmod shook his head and mounted it, and Maino gave him the lance. “Show us.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, and we rushed to the night. Harmod was riding calmly, the lance high. The rain was coming down heavily, the wind was picking up, and I despaired.

  “Somewhere here,” I said miserably. “Perhaps they have found him.”

  “Then we must—” Ingulf began.

  I saw a ditch and rushed forward.

  Then, Mani blessed me with a sliver of light, and I saw it.

  “Here,” I said, and found the place where the Roman centurion, Lucius, had fallen. I scratched my clean-shaven chin, felt blood and water mixing ungraciously in my eyes, and went to the corpse. They followed me, and we looked at the man’s gear.

  Ingulf grinned. “We can do it. It’s the second time we dress you up pretty.”

  I smiled, happy he was there.

  We proceeded to strip him, and I began dressing into his gear. The chain was of better quality, but smaller, so it was tight around my chest. I looked at the belts and the odd cingulum contraption, and Harmod, cursing, set about helping me dress in it. I put on the sandals and tried to adjust them. When I stood up, I pulled on the helmet with the wet plumes. I was drenched, muddy, and wet, and walked to Harmod.

  He looked down at me.

  “I need it,” I said. “And you have to trust me now.”

  Harmod smiled like a ghost, thin and unhappy. “Oh, that easy, eh?”

  “No, but it must be done.”

  He dismounted, and I jumped on.

  “If you go back to the enemy,” he said with a warning growl, “I pray they betray you.”

  I grunted. “They have already. Now, I bet that tent is in the middle of the field. In the damned middle of it. It is raining as if from Eostere’s arse, and you must make haste. We’ll not stay around for long. It’s a damned stupid plan, but—”

  Harmod shrugged. “To be honest, it is our only plan, so it is a great plan.”

  I grinned and looked at Ingulf. “Come, then.”

  Harmod nodded and left with Maino, who was shaking his head. His father had demanded he be quiet all the time, and he had obeyed.

  “Right,” I said, and turned the horse. “March after me,” I said.

  Ingulf spat and left first, and I felt anger gnawing at me as I watched Maino disappear after Harmod. Then, I was cursing the pain that coursed its way across my chest and back. My head hurt terribly.

  Ingulf walked on and I with him.

  I grinned and rubbed the blood on my chin. “So. How did you like being without me?”

  “I felt good about myself,” he said honestly, and smiled. “Your beardless face looks like a child’s arse with a boil in the middle. Close the hole in the middle of it, so the shit stays in.”

  “Erse seems to like you?” I asked, ignoring his advice.

  He lost his smile. “You are still a bastard. Why it would have changed, I know not. Still, a bastard.”

  “Tell my father that,” I said as I guided the horse after Maino. “He spared me?”
/>   “He stood over you for an hour and wept,” he said. “He was miserable. He won’t say it, but he prayed to Woden you would beg to come back to be his little wolf.”

  I smiled. “I wonder if Cynefirth will take my service or will hang me from my balls.”

  He grunted. “Good work with Maino. Be patient with your enemy,” he said. “He is still a vicious bastard. He shall always be one, like you are a bastard, but if you don’t talk to each other, you both might make it.”

  “What are they planning after?” I asked him. “Marcomanni?”

  “Hulderic and Bero made an impression on Balderich. You heard him. The lord of the Marcomanni is kin to the great Aristovistus, so it is an excellent service.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve not heard of him.”

  He grinned and spat out water. “I had no idea who he was, either. Seems there was a Suebi king who tried to take on the world in the west and was trampled to the mud. The survivors were beaten back over the river that splits Gaul from Germani lands, and they settled on the border of it, looking over the enemy lands. That’s where they go. To a town on the edge of Roman world called the Hard Hill. Balderich is looking at both with great hopes and is thinking about marriages. They get plenty of men, who seek adventure, but few like your father.”

  “Which one will Balderich marry?” I asked, my head in fire. “Bero is prettier. I don’t see Father bending over, but Bero might, while singing songs of praise.”

  He spat at my joke. “Bero is married to the Cherusci girl. Your father is married to Erse. They can marry others, but it is frowned upon. I think your father seduced Bero’s wife. Or the other way around.”

  “Erse told me there is some trouble in their relationship before you stole my prisoners,” I said.

  He grunted. “I took them because they were mine as much as yours, Maroboodus. Make no mistake about that.”

  I said nothing to that. “Is that why Erse is smiling to you?” I asked. “Because she is in love.”

  “I don’t know,” he said darkly. “She is married. She is unhappy. And I am unhappy and unmarried.”