The Wolf

by Alaric Longward

  I took a habit of riding the land on my own in the evenings, and Ingulf was with me. We rode the river banks, looking on the side of the Gauls and the Vangiones, the tribe that had left Aristovistus after his loss, and wondered at the Roman galleys that were occasionally passing, and the shallow river craft filled with trade goods. We rode past hills and fields and sat by an old, standing stone on the river’s bank not far from the Hard Hill. There, we would drink until we were truly drunk, and we did it many nights, for week and more.

  Then, an evening before the Feast of Freyr was to be over, I rode my horse alone to the shore, and then for the standing stone and drank wine. I had never had it, and it was an acquired taste, I decided. I didn’t turn, but I saw, as usual, the shadow of the vitka walking the woods.

  Then, he left.

  I rode on and found the clearing with the standing stone and rode around it, drinking. Night fell, and I pulled a bear-skin cloak around me. I rode and rode and enjoyed the wine, but I didn’t drink too much.

  Then, finally, I saw a shadow in the woods. It sat there and waited, like a draugr, a spirit of a dead one, lost in the trees.

  I clapped my horse on the neck and turned to look at the shadow. “Maino.”

  The shadow moved, and Maino rode out of the woods. He looked dangerous, desperate, and determined. He was drunk. He wore a new armor, he had a shield and a thick spear, and he stood up in his saddle. He spat. “Saxa. The business with Iron Eye. You know, none of it really matters.”

  I nodded and rode around the stone pillar. “It matters, Maino. Your lies, your actions, they matter, like mine do. But, in a way, you are right. You and I simply detest each other. We could suffer each other for years, but in the end, we would try to kill each other. What you did to Saxa, and what you saw? It makes the clash bitter and violent, but I think, in the end, we would have faced each other in the battle. It is unavoidable. And you came.”

  He frowned and looked around. “You knew?”

  “None are there, though, I could have had men hide here. The vitka has been keeping an eye on me for a long while, all through the feast. Did you not wonder why I was alone today?” I asked him.

  “Ingulf is sick,” he said. “I asked.”

  “He is sick with love and longing. He is boiling for love. And you have been boiling as well,” I said. “Boiling with your self-importance. Boiling with the dream of saving Sigilind. You are boiling for my life, with the need to make me a widow. You father is trying to recover. He has been too busy to keep an eye on you. Mine is begging I shall not do this. He is, in his head. Or perhaps, he hopes that if I do this, it shall end. It won’t.”

  He nodded. “No. He is begging I kill you so he won’t have to. If I win, your father will be relieved.”

  I laughed and nodded. “Perhaps you are not as stupid as you look, cousin. If I win, Maino, your father will turn his eyes to his new child. Though, Maino, do you think it is his?”

  His eyes crossed with confusion. “Do you think you can stay if I die?” he snarled. “Do you really think they will let you stay?”

  “No.”

  “Where would you go?” he asked. “How?”

  I shook my head. “Come, Maino. For witnessing my rape and for what you did to Saxa. Come and fight. Come, for the fact we always were going to do it, no matter what. I’ll make a cup of your skull.”

  “You could never beat me fairly,” he roared. “And I’ll show your head to Sigilind, and she’ll smile!”

  “Come, Maino,” I said, and pulled my sword.

  He nodded, licked his lips, went to his berserker rage, and rode forward, his mouth cursing me to Helheim. He rode hard, and his spear was coming for my chest. I watched him come and sat on my horse. I dropped the horn of wine to the ground and smiled at him.

  He came on, and then, suddenly, he remembered how we had fought the first time and what had happened.

  He tried to stop, but then, his horse stepped on a hidden hole, and the beast fell heavily. It crashed and rolled, and Maino fell with it. He got to his feet, tottering and shaking, and his left arm was broken, bone jutting through the skin near his shoulder.

  I jumped down and walked for him.

  He roared, his berserker anger giving him the will to fight, the fear feeding it. He pushed his spear for me, lighting fast, but the pain of the sudden movement made him flinch, to close his eyes, and I moved to his side. He opened his eyes, didn’t see me, and turned.

  I was behind him, and I rammed the blade to his back.

  He fell on his face and roared, shivering, trying to turn. I kept him still with the blade, and I stepped on his back. “Was what you said of Saxa true?”

  “No!”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” I said. “How afraid she must have been, Maino. How terrified. And how it all changed us. You watched Iron Eye raping me. You laughed as he entered my arse and when he groped me and touched me as I lay helpless. Saxa and I, and just the fact I always hated you, that’s why you die. After this, I shall not be at peace, but I will smile whenever I remember this night. Here, something for you.” I pulled the sword out and pushed the sword into his arse and through it. I twitched it and pushed it, and it entered his belly and came out to the mud beneath him. I pulled it out and kicked him, until I was out of energy. I pushed him around and watched the light fade from his eyes. “I will tell your father and everyone how I saw you riding away. He’ll spend his life waiting for you to return. They’ll see me in a Thing tomorrow. They’ll see me. They’ll blame me. But Bero will always wait for you, his precious boy. You won’t come back.”

  I watched him die and cried for joy.

  EPILOQUE

  Marcus was sitting on his chair, holding his face. The past week had been a harsh one, a hard one, and he seemed ready to cry as we were finishing. He might sob for relief, and I was making a bet in my head he would. I smiled and poured him wine, and he drank it down and asked for more by shaking his cup.

  “So,” I said, obliging him. “Nearly at the end.”

  “Nearly so,” he agreed. “Thank Juppiter and gentle Vesta. Thank the lot of the gods, yours and mine. Will you let me know what happened after?”

  “Will I be executed soon?” I asked instead. “Very soon?”

  He frowned and looked ready to shout, but held his tongue. He took a long breath. “Maroboodus. When I came here, I was a freedman of Tiberius, and Tiberius doesn’t free his slaves if they are dishonest or fraudulent or even speak unkindly. He knows the man’s worth, and—”

  “Is not a worthy man himself,” I said, and gave the man wine. He downed it.

  He went on, doggedly. “And now, here, in this shitty, swamp-infested Ravenna, I find myself a…a drunk, I live with a nasty whore, and trust me, Maroboodus, I lie these days. I lie, and I cheat, and if I must, I shall forge the last tablet, and then, I’ll leave. But I need not lie when I tell you this.” He leaned forward. “Few days after I am gone, you shall be executed. Finally. You shall die. Your son won’t do it. Hraban simply gives you the order to kill yourself, and if you do not take the poison they will give you, you will be sent to your afterlife with a sword, Bear.” He leaned back, supremely satisfied. “There are no more tricks for you to play, you Lok-kissing slave to Bacchus.”

  I laughed and waved my hand at him. “By all means, do write the end of the story.”

  He put away the cup, relief playing on his face. He prepared his pen and made everything ready.

  I spoke. “There was a Thing. You should have seen it, Marcus. The great Thing of the Marcomanni. It was no Thing of the rude Goths, where seal-skins and herring smelled, and men were coughing in smoke. It was no Thing of the Saxons, hidden in the fogs of the Mare Gothonia. Nor was it one of the Cherusci or Semnones or a fire-worshipping ritual of the Sarmatians. It was an affair of rich silks, the best of armor, of noblest of adventurers in Germania, the greatest heroes, and many feuds were settled then. I came there, and men turned to look at me, on that last day of the feast.”

&nb
sp; I thought back.

  ***

  The wolf amongst wolves, it would have been a fine life. I could have watched Maino paraded with Sigilind and Marcomanni smiling and happy. Prosperous that I could have been as well. I could have been my father’s man.

  The Thing had been joyful and filled with good news those past weeks. It had changed that morning. Doom hung over it.

  The reason had been Bero.

  They watched me as I rode in and jumped down, and I watched my uncle. He was sitting on a bench amid dozens of Marcomanni and was trembling. He saw me and looked me up and down and saw the blood on me.

  Hulderic stepped up, as did Balderich.

  “Where,” my father said softly, “is Maino?”

  “Where?” I asked him. “His comings and goings do not interest me.” I looked at the blood, swiped a finger on it, and tasted it. “I have been hunting and killed a deer.”

  Silence followed the statement.

  “Show us the deer,” Balderich said.

  I nodded down the hill. I had one, and it was already on our hall. Men rushed to make sure.

  “Where is Maino?” Bero asked, eyes full of despair and fear.

  “He is not one of my concerns, Uncle,” I said. “Stand up like a man, if you will threaten me.”

  He went white of face and grasped for a spear as he stood up. Balderich stepped between us, and the vitka, Wulf, stepped forward. “He has been riding the woods for days, with his friend.”

  “And you,” I spat, “have been sneaking behind me for as many days. Do you know where Maino is?”

  “I know he hated you,” the vitka said. “I saw him yesterday.”

  “Hated?” I asked. “Is he dead? Does he no longer hate me? Did you kill him?”

  He shook his head and took a ragged breath. “I believe he wanted to challenge you. The gods spoke of it. He rode after you.”

  “Oh!” I laughed. “How convenient! How very convenient! Woden spoke to your ear, and Tiw slithered to your dreams! Ask the gods where I buried him, then, if they told you I killed him!”

  I walked back and forth and cursed him.

  The vitka stood back and shook his head. “I have no such vision.”

  “I say,” I told him, “that I have not seen him. I was in the woods and came home to my wife. I have not done a thing to the bastard. Perhaps he ran off, like a petulant child, over the humiliation that I have Sigilind. I say let Bero wait for him to come home. Let it be a long while. I care not answer to any more accusations.”

  Hulderic was sitting down, and I knew he wanted to smash my head on a rock.

  “Will the Thing condemn me for something they cannot prove?” I asked them.

  Balderich looked up to the sky as if seeking and answer. The war-lords were banging weapons to their shields, agreeing with me.

  Bero pointed the spear at me, his hands trembling. “I say you are a liar. I say you are a manipulator of truth and all our laws. I call a feud over my brother and you, until the time has come to settle the scores.”

  “Until that time, I shall go to our hall,” I said, “and I bid you farewell for now.”

  I jumped on my horse and rode down for our hall. Below, I turned to the north and rode hard. I rode over the fields, my hair flying free, and I watched the eagles above soaring for the west.

  When I reached a village, we had passed on our way to the Hard Hill, I spotted a group of people sitting on the fields with uncut wheat and rode that way.

  Ingulf was there. Erse was there. Both were dressed to travel and held all their possessions. They had packhorses and food. There were two others.

  One was Antius. He sat on his horse and nodded at me. Ingulf had blood on his hands. Antius had had one guard.

  Ingulf was looking down.

  I looked around and at the woods beyond. “Where is Sigilind?”

  “Where?” Ingulf asked, looking at his hands. “She wasn’t in your hall.”

  “She is always in the hall,” I said darkly. “She has a lot of work there.”

  “It seems your father is no fool,” he said, and smiled at Erse. “Though, he didn’t expect Erse to betray him. He sent Sigilind out with Harmod for the duration of the Thing after he heard Bero was looking for Maino. Erse saw it.”

  “This doesn’t harm your honor, friend?” I asked him.

  Ingulf spoke softly as he watched Erse. “I made no oaths to anyone. Save for Erse.”

  Erse looked down. “Your father,” she said. “He slept with Bero’s wife. I know it. He thought he would die, and he thought I was gone. They had… That child might be his. It likely is. I cannot stay…” She smiled at Ingulf. “And I am in love.”

  I nodded.

  “And I agree to punish your father for what he did…” she said gently, and looked at me with fury. “Here.”

  She handed Draupnir’s Spawn to me.

  I took it and looked at it with joy. Antius was moving in his saddle.

  “And me?” Antius asked. “I am thankful. I am. Your man here is most brutal and broke me out with just one death, and that went unnoticed. Most were asleep. You planned it well. But we should move. They will not—”

  “And me?” I asked him. “We agreed.”

  He scratched his neck and looked at the last horse where Thiuda Cynefirth was tied down and unconscious.

  I had told him I’d meet him that morning, and I would give him my oaths. Ingulf had collected him. The bastard had been alone.

  I rode next to the Thiuda. “He will keep being a problem for you. He will attract Freya’s Tears from the north,” I said. “You need him dead.”

  Antius stared at me. “And you need a home. A new beginning.”

  “I think all things considering,” I said, “I could use a life in a world where men can make their own future, and ambition is not spat on.”

  He grinned and looked at the Thiuda. I pulled my sword.

  I looked at Ingulf and Erse. “Where will you two go?”

  Ingulf shrugged. “Back north? We will find a home with the northern tribes. Not Goths or Saxons, mind you, or any of the scum for us. We shall find something else.”

  I smiled and gave him my arm. Erse turned away and rode off, pulling at the pack animals, and Ingulf shook my arm and rode off, happy. I smiled at his back and missed him already.

  Then, I put the sword on Antius’s hand. He hesitated and grasped the bridle of the Thiuda’s horse. We rode off for the great river through deep woods. Only he and I crossed the wood, and then, we found a galley and went north for Moganticum.

  ***

  I watched Marcus. He was nodding. “And then, you served Rome.”

  “Then, I went to Moganticum,” I agreed. “It wasn’t much of a town. There was a simple castra and shit at the crossings of Rivers Luppia and Rhenus. Antius took me on as a guard, and I worked with him in Gaul.”

  “And Sigilind?” he asked. “Bero? Your father?”

  “I left the land,” I told him. “I told Bero the truth much later, and he suffered all the years to that point. It was just. He was tortured to death after. That is another tale. It was just.”

  “It wasn’t just,” Marcus said, and drank wine. “It was a tricky, evil deed, Maroboodus.”

  I shrugged. “I suppose it was. But we all have our own truths.”

  “No, there—”

  “Sigilind,” I interrupted him, “stayed with Hulderic. He and Harmod were guardians of Sigilind, while they served Balderich. He never could forgive the loss of Erse or his shame. The ring irked him terribly. The disappointment was a horrible burden on him, but he couldn’t chase after me. No longer. He had to guard the Raven too.”

  He blinked.

  “I named the boy Raven, see,” I laughed. “Only fitting, what with the prophecy and all. He hated that, as did Adalfuns the Crafter. The Bear and the Raven and the curse that was still alive in their heads, the grand, black spell of Lok, made him a guardian of Raven, Hraban, my son.”

  “Hraban, the right hand
of Tiberius, and his sword in the shadows,” Marcus muttered, terrified of my son. “He kept Sigilind from you.”

  “I met her again,” I said. “I met Father, and her, and spent a week with her, getting to know her, but Father wouldn’t budge on the boy. He showed him to me once and then hid Hraban. If I surrendered to him…” I smiled. “That ship had sailed. He expected me to confess to Bero, to tell where Maino was, and to be a prisoner. I refused. I made another son during that week, cursed Hulderic for withholding my son, but I didn’t try to take Sigilind or Hraban by force. He was prepared. He wouldn’t trade the ring for them, either. He had lost all hope for me, but he thought he could control me by holding on to Hraban, and there, he failed.” I leaned forward. “The next time we met, he was dying by a Vangione sword, and we had arranged for momentous events in Germania. I did, eventually, become the sword that put down Drusus, and I did rule the lands of the Boii, and I ruled the Marcomanni, the Quadi, and many of the Chatti and the Hermanduri. I aided your Tiberius, no matter how much he hated me, and gods only know how it was that I was ousted by Catualda, Hraban, and the boy I had with my Sarmatian princess.” I winked. “Did you know, that Catualda, Bero’s son, actually looks a lot like me, and Father? He is my half-brother. Ironic, isn’t it. My father’s one dishonorable act brought doom to me.” I grinned.

  “Aye,” he said. “It is just.”

  “Again, it is not,” I said. “But it is how it is.” I burped, and thumped my chest. “The rest he knows. I served Antius, who served his…”

  “Yes,” Marcus said, and stood up, still finishing the writing. “We shall not speak of that. Tiberius needs no reminding of that. It tortures him daily. We are done.” He was shaking, emotionally drained, and physically demoralized. He was in a hurry to leave. “I will pack. I will be ready to leave by the midday. So many tablets, and Tiberius will want them transferred into vellum, and I have work to do. Thank Juppiter, I am able to leave.” He smiled. “I will survive.”