I tilted my head. “And what of me?”
He smiled. “You are out of tricks.”
I shook my head. “No. I am not. Listen. I’ll die an ancient bastard. Twenty years from now, perhaps. I am in no hurry to go to Valholl yet. I would go north, perhaps. Will you arrange a galley, and some money?”
He blinked. “What? Are you mad? Wait. You are.”
I leaned closer to him, and he stepped away as if I had offered him my shriveled ball sack. “Here is the thing. I am leaving. You will tell them I died, that I was thrown to the sea or buried in pig-shit. Tell Tiberius I tried to escape, and fell to the canal. Tell him, on your life, that I am dead, and buy a witness to assure him. Make sure the shit-brained witness tells the same story as you do, and for Woden’s sakes, make sure both of you are sober. Tell him that and make sure he thinks I will never again haunt him. Tell him you have the story, and I am gone.”
“Why?” he roared. “Why would I tell him anything of the sort? It isn’t true. I will not. I refuse. I will take my writings—”
I looked at my fingernails. “I have to admit that when I heard you would be coming, I was afraid. I knew it might mean you are my executioner, but I also knew Tiberius had always wondered about me. I knew he would be curious. I knew there was a room being prepared below.”
“You knew shit!”
I smiled. “My sweet Balbina, the woman who cleans here, and a true whore whom you bedded after she seduced you, as I asked her to, has been naughty. I do owe her something for her service, so you find some money for her as well.” I winked. “You should never have left her in your rooms alone. She does steal, and I was upset she had risked everything when she stole coin and your clothing, but this night, I think, and I am right for I heard men cursing few hours ago, she and they stole the tablets you wrote earlier this month.”
He looked at me with horror.
I tapped the table and lifted a jar of wine. “Now. You can write it all again. We can sit here, and you send Tiberius word you lost the tablets, and that you shall be redoing your efforts, and perhaps you shall survive it. Perhaps he will let you do it. He is a man made of patience and forgiveness, isn’t he?”
He cried. He sobbed like a child and seemed to lose all his bones as he slid on the floor.
I offered him wine, and he still kept bawling, and I waited, outwardly calm, inwardly terrified, but in the end, he got up, staggered downstairs, wailed again as he found my words to be true, and soon, he came back.
We made a deal.
He paid Balbina and two guards a sum that was, in truth, paltry, but a fortune to them. I left the prison a traveler on a merchant ship and headed south around Italy, making several stops in Sicily, and finally, ended up in Gaul, in Massalia. From there, I traveled north and went through the lands of the Batavi, where I met with old Erse and visited Ingulf’s grave-mound and feasted with his ten sons and twenty grandchildren. Traveling the land of the Frisii and the Chauci, I made my way east, tired and sick, I came to the Saxon shore, where I was rowed over to the Winter Island. I had not seen Ceadda in ages, nor heard of him, but with his help, in his own land, in my former island, I settled to die.
I healed, instead.
I aged, but I didn’t die for long years.
Years passed, and ancient, very nearly the oldest man in Midgard, someone else, now an exile instead of a war-lord or a Roman noble, came to the north and brought with him a pregnant Celt woman from Albion, her son, and stories to last years. There, in the Winter Island, on a hall where I had once built a ship for Skallagrim, I spent my remaining time watching my family grow, once more, for my son, now an old man, had a strong seed, and for a time, before the new generations he had with his wife would grow into savage Saxon chiefs, the Bear and the Raven rested and Woden and Lok’s grudge slept.
So ends the Goth Chronicles.
If you enjoyed the series, do check out the Hraban Chronicles, and our Medieval, Fantasy, and Napoleonic Era adventures as well.
Some are free. Don’t miss out.
A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
This wraps up the story of Maroboodus. Those who have read Hraban Chronicles, will see him coming home one day, to deal with Hraban, his son, and Gernot. He’ll come home a Roman, and nothing much has changed. Lok flies in his shadow.
As for this Hermanduri-heavy story, I have again put the emphasis on the story, and taken plenty of liberties. We have a hopefully good fictional story, rather than historically accurate one. Again, we have plenty of swords, and armor flowing around the land. The best warriors didn’t have these at this time, but most went without any. There were no helmets, and swords, and what they had, was precious. The trade of amber and the Amber Road were a real thing, and often disrupted. Rome yearned for the golden resin of the north, and its prices might fluctuate wildly when trouble and war stopped the trade.
Rome was slowly pushing its fingers to the Germani areas. At this time, Rome was just starting to build Rheine River fortifications, and roads in Gaul, and the Illyrian and Pannonian presence was weak, at best. These would be solved over many wars in the coming decades. At this time, Rome had not truly even taken the Alps, which Tiberius and Drusus accomplished later.
So, we are a bit early.
There were Roman traders, but an auxilia unit, which Augustus had begun to raise in great numbers this far north would likely be impossible. There are some archeological findings of Roman kind that are curious, and remains of forts and villages that might reach this far back in the Germani lands, but likely, they were later settlements.
The Hermanduri were truly in the crossroads of east, and west. The Sarmatians tribes, Celtic tribes, and many of the smaller Germanic tribes ranged and mixed rather freely with them. Rome had great influence over the tribe, as they did with the Matticati, and as one of the largest tribes of the time, Hermanduri were feared, indeed.
Many maps put the Quadi and the Marcomanni in the lands of the Boii, south of the Hermanduri, and this would come later, when the real Maroboodus settled on the ruins of the Boii. There are some who say they were indeed near Rheine River, before driven off by Drusus. In the Hraban Chronicles, this struggle with Drusus is a key element, so in Maroboodus, naturally, they live in the west.
So, sorry if there are purists reading the book, and cannot bear the discrepancies. An author must decide what fictional story can allow for, and sometimes we take gigantic liberties for the sake of the story.
Hope you enjoyed the Maroboodus trilogy anyway, and I do hope you check out other books as well, like the Wolf and the Lion, Jeanette’s Sword, and the Oath Breaker. If you would like to see Maroboodus in Roman service, I can write it. It will somewhat ruin Hraban’s tale and the surprises there, but it can be done.
Let me know.
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