That was a step too far. Men can call me Oathbreaker, liar, cheat – fair enough. But a Nithing? A soft bellied coward, that I am not!
I snarled as I lunged forwards, my sword slicing the air as I aimed a savage cut at Fulvius’ head. The legate sidestepped neatly and brought his blade up to block. There was a clang of metal as they kissed and then I was spinning away to his left and trying to use the greater reach of my longer blade to get around his defence. I had a vague notion of Suetonius screeching to my right, and for a moment I worried he would alert someone in the building to my presence, so I leapt forwards again, desperate to end the fight before the room was filled with legionaries. Fulvius licked out with his blade, hoping to catch me out with a low lunge. But he was old, I was in my prime and my reactions were as quick as the sharpest cat. I grabbed him by the wrist with my left hand and pulled him to me. With his sword held impotently behind me on my left side, I rammed my own blade home in a piercing uppercut that entered his body below his ribs and sliced through heart and lungs. Blood pumped from his mouth as I dropped him to the ground. I stood atop him as he spasmed, before eventually going still.
Suetonius was on all fours, vomiting his breakfast onto the wooden floor boards. Tears streamed down his cheeks and all he could say was ‘no, no.’
‘Right then lad,’ I said, kneeling next to him. ‘I’ve got to kill you now, you realise that, right?’
‘No, no.’
‘I do, and I am sorry for it. But if I leave you alive you will rouse the soldiers before I can get back to my ships, and then me and my men will be slaughtered like dogs. That, I can’t allow.’
‘No, please-
‘Tell me who is behind this. Fulvius here wasn’t the man I’ve been looking for. He was what, a tribune?’ Suetonius nodded. ‘I need someone higher than that, the man who’s pulling the strings here. I’m sick of dealing with the puppets. Now, tell me the name of the man I am searching for, and your end will be quick.’
‘I…I don’t know who. But whoever he is he comes from Pannonia, Carnuntum to be precise. Fulvius has been getting orders from him, that’s all I know.’
Carnuntum, Pannonia – home of the Fourteenth legion. I’d had many a running with ‘The Fighting Fourteenth’ over the years since my mother’s gruesome death. They were a formidable legion, and their reputation was well earned. I didn’t particularly want to go poking that hornets’ nest, but it seemed I had no choice.
I sighed. ‘Thank you, for your assistance Suetonius .’ I did not delay his misery but rammed the point of my blade through his chest. I don’t know why, but I held him as he died.
THIRTEEN
Needless to say I did not hang around in Colonia Ulpia Traiana. I fast marched back to my ships, even taking the time to berate two stunned legionaries for the shabby condition of their kit, before boarding and ordering my men to row us away as fast as they could.
I kept looking back to those mighty walls as we rowed up river, sure I would see a sortie of armed men explode from the great gates and give chase. But, it appeared they were still all blissfully unaware of the two men I had left dead in the Principia.
I smiled to myself as we rowed. In essence, I had achieved nothing. I was still a hunted man, Rome would still send her legions to claim my head. But I had got a small step closer to discovering who was behind all this; I also had a ship full of the supplies Adalhard had so confidently extracted from their stores. Now I just needed to figure out what in the Allfather’s name I was going to do. ‘Where to, chief?’ Gerulf asked me. He had insisted on sailing in my ship, leaving his second in command of his own Liburnian with his men. ‘Just in case it all kicks off,’ he’d said, as if I was some sort of Nithing that needing protecting in a fight. Still, I appreciated his loyalty. ‘To the rest of our brothers, of course.’ I said, flashing him a grin. I had no plan yet, but whatever I ultimately decided on would inevitably lead to blood. I needed the rest of the Ravensworn around me.
‘So, what are you going to do, brother?’ Ketill asked me as we feasted on roasted boar. I had killed it myself, Ketill and a couple of his men had cornered the beast between a fallen tree and a giant slab of rock. As Ketill’s guest, he had given me the honour of the first spear thrust. Donar had guided my arm as I rammed three foot of ash tipped with iron into the boar’s chest, exploding through its rib cage. It was huge, its back reaching almost to my waist. I’m not too much of a man to admit my guts dropped with fear at the thought of the sheer power the beast unleash. It took four of us to lash it to our spears, and carry it back to the Harii’s camp.
‘Go south I suppose,’ I said though a mouthful of fresh meat. ‘Find out who wants me dead and kill them first.’ I shrugged – it wasn’t exactly a plan the Sly One himself would have considered.
‘You’ve only got five hundred men, brother,’ Ketill said. ‘You go up against the Fourteenth, plus the auxiliaries they will have camped with them, and you’re a dead man.’
‘I’m dead if I don’t,’ I said with another shrug. ‘Not like I can just sit back and wait it out. They’re coming for me Ketill, I’ve got to do something.’
He nodded then, his brow creased in thought. ‘You need allies,’ he said.
‘I’ve got you,’ I said, hoping that was still true.
‘Aye, but that’s not going to be enough. You need an alliance with one of the tribes, one of the big ones.’ I was about to reply when Ketill held up a hand to stop me. ‘You can’t go back to the Quadi. Areogaesus has just renewed his alliance with Rome, he won’t go back on his promise to them again, not after last time.’
I smiled at the thought of all the plunder I had locked away in the chests with my men in their camp, a fair amount of it had come from joint raids with the Quadi and their new King a few years previous. ‘He might,’ I said.
‘He won’t,’ Ketill said. ‘I do, however, know a chief with a daughter in need of a husband.’
Just one look into his wolf like eyes told me all I needed to know of his plan. ‘No!’ I shouted, sending morsels of boar meat flying through the air between us. ‘No! Not them, how could you even suggest it?’
Ketill held up his hands to protest his innocence. ‘They are your tribe,’ he said with an apologetic shrug.
‘The fucking Chauci are not my tribe!’ I spat. ‘They’re goat fuckers to a man, and I won’t go back. Ever! The Ravensworn are my tribe.’
Ketill barked a laugh. ‘The Ravensworn are hardly a tribe. Where are your women, your homelands?’ He laughed again. ‘My friend, if you want to stay alive, the Chauci might be your only hope.’
I rubbed my greasy hands through my hair, desperately trying to think of another solution. The Naristae? No, their chief was no friend of mine, thanks to my previous association with the Quadi. The Marcomanni? Their king had been a close friend once, I had even helped him to ascend to his lofty position. Would he still hold those Quadi raids on his lands against me? The Chatti were a shadow of the tribe they once were. Continuous war had worn them down, they had no real army left to call on. The Chauci were pirates, with a ready fleet of ships suited for either sea or river, plus a trained force to row and fight. I sighed, finally seeing the sense that Ketill already saw. ‘Fine,’ I said, shoulders slumping, ‘The Chauci it is.’
Ketill nodded, rose to his feet and gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. ‘I’ll go grab a couple of my lads, send them to the Chauci and arrange a meet.’ With that he was off into the night, his battleground voice splitting the close air as he called forth two messengers to ride south. To be absolutely clear, I hated the Chauci, more than I hated the Romans, and that was saying something. But I needed allies, and the chief of the Chauci needed a husband for his daughter.
The next day found us on horseback, riding leisurely through the marshland that swathed the northern shores of Germania. I had my whole force with me, barring Gerulf and his Hundred. Him I had ordered to man our three ships with his men and row them along the coast line to the lands of the Chauci. I
needed options, for I was uncertain at how I would be greeted, even with the tribe being forewarned of my arrival courtesy of Ketill and his two messengers.
I patted my hand on Hilde’s flank as we trotted along a narrow path, a nervous tick not lost on Ketill. ‘She seems happy to have you back,’ he said, motioning to the mare. I smiled, for I have always loved horses, and they me, for the most part.
‘She’s a good horse,’ I said, stroking her neck. ‘Perhaps the best I’ve had.’ My hand patted her flank once more, my body betraying my nerves.
‘They won’t try and kill you, brother,’ Ketill said. He reached out and grasped my shoulder.
‘How do you know?’ I spat.
‘Because I asked them not to. And the Chief of the Harii is always obeyed.’
I snorted. Even a chief from a tribe the size of the Chauci would be wary of offending the Harii. The thought comforted me, and for a moment I thought how lucky I was to have a friend like Ketill. I even considered telling him. Before I got the chance a rider came round the bend in the distance at the gallop, his head hanging low and his body flat against his horse. Dust spiralled up in turrets from the dry mud road. ‘I think,’ I said with a wry smile, ‘we may have reached the lands of the Chauci.’
The rider grew closer, his red band of cloth he wore round his left arm marking him out as one of Otto’s Hundred. Otto had made all his men wear them after one of his men had killed his comrade in the midst of battle a couple of years ago. It was a good idea. Our men had no uniform approach to their clothing, we did not wear matching coloured trousers like the tribes, we had no matching armour and helmets we could all adorn. It would not surprise me to learn more of my men had been killed by their comrades in the heat of a fight, or if I had done so myself.
‘Lord,’ the rider said as he reined in his horse. ‘Captain Otto wishes to report the Chauci have been spotted. About half a day’s ride from here, they have camped on the estuary, and have two ships and roughly three hundred men.’ He kept his eyes fixed on a spot above my head as he made his report. He was young, his skin smooth and free of scars. When he spoke it was impossible to miss his mouth full of gleaming white teeth. I remember envying him then, for I could feel my own rotting away, had even lost a couple already.
I nodded my thanks. ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Ermin, lord,’ he replied, his eyes still fixed on my helmet.
‘What tribe are you from, Ermin?’
‘The Quadi, lord,’ Ermin said, not able to hide his surprise at the question. ‘But I have been with the Ravensworn for three summers now.’
‘Why did you leave the Quadi?’ I asked. I was convinced there would be spies amongst my ranks, some even may be officers. I made it my business to ask every man their background when I had the chance to speak to them one to one.
‘There was a girl, lord…’ He trailed off.
‘Pregnant? Angry father? Marry her or leg it? Along those lines Ermin?’ I asked with a grin.
He returned the smile. ‘Something like that, lord.’
I fished in my pouch that hung from my belt, fished out a silver coin and flicked it at Ermin. ‘Keep it in your breeches lad.’ I said. ‘And tell Otto not to make contact, to hold his ground till me and the rest of the lads catch up.’
Ermin mumbled his thanks and spurred his horse back into a gallop. I was still smiling as he rode off into the distance. ‘Are all your men cutthroats, thieves or hiding from a murderous father and his axe?’ Ketill asked me.
‘Everyone’s running away from something,’ I said, gazing off into the distance, as if I could see the Chauci and their horde of blue trousered warriors over the horizon.
‘Well, you’re not running anymore Alaric. Come on, let’s go meet your people.’
And we did.
FOURTEEN
‘Well, well, well. You’ve got some balls showing your face in these parts. I’ll give you that much, Alaric,’ said Dagr Fridumarson, chief of the Chauci. He was a tall man, pale skinned and yellow haired, with serendipitous eyes. They slithered like a serpent, left then right as he scanned Ketill and my captains, who stood resolutely at my back. His great straw coloured moustache bristled as he smiled at Ketill, who gave him nothing but a look of iron in return.
‘It was a free country, last time I checked. Thought I’d pop by and see how my old tribe were faring. I see the role of chief suits you, Dagr. Last time I set eyes on you, you were clinging to your father’s trousers as he cowered under the length of my blade. You were young then though, what, twenty?’ That dark night flashed before my eyes. The night that had changed the course of my life forever.
My parents farm was on the edge of Chauci lands, far to the north where they bordered with the Cimbri. The Romans had come with the darkness. Their ships sneaking through the choppy waters of the North Sea; the cacophony of the legionaries disembarking and forming into line muffled by the gale that blew from north to south with such force that it was not unknown for thatch to fly from the roof of our small farmhouse.
We knew nothing of the impending attack until the screams began. My father came to me then, crushing me in a great bear hug as he slipped the hilt of a sword into my palm, and made me swear to the Allfather that I would protect my mother till death. I was fifteen. My shoulders had started to broaden, I stood taller than most warriors twice my age. I took my fathers arm in the warriors grip and swore to all the gods no man would enter the sanctuary of our home.
I failed that night. I failed as a son, and as a warrior of the feared Chauci. The Romans came. The Fighting Fourteenth in all their glory. It was my first experience with the dreaded ‘mincing machine’ that had conquered most of the known world. It was also the first time I came face to face with the man who would haunt my dreams for many a year. A man I both feared and hated in equal measure. Silus, first spear centurion of the Fourteenth legion.
‘We are not your tribe!’ Dagr spat, his hand instinctively going to his sword. ‘You betrayed your oath to your chief! You raised your iron and took the life of the one man who should have had your utmost respect and love!’
‘And what man was that?’ I retorted, my body reverberating with uncontrolled rage. ‘The man who left his people to the hands of Rome. Who let his women be raped then slaughtered in front of their children’s eyes? The man who didn’t raise a finger to protect the lives of the innocent who swear their oaths and pay him tax? Fuck you Dagr! Your father was a worm, a Nithing, he deserved the coward’s death he got. My one regret is that I finished him off too quickly.’
Before I had even finished my rant the screech of swords filled the air. Dagr had at his back fifty men at least, I had just five. Not good odds. But my five men freed their blades and lined up beside me, snarling as they dared the Chauci warriors to test their mettle. I knew the men that surrounded Dagr would be no part time soldiers. They were his household troops, men that lived by the blades they carried. The fact that they owned swords at all would attest to that, for most chiefs would not take on the cost of arming ordinary men with such expensive weapons. They farmed no land, did not work metal over a blistering forge or suffer the stink of fish oil as they cured ox hides to cover a shield. They were warriors, trained killers that lived for nothing but blood lust and battle glory. If they attacked, we were dead.
‘You should watch your mouth, Oathbreaker,’ Dagr said through clenched teeth. ‘My father was a warrior born, a true descendant of Donar.’
I bent over, howling with laughter at this ridiculous remark. ‘A descendant of Donar? That old bastard’s flabby arms struggled to lift his eating knife, let alone Donar’s hammer!’ I made a show of wiping an imaginary tear from my eye, turning my back on Dagr and throwing Ruric a wink. He looked nervous, did Ruric. His eyes giving me a warning, begging me not to provoke the chief further. I ignored him, naturally.
‘I seem to remember your mother being the more fearsome of the two. Is it true he only married her because he was scared she would kill him if he d
idn’t?’
Dagr’s pale skin went scarlet with rage. He threw off the bear skin that he had worn across his shoulders despite the summer heat and took a step towards me, shoving off his men as they tried to hold him back. ‘You want to cross blades with me Alaric, son of no one? Where was your father when your mother was raped? Where was he when the Romans passed her round like a skin of wine? Did he fight for her honour, I wonder? Or did he sit meekly with his hands tied, whispering worthless nothings into your ear as you screamed in despair as legionary after legionary plied your mother until she bled out on the grass?’
‘Look at me, Alaric. Just keep your eyes on me. It will be ok, lad.’ That was what he had said, my father. As we lay face down in the dirt whilst my mother was raped; a black silhouette surrounded by the blazing inferno of our burning home. There was truth in what Dagr said, and that’s what hurt the most. The rage got too much, it practically poured out of me as I took a stride forward and bared my teeth, ready to scream the order to charge. To Hel with the fact that I would be killed, or that the good men at my back would have little option but to journey to the Allfather’s hall at my back. All coherent thought had gone, replaced by the burning desire to kill the impertinent fool that stood before me. ‘Well met, Alaric Hengistson. I see you have lost none of your charm,’ said a smug voice from behind me.
I spun on my heels to come face to face with Warin Dagrson, next in line to the Chauci chieftainship. He was short in stature, a fact I knew irked him and one I had previously taken great delight in teasing him with. His straw coloured hair matched his father’s, and I noted curiously that he wore it in a tight top knot, in the way of the Suebi. The Suebi were much more than a tribe, they were an entire nation. More than twenty tribes joined together in alliance, they dominated most of northern Germania. To pick a fight with one of them was to pick a fight with all of them. It was generally agreed amongst the tribes that they were a people best left alone.
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