‘Warin,’ I nodded in his direction, my sweat soaked palm still gripping the hilt of my sword. ‘I see you’ve grown up,’ I said with a smirk. Despite Warin’s lack of height, he looked a formidable warrior. His broad shoulders were enhanced by a coat of gleaming mail, he wore beige trousers over legs that appeared thick with muscle and a vivid red scar ran down his clean-shaven right cheek. ‘Come to save your father from the edge of my blade, have you?’
‘Ha!’ He scoffed as he sauntered through my men. ‘I’ve come to see you beg for forgiveness, plead to be welcomed back into the arms of the great Chauci. I’ve come to watch as you beg my father’s forgiveness for the shame you put on my grandfather.’
I remember it as vividly today as I did then, standing by the river facing the people I should have been able to call my own. I’d been met with no resistance as I barged my way through Fridumar’s hall. I had a discarded Roman short sword concealed within my cloak; the two useless bastards guarding the chief’s hall had not even thought to search me. Men had nodded to the hairless youth as he slithered through the throngs of men that feasted and drunk on their chief’s benches. Up the steps to the dais, past another useless warrior. Finally, face to face with the chief himself. I remember Dagr then, five years my senior, muddled with mead and more courageous for it. I remember the words he spoke in front of that packed hall, the insult he threw my way, before I had even told of the attack on our farm and my mother’s prolonged death. It is what happened next that will haunt me to my dying day.
‘Beg? Plead? I’ve come here to put my seed in your sister, boy. You’ll hear no begging from me.’ I spat on the floor in front of his booted feet, then showed him my back as I faced his father. ‘Where is she then?’ I asked with a sneer. I had a vague memory of Saxa, but she could not have been more than six or seven when I last laid eyes on her.
She had been a small bundle of skin and bones when I had last had the misfortune of crossing paths with Dagr. It was at a meet of all the heads of the biggest tribes that had lands bordering on the Rhine and the Romans beyond. I had not been invited as such, but had tagged along with Ketill, mainly to see what mischief I could get myself into.
Saxa had been a child, just an unremarkable girl, I hoped she had grown into something more substantial. I did the maths in my head, reckoned her to be about fifteen now. I was, well, in my thirties for sure, it was a normal match up in terms of ages. Some Roman senators, I knew, well into the winter of their lives married girls who had just awoken to their first bleeding; this marriage almost seemed normal compared to that.
‘She is on her way,’ Dagr said, motioning for one of his men to bring forward his daughter. I saw the flicker of doubt cross his mind, the lump in his throat when he swallowed nervously. Not for the first time I wondered as his intentions; I was no friend of his, why was he giving me his little girl?
Men parted behind Dagr, and I could just make out a set of small booted feet, stepping carefully through the throng. I felt a new sensation then, in that heartbeat before I set eyes on the girl who would become my wife. I worried about my appearance. Don’t think I ever had before, don’t think I have since. But right then, in that moment, I was scared to Hel that she would find me unattractive. It did not matter if she did, of course, the poor whelp would be stuck with me all the same. But still I found myself removing my dull iron helmet, running a hand through my long mop of unruly dark hair. I stroked my beard, hoping it wasn’t sticking out to form whiskers either side of my mouth, which it had a habit of doing. I wore the torc around my neck that I had taken from chief Wulfric of the Fenni – another man still very much on my hitlist, as he was balls deep in the charade that had got me caught up with Rome in the first place. But we shall get to him in due course.
Saxa shuffled forwards to stand next to her father, who put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She was short, slim, still the bag of bones that I remembered. Mouse coloured hair atop dull brown eyes, a short-pinched nose and thin lips, high cheekbones on pale skin gave her a pasty look. Her thin lips quivered as she sized me up, taking in my bulk and expression. ‘My lord,’ she meekly as she dipped her head in respect. Dagr squeezed her shoulder then; I thought I saw the hint of a tear in the corner of his eye.
I was about to reply, The Trickster himself only knows what I was going to say, when a voice from behind cut me off. ‘So, this is the famous Alaric, lord of the revered Ravensworn men whisper about in quivering little voices.’
I turned, to look upon the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on.
FIFTEEN
Surely in all of the nine worlds there had never been a creature so beautiful. She had long locks of flowing black hair that shone a dark purple in the sunlight, it curled down past her shoulders and rested on a pair of heavy, rounded breasts. Her lips were full, luscious and comely. ‘Kissable’, Ketill would have said, if he were not as dumbstruck as me. She glided forward, walking through the five men at my back, who stood with their eyes glued to her form. A light scent of jasmine followed in her wake, a trail on which I could walk forever.
Her nose was as straight and broad as a ship’s prow, it suited her rounded face. Her cheek bones were high and defined, but where that gave Saxa a gaunt expression it only enhanced this woman’s beauty. But her most captivating feature, was her eyes.
Bluer than the cleanest water, purer than a glacier, they gleamed in the light of the day; truly a marvel to behold. I was lost in those eyes, dazzled by them. ‘You’re not very talkative, are you?’ she said with an arched eyebrow. By the gods, what a beautiful eyebrow. They say Freyja is the most beautiful of all the goddesses, but I would have wagered all my chests of silver and gold that she did not have a patch on the vision that stood before me.
‘Wh…who are you?’ I finally managed to croak out, all too aware I was making a fool of myself in front of the one man I really didn’t want to. I could feel the arousal growing under my woollen trousers, I wished they were not so tight.
‘Allow me to introduce Ishild, my wife,’ Warin said with as much pomp as he could muster.
‘Ishild,’ I didn’t so much say, more breathed it, savoured it on my tongue like a fine wine. ‘Your what?’ I snapped, suddenly waking from the spell she had me under.
‘My wife,’ Warin said, moving to her side and patting her arm. He patted her arm! Like he was showing me his new war horse. Says everything you need to know about Warin. ‘She is the daughter of King Agnarr of the Suebi. That explained the top knot, I thought. Dagr had gone to bed with the Suebi, I presumed in a vain attempt to keep the land hungry nation off his turf. I prayed to The Trickster it would not work. An alliance between the Chauci and the Suebi did not suit my plans at all. I wanted Dagr to need me, to want me and my five hundred Ravensworn at his back. If he was in bed with the Suebi, my five hundred men would be nothing to him but a speck of dust on the breeze.
‘Maybe we should return to the matter at hand,’ Dagr said. I assumed he was reading my mind, seeing the desire that must have been plain as day on my face. ‘Maybe the women should leave us? We could talk over a midday meal? I’ve had fires prepared.’ He spoke urgently, loudly, competing for my attention with the beautiful woman who stood before me.
‘Yes, of course,’ I muttered, having to pull myself away from Ishild. I turned toward Dagr and his daughter, who stood lost as a lamb at his side. I saw the pain in her eyes, the shame at my open attraction to her brother’s wife. But what was I supposed to do? Saxa was a child, too thin and small to capture my attention. Ishild was a woman grown, with voluptuous curves and eyes that dazzled. Saxa had no chance, and she knew it.
‘Get yourself together man’ Ketill rasped in my ear. We walked through the Chauci camp; men stared at me through narrow eyes. ‘Oathbreaker, chief killer,’ I heard it muttered through clenched teeth as men hawked and spat in my direction.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, though I knew I wasn’t. The sweet scent of jasmine still filled my nostrils; those eyes still blinded me. ‘Wot
an’s eye! You ever seen a woman like that before?’
‘Never,’ said Ketill without hesitation. ‘But you have got to forget about her Alaric. We’re here to marry you to Saxa. You need this alliance, remember? You’re a hunted man brother, you need allies. Don’t fuck this up.’
Wise words, I thought, as we were guided to a huge fire in the centre of the temporary camp. A circle of swordsmen stood around the perimeter, they parted to make way for their chief and his retinue. The glorious smell of fish sizzling on flames wafted up my nostrils; I wanted the scent of jasmine to return. Dagr pointed to a spot of dewy grass, gesturing for me to sit.
‘Hungry?’ He asked as I sat, immediately feeling the damp earth seep through my trousers. I noticed he sat on a small cushion, so his arse would be dry when this was over. Just another little insult from the cursed man and his tribe that had once been my own. I sat to his right, in silence as I devoured four fish. I rubbed my greasy hands down my trousers when I finished and drank greedily from a jug of dark ale.
‘So,’ I said, smacking my lips together as I savoured the taste of the ale. ‘You’re in league with the Suebi these days?’
‘We are,’ Dagr acknowledged, considering me with those slithering eyes. ‘You have a problem with that?’
‘No,’ I said. I shot him a quizzical glance, ‘though I am interested as to why you would allow me to marry your daughter. You must have some sort of treaty with king Agnarr? What need have you of me and the Ravensworn?’ I have always been rather blunt and forthright. No point beating around the bush, as they say. If I had something to say, I just said it.
‘You command a formidable force. It is known across the land that one of your warriors is worth five of the average tribesman. You keep them well armed and armoured at all times, no other chief can say the same. I respect you, I may not like you, but I certainly respect you.’
I was impressed, I have to say. There are not many chiefs that would treat me like an equal, let alone praise me to my face, especially since I had killed his father. I felt some admiration toward him, a glimmer of hope that this could actually work.
‘So, what do you want from me?’ I asked cautiously. I was wary of making promises I had no intention of keeping. After all, I had enough enemies.
‘Saxa’s weight in silver will be the bride price. Apart from that, I want us to be allies. Your enemies will be mine, and mine yours.’ He said. It concerned me that he would not look me in the eye as he spoke.
‘Got many enemies, have you?’ I could not think of a single tribe that the Chauci would be likely to go to war with. They had an alliance with the Suebi, no other tribe in the area had the strength to take them on.
‘Not right now. King Agnarr sees to that. But…’ he trailed off, casting a wary glance at his son, who was locked in an arm wrestle with Ketill. Only one winner there, I thought. ‘I don’t know how far I can trust Agnarr. He has bewitched my son, or that daughter of his has. As each day passes I feel I lose a bit more of him. It worries me.’
An eruption of cheers announced that Ketill had finally finished teasing Warin, who now lay in the mud clutching arm to his chest. So Dagr thought his son might betray him to the Suebi. Interesting. I thought of what a war with the Suebi would mean to my men, how many of them could trace their lineage to the wild plains to the east. My brow furrowed with my concern.
‘And what of you, Alaric. What enemies would you have me bare my iron against?’
I smiled then. One of those evil grins that showed nothing but black holes where there should have been teeth. ‘Only one Dagr. Rome.’ I saw the lump in his throat as he gulped.
SIXTEEN
It was dark in the depths of my mind. Cold, silent, lonely, like the heart of a mountain, blanketed in stone and winter snow. I sat on the dais of a newly built hall, surrounded by drunken men full of ale and banter and kinship. I smiled to them, joined in with the odd joke, cheered with the crowd when the inevitable wrestling bouts began. But I was dead inside, lifeless, as cold as a Spartan baby that had been left in the trees for the wolves.
My new wife sat beside me, her belly already beginning to show the first signs of the offspring that grew within; though even her presence or that of my firstborn child, growing right in front of my eyes could not awake me from my gloom.
We had married, just three days after that glorious summers day I had met with Dagr and his weasel son Warin. And Ishild.
The reason for my sombre silences, my disinterest in the world around me. Ishild. Beautiful, enchanting Ishild. Oh, to hear the strings of that husky voice once more; to look upon the endless wonder of her crystal blue eyes. Merciful Gods, I was a mess. Unfortunately for me, our Gods were not known for their clemency.
Dagr and I had formed a steady alliance in the few days I had spent with his men. In fact, he had laughed with genuine amusement when my men appeared high on a ridge to our south, and Gerulf had guided my three ships to blockade his in the estuary. ‘Always have an exit strategy,’ I had said and shrugged. For all I had known, things could well have turned to swords very quickly. They nearly did.
My men had feasted with his, and for two days and a night we had drunk and ate till our stomachs rebelled, only to start once more the moment our guts had finished churning. I have never had the displeasure of dining with a Roman, but I’m told their high classes dine whilst reclining on a couch, and will often eat until their bodies repel the rich meals their slaves have prepared them. Now I’m no stranger to emptying my stomach in the nearest bush, bucket or serving girl’s lap – whichever happens to be closer – but I can’t ever say I have particularly enjoyed the process. I certainly would not want to do it every day.
I sat there, staring into the bottom of my ale cup, trying to find the energy to get it refilled. My head was muggy, clouded, as if thick fog shielded my thoughts from me. Saxa stirred to my right, and I felt vaguely annoyed at the prospect of her trying to strike up a conversation with me.
A commotion on the peripheral of my vision; Ketill politely asked Saxa if he could have a moment alone with me. I moaned into my empty cup, all too aware I was about to be on the end of a tongue lashing from the chief of the Harii. ‘What in all the nine worlds is wrong with you?’ He hissed as he sat beside me. He and his men had stayed on with mine after the wedding, his men even helping to build my grand new hall, plus smaller roundhouses for my men. We had built on one of my favourite campsites, the conflux where the rivers Elbe and Saale merged. We had so far left the old Roman fort untouched, but I had plans on restoring it to its former glory. It was good land to build on, soft but firm. The rivers would protect our backs, woodland to the north and marshland to the south. It was east any attack would come from, unless it came from the river itself, but we would prepare for that by building walls come spring.
‘Winter,’ I said, my mouth still covered by the empty cup, it gave my voice a hollow ring, which I thought appropriate. ‘Every winter is the same. Stuck in some hall or other, listening to drunkards tell the same old stories, breathing in the stench of unwashed pits and rotten bowels. Bring on spring brother, can’t come soon enough.’
‘Aye brother, I get that,’ he said, settling down and pouring himself some ale from a jug. Ketill was a warrior born, a man built for the iron storm, much like myself. He too would have spent more than one gloomy winter, waiting impatiently for the ground to thaw and wind to stop its howling, sharpening his blades all the while. ‘But we’re in your hall, with your new wife who’s pregnant with your child.’ The way he put the emphasis on your every time he said it really ground at my bones; I chose not to react. ‘If you can’t be happy now brother, you never will be.’
Ishild. She could make me happy. If I had to fight Hel herself and all her minions to get her, I would leap into the fray in a heartbeat. ‘I just need some action,’ I said, trying to distract myself more than anything.
Ketill snorted, ‘I know just what sort of action you’re after Alaric. Thought you’d be getting plenty of
that, being newlywed and all.’ We both laughed at the cheap joke. It was good to laugh and mean it. ‘Why don’t we go out for a ride tomorrow, get some fresh air. Will do us both some good, I think.’
I nodded, my spirits already rising. It was good to have friends like Ketill. Ruric and the other captains were all good men, but they weren’t my friends, not the way Ketill was. They took my orders, fought with me side by side in the shield wall, revelled in our victories and I knew each of them would die for me. But, none would come and talk to me the way Ketill had when they saw the thunder in my eyes. They just weren’t brave enough. Too scared of losing face in front of their men or favour with me. They avoided me, when the dark clouds raised a storm in my mind. Lurking in the shadows, waiting for the light to return.
I felt lighter already, the way you fee when you clamber from your blood drenched mail after a battle, and sit in the suns waning light and rejoice in the fact that you’re alive to see it. Tomorrow was a new day, a new dawn, and I would greet it with a smile nestled in my great dark beard.
‘Lord,’ a man said, pushing his way through the throng of men that crowded the halls benches. ‘Lord there are riders outside, from Dagr.’ It was Birgir, and I was about to comment on the steady thickening of his fluffy beard when I saw the concern in his eyes.
‘What is it Birgir? Who is it? Why have they come?’ Dark tidings, that was my first thought. Why else risk braving the winters wrath unless it was to bring dire news. What else would drag men from the comfort of their hearth and the warmth of a good woman. ‘Birgir,’ I said again, ‘who has come?’
‘She has, lord.’ He wouldn’t meet my eye as he spoke, his foot made circles on the thrush covered floor. ‘Ishild, lord,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Ishild, wife of lord Warin is here. She is asking for you, lord.’
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