‘What in the name of the gods did you ea-
‘Movement, lord,’ Birgir said, cutting me off. Once more I braved raising my head and saw for myself a clutch of men holding flame torches, marching together from the safety of the forest, heading right towards us.
‘They’ve made you,’ a voice said to my right.
‘I think you may be right,’ I mumbled, mind racing, seeking a way out.
‘I reckon it was you farting that did it. A fart that smells that bad must have gone off like a thunderclap when it shot from your arse. Didn’t leave a stain, did it?’
To Hel with the warriors marching out kill me where I lay. Fuck Warin and his scheming wife, sitting pretty in their hall in the north, waiting for me to hurry on to the ends of their spears. No man, let alone my man spoke to me like that and kept his life. I was about to turn and strike Gerulf right in his round bald head, and then I realised it wasn’t he that had spoken…
‘How in all the nine worlds did you get here?’ I said with an arched eyebrow. I wasn’t even surprised, not really.
‘Been on your trail for a while now,’ Ketill said with a wink. ‘Thought I’d wait till I could make a properly dramatic appearance.’
I chuckled to myself, shaking my head. If Ketill had tracked me so easily, then who else knew of my quick march north? ‘How long have you been following us?’ I asked.
‘Following? Oh no my friend, the Harii do not follow. We have been ahead of you the whole time, making sure you don’t run into any trouble.’ He winked again, still grinning through his beard.
‘And I suppose you have some suggestions about how we may get through that?’ I pointed to the torchbearers still making their way slowly towards us. Then the screaming started.
There was a howl and a rush of men burst from the trees, almost invisible in the darkness. They tore through the warriors who thought they had been the predators, preparing to spring the perfect trap. Only now did they realise they were the prey. Men flooded from the presumed safety of the forest, most even without their weapons. As we watched, myself, Birgir and Gerulf all stunned into silence, the Harii butchered the men of the Suebi one by one. It was over in the time it took me to rise on shaking legs, in less time then it took Gerulf to void his bowels.
‘Right then,’ Ketill said, standing now and shaking the mud and grass from his cloak, ‘reckon it’s safe to go on now, don’t you?’
At daybreak we moved out. Cautious at first, for we had no confirmation that all of the Suebi warriors were dead. Some could have slipped away under the canopy of trees in the night, despite Ketill’s assurances that it was quite impossible.
Bodies littered the ground as we reached the tree line. It was a massacre, an orgy of blood and guts. It was impossible to not tread on something dark and sticky with every step. Ketill looked around in pride as I walked beside him. My men were still mounted and most had already ushered their beasts through the battleground as quickly as they could. I walked with Ketill and his men, mainly out of gratitude for what he had done for me. ‘Remind me never to cross you,’ I said as I gazed upon two corpses; men that appeared to have died together. One body lap atop the other, his hand was on the head of the man that lay underneath, as if he had been comforting him in his final moments. It was a sight that stirred great emotion within me, why I could not be sure. I have never exactly been famed for my empathy.
‘We are brothers,’ Ketill said with a shrug. ‘I only do for you what you would do for me.’ I nodded and clasped his shoulder, knowing what he said to be true. I did not have many friends; spending one’s life as an outlaw made it hard to get close to other people, and equally fear of being murdered made it hard for me to let other people get close to me. But it is true I would have died gladly for those close to me, my familia as the Romans would have called it. Ketill, Ruric, Gerulf, Baldo, Otto, even young Birgir. Saxa would have to be included on the grounds that she was my wife, though the gods knew I felt no love towards her. She did carry my unborn child, and that child and its older brother would most definitely be within my inner circle.
‘I fear I owe you more than I could ever repay,’ I said to Ketill, my thoughts drifting back to one of the first events that sparked this frenzied period of my life, when we had killed three Romans in Ketill’s home.
‘Do not worry Alaric, I have already thought of many ways in which you can repay me,’ he said with a smile that told me I should be worried.
We continued our journey north for another four days, stopping only briefly for a midday meal and not halting the march until the last of the sun’s rays were lost behind the horizon. We were close then I knew, so close I could almost smell my son’s hair, feel his gentle touch as his tiny fingers explored my beard. On the fifth day we crested a ridge and were met by two of Ketill’s men. I waited until my men had moved on and were out of earshot before questioning them.
‘Warin is in Agnarr’s old capital,’ the older of the two spoke. His face was a hard one, his stare cold and unforgiving. He seemed a warrior to the core, but honest if nothing else. ‘Not all of the chiefs are with him, but the most powerful ones came over to him as soon as old Agnarr was killed.’
‘How was it done?’ I asked, meaning the deposing of Agnarr.
‘During a feast in Agnarr’s hall,’ the younger man spoke this time. ‘Agnarr was evoking the gods, thanking them for his tribe’s continued success when Warin thrust a dagger in his heart. Within heartbeats he was surrounded by the tribe’s most powerful warlords who proclaimed him king.’
‘Well planned then,’ I said.
‘Yes lord. It would seem Warin at least had been planning the coup for some time.’
‘Or at least his father had,’ Ketill cut in.
I nodded, thinking back to my meeting with Dagr, the leader of the Chauci and Warin’s father. I had caused the Chauci great hurt when I had killed their old chief, I wondered if this was Dagr and Warin exacting their revenge. ‘I killed Dagr’s father in his own hall, the same way Agnarr was killed in his. Before I left for the south, Agnarr invited me to his chambers and offered me Ishild in marriage and his tribe to rule when he died.’
There was a period of silence as Ketill digested this. ‘Freya’s tits, Alaric, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone, Agnarr asked me not to,’ I said, struggling to control the emotion in my voice. ‘I was in love with Ishild, captivated by her. The chance to be with her and be a great king was an opportunity I could not turn down. You understand?’
‘Of course,’ Ketill said, nodding emphatically. ‘I was not born to be chief of the Harii, I made it happen, with your help. So Warin gets wind of this and kills Agnarr and makes himself king. That makes sense, but this business with Ishild wanting you dead and corroborating with Rome? It makes no sense.’
I shrugged. I had not told him what Wulfric had told me in the moments before I had killed him, but I wasn’t surprised he knew. Ruric would have told him the first opportunity he got. Come to think of it, any one of my men could have told him. ‘I’ve no idea, brother. Guess there is only one way to find out.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Looks quiet,’ I said to Ketill, as we lay in the thick undergrowth overlooking Agnarr’s old fortress, now Warin’s.
‘Too quiet, do you not think?’ Ketill replied with a grimace.
I agreed, although I said nothing at first. Warin would know we were coming, would surely have planned some sort of defence. I had wanted to go ahead of my men and scout the area for myself before I led them all blundering into some trap. Though from what I had seen so far, it appeared Warin was not in the least bit concerned there was a warband coming for his head.
‘Maybe he thinks you are still in the south?’ said Ketill, stroking his beard. ‘It is possible. We have travelled quickly, there are no survivors from the battle in the forest. He cannot possibly know we are this close.’
There was merit to what my friend said, and I chuckled at the use of the word �
��battle’ to describe the bloodbath that was the massacre of the Suebi warriors by Ketill’s tribe six nights before. ‘It is possible, I suppose. But it seems unlikely. If the boot were on the other foot, so to speak, I would have men out everywhere scouting for an approaching warband. I would have spies in every town for fifty miles, and every whore in Germania would have an offer of gold for return of information as to my whereabouts…’ I stopped speaking as Ketill’s chuckling grew louder.
‘There my friend, may be your problem. You are thinking too much about what you would do, and not what you think Warin is doing. You are Alaric, leader of the Ravensworn, a feared and experienced warrior, known for being the turner of battles and slayer of chiefs. Warin, is a jumped-up little shit that I doubt very much knows which end of a spear is the pointy bit.’
I considered this, as I chewed my way through a strip of dried meat. Warin was a pup, inexperienced in war and had grown up with the benefit of his father being the chief of a powerful tribe. He hadn’t had to fight for wealth or status, both had been passed down to him. His marriage to Ishild – the daughter of the king of the most powerful tribe in the north had been arranged for him. Would he be expecting me to challenge him? Maybe he did think I would just come begging for my wife and child to be returned. Could he really be that much of a fool?
‘No, I’m not buying it,’ I said after a time. ‘Warin may not be experienced in war or life, but he has men around him who are. Men who won their chieftainships through blood and held them these long years in the same manner. They all know me, know what I am capable of. He will be prepared, I am certain of it.’
‘Quite full of yourself, aren’t you,’ said Ketill with a perfectly straight face. ‘Just saying, maybe your spear fame doesn’t shine as bright as you think?’
Again, I shook my head. I knew my reputation, and knew it was well earned. I had betrayed men, killed and maimed those that got in my way. I was no hero, that was for sure, but I was known. I was feared. ‘He will be ready,’ I said with certainty. ‘That means we need to be ready. How close do you think we can get?’ I asked, pointing my head in the direction of Viritium.
‘Why, right through the gates of course.’ Ketill said, flashing me one of his evil smiles.
‘This is such a stupid idea,’ I said as we walked through the great wooden gates. Dawn was breaking; the sun glorious, its heat basking. I was sweating like a pig under the thick folds of a heavy riding cloak; the hood up to cover my face.
‘You should not worry so much, brother,’ Ketill said. His voice was muffled; I could barely make out his face, buried as it was under his own hood. ‘I doubt you will see anyone you know.’
‘It is not that which concerns me,’ I said, trying to keep my voice low and calm, ‘it’s being seen by people that know who I am!’
Ketill laughed, he was always laughing. ‘I thought you were a descendant of The Sly One?’ he asked in a tone which promised mischief.
‘Well, yes…’ I said, trailing off. I knew what was coming next.
‘Do you not think this is something Loki would have done? Would he have shit his breeches like you and thought of running away? No, he would have snuck into Viritium, garnered all the information he needed and left without a trace. That, brother, is exactly what we shall do’
I had my doubts but decided I could not bare to have Ketill poke fun at my perceived cowardice anymore. I scanned the surrounding area as we entered the outer ring of Viritium. It was, it had to be said, a mightily impressive defensive structure. The outer wall was ten feet tall and solid timber. There was no earthwork or ditch in front, but the fortress was built on a ridge and any attacker would have to carry ladders up a steep incline. If the attackers managed to force their way over the walls, they would find themselves trapped in an outer ring, with another wall facing them. That was where I was standing, scanning left and right, looking for a weakness. ‘Looks different to when I was last here,’ I said. I was still shifting my eyes, trying to work out what had changed. It felt so long ago I had last entered this place, could it only have been a few months?
‘You were not planning to attack the place last time you were here,’ Ketill said. ‘Changes your perspective.’ There was merit in that. The last time I had passed through the outer gate I had been mounted on Hilde, trying to look mighty and fearsome on my fine horse with my warband at my back. Now I was sneaking through like a criminal, my hood raised high; face masked in shadow.
‘The walls,’ I said. The walls, they were different. I racked my mind, willing my brain to picture them in the winter. The dark grey skies; howling wind that stung my eyes. Snow, pure whiteness all around. But the walls, they had changed, I was sure of it. I moved toward the inner wall, trying to slow my pace and appear casual, as if I belonged. Never easy trying to pretend you are meant to be somewhere you know you’re not. I always get that tingling feeling in my spine; I stand too straight to make it look as though I’m not hiding, even though I know no one stands that straight and appears normal. I smile to people with one of those fake smiles that doesn’t quite feel like it fits my face, and when forced to converse with people I make up some dodgy name at the last moment and give away far too much of my characters personal information. No one cares that a stranger’s cousin has lumps on his arse, and that you only came here because you heard the local healing woman has a cream that never fails. Gods, I should have just pretended to be a mute and let Ketill do all the talking.
I didn’t.
‘You there!’ A bearded man with a spear shouted at me from atop the inner wall. ‘Lower your hood so I can see your face.’ I froze. Sweat poured through my beard; when I looked down I could see the hair shining in the morning sun. I felt a large drop drip right through and splash onto my boots. Fear. It gripped me like a rod.
Still I stood there, frozen in time like a mountain. People bustled all around me, getting on with their daily routine. I could have stood there for a lifetime, and the same merchant would have whipped the same horse whilst sat on the same cart and never paid the slightest attention to the man slowly turning to stone in front of his very eyes. Still I stood there. Think, THINK!
‘Alaric,’ Ketill hissed. ‘I think he might be talking to you, brother.’
I had no plan, no notion of what I was going to say until I said it. ‘Good morning, friend,’ I said. ‘My name is Adallindis Helmoldson. Could you point me in the direction of your healing woman’s home? My cousin has these lumps on his arse, see, poor bastard hasn’t had a good shit in three weeks, we heard your healer makes an ointment that never fai-
‘Shut up and lower your hood!’ the man called. He thrust his spear arm back, ready to throw. I was in no doubt he would. ‘Really?’ Ketill muttered in my ear. ‘Adallindis Helmoldson?’ He was trying not to laugh and failing. In our tongue ‘Adallindis’ stood for flexible and ‘Helmoldson’ for helmet – I’ll let you put the two of them together. ‘Must have been twenty years since I first heard you give someone that name,’ he sniggered.
‘Seemed funnier then.’ I said.
‘Are you listening to me boy?’ the man shouted. ‘If I have to ask you again you’ll be fodder for my spear.’
‘Boy?’
‘Yep, that’s what he said. Let’s kill him.’ I grabbed Ketill before he became the end of both of us and slowly lowered my hood. I wasn’t sure what sort of reaction revealing my face would provoke from the warrior who would clearly know who I was and would have instructions to look out for my face. I was not, however, prepared for no reaction at all.
‘No hoods up in this area, friend,’ the spearman said, lowering his arm and relaxing his posture. ‘Word is there are those that would see our good king Warin in the ground. If you are challenged again, make sure you respond straight away, okay?’
I was stunned, relieved, and insulted. Did he really not know who I was? Was he not here in the heart of winter when I made my magnificent entrance dressed in all my finery with five hundred spears at my back? The bastard, I wi
shed I had let Ketill kill him. ‘Thank you,’ I muttered through gritted teeth.
‘You’ll find the healers home at the end of the main street, just before you come to the king’s hall. Last house on the right. Warn you now though, her wares don’t come cheap!’
I was raging; my hands shook with unbridled anger. ‘Can’t put a price on a good shit, friend,’ Ketill said, clamping my shoulder forcibly. ‘Thank you for your assistance.’
And with that, we strolled through the inner gate and into Viritium.
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘You got a bit of The Sly One in you, you have.’ Balomar the blacksmith says to me over the rim of his ale cup. We sit in the shadow of his forge, basking in its heat and our new-found comradeship.
‘What do you mean?’ I say, cautious to agree too quickly. He really is a colossus, Balomar. He fills the small domed building the way water fills a lake; his shadow stretches the whole wall behind him, covering it the way night engulfs the day.
‘The way you beat me yesterday, more than a bit of luck, that. Took a bit of planning, cunning too.’
‘Timing. All down to timing.’
‘More than that I’d say,’ Balomar says as he refills his cup and offers to do the same to mine. ‘You knew where every blow was going to land. You could see it, anticipate my every move. How?’
‘Ahh,’ I say, sipping my newly refilled cup. ‘The eyes, all about the eyes.’
‘Care to elaborate?’
‘I watch your eyes, not your blade. That’s how I knew where you were about to strike.’
He pauses at this, his face scrunches as he thinks. ‘But how can you block the blade? Surely the mark of every great swordsman is their hand and eye coordination? Their ability to plant their own blade where their eyes tell them it must go.’
I shrug, trying to appear more casual than I am. Balomar is a far greater warrior than I could ever hope to be. He is fierce and fearless; strong as on Ox and quick as a lynx. I am weak compared to him, and I had spent the entirety of our fight out of my depth. Yet I had won. ‘Try it,’ I say, ‘next time you fight. Don’t watch your opponent’s blade, watch his eyes. They tell you where he is going to strike, you get an extra heartbeat to react.’ I feel my cheeks colour as I become embarrassed giving this renown warrior lessons in swordplay.
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