But then, in the midst of my gloom and confused emotions, I saw a true sign that I was still favoured by the gods, still the son of Loki.
The gates opened, and out marched Warin and his army.
I hug my mother tight as Agnarr and his retinue leave. The king himself holds a small bundle in his massive left arm as he rides. It is Ishild, my sister. It makes me sad that I will never see her again, so sad that I sob into my mother’s skirt, turning the pale green colour greener than the sweetest grass. ‘Hush, Alaric,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘This is not the last we will see of her, of that I promise.’ She rocks me gently; the gentle flow makes me tired and before I can control it I feel myself falling into a deep slumber. ‘Quick, Hengist. Take him to bed,’ is the last thing I can remember my mother saying before the darkness takes me.
‘What am I to do, Hengist?’ I hear my mother saying as I stir. I feel a desperate, urgent need to empty my bladder, but my curiosity is immediately piqued, and I do not want to let my parents know I am awake.
‘Maybe you could start by not allowing him to come here whenever he pleases and have his way with you? Maybe you could just say no!’
‘Say no? To the king of the Suebi? If I’d have said no, you and I would have been with the gods long ago. We would have never known happiness; never felt the joy our children bring-
‘OUR children?’ my father screams. He is by nature, an angry and bitter man. For the first time I feel as if I am starting to see why.
‘Yes, Hengist, our children. You knew what you were getting into when you begged me to become your wife. You knew who I was, where I had come from, to whom my heart would always belong.’ Between my long locks of dark hair, I can see the sympathy in my mother’s bright, blue eyes. Sunlight flashes through the open window and her black hair shines purple in its light. She says I have hair to match hers, I like it when she says such things.
‘It had been years before Agnarr started appearing. I thought somehow he would have forgotten or decided to leave us alone.’
‘He is a king, a great one too, a man like that does not forget those who are important to him. I know it hurts you, Hengist. But when I was young all I wanted was to be Agnarr’s queen. That was all taken away from me. You have made me happy, of sorts. But nothing could ever feel the void in my heart that being away from him creates.’
‘And what when he tires of you? What if he dies and his heir decides he doesn’t want a half brother living with the Chauci that could one day challenge him for his throne? What then, my love?’ I can feel the anguish in my father’s voice; the tremor in his tone is audible.
‘He would never do that to me,’ my mother says. ‘Besides, his wife is barren, the king shall have no other children. One day, Hengist, it will be a man of my blood that sits as king in Viritium, mark my words.’ I peer at her through one half open eye and see her pointing at me; blood, glory, power is my future. I must be ready.
THIRTY
‘Steady lads. Steady. Hold the line now, do not charge till you hear the signal.’ I trotted Hilde across the front of my line, nodded to the faces I knew and shouted encouragement so all could hear. The fog that had clouded my mind had dissipated as I had watched Warin march his men from the safety of Viritium’s walls; suddenly my path was clear, and drenched in Suebi blood.
I had roughly three hundred and fifty men left after the battle with the Fourteenth on the north bank of the River Danube. Ketill had just over two hundred Harii warriors, together we made a formidable force.
From my estimates Warin outnumbered us by around three hundred men. Ketill and I had counted the small round houses the warriors were camped in to the west of Viritium from their walls the day before. If there were eight men to a house – which Ketill guessed there were as that was how he housed his own troops – then Warin had just under one thousand warriors as his back.
We had a couple of advantages though: firstly, all my men were mounted on battle trained horses. Warin had what appeared two hundred cavalry in his ranks, but I would have wagered all my silver that not one of those mounts would be a patch on my own. An untrained horse is a catastrophe in battle. It will shake its head and rear and kick long before battle is joined. The first sniff of blood and it will be off, without paying heed as to which direction it flees. Too many times over the years have I seen a warrior delivered to his enemy on the back of an unwilling horse. It was, it pains me to say, another lesson I learnt early at the hands of the cursed Romans.
It is with no modesty whatsoever that I say our second advantage was myself. I was an old hand at battle, as was Ketill and Ruric. Gerulf, Otto and Baldo were all experienced commanders who had lead men independently and were capable of making decisions that could turn a battle to my advantage without waiting to be ordered to do so. Once again, they were my answer to Roman centurions. Gods I hate them, but they sure are good at war.
It was a small, hilly field that was to be our battlefield. A wooden fence ran along part of the centre; a dividing line between the lands of two farmers. It was mid-summer, and the crops in those small fields were yellowing and within those shoots of barley is where the battle could well be decided. I asked Ketill to take his men forward and down into a small crevice in the field. The dip was no more than eight-foot-deep, and when the Harii warriors reached the bottom they abruptly turned to the west and hid themselves within the yellow crops. I watched as Warin ordered a hundred of his men into the same ditch to take the fight to Ketill. I smiled to myself in satisfaction when they charged down the slope ready to give great slaughter, only to find it void of men to slaughter.
That, I judged, was where my cavalry would win their first battle. The Suebi warriors had charged maybe one hundred paces from their ranks and were roughly one hundred and twenty paces from mine. I kicked Hilde’s flanks and urged her on as I galloped west across our line to Gerulf who held the right. ‘Gerulf, your men with me, let’s go!’ I did not wait to see if he or his men followed, I just gave Hilde her head once more and flew into a headlong charge at the enemy.
There was fear in the Suebi ranks, confused leaders and disorganised warriors in no formation; a cavalryman’s dream. I had just over a hundred men at my back, and Gerulf had bolstered his ranks with men from Adalhard’s hundred when he had perished in the battle with the Romans. He whirled his sword in a great arc as galloped up beside me, a savage grin on his usually sombre and considered face. ‘No mercy!’ he roared as his mount overtook mine. I hauled my own blade free and as always took great comfort from the familiar weight and the black leather grip. The blade was old now, notched and scarred along its great length but it was still the best sword in the land, of that I was sure.
Gerulf was the first to hit the Suebi warriors. He took a man’s head with the first swing of his sword, lopping off an arm with the next. I plunged Hilde between two warriors and she took the first with a flailing hoof, the next I cleaved near in half with my trusty old blade. The rest is all a bit of a blur now. I hacked and slashed, snarled and shouted myself hoarse as the battle fury took me and I could think of nothing but my lust for blood. I do remember a fearsome looking warrior with a short single headed axe charging me and coming very close to relieving me of my left leg. Luckily for me Hilde spotted the danger before me and she sidestepped his swing so he cut nothing but air. I took him in the back as he was at full stretch before he could bring that deadly axe back around.
My arm was dyed red, my glorious blue cloak that made me look so regal was now a murky brown. Even the great golden torc I had taken from Wulfric the coward had thick blood pouring from the delicate engravings. I had taken a blow to the bottom of my right leg, but had no memory of how and when. The first engagement was all but done as I slowed Hilde to a walk and scanned the surrounding area. None of the Suebi warriors that had charged down the slope would live to tell the brutal tale of this battle. I smirked as I looked out towards Warin, who sat atop his own mount, the indecision on his face clear even from that distance. I signalled
to Gerulf and together we rallied our men and cantered back to our starting positions, to much audiation from the others who had sat and watched.
‘That was well done, chief,’ Ruric said with a nod as I pulled up beside him. ‘You hurt?’ he asked as he saw me studying a gash on my right calf.
‘Apparently so,’ I said absently, marvelling at my own ability to take such a cut and not feel a thing. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ I said with a shrug. ‘Now then, what do you think our friend will do next?’
‘I would not be surprised to see him scamper off to the north after that performance. Those men you fought, they were the Avarpi, said to be the fiercest of the Suebi fighters.’
‘The fiercest?’ I asked in genuine surprise. ‘Well, if that lot was the best they have I might just charge the rest on my own and leave the rest of you to make camp!’ The jest went down well with the men within earshot, as I had known it would.
‘I don’t think he will send any men forward again,’ I said as I chewed my lip. I was trying to put myself in Warin’s position. He had, I guessed, been manipulated into leaving his high walls by the more powerful chiefs among the Suebi. These were the men who had made him king, and he would be relying on them to keep him as king if he survived this bloody day. He knew it all too well, but more importantly, so did they. They were war chiefs; men who lived for nothing more than the savage joy of battle. Not for a heartbeat would they have considered hiding in Viritium and letting themselves get put under siege. If they were to die they would die on an open plain with a blade in their hands and feast at Wotan’s table with their heads held high.
Warin, I knew, would have tried to get them to see his way of thinking. He would have wanted to hold me at Viritium’s walls; keep my gaze focused solely on him, until….
‘Lord! Lord!’ Birgir bellowed as he came up behind me at the gallop. I had sent him north and west four days before, with orders to spy on Dagr and watch his movements. I was convinced the father would come to the aid of the son, for surely it was only natural. The most sensible thing for Warin to do therefore, would be to hide in Viritium and let me send my men to their deaths as they tried to the storm the walls by force. Whilst my gaze and ire would be focused on Warin, Dagr would strike my rear. It was a perfect plan, well thought out and was something I would have considered if our positions had been reversed. What they had not counted on though, was me being ready for it. ‘Dagr comes with all haste! He has five hundred warriors at his back, all mounted and ready for battle,’ he said through shallow breaths.
‘How long?’ I asked.
‘They will be here by sundown.’
‘Sundown?’ I gawped. ‘Wotan’s hairy balls Birgir! You haven’t given me quite as much notice as I would have wanted!’
‘Sorry, lord,’ Birgir blushed. ‘Took me a while to find his army. They crossed the River Elbe somewhere to the south and came back north on the eastern bank. Guess Dagr knew you may have someone out spying on him?’
‘Yes, I suppose,’ I said, though for the first time I felt myself doubting Birgir. Something in his demeanour seemed off, something I couldn’t quite place my finger on. Right then though, I had no time to question him further. ‘Right then,’ I said with as much confidence and bluster as I could muster, ‘we have till sundown to send this lot scurrying off to their mothers.’
‘Got a plan?’ asked Ruric.
‘Yes. Well, the beginnings of one at least. Where are those pesky priests that follow me around? You know, the filthy bastards in the rank old robes who are always harping on about the end of days and have an insatiable appetite for silver.’ Ruric smiled. I had never had much time for men who claim to speak to the gods. No one spoke to the gods, not unless they wanted to speak to you. And I could think of no reason at all why the mighty Wotan or any of his offspring would want to spend time with the dirty, old, bearded fanatics who spent half their lives in isolation in caves, hidden deep in the forest.
Still, it seemed I might just have finally found a use for them.
THIRTY-ONE
‘I miss her, mother. I miss her every day,’ I say as I sob into the folds of her dress.
‘Hush now, my brave warrior. I know you do, Alaric. We all do. We will see her again, soon I am sure,’ she says as she gently wipes the tears from my eyes and pinches my nose clear of mucus with an old piece of cloth.
‘But when?’ I wail. It has been nearly half a year since we last saw Agnarr, king of the Suebi. The spring that has just begun to blossom will be my sixth, though I feel no joy at its coming. All winter I have been in a state of despair, roaming the lands of our small farmstead wearing nothing but a tunic, desperately seeking my beloved baby sister. I know of course, even at my tender age, that I will not find her behind the grain barn or sheltering with the livestock, but I like to pretend we are playing a great game of hide and seek, and that one day I will eventually stumble across her and we will laugh till summer arrives in our mirth.
‘Soon, my dear, soon.’ My mother weeps her own tears and I feel a strong pang of guilt. I may be missing my sister, but surely my mother is missing her daughter more. I force back the tears and give my mother my best smile, ‘I love you,’ I say.
‘I love you more, my warrior,’ she kisses me, long and hard on my forehead. I feel the tip of her nose on my hair as she breathes in my fragrance. I realise she has shown more affection towards me since Ishild was taken away. That tragic occurrence has caused her love for me to burn brighter than the heart of the fiercest forge, and a part of me is happy at the thought.
My father enters our small one roomed house and smiles a thin, sad smile as he sees his wife and son embracing. He is ashamed of himself, I know. All winter long he has been outside with his sword, practising lunges and hacking lumps off a large wooden post he has embedded in the earth. He feels shame for allowing his daughter to be taken, and I have overheard him saying he is worried the king will come back and take me too.
The thought of this happening sends shivers down my spine; my parents do not have much, but everything they do they make pay enough to put food on the table for me. Many a night I have been feasting on a thin gruel my mother has prepared in a tiny pot over the hearth; when I ask what they will be eating, they say they will eat when I am abed, but I know they do not. My father petitioned our chief for a small loan of coin to help feed us through winter, it was rejected out of hand. There is unfinished business between our chief and my father, a burning hatred hotter than Hel’s domain, though I know not why.
I will kill him one day, this chief who would have seen us starve in the frozen abyss that was the winter just gone by. I do not know how or when, but with Donar as my witness I swear I will take up my fathers’ sword one day and send him to his maker. It is with these thoughts storming my mind that I fall asleep in my mothers’ arms.
Wotan had to hang himself on Yggdrasil for nine days and nine nights before he gained his wisdom, and with it his power. He was wounded in the side by a strike with his own great spear, Gungnir, as he swung from a branch on that immortal ash tree, the rope pulling tight around his neck. He gave gladly one of his eyes just so he could see further and truer, and so his grip on the nine worlds grew tighter.
The Allfather has more knowledge in his mind than any mortal could garner. Through his ravens Huginn and Muninn he sees all throughout our world and more. Thought and memory, we call them. It is my belief that they stand for far more than that. Huginn knows every thought that enters your mind, no matter how fleeting; Muninn can see into your soul. The raven knows what you have been through, the obstacles you have overcome, the people you have betrayed. The raven tells all this to its lord, and The Hanged One remembers, he remembers all. One day, it is my hope the great doors of his hall will swing open, and I will be admitted to feast and drink in his presence. What questions will he ask me? What answers will I give?
‘Your eyes have glazed over again, brother,’ Ketill said. I snapped from my daze, only then realising my left hand was f
ingering the golden torc at my neck. The memories flooded my mind; a vicious tide of long forgotten pain and regret. Ishild. Ishild. How could I have forgotten. How is it possible for me to block that dark day from memory?
‘I still do not know why she is trying to kill me?’ I said.
‘Huh?’
‘Ishild. I get that we are siblings and she feels she was taken from her home. Forced into a life she did not choose. She feels anger towards me, and I guess she felt a great deal towards Agnarr too, given his recent downfall. But why me? I just don’t understand what I have done to her? I was a child when she was taken! What could I have possibly done to make her hate me so?’
‘Listen, Alaric. I know you have a lot of confused emotions right now, but… you do realise we are in the middle of a battle, right? And that we have about eight hundred foes to our front and five hundred coming up behind?’
I shook my head of the cobwebs and rubbed my palm over the hilt of my scabbarded sword. ‘By the hanged, Ketill, you are right. How are the priests coming along?’
‘Looks as though they are nearly done,’ said Ketill, nodding his head to our front.
When I looked up I beheld a truly gruesome sight. Four priests – if that is what the foul retches truly were – had been busy. They were commanded in all things by a Godi, the head of their order and the man closest to the gods, apparently. The four priests had hammered in sixteen spears in an arc, just atop the rise in the valley that the hundred or so Suebi had charged down just an hour ago, only to be slaughtered to the last man.
Once the spears were in place Ruric had lopped off the heads of sixteen of the warriors we had slain with his great war axe, and now the priests were fixing them to the spear tips. It was disgusting, sickening, and terrifying. And I only had to look at the back of those blood drenched, grey-skinned heads. To Warin’s men it would have been truly horrifying. Sixteen of their own warriors looking at them, urging them to come and take revenge. It was a grave insult to those poor men who had done nothing to warrant their bodies being desecrated so. But, if it gave me an advantage, I was willing to see it done.
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