I charged the greybeard, who stood stock still as I cleaved his head from his shoulders. When it fell to the floor it rolled and his seemingly awed face looked up at me, the spark of life still evident in his eyes. He looked as though he was in the presence of a god, and at that moment I felt as if I was a product of Wotan’s seed, for surely I had just cheated certain death. Finally, the spark went out of the eyes, like the last ember in an abandoned campfire.
‘Who are you?’ I said to the blue eyed youth, who had not moved throughout the whole encounter.
‘I…I…’ his mouth blubbered like a trout’s; his hands trembled and his sword dropped to the ground with a thud.
‘Who are you?’ I said again. ‘What are you doing here?’
I was dimly aware that the fight was over. Ketill was haranguing his men, forming them up and counting his losses. Emmerich was dunking his head in the hot spring, washing his face free of blood with glee.
‘My name is Eghbert,’ he said; his eyes downcast.
‘Why are you here, Eghbert?’ I asked as I studied him closely. The more I looked the more he resembled Ishild. It wasn’t just his eyes, it was the perfect round shape of his face; the high cheekbones that stood out like mole hills on his cheeks. His skin was a different tone to hers, he was bronzed by the sun, whereas Ishild stayed as pale as winter. ‘What are you to Warin?’
He coloured at this, showing anger in his pale eyes. ‘I am nothing to Warin, just as he is nothing to me. I am Eghbert, son of Agnarr, rightful king of the Suebi.’
I was stunned to silence at this. All knew Agnarr had no sons; why else would he have wanted me to succeed him when he passed from this world. And then, it hit me like a Donar’s hammer. Agnarr did have one son, and he had asked that one son to take up his birthright when the old king finally breathed his last. Me.
A blatant truth that had been right in front of my face. Ishild was my sister, but not just from the same mother, from the same father as well. I thought of the old king then, as he had been on the day he had come to my home and taken Ishild away. Tall, dark haired, well built and all powerful. A thick black beard, piercing brown eyes. I stood, dumbstruck with my tongue hanging from my mouth. All my life I had resented my father, cursed him for being weak and a coward. I despised him for not fighting off the Romans when they raided our lands and raped and slaughtered my poor helpless mother. But that man was not my father, could not be. He was too short, too blonde, too different in every comparable way to me. I was not the son of some poor farmer, destined to end my days with a plough and a failing crop. I was the son of a king, born to a noble line. Agnarr had not offered me his crown just because he thought I was the most suitable man to wear it; he offered it to me because I was his son. Well, one of his sons, it seemed. ‘Who is your mother?’ I asked Eghbert, hoping there wasn’t another repressed memory about to surface in my mind.
‘Her name was Adelle. She died when I was young.’
‘What happened?’
‘Same as what I imagine happened to yours, brother. Yes, I know who you are Alaric, and I know why you are here. He always killed his women, once he had become tired of them.’
‘W…what do you mean?’
‘Father. He kept women in different places, always on the edge of his territory. Once he grew tired of them, he simply had them killed.’
‘My mother was killed by Rome!’ I spat. How dare this whoreson speak of my mother, how dare he speak of my father like that! I had not known him well, old Agnarr, but everything I had learned of him spoke of a good man, a just king.
‘Yours would not be the first tragedy Rome dealt out on our father’s behalf. Long had he allied himself with the cursed empire and her red cloaked soldiers. It was perfect, can you not see? He was hundreds of miles away from the Danube and Rome’s borders, no threat to the Emperor or any of his domain. An alliance was made, promises swapped and kept.’
‘What sort of promises?’
‘What do you think? Agnarr gave up certain tribes, allowed them to be raided or destroyed by Rome when their chief got too ambitious or a husband stood between him and a woman he desired. In exchange, Rome got to exert her will on our lands, seemingly burning and destroying whoever they wanted. Our people have lived in fear of Rome for years, but it is not Rome that has been our enemy.’
I thought back to that night: my mothers screams, the heat of the fires. Rome had taken everything I loved in a single night; my whole life from that point had been a battle against the empire and their legions. Turns out, they were just puppets in someone else’s game. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Decades, as far as I know. Warin hopes to strike the same deal with Rome. Ishild, hopes to secure it for him. One of the conditions for both parties is your head on a spike.’
I scoffed. ‘Of course it was. Long have Rome wanted me dead.’ But only because of the harm I have caused them, I thought to myself. In so many ways, I had brought this on myself. ‘So what was Warin’s plan?’
‘For you? I think he thought he would destroy you on the battlements of Viritium’s walls. He argued against sallying out to meet your army, until he was named a Nithing by certain war chiefs. He had no choice then but to face you in open battle, or lose face and likely his crown. But there is more you should know.’ Eghbert sucked his teeth and ran his tongue around his mouth, he seemed unsure of how to continue.
‘What is it?’ I asked. Ketill’s men encircled us now; the battle was finished and it appeared so had the looting.
‘There are traitors in your ranks. Men you would trust with your life will betray you at the end.’
My talk with Tacitus came back to me, had he not said something similar? I had dismissed it then as the talk of an old man who knew his life span measured the next few beats of his heart. But now it seemed, a grain of truth lingered in the midst of the old man’s ramblings.
‘Who?’
‘I do not know, truly. But there was more than one, maybe as many as five. These men will be well rewarded when you are dead.’
I nodded. ‘So be it,’ I said. I turned to Ketill who wordlessly gripped my shoulder. He, I knew, would never betray me.
‘Where is Warin going? I asked Eghbert; my eyes were still locked with Ketill’s.
‘East. A place called Parienna, in the lands of the Arsietae.’
‘Why there?’ I knew the place, had taken the Ravensworn through there once before. It was a small, walled fortified town, but the Arsietae were a small, peaceful tribe. I did not understand why they would play host to a northern king and the emperors’ messengers.
‘I do not know. The Arsietae are allied to Rome though, so they may see it as a safe place to meet.’
I visualised the journey in my mind. We were perhaps ten days hard riding from Parienna, plenty of time to catch Warin and end his wicked schemes. ‘What do you think?’ I asked Ketill.
‘Let us kill this whoreson and then go and kill Warin. Enough schemes, I think.’
I smiled, one of my evil grins that are all teeth. My sword still lay naked in my palm, it was the work of two heartbeats to swing it in a flat arc and send the edge grating into Eghbert’s skull. Blood sprayed and seemed to hang in the mist, and my brother Eghbert slumped to the ground, and died without so much as a whimper.
THIRTY-SEVEN
I do not remember either eating or sleeping for the next five days. I rode with fury in my heart. Seething anger pulsed through my veins; Hilde felt my urgency too and at times it was almost as if she glided across the uneven terrain as we galloped east, always east. Each morning the rising sun blinded me and as it kissed the western horizon on its descent each evening I basked in the final rays of warmth as I braced myself for a few hours more riding in the chill of the darkness.
I pushed the men like they had never been pushed before. I jumped at every shadow, found myself fretting with every snap of a twig or clang of armour. I trusted no one except Ketill and his Harii, for he had proved himself loyal beyond measure.
If he was going to betray me, he would have done it the year before as I lay under his stinking bed of straw, listening as he entertained a Roman agent of the frumentarii. I was even distant with Ruric, Eghbert’s words ringing endlessly in my mind: There are traitors in your ranks. Men you would trust with your life. Would Ruric betray me? My oldest comrade in arms, the man that had stood at my side when the Ravensworn had been no more than a fantasy. I did not think he would, but I was uncertain of everyone.
We had had no contact from Gerulf and Birgir, and their continued absence gnawed at my wits. Again I kept thinking of Birgir and his suspicious behaviour before and after the battle at Viritium. He’d owned nothing when the Ravensworn took him in. A runt from the streets of Goridorgis, capital of the Marcomanni, he had grown to manhood in my ranks. I was sure he was loyal but could not shake my doubts.
I thought of what friends remained to me as I rode. Balomar, now of course king of the Marcomanni, would always be in my debt, but I feared the trouble I had caused him in the early part of his rein with my continued raids on Roman lands would mean he would be unlikely to grant me any further favours. I had even raided his tribe on numerous occasions with Areogaesus, king of the Quadi. I wondered if those small crimes would have been forgotten. For all I knew he too had been conspiring with Rome for my death. Areogaesus I knew was firmly in bed with the empire and flaunted the silver they paid him. His lands were the gateway into Germania for the legions, he knew it and so did they. I did not think it was an alliance I would ever be able to persuade him to break.
I finally got some answers on the sixth day of our hard ride. I was trotting along on a nameless gelding, Hilde being freed of the burden of my weight for the day as I feared her going lame under the continued strain. I saw in the distance a man riding hard, angling straight towards me. I was chewing on some stale bread, washing it down with a flask of warm ale. I wiped my mouth and tossed the residue of the loaf when the rider drew near. I could make him out now, a scruffy youth with tangles of dirty blonde hair beneath a plan iron helmet. He had pale skin and above his lip and round his jawline was the beginnings of a wispy beard. I half smiled at the sight of him, despite my mixed feelings. Fear and nerves knotted my stomach, and I felt a cold trickle of sweat run down my spine. For this was not just some nameless scout coming in to make his report; it was Birgir.
‘Two days, you say?’ I had dismounted the gelding and absently stroked his nose as I thought.
‘At most, lord. With luck, and a little help from The Sly One himself, we could catch them unprepared.’
‘Surely they know we are on their trail?’ I asked Birgir, still wanting to trust him so badly, but the feeling in my gut stood between me and my scout like a gushing river, keeping him at a distance.
‘They have no rear guard, lord. We have been able to follow them easily; they believe the men they killed a few days ago were all of us. This is the perfect opportunity to strike.’
‘And where is Gerulf?’ It was the second time I had asked this question, I wanted to make sure his answer was the same.
‘He is with his men, lord. He and five of his men still follow the trail of Warin’s army.’
And there it was. Just as it had been when I had interrogated Wulfric in his inconsequential village. The same question asked twice had produced two different answers.
The first time I had asked where Gerulf was, just moments before, he had been trailing Warin with six men. Six men would be correct. Ten men had left with Gerulf and Birgir, four had been killed on Warin’s order by those inhuman priests in the dense woodland. That would leave six men of the Ravensworn, plus Gerulf and Birgir.
I chewed on this, unsure whether I should challenge Birgir on this or let it play. I decided on the later. ‘So Warin has reached Parienna?’
‘Yes lord. As I left his vanguard were approaching the town.’
‘Tell me about it.’
He spoke, I half listened, his lies weighing heavy on my mind. I knew Parienna, knew it to be a small town of little import. It had a short, wooden palisade that could be taken by a band of children given the right circumstance. I was not worried about fighting my way into the town, it was who I would meet within the walls that interested me.
‘Who holds the town? Did you see any Roman banners?’ This was my primary concern. Warin would receive no overwhelming support from any tribes this far from his homeland, I was certain. They were Sarmatians, the tribes out here, men who fought almost solely on horseback and despised the western tribes, thinking them all soft and gutless. They came from the wilderness of the eastern steppe, and they loved nothing more than a good war.
‘No Roman banners, lord. Roman agents are within the walls though, they arrived before Warin did.’
I remained silent, the only sound the soft breathing from the gelding as I carried on stroking his muzzle. I fed the horse an apple from the small pouch at my waist, and finally said: ‘How many Romans?’
‘Two frumentarii agents plus a half century of men from the Fourteenth.’
I made a low growl in the base of my throat as I thought. Birgir was being specific, very specific. How could he possibly know there were two Roman agents within those walls? How had he counted forty Roman soldiers as he sat atop his mount a mile or so away? There was no way he could possibly know. Unless…
‘How long have you served me for, Birgir?’ I asked in a soft voice.
‘Lord?’ the young scout asked, eyebrows raised in confusion at the question.
‘How long have you been with the Ravensworn?’
‘This winter will be my fifth under your banner, unless I am mistaken,’ he said, eyebrows still nestled under his straw coloured hair.
I nodded at this, my mind still reeling. Could Birgir possibly be betraying me? Or were my wits so strained that I had sunk to thinking even my most loyal men sought my corpse dumped in an unmarked grave. Birgir had been a runt when he had caught my eye on the streets of Goridorgis. I had been visiting Balomar, had dined in his hall and drunk far too much dark ale. The next day, severely hungover, I had been riding out of the town’s great gates when a small street kid with dirty blonde hair had offered to polish my boots for a loaf of bread. I had looked at this child: painfully thin, cheekbones protruding from the flesh of his face like spear tips; twig thin arms that shook when he held them outstretched as his wasted shoulders were unable to support their weight. He wore just an old white and grubby tunic, despite the icy winter that gripped the land; his feet were blue and his knobbly knees wobbled with every step. No, Birgir would not betray me, it was unthinkable. He was my sworn man, and only death could break that oath.
‘Have I…. done well by you, in those five years?’
Birgir scowled at the question, it made him look younger than he was, as if he was that half starved child again, shivering in the winter gale. ‘Yes, lord,’ he said.
‘Good, good,’ I nodded, unused to feeling this confused, embarrassed at myself. In truth, I had always taken for granted the support of the men I commanded. I ruled by fear and valour, always exposing myself to the same risks as the rank and file. I thought I led them well though in truth, it was more than likely that there were many men serving under my blood red banner that would not be too upset to see me dead before my time. ‘I will order the men to speed up the march,’ I said with more conviction than I felt, ‘we shall proceed as you say, young Birgir, they won’t know what’s hit them.’ I smiled at the lad, hoping it appeared genuine. Birgir beamed back at me, saluted, and made off into the distance. I watched him ride away, tears pricking in the corner of my eyes. Was I being a fool, to trust this man? This fine young man that had blossomed in my ranks, risen to become one of my most trusted companions. Familia, the Romans call it. A band of people that were not necessarily family by blood, but they tied themselves to me with their actions. Ketill, Ruric, Gerulf, Otto, Baldo, Birgir, Saxa and of course my son and unborn child. Not all were my family, I wasn’t particularly fond of them all at times, but
they were my Familia, and I would die for them in a heartbeat.
Birgir had made a simple mistake, I assured myself. Gerulf was ahead with six good men, not five. Gerulf would be my loyal captain until the sky fell upon us and chaos ruled the land. Yes, a simple mistake, that is all.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
We rode at breakneck pace; no men were spared to protect our wagons of food and the huddle of women, children, merchants and general hangers on that seemed to attach themselves to any body of armed men on the march. We left them to their fate, heedless of the consequences.
My spirits were soaring in those two days, all doubts quashed from my mind. We would reach Parienna, storm its feeble walls and slaughter every man inside. Then I would be free. Free of the schemes of Rome, free of Warin and my bewitching sister Ishild. Dagr too would die under my blade, as his father before him.
I rode with Ruric before the dawn on the third day. We had all the men up and in the saddle well before daybreak, determined to make the most of our surprise. ‘It is going to be a fine day, old friend,’ I said with a wide grin. I could just make out the darkened shadows of Parienna’s walls in the eerie light of the pre-dawn.
‘If you say so,’ Ruric said, his head swivelling as he tried to keep track of the men riding recklessly around us. ‘Should we not slow the pace? We’re going to lose men and horses riding at this speed in the dark.’
‘Don’t be such an old woman!’ I chided my longest serving warrior. He grunted before allowing a slow grin to spread across his face. I studied him then, taking in every scar and wrinkle. The man truly was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. It had been his idea to form a war band, his idea for me to be its leader. It had been the day after we had colluded to make Balomar king of the Marcomanni. We had been sitting in the shade of Balomar’s hall, sharing a skin of good wine and simply enjoying the fact we had survived Balomar’s scheme.
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