‘What will you do now?’ he had said to me.
‘Me?’ I had shrugged. To be honest I could have just stayed where I was, serving king Balomar and settling down with some woman or other. I might even have been happy. I’d had no plan, ever since the day I’d stormed from of father’s sorry little farm. I just wanted to earn enough coin so I would never have to go back.
‘You should go out on your own. Start a war band and sell your sword for silver. People would pay good coin to have you on their side in a battle, Alaric.’
I remember rubbing my dark beard, which back then was by far less impressive than it is now. ‘Why would they want me on their side?’ I had asked.
‘You are a leader, my friend. Not to mention the fact you seem to be as lucky as Loki in combat, and you are intelligent, generous but with a mean streak. You would make a fine leader of men. I will be your second in command,’ he had said with a wink.
I thought back to that day so long ago as the first rays of sunlight crested the eastern horizon. ‘Have I been the leader you always thought I would?’ I asked Ruric.
‘Huh?’
‘That day, when we sat outside Balomar’s hall and you first mentioned this crazy idea you had of me starting a war band. You said I would be a great leader, that men would want me on their side in a battle. Well, have I lived up to your expectations?’
Ruric did not answer at first. For a few heartbeats we rode in silence, I could see him weighing up the question. ‘In the years since we helped Balomar steal the throne of the Marcomanni, what have you achieved?’
I said nothing. I had won more battles than even old One Eye himself could count, I had filled my chests with silver, brokered deals with chiefs and kings, gone back on many of those deals and slaughtered them in battle. I had attracted men to my banner quicker than a wounded deer attracts a wolf pack. ‘I have done well for myself, I think.’
‘Aye, you have, no denying that,’ Ruric said. ‘But have you done well by your men? That is the question. A lord can horde as much silver as he likes, he can carve himself a place in history with the edge of his blade. Kings can fear him; war chiefs cower under their furs at the very mention of his name. But, what is the cost of this spear fame? It is no cost that can be weighed or shared, it is no treasure to be cherished or worshipped, like that torc around your neck.’ Instinctively my hand went to the golden torc, the one I had taken from Wulfric as payment for his treachery.
‘The cost is in lives, Alaric. This last year has been the bloodiest in all the years I have served you, and let’s face it, they have all been dominated by some war or other. But, I say again, what is the cost in lives? How many men ride to those walls? Three hundred? How many men rode under your banner just a year ago?’ I had tried to mutter some words in my defence, but he quickly cut me off. ‘No, do not speak, Alaric.’
‘Two hundred souls have crossed into Hel’s domain in this last year alone! By the Hanged, Alaric, this feud you have with Warin, this girl Ishild and Rome has gone too far. You have gone too far. I do not know what drives you to the edge of insanity, and to be truly honest I am not sure I want to. But, you are my sworn lord and till this ends I am your man. But when this is done, when you have your victory and Warin’s head is on a spike, I will leave. I will leave Alaric, with your blessing or not. I am too old now for these games, for this life. I wish to grow fat and keep warm at the side of a small hearth; buy some land and find a fine plump woman to be my wife. This winter will be my fiftieth, fiftieth! Not many men live to see so many, especially men of the sword.’ I nodded, feeling slightly chastened by his words. Each one sent shards of truth charging up my spine, as if they had been fired from Donar’s mighty hammer. I had not, I realised, become the great lord Ruric always thought I would be. I was too selfish, too self-centred. I spent my men’s life like coins of bronze, throwing them away whenever it suited my interests.
‘So, to answer your question, yes, you have been a good lord for the most part. At times you have been rash, other times damn foolish. But, no man is perfect in the eyes of the gods. You have won yourself a seat in the Allfather’s hall, and a place in his shield wall at the end of days. Just heed this advice, my friend. Always, always, think of your men before you throw them into battle. Do not needlessly take away a loving son or father from this earth. Each life is precious, I know this after my long years treading the path of war. I see it so much clearer than I did when I was your age. I hope, one day, you will too.’
He reached out his arm and I clasped it. Tears streamed down my face. There was but one man alive who would speak to me the way Ruric just had, and once this battle was done I would lose him from my side forever. The mere thought of it made me sick with sorrow and worry.
‘Thank you, Ruric,’ I choked through my sobs. ‘Thank you, for everything you have done for me and our men. My life will poorer for not having you in it.’
He pushed my arm away, lent over and cuffed me round the back of the head. ‘Don’t be such a tart!’ he said, though I could see the emotion on his face too. ‘Now then, let us go and win one last victory together, shall we?’
THIRTY-NINE
Dawn broke across the eastern horizon. The light was blinding but the rush of warmth was glorious. A cacophony of excited shouts broke out amongst my men. Shielding my eyes, I squinted into the sun light to see what had excited them so. Then I saw it, and felt my spirits soar as high as a gliding eagle.
The gates were open.
All worries of assaulting the walls, of keeping my men organised and in unison throughout a brutal assault dissipated to dust. The gates to Parienna were wide open, and I felt the touch of Loki in the suns warming rays.
‘What did I tell you?’ Ruric said with a savage grin. He had a single headed war axe loose in his right hand, and he swung his arm in a circle, the silver blade gleaming in the red and orange light of the dawn. ‘One last day, Alaric. One more battle. Gods, I’m excited!’ He grinned again then kicked his horse hard in the flanks, urging the beast toward the gate which still hung seductively open.
I cannot remember ever being so elated at the prospect of blood shed as I was right then, in the light of that glorious sun rise. I raced after Ruric, the Ravensworn all now at full gallop as we hurtled towards the open gate. What a fool Warin was, I thought as I bared my sword. And Dagr? Had he lost his wits? The man was an experienced chief, well-schooled in the art of war. How could he possibly allow his men to make such a blunder?
I passed Ketill, who was on foot with his men as always, ‘last one through the gate is a rotten egg!’ I bellowed as I sped past him. Over the thunder of Hilde’s hooves and the tumult of the Ravensworn’s excited screams and shouts, I faintly heard his reply: ‘I don’t mind missing the start brother, as long as I’m still standing at the end!’
Baldo appeared at my right. He rode with just his knees with a longsword in one hand and a blacksmith’s hammer in the other. I do not believe I have ever met a man who had a blood lust like my loyal Baldo, and it appeared he would get his fill today. I heard Otto trying to restore some order to the men in his Hundred to no avail. As I watched he threw his arms in the air in frustration and galloped after his disobedient men. I laughed, just for the pure joy of it. Otto, I knew, was still out to impress me, even though he was by then a well-respected captain among the men. He would have usually seen his men approach the gates in good order, keeping their lines and holding their discipline. I made a mental note to give him a good chiding once the battle was over.
Thirty paces from the gate and still we rode completely unmolested. Surely the thunder of our hooves had stirred the army inside? Surely even now they were raising the alarm, squeezing into their mail and brandishing their blades. And yet, no helmets appeared on the battlements; no banners were raised, no horns were sounded in panic and alarm.
And just like that, we were in.
I pounded through the open gate and let out a loud cry as I set my face to a snarl and raised my blade high. I ha
d expected to find a multitude of men just rising from their cots, preparing to start the day. Cooking fires would be being lit; men would be leaving their huts or tents to go and take their morning ease, say hello to a neighbour or fetch water from the nearest supply. I had expected all of this and more, instead, we found nothing.
Nothing. Not a soul stirred in Parienna. Were they all deaf? Had they drunk themselves into such a stupor the night before that even the horrific noise of three hundred armed men riding to give a great slaughter had not woke them from their drunken sleep?
I rode on through a narrow street, and I could make out the all too familiar footprints of Roman hobnailed sandals in the dust. A lot of footprints, far too many, specially for a half century. I looked around, fully twisting in the saddle. Parienna was a small and inconsequential town, little more than a collection of mud huts surrounded by low and flimsy wooden walls. There was a small hall in its centre, no bigger than fifteen-foot-long and six or seven wide. As I rode towards it I saw its thatch roof had caved in, some time ago it appeared. I frowned, something suddenly felt wrong, very wrong.
‘Ruric,’ I barked, ‘where is Birgir?’
‘Not seen him, lord,’ he said with a shrug.
My frown deepened, all the savage joy I had felt on the wild gallop to the gate had vanished with the morning dew. I rode up to the hall, still scanning the huts and walls around me. The Ravensworn were all within those walls now, so too Ketill and his Harii. I looked behind me to the gates, which still sat open, one of my men standing guard on the small palisade on either side. That comforted me, and I made a mental note to thank the man that had ordered them there.
I dismounted Hilde, still scanning the walls. Between the rotting wooden beams on the eastern wall I thought I saw a flicker of movement, a flash of silver. It lasted no more than a heartbeat, and when I blinked and looked again it was gone. I studied that slit in the timber, waiting, waiting for the flash to appear again. It did not. Shaking my head clear I turned and strode into the dilapidated hall; the floor was covered in weeds and rotting thatch, the benches were rain soaked despite the dry summer and most of the tables had been turned on their end. Something had clearly happened to the Arsietae, but it had not been done by Warin and the Suebi. This devastation had been caused long ago. I looked up towards the sky, where the roof should have been. Shards of wood dust and the odd straw of thatch danced in the flooding sunlight. It was an almost magical sight, and for a few heartbeats I just stood and watched what appeared to be flecks of gold falling from the gods. And then, just as I was in the midst of my entrancement, I saw a sight that turned my blood to ice.
Gerulf hung from the wooden beam that ran vertically from the east wall to the west. It was the beam that should have held up the highest part of the roof, but judging from its darkened and uneven state it appeared it could fall at any moment. And yet it supported the weight of a man.
Poor Gerulf’s face was as blue as the ocean; his eyes bulged from his head and his tongue hung uselessly from his gaping mouth. He still wore his armour, arms held behind his back with thick rope. Hid body had not been defiled like the four men of his command we had found back west. For that, I felt oddly grateful. I stepped forwards until I stood directly underneath him. I reached up and touched the foot of one of my most loyal men, and felt a burning shame mixed with anger. Gerulf was innocent of any crime Warin or Ishild perceived me of committing. He had wronged no one, done nothing but serve me well and set a perfect example to his men every day. He was the perfect soldier in many ways. Discreet, obedient, he had that knack for knowing when to stay silent or when to offer his lord some advice or his opinion. Tears streamed down my face; hot beads of rage. I swore right then, on all the gods in the Nine Worlds I would not rest, I would not falter, in my pursuit of the men that had done this to Gerulf. I had not been much of a man for keeping oaths throughout my life, but with Wotan as my witness, this is one I would see through to the bitter end.
There was a disturbance behind me and Ruric stomped into the remains of the hall. ‘Freya’s tits it’s as dead as Hel in he-’ he stopped mid flow, his eyes locking onto the swinging body above my head. ‘Oh no. Oh gods no,’ he whispered. He staggered forwards, sinking to his knees and gasping, trying to catch his breath. He vomited then, sprayed it over the decaying floor. On all fours he panted again, wretched, then wailed. ‘Why?’ he bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘Why do all the good men die?!’
He had been close to Gerulf, I knew. Gerulf had been in Ruric’s Hundred for his first few years under the Raven banner. There Ruric had passed on the knowledge gleaned in a lifetime of war. A young Gerulf had grown into a leader, until Ruric had virtually forced me to promote him to the role of captain.
I reached down and hauled him up by his broad shoulders. Bringing him in close, I engulfed him in a bear hug; his shuddering body thrashing violently in my arms. I needed to calm him, and quickly. Something was not right; I could almost smell the schemes of my enemies in the air, feel their blades pointed at my back. I was exposed, vulnerable, not a place I was used to being in. ‘Ruric,’ I said in a soothing tone. ‘There will be a time to grieve, old friend, but this is not it.’ I shook him gently; he raised his head and his teary eyes met mine. ‘Think, brother. We were told the town was full of our enemies. Suebi and Roman, here to make a secret pact to bring about our downfall. So we ride here, quicker than a strong west wind, and what do we find?’
I left the question open, so it hung between with Gerulf’s body. I watched Ruric, saw the life spark back into his eyes, saw the great cog of his mind whirling. ‘We were told the enemy had no rear guard, that they were completely unaware of our approach. And yet, and yet my friend, when me rode through those gates we found nothing but ruin and Gerulf strung up on the beams of an old hall.’ I was shaking now, shaking with rage and shame. I had led my men to this place; put my trust in someone I thought would always be my loyal man. It seemed, I had been wrong.
‘Ruric, where is Birgir?’
Ruric’s mouth opened but he did not speak. He blubbered like a fish out of water. ‘The enemy must have him,’ he said eventually.
‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘No, Ruric. We are betrayed. Get the men ready to ride, we leave at once.’
Ruric turned to walk away, out into the brightness of the dawn. He paused, turned back to me, a question on his lips. I have often wondered, what it is Ruric had meant to ask me on that red tainted day. Would he have cursed Birgir for a traitor and a fool? Would he have perhaps offered some words in his defence? For surely he had not betrayed his brothers in the Ravensworn? I never did find out.
Just as he opened his mouth a horn sounded in the open. A moment later there was a response from another. I suddenly felt very claustrophobic within the walls of that crumbling hall. I wanted to breathe fresh air, feel the warmth of the sun of my face and the breeze ripple through my beard. Another horn blared, this one came from the same direction as the first, I was sure. ‘Ruric, rally the men, NOW!’ I barked the last word, pushed past my oldest follower and sprinted into the sunlight.
I paused on the threshold of the hall. All around me men were in disarray; galloping this way and that, some bearing arms, others just seeking a way out. I scanned the faces, looking desperately for Ketill or Otto or Baldo, I could see none of them. I grabbed the nearest man, a greybeard on a black mare, he wore full mail atop a sleeveless tunic, his arms thick with silver rings: ‘What is happening?’ I asked.
‘Romans, lord. They’re pouring in through the gate.’
I nodded. Looking towards the western gate I saw a wave of red. Red shields, red cloaks, silver mail and a forest of spear tips. I squinted, not fully believing what I was seeing. They were two hundred paces off now, getting into lines as best they could with the sprawling mass of huts in their path. Painted clearly on the front of those red shields in brilliant white, was a Capricorn, emblem of the Fourteenth legion.
FORTY
‘Orders, lord?’ Baldo screamed
in my ear. All around me was chaos. My men were in full panic now, pushing past each other, desperate to be away from the dreaded enemy.
I said nothing. I just continued to watch as the Fourteenth moved ever closer. It was not a full legion, my brain managed to comprehend. A single cohort, five hundred men, no more. They marched in perfect cohesion. The uneven ground was no obstacle for them, they simply skirted round any building in their path. They were, I have to say, completely flawless.
‘Is there another way out?’ I asked Baldo in a quiet voice, not wanting the men to hear me thinking of retreat.
‘Not without tearing the walls down, lord. The only gate is to the west, where we entered.’
I nodded. I had thought as much. ‘Baldo, Otto, Ruric, get your men together. Baldo and Ruric, your men are to dismount and form a shield wall here,’ I pointed to the ground at my feet. ‘Otto, keep your men mounted. You are to split them in two and harass the enemy flanks. Try and bunch them together, force them into the killing ground, we will do the rest.’
‘And me?’ Ketill was at my shoulder. Loyal Ketill, brave Ketill.
I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back to the hall’s entrance. ‘Get your men out of here, brother. Go over the northern wall, get back to your lands and live your life well. I cannot ask you to fight this fight, I will not.’
He said nothing. He stared at me with such ferocity that I thought he would strike me. He did not, though, he just shook his head meekly, gripped my wrist in the warriors embrace, and whispered in my ear: ‘Wait for me in the Slain One’s hall, brother.’ And with that, he was gone.
Fifty paces off and the men of the Fourteenth were revealed in all their snarling glory. I stood in the centre of my shield wall; sword in one hand, my own red shield in the other, the black raven proudly depicted on the front. ‘Ruric, the banner,’ I said. Ruric gave a nod to a man at my back and he unfurled the beautiful banner. It was a glorious red, deep, rich and striking. The raven was blacker than the night, its head bigger than mine. Its one eye seemed to look straight at me as the standard billowed in the wind. What was it trying to say to me, that Raven? Was this to be my last day on this green earth? Only time would tell.
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