Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) Page 13

  ‘They fear you?’ I asked. “Surely a good sign. The forts mean they are settling in, and fear your people.”

  He snorted, and then laughed raucously, nearly choked on his phlegm and the bird’s flesh, and coughed, until he could finally calm himself. “Fear us? No, boy, no. They do not fear us at all. The Castra are nothing. They build them, and take them down like ants. They are not defensive. They are offensive. Back in the day when Aristovistus met the Romans, Caesar had never fought our people before, nor really, and, yes, some cowardly Gauls demoralized some of the legions before Aristovistus attacked, but most Roman soldiers just yawned. They had killed half of Gaul, and slitting a throat of a man head taller than they was just normal daily business for them. No different from taking a shit. My grandfather did great disservice to our people by listening to a fool vitka, who received a warming from the gods that the battle could not be won before the new moon was born. Imagine that! Going to battle but not really attacking, because of some fool damned old man had a vision while eating mushrooms, drunk. Aristovistus lost, because our people fear their shadows. Rome doesn’t fear us.”

  “Gods are mad and love chaos, and the vitka just speak their will,” I said. “Romans are different, I guess.”

  He leaned on the table, and moved the plate away, throwing the bone on it. “Bah! The vitka are liars. They are like children who desperately crave attention. Aristovistus should have buried the man in pig-shit before letting him scare the tribes. As for Romans, their priests tell the soldiers what the generals want them to hear. Our priests tell the men what the most influential chiefs want, unless they want to be petulant and make up stories for their own amusement, like it was with this vitka of Aristovistus. And there are far too many chiefs, with too many agendas, and they don’t bow down to anyone. Not really. Not even to me. No, I need to be delicate, careful Thiuda. And I can’t sit on my hands when things go into a cow’s anus.”

  And that was the message. He needed something. “I see,” I said cautiously.

  He slapped the table. “They do go to Hel. They do indeed go to shit. It might not seem like that to a young man out to explore the world. You’d need to deal with higher powers to fully understand when the balance of power is rocking unfavorably. We are here, still here, the Marcomanni. We are slowly regaining our strength. There are tens of thousands of us. This was an empty land of great wealth, and we took it. Now we hold it with a great force. To hold it, I need certain kind of men. Men like Bero. And Hulderic. Unfortunately, they keep killing each other’s men, and plotting to kill more. Hard to balance in the middle as their lord, I tell you that. But I guess you know all about that as well, my young friend.”

  I blinked nervously. Then a short, pretty blonde girl offered me a horn full of sweet mead, and I received it gratefully. My back was throbbing, and I grimaced, groping the wound instinctively, and the girl’s eyes went to Balderich, who grunted assent and nodded. She sat down behind me, and despite my brief attempt to shrug her hands off me, she persisted and pulled my tunic up.

  I clutched the horn, balancing it from hand to hand as she lifted the tunic off entirely, and sat there as she went to work. I glanced at her again, and she flashed me a smile. Was she the girl who had used to serve Sigilind, Hulderic’s ward, the mother of Hraban and Gernot, and Balderich’s daughter? Ingrid? Possibly. She had a pretty freckled face, and her eyes delved into mine with reassurance, but it was painful sensation all across my back when she tried to find the end of the wrap, nonetheless. She found it, and then she began unwrapping the wound to take care of it, and I cursed and sweated as the pain throbbed from my toes to the top of my skull.

  “Gods, above, but that is terrible,” I whispered, and Balderich snorted.

  “Wounds are meant to be. Our flesh we give for our causes, and sometimes, we lose some of it. But man up. Many such wounds kill you after weeks of festering, so let her work. But as I said—”

  “You need certain kind of men to lead such a troubled nation,” I stated with a high wincing voice as the girl clucked her tongue and poked at the wound. Something was loose there, and I begged it was not flesh, but the wrap.

  “Yes,” Balderich said with a wry smile. “And yea, I had an idea you might help me with.”

  “I—”

  “Shh,” he said, with a ferret-like, clever smile. “I know. You have a job already. And I will not ask what your plans are with Hulderic. I trust he loves me enough not to have asked you to kill Bero. He knows I need Bero. And while Teutorigos might like to see Bero’s head on his lap, I’d be upset.”

  “Can we speak of such matters here?” I asked him, and nodded at the girl.

  He lifted a finger to shut down my protests. “We can speak at ease. I trust her. And, as I said, I care not what you planned together with Hulderic. As long as Hulderic is not trying to get Bero killed, and is only hoping to regain his fine sword, I care not a shit’s worth. I wish you luck.” He leaned forward, and whispered, “But this is an opportunity for me as well. As I said, there is trouble in the tribe. Ultimately, Rome is our problem. It will be, one day. Secondly, to fight Rome, we must be fierce, battle-hardened warriors, not a collection of traders and cow-rustlers. And that’s Bero’s job, and it is a hard job, I give him that, but still, it is his job. And he is failing.”

  “Failing, lord?”

  He nodded. “Failing. He is a merchant. Not a warrior. This is a nation full of hungry men. I’m old. I have an alliance with the southern gau, where Isfried’s ancient family rules. My daughter, Gunhild, lives there, and though I think she is quite unhappy, there has not been any cause to doubt the southern Marcomanni are anything but devoted to the nation, to making sure we stay a strong tribe, together. I have men like Leuthard, who serve whom they serve, Fulch the Red, whom I made a lord after a terrible battle with the Matticati.” He looked at the wall where a standard of horsehair was hanging. “Fulch, and ten others like him. But they needed a lord. I was too old, and I gave them Bero. It was a mistake.”

  “I see.” I bit my lip as the girl was testing the stitches.

  “I should have made him a merchant lord, not a warlord,” Balderich grumbled. “While Bero commands them, I have heard men are unhappy with him. Not the commoners mind you, because trade bustles, but the warriors. And Adalwulf, we need the warriors, experienced, savage warriors who are rich but still hungry for more, and have a cause to fight well. We have a merchant who lets them loose every now and then, but we lack war. And so while you work with Hulderic, and have an interest in Bero, I have something you will take a look at as well.”

  “You are asking me for a favor?” I asked uncertain of what I was getting into.

  “Favor?” he gawked. “Are you a king? A noble with thousand spears?”

  “No,” I answered needlessly.

  “In that case, no, I need no favors,” he said simply. “Favors have to be repaid. You’ll get an order. And I might reward you, if you do well.”

  I rubbed my face, both for the pain in my back and my horribly knotted future. “So. The commoners love Bero. But the warriors are unhappy?” I asked, and gave one before he answered. “They are not getting their fill of what they came here to look for? They are not ready for war, should Rome come suddenly? I’ve heard this before, and I’ve only been here a day or two.” I realized I didn’t even know if I had slept in the hall of Teutorigos for more than a moment. Days might have passed.

  Balderich smiled like a fox. “As I said. They want the horses and the cows and that Roman sword,” Balderich stated. “That’s what they all want. Some get it, but many do not. Bero is being very peaceful with Rome, because of the trade. He has grown rich as some decadent god of the Asgaard, and while I do get my share, he also has to worry about the second aspect of being a warlord. He is a noble lord. The second is being a war-like lord.”

  “You need war,” I stated. “How can I help with that?”

  He was nodding. “I don’t need war with Rome. Bero’s right in that. I need wars wi
th the Vangiones, the Matticati, the Gauls, something much more that what we are doing now. We raid, but when is the last time we sent a thousand spears into battle? Even a hundred? We need warriors growing rich of loot in order to attract more warriors. We also need men dying, so we have heroes and songs, and fewer men eating and growing fat. We need victories, we need losses. We need feuds against our enemies. We raid, but there is no real energy or purpose in the raids. Bero mainly fights the Matticati, and rarely raids their villages. He fights off some aggressive Celt lords, but never takes men deep into their lands. He makes war with the poor tribes of the Black Forest. Our foes are growing unafraid of us. Hulderic, and others like him, keep the Chatti and the Hermanduri in check, and they actually fight wars in the east, but what we need is a proper conflict with the Gauls and the Vangiones. We need that. Even if we lose men. Young men will soon start to go elsewhere for their adventure. We need battle-hardened, experienced men, and you don’t get such men while Bero sits on top of his trade.”

  “Isn’t a war with the Vangiones and the Celts a war with Rome?” I asked. “Excuse me, Lord Bero probably is a genius in these matters, but I doubt I know how many villages one can burn before Rome takes exception.”

  He smiled. “What Bero misses when he comes to this hall, is the chain on my wall.”

  “Lord?”

  “The chain,” he laughed. “On the wall. He never looked up to it. Not once. That chain, Chatti, reminds us that the war will eventually come. It is unavoidable.” He sobered, and sat there for a moment. “His trade won’t save us. So I need your help. Give him a reason to make war. Something grand. Something that men will notice across the rivers, and reminds us we are still enemies. Leave Rome out of it. If they take exception, so be it. I doubt they will.”

  “Very well,” I said, laughing harshly. “You are asking for something simple, and, sure, I’ll do that. I’ll just double the raids over the river, then. I’ll arrange for a grand war with the Celts. I, after all, have Bero’s ear. He will sit with me, hold my hand, and weep on my shoulder as we share stories. He’ll probably wish to squat next to me when I go and take a shit.” The girl giggled softly.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Balderich grunted. The girl pinched me, and I resisted an urge to glare at her. “It’s a mess, and I know it. You are already looking at Bero. Hulderic’s sword is out there, and Bero knows where, probably. Think hard. Help me. Find a way to push Bero so he takes an active interest in a shieldwall, and not so much in a Roman wine jar.”

  “Can’t you just command him to raid the Mediomactri?” I asked him loudly.

  That was a mistake. His face darkened. The girl pinched me again, harder. Balderich opened his mouth, and closed it, and spoke again. “And what if he refused?”

  I was quiet, brooding. The blood of Aristovistus was old. He had been the power behind the Marcomanni, but he wasn’t so sure he still was. Money, coin, paid the warlords now. “I see.”

  “Do you?” he breathed sadly. “I’m glad if you do. I could elevate some of the champions, even Hulderic, your so-called foe, but Hulderic is the caretaker of our nation’s future. His grandsons carry the blood of Aristovistus, and also, as their father Maroboodus is a high Goth of the north, the blood of the Raging Bear and the Boat-Lords. They are our future. They will rule well. Hulderic also guards the east and the north, and we need him there. And the champions might refuse me if I just go past Bero. Leuthard guards Bero like a dog. That man might not hesitate to draw a sword for Bero, even against me.”

  He feared Leuthard, I thought, and felt sorry for him. He still worried for the Marcomanni, still tried to lead, waiting for his grandsons to grow, playing time, but he was also desperate, leading from the shadows. He was desperate enough to thrust a foolish Chatti into the game, trusting a man he barely knew.

  A fool Chatti, who had failed so many times since he arrived, and before it.

  I sat there, forgetting the prying fingers and mutterings of the girl. What was he asking? “Lord. You asked me not to tell what I am doing with Hulderic, for him, but he is asking a great deal for finding this sword. I didn’t fool Leuthard out there at all. He’ll want my head. I was hoping to, wish to, find a way to their confidence, but found they will never have me. Now you ask me to find a way to make Bero raid the Gauls and the Vangiones? I am just a simple man.”

  He smiled shrewdly. “I sense you are not an ordinary boy, and as Hulderic trusts you, I shall as well. You are uniquely placed, boy, in such a way that you have no hold on Hard Hill. You and I both know they will want you to die as soon as possible to hide Bero’s crime. I know he did it. They have been hurting each other since they moved here, and Bark’s strange request that no chief carry a weapon in the prayers smelled of Bero’s coin. Now he fears you. Leuthard hates you. I’d say you are properly motivated. So you will help find a way to get Bero’s juices flowing. You will get a reward,” he said a bit guardedly, “if you succeed. That reward shall be a leave to serve Hulderic. Fail, and you will not live in my lands. I still have that much power over the Hill. You’ll be thrown out. It’s that simple.” I felt the girl disapproved the man’s words, and I stiffened, as I was being blackmailed. Though, perhaps, the man was desperate, and could be forgiven.

  “What is his weakness?” I asked frankly, at loss how to tackle the issue. “Riches?”

  He nodded, complimenting me for my question. “Wealth indeed. He is far too rich for his own good. And for my good.’ His eyes went to the girl, who seemed not to listen to him, and then he eyed me. “Ingrid knows my problems here in Hard Hill. Now you do as well. Say “no” at your own peril.”

  She was Ingrid indeed. I resisted the urge to turn to look at her.

  “I’m a poor bastard Chatti who—” I began, then grimaced as Ingrid poked a finger in the hole in my back, and I knew she had done it on purpose, “would love nothing better than to help you,” I finished. My mind was whirling.

  He shook his head as he had noticed the poke, and I felt Ingrid smiling, even if I didn’t see her. Balderich got up with a groan, holding his knee. “Gods damn old age, and its humiliations. I’ll have to take a piss now. You don’t wish to see it. You find out the truth about the sword for Hulderic. Find the sword, if you can. While you do, give us war, make Bero a soldier. I know you have little hope of figuring out a scheme I haven’t been able to, but try.”

  Ingrid spoke, her voice clear as rain. “Won’t that stop the trade? A war? It should, no?”

  Balderich shook his head. “Nothing stops trade. That’s what Bero does not get. Traders trade, no matter if the soldiers die, and perhaps trade even harder, though under the cover of darkness.”

  I nodded at the great man who walked around me. He was mumbling with Ingrid, who finally hissed at him, and came to stand before me. “Someone poked a framea at your back. Thin wound. Got lucky, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t feel lucky right now. I’m to find an ancient sword for a place in Hulderic’s table, and a way to make a cowardly warlord into a raging wolf. It seems I might as well jump over Sunna, or fetch Hel’s dagger from beyond Gjöll.”

  “Are we clear?” he asked, ignoring my whines.

  I hesitated. “There was a Chatti here, days ago. In this hall, asking for you. Did he say what his business was? Was he looking for me? What was his name?”

  Balderich shrugged. “There was one. I assumed he was a trader. I sent him to Bero.”

  He sent him to Bero. And Bero figured out a way to blame another for something he was planning. “I see.”

  “Didn’t even talk to him. I’m sorry,” Balderich said. He leaned close, and tapped his finger on my hammer, then my head. “Brave up, now. These will help you. Eat, drink, and sleep here in my hall. The Thing is over, and chiefs go home, and you can start plotting. I have some faith in you, Adalwulf. It costs me little to have you try, and you might make it, since none know you, and you are desperate already.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I don’t care about your age,
your lack of wealth, only for the fact you came to my door, ready to serve Hulderic in something very dangerous. That speaks a world of you. That’s why I’m asking something nearly impossible. But, remember, impossible or not,” he said, and leaned close, his one good eye sharp as an eagle’s. “I am of the blood of a king. There have been few kings with the Germani. It is our way to succeed where others fail, and if you do fail, you pay the price.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  “Do not fail, Adalwulf. Or you leave the land.Do not betray me, or you will swing. Ingrid, take him to his quarters. You have some time, Adalwulf, before Bero becomes suspicious, and starts to wonder if I’ve made up my mind about you and your issues with Teutorigos and Hulderic. Rest, but do not rest too long.”

  CHAPTER 9

  I waited uneasily, as they settled me in. There were no real rooms, but simple alcoves at the back of the great hall, mostly living quarters for the servants and family members, but since Balderich had no family present in the hall, some were empty. Few halls were as big as the Red Hall, but it was also moldy, and the bed was old. While they changed the hay on the sad, narrow thing, I walked around, trying to get to know the place. There were warriors, Balderich’s old warriors, noble men who greeted me, and judging by the suspicious way they looked at me, it was clear they had been told to remain vigilant around me.Ingrid came upon me while I was exploring a meat larder. They also appeared to use the same room as a bathing chamber. The lure of a bath was strong.

  “Too late for that today,” she smiled, reading my mind. “We do it in the mornings. But you can take one down in the river, by the harbor, of course.”

  “I should,” I said, and lifted my tunic, sniffing it. “I’ve smelled sweeter turds, to be honest.”

  She took a step forward. “Refrain from smelling sweet turds while Balderich is present. You were told there is a slave in the hall of Balderich who will help you?”