The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  Vangiones – a Germani tribe serving Rome.

  Vannius – a Vangione noble, son of Vago, brother to Shayla, Koun, and Hunfrid.

  Varnis – Sigambri Germani noble.

  Varus - Publius Quinctilius Varus, a supporter of Augustus, took over Germania from Saturninus. Did not understand how to treat the Germani, and Armin took ample advantage of Varus’s shortcomings causing the destruction of three legions.

  Veleda – the girl Hraban must find for Tear and Odo.

  Visurgis River – Weser River.

  Vulcan – a smith of Segestes, also called the Old Saxon and Heimrich.

  Wandal – Hraban’s ham-fisted, slow-witted friend. Son of Euric.

  Woden – also known as Odin, the leader of the Aesir gods, one of the creators of men and the world.

  Woden’s Gift – spawn of Draupnir, Woden's ring, the influential ancient ring of Hraban’s family.

  Wulf – a vitka from the village of Hraban. One of the few who are trying to stop the prophecy that will end the world. Hraban’s former tutor, foe to Maroboodus.

  Wyrd – fate in Germanic mythology.

  Yggdrasill – the world tree, where the nine worlds hang. Source of all life.

  Zahar – see Tear.

  CAMULODUNUM, ALBION (A.D. 42)

  I had to dispose of a body this morning.

  The man was a nothing. A Gaul of the Camulodunum, poor as shit, dirty as mud and only a tool for someone far higher. However, despite his low rank, I had to figure out how to make sure his death would remain a mystery. He would be missed, and I could not just drag it to the woods, for dogs scent corpses. It can take a surprisingly long time for wild animals to wholly devour a carcass. Some animals would save some of it for later, and that would not do. And, all of the scavengers tend to scatter bones and hair and clothing over a large area. A terrible mess; I have seen it many times. So I thought about burying him like many murderers do, but after I had considered it for a moment, I shook my head.

  I am ancient and have no wish to shovel dirt. That sort of manual work makes me grumpy as an old, saddle-sore woman, and I knew there was no mead in the hall, which would have fortified me to attempt a burial. So, eventually I decided to let the crabs take care of the corpse, and I hope they did a thorough job. They usually do, they waste nothing, work uncannily fast and there will only be a skeleton left in but a blink of an eye.

  I carried him to the cliffs, pushed the corpse down to hit the beach of the river below, squinted as I tried to fathom if he was close enough to the waterline and decided I had done a splendid job. I came home.

  I was not sorry. Not in the least.

  The man betrayed us or tried to, at least. I am not sure how much damage he managed to do in the short time I knew him, and I will go out to the town to find out, later.

  As you recall, my wounded lord Thumelicus; we are, as ever, in peril. Our protector, the king Togodumnus of the mighty Catuvellauni and now of the beaten Trinovantes and Atrebates is facing plenty of harsh choices. That is due to Rome, of course, for what land is not reeling under the weight of their hobnailed caligae or at least fear their invasion? The whore wolf’s armies are out there across the channel in Gallia Belgica, building strength, gathering ships and supplies, waiting to pounce. Here in Albion, the strange land my mad lord Caligula planned to take, what the cursed princeps Augustus hoped to annex, where Caesar god failed to conquer, we hide, my Thumelicus. The supreme chameleon Tiberius Claudius Nero Germanicus will sail here one day soon. ‘That bastard pretender and a liar,’ I whisper in fury, for Claudius is not the simpering fool he pretended to be, no. Where the court of the Palatine Hill used to throw rotten vegetables at him when Caligula wanted amusement, and the poor fooled thanked the Emperor piteously in return, now he is a glowering and calculating princeps of Rome, a rat no longer. He is a stammering tiger, and he fooled me, even. He fooled everyone, in fact. He ate mockery and drank tears, and now he has legions to bleed his enemies. To think I served Tiberius and Caligula for so long and missed the glint in Claudius’s eye? Impossible. But there it is. I did. After I had left Caligula to die, I did not expect Claudius to have any spirit when he was raised to the helm of the great Roman ship.

  It is a miracle I escaped.

  It is also a miracle I managed to spring you from the gladiator ludus, Thumelicus, son of Armin. They want you back. Oh, they do.

  I chuckle as I think how Claudius must suffer every moment the son of his father’s great enemy, Armin, Arminius the Cherusci is free as a hawk. I wipe my face tiredly, for I have been thinking about my vengeance for years and years, ever since your father died, Thumelicus. After he had died, after some other unpleasantness, I went back to Rome, suffered, then served dutifully and forgot much of my past; my hopes and dreams and past lives. Then, just after Caligula died, and Claudius showed his claws, I remembered my oath to your father. It was an oath we gave to save you and your mother Thusnelda after he lost you to the betrayal of Segestes, his traitorous, uncouth uncle. Rome took you, his family, paraded you in a mockery of a triumph, and we all promised Armin we would one day burn and slay and murder to give his family freedom.

  It took nearly two decades for us to do so. Or for me. The others died long ago.

  I am sorry you were grievously hurt while we saved you.

  Wyrd, the fates made it so, and the spinners cannot be easily denied. You live yet; you are healing, and while we succeeded, there are many who died that day. I miss them. They were friends, good friends. Their wyrd was to go and yours to survive, at least for a while. ‘Take them, Woden, and serve them roasted piglet and ale, warm their bones by your cauldrons and when they fight for you, give them a sturdy shield and a thick spear and applaud them as they slay in your games,’ I said and breathed heavily. I hope my god still hears me.

  You moan, and I shake myself from my somber mood. Old men are prone to such moods, but there is still much to be happy and thankful about. We are free. As free as an enemy of Rome can be. I will work, Thumelicus, to keep us free. I will bleed men and claw our way out of the traps of Claudius. That is why I killed the man that morning and why I hid him.

  I glance out the open door of our ancient hall, the hall Togodumnus gave us near his city and squint at this seat of his power.

  The oppidum, the walled Gaulish city I see at from our hill, the city of Camulodunum the god of war was once the mightiest city of the Trinovantes. This was before the father of Togodumnus; the fey Cunobelius took it. Now Togodumnus rules the uneasy land, and while Cunobelius was one to send humble and submissive embassies to Augustus and Caligula, they never fully received pardon for destroying the weak Trinovantes, Roman allies since god Caesar’s time. Rome does not trust Togodumnus. And there is more, of course, for the brother of Togodumnus, the young warlord, Caratacus, drove the Atrebates into ruin, taking Calleva with sword and spear. The worm Verica of the Atrebates was in Rome soon after Calleva fell, an exile. I know for I saw him there. I remember the fat bastard sweating and licking his thin lips as he went to his hands and knees and begged like a child to mad, mad Caligula for aid and accolades. He got none but was allowed to stay and amuse my mad lord.

  Bah, I thought, Claudius inherited the dog, no doubt.

  In Rome, my Lord, I also saw Adminus.

  Adminus is the youngest brother of Togodumnus and Caratacus and their father Cunobelius drove him away, the thieving dog that he was, and he visited Rome, as well. Rome is where all the exiles end up, in hopes of finding legions to reinstate them to the power they have lost. He is Roman now. I know it.

  He is here.

  He is in Camulodunum with Togodumnus and Caratacus. He is here, not in Rome. And as Claudius is looking for you, the lost son of Armin the Cherusci, the Legion Eater’s spawn and for me, the Oath Breaker, then one should be worried.

  And I am.

  I’m as worried as a clever merchant when he spies a fat publican approaching. One way or another, no matter our common enemies, our worries will seem paltry to
the king. We will weigh nothing at all in the scales of Togodumnus. Even if the mighty Celt gave us shelter after our flight from Rome, granted us this rotten hall on the hill next to Camulodunum, he might wither from his promises and break them if Rome finds us here. Rome might make direct demands for our rebellious heads, no matter if the legions come later anyway. He is a king after all, and kings think about their people and throne. He has inherited the kingdom of Cunobelius, perhaps, but can he defeat thirty thousand Romans in battle? Forty thousand? More?

  No. Of course not.

  He might pray Taranis to sink and mangle the enemy fleet when it appears on the coast, but should they land? The triple axis of Roman legions will push his men to red ruin. And he will be king of refugees. Or dead.

  The man I killed this morning worked for Adminus and so the snake is aware of us, and we are being watched. Adminus will scheme to give us away to Claudius.

  I’ll not allow that, no.

  And who am I to deny these whoresons, nobles and lords of the Catuvellauni?

  I am Hraban, the Raven, the Oath Breaker, the Bone Breaker, and I did fight for and against Rome and the Germani both when your father Armin still lived, Thumelicus. I was a Marcomanni noble and the red hand of Tiberius and Caligula. I have enemies across the lands and few friends, but in here, we are out of the clasp of Claudius for now, and I intend to keep it so.

  I try your forehead with the back of my hand. The fever is gone, nearly so. The druid who administers to your wounds might be a rude, gruff beast of strangely clean clothing amidst grime and dirt, but he knows his business. He has yet to speak to me, but I think he gave me a hint in the form of a happy grunt. You will survive your wounds, after all.

  I pull forth the codex, the wondrous thing of glued together pages and stare at your thin face. Before I go to the town, I will write again, for I have a past I wish to share. There are few in Midgard who love the Oath Breaker, but I have a daughter, somewhere in Germania, perhaps with the Cherusci, possibly still holed in the Godsmount. As a favor to me, Thumelicus and should we survive the upcoming ordeals, you will travel to her. You will find the fine woman called Lif, now over forty and perhaps and hopefully, my grandchildren, and you shall tell her and them of Hraban. If you do, I pledge to serve you humbly in the afterlife. I shall travel there first, no doubt and win you a seat near Armin, your mighty father, and there I shall sit in dust at your feet, wallow in mud and hay and do your bidding if you do this one deed for me.

  Find Lif. Take her this Codex. Read it to her if she cannot decipher Latin.

  If you feel no gratitude for your savior and you do not travel to find her, I will torment you in Valholl. I will. Each day the Einherjar gather to meet in battle, I shall cleave through a legion of shields to get to you if you turn out to be an ungrateful little cock. You will quake, for Woden’s blood runs wildly in my veins and his raging spear dance grants me speed and agility. I’m a berserker, Lord, and I doubt you are. Armin was a tactician, the brains. I was the spear.

  Heed me, Thumelicus. Lif must learn of me.

  And what will she learn of me? She already knows I am a traitor. I am called the Oath Breaker. They still sing about me out there over the Rhenus River, and they do love their tales of fallen heroes and traitorous curs. But she must learn that I, like any, was a man of some finer virtues. What the Germani cherish, fame, I have none. I am infamous. However, I loved her.

  I stare at the pages of the Codex and my spidery handwriting. I wonder at the stories I have written while you healed. I am not a deft writer, mind you, my back aches and fingers groan from the herculean effort, but I have managed it so far, and I wonder how many times I should have died after my father betrayed me.

  I slam the book closed and stare at it.

  Imagine, Thumelicus, the first families of men. They were born Gothoni far in the north and Woden made them, breathed life and purpose into the two lifeless bodies of Aska and Esla and took Midgard as his own. Imagine Lok, Woden’s brother cursing these men while giving birth to his family, in mockery of Woden’s, under the root of Gulldrum. Imagine such families being tied together by a curse, a sibilant prophecy that might come to pass and would cause the world of Woden to perish, the gods to topple and Lok’s brood to rebuild Midgard. That is the story of our family. Father was the Bear; I was the Raven, and there was a prophecy that tied us all together with Lok’s family, especially foul vitka Odo. When Maroboodus came home from his exile in Rome, Lok’s servants sensed the prophecy was moving. And it was.

  Had I left when I learned of this curse, all would be different.

  However, Father returned, I stayed, and many things took place. The Bear came home and met the Raven, and Lok’s prophecy was running rampant. But that was not the only thing to worry about. For Father was a traitor.

  As you recall, at this time Augustus reigned.

  He reigned more wisely than god Caesar had and built his legacy slowly and resolutely. It was a legacy that would destroy the Roman Republic as it was. But Augustus would die one day, and who would then take over? The ancient Republic and its Senate? His sons? Someone else?

  Father came home to Germania with a mission. He had agreed to help a high woman in Rome to be rid of those who would have Republic. He would combine the tribes of the Germani, a near impossible task as the Germani are willful and proud, and he would slay the greatest supporter of the old Republic. Nero Claudius Drusus, son of Livia, stepson of Augustus.

  To do this, he used his family first to gain control of the Marcomanni.

  My grandfather Hulderic died, Sigilind fell and Gernot and me? His sons? He used brutality to scare us, then pretended affection and love for us and fooled us both. In the end, he ruled the Marcomanni, and we were cast out. Balderich, our other grandfather and leader of the Marcomanni, was ousted, Maroboodus’s cousin Bero sacrificed, and Father even worked with Lok’s cursed creatures, for he did not fear the prophecy. In the end, Gernot went to serve Odo. I was to die, but escaped his plans, killed my many foes, learnt of Father’s Roman nature and raised the southern Marcomanni against him. I wanted my fame back, my place and a hall of my own.

  It was not to be.

  Friends died, Father won and though I had delayed his plans, he was stronger than before.

  I forgot about my fame.

  I had a child. With Ishild, Odo’s sister. And it changed everything. Yes, it is Lif I am talking about, the same woman I want you to meet. I lost her in Father’s pursuit of us, and she was taken to Godsmount, where the final steps of the cursed prophecy would take place. Odo did not know where it was, but I, the Raven was to find her. It was inevitable. I cared not. I wanted her back.

  However, to get her back, I needed allies.

  I found Nero Claudius Drusus, the man who was to fall to Father. His cause became mine, and I learned of honor rather than fame. I fought for him; I fought father’s henchmen, and I fought Armin, the rival to Maroboodus and enemy to Drusus and there we were, Thumelicus, when I last quit writing.

  I sighed and rubbed my face as I watched you in the throes of some odd nightmare.

  While I had no hope or even will of becoming a Germani again, I had Drusus and his dreams to follow. And I had to find Lif. She was in the lands of the Cherusci, your father Armin’s lands, and Drusus was going there. I had men to kill; my murderous father, who did not love me, perhaps yours, Armin, for he had tried to use me to slay Drusus. Father’s Roman contacts Antius and Cornix were out there, still working to slay Drusus, and there was also Catualda, a relative who had worked with Father and wanted the Woden’s Gift, our family’s perilous, ancient ring for himself. It would grant one power amongst Suebi, and it was something Armin desired as well, for it would give the Cherusci peace from the Suebi Semnones of the east, for they revered the ring. Also, I wanted to murder Odo, the one who desired Lif, tried to find Godsmount and Veleda to end the world and who stole our ring. I had to deal with Gernot, my brother, another victim of Father, also serving Odo. And likely Ansigar,
my former friend, who was with Gernot.

  I had a lot of bloody goals, Lord.

  I had lost a lot of friends for these goals. I only had a few left. I had my grandfather’s ancient sword, the Head Taker, something I had ever loved, and it whispered to me of vengeance. Not of fame, but blood.

  I followed Drusus against Armin as I tried to settle my scores, and I knew they would all soon come together, my foes, for Drusus was their goal and my sword was his. This story is about what I managed to achieve, what I failed in, and of my sword, what Cassia, my lover, called the Winter Sword, the weapon that was the symbol of my drive for vengeance. The sword was my curse, my bane, and I will tell you how that turned out.

  Sleep, Lord, as I sit and write and fight for our lives in Camulodunum. If I fail in that, then you need not worry. You will be dead.

  That day, we were standing amidst a wreck of a battlefield, and we had been victorious.

  BOOK 1: THE TROUBLED HILLS

  ‘It yearns for blood. It’s a sword that drives you to vengeance, I think. Is it evil? Perhaps.’

  Rochus to Hraban

  CHAPTER 1

  We had won a great victory against Armin and the Germani tribes of the Luppia River. However, the price had been very high. It was unusually high for the disciplined Roman army fighting undisciplined Germani. More, there had been three legions in the battle, and auxilia, and still it had been a close call. All that was thanks to Armin.

  The three legions that took part in the battle that had no name in the lands of the Bructeri still had a war to make. In our rear, the troublesome Tencteri and Usipetes were harrying the half built Roman castrum that had been set to supply us on the Luppia River, and far in the east, there was one castra guarding the land against Cherusci. It held one pristine legion, and beyond it, the nation that was now an enemy. The cavalry was very spent though the Batavi and remaining Thracian auxilia got on their bedraggled horses bravely. The foot auxilia, Thracian, Aquitanian, and Germanic? They had suffered so many losses to Armin’s surprise, there were but some two thousand left of them.