The Wolf Page 3

  I rode past him and watched the scene before us.

  It was one of hall-burning. On the trampled yard, there were dead men. They lay where they had died, and all had been unarmed. One had been carrying a trout, another had a horse bridle in his bloodied hand. One was still weeping, dying, and a bald, young man was crouched over him, looking at flames. He was alive, but seemed stricken by grief.

  There was a hall. It was a large one, and flames were spreading along the roof. The doors were open, and the occupants of the hall had apparently barricaded themselves in the stable. The doorway to there had been wrenched open, and a butchery had taken place.

  I saw corpses inside were flaming and burning with the hay.

  I saw the bald man looking at the body of a golden-haired woman, who held a child. He made no move, as the flames moved closer to the corpses.

  The enemy had looted the hall.

  In the southern edge of a wooded hill, they had gathered all of it. There was a jumble of weapons, tools, food, and drink, as well as many fine horses, skittish for the fire, and many cows. They were all being stolen.

  The men who had done the killing were all turning our way, save for the bald one.

  They had been sitting around the loot, happy with their handiwork, and had been drinking mead. There were ten in sight, a few more in the woods, likely looking for hidden cellars that would be filled with mead, ale, and perhaps stolen riches. All held red shields and tall spears, sporting hugely unruly beards and hair. The lot of them were tall and bloodied. They were a war-party fresh from a kill. They wore tunics and animal’s furs and reminded me of the Svea of the far north.

  I shifted in my saddle and raised a hand.

  They got up as one.

  Behind us, from the woods, I heard whispers and knew they had men there as well.

  They spread out as if they had not been surprised at all. No. They looked like they had been surprised before, and knew they could still beat any man or beast. Not one moved to attack, but they would, in a moment’s notice.

  We sat on our horses and stared at each other.

  The bald one got up and looked at us, and I wondered if he was the leader. His eyes were empty with some emotion that didn’t fit the scene.

  Loss. He had lost something. Or…someone.

  The men probably expected us to bolt so they would have a reason to go after us. I spat.

  And jumped down. I tossed Bero’s reins to Ingulf.

  The largest of the men grinned. He had a powerful face, and so wide shoulders and a narrow waist, it seemed impossible he wouldn’t tip over. He didn’t, as he took steps forward, his shield on his side. He waved a hand our way.

  “Like a wolf calling a calf to the woods,” Ingulf said thickly. “You had better be really lucky, Maroboodus. They are Hermanduri. I am sure. Bandits, the lot, and you can see it in their eyes, even when you don’t ride to the scene of their crime.”

  “They might have been wronged by the men,” I said stoically. “We’ve done our bit in hall burnings, no? They look friendly, don’t they? Almost like family.”

  “What are they? You said Hermanduri?” Bero asked softly, his eyes round. “They have blood on their faces.”

  Indeed, all had smeared the blood of their victims on their faces, save for the bald one, who was walking for the wide-shouldered man.

  “Who,” called the man with a dialect we barely understood, “are you? Friends to the dogs we just turned into ashes? Why do you disturb the feast of the Red Raven?”

  “We do not know them,” I called back. “We do not know who the Red Raven is, and we don’t care about his business with people he made into corpses. We are simply making our way through the land, in hope for an open table, and some mead and ale. I see you have mead, and perhaps ale, so I forgive you.” I looked at the burning corpses. “The feast isn’t complete with something to fill the belly, but it seems there is only food for the crows and foxes. You might have waited until they had cooked something.”

  He stared at me with open eyes. His eyes were also taking a stock of our weapons, the fine, rich swords, chainmail, and spears, and he took note of our scars. He was deciding on our lives and came up with something that we would find unfortunate, at least judging by the sudden twitch in his cheek. Then, he seemed to reconsider and finally laughed and swiped his hands around. “Why, we burned the hall of an enemy, and they had already eaten! It was unfortunate, but it isn’t wise to stay too long in a scene of a murder, is it? We are here only until we find the cellars. We already tore through the floors of the hall and found nothing.”

  “It is also not wise to leave witnesses,” I said. “Did you?” I looked around the dark hill and the woods to the east. “He will have neighbors.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You…question my skill in raiding? You would do that? I don’t…” He breathed deep and spat, forcing a smile. It was wide and evil. “It seems you’ve done your bit of murdering, eh? No, there are no neighbors. We killed one before this one, and both had sent most their men for the Thing. They simply lingered because they are lazy and love comfort. At least they are warm now.” He chuckled at his joke and stepped forward, placing a hand on the bald one’s shoulder. The man flinched. “Had a rough road? It seems you have. One of you is tied up, two are carrying butcher’s blades. You seem like you are on the run. You have a feud you are trying to escape? We have a feud less, eh? Maybe you will too.”

  “Feud less, but many more to go, no doubt,” I said. “We have ours, aye.”

  “Aye, a great man has feuds,” the Red Raven said. “I have many, far too many, I deny it not.” He laughed and squinted. “I’ll have some hard time tomorrow. There’s going to be a war, see? You chose a bad time to visit the land. There’s a group of men I must settle some scores with, and a woman or two, if you believe it. It cannot be avoided. Let us just say, we started early.”

  “I do believe it,” I laughed. “You look the sort that might make a woman bitterly angry.”

  “Heartbreaker, you mean?” he asked.

  “Widow maker,” I said. “But I deny not you might be a heartbreaker as well.”

  He laughed. “Oh, both apply. Do you know who we are? How lost are you?”

  “You are of the Hermanduri,” I said, unconcerned. “I hear you are a nation worth taking a note of.”

  “Hermanduri!” he yelled. “That we are. Hermanduri of the south, of the Wolf Woods. We are the tip of the nation and always at war. We are ever growing in men and feuds and never happy with what we have.”

  “Sounds like your sort of people,” Ingulf said softly. “Let us leave.”

  I ignored him.

  The Red Raven stepped closer. “Perhaps I am wrong. You have arrived in a right time, you have. There’s a war I must fight against a bastard Hermanduri I hate, and if I win, a major war soon after with the Quadi. A major one. We have collected the tribes of the south, the mountain people, and some mixed breed bastards to our banners. You look like rogues, and a rogue should offer another hospitality. Perhaps you join us? Is someone following you? Should we worry?”

  “Aye, we are. Rogues and fugitives to the bone,” I told him, and saw his eyes flash with pleasure. “The men who chase me, cannot pay you, if that is what you were wondering.”

  He laughed and nodded and pointed for his party. They had apparently abandoned all their fears and were getting back to the business of sampling the mead. They knew their leader well enough to know his heart, and it put me at ease.

  Ingulf was right.

  They were like me.

  On our way down the river, people had been talking about the Hermanduri. Stretching from far north, from the hinterlands of the Semnones, to the steppes of the east, and all the way to the southern mountains, they were numerous as ants and had a bad reputation. War, raids, slave trading with foreign nations were all the marks of any Germani tribe, but none did it as treacherously as the Hermanduri. Where honor and fame were the life blood of a Germani warrior, the Hermanduri w
ere a mix of tribes and even nations. They had Gauls, like most Germani, especially in the west. They had mountain people and some nomadic riders amongst their numbers, and they were not as zealous of the past ways and of the honor the rest of us had based our lives on. That cared little for honor, and loved and looted riches and were quick adopt new ways, and new people, as long as they benefited from that.

  I felt danger was close, but I also felt an opportunity. There was going to be war with the people of the Wolf Woods, and perhaps a large one after, and that was an opportunity, indeed.

  He had wondered if we would join him.

  And still, I was wondering, what this one would ask from us.

  There would be a price for them sparing our hides, and for a place in the table. He was still thinking about the price. The bald one turned away and walked back to stare at the burning hall. The Red Raven grunted as I walked closer, and one of his men took my horse. I wasn’t keen on letting go of the beast, but I did and noticed he was waving his hand towards a log. There were a few chunks of meat laid out on a wooden plate, and some flasks probably filled with mead. They had found some food after all.

  “Red Raven, eh?” I asked. “Did your mother name you thus?”

  He lifted a finger and waved at Ingulf. “Hey, you! Get in here. Your friend here assured me you wouldn’t slaughter us.”

  Everyone was laughing hoarsely as they went about their business. They were still looking for the cellars.

  “The smoke,” I said. “They will—”

  “It’s evening,” he answered. “Soon dark. And I told you; most of the men have ridden for the Wolf Field. They are going to the Thing. They are all there, save for those who are too lazy, or dead. So, we are safe, for now. I have men watching too. If someone will see the smoke and wonder, none will come looking this night. It is ours, the night. Red Raven comes and goes in these woods, and none know them better. We shall go up the hill and hide near. Then, we take a deer-trail back east in the morning, for our reckoning. Only foxes and owls out there right now. It will be a bad day, won’t it? What are you?”

  I waved my hand to the north. “A Goth.”

  He looked that way and leaned close. “Must be rich people,” he murmured, eying my armor. He nodded at his horse, where a red chainmail was draped. There, too, a leather helmet with a red hand painted on the skull part. He nodded at Ingulf’s armor as he was riding closer with Bero. “All dress like that up north?”

  “No,” I said, my hand on the Head Taker’s hilt. “Only some. Very few, I think.”

  “Thieves, or war-lords,” he laughed. “A nice ring.”

  His eyes were on my golden ring.

  “Cursed,” I said, rubbing it. “Every tribe we have joined, have been put to the sword when they tried to steal it. It is so. They say it is a spawn of Draupnir, Woden’s fine ring, and must be carried by a man of my family, the first of men.”

  He touched the iron on his spear’s point. “Truly? Such a perilous treasure! And it must be carried by you.”

  “By me.”

  “And if someone else were to touch it? They get Woden’s cock in the arse?”

  Bero looked pale as he came forth after Ingulf. He had heard. He spoke, nonetheless. “They are still mourning. Up north. The ones who tried to take it. The villages? Burned, sacked, raided. And we warned them.”

  He gave Bero a suspicious glance and then laughed softly. “What good does the ring do, unless it dooms your enemies who try to take it? Surely it has some beneficial powers, to oppose the corpses that follow in its wake.”

  “It is a ring close to Woden,” I said. “As I said. It can bring men to serve me, if I call for them. Suebi, especially. Many old people and families in the north know of it. Fame for such men who follow me.”

  He lifted his eyebrow. “Only after they die, perhaps?”

  “Some gain fame before.” I laughed. “And riches.”

  “And yet, you are beggars in chain, and on the run,” he murmured. “Ring or no ring. It seems your luck only holds in the north.”

  I shrugged and picked up a piece of meat and began chewing on it. It had been horse. “My father holds a long grudge, Red Raven.”

  “I was wondering,” he said, “who is coming for you. Boats? Horses? Will they be here soon?”

  “No,” I said. “Horses and there are twenty of them. At most.”

  He smiled. “On horses, eh? Your father is unhappy with you because you stole from him?” His eyes went to the ring and the sword.

  “He thinks I did, but I didn’t,” I said, and looked at him in the eye. “It is a matter of perspective.”

  Bero opened his mouth, and Ingulf slapped his head.

  The Red Raven roared with laughter and walked back and forth. “I am Heinrich, by the way. The Red Raven is just something they call me. They meant it as an insult, but I like it. A carrion-feeder, see?”

  “Maroboodus,” I said. “Ingulf, and the slave.”

  Bero bristled, and Ingulf slapped his head again. He kept silent.

  “Good, good,” Heinrich said. “Now, we shall finish here, and then, we’ll have a feast on the hill by the river. You will join us. Now, wait.” He got up and went to order his men. Ingulf nodded, pulled Bero down, and seated him on a stump. There he stayed, eyeing the dangerous man near us. The savages with red shields, many more now, were frantically seeking the woods for cellars. “Go and take a piss and stick the riches in a foxhole,” I whispered to Ingulf.

  “I’ll stuff them in a tree when we ride up,” he said with a smile. “These men—”

  “Were here for a reason,” I told him.

  He leaned forward. “Yes, they came here to kill.”

  We waited.

  I looked at the young, bald man, who was looking at the fire. He barely moved. Heinrich appeared and frowned. “What is that about?” I asked him.

  He snorted. “The wife who died in there was once betrothed to him. The man was my champion. Things went wrong, and here we are. We taught them a lesson, but my son seems not over the lesson yet. It was a harsh one.” He nodded at the woods. “We found a cellar. We leave in a bit.” Soon, we mounted and went with them to feast with the savage men of Heinrich, the Red Raven.

  CHAPTER 3

  Heinrich was a good host and an excellent entertainer, when not burning halls and teaching men lessons in loyalty. We sat, drank and ate, and warmed our bones, watching three tattooed Hermanduri trying to compete by singing frightfully bad songs and by reciting dreary poems filled with gore and tears. They received little thanks and much ridicule and yet seemed to have few cares in the word, not even when they were mocked for their efforts.

  The fire that was burning brightly made everyone happy, save for the one cow they had made into a meal. The rest of the animals seemed to be at ease.

  Heinrich was a good host, but he was also tense.

  He would face an enemy the next day, and he wasn’t ready to admit it, but he was worried.

  He smiled a lot, his wide mouth filled with white teeth, and nodded at men who spoke to him, tried to speak to his son, and rewarded the best of his men with praise and part of the loot. He seemed to leave nothing for himself. He did the sharing attentively, dutifully, and still, because his last feud was dead a stone’s throw away, and they were feasting on the cows of the ones they had just killed, he made sure they would keep the loot. Half his men rode the hillsides, even if they had drunk an excess of mead.

  He was sober.

  He was a man not done with his grudges. His killing had put him into a fateful mood. He was thinking deep and looking at my ring.

  Bero saw it and shook his head. He was mouthing words, and I saw “the Bear” was one of them. Ingulf was eating, but his eyes were glinting as well, and he kept his sword near and a tree on his back, close to our horses. Bero was on a rope’s end, never far from his hand. The Hermanduri gave him a healthy breath of room and respected the savage man and his sword.

  I was musing at how to approach Heinr
ich.

  I had said I was lucky.

  I was sure it was Lok, indeed, who had guided me from deep misery to glorious victory and then shitty misery again and had laughed as he had watched in his prison.

  I wondered if this was to be my glorious day.

  Would this be the day, when he would, again, give with a generous handful of bliss, before one day soon, he’d again take it all from me.

  I had been betrayed by so many in my recent past. Only Ceadda and Ingulf had been faithful.

  Would Heinrich be one of the faithful?

  For some reason, I didn’t think the scruffy Red Raven had a craven heart. He smiled widely and easily, his ruddy face was thick-boned, and his whole clan were of a similar temperament. He seemed a man of simple to understand goals. The goals might be treacherous to his foes, but he could be faithful to his friends. That he was thinking hard on what we could do for him was a good sign.

  He got up and crashed to sit next to me.

  His horn sloshed, and he laughed softly at the spilled drink. He wasn’t drunk but tried to look the part of a jolly drinking mate. “A waste,” he said, as he eyed the ale on his arm and licked at it. “I hate to waste good things.”

  I nodded. “So,” I asked him, while chewing on the cow’s meat from the point of my seax, “who were these men? What’s the story behind that?”

  He nodded at the direction of the hall, below the hill. “It is no strange story, Maroboodus. Men betray their lords all the time and join their enemies.” He was nodding, his eyes smoldering with anger. “They got what they deserved.” The bald boy of Heinrich looked down. “Come, now, Bertilo. Cheer up.”

  He didn’t cheer up. He got up and walked off.

  Heinrich was cursing softly. “He knows it was right. He does. What do you know of the Hermanduri, other than what the Semnones and the Cherusci you passed on your way told you? I can, by the way, tell you stories of them as well. Cowardly turd-kissers, the lot. I’ve lost brothers to treacherous Semnones, pretending to want to negotiate.”