Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) Read online

  “You know nothing of my home,” I told him stiffly. “I’d rather not think about that option. It’s not an option, in fact.”

  He rubbed his neck, embarrassed. “Home is where people miss you, eh? No matter what you’ve done.”

  I pushed the remorse away. They wouldn’t miss me there, not after I shamed them. “Are there, or are there not, lords here I might serve one day?” I pressed on, chewing the meat ponderously.

  He shrugged. “As I said, you will find some lesser lord. A captain who leads men for the warlords. But there is no reason why you shouldn’t go for the higher men first. Try! There are the southern lords in the Thing, Isfried the Glum. Melheim, his brother, and one more brother I’ve never seen. Drinks too much, they say. Burlein! Now I remember. In the south, their family holds sway, and their gau is prosperous enough. And perhaps far from the Chatti as well, if that is what you desire, since you seem to think none will miss you in Mattium?”

  “Far is good,” I agreed, wondering at his shrewd mind.

  He went on after a wry smile. “A fugitive, eh?”

  I shrugged. “Possibly.”

  “You don’t look too dangerous,” he chortled. “Not a murdering scum like many. Perhaps a thief, possibly a horse one?”

  “I—“ I said chokingly

  He sighed. “I don’t care, boy. You’ll fit in. This is the hub of the Marcomannic power, and I hope you succeed here. I sense you will settle for nothing less than being the first spear of the Balderich.”

  “Would he have me?”

  He looked astonished. “How would I know? Do I look like a seer?”

  “You speak quite wisely, my friend,” I said suspiciously. He might have been a former vitka, and had sight. “You guess my mind very well. And my past.”

  He winked. “But I cheat.”

  “How do you—”

  He waved me down and went on. “As for Balderich, grandson of Aristovistus, who is the ruler in these parts, well, he is the great man, but he is old, and rarely goes to war.”

  “But he has high lords who—“ I said and nearly choked, chewing and swallowing desperately on the last bite of the meat, cursing and blessing the food both. I managed to swallow, and he found I was thirsty as my horse. The man smirked and handed me mead in a gourd, which I tried to drink down with dignity, but could not resist closing my eyes out of a sheer pleasure for the sweet, honey blessed liquid even the gods loved.

  “Thirsty bastard, aren’t you? I’ll drink water with my horse, I guess. No, have it all, really. As for Balderich, he has warlords, dozen or more, in the northern gau. Many raid the Matticati, but there is one who is closest to Balderich’s heart. He is not a Marcomanni, but comes from the north. It is a Goth lord who serves him, called Bero. He is a gaunt, twisted man, keen enough with traders, and I suppose he has a lot of worth when it come to governing the land, but not so much in the business of war. He has done well to keep Rome and the Marcomanni off each other’s throats these past five years, at least so not too many men have died, and no major wars have been waged for that time. Yes, of course we fight with the Romans occasionally, when we must, but mostly raid their dependents only. And lately, there have been very few raids at all. Peace it is. Bero won’t need you.”

  “But Bero has chiefs who need spears?” I asked, disappointed the Marcomanni were in a relative peace. “I’d love to hear about the men who might actually give me a position.”

  “He has many,” he said with a chortle. “Fulch the Red. He is a warsome one. He’s been here for a long time. Eight others like him, mostly older lords. They command some thousand spears all together on the hill. But one is above the others. And that is the great warrior, Leuthard. Another far from here. A Batavi, I think. Tall, wide as the hill itself, deadly, not like a man at all. A living murder, he is.” He shook his head before I could ask. “And I think there is a long line of men who kneel before Leuthard’s bloody seat. Illustrious men, not as starved and thirsty as you are, Chatti.”

  I shrugged. “The south gau it is then. What of Isfried? He has a long line of men ready to kneel before him?”

  “Their family,” the man said with a frown, “from Grinrock, days to the south, rarely hire outside their family, to be honest. I am sorry I mentioned them. They are an inbred lot, my friend. But perhaps they will. You will have to ask. Ask them all.”

  I was nodding. It was always thus, I thought, that doors were closed long before you get to them. Few found a hall of a famous warrior he could serve until later age, and I would have to crawl in shit before I found my place. “You give me no names worth remembering, and little hope. But I’m grateful for the food and drink.”

  He was scratching his chin, smiling. “Very well. A name then, and some hope. If you will look for service, Chatti, after you visit Hard Hill, then I think you should ask for Bero’s brother.”

  “Oh?” I asked him suspiciously. ”Is he famous?”

  He laughed. “It might be a problem for you, boy. He guards the East. He lives near the Moenus River, near our Quadi allies, and is actually one of the lords who keep the Chatti in line,” he said with twinkling eyes, “and he also holds the Matticati of the horse tribes in check. They don’t get along, mind you, him and Bero, and so he is a rare visitor in the Hard Hill,’ the man nodded sagely towards the far away hill. “He is there now, well guarded by his friends and allies, and he might serve as a lord. He is a fine man, I think.”

  “Does he have wealth?” I asked resentfully. East. No.

  “He does, but his villages are few, his thirst for power less,” the Marcomanni said as he clucked his tongue to some of his men. “Worried you might be a thief. And that you will skewer me.”

  I nodded gratefully, and shifted my framea far from the man. ‘I thank you for the food, the god-like drink, and the sound advice. So many men would turn away, but you rode to me, and gave me more than most.’

  He turned his horse away. “Hulderic the Goth. Remember the name, Adalwulf.”

  I thanked him, and began to ride away. Then I stopped and turned the horse, bewildered. “How did you know my name?” I yelled after him.

  The old man turned in his saddle. “I told you I cheated, didn’t I? I’m so tempted to tell you it is galdr singing after midnight that gave me a vision of you, or that a dozen naked vaettir, spirits both pretty and willing took me to bed and spoke of you in the heat of the passion, but no, I get none of that. I’m not that special. Someone was looking for you, and told me a lot about you. Told me, and many others no doubt, to look out for you. To help you reach the Hill. Wanted you this very day, even. I did help, and perhaps I did well to do so?”

  I felt claws of fear along my back. “Was it another Chatti? How many?”

  He laughed. “No! A woman. Go and talk with her. She is most beautiful. I think you will like her. I liked her, but I like all the girls, even if they avoid me.”

  “Talk with her?” I asked, confused. “What—”

  He stopped and looked at me. “In Hard Hill. She’s there, no doubt. Or go home. Do as you will.” He laughed and rode away, and I sat there, stroking the horse, looking around the swaying fields, and frowned. There was a strange wind in the air, a bit chilly for a summer, and it smelled salty, perhaps like a sea would smell like. Goths came from the northern seas, I thought morosely, and decided to ride to find the Goths in the Hard Hill. And the mystery woman.

  Go home?

  No home for thieves. It was Hard Hill or no place.

  But someone knew of me in the Hard Hill. Maybe they knew also I was a thief. I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet the girl.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was early afternoon when I arrived at the great hill. Chatti villages tend to sprawl, and I suppose the Marcomanni did as well, but such oppidum, hill-dwellings, were more close affairs. Hard Hill was much like Mattium, except there were no walls or gates, only the hill. There were dozens of wealthy villages scattered around the land, and rutty roads led to them from the wide hill. It all looked
strangely welcoming.

  I glimpsed the gleaming, silvery Rhenus River, the ancient river and border between the Celts and the Germani, though everyone mingled, traded, and married across it. As I had seen from afar, the hill was full of tall trees. There were pine and fir woods on and around the hill, and old halls of many colors dotted it. There were many ancient Marcomanni families that settled there after Aristovistus was driven from Gaul, and the oldest and most ancient lines had built their homes around the top.

  I grunted with envy as I spied rich herds of cows and horses, corralled and well guarded, and wondered at the several war parties riding slowly for patrol or raid, shields on their back, holding tall spears and wearing the odd piece of armor, mostly leather, but usually wearing only tunic. Men were proud of their beards, and unlike the Chatti, didn’t cut their foreheads bare after killing a man.

  “I’ll fit right in,” I whispered to the horse, which whinnied with surprise, as a wild trio of children raved past, as I began to navigate up the hill.

  It was not only the children who were happy that evening.

  The whole hill was festive, with many men riding lazily around, walking with their neighbors and women. Many such women walked the paths wearing fabulous fibulae on each shoulder to keep their brown and white tunics up, their arms bared, and most gossiped incessantly. Many of the younger women turned to look at me, smiling and giggling at a young fool who was blushing, unaccustomed to the attention, since the Chatti had a calmer way of life, and while the women were worshipped and admired everywhere, they acted less brazenly in Mattium.

  I sat on my horse, looking up the sprawling hill, past markets filled with produce and animals, and wondered where to begin. I squinted to the very top of the hill, and saw a large, red-hued building there, and guessed that would be where Balderich lived.

  “Bero, Isfried, Leuthard, Fulch, Hulderic,” I breathed, memorizing their names, and wondered about the girl who apparently knew mine. “How, how, in Donor’s heavy hammer’s name would she know my name or anything about me?” I spoke aloud the question that had haunted me for the past hours. And the horse quite predictably didn’t answer, and I decided I needed some other company than Snake-Bite. I had to stop speaking with myself.

  Surely Germain would not send a woman after me? No, impossible. If he tried to kill or capture me, to regain Snake-Bite, he’s send men, armed and well-travelled, and that would probably be the end of me.

  Perhaps the woman was a priestess? How else could she know my name? Such völva might know a man’s name, if the spirits whispered to them.

  I snorted. Perhaps I thought too highly of myself.

  There had been many vitka and völva, the holy ones, galdr and seidr singers aplenty with the Chatti. Their law-speaking, their deep, dark powers and connections to the vaettir, the spirits and knowledge of the future and the past and of the gods unsettled any man. Their power over even the war-kings and nobles was rarely challenged. Yes, such men and women died like any, sometimes in war, often by a fool, drunken warrior not afraid to challenge them, but few dared.

  I shrugged. I would find out soon enough, if she were even to be found. I’d be ready, nonetheless. I clutched the spear, and gained some confidence from it.

  I guided my horse past a thick-timbered hall.

  A troop of Marcomanni was riding hard from the top, their shields banging on their thighs. They were a merry, wild lot, and led by a scarred man with leather armor, his hair billowing behind.

  A girl ran from the hall, barefoot, perhaps three years old.

  She was pretty as an apple, her smile wide. She turned to look at me, then the riders. The bastards had not seen her, it was clear. She froze in terror.

  “Heyaah!” I screamed instinctively, and Snake-Bite burst into speed. I dropped my spear, cursed, as I knew it would be close. I heard a man shriek in the hall but I was there, and I bent to grasp her as Snake-Bite galloped, his ears back with worry.

  “Out of the way, vagrant!” yelled the leader of the party. I found a firm grip on the girl’s tunica, and yanked her to me. Snake-Bite surged out of the way, and I felt a spear shaft strike my back, and wild laughter as the bastard rode past. The girl was crying, clutching me, and then she wiggled free as she jumped down and ran to a strong jawed man, who was cursing the riders profusely. He turned to look at me as I stared at my destroyed spear forlornly. The shaft was in three parts, and I dismounted and picked it up, cursing my luck.

  “You’ll take mine,” the man said with grateful emotion thrumming in his voice. “I have two, and you’ll take the better one. For her life, I owe you many. I’m Danr, a hunter.”

  I turned to look at him. He was a large man, with powerful shoulders and a dangerous glint in his eyes. I nodded at him. “I’ll take the lesser one. I have no mouths to feed, save the horse’s.”

  He chuckled, stared at his little girl with utter adoration, and turned to hand the girl over to a rotund woman, old slave, no doubt. He walked to me, clasped my forearm, and gave me a hug, and I felt him shivering for the fright. “Those men will pay, if I see them again. I know them well. Think they own the hill.”

  “Do they?” I asked him as he let go of me.

  He chuckled. “Sort of. The leader is Helm, a minor lord of Leuthard. They do own the hill by their high position, but they can’t take it with them to the afterworld. I won’t forget. And as I said, I owe you many lives. Come.” He led me around his hall, and there a beautiful woman walked to him, whispering angrily, gesturing for the hall, where the girl was speaking excitedly with the slave. He whispered back, and I saw she had to calm herself visibly, her fists clutched. After hugging her husband, she turned to me, and nodded, her face grave as that of most noble goddesses. “She is Gertrude,” Danr explained as the woman took my hand.

  “I thank you. Danr will repay you. Anything you ask,” she said. “Come.”

  They fed me. I ate well, simple vegetables, some mead, and Snake-Bite had very good hay. I drank his ale, and enjoyed their company. We sat in Sunna’s waning light around a bench, and Danr, a famed hunter, brought me his spear, a well-crafted framea with a thick point, removed the one in my broken spear, and gave it to me.

  In the end, their son rushed up, a sturdy fellow fresh out of a fight with some local rival, and he joined us, stole some of my ale, and they sat down to throw dice, though I declined to join them. “I must leave. But I thank you for your hospitability.” Gertrude was laughing gaily in the sweetly warm evening as the boy raged after a narrow loss. “Where might I find Balderich, or lord Bero?” I asked.

  The man looked up the hill, tilted his head at the hall on top. “Balderich sits there. An old man, though. Not sure if you will find anything up there, if you are looking for service.”

  Gertrude pointed a finger over the hill. “As for Bero, the twisted lord is probably at the harbor.”

  “Twisted?”

  She nodded. “Stands strangely. To his side. He’ll be counting Roman coin and attending to his trade, but his hall is a tall, gray one overlooking the harbor. His son, Catualda, might be there, harassing their slaves, the girls, you see?”

  I frowned at that.

  Danr smiled wryly. “Yes, he is a bastard. But Bero rules well, and none can prove his son is worthless. Come, come, stranger, do not be such a sour block of frowns. You seek employment? Bero might take you, but you must talk to one of the Ten.”

  “Ten?” I asked, nodding thankfully. “I assume you do not mean his fingers or toes, but men, like Leuthard? I was told there are many like him.”

  The boy chuckled and cheated, as his parents were looking at me. He turned the dice very deftly, and waited for his father to turn back to the game. He gave me a small, secretive leer, which I tried to ignore, so as not to give him away. The woman nodded for the west, while slapping the boy’s hand gently, having noticed anyway. “The harbor. And if you need a place to stay, you are welcome in our hall. If you need anything, come and ask.” She nodded towards the big man who was no
w staring the dice, frowning. “Danr knows the lands here, and across the water. But go and find Bero, and talk with his chiefs. Leuthard, possibly. A bald, big man.”

  “I’ve heard of Leuthard,” I said carefully. "A shield breaker.”

  “He comes from the north as well, a Batavi?” Danr said, as he held a hand on top of the dice, which made the boy roll his eyes.

  “I’ll win anyways, Father,” he said, and Danr pulled his ear playfully.

  “Speak to him, if you will,” Gertrude said with a smile, and I bowed to them, happy to have met such a generous family. I pulled the reluctant Snake-Bite from the last hay stalks and turned him to the west. We rode away up the hill towards the general direction of the river, where I expected to find the harbor. The horse was neighing softly as he sensed the mares in nearby stables. The ways between the halls were plagued by more of the barefooted children, running excitedly after each other, girls and boys mixing harmoniously, though many girls were helping their mothers with chores.

  It’s much like Mattium, I thought. People were happy, sad when they must, but it was not a miserable country, with hopeless people. I had ridden through the Quadi lands, and there, despite the hospitable and brave tribesmen, the embattled frontiers were full of burned halls where Hermanduri raided every summer, and you could read such hardships in the faces of the women and children especially. War in your own lands made you hard, unable to enjoy life, knowing you might find the wrong end of a spear in your belly any day. Or in the belly of your loved ones.

  Not so there, in Hard Hill. Not at all, even if the Roman enemy lived just across the water.

  It was a curious state of affairs.

  The Marcomanni were enemies to the Celts and the Romans, but apparently, Bero had found some middle way, which was neither a full-blown war, nor peace. Roman navis lusoria and trade vessels travelled the river below, and Vangiones, the sworn enemies of the Marcomanni, grew in power under their king, Vago, across the rivers. And yet everyone thrived.