Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (24 page)

“Gods, damn him,” Iodocus said as the Roman skillfully guided his horse past sullen Celts. His eyes gazed at our gear and rested on my hammer, which left him frowning. The Celt girl trembled, and turned to her husband, suddenly full of doubts. He cursed softly, took a step away, and disappeared, wanting no part in her schemes. She visibly gathered herself and walked forward, and the Roman looked down at her with a small frown. There was a questioning look on his face, as if he didn’t know who she was. She spoke to him urgently, wringing her hands. I nearly felt sorry for her, because I had a hunch she was not about to find love and affection. The man seemed incapable of it.

“You came!” she beamed. “You really came. So fast!”

“Huh?” the Roman asked. “Yes—”

“Gaius, you came. I sent you a message. A brilliant ploy, with the Treveri.”

“Gaius?” he asked, and then smiled carefully. “Thank you,” the armored thief said, still confused. “A message?”

She blinked. “I sent you one yesterday. About the Marcomanni treasure. You know? What you just asked him for? And I told you about the men in the huts and the halls. And these two thieves.” She thumbed our way. “Will you take me with you now? I gave you great riches, no? We spoke about love before, and you said—”

He rubbed his chin. “I remember you now. Last month? Yes, right here. It was fun, I seem to recall. As for the treasure and the men and these thieves, yes, I was sent a word.” He turned to me. “You are Adalwulf,” he said, and pointed a finger at me, and then at my friend, “and you are Iodocus?”

There was no point to deny. “I’m Adalwulf,” I told him carefully.

“A sturdy fellow,” he grunted, and I wasn’t sure how many years older he was, but at least ten. His words and tone made me straighten my back almost immediately. I frowned at that. For some reason, I wanted him to be proud of me. He noticed and chuckled as I let myself relax. “Natural soldier. Know your place immediately. Stand up like a man when your officer calls you out. Yes. You’d do well under the Aquila. Now, unfortunately, you will not have such an opportunity.” His eyes turned to the girl, uncertainly. “But I’m confused. A Gaul found us yesterday with this bit of delicious news. He’s someone who travels the lands a lot, a horse-merchant. He told me a tale. Did
you
send him?”

She beamed uncertainly. “I sent a man on horse. He’s a local, though he doesn’t sell horses. I—”

The Roman turned back to us and adopted an actor’s pose. “Different man then.”

Different man?
I thought, frowning.

He went on. “Now, let us be official.” His men were marching for us. “You two. Thieves.”

“I’m not—” I began.

“A damnable thief, that’s what you are,” he growled. “You helped Seisyll there. You stole that coin and treasure from a traveling Treveri lord for Seisyll. Murdered his men. And so, you will come with us to be judged.”

He spun lies like an old thief. He wanted to take us with him.

I understood. He knew there were no Treveri. He guesses someone wanted Seisyll to suffer, and he didn’t care where the treasure came from. But he had heard we brought the coin in. He had heard we didn’t belong with Seisyll. Since the treasure would never leave his greedy hands, we would have to die. He wanted no vagrants whispering tales of his crime. He could blackmail Seisyll with the loss of his lands and life, but we had no such ties to the land. He wanted us dead, and as scapegoats. He would be promoted for capturing us. Somehow, someway, he’d hang us, and we’d be blamed for everything. The girl. I spat at her feet. She blanched. “Damn whore.”

The Roman smiled widely. “She is a whore, though I cannot ever remember her name, to be honest. I usually remember the best of them, but not hers.”

“I? A whore?” she hissed, but the Roman pulled his sword, and she went quiet and resentful as the soldiers arrived, ringing us. “Lord, I sent the man last evening. Tell me you will reward me. Though I am confused. He couldn’t have reached you before this morning.”

“Strange,” the Roman said evenly. “But as I said, this must be a different man. I found out about this yesterday morning already. The names of these men, the treasure, the warbands, and the meaningless tale of the Treveri.”

“Not possible!” she said, stunned. “How is that possible? You are lying!”

He rubbed his face. “I care not how,” the man said, and waved his hand imperiously towards us. “Leave the hammer and the spear here. And do not leave the hall. Tomorrow, we shall go, and you’ll tramp with us for a while.” He snapped his fingers, and three legionnaires strode forward. He spoke Latin to them, and they nodded. I let go of the weapon, though reluctantly. They pushed us through the door. and we sat there, staring at each other.

“What in the name of Cerunnos’s wild women is this?” Iodocus breathed. How—”

“The girl deserves to be hanged. But it wasn’t her doing. It was Leuthard,” I said. “Leuthard sent word of Seisyll’s men, of us, of the treasure. He knew the Roman would come and break up everything. The village is gutted and half helpless, isn’t it? The woman,” I said, and glared at the door, where I could hear her speaking to the Roman, and the Roman laughing, “sent her own man, but he was already on his way.”

He nodded at me, his face white.

“Leuthard is coming?”

“Don’t sleep this night,” I said. “There will be news, Romans or not. Let’s wait to see the messenger arrive.”

We lounged in the house all that evening, waiting for a man to arrive from the other side of the river. The Celts were wary of the Romans, and I was sure many of the wealthier families living on the hill were busily hiding their coin and jewelry. They should have done that already, since there was a risk of an attack on the village by Bero and Leuthard, but the Romans were greedy men. Such presence in the village was a far bigger threat, since Roman demands could not be countered by violence and determination.

The evening turned into night. Mani rose majestically to the sky, a piece of it missing as the wolf Hati chased it across the blue-tinted brilliance. Iodocus was fidgeting, and I was rubbing my face. I tugged at my hair, something the Chatti kept long until they killed a man, and decided I’d cut it soon. I had deserved it. “Where is the man?” I asked.

Iodocus didn’t look at me. “He is dead. Or Seisyll’s man is, the one who meets him. No news will come.”

He was right.

Horn blew in the night. It was deep, demanding, threating.

We stood up. A shout could be heard, a challenge. Then, there was the roar of men and a huge crash, as something terrible was taking place at the gate. Celts were screaming, and horses whinnying.

A guttural Germani voice was yelling in the night, so loud it echoed across the woods.

“Find Adalwulf! I want him alive! Find the others!” The voice thrummed through the night.  We would fight, as Leuthard had arrived.

I
grasped Iodocus. “The gold. The silver. Get it, hide it. Let nobody stop you,” I told him nervously. “And then hide yourself.”

“You’ll need me out there,” he complained, but I pushed him. He scowled and nodded curtly. “Try not to get killed, you idiot.”

“I try. Let’s see if we can get out of here.”

We softly opened the doorway and peeked out. The Roman guards were gone, save for the one youngster who had been left on duty. He was hovering, taking steps back and forth, and watching the sudden chaos unfold around him. He was hesitant. There were torches flaring in the hill-fort, women and children running around in panic, and the warriors were gathering under their leaders, pushing each other to rush for the gate where the danger was looming. A tall chief held them back, gathering all he could before anyone rushed anywhere. Our hearts thrummed madly, as there was another booming voice from the gates, then a crash. We could see the wall swaying.

I nudged Iodocus, and he nodded. We exited the hall, and snuck towards the young legionnaire who turned to face us, mumbling: “
Intra muros.”

Within the walls
, I’d later learn, and he was right. They’d be inside in a bit, but he would not need to worry about it. As my fist met his chin, Iodocus tackled him hard, and we dragged him, his arms flailing wildly, inside the hall. There, Elisedd looked at us, aghast. The youngster was a tough one, hissing, and cursing, and he fought wildly, but in the end, he was gagged, tied, and tucked in a corner. I pointed a finger at the girl. “You should probably run, girl.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, taking steps forward, wringing her hands.

“To capture riches and a beast,” Iodocus laughed. “You run, or fight. Perhaps you should try to crab the treasure, instead of having a man do it for you? Or has your bravery left you?”

She said nothing, scowling at us.

We left her there, and dodged back out. I could hear Roman commands being issued somewhere near, as Gaius was trying to organize his men. Dozens of Celts were converging on the gate, and I saw Seisyll’s face there, with the men, encouraging them.

“I hope Seisyll really had some further plan than just relying on the men hidden in the village,” Iodocus snorted as he hefted his spear and shield from the side, where they had been unceremoniously dropped on a bench. He threw me my hammer, and it gave me comfort. “And I hope it is a good one. I’ll go then, and perhaps I’ll hide my ass after the treasure. Perhaps not,” he said bravely, but with a sad smile, and I knew he didn’t think he’d see me alive again.

“Don’t die,” I told him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “At least try not to run into a spear. Take news home, if things turn sour as old ale. You must survive.”

“You care?” he laughed and clasped my arm in a warrior’s salute. “I’m touched.”

I grinned like a skull. “If you die, there’s no way to know where you hid the treasure. Stay alive, and tell Hulderic what happened.”

“Shit,” he chortled, “you’re such a dear friend.” He waved and disappeared into the shadows.

I turned to regard the gate. Men rushed forward, and there were forty warriors there now, a thick column of men with bristling spears, colorful shields and pants. Tall Celts wore with rich armbands, listening to Seisyll, whose round shield, painted blue and red, flashed in the torch light, as he pointed his sword for the gate. The men were nodding, looking grave.

But the gate was not the problem. It was the wall.

There was a most peculiar sight. The tall, thick wall was tilted, shaking, and Celts were hanging precariously on the thin parapet, throwing down rocks and javelins.

One tower was
gone
. The top of it had been torn away, though the lower part still stood. That was the crashing sound we had heard.

I saw two Celts on the parapets hacking at something mightily, and noticed there were ropes around the thick lumber, taut as if a god was pulling at them, and the Gauls could not cut of pry them off the piles. There were horses neighing wildly out in the dark, men yelling savagely. The wall shook precariously, and mud flew as the piles moved. Then they groaned, and tipped even more, dismantling several men who jumped or fell away heavily, and one screamed hoarsely, as he fell to the darkness. The wall disappeared in a cloud of dust and mud.

There, where the wall had fallen, shadows flickered in the dusty cloud. Some fierce Marcomanni stepped forward to the light, nearly inside the compound, and threw some ineffective javelins at the column of Celts. One hacked at the debris where the fallen, wounded Celt was killed, and then they fled.

The remains of the wall went with them, dragged away by horses. Timbers rattled, cracked, ropes fled in the dust.
Gods help us if the tower had taken the wall as well
, I thought. They would be inside already. The guards must have been napping to allow that to happen without an alarm. But luckily, they had had to try again, and so we had a defense in place.

Silence.

Seisyll opened his mouth to exhort his visibly shocked and frightened men. He didn’t have a change.

Shields were being banged together in the darkness, men were yelling wildly, and then the barritus yell, men crying out fiercely behind their shield rims, creating a ferocious, thrumming cacophony echoed across the land. There were many Marcomanni down there. Many, many men. Balderich would be pleased. He got his war.

I took tentative steps forward, unsure what to do.
Should I join the shieldwall?
The Celts screamed defiance, even without Seisyll’s exhortations, one bleeding from a javelin. Seisyll and another chief, a tall, armored brute, pushed their men towards the hole. Then the lord spotted me, yelled something more as the Celts shuffled to form a triple line of shields and spears across the broken fence, and ran to me. “Will you fight with them?” he screamed as pointed a finger at the men.

“Yes. Will you?” I said, insulted.
Of course, I would.

“What?” he snarled. “How dare you doubt—”

I pushed him, and he went silent with incredulity. “Was there more to this plan than just fighting here in the village, holding the place, and hoping Leuthard falls to our hands?”

He shook away his anger and laughed darkly. “There was. There still is. We have to hold the town, though. Much harder to do now with the betrayal of Elisedd. She—”

I shook my head at him. “It was Leuthard. The girl tried, but Leuthard was way ahead—”

He pushed me towards the gate. “Whatever. For the plan to work, I’ll have to go. I have to go fast, because that lot will not hold for a long time,” he said, flicking his gaze to the group of brave men. “Help them. Fight well.” He clapped my shoulder. “We’ll catch the bastard.”

“I’ll fight with them,” I agreed, and felt the stirrings of the familiar rage. Woden was pleased, his rage mine, and I could almost see his violent spear-dance in the shadows. “What about the Romans?”

He glanced towards his house. Gaius was marching for the gate with his men. “They’ll join in, I guess. I hope they die, even if we win. In fact,” he whispered, “if possible, let them.”

I laughed and ran for the wall, and he disappeared, fetching whatever surprise he had planned for. I begged it would not involve going to his hall, where Iodocus was probably looting the cursed treasure.

There were more yells down the hill now, a demanding voice, and the telltale clatter for men to form a column. It was a powerful voice, but not Leuthard’s guttural one, though I could swear it had been him screaming when the trouble began. “Why didn’t they charge the moment the wall broke?” I wondered aloud, and rushed for the wall to the side, as the Gauls below were still forming a wall of wood and leather, closing the hole.

The armored brute of a chief in the Celt formation stepped before them, and stopped them short of the hole. “Stay away from it, or they’ll hit you with javelins. Ready! Ready weapons, rocks, spears, and boys. We’ll throw them back down when they show their sickly faces, won’t we? Do it fast,” the chief chortled. “My supper is getting cold.” They cheered him, laughed nervously, and gazed at the darkness just shy of the gaping hole, over the churned up heaps of turf.

I passed them, jumped to a ladder, climbed up, and hoped the wall would hold, the whole thing being slightly bent and weakened by the successful efforts of the Marcomanni. I reached the thin parapet and popped my head on top of the wall. It was dark, but I saw a mass of shadows, and what I saw made my heart flutter with fear.

There was a warlord down there, horses were whinnying again, and a wall of spears glittered in the diluted light of Mani. I saw a wide, bear-pelted lord, who was dancing in front of eighty men, his own oathsmen, pointing an ax up to the wall. Somewhere in the dark someone was yelling warnings, then another, and I heard screams of battle across the land, and wondered what in Hel’s name was going on out there.

The mass below heaved, the chief settled in the first rank of the Marcomanni, and they marched up.
Was it Leuthard after all?
It was hard to see. It was possible, but I couldn’t be sure.

Leuthard, or not, it didn’t look good.

In fact, it looked terrible.

I looked behind, and saw the Romans were very close to the gate now, and they’d have to do miracles to hold the breach. There were nearly twice the number of Marcomanni to the Gauls and the Romans. I begged Woden spare Iodocus, and if the god should be on a generous mood, he might one day find Gisil.

I was sure I’d die.

“Get down here, you!” someone yelled at me. “Wait! What do you see?”

I looked down the Celt warlord, whose eyes glittered under a helmet’s deep shadows. I saw Gaius looking at me from the side, strangely subdued, growling orders at his men who took a place on the right flank of the Celtic formation.

I shook my head at him. “Lots of them. A big bastard in the first rank. Best take the families out.”

“Women left already,” he yelled. “How many? Come man, give us a count!”

The men all looked up at me with hope in their eye.

“Same as you. Not many,” I answered cheerfully, and saw the men take heart at my words, whispering with their shield-mates. They were well-armed, some armored in leather, and sturdy warriors all with long moustaches and powerful limbs, but they would get slaughtered.

I hesitated. I had told Seisyll I’d fight. I had been insulted he had to ask. But perhaps he was right to ask.
Should I go?
Take away to the woods, and wait it out? Look for Leuthard? Did I owe anything to these men?

Woden thought differently.

He had whispered to me already. I felt the rage there, in the back of my mind, in the tautness of my muscles, in that certain careless demand for a fight that overwhelmed fear. The god gave me fury that slowly filled my limbs, I remembered Ingrid, Bait, and the many others the enemy had killed. Leuthard was out there, and I’d catch him, despite everything that had gone wrong, but to do that, these men had to die. I looked down at the chief who gave guttural orders in the Celtic dialect, and the men tightened, shields banging together. Some Celts rushed from the darkness to join the lines, and there some women were still trying to hustle children and the elderly away to safety, and some horses were neighing as elders mounted them.

The people needed time, at least.

I looked down to the enemy, who were clashing their shields with their spears, as shadowy mass moved up the hill. It would not take long, they were nearly there. I, and now even the Celts, saw the standard in the shadows, the mass of killers heaving for them, and the lord was striding with them, brave as a drunk forest spirit. The Marcomanni champion spat purposefully on the hill, cursing the men who lived on it, and growled orders. The enemy tightened below us, and so did the Celts, again, as if the fear made men take comfort in a closeness of their friends. Legs bent, men crouched, prayed, sweated, and feared, and so I decided I had to act.

However, I’d not fight in the wall.

A berserker was not meant for a pushing match, a shieldwall of slow killing. He was meant to fight in the midst of his prey.

I grinned at Gaius, who was frowning, and then took a deep breath, leaped down and landed with a roll, and ran a bit downhill to the dark. I felt giddy and foolish, having abandoned my dubious sanctuary. The Gauls would think I was fleeing the battle, but they had no time to dwell on my action, only to withstand the animosity of their ancient enemy.