Oathbreaker Page 2

  ‘I have a task for you, young Birgir.’ I placed my hands on his shoulders and steered him away from the prying ears of the men. ‘I want you to ride back to the Fenni. Find a secluded spot on the road south from their village, and wait.’

  ‘Wait for what, lord?’ Birgir asked, his pale face set in a frown.

  ‘If I am right, and I usually am,’ I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading, even if I’d wanted to, ‘a man will come up the road, a Roman. He will have with him a bag of gold, and may even have a couple of soldiers as an escort.’

  ‘Roman soldiers lord? This far north?’ Birgir shook his head and spat, held his thumb against his head, the universal sign to ward off evil.

  ‘Yes Birgir. Romans, right on our doorstep. Now, listen. Don’t get too close, I don’t need to hear what is spoken between them, just if coin changes hands, understand?’

  He nodded. There was a gust of wind and the wispy blonde strands of Birgir’s first beard rippled. He rubbed them, clearly proud of the straggly thing. I remembered the first dark hairs that had sprouted from my chin, and my father’s mocking voice when he caught me combing them with a bone carved brush.

  ‘That’s a Hel of a beard you’re growing there, lad. How old are you now, eighteen?’ I knew he wasn’t, but also knew he would revel in being called older than he was.

  ‘Fifteen lord, sixteen this winter.’ He said with pride.

  ‘Bet you get all the girls after you, eh! Anyway, all I need to know is which road the Romans take out of the village. When they’re gone, come find us. We’ll be camped at the conflux, where the River Elbe meets the Saale. Got it?’

  The conflux was one of my favourite places to make camp. In fact, we had partially rebuilt an old Roman outpost from back in the dark days the curs ruled half our land. The water seemed sweeter, the rivers shallower, the current swirled in lazy circles. There was also always an abundance of fish, and I liked nothing more than fresh fish.

  ‘Why lord? Why are the Romans doing this?’ Birgir asked, awakening me from my fish themed dream.

  ‘They are trying to trap us lad. Get us to believe something that isn’t true. Goad us into making a rash decision. These are dangerous times Birgir, and I’m counting on you.’ With one last clasp of his shoulder I left him to find his horse. I made my way back to the head of my men.

  Two days later Birgir returned to us. I was sitting outside my tent, which, like most of our possessions, had been pillaged from dead Roman soldiers. I sat on the grass, watching the morning dew reflect the first shimmering gold rays of the sun. Birgir galloped into the camp, followed by three angry sentries, who he had clearly not stopped for. I watched with a half-smile as he stumbled from his horse and slumped to his knees in front of me.

  He was covered in dust from the road, his horse lathered in sweat and both were sucking in great heaving gasps of air. ‘Good morning, Birgir,’ I said, the half-smile still on my face.

  ‘You were right lord!’ he blurted out. ‘Just as I got back to the village, a man with an escort of eight soldiers came from the south. They were Roman for sure, and he handed Wulfric a large pouch of coin.’

  I nodded slowly, considering what Birgir had said. ‘How do you know it was coin?’

  ‘Wulfric tipped some onto his palm, I’d recognise the glimmer of gold anywhere lord,’ Birgir said through a grin.

  ‘Did you hear what was said?’ I asked.

  ‘No lord. But they were speaking Latin I think, but I was too far away to hear properly. You did say to not get too close.’ He looked suddenly worried, as if I would suddenly lose my temper for him not gaining any further knowledge.

  ‘Good, you did well Birgir.’ He smiled at that, relief plain on his face. ‘That man, the Roman, what did he look like? Were his clothes of high quality, did he look like he might be rich, important?’

  ‘No lord. He wore a stained tunic under an old cloak. His men the same, none had armour but all were armed. But they rode and walked in formation, the way the legions do.’

  I nodded again. So, the man wasn’t a high ranking officer then, but a frumentarius – a grain man. Even so, a play against me of this magnitude wouldn’t be how own initiative. I had no doubt some Roman senator was planning this, scheming in the steam room of his marble baths in a luxurious villa. Gods, I hate the Romans.

  ‘Eight men in the escort, you say? And they came from the south?’ Birgir nodded. The men could only have come from two places, the Tenth legion at Vindobona, or the Fourteenth at Carnuntum. I sent a swift prayer to the gods for it to be the Tenth.

  ‘Which way did they leave? Back south?’ I asked, optimistically. Though I thought I already knew the answer.

  ‘No lord, west. The same road you took. They must be a day behind me.’

  I nodded, slowly. ‘Any chance they saw you? You must have needed to cut across their path at some point?’

  ‘No lord. I gave them a head start, then took the road north, cutting west across the land before re-joining the road. They’re definitely behind me, didn’t seem in a rush.’ ‘You have done well Birgir, as I knew you would. Wait here.’ I walked into my tent, and stood inside, waiting for the flaps to swing shut. A man in my position can never be too trusting. I commanded five hundred men, cut throats and thieves all. I had chests filled with silver and other precious materials, and on more than one occasion had found myself scratching my head in confusion as I counted the chests and found one missing. When the leather flaps had swung shut I walked to far left corner and lifted my cot and dragged it as quietly as I could out the way. In an unremarkable leather pouch, hidden in an old tunic were the keys for the chests. I quickly unlocked one, chose a silver arm ring from among the mound of silver and gold. Locking the chest, returning the key and sliding back the cot, I walked outside and presented the waiting Birgir with the arm ring. His eyes lit up at the glimmering metal and he swaggered off into the crowd of warriors, that had gathered to hear his news, his new arm ring secured on his scrawny bicep.

  I called Ruric to me, and impolitely told the rest of the men to be about their business. Ruric sat on the grass next to me, a conspiratorial grin on his face. ‘What news, chief?’ He asked.

  ‘The Romans have shown their hand. Now let’s call their bluff, shall we?’ I ordered him to get the men ready to ride, but wouldn’t tell him where to. I walked to the river and gazed at the swirling waters. It amazed me, that the two rivers were such different colours, each with their own mesmerising patterns where the different currents swept the water in separate directions. The River Elbe was the cleaner of the two, the water the colour of dull iron. It also had a faster, more direct current that ran inexorably south, as the water came directly from the northern sea. Where the River Saale drifted off from its bigger brother, the water was brown, the current less strong. I thought it must be due to the lack of fresh water that entered its domain. The river was the shorter of the two, and therefore needed less new water. It also flooded less, and at low tide was so shallow you could ride your horse across at certain points and not get a speck of wet on your boots. I was lost in these thoughts when Ruric came back to me.

  ‘Everything is ready, lord. Are we going to the Harii?’ I could sense the nerves in his voice. We easily had the numbers to pick a fight with the Harii, and on an open plain the battle would be over in less time than it takes a Roman sand clock to count an hour. But the Harii didn’t fight in sunlight on open plains, they ambushed you whilst you slept, rolled up in your cloak in the dim interior of a harrowing forest. As I said, no one picks a fight with the Harii lightly.

  ‘No.’ I said. ‘I will go there alone. We’ll split the men up when we get further north. When we reach the River Weser, each file leader will take his men separate ways. But let’s keep that between us for now.’ I grinned as I spoke and knew it to be a thing of pure evil. I had a plan, and it involved my favourite pastime: killing Romans.

  THREE

  The Harii lived in the very northwest of our land, right on the Rhin
e border with the Romans. They had previously lived more centrally, but even they had needed to give in to the pressure caused by the great migrations of other tribes to the north and east. The Suebi, as they were most commonly known as now, were a vast tribe, led by a king. Very few of our tribes had kings. Many chiefs would of course call themselves king, but they only ruled small tracts of marshland, and could put no more than fifty poorly armed warriors in the field. A true king had an army, and his tribe would be given tribute by the smaller tribes that bordered his land. The Suebi were such a tribe.

  So, as they swallowed up more people, those people imposed themselves further west, the Harii had uprooted and settled in the swamps that bordered the sea and the Rhine. It suited them, I thought as I rode down an old Roman road, surrounded by half sunken carts and carriages in the stodgy land either side. It was impossible to assault, the home of the Harii. There was one road through the marsh into their land, and the same road took you back out again. They could fight off an army of thousands with just their small number, they might have to if I didn’t get there before the frumentarii agent.

  The road itself was a work of art. Long, flat wooden beams sunk into the soft ground, connecting beams running through the middle, giving support for the cobbles laid on top. It must have been over a hundred years since that road was built, and still it was smooth and comfortable to ride on. I hated the Romans, I hated them even more when I had to admit they were good at something. Unfortunately, they were good at quite a lot.

  I was alone now, whistling softly to myself as I left the open marsh and entered a dark patch of wood. Each of my file leaders had taken their men in a different direction. It was a risk I was taking, but a considered one. I had five such leaders, and each commanded one hundred men. I had taken the idea from the Romans, who were, as much as I hate to admit it, brilliant when it came to warfare. Their armies were drilled to within an inch of their lives, it left no room to think when they met with the enemy – each man knew his role, each knew what every trumpet blast signalled. More importantly, each officer had the freedom to make decisions on the field that could affect the outcome of a battle, and that is what I wanted to install in my men. Five cavalry wings each numbering one hundred men can cause carnage in a battle if given the right leadership, and I had chosen my file leaders well.

  Now I had released them into the wild. I was as cunning as Loki, or so I believed. The trickster lived within me, and I was going to lead Rome on a merry dance. I spied two ravens circling above the trees, I thought it a good sign. The Allfather watched over me, guiding me through the choppy waters that was the politics between the tribal chiefs.

  I heard the slightest rustle in the trees to my right, a noise so faint it could have been made by a creeping squirrel. I snapped my head round and there must have been fifty black clad warriors, all with spears with leaf shaped blades, pointing at me. By the gods, they were good. ‘Morning boys,’ I said, as cheerfully as I could. ‘The chief at home?’

  ‘Alaric of the Ravensworn, been a while since I have seen you in our lands. Why are you here? We have no quarrel with any of the tribes, nor do we wish to start one.’ The man that spoke was Emmerich Fridumarson, and I knew him to be the leader of the Harii’s warriors. Not a man you’d want to cross blades with.

  ‘Emmerich Fridumarson, good to see you old friend.’ The men of the tribes had long since taken to using their fathers name with ‘son’ at the end as their second name. It always annoyed the Romans, which is I think, as good a reason as any to do it. ‘I need to see the chief, its urgent.’ I said, not wanting to waste any time. For all I knew, the frumentarii agent was hot on my heels.

  ‘As I just said, Alaric, we’ve got no quarrel with our cousins, and we don’t want one either. What do you want with the chief?’

  I sighed. Emmerich was a big man, tall and broad shouldered with light brown hair and a beard that dropped almost to his belt. His face was blackened with charcoal, he wore a black tunic with no armour, and carried a huge double headed axe in one hand. I doubted I could heft the thing with two. ‘We share a problem, your people and I,’ I said, not wanting to talk details in front of fifty men. I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Emmerich met my eye for a heartbeat, then another one. ‘Rome?’ He asked, arcing a great bushy eyebrow. I nodded.

  I was soon shown to the chief of the Harii, through a maze of small paths through the dense undergrowth of the forest, that I doubted even my most skilled tracker would have been able to find let alone follow. Deeper into the woods we went, the canopy of the thick trees blocked out more and more of the sunlight. The silence was eerie, just the steady trudge of my boots the only sound. I had been asked, none too kindly, to dismount Hilde and she was now being led by a warrior at the rear of our column. Emmerich stalked the ground as silently as a cat, I wondered at the level of training the warriors must go through, for the man must have weighed twice as much as me.

  Eventually we came to a small clearing, a patch of yellow sunlight amidst the endless darkness. There were warriors everywhere. Some sitting outside the small round huts that must have housed up to ten, others chopping wood or rolling dice. Others were drinking vast quantities of dark ale, and laughing at some poor bastard who had not only reached his limit, but seemingly passed it some time ago. He was retching and coughing on all fours, huge amounts of ale cascading from his gagging mouth. I smiled, such things were to be seen commonly around my own camp of an evening. I had once had a man, Gerlach his name, who had drunk a whole barrel, although he hadn’t lived long enough to brag of his efforts.

  The warriors stopped their horseplay when they saw me, the whole camp falling into a muttered silence. Alaric of the Ravensworn was here. Battle turner, Loki-cunning, chief killer, oath breaker. I heard it all whispered on the breeze as I swaggered by, saw each man reach instinctively for his sword. ‘Alaric is here,’ they were all thinking; ‘only blood will come of this.’

  ‘Well if that ain’t old Alaric, then I’m old One Eye himself!’ exclaimed Ketill Lambertson, chief of the Harii and an old comrade of mine. He was a bear of a man, as you would expect of someone who lead the most feared tribe in all of Germania. His hair was chestnut brown, his eyes pale grey, and his mouth was rarely found unsmiling.

  ‘Ketill, old friend, good to see you.’ I showed him my teeth, one of those smiles that starts with your lips but doesn’t spread to your eyes. He noticed the expression, and nodded sombrely. With a motion of his head he beckoned me into the roundhouse he had emerged from, he didn’t invite Emmerich to follow.

  ‘Am I to assume you haven’t just dropped in to see an old friend?’ he asked as we both took a seat on the old rug that covered the floor. I scanned my surroundings before replying. Most chiefs had long halls these days, huge great buildings of solid timber, warmed by large heath fires running down their centre. There would be a raised dais at the far end where the chief would sit at the high table, surrounded by his family and guests of honour. Running parallel to the hearth would be long benches and tables, where warriors would feast and drink the winter away, waiting for spring and the start of the raiding season. It seemed that this trend hadn’t reached the far north west and the Harii. Ketill’s hall was a small roundhouse, identical in every way to the other roundhouses that encircled it. There was a small fire in the centre with smoke billowing out from a crudely constructed chimney. Sparsely decorated, it didn’t even have proper flooring, just the rug that must have been older than our parents, covering packed earth. The walls were bare wood and there was a small cot, with only a couple of pans and a few cooking utensils suspended from pegs and hooks near the hearth.

  ‘Afraid not, Ketill,’ I bring dark tidings.’ I told him all I knew, which was little enough. He listened intently, his pale eyes glistening silver in the light of the flames. There was a silence when I finished as he considered my words.

  ‘How do you know this to be true?’ He asked after a time.

  ‘I don’t know as such. But, as I said, Birgir s
aw the Roman hand the coin over to Wulfric, and the Roman left the lands of the Fenni on the westerly road.’

  ‘So? That does not mean the whoreson is coming to my door.’ A knife appeared in his hand, I have no idea where from, as he was wearing only an unbelted tunic. He toyed with the blade, flipping it in the air and catching it repeatedly.

  ‘I was told that the men that attacked the Fenni wore all black, their faces covered with soot. They howled the wolf cry as they slaughtered the men of the village. Someone is trying to frame you Ketill, a Roman. And that Roman is on his way here. I would be extremely interested to hear what he has to say.’

  ‘You think he will threaten me?’ Ketill asked. He always was quick of mind. ‘I join his conspiracy or Rome attacks me and wipes my people from history?’ I nodded. ‘All this, to get to you?’

  I nodded again, aware it sounded ridiculous spoken out loud. ‘I have been declared an enemy of Rome, I am a danger to their Pax Romana, as they like to call it.’ Ketill laughed, a joyous belly laugh that left him gasping for breath.

  ‘The mighty Alaric! Slayer of Romans, feared throughout the lands, a warlord sent from the gods!’ He laughed again, tears streaming down his face. ‘I think, my friend, that you overestimate your own importance in the eyes of the Romans. They’ve not long since invaded Dacia, they have trouble in Britannia, from what I hear, and there is always some war going on in the east. Why would they go to all this trouble for little old you?’

  I shrugged, trying to hide my embarrassment. I had doubts now, for Ketill spoke a lot of sense. I liked to consider myself a big fish in a small pond. Sure, I was feared and respected, and all of the smaller tribes paid me due respect when my men and I rode through their lands. But I only had five hundred men, they were good men, but only five hundred. Rome had more than forty thousand on the Danube and Rhine borders alone. What possible threat could I pose to them?