Oathbreaker Page 3

  ‘I know how it sounds, but I got a feeling in my bones. The same feeling a man gets when he knows he’s being watched, or just before a battle. They are coming for me, and I need your help.’ I didn’t have many men in this world I could confidently call a friend, but Ketill, I thought, was one. If he refused to help me, then the best I could probably hope for was to die with my blade in my hand, and spend eternity feasting and fighting in the Allfather’s hall.

  There was a disturbance on the other side of the curtain that passed as a door, and Emmerich poked his head through. ‘Sorry lord, but there is a man here, a Roman. He says he needs to speak with you urgently lord, and in private.’ He said the last bit whilst looking at me. An icy shiver ran up my back. I stared at Ketill then, trying to gauge his reaction from his turn of expression. He smiled and when he looked at me, he had the look of a trickster about him.

  I gulped down my fear.

  FOUR

  I don’t know if you’ve ever tried hiding yourself away in a tiny, barely furnished roundhouse, but it isn’t easy. Ketill giggled like a small girl as he stuffed me under his small straw cot, then piled blankets on top to disguise the bulge of my body. The air was close and muggy beneath the straw, the stench horrific. I thought of the roasting meat staked above the cooking fires I had seen on my way through the camp; the barrels of dark ale. I fought the urge to vomit at the rank smells that leaked from the cot. I resolved to burn the thing as soon as the Roman was gone.

  The silence that ensued when Ketill left the roundhouse was overpowering. Just the sound of my breathing, the thumping of my heart. Ketill hadn’t said what he was going to do, and I half thought he would listen to what the Roman had to say, and then decide whether to give me up on the spot.

  I didn’t have to wait long, I heard Ketill’s feet thump on the mud, the sound of the fabric door being ripped back. ‘Come in, sit,’ he said, presumably to the Roman agent. There was a muffled reply, before what sounded like two people entering the cramped space, although I couldn’t say for certain how many people were in the hut. My pulse quickened, for my chances of being spotted increased with every additional set of eyes in the room.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ the Roman said in halting German. Ketill, I knew, spoke no Latin, so the whole conversation would have to take place in our native tongue. It would drag it out, whilst the Roman tried to wrap his tongue round our words. I had to stifle a groan just at the thought of it. I sensed, rather than heard two men sit down by the fire, I assumed them to be the agent and Ketill. That left the other man, the Roman’s companion. I was certain I had heard three sets of booted feet enter the roundhouse, but I could hear no sign of the second foreigner, just the muttered small talk between the agent and Ketill.

  Suddenly, I got my answer. A great weight set itself down on top of my legs, crushing them below the knee. I hadn’t seen the Roman soldier – for I assumed that’s who he was – as he entered, but he must have been bigger than the horse he had rode into the Harii lands. I winced, scrunching up my face and mouthing a curse. ‘You comfortable over there?’ Ketill asked the man, I could hear the smile in his voice. Silently, I cursed again.

  The soldier clearly had no grasp of our language, for I heard the agent repeat the question to his man in Latin. The soldier shuffled slightly and asked the agent if he should move. The agent didn’t consult with Ketill, just told him to stay where he was.

  ‘Time is of the essence, Ketill Lambertson, chieftain of the Harii, so I will get straight to the point.’ The agent said in broken German. His voice was high pitched, and in my mind, I pictured a short man, slight of stature with black hair and a face like a weasel. I had no idea if I was right of course. ‘My name is Ambrosius Trajianus Valerius, and I am an imperial agent of Rome. I have come here today to ask for your support on a matter in which you could have a considerable impact.’ He spoke slowly, his girlish voice struggling with the tongue twisting words of our language.

  ‘What’s that then?’ Ketill replied, blunt as an old blade.

  ‘Alaric of the Ravensworn. He has become a problem, an itch that Rome has been unable to scratch. Are you familiar with the man?’ Again, he spoke softly, almost patronisingly.

  ‘I know Alaric. He’s an old comrade of mine. We did a bit of raiding together back when we were young men, he even helped me to become chief of the Harii, after a particularly bloody battle with the tribe. I would even go so far as to call him a friend.’ The threat in Ketill’s voice was clear, there was an edge there, gruff, solid and unmoving, like the marble that covered the emperor’s palace in Rome.

  ‘Ahh,’ Trajianus said. ‘I was afraid of that.’ I could picture him wincing slightly, smacking his lips together and settling his face in an apologetic frown. ‘So, you are saying you will not help us in this matter?’

  ‘As Hercules as my witness, I swear I will do nothing to aid Rome in her hunt for Alaric and the Ravensworn. What’s he done, anyhow?’ Ketill asked with genuine curiosity. As was I, for I have done many things over the years to displease the mighty empire, I wondered at which one had finally tipped them over the edge.

  ‘We put a new king on the throne of the Quadi, a few years ago. Areogaesus, as I am sure you are aware.’ I heard Ketill grunt in acknowledgement. ‘Well, there was an agreement between us and the king…

  I heard no more of what was said, although by then I knew the gist of it. Areogaesus was king of the largest tribe in the south, on Rome’s northern border. When they set him on the throne, it had been agreed he would not raid into Roman lands, nor would he trouble the Marcomanni, his neighbours to the west. With some slight encouragement from myself, he and I did both, gaining much wealth and losing few men. Rome was not happy, and four cohorts of the Fourteenth legion spent an entire year camped in his lands, ensuring he didn’t get up to no good. I had, it seemed, crossed the line.

  But I didn’t get the opportunity to revel in the memory of my glory and deceit, for the Roman soldier atop my legs shifted, ever so slightly, from his right arse cheek to his left, and a whole world of pain shot up my left leg quicker than an arrow. First my foot cramped, then my calf, and before I knew it my whole leg was alight in burning pain. I nearly screamed out, but bit down on my tongue till I could taste the iron tang of my own blood. My leg was tense, taut like a bow, and it took all my self-restraint to not move it. I swear to all the gods if Donar himself had strolled into that roundhouse, hefted his great hammer and swung it at my head, I would have considered it a mercy.

  For what felt an age I laid there; body tense, blood welling in my mouth. Eventually the soldier got up, and I was faintly aware of him pacing the room. The pain in my leg calmed, and ever so gently I rolled it first right then left, the shooting pain becoming momentarily worse before mercifully receding.

  ‘Do you have a plan?’ I heard Ketill ask, as I slowed my breathing and wriggled my head against the irritants of cold sweat that streamed down my forehead.

  ‘I do,’ Trajianus replied, his high-pitched voice filled with arrogance. ‘We have two alae of cavalry, joined with a vexillation of auxiliary currently patrolling the eastern banks of the Rhine. We know Alaric has come this way, and that his Ravensworn will be holed up nearby. I intend to tempt him into the open, and then have the men massacre him and this wolfpack of his that have caused Rome so much grief.’ I grinned at the term wolfpack. I suppose I must have felt a certain degree of fear, given the amount of effort Rome seemed to be putting into the extermination of the little band of merry men I had put together. I was also flattered.

  ‘Which units?’ Ketill asked. I knew what he was doing. Getting me as much information as he could. Also, I assumed, still in two minds as to whether or not he should hand me over to this Roman dog.

  ‘The First Ala Noricorum and the Second Ala Asturum cavalry wings, who have been borrowed from Britannia especially for this. For the infantry we’re calling in the First Batavian. Not quite the force they once were, but still a formidable opponent.’ I really was
flattered. Two whole wings of cavalry, one of them shipped across the narrow sea, just for me. Not only that, Rome had employed the Batavians to face me in the field.

  The Batavians had once been the cream of Rome’s army. Used as shock troops during the invasion of Britannia, they had won great fame for their heroics at the battle of the River Medui, in the south east of that miserable island. But, during that infamous year where four men battled for the purple, they had revolted against Rome, and inevitably, lost. They fought on both horseback and foot, and had the incredible skill of being able to swim rivers in full armour, using their mounts to propel them across the water. Despite not being the force they once were, the thought of facing them in the field was not exactly a prospect I relished.

  ‘What makes you think Alaric has come west? My people are based a stone’s throw from the Rhine and your lands, yet you came from the east. You’re not telling me everything Trajianus, and I don’t like it.’ I heard Ketill rise to his feet as he spoke. Heard the gravel in his throat, the menace in his voice.

  ‘You, may not like what I am about to say, chief Ketill, but I want you to listen to the end.’ Trajianus spoke as if he was about to explain something simple to a small child. ‘We set an ambush back east, in the lands of the Fenni. The Semnones, led by their chief Euric, raided the Fenni. Twenty warriors he brought with him, they covered themselves in charcoal and wore just black tunics. Wulfric, the Fenni chief, had some problems with a couple of his men, he thought one might even challenge him for leadership of the tribe. So he didn’t tell them of the plan, and when they rose to fight of the invaders, they were killed by Euric and his men.’

  I grinned ruefully beneath the straw cot. Rome really had pulled out all the stops to see me buried. And it also proved that I was right, not simply suffering delusions of grandeur, as I’m sure Ketill must have thought.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Ketill interjected before Trajianus could speak again. ‘These men lived just long enough to say they were attacked by the Harii in front of witnesses. And now I have two options: help you get Alaric and his men to a battlefield of your choice, or do nothing and have Rome come after my men for revenge. Revenge on an attack we had nothing to do with in the first place.’ Trajianus made a dismissive noise, but confirmed the accusation in his shrill voice. I could almost see Ketill’s cheeks flushing red. I sensed the soldier near me tense, imagined his hand hovering round the hilt of his blade. The tension in the room was palpable, an unnatural silence stretched for what felt an age. ‘Get out,’ Ketill said eventually. ‘I need to think.’

  FIVE

  Ketill seethed. He paced in the small confines of his roundhouse, as I sat atop the rank cot I had been hiding under, picking straw from my long dark hair, and knocking back ale to try and eradicate the aroma of old farts.

  ‘These Roman dogs,’ Ketill sniffed. ‘They think they can come into our lands and manipulate us, play us off against each other. It makes me sick.’ He hawked and spat into the small fire.

  ‘That’s how they work Ketill, they’ve been doing it successfully for centuries. The question is brother, what are we going to do about it?’ I let it hang in the air. Ketill was angry, his blood was up and I could see his fingers itching for the hilt of a blade. The Romans words had angered him, brought to the surface everything he hated about Rome. I was prepared to milk that cow for all it was worth.

  ‘There’s no way I’m giving you up. Not a chance. But we need to know exactly where these bastard troops are, so we can plan properly. And then this cur and his lapdog need to die,’ he motioned outside the canvas door to where Trajianus and his companion were no doubt waiting nearby, ‘so they can’t run back to their masters and warn them.’

  I nodded my head in agreement, a wicked grin fixed to my face. ‘I took the precaution of splitting my men up before I came here. I told each file leader to ride in a different direction, each one has my banner. With luck, the Romans will spot the columns, and think it my main force.’

  ‘But that could bring them all together?’ Ketill asked. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted the three units kept separate, so they would be easier to pick off. Me? I wanted them all in one place, on an open battlefield where I could enhance my legend and give the Allfather another reason to invite me into his hall when my time on middle earth was done.

  ‘Exactly brother,’ I said, grabbing hold of his shoulders. ‘Get them on ground of our choosing, with them all to our front. Leave no chance for their little tricks or deceptions. With the Harii and the Ravensworn, we can crush them like the lice they are.’

  ‘I can put one hundred and fifty warriors in the field, you?’ Ketill asked, his voice mocking and full of sarcasm.

  ‘Five hundred. That’s a lot of men Ketill.’

  ‘Against how many? Assuming the Roman forces are full strength, that’s two hundred and forty cavalry, at least! Plus five hundred Batavians. Not good odds.’ He shook his head and slumped down by the hearth, prodding at the flames with a stick.

  ‘But you are Ketill Lambertson! And you command the Harii! Those Romans will shit their breeches the moment they see your men in the field. And not to mention the small reputation my men have. We can win this my friend, but I need you with me.’

  Ketill grunted, and then fell silent for a time, his silver eyes lost in the flames. ‘To Hel with them!’ He said suddenly, launching the stick into the fire. ‘The whoresons have left me no choice anyway, lets kill the bastards!’ We locked forearms in the warriors embrace, before Ketill enveloped me in a crushing bear hug.

  The relief I felt was overwhelming. Ketill, as I said before, was a good friend. But I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had of chosen to sell me out. He had a responsibility to his people after all, and despite his tribe’s fearsome reputation, I knew he didn’t throw them into battle without careful consideration. ‘Now then, what we going to do about our friends out there?’ I hooked my thumb towards the canvas door. Ketill grinned, and it was a thing of pure evil.

  There was a small opening in the back of the roundhouse. A loose plank of timber that when removed left just enough room for a man to squeeze through. I asked Ketill why he hadn’t shown me this earlier, and in his typical way he just laughed and pointed to the stinking pallet. We joked about how he hadn’t considered his ever-growing belly when he’d had the thing installed, but it was just wide enough for me to scramble through. The sunlight hurt my eyes, I had been under that straw cot so long I had forgotten the sun still shone in the world outside. I squatted with my back against the roundhouse and wondered how I could have possibly thought it dark beneath the canopy of pine when I arrived earlier that day.

  Voices woke me from my daydream as Ketill welcomed the Romans back into his home. His apology for sending them outside almost sounded genuine. Smiling to myself, I nearly missed the Roman soldier that trudged not ten paces from me, lowered his breeches and began urinating up a tree. Loki must have been watching over me then, for if the Roman had turned his head slightly to the left he would have seen me there, hunched in the shade, a short sword ready to plunge in his heart. But I have always considered myself a descendant of the trickster; always found an edge against any opponent foolish enough to cross my path.

  I stayed rooted to the spot, as unmoving as stone, my heart thudding in my chest. Birgir had told me he had seen the Roman with Wulfric, and that he’d had two soldiers with him. Was this the one that had crushed me earlier as I lay under the straw cot? Or was this the other soldier, and was Ketill inside with two men? Our plan had been for me to rush inside at Ketill’s signal, I deal with the soldier whilst Ketill took out Trajianus. Indecision grew within me, stay with this one or wait for Ketill?

  My heartbeat reached a frantic tempo, so fast and hard I thought my ears would bleed. The soldier whistled a tune as he pissed, I recognised an old marching song from the legions, something about a whore and cheap ale. I found myself humming along in my head as I crept forward; my palms itched with sweat and I had to adjust my grip
on the sword as I moved. I inched closer, carefully treading on the endless carpet of broken twigs and dried leaves. Ten paces, five. Surely he would turn now? Surely he could hear me? But he kept whistling, and just as he did a little jig to shake the last drops from the end of his cock, I plunged the sword through his back and into his heart. He dropped to the dirt without a sound.

  I stood over him, scanning the immediate area, but everyone was the other side of Ketill’s roundhouse and my only observers were the birds. I cleaned the blade on the hem of the corpses tunic and studied the man more closely. He was short, I realised. Slight of build and had not yet grown his first beard. Nor would he. With a start I turned on the balls of my feet and rushed to the small crack in the back of the roundhouse. The dead man was not the one who had nearly suffocated me with his great bulk, couldn’t have been, there simply wasn’t enough of him.

  I returned to the back of the hut, and peering through a crack in the wall I saw Ketill engaged in a desperate battle with two Romans. He was armed with just a short sword, same as me. The two Romans had been relieved of their weapons before being admitted to Ketill, but both had knives. I ripped the loose plank from the wall and hurtled inside. Such was the cacophony of the fight no one noticed until I bellowed a war cry and slammed into a huge man.

  He really was huge. Arms bigger than my thighs, legs rooted to the dirt deeper than the forest that surrounded us.

  Maybe I exaggerate.

  But I threw my whole weight into that charge, and when I slammed into him he barely moved. I rebounded off him with thunder in my head and blood seeping from my nose. He recovered first and jabbed his knife at my chest. If I wasn’t still staggering backwards, he would have probably punctured my lung. As it was, the knife whistled under my armpit and snagged my tunic. It caught in the folds for just a moment, and I used that time to grab his arm and propel myself to him. His knife hand was trapped on my left, so I gave him a savage headbutt following up with a swing of my sword that buried itself high in his shoulder.