Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) (31 page)

‘His cock?’ Fox said with a frown. ‘What would he value enough?’ Fox asked. ‘You Goths mystify me.’

‘Did you say Hrolf is the one going up there to negotiate?’ I asked Fox.

‘Yes, why?’ he asked, confused.

Agin blinked. ‘You wish to—’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We’ll attack Hughnot together. You from behind, and we’ll come down the hill. Hughnot will see Hrolf is a prisoner. We’ll fight; he’ll let the spears decide, and Saxa is safe until the battle is decided. If she dies, Hrolf dies. Hughnot will not risk it. He has no other son.’

Fox spat, finally understanding. ‘You fucking Goths. All shit. He is a negotiator. He cannot be touched.’

I spat. ‘I don’t give a damn. I’ll touch him.’

Agin was rubbing his forehead. ‘It’s your fame and honor. Fine. We will fight then, and you will go now?’

‘We will fight,’ I said simply. ‘We will go to them, fight like the wild spirits of Svartalfheim, and we must win. If we lose, I’ll leave Hrolf alive. Perhaps Saxa will survive, then, as well. But we must win.’

Agin nodded. ‘We’ll make our way there. We’ll be ready.’

‘You’ll see us coming down the hill,’ I told him. ‘Fight well for Saxa.’

‘If you die up there,’ Agin said, preparing his exhausted men for one more battle, ‘I’ll send Maino after you.’

I smiled wickedly. ‘Thank you.’

W
e crept through the thicket, and I lost my way more than once, until Fox set me on the right path, cursing under his breath. The ground was surprisingly dry until we approached the edge of the hillside, and soon our tunics and pants were completely wet. We passed patrols of Goths, crawled quietly as mice, sneaked around the hill where Bero was holed up and made our way to the large, eastern camp where Hrolf held sway. Finally, we were close, and I stopped when Fox pelted me with a pinecone. I turned to look at him and saw he was squatting under some thick branches. He waved at me and pointed at silhouettes of men nearby, carrying wood. We froze, and saw they were Goths. I had totally missed them, but then, I nearly always did. They went away with their firewood, and Fox crawled to me. ‘They have near hundred men there, just beyond sight and more are nearby. It’s a small clearing. They patrol the hill’s edge, but this is Hrolf’s camp, right over there. We don’t have to see it. They won’t offer us breakfast anyway.’ He nodded towards an opening in the trees, shadowed by high ferns. The drone of voices could be heard, then the whinnying of a horse. ‘The main camp is over the hill as I said. But it’s here or nowhere. We’ll wait until Hrolf goes up? If he goes up again,’ Fox said.

He would, I thought, hoped, and prayed for. I squinted up the hill, saw shrubs, ferns, and heather fields under thick pines. There, surprisingly, I saw a Goth leaning on his spear, looking down, his eyes following the men who were carrying wood. Beyond him men walked, eyeing down the wooded hill lazily.

‘They seem at ease,’ I said. ‘As if they’re going to a feast.’

‘Your Bero’s probably ready to give up,’ Fox growled. ‘No loss of face for the men, only the leader and they get to go home. Maybe.’

‘When is he going up? Hrolf?’

He banged his head on pine. ‘Again you ask me something I cannot possibly know or guess. How in Hel’s name would I know that? Do I call the Goth dog-humper a friend? Do I toast him in the feast, and does he come to me with his troubles? No, I am here, and you are sitting in rabbit shit,’ he told me, and I cursed profusely as I noticed he was right. He nodded towards the camp. ‘He was up there last evening, and he will go up there this morning if the gods are kind to us. We wait. There,’ he said and pointed at a trail that led up the hill, not all that far. ‘That’s where he came down. I saw him, riding under his standard. Perhaps you should try to sneak near there now?’

‘There are a dozen men up there,’ I said. ‘They will see me.’

‘I—’ the Fox began, but went quiet, as there was a loud yell near. There was a drone of voices and a horse neighed again.

‘Perhaps he is going up now. When he does, that will flush out all the men on the hill,’ I said. ‘A bit closer, then we wait.’ We inched through some berry bushes, hoping not to crack any dry wood. Fox followed very close to me, and we slithered forward, sure there would be Hrolf’s guard with a spear standing over us in a bit. There were none. Perhaps they were all tired of the campaign, or perhaps, indeed, Bero had indicated willingness to surrender. Slowly we got closer to the camp of Hrolf, and I got some glimpses of his men. There were men lounging, laying about, fixing spears and drinking, a starving-looking bunch, but Hrolf was there; I twitched with hate as I saw him.

The arrogant adeling of the traitors was mounting.

He had three hulking Goths with him, their long beards were dirty and riddled with brambles, but Hrolf himself looked as savage as always. He led his men forward, apparently to meet with Bero on top of the hill, once more. He rode, his ominous crow wing banner bobbling up and down as a lanky young man carried it after him on the uneven terrain. They headed for the small trail up the hill, and as I had hoped, all the guards walked up to greet him. Fox and I both saw them, coming out of the bushes. Their brooding eyes followed the adeling of the Black Goths, hoping for a glimpse of him, to catch a sign of favor from him. There was something, I thought, about his arrogant smile. There was a smug sense of victory in the man’s face, the superior, thin smile of a conqueror. It was almost a glow around him. I nodded at Fox. ‘Right. I am going in.’

‘Good luck, Lord, and try not to piss your pants,’ he said.

‘I’m lord of this sword,’ I said and patted Hel’s Delight. ‘Nothing more. But I will bring Saxa back, and perhaps I’ll merit such a title when I do,’ I told him.

‘I’ll go and tell them to get ready?’ Fox asked with a smile and gave me a frightening, foxlike grin and shook his head forlornly. ‘All this. For a girl?’

‘For love. For Saxa. And for all our futures,’ I told him and pushed up.

‘Let it be so, Lord,’ Fox called after me. ‘The gods will help us if your heart is right.’ I hesitated at that, cursed him under my breath and sneaked on.

If my heart is right? What is that? Should I not want power for my family? Are meekness and obedience a pair of virtues above all others? I cursed Fox’s words. The Bear or not, I was in a just cause, and also in love, and I would rule, and rule well.

The guards were still moving out of the shadows to salute Hrolf, who steadfastly ignored them, eyeing the higher part of the hill where Bero waited. His party followed him, and I sneaked from one shadow to another, flitting in and out of the dark places, hoping not to get caught. I felt constricting fear as I neared one guard, who was eating something near inedible and tough, eyeing the adeling. I saw Hrolf was riding faster and knew I’d have to hurry. I gave myself to Woden’s care and brazenly walked past the guard, praying to gods he would ignore me. I felt him turning, heard him move with surprise, but I also heard he was still eating. So I kept walking. No alarms were shouted. Nobody charged after me. The guard probably thought my chain mail and sword and natural manner marked me as someone important and more importantly, someone who belonged there.

I kept walking up the hill while Hrolf was riding up arrogantly, his shield a red spot of color amidst the leaves and branches, his standard high in the air behind him. I stopped halfway up the hill and eyed the lord’s progress. Bero’s Goths began to appear in droves. One pointed a spear Hrolf’s way and the standard-bearer called out his lord’s name, so it echoed in the woods. ‘Hrolf the Ax! Hrolf the Ax is here! Fetch your leaders!’ he yelled. Men, some Bero’s high nobles, and Friednot’s old warriors walked down and greeted the enemy champion and adeling. Up there, I saw Osgar, Friednot’s old champion twirl around, probably going to fetch Bero. I sneaked on, staying quiet, pushing blueberry bushes out of my way and finally saw the flatter top of the hill, where many fires burned; Bero’s war party was eating what they had left. I walked past some men, and kept my face down, joining the growing party that walked around Hrolf, curious to see the exchange between Bero and him.

Then, there was Bero’s guard up ahead, and the Lord of the Bear Goths got up, tying his pants. He had been sitting in a thicket, voiding himself. He looked sickly, probably worried out of his mind and when he walked to meet Hrolf, I nearly felt sorry for him. Hrolf’s party stopped, the men who followed him did as well, and we who followed him stood uneasily to see what would take place.

Bero gazed up at Hrolf, and his and father’s plans had all but dissipated into thin air. There would be no Bear Goths. Bero would never rule. It could be read in Bero’s nervous face. Hrolf was higher than Bero, both because he sat on a horse, and because there was no strength left in the man before him. Finally, Hrolf waved his hand around the multitude. ‘You agree? Or do not agree? We have no time to ponder the matter longer. These are hostile lands, the Svea will want us gone, and gods grow impatient. Give us what we want, the items which we would have taken from you later anyway, or refuse, and we come and take them today.’

‘The men were eating,’ Bero said. ‘We have not decided—’

Hrolf snorted. ‘Eating? God damned fools. What are your men eating? Bark and thistles?’

Bero was eyeing our relative with deep hostility and resentment, but he said nothing. He was tilted to the side, as usual, and apparently felt sick at the horrible situation. I noticed many former men of Friednot’s were unhappy, ready to support whatever Hughnot and Hrolf suggested.

‘Some humility, boy,’ Osgar growled, and that lifted Bero’s spirits a bit.

‘Come down from the horse, friend,’ Bero finally called. ‘I would not speak to you as a slave to a master.’

Hrolf snorted and leaned down to address the Lord like he would a child. ‘In your home, which was Friednot’s hall, actually, did you speak to me as equal? As you remember, Father asked you to serve me. You refused, spat and acted as if you had been insulted. Nay. I’ll just sit here, and you can look up at me until your neck snaps, as I ask your surrender, one more time. I gave you this ultimatum yesterday, and you said you needed just a bit more time. Now that time has been spent, and still you fidget. Will you submit? Or will you not? You will not leave this hill unless we have your word, your ring, your sword, and maybe your head as well, if you will not make up your mind.’

‘I—’

Hrolf spat at Bero’s feet, making all the men around twitch with indignation. ‘You will give me an oath on your knee, lord Bero, that you shall support me. And what we discussed goes to Hughnot. That sword,’ he nodded at the Head Taker on Bero’s hip, ‘and the ring. Right now. With them, the Boat-Lord will be happy. With Saxa, the Svea will join us. Nothing will stop us from gaining all these lands for ourselves, and more. It’s time to stop this divide and for the stronger branch of the family to finally rule the weaker. You’ll live, and know your place. Below the Boat-Lord, below Hughnot. And below me.’

Bero fingered the thick golden band with flowers and animals carved on the surface as if trying to weigh its worth against his life. He looked around and attempted to catch the eyes of his men, who seemed unable to support or advise their Lord. Osgar wanted to, I saw it, opening his mouth and gesturing for Hrolf, but he didn’t as Bero looked away. They were beaten men, their spirits crushed. It was a sad state of affairs for such a strong and powerful tribe, and they wanted to find face-saving ways out of it. Bero spoke. ‘Maino.’

‘I told you,’ Hrolf said tiredly. ‘He survived. He’ll be home when things are to our liking.’

Liar,
I thought. Hrolf’s men had beaten Maino and then left him for dead, or Gislin’s sacrifice. All they wanted was the ring and the sword. I had a hunch Bero’s funeral had been planned already, no matter what he decided.

Bero’s face betrayed his relief, though, and he hoped to see Maino again. ‘On my knee?’

The men around me whispered, again angered by the humiliation demanded by Hrolf, and some growled because of Bero’s meekness. They muttered, and scowled, and it was not lost on Hrolf, who spat and gazed over the men imperiously. ‘Yea. On his knee. It is how families rise and fall, men. The lords live if they are humble and meek and serve, or they conquer by the strength of arms. He has no strength in him, not without Hulderic, so he will have to be humble and servile.’ He scowled at Bero. ‘On your knee. Then, later, when we have taken the Svea girl and your treasure to our relative, the Boat-Lord, you will come with us. You will attend my wedding to Saxa of Svearna, and you shall govern when I make war all along the coasts. You will deal with trade, and bow your head. We shall all live in Gothonia once again, grow into a Suebi nation of strong arms, and our ancient family will be one again. One knee on turf is worth this, no?’

‘It is a painful thing to do,’ Bero said, his eyes moist. Gods, I hated the turd.

‘Maino will return to you, one day,’ Hrolf said smugly. ‘He was left alive. Painful or not, you will forget it when you see your lost son.’

There was a soft thrumming of a spear on a shield as some men supported Hrolf’s words. Bero stammered and asked one more thing. ‘And Hulderic?’

Hrolf shrugged. ‘Hulderic’s son is also a prisoner with the Svea. Maroboodus shall not survive that ordeal, or perhaps he shall? One day the woman-stealing dog might be freed as well, and perhaps Hulderic will be happy with that? Perhaps you shall both serve the family and us again. But Maino, my lord, will suffer if you make life hard for us. And do remember we can just simply push up this hill. And then your head will be brought to Hughnot, who shall make a cup out of it.’

‘You may try, boy,’ Bero said weakly, the suffering man pushed to show some defiance. ‘But it will be a hard climb.’

‘But one,’ Hrolf said quietly and clenched his fist, ‘we will finish. We’ll have an orgy on the hill,’ he laughed. ‘And the crows will have one when we are done. Gods won’t save you; the vaettir won’t aid you. Your champions are nearly all dead.’ He looked at Osgar spitefully, but Osgar only grinned back at him, his back straight.

Bero staggered forward, fighting with nausea, and went to one knee, then another before Hrolf, whose face lit up with a bastard’s joy. I had wanted to see Bero do that. I wanted men to witness it. If we survived, he’d been shamed forever. And to survive, I had to act.

‘They aren’t all dead, snake-face,’ I said darkly from the group of men. They all parted from around me, eyes full of wonder. ‘Not all the champions of the Bear Goths are dead. Osgar is there. And I live.’

Hrolf turned slowly to look at me. His sharp, savage features froze with a look of utter shock as he spied me. ‘You,’ he said and nearly fell from his horse, breathing the names of the gods, thinking he saw a dead one walking, a draugr out for vengeance.

‘No, Hrolf, do not shit your saddle. I’m alive,’ I said and walked forward, holding my sword. ‘I’m just fine, in fact.’ I looked at Bero, who scrambled to stand up. ‘Your moose-brained son is with me.’