The Wald (14 page)

Kai swallowed hard.  While appearing nauseous, he managed
a forced smile, saying, “General Drusus, we invite you and your officers to come with us to discuss an arrangement.”

It took only moments for Drusus to call orders and assemble fifty men to accompany him into the nearest and largest terpen village
which appeared to be the roost that Kai ruled.  Septimus watched, bored, but obediently rigid in his stance, as the general and his men sloshed their way up the terpen mound.  The centurion already knew what this meant – Drusus had conquered another people without a drop of blood lost by either side.

. . .

Stigr’s horse was lathered and winded, filthy from head to hoof.  So was the man himself as he trampled south along the Amisia River.  He led only five other men who had, like him, all abandoned their lives in the north atop the terpens and geest, among the marshes and bogs.  Only five men plus Stigr had decided that they would not live under the Roman thumb.  They would do something about the affront on their freedom.

At first the young men thought that they could simply nod and smile, agreeing with
whatever terms Drusus gave to Kai.  The meeting with the general was concluded rapidly.  The legate scratched some geometric figures on a piece of parchment and then read them aloud while the Frisian spoke the words in a proper tongue.  Stigr did not even listen to the actual words, but counted the heartbeats until the invaders would disappear.

He was not disappointed when the soldiers and their arrogant commander marched quietly back through the sandy muck to their fleet.  He was, however, very disappointed when, after much time re-loading the men and baggage, only half the fleet raised their sails and set their course for the wide mouth of the bay.  The other half bobbed lazily as they pulled against their anchors in the calm sea.  To make matters worse, the Frisian force and a Roman unit of considerable size encamped on top o
f two of the natural geests.  Even if Stigr was successful at convincing Kai to launch an attack against the Frisian eelpouts, the professional Roman soldiers would be able to keep his Chaucians at bay until reinforcements slid to shore from the remnants of the fleet.  Then Chaucian blood would fill the bogs.

It took him another week to realize that the Romans weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.  Some of the officers had taken a liking to some of the Chaucian women and frequented the terpens day after day.  Stigr wanted to drive a knife into their backs while they pumped his relatives, but chose discretion.  At the end of the first week he made his decision.  Stigr went to his closest friends
, numbering fifteen good men, and gave them the news that they would strike out east and live among the lesser Chaucian tribes.

But then a loose-lipped Roman officer who had just spilled his seed into Stigr’s sister managed to convey that the fleet would
leave the Visurgis and set sail back to the bay at the mouth of the Amisia River, which sat to the west, the next morning.  They would then wait there for Drusus and the rest of the fleet to return and strike out on their general’s next quest.

As relaxed as he could act
, the seething Stigr asked, “Who does Drusus subdue now without his fleet?  Where did he go?”

The Roman, drunk on a batch of potent ale, spoke in broken German.  “Drusus sails north to explore.  He hopes to be the first Roman to sail his fleet as near around to the
Mare Caspium as he can get.”

“What’s the
Mare Caspium?” asked Stigr.

“I don’t know,” answered the man happily.

Stigr immediately left the man to smile and stare dumbly at his sister’s dark eyes and went to find his friends.  But, rather than understanding the possibility brought by the information, most focused on the fact that the Romans were leaving.  His friends, all but five, decided to stay at home behind the lonely walls of the terpens, hoping the coming of the Romans was a mere season in the long plod of their lives.

That was over a week earlier.  Now, after changing his initial plans
where he meant to flee to the east, they rode west cross country from the Visurgis to the Amisia and then, picking their way up the Amisia, Stigr and his men would soon pass into the lands of the cantankerous Sugambrians.  Even though Drusus had told the Chaucian chiefs that he had slaughtered many, Stigr knew that if Adalbern yet lived and his reputation was just partially true, his belligerent nature would not permit him to sit idly while he could reach out and stamp on the Romans.

The mornings were coming later as the seasons turned so that the chill from night lingered longer into the day.  His group had risen early, when the sun was still below the trees
, and struck off again.  As nearly as Stigr could tell, they had just crossed into Sugambrian lands when a voice broke the cold silence.  It sounded like the tenor of a boy, but carried the confidence of someone older and battle-hardened.

“What brings fish-eaters this far south?  And so far from your geests on the
Visurgis?”

The call came from dark wald.  Though Stigr couldn’t see anyone, he felt that he was now surrounded.  “We come in search of the Sugambrian warlord Adalbern,” said Stigr, hoping that honesty would prevent an arrow from being loosed into his neck.

The voice snapped back, “You’ve found him.  State your business.”

Stigr peered into the darkness, hoping to catch just a glimpse.  “How do I know that I speak to Adalbern and not some spirit?”

“How do you know Adalbern isn’t a spirit?” called Berengar.  “Now talk.”

Stigr began to fear that he stumbled upon bandits that would be happy to
slice their throats for the horses.  He drew his sword.  His men snatched their spears from the straps hanging across the horses’ necks.  “You may end up with our horses, but we will take many of your men to the afterlife with us should you try.”  The Chaucian began to feel foolish arguing with the unseen voice.  He even started wondering if he wasn’t hearing things.  But a glance to his men’s faces said that they too heard the conversation.

The voice laughed.  “You take us for bandits.  We Sugambrians haven’t had bandits in our wald for years since Adalbern has led us in this time of war.  We do
occasionally have many Romans who believe they may traipse wherever they wish.  That will soon end, however.  I’m beginning to think you are one of the Roman allies from the north.  You look Chaucian to me, but maybe your people have shamed themselves as much as the Batavians and Frisians.  Perhaps you are in league with the general Drusus and serve him as what he would call a German spy.”

Stigr had been ready to seize upon the voice’s use of Adalbern in the third person, but forgot at the mention of the Roman commander.  He doubted common bandits would have any knowledge of who
constantly probed the edges and even depths of the tribes’ fatherland.  “You know of Drusus?” he asked.

“Of course I do.  My army has fought him and beaten him.  Now answer me or I will have my
harelip send an arrow into your eye socket.”

The creak of a bow echoed from Stigr’s left.  He thought about fleeing with his men.  He could be back home in just a week’s time.  He could marry one of his cousins and have so many babies a hare would grind its broad teeth in jealousy.  Why risk such a typical life
on the terpens by fighting a force that never seemed to lose?  Stigr knew the answer to that question was that he was no different from all men in that he longed to rule his own life.  Liberty was the natural state of man, given to him from his gods.  Stigr wanted freedom from some emperor tyrant living in a marble hall in Rome.

But
, ultimately, it wasn’t such high-minded principle that kept him rooted in place that morning.  It was the eerie sound of at least a dozen bows being drawn simultaneously that made him set his reins down.  He even slid his sword back into its scabbard so that the hand guard stopped against it with a smack.

“I don’t believe you are Adalbern,” Stigr said.  “But I am clearly on your lands and surrounded
, so I owe you an answer.  We are Chaucians from the Visurgis region.  Drusus has come with his fleet to our people and we have surrendered ourselves, our freedom, to becoming his ally – to become his subjects or slaves.”

“Kill them,” Berengar said.

“No, no.  These men and I have fled,” cried Stigr with his palms held high.

“Keep talking,” said the boy.

“We want nothing to do with the Romans or our own people as long as they are allies.  We came looking for the great Adalbern of the Sugambrians to tell him that only a portion of the Roman fleet rests in the bay of the Amisia, directly north of here.  A Sugambrian force, if assembled with haste, may be able to march downriver, draw them into battle, and defeat them while their fighting general is away exploring.”

When he finished his speech, Stigr realized that he was sweating and even panting in the cold air. 
He tried to calm his nerves while he waited for the voice to answer.

The sun was just cresting the horizon and still Stigr could not see any of the Sugambrians.  It was as if they were a part of the forest.
  He had been told stories by his people while he was a child that all sorts of gods and beasts inhabited the wald.  He had been in the forest before, but never this far south, never in one this deep.  Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him.  Perhaps a spirit toyed with him.  He would awaken on a slab with his belly splayed open and all manner of man-beasts with black horns and white snouts dancing around him.

“And your name?” the voice shook Stigr from his spiraling thoughts.

“I am Stigr son of Kai.  I am, or was, a chief among my people.  I have given that up to come to your people.”

“Stigr, I am Berengar son of Adalbern who will defend this wald to his death.  I will do the same.  What you will do is turn your five men over to me.  You will personally lead ten of my scouts to the bay of the
Amisia so that they may see for themselves that your words are true and there is no trap.”

“But Berengar, if we delay, Drusus may return with the rest of his fleet.”

“That may be so, but I’ll not risk four thousand men on the word of a fish-eater.”

“You have an army of four thousand already assembled?” breathed Stigr, hardly able to believe his good fortune.

“We do, and your men are now our prisoners.”

. . .

Drusus was exploring the never ending, wind-swept coastline that continued on northeastward from the Visurgis River cove.  With him was just half his fleet.  He felt obligated to leave a large presence in the regions of the conquered territories at his back, but Drusus longed for making even more history, so he took a portion of his vessels with provisions for several weeks.  Not since his adopted grandfather, Julius Caesar, had a Roman commander sailed so far north.  Drusus’ captains could already tell by the position of the autumn stars that this current journey had gone farther north than the coast of Britannia, the northernmost point achieved by the famous Julius in earlier times.

One day after the next seemed to bring countless sandy coasts, sandy dunes, and low, sandy islands.  Scrub grasses that had begun to slowly turn yellow from the quickly lengthening nights w
ere all the vegetation the men could see after they passed the mouth of the Albis and followed a barren coast northward.  Sometimes, when the weather permitted, they could see a forest of trees further inland.  They saw only sparse evidence of people.  The settlements they did see were smaller even than those of the Chaucians.  Usually a village consisted of a maximum of five homes, sturdily built to withstand the coming winter winds.

In none of the cases did Drusus call the fleet to anchor or go ashore.  He was in no mood to risk the successes earned thus far by landing in uncharted territory without his entire army at the ready.  No, this portion of the journey was for exploration and glory, nothing more.
  The closest they ever came to the local populace was when Septimus’ ship slowly sliced past three young men butchering a grey seal on a prodigious flat beach that extended so far inland that the centurion could not even see its end.  The men appeared quite terrified at first sight of the ship and its countless identical cousins.  But their initial fear quickly turned to curiosity and they stood dumbly with their knives frozen above the animal’s dripping flesh.  The natives’ eyes were the only part of their bodies showing any movement.

Septimus
had been quite bored with the entire adventure since his fight on Fabaria.  So it came as welcome relief when a skiff was sent from the commander’s flagship to pick him up and take him to see Drusus.  Most men would have been terrified at the invitation, thinking that unless they were close enough to the general to warrant sitting in his war council, a summons from him could only be a bad omen.  Septimus, however, accepted the ride joyfully.

At first, anyway.  Then he realized that the smaller craft
rode the sea even more closely than his warship, transmitting every wave and ripple into his bowels.  The two men rowing the boat and their officer turned away when Septimus began retching his morning meal over the low gunwale.  Seeing his vomit swirl around as the pine blades sliced through it was surprisingly calming to him.  He stared at the oars after that and let their easy rhythm calm his stomach.  He had no more problems now that his belly was empty and the hardened seamen soon forgave his initial weakness.