Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (33 page)

He nodded. “I heard your name mentioned when they returned.” His sightless eyes travelled to the left, where I saw a huge pile of something. More than one pile, in fact. Then he spoke. “But you wanted to know about this high Roman. I’ll tell you. Why not? They were paid well to kill Tiberius. I know how much they got. Bags of silver. It’s all buried in the woods, and they’ll expect to be paid more. I’ll tell you where you must go to stop them. And you think you can. You think you are on a holy quest. You have been told so, no?” He smiled sarcastically. “You were told by a woman you are special.”

Gisil.
I took a long breath. “Am I special?”

“We are
all
special,” he murmured.

“There was a woman,” I pressed. “Gisil.” He twitched, and was nodding, but said nothing. I went on. “She is a völva. A priestess who served the man who lost the blade, Hulderic the Goth. She had a sight of me, and brought me to fight for Hulderic.” I went quiet.

“But you nearly died,” he said sadly.

“Nearly. But I didn’t, and here I am. She didn’t lie. I’m on a holy quest. For her. For Hulderic. For the Marcomanni.”

He chuckled dryly, and coughed. Then he shook his head. “No, there is no such thing as a holy quest. Gods don’t give a shit. They don’t send out warnings, not to me at least. Nor to her. All is luck and our own decisions govern fate. She had no sight of you.”

“That makes no sense at all,” I whispered. “Not one bit. This woman found me and saved me. She is a völva who lives and works with Hulderic. She knew my name.”

He slapped a hand on the floor, silencing me. “Others knew your name as well.”

“There was a Chatti in the Hill, but Gisil said—”

He wiped his face tiredly. “You were meant to be a fool. Someone to distract this Hulderic. That you heard their plans was bad enough, but if you died, it would not matter. But you didn’t die, and here I am, seeing a struggle of faith. Listen. Do not think you are a chosen one, though. Nobody is. I told you. Gods do not care.”

“If she
didn’t
have a sight, then what
did
she have?”

“She had a son,” he whispered “A son.” His eyes went to the side again, and I shifted. There was not only a mound there, uneven, odd, shadowed, but also poles, I saw, many poles.

“Son?” I asked him, as I turned. “She had a mother and a husband, and the son died in the winter.”

“They died,” he hissed. “She lost them all.”

I sat there silent, unhappy. “You are not telling me anything I don’t know.” I tried to get up, but he reached out through the bars, grasped my hand, and held on with desperate strength. “Listen. This will be painful. There was no sight.”

I stopped struggling.

“There was a mad woman instead, young and pretty, grief-stricken so deep, she was not herself. She was close to Hulderic, who is a kind lord. And then there was a family of men close to a god, who claim to come back from the dead. There was Raganthar, travelling from the east, and he was scouting the village of Hulderic for Bero and Leuthard, when he saw this mad woman praying in the midst of the winter, under a tree where the dead are hoisted for the spring burial.”

“No,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said brusquely. “Raganthar has been spying on Hulderic for years. They often used our services. He has killed Hulderic’s men previously. And Raganthar, he stood behind the fair woman. There is little gentleness in my son’s heart. But what little there is, was kindled that moment. He fell in love with Gisil, Adalwulf. He did. She is fair, and she is brave.”

“Liar,” I said, and pulled away from him, scattering rocks, and sat further from him, panting under the shadows. “You damned liar!”

“I do not lie, Adalwulf. I have no reason whatsoever to lie. I’ll die in shit, crippled and broken, and probably starved, since you will go out and kill them all after this. Unless you release me, as you promised. I sense you are nearly ready to do that.” He was nodding, as if welcoming the fate. “She saw him, and fell away from him. She fought him bravely, but he captured her, and kept her with him for days. She didn’t speak to him, not at first, but Raganthar is more than a murderer. He has the wolf’s wits, boy, and slowly, he turned his attention to the dead in the tree, and there he found the boy, and he used that. He promised her—”

“Life,” I said miserably. “Life for the boy.”

“Life for the boy,” he said sadly. “He said he’d feed the corpse his blood. He said he’s bring him back from the lands of Hel. She wept, she did. She wept, her hope rekindled, and she said
yes
, Adalwulf. She kneeled before Raganthar, and swore she’d do anything for him, should he restore the child.”

“He—”

“He took her as his own,” the old man said sadly. “He wed her in the woods, took her to his bed of needles, as she swore, on her life she’d obey him. And so, she has. She has obeyed him in his business. She shares his bed, she shares his goals, and all for that sad, dried up corpse.” He pointed to the mound.

I gazed at the shadows.
Corpses? Gisil?

She betrayed Hulderic. Me. For her son.

The man spoke softly. “She did his bidding. She had no sight. She cursed that servant of Hulderic for putting you in danger, because he endangered the small twist Leuthard had asked for. They wanted to blame the Chatti, because Bero feared Hulderic’s wrath. That little, needless wrinkle in their pans, a weakness of the lord of Hard Hill is now risking their business. Hati would laugh at that. And guess who stabbed you in the back? That small wound?”

No.

“She did,” he said simply, without mockery. “She saved Raganthar, because no matter how much she hates him, he promised to bring back her son.” He leaned near the bars. “But I think she also spared you. It was her hand that checked on you after you fell. They spoke of it here. Raganthar cursed himself for not making sure you were lifeless. You touched her heart as well.”

I sat there for a long while, weeping. I had been a fool, a lucky fool to survive, and Gisil, the poor, mad Gisil, had betrayed us all. All for a dead son. I looked at the mound, and then I knew I had to know one more thing.

“Who was the other Chatti in the village before me? The one who met with Balderich?” I asked him amidst my tears.

He stirred, having fallen deep in the darkness of his own thoughts. “They knew of you. You are a horse thief, but you were also missed. A lord, Germain, sent your cousin to find you in Hard Hill. He arrived two days before you did, they said. He knew the way, and he was fast, and he did speak with Balderich. They wanted you to come home, they said, because you had been wronged. Your cousin had spoken to his father, and they—”

“No, I—” I began, horrified to my bone.
Forgiven?

He went on, playing with stone in his hand, tense. “He was useless in the scheme. He had probably told his business to Balderich. They needed someone else. They learnt of you from him, and decided to use you in the scheme, should you arrive in time. Couldn’t find anyone else in the Hill. And you did arrive. You arrived, heard their plans, but Gisil saved the day. She cast a spell over you, just in time, and you obeyed. It was her job, to charm you into that hall, and charm you she did.”

“They killed Ansgar?” I stated more than asked.

He shrugged. “And they, being what they are, killed him there in the woods. He was their sacrifice to Hati. I mentioned they need the flesh. To invoke Hati’s favor—”

I roared and charged forward. I grasped him by hair and pulled him out of the cage and splinters of wood flew all across the lower chamber. The slaves were growling with fear, their foreheads in cold, wet floor, and I dragged the man down the slope to the weak light of Mani, and there threw him over an old table. He was fighting to get up, and nearly fell to the floor, and I slapped him so hard he fell silent, weeping. I took out the hammer, and placed it on his forehead. “Ansgar was in Hard Hill? Is it true?”

He laughed painfully, holding his hand up. “I think you are ready to send me to the next world now. He was. What he is now, well, that is all here now.”

“He is here?” I choked. “Where?” I asked him darkly, tears flowing.

“There,” he said and pointed to the side, where the heaps of shadowy mounds were, and all my hope fled. I let go of him, hesitated, and walked that way. I smelled death, felt the blood drain from my body, and walked to the first mound. There, bereft of eyes, were heads. Some were mounted on poles, the fresher kills.

There was one I knew had belonged to Cerunnos. His hair was gone, but it was his handsome head, still noble.

And there was Ansgar’s as well.

He had died badly. There was a wound, old and cancerous across his face, splitting his lips and nose, but it was he. He had been my friend growing up, my cousin, the one I had fought for, and with.
They had sent him after me
.
To take me back home.
I staggered away and held my head. Stunned, I walked around the mounds. There were bones. All kinds of bones, heaps of them. It was like a bear’s den, where some of the great mountain beasts occasionally drag their victims away, so they can feast in silence and safety. I picked up a bone, a thighbone, to be exact, and looked at it. In it, there were jagged saw marks.

They ate the dead. The man had not lied.

I dropped the bone with horror. There were stories of harsh winters, the kinds you never heard in the feasts, but were whispered by the women during the first days of spring. The hushed stories were of families whose food had ran out, who had had a bad harvest, and who, sometimes, had to measure their worth as human beings against that of survival, and some of them were cannibals, forever reviled by the rest.

This was filth.

This was horror, a living nightmare. And Leuthard? He had led them, once?

On the side, I saw a stone altar. It was oddly clean, and on the altar, there was a wrapped up body of a child.
Gisil’s son,
I knew. I lifted the wrap, and stepped away in revulsion. What was there was little more a skeleton, and it was impossible to think he had once ran around, laughing and happy, but he had.
I held my head, squeezed the throbbing rage away, panting like a dog during the summer heat.

I walked down to the old man, who waited for me on the table. I stood there. “They—”

“Yes,” he said, and looked away. “We do. They do. I told you.”

“Where are they now? How much time do I have?” I growled, trying to find a state of mind where I would not attack Leuthard the minute I went out.

He waved his hand. “A village of Treveri near Moganticum,” he said. “A day away, a bit more. That’s where Tiberius will stay in a day or two, they said. He’ll go there to solve some of the issues between the Treveri and the Mediomactri. A Roman guard tower is there. I think the name is Avenc, there is a mine near, sinkholes.” He sat up carefully, groaning with pain. “Listen. They have bribed a Roman centurion to help them enter the tower where Tiberius will sleep. I don’t know his first name. But Caecina is what they called him.”

Decimus?

He was named Decimus Caecina? Were there more men named like that? Lies, betrayals all over.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and he twitched as I squeezed. “Who pays them?”

“A King,” he whispered.

“King of Shit?” I snarled.

“King Vago of the Vangiones,” he answered. “He pays them.”

So the Vangiones wanted the war.
Bastards.

“Is Gisil in that heap?” I asked. “He still has her?”

He shook his head. “She is with him. I told you. He loves her.”

I grasped the hammer, and he tensed, knowing what was coming. I lifted it and hesitated. “Is there a man called Ear here?” I asked. “Your other son?”

He held his face. “He left,” he said, and pointed a finger to the other side of the cavern. There was a lighter spot there, and air blowing in, ruffling moss and weeds. “Yes, I heard Leuthard speaking to him. When you cage a beast, it might seem docile. But like you, he makes plans to cheat you. Be careful. Ear’s not well. He’ll obey Leuthard, because Leuthard always loved to turn my boys against each other, and Ear loved him for the respect he gave him.” He hesitated. “And save the girl. She isn’t evil, just a mother.”

With that, I released him from the world. I hesitated as I watched the slaves, and decided there was nothing I could do for them. Perhaps they’d make a meal of the old one, and I didn’t really care. I found a thick sack by some crates. I went to the mounds of bones and pulled my cousin’s head off a pole, feeling coldness creep inside me. Wyrd or not, it was my fault as well. I took the head of Cerunnos and then I went to Gisil’s son, and pushed him inside the sack, feeling revolted.

Then I walked the steps out of the hole. I stopped before I exited, and held my eyes closed, begging gods to give me strength.

The old man was right. The gods didn’t care. I was on my own.

I emerged to see Decimus and Leuthard standing there, a respectable distance away from each other. I looked at both.

Murderer. And a traitor.
Why had Decimus agreed to help us at all? It made no sense. He should be in his tower, waiting for Tiberius.