Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

He was silent and eyed me curiously, trying to see if I had any understanding of
what he was saying. I did.
The Black Goths might be our enemy now?
There had always been something aloof about Hughnot, and his terribly powerful son Hrolf the Ax. In our feasts they sat separately, to the side, enjoyed their own jokes, applauded the performances a bit later than we did, and didn’t complain. Was Hulderic truly right? ‘I see,’ I said sullenly.

He saw I finally understood. He walked away and slumped back to his seat. ‘Now is not the time to start quarreling. I agree, son, that Bero has grown spoiled like a runt with a fresh honeycomb, licking it greedily and he is loath to share, but we are in this together, tethered on the same plow. We will go to the funeral and Hughnot will demand something in the Thing that follows. He will demand the rulership of
our
gau. He has waited long enough and his beard is not a young man’s bushy brush any longer. He has bigger plans and he will damned well see them come to fruition. He will come to the feast, and he will sit there, gloating. He will look at his dead brother, spit in the funeral fumes and give gods thanks Friednot died. Then he will turn his eyes on us. In Bero, he sees weakness. In me? He doesn’t know me. He knows I hanged fifteen Svearna last year, and left them in the woods to rot. He knows I am silent, second to Bero, and he, I hope, sees me as a nonentity, a fine sword but not the brains. Someone to ignore, perhaps? Gods, we are fucked if he thinks I’m a danger. He will do something and Bero and I? We have to be
one.
Hughnot is dangerous. And there are other things brewing.’ He hesitated, but spoke on.

‘The Boat-Lord, he is trying to ally with the Svearna.’

‘What?’ I blurted. ‘Our enemy trying to ally with—‘

‘Our other enemy.’

‘Yes,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘but how? What would—‘

‘Bero told me. He knew. Friednot knew about the Saxons from a spy in the court of the Boat-Lord. He also heard about the Thing of the Svea last year. The Boat-Loard has proposed an alliance, a marriage and this Svea was to marry him or someone he chose, since he is ancient and unable to bed a woman. The Saxons heard of it as well, since they spy like anyone, probably pay the same spies even, and Cuthbert likely wanted the girl so he might sell her to the Boat-Lord. Friednot saw the opportunity and wanted the woman to break up the alliance. This is why we went after the Saxons. They did not attack us, but it was a grand opportunity. And so, you will not marry her.’

‘Who will?’

‘Who?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yes, who?’ I growled. ‘I guess she stays with us, since she is so important?’

‘Shut up. It wasn’t really a question,’ Hulderic growled back. ‘Someone important. Someone with the stature of a warrior.’

‘Not the so-called Cuthbert’s Bane?’ I asked, near hysteric with rage.

He ignored me. ‘And now Hughnot sees the girl. He know the plans Friednot had for her. He will want to dictate everything as we hope to break this blossoming alliance between our enemy Goths and the Svea. Hughnot is not an idle ruler of his gau, and if we fight—’

‘But—‘

‘Silence!’

‘Let him speak,’ Grandmother sighed. ‘He is a big boy and—’

Hulderic ignored her. ‘Maroboodus. It is simply stupid to start quarreling with Bero on how many of the Saxon ships comes to us, or what prisoners we took, or whose men were more valorous in the battle. Even over your honor. That is the way for Hughnot to start luring away our allies now that our enemies threaten. Bero and I will not bow to him. Many would, because they think we will do badly in this dire situation. That is the way Hughnot will slither into our halls. He will have reached out to Bero’s lords, the old families already.’

‘Why not join
him
and let Bero be the least of the family?’ I snarled.

He smiled. ‘You mean Maino.’

‘I mean Maino, yes,’ I agreed and Erse laughed softly. ‘Be rid of him. Send him to the woods to eat old berries. Let me find joy as I think how many wolves are out there for him to worry about.’

He sighed. ‘Listen. Just listen. I don’t trust him. Hughnot. Never did. Friednot insisted we stop the Saxons and we would have, even if we had to do it with the men of our gau. Hughnot helped, but he had a lot of men available. Far more than he needed as he visited Marka, and was it a coincidence he was there at all? Did he know about he Saxons as well? How did he know? Does he pay for spies as well? At the very least he wanted a stake in the woman. Hughnot
was
very useful in the battle, yes, but now, finally, he is the eldest chief within our gaus. Maroboodus, I doubt Hughnot is the sort that
shares power.’

‘He might,’ I growled.

Hulderic scowled. ‘Now we make our own plans, Maroboodus. It’s best one of us leads, Bero more naturally for he has the ring. And yes, the sword. We know each other, truly know. He listens to counsel, Bero does, if delivered in such a way to make him think he came up with the idea. We will keep
our
people intact, Hraban. Hughnot is family, but not as close as Bero and I. We shall not want a war. We need each other. We will strive to keep our two gaus allied, but if we cannot, we might have to wage a war. If I think I should
now
inherit Father’s role in the gau, it will push Bero over the edge. We will be broken. Perhaps for real.’ He seemed breathless after the rant.

‘Do it fast,’ I insisted.

‘Do what fast?’ he asked with a frown.

‘Take Bero fast. Take his hall and his men and then plant your flag over the gau. Take him with surprise and then Hughnot has no time and no way to get our lands. The families will flock to you. Hughnot will deal with us carefully. You.’

‘Us, you,’ Hulderic smirked. ‘You mean I should murder my brother.’

‘I …’

‘He does,’ the poet whispered.

‘Make it look like Hughnot did it,’ I went on, gnashing my teeth and kicked Aldbert rather hard. ‘Then take
his
gau.’

Hulderic shook his head sadly. ‘Make it seem … you don’t honestly think this would be a good idea?’

‘I don’t know, Father,’ I said miserably. ‘I’m just unhappy you don’t seek power. Your goal in life is to hold Bero’s cock when he pisses.’ I blanched as I remembered Erse and what Hulderic had threatened me with, but he seemed saddened by my words rather than angered.

‘I am heartbroken to see you have no more wisdom. Woden curses liars, Tiw hates lawbreakers, Freyr would call you dishonorable, should you kill a relative with no true cause but your soiled honor.’

‘The gods have done worse,’ I retorted. ‘They murder, betray, deceive, even take women against their—’

‘True,’ the poet said.

Hulderic got up again. He walked over and leaned over me. My eyes followed him as he stared into my face, as if trying to find a familiar man he had known, but didn’t see now. ‘Tell your grandmother you wish to see Bero dead.’

Grandmother got up and I did not look at her, trying to force the words out. She walked to me and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You hate your cousin Maino. Not Bero. You hate and you fear him and you are so very impatient.’

‘I loathe him,’ I corrected her. ‘I’d not hesitate to push him over a cliff and I’d shit over his body after. He humiliated me in front of the whole damned army. And in the Thing, he will demand more humiliation.’

‘I’ll talk to Bero about it,’ Hulderic rumbled. ‘He cannot alienate me. He knows Hughnot is dangerous now.’

I looked up at them. First Father, then Grandmother. ‘I respect the gods, the family. Our honor. But I also think our family would be better if it were smaller. If Maino wishes to smear my face in wet mud, if he is no more prudent than I am—and he is not—then I’ll not bow my head. If he wants to bend me over a table and make me, son of Hulderic, adeling of a noble house, humble, I’ll slit his cock off. And he will try. He won’t take cows and horses as wergild, he’ll not listen to Bero, but he will call me a coward. I will not have it.’

‘I’ll talk to Bero, I said. Maino will keep his loud, rotten mouth shut and serve his family,’ Hulderic growled.

‘He will not,’ I insisted. ‘And I want that girl. I want to court her.’

‘She is Maino’s prisoner,’ he said with a scowl. ‘And I will not have you marry her. I told you this already. Now answer this. Will you obey your father?’ I hesitated, trembling with the rage. He leaned very close to me. ‘Eat shit, Maroboodus, for all of us. Forget Maino, forget the girl. Be patient as Hughnot has been all these years. We need no foolish bucks now, their antlers tearing at our house’s timbers as they fight, and while the black wolf is sitting in the shadows, licking its lips.’

I slammed my hand on the table in unbridled fury, startling even Father. I had not meant to, as Father’s words should have been respected, he had delivered them with reason, and Grandmother was already teary-eyed. Aldbert put a hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t care. I was so mad, so angry at Maino, and the girl’s face haunted me. The inglorious Thing, my humiliation and coming shame left me unable to see reason. I could not let Maino spit on me, not at all, nor for all the silver of the short folk. I got up, pushing the table. The plate full of bones scattered on the floor. I kicked them, they landed in a heap and I stormed for the living quarters. I turned to look back and saw Grandmother on her knees. I hesitated, feeling terrible as the old lady was bent to clean up after a mess I made, and though it was not a man’s lot to clean, she was too old for the chore. Yet, Erse was not moving, but looked on reverently and I frowned as even Hulderic was uncomfortable at the way his mother was mumbling. She was muttering under her breath, strangely and sibilantly, hunched over the pile of bones and then she looked up at me. I took a step back. There was fear in her face. Her old, wrinkled face was strangely smooth, so stretched her mouth was with horror, and then sorrow replaced the look and the wrinkles returned on the pale face. She spoke softly, very softly, but I heard her. ‘It is him.
The Bear
.’

Hulderic also looked at me in shock and there was a frown on his face. We stood in place for a long time, until Grandmother got up and walked off, Erse following her. Aldbert was sitting still, his eyes cocked strangely as he regarded the bones.

Father wiped his hand across his face. I nodded at the pile of trash. ‘What? What did she read in them? Was the animal naughty? Did it also misbehave? She read the bones, didn’t she?’

‘She read the bones, Maroboodus. And we didn’t need this trouble.’ He looked at me darkly and I noticed he had a hand on a long seax. He saw my look and took the hand away, though reluctantly. ‘We shall ride in the morning, Maroboodus. When we have buried our great relative, we will sit down. We will have a Thing, and your feud with Maino will be settled. You shall not marry the girl and we will be wise, we will serve the family, and you might have to endure insults for it. Do so, and give me a reason to think you might not break all our dreams. And I will speak with you later on the matter of the bones.’

‘They are bones,’ I hissed.

He laughed harshly. He pointed at them, and how the dogs slunk away from the pile of trash. They would not hesitate, normally, but they did now. That was odd indeed. Aldbert eyed me carefully, and left with Hulderic.

I cursed and went to my quarters to sleep. ‘Donor help me,’ I prayed to the god of hammers and the guardian of men, for I felt something terrible was going to take place.

And it would be my own doing.

In the morning, the bones were still there, and the dogs slept around them.

T
he month
,
wīndume-mānod
had been very wet. Men curse the damp weather, the sickness that follows, and the general mood-killing gloom, and they fear freezing nights and frosty mornings and so it was that the fall months didn’t cheer many people, unless they hoped to die in the winter and knew their time was near. The land was steaming with misty
vapors as the cold
breath of Ymir spread across the land from the north, where nights were already long. Father and his champions were dressed in rich furs. Their shields were covered with wet rime, and hands with mittens held the cold shafts of the framea and javelins. The moss and grass crackled under the hooves of our horses. It was the sort of weather that left you itching and unhappy, and you would try to remember what the splendid summer looked and felt like, and it was a very hard thing to do. Aldbert, the poet was bringing up the rear with some slaves who guided spare mounts and heavily-laden work horses and I was somewhere in the middle, certainly behind the champions and a step away from servants. I was a man, yes, and Father’s adeling, a lord of his house by blood right. And now, I had killed in battle. I had fought well enough, that was true. No. In fact, I had killed
two
very famous men and that was a feat few achieved in a lifetime.
I was a clever fighter,
I decided, lucky, favored by the gods, and while I had no rage of the gods making my spear faster, I was no weakling. More, I had what Hulderic had. I had wits.
In war, if not with Maino
, I added in my head.

I could be anything, if I chose to be.

              But didn’t I disdain the gods, the vitka, and all the magic of the woods? Now I saw their favor in my recent victory and so I was a hypocrite.

              I brooded and kept riding and thinking.

              Despite the gods, it was true I could change my life.
Choose to be something else than a son of Hulderic and a foolish slave to their schemes
, I thought, and looked to the sky, cursing the many obstacles in the way to my glory. To living my own life, indeed.

Yet, Hulderic disagreed. I had no life, no plans as far as he was concerned. He took
it for granted I’d obey. He knew I had no real power and powerless men could not choose to be anything, because they would starve or turn into a maniac
in the woods, bereft of friends, food, and shelter. A simple warrior might just leave, having nothing to lose and brave those things, but Hulderic also saw my greed for what Bero had, and he knew I hated the thought of the gau in the wrong hands, and to leave it so would gnaw at my soul forever.

He was a fool.

All of it was wrong. Father, or … I? Yes, I might rule it well, in time. The three ravens flying the battlefield
had
been heralds. Perhaps of the death of Friednot, but perhaps also a nudge for an overlooked warrior to step forward and had not the gods given me favor in the battle?
I’d start believing in the bastards, if they gave me what I wanted,
I decided. Was Maino my test? Were the gods seeing how far I’d go to right a wrong? Did they not speak with more authority than Father?

I frowned at Hulderic’s back. Father’s words still echoed in my mind, and his warnings had had a sinister edge. He truly believed we would face a challenge from Hughnot. And there was the strange business with the bones, as well. He had not even greeted me that morning, and more, Grandmother had not appeared. I clapped Scald’s back. ‘”She is feeling very sick, Maroboodus”,’ I mimicked Erse’s voice as she had lied to me, while she served me some cold vegetables with gruel.

I asked her if she had said anything that evening, but she had shaken her head, looking very troubled and she had gone away, and she had not even winked at me, as she usually did.

Yes, there was something strange going on with all of them, and as I gazed at Aldbert, he looked like he was hoping I’d not greet him. His eyes also sought Hulderic’s back, and he was frowning to himself, tugging at his weak beard. I hated that. He had been the one man I was able to speak with, to share my sorrows and thoughts with, the one I felt at ease with. Sure, there were plenty of high Goth families in and out of Timberscar, with lots of men my age, but I had not made close friends with them, had I? Instead, my weak, foolish poet of a friend was looking terrified and I cursed Hulderic softly, but loudly enough to have Dubbe smack his lips with disapproval.

We would ride on, Hulderic would brood, I’d sulk, and we would be miserable all the way to Bero’s hall in Marka. And there I’d have to let Maino piss all over me, while smiling thankfully like a child given a horn of mead. Was that better than braving the woods alone?

No.
No, I’d bold myself a man. A man like I wished to be, and not become Father’s vision of a subservient fool,
I thought and realized I meant it. I’d rather leave the Goths, our lands, family, than suffer that, but only after showing Maino what I thought of him.

But was there a third way? A better way?

Something growled in the woods, as if to answer the question. None of the others turned that way to see what it was, but I had heard it. Was that too, a sign? I kept staring at the thickets, but nothing moved and unsteadily I settled into looking at the passing land.

I looked away to the far woods. There were thick oaks, tall pines, birch forests, all gleaming wetly, and rolling hills as far as the eye could carry. Tens of thousands Goths and Svearna lived in the harsh land, and I supposed it was a land worth fighting for. It was our home, no matter the misery of the winter and harshness of the soil. The sea was our own. Few foes arrived to the shores, save for the Saxons and occasionally the Langobardi, and some mighty Svea lords from the north. The sea made it all worth it. It was rich, led to lands far, far away, and we would exploit it to grow richer. Surely we should? To toil the same land, year after year was not a plan worth spitting on. Would Bero make such plans? Had Friednot?

Would
Father?

Svearna detested our presence in the land that had once belonged to them, of course, and we had fought well with Friednot to keep what is ours.

Father had said Hughnot had strange plans, wide-reaching plans, perhaps.

Our real enemies were the Goths themselves, I decided. We were too tied to keeping what we had. We risked little. Father was cautious. A thinker. He wanted me to be as deep, devious, patient, but it’s hard to think when you hate someone like Maino. And when you honestly think life would be better with your family … or perhaps you? Yes, you, in charge. I looked away, ashamed of my treasonous thoughts and afraid Father could read them, somewhere in his closed, devious mind.

I could leave. Be destitute.

And then Woden whispered to me and I nearly laughed aloud.

There was the woman.

She was a Svea. She was a rich one, an important one, a toy in the games of power, but she had smiled at me.

At me. Not at anyone else.
That I knew of,
I thought with a frown, but shook the unsettling thought away.

I had said I’d marry her.

I smiled as I thought about it. It had been nothing more than a barb at Father, but what if I did? I’d not be a lost soul in the woods, and I would have,
perhaps, a life
out there? My home would not be a cave in a hill, where I’d
fight with the
bears, but a place of warm fires, riches, and most of all, power. I felt like a bastard for pushing such thoughts of power and riches before her smile, but why could not my plan be for both power
and
love? It could, it would make sense if it were, in fact. And my feelings were real. I had dreamt of her the night before. I had seen her walking through pristine, brilliantly golden wheat fields in my torturous dreams, looking like a spirit of the flower stalks, a beguiling, benevolent thing and she had approved of me, smiling at me, holding out her hand and if that was not a sign of the gods, then what was? The memory of her smile filled me with lingering, deep warmth. There was longing and lust and gods be cursed, I had not looked at a woman like her before. It was the sort of feeling to make you press your palms to your face, leaving you bewildered, feeling reborn, desperate, on the brink of something new, not knowing if you might reach happiness. The memory of the curve of her lips caressed my nerves, and then made them taut as a bowstring, as I thought Maino was putting a claim on her.

Did he have one? A claim?

Perhaps in the eyes of the men of the villages. And if she were a tool for Boat-Lord to destroy us, she would marry one of us.

I could take her, and leave?

And there it was. My plan. I’d take her home.

Home? Did she have a home left, after the Saxons raided the land? She might. She was rich, well to do, it was clear by her haughty disdain, brave loathing of Cuthbert. Her dress spoke of it, even. Such riches don’t go away if a hall burned and slaves died. She was beautiful as the Sunna riding the sky. She was powerful in the lands of the Svea, perhaps, with connections that would be useful. My mind was whirling, as I straightened on the saddle. She—

A hand startled me, slapping on my shoulder. Hulderic had swerved around, waited for me and I had not noticed him. He nodded at me, his fur dripping with dew and there was some snow falling. ‘You looked starry-eyed, Maroboodus. You dreaming of a better place to be? Somewhere far from me?’

I shook my head. ‘No, not far from you. But a better place, perhaps.’

‘You are still a pup, boy,’ he rumbled. ‘Pups should accept their fathers are wise and the pups can barely walk straight. The Pups should pretend even when fathers are fools. We will stay the night at Birmhelm’s hall, and next evening we are at Marka.’

‘I know the way, Father,’ I told him. ‘But thank you for making sure the pup’s not lost.’ He chuckled softly.

Marka.
The Boundry, it was Friednot who built it, and now it was Bero’s village by the lands of the Svea and Hughnot, separated by the Long-Lake, a cold swath of sea reaching far to the lands of the Svearna, where salt and sweet water mixed. ‘You do know the way, son, but you should practice the art of civility towards the rest of us while we have to trek so miserably.’

Dubbe grunted in agreement, and if Dubbe agreed with Father so readily, then I had displeased them indeed. I shrugged and straightened my shoulders. ‘I’ll try,’ I said loudly and they said nothing, but I sensed they had accepted my apology. We rode in silence for a while, until a raven flew over, croaking forlornly. Hulderic looked at it and mumbled something about Woden.

I smiled. ‘The god is not watching, Father.’ I cursed myself, for a slayer of two high warriors I now wanted to believe the ancients were hovering above me and begged they didn’t take offence as I dismissed the bird.

He did not smile back, but stroked his braided beard and adjusted the tunic under his pelt. ‘Your grandmother seems to think he is. And you saw the damned birds skimming the shieldwall, didn’t you?’

‘Hugin and Munin are two ravens, Grandfather, what was the third?’ I asked carefully, hoping he’d tell me about the bones. ‘They do look fateful, the birds but Grandfather died because his face caught an ax, not because a bird shat on him. And he died because Osgar was too slow.’

Dubbe chuckled, Sigmundr slapped him and Harmod straightened in his saddle, but Hulderic kept his silence, brooding as he looked at the raven that was circling something in the woods, a carcass, a rabbit or a moose the wolves had killed. ‘You just hate the unknown, boy.’

I nodded with agreement. ‘Sure I do. Who wouldn’t? You practically shat yourself yesterday, when Grandmother went dog-like over the remains of our dinner. What was that all about?’ I asked him. ‘All that unknown nonsense nobody seems willing to
speak to me about
?

‘The bones?’ he said softly. ‘Bad omen. But you don’t think it was strange, no?’

‘The dogs?’

‘That, and your grandmother’s vision.’

‘She looked like she saw Grandfather or some dead, old vaettir of the stony, deep holes in the woods. Or perhaps an alf in the bones? What is this bear? He mentioned a bear.’

He shook his head and spoke very softly. ‘She saw
the
Bear,’ Hulderic said and looked saddened. ‘It’s an old family, Maroboodus, ours. We are the first people, the Gothoni who were born in Midgard before all the others and from our blood, stem all the creatures that drag their feet across the misery of this world. Woden crafted Aska and Esla from dry logs to fill the silence of the world, his brother Hodur and Lok helped him and here, in Midgard, and the great god set his table and feasted for the birth of his own race. Us. He sees himself in us, perhaps? Raw, raucous, violent, moral, and then immoral.’ He glanced at me suspiciously. ‘No dry, sarcastic comments on how you already knew this?’

‘I resisted the urge. What has that got to do with bones and grandmothers?’ I asked him.

He grasped my shoulder and pulled me to him so hard I nearly
lost my grip
on the shield. ‘There is a
curse
in this family. One the gods, jealous of Woden’s power and Midgard cast on us the moment we were born of driftwood. It’s not clear what the curse is, but it involves members of our family and they say the danger is greatest when such men fail to be
noble.
When they are selfish, violent, out of control, the Norns stir, and gods rumble. Your grandmother is a seidr-maddened woman, a völva. She was one, at least. She has sacrificed for the gods for decades and quit after a bout of near deadly fever. Her family is related to ours, she met Friednot and fell in love and then she had us, Bero and me, played a dutiful mother, a good wife—and yes, Father had another woman—but she has dreaded the day she would see the Bear roaring. Being a mother doesn’t shut down the gods in her head, and—‘