Emperor's Spear Read online

‘I see we aren’t going to have one of our pleasant chats today,’ said Wigbrand. ‘Never mind. I have a question for you.’

  Atius looked at him, still disinterested.

  ‘What made you join the Roman army?’

  Atius closed his eyes again. It was a subject they had discussed before and he wasn’t in the mood to rehash it all.

  ‘You said you left your home in Hispania to seek adventure and excitement, yes?’

  Atius’ only reaction was a laboured sigh.

  ‘And that was the only reason? You left your home as a free man who wanted to see the world? Not maybe, as a slave, fleeing his master?’

  Now Atius looked at him curiously. What was he talking about?

  ‘I am no man’s slave.’

  Wigbrand held his gaze, then nodded. ‘I don’t believe you are. How curious.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Wigbrand stood. ‘I’ll leave the meat and beer with you in case hunger takes you later.’

  He left Atius wondering what that had all been about.

  * * *

  The door opened and Silus was thrust through. The room was lit by one small, high window, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. On the far side of the room, tied to the wall, was a man’s naked figure, head slumped onto his chest.

  ‘Atius?’ cried Silus. ‘Atius, is it you?’

  The man lifted his head, and Silus gasped and put his hand to his mouth. As Silus’ pupils widened and the figure became clearer, the poor unfortunate man’s injuries became more defined. His face was a patchwork of fresh wounds, scabs and scars. One eye was missing, and there was a sticky dribble from the socket. He was naked, and patches of skin were gone, excised in neat squares, the meat underneath sticky and oozing. He tried to speak, and Silus saw that every single tooth was a broken stump, jagged and raw. Bloody drool trickled from the corner of his mouth. The stench of rotting flesh was overwhelming.

  For a moment, Silus could not even tell if this broken figure belonged to his friend. But after the initial surprise, his rational mind reasserted himself. The figure was too slight to be Atius, too short. The relief that washed over him made him feel guilty on behalf of this terribly suffering person.

  ‘Eustachys?’ asked Silus tentatively.

  Eustachys’ mouth worked. ‘K… K…’

  ‘I can’t hear you. What are you saying?’

  ‘Kill me.’

  The voice was just a whisper, and Silus’ jaw dropped in shock. Then Eustachys’ eyes flicked over Silus’ shoulder and he let out a yelp that for all the world sounded like a little girl scared by a spider. He shuffled backwards along the floor until his back was against the wall, drew his knees up to his chest and started rocking backwards and forward, saying, ‘No, no, no, no,’ over and over again.

  Silus turned to find himself looking down at a young woman with long black hair, dressed in a pristine white robe. Behind her stood two bulky armed guards, yet it was the slight female that Eustachys had his eyes fixed upon.

  She beckoned to the guards, who grabbed Silus’ arms and dragged him to the wall, where they tied his wrists to iron hoops hammered deep into the stonework. When he was secured, she came up close to him, and looked him up and down. She reached down to her belt, and pulled out a tiny knife with a terrifically sharp edge. She grabbed his tunic with one hand, and he tensed as she brought the knife close to his throat. He gripped his bindings, ready to struggle, to try to rip them from the walls, vain as he knew the attempt would be.

  She slashed the blade down, and it sliced through the tunic from collar to hem. Two more slashes and it fell away from him. She did the same to his trousers, and when he was naked she touched the blade to the inside of his thigh. Slowly she drew the edge upwards, as if she was shaving him, and indeed some curly hairs dropped to the ground.

  Sweat broke out on Silus’ forehead as he watched the blade creep towards his genitals. He held his breath, terrified to make the slightest movement that might cause the young woman’s hand to slip catastrophically.

  She stepped back, giving a light, musical laugh.

  ‘I think it’s too early for that,’ she said. ‘We’ve only just met. I’m Romilda, priestess of Frigg. You are Silus. We shall be seeing a lot more of each other. But I have duties to attend to, before tonight’s ceremonies. For now, I will leave you with Eustachys, and you can find out from him what I have in store for you.’

  She swept out and the guards went with her, slamming and barring the door behind them.

  Silus let out his breath explosively, then gasped a few times until he could control his respiration again. His heart was hammering, and he waited for it to slow before he turned to Eustachys, trying not to flinch at the sight of him. He sought for something to say, but words failed him. What platitude could he give to this wreck of a man? Instead, he asked the most urgent question on his mind.

  ‘Is Atius still alive?’

  Eustachys’ tongue worked in his mouth, as if he was an athlete warming up before a running event, getting ready to perform a great sporting feat.

  ‘Yessss,’ he said. The broken teeth made his diction sibilant and his voice was hoarse. Silus could easily imagine that was from all the screaming he must have done. Silus nodded, grateful for this piece of information at least, after the disappointment of finding he was being imprisoned with Eustachys and not his friend.

  ‘When did you see him last?’

  ‘Long time. Weeksss.’

  ‘You were captured together?’

  Eustachys nodded, but even that small movement made his features tighten.

  ‘Only the two of usss sssurvived.’

  ‘Have you seen him since they brought you here?’ Have they done to him what they did to you, he wanted to ask. He felt bad asking Eustachys to speak, but he needed to know, and he didn’t know how much time they would be granted together.

  ‘No. But I have not heard ssscreams.’

  Silus hoped that meant he had been spared poor Eustachys’ ordeal. Wigbrand had called Atius honourable. Maybe that meant he treated Atius differently than a civilian spy. Or a slaver.

  Eustachys dropped his voice to the quietest whisper. ‘I have told them nothing, you know. I was trained by Fessstusss.’

  Silus nodded. That was good, he supposed. Though it seemed of the least importance right now. ‘Well done. You’re a brave man.’ A damned idiot, he thought. He knew without a doubt he would have told them absolutely everything if he had been through a fraction of what Eustachys had suffered.

  He looked around him. Stone walls, iron hoops, thick ropes. He tested the strength of the wall fixings, and they held firm, the effort only hurting his wrists. It wasn’t hopeful. But that wasn’t what made him despair the most. The thing that most brought his spirit low was that Atius, the tough Arcanus, had been here for around two months, and had not yet escaped.

  Silus had completed half his mission – he had tracked Atius down. And despite his fears, had found out that his friend was alive. He now realised that had been the easy part. The second half of the mission, rescuing Atius and getting out alive, might be impossible.

  Chapter Ten

  The sounds from the great feasting hall reached Atius’ ears as night was falling. He knew nothing about Germanic religious festivals, though if they were anything like the Roman festivals they might be as diverse as the number of tribes and the number of gods in their barbarian pantheon. After all, the Romans had their festival of the punishment of the dogs, where live dogs were paraded around Rome suspended from forks, to punish them for their failure to warn of the Gallic attack on Rome, while the geese were celebrated. There was the festival of the October Horse, in which one of the winning horses in a chariot race was killed with a spear, in honour of Mars. Then there was the Lupercalia, where young men ran naked through the streets striking women with thongs made from animal skins, the Floralia, where naked prostitutes fought mock gladiatorial battles, and the festival of the Good Goddess, w
here men were forbidden.

  Of course, the followers of Christos had their own ceremonies, as did the followers of Mithras and Elagabal. So Atius thought that in theory the festival of this Baldr could take any form imaginable. In practice, from what Atius had seen and knew about Germans, he suspected it involved meat, beer and violence.

  The smell of the roasting ox diffused through his cell, confirming what Wigbrand had previously told him, and it set his mouth watering again. The angry shouts, sounds of scuffles and fights and drunken songs and laughter suggested that he was right about the beer and violence as well. He settled himself down on his haunches and put his head on his knees, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t provoke his bruised parts too painfully.

  The door opened, and Romilda stood framed in the doorway. Atius flinched at the sight of the terrifying young woman.

  ‘My lord has summoned you to join our celebration,’ she said. She gestured to the two men behind her, who stepped forward to free him from his bonds. When he was untied, they hauled him to his feet, dragged him out of his cell, and took him to the feasting hall.

  The vast room was lit by torches along the walls. A long table ran down the centre, filled with plates of beef and other meats, as well as nuts and berries. The ceilings were decorated with mistletoe, the freshly cut plants dangling from the rafters.

  There were dozens of warriors drinking beer copiously, singing tuneless choruses and wrestling. Few women were present, and most of those were serving food and drink to the men or dancing. They were frequently pawed at as they carried out their duties, and they all wore fixed smiles which Atius felt were almost certainly faked.

  At one end of the room sat Wigbrand on his high, carved chair, and on his right side in place of honour was his nephew Erhard. Erhard was in conversation with Wigbrand, leaning close to his ears and talking earnestly. Wigbrand was nodding along in apparent agreement with whatever Erhard was telling him. Then he caught sight of Atius, and he stood and roared out, his booming voice cutting through all the noise.

  ‘Atius. I’m so glad you could join us.’ This brought howls of laughter from the drunken warriors. ‘Come, sit near me. Take meat and beer.’

  Atius approached the chieftain, who towered over him from his throne. Wigbrand indicated a seat to his left whose legs were about one foot long, the sort of stool a small child would use. Atius sat down, his knees poking up nearly to his chin, and the warriors laughed anew at the humiliating situation.

  A slave girl brought him a cup of thick, strong beer and a plate of meat. He looked at her pretty features and shapely figure and felt absolutely nothing. What had this captivity done to him, that it had even robbed him of his desire for a beautiful woman? He tipped the cup back and drained the beer in one long gulp, savouring the feeling as warmth spread through him, taking a little edge off his aches and pains. He picked up a slice of beef and chewed and sucked on it as best he could while avoiding the most tender of his cracked teeth.

  To his left were two other small stools, and when he had swallowed he commented to Wigbrand, ‘Are you expecting more guests?’

  ‘Atius, Atius,’ he chided. ‘You are spoiling my surprise. Very well.’ He called to Romilda. ‘Bring them out.’

  Romilda disappeared momentarily, and then returned at the far end of the hall with two men, both with hands tied behind their backs. Atius squinted through the smoke, trying to make out their features in the flickering torchlight. One was the size and shape of Eustachys, though he could barely walk, and was supported under the arms by two warriors. Who was the other? He was sure that only Eustachys and himself had survived. The figures approached, became clearer. Surely it couldn’t be…

  ‘This man says he has travelled far to find you,’ said Wigbrand.

  ‘Silus?’

  ‘Atius.’ Silus’ voice was thick with emotion, but his eyes carried warning.

  Atius repressed his desire to jump up and throw his arms around his friend, to hug him while he sobbed out his misery. He tried to keep his voice and his questioning neutral. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You know the slave-hunter who is tracking you?’ asked Wigbrand, frowning.

  ‘I…’ It was a lot to take in, and Atius was not at his sharpest. At the best of times he was not exactly scalpel-like. ‘Of course,’ he managed to say eventually. ‘Know your enemy.’

  Silus gave him the slightest nod, and Wigbrand seemed satisfied.

  ‘Sit, both of you, beside my honoured guest. Enjoy witnessing the festivities.’ He gestured to one of the serving girls, who brought beer and meat for Silus and Eustachys. But Wigbrand waved them away. ‘No, no. These two dishonourable men do not deserve the same as Atius. Fetch them something more suitable.’

  The girls disappeared, and returned shortly with two cups of murky water and some rock-hard bread. Wigbrand inspected it, spat on it, then nodded, and the girls took it to the Romans. With the girls’ assistance, Silus and Eustachys both ate and drank greedily, in Eustachys’ case as best as his ruined teeth would allow.

  Wigbrand stood now and raised his arms, and the room slowly settled to something like silence, punctuated by belches and farts and the guffaws they provoked. He spoke loudly, his strong German dialect echoing around the hall, incomprehensible to Atius and Silus. Atius made out words such as Chatti and names like Frigg, Wodan, Donar and Loki that he knew were local deities, as well as Baldr and Ragnarok, that Wigbrand had spoken of.

  The warriors cheered and clinked cups, sloshing beer onto the floor and over themselves liberally. Wigbrand spoke more, his tone increasingly aggressive.

  The volume of cheering rose to a frenzy. Silus and Atius looked at each other nervously, not comprehending what was being said, but appreciating it was unlikely to be anything good for them.

  Wigbrand spoke words in a tone of praise and raised his cup in Atius’ direction, and though Atius didn’t know what he had said, he nodded his acknowledgement, and raised his cup in return. Silus looked at him askance. Atius caught Silus’ look, and dropped his head in embarrassment.

  Wigbrand then spoke in a more contemptous tone. He approached Silus and spat at his feet, then uttered some sort of curse. The Chatti warriors howled and made insulting gestures in Silus’ direction. Silus looked up at Wigbrand, keeping his face impassive.

  Then Wigbrand turned to Eustachys. His words made the Chatti men roar their anger at Eustachys, and hurl bread and fruit in his direction. Wigbrand upended his cup of beer over Eustachys’ head. As the liquid trickled over the raw, exposed patches of flesh, Eustachys screamed and struggled against the ropes. The warriors laughed and threw more food and even the odd plate and cup.

  Wigbrand let them have their head, and then raised his arms for calm once more. Eustachys’ whimpering could be clearly heard until Wigbrand drowned it out by calling for Romilda. The priestess approached Wigbrand and bowed deeply. Then she turned to the warriors and spoke, her high-pitched voice loud and clear. Again Atius made out the names of the Germanic deities and not much more. She drew out her knife, and the warriors collectively drew breath. They knew what she was capable of with that little instrument, and feared and respected it.

  She spoke a few more words, and something in her tone chilled Atius to his marrow. Then she turned, and Atius shrank back. There was a sudden ammoniacal smell, and Atius looked round to see that Eustachys had urinated down his legs.

  Romilda moved so quickly Atius coudn’t follow the blade as it flashed out. The room was still, silent. Everyone held their breath.

  Erhard put his hand to his neck, as blood seeped, then gushed out in rivulets. He stared wide-eyed at Romilda as he squeezed, trying to hold back the flow. He turned to Wigbrand and opened his mouth to speak, but blood poured from his lips and dribbled down his chin. He pitched forward off his chair and lay face first in a growing pool of dark liquid. His body twitched, once, twice, three times, then was still.

  The silence persisted, even the drunken warriors, used to fighting an
d bloodshed, stunned into sobriety.

  Wigbrand crowed triumphantly over Erhard’s corpse. Whether the German had been sacrficed in a ritual or executed because his rebellion had been discovered or both, Atius didn’t know.

  The warriors cheered, but whether it was the shock or disapproval, the response was muted. Wigbrand didn’t seem to care.

  Two of Wigbrand’s warriors came forward and grabbed the body by the arms, dragging it away, leaving a muddy, bloody trail across the dirt floor.

  Wigbrand spoke in a more upbeat tone, clearly exhorting his men to continue their celebrations.

  Slowly, reluctantly at first, but then with more enthusiasm, the men of the Chatti returned to the serious business of getting very drunk. From outside a woman’s scream could be heard, which continued as a long series of wails. Erhard’s sister, Atius guessed. Wigbrand started a loud song, and the men joined in, and the cries of grief were drowned out.

  * * *

  At the back of the hall, eating and drinking sparsely, keeping to the shadows away from the torchlight, a young, spotty Germanic youth observed everything. Presently, Wigbrand signalled for the three Roman men to be taken back to their cells.

  Odo watched them go.

  * * *

  The guards, who were more sober than most of the warriors, but more drunk than they should have been, led all three prisoners back to a single cell, the one Eustachys had been in. Silus presumed they didn’t have the number of rooms to imprison them all separately, and so had decided to lump them in together. There were only two iron hoops in the walls, so they tied Atius and Eustachys to one, and Silus to the other. They slammed and barred the door, and Atius heard the footsteps retreat into the dark. Once they were out of earshot, Silus opened his mouth to speak, but Atius beat him to it.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

  ‘Good to see you too, mate.’

  ‘Seriously, Silus. You’re supposed to have retired.’