B007IIXYQY EBOK (74 page)

Geisar looked hard at Auriane. “Deny it, Auriane,” he said, “and we will believe you.”

Geisar knew that as daughter of a long line of noble ancestresses Auriane dared not speak an untruth within the hallowed precincts of the Assembly; she would poison the soul all her kinspeople shared.

Auriane longed to be free to speak falsely, so life would go on as always and she could protect the life of her child. But her tongue was made of stone; it was held in the spell of the ancient ways if her mind was not.

I have violated ancient law. My punishment is just.

Time slowed; she felt too light, as if some liquid medium bore her up. A mallet pounded in her head.

“The charge is true,” she responded at last. Her voice was clear and without shame.

The words sounded out of place, spoken by that god-infused voice so long trusted. Geisar sensed with acute irritation that many still
did not believe, so great was their need of her, so powerful their affection. Some looked about in sad, desperate confusion, as if a beloved mother had turned on them.

But Geisar was prepared for this. With the barest of nods, invisible to the throng, he gave a signal.

And they heard the croaking voice of Ulfina, a kinswoman of Gundobad’s.

“She is with child.”

Auriane said nothing, looking bravely, evenly, ahead as she struggled to control her trembling.

Ulfina, for her betrayal, earned twelve sturdy cattle from Geisar. Many were so disturbed by her words they began to strike at her and shout curses; she was forced to scurry off and take shelter among her kin. The old woman realized Geisar had made her a bad bargain; it was not worth the cattle to be forever despised.

Auriane saw sympathy melt quickly from the faces of those nearest; some averted their eyes. It was Witgern’s reaction that seared like fire—his face soured and he faintly withdrew from her while lowering his spear. It might not
have been utter revulsion, but it seemed so then.

“Try her!”
came a shout from the part of the crowd thickest with her enemies. “She poisons us all.”

“Geisar! Give us a judgment!” Wulfstan shouted. Even now the majority of the people, though terrified by the implications of such a transgression, wished fervently to be shown a way to allow her to escape. But those most loyal to her were disheartened and disoriented, and her enemies were, as Geisar planned, loudly and energetically crying out with one voice.

Auriane felt her spiritedness start to rise.

Geisar is not fit to judge me. I accept only the judgment of the ancient Fates, and so far they are silent.

“She is judged guilty,” cried Geisar, eyes glittering like a fox’s near a fire. He cracked his knotted staff in two, symbolizing condemnation to death, and held the broken ends aloft. “Wulfstan. Unfrith,” he commanded. “Seize her and take her to the priests’ house.”

Her enemies rose up all at once, meaning to surround her; the maneuver was obviously timed and planned. Her Companions shot up to meet them.

Auriane and Decius sprang forward at the same instant, as if they knew each other’s thoughts. Decius knocked Geisar to one side and wrested one half of the oak staff from him, to the horror of the attendant priests. Who but a madman would dare lay a hand on such a god-filled thing? Geisar was too stunned to protest.

A dozen or more of Gundobad’s men rushed at Auriane. Decius struck one in the face with the staff’s broken end, bloodying him and blinding him. Auriane whipped about to face Gundobad himself, who lunged at her from behind, brandishing an ax. She charged him with her spear, using it as a lance, and drove it deep into his chest.

Even with the madness all about, a moment of sickness seized her; she thought she felt Gundobad’s heart jump like a harpooned fish. He sank slowly down, watching her reproachfully. She abandoned the spear—there was no time to disengage it from Gundobad’s body—and unsheathed the sword of Baldemar.

Now the whole of the Assembly was in furious motion like a lake surface agitated by storm winds. Her enemies, hundreds strong, turned en masse on her Companions—from everywhere came battle shouts and the furious staccato of spears cracking together. A few drew swords and added the ring of iron on iron to the din. Soon everyone was either battling or caught perilously in between; the priests’ shrieks for order went unheard.

As Decius dropped to the ground to recover the axe from Gundobad’s clenched fist, Auriane deflected a club-blow that would have finished him. Friend and foe swarmed so closely about she feared she might strike down one of her own Companions. Her horse—and safety—seemed half a world away. She started fighting her way in that direction; in such close quarters her sword was more effective than the spears most carried, and she made good progress—until an iron hand seized her arm.

She was in the grip of a burly kinsman of Gundobad’s, who meant to drag her to death. Slowly, steadily, he succeeded in pulling her in the wrong direction; she was caught in a deadly current that would draw her down her into the maelstrom. Her screams were unheard.

Gradually she realized Decius struggled to follow her, though she did not know what he thought he could do to aid her. The axe was gone; he now had a spear.

Then she saw Decius drop to his knees, falling beneath the melee. He thrust the spear’s point between the legs of one battling warrior and into the thigh of Auriane’s captor. The kinsman of Gundobad shrieked a curse and released her. Suddenly free, she was flung backward, but Decius broke her fall on one side, Witgern on the other. She realized she was among a knot of her own Companions. She did not have time to worry if they were still willing to protect her. Immediately they formed a wall about her.

Then suddenly she had room to maneuver; fighting abreast with Witgern, Decius, Fastila, and a half dozen Companions, step by step, she cut her way through to her horse. Once when the fighting slowed because all were packed too closely together, she met Witgern’s gaze—and he looked away. She could see he counted himself ruthlessly betrayed. His single damning eye called to mind Wodan himself, the One-Eyed God, her own wronged husband, whose wrath surely was upon her now.

But at least Witgern was not ready to hand her over to her enemies. That he helped her while he thought her crime despicable made his judgment all the more painful.

One by one, torches were toppled and snuffed out in the mud; soon the ghastly scene was lit only by wan starlight; no one could tell friend from foe—and inevitably kinsman struck down kinsman. The Assembly of the New Moon fell into chaos.

Auriane saw dimly Berinhard’s pale head, pricked ears, ahead in the gloom.

But one horse would not be enough. Witgern seemed to think of this at the same time. “Auriane!” he shouted. “Take that one too. Behind your horse—the little mare. It’s Romilda’s. I’ll settle with her.”

Then Decius slipped in mud and blood, landing hard on his back. One of Gundobad’s men was poised over him, spear aloft, readying the death blow.

An animal scream was torn from Auriane’s throat and she flung herself forward, feeling her whole soul lived in her blade. With a two-hand hold she struck down diagonally, catching the descending spear in a glancing blow, deflecting its course so that Decius’ attacker pierced his own foot. He shrieked as he realized he was pinned to the ground by his own spear. Hurriedly she dragged Decius to his feet.

When they had nearly battled their way to her horse, she saw a Companion of Wulfstan’s gliding toward Berinhard in a crouching run.

He means to hamstring my horse.

Decius saw, too, and gave chase; he sprang onto the warrior’s back. The man buckled beneath him, contracting in agony; Decius’ weight, flung onto him with such force, caused his ankle to give way and break. Decius fell with him and rolled. Auriane sprinted past them, covering the last of the distance. While Decius dispatched the warrior with his dagger, Auriane cut both horses’ reins so she would not have to fumble with the knots.

The Companions then broke through the last of the resistance and swarmed protectively about Auriane and Decius.

“Take Berinhard!” Auriane shouted to Decius. “He is faster. I know the terrain better—they won’t catch me.” She started to pull herself onto the back of the small black mare, but Decius dragged her back down.

“No! You take the good horse. You are with child. I insist upon it. If one of us lives, it must be you.” Decius gripped the mare’s mane and sprang lightly onto her back. “Though I don’t personally plan on getting caught, either,” he added, grinning.

She vaulted onto Berinhard’s back. “Head down!” Decius shouted at her. A stone from a sling passed overhead with a lethal rush. Then Witgern was at her side, holding her horse by the bit, using the weight of his body to prevent Bernhard from rearing and exposing her to missiles, leading her toward the unbounded forest. Moments later Fastila rushed up on her other side, helping Witgern hold her terrified horse.

“Auriane, where will you go?” Witgern shouted up at her. She felt a grab of hope in her heart. He must not despise her completely if he wanted to know where she could be found.

“To Ramis,” she shouted down to him, feeling awkward, “at her lodge in Alder Lake.” She wanted to add,
Witgern, for so long I was among the dead
…
do you understand at all?
But a rush of pride prevented her. The full realization of what he must think of her collected behind some closed door in her mind, awaiting a time of peace when it would burst out and cause great torment.

As they came to the towering darkness of the pine forest, Witgern said solemnly, “Your luck and your fate go with you, Auriane.”

He took her hand, but to Auriane’s mind he did it ceremonially, to maintain an outward appearance of friendship.

Then Fastila cried up at her, “Auriane, I will come to you there when the way is passable, I vow it! We have not deserted you!”

“You must not. You’ll be cursed.”

Fastila could hardly hear these words in the din. She shouted again, her voice growing hoarse, “I will come!”

Then Witgern released Berinhard, who snorted, half reared, then galloped free down the wide, grassy lane between the pines. Decius’ mount burst into an ungainly gallop that seemed to skip a beat. This was not an animal possessed of natural grace, and Auriane held her breath while she watched Decius struggle for his seat. He must not fall off. In moments it would be known by everyone that they fled on horseback; some surely would pursue. Auriane had to hold Berinhard in or his smooth, powerful strides would have pulled her steadily ahead.

And soon there was muffled thunder in back of them. It sounded as though three, perhaps four, gave chase.

“We must separate!” she shouted to Decius, “and pray they come after me.” She surmised they would have little trouble overtaking Decius’ horse. “Just before the creek, you go north.”

“Right!” Decius shouted back. She hoped they would hear Berinhard noisily splashing in the creek and follow her—and hopefully not hear a lone horse’s hooves going north.

He called out, “You saved my life! You are quick and steady—a lioness! The oak-leaf crown should be yours!” He referred to the
corona civica,
the honorarium given a Roman soldier who saved the life of a fellow soldier in battle.

She felt a stirring of pleasure at these words, savoring his approving smile, so seldom seen. But even then it seemed there was a certain restraint in his praise, and suddenly she realized his reluctance to praise her stemmed from his fear that the fragile bond between them might be broken, that she would think so well of herself, she would no longer need him. It was not stubborn pride that held him in check, but fear she would desert him. It made little sense to her, but somehow she was certain then that this assessment was true. She felt a rush of pity for him, and a burst of love that was more close and familial than what she had known before.

They galloped close and clasped hands for a brief moment in farewell.

“Decius!” she cried out, not certain what she meant to say, just wanting to hold to him a moment longer by speaking his name, seized suddenly with the thought she might never see him again. He clasped her hand tightly—a quick, sad last embrace—then released it. Her hand felt cold and empty.

He wheeled his mount north, following the creek. Immediately afterward, Berinhard splashed noisily into the shallow water; fortunately the season had been dry or they would have had to swim across. When she emerged on the opposite bank, she released Berinhard into the wide meadow beyond. Joyfully he bolted; all that power and grace were unleashed, and she felt herself hurled into the night as the stallion’s strides grew steadily longer. The dark mane lashed her face as she leaned far over his neck.

Distantly behind her she heard several horses splashing into the creek. That was well—they were following her.
She knew they would never catch her now—unless Berinhard fell.

How can I ever return? This time the gate is barred forever.

Ramis, you have your wish. I am separated from battle, severed from kin. Rejoice, you sister of Hel. You have me
and
my child.

The brawling beneath the Sacred Oak gradually wore itself down; no one had a taste for fighting in the unhallowed dark, especially now that the cause of it all had fled. As the injuries and deaths were tallied up so blood-debts could be paid, Sigwulf found the tattered remains of the imperial document. He touched a torch to it; to aggressive cheers he burned the edict of Domitian, God-King of the Romans.