Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (17 page)

The trouble began at the feast. Drugi and Marcus had tried to get out of it; Drugi did not enjoy that kind of thing and Marcus just wanted to be with Frann but the chief was insistent that the two slaves be honoured for their defence of the citadel. Marcus wondered if they would be given their freedom but Trygg was too clever for that.  Whilst they were slaves they had to heed his orders.  As freedmen they had choices. Neither Marcus nor Drugi drank much but the Tencteri did. A trader from the east had arrived and brought with him a consignment of the clear spirit they brewed across the dark sea.  It was a potent drink and already many warriors were passed out having failed to drink in moderation. Marcus had been aware that Lars was consuming great quantities of the spirit and the Roman hoped that he too would pass out because he was becoming tired of the aggressive stares from Lars and his brothers. Marcus was wondering when he could slip away when Drugi grabbed his arm and pointed.  Lars had left.  His brothers were lying in a pool of their own vomit but Lars had disappeared. Fearing the worst and dreading what he might find Marcus leapt to his feet and raced out of the hall.  Drugi was close behind.

There were no sentries at the gate which was wide open.  Cursing the lack of discipline in the warband Marcus ran even faster to his hut.  Before he got there he could hear the screams from Frann and the drunken voice of Lars.

“You little bitch! I’ll show you pain like you have never felt before. That whore of a sister of yours took hours to die; you will last but a moment.”

Marcus kicked the door open and there, with her legs spread wide lay a terrified Frann and between her legs was Lars. The only weapon Marcus could see was the branch of a tree waiting to be chopped into logs. He picked it up and struck Lars so hard that he fell off Frann and over the fire. Marcus helped Frann to her feet and put her behind him. Lars roared to his feet, his head bleeding heavily from the blow. “You fucking slave! Now you will die and then I will fuck your whore to death!” He pulled out a wickedly long sharp dagger and advanced towards Marcus. 

Marcus edged to his right saying, “Frann, get out and find Drugi.”

“I am not leaving you.”

“I can fight him if I am not worrying about you, now go!” He did not see her go but the quick blast of cold air behind him told him that she had left. Marcus knew that the blade would rip him open if he allowed the barbarian to close with him and he needed a weapon.  He kept edging right until he reached the fire.  Without taking his eyes off Lars he reached down until his hand found the end of a log from the fire. He held the smouldering brand before him.  It was little enough but he could use it to keep the drunken man at bay until he had worked out a strategy to defeat him.

Lars feinted with the knife and Marcus swung the brand, an ember flew off and struck Lars in the face, enraging him even more. He moved surprisingly quickly for a large drunken man and he leapt at Marcus with his dagger aiming for Marcus’ eye and his other hand, aiming for Marcus’ throat. The Roman managed to halt the dagger with the brand but the hand found his throat and the rapist began to squeeze the life from the Roman. Lars was a powerful man and Marcus felt himself backing out.  In desperation he reached up with his left hand and, finding Lars’ one good eye poked as hard as he could.  He felt the eyeball and tried to tear it out. Lars reared up screaming and Marcus could at last breathe.  Unfortunately he had lost his grip on the log and, weaponless, he dived at Lars’ legs, knocking him to the ground.  The blade of the knife came around in an arc and Marcus held on to it for all he was worth. He felt the point inexorably turning into him and he grabbed it with both hands. He looked into the scarred face of Lars and saw his own hand had severely scarred Lars’ cheek.  The red rimmed eye told Marcus how close he had come to blinding him and he was suddenly filled with anger. “You are a sad rapist and you are going to die.”

In answer Lars spat a gob of blood and phlegm into Marcus’ face. He remembered something Gaelwyn had told him about fighting.  And with all the force he could muster he rammed his knee into the groin of the half blind savage. The shock and the pain momentarily relaxed his grip on the knife as he half rolled away and the momentum carried Marcus’ hands upwards to slice through the stomach and into the heart of Lars who died with an expression of shock on his scarred and bloody face. Marcus rolled over on to his back, eyes closed, gasping for breath.  When he opened them he saw Drugi and Fran peering down. The two of them looked sad. Drugi said, “I am glad he is dead for he deserved to die but I wish it was not you who killed him.” Marcus looked up, not understanding the meaning of the words. “You are a slave and you have killed a freeman, and Lars has brothers. This is not ended Roman.”

Marcus and Frann discussed fleeing but they had nowhere to go.  It was the middle of winter and, although Frann was barely pregnant, she was pregnant and Marcus could not risk his unborn child in a foolhardy dash across the peninsula to the coast. As Drugi pointed out they would catch them anyway. Even if they did evade their pursuers what would they do when they reached the coast?  How would they get a ship? They were slaves and had no money. Their only chance was for a ship to come to Hjarno-by and for them to stow away. Even that seemed ridiculous as they had only seen one trading ship since they had been at the citadel.  By the end of the night they had decided that Marcus would have to stay and face whatever consequences resulted from the killing.  He knew that it was a matter of honour and blood honour at that.  There would need to be blood shed at the very least.

“Whatever happens we need to get some money, coins, gold, whatever it takes to buy a passage on a ship. If nothing else the death of that piece of offal has clarified my thinking.  From now on we work out how Frann and I can escape.”

Drugi shook his head.  “No Roman for if you and Frann escape then I would have to be with for my life would be forfeit.  Our destinies are bound together.” He looked at the ceiling, “The hawk saw to that. Your brother was a clever man Roman, and he still plans and weaves.”

Marcus remembered then that Macro’s mother had been Morwenna, one of the cleverest and most devious planners he had ever encountered. Although they had bested her there had never been anything wrong with her planning, it had always been the mistakes of others.

They decided that the best course of action was to see Trygg early in the morning and explain what had happened. It would not mitigate the crime but their honesty would put them in the right, initially at least.  Of course when Lars’ brothers found out then everything would change.

The hall looked as though a whirlwind had whipped through it.  Bodies were scattered everywhere with spilled ale and discarded food.  Someone had gone out in the night and the doors left open so that a chill wind made it a cold and sparse space. As they entered the hall Trygg and Snorri were just coming too. “Ah Roman, I see that you truly are wise and know when to stop drinking.  I think Thor has his hammer inside my head this day.” He suddenly saw that the there were three of them and that they looked serious. “What is amiss?  Have the Suebi returned?”

“No chief, although if they had , then they could have walked in and slit your throats for the gates of the citadel were left open all night but that is not why we are here.  There has been a death.” By now others were waking up. Trygg climbed the dais to his seat and, wrapping his wolf pelt around his shoulders he gestured for them to continue. “Last night Lars tried to rape my pregnant woman.” It had been on the tip of his tongue to say wife until he remembered that he was a slave and could not marry. “When I stopped him he pulled a knife.  We fought and he is dead.”

Snorri snorted, “I knew we should have thrown you overboard Roman. You bring bad luck to this land.”

“Snorri! Did he bring us bad luck when he saved our lives with the boar?  Did he bring us bad luck when he saved the citadel? You are a brave and loyal warrior Snorri but you have the brains of a fish! Now be silent and get that fire lit.  It is colder than Hell in here.” Snorri reddened but went off to organise the fire. “The brothers of Lars will want blood for this. Yours, Roman, and I am helpless to aid you.”

“I know Chief Trygg.  I am a stranger to your ways. How are these things settled in your land?”

“The family who are aggrieved fight with the taker of blood.  They would fight you blade to blade but as a slave they would wish to fight you without you bearing arms.” Frann gave a small cry and grasped Marcus’ arm. The chief gave a sympathetic smile. “If it was up to me I would allow this Roman a weapon but it is up to the council and they will decide. Where is the body?”

Drugi spoke.  “Outside my hut.”

“You six, take the body to Lars brothers.  You three had better stay here. Snorri, summon the council.” Trygg shook his head. The Norns are cruel Roman, they give you hope and then they snatch it away.  Even with a weapon you would struggle against Lars’ brothers for they are fierce and worthy warriors.”

Lars two brothers were both younger than the scarred savage but they had the same evil look on their face.  They stormed into the hall with daggers drawn.  Snorri’s voice roared out. “How dare you dishonour the chief with drawn blades! Sheathe them or suffer the consequences.”

The two men reluctantly did as ordered, but then rushed towards Marcus. “The younger of the two, Carl, pointed an accusing finger at Marcus.  “This slave murdered our brother and we demand his life.”

Trygg nodded and turned to Marcus. “What have you to say to this Roman?”

It was a subtle difference but Trygg had called Marcus a Roman rather than a slave.  It was wasted on the two brothers. The older, Stig, laughed. “It matters not what he says for he is a slave.”

Marcus spoke quietly. “Your brother tried to rape the slave Frann and then he attacked me but the gods were with me and he died by his own blade.”

The reference to the gods and the suggestion that they had sided with Marcus infuriated the brothers who both shouted at the same time. “We demand his death!”

Marcus’ and Trygg’s words had not been intended for the brothers but for the council who waited to one side. Trygg addressed them.  “What does the council rule?”

The ten men spoke quietly for a while; Frann nervously gripping Marcus’ arm in fear. The oldest shaman stepped forwards.  “The slave did kill the freeman Lars and the brothers have the right to his life but Lars violated the hut of Drugi the hunter and this gives the slave the right to defend himself.”

Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. The council could have decided that he could be killed whilst bound. Stig and Carl grinned at each other.  “The slave can not have a blade.” They were anticipating a slow death for Marcus as he tried to defend himself with his bare hands and they would hack him to pieces, slowly.

Marcus had been expecting this. “But I can have a rope.”

The two brothers looked each other, suspecting a trap. Stig spat out scornfully, “To hang yourself or to hold up your breeks when you fill them?”

Marcus ignored the jibe. “A rope?”

Stig shrugged, a rope would not withstand their blades. “You may have the rope and when you are dead we will use it to hang your bodies for the crows.”

As they were led, by the council out to the area designated as the arena, Drugi said quietly to Marcus, “I hope you know what you are doing Marcus, a rope?”

Marcus shrugged, “I could not have a blade and a staff or a club would merely slow them down. I need something to help me win.” They both looked up into the empty sky but there was no sign which would help them.

Snorri handed a length of rope to Marcus.  He gave him a sympathetic look but a look which also said that the gesture was futile. Marcus made a large knot at one end and coiled part of it around his left arm, while he held the knotted end in his right.  He whirled it gently as he waited for Stig and Carl.  Trygg could see how the rope could be used defensively but he could not see how it would be an effective weapon. Still the Roman had proved resourceful before, perhaps he would surprise them again.

Stig and Carl had both chosen axes and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief.  Had one chosen a spear then he would have only lasted a few moments.  The warriors of the tribes surrounded them with their shields making a large circle and Marcus felt like a gladiator in an ampitheatre.  Marcus stepped forwards and the two men began to circle him. They intended to eliminate any chance he had to defend himself and attack from two sides at once. They would feint and prod and make him become defensive.  Marcus had no intention of staying on the defensive and he whirled his rope around his head and advanced on Stig, who was the closest.  He flicked the knotted end and it smacked into Stig’s eye which erupted in blood and white viscous liquid as it was torn out. “Just like your brother!”

Marcus knew that the disabled Stig would soon attack him again and he had to attack Carl quickly; he turned to face the advancing Tencteri warrior who had seen the fate of hiss brother and he held his axe up to protect himself from the knotted rope.  Marcus had anticipated such a move and he reacted accordingly.  This time he whiled the rope to strike and wrap itself around the haft of the axe. As Marcus pulled back it was torn from Carl’s grip to land safely out of reach behind Marcus. Carl grabbed his dagger and lunged at Marcus.  The decurion could not avoid the charge but he fended off the wickedly sharp blade with the rope coiled around his left arm. As Carl slid by Marcus wrapped the rope around Carl’s neck. He began to pull on the rope and saw Carl’s eyes bulge. 

Suddenly Marcus heard the screech of the hawk and turned just in time to see a bloody and enraged Stig swinging his axe at Marcus.  Using Carl as a shield to protect himself from Stig’s attack Marcus waited. Stig had begun his swing and had no chance to slow down the blade, the axe sliced into his brother’s stomach and his lifeless body slid to the ground. His death took with it Marcus’ only defence as the rope was still around Carl’s neck.  He dropped it and, before Stig could swing again he jumped feet first at Stig’s knee.  He heard a reassuring crack as something broke and Stig fell to the floor in agony. Before Stig could react Marcus went behind the warrior and, holding his neck in his right arm pushed his knee into Stig’s back. He pushed with his knee and his arms exerted as much pressure as he could.  Stig’s remaining eye bulged. The crack of his neck breaking seemed to echo around the stunned arena. Drugi, Trygg and Frann had surprised but happy expressions while the others were just stunned that a man with merely a rope had killed two of the deadliest warriors ever to wield an axe. The fact that one brother had been responsible for another’s death seemed to confirm that Marcus was the innocent party and that the gods had decided in his favour.