Forgotten Tales of Germania

[m_1512]

Yeah, actually part of the reason for this is that I've run out of content to write at least twice. And so found I could do this as a way out.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

I agree with Alwyn, certainly a sense that something will soon bring all these strands together - and what a clash it will be! Good job on the update.

[m_1512]

By the way, this is not dead. I just got busy with some RL stuff. Will consider being back to writing this.

Just out of curiosity, anyone still reading this?

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Me! I'm still here hoping for updates!

[m_1512]

The Wolf and the Wyrm I

‘Marcus stood there long after Quintus and the Praetorians went into the quarters. He had a feeling that he had been embroiled into one of the many intrigues of the Imperial court. He felt anger surging within him. After all, he had been an honest legionary officer, for he had turned down many promotions to keep away from the vile games of lies and deceit. He had initially been offered the prestigious post of Praetorian commander, which he turned down in return for a simple prefecture. And for good reasons too. Marcus still had occasional nightmares about the battle. The one battle that saw reversal of fortunes and formation of a dangerous bond.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of trumpets signalling the start of the watch. He took a deep breath and stormed towards the quarters. He walked into Quintus’ chamber and snapped at the Praetorians.

“Leave us!”

Quintus was seated at the table, writing on a scroll. He looked up at the command, paused but eventually nodded at his men. He beckoned Marcus to sit as the guards walked out of the chamber. But Marcus poured himself a goblet of wine, gulped it down, and started pouring one more.

Quintus raised a brow, “You look pale. Do you want something to eat?”

But Marcus merely grunted and kept drinking from the goblet. This did not improve Quintus’ temper, who in turn snapped, “Well, what is it then? Frankly Marcus, either speak up or go back to Soissons! I only thought that if there was something left, it would be the remnant of your warrior spirit.”

Marcus slammed the goblet on the table.

“Warrior spirit, yes. Bloodlust, no. Honestly Quintus, since when did being a Praetorian become all about mindless slaughter? But wait, that is precisely what it has come to be, isn’t it?”

Now it was Quintus’ turn to become angry. He felt the pent up frustration of the recent insults and taunts surging within him. He threw the quill and slammed his fist on the table.

“And who exactly is preaching this? Oh wait, it is one who had slaughtered thousands in a single day! All for fame and glory, and the praise of a perverted man that he himself despised.”

This time, Marcus did turn pale.

“No! I know where you are going with this, Quintus. But you know the truth! Even though the other fools are too blind to see it.”

There was a loud knock on the door before Quintus could retort. A rider saluted the men, walked up to Marcus and whispered something in his ear. As the rider left the room, Marcus took a calm breath. “Enough of this rage, there is something important. The man I spoke of, our best weapon against the Franks? He has arrived.”

Augusta Trevorum, near a stream in midst of the town’s northern woods

Quintus and Marcus dismounted from their horses as they reached the stream. Although called a stream, it was more of a small river, coursing through the partly dense woods like a fiery serpent. Marcus crouched near the rippling waters to splash his face, being quite at ease. But Quintus was the opposite. His right hand firmly gripped his blade while he uneasily looked around. He was not happy in the slightest to come without his guard, but Marcus had been persistent. Furthermore, he had a suspicion that Marcus seemed to be enjoying his discomfort.

Quintus walked around, trying to be sharp and alert. But his nerves had already come to a breaking point. He snapped, “Well Marcus, where is he?”

He was answered by a thud behind him. Quintus pulled out his blade and swiftly turned around to come face to face with a tall man. His blade had stopped merely a finger away from the man’s throat. Once the panic settled in, he took in the strange appearance of the stranger. The man was dressed as a Gaul, but was too tall for one. And he also had long bright hair that Quintus commonly found among Goths. But he also registered that the man was girt with a long spatha and a hunting bow.

The man did not flinch at the sight of the roman blade poised at his neck. His eyes flickered to Marcus and addressed him, “You are late, Prefect. I had been waiting in these woods for long.”

Marcus stood up. He paused before answering, “Yes, we were delayed. This is my friend from the Roman lands who wanted to speak with you.”

The stranger smirked, “He would find me friendlier if he would care to remove this blade from my neck.”

By that time, Quintus had regained his composure. He sheathed his blade and looked the man in the eye. “I am Quintus, commander of the Roman Praetorians. I have some business to talk about, Goth.”

But the man just laughed, “I am sure you do, Roman. But my name is not Goth, and that tone will not fetch you any help. I would prefer you call me by my name, Aelfnod.” And stared back eye to eye at the Roman.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Ooh, an update!



I've noticed the chapter heading marks this as just the first part of a chapter, so I don't want to go speculating too wildly - I'd rather just wait for part two. Instead, I'll confine myself (for now) to saying that I really like the dialogue, and especially the early part with Marcus drinking-but-not-talking and Quintus's temper snapping. You've made your characters seem very real.

[Alwyn]

Great update, I agree that your characters are well done. I'm enjoying reading about Marcus and Quintus and I'm intrigued by the mysterious stranger - I wonder what makes him the 'best weapons against the Franks'.

[Rabbit55821]

I just finished reading this and I must say, Wow! I can't wait for the next chapter, and am really intrigued by the "Secret that could bring down the Empire", and am still in deep speculation as to the identity of the old man. I also am intrigued by Aelfnod, and wondering what role he will play in the future.

[m_1512]

Thanks for the comments, guys. I'll try to get the next one sooner.

As for Aelfnod, you all know him from before he was even introduced in the chapter. And that's about the riddle I'll let out. See if you can find out.

[m_1512]

The Wolf and the Wyrm II

“But what of Adalbert? You dropped him off when he caught up with the eastern menace!” the young rider barked indignantly. Without knowing it, he had stood up.

The old man smiled. He took a hearty swig of ale before answering, “Young wolf cubs must learn patience if they look to succeed in a hunt.”

But the young rider was not deterred. “But a wolf cub ceases to remain one once they have tasted first blood.”

The old man chuckled, “Good, you are learning the art of words. Yet you do need to improve on your words. I knew you would be displeased. But there is a reason for it! For you would have found it difficult to connect the events had I finished otherwise.”

The rider sat down and looked up, indicating his undivided attention.

The old man nodded and continued.

‘And now back to Adalbert and his brother, for they had finally caught up with the eastern host. The eastern host had assembled on the lone hill in the middle of the plain to make their stand. The Frankish host consisted of mounted warriors, who sat on their horses calmly watching the strange men. Adalbert’s horse stood in the forefront, his warrior gathered around him with the most renowned closest to him. On his left was Karl and Clovis on the right. Gerulf was on Clovis’ right, aloof yet observant as usual.

Adalbert observed that the Alemanni chief had been right; they were heavily armed. But their armour was more like that of the Romans. They were armed with the large Roman shields, and each having a blade and spear. They had lodged their shields firmly into the ground, thus making a sort of a wall. Once some of the clatter died down, there was a long heavy silence as each host viewed the other. It was as if two packs of wolves were looking the other up, calculating for their odds and the other’s weakness.

But there was a point that was missed by all, save perhaps Clovis and Pannonian. Each of their position was that of a stalemate. Neither the eastern host could break formation in risk of being trampled by the Frankish charge, nor could the Franks make camp in risk of being ambushed by the other host. But the Franks had another particular disadvantage. They could not stand in battle formation though day and night, but the host could rest behind their wall of shields. And so a heavy silence lingered over the battlefield.

On the Frankish side, Karl leaned towards Adalbert and spoke.

“Brother, I say we attack. Attack now!”

Clovis gave a sigh yet replied calmly.

“Not a good idea. Even if we break their wall of shield, our horses will be surrounded by their warriors.”

Adalbert nodded, then turned to Gerolf.

“And what do you say?”

Gerolf replied in a relaxed voice, “It is simple, we will speak with them. The Thain said nothing about fighting these men. He had only told us to find them. So Adalbert completes his task, and without a single drop of blood.”

The other brothers looked at Gerolf, to great astonishment. This was an answer that had not even crossed their minds. And Gerolf indeed seemed smug at his stroke of brilliance. Adalbert then turned to his family’s Hirdman and issued a clear instruction.

“Sound the horn for lowering arms. But the warriors must not dismount! Clovis, Karl, Gerolf, and I will go forth to speak to these strange men. If we are attacked or provoked, run them down.”

The Hirdman nodded, and started to blow his horn in a slow deliberate tune. As the brothers moved forward, the men relaxed, sheathing their blades and thrusting spears into the ground. The brothers moved their horses to half way between the two hosts and waited.

In the other camp, the fat leader beckoned to some of his men who carried bows. He took a large swig of Roman wine from his flask, and grunted, “This is good! You men, take down this fools.”

But Pannonian walked furiously towards them, screeching, “You will not do anything like that!” He turned to the leader. “They have come forward to talk. Killing them will bring down their entire host upon us, as well as their kin coming for revenge. Do not forget that these are not Romans!”

The men with bows quailed under the Pannonian’s fury. He beckoned the leader to come with him as they crossed the shield wall and walked towards the four Franks. The brothers had remained on their horses as they waited for the two men to walk towards them.

This did not please the leader, who was puffing with the effort to keep up with Pannonian’s lengthy strides. He spat on the ground, muttering furiously in an audible voice.

“Now I have to grovel to these young cubs, who still sit on their horses like mighty Romans? A fine chief indeed! One who does not have the power to even command.”

Pannonian merely grunted, “You are chief because these fools wanted the biggest, filthiest, and most boorish of them all as their leader. And walk faster, you bat boar!”

The leader stopped. Puffing with rage, he bellowed, “I will not hear that from a mangy old dog! And my name is Bastiza, and you are free because of me!” His fists were balled, expecting his opponent to strike.

But Pannonian went deadly cold. He walked towards Bastiza and stopped just few away from him. His voice was icy cold when he spoke.

“You are right, I am free because of you. And I do not doubt your prowess as a warrior, just your skill as a chief. But you are alive because of me! Without me, you would have been crushed by that Roman legion. Right now, I merely wish to avoid another pointless battle.”

This did the trick, for Bastiza was cowed. He tried to cover it up with, “I did not mean that, we are all grateful for what you did for us. I only wish you do not hurl insults at me.” Pannonian just snorted and beckoned.

They reached the brothers, and Pannonian gave a little bow with Bastiza obliging after a moment’s hesitation. But Adalbert merely nodded but did not bow, which did not go well with Bastiza. Thankfully, he held back his retort.

Adalbert then spoke in a voice that could not be anything but a command.

“Who are you, and what purpose you have in our lands?”

Pannonian replied, but in a different manner not usual for him. He spoke to them, “I must ask your pardon, for we ventured here searching for the Sachsen. But you are surely Franks, for no one could seem to belong of such a noble stock.”

Adalbert and Karl smiled, but not the other two. Clovis’ eyes narrowed at this obvious attempt at flattery. He glanced at Gerolf and saw that even he had caught the obvious oily manner.

Adalbert replied, still smiling, “You now stand on Frankish lands. The Sachsen have retreated further north and east. For they in their foolishness dared to attack the Franks. But little did they know the strength of our people and our Spatha.”

“But you must have had a reason for seeking those fools. And as they are in no state to help you, perhaps we can help.”

Pannonian smiled. “I heard of Germanic hospitality, but I have at last seen it with Frankish generosity too. But yes, we are in need of aid, for we are fugitives of the Romans. We were their slaves, but broke free to choose danger instead of servitude. For now, we look for a place to rest. A place where we can sleep in peace, without fearing for a Roman knife on our throats. If you can help us, we will be in your debt.”

The brothers looked at Adalbert, for his decision. Karl seemed indifferent, even if a bit disappointed that there would not be any fight. Clovis and Gerolf had some misgivings. But they did not wish to cross Adalbert as he was there leader, and it would undermine his authority.

Adalbert sat in thoughtful silence, then spoke. “Very well, we will take you to an abandoned Sachsen village where you may rest and stay. Come, let us start, for there is much distance to walk.”

He nodded and turned his horse back towards his host.’

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Diplomacy was undoubtedly a sensible choice in the circumstances, but that ending has a rather ominous feel to it...

(It's good to see you, m, and it's good to have a new chapter of this. )

[m_1512]

Thanks Caillagh. I think ominous would be for all the chapters.

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[Alwyn]

I like Gerolf's solution to the impasse, even though his smugness about it will not make his brothers like him! I wonder if the solution will lead to a lasting peace - I hope that the fugitives honour the debt which they owe. (As Caillagh said, it is good to see your story continue!)

[m_1512]

Thanks Alwyn, I am not having a lot of spare time to work on this. But I'll keep it up as long as there are 2 people reading and following this.

[Rabbit55821]

More then 2! I enjoyed the last chapter, and am looking forward to more! It definitely seems like diplomacy was the best choice in the situation for Adalbert and the brothers, and Gerolf was wise in presenting that choice.

[Johnadiw26]

Wonderful story