(This is a continuation of another work, which you can read here)
@@@
He asks what he always does, and I’m no closer to telling him the truth.
His eyes are just as dark, his head likewise. He has my curls, but the rest belongs to his father. Tall, too tall for the age of 12. Yet his voice sings sweet beyond his years as he asks again.
“Mother? Did you hear me?”
I swallow another sip of wine. It doesn’t help-it rarely does. But I go through the motion all the same, and eye him from my cup as I speak.
“He’s away, boy. And no, I’ve no idea when he’s coming home,”
“Oh,” he says, the lids of his eyes lowering. He gives a nod, and returns to his work. The slabs in front of him were-as the rest of the room-stolen. Their lines straight, their images graphic. But he took to it well, his slender fingers tracing every line. I watch him for a while, the torchlights dancing on his features.
In another ten years he’ll rule every single part of the empire.
Sitting there, watching him, I can only hope he won’t resent me.
@@@
Dawn comes early.
I shift in my seat, and inhale the morning air. Arid and crisp, it assails my senses. My ears twitch as I cinch my eyes, and raise a hand to them. Sound filters in then. The call of a cock, it’s cry piercing. Dampened by distance, I hear merchants calling. The bustle of carts, the arguing of the simple. The city is alive and awake, it’s machinations clutching against it’s own innate chaos. But closer-perhaps but a few columns away-I hear him.
My son, singing. The slap of a wet hand against his chest. His voice doesn’t tremble or tarry-it rises, billowing deep and melodic throughout the marbled halls. I sit there a long moment, and listen. My eyes still closed, I can almost see him then. The reason the boy is even here.
I open my eyes, and for a moment I fancy his shadow at a column. Rising from the chair, I step forth-only to find it was a shadow. A trick of the light, and nothing more. I clench my jaw, and exhale as I walk forward. Closer to the slap of water, to the laughter of my son.
I wonder if he knows. That this place, these moments. It’s all the peace he’ll ever get. I swallow the thought, and step pass a stoney arch. I spy him as his pale fingers shake his shaggy head. The song in his heart, it’s been subdued to a hum. He bends forward, and dips his curls below the water.
“Farbauti?”
He turns, and his damp locks smack against his face. They cover his mouth, and the song dies as my befuddled son pulls them away. I laugh then-a sound rarer than his, but just as rich. The boy smiles, and waves at me from the bath.
“Good morning mother! Did you sleep well? I would have woke you, but-“
“I slept fine, son. Are you almost done?” I say.
He nods, his cheeks rosy as he wipes at his eyes. “Just about, I promise. I know I’ve got lessons today,”
“That you do,” I reply, “and you know how well Orvis takes to del-“
No sooner had the words met my lip then I heard a cough from behind me. I turned, knowing it’s progenitor already.
He was a funny, stout little man. With his head clean of hair and his jowls fat, Orvis seemed to give a perpetual frown. Were it not for his constant smile, one would have assumed him the most dour soul in all of Rome. Between that and his purple reignments, he was bright as a sunflower. He raised his hand, and wiggled his thick digits at me. The other raised a roll of fabric neatly pinned with a bronze crest.
“Good morning, royal family! And your majesty, surely I’m not THAT hard about timeliness?”
“Never Orvis,” I said, smirking. “At least not for me. Tend to the boy, will you?”
Orvis nodded, his jowls shaking as he held out the tunic. “Always! Come along, young master. We’ve much to discuss today,”
Farbauti-my beautiful boy-grabbed the length of his curls, and twisted his hands. Water poured down, and he looked up at his tutor. His smile parted, and all of Apollo’s gifts couldn’t compare.
“Are you going to tell me more about the north men today? We still have to finish the story about Thor!” he said, pulling to the edge of the bath.
I paused, and glanced at Orvis. I raised my brow, and said “Which one? Orvis, surely it’s not those crude-“
Orvis rolled his eyes, and turned towards me. His smile, though lessened, was every bit that of a kindly grandfather.
“Miss, he’s old enough to hear those tales! Why, at his age, I was already in the army! Under-oh, what was his damned name, something about tiny boots-“
“Orvis? You don’t mean to tell me you’re giving him all the details, do you?” I replied as my hand met my hip.
Orvis chuckled, and shook his head. “No, mum. I’m not. I promise. But those are important too. He’ll have to hear them all at one point,” said the tutor, leaning towards me. “All of the details-won’t he?”
I’d beheaded men for saying as much. But it was early, the boy was right there. Despite everything, the fat old fool was right. So I gave a sigh instead, and turned from the bath. I passed the archway, just in time to hear my son’s voice.
“And the poet? We’ll talk of him too, right?”
@@@
“Your majesty? Are you with me?”
I blinked, and turned my head towards the voice. With his stubble and scars, he could have been any grunt. But it was the age that brought him here, to this room. With the map spread before him, Tiberious needed no badge, no medal. Every battle was etched into his callused hands. His scraggly brow lifted, long cleft in half. He tapped the map upon the marbled table, and spoke again.
“Miss, are you alright?”
I blinked once more, and slunk back against my seat. I nodded, and lifted yet another goblet of wine to my lips. Tiberious said not a word, but his eyes held fast to my every action. He rose, and lifted his helmet from the table.
“If we need to discuss this another time, we can,” he said, every word a rasp.
I sat my goblet down, and shook my head.
“Tiberious, there’s never a good time to discuss war. There’s never a moment to pretend there could be. But here we are, with a war all the same. And one we’re losing,” I said. I took a deep breathe, and laced my fingers over my stomach.
It had been flat, once.
“So. Tell me again how many we’ve lost,” I said. I tried to keep my tone flat, but failed. It wasn’t jilted with rage or sadness. But the words dripped with enough melancholy that my general paused. He lifted a hand to his lips, and coughed into it as he leaned over the map. His finger traced along every groove of the paper, his eyes darting in manic calculation.
“A hundred and fifty,” he said as his eyes lifted. He paused, his finger point still against the map. As to what he was waiting for-a tear, a smile-I couldn’t say. So I let him have the moment, and together we let it pass. He stood up, his fingers loose over the edge of his helmet as he spoke.
“I suppose it’s not so bad. It was a small engagement however, and any number lost is still-“
“How small of an engagement?” I said.
Tiberious paused, his face slack as it tried to read my own. I watched his throat bob, and at last the old wolf pulled his gaze away.
“Well, numbers only matter on our side, and-“
“Tiberious. Tell me,” I said.
When he looked back, I caught it. Something likely none had seen but me. It was just a trace of it, but it lingered even as his face hardened. Just a moment, so quick I could only assume he thought he was clever.
Fear. Fear in his eyes in the moment it took sand to slip through a finger.
“One hundred and fifty out of a trope of two-hundred and fifty one. Including me,” he said.
“And the opposition?”
Tiberious gave a sigh as his grip tightened around his helmet. Against the sagging sunlight, the shadows on his face gave all the cover he needed.
“Thirty. We took fifteen of them before they retreated. Well, most of them,” he says. He takes a deep breath, his pauldrons rising as he tries to meet my gaze once more. “There was the one. This one northman, he-well, I’m sure you’ve heard the stories,”
He waves his hand, his expression pale as he waits for me to speak. I lift my goblet, and shake my head as I drink deep once more.
“O-Oh? You haven’t? Well that’s surprising,” says Tiberious, “What with the way the centurions talk. It’s all superstitious nonsense, by the by. Just soldiers talking,”
I smirk, and swallow my wine. It’s bitter as it meets my stomach, and I give a grimace.
“Are you trying to convince yourself, or I?” I say.
Tiberious rolls his tongue across his lips. They waver a moment, and then she shakes his head. His helmet meets the table once more, the map ruffling beneath him.
“If I told you I wasn’t sure, would you have me killed?”
“Not today, Tiberious. We’ve still use of you yet,”
It came again. That brief flash, so quick I almost missed it. A pang of fear.
With the warmth of my wine enveloping my brain,Tiberious began to tell me everything.
@@@
“A naked, singing murderer? Miss, have you been conducting yourself with Ira?!”
Orvis stood, his thick arms crossed over the swell of his belly. His thin brow was furrowed as he glared at me. His cheeks smoldered with fury or disappointment-I couldn’t say. But he didn’t mince his words in the least. Not now, and especially not for me.
“I’m not mad, you old eunuch. I’m merely stating what Tiberious told me. I’m going-that’s final,” I said. I had my back to him, the trunk before me ladden with silks and tunics. Picking one over the other mattered not-it wasn’t the outfit that mattered. Not where I was going. As I pulled a cloak from within, I heard Orvis scoff.
“Oh, you’re going? To the bloody war front? Oh, that’s just damned smart of you, your majesty. Have you considered what position that leaves the empire in? That your son won’t have a SINGLE parent here? You realize this is still Rome, don’t you?”
I gave a sigh, and tossed the cloak upon my chamber bed. My hands met my hips, and I raised my eyes towards Orvis.
“Tiberious has agreed to personally keep him safe. You’ll be here as well. He’ll be fine, Orvis. The empire will be safe. The statesmen can run it well enough in my stead,”
“Oh you know damned well they can’t! They’re too busy arguing the very things before their eyes, and-” Orvis said. His jaw clenched, his finger trembling as it pointed towards me.
“Don’t you dare make me tell him you’re not coming back. I won’t have it, do you hear me?”
I crossed the room, the marble tiles cool against my feet. Orvis watched all the while, right up until my arms wrapped around him. I squeezed right until I felt his arms across my back, his hand at my shoulder.
“I just-I can’t take another royal dying. Not in this life. And I-“
I laughed, and pulled from him. I raised a hand to his rounded cheek, and patted it with tenderness.
“I love you to, you fat old bastard. And if the worst does happen-I turned out fine. You saw to that, didn’t you?”
I watch as his lips twitch, the words tripping over themselves. But the old man gave a sigh, and smoothed the edges of his tunic. “Well, I suppose you did. But please. Majesty. Miss. Come home to us. Promise me that, alright?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. Not then, not in that moment. So I turned back to my chamber bed, and took a deep breath.
“I promise nothing that the gods don’t say themselves, Orvis. That’s beyond my means, and you know it,”
A beat of silence passed as I rounded the bed, back to the trunk. I leaned over, and heard Orvis sigh as he approached a table. The sound of wine being poured into a cup, a long draught, echoed in the room. I waited until I heard him swallow, feigning interest in the clothes before me. When he spoke, his words were in the measured cadence he used with me as a girl.
“So how sure are you that it’s even him? Those damned northmen all fight the same. Loud and angry, like starved bears,”
“No,” I replied as I clasped silks.
I heard Orvis snort. The table creaked as he leaned his bulk against it. I eyed his sandals from the corner of my eye, but didn’t say a word.
“No? So you’re going halfway across the bloody ocean based on what, exactly?”
“She isn’t going across the waters old one,”
Both of us turned toward the archway that lead from my chambers. Tiberious stood, dressed into his evening tunic. He smiled and gave a nod to Orvis, who raised his goblet.
“Aye, there’s the old dog. How is it, mutt?”
“My teeth still tear. How’s the boy?” said Tiberious.
Orvis smiled for the first time that evening, his cheeks rosey from the drink. “Oh, bright as ever! Can write fluently in the runes, he can. A gifted linguist if I ever saw one,”
Tiberious returned the smile, and nodded again. “Good. Rulers need to know the tongue of their enemy if we’re to prosper. But again-she’s not going across the water. You’ve not told him yet, have you?”
“Told me what, exactly?” said Orvis, a brow raised as his eyes darted between us.
I rose, and turned to the old man. I raised a finger, my voice low as I spoke.
“Orvis, if you reveal what I’m about to say to anyone, you’ll be in the games. Just like that cult. Do I make myself clear?”
I saw a flash of emotion pass on his face. Shock, hurt, anger. Then came the stoic expression of a teacher as he nodded, and sipped once more from his cup. “You’ve my word, my dear. What is it then?”
I turned towards Tiberious, and gave a solemn nod.
The war dog moved forward, his lips pursed as he gave a sharp exhale. His fingers ran through his graying locks, and he came to stand in front of Orvis. He crossed his arms at his chest, his eyes on the eunuch as he spoke.
“The northmen are at the border. They’ve camps. One of theirs easily matches ten, twenty of our own trained men,” he said, his voice flat.
I watched as the pink in Orvis’ cheeks drained. His throat bobbed, and he turned back towards the table. He lifted the wine, and his hands shook as he poured. I walked next to him, and held his wrist true. When he lifted the cup, I guided his hand. After a long drought, he turned back to Tiberious, his eyes cinched.
“Mutt?” he said.
“Yes, old one?” said Tiberious.
“You’ve got to keep her safe, hear me? I’m no blood to either of them, but I-I just-” Orvis said as he lifted his palm to his eyes. They came back wet as he looked at the general. Tiberious walked forward, and clapped a hand upon his shoulder.
“You’ve my word-as I feel the same. But yes, they’re at the border. And our Majesty,” said Tiberious with a tilt of his head, “-thinks she might have found the boy’s father. That, friend, is worth the risk. It’s worth a possible peace, and an end to all this. Isn’t it?”
Orvis gave a loud sniff. He lifted the edge of his tunic, and dabbed at his nose. Tiberious squeezed his shoulder, and turned towards me.
“The caravan is ready when you give the word,” he said. His hand dropped from Orvis, his sandals clapping against marble as he walked away.
I glanced down at the bed. The silks, the cottons, all from lands I’d never seen. Places I hadn’t so much as stepped foot in.
I closed the trunk. I gathered my things.
I met Tiberious and his men by the road, and off we went in the cover of the dark.
@@@
“I don’t want to die!”
It was the only thing to break the silence. The man wailed, his voice choked by sobs and blood. Tiberious sat by him, the centurion’s head cradled in his arms. No one said a thing, no one stirred. Not a single spear wavered as the man clutched at Tiberious. His eyes were wide as his head lulled back, crimson pooling beneath his side. He sobbed into the generals arms, and Tiberious clutched him all the closer.
Tiberious lowered him to the hard earth, and pulled his helmet away.
It was then I realized, as the general lowered his eyelids, that it wasn’t a man at all. Just a boy, one not much older than my own. His head met the earth, and Tiberious crossed his arms upon the boy’s still chest. He rose, and removed the red silken cloak at his back. He draped it upon the body, right up to his nose. If we’d been none the wiser, we would have thought the boy sleeping. Tiberious turned to me, his eyes piercing from his helmet. He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe. He simply stood, and watched me until he turned away.
I closed the flap of my tent, and tried to pretend I didn’t hear the words to his men.
“Leganis,” he said, “His name was Leganis. He was the youngest of all of us, but none could match his speed. Not a one of you-and how often did you try?”
There was a murmur among the men. Tiberious paid it no mind, and spoke again.
“I used to joke with him,” he said, “That Mercury himself would have to descend and challenge him. Just to prove he was mortal. He liked that-it made him smile,”
I tried to fill my thoughts with anything else. I tried to push away the smell of blood just beyond the tent, the smell of fire and shit and death. But Tiberious kept on speaking, and the tears spilled all the same.
“But we didn’t have to wait for Mercury. Leganis has shown us-all of us-that we’re mortal. That even the quick can still trip upon tricks of guile. Do not-” he paused, “-let his bravery be in vain. Meet the northmen, and send them to their damned gods they’re so eager to die for,”
There was a roar of voices then, of spears meeting shields. I heard the rasp of blade against scabbard, and Tiberious’ voice boomed over the clamoring din. “I ask you, are we forever?! Do you want to live forever, damn it?!”
“NO!” came hundreds of voices, above the smack and slaps of shields.
“I ask you then-what is FOREVER?!?!” bellowed the war dog.
“THE GLORY!” came the reply.
“THE GLORY OF WHAT?!”
“ROME!”
The sound became a cacophony. Weapons and whetstones, chants of vengeance and blood. A thousand feet led a thousand more, the earth shaking beneath their heels as the legion descended down the hill. I stood there, listening to every single bit of it until the tent opened. Tiberious entered, not waiting a single invitation. The flap closed behind him, and it was then I realized the sword was still in his grip. Our eyes met, and it was looking into his in that moment I remembered why they called him the wolf. My jaw tightened as Tiberious stepped forth, and sat at the edge of my cot. He laid his blade across his knees, his eyes still upon me.
“I’m going to bury someone’s son. A boy I loved, much as I love yours. So I am going to say this precisely once,” he said as he reached for his hip. He opened a pouch there with his fingers, and reached inside. His blade met the whetstone and practically sang.
“If he’s there-this northman you’re so fond of-get to him before I do. Get to him before my men do. Do you understand?”
“And where are your men off to? Such a place that they don’t need a general?”
“The front,” replied Tiberious, his eyes upon the gladius.
“Which front?” I replied.
Tiberious paused, and looked up at me.
“There is no division, miss. At this point, there’s only the front-and death. And I say we’ve had enough of that for today, don’t you?”
He turned back to his blade, the whetstone loud in the growing silence. I swallowed what felt like a stone in my throat. My lips wavered several times before the words came.
“How far are we from the battle?”
“Mere hours,” he says, the blade still singing with every scrape. He continued to draw the stone, even as my hand met his shoulder.
“Then you should be preparing your legs, not your steel. Let us begin,” I said.
And so the wolf rose, with his fang out of it’s scabbard.
With myself only steps behind, we left the tent.
@@@
It was quiet.
It didn’t have the murmur of the camp. So far from the shore, even the lap of waves against rock couldn’t reach us. Not a bird gave cry, and not a word was said. All was still as the soldiers stood in a line, their gaze across the grassy field. The other side, it was empty. Save for the trees that clutched ever upward towards Apollo’s blessing. Tiberious stood at my side. His grip hadn’t slackened the entire time. I gazed forward, and kept my voice low as I spoke.
“Why here, Wolf?”
“Leganis,” he replied.
“I understand vengeance, but why-“
“It was the last place he named before he collapsed. Before he died in my arms-your majesty,” said Tiberious, the last words a rasp.
“How can we be sure the northmen are even here?”
Tiberious looked to me, then tilted his head upwards. Circling above us and cutting into the sun’s embrace flew the darkest birds I’d ever seen.
“Ravens,” said Tiberious. “It’s a sign of their god. They take it as a good omen. So they’ll keep coming here until they fly away,”
I gave a nod, my eyes upon the wretched things. They circled wide, diving at the carrion on the field.
At the bodies, stiff in death. Hands up, some still gripping their swords.
Then came a murmur across the line. Low words exchanged in hurried voices. Tiberious stepped forward, and let out a curse under his breath. My eyes followed his own-and I felt my jaw drop.
There, across the field stood a man. Stark naked as the statues in my palace. Every limb chorded with muscle-and not a drop of sweat. His harm held a massive broad axe over his shoulder-a weapon pitted and black from previous battles. In his other hand he held a horn, one he raised and tipped back as he drank. His braided hair and beard slapped against him, his throat bobbing as he drank. A centurion turned to Tiberious, and raised a bow from his side. Tiberious held out a hand, and the soldier lowered the weapon once more.
The stranger pulled the cup from his lips. He gave a satisfied gasp, and lowered the horn to the ground. He wiped his mouth against the back of his stained hands, and broke into a smile.
“Just give the word Wolf,” said the soldier, his bow still tight in his grip.
Tiberious shook his head, and turned to me.
“Is that your boy?” he said. His sword raised, the tip pointing across the field.
I stared at the man-at every inch of him-and shook my head. “It’s-he’s too far away, I can’t-“
“FIRE!” cried Tiberious as the blade of his sword dropped. The archer-one of a score-rose, and his brothers followed. Before I could cry out, before I could stop, their arrows filled the sky. Hundreds of points came screaming down in a black mass. The ravens called out over head, ascending. I threw a hand forward, and finally found the power to speak.
“STOP! Stop that could be-“
The arrows fell. By the tens, the hundreds. I closed my eyes, and looked away.
I only looked once more when I heard a husky, deep laugh. One that echoed loud and full from across the field.
The man, he stood there laughing. Doubled over, his axehead in the dirt as he slapped his knee. He rose, the braids of his beard smacking against his chest as he continued to laugh. The arrows were all around him-but not a one had so much as knicked his flesh.
TIberious snarled, and raised his sword to give another order. Only to pause as the stranger finally spoke.
“Aye, kin. I’ve gone and made this as easy as I can on ye’, and yet ye’ still think a damned arrow can stop me? We’re of Asgard, ya’ blasted dickless cowards. At least I am-can’t speak for the rest of these whoresons,” said the man. He turned, arms outspread towards the clearing behind him. The trees shook-and one by one dark shapes appeared from the shadows. Every branch seemed to shake one free-massive men, eyes blue as frost. Hair red and fair, every inch of them painted with lines. In their hands weren’t swords-but axes. Pitch forks. Massive clubs. The stranger held up his hand, and the men paused. He turned back, and gripped his axe from the dirt.
As he flipped it over, it was then I saw it in full. With a belly and strings, his hands clutched it tenderly. His fingers met at the neck as I turned to Tiberious.
“Wolf, that’s him. That has to be him. Don’t-“
“Ye’ know, this gives me the perfect idea for a song. I kin ye’ won’t like it much-but all this, it’s going to be so damned entertaining all the same. Don’t ye’ think?” he said. As his fingers began to pluck, the north men edged closer from the woods.
Our centurion’s rose.
The man began to sing.
“Father, they’re all bound for Hel,
they’re all bound for Hel
I’m singing our song, and wishing you well-
Father, they’re all bound for Hel!”
There was a animalistic cry from both lines as the men surged forward. I turned to grab Tiberious-but he was already gone. He’d leaped from the spot, and charged forward. Sword raised and gleaming in the light. As steel sang against wood and flesh, the man-the naked, drunken and crazed man-continue to sing as men surged around him. Swords and clubs met flesh, both sides crying out to gods the other hadn’t heard of.
The soil beneath them drank every drop and turned to sludge. Some slipped, only to disappear into the mass of whirling steel and screams.
The singer, he did it with a smile-with his eyes closed. He twirled and tilted, his voice loud over the clamor. Every line seemed to push the northmen closer as he hopped upon a rock.
“-And we’re building a pyre just your size! Oh Father, they’re all bound for Hel!”
It was then, in the death and the noise, over the smell and sound and reality of it all I yelled. Twelve years I’d waited, and the name that escaped my lips couldn’t wait a second more.
“BRAGGI!”
At last, the singer opened his eyes. His song stopped-along with the northmen. The few still fighting pushed against our legion, but left their weapons at their side. One by one, our lot pulled back-their eyes joining in one to gaze at me.
Tiberious turned, a deep gash upon his helmet. With his face coated in blood, he began to walk towards me. The ground itself tried to suck him down, but he only made footfalls all the harder. He stopped but a few paces from me, and looked back at the singer. His gaze didn’t waver-but he didn’t stop me as I passed him, and began to cross the field.
Braggi stood upon the rock, a look of sheer confusion on his face. One that-step by step-gave way to a revelation that left him pale. He laid his axe down, and descended in a single leap. His steps were slow, his eyes narrowing.
Then came recognition as he broke into a run.
@@@
Tiberious wouldn’t pull his hand from his sword.
He stood there, watching the lot of them talk. While there were detractors who stood as he, the north men and our centurions met. They spoke to each other a few paces apart, their voices low. Gone was the fervor of battle, despite the dead around them. The northmen barked roman phrases. Our soldiers garbled their words back, only to have the north men laugh. It was an odd sound-deep and rich as an avalanche. But warm, despite the blood on their faces.
Then four of the northmen emerged from the woods, an oaken barrel over their shoulders. They narrowed the space between the lines, and hefted the barrel to the ground. One of the northmen-a broad fellow, a bear skin wrapped about his shoulders-turned to Braggi. Braggi smiled at my side, still nude as the day he was born.
“Aye Kesivir, give our kin a draught, eh?”
The man nodded, and reached towards his belt. I watched as our soldiers stiffened, their shields and spears upright. The northman-Kesivir-paused. His eyes burned bright beneath his bushy eyebrows as he pulled out a knife.
It met the top of the barrel, wood splintering as he lifted the top. He tossed the wooden panel to the side, and sheathed his knife. His hand went behind his back, and when it appeared, held a horn. He bent low, and dipped it within the barrel. It overflowed from the rim has he raised it again, and turned to Braggi.
Braggi tilted his head towards Tiberious, and gave a nod.
The war dog watched as the northman drew near, the cup outstretched in his hand. He stopped but a foot away, the mutt’s grip tightening on his blade. Braggi stepped from my side, and approached the pair.
The quiet-that which had been so horrifying before-stifled every throat now.
Braggi took the cup from the northman, and lifted it up.
“To those that came before, and those that we all serve. From now until the twilight,” he said.
Tiberious turned to face the bard, and I felt blood pound in my ears as he spoke.
“You slaughtered our men,” he said.
Braggi searched the general’s face, his own expression stoic. “Aye, kin slayed kin as it were. But slaughter them we didn’t-we gave them a glorious death. One that ensures we’ll meet again in Val Hall. Your men died warriors,”
Braggi took a draught from the horn, one deep and full. He pulled the cup away, and wiped at his lips. He extended the cup once more towards the war dog. Tiberious stood, still as marble as he burned his eyes into the bard. I watched as every muscle tightened upon his face, his lips twisting into a snarl as his mouth opened, and he stepped back. A bellow curled from his lips-and so, I stepped forward.
“Tiberious, by the gods let this end. Take the damned cup-we’ve had enough death today,”
And like that, his face softened. His eyes turned to me, large and wide and wet. His helmet tipped down to cast his face into shadow.
He took the cup.
@@@
We arrived back in rome in half the time.
Unlike our departure, there was fair weather the entire way. Braggi-finally clad in a borrowed tunic-smiled, and said it was thanks to his kin.
Someone by the name of Freyr.
He had all kinds of kin now, he told me. Apparently some he’d never known of-until a one-eyed old man met him on the road. They’d shared camp, and he’d asked the poet to sing for him. So Braggi sang, and told the old man of a dame across the waters. One he’d loved, one he’d lost.
The old man had smiled, and told him that all in his land had a destiny. That it was time for Braggi to meet his. Two ravens cried over head, and Braggi had lifted his eyes to see them.
When he looked back, the old man was gone.
It was one of countless tales he told me as we made our way across the waters. A contingent of north men had came along, their bodies far more suited to the oars than any anticipated. With them came mead by the barrel. Conversations over cups melted animosity-and gave way to kinship. By the time we had reached the dock, it was common sight to see the northmen and our soldiers laughing. Sharing jokes, stories. Singing and joining in each other’s voices. Braggi smiled in these moments, and would raise his axe in brotherhood.
A weapon of death, which sang so sweet as the waters lapped against our ship.
All of this was unexpected, but welcome. But it was within the palace that our journey came to an end.
I’d not found the nerve yet to tell him. Braggi and I, we had spoke much on the way home. We found one another, over the blood and death and songs. But I still hadn’t told him. It was within my bed chamber, mid-story I saw him pause as a voice sang from the hall.
“Oh, beyond the sea and vale
I’ve heard great tale
Of a man so filled with might
He’d bare-knuckle fight
all for the love of thee!”
Braggi’s face sagged as his ears pinned back. He turned slow, and faced the aperture as footsteps echoed down the hall. Another voice joined, one aged with joy as it spoke.
“Excellent young master, excellent! Oh, I so enjoy it when you sing. Your mother will be so-” said Orvis, only to stop at the archway as his eyes fell upon us. Farbauti stood at his side, his hand within the grasp of his mentor. His smile broke, and he ran across the room towards me. Orvis smiled, his hands upon the swell of his gut as he watched us-then turned his eyes to Braggi. His sandals clapped against the marble as he drew near, and tilted his head.
“About time you made it home, sir. He was getting worried sick,” said the eunuch. Braggi stood, his face flush as he took a step back. He turned towards me, his eyes darting between the both of us. He lowered himself, his gaze level with my son. The boy turned, his head tilted as he looked upon the poet. Braggi’s lips parted, his voice a rasp as he spoke.
“Where-” he started, though his throat choked upon the words, “-where did you learn that song, boy?”
Farbauti smiled, and turned towards me. “Why, my mother taught it to me. She said it was something father sang to her. Do you know it as well?”
Braggi’s face warmed, his cheeks flush as he spoke.
“Aye, kin. I’d say I do. I wrote it,”
Farbauti’s smile dropped. He stood still, his gaze upon the man before him. For a long moment all was still, all was quiet as the two looked upon one another.
Then my son took a step forward, and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.