Read Online Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) by Alaric Longward - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alaric Longward
Ads: Link
wounds. I sat and sampled mead as his men feasted in the hall next to us, their voices heard, though softly as Grandfather was dead and they had lost friends. Aldbert, his long hair brushing the table, hiding his face, was seated on the side, rubbing his temples as he tried to figure out a song to celebrate the great lord’s life. ‘How goes it, Aldbert?’ Hulderic grunted and then hissed with pain as Ingild’s old, but deft fingers stitched up his forearm.
The young man looked startled and grasped a horn and pushed away a plate full of bones, our recent meal. ‘I am trembling to claim I know your father, lord. I am hesitant to say it will be good enough to honor his memory. Woden will blink, he will cry but not from pride, if I fail.’
‘Let Woden cry, boy,’ Hulderic said gruffly. ‘Your poem will do just fine, and will do Friednot honor.’ His eyes turned to me and he sighed heavily. I didn’t budge. Since we returned home to Timberscar, carrying our fallen, he had avoided speaking with me. I fumed for a day, humiliated by what had happened. Maino, Maino had been given Cuthbert’s weapons. And Hulderic had let go of the ring mail and fabulous seax of Ulbrect, the Saxon warlord who had killed Friednot. They would be burned with Grandfather, and the sooty lumps of iron would accompany him to the grave mound. I heard Maino suggest this, after they had argued who had earned the armor. I had, I had earned them, like they said Maino earned Cuthbert’s gear. He got his, gods would get Ulbrect’s. Bastards. The fine mail would be given to Woden, the god who surely had far too many dverg-crafted weapons to begin with and I’d wear a tunic to battle again.
Gods, curse even Hulderic, Father who had not budged a muscle when I was robbed. I sat and stared back at him, feeling the stirrings of a violent argument in the air and so did Grandmother who had stopped sewing the wound, and stared at her son. ‘Let the boy be,’ Ingild said softly.
Hulderic did not oblige her. ‘I wonder, Aldbert, what song will you sing of my son Maroboodus? What grand poem of idiocy will you sing of him when Maino wants to get satisfaction? He’ll not settle for a simple “I am sorry, my lord”. He will want my boy on his knees.’
Aldbert shook his thin shoulders many times, stuttering. ‘He fought well.’
‘Short poem that,’ Hulderic laughed bitterly, but gave an approving nod. ‘But I guess better than some that were made that day.’
I got up and leaned on the table. ‘I didn’t even see Aldbert in the battle. Hiding behind a tree, no doubt. I—’
Hulderic slammed a hand on the seat and cursed, as Erse’s fingers slipped during the final stiches. ‘Stay still, you wool-smelling goat-brain,’ she hissed.
Hulderic looked to the rafters of the hall. He mocked me. ‘But I killed the chief. I killed two chiefs. I rescued her. It’s so wrong! It’s unjust! It’s a damned shame!’ he mimicked me, and I bit my tongue as he stole my words, nearly exactly as I had imagined uttering them.
‘All of that is true, thank you, Father,’ I said so coldly, he should have been a shuddering lump of blue-lipped meat. He was not and his face was red from anger, in fact. ‘And why didn’t you stand up for me? Dubbe would have. Harmod and Sigmundr as well—’
‘Harmod,’ he said icily, ‘would not have. Dubbe and Sigmundr would have slammed their shields with their spears, calling out the lies like the messengers of Tiw, god of justice, but Harmod would have stroked his dammed beard, and he would have made so very sure we do not suffer needlessly. Patience would have served us well. A Thing should have decided this and it would have, perhaps, judged your claim just. He struck you from behind. Everyone saw it. You were the wronged party. You lost your temper. Then you were not the wronged party. You fool.’
‘Why didn’t you—’
‘ My father died, Maroboodus!’ he yelled. My eyes went to Grandmother. Friednot had
The young man looked startled and grasped a horn and pushed away a plate full of bones, our recent meal. ‘I am trembling to claim I know your father, lord. I am hesitant to say it will be good enough to honor his memory. Woden will blink, he will cry but not from pride, if I fail.’
‘Let Woden cry, boy,’ Hulderic said gruffly. ‘Your poem will do just fine, and will do Friednot honor.’ His eyes turned to me and he sighed heavily. I didn’t budge. Since we returned home to Timberscar, carrying our fallen, he had avoided speaking with me. I fumed for a day, humiliated by what had happened. Maino, Maino had been given Cuthbert’s weapons. And Hulderic had let go of the ring mail and fabulous seax of Ulbrect, the Saxon warlord who had killed Friednot. They would be burned with Grandfather, and the sooty lumps of iron would accompany him to the grave mound. I heard Maino suggest this, after they had argued who had earned the armor. I had, I had earned them, like they said Maino earned Cuthbert’s gear. He got his, gods would get Ulbrect’s. Bastards. The fine mail would be given to Woden, the god who surely had far too many dverg-crafted weapons to begin with and I’d wear a tunic to battle again.
Gods, curse even Hulderic, Father who had not budged a muscle when I was robbed. I sat and stared back at him, feeling the stirrings of a violent argument in the air and so did Grandmother who had stopped sewing the wound, and stared at her son. ‘Let the boy be,’ Ingild said softly.
Hulderic did not oblige her. ‘I wonder, Aldbert, what song will you sing of my son Maroboodus? What grand poem of idiocy will you sing of him when Maino wants to get satisfaction? He’ll not settle for a simple “I am sorry, my lord”. He will want my boy on his knees.’
Aldbert shook his thin shoulders many times, stuttering. ‘He fought well.’
‘Short poem that,’ Hulderic laughed bitterly, but gave an approving nod. ‘But I guess better than some that were made that day.’
I got up and leaned on the table. ‘I didn’t even see Aldbert in the battle. Hiding behind a tree, no doubt. I—’
Hulderic slammed a hand on the seat and cursed, as Erse’s fingers slipped during the final stiches. ‘Stay still, you wool-smelling goat-brain,’ she hissed.
Hulderic looked to the rafters of the hall. He mocked me. ‘But I killed the chief. I killed two chiefs. I rescued her. It’s so wrong! It’s unjust! It’s a damned shame!’ he mimicked me, and I bit my tongue as he stole my words, nearly exactly as I had imagined uttering them.
‘All of that is true, thank you, Father,’ I said so coldly, he should have been a shuddering lump of blue-lipped meat. He was not and his face was red from anger, in fact. ‘And why didn’t you stand up for me? Dubbe would have. Harmod and Sigmundr as well—’
‘Harmod,’ he said icily, ‘would not have. Dubbe and Sigmundr would have slammed their shields with their spears, calling out the lies like the messengers of Tiw, god of justice, but Harmod would have stroked his dammed beard, and he would have made so very sure we do not suffer needlessly. Patience would have served us well. A Thing should have decided this and it would have, perhaps, judged your claim just. He struck you from behind. Everyone saw it. You were the wronged party. You lost your temper. Then you were not the wronged party. You fool.’
‘Why didn’t you—’
‘ My father died, Maroboodus!’ he yelled. My eyes went to Grandmother. Friednot had
Similar Books
