A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers Read Free Book Online Page B

received his shield and framea a month before Atretes.
    “I am no coward!” Wagast cried desperately. “The battle was lost! Atretes, I saw your father fall. The Batavi were running for the woods.”
    “He dropped his shield,” Rud said, his hard, shaven face bronzed and uncompromising in the firelight. There was no baser crime of which a man could stand accused, no matter how young or untried.
    “It was knocked from my hands!” Wagast cried out. “I swear it!”
    “Did you try to retrieve it?” Atretes demanded.
    Wagast’s eyes darted away. “I couldn’t get to it.”
    The men murmured rejection of Wagast’s claim. Rud glared at him in disgust, his blue eyes fierce. “I saw you myself, running from the field like a frightened dog.“ He cried out to Atretes and the council. ”The punishment for cowardice is set. There is no staying it—our law demands his death!“
    Tribesmen brandished their swords, though with no great zeal. None of them relished executing a clansman. When Atretes raised his own sword, the judgment was set. Wagast tried to scramble away, rolling and kicking at the men reaching for him. Screaming for mercy, he was dragged to the edge of a morass. Digging his heels into the soft ground, he struggled violently, sobbing and begging. Sickened, Atretes struck him down with his fist. Then, hoisting him high, he threw him into the mire himself. Two elders set a hurdle over him and held it down with long poles, trapping him in the bog.
    The harder Wagast thrashed, the more quickly he sank. When his head went under, he clawed for any handhold. One elder yanked his pole free and tossed it aside. The others did as well. Wagast’s muddy fingers clung to the hurdle. Finally, loosening, they slipped away as a last few bubbles broke the surface.
    The men stood silent. There was no triumph in such a death. Better to die beneath a Roman sword than to be lost in the shame and foul oblivion of the morass.
    Atretes turned to the lone gray-haired man standing off to one side. He put his hand on Herigast’s shoulder and gripped him tightly. “You were my father’s friend. We all know you to be a man of honor and do not fault you for your son’s cowardice.” The man’s hard face jerked, then became still and emotionless. Atretes felt pity, but showed only grave respect. “You are welcome at my fire,” he said and left the marsh. The others followed him.
    Only Herigast remained behind. When all were gone, he hunkered down, pressed his forehead against his framea, and wept.
    Sever us Albanus Majorian had fought this foul tribe of Germans before. For the past two months, they had dogged various Roman legions, striking suddenly and then melting away, after cutting away a chunk of the ranks, like a deadly mist. Even so, though he had fully expected and counted on an attack by the German tribesmen, the Roman commander was stunned by the ferocity he was now facing.
    The instant he had heard the war cry, Severus had signaled a counterattack. These foul Germans played unfair, striking like a venomous snake that appeared out of nowhere then slithered swiftly away to its hole. The only way to kill a snake was to cut off its head.
    Unseen, the cavalry moved into position. The ranks began the practiced turn. As the horde of naked warriors ran from the trees, Severus spotted the leader who, blond hair streaming behind him like a banner, ran ahead of his pack of wolves. Rage flashed through the soldier, then was replaced almost immediately by a grim determination. He would have that young barbarian in chains. Driving his horse forward, Severus shouted more orders.
    Charging straight into the legion, the young barbarian used his bloody framea with such skill that the frontline Romans fell back from him in terror. Undaunted, Severus signaled again, the trumpets giving a command that brought the Roman cavalry in from behind the tribesmen. Having survived the initial onslaught, the Roman ranks tightened again, moving to