Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) by Alaric Longward Read Free Book Online Page B

we were panting when we reached them at the woods’ edge, the one separating the beach from the hills. We plunged in, our hearts racing and on the rain-beaten beach, there was chaos.
    Some hundred and fifty Saxons were milling in confusion, as there was a block of Gothoni guarding the doorway to their ships. The three Saxon scouts were on their faces by the gate and a huge man, Hughnot, was making mocking dancing steps before his troops. His standard was behind him, one of dark, dead crows.
    ‘You wish to live?’ Cuthbert was screaming, sitting on his horse. ‘You have come to the wrong place to have a dance! Are you lost, perhaps? Give me back my fucking ships, and perhaps you can go home and weep with your rancid women, Hughnot!’
    ‘You, lord of tears,’ Hughnot was laughing, ‘will sleep under the stars this night. You’ll be alone and afraid, and the crabs will have your coward’s heart! I’ll shine your bald head, you filth, after you are dead. I’ll take the skin and stretch it on my shield. I’ll shit in the skull, too.’
    Cuthbert turned his horse and his men rippled in anger. He was pointing his ax at Hughnot’s forty Black Goths. The pirate was utterly enraged, spittle flying and the horse echoed his master’s mood. It was dancing around madly, its eyes huge and ears flattened on the sides, perhaps sensing our presence, but it was wiser than its master. The Saxons yelled raucous encouragements to each other. There were few men with strange coats of feathers and they strutted forward. ‘Damned vitka,’ Hulderic said somberly. ‘And ours died in the winter.’
    ‘Friednot’s will do,’ I said.
    ‘They are useless as a bent cock,’ Dubbe spat.
    ‘Theirs will die today,’ Maino laughed from nearby. ‘I’ll slit their spines and lick at the marrow.’
    ‘Spare them, if you see them,’ Bero hissed at his son. ‘They are holy men. We are Gothoni, the first men and will act like it.’
    ‘Probably the only time I agree with the ham-faced bastard,’ I muttered, meaning Maino. I hated and feared the priests. I glanced at Bero’s hand. There was Draupnir’s Spawn, the family ring, old as time and rumored to be given to the first humans by Woden, to Aska and Embla. The Gothoni, the Suebi tribes across the seas, revered it even. Our lost family in islands of Gothonia wanted it back. It was as magical as the spells of vitka, but I could at least understand its power. It was real. I would have used it, I thought, to stomp the Saxons into the cracks of the riverbed in their lands, not ours.
    But that was not to be. It would be Maino’s next, just like it had been Friednot’s over Hughnot. Maino would always be above me. I could not stomach the thought and bile rose to my throat.
    The enemy was chanting now. They were banging their spears on their shields and some were herding the prisoners to the side. Hughnot was laughing at the vitka, and showed them his hairy ass, before marching disdainfully to stand with his men. Some javelins flew after him, one shuddered in the palisade. The enemy shrieked, lifted their shields, slammed them together and walked forward with a tromp of heavy feet. Some broke off to climb the palisade on the sides, but Cuthbert was taking his best men forward in a thick column and the Black Goths cheered them on, mocking their efforts, tightening across the palisade’s opening, ferocious, shield over shield, spears ready, vastly outnumbered, but not by valor.
    ‘Wish they’d hurry it up,’ Friednot said as he was dismounting. ‘I have not eaten since early morning. This is a bloody nuisance.’ He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes that belied nervousness. The enemy was more numerous, but not by much. We had an advantage of surprise. All should have been well. Yet, the great man was nervous and then three ravens flew across our troops, and that made him serious and silent. The vitka looked away, avoiding Friednot’s eyes. The Thiuda slapped Osgar, his