The Fate of Our Union, page 19
“But they’re our fellow countrymen, not our foemen.” Sunu grabbed all three dice, standing up. “We’re not raiding them.”
“Sunu’s right!” Aðali stood beside his chief. “There’s nothing to justify this act of aggression.”
“Aye.” Blîðsean stood on his opposite side. “And it’s not Sunu’s style.”
Giwaldan ignored them. “The Hermundurs have no concern for their fellow countrymen, so why should you extend your concern to them? They think their tribe is superior.”
“I just helped them, for one.” Sunu couldn’t believe what he was being asked to do. “If we did raid them, which we’re not going to, what would we have to gain?”
“They have the unfair advantage of living on iron mines and salt beds, and many of their leaders have horses and considerable heads of cattle.” Giwaldan’s tone was empathetic, his eyes enticing. “Tribes like yours, who live farther north, don’t have this. You’re entitled to the same.”
“The Saxons enjoy more fairness and freedom.” Blîðsean lost his humor. “So this is not a fair comparison.”
“No.” Aðali’s face bore deep trouble. “It’s divisive venom—”
Giwaldan overspoke, “You never had the chance to live the way they do—you’ll never match their wealth unless you take it by force.”
This guy is dogged. Sunu tried to rein him in. “Let’s focus on the original plan.”
“What if that doesn’t work?” Bihêt voiced his support. “What if the Tencters change their plans? Then our force would be too weak for a venture like Colonia Agrippinensium.”
“And with all due respect,” Dôð added, “we have a standard of living to maintain and can’t rely on unrealistic ventures. Giwaldan’s is solid.”
Those men you chose are expensive patricians, and their financial expectations will lead you to tyranny. Sunu remembered Rufus’s words. He found the company of his retainers unexpectedly daunting, their passion drowning out any voices of dissent. It’s happening!
“It isn’t likely that much blood will be shed.” Bihêt rejoined. “For Reht and Brôðar’s retainers are inferior in arms and number, and there will be no time to levy the general warriors. Thus, the Hermundurs will have to surrender.”
“Look at it this way,” Giwaldan took the edge off his tongue, “not only will you have the chance to take from the rich in the city, you’ll also have a chance to take from them in the country. This will bring you great fame and glory!”
The pressure of their words and the piercing of their stares were formidable weapons.
“You offered us glory as our sworn chief,” Dôð spurred. “Now—it’s time for action.”
Now’s your chance to impress men with power and popularity. Sunu began hearing the voice he’d heard by the sea. Take it. Take it. Take it.
I shouldn’t. Sunu’s resistance was weakening. I said this wouldn’t happen to me . . . “We’ll take their cattle.”
In eerie silence, the retainers raised their weapons approvingly.
“C’mon, fellows.” Blîðsean laughed. “He’s joking.”
“No,” Sunu snarled, swinging the Fetter of Awe. “Giwaldan’s right—we’ll take their horses and cattle.”
Blîðsean’s easy laugh became an awkward chuckle. “You’ve got a dark sense of humor.”
Sunu raised his horse-head mace to the sky, dark ambition shading his face. “Fatten our herd, O heavenly gods!”
Seeing the hero change his morals in that frighteningly short moment, all expectations were lost.
“He’s not joking, Blîðsean.” Aðali’s face hung, tone somber.
Blîðsean’s dispirited eyes went skyward. “Thunor’s not happy.”
There was no sun, only dark clouds.
Smiling, Giwaldan placed an arm around Sunu’s shoulder while handing him a wolf-head helmet. “We’re going to be quite happy soon.”
Dôð and Bihêt rounded seven dogs, then withdrew their axes.
Sunu watched unflinchingly as they were butchered, doused with oil, and set ablaze. This is what they do.
As red flesh browned, each retainer snatched a portion, some while it was dripping blood. Desiring to impress, Sunu devoured his share while it was still aflame, washing it down with the king’s wicked liquor. The retainers cheered, seeing their chief belch a fireball. They began growling while shoving—heightening their rage with violent barking—Touching the bite mark on his neck, Sunu joined the dog fight, barking and clawing, till his thoughts shifted to seizing and killing. I’m one of them.
Howling, Sunu emerged from the pack. Amid his maddening fury was a lingering fear of recognition. In a snap, he morphed his seven-headed white horse into a single-headed dark gray, then covered his face with a fanged wolf head.
Long Ears remarked in the tone of his side-left head, “I see now you wish to be unseen.”
Sunu breathed heavily beneath the wolf helm.
As he and his pack crept toward their prey, scouts crept farther to survey their village. One of them didn’t return. “Now.”
Wind filled Giwaldan’s streaming draco, hissing.
Riding at the front, Sunu was the first to see the gathering opposition: men dashing out of their longhouses brandishing weapons, their women standing nearby shouting and screaming, “Don’t let us become slaves!”
Another was encouraging her son. “Be strong for your mother!”
One was hollering, holding her crying infant. “This is what you’re fighting for!”
Dear gods. Sunu’s anxiety returned as the women reminded him of his mother and their sons his brothers.
He rode out of his way to avoid harming the women and children, slashing and trampling their men, while Aðali and Blîðsean were avoiding them all. “Let’s focus on stealing rather than killing, the lesser vice.”
“Over here!” Bihêt had found a herd of cattle and was knocking down their pen. Sunu dismounted to aid in its seizure.
“Reht, nooo!” Then one bold woman stood before him bawling while a bloody man lay near her feet. “You killed my husband!”
Sunu tried to walk around her. “Step aside.”
“Murderer!” She screamed under angry tears, refusing to budge from her husband’s side. “Why are you hiding behind a mask?”
“I said step aside!” he barked.
“No!” she snapped, thrusting her finger. “I want to see the face of the wolf.”
“Hey, help me herd these cattle!” Bihêt urged, pulling two cows with lassos. “Move along!”
“I’ve given you fair warning,” Sunu growled, breathing heavily beneath the wolf helm. “I won’t warn you again.”
I will warn you . . . Hearing Long Ears’s forward-facing voice, Sunu froze. One who has fallen, one who’s effeminate, one who’s disabled, one who’s disarmed—fighting them is unmanly and dishonorable. Yet the enraging effect of the ritual and the excitement of the battle overrode his manly honor.
Then the woman grabbed his mask.
Sunu snatched her by the throat, like a doe in wolf’s jaws, and cast her to the ground.
She lay unconscious, her tears joining her husband’s blood.
His path unobstructed, Sunu raided the cattle and horses while other retainers seized iron and salt. The fighting didn’t last long, as many leaders were killed or captured, and many warriors surrendered, leaving the retinue more time to seize property. Don’t compare our clan to others whose means of income involve seizure, which could lead to the downfall of our entire tribe, our entire country.
It’s like a bad dream, Father. Sinking into drunken sadness, Sunu looked at his retainers as if he were not their chief, feeling like a thespian merely acting the part, missing the true kinship he’d taken for granted, wondering what his kin would think if they saw him now. I’ve let you down.
Sunu left the village with far more loot than he’d expected, no longer feeling proud that this was what he wanted. He tried to console himself that his young thanes felt the same, save the twelve who were dead or missing, which included his standard-bearer.
Aðali rode out of the village, leading Giwaldan’s horse, distressed at being allied to another tyrant. “This is a nightmare.”
Gray as a cloudy sky, Long Ears revealed, “You just killed Justice.”
“What?” Sunu whirled his face toward the stallion’s, breaking his daze.
“The reason XXX Ulpia Victrix attacked the Hermundurs was that they removed a client king under the leadership of Reht. Trajan took revenge because he was the one who gave him the crown. Now, you’re the one wearing the sign of the Wolf, stained with Justice’s blood.”
Sunu ripped off the blood-splattered wolf helm and stared at it, frozen in horror. “No, Rufus . . .”
Once a choice like this is made, a thread of tragedies may be set in motion only a miracle can end.
12
The Hound’s Return
Sun’s Day
“herded inside the cave, yearning for the pasture, the sacred cows lamented,” Keresaspa preached, trotting her golden bay before her nine-hundred-member congregation,
“‘Why are the weak being preyed on by the strong?’
“‘When will the venerable be given proper respect?’
“‘Where is the hero of the weak and venerable?’”
She reared her steed before the cavalrymen, sitting on a pasture beside their horses. “Hearing the cows’ lament, the hero rode inside the cave with manly courage.
“‘Who is this sacrilegious monster that defiles the sacred cows? From what part of the outer world is this prey of the weak? By what name is this disgrace who’s disrespecting the venerable?’”
Keresaspa withdrew three draco windsocks and waved them in the air. “Then the colossal three-mouthed, three-headed, six-eyed destroyer of the good principle hissed.
‘I am the son of Vrtra, Jörmungand, and the multi-headed Hydra from the waters of Iran, Germany, and imperial Rome. I am the World Serpent, the Bane of the World—who are you?’”
She unsheathed a congregant’s sword and swung it at the dracos. “‘I am the son of the World Serpent’s Slayer,’ the hero proclaimed, severing all three surprised heads. ‘Hero slay serpent!’”
As the dragon windsocks fell before her eyes, a band of horsemen appeared in the distance. Keresaspa gazed toward the east while her followers began to rise, hearing what her far-sightedness allowed her to see. She rode between her congregants as they mounted their horses. They arrayed behind her as she galloped past them, withdrawing their weapons.
Archers aimed, nocked arrows in arching bows, until Keresaspa ordered, “Halt.” She directed her speech toward the cavalry’s leader. “Sunu, Slayer of the Almighty White Bull!” She could see him looking back at her through the Fetter of Awe.
“Waelcyrie!” Sunu cried, waving a draco.
A shiver ran through Keresaspa as she watched him and his war band ride toward her with their loot. He reminds me of the king, courting me with his men. She replaced the disturbing reminder with a beautiful memory. Flying with him over the mountains.
Sunu beamed brighter the closer he came to Keresaspa. “It’s like seeing the sun again, setting in the west after rising in the east.” Sunu led his retinue toward her and her congregants.
Keresaspa’s smile shined as she raised her golden-tanned arms, riding toward Sunu on her golden bay. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”
Sunu brightened by her words and expression of dawn rays. “You say that as if you knew I was coming.”
“I knew.”
“You’re a seer.”
“I know what is seen and unseen.” Keresaspa observed his dark gray steed. “You and your horse have lost some heads.”
“We lost Red Head, who’s in Bohemia,” Sunu referenced Rufus and his retainers. “But we gained three hundred heads.”
“But none of them can fly.” Keresaspa was disenchanted. Is this the same Sunu who saved me with the Uniquely-Created Bull’s udder? Is this him now among wolfskin cattle raiders and their rustled cattle, horses, and slaves? “The Soul of the Cow yearns for its pasture.”
“Your mind is always above earth.” Sunu rode toward Keresaspa on her green pasture until their horses were forelock to forelock. “So, what’re you doing here?”
Keresaspa raised her head. “Seeking the Glory.”
Sunu looked in the same direction. “So am I.”
“You seek fame.” She kept her eyes on the sun. “I seek the Glory.”
He squinted, then searched the clouds. “Aren’t our eyes on the same sky?”
“Fame is the heart’s desire; the Glory pleases the soul.”
“Deep.” Eyes toward earth, Sunu perceived her congregation. “The factions!”
Keresaspa warmed as the sun’s light embraced all her members. “They’re no longer factions.”
Sunu alighted with disbelief. “What happened?”
“Their division centered on worldliness.” Keresaspa thought of the wild grievances she’d reined. “So I united them spiritually.”
“How?”
“Through the philosophy of non-attachment and union with the Bull.” Keresaspa was heartened by her followers’ spiritual focus, selfless concern, and bonding through cultural commonalities. “Like Rufus, they are now black sheep, free souls who stand out amid the worldly herd. They are the fertile soil where the red steeds, their heroic leaders, are born.” Twelve prominent warriors in bright red, horse hoof corselets were among the congregation. “Since they’re more active in fighting the obstacles, the red steeds receive special protection from the Bull. Through the pursuit of the Glory, they retain their health and strength and strengthen their brethren through self-sacrifice and realization of the Self.”
Sunu gazed at their stunning black, white, bronze, and copper steeds. “Those are the horses that broke up their fight!”
“Yes!” Keresaspa could not forget standing breathless amid their ethereal stampede. “Long Ears’s miraculous horses united with Bohemia’s now unified factions; then I guided them away from the wolves’ den.”
The Bull, Verethraghna, whose horns are Strength and Victory
The best-armed god against the malice of the malicious
Give health and strength, along with Manly Courage
Give good thoughts and Glory to men of good words and deeds.
“Keresaspa the Good Shepherd,” Sunu dubbed.
“In truth, that’s my goal, to be the Good Shepherd . . .” The Glory-seeking bull who reveals the Cow’s Soul was honored to hear this byname. “Like Zarathushtra, teaching the power of self-dominion and good thought, inspiring good words, and good deeds, which lead to the Bull’s pasture.” She’d led Bohemia’s Black Sheep of Aryan, Germanic, Celtic, Italic, Greek, Armenian, and Dacian races.
In man’s world, where the dishonorable win,
and men who lose have honorable standards,
there are men who don’t know on which side they truly stand
For what is true is little known and little spoke
Yet there’s a Wheel under which Truth is Pasture,
where the Black Sheep are made stronger than the Wolves,
where the Red Steeds have more power than the Serpent,
where the White Bull leads to Good Fame and the Glory.
“Inspiring eloquence!” Sunu nodded toward his retinue of ambitious steeds. “My goal is to lead these men, once bound to the Bohemian king, to greater fame.”
I see misfortune. Keresaspa asked as if she couldn’t see, “Where is this greener pasture?”
“Ultimately, Colonia Agrippinensium.” Sunu made it sound impressive. “Before that, there’s a large market not far from where we are now. It lies between the Danube and the Rhine, in the realm of a potential client-king named Rîki. Like Landscaðo, he needs to be straightened.” The king was not all Sunu had on his mind. “There’s also a sword I would like to claim—it has a golden blade inlaid with all kinds of ornaments.”
“That sounds familiar.” Keresaspa glanced at her tattoo of a beautiful man holding a sword of the same description.
Sunu perked. “Have you seen it?”
“No, but I’ve heard . . .” Keresaspa pondered the relevance of the sword with the mission at hand. “So, this king, do you want to kill him?”
“I don’t want to kill him—I want to shame him.” Vengeance burned in Sunu’s eyes, his words accompanying the sound of barking dogs and howling wolves in Keresaspa’s mind. “And with our cavalries united, he won’t have a prayer for resistance.”
“I’m feeling resistant.” Keresaspa gripped her reins, experiencing the haunting sensation she’d felt around the Aorsi king, a disturbance that came from under the ground where she’d lain impaled by his sword. I dislike this feeling. I fear where this is going.
“Ride beside me,” Sunu prodded, flames riding his tone. “There’s enough wealth to make my alliance worth your while.”
The riders from both herds neighed approvingly.
He’s turning my black sheep white, but it’s not him alone. Keresaspa’s companions had denounced the raiding of cattle and goods; now, they were waving draco windsocks to support it. There’s a powerful demon in our midst I cannot see; it’s lurking deep within Sunu, so he is blind to all my words. “Happiness through righteousness!” She strove for unambiguous enlightenment. “Let our ambitions make humanity prosper!”
As the bull of the herd resisted, Sunu spurred. “Friend helps friend . . .”
Keresaspa’s head tightened as if his words were clamping jaws.
“Hand helps hand . . .”
Her demons resurfaced, wolves graying her green pasture; piercing sensations made her loosen her rein. “Horsewoman helps horseman.”
“Aye!” Sunu howled his pleasure at her joining his pack. “The plan is . . .”
keresaspa accompanied sunu when their cavalries arrived at the market, each bringing five men inside. While there, Sunu and his retainers exchanged the iron, cattle, and slaves for gold, silver, and imported wine. During these exchanges, they surveyed the area, noting their enemy’s position, his strengths, and where he was not strong.
