‘THERE ARE NO Dagelungs left?’ Hagan said in an empty voice, realising for the first time that there was no one present who represented his own clan.
‘I’m sorry, my old friend,’ Gunderic said.
Gunhild laid a hand on Hagan’s shoulder.
‘We have searched the world for the surviving Burgundars, Hagan,’ Gunderic said. ‘We’ve sent messengers far and wide, telling the world the Burgundars have a new home and that our folk are welcome here.’
‘So far, not one living Dagelung has been found,’ Gunhild said.
‘Your clan must have borne the brunt of the Huns’ fury at Vorbetomagus,’ Gunderic said. ‘It seems they were obliterated, Hagan.’
The feelings of desolation and loneliness Hagan had become so familiar with over the last fifteen years came flowing back into his heart once more. The memory of his dead brother lying in the mud resurfaced in his mind. His mother’s corpse with her head stamped in. Cousins, in-laws, the whole web that made up a clan. The stories particular to his clan. Were they really now all gone?
Then another thought came to him. Was he even a Dagelung? Who knew what clan his real father had belonged to. Anger, resentment and self-pity began to churn within him. His mother was a Dagelung, which made him at least half one, he concluded.
‘So I’m the last of the Dagelungs,’ Hagan said, blinking to clear the tears that stung his eyes. Whether these were due to the loss of his believed kin or the memory of what the man he had always thought was his father had told him the night before the battle of Vorbetomagus, he could not tell. ‘The last blood link to my clan.’
‘The last of the old Dagelungs,’ Gunderic said. ‘But the first of the new. Like that tree still growing even though it is now in a feasting hall, you can start your clan anew. You can keep it going. This is indeed a gift from the Great God, Tiwass.’
‘And who knows?’ Gunhild said. ‘Perhaps someday we will find other living Dagelungs. We did not know you were still alive. There may be more like you, beyond the boundaries of the Empire or still serving in the Army.’
‘Today you can complete my council, old friend,’ Gunderic said. ‘You will represent the Dagelungs. At last we will have someone from every clan at the table.’
Hagan just nodded. He decided at that moment his illegitimate lineage should remain his secret. No one living knew of it anyway.
Except, perhaps, the thought ran through his mind, my real father. Was he still alive? And if so, was he perhaps even here in Geneva?
‘We have kept the memory of the Dagelungs alive,’ Gunderic said. ‘As you will see.’
There was a shout in the clearing below and Hagan looked to see ranks of warriors were filing in. They walked together with a disciplined step.
Gunderic stood up. He took a deep breath, his chest puffing with pride.
‘The Burgundar War Horde,’ he said.
Hagan was impressed. Every one of the warriors wore war gear that was new and well looked-after. They wore helmets with cheek guards and long nasal guards, decorated with embossed images of warriors and dragons and polished so they gleamed like silver. So too were the mail shirts that covered their torsos. Each man had a spear, a throwing axe, a sword and a long knife. Gone was the Burgundar horde of his youth where each warrior expressed his own style through his war gear and how it was decorated. Now the only variance was that the black cloak each man wore had the emblem of his clan on the shoulder: eagles, wolves, sun wheels and lightning, though of course no bears for the Dagelungs. Their round shields were slung across their backs; like their cloaks, each was painted with the emblem of their clan, but also with the arrow rune Hagan had seen the cross outside the church twisted into: the symbol of Tiwass the War God.
The warriors formed themselves into three squares.
‘An impressive display,’ Hagan said. ‘The work of Wodnas, no doubt? I haven’t seen such discipline since my days in the Roman Army.’
He glanced around at Wodnas, who returned his look with a narrowed eye.
‘I don’t remember armed warriors being part of the Thingwas, though,’ Hagan said. ‘All weapons had to be set aside for the duration.’
‘This is the new Burgundar realm,’ Gunderic said. ‘We have new customs.’
Another company of men entered into the clearing.
‘Watch, Hagan,’ Gunderic said. ‘I really want you to see this.’
There were perhaps one hundred of them. They were dressed like the others but they stood out from their comrades because each had a further piece of decoration added to their otherwise uniform war gear. Each man wore a fur pelt around his shoulders like a short cloak. Some were brown, some black, but they were all from the same animal: the Bear.
‘These are the men of the Berh Herjass – the Bear Warriors,’ Gunderic said, beaming with pride as he led Hagan over to meet them. ‘They are a special company of warriors we brought together to honour the memory of the Dagelung clan, who we believed to be no longer with us. Only our most fearsome warriors – champions and heroes – can become one. When we are tested by war they will be first into combat and shake the enemy with their courage, their skill and their rage. Geic leads them.’
As Hagan and the others watched, the company of Bear Warriors formed a shield wall. They began to stamp in unison, banging their spears against their shields in a tattoo that matched their steps. They chanted as they stepped first left, then right, then they split into two groups. Each one ran in a circle then reformed their line with a great shout.
Geic stood before them, spear raised in salute to the king on the mound above. Gunderic looked to the side and nodded.
Hagan followed his gaze and saw a warrior coming up the mound. He was a merkes mann, a standard bearer. On a long pole he bore a flag that danced in the slight breeze that disturbed the night air. It had seen better days. Compared to the new war gear worn by the warriors the flag was tattered, threadbare and stained. Though its embroidery was faded, the emblem of the eagle was still visible on it.
‘My father’s battle flag,’ Gunderic said, his eyes alight and glittering. ‘I saved it from the slaughter field at Vorbetomagus. It remains stained with the blood and earth splattered on it that day. Every year at the start of the Thingwas we use it to remember our glorious dead. With it we keep alive the memory of the old kingdom and what was done to us. One day, soon, the Burgundars will ride into battle once more, and when we do, this flag will lead us. That will be our day of vengeance.’
He took the flag from the warrior and walked down the mound. The rest of the council got up to follow him and Hagan did the same.
Gunderic came to a halt at the bottom of the mound. He lowered the standard so it was almost horizontal. Horns sounded and Geic walked forward. He bowed his head, took a handful of the flag in his right hand and pressed it to his lips. Then he let go and hurried off. Another Bear Warrior came forward after him and did the same.
As Hagan watched, each warrior one by one came forward to kiss the flag. After they had done so they went to Wodnas and knelt before him. The old one-eyed man laid his hand upon their heads and looking up at the dark sky above, called down a blessing upon each man.
It was a strange, yet compelling display Hagan had never seen before. He could imagine the scorn the man he had thought was his father, Godegisil, would have responded with if asked to kiss a flag, but the serious, religious-like reverence with which each of the warriors regarded the standard showed how much it meant to them.
As the night wore on the warriors all came forward. When there were only a few left Hagan began to feel tired and bored. The thought struck him that Wodnas’ Raven Warriors did not appear to be among the war horde. Were they some sort of private army the old man kept?
He looked around and, as if in response to his thoughts, spotted Gunfjaun, the raven warrior who had accompanied him from the border. The young man was approaching quickly across the clearing. He went straight to Wodnas and began speaking to him in a low, earnest voice.
Wodnas listened, then nodded. He strode over to Gunderic.
‘Lord King,’ Wodnas said. ‘My Raven Warriors have caught a foreigner crossing the border. He says he has a message for you.’
‘They should bring him here to be sacrificed,’ Gunderic said.
‘Lord King,’ Wodnas said. ‘He is a Hun.’