HAGAN FOUND IT very hard to sleep. The night was hot and sticky and he lay on his bedding, dry-mouthed and bathed in sweat, but it was not the discomfort that kept him awake.
He was tired but the events of the evening repeated themselves over and over in his mind. He was angry with himself and at the unfairness of the situation. He was not scared to fight – he had fought in many battles – but his days of being in the front line should have been over. Gunderic said Hagan had betrayed him but it was really the other way around. Gunderic had betrayed his friendship. So what if Aetius had sent him to Geneva to spy on the Burgundars and find the treasure? He had not actually carried out the orders. He, Hagan, had betrayed no one.
He cursed himself for not telling them everything as soon as he arrived. Then again, what might that have achieved? Perhaps they would have killed him outright there and then.
He was also angry at how he had let Gunderic manipulate him. It had always been the same since they were children. Gunderic always knew what to say or do to get the others to do what he really wanted.
Hagan knew he could run from all of this, slip away into the night and turn his back on the whole Burgundar tribe. Gunderic knew, however, that Hagan would not want to leave a reputation behind that he was a coward who shirked the responsibilities handed to him in time of need. What stopped Hagan running away was his pride.
That, and the ten warriors Gunderic had posted outside his tent.
Then there was Gunhild’s reaction at the sight of his mother’s amulet. The more Hagan thought of it, the more he felt there was something strange about the way she had looked at it then looked at Gunderic, as if expecting some sort of reaction from him. Had she seen it before? Did she know something about his father?
The crushing loneliness that had dogged him during his years wandering had returned. All that time he had yearned to be back among his folk. Then he had found them again, but the new Burgundar realm was not the old kingdom he had known. Everything was strange and his old friends suspicious and conspiratorial. The homeland of his childhood was gone for ever.
Haunting memories of screaming Huns charging towards him at Vorbetomagus surfaced in his mind and he wondered how he could manage to escape what seemed like almost certain death. Perhaps he could fight his way out of it? Battles were chaotic situations where all sorts of unexpected things happened. Who knew what he might be able to achieve?
The thought made him feel better. He focused on the thought of slashing his way through Huns to finally stand before Gunderic, covered in their blood, watching the expression of dismay on the king’s face that his plan had not worked out the way he had intended.
Then he would kill him.
With this thought finally giving him some respite from the inner turmoil, Hagan drifted off to sleep at last. He woke with a start. It was pitch dark but he sensed something was different. Someone was in the tent with him.
His first thought was that Gunderic had decided not to leave his death to chance and sent assassins to kill him in the dead of the night. He slid his hand under his bed roll to grasp the hilt of the knife he had left there. If someone was here to kill him he would take as many of them with him as he could.
Hagan squinted. He could make out a figure standing above him. There was something familiar about the outline. Whoever it was, he was tall and slender. Hagan could just about make out the man’s long sleek hair and the spear shaft he carried. Somehow he knew it was Wodnas.
‘What do you want?’ Hagan said. The strange presence of the old man was as unnerving as usual.
‘I need you to help me,’ the old man said. He spoke in a quiet voice.
‘Did Gunderic send you?’ Hagan said, pulling the knife from under the bed roll.
‘No,’ Wodnas said. ‘He doesn’t know I’m here. I wish to keep it that way. Come with me now and you could greatly increase your chances of seeing the sun set tomorrow night.’
‘How do I know I can trust you?’ Hagan said.
‘You don’t,’ said Wodnas. ‘But the way I see it, you don’t have much choice.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I have need of your special hunting crafts,’ Wodnas said.
‘Tonight? How will we get past the guards?’ Hagan said.
He could not see in the darkness but he got the distinct feeling like the old man was looking at him with his one eye, an expression on his face that suggested Hagan had just said something stupid.
‘I am Wodnas,’ he said. ‘These folk practically worship me. Do you think they will question what I say?’
Hagan pulled on a dark woollen hooded jerkin and britches, put his boots on then followed Wodnas out of the tent. As he had predicted, the guards just nodded when Wodnas told them he needed Hagan to perform the initiation rite of the Bear Warriors and Gunderic knew all about it.
Then they hurried off out into the dark. Despite the late hour, the Burgundar camp was not starting to quieten down. Men sat around fires, talking or checking their war gear, unable to sleep and preparing themselves for the battle that would come in the morning. It was still hot despite the darkness, and the high ground they and the rest of the Alliance were camped on was dotted with the light of countless campfires so that it looked like a mirror of the star-pocked sky above. Far away, as if on the other side of a sea of darkness, fires also burned in Attila’s camp on the far side of the flat plain.
There was no moon, so once away from the camp it became very dark despite the fires. Hagan let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness. Just outside the camp he saw a hooded figure waiting for them. As they approached he was surprised to see it was Freya. She was dressed in her dark ceremonial robes of a hellrūne. She bore her metal distaff in her right hand.
Together they all set off again, following Wodnas downhill and into the dark beyond the camps. They passed through the guards and scouts posted to stop any surprise attacks. Before long the ground levelled out and they continued out across the plain.
‘If I didn’t think it was madness,’ Hagan said in a low voice, ‘I would say we were heading towards the camp of Attila.’
‘We are,’ Wodnas said. ‘I know you have special skills learned in the Roman Army. My raven warrior scouts speak of your crafts with great respect. And I have seen for myself your ability to disappear in the night. That night we hunted you outside Geneva my best men were unable to find you.’
‘So you knew that was me in the forest?’ Hagan said.
Hagan saw the outline of Wodnas’ head nodding.
‘I suspected it was you,’ Wodnas said. ‘I thought there was someone else there that night, and when he escaped from my Ravens I knew whoever it was had great skill. The sort of skills only an expert hunter could have… or perhaps someone who has spent time in the Roman exploratores. What I’ve heard about you during your time spent with the Raven Warriors on the journey here confirmed my suspicions.’
Hagan shook his head in disbelief.
‘Tonight I need you to get the Lady Freya across to Attila’s camp,’ Wodnas said. ‘Once inside it she will do the rest. All I ask is that you use all the skills you have to get her over there and then safely back here without being caught by the Huns.’
‘You want me to take her into the Huns’ camp?’ Hagan said. ‘Are you mad?’
‘Some think that, yes,’ Wodnas said.
‘Why me?’ Hagan said. ‘Why not send one of your Raven Warriors? Gunfjaun is every bit as good as I am.’
‘I don’t want anyone to know we’re doing this,’ Wodnas said. ‘If it works, it could be key to victory over Attila. If that happens I want the Burgundars to believe they won the day by their strength and battlecraft, not because of an old man, a girl and one warrior creeping around in the night. Even if it was. Besides, I know how good you are at scurrying around in the dark.’
Hagan could not see it, but he somehow felt the old man’s one glittering eye was gazing at him.
‘Very well,’ Hagan said with a grunt. ‘Though it seems all I’ve gained by following you here is the chance to die tonight instead of in the morning.’