HAGAN NOTICED FOR the first time that one of Wodnas’ Raven Warriors was standing nearby holding the reins of a pack horse. The beast was laden with packed saddlebags. At a signal from Wodnas the lad handed the reins over to the old man.
Hagan and Wodnas set off, Wodnas leading the pack horse. From the clinking of its every step Hagan deduced whatever was inside its saddlebags was metal. The rest of the Burgundar horde with the other smaller warbands – the Saxons, the Armoricans and the Franks – lined up beside the Roman army. The Bear Warriors on the other hand were in the centre of the line, separated from the Romans and the other Burgundars by the Alans – and sandwiched between the Alans and the huge Visigoth warband who formed the whole of the right wing.
Hagan and Wodnas rode down the lines, following in the tracks of King Sangiban who was riding in the same direction. After a while they arrived at the centre of the Alliance army line where the Alan cavalry and the Burgundar Bear Warriors stood. All were readying themselves for battle. Across the other side of the plain the Hun army spread out.
Hagan looked at the gathering horde. It was enormous, a dark line running from one side of the horizon to the other, bristling with spears. The hooves of thousands of horses kicked up a cloud of dust from the dry earth that hung above Attila’s army like smoke.
Wodnas handed a goatskin to Hagan.
‘Take a drink,’ he said.
‘It’s a bit early, is it not?’ Hagan said. ‘I’d like to keep a clear head.’
‘This is not wine,’ Wodnas said. ‘It is a special drink I make with herbs and other ingredients. It is an ancient mixture and Freya has had it blessed by the Gods. Drink it. It will do you good.’
Hagan took a swig. The liquid was fiery and bitter, like very strong wine mixed with wormwood. He coughed, blinking away the water that had sprung into his eyes.
‘Good stuff, eh?’ Wodnas said with a smile. ‘Trust me, this will help with your tiredness. Take another drink, please. For my sake.’
Hagan frowned at this strange request and took another drink, forcing the obnoxious liquid down his throat.
‘Keep the rest,’ Wodnas said. ‘Use it when you need it.’
Hagan tucked the goatskin into his belt, thinking the most likely thing he would do when out of sight of the old man was dump the foul stuff.
The Bear Warriors were winding themselves up for the coming fight. They had pulled the heads of their bear skins up over their helmets as they screamed and roared in each other’s faces, goading their comrades into ever higher states of rage. Some punched their chests with their fists. Some punched their fellow warriors.
They were all big men, their tall frames packed with muscle. Nearly all had had their noses broken at least once in the past. Some had scars on their faces. Just as he had recognised the type of men who made up the Raven Warriors, Hagan was also familiar with the sort of men who made up this company. They were the sort who believed the solution to any problem was violence. Men who flew into a rage at the slightest perceived disrespect. The sort of unthinking brutes who would laugh with you one moment then punch you in the face the next.
‘You don’t approve?’ Wodnas said to Hagan. Hagan realised the expression on his face must be giving away his inner thoughts. ‘These are the finest champions of the Burgundars, brought together to honour your now extinct clan. To honour your father.’
‘He was not my father,’ Hagan said. ‘And I mean no disrespect. It’s just that I know of warriors like this. They are all bluster and bullying. They lose their minds with rage and can be as much danger to their fellows as the enemy. Attila’s army is mostly cavalry and the best way to counter that is with a firm shield wall. These type of hotheads are more likely to throw away their shields and try to fight the horses, just to show how tough they are. Besides, if they are so valued why is their king sacrificing them in the most dangerous part of the battle line?’
‘Sometimes to win the favour of the Gods you must sacrifice that which is most valuable,’ Wodnas said with a shrug. ‘Or perhaps Gunderic has placed his best warriors in the position where they will have the greatest effect. The Alans don’t look like they have much heart for this battle. Their King Sangiban looks like he would prefer to be anywhere but here. If they collapse the whole line could be lost. Having the Bear Warriors beside them will put some steel in the Alans’ spines.’
‘I suppose I shouldn’t be so disparaging towards men I’m about to lead into battle,’ Hagan said, blushing. ‘And who I could well die alongside.’
‘General Aetius is anxious to keep you alive,’ Wodnas said, looking at Hagan from the corner of his eye.
‘Why do you care what the Roman general thinks?’ Hagan said.
‘What do you think?’ Wodnas said.
‘I got very little sleep last night, old man,’ Hagan said with a heavy sigh. ‘So I don’t have much patience for your enigmatic answers this morning. The way I see it there are two possibilities. One, Gunderic has sent you to pretend to be my friend to find out if I am a Roman spy or not. Two – and this one I’ve been wondering about for some time – are you a secret Roman soldier, in the pay of Aetius? Which one is it?’
‘There is a third option,’ Wodnas said. ‘I have spent a long time training these men and the rest of the Burgundars. I’ve changed them from a defeated, disorganised band to a disciplined fighting force, with a folk behind them who believe in something worth fighting for. I’ve acted as a mentor to Gunderic in the art of kingship. Now you have been placed in a crucial position that could sway the outcome of everything. I need to know what sort of man you are. Aetius seems to think you are important. I’ve heard him arguing with Gunderic about moving you to a safer position. This just makes King Gunderic more suspicious of you.’
‘I don’t know what sort of a man I am,’ Hagan said. ‘I don’t even know who I really am. My mother was raped. I went to Geneva half hoping to find out who my real father was. I had no choice in going to Ravenna to meet Aetius, but when I got there I saw him as a way to get to the new homeland of my people.’
He watched Wodnas for any sign of reaction but the old man was impassive, as always.
‘The king of late,’ Wodnas said after a moment, ‘has perhaps made some strange choices. Unfortunately this can happen sometimes. The power or gold that comes with kingship can sometimes cloud a man’s mind and blacken his heart. Blinded by these distractions, he can sometimes make errors of judgement. At times like those, it is the duty of those who advise the king to make corrections, so that the people he rules do not suffer the consequences of one man’s foolish decision.’
He was now looking at Hagan with his one eye. Hagan felt captivated by its dazzling blue. It felt as though the old man was looking into his very soul. At the same time he felt energy and excitement flowing into his tired limbs. Perhaps it was the drink Wodnas had given him but his head, which had been foggy from lack of sleep, now felt fine, his mind sharp. His eyes had been crusted and dry but now felt clear.
‘Today I need you to lead these men,’ Wodnas said. ‘I know you must feel angry about being pushed into this situation but sometimes the Three Great Women who weave all our fates weave us into a certain place at a certain time where we can make a difference. I need you to make a difference today.’
‘This is war,’ Hagan said. ‘One hundred thousand men will fight each other today. What difference can one man make?’
‘Is that what Godegisil, the man who raised you, would have said?’ Wodnas said. ‘Look at it this way. The enemy we can do nothing about. Victory for us depends on every single man doing what is asked of him today and not shirking his responsibility. No one man can ensure every other man in our army will do that, but we can all make sure the one person we can control – ourselves – does the right thing. And if enough men all do that, then it’s no longer a matter of one man in an army of fifty thousand.’
Memories of Godegisil surfaced in Hagan’s mind. He heaved a sigh. Godegisil had been a good man. Not his natural father but his true father. He had not been gentle, but then that was not what was needed to protect kin and folk. He had been the sheepdog who drove away the wolves from the flock. Hagan remembered his last moments, riddled with arrows shot by the very same horsemen who would soon come thundering across the plain towards him. Anger started to simmer within his heart.
‘I will do it,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Good,’ Wodnas said. ‘Now let’s introduce you to your new command.’
At the sight of Wodnas, the Bear Warriors all turned around, expectant looks on their faces.
‘For the sake of these men,’ Wodnas said to Hagan, ‘this afternoon we shall keep up the pretence that your father is the man everyone thought he was until recently.’
Hagan nodded. He halted his horse and swung himself off.
Wodnas clambered down from his mount too. The men of the Berh Herjass gathered around, an excited babble rising from them. Wodnas held the spear he used as a walking staff above his head and silence fell. The nearest ones puffed their chests out and hooked their thumbs into their belt, looks of cool, arrogant appraisal on their faces that Hagan had no doubt could in a moment turn into glares of outright aggression.
Hagan could see the looks of devotion in the eyes of the sweating, panting men when they looked at Wodnas. The same could not be said for himself. Most cast suspicious or dismissive looks at him. He knew why. Most elite warriors saw all other fighting men as lesser beings, and with good reason. These men were the best of the best.
‘Warriors of Tiwass!’ Wodnas said in a loud voice. ‘Today you will face the greatest challenge yet. But I know you will be victorious. I have no doubt whatsoever. Not just because I have trained you and the great god of victory has blessed you, but because on top of all that, this day you will be led by the son of the great Burgundar champion in whose honour this company was formed. Geic has gone, but who better to replace him than the last of the Dagelungs, the bear clan: Hagan, son of Godegisil?’
He clapped a hand on Hagan’s shoulder and the eyes of the warriors shifted to Hagan. He could see expectation and curiosity on their faces. He could almost feel the weight of the responsibility he had been given, pushing down on his shoulders. Today some – perhaps many – of these men would die, depending on decisions he would make or orders he would give.
‘Men, we do not know each other,’ he said. At first his voice was gravelled and he stopped to cough. ‘But I am truly honoured to lead such a fine company. My father would have been proud of every single one of you and deeply honoured to know the Burgundars formed this company of the finest and best warriors of our folk in his memory. Today his spirit will fight alongside us. Today we fight against the Huns, the bastards who killed him and who massacred our people at Vorbetomagus. You’re all probably too young to remember that day but every one of you will have an uncle or father who died that day. An aunt or sister who was raped. A cousin who was butchered.’
Hagan could see the light igniting in the eyes of the men who stood before him. Before they were angry, now they were ready for war. It made his own heart start to beat faster.
‘If Attila is not stopped here today he will ride on south,’ Hagan said. ‘Devastating all in his way. He will take Geneva and your wives, daughters, parents will be slaughtered or enslaved. The Burgundar realm will fall again, perhaps this time forever. But we stand in his way. We shall stop him. We shall take bloody vengeance for Vorbetomagus!’
The men cheered and Hagan’s heart soared. He did not know where the words had come from. He felt like he had uttered them in some sort of trance. He had opened his mouth and they had flowed from somewhere deep within his soul.
The Bear Warriors crowded round, eager to shake Hagan’s hand or clap him on the back.
‘We know many songs about your father,’ one warrior said. ‘He was a great man.’
‘I saw him fight the bastard Alans,’ another said, seemingly oblivious to the Alan contingent who stood nearby. ‘He was a one-man army. A real giant of a man.’
‘This is a sign from Tiwass,’ one of them said. ‘He is sending his blessings. You can drink with us anytime.’
Despite their warm words Hagan could tell by the looks in their eyes they were a little surprised Hagan was not taller or bigger in frame.
‘What are your orders for battle, lord?’ one of the Bear Warriors said.
‘I need you to stand firm,’ Hagan said. ‘We need the shield wall to hold fast. It’s more important than anything today.’
A groan rose from the men. Hagan knew they were full of pent-up anger, ready for a fight, their legs aching to charge into the enemy first. Now they were as much as being told to stand and let the enemy hit them.
‘Lord, we are most effective when we charge,’ the same Bear Warrior said.
‘I have no doubt about that,’ Hagan said. ‘But until the right time comes to do that, victory depends on every last one of you standing firm and keeping the shield wall intact. When the time comes you will charge and you will cut a bloody swathe through the enemy like the hounds of vengeance you are.’
‘And when will that be?’ another warrior asked.
‘When I tell you,’ Hagan said.
The men nodded.
‘Men, remember the special training I have been doing with you,’ Wodnas said. ‘Now, take the equipment from the pack horse.’
The men nodded then filed around the horse, unbuckling the packs and taking out what looked like arches of metal. On further inspection Hagan saw they were blades, joined together by a half-loop of steel.
‘Are those sheep shears?’ he said to Wodnas.
‘They are,’ Wodnas replied. ‘There is not a pair left in the whole of the Burgundar realm. We took them all for the men fighting today.’
‘Why?’ Hagan said.
Wodnas did not get a chance to reply. Signal horns began to blast from further down the lines.
‘Into position!’ Hagan shouted.
The men of the Berh Herjass jogged to their place in the lines, spreading left and right in three ranks to form a shield wall and support. When they were in position Wodnas pulled a long piece of material from under his robe. He shook it out and Hagan saw as the breeze caught it that Wodnas held the tattered, bloodstained battle flag of the Burgundars with its threadbare embroidered eagle.
The old man began walking among the warriors. He stopped before each man. Wodnas placed his hands on either side of the warrior’s head, one hand holding the battle flag against the Burgundar’s cheek. He looked each warrior straight in the eyes with his single eye. In a loud voice Wodnas called down blessings and protection of the Gods. Hagan noticed that as he spoke each warrior’s back straightened as if he had been given more strength and belief.
Hagan unslung his shield, took his spear from his saddle and then took his place in the very centre of the shield wall formed by the Bear Warriors. He looked left and right and the two warriors on either side nodded to him. They were ready.
When Wodnas had reached the end of the line he returned to his horse and mounted.
‘Good luck to you all,’ he said. ‘Victory will be yours today.’
As he rode off, the sound of distant horns reached their ears. Out across the flat plain, through the shimmering haze of the heat, the dark line that was the enemy began to move. The distant drum of thousands of horses’ hooves sounded like thunder in the far-off mountains, the threat of a coming storm.
‘They’re coming,’ Hagan said.