Some men find respite from their troubles in the oddest of places, but few, surely, in the heart of their enemy’s realm. Yet I must admit that as I sat in Hisarnis’ mighty lodge at the heart of the Bructeri stronghold, deep within the Frankish forest on the day of the winter solstice, I did find an odd sense of calm. Perhaps it was the simple relief of rest after a gruelling march and ride through the woods to get here, churning knee and fetlock deep through the heavy snowfall. Maybe it was the distance from the strife at Augusta Treverorum. Conceivably it was because while Hisarnis was undoubtedly a threat, he was not my darkest foe. Or perchance it because I was on my third cup of the robust barley ale. I wetted my lips with the effervescent nectar once more and looked around.
The hall was as tall and magnificent as anything in the imperial cities, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of limestone blocks, the walls were made of thick wattle and daub, washed in off-white. There were no frescoes or niches bearing statues on the walls, just magnificently decorated circular shields mounted there like giant, burnished studs, with age-old swords and spears crossed behind them. In place of porphyry or marble columns to support the high ceiling, two ancient, gnarled oaks wound from the packed-dirt floor to the apex of the pitched roof – thick and thatched. The fire in the open hearth roared and crackled, mocking the bitter, late afternoon chill outside. The wooden doors on the western wall were open to the elements, giving a fine view of the snow-blanketed lower town that ringed the mound upon which this great hall sat. A skirl of pipes filled the hot air and all around me Hisarnis’ bearded, plaid-cloaked noblemen chattered and laughed, cups clacking, their cheeks as rosy as their moods.
In my present condition I probably looked like one of them, with my bear pelt wrapped around my shoulders hiding most of my bronze vest, the dirt of the journey still smeared on my face and my untended stubble. Boar and bread loaves filled the long table before me – and my belly too, and the sweet aroma of cooking meat and roots filled the hall, part-disguising an underlying musty odour.
Hisarnis sat opposite me, clad in a brown and yellow plaid cloak fastened at the right breast by a silver brooch in the shape of a wolf’s head, the eyes picked out with small, green gemstones. His iron-grey hair was neatly combed and tied back in a tail, and his hoary beard was carefully braided. Without his armour, his twin axes or that fierce look he had worn at the forest battle, he seemed smaller, gentler. My sense of calm rose just a fraction, but I was quick to check it. How many chieftains had he entertained like this, plying them with boar and ale?
I had heard tales of the strife in these dark woods, yarns about how the tribes settled their grievances. They had battles, yes, but they also understood that most scores could be settled with just a single death. Many warlords, would-be kings and upstarts had met their ends at gatherings like these – a mouthful of ale one moment then a throatful of sharpened steel the next. Suddenly, I could not help but think of that time in Galerius’ company in Nicomedia, when the demon had tried to kill me as I ate. Perhaps unwisely, I glanced behind me: no assassins, just drunk Franks engaging in some kind of belching contest.
Besides, three cohorts of legionaries waited outside the village, under strict instruction to kill Hisarnis’ brothers and raze the place into the miserable, frozen dirt if I failed to return to them before dark. I caught Batius’ eye. Standing near the open door, he was agitated – partly because he was excluded from the ale-drinking, and partly because the late afternoon sky was quickly darkening, a crisp sapphire twilight taking its place. Orange bubbles of torchlight had appeared in the many small, thatched dwellings down in the lower town. Batius made a face that suggested he had accidentally caught his manhood in his spatha sheath, and tilted his head towards the sky and then towards Hisarnis. Get on with it, he mouthed. I gave him a placatory nod.
Conveniently, Hisarnis noticed our tacit exchange. He clapped his hands and the sound echoed around the hall. With a series of groans, the skirling pipes tailed off, cups were drained and the babble ebbed as the Franks traipsed from the hall, crunching out across the hardened snow and back to their homes. Soon, there were just a pair of guards by the door, and Batius, the three locked in a ‘withering gaze’ competition.
Satisfied that we were as alone as Hisarnis would allow, I swirled my cup and sighed. ‘You promised me silver and gold. Where is it?’ I reckoned there was no point in any more pleasantries. The twilight was growing impatient.
Hisarnis issued a short, barking laugh. ‘Treasure? What riches we possessed were spent long ago.’
I bridled at this, recalling the coin Batius had found on the forest floor, freshly minted with the profile of the scowling, blocky-faced Galerius. ‘The emperor of the East has sent you no more?’
Hisarnis’ lips grew thin and bloodless. ‘We would have raided your lands regardless of the coins from Nicomedia.’ He shrugged and snorted. ‘A thirsty man makes his way to a lake. On the way, a stranger offers him a golden chalice to drink with. Cup or no cup, the man is still going to the lake. And he would be a fool not to take the cup anyway.’
I almost smiled at the plain logic. And I noticed, not for the first time, the dark, decorative boar hide stretched out on a frame behind Hisarnis. A simple, saffron-yellow Chi-Rho was painted upon it. Galerius, the great persecutor, had paid these Franks to be his allies. Did he realise that some of them were now Christianised? It mattered not, for the Herdsman wouldn’t let such a small technicality get in the way of his greater designs: to sweep me from power – to sweep everyone but himself from the board. I shuffled to sit straighter and rested my cup on the table. ‘If you have no more gold then why did you agree to the terms in the first place? You must have known I would not forget such a slight.’
‘Oh yes, I know you, Domine ,’ Hisarnis said archly, his eyes tapering. A log snapped on the fire as if to punctuate the abstruse words. ‘When I first heard reports that you were coming here, I did not want to receive you empty-handed. Indeed, I hoped you would not have to come here at all… though I am honoured to have you in my hall,’ he added quickly. ‘I tried and failed to reap tribute from the rest of the tribes.’ He held out his hands, palms upturned, his face lengthening. ‘Once, they would have been swift to obey. Now, they talk of how I was crushed in the woods by you and your regiments, and they fear me no longer. They have cut me adrift, it seems.’
I glanced to the doorway and onwards past the wooden stakes that ringed the lower town. Just a thin band of dark blue hung on the western horizon now, the last vestiges of day. My cohorts would be readying their artillery and honing their blades. Hisarnis’ brothers would be on their knees, the edges of executioners’ blades at their necks. ‘So what am I to do? Nothing has changed: you must uphold the terms of our agreement, else my authority will be brought into question.’
There was a moment of affinity. Both of us began to look at each other differently. I wanted to tell this fellow – who had treated me well since we arrived at his home – that I had no wish to kill his siblings. Give me something, man!
Maybe his gods were listening and passed on my thoughts. For a few moments later, Hisarnis lifted a small chest from the floor by his side and pushed it across the table to me. I opened the lid to find a treasure of sorts. Not coin, but a fine iron helm, coated in a silver-gilt sheathing to give it the lustre of pure gold. It was inlaid with green and red gems and sported a studded ridge running from the back of the neck to the centre of the brow. Where the ridge ended, a thick nose guard struck down like the tip of a spatha blade, and cheek guards on either side almost met with this, leaving openings for little other than eyes and mouth.
‘It is mine. It was my father’s and his father’s before him,’ Hisarnis said. ‘Now… it is yours.’
‘You would give me this?’ I replied.
Hisarnis sighed. ‘I know it is not even close to the value of gold we agreed but it—’
‘—is worth so much more,’ I finished for him. He seemed taken aback. ‘Price and value are two very different beasts. Thank you.’ I nodded, placing the helm back in the chest. ‘But my men would never respect me were I content to take a personal gift in place of the coins they expect – coins I need to stabilise my realm.’
Hisarnis steepled his fingers and rested his bearded chin upon the apex. ‘Gold I cannot give you. You could lay waste to my village, turn over every home, yet you would find few coins. But there is another currency.’
My eyes narrowed a little.
‘I know of the dark pall of trouble that gathers over your empire. Factions forming. Armies swelling. A storm of war is coming.’ He said this in the most confident drawl, drumming his fingers once on the table, then leaned forward. ‘I cannot give you treasure to pay your legions, but I can offer you my warriors.’ His eyes sparkled in the firelight and he seemed to be weighing up his next words.
It was an unexpected twist. I thumbed my cup, turning it slowly where it sat on the table. ‘What makes you think I need them?’
Hisarnis seemed hesitant to reply, but noticed my continual glances to the door and the retreating daylight. ‘Rumour has it that you need more regiments… desperately.’
I arched an eyebrow.
‘Passing merchants say that Galerius’ eastern armies grow with every passing month,’ he continued. ‘They also talk of the young prince in the south: Maxentius, Master of Africa and Italia and general of the mighty armies of those lands… growing too as regiments flock to his cause.’
Master of Africa, I think not, I mused with a hint of a smirk. If anything, that region and its troubled farming lands was becoming a bane for my one-time friend. ‘And what do they say of me?’ I snapped.
Hisarnis hesitated, and his gaze fell, his confidence plummeting too. ‘We could have raided Galerius’ lands or Maxentius’. But we did not. Instead, we chose to attack the… the…’ his words faltered, as if he feared that they might be the death of him ‘…the weakest realm.’
Now many from my court – slaves and attendants, generals, loved ones, even – have come to know that my temper is foul at times: broken tables, smashed windows and ruined furnishings were commonplace in Augusta Treverorum. I felt those fiery talons rise within me as Hisarnis’ words echoed in my ears, taking on a mocking edge. Yet try as I might, I could not refute his argument. I needed soldiers, badly. I took a draught of beer to cool my emotions, planting the empty cup down. ‘You will pledge your allegiance – come from the forests and to my side when I call upon you?’
Hisarnis shook his head. ‘The fate of my tribesmen is written in the frozen dirt: the other tribes of the Frankish confederation see us as outsiders now. Were we to make such a pledge then we would become their enemy. It would be they who would line up outside the village walls next.’ He leaned forward. ‘The Regii once roamed these woods, yet now they are part of your army. The Cornuti too – and they even dress in imperial armour, proud to call themselves Romans.’ He paused for breath, nodding to himself in the way a man does before making in irreversible decision. ‘When you return to the Rhenus and cross back into the empire, take my people with you. Arm them and they will fight for you as a true Roman regiment.’
‘Will they?’ I gasped, the talons of rage withdrawing. ‘After what I did?’ I was already replaying the memory in my mind. That day when I had ordered the pair of Frankish kings to be mauled in the arena by lions.
Hisarnis cocked his head to one side. ‘Ah, the two lords you executed? Merogaisus and Ascaric?’ he said, understanding my point. He stroked at his beard for a time. ‘And how do you feel now about what you did that day?’
‘Justified,’ I said. ‘One was a snake and the other a degenerate. You know what the most upsetting part about that day was? It was afterwards, when I found out the lions had been killed by their handlers.’
Hisarnis stared at me as if a hawk had just flown from my mouth. And then his face creased up and he doubled over, broken with laughter. It took him a time to recover. ‘You knew those two well enough, I would say,’ he said in between fading chuckles. ‘Many here too were overjoyed to be rid of that pair.’
His mirth was welcome. Yet my eyes drifted to the hide Chi-Rho again. I remembered the truth: yes, some of my people had cheered as they watched the lions ripping apart the Frankish Kings. However, the Christians within the crowd had appealed for mercy. Lactantius too. Mother’s reaction had hurt most of all. She simply fell into a silence that lasted months. Every time I tried to speak to her she had closed her eyes and bowed her head, bringing her Chi-Rho necklace to her lips. There is no lesson quite so acerbic as a mother’s scorn. ‘In truth… I sometimes feel shame for what I subjected them to,’ I said. ‘The two kings, aye, they were cretins. But what does it say about me as a leader when I could not bring myself to offer them a nobler end? Men and animals dying in the arena upon my word – that is the way of Galerius and Diocletian. It is time for the empire to shed that grim mantle.’
Hisarnis’ gaze crept to the open door and out across the darkening, endless forest, no doubt thinking of the many tribes who had ostracised him. ‘So, will you accept my offer? Will you lead my people back to your empire with you?’
I thought of the brigade I could possibly fashion from Hisarnis’ warriors. It would take time and money to do so, but another hardy central regiment – like the Cornuti and the Regii – was an appealing prospect. Another force bound by oath directly to me. Another part of my Comitatus? Yet many families would come with them too. Many more mouths to feed from swiftly dwindling grain silos. However, quite simply, there was no alternative. I could not return to my cohorts outside the village with nothing.
‘Have them prepare to travel west,’ I said. ‘And bring what grain and fodder you have – all of it.’
Hisarnis’ eyes brightened. ‘Thank you, Domine,’ he said, releasing a long-held breath in relief. ‘We will serve you well.’ Then he pushed the chest with the jewelled helm over to me once more. ‘And this, please accept it as a personal token of my loyalty and to seal our pact.’
I gave him a slight but earnest nod of gratitude and took the gift as it was intended.
Suddenly, an urgent voice disturbed us. ‘Sir!’ Batius hissed.
I turned to see him gesticulating wildly at the now almost pure-black sky. From beyond the town’s walls I heard shouts of legionaries and the distinctive call of a ballista commander ordering ammunition to be brought to him. ‘Give the signal,’ I said.
Without delay, Batius fumbled with the bow on his back, bringing a pitch-soaked arrow to a sconce to light it then nocking, drawing and loosing the blazing missile. The flaming arrow streaked across the almost-dark sky. There was a tense hiatus before the legionary shouts outside the town ebbed, spotting the signal to stand down.
Batius’ shoulders slumped in relief and he swung away from the doorway, stomped over to the table and took an abandoned but full ale cup and downed the lot. ‘Talk about cutting it fine,’ he gasped, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his hand.