‘Hold. There will be no fighting in my hall without my word.’ Heoden stood. Despite his age, he stood straight and tall. All eyes were on him.
‘Your actions show your courage and the nobility in your souls. But you do not know the reasons for this thing. The man you protect swore his sword-oath to me. He was not the least among my warriors. Many times I rewarded his bravery in battle. But Rikiar stole from one of his companions. Now he must sit in the lowest place and endure their taunts until such time as I declare his punishment over. It is that or he must go into exile, sorrow and longing his sole companions.’
Rikiar rose from his place at the foot of the table. ‘I was drunk. It was no more than a jest. This dishonour has lasted too long.’
Others of the hearth-troop hissed their disapproval. It was not for Rikiar to speak. They did not trust this outsider, this Vandal. Let him endure or go into exile, a lordless man, a nithing.
‘Lack of trust, dissension in a sworn-band is a terrible thing. It undermines the shieldwall.’ Ballista pitched his voice to carry to the furthest recesses of the hall. ‘There is another way. We must travel a long road before we reach my home. We must pass by the Aestii and the Heathobards. They are enemies of my father. The Rugii pay him tribute, but they do not love me. Another sword in our company would be welcome. If Heoden, the Master of Battle, will release this Vandal from his oath, and, if Rikiar is willing, let him swear a new oath to me, here in this hall, in the sight of all.’
‘I am willing,’ said Rikiar.
‘To release a man from his vow is no light thing,’ said Heoden. ‘But let it be as Dernhelm wishes.’
As it will when men are drunk, the mood changed in a moment. The Harii shouted praises of their lord, of Dernhelm, even of the recently reviled Rikiar: the Vandal might be light-fingered and ugly, but he could fight. Bring out the gift-stool. Do it now. All would stand witness.
Ballista drew his sword. He sat on the gift-stool and laid his blade across his knees. It was notched from its hard use on the Borysthenes.
‘Wait,’ said Heoden. ‘It was in my mind to welcome my foster-son with a gift. Bring me Battle-Sun.’
Gifeca took the sword down from where it hung with the others behind the throne and passed it to his king.
Heoden unsheathed the steel. ‘This blade was forged in ages past by the Brisings. It was won from them by Wade, the sea-giant. The hero Hama wielded it at Fifeldor and Bravoll. From his hand it was given to Helm, the founder of my line. Now I, Heoden of the Harii, give it to Dernhelm, my sister’s son. May he carry it with heart and courage.’
‘Heart and courage!’ the warriors bellowed.
Ballista sheathed his own blade and put Battle-Sun across his legs.
Rikiar knelt, his head against Ballista’s knees, his hands on the sword. Ballista put his hands over those of Rikiar.
‘By this sword, I, Rikiar, son of Rikiar of the Vandals, swear my oath to you, Dernhelm, son of Isangrim of the Angles. As I eat at your hearth, so I will follow you into terrible battle, among the perils where renown is won. I will defend and protect you. If you fall, I will not leave the field alive, or suffer lifelong infamy and shame.’
After the oath, Ballista led Rikiar back to sit among his men. Much more drink was taken, but the feast proceeded in the most amicable fashion. It was as if every man saw how narrowly violence had been banished from the hall, and none wished it to return. Sometimes it was better to eat and drink than to fight.
When men were beginning to reel and put their hands on the serving girls, Heoden summoned Ballista. The queen had retired to her bedchamber. Heoden waved Ballista to sit by him.
‘You look well, boy.’
‘As do you, uncle.’
The king grinned drunkenly. ‘You have got better at lying among the Romans.’
Several Harii eorls on the high table laughed.
‘How is my mother?’ Ballista asked.
‘Old, like me. But she is well. As always, she keeps your father’s hall in Hlymdale. Your father still moves between there and his Frisian wife at Gudme. Now he is even older than me, he travels less. Last year he did not go to his eorls on Latris. It is two summers since he went to the mainland. He should take another young wife to keep his bed warm, like me.’
‘It will be good to see them.’
‘Good to see Kadlin …’
Ballista felt light-headed from the mead and beer. ‘That was long ago.’
Heoden looked at Ballista over the top of his drink. ‘That first husband of hers — the one she married straight after you left — pity he took an Aestii spear in the guts. She has been married to your half-brother a long time now.’
‘Hmm.’ Ballista took another drink.
‘Oslac will not be overjoyed to see you return.’
‘We were very young — a long time ago. I never had a problem with Oslac.’
Heoden pulled a wry face. ‘Not long enough for him to forget who took the virginity of a girl who is now his wife, all those winters ago.’
‘How — ’
‘I did not know — not until right now.’ Heoden smiled, pleased with himself. ‘You do not hold the throne of the Black-Harii without some low cunning.’
The black-clad eorls laughed indulgently.
Ballista raised the silver goblet to the king.
‘Morcar always had a problem with you — with Froda, Eadwulf and you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Take no offence, but Froda was the best of you.’
‘I always thought so.’
Heoden put his arm around Ballista’s shoulder, pulled him close. ‘I was going to talk about this tomorrow, when we were sober, but …’ The king shrugged.
‘The Persians discuss great matters twice: first drunk, then sober.’
‘You have been in many places.’ Heoden squeezed Ballista’s shoulder. ‘Do not talk about it too much now you are back. Men do not care to be reminded that others have won greater renown.’
Ballista nodded in acknowledgement.
Heoden leant in, the fumes of his breath sickly in Ballista’s nostrils.
‘Things are not good in the realm of the Himlings. Gallienus has sent no gold since your half-brother Arkil and his men swore their swords to the other Roman emperor in Gaul.’
‘I know this. The emperor Gallienus told me in the letter ordering me home.’
‘There were Roman soldiers where none should have been. It is said Arkil was betrayed.’
‘Who?’
‘Old wives’ tales. No one knows.’ Heoden paused as a girl filled their cups.
‘Postumus sends your father no gold. It is said the Gallic emperor has none to spare. Why should he open his treasure hoard, when he holds a thousand Angles hostage? Your father is old. Isangrim has less gold to give, less swords at his command. The Himlings’ grip on the Suebian Sea has weakened. The Brondings of Abalos follow a new leader, a fearsome, masked warrior from overseas. This warrior Unferth has cast off your father’s authority. The men of the islands — the Wylfings of Hindafell, the Geats of Solfell — have hailed him Amber Lord. Unferth’s longships raid where they will around the shores. Last summer Unferth’s son descended on the Heathobards. But those loyal to the Himlings — the Farodini, the Dauciones — they have suffered with the rest. I fear this will be a bitter homecoming for you.’
Part Three
XVIII
The Vistula Delta
Escape from the river was not easy. The Vistula reached the Suebian Sea in a wide delta. It twisted and turned, dividing and redividing into any number of channels. They were hard to distinguish from the narrow creeks which coiled away, turning back on themselves, to end in mudflats or vanish into impassable reed banks. Ballista had been here before, but that was no help. It had been more than twenty years, and the navigable waterways had shifted out of all recognition. There were no discernible landmarks. Visibility was limited by the reeds and half-submerged trees. The open stretches of water frequently were obstructed by fish traps and weirs. The passage was slow going. It demanded skilled handling of the boat, much patience and faith in the taciturn river pilot they had taken onboard at Rugium. The last was somewhat hard to maintain, as they seemed to spend as much time going in every other direction as towards the north.