Read Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) for Free Online

nothing. That made me burn with rage, it did.
    ‘Woden, give me a rich foe to kill today. Let them all see it, and let me send the cur into Valholl,’ I breathed softly. I gazed at Maino, who seemed to read my nervous thoughts. His flat, meaty face had a look of disgust, and gods, I hated him. Maino stood with the champions of Bero, Eadwine, Gasto, Danr, and I would have to show humility before I equaled them. I should, at least. I gazed at the three men huddled around Bero, hearing advice. They were a sullen, silent lot around Bero’s standard of horse jaws and wore steaming leather mail with metal links and rings, and thick spears. All had axes, clubs, and the best spears. Maino hefted a fine, tall spear Bero had given him that summer, and wore a well-crafted, boiled leather armor that covered him to his knees. His shield was of the best make, and would stop a javelin easily.
    I cursed Father for that as well.
    For some reason he expected me to find my own gear. I had a thick spear, the sort the Romans call a hasta, a sturdy club and my shield, of which the paint had run off an hour ago, but they were not made by a master smith, or a leather worker of great repute. Granted, the metal of the spear was precious and I had worked hard for it, but the rest was what many regular warriors had. And I only wore a tunic, like such simplest of fighters. I was not being fair, I knew, as a simple peasant would have a shield and possibly only a simple framea spear, and often fought in nothing but pants on and a rock in hand. I had serviceable weapons, but not famed ones. ‘Forget him,’ Hulderic told me, apparently having heard parts of my whispering to the One-Eyed god. ‘A weapon will look its best when dipped in blood and even best when looted from a wealthy foe. Yours are good enough for a battle and you might find a better onse you can truly be proud of, should you slay its master.’ But my cousin didn’t make it easy to forget him. He liked to seek me out and torment me.
    He walked by Hulderic and slapped my shoulder hard. ‘Anxious, cousin? Hoping for a good fight?’
    ‘I am,’ I said as steadily as I could, but I couldn’t fool even a thick lump of muscle like Maino. I was nervous, and he knew it.
    ‘You’ll get your chance at glory, Maroboodus. And if you fall, I’ll raise my mug to you while you watch in the afterworld. If you die, please take my greetings to your mother in the Hel’s gray land. I liked her well.’
    Hulderic shuffled in his saddle and stared at Maino coldly. The death of my mother had taken place two years before. She had died of fever, snot, coughs, and her spirit was with goddess Hel now, in her sad kingdom of those, who died without glory. And what Maino was really suggesting was that I had no future in Valholl, where the brave go, and Valkyries would not pick pick my sprit up and help me travel there.
    ‘Shut your mouth, boy,’ Hulderic growled. ‘And make yourself useful.’
    Maino looked up to the great warrior, and there was a twitch in his eye, and even he realized he had crossed a line. He nodded generously. ‘Yes, lord. I’ll just take a piss, then.’ He sloshed his ale. ‘This might be the nectar of the gods, but I bet they don’t suffer the after effects like we do.’ Maino had a sort of a mug in his hands, one made of well-crafted wood. Men around us hailed him with agreement, drinking as well. Maino set down the mug, and sighed. ‘Damn them. The Saxons that is. Damn them to Hel. We should have taken after them.’
    Hulderic shrugged at his nephew and spoke as if to an idiot. ‘Sure. We should have. But we only discovered them last evening. We only had a hundred men at hand then and they have more. Now they are coming back, tired and probably hungry and well-bled from fights. Trust your grandfather.’
    As if he heard it, there was a whistle from the top.
    We all looked up at Grandfather Fridenot, the Thiuda of the two gaus, and he was staring down at us. His squat