Wulf the Eternal Warrior
Chapter 10: Old Gods Collide

WULF was stealing through the deep green of his native forests, his doeskin clad feet gliding soundlessly. The butchered carcass of a deer lay across his broad back, but the weight was seemingly borne effortlessly. The youth moved over the rough forest path as smoothly as if he was on one of the hated clear Roman roads of brick; the inroads made by those invaders into his tribal homeland.

Not yet a youth, and yet barely a man in terms of age, Wulf had a long bow for hunting slung across his his back beside the carcass, and a long, straight sword of good iron hanging from his wide leather belt. He came upon a small rise in the landscape, and peered off towards the village of his people in the distance.

A curse exploded from his lips, which drew back revealing strong white teeth. His gray eyes burned with inner flames, and he began jogging towards the village. For he had seen wisps of black smoke rising, and for them to be seen at this far length meant larger flames than those of any cook fire!

Stopping only to lodge the deer carcass in the limbs of a tree, he started off on a jog trot that would eat up the miles in short order. Something bad had happened, perhaps another tribe had attacked, perhaps the Vandals who were the hereditary enemies of his people the Alemanni had crossed over the river from their lands to reave and plunder. Whatever it was, Wulf would wreak vengeance; although a loner among his people, he was fiercely loyal, and had had his name sung often about the council fires since his youth.

Coming at last to his village, he looked out upon a scene of desolation. The small stone and timber cottages of his people were burnt, lying in heaps of rubble, and corpses littered the small square. Crosses were planted about the square, and many were decorated with the bodies of men and women of the Alemanni, most of which Wulf recognized as those of his fellow tribespeople since his birth!

Cursing, he walked into the ruins, even in his shock recognizing that this extreme destruction and cruelty was not that of the Vandals- no, this could only be the Romans! Only they would not only seek to conquer, but would attempt to utterly crush anyone they attacked. And, having crushed and destroyed, they would move on, to crush and destroy again, and again.

The ways of the Romans were not the ways of the Alemanni, or that of any of the barbaric tribes of the north! Those tribes would fight; aye, the women as well as the men, but they never sought to crush and eliminate their enemy, only to win on the battlefield, and take prisoners for ransom, weapons and booty. They were like cats, who would fight until one turned tail and ran. That was enough.

But the Romans, those dark-haired, small men from the south; they fought like cowards, behind their shields, moving in concert as one, like a machine. There was no valor in their fighting, only scheming: firstly, flights of arrows, to slay from afar, indiscriminately. And their catapults and mangonels, throwing fire and rock from even further away, raining death on whole towns without incurring a single sword stroke- to Wulf, this was unmanly in the extreme, this killing of men, women, and children indiscriminately.

And for what? The Alemanni had very little in the way of material goods, essentially living season to season in their small villages, with cattle and small-holdings to produce their victuals. Even bread was a rarity for them, but the Romans must have it, and everything else. Wulf spat in disgust, and trudged down amongst the crosses.

“Wulf!” came a small, agonized voice.

He looked up. It was Brigit, a girl he had know since his youth, and attractive sprite that had gladdened the hearts of their people.

His gray eyes glittered with moisture, as he surveyed her comely young body twisted and wracked with pain, blood pouring down her naked thighs.

“Kill me,” she pleaded. She could barely speak, she was so engulfed in pain and suffering.

He moved out of her line of vision, and taking his longbow from his shoulder, he let loose a shaft to her heart. He could not abide an animal suffering, should he do any less for his fellow tribespeople? He had the practicality of the barbarian; where a civilized person (a Roman!) would try to save their fellows at any cost, subjecting them to endless pain, and an inevitable lingering death, Wulf would do what was necessary, quickly and painlessly. And use his energy later for vengeance!

And so, he went down the line, shooting his arrows of mercy at the victims the Romans had left for long, horrible suffering deaths. Some were conscious, some were delirious, but all welcomed death when it came. And with each arrow he shot, another stiff piece of resolve built up in Wulf’s heart and soul, the resolve to make the Romans pay for what they had done, and for what they intended to continue to do, unending. For they were predatory parasites upon mankind, and would never be content with less than everything.

Wulf could not permit this.

His eyes glittering with moisture, eclipsed now by a golden glow of hatred in his gray eyes, Wulf strode onwards after the rutted trail left by the Romans. He knew that they had a lead of hours, if not a full day since they had rampaged and destroyed his village and people.

He stopped briefly, and ran his strong brown fingers through his tawny hair, sweeping it back from his face. His clean cut, primal visage was in sharp contrast to that of the bejeweled and curled hair of the Romans, who delighted in the decadence of perfumes and hair tonics that left their hair in ringlets on their foreheads.

“Bah!” snorted Wulf, as if the mere thought of his enemy was more than his stomach could bear. The Roman soldiers, but especially the Roman leaders embodied everything he despised about civilization. In point of fact, many of the soldiers were good, honest fighting men, originally enlisted to protect their homeland long ago. But now, after centuries of “civilized living”, these erstwhile small-holders of Rome had been stripped of their small farms, and were dependent on continuing in the legions to support themselves and their far away families. They were the victims of their predatory civilization, as much in a way as the Germanic barbarian tribes they now devastated.

Again, Wolf took off at the mile-eating jogging pace that he had perfected over a lifetime of hunting and warrior training.

Several hours later, he could hear the marching columns before him. Where the Alemanni worshipped Nature itself, trying mightily to co-exist in harmony with the deep forests and natural grassy clearings of their lands, the Romans had many gods, capricious gods that had no regard for the elder gods of the earth and forest, but instead encouraged the clearing of nature from the land. Large cities of stone were more pleasing to these gods; sacrifices of captives and the enslavement of conquered peoples was the goal of the Romans and their gods! Blood and misery were the prayers of the Romans.

Such were the thoughts of Wulf, when he spied the Romans ahead, cutting huge trees to make way for their engines of war and glittering armies of iron. They were not only traveling through the Alemmani lands, they were forging a path for their road building. These many roads were the path future legions would follow, to further subjugate and enslave those who they conquered. Once completed, thousands and thousands of soldiers could spread throughout Germania, quickly and relentlessly. And the elite landholders would follow, setting up estates where they could overlord above the native barbarians, substituting their own harsh laws over the tribal laws of millennia, in which each freeborn tribesperson was equal to any other in Allemmani.

One man against thousands, that was the situation for Wulf, but he did not hesitate. Running down a steep grade to the side of the marching column, he leaped out with his sword. One slash to the left, and a red-crested helmeted head flew from a soldier’s body. To the right, and another crumpled with a caved in chest. And before any others could react, Wulf was gone, melted into the woods.

Several more times that day, he made similar incursions on the enemy, each time killing quickly, and violently, before slipping away into the surrounding wilderness. His woodcraft was such that the citified Romans were utterly bewildered as to where he had got to, since Wulf could move utterly silently through heavy brush, where the Roman soldiers clanked and smashed their way so clumsily that it was child’s play to escape them. The spilling of Roman blood was like a tonic, Wulf could do this forever, like a cat killing rats; never sated, and always glad to be dealing death to the hereditary enemy!

At last, the Roman general, Aristides decided to make camp, and reconnoiter. He had lost perhaps a half dozen men, and morale was suffering, so he directed his men to set up a fort for the night, as Romans always did. Each and every night, trees were cut, and palisades set up to make a walled camp, inside which the men were safe, with sentries walking the walls and torches lit against the night. Wulf saw this as additional Roman cowardice, but whatever it was, it was effective- there is no way a lone man, or even a small army could breach such defenses.

Still burning with unabated hatred, Wulf set off through the woods, up a high hill far from the Roman army, camped on the flat of the valley below, burning huge fires with the logs of endless trees of the Alammani that they had cut. He ground his teeth with rage, and went up higher and higher, hoping to see a fault in the camp below he could exploit, and also to lie at bay for the night in safety.

Higher, and yet higher he went, until the whole huge Roman army was a small blot below him went the barbarian. Perhaps there would be loose boulders he could send down upon them, he thought vaguely… and then, he saw a dark cleft in the sheer rock above, perhaps a man’s width in size, and high enough to walk right through. He grasped small projections in the cliff that would have been invisible to a civilized Roman, and clambered up quickly. And grasping the sides of the opening, he went inside.

“I will not allow it!” shrieked Aristides, the foppish general of the invading Romans. He was here in this barbarian land on a sinecure, having been given the position by his hereditary title. Scarce out of his teens, in fact about the age of Wulf, who stalked his entire army, they could not have been more different. Where the barbarian was the survivor of many a battle, a berserker with little craft but much fury, Aristides was calculated military student, studying with Pallantides the war tutor in the forum since his youth.

“We cannot apprehend these attackers,” said a centurion with a grizzled dark beard with flecks of gray. “They spring like panthers from the woods, and melt back like frost in the morning. There is no-” and he was cut off.

At a signal from his general to a huge, half-naked man just behind him, a spear was thrust into his back, and he sagged to the ground with glazing eyes.

“Insubordination!” yelled Aristides again, with an unnaturally high and agitated voice. “I will not stand for it! Dispose of this carrion,” he indicated the fallen centurion with a motion of his head, “and let it be known that for each soldier on the morrow killed by these barbarians, I myself shall kill two more in punishment for you not stopping them!!” His eyes glittered like a man not wholly sane, and he turned towards his gilded tent in the center of the camp fortress. His narrow shoulders scarcely kept his brocaded tunic up, and his belly protruded from his otherwise thin frame. A young boy with curled black hair held the fabric door open to his tent, and then followed him within, closing it behind him.

The large man who had speared the centurion stooped and effortlessly lifted the burly soldier over his shoulder. His large, tattooed limbs were unknown among the peoples of the north, as was his shaven and tattoo covered head. His eyes were slanted, and his skin was dark; he was from far southern climes, and his bearing marked him a gladiator; one of those enslaved by the Romans and trained to entertain them in their bloodthirsty “games” in the coliseum in Rome. Carrying his burden easily, he finally reached the edge of the clearing, and tossed the corpse a distance far more than could be accomplished by a normal man.

Expressionless, he walked back to the gilded tent of his master, and sank down cross legged before the door, his curved sword across his knees. Naked from the waist up, he could have been an obsidian carven image from the jungles in the south of Asia. This was Huang, pride of the Mongols, and vassal of Aristides.

Wulf entered the cleft in the rock cautiously; the slanting evening sun outside illumined the inside of what proved to be a rather substantial cavern. Drawing his sword, he went forward into what became a large hall, with pillars supporting a vaulted dome of gleaming white. As he entered the hall, a golden light shone down from above, a globe radiated with brightness like that of a summer day, and Wulf felt welcome.

On a carven throne sat a statue of a seated man. His white beard and long hair swept down across powerful shoulders and chest, and a sword was on his knees. His beauty was not of this earth, and his strength was apparent in the sweep of his arms and back. Wulf slowly walked towards the god, for such he now knew him to be- this could be none other than Woden, the god of his people, the lord of Nature and the forest!

Or, at least, his earthly representation- Woden lived in the house Valaskialf, far above the earth, and could see from his throne in the tower of his house, called Hildskialf, all throughout the nine worlds. This must be one of his lost shrines.

And then, the stone god moved! Still a stone statue, his limbs swayed, his one good eye fixed on the barbarian, and air seemed to expand the great chest. He spoke:

“You are a worthy son of your people, Wulf, son of Bragi! I have marked you; I mean to war with the Romans and their god, Jupiter. Too long have they slain my people and laid waste my forests. Their god is strong, and devious in his ways, but I and my people are stronger- we shall drive them back, and eventually lay waste to them and their cursed cities! The forests and fields will once again thrive, and my people will as well- you shall help me!” The voice was like oceans crashing against rocks.

This last was not a question: Woden was commanding this son of his people to do his bidding.

Wolf stood before him, and there was a marked similarity in them, in their athletic builds, hinting of great power, and even in the contours of the face they were as alike as father and son, excepting only the black eye patch on the elder god. Alike: one of stone, the other of flesh and blood!

“I will do your bidding to fight the Romans- as you know from your all-seeing tower Hildskialf, the Romans have slain and crucified my entire tribe, and many other tribes as well. We are alike in our hatred, and I will do what I can- but, I am one man against thousands!”

Woden held forth his sword, hilt first. “Take my sword, oh man, and two other gifts as well.”

Taking the sword, which was of such heft of iron that most men could not have wielded it with two hands, Wulf nodded in appreciation. It was of an alien metal, and carven with strange runes. He replaced his own crude iron sword with it in his scabbard.

A strange, avian crying sounded, and a great bird entered the cavern from outside. A huge eagle, twice as large as a man stood before them, and almost seemed to…bow to the god Woden! From his huge, sharp tipped beak he dropped a small bag, which the barbarian picked up. Inside were a number of small, perfectly polished tree branches of black stone. He looked at the god, questioningly.

“They will help you against the cowardly machines of the Romans, those things that kill from afar, in an unmanly fashion. Keep them handy! And this,” he indicated the great, golden feathered eagle “is Gulltop, your steed against the Romans! Go forth, and fight, I have done all that a god may do in this world!”

And with that, he slowly reversed back into stone, rigid and immobile.

The “thrum” of cordage, and another barrage of rock swept towards the next village of the Alemanni. The small village, like that of Wulf’s people, had been taken unawares from afar with the giant Roman machinery of war, in the early morning as they slumbered in their log walled lodges, or started in on the early morning milking of their cattle. Thick wooden walls shattered; the families inside slain instantly on their sleeping mats, strong men in their prime, their wives and daughters, sons and babes.

“Another round!” shouted Aristides, his eyes burning with blood lust.

He watched as the men of his legion bent under the strain of pulling back the mighty engine, their back muscles standing out in bold relief as they heaved against the heavy torsion spring until it was fully cocked. As they then loaded the bucket with rocks and boulders, he smiled approvingly. He had only disdain and hatred for these barbarians, who wasted the good land and timber they had all around them. When he had taken all this land, and eliminated the barbarian vermin in the name of Rome, then the giant trees could be cut, the clearings leveled for vast Roman plantations, the largest of which would be Aristide’s own, with thousands of slaves and sharecroppers who would pay homage to him. The trees would be made into ships and engines of war for further conquest, until all of Europe, and then beyond was firmly ground beneath the heel of Rome!

A shout, and a group of wild, skin-clad men burst from the forest edge, brandishing shields and waving swords. They attacked the men loading the catapult, putting several to the sword in a ferocious attack fueled by hatred of these unprovoked attackers. One began hacking at the mechanism of the catapult, seeking to render it useless, and the rest advanced warily towards the troops lined up against them in a shield wall. The barbarians were all large, muscular men, with iron swords and shield of animal hide studded with iron and brass. Their helms were all different, with animal totems carved and painted thereon.

The rear column of the Roman army turned to fight them, in a precision, practiced move. Their shields were uniform, of shining metal, and their helmets were crested with red tufts of horsehair. Much smaller than the Alemanni they faced, they vastly outnumbered the barbarians. They advanced with a measured tread, as the barbarians ran towards them wildly.

At a word from Aristides, his servant warrior Huang sprang away from his side and into action, running towards the large warrior who still hacked at the catapult. He leapt onto the machine, and the barbarian warrior turned in time to catch the blow of the curved sword on his shield. He pushed it hard at the same time, and Huang fell back off backwards towards the ground.

But, before the large man could hit and dash his brains out on the ground, he flipped himself deftly over, somersaulting back and landing on his feet! The warrior had turned to hack again at the machine, which spring was almost sundered, when Huang threw his large sword, which curved end over end, until it sheathed itself through the warrior’s back! The blade protruded right through his chest, and he slowly slumped down, dead on the machine he had sought to destroy.

Meanwhile, the rest of the barbarians had come up to the line of Romans, and begun hacking and stabbing. At first, the front line of Romans went down beneath their heavy blades. But then, another line moved up, crushing their comrades beneath their iron sandals as they advances, and after they went down, still another line…

The Romans were just far too many, and relentless under their iron discipline. Eventually, they advanced around both sides of the small band of villagers, surrounding them. Even though the larger, fiercer barbarians fought as if possessed, as of course they would defending their wives and families, and even though they killed three or more Romans to every one of themselves that capitulated, they died to a man. All good sons of Woden, not one had surrendered his shield, or turned to be wounded trying to escape.

Walking back to his master, after pulling free his curved tulwar from the barbarian’s back that he had slain, Huang brandished his sword and spoke in a strange accent: “We can fix the machine quickly, and get on with the slaying. These barbarians are fierce and strong, but they fight in small groups and tribes- we will take this land quickly!” He shook the blood from his tulwar, smiling enigmatically, and bowed to Aristides.

None knew how or why Huang had come to serve the Roman general Aristides, and followed him to this far away northern land, but some whispered that he had been ensorcelled by Jupiter the god himself to serve Aristides, since that general had sacrificed his very parents and sister to the god for the chief Roman god’s “favor”. Some also said that Huang’s family was imprisoned somewhere, and only Aristides knew where, and that he held this over his servant’s head.

But, within moments, all knew that the next Alemanni village would be destroyed, it’s people slain, and they would move on to the next, and the next, and the next, until all of Germania was under Roman rule, and Roman despotism. Aristides smiled superciliously, as he often did, thinking of his ambition being realized, and turned once again to his tent. ‘There will be no more interruptions…’ he thought to himself.

Then a small, perfectly polished dark tree branch landed improbably almost at his feet.

Wulf had eyed the huge eagle dubiously. But then, when the creature stooped down, the better for him to mount, he climbed on it’s back. Tightening his muscular legs about the trunk of Gulltop, he also twined one of his arms around it’s neck. And, with Woden’s rune covered sword clutched tightly in his fist, he urged the eagle forward with a word.

Instantly, the pair shot from the cavern, and out through the cleft. Time must have moved differently in that enchanted place, for where it had been evening when he entered the cave, now it was barely dawn of the next day! Radiance streamed from the golden sun in the east, and a light mist rose from the forest.

Urging his mount ever upwards, Wulf felt a real exhilaration: at least now he could do some real damage to his foes! It never occurred to him to hide out and plan his strategy, or to seek out recruits- he was no Roman! He would fling himself headlong into conflict with his mortal enemies, the extremity of his passion drowning out any self-consideration. Vengeance was his aim, and he sought eagerly for signs of the Roman army.

Before long, he saw smoke, and saw the reflections of sunlight glinting off of shields and pikes, further to the east. He flew into the sun, the muscular youth on the eagle portraying an image of god-like power on earth as he flew, brandishing the borrowed sword of Woden. Swooping lower, he saw the catapult, and the lines of Roman soldiers in their red cloaks and polished greaves. In the distance further, he saw the crushed homes of his kinsmen tribespeople, and flames engulfing parts of the village.

The barbarian knew he must stop that fearsome, cowardly engine of war before it completed it’s destruction, and then he thought of the small bag of polished petrified branches he had tied to his girdle. Woden had told him they would help, and with that thought he soared directly above the catapult, and dropped one down.

Wolf had no idea what to expect, and at first there was- nothing! He had expected perhaps an explosion, or flash of light, earthquake- he knew not what, but this? He shook his head in frustration, and sent his steed ground-ward, waving his sword about his head in a circle. At least he would kill as many as he could before dying himself, and when he joined Woden in the great Hall of Aesgard he would ask him what those branches were supposed to do…

But, as he got closer, he saw movement and growth. Right before his eyes were springing up vines, and then bushes, and even whole trees- all in the matter of moments. The whole clearing made by the Romans in the forest of the Alemanni was filling back in with greenery, returning the primeval forest to its original state!

Looking down, Aristides curiously eyed the small black branch that had dropped almost at his feet. He looked upwards, and stiffened- a huge bird appeared very high up, but had a bird dropped this branch?

And then, he felt something brush his leg- the branch was sprouting, and growing, and even started to wind about his legs.

He stamped downwards on the vines, but they just kept growing apace; even hacking at them with his sword had no discernible effect; as soon as one tendril was cut, two or more would sprout! He looked about him. His men were panicking, drawing their swords to cut at the many vines among them, for it appeared more of the branches had been dropped throughout the whole legion.

“Huang!” he shouted hoarsely, for he valued the abilities of he chief servant in all situations.

Almost immediately, Huang was by his master’s side, for it was said that were Aristides to die, all of Huang’s family would die hideously as word was relayed to their secret location. He half-lifted the general, and moved him away from the thickest of the growth. As they went, Huang saw Roman soldiers in full armor being dragged down by the vines, and strangled!

With a loud crack, the catapult that Huang had saved from the tribesman who had been hacking at the spring broke in twain! The vines had crushed the very wooden frame, rendering it just so much junk. Aristides seemed in shock; unable to even comprehend this turn of events, this subduing of the supreme army of the world by- the woods? Nature?! It was inconceivable to a man like him, a from the center of civilization and power in Rome, that this could be so.

And then, both of them, and all of the soldiers saw an incomprehensible sight- from far above them, getting gradually larger and larger upon it’s descent, came a giant winged, golden eagle, with a barbarian astride, waving a sword! Coming down to ground level, he swept back and forth, sweeping at the Roman soldiers as if with a scythe, cutting them down like ripe corn. His sword cut through metal, flesh and bone as easily as through a leaf, and a full score or more or Romans fell on that first charge.

Regaining his wits in his extremity, Aristides shouted: “Tortoise formation!” he shouted. This was the ultimate tactic in extreme circumstances, in which the soldiers would cluster together, shields raised above their heads, except for the first ranks in which they were held in front of the line.

The well trained troops responded instantly, and all at once they were an almost unassailable wall of metal shields, protected above and below. They had moved back into the first growth forest, where the constant growth of vines and trees was not hampering them, and the wide spaces between the large trunks gave them ample room to deploy their tactic.

But even this defensive maneuver was not enough to withstand the rage and slashing god-sword of Wulf the barbarian! He swept down through the trees, and slashed downwards through the upraised shields, raining blood and slaughter on the Romans. Their arrows and bows were back in their vine ensorcelled camp, and they could never get near to the swooping figure who slaughtered, laughed, and again flew away.

Aristides, standing next to Huang who held his curved sword at the ready, had reached his last extremity.

“Oh Jupiter on Mount Olympus! Come to the aid of your Roman people, who are threatened in a savage land ruled by strange gods! Come, on the blood sacrificed to you of my very family, and poured into your sacrificial cauldrons!” And, taking a small casket from a chain about his neck, he opened it, dashing the contents to the ground.

There was a puff of smoke, a flash of reddish light, and then nothing at all, until-

A brief rumbling came from the sky, and then they all saw it- a huge white bearded god, on a gigantic eagle, was headed towards them, and lightning and thunder played about his head!

The white bearded, white haired god appeared in a nimbus of light, and terrible was his aspect! A sword was in his left hand, but in his right was the more terrible weapon, a globe of jagged flame.

“Oh, Jupiter,” shouted Aristides in a frenzy, “Come slay mine enemies, these hateful barbarians- I have paid the blood price of my entire family, and of old contract you are bound to serve me!” The general was shaking in his wrath, and a horrible smirk was on his thin, hawk-nosed face as he contemplated his vengeance.

Wolf, without hesitation, launched his much smaller eagle skyward. He never considered that his chances against an immortal were nil; he only felt the rage of the berserker in battle. As the two riders of eagles approached one another, Jupiter at last drew back his arm, and threw the jagged bolt of light at the barbarian.

As it approached, Wulf and all on the ground, staring skywards, heard the roll of thunder, and saw the deadly flash of a lightning bolt hurling towards the barbarian. Wulf tried to turn aside, but the bolt came on straightaway, too fast to dodge. He held up the Woden sword, and the flash struck it, and knocked it from his corded arm. It spun, end over end down through the sky, as Jupiter once again drew back his arm for another, final throw of thunder- he loosed it!

There was a shadow, that was all that the barbarian registered, and then in front of him, protecting him from the wrath of the Roman god was a giant, animal-hide shield, the enchanted shield of one-eyed Woden himself! The shield shuddered, and the mighty arm that held it swayed a bit, but the bolt had been stopped!

Woden, terrible in aspect, riding an eight legged flying steed, had saved him. Over his head flew two huge black hawks, with eyes like bale-fire and claws and beaks like talons. His mystic, rune-covered sword was one again in his hand; he must have caught it as it fell on his ascent. The two gods, one astride an eagle, the other a flying, eight legged stallion, circled one another. All fighting below had ceased, all eyes were strained upwards on this collision of the gods.

Woden was the first to speak, in a voice like rocks falling in an avalanche. “Oh brother god, who are you to interfere with the affairs of men? You were once an elder god of nature, as am I; you must recall that we are not to favor men, but to only weigh the courage and ability of men in war!”

A brief hesitation, and the booming sound of Jupiter’s voice, like distant thunder replied: “In the ancient past, when men were barely above the stage of great apes, there were contracts- terrible blood sacrifices that could bind an early incarnation of god-hood. This man, (he pointed down at Aristides the general), or one of his mages, discovered this ancient way, and by sacrificing his entire family as blood-price, he compelled me to help him.” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He went on: “ Once, my worshippers were much like yours- a barbarian people, that worshipped cleanly, as a kind of nature worship, only longing to live in harmony with nature, and to prevail over invaders with valor and skill alone. Then, they became civilized, and learned to prevail by trickery, and began to covet not only all of nature, but all the peoples of the world to live beneath their rule. I am growing ashamed of these Romans!”

Circling close together, the steed and the eagle, with their giant god-figures astride, they sought to converse unheard. To those below, the sounds were only those of rocks being crushed, and the sound of muttering thunder…

But at last, they drew apart, and descended together to only just above the heads of the men below. Wulf descended as well, and leapt from Gulltop as he landed. With a cry, the bird shot skyward, to fly with the hawks about the head of Woden.

Jupiter spoke: “ I have come to realize the shortcomings of my worshippers, the over-civilized Romans. The Alemanni are much more like my Romans used to be, but they are fallen from that earlier, superior state. Although bound by ancient law to serve this man (he indicated Aristides with his sword), Woden is not. He may do as you as he will, and I will not interfere.” Aristides shook with fear, combined with impotent anger.

“I will not strike him down,” said Woden in his deep, grating voice. “I am a god of warriors- I give him the chance- fight to the death with Wulf, who deserves the blood price of his head for the slaughter of his tribe.”

Wulf picked up a sword from a fallen Roman, and stalked towards the shaking general, who hid behind his servant Huang. “I choose Huang to be my champion!” he shouted in a high, reedy voice of fear. Huang held his sword ready, preparing to defend his unworthy master.

“NO!” shouted Woden and Jupiter, almost together, and the sound was majestic and terrible.

“Huang, you are an uncivilized, brave warrior from far away eastern lands. I will send you back, unhindered, to your family, where you can save them, and bring them back to your native land and gods.”

At this Aristides, becoming totally unhinged, grabbed his sword from his girdle and turning, ran at Huang in a rage. Huang, having defended this man for so long, merely parried the wild blows with his curved blade, not wanting to kill.

Wulf felt no such compunctions; taking his Roman sword, he sprinted lightly across the forest floor towards the general that had caused the massacre of his native village. “Die!” he shouted once in warning and, Aristides turned, threw down his sword, and ran the other way!

It was a short race, with gods and soldiers looking on. The dismay of the ragged, small band of Romans who remained at this ignoble retreat of their erstwhile general was apparent in their faces, and the gods themselves looked disgusted. In less than twenty paces, Wulf had caught up with the disgraced general, and cut him down from the back. This was the most disgraceful death of an Alemanni from Germania, and also for a Roman- to die with a cowardly wound to the back.

As if he had never even been interrupted, Woden continued with his instructions to Huang: “ Take your worthy sword, a small bag of items that will help you against your family’s captors,” -here he threw a small leathern bag much like the one he had given Wulf earlier to Huang’s sandaled feet.

Next, Woden called in a strange, bird like cry, and Gulltup, who circled about his head with the twin black hawks, came down and lowered himself to Huang, who climbed atop his back.

“Go man, you are free!” said the god, and Gulltop sprang skyward, disappearing towards the eastern horizon.

With that, Woden turned above the watching men to his brother god. “Come with me, Jupiter- we shall wing to Aesgard, and sup at my board of smoking meats and tankards of ale, mead and wine!”

“And as for you, Wulf of the Alemanni- you have served me well. You are free to kill the remainder of those Romans who decimated your people, but as I embrace my fellow god Jupiter, I would that you would embrace those left of the legion you have also decimated with my help. They were coerced under a bad, civilized ruler; you may bring them back to the lives of natural men and warriors, as a new tribe of the Alemanni!”

Considering, Wulf addressed the remaining Romans. “Put off your scarlet cloaks and horsehair crested helmets, and swear fealty to me as your tribal king. Then, I swear all who do so will be spared, and be my tribesmen!”

And then, with a curious, ancient heathen gesture, he concluded. The large group of men did as he asked, and then fell to their knees.

“Nay, nay- none of that here,” he spoke. “None of that civilized rigmarole; now you are all free men of the great forest! But, I methinks me: we are a tribe of men only- that cannot be! I have heard of a tribe of women, perhaps 150 miles or so hence, in Gaul I believe. All women warriors, too; I think they would make wonderful wives! But first, we have to travel to find them, conquer them, and then win their hearts- who is with me?!”

A thunderous cry of assent went up from the many men about him, and they headed off towards the east as had Huang, but on a shorter journey. The mood had changed almost instantly from war, and awe of the gods, to jubilation!

But, ‘such are the ways of men’- the glance that Jupiter and Woden exchanged to one another on their flying steeds seemed to say. “And of gods as well!” said Jupiter, as they both flew away towards Aesgard, as jubilant now as the men going the other way.

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