Free The Wolves of the North by Harry Sidebottom Page A

As he pounded a tunic on a stone, poetry of his childhood ran in his mind:
    There is no one still living to whom I dare open
    The doors of my heart. I have no doubt
    That it is a noble habit for a man
    To bind fast all his heart’s feelings,
    Guard his thoughts, whatever he is thinking.
    If the Langobardi slavers had not come, if they had not burnt his village, slaughtered his family, he would have grown to be a warrior, not a drudge. And those dreadful things would not have happened to him.
    The weary in spirit cannot withstand fate,
    And nothing comes of venting spleen.
    Wulfstan was young – just thirteen winters, not yet a man; he did not agree. If he got his freedom, he would vent his spleen on all those who had owned him before Ballista. It should not be impossible to track them down. He had been traded one to another down the great rivers from the Suebian Sea to the
imperium
and Ephesus. He would retrace his steps; from Ephesus north through the Aegean and across the Kindly Sea, then up the Amber Road. Wulfstan’s return would be charted in blood and burning. TheTaifali, a tribe loosely connected to the Goths in the west, were said to do to their own young men the shameful things which had been done to Wulfstan. A Taifali youth washed away the stain on his reputation when he killed a boar or a bear. Wulfstan would find redemption in blood; not in the blood of animals, but of man, and of many more than just one man.
    The lowing of beasts, a deep rumbling and the high-pitched squeals of wood broke into Wulfstan’s consciousness. There was a massive cloud of dust approaching from the west.
    ‘The wagons are here,’ said the Urugundi guard.

VII
    Ballista watched the long line of ox-wagons. There were ten of them, each drawn by eight bullocks. Slowly and very noisily, half hidden by the dust raised, they pulled into a wide circle. The drivers unspanned the beasts and began to herd them down to water in the river. There seemed no end to the animals.
    ‘Ho, Sarmatians, where are your women?’ one of the Urugundi called.
    From under their caps, the drivers cast dark looks at the Goth.
    ‘Driving wagons is women’s work,’ the Urugundi said to Ballista in the language of the north. ‘Once, the Sarmatians were lords here. Now they are our
skalks
. These Sarmatian slaves try to keep their women away from us.’ He laughed. ‘They are right to. Their women are a good ride – big tits, good fat arses. They have no interest in their husbands when they have had a Goth between their thighs.’
    The
gudja
silenced the warrior with a curt gesture then spoke to the drivers in a language Ballista did not know, presumably Sarmatian. It could be the tiresome interpreter Biomasos might have a use after all. The Sarmatians grudgingly acknowledgedwhatever the
gudja
had told them and carried on seeing to the oxen and hobbling the dozen or so horses which had travelled tied to the rear of the carts.
    ‘Now the wagons are here, my Goths will take the boats downstream to Tanais.’ The
gudja
spoke to Ballista in the language of Germania. ‘I will remain to guide you to the Heruli. Their winter pastures are not far from here, but they left for their summer ones some time ago. It will be a long journey east and north before we overhaul them.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Ballista said.
    ‘I doubt you will when we reach them. As everyone will have told you, they are not as other men, and their ruler Naulobates is the worst of all. The superstitious say he is not a man at all but a malignant daemon.’ The
gudja
smiled, as if in anticipation of the encounter.
    ‘I have no choice in the matter.’
    ‘No, I suppose you do not. The Sarmatians can help your slaves load your baggage. I will keep one wagon for myself and my servant.’ At the mention of her, the priest’s ill-favoured acolyte gave a one-toothed, senile grin.
    Maximus leant close to Ballista. ‘Thank the gods we will not be without female company. Do you think the old Goth will