me see it! Do you think it’s human blood?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead. I looked more closely at the pebble, noticing a dark patch of earth. I knelt down and brushed the detritus away with my hand. There I saw a small coin . . . a Roman coin. I held it up and showed it to Saskia and the men. I looked up and saw a piece of cloth flapping on a tree branch. Saskia climbed to retrieve it. When she climbed down, she inspected it for any familiar texture. Was it linen? That was what Gerulf had worn in the summer—linen—woven from flax. She gave it to me to examine.
“I wonder if this was torn, as Gerulf fell out of the tree?” I guessed. I put it in my satchel and searched for any other evidence of ambush. We walked through the brush beneath the trees. I knelt down on my hands and knees, moving my hands over and under the low plants that lived there. Then, I felt it—a hard, rounded object that moved. I grabbed it and stood up. It was a broken spear. It had runes carved on the staff. I showed it to Saskia, and she bent over in horror. Her right hand raised up to her chest. She was in shock.
“Do you recognize this?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said quietly with tears streaming down her cheeks. “It was . . . Ans . . . selm’s.” Saskia dropped to the ground, wrapping her arms around herself, realizing that Anselm, or any one of the brothers was brutally murdered. I stooped down beside her and held her in my arms.
I said, softly, “You know—it could have been Anselm that fell out of the tree.” She rested her head on my shoulder and cried. She couldn’t speak a word. I took her hand and walked with her toward our horses. We rode back to the army of people with grief in our hearts. We feared we would never know what had really happened here. I feared I would never know love again, as it was with Gerulf.
As we descended the slope toward the train of Gepids and horses, I felt determined to locate the farm, where we might find more clues telling what had happened during our enslavement. My anger surged at finding some evidence of the brothers’ demise. Their murder seemed more real, now. It wasn’t something we thought might have happened. It had indeed occurred! I wanted the heads of those murderous heathens!
We told our companions of our findings under the ledge and in the trees. Wallia and his wife consoled us. Everyone vowed to continue the search for the villainous group of men who killed the brothers and kidnapped us—no matter how difficult it became. We felt reassured that we would find the murderers . . . and take our revenge!
Slowly, we departed the area, driving the wagons up into the highlands. It took many more hours of riding before we came to an overlook. Saskia, the scouts, and I scrutinized the small valley below, looking for any signs of life. In the distance, above the valley, we noticed a small herd of what appeared to be goats, grazing on the sparse tufts of grass beneath their hooves. I smiled at Saskia.
“This is it! We are near the farm we came to find, Saskia. I don’t see the farm, though,” I said. I scanned to the right side of some trees and saw it—the farm! “Ah! There! See?” I pointed.
“We must make a plan. The men would know how to approach this place without the Sporoi noticing us,” Saskia spoke.
“Good idea! Let’s find the the Gepids’ leader!” I added. We were thrilled to find the farm where we were once held as slaves.
The leader of the Gepids was tall and blond, with a scar along his forehead. I wondered how he acquired it. He smiled at us as we approached him.
“Have you found more evidence of the attack that took place?” he asked.
“Yes, we found the farm! It’s down in the valley—come up here and see for yourself, captain, I said. “I remember the goats over there on the hill, and the farm is to the right of the trees. It’s such a beautiful place. Unfortunately, we were taken there without being asked. The villains never harmed us, as we were a gift to a woman named Draga. Draga was kind compared to the men who killed our friends,” I said.
“Do you know for sure that your friends were killed?” the captain asked.
“Ja—Draga told me it was so. She did say that one of the brothers was blinded by a knife, when he fell out of a tree, so he might have survived. This morning, I think we found that place. We found blood stains, a gold coin, and a piece of linen from torn clothing,” I reported. “I found a broken spear that Saskia knows belonged to Anselm.”
“When we escaped, we only had Draga’s information. We never had time to find out what had happened to our horses. Draga would have tried to find out more, but we jumped at the chance to escape, when it was offered,” Saskia clarified.
“Hmm. I see. We must raid the farm, where the offensive brutes left you as slaves. We will ride in at dusk, when their guards are eating. Perhaps they will be tired from a long day. With luck, we may surprise those heathens that killed your friends. You spoke of Draga with kindness. Is she the mistress of the property? I only hope her life will be spared by our soldiers,” the captain said. “It will be a massacre of innocents and guilty . . . for there’s no way to distinguish them.”
“We understand, sir. If we see Draga, we will order her to ride with us, for her safety,” I said. “May Wodanaz be with us!”
We waited, out of sight, until darkness crept over the neighboring hills, and shadows fell upon us. We armed ourselves with weapons and shields. We rode down the dark slope swiftly with intent . . . to avenge the deaths of our Gepid friends. May Wodanaz give us the strength and endurance to fight these men, who murdered the innocent brothers. I held back my tears and steadied my sword and shield, ready for battle.
As we neared the farm, the warriors yelled and roared their fiercest and most vindictive insults against the occupants. Inside the buildings, men grabbed their weapons and stormed outside to meet the wrath of our army and cavalry. Our swords sheered off heads, split open chests, and speared arms. The outer buildings were set ablaze, and livestock was taken away. Horses were captured, and the enemy slaughtered. Revenge was brutal.
Saskia and I rode rapidly, around the perimeter of the farm, to find any man that we could. We worked together to serve our need—to punish them for their disregard for life—to force them to beg for mercy, on their knees—and slash their ears and noses. Once they tasted our form of torture, they would plead for death—and we’d oblige. With one certain jab to the heart—it would be over. They would fall to their knees, then, face down in the dust.
After my third victim died, I no longer winced. I was a young warrior . . . proud of my first real battle. I now knew how it felt to take someone’s life. Saskia withdrew her sword from a man’s neck; his blood spurted everywhere. On her horse, she chased another man around the yard, until he tripped and fell, giving her time to thrust her sword into his right side and withdraw it. A large man came at her from the left, but I rode up to her side, just in time, to distract him, before lopping off his head. Who knew we were capable of such ferocity?
As Saskia and I looked about the yard, we saw no one else to attack, so we rode back to the front of the house waiting for something to happen. We’d be ready to kill again, if needed. We heard children’s screams from inside the house and decided to avoid terrorizing anyone innocent with our swords. We backed away, riding up the slope to where the Gepid women waited with captured horses and livestock. They saw us riding toward them, in darkness, our clothes splattered with blood. They looked afraid, but we smiled at them and yelled,
“Hurrah! Revenge is sweet—oh Gepid sisters!” Only then, did their faces and shoulders relax.
I heard a loud series of whinnies from somewhere behind the group of women, so I rode around them to
