LITMIR.BIZ

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      I was stunned that she thought of having a family someday. I thought she would never be remotely interested. I told her that I planned to marry when I was older and wiser . . . when I had seen more of the world. Saskia considered this and spoke wisely, “If you grow old, without the love of a husband, you’ll grow too old for children.”

      Again, I was astounded at the thought of growing too old and never being able to have children. I had never thought about the age one had to be to have children. It’s true that some older women had healthy infants, but more than likely, not. Their children were different in their behavior and facial features. Often they became orphans when their older mother or father died. It was the kindness of relatives or tribe that took the children under their roof. I considered this revelation. I learned much from Saskia.

      We slept soundly that night in the village of the Gepids. They were peaceful people. We slept until midmorning, when we were awakened by voices at our door. Three older men spoke in Gothic. Saskia and I got up and hurried to the doorway to speak to them.

      “Come. The summer solstice has arrived. You must prepare with us, the slaughter of fresh meat for the gods. We must appease Wodanaz, so we will be safe in battle against the warriors who invade our land. We know you have weapons and great skill. Hurry and eat your breakfast. We must leave now for the stables and to the sacred white grove,” said one man with a commanding voice. “The prisoner must be carried to the sacred white grove. He will be sacrificed to Wodanaz. You will watch, as witnesses to his death.”

      We swallowed our breakfast, and led our horses from the stable. We tied several goats to our horses, along with an old limping horse, to be led slowly to their demise. The prisoner was led in a wagon by two horses and several people. The whole tribe appeared in their doorways and soon followed up the trail to the sacred white grove, shrouded in fog.

      In the grove, were many sacred white trees and wooden stakes, upon which, there were bleached skulls of animals. Huge wooden effigies of the gods, with carvings that displayed their eyes and male or female animal parts, also stood around the sacred grove. The women carried bowls of offerings to Wodanaz and placed them in the boggy mud at the entrance to the grove of sacred white ash trees.

      Their priestess stood by a stone altar near the trees, where three eagles looked on with intense stares. One of the eagles shifted its weight and turned its head. It’s gold eyes watched as the animals were slaughtered on the altar and their blood collected in wooden bowls. The priestess chanted sacred words to bless and offer the sacrifice to the gods. Women sliced off the animal’s limbs and hung them in the branches. The carcasses were deposited on the roasting fire, for the tribe would partake of this food in celebration of their life and their enemy’s death. It would transfer Wodanaz’ power to them.

      The prisoner was led to a sacred ash tree with the fresh limbs of animals hanging from its branches. On the altar near this tree, the prisoner’s life was solemnly taken, as an offering to our god; the priestess spoke to Wodanaz. The prisoner’s arms were cut off and hung in the tree. Blood seeped from the wounds and drenched the ground below. We were repulsed, but we knew it was necessary for our survival, as Gutthiuda and Gepids.

      We chanted and sung songs of Wodanaz’ brave deeds. Later, we feasted upon the roasted meat of goats. The bonfires were lit, left to burn all night and into the next two nights to give strength to the sun. Couples leapt over the bonfires to determine how high their gardens would grow. The three released eagles soared over us for several days. We felt the power of our god, Wodanaz. He would surely protect us from death. Wodanaz would decide who lived or died.

      In a week, we would travel to the battleground, into the villages of the enemy, to slaughter again, every man or woman that fought us. We would hold their captured children and women as slaves. We would seize their livestock and food, their treasures and weapons. Our enemy would suffer for their aggressions against the Gepids, our Gothic allies. Saskia and I looked forward to the battles—ones we have seen many times before. We would whoop, and the men would shout and chant, as they chased and hunted their opponents.

      “Wodanaz, please protect our warriors—give them power,” we chanted with the other women.

      “Wodanaz, mighty lord of death, give us life and victory over those who take our land,” shouted the men, who would soon frighten their enemies. Each of the men’s swords had rune markings etched into the blade. These markings transferred Wodanaz’ power to them with utmost certainty.

      At the end of the festival, a great round wheel, tied with straw—representing the sun, was set ablaze at the top of a hill and rolled down the slope to extinguish in the pond below. This signified that the festival of summer was over. We could resume our daily preparations for our journey into war.

      Chapter II War of the Heart

      We left early in the day, with weapons at hand, along with the children, towed by men and women. The day was cloudy, with a brisk wind. We clung to our wool cloaks that were clasped at our shoulders with metal broaches. A few women wore blankets around their shoulders to cover the babes still at their breast. We hoped it would not rain, but this was quite possible later in the day, as afternoon and evening thunderstorms grew angry with black clouds and the thundering voice of red-haired Punaraz—his hammer striking his enemies. This would be a sign of war. Soon we would meet our foe.

      Saskia and I rode our horses as noble warriors. We held our weapons tight in our hands, to be ready, at any moment, for a strike. We had seen it before. The sight of hundreds of men swarming over the land with their threatening axes and spears raised. Many warriors beat their colorful, round shields held before their large, muscular bodies, covered with grease and black paint. Many were covered in blood from the sacrifice in the sacred white grove. Their bearded faces, streaked with fierce markings of blood and ash, and their hair—long and wild manes. Some wore metal helmets, such as the Roman soldiers. Some warriors rode horses, but most men belonged to the artillery and the army, with their menacing swords held before them, or rocks, to be flung at the heads of the enemy. The men fought more with their sinewy bodies than with their weapons. Wodanaz’ strength made them fearless.

      An enemy, facing such threat, would surely run to avoid sudden and harsh death. Often, a woman would find a warrior, felled by his foe, half dead on the ground. The woman would compassionately kill him, so he would not suffer death at the hand of an enemy soldier. Those belonging to the enemy, who escaped death, were tracked down and either killed or captured. It did not matter that you were a woman or a child.

      Most men accepted the consequence of dishonorably losing their weapon, perhaps causing their tribe to lose a battle. They committed suicide upon loss of their spear or ax. We had seen this before, when we had accompanied our parents into battle.

      When night came, we were tense and restless, despite our weariness from the cold rain that pelted our heads and backs a few hours before. The tribe of Gepids made camp with soft glowing fires, hidden by boulders, that would not attract attention from an enemy’s scout.

      We slept by the rocks, wrapped in our wool blankets, with an article of rolled up clothing for a pillow. The ground was hard and seemed to penetrate into my spine, fusing me with the hardness. My body felt as durable as stone, slowly be- ing worn away, during a lifetime of weather. Everyone died eventually. When would my time come? I hoped it wouldn’t be tomorrow. I had much to live through, not really having lived much at all. I settled and closed my eyes, dreaming of my mother’s caresses and Father’s warm hugs. I saw their eyes, bright and blue, and then, weeping for the loss of their daughter. I fell asleep, nonetheless.

      “Ermentrude, wake up!” Saskia yelled. “Eat this bread quickly. The enemy has been spotted down in the valley below. We must go!”

      “Who are they?” I asked.

      “They are the Bastarnae,” she replied. “They are a ferocious tribe that has moved into our land. Everyone wants our land, our livestock, and our lives! Where did they come from? Why don’t they return to where they came, instead of stealing our possessions?” She spoke with a sense of urgency. “Hurry! We must leave now! Get your weapons.”

      I

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