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Prologue

Germania, 12 BC

The boy had been fast asleep, but the insistent shaking of his shoulder woke him at last. He opened gummy eyes to find a figure stooped over him. Profiled by the weak lamplight behind, his father’s face – bearded, keen-eyed, framed by braids of hair – was frightening, and he recoiled.

‘It’s all right, little bear. I’m no ghost. ’

‘What is it, Father?’ he mumbled.

‘I have something to show you. ’

Behind the powerful figure that was his father stood his mother. Even in the gloom of the longhouse and fuddled with sleep, he could see that she was unhappy. His gaze returned to his father. ‘Is Mother coming?’

‘No. This is something for men. ’

‘I’m only seven. ’

‘No matter. I want you to see this. Out of bed. Get dressed. ’

His father’s word was law. Slipping from under the warmth of his bear pelt, he shoved his still-stockinged feet into his boots, which sat by his low bed. Rummaging for his cloak, which doubled as a second blanket, he threw it around his shoulders. ‘I’m ready. ’

‘Come. ’

As they passed his mother, she reached out. ‘Segimer. This is not right. ’

His father whirled. ‘He must see it. ’

‘He is too young.

‘Do not question me, woman! The gods are watching. ’

With pursed lips, his mother stood aside.

The boy pretended that he hadn’t heard, or seen. Following his father, he slipped past the forms of sleeping slaves, the glowing fire, the cooking pans and wooden storage chests. The two doorways in the longhouse were opposite each other, in the middle of the building. From the other end, currents of warm air carried the rich odours, and the sounds, of their cattle, pigs and sheep.

His father set the lamp down as he went outside. He looked back. ‘Come. ’

The boy moved to the doorway. Stars glittered overhead, but the night was still dark and intimidating. He didn’t like it, but his father was beckoning. Out he came, taking a deep breath of the cool, damp air. It chilled his nostrils, reminding him of the winter that was already nipping at autumn’s heels. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To the forest. ’

The boy tensed. He loved being among the trees in the day, when he could play with his friends at hunting, or see who was best at finding deer tracks. He’d never been there at night, however. The forest would be a shadow world now, full of spirits, fierce animals and the gods knew what else. He had been woken many times by wolves howling at the moon. What if they met some?

‘Hurry!’ His father was already a distance along the path that led out of the settlement.

In that moment, being left alone outweighed the boy’s fear of what lay beyond the houses, so he chased after his father. He wanted to ask if they could hold hands, but he knew what the answer to that would be. Pacing by his father’s side was better than nothing. Segimer’s long sword, which marked him out as a wealthy man among their people, was also reassuring, knocking off his thigh as he walked, and reminding the boy that his father was a fearsome warrior, the equal – or better – of any in their Cherusci tribe.