Hector Miller [Miller - Stranger from Another Land

erilaR

Stranger from Another Land

Here strolls the Herulian with his glaucous cheeks, inhabitant of Ocean's furthest shore, and of one complexion with its weedy deeps.

- Sidonius Apollinaris (478 AD)

* * *

Stones, weapons and ornaments bearing ancient writing have been unearthed throughout Scandinavia.

The men who fashioned the inscriptions referred to themselves as erilaR.

One of these stones, which dates back to the fifth century AD, depicts twelve images of boats, with an accompanying inscription: I, the Stranger from Another Land.

Prologue

On the 8 th day of June, in the year 793 AD, a band of heathen Northmen from Scandinavia attacked the priory on the island of Lindisfarne in the north-east of Britain.

In the years following the raid, the predations intensified.

These Vikings, as they became known in later years, first raided, then colonised many lands, including Britain and France.

The rest is, as they say, history.

Yet a question remains.

Who were these warriors and where lay their origins? Were they Scandinavian farmers who one day decided to cast away their ploughs and take up the sword? Not likely.

The story begins three-hundred-and-forty years prior to the raid on Lindisfarne, on the Great Pannonian Plain, north and east of the Danube

Chapter 1 Great Khan

The Great Pannonian Plain, east of the Danube March 453 AD

(Present day Hungary)

Concealed by the moonless darkness, he watched the entrance to the tent, remaining motionless until he was sure that all was abed.

At a crouch he approached the tent of Ildiko, the daughter of Abdarakos. Like all who met her, the Gothic prince was mesmerized by the beauty of the daughter of the Heruli war leader.

He pushed aside the flap and looked over his shoulder one last time. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought.

An hour passed before Theodemir, prince of the Ostrogoths, returned to his quarters.

He nodded to the two Heruli guards at the entrance of his tent, placed there for his protection. They were dressed in full armour and wore full face helmets. One held a spear, the other, a bear of a man, gripped a bearded war-axe. For a moment, the princes eyes lingered on the intricate etchings decorating the iron head of the vicious weapon, then he pushed aside the felt cover and entered.

He sensed a presence inside and his hand found the hilt of his dagger.

Stay your hand Theodemir, son of Vandalarius, growled a voice from the far side of the tent.

His eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and he noticed the outline of a hulking warrior, the dim light reflecting off his armour. His massive chest slowly expanded and contracted with every breath, the motion causing the many overlapping iron scales to emit a soft hissing sound, like a serpent ready to strike.

Sit, the voice commanded.

Abdarakos, the war leader, the erilar of the Heruli, was a man best taken seriously.

Obediently the Ostrogoth prince sat down on the furs, cross-legged.

We are but two days from his camp, Theodemir. My daughter is promised to him.

The big man drew breath again, audibly, and slowly exhaled through his nose, controlling his anger. Not to you, Theodemir. To the Great Khan, the ruler of the world.

You have seen what he is capable of. If he finds out, you will die. Ildiko, my daughter, will die with you, and your passing will be agonisingly slow. Then there will be war within the alliance. Your people, the Ostrogoths, will be wiped from this earth.

The Heruli chieftain was a man of few words, but the seriousness of the situation warranted an exception.

Theodemir, you are no pup. You have seen more than thirty summers. You are a war leader of a mighty people. Do not allow this foolishness to destroy all.

The big Heruli stood then, towering over the prince. If you come near her again, Theodemir, as the gods are my witness, I will kill you myself. For a moment he paused. Your father would support me in this. Remember, you are not the only son.

With that, the Heruli turned his back on Theodemir and left the tent.

The Goth prince had the utmost respect for Abdarakos. The Heruli was a favourite of Attilas, a pillar of strength that helped to keep the alliance of the Scythian tribes intact.

The Goth remained seated for long, pondering the foolishness of his actions.

Eventually he came to a decision. He would heed the wise words of Abdarakos. Among the Scythian nobles, marriage was a tool to create power, nothing more, nothing less.

Come morning, Theodemir was ready before first light. He patiently waited outside the tent of the erilar.

The big man emerged at long last, half a scowl on his scarred, tattooed face.

Theodemir inclined his head. Lord, I have received ill tidings of an incursion into Gothic lands. Please pass on my apologies to the Great Khan.

A hint of a smile touched the corners of the Herulis lips. I will do as you ask, Prince. Go with the gods.

Theodemir mounted his magnificent gelding, looking resplendent as the first rays of the sun lit up his gilded scale armour. He kicked the horse and rode off, his band of oathsworn following close behind.

* * *

The wedding of the khan was a lavish affair.

The king had many wives, but Ildiko was by far the most comely. More than that, the mighty Heruli would now be bound by marriage to the house of Attila.

The festivities carried on deep into the night as the host and his guests surrendered to Bacchus.

On the morning after, all was slow to rise. Some die-hards only retired to their tents as the first rays of the sun breached the horizon.

At midday, guests assembled at the gates of the palace of the king to bid him farewell and start their long trek home.

But of Attila there was no sign. None would dare disturb him and risk his ire.

Eventually, an hour after midday, his guards feared that some ill had befallen the king. They summoned the only man who would be able to disturb the king and live: Atakam the shaman.

Under the watchful eye of the wise one, the ornately carved doors of the khans private quarters were opened.

They found Attila long dead and cold to the touch. He had drowned in his own blood.

In the corner, weeping, they found Ildiko. The oathsworn of Attila suspected murder and wished to put the girl to death, but their hands were stayed by Atakam, who could find no wound on the body of the king.

The shaman explained to all. Tengri came from the heavens to take the king to his abode.

With great skill, he channelled the anger of the men into the arrangements for the funeral.

So came to pass the death of Attila, son of Mundiuch, ruler of the Sea of Grass, overlord of the Germani and Scythian tribes.

Ildiko escaped death by the intervention of Atakam the shaman, and Abdarakos, great warlord of the Heruli who gave his daughter in marriage to the eldest son of the king, Ellac the Hun.

Chapter 2 Shaman

Moesia Superior December 453 AD

(Present day Serbia)

Atakam slowly drew the blade of his dagger across the surface of the bone. Again and again he repeated the movement, applying just enough pressure to remove the flesh and sinews without cutting into the delicate surface.

As usual he found comfort in the familiar task.

He had been on edge for days. At first the omens were good. But all had changed in the blink of an eye.

For at least another hour he continued, until the shoulder bone of the sheep was smooth to the touch. The shaman put it aside, careful not to place it too close to the hearth fire in the centre of the tent.

Near the felt covered door, on a flat stone, lay the liver of a freshly slaughtered sheep. He had personally chosen the animal earlier, a magnificent ram without blemish or deformity.