"Or two or three, each translating for the next," remarked Herut wryly.
"What would you talk about}" protested Wihta.
"They may number some who can see farther than a bowshot," I explained. "They may come to agree it will pay them to let the traders pass through for a toll. Not that we suppose our party can by itself make such an understanding firm, but—"
The door darkened. Athalberh stumbled through. "Quickly, come quickly!" he shouted across the crowd. "A fight's broken out. A brawl— They don't heed me!"
He was hardly more than a boy, who needed the razor maybe once a month. I sprang to my feet and pushed through the sudden uproar. "Stay behind me," I ordered. A battle between the high and the low would be ruinous. I stopped only to grab my sword, leaned against the front wall with other weapons, and unsheathed it as I ran out. My heart galloped, my mouth dried, sweat trickled cold down my ribs. I too had never dealt with this sort of thing before. J must not let it show, I told myself over and over, a drumbeat in my skull.
The sun had slipped behind the trees on the opposite bank, but the sky was still blue and the river shimmered. A nestbound flight of birds crossed overhead, gilded by the unseen radiance. Air lay cool and quiet. Outrageous amidst this, snarls and curses ripped from among the men at the campfire. Most stayed aside, unhappy, but two had seized arms and squared off. Four or five behind either stood tensed, glaring, fingers knotted into fists, about to fly into the fray.
I didn't immediately ken the two. They were from the second boat, burly, shaggy, coarsely clad, the poorest of the poor. One held a flint ax, the other a spear.
Even as I plunged toward them, the spearman yelled and jabbed. More skillful than I would have expected, the axman parried the thrust. He jumped past the shaft, swinging his great weapon aloft.
I arrived barely in time. "Hold!" I roared. My blade whirred between them. They checked, gasping.
Their partisans milled back. Someone among the onlookers uttered a faint cheer.
"What is this?" I demanded. "Has the Ghost Raven snatched your wits?" By then my followers
were on hand and I knew the trouble was quelled. A wave of weakness swept through me. I hid that
also, as best I could. "So help me Father Tiu, whoever started it will rue the day."
"He did," growled the axman.
"No, he did, that scum-eater," said the spearman. Sullen mutterings chorused from their friends.
"Do you hear, master?" cried the axman. "He called me worse than that, the son of a maggot, and did me worse at home. Kill him!"
"Be still, both of you," was all I could find to say.
Herut stepped forward. "I think, young lord, if you feel the same, we should straightaway hold a
meeting, ask witnesses what they saw, and get to the truth," he proposed. I nodded. "Yes," I answered. "Of course. At once." When I thought nobody was looking, I threw him a smile. We understood that he had rescued me.
Dusk fell over us, the earliest stars blinked forth, an owl began to hoot, while I sat in judgment. Herut's shrewd questions helped move things along. Nevertheless the wrangling and the tiresome stories tangled together, dragging on and on. That was for the better, though. Tempers cooled, men wearied, they grew glad to have an end of the business.
It came out that the quarrelsome pair and their abettors—kinsmen— were from the marshlands
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around Vedru Mire. Few though the dwellers and scattered though their huts be in that outback, they are often at odds. Lives so wretched and narrow must make it easy for dislike to fester generation after generation, now and then bursting into murderous clashes. When my father's messengers bore word of the venture everywhere around the Skerning country, these descendants of two different, otherwise forgotten men had offered their services as much to get equal gains as for the rewards themselves. It was a mistake to put them in the same hull, but who of my kind and Herut's knew that much about them? They had kept a surly peace until this eventide. Then a lickerish wish uttered by one as a woman of the village walked by, and a sneer at his manhood by the second, turned swiftly into a slanging match, and then they went for their weapons.
"That you were full of the beer our hosts handed out earns you no pardon," I declared at last, after a short, whispered consultation with Herut. "To make such a showing before them was as bad as trying to spill blood when we may need every man to keep all of us alive upstream. You would-be warriors have forfeited the bronze tools and good clothes promised you when we return. You who were about to fight have forfeited half. Maybe you can redeem yourselves as we go. Maybe. We'll see. Meanwhile, the two lots of you will serve apart."
The spearman hight Kleggu, the axman Ernu. Because Ernu had not truly pleaded but grumbled his case somewhat less badly, I chose him and his cousins for my ship. In the morning we departed with our slightly rearranged crews. We had meant to stay a day or two, less for rest than in hopes of learning more. A dwindled and impoverished trade did still move along the lower Ailavo, bringing news with it. But the incident had shamed us—I think more in our own eyes, the eyes of Skerning gentlemen, than in Aurochsford. We would try elsewhere.
I have kept no tally of time, but we were always aware of it, the summer slipping away from us at home. Let us learn whatever we could, do whatever we could, turn around, and paddle back out of this darkling land. Nobody threatened us in the next several days, but we lost two of them when weather forced us to ground our ships and huddle ashore beneath the rain and lightning, amidst the thunder. Therefore we pushed on without stopping until we reached a thorp called Suwebburh—I suppose from the tribe in whose territory it lay. Wihta had told us that it was the last of its kind. Beyond it were only some isolated steadings, and then the country held by the Celts.
Again folk received us hospitably, although less gladly. I marked at once that trouble weighed on them. When we sat in the headman's house, much as we had done before, I heard bit by awkward bit what it was. And yet at first it seemed as if some god bestowed luck on us.
Fewer men were on hand, for this house was smaller. I can't quite remember the headman's name—something like Hlodoweg. All our heed was soon on another of his guests.
Gairwarth lived here, a man of standing and, what mattered, a man with the knowledge we needed. It began with his being able to speak the language as it was spoken farther north, yes, as far as the estuary. That enabled me as well as Herut to talk with him fairly readily and, through him, with the Suwebi. Stocky, a bit paunchy, his brown hair braided, Gairwarth from the first slipped shrewd questions of his own into the interpreting. At length he said slowly, "Then you're bound for Celtic country, eh?" He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "I'd rede otherwise. You've chosen an ill time."
"What do you mean?" I demanded. "Why, you'd have heard much the same from anyone, but I can tell you the most. The Boii are lately on the move again, and all wildfire is breaking loose."
The headman and his fellows frowned. Gairwarth made haste to bring them into the
conversation. Did he want to head off suspicions that we might be plotting against them? I could
well-nigh feel the uneasiness everywhere around us. They added their warnings to his. But I need
not recall such breaks in discourse.
"Do you know the—the Celtics so well?" asked Herut.
"As well as is good for a man, if not more," replied Gairwarth. "I'm a trader, taking my boat along
the river, sometimes clear down to the sea, sometimes clear up to the Boian marches. I've dealt with
them if and when they were in the mood for it. Sometimes I've been a go-between on behalf of some
of my own folk, as it might be there'd been a fight and we hoped to settle things before the trouble
got worse. The Celts aren't always raving mad. Not always."
"So you speak their tongue?" I blurted. "How did you learn?"
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His small eyes probed at me before he explained: "From my mother. Her
kin lived not far from the Boii. A gang of them came raiding when she was a little girl and carried her off together with two or three siblings. She was raised among them, a slave, though not too badly treated. Years afterward, when she was turning into a woman and my father was a young man, he came that way trading. Like I said, it's not been unbroken war. We've stuff to offer, like honey, fine pelts, or amber when it's reached us from the North. They get wares from the South and East—kettles, jewelry, little metal discs stamped with pictures, and what all else. Once a chieftain's taken you in, you're under his protection till you've left his domain. And some men on either side know some scraps of the other tongue.
"Anyhow, my father liked the maiden's looks, bought her, and took her home. She could never be his real wife—no family left, been in foreign hands, never learned his language well—and must have felt lonely; talked much to me when I was a boy. That's how I got my Boian, and it's stood me in good stead."
He finished bleakly: "I got to know that tribe, too. I tell you from experience, you'd better turn back."
"Why?" I cried, and Herut asked more quietly and wisely, "What's happening?"
Gairwarth sighed. "I can't say for sure. But word runs from steading to steading, through the woods to the water. More and more raids. A few dwellers get away, with nothing left to them but the tidings they bear. Rumor goes that those who lived nearest the Boii saw big war-bands gathering. That may or may not be right. Still, it's enough to keep me here, with my boat ready to carry off my household and me if they come this way." He paused. "Oh, I'm no coward. I'll stand with our men. But, between us, I'll know it's hopeless, and when we break, I don't aim to flee blindly."
Herut sat thinking—my own head was awhirl—before he murmured, "Why do you say hopeless?
I gather the Celts have no fleet of boats. They'd have to go overland, and I wonder how many at a
time can get through these forests."
"They needn't be very many," Gairwarth said. His mouth tightened in the beard. "Their weapons
are iron."
A shiver passed through me. I had heard something about iron, that it was not only stronger and
kept a keener edge than bronze, but was far more plentiful. The Southfolk had long made use of it,
and then the knowledge spread to the wild tribes north and east of them, who were soon hewing
their way west. But I had never seen any. A vision rose before me, a sword with a blade that shone
flamelike.
"Two or three times I've tried to bargain for one, even just a knife," Gairwarth finished low. "The
owner would not part with it."
"Was he afraid you'd turn it against him?" gibed Herut. "Small use, a single piece, when you have
no way of making more."
"No, it's that they believe their weapons have souls, somehow bound to theirs," Gairwarth answered. "A strange folk, fearless, reckless, spendthrift, yet if a man thinks he's been wronged, he may well brood on it for half a lifetime, planning his revenge— They have holy men, deeply learned in their lore, who stand higher in their eyes than do their kings, yet they sacrifice captives to their gods—I don't really understand them myself. I can only tell you to turn around, go home, before it's too late."
"No, we can't!" burst from me. "Slink off like dogs at a mere word? We're Skernings!"
Herut shook his head at me slightly, made a brief silencing gesture with his hand, and said, "We welcome your counsel and wish to hear more. You'll find us not ungrateful." Whereupon, aided by the round-aboutness of translation, he got talk going in other directions. The Suwebi were glad to set their worries aside and hear about our journey and our homeland.
After the meal, as evening drew in, he said that he and I had better go see if all was well in the crew's encampment before we returned here for more drinking and then sleep. While we strolled off over the muddy ground, among the scattered huts, he told me, "What we need in truth is to speak together quietly. I f honor forbids we give up the quest this easily, mother wit bids us give heed to what we're told and make use of what tools come into our hands. Havakh, we must have that man along with us. I think the gods may have seen to our meeting him."
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What gods? I wondered. Have we not left ours far and far behind us? I looked around me. Beyond the squalor of the hamlet, the forest lifted, its crowns goldened by the setting sun, and through the stenches drifted its sweet breath. Mighty ahead of us, the river gleamed. Surely, I thought, if none else, whatever these people call her, Yortha is here also, the Mother for whom the maidens at home dance when the hawthorn blossoms. My heart steadied.
Our feet dawdled while our tongues ran hurriedly through ways and means. Nevertheless, we soon came to the boats, which we must for appearances' sake. As before, the men squatted or sat cross-legged around a fire, where they had heated food the villagers gave them. I did not await more than a glance and maybe a few words. It was a surprise when a big fellow got up and lumbered over to us.
I recognized Ernu of the bog and stiffened, though he had paddled quietly enough. Nor did he now pose a threat. He bobbed his shaggy head and rumbled, "Lord, a word, by your leave?"
I nodded, puzzled. Staring at the ground, he said, "I'm sorry about the fight. Not but what that KJeggu toad— Well, I got him and his kin not talking to me and mine no more, nor us to them." I saw that the two factions sat on opposite sides of the fire. "But we're all at your beck, lord."
"That is well," I answered almost as awkwardly.
Did a sly grin steal through the beard? "We'd not get home without you to lead us." He lifted his gaze to mine. "First, though, lord, we're going on into danger. The wild men, right? What I want to beg is your leave that my kinsmen and me, we make an offering for luck."
"What kind of offering?" snapped Herut, as I should have done. Who knew what might please or might anger the gods of this land and the river? "Oh, a poor little thing. We're poor men. We'll go into the woods and . . . give blood. Our own blood. Just a few drops on the ground. With a few, uh, words." I glanced at Herut. This must be some uncouth rite of the outback. He thought for a heartbeat before he shrugged. "You may," I said.
"Thank'ee, lord. I wouldn't want you to think we were running away or anything. We'll be gone a while tomorrow, but we'll come back. We'll feel better, bolder. And it's for you likewise, lord. Thank'ee." Ernu slouched off toward the fire.
Too many eyes around it were upon me. I turned and strode from them, Herut at my side. After a while he murmured, "That man surprises me. Uncouth, but not witless."
"Why, do you suppose his spell will be of any help?" I asked.
"Belike not. However, I don't look for it to do any harm, and—he's right, it ought to brace them.
The thing is, he thinks ahead."
I wasn't used to believing that of anyone so lowly. Nor did I care, then. "We were talking about
Gairwarth," I reminded him.
"Yes. What will it take for him to come with us? He's a trader, he'll have his price, but he'll start by
demanding all the goods we're carrying, and we'll need plenty for gifts, if we can meet with a Boian
chieftain. How to bargain Gairwarth down without seeming to demean him—"
I laughed. "That's for you."
"Be on hand," he urged. "Be gracious. Pay close heed. Those are skills you ought to learn,
Havakh."
I felt a flicker of offense, I, a son of Cnuath, lord of the Skernings. I caught a breath and stamped on the feeling. Herut was also well-born, and he was right. In the years afterward, as ever more of our olden strong world has failed us, I have often harked back to that sudden insight.
But there's scant use in calling up the whole of the next two days. We stayed at Suwebburh and dickered with Gairwarth. In the end, we loaded a goodly treasure aboard his boat, for his trusty man to guard and take away with his family if the worst came to the worst, and we would give him as much again if we returned here safely. Him on my craft, we se
t forth at the following sunrise. I remember how mists swirled and eddied in the chill and the enormous silence. The villagers clustered on the riverbank, gaping, half terrified, were soon lost to sight. The sounds and sweat of paddling were very welcome. Then a flock of ducks winged noisily off the water and life awakened everywhere. Now, when the memories and ghosts crowd in on me as I walk to the hall of my fathers, until it is that
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which seems unreal, now my yearning is to recall this last short while of peace and half-hopefulness. I would see water shine murmurous, a thousand hues of green on either side, clouds tall and dazzling white against blue. I would feel cool shadows where we camped at eventide, and share merriment with my friends until the stars overran heaven—for we were young, proud, unaware that our boldness sprang from our not truly understanding that we could die. But the few days and nights blur together, go formless, like land seen through one of the snowstorms that come over us in these winters. Today I have met Conomar again, and there was victory behind his eyes. Our first meeting overwhelms me. As when lightning smites an oak— The land was rising, less and less level, the current faster and the paddling harder. Once in a while, where the banks were too steep for trees, we glimpsed what must be mountains, afar and hazy to the south. Once we passed an open spot where a riverside steading had been. Only the charred wreck of it was left, already weed-begrown. The sight did not give us much pause. We knew that an always uneasy peace had been breached again. We were outsiders, with no quarrel here but, rather, good things to offer. Besides, we were not so few, and well-armed. What we did not know was that our faring was being followed, scouts slipping through the woods to peer from cover and speed their messages back.
Where the river swung around a high bluff on our left, it shoaled. Hulls barely cleared sandbars; water swirled and gurgled around us. "Hai, hoy, stroke, stroke, stroke!" and we toiled onward. As busy as we were, paddlers, steersmen, lookouts squinting to find channels, the sight beyond burst upon us.
Turtledove, Harry - Anthology 07 - New Tales Of The Bronze Age - The First Heroes (with Doyle, Noreen) Page 40