The Sorcer part 1: The Fort at River's Bend cc-5

by Jack Whyte

  "Eleven," he said eventually. "And many daughters."

  I was amazed, for I had guessed his age to be no more than six or seven years greater than my own. He must have noticed my reaction. "Out of five wives," he added.

  "Five? You have had four wives die?"

  He looked at me then as though he thought me mad, and then he laughed. "No, Christian" he said. I have had five wives pregnant much of the time."

  I winced at my own clumsiness. Polygamy was not uncommon among the pagan people in the isolated parts of Britain.

  "How old is Owen?" I asked! attempting to gloss over my gaffe.

  "Seventeen."

  "And your youngest son, how old is he?"

  "Nine."

  "Just slightly older than young Arthur." He threw me a sidewise look and I hurried on. "How many daughters have you?"

  "Too many. Which one is Arthur? There were three with you."

  "Four. Arthur is the oldest, the one with the gold- coloured eyes. He's eight."

  'That one. I thought it would be him. I saw the eyes, like a young kestrel's. Is the woman his mother? The good- looking one with the face of a hawk?"

  "Shelagh, you mean. No, she is Donuil's wife. Donuil is—"

  "Aye, Connor's brother. I recalled him from our first meeting. What of the other woman?"

  'That's Turga, the boy's nurse."

  "Nurse? At eight he requires a nurse?"

  "No, of course not, but he is all she has, and they are close."

  "Where is his mother, then?"

  "Dead, long since." I tried to shut out the image of her death on the beach in far-off Cornwall, and the sight of Derek rising to face me from his interrupted rape of her, his moist, erect phallus gleaming in the afternoon light. He had no idea who she was, or that his horse had crushed her skull thereafter.

  "Hmm ... So you are father and mother both. You feel responsible for him?"

  I looked at him, wondering at the question, unsure where it was leading.

  "Yes," I said, nodding. "I am ... aware of a responsibility."

  "Try being a king some day, my friend, then talk to me of responsibility. It pains me, I'll admit it, to refuse what you have asked of me, but I see no other choice. Danger to myself I could accept, but to endanger my people needlessly by taking on the risk you represent would be unforgivable ... If there were even half a chance the child might escape detection I might consider otherwise. But the son of Pendragon, escorted by Merlyn of Camulod? No I cannot take that risk."

  I nodded once again, recognizing and accepting the finality of his decision. "So be it," I replied. "I understand your situation."

  For the remainder of our ride back into Ravenglass my mind was busy with logistics. I suspected that Connor's crew might already have unloaded our possessions and supplies from his galley, at least, and perhaps from one of the other two. If that were the case, we would have to stand guard by them overnight and reload them come morning.

  We returned the garrons to Ulf, their keeper. I thanked Derek for his time and took my leave of him, promising to join him that night for dinner. I then set out to find Connor immediately, making my way directly through the still- bustling marketplace, and thence through the fort to the gate leading onto the wharf.

  Connor was in conference with the two captains of his other galleys when I arrived, the tiny Feargus, who was not much taller than the boy Arthur, and his incongruous companion Logan, a giant as grotesquely tall as Feargus was small. Feargus's galley, with the reddish sail that distinguished it even when furled, lay prow to stern with Connor's, filling the length of the wharf. Logan's had been lashed alongside it, so that his crew must cross Feargus's deck to reach the land. All three men turned at my approach, alerted by Logan, who had seen me emerging from the town gate, and when we had exchanged greetings the two captains left me alone with Connor. I came to the point at once, telling him all that had transpired between me and Derek. He took the information philosophically, even smiling in admiration of Derek's acuity, and when I had fallen quiet again he grinned and slapped me on the upper arm.

  "Eire it is, then, my friend—or the northern isles, if you find them more to your liking. I had a feeling Derek might not take to your ideas, so I decided not to unload any of your cargo before you returned. We'll rest here tonight and leave with the morning tide. "Don't look so doleful, Yellow Head. You'll see, everything will work out for the best."

  I grimaced. "Aye, no doubt you're right, but sometimes I wish life could be more simple. Have you seen Donuil since I left?"

  Connor nodded. "Aye, he was here a short time ago. You must have passed him on the way. Said he was going to meet Shelagh and the children in the marketplace."

  I thanked him and retraced my steps through the fort to the rear gate, still going over in my mind the changes and the difficulties we faced now that we would have no base in Britain. As the crow flies, there was little difference in the distances from Camulod to Cumbria or to Athol's kingdom in Eire. But the Eirish distance was across the high seas, and thus fraught with hazards that did not pertain to the Cumbrian passage. Travel between Eire and Camulod could not be lightly undertaken. But that was not my main concern. The foreignness of Eire depressed me more. Arthur's future prospects, I was convinced, would suffer were he removed from Britain, from his home.

  As I approached the double portal in the rear wall of the fort, I was roused from my musings when a man emerged from the shadowed entrance and then stopped and turned away abruptly, hurrying back the way he had come. Had he not done so I would have passed him by without noticing, but the speed with which he whirled and made off caught my eye, and the sight of his retreating yellow tunic reminded me of the man who had stopped to watch me from the tavern doorway earlier in the day.

  Curious, I lengthened my stride slightly and passed through the portal, looking idly for him as I broke into the sunlight of the marketplace beyond, but he was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled now, I grasped a pole supporting the awning of a stall and stepped up onto an empty wooden crate, peering over the heads of the crowd until I saw the fellow scuttling hurriedly off to my right, about four stalls away. As I saw him, he looked back over his shoulder at me, and his alarm was instantaneous. He broke into a lurching run, dodging to his left out of my sight beyond the corner of another stall, and suddenly I found myself giving chase, thrusting people aside as I ran after him, fully aware now of the absent weight of my swordbelt at my waist.

  As I swung around the corner he came into sight again, still running, and I lengthened my stride again to close on him. Once more he swung out of sight and again I plunged around a corner after him, nearly sprawling over a pile of empty poultry baskets. Now I heard voices raised in angry protest, but all at once I was beyond the confining stalls and into an open, widening space where a well-trodden path led between tall banks of grass towards a stand of trees. There my quarry vanished. Running flat out now, I passed between the first two trees and had to leap immediately to avoid a narrow, steep-sided ditch that traversed the path. I landed safely on rising ground and several steps later found myself at the top of a shallow incline that sloped down to where I could hear the sound of hard- running feet. Pausing only to collect myself and make sure there was only one way down, I launched myself after him again, completely unconcerned by now that I knew not who the fellow was or why he was fleeing from me. His flight alone was reason for pursuit. I dashed headlong downhill, swerved around a tree and was sent sprawling by a foot that hooked my ankle as I passed.

  I landed hard, the impact driving all the air from my body so that I writhed helplessly on the ground, blinded by pain and gasping as I fought to draw a breath. Above me, to my right I thought, someone laughed quietly and the sound chilled me. I tried to tense myself against further violence, but nothing happened and the sound was not repeated.

  When I began to breathe again, I sucked air into my outraged chest with great, painful whoops. I already knew from the ripping, lesser pains in my face and hands that I ha
d landed among brambles, and I kept my eyes squeezed shut as I waited for strength to come back to me. Somehow, I managed to struggle to my knees, my head bowed and my arms clutched protectively about my ribs, my ears straining to hear any sound of movement around me. Silence.

  Soon I straightened up, uncrossing my arms and opening my eyes, and as I did so, someone kicked me violently in the midriff, knocking me backwards into the thorns again. I found myself seated this time, my back and shoulders supported by the thickness and springy strength of the weave of stems behind me.

  The man who had kicked me loomed over me, moving closer, and I saw two others behind him, one on each side. All of them were grinning at the prospect of what they would do to me now, three against one. But I was already moving again, thrusting myself up into a kneeling posture, ignoring the ferocious barbs that cut against my hands as I hauled and pushed myself upright. I saw surprise on my assailant's face as he noted the speed of my recovery, and then he moved more quickly, taking a long step closer and aiming another kick, this time at my head.

  He was too slow, despite his advantages, and I managed to avoid his flailing foot. I twisted my head forward and to his right and threw up my arms to cross my wrists above his ankle, pulling his heel down hard against my right shoulder and throwing myself to my left and down towards him. Off balance and caught unawares, he fell heavily beside me on his back. I heard the breath whooshing from his lungs and a satisfying grunt of pain. Releasing my hold on him immediately, I swung my left fist over, driving it hard against his nose, and felt the gristle flatten beneath the overarm swipe. Then I stretched and stiffened my hand, chopping its rigid edge against his stretched throat. It was clumsy, and my strength was hampered by the position I lay in, but the blow had its effect. I rolled away from him as quickly as I could then to deal with his companions, who had been slow to adjust to my surprise.

  As I came upright again on one knee, my left foot finally firm beneath me, one of the two caught me high on the left cheekbone with a long, raking swing. I heard the distinctive sound of bone snapping as I went asprawl again, my eyes shut tight against the stunning ferocity of the impact. I rolled quickly, expecting at least another kick from the third man, but instead I heard a keening howl and the sound of other blows, none of them close to me.

  Scrambling to my knees again and shaking my head to clear my vision, I saw a sight that would have made me laugh at any other time. The second man, the one who had punched me, was the source of the howling. He was hopping wildly around in a circle, his face screwed up ludicrously in pain, his left wrist clamped tightly beneath his armpit and the first finger of his left hand tilted grotesquely backward. The bone I had heard breaking was his. Beside him, flat on his back, legs scissoring weakly while his hands clutched at his throat, lay my first assailant. Beyond both of them, the third man was being systematically punished by Donuil Mac Athol, who towered above him, maintaining a judicious distance from his victim as he pounded him deliberately with his hands and feet. I watched, unable to make a sound, as the man's knees finally gave way and he toppled slowly to lie face down.

  Donuil turned away from him to the second man who was still prancing about, clutching his injured hand. He walked towards the man, seized him by the hair and jerked the fellow's head backward to smite him with an awesome, straight-armed blow to the forehead with his clenched fist, swung overhead from his full height. The man fell like a slaughtered bullock. Donuil then turned to where I stood swaying, watching him.

  "Dia!" he said, conversationally. "Look at you, then. Flayed alive and like to drown in your own blood! Lucky for you I saw you running by. Who are these?"

  I shook my head, looking at my attackers closely now and seeing no yellow tunic among them. "I don't know. I was chasing someone else. I've never seen these three."

  He was frowning at me. "Who were you chasing?"

  "I don't know, but whoever he was, he knows me. He saw me twice today and obviously didn't want me to see him. The second time I caught his eye he ran, and I followed him."

  "Aye, and he led you right to these beauties, Liam's cattle."

  "How do you know they're Liam's?"

  "By their clothing, and they're carrying no weapons, which means they're visitors like us.'*

  "Thank God for that!"

  "Thank Derek."

  The man whose throat I had chopped began to Recover now and pulled himself up until he was sitting, his hands still at his throat. He hawked painfully and spat, and Donuil walked towards him. Before he could speak to the man, however, another voice intruded.

  "Well, what have we here? Bloodshed in Ravenglass?"

  We spun to find ourselves surrounded by five men, all of them with drawn swords and wearing metal breastplates. I recognized the one who had spoken as Blundyl, the lieutenant whom Derek had entrusted to find lodgings for us. I was still reeling, and now I sat down, resting my back against the bole of a tree. Donuil had not moved. Blundyl's eyes moved around the clearing, taking note of everything.

  "Don't you people know the law in these parts?" There was no acrimony in Blundyl's tone, but neither was there any hint of warmth.

  I cleared my throat and answered him. "Aye, Blundyl, we do. Weapons are banned in Ravenglass, among visitors at least, as is bloodshed. Failure to keep the peace earns banishment."

  "Instant banishment," he added, frowning at me. "Who are you?"

  "We met earlier," I told him. "I was with Derek. But there has been no breaking of the law here. No blood has been shed, and no weapons drawn."

  "No blood? Look at yourself, man!"

  I looked down at my hands and winced. They were ripped to shreds, torn front and back by the vicious barbs of the bramble briars. I knew my face was in the same condition, for every scratch seemed to burn with its own separate fire and my eyelids were sticky with blood.

  "This is blood drawn, not spilt," was all I could think to say. "I am not wounded, only scratched where I fell into the brambles there. My name's Britannicus and we arrived today with Connor Mac Athol. This is Connor's brother, Donuil. Since our arrival I have been with your king, Derek. After I left Derek, I met a man who recognized me and ran away. I ran after him to find out who he was." -

  "We know you ran," Blundyl said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "You demolished half the market in passing." He looked at the three downed men. "Which one were you following?"

  "None of these. I told you, I don't know them. The man I chased was wearing a yellow tunic of some kind. He ran past here too quickly, I imagine, for these three to stop him, and I came close behind. They stopped me. We had an altercation and Donuil, here, arrived in time to help me end it."

  "Hmm." He turned to Donuil. "They're not yours then, these three?" Donuil merely shook his head, his lips pursed. "Then they must belong to the other bunch. Only two lots in port." He moved quickly beyond the sitting man to the nearest of the two bodies, where he knelt and felt beneath the jawline for a pulse. Satisfied that the man was alive, he turned him over on his back and searched him, one-handed, for weapons. That done, he moved to the last of the men and did the same, heaving this one over onto his face. Finally he straightened up and approached me.

  "Show me your hands."

  I held out my hands and he sheathed his sword before taking hold of my wrists, turning them over and scanning the long scratches on both sides.

  "You're going to have fun, bathing those." He squinted at my face. "Not going to be too pretty for a day or two, and you're not going to be seeing too much, either." He reached up and touched my left cheekbone. I winced involuntarily, hissing and pulling my head away. "Aye, that's a beauty."' He turned away and scanned the clearing again, clearly deliberating, and then he turned back to me. "I'll be reporting this to the lord Derek as a marginal incident, barely within the law. A brawl, rather than a fight. But I am stretching a point here, you understand me? You are fortunate that there was no damage done in the marketplace. You have used up your credit. Do you understand what I am saying? No mo
re leeway. Behave yourself in Ravenglass from this time on, or suffer the consequences. Now get out of here."

  I glanced at the three others. "But what about—?"

  "Leave them to us. They're for a night in custody. On your way!"

  I limped away at Donuil's heels. Neither of us spoke until we had crossed the transverse ditch at die top of the rise, just inside the trees, where we could see the marketplace beyond.

  Donuil broke the silence. "How do you feel?"

  "Chastened, like a schoolboy chidden by his master."

  "Aye, but I meant bodily aches and pains."

  "I have only one, but it's all over me. I feel as though I've been to war."

  He grinned. "You have, and look it. I don't think I've ever seen a worse black eye. Can you see out of it?"

  I covered my right eye with one hand and tried to see him with my left, but it was swollen shut and throbbing painfully. I shook my head.

  Donuil grunted. "Well, we had better find Lucanus right away. As for the other business, with Blundyl, forget it. He did his duty and did it leniently, for we were in the wrong. Connor has told me about this place, and no fighting means no fighting, just as it does in Camulod. Blundyl did, as he said, stretch a point for us. I was surprised."

  We spoke no more of the affair until after we had found Lucanus and my scratches had been washed and salved. Blundyl had quartered all of us in the same building, one of the residential blocks in the Via Decumana at the rear of the central administrative block, and we did not lack for space in spite of the overcrowding Derek had mentioned to me. None of my abrasions was deep enough to warrant stitches, but they all stung abominably, and I spent a most uncomfortable afternoon. My left eye was swollen completely shut and more than simply tender to the touch. It had already turned a deep and glowing black, with red and yellow edges. The four boys gazed at me wide-eyed with wonder, but none of them dared ask me what had happened. Derek himself came by late in the afternoon and, upon being shown to the room in which I sat before a brazier, stood facing me without speaking, his face troubled.