The Bronze Axe

by Jeffrey Lord

  Blade was glad that he was not facing them. He could not restrain his smile, a smile that Cunobar would have misunderstood.

  Taleen appeared to have trouble with her voice, but she did not laugh. In a tone as cold and haughty as Blade had ever heard she said: "I do not like this, Cunobar. Have done. His name is Blade, he is my man, and I say once more that I vouch for him. I will not say it again. Now escort us into the town, my old friend, and do not make me lose my temper. I will explain matters to my cousin, to King Lycanto, and no other."

  Blade turned to see Cunobar bow and stalk away. Over his shoulder he said, "I am sorry, princess. It is just that all strangers are suspect in Alb especially now."

  Blade and the girl stood aside as the armed men filed past. Cunobar, a bit on his dignity now, ignored them, but his men gave Blade a thorough scrutiny. The last man, a burly rogue who wore no helmet, winked at Blade as he passed. Blade winked back, and smiled.

  Blade and Taleen fell in behind the warriors as they made their way down the hill toward the gate of Sarum Vil.

  Blade said: "It was nice of you to make me a freeman. Very thoughtful. As long as I am to be your man I may as well get all the rank I can."

  She laughed at him. "What would you? I did the best I could. It was no time to explain matters, even had I desired to, and Cunobar is not the man to explain them to. I will tell Lycanto the truth." Her half smile was insouciant. "At least I think I will."

  Once again Blade reminded himself that this was a feckless and potentially dangerous girl-child. Like it or not, he was dependent on her for much. Too much. Perhaps even his life. He changed the subject.

  "Who is Getorix?"

  She frowned and her face was sombre. "A demon. A sea raider. Some call him Redbeard. Every few years he raids across the Narrow Sea, and pity is a word he does not know. His men are brutes who pillage and murder and rape, and he is the greatest brute of all. It is said that he is a giant, born of devils, and that he bears a charmed life and cannot be slain."

  Blade kept his face straight. She was delving in fantasy again. Even so this Getorix sounded like a tough customer. And he could not forget what he had seen in the Dru glade. As for a charmed life Blade shrugged. He was in Alb, not London, and in a time and dimension he did not comprehend in the least. He must feel his way along, inching like a blind man, and it would not pay to scoff, or doubt, anything. Anything!

  The princess had turned gloomy. "I do not think that Lycanto can defeat Getorix. He is brave enough, but he is also stupid. And his men are too few. Yet he must try it is his responsibility. Each king must defend his own shore of the Narrow Sea, so if Getorix strikes here it is Lycanto who must fight him."

  "There must be other kings," said Blade. "Other princes and leaders. Why do they not band together and fight this Getorix? So they would outnumber him and have the advantage, and could attack from many sides at once. Surely they are not all stupid?"

  There was more intelligence in her answer than he would have credited her with. Again, he warned himself not to underestimate her.

  "They are not all fools," she admitted. "But they are all envious and greedy and they all hate. Strangers, even those from the next kingdom, which may be but a few kils away, are not trusted. Queen Beata may she rot in her own dungeons has many men-at-arms and is very rich, but she will not come to Lycanto's aid. Nor will my own father, for that matter. In such matters he is as stupid as the others. He cares only for Voth."

  Blade was thoughtful. "And yet the subject might be brought up in war council. Who can tell? It might be worth a try."

  She gave him a sharp look and her tone was acid. "And who will bring up this subject? Not I. Women are not allowed in war council. You, Blade? I have laughed enough for one day, when you tried to defend me from the scarecrow. Or perhaps you do not really understand yet. You are on sufferance! Your life is already forfeit the moment it is known that you killed a Dru. And you heard Cunobar the Gray just now. They will kill you at the wink of an eye, simply because you are a stranger. Your life depends on me, Blade, and on me alone, and you had better not forget it. I will do what I can, because I have plans for you, but you must be like a mouse in a field that is never seen or heard. When we come to the town we will be separated, naturally, because an oaf like you will not be permitted in the great house of the king. I will see to it that you are fed and properly clothed, and armed as befits a freeman. But for Frigga's sake keep your temper down and your mouth shut! If you fall into a brawl, or arouse too much suspicion, I cannot save you."

  Blade did not like the prospect and he did not like her tone. Yet he spoke softly enough.

  "You have said that I must have been a wizard in my own land, princess. There may be some truth in that more than I have admitted. It really depends on what you call a wizard and "

  Taleen stopped short and stared at him with wide eyes. She put her hands on her hips and scowled. "You talk like one who is moon sick, Blade. A wizard is a wizard! What else? A wizard knows spells, and magic, and can read the thoughts of others. A wizard cannot be killed except by another wizard. If you are truly a wizard, Blade, you had better admit it to me now. It will make all the difference. I will tell my cousin and he will welcome you. You will be his wizard and help him defeat Getorix. Afterwards we will all live well and happy, just as in the tales the skalds tell children around the fire at night. So, Blade? Are you a wizard?"

  There was a mingle of mockery and doubt in her eyes.

  Blade sighed and kept rein on his temper. It was a time to tread softly.

  "Listen to me," he said softly. "Listen well, Taleen. In my own land I am not a wizard I spoke true in that. But in this land, in Alb, it may be that I am a wizard after all. I know many tricks, especially tricks of war, that will help your cousin defeat this sea raider. I give you my solemn word for that. But I must have his ear, I must speak with him as an equal, to be treated as a peer. I have no mind to languish in the servants' quarters or even in the freemens'. You must persuade Lycanto to see me, to speak with me in private. Or, lacking that, to let me speak in the war council."

  She took a step backward and put a hand to her mouth. They had been loitering and had fallen behind Cunobar and his party. Around them, to either side of the path, where the marsh was firm enough, were clusters of leathern and linen tents. Several small cook fires were smoking, and the common soldiery lounged about them, cooking meat and burnishing weapons, but mostly bantering among themselves. Set off from the path, but in plain view, were open latrines at which men stood or squatted. Near one tent was a short queue of soldiers patiently awaiting the favors of the laughing woman within.

  Taleen, oblivious to this bawdy and natural earthiness, stared at Blade as if really seeing him for the first time.

  "You have truly lost your wits, Blade. You are addled! You wish to speak in the war council. You! A raggle-taggle stranger wearing a scarecrow's breeches. Frigga strike me dead if I don't think you mean it."

  Blade felt his temper slipping. A man could have too much of the princess. Yet he managed to control his tongue. He was an immense and powerful man, yet he understood that guile sometimes prevailed where power failed.

  "You could arrange that I speak in the council, princess."

  The brown eyes widened still more. "I could? How, then?"

  "Through this Alwyth, wife to Lycanto. You have said that he dances to her tune. Speak with her, tell her that I am a wizard, and ask her to intercede for me with King Lycanto. It is all quite simple."

  Her red mouth twisted in disdain. "Alwyth? I despise her. I will ask her no favors."

  Blade essayed his most winning smile. The one that J had often alluded to as "the bomb."

  "For me, Taleen? Who saved you from the dog? From Queen Beata? Who coddled you when you were cold and miserable? Is your memory so short, then?"

  He knew the grave risk of overplaying, but she was a child albeit a cunning one and he took the chance.

  She pouted as she considered him through nar
rowed eyes. Then she nodded, still sulky. "All right, Blade. I will do what I can. But let us go now. Cunobar is waiting for us at the gate and if I do not mistake that is Lycanto's chief of arms with him. You are already being whispered about, Blade. Come. And heed me again keep your temper in chain!"

  Chapter Four

  For all that day Richard Blade languished miserably in the hut. It was a small affair, blackened inside by smoke and with a floor of packed earth. A circular hole in the roof provided the only ventilation. His sword had been taken from him and a guard stationed at the door. This was a saucy rascal with sparse hair, a harelip, and a ferocious squint. He was wary of Blade, yet not unfriendly, and had told Blade that his name was Sylvo. He had been a slave, but was now a freeman. Blade had taken a liking to the man.

  There were no furnishings, so Blade lay on the bare floor and itched. He was filthy and his black stubble was fast turning to a beard. He kept having visions of a warm tub overflowing with suds. The hut abounded with lice and he partially amused himself by tracking down the tiny gray beasts and cracking them with his nails.

  Now, as a first star was visible in the roof hole, his wrath approached its limits. Either Taleen had forgotten him or she had been unable to prevail. Either way he was ignored, forgotten. All day he had been shut in while the din and confusion increased in the town. Blade could not see, but he could hear, and he read the sounds accurately.

  King Lycanto was not going to fight today. More and more soldiers kept arriving. The chariots raced and men were trampled. There was a deal of dicing and drinking, and much drunken laughter and ribaldry, and sometimes the squealing laughter of camp followers. Blade, glowering to himself, thought that Lycanto ran anything but a tight camp. If this Getorix, Redbeard, kept any rein on his men at all they would have little trouble defeating such a rabble. Blade, who could accept discipline, and knew how to impose it, chafed as though the prime responsibility for such defeat would be his own. This both puzzled and amused him.

  At first, after Cunobar's men had thrown him roughly into the hut, he had welcomed the chance to think quietly and without interruption. He knew that his memory was beginning to fail though with an effort he could yet summon back what was important and now in his confinement he tried to reason out what had happened to him. It was not easy, and he knew that there was much margin for error. Blade had always been a man of action, intelligent but not intellectual, and he surely was no scientist. So now he tried to look at matters in their simplest form.

  The computer experiment had gone wildly wrong. Either the machine, or Lord Leighton, had made a whopping mistake. As a result Blade's brain had been addled, mixed up. It was not a happy thought, yet it must be faced.

  Doctors used electric shock to cure. In his case a sort of reverse effect had been achieved. The shock had not driven him mad, in the usual sense, but it must have rearranged the entire molecular structure of his brain tissue.

  His reading on the subject had been that of the usual layman scant. He did not really understand the complex structure of the human brain, and certainly he did not think in terms of neurons and nucleic acids and the synthesis of proteins. DNA was a blank page to him. Yet he knew enough to realize that the experts knew little more.

  The brain was still an unexplored continent in which anything, if not likely, was certainly possible.

  Blade concluded that his cerebral cortex had been so scrambled that he was enabled to perceive an entirely different world than he had known before. It Was a real world, as he was real, yet it existed in a different dimension. A dimension that his old brain, before Lord Leighton, had been unable to comprehend.

  Now, cracking a very real louse with dirty nails, Blade became quite pleased with himself. Nearly smug. He did not know whether it had anything to do with time or space, though he doubted it. Dimension! There must lie the answer. For the moment he was content with it.

  For one fact he was grateful. The computer shock had not affected his lower brain, that mass of spidery cells and nerve fibers just above the foramen magnum. He had inherited that lower brain from remote ancestors, as far back as the great lizards, and it was packed with instinctive guile and animal cunning. His convoluted and highly complex cerebral cortex might stand him in good stead, but it was his animal brain, with its lightning reflexes and will to survival, that would save him. If he was to be saved.

  Nor had the shock altered his personality, Blade conceded with a little grin. He was still Richard Blade. Stubborn, combative, at times inconsistent, given to sudden rages and quick regretting. Restless and impatient of fools, A sensual man of vast sexual appetite. Loyal friend and deadly foe. Large of body and huge of spirit, capable of love and lust, of mercy and cruelty. Not a man molded to adorn a church, and yet no friend of the Devil.

  Having disposed of all the lice he had gone back to his musing when the door swung open and the man Sylvo came in. He was carrying a wooden trencher containing meat and black bread, and a horn of the foamy light beer that Blade had tasted earlier, complaining of thirst, and had found good.

  Sylvo knew his business. He carried a short, razor edged spear and he gestured with it now. "Over in the corner, master, as before. I would not have you too close to me. By Thunor I think those arms of yours could throttle a bull!"

  Blade obeyed, smiling at the man. Sylvo, though guarding him, treated Blade with a mixture of deference, awe and resolution.

  Blade crossed his massive arms and stared at the man. "How much longer am I to be penned in this sty?"

  Sylvo placed the trencher in the middle of the floor and retreated to the door. He seemed in a mood for talk, and Blade thought he smiled in return. With Sylvo it was hard to tell. Not only was his balding head misshapen the midwife had not been gentle in wrenching him from the womb but his terrible squint and harelip lent him a countenance that must have set infants to squalling whenever he passed.

  Blade, bored and frustrated, wrathful and more nervous than he liked to admit to himself took a sudden notion to bait the man. He squatted by the trencher and, after a bite of bread and meat and a long quaff of the beer, pointed the mutton bone at Sylvo.

  "Do you know, my man, that you are singularly unprepossessing?"

  Sylvo's face creased. His eyes, what Blade could see of them behind the squint, were small, beady and black.

  "Thank you kindly, master. It is not often that poor Sylvo hears kind words. Cuffs and kicks it is, usually. I thank you even though I know not the meaning of such high born words."

  Blade choked back laughter with another mouthful of meat, and felt a moment's shame for his baiting of the man. The poor fellow was only doing his job.

  He swallowed and said, "You do not answer my question. How much longer am I to be penned here?"

  Sylvo scratched himself vigorously. He wore a loose linen tunic, falling free over baggy breeches cross-gaitered from the knee down. On his sparsely haired pate was the usual metal cap, set at a rakish angle. His feet were bare and filthy. A most unsoldierly oaf, Blade thought, yet noted that the beady little eyes never left him and the spear was always at the ready.

  Sylvo found a louse in his armpit and killed it before he answered. "As to that, master, I can give no answer unless I lie. And though I am undoubtedly a bastard, and the son of a whore, and Thunor knows that I have more sins than virtues, I have never been a liar. Neither am I King Lycanto, and it is he alone that can answer your question. Content yourself, master. It is none so bad in here. Think of me. Of Sylvo. I am the one suffering."

  Blade repressed a grin. "You suffer? How so?"

  Sylvo threw out a hand and shrugged in disgust, yet the other hand kept the spear steady on Blade. "I have not been relieved, that is how. I have been forgotten. As usual. The beer is flowing as free as the tides, there are women to be had everywhere for the taking, and I have been stuck with the task of guarding you. Is that not suffering?"

  Blade agreed that it was. And offered a solution. "That is easily put to rights. Why guard me so closely?
I am alone, one man in an unfriendly camp. I cannot escape. What could I do? Where could I go? And who is to know if you leave your post for a little time? Go and get your share of the beer, Sylvo. Take time for a woman. I will be here when you come back."

  The man's scrawny body began to shake. He rocked back and forth and from his malformed lips came a cackling sound that Blade recognized, with some difficulty, as laughter.

  "Ar, master. You will be here right enough! And so will I watching you. My head is not pretty, I admit, but I have no wish to have it struck off and stuck on a pole."

  Blade had not really expected the gambit to work. He was convinced there was more to Sylvo than met the eye,though that was horrendous enough. He changed the subject.

  Scraping up meat crumbs with a bit of black bread, he said: "What of Getorix? The one they call Redbeard. I had thought that King Lycanto would march against him today."

  Sylvo made an odd sound with his mouth. "So likewise had we all thought at least the common folk. But not so. Men are slow in arriving, those who have arrived are drunk, and there is more gambling and chariot racing than drilling. More wenching than spear sharpening. The captains quarrel among themselves and sulk when they are overruled. The king and his wife, Alwyth, have also quarreled she threw a pannikin at his head in plain view of all the men and in general the town is like a hen coop with a fox loose in it. Yet all may be well. We have word that Redbeard plans to land at Penvey, which is only a day's march to the south, and it is yet possible that we will be there to meet him."

  Sylvo yawned mightily, showing a few blackened teeth. "I hope so, master, for guarding my betters is not my idea of a soldier's work. There is no fun in it, and no profit." He glanced about the barren hut with disgust. "No loot, master. Not a scill's worth."

  Blade came alert at the mention of Alwyth. He still had hopes for his plan of establishing an identity and a status though it would involve some canny lying and if Sylvo knew of Alwyth's doings he might also know something of Taleen. Who, he thought grumpily, was letting him down. He set about pumping the man as best he could.