'I am full,' said Bane.
'You'll do as you're told,' she said sternly. 'I've known men come in from the cold and then die in their beds. You'll sit by this fire and eat until I tell you otherwise.'
'Aye, he will,' put in Gryffe. 'And, if it please you, I will have some of that broth. I was in the cold too.'
'No more for you,' said Iswain. 'I have no taste for fat men, and already your stomach is straining your belt.'
'That's my winter covering,' argued Gryffe. 'Protects me from the cold. Like a bear.'
'Aye, well, it is spring now,' she told him, 'and time for bears to wake up.' She walked out into the kitchen. Bane settled back in his chair.
'What's been happening?' he asked.
'Ah, we'll talk in the morning,' said Gryffe. 'You'll be in no mood for all the boring details now.'
'Bore me,' said Bane.
Iswain returned with more broth. Bane took it, ate a few spoonfuls, then looked at Gryffe. 'Talk to me,' he said.
Gryffe swore, then glanced up at Iswain. 'The man asked you a question,' she said.
'Lorca and his gang came out of the forest three days ago and drove away twenty steers and a good old bull. Boile and Cascor tried to stop them, reminding them of the agreement they had with you. Lorca said he was renegotiating that agreement. Cascor tried to argue. Lorca accused him of disloyalty – and they killed him.'
Bane finished the broth, then laid aside the wooden dish. 'I'll find Lorca tomorrow,' he said.
'He has more than seventy men with him now. I think that's why he needed the extra beef. It might be wiser to let it pass.'
'The beef I can afford to lose,' said Bane. 'But no-one comes to my home and kills one of my men without facing the consequences.'
Grale sat quietly in the doorway of the roughly built roundhouse, listening to the arguments among the group of men squatting by the central fire. He had not been with Lorca's band long enough to have a say in the debate. Asha, one of the camp's three whores, came and sat next to him. Her dark hair was matted and filthy, her clothes ingrained with dirt. 'You look in need of a little company,' she said. He looked into her dark brown eyes. They were lifeless.
'That is kind of you. Maybe later.'
'If you have no coin you can pay me another time – after a raid.'
He turned towards her. 'Come back in a little while, dearheart,' he said. 'Once the sun is down.'
She moved away. Grale rubbed at the empty socket of his left eye. Sometimes it still pained him, and he would wake at night, stifling a scream as he recalled the druid cutting free the mutilated orb and sewing shut the lids.
'We don't need Bane,' he heard Lorca say. 'It is not as if he is popular among the Rigante. We could move on the farm, gather the herds and drive them to Pannone land. There has been starvation there, and beef prices are higher than ever before.'
'I'll grant that,' said the outlaw known only as Wik, a thin, sour-faced man who looked puny alongside the hulking figure of Lorca, 'but what would we do then? Leaving the farm as it is means we get a constant supply of food. Bane has been fair in all his dealings with us.'
'Fair?' sneered Lorca. 'We supplied the men to work the cattle. We guaranteed him freedom from attack. And for what? One-tenth of his profits. Does that sound fair?'
The listening Grale wondered if any of the six men round the fire would state the obvious: that Lorca had broken the agreement by raiding the farm and killing one of Bane's men. It did not surprise him when the subject was not raised. Lorca was a man of unpredictable mood, and given to sudden acts of random violence.
'What about the men in Bane's employ?' asked Valian, a short stout man, with greasy blond hair and a drooping moustache.
'They are our men, Val,' Lorca told him. 'But if any of them have lost sight of that they can become worm meat like Cascor.'
'I think some of them will object,' put in Wik. 'I was talking to Gryffe the other day. He likes Bane. And he likes his new life as a herdsman. He's even talking of marrying Iswain the next time a druid comes by.'
'How sweet!' sneered Lorca. 'He plans, I suppose, to spend the rest of his life shovelling cow turds while his wife pops out more mouths to feed. Well, a pox upon Gryffe and any other fool who goes against us. We have seventy-three men here, and more joining us each month. More than enough to handle Bane and any who stand with him.'
Grale gazed around the huge clearing, with its forty crude roundhouses. Men and women in ragged clothes were everywhere, sitting – as was he – surrounded by squalor and stench. By the stream a woman was washing out several blankets, beating them with a rock, perhaps trying to kill the lice that infested them. At the far hut he could see Asha, on her knees, a large bearded man rutting with her in full view of everyone. No-one took any notice. Grale's heart sank. He gazed down at his mutilated left hand, and remembered the days before a Stone gladius had slashed away three of his fingers. He had been a man then. A hero. Even through his pain he had joyed in the victory of Cogden Field. Had anyone predicted that years later he would be sitting in this foul place, listening to men talk of robbery and murder, he would have laughed aloud. He was not laughing now.
A man came running into the camp. 'Riders coming!' he shouted. Instantly every man within earshot ran into his roundhouse, emerging with a weapon. Some carried daggers, others swords or axes.
Lorca surged to his feet. 'How many?' he asked.
'Two! Bane and Gryffe.'
'Two, you miserable piece of goat shit? You alarmed the camp for two?'
At that moment Bane and Gryffe came riding through the trees. Grale smiled as he remembered the first time he had met Bane, several years ago, in the clearing where the mystic lad had reminded him of Cogden Field and days of glory.
The two riders drew up close to Lorca and dismounted. Bane was carrying a long hunting lance, and a short sword hung at his hip. He moved past Lorca without a word and walked to Lorca's hut. Once there he reversed the lance and placed the haft on the frozen ground. Then he rammed it deep into the earth.
'What are you doing?' asked Lorca. 'I have no need of a lance.'
What happened next was so sudden that all the men in the clearing just stood in shock. Bane swung towards Lorca, his short sword flashing into his hand. Before the outlaw leader could react, the blade slashed into his neck, crunching through the vertebrae and slicing clear. As Lorca's body started to topple Bane struck again. This time the head rolled clear. Bane lifted it by the hair and carried it to the lance. Raising the head Bane rammed it down over the iron point and stepped back. The lance quivered from side to side, blood oozing from the severed head and spilling to the ground. Then he walked to the decapitated corpse, cleaned his sword on the dead man's clothes, and sheathed it.
The men and women of Lorca's band stood staring at the head on the lance. It was as if a spell had been cast over them. Grale cast his gaze over the group.
'Does anyone else here wish to renegotiate our agreement?' asked Bane, his voice cold.
The thin figure of Wik was the first to react. 'What if we do?' he asked.
'You'll get the same response as I have just delivered to the dear departed Lorca.'
'You think to kill all seventy of us?' asked Wik, gesturing his men forward.
'Do I need to?' asked Bane, moving in close to Wik. 'Have you not fed well through this winter? And what will you do when I am dead and gone? Seventy men, you say. And why do you have such numbers now? It is because there is food here, and many of those who joined you were starving at home. Without my farm and my cattle how many will remain, Wik? Twenty? Less?' Suddenly he laughed. 'I am through talking,' he said. 'Make your decision.' His sword flashed once more. Wik jumped back. The powerful figure of Gryffe stepped forward, a broadsword in his hands, to stand beside Bane. Grale read Wik's intent. Pride was strong in the outlaw leader, and he was about to order his men to attack.