The hunchback swore loudly. ‘Were they rabid, do you think?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I assured him. ‘Cataplas cast a spell on them. As soon as we touched them with our weapons, the spell was leached away. Had they been rabid, they would have continued their attack.’ I was not sure that this was true, but my words comforted Wulf.
‘Why me?’ muttered Wulf, trying to staunch the flow of blood. ‘They were all round you, Mace, and you haven’t a scratch!’
‘The gods favour the handsome, Wulf — you should know that. And you should have known better than to run at wolves.’
‘I saved your life, you bastard!’
‘True,’ Mace agreed, grinning. ‘Which is the second thing to remember about gods: they rarely aid the stupid.’
‘It’s not a mistake I’ll make again!’ responded the hunchback, turning back towards the cave. Astiana bound his wounds, but Wulf was still complaining as the dawn came up.
‘We must move,’ said Mace, kneeling beside Piercollo. ‘Can you keep up with us?’
‘We should stay for at least another two days,’ put in Astiana.
‘Perhaps we should. But who knows what the sorcerer will send against us next time. Tell me, Owen,’ he said, turning to me, ‘does Cataplas know where we are?’
‘I believe so. He would have been linked to the wolves.’
‘Then we have no choice,’ said Mace.
The giant pushed himself to his feet. ‘I will be with you, Morningstar. Do not concern yourself. Piercollo is strong.’
‘What about you, sister? Where will you go?’
‘I will travel with you as far as the village of Willow. It is close to the Troll Reaches and I have friends there.’
Mace smiled. ‘I always like the company of attractive women.’
‘And I like attractive men,’ she told him icily. ‘It’s a shame there are none close by.’
‘I think she loves me,’ Mace told me as we set off towards the north.
We travelled towards the north-west, moving with care, listening for sounds from the soldiers hunting us. Twice we saw mounted warriors, but they were far off and we passed by unseen.
Piercollo walked in silence, uncomplaining, though the pain from his eye must have been great. We halted at midday in a sheltered hollow, where Wulf built a fire beneath the spreading branches of a tall pine. The wood he used was dry, and what little smoke it made was dissipated as it passed through the thick branches overhead. We cooked a little of the venison and sat quietly, each with our own thoughts. Wulf’s arm was paining him, but the hunchback had been lucky; the bite had been partly blocked by his leather wrist-guard and the wounds were not deep.
Ilka came to sit beside me and, for the first time, I took her hand, raising it to my lips and kissing the fingers. It was as if I had struck her and she jerked her hand from mine, her eyes angry.
‘I am sorry,’ I told her. ‘I did not mean to offend you.’
But she stood and walked away from me, sitting beside Piercollo and Astiana. It had been an unconscious gesture, and one of love, yet I had forgotten the reality of her life. Raped, tortured and forced to become a whore, such a kiss for her was simply a request for carnality. I felt clumsy and stupid.
That night, after another seven or eight miles of travel, we found shelter under an overhang of rock. Mace gestured to Ilka, summoning her. When she shook her head and turned away, he stood and walked round the small fire to where she sat.
‘Is it that time of the month?’ he asked her. Once more she shook her head.
‘Then come with me.’ Ilka rose and stood before him, her hand on her scabbarded sabre. Then she pointed first at Piercollo, then Wulf and finally me. I didn’t understand what was happening, though I was glad she had refused him.
‘What is happening here?’ asked Mace, becoming irritated.
Ilka was agitated now, but she could not make herself understood. It was Piercollo who finally saw what she was trying to say.
‘She is one of us now, Mace,’ he said. ‘She is no longer a whore.’
‘But she is a whore,’ Mace pointed out. ‘It’s what she’s good at — and it’s what I need!’
‘Leave her be, Jarek,’ I said. ‘She was forced into the life, and now she has chosen to forsake it.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a whore,’ Mace snapped.
‘Nor with not being one,’ put in Astiana.
‘I don’t need a nun to advise me about whores,’ Mace replied, angry now.
‘No, I would imagine you are expert enough in that area. After all, why would any woman sleep with you but for money?’
‘They don’t do much sleeping, sister. But since Ilka has discovered purity, perhaps you would like to take her place. I’ll give you a silver penny for the poor.’ Astiana’s hand streaked for his face, but he caught her wrist and pulled her in close. ‘I like passion in a woman,’ he said, lifting her from her feet.
‘Let her go, Mace,’ said Piercollo, his voice dangerously low. The giant climbed to his feet, his huge hands clenched into fists.
Mace glanced at him and smiled, but there was no trace of humour in his eyes. ‘I’ll not harm her,’ he told him, releasing the woman and stepping back.
Astiana’s face was flushed, her anger barely controlled. ‘To think,’ she said, ‘that I glorified your name to the people. You are no better than those you fight. You are a disgusting animal.’
‘I never claimed to be otherwise,’ he responded. ‘Not once. But I am not here to live your dreams, and I am not responsible for them. I am a man trying to stay alive — and enjoy myself while doing it. Is that so wrong? And as as for disgusting animals? Well, I never saw an animal to fit that description. Plenty of men, yes, and a few women. But never an animal. And do not fear for your virtue with me, sister. I’ll not trouble you.’
Turning away from her, he approached Piercollo. ‘Anything else you wish to say?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ the giant told him.
‘Don’t ever threaten me,’ Mace warned him. ‘Not ever!’
‘She is of the Church,’ said Piercollo. ‘It is not right to treat her with disrespect.’
‘A black dress does not command respect,’ hissed Mace. ‘I’ve known churchmen who were adulterers, torturers, killers. And I’ve shared the beds of a nun or two. They are just people, like you and me — only they are mostly weaker, clinging to superstition, hiding behind convent walls because they haven’t the courage to face real lives. Respect? I’ll tell you what I respect. Gold. It asks nothing and gives everything. It keeps you warm and it buys you pleasure. And there’s not a man alive who won’t sell his soul for the right amount of it.’
‘Spoken like the hero you are!’ stormed Astiana.
‘Hero?’ responded Mace. ‘Where are the heroes? The Angostins have slaughtered them all. There are no more heroes, sister. They lie upon the fields of battle, the crows feasting upon their eyes. They went into battle with clubs and staves, told they could defeat armoured knights and seasoned troops. And they believed it! Well, they had no chance, but they were heroes. That’s what heroes do, isn’t it? They tackle impossible odds and laugh in the face of death. Well, I saw no laughter. Only terror as the first charge clove their ranks and the swords and maces and spears and lances tore into their flesh. I am not a hero, Astiana. But I am alive.’
The conversation died there. Wulf banked up the fire and Piercollo sat silently staring into the flames, while Astiana turned away from us and settled down to sleep with her back to the fire.
I felt low then, a deep depression hanging over me. We tend to think of heroes as men apart — their angers are always colossal, but they rage only against the foe. We rarely see them in a damp forest, complaining about the cold, and never think of them urinating against a tree. They never suffer toothache, their noses are neverred from sneezing in the winter. Thus we strip away the reality.