“Ye might come in whilst ye’re waitin’” called the woman from the shanty door.
“Thank you, mother, but no,” said Saben casually. “I’m not fit to enter anyone’s home. Another time, if it please you.”
“Please yerself. We’re not fine folk here,” answered the woman. “The bread’ll be out directly.” Paks’s mouth watered at that. “Ye’ll be havin’ a hard journey all alone,” the woman went on.
“No one’s lonely, going home,” said Saben.
“Oh? Weel, wheer’s yer home, if I may be s’bold?”
“Far away, mother, and worse that I have to dodge all around, going as many ways as a cock picking straws—why, the woods be full of sergeants, and at this rate it’ll be Little-eve before I see my sweetheart again.” Paks had never suspected Saben of so much imagination.
“I only wondered, ye see, because ye wanted so much—more than fer one fellow, even such a big ’un as ye be.”
“Why, mother, wait till your little lads grow taller—my own family always said I ate more than any two grown men. They were glad enough to see me leave, for all I work as well as I eat.”
“And will they welcome ye?”
“Aye. I told ’em the time, ye see, and she said she’d wait so long and no longer. So when they told me I must serve more months, well—I’m no deserter, mind, nor traitor—but I’ve served my years, as I count ’em, and I’ll not lose my sweetling for any sergeant.”
The woman cackled. This time her voice was warmer. “Ye’re a fine one, I can tell. And ye’ve been savin’ yer honey all this time, eh?”
“Well—” Saben sounded doubtful. “Depends what you mean. I’ve sweets for my sweetling, if you mean so.”
“I’ll say ye have.” She cackled again and withdrew inside. Paks saw two figures leave the back door of her shanty. One flattened against the wall facing her; he had a naked sword in hand. The other disappeared around the far side. Nothing moved for several minutes. Paks wondered where Canna was, and if the bowman had drawn his bow. Then the shanty door slammed open, and the far woman emerged with a steaming sack.
“Here ye are, lad—hot bread, a bit of cheese, and I threw in a leg or two of fowl—ah, thank ye, lad—” as Saben dropped coins into her hand. She passed the sack over the fence. Paks saw that the man on her side had bent double and moved along the wattle fence to the corner, where he crouched in readiness. “Now, lad,” said the woman. “Give us a kiss for luck, and I’ll be hopin’ yer girl waits fer ye.” She leaned over the fence, reaching out a huge red hand to Saben’s face.
Saben had stepped back, out of reach. “No, mother,” he said. “’Twould not be respectful, and me so dirty as I am, but thank you all the same for your good wish.” He backed farther from the fence, and turned toward the trees.
“Dirty thief!” screeched the woman. “Robber! Liar! Help!!” Saben swung around to face the two men who rushed him from either side of the dooryard.
“Now, mother, that was unkindly said,” he called, swinging the sack to hold them off as he drew his dagger. Paks hurtled out of the trees, heedless, as a thrashing commotion broke out where the bowman had been. She hoped Canna could handle it. The swordsman nearest her spoiled his stroke at Saben as she surprised him. With an oath he turned on her; she faced a notched but broad-bladed longsword. The other man had a curved blade; neither had shields.
Paks jumped back out of range of a sweeping blow, then darted forward. The backstroke nearly caught her, but she ducked it. Again her opponent lifted the sword for a two-handed swipe. This time she waited until the stroke was committed, then pivoted in to grab his elbow and throw him sideways, stabbing under the armpit. He yelled and went to his knees. Paks jerked the sword out of his hand as he slumped to the ground, and spun to help Saben. He was backing slowly toward the river, parrying the strokes of the curved blade with his dagger. Paks hesitated a moment, but the fat woman waddled forward with a hefty slab of wood. Paks aimed a powerful slash at the man’s back. He screamed and dropped his sword. Saben scooped it up as Paks turned to face the woman.
“Murderers!” she yelled. “Bandits! Robbers! I’ll teach ye—” She broke off with a screech as Saben poked her back with his newly acquired weapon.
“Now, mother,” he said politely. “Calm down and be quiet. We didn’t start this, but I’m not loath to finish it, if you’ll have it so.” The fat woman stood like a stump, chest heaving.
“Drop that,” said Paks. The woman glared, but dropped her stick.
Saben grinned at Paks over the woman’s shoulder. “Well met, messmate. Perhaps I do want someone to travel with. Now, mother, you’ll be wise to stand still, while this lady makes sure you have no more unpleasant surprises.” Paks thought the woman might explode, she was so red in the face, but she said nothing. Paks backed away and looked around the clearing. Nothing that she could see. She ran her eye along the trees and caught a quick hand-signal. She said nothing, and brought her gaze slowly back to the shanty in front of them, then to the woman’s face.
“Think I’ll take a look inside,” she said. The woman’s face lighted, then twisted in a grimace of fear.
“No! Please—my babies—don’t go in there. Ye’ve killed my man; don’t hurt my babies—”
“Your babies won’t be hurt if they don’t hurt us. I daresay you’ve a houseful of stolen bits and pieces taken from honest travelers.” Again Paks surprised a fleeting look of cunning and hope on the woman’s face, followed by exaggerated fear. Saben quirked an eyebrow at Paks over the woman’s shoulder, and Paks, moving toward the shanty, gave the hand signal for danger. She ducked behind the wattle fence, slid around the windowless end of the building, and came to the back door before the woman realized her intent. She shot another glance at Canna, who had moved to a position covering the back door. Paks took a deep breath and slammed the door open.
As she had hoped, the remaining defenders were in the front of the shanty, one to either side of the front door. She had entered the kitchen. Grabbing a poker from the fireplace, she met the faster of her opponents in the narrow opening between the two rooms. This was a gawky youth with a club. Paks caught his hand with the glowing tip of the poker and he screamed and dropped the club, stumbling back into a heavy older man armed with two daggers. He kicked the boy aside and came at Paks through the opening. With her long arms and weapons, Paks held him off easily, until he reversed one of the daggers and threw it. Pain seared her left arm; she dropped the tip of the poker. At once he rushed her, forcing her back against the heavy table, and aiming a thrust at her face. Paks rolled away and slashed at his legs with the sword. He hopped out of reach, swearing, and turned to the fire for a weapon of his own. Paks surged forward, and thrust the long blade between his ribs before he could turn. He gave a gurgling groan and sank to the floor.
Silence. Paks stood breathless, sides heaving and sweat running down her face. She felt weak and shaky. The cut on her left arm hurt more than she expected. She wondered about the boy, and looked into the front room. A crude ladder led to a loft, and she heard rustling from above. Quickly she stepped to the back door and caught Canna’s glance; she signalled and looked back into the kitchen. Flitches of bacon, hams, strings of onions, fowl tied by the legs—all hung from a beam. On a shelf by the fireplace were at least a dozen loaves of dark bread. Paks stepped onto the table and cut down a small ham, then took six loaves of bread and wrapped her cloak around the lot. Then she returned to Saben.