Chapter Eleven
The first half of Blade's strategy having come to fruition, he began that very night to complete the second half. Yet he made haste slowly, cannily, feeling his way. He walked the thin edge of disaster one slip and there would be no second chance.
He was given a fine chamber overlooking a sea still hidden in mist. The fogs were prevalent this time of year, Jarl explained, and so Redbeard had only feinted at Penvey, to the south, to draw Lycanto and his Albians to the attack. Spies had been circulated about Alb to spread the rumor that Penvey was to be attacked. But Alb was a poor kingdom, hardly worth looting, and as soon as Lycanto was committed, and on the march, Redbeard's sleek long ships of war had prowled north and west, like ghosts in the gray fog, and achieved complete surprise at Craghead.
"Few sentries had been posted," Jarl said, "and those we throttled silently at their posts. They were too busy watching you fight bears, Blade. I could have taken Craghead with a dozen men."
Blade slept the afternoon away, with Sylvo snoring on a pile of skins in a corner. When the man awoke Blade night had come. The skies were clearing and there was a faint promise of a moon. The same wind that was blowing the mists away fluttered the snake standard of Getorix from Craghead's highest pinnacle. Sounds of drunken revelry were coming from Queen Beata's great dining hall.
A scalding hot bath was prepared and Blade lolled in it until Sylvo's frets drove him out. The man dried him on a fine linen towel and combed his hair and beard, chattering all the while. Blade, while enduring the ministrations, eyed Sylvo with speculation. He had never seen the man so on edge.
"A messenger came," Sylvo rattled on. "You are bidden to the feast this night, to sit at the table of Getorix. The one named Jarl will come for you at the ninth glass. Your burns, master, are much improved. I told you that salve was magic."
Blade, nodding, about to speak, was silenced by a new flood of words.
"It is said that Beata is well raped first by Redbeard himself and then half his men and is to be hanged in an iron cage to die. Ar, I think that for once she has had her fill of men. Those of her men who cried quarter are to be executed tomorrow, but the women and children are to be sold into slavery to the land across the Narrow Sea. Ar, master, I think we have done well enough to come off with our skins, thanks to the way you fought. Now if you will only mind your ways, and we all play our parts skillfully enough, we may live long enough to enjoy "
Blade hid his smile. So that was it. Sylvo, half guessing at Blade's future plans, was nervous. Not without cause, Blade admitted. He was a bit nervous himself. Yet he meant to carry the plan through.
He smote his fist into his palm to interrupt Sylvo. "What of Princess Taleen?"
The man squinted at him and his harelip twitched. "The princess, master? She fares well enough as well as we do. She has been taken in charge by the kyries and they see to her needs."
"Kyries? What are they?"
Sylvo smacked his lips and winked. "Women, master. Stout, buxom, blonde women who go about bare titted and see to the needs of fighting men. In Alb they would be called whores and camp followers which I suppose they are but I think they are more than that. I have heard that they sometimes fight alongside the men. They tend the wounded and fix the food and bear wine and beer to the thirsty and do other things as well, you will understand!"
Sylvo rolled his eyes suggestively and smacked his lips again. "Some of the kyries have beauty, master. Sturdy and plump and well made for a strong man. I "
"You," Blade said harshly, "will stay away from kyries. As you will also stay clear of wine and beer. I have made a plan and when it comes to the crux I may have need of you, sudden and desperate need, and I will have you sober. In any case it will be unhealthy for you to go sniffing around these kyries you will end up shorter by a head. This is understood?"
Syivo looked worried again, but nodded vigorously. "It is well understood, master, and also wise. I had the same thoughts myself, not being a complete fool, and though one of the kyries has already taken a fancy to me I paid her no attention. Ar, master, it is not myself that I worry about."
Blade was donning the clothing laid out for him. There was a kilt instead of breeches, a fine tunic with a leather corselet to go over it, under-breeches and high-lacing sandals. There was no helmet, a thing that Blade understood. He had not yet been accepted as an equal by the corsairs, even though he had earned the right in battle. Yet he was not discontent. Aesculp, her bronze clean and shining, stood in a corner.
Blade finished dressing, deliberately prolonging the silence while Sylvo mumbled and fidgeted.
Then: "You mean that it is me you worry about? You will explain that remark, Sylvo!"
The man still fidgeted but his squint eyes met Blade's squarely. "Ar, master, I will. You have treated me like a man, not a dog, and as a man I will speak. I fear that you will go too far that is the plain truth of it. I know not your plans, nor want to, but I am frightened all the same. I have come to know you well, master, and I know how you dare things that would scare even Thunor. And since my fate is linked with yours, master I would not have it else I beseech you to go gently and with caution. This Getorix, called Redbeard, is a great warrior, though also a murderous one, and those who serve him well are rewarded well. Have done, master. Leave off! This is our chance to live and to make our fortunes."
Blade fetched him a buffet between the shoulders that nearly drove Sylvo to his knees. He grinned hugely at the man. "You have cast your fortunes with mine in this matter, Sylvo. If things go well I will make you a prince."
Sylvo, withdrawing a discreet pace or two, and rubbing his shoulder, smiled wryly. "Ar, master, even as you made yourself a prince of London? Wherever that is."
"Mind your tongue," said Blade. "I will keep my promise I will make you a prince, though you will make a sorry one enough."
"And if things go badly, master?"
"You will share my fate," Blade told him grimly. "Whatever it may be. Now enough of this prattle have you still the black pearls?"
"I have, master. Redbeard's men did not think me worth searching." Sylvo fumbled in the waistband of his ragged breeches and brought out the leathern pouch. He handed it to Blade.
"I thank you," Blade said. "More for your skill in picking pockets than for the pearls. You are a most excellent thief."
When the nets had fallen and Blade had gone down under the blows of a dozen of Queen Beata's men he had been immediately searched and the black pearls taken. Later, in the oubliette, Sylvo explained.
"I was searched by the same bastard that took your pearls, master. Whilst he took my purse I took the pearls from him. Later I also recovered my money, but planted the purse on one of them. They fell out about it, each accusing the other of thieving, and nearly fought. It was something to watch."
Blade spilled the luminous black pearls into his palm. He selected the largest and tucked it into a fold of his tunic. "You say these sea robbers value pearls?"
"Ar, master. So I have heard."
"We will see." He handed the pouch back to Sylvo. "Keep it well concealed. We may have need of these others."
Jarl came and escorted Blade to the great hall. As they crossed the courtyard the sounds of wassail smote their ears, a moving squall of furious noise.
"Getorix lets his dogs off the leash tonight," Jarl explained. "They have fought well and have been much at sea. Take care, Blade, that you do not fall foul of them, for you are not loved by the commonality. You slew three of their brethren today."
"In fair fight, Jarl. Are they children, to nurse grudges?"
A block had been set up in the courtyard and Blade halted by it now, professing an interest he did not feel. It was a talk with Jarl he wanted.