Silence. All were staring at him. Blade took a step toward Horsa and spat at the man's feet. "I say I choose you to kill! Unless your blood is white in which case I will choose another."
Horsa came up with a roar, pounding on the table with both fists, his broad red face contorted in rage. "Spy! Slave and whoremonger! Father of lice son of a whore who coupled with a goat! You dare speak me so? I, Horsa, champion of all the Albs. Thunor strike me if I do not eat your liver this night."
Blade smiled coldly, having achieved his first purpose of baiting the man into near senseless anger. "If you fight half as well as you talk, Horsa, I am a dead man." He laughed and spat again.
The big hall was in tumult. Only the Dru was silent, rapidly stroking away with her brush, and Blade found time to wonder, even in the midst of such chaos, who would read of this strange and unlikely encounter.
Lycanto at last got order by pounding on the table with his beer horn. All sat down again but Horsa, who remained standing and glaring at Blade, a line of white froth visible around his mouth. Blade realized that Horsa had gone berserk, and that it would be no easy matter to kill him.
Lycanto had to raise his voice almost to a scream to be heard over the din. He shouted at Blade, but there was a new, and reluctant, respect in his tone and glance.
"You have made your choice, stranger. So shall it be. Now, this night, you will fight Horsa. But I should tell you this " Lycanto's weak mouth smirked beneath drooping moustaches. "Horsa spoke truth. He is champion of all Albs. He is Horsa the Skull Maker. He has made more widows than Thunor himself."
"And consoled them," said a voice from somewhere along the table. "A pity this stranger has no widow to be. Poor Horsa must go to the whores afterward, like any common knave."
A great roar of laughter went up. A score of good-natured gibes were flung at Horsa, who at last grinned sourly and sat down without another glance at Blade.
Lycanto pounded again with his beer horn for order. For the time Blade was ignored again. As he listened, with wonder and some amusement, he realized that this was not only a fight, but festival as well. They were a feckless lot, these Albs, and meant to have their fun. Deeming Blade as good as dead, Lycanto was ordering great quantities of food and beer to be readied. Blade allowed his burgeoning plan to emerge a little further into the light the more they ate and caroused, the heavier they drank, the better for what he had in mind.
At last relative silence fell again. Horsa said, "As the rogue challenges me I have choice of place. Not so, Lycanto?"
The King's nod was perfunctory. "We all know that, Horsa. What choose you?"
Horsa was on his feet again. He looked at Blade with contempt. He was calmer now. "I choose the fire ring. Let it be prepared. I would see how nimbly this bastard dances when his feet begin to burn."
Lycanto gave an order and a man at arms hurriedly left the hall.
Cunobar the Gray now stood and held up a hand. The King nodded and the talk died away again.
Cunobar looked disdain at Blade, and his smile was something mingled of mirth and malice, leavened with the smugness of a man who has accomplished precisely what he intended. Blade, who had never counted the man as friend, and was puzzled by his seeming advocacy, began to understand. Cunobar was pleased with himself, and the why of it was plain enough. Cunobar wanted either Blade or Horsa dead. Or both. At the moment Blade could not fathom the reasons, nor did they matter. Cunobar could only win.
Cunobar nodded curtly in Blade's direction. "The stranger asks that I serve as companion at arms, as second to see fair play. This I cannot do. You will know the reasons, so I do not explain. I was right, I am right, in that he stands and talks like no slave I have ever seen. It is fair that he be given this chance. Yet there is no guarantee that he is a gentleman and I will serve no other. Yet he must have a companion at arms, to abide by our law. Who among you will serve him?"
Dead silence. None looked at Blade, who laughed and strode, arms akimbo, to the foot of the table. He did not force his laughter. He was genuinely amused and his deep voice tolled in the chamber like a dark toned bell.
"So be it! I see that you gentlemen are too fastidious to serve a ragged stranger. This speaks ill of your hospitality, of which you are so proud, but I will let it pass. By your leave, then, I will choose my own man. His name is Sylvo. He who stood watch over me in that miserable hut."
There was muttering, followed by questions among themselves.
"Sylvo? Who is he?"
"I have heard the name, and nothing good, but I cannot recall."
"Sylvo? I too have heard that name. Is he freeman or slave? Serf? Peasant?"
A thin-shanked man with a fringe of reddish hair stood up. He had a sour mouth that matched his expression.
"He is one of mine, this Sylvo. I wish he were not. He is a very cock pimp and a brawler, a drunkard and wencher, and as ugly as Thunor's ass. Yet he is brave enough, and fights well though he steals too much and were it not for this I would have hanged him long ago."
He looked at Blade. "If you would have such a rascal serve you I give my leave. Watch he does not steal your single pair of breeches."
There was a roar of laughter. Blade bowed in mockery to the assemblage. Lycanto made a sign and men of arms escorted him from the hall and back to the dismal hut.
As he was leaving Horsa shouted after him: "Count your cods, stranger. I vow you'll be short when you count them next in Thunor's dungeon."
Left alone, though he knew the hut well guarded, Blade paced impatiently until Sylvo appeared. The man was slightly tipsy, his mouth smeared with some whore's lip salve, but his beady little eyes were alive with intelligence and excitement.
"Ar, master! You have set them on their ears and every tongue in Sarum Vil to wagging. One thing is certain there will be a great crowd to see you die. None will want to miss it."
Blade regarded him with a cold stare. "I die? You are a prophet, then, as well as an ugly rogue?"
Sylvo stroked the hairs on his chin, the beer fast leaving him. He eyed Blade's massive frame with speculation. "Nay, master. I am no prophet. And now I think on it mayhap it is Horsa whose cods will end in the fire. I hope so, master, for I like you well I have forgiven you the blow, for I deserved it and I have no love for Horsa. He had me whipped once for not bowing low enough. Me, a freeman!"
Blade laughed and clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. "Then you will serve me in this?"
Sylvo fell to one knee. "I will serve you, master. Gladly. I am but a scurvy fellow, a sneaksby cull, and a slipgibbet. But for luck for sometimes Thunor favors rogues I would be hanged or flayed long since. Yet there is something about you, master a thing I do not understand that makes me feel like a man and as good as any. Ar, I will serve you well even though you have a fist like Thunor's lightning bolts."
Blade scowled at him. "Good. Then get off your knees. Never again do that. Speak always to me on eye level, and look straight at me. I am master, and you are man, yet I will be as fair with you as you with me. See to it. And now listen carefully hear what more I require of you and see if your courage still holds."
Blade spoke rapidly, firmly, nearly whispering, making sure that Sylvo understood every point. As the man listened, his squint increased and the harelip more pronounced as his jaw dropped. He took off his helmet and raked at a scurfy bald skull with filthy nails.