"Hibernia?" His face remained expressionless, but he was powerless to control the jerk of Memnon's head. "Nothing. What do you mean?" He turned his head slightly and directed a glance of such cold venom at his partner that I would not have been surprised to see Memnon fall on the spot. Then his cold, lizard's eye swung back to me. "What of Hibernia?"
"A prince of Hibernia," I said. "You spoke of kings and princes. I have one in my cells."
"A prince of Hibernia? Why should that interest me?"
I let him analyse my expression as I pretended to think my next words through. "We took him captive more than two weeks ago. He had landed with an army in the north, just as we were attacked from the south-west.. .The incident that led to your presence here. It occurs to me now that your noble master may have had a hand in both events, since treachery and duplicity seem to be his stock in trade." I had his entire attention. I gave him time to think.
"How do you know this captive is a prince?"
"He is a prince. He wears the golden tore. We hold him hostage against the good behaviour of his people."
"What is his name, this prince?"
"Donuil, son of Athol."
"Where do you hold him?"
I raised an eyebrow as though amused. "In chains, in my cells, in the building beside the one where I held you and should have killed you."
"Has he been tortured?"
Now I allowed myself a small frown of bemusement. "Why should that interest you, who claim to know nothing of Hibernia?"
"I lied." His eyes bored directly into mine. "Has he been tortured?"
It was my turn to sneer. "No, he has not been tortured. He is my prisoner, not yours. We hold him, that is enough.
%
We have no need to torture or maltreat him. He is a free- born Celt and his chains are torture enough."
Caspar licked his lips, his expression, for all his discipline, that of a merchant who sniffs a bargain. "What is he worth to you?"
"Less than he might be to you, I think." I made no effort to hide my contempt. "Now that your king's army is smashed and running home with its tail between its legs, he is worth nothing. We destroyed his father's army first and then yours. Any value that he might have had to me is ended. But I thought he might be of value to you, to take home to Lot. Give us my aunt and you can have him."
"Ha!" The scorn in his voice was grand. "You think me mad? No, Caius Merlyn, not for your aunt, for then you would be free—and glad—to kill us all. "But you can have all the other hostages in return for him."
I looked at him in disgust, shaking my head slowly. "You have not seen the truth yet, have you?" I said. "Does it not sink into that reptilian skull of yours that the old woman is all I care about? The others, all of them, mean nothing to me. If you had taken only them you would be dead by now and they with you. Weighed against the life of my father, they have no significance."
He believed me implicitly because I was voicing thoughts with which he could identify completely. I watched him biting the inside of his cheek, making evaluations, reaching a decision.
"Very well," he said, his accents short and clipped. "You can have my twelve men. In return for this Scot."
"Did I say he was a Scot? I said only that he was Hibernian. You are correct, of course; he is a Scot. But why, I wonder, would you want him so badly? Would he be worth that much to your pus-filled king? I would hate to think he is, but I don't really care." I hesitated for half a breath. "Your killers, and the other hostages, and you can have the Hibernian. That will leave you two, him, and my aunt. We can arrange her release under any terms you wish.
I'm sure your twisted mind will come up with something serpentine enough to gull your men and ensure your own safety. Go away and think about it. When you are ready to talk again, just open the door and come out. One of my men will come for me."
I turned on my heel and walked away from them, holding my head high until I passed from their sight. Then I leaned against the nearest wall and vomited up my hatred and disgust.
XXIII
I spent the next hour touring the fort, assessing the damage and making arrangements to move our colonists out, while we cleaned up the mess and made the fort fit for living in again. There was food available, but I had no stomach for it. I was in the grip of a force that kept me functioning and thinking clearly about every problem brought to my attention, but there was a constant, distant buzzing in my head that separated me from everything else going on around me, so that I seemed able to concentrate only upon individual matters, one at a time, without being distracted.
I called Popilius to me and walked with him to the main entrance of the fort, where we stood looking down in silence at the confusion on the plain below. Directly below us, looking like a boy's unfinished model, lay the fortified camp that Popilius and his men had been building at the time of the attack. Further away on our right, to the west, the scattered detritus of Lot's encampment lay strewn across the countryside. The rest of the plain, the entire length and breadth of it, was littered with bodies, tiny stick men and horses thrown carelessly in every attitude of death and abandonment. Far to our left, around the shoulder of the hill, smoke still drifted sullenly from the villa. The wind had dropped.
Popilius's voice broke through my thoughts. "That has to be cleaned up. It will take time."
"Aye, but we have time. How many prisoners did we take?"
He shrugged. "About three hundred, at the last count I heard of, but there may be more as our people come back."
"What were our losses?"
"Not as heavy as I expected." He stopped talking and worked to undo the chin strap of his helmet, finally pulling the heavy helm from his head and wiping sweat from his brow with the crook of his elbow. "Your cavalry arrived just at the right time. Head count isn't complete yet, but I know of three hundred infantry dead, and sixteen hundred wounded, two hundred of those serious."
"Those are large numbers, Popilius."
"Aye, but smaller than they might have been had you not guessed Lot's plans."
"I guessed wrong."
"Only by one day, Commander. If you had not guessed at all, we would have been taken completely by surprise and slaughtered."
"Aye, Popilius, perhaps." I sighed and then nodded towards his armed camp below. "That was a good idea. I commend you on the speed of your reactions."
He shook his head abruptly. "It was your father's idea, not mine. We had hoped to bring all the colonists inside the walls and have a garrison down there to hinder Lot, supported from up here."
"We can still use it," I told him. "Split your men in two—half to double the size of the camp down there and finish it, the other half to start collecting the dead for burial. Set the prisoners to work digging pits, deep pits and large, and keep them at it until the job is done. Lot's carrion we will bury on the right, there, where he camped. Our own dead will lie on the far left, towards the villa. See that both batches are buried well, Popilius. The stink of rotting friends is as foul as that of foes. As soon as that is done and the camp enlargement is under way, start moving everyone out of the fort. We will all live down there on the plain for a time. The interior of the fort will have to be gutted, cleansed and rebuilt. I want every sign of fire, every charred piece of wood, every last hint of stink removed and buried or otherwise disposed of. Take the debris out through the small back gate and burn as much of it as you can on the hilltop there.
And that reminds me, we have to find a way that will ensure we are never surprised from the rear like that again. Any suggestions?"
"Aye." Popilius nodded his grizzled pate. "One."