“Seeking a market, lord King, for some items of trade.”
“Items of trade.”
“Aye. A Gothic merchant-ship’s master is after seeing fit to bestow them on us a few days erenow… at the mouth of the Garonne.”
“Even there!” one of the nobles exclaimed.
Cormac was in a king’s presence; he did not respond to that, but kept his eyes fixed on Veremund. Veremund gestured for him to continue, and a little smile lifted the corners of the king’s reddish-brown mustache.
“Aye my lord King of the Sueves, and it was right swiftly we coursed northward to Frankish shores. For my lord of Burdigala is after dispatching a pair of warships-and them crowded with snarly marines-to hurry us on our way. Though in truth is was to slow us those men sought, and that more than somewhat!”
Laughter ran through those others in the hall of the king, and Veremund smiled.
“Ye tell me that in the space of a se’en-day, Cormac mac Art of Hivernia, ye’ve raided the Gothic shores even at the mouth of the Garonne; succeeded both in plundering a merchanter and eluding warships; slipped into the Loire well north, stole this lady from her affianced-her wicked affianced-out-shipped my lord King Clovis’s warships-which are huge and Romish-And crossed Treachery Bay to these shores.”
“During a storm,” Clodia reminded, and the hall exploded into laughter.
Cormac was nodding. “And, regrettably lord King, found evidence of murderous sorcery or worse in your own beacon-tower.” Cormac paused while all laughter stilled and every face went sober, and then he added, “And so came willingly here with your men.”
Veremund considered, gazing upon the tall and rangy pirate before him, and him darker of face than any present save the Hispano-Romans. The king turned his ring again and again with thumb and knuckle of the adjacent finger.
“It is in my mind that the waters you have been plying no longer hold much welcome for yourself, Cormac mac Art. Or prospect of continued health.”
“Truth, lord King. But it’s ever temporary such reverses are, and it’s a large world we habit.”
“Of a surety, and none will be crossing Treachery Bay after you! And… were Veremund of Galicia to tell you that ye be more than welcome here, and further that… he has offer of employment to ye, Cormac mac Art?”
“Despite my thirst and growing stiffness in my legs,” Cormac said, for no son of Eirrin bent very low before kings, “it’s listening I’d be, lord King. Methinks my lord of the Sueves would be borrowing from the wisdom of the Vandals, and seek to turn a landbound people into seafaring men?”
There had been a little murmur at Veremund’s carefully phrased offer; another followed Cormac’s straightforward words. Veremund’s eyebrows lifted high and his eyes twinkled no less than the fleck of mica in his diadem.
“Ye be no fool, Cormac mac Art, as evidenced afore by your speaking plain truth to me. In this wise, too, ye be correct. You and the Dane ye’ve long sailed with are surely the very men to aid me in floating a fleet and training up men to ply it. How say you?”
Amid a murmur in the hall, Cormac shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. “Myself says I’d not be disagreeing, lord King. But it’s Wulfhere Splitter of skulls who masters Raven our ship, and it’s him I’d be counselling with.”
“And where be Wulfhere the Dane?”
Smiling, Cormac said, “About, my lord… with others, watching those who watch our ship and doubtless waiting to learn if I require rescue.”
There were gasps, but Veremund smiled as if in spite of himself. Then he chuckled. “Watching my watchers?”
“Oh my lord, your men at the shore outnumber him and his only by two to one, and that Captain Wulfhere does not consider even a fair match-for himself.”
This time Veremund leaned back laughing. Others stared the while at mac Art and the king and the pretty girl who sat so near him in her white gown frosted with cloth-of-silver, and looking large-eyed on the Gael.
“Surely, brother,” she said, in a quite high voice fresh with youth, “this is the boldest and most outspoken man ever to stand before you in this hall!”
Madb’s breasts, Cormac thought, his sister! Another damned unwed princess! The bane of my life!
“Surely!” Veremund called, with his laughter slowly waning. And then he stopped it on a sudden, and looked full at her. “And one of the most dangerous, Eurica.”
“Then why does he wear his weapons?”
“Because, my dear sister, it were doubly dangerous to seek to deprive a brave man of pride of his weapons,” and Cormac knew this king was wise.
She gazed coolly upon Cormac. “Then might it not be wise to have him slain at once and scour our shores for his Danish comrade and others who may be hiding?”
Cormac mac Art kept his gaze on the king, and did not twitch his eyebrows. He looked cool, rather than dangerous-which assured observant men of wisdom that he was indeed a dangerous man.
“My sister is not known to be a fool, Cormac mac Art.”
So it’s to be a test, is it, and originating in this little girl all excited about the big pirate from the sea! “Indeed, lord King. The Lady Eurica may speak true, though detention were ever wiser than slaying out of hand-or attempting to do.”
Someone laughed. Eurica stared angrily. Her brother now kept his eyebrows steady.
“It is true,” Cormac added, “that though I pledge no acts against you or any of your people, kindness for kindness, neither Wulfhere nor I will vow fealty to yourself-or any other.”
The small female voice piped, “Or to me, Cormac mac Art of Hivernia?”
Cormac ignored her, continuing to gaze at her brother. The girl stamped her foot.
“Ye make my lady sister no reply, Cormac mac Art?”
“Lord King. My business here is audience with the King of the Suevi, who would be building a navy-and who has another problem that comes not from this natural world, surely. I’m after standing before kings erenow, and know how to behave. It’s fearful I am of doing insult on my lord by answering the queries of someone my lord King has not given permission to question me.”
The thick silence that followed those words might have presented challenge to the well-sharpened blade of Cormac’s dagger. Then the lady Princess Eurica rose with swift youthful sinuousness and a rustling of white skirts. Her sky-blue eyes flashed under darkened, downdrawn brows.
“As you said, lady sister, the boldest and most outspoken man to come before us. And… his point is well taken.” Veremund looked mildly up at his sister, who, thoughtlessly, with her anger on her, now stood higher than a king.
“I’ll not be chastised by a reaver from oversea and him with the stench of kelp about him!”
“Lord King,” Cormac said quietly, “as it’s naught but your good will I’m wishing, I make apology for bearing still the stench of that unholy stuff that slew your sea-tower watch… and I make apology too to your royal self for having angered your lady sister.”
Standing close beside her seated brother, Eurica stamped her foot. “And still he speaks not to me, nor looks at me!”
The Gael pressed his lips together. With slow deliberation and as if stiff of neck, he turned his head just enough to look into the anger-bright blue eyes of the Lady Eurica, who appeared very young indeed. He studied her face for a space, then moved his gaze slowly down her slim, white-clad form to her very toes in their beaded felt slippers, and then back up again, as slowly, to her face. It flamed, now. She stared. Her mouth worked and silver flashed as her bosom heaved. Her hands formed knobby little fists.
With slow deliberation, Cormac gave his head the quarter-turn necessary to return his gaze to her brother.
Himself no fool, Veremund rose to end the tension. He made a snuffing sound in his throat. “We must needs bring Wulfhere Skull-splitter among us, Cormac the Bold.”