heads, had been mastered by the solid ranks of Saxlanders, had hurled themselves like heroes to be cut down, until only a handful were left, the chiefs among them.
Jutos, grim as a dark cliff and his eyes bright with water, watched the old man slump; someone brought him drink and it ran down the harsh grooves off his chin.
‘The Saxlanders cut the ears and noses off the survivors and sent seven back to our ruling prince of that time, Taksony,’ Jutos added blankly. ‘They hung Lel and Bulcsu from a tower in Regensberg. Sur came back as one of the seven, and he was killed for causing such a tragedy, for he was not of the line of Arpad. The last warriors who survived that day were honoured for their courage, all the same, and my father is the only one left. The Magyar have stayed in their homeland since that day and have no love for the Saxlanders.’
‘Heya,’ said Ospak, his Irisher soul stirred by such a tale and the old man raised his head and nodded acknowledgement to that salute.
‘Since then, we have travelled the Amber Road as traders,’ Jutos went on. ‘There are more of us now. All the men of this clan who rode with my father were killed in that battle, but slowly we grow stronger. One day, we will be strong enough to pay the Saxlanders back.’
I looked at the old man, milk-white in the dusk, slumped and spent now, sitting in a ring of some forty wagons, with horses, men, women and bairns. I thought of Hestreng and how we were not so far from each other, Magyar and Northman.
Horses were brought, but I told Ospak to stay with the Mazur girl. Stone-faced Jutos sat on his horse and said nothing as I climbed onto mine, flanked by a half-dozen Magyars armed with lances and bows and wearing their pointed helmets with elaborate nasals. Bokeny rose stiffly and nodded to his son, who returned it. Then he hirpled away to his tent, leaving me with the vague idea that some message had passed between them.
In silence, we rode out into the dying day and, for a while, nothing more was said. That let me work on how this horse moved, for it was a rangy, bow-nosed creature, not one of the short, stiff-maned, fast-gaited ponies I knew. After a while, I felt Jutos arrive at my knee, where he cleared his throat, like the dull rumble of distant thunder. Here it comes, I was thinking.
‘There is a lot of happening up and down the Odra for the time of year,’ he said in a low, even voice. ‘Particularly when the rains have been so bad.’
I stayed silent, feeling my stomach turn slowly, like a dead sheep in the river; I gave great attention to the sitting of my horse.
‘We came past an old settlement we had visited before,’ he went on, ‘and found it burned out and everything dead. Everything. Children, dogs. Everything.’
He shook his head with the memory of it and I swallowed the sick rise of shame in me.
‘There are riders out everywhere,’ he added, ‘from the Pols. A force is out and not a small one — hundreds. I have not seen so many since the Pols marched this way two summers ago, heading for war in the north against the Pomorze.’
‘I have heard the Pols are swallowing other tribes,’ I said, in order to say something and give away nothing at all, even though the thought of hundreds of Pols searching along the Odra was a chill knife in my bowels. I had not thought they would be so stirred by the burning of a Sorb village. I had it right — they were not and the next thing Jutos said made that clear.
‘They seek a Mazur girl and a band of northers,’ he said flatly and that made me look at him. Here it was, then, out in the open. I waited to see what came next, strung tight as a drawn bowstring.
‘You have eaten salt with us,’ Jutos went on, slowly, carefully, like a man picking his way across a marsh. ‘This means you will come to no harm from us, neither you nor your band by the river. My father, of course, is more honourable than I am, for he sought to buy the Mazur girl and so save your life; I argued that it was too much danger brought on us, but he insisted.’
I saw he was not lying and was both surprised and a little shamed at my thoughts, which had been along the path of how their elaborate hospitality was more to do with fearing to tangle with a band of armed growlers like the Oathsworn. Now I saw they pitied us and regarded us as already dead, which was not a comforting thing.
‘Then we will trade for food and be gone,’ I answered, ‘before you are made sorry for your hospitality.’
Jutos crooked one leg casually over the saddle, an elegance I envied.
‘Of course,’ he added, white teeth gleaming in the dusk of his face, ‘our obligation ends when trading ends. Usually, we allow a day between us before considering matters.’
I rode the gentle threat and stared him down.
‘We are not so generous,’ I gave him back, ‘feeling half that is distance enough, should one side feel aggrieved.’
The dog, Sipos, ambled over to run alongside me and Jutos widened his grin.
‘He likes you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you have something to trade for him?’
I shook my head, feeling annoyed at the smile of this man, bland as oatmeal and curved sharp as a sabre blade.
‘I like dogs,’ I answered. ‘All us northers do. With some winter roots, a peck of salt and the lees of old wine they make good eating.’
Scowling, he jerked the head of his horse savagely round and away and left me staring down into the mournful eyes of the dog until I blinked and looked away.
The rest of the ride was silence until, in the gathering dusk, Jutos hissed out a command and men galloped off and the rest of us reined in. A few minutes later, a rider returned and spoke briefly to Jutos, who turned to me.
‘Your men have made camp, but lit no fires,’ he declared, almost admiringly. ‘None of my scouts have been able to approach closely without being seen. Perhaps you should ride out and hail them before there is unpleasantness.’
I was pleased as I edged the horse forward — and not a little anxious that Kuritsa would do something rash in the twilight, for I was sure he was watching. When I could no longer see the Magyars behind me, I decided enough was enough and bellowed out my name.
The voice, soft and almost in my ear, made me leap and teeter in the saddle with the shock of it.
‘I see you, Orm Bear Slayer.’
Finn slithered out of the dark, with Kuritsa close behind, arrow nocked.
‘Good to find you alive,’ Finn growled with a grin. ‘With a horse, too. And new friends.’
‘Magyar traders,’ I answered flatly, as if such a thing was no more than to be expected from the likes of me. ‘Ospak and Dark Eye are safe in their camp. How are things with us?’
Kuritsa shook his head admiringly.
‘I had heard that if Orm Trader fell in a barrel of shite he would find the only bag of silver in it,’ he laughed. ‘Until now, I had not believed it.’
I acknowledged the praise with a nod and a grin, but kept looking at Finn for an answer to my question.
‘Four dead,’ he said flatly. ‘Or so we believe. They were the weakest of the sick and have not, like you and Ospak, surfaced from the river.’
‘The ship?’
He did not answer, but turned away, so I rode down to the river with him, past men iron-grey in the growing dark, shields up and helms on. One or two grinned and called greetings; just as many gave me blank looks, or even scowls.
Men clustered round the
‘Odin’s arse,’ Onund said, his pleasure as clear as a dog’s. ‘Here is a good sight.’
‘Doubled,’ Finn said, ‘for he has Ospak safe and found us food and shelter.’
‘If my sea-chest survived,’ I added and Trollaskegg said that it had and a lot of gear had been saved. Crowbone, eyes bright, nudged Abjorn.
‘See? You owe me six ounces of silver — I said he was not dead.’
Abjorn looked at me and shrugged apologetically.
