“Aye, they are packed pretty tight,” Oraste allowed. “I just hope there’s no pestilence that starts going through ‘em.”
“Why?” Bembo said in some surprise; his partner usually showed no concern whatever for Kaunians. “Because the pestilence might spread to us, you mean?”
“Oh, that, too,” Oraste said, though he didn’t seem to have thought of it himself. “But what I mostly meant is, a pestilence would kill off the lousy blonds before we got the chance to use their life energy against the Unkerlanters or wherever else we need it.”
“Oh,” Bembo said. “That’s true.” And so it was, even if his stomach did a slow flipflop every time he thought about it. “I wish we could have beaten King Swemmel without using magic like that.”
“So do I, on account of it would have been easier on us,” Oraste said. “But the more Kaunians we get rid of, the better off everybody’ll be after we finally win the war. They’ve been stepping on our faces for too long. Now it’s our turn.”
Bembo couldn’t disagree, not out loud. Oraste would have thought him a slacker or, worse, a closet Kaunian- lover. He wasn’t. He had no use for the blonds. He hadn’t back in Tricarico, and he didn’t here in Gromheort, either. But he was too easygoing to enjoy massacre.
A couple of other constables came out of the district in the company of six or eight young Kaunian women. Half the women looked sullen and bitter, the other half anywhere from resigned to happy. “Where are you taking them?” Bembo called.
“Recruits for a soldiers’ brothel,” one of his countrymen answered. He turned back to the women, saying, “Don’t any of you worry about a thing. By the powers above, you’ll have plenty to eat, and that’s no lie. Got to keep you good and plump to give the boys somewhere nice to lay down.” One of the women translated for the others. A couple of them, the skinnier ones, nodded.
After the little procession was out of earshot, Bembo turned to Oraste and asked, “How long do you suppose they’ll last?”
“In a soldiers’ brothel? Couple-three weeks,” Oraste replied. “They wear ‘em out, they use ‘em up, and then they bring in some fresh meat. That’s how it goes.”
“About what I thought.” Bembo looked after the blondes. He sighed and shrugged. “They don’t know what they’re getting into, poor dears.” Like a lot of Algarvians, he was sentimental about women, even Kaunian women.
Oraste wasn’t. “Maybe they don’t know what they’re getting into, but I bet they’ve got a pretty good notion of what’ll be getting into them.” He threw back his head and guffawed.
“That’s not bad,” Bembo said, and, coming from Oraste, it wasn’t. The constables walked on for a few paces. Then Bembo stroked his chin. “I wonder why that old Kaunian from Oyngestun thought his granddaughter was somewhere outside the Kaunian quarter.”
“Who cares?” Oraste answered, which threatened to kill off conversation altogether. But he went on, “She ran off, remember? That’s what the old geezer told us, anyhow. Maybe some Forthwegian’s hiding her here in town and taking it out in trade.” His leer was lewd, filthy.
“Aye, that could be,” Bembo admitted; however crude Oraste was, he had a good notion of how people worked. “She was prettier than most of these Forthwegian women, anyhow. They’re built like bricks.”
That was unchivalrous, but, from what Bembo had seen, pretty much true (he didn’t think about how he was built). Still crude but very practical, Oraste said, “Well, if we catch her, we can get some of that for ourselves.” He rocked his hips forward and back. Bembo’s nod held nothing but eager agreement.
Even before Leofsig knocked on his own front door, he knew something had gone wrong. He heard shouts from inside the house, as he hadn’t since Sidroc went off to join Plegmund’s Brigade. No sooner had he knocked than he stiffened. One of those raised voices belonged to his cousin.
“Hello yourself,” Leofsig answered, and let it go at that. When he and Sidroc clasped hands, it quickly turned into a trial of strength. After a while, they both gave up, with honors about even. Sidroc grinned. Even a few months before, his grip wouldn’t have been a match for Leofsig’s. Not caring to acknowledge that, Leofsig asked, “How long will you be here?”
“Three days,” Sidroc said. Leofsig decided he could probably stand that. His cousin went on, “Then it’s back to the encampment outside of Eoforwic a little while longer. Then advanced training somewhere else-they haven’t told me where yet.”
Leofsig didn’t much care where Sidroc went, so long as he went. “Let me by, will you? I’ve been working all day in the hot sun, and I want to wash.”
“I know that feeling, by the powers above,” Sidroc said. He hadn’t known it before he left; then his main goal had been avoiding as much work as he possibly could. But he didn’t step aside. “They treat us pretty well, though. We even had Ethelhelm and his band come out and play for us the other day.”
“Did you?” Leofsig’s opinion of Ethelhelm dropped a notch or two. This time, instead of asking, he pushed past his cousin and into the entry hall. Sidroc gave him a dirty look, but closed the door after him. Only as Leofsig stepped into the kitchen did he belatedly realize Sidroc was liable to be a very nasty customer in a fight.
In the kitchen, Conberge was chopping leeks and throwing them into the pot over the fire. Mutton stew, Leofsig’s nose told him. Without the slightest effort to keep her voice down, his sister said, “Well, he won’t be staying here very long, powers above be praised. As far as I’m concerned, if the Algarvians want him so much, they can have him.”
Sidroc could hardly miss hearing what she said. The next-door neighbors could hardly miss hearing what she said. Leofsig turned back toward the entry hall. He wondered if he would find out just how nasty a customer his cousin could be.
But Sidroc, to his relief and even more to his surprise, stayed out of the kitchen. “Can I clean up a bit?” Leofsig asked.
Conberge pointed to a kettle next to the pot to which she’d just added the leeks. “Hot water’s right there waiting for you,” she said. She looked past him toward the entry hall. Pointedly, she added, “Some stinks don’t go away no matter how you wash.”
“Let him be,” Leofsig said. His sister’s eyebrows flew up. He went on, “You said it yourself: he’ll be gone soon. If we can stay civil for three days, that will be the end of it.”
“How can there be an end, with a traitor in the family?” Conberge demanded.
Leofsig had no good answer for that. He got out of having to make one by starting to wash. His sister left the kitchen, but left it with her nose in the air. He cleaned up as quickly as he could and went back to his own bedchamber to put on a fresh tunic in place of the dirty, sweaty one he was wearing.
He’d just changed when someone rapped lightly on the door. “Come in,” he called, and his father did. Leofsig nodded. “I thought that was you. Everyone else knocks louder, to make sure I notice.”
Hestan’s smile quirked up only one corner of his mouth. “Sometimes difference is enough to make you notice something. Things don’t always have to be louder. Softer often serves just as well.”
“Maybe,” Leofsig said. After a moment, he went on, “I wish you could convince Sidroc of that.”
His father sighed. “Hengist is still living here. And, apart from him, we’re the nearest kin Sidroc has left. When he got leave, where else would he go?”
“To suck up to his redheaded pals?” Leofsig suggested. “I don’t know why he loves them so much-if it weren’t for them, his mother would still be alive and his house would still be standing-but he does. As far as I’m concerned, they can have him.”
Hestan sighed again. “I can’t very well slam the door in his face, not with Hengist living here. And I don’t want to turn my brother out. That might be … dangerous. You know why.”
“On account of me,” Leofsig said.
“That’s right.” His father nodded. “And so we’ll put up with my charming nephew as best we can for as long as he’s here. It’s only three days, I think. We can manage.”
“Aye, he told me he had to go back then,” Leofsig said. “Then the Algarvians teach him more about murdering Kaunians or terrorizing Unkerlanters or whatever they intend to do with Plegmund’s cursed Brigade. The king would sit up in his grave if he knew what the redheads were doing to his name.”
