“Kaunians, come forth!” Pesaro shouted in a great voice when he got to Hwinca’s village square. Evodio turned his words from Algarvian into classical Kaunian. That was the tongue the blonds hereabouts still spoke, or near enough as to make no difference.
No matter what language the order came in, the Kaunians ignored it. Bembo turned to Oraste. “There--you see? They’ve got a notion of what’s going to happen to them. They won’t come out all by themselves, not anymore. We’re going to have to go in after ‘em. It’ll be a lot of extra work from now on.”
Oraste hefted his stick. “Liable to be dangerous work, too. If they figure they’re going to get shipped west anyhow, who’s to say they won’t decide they’ve got nothing to lose and try and take some of us with ‘em?”
“Aye.” That had occurred to Bembo, too. He wished it hadn’t.
Pesaro shouted again. His voice echoed off the houses and shops facing the square. Again, Evodio translated his words into classical Kaunian. Again, none of the yellow-haired men and women in Hwinca came forth. “Well, we’ll have to do it the hard way,” Pesaro said. His chuckle had a nasty edge. “You know what, though? I don’t think it’ll be too hard.” He beckoned to the Forthwegian who’d applauded the constables’ arrival. “Come here, pal. Aye, you. You speak Algarvian?”
With a show of regret, the villager shook his head. Pesaro looked exasperated. Neither he nor any of his men spoke any Forthwegian past what little they’d picked up since coming from Tricarico. Evodio said, “I’ll bet he speaks Kaunian, Sergeant.”
“Find out,” Pesaro said. Sure enough, intelligence lit on the Forthwegian’s face. Pesaro nodded. “Good. Tell him we’ll pay him--doesn’t have to be anything much or I’m a Yaninan--if he’ll show us which houses the Kaunians live in.”
That fellow turned out not to be the only villager who spoke Kaunian; three or four others clamored for a share of the reward, too. Bembo and Oraste followed one of them to a house that didn’t look any different from those to either side of it. The Forthwegian pointed at the door, as dramatically as if he were a hunting dog pointing at a woodcock.
“Kaunians, come forth!” the two constables shouted together. Nobody came forth. Bembo and Oraste looked at each other. They drew back a couple of paces, then slammed the door with their shoulders. It flew inward, the brackets in which its bar rested pulled out of the wall. Bembo sprawled on hands and knees in the front hall; he’d expected to bounce off his first try. Oraste kept his feet, but barely.
“They’ll pay for that, the scum,” Bembo muttered as he got to his feet. “Come on, let’s turn this place inside out.”
Sticks at the ready, he and Oraste swept through the house. They didn’t have to search long or hard: they found the Kaunians--a man and woman of about Bembo’s age, with two little girls too young to be interesting--cowering in a pantry in the kitchen. Oraste gestured with his stick. “Come out, every cursed one of you!” he growled.
“Aye, sir,” said the man, in decent Algarvian. He was, Bembo judged, frightened almost out of his wits, but doing his best not to show it for the sake of his family. In a low, urgent voice, he went on, “Whatever you want so you will say you could not find us, I will give it to you. I have money. I am not a poor man. All of it is yours--only let us live.”
“Kaunian,” Oraste said: an all-inclusive rejection. Bembo gave his comrade a dirty look. He’d wanted to see how much the blond would offer. But he couldn’t get away with that if Oraste didn’t go along.
The yellow-haired man whispered something to his wife. She bit her lip, but nodded. “Not money, then,” the Kaunian man said rapidly, desperately. “But anything you want. Anything.” He gestured to the woman. She undid the top toggle of her tunic. She wasn’t bad-looking--she wasn’t bad-looking at all--but. ..
“Out in the street, all of you,” Bembo barked. He was disgusted at himself, but more disgusted at the Kaunians for sinking so low and for reminding him how low he’d sunk. The blond man sighed. Now that he saw it was hopeless, he regained a measure of the dignity he’d thrown away. He put his arms around his daughters and shepherded them out. His wife set her tunic to rights before following.
“Good. You’ve got four,” Pesaro said, seeing the Kaunians Bembo and Oraste had found. A double handful more already stood glumly in the square. Before long, the constables had their quota from Hwinca.
Pesaro paid the Forthwegians who’d helped his men round up the blonds. One of the villagers said something in Kaunian as he got his money. Evodio translated: “He wants to know why we’re only taking this many, why we’re not cleaning out all of them.”
“Tell him this is what we got ordered to do, so this is what we’re doing,” Pesaro answered. “It’s just our job.” That was how he thought of it, too. Almonio’s conscience needed more of a shield. It all came down to the same thing in the end, though. The constables marched the Kaunians off toward Gromheort, off toward the caravans that would take them
