'If you have no coin you can pay me another time – after a raid.'
He turned towards her. 'Come back in a little while, dearheart,' he said. 'Once the sun is down.'
She moved away. Grale rubbed at the empty socket of his left eye. Sometimes it still pained him, and he would wake at night, stifling a scream as he recalled the druid cutting free the mutilated orb and sewing shut the lids.
'We don't need Bane,' he heard Lorca say. 'It is not as if he is popular among the Rigante. We could move on the farm, gather the herds and drive them to Pannone land. There has been starvation there, and beef prices are higher than ever before.'
'I'll grant that,' said the outlaw known only as Wik, a thin, sour-faced man who looked puny alongside the hulking figure of Lorca, 'but what would we do then? Leaving the farm as it is means we get a constant supply of food. Bane has been fair in all his dealings with us.'
'Fair?' sneered Lorca. 'We supplied the men to work the cattle. We guaranteed him freedom from attack. And for what? One-tenth of his profits. Does that sound fair?'
The listening Grale wondered if any of the six men round the fire would state the obvious: that Lorca had broken the agreement by raiding the farm and killing one of Bane's men. It did not surprise him when the subject was not raised. Lorca was a man of unpredictable mood, and given to sudden acts of random violence.
'What about the men in Bane's employ?' asked Valian, a short stout man, with greasy blond hair and a drooping moustache.
'They are our men, Val,' Lorca told him. 'But if any of them have lost sight of that they can become worm meat like Cascor.'
'I think some of them will object,' put in Wik. 'I was talking to Gryffe the other day. He likes Bane. And he likes his new life as a herdsman. He's even talking of marrying Iswain the next time a druid comes by.'
'How sweet!' sneered Lorca. 'He plans, I suppose, to spend the rest of his life shovelling cow turds while his wife pops out more mouths to feed. Well, a pox upon Gryffe and any other fool who goes against us. We have seventy-three men here, and more joining us each month. More than enough to handle Bane and any who stand with him.'
Grale gazed around the huge clearing, with its forty crude roundhouses. Men and women in ragged clothes were everywhere, sitting – as was he – surrounded by squalor and stench. By the stream a woman was washing out several blankets, beating them with a rock, perhaps trying to kill the lice that infested them. At the far hut he could see Asha, on her knees, a large bearded man rutting with her in full view of everyone. No-one took any notice. Grale's heart sank. He gazed down at his mutilated left hand, and remembered the days before a Stone gladius had slashed away three of his fingers. He had been a man then. A hero. Even through his pain he had joyed in the victory of Cogden Field. Had anyone predicted that years later he would be sitting in this foul place, listening to men talk of robbery and murder, he would have laughed aloud. He was not laughing now.
A man came running into the camp. 'Riders coming!' he shouted. Instantly every man within earshot ran into his roundhouse, emerging with a weapon. Some carried daggers, others swords or axes.
Lorca surged to his feet. 'How many?' he asked.
'Two! Bane and Gryffe.'
'Two, you miserable piece of goat shit? You alarmed the camp for two?'
At that moment Bane and Gryffe came riding through the trees. Grale smiled as he remembered the first time he had met Bane, several years ago, in the clearing where the mystic lad had reminded him of Cogden Field and days of glory.
The two riders drew up close to Lorca and dismounted. Bane was carrying a long hunting lance, and a short sword hung at his hip. He moved past Lorca without a word and walked to Lorca's hut. Once there he reversed the lance and placed the haft on the frozen ground. Then he rammed it deep into the earth.
'What are you doing?' asked Lorca. 'I have no need of a lance.'
What happened next was so sudden that all the men in the clearing just stood in shock. Bane swung towards Lorca, his short sword flashing into his hand. Before the outlaw leader could react, the blade slashed into his neck, crunching through the vertebrae and slicing clear. As Lorca's body started to topple Bane struck again. This time the head rolled clear. Bane lifted it by the hair and carried it to the lance. Raising the head Bane rammed it down over the iron point and stepped back. The lance quivered from side to side, blood oozing from the severed head and spilling to the ground. Then he walked to the decapitated corpse, cleaned his sword on the dead man's clothes, and sheathed it.
The men and women of Lorca's band stood staring at the head on the lance. It was as if a spell had been cast over them. Grale cast his gaze over the group.
'Does anyone else here wish to renegotiate our agreement?' asked Bane, his voice cold.
The thin figure of Wik was the first to react. 'What if we do?' he asked.
'You'll get the same response as I have just delivered to the dear departed Lorca.'
'You think to kill all seventy of us?' asked Wik, gesturing his men forward.
'Do I need to?' asked Bane, moving in close to Wik. 'Have you not fed well through this winter? And what will you do when I am dead and gone? Seventy men, you say. And why do you have such numbers now? It is because there is food here, and many of those who joined you were starving at home. Without my farm and my cattle how many will remain, Wik? Twenty? Less?' Suddenly he laughed. 'I am through talking,' he said. 'Make your decision.' His sword flashed once more. Wik jumped back. The powerful figure of Gryffe stepped forward, a broadsword in his hands, to stand beside Bane. Grale read Wik's intent. Pride was strong in the outlaw leader, and he was about to order his men to attack.
'Wait!' shouted Grale, striding forward into the group. 'What he said makes sense. We have a constant supply of food, and when he sold his cattle to Govannan he brought us a tenth. Or, to be more precise, he brought Lorca a tenth. We made an agreement with him. Lorca broke it. And Lorca paid for his treachery. Let that be an end to it.'
'You have no say in this!' stormed Wik. 'You are not the leader here.'
'No, I am not,' said Grale. He swung and pointed to the head on the lance. 'He is! Shall we ask him for his views? I say we should call for a show of hands.' He raised his voice. 'How many here want to see our food supplies ended?' No-one raised their hands. 'Then that should settle it,' he said, turning and walking back to his roundhouse.
For a moment there was silence, and in that silence the tension eased. The seventy outlaws, weapons ready, awaited an order from Wik. Wik looked at Bane and shrugged. 'Most of us were not in favour of Lorca's actions,' he said. 'Cascor was a good man, and did not deserve to be cut down. Does our agreement still hold?'
'Of course. Though I'll need a man to replace Cascor for the spring gathering.'
Wik nodded. 'I'd offer him to you,' he said, gesturing at Grale, 'but he's only got one good hand.'
'I'll take him,' said Bane. 'If he wants to work for me.' He grinned. 'Maybe he'd prefer to stay here and become leader.' Wik scowled, then laughed.
'You are an unusual man, Bane. What made you think you could ride in here, kill Lorca, and ride out again?'
'I didn't expect to ride out,' admitted Bane. He glanced around at the waiting men. 'You'd better start thinking of limiting your numbers,' he added. 'Either that or start a new tribe. No way will you be able to feed many more than this.'
'I have been thinking the same,' agreed Wik.
The twin invasion was proving a logistical nightmare for Connavar and his generals. Fiallach was sent south with one thousand Iron Wolves and six hundred Horse Archers, and ordered to gather fighting men from the Norvii. 'Do not', Connavar urged him, 'seek a direct clash with Jasaray. Avoid a major battle at all costs, no matter what the enemy tries to do. Instead destroy his cavalry and his scouts.'
'You can rely on me, Conn,' said Fiallach.
'I do rely on you, my friend. But Jasaray is a cunning and pitiless enemy. He will stop at nothing to force you into combat.'
Meanwhile Bendegit Bran was gathering troops from all over the north, ready to march against Shard and his fifteen thousand Sea Wolves.
At Old Oaks Connavar faced a growing problem. The five thousand inhabitants of Seven Willows and the
