Did a shadow flit across his face? “An associate of mine for a long, long time. He lost his hand fighting once, warding my back, when a gang of Saxons ambushed us. He kept on fighting, left-handed, and we escaped.”
What were Saxons? Robbers? “Such a wound should have disabled him, at least. Most men would soon have died of it.”
“We’re a tough pair. But enough. How did you happen to be abroad after dark, Svoboda Volodarovna? You’re clearly not the kind who ordinarily would. It was sheer luck that Rufus and I were in earshot. We’d been having a last cup with a Rus factor I’ve come to know; bade him goodnight since we must rise betimes tomorrow, set off, and then— Ah, it seems God would not let a lady such as you come to sordid grief.”
The wine glowed and thrilled in her blood. She remembered caution, but did find herself blurting out as much as Gleb had revealed on her behalf to Olga Borisovna and ... and, as her voice ran on, to Igor Olegev. Cadoc’s shrewd, quiet questions made it easy.
“Ah,” he murmured at length. “Thank the saints, we did save you from ruin. That besotted mercenary would have left you in no state to hide what had befallen, if he left you alive at all.” He paused. “Whereas you can tell your landlady, and afterward that man who’s playing father to you, that you stayed too late at the church, lost in prayer. It’s nothing unusual hereabouts.”
She bridled. “Shall I give them a falsehood? I have my honor.”
He grinned. “Oh, come now. You’re not fresh out of a cloister.” She didn’t know what that might be, but caught his drift. “How often in your life has a He been more than harmless, been a shield against hurt? Why put the good Gleb in an awkward position, when he has worked so hard on your behalf?” Impudently: “As the go-between who brought Igor the chandler a superb new wife, Gleb can await excellent business deals. Spoil it not for him, Svoboda.”
She covered her confusion by draining her cup. He refilled it. “I understand,” he said. “You are young, and the young are apt to be idealistic. Nevertheless, you have imagination and boldness beyond your years, more than most men do, that you would set forth into an altogether different life. Use that wisdom.”
Sudden desolation welled up in her. She had learned how to turn it into mirth of a sort. “You talk as my grandfather might have,” she said. “How old are you?”
His tone bantered. “Not yet worn out.”
Eagerness to know surged like lust. She leaned forward, aware of his awareness of her bosom. The wine buzzed, bees in a clover meadow. “You’ve told nothing of yourself. What are you?” A prince or boyar, ending his father’s name not in “ev” but in “vitch”? The byblow of a forest god?
“A merchant,” he said. “I’ve followed this route for years, building my wealth till I own a ship. My stock is fine things: amber and furs from the North, cloths and delicacies from the South, costly without being too bulky or heavy.” Maybe the drink had touched him a bit also, for he added, puzzlingly, half under his breath, “It lets me meet people of many different kinds. I am curious about them.”
“Where are you from?”
“Oh, I came through Novgorod, as traders from my parts do, by river, lake, portage, to here. Ahead He the great Dniepr and its falls—hardest of the portages, that, and our military escort much needed in case of raiders off the steppe—then the sea, and at last Constantinople. Not that I make the journey every year. It’s long both ways, after all. Most cargoes are transshipped here at Kiyiv. I return to Swedish and Danish ports, or ofttimes to England. However, as I said, I want to travel as much as I’m able. Have I answered you windily enough?”
She shook her head. “No. I meant, what is your nation?”
He spoke with more care. “Rufus and I—Cymriu, the dwellers call that country. It is part of the same island as England, is the last of the ancient Britain, best for me because nobody there would mistake me for English. Rufus doesn’t matter, he’s my old retainer, he’s gone by the nickname so long that he’s well-nigh forgotten any else. I, though—Cadoc ap Rhys.”
“I’ve never heard of those lands.”
“No,” he sighed, “I didn’t expect you had.”
“I’ve a feeling you’ve traveled more than you just said.”
“I have wandered quite widely, true.”
“I envy you,” burst from her. “Oh, I envy you!”
He raised his brows. “What? It’s a hard life, often dangerous, always lonely.”
“But free. Your own master. If I could fare like you—“ Her eyes stung. She swallowed hard and tried to lay hold on the tears before they broke loose.
Turned grave, he shook his head in his turn. “You do not know what becomes of camp followers, Svoboda Volodarovna. I do.”
Understanding washed over her. “Y-you are a lonely man, Cadoc,” she said around a thickness. “Why?”
“Make the best of that life you have,” he counselled. “Each in our own way, we are all of us trapped in ours.”
“You too.” Your strength must fade, your pride shall crumble, in one more blink of time you will go down into the earth and soon after that your very name will be forgotten, dust on the wind.
He winced. “Yes. Thus it seems.”
“I’ll remember you!” she cried.
“What?”
“I— Nothing, nothing. I am shaken and weary and, and I think a little drunk.”
“Do you wish to sleep till your clothes are ready? I’ll stay quiet— Svoboda, you weep.” Cadoc came around the table, stooped over her, laid an arm across her shoulders.
“Forgive me, I’m being weak and, and foolish. Not myself, please believe me, not myself.”
“No, certainly not, dear venturer. I know how you feel.”
His lips brushed her hair. Blindly she turned her head toward him, and knew he would kiss her. It was gentle. Her tears made it taste like the sea.
“I am an honorable man, of sorts,” he said against her cheek. How warm were his breath, his body. “I’d not force you to anything.”
“You need not,” she heard through the great soft thunders.
“I depart shortly after dawn, Svoboda, and your marriage awaits you.”
She gripped him hard, nails into his coat. “Three husbands I have had already,” she told him, “and sometimes, at the lakeside, the spring feast of Kupala— Oh, yes, Cadoc.”
For an instant she saw that she had let out too much. Now she must somehow answer his questions, with her head awhirl... But he gave her his hand, it was as if he lifted her to her feet, and went by her side to a bed.
Thereafter she was again in a dream. Her wanting him had come over her as a torrent. If she foresaw anything whatsoever, it was a slaking. He was not a big man, but he might be strong, he might take a while to finish, long enough, and then she could topple into sleep. Instead, he took the robe from her through a time that swayed on and on, and guided her to help him off with his garb, always his fingers and his mouth knowing what to do, what to evoke; and though the bed was narrow, when he brought her down upon it he still stroked and touched and kissed until she wailed for him to open the heavens and unloose the suns.
Afterward they caressed, laughed, japed, spread two straw ticks on the floor that they might have real room to move about, played, loved, his head rested between her breasts, she urged him anew and yet anew, he swore he had never known the match to her and the believing of him was a tall fire.
The glass in the window grayed. Candles had burned down to stubs. The smoke of them drifted bitter through a chill that she finally began to feel.
“I must see you to your lodging,” he said in her arms.
“Oh, not at once,” she begged.
“The fleet leaves soon. And you have your own world to meet. First you will need rest, Svoboda, dear.”
“I am weary as if I’d plowed ten fields,” she murmured. A giggle. “But you did the plowing. You rascal, I’m hardly able to walk.” She nuzzled the silky beard. “Thank you, thank you.”
“I’ll sleep soundly on the ship, myself. Afterward I’ll wake and remember you. And long for you, Svoboda. But that is the price, I suppose.”
“If only—”
“I told you, the trade I follow these days is a bad one for a woman.”
