She’d always been able to talk her way out of trouble, or into an extra share of food. She’d even pulled the fool’s hood over Katchka more than once, returning with stories about seeing Leszy in the forest who warned her against picking a certain herb or berry when all the time she’d been playing with spiders or singing to the grass dolls she’d made on the riverbank.
‘You could loosen the ropes a little,’ she said cautiously. These woyaks were a strange people and she’d have to guide him carefully. He might not be ready to betray the old priest all at once, but if she got him to loosen the knots that would be the first step.
She couldn’t help a glance to the door. How much time did she have? She’d have to work quickly before Wislaw had the chance to do anything. From the other side of the hut Yaroslav moaned and it was all she could do to keep from trying to break free, her mouth dry with fear and dread.
‘Just get me some water and I’ll tell you all about the priest. I’m so thirsty and my wrists hurt too. You’re right, he’s got plans and not just against me either. I heard him talking with some of the others.’ She’d hoped that that would be enough to kindle Grunmir’s suspicions; tempting him with the thought that she might have something to bargain with. But the old woyak was in no mood to indulge her.
‘Do not play me for a fool. I may not have Wislaw’s word-craft, or the krol’s ability to hunt out the hearts of men, but I am no petty trickster. There is some mischief here and you are at the centre of it. Wislaw is right, I am one for warcraft and spear-work, but that takes more intelligence than he credits.
‘It takes much more than that priest will ever know to balance your life on a spear point and cast it into the tumult. So we will have an end to your games. Give me something, a reason to let you live. Who are the traitors in the camp? Give me their names and I can go to Krol Gawel. Nobody really wants you to die, not like this.’ He glanced to the skins that flapped loose about the doorway. ‘If we can convince the krol that you are useful then he’ll think twice about giving you over to Wislaw.’
He paused. He’d never trusted the fool priest, never understood the bond that tied the krol to him, but there was something else as well, a trace of genuine affection for the girl. He’d seen many men die, felt the thrill of battle as his axe cut past armour and into muscle and bone, but he’d never been one to waste people.
I’ve seen too much of war and death. The thought came to him as he looked into this girl’s eyes. He’d fathered children as young as her. Where were they now? ‘Wislaw ever keeps his own council and his plans are not easily spilled. But you do know something. Give a reason why you shouldn’t die,’ he whispered, ‘something I can take to the krol.’
‘I don’t have any names for you, and even if I did I doubt your krol would spare me; I am not a duke or a northern earl.’
‘But you know more than you let on. Back there in the ship, you began to say something. You know far more than many would credit, but I am watchful, little Rusalka. So what is it that you have to tell me?’
Iwa felt her body go limp. There was a dull ache from her wrists where the rope had bitten into her flesh and a cold numbing sensation ran across her body. Could she really trust the old woyak? She didn’t want to tell him about magic. Would he really believe her and, even if he did, would he want to help her escape?
‘I would be quick about your story,’ Grunmir said, ‘and do not spare the details. You were on the verge of saying something, but you held back. In the krol’s presence that was the right thing to do. The woyaks would never have taken your side against Wislaw, no matter how much they distrust him. In public his word-craft holds sway, but here, with me, things are different. Now is the time to talk freely.’
‘Perhaps,’ she mumbled as she looked up at Grunmir and wondered how much to tell him. ‘You were right,’ she began, her words slow and carefully weighed, ‘these woods are cursed and you should go, go now, take your woyaks and your krols, but leave the clan in peace. The forest is not for you.’
She licked her lips and wondered what Grunmir would make of all this, but he gave nothing away as he stood before her, his silence willing her to say more. ‘And you are right about Wislaw. I don’t know which gods he truly serves but it is not Piórun or any god that men recognise.
‘Those tattoos of his, they watch and wait, slither about his skin. I think they have sunk into his heart.’ She paused to study the look on the old woyak’s face. He didn’t believe her, not about the tattoos. Nothing more than ink on skin, he’d never seen them move. Surely this girl had imagined it.
And for a moment she thought that he would leave, his face ready to laugh at her stupidity, but something held him back. Not that he believed her, who could credit such a thing? But she’d touched on a deep distrust that stirred within.
He’d been to Cordoba, that white-walled Moorish city,
