He who stood watch over me in that miserable hut.'
There was muttering, followed by questions among themselves.
'Sylvo? Who is he?'
'I have heard the name, and nothing good, but I cannot recall.'
'Sylvo? I too have heard that name. Is he freeman or slave? Serf? Peasant?'
A thin-shanked man with a fringe of reddish hair stood up. He had a sour mouth that matched his expression.
'He is one of mine, this Sylvo. I wish he were not. He is a very cock pimp and a brawler, a drunkard and wencher, and as ugly as Thunor's ass. Yet he is brave enough, and fights well— though he steals too much— and were it not for this I would have hanged him long ago.'
He looked at Blade. 'If you would have such a rascal serve you I give my leave. Watch he does not steal your single pair of breeches.'
There was a roar of laughter. Blade bowed in mockery to the assemblage. Lycanto made a sign and men of arms escorted him from the hall and back to the dismal hut.
As he was leaving Horsa shouted after him: 'Count your cods, stranger. I vow you'll be short when you count them next in Thunor's dungeon.'
Left alone, though he knew the hut well guarded, Blade paced impatiently until Sylvo appeared. The man was slightly tipsy, his mouth smeared with some whore's lip salve, but his beady little eyes were alive with intelligence and excitement.
'Ar, master! You have set them on their ears and every tongue in Sarum Vil to wagging. One thing is certain— there will be a great crowd to see you die. None will want to miss it.'
Blade regarded him with a cold stare. 'I die? You are a prophet, then, as well as an ugly rogue?'
Sylvo stroked the hairs on his chin, the beer fast leaving him. He eyed Blade's massive frame with speculation. 'Nay, master. I am no prophet. And now I think on it mayhap it is Horsa whose cods will end in the fire. I hope so, master, for I like you well— I have forgiven you the blow, for I deserved it— and I have no love for Horsa. He had me whipped once for not bowing low enough. Me, a freeman!'
Blade laughed and clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. 'Then you will serve me in this?'
Sylvo fell to one knee. 'I will serve you, master. Gladly. I am but a scurvy fellow, a sneaksby cull, and a slipgibbet. But for luck— for sometimes Thunor favors rogues— I would be hanged or flayed long since. Yet there is something about you, master— a thing I do not understand— that makes me feel like a man and as good as any. Ar, I will serve you well— even though you have a fist like Thunor's lightning bolts.'
Blade scowled at him. 'Good. Then get off your knees. Never again do that. Speak always to me on eye level, and look straight at me. I am master, and you are man, yet I will be as fair with you as you with me. See to it. And now listen carefully— hear what more I require of you and see if your courage still holds.'
Blade spoke rapidly, firmly, nearly whispering, making sure that Sylvo understood every point. As the man listened, his squint increased and the harelip more pronounced as his jaw dropped. He took off his helmet and raked at a scurfy bald skull with filthy nails.
When Blade finished speaking Sylvo said: 'Ar, master, you are determined on the death of both of us— it will be flaying sure enough. Hanging if we are lucky. We cannot do it— they will be after us like a pack of bitch hounds after a hare.'
'I think not,' Blade said coolly. 'You forget— after I kill Horsa I will have rank and status. They will be drinking and eating themselves into stupor. It may go easier than you think, Sylvo. Just be sure you do your part well. Now, once again, what is it you are to do?'
Sylvo grinned. 'What I had often thought to do before, master, but lacked courage. I go to the house of Queen Alwyth, and I enter and find a likely wench to rape and— and this part I do not like, master.'
Blade frowned. 'You will do it! You pretend to rape. Make no mistake there, Sylvo, or you will feel my hand again. You will merely pretend to rape this maid— be sure she is a servant— and you will perhaps tear her clothes a bit. Frighten her. Let her scream. The louder the better, for I want all the household to flock to her. You may hide your face if you choose. That is up to you.'
Sylvo squinted horribly and his harelip twitched. 'I will mask my beauty, master, never fear for that. The penalty for rape is boiling alive and I am no capon. But what if aught goes amiss? If the Lady Alwyth has drugged your lady perhaps she has hidden her well. I can linger for a few moments only, lest I am murdered by outraged females.'
'I will be quick,' Blade promised. 'And I doubt that Lady Alwyth has hidden Taleen. She must keep to the story of the swooning sickness. I will get the lady— and meet you at the stables. See to it the horses are ready.'
Sylvo made the sign across his breast that Blade had noted before with Taleen. 'Thunor protect us! Stealing horses is another crime on my conscience, and even worse it is punished by the chopping off of arms and legs, with the stumps then tarred and the trunk sewn into a pack of serpents. I am ugly enough now, master. If we fail— '
Blade grinned. 'On your conscience, Sylvo?'
The man grinned back. 'A manner of speaking, master.'
Two men of arms, accompanied by a sub-chief, entered the hut.
The sub-chief, ignoring Sylvo, spoke to Blade. 'The fire ring is prepared, stranger. You will come with us to the armory to select your weapons. At once.'
Blade indicated Sylvo. 'He also. He serves for me.'
'As you wish. Only hasten. Horsa is impatient.'
As they were conducted through the dank, fog-wreathed night Blade whispered to Sylvo. 'This man Horsa— in what manner does he fight? What weapon will he use?'
