Bard I (28 page)

‘Freely!’ The king looked at Tosti with a certain cruel humor. ‘I believe you had it wrong when you said this one is neither man nor woman.’

‘Lord,’ Tosti said hoarsely, as though the word strangled him, ‘he’s your father’s enemy, and a spy! You cannot give him right of battle!’

‘Cannot?’ Cerdic echoed. ‘By Wotan, I am King! Will you fight him or not?’

Tosti looked agonised. His whole hand and his marred one lifted, to claw shreds from the air. In torment he said, ‘No.’

Felimid could not believe he had heard aright. Tosti refusing combat? Ice burning! Stone melting! The wolf suckling the lamb!

Cerdic would have had any other man who said such a thing scourged out of his burg. With Tosti, even he went carefully.

‘Then this ends it,’ he said. ‘There will be no fight between you, and the bard remains my guest. So may you, Tosti, if you wish. You will pay a due wergild as compensation to the man you maimed, and make no more trouble. Above all, you will not go berserk here again.’ That was a little bit like commanding a thunderstorm not to produce lightning. But there was nothing incongruous or funny in Cerdic’s concluding words. ‘If you do, you will be slain out of hand, though you be my father’s chief war-man fifty times over.’

Tosti nodded bleakly.

The bard felt delighted, and relieved, and enormously puzzled. Fighting another single combat with Tosti bulked large among the many things he would rather not do. His wish had been granted, and questioning luck was foolish. But he wanted to know why.

He didn’t fancy for a moment that Tosti was afraid of him. He didn’t think either that Tosti was planning something subtle; the berserk wasn’t capable of it. Some passion or inner restriction even stronger than blood-hunger was holding him back.

Whatever it was, it made Felimid a center of admiration and envy. Within the hour, it was known throughout Hamo that he’d given Tosti Fenrir’s-get defeat and wounding once, and that Tosti had refused to fight him a second time. Eldrida was frankly awed. Cynric the atheling sought Felimid’s company and took him hunting. Later they looked over the king’s long war­boats, which were the dread of the Narrow Sea. Cynric said they would be fitted, provisioned and ready to sail in ten days more.

Cynric the atheling proved merry and likeable, if full of himself. No doubt he was equally cheerful when he killed men. His father had been just, dignified and amiable as be decided between Tosti and Felimid; but the bard could not forget his harsh laughter as he told of Glinthi’s laming, or his wine-cup made from a human skull.

That night, Felimid sat at the king’s table. He sang this time of the hero Sigifrid Fafnir’s-bane, and the breaking of the Burgundian kingdom by the Huns. Tosti sat staring before him with ice-pale eyes, drinking steadily without joy or apparent effect. A miasmal aura of frozen malevolence and gloom swirled about him, and the dullest men there contrasted him with Felimid and preferred the bard, even if he was a stranger, not of their race.

Felimid sensed the general favor. He traded upon it to give them a tale of his own people. He sang of his ancestor Ogma, the battle-champion and greatest poet of the Tuatha De Danann, of the days when iron was a new thing in the western world. and of how Goibniu the smith had forged a weapon for him from the heart of a fallen star.

A leader of the invaders had agreed to meet Ogma in single combat. If Ogma won, the land of Erin would be divided fairly among the warring tribes, and if he lost, ruinously-at least for the Tuatha De Danann.

Ogma’s sword had been stolen from him by magic and treachery. the night before the combat. Having given his oath to do battle, he went to fight with bronze against an iron blade. He lost the combat and his head. For the Tuatha De Danann, it was the beginning of their end as rulers of Ireland.

The slayer of Ogma had been an honorable man who did not learn the truth about his victory until the thief, the betrayer, came whining to him for his reward. He received it. The victor killed him with one blow of his hand.

The story was well received. A invaders themselves, the Jutes relished a tale in which the invaders won. A sudden narrowing in resolution of Tosti’s cold eyes was not noticed by any.

When Felimid sought the barn. a woman’s form moved out of the shadows where she had waited for him. The slanting moonlight showed him Eldrida’s braided hair and generously curved body, Eldrida’s smile; but somehow as he looked she seemed to waver in his sight, like an image in a rippled pool. He hadn’t drunk that much. Suddenly wary. he bent upon her the bardic sight that pierces glamour and illusory seeming. The moonlight shimmered about her.

‘Ah, Felimid, lover,’ she greeted him.

Her appearance melted and ran like wrought gold in a cauldron. Her body was more slender, though not a whit less desirable. Her hair darkened somewhat, and fell like a cataract to her finely fashioned ankles. Her lips curved upward at the corners in faint mockery. By daylight, he knew. her eyes would be grey, not blue.

Astonishment mastered him. He said, ‘Vivayn!’

She took a pace back, astonished herself. Then she laughed. ‘Ah, so magic does not blind you! You are a true bard of the ancient kind. Well, but how was I to know? There are so few left in these degenerate times.’

‘Yes. it is sad. And what has become of Eldrida in these degenerate times, J wonder?’

‘I left her in my bower. in my bed. She wears my semblance as I wear hers. The illusion will fade at dawn, and she will be none the worse. I have given her a sleeping draught, Felimid of Erin. She knows nothing. and will remember nothing.’

‘Cairbre and Ogma! What if Cynric bursts in upon her. naming with desire? She’s his half-sister is that maybe your notion of a joke?’

‘What beautiful concern!’ she purred. ‘I like it.

Eldrida would also, my brave nightingale. Of that I’m sure. No. It’s not at all my notion of a joke, and you need not be afraid for her. I whispered a word in Cynric’s ear as I left the hall, to ensure that he will not seek me tonight, or any woman he thinks is me. Now confess that I’m considerate.’

She raised graceful arms and intertwined her fingers behind his neck. Her hint at a smile became a full one. She was scented with amber and civet from far places, and her own female pungency, subtle in her as it was strong in some others. Felimid found her hard to resist, and did not particularly want to try.

Yet . . .

‘I’d not dishonor Cynric,’ he said, thinking how feeble that sounded.

‘Cynric?’ She sneered the name. ‘Let me tell you how much he cares for me! You have seen the skull his father drinks from?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘It’s my father’s.’ she said simply.

‘Gods!’ Felimid breathed. He searched her eyes. ‘And this then is in the way of retribution?’

She laughed like chiming bronze,·such petty revenge?

I, a king’s daughter and a witch? No. Felimid of Erin! If I wanted revenge, I’d have taken it on father and son with agonising poison by this! But I’d have wed a king’s son in any event, if the sea-wolves had not invaded, and been offered as little choice in the matter– so what odds? Cynric is handsome and young and brave. and happily more stupid than you. I don’t mind him. But you will see why I feel no loyalty to him.’ Her touch worked subtle witchcraft at the base of his neck all the while. ‘So comfort your pride. This is not for spite. I’m here because I wish to be.’

No answer he made. He’d uttered enough pomposities for a year. Tosti might carve him yet, and if that befell. he did not wish to spend his last moment with the maddening thought that a king’s beautiful daughter had offered herself, and had him deny her.

He kissed her warmly from brow to chin, lingering at the soft well of deliciousness that was her mouth. Brooches and buckles opened though no fingers had touched them; the panels of her over-tunic slipped into the hay. But she left her gown to him, difficult as it was to take off past the mass of her hair. A prize to be properly valued ought to be struggled for.

III

The lady stood at her bower door,

As straight as willow wand;

The blacksmith stood a little forbye,

Wi’ hammer in his hand.

Traditional Ballad

If Vivayn was selfish in most other ways, she did not make a selfish lover. She gave delight and delighted in giving, but remained awake and thoughtful after the bard was asleep. Her meditations were not of the softer sort.

She hadn’t intended him to know whose long thighs parted for him. She had put on Eldrida’s appearance for that reason. Well, he knew now. She did not await betrayal from him. Vivayn was a judge of men; she found it needful to be. None the less, it caused her inquietude that the bard knew.

Tosti might succeed in slaying him.

She did not shudder at herself for considering it. She would be sorry if it happened, but not in any deep or lasting way, and there would be a certain relief. A danger to her would be gone. She shivered as she thought of Jutish ways with unfaithful wives, and yet it did not enter her mind to ensure the bard’s death herself. He was sensible. She could reach an accommodation with him.

She felt among the hay for the fastenings of her tunic. Worn without the gown, it bared her long legs to the waist, and her sides up to the shoulder as well. An enticing display. Not that it mattered, since only Felimid had the sight to appreciate it, and he had already enjoyed much more. To other eyes than Felimid’s it would seem a simple linen shift.

She drew on her shoes. The man did not stir, but Vivayn sensed that he was awake. She whispered an explanation, and left him.

She had hardly set foot outside the barn when she was roughly seized, and gagged by a hardened palm. A huge figure confronted her. The moon silvered his pale beard and the immense white wolfskin over his shoulders, but could not soften his gruesome scars. The pelt was all he wore. His fee were unshod, and he held a long, coldly glittering axe.

A smaller man was with him; smaller, although not small. The scarred giant made him insignificant by contrast. The unseen earl who held her made three. Tosti had found allies. then. In Cerdic’s own household! Vivayn looked at him. fear filling her mouth with a taste of tarnished copper.

‘Now let us see what this bard is made of,’ Tosti said.

They entered the barn. Felimid had heard them coming. He faced them with weapon drawn before they could come near him. Tosti grinned wickedly.

‘We have your bed-mate, bard. Shall we dicker? I know from Kent that you are soft for your women. You did not leave that other slut behind.’

‘And what is it you want?’

‘Give up your sword!’

Felimid was bound to laugh. ‘That you may butcher me with ease? And then her? If you want Kincaid, come and take him!’

‘I’ll butcher you finely, whelp-tomorrow. For tonight, all I wish is the sword. Come to the fighting ground with common metal. like your forebear. Die like him!’

Comprehension came dazzlingly. ‘So that’s the way of it? Kincaid is what you fear! Kincaid, not myself! And I gave you the notion of stealing him, did I not? But why fear him so much?’

The shining weapon hummed in Felimid’s hand. He recalled his former fight with Tosti, when the berserk bad rushed upon him, wild with rage, and how he’d looked so strangely at the sinisterly beautiful blade once his first mad fury was over.. He’d been handily beaten while Felimid walked away untouched.

‘That sword is too good for you,’ Tosti had said. ‘When I kill you, it will be mine.’

Had he desired Kincaid to fight with, or to prevent any from lifting Kincaid against him? Kincaid with his pommel of silver, and blade inscribed with silver––

‘You are a werwolf, then,’ Felimid said simply. Tosti’s companions did not look happy.

Tosti replied in a feral snarl, ‘The sword or your bitch’s throat cut!’

‘Hold!’ the bard said urgently. ‘Let’s talk further! Say that I do surrender Kincaid. Say, even, that I’m not then cut down at once. What of, hum, Eldrida?’

‘These two will take her, and the sword, into the forest, keeping them there until I’ve finished with you. She will live till our fight is over, in any case. If you lose. as you will, you will be past caring-but you may hope to win, and do something for her. It’s better than watching her stuck like a sow at once.’ He grinned again. ‘Or maybe you do not think so? By Wotan, I wouldn’t, in your place!’

He didn’t know that she was Vivayn. The two earls would know, when the glamour faded at dawn, and if they had the wit to cobble together a yam that masked their guilt with hers, why she was done. And Eldrida with her. They would go to the crabs side by side.

Vivayn was thinking the same. The threatening kiss of the dagger’s edge across her tender throat tumbled her calculations about like dropped firewood. Even a cut throat was better than the death Jutes gave an adulteress.

Behind and beneath her terror she thought,
I’ve played dangerously. . . I’ve no right to whimper. But I’ve surely right and reason to be afraid. And I am! Felimid! Don’t let them–

A voice like sliding rock in a cavern roared, ‘Bastards! Turn about and die!’

The squat crippled shape was grotesque in the moonlight slanting through the barn door. Her captor’s consternation let Vivayn tear free and run. Spears lifted. Glinthi dropped one crutch. leaned on the other, and swung a short heavy hammer like some stunted Thor. He shattered a earl’s knee. With a howl of agony, the man fell. Glinthi swung his hammer again, with all the strength of his short. massive arm. It caved in the earl’s chest.

The other showed great cowardice or presence of mind. and legged it. Racing towards the hall, he shouted accusations of all kinds and yammered for the king, the king! The bard had gone mad! He was trying to murder Tosti to silence him!

None barred his way to demand that he make sense. The king’s great hall had only one guard, and that one was not made of flesh and blood, as the earl remembered too late.

With treachery in his heart, he dashed between the sea-dragon’s skeletal jaws.

They clashed shut. Pieces dropped from between them. Black in the moonlight. blood ran down the great fangs.