Hero Born
But Boar was still speaking, enjoying lording it over his captive audience. ‘Remember, you are our pay-day. So eat and drink when it’s given to you, and keep yourselves clean. I don’t want to go home to my wife with my pay short just because any of you fall sick.’
Brann was unsure which was the worse thought: the idea of what it must be like for some woman to be married to such an obnoxious oaf, or the image of the sort of woman who could place Boar in a state of fear.
Boar reached into a heavy canvas bag and produced a loaf and a hunk of cheese. Breaking off part of the bread, he threw it and the cheese into Brann’s lap, before picking up a wooden bowl. He leant back out of the doorway to fill it from a barrel of fresh water that stood in the short corridor.
Setting the bowl down beside Brann, he grunted. ‘Make the most of the bread and cheese. Fresh food don’t come your way very often at sea. But you maggots weren’t the only things we brought back from our fun ashore.’
He turned away and snorted hugely in amusement, the noise lasting the length of his passage to the ladder. The sound would normally have blunted Brann’s appetite, but not today. The appearance of the food in his lap had awakened a hunger that had been lying dormant until now, but had re-emerged with a vengeance. He picked up the cheese but, as he chewed it, his arm drooped and the food fell and rolled against Gerens’s leg. Gerens turned to see Brann slumped, deep in slumber and snoring gently.
Gerens carefully wrapped the remaining cheese in as clean a rag as he could find and picked up the bowl of water. Lifting Brann’s head upright, he touched the rim of the bowl to his lips. In a reflex action, Brann drank.
A boy close by sniggered, nudging the lad beside him. ‘Look,’ he snorted gleefully. ‘He’s trying to get him to wet himself.’
Without looking up, Gerens said darkly, ‘I am trying to keep him in health. But if you favour sport of that sort, wait until you sleep yourself and I will see what I can arrange.’
The laughing stopped. The boy looked at Gerens. ‘Why do you help him?’
Gerens shrugged. ‘I feel like I should. So I do.’ His stare swept onto the boy. ‘Are you saying I should not?’ The boy shook his head, but Gerens had already turned back to Brann and helped him to two further swallows. In a lower voice, he spoke again. ‘That will do, chief. Enough to keep you going. Any more, and those fools will have their entertainment.’
As he put down the bowl, Brann mumbled in his sleep. It was almost incoherent, but Gerens could just make it out. ‘Thank you, mother.’
With a hint of a smile, the boy replied softly, ‘Thank the gods you did not say that loudly enough for the others to hear. I do not know which of us would have suffered more if you had.’
On deck, hours later, the slow, steady drumbeat was muffled, for sound carried further at night and it was not generally wise at sea to advertise one’s presence unnecessarily. It also helped any of the crew who were managing to rest, to do so.
The night was clear, the stars sharp, the large moon bright enough to give visibility to the horizon, the sea peaceful and – most relevantly – the breeze gentle, so the oars were needed to maintain their progress, albeit at a reduced rate. Every third bench was rowing, while the others slept; the remaining slaves would follow suit in two further shifts, so that all would be able to rest for the majority of the night.
On the raised deck at the stern, Boar broke wind violently. ‘There,’ he declared. ‘That’s what I think of those maggots in the hold.’
The steersman grunted, glad he was upwind of the foul oaf, who smelt badly enough without the aid of flatulence. ‘That’s what you think of everything, Boar.’
The fat man spat over the side. ‘Nah, these are the worst ever. We’ll be lucky to clear our wages this trip. And there’s one wee runt thinks he’s better than us, away chatting to the old witch below. He’ll be the first I break, wait and see. He’s no better than Boar, that’s what he’ll learn.’ He spat again.
‘Would it not be better to keep them healthy, Boar? You know, keep them looking good for the market,’ the steersman suggested. ‘More money for us. Better idea, no?’
Another voice spoke from the shadows. ‘And a better idea to show more respect for Our Lady. Would that maybe help, Boar?’
Had there been more light, it would have been clearly visible that the colour had drained from Boar’s face. The steersman, without being able to see it, knew it to be so nonetheless, and smiled his amusement.
Boar spluttered. ‘Yes, Captain. Good idea. I mean, sorry, Captain.’ He regained his composure, such as it ever was. ‘Got to catch some sleep, Captain. Better go below. G’night.’
‘Another good idea, Boar,’ the Captain said evenly. ‘Good night.’
Boar stomped off. The deck was silent again, but for the soft drumbeat and the creaks and splashes of the oars. The steersman broke the silence. ‘Why do you keep him, Captain? Few skills, too many weaknesses, potential for trouble. You know that if you want his throat cut and him dumped over the side there will be no shortage of volunteers.’
The tall, black-clad figure looked at the veteran warrior. The man was one of his oldest companions and an astute reader of men, although this assessment of Boar had hardly taxed his talents in that respect.
‘I know, Cannick, I know.’ He sighed. ‘And you know he is not the sort I would normally choose, had I the choice. But also you know that circumstances do not, these days, allow me to be over-particular. And you know men well enough to understand we have been lucky with the standard that fate has, mostly, given us.’
Cannick spat over the side. ‘We have been lucky, Einarr.’ The Captain did not stir at the use of his name. ‘From the first campaigns I fought with your father as young mercenaries who needed only the promise of gold and excitement to turn our faces towards lands we had never even heard named before, to the time when your grandfather’s death called your father back home, I served with men good and bad. Sometimes the bad are the ones you want more at your back in a fight; some of the worst have saved my life. But some of the best have stood by me when the worst have run, and your father was the best of those. When disease robbed me of my family and someone else’s war took my home, I had nothing. I was freed by the worst of fates to determine my own path, and I could have gone anywhere. But the path I chose was to your father’s home, because all have their benefits, but the best have the benefits that sit most comfortably on your shoulders.
‘These men you have here, you have indeed been lucky to find signing up with you. All are true, most are good men and all will stand by you. All except one. He is as rotten as I have come across, but we are in a dirty business. Everyone in this business expects to get his hands dirty, but there’s always a need for someone who will shove his hands in shit without a second thought.’
The Captain sighed. ‘We have indeed been lucky with them, Cannick. You and Our Lady downstairs are the only ones I trust with my name, but these men I trust with my life. They are capable in combat and are generally a good bunch of lads, caught, like us, in something we’d rather not have to be a part of, had we the luxury of choice. Which is why I wonder why we need a man like Boar. He is different from the rest of us: he belongs in this life. If truth be told, he enjoys it.’
‘You are right, old friend,’ the veteran warrior agreed, his gaze lingering on the moonlit horizon. ‘And that is exactly why he has his uses at the moment – because he belongs in this life. We are in it, whether we like it or not, and we need men like him to make it work until we can be rid of it. But you are right: he does enjoy it… too much. His use will continue until fate decrees that it should stop. He will push someone too far one day, he will become too much for someone, and it will be surprising how quickly his advantages become less important to us. In the meantime, though, you need to treat him as you would a fighting dog – keep him on a short leash and watch him carefully until the times arise when he is of use. Do you know what I mean?’ Cannick smiled again, but this time grimly. ‘But I do hope I am around to see it when the gods decide he has outlived his usefulness.’
The Captain looked at him. ‘As usual, you are right. But, as for the last, who will be their tool, I know not. I only know it will not be me. I will kill a man in battle without hesitation, but I will not end a man’s life merely because I do not like him. However, when his end comes, I am sure it will be of his own making and we will not need to prompt it. He is good enough at that himself. And, when it does happen, I will trust that the gods have indeed decreed it, and who am I to judge against their decision?’
‘Who indeed, boy, who indeed?’ Cannick said softly as the tall dark figure descended the ladder and made his way forward to check with the lookout, as he did every night at this time, before retiring to bed.
The Captain reached the prow and held himself steady beside the warrior on duty. The ship reared up at the front into an ornate figurehead of a blue-painted dragon, rearing in silent fury to the height of two men and half as much again. On the back of the head was a small platform that was only a few feet higher than the raised area at the stern; but even just a few feet made a difference in the distance a man could see over the waves.
The lookout was expecting the visit. ‘Just one thing, Captain,’ he reported, pointing. ‘A ship to port, keeping close to the horizon.’ He pointed almost due east, back towards the land. ‘It has been there a while. I would have called you if it had got any closer, but it has kept its distance and I knew you would be coming by at this time anyway. It’s closer to the coast so it may just be a fishing boat. Thought I’d better mention it, though.’
It was not unusual to see other ships at sea – this was a well-used area, after all – and it normally sufficed to keep a wary eye on other vessels until they passed out of sight. ‘That’s fine. Watch it closely. Have me wakened if it does get closer before dawn. And pass on that order to your relief.’
The Captain returned to the stern, stopping at the base of the ladder. ‘Steersman, one degree towards the east. There’s a ship out there, to the west. See if it has matched our change of course when the sun comes up, after you have rested.’
‘I can see the shape, now you point it out,’ Cannick confirmed. ‘Thank the gods for the light nights; in a few months we wouldn’t have known it was there at all.’ He squinted. ‘Couldn’t have said it was a ship, right enough. Lookout has good eyes.’
The Captain paused as he opened the door to his cabin. ‘We may all have cause to be thankful for that before long. Pass on the orders when you are relieved. And if any of the men come up on deck, send them back below and tell them I said they should get as much rest as possible. Best to be ready.’
He was in his bed in moments; the advice on rest applied to him, too. But sleep did not come as quickly. He lay, his eyes fastened on the ceiling but seeing nothing but the faces of an old woman and a frightened boy. And a phrase rang, over and over, echoing in his mind: ‘When heroes and kings come to call…’
In a dark, damp, crowded room below the Captain’s cabin, a boy, confused, battered in body and mind, numb shock his only defence against unbridled terror and despair, slept the deep, dreamless sleep brought only by utter physical exhaustion.
But had he known the day that lay ahead of him when he woke, his eyes may never have closed in sleep at all.
Chapter 4
They were coming, he knew that. No messenger had forewarned him, but living for years, so many long years, in a world limited to the dust and gloom of these few chambers perversely had brought with it an acute sense of the wider place around him. Servants and retainers moving about their daily routines around his quarters, unseen beyond his doors but betrayed by their soft murmuring and quiet tread, created a rhythm that needed only the merest change to attract his attention. He had listened.
At first, there had been abject dejection that his existence had descended to such banality but, before long, there was a resurgence of the curiosity of his youth, the voracious appetite for information that had been far more the reason for his success than the chilling ruthlessness for which he had been known to the public eye. He became absorbed in the noises, the movements, the rhythms. Over time, the changes, and not just the routine, brought understandable meaning and, bereft of any distractions, he had become adept at reading that meaning. And it had helped the hours to pass.
From time to time, they would come for him. When they remembered that he could be of some use. And they would be surprised at his knowledge of the world outside his chambers. Not of the movements of servants – such trivialities were so far beneath them that they had no interest in that class other than knowing that the required services had been performed even before they realised they were needed. No, their surprise would be at his knowledge of the machinations of court politics, and even of the swirling currents of affairs within and between nations. But, then, he had never seen servants and their movements as trivial. Not in the sense that he had appreciated them, of course, but rather in the sense that every one of them was an opportunity to be exploited: the wine-bearer waiting behind the pair of nobles deep in conversation; the ostler helping an ambassador dismount while he dropped his impassive visage and ranted, safe from the gaze of the court; the handmaiden in the bedchamber of the visiting king’s wife; the concubine in the bedchamber of the visiting king. He had, in previous decades, made it his business to know by name every servant in the palace. Few of those were still in service, but enough remained to paint a picture of the world near and far. Whenever he was summoned, he revealed only a fraction of what he knew – it went against the grain to do otherwise – but he gave them enough to engender a sense of wonder, or suspicion, at his knowledge; he cared not which, he enjoyed both. They concealed their surprise, of course, but he had spent too many years reading other men to miss the glimpses of their true feelings. He had so few moments of genuine pleasure any more, but these times were counted among them. He, too, would never reveal such emotion, but he was well-practised at concealing it, and they were mere novices in reading it. And an air of mysticism was always handy.
Nevertheless, as he left them, they would always see him as their fool. And he would always see them as his puppets. And he despised them for both.
Unseen knuckles rapped softly at the door. They had come to summon him to the court. He rose and grunted acknowledgement. By the time the servant entered the room, the smile that had played around the corners of his eyes had been replaced by his familiar cold mask.
He was ready.
****
Shortly before dawn, the Captain woke from a fitful sleep. Sitting up, he pulled on his boots and shirt and reached automatically for the sword from lying beside him in the bunk. Some old habits refuse to die. He buckled it on as he left the room and, in moments, was below deck.
He hesitated. Even after all these years, he felt a touch of nerves before entering her presence. Taking a breath, as Brann had done only a few hours before, he walked in. He stood, looking down at the bundle of rags, unsure if he should wake her. As he watched, however, he gradually became aware of her face, eyes unblinking, staring calmly back at him.
He jumped. Slightly.
‘Think you I was unaware of you, boy?’ she said softly. ‘Much use to you I would be, were I not even able to notice your approach. Much use indeed.’
He bowed his head, a faint smile twitching the corners of his mouth. ‘Apologies, my lady,’ he said. He was about to continue, but she pre-empted him.
‘Want to know what the day brings, do you? Want to know of approaching others?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You know the other ship?’ he asked.
She shook her head slightly, the charms tinkling gently. ‘I see many things, my boy, ships, weather, mortal spirits among them, but I recognise the identity of no ship but this one,’ she said quietly. ‘But sometimes I cast the bones for myself, not just when you ask, so I do. Today I did. And so already I know of others approaching. Would you know more?’
He nodded, once. ‘I would, my lady. As ever, anything you can tell, I would know.’
The bones were lying on the floor in front of her. With a surprisingly deft sweep of her arm, she caught them up and cast them in a single movement. They rattled to a halt and, without taking her eyes from them, she reached to the side and drew one of the candles closer. ‘Danger approaches, twofold,’ she said.
He stiffened. ‘Two ships?’
She shook her head. ‘Specific, it is not. But men or weather, all that approaches means this vessel harm, so it does. Take care, so you should.’
‘We have few friends in this world, and none out here in this sea,’ he murmured. ‘Is there anything else?’
She poked one long finger at two of the bones, staring intently at them. She brushed the other relics aside, as if to concentrate on the pair. Silence hung heavy as she stared, unmoving. The Captain checked himself, feeling the urge to hurry her, but knowing the futility of doing so.
She nodded once, as if now sure of something that she had suspected. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There is more. If conflict there is, I cannot say the outcome, neither I can. Conflict will swing many ways, at the whimsy of fate and the decisions of men. But one thing is clear: if you fight or if you run, you will lose some in your charge. How many, and who, is down to you. Down to you, it is. But this much is clear: men will die today.’
He cursed the capriciousness of Calip. Why could the god of luck and chance never allow anything to be straightforward?
She spoke again, her tone final and dismissive. ‘I see no more. Take care and think clearly, so you should. Think clearly as you battle nature and man. Perhaps you can use one against the other.’
‘Use them to fight or to run?’
‘I see no more,’ she repeated, sweeping up the bones and watching them as she fiddled with them absently. ‘Take care, boy.’
He thanked her, and turned to go, his shadow flickering in the candlelight. As he reached the doorway, he stopped, his fingers tracing the scar on his cheek as he stared, his eyes on the floor but his mind clearly elsewhere.
Without looking up, she murmured, ‘Something else bothers you?’ She almost sounded amused.
He turned. ‘It does, and that you well know.’ He could have sworn that she smiled in the dim shadows. ‘The boy. What is it about him? What did you see, and why did he affect you so? Why does it trouble me? I cannot rid my head of it.’
She shrugged, a strangely normal-looking gesture from one such as her.
‘I saw what I said, and I said what I saw,’ she said simply. ‘I know it troubles you, as it troubles me and it troubles him, so it does. Do not forget that: it troubles him, most of all. It is never pleasant or easy to be introduced to your destiny, even if you know not what it will be. Especially if you know not what it will be. Just knowing it is there, that a choice awaits you, is not welcome for anyone, let alone one so young.’
He crouched in front of her, a move that was almost imploring. ‘But who is he? Is it good or bad for us that he is here? What will he do? What should I do?’
She laughed, quietly and briefly. ‘Who he is, is less important than who he will be, so it is. And good or bad for us, depends on him. And what he will do, will be his choice, so it will. And what should you do? Nothing. Nothing that you would not do otherwise, had you not heard of any destiny. Do not free him, if you would not otherwise free him. Do not speak to him if you would not otherwise speak to him. His destiny is not yours to influence, not yours, no. If his fate is now to be a slave, so be it. If there comes a time when you would use him otherwise, so be it. Cera will sit in the Hall of the Gods and spin the thread of his destiny accordingly, so she will. She will spin as she spins for all of us now and before and all who ever will be. She will spin, she will spin, she will spin, and we all must accept our place on her tapestry.’
She cocked her head to one side and looked at him in amusement. ‘But why ask me of him, when you have the boy on your ship that you can ask yourself?’
He stood. ‘As ever, you are right. Apologies, my lady. I am thinking so deeply about it, that I cannot see the most simple truth. I thank you, as ever, for your assistance.’
He made to leave once more, but her voice stopped him. ‘Take care of him, while you have him. Tomorrow, especially. And take care of yourself, Einarr.’
He froze. Without turning, he said, ‘I will do my best – on both counts,’ and left.
Brann stirred and, as memories flooded back, he jerked into a sitting position, discovering that he had acquired new aches from his awkward sleeping position to add to those from his journey draped over the back of a horse. At first disorientated, he peered around the cramped hold at the sleeping boys. The last of the drowsiness left him, and he reacquainted himself with his surroundings, examining the room and its inhabitants in the detached way that was becoming so familiar that it had almost moved to his subconscious. Almost. He felt sure he would never truly be at ease with the feeling of separation.
Discovering a hard lump under one leg, he fished out the cheese in its rag covering. Remembering the way that Boar had thrown it down, and noticing the careful way it had been wrapped, he guessed that Gerens had stored it for him. He silently thanked the sleeping youth beside him, still not quite sure why the brooding, in many ways intimidating, youth had chosen to take him, to whatever extent, under his protective wing. His hunger overwhelmed his thoughts, and he wolfed into the food. He noticed the bowl on the floor, and greedily gulped down the water. It was lukewarm, but it still tasted sweet and precious. He leant back against the wall, and the hilt of the stolen knife dug into the small of his back, reminding himself of his folly. Fear swept through him and he cast about for somewhere to dump it, but the room was so bare of all but sleeping boys; it would surely be found, and that could mean the death of all of them.
He pulled out the knife and twisted it in his fingers. A cold melancholy sank over him, and he ran a thumb along the sharpness of the blade. The death of all? Or the death of one? With interest, he found that the prospect of death did not concern him, one way or another, but the ease with which it could be achieved fascinated his darkly dispassionate mind. He ran the keen edge across his wrist. The slightest of pressure, the least of effort, the simplest of movements would be all it would take to make the most momentous of impacts of a life.
The approach of unmistakable footsteps jerked him back from his introspection and he shook his head, thrusting the thoughts back down, buried alongside his suppressed emotions. As quickly and quietly as he could manage, he slipped the knife once again into his waistband and curled up on his side, closing his eyes in the hope of avoiding Boar’s attention.
It was in vain. A heavy boot in the small of the back, no more than two inches from the knife, made him yell in pain.
‘Morning, maggot,’ Boar said with satisfaction. ‘Time to get up. For some reason, the Captain wants to see you.’
He unfastened Brann’s manacles from the chain on the floor and, grabbing the front of his tunic with one hand, hoisted him to his feet. His knees immediately buckled and he fell back to the deck.