The Bronze Axe

Chapter Eleven

The first half of Blade's strategy having come to fruition, he began that very night to complete the second half. Yet he made haste slowly, cannily, feeling his way. He walked the thin edge of disaster one slip and there would be no second chance.

He was given a fine chamber overlooking a sea still hidden in mist. The fogs were prevalent this time of year, Jarl explained, and so Redbeard had only feinted at Penvey, to the south, to draw Lycanto and his Albians to the attack. Spies had been circulated about Alb to spread the rumor that Penvey was to be attacked. But Alb was a poor kingdom, hardly worth looting, and as soon as Lycanto was committed, and on the march, Redbeard's sleek long ships of war had prowled north and west, like ghosts in the gray fog, and achieved complete surprise at Craghead.

"Few sentries had been posted," Jarl said, "and those we throttled silently at their posts. They were too busy watching you fight bears, Blade. I could have taken Craghead with a dozen men."

Blade slept the afternoon away, with Sylvo snoring on a pile of skins in a corner. When the man awoke Blade night had come. The skies were clearing and there was a faint promise of a moon. The same wind that was blowing the mists away fluttered the snake standard of Getorix from Craghead's highest pinnacle. Sounds of drunken revelry were coming from Queen Beata's great dining hall.

A scalding hot bath was prepared and Blade lolled in it until Sylvo's frets drove him out. The man dried him on a fine linen towel and combed his hair and beard, chattering all the while. Blade, while enduring the ministrations, eyed Sylvo with speculation. He had never seen the man so on edge.

"A messenger came," Sylvo rattled on. "You are bidden to the feast this night, to sit at the table of Getorix. The one named Jarl will come for you at the ninth glass. Your burns, master, are much improved. I told you that salve was magic."

Blade, nodding, about to speak, was silenced by a new flood of words.

"It is said that Beata is well raped first by Redbeard himself and then half his men and is to be hanged in an iron cage to die. Ar, I think that for once she has had her fill of men. Those of her men who cried quarter are to be executed tomorrow, but the women and children are to be sold into slavery to the land across the Narrow Sea. Ar, master, I think we have done well enough to come off with our skins, thanks to the way you fought. Now if you will only mind your ways, and we all play our parts skillfully enough, we may live long enough to enjoy "

Blade hid his smile. So that was it. Sylvo, half guessing at Blade's future plans, was nervous. Not without cause, Blade admitted. He was a bit nervous himself. Yet he meant to carry the plan through.

He smote his fist into his palm to interrupt Sylvo. "What of Princess Taleen?"

The man squinted at him and his harelip twitched. "The princess, master? She fares well enough as well as we do. She has been taken in charge by the kyries and they see to her needs."

"Kyries? What are they?"

Sylvo smacked his lips and winked. "Women, master. Stout, buxom, blonde women who go about bare titted and see to the needs of fighting men. In Alb they would be called whores and camp followers which I suppose they are but I think they are more than that. I have heard that they sometimes fight alongside the men. They tend the wounded and fix the food and bear wine and beer to the thirsty and do other things as well, you will understand!"

Sylvo rolled his eyes suggestively and smacked his lips again. "Some of the kyries have beauty, master. Sturdy and plump and well made for a strong man. I "

"You," Blade said harshly, "will stay away from kyries. As you will also stay clear of wine and beer. I have made a plan and when it comes to the crux I may have need of you, sudden and desperate need, and I will have you sober. In any case it will be unhealthy for you to go sniffing around these kyries you will end up shorter by a head. This is understood?"

Syivo looked worried again, but nodded vigorously. "It is well understood, master, and also wise. I had the same thoughts myself, not being a complete fool, and though one of the kyries has already taken a fancy to me I paid her no attention. Ar, master, it is not myself that I worry about."

Blade was donning the clothing laid out for him. There was a kilt instead of breeches, a fine tunic with a leather corselet to go over it, under-breeches and high-lacing sandals. There was no helmet, a thing that Blade understood. He had not yet been accepted as an equal by the corsairs, even though he had earned the right in battle. Yet he was not discontent. Aesculp, her bronze clean and shining, stood in a corner.

Blade finished dressing, deliberately prolonging the silence while Sylvo mumbled and fidgeted.

Then: "You mean that it is me you worry about? You will explain that remark, Sylvo!"

The man still fidgeted but his squint eyes met Blade's squarely. "Ar, master, I will. You have treated me like a man, not a dog, and as a man I will speak. I fear that you will go too far that is the plain truth of it. I know not your plans, nor want to, but I am frightened all the same. I have come to know you well, master, and I know how you dare things that would scare even Thunor. And since my fate is linked with yours, master I would not have it else I beseech you to go gently and with caution. This Getorix, called Redbeard, is a great warrior, though also a murderous one, and those who serve him well are rewarded well. Have done, master. Leave off! This is our chance to live and to make our fortunes."

Blade fetched him a buffet between the shoulders that nearly drove Sylvo to his knees. He grinned hugely at the man. "You have cast your fortunes with mine in this matter, Sylvo. If things go well I will make you a prince."

Sylvo, withdrawing a discreet pace or two, and rubbing his shoulder, smiled wryly. "Ar, master, even as you made yourself a prince of London? Wherever that is."

"Mind your tongue," said Blade. "I will keep my promise I will make you a prince, though you will make a sorry one enough."

"And if things go badly, master?"

"You will share my fate," Blade told him grimly. "Whatever it may be. Now enough of this prattle have you still the black pearls?"

"I have, master. Redbeard's men did not think me worth searching." Sylvo fumbled in the waistband of his ragged breeches and brought out the leathern pouch. He handed it to Blade.

"I thank you," Blade said. "More for your skill in picking pockets than for the pearls. You are a most excellent thief."

When the nets had fallen and Blade had gone down under the blows of a dozen of Queen Beata's men he had been immediately searched and the black pearls taken. Later, in the oubliette, Sylvo explained.

"I was searched by the same bastard that took your pearls, master. Whilst he took my purse I took the pearls from him. Later I also recovered my money, but planted the purse on one of them. They fell out about it, each accusing the other of thieving, and nearly fought. It was something to watch."

Blade spilled the luminous black pearls into his palm. He selected the largest and tucked it into a fold of his tunic. "You say these sea robbers value pearls?"

"Ar, master. So I have heard."

"We will see." He handed the pouch back to Sylvo. "Keep it well concealed. We may have need of these others."

Jarl came and escorted Blade to the great hall. As they crossed the courtyard the sounds of wassail smote their ears, a moving squall of furious noise.

"Getorix lets his dogs off the leash tonight," Jarl explained. "They have fought well and have been much at sea. Take care, Blade, that you do not fall foul of them, for you are not loved by the commonality. You slew three of their brethren today."

"In fair fight, Jarl. Are they children, to nurse grudges?"

A block had been set up in the courtyard and Blade halted by it now, professing an interest he did not feel. It was a talk with Jarl he wanted.

Jarl, who was brave tonight in a new cloak and a golden chain about his broad shoulders, watched as Blade picked up a headsman's axe from the block and hefted it.

"For the morning," he said. "Getorix means to give them the blood they cry for. Which in part answers your question yes, they are children and as sulky and unpredictable as such. They must be so treated. Even Getorix himself, at times, is not so much "

Jarl broke off abruptly and looked away. Blade waited.

Had Jarl been about to say that Getorix himself was childish and unpredictable? That would be an important thing to know.

Jarl shuffled impatiently in the mud. He was wearing high boots of soft leather. There was a sliver of moon and the faint rays pricked glints from the headsman's axe.

"We'd best go," Jarl said brusquely. "Getorix does not like to be kept waiting."

Blade placed the axe on the block and turned away. "You call him Getorix at times. Others call him Redbeard. Why is this?"

Jarl shrugged. "I call him what I like. I am his brother-in-law, married to his own sister, Perdita, and I have certain privilege. Which you do not have, Blade!"

They had halted at the entrance to the great hall. Jarl, ignoring the two guards who stood nearby, big men in horned helmets and armed with shields and spears, stared hard at Blade.

"I have a liking for you, Blade. Getorix does not like anyone, but he admires courage and skill in battle, and more important, he needs good officers. These scoundrels of ours fight well, but they must also be well led. I have had talk with Getorix since I saw you last, and he means to make you a captain. On trial, of course. But take some advice your status is not yet such as gives you the right to ask questions. For myself, I do not care, but Getorix hates and distrusts questions and those who ask them. He wants only obedience and shut mouths. You do well to remember that."

Blade bowed slightly and touched his fingers to his forehead, a gesture he had seen them use.

"My thanks, Jarl. I think we are going to be friends. And yet I will dare one more question."

Jarl was watching the guards who, bored with their own company, and forbidden to drink or wench this night, had drawn nearer. A new burst of drunken laughter came from the great hall.

Jarl frowned. "Then be brief, in Thunor's name! Those swine will finish the beer and wine before we are seated, and I have a great thirst."

Blade kept his voice low. "When you first attacked, and I saw this Redbeard for the first time, I would have sworn there was a woman with him. A woman wearing a white robe such as the Drus wear. A silver-haired woman. Did I dream, Jarl? Did my eyes trick me?"

The man took a step away from Blade. His smooth shaven, not unhandsome face was set in a grim scowl, the gray eyes narrowed and unfriendly.

"You see too much, Blade. You ask too much. I beg you a last time have done of it! Else we cannot be friends, and I would have it that we are. Now come."

Blade smiled at him. "Then she was there! She is here a woman of the Dru order and who is called Drusilla?" Was it possible, this last? He had never been a believer in the validity of dreams.

Jarl appeared to have lost interest. He only shrugged and strolled through the entrance, leaving Blade to follow. Yet Blade caught the words plainly enough.

"Drusilla is a title, not a name. It means leader of all the Drus. As for such a woman, Blade, I cannot speak either way. I know nothing of it! Nor will I hear of it again. Now come and mind your manners and your tongue, or our friendship will be of short life."

He followed him, convinced that Jarl was lying. Blade knew he had to walk carefully here there were bogs underfoot yet he could not rid himself of the dream, nor of the reality of a lovely silver-haired woman, a golden sword and a writhing victim. He would have been hard put to define the reality the sword in the forest glade or his dream. He only knew that the silver-haired Dru haunted him and would not be put away.

Entering the great hall shocked Blade back to reality fast enough. There was a blast of noise and wavering torchlight and the smell of some two hundred unwashed sea raiders. Men drank and quarreled, laughed and sang, slept in spilled wine or spilled it gleefully over the head of a neighbor. Dogs were everywhere, snatching at bones, snarling and fighting among themselves and sometimes snapping at an unwary ankle or hand.

Long tables set on trestles groaned with food and drink. Huge tubs of wine were set about conveniently, and Blade caught his first glimpse of the kyries as they bore foaming tankards and horns of beer to their men. They were all big women, these kyries, and as bare breasted as Sylvo had sworn. Such a flopping and jouncing of bare pink flesh Blade had never seen, nor such a wriggling of large shapely buttocks in thin linen pants. All of them were bare legged and barefoot, and other than the thin pants wore only a leather helmet with metal horns under which they tucked a mass of blonde or red hair. Most were blue eyed and had pale skins beneath and rosy cheeks. All were buxom enough, if not fat, and it was evident that Redbeard's raiders liked them so. There was a great deal of laying on of hands as the beer was served, a great clapping of plump buttocks and squeezing of breasts, and now and then a warrior would take greater liberties and receive a clout on the ear for his daring. Yet Blade noted that now and again one of the men would leave with a woman, be gone a short time, and come back to laughter and grinning jibes from his companions.

Jarl, a bit to Blade's surprise, regarded the women with something of disgust. As they were met and escorted by a serving man who wore an iron collar bearing the snake blazon of Getorix, Jarl said: "They call them war maidens. Whores would be a fairer name. Yet Getorix vows they serve a purpose and will not get rid of them."

They were seated at a small table at some distance from where Redbeard sat on Beata's throne. This was another surprise. Blade looked to where Redbeard, his flaming head as tall as the throne itself, spoke with his officers gathered about a table just below him. Redbeard, if he had marked their entry, made no sign. He quaffed now and again at a horn of beer and listened moodily to the chatter of his captains. He wore a vast scarlet cloak that muffled even his enormous body, and on his head was a simple crown of gold with the serpents entwining roundabout. His beard was plaited as before and gay with ribbons from chin to waist. Now and again he would pick up one of the plaits, or both, and swing it idly or adjust a ribbon.

It was, thought Blade, as good a time as any to begin his campaign. So he began with Jarl, who was not the real target. He noted that Jarl had already emptied a large flagon of wine and was on his second, and judged that he had found a weakness in this man who, by his manner and speech, was so different from the other sea robbers.

Feigning sulkiness, Blade said: "I had not thought to sit alone. And you? Are we outcasts, then, not good enough to sup and drink with the great man who puts ribbons in his beard like any maid?" He made sure that Jarl did not miss the sneer in his voice.

Jarl, if he was in truth a drunkard, had not yet had enough wine to cushion the shock of what he heard. He stared at Blade, his mouth open, and put down his tankard with a thump that spilled wine.

"What ails you, Blade? Keep your voice down, in Thunor's name! Else you ruin yourself and those with you. Patience, man! There is more here than you understand."

Blade raised his voice. "That is true. I thought I had won a warrior's status. Why am I not treated so?"

Jarl, disdaining his cup, gulped wine from the flagon and looked uneasily at Blade. Neither Redbeard nor his officers seemed aware of the dissension.

"Patience," enjoined Jarl. "You do not understand our customs, Blade. You have been honored I, Jarl, have been appointed to keep you close company, to be brother in arms and companion to you, and to teach you our ways until your period of trial is over. In Thunor's name, Blade, forbear these manners or we will be enemies again. I would not have it so, because I have come to like you, man."

And now Blade, liking Jarl and desperately needing a friend, forced himself to be perverse. He was being ignored, and had to prick a quarrel with Jarl that he might force one on Redbeard.

He scowled at Jarl. "I am not sure I want the liking of a man who wears skirts." He glanced down at his own kilt. "And sends them to his friends."

Jarl's hand trembled as he picked up his wine cup. "You are ignorant, man, and I will overlook that. Where I come from the kilt is honorable dress."

"That may be," Blade conceded with ill grace. "Though I have only your word for it."

Jarl leaned over the table, his face gone livid. "By the beard of Thunor, Blade, do not push too far! I am appointed friend to you, but I will not suffer "

Blade, watching Redbeard from the corner of his eye, saw the huge man looking at them now. There was a hush about the throne as the officers followed their leader's glance and fell silent.

Blade raised his voice. "That is another thing," he sneered. "I do not understand your easy use of Thunor. Have you no gods of your own, that you must borrow from the Albs?"

Jarl smiled and for a moment the tension eased. "Gods are all one to us," said Jarl. "We borrow freely, I admit, and when we conquer a people we also conquer their gods." He leaned close to Blade again. "I, personally, have no gods. Gods are for simple people, who need them. I do not." He smiled and touched Blade's hand. "Come, drink! We will forget all that has been said. And tread you carefully later you will understand why I say this."

Blade felt a pang. Jarl was trying so hard to stay his friend! Yet Blade had to push on, using Jarl as a fulcrum to move the quarrel to Redbeard. It must be done now, tonight, in full view of this cut-throat assemblage. The gauntlet must be hurled at Redbeard in such a manner that he could not ignore it, nor settle the matter quietly with a furtive knife in Blade's ribs. His only chance hinged on open defiance that involved Redbeard's honor and courage.

So he pondered Jarl now with a skeptic's smile. "I have wondered about you, Jarl, and why you are so determined to be a friend to me. What will you gain from it? I note that you are much above this rabble" Blade waved a hand toward the crowded tables "and I think you are something of a philosopher. I'll wager that you can read and rune, as they certainly cannot, and if my thinking is right you are also treasurer and scribe to this oaf named Redbeard. And you are married to his sister? Is that how you cull favor?"

The last words, loudly spoken, carried easily to the throne and the group around it. Redbeard stood up, towering like a colossus. He glared at Blade and Jarl and gestured.

"Bring the man called Blade to me."

Jarl gulped wine and would not meet Blade's eye. He was in the first stage of drunkenness now, still his words were concise and a clue to his keen brain.

"I have done!" Jarl said. "You have your wish, man. I never thought your quarrel was with me now you have it with Redbeard and I wish you well of it. Thunor protect you now. Aye, you will need him and as many other gods as you can summon."

Another of Redbeard's captains, splendid in purple cloak and silver spiked helmet, tapped Blade's arm. "You heard our chief. Obey, man!"

Blade went toward the throne, walking easily and with a hint of swagger that belied the queasiness in his belly. So far, so good. He had pushed it to the breaking point,had maneuvered Getorix, and himself, into a position from which there was no retreat.

But this, Blade thought as he strode to the throne, was extrapolation in his own mind. It was not yet so though he meant to clinch and confirm it with the words he held in store. He could still, by guile and grace of tongue, eschew the quarrel. Back out.

Redbeard, all seven feet of him, grew like a mountain in stature as Blade drew near. Blade, as human as any, felt a roil of fear in his guts. Had he pressed too far? Could he bring it off? For one breath only he faltered, then filled his lungs and shook off the cold manacle of doubt. He had come so far he could not settle for less than his heart's desire.

The sea raiders, taking their cue from the throne, had left off eating and drinking and roistering. A hush fell over the vast hall, broken only by a muted squeal as some war maiden was pinched. All eyes followed Blade as he reached the throne and stopped, confronting Redbeard.

Getorix remained standing. Blade did not bow. Their stares locked and held and in that moment, with no words spoken, each knew the truth of it. Craghead could not harbor them both.

Redbeard's eyes were small and as frosty hard as blue agates. He dawdled with a ribbon as he looked Blade up and down, and when he spoke his voice was harsh, though low in pitch.

"You quarrel with Jarl, stranger?"

Blade, hands on hips and with narrowed eyes, stared back at the huge man. "Not so, Redbeard. My quarrel is with you."

A sound of indrawn breath ran like a wind through the silent hall.

Redbeard nodded and toyed with his plaited beard. "So? And why is this, stranger? I think you have been well enough treated."

Blade, his mind racing, began to worry. Would Redbeard, realizing how he had been manipulated into this confrontation, temporize and somehow wriggle out of a quarrel here and now? And settle matters later, in private, when Blade would not have even the slim chance he had now?

To forestall this Blade crossed his Rubicon a little prematurely. He had intended to build this scene, to lead the man, and himself, into the ultimate confrontation by degrees. This he now discarded.

With no trace of sneer, with only a hint of arrogance that these freebooters would understand, Blade said: "I have been well enough treated. I thank you for that. But it is not enough! I am no underling. I am a prince of London, as I have told you. I am a leader and I must therefore lead."

Blade halted just long enough, then pointed at the throne that had been Beata's. "You sit there now, Redbeard. I would sit there. I do not think it large enough for two."

The small blue eyes blinked at him. The bigger man toyed with the ribbons in his beard. Then he smiled, a cruel smile that disclosed a few blackened teeth.

"You are a warrior, stranger. I have seen that with my own eyes. And for now until your death I will acknowledge you a prince of this London you quote me. Perhaps you are a prince Thunor knows you speak boldly enough to be one. And you come to the point quickly, a thing I like. I am a simple man who cannot even rune. I have Jarl to do that for me, as I also have Jarl to fight for me, and he is a great warrior also. The best and bravest even though his manner be sometimes clerkish."

"I have challenged you," said Blade. "Not Jarl."

Getorix had hands like the paws of the bears Blade had slain. He pawed again at his ribbons. He was stalling now, and enjoying himself, and Blade wondered at it. And felt sudden unease. Jarl had said it there was something here he did not understand.

Redbeard was in no hurry. He gave Blade an icy look. "I have hanged the whore queen in a cage, naked to the weather. She will suffer many days before she dies. How is it that you do not fear the same fate? I am still ruler here."

Blade's reply was loud and clear, ringing like a trumpet call over the fascinated assembly.

"Because if you do that to me, Redbeard, you would not be ruler long. You will proclaim yourself coward and afraid of me. I have challenged you openly and fairly, by virtue of my claim to warrior status. You yourself have given me this. I do not know all your laws, but I will wager the same life I pit against yours that there is a common law saying you must meet any fair challenge to your rule."

There was a stir and a great sighing among the onlookers. Blade knew he had won that point.

Now, adding insult to injury, and with a cunning he had not known he possessed, he produced the single black pearl from his tunic. He held it up between thumb and forefinger for all to see. It was the largest of the pearls, nearly the size of a pigeon's egg, and it glimmered in the smoky light like some demon's tear.

Blade altered his voice so the sneer was unmistakable, keeping his face impassive. "I have heard that you and your people set great store by these trinkets, Redbeard. I have more. If, as I begin to believe, you are afraid to fight me perhaps you will sell me your men and your kingship."

That was too much. A great roar went up from the hall, though Redbeard himself kept silent and watched Blade with malevolent small eyes. And smiled through the fiery beard like a man who knows he cannot lose.

The men were shouting now.

"Kill him, Redbeard!"

"Enough of this show us his heart and liver!"

"He has right to challenge so grant him what he seeks. Death!"

Getorix let them rant for a minute, then held up a hand for silence. When the hall was quiet again he leaned to whisper an order to an aide. The man departed swiftly, sneering at Blade as he passed.

Redbeard pointed a huge finger at Blade. "You have spoken, Prince of London, and I have listened in patience. Now hear me.

"It is I who must thank you for you have made a difficult matter very simple. There is a woman the Princess Taleen. She is the daughter of Voth of the North, a thing I know to be true, and she says that she is betrothed to you. That you are to marry when she is returned to Voth. This is true?"

Damn the girl! Yet this was no time to ponder her motives. As he had bid Taleen and Sylvo follow his lead, and play up to his lies, so now he must do the same. Blade nodded.

"That is true. We are to be married. What has that to do with our quarrel?" He held up the black pearl. "You evade me, Redbeard. Do you fight me or will you sell out to me?"

Redbeard reached and took the black pearl from Blade's fingers. He examined it for a moment, then flung it into the crowd. There was a furious scramble and a dirk or two flashed.

"That for your pearl," said Redbeard. "I like not black pearls. It is a white pearl I covet, the Princess Taleen. But as you have said just now we have our laws. As to women they are very strict. If you are indeed betrothed to the princess I cannot take her other than over your corpse! She is a fair prize, Prince of London, and when I kill you she will belong to me. King Voth cannot go against the law, for Jarl who knows of such matters tells me that the same law is observed in Voth's own kingdom. So do I thank you, Prince Blade. I had wondered how to take Taleen from you, for if I had you killed it would be a base thing and my men would mutter against me. The same had I challenged you over a woman betrothed to you our laws do not smile on this sort of thing, for it gives too much power to a ruler.

"But you have made matters easier for me. Now I can kill you in good conscience, Prince, and take your woman in the same way. And she to bear witness to this so that in future, when Voth asks questions, he may know the truth of it."

Blade followed his glance. Taleen, escorted by four of the kyries, was coming toward the throne. Blade caught his breath and for the moment was not angry with the girl. He had never seen her so lovely, so regal, and so pale. They had combed out her long auburn hair and banded it with gold. Her small feet were shod in red slippers and she wore a long manteau of yellow silk that rippled and clung alternately to her pliant girl's body as she walked. A scarlet sash made her waist impossibly tiny.

Her maiden's breasts, beneath the single garment sheathing them, were larger than he had thought and tremulous now as she caught sight of Blade. A hand went to her red moist mouth and another to the firm breasts, and she looked at him with wet brown eyes that sent their message plain love of him and fear for him.

They had put lip salve on her and enhanced her color with paint and Blade was angered that Redbeard had had her prepared for himself As if Blade were already dead.

Taleen held out her arms to him, and would have spoken, but the kyries bustled her past to a chair at one side of the throne. Blade turned away. She would have to watch it, though he would have spared her if he could. And there was nothing to say.

Redbeard was watching him closely. Men were clearing a space in front of the throne.

Redbeard said: "You have challenged me before all my men. I then have choice of weapons."

Blade nodded curtly. "As you will. I will use my bronze axe, Aesculp. Have it sent for."

Redbeard smiled and his beard twitched. The ribbons fluttered. "There is no need for that, Prince. I choose these."

He held up his hands. They were, Blade considered, larger than bear's paws, and would have made two of his own. And his were large.

A roar of delight went up from the men. There would be a fine strangling now. Blade sensed that they had seen it happen before. He set his will to work instantly, bidding it whip his sluggish memory into action. Once, in that other and now nearly forgotten dimension, he had been a killer with his hands. Karate? Judo? Yes, of course. He had been an expert judoka and had killed men with his hands. Could he remember the techniques?

Redbeard slipped off the scarlet robe and tossed it to an aide. He was naked to the waist. Blade's heart muscles tightened. He was himself a big man, and powerful, and he had known bigger and more powerful men, but he had never seen anything like this body before him now. It scarcely seemed human. Rather it was a statue cast in bronze Getorix was heavily tanned by sea and sun with every tremendous muscle chiseled by the hand of a master sculptor.

Redbeard's shoulders were wider than Blade's by half a span, and the girth of his biceps nearly twice the size. His legs were more oak trees than flesh, gnarled and corded with sinew.

Blade kept trying to remember he flexed his right hand at his side, extending the thumb and tightening the muscles, pulling the fingers straight into a chopping edge. That was it! He ran the hand along his bare leg and felt the callouses from the tip of his little finger to his wrist. Yes. It was coming back to him now. His right hand was, literally, a flesh axe.

There was more much more and he must remember it. Holds and throws, pressure points, nerve ganglia, every dirty trick of street fighting he had once known.

Blade doffed his leather corselet and his tunic and handed them to a man who came forward. Jarl, sitting at the table staring into his wine cup, did not look up. Blade cast a last glance at Taleen. She was sitting rigidly in the chair, her hands crossed over her breasts, staring at him with a face gone white as milk. He could see her trembling. There was a tiny stain of blood at a corner of her mouth where she had bitten her lip.

Redbeard stepped forward into the cleared space amongst the tables. It was, and Blade was remembering now, about the size of a boxing ring. Boxing? Was there any help there?

Redbeard raised his hand for silence. When it came he did not look at Blade, but at Jarl, and his words, and his mien, were kingly enough for any man. Blade was forced to admiration.

"The gods are strange," said Redbeard, "and no man knows how they decide. I, Getorix called Redbeard, have scoffed at gods and taken them were I found them, as we all do yet I acknowledge their power. If I am to lose my life, and my kingdom, to this puny stranger" he indicated Blade with a gesture of infinite contempt "then it is so written and so it shall be. If I am vanquished I charge all of you to accept the Prince of London as your new ruler. You will obey him. I also charge Jarl that he be guide and mentor to this man if he is to be king in my stead."

Blade, falling back a few steps into a posture of defense, had to admit the cleverness of the man. He was doing it well. Redbeard was leaning over backward to be fair, to build a legend that would be sung of by the skalds and, more important, would stand in his favor when the reckoning came with Voth. It was also a gesture of supreme confidence. Getorix had no thought of failure he counted Blade as dead.

Redbeard lowered his arms and faced Blade. Blade tensed, then made himself relax as he tried to fashion a battle plan. Savate! The word slipped into his mind from nowhere. Foot boxing. He had once been proficient in it.

And yet Redbeard did not move toward him. He made a signal and a cupbearer came forward.

Redbeard grinned at Blade. "One last thing, Prince of London. It is a tradition with us. We must drink the death toast."

The cupbearer tipped wine into the cup and handed it to Blade. Blade stared at it. It was contrived of a skull, white as alabaster and chased with gold runes. The teeth were still intact, large and white and perfect, and they grinned at Blade as he drank.

The cupbearer filled the skull again and took it to Redbeard. The massive man held it on high, laughing, an honest mirth that filled the great hall and started echoes.

"This belonged to Thoth," said Redbeard. He drank and flung the skull at the servant.

"The last man to challenge me."