The Bronze Axe

Chapter Five

Matters went badly from the beginning.

Blade was enjoined to silence, under penalty of immediate death, and so deprived of his only weapon. He was seated in a crude, barrel-shaped chair, with the light of a flaring torch in his face, and harshly told to keep his peace. He dared not defy this his position being so weak so he made do with his eyes and brain, straining to use both to best advantage.

The Council Room was large, with an earthen floor strewn with rushes and sand, and leather hanging on the walls. It was well lit and stank of fish oil. A fire, like an enormous red cat, drowsed in a huge fireplace before which slept massive hounds of much the same breed as the one he had slain in defense of Taleen.

There were ten other men in the room, of whom Blade recognized only Cunobar the Gray. The man ignored him.

The ten sat grouped around a long table set on trestles. In a corner, opposite Blade, and coughing now and again from the smoke, sat a white robed Dru so heavily cowled that she seemed headless. She was an amanuensis, with aging vein-traced hands that were yet nimble enough with brush and dye pot. She wrote on large squares of pressed birch bark and Blade, watching her hands move, guessed it to be a runic script.

Lycanto, King of Alb and husband to the Lady Alwyth, sat at the head of the table with Cunobar to his right and a thickset bald warrior to his left. All ignored Blade, while talking of him as if he were some strange animal, something to pique mild curiosity, but not to be taken too seriously.

"He says he is a wizard. I say he is more likely witch, or warlock, which is not at all the same thing. At very best I call him spy, sent by Redbeard, and so he should suffer a spy's death. Flaying."

The speaker, a burly man to Lycanto's left, stroked his bald head with a badly scarred hand and did not glance at Blade.

"And yet," said Cunobar, "the Lady Taleen speaks for him. She names him wizard and also vows that he saved her from Beata's men and from a fierce hound."

A grizzled man at the lower end of the table spoke up. "Then what is the question? Why make so large a thing of what is simple enough? There is an ordeal, one we all know. Put him to it."

Blade was intent on Lycanto, the King, for in the end his fate would lie on Lycanto's whim. What he saw was not reassuring.

He judged Lycanto to be in his forties, a lanky man with drooping blond moustaches that did little to conceal a receding chin. His light blue eyes, inflamed now by copious amounts of beer, were too narrow set, his nose too long and thin. A single droplet kept appearing at the end of that thin nose, and Lycanto repeatedly wiped it away. He paid no more attention to Blade than did the others.

Only Lycanto's chair had a back, and arm rests carved in the form of dragons, and only he wore a metal helmet on which was engraved a crown. He lolled on his throne, indolent and sullen, drinking constantly from a great horn in a stand before him. His fingers, clean enough and spatulate in shape, drammed incessantly on the table. Blade thought the King's mind strayed, and he wondered if it were to the Lady Alwyth and the things she did in dark, dank mist.

Now Lycanto spoke. His voice was reedy, high pitched, with an oddly girlish tremor to it.

"There is more to this than meets your eye, Bartho." He was addressing the last speaker. "Were it not for the Lady Taleen it would be simple enough. We could put him to the ordeal, or turn him over to the Drus, and who would care? But it is not that easy. The Lady Taleen has vouched for him and "

The bald burly man, who Blade already knew to be an enemy, broke in with a derisive laugh. "A maid! A simple maid, even though she be cousin to you, Lycanto. What does she know? A maid can be cozened by any likely rogue who comes along. And I give him that he stands well. He is no doubt a great one with maids, a thing which he knows and uses well to his advantage. I say kill him and have done!"

Lycanto had stiffened in his chair. He glared at the bald man with bloodshot eyes. "I will not have you interrupt me, Horsa! See to it, that it does not happen again. Or do you forget who is king here?"

Blade, watching with fascination yet not forgetting that his own head was the subject marked the expression of sullen contempt on the face of the man called Horsa. No great respect for the king there!

Lycanto went on speaking. "I say once more that it is not easy, this matter. Not only does the Lady Taleen vouch for him, but she is cousin to me, and more important" she is daughter to King Voth of the North. Voth of Voth! I dare not offend Voth. You all know that. He is powerful and a great warrior, though aging now."

He paused and looked around smiling wryly, his thick lips still moist from beer. "If none of you can help me I must turn him over to the Drus. They will have an answer."

"Thunor take the Drus!" It was the man Horsa again. He scowled and banged on the table with a huge fist. "And Thunor take Voth as well. I fear not Voth. Nor the Drus. Why take a chance on a maid's word, Lycanto? Kill the rogue. If we are wrong, and he is no spy or warlock, then it is unfortunate but still no great matter. If I am right, and he is a spy, then we are rid of him. In any case, I vote we send his head to Redbeard, and have our own spies mark his reaction. So it might be proven one way or the other."

Blade winced inwardly. It was not a system of justice for which he cared too much.

It was Cunobar who came to Blade's aid, a thing Blade was not to understand for many a day.

Cunobar's gray hair again Blade thought it belied his age glinted in the torches. He stood up and pointed a finger at Blade, at which all at the table turned and appeared to see the big stranger for the first time.

"I also thought him spy at first glance," said Cunobar. "And I saw him first, before any of you. I saw and I taxed the Lady Taleen that he might be spy. She denied it. If she could be here she would deny it now "

"No doubt," growled the man Horsa. "I tell you she is bewitched of him. Who knows but that he plants his lies on her tongue?"

Cunobar held up a hand. "As may be," he went on smoothly, "but the Lady Taleen cannot be here as against tribal law and we all know she suffers from the swooning sickness."

"Another thing I do not understand," muttered Horsa. He shot a malignant glance at the King. "The wench was hearty enough when she came to Sarum Vil and a glass later she is sick and swooning. How explain that to Voth, Lycanto? He will ask, make no doubt of it!"

The King paled, then reddened, but kept his tongue. He reached for his beer horn and drank heavily. There was a grumbling at the lower end of the table. Blade brightened and felt his chances increased. All was not well in Alb. There was weakness, dissension, and therein lay his opportunity. He must grasp it firmly, quickly, when the moment came.

Cunobar waved a placating hand. His voice, as silken smooth as the steel gray hair, filled the chamber. Blade listened with growing wonder. Why was Cunobar now advocate to him? The man had been surly and suspicious enough before. Again there could be only one answer Taleen.

"If we bicker among ourselves," said the graying man, "nothing will ever come of it. This matter must be settled, and quickly, for the time water drips swiftly and Redbeard is on the march. We should be marching to meet him, yet we linger here on the fate of a single stranger.

"There is no need for this. It is all so simple, if we but see it so. I agree with Lycanto that we cannot afford to anger Voth of the North. So we do not anger him. I also agree that the Lady Taleen is his cousin, and that she be so treated. Yet we do not have to regard her word as straight from Thunor himself. There is no problem, my Lords! We have ancient law and in that law the answer is plain we must give this stranger trial by single combat, so he stand or fall on it. Neither the lady, nor her father Voth, can find reason against that. Did not Voth himself proclaim, long ago, that no man is above the law? Can he then quarrel with his own words? Can his daughter?"

Cunobar the Gray paused and looked around the table. Lycanto was listening intently, nodding in approval. Horsa stared down at the table, his broad red face expressionless. The others muttered and whispered among themselves.

Cunobar was looking directly at Blade. There was a message in the glance, Blade would have sworn to it, yet one that he could not yet read.

Cunobar said, "You all know our law. The man challenged has the right to pick the man he will fight." His eyes met Blade's again, then moved to the man Horsa with a bare flicker of expression that might have masked a sneer.

"I vote," said Cunobar, "that we give this man Blade the right to prove himself in single combat. I say let him speak now and take free choice of the warrior he will fight to death. I ask for fists."

Eight clenched fists shot upward. Lycanto did not vote. Horsa sat scowling for a moment, then reluctantly raised his fist.

"If you will all have it so, so must I. Yet it goes against me. We do not know this man. He may be serf, peasant, catiff or runaway slave though I still think him a spy

and there is no constraint that nobleman fight with one of low birth. I vote yes but I think no."

Cunobar laughed and pointed at Blade again. "Look well at him. Does he have the look of a servant? Slave? I say not. Spy, maybe. Low born, no. But let him speak and judge for yourselves you all know what the Drus tell us when they grow impatient with our ignorance. A man is fashioned of his words. If he speaks as a slave I will take back my vote and let him be flayed without a murmur."

Cunobar had had audience with Taleen since their parting. That was certain. Even more certain was that Taleen had done all she could. As had Cunobar the Gray, for whatever reasons. Now it was up to Blade. But they had given him a weapon his tongue.

Lycanto looked long at Blade before he said, "You can speak now, stranger. By vote we grant this boon and we will listen with patience. But words will not save your life. You must fight one of us to the death. Pick that man as you will."

Blade stood up. He swelled his chest and stood as tall as possible. Cunobar had tossed the cue deftly. These Albs loved words, and war, and he guessed that lies and bragging were condoned as long as the words were sweet and firm enough. He would give them that. He stalked to the fireplace and wheeled to face the table, his arms crossed and his head high, the fire casting his shadow long on the floor. The Dru selected a fresh square of bark and dipped her pen in the dye pot, and for a moment Blade caught the gleam of intelligent old eyes from the depths of the cowl.

Blade looked them up and down with scorn. A mastiff growled and Lycanto silenced the beast with a kick.

"I am a stranger," Blade began, "and I know little of your ways. What little I know tells me that you are brave men and a pack of fools!"

Uproar. Curses. Horsa began to struggle to his feet. "You dare, rogue? In this Council you dare "

Lycanto was silent, but looked amused. Cunobar waved a hand for silence. "Peace, Horsa. We bade him speak so let him speak as he likes. The reckoning will come."

Horsa sat down. "That it will," he growled.

Blade curled his lip in contempt of them. "If I were this Getorix, this one you call Redbeard, I would have your heads on poles this moment. You sit and bleat like old women while he improves each hour. One of you says kill me, the stranger, while another says do not kill me lest the Lady Taleen and her father be wrathful. So you do nothing. You talk. You let me talk. While the water runs and Redbeard marches!"

Blade pointed a finger at Lycanto. "You are the biggest fool here, King! You rule and yet you do not rule. You allow insolence to go unpunished. Not only in this room, but in all the town. I have seen and heard how your men drink and gamble and wench when they should be preparing for war. And you bury your nose in a beer horn and do nothing. Sarum Vil is a shambles, your army is a rabble, and if I were Redbeard I would laugh and deal with you as though you were maids and not warriors. But that might be difficult. I admit it. You and your rabble, King, would not even make good raping. I doubt that Redbeard has an army of perverts. So he will merely hang you, or cut off your heads, and content his men with your women.

"You have heard that I am a wizard. It is true. I come from a far land, of which you know nothing, and there is no time to tell you now. But I am a wizard if being wizard means that I use my brains for something other than to stuff my skull box.

"I can show you tricks of war that Redbeard never heard of. I can show you skills and organization that you have never heard of. I can do all these things, making victory over Redbeard certain, and I will do them. After I kill this man I choose to face in single combat. But I say this, King, that this fight is a waste of precious time and you are bound to lose a good man. But you must have it, I see that, and so I say let us begin now. No more fools chatter get on with it. I choose the man called Horsa. And I ask Cunobar the Gray as second and companion at arms, or however you call these things."

Silence. All were staring at him. Blade took a step toward Horsa and spat at the man's feet. "I say I choose you to kill! Unless your blood is white in which case I will choose another."

Horsa came up with a roar, pounding on the table with both fists, his broad red face contorted in rage. "Spy! Slave and whoremonger! Father of lice son of a whore who coupled with a goat! You dare speak me so? I, Horsa, champion of all the Albs. Thunor strike me if I do not eat your liver this night."

Blade smiled coldly, having achieved his first purpose of baiting the man into near senseless anger. "If you fight half as well as you talk, Horsa, I am a dead man." He laughed and spat again.

The big hall was in tumult. Only the Dru was silent, rapidly stroking away with her brush, and Blade found time to wonder, even in the midst of such chaos, who would read of this strange and unlikely encounter.

Lycanto at last got order by pounding on the table with his beer horn. All sat down again but Horsa, who remained standing and glaring at Blade, a line of white froth visible around his mouth. Blade realized that Horsa had gone berserk, and that it would be no easy matter to kill him.

Lycanto had to raise his voice almost to a scream to be heard over the din. He shouted at Blade, but there was a new, and reluctant, respect in his tone and glance.

"You have made your choice, stranger. So shall it be. Now, this night, you will fight Horsa. But I should tell you this " Lycanto's weak mouth smirked beneath drooping moustaches. "Horsa spoke truth. He is champion of all Albs. He is Horsa the Skull Maker. He has made more widows than Thunor himself."

"And consoled them," said a voice from somewhere along the table. "A pity this stranger has no widow to be. Poor Horsa must go to the whores afterward, like any common knave."

A great roar of laughter went up. A score of good-natured gibes were flung at Horsa, who at last grinned sourly and sat down without another glance at Blade.

Lycanto pounded again with his beer horn for order. For the time Blade was ignored again. As he listened, with wonder and some amusement, he realized that this was not only a fight, but festival as well. They were a feckless lot, these Albs, and meant to have their fun. Deeming Blade as good as dead, Lycanto was ordering great quantities of food and beer to be readied. Blade allowed his burgeoning plan to emerge a little further into the light the more they ate and caroused, the heavier they drank, the better for what he had in mind.

At last relative silence fell again. Horsa said, "As the rogue challenges me I have choice of place. Not so, Lycanto?"

The King's nod was perfunctory. "We all know that, Horsa. What choose you?"

Horsa was on his feet again. He looked at Blade with contempt. He was calmer now. "I choose the fire ring. Let it be prepared. I would see how nimbly this bastard dances when his feet begin to burn."

Lycanto gave an order and a man at arms hurriedly left the hall.

Cunobar the Gray now stood and held up a hand. The King nodded and the talk died away again.

Cunobar looked disdain at Blade, and his smile was something mingled of mirth and malice, leavened with the smugness of a man who has accomplished precisely what he intended. Blade, who had never counted the man as friend, and was puzzled by his seeming advocacy, began to understand. Cunobar was pleased with himself, and the why of it was plain enough. Cunobar wanted either Blade or Horsa dead. Or both. At the moment Blade could not fathom the reasons, nor did they matter. Cunobar could only win.

Cunobar nodded curtly in Blade's direction. "The stranger asks that I serve as companion at arms, as second to see fair play. This I cannot do. You will know the reasons, so I do not explain. I was right, I am right, in that he stands and talks like no slave I have ever seen. It is fair that he be given this chance. Yet there is no guarantee that he is a gentleman and I will serve no other. Yet he must have a companion at arms, to abide by our law. Who among you will serve him?"

Dead silence. None looked at Blade, who laughed and strode, arms akimbo, to the foot of the table. He did not force his laughter. He was genuinely amused and his deep voice tolled in the chamber like a dark toned bell.

"So be it! I see that you gentlemen are too fastidious to serve a ragged stranger. This speaks ill of your hospitality, of which you are so proud, but I will let it pass. By your leave, then, I will choose my own man. His name is Sylvo. 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?"

"With a great bronze axe, master. He will have a shield, too, but since he always attacks he will not use it skillfully. But with the bronze axe he is a fiend. He calls his axe Aesculp smasher of skulls. Well named. It is long hafted and double bitted and I myself could not lift it. I doubt you can match him in axe play, master."

It so happened that Richard Blade, in his former persona, had been very proficient with a battle axe. Ancient weaponry, the study and use thereof, had been a serious hobby with him. He had been a member of the Medieval Club and, where other men boxed, or played tennis or handball to keep in shape, Blade spent many an afternoon in simulated combat with lance and broadsword, axe and mace, long bow and arbalest.

But he would be a fool indeed to play Horsa's game. In the armory he selected a stout buckler of bronze and leather, with a shiny convex boss that might partially deflect a blow. The sword he chose was nearly as tall as Sylvo, with a two-handed hilt. It was of thin iron, pointed and edged with bronze, and immensely heavy. Yet Blade swung it with ease.

He could hear the crowd in the town now, squalling thirstily for his blood. Blade smiled thinly. That could change. He knew something of mobs. Let him blood Horsa first and they would change their tune. It was blood they wanted, blood to go with their beer and frolic, and whose blood did not greatly matter.

The sub-chief was chafing and cursing, yet Blade insisted that a new edge be put on the great sword. Let Horsa wait and begin to wonder. Every moment of delay worked for Blade.

There was a great stone, and water and fish oil, and Blade carefully, with deliberate stalling, keened the edge himself. At last he was satisfied and they left the armory.

All of Sarum Vil was thronged about the open square, so close packed that for once there was no room for reckless chariot drivers. With Blade and Sylvo in their center the men-at-arms fought their way through the pushing, shoving, shouting mob. Some shouted vilification at Blade, some encouragement, and a drunken woman tried to hand him a pan of beer. Sylvo was well cursed, and gave as good as he took.

They came at last to the circle of fire. Faggots and peat had been lain roundabout and flamed with fish oil so the ring glowed cruelly crimson and leaped high, a great gaping eye staring from hell up to the dank and mist shrouded sky. Men continually heaped faggots and peats, and poured oil, so that the fire roared and hissed, in sinister whisper, and leaped as high as Blade's waist.

Lycanto's throne had been carried from the great hall. He sat on it now, beer horn in his hand, talking with the gathered chiefs and captains. They all turned to stare as Blade appeared. Behind the throne, well back in the shadows, he saw a robed and heavily cowled woman amid a gaggle of other women. The Lady Alwyth?

A thunderous howl roared from the pressing mob. Blade nodded in reluctant admiration as Horsa vaulted the flames and strode to the center of the ring. There was a rich barbarity in the scene that Blade could not but appreciate.

Horsa scorned a helmet, since Blade had none, and his bald head glinted in the flames. His legs were bare, but for cross-gaitering, and he wore a rich cloak of scarlet caught at the throat by a golden clasp. On his left arm was a small round shield, and in his right hand, which was badly scarred by an old wound, he swung a huge bronze axe.

Horsa smirked at the screaming crowd, then swung the axe several times about his head. Blade, studying the weapon more than the man, saw that it had perfect balance, was long hafted enough to reach an awesome distance, and both edges gleamed bright as razors newly ground.

I must go to the point, Blade thought. It is doubtful this one understands point, but I must be careful in learning that. Swing with him at first, match him blows that cut only air, then when the time is ripe go to the point.

Horsa took off the scarlet cloak and flung it away. He was naked to the waist, his barrel chest covered with thick dark hair. He was a shorter man than Blade, and not so prettily muscled, yet Blade knew the man's strength would match his own.

Horsa, leaning on his axe, scowled across the ring of fire at Blade. "You called my blood white, stranger. What of yours? You have thought of urgent business elsewhere, mayhap? You would be off to report to your master, Redbeard? That may not be. I have claim on your cods which I will cut off and cast into the fire."

Blade ignored the gibe. The crowd screamed and laughed. King Lycanto made an impatient sign.

Blade turned.to Sylvo. "Remember well what I have said. Timing is important. When I have killed Horsa I will make claim for privacy, for food and rest, and so will be able to come to you. I will be near, and when I hear the screams I will go in to fetch Taleen. You will know what to do then?"

Sylvo grimaced. "Run, master!"

Blade patted his shoulder. "Good. Serve me well in this, Sylvo, and you will not be sorry."

The man's squint was rueful. "I am already sorry, master, but too late for that now. Look Horsa mocks you again!"

Blade vaulted the fire and stalked toward Horsa. He saluted Lycanto with his sword, but kept his eye on Horsa, which was well. With a snarl the man leaped and the great bronze axe caught the firelight, mirrored it, flashing, as it slashed at Blade's head in a glittering circle. The axe sang a threnody of blood and death.

Sylvo, squinting and open mouthed, whispered a promise to Thunor.

"Grant my master the victory, Thunor, and I make firm promise that I will not thieve for a year! I swear it. On my misbegotten soul I swear it!"