The Tower of Death

CHAPTER EIGHT: A Bargain with Pirates

At dinner the two newcomers met more of the king’s cronies and relatives-the comites-and them without helms and armour, now. Some were friendly and others disdainful of a pair of foreign pirates in borrowed tunics. All the others were better attired for dinner, though Cormac noted that some of the fancified leggings and decorated tunics or robes showed wear, and too he saw the marks of re-sewing; mending of hems and little snags. He had first frowned at the leggings provided him; they bore a yellow chain-design running up the outside of each leg. The fabric itself was slate in hue.

He and Wulfhere had too their first view of Queen Venhilda. Tall Veremund’s wife was, and splendidly formed, so that she should have been a commanding presence. She was not. Her appearance was pale and haggard. She seemed unwell, with a deadly lassitude on her. This was made but the more noticeable by the richness of her garments. And too… her gaze was strange.

When Cormac was introduced to her, the large grey blue eyes rested on his, and never blinked. Nor did she blink at any other time that he observed. Her shadowed lids seemed fixed, as with congealed wax, and never so much as flickered. Cormac at last felt a little chill and looked on Galicia’s Queen no more.

Not so Clodia! Clodia was happily resplendent in a lovely gown of red vertically striped with beige. It had been provided by a lady of the court, of course, for the merchant’s daughter introduced as Lady Clodia. She received more than a little attention, Clodia did. She was visibly delighted to be seated between Irnic Break-ax and a lean, broad-shouldered Hispano-Roman who obviously bore the blood of both peoples.

My Lady Clodia, Cormac mused. She will never carry it off, not buxom Clodia; she must be hard put not to pick up a pitcher and serve wine!

Each time he glanced at Princess Eurica, he caught her in the act of averting her eyes, so that he knew she’d been witching him. The mac Art tried to look elsewhere.

The princess’s behaviour was true, too, of Zarabdas the mage. Cormac wore the Egyptian sigil within his Suevic tunic of brown-stitched blue, and forebore lifting a hand to the chain. Was that Zarabdas’s interest? Why did the Palmyran watch him when Cormac’s own gaze was elsewhere? Had Zarabdas another interest in the Gaelic pirate who had contracted with the Suevic king he served in Hispania as… adviser?-as mage?-seer?

And Eurica. Was she one more fascinated female like others Cormac had known, of varying ages and races. The wife of the lord Hermanric Marcellus right now, for instance, and her name a very Roman “Plotina.” She favoured the Gael with her dark-eyed gaze, and did not look away when his eyes swept her. Look away, milady, Cormac mused; mac Art has rules about women with husbands; ’s called self defense!

The queen was unusual enough among ruddy, healthy, buxom women. There was something else about her that caught Cormac’s eye, with the fascinatingly fluid motions of her hands-one of her three rings. The band was plain enow, simply a little circle of gold. Atop it though, caged in two strips of gold wire, flashed a most extraordinary opal. So he supposed it to be; he had seen two others similar, though not so beautiful. A thousand tiny speckles of colour lay imbedded in the black stone, like the stars of night save that these were of yellow and red and blue and shades between. A gift of love, Cormac mused, and he’d lay wager.

Putting women and rings out of his mind, Cormac turned to the man beside him.

This minor lord of the Suevi seemed delighted to know him and Wulfhere. Some were, whatever their motives, and Cormac was accustomed to those who nigh fawned, fascinated with men of deeds striding the world ahead of a wake of blood. He asked Lord Rhodoghast about Zarabdas, and was bidden to call Rhodoghast by name alone.

“Zarabdas,” Rhodoghast said, nodding. “To begin with, the man may or may not be a wizard!”

Realizing that the Palmyran’s powers were not known to everyone, Cormac made no comment but affected to show the surprise expected of him.

“Aye! He came here two years agone, mysteriously methinks. Said he sought sanctuary in a land he knew had not really embraced the faith of Jesus Christus. He was a fugitive from the Visigothic lords, he claimed, having offended the emporer with an over-vociferous opposition to his religious policy.”

Cormac nodded encouragingly. That policy was the making Christian of all “subject” lands. Or so the emperor said, living in the past of imperial glory and power. Stupid, Cormac thought. Emperors came and went, as would surely this religion designed for slaves who needed something to look forward to-such as a slice of honeycake in the sky. How surprised the “Saints” or Christians must be to discover that what followed death was return to earth in a new form, as a helpless babe fated to begin all anew!

“Just over a month after the arrival of Zarabdas,” Rhodoghast said, “Queen Venhilda fell ill-very ill indeed. Eventually the court physician Lucanor advised the king that she could not live. It was then that Zarabdas prevailed upon Veremund,” Rhodoghast said, lowering his voice even more as he pronounced his king’s name unadorned, “to allow him to attend our lady queen. Lucanor Antiochus had given up in defeat, and so there seemed little to lose. Whilst Veremund was considering, Lucanor sought to make a religious issue of it. The king was angered by that and the threat implied, and he bade Zarabdas do what he could for Venhilda.’

“This Lucanor…”

Rhodoghast gave his head a jerk and made a swift gesture. “A Christian, of course. A… semi-sufferable cross-wearer from that far old place of Antioch. Not as dark as one would expect; he be Greek or has Greek blood.”

Rhodoghast lifted his winecup, waited to catch the eye of a serving lad, and glowered at him. His and Cormac’s cups were immediately filled. Cormac lifted it, looked over its rim to find the Lady Plotina Marcella gazing at him. Rather than look away she held his glance, and ran her tongue, slowly, all around her lips. Without acknowledgment Cormac returned his attention to Rhodoghast.

“Is’t true you have sunk a score of ships?”

“It is not,” Cormac said. “It’s but two we’re after sinking, and four others we’ve disabled. Nor have Wulfhere and I done death on so many as is said. And hear this Rhodoghast: neither of us has ever slain any man who did not have a weapon in his hand. Now what ye’re after saying of the queen interests me, for she is thin and wan. Ye were going to tell me that Zarabdas cured her.”

“How did ye know?”

“She be not dead.”

“Ah. Aye, within two days it was obvious that she was recovering. Within four she was on her feet again, though weak. In less than a month she was fully recovered-or as ye see her now. In truth she’s never been any sort of buxom woman, though. Since then Zarabdas had been naturally enough held in high esteem by the king and queen. Gradually he’s grown strong in the king’s counsel, as well. All know he is a most wise man and knowledgeable in physick. Many of course wonder if he be mage or no; he is a mystery among us who keeps much to himself and shares counsel only with Veremund and Venhilda. Some fear his influence; others are thankful for it. Some have naturally reminded that it was just after he arrived among us that my lady queen fell ill, and that it was most convenient for him to gain the king’s favour.”

That thought had occurred to Cormac, but he’d not indulge in gossip with such as Rhodoghast-or indeed anyone else. He asked, “And the Antiochite leech? Did he slink off to Gothish lands, or all the way back to Golden Antioch?”

“Oh no, neither. He is still here, though out of favour with those of us who count. Say something to me in Gaelic.”

“Legach boina boinin,” Cormac said, quoting a homile among those who’d been his people: “To every cow her calf.”

“Hmm… what does that mean?”

“It means I am a vicious bloodthirsty pirate and am interested in Lucanor, not in language lessons. I will tell you this: the Gaels have no verb ‘to have’, but there are several ways of saying ‘to do death on.’”

Rhodoghast chuckled, but the two sidewise looks he shot the “vicious bloodthirsty pirate” bespoke his nervousness. Cormac was careful not to smile.

“Lucanor remains here. He is leech for the weaponmen, and others. He stays very busy, though hardly as prosperous as beforetimes.”

“Think you the lady queen is cured by sorcery?”

“Some do,” Rhodoghast said, and grew most interested in the tumbler and female juggler who entered the king’s dining hall then, bounding and jingling bells.

The entertainers were fair, Cormac thought, surreptitiously observing Zarabdas while he pretended interest in the leggy woman with her minimal juggling ability and less chest.

They departed amid applause, and the floor was clear. Veremund rose to announce that the Masters of Raven were here to serve the crown-and that mayhap the first act should be the creation of a new target for ax-practice. Amid general laughter, Wulfhere looked about, and grinned, beaming… and reddened.

“We would now take counsel with these twain,” Veremund said, “on a matter of passing import to our realm, and our children. I would have Zarabdas and Commander Irnic join us, with Salvian.”

All others were thus dismissed, as the king said naught about their continuing in the hall. The Lady Plotina-well overweight, Cormac noticed as she rose from board-sought to catch his eye, but he was careful not to see her. Or Eurica, though he made a head-bow to Venhilda, who despite her thinness and pallor, was a most handsome woman. Yet-gods, those eyes! He and Wulfhere followed the king, his cousin Irnic, Zarabdas, and the Hispano-Roman secretary, Salvian. They entered the same small chamber in which they’d talked earlier in the day. This time bowls of wine and fresh melon, prepared in little balls, awaited them.

Soon Cormac was saying that the way to begin their task was to learn more about the mysterious beacon that appeared when the real one was extinguished. Irnic inquired as to whether he had a theory.

“One I like not, my lord.”

“Call me Irnic, and say it out anyhow, Cormac.”

Twice tonight had mac Art been invited to call nobles by name. While he had betrayed no reaction to Rhodoghast who sought to be friend of the exotic pirate, he smiled and nodded acknowledgment to Irnic. This fellow weapon-man, Cormac thought, just couldn’t be bothered with the “lord” business.

“Suppose,” Cormac said slowly, “that some… presence… knows when a ship approaches, and sends then the kelp to do death on those in the tower.”

“Sends?” That from Zarabdas.

Veremund asked, “To what purpose?”

“To lead the ship astray,” Wulfhere said, shrugging.

“To what purpose,” Veremund repeated, and Cormac did not like the mind of one who knew causes from effects and motives from purposes.

The Gael was nevertheless forced to shake his head. “Who knows? Hopefully it’s that we’ll be ascertaining, among other things.”

Veremund looked about. Irnic and Zarabdas were nodding. Salvian was making his notes. The king looked at Cormac, and nodded.

“It’s my own self I propose to man this lighthouse, with a few men… and a large supply of quicklime.” Cormac gave the king a questioning look. “A large supply.”

The king nodded. “Lime is plentiful here. I’ll have the preparation of quicklime begun on the morrow, heat or no. At dawn.”

“Just before sunset then, Wulfhere will take Raven well out, and sea-anchor. Then I and my troop, with the quicklime in quantity, will mount into the tower. Assuming that quicklime affects the vampirish kelp as it does other plants, it’s we ourselves will be extinguishing the beacon in the tower. If the false one appears, Wulfhere will give chase-with all care, being forewarned.”

Irnic’s eyes were alight and he was smiling as he nodded repeatedly, a soldier hearing a bold tactic he more than approved. It was Zarabdas who spoke.

“There is the additional danger… The wreckers, or whoever is responsible for the false beacon, may well have this dread seaweed with them. As… armour, and arms as well. It could surely swamp your ship, and drag the crew to the bottom.”

“I will advise the men of that possibility,” Wulfhere said in an equable tone, “and ask for volunteers only.”

Veremund said frowning, “Great risks are being taken in this.”

Wulfhere nodded, and with eyes full on the king he said, “Aye, and the most of it falls on me. Far be it from me to bargain like a Saxon, King Veremund, but my men will hereafter want and deserve wine, not ale, and… female companionship.”

Irnic but smiled; when his royal cousin glanced at him, the Breaker of axes said in the same equable tone Wulfhere had used, “That is… within my powers.”

“We will bid our Danes be discreet,” Cormac said, staring at Wulfhere, “and not flaunt their… receipt of this largesse.” He challenged Zarabdas with his gaze, and then with words. “And would my lord Zarabdas care to be joining us weapon-men in the accursed tower?”

Was Veremund ended the ensuing moments of tension, during which Zarabdas eyed Cormac coolly: “I forbid it,” the king said, and there was an end to that. The five men looked about at each other, all knowing they were pitted against the dangerous unknown. Only Salvian’s scratchings broke the silence. Veremund took up his wine.

“To our mutual success,” he said, and they drank, with Irnic and Wulfhere first making sure to spill a bit of wine. They parted, and only Zarabdas tarried a moment with the reivers.

“Ye be brave men,” he said, in his dry almost-whisper. “Be ye well.” And he and his robe ghosted away into the dark deeps of the royal hall.

“Ah… wolf,” Wulfhere said, laying a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “I’ve ah, been invited to spend the night elsewhere.”

“Good,” Cormac said. “Great pleasure will be on me, not to be listening to the Thor’s hammer of your snoring! Do try to get some sleep, Wulfhere.”

He was standing under a patriarchal chestnut when his peripheral vision reported a swift movement but a few yards away, at the hall. Automatically he eased into the shadow of the tree. He was unpleasantly aware that he wore no sword, for suspicion was on him; the exiled Gael had achieved no renown for a trusting nature. Now he saw a human figure well-muffled in a hooded cloak that was so dark he could not distinguish its hue in the night. It seemed to be a woman or girl, moving furtively. Cormac watched, motionless.

The cloak had just left the hall, and took care now to skirt moonlit areas as it hurried from the courtyard. The cloak was voluminous, and so dark that it soon disappeared into the night.

Assignations, Cormac thought, relaxing. Well, it’s no need I have of such, thanks to Clodia’s little visit to my room this afternoon! And he returned through the cool, clear night to the kinghouse.

“Hivernian!”

The voice was female, and the single word was spoken scarcely above a whisper. It was the Roman name for his isle of Eirrin; Rome lingered on everywhere. Cormac, turned warily to squint in the darkness. He was able to make out a smallish figure pressed against the hall’s outer wall, on the lee side of the moon’s light. Fabric rustled and a hand, pale and pale-sleeved, emerged from a long cloak. The hand beckoned.

It is a night for women to be abroad in hooded cloaks the colour of night, he thought with an inward smile. He had to assume, without enthusiasm, that it was the wife of Hermanric Marcellus who sought his company. “My… Lady Plotina?” he asked, as quietly as she had spoken.

Fabric rustled and a foot stamped. “No, damn ye for a rude foreigner.”

“Oh.” He glanced about, saw no one. “My lady,” he said, and ambled over to Eurika.

Her tiny voice said, “Plotina, hmm?”

“It’s both she and yourself stared at me whilst I ate. She, though, did not look away when our eyes met. I ignored her.”

“Oh? Why? Be ye a vegetarian?”

“Because she is another man’s wife,” he said, content not to mention other reasons, including Plotina’s meatiness.

“Ah. A pirate with morals.”

Her voice was hardly friendly, but ere he could remind her of that and that he preferred sleep to slurs, the king’s young sister said on.

“Do you despise me, mac Art?”

“My gracious lady… I do not.”

She nodded shortly. “All my life have I dwelt here, Cormac mac Art. Never never have I been allowed beyond even the confines of my brother’s personal demesne, and always with watchful eyes on me. I long to know of the world. You have seen it. Come with me and tell me of that great broad world out there beyond Treachery Bay, Cormac the Bold.”

“Come with you where?”

“Why, to my chambers, where we’ll not be interrupted.”

“My lady, methinks that would be both unseemly and dangerous. It’s happy I’ll be to talk with ye on the morrow. In the sunlight.”

“Hmp! Cormac the Bold becomes Cormac the Timid, is it?”

“Aye, lady Princess.” Those words hurt or reduced him not at all; Art’s son of Connacht had to respect a person before he paid heed to his opinion, or hers.

“Ye-ye say only ‘aye’…” There was wonder in her voice. “Such an admission does not disturb ye in the least, does it? Ye be so sure of yourself?”

“Aye,” he repeated, “lady Princess.”

Eurica stared wonderingly with the moonlight sparkling on her large blue eyes, and she sighed, and looked pensively downward. Cormac said “My lady,” and turned away to resume his way.

“I gave you no leave to go!”

He looked back at her without turning. “Then for your own pride, lady Princess, do so now, for it’s to my bed I’m going.”

And he did, and slept well, alone and with no snoring at hand, other than his own.

Nor, in the sunlight of the morrow, did Princess Eurica trouble herself to seek out the man from “Hivernia.”