The Half-Slave Read online

  ‘It sounds as if it went well,’ Octha said.

  Ascha was pleased at what he thought was a new respect in the merchant’s voice. ‘It did,’ he said, ‘and I can pay you what I owe you.’ He tapped the purse so the coins clinked.

  Octha bent his head. ‘Praise be to Tiw!’ he said with the slightest hint of irony.

  ‘But what of the fleet?’ Ascha said.

  ‘Growing bigger by the hour.’

  ‘When do you think they’ll sail?’

  Octha gave it some thought. ‘Probably tomorrow, maybe the day after. They’ve been making repairs, taking on food and water, training for war,’ he said. ‘Radhalla works his people hard.’

  ‘We have orders to watch them,’ Ascha said. ‘And warn the Franks the moment they leave. The Franks and the Romans plan to destroy them as soon as they land.’

  ‘Good! We all hope you will succeed,’ Octha said fervently.

  ‘A pity more Frisians aren’t as hostile to sea-raiders as you,’ the captain growled.

  ‘We have plenty of reason to fear them,’ Octha said carefully.

  ‘But you trade with the raiders?’ the captain insisted.

  The merchant squirmed. ‘We sell them a little food and beer. And we buy the loot and slaves they have taken,’ he said. ‘Sometimes our young men go with them on raids. The trade is good, but Saxons are uncomfortable bedfellows and we’re always glad to see the back of them.’

  Ascha was curious to see how the captain would respond, but the Frank carried on eating. Frisian lack of scruples about trading with the Saxon sea-wolves was well known.

  The merchant moved away. Ascha sipped his beer. He saw Herrad talking to one of the Frisian women and watched her, his eyes following her every gesture. He saw the way she touched the woman’s arm to make a point and saw the woman’s answering smile.

  There was a dry chuckle at his side.

  ‘She’s a fine girl,’ the captain said. ‘I can see why you’re sweet on her.’

  Ascha jerked as if stung. ‘I’m not sweet on her,’ he snapped angrily.

  ‘I can see it in your eyes, boy,’ the captain said with a hint of a smile, ‘but you have a rival.’

  He pointed with his beaker, and Ascha saw Lucullus lean in and whisper something in the girl’s ear, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. There was a smile on the Gaul’s lips, and his hair was thick and glossy on his neck. Herrad looked up suddenly and caught Ascha watching her. She smiled and Lucullus turned to see who she was smiling at. He lifted his hand in a casual half wave at Ascha and then his eyes slid back to the girl.

  ‘He’s just a slave,’ Ascha scowled, but the envy washed through him like bile.

  ‘If he was my slave, I’d teach him to mind his place,’ the captain said.

  Ascha brooded. The Gaul was like a cat, always landing on his feet. He remembered Lucullus telling him with a grin how he’d been sold because his master’s daughter had developed a fondness for the good-looking Gaul. He thought about that and then he got to his feet, picked up his cloak and went over to Lucullus. He bent low to the his ear. ‘A word, now, outside.’

  Lucullus followed him out.

  The weather had changed. The wind was squally although the air was warm and heavy.

  ‘Ascha, what is it?’

  ‘It’s nothing. Let’s walk.’ He put his hand on the back of Lucullus’ neck. ‘I think we landed on our feet, meeting Octha. It could have been worse.’

  ‘Much worse,’ the Gaul agreed.

  There was silence.

  ‘This thing between you and Herrad.’

  ‘What thing? There is nothing between us.’

  ‘All the same, I want it to stop. I want you to leave her alone.’

  He spoke too loudly, as if he were driving a mule.

  ‘But we are friends,’ Lucullus said. ‘And besides, who else can she talk to.’

  Ascha stopped and turned to face Lucullus, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We share a faith. It is only natural she would want to talk to me.’

  Ascha felt a quiver of sudden fury. ‘You saying she would sooner talk to you than anybody else?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘You mean the rest of us are barbarians?’

  Lucullus gave him an easy smile. ‘Franks, Frisians, Saxons. To those of us born under Rome’s rule, you are all barbarians.’

  Ascha hit Lucullus a wild punch on the side of the head. Lucullus staggered and recovered. Ascha saw a flash of anger in the Gaul’s eyes and hit him again. Lucullus fell sprawling in the mud.

  ‘Get up!’ Ascha shouted. ‘Get up!’

  Lucullus went to rise. He seemed to have second thoughts and slumped back.

  Ascha bent over him. ‘I am no barbarian,’ he yelled. ‘Do you understand?’

  Lucullus looked up, his face showing anger and resentment, while his hand went to his jaw and slowly rubbed it. He did not appear frightened but made no move to rise. Ascha walked away and then suddenly ran back and kicked Lucullus in the ribs.

  ‘If you value your life, don’t ever call me that again.’

  When he looked back, Lucullus was stumbling towards the house holding his jaw.

  It began to rain, slow at first and then without mercy. Rain drops rilled on the roof and splashed in the mud. Ascha dragged his cloak over his head and climbed up the bank to the gap in the wall. He stood under the parapet and sheltered under the wall’s lee with the cattle and stared into the grey wetness. Earlier, Octha’s servants had lit a fire in the yard and the pale smoke of the wet timber rose thick and heavy. Through the driving rain, he could see the roofs of Thraelsted and beyond, the faint outlines of the anchored warfleet. He peered into the greyness.

  Somewhere out there was his brother and his clan.

  He wiped the rain from his face and felt a pang of loneliness, a numb pain like tooth-ache. He wondered if he was doing the right thing. For the first time, he began to realize that when the Saxons hit the beaches of Gallia, the Theodi would be with them and when the Franks and the Romans attacked the invaders, as they were bound to do, his own people would die alongside the Saxons. The realization came as a shock. He swallowed and blinked, oblivious to the rain streaming down and soaking him to the bone

  The rain eased and the wind was not so strong. There was silence broken only by the rustle of the trees and the steady dripping from overhanging rafters.

  The door of the house opened and some Franks appeared. They were drinking beer and talking in loud voices. He watched them go to the fire, draw up crates and barrels, stretch their legs and drink some more.

  A woman came out of the darkness.

  She jumped a rivulet of running water, lightly as a young woman would, and walked towards the fire, lifting her skirts clear of the mud. He peered into the thick ambush of shadows. He could not see her face but, by the cast of her shoulders and the slimness of her hips, he knew it was her. He felt his heart start to thump. Pushing himself away from the wall, he ran quickly down the bank.

  ‘Herrad?’

  She stopped and smiled uncertainly. One of the Franks threw a log onto the fire and the flames crackled and leapt. There was a burst of laughter and a few sly remarks which may or may not have been directed at them.

  ‘Walk with me?’ he said.

  She hesitated, alarmed perhaps by his intensity. She looked over her shoulder at the house and then went with him, moving away from the noise and the people into the shadows.

  The rain stopped and the mist lifted, driven by a fresh sea breeze that rolled over the castellum wall. She walked with him across the yard, stepping over the puddles with an easy stride. He glanced at her. She seemed composed. His thigh brushed hers and she moved away as if scalded. They went up the bank to the gap in the wall of the castellum. He had not thought about what he would say and now that they were alone he felt only relief that she had come.

  He stood by her side as she held her elbows and looked down at the Saxon fleet. Her face was a
pale smudge in the darkness.

  ‘So many ships,’ she said after a while, and he could hear the hard edge to her tone.

  ‘You hate them don’t you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Saxons. Barbarians!’

  ‘They drove us out of Pritannia. And they took my sister. They are cruel and vicious and without mercy.’

  He wanted to ask her about her sister, but held back, unwilling to pursue a matter that neither of them could handle. He hesitated and then said, ‘Does that mean you hate me?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘You are a Theod, not a Saxon.’

  ‘They are the same thing, no?’

  ‘Not for me.’

  She turned and gave him a faint smile. He was aware of her arm by his side and the warm smell of her. She was close enough to touch.

  ‘Are your people out there?’ she said looking to the bay.

  ‘Yes, they’re out there,’ he said and felt the fear curdle in his belly. Franks and Romans were getting ready to slaughter Saxons. They would not distinguish between Theod and Cherusker. The thought depressed him.

  No sound but the drip of water under the timbers.

  ‘What happened between you and Lucullus?’ she said eventually.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Were you fighting over me?’

  He could sense the disapproval coming off her in waves.

  ‘Lucullus got a little above himself.’

  She rolled her eyes to the sky. ‘Lucullus is a friend,’ she said. ‘No more.’

  He couldn’t reply. His tongue was dry in his throat.

  ‘Perhaps you envy him?’ she said quietly.

  ‘I do not,’ he burst out, but knew she had put her finger on the truth. He had envied the lanky Gaul since they had first met.

  ‘Lucullus did not deserve what you did.’

  ‘He is my property,’ he said moodily. ‘I can do with him as I like.’

  He noticed a look of cold scorn appear on her face and felt ashamed and stupid. This wasn’t what he had wanted. With Basinia’s slave girl it had all been so easy, so straightforward. How could two girls who seemed so alike, be so different?

  ‘I should go,’ she said.

  ‘No, don’t go,’ he said. He put one hand up against her cheek and held it. Delicately, he touched her hair. The slightest twinge went through her and then she closed her eyes. He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to him, pressing his hands against the small of her back. He kissed her full on the mouth. Her lips were soft and he could smell her body, warm and natural, enveloping him, pulling him in.

  She broke away, ‘I can’t do this,’ she said sweeping the hair from her face.

  He felt the tight cramp of desire at the pit of his stomach and leaned in close to kiss her again.

  She shoved him hard, both hands punching against his chest. ‘I said no!’ she shouted.

  He was overwhelmed by sudden fury. He grabbed her wrist, pulled her towards him and raised his other hand. She stood for a moment with her chin uplifted, glaring at him, as if defying him to strike her and then she ripped her arm free and was gone.

  Ascha closed his eyes. He clenched and unclenched his fists and tried to work out what had just happened. He had been clumsy and ham-fisted. A barbarian! He let out a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob and then swivelled, punching the stone again and again in a sudden explosion of rage.

  Around the fire, heads lifted and watched him curiously.

  He slid down the wall and sat in the mud with his back against the cold stone and his head on his chest, licking his knuckles.

  Everything had turned as bitter as wormwood.

  By the fire, he could hear people laughing.

  He pushed his way past the men and women at the door and made his way into the house. The Franks had been drinking all evening and most were drunk. Had they already forgotten their dead friends, or did it just seem that way? Lucullus was sitting with the girl and Gydda and Tchenguiz. There was a smear of dried blood on the Gaul’s cheek, and one eye looked as if it were beginning to close. Herrad sat next to him, a comforting arm around his neck. Lucullus looked up as Ascha entered and then looked away.

  The captain came over, red-faced and cheerful. ‘Your man seems to have picked a fight with a stone wall,’ he said with a grin.

  Ascha swore but said nothing.

  A babble of noise in the room, people laughing and shouting to one another. He watched Herrad lift her hair off her neck and then drop it. She knew he was there, but she wouldn’t look at him.

  He felt close to breaking, a branch blown down in a storm. Herrad despised him as a barbarian, and the price for buying his freedom was the destruction of his own people. Even Radhalla had not wanted that. He felt his heart thudding. There was a strange roaring in his ears, and his mouth was dry. The hall was spinning. Somewhere, far away, he could hear a distant voice saying his name.

  He looked up to see Octha standing in front of him with a pitcher of beer. Octha put down the beer and drew up a bench and sat down. ‘You look rough,’ he growled. ‘What’s holding you together? Cobwebs?’

  Ascha shook his head. He ran both hands over his face and blew out his cheeks. Right now, the merchant was the last person he wanted to talk to.

  ‘Go away, old man. I have things on my mind.’

  Octha put back his head and guffawed.

  ‘We all have things on our mind, lad,’ Octha said. He splashed beer into a beaker and handed it to Ascha. ‘Y’know what? I think it’s high time you and I got drunk.’

  23

  He must have passed out because when he came to his head was throbbing and there was a foul taste in his mouth. When he got to his feet, the walls spun and the floor seemed to tip. He went outside, ducked his head in the trough and immediately felt better.

  He went to the gap in the wall and stared at the ships in the bay. He knew they would have to leave soon, Radhalla could not afford to wait much longer. He felt sick at the thought of the battle to come.

  Herrad came out from a door to feed the hens. He watched her wipe her hands on her skirt and go inside. He breathed in to clear his head, crossed the yard and pushed at the door. He nodded politely to Octha and the captain and wished them a good morning. The captain didn’t reply, but Octha looked up and agreed it was a fine morning. The old man looked as fresh as a daisy, Ascha thought ruefully.

  The girl was grinding something in a clay bowl and didn’t look up.

  ‘I want to go out to the fleet,’ Ascha said.

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’ the captain said suspiciously.

  ‘Because I want to make a final count of the ships and to do that I need to get close,’ he said, the lie springing easy to his lips.

  ‘It’s not safe,’ Octha said. ‘The Saxons have the town sewn up tighter than a pig’s arse. Nobody gets in or out.’

  ‘I’m still going.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ the captain said, raising his voice.

  ‘They catch you, they’ll kill you,’ Octha said.

  And then Ascha heard the girl say, ‘I’ll take you.’

  Ascha gazed at her in wonderment and shook his head. ‘No, it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Safer than if you go on your own,’ she said coolly. ‘I take the boat out almost every day. The Cheruskkii know me. If you’re well hidden, I don’t think they’ll stop us.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Octha said. ‘Herrad is up and down that river all the time.’

  Ascha raised one quizzical eyebrow. ‘You would do this?’

  ‘When do you want to go?’ she said.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘I want to go now.’

  He followed the girl out and watched while she pulled the rowboat out from the reeds. He waited while she gathered her skirts and stepped down into the boat. Her arms and feet were bare, her skin browned by the sun, her hair combed and folded, thick and dark, behind her ear. He got into the boat and lay down, finding that if he curled between her fee
t, his knees bunched under his chin, there was just enough room. She threw a sail cloth over him that stank of salt and fish and long days drying in the sun. He lay under the sailcloth and listened as the girl made ready.

  There was the creak of oars and then the sensation of movement. It was hot under the sailcloth, and the motion and smell of fish made his stomach heave. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the rhythm of the oars. After a while he lifted up a corner of the sailcloth to let in some air. He saw the castellum, Thraelsted, and the hulls of the Saxon fleet sliding past.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she whispered.

  ‘Never better,’ he growled and heard her snort with laughter.

  Lying in the half-dark with his head between the girl’s feet, covered by sailcloth, was a little like having her skirts thrown over his face, he thought, and once this idea had taken hold he couldn’t let it go. He could just see Herrad’s feet, small and neat, pressing against the side of the boat as she pulled on the oars. Her legs, bare and brown, disappeared into the soft shadow of her dress. He smiled to himself, aroused by the girl’s closeness.

  He was torn from his dreaming by a breathless voice. ‘You must direct me,’ he heard her say. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘I want to find my clanship, the SeaWulf.’

  Herrad went quiet. Now she knew he had not come to count warships. He waited, hoping she would help him. There was a long pause, and then he heard her say, ‘Would you know her?’

  He’d know the SeaWulf anywhere. He had carved her prow, sailed with her to Gallia. He knew his own work. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She’ll be further west on the landward side of the fleet, with the Cheruskkii boats.’

  The tide was ebbing and some of the longboats were marooned on the mud. The rest were anchored out in the river, roped together like bundles of firewood. He took his time, his eyes resting on each ship before moving on. The confederation fleet was huge, no doubt about it, longboats from every clan and nation, a forest of masts.

  Slowly, they worked their way across the bay. No sound but the girl’s laboured breathing and the boat’s gentle creaking.

  Ascha raised his head, but the girl shushed him. ‘You must stay under cover,’ she said. ‘We’re almost within the fleet’