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| "A slim blade sprang from nowhere and pressed against his cheek." |
Banac’s stomach lurched. Balor clenched his hand tightly, and Mother drew them close. Banac could feel her hands trembling as she held their shoulders. He was breathless, tense, his mind whirling as he tried to take in what he had just heard.
No-one moved. Everyone was waiting to hear what the Elder would say. But Agwaen did not speak. He stood with the blade almost touching his throat and stared calmly at Aedwyc. The younger man began to grow visibly agitated. His arm trembled with the effort of keeping his sword raised, and his tongue darted out to moisten dry lips.
“What do you say, old man?” he snapped impatiently. “Will you tell me where this Beorod is cowering?”
Still Agwaen said nothing. Aedwyc clenched his teeth and raised the sword a little more. “Why do you protect him?” he said. “What is he worth to you? Must I put fire to these houses and swords to your women before I have an answer from you?”
“Aedwyc.” The voice was quiet, but it startled him so that he dropped his sword-arm. He turned, and the whole village turned with him to see who had spoken.
The man in black nudged his horse forward. Every eye watched as he drew level with the younger man.
“That is enough,” he said.
His voice held such a tone of cool command that Banac doubted anyone could have resisted it. Even so, Aedwyc made as if to protest, but the man in black raised his hand sharply.
“I said it is enough.” This time there was steel in his words. “You have threatened, but you will not harm these people. They have done no wrong.”
For a moment it looked as though Aedwyc would still protest. Then he relented and bowed his head.
“Yes, your highness,” he said sullenly.
The Scholar nudged his own horse forward. “Highness,” he said, oozing false respectability. “May I respectfully remind you that a crime has taken place? We are here to make an arrest.”
The man in black did not even look at him. “So your warrant claims,” he said. “But none of these. These are innocent. We seek a man, not woman or a babe.”
And, as if on cue, a shout rang out from the shoreline. Again the whole village turned as one, including the soldiers, to see what it was — and what they saw there made hope leap in Banac’s breast.
The men had returned from the Sea. They had seen the soldiers on the beach, and the women and children cowering in fear, and now they were dragging their boats up onto the sand and vaulting over the gunwales, grabbing whatever boat-hooks or gutting-knives came to hand. They did not hesitate, but quickly formed a long line and began to advance up the beach towards the village. Their faces were grim, and their was murder in their eyes. In the middle of the line Banac could see Father and Elred standing shoulder to shoulder, and he almost shouted out in exultation.
But Aedwyc did not flinch. He issued a series of curt commands, and at once his soldiers leapt into action. They were young, and most were inexperienced in war, but they were the baron’s men and they had been trained well. Within moments they had split into two groups: one surrounded the women and children with crossed spears, while the other dashed down to the edge of the village and knelt in a long line with their shields interlocked and their spears levelled, forming a bristling wall between the men of the village and their families.
Banac clung to Balor’s hand, and Balor clung to Mother’s skirts, as all around them mothers and children cried out, some in hope and some in fear. The sound of weeping filled Banac’s ears, and terrified bodies pressed against him so that he could not see what was happening on the beach.
For a moment he was torn. Balor still clutched his hand tightly, but an overpowering urge had come over him to know what was happening, to see what would become of Father and the beremer, to witness the next part of the adventure he had started. He made a decision, and shook off Balor’s grip, and ignoring his brother’s startled cries he shoved his way through the crowd.
He quickly came up against a broad back and crossed spear-shafts, which prevented him from going further; but he kept as close as he dared to the guards and craned his neck to see what was happening.
On the beach the line of village men had halted some distance away from the shield-wall, unable or unwilling to go any further. Banac could see them clearly: Father, Elred, and all the other faces he knew so well, their brows furrowed with anger and worry. He wanted to call out, but they were half-hidden behind the backs and helmeted heads of the soldiers, and he dared not draw attention to himself.
He looked to his right. Aedwyc and the man in black were in conference — he could not hear what they were saying, but they seemed to be in disagreement. Behind them, not far away, the Scholar was scratching at his beard and shifting restlessly in the saddle. At the sight of his face rage stabbed at Banac’s heart again. He wished he were a man, so that he could deal with the Scholar how he wanted to.
Then the Scholar turned his head, and his gaze fell on Banac, and Banac ducked back, his heart suddenly pounding, cursing himself for his curiosity. Briefly he hoped that the Scholar had not recognised him, but a moment later there was a brisk command and the soldiers turned with drawn swords and looked straight at him. Banac stood frozen in their gazes like a wild animal, then one of them lunged forwards and grabbed his arm and dragged him out into the open.
“That’s the one!” he heard the Scholar say as he kicked and squirmed against them. “Bring him here!”
* * *
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