Hamnet's breath smoked when he sat up. He pulled on his boots. Not far away, Ulric was doing the same thing. Quirking up an eyebrow, Ulric said, "Maybe we ought to let them kill each other. Jesper's no great loss."
"If he hurts Gelimer, the Bizogots will want to murder all of us," Hamnet answered.
"I suppose you're right. What a pity." Ulric Skakki stood up.
So did Hamnet. The shouting outside did nothing to improve the headache he discovered on waking. "Neither one of them understands the other's language," he pointed out.
"Just as well," Ulric said. "If they knew what they were calling each other, they would have gone for their knives long since."
Count Hamnet hadn't thought of that. "We really ought to calm them down if we can," he said.
"You're no fun," Ulric told him, but they left the mammoth-hide tent together.
"What's going on here?" Hamnet said, first in Raumsdalian, then in the Bizogot tongue.
Jesper Fletti and Gelimer gave up shouting at each other. Instead, they both shouted at him. That didn't do his head any good. "This lemming-brained idiot keeps wanting to bother the jarl," Gelimer said. "Doesn't he know Trasamund's in his tent screwing like there's no tomorrow?"
At the same time, Jesper Fletti said, "This fleabitten savage won't let the lady Gudrid talk to Trasamund."
"Oh." Hamnet Thyssen's head pounded anew, for an altogether different reason.
"Oh, for God's sake," Ulric Skakki said in about the same tone of voice.
Hamnet stepped between Gelimer and Jesper. He set both hands on Jes-per's shoulders. The imperial guardsman bristled at the liberty, but grudgingly allowed it from a Raumsdalian noble. "Go back to Gudrid," Hamnet said. "Tell her she can't see Trasamund now. Tell her she can't see him now even if she's seen every single inch of him before. Tell her it doesn't matter if she's a noblewoman. Tell her she's a guest among the Bizogots, and what they say goes. Tell her that if she causes any more trouble she's liable to get you killed and she's liable to get herself killed."
"Tell her that if she causes any more trouble that involves waking people up, the Bizogots may not be the ones who kill her—or you," Ulric Skakki added.
"And who will try to do this?" Jesper asked softly, setting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "You and who else?"
"I'm the who else," Hamnet said. Jesper Fletti looked horrified. Hamnet went on, "Tell Gudrid she can't get away with playing the spoiled brat up here. She won't hear that from me, no matter how true it is. Maybe she'll listen to you." Or maybe she won't listen to anybody. Half the time, she doesn't.
Jesper Fletti looked from him to Ulric to Gelimer. Abruptly, the guardsman spun on his heel and stalked away. He ducked into a tent. Count Hamnet heard his voice from inside, but couldn't make out what he said. Then Gudrid let out a screech like a lion impaled on a woolly rhino's horn.
She stormed out of the tent. She didn't stop when she saw Hamnet, but she did slow down. He looked around to make sure he still had Ulric Skakki at his back. Ulric might have borrowed some magic from Audun Gilli, for he'd just vanished. Count Hamnet sighed. Up to him, was it? Well, if it was, it was.
"Why can't I see Trasamund?" Gudrid demanded.
"Because he's still with the women from his clan," Hamnet answered. "Can't you figure that out for yourself, or are you just being difficult for the sake of being difficult?"
"Do you think I care about that?"
"Yes, I think you care about it very much. But I don't think you understand Bizogots as well as you think you do. This isn't your land. You're a guest here. Good guests have all the privileges of clan members—and more besides, because they're forgiven if they're ignorant, and clansmen and -women aren't. If they go past ignorant, though, if they get to annoying . . . God help them in that case, because no one else will."
He wished Ulric Skakki hadn't ducked out on him. If Ulric intoned something solemn like, He's right, it might help make Gudrid believe him. Or maybe nothing would do that. "Trasamund will listen to me," Gudrid said with her usual assurance.
"Why? Because you're special? Do you think you're any more special than any of the women he's with now?" Hamnet asked. Before Gudrid could answer or even nod, he went on, "Do you think he thinks you're more special than any of them? If you do, you're fooling yourself even worse than usual."
"By God, you are a hateful man!" Gudrid said.
"Anyone who tells you anything you don't want to hear is a hateful man," Hamnet answered. "And anybody who tells you anything true you don't want to hear is even more hateful. So I suppose I qualify, yes." He bowed.
Gudrid snarled something foul. He bowed again, as if at a compliment. Gudrid whirled and stormed off. Count Hamnet had no idea if he'd convinced her. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be sorry. She would.
But she didn't bother Trasamund. For that her former husband was duly grateful, because, whether Gudrid did or not, he knew he hadn't been joking or even exaggerating the danger. Sometimes you measured progress not by what people did but by what they didn't do. As far as Hamnet Thyssen was concerned, this was one of those times.
In due course, Trasamund emerged from his tent. He looked indecently pleased with himself—that struck Hamnet as the right word, sure enough. Gudrid went right on staying away from him. She probably thought she was punishing him. Hamnet was convinced he either didn't notice she was avoiding him or thought it was funny if he did. As long as neither of them actually did anything, though, that was all right.
Hamnet had no qualms about approaching Trasamund. "When do you plan on traveling north again, your Ferocity?" he asked.
"I've been going into gaps all night long." The jarl threw back his head and laughed. "Now you want me to worry about another one?"
After a dutiful grin, Hamnet said, "You were the one who came down to Nidaros. You will know best how important you think this journey is. The farther north we go, the shorter the time the weather will stay good—or even tolerable."
"I am not a child. You are not my mother. You do not need to tell me things a mother would tell a foolish little boy,'' Trasamund said. "This is my clan, and I have been away for a long time. I have a lot of things I need to set straight before we fare forth again."
"Is that what you were doing last night?" Count Hamnet murmured.
Trasamund laughed again. "By God, Raumsdalian, you've never seen anything straighter! And hard! It was hard as that Jesper's head." Had Gelimer already talked with him? Or had he come to his own conclusions about Jesper Fletti while traveling north with him? Hamnet wouldn't have been surprised. He thought the guards officer on the rockheaded side, too.
But no matter what Hamnet thought about Jesper, that wasn't the point. "If we know when we're leaving, we can be ready on the day," he persisted. "If we don't have a day, we'll just waste time."
Sending a sour stare his way, the jarl said, "You're as stubborn as that woman you used to sleep with, aren't you?"
"Almost," Hamnet answered. "It's one of the few things we have in common."
"Ha! That's what you think," Trasamund said.
"Oh, really?" Of itself, Hamnet Thyssen's hand slid toward his sword-hilt. If the Bizogot thought he would stand there and let himself be insulted, that was the last mistake Trasamund would ever make. Hamnet had stopped caring whether he lived or died after Gudrid left him. Honor was a different story. He would uphold his own even knowing the Three Tusk clansmen would slay him after he killed their jarl.
But Trasamund answered, "Yes, by God! You're both annoying, and you're both here!"