Next to the master was a wiry man with the darkest skin she had ever seen, a deep rich brown colour. He was nearly as tall as Bress. He was stripped to the waist, though also wearing very large trews and leaning on a long-hafted great axe, the heads of which were two massive crescent-shaped bronze blades.
With a final crash the ship made it through into the natural harbour. The white-clad god-slaves on the shore seemed ecstatic, and were crying their thanks to the Dark Man.
The ship struck its sails. The oars came down to back row and slow the ship down. Stone anchors were slung overboard.
Britha was angrily shoving the god-slaves out of her way. Fachtna was following her, watching the ship manoeuvre closer to the shore. The injuries Britha had given him were gone. The man in the leather jerkin and the face paint was shouting up to the fort in a broken version of the Goddodin’s language, which Britha was still able to understand, assuring them that he was here for trade as he had been before.
‘So you’ll ride your fish woman, you’ll ride Teardrop, you’ll even ride Bress, despite him killing half your people and enslaving the other half, before you’d ride me?’ Fachtna asked.
‘It’s my right, the right of every woman to take their pleasure where they want and with whom they want. And it’s not before, it’s instead of, and frankly I would ride the Cirig’s entire herd of beasties and the wolves in the wood before I got near you.’
‘I’ll have to warn them you’re coming,’ Fachtna told her. Britha turned to face him, her irritation with the Goidel warrior overcoming her fascination with the strange ship and its even stranger crew.
‘Decide what it’s going to take to get you to stop talking to me and decide now.’
Fachtna’s retort was cut off by a ramp being dropped onto the shore from the ship. The master strode down it followed by the tall brown-skinned man, who seemed to be his bodyguard.
The quality of the master’s clothing and his slight paunch marked him as wealthy. His bearing, however, was more that of a warrior than a merchant, but there was a definite intelligence behind his brown eyes.
The emaciated old man, who had spoken to Britha before, approached the ship’s master. Britha again shoved him out of the way, sending him sprawling.
‘This is not a fitting welcome,’ the ship’s master managed in the Goddodin tongue.
‘We speak the language of Carthage,’ Fachtna said. The ship’s master looked thoughtful. His guard, bronze axe at the ready, was studying Teardrop with suspicion.
‘And what would a northern barbarian know of the might and splendour of Carthage?’ the master asked.
‘Enough to recognise its tongue shouted across these waters.’
‘You speak it well.’ The ship’s master looked at Teardrop then back to Fachtna. ‘Did your demon whisper it? Pour it into your ear like honey?’
Britha was confused. ‘We don’t pour honey in ears.’ She was surprised to find herself apparently speaking Carthaginian. ‘We eat it.’
‘And I am no demon,’ Teardrop said.
‘A sorcerer then?’ the brown-skinned guard asked. Teardrop gazed at the man but said nothing. The guard met Teardrop’s look and held it.
‘My friend asked you a question,’ the ship’s master said.
‘I heard,’ Teardrop told him.
‘Who is he to ask it?’ Britha demanded.
‘Where I come from the women let the men speak,’ the Carthaginian answered.
‘Where I come from it is courteous to introduce yourself, and where I come from we geld men for discourtesy. Since we’re closer to where I come from than where you come from, which one of my ways would you like to respect?’ Britha asked. Fachtna was staring at her with a raised eyebrow.
The Carthaginian gave it some thought; the guard shifted, ready to strike.
‘The introduction, I think!’ he finally said, his face splitting into a wide grin.
‘Good choice,’ Fachtna muttered.
Men, Britha thought, shaking her head. Just another pissing contest. Still, at least she seemed to have won.
‘People call me Hanno, or Hanno of Carthage if there are more than one of my name here. My friend here has the honour of being Kush – once a slave, then a gladiator and now a close friend who keeps me safe from my enemies, though I have few of those.’
‘Must you always mention me being a slave once?’ Kush asked, sounding less than happy.
‘It is a great thing to rise from being a slave to a free man!’ Hanno cried.
Kush leaned in towards Britha, Fachtna and Teardrop. It was all Britha could do to stop herself from pulling away from him. ‘I was not a slave for very long, you understand?’ The three of them nodded. ‘And it is an ill thing to keep a slave.’
‘Oh, I agree,’ Fachtna said. Britha couldn’t help but glance down at the white-clad kneelers all around them. Hanno was looking a little uncomfortable.
‘I am Fachtna, a Gael of the line of Mael Duin.’ He stepped forward and grasped Hanno by the arm. The Carthaginian reciprocated. Fachtna turned to Kush but the bodyguard would not relinquish his hold on his axe.
‘He means no offence but he likes always to be ready to use it,’ Hanno said.
Fachtna shrugged, choosing not to take offence, for which both Britha and Teardrop were relieved.
‘I am Teardrop on Fire of the Croatan.’ He moved towards Hanno, offering his hand. Hanno looked to Kush, not taking the proffered arm immediately. Kush studied Teardrop and then Fachtna in turn.
‘I think we walk with gods and demons,’ he finally said.
‘My friend has the nose for this,’ Hanno said.
‘And we will treat you as you treat us,’ Britha told them. Hanno glanced at Kush again, who nodded. Hanno took Teardrop’s arm.
‘And I am Britha, ban draoi of the Cirig,’ Britha said, offering her arm. Hanno regarded it coolly but took it.
‘I do not know this word, ban draoi.’ Hanno admitted.
‘She is priestess, blessed by their gods or touched by their demons,’ Kush said.
Britha turned on him. ‘My power is my own and we do not make ourselves slaves to men or gods,’ she told him angrily.
‘You speak her language?’ Teardrop asked, hoping to ease the tension.
‘Anyone can see what she is for the looking,’ Kush told them. Teardrop was looking at him with interest.
‘You are not with these cravens who cower behind their wall?’ Hanno asked, turning towards the fort. ‘Without even so much the offer of a drink!’ His voice echoed around the harbour.
‘They were attacked,’ Teardrop told them, ‘by black ships.’
Kush and Hanno exchanged another knowing glance.
‘You’ve seen them?’ Britha asked.
Hanno shook his head. ‘Kush here smelled them,’ the Carthaginian said.
‘There was something evil and unnatural on the seas in the south,’ the tall axeman said. ‘We wanted none of it.’
‘We are traders, that is all. We will fight to protect ourselves but…’
‘Only a fool picks a fight with demons,’ Kush finished and looked at Teardrop again.
‘Good luck getting them to come out to trade,’ Fachtna said as he nodded towards the fort.
Hanno spat. ‘I told you we came too far north. There is nothing up here but sharp rocks, cold seas and colder women.’ Britha stared at him. ‘See!’
‘We need passage south,’ Britha said.
‘Aye,’ Fachtna agreed.
Hanno turned to regard them with a calculating expression on his face.
‘Where the demons are?’ Kush demanded.
‘They will be moving faster than you and they are also heading south,’ Teardrop said.
‘The Will of Dagon is one of the fastest—’