The three riders who had arrived with him half carried him from the field.
The Captain of the Tourney moved in front of Sigarni. 'You'll suffer for that, bitch!' he told her. 'The Baron will have your eyes put out with hot coals, your hands and feet hacked off, and then you'll be hung outside the walls in an open cage for the crows to feast on you! But first you'll answer to me!'
Sigarni said nothing as she was dragged away by the soldiers. A crowd had gathered on the edge of the field, but she did not look at them. Holding her head high she stared impassively at the keep ahead, and the double doors of the outer wall. Abby was dead. Had she given her to the Baron, she would still be alive. She saw again the fluttering wings, and the iron sword cleaving down. Tears fell to her cheeks, the salt burning the cut under her eye.
The men marched her through the Citadel entrance and then turned left, cutting across the courtyard to a narrow door and a staircase leading down into the dark. Sigarni pulled back as the men tried to force her through. The soldier whose advances she had spurned struck her over the ear with his elbow. 'Git down there!" he hissed. She was propelled forward. The stairwell was dark, the stairs slippery. The soldier twisted her arm behind her back, the other man releasing his hold on her and moving ahead. For a short while they descended in total darkness, then the faint glow of a burning torch lit the bottom of the stairs and they emerged into a dungeon corridor. Two men were sitting at a table, playing dice. Both stood as the Captain strode into sight.
'Open a cell!' he ordered. The men hurried to obey.
Sigarni was still in a daze as they dragged her into the cell. It was large and grey, one wall wet with damp, and it stank of rats' droppings. There was a small cot in one corner, and there were rusted chains hanging from the walls.
'How do you like this, bitch?' sneered the red-bearded captain, moving in front of her. Sigarni did not reply. His hand reached out, cupping her breast and squeezing hard. She winced, then brought up her knee, hammering it into his groin. He groaned and fell back. The soldier to her right, the short man, punched her in the side of the head, and she was hurled across the cot.
'Strip her,' ordered the captain, 'and we'll see how much pleasure the whore can supply.'
Through her pain Sigarni heard the words, and the strength of panic surged through her. Launching herself from the cot she dived at the first soldier, but she was still groggy and he caught her by the hair. Hands grabbed at her body and she felt her leather leggings being dragged clear.
Torchlight glittered from the captain's dagger.
'I'm going to put my mark on you, woman. And I'll hear you beg and scream before this night is over.'
CHAPTER V
GWALCHMAI WAS SITTING on the porch weeping when Asmidir rode up. As the black man climbed from the saddle and approached the old man, he could smell the fiery spirit on Gwalchmai's breath, and he saw the empty jug lying on its side. 'Where is Sigarni?' he asked.
The old man looked up, blinking. 'Suffering,' he said. 'She is the sword blade going through fire.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Why do we do it?' asked Gwal. 'What is it in our natures? When I was young we raided a Lowland village, stealing cattle. There was a young woman in a field. She had hidden in some bushes. But we found her. We raped her. It seemed good sport, and no harm done.' He shook his head. 'No harm done? Now that the Gift is upon me and I know the truth, I wonder if there will ever be forgiveness. Do you ever wonder that, Asmidir? Do you ever think of the Loabite woman you captured in the high mountains of Kushir? Do you lie awake at night and ask yourself why she slashed her wrists?'
Asmidir straightened as if struck, his dark eyes narrowing. 'You are the Gifted One?'
'Aye. That is my curse, black man. It is only marginally worse than yours.'
The sunlight was fading and Asmidir helped the old man to his feet, guiding him into the cabin where Lady was stretched out by the dying fire. Asmidir eased Gwalchmai into a chair, then sat opposite the man. Lady rose and put her head in Asmidir's lap, seeking a stroke. The black man idly patted her, rubbing his fingers behind her ears, and Lady's tail began to wag. 'I need your help,' Asmidir told Gwalchmai. 'I need to find a man.'
The old man leaned forward and gazed into the dying flames. 'No, you don't,' he said. 'On both counts. But I will help you, Asmidir. Oh yes, I will. First, however, tell me why are we such savages. Tell me that!'
'What do you want from me, Gifted One? The answers to questions we all know? We do what we do because we can. We hunt and kill because we can. That which is in our power belongs to us, to be used as we desire. Whether it be a round of meat, a wild-born stag, an ancient tree, or a beautiful woman. Now what is it you want to hear?'
Gwalchmai gave a long sigh, and rubbed at weary, bloodshot eyes with a gnarled hand. 'As we sit and speak,' he said, 'in the warmth of this cabin, there is a woman in a cell, being beaten, brutalized and raped by five men. She is bleeding, she is hurt. One of the five is a nobleman, but he is filled with a lust for inflicting pain. But the others are all ordinary men. Men like you and me, Asmidir. I can feel their thoughts, taste their emotions. By God, I can also sense their arousal! and I would like to kill them. But am I different? Was I different in that field? Were you different with the Loabite woman?'
'She was part of the spoils of war,' said Asmidir, 'and no, I do not lie awake at night and think of her. She was used. We are all used. She chose to kill herself. Her choice, Gifted One. But I have no time for these games, nor am I concerned about some whore in a prison cell. Do you know the name of the leader who is coming, or not?'
Gwalchmai swung round, his eyes bright and glittering. 'Yes, I know. I have always known. From the night when the Gate was opened, when Taliesen came to me, and brought me the child to raise.'
'And will you tell me?' asked Asmidir, masking his impatience.
'It is not a man.'
'You make no sense, you drunken old fool. What is it then ... a tree? A horse?'
'Are you so stupid that you cannot understand what has been said here?' asked Gwalchmai. 'Where are we, for God's sake? Can you not concentrate that fine mind for a moment?'
Asmidir sat back and took a deep breath. 'Humour me,' he said at last. 'Perhaps my mind is not as fine as you imagine.' But the old man said nothing and Asmidir took a deep breath. 'Very well, I will play this game. Where are we, you asked? We are in the Highlands, in the cabin of Sigarni the Huntress. And we have been talking about a woman in a cell..." He sat bolt upright. 'Sweet Heaven, Sigarni is in the cell?'
'Sigarni is in the cell,' echoed Gwalchmai, tossing a fresh log to the flames.
'Why?'
'The Baron desired her hawk. She refused to sell it. In the argument that followed the hawk tore out the Baron's left eye. Sigarni was dragged away.'
'But she lives. They have not killed her?'
'No, they have not killed her. But they are giving her scars she will carry all her life, and her pain will be visited a thousand times upon their countrymen.'
'What can I do? Tell me!' .
'You can wait here, with me. All your questions will be answered, Asmidir. Every one.'
*
Will Stamper sat in the Blue Duck tavern staring into the tankard. It was the fifth jug of ale he had consumed, and it could not deaden the shame he felt. Relph pushed through the crowd and sat opposite him, a bright smile on his face.
'Looks like I don't owe you that five coppers any more, eh? Told you I'd spear her by midnight.'
'Shut up, for God's sake!'
'What's wrong with you, Will? It were great, weren't it? Nothing like it! And you had your share.'