Howel was hearing a case and pleas, and the proprieties of giving them attention took precedence over those of greeting visitors. Thus he did not glance at the approaching weapon-men from the sea, and Cormac understood. His hospitable intent was manifested by serving wenches, who brought the pirates a jack each of honey-coloured ale. Wulfhere did not so much as drink his as breathe it in with one long inhalation.
“Another,” he said, hardly gasping, and sat to pull off his sea-wetted footgear.
“And for me,” Cormac said. “It’s gone this will be by the time ye’re after returning.” And he too sat, and removed his boots.
The girls exchanged a look and departed; Cormac and Wulfhere also looked at each other, nodded in appreciation, and gave attention to the proceedings.
The case being heard seemed to involve client-ship. One of the Armorican chieftains wanted to attach a man to his retinue. The man’s kin were impugning the proffered contract because they would lose by it. The matter took some time to settle, and twice loud angry voices had to be quelled.
Cormac yawned, thinking that there were advantages even to being an outlaw. When someone wished to join one’s crew, and one was willing to have him, the newcomer simply sprang aboard. After that, did he talk or shout out of turn, one bade him shut his face. If he did not, one dealt with the problem most directly. That necessity did not arise, under Cormac and Wulfhere. The Gael did oft proclaim that one should not kill unless it was necessary-and was wont to add, and prove, that all too often it was necessary. Wulfhere made no such ridiculous statement in the first place. Nor did crewmen wish to tangle with a captain who looked as if he could handle a Frost Giant or two-or might have been sired by one-and on a passing large human mother, at that.
The proceedings ended eventually. By then, lounging bootless in the sun and with ale warming his innards, Cormac paid no mind as to the prince’s decision and did not see where went the individual desired by a chieftain. Howel’s duty to his people was done for the nonce; he could greet an old acquaintance.
“By Morgan the sea-queen!” he swore, gripping Cormac by the hand while the gathering disintegrated in all directions with a buzz as of bees at their springtime swarming. “Cormac mac Art, ye be welcome here as a Saxon’s death, I vow! Ah… no offense, Wulfhere.”
The Dane was puzzled. Luckily, it did not occur to him that he could be confused with a Saxon. Prince Howel stood smiling while the two shod themselves. The three passed within his hall then dim and cool under its thatch: Under their soles fresh rushes rustled on an earthen floor that many feet had stamped iron-hard, over the years. A double circle of pillars of red yew-wood upheld the roof, while brilliant tapestries adorned the walls. A servant hurried to spread furs and soft leather cushions over the marble steps of the hall’s dais, speckled like bird’s eggs.
“Cormac,” the Armorican ruler said,’ wonder’s been on me whether ye yet lived; we received word of that business in Nantes, and that ye’d escaped whole. Afterwards came naught but rumors. The tale that seemed most likely was the least pleasant; that ye’d attempted crossing the Sea of Treachery to Hispanic coasts, and had been swallowed by the waters.”
“Attempt! Wulfhere said, with indignation. “We did it, and the seas thrice as high as the mast and raging. Oh, it tried to swallow us, right enough!”
“Aye, was a feat though I say so,” Cormac put in smoothly, channeling the talk lest Wulfhere give away too much. “And little it-”
“Ye two crossed that hellpit the Basques call Bay of Biscaya?”
Cormac nodded. “And little it-”
“A feat indeed!” Howel said, and his moustachioes streamed in the air as he gave his head an impressed jerk. “Drink that ale yourselves and bring wine for me and my guests!”
Cormac waited a moment longer, but Howel was looking expectantly at him and seemed not disposed to break in again. “And little the feat profited us,” the Gael said, rather hurriedly. He went on normally, “At Garonne-mouth we’re after making the finest haul I’ve yet seen, and in Nantes we lost it to a prancing customs man, as ye’ve seemingly heard. We lost a man there also-Black Thorfinn, and a good man too. Two choices the Roman warships left us, to cross the sea of Treachery or be taken. So far off course were we blown that we nigh missed Hispania’s coast altogether! Last of all we had to fight our way clear of some angry Basques as we were returning north. It’s sore depleted our crew is, Howel. It is on us to return to Dane-mark, for more men.”
Cormac leaned back on his elbows on the dais-become-couch.
“Aye,” Wulfhere said, absently or so pretending, while he looked after the servant who’d gone to fetch them wine. Following the lead of his blood-brother of Eirrin, he did not attempt to tell of the things Cormac had left out of the account. No mention had he made of their service with King Veremund the Tall. Best leave it so. This Breton should not be encouraged to speculate that Raven might hold more than hard tack, smoked salmon and salt fish, and some thin ale. He was, after all, part of the legacy of Rome: a pirate.
Easy will that be, Wulfhere thought. Even our own men do not suspect!
Five yards of heavy chain they had with them-pure silver, Veremund’s payment for their lifting his seaward curse. And well they deserved it, both men thought. Had been Cormac ancliuin’s idea to tarnish it black to resemble plain iron, after which they’d used it to replace a portion of Raven’s anchor chain.
Ah, that crafty brain of his, Wulfhere thought, smiling now as he saw the returning servant, pleasantly laden. What better hiding place?
Was not that Raven’s commanders mistrusted their own men. Was merely that two might keep a secret, whereas twoscore never could. Meanwhile, Wulfhere thought further, Cormac seemed to trust this Howel. But… keep the secret! He scratched meditatively under his eagle’s nest of a beard, where sea-salt was crusted on his jaw.
The two, Briton and Eirrish, knew each other of old, from the days when Cormac had led a crew of Eirrin’s reivers in many a fight. They had shared ventures and danger and loot, for Howel was corsair as these folk called it. Yet would be foolish to tell him what they had elected not to tell their own crew. He was, after all, a pirate.
Morfydd joined in the talk with the freedom of a Celtic woman.
“Will you wonder if misfortune dogs you?” she asked, her strange hazel eyes all shifting depths and glimmers. “You have nowhere to go with your successes. When you have no home but the wide sea, the wide sea drinks all that you have. Meseems you should seek a secure base of your own. Cormac; sea-chieftain Wulfhere-have ye never thought of taking service with some great lord? Many must there be who would welcome your prowess and experience, and make ye both rich!
Wulfhere grinned broadly. Cormac, expressionless of dark scarred face, said, “Mayhap it’s a sound notion ye have, Lady Morfydd.”
“Aye!” his partner laughed. “The hard part were to find one great lord who’d not have us cut down on sight, on our reputations alone! Well and well… who knows but that we can do even that? Mayhap we will be attempting it! We have need of building up our crew though, lady. It is why we make for my land of the Danes again.” He swigged his wine with contentment. “Prince Howeclass="underline" might we be making some ship’s repair on this your shore?”
“Indeed! More, all supplies ye have need of are to be yours. A comrade of Cormac mac Art may ask and have aught short of my right arm-or Morfydd!” Howel seized her in his arms and kissed her fiercely.
The talk turned then to old times that Wulfhere Skull-splitter had not shared, and a board game beloved of the former companions. Bored, he broke in at last:
“Why make ye your home on this island, Prince? Surely all things save victuals must be fetched from the mainland, and likely some of that.”