Stein dropped a hand to his own sword-hilt, drew and stepped round the boat. Karli was no dwarf, but Stein out-topped him by head and shoulders, outweighed him by fifty pounds. How fast was he? Plenty of farmers’ sons in Viking armies, Shef had said.
Karli cocked his elbow and threw his weight into a forehand slash, not at the head, too easy to duck, but at the point where neck met shoulder, as Shef had taught him.
Stein saw the beginnings of the movement, knew before the sword was drawn back where the blow was aimed, where it would fall. He had time to tap his foot once before his riposte. In one movement he turned his own sword in his hand, drove the base of his blade in a short chord to intersect the longer arc of Karli’s blow. The blades clanged once. Karli’s shot into the air, knocked from his grasp. A twist of the wrist, Stein’s point rested in the hollow of Karli’s throat.
Not one of the farmers’ sons, then, Karli thought sickly. Stein’s face creased with disgust. He dropped the point to the ground.
“It’s not the skin that makes the bear,” he remarked. “Nor the sword the warrior. All right, you little freckle-faced bastard, talk or I’ll cut you up for bait.”
He bent forward, thrusting his chin out and up. Karli’s feet shuffled from the fencing position he had taken to the one that came naturally to him. He shrugged a left hand feint out of habit and swung instantly with the right hook to the side of the jaw.
This time Stein’s decades-drilled reflexes failed him completely. The blow caught him standing flat and still. As he straightened his sword for the killing counter-stroke, another blow snapped his head back and a third from six inches’ range crashed into his temple. As he slumped forward Karli side-stepped and swung a hand-edge chop at the back of his neck: illegal in the Ditmarsh ring, but not against husbands or rivals met at night. The veteran sprawled his six foot four full-length at Karli’s feet.
Out of the shadows came Martha, the middle-aged slave-woman. Terror stood in her eyes as she saw the lying man.
“I came to see if you were gone. That is Stein the captain. It is the first time he has ever come spying at night. They must know you are here! Is he dead?”
Karli shook his head. “Help me to tie him before he comes round.”
“Tie him? Are you mad? We cannot guard him for ever, or keep him silent.”
“Well… What are we going to do with him?”
“Cut his throat, of course. Do it now, quickly. Put his body on your boat and roll it off in the water. It will be days before he is found.”
Karli retrieved his sword, stared at the unconscious man. “But I’ve never killed anyone. He’s… He’s done me no harm.”
Martha’s face set, she stepped forward, bent over the man now starting to push himself up from the ground. She snatched the short knife from the sheath he carried on his belt, felt its edge for a moment, hurled the helmet aside and pulled his head back by the hair. Reached forward and round, drove the point in deep under the left ear. Dragged it round in a deep, slicing semi-circle. Blood spouted from the severed arteries, Stein cried out, his voice coming as an expiring whistle from the great hole in his windpipe.
Martha released his head, let the body fall forward, wiped the knife automatically on her filthy apron. “You men,” she said. “It’s just like killing a pig. Only pigs don’t steal other pigs from their homes. Don’t bury them alive. He’d done you no harm! How much have he and his like done me? Me and my kind?
“Don’t just stand there, man! Be off with you. And take this carcass with you. If you are not back within two days we’ll all go to join him. Wherever he’s gone.”
She turned and fled into the darkness once more. Karli, his throat dry, queasily began to drag his clumsy craft into the shallow water and then to load the dead weight on it.