‘Perhaps we should have camped in the hills,’ said Conn.
‘We were spotted yesterday. Nowhere here is completely safe, but I did not want to be surprised in open country.’ He forced a smile. ‘Do not be too concerned, my friend. I have passed this way before without incident. I am only saying we should be wary.’
Conn said nothing. He could see the tension in the little merchant. Banouin was a tough man, not given to groundless fears. Conn scanned the buildings. Young children were playing in the mud by the riverbank, and a woman was sitting on a rock close by, sewing a patch onto a threadbare cloak. She was wearing a simple dress that had once been blue, but was now a washed-out grey. Her hair was long and filthy, her skin dry. Everything about her spoke of loss and defeat. Conn looked away.
Banouin gestured to Conn, and the two men strolled to the log dwelling. There was no door, merely a long cowhide hanging over a pole. Pushing it aside they entered the single room. Four men were sitting at a table, gambling with painted knucklebone dice. One glanced up as the newcomers entered. His head was huge and totally bald, his eyes small and dark. ‘You’ll be wanting the ferry,’ he said. ‘Dovis and his brother took some cattle to market. They won’t be back until tomorrow.’
‘Thank you,’ said Banouin, with a friendly smile.
‘You want to play?’
‘Perhaps later. We need to tend to our ponies.’
‘I saw them,’ said the man, rising from his chair and stretching his back. He was big, several inches over six feet, and his bearskin jerkin served to make him look even more formidable. ‘Heavily laden. You’re the merchant, Banouin.’
‘Yes. Have we met?’
‘No. I recognized you from the blue hat. You should join us. It would be friendly. Don’t you want to be friendly?’
‘I am always friendly,’ said Banouin. ‘But I am a terrible gambler. Luck never favours my throws.’ Turning away he walked back to the door.
‘Perhaps your lady friend would like to play? A long time since we had such pretty company,’ said the man. The others laughed.
‘Indeed I would,’ said Conn, with a smile. ‘Knucklebones is a great favourite among my people.’ He walked across to stand before the big man, and when he spoke it was with easy familiarity. ‘Before we play we first need to understand one another. I am a stranger here, and unused to your customs. But I am a fast learner. Now, we have not met before and yet you insult me. Back home I would have killed you.’ Conn smiled and tapped the big man’s chest. ‘I would have cut out your heart. But what I must consider is that I am in a different land. Here it is obviously customary to engage in banter with strangers. Am I right, you fat, ugly mound of cow shit?’
The big man’s jaw dropped, and his eyes narrowed. With a foul curse he lunged at the Rigante. Conn did not move back. Instead he whipped a straight left into the man’s face, following it with a right cross that sent him spinning across the table, which upended, spilling knucklebones and copper coins into the dirt. The big man came up fast, but Conn had moved in and thundered a right into his face that split the skin under his eye. He grabbed Conn’s tunic and tried to haul him into a rib-snapping bear hug.
Conn head-butted him in the nose. The man cried out and fell back. Conn hit him with two straight lefts, followed by a right uppercut to the belly. Air whooshed from the man’s lungs and he bent double – straight into Conn’s rising knee.
The big man slumped to the floor unconscious.
The first of the other men surged to his feet, and froze as Conn’s knife touched his throat, pricking the skin and causing blood to ooze onto his filthy shirt. ‘Where I come from,’ said Conn, conversationally, ‘it is considered wise to know the nature of a man before making him an enemy. Here, in this stinking cesspit, you obviously have other ideas. The question is, do I cut your throat and kill your friends, or do I wander out and see to my ponies? Do you have any thoughts, scum-breath?’ The knife blade pricked deeper.