‘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.’
5
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?’