Gryffe’s woman, the plump and plain Iswain, appeared from the kitchen, carrying a dish of thick meat broth. ‘Eat!’ she commanded. ‘You need some proper warmth in your belly.’
Bane did so, and after a while began to feel better, the pins and needles wearing off. Iswain pulled the blanket clear of his neck and began rubbing warmed oil into the skin of his shoulders, arms, and upper back.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking her callused hand and kissing the knuckles.
‘That’s enough of that!’ said Gryffe. ‘You’ll spoil the wench!’
‘Do you good to learn some proper manners,’ said Iswain, lifting the blanket back over Bane’s shoulders. She moved round to squat in front of Bane, looking deeply into his eyes. ‘I think you’ll be fine now,’ she told him. ‘A good night’s rest will help. You are lucky not to have frostbite. ‘Twas a foolish thing to do!’
‘You tell him, girl!’ said Gryffe.
Bane smiled, and gazed into Iswain’s plain features. ‘I could have been here earlier,’ he said, ‘but I wanted to be mothered by you.’
She gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘Like all men you are an idiot,’ she told him. ‘I’ll get you more broth.’
‘I am full,’ said Bane.
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ she said sternly. ‘I’ve known men come in from the cold and then die in their beds. You’ll sit by this fire and eat until I tell you otherwise.’
‘Aye, he will,’ put in Gryffe. ‘And, if it please you, I will have some of that broth. I was in the cold too.’
‘No more for you,’ said Iswain. ‘I have no taste for fat men, and already your stomach is straining your belt.’
‘That’s my winter covering,’ argued Gryffe. ‘Protects me from the cold. Like a bear.’
‘Aye, well, it is spring now,’ she told him, ‘and time for bears to wake up.’ She walked out into the kitchen. Bane settled back in his chair.
‘What’s been happening?’ he asked.
‘Ah, we’ll talk in the morning,’ said Gryffe. ‘You’ll be in no mood for all the boring details now.’
‘Bore me,’ said Bane.
Iswain returned with more broth. Bane took it, ate a few spoonfuls, then looked at Gryffe. ‘Talk to me,’ he said.
Gryffe swore, then glanced up at Iswain. ‘The man asked you a question,’ she said.
‘Lorca and his gang came out of the forest three days ago and drove away twenty steers and a good old bull. Boile and Cascor tried to stop them, reminding them of the agreement they had with you. Lorca said he was renegotiating that agreement. Cascor tried to argue. Lorca accused him of disloyalty – and they killed him.’
Bane finished the broth, then laid aside the wooden dish. ‘I’ll find Lorca tomorrow,’ he said.
‘He has more than seventy men with him now. I think that’s why he needed the extra beef. It might be wiser to let it pass.’
‘The beef I can afford to lose,’ said Bane. ‘But no-one comes to my home and kills one of my men without facing the consequences.’
Grale sat quietly in the doorway of the roughly built roundhouse, listening to the arguments among the group of men squatting by the central fire. He had not been with Lorca’s band long enough to have a say in the debate. Asha, one of the camp’s three whores, came and sat next to him. Her dark hair was matted and filthy, her clothes ingrained with dirt. ‘You look in need of a little company,’ she said. He looked into her dark brown eyes. They were lifeless.
‘That is kind of you. Maybe later.’
‘If you have no coin you can pay me another time – after a raid.’
He turned towards her. ‘Come back in a little while, dearheart,’ he said. ‘Once the sun is down.’
She moved away. Grale rubbed at the empty socket of his left eye. Sometimes it still pained him, and he would wake at night, stifling a scream as he recalled the druid cutting free the mutilated orb and sewing shut the lids.
‘We don’t need Bane,’ he heard Lorca say. ‘It is not as if he is popular among the Rigante. We could move on the farm, gather the herds and drive them to Pannone land. There has been starvation there, and beef prices are higher than ever before.’