David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

Kebra shook his head. ‘Bison admits to nothing. You

should have seen his face when they called the roll. He could not believe he had been chosen. I was standing beside him. You know what he said? “How can they send me back with all the old men?” I just laughed. For a moment I thought he was joking. But he wasn’t. He still thinks he’s twenty-five.’ He let out a soft curse. ‘Why did he have to hit a Ventrian? And what if the man dies?’

‘If he dies they will hang Bison,’ said Nogusta. ‘Not a pleasant thought. Why did he hit the man?’

‘He made a joke about Bison’s age.’

‘And the others?’

‘I have no idea. We’ll ask him when we find him. The officer was one of Malikada’s men.’

‘That makes it worse,’ said Nogusta. ‘He might demand a hanging, regardless. He’s a hard man.’

‘The White Wolf would never allow it.’

‘Times are changing, Kebra. The White Wolf is being sent home with the rest of us. I doubt he has the power to oppose Malikada.’

‘A pox on Bison,’ snapped Kebra. ‘He’s always been trouble. You remember when he and Orendo stole that pig . . . ?’ The bowman’s voice faded away. ‘I’m sorry, my friend, that was crass.’

Nogusta shrugged. ‘Orendo took part in a rape and a murder. It saddens me that he is dead, but he was the victim of his own actions.’

‘Strange, though,’ said Kebra. ‘I am a fair judge of men and I would never have believed Orendo capable of such an act.’

‘Nor I. Where shall we look for Bison?’ asked Nogusta, changing the subject.

Kebra shrugged. ‘He was drunk when he thrashed those men. You know Bison. After a fight he’ll look for a woman. There must be two hundred whorehouses

within walking distance. I do not intend to spend the night scouring them.’

Nogusta nodded, then he gave a wide grin. ‘We could try just one, though,’ he said.

‘For what purpose? The odds against finding him are enormous.’

Nogusta leaned forward and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘I was not thinking of finding Bison,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of soft skin and a warm bed.’

Kebra shook his head. ‘I think I’ll return to the barracks. I have a warm bed there.’

Nogusta sighed. ‘Bison refuses to get old, and you refuse to stay young. Truly, you white men are a mystery to me.’

‘Life would be dull without mysteries,’ said Kebra.

After Nogusta had gone he ordered another flagon of wine, then made the long walk back to the barracks. The room he shared with Nogusta and Bison was cold and empty. Bison’s bed was unmade, the blankets in a heap on the floor beside it. The Senior Cul no longer made inspections, and without the threat of punishment Bison had reverted to slovenly behaviour.

Nogusta’s bed was tidily made, but he had left a tunic upon it.

Kebra’s pallet was immaculate, the blankets folded into a square, topped by the pillow, the undersheet pulled tight, the corners overlapped with a perfect horizontal fold. Kebra moved to the hearth and lit the fire. He had cleaned out the ash and re-laid it that morn­ing, the kindling placed with perfect symmetry.

Just about now Nogusta would be lying beside a fat, sweating whore. He would be, perhaps, the twentieth man she had opened her legs for that day. Kebra

shuddered. It was a nauseating thought.

/

30

Silently he padded out to the bath house. The boilers had not been lit and the water was cold. Even so Kebra undressed and immersed himself, scrubbing at his body with soap. There were no clean towels on the rack. Angry now he searched through the large laundry basket and dabbed at his cold body with the cleanest of the used towels.

The collapse of discipline unnerved the bowman. Carrying his clothes he returned to the room and sat, shivering, in front of the fire. Then he took a nightshirt from his chest and slipped it on. It was crisp and clean and he could smell the freshness of the cotton. It eased his mind.