That was a chosen insult, a word used as if yonder men were not free but kept to heel like hounds or Romans. The captain flushed before he snapped, “A few of you may get leave to enter, but the rest must first pull back.”
“Yes, do,” Tharasmund murmured to Liuderis. The elder warrior growled aloud, “Oh, we will, since we make you troopers uneasy – but not far, nor idle for long before we get knowledge that our leaders are safe from treachery.”
“We have come to talk,” said the Wanderer in haste.
He, Tharasmund, and Randwar dismounted. Doorkeepers stood aside for them and they passed through. More guardsmen filled the benches within. Against common usage, they were armed. At the middle of the east wall, flanked by his courtiers, Ermanaric sat waiting.
He was a big man who bore himself unbendingly. Black locks and spade beard ringed a stern, lined face. In splendor was he attired, golden bands heavy over brow and wrists; flamelight shimmered across the metal. His clothes were of foreign dyed stuffs, trimmed with marten and ermine. In his hand was a wine goblet, not glass but cut crystal; and rubies sparkled on his fingers.
Silent he abided until the three wayworn, mud-splashed newcomers reached his high seat. A time longer did he glower at them before he said, “Well, Tharasmund, you go in unusual company.”
“You know who these are,” answered the Teuring chief, “and what our errand must be.”
A scrawny, ash-pale man on the king’s right, Sibicho the Vandal, whispered in his ear. Erman-aric nodded. “Sit down, then,” he said. “We will drink and eat.”
“No,” Tharasmund told him. “We will take no salt or stoup of you before you have made peace with us.”
“You talk over-boldly, you.”
The Wanderer lifted his spear on high. A hush fell, which made the longfires seem to crackle the louder. “If you are wise, king, you will hear this man out,” he said. “Your land lies bleeding. Wash that wound and bind on herbs ere it swells and sickens.”
Ermanaric met his gaze and replied, “I do not brook mockery, old one. I will listen if he keeps watch on his tongue. Tell me in few words what you want, Tharasmund.”
That was like a slap on the cheek. The Teuring must swallow thrice before he could bark out his demands.
“I thought you would want some such,” Ermanaric said. “Know that Embrica and Fritla fell on their own deeds. They withheld from their king what was rightly his. Thieves and foresworn men are outlaw. However, I am forgiving. I am willing to pay weregild for their families and holdings… after that hoard has been turned over to me.”
“What?” yelled Randwar. “You dare speak thus, you murderer?”
The guardsmen rumbled. Tharasmund laid a warning hand on the boy’s arm. To Ermanaric he said: “We call for double weregild as an acknowledgment of the wrong you did. No less can we take and still keep our honor. But as for the ownership of the treasure, let the Great Moot decide; and whatever it decides, let all of us handsel peace.”
“I do not haggle,” Ermanaric answered in a frosty voice. “Take my offer and begone – or refuse it and begone, lest I make you sorry for your insolence.”
The Wanderer trod forth. Again he raised his spear to bring silence. The hat shadowed his face, making him twice uncanny to behold; the blue cloak fell from his shoulders like wings. “Hear me,” he said. “The gods are righteous. Whoso flouts the law and grinds down the helpless, him will they bring to doom. Ermanaric, hearken before it is too late. Hearken before your kingdom is rent asunder.”
A mumble and rustle went along the hall. Men stirred, made signs, gripped hafts as though for comfort. Eyeballs rolled white amidst smoke and dimness. This was the Wanderer who spoke.
Sibicho tugged the king’s sleeve and muttered something. Ermanaric nodded. He leaned forward, his forefinger stabbed like a knife, and he said so that it rang back from the rafters:
“You have guested houses of mine erenow, old one. Ill does it become you to threaten me. And unwise you are, whatever children and crones and doddering gaffers may babble of you – unwise you are, if you think I fear you. Yes, they tell that you’re Wodan himself. What care I? I trust in no wispy gods, but in the strength that is mine.”