Free The Dog and the Wolf by Poul Anderson Page A

of an adder or a fire. “He entered my land, the Fifth of the Lagini, laid it waste, took from us the Bóruma tribute that is ruinous, made a hostage of me. And I was not kept in honor; he penned me like beast, year upon year. At last I escaped—with the help of a man from Ys—and took my revenge on that follower of his whose satire had so disfigured me that never can I be a king after my father. That man’s father cursed my whole country, laid famine on it for a year. Oh, the women and children who starved to death because of worthless Tigernach! But he was a poet, for which I am forever an exile. Do you wonder why I am the enemy of Niall?”
    Maeloch whistled. “Nay. And I think he brews harm for us too.”
    “How?” Eochaid laid a hand over Maeloch’s. “Speak without fear. I have not forgotten that man from Ys.”
    Maeloch stared down at the corpse. He gnawed his lip. “It goes hard to tell. But Dahut—she guests a stranger who admits he’s from Niall’s kingdom. They go everywhere about together. The Queens be … horrified …but she mocks them, and meanwhile the king be away. Has yon outlander bewitched her? His name is likewise Niall. I’m bound for Ériu to try and find out more.”
    Eochaid clutched his spear to him. “Another Niall?” he whispered. “Or else—It’s; always bold he was; and he has sworn vengeance on Ys. He lost his first-born son there, in that fleet which came to grief long ago.” Louder: “What does this Niall of yours look like?”
    “A tall man, goodly to behold, yellow hair turning white.”
    “Could it truly be—Go home!” Eochaid shouted. “Warn them. Seize and bind yonder Niall. Wring the truth out of him!”
    Maeloch gusted a sigh. That be for her father the King. Besides, at worst he, whoever he be, he can only be a spy. Let me fare on to his homeland and try to learn what he plans, ere he himself can return. … What ye say, though, ids me make haste. I’d meant going to friendly Mumu and asking my way for’ard piece by piece. But best I make straight for … Mide, be that the realm? We need to stop in Britannia first and finish our work on the ship. I’ll send a man or two back to Ys from there—we’ll buy a boat—with word for King Grallon of what I’ve found out here.”
    Eochaid had calmed. “Well spoken that is. And indeed you should not bear home at once. When the Dani learn you’ve killed their chief, they’ll scour the waters for you—along the coast, believing you’ve headed straight west. If you go north you’ll shake them.”
    “Will ye come too? We could meet somewhere.”
    Eochaid sighed and shook his head. “They remember in Mide. This face of mine would give your game away.” Bleakly: “We’ve thought we’ll seek folk like ourselves, Scoti, where we may be making a new home; but that cannot be in green Ériu, not ever again.”
    Maeloch chopped his ax several times into the turf to clean the blood and brains off it. “I’ll be on my way, then.”
    “I’ll come with you to your ship, and sign to my own men that they return. Heave anchor when they’re out of sight. I must let Gunnung’s men know what happened to him, though I need not tell them more than that.” Eochaid grinned. “Nor need I hurry along these trails. For it may be that in you is the beginning of my revenge.”

III
    1
    Rovinda, wife of Apuleius, slipped into the darkened room. She left the door ajar behind her. “How are you, Gratillonius?” she murmured. “Sleeping?”
    The man in the bed hardly stirred. “No, I’ve been lying awake.” His words came flat.
    She approached. “We shall eat shortly. Will you join us?”
    “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
    She looked downward. By light that seeped in from the hallway and past the heavy curtain across the window she saw how gaunt and sallow he had grown. “You should. You’ve scarcely tasted food these past—how many days since you came to us?”
    Gratillonius didn’t answer. He couldn’t