Authors: Rosemary Sutcliff
Outcast (4 page)
Again the murmur was running through the crowd, soft, but fierce, and rising fiercer moment by moment. ‘Drive him out!’
Rhiada flung up his head. ‘Through he is not of the Tribe by his first birth that brought him into the world, is he not of the Tribe and the Clan and the Men’s Side of the Clan by the second birth of his initiation, that brought him into the Spear Brotherhood? We call ourselves a free people; shall he not at least have freedom to speak for himself in this matter?’
‘Be it as you say, then; let him speak,’ said the Chieftain after a moment.
Six harvests ago Beric had spoken for himself in this circle; he had fought for his place in the Clan, and won. But he knew that the time for fighting had gone by. He made a tiny, hopeless gesture. ‘Oh, Elders of my Clan, and you, my Spear Brothers whom I have fought and hunted with from the day that I could crawl, what is there for me to say, save that which my father—my foster father—has said already? I have not broken the laws of the Tribe, for I thought that it was my Tribe also. I have the marks of a wolf’s teeth here on my
shoulder that I got three moons ago defending your lambing pens. I have been one with you in all things, without thought of another people; and if the Red Crests came against us I would have stood with you to fling them back. I would have died with you, without question, because you were my own. Bad times have come upon the Clan, as doubtless they have come before and will come again, and you say that it is my doing, because I am a stranger, and you cast me out.’ A great choking sob rose in his chest, and he fought it down. ‘So be it, then; cast me out. I go to my own people.’
shoulder that I got three moons ago defending your lambing pens. I have been one with you in all things, without thought of another people; and if the Red Crests came against us I would have stood with you to fling them back. I would have died with you, without question, because you were my own. Bad times have come upon the Clan, as doubtless they have come before and will come again, and you say that it is my doing, because I am a stranger, and you cast me out.’ A great choking sob rose in his chest, and he fought it down. ‘So be it, then; cast me out. I go to my own people.’
Heedless of the harsh splurge of voices that broke in over the end of his words, he strode forward to the hot verge of the Council Fire, and cast down the bronze and bull’s-hide shield clanging into the white ash. Setting his teeth, he took his heron-tufted war-spear and broke it across his knee, and laid the pieces beside it.
Then he turned for the last time to the Chieftain, holding himself erect and braced as though he were another spear in the firelight. ‘May I go back to the house-place, to take my leave of Guinear my mother, before I go?’
The Chieftain was still caressing the head of his favourite hound. ‘You have until the moon rises,’ he said.
Beric turned, and went back up the path that opened for him.
A few moments later he was standing once again in the doorway of the familiar house-place that had been home, and was home no longer. ‘I have until moonrise to be away, my mother.’ He was not conscious of speaking the words, but he heard them hanging in the smoky air; and Guinear must have heard them also, for she cried out sharply, and hurried to him in the doorway, and put her arms round him as though to hold him back.
‘No! Oh no, no!’
He let her draw him to the fire, but stood there, rigid and unresponding, as though he had been a pillar of grey granite, so that after a moment she released him with a little sob, and let her hands drop to her side.
‘They say it is through me that evil times have come upon the Clan,’ he said dully. He was vaguely aware that Cunori had entered behind him and was standing by the doorway, and that Arthmail and Arthgal had appeared from somewhere, frightened and subdued.
His mother put out her hands to him again, her eyes straining in her head. ‘What will you do? Where will you go?’
‘I will go to my own people,’ Beric said.
There was a long silence, and then his mother said in a dry, harsh voice: You will need food—food and money; wait, and I will get them.’
While he stood beside the fire, staring blindly down into the flames, she began to move about, gathering dried meat and barley cake and stowing them in a leather bag. She fetched a slender hunting-spear that had been his companion on many game trails; she brought out a new cloak, warm and thick, of her own weaving; and going to the kist in the inner chamber, took from it some money. ‘It is Roman money,’ she said, as she tied it in a scrap of cloth and added it to the food in the leather bag. ‘You will need money in the place that you go to.’
And still Beric stood rigidly beside the fire, watched by the scared boys and uneasy hounds; and Cunori stood in the entrance, peering out. ‘The sky grows light to moonrise,’ he said, without looking round. ‘Are you nearly done?’
‘I have done now,’ Guinear said, in the same dry, harsh voice. She returned to Beric by the fire. ‘Here is food for your journey, and money, and a spear, and a new cloak to keep you warm.’
He took them from her, and flung the cloak round him, and was just stabbing home the pin of the bronze shoulder-brooch when someone else thrust past Cunori in the doorway, and he swung round to see that it was Cathlan, carrying a light hunting-spear.
‘I was afraid you would be already gone,’ Cathlan said breathlessly. ‘It is my best throw-spear, and you will be needing a spear. Take it, Beric.’
‘I have spears of my own,’ Beric said, ‘but I take it for the good hunting that we have had together. Do you take this one of mine, for the same reason.’
As the weapons changed hands, Cathlan asked: ‘What will you do, among your own people?’
Beric glanced a little uncertainly at the spear in his hand, then up again at the friend who had given it to him. ‘Maybe I will join the Eagles.’
For a moment he knew that it was on Cathlan’s tongue to say, ‘I will go with you.’ But the moment passed, and Cathlan said: ‘Good hunting to you, my brother.’
‘And to you,’ Beric said, turning with him to the doorway. For an instant he felt Cathlan’s arm hard and heavy across his shoulders; and then his friend was gone, as quickly as he had come.
‘The first rim of the moon is above the hills,’ said Cunori.
‘Bid the moon tarry but for a single heart-beat,’ Beric said, and turned again to his mother. ‘Guinear, my mother, you do not believe that I have brought trouble upon the Clan?’
‘I do not know. I do not care.’ Guinear held him close, and his head was down on her shoulder. ‘I know only that you have always been my son, my little first-born son, and that I love you … .’
‘Oh, Mother! Mother!’
‘Send me word,’ she begged. ‘Find means to send me word, one day——’
‘One day, when I have made a new life among my own people, I will send you word,’ Beric promised. ‘Once, that you may know that it is well with me, and then never again. Better you forget that there were ever three sons at the hearth fire.’
‘I shall not forget, not the son that was my first-born.’ His mother strained him close an instant, then thrust him away. ‘The Sun and the Moon be with you, little Cub.’
‘And with you, my mother.’ Beric stooped for his bundle and the spear that lay beside it. He shook off his weeping brothers and the troubled and bewildered hounds that
thronged about him, and thrust through them to the doorway. Cunori’s hand came down on his shoulder, halting him an instant; and he looked round, seeing the lean red head of the man who had been his father lit on one side by the friendly firelight, on the other by the remote silver of the rising moon. ‘Already the fever is growing less; there will be good times again for the Clan,’ said Cunori. ‘And when the good times come, they will forget. It may be that in a few years——’
thronged about him, and thrust through them to the doorway. Cunori’s hand came down on his shoulder, halting him an instant; and he looked round, seeing the lean red head of the man who had been his father lit on one side by the friendly firelight, on the other by the remote silver of the rising moon. ‘Already the fever is growing less; there will be good times again for the Clan,’ said Cunori. ‘And when the good times come, they will forget. It may be that in a few years——’
Beric shook his head. ‘The Clan has cast me out. If, when the good times come again, they forget, it would be but till the next bad harvest. Even you, my father, though you fought for me down yonder by the Council Fire, are you sure in your heart that it is not through me that the bad harvest and the fever came?’
He waited an instant with a faint hope of denial; but Cunori was a very truthful soul.
‘The gods be good to you, my father,’ Beric said, and felt Cunori’s hand slacken and slip from his shoulder as he plunged out into the young night.
The Council Fire was dying down, but the whole village was still gathered in the open space and around the gateway in the stockade. They drew back from him, silent, hostile, leaving him a wide road; and he strode down it, looking to neither the right nor left. Here and there they cried out after him, words for the averting of evil. They crowded in behind him, and he felt the pressure of their hate thrusting him out; felt it far more clearly than he heard the rattling of spear-butts on shields to drive away evil spirits. He refused to be hurried; he strode steadily on, his shoulders braced and his head up. He reached the gateway, and passed out between the turf banks and the thorn hedge where the blossom showed through the shadows, like foam-curds in a dark wave. A knot of young warriors thrust into the gateway behind him, jostling out on his track, giving tongue like a wolf-pack in full cry; and a flight of stones came whizzing viciously after him.
The light of the rising moon made for uncertain aim, but even so one caught him in the shoulder and another grazed
his cheek. He knew that it was not Beric they were stoning, but the bad harvest and the fever. ‘Still,’ he thought, ‘they need not have thrown stones! They need not have thrown stones!’ Another caught him full behind the ear and made him stagger in his tracks. He broke into a stumbling run. The shouting and the shield-drumming were growing fainter behind him; and a last stone, flung at extreme range, thudded into the grass beside him.
his cheek. He knew that it was not Beric they were stoning, but the bad harvest and the fever. ‘Still,’ he thought, ‘they need not have thrown stones! They need not have thrown stones!’ Another caught him full behind the ear and made him stagger in his tracks. He broke into a stumbling run. The shouting and the shield-drumming were growing fainter behind him; and a last stone, flung at extreme range, thudded into the grass beside him.
‘They need not have thrown stones,’ he thought dully, over and over again. ‘They need not have thrown stones.’
How quiet the field-strips were in the first glimmering of moonlight. Kind, the earth was, kinder than men; the familiar field-strips did not throw stones.
He came to the edge of the oak woods and, slackening his pace, struck into the game-track that led eastward into the moonrise; eastward toward his own people. Presently he might look for a place to sleep, but hunter that he was, he could travel as well by night as by day, and his one thought was to push on, to get away from the village, as far as ever he could, before he stopped to rest.
There was a sound of flying paws behind him, and the rustle of something slipping low through the undergrowth, and even as he turned to face it, with his hand tightening on his spear-shaft, Gelert brushed by against his leg, circled round, and stood looking up at him, his tail lashing, and the star-shaped blaze on his forehead silver in the moonlight.
Out of his old life, one living thing—Gelert his dog—had kept unswerving faith with him; had come to be with him. The consciousness that he was a warrior with more than half a year of grown manhood behind him, which had stiffened Beric until now, suddenly deserted him. He squatted down, and with his arms round the great dog’s neck and his face buried in the thick, harsh hair, he cried as Arthmail or even Arthgal might have done, while Gelert licked and licked at his bare arm.
But he could not take Gelert with him, not into the Legions; for the Red Crests did not use dogs in war, as the Tribesmen
did. After a little while he scrambled to his feet and pointed back the way he had come. ‘Home. Go home. We are not hunting to-night, brother,’ he said huskily.
did. After a little while he scrambled to his feet and pointed back the way he had come. ‘Home. Go home. We are not hunting to-night, brother,’ he said huskily.
The dog stood still. He looked uncertainly in the direction of Beric’s pointing finger, and then up into his face, whimpering.
‘Home,’ Beric said again, and walked on. Gelert padded after him.
Beric halted again, and stooping, turned the dog round to face homeward. ‘Home,’ he ordered. ‘Off! Home, brother!’ and pointed his meaning with an open-palmed slap on the brindled rump.
Still Gelert hesitated an instant, then he slunk off a little way, and checked, one paw raised, looking back. But Beric still pointed ‘Home! Go Home!’ and with drooping tail, Gelert went.
Beric stood in the middle of the track, and watched until the last flicker of the brindled hide was lost in the criss-cross black-and-silver shadow-pattern of the moonlit forest. Then he turned his face once more towards his own people.
THE MEN FROM THE SEA
T
HREE days later, in the first fading of the spring twilight, Beric stood before the north gateway of Isca Dumnoniorum, watching the few people who still came and went through the archway, wanting to go in himself, but hesitating, wary as a wild animal that scents a trap. The battlemented walls of the frontier town looked unpleasantly strong, as though once inside there might be no getting out again … . But that was stupid, of course, and he could not stand here all night. A man went past him leading a string of three ponies with bales of merchandise on their backs, and Beric straightened his shoulders and, joining the tail of the string, followed it in under the massive arch, past the men in leather tunics and steel caps, with long spears in their hands, who stood on guard there.
HREE days later, in the first fading of the spring twilight, Beric stood before the north gateway of Isca Dumnoniorum, watching the few people who still came and went through the archway, wanting to go in himself, but hesitating, wary as a wild animal that scents a trap. The battlemented walls of the frontier town looked unpleasantly strong, as though once inside there might be no getting out again … . But that was stupid, of course, and he could not stand here all night. A man went past him leading a string of three ponies with bales of merchandise on their backs, and Beric straightened his shoulders and, joining the tail of the string, followed it in under the massive arch, past the men in leather tunics and steel caps, with long spears in their hands, who stood on guard there.
Just within the gates he came to another halt. So this was a town! A town such as his own people built! His first impression was of straight lines everywhere, straight walls and roof-edges, a long street running away from him straight as a spear-shaft until it lost itself in a confusion of deepening shadows. And the people! The shifting, busy, many-coloured crowd! Beric stood there in bewilderment until he found somebody shouting curses at him, and he had to leap aside to save himself from being run down by a fast mule-carriage sweeping out of a side street.
‘Are you deaf?’ someone was demanding. ‘Or just tired of life?’
The mule-carriage rattled on, the little bells on the harness jingling, and Beric, gathering himself together, decided that the middle of a Roman street was no place in which to stand
and stare. Without more ado, he set off towards the fort, which was his reason for coming to Isca Dumnoniorum, and which he could see rising unmistakably above the end of a short side street.
and stare. Without more ado, he set off towards the fort, which was his reason for coming to Isca Dumnoniorum, and which he could see rising unmistakably above the end of a short side street.
He turned in towards it, but where the few houses ended under the shoulder of the little hill, halted again, looking up the steep flinted road that lifted between vegetable plots to the gate of the fort. He had seen the fort from a long way outside the town, but somehow it had not looked so large and formidable as it did now: a lean, red, frowning fort, its gate-towers sharp edged against a watered sky. He had meant to go up there to-night, and tell whoever it was that one told these things to that he had come to join the Eagles; but it was growing late, and the light was going fast, and perhaps they would not let him in when once the light was gone. In the gathering shadows the fort seemed to crouch, watchful and faintly menacing, on its hill-top. Perhaps in the morning it would look less dangerous. If he went up there in the morning, it would be just as good as going up now. He had money for a night’s lodging—the money that Guinear had given him. He would come back in the morning; and meanwhile he would see something of this strange and wonderful thing that was a town.
Yet still he lingered, irresolute, half minded to go up now, after all, but too lost and bewildered from the events of the last few days to hold steadily to any plan. Behind him he could hear the rise and fall of sound from the town, voices and wheels, hooves and feet, passing and re-passing along the streets—a sound that he had never heard before, and found vaguely exciting. This was the place where the Tribe had risen against the Eagles, a few years before he was born. The Eagles had been too strong for them, and they had been beaten back, with the loss of many men, so that even to-day there were thin places in the Men’s Side of the frontier Clans. Well, that was one thing that they could not lay at his door, Beric thought bitterly.
Above him in the fort that had stood firm against that
rising, a trumpet sang out, and he wondered what it meant. To-morrow he would find out.
rising, a trumpet sang out, and he wondered what it meant. To-morrow he would find out.
Meanwhile he turned back to the town. Many lights had pricked out there while he was watching the fort, yellow as dandelions in the dusk, shining from open doorways or from lanterns hanging in porches or at street corners. They cast dim showers of gold across the narrow streets and the passing crowds, and deepened the shadows between light and light to a hazy darkness. Beric was beginning to feel hungry, and very tired, but he did not want to eat or sleep yet; he was too restless.
For a long time he wandered about Isca Dumnoniorum. He found parts of the town that were only half built, so that he realized afresh that this was a new town rising from the blackened ruins of the old one that had been burned down after the rising. He looked in at lamplit shops where they sold red pottery, or loaves, or goldsmith’s work that seemed to him most beautiful, or leather goods, or meat. How odd to buy meat instead of hunting for it, he thought. He caught glimpses of lantern-lit courtyards where men strolled about or lounged at tables and women were going round with wine-jars. Those must be wine-shops; he had heard of such places. In one he saw a man sitting, with a great crimson-crested helmet on the bench beside him, and stopped to stare his fill. The soldiers at the gate had had only steel caps with a knob on top; this was his first real Red Crest. Once or twice he caught glimpses through the doorways of people’s houses, of the small, sheltered world inside; but from these he turned away quickly, because they hurt him, and wandered on again, watching the people in the streets, men and women, British and Roman, slave and free, gathering sounds and sights and smells to lay in a thick layer over the hurt within him.
Presently he found himself again in the centre of the town, standing on the edge of an open square surrounded by colonnades, from the far side of which rose a building that seemed to him huge almost past believing. Surely some very great man must live in such a great hall; yet there was no light in
the few high windows, and somehow the place had an air of being empty. Perhaps the great man was away, and his household with him.
the few high windows, and somehow the place had an air of being empty. Perhaps the great man was away, and his household with him.
Someone stopped beside him to tighten a slipping sandal-strap by the light of a temple lantern under which he was standing, and Beric turned to him on an impulse, and asked, ‘What man lives in there?’
The man, a small, merry-looking individual in a filthy tunic, with a scarlet cap stuck rakishly on the back of his head, straightened up and stared at him with round bright eyes. He looked so blank that Beric thought perhaps he did not speak his tongue, and was just going to try again, more loudly, when the man said, ‘In
there
?’ jerking a thumb in the direction of the huge building. His voice had the slight nasal twang which Beric came to know later as the accent of Greece.
there
?’ jerking a thumb in the direction of the huge building. His voice had the slight nasal twang which Beric came to know later as the accent of Greece.
‘Yes. Surely it must be a very great chieftain to live in so great a house.’
‘Zeus!’ said the man, and laughed. ‘No one lives there; that is the Basilica, and all this here in front of it is the Forum.’
‘Oh,’ said Beric, damped, but still curious. ‘What is it for if nobody lives in it?’
‘For business,’ said the man—‘business of all sorts, that is what it’s for. It’s where the merchants meet—and for everything else that happens in the town. When a robber comes to trial, or a boy to manhood, or a soldier to be honoured, or the townsfolk call a meeting to complain about the drains, it all happens somewhere around the Forum or the Basilica. Where are you sprung from, that you don’t know that?’
Beric pointed in his turn towards the north-west. ‘Over yonder, three days’ trail across the frontier.’
‘Down on a trading trip, eh? Skins or hunting dogs?’
The man was obviously friendly, and Beric, who had been feeling more and more lost and lonely all evening, was very glad to find someone to talk to. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I came down to join the Eagles.’
The Greek looked at him with a suddenly arrested eye. ‘What a young game-cock! Just you by your lone?’
A bleak shadow passed over Beric’s face. ‘Just me by my lone.’
‘So?’ The little man nodded, bright-eyed like a bird. ‘And not a friend nor kinsman in the town? You’ll have spent a lonely evening, I’m thinking,’ he grinned. ‘I’m a seaman and a trader myself, and I know those evenings spent kicking your heels round a strange town where you know not a soul and not a soul knows you.’
Beric returned the grin, grateful for the warmth of a human contact as a lost dog for a friendly pat. ‘I had meant to go straight up to the fort, but it was dusk when I arrived, and I thought I had maybe better leave it until the morning. Besides, I was minded to look round the town; but it is lonely work on my own, even as you say.’
The little seaman looked at him for a silent and considering moment. ‘Have you found yourself a sleeping place for to-night, youngster? No, I’ll be bound you haven’t.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Beric admitted. ‘Could you tell me of a good place where I could get something to eat, and sleep afterwards? Somewhere that would not cost too much?’
The other shook his head dubiously. ‘I’m not so sure that I can. Oh, there are inns and to spare in Isca Dumnoniorum, but they are not over-eager to take in travellers that arrive out of nowhere after dark.’ Then his eye brightened as with an idea. ‘I’ll tell you what, though; the best thing you can do is to come along with me, back to the
Clio
! We are all sleeping on board to-night because we sail with the morning tide, but I daresay you’ll not mind being turned out early, and you’ll have pleasant quarters and cheerful company for the night. What do you say to that, now?’
Clio
! We are all sleeping on board to-night because we sail with the morning tide, but I daresay you’ll not mind being turned out early, and you’ll have pleasant quarters and cheerful company for the night. What do you say to that, now?’
‘I say that I will come,’ Beric said. ‘I will come very gladly.’ He pushed himself off from the column against which he had been leaning, suddenly aware of his leaden weight of weariness.
‘Well said! I like a lad who can make up his mind without
arguing. Down this way; we will go to the Golden Tree first —the rest of us will be there, and whatever the state of your belly, mine is as empty as a wine-skin after Saturnalia.’
arguing. Down this way; we will go to the Golden Tree first —the rest of us will be there, and whatever the state of your belly, mine is as empty as a wine-skin after Saturnalia.’
Beric went with him thankfully down the sloping street to the West Gate, the River Gate, which was still open, though the other gates of the town had been shut since dark. ‘The River Gate stays open most of the night; that’s because half the town is outside it,’ his companion told him. And after a cheerful exchange of insults with the guard, in the unknown tongue which most of Isca Dumnoniorum seemed to speak—but that would be Latin, of course, the tongue of his own people—they passed out through the narrow, lantern-lit archway.
The half of the town outside the River Gate was not the respectable half; that was clear even to Beric; but as they plunged into the maze of narrow ways, instantly he was more at home than he had been in the respectable half within the walls. It was a mere huddle of turf-and-timber bothies between the town walls and the river, dark save for the occasional gleam of a fire-lit doorway. Poor quarter; seamen’s quarter, but also native quarter; and mingled with the other smells, the familiar smell of wood-smoke and horse-droppings about it, that was the smell of home.
Only a few steps from the gate, his new friend, whose name he had by that time discovered was Aristobulo, dived like a rabbit into a dark gash between the crowding hovels, at the end of which Beric caught the silver glint of the river; and half-way down, turned again, into a dimly lighted doorway. Beric followed him across what appeared to be a stable, and out through another doorway into a courtyard lit by several hanging lanterns, and stood blinking in the flood of thick yellow radiance. There were a dozen or more men in the courtyard, lounging at their ease on the benches and round the walls, who greeted Aristobulo noisily, and looked with quick curiosity at Beric. One of them asked a question half under his breath in the Latin tongue.
Aristobulo, shouldering into their midst, answered in the
same tongue, and then changed quickly to the Celtic, for Beric’s benefit. ‘Look now, lads. I’ve brought back a friend—Beric, his name is—and he’s minded to join the Eagles to-morrow, and maybe rise to Emperor, like many a one before him; but he’s got nothing to do and nowhere to go for the night, so he might as well spend it with us.’
same tongue, and then changed quickly to the Celtic, for Beric’s benefit. ‘Look now, lads. I’ve brought back a friend—Beric, his name is—and he’s minded to join the Eagles to-morrow, and maybe rise to Emperor, like many a one before him; but he’s got nothing to do and nowhere to go for the night, so he might as well spend it with us.’
Several of the men laughed, as though something in this struck them as funny; and Beric wondered what it was. He thought perhaps it was the reference to the Emperor. But whatever it was, they nodded to him in friendly fashion, and one of them, who seemed to be their chief, said: ‘Any friend of yours, Aristobulo,’ while another made room for them on a bench in the corner; and in a very short time, not quite sure how it all happened, Beric found himself sitting on the bench, helping himself out of a bowl of stewed goat’s-flesh which a stout woman in a pink tunic and a great deal of glass jewellery had brought out and set between him and his new friend Aristobulo. The fat woman poured wine for him into an earthen cup, and he drank it because he was thirsty; but he did not like it very much, not as much as heather beer, not even as much as milk.
Now that his eyes were used to the light, and he had leisure to look about him, he saw that the building that enclosed the courtyard was reed-thatched like a British house-place; but right across one plastered wall there was daubed in yellow paint a sprawling tree—that was why the place was called the Golden Tree, he supposed—with many birds in its branches, oddly shaped birds, but jewel-coloured. He was free to look at the men around him, too, for they were talking together in their own tongue while they ate and drank, leaving him for the moment to himself.
They were lean men, with a ranging, winter-wolf air about them, and eyes that looked used to long distance. They wore short tunics and loose short cloaks, much stained and faded, and several of them had close-fitting caps such as the one Aristobulo wore. The chief among them, who seemed to be called Phanes, was a very tall man, powerfully and beautifully
built, who fascinated Beric because his close, curled beard was dyed vermilion and he wore gold drops in his ears like a woman. He was so unlike anything that Beric had seen before that he sat staring at him with the wheat-cake and strong cheese that had followed the stew untouched in his hand, until the tall man, looking round for the woman of the house to refill his cup, caught the stare. Beric flushed up to the roots of his hair, but Phanes only laughed, with a fierce, merry flash of white teeth in his vermilion beard, and lifted his empty cup to him. Beric lifted his own in reply, but something in the other’s snapping laughter made him faintly uneasy; all at once, so deep down in his mind that he was scarcely aware of it, a little warning hammer began to beat. ‘Danger! danger!’ He was not quite sure that he trusted these men.
built, who fascinated Beric because his close, curled beard was dyed vermilion and he wore gold drops in his ears like a woman. He was so unlike anything that Beric had seen before that he sat staring at him with the wheat-cake and strong cheese that had followed the stew untouched in his hand, until the tall man, looking round for the woman of the house to refill his cup, caught the stare. Beric flushed up to the roots of his hair, but Phanes only laughed, with a fierce, merry flash of white teeth in his vermilion beard, and lifted his empty cup to him. Beric lifted his own in reply, but something in the other’s snapping laughter made him faintly uneasy; all at once, so deep down in his mind that he was scarcely aware of it, a little warning hammer began to beat. ‘Danger! danger!’ He was not quite sure that he trusted these men.
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