Bernard Cornwell - Stonehenge

'Morthor!' Saban called out, then gasped, for when the high priest of Cathallo turned Saban saw that Morthor's eyes had been gouged out. 'Lengar did that?' Saban asked.

'Lengar did this,' Morthor said bitterly. His arm hung limp and blood was thickly crusted on his wounded shoulder from which the arrow shaft had been pulled, but his face was nothing but a dreadful mask. He pointed to his ravaged eyes. 'This is Lengar's message to Cathallo,' he said, then the spearmen pushed him on.

Saban closed his eyes as though he could blot out the horror of Morthor's face, and then he was assailed by the image of Derrewyn stripped naked in the night and his shoulders heaved as he tried to suppress the tears.

'Cry, little one.' A mocking voice spoke above him and Saban opened his eyes to see Jegar standing over him. Two of Lengar's friends were with Jegar and they levelled spears at him and, for a moment, Saban thought they meant to kill him, but the spears were merely there to keep him still. 'Cry,' Jegar said again.

Saban stared at the ground, then shuddered because Jegar had begun to piss on him. The two spearmen laughed and, when Saban tried to jerk aside, they used their spear points to hold him steady so that the urine splashed on his hair. 'Lengar will marry Derrewyn,' Jegar said as he pissed, 'but when he is tired of her, and he will tire of her, he has promised her to me. Do you know why, Saban?'

Saban did not answer. The liquid dripped from his hair, ran down his face and puddled between his knees while the deaf-mute watched with a look of faint puzzlement on his broad face.

'Because,' Jegar went on, 'ever since Lengar went to Sarmennyn, I have been his eyes and his ears in Ratharryn. How did Lengar know to come last night? Because I told him. Did I not tell you?' He asked this last question of Lengar, who had just come from his hut to watch his brother's humiliation.

'You are the most loyal of friends, Jegar,' Lengar said.

'And a friend who has a maimed right hand.' Jegar stooped suddenly and seized Saban's hand. 'Give me a knife!' he demanded of Lengar.

'Let him go,' Haragg said.

'I have business with him,' Jegar spat.

'He is my slave,' Haragg said, 'and you will leave him alone.'

The big man had not spoken loudly, but there was such force in his deep voice that Jegar obeyed. Haragg stooped in front of Saban, holding Saban's own bronze knife in his right hand, and Saban thought the huge Outlander planned to do what Jegar had meant to do, but instead Haragg seized a hank of Saban's hair. He sawed at it, cutting it through and tossing it aside. He worked roughly, slashing off great handfuls of hair and scraping Saban's scalp to make it bleed. All slaves were shaved like this, and though the hair would grow again, it was meant to show that the newly shorn captives were now mere nothings. Saban was now a nothing, and he flinched as the hard blade grazed down his scalp and the blood trickled down his cheeks where it was diluted by Jegar's urine. Saban's mother came from her hut as Haragg cut his hair and she screamed at the big man to stop, then threw clods of earth at him until two of Lengar's spearmen, laughing at her anger, dragged her away.

Haragg finished cutting off the hair, then took Saban's left hand and placed it flat on the ground.

'I will do this,' Jegar offered eagerly.

'He is my slave,' Haragg answered, and again the power in his voice made Jegar step back. 'Look at me,' Haragg ordered Saban, then nodded to his son who clamped a huge hand across Saban's wrist.

Saban, his eyes blurred with tears, looked into Haragg's harsh face. His left hand was being held hard against the ground and he could not see the knife, but then there was a terrible pain in his hand, a pain that streaked up to his shoulder and made him cry aloud, and Haragg pulled the bleeding hand up and clapped a piece of fleece over the severed stump of Saban's small finger. 'Hold the fleece,' Haragg ordered him.

Saban clamped his right hand over the fleece. The pain was throbbing, making him feel faint, but he clamped his teeth together and rocked back and forth as Haragg scooped up the chopped hair and the severed bloody finger and carried them to a fire. Jegar interceded again, demanding that the trader give him the hair so he could use it to have a spell made against Saban, but the grim Haragg doggedly ignored the demand, instead throwing both hair and finger onto the fire and watching them burn.

The deaf-mute now dragged Saban north through the huts to where Morcar, Ratharryn's smith, had his forge. Morcar was a friend of Galeth's and his usual work was making spearheads from bronze bars, but today he was heating bronze that Haragg had given him. The smith avoided Saban's eyes as he worked. Haragg pushed Saban onto the ground where Saban closed his eyes and tried to will away the pain in his hand, but then he felt an even greater pain in his right ankle and he whimpered, opened his eyes and saw that a bronze manacle was being placed around his leg. The manacle had already been bent so that it was nearly a closed circle and Morcar now hammered the heated bronze quickly so that the two ends of the curved bar met. The manacle was joined by a bronze chain to its twin that was forced over Saban's left ankle and hammered shut. The metal was scorching hot, making Saban gasp.

Morcar poured water onto the metal. 'I'm sorry, Saban,' he whispered.

'Stand,' Haragg said.

Saban stood. A small crowd of Ratharryn's folk watched from a distance. His feet were chained so he could walk, but not run, his head was shaved, and now Haragg stood behind him and slit his tunic all the way down the back with his knife. He pulled it away so that Saban was naked. Last of all he cut the necklace of sea-shells around Saban's neck and crushed them into the ground with a massive foot and pocketed the amber amulet that had been a gift from Saban's mother. Jegar laughed and Lengar applauded.

'You are now my slave,' Haragg said tonelessly, 'to live or die at my whim. Follow me.'

Saban, his humiliation complete, obeyed.

—«»—«»—«»—

Lengar feared the gods. He did not understand them, but he understood himself and he knew that the treachery of the gods could far outdo anything man could contrive, so he feared them and took good care to placate them as best he knew how. He gave gifts to the priests; he buried symbolic chalk axes in all Ratharryn's temples; and he permitted Hengall's surviving wives to live and even promised to make certain they did not starve.

His father's spirit was about to go to the afterworld where it would live with the ancestors and gods, but it would go without a jawbone and without a right foot so that Hengall could neither tell of his own murder nor, if his spirit remained earthbound, pursue Lengar. The jaw and foot were fed to pigs, but the rest of the corpse was treated with respect. Hengall was burned on a great pyre in the manner of the Outfolk. The fire was lit three days after Hengall's death and it was allowed to burn for another three days, and only then was a mound of chalk and soil thrown up over the smouldering embers.

On the night that the mound was raised Lengar knelt on its summit and bent his head to the chalky rubble. He was alone for he wanted no one else to witness this conversation with his father. 'You had to die,' he told Hengall, 'because you were too cautious. You were a good chief, but Ratharryn now needs a great chief.' Lengar paused. 'I have not killed your wives,' he went on, 'and even Saban still lives. He was always your favourite, wasn't he? Well, he lives, father, he still lives.'

Lengar was not sure that letting Saban live had been a good idea, but Camaban had persuaded him that to kill his half-brother would be fatal. Camaban had gone to Lengar in Sarmennyn, no longer the stuttering fool Lengar had always despised. Instead he had become a sorcerer, and Lengar found himself strangely nervous in Camaban's presence. 'The gods might forgive you Hengall's death,' Camaban had told him, 'but not Saban's,' and when Lengar demanded to know why, Camaban claimed to have spoken with Slaol in a dream. Lengar had yielded to the dream's message. He still half regretted it, but he feared Camaban's sorcery. At least Camaban had suggested that Saban should become Haragg's slave and Lengar was certain that the big trader's slaves did not live long.