For the next two hours, the Cimmerian went over every foot of board, every rope and spar, every piece of tackle on the ship. He climbed to the tops of the two masts and even stripped off shirt, trousers, and boots to dive into the bay and examine the condition of the hull underwater. By the end of his tour, he was satisfied that this was a ship fit to make the voyage and return, and able to defend itself against human predators. Its armoury was adequate to arm every man with axe or cutlass, and there were plenty of boarding spears, javelins, and bows with their sheaves of arrows. It held the sort of light armour favoured by sailors as well. There were steel caps and quilted vests, some of them covered with iron mail lacquered against the damp salt air.
'I will tell your employers that they could not have chosen a better ship,' Conan said when he was through.
'I never saw a Zingaran admiral inspect a vessel so thoroughly,' Wulfrede said. 'By Njord's beard, I certainly never saw one strip to inspect below the waterline!'
'To judge a ship by what shows above the water makes as much sense as buying a horse without inspecting its legs,' Conan said. 'I've seen many a ship that was all bright paint and polished metal from the waterline up but was naught but a mass of foul weed, barnacles, and rotted, worm-infested wood below.'
'You know ships,' Wulfrede said. 'How well do you know men?'
'Your crew look like experienced sailors, though rogues and honest mariners can be difficult to tell apart, save when temptation comes their way.'
Wulfrede showed his teeth in a wolfish grin. 'True enough, but it was not of them I spoke. What of these Aquilonians? '
'A good question. Ulfilo is an Aquilonian noble, and they are a hard breed in my experience. The land is rich but it has no natural barriers, so even the rich must know how to fight hard to hold what they have. He seems typical of that breed.'
'Aye,' said the Van broodingly, 'but all is inheritance with those nobles. We Northlanders are different, you know that. All free warriors are equal and the blood ties of family mean everything. We Vanir, you Cimmerians, even'—he spat into the water—'the yellow-bearded Æsir know the value of kinship, and will trail a man over half the world to avenge a slain brother. But the Aquilonians? Only the eldest brother inherits the ancestral estate. The younger ones must make their own way. Who ever heard of such a one abandoning his land to follow a younger brother?'
'It's a puzzle,' Conan admitted, 'and one I've been mulling over myself. But they hired me to help find the man, not to search out their reasons.'
'Aye, but it's a thing to ponder. What of the other two?'
'The one called Springald seems to be the scholar he claims,
but the way he carries himself and the condition of his hands make me think that he's a swordsman as well.'
'A bookman and a fighting man both? It scarcely sounds possible, but I'll not question your judgement And the woman?'
'She's another puzzle. She talks like an Aquilonian, but by her look I'd swear she was Hyperborean.'
'Three odd loons on a madman's quest,' Wulfrede said. 'What do you think they're really after, Conan?'
'They've hired us both to help them find this wandering brother,' Conan said. 'Since they're paying us, that is what they search for, as far as we are concerned.'
'As long as their money is good, I will accept that,' the Van said, dubiously.
That evening, Conan met with his new employers in the dining room of their inn, a far more respectable establishment than the Albatross. To his amusement, their questions greatly resembled those of the shipmaster.
'Conan,' Springald said, 'we have no experience of the sea, nor of the men that sail thereon. I have spent my life reading of the voyages of the great mariners, but the greatest of book learning is of little account compared with experience. What do you think of Captain Wulfrede, and his ship and crew?'
'I will tell you truthfully,' Conan said, 'that the ship could not be better for the proposed voyage. And the master and men are such as can sail it to the waters you wish to reach, and bring you back again.'
'You leave much unsaid,' Malia commented.
'Then I'll say it. It is no ordinary merchant vessel you are hiring. This is a fighting ship that can carry some cargo. The men all look like good seamen, but every one of them would look at home with a cutlass in his fist. And Wulfrede could never maintain such a fine ship in such excellent condition carrying an occasional load of tin from Kordava to Asgalun.'
'You mean he is a pirate?' Ulfilo said.
'It is not that simple,' Conan said. 'There are pirates like the black corsairs, and the Barachans, who do nothing else. But
he merchant-skippers who sail in dangerous, remote waters are often part-time pirates. When they encounter those who are singing and well armed, they trade for what they want. When people cannot protect themselves or their belongings, the former merchants take what they want without trading.'
'These are people without honour,' Ulfilo said.
Conan shook his black-maned head. 'It is different on the sea. There, men are always alone and in danger. They are always among strangers, and they see things differently. Besides'—he grinned at Ulfilo—'landsmen are not all that different. Did your ancestors buy the land of which you are now lord? I'll wager not. They took it from someone who was weaker.'
'You speak insolently, Cimmerian!' Ulfilo said, glaring.
'Now, my old friend,' said Springald, his eyes twinkling, 'there is much justice in what he says. Our Hyborian ancestors were savages as barbaric as any. Respectability, not to say nobility, comes with separation from the crimes that established them.'
'What does this mean?' Malia asked. 'Can we trust the man?'
'To do the job you have engaged him for,' Conan said, 'I think he can be trusted for that. But if great wealth were to be involved, I might not want to turn my back on him.'
'Who has spoken of great wealth?' Ulfilo demanded.
'No one has . . . yet.' Conan said.
'Then let us keep it that way. We search for my brother, nothing more.'
'I am not the one who has difficulty believing that,' Conan said. 'Wulfrede and his crew may need some convincing.'
III
The Dark City
The wind blew steadily from the north, filling the two huge, triangular sails almost to bursting as the Sea Tiger sped southward. With careful attention to every nuance of the wind, Wulfrede constantly saw to the angle of the yards and the tension of the ropes. Sometimes the sails were lashed down almost flat, other times left to billow forth as if they thought to drag the ship along behind them.
It was a much-frequented coast at the height of the sailing season, so they were seldom out of sight of other sails. From time to time a ship would sail in for a closer look, but the sight of the predatory, rakish hull caused them all to veer away in search of more promising company.
Conan was well pleased with the ship and its handling. Although he was not part of the crew, he readily pitched in to haul on a rope or heave at the capstan when a little extra weight was needed. The others voiced their amazement when they felt his power, which seemed like that of five men. A few of the men resented this display of power, foremost among them the apelike brute named Umu. He was proud of his strength, and used it to lord over the others. Although the ship had no officers other Hum the captain, Umu regarded himself as the head of the crew, and he resented Conan's intrusion. Conan was aware of the resentment, but the man did not challenge him.
That roused Conan's suspicions. Not that the man saw him as a rival, for in the Cimmerian's world that was normal. In the ferocious, undisciplined world of bandits, Kozaki, pirates, and mercenaries, the strong always dominated the weak, and always here was one who was strongest, who must answer all challenges for domination. Under ordinary circumstances, Conan would have expected a fight with Umu before the third day at sea. Yet the man merely glared and did nothing. The Cimmerian knew that it was not fear that restrained Umu. There was probably little room for such feelings benea
th that low forehead. It had to be something else.
Umu's reticence was not the only thing that bothered him. Every one of the sailors had remained aboard, not one of them leaving ship at Asgalun, despite the likely dangers and hardships of the voyage. Why had they all stayed aboard? It was good that such tough, experienced sea dogs manned the ship, but the Cimmerian had little faith in unalloyed good fortune.
'What do you brood about now, Conan?' asked Malia. She had emerged from her tiny cabin to join him upon the ship's diminutive poop deck, which the Cimmerian shared with the helmsman who managed the ship's tiller. Like the other landsmen, she had been stricken with seasickness but she had recovered quickly.
'The sea is ever a dangerous and uncertain place,' he said. 'You see that little bank of cloud to the southwest?' He pointed to a barely discernible grey bar upon the horizon.
'I see it. It looks innocuous enough to me.'
'To you, perhaps, but it could mean a storm, and it could be upon us with the swiftness of a pouncing tiger. One should never underestimate anything at sea.'
She laughed. 'Conan, you are as gloomy as our captain is cheerful.' She nodded to where Wulfrede stood in the waist, driving his men to try yet another arrangement of rope and sail, swearing merrily while the men groaned at his unending fussing with the rig. 'Springald tells me that the Cimmerians are known as a sour, ill-tempered race, while the Vanir are both fierce and merry.''
'Springald's knowledge of most things comes from books,' Conan said. 'The Vanir are a cheerful folk, I agree, and never more so than when they are torturing a captive or burning a Cimmerian village to the ground, leading the women and children away in chains. The Æsir are of a similar humour You have never seen true merriment until you witness a battle between the two. They can laugh at their own dismemberment at such times.'
'Your northlands sound barbarous,' she said. 'civilised people take such things more seriously.'
'And yet you are no stranger to the north, by your look,' Conan rejoined. 'Your voice carries no trace of accent, but your face and your colour say that you are from Hyperborea.'
'My mother was a noble lady of that land. Her father fostered her out to the house of a Brythunian border lord with whom he wished an alliance. His son was my father, but I do not remember him. He was killed when the Nemedians invaded Brythunia twenty years ago. My mother and I were taken to Belverus, where she became a concubine of one of the Nemedian generals. My mother died in the plague of five years past. When a handsome young mercenary captain asked for me, the Nemedian was happy enough to give me away. His wife was already jealous of my beauty, as she had been of my mother's. The mercenary was Marandos, Ulfilo's brother, and he wanted me not just as a mistress, but as a wife. We were very happy for three years, before he returned home.'
It was not an uncommon story. Even for the wellborn, life could be very precarious in unsettled times. Woman and younger
sons were often little better off than commoners, owning no more than their pride of birth.
'And yet he left you to go adventuring south of Kush,' Conan said. He did not intend the comment to be as brutal as it sounded.
'He did not desert me. He thought he could repair all our fortunes that way. He—'
'Malia!' It was Ulfilo, emerging from the cramped cabin area below the poop deck. 'We have engaged Conan's services as a guide. If you need a confidant, there are others to fill that role. Springald is fonder of talk than is this Cimmerian.'
She rounded upon him with anger. 'You are my brother-in-law, not my guardian. I will speak with whom I choose!'
'You are in my charge until you may be reunited with your husband, my brother,' Ulfilo said. She glared at him for a few moments, then went below without another word.
'Matters touching upon my family are no concern of yours, Conan,' Ulfilo said stiffly.
Conan shrugged. 'You may trust me or not, as you wish, but before this voyage is over, you may have need of all the friends you can get, Margrave.'
'What do you mean?' Ulfilo demanded.
Conan nodded to the waist of the ship. 'I think some of those men may have stayed with the ship in hope that your expedition involves more than finding your wandering brother. To them it seems that the love of brothers, even that of man and wife, is scarcely powerful enough to demand devotion of this sort. For a nobleman to leave his lands and travel across half the world with naught but a woman and a schoolman as company strains their sense of fitness. I would even say that it strains mine, save that you have only hired me to find your brother. That is enough for me, for I am not a suspicious man.'
Ulfilo compressed his mouth until the skin around his lips turned white. It seemed to Conan that this signified more than anger. It was the perplexity of a man whose nature was essentially open forced to prevaricate.
'You think these dogs could threaten us?' Ulfilo said at last.
'Our situation could prove anything from merely dangerous to desperate, depending upon how many should turn upon us. But it is nothing we need worry about for a while. They will do nothing as long as there is nothing to gain.'
'When we reach the Coast of Bones,' Ulfilo promised, 'then you shall hear more. But it is impossible for me to say more at this moment.'
'As you will,' Conan said, 'but you've no one but yourself to blame if we all come to grief because you must be so damnably tight-lipped!'
Conan was in a somewhat better mood when Springald came up for fresh air. The small man was pale but steady on his feet for the first time since setting sail.
'Ah, my Cimmerian friend, I almost think I will be able to eat something this evening, or perhaps tomorrow.'
Conan grinned. 'I rejoice to see you almost recovered.'
'All my life I have studied the great voyages of the explorers of old. I have lived with maps and charts and the transcripts of logbooks, but never until I stepped aboard this ship had I ever set out to sea. Somehow, the old explorers never mentioned this revenge of the sea gods upon poor landsmen.'
'It passes in time,' Conan assured him, 'and count yourself fortunate. This is ideal sailing weather, and it causes very little rolling of the ship. Had you set out in rough weather, you might have been wretchedly sick for weeks before you became accustomed to it.'
'Do not even speak of it!' Springald said. 'Let us speak of other things.' He rummaged in the large satchel that went with him everywhere. From it protruded scrolls, parchments, and the corners of books. His hands emerged with a book of some antiquity, to judge by the condition of its cover, once of the finest leather, now tattered and cracked, pierced with numerous wormholes.
'This,' Springald said, 'is the Chronicle of the Voyage of Captain Belphormis. He was a navigator who lived some twelve
hundred years ago, and he sailed to lands near our present destination.'
'The book is old,' Conan said, taking it from Springald's hand, 'but it does not look twelve hundred years old.'
'Nor is it. The original, of which no copy is known to exist, was written upon a scroll. The art of making books with leaves is no more than seven or eight hundred years old, although it is my belief that some of the very ancient civilizations had it. Many arts are lost and then rediscovered. Anyway, this copy was made five hundred years ago for the library of King Heptadios of Aquilonia. As you can see, each left-hand page contains the original text in Old Shemitish, while the facing page contains a translation in the rather quaint Aquilonian of that period. According to notes written on the flyleaf, the book had grown decrepit and it was sent to Luxur to be rebound, along with a great many other books, about two hundred years ago. The Stygians are masters of all arts dealing with parchment and bookmaking. After its return, this book was placed upon a shelf in the Royal Library of Tarantia, and I have reason to believe that it sat there untouched until I discovered it five years ago. The damage you see upon the covers dates from that long stay, the result of neglect and the depradations of voracious bookworms.'
'From the language and the captain's
name, he must have been a Shemite,' Conan said.
'Yes, and his ship was the Ashtra, named for a Shemite goddess. Would it surprise you to know that Shem was once a maritime nation of great note?''
'It would! The Shemites are a race of shepherds and herdsmen. Even the sea merchants of Asgalun are resident foreigners. There are Shemitish sailors, as there are sailors of every land that has a coastline, but as a rule they shun the sea.'
'That was not always the case. Many centuries ago there was a nation called Ashur, one of several states in what is now Shem. It was small and poor, but it had the only decent harbour along the coast of Shem, where Asgalun now stands. A warrior-king
named Belsepa ascended the throne to found the Den Dynasty. He saw that his land was weak but had access to the sea, and he set out to forge a maritime nation. He formed a complicated system of alliances to obtain the things he needed. Shem has no decent wood for shipbuilding, so he traded up the coast in Argos and Zingara for suitable wood. He made lavish offers of pay and cheap land and tax exemptions to lure shipwrights and rope makers and masters of all the other crafts necessary to a seafaring nation. He hired shipmasters and skilled sailors and navigators who knew the arts of cartography and star-reading to train his Shemites in their skills. By the time he died, Belsepa had laid the foundation for a respectable merchant and military fleet.'
'Then his work came to naught,' Conan said, 'for I've never heard of such a thing as a Shemitish ship. Even the few Shemite sailors I've known have been pirates. The men of Shem are raiders on land, so they take to the same occupation upon the sea.'
'And yet for three hundred years, as long as the Den Dynasty ruled, the Shemites of Ashur were great navigators and they explored many coasts from far north of Vanaheim to the very southern tip of the continent, where they found a cape where the coastline turns to the northeast. One great expedition is said to have reached Vendhya that way, but no reliable record of it has survived.'
'Reach Vendhya by sailing south?' Conan said in wonder. 'That must have been a voyage worthy of a hero!'
The Conan Chronology Page 515
