'Come,' Ulfilo said to Springald, bored with the subject. 'Let's go below to clean and tend to our weapons and harness. Nothing etches fine steel as fast as blood and I want to get the stains out of my clothing and armour.''
'Ever the soldier, eh, brother-in-law?' said Malia as she came up the stair.
'What else?' said Ulfilo, immune to irony. The two men disappeared below.
'My brother-in-law is a good man,' she said when they were gone, 'albeit a little stiff and utterly devoid of humour' She looked the ship over with a critical eye. 'One would never guess that this vessel was a bloody shambles but half an hour ago. It looks as it did before we sighted the corsairs!'
'Wulfrede keeps a trim vessel,' Conan said. 'And the corsairs were too bloodthirsty for crafty piracy.'
'What do you mean?' she asked.
'They came aboard maddened for blood and slaying. If they had been wise, some would have been detailed to board with axes, to cut up the rigging and smash our steering gear. Then we would have lain crippled for many hours. They could have gone back to their island and returned with reinforcements to finish us off.'
She shuddered at the thought. 'I thank Mitra that he did not bless them with such foresight.' She looked the Cimmerian over with calculation, not for the first time. 'I heard you and my companions speaking just before I came on deck. It is not the first time Springald has said that the Cimmerians are famed for their gloom. And yet, you are different: moody and subject to long silences, but you laugh as loudly and boisterously as any when a better mood is upon you.'
'I am unlike the rest of my race,' he explained. 'The Cimmerians are the greatest fighters in the world, but living among diem is a great tedium, except for the fighting they delight in. They despise all luxury and soft living, and they hate to leave their own borders or live among any but kinsmen. I knew I was different from an early age.'
'How so?' she asked.
'From earliest youth, I listened to the tales of travelling traders and the few Cimmerians who had fought in the wars of other lands. I longed to see the great cities and travel in far lands. I can endure hard campaigning and I fight with a red fury, in that I am like my kinsmen. But I cannot stay in one place for long before the wandering urge comes upon me. And I like fine wine and good food, and the sound of music.' He looked her over as frankly as she had studied him. 'And I like soft women who smell of perfume instead of peat-smoke. In that I am very unlike the other men of my nation.'
She favoured him with a smile. 'I am very glad to hear that.' With this ambiguous statement, she went back below. No sooner had her white-haired head disappeared below than Wulfrede climbed to the poop deck and the two men walked casually to the fantail. Leaning on the fantail, they conversed in low voices.
'What's the butcher's bill?' Conan asked.
'Eight slain outright,' Wulfrede answered, 'and two more who may not last the night.'
Conan grunted non-committally. 'Not many for the slaughter we wrought among the corsairs, but each man we lose is one we cannot replace in these waters.
'Aye. We cannot afford any more such fights ere we reach our destination.'
'The black ship still keeps its distance,' Conan said.
'I saw. It is as I thought. He is just a trader who thinks we have discovered rich pickings. That being the case, he is going to be disappointed when he finds out where we are going.' Wulfrede chuckled, but Conan kept his own counsel.
VI
The Coast of Bones
The sea slashed at the jagged rocks, the greenish water churning to froth until the rocks resembled the jagged teeth of a sea monster foaming at the mouth. Wulfrede was at the helm, trusting no other as the Sea Tiger made its way through the treacherous passage. In the bow, Conan took soundings with another skilled leadsman, each man casting his lead-weighted line to read the depth of water beneath the keel by means of the knots tied at intervals along the ropes. One cast his lead as the other reeled his in, so that there was little interval between readings.
'Two fathom' sang the man who stood next to Conan. He called melodiously, making a song of it. He was a coastal black who claimed to know these waters. They had picked up a number of such men up the coast, to replace the men lost in the fight with the corsairs, and as a hedge against the losses sure to come. These men were of the Lua tribe, a relatively peaceful folk for coastal Kushites and well known as mariners. Men of the tribe customarily hired onto vessels heading south, to be dropped off in their homeland on the return trip.
'Fathom and a half,' Conan called out. The sailors stood by he rails, holding their silence. The rocks loomed near and this was a peril greater than the corsairs had been. The Sea Tiger drew less than a fathom of water, but even a small spur of rock thrusting within three or four feet of the surface could gut her, lipping her bottom open from bow to stern, plunging her beneath the waves in an instant. Even a strong swimmer would not be able to get himself free of the wreckage before the suction of the whirlpool created by the sinking ship dragged him under.
A shudder went through the ship. The leadline was jerked from the Lua's hand as it was caught between the hull and something below. The sailors and passengers gritted their teeth until the shuddering stopped.
'Just a sandbar,' Wulfrede said. 'We'd know if it was rock.' His words were casual, but there was sweat upon his face and it was not from the heat of the morning.
Conan drew in his lead. 'Six fathom!' he called, grinning. Everyone breathed normally again. They were past the rock barrier and in the deeper water of the lagoon. Wulfrede wiped sweat from his brow and handed the helm over to a seaman.
'I'll not make such a passage again for any man's pay!' he said.
'And yet you must make it at least once more,' Springald pointed out. 'How else will you leave here?'
'We'll be here some while,' Wulfrede said. 'I'll send out a boat to take soundings and find a safer channel out. Six inches of stone could have killed us all back there.'
The lagoon was broad and quiet, bordered by a wide beach of white sand. Beyond the sand lay a wall of dense jungle, its green vegetation brilliant in the morning sunlight. A great silence lay over all, but Conan knew that was because of distance. The jungle was never silent, but was always alive with the call of birds, the buzz of insects, and the cries of victims brought down by predators. From the lagoon, though, all was quiet save
for the distant murmur of the waves upon the rocks now safely behind them.
Now the Aquilonians joined Conan at the rail as he scanned the shoreline.
'I see no sign of habitation,' Springald said. 'No craft on the shore, no huts, not so much as a plume of smoke from the jungle.'
'Do not be deceived,' Conan warned. 'The Borana are there, and their eyes are upon us even now. They'll have doused their fires as soon as we were sighted. They are measuring us now.''
'Measuring us for what?' Malia asked.
The Cimmerian grinned at her. 'For dinner.'
'Most of this lot are too tough and stringy,' Springald said. 'Malia is surely the most toothsome.'
'You are not to think of me as flesh for a cannibal,' Malia said indignantly.
'It is not proper,' Ulfilo agreed.
'By Ymir,' Wulfrede said, 'we wouldn't want to be improper, would we?'
'How do we go ashore?' Springald asked.
'We will send a boat first with some men, all heavily armed, but carrying trade goods,' Wulfrede said. 'They must see that we are strong, but we do not wish them to think us pirates or slave raiders.'
'Will you be in the first boatload?' Ulfilo asked.
The Van shook his head. 'My first duty is to my ship.'
'Aye,' Conan said. 'This may be a hostile shore, and the shipmaster must stay with this vessel until he is assured that all is peaceful. I will take the first boat ashore.'
'I would be with you,' said Springald. 'I wish to study these people and the land.'
'As you wish,' Conan said. 'But be ready for trouble.'
'I have
been since we left Aquilonia,' the scholar answered.
With the ship anchored and the crew armed and at the ready, the boat was rowed toward the beach. Still there was no sign of
the natives. In the bow of the boat Conan sat upon a chest of trade goods, with Springald just behind him. As usual, the Aquilonian carried his satchel of books. Six hard-bitten sailors rowed the craft, and a seventh steered. All were heavily armed.
'There is the river,' Springald said, pointing to a gap in the trees where a sluggish stream disgorged green scum into the cove. 'That water does not look inviting.'
'It looks cleaner than when last I was here,' Conan said. 'It was a different time of year and the water was lower. Perhaps we can drink it without having to strain it so much.'
'I hope so, Conan,' said the steersman. 'The casks are getting low.'
When the keel touched sand, the men leapt overboard and dragged the boat further onto the sand. There they unloaded the chests they had brought. Conan eyed the seaweed litter on the beach and pointed to a likely spot.
'Take everything over there,' he instructed, 'above the high-water mark.' The men did as bidden. When the chests were in place they spread blankets and opened the chests. Soon the blankets displayed a sample of goods to trade: multicoloured beads, coils of copper and brass wire, ingots of iron, knives, hatchets, hawk bells, looking glasses, paints, and bolts of cloth dyed in vivid colours.
'Now what?' Springald asked when all was arranged.
'Now we wait,' Conan said.
'I would like to do a bit of exploring,' the scholar said, eyeing the treeline hungrily.
'Not until we know exactly how we stand with the natives,' said Conan.
The men stood nervously, fingering their weapons, as they waited for something to happen. Conan stood with arms folded, as calm as a statue. The wait was not a lengthy one. For a while they could see nothing among the trees, then there was a hint of motion all along the tree line. Men hissed in astonishment.
'Mitra!' Springald exclaimed as fully a hundred warriors
materialized, seemingly from nowhere. 'Where did they come from?'
'They have been there all the time,' Conan said. 'I saw some of them as soon as we landed. Like Picts, they are masters of the art of using shadows and remaining absolutely still. To one not trained to the woods, they are invisible.'
Where there had been only a wall of greenery, there now stood men carrying spears and long shields. These were different from the island corsairs; stocky, muscular men of medium height, very dark of skin and with shaven heads. Their bodies were painted with streaks of green and brown, to blend with the jungle. Their eyes glared with suspicion as they advanced behind their shields.
'We're dead men!' said a sailor in a strangled voice.
'Silence,' Conan said. 'They are curious, and they are confident in their strength. If slavers had been here recently, they'd have come screaming and throwing their spears. Let no man draw a weapon and all may go well here.'
The line of warriors stopped ten paces away and a few men advanced. These were older men with many scars and an abundance of ornaments, clearly chiefs or senior warriors. They ignored the white men and went to the trade blankets, pointing to some items and talking among themselves in low voices. Conan studied the other warriors. They looked fierce, but they displayed no signs that attack was imminent. He knew that these people customarily went into an eye-rolling, teeth-baring battle frenzy just before launching an attack. Neither did they display any fear. That meant that there were many more warriors in the woods and this was just an advance party. That was all to the good as far as Conan was concerned. In the absence of fear and hostility, trade could take place and they could get on with the next stage of their expedition.
'Who speaks trade talk?' Conan said in the simplified Kushite that served the whole of the Black Coast as a trade language. The senior men came to face him.
'I do,' said a man whose eyes were circled with white paint.
I am Ashko, chief of the Green River Borana. You come to Hade, not to steal or take slaves?'
'You see our goods,' said Conan. 'We have much more aboard our ship. If you want to trade and pledge to be peaceful, we will bring more ashore.'
'What do you want in trade?' said the chief.
'You know what we want in the north,' Conan said, 'ivory, leathers, gold if you have any, fine pelts, gemstones, and so
forth.' 'Slaves?' Ashko inquired. 'We have many prisoners to trade.'
'Not this voyage,' Conan said.
'Very well,' said Ashko. He grinned, exposing teeth filed lo points. 'You have my pledge. We will trade in peace, so long as you offer us no violence or insult.' He put out his hand and the two men gripped forearms. 'We will pass the word to the
nearby villages.'
The warriors relaxed their vigilance a trifle and they wandered over to examine the trade goods.
'All seems to be going well,' Springald said, a line of sweat glistening upon his brow.
'Aye, so far,' Conan said. 'You understood what was said?'
'Most of it,' the scholar answered. The Aquilonians had been learning Kushite from the new sailors in preparation for their journey inland.
'Keep on your guard,' The Cimmerian warned. 'All can change in an instant. It could be a ruse. A pledge to a stranger means nothing on this coast. Their oath is binding only within
the tribe.'
'I see. So all is not well?'
'We cannot be sure just yet. We must have more evidence.'
'So what do we do?' Springald asked.
'We wait some more,' Conan answered.
Within an hour, people came streaming from the nearby villages. Among them were elderly people, women carrying babies, and small children who had to be restrained from snatching at the brightly coloured trade goods.
'There is our evidence,' Conan said. 'The women and babes would not come here if there was danger of fighting.' He ordered the sailors to return to the ship for more goods and men. Soon the beach was thronged and preparations were under way for a great feast. Chained prisoners, guarded by warriors, dug a fire pit in the sand. Soon flames leapt from the pit as native cooks prepared meats for roasting. Jugs of primitive wine and beer appeared, along with piles of fruit and meal-cakes.
In the last boat to come ashore were Wulfrede, Malia, and Ulfilo. The Van beamed as the saw a file of bearers emerging from the tree line, some of them staggering beneath the weight of great tusks. Others had bales balanced upon their heads. He walked over to Conan.
'I see you have things well in hand. This should be a trip of high profit even if we don't find the prodigal brother.'
'We care nothing for profit,' Malia said. 'We must find my husband.' The natives gaped at the Aquilonian woman, exclaiming over her white hair and exceedingly pale skin. Women came to stroke her skin to determine whether she wore white paint. She bore this treatment with aristocratic stoicism.
'Well, I care a great deal for profit,' Wulfrede assured her.
'We must ask them about the Horns of Shushtu,' Springald said.
Wulfrede shook his head. 'Nay. First put them at their ease doing something they are accustomed to; trade. Later we will broach the idea of an expedition, for we must have bearers. What we do have to ask them about is a source for clean water, or we'll all be down with fever.'
'I've already asked,' said Conan. 'An hour's paddling up the river there is a stream that flows in from nearby hills. It is clean and fresh.'
'Good,' said the shipmaster. 'Tonight we feast with our new friends. In the morning we send a boat to fill the casks. In the afternoon, when everyone's head has stopped ringing, we
hire bearers for a trek inland.' The Van went to confer with the arriving village headmen and make preparations for the distribution of goods and the bestowal of presents for the important men.
'We must ask about my brother,' Ulfilo said.
'Later, at the feast,' Conan cautioned. 'Let them grow jovial with drink first. B
ut I can tell you now that I see no sign of his ship. Your brother may have come to grief after leaving Khemi. He many not have reached the Coast of Bones.'
'He arrived here safely,' Ulfilo maintained. 'You may take my word for that.'
'You are being cursed secretive,' Conan said hotly. 'If you would tell me what you know, I would be better able to do that which you have hired me to do.'
'Soon, soon,' Malia said. 'My brother-in-law is excessively gruff, be we have reasons for our caution.'
'You had better,' Conan said. 'You risk all our lives with your secrecy. Our situation is dangerous enough without that.'
'You think we are unsafe here?' Malia asked.
'There is no safety on the Black Coast,' Conan assured her. 'These people are volatile at the best of times. A brawl or even an insult from one of the sailors could touch off a massacre. We are perhaps as safe as we can be upon this stretch of coast, but that is not very safe at all.'
As the sun set, trading broke off for the day and all except the slaves fell to feasting. The Aquilonians and the sailors kept casually wandering toward the fire pit, ostensibly to check on the progress of the cooking, but actually to assure themselves that they would not be served human flesh. To their relief, they saw nothing but the carcasses of pigs, goats, fowl, and game animals roasting and giving forth a luscious smell.
'Perhaps it is just a rumour after all,' Springald said, 'that they are cannibals.'
'It may be that they eat only enemies slain in battle,' Conan said, 'and think thereby to absorb the enemy's courage.'
'You do little for my appetite,' Malia said. They sat upon
the ground just beneath the trees with huge leaves spread upon the ground before them. Servers laid slabs of smoking meat and other foods upon the leaves while slave women fanned them, more to drive the insects away than for the sake of coolness. The latter was an impossibility in the sultry, humid air.
Wulfrede came to sit by them. A gourd of native beer in one hand, he picked up a roast jungle fowl with the other, biting into it with gusto. He washed down the mouthful with a draught and belched.
'By Ymir, but I could get rich from this voyage were I not such an honest man,' he announced.
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