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CHAPTER XV

I will tell you the tale of Amlodd the Dane, son of Orvendil. Not the great saga you've heard of how he avenged his father, but the tale of what he did while he raided in Britain, when he was parted from the army for a time. I have the tale from my father, who heard it from Amlodd himself after he rejoined the Danish host.

Amlodd had come to Britain with Stuf and Wihtgar and their Saxon fleet. He was a marked man, for his uncle Feng had sent messages carved on rune staves to King Cerdic, bidding him put Amlodd to death straightaway. But Amlodd, suspecting treachery, stole the staves in secret from the king's messengers while yet at sea, and read them. He pared the carving away with his knife and carved a new letter, bidding Cerdic slay the bearers, and this was done when they disembarked.

Then Amlodd pulled a wrathful face, demanding to know why the king had put his good friends out of the world. Cerdic, none the wiser, hastened to pay weregeld, giving Amlodd two bars of gold, which he packed away with a secret smile.

The Danes and Saxons met the Britons in battle and put them to flight. But as they stripped the fallen, they were set on by a party of Picts. You know how it is fighting Picts—they go to war stark naked except for war paint and armrings. If you can catch them on the approach, and meet them with arrows and spears, you can tear them to pieces. The trouble is they rarely give you a chance to do that. You don't know they're coming till they're already in your armpit.

So there they were, leaping and screaming and trilling and swinging bronze swords, all blue paint and spiky hair, and no time for our side to link up a shield wall—and it was slaughter. They were everywhere—behind every tree and rock, in front of you, behind you—you didn't know where to run because you didn't know where away was. Amlodd was a demon with sword and shield, and he fought on the move until he'd gotten to a place that seemed safe. He leaned against a tree for breath, and in a moment an arrow thrilled in the wood by his ear, and there were five Picts on him. He raised his shield and defended himself, but he was worn and outnumbered, and it was but a question of time.

Then in a moment the wheel of things turned over, and the Picts were screaming in fear, not bloodlust, as they were set upon by two battle-trolls, two wolves of Odin—to put it plainly a man and a woman. They were Britons, armed and fighting against the Picts. The man bore sword and shield, while the woman wielded a spear, and did it wonderfully. There's no arm like a spear for one who understands its use, and this woman fought like a Valkyrie. No weapon, whether swung or cast, came near her. The Picts were gone then as quickly as they'd appeared, and the two men and the woman stood facing each other.

The man had a bright red mustache and wore a kilt of plaid. He was tall and skinny, with the kind of ropy muscle that's more powerful than it looks, and is quick to boot. The woman had bright red hair and a face all cheekbones and angles, but fair for that. She wore a green kirtle.

Amlodd knew not what to expect, and kept his guard up. The man and the woman spoke in their gibbering tongue to one another. The woman sounded angry, and pointed often at Amlodd. The man shook his head; the woman stamped her foot.

The man spoke a final word and turned to Amlodd, speaking with a strange music in the Danish tongue.

"My sister Elen's for slaying you now," he said. "But I say 'twould be shameful to set on a man a-weary."

"I'd not make you look unmanly," said Amlodd, "you who've done me service. I'll fight you if you will."

"No, get your wind again. No man shall say that Llary son of Casnar Wledig slew a brave man on the cheap."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Amlodd, son of Orvendil, of Jutland."

The man's eyes went wide, and he spoke to the woman, who jabbered back, no friendlier than before. But she measured Amlodd from the corner of her eye, as if giving a second look to some dish she'd turned away at supper.

Llary spoke again. "You say your name is Amlawdd?"

"Amlodd, aye."

"But that's a British name."

"My father's mother was a Briton."

Llary paused and studied Amlodd's face, so that Amlodd felt himself going red. "What means this staring?" Amlodd said at last. "If you think me laughable I'll give you cause for sport—on the edge of my sword."

"No, you mistake me—I make no sport. 'Twas common of me to goggle so, but I'd not looked to see the prophecy fulfilled in a Saxon."

"Prophecy?"

"Aye. My sister and I are on a quest. We were sent thereon by Holy Mother Angharad. She prophesied that we'd be aided by a man who was of our kind yet not of our kind. 'Twas surely you she meant."

"You expect me to help you?"

"I hope it may be so."

"Why should I?"

Llary smiled. "Because 'tis a great adventure. Mother Angharad said we would face perils and fearful enemies, and fight through to our goal hardly if at all. Unless you're not the man I think you, you cannot turn your back on such."

Amlodd smiled in return. "I feared you'd offer me my life in exchange. Had you done so I'd have laid on with iron in an eye's blink. But this—this is, I must grant, a worthy offer. Yet 'tis a strange one, and I must think on it."

He leaned down, took the skirt of his tunic and used it to wipe the blood from his sword. Poor use for a good shirt, but it was spoiled with rips and his own blood, and these Pict savages they'd killed wore no clothing for him to use.

Amlodd was thinking that anything that helped the Britons must harm the Danes. A common enmity for the Picts was not reason enough to make an alliance. On the other hand, the Danes were servants of Feng, who'd tried to kill him. Yet still they were his comrades, and he'd stood with them in the shield wall. Yet again . . . 

Fat drops of rain began to plop down through the leaves overhead.

"I know where we can shelter," said Llary.

That decided Amlodd.

When in doubt, get out of the rain.

Llary and Elen went together behind a tree and came out with each a leather pack. Between them they carried a bronze cauldron, about the size for cooking in a great house, all hammered out in twining patterns and men's faces.

"What's in that?" asked Amlodd.

"The treasure of Britain," said Llary. "Touch it and die."

They trudged up a steep forest path into a broad meadow. The path led across the meadow to a large stone building, or rather a group of buildings together in a square like a Danish steading, with the buildings at one end and a stone wall enclosing most of three sides. The wall was falling and the buildings' tile roofs had collapsed, but there was likely to be some kind of shelter there.

" 'Tis a villa—one of the farms of the old Romans," said Llary. As they spoke lightning struck a tree nearby and set it ablaze. They sprinted across the meadow under a roiling gray sky, wet to the skin.

They entered through the gateway and across the yard. They went under a pillared porch and inside one of the buildings. Llary and Elen set the cauldron down in a corner. With leaves and sticks gathered from the courtyard and the room itself they built a fire, lighting it with flint and steel. The floor was made of small squared stones, arranged in patterns.

"It makes a picture," said Llary, holding a flaming stick up to show him the floor. The small stones had been laid out to form a hunting scene, a group of men on horses with spears pursuing a wild boar.

"The Romans were great folk," said Llary. "We try to steward the things they taught us, especially the Faith. 'Tis what we fight for. That and vengeance."

He gestured and led them into an adjoining room. "There should be another such here," he said. But when he kicked the leaves and trash away with his toe, there was only plaster there. "It looks as if they covered this one over. I wonder why," he said.

They went back into the first room, and the two Britons brought cheese from their packs and they all ate.

"The day's far gone," said Amlodd. "We won't find better shelter for the night than this."

"We've but two blankets," said Llary. "We'll warm ourselves best if we huddle." And so they did that, in the light of the dying fire. Elen made sure she lay on Llary's other side, away from Amlodd.

Amlodd dreamed as he slept. He dreamed that a man in strange clothing, all black with a white band around the neck, stood over him, pointing to the next room, where the floor had been plastered over. He rose and went into it. In his dream he could see, in spite of the night. He did not see the man in black again.

He knelt on the floor and drew his belt knife. With it he jabbed at the plaster floor, chipping and making a small storm of bits that made him blink. Slowly the old plaster came to pieces. He uncovered a small section of the stone picture beneath, then larger sections came loose which he pried up and pulled away with his fingers. At last the entire picture was revealed, but he did not look at it. He went back to his sleeping place.

They all slumbered hard, but Amlodd woke again before the others, at the first light. Llary snored, over Elen's steady breathing. The brother and sister leaned together and Amlodd threw off his blanket end and crept away from them. The thought crossed his mind that he could cut their throats while they slept, but he did not entertain it.

He was mad to know what was inside the cauldron. It was dim in the room; the others would waken shortly.

Very, very slowly and carefully he crept toward the corner where the two had left the vessel. Very slowly he lifted the piece of silk that covered whatever was inside.

He saw a man's head there.

The head rolled its eyes up and looked at him.

He dropped the silk and fell back. An arm came around his neck like a snake. He felt the point of a knife at his throat.

Then the arm and the point were gone, and he swung around to see Llary struggling with Elen. Llary twisted her wrist and her knife clattered to the floor. She spat angry words and stomped into the next room.

"Be warned about my sister," said Llary, pointing at Amlodd. "She's a warrioress of the old Sisterhood. She's fast and she's strong, but not as strong as you. She knows this. Therefore she will not hesitate. If she thinks you threaten her, she will kill you in a moment."

"I did naught to threaten her."

"You profaned the treasure. She and I are sworn to protect it and bear it to its place. To hinder us is as much as to threaten."

"What magic's in that cauldron?" Amlodd cried. "The head looked at me."

Llary looked away. "You mistake," he said.

"I don't mistake. I saw it."

"The room is dark. I can scarce see your eyes now."

"I see your eyes well, when you've the honesty to look plain at me. And I saw his well enough."

" 'Tis dark yet. You're weary."

"All I'm weary of is being lied to. But have it your way."

Elen's voice came from the next room. The two men went through the door to look at the stone picture, now revealed in a ruin of plaster shards.

"Who uncovered this?" asked Llary.

"I suppose 'twas me," said Amlodd, only now remembering.

"When was it done?"

"In the night. I dreamed I did this. I must have done it in truth." He drew his belt knife. "I spoiled the point."

"You did this without remembering?"

"I was weary."

"This is an evil thing," said Llary.

The picture showed a hill under a starry night sky. On its top was a ring of standing stones, about half the height of a man.

One stone was taller than the others, and on its top stood a man in a tunic with legs bare. He held a sickle in his right hand, raised high. He looked upward, toward the figure of a monstrous goat-headed man, who towered over him, filling a third of the sky.

" 'Tis only a man calling on his god," said Amlodd. "Gods are gods. There's no good or evil about them."

"You really believe this?" asked Llary, looking him in the eye. "This god is called Dublugh; he is a destroyer. Should you ever look on his face, you'll know what evil is."

Amlodd went out into the courtyard and walked by himself in the dew.

He did not speak of the thing that troubled him most.

He wanted Elen.

For some reason, from the moment she'd tried to kill him, he'd felt a stiffening in his manhood like the aching ones he'd had when he was fifteen. He did not want her to see this. He felt it would give her power.

Why should it excite him that a woman tried to cut his throat?

If it was so, then what he saw next should have brought him off then and there, for through the gate of the villa came a party of twenty women, all dressed in plaids kilted up over the knees, armed with spears and shields and bows and arrows. They stood in the yard looking about them, but their leader, a tall black-haired woman, stared directly at Amlodd.

Amlodd slipped back through the doorway and told Llary and Elen what he'd seen. Before he finished speaking, the warrioresses were upon them. Llary and Elen did their best to protect the treasure cauldron, but were soon overpowered. Their foes used the butt ends of their spears, and so took them without great injury.

Their hands were bound, and a single rope looped around their necks. The warrioresses marched them out of the villa and into the forest. They brought the cauldron without examining it, as if they already knew its contents.

"These are of the sisterhood," said Llary to Amlodd as they trudged under the trees.

"Like Elen? They didn't act as friends."

"Who said they were friends? Are you and I friends because we're both warriors? There are British sisters and Pictish sisters; Christian sisters and pagan. These are Picts, and pagan. Look for no kindness from them."

They stopped at last, for no reason Amlodd could tell, and the sisters tied them to trees and left them there, taking the cauldron away. Only a woman with a spear guarded them. Amlodd did not fear to speak before her—he doubted she knew Danish.

"What do you suppose they're doing?" he asked.

"They've kept us living for some reason," said Llary. "I'd wager for sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"

"These women live by blood, and worship the same."

Amlodd struggled harder. His was no mean strength, but the more he tugged and twisted, the tighter the ropes grew.

Hours passed and the captives grew hungry and thirsty, stung by insects they could not shoo away. The sun crossed the sky and waned, and the shadows reached eastward to bruise the day. As the first stars opened their eyes, six of the sisters returned and unbound them, prodding them with their spears along a path. The path took them uphill, and they emerged onto a bald summit.

Amlodd gasped. He knew this place.

"This is the hilltop in the stone picture I uncovered," he said to Llary.

"It stands to reason. 'Tis a holy place in the neighborhood," Llary replied. "The folk who made the picture were heathen as these. Heathen as you."

The tall dark leader of the sisters shouted commands, and her followers jumped to bind Amlodd and Llary hand and foot, pushing them off their feet to fall on the ground. Elen they bound only by the hands, leading her to a stone table at the center of the ring, made of a flat slab atop two short pillars. They made her lie on it.

"Oh, God," said Llary. " 'Tis the virgin sacrifice."

"Elen's a virgin?" asked Amlodd.

"Of course."

"What will they do?"

"They'll drain her blood for the captain to drink. They think there's power in a virgin's blood, to rouse a prophetic fit."

"We can't let that happen."

"No need to say that."

They both struggled till their wrists bled, but had no better luck than before.

The sisters bound Elen with long ropes, around and around her body and the table, fixing her to it. They laid a wooden pole under her shoulders and bound her hands to each end, so that her arms were stretched wide. The dying day bled red like a shirt about an arrow wound. The sisters built a bonfire.

Into the circle walked two young warrioresses, singing and carrying in four hands a spear longer than usual. It had been steeped in blood, which ran down the shaft and onto their hands. When they reached the stone table, they went silent a moment and stared at Amlodd and Llary. Amlodd felt as if something was expected from someone, but he had no idea what or whom.

The song resumed and the first pair was joined by two further warrioresses, who carried a platter. On it sat the head Amlodd had seen within the cauldron. Its eyes looked all about, sunken and miserable. The two bearers went to stand beside the spear bearers and set the platter on a low stone nearby. Again they went silent and stared at Llary and Amlodd.

Then came two more singing sisters, carrying Llary and Elen's cauldron. Another silence, another look, and the song began yet again.

At last came the dark captain. She approached the table and raised a bronze sickle. The singers ceased. She turned to Llary and Amlodd and stared at them, longer than the others. Seemingly disappointed, she beckoned to the women who bore the cauldron, and they set the vessel on the ground beneath Elen's outstretched right arm.

The captain took the sickle, and with it she slashed at Elen's arm. Elen cried out, and a flow of bright blood arced from her wrist into the cauldron.

The singers raised their voices once more.

"Damn these heathen, horse-eating, painted harlots!" cried Llary.

"Why did they stare at us?" asked Amlodd. "What did they want?"

"I've no idea. Can't you do anything to get free?"

"I'm trying no less than you."

One of the sisters noticed what they were doing and gave each of them a whack with her spear butt.

Then the music rose and the women began to dance. When you think of women dancing, you think of something lovely and winsome, but this was nothing such. There was no grace in this dance, no beauty. They footed it hunched and howling, like madwomen.

And ever and anon, when the path of sight was clear between them, Amlodd saw Elen staring toward her brother from her last, hard bed, and the pain in her dimming eyes wrung his heart. He'd seen death enough in his time without fear or pity, but never like this. He struggled with his bonds—the guard paid no further mind, having joined the dance herself—but got no more than senseless hands and the warmth of blood where it soaked through his clothes.

He saw another face as well, from time to time. The head from the cauldron sat, as chance would have it, facing him. When the dancers parted a moment, he could see the two eyes of the unbodied man staring into his. He fancied the eyes were trying to tell him something, but he could not guess what.

Then the flow of blood from Elen's wrist dwindled and ceased. Elen lay still and pale, her eyes fixed. A groan went up from Llary and he ceased struggling.

The captain of the sisters emerged from the whirl of the dancers and came towards them, the sickle in her hand.

She stood over Llary and spoke shortly to him. Llary screamed and arched himself up on his heels and the back of his head, then went limp and lay whimpering. Amlodd wondered to see so brave a man broken by a word.

With a sneer the captain turned her back on them, and strode to the stone table. One of the sisters dipped a cup of blood out of the cauldron, and the captain drank it. Then she raised the sickle in the air and began to shout. Amlodd did not understand, but he thought she was making her prophecy.

There was a space between two of the sisters' bodies through which he could see again the head on the platter. The head was still turned toward him, but it had turned its eyes toward the captain. It stared at her with a force he could almost feel.

She shouted loudly, bringing howls and shouts from the sisters. She lowered her voice to a whisper, and all fell silent to listen closely. Then she shouted again, and her harangue became something like a song. She waved her hands, and her sickle went flying over the sisters' heads.

It landed with a whack not two spans from Amlodd's ear. Amlodd started at the sound, and his eyes met those of the bodiless head, now staring straight into his again.

He did not hesitate. While the captain prophesied, the sisters had their eyes fixed on her. Quickly Amlodd wriggled to the sickle, which stood upright, its point buried in earth. He held his wrist bonds to it and began to saw at them, caring not for any injury to skin or sinew.

He soon had his hands free. He fumbled to cut his ankle bonds with nerveless fingers. Then he scrambled to free Llary, who lay like a dead man and did naught to help.

"We must get away!" he whispered to Llary.

"Leave me," came the reply.

"I could do naught for your sister. I'll not leave you here."

"I stay to die. 'Tis all that's left for me."

"What's happened to you, man? Where's your spirit gone?"

"Gone with my sister," said Llary, and he turned his face away.

For one moment Amlodd thought of making his escape and leaving this wretch to his fate, but he knew that would be a shameful act.

He looked at the dancers. It would not be long before they noticed he was free.

He looked at the captain.

He looked at the ring of stones.

He looked at the starry night sky.

He looked at the sickle he held. Lances of pain were jabbing at his hand as the blood returned, but he ignored that.

In a flash he knew what he must do. He wasn't sure of his plan, but it was the only one he could muster.

He ran behind the nearest stone, then around the outside of the ring until he came to the tallest stone of all. Taking a deep breath, he clambered to its top and raised the sickle high.

"Dublugh! God of this place!" he shouted. "I stand here in your ring with the sickle, and I call on you by name as they did in times past! Hear me and show yourself!"

And before his eyes, and the eyes of the wondering sisterhood, a mist appeared, which thickened into the bright body of a naked man with a goat's head and glowing eyes, as tall as five men.

The warrioresses screamed, took up their arms, and began to fall upon one another. One half killed the other half within a few minutes; then those who remained fell on one another. Within half an hour only the captain yet stood, and she was wounded so that she fell and died soon.

There remained only Amlodd, Llary on the ground, the dead woman on the stone and the living head on the platter.

Now I've brought him, Amlodd thought, what will I do with him? 

The apparition solved the problem by giving something like a smile and turning to stride away through the forest, like a man through a field of grain. Amlodd watched his glowing form until it disappeared over a hill.

"What have you done?" cried Llary, who had risen and stood now unsteadily.

"I did what I must to save our lives."

"At what price, heathen? Do you know what Dublugh is?"

"You said he was a destroyer."

"Yes. A destroyer of love. He turns all human loves to hate, so that we slay our dearest friends and kinfolk. You saw what the sisters did to one another. Foolish foreigner—you've unleashed fire upon all Britain to save our miserable lives. When you go home to Saxland, you can boast to your friends. You Saxons have long yearned to destroy us. You've done it on your own. But don't think Dublugh will be content with destroying us!"

"Why were you and I spared?"

"Because you and I care no more for each other than for dog's sweat. If Elen had lived, I've no doubt you'd have seen us at each other's throats."

Amlodd leaped down from the stone. "I knew not," he said. "What can I do? There must be something."

Llary walked to the stone table and looked down on his sister's corpse. He picked up one of several abandoned spears and cut her bonds with it. He smoothed her hair with a trembling hand.

"What did the captain say?" Amlodd asked. "What word struck you like an axe-hammer back there?"

"I could have saved my sister," said Llary. "All I need have done is to ask them what they were about. They stopped several times to give me the chance to make the question, but I knew not the ceremony."

"That was a great cruelty. I'm sorry for your sister, and for you. I'd have saved her if I could. But if there's aught we can do to stop this Dublugh, you must help me."

"First we bury Elen."

"Have we time?"

"We'll make time. When all is over, I'll see her conveyed to holy ground. If I or anyone yet lives in the land then."

They used the dropped spears to scrape a shallow grave, and placed the woman in it.

"We must set the head in the cauldron again," said Llary. " 'Tis drooping a little, but my poor sister's blood will revive it. If we can finish our journey in time, perhaps Dublugh may be stopped."

He looked around him. The dawn was rising. "Look," he said.

Amlodd looked and through the red light he could see smoke rising in the distance.

"Dublugh has begun his work."

They shouldered each a spear, took the cauldron with the head between them, and set out through the forest.

Llary led the way without hesitating at forks in the path. They walked through the day, not stopping to eat, for they had no food with them and no time to seek it.

As evening fell they reached open fields and a broad lake. They approached the wattle hut of a fisherman.

"Perhaps we can sleep in this house, and set out across the water at dawn," said Amlodd.

"We'll cross tonight. There's moonlight enough, and our errand will not wait."

Llary pounded on the door, and a skinny bearded man opened to him. Llary spoke to him in British, and at first the man shook his head angrily. Then Llary spoke the word 'Dublugh,' and the man's eyes went wide and he crossed himself. He bowed and went inside to fetch something, then led them down to the water. They got into his boat.

The man rowed them in silence and darkness, and soon they were far out on the water. Amlodd, who knew something of boats, cared little for this one. It was roundish, and made of hides stretched over a framework. He sat as still as he could, lest he tip the thing.

"Hold!" cried Llary.

They all sat with backs to the bow, as one does in a boat, but Llary had turned to see what was in the way.

Before them stood an unnatural thing—a wall of water, black and glittering with starlight as with jewels, blocking their passage like a cliff face.

Before this wall stood a woman, upheld on the water itself. She had long golden hair that waved in the breeze, though there was no breeze. She wore a gown of green, or perhaps of blue—Amlodd was unsure because of the darkness.

"Is this a ghost?" Amlodd whispered.

"Would that it were," said Llary.

"Llary, son of Casnar Wledig!" cried the woman. "You hold a thing that belongs to me! Yield it up and save your life!"

"I've no time to parley with you, Morrigan," cried Llary. "Let us by, as you love this land."

"And does such as you command me now?" Amlodd could feel the witch's anger, and her eyes changed hue from green to gray.

"I do not command; I would not presume. But Dublugh is loose in the land. We need the head now, or the land will be laid waste like Sodom and Gomorrah."

Morrigan's eyes shifted again to green. "Is it true?" she asked. "How came it to be?"

"This Saxon, all in ignorance, called him up."

"You'll pay for that, foreigner, if there's justice in the world," said Morrigan.

"Time enough for that if we live," said Llary. "Now give us way to the king's camp."

Until that moment, Amlodd had not known their goal. It seemed a perilous one for a Dane, but he would not shrink from it.

"Why do I understand your speech of a sudden?" asked Amlodd, amazed.

"I did it by a tongue-spell," said the woman. "I don't care to waste time with word-changing."

Morrigan waved her arm, and the wall of water subsided. She led the way, walking on the surface, as their boatman rowed them the rest of the way to shore.

There was a guard at the jetty. He bowed at the sight of Morrigan and Llary and conducted them through the tents of the Britons' camp. They entered a large timbered hall, not so different from a Danish one. At the far end was a carved camp chair on a dais, and on it sat a tall, powerful man with a black beard and a circlet of gold around his temples. He looked familiar to Amlodd.

Llary son of Casnar Wledig did not stop to greet his king. Instead he strode to the dais, seized a sword from one of the warriors seated there, and with it struck the king's head off.

It had been done so quickly, and was so unexpected, that no one had moved to stop him. Now every man leaped to his feet, and a hundred points were directed toward Llary.

"Hold!" cried Morrigan. "The king is not dead!"

"What mean you, not dead?" cried a tall, clean-shaven man.

"Look there!" said Morrigan, pointing at the king's chair. The king's body sat as before, erect. The chest rose and fell with living breath. No blood spurted.

"What means this?" the man asked.

" 'Tis my work, Cai," said Morrigan. "I took my brother's head to keep it safe, and left a perfectly good one of my own making in its place."

Cai's jaw dropped. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"He's my brother. I wished to protect him."

"By taking his head?"

"If I took it first, no one else could."

Cai threw his arms out. "Impeccable logic!" he said, bitterly.

"Has the head I gave you done ill?" asked Morrigan. "Have you been losing battles?"

"No, the war has gone well. But I'd wondered why he took such a sudden interest in gardening."

"I thought he ought to have one civilized passtime."

"And what should we do now?"

"The true head is in that cauldron. Let us make the procession and I will put it back in its place."

Within minutes all was arranged. The king's chair and body were moved to one side of the dais. A table covered with cloth of gold was set as an altar, a golden and ivory crucifix upon it between two golden candlesticks.

All sat quietly on the benches as the procession entered. Amlodd sat beside Llary.

In strode two young women carrying a spear.

Then two young woman came bearing the king's head on a platter.

Then two more bearing the cauldron between them.

Then came a Christian priest swinging a censor with incense smoke. He was a middle-aged man, beardless, the front of his skull shaved ahead of the ears.

"How is this different from the heathen's procession?" Amlodd whispered to Llary.

"Ssh."

"How is it different?"

"For one thing, we're not going to sacrifice anyone," said Llary through clenched teeth, and Amlodd was sorry he'd asked.

At last came Morrigan, who wore a white linen cloth over her head for some reason, and she took the head from the platter (one of the girls holding it nearly fainted), and carried it to the king's body. She raised it over its proper neck—

And suddenly the hall was a woodland glade.

The pillars of the hall were oak trees.

Its roof was leafy branches, the sky bright and blue above.

And where the gable of the hall had been, behind the altar, stood goat-headed Dublugh, yellow eyes blazing even in sunlight.

A great crying and roaring went up from the assembled company. Half the company drew their weapons against the other half. Shouts of "Traitor!" "Liar!" "Backstabber!" filled the air with the clash of steel on steel.

"Whoreson!" cried one man as he laid on his best friend with an axe. "You took the last honey cake when you knew I wanted it!"

"Scoundrel!" cried another. "I've seen the way you look at my wife!"

"You sold me a spavined horse!" shouted another as he struck his brother-in-law's head off.

Dublugh, looking on, only laughed at them.

The women ran in terror, and of the warriors only Amlodd stood unattacked, having no friend to fight, though he began to have hard thoughts about Llary.

Meanwhile the priest stood his ground, shouting in his strange tongue, holding up a small image of his god on a tree.

Dublugh stretched his hand toward the priest, mouthing words in a secret tongue of his own. The priest went pale, and blood began to gush from his nose. But he did not cease his words.

All around, men were falling at the hands of their friends and kinsmen.

Dublugh's eyes widened, and he roared even more loudly at the priest. His outstretched hand became a kind of tentacle, like a squid's.

Blood began to gout from the priest's ears. His voice faltered, but he stood firm and spoke on.

Dublugh's body began to sprout more tentacles, and scales appeared all over him. He waved the tentacles wildly, and the earth shook with his raging.

Blood began to well from the priest's fingernails, and from the places where he'd cut himself shaving his face and head.

The men who had killed their friends and brothers turned now on others who had killed friends of their own.

Amlodd thought he saw something genuinely like fear in the god's eyes.

"Llary, son of Casnar Wledig!" roared Dublugh.

Llary struck down a fellow Briton and turned to face the god.

"Behold!" said Dublugh.

And there, before them all, stood Elen, Llary's sister.

"I've the power to raise the dead," said Dublugh. "Call off the god man and I'll give her back to you."

For one moment Llary stood considering, staring at his sister. Even the priest went quiet for that moment.

Llary's eyes were mad. "I'd only have to kill her!" he cried. "Priest, say on!"

The priest, holding his image in bloody hands, took up his words again, and Dublugh vanished with a cataract of sound that shook every one of them off his feet.

Then all was silent, and those who lived looked about them. They were in the shadowed hall once again. Amlodd and Llary stood. The priest lay dead, white as Elen's corpse. About a dozen other men stood, realizing in a cold awakening what they had done under Dublugh's power.

At last came Morrigan, her brother's head under her arm. Without ceremony she set the head on her brother's shoulders, and the king rose to take possession of what remained of his court.

And so it was that Amlodd Orvendilsson broke the power of the Britons and cut off their battle strength in a single day.

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Framed

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CHAPTER XV

I will tell you the tale of Amlodd the Dane, son of Orvendil. Not the great saga you've heard of how he avenged his father, but the tale of what he did while he raided in Britain, when he was parted from the army for a time. I have the tale from my father, who heard it from Amlodd himself after he rejoined the Danish host.

Amlodd had come to Britain with Stuf and Wihtgar and their Saxon fleet. He was a marked man, for his uncle Feng had sent messages carved on rune staves to King Cerdic, bidding him put Amlodd to death straightaway. But Amlodd, suspecting treachery, stole the staves in secret from the king's messengers while yet at sea, and read them. He pared the carving away with his knife and carved a new letter, bidding Cerdic slay the bearers, and this was done when they disembarked.

Then Amlodd pulled a wrathful face, demanding to know why the king had put his good friends out of the world. Cerdic, none the wiser, hastened to pay weregeld, giving Amlodd two bars of gold, which he packed away with a secret smile.

The Danes and Saxons met the Britons in battle and put them to flight. But as they stripped the fallen, they were set on by a party of Picts. You know how it is fighting Picts—they go to war stark naked except for war paint and armrings. If you can catch them on the approach, and meet them with arrows and spears, you can tear them to pieces. The trouble is they rarely give you a chance to do that. You don't know they're coming till they're already in your armpit.

So there they were, leaping and screaming and trilling and swinging bronze swords, all blue paint and spiky hair, and no time for our side to link up a shield wall—and it was slaughter. They were everywhere—behind every tree and rock, in front of you, behind you—you didn't know where to run because you didn't know where away was. Amlodd was a demon with sword and shield, and he fought on the move until he'd gotten to a place that seemed safe. He leaned against a tree for breath, and in a moment an arrow thrilled in the wood by his ear, and there were five Picts on him. He raised his shield and defended himself, but he was worn and outnumbered, and it was but a question of time.

Then in a moment the wheel of things turned over, and the Picts were screaming in fear, not bloodlust, as they were set upon by two battle-trolls, two wolves of Odin—to put it plainly a man and a woman. They were Britons, armed and fighting against the Picts. The man bore sword and shield, while the woman wielded a spear, and did it wonderfully. There's no arm like a spear for one who understands its use, and this woman fought like a Valkyrie. No weapon, whether swung or cast, came near her. The Picts were gone then as quickly as they'd appeared, and the two men and the woman stood facing each other.

The man had a bright red mustache and wore a kilt of plaid. He was tall and skinny, with the kind of ropy muscle that's more powerful than it looks, and is quick to boot. The woman had bright red hair and a face all cheekbones and angles, but fair for that. She wore a green kirtle.

Amlodd knew not what to expect, and kept his guard up. The man and the woman spoke in their gibbering tongue to one another. The woman sounded angry, and pointed often at Amlodd. The man shook his head; the woman stamped her foot.

The man spoke a final word and turned to Amlodd, speaking with a strange music in the Danish tongue.

"My sister Elen's for slaying you now," he said. "But I say 'twould be shameful to set on a man a-weary."

"I'd not make you look unmanly," said Amlodd, "you who've done me service. I'll fight you if you will."

"No, get your wind again. No man shall say that Llary son of Casnar Wledig slew a brave man on the cheap."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Amlodd, son of Orvendil, of Jutland."

The man's eyes went wide, and he spoke to the woman, who jabbered back, no friendlier than before. But she measured Amlodd from the corner of her eye, as if giving a second look to some dish she'd turned away at supper.

Llary spoke again. "You say your name is Amlawdd?"

"Amlodd, aye."

"But that's a British name."

"My father's mother was a Briton."

Llary paused and studied Amlodd's face, so that Amlodd felt himself going red. "What means this staring?" Amlodd said at last. "If you think me laughable I'll give you cause for sport—on the edge of my sword."

"No, you mistake me—I make no sport. 'Twas common of me to goggle so, but I'd not looked to see the prophecy fulfilled in a Saxon."

"Prophecy?"

"Aye. My sister and I are on a quest. We were sent thereon by Holy Mother Angharad. She prophesied that we'd be aided by a man who was of our kind yet not of our kind. 'Twas surely you she meant."

"You expect me to help you?"

"I hope it may be so."

"Why should I?"

Llary smiled. "Because 'tis a great adventure. Mother Angharad said we would face perils and fearful enemies, and fight through to our goal hardly if at all. Unless you're not the man I think you, you cannot turn your back on such."

Amlodd smiled in return. "I feared you'd offer me my life in exchange. Had you done so I'd have laid on with iron in an eye's blink. But this—this is, I must grant, a worthy offer. Yet 'tis a strange one, and I must think on it."

He leaned down, took the skirt of his tunic and used it to wipe the blood from his sword. Poor use for a good shirt, but it was spoiled with rips and his own blood, and these Pict savages they'd killed wore no clothing for him to use.

Amlodd was thinking that anything that helped the Britons must harm the Danes. A common enmity for the Picts was not reason enough to make an alliance. On the other hand, the Danes were servants of Feng, who'd tried to kill him. Yet still they were his comrades, and he'd stood with them in the shield wall. Yet again . . . 

Fat drops of rain began to plop down through the leaves overhead.

"I know where we can shelter," said Llary.

That decided Amlodd.

When in doubt, get out of the rain.

Llary and Elen went together behind a tree and came out with each a leather pack. Between them they carried a bronze cauldron, about the size for cooking in a great house, all hammered out in twining patterns and men's faces.

"What's in that?" asked Amlodd.

"The treasure of Britain," said Llary. "Touch it and die."

They trudged up a steep forest path into a broad meadow. The path led across the meadow to a large stone building, or rather a group of buildings together in a square like a Danish steading, with the buildings at one end and a stone wall enclosing most of three sides. The wall was falling and the buildings' tile roofs had collapsed, but there was likely to be some kind of shelter there.

" 'Tis a villa—one of the farms of the old Romans," said Llary. As they spoke lightning struck a tree nearby and set it ablaze. They sprinted across the meadow under a roiling gray sky, wet to the skin.

They entered through the gateway and across the yard. They went under a pillared porch and inside one of the buildings. Llary and Elen set the cauldron down in a corner. With leaves and sticks gathered from the courtyard and the room itself they built a fire, lighting it with flint and steel. The floor was made of small squared stones, arranged in patterns.

"It makes a picture," said Llary, holding a flaming stick up to show him the floor. The small stones had been laid out to form a hunting scene, a group of men on horses with spears pursuing a wild boar.

"The Romans were great folk," said Llary. "We try to steward the things they taught us, especially the Faith. 'Tis what we fight for. That and vengeance."

He gestured and led them into an adjoining room. "There should be another such here," he said. But when he kicked the leaves and trash away with his toe, there was only plaster there. "It looks as if they covered this one over. I wonder why," he said.

They went back into the first room, and the two Britons brought cheese from their packs and they all ate.

"The day's far gone," said Amlodd. "We won't find better shelter for the night than this."

"We've but two blankets," said Llary. "We'll warm ourselves best if we huddle." And so they did that, in the light of the dying fire. Elen made sure she lay on Llary's other side, away from Amlodd.

Amlodd dreamed as he slept. He dreamed that a man in strange clothing, all black with a white band around the neck, stood over him, pointing to the next room, where the floor had been plastered over. He rose and went into it. In his dream he could see, in spite of the night. He did not see the man in black again.

He knelt on the floor and drew his belt knife. With it he jabbed at the plaster floor, chipping and making a small storm of bits that made him blink. Slowly the old plaster came to pieces. He uncovered a small section of the stone picture beneath, then larger sections came loose which he pried up and pulled away with his fingers. At last the entire picture was revealed, but he did not look at it. He went back to his sleeping place.

They all slumbered hard, but Amlodd woke again before the others, at the first light. Llary snored, over Elen's steady breathing. The brother and sister leaned together and Amlodd threw off his blanket end and crept away from them. The thought crossed his mind that he could cut their throats while they slept, but he did not entertain it.

He was mad to know what was inside the cauldron. It was dim in the room; the others would waken shortly.

Very, very slowly and carefully he crept toward the corner where the two had left the vessel. Very slowly he lifted the piece of silk that covered whatever was inside.

He saw a man's head there.

The head rolled its eyes up and looked at him.

He dropped the silk and fell back. An arm came around his neck like a snake. He felt the point of a knife at his throat.

Then the arm and the point were gone, and he swung around to see Llary struggling with Elen. Llary twisted her wrist and her knife clattered to the floor. She spat angry words and stomped into the next room.

"Be warned about my sister," said Llary, pointing at Amlodd. "She's a warrioress of the old Sisterhood. She's fast and she's strong, but not as strong as you. She knows this. Therefore she will not hesitate. If she thinks you threaten her, she will kill you in a moment."

"I did naught to threaten her."

"You profaned the treasure. She and I are sworn to protect it and bear it to its place. To hinder us is as much as to threaten."

"What magic's in that cauldron?" Amlodd cried. "The head looked at me."

Llary looked away. "You mistake," he said.

"I don't mistake. I saw it."

"The room is dark. I can scarce see your eyes now."

"I see your eyes well, when you've the honesty to look plain at me. And I saw his well enough."

" 'Tis dark yet. You're weary."

"All I'm weary of is being lied to. But have it your way."

Elen's voice came from the next room. The two men went through the door to look at the stone picture, now revealed in a ruin of plaster shards.

"Who uncovered this?" asked Llary.

"I suppose 'twas me," said Amlodd, only now remembering.

"When was it done?"

"In the night. I dreamed I did this. I must have done it in truth." He drew his belt knife. "I spoiled the point."

"You did this without remembering?"

"I was weary."

"This is an evil thing," said Llary.

The picture showed a hill under a starry night sky. On its top was a ring of standing stones, about half the height of a man.

One stone was taller than the others, and on its top stood a man in a tunic with legs bare. He held a sickle in his right hand, raised high. He looked upward, toward the figure of a monstrous goat-headed man, who towered over him, filling a third of the sky.

" 'Tis only a man calling on his god," said Amlodd. "Gods are gods. There's no good or evil about them."

"You really believe this?" asked Llary, looking him in the eye. "This god is called Dublugh; he is a destroyer. Should you ever look on his face, you'll know what evil is."

Amlodd went out into the courtyard and walked by himself in the dew.

He did not speak of the thing that troubled him most.

He wanted Elen.

For some reason, from the moment she'd tried to kill him, he'd felt a stiffening in his manhood like the aching ones he'd had when he was fifteen. He did not want her to see this. He felt it would give her power.

Why should it excite him that a woman tried to cut his throat?

If it was so, then what he saw next should have brought him off then and there, for through the gate of the villa came a party of twenty women, all dressed in plaids kilted up over the knees, armed with spears and shields and bows and arrows. They stood in the yard looking about them, but their leader, a tall black-haired woman, stared directly at Amlodd.

Amlodd slipped back through the doorway and told Llary and Elen what he'd seen. Before he finished speaking, the warrioresses were upon them. Llary and Elen did their best to protect the treasure cauldron, but were soon overpowered. Their foes used the butt ends of their spears, and so took them without great injury.

Their hands were bound, and a single rope looped around their necks. The warrioresses marched them out of the villa and into the forest. They brought the cauldron without examining it, as if they already knew its contents.

"These are of the sisterhood," said Llary to Amlodd as they trudged under the trees.

"Like Elen? They didn't act as friends."

"Who said they were friends? Are you and I friends because we're both warriors? There are British sisters and Pictish sisters; Christian sisters and pagan. These are Picts, and pagan. Look for no kindness from them."

They stopped at last, for no reason Amlodd could tell, and the sisters tied them to trees and left them there, taking the cauldron away. Only a woman with a spear guarded them. Amlodd did not fear to speak before her—he doubted she knew Danish.

"What do you suppose they're doing?" he asked.

"They've kept us living for some reason," said Llary. "I'd wager for sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"

"These women live by blood, and worship the same."

Amlodd struggled harder. His was no mean strength, but the more he tugged and twisted, the tighter the ropes grew.

Hours passed and the captives grew hungry and thirsty, stung by insects they could not shoo away. The sun crossed the sky and waned, and the shadows reached eastward to bruise the day. As the first stars opened their eyes, six of the sisters returned and unbound them, prodding them with their spears along a path. The path took them uphill, and they emerged onto a bald summit.

Amlodd gasped. He knew this place.

"This is the hilltop in the stone picture I uncovered," he said to Llary.

"It stands to reason. 'Tis a holy place in the neighborhood," Llary replied. "The folk who made the picture were heathen as these. Heathen as you."

The tall dark leader of the sisters shouted commands, and her followers jumped to bind Amlodd and Llary hand and foot, pushing them off their feet to fall on the ground. Elen they bound only by the hands, leading her to a stone table at the center of the ring, made of a flat slab atop two short pillars. They made her lie on it.

"Oh, God," said Llary. " 'Tis the virgin sacrifice."

"Elen's a virgin?" asked Amlodd.

"Of course."

"What will they do?"

"They'll drain her blood for the captain to drink. They think there's power in a virgin's blood, to rouse a prophetic fit."

"We can't let that happen."

"No need to say that."

They both struggled till their wrists bled, but had no better luck than before.

The sisters bound Elen with long ropes, around and around her body and the table, fixing her to it. They laid a wooden pole under her shoulders and bound her hands to each end, so that her arms were stretched wide. The dying day bled red like a shirt about an arrow wound. The sisters built a bonfire.

Into the circle walked two young warrioresses, singing and carrying in four hands a spear longer than usual. It had been steeped in blood, which ran down the shaft and onto their hands. When they reached the stone table, they went silent a moment and stared at Amlodd and Llary. Amlodd felt as if something was expected from someone, but he had no idea what or whom.

The song resumed and the first pair was joined by two further warrioresses, who carried a platter. On it sat the head Amlodd had seen within the cauldron. Its eyes looked all about, sunken and miserable. The two bearers went to stand beside the spear bearers and set the platter on a low stone nearby. Again they went silent and stared at Llary and Amlodd.

Then came two more singing sisters, carrying Llary and Elen's cauldron. Another silence, another look, and the song began yet again.

At last came the dark captain. She approached the table and raised a bronze sickle. The singers ceased. She turned to Llary and Amlodd and stared at them, longer than the others. Seemingly disappointed, she beckoned to the women who bore the cauldron, and they set the vessel on the ground beneath Elen's outstretched right arm.

The captain took the sickle, and with it she slashed at Elen's arm. Elen cried out, and a flow of bright blood arced from her wrist into the cauldron.

The singers raised their voices once more.

"Damn these heathen, horse-eating, painted harlots!" cried Llary.

"Why did they stare at us?" asked Amlodd. "What did they want?"

"I've no idea. Can't you do anything to get free?"

"I'm trying no less than you."

One of the sisters noticed what they were doing and gave each of them a whack with her spear butt.

Then the music rose and the women began to dance. When you think of women dancing, you think of something lovely and winsome, but this was nothing such. There was no grace in this dance, no beauty. They footed it hunched and howling, like madwomen.

And ever and anon, when the path of sight was clear between them, Amlodd saw Elen staring toward her brother from her last, hard bed, and the pain in her dimming eyes wrung his heart. He'd seen death enough in his time without fear or pity, but never like this. He struggled with his bonds—the guard paid no further mind, having joined the dance herself—but got no more than senseless hands and the warmth of blood where it soaked through his clothes.

He saw another face as well, from time to time. The head from the cauldron sat, as chance would have it, facing him. When the dancers parted a moment, he could see the two eyes of the unbodied man staring into his. He fancied the eyes were trying to tell him something, but he could not guess what.

Then the flow of blood from Elen's wrist dwindled and ceased. Elen lay still and pale, her eyes fixed. A groan went up from Llary and he ceased struggling.

The captain of the sisters emerged from the whirl of the dancers and came towards them, the sickle in her hand.

She stood over Llary and spoke shortly to him. Llary screamed and arched himself up on his heels and the back of his head, then went limp and lay whimpering. Amlodd wondered to see so brave a man broken by a word.

With a sneer the captain turned her back on them, and strode to the stone table. One of the sisters dipped a cup of blood out of the cauldron, and the captain drank it. Then she raised the sickle in the air and began to shout. Amlodd did not understand, but he thought she was making her prophecy.

There was a space between two of the sisters' bodies through which he could see again the head on the platter. The head was still turned toward him, but it had turned its eyes toward the captain. It stared at her with a force he could almost feel.

She shouted loudly, bringing howls and shouts from the sisters. She lowered her voice to a whisper, and all fell silent to listen closely. Then she shouted again, and her harangue became something like a song. She waved her hands, and her sickle went flying over the sisters' heads.

It landed with a whack not two spans from Amlodd's ear. Amlodd started at the sound, and his eyes met those of the bodiless head, now staring straight into his again.

He did not hesitate. While the captain prophesied, the sisters had their eyes fixed on her. Quickly Amlodd wriggled to the sickle, which stood upright, its point buried in earth. He held his wrist bonds to it and began to saw at them, caring not for any injury to skin or sinew.

He soon had his hands free. He fumbled to cut his ankle bonds with nerveless fingers. Then he scrambled to free Llary, who lay like a dead man and did naught to help.

"We must get away!" he whispered to Llary.

"Leave me," came the reply.

"I could do naught for your sister. I'll not leave you here."

"I stay to die. 'Tis all that's left for me."

"What's happened to you, man? Where's your spirit gone?"

"Gone with my sister," said Llary, and he turned his face away.

For one moment Amlodd thought of making his escape and leaving this wretch to his fate, but he knew that would be a shameful act.

He looked at the dancers. It would not be long before they noticed he was free.

He looked at the captain.

He looked at the ring of stones.

He looked at the starry night sky.

He looked at the sickle he held. Lances of pain were jabbing at his hand as the blood returned, but he ignored that.

In a flash he knew what he must do. He wasn't sure of his plan, but it was the only one he could muster.

He ran behind the nearest stone, then around the outside of the ring until he came to the tallest stone of all. Taking a deep breath, he clambered to its top and raised the sickle high.

"Dublugh! God of this place!" he shouted. "I stand here in your ring with the sickle, and I call on you by name as they did in times past! Hear me and show yourself!"

And before his eyes, and the eyes of the wondering sisterhood, a mist appeared, which thickened into the bright body of a naked man with a goat's head and glowing eyes, as tall as five men.

The warrioresses screamed, took up their arms, and began to fall upon one another. One half killed the other half within a few minutes; then those who remained fell on one another. Within half an hour only the captain yet stood, and she was wounded so that she fell and died soon.

There remained only Amlodd, Llary on the ground, the dead woman on the stone and the living head on the platter.

Now I've brought him, Amlodd thought, what will I do with him? 

The apparition solved the problem by giving something like a smile and turning to stride away through the forest, like a man through a field of grain. Amlodd watched his glowing form until it disappeared over a hill.

"What have you done?" cried Llary, who had risen and stood now unsteadily.

"I did what I must to save our lives."

"At what price, heathen? Do you know what Dublugh is?"

"You said he was a destroyer."

"Yes. A destroyer of love. He turns all human loves to hate, so that we slay our dearest friends and kinfolk. You saw what the sisters did to one another. Foolish foreigner—you've unleashed fire upon all Britain to save our miserable lives. When you go home to Saxland, you can boast to your friends. You Saxons have long yearned to destroy us. You've done it on your own. But don't think Dublugh will be content with destroying us!"

"Why were you and I spared?"

"Because you and I care no more for each other than for dog's sweat. If Elen had lived, I've no doubt you'd have seen us at each other's throats."

Amlodd leaped down from the stone. "I knew not," he said. "What can I do? There must be something."

Llary walked to the stone table and looked down on his sister's corpse. He picked up one of several abandoned spears and cut her bonds with it. He smoothed her hair with a trembling hand.

"What did the captain say?" Amlodd asked. "What word struck you like an axe-hammer back there?"

"I could have saved my sister," said Llary. "All I need have done is to ask them what they were about. They stopped several times to give me the chance to make the question, but I knew not the ceremony."

"That was a great cruelty. I'm sorry for your sister, and for you. I'd have saved her if I could. But if there's aught we can do to stop this Dublugh, you must help me."

"First we bury Elen."

"Have we time?"

"We'll make time. When all is over, I'll see her conveyed to holy ground. If I or anyone yet lives in the land then."

They used the dropped spears to scrape a shallow grave, and placed the woman in it.

"We must set the head in the cauldron again," said Llary. " 'Tis drooping a little, but my poor sister's blood will revive it. If we can finish our journey in time, perhaps Dublugh may be stopped."

He looked around him. The dawn was rising. "Look," he said.

Amlodd looked and through the red light he could see smoke rising in the distance.

"Dublugh has begun his work."

They shouldered each a spear, took the cauldron with the head between them, and set out through the forest.

Llary led the way without hesitating at forks in the path. They walked through the day, not stopping to eat, for they had no food with them and no time to seek it.

As evening fell they reached open fields and a broad lake. They approached the wattle hut of a fisherman.

"Perhaps we can sleep in this house, and set out across the water at dawn," said Amlodd.

"We'll cross tonight. There's moonlight enough, and our errand will not wait."

Llary pounded on the door, and a skinny bearded man opened to him. Llary spoke to him in British, and at first the man shook his head angrily. Then Llary spoke the word 'Dublugh,' and the man's eyes went wide and he crossed himself. He bowed and went inside to fetch something, then led them down to the water. They got into his boat.

The man rowed them in silence and darkness, and soon they were far out on the water. Amlodd, who knew something of boats, cared little for this one. It was roundish, and made of hides stretched over a framework. He sat as still as he could, lest he tip the thing.

"Hold!" cried Llary.

They all sat with backs to the bow, as one does in a boat, but Llary had turned to see what was in the way.

Before them stood an unnatural thing—a wall of water, black and glittering with starlight as with jewels, blocking their passage like a cliff face.

Before this wall stood a woman, upheld on the water itself. She had long golden hair that waved in the breeze, though there was no breeze. She wore a gown of green, or perhaps of blue—Amlodd was unsure because of the darkness.

"Is this a ghost?" Amlodd whispered.

"Would that it were," said Llary.

"Llary, son of Casnar Wledig!" cried the woman. "You hold a thing that belongs to me! Yield it up and save your life!"

"I've no time to parley with you, Morrigan," cried Llary. "Let us by, as you love this land."

"And does such as you command me now?" Amlodd could feel the witch's anger, and her eyes changed hue from green to gray.

"I do not command; I would not presume. But Dublugh is loose in the land. We need the head now, or the land will be laid waste like Sodom and Gomorrah."

Morrigan's eyes shifted again to green. "Is it true?" she asked. "How came it to be?"

"This Saxon, all in ignorance, called him up."

"You'll pay for that, foreigner, if there's justice in the world," said Morrigan.

"Time enough for that if we live," said Llary. "Now give us way to the king's camp."

Until that moment, Amlodd had not known their goal. It seemed a perilous one for a Dane, but he would not shrink from it.

"Why do I understand your speech of a sudden?" asked Amlodd, amazed.

"I did it by a tongue-spell," said the woman. "I don't care to waste time with word-changing."

Morrigan waved her arm, and the wall of water subsided. She led the way, walking on the surface, as their boatman rowed them the rest of the way to shore.

There was a guard at the jetty. He bowed at the sight of Morrigan and Llary and conducted them through the tents of the Britons' camp. They entered a large timbered hall, not so different from a Danish one. At the far end was a carved camp chair on a dais, and on it sat a tall, powerful man with a black beard and a circlet of gold around his temples. He looked familiar to Amlodd.

Llary son of Casnar Wledig did not stop to greet his king. Instead he strode to the dais, seized a sword from one of the warriors seated there, and with it struck the king's head off.

It had been done so quickly, and was so unexpected, that no one had moved to stop him. Now every man leaped to his feet, and a hundred points were directed toward Llary.

"Hold!" cried Morrigan. "The king is not dead!"

"What mean you, not dead?" cried a tall, clean-shaven man.

"Look there!" said Morrigan, pointing at the king's chair. The king's body sat as before, erect. The chest rose and fell with living breath. No blood spurted.

"What means this?" the man asked.

" 'Tis my work, Cai," said Morrigan. "I took my brother's head to keep it safe, and left a perfectly good one of my own making in its place."

Cai's jaw dropped. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"He's my brother. I wished to protect him."

"By taking his head?"

"If I took it first, no one else could."

Cai threw his arms out. "Impeccable logic!" he said, bitterly.

"Has the head I gave you done ill?" asked Morrigan. "Have you been losing battles?"

"No, the war has gone well. But I'd wondered why he took such a sudden interest in gardening."

"I thought he ought to have one civilized passtime."

"And what should we do now?"

"The true head is in that cauldron. Let us make the procession and I will put it back in its place."

Within minutes all was arranged. The king's chair and body were moved to one side of the dais. A table covered with cloth of gold was set as an altar, a golden and ivory crucifix upon it between two golden candlesticks.

All sat quietly on the benches as the procession entered. Amlodd sat beside Llary.

In strode two young women carrying a spear.

Then two young woman came bearing the king's head on a platter.

Then two more bearing the cauldron between them.

Then came a Christian priest swinging a censor with incense smoke. He was a middle-aged man, beardless, the front of his skull shaved ahead of the ears.

"How is this different from the heathen's procession?" Amlodd whispered to Llary.

"Ssh."

"How is it different?"

"For one thing, we're not going to sacrifice anyone," said Llary through clenched teeth, and Amlodd was sorry he'd asked.

At last came Morrigan, who wore a white linen cloth over her head for some reason, and she took the head from the platter (one of the girls holding it nearly fainted), and carried it to the king's body. She raised it over its proper neck—

And suddenly the hall was a woodland glade.

The pillars of the hall were oak trees.

Its roof was leafy branches, the sky bright and blue above.

And where the gable of the hall had been, behind the altar, stood goat-headed Dublugh, yellow eyes blazing even in sunlight.

A great crying and roaring went up from the assembled company. Half the company drew their weapons against the other half. Shouts of "Traitor!" "Liar!" "Backstabber!" filled the air with the clash of steel on steel.

"Whoreson!" cried one man as he laid on his best friend with an axe. "You took the last honey cake when you knew I wanted it!"

"Scoundrel!" cried another. "I've seen the way you look at my wife!"

"You sold me a spavined horse!" shouted another as he struck his brother-in-law's head off.

Dublugh, looking on, only laughed at them.

The women ran in terror, and of the warriors only Amlodd stood unattacked, having no friend to fight, though he began to have hard thoughts about Llary.

Meanwhile the priest stood his ground, shouting in his strange tongue, holding up a small image of his god on a tree.

Dublugh stretched his hand toward the priest, mouthing words in a secret tongue of his own. The priest went pale, and blood began to gush from his nose. But he did not cease his words.

All around, men were falling at the hands of their friends and kinsmen.

Dublugh's eyes widened, and he roared even more loudly at the priest. His outstretched hand became a kind of tentacle, like a squid's.

Blood began to gout from the priest's ears. His voice faltered, but he stood firm and spoke on.

Dublugh's body began to sprout more tentacles, and scales appeared all over him. He waved the tentacles wildly, and the earth shook with his raging.

Blood began to well from the priest's fingernails, and from the places where he'd cut himself shaving his face and head.

The men who had killed their friends and brothers turned now on others who had killed friends of their own.

Amlodd thought he saw something genuinely like fear in the god's eyes.

"Llary, son of Casnar Wledig!" roared Dublugh.

Llary struck down a fellow Briton and turned to face the god.

"Behold!" said Dublugh.

And there, before them all, stood Elen, Llary's sister.

"I've the power to raise the dead," said Dublugh. "Call off the god man and I'll give her back to you."

For one moment Llary stood considering, staring at his sister. Even the priest went quiet for that moment.

Llary's eyes were mad. "I'd only have to kill her!" he cried. "Priest, say on!"

The priest, holding his image in bloody hands, took up his words again, and Dublugh vanished with a cataract of sound that shook every one of them off his feet.

Then all was silent, and those who lived looked about them. They were in the shadowed hall once again. Amlodd and Llary stood. The priest lay dead, white as Elen's corpse. About a dozen other men stood, realizing in a cold awakening what they had done under Dublugh's power.

At last came Morrigan, her brother's head under her arm. Without ceremony she set the head on her brother's shoulders, and the king rose to take possession of what remained of his court.

And so it was that Amlodd Orvendilsson broke the power of the Britons and cut off their battle strength in a single day.

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