‘Shut up!’ Another blow with the back of the hand.

‘That’s what he said! Gold and bread! Look, look—’ But, pinned, he could not reach whatever he was after. Some proof of a contract with Fabius? ‘That’s what he said—’

At last Suniatus drew his blade across the neck. The man died, choking on his own blood, gaze still fixed on Nelo.

As Suniatus removed the head, Nelo said, ‘Sir. He was speaking Northlander.’

‘What of it?’

‘He said the general recruited them. General Fabius, sir.’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘He gave them gold and bread, and told them—’

Gisco stalked over to Nelo and loomed over him. ‘No, he didn’t, aurochs. You didn’t hear him say any such thing. Because if you did I’d have to cut off your precious artist’s hands, and then I’d let Suni finish you off like the rest of these treacherous scum, and maybe I’ll do that anyhow because you annoy me, Nelo, you’re a waste of good muscle. Now. Did this man say anything to you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good. Right. Where to next?’

64

There were two more items on Gisco’s list, two more addresses. Two more heads to collect. By the time they were done it was mid-morning, and Suniatus had to take three of the heads from Nelo to carry in a separate sack.

Now they had a fresh appointment, Gisco said.

He led them through the streets of the lower city to the ancient inner wall that enclosed the Byrsa, the citadel. People were going about their business, to work if they had it, or to queue for the daily dole of grey bread and water if not. Nelo was aware of the glances they attracted, for the sacks dribbled blood, but people knew not to stare at soldiers.

They reached a gate in the citadel wall where more soldiers had gathered, with more bloody sacks. Comrades hailed each other, and made black jokes about what their sacks contained. Gisco spoke quietly to other officers, and they scrutinised each others’ lists, comparing notes. Nobody asked why they were waiting, or what for, or why the heads were needed. You weren’t supposed to ask such questions.

With permission, Suniatus went off and bought shrivelled apples from a trader in a sparsely populated marketplace nearby, and handed them around. Suniatus made a pretence of offering one to Nelo, then threw the fruit in his sack instead. ‘Let these Scand fight over it in Valhalla.’

Then there was a gathering noise, the murmur of a crowd, along with footsteps, some laughter and cheers, and the rattle of wheels. The soldiers dumped their apple cores and straightened up, fixing helmets and mail coats.