The Dog and the Wolf by Poul Anderson Page A

though long since the time before. He came here in a Saxon kind of ship, which his crew took onward while himself and a few warriors borrowed horses of me and rode straight to Temir in the morning. That was a wild night, I can tell you. They drank like whirlpools and swived like stallions. Something fateful had happened abroad for sure. But the King would not let them say what.” Cellach shook his head and looked suddenly troubled. “I talk too much.” He made a sign against misfortune.
    Maeloch and Usun exchanged a glance. It was as if winter had stolen back upon them.
    Nevertheless Maeloch donned a gruff heartiness when he sought out Aebell. She was easy to find, and free for a while. He invited her to come see his craft. Poor though his command of the language was, she listened eagerly as he hacked his way through it. He could follow her responses, and his skill grew with practice. While grimness underlay his spirit, it was lightsome, after a hard voyage, to boast before a girl. When she must go back to her household duties she kissed him hard and he cupped a breast, they two out of sight in the dim rain.
    That night they left the drinking after supper hand in hand, earlier than most. A couple of her father’s tenants uttered a cheer, a couple of sailors who did not have wenches at their sides groaned good-naturedly. In his cubicle she slipped her dress over her head and fumbled at the lacing of his tunic. His lust made her lovely; she glowed in the shadows. He bore her down on the bed and, both heedless of anyone who might hear, he rutted her.
    When she had her breath again, she said in his ear, “Now that was mightily done. It’s glad I’d be if all men were like you—”
    “Soon I do more,” he bragged.
    “—or King Niall. Is it that the sea makes you strong?” She giggled. “Sure and he was a bull from out of the waves last time, in spite of brooding about Ys.” She felt his frame go iron-hard. “Are you angered? I am not calling you the less, darling.”
    Still he lay without motion, save for the quick rise and fall of his breast above the slugging heart. “Were you ever in Ys?” she tried. “I hear it was magical. They say the Gods raised it and used to walk its lanes on moonlit nights.”
    He sat up and seized her. “What happen Ys?” he rasped.
    “Ee-ai! You hurt me, let go!”
    He unlocked his fingers. “I sorry. How Ys? Yuh know? Say.”
    “Is something wrong?” Cellach called from the fireside talk of those still up.
    “Not, not,” Maeloch shouted. To Áebell, low: “I beg, tell. I give gold, silver, fine things.”
    She peered through the gloom at the staring whiteness of eyeballs and teeth. “I kn-know nothing. He forbade they say. But they got drunk and, and words slipped free—” Rallying her wits, she crouched amidst the tumbled coverings and whispered, “Why do you care?”
    “Ys great,” he said hastily. “Rich. Make trade.”
    “M-m, well—” She nodded. “But I am just a little outland girl. I don’t understand these man-things.” She smiled and brought herself against him. “I only understand men. Hold me close, darling. You are so strong.”
    He obeyed; but no matter what she did, his flesh had no more will toward her. Finally she sighed, “Ah, you are worse tired from your travels than you knew, Maeloch, dear. Get a good night’s rest, and tomorrow we’ll make merry.” She kissed him, rose, pulled the gown over her, and left.
    After a while the last folk went to bed. A banked fire barely touched the darkness. Maeloch lay listening to the horrors in his head. Once he thought he heard hoofbeats go by.
    In the morning, which was overcast but free of rain, he told Cellach he and his crew had better be off. “Now why would you be wanting to do that this soon?” the hostelkeeper replied. “You’ve talked with none but us here. You’ve shown us nothing of your goods nor asked what we in these parts might wish to trade for them. Take your ease, man. We want