Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(90)

In an instant, the tables had turned and the hunted now became the hunter.

Gaetan was brilliant that way.

“To me,” he barked to his men. “Back away and get to your horses. Go!”

In his grip, the man in the leather skirt called to his men. “Vestra arma summittere!”

Lower your weapons!

Gaetan understood the words; it was Latin, but strangely and heavily accented. He’d never heard anything like it. He spoke to the man whose neck he was about to crush.

“Non intellegis me sermonibus?” Do you understand my words?

The man in his grip nodded his head, but hesitantly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. As Gaetan’s knights began backing away, seeing that they now had the opportunity to flee, Gaetan continued to hold the tribal leader by the neck. But it wasn’t purely out of rage; he found that he was somewhat curious about this tribe, a seemingly very rustic group of people here in the wilds of Mercia. He was also quite curious with the man’s dress. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen before.

As he’d once told Ghislaine, it was always wise to know the language of the enemy. It was even wiser to know their ways. If Gaetan was going to conquer this land, then he wanted to know about it.

“Who are you?” he asked in Latin. “Who are your people?”

The man didn’t say anything for a moment, perhaps trying to decipher Gaetan’s pure Latin against the garbled tongue he spoke.

“Legio Tertium,” he said. “This is our land.”

Gaetan’s brow furrowed. “Legio Tertium?” he repeated, more to himself. Then, he translated. “Third Legion?”

The man in his grip nodded. “You are on our lands. You do not belong here.”

Gaetan could see that Téo and de Lara were standing nearby, listening. He wasn’t sure who else was listening other than Ghislaine, who was standing in front of him, looking rather pale and pained. He assumed it was because they’d all had a good fright.

“We came here by accident,” Gaetan said. “We came to find the lady, but mean you no harm. We were just leaving when your men attacked.”

The man in his grip was looking at Gaetan’s men suspiciously. “You brought your weapons.”

“Of course we did. Why wouldn’t we?”

“You have come to kill us!”

Gaetan shook his head. “What I do now, I do in defense of my men and of the lady,” he said. “I would not have taken you hostage but you gave me no choice. You moved against us first.”

The man was clearly flustered. “If you promise no harm will come to us, then let me go and I shall let you leave in peace.”

Gaetan didn’t know the man and he surely didn’t trust him. “You will forgive me for not agreeing to that term,” he said. “I have no guarantee that you will not kill us.”

The man was incensed. “I could have killed you from the trees but I did not,” he said. “That should show you my truthfulness.”

He had a point but Gaetan was still reluctant. “I believe you,” he said. “But you will forgive me for being cautious. Your men are less likely to shoot me down while you are in my grasp.”

Standing a few feet in front of him, Ghislaine understood what was being said for the most part, but not all of it. The man had a very strange accent and his Latin wasn’t conventional. She looked at Gaetan.

“I wonder if he speaks my language?” she asked.

The man immediately looked at her. “I do,” he said. “My people know the language of trading. It is how we purchase goods with the Saxonice. They are too lazy to know our language, so we were forced to learn theirs.”

Surprised, Ghislaine took another look at him. He wasn’t unhandsome but he was rather short, at least compared to Gaetan and his men. Still, he was a strong man and seemingly very agile. She studied his queer manner of dress.

“Why did you shoot your arrows at us?” she asked. “Why did you not simply come out and speak to us? We meant you no harm.”

The man eyed her. “When armed men enter our lands, we assume they are a threat,” he said. “We were on a patrol when we saw these men. We must defend what is ours.”

Ghislaine pondered his words. “A patrol?”

“We must protect our borders.”

Ghislaine already knew that about them. Truth be told, she was quite curious about this reclusive tribe. “You have engaged my brother in battle before,” she said. “This is Mercia, his territory, yet you do not swear fealty to him.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Who is your brother?”

“Edwin of Mercia.”

That brought a reaction. “Nigrum Aeduini,” he muttered with disgust. “Black Edwin is your brother?”

Ghislaine nodded. “I am Ghislaine of Mercia.”

“Then you are The Beautiful Maid.”

Ghislaine looked a bit uncomfortable with her evident notoriety. She glanced at Gaetan, nervously, before replying. “Why would you say that?”

“Because Edwin has two sisters. You are not Edith, who is married to Harold Godwinson.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I saw her once, from afar.”

“You have battled Harold before.”