Verica insists that the captive's leg wound be treated and he should have food and drink as well. He has a deep slash that has cut through the sinews nearly to the bone. After downing a full cuach of our good mead, he nods grimly and submits to Fedelm's deft needle with admirable silence.

When that task is complete, Verica and I sit down on either side of him. It is time to question him, while he still has a belly full of that tongue-loosening sweetness. I would keep my sword at his chest but the Brude pushes it gently aside.

Verica first speaks to him in her native language. I understand most of the simple phrases. "Who are you? Who is your leader? Where are you from?"

He says nothing but his eyes go slantwise to wander sneakily over her body. "She's mine!" I caution him, raising the sword again.

"Hush!" Verica snaps, changing to our own tongue. "Gorma said they searched her for markings. I think they mistook her for me."

"But what do they want with you?"

She shrugs and slips out of her brat to show her tattoos. I watch the man's face carefully. He shows no change in his expression, yet his skin colors slightly and his breathing quickens. He and Verica stare at each other for what seems like an eternity of silence.