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focus. Ignoring Arne's look of disapproval, he picked up his sword and
then scanned the surrounding faces for the Slav merchant, but the man had
vanished. The cunning bastard! Doubtless he had no intention to pay the sum
promised, not that Rurik cared for the gold. The merchant had probably used the
fight as a screen to spirit away the woman.
    "Where are you going?" Arne called out as
Rurik stepped over the headless corpse and strode through the gradually
thinning crowd, traders and buyers alike returning to their business now that
the bloody spectacle was finished.
    Rurik didn't answer, his gaze sweeping from one end of
the camp to the other. No sign of the merchant or the woman. He was about to
begin a search of every tent when he spied a flash of purple silk near the
well-lighted docks, and he began to run. Arne huffed not far behind him,
grumbling loudly about the witchery of women.
    "Hold!" Rurik shouted, not surprised to see
the merchant and his burly companion, the woman slung over his shoulder,
increase their pace as they headed toward a large river ship that was already
loaded with slaves and other retainers. "Hold, I tell you!" When
Rurik was almost upon them, the merchant turned back and hastened to meet him
while the other man hurried on with his precious load.
    "Ah, forgive me, good sir . . . how forgetful of
me! Your gold is right here." Smiling tightly, the merchant held out a
small leather pouch. "Count it if you must, it's all there. Twenty grivna,
the least I could pay for such skill and bravery, such honor—"
    "I don't want your gold." Rurik's gaze burned
into the man's eyes. "Tell your fat companion to bring the woman here,
now, or I will not hesitate to slit your treacherous throat."
    "Treachery! What treachery—"
    Rurik grabbed the older man and spun him so that he
faced the river, his sword resting ominously against the merchant's scrawny
neck. "Tell him!"
    "As you wish, as you wish! Urho! Bring the slave
to me at once!"
    "Now talk and quickly, but keep your voice low,"
Rurik commanded, aware that they were eliciting much observation from curious
passersby. "Where did you get that woman?"
    "Her parents sold her to me . . . they were poor,
needed the silver—"
    "You lie! Before that Varangian trader struck her
down, she promised me a reward if I helped her. No peasant's daughter would
swear such a thing, and no peasant wench would speak with such refinement.
Where did you find her?"
    "Please, I cannot say or my life may be forfeit!"
    "Speak or your life is forfeit." Rurik turned his weapon so that the razor-sharp
blade rested upon the man's bobbing Adam's apple.
    "Very well, I will tell you! Stay your sword! My
men abducted her from a wealthy river caravan a day's eastward journey from
this camp."
    "A caravan?"
    "Traveling from Tmutorokan to Chernigov."
    Rurik tensed, his instincts alert. Such a caravan might
be somehow connected with Prince Mstislav . . .
    "How could your men have gotten so close without
an alarm being raised?" he demanded. "Surely there were guards—"
    "Yes, but what few we found near the girl's tent
were slain. It couldn't have gone more smoothly. Everything was arranged in
advance."
    "By whom?"
    "The eunuch of the woman who wished to rid herself
of her husband's favorite concubine. The half man paid me much gold to see that
the girl's tongue be cut out and she be sold in Constantinople. He said that if
his mistress's orders were not followed, she would not rest until I was found
and punished."
    So the wench was a concubine. Rurik watched as the man
called Urho drew near with the limp woman. She was wrapped in a dark cloak with
only her head visible, her long sandy-colored hair, more blond than brown,
tumbling down Urho's back. Rurik found himself wondering what it might feel
like to touch that golden tousled mass, to bury his fingers in it . . .
    Rurik snorted. From his own reaction, he was not
surprised that she was a favored one.
    Her status would explain her graceful speech.