The Hostility of Hanno: An Outlaw Chronicles short story Read Free Page A

other souls there. Alan was glad of that; he was
     also glad of the poniard he had in a sheath at his waist, a foot-long blade of fine Spanish steel. Since it had fallen to
     the Christians, Acre had become a wild and dangerous place after dark, with pilgrim throats cut daily for the silver in their
     purses, sometimes just for their clothing or boots. Every morning at least one or two bodies were discovered slumped, stripped
     and blood-streaked in the winding alleyways of the old city. Certain parts of the city were declared off-limits; the Christian
     soldiers were warned not to drink alone, or with strangers, and always to keep a hand on their purses. Good advice – which
     Alan utterly ignored. He fiddled in his own purse and produced a coin. He tapped it on the table and pointed at his jug. The
     little proprietor nodded and bustled over to sweep the jug from the table and hurry away to refill it.
    ‘I buy this!’ said a hard voice, and Alan noticed a muscular weight beside his elbow, and the dull shine of candlelight off
     a heat-blistered bald head. Hanno pulled up a stool and took a seat by the Englishman. ‘I say thank you. For warning.’
    Alan nodded. ‘You have learnt some English?’ he asked.
    ‘A little. I not perfect. It too difficult …’ Hanno finished his sentence with an unintelligible stream of Bavarian that seemed
     to be packed with the vilest profanities. Then he sat down on Alan’s left and filled a beaker for himself from the jug. The
     two sat in silence for a while, sipping the execrable wine, unable or unwilling to find an area in common suitable for conversation.
     Finally, Alan spoke. ‘You know, Hanno, there was no need to kill that boy on the promenade,’ he said mildly. ‘He was a cut-purse:
     he presented no danger to you, only to your silver.’
    Hanno looked utterly perplexed. Alan tried again, speaking a little more loudly and slowly as was his habit with foreigners
     who did not have the wit to understand him, and miming a little on some of the longer words. ‘The boy. He was a thief; he
     not want harm you. Thief. Take purse. Steal. You do not need to kill him.’
    Hanno looked at Alan as if he were mad; then filled his beaker to the brim with wine. And while Alan drew breath to try once
     again to make his point anew, a fresh voice broke in: ‘But Hanno likes to kill, don’t you, Hanno?’ The stranger, who was standing
     on the far side of the table, followed this with a stream of German, which Hanno evidently understood but did not care for.
     He was glaring at the stranger, a man with a long face, long black hair and yellowish skin. Alan could see that the man had
     a fighting axe tucked discreetly into his belt at the back, the curved head just visible in the gloom.
    Without the slightest invitation, the stranger hooked out a stool with his foot and sat down. Alan was suddenly aware of two
     other men, big, indistinct figures who had shifted from their positions against the wall and were now paying a little too
     much attention to the three of them at the table. His spine itched.
    ‘You go now,’ said Hanno, pushing hard against Alan’s left arm. ‘Go away. This man is no good man. You go now.’
    ‘Yes, off you go now, sonny,’ said the stranger. ‘Old Johannes and I have some pressing business to transact.’
    Alan did not move. ‘I haven’t finished my drink,’ he said, wrapping the fingers of his left hand around the beaker. His right
     hand lay casually in his lap beneath the table.
    ‘You finish up your drink and run along, there’s a good lad,’ said the man.
    ‘Who are you to be giving orders?’ Alan’s mouth had tightened to a grim, determined line. He remembered his earlier anger
     at the barbarities of his lord, and found that he was perfectly happy to redirect his rage at this yellow-faced stranger.
    ‘I am Rudolfo Chiavari – and these are my brothers, Sergio and Roberto.’ The man jerked a chin at the two shadowy men who
     by now were