Swords From the Sea (61 page)

Honeywords looked into her face, and shook his head. "I could have had gold and gear as the forerunner of the sea raiders. Yet for the sight of a girl and the sake of a boy, I saved Iceland. 'Tis the heart of a poet I have and nothing else."

Listening, they heard the wail of his pipes as he walked away, the sound of it soft and mournful as he pressed the hag under his arm. But they did not see over his other arm Rang's ring of silver.

You will be thinking that this strange story is a lie; but it is all true, and many men have sworn to it. It befell on the Cote d'Or, within those drowsy hills of Burgundy, on a clear midsummer day when the good Charles was Duke-may God grant him everlasting rest! It came about, men say, because Bryn Briogan had eyes to see in the dark. Others say that he brought trouble with him, as a dog brings fleas. But you will hear the first and the last of it, and you will judge for yourself.

Now the first of it was the ferryman, snoring in his barge on the river, when someone clapped him on the breech and he awoke to ferry Bryn Briogan across to the island. Him and his horse.

"It will be a silver denier," said the ferryman when Bryn was for leading his horse out of the barge to the land. "A denier, messire."

Bryn shook his head then. "A pity," he said. "For I have a copper farthing in my wallet, but no silver. So you will have nothing."

The ferryman scratched his big head. He looked carefully at this man and his horse. For the man, he saw, was long and lean-ragged and sundarkened, with a wide, hard mouth and a look of laughter about his eyes. And the horse was fine and high-black with a white blaze in the forehead. He had a saddle of red leather, strange to the eye.

"I'll take the farthing," he said.

"Tell me," remarked Bryn, "if there is a place hereabouts where a man with a sword may find service."

"Aye, the Castle Ferrand up yonder."

"And what manner of master has this Castle Ferrand?"

"The Lord Renault de Ferrand of this island is a just and high lord, and rich as a bishop."

Then Bryn tossed him the coin, and mounted the charger walking up the road. The ferryman pushed off the barge and rubbed the farthing, which was clipped and bent. "And more," he shouted after the rider, "he hath a great gallows upon which to swing off such a tripe-gutted bottlewhacker as thou art!"

Over his shoulder the rider looked back. "Have a care, little man, for this horse and I can overpass that water without a boat to serve us."

And at this the ferryman felt the chill of fear creeping up his back; his knees shook, and he thrust at the sweep with trembling hands. A sudden dread had come upon him, so that-when the stranger had disappeared from the hillside-he rowed his barge back across the stream and went on foot by roundabout paths to the village of Ferrand that lies beyond the castle, to tell of these words. "He and his horse," the ferryman repeated when he had emptied a cup or two, "have no need of a boat. Nay, they can ride over a river."

While the ferryman was doing this, Bryn Briogan was riding down below the road in a little valley girdled by a wood of live oaks. He might have gone on, but a thought came to him.

"Malik," he said to the horse, "we have not filled our bellies for a night and a day, and here is some good grazing."

He turned the black charger into the field and dismounted, slipping off the bit and the straps of the headstall. The horse thrust down its long neck eagerly, and the man went to sit in the shadow of the oaks. It was not good in that age of men to let a charger graze unwatched, or to sit oneself where enemies might come up behind. Bryn knew this well, for he had many enemies and his skin bore the scars of wounds.

He took the empty purse out of his wallet, tossed it away, and lay back in the tall dry grass, drawing his belt a notch tighter and chewing on a stalk. He had need of food and some good wine. But before he could have that he must hire him out again as swordsman in a lord's service. Service and war he had known for years-and the waking under a burning roof, and the watching the stars go down, and the waiting for death to pass by ...

Bryn sat up in the grass, looking out into the field. Soon a smile touched his dark face.

Two fellows in long shirts had come down the road. Seeing the horse Malik grazing in the field, they had thought him to be astray without master. A fine beast, they thought, and went into the field to take him in hand for themselves.

Now Bryn watched them as they went up to the charger, who tossed his head and moved away. The rogues followed after, and again Malik walked off. Bryn chewed on his stalk, at ease in the shade. And then the fellows separated, one going up to Malik's head and the other behind him. Malik lifted his head and screamed-he wheeled and reared, striking down at the man behind him with his forefoot. And that man yelled, rolling in the grass with a broken shoulder bone. Malik wheeled again, catching the arm of the other in his teeth.

He was angry now, the charger. And the rogue would have had a broken arm if Bryn had not whistled. Malik pricked his ears and loosed the thief, to canter off to where his master sat. So the two fellows picked themselves up and ran for the road with flying legs.

"A fine fighter he surely is," said a clear voice behind the soldier. In a second Bryn was on his feet, his hand on his sword hilt.

Then he laughed at himself. For the voice was young, and smooth as running water-a girl's voice. She stood there in the flecked sunlight between two trees, within a pebble's toss of him.

"Aye," agreed Bryn, "a champion of fighters he is-he has no match beyond the sea."

He forgot his hunger and shaded his eyes with his sword hand to see the better. He forgot the two rogues, and took a step forward. For the girl was looking eagerly at Malik. Slim and straight she stood, a bare arm lifted against the heavy mass of her hair. The hood of her gray cloak was thrown back upon her shoulders. She had a broad smooth forehead and full bright lips, ripe for kissing.

"Stay your step, messire," she said.

Then he saw that she held in one hand a bow already strung-no plaything, but a longbow that-and an arrow with an iron point in the fingers of the hand. Into her eyes came a flash of anger. Bryn wanted much to see the color of those eyes, and to lay his hand upon the heavy tresses that overhung her slight breast. A fire that was more than the sun's heat burned in him.

"A bargain I will make with you, Demoiselle Diana," he said gravely. "I will not put hand or slight upon you-fair though you are-but you shall sit and speak with me a while. Soon or late it will come to that between us-"

It was a long speech for Bryn Briogan, and the sight of her tangled his tongue like wine. But the maid's answer came clear as a bell's note:

"Think not to beguile me-I will not have it. Keep your distance, Mes sire the Uncouth, or this arrow will pass between us and you will find your death upon it."

Bryn was not minded to stay his step for this war gear in a maid's hand.

"Let fly the arrow then," he said, "if you must."

And he walked forward, smiling. No word of warning did she give him, except the flame of anger in her eyes. Her body tensed, the bow came up, and the slim white arm swept back. Bryn bent his knees and flung himself to one side. Even as he did so, the shaft whistled by his shoulder, ripping through a fold of his mantle.

He rolled over and sprang up warily. But the sun-flecked space between the trees stood empty, and the maid had vanished.

Only Malik remained by him, looking at him, startled. Whereupon Bryn laughed aloud, jerking back the headstall upon the horse. "By heaven, Malik, we were worsted-she rolled me in the grass like a cup-shot rogue!"

Nearby stood a ruined gray tower, covered with ivy. Bryn would have searched it, but he fancied that the girl was in there, and he could not dodge a shaft sped from cover.

He was musing upon her as he rode up the highway and heard horses trotting toward him. Four men came into sight-the leader a noble in furtipped mantle. A heavy man, with a roving eye and long, curled ringlets. He stared at Bryn, who drew rein and saluted him without moving aside.

"Eh," the stout Burgundian said, "what is your name, and whom do you serve?"

"Seigneur, I am Bryn Briogan, once of Ireland, and lately knight of the city of Jerusalem."

"Another starveling from over the sea," muttered my lord, glancing at Bryn's spurs, from which the gilt had long since worn off. "What would you have?"

"Faith, decent service and a seat at table."

The stout nobleman ran his eye down the stained leather jacket and worn scabbard of the Irish crusader and frowned. "An empty purse and belly, hein? Well, I am governor of this island, by the Duke's grace, and I am weary of begging crusaders and their tales. Why should I pay for an idle sword?" He looked shrewdly at Bryn's black charger. "Yet have I need of a horse like this. I'll give you thirty ducats for him."

Bryn shook his head and smiled.

"Forty, then-silver ducats of Paris weight." The Seigneur de Ferrand slapped his stout wallet, which jangled cheerily. "Forty-five? With the saddle, fifty? Come now, what's your price?"

"'Tis more than your purse holds."

"By the Devil, his horns-"

"Because," said Bryn gravely, "I will not sell this horse."

De Ferrand's brow darkened, then cleared. "Sir Bryn, you are a right stubborn man. If you will not sell the charger, you will not. Then come you to the chateau." When the crusader was silent, the Burgundian added jovially, "At the least, sit and sup with us. I will not have a man ride hungry from my land."

"Then I will do it," said Bryn, but he was thinking of the girl who lived in the broken tower beneath them. And De Ferrand, trotting at his side, glanced covertly at black Malik, knowing that the poverty-ridden crusader bestrode a better horse than his own.

Bryn had a great hunger in him, and that evening he plied dagger and fist in the cold veal pie and the dish of pigeon and boar's steak, and washed down his throat with wine.

Still, he had the feeling that the men were looking at him stealthily. Some of them whispered in a dialect he did not know. The biggest of them, Hugo, the Genoese captain of the garrison, lifted his goblet and hailed Bryn:

"Par Dex, Sir Wanderer, will you drink with me?"

He leaned across the board, and they clicked goblets. Hugo had an arm that could break a bull's ribs.

Out of the corner of his eye Bryn saw that the monk at the table made the sign of the cross as they did this. Nor did De Ferrand join them in drinking. Instead the lord of the chateau leaned back in his high chair, plump white fingers plucking at his beard.

Hugo, however, sprawled at ease, his restless eyes moist with wine. "Cup for cup, Sir Bryn-and tale for tale. Now they tell me this charger of yours is a great fighting beast, and a king's ransom will not buy him."

Bryn nodded.

"Well, that may be," grunted Hugo, "but I have a young Spanish devil will carry me twenty leagues between sundown and sun-up."

"That is good," Bryn assented, "but my black beast Malik bath not his match for speed in the East. And the colts here are plow horses beside him. He will not let anything go past his head." Bryn's voice dropped into a soft chanting. "Sure, it was at the rising of the moon the power came on him. It was out of Damascus where the winds whisk through the hills. The wind came strong behind us, and it put a slight upon the horse, to feel it passing him.

"He stretched out, speeding faster and faster, but still the wind passed him. Then he took longer leaps and the power came upon him. He leaped high, over the trees without touching hoof to ground. Faster he went, until he left behind him the clouds of the sky, and he felt the wind on his nose. Then he was satisfied and drew himself in and came down gently."

Silence fell upon the table, and Bryn waited in vain for a man to laugh or cap his tale with another.

De Ferrand sighed, and smote his fist on the board. "Enough!" His small eyes glared at the wanderer. "Will ye tell of those other night rides of yours?"

"Nay," said Bryn, "for I have another thing in my mind to do this night."