Swords From the West (81 page)

Skol had never seen a cross worn like that before, and when he had stopped the Finn he asked what sign it was.

"'Tis the sign and seal of an oath I have taken," said the minstrel. "And by reason of it I am faring forth to a new land, by a long road."

And Skol would have passed on, had not Daimen been afraid of the great axman.

"Hail, ax clasher," he said again. "Has the word come to you that there is a truce here in this land, and an end of quarreling?"

"That would be a strange thing," Skol remarked.

"Well, they are making the truce, and the weapon men are going out to take the Cross."

Skol put down his bundle in the snow and leaned on the pommel of his ax. So, here were tidings.

"What cross?" he asked.

" "This-

Daimen pointed to his shoulder, and when Skol remained silent, he explained how everywhere the priests were summoning men to join together in one army and to march to a place called Jerusalem, where was the Sepulcher of the Son of God, and to free this from the enemies of God who had taken possession of it. Followers of Mahound and Anti-Christ these enemies were. The quarrel was a good quarrel, Daimen said, and a man would be well rewarded. Past all counting, the priests had said. So he had taken the oath to go and they had given him that fine red cross-velvet, sewn with silver thread.

"Who is the leader of this host-he who will hire the liege men, and pay what is owing at the end of their service?"

"Well, ax clasher, every lord will look after his own followers, and as to pay, I suppose it will be as it always is. But they do say that this new host will be led by One who is invisible, and he will see that every jackman gets a just share of the spoilings and sackings."

All this bewildered the manslayer, who could think of only one thing at a time; but it stirred his curiosity, and he turned back to go with Daimen to the next hamlet on the road. And after an hour he asked if it were true that the weapon men were faring forth to this new war.

Daimen said it was indeed true. For months and years they had been taking to their weapons, in Flanders and Northman-land. Nay, even new married women were going, and old wives packing the carts to take to the long road; priests were arming, and children begging to go.

"Jerusalem," Skol mused, fingering his beard. "That would be far off, like."

Daimen thought it was farther, even, than Russia; but he had a good pair of skis, and he had been told to keep due south, to find it.

When they stuck their skis in the snow by the tavern and tramped through the stable yard to eat supper, Skol gripped the minstrel's arm with iron fingers.

"Do you think, belike, these priests would make me a cross if I took the oath to serve this new god of battles?" He thrust his hands in his belt and nodded slowly. "I would like well to see this weapon drawing."

The priests of the hamlet made no objection. But they made Skol kneel before them and place his hands together and swear that he would journey on to Jerusalem, and not turn back for any reason whatever until he had reached his destination. They were glad then, because Skol had caused many deaths in the land, and the women rejoiced to be rid of him. Only Daimen was doubtful at first, about his new companion of the road.

"See you, ax clasher," he remarked, "there is another agreement to be kept. Until you have purged yourself of sin in the blood of the paynim, you are not to lift weapon or hand against a fellow Christian-like myself? Is that also agreed?"

Skol's drowsy blue eyes looked down on the little minstrel.

"It has never happened," he said slowly, "that I raised hand against a comrade."

So they set out together with their skis upon the forest road that ran south.

They did not find Jerusalem that winter, or that spring. Nor did they find the roads filled with marching men. They did get out of the forests, and summer overtook and passed them in cleared land where the log churches had devils painted on their doors and the women stacking hay stared at the bright ox horns on Skol's helmet. Skol could not speak the language of these people, but the Finn had a way with his tongue, especially when he talked to women, and he explained to Skol that they could not go on.

"South of here is the open steppe, where the pagan hordes wander, aye, and Satan grazes his horses. They have never heard of Jerusalem in this place."

"Did she tell you how we can go around the steppes," the manslayer asked, "this black-browed chit who walks with you after vespers?"

Daimen looked uncomfortable. It was becoming clear to him that they would have trouble in finding a road that led to Jerusalem. And it was pleasant to be with this Russian girl who had round arms and strong, full lips that smiled at him in the twilight.

"I will ask," he assented. "But it will take time and great skill with words to find out all we must know."

So Skol waited at a crossroads ale shop, sometimes selling a gold armband to pay for his ale and sometimes helping to get the grain in from the fields. Daimen was his voice, and he could not go on without the minstrel, even if he had wanted to leave him. But after the snow came again Daimen appeared suddenly at the tavern-the woman's tongue had grown too sharp for him-with tidings.

"A merchant's sledge train is setting out with furs, to go to the west," he said. "And they will take you for a weapon man in the guard. We must make haste, because there in the west we will find out more about Jerusalem."

But it was a year before they could leave the service of the merchants, and the people who met them on the roads scowled at them, not understanding their questions. All they could learn was that at the edge of the sea to the south was the great city, toward which all travelers went. And thither they begged and fought their way, having no more gold left, through endless hills. Daimen's blue cloak was stained and faded, and he no longer tried to tune up his fiddle at night. The men here had dark faces and went barefoot or in saddles, except the nobles, who galloped past or stood in chariots. The crowds became greater on the road as the two crusaders went farther south.

The sun blazed overhead, and brown-robed pilgrims went swinging by. Of them Daimen asked one word, "Jerusalem?" And they turned and pointed to the south. Until the wanderers saw from the summit of a hill a mighty white wall with square towers, and beyond the wall the gleam of sunlight on gilded domes. White walls and green trees, and the deep blue of the sea beyond.

"Well, the priests did not lie!" cried Daimen.

They found it a rich city indeed, with strings of laden mules passing through the gate, under the eyes of strange guards in gilded breastplates and shining silver helmets. Skol stopped to stare at them, but Daimen pulled him on, and they wandered through alleys, past the stairs of marble churches, and a column of carved marble with a rearing horse atop it, and a bearded king on the horse. But it seemed to Skol strange that the king had nothing on him but a kind of long shirt, and no saddle beneath him. Daimen pulled him along until they sniffed the damp reek of wine, up from a cellar shop.

"Come," cried the little minstrel, "it bath been a long road, this, and they will not grudge a tankard of wine to crusaders, although we have no coins or gear to pay for it."

They sat on stools in the cool gloom of the shop, and pointed at an open cask, and a fat man with an oiled beard bowed to them and hastened to bring two jugs. They drank more, and Daimen said it was well they had come to Jerusalem at last. When the tavern keeper held out his hand, the minstrel pointed to the cross on his shoulder, and the oiled beard spat out harsh words. The tavern keeper waddled out of the shop and came back with a tall and glittering figure following him-a weapon man wearing over one shoulder a red cloak, and carrying in his free hand a short ivory baton. Daimen had never seen such a splendid man, even a prince, before; but Skol looked up frowning.

The stranger spoke words they knew.

"Hail, ye far-faring fellows! This Greek is saying ye have robbed him."

And the prince sat down between them and looked into the jugs. They were empty.

"What is this?" said he.

Daimen's tongue was loosened, now that someone listened who understood his words, and he told the tale of his crusade, until the stranger, a man of mild manner, motioned to the tavern keeper to bring more wine.

"Have done," he cried. "Have done, little man. 'Tis a whine and a plaint I have heard overmuch. Sure it is that Jerusalem was beset and captured by the crusaders years ago. And now that the weapon smiting is at an end, every spindle shanks weaned of woman is marching on Jerusalem. When the fighting was ahead, they were all for being pilgrims, too holy to fight; and now, by Thor's thunder, they are all cross-bearers, ready to eat and drink their way to the holy city."

"Well, we're here," said Daimen after awhile.

The stranger paid the Greek and spread his long legs before him, his hand on his hip.

"And where," he asked, "is that?"

"Jerusalem, and a fair-"

"Some call this Byzantium, and some call it Constantinople, which is to say the city of Constantine; but it was never Jerusalem, for that is in the country of the Turks, far to the south."

Daimen stared.

"But this is what we looked to find-a queen of a city, with gold in its walls and jewels to be picked up-"

"'Tis so, little man. I am from Dane-mark, and I have served the Emperor of Byzantium eight years, and every month now eight gold byzants are paid into my hand, with a largesse for hazardous fighting, and tribute from the shopkeepers like this dog-sired Greek, and a gift now and then from the slavers. The women are the finest of the world, and when my service is done I'll be given land in Asia, with slaves to till it, and the rank of centurion of the mercenaries."

Then Skol spoke.

"'Tis not Jerusalem."

"Better for thee, ax wielder." The strange officer smote his hip. "Six thousand Northmen are in the emperor's pay, and we have a place-in my company-for a man of weapons, who can wield steel, shoot a shaft, and back a horse."

Skol considered all this. It was his skill, to do this.

And he stayed. Six months later Daimen had a new cloak, and he had learned the names of the wines and the places where the heaven-descended emperor held weekly games and beast slayings for the multitudes; he knew the luckiest chariot racers and the best horses of the hippodrome. But then he went home one evening to Skol's barracks and found the manslayer clad again in his old leather and dull steel cap.

"Have the mercenaries disbanded?" he asked. "Are you dismissed from the service?"

"Nay," said Skol. "I have enough silver money now to buy passage in a galley. We will sail to the Holy Land this night, and the ship will not lose its way as we did."

"Are you mad, ax clasher?" cried the minstrel. "Such a fine figure as you were, a decurion of the ax bearers! Jerusalem was captured long since-are there not pagans enough in Byzantium to give drink to your thirsty steel?"

Skol shook his head, thinking of one thing at a time.

"There is an oath between us," he responded, "that we should fare forth and not turn back from Jerusalem."

"An oath!" But the minstrel looked long at his comrade, for by now he had come to know Skol's moods. "Is your mind settled upon that?"

"Aye."

Daimen sat down, fingering his new red cape. Long he brooded, and began to rock back and forth upon the stool. At times he had the foresight upon him, and this was such a time.

"That will not be good! That will be a road to sorrow, and a breaking of shields, and a sating of wolves upon the bodies of men."

But he went, after awhile, to look for the stained blue cloak with the crusader's cross.

When the afternoon sun beat down upon them, they stopped to sit in the shadow of a broken wall where weeds grew among great stones. They were passing through a half-ruined place in the foothills. Sweat stung their eyes and the heat was like a blanket that could not be pushed off.

They slaked their throats with wine from Daimen's stone jug and chewed at pieces of the bread and shreds of garlic that they had brought from the seacoast, and they listened to the clanging of bells. Sheep jostled past them in the dust. Through the dust women hastened with covered heads. Skol's drowsy eyes noticed the dome of an old church made of square stones, and beyond it a height of black rock. Beyond, he saw only bare ridges and green patches of olive groves.

He was sleeping when a voice roused him.

"I would relish some of the garlic, my sons."

A pockmarked priest, a little father of the Russian land, had stopped in front of them. A man, Skol observed, with lean, starved flesh and a dirty robe. Daimen handed up some of the garlic stalks.

"'Tis a long day since we have heard a word we knew," he said. "What is this ringing of bells here?"

"More sorrow!" The yellow teeth of the bearded Russian bit into the garlic greedily. "They are praying for the armed host."

"For what?" Skol asked, sitting up.

"For the army of Jerusalem."

The priest swallowed and would have gone on, but the manslayer rose, and laid hand upon his shoulder.

"Where will we find these armed men?"

The priest pointed behind him, along the street.

"Go through that gate and follow the road for two or three leagues. God knows if you will find them." And he padded off hastily.

Skol leaned on his ax and reflected.

"I am thinking that the weapon men of Jerusalem have fared forth, and it may well be that they are coming hither to raid this place. However it may be, we are near, and we will join them."

The minstrel followed and grumbled because Skol had had a nap and he had not slept at all. He grumbled more when the heat of the clay valley rose into their faces, and he pointed out that not even the cattle herds were astir in that hour. The doors of the hamlets were deserted, and so was the road that wound through the rocky swales.

The road led them out into the barrens, where the pastures and the villages ended, and they walked in silence through narrow gullies until they plodded up a rise and stopped to look at what lay before them.