“My father was a seagoing man,” I admitted, “and no doubt he laid the keel of many a pretty craft. It is the way of seafaring men and has no doubt contributed much to the spread of knowledge. It is possible that the Greek approach to Trojan women inspired an appreciation for their philosophy.”
It was in my mind to give them a poem, however, and I stood in my place, putting a foot on a bench, and was about to speak when the door opened.
There stood the teacher, pointing a finger at me. Behind him were a dozen soldiers.
“Take him!” he said. “That is the man!”
Chapter 32
*
QUICK!” JULOT CAUGHT my arm. “Out!” We sprang through a sudden opening in the crowd as a brawl exploded near the door, blocking the path of the soldiers. A glance over my shoulder let me see The Cat struggling along with two other of my attentive listeners.
Ducking around the chimney, we escaped through an almost hidden door in the chimney corner and out through the kitchen.
The stable showed darkly under the trees, yet even as we approached it, two soldiers with pikes intervened. One held his pike leveled at my stomach while the other stepped forward to disarm me.
As the pikeman reached for my sword, I grabbed him by the upper arm and spun him into the man holding the pike, throwing both off-balance. Julot was already moving to the stable. Whipping out my blade, I parried a thrust of the pikeman, and stepping past the pike, I put the point of my blade through his thigh.
As the second man started toward me I said, “My friend, if you wish to see another sun, step back. I have no quarrel with you and want none, but if you step closer, I shall spit you like a duck.”
“Why, I have no quarrel with you, either, so away with you. I shall see to my friend.”
“Thanks,” I said, “and Godspeed.”
Julot appeared with the horses, and I sprang to the saddle, breaking away down the lane between rows of poplars. There was a shading of lemon light in the sky where the sun would be an hour from now.
“Julot,” I said, “this is no quarrel of yours, so be off for Paris and lose yourself there. I’ve a fast horse and can play hare to their hounds as long as it amuses me.”
“You ask me to leave a friend?”
“I do so ask,” I said, “for I have a place to go.”
“Fat Claire would skin me alive. She had a feeling for you, and you have no idea what you missed.”
“There are other women, but I have but one neck. Be off with you now.”
“You take this too lightly, my friend. Talk such as yours is not tolerated. There has been too much freethinking, and even we of the schools must bridle our tongues. If you are found, you will burn as a heretic.”
“But I am a pagan!”
“Who is to say? They’ll burn you, soldier, for there are those about who have a liking for the odor of burning flesh—and no taste at all for the teaching of Peter Abelard.”
The fields were white with frost, and we kept our horses to a brisk trot, saving them for swifter flight if need be. An immediate return to the caravan might involve my friends, for which I had no desire. Yet escape I must, and once with them, they would hide me. It had been done before, with others.
“There’s a small village this side of Melun. Fat Claire told me of it. If we are separated, go there and ask for a man named Persigny.”
“Is it far from the road to Provins?”
“The direction is right.”
If I could meet the caravan at Provins, at a fair to be held there, it was unlikely I would be found. Search in such an unlikely place was almost out of the question, for I had not the look of a merchant.
During an hour we made many turns and twists among farms and lanes. Once when a party of horsemen appeared, going toward the city, we took hasty shelter in a stable where Julot relieved the hens of several eggs.
Day came to a land brown with autumn and a gray sky with lowering clouds, a sky that promised rain.
Julot shivered in his rag, nor was I clad for the weather. From time to time I thrust my fingers into my shirt to warm them.
“There is a castle nearby, a place called Blandy. The lord of the castle is a brigand with a penchant for attacking merchant caravans, which we must avoid. But there is a chapel at Champeaux, built in the time of Clovis, and the monks are friendly. Abelard was a teacher there, and most are of his persuasion. The man Persigny is their friend also.”
A fine rain began to fall, turning the atmosphere to a steel mesh, but we huddled our shoulders against the rain and the cold and hurried on. There was need for shelter and warm food, for Julot’s hands were turning blue, and his cheeks were drawn, his eyes hollow. He looked half starved, and no doubt he was, for many students barely existed while carrying on their studies.
Monks had scattered gardens and vineyards through the Brie forest, and here and there were old farmhouses, lying in ruins from past conflicts. The woods were dismal, a web of black branches interlaced overhead, a track marked by pools of rain that lay like sheets of steel across the way. Riding past such a ruin, we came in behind it to leave no tracks where we entered. We rode through weeds and brush and walked our horses through a breach in the wall, entering an ancient hall where a few disconsolate bats hung from the ceiling.
Gathering sticks for a fire, we built it carefully wanting no visible light nor smoke to warn a passerby. When flames sprang up we stretched our cold hands toward their heat, two dark and crouching figures, rain-soaked and cold, seeking as man has ever sought, the consolation of fire.
“It is good, the fire,” Julot said.
“The companion of vagabonds. Few men are so poor they cannot have fire.”
“You knew your father?”
“Aye.”
“My mother was a peasant girl; my father, a soldier in some army or other. She never knew which army or where he was from. He was a gentle man, with a handsome beard, so much and no more could she tell me.”
“Men without fathers often place more emphasis on them than others would. A mill does not turn on water that is past.”
“Perhaps, but without family a man is nothing.”
“You are mistaken. Your church has given opportunity to many men without family, the army, also.”
“One must conform, and I conform badly.”
“Be a philosopher. A man can compromise to gain a point. It has become apparent that a man can, within limits, follow his inclinations within the arms of the Church if he does so discreetly.” I smiled at him. “Remember this, Julot, even a rebel grows old, and sometimes wiser. He finds the things he rebelled against are now the things he must defend against newer rebels. Aging bones creak in the cold. Seek warmth, my friend; be discreet, but follow your own mind. When you have obtained position you will have influence. Otherwise you will tear at the bars until your strength is gone, and you will have accomplished nothing but to rant and rave.”
“Compromise is an evil word.”
“Think a little, Julot. All our lives we compromise, and without it there would be no progress, nor could men live together. You may think a man a fool, but if he is an agreeable fool you say nothing. Is that no compromise?
“Victory is not won in miles but in inches. Win a little now, hold your ground, and later win a little more.
“A man should not compromise his principles, but he need not flaunt them, as a banner. There is a time to talk and a time to be still. If a wrong is being done, then is the time to speak out.
“Study, Julot, gain prestige, and people will ask you solemnly for advice about things of which you know nothing.”
“I like not the sound of it,” Julot grumbled. “I am a fighter. I fight for what I believe.”
“There are many ways of fighting. Many a man or woman has waged a good war for truth, honor, and freedom, who did not shed blood in the process. Beware of those who would use violence, too often it is the violence they want and neither truth nor freedom.
“The important thing is to know where y
ou stand and what you believe, then be true to yourself in all things. Moreover, it is foolish to waste time in arguing questions with those who have no power to change.
“There! My sermon for the day is finished. No doubt I will make at least some of the mistakes I have advised you against.”
“You preach well,” Julot grumbled. “Now see if you can preach us up a meal.”
“You have eggs; there is water and a fire. If we can find a kettle, we can boil our eggs, or a piece of metal on which they can be fried.”
“The idea is yours,” Julot said, “do you find the kettle. After all, who robbed the hen?”
Rising, I hitched up my sword belt. “Do you sit warm and snug. I shall venture out into the cold and storm.”
“Go ahead. Make something of it, but come back with a kettle.”
To tell the truth, I was confident. This ruin was such a place as would attract vagabonds, and where a kettle might be hidden for some future time. Stepping out into the rain, I began scouting every corner of the ruins.
My search brought me nothing but a greater soaking from the rain and the realization that the ruin was more extensive than imagined. And then I saw the path.
It is my weakness that I can never resist a path or a bend in the road, although usually the bend in the road when rounded only reveals another bend, as topping a hill only shows another hill before you. Yet I could not resist. I followed this one into the forest, my hand upon my sword hilt, my eyes questing at once for danger and a pot, a kettle, or something edible. From a tree I saw a great streamer of bark ripped away, which brought to mind a way in which we had often made baskets or boxes as a child.
Our problem was solved. Searching for the bark needed, I found some chestnuts the squirrels had overlooked. Studying the earth for more, I found something else.
A footprint.
A tiny, pointed toe. A track made by a slipper never intended for the forest, nor for a lady to wear walking in the wilderness. It was a slipper for dancing, for the halls of a castle.
Squatting on my heels, I studied the footprint. A damp leaf was pressed into the earth. Lifting it, I saw the earth was damp underneath. As it had begun to rain only a short time before, a brief rain already turning to sleet, there was a good chance that track had been made since the rain began. How long ago? A half hour? An hour?
What was such a woman doing in the forest at such a time? Unless she had been all night in the forest, she must have left some castle before daybreak.
If such was the case, somebody must come looking for her, which meant our ruin would be searched as an obvious place of hiding. Hence we must leave at once.
But where was she?
Rising to my feet, I looked carefully around. The track had come from the direction in which I was going, and had she come further than this, would I not have seen her tracks? I had been searching the ground for whatever might be useful and could scarcely have missed them.
No doubt she had seen me and had hidden herself nearby.
“If you can hear me”—I spoke loudly—“please accept me as a friend. I know not who you may be, but those who come seeking you will find me, and I would be far from here before they arrive. It may be I can help you.”
Rain fell softly on leaves, freezing there. It was growing colder. “There is little time if you are to escape. I have a friend and horses nearby.”
A long, slow minute passed, and I began to walk away. Then there was a sudden movement, and a voice called out, “Please! I am in great trouble!”
She stood beside some brush where she had hidden herself on my approach. She was slender, wore a cloak reaching almost to the ground, and carried in her hand a small bundle.
“Mademoiselle!” I bowed. “If I can be of help…?”
“Oh, you can! You can! I must not be taken!”
“Come then.” I took her hand and helped her through the grass, something she was perfectly capable of doing without me, but I have observed the easiest way to reassure a woman is simply to be courteous, as with anyone else.
Julot glanced up from the fire as we appeared in the opening. He stared as if he could not believe his eyes. “Ah, Kerbouchard! There is no one like him!” he said ironically. “He goes into a dark forest at daybreak and returns with a beautiful woman! It is easy to see you are a sailor’s son!”
“We must go,” I said, and explained.
My horse rolled her eyes at the lady but did not object when I put her into the saddle. She had an understanding rare among beasts.
Chapter 33
*
IT WAS DARK when we reached the village. On the skyline beyond the cluster of houses and the trees loomed the towering keep of Castle Blandy.
The hour was past sundown, and the houses were shuttered and dark. Travelers by night were rare and not welcomed in the small villages. God-fearing folk were in their homes or inns before darkness, and only thieves, vagabonds, and evil things roamed the night.
The streets were muddy from recent rains, and our horses’ hooves made no sound. The cottage of the man we sought lay at the edge of town, bordering on the lands of the chapel. Julot rapped upon the door.
There was a cautious movement within, and Julot spoke softly. “Fat Claire is our friend.”
“What do you seek?”
“Sanctuary and freedom.”
The gate opened then, and we rode in. Persigny stared hard at the woman, but seemed reassured when he looked at Julot.
“Who are you?”
“I am Julot, a student of Paris, and a friend of Fat Claire’s.”
“And the lady? One of Claire’s?”
“No!” My tone was sharp. “Truly a lady, but one who must be far from here before another day is gone.”
“Inside!” He gestured toward the door, then took our horses to the stable for water and grain.
The floor was stone-paved, unusual in the houses of peasants—if he was one. Obviously, it was very ancient, and the walls were thick. The shutters seemed formed from solid boards and fit snugly, allowing no light.
A woman brought a steaming dish of stew with large chunks of meat and many vegetables. She also brought an earthenware jar containing wine.
As we ate, Julot explained our plight, and Persigny listened without comment. It was my feeling he had assisted in many such ventures and was not surprised. He was a tall man with a tuft of gray curly hair atop his head, a sparse beard on a thin, ascetic face.
“They have no patience with freethinkers,” he commented, “and we have already been alerted to watch for you.” He glanced at Julot. “You have not been identified, so when you leave him, you are safe.”
His attention went to the girl. “You, madame, are in serious trouble.”
He turned to me. “This lady is the Comtesse de Malcrais, bride of Count Robert, possessor of vast estates in the Holy Land.”
“This man was not involved in my transgressions—if such they are to be called. I fled into the forest, and he helped me.”
“Nonetheless, he has been seen with you this day. From what I hear of the Count he will not believe your meeting was accident nor your traveling together innocent.”
“Before I return to him,” the Comtesse said quietly, “I will kill myself. It was not by my choice that I became his wife, nor am I his wife except in name. After we were married he spent the night drinking and fell asleep at the table. I heard his friends laughing because he was drunk on his wedding night, so I fled into the woods.”
“What of your family?”
“My father was master of Saône, one of the greatest Crusader castles in the Holy Land. By marrying me Count Robert becomes its master. He abducted me and brought me here against my will.”
“If you do not protect her,” Julot said, “I shall. I know of this Count Robert. An evil man. He is no husband for a lady such as this.”
Food was prepared for us to take with us. It was doubtful if any had seen us close to the village, but there are always prying eyes, and w
e could not be certain.
“Where can you go to escape him?” Persigny said. “He is a man of great influence, with the Church as well as the King.”
“I go to Provins. Once there I shall be with friends.”
“To Provins? Ah! Perhaps that makes the problem less difficult. To Provins, indeed.”
“If word has come this far, it will have been carried further. The high roads will be watched.”
“There are back roads, and our horses are swift,” I said.
“Eat,” Persigny said, “and get some sleep. Perhaps I have a way.”
We continued to eat, and for the first time I saw the Comtesse de Malcrais with her hood thrown back. Her hair and eyes were dark, her skin like cream, her lips soft and beautifully shaped. She might have been nineteen, perhaps less, in any event a ripe age for marriage when most were wed at twelve and thirteen.
Her figure was lovely, and she had beautiful, expressive hands. She caught my eyes upon her and smiled, a warm, friendly smile…I would it had been otherwise.
“What has been said is true, and I must warn you. Count Robert will not rest until he has me again.”
“How does it come you were in possession of the Castle of Saône?”
“From my father, but from my first husband, also. A woman cannot hold a castle, and when my first husband was killed, it was necessary for me to marry. It is the custom in the Holy Land for a widow in possession of a castle to marry again, at once, so the castle will have a strong man to defend it. The widow has no choice, for if such castles are to be held against the infidel, it must be as I have said.
“Count Robert envied my husband the possession of Saône and its lands, which pay tribute. I believe it was he who murdered my husband.”
“Murdered?”
“Supposedly by a band of infidels. I think, and Colin thinks, it was Count Robert and his men.”
“Colin?”
“The captain of those who defend the castle, and a good man. It was he who helped me escape, but I was taken again and married in the Church so there could be no question as to the validity of the marriage. Count Robert has enemies in the Holy Land.”
Novel 1984 - The Walking Drum (v5.0) Page 25