“I dislike to hurry you”—Persigny arose—“but what is to be done must be done by night, and in silence.” We arose, and I gave my hand to Julot who would remain here for a few days, then become a pilgrim wending his way to Paris.
From my saddlebags I took a small, hand-bound book in leather containing my own translations of Lucretius and Suleiman the Merchant.
The first was one of the great philosophical poems of all time, the second the account of a traveler in China, written in 851, containing information about commercial dealings between China and the Moslem world. Suleiman also refers to a strange custom of the Chinese, who used fingerprints as signatures, maintaining no two fingerprints were alike and could not be forged. It was a practice already hundreds of years old in that land.
“Take this,” I said. “I wish it were more.”
“Ah, a book! I have never owned a book. You mean it is mine?”
We parted there, and I followed Persigny into the night, the Comtesse walking beside me, the horses following. We went down a lane between stone barns and hayricks, then crossed a pasture and paused at the edge of a dark wood.
After a moment of listening we followed a narrow path into the wood to the edge of a pool. Beyond it was a grotto. In the distance a large building, no doubt a château, loomed against the sky.
The pool was divided by a stone wall as were some artificial lakes to facilitate cleaning. On one side of the wall was water, the other side an empty hollow. Walking out upon the wall, Persigny lifted a sluice gate and the water began falling into the empty side of the pool. When the water had emptied, he went down into the hole where the water had been, brushed aside some sodden leaves, and catching hold of an iron ring, a ring that fitted neatly into a crack between the floor stones, he opened a stone door.
Obviously, there were counterweights, for the door swung back easily, revealing a ramp. Motioning for us to follow, he went down the ramp, and he closed the opening behind us. Above, we could hear the water once more falling into the pool.
Meanwhile he lighted a candle, and we glimpsed stalls for twenty or more horses, all empty now, and storage bins with grain and hay, long unused. He pointed down a long passage opening before us.
“Follow it, and you will arrive in Provins. Make no sound, not even a whisper, for the first half mile. At a point not far distant this passage passes close to a secret passage from the Castle Blandy. The lord of that castle has never been aware of this one, but we did hear someone moving in their passage once.”
Looking off into the darkness, I had doubts. “What of air? What of light?”
“Take a supply of candles or torches. You will find others at intervals. Air circulates in the tunnel by some means we have not discovered, but if more is needed, you will find occasional rings in the wall. Pull on a ring, and a small opening will appear. Stand by the openings to breathe, but when you pass on, be sure the openings are closed.”
“And at Provins?”
“There are catacombs of a sort beneath that city. There is a maze of subterranean passages, some of them dating to a time before the Romans, but be careful where you emerge. Listen, first.”
Still, I hesitated. I had my fill of such places before this. “To Provins? It must be thirty miles!”
“The distance is not important. The passage was built over several hundred years and a long time ago. Monks carrying grain or wine from one monastery to another were often robbed by such barons as he who inhabits Blandy, so this tunnel was built to enable them to come and go as they wished.
“There were many monks; few knew or cared what they did, and this passage is known to none outside the Church and only a few inside. It has not been used for many years, but the account of it is hidden in the archives.”
“I would not deceive you. I am escaping because of words spoken of which some teachers did not approve.”
He shrugged. “There are shades of opinion, my friend. We here are followers of Abelard, and pleased to be so.”
“And Fat Claire?”
He looked me in the eye. “She is my sister.”
Holding my torch high, I looked down the passage as Persigny walked away. “Are you afraid, Comtesse?”
“Yes, but I have often been afraid and, no doubt, shall be afraid many more times. No one, in our world, I think, lives without fear.” She turned to me. “I do not even know your name.”
“Mathurin Kerbouchard, but I am not, as I appear, a soldier. I have been many things, a man of the sea, a translator of books, a vagabond, a merchant, and occasionally, a physician.”
“You are a landless man?”
What happened at my home, I told her, and of what took place later, with Tournemine.
“A man who handles a sword need not long be landless. The followers of William of Normandy did very well for themselves, and Roger of Sicily, too.”
“You could become a knight,” she agreed “or win a patent of nobility.”
“It interests me less than you would believe. The difference between a brigand or wandering soldier and a noble is scarcely a generation.”
“It is a bit more than that, I think.”
“Or less. It might take several generations to achieve a Count Robert. It seems to me that blue blood only becomes important when red blood begins to run thin.”
Being of the nobility, she did not wish to agree with me, but no doubt, she knew her own family history. I did not know hers, but could guess. The Crusaders may have had noble motives, but loot was at least a secondary object, and their desire to free the Holy Sepulcher did not stop them from capturing and looting a Christian city or two.
We rode for some time in silence, and when the air became close and hot, we stopped near one of the rings in the wall and, tugging on it, found that it opened stiffly to let in cool night air. A moon had arisen, and we could see woods and fields. The opening was in some kind of a wall, a castle, perhaps. We breathed deeply, waited a few minutes in silence, then closed the opening and went on.
“Where do you go?” she asked.
“To Provins, where I have friends. If they are not present, I shall await them, then on to Kiev.”
Startled, she turned to stare at me. “Kiev?”
“Yes.”
“But it is far!”
“From there I shall go to Constantinople, to Trebizond, and even further.”
“It is my way, too. I must return to Saône.”
“Come with us. My friends are many, and there are women among them. We travel well.”
She did not reply, and for a long time there was no sound but our horses’ hooves on the stones beneath. A trickle of water ran along the center of the floor, water scarcely a half-inch deep.
“The book you gave your friend? What was it?”
Briefly, I explained, adding, a little smugly I am afraid, that it was my own translation.
“You read Latin then? And Arabic?” She paused. “I have known few people who could read.”
“The nobility rarely read. It might make them think.”
“How many have you known who knew much but war, hunting, or drinking?”
“I believe you do not like us.”
“I like you. You are a very beautiful woman.”
We opened another notch to breathe the air. It was almost day, and we could see rolling hills and a flock of sheep.
“I have never been alone with a man before, one to whom I was not married.”
“You have no need to be afraid. I shall warn you beforehand.”
“Warn me? Of what?”
“It is far to Provins. Perhaps I shall wait until then. Perhaps even longer.”
“I thought you were gallant.”
“A word of more than one meaning, as you may know. Yes, I believe I am gallant. If I made love to you, would I be less gallant?”
“Without my permission, yes.”
“Oh, I should have your permission! I wouldn’t think of it otherwise.”
She turned on me, her eyes s
parkling with anger. “Do you believe, for one minute, that I would allow you, a vagabond, a landless man, to make love to me?”
“Of course.”
“Never…unless you take me by force.”
“Don’t keep harping on that idea. It sounds too much like an invitation. No, no matter how much you expect me to, I shall not. I shall wait. The kisses of a woman who has been humbled are the sweeter for it.”
“You are the most egotistical man I ever met.” Her tone became cool. “We will discuss the subject no longer.”
“If I discuss it, you will leave me?”
“I cannot escape you, you know that.”
“A satisfying thought, is it not?”
We rode on in silence until finally I said, “A true gentleman is at a disadvantage in dealing with women. Women are realists, and their tactics are realistic, so no man should be a gentleman where women are concerned unless the women are very, very old or very, very young. Women admire gentlemen, and sleep with cads.”
How far we had come I had no idea, but we had ridden most of the day. During our occasional stops, we gave the horses a chance for fresh air also, and I took time to study the construction of the tunnel. It seemed to have been built at intervals over an extended period. Judging by the masonry, I believed the tunnel must have been built for some distance, and then work ceased for many years and then was begun anew. From place to place the styles of the masonry were different, and even the materials.
No doubt it had taken several hundred years to complete it, but there need have been no shortage of manpower during that time. Yet wars and political confusions within the Church may have caused stoppages.
We came upon old entrances walled up and several places for escape from the tunnel; yet where they emerged, I had no idea nor time to investigate.
At one of the places where we stopped for fresh air, we shared our bread and meat, but she remained cool.
“What is your given name?” I asked.
“I am the Comtesse de Malcrais.”
I smiled. “You can call me what you wish.”
“I have several ideas about that!”
“Good! You have imagination, at least. Share them with me? What would you call me?”
“An unmannered peasant, a boor, an impossible, ungallant person—oh, I could think of many things!”
“Well, not bad, but they are rather the usual names, are they not?”
“I expect you are accustomed to them.”
“I have some names for you, too.” She stiffened, her nostrils flaring a little, her lips tightening. “You are beautiful; you have a very provocative mouth, one that was meant for kisses. Your shoulders are lovely. As for your legs…I haven’t seen enough of them to express an opinion, but probably they are ugly.”
“They are not!”
“I am sure they are. However, you have a warm color, especially right now, and very, very beautiful eyes.”
“You make jokes.”
“No, you are beautiful. Your lips would be very soft to kiss, very warm, and I think—”
She got to her feet. “It is late. I think we should be moving on.”
“Of course.” Helping her into the saddle, I felt her arm stiffen. I mounted, and we rode on in silence. When next we stopped for air it was dark and the air was colder.
“We are close now, Comtesse.”
“My name is Suzanne!”
“Yes. We are close now, Comtesse.”
She lifted her chin at me; then we rode on until we came to the end of the long tunnel, and there was a stable there, too. Like the first it had been long unused.
“I do not know what lies outside. We must be prepared for anything.”
I drew my sword.
“All right,” she said, “I am ready.”
Reaching up, I took hold of the ring. For a moment, I hesitated, then I pulled on the ring.
As the door grated and swung slowly open, I stood with my left hand holding the bridle, my right hand gripping my sword.
Chapter 34
*
THE DOOR SWUNG on its counterbalance, and we stood in a vaulted, deserted room. All was dust, a few ancient boards piled against a wall, and cobwebs. The room seemed not to have been entered for years.
There were arrow ports, and as we walked our horses across the room, I peered out. It was dark and still. The air from the arrow ports was cold.
The view was that of a narrow street, a crooked street where we could see but a few yards in either direction. Unbarring the door, we went outside, closing the door behind us.
The door had been so rigged that when it opened, the bar lifted automatically, and when it closed, the bar fell into place once more. Mounting, the Comtesse and I walked our horses along the street into the town.
All was dark and quiet. We needed shelter and a place where we could remain out of sight until the von Gildersterns’ caravan arrived if it was not already here. And we needed food.
We found an inn on the outskirts of town, one that gave indication of being well-appointed. The common room was crowded, and the host came to us at once. His glance was hard and suspicious.
“Is this the inn patronized by the Hansgraf von Gilderstern?”
His manner changed. “Hah? You are a friend of the Hansgraf? This is not the inn to which he comes, but I know him well. He came often to the inn of my father, beyond the walls. He will be here for the fair?”
“I am a merchant of his caravan. I left him at Montauban to meet my sister. We are to join him here.”
“Ah? You were not at St. Denis? We heard he was there.” He turned. “Pierre! To the yard! See to the merchant’s horses!”
He took up a massive ring and keys. “I have a fine room. I was saving it for the Hansgraf, hoping to get his business. I hope you will recommend us.”
“See that we are not disturbed, and notify us at once when the caravan comes to town.”
He led the way to a comfortable room with two beds and a large fireplace. He knelt and lighted the fire upon the hearth.
He brought a pitcher and a bowl. “I would have known she was your sister,” he said. “You favor one another.”
“Merci. There could be no greater compliment,” I answered, smothering a smile at the shocked expression on the face of the Comtesse. “My sister is the loveliest of women.”
When he had gone she turned on me. “How dare he say such a thing! It is nonsense!”
“A good sign, I thought. People often fall in love with those who resemble them because they can imagine no beauty greater than their own. That may be why you are falling in love with me, because we resemble each other.”
“I am not falling in love with you.” Her tone was icy. “We are to sleep in the same room?”
“There is no other way. Had we asked for separate rooms, they would not have understood. It is not the custom for husband and wife, brother and sister, or whatever, to remain apart in strange inns. A woman by herself is in danger.”
“And am I not in danger here, with you?”
“That would depend, madame, on your definition of danger. Some people are afraid of one thing, some of another.”
“If you come to my bed, I shall scream for help.”
“Madame, if I come to your bed, I shall not need help.”
She removed her cloak with an angry gesture, and I took it from her and hung it on the wall.
“You were quick to tell them who you were, but why Montauban?”
“If one would remain hidden, Comtesse, one must be obvious, not mysterious. Had I not told them who I was and who you were, they would have been curious, which leads to imaginings. I identified myself as a merchant here to meet a known caravan. My identity is established, and we are no longer of interest.
“Moreover, I did not want us associated with the road from Paris. If soldiers come searching for us, the innkeeper might have mentioned that we had come by that road, and they might have come to ask whom we had seen on that road.”
/> “You are good at this. It inclines me to believe you have often been a fugitive.”
“Beautiful women are the wives or daughters of powerful men. Naturally, I have been a fugitive.”
“Do you make a practice of this? Of running off with strange women?”
“All women are strange until they become familiar, but I have forgotten other women. How could even a memory be left after having seen you?”
“You are lying.”
“Perhaps, but even a lie may carry truth. It is a paradox, but is not all life a paradox?” I paused. “Now shall we lie down together and discuss paradoxes, life, and strange meetings by the wayside?”
Before she could reply, our meal was at the door, and we ate in silence, as we were both tired and hungry. As the warmth of the fire and wine crept into our tired muscles, I thought of her home. “Tell me about Saône,” I said.
“It was built long ago on the foundations of an earlier, Byzantine castle. It was to guard the southern approaches to Antioch. They built upon a promontory jutting out to the westward, with a gorge on either side. Two deep ditches were dug across the neck of the promontory, one of these to defend the approach to the gate, another to divide the castle into two sections in the event the first was taken.
“You know about such things, but the castles were built to defend land the Crusaders had won, and many of the Crusaders did not return to their homelands, but stayed to rule their vast estates in Lebanon.
“There are subterranean storage chambers for supplies; there are mills to grind grain, as well as wells and cisterns for water. The castles were sited so they could communicate with each other by signal fires, but if the distance was too great, they used carrier pigeons.”
“It must cost a fair amount to keep it all going.”
“We have income from a dozen villages and much land, but a few years before my father was killed he had to be ransomed from the Arabs, which cost many thousands in gold.”
“What will you do if you return to Saône? Will they not want you to marry?”
“I must, to hold the castle and the land, but there are others than Count Robert. He knows that, too, and will not want me to return to Saône except as his wife.” She glanced at me. “He will kill you if he finds us together.”
Novel 1984 - The Walking Drum (v5.0) Page 26