Novel 1984 - The Walking Drum (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  “It is a matter of viewpoint,” I said, “the man on the pole has a crippled child whom he lives for. The sword-swallower is an orphan who knew neither father nor mother. They have many troubles, Comtesse.”

  “You know them?”

  “They are my friends,” I said, “and I can even do some of their acts.”

  “You amaze me.”

  “All things fascinate me, and I love skills. Then, who knows? Some day I may need to disappear. Who remembers the face of an acrobat?”

  Days passed, and trade was good, but I was uneasy. Count Robert was not a man to yield when so much was at stake. Moreover, he was a good hater. I had seen it in his eyes. The fair had been one of our most successful, and now we prepared to leave. But we were not leaving alone, for after many conferences the other caravans planned to join the Hansgraf, as he was widely known for his business acumen.

  No cloth of Flanders had been marketed in Kiev, although occasional cloaks of the material had been seen there, some sold by their owners for outrageous prices. An Armenian among us who had traded there said the market for silk and lace would be very good.

  The night before we were to leave, a message arrived. It was pressed suddenly into my hand at the market.

  If you would know the whereabouts of your father, come to the east postern.

  Mounting Ayesha, one of the mares, I rode into town. Only Safia knew of my father, Safia and the Comtesse.

  Leaving the mare in the shadow of the wall, I watched the postern.

  Time passed and no one approached. Was this a trap? If Safia was here, where was she? For an hour I waited, but there was no sound, no movement.

  And then I noticed something I had not seen before.

  The gate stood ajar.

  Chapter 36

  *

  BEYOND THE GATE…what?

  For several minutes I studied the situation. Had the gate been open when I first saw it? I did not believe so, but how could I be sure?

  Suppose Safia waited there? Or someone else? Perhaps an enemy?

  No matter, if there was news of my father, it was news I must have.

  So be it. If this was a trap, let them spring it. As I edged along the wall to the gate, my attention was riveted upon it. Stepping out from the wall, I started toward it.

  Around me were two dozen armed men, all with drawn swords.

  The open gate had been a trap. It had been the bait that distracted my attention, that demanded I focus upon it, a focus that distracted me from the buildings around and what might be there. The gate was pushed wider, and Count Robert came through.

  “How did you know of my father?”

  Count Robert’s smile revealed his even white teeth. He was pleased with himself. “My men listened around the market. There is always gossip…a word here, a word there.”

  There seemed no escape. Could I reach him, kill him, before they killed me? Could I throw my blade, javelinlike, into his throat?

  “Are you going to fight me then? Or avoid it?”

  “Fight you? Why should I fight you? I shall simply have you whipped for your insolence, and when I am tired of watching you whipped, you will be hung.”

  They formed a wide circle about me, but I had my sword in my hand and knew I would never be taken alive to be whipped like a slave.

  A wild, weird cry sounded. My every sense became alert.

  “Sheathe your sword!”

  Those surrounding me stared about, wildly. The voices seemed to come from nowhere. “Pay no attention!” Count Robert believed the shout had been for his men. “Take him!”

  An instant I had hesitated, then slammed my blade home into its sheath. A rope dropped beside me, and grasping it high as I could reach, I went up, hand over hand! The rope had dropped from a balcony in the gate tower, and up there was Khatib with Lolyngton, one of the acrobats with whom I had rehearsed in Córdoba.

  Luckily, not one of the soldiers of Count Robert was an archer, or my body would have bristled with arrows. As it was, they charged the gate tower, but as they did so, several of our men appeared with arrows in place and bows bent.

  As I swung myself over the balcony rail, the Hansgraf appeared, stepping out upon the balcony. As usual he was clad in black, his only ornament a gold chain slung about his waist in two loops.

  “Count Robert!” He spoke pompously, but with enormous effect. “Enough of this nonsense! We will not be distracted by you! My messenger has gone to His Majesty, who, as you may well surmise, is delighted by the heavy duties we pay from our combined companies!

  “Now, sir, you and your men will drop your swords where you stand. I allow no time for discussion. Upon my ceasing to speak if one man still grips a sword, he will be killed by my archers.

  “Then you will depart from Provins, being out of the city before the sun is in the sky, or my men will hunt you down and hang you like the dogs you are!

  “We are busy men! We have no time to play at war with you! Drop your blades!”

  Swords rattled on the pavement. Count Robert’s face was swollen with anger, for he stood in the light of the moon, clearly seen.

  “Now,” the Hansgraf said, “March!”

  And they marched.

  When I came to our house beside the wall, the Comtesse ran to me. “Oh, you are safe! You are safe!”

  “Thanks to the Hansgraf.”

  “It is Khatib you must thank. He suspected something and went to the Hansgraf. I never saw men assemble so quickly.”

  “Out upon the high road, Comtesse, there is no time. One is prepared, or one dies in the next breath. Attacks are without warning.”

  We were silent, realizing with almost the same breath that we were standing in each other’s arms. She started to draw back, but I drew her gently to me, and she came closer, almost with relief. We stood that way for several minutes before I took her chin in my hand and kissed her gently on the lips.

  “I have been a fool,” she said then.

  “Who is not a fool? Often when one is in love one can only win by losing.”

  She nestled her head on my shoulder. “There is probably something profound in what you have said, and I shall think about it, some other time.”

  “Like many things, it only sounds profound, so waste no time upon it. There are other things to think of, and to do.”

  She drew back quickly. “It is broad daylight, and—”

  “We must pack. It will soon be time to move.”

  She wrinkled her nose at me, but we packed our few things. This time, however, we had taken advantage of the fair to supply ourselves with clothing and whatever might be necessary.

  Because of the long trek across Europe, it was decided that we should remain together with our Hansgraf as leader. The associated companies would comprise more than a thousand men and, with their pack animals, would make a formidable assembly, but one that required much food, extensive grazing en route, and considerable advance planning. From the companies we had men who knew every bit of the route we must follow and the problems to be faced. Also, we must send forward scouts who would locate grazing for our animals, camping sites, and estimate the possible difficulties to be encountered.

  Never shall I forget the morning when the five companies of the first contingent led off on the long march to Kiev.

  In the Frankish lands we would keep to two groups, but upon entering the wilder country, where towns were farther apart and castles even fewer, we would travel together but with an advance guard of fifty picked horsemen. Two companies would follow, and a short distance behind, the main body. Finally, there would be a rear guard of twenty horsemen.

  We often sang as we marched, and there was always the sound of the marching drum, a sound I shall hear all my life, so deeply is it imbedded in the fibers of my being.

  The walking drum…a heavy, methodical beat marking the step of each of us. That drum rode on a cart at the rear of our column, and the pace of the march could be made faster or slower by that beat. We lived with tha
t sound, all of us, it beat like a great pulse for the whole company and for those others, too, who had their own drums to keep their pace.

  Our armor was not uniform, nor our helmets. Our weapons were of all kinds, although the number of our archers was greater in proportion than any army of the period. We also had a company of slingers whose skill with that weapon was beyond belief. Our horses and draft animals were of the best.

  Hardship and storm were daily companions, keeping our bodies conditioned and our minds prepared. We lived with expectation of trouble, a small world that moved under its own power, that could defend itself, and had.

  On this trek we had several carts other than that carrying the drum. Some carts carried supplies; some were homes for the women while on the march. These were two-wheeled carts, and ours was driven by Khatib.

  Eastward we marched with the turning leaves, the greens changing to brilliant reds and yellows. The green fields turned to brown, and the crops that covered many of them had been reaped, leaving only stubble. Here and there we stopped, holding small fairs of our own, buying or trading for additional supplies and picking up what information we could of the road ahead.

  We were attacked the first time near the Meuse, and the second time on the Rhine. Both times we came off well, and the second time we pursued the attackers, overtook them, and captured their horses, stripping the men of armor and weapons but permitting the survivors to go free.

  Nightly camps were each a fortress, our columns like an army on the march. We awakened to a trumpet call, marched upon a second, and all our waking days were accompanied by the rhythmic throb of the walking drum.

  We heard its muted thunder roll against the distant hills, through sunlight and storm. That drum was our god, our lord and master, and a warning to potential enemies.

  The Hansgraf, on one of his several great horses, led off each day. He consulted often with the doyens who commanded their companies and with merchants whose judgment he respected.

  Lolyngton, chief of the acrobats and performers, had become my close friend, and occasionally with him, I departed from the convoy to hunt. He was a master archer, and together we killed several boars, stags, and a number of hares to augment our food supplies.

  Upon one of these forays we stumbled upon an ambush. We had seen no travelers, no sheep, nor any riders for some time when Lolyngton and I came suddenly upon a wide band of muddy tracks.

  Riding away from that track, we rode cautiously up the slope of a long hill and dismounted. Creeping forward, heads low, we peered over the crest. A half mile away to the north lay the track along which our company would come, and hidden in a copse near the road were several hundred armed men, well mounted.

  As many of our men were needed to drive cattle or to handle pack animals, we could muster less than half the force that lay waiting. Had such a force struck without warning, they could have done untold damage, perhaps even destroyed us. No way of avoiding them existed, and a sharp conflict would mean casualties and death.

  “If we could strike them now,” Lolyngton suggested, “surprise would be on our side.”

  The fact that we would not now be surprised was an advantage, but how to make the most of it?

  When we came in sight, what would they do? Lolyngton said, “Were it me, I would wait until a part of our column passed before attacking.”

  This was my own conclusion, and probably theirs. Our column would be divided and in confusion, but suppose there was no confusion?

  Riding swiftly back to the column, we reported to the Hansgraf. He listened attentively, first calling around him the doyens as well as Lucca and Johannes. Sarzeau, doyen of the largest company other than our own, was a good man, as was Flandrin.

  My idea was explained to them. My suggestion was that, as the attack could not be avoided, the column continue along, but when the attack began, that portion which had gone ahead and those who were still behind would each swing around and take the enemy on the flanks.

  Quietly, we rode along while all members were alerted. Sarzeau had several carts covered with bull’s hide, impervious to arrows. In each of these would be three archers.

  Forty horsemen were detached to fall back and to circle and take the enemy from the rear, using the route Lolyngton and I had found. Plans were made, and the disposition of the defenders took place while the column continued to march. Command of the forty horsemen was given to me. “You scouted the route, you know the way.”

  Lolyngton volunteered to come with me, our party then fell back, substituting for the rear guard.

  From the crest of the hill we saw them come storming out of the woods. Our convoy broke, swinging around with military precision, and the attackers were met by a flight of arrows. Military archers were as yet few in any army, and among mercenaries turned outlaw, it was the same. Arrows took several men from the saddle, and then with a shout, we charged down the slope.

  The attackers had been caught fairly between the two lines of our convoy and were meeting fierce resistance when we charged into their rear.

  We struck them hard, sweeping several of their horses off their feet. A gigantic rider swung at me with a sword, but an arrow took him in the throat before he could complete the blow, and I charged by, slashing another rider across the biceps and seeing his arm fall loose, hanging by a thread.

  Lolyngton, drawing off to one side, used his bow and arrows with precision and skill, wasting no time, utterly cool, yet bringing down rider after rider.

  A sudden blow swept me from the saddle, and I fell, foot caught in the stirrup, but Ayesha stopped abruptly. Kicking my foot loose, I came up just in time to see a lance point coming at my chest.

  Deflecting the lance with my blade, I thrust deep into the attacker’s side, blood pouring down my blade and over my hand. Suddenly, the sounds of fighting ceased, and the attack was over.

  Victory was ours, but at what cost! The smith, a burly man who was our best ironworker, was dead. A Lombard, one of our best archers, a man whom I had never really known, had also been killed.

  Sheathing my bloody sword, I gave myself over to treating the wounded.

  Johannes had a spear thrust in the side. It had missed the heart, but he was losing blood. Binding it tightly, I got him stretched out on a blanket, and while Suzanne tended him I extracted an arrow from the corner of a man’s eye. The eye itself was uninjured, and fortunately, for I knew little of eyes. The arrow had struck the bridge of the nose and the eye socket, wedging there, and the man was more shocked than hurt. A fraction of an inch and he would have lost the eye, and perhaps worse.

  From one to the other I went, taking what emergency measures I knew, then back to continue the treatment.

  The Hansgraf watched while I worked. “There are fourteen dead, and how many wounded?”

  “Thirty-seven, and some with scratches of no importance.”

  It was very good, considering the numbers involved, but a long trek stretched before us, and we could not wait beyond the night. There might be further attacks.

  Our attackers had lost three times our number of dead largely due to the precision of our archers. There were also some of their wounded left on the field.

  We collected armor, weapons, and horses from the field. The Hansgraf was worried.

  Johannes, his strong right hand, always cool of head, and cautious in advice, was sorely wounded. It might be weeks before he recovered—if he did. Flandrin, one of the doyens, had been injured, and we had scarcely room to carry them in the carts. Suzanne was the first to volunteer hers.

  It was a forbidding sundown with red flame in the sky and brown grass taking the color of fire. From our camp came the moans of the wounded.

  Then, as darkness came, from out on the hillside I heard a low cry, the desperate, wailing cry of a wounded man. Listening, I heard the cry again.

  And I who was considered a physician could not ignore the sound.

  Chapter 37

  *

  KIEV WE FOUND a muddy, disagreeable
town, but the weather was excellent. We camped in a forest not far from the Dnieper. The weeks of trekking the vast plains, rivers, and mountains had dealt harshly with us.

  There had been a short, fierce engagement at the crossing of the Danube, where we lost two men, and eleven were wounded. In Buda one of our men had been killed in a brawl, others injured. By the time we arrived at Kiev we had forty-seven men who must be carried in carts.

  A large part of each day was devoted to checking their wounds or prescribing for illnesses. For such a large body the number was not excessive, but as every man had a job, their work fell upon the shoulders of the others.

  Our trade in Kiev was all we had hoped for. Woolen cloaks from Flanders commanded prices many times greater than we paid, and within two weeks our merchandise was gone, and our carts and packhorses were heaped high with furs, ermine, marten, fox and wolf skins, elk hides, and much else.

  In the ninth century a few bands of Norsemen had swept over this land, defeating the Slavs and establishing themselves in a series of fortified enclosures called gorods for protection against the people they ruled. Novgorod was one such, Kiev another. Kiev was the largest trade center, and its prince was superior to all others.

  To the east lay the Moslem world of Baghdad, Damascus, Aleppo, and Samarkand. To the south lay Constantinople and the Byzantine Empire, formerly the Eastern Roman Empire, called so but rarely now.

  Arab, Jew; and Byzantine traders filtered into Kiev and were quick to establish a working relationship with the rulers from the north. The slave trade, providing slaves for the harems, shops, and large homes of Byzantium, was remunerative. The Hansgraf disapproved of serfdom (he was, I believe, born a serf) and would have none of it. He was on good terms with the Scandinavian traders who had settled among the Slavs and were called Russians by the native peoples.

  In Córdoba I had read the writings of Constantine Porphyrogenetus who traveled here in the ninth century, and his works were the source of much of the information I had given the Hansgraf.

  Each year there gathered at Kiev a great fleet of boats, and after the melting of the ice, this flotilla descended the Dnieper to the Black Sea, sailing to Constantinople with slaves, furs, and products of the northern lands. Boats also went upriver, and from there the caravans traveled across country to the Baltic, following a part of the Amber Road.