The blask rood cc-2

by Stephen Lawhead

  When we had opened a sizeable breach, I turned to Padraig. 'If you know any runes for silencing pigs,' I whispered, 'say them now.'

  To my surprise, he said, 'I have already done so.' He then instructed Roupen and me to move well away and remain still.

  Then, stepping to the breached wall, the canny monk paused, pressed his hands together and bowed his head. After a moment, he crossed himself and entered the pen. He proceeded to go among the pigs, stooping over them to unbind their feet and moving on, speaking softly to them all the while. He soon had them on their feet, and then, with a gentle urging, led them out into the yard. They followed at his heels like faithful dogs.

  He did not stop as he passed us, but walked briskly from the yard and out onto the road-and even then he did not stop, but continued walking back the way we had come. Casting a last glance at the millhouse to see if we had been discovered, I said to Roupen, 'We had best hurry and fetch the cattle, or Padraig and his pigs will leave us behind.'

  The moon had risen higher and the road stretched out before us as a softly glowing stream, undulating its way into the hills. By the time we got the cattle moving, Padraig was far ahead. I could see him striding along, surrounded by his little band of swine trotting contentedly with him.

  It seems a strange thing to say, but I have known Padraig since he came to the abbey as a stripling youth; and hardly a day has passed since our first meeting when I have not seen or spoken to him. Even so, I was always discovering new and curious things about him. His ability to amaze was, in itself, amazing.

  In this respect, he was like his uncle, Abbot Emlyn who, with a word or act, regularly astonished the settlement. It was as if a spring from which one drew water every day continually revealed hidden depths. They were Celts, of course, and this accounted for part of it. The abbey and its teaching was also partly responsible -how much, I had no way of knowing. But, Gait, I was very soon to discover that the Abbey of Saint Andrew was responsible for a great deal more than the peculiarities of a few of its clerics.

  Once over the first hill and out of sight of the mill, Padraig stopped and allowed us to catch him. He stood in the road, surrounded by his herd as if by an adoring congregation. 'I would have waited for you,' he said, 'but I did not know how long the rune would hold. I thought it best to keep moving until we were well away from that vile house.'

  'How did you do it?' wondered Roupen. 'If they had been mice, they could not have been more quiet.'

  'I told them I was taking them home,' the monk explained. 'I asked them to be quiet so that the evil men who lived in the house would not come and stop us.'

  'You did well,' I told him. 'No one awoke, and not so much as a snort from a sleeping dog.'

  'And yet,' said Padraig looking down the road behind us, 'you were followed.'

  I turned around, expecting the worst, and saw instead the two forlorn-looking oxen ambling along behind us. I suppose they had wandered through the hole in the pen and, seeing the other cattle, had simply followed the herd. 'What should we do?' asked Roupen.

  While I did not relish the possibility of being caught with them -the others were being returned to their rightful owners, after all-I could not bring myself to take them back. 'If they want to follow us, I cannot see how we can prevent them. Anyway, it would be cruelty itself to leave them in that place.'

  We walked until almost sunrise, and then began looking for a place to spend the day. I had already decided that the wisest course would be to rest the following day, and travel at night. I reckoned that the miller would discover his stolen livestock missing the next morning and come looking for them. I had seen no horses at the mill, either in the fields or in the barn, but his thieving brother had horses, and if summoned, would quickly overtake us.

  At the bottom of one of the next hills, I found what I was looking for: a clump of trees no great distance from the road, yet tucked around the shoulder of the hillside mostly out of sight. So, while Padraig and Roupen led the animals into the wood, I pulled off a few branches from a broom-like bush and, walking back the top of the hill, began sweeping away the animal tracks in the dust.

  The sun was rising when I finished and, taking a last look behind me, I ran for the shelter of the grove. It was made up of beech trees mostly, and although the nuts were not yet ripe, we pulled down a few branches for the pigs to chew on, before settling back to rest and wait. 'We will continue on at dusk,' I said, passing the water skin to Roupen. 'We will have to take it in turns to watch the animals so they do not wander away.'

  Padraig took the first watch and Roupen the second; I went to sleep and woke around midday to the sound of tapping. After a quick look around, I found Roupen sitting on a rock with a stick in his hand; he was flicking the stick against the side of the rock as he watched the swine rooting for their food. 'Where is Padraig?' I asked.

  'He said he heard something, and went to look at the road,' the young lord replied with a yawn. Raising the stick, he pointed out the way.

  I ran back through the wood and joined Padraig as he was leaning against a tree. 'See anything?' I asked.

  'Two men on horseback passed a little while ago,' he said. I asked if it was anyone we knew. 'It is difficult to say, but I think one of them we have seen before.'

  We waited there, and in a little while I heard the steady, rhythmic clop of horses' hooves. The two riders appeared a few moments later, riding easily, heads down, looking for tracks. 'They have followed us this far,' I said, 'let us pray they follow us no further.'

  As Padraig had said, one of the riders did indeed have a familiar look about him. Although it was hard to tell from our vantage point, I would have guessed it was the bandit chief himself. The two passed the place where we had gone off the road, slowed, and halted a little way along where the track began to rise to meet the hill. They sat for a time, looking this way and that, while we watched from behind our tree.

  In the end, the riders lifted the reins and moved on; we watched until they were out of sight, but remained alert after that. Aside from a shepherd leading a flock of sheep and goats, we saw no one else on the road the rest of the day, and at dusk we gathered our herd and took to the road once more. We walked through the night without encountering anything more troublesome than a foul-tempered badger who thought himself lord of the high way.

  Dodu was overjoyed to have his oxen back, and the farmers were astonished to see the pigs and cattle returned. Like most peasants, they were intimately acquainted with hardship, but strangers to good fortune. Consequently, they did not know what to make of the sudden increase in their meagre wealth. They blinked their eyes and shook their heads as they patted the animals with their hands, all the while remarking how they had never witnessed such a miracle. I decided that they should have the extra pair of oxen; once the animals were fattened and their strength restored, they would be useful for pulling and ploughing.

  When I told him this, tears came to the old farmer's eyes. Unable to speak, he seized my hand and began kissing it over and over. To Dodu, I said, 'Please tell him the oxen are not a gift. I merely repay the generosity of his hearth, and a modicum of compensation for nearly destroying his house.'

  Dodu repeated my words, at which the farmer, embarrassed by my simple praise, bowed his head and shuffled away to look after his new animals. Afterward, Dodu came and told me that the farmers had been using the milk cows to prepare their fields for planting. 'And,' he said, 'when the animals tired, they pulled the plough themselves. Last year they were not able to plant both fields.' He smiled, and added, 'I think you have saved their lives with your gift.'

  In the few days we had been away, Sarn had not only repaired the gaping hole in the house, but the broken mast as well. Despite the crudeness of his tools, he declared himself satisfied with the result. 'The mast is shorter now,' he pointed out, 'but it will serve.'

  I commended him on his handiwork, and told him what had happened at the mill. 'We will have to be careful on returning.'

  'Let them
try to make trouble for us,' he muttered. 'I would like to have that thief before me, then he would feel the fury of a true Norseman.'

  Next morning we took our leave of the farmer; the women sent us off with little loaves of bread and a fair-sized piece of bacon. This they put in a bag which they pressed into Dodu's hands before scuttling off without a word. They watched us from the doorway of their newly-repaired house.

  Three days later we descended the hill overlooking the settlement on the Saone. I considered trying to go around the mill and come to the river by some other way, but there were no other trails. So, we strode out boldly and moved as quickly as possible to the hauliers' landing.

  On passing the mill, I allowed myself a sideways glance to see if we were discovered, but the house and yard were quiet; there was no one about. The landing was empty, too, so we wasted not a moment getting the boat back into the water. While Dodu and his oxen practised their trade, Roupen walked into the town to barter with the merchants for needed supplies.

  A short while later, the boat was ready and I was anxious to be away lest the miller, or his thieving brother, become aware of our presence in the settlement. But the young lord had still not returned. 'What can be keeping him?' I muttered and, commanding Sarn and Padraig to remain in the boat and be ready to push off as soon as we returned, I went off in search of him.

  I had no difficulty finding him. For, as I made my way along the narrow track between the houses of the town, I heard a commotion of angry voices as I entered the bare earth expanse which served as the market square for the settlement. A well stood in the centre of the square, and around it the stalls and wagons of the area's merchants and farmers.

  Hurrying into the square, I saw a number of people gathered beside the well; they were shouting at something which was taking place before them. I hurried closer and heard the riffling smack of the lash on flesh, and the groan that followed. Pushing through the crowd, I stepped into the ring and said in a loud voice, 'Unless you wish to suck your supper through broken teeth the rest of your life, I urge you to put down that strap.'

  The thug hesitated in mid-stroke and turned slowly. Roupen lay at his feet, cowering, red welts on his arms where he had covered his head. The crowd fell silent as I stepped forwards. Intent only on stopping the beating, I had no wish to fight, nor any weapon with which to back up my rash challenge.

  'You,' the ruffian said, recognizing me at once. Though it had been dark on the road that night, I knew him, too. The thief, so cheerful before, was angry now, and all the more dangerous for it. 'Step closer,' he said, 'and I will give you some of what your Jew is having. And then we will discuss the cattle I am missing.'

  I made no move. 'Let him go,' I said. 'You can have no quarrel with him. He has done nothing to you.'

  Someone from the crowd hollered, 'He's a stinking Jew! He stole a gold ring and tried to sell it.'

  'He is not a Jew,' I told the crowd. 'He is a Christian. What is more, he is the son of Leo, Prince of Armenia, whose ring he wears – the very man this town must answer to if you harm his son and heir.' I paused to allow them to consider this, then added, 'Prince Leo commands ten thousand soldiers, while you have none… unless you count this brute I see before me.'

  A murmur of uncertainty rippled through the crowd-no longer so enthusiastic in their support of the beating as they were only moments before. One or two of the more timid among them crept away quietly.

  'And who are you,' demanded the thief, 'to concern yourself with him?'

  'I am his protector,' I replied. Ignoring the thug, I moved to Roupen's side and bent over hum. 'Can you stand, my lord?' Still cowering, he nodded. 'Very well, let us be about our business.'

  The rogue attacked in the same instant. I expected he would strike me then, and I was ready. He charged from the blind side, arms outstretched to seize me in a crushing embrace; I remained crouching and let him come on. At the last instant, I lowered my shoulder and slammed into him with all my weight. I caught him under the ribs, driving the air from his lungs. He fell, sprawling backwards onto the hard-packed dirt.

  Not caring to prolong the ordeal, I leapt on him in the same instant, placing my knee on his throat. Unable to breathe, he squirmed and thrashed while the colour of his face slowly deepened from red to blue.

  'Do not kill him!' someone shouted.

  I raised my head and looked at the crowd. 'You were all for a killing when you thought it was a Jew being murdered. I give this rogue a taste of his own stew, and you cry mercy for him. Would that you had done so for the innocent stranger among you.'

  The ruffian ceased struggling beneath me; his eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled up into his skull and his limbs went slack. Only then did I release my hold on him. I stood slowly. 'Murder!' someone gasped. 'He killed Garbus!'

  'This ugly fellow is not dead,' I told them. 'He is merely asleep – although, perhaps it would be better for this town if it were otherwise.'

  I stooped down and, tucking my fingers under the brute's belt, lifted upward sharply. This action produced two striking effects: the thief suddenly moaned as the air rushed back into his lungs, and the gold ring slipped from its hiding place beneath the belt and fell out upon the ground-to the astonishment of the townspeople looking on.

  I picked up the ring, and handed it to Roupen. 'Come, my lord, the boat is waiting. We will shake the dust of this place from our feet.'

  I put my arm around his shoulder and drew him away. 'What about the supplies?' Roupen asked as we walked from the square.

  'There will be another settlement down river,' I told him. 'We will buy what we need there. I want nothing more to do with this place.'

  Upon returning to the boat, I bade Dodu the haulier farewell. He was sorry to see us go, and said that if he did not have a wife and son waiting for him at home, he would count it a blessing to go on pilgrimage with us to the Holy Land. I told him we would ask for him on our way home. 'After all, I still owe you for hauling the boat.'

  'No, no!' he cried. 'You saved my good oxen. I should pay you.'

  'Nevertheless,' I said, 'I will look forwards to paying this debt. Until then, my friend, I wish you well.'

  Some of the more curious townspeople had followed us to the landing. As Sarn pushed the boat out into the slow-moving stream, Padraig addressed the onlookers. Pointing to Dodu, he said, 'This man is a friend of mine. From now on, you will treat him like a brother. For I will return one day, and if I learn he has been abused in any way by anyone here, I will call down the wrath of God upon this place. Do not think you will escape judgement for your sins.'

  The people gaped at ire, aghast at this startling pronouncement. The current carried the boat away, and we left them standing on the landing, looking after us in wonder. Roupen, too, was more than a little awe-struck. Once we were safely down stream, he pulled the ring from his finger and offered it to me, saying, 'You saved my life at risk of your own. My father will reward you greatly. Consider this token but a small foretaste of the treasure to come.'

  I thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but declined, saying, 'If I take your ring, you will have nothing with which to buy supplies in the next settlement. That is the agreement we made.'

  'True,' he agreed, reluctantly slipping on the ring once more. 'Even so, I will remain in your debt until the honour of our family is discharged.'

  FOURTEEN

  The next settlement was two days down river. We were hungry again by then, but God is good: we arrived at midday on market day, and the market was lively and well-supplied, the merchants eager for trade. In exchange for Roupen's ring, we got two bags of ground meal, a haunch of salt pork, five loaves of bread, half a wheel of hard cheese, a few strips of dried beef, and various other provisions such as eggs, nuts, dried peas, and salt fish. We also bought a cask of cider, which the hardy folk of the region drink almost to the exclusion of all else.

  We might have got more for the gold somewhere else-for all it was a very fine ring-but we were already feeling the p
inch, and did not know how far the next market might be; also, with space already cramped it would not have helped us to capsize our craft. We bargained hard and were able to come away with our provisions, but nothing left over. While Sarn and Padraig stowed everything aboard the boat, Roupen and I went to inquire of the way ahead. Although the young lord had come up the river, and knew the general route, he could not remember how many days the journey required.

  'It is perhaps nine days,' said the merchant I asked. 'This time of year, of course,' he tapped his front teeth with a dirty fingernail, 'when the water is low, I suppose it might take longer.'

  We thanked him for this information, and turned to leave. He called us back, saying, 'There is no difficulty, mind. Just keep to the main channel until you come to Lyon, where the river joins with another and changes its name.'

  'What does it become?'

  'The Rhone,' he said. 'Just keep to the main channel and you will have no difficulty after that. I should know, I have been to Lyon often enough.'

  'But we want to go to Marseilles,' I pointed out. 'Is it much further after that?'

  'Oh, aye. If I were you I would forget all about Marseilles and go to Lyon instead. It is better in every way. I always enjoy very good trade in Lyon; the people there are very wealthy. Not like here, mind. Still, I make no complaint. The people here are hard-working, and know the value of their goods.'

  Again, we thanked him for providing such excellent advice, and made to leave, whereupon he said, 'After Lyon, you are only seven days – or perhaps eight, as I say-from Avignon, and from there it is but a short distance to Marseilles by sea. You should stay a few days if you can. The cathedral is splendid-or will be when it is finished. They have only begun, mind, but already it is a sight worth seeing. Even Paris has not such a grand cathedral.'