If, as it seemed, I was condemned to be mixed up in the troubles of that country whenever I happened to be in it, it was well to be among friends. And it would be grand to see Conan again. “Thanks,” I said. “Who’ll ride me?”
“Take my horse, and I’ll double up with somebody else,” Jean offered. “I owe you that for running you that day.” He chuckled. “Nobody told me that you took Conan up on Chilbert’s horse.”
“Didn’t you know that?” Ann asked. “Why, that was the top of the joke.”
“I was away when Conan got well enough to tell just what had happened, and I only got the story second hand.” He scrambled up behind a comrade. “Let’s get started. I want to have a drink with this man.”
I rode next to Ann at the head of the Cavalcade. “How did you happen to be passing by?” I queried.
Her face became sad. “Word of a Dane raid on the Loire came to us,” she said somberly. “I have kinsmen there. That is, I had. The house had been burned when we arrived.”
“Maybe your kinfolk escaped,” I suggested, but she shook her head.
“They would have come to us, I’m sure.”
My unfortunate, if inevitable, question had left her in a despondent mood I didn’t try to break. She would have to have it out with herself, and the sooner the better. I on my part had enough to occupy my mind. My hosts had imminent war on their hands, and there was no telling when it would break upon them. To what extent a friend’s war is one’s own is a question of some delicacy. Rationally I could justify non-participation, but there are so many times when obeying the dictates of common sense makes a man feel like a louse. My strongest hope was that a lull in action would give me the chance to leave gracefully. Conan, I knew, would give me a horse to replace the one I’d lost on his account.
In a couple of hours we came to the ford, and I saw that the barge I had stolen hadn’t been duplicated. It was the tag end of summer, however, the water was low, and we crossed easily to the banks where I’d first seen the girl I’d extracted from the Danes. I hoped she had emerged from her subsequent difficulties as fortunately as I.
Chapter
Twelve
ABOUT fifteen miles beyond the ford we came to Conan’s stronghold. It was only partially completed, but it was of solid stone. Except for church work or where Rome or Charlemagne had passed I had never seen a stone edifice before, and I halted to admire it. This was what had inspired Piers with the longings he’d never try to satisfy.
“Conan got the idea for it somewhere,” Jean said with satisfaction. “It’ll be thirty-five feet high when we’re through, with plenty of room for men to maneuver on top. What’s more, it’s ditched, with water around it deep enough to drown a man. That fort will need some taking.”
I agreed and rode on, noting that although there were wide fields under cultivation all the horses in sight were clustered in the shelter of the fort. There could be no surprise attack which could prevent the villeins from taking refuge, intact with families and food. These lands could be defended with a minimum of loss, and attackers working out from such a base could do so in the confidence that all would be well with their own when they returned. To possess such an island, one which the floods could sweep by and leave comparatively untroubled, was to have the upper hand in the world.
We crossed the ditch, and a wide one it was, over a wooden bridge which had been let down for us by a man on watch. The hall, not to mention the other buildings within, was an old Frankish wooden structure, but Ann told me that that, too, was to have a stone substitute in case by any chance the wall should be successfully stormed.
“I’ll arrange for dinner to be served as soon as possible,” she told me when our horses had been led away. “Jean will show you where you sleep when you’ve attended to the wine he was talking about.”
She smiled and turned away, but as she did so a girl came out of the hall and rushed to meet her. I knew that girl, and as the women embraced it came to me that she was one of the kinfolk whom Ann had mourned for dead. About the others, I was aware, she had been sadly right.
Jean and the other men, naturally interested, forgot about me, so I stood to one side watching. They all asked a lot of questions and had many bitter things to say about the Danes. But the fact that even the girl herself was alive was better news than they had expected, so on the whole they didn’t feel so bad.
Then one of the men happened to shift his position, and she saw me. Her mouth closed on a word, and she stared with no sign of welcome. The others turned to see what she was looking at, while I smiled uneasily.
“Oh, do you know Finnian?” Ann asked.
That was exactly the wrong thing to say. “He wouldn’t tell me his name,” the girl replied austerely, “though I asked him civilly.”
“I was busy,” I muttered lamely, wondering how it was that even the most brainless women had a genius for making a man feel like a fool. Not that this one was by any means brainless.
“Where did you meet him?” Ann pursued, and I mentally crossed myself.
“Down by the ford. He threatened to kill me with a fish spear.”
“Oh, no!” Ann’s voice was horrified.
“Oh, yes! And the next time I saw him,” the indictment went on remorselessly, “he was with the Danes. Friends with them,” she emphasized.
The men were scowling doubtfully, and I saw with regret that the bridge had been pulled up behind us. There were no readily understandable explanations, and I didn’t attempt to present them with feeble excuses. “Well, what’s going to happen?” I inquired shortly. “Are you going to let me go in peace or not?” That I would not longer accept their hospitality, even if for Conan’s sake they should continue to offer it, was a foregone conclusion.
But having made a dent in my peace of mind, she was satisfied. She had paid me back for the cavalier way in which circumstances had forced me to treat her. “Of course,” she said in a small, reflective voice, “he did save me from the Danes when they were getting ready to sell me for a slave.”
“Marie!” Ann’s tone contained a mixture of relief, amazement, and indignation. Jean threw his head back and shouted his mirth. I bitterly wondered what I had done to deserve meeting such a girl. Marie smiled, pleased with herself.
“I’m sorry, Finnian,” Ann apologized contritely for their doubt of me. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place, Marie?” She shook the girl, still partly angry with her. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know exactly what did happen,” her cousin answered truthfully. “They were taking me away in one of their ships, then all of a sudden they landed, he threw me over the side, and carried me away.”
“How did you manage to shake a Dane loose from anything valuable?” a man asked respectfully.
“Poetry,” I replied. “He liked mine.” I could see they thought I had actually used some sort of spell, but they didn’t say anything.
I was tired and anxious to get at the wine Ann had mentioned, but that girl was always in my way. It was embarrassingly evident that something was expected of her, and an uncomfortable silence fell upon us. She flushed, thinking a moment, then went at it bravely. Coming quickly to me, she smiled, though half fearing I might rebuff her. “I don’t know you or where you’re going. Maybe after today or tomorrow I’ll never see you again. But at the worst time for me you were the best friend I could have, and that was good of you. Very good.”
It was well done, and, remembering how bitterly I had resented having to put myself in danger for her, I knew it was better than I deserved. Nevertheless, I could not in graciousness say my service was nothing. I winked at her. “I couldn’t bear the idea of so much Christian beauty being wasted on buzzard-faced Moorish infidels.”
“Naturally,” she grinned, and the tension vanished.
My own face sobered. “And,” I went on, “I couldn’t help but be moved with pity at the thought of those poor Danes trapped at sea with that baneful tongue of yours.”
Jea
n, who evidently never missed an opportunity to enjoy laughter, roared with it again to drown out her own appreciative chuckle. “Who were the men who captured you?” she asked when she could be heard.
“A crew of outlaws led by a fellow called Piers,” I answered, looking at the others to see what reaction the name would enduce.
Ann frowned, and Jean whistled. “That’s a bad bunch, and Piers is a mad dog. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you just to see the flies gather.”
“We saw their camp as we came north this morning,” Ann said, “but as they weren’t on our land we let them alone. How did you escape?”
“There was no trick to that. They finally got hold of enough wine to get them all drunk at once.” I turned to Marie. “Did you have any trouble after we parted company?”
“Not a bit. I was afraid to travel on the road except by dark, though, and as I found nothing but berries to eat I wasn’t strong enough to walk very fast. It took me a couple of nights to reach the ford even.” She turned to her cousin. “I hid out in the woods during the daytime. That’s how I happened to miss you, Ann.”
With that last sentence she recalled realization of the tragedy that had driven her there. Ann put an arm around her, and the two women walked off together to resolve the matter of death in the family, no doubt at the poor best possible.
Our eyes followed them commiseratingly. “Let’s have that wine,” Jean said after a moment.
“Fine,” I agreed, and we made for a table in the shade of the hall.
At Jean’s shouted order a flagon and two cups were brought. It was good wine. The first gulp spread a healthy interior glow, and I relaxed contentedly. “How soon do you expect Conan?” I asked.
“Tomorrow or a week from tomorrow.” He shrugged his nescience. “It all depends on how long it takes the man he’s seeing to make up his mind. He’s kin to Conan, and we think we can get him as ally, but he’s a canny bird, who won’t be hurried. I take it that you know pretty much all about our political divisions?”
“My education may not be complete, but it’s thorough enough,” I said ruefully. “I know a lot more than a stranger has a right to.”
He nodded cheerfully. “You have had a pretty rough time of it, haven’t you? Well then, Gregory, the man in question, holds land directly north of the abbey’s which also borders on the northern reach of Chilbert’s territory. Chilbert has the abbey on two sides as it is, and if he won over Gregory, as we assume he’d try to do, he’d have it on three. The Abbot wants to remain neutral, but under pressure of a squeeze like that he might feel forced to join the count.
“Well, you see from that.” Jean sloshed the wine in his half-emptied cup thoughtfully. “The fellow’s damned important to everybody, and he’s smart enough to know it. Conan’s been sounding him out for months but has received nothing but evasions. Finally, since we need Gregory so much and as long as nobody will risk large scale hostilities until the harvest is fully taken care of, Conan decided to go himself. He left just before we got word of the Dane raid two days ago, and, knowing what a horsetrader his man is, he said not to expect him for four or five days or more. Still he might come tonight.”
“Did Conan go alone?”
“He took four others,” Jean scowled. “I wanted him to take a good-sized troop, but he maintained that when you’re asking a man for help you shouldn’t burden his hospitality with an army. Then, too, he didn’t want either to take men from the harvest or from work on the walls.”
“I see.” It was remarkably pleasant sitting there. Bees buzzed soothingly up and down a flowering vine and drank in unison with us. The fine day grew finer as it cooled with the waning afternoon. The wine was even better than I had first thought. I was sure that nothing ill could befall Conan.
“Rainault! Fulke!” Jean called out suddenly. “Come here!”
I roused from dreamy contemplation of beatitude to see a chunky, wedge-faced man of about forty approaching in company with a tall, freckled youth.
“Rainault,” Jean said to the older of the two, “say when you saw this man before.” He leaned back, happy over the puzzle he had presented, while I met the newcomer’s darkeyed scrutiny blankly.
“I’ve got it!” He slapped his companions in vigorous delight. “It’s the one, Fulke! Don’t you recognize him?” He turned to me once more and laughed. “Lord! how you cursed us.”
He didn’t seem to mind, so I smiled vaguely, not quite at my keenest. “Interesting but not true,” I told him. “You’re thinking of somebody else; I’m—”
“Finnian,” he silenced me. “I didn’t expect you to place me, but I found you at the Old Farms and took you to Thomas’ house. You weren’t for being nice about it.” He grinned reminiscently. “It was good cursing.”
I concentrated. “I remember a little of it now. At the time I couldn’t get it through my head that everybody I saw wasn’t a man of Chilbert’s.”
“You made that plain.” He jerked his head toward the lad, who had been staring at me fixedly. “Fulke here is the one who first got wind of you and Conan that day.”
“It was when you were singing the tirade,” the latter burst out excitedly. “I couldn’t get near enough to see without risking certain discovery, but when the song indicated there were two of you I felt sure that the other must be Conan.”
I looked at them with interest. One was the young minstrel who was said to have memorized my song on the spot and sung it all about to deride Chilbert’s power. The first man was he who had led the rescue expedition. I rose. “I am in debt to you both,” I announced with a formality that was perhaps a trifle heavy. “If you’ll call for cups I hold it fitting to toast the reunion.”
That was done, and for the next hour the four of us drank and talked with benevolence enthroned among us. No one was drunk; but on a warm day it doesn’t take too much wine to soothe a man, and all of us were soothed.
We broke off wrangling good-naturedly about something or other to grin at Ann, who was smiling at us with the special tolerance a woman reserves for the harmless follies of men she likes. “Dinner’s ready if you want to eat,” she informed us.
Jean rolled an owlish eye at me. “Do you think it would be wise to abandon such good wine?”
“The full weight of my opinion is against it,” I replied. “We might never get any like it again. Consider that possibility before you make any rash decision,” I concluded warningly.
“There will be excellent wine with the meal,” she humored us, “so you’ll be quite safe.”
“Lots of wine?” Rainault asked with a shrewdness I admired.
“Yes, lots.”
We four looked at each other. “It seems all right,” I said cautiously. “Shall we take a chance?”
Jean rose boldly. “Let’s risk it.”
The next few days were enjoyable ones during which I was left to my own devices until late afternoon and enjoyed good company during the evenings. Daytimes the men were busy with the harvest and the building of the fort, while Ann had her double job of châtelaine and housekeeper. Marie assisted her in every way possible, proving she was wise enough to see that work was the best panacea for her griefs. Outwardly she gave little evidence of what she was enduring, and I took a mildly proprietary pride in her.
As for myself I took advantage of the free time on my hands to pay my debt to Thorgrim. Locally nobody but Conan, who had done viking work, would understand the poem, but if and when I got to Otho’s court men could listen. It wasn’t bad as poems to order go. It lacked the heat of inspired conviction, of course, but there was nothing I could do about that. Thorgrim got the best craftsman’s job I could produce for him and would have to rest content with it.
When not so engaged I rode around the countryside to see what Conan was accomplishing. He was doing a magnificent job. Even quite far afield no villain scuttled away like a badger making for his hole at sight of me, and many had found sufficient confidence and human poise to return a cheerful greeting. I saw no bu
rnt houses, no hungry children, no casually left corpses in all that locality. Everywhere men were engaged in reaping full, unspoiled crops to tide over the winter. It was a rare and marvelously wholesome sight such as I had seldom seen, especially in France.
On a couple of occasions Fulke managed to get away from the work in hand to go with me. He was a pleasant, clever lad without swank, but I found his conviction that I was a great poet—arrived at solely because he wanted to believe it—somewhat embarrassing. I knew I wasn’t yet if indeed I was ever to be such; but I also remembered the vast, amorphous yearnings of an apprentice and did my best to fulfill his expectations of me. He longed, I found, to be himself a maker; and by precept, if not, perhaps by example, I could be of help to him. It was pleasant to talk craft to so eager a listener, and by this indulgence of both him and myself I won a good friend.
Day by day, however, the tension began to grow, although nobody said anything much. There was no definite cause for alarm in the fact that nothing had been heard from Conan, for he had left prepared for somewhat lengthy negotiations. But everybody was experiencing concern, none the less, as each night fell without news. Ann ceased to smile as much as usual, and a general air of sober, if unvoiced, speculation pervaded the place.
Dinner on the fifth day was an unwontedly subdued affair. As there was a precocious nip of autumn in the air as soon as the sun went down we took our wine indoors. Jean and I attempted facetious chatter to keep the spirits of the gathering high, but we weren’t doing very well at it, and nobody joined in our own unconvinced laughter. At the same time nobody felt like sleep, either, so we sat up later than customary, growing progressively more silent and drinking without pleasure.
Ann was the first to hear anything. “The watchman’s challenging,” she said, starting to her feet. Then I heard the horse’s hoofs.
We were crowding hurriedly to the door when it was opened by what was left of a man. Aside from being weary to the point of dissolution he was badly wounded. In three separate places his clothes were stiffened by large patches of dried blood. “It’s Francois!” Rainault said in a taut, hard voice. “Wine for him! Quick!”
The Harp and the Blade Page 13