The Harp and the Blade

by John Myers Myers

  Whistling to himself, my friend sauntered around the fire, his face turned up to the illuminated branches. “Bring him here,” he ordered; and Piers, wondering and sullen, was hustled before him.

  “I’ve learned to tell you from a pig,” Conan said, smiling in a way that the outlaw couldn’t have enjoyed. “Isn’t that nice?”

  He stretched out his hand, and Jean gave him a coiled leather rope. Piers howled and almost broke loose by his frantic squirming, but additional hands made sure of him and tied his arms behind his back. Conan meanwhile paid no attention but, still smiling, carefully fashioned a noose. “Up Thomas,” he said quietly, handing the coil to the woodsman. “Boost him, two of you.”

  In a moment Piers interrupted his own ravings with a squeal as the noose dropped down from the branch to hang level with his eyes. Conan swept it roughly over the outlaw’s head. “Hoist!” he commanded.

  If there were any there who felt compassion for him I wasn’t one of them. “He kicks a lot,” I said critically.

  “He isn’t used to it yet,” Conan explained. “He’ll get over it pretty soon.”

  He did, and we left him aloft for his fellows to see and think about.

  Chapter

  Twenty-one

  THE next two weeks were fine ones for me. I was in almost continuous, purposeful action, and the physical weariness I knew by nightfall but added to my sense of accomplishment. Through it all, indeed, I experienced a sensation that nothing but the writing of poetry had previously given me. I was achieving something at once spiritual and concrete, and had knowledge of what I was doing while I was doing it.

  It was a new existence that I was isolating and fortifying for myself. In the little nation which Conan was consolidating I was recognized as his alter ego, second only to him in authority, and I drove myself mercilessly to make sure I earned my rating. What we had to do in the short time before hostilities would be forced was to visit friends and waverers, giving them final notice of the conflict and its significance. With the friends all we tried to do was to show how confident we felt. As for those as yet undecided we made capital of our new alliance with the abbey, how we had just killed Oliver before Chilbert’s eyes, and one more thing. In essence it was that when we were victorious we would remember who had helped us—and who hadn’t.

  Sometimes Conan and I traveled together. More often I acted independently, leading my little troop of followers to outlying strongholds to palaver and take careful note. Word of the business at the Old Farms and the work at Gregory’s had got around attached to my name, and I was well received even by the hesitating. Never a diffident man, I yet entered all places with a new and surer confidence. All knew that I had power in the land and might well have a great deal more.

  That was pleasant, and the fact that my followers liked me was better. But what really made the world gay with promise was the thought of Marie. She was never on my lip but always in my mind. And at night when my mission had been disposed of I had little to say over my wine in the brief interval before fatigue sent me to bed. When not addressed I would hold her in my thoughts, marveling that there could be a future which might house us together.

  Once when Conan and I made a trip together night caught us in the forest. We were all tired men there by the fire, but I was happy with the friendship I bore them, especially one. And I was happy with the thought of having a home in a land where men looked to me, a home with a woman in it who’d bear me a son. Conan, son of Finnian, men would call that boy. But that was further away. The girl’s warm beauty was with me there. She was a darling to whom I would be good because no other course was conceivable. It was a great and strange thing to come to after my years of wandering as a lone hand.

  Thinking of her so, I sang as I had not for years, if I had ever thus sung before. It was a song I had made for a chief’s wedding once, and the passion I had tried to put into the words was a moving actuality in my voice. The song was in Irish, but the men did not need to be told what it was about. They listened soberly, each staring at the fire and thinking of his own woman.

  Midir’s finding of Etain after she had been lost to him for several mortal lifetimes was the subject.

  “She was lost, she was gone,

  His darling, his sweeting,

  And time maundered on,

  Yielding no other meeting.

  No meeting of lips, no smiles, no embraces,

  No charming his eyes with that face of all faces.

  She was stolen by art,

  Tricked from him by magic,

  His winsome sweetheart;

  And his godhead was tragic.

  Yes, tragic to know that no kindly morrow

  Could cut short his life to free him of sorrow.

  I will find her again!’

  His heart cried, but: ‘Never!’

  His brain muttered then,

  ‘Once she’s lost, gone forever!’

  Forever long gone, the voice that would bless him;

  Gone the slim arms that would hold and caress him.

  Night and day all alone

  He wandered then, broken,

  Each minute a stone

  Crushing hope by its token.

  A token of love’s final no—she had perished;

  Dead, the small, lovely one whom his heart cherished.

  But he looked for her still

  For the cheat hope-giving

  To lessen the chill

  Of the need to keep living.

  The living though lifeless while she was missing,

  The sweet, the kind one no more for his kissing.

  But it happened one day!

  Fate softened; he found her,

  Though still the spell lay

  On her spirit and bound her.

  It bound her, kept her from knowing her nearest,

  Her lover, her friend, her heart’s ease, her dearest.

  By his sleights, with his skill

  He won her back, breaking

  The charms a dire will

  Had spun, banning her waking.

  Awaking to old joy, heart and lips mated,

  Giving the healing he’d hopelessly waited.”

  When I had finished and Conan roused from his thoughts of Ann, I could tell by his face that he knew that I had not sung merely because I’d felt like singing. Whether or not he had guessed before, he knew then that something had happened to me, and he asked me a question that, I am sure, had long been on his mind. “You will stay with us, brother? There will be plenty of land if we win, and chiefs will be needed.”

  I looked at the fire instead of at him. “I might throw up a hall of my own if I could find a woman to put in it. Not much use of one without the other.” Of course, he knew the woman I had in mind as well as I; but I wouldn’t name her, so he couldn’t.

  He put his hand on my shoulder an instant in that warming way he had. “You might find one that wouldn’t know any better.”

  “One took you,” I retorted, “so no man should give up hope.” We turned in shortly after that, but the dreams of good days to come followed me into sleep.

  As for Marie herself, however, I scarcely saw her in all that time. I was only at the fort briefly, and then only to make a report or get a few hours of needed rest. Everybody was working furiously, the women as well as the men, to get ready for the expedition or siege, whichever it was to be. On the two occasions when I managed a few words alone with her she was unwontedly shy and hesitant, and I was sure that Ann and she had been talking things over. But I said nothing particular to her, for it was no time for courtship. There was too much to be done; and also there was little use in talking now until and if I should find myself a survivor of the onrushing war.

  As it turned out I couldn’t even say farewell to her when hostilities were renewed. The news was sudden and desperate when we got it. Conan and I had met at a rendezvous to discuss our success with each other when a rider approached on a horse which had worked to get him there.

&nbs
p; “A man came from the abbey this morning, Conan,” the fellow’s news ran. “Chilbert’s attacking him with all the men he can round up! His riders were over the border when the messenger left.”

  We calculated. “Some of them could be at the abbey now,” Conan said, “but not the main body of his horsemen; and his foot troops will be another day and a half behind.”

  “At that they’ll be there before ours,” I said.

  “By some few hours,” he agreed thoughtfully, “and naturally they won’t want to wait around for us. The Abbot may need every man we can rush.” He chewed his lip a moment then rose, having made his decision. “We’ll send them to him anyhow. Finnian, you’d better take the men with us, pick up what mounted men you can without going too much out of the way, and ride to the abbey. The Abbot won’t waver, but the moral effect on the others will be bad if Chilbert arrives and there is no tangible evidence of our support.”

  “Right,” I said, preparing to mount.

  He was moving toward his own horse. “Rainault and Jean will have dispatched the muster call everywhere by now, so we ought to be under way by noon tomorrow. Send if you see there’s real need for hurry when we get there. Otherwise I’ll coddle the men and let them save their energy for fighting.”

  “All right. Give my love to Ann and so on.”

  “I will,” he smiled; “especially to so on. See you at the abbey, and don’t kill Chilbert before I get there.”

  “Not if he behaves himself,” I promised as we saluted and turned to go separate ways.

  So for the third time I approached St. Charles Abbey, thinking sadly and bitterly that this time no Father Clovis would stand above the gates to bandy words with me. One other thing that distinguished this visit was that I was not, indeed, halted and questioned at all. One of the monks who had been with us on the raid against Oliver was on guard. He hailed me excitedly from quite a distance, and the gates were wide and welcoming when we arrived.

  It was just after sunup, but the court was noisily abustle, swarming with monks, the troops of chiefs who held their land from the abbey, and refugee villeins. Under other circumstances the presence of so many women and squalling brats in a monastery would have been a scandal of dimensions.

  The Abbot and I greeted each other like the old friends we were coming to consider ourselves. “Good,” he said when I told him that Conan would follow with his full strength. “Come on up on the wall, and I’ll show you the smoke from their fires. They’re not cooking fires either,” he added grimly when we’d climbed aloft, “unless they’ve left men inside their homes for the fun of it. They do that sometimes.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I grimaced. There was no doubt but that Chilbert would use every cruel trick in his reputedly extensive repertoire to frighten people either into flight or into volunteering abject submission to him.

  “We had a brush with their vanguard yesterday evening,” he continued, “but they didn’t essay a serious attack. They were trying to lure us back toward their main army, whereas our strategy is to keep out of a major engagement until Conan joins us. But Chilbert, I take it for granted, has had us well scouted and will make at least one big effort before Conan arrives.”

  From my observation of Chilbert at Oliver’s fort I judged him a man who knew his way all around the battlefield. “He’ll try,” I agreed, “although if his footmen don’t get here by dark they may wake up to find all our men here, too. Shall I chase a man back to tell Conan to rush his horseman?”

  “I’ll send someone,” he said. “Let your lads and their mounts rest up now.”

  After seeing that my men had food and a place to bunk I napped a few hours myself, but I was up before noon. A troop that had been out scouting was just entering the gate, and I went over to listen while they made their report to the Abbot. They hadn’t caught sight of any foot soldiers yet, but they had seen two or three times more horsemen than had been around the day before.

  “And there are doubtless a good few you didn’t see,” the Abbot said. “Are they mostly encamped or are they on the move to any particular point?”

  “Most of them are to east of us, though I’m not positive they’re massing for attack from that point.” The fellow shook his head. “The woods is sure full of them!”

  “The woods is a good place for them; let them stay there,” said the prelate. But they didn’t take advantage of his permission very long.

  A small group of monks had been stationed a half mile off by the next of little houses which belonged to the villeins. Seemingly the leader of the enemy vanguard had looked the situation over and decided he could sweep away the defenders and fire the huts before we could mount and intercept. For the scouts were just taking their horses to the stables when a guard on the walls cried: “Raid! They’re raiding the cabins!”

  “Many?” the Abbot snapped.

  “Lots more than our outpost there.”

  The churchman ran to look for himself while I sped to collect my men. They and a lot more were tumbling down out of the loft where they’d been taking their ease, and everybody started to scrambling and jostling to get his horse out into the court. “More of them!” the watcher informed us hysterically. “As many again!”

  This was evidently going to be a real battle, but the Abbot was notably deliberate as he ordered men to their positions on the wall before he dispatched any to support the fathers by the shacks. I had fished my followers from the crowd expeditiously and had them marshaled, waiting. But the reserves had already gone before he turned to me. “Will you stay close at hand outside, Finnian? We won’t need any more men yonder.”

  Some of my fellows, keyed up for fighting, began to grumble, but I silenced them. This was the Abbot’s hold, and he was in command. Still I didn’t want to miss what was going on, and I led the way swiftly to a point whence our view of the proceedings was complete.

  The two large bodies of enemy horsemen were separated from each other by about a furlong. Estimating their numbers, I clicked my tongue. They’d outnumber those we had defending the position by a tremendous margin. In fact without depleting our garrison we simply couldn’t match them in numbers.

  I looked at the Abbot, but he was following developments with stolid interest. And yet instead of withdrawing what was at most only a skirmishing force from the path of the enemy’s mounted army, he had ordered out patently inadequate support. It made me nervous; but he was a man who didn’t do things without knowing a reason, so I watched further.

  For a while it looked a race as to which side would reach the cabins first, then it seemed to me that the invaders were slowing, deliberately letting our men beat them out. Only at that moment, so large and sudden had been the excitement, did I get around to realizing that the destruction of the shacks was not worth such a great effort on Chilbert’s part. And a careful look at the rear body showed me that it was swinging toward the abbey itself.

  My trust in the prelate had so far not been misplaced. He had foreseen the enemy’s maneuver, and, due to the fact that he’d carefully played up to it, I assumed he had some countermove in mind. It would have to be a good one, for Chilbert’s thrust could be terribly disastrous to us. Naturally anybody could now see what they were up to, and they couldn’t actually get to the gates ahead of our retreating men. Not ahead of the first men, that is. But only two or three could ride in abreast, and while the rest waited their turn the fore could reap them by a charge.

  Certainly they thought our fellows would run for it, for all at once even the leading raiders gave up pretense of driving toward the cabins and raced for the gates. That many of them we could beat back, saving our fleeing men by a sortie, but in the time required to do so their reserves could have a crack at storming the weakly defended walls.

  I glanced at the Abbot again to find he was looking my way. “Feign flight,” he called down, “but stand off on the other side of the fort where they can’t see you. Then when they arrive do whatever seems reasonable.”

  Just after we
’d taken our station I heard the hoofs pounding, then blown horses snuffling before the gates. Sweeping all the way from the woods east they’d had a long sprint, and undoubtedly they’d been pushed hard all day. “The fools stayed where they were! We’ve cut ‘em off!” a voice I knew cried. The speaker was Chilbert himself.

  “And now what are you going to do?” the Abbot asked him calmly.

  The count laughed exultantly. “Chop ‘em into bits while you watch!”

  “How are you going to catch them on those tired nags of yours?” the churchman asked contemptuously. “By the time you race back to where they won’t be waiting for you, you couldn’t run down a badger.”

  The second section of raiders was galloping up, the sounds told us. “Hey! Chilbert,” one of them called “those fellows never even tried to make it here. They must have some reason for staying outside, eh?”

  I had finally figured out the answer to that one, and Chilbert, with his general’s eye, would grasp it on the instant now that he’d paused to take stock. Taking a fort like the abbey was nothing that a man could do with one hand. If he dismounted enough men to make the effort a good one, the riders hovering around could charge in to raise the devil with him and drive off his horses. Still, having swooped on the fort with such dramatic speed, he couldn’t leave without making some sort of gesture.

  “Come on,” he said angrily after naming the several men he wanted to accompany him, “we’ll look this box over.”

  When I heard that man riding toward the side of the abbey where I saw skulking I knew just how I’d fill in the Abbot’s blank orders. Passing the word, I plunged for the corner and got there just in time to hit the little knot of reconnoiterers.

  I made a vicious cut at the count himself, but the great bay saved him, rearing and whirling out of the ruck with amazing agility. Chilbert saw me, and the sudden recognition in his eyes was pure hate if I have ever looked on it. He tried to swing his mount back toward me, but it had been badly startled; and he could do nothing for a second against its frightened strength.