The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  Thomas interrupted. “My Lords, since the drover, Jon Johnson, is charged with a crime of violence, I ask that he be manacled as well.” The judges agreed that this would be wise, and it was done. The spokesman for the drover glowered, then returned to the case. He then told the drover’s tale that consisted of an account of how he had fought the attackers, but was felled by a club and was left for dead. He had awakened only to find the camp despoiled, everyone dead and his sword stolen. The spokesman then displayed the sword that Don had surrendered.

  “Is this your sword, Jon Johnson?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is,” came the booming reply.

  “My Lords,” interjected Thomas. “If this is all the evidence they can offer, then I move that matter be dropped. If the drover was unconscious, how could he testify as to the serious charges leveled against my client?”

  “Patience, Lord Thomas,” the other spokesman replied. “We have much more. Your Honors, there were more than two survivors. A third man lived as well, Barak of Malta, whom I call forward now.”

  Thomas looked at Don questioningly. Don whispered that he thought it was true that another man had survived. They looked back and saw a slight man step forward. Don recognized him at once as the sharp-faced adventurer who had told the stories of Stonegate.

  “My Lords,” he began, after giving his oath to be truthful. “I saw the accused slip away from the camp just before the attack. Several hours later I saw him walking down the road with that sword in his hand.” He pointed to the sword, laying on the scribe’s table.

  “My Lords,” returned Thomas quickly. “I accept that he meant my client when he said ‘the accused’ but let the record show that Lore-man Donald and the drover both stand accused.”

  The central judge nodded with a bored look. “The scribe will make a note to that effect. Proceed!” he said. The adventurer had little else to add.

  Thomas then gave a quick opening statement, summarizing Don’s account. The judges then began to cross-examine all parties present.

  “Lore-man,” began the mayor, who wore a badge of office hanging from a red ribbon around his neck. “We have little time to consider this matter. The morning draws to a close and we all have other duties. Tell us quickly why you took the sword, since you say you knocked the drover senseless.”

  “My Lords,” returned Don, knees shaking. “I took the sword for fear he would revive and attack again. Also, I was unarmed and a long way from Stonegate.”

  “Also, my Lords,” quickly added Thomas. “No reasonable man would believe that the devils would have left the drover’s sword behind for the lore-man to pick up.”

  This seemed to confuse the judges who wrinkled their brows. The other spokesman responded, “It certainly is more believable that the lore-man’s friends, whom he helped, would give him the sword, than to accept that he could defeat a man who outweighs him by nigh an hundred weight, sword against staff.”

  “But,” answered Thomas. “The drover’s story does not explain why the drover was left alive, unless it was as the lore-man says. For if the devils saw him alive, or if the lore-man was really in league with them and he had so noticed, they would have surely finished him off, to silence him. But the lore-man has said from the very first that the drover was not dead, even before he learned that these charges had been brought.”

  “Who can support this statement, Lord Thomas,” asked the mayor.

  “Lord Edward of Westerly will so testify, your Honor,” replied Thomas.

  The mayor glanced at Edward, who nodded. Don felt somewhat better. He glanced across to look at the drover whose forehead appeared wet and whose jaw was clamped tight. A large bruise and knot disfigured his left temple.

  “The lore-man’s leaving of the camp was explained by a call of nature,” continued Thomas. “This is no more a sign of guilt than the escape of the other two which also could have been due to collaboration with the enemy.”

  Thomas and Howard then demonstrated how the notch in Don’s staff and the wounds in his arm matched his story. Lord Edward then briefly testified that Don’s story had indeed remain unchanged from the beginning.

  The drover’s spokesman then said, “I know the lore-man has a smooth story, perhaps too smooth. The honest drover does not know why the lore-man wants to make him out a coward. Sometimes the truth does not sound as well as an artful lie. Barak has one more thing to say, if it pleases your Honors.”

  “I do not trust the lore-man,” began Barak. “He was cold and sharp of tongue and did not mix with the fellowship. He had a secret discussion with Stub, the wagon master, the night before the slaughter. I know Stub was suspicious of the lore-man, and I wonder if he accused him of spying for the Prophet. If so, that would explain why all of our company was killed. I don’t know for sure who is telling a lie about the sword, but I trust the drover over the lore-man.”

  “Enough,” ordered the mayor. “Each side will make one last statement. The drover will speak, and the lore-man will have the last word.”

  “We only ask that the court do its duty and bind this spy over for trial,” concluded the drover’s spokesman.

  “Your Honors,” concluded Thomas, “Barak’s eyewitness account in no way contradicts my client’s story. I do not know the reason for his spiteful dislike of my client, but even if he was not a jolly trail companion, that does not prove him a spy. The drover’s tale is contradictory and self-serving. I ask that my client be awarded the sword by right of conquest and the drover be bound over for trial for unprovoked assault.”

  The judges put their heads together, backs to the room. After a few minutes, they turned and addressed a question to Barak. “How did you escape unscathed?” asked Marshall Connell.

  “My Lord,” answered Barak, “I was awake and dressed when they came, and simply ran away into the willows through a gap between two of the attackers.”

  The judges nodded, and then resumed their deliberations. When they turned again, it was with a clear air of finality. “We do not believe that enough evidence has been presented to sustain a charge of conspiracy,” said the marshall. “The charges of theft and of assault balance each other out. I would be tempted to dismiss the whole matter with prejudice right now.”

  He stopped and gazed around the room. All eyes were fixed on him including the other two judges. “However,” he continued, “There is the matter of the sword. It is clearly an heirloom, obviously of Stonegate forging, and its rightful owner must be established. If the drover’s tale is true, the lore-man is a spy and he stole the sword. On the other hand, if the lore-man’s tale is true, the drover is guilty of attacking an unarmed man and then of lying to try to use a court to murder an innocent man. We have decided that the security of our city demands these questions be put to rest. Since there is insufficient evidence for an evidentiary trial, we believe that a trial by combat should be used to decide the matter. It is so ordered.” He banged the table with the hilt of his dagger, and the judges stood as if to depart. It was nearly noon.

  “But my Lords,” exclaimed Thomas. “My client is not a man of war, and he is not trained in the use of weapons. Besides, the drover greatly outweighs him, and he is wounded.”

  “We have considered these points,” returned the marshall. “We would have allowed a champion had not the lore-man accused the drover of cowardice and claimed to have bested him in single combat. If the lore-man’s story is true, he should not fear to meet him. However, because of his wounded arm, the lore-man may have the choice of weapons. Now, no further questions. This matter is decided!”

  As the dagger once again rang against the wood, Don was unchained from the rail. The judges left the dais and exited to the rear. Mail-clad guards came forward and stood near the small group.

  “I am sorry, Lore-man,” said Thomas. “I did my best.”

  “You did very well,” retu
rned Don. “But when do I have to fight?”

  “Right now, of course,” said Thomas, as if he was a bit surprised by the question. “But let us confer with Edward as to the best weapon.”

  Edward and young Howard joined them, and they formed a huddle. Don could see that the young man was tremendously excited. He could hardly stand still. Edward rubbed his chin.

  “What weapon can you use the best?” he asked. “The staff, perhaps?”

  “No,” returned Don. “I said I only hit him a lucky blow. The only weapon that I have used at all has been the bow.”

  “But can you draw a bow?” asked Thomas, anxiously.

  “It is not a normal weapon for these matters …” began Edward, as he began to pace in a small circle.

  After some discussion of the pros and cons and a bit of experiment, Don discovered that he could still draw a bow. It was true that it was quite painful, yet the cut muscles were not vital. That finally convinced all four that the bow was his weapon of choice. “This may work to your advantage,” concluded Edward. “I hear Northerners scorn the bow. But I forgot. You are also a Northerner.”

  “Yes,” answered Don. “I do not deny that what you say is true. But some fair number of northern men are expert bow shots, using them in the hunt if not in war. I do not claim to be an expert, but it seems to be my best chance.”

  Don’s choice of weapons was agreeable to the captain of the guards, if not to the drover. His spokesman protested, but to no avail. Then Marshall Connell returned and drew up the rules. Each man was to have three arrows. Both to face each other, separated by twenty-five paces. Neither could fire before the signal. Belt knives were allowed, but no other weapons. After the signal, either combatant could move at will. Flags would mark off a hundred-yard square area on the grassy slope below the citadel, and the combatants would have to stay within the area or forfeit.

  First blood would stop the trial, and the loser, if not killed, would be declared outlaw and banished. The guards began bringing out kite-shaped shields for themselves and all of the witnesses of the hearing.

  Edward personally went to the armory and brought several bows and a selection of arrows for Don to select. Don picked three broad-heads and a bow of medium draw weight. Practice shots would not be allowed.

  “Lore-man,” whispered Thomas as they walked out of the gate. “Don’t be ashamed to duck and dodge. A quick man can throw himself out of the way of an arrow, and you are quicker than the drover. Don’t forget that he has a belt knife and he might try to rush you. Don’t leave the square, whatever you do.”

  The sun was moving downward slightly toward the west as they walked down to the flagged square. Don looked around. It was deceptively peaceful. The sky was a deep blue, with only a few wispy clouds. The grass was brownish green, and only a small crowd of onlookers gathered. A herd of sheep grazed a short distance to the south, herded by a couple of young boys. As Don watched, a guard told them to move further off. He was watching a couple of young lambs frisking, when Edward touched his arm. He jerked his head around to see that everything was ready. Edward passed Don’s belt knife to him, and he put it back in its sheath.

  Knees shaking, Don walked up to his mark. The sling he took off and dropped to the ground. He nocked an arrow and took his stance. He could clearly see the steel tip of the drover’s arrow glinting in the harsh sun. The big man had chosen a huge defensive bow from the citadel and looked as if he knew how to use it. Don realized that the arrow could go right through him, and at that thought his arm quivered. He had some trouble holding on target.

  “Fire!” came the signal, and Don loosed, throwing himself to one side. The arrow zipped by exactly where he had been standing. A miss! But Don had missed as well. He recovered his footing and nocked a second arrow. But the drover was quicker and fired again. Don feinted left and dodged right. Another miss! But Don had dropped his arrow. He nocked his last arrow and pulled it to full draw, his right hand on his ear. The drover was charging at full speed and was closing fast. He couldn’t miss this time! Suddenly, the drover stopped and spread his arms, offering his chest. Don hesitated, then realized that he could not kill him, not like this. Yet he knew that blood must be shed. He dropped his aim and shot for the leg. The arrow glanced off the other man’s calf and stuck into the sod behind him. Blood spotted the white trousers.

  “Hold!” came the shout. “Hold!”

  The drover stood there foolishly opening his eyes and looking at his chest and then at Don. The fight was over.

  Thomas ran up and pounded Don on the back. Howard took the bow from his hand, chattering excitedly. Edward hung Don’s sling back over his head, and then shook his hand.

  “Such bad shooting has not been seen for a while, Lore-man,” he said. “But your dodging was not at all bad. It is well, I think, that you did not kill him, though. Men would have said that you wished to silence his tongue.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” returned Don. He watched the thickset man being led away between two guards, head bowed. “But it occurs to me that perhaps I had been kinder had I shot to kill.”

  Thomas and Edward glanced at the dwindling figures, then back at him. Then they slowly nodded, smiles vanished.

  †

  Philip had at first galloped the bay mare in the direction of the river and the Great Highway, but fearful of riding into the clutches of the tax collectors, he changed his mind and rode south toward higher ground. The mountains were fearsome places to him. He had heard legends of terrors that waited there. Not the least were southern savages, who had been seen there recently. But it seemed to be his best chance.

  The moon gave silver light that let him see a faint trail. But it clouded over as the land began to steepen, and it began to sprinkle. He gave the mare her head, and let her pick her own way, as he rode with a hand over his face to avoid low-hanging branches. Up she climbed as the sprinkle turned into a downpour. He was soon drenched, but his wool clothes retained a bit of warmth.

  He never knew if the rain was a blessing, hiding his tracks, or not. But when he became too tired to go any more, he tied the mare so she could graze and he slept under a spruce for a few brief hours. He found some biscuits in the saddle bags and ate one before pressing on. By evening he had passed the foothills and was climbing through black, thick spruce and fir. The trails were slippery from mud and needles, but his mount was sure-footed and he kept going until dark.

  He found a tinder-box in the saddle bags and a tin cup. But he was afraid to start a fire, so spent the night shivering under a saddle-blanket. By noon the next day he was travelling along a narrow opening in the timber when two riders blocked the trail before him. At first, he was sure that the trackers had found him, but their bronze faces and weapons told him otherwise. They were the savages from the south.

  They closed in with hostile appearance, bows drawn and spears leveled. Then one pointed at his breast, smiled, and said something in a strange tongue. The bowstrings slackened, and Philip looked down. His small silver cross, which he usually kept carefully hidden, was in plain view. He later learned that these were Diné warriors who followed the Jesus Way and this symbol told them that he was not one of the Prophet’s followers.

  Chapter 5

  †

  The Lore-house

  Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.

  Proverbs 31: 10 KJV

  The trial was hardly complete and the drover’s banishment not yet executed when with hearty shouts, Lords Thomas and Edward took him to the best inn in Stonegate. With his hair loosened from under his cap, cheeks flushed with victory and southern wine and his newly-won sword at his waist, Don looked more like a warrior than a lore-man.

  Lord Thomas brushed off Don’s promise to pay him for his spokesman’s fee, saying that there would be plenty of time for that in the future. Don had wished to go and meet the Ston
egate lore-master then and there, but Lord Edward counseled that he should return and guest at his home until his arm had healed. This sounded sensible, for in truth the deeper wound on his upper arm had again broken open and bled somewhat. With a smile, Don readily accepted the invitation.

  The next days were glowing, wrapped in the green embrace of spring. Buds swelled on the trees along the riverbank. The notes of the poor-will drifted over the fields. The crocus and paint brush splashed points of blue and red across slopes newly warmed by friendly sun. Don was happy.

  For nearly two weeks, Don remained in Westerly-Stead, the fortress and home of Lord Edward. But, in truth, Edward was master of a wide domain, pasturing his cattle for many miles to the north and west. Besides being a Stonegate councilman, he commanded the Westerly levy in time of war. He also judged lawbreakers, together with the mayor of Westerly, a small settlement several miles to the east. He retained many young men to herd his cattle and guard them from Raiders. Several of his neighbors often joined their smaller herds with his, usually providing a son or two to help guard and allowing their grazing land to be used in common. These riders were also Westerly’s scouts and gave good service in time of war. Stonegate, being much larger, was responsible for long-range patrolling, far to the west. Westerly helped cover the northern arc and kept an eye on the low range of hills to that direction.

  But matters of defense did not concern Don. He did have many pleasant talks with Lady Wilma, which brightened his visit. She had a sharp mind, and was an expert in herb-lore. When Don remarked on Rachel’s good nature, she agreed, then added that Howard was “her moody one.” She took a motherly interest in Don, even though not much more than ten years older. He often chatted with her in the late afternoons and evenings while he assisted the old scribe that handled the written records of the farm. Don put his skills with a pen and numbers to good use. And he felt that he at least earned his keep.