Thrust, parry, sweep, with Bear slowly increasing the pace.
David struggled on, panting. Then, “Enough, Bear!” he gasped, stopping dead in his tracks.
Caught off guard, Bear wrenched himself aside to keep from hitting David. His cudgel whizzed through the air just inches from David’s left ear.
“Are you daft? Or do you just want to die untimely?” he growled. “Never do such a stupid thing again. I’ll say when we stop. Otherwise you’ll end up with a cracked crown again. And this time it’ll do for you.”
“But I . . . can’t,” gasped David, leaning on his cudgel. “I just can’t do it!”
Bear’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, yes, you can,” he said coldly, “and you will, because you must. So stop whining, and let’s get on with it!”
He aimed a great sweeping blow at David, who jumped back and parried it clumsily.
You stinker! David thought grimly. He struggled on, muscles protesting. Bear’s blows seemed to get heavier, and David felt as if his very bones twanged under the assault. A dozen times he wanted to stop again. To convince Bear somehow that enough was enough. Yet the memory of that contemptuous look stung him. Biting down on his anger, he soldiered on.
After a few minutes, Bear stopped to let him catch his breath. Then they went at it again. Another breathing space. And on and on. Only when the sun began to slant toward the edge of the trees did Bear step back and lower his cudgel. David leaned on his, knees trembling with weariness. Bear wasn’t even winded. Casting aside his cudgel and pulling off his breastplate, he walked over to a stream at the edge of the clearing. Kneeling, he splashed water over his head and chest, snorting and grunting like his namesake animal. At last he shook himself and stretched out on the mossy bank in a pool of sunlight.
Grudgingly, David followed him. The water was so cold that it burned his sweaty skin. David gasped in surprise, but went on sluicing himself.
“So,” said Bear, “tell me about it.”
“About what?” said David sullenly.
“Why, the future, of course. Where you come from. What it’s like. What people do and why they do it. I don’t know why Emrys doesn’t talk to you about it. But he’s away now, and here’s my chance.”
David let himself down on the bank and was rewarded with a sharp stab of pain from his tortured muscles. Blast Bear anyway. “Get serious!” he snapped. “You couldn’t possibly understand if I did tell you.”
Bear’s eyes narrowed. “Why not try me? I may not be as stupid as I look.”
“I didn’t mean . . .” David began. Then he stopped. Because he had, really. He rubbed his sore wrists. What were these people after all but a bunch of dumb primitives? Big muscles and little brains. All of them. Well, except maybe Emrys.
Without another word, Bear got up, collected his breastplate, and strode off across the clearing.
David followed him slowly, his anger ebbing. “Listen,” he began as they collected their weapons. “I . . .”
Bear eyed him levelly. “Nay, say no more. I shouldn’t have asked you. We’ve wasted enough time, anyway.” He stalked off, leaving David to cope with the cudgels.
All right, if you’re going to be so touchy, you big, dumb ox, David thought, resentfully. Well, at least that would be the end of the weapons training.
It wasn’t. Bear showed up the next day. He shrugged off David’s protests and marched him to the clearing. Again they went at it until David was exhausted. Bear would wait patiently while David caught his breath, only to begin again. And so it went on the day after, and the day after that.
Slowly, David began to improve.
“Yes,” Bear would say. “That’s something like. Now, again.” To his own surprise, David found himself trying harder. He’d show him!
After three weeks of cudgels, Bear added spears to the workout. More thrust and parry, with the short thrusting spears, with a great heavy shield weighing down David’s left arm. Hours and hours of casting the long spears at a straw target.
After a week of this, David was bruised all over and ached in muscles he’d never known he had.
“Well, it’s progress of a sort,” said Bear, gathering up the spears. “It would take a child two or three minutes to kill you now instead of only one. But as for your marksmanship . . .” He stared at David’s spears stuck like a hedge all around the target and shook his head.
He and David pulled them out and stacked them before heading for the stream.
“I never was much good at sports,” said David, kneeling beside Bear and wincing as he eased his cramped shoulders out of his breastplate.
“Sports . . .?” began Bear. Then he fell silent.
“Oh, games—hockey, football,” David said after a moment. “The hockey’s played on ice. On skates—I mean, sharp blades fastened to boots. To help you slide fast over the ice.”
“You mean the ground is covered with ice?” asked Bear after a moment. “All year? How could you stand the cold? How do you grow crops?”
“No, not all year. And not everywhere. Actually, we played hockey in an arena. Oh, lord. An arena is . . .”
“I know what an arena is,” said Bear quickly. “The Romans had them. One kind for horse races.” A shadow crossed his face. “And another kind for wild-beast fights. And human fights.”
“Yeah? We still have places for horse-racing. Not the other. Well, bullfights in Spain, I guess.”
And so it began. In the middle, going off in all directions, like a web spun by a crazy spider with no sense of pattern. Day after day, when the training was done they would rest and talk. Sometimes Bear would start it, sometimes David. And the more David told, the more he found himself wanting to tell. To reassure himself that what he remembered was real, that he was who he thought he was.
He often wondered what Bear made of it all. What would he have made of it himself, if he had heard it this way? It couldn’t possibly make much sense. But there was a hunger about Bear, a need to know.
“Well, everyone drives cars—I mean, sort of four-wheeled chariots without horses. They burn gas to make them move.”
“Gas? Is that like wood?”
“Um, no. Well, sort of, in a way. It’s made from plants that died long ago. Oh, longer ago than this. Much longer. Way back in the time of the dinosaurs, I guess.”
“Dinosaurs?”
“Oh, lord!”
One day, lying on the bank of the stream, they had begun with the space shuttle and somehow ended with David’s father and mother.
On impulse, David glanced at Bear and asked, “What about your folks? Rhodri said Emrys had made him take you in, but . . .”
There was a long silence. Then Bear said slowly, “My mother died in the Saxon wars. In the Land of Summer. That’s where Emrys found me. My father . . .” His voice trailed off. Then, “I never had one,” he said gruffly.
David was startled. “C’mon, everyone has a father. I mean, you can’t get born without one!”
Bear shrugged. “Oh, that. Yes. I guess I should have said my father didn’t have a son. Not one he wanted to admit to, anyway.”
“You mean your mother and father didn’t . .? Oh, I get it!” said David awkwardly. “Hey, in my time lots of people don’t, well, marry. They just live together. They still have children. It doesn’t really matter.”
“It does here,” said Bear soberly. “Who you are depends on your father’s clan. Without that, you’re an outsider. I never knew who my father was. I suppose my mother was ashamed, and that’s why she wouldn’t tell me. And now she never can.”
“Oh,” said David. He didn’t know what else to say. Not to even know who you were! His own dad wasn’t much of a father, but still . . .
Bear got up quickly. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “It’s time to get back.” He set off so fast that David had to jog to keep up.
SEVEN
The oak cudgel caught David squarely across the ribs with a resounding thwack. Despite his leather armour, the blow knocked the breath out
of him. He sank to one knee, gasping, and Cai landed another blow across his shoulders. David landed flat on his face in the dust. The other young warriors standing about guffawed.
“Why do we waste time on this milksop, Rufus?” Cai demanded. The tall, red-headed boy’s voice was contemptuous. He prodded David in the ribs with the tip of his cudgel. “He’s as weak as a starved cat. And has about as much chance of becoming a warrior!” Cai’s followers slapped their knees and laughed uproariously at this sally.
Spitting dirt from between his teeth, David dragged himself wearily to his feet. Gripping his cudgel, he braced himself for another blow. It was his second week at the practice ground with the others, and it wasn’t getting any easier. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that without Bear’s hours of coaching he’d have been far worse off. Bear’s strokes seemed gentle compared to the punishment he took from Cai and the others. They seemed to go out of their way to hurt and humiliate him.
“Why do we do it, my fine young lordling?” Rufus asked Cai. “Because Emrys asked me to do it. It’s seldom he asks me a favour, and when he does, I think it’s wise to do as he asks. I’ve no desire to wake up one fine morning and find I’ve been turned into a bat or . . . an owl!”
At this, Cai and his friends stopped laughing. One or two of them thrust out index and little fingers in a gesture to avert evil.
There was an awkward pause. Then Bear, who had been sharpening his dagger on a whetstone, looked up. “Oh, come on, Rufus,” he said coolly. “Emrys doesn’t turn anybody into anything.”
He glanced at David, then at Cai. “Still, I think David’s had enough for today,” he added. He thrust his dagger into his belt and unsheathed his sword. “Come, Cai. Try a more equal contest,” he challenged. A murmur went around the group.
Cai’s eyes kindled with an eager blue flame. Tossing the cudgel aside, he picked up his shield and drew his sword. “I admit no equality with you, Bear cub,” he said mockingly. “You’ve never beaten me yet!”
“Oh, but I will, one of these days,” said Bear, as the two began to circle one another. “And you know I will.” His brown eyes danced.
He actually enjoys this, thought David. He tried not to flinch as the heavy blades sliced through the air and clanged together in thrust and parry. Old Rufus, standing just outside of blade range, looked on, his seamed face intent. “Cai, you ass, you’re letting your guard down!” he coached. “Use it, Bear . . . Yes!”
Bear was the faster of the two. Even David could see that. His sword nicked Cai’s upper arm, and a thin line of blood welled out of the gash. Cai cursed and redoubled his attack. He was older than Bear, and both taller and heavier. Parrying another thrust, he launched a great, sweeping blow that clove a great wedge out of Bear’s wooden shield. Bear parried, and the blades screeched against each other down to their hilts. Cai wrenched free, and another slashing stroke caught Bear off balance. He reeled back, and the tip of Cai’s blade grazed his cheek. He gave ground, bleeding.
David took an impulsive step forward, only to find his arm held in an iron grip. “A sword fight is no place for the likes of you,” warned Rufus.
“Why do you let them do it? It’s not fair! Cai’s much bigger and stronger,” David said angrily.
Rufus raised his eyebrows. “Do you think our enemies care about a fair fight?” he asked. “A warrior must do what he can. Against any odds. Cai and Bear will fight until one of them yields.”
“But Cai might kill him!”
Rufus shook his head. “We don’t kill each other in practice. Though Cai may punish Bear badly. But he never has, because Bear fights with his head as much as with his sword.”
“You mean he’s good? Better than Cai?”
“He hasn’t his full height and strength yet. But when he does, he’ll be . . . unbeatable.” Rufus’s face showed the merest trace of a smile.
Long minutes passed, and the swordsmen began to tire. Sweat-stained and covered in dust they circled, looking for an opening. Then Bear found one. Slipping under Cai’s guard, his sword slashed wickedly upward, slicing through Cai’s leather jerkin. Blood oozed out, and as Cai stumbled and fell to one knee, Bear was on him, his sword at his throat.
“Yield, foster-brother,” he said silkily. His voice still sounded amused, but there was an edge to it.
“Of course he yields,” said Rufus, stepping between the two and forcing up Bear’s blade with the tip of his own. “Cai, you fought like a fool. Fools don’t live long in battle. Bear, you were lucky. No, don’t scowl at me. You did well, but you made mistakes Cai should have used to finish you.”
Bear shrugged. He sheathed his sword. Then he held out his hand and grasped Cai’s, pulling him up. “Today was the day,” he said simply.
Cai shook his head, still stunned by what had happened. Then he slapped dust off his tunic. “You were just lucky. Rufus said so,” he growled. Then, his face cracked into a huge grin. “But you’re getting to be a bonny fighter, Bear cub.”
He glanced down at his slashed and stained fighting leathers. “Wait until my lord father sees me,” he added ruefully, “and finds out who did it. He’ll never let me live it down!”
“And your lady mother will never let me live it down that I’ve pinked her precious baby lamb!” returned Bear, grinning. They both roared with laughter. Cai threw his uninjured arm around Bear, and the two of them staggered off to look for Branwyn and her herbal plasters. The others drifted off in a group, leaving David alone. He gazed after them, half-wishing he could go along.
“Today was the day.”
David turned. A wiry, dark-haired boy named Bedwyr had stayed behind with him. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the village, and together they turned that way. After a moment, David asked, “You mean Cai has always beaten Bear before?”
“Always,” said Bedwyr. “Though anyone who watched Bear fight knew that wouldn’t last forever.”
“Why did Cai take it so well?” wondered David. “He’s such a hot-head.” And a bully, he added to himself.
“His temper matches his fiery thatch, doesn’t it?” Bedwyr grinned. “But underneath all his bluster, he does love Bear, you know. After all, he’s Bear’s foster-brother. As am I.”
“Where I come from that’s not always a great thing to be.”
“So? You come from a strange land, then. It’s our custom that the sons of chieftains are raised in other chieftains’ households. And they become like brothers to their sons. Often closer than birth brothers. Cai remains with his family because Lord Rhodri is powerful and will have it so. Bear and I have grown up with him since we were eight.”
“Eight!”
“Of course. That’s when we begin our training as warriors. I was sent here by my father then. As for Bear, well, Emrys just appeared with him one day soon after I arrived. For some reason, Lord Rhodri allowed him to stay, and right glad he is of it now, seeing how Bear has turned out.”
David thought that over in silence. No wonder they were all so good at fighting. Bedwyr, though slender and not much taller than David, was a skilled warrior with sword and spear.
“If this isn’t your home, where do you come from, Bedwyr?” he asked.
“Less Prydein, across the Narrow Sea.” Bedwyr’s face was suddenly grim. “My people still fight off the tribes that brought down the Romans. As soon as I can, I’ll return to help them.”
They took the path along the river. “There’s a thing I’d like to know, Bedwyr,” David ventured after a few minutes.
“Aye?”
“What Rufus said about Emrys. Some people are afraid of him, aren’t they? Is he some kind of a wizard? And what did Rufus mean about being turned into a bat or an owl?”
Bedwyr stopped in his tracks and stared at David. “Why don’t you ask Emrys yourself?” he said.
David shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t dare to, I guess. I’d even feel funny asking Bear about it.”
Bedwyr nodded. “Well, about Emrys. Many of these folk believe
he’s a mage, and maybe Emrys likes to let them think it. Bear says he’s the wisest man in Prydein, but no wizard, and he should know. He’s a great bard, certainly, and something of a healer. And he often goes on mysterious journeys, nobody knows where. More than that, I don’t know. As to the owl, that’s an old tale, and doesn’t really have anything to do with Emrys.”
He glanced sideways at David. “The owl follows you, doesn’t it?” he said. “They say so in the village.”
“Whenever I’m out at night. I try not to be. But I often hear an owl near the hut.”
“Come, then,” said Bedwyr, “and I’ll tell you the story of the owl, for what it’s worth.”
They settled themselves on a mossy log on the riverbank.
“The story is about a wizard, named Gwydion,” began Bedwyr. “Long ago, he agreed to help a youth who was under a doom never to marry a mortal woman. So Gwydion created a wife for the lad. Out of flowers.”
“Flowers? Oh, come on!” David guffawed.
Bedwyr nodded. “It’s true. Out of flowers of oak and broom and meadowsweet,” he said. “They say she was the loveliest lady ever seen. Blodeuwedd, he named her. And she married the youth. But later she fell in love with another man and planned for her lover to murder her husband.” He paused for a moment, then added, “It didn’t work.”
“So what happened?”
“The husband killed the man who had nearly killed him. And Gwydion turned Blodeuwedd into an owl to punish her. She flies between the worlds, they say. And goes a-hunting men’s souls.”
“And people think the owl that follows me is Blodeuwedd?” David shuddered. “Why would she hunt me? That old tale has nothing to do with me.”
“That I don’t know,” said Bedwyr, getting up. He gave David a level look. “I know nothing about you. You’re one who always keeps himself to himself, I think. But they say the Lady is drawn by black feelings, the kind she knew herself in life. Unhappiness, rage, confusion. And such folk she hunts to their doom.”
I was feeling all of those things, David said to himself as they returned to the path. Have felt them for so long. And she came right into my world after me. And though she missed her hunting that night, she still . . . wants me. The thought made his blood run cold. Yet Emrys had said he might be wrong to fear the owl. It didn’t make sense!
The Minstrel Boy Page 5