by Harold Lamb
Whipping out his sword, he placed the glove near its point and, leaning forward, tossed it deftly on Hugo's saddle peak.
"By this do I challenge Your Grace, Hugo Amardis of Montserrat, to try by combat in this hour which of us be true and which be false."
Now at this the liegemen of Montserrat stared and muttered and drew closer, so that a ring of armed men was formed about the group, and there fell a silence in which the snuffling breathing of the horses was clearly heard. Passion darkened the swarthy face of the marquis, but before he could frame an answer Robert spoke again.
"My lord, the laws of Palestine do not permit one who hath been a vassal to summon his liege into the combat of justice. So, will Your Grace name from among your vassals a champion to take your place?"
Hugo knew well that he could not have withstood the Englishman's sword, but his anger flared the higher with the thought. Snatching up the gauntlet and casting it down on the sand, he shouted hoarsely:
"Piculph-Guiblo-Sir Curthose, to me! Wilt suffer this upstart to badger me? A thousand , I say-to me!"
"Nay, one will suffice, your Grace," laughed the Hospitaler, who had recovered from his surprise at Robert's plain speaking after his selfcontrol in the castle hall. "It were a foul wrong, meseems, to set three devils on one Englishman."
Two retainers of the Venetian who had been hovering close to the Longsword's flank drew back when spectators thronged about them. Messer Guiblo urged his horse close to the powerful form of the Lombard and whispered to him swiftly. Piculph gnawed his lip, then nodded assent.
"I'll cut his comb, my lord," he said aloud, "then he'll crow less loud, I ween."
"Good!" cried Robert. "'Twas my wish to bid you farewell in this fashion."
Hugo reined back his horse to glance questioningly at Messer Guiblo, who nodded reassuringly and slipped back among his men. The Sieur de la Marra also retreated to leave the ring clear for the fighters.
In the half-light of the low moon it was easily seen that the two were a match in bigness of bone and height, though the Englishman had the better horse. Piculph glanced about him once and swung down from his stirrup, choosing to fight on foot.
It was in the code of the law that in the lists of justice the two combatants should be armed equally in all particulars. Robert dismounted without hesitation, trying the firmness of the sand with a mailed foot and letting fall his shield-as the Lombard carried none.
But when Piculph drew his sword a grim laugh went up from the Montserrat liegemen. The Lombard's weapon was no longer than his adversary's yet it tapered hardly at all, being blunt at the tip and heavier by half than the Longsword's brand. It was a sword to be wielded by two hands, and so Piculph had no need of a shield.
The watchers pressed closer, jostling one another and muttering between set teeth. The hollow where the camp lay was in a natural amphi theater that held the heat of the day, and they sweated under the weight of armor, their veins warmed by the late drinking. Many stood on the huddle of the slain to see the better.
Piculph was no loiterer. Striding forward, he swung the two-handed blade in circles, his muscular arms cracking.
"A purse of gold that he slays the Longsword or makes him cry mercy," offered Sir Curthose of Var to the young Sieur de la Marra.
But the Hospitaler gnawed his lip in silence as he watched Robert, who stood erect in his tracks, his sword held close to his chest, the point upraised.
With a grunt Piculph struck down and sidewise at his foe's throat, and steel sang against steel. The Lombard's sword flashed in a circle that ended high above his own head. Robert, by moving his arms quickly, had deflected the heavy blade so that it passed harmlessly over his helmet.
Piculph recovered and smote again, straight down at the Englishman's head. Robert planted his feet and whirled up his blade, turning the other's aside and into the sand.
"Thy purse likes me well, Sir Curthose," cried the Hospitaler. "Hatreachery!"
Near at hand his quick eye had distinguished one of the Lombards kneeling with a short battle mace drawn back to throw. In that elusive light the iron club might have been cast unseen, and at such short range it could not fail to reach the Longsword. Drawing his sword, the young knight ran at the front of the circle of men-at-arms; midway in a stride he faltered and flung up his arm.
A dagger, wielded by one he had passed, had struck fair into the side of his throat, and gasping, he sank on his knees, choking out his life. The quick movement had caught the eye of Robert, who cried out and sprang aside from Piculph.
"A deed most foul!" he grated through set teeth. "Montserrat-"
Picking out the man who had stabbed the knight and who was trying to work back into the throng, he slashed him full between neck and shoulder and used his point on the henchman who still balanced the mace.
" , Montserrat, since when have you plied the trade of cutthroat? Ah, Piculph!"
Whirling to meet a fresh onset from the seneschal, Robert gave back the Lombard blow for blow, until the clashing of steel drowned the shouts of the aroused liegemen. Sweat gleamed on the Lombard's broad cheeks, and his breath labored as he exerted all his strength, fearing now for his life. Robert whipped his sword over the other's guard, and the edge of the blade thudded against Piculph's neck under the ear.
It struck upon the fold of the mail coif and glanced up, biting through the chain mail, and stripped the end of the jaw-bone and the ear from the side of the man's head. The Lombard plunged down upon the sand, and Robert ran to his horse. The bay, trained to stand where he had been left, was in motion before the warrior had settled in the saddle.
An arrow whistled through the air, and Robert put his horse to a trot, making the round of the circle once, seeking Guiblo, the Venetian. But Guiblo had withdrawn far into the ranks of his men, and Sir Curthose and many of the older liegemen stood their ground, unwilling to draw weapon against the man who had once been castellan of Antioch.
"What, my lord," Robert gibed, "do you lack of murderers? Then summon up your hunters and the hounds and so-fare well!"
He had reached one end of the irregular cleared space; now he wheeled the bay and raked its flanks with rowels. The charger leaped forward, gained pace, and the throng gave way in haste before horse and rider, permitting Longsword to pass through. He headed for the nearest gully amid the foothills, and the voice of the marquis roared after him.
"After him! A cap full of gold to the wight who brings him down."
The bay charger, wise and swift of foot, swung clear of the running men and gained the shadows of the rocks before the riders could draw near him. Guiblo, his swarthy cheeks pallid, stared down at the lifeless eyes of the young knight whose white cross was slowly obscured by a dark tide. Beside him was the hawking gauntlet.
"A good plan," murmured the Venetian. "Aye-but three lie slain and a fourth maimed and another hunted by the liegemen, for so slight a thing as a ribald's glove."
Chapter IV
A fat hound does not hunt well.
-Chinese Proverb
Robert had hunted a fleeing foeman too often not to know that a fugitive who rides blindly is soon overtaken or cut off. So he galloped up the twisting gully, scanning the ground on either hand, and when he was barely within the shadow of the hills turned sharply to the left.
The bay pricked up its ears, braced its forefeet and half slid on its haunches down into the rocky bed of a dry watercourse. Here a stand of gnarled cedars hid them from view, and Robert was out of the saddle and holding the horse's muzzle before the last pebbles had stopped rolling.
His forehead was bleeding and his head was ringing from a glancing blow of the two-handed sword that had ripped off his helmet. And black bitterness clouded his thoughts. To be baited like a buffoon at table, to be hunted over the glens like a runagate cutpurse! To be tricked by the man who no longer had use for his services!
True, he could endeavor to make his way to Cyprus, where the new king held court-Jerusalem being in the hands of the Sara
cens. There, however, the influence of the Montserrats and the Venetians would be at work against him, and a poniard in the back in some tavern or alley would make an end of him. As for raising his ransom in Palestine under the shadow of Hugo's enmity-that was out of the question.
If he escaped pursuit-and the people of Montserrat would spare no pains to silence the voice that might be raised against them in accusation of the murder of the Hospitaler-he must seek the road that led to the eastern mountain wall and there make shift as best he could in the hills until the hue and cry had died away.
"And look ye, Sir Charger," he observed under his breath, "we do lack the services of squire and valeret, likewise of shield and helm and purse-which last is a sad matter, for we stand bound to garner us a many broad pieces of gold before the year is told. Yet hath the year still many moons, and we have been in a worse strait than this-Old, softly, softly!"
Gripping the nostrils of the horse, he looked up as a rider plunged off the trail overhead, plowing recklessly through the sand until he reined to a sudden halt amid the cedars. And then came a new thudding of hoofs along the ridge and a clanking of steel. Men shouted back and forth and passed on, unseen. Neither Robert nor the stranger moved until the detachment had galloped out of hearing, and they were certain that no others followed.
"By Allah, do the Franks of this country never sleep? The gullies are aswarm with them, and I have all but broken my leg on these rocks. Bi al-taubah-they do me too much honor."
"Abdullah!"
Robert walked over to the minstrel.
"How came you from the castle?"
"The red-haired woman unbarred a gate for me. When you would enter a dwelling seek out for companion a man with a sword; when you would leave unseen, ask a woman. But honor is due first to Allah and then to you. I watched from the height and saw you cut down those who came against you. Before that I observed you in the hall of the feasters, when the wine went the rounds and a woman would have smiled upon you. Ohai, my heart was cheered and I said to myself-'There is one who bath the bearing of a bahator, a prince of warriors."'
"Nay, these Franks do not search for you. They ride to seek me out."
"Wherefore?"
"To bind me and make an end of my doings."
Abdullah laughed, running his fingers through his beard.
"What is written is written, and who shall say otherwise? For I was sent hither to find among other things a Frank who was indeed a warrior and to bring him back with me to my king."
"What lord is that?"
"The master of all men."
"His name and place?"
"Nay, in time you will know that as well as other things. We will ride to Khar, for I have come from there. Have you heart to cross the desert and scale the Iron Gates?"
Abdullah was silent a moment. "The path is one of peril," he went on. "If you live to reach Khar you will never come back-to this. Whosoever ventures to Khar abides there. But this I can promise you; before the summer is past you will behold a mighty warring of peoples, and a treasure uncovered. Of this you shall claim a share that will suffice to build a castle like yonder hold and fill it with a thousand slaves and as many steeds-"
Robert smote the stallion's saddle softly with his fist.
"Words-words!"
The breath of the minstrel hissed through his lips.
"I read you not aright if you are one to seek talsmins and surety for a venture such as this. Yet if you fear, turn aside now. I have seen the Iron Gates crush a trembler-"
"Faith!"
The knight gripped Abdullah's shoulder. "Wherever you dare set foot, I would go beyond you."
"Oh-o-ho!"
Abdullah rocked with inward mirth, as at a huge joke.
"The young cub growls-the fledgling lifts its beak. Ohai-hai!"
"Mount then and show the path. For I will adventure with you into paynimry."
"Aye, bunnayi, little son. The young warrior would level his spear at an elephant! 0 most darling fool; had I a son he would be like you, yet wiser. Think ye, Nazarene, I will not betray you at the first Moslem village beyond the hills?"
"Nay, for you are no Moslem."
In the deep gloom under the trees Abdullah leaned closer to peer into his companion's eyes.
"How? What words are these?"
"And you were not always a minstrel. Though you carry a prayer rug, Abdullah, you have no use for it. I have not seen you pray the namaz gar, and in the castle you shared forbidden wine and meat."
Abdullah was silent for a full minute, pondering this.
"Then you think I am atabeg of the Kharesmian raiders?"
"Not so. For you warned the baron of their approach, and you did not seek them when you won free of the castle."
"True, 0 father of ravens. Had I led the raiders I would have stormed the Nazarene hold, for there was a woman more to be desired than the whitefaced maid of the pilgrims-and a lord to be held for ransom."
The minstrel paused to take the saddle from the stallion and let him roll in the sand, though it meant risk for himself.
"Many things, have I seen, 0 youth, but not this thing-that a babbler of secrets lived to be white of hair. Remember that I am Abdullah, the teller of tales, no more."
"Then we ride alone-we twain?"
"Not alone."
Abdullah laughed softly.
"Upon our road we shall have a brave company. Your Iskander and the hero Rustam-aye, and one of the caesars of Rome-will be our road companions. They who died, seeking the treasure of the Throne of Gold, which we may seize and keep."
Leaning on his sword, Longsword listened in silence. The minstrel could have said nothing better suited to his mood. Robert never hesitated over a decision, and when he felt that he could trust Abdullah he thought no more about it.
Meanwhile the minstrel was busied about his saddlebags.
"And if we die," he muttered into his beard, "we will spread such a carpet of slain about us that men will not forget our names. 0 Nazarene, you may not venture beyond the hills without a name and garments to fit. Hai, you are dark enough in the skin to pass for an Egyptian, being lighter than the Arabs. You speak the language easily-yet not like an Arab. So you must be a Lion of Egypt: Alp Arslan, the sword slayer, the cloudscattering, the diamond sheen of all warriors-the Emir Alp Arslan. And remember to pray the namaz gar," he added under his breath.
Presently Robert stood in changed garments. Abdullah had cast away the knight's surcoat and mailed thigh-pieces, sleeves, and mittens. From his pack he had produced a loin cloth, baggy cotton trousers and slippers. Over the youth's mail he had slipped a flowing khalat of silk and bound it in at the waist with a shawl, working skillfully in the dark. Lastly he gave Robert a light Saracen steel headgear with peak and nasal, and mailed drop that hung about ears and shoulders.
"The horse and saddle may pass for spoil taken from the Nazarenes," he pronounced, "likewise the long sword. In the first village we will seek out a barber, and when he has shaved your head and mouth we will cut him open lest he talk too much. What now?"
Robert stooped and found his gold spurs on the ground. Feeling about for a large boulder in the gully, he put forth his strength and rolled it aside. Then, dropping the spurs in the hollow, he thrust back the stone upon them.
"So that no other may wear them," he said calmly. "For here doth Sir Robert, castellan of Antioch, end his days; and from here doth Robert the Wayfarer step forth."
Taking advantage of the dawn mists, they worked out of the foothills into a cattle path known to Robert, and sunrise found them well away from the castle. Avoiding the main road to the east, they climbed steadily until they were past the line of the Montserrat watch towers, Abdullah remarking grimly that the warders of the marquis would pay little attention to two Moslem riders when they were seeking a fugitive of their own race upon whose head a reward had been placed.
Here they turned back into the trail that had been taken by the raiders, as they judged from the hoof marks. Abdull
ah started to give the stal lion his head when he swerved in the saddle and reined in sharply. An arrow whistled between them, and another shaft grazed Robert's ear as he urged his horse forward.
Crashing into the underbrush, he drew his sword and slashed at a tamarisk bush behind which a man was crouched. The archer turned to flee, but caught his foot and fell headlong. Robert swung from his stirrups and stood over him, surprised to see that it was the lanky bowman who had marched with the pilgrims. The man snarled up at him, unarmed-for his bow had fallen from his hand.
Robert sheathed the long sword and signed to Abdullah to do the man no hurt. The bowman must have thought them stragglers of the raiders, and Robert had no desire to make himself known, until he noticed a handsome pony with a Moslem saddle tethered to a nearby tree.
"Which way went the raiders from Khar?" he asked in English, for Abdullah desired to avoid the path taken by the foray. "You have one of their horses, methinks."
The bowman sat up, his close-set eyes agleam with hatred and suspicion.
"Aye, that have I, Saracen. And no aid wilt thou have from me to find the unshriven dogs, thy companions. Ha, by token of that long sword and high horse thou hast slain a Christian knight that did bespeak me a day agone upon the road to Jordan."
He spat on the ground in front of Robert and sprang to his feet, palpably astonished that he should have been left alive so long.
His tousled red hair stood up from his freckled skin, and the shagreen hood upon his bony shoulders was rent by thorns, so it barely concealed the greasy leather jerkin beneath. His thin face was defiant.
"Heave up thy hacker, Moslem, and make an end-for Will Bunsley o' Northumberland will ask no mercy from a blackavised knave. Had I my good long bow I'd spit me the twain of ye. Ah, that I would. This lewd Moslem bow, seest thou, carries wide o' the mark."
He kicked contemptuously at the short Moslem bow with its looping arch and silk cord that lay near at hand. In some way he had lost his own weapon and had found him another, less satisfactory. And his failure to bring down the two riders seemed to irk him deeply.