“I have thirty men!” Count Robert declared.
“And I have five times that number.” The Hansgraf stood on the landing inside the door, feet apart, hands clasped behind him. “They are veterans of more than three hundred battles, Count Robert. Any five of my men would take your thirty and spit them like frogs.”
The Hansgraf put a hand on his hip. “If you have had no experience of war with a merchant caravan, Count Robert, this will be a lesson to you, a lesson you would not live to appreciate.”
The Hansgraf stepped down into the room, and a dozen of his men followed after. Months of hard riding in all kinds of weather had darkened and toughened their faces. Their armor bore dents from many conflicts. They were lean, muscular men ready for whatever must be done.
Count Robert’s men lowered their weapons, and giving them an ugly glance, Count Robert strode from the room, followed by his men.
The Hansgraf held out his hand. “You disappear, then appear again! It is good to see you, Kerbouchard!”
Then he added, “I would suggest you disguise the lady, and we will go to the market where we are known.”
The Comtesse appeared at the head of the steps. “I am ready, Hansgraf, and you have my thanks.”
She came down the steps wearing the old cloak worn when we first met in the forest, the hood covering her hair.
Turning to me, she said, “From the actions of the Count I can see it is not only the rascals who have rascality.” She looked up at me. “And not only the nobles, Kerbouchard, who have nobility!”
35
THE FAIR AT Provins was one of the largest in France during the twelfth century. There was a fair in May, but the most important was that in September. Now the unseasonably cold, wet weather had disappeared, and the days were warm and sunny.
Long sheds without walls covered the display of goods. Silks, woolens, armor, weapons, leather goods, hides, pottery, furs, and every conceivable object or style of goods could be found there.
Around the outer edge of the market where the great merchants had their displays were the peasants, each with some small thing for sale. Grain, hides, vegetables, fruit, goats, pigs, and chickens as well as handicrafts of various kinds.
Always there was entertainment, for the fairs attracted magicians, troupes of acrobats, fire-eaters, sword-swallowers, jugglers, and mountebanks of every kind and description.
The merchants usually bought and sold by the gross; hence, they were called grossers, a word that eventually came to be spelled grocer. Dealing in smaller amounts allowed too little chance for profit, and too great a quantity risked being left with odds and ends of merchandise. The White Company had come from Spain with silk and added woolens from Flanders. Our preferred trade was for lace, easy to transport and valued wherever we might go.
Merchants were looked upon with disdain by the nobles, but they were jealous of the increasing wealth and power of such men as the Hansgraf, Lucca, Johannes, or a dozen others among us.
The wealth of nobles came from loot or ransoms gained in war or the sale of produce from land worked by serfs, and there were times when this amounted to very little. The merchants, however, nearly always found a market for their goods.
At the Provins fair there were all manner of men and costumes: Franks, Goths, Saxons, Englanders, Normans, Lombards, Moors, Armenians, Jews, and Greeks. Although this trade was less than a century old, changes were coming into being. Some merchants were finding it profitable to settle down in a desirable location and import their goods from the nearest seaport or buy from the caravans.
Artisans had for some time been moving away from the castles and settling in towns to sell their goods to whoever passed. Cobblers, weavers, coppers, potters, and armorers had begun to set up shops rather than doing piecework on order. The merchant-adventurers were merely distributors of such goods.
The finest cloth was made in England and Flanders, woven from wool clipped from sheep grazing on the damp grounds near the sea where they grew the finest wool. Cloaks made from this wool were in great demand, and the greater the distance from the point of origin the better the price.
This was the reason the Hansgraf and his company had decided upon the venture to Kiev.
Such cloth was worth fifty times its cost in Kiev, and furs purchased there would bring a fine profit in Byzantium or Italy. Such an extended journey, if successful, could make the fortune of every man present.
The Church looked upon the merchants with disfavor, for trade was considered a form of usury, and every form of speculation considered a sin. Moreover, they were suspicious of the far-traveling merchants as purveyors of freethinking.
Change was in the air, but to the merchant to whom change was usual, any kind of permanence seemed unlikely. The doubts and superstitions of the peasants and nobles seemed childish to these men who had wandered far and seen much, exposed to many ideas and ways of living. Yet often the merchant who found a good market kept the information for his own use, bewailing his experience and telling of the dangers en route, anything to keep others from finding his market or his sources of cheap raw material.
Regardless of what the Church as an institution felt, the convents, monasteries, and churches were among the merchants’ best customers. Vestments worn by Church prelates were usually the product of Moorish weavers. I found them, with few exceptions, eager for books or news and to listen to the experiences of the merchants. Despite attempts to impose a pattern from above, the priests and monks in villages and towns were a part of the change that was altering the face of Europe and tempering its opinions.
One such came to my stall in the market to buy a bit of brocade for a vestment. We talked of the material, of Córdoba, of books, and finally of medicine.
“The Arabs,” I said, “believe in absolute cleanliness of the hands and instruments before beginning an operation.”
“I have heard”—he looked at me with worried eyes—“that Maimonides has ventured to criticize Galen himself.”
“And rightly so.”
He was shocked. “Is there nothing on which we can place a finger and say, ‘This is so, this is correct’?”
“Perhaps, but the one law of the universe seems to be change. Everything is in a state of flux, and it is better so.”
He shook his head in disagreement, yet not in total disagreement, I was sure. “Speak softly,” he said, “such remarks are better unheard.”
A thought seemed to occur to him. “You are not he who—?”
He knew I was the one.
Nor could I well deny it, for he might question others to verify if I was the man who disputed the teacher at the university.
“I trust your friendship. What I say is as one scholar to another. At the end of the fair I leave Europe, probably never to return.”
“What was it you said?”
“That Bernard of Clairvaux was a fool in taking issue with Abelard. I believe Abelard was a fine scholar, and we need more like him.”
“I agree with much of what he taught.” He looked at me. “You are fortunate to travel. Possibly a pilgrimage is what I need.”
We talked of changes in the laws of the Franks brought about by the presence of the merchants, by their dealings with each other and with the towns. Charlemagne had begun it by promoting travel within his empire, but the merchants caused basic changes in the law by introducing elements foreign to earlier thinking.
In a civilization based primarily upon agriculture, with all law based upon the use of land, we merchants brought new considerations. Authority stemmed from the king, the Church, and the great barons, and all property was rooted in the land. Merchants were subject to few of the existing laws, so they had evolved codes of their own for use among themselves. Local courts began to have recourse to these laws in settling disputes in which merchants were involved.
These laws made the m
erchant a privileged person, free of the laws that bound the citizens. The barons, enjoying taxes paid by the merchants as well as the trade they introduced, offered special treatment to merchant caravans.
The tall young monk whose special interest was the law was intrigued by this. It fitted his mind for the acceptance of change.
The Comtesse, who had never witnessed a fair, was very excited. Donning a costume from Arabia that one of the wives in the caravan offered her, she emerged to enjoy it.
People had come from miles away to sell their goods or simply to enjoy the performances and the excitement. Aside from our own caravan, now merged with that of Peter, five others were present. One was Italian, another was from Armenia; Germans from the shores of the Baltic, Venetians, and Netherlanders were all attending the fair.
We merchants had our own argot, and our signals to warn of impending trouble. Within a few minutes after the fair opened all the merchants knew about Count Robert and who it was he sought. Among us we numbered more than a thousand tough, seasoned fighting men. The jugglers, magicians, and acrobats were our allies also, and the various companies knew each other from many previous meetings. No matter what differences they might have with each other, and they were few, all stood together against trouble.
Suddenly, at my elbow, there was a word. Turning, I saw the wrinkled, wily old Khatib! Khatib, from Córdoba! My friend the beggar, the thief, the purveyor of information!
“Ah, but it warms my heart to see you!” He gestured. “I am with the jugglers.”
Opening a hollow in the handle of his dagger, he took out a rolled up bit of writing.
I have not forgotten.
V.
The Comtesse saw it, glancing quickly from it to me. “From a woman?”
Khatib grinned at me, bowing elaborately to her. “What leopard does not recognize the tracks of another leopard?”
He spoke in Arabic, but she replied quickly, “You liken me to a leopard?”
We were astonished, for neither had guessed that she spoke Arabic, yet why not? She had grown up in a castle in an Arab land.
“All women are huntresses; all are deadly.”
“I am not surprised that this man is your friend,” she said to me. “You think alike.”
Without comment I showed her the note. She lifted an eyebrow, then handed it back. “I wonder what you could have done that would make anyone remember you past the second day?”
“I do not expect to be remembered,” I said, “only enjoyed.”
Suddenly there was a burst of cheers, and we turned to see a man doing a handstand with one hand atop a tall pole held by another man. Then the jugglers, a sword-swallower, and others were crowding about.
“It must be wonderful, to live like that!” the Comtesse said.
“It is a matter of viewpoint,” I said, “the man on the pole has a crippled child whom he lives for. The sword-swallower is an orphan who knew neither father nor mother. They have many troubles, Comtesse.”
“You know them?”
“They are my friends,” I said, “and I can even do some of their acts.”
“You amaze me.”
“All things fascinate me, and I love skills. Then, who knows? Some day I may need to disappear. Who remembers the face of an acrobat?”
Days passed, and trade was good, but I was uneasy. Count Robert was not a man to yield when so much was at stake. Moreover, he was a good hater. I had seen it in his eyes. The fair had been one of our most successful, and now we prepared to leave. But we were not leaving alone, for after many conferences the other caravans planned to join the Hansgraf, as he was widely known for his business acumen.
No cloth of Flanders had been marketed in Kiev, although occasional cloaks of the material had been seen there, some sold by their owners for outrageous prices. An Armenian among us who had traded there said the market for silk and lace would be very good.
The night before we were to leave, a message arrived. It was pressed suddenly into my hand at the market.
If you would know the whereabouts of your father, come to the east postern.
Mounting Ayesha, one of the mares, I rode into town. Only Safia knew of my father, Safia and the Comtesse.
Leaving the mare in the shadow of the wall, I watched the postern.
Time passed and no one approached. Was this a trap? If Safia was here, where was she? For an hour I waited, but there was no sound, no movement.
And then I noticed something I had not seen before.
The gate stood ajar.
36
BEYOND THE GATE…what?
For several minutes I studied the situation. Had the gate been open when I first saw it? I did not believe so, but how could I be sure?
Suppose Sana waited there? Or someone else? Perhaps an enemy?
No matter, if there was news of my father, it was news I must have.
So be it. If this was a trap, let them spring it. As I edged along the wall to the gate, my attention was riveted upon it. Stepping out from the wall, I started toward it.
Around me were two dozen armed men, all with drawn swords.
The open gate had been a trap. It had been the bait that distracted my attention, that demanded I focus upon it, a focus that distracted me from the buildings around and what might be there. The gate was pushed wider, and Count Robert came through.
“How did you know of my father?”
Count Robert’s smile revealed his even white teeth. He was pleased with himself. “My men listened around the market. There is always gossip…a word here, a word there.”
There seemed no escape. Could I reach him, kill him, before they killed me? Could I throw my blade, javelinlike, into his throat?
“Are you going to fight me then? Or avoid it?”
“Fight you? Why should I fight you? I shall simply have you whipped for your insolence, and when I am tired of watching you whipped, you will be hung.”
They formed a wide circle about me, but I had my sword in my hand and knew I would never be taken alive to be whipped like a slave.
A wild, weird cry sounded. My every sense became alert.
“Sheathe your sword!”
Those surrounding me stared about, wildly. The voices seemed to come from nowhere. “Pay no attention!” Count Robert believed the shout had been for his men. “Take him!”
An instant I had hesitated, then slammed my blade home into its sheath. A rope dropped beside me, and grasping it high as I could reach, I went up, hand over hand! The rope had dropped from a balcony in the gate tower, and up there was Khatib with Lolyngton, one of the acrobats with whom I had rehearsed in Córdoba.
Luckily, not one of the soldiers of Count Robert was an archer, or my body would have bristled with arrows. As it was, they charged the gate tower, but as they did so, several of our men appeared with arrows in place and bows bent.
As I swung myself over the balcony rail, the Hansgraf appeared, stepping out upon the balcony. As usual he was clad in black, his only ornament a gold chain slung about his waist in two loops.
“Count Robert!” He spoke pompously, but with enormous effect. “Enough of this nonsense! We will not be distracted by you! My messenger has gone to His Majesty, who, as you may well surmise, is delighted by the heavy duties we pay from our combined companies!
“Now, sir, you and your men will drop your swords where you stand. I allow no time for discussion. Upon my ceasing to speak if one man still grips a sword, he will be killed by my archers.
“Then you will depart from Provins, being out of the city before the sun is in the sky, or my men will hunt you down and hang you like the dogs you are!
“We are busy men! We have no time to play at war with you! Drop your blades!”
Swords rattled on the pavement. Count Robert’s face was swollen with anger, fo
r he stood in the light of the moon, clearly seen.
“Now,” the Hansgraf said, “March!”
And they marched.
When I came to our house beside the wall, the Comtesse ran to me. “Oh, you are safe! You are safe!”
“Thanks to the Hansgraf.”
“It is Khatib you must thank. He suspected something and went to the Hansgraf. I never saw men assemble so quickly.”
“Out upon the high road, Comtesse, there is no time. One is prepared, or one dies in the next breath. Attacks are without warning.”
We were silent, realizing with almost the same breath that we were standing in each other’s arms. She started to draw back, but I drew her gently to me, and she came closer, almost with relief. We stood that way for several minutes before I took her chin in my hand and kissed her gently on the lips.
“I have been a fool,” she said then.
“Who is not a fool? Often when one is in love one can only win by losing.”
She nestled her head on my shoulder. “There is probably something profound in what you have said, and I shall think about it, some other time.”
“Like many things, it only sounds profound, so waste no time upon it. There are other things to think of, and to do.”
She drew back quickly. “It is broad daylight, and—”
“We must pack. It will soon be time to move.”
She wrinkled her nose at me, but we packed our few things. This time, however, we had taken advantage of the fair to supply ourselves with clothing and whatever might be necessary.
Because of the long trek across Europe, it was decided that we should remain together with our Hansgraf as leader. The associated companies would comprise more than a thousand men and, with their pack animals, would make a formidable assembly, but one that required much food, extensive grazing en route, and considerable advance planning. From the companies we had men who knew every bit of the route we must follow and the problems to be faced. Also, we must send forward scouts who would locate grazing for our animals, camping sites, and estimate the possible difficulties to be encountered.
The Walking Drum (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 28