Joris of the Rock [The Neustrian Cycle, Book II] (Forgotten Fantasy Library)

by Leslie Barringer

  "So long as I read the letters," said Joris blandly, "you shall write to all and sundry as you desire. But now it is time to move on: Gandulf, the mount for my lord Prince."

  * * * *

  That night they slept in the Forest of Honoy, three men taking turns to watch beside the shivering prisoner. Thorismund made now complaint, although the morning found him pallid and wretched; he ate a morsel of black bread and drank water from a brook, and stood up for his eyes to be bandaged, casting a quick glance around him at the damp autumnal woods.

  "Are the trees changed in their manner this day?" Red Anne suddenly asked him.

  It was their first direct speech together, and Thorismund turned his bright head to regard her steadfastly before he made reply.

  "Yes," he said. "How did you know?"

  "Men took me once to burn me as a witch. I, too, looked at the trees I loved, and found them changed and heedless, whom I had thought to love me."

  "What, even the trees?" murmured Thorismund, with a kind of haggard gentleness that mocked and slew the sneer on the woman's lovely face. "That was a treachery baser to you, who have ruled among them, than to me, who only hunt in their shadow."

  "They live their own lives," responded Red Anne gravely. "All who do that must needs work treachery sometimes."

  "By the Rood, I think you are right," said Thorismund, as Gandulf dropped the scarf over his eyes. "But breathe not such a heresy if ever you go to court; for there are treacheries enough without so glib an excuse for them."

  "I have seen the Lady Yolande de Volsberghe," drawled Joris, feeling it time to intervene. "You lost a jewel, my lord Prince, when she left you for Duke Conrad."

  "Talking of former loves," snapped the blinded youth, "I once saw Lorin de Campscapel. You lost a lover there, Lady Anne, when Raoul of Ger slew him."

  Joris laughed harshly and drew his cloak about him.

  "The speech of a prince is precious," he barked. "My lord, your last remark has cost you a thousand gold nobles beyond what else your carcass may be worth."

  "Spoken like a churl," said Thorismund quietly.

  "Gandulf," commanded Joris, "your boot toe to the princely rump."

  Gandulf laughed and obeyed with a will; the captive, with hands tied behind him, lurched to the kick and fell awkwardly sideways. His full lips were clenched to a pale line, but he made no least outcry.

  "My boot shall be embalmed when it grows old," cried Gandulf to the grinning onlookers. "For to-day it has broken stoutly into the story of the realm; nay, it has shaken as it were the very seat of royalty."

  Red Anne stood silently by.

  Throughout that day, the company traversed the forest, zigzagging southward toward Pont-de-Foy. Twilight found them already near the secret ford, waiting for darkness to cover their crossing; and since the flat land by the bridge was out of sight beyond a bend of Varne, Joris had the prisoner's eyes uncovered.

  "Behold a river, Prince," he growled. "We cross it before moonrise. Your hands shall be loosed for the operation, and a man behind you shall carry a pike exceedingly sharp."

  Thorismund was silent, watching the last light dying in the beech glades. Despite all stains and fatigue he was very fair; even in torn buff hunting clothes he seemed amid the outlaws a thing of spun and tinted glass contrasted with coarse shapes of eathenware and wood.

  "And is this he," thought Joris, "who has cuckolded half the peers in Neustria? By the chimes of hell he looks no more than a silly maid himself."

  The hard proud cored of Joris was swollen with exultation. He sniffed the misty night air of the chill November woods, ground his heel into crackling twigs and yielding moss, and hummed a little tune, ignoring Thorismund beside him and even Anne behind them. When at length the prince spoke, it was to the woman; and his eyes were on stars above the sable masses of the trees.

  "Lady Anne," he said civilly, "what is the shape in the northeast, between the Great Bear and the Bull?"

  "That?" came Anne's indifferent reply. "That is the Charioteer."

  "He who drew Elijah into heaven?"

  "I do not know."

  "Then there is the Dragon, and the Little Bear, the Lyre, the Swan, the Flying Horse. I could do with a flying horse…"

  His levity jarred on Joris, but Anne herself snubbed it as she looked due east.

  "There is also the Hunter rising to watch all runaways from over the edge of the world."

  "Very true," sighed Thorismund, and thereafter held his peace.

  When it came to urging his sturdy pony into the chill whispering water the prince glanced thoughtfully around him; but a man rode forward on either side, and the promised point of a great pike head wavered a foot from his spine. then he shivered and exclaimed, for water poured over the tops of his thigh boots, insuring an added misery for the rest of his journey. In front and behind were grunts and oaths and splashings; it was a soaked and dreary company that mustered on the far bank amid the alders and willows. Vaguely beside the climbing Hunter grew the herald glow of moon dawn; men stamped and cursed, low voiced, waiting for light on their way. At length a first gold horn peeped behind slim distant pines, and Madoc left the side of Joris to lead the trampling file uphill…

  Before the dark hour of terce on the following day they saw the Rock ride darkly blue above a sea of mist; the southern facet of the crag took on a sudden red-gold gleam, and the chill whiteness of the ravine became suffused with tones of tawny and amber. But Thorismund drooped ghostlike where he sat, with eyes uncovered but with no care for place or manner of his journey's end; they had to hall him from the pony's back and carry his stiff body to a cave next to the chieftain's own. And there he lay, supine on a heap of sacking, with his own cloak to cover him and a tall cross-eyed rogue named Romarec to guard him, until fires were kindled and broth and wine made hot.

  By the hour of nones his abode was strewn with dried heather and warmed by a little fire of its own; he had eaten nothing, but drunk a deal of water, and presently a deep cough set him on a rack of torment. In the first dusk Red Anne awoke from her day's sleep and went to see him; and when she had done so she pulled a lip at Joris.

  "Your princeling begins to mutter nonsense," she said. "He as a deadly fever. Lend me your wolf-skin coverlet, and come to see."

  Joris, himself newly awakened, growled a curse and followed her. in the reek of the smaller cave the prisoner looked more than ever like a doll; but when the outlaw bent he saw little beads of sweat on the smooth brown and throat. The wide blue eyes stared vacantly into firelit gloom; but now and again a thin hand wavered to side or breastbone as though to check a starting of pain. A spasm of coughing played havoc with the beauty admired of may ladies; rusty coloured spittle flecked the white chin and the mean blanket under it.

  "Leave him to me," murmured Anne. "Bid them set up a tripod here, and a little caldron; and bring me my own saddlebags and the small chest of oils and powders."

  Before Joris complied he knelt and possessed himself of the great emerald ring that flashed on one damp princely finger.

  "This must serve instead of a signature," he grunted in his beard. "Take all the gear you need for nursing him; I would prefer more than a corpse with which to bargain. Two men shall watch all night by an outer fire. Gandulf shall bring you lanterns and wine and water."

  And presently Joris sat alone in his own sleeping place, turning the emerald in torchlight and pondering the phrasing of the message which Madoc must bear to the Duke of Saulte. He spared a thought, too, for his own good fortune in having at hand so skilful a leech as Anne. Dead or alive, indeed, this sick boy should advantage him; but a prince able to sign his name was needed for full flowering of the greatness of Joris of the Rock.

  * * * *

  So Madoc, grinning with wolfish importance, sought the plain of Basse Honoy, knowing himself fairly safe, and charged with a pack of dexterous lies. By night he came again to meet Joris in the hills near Ververon – for Joris crossed the river again, to keep the scene of parley
from the neighbourhood of the Rock. And with him Madoc brought Brian de Saulte, brother to the duke and to that Guy whom Joris slew beside the Singing Stones; and by night in a hollow of the hills they came face to face – the nobleman in half armour, with a firm rein upon his tongue, and Joris in his hunter's clothing, very careful to hide the glee in his heart.

  "The prince lies sick of a fever," said Joris roundly. "Your brother, the Sieur Guy, was slain by the mock Satan, as my man here doubtless told you. We had not time to prevent it – he gave his life for the prince. And the prince lies very well tended, and fast recovering."

  Brian de Saulte said nothing at all to that, sitting his horse so stilly that the light of the dying moon seemed frozen on the curve of his plain helmet.

  "Not to waste your time or my own," Joris continued, "these are my demands. First, release from excummunication, for me and for all those with me when the prince was – rescued. Second, the Prior of Dor to read the decree himself, and so shrive us, and to celebrate my marriage. Third, reversal of outlawry, again for me and my full company. Fourth, the king's full pardon, and amnesty against all claims rising from the way of life which has been forced upon me. Fifth, the prince's accolade for myself before he leaves my charge. Sixth, promise of employment as captain of a free company, signed by the constable and countersigned by three wardens of the marches. Seventh, a stronghold of my own, to be held of some tenent-in-chief, but not the Duke of Volsberghe or the Count of Ger. And eighth, three thousand gold nobles under my hand before the prince departs from among my men…

  "These, I say, are my demands. They are noted here on this skin, inscribed by a clerk of my following. Will you bear them to my lord Duke, your brother?"

  "Yes," replied Brian de Saulte, reaching out a gauntleted hand for the grimy parchment. "But if these demands are made terms, what oath will bind you to deliver up the person of the prince unharmed?"

  "any oath I may honestly take when the ban is removed. I will gladly swear on the Rood or the Sacrament, or any relic brought to me by the prior."

  "I will meet you again at this place in ten days; time," said the Saulte, pouching the document. "Until then, farewell, and God treat you as you treat the prince."

  With that the colloquy ended, the Sieur Brain's solitary servant leading away the horse that Madoc had ridden; and Joris and his lieutenant strode off into the forest.

  "Now may the weather last," thought the chieftain; but aloud he said: "That was strangely easy."

  "Ay," returned Madoc softly. "Old Rene is sick again."

  "Oho!" growled Joris, well pleased. "If our golden egg should hatch before it leaves us, prices go up, my Madoc. But tell me how you fared?"

  As low-voiced Madoc talked, Joris remembered the words of Ivo: "Great turmoil in the realm … a king in danger of sickness … lords in council, and a name on all their lips … whose name? – Joris of the Rock's. The realm shall wait on his word…"

  It was good to be Joris that night. The keen smell of the woods, the flash of the moon's thin sickle amid the trees, meant more to him than he generally knew; but now a faint wonder came to him – would approaching success ring hollow sometimes, at memory of such black-and-silver mystery amid the beeches of the Forest of Honoy?

  * * * *

  In six nights and six days Red Anne seldom left her patient what sleep she had was taken in the prisoner's cave; barely a hand but her own touched the helpless thing that was heir to the Neustrian throne. And at noon on the sixth day Joris sought her with news, only to have it checked on his lips by the weariness in her face.

  "By the beard of Goliath of Gath," he swore, "have you taken his sickness yourself?"

  Anne shook back the ropes of her hair and smiled at her man.

  "No," she said. "He is truly mending, and I am only spent. What were you going to tell me?"

  "Gandulf is back from Pont-de-Foy. Gaston de Volsberghe is there, and the Barberghes, father and son. They seek me. To-night I meet them also. The chaffering begins. Saulte and the prince's folk have kept their counsel well, but Gandulf heard a muttering of truth in the yard of the Inn of Harmony."

  "Beware of those lords," counselled Anne. "It might serve them to take you or to slay you, and declare Ivo dead."

  "Ivo!" growled Joris, in bleak astonishment. "Lass, are you our of your wits?"

  "Very nearly," admitted the woman, with a strange dark flush overspreading her haggard face. "I should have said, and declare Thorismund dead. But I need not teach you craft. I only need sleep awhile, whose tongue plays tricks with my meaning."

  "An ugly sounding trick," said Joris shortly. "Is it not time that poor fish had a nurse less strained and attentive?"

  "Maybe," came the quiet reply. "But let not your craft spin webs for its own cleaving. By Mahound, Joris, the last man so to look at me was the Prior of Dor."

  And despite her flush, Red Anne's blue eyes were amused; Joris even found time to feel that they looked through him rather than at him. The Devil of her choice was farcical and slain, but her beauty masked a demon that vexed him at such odd moments. Since her tale of Ivo's death she had not breathed the boy's name to Joris; why should it slip from her in an hour of black fatigue?

  "Greatness is surely upon you," continued Anne. "Would Gandulf of Madoc themselves have tended your prize as I did? Or Romarec, the clumsy fool, or any other? You know they would likely have drunk your best wine, and left you a bundle of bones to consider. There is not much more there now; and what there is you owe to me."

  "How soon will he sit a pony again?" demanded Joris harshly, unwilling as ever to admit himself in the wrong.

  "In a week at least," said Anne, rising to stumble away into the chief's own cave.

  Joris stood still for a space, and then strode up to the entry of the lesser cave beside it. Plucking aside the screen of canvas that hung between two stakes set up in the sand, he peered beneath the mounting smoke at the red-haired shape beneath the wolf skins.

  Thorismund seemed asleep; his head bent away, and the only movement about him was that of the pulse in his thin stretched neck. But presently he stirred and turned a feebly inquiring face that was hollow-cheeked and gray and disguised by a first faint growth of red-gold beard. His great eyes, blue as Anne's own, were insolent with utter weakness; but Joris, who had seen him half a dozen times during the worst of the sickness, could tell that the latter was fast abating.

  For a moment captor and captive stared at each other. Then the violet eyelids drooped in the half darkness, and Joris dropped the canvas and paced away.

  "You tadpole of a sovereign," he muttered, "when Anne is My Lady indeed I shall keep her out of your way – if in fact you attain your growth; but that depends on your sweet cousin the Duke Conrad."

  * * * *

  "Beware of those lords," Anne had said; but Joris required scant advice of that kind from her or anyone else. Twenty picked men of his following bent bows in the thicket when he moved forward to meet the three conspirators at sunset in the woods near Pont-de-Foy. The Barberghes eyed him with interest, but the Sieur Gaston only smiled, taking in dark-tipped beard and water-stained boots and scabbard with a quick professional glance; Joris had lately stood in the water to give an appearance of having crossed the river.

  "Well met, good Dietrich Halbern," was the tall Volsberghe's greeting. "To-day you have more than leather to sell. Are prices easy?"

  "Easy for me," replied Joris coolly. "Do you want you're an held, or handed over – handed over dead or alive?"

  "Handed over," said Gaston, "and very much alive. But also, while we hold him, we want you still to bear the credit of his keeping until such time as may later be decided."

  "But that delays my payment past the return of my security."

  "Not it. the cardinal count shall deal with your excommunication, my lord and father the constable with your outlawry. You shall have letters of peace with Church and State and five thousand gold nobles, before your prisoner leaves you; and with them a patent of nobilit
y–"

  "Hey?" interrupted Joris roughly.

  "Your pardon if I spoke with indistinctness. A patent of nobility, already signed and sealed, to take effect from the moment of the crowning of Duke Conrad. He offers you the Barony of Thierne in Basse Honoy, and with it a free pardon for all offences past against the peace of the realm – his realm. Including" – and Gaston de Volsberghe's thick lips twitched in a cordial grin – "including the theft of a mare from the constable's son, some sixteen years ago."

  Joris nodded unsmiling, and eyed the nobles in turn. The Fox of Barberghe raised his eyebrows, as though in surprise at the outlaw's hesitation. The viscount Robin fingered his riding switch, creasing his dark handsome face to a leer that could not hide excitement. Gaston de Volsberghe stood with arms folded and features as still as the forest darkening around him.

  "These are fair terms, my lords," said Joris at length. "Add a pair of guilt spurs, and the right to wear them, and I think our bargain is made. But all that applies to my safety must apply to those with me, male and female alike. Also I need meat and corn."

  "That is well understood," droned Gaston softly. "and as for chivalry, I but forgot to mention it. And for King Rene, be sure he will not last long."

  They discussed times and places, and Joris smiled at last, feeling the iron of his will draw honours and gold toward him.

  "Farewell till our next meeting," said Gaston when they parted. "and know that your place is among us, you who bear the shape and bleed the blood of Montcarneau."

  At sunrise Joris flung himself down beside his drowsy Anne, taking her in his arms to tell her all that had befallen.

  "Whom do you cheat in the end?" she asked, holding him gladly and close.

  "Nay, I know not yet," he muttered. "Suffice it that all goes well with us. The Barony of Thierne … my runes … Anne…"

  Anne gave herself fiercely, and then stared out into the morning with Joris fast asleep against her breast.

  * * * *

  "Conrad has it," said Joris, when he had made up his mind. "Fatten our prince for his journey; on Saint Andreas' Day I deliver him up and gain the first fruits of power."