"Ah? And you are such a one?"
"I am descended," I replied, "from Nuada of the Silver Hand, chieftain and king of the Tuatha De Danaan when first they migrated from the east into Ireland."
"A son of kings, then?"
"We have no kings in Ireland," I said, "and the Hill of Tara is now grown over with gra.s.s. Where our halls and palaces once stood, the sheep now graze."
"The son of kings? Can I do less than treat you so? Yet how do I know this is not merely a clever story concocted by your Irish wit?"
"I have said so much," I replied, "only because you are a king, and I am young enough still to believe in the honor of kings. There is no one to attest to what I am, and few who care. The English wish me dead, as I might in their place."
"You seem to hold little enmity toward them," he mused. "I find this strange."
"Each of us does what he must do. I may kill the wolf who kills my sheep, but I understand him, too. If the wolf must die that my sheep may live, so be it. But I need not hate the wolf for what it is his nature to be."
"Hah! You are a philosopher, too? Well, what would you have me do?"
"As Your Majesty wishes. Had I my choice, I"d be freed to return to England to someday buy the land that was once my own."
"What was it like, your home?"
"It is a green place, sire, green among a chaos of granite, bold hills and great boulders leaning, moss growing at their feet. The forests that once covered Ireland are gone, but the land holds a memory of them, as all the rocks there have a memory of the sea that once washed upon them and hollowed and polished.
"The walls of my home were gray granite, and the beams and panels of oak. There was little furniture but what there was was also of oak. And at the door a stream ran past, swiftly it ran, hurrying down the steep rocks to fall over a cliff and into the sea.
"There is a cove there, almost landlocked, where a man can have a boat. And there is the sea beyond, with fish awaiting. And the sound of the sea snarling and growling among the worn rocks. Sheep graze there, and there is a garden sometimes, and paths by which to walk the hills in the morning mist or evening shadow.
"There are far moors to gallop over on our fine Irish horses or the wild ponies of the moors. It is a place to live and love in, sire, and I would go back there and abide, nor ever come away again."
He shook his head. "No man should be kept from such a dream. Does the house stand yet?"
"It was burned, sire. But what men built, men can build again. I shall go back."
"Aye! Do you go then!" He tossed a purse upon the table. "Let a king share with a king. You have no sword?"
"It was taken from me when I surrendered."
"So?" He turned to an officer standing behind bin, "Gabriel? Bring me the silver sword."
"The silver-handled one? But, sire-"
"Bring it. These are hard times, and this Irishman has brought me something of pleasure with his words and his ways. Perhaps he is a king, and certainly the sword should go to nothing less."
The sword was a fine one, with a thin blade, at least forty inches long, edged on both sides with razor sharpness. The hilt was of silver, beautifully turned, an emerald set in the top and on either end of the guard. The scabbard, too, was finely wrought.
"Take it, and go your way. Gabriel, see he has a horse-a fine one-and this, too."
Taking up a sheet of paper, he had written in a fine, flowing hand: Let this man, Tatton Chantry, ride where he wills. And then he signed it, Henri.
"Go now, and may luck ride with you!"
Just before I vanished from earshot, I heard Gabriel say: "Do you believe he is a son of kings?"
King Henry laughed. "It does not matter. He carries himself like one and has a certain style. He brightened my morning, and these days are dark, very dark."
My horse was a dappled gray with a black mane and tail, a splendid horse. As I mounted, I remembered the words overheard.
"You, too, Henry," I said aloud. "You also carry yourself like a king, and you, too, have a style!"
26.
Alone I rode along the byways of France. Alone I dined at wayside taverns, or pausing beside the road, ate of bread, cheese, and wine, while my good steed cropped the green gra.s.s of the roadside.
Dark and thick was the cloak I wore for strong blew the wind, and often cold the rain. Continual war had made the people sullen and remote, wanting no dealings with such as I, a wanderer returning from the wars, although some looked long at my horse and my sword of the silver handle.
Yet always I rode on, avoiding the main roads for fear of being stopped. And I was but once.
An imperious officer accompanied by six men waved me down. "Who are you, and from whence do you come?" he demanded.
"I ride to Rouen," I said, "and I come from Henry of Navarre."
Some of his truculence vanished at that, but he did not truly believe until I rode close and showed him my letter. He stared at it, astonished, and then at me. "I have never seen such a letter!" he said. "You must be a great man, indeed!"
"I am a wayfarer, wishing to go on. Now, if you have done?"
The sky was sullen and a light rain was falling. Bundled in my cloak I rode the dim sun down and into the clouded night where the eyes gained only blackness and the faint shine of rain pools in the muddy road. I drew my horse to a walk, for the footing was slippery. "Walk gently," I said to him, "for you carry an Irish lad on his way home."
He twitched an ear at me. That I could see, but little else. What I dearly longed for was an inn, or any place at all to shelter my head. Suddenly before me the road took a branch off to the side and I drew up, peering into the night.
High above the road I saw a dim reflection of light. The light tempted, but a faint smell of broiling meat scored victory, and for better or worse I turned my horse into the side road and mounted steeply to what I soon saw was an ancient castle, long in ruins. A sensible man would have turned back, but I was Irish and hungry to boot.
Under a n.o.ble arch and into a courtyard I rode. At one side was an empty stable. I swung down and led my horse within. There was fresh hay there, and I tied him at a manger, bundled hay to him, and then loosened my sword in its sheath. I"d a brace of pistols with me, and I tucked them behind my belt and under the cloak. Then I mounted some ancient stairs, my nose following the aroma of the meat. I emerged in a room where there were five men and a girl, and the girl was bound.
The surprise was complete, for myself as well as for them. The door I used was obviously not the one by which they had entered, for had I been a ghost they could have been no more astonished.
The men drew their weapons. "Hold!" I said. The eyes of the girl lighted with hope when she saw me. Yet I knew not what happened here, or was likely to happen-except that five more miserable cutthroats I had never seen.
"Attack," I said calmly, "and there will be bloodshed."
Truer word was never spoke. The trouble was that the blood might well be mine, a chance I viewed with some discomfort. If I bleed, I bleed better in the sunlight, not upon a dark and stormy night in such a ruin.
Yet it needed no seer to realize that I had stumbled upon some proper rogues-thieves or worse. Spread before them and beside the fire was a nice collection of rings, candlesticks, and chains, most made of gold.
"Who are you?" The speaker was a bold rascal with somewhat protruding eyes and a greasy, unwashed look about him. A pity to thrust a clean blade into such a dirty ruffian.
Who was I? A stupid question, for what did it matter? In a moment they would realize that I was one and they were five and that I had come upon them at an inopportune time from which I must not be allowed to escape.
The girl they held bound was of quality, a lady by appearance and dress, though somewhat bedraggled at the moment. With all of that, a decidedly pretty girl.
"I have come for her," I said, reaching with my left hand for the spit on which broiled the meat. I had not been a soldier these past many months for nothing.
I took a generous bite of the meat. "And," I continued, "if you be fleet of foot you may make it to the river and so "scape hanging."
"Hanging?" One of them frowned sharply, a cowardly rascal if ever I saw one. You I"ll spit last, I told myself, for you"ll hang back and let the others risk.
"Who talks of hanging?" the bold dirty one said. He must be first, clean blade or no. "Who in this forsaken land is there to hang anyone? And where do you come from? If you toss us your sword we may let you go."
I smiled. Dirty though he was, I could almost like the man for his daring.
"A column of troops awaits me below," I said. "I came up looking for a bit of shelter"-here I took another bite of the meat-"and found you. There are the battlements here, and we have the ropes.
"Do you cut the lady free," I pointed the spit at the cowardly one. "The rest of you have one minute to decide whether to run or hang."
"He"s lying!"
"Do you want to risk it?" I said cheerfully.
"If you have so many men, call them up," the bold one said. Ah, he was a worthy scoundrel!
"In due course," I said.
"He"s lying!" the bold one said. "Take him!"
I had never thought to fool them, so when the nearest man raised suddenly up, coming off the ground, turning and drawing his blade, I thrust the end of the spit into his gaping mouth, taking a couple of his last remaining teeth with it.
With my sword in my right hand, swiftly drawn, I plucked a pistol from my belt. It was point-blank, scarce ten feet, and I fired. The ball took a man in the chest and he went down.
Still clutching the now-empty pistol, I crossed blades with a third man as the others closed in. Stepping quickly around, I was beside the girl with the fire between myself and the others.
Two were down and I was faced by three, one of them a hulking brute missing one thumb.
"See? He has no men outside! That shot would have brought them!"
"Can"t you hear their voices?" I suggested. I lowered my blade and flicked that razorlike edge through one of the ropes that bound the lady"s ankles.
They began to circle the fire, coming from both sides. To face two I must turn my side to another. I faced the two, and went at them, moving swiftly toward them. The sudden attack made them back up. One lifted a heavy staff and struck down at my head. Avoiding it, I went in low, lifting the pistol in my left hand to ward off the blow. At the same time I thrust. He had lunged when he swung his stick and he spitted himself neatly on my sword. His mouth gaped at me and his eyes, a milky blue, stared owlishly. I drew back sharply at a howl of agony from behind me and glimpsed the third attacker scrambling from the flames. The girl, bless her heart, had somehow tripped him as he pa.s.sed her, spilling him into the fire.
He scrambled out, screaming and beating at his flaming clothes.
Now it was just the bold one and myself. I looked across my blade at him, and smiled. There was no coward in him, and he came at me. Suddenly, and surprisingly, I knew this was no ordinary rogue. I faced a master.
We fought desperately, silently, our blades like dancing light. Time and again I thought I had him, but each time he had a counter, a swift riposte. Nor could he reach me.
Suddenly he drew back and stopped. "Who are you?" he demanded. "From whence do you come?"
Stepping back in my own time, I flipped my blade through those ropes that bound the girl"s wrists. Quickly, she freed herself.
"Does it matter now?" I said carelessly.
"You handle a blade exceeding well," he replied. "There are not five men in Europe who can stand against me."
"I would think you could find a better trade," I commented, "and better company."
He shrugged. "It is the fortunes of war. I was a gentleman once and knighted. My name is Tankarville. I held vast estates from my father and mother. There was much intrigue about court and I supported the wrong side. We lost. Some of us were beheaded, some fled, some were imprisoned. My estates were taken by the crown and I was lucky to escape with my head and a sword. That was ten years and now I am a brigand, living as best I can."
"And what of the lady here?"
"Take her, and welcome. But guard yourself well, my friend, or she will have a knife in your ribs."
I laughed. "You asked my name. It is Tatton Chantry, and I ride to Rouen. If you wish another bout with the blades you have only to seek me out."
"And I may," he said cheerfully.
Tucking the empty pistol behind my belt, I touched the other to make sure it was still with me, and then, sword in hand, I backed from the room. The girl came with me.
When I had recovered my horse she said, "Their horses are down below, and mine, also."
"You were riding when they took you?"
"Oh, no! They raided the chateau where I live. They came when they knew that all were away, and looted it, stealing all they could find. When I discovered them, they took me as well, exchanging their horses for our better ones."
"Then let us get your horse."
Leading my own and walking beside her, we went down a steep path, and there in a clump of trees were the horses.
She went straight to her horse. At the base of the tree to which he was tied, she picked up a small bundle.
I helped her to the saddle, and together we rode down the slope and back to the high road which led toward Rouen. It led across a high, open plain with only rare clumps of trees. We rode briskly, and she seemed disinclined to talk.
She was a comely la.s.s and I"d not have minded talking, but my few attempts to open a conversation came to nothing.
"Where lies your home?" I asked finally.
"Yonder," she pointed off to the south, "but I dare not go there now for fear they might come back."
"Were there no servants?"
"They were away when the brigands came and will not know what to make of my misfortune. I dare not go back. Take me with you to Rouen."
"Do you have friends there?"
"Of course! Although," she added, "it is a town to which I rarely go. Our market town was Dreux, although there were villages closer. My family is gone and I am afraid to go back alone."