by Dave Duncan
Everywhere I sensed eyes upon us. Every trudging, slope-shouldered peasant was a Leopold spy, every cottage held a garrison of his troops. Ironically, we were riding straight to the arch-villain’s capital, for his palace is located in a town called Vienna, and all roads led there. The flies were heading into the heart of the web.
You will understand that my memories of that hellish ride are very blurred. We bypassed towns whenever as we could, so I never learned their names. When we came to a ford, either William or I would scout ahead to make sure that it was not being patrolled. We dared not even trust monasteries then, in the heart of Austrian territory, for Richard’s enemies had thoroughly blackened his name. Everywhere he was being proclaimed as a murderer and traitor, stained with the blood of Conrad of Montferrat and the Duke of Burgundy, loaded with bribes from Saladin, and would-be poisoner of the king of France. Can you doubt that William and I, who knew that he was guilty of none of these charges, were willing to do our utmost for him, whatever the cost?
On the third day we rode out of the hills and onto lush plains. At last—and we knew in our hearts that it was the end—we saw the mighty Danube ahead of us, and a mere glimpse of it was enough to drain the dregs of our hopes. At Vienna it is at least a mile wide, a moving lake, full of islands and sandbars. None of us had ever seen a river to match it, and I imagine that only the Nile of Egypt could.
Vienna is a sprawl of hovels on the nearer bank, with St. Stephen’s Cathedral and the dukes’ Babenberg Palace the only stone buildings. There are strict rules that only Austrians may trade within the city, so foreigners’ markets have sprung up all around it. We turned aside to a hamlet called Erdberg, where there are a few inns, stables, and not much else, but it is close to a great market called Rochus.
I strained my rudimentary German to obtain lodging at a self-proclaimed inn, which was merely the back room of an old man’s hut, where we had to provide our own food. William and I put the king to bed and stacked the horses’ saddles and other tack in a corner, which left little floor for us to sleep on, but to discard such valuable equipment might have attracted attention. Then William led the poor animals off to buy food, water, and shelter for them. I told him the words I hoped he would need.
I suppose I stayed behind as a guard over the king, but I was asleep when William returned. He nudged me awake with a good hard kick and I went staggering off down to Rochus to buy food. I saw many men there wearing strange clothes and speaking even stranger tongues, probably Hungarians, Byzantines, and even Russians, so I did not attract as much attention as I might have done, but my iron-reinforced shoe alone served to make me conspicuous. My attempts to bargain were rudimentary, and I could hardly speak any language at all through the flood of saliva that a glimpse of food produced.
I hobbled back to the inn, only to find my two companions already fast asleep. I ate one sour and shriveled apple, then lay down next to William, and joined in the snoring chorus.
That night I dreamed of Our Lord’s Last Supper.
The next day, Richard could not stand, and was barely conscious. I watched over him while William went to scout the ferries. He returned shaking his head.
“It is hopeless,” he told me. “The duke has posted a dozen troops at every jetty or pier. He has vastly greater resources than the counts who have accosted us to date.”
I returned to the market and bought more food. But I also saw a gittern on one of the stalls and at once realized that it would make a good disguise for me—mine had been eaten by the Adriatic Sea. I asked to try it. It was old and battered, but once I had tuned it, it gave a fair sound, and I strummed a brief melody. That was rash of me, for it attracted attention, but when I started to bargain with the crone who ran the stall, she took pity on this ragged old cripple, and let me talk her down. I slung the cord around my neck and returned happily to Erdberg, taking a roundabout way to our shack and keeping my eyes open for followers. I did not see any, and assumed that Leopold was confident that his ferry watch would trap the fugitives eventually. Rationally, he would not expect us for a few days yet.
The next day Richard seemed somewhat better, restored by rest and food. William and I both reported on the situation. He thought for a while and then nodded. He had been a warrior and leader of warriors since he was sixteen, and knew better than other men how to face unwelcome reality.
“Do you know if the duke is at home?”
William shook his head.
I said, “Likely he is, because his flag flies over the palace. People are buying their Christmas victuals, so the feast must be very close.”
“And I should know by now to believe your prophesies, Lord Merlin.” After a few minutes’ thought, the Lionheart sighed and said, “I am worth a lot more alive than I would be dead.”
Neither of us argued with that. William could guess where this was leading, and I had foreseen it in my dreams.
“How far is it to the palace?” the king asked.
I said, “Farther than you should try to walk, Lord King. You are very weak and might collapse in the street. One of our horses might carry you yet, but if you try to ride there you will surely be arrested. The patrols will have been told to look out for a very tall man with a red beard.”
He sighed. “Then I shall not go, but my surrender must be voluntary. My two faithful barons, your service has been beyond praise. I have one last task for you, and I know you will find it the hardest of all.”
William had gone rigid, looking as if he faced a death sentence, but when it came, it was only the second-worst order that his king could give him.
“William, go home. Tell them where I am, if they do not already know. If they do know, then you must not tell anyone that you came this far with me. And we three must agree on a tale such that neither of you will be accused of betraying me. I don’t want you to be charged with treason after you have served me so well!”
Neither did I. A common penalty for treason is to be hung up by the ankles and flayed.
“Baron Pipewell,” the king continued, “you are the troubadour; sing us a song of invincible faith and courage overwhelmed by fell circumstance.”
“Aye, Lord King. Um . . . so it came to pass, that when you escaped the Austrian troops’ ambush in Friesach, and the rest of your escort were slain or captured, that William and I were over-looked in the confusion. Knowing your destination, we followed you, but were unable to catch up, you traveled so fast. We arrived here, in Erdberg, just in time to see you being escorted to the palace by the duke’s men-at-arms.”
The king frowned. “I traveled all this way alone?”
“No, sire. Back when we tarried in the monastery of St. Gall, a young novice who knew the way offered to escort us. German was his mother-tongue and he conversed with you in Latin. Abbot Pio gave his leave. You and he found shelter here,” I continued. “But today, when he had gone out to buy food, he somehow gave himself away. He was seized and beaten until he agreed to lead them to this shack.”
I was rewarded with a royal smile. “Heart-rending! I shall set it to music when I have the time. But, in reality, one of you will have to inform that Leopold popinjay where he can seize me.”
William now seemed quite sick with horror.
I set his mind at rest. “Don’t worry. I will do this. I have ways of evading capture that you do not.”
“I appreciate this sacrifice, Durwin,” Richard said. “But be careful that they do not learn your true name, lest word get back to England.”
He opened his purse and tipped out two heaps of coins, mostly silver, but also some of the Byzantine gold coins known as hyperpyrons. He must have brought them all the way from Ragusa or even Corfu. He poked at them with a finger until the piles looked about equal. I doubt if he realized, even then, that mere barons—and especially such unkempt rascally-looking vagrants as we had now become—who dared produce even one such coin, would at best be arrested as thieves, or more likely murdered for it.
Too overcome to speak, William
scooped up his share, and tearfully saluted his liege. As he turned to the door, I stopped him with a prophecy, like an arrow through a hare. I did not know myself the words that I was about to utter.
“William, there is a boat with a furled green sail moored at a dock near the upstream end of the town. It will sail early tomorrow, when the wind changes. The owner will understand you if you use sign language and a little Latin, for there are many foreigners here. Pray book passage on it for both of us for two days. I will join you on board this evening.”
After a moment’s shocked silence, William nodded. The king managed to laugh in the middle of a coughing fit. “Oh, Merlin, I shall miss you! When you prophesy, I do feel like Arthur.”
William said hoarsely, “See you then, my—I mean, minstrel.” He almost ran out of the shack.
After that came my sentence. Richard brought out a ruby ring. It may have been the one I foresaw Count Engelbert refusing, for the count had ordered the messenger to return it, but whether he did so, I do not know. Either way, what the king handed to me was worth a small castle. He gave me some brief instructions on protocol and then told me to go.
As I took the ring, I recalled my dream of the Last Supper, where Jesus dipped a crust in the wine and passed it across to Judas.
“Aye, my lord. Saving Your Grace, it seems a little early in the day to call on a duke. First . . .” I dug under my rags to find the strip of silk I had been wearing as a sash to help keep me warm. On it were written half a dozen Release spells that I had often found useful during my travels. Lars had been carrying the rest of our collection when we parted. Our landlord was mumbling to himself in the other room, but I was confident that he would not understand Latin.
Richard had lain down and covered himself to keep warm. He was watching me curiously.
“Close your eyes, Lord King, unless you want to witness magic.”
“Do it.” He chuckled. “I shall not denounce you to the local sheriff.”
He didn’t truly believe me, but then I quietly sang the Hic non sum and disappeared.
“God's legs!”
I smiled, and instantly reappeared. “I just thought this might prove useful later, sire. It isn’t as wonderful as it seems, because I am only invisible as long as I remain perfectly still.” I never use that incantation without remembering how it saved Eadig’s life in Lincoln Castle, many long years ago. Later it saved mine a few times, too. It remains responsive for four or five days after it is chanted.
I sang the Præcipio tibi, the Fiat ignis, and a couple of others that might come in handy. Then it truly was time to go. “God be with you, my lord. You have a Christmas feast to look forward to, but further than that I cannot see.”
As a final precaution, before I left the hut, I went around to the back and hid my purse and my silken spell list in the tiny woodpile. Were I to be searched, that scroll would be enough to hang me.
I had not gone far before William accosted me, looking haggard—and dangerous. “I keep feeling that I should be doing that instead of you. But I don’t know that I can bring myself to sell out my king.”
“It isn’t easy, even for an out-of-work minstrel,” I assured him. “But Richard knows that I have tricks up my sleeve that you do not, and I am not selling him out as long as I am obeying his orders.” I wondered how convincing that argument would sound if I were ever on trial before the privy council.
“But who will believe you?” he asked, being brutally realistic.
“We are both at risk. But I am going to go home to Lovise and my children, just as you must want to be reunited with Millisende and your sons. The lion is caged, William, or soon will be, but his enemies are surely plotting against him and I am still his enchanter general. Now, please—we are really going to sail away tomorrow, you and I, on that boat with the green sail.”
Reluctantly, William nodded and stepped out of my way.
I doubt very much that my mission would have prospered had I been only the minstrel I pretended to be. Never had a little magic been more helpful. I trudged down the hill, through the sprawling market, and into Vienna. The city was unwalled, and in the busy Christmas throngs I was not challenged. With heavy heart I went on to the palace gate, where stood a pair of armored spearmen. The taller one, from the little I could see of his face, was not yet old enough to shave. The other was a grizzled veteran.
The trainee aimed his spear at my belly. “Password?”
“I am a stranger and know no passwords.”
“Your name and business?”
“I am Blondel, a minstrel, and I have business with the duke.” The spear jerked closer. “Be off with you. The duke has far too many minstrels already.”
“I bring a message from the king of England.”
The boy turned and looked anxiously at his superior, who barked, “You know where he is?”
“He sent me, and I will speak with no one but Duke Leopold.”
“No? Come with me.”He gestured, and I preceded him through the arch into the courtyard, leaving palace security in the incapable hands of the boy hero. My captor shouted for his captain, and a potbellied giant of a man came striding out of the guardroom.
“A minstrel, sir, name of Blondel. Claims he brings a message from the king of England.”
We eyed each other. He might be wondering why I wasn’t cowering enough. I was wondering if he had enough authority to get me through the palace maze to Leopold.
“What is this message?”
“I will speak it only to the duke himself.”
“You will speak it to me or I will have your teeth knocked out.” Some people believe that violence can solve problems, but in the long term it usually just creates more. I looked him straight in the eye and enchanted him into obedience with a whisper. “Præcipio tibi! Lead me to the duke.”
“Follow me, minstrel.” He spun around and we headed for the main door.
We were stopped twice more. The first time the captain bullied his way past a protesting steward. The second time our way was blocked by a dandified gentleman, who was addressed as “my lord” and obviously outranked my guide by about a thousand ducats a month. I could order the captain to kill him, of course, but that would cause trouble, or I could use the spell again. I was reluctant to do that, because this scented flunky would understand the Latin. He would still have to obey my orders, but he might guess why and scream for a bishop to anathemize me.
Instead I brought out the ruby ring. “His Grace Richard of England sends this as a token of friendship to his honored cousin, Duke Leopold.”
He attempted to grab the ring, but I whipped it out of his reach. “You are not the duke!”
He snarled, but then swiftly led me into an anteroom. My wait there was brief. I barely had time to start appraising the architecture and artwork before another door was opened and I was escorted into a minor reception hall, complete with throne. I had seen grander, but not recently. An even fancier courtier demanded my full name.
I gave the first one that came into my head. “The minstrel Blondel de Nesle, Your Grace.”
Word was passed, and in a surprisingly short time, Duke Leopold himself came marching in from a door behind the throne.
The Lionheart had spoken of him in such scathing terms that I expected a small, crooked man with a swarthy face and an annoying habit of wringing his hands. He was anything but— full-sized and handsome, clad royally in silks, fur, and jewels, with his hair and beard closely cropped, he looked every inch a duke. He was the same age as the Lionheart and almost as arrogant, which probably contributed to their mutual dislike.
Shuffling flatfooted behind him, though, came the largest priest I had ever seen, robed all in black, of course, monstrously bearded, carrying a jeweled crucifix in one hand, and a silver aspergillum in the other. He nailed me with arrowhead eyes full of hate, but he stopped a pace back from the duke and made no aggressive move.
I approached to a reasonable distance, knelt, and held up the ring. Speaking
in Latin, of course, being unwilling to inflict my nursery German on him, I said, “Richard, king of England, offers this jewel to his cousin, Duke Leopold of Austria, in token of his friendship, and begs hospitality in the name of Jesus Christ, Our Lord.”
Nobility often profess family relationships with noble strangers, but they make up for that by treating their true relatives worse than their enemies.
Leopold said, “Well, Father? Richard’s pet witch is described as elderly, blond, and lame in his right foot. This one fits that recipe. Is he man or devil?” My first thought was that some of my former companions must have survived the battles, at least for long enough to be questioned, perhaps tortured. But it was also possible that knights returning from the crusade had been spreading stories about the Lionheart and his magical advisor.
The over-sized priest approached me, held up the crucifix, and gabbled Latin at me. He had a notably foul breath. Then he sprinkled me with what I assumed to be holy water. I did not scream and fly out through a window, which would probably have pleased him most. Instead I quietly recited the Nicene Creed and then made the sign of the cross. He backed away, baffled.
“He appears to be wholesome enough,” Leopold judged. “We can examine him more closely later. Bring me the bauble.”
A page approached me and nervously held out a silver tray at arm’s length. I placed the ring on it and he transported it to Leopold, who examined it carefully, concluded that it must be genuine, and slid it onto a finger to admire. Then he raised shrewd gray eyes to study me, still on my knees.
“Truly a handsome gift to receive by the hand of a wandering, ragged minstrel. But not many minstrels are also sorcerers— as I know you to be.”
“Only the credulous deem me such, Lord Duke. King Richard has sometimes honored me by listening to my counsel as well as my music.”
The duke laughed. “Well, we can discuss that later. So where will I find that rogue who spat on my honor at Acre and now claims a right to my hospitality?”
