Fierbois was a little place, lying halfway between Loches and Chinon. Farms dotted the way and it looked like a prosperous locality and a pleasant place to live. The large city of Tours was not far away, providing a good market for produce and the people appeared to be content with their lot.
The chapel was a popular retreat for both the local visitors and more distant pilgrims. There were a few persons at their devotions when they arrived and after these had finished their prayers, Gwalchmai and Corenice entered.
No priest was in attendance and it was quiet and restful within. Candles burned before the altar and there was a fragrance of spicy incense.
It was easy to see why Merlin had commanded that Roland’s sword should be left here in trust rather than a more convenient hiding place, for the walls were hung thickly with weapons.
Bill-hooks stood in sheaves, Morning Stars dangled fheir spiky balls on short chains among maces, long knives, and daggers that poor peasants had carried in battle. All these had been placed there in gratitude by soldiers who felt that the gracious Saint had in some manner saved their lives and in return for her good offices had from that moment forsworn war. That the feeling was not confined to the hearts of the simple poor was evidenced by racks of swords, in many styles and qualities.
Some were of fine Toledo and Damascus make; a few had high-sounding names engraved upon the blades of this queen of weapons; others were splendid because of their jewel-encrusted hilts.
It was an excellent spot to leave Durandal, Gwalchmai thought, but he did not like to risk such a unique treasure, whose future value to France Merlin had confirmed.
He looked about for a safer nook than on the open wall. The wagoner and Corenice were both on their knees, with heads bowed before the altar. Saint Catherine looked benignly down upon them all.
Gwalchmai wondered to whom Corenice was praying in this holy place and if she prayed for health or something less personal. She had seldom asked her goddess for anything for herself.
Neither was looking at him. He heard voices outside, but before anyone could enter, he went forward quickly. There was a narrow space between the altar and the wall, sufficient to accept the sword.
He slipped it into the gap as though into a sheath. When he released the hilt, Durandal slid out of sight and he heard it gratingly fall even farther as though there was a deeper hole, perhaps a crypt or compartment behind the altar.
He felt satisfied. Unless the altar was removed or the shrine deserted and torn down, neither of which contin-gencies seemed likely in view of its popularity, Roland’s. sword was safe. Now his errand was completed and he could devote his attention to other important-matters.
He touched Corenice on the shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her body swayed against him. Her face was pale. With a cry, he caught her tight against him. Her hands were burning hot
At that moment a middle-aged couple entered, smiling at first to see them thus, though a little surprised at their choice of place.
However, the wise, knowing eyes of the woman saw at once that this was not an act of courtship and she came up to see if she could be of some help. An instant’s examination told her all she needed to know. She turned to Gwalchmai.
“When is she expecting?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” Gwalchmai was taken aback.
“How long before the child will be born? Surely you know you are going to be a father?”
He mutely shook his head.
The woman sniffed. “You men are all fools. If she was a mare or a cow, 111 wager you’d know to the minute when one would foal or the other calve. That would be money in your purse, wouldn’t it? You’d be interested in that, ey? This might cost you something, so you hope it won’t happen or pretend it isn’t so. Just like my old man!”
Her words were harsh, but she regarded the couple fondly.
“Sometimes I wonder why God made men and what women see in them! Great hairy, dirty, stupid things—always cursing and killing each other! Get her out in the air. This smoke is enough to choke a mule!”
They quickly carried Corenice out and laid her on the grass. It was not long before she opened her eyes and tried to sit up. The woman gently pressed her back.
“Give me your bottle, old man,” she commanded. Her husband rather reluctantly passed it over, as it was nearly empty. She brought out a little cup from somewhere in her capacious skirts, filled it and crumbled in a few dried leaves from her purse, stirring it well with her finger, cooing over Corenice meanwhile.
“There precious, drink it down. Hearty now, drink it alL It will do thee much good. Tis naught but a mite of foxglove for thy heart’s sake. Dried silkworms would be better for the dizziness, but who can afford them, these days? I would I had a scrap of mummy for thee. That is the best of all.”
Thus she rattled on, while Gwalchmai hung over them like a hovering shadow.
It was not long before some color came back into Core-nice’s wan cheeks and she was able to stand.
“Where are you going?” said the woman. Gwalehmai and Corenice looked at each other. Here was a severe setback to their plans.
Both realized it was most urgent that they be on their way to Rome as soon as possible if Gwalchmai were to secure an audience with the Pope before all forces and shipping were committed to the Holy Land.
There was no way of estimating the delay in accomplishing his mission if this slight opportunity were to be over looked. Yet it was as plain to each that it was quite impossible for Corenice to travel much farther at the present time.
“We came here as pilgrims from Clermont, to fulfill a vow,” said Gwalchmai, quite honestly. “Now, we know not when, but as soon as may be we must take the road for Rome.”
The woman regarded them narrowly. She looked at Core-nice with pursed lips and shook her head.
“It will be a long time before this wife of yours will be going on pilgrimage again, lad. I think when she does there will be three of you traveling. I asked you how long, precious, but I think I know. About three months gone, are you?”
Corenice would not meet her eyes, but nodded.
The woman harrumphed. “I thought so. And this great lout that thinks of naught but his own will and pleasure, like all men, didn’t want to be burdened by a babe, did he?
Poor lass! Ill wager you didn’t tell him for fear he would beat you! Meri! They are all the same—every one!“
She glared impartially upon her husband, Gwalchmai, and the wagoner, all of whom quailed at her sharp tongue.
Corenice’s shoulders shook, but not with sobs. Gwalchmai waited anxiously for her to say something in his defense, but she only kept her head down so the woman could not see her face.
He lifted her chin, but she instantly put on a most woebegone expression that made him want to hit her in very truth, and she shrank away from him as though in deadly fear.
The woman gave him a shove, with an arm fit for a fighter, and gathered her against her own ample bosom, whence Corenice peeked out demurely at Gwalchmai.
“There! There! Hell not lay one finger on you, if I know it,” she crooned. “You are coming home with me to a nice bed of goose feathers and he can sleep tonight in the barn. If I had my way, I’d see him in the midden rather!”
So saying, she led the way out to their cart, forgetting to make the prayers she had come to say. All this time, her, husband had said nothing, seemingly a matter of old custom, but now he looked from her to the shrine in dismay.
The woman wasted no tune or words. She helped Core-ntee into the cart, gathered up the reins, and clucked to the old sway-backed horse. Her husband would have been left behind if he had not hurried. As it was, he climbed in over the back of the moving cart, which Gwalchmai was not able to do, as he was delayed by finding a small coin to pay the wagoner for his trouble.
By the time he had done this the cart was far down the road, the stiff backs of the three occupants well expressing, without words, their poor opinion of him. None of them looked
back.
He looked thoughtfully at a clump of slender willows alongside a brook. He drew his knife and took a step or two in that direction, then gave up the idea. There was no time to cut one. He would have to hurry to keep the cart in sight.
Two weeks later he was on the road again, this time moving south—and alone.
During those few days, the health of Corenice had markedly improved, although she was far from being in any condition to journey farther. The virulent fever, picked up in the crowded assembly at Clermont, soon ran its course, but her weakened condition only emphasized the natural disability of her body.
The most she felt able to do was to sit in the sun on fine days and watch the passersby. It tore Gwalchmai to see her so, remembering how in Thyra’s body she had enjoyed life, being so vibrant and healthy; how they had played together and courted in the deeps; how they had sworn their troth and soared to the heights on broad white pinions that thrummed and sang in the winds above the clouds.
He recalled how she had waited through the long years; how she had saved his life by bringing him out of the ice; he thought about the times she had teased him and the anger he had felt—and he buried his face in his hands as he sat beside her, so that she might not see the tears in his eyes.
Then he would feel her loving palm against his cheek and he would turn and take her hi his arms, oblivious of those who marched upon the road, southward, ever southward, toward Marseilles, where the ships were gathering for those who were going to the Holy Land by sea.
She knew how much he desired to leave for Rome. As the days passed and still she was not strong enough to travel, she began to urge him, ever more strongly as time went on, to go.
“Go now. Wait no longer,” she insisted, while he still had time to journey to Rome and return before his son would be born—for that it would be a son neither of them doubted..
Surprisingly, their benefactors agreed. Gwalchmai had learned early that the elderly farmwife had a soft, warm heart, although she treated everyone indiscriminately to the rough side of her tongue.
Even Corenice came in for her share of scoldings, -when she wished to take some part in the work of the household, for in the Welsh family life, as Nikky, she had picked up all the homely arts and could now churn and weave and sew with the best.
They were honest folk, too, and when he was finally convinced by all of their arguments, he knew that the major part of the treasure, which he left, in addition to Corenice’s share, would be kept untouched unless she needed it before he came back.
Her time had yet five months to run—plenty enough to journey to Rome and back, he thought. He would have his interview with Pope Urban, convince him of the importance of what he had to impart, and be back again, long before he would be needed by her bedside.
In the meantime, she would rest and grow well and be his own strong girl again.
So, one fair morning, he waved them goodbye and also took the road to Marseilles.
Rome, the Imperial City, Mother of Nations, was no longer the Rome of which his father had spoken so long ago. The Goths, the Cimbrians, the Vandals, and the Huns had each taken their turn hi humbling that mighty metropolis. Its armies were long gone, its people scattered. Even the refugees from it had centuries earlier forgotten their heritage.
Its buildings were crumbled and in ruin; its treasures ravaged; its arenas silent to the winds and drifting leaves. Aqueducts still delivered water to its many fountains; its roads of stone sprang from it to all parts of the world, as the spokes of a wheel lead outward to the rim, but no legions tramped them now with iron-studded boots.
Only eleven years before, the Normans had sacked and burned when they came to rescue Pope Gregory, besieged in Hadrian’s tomb by the armies of Emperor Henry the Fourth. They had left the city a smoking ruin from which it had not yet recovered.
Fierce, bloddy battles had been fought there—from temple, to tomb, to forum—and others were to be fought, but when Gwalchmai arrived from the west and looked down upon it from the Janiculum hill, Rome still appeared to be a quiet stately, impressive city.
It was evening and the unhealed scars of war and time were softened by distance. A light haze of smoke lay over it like a veil, for it was time for the evening meal and although the city population was few in comparison with its former multitudes, there were still many people dwelling within its boundaries.
It had become the center of all Christendom’s hope, for it was the focus of Christian thought..Here, of all places, had been thrown down the gage to the men who carried the Crescent on their flag and laughed when they were told that the iron men from the west, who bore the Cross, would eventually demand a reckoning for the cruel deeds done to their brothers on the road to Jerusalem.
Now that day had come, the armies were gathering, and Gwalchmai looked upon the city—to his eyes it was the marvel he had longed to see.
It was the Year of our Lord, One Thousand and Ninety-Five, and he had been four hundred and sixty-three of his years on the road!
Owing to the effect of the Elixir of Life which he had unwittingly drunk and which still coursed through his veins, he still looked to be a comparatively young man. There was a little gray along his temples, a few wrinkles etched in at the corners of his lips and eyes, but that was all to indicate that he was no longer a youth. He felt strong and young— he had lost no teeth, at which he wondered, although actually his years of conscious life were few.
He was yet to experience the penalties that mystic draught was to bring, although the wizard had reminded him that such there would be. He had all but forgotten the warning.
He slept and ate at an inn. He waited a fortnight for an audience and when it was finally granted, he never reached the Pope and never told his story.
Instead, when the doors were opened and his turn came to advance and his name was announced by the Chamberlain, he took three steps only into the reception hall. He saw the slight figure seated at the far end, robed and mitred and waiting; he saw the princes of the church on either side; he heard the grandly dressed man at the door commence a query:
“What is the—?”
Then a mist came between him and all else. He beard an evil, glutinous chuckle in his ear that he had heard before and even then he knew that it was heard by him alone.
A profound weariness came upon him—his tongue was thick with the sleep that was rushing upon him. He thought he cried out, “Corenice! Wait! Oh, wait, wait for me!” but he made no sound. His ears seemed full of cotton wool and he drifted away to slumber.
“He who lives longer than others, must also sleep longer than other men.”
As he fell to the long, red carpet at his feet, he thought he heard an agonized cry in reply—“Oh, no, my darling! No! No! No!”—but it was only in his mind.
He never felt the shock when his body struck the floor.
PART II
The Sword of The “Paladins
14 ‘The (Catacombs
He knew his name. He had been christened Gwalchmai by his godfather, Merlin, the Enchanter, which means Eagle in a most ancient tongue.
He knew where he had been, where he had gone, and why he had come there. He knew that he had a mission to fulfill and that there were obstacles in the way.
He did not know where he was.
He wandered in bliss, in a place of tranquil splendor and beauty. Here were gently rounded hills clothed in asphodel and lilies, and beyond their rondures one perfect snowcapped peak that drew his eyes toward its perfection, its purity of line.
Here were fountains that made music, and when the soft, perfumed winds that breathed across that land touched the leaves of the broad forests, sweet sounds chimed from them. He breathed a fragrance of spices and he saw only loveliness everywhere.
The people of that land were delicately beautiful and their voices were like songs of which he never tired, although what they said in harmony passed through his understanding like mist and left no memory there.
He was not
alone, for he held a soft hand in his and beside him Walked his beloved Corenice. Here they moved seeing the wonders of that fair place, never tiring, for there was no end to its marvels and no satiation to their happiness.
Here time passed idly over them in this delightful country, for there was no sun or moon to mark its passage and no hunger or thirst or weariness to divide time into hours as in the lands of men.
They dwelt there in contentment and peace. Sometimes he thought giant faces hovered over them, but they were never dreadful; they were benign, they were always kind and loving.
He did not mind being watched by them—he felt that he and Corenice were being protected and cared for.
He had thought Elveron was a country whose enchantment could not be surpassed, but this magic and exquisite region was far beyond the fancies of the elves.
Nothing more could be wished for. Here was desire and hope fulfilled. This was Tir-nan-og—this jsvas the future toward which all men yearn; the Fortunate Isles; Hy-Breasail; Paradise!
But Eden can only be visited now; it has long been marked “Out of Bounds”—no one can really live there any more.
There came a moment when he knew he walked alone. Shadows dimmed the lustre of all that wondrous land and descended upon it rapidly. Quietness stilled the fountains, the fragile and exotic buildings crumbled, the people disappeared and he felt that he was being hurried away.
He reached out, trying to grasp those fingers again in desperation. There was nothing else to which he desired to cling.
His hand struck harsh cold stone. He cried out and opened his eyes—to blackness!
This was more than night, it was the eternal dark of the Pit. He stretched his arms, feeling his muscles crack and strain as from long disuse. He felt rock upon one side and emptiness on the other. Above him, a few inches over his head, was a smooth stone surface and beneath him another, softened only by a thin pad. It was obvious that he lay in a niche cut into the living rock, but where? _
His breath rasped over a dry tongue; his lungs expanded and ached; he began to live again and his thoughts returned from the vanished realm of delight. He heard the blood surging in the little channels of his ears—there was no other sound.
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