The Harp and the Blade

by John Myers Myers

  Seeing his mood, Conan waived ceremony. “My man said you had something you wanted to show us.”

  “I have.” The prelate beckoned to his follower, who stepped forward with a sack of soft leather. “Yesterday,” the Abbot announced, “a peasant of the abbey’s brought me this. He said a horseman gave it to him with the message that it was from Chilbert and that I should pass it on to you after taking what was mine.” He had spoken in a loud, resonant voice; and, looking around, I noticed that every man and woman in the place was watching and listening from some point or other.

  Conan never took his eyes from the churchman’s face. “From Chilbert,” he murmured. “So!”

  “So!” the other repeated after him. “I looked in the bag, and this is one of the things I found.” Grimmer than ever, he opened the sack with great deliberation, looked to see what he wanted, then thrust in his arm. When his hand came out it was holding the head of a man by the hair.

  The bloodless thing had belonged to no one I had ever seen; but Conan’s oath was terrible with wrath and sorrow, the women shrieked, and the men groaned. This was one of the men who had gone into Gregory’s fort with Conan. We had been so sure that Gregory would dare do nothing to them, and-apparently he hadn’t. It was Chilbert who had sent the message.

  The Abbot nodded bleakly, handed the head to the monk with him, and reached in again. Even though those assembled were anticipating the other two they could not forbear to curse and moan when the sightless heads emerged without their bodies.

  “Now I’ll show you my gift,” the Abbot said, looking from Conan to me; and before we had time to wonder he drew out a fourth and held it high. It was my turn to cry out in helpless rage. Sardonic even in death, Father Clovis was smiling horribly. I felt nauseated with grief and shame. He had been murdered, alone with them all against him in Gregory’s fort, and it had been at my request that he had entered the trap.

  Conan and I looked at each other wretchedly, then turned back to the waiting priest. “What happened?” he asked, his voice suddenly harsh with emotion. “This is all I know.”

  “Come on inside,” Conan said, and we led him between us, snarling at anybody who wasn’t quick to jump out of our way. “Fulke!” Conan barked. “Post men at the doors with orders to let nobody enter; nobody at all! “

  Without speaking to each other we marched to the table, and I poured wine for the Abbot. Pointedly he pushed it aside. “Not until I hear,” he said. We made no comment, for we were on trial, and we knew it. A man of his had gone in to help us, we had got off comparatively unscathed, and the man had been left behind to die.

  “You know the first of it, brother,” Conan muttered, so I gulped some wine and delivered a detailed account of what had taken place after we’d left the abbey. Later Conan took up the tale with careful circumstantial accuracy. The narrative took some while, but in all that time the Abbot said not a word. He just sat there, shifting his eyes from one to the other of us constantly. If we’d been telling anything short of the strict truth I don’t think we could have finished.

  “And the last thing we know,” Conan concluded, “is that he told Fulke where we wanted the horses. He was in no danger then, certainly, or if he was he didn’t know it. There was nobody to stop him from heading straight on back to the abbey.”

  To our infinite relief the Abbot reached out and thoughtfully began to sip his wine. “Clovis went back,” he said, looking as if he was actually seeing what had occurred, “because he didn’t want anybody to connect him, and therefore the abbey, with your escape. Those were my orders. But he disregarded his orders at one point, and that’s what tripped him. Somebody must have seen him talking to you when he met you coming up the hill.”

  I groaned inwardly, knowing that it was on my account that Clovis had taken unnecessary chances. “Even if they did see him,” Conan objected, “why shouldn’t he talk to us? They couldn’t have caught him at anything else or they would have stopped him. The abbey has no quarrel with me, and the mere fact that he didn’t betray me on sight couldn’t be taken as proof that he helped me.”

  “No,” the prelate agreed. “But don’t forget the heads were sent not by Gregory but by Chilbert. He’d be an angry man at finding, and Gregory a humble one while admitting, that his prize was gone.”

  Chilbert must, indeed, have slavered with fury, and at another time we might have enjoyed the thought hugely. We could laugh at nothing then, however. “All right,” Conan picked up and followed out the suggested line of speculation, “Chilbert had Gregory on the run, maybe he even accused him of selling me back to myself. In any case he wasn’t cutting much of a figure, and Chilbert treated him like a vassal, taking charge of his fort while he investigated the circumstances of the escape. He found that I had three men there, which would serve to clear Gregory perhaps, but he killed them out of spite. As for Clovis—”

  “He might have shown he was amused at your escape,” the Abbot said sadly. “He would laugh, you know.”

  “That,” I said, “or the coincidence of Clovis’ arrival a few hours before mine may have been more than he could overlook.”

  “That’s likely to be it if he was convinced that you were the bard in question.” Conan refilled the cups and put his elbows on the table. “It would eat his brain, if he knew that the man who had hoodwinked him this time was the one who had previously clubbed him, stolen his pet horse, and snaked me out of a hot hole once before. It might well make him crazy enough to kill any possible accomplice.”

  The Abbot nodded. “Be that as it may, my man is dead, and Chilbert is the avowed murderer. You have used the word ‘crazy,’ and the count never did a madder thing. No doubt he imagines in his growing power that he can intimidate the abbey by such a gesture.” He put both clenched fists on the board before him. “All he has done is to declare war. Had Gregory protested, or even killed Clovis, I would have been willing to concede some justice; but Chilbert was only a party to the business through duplicity and arrogance. He has murdered for spite, as you have said, and he will be paid for it.”

  The Abbot next leaned forward a little. “Conan,” he said challengingly.

  My friend’s voice was quiet. “Yes?”

  “You have offered alliance in the past, and I refused to commit myself. Probably I was wrong.”

  Conan waved the suggestion of guilt aside. “There was nothing, as you saw it, to be gained by fighting before you had to, and you argued reasonably that I was too much of an unknown quantity.”

  “Exactly. But now I see that though the abbey will still gain nothing concrete by fighting, Chilbert means to swallow us if we don’t. And the fact that Gregory is now his man puts him in a good position for it. I always knew that the count wanted us to pay tithes to him, of course, but the killing of our envoy and the flaunting of that killing before us shows that he now thinks he has the force to crush us into helpless submission. I’d hoped that I could remain a balance of power that would leave us all free to guide our respective peoples as we see fit, but Chilbert won’t accept so rational a situation.”

  “No,” Conan agreed. “I’m no fool to want empire. I only want my people to be let alone to live as men. Chilbert does want empire, and he wants nobody to live as a man except himself.”

  The prelate slammed the table with the flat of his hand. “He wants to rule everything, so I say he shall rule nothing.” His strong face was seamed with lines of determination. “If you’ll ride with me now—for I think that now before he is ready to take the aggressive is the moment for the first blow—I pledge that the abbey will stand or fall with you.”

  So the pact was made at last, and we would take pleasure and confidence from the idea later. Just then, however, we could only remember that it had been formed because of a man we’d rather have alive. Subduedly we drank to the entente, then Conan ordered lunch to be brought inside to us. We ate sparingly, each one mulling over plans and contingencies in silence, then Conan sent for Jean and Rainault. After a few words of exp
lanation to them the council of war began.

  “Chilbert will no doubt be south again on his own proper holdings,” the Abbot said. “He’ll be getting ready to move against us right after his harvesting.”

  “We’re all waiting for that to be over,” Jean remarked. “Naturally there’s a temptation to gang and hammer them right away, but that means starving through the winter. There’s not much point in winning a victory if you’re going to be a skeleton after it.”

  The Abbot signified agreement. “All right. But they are probably reasoning that we are so reasoning.” He looked at Conan, his eyes far back in his head. “We’ve both had men murdered by a dog who did it just to defy us. I think the best cure for the arrogance of that dog is to prove that we can carry the war to him.”

  “That’s true.” Conan was thinking it out carefully. What with the harvest and the building of his new fort he had two vitally important projects that were occupying the full time of all his men. On the other hand the moral effect of an unexpected raid would put Chilbert and his allies healthily, if temporarily, on the defensive. And proof that Conan and the Abbot were acting in concert would give them much more to consider.

  Meanwhile I also had been giving the proposition attention. If my knowledge of the situation and terrain had blank spots it was none the less generally sound. “Look, Conan,” I said. “That day I first met you; whose lands were you on?”

  “Both the Old Farms are mine, but I was being chased off Chilbert’s land—Oliver’s holding.” His eyes lighted, then he squinted. “You’re right, brother.”

  “What’s he right about?” Rainault demanded.

  Conan drained his cup and thrust it aside. “We can’t afford a real invasion now any more than Chilbert can, but a quick harrying would be worthwhile provided there is a definite objective to pay the price of the risk. Chilbert’s own fort is too far away and too strong to consider now, but Oliver would be easier pickings. We might get near enough by night to be on him before he could crawl in his hole and pull it after him.

  “He’d do for an object lesson if we bagged him.” The Abbot drew his lips back from his teeth. “He’s one of the canniest chiefs, not counting Gregory, that Chilbert has under him.”

  “He is also,” Jean put in, “the next best louse, even counting Gregory. I rode up one time after he’d tied three peasants in a shack before he fired it.” He grimaced savagely.“They weren’t quite dead when I got there.”

  “You may get a chance to remind him of that,” Conan said.

  Rainault, who was captain of the garrison and who therefore went on expeditions only in cases of extreme emergency, looked at the rest of us with disgusted envy while we concluded our plans. “If this undertaking is satisfactory to you,” Conan said to the prelate, “I’ll contribute a third of the men I’ve got working on the fort. I can spare no more of them. The harvesting, you will understand, can’t be interfered with at all.”

  “Most of us are busy at it, too,” the Abbot said, “Yes, the plan is acceptable, and I’ll match you man for man.” He considered a moment. “The Old Farms would be the best place to meet, and the southeast corner of the far clearing would be the nearest point to Oliver’s hall.”

  “Right,” Conan said. “At sundown tomorrow?”

  “A good time,” the Abbot stated as he rose to leave.

  There was mutual confidence, but it was all too solemn and businesslike for any show of cordiality or enthusiasm. We four saw the churchman to the gates and bid him a quiet farewell. Then Conan swore feelingly. “I’ve got to tell Ann I’m riding again,” he said morosely.

  “You won’t have to wait long,” Rainault remarked. “Here she comes now.”

  I watched my friend put an arm around his wife and enter the hall with her, then I snapped my fingers. For once there was someone for me to talk things over with, too, and I went eagerly to find her.

  I may have swaggered a little as I did so, for I was exhilarated by the knowledge of my new position. This time I was not just something caught between the anvil and the hammer but a man striving to achieve definite goals whose winning would have a permanent bearing on my way of life. Why hell! and I shook my head at the amazing rightness of it, I was going out to fight for my chosen clan, my own land and living, my own woman. The more I thought about it and all it implied the more it went to my head. For the first time in my life I was contemplating battle with something like pleasure.

  On the other side of the hall I found Raymond and Marie, still seated at one of the otherwise empty lunch tables. She looked up to search my face as I stood smiling at her. “What happened?” she asked.

  “Oh, Conan and the Abbot made a treaty,” I said easily. “Mutual aid, stand or fall.”

  “And?” she prodded.

  “And they’re going to start activities right away. Or tomorrow, rather.”

  Her quick concern was gratifying. It was childish to take such delight in it, but I couldn’t remember when I’d had anybody concerned about me before. “And does ‘they’ include you?”

  “Surely,” I said, a little surprised. I thought she would have taken that for granted.

  She stood then, her eyes very large and serious. Raymond rose, too. “I wish I could go with you,” he said wistfully.

  With an expansive smile I clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry about it. This is just a small raid. The main party won’t come off for some while. By that time you’ll have enough meat on your bones to stand the gaff.”

  “Yes, but I wish I could show you and Conan what I can do,” he mumbled miserably.

  “You’ll have plenty of time.” I took one of Marie’s hands. “Will you get the hell out of here?” I asked him pleasantly.

  He started, then smiled slowly. “I’ll be up to see you leave tomorrow,” he promised as he sauntered off.

  The girl’s mouth twitched to a smile an instant before she resumed her sober appraisal of me. “You came to tell me right away,” she remarked strangely.

  “Of course.” I was so obsessed with my new point of view that I couldn’t fully appreciate why she might be struck by its suddenness.

  “That’s nice,” she decided. “Is it going to be dangerous, Finnian? No, that’s nothing to ask you after what you did for Conan. You don’t think in such terms.”

  I stared at her. God Jesus! If she only knew how scared I had been. I thought women knew everything about men, and sometimes I was convinced men were as strange as goblins to them. “This may not amount to anything at all,” I told her frankly. “Unless we’re lucky it’s only a gesture to give Chilbert and his hangers-on pause by letting them see that we’re acting in unison and are so far from being intimidated that we dare invasion. Of course, if we happen to stumble on something we may achieve practical gain as well.”

  “You’re speaking of yourself as part of this.” Her free hand motioned to include the court, then she put it on my arm. “Are you really, or are you thinking of that man?” She shuddered. “That fourth head that the Abbot showed us, I mean. I heard you cry out, Finnian.”

  She was all sweet comprehension then—everything that I could ask of a woman. “That man was dear to you, wasn’t he? What was he like?”

  I tried to tell her about it. I wanted to be able to talk to her naturally as Conan talked to Ann, but I began at the wrong end. “Oh, I only saw him two or three times.”

  Her face grew blank, and I knew that she had been anticipating some tale of life-long friendship. “You see,” I said earnestly, “he was killed not only because the Abbot sent him on a ticklish mission but because I was a man he’d do something for.”

  “And you felt that way about him. But why, if you hardly knew each other?”

  “Well, there are plenty of people you like just because they’re pleasant fellows who happen to infest the premises. Every now and then, though, you meet a man who actually knows what you’re saying and doing. Clovis was such.”

  “You’re funny and always will be,” she said, but sh
e reached up to pat my cheek. “You don’t do anything for rational motives the way anybody else might. All the others have axes to grind; but you’re going along because Chilbert murdered a man who laughed at the right time, or something.” She looked at me with affectionate amusement. “And you’ll never change.”

  I almost told her that I already had changed, that I was fighting now in hopes of earning my own land and hall. I almost told her that I knew the woman I wanted in my house, but two things deterred me. One was that the instinctive feeling that it would be better to wait until I had something specific to offer. The other and more forceful was the knowledge that this moment when she was lovely with warmth intimacy was no time to waste on words.

  With her pliant strength she was a fine woman to hold, and the way she answered my kiss showed she had good, hearty passion to meet a man’s need. But here in the court by daylight prolonged embraces were not in order. Reluctantly I dropped my arms and perched on the table beside her. Our talk was desultory, but its very casualness betokened the new strength of feeling between us.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  WE started before dawn, for we intended to rest both horses and men halfway there so that neither would be too tired for night travel. Early as it was everybody was up to see us leave. Marie looked pale and fragile under the single torch that lit a corner of the hall. I said farewell to her last and made no bones about the fact that I was not giving her a mere kiss of friendship.

  As I was turning from her I caught Ann’s eye upon us, a fleeting look of speculation lighting her anxiety at Conan’s going. Few women are ever too busy for matchmaking, I reflected as I followed Conan out. In this instance, I reasoned, it would be a good thing. Ann would probably brace Marie about it, with the lack of reticence concerning mating peculiar to the female. Yes, a little talking it up ought to help me along, and I had a pleasant vision of the two women discussing Conan and myself with respective possessiveness.