Fixing Forcalquier

by Eamonn Murphy

  "I would like to see, and hear, the Count," said Orcas. "And I am interested in this Council meeting at the end of...”

  He was interrupted by the door practically bursting open as Wade entered, wreathed in smiles and groceries, almost more than he could carry.

  "A few morsels to keep body and soul together," he proclaimed, setting the goods down on the table. Mij quickly grabbed a hunk of bread and crammed it into his mouth. Talking around it he explained the idea of having a small meal now and going to see the parade.

  "Fine," Wade agreed. "So we'll chew a few lumps of bread and cheese and sip a good red wine" - he grinned hugely at the prospect - "and then you can take these gentlemen to see the Count. I'll not bother myself; seen enough parades in my day. I'll stay here and prepare a feast for tonight."

  "That's what I thought you would say." Mij hunted through the basket of groceries and quickly produced a large lump of yellow cheese to go with the loaf he already clutched. Wade fetched some knives, plates and clay cups then filled the latter with wine, a local brew. Orcas sipped it. Orph drained his cup in one smooth gulp.

  "Lovely!" he announced. "For my taste, nothing beats a good, full-bodied peasant red wine."

  Wade smiled and drained his own cup in a similar manner, then refilled them both. The little man consumed this one at a moderate pace and told them a story about a man who could have eaten all the groceries Wade had brought, by himself, and still had room for more. This remarkable character was known as Fat Eddie, according to Orph, and lived in a huge city with the unlikely name of Chicago. Mij looked suitably astounded at this information; Wade wore a doubtful but amused expression and Orcas reacted with a resigned sigh:

  "You and your stories," he said.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The main square of Forcalquier was busy now; the taverns so full inside that men had to cluster outside also, on the streets. They waved flagons of ale, hailed passers-by noisily, but cheerfully, and shouted greetings at friends across the street who could not possibly have heard them amid that raucous din. The more boisterous crowd occupied the northern side of the square, which was particularly well blessed with taverns, and consisted mostly of farmers and day-labourers, many of them come in from the countryside around just for this event. As usual, on such occasions, some men were preposterously drunk. A few countrymen were condemning town dwellers as soft idlers, a few townsmen were labelling all country folk as oafs, but in general, they were a cheerful and well-contented mob.

  Those natives not indulging in ale were assembled on the south side of the square, near the church and the fountain. Between these two landmarks was the steep road to the citadel, down which the Count and his entourage would come. The market stalls had been cleared away soon after noon and now, in the centre of the Bourget, a wooden dais had been erected. The Count would ascend it, make a speech and then exit the square westwards down the main street, taking another road around the knoll and on to the back entrance of his castle. Crowds lined the entire route.

  Orcas and Orph had taken up a position by the fountain but after a few minutes, Orph declared a desire to move. "This side of the square is for sober citizens," he said, drawing amused glances from a few of the ladies and gentlemen nearby. "I want to be over there among the tavern-goers." His companions acquiesced and so they began, politely, to elbow their way through the crowd. In a quieter voice, Orph said to Orcas: "We're gathering information and alcohol loosens lips. The chatty personnel yonder are what we need."

  Mij, well fed for the first time in weeks, was quietly happy. Since all his days were passed now in enforced idleness a day off made no difference to him, but he was enjoying the festivities. However, as they traversed the square he saw, on the eastern side, a group of men to whom idleness was a luxury and his mood changed abruptly. Making the most of their day off they were just about the noisiest of the revellers. Mij pointed them out to his companions.

  "Look, over there. See that large group of drunken men?" His new friends looked, saw, nodded. "They're Baron Phiord's workers."

  "So?" Orph shrugged, seeing no significance in the name.

  Mij described the men in a few choice words; the kind that his mother, were she still alive, would not have been pleased to hear.

  "You don't like them," Orcas ventured to guess.

  Mij spat. "They're the cause of all our troubles. Farmer's sons," he sneered, "making themselves out to be craftsmen."

  Orcas was about to question him on this when a great roar went up from the crowd, drowning out all hope of conversation.

  "The Count! The Count!" they cried loudly. Hats were flung high in the air and hands were banged noisily together in applause as the leading soldiers in the procession appeared between church and fountain. Mij, loyal to the city despite his grievances, cheered as loudly as the rest. Orph and Orcas clapped with feigned enthusiasm, not wishing to appear conspicuous.

  "He's certainly popular enough!" shouted Orph into his friend’s ear. "Or seems to be. Mind you, there was a ruler once called Joe Stalin who so terrified his people that no one dared to be the first to stop clapping when he appeared in public."

  Orcas smiled. "I don't think that's the case here."

  "Let's get to the bar while everyone's enthralled." Orph tapped Mij to alert him and then continued pushing through the crowd. With some difficulty, they reached a tavern and made it to the counter. Orph ordered three flagons of ale, which were promptly served, and they moved outside again, where the majority of people were positioned. Inside was empty except for those dedicated boozers who would not have moved for Doomsday, never mind a parade.

  The procession reached the dais. Count Guilham II ascended the steps while the mounted guards surrounded it to keep the crowds away. They were an impressive body of men: their helmets gleamed; their chain-mail hung loosely on their magnificent physiques; their heavy shields, made of wood with a covering of thick leather, were carried easily on their strong left arms, and although their swords were sheathed no man watching could doubt that their strong right arms were well able to wield those weapons effectively. This was the cream of the cream of Forcalquier's military might.

  The Count stood on the stage with the Princess Garsenda posed decorously behind him, as befitting a dutiful daughter. Although he was long past youth his bearing was still upright and proud, with none of that shaky gracelessness the elderly sometimes acquire. A plain war helmet, like that of his guards, sat on his head and there was a sword strapped to his side. A purple cloak indicated his rank. He was of average height, very broad shouldered, with short legs which seemed to be curved around an imaginary horse; in such a way do the legs of cavalry grow. His nose was as outsize as his shoulders and flanked by two piercing black eyes, giving him a hawkish appearance which was not at odds with his personality. His beard was black, short and shaped into a jutting point which, in profile, brought it out to a line with the jutting beak above in a neatly symmetrical if not particularly pretty manner. All in all, he was a fine figure of a Count.

  Princess Garsenda was about the same height as her Father and, up close, some of his strength of character and intelligence could be determined in her own coal black eyes. Fortunately, she had inherited her Mother's nose and her Mother's looks generally, in fact. Her lips were full and shapely and the line of her jaw was a smooth, graceful oval. Her nose was small with a delicate little curve lending it extra charm, especially in profile; her complexion was perfection. Her hair was long, black, shiny and beautiful. She was dressed in a red silken robe which stretched in one piece from her neck to her sandaled feet, belted at the waist with a simple white cord. A gold necklace adorned her bosom and there were two gold bangles on her right arm. Her bearing was as proud and haughty as her father's. Such an air is quickly acquired by the exercise of unresisted authority, and by incessant flattery from underlings currying favour. But getting your own way all the time isn't particularly good for the character, and the Princess' chara
cter was, therefore, not particularly good. In a later age, she might have been called a spoilt brat.

  The people listened to the Count, looked at the Princess, and sipped ale into the bargain. As a result, three senses were pleasantly occupied for them on that typically Provencal summer afternoon. The sky was cloudless and blue; the air was clear and bore the scent of the forest all around. The sun beat down relentlessly on the open square, making men and horses sweat. Ladies, of course, perspired. The Count's deep, clear voice could be heard even at the farthest extremity of the crowd, namely those tavern doorways where loyal but thirsty citizens tended to congregate. Many of these listened with only half their attention, or less, and carried on their own conversations at the same time. One such exchange caught the attention of Orph and he nudged Orcas, indicating the speakers with a twitch of his head. Mij noticed and cocked an ear as well.

  "It was grey and noisy and bigger than a house!" The speaker was a short, stout, middle-aged man with prematurely white hair and a huge, grizzled white beard which protruded pugnaciously from his chin. Following this brief exclamation, he took a long gulp of beer and smacked his lips. Evidently, he had already imbibed quite a portion because he was not wholly steady on his stumpy legs and his words, while not exactly slurred, lacked the crispness of diction one associates with complete sobriety.

  "I don't believe you." The other party to the conversation was much younger, barely out of his teens; a sulky looking individual with lank, black hair and a long narrow face.

  "It's true! As true as I'm stood here," returned the old man firmly. "We barely escaped from the forest alive. It was only because the horses were so panicked by the dragon and put on a burst of speed that we made it at all, and we left our cargo behind." He sighed: "Four cartloads of good barley mangled. What a waste!"

  "I don't believe a word of it." The young man issued a snort that was both derisive and dismissive, a double-entendre French snort. "Dragons. Bah!" With that he marched firmly away, his manner making it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with old fools telling tall tales. The white-haired man was left in that peculiarly frustrating position of having a good story to tell and no listeners - a bit like being all dressed up with no place to go. He was forlornly sipping his ale, glancing around now and then in search of an acquaintance, when Orcas stepped up to him.

  "I couldn't help overhearing your story," he said, "and I'm very interested." Orph moved beside his friend and nodded to indicate his own curiosity. "Could you tell us about the dragon? Where were you and what were you doing when it attacked?"

  The old man grinned delightedly, moistened his throat with a long slurp of beer and happily resumed the role of raconteur.

  "It was yesterday. I'm a farmer, by the way. I decided to harvest the barley a bit early and bring it to market for the holiday; four cartloads as I said. I live out near the village of Peyruis, quite a way from here, and the forest is between us and Forcalquier so we had no choice but to go through it."

  "You couldn't go around?" asked Orph.

  "It would take about a week. No, through the forest it had to be." He took another sip of ale. "Now, I've heard rumours about dragons of course, but I decided they were nonsense. I've lived hereabouts nearly fifty years man and boy and there have never been any dragons, except in stories for children. So we took the forest trail, as usual."

  "We?" inquired Orcas.

  "Me and my three sons; one driving each wagon." The old man paused. "I have four sons actually but the other one has gone off" - here his mouth curled and his whole face assumed a disgusted expression as if he had found a rat in his beer - "to make shoes."

  He spat the noun with a contempt that brought a frown to Mij's cobbler features. "Is that any fit occupation for a farmer's son? And here it is nearly autumn, the crops to be got in soon and all hands needed for the job. A damn disgrace. Shoes! Well, I..."

  "The Dragon." Orcas gently nudged him back to his tale.

  "Oh yes. Well, we were making our way down the forest trail yesterday morning; four carts in single file; eight horses. It was getting towards noon when we heard this loud, crashing noise over to the west of us. We sped up, naturally, urging the teams to a faster pace to get away. I didn't think it was a dragon then. I didn't know what it was. It sounded like the end of the world, a terrible, cracking, creaking sort of din, like timber being snapped. But it was gaining on us fast, too fast, and I realised we couldn't get away, not pulling those big heavy carts of barley, even with two horses to the cart; and good horses I have too, mark you. Fine, strong brutes fit to pull any amount of barley. The best horses around here, I bet you! Why, Farmer Guerrin offered me...."

  "What happened?" Mij was driven to interrupt this time. Allowed to relate the incident after his own manner the garrulous farmer would have informed them of every aspect of his daily life, and perhaps never finished telling them about the dragon.

  "Ah," said the old man, looking temporarily nonplussed. With a reproachful look at the boy, he got back to the point. "Well, I realised we couldn't escape towing the carts so I ordered my lads to release the horses, mount the fastest of them and get away. The loose ones would follow, or even go ahead, but wouldn't stray much. They've been together a long time and horses are social animals; they wouldn't leave their friends.”

  “Well, no sooner had we got them unhitched and mounted them than the dragon appeared. Huge! We could see his big, lizard head over the treetops, his mouth open showing huge teeth. Huge teeth! He roared, a sound to make the devil tremble in Hell, rose up on his hind legs and charged. We panicked. We all stood, even the horses, paralysed with fear. Then it bent down, quick as a fox - you wouldn't believe something so big could move that fast - and," here the old man gulped, "ate a horse."

  "No!" Mij was appalled.

  The farmer nodded. Now he became excited, waving his arms around and speaking very quickly: "Grabbed it in his jaws and bit it in two like you would grab a piece of chicken. The horse... Well, it was quick at least. After that, we bolted and the horses needed no urging to make their best speed either, I can tell you! We had our work cut out to stay on them, especially without saddles, for of course they had been hitched to the wagon. We crashed through the trees with the branches near knocking us off our steeds, and their hooves pounding and them whinnying in terror as they ran and us all shouting and the dragon chasing us, roaring and breathing fire, and...."

  "The dragon didn't breathe fire." Orcas' voice, cold and flat, interrupted the farmer's wild enthusiasm.

  "Eh? Well now, I was there young man and if I say..." He met the tall man's steely gaze and stopped abruptly.

  "It didn't breathe fire, did it now?" Orcas was gentler, almost cajoling as he said it again. He smiled reassuringly: "I like to embellish a tale, sir, and my companion here," he indicated Orph, "can embroider one beyond all recognition; but you have no need. A dragon so big that it eats horses in one bite is quite terrible enough without flame."

  The old man nodded sheepishly. Mij said, "You believe it then, Orcas? There really are dragons?"

  Orcas clapped the farmer on the shoulder. "This brave man has said so and, yes, I believe it." He handed the raconteur a denarius. "Thank you for your time, sir. Buy another ale at my expense."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  While the Count was addressing the crowd Mij and his new friends had been listening to the old man. By the time they returned their attention to the Lord of Forcalquier he had quit the square and was heading down the main street with his entourage. Mij looked forlornly at their retreating backs.

  "I didn't see much of the Count, what with him and his dragon."

  "We only missed a speech," said Orph cheerily; "a lot of flattery and platitudes to soothe the mob. Personally, I prefer a good story, though that wasn't a particularly good one."

  "Wasn't it?" Mij had been very impressed.

  "No! Not at all! Why I knew a man once who had slain three hundred dragons. Danny
Dragon-Slayer, of Ireland. He was easily the best..."

  "Three hundred!" Mij goggled in disbelief.

  "Three hundred," Orph returned calmly. "The first one nearly killed him, he told me, and the next nine weren't so easy either, but after that, he began to get the knack. Dragon slaying is just like any other occupation; after a while it becomes routine." The little man paused to wet his mouth and moustache with beer. "He had a system you see, which he completely perfected after thirty or so dragons. First, having located the dragon, of course, he would let it spot him and pretend to run away. His horse, I should mention, was specially trained to....."

  "Orph, you could talk the hind leg off a donkey," Orcas interrupted. "Let's go back to Wade's."

  The crowd had already begun to disperse, some attempting to follow their leader down the main street, others homeward in their several directions and others back into the taverns. It was not difficult for Mij and his companions to make their way across the square and up, once again, to the narrow streets on the hillside.

  "Orcas," Mij said suddenly as they crossed the square. "I have a question."

  "So?"

  "How do you know the dragon didn't breathe fire? As the farmer said, he was there; you weren't."

  "I reasoned," replied Orcas, "that the forest is very dry, and has been for a week at least. It hasn't rained here for quite a while, has it?"

  "Almost a month," the boy admitted. "But that's not unusual in summer, and a dry spell is always followed by a big storm."

  Orcas nodded. "So with the trees bone dry a fire-breathing dragon would very quickly start a conflagration - a huge forest fire. And since there obviously hasn't been one, no fire from the dragon."

  "Brilliant Holmes!" said Orph.

  "Elementary," Orcas replied promptly and smiled. Mij looked from one to the other in confusion; the exchange had obviously been some sort of private joke but it was beyond him.