“The far North sounds like a terrible place,” Alice said.
“And yet that is where unicorns live,” Henri said.
Alice laughed uneasily, no longer sounding so sure that unicorns were a myth.
“After a long voyage,” Henri said, “where we passed mountains of ice that floated in the sea—”
Richard snorted rudely. “I have a fever, Henri, but my wits aren’t addled. Who ever heard of ice-mountains that float in the sea?”
“Doesn’t ice float?” Henri asked.
Richard shrugged.
“Of course it does,” Henri said. “Why then can’t a mountain of ice float in salt water?”
“What do you think?” Richard asked Alice.
“You swear before God that this is true?” Alice asked Henri.
“I so swear,” Henri said. “These mountains fall off the vast ice sheets that grow on this barren land. The sound of their falling into the sea, which I heard once, is a terrible thing. The sight of it fills one with fear. And the wave created by this falling mountain is almost enough to swamp small boats.”
“Maybe there really are such things as ice-mountains,” Alice said to Richard.
Richard shook his head in wonder.
“In any case,” Henri said, “we soon came to the east coast of Greenland. Never have I seen a more desolate and barren land. Green had nothing to do with it.”
“So why was it named that?” Alice asked.
“Because long ago its first settler, Eric the Red—”
“A Viking?” asked Alice.
“Yes,” said Henri, surprisingly tolerant of all the interruptions. “Eric the Red had been an outlaw Viking from Iceland. He first discovered Greenland and named it so. The reason, I learned, was so others would be encouraged to come back with him to settle it.”
“I want to hear about the unicorn,” Richard said impatiently.
Henri smiled. “I discovered it during their terrible hunt. Oh, it was a grim and merciless hunt, one that made the slaying of Old Sloat a small thing—even though that was a terrible feat in its own right.”
“What sort of hunt could be more terrible than slaying Old Sloat?” Richard asked.
“Why, the annual hunting of walruses,” Henri said. “But before I speak on that, I should tell you a little about Greenland and its people. The captain told me, as we spent grim days and nights dodging the floating ice-mountains, that in the old days the ice-mountains didn’t float down as far south. He told me that year by year Greenland grew colder. In the days of Eric the Red, Greenland had not been quite as formidable. The fjords didn’t freeze up as soon , nor in winter did the ice come down so far into the grassy fields near the sea. If you can believe this, the seawater began to freeze in late August, while by October the fjords were utterly icebound.”
“Water froze while it was still summer?” Alice said. “How terrible.”
“I agree,” Henri said. “And I suppose so do most other people, for there are only two settlements in Greenland: The East Settlement and the West Settlement. They are hidden deep within tall-walled fjords, sheltered from the arctic winds. There sod-stone houses are built and low sod-stone barns. The growing season is short, but hay and wheat can be grown that feeds the cattle through the lean and bitter winters. Sometimes, when spring returns, the animals have to be carried out to the fields because they’ve become too weak to walk alone.”
“They’re kept in the barns all winter long?” Richard asked.
Henri nodded. “Even so, Greenland has an abundance of wild animals. There are polar bears that provide luxuriant white fur, small silver foxes and reindeer. The sea around Greenland teems with fish of all kinds, along with seals and walruses. There are also, especially in spring and summer, hordes of birds. The Greenlanders feast on eggs during certain times of the year. The most prized bird, however, is the Greenland falcon.”
“Yes!” Alice said, snapping her fingers. “I’ve read Emperor Frederick’s book.”
“On the Art of Falconry?” asked Henri.
“The same,” Alice said. “The Greenland falcon is considered the best hunter in the world. Huge sums are paid for them. They are rare and hard to acquire.”
“Greenland provides its people with these things, but it lacks wood or salt or metal,” Henri said. “The Cologne Koggen was therefore filled with these things, and with grain. The German captain traded briskly and well. However, he wanted more walrus tusks. A ton had been given to the bishop who’d traveled to Greenland with us. It was the Greenlander’s tithe to Rome. Little ivory was left for the captain.
“The Greenlanders who I’d become friends with asked me if I wished to go with them to Nordrsetur. I learned that this was even farther north, where in midsummer the sun hardly ever set. There, I was told, in a great bay were low stone fields upon which the walruses thronged as they raised their young. I agreed, because I’d also been told that ‘unicorns’ might be seen. The men laughed as they said that, but at the time I didn’t understand why.”
“Unicorns thrived in that land of ice and stone?” Richard asked.
“We left in small boats,” Henri said, “ten men to a vessel. The big Greenlanders rowed for several long days, and it was then that I saw and heard an ice-mountain fall into the sea. Our boat was rocked by the wave and freezing saltwater sloshed around our feet. The men continuously grumbled about the colder than normal weather, while the oldest said that in their youth it had been warmer in Greenland. Then at last, we came to Nordrsetur. I’ll never forget the sight.
“There were vast herds of bellowing walruses. They are mighty, brown beasts which are bigger than the biggest pigs and grow tusks out of their whiskered faces. They slide and hump across the stony land because they have no feet.”
“What?” Richard asked in outrage. “That’s preposterous!”
“No,” Henri said. “They have flippers instead of feet, and when in the water they move quickly and with grace. On land, however they lumber and jiggle their vast blubbery bulks like behemoths. Such was their number, strength and viciousness that it was impossible to hunt them on land. No, the hardy Greenlanders harpooned them at sea. These walruses weren’t docile, but fought back. It was a dangerous sport. One boat was sunk, and three men drowned before they could be rescued. We had to rub the survivors because the cold water almost chilled them to death. I marveled at these Greenlanders, that they dared to face the walruses. No knight ever faced a more dangerous foe. To live in that bleak land took courage. It was fit place for the descendants of Vikings.
“Then,” Henri said, his voice becoming softer, “then I saw the unicorn.”
“Among the walruses?” Alice asked.
“In a way, yes,” Henri said, his voice taking a far-off quality. “For you see, the unicorns are whales. Not giant whales, but sleek, black and white-mottled beasts which travel in packs.”
“What?” Richard asked in renewed outrage.
“I tell you the truth,” Henri said. “On the forehead of these whales grows the single spiral unicorn horn that you see before you. The Greenlanders told me that these whales used the horns to break through the ice in winter so they can breathe. And the males used the horns to duel against each other for the females during the mating season.”
“Unicorns are small whales?” Alice asked in disbelief.
Henri lifted his box. “All of Europe has evidence of unicorns. These horns, I mean. The merchants of Cologne and the Greenlanders themselves sell them because of the great price people are willing to pay. The source, however, is not a beautiful horse-like animal, but small whales that are beautiful in their own right.
“The Greenlanders, I’m sad to say, rowed after these whales and harpooned two of them. Then they hauled the poor beasts onto land, butchered them and tore off the great spiral horns. I was appalled. But I bought a horn nevertheless, for such I had promised my fair lady back in Normandy. For such had I gone on my quest.”
“What did your lady say upon seeing the
horn?” Alice asked.
Henri couldn’t keep the hurt off his face. He said softly, “She had married another in my absence. Both her lord and she laughed at my foolishness. They mocked me, and then the lord had his servants whip me from his sight.”
“Oh, Henri,” Alice said. “How awful.”
“No,” Henri said, shaking his head. “I learned in the far North that unicorns were myths, illusions if you will. In Normandy, I learned that ‘true love’ was also a myth, an illusion by which we fool ourselves. From that time, I became wise. From that time, I no longer strove to become a knight, but a minstrel instead.”
“Why a minstrel rather than a knight?” asked Richard.
Henri gave a wry smile for an answer. The reason was simple, although he wasn’t going to tell these two. A knight was supposed to fight for justice, or so the stories said. A knight was supposed to protect ladies and help the poor. Where in all of Christendom did this take place? Henri didn’t know, and he didn’t care to take part in yet another illusion. Rather, he mocked himself as he mocked others with his tales. It seemed more honest than pretending to be something that he wasn’t.
Alice took the box and laid it on her lap, studying the ‘unicorn’ horn.
Richard began to pepper the minstrel with questions about the walrus hunt. He wanted all the grisly details. Henri obliged, giving a blow-by-blow account. Richard listened intently, absorbed with the exotic hunting tale.
Henri left nothing out, and he watched as Richard’s eyes finally became heavy. Maybe a half-hour later the big squire began to snore. Alice motioned to him, and the two of them arose and stepped way from the big bed.
“He needs to sleep,” she whispered, pulling the cord and letting the blue curtains fall into place.
“I’d better leave,” Henri said.
“Wait,” Alice said, gently taking hold of his arm and pulling him farther away from the big bed. “I-I have a request.”
Henri raised his eyebrows, hearing the hidden plea in her voice. He wondered if he should try to take her in his arms now. His tale had almost left him too sad to try. His thoughts still lingered on his lost love, on the red-haired beauty that was forever beyond him.
Alice surprised him by saying, “You said before that your lady was trapped. And you also said that I reminded you of her.”
“In your situations, yes, although the two of look very different.”
“Would you have helped her escape her trap?” asked Alice.
“But of course.”
“Then help me escape mine.”
Henri was instantly alert, knowing the price of failure for such a deed. “My lady,” he asked, “why come to me, a mere minstrel?”
“You know why, Henri. No one else will help me escape.”
He’d be a fool to get involved with castle intrigues. He tried deflection. “Wouldn’t Cord the dog boy help you escape?”
“Why do you mention him?” Alice asked suspiciously. “Does he talk about me?”
“It merely seems reasonable to me that he also would want to flee Pellinore Castle. And with your guile….” Henri grinned at the sudden stiffening of her face. “Please, milady. Let us not play useless games. You are wily, this I’ve seen for myself. Maybe you are trapped, but you’ve not let that frighten you. You’ve fought back with the tools at hand. Your greatest tool, other than your beauty, is your ample supply of wits.”
“These are the words that will sweep me off my feet?” she asked scornfully.
“Milady?”
“You accuse me of guile, minstrel. I accuse you of lust. The thought of me being naked inflames you.”
“You speak frankly. I admire that.”
“No, you merely grow more lustful because I speak the way I do. That’s what makes you grin like a self-satisfied cat.”
He stepped closer. “Are you saying that if I give you this help that you will give yourself to me?”
“This I most certainly am not saying, my dear Henri. Whatever happened to your lady to change her I do not want to happen to me.”
“Milady?”
“I will not use men by claiming to love them and then toss them aside like castoff garments.”
“Why disallow yourself one of womankind’s greatest tools?” he asked.
“No! I will not!”
“Very well….” Henri said slowly, disappointed, but admiring her for her noble stand, and for the difficulty of acquiring her. He realized that he would help her. And the wily smile on her face told him that she knew that too.
“Here’s my plan,” she said. “Tell me what you think.”
Chapter Sixteen
The warm wind ruffled Alice’s golden hair. She’d tied it with a thong so it lay in a single braid down her back. Instead of her flowing white dress, she now wore green-colored hunting clothes, long leather wraps around her calves and supple deerskin boots. The warm wind, which snapped the Pellinore banner above her, smelled of freshly mown hay. Far below tiny peasants swung sickles. Two teams of cart and oxen stood near the peasants. Women tied the hay into bundles, while the strongest peasants pitch-forked the hay onto the carts. They mowed the hillside grass as part of their obligation to Baron Hugh, or now to his son Guy.
Alice stood on the castle’s highest battlement, beside the flagpole, peering intently at Pellinore Village. The tiny peasants, clad in their earth-colored clothes and swinging their shiny sickles, lived in that village. Alice watched Pellinore Village for signs of Lady Eleanor and Lady Martha’s return. Her carefully worked plan rested upon them.
The warm wind shifted. The Pellinore banner with its arrogant motto cracked above. Alice felt movement on her arm. She wore a leather gauntlet. Upon the thick deerskin glove perched her falcon, Jael, a merciless bird.
She’d named the falcon after a biblical heroine, one she’d learned about from her father’s old priest at Gareth Castle. Long ago, the ancient Israelites had been ruled over by a bloodthirsty Canaanite king. The king’s general, a mighty warrior and a dreadfully fierce knight (or so Alice had been taught) had awed the Israelites for twenty years with his nine hundred iron chariots and by his terrible valor. At last, God had heard the pleas of the Israelites and sent them a prophetess. The prophetess went to Barak, the greatest Israeli knight, and told him how to defeat the dreadful Canaanite knight. Barak listened, but he was afraid and demanded that the prophetess go with him on this quest. She told him that because of his cowardice the honor of killing the dreadful knight would fall to a woman. According to the old priest, God helped Barak smash the nine hundred iron chariots and slay the enemy warriors. But the mighty enemy general, the dreadful knight who for twenty years had lorded it over Israel, escaped on foot into the desert. He came to a tent where Jael lived. This mighty warrior crawled into the tent, begged for food and water and then told Jael, whose husband was the Canaanite king’s ally, to stand by the entrance and warn him if his enemies approached. Then he fell into an exhausted sleep. Jael, who was an Israelite and remembered her childhood oaths, prayed to God for courage. Taking up simple domestic tools, she crept up to the terrible knight and with a hammer, she drove a tent peg through his brain. Thus, she defeated him who no man ever had or ever would.
Likewise, Jael the falcon struck mercilessly and with brutal precision. In the Eastern style, Jael wore a small leather hood. Gold thread had been wound into the hood and precious pearls sewn on. The hood, which blinded Jael, helped keep her docile. Yellow silk jesses kept Jael tied to the gauntlet lest she suddenly try to fly away. Two tiny silver bells, inscribed with Alice’s name, were affixed to the sturdy legs. Thus when Jael flew one could hear the tinkling and spot her more easily. Also, if Jael should fly away or become lost, searchers could find her more easily if they heard the tinkling. And God help the peasant who found the bird but didn’t return it. The bailiff would enforce the strict laws, which called for a heavy fine or the allowing of the hawk to eat six ounces of muscle out of the offender’s chest.
Like most medieval nob
ility, the gentlefolk of Pellinore Fief took their hawking seriously.
The warm wind shifted again, gently buffeting Alice’s face. She looked down from Pellinore Castle’s highest battlement. The hay smell was strong. She smiled, and with her index finger, she stroked Jael. She loved her falcon, not least because she’d risked so much to gain her. Normally, she took Jael everywhere with her.
Father Bernard had said that she shouldn’t take Jael to mass, but Sir Philip had on occasion taken his various hawks, as Sir Walter and Lady Martha had taken theirs.
Alice squinted. She saw horses, and the brilliant finery meant that Lady Eleanor rode back to the castle.
Moving quickly, Alice headed for the spiral stairs. She hoped Cord would keep his agreement. She still couldn’t believe what Cord had said when she and Henri had gone to ask for his help. Just thinking about it angered her anew…
***
“There he is,” Alice said, pointing out Cord as he stepped into the low-built kennel.
“Let’s follow,” Henri said.
Alice hung back, suddenly uncertain how to ask for the dog boy’s help. Did she even want to ask his help? What if he refused?
“Let’s go,” Henri urged. “The kennel is the perfect place for us to speak to him in secret.”
“I don’t know,” Alice said.
Henri gave her a shrewd glance.
That angered her. “Come on,” she said, marching to the kennel.
They found Cord tossing bloody chunks of meat to the barking brutes. The dog boy had to bend his neck in order to stand in the kennel. He looked surprised to see them, although when his eyes meet Alice’s he grinned.
She smiled back, certain now that he would help. Standing in these tight quarters, she was more aware then ever of his size. And his shoulders were so broad, especially when compared to Henri’s. And his eyes were so frank and honest, his face—
Stop it!
“Cord, we need your help,” Henri said.
Cord nodded and waited.
“We must ask that whether you agree with what we plan or not that you’ll keep silent about it,” Henri said.
The Rogue Knight Page 24
