Swords From the Sea

by Harold Lamb

  Bryn sat up in the grass, looking out into the field. Soon a smile touched his dark face.

  Two fellows in long shirts had come down the road. Seeing the horse Malik grazing in the field, they had thought him to be astray without master. A fine beast, they thought, and went into the field to take him in hand for themselves.

  Now Bryn watched them as they went up to the charger, who tossed his head and moved away. The rogues followed after, and again Malik walked off. Bryn chewed on his stalk, at ease in the shade. And then the fellows separated, one going up to Malik's head and the other behind him. Malik lifted his head and screamed-he wheeled and reared, striking down at the man behind him with his forefoot. And that man yelled, rolling in the grass with a broken shoulder bone. Malik wheeled again, catching the arm of the other in his teeth.

  He was angry now, the charger. And the rogue would have had a broken arm if Bryn had not whistled. Malik pricked his ears and loosed the thief, to canter off to where his master sat. So the two fellows picked themselves up and ran for the road with flying legs.

  "A fine fighter he surely is," said a clear voice behind the soldier. In a second Bryn was on his feet, his hand on his sword hilt.

  Then he laughed at himself. For the voice was young, and smooth as running water-a girl's voice. She stood there in the flecked sunlight between two trees, within a pebble's toss of him.

  "Aye," agreed Bryn, "a champion of fighters he is-he has no match beyond the sea."

  He forgot his hunger and shaded his eyes with his sword hand to see the better. He forgot the two rogues, and took a step forward. For the girl was looking eagerly at Malik. Slim and straight she stood, a bare arm lifted against the heavy mass of her hair. The hood of her gray cloak was thrown back upon her shoulders. She had a broad smooth forehead and full bright lips, ripe for kissing.

  "Stay your step, messire," she said.

  Then he saw that she held in one hand a bow already strung-no plaything, but a longbow that-and an arrow with an iron point in the fingers of the hand. Into her eyes came a flash of anger. Bryn wanted much to see the color of those eyes, and to lay his hand upon the heavy tresses that overhung her slight breast. A fire that was more than the sun's heat burned in him.

  "A bargain I will make with you, Demoiselle Diana," he said gravely. "I will not put hand or slight upon you-fair though you are-but you shall sit and speak with me a while. Soon or late it will come to that between us-"

  It was a long speech for Bryn Briogan, and the sight of her tangled his tongue like wine. But the maid's answer came clear as a bell's note:

  "Think not to beguile me-I will not have it. Keep your distance, Mes sire the Uncouth, or this arrow will pass between us and you will find your death upon it."

  Bryn was not minded to stay his step for this war gear in a maid's hand.

  "Let fly the arrow then," he said, "if you must."

  And he walked forward, smiling. No word of warning did she give him, except the flame of anger in her eyes. Her body tensed, the bow came up, and the slim white arm swept back. Bryn bent his knees and flung himself to one side. Even as he did so, the shaft whistled by his shoulder, ripping through a fold of his mantle.

  He rolled over and sprang up warily. But the sun-flecked space between the trees stood empty, and the maid had vanished.

  Only Malik remained by him, looking at him, startled. Whereupon Bryn laughed aloud, jerking back the headstall upon the horse. "By heaven, Malik, we were worsted-she rolled me in the grass like a cup-shot rogue!"

  Nearby stood a ruined gray tower, covered with ivy. Bryn would have searched it, but he fancied that the girl was in there, and he could not dodge a shaft sped from cover.

  He was musing upon her as he rode up the highway and heard horses trotting toward him. Four men came into sight-the leader a noble in furtipped mantle. A heavy man, with a roving eye and long, curled ringlets. He stared at Bryn, who drew rein and saluted him without moving aside.

  "Eh," the stout Burgundian said, "what is your name, and whom do you serve?"

  "Seigneur, I am Bryn Briogan, once of Ireland, and lately knight of the city of Jerusalem."

  "Another starveling from over the sea," muttered my lord, glancing at Bryn's spurs, from which the gilt had long since worn off. "What would you have?"

  "Faith, decent service and a seat at table."

  The stout nobleman ran his eye down the stained leather jacket and worn scabbard of the Irish crusader and frowned. "An empty purse and belly, hein? Well, I am governor of this island, by the Duke's grace, and I am weary of begging crusaders and their tales. Why should I pay for an idle sword?" He looked shrewdly at Bryn's black charger. "Yet have I need of a horse like this. I'll give you thirty ducats for him."

  Bryn shook his head and smiled.

  "Forty, then-silver ducats of Paris weight." The Seigneur de Ferrand slapped his stout wallet, which jangled cheerily. "Forty-five? With the saddle, fifty? Come now, what's your price?"

  "'Tis more than your purse holds."

  "By the Devil, his horns-"

  "Because," said Bryn gravely, "I will not sell this horse."

  De Ferrand's brow darkened, then cleared. "Sir Bryn, you are a right stubborn man. If you will not sell the charger, you will not. Then come you to the chateau." When the crusader was silent, the Burgundian added jovially, "At the least, sit and sup with us. I will not have a man ride hungry from my land."

  "Then I will do it," said Bryn, but he was thinking of the girl who lived in the broken tower beneath them. And De Ferrand, trotting at his side, glanced covertly at black Malik, knowing that the poverty-ridden crusader bestrode a better horse than his own.

  Bryn had a great hunger in him, and that evening he plied dagger and fist in the cold veal pie and the dish of pigeon and boar's steak, and washed down his throat with wine.

  Still, he had the feeling that the men were looking at him stealthily. Some of them whispered in a dialect he did not know. The biggest of them, Hugo, the Genoese captain of the garrison, lifted his goblet and hailed Bryn:

  "Par Dex, Sir Wanderer, will you drink with me?"

  He leaned across the board, and they clicked goblets. Hugo had an arm that could break a bull's ribs.

  Out of the corner of his eye Bryn saw that the monk at the table made the sign of the cross as they did this. Nor did De Ferrand join them in drinking. Instead the lord of the chateau leaned back in his high chair, plump white fingers plucking at his beard.

  Hugo, however, sprawled at ease, his restless eyes moist with wine. "Cup for cup, Sir Bryn-and tale for tale. Now they tell me this charger of yours is a great fighting beast, and a king's ransom will not buy him."

  Bryn nodded.

  "Well, that may be," grunted Hugo, "but I have a young Spanish devil will carry me twenty leagues between sundown and sun-up."

  "That is good," Bryn assented, "but my black beast Malik bath not his match for speed in the East. And the colts here are plow horses beside him. He will not let anything go past his head." Bryn's voice dropped into a soft chanting. "Sure, it was at the rising of the moon the power came on him. It was out of Damascus where the winds whisk through the hills. The wind came strong behind us, and it put a slight upon the horse, to feel it passing him.

  "He stretched out, speeding faster and faster, but still the wind passed him. Then he took longer leaps and the power came upon him. He leaped high, over the trees without touching hoof to ground. Faster he went, until he left behind him the clouds of the sky, and he felt the wind on his nose. Then he was satisfied and drew himself in and came down gently."

  Silence fell upon the table, and Bryn waited in vain for a man to laugh or cap his tale with another.

  De Ferrand sighed, and smote his fist on the board. "Enough!" His small eyes glared at the wanderer. "Will ye tell of those other night rides of yours?"

  "Nay," said Bryn, "for I have another thing in my mind to do this night."

  Then Hugo laughed under his breath, but De Ferrand spoke hoarsel
y: "Art weary of life? Then give ear to this true recital of what took place on this island within the year-although you know it well.

  "First," said De Ferrand, "there was the death of Viterbo, the merchant riding toward Venice. He came to his end upon the road within sight of the ferry. He was alone, going in haste at night, bearing, it seems, some moneys. The blow that slew him came out of the air, and he fell from the saddle with his skull shattered."

  "A pity," said Bryn.

  "Sancta Maria! 'Twas more a pity when the young Seigneur d'Estampes met his fate. He also was crossing the road of the island alone after sunset. Some woodcutters heard him chanting a love lay as he passed by their cabin. Deep in the shadow of the forest he went, when it came upon him. The louts heard his song end, and then a scream and a beating of hoofs that went away. After that they heard, far off, the scream of a horse. It was a day before we found the body of D'Estampes, and his nag. They had fallen from the high cliff and they lay there on the stones with their bones a-broken."

  Leaning back in his chair, De Ferrand faced the crusader. "Now this Seigneur d'Estampes had a hardy soul in him. He was riding to seek a woman that night, and what could have driven him mad with terror within a moment, so that he drove his charger from the cliff?"

  "As to this lord-God rest him-I know not," responded Bryn. "But no man could make a horse take such a leap."

  "True!" cried the Burgundian. "To my thinking the youth did not lose his head. It was the horse, crazed with fear, that rushed over the cliff before the rider could see what was there and throw himself from the saddle. And the proof of this we found. In the sand of the road where it passed through the wood we found the tracks where D'Estampes's charger plunged into a gallop. A spear's cast behind this place we found fresh tracks of a beast shod with iron that came from no road. It had come down from the air. And these tracks did pursue the other, to the cliff's edge, where all ended."

  Fingering the gold chain at his throat, De Ferrand sighed. "The third death was the worst. A fair wanton from the village was found in the spot where the merchant Viterbo met his doom. She was lying alone in the road, her skull crushed."

  "Nay," rumbled Hugo, "the worst of it was the mark. Upon the foreheads of the merchant and the girl lay the prints of the iron hoofs that struck them down."

  The pallid monk laid down his quill and got to his feet. "It is clear to us all," he said, "that the island of Ferrand hath been visited by the powers of darkness."

  "Brother Jehan," muttered the master of the chateau, hath rare knowledge of Satan's brood. He is a very skilled witch finder."

  "A foul fiend," resumed the monk, "a messmate of such vampires, infests this poor island. At certain times he has been seen. Once he appeared in the shape of a black, winged thing, flying over the tops of the trees."

  Bryn felt a chill run up his back. He had a healthy dread of the powers of darkness. Nonetheless, he wanted to go down the road to seek for the girl of the tower.

  "Have you naught to say?" demanded Brother Jehan.

  "Messires," Bryn yawned, "such things may be, but they do not keep me abed o' nights."

  "Par Dex," exclaimed De Ferrand. "'Tis you who are charged in these slayings. Read, Brother Jehan."

  Taking up his parchment sheets, the monk repeated in his high voice, "Item-Rigolt the ferryman hath testified that, after bringing the man known as Bryn across the river, the aforesaid man shouted that he and his horse could fly over any river without need of a boat. Item-Jacques and Picard, being serving men of the castle, testify that they were walking in peace along the highroad when the aforesaid man, who had hidden himself from sight, whistled in a diabolical manner, and thereupon the black horse rushed at them. The said horse did strike the worthy Jacques with his hoof, breaking his bones sorely, and seizing Picard in his teeth to his great hurt. Item-As they fled to save their lives, upon this very spot where the merchant Viterbo and the wanton died, they saw the aforesaid man in talk with the forest girl Alaine, suspected of being a witch."

  Brother Jehan took up a fresh sheet of parchment and read his fourth item. This was Bryn's tale of his night ride near Damascus.

  "Upon this testimony," the monk cried, "is this man calling himself Bryn Briogan charged of night flying and commerce with Satan, and murder, and now is he and the black horse subject to the mercy or punishment of my lord Renault de Ferrand, govern-"

  A shout of laughter drowned his words. "Rare and good, Brother Jehan," cried Bryn. "'Tis a grand hocus this of yours-'twould shame a Gascon jester!"

  He laughed alone. The monk's eyes blazed with wrath, and in a moment Bryn understood that this was no jest.

  Putting his hands before him on the table, the crusader thought quickly. He read only fear and curiosity and hatred in the faces about the table. Witchburners, these Burgundians were; and he knew that his doom was at hand. They would put him to the question soon, under the water sack or upon the rack. And he would not have that.

  So he kicked his chair behind him, hearing it strike against the legs of a man. He leaped away from the table to the wall where he had set his sword and belt. Seeing a shield, he caught this up, smashing it into the face of a servant who sought to grapple with him. Turning with his back to the wall and his sword bare in his hand, he shouted above the tumult, "Come on, ye hearth cats-will ye taste good steel?"

  "Have done!" De Ferrand commanded. "I will speak with this man alone, and do ye leave the hall."

  When the last of them had vanished through the hangings-Bryn heard them muttering and arming themselves outside-the Burgundian came close to the crusader. He had not unsheathed his sword. "I grant you a truce," he said softly. "You were mad to draw weapon like this."

  "Say what you will," Bryn answered, leaning on his sword, "I will not yield me to the rack and question. If I am to meet my death, I will have it here."

  "Fool! A crossbow bolt in the ribs will put you down. Mark you, I am governor i' the Duke's name, with the right of hanging miscreants. You have set your head nicely i' the noose-"

  "Lies and weird tales have done for me."

  De Ferrand pulled at his ringlets thoughtfully. "I am not sure. For I may pardon you."

  Bryn waited in silence.

  "You are a bold fellow, Bryn-a nimble fellow with a good sword hand. I do not think you are the night rider that hath ravaged the roads. Nay, I suspect another."

  He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper: "These slayings do not bear the mark of a bold fellow like you. But a young witch haunts the wood by the ferry. Aye, she flits about in these bright nights. Now who would slay a village wanton but another woman? And who could beguile D'Estampes like a fair woman? This wild thing they call Alaine is a witch, who serves Satan."

  "Nay," growled Bryn, "is it like that a girl's arm could shatter a skull?"

  "She hath unholy weapons to her hand."

  "What bargain will you make?"

  Again the seigneur looked up and down the hall. "You were seen in talk with Alaine. She will be afoot a night like this, and I doubt not you could find her by the wood. Your horse will be given you. Bring her with her limbs bound to the tower postern-it leads to Iny chamber-before sunrise, and you shall go free. I swear it, by the saints."

  "And if I do not?"

  "All boats on the island are locked and guarded until sunrise. And after that I will make sure that you do not gain a ferry. If you do not bring yourself to the chateau by high noon, Bryn, you will be hunted down by dogs and bows."

  Bryn mused a while, and nodded. "Fetch Malik to me, saddled."

  They left the hall by a small door that led into an empty passage. Bryn strode close behind his host, wishing to keep him within sword's reach.

  But they met no one at the foot of the tower stair, and De Ferrand opened a postern with a key. Bryn peered out into the darkness beneath the trees and saw the white blaze upon Malik's forehead. He heard the other's voice at his shoulder: "Remember you have sworn-"

  "To seek for the girl Al
aine," murmured Bryn, "and to find her if I may.,,

  Carefully the crusader set his trap. Near the tower, he loosed Malik, then settled himself to watch.

  Slowly the moon settled toward the castle ridge behind him. Then a whistle sounded.

  Keeping out of the patches of moonlight, he made his way through the trees.

  Ahead of him the horse stamped restlessly. He could make out the loom of the black body and the gray form of a girl, motionless and listening. In two long leaps Bryn was upon her, even as she sprang away.

  She twisted and strained like a wildcat in a net.

  "Faith," he said, "methought you had changed into a troll. Now will you be still and listen to a Christian word?"

  Steadily she looked at him, as a child looks at a strange thing.

  "Is your name Alaine?"

  She nodded, without speaking.

  "And they do tell in the hall how you are a witch-"

  "May God shrivel their tongues! 'Tis a black lie."

  Her soft voice rose angrily, and Bryn grunted assent. "They are a loutish lot, these Burgundians. They have written down that I am a foul fiend-" he laughed, and told the attentive girl of the scene in the castle hall, and his bargain with Dc Ferrand. "Faith, he awaits us in his tower. Now, Alaine, I hold you and I can bind you within my mantle and carry you-

  "Try! I will get away."

  "Well, that is to be seen. I think it likely you are an elf-child and belike a witch who can vanish from mortal sight."

  "Then," cried Alaine, "why did you come after me this noon?"

  Bryn rubbed his chin and glanced at the lowering moon. "For the reason I have caught you this night-sure it is, Alaine, my eyes have never seen so fair a maid. If I cannot take you with me to my homeland, I will be forever alone and sorrowing."

  "Sir Bryn, how could you leave the island? They have guards at the ferries."