Fair Blows the Wind

by Louis L'Amour

  Then she saw my face. “Why, the lad is hurt! Come here to the fire, so we can see!”

  She looked carefully at my skinned face and the bruises, and then put warm water in a basin and with a bit of cloth began to sponge off my face and take away the encrusted blood and gravel. After a bit she desisted and cleaned my hands a bit more, although I had washed them in the Esk, for such was the name of the stream.

  “Here! Sit up and have a bite, then we’ll get on with it. You must be fairly starved.”

  “I am that,” I agreed. “Where is it I am?”

  “The village yon is Boot,” the man said. “The hall yonder is empty now for the family is from home to London. Most of them,” he said with a wry glance at his wife.

  The gruel they served was good, and there was a bit of fish, fresh caught from the sea.

  “When I have eaten,” I told them, “I had best be off, for I’d not bring trouble upon you.” Briefly as I might, I explained how we had been set upon and what manner of folk they were.

  He filled a glass with ale. “Aye, there’s sons of the gentry who raid and roust about with no care for anything but themselves. Worse than thieves they are, and brutal to all they can abuse. But do not worry, lad, you have come further than you think and they will not come down on this side of the mountain.”

  “Be careful of him,” I said, “for bully that he is, he is also a rarely fine hand with a blade.”

  “From what you said he was both taller and stronger than you. A man grown, and you but a lad.”

  “Aye, brute he may be, but I’ll not take from him his skill. Height and reach are important. I could have handled them, but not his skill. The man from whom I learned was considered among the best, yet I had no chance.”

  “Rafe Leckenbie,” the woman said. “There is no other fits the description.”

  “Leckenbie? Aye…it could be. He’s a bad enemy, lad, and a worse man. He comes not here, but stays there where his family is important, but he has killed a man or two and it is said he will be off to the wars soon. For they wish to be rid of him, I think.”

  There I spent the night and the weariness fled from my muscles. When the morning came I was refreshed, yet weary still, for I had been long in fleeing and long without food.

  “Where will you go?” Andrew asked, for that was his name, and hers was Mary, but their other names I never heard, neither then nor after.

  “I would go to London, but I am far from there. If I could find some fisherman, some boat that plies to Scotland, I would go there and be free of this place.”

  “These are bad times and no highroad is safe. Men’s goods are seized, and often as not by gentry. And there is no appeal. The times are bitter, and he is at his wit’s end who must live upon the roads, for there are none there but peddlers, herbalists, mountebanks, and jugglers mingling with thieves and outlaws. No man is safe upon the road unless with a large company and all armed.”

  “But it grows better,” Mary protested. “I have heard you say as much yourself.”

  “Aye…better, but not better enough. There is much to be done before the roads are safe for travel.”

  Andrew glanced at me. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen years.”

  “Fourteen! And you have seen so much! And already a swordsman!”

  “But not good enough. I must go where I can learn more.”

  “Italy, then. Or Spain. Although they do say the French are excellent swordsmen.” He studied me. “Are you then so anxious to fight?”

  “That I am not, but my father warned me I would have enemies, and to survive I must be prepared. I hope never to fight,” I added, in all sincerity, “but experience has taught me that wishing to avoid a fight will not always be enough.

  “It is all very well to wish for peace, but while there are such people as this Rafe Leckenbie there will always be wars. A man can convince himself that others want peace as much as he, but he will only be fooling himself, for it is the last thing many men want…unless they can take all they covet without having to fight.”

  We talked long. He was a man keenly aware of conditions in his country, although I could not place his role. He had a goodly farm here, but did not seem a farmer, albeit most of the farmers were of the gentry and some owned vast estates. That he was curious about me I knew, yet the long months upon the highroads had taken much of my accent and I had picked up words or phrases here and there. Kory, especially, had taught me a lot other than what I had learned of the blade.

  “You have read much,” Andrew said, finally, putting down his glass. “Your father was your teacher, you said?”

  “He was a fine classical scholar,” I said, “but he taught me much else, besides. Along the roads,” I added, “I have learned much of herbs and their uses.”

  “Aye, learn what you can. There is naught that will not but be useful.”

  He was a friendly man, a gentleman obviously, and if I was not mistaken, of the nobility. There were many such who had a living but little else, younger sons or those who inherited impoverished estates or none at all. Even the King of Scotland had to borrow a coat from a friend to wear before a visiting ambassador. The possession of a great name did not always mean great wealth, and indeed, the visit of a king and his entourage might be sufficient to impoverish even a well-off man.

  From the way he referred to “the hall” I suspected he was a younger son or a cousin, perhaps. The house was a good one and old, of squared gray stone and stout oak timbers. The cobbled passage down which we had come opened into the living room where we now were. The kitchen was beyond the passage and I had only a glimpse of the huge fireplace as we entered. There was little furniture and that quite heavy.

  We talked of Greene and Philip Sidney, of Chaucer, and of Tacitus and Livy. Yet I listened more than I talked, for much as it reminded me of home, weariness lay heavy upon me, and it was his good wife who called Andrew’s attention to my worn-out state, and soon I was off to bed, in a small chamber of my own. Worried as I was, I fell soon asleep.

  * * *

  MY EYES OPENED suddenly and for a time I lay still, trying to recall all that had transpired. At last I arose. There was water in the room, hot water. Evidently whoever brought it had awakened me, yet had left before my eyes opened or I became aware. I bathed, combed my hair, and made myself as presentable as might be.

  As I bathed and prepared myself, I thought over my fight with Leckenbie, if such indeed was his name. My memory for such things had always been good, and now I reviewed that fight in detail. His reach had helped him, and his longer, stronger blade, yet he had skill of a rare kind, and a genius, I thought, for the sword. Yet such genius breeds confidence, and confidence may well become overconfidence, if fed by continual success.

  Mentally, I reviewed his moves, trying to discern a pattern that might be circumvented. I began to see that he had been surprised by my skill. Again and again I had warded off his most serious attacks, even though most of the time he was simply enjoying his command of me. He had won, and he would surely have killed me, but still I had come off not badly.

  “All right,” I said aloud, “he beat me once but he will not beat me a second time.”

  Very well to say such a thing, but before I could meet him I needed to learn much more.

  There was a shout from outside. Opening my door, I went down the stair. The front door stood open, and Andrew was before it.

  In the yard were at least twenty horsemen, led by Rafe Leckenbie. “We want him,” Leckenbie was saying, “and we will have him.”

  “I think not,” Andrew said quietly. “Think what you do, Leckenbie. I know your father well and he would not permit such a scene as this.”

  “Give him up,” Leckenbie replied, “or we will take him.”

  Mary went around me and pressed something into her husband’s hand. It was a pisto
l.

  “I will go with Leckenbie,” I said to my host. “I will not be the cause of trouble for you who have been so kind.”

  Andrew glanced at me. “This is no longer your affair,” he replied. “They have come here, onto our land, to use force and make demands. I would not permit you to leave now.”

  “You have heard me,” Leckenbie said. “I will have your house down around your ears, but I will have him!”

  Coolly, Andrew brought his pistol from behind his back, and at the same time there was a rustle of feet. Glancing to my right, I saw a half-dozen men armed with pikes, scythes, and halberds. Two men suddenly appeared on the stable roof, both with bows and arrows ready.

  “You may try,” Andrew said quietly, “but you will die. Also,” he smiled a little, “you have yet to get yourselves home. I am considered a mild man. My brother is not, and he will be here this day. I think you will be fortunate if you get home at all.”

  There was a murmur from behind him. Already some of those who followed Leckenbie were backing off. I believe most of them followed him only from fear of what he might do if they did not, although undoubtedly some were as much the rogue as he himself.

  “Rafe…?” It was the same one who had advised letting up on me. “There’s always another time.”

  Leckenbie hesitated, but he liked not the pistol nor the firm resolution of Andrew. He turned his mount. “We will come again,” he threatened. Then he looked at me. “And you…I will slit your gullet in my own good time.”

  “You will not have to come looking, Leckenbie,” I said, “for I shall be back to find you. I have thought over our bout of yesterday, and now I know I can beat you!”

  “Hah!” he laughed unpleasantly. “The man does not live who can best me, least of all you!”

  Of course, I had boasted when I said I had thought over his actions and knew I could now best him. I knew certainly I could do nothing of the kind, but I also knew that in time I should. I would study, learn, work much with the blade, and then I would seek him out.

  They rode away, and two dozen of Andrew’s men mounted and followed at a short distance to see them gone. Several of them looked to be stout fighting men who had served in the Queen’s forces by land or sea. I doubted not they could take care of themselves against the rabble who followed Leckenbie.

  “I must get on my way now,” I said. “You have been kind, but I have far to go.”

  “Indeed you have, lad,” Andrew put a hand on my shoulder, “but I’d forget your promise to come and find Rafe Leckenbie. He’s an evil one, and time will take care of his kind.”

  “We shall see.” I paused. “I wish to make for Scotland now. Which is the best way?”

  “There are fishing boats at the Esk that go north up the coast, but if I mistake not, Leckenbie will expect you there, so I would suggest you go north on land. I will see you on your way. I have friends at Workington Hall.”

  “I know the name.”

  “Aye, a few years back Mary, Queen of Scots, took refuge there. Perhaps we can find a letter for you that will open a way for you among the Scots.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “If you wished to stay, we could make a place for you here. You are a good lad, and should not be wandering about the country like any gypsy or vagabond.”

  “I have a way to go,” I said.

  “Aye,” he replied gloomily, “one I might have taken myself at your age, but then I met Mary.”

  “You did well,” I said, “as did she.”

  He smiled. “Aye. Now we will have up some horses and ride north.”

  “You do not fear to leave after all this?”

  He chuckled grimly. “If they wish to return, let them do so! My lads will be about, and they are a rough lot. My father had a ship and was often at sea. Many of these men here sailed with him. They have endured many a hard-fought battle. You’ll not find their like this side of the Highland clans!”

  He was a careful man, and north we rode by starlight that we might not be observed from afar. At dawn we rested and ate at a drover’s cot, a cozy, hidden place among the gray rocks and green rolling hills where a burn came down from the rocky hills, chuckling and babbling through the green hummocks and among wildflowers; a pleasant land, but a waiting land, too, for often had fierce Highland raiders come this way.

  At Workington Andrew found a fisherman he knew, a Scot, by the name of Jamie, and fresh down from the west Highlands. “Aye, I will take him awa’, and gladly.” Jamie looked at my face and hands. “You’ve had a rough go of it, lad. What is it you wish for now?”

  “To be well again and to find a fine swordsman who can teach me.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I shall return.”

  “There speaks a true man. Well, he used you hardly, but not with a sword, I’ll mind?”

  “A sword it was. This is but from a fall I had, although thankful I was to fall, for it saved my life. A moment more and he would have had me.”

  “Was he so good, then?”

  “The best.”

  “Aye? Wait until you’ve met MacAskill, lad. He’s one of a fighting lot. Lead the MacLeods in battle, they do, and a brawny, fearsome lot they are, but the one to whom I’ll take you…he’s another matter, for he has served in armies abroad, and is a terrible man in a fight.”

  “If he can teach me, I will go to him.”

  “If he will teach you! I doubt he will. He’s a man of independent mind and thought. He teaches no one…but he could. You are a brawny lad, surely, and we’ll take you along to him. He can do no more than say no.”

  “And who is the man?”

  “Fergus MacAskill. He’s fought in the clan wars in the Highlands, but upon the Continent as well. ’Tis not only the claymore for which he’s known, but every kind of a weapon.”

  “The MacAskills are to be found on the Isle of Lewis in the Hebrides, and some perhaps on Skye. I’ve not been there m’self, but they are allied to the MacLeods and have the name of strong fighters, always.” Andrew added that comment and then arose. “I’ll leave him to you, Jamie, and do you see him well ashore, for he seems a good lad and I’d like as much done for me was I left as he is.”

  “I am obliged,” I told him. “You shall see me again one day.”

  Jamie led the way down to his boat. “Have you been upon the sea, then?”

  “A time or two, and far from here, but upon water not unlike this.”

  “Good! You can help me then, for it looks to be a braw, bad night upon the water.”

  And a braw bad night it was, to be sure. The wind howled down the firth as if to bury us by its sheer force, and a driving rain with it. When I came ashore at last there was not a dry stitch to me, but I was in Scotland and free of my enemies.

  And there was a man for me to find, the great fighting man, Fergus MacAskill.

  Tomorrow, with dry clothes, a night’s sleep, and a meal under my belt, I would begin.

  CHAPTER 12

  ALONE UPON THE shore I watched the fisher’s boat turn to take the wind, and lifted a hand to bid farewell. I did not know if he saw me, but I stood and watched him go, then turned to walk up the path. I was in Galloway, with nothing in my hands and no place to go.

  Yet a man must move, and I have discovered it is always best to keep putting one foot before the other, and so I did now.

  A gloomy, foggy, mysterious place it was, and a fit one for the seeing of ghosties and ghoulies in the night. Boylike, I was wary of such creatures, wanting none of them.

  After walking a bit I saw a light, but when I knocked upon the door no answer came and the light went out. Although I waited and knocked again there was no opening of the door nor any welcome.

  A mile or more beyond I saw a cluster of lights. One belonged to a place that passed for a tavern, for as I came near a man e
merged, weaving somewhat from the cargo he carried, which was shifting him about like a heavy sea. I hailed him and asked if there might be shelter for the night and a bite of something.

  “Aye,” the man swayed like a willow in the wind, “and good food it is, too, if you’re of a mind to eat, but his ale’s the better bargain. Sure, and I think the man is heir to that Pict who is said to have jumped from the cliffs yonder o’ the Mull, holding the formula for heather ale.”

  “I’ll speak to him then,” I said, and went to the door and opened it.

  The room was low of ceiling, heavily timbered, and there was a huge old fireplace with copper kettles and such, and a few benches about and a long table at which some men sat, boatmen, fishermen, and the like, each with his mug of ale before him.

  “Why, it’s a lad! And a sorry wet one, too! Come in, now! Up to the fire wi’ y’!” The speaker was a wide man and deep, with reddish whiskers at his jowls and a queer sort of flat cap to his head. “John! A bit of something for the lad, now!”

  “What’ll you have, boy?” The innkeeper was a fat, pleasant-looking man.

  “Whatever,” I said. “I’ve little enough money.”

  “Do y’ not be thinkin’ o’ that! I’ve a son m’sel’!” The man with the red whiskers clapped me on the shoulder. “Sit close to the fire, lad, and drink up. A drop will do y’ no harm this e’en.”

  When I had the glass in my hand and a plate of bread and gruel before me I said, “Can you be tellin’ me now where I’m likely to find Fergus MacAskill?”

  They stared at me, and my friend put his glass down hard upon the table. “Fergus, is it? Aye, there be a plenty would like to see Fergus, but there’s many more would wish for no sight of him.” He drank and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Why would a lad like you be wanting to find Fergus?”

  “I do not know him, nor him me. Yet it has been said that he is a great fighting man, and I would learn.”

  “To fight? A man can fight or he cannot. ’Tis all!”