Only then do I feel Horace give a tremble, and I hear myself ask, “What are you, ladies? Are you living or dead?” To which the women once more break into laughter, a jeering sound to it that makes Horace shift a hoof uneasily. I pat him gently while I say, “Ladies, why do you laugh? Was that so foolish a question?” And the raspy voice behind says, “See how fearful he is! Now he fears us as readily as he does the dragon!”
“What nonsense is this, lady?” I shout more forcefully, as Horace takes a step back against my wishes, and I have to tug to steady him. “I fear no dragon, and fierce though Querig is, I’ve faced far greater evils in my time. If I’ve been slow to slay her, it’s only because she hides herself with great cunning in those high rocks. You rebuke me, madam, but what do we hear of Querig now? A time was she thought nothing of raiding a village or more each month, yet boys have grown into men since we last heard of the like. She knows I close in, so she dares not show herself beyond these hills.”
Even as I spoke, one woman opened her raggy cloak and a clump of mud struck Horace’s neck. Intolerable, I told Horace, we must go on. What can these old crones know of our mission? I nudged him to move forward but he was strangely frozen, and I had to dig in my spur to make him push forward. Thankfully the dark figures parted before us and I was gazing again at the distant peaks. My heart sank at the thought of those desolate high grounds. Even the company of these unholy hags, I thought, might be preferable to those bleak winds. But as though to disabuse me of such sentiments, the women started up their chant behind me, and I felt more mud flung our way. But what do they chant? Do they dare cry “coward”? I had a mind to turn and show my wrath, yet remembered myself in time. Coward, coward. What do they know? Were they there? Were they there that day long ago we rode out to face Querig? Would they have called me coward then, or any of us five? And even after that great mission—from which only three returned—did I not then, ladies, with hardly a rest, hurry to the valley’s edge to make good my promise to the young maid?
Edra, she later told me was her name. She was no beauty, and dressed in the simplest weeds, but like that other I sometimes dream of, she had a bloom tugged my heart. I saw her on the roadside carrying her hoe in both her arms. Only lately become a woman, she was small and slight, and the sight of such innocence, wandering unprotected so near the horrors from which I just came made it impossible for me to ride by, even if I went to such a mission as I did.
“Turn back, maiden,” I called down from the stallion, this being before the days of Horace, when even I was young. “What great foolishness makes you go that way? Don’t you know a battle rages down in this valley?”
“I know it well, sir,” she says, and no fear meeting my eye. “It’s a long journey I’ve made to come this far, and soon I’ll be down the valley and join the battle.”
“Has some sprite bewitched you, maiden? I came from the valley floor just now where seasoned warriors spew out their stomachs from dread. I’d not have you hear even a distant echo of it. And why that hoe so large for you?”
“There’s a Saxon lord I know is down in the valley now, and I pray with all my heart he isn’t fallen and God will protect him well. For I will have him die at my hands only, after what he did to my dear mother and sisters, and I carry this hoe to do the work. It breaks the ground of a winter’s morning, so it will do well enough on this Saxon’s bones.”
I was obliged then to dismount and hold her by the arm even as she tried to pull away. If she still lives today—Edra, she later told me was her name—she would now be near your age, ladies. It may even be she was among you just now, how would I know? No great beauty, but like that other, her innocence spoke to me. “Let me go, sir!” she cries, to which I say, “You’ll not go down into that valley. The sight from the edge alone will make you swoon.” “I’m no weakling, sir,” she cries. “Let me go!” And there we stand on the roadside like two quarrelling children, and I can calm her only by saying:
“Maiden, I see nothing will dissuade you. But think how remote the chances of your finding alone the vengeance you crave. Yet with my help your chances will improve manyfold. So be patient and sit a while out of this sun. Look there, sit beneath that elder tree, and wait for my return. I go to join four comrades on a mission which though grave with danger, won’t keep me long. Should I perish you’ll see me come this way again tied across the saddle of this same horse, and you’ll know I can no longer keep my promise. Otherwise I swear I’ll return and we’ll together go down to make your dream of vengeance true. Be patient, maiden, and if your cause is just, as I believe it to be, God will see this lord doesn’t fall before we reach him.”
Were these the words of a coward, ladies, uttered that very day, even as I rode out to face Querig? And once we were done with our task, and I saw I had been spared—though two of us five had not—I hastened back, weary as I was, to that valley’s edge and the elder tree where the maid still waited, her hoe in her arms. She sprang to her feet, and the sight of her again tugged my heart. Yet when I tried once more to sway her from her intent, for I dreaded to see her enter that valley, she said angrily, “Are you false, sir? Will you not keep your promise to me?” So I placed her on the saddle—she held the rein even as she clasped the hoe to her bosom—and I led on foot both horse and maiden down the valley slopes. Did she blanch as we first heard the din? Or when on the outskirts of the battle we met desperate Saxons, their pursuers on their heels? Did she wilt when exhausted warriors groped across our path trailing wounds along the ground? Small tears appeared and I saw her hoe tremble, but she did not turn away. For her eyes had their task, searching that bloody field left and right, far and near. Then I mounted the horse myself, and carrying her before me as if she were some gentle lamb, we rode together into the thick. Did I look timid then, thrashing with my sword, covering her with my shield, turning the horse this way and that until finally the battle tossed us both into the mud? But she was quickly on her feet, and recovering her hoe, began to tread a path through the mashed and quartered heaps. Our ears filled with the strange cries, but she seemed not to hear, the way a good Christian maid refuses the lewd shouts of the coarse men she passes. I was young then and nimble of foot, so ran about her with my sword, cutting down any who would do her harm, sheltering her with my shield from the arrows that regularly fell among us. Then she saw at last the one she sought, yet it was as if we were adrift on choppy waves and though an isle seems near, the tides somehow keep it beyond reach. It was that way for us that day. I fought and battered and kept her safe, yet it seemed an eternity till we stood before him, and even then three men specially to guard him. I passed my shield to the maid, saying, “Shelter well, for your prize is almost yours,” and though I faced three, and I saw they were warriors of skill, I defeated them one by one till I faced the Saxon lord she so hated. His knees were thick with the gore he waded through, but I saw this was no warrior, and I brought him down till he lay breathing on the earth, his legs no more use to him, staring his hatred up at the sky. So she came then and stood above him, the shield tossed aside, and the look in her eyes chilled my blood over all else to be seen across that ghastly field. Then she brought the hoe down not with a swing, but a small prod, then another, the way she is searching for potatoes in the soil, until I am made to cry, “Finish it, maiden, or I’ll do it myself!” to which she says, “Leave me now, sir. I thank you for your service, but now it’s done.” “Only half done, maiden,” I cry, “till I see you safe from this valley,” but she no longer listens and goes on with her foul work. I would have quarrelled further, but it was then he appeared from the crowd. I mean Master Axl, as I now know him, a younger man that day to be sure, but a wise countenance even then, and when I saw him it was as if the noise of battle receded to a hush around us.
“Why stand so exposed, sir?” I say to him. “And your sword still in its sheath? Take up a fallen shield at least and cover yourself.”
But he keeps a faraway look, as if he stands in a meadow of daisies on a
fragrant morning. “If God chooses to direct an arrow this way,” he says, “I’ll not impede it. Sir Gawain, I’m pleased to see you well. Are you lately arrived, or have you been here from its start?”
This as if we meet at some summer fair, and I am obliged to cry again, “Cover yourself, sir! The field remains thick with the foe.” And when he continues to survey the scenery, I say, remembering his question to me: “I was here at the battle’s start, but Arthur then chose me as one of five to ride to a mission of great import. I’m only now returned from it.”
At last I draw his attention. “A mission of great import? And did it go well?”
“Sadly, two comrades lost, but we accomplished it to Master Merlin’s satisfaction.”
“Master Merlin,” he says. “A sage he may be, but that old man makes me shudder.” Then he glances about once more, saying, “I’m sorry to hear of your lost friends. Many more will be missed before the day closes.”
“Yet the victory’s surely ours,” I say. “These cursed Saxons. Why fight on this way with only Death to thank them for it?”
“I believe they do so for sheer anger and hatred of us,” he says. “For it must be by now word has reached their ears of what’s been done to their innocents left in their villages. I’m myself just come from them, so why would the news not reach also the Saxon ranks?”
“What news do you speak of, Master Axl?”
“News of their women, children and elderly, left unprotected after our solemn agreement not to harm them, now all slaughtered by our hands, even the smallest babes. If this were lately done to us, would our hatred exhaust itself? Would we not also fight to the last as they do, each fresh wound given a balm?”
“Why dwell on this matter, Master Axl? Our victory today’s secure and will be a famous one.”
“Why do I dwell on it? Sir, these are the very villages I befriended in Arthur’s name. In one village they called me the Knight of Peace, and today I watched a mere dozen of our men ride through it with no hint of mercy, the only ones to oppose them boys not yet grown to our shoulders.”
“I’m saddened to hear this news. But I press you again, sir, pick up a shield at least.”
“I came upon village by village the same, and our own men boasting of what they did.”
“Don’t blame yourself, sir, nor my uncle. The great law you once brokered was a thing truly wondrous while it held. How many innocents, Briton or Saxon, were spared over the years for it? That it didn’t hold forever is none of your doing.”
“Yet they believed in our bargain till this day. It was I won their trust where first there was only fear and hatred. Today our deeds make me a liar and a butcher, and I take no joy in Arthur’s victory.”
“What will you do with such wild words, sir? If it’s treachery you contemplate, let’s face one another with no more delay!”
“Your uncle’s safe from me, sir. Yet how do you rejoice, Sir Gawain, in a victory won at this price?”
“Master Axl, what was done in these Saxon towns today my uncle would have commanded only with a heavy heart, knowing of no other way for peace to prevail. Think, sir. Those small Saxon boys you lament would soon have become warriors burning to avenge their fathers fallen today. The small girls soon bearing more in their wombs, and this circle of slaughter would never be broken. Look how deep runs the lust for vengeance! Look even now, at that fair maid, one I escorted here myself, watch her there still at her work! Yet with today’s great victory a rare chance comes. We may once and for all sever this evil circle, and a great king must act boldly on it. May this be a famous day, Master Axl, from which our land can be in peace for years to come.”
“I fail to understand you, sir. Though today we slaughter a sea of Saxons, be they warriors or babes, there are yet many more across the land. They come from the east, they land by ship on our coasts, they build new villages by the day. This circle of hate is hardly broken, sir, but forged instead in iron by what’s done today. I’ll go now to your uncle and report what I’ve seen. I would see from his face if he believes God will smile on such deeds.”
A slaughterer of babes. Is that what we were that day? And what of that one I escorted, what became of her? Was she among you just now, ladies? Why gather about me this way as I ride to my duty? Let an old man go in peace. A slaughterer of babes. Yet I was not there, and even had I been, what good for me to argue with a great king, and he my uncle too? I was but a young knight then, and besides, is he not proved right each year that passes? Did you not all grow old in a time of peace? So leave us to go our way without insults at our back. The Law of the Innocents, a mighty law indeed, one to bring men closer to God—so Arthur himself always said, or was it Master Axl called it that? We called him Axelum or Axelus then, but now he goes by Axl, and has a fine wife. Why taunt me, ladies? Is it my fault you grieve? My time will come before long, and I will not turn back to roam this land as you do. I shall greet the boatman contentedly, enter his rocking boat, the waters lapping all about, and I may sleep a while, the sound of his oar in my ears. And I will move from slumber to half-waking, and see the sun sunk low over the water, and the shore moved further still, and nod myself back into dreams till the boatman’s voice stirs me gently once more. And were he to ask questions, as some say he will, I would answer honestly, for what have I left to hide? I had no wife, though at times I longed for one. Yet I was a good knight who performed his duty to the end. Let me say so, and he will see I do not lie. I will not mind him. The gentle sunset, his shadow falling over me as he moves from one side of his vessel to the other. But this will wait. Today Horace and I must climb below this grey sky, up the barren slope towards the next peak, for our work is unfinished and Querig awaits us.
Chapter Ten
He had never intended to deceive the warrior. It was as if the deception itself had come quietly over the fields to envelop the two of them.
The cooper’s hut appeared to be built inside a deep ditch, its thatch roof so close to the earth that Edwin, lowering his head to pass under it, felt he was climbing into a hole. So he had been prepared for the darkness, but the stifling warmth—and the thick woodsmoke—took him aback, and he announced his arrival with a fit of coughing.
“I’m pleased to see you safe, young comrade.”
Wistan’s voice came out of the darkness beyond the smouldering fire, then Edwin discerned the warrior’s form on a turf bed.
“Are you badly hurt, warrior?”
As Wistan sat up, slowly moving into the glow, Edwin saw his face, neck and shoulders were covered in perspiration. Yet the hands that reached to the fire were trembling as if from cold.
“The wounds are trivial. But they brought with them this fever. It was worse earlier, and I’ve little memory of coming here. The good monks say they tied me to the mare’s back, and I fancy I was muttering all the while as when playing the slack-jawed fool in the forest. What of you, comrade? You bear no wounds, I trust, beyond the one you carried before.”
“I’m perfectly well, warrior, yet stand before you in shame. I’m a poor comrade to you, sleeping while you fought. Curse me and banish me from your sight, for it’ll be a thing well earned.”
“Not so fast, Master Edwin. If you failed me last night, I’ll soon tell you a way to make up your debt to me.”
The warrior carefully brought both feet to the earth floor, reached down and tossed a log onto the flames. Edwin saw then how his left arm was bound tightly in sacking, and that one side of his face had a spreading bruise that partially closed one eye.
“True,” Wistan said, “when I first looked down from the top of that burning tower and the wagon we so carefully prepared wasn’t there, I’d a mind to curse you. A long fall to stony ground and hot smoke already around me. Listening to the agonies of my enemies below, I asked, do I mingle with them even as we become ash together? Or better be smashed alone under the night sky? Yet before I could find an answer, the wagon arrived after all, tugged by my own mare, a monk pulling her bridle. I hardly
asked if this monk was friend or foe, but leapt from that chimney mouth, and our earlier work was well enough done, comrade, for though I plunged through the hay as if it were water, I met nothing to pierce me. I awoke on a table, gentle monks loyal to Father Jonus attending me all around as if I was their supper. The fever must already have taken hold by then, whether from these wounds or from the great heat, for they say they had to muffle my ravings till they brought me down here out of harm’s way. But if the gods favour us, the fever will pass soon and we’ll set off to finish our errand.”
“Warrior, I still stand here in shame. Even after I awoke and saw the soldiers around the tower, I let some sprite possess me, and fled the monastery behind those elderly Britons. I’d beg you to curse me now or beat me, but I heard you say there was some way I might make up to you for last night’s disgrace. Tell me the way, warrior, and I’ll fall on whatever task you give me with impatience.”
Even as he said this, his mother’s voice had called, resounding around the little hovel so Edwin was hardly sure he had spoken these words aloud. But he must have done, for he heard Wistan say:
“Do you suppose I chose you for your courage alone, young comrade? You’ve remarkable spirit right enough, and if we survive this errand, I’ll see you learn the skills to make you a true warrior. But just now you’re rough-hewn, not yet a blade. I chose you above others, Master Edwin, because I saw you had the hunter’s gift to match your warrior spirit. A rare thing indeed to have both.”
“How can that be, warrior? I know nothing of hunting.”
“A wolf cub, drinking its mother’s milk, can pick up the scent of a prey in the wild. I believe it a gift of nature. Once this fever leaves me, we’ll go further into these hills and I’ll wager you’ll find the sky itself whispering to you which path to take till we stand before the she-dragon’s very lair.”
The Buried Giant Page 21
