by Dave Duncan
“I certainly intend to!”
Again the dying man shook his head. We often hear that deathbed pronouncements contain superhuman wisdom, so I didn’t want to argue with him, but I owned a fortune in grimoires, which I might have to leave behind at Helmdon if the predicted Iron Wings were in a hurry. I could claim personal ownership of five of the best spell books in the library, and should be very surprised if I were allowed or able to take them with me when the king’s messengers came for me. If I wasn’t, then I would certainly move mountains to come back and collect them as soon as possible.
“Take Ruffian.”
Ruffian was a hunter, and a splendid one, even if he had the temper of an angry boar. Guy had left him to me, which was a sumptuous bequest.
“Of course I will,” I said. “He’s much in need of exercise. And I’ll certainly bring him back.”
Guy just smiled. He muttered something about his will and then his eyes wandered and closed. Like Eadig then, he was drugged against the pain, and tended to drift off to sleep at unexpected times. I stayed there, of course, until one of the sages came to relieve me.
That was my next-to-last conversation with the man who had turned a crippled stable boy into one of the king’s enchanters.
chapter 3
guy took a turn for the worse the next day, so when I said farewell to him on Monday before noon, we both knew he would not be there when I returned, if I ever did. He confirmed for the fourth time that he wanted me to have Ruffian, claiming I was the only other man who could ride the scoundrel, which was far from true. I already owned a good horse in Bon Appétit, but a sage needs a cantor, and therefore two horses.
Eadig’s blazing headache had subsided enough by Sunday that he agreed he would come with me to Lincoln, or wherever it was I was heading. We both knew how much he dreaded his father’s summons, and this would be a way of keeping out of his reach for a while. I did suggest that we try the incantation again with him as the enchanter and me as the cantor, to see if there was a message on its way to him.
He said, “Durwin, Your Wisdom, I wouldn’t wish this headache on my worst enemy.”
That didn’t make me feel any better, but I could guess that he preferred not to know his own future. To sin in ignorance is not deliberate disobedience, and he was an honest lad. I included the Hwá becuman text in my baggage, just in case.
Shortly before noon on Monday, Ruffian and Bon Appétit began to whinny. I introduced myself to Squire Piers, and then made a fool of myself for Sir Neil.
Our mounts were fresh and without straining them we caught up with the king’s men at Burly Copse.
We humbly tagged ourselves on at the end of the line, in the dust cloud behind their packhorses. Sir Neil led a company of four other knights, five squires including Piers, and two men-at-arms, all riding in pairs. All of them were French born except one of the men-at-arms, Fugol, who had been brought along because he knew the way to Helmdon, even if he hadn’t found the shortest route from the south.
Sir Neil rode at the front, and I soon noted with approval that he would detour around any standing crops or livestock he might endanger. Not all lords are so considerate, but of course Neil was not a lord, which was something I had overlooked in my folly earlier.
The whole population of Helmdon was out harvesting. The Good Lord had blessed us with fine weather that summer, so the barley was white and the men of the village had long since turned a deep brown color bringing in the hay: scything, tedding, gathering, baling, and finally stacking. Hay was needed to preserve the few livestock kept over the winter, and they sold their surplus to the academy, to feed our horses. The local ale-wife brewed barley to make ale. This was one of their very few sources of money. Lord Odo’s crops had to be harvested first, or course, and then the villagers’ own. They looked up as we passed; some recognized Eadig and me and waved.
It is rich country, the middle of England, especially the bottomlands, which are well watered and fecund. Higher ground tends to have heavy clay soil, but that makes for fine forest, where nobles and royalty love to hunt. Iron is mined in places, and timber provides the charcoal to smelt it.
Soon we left the le Brys lands. While we were walking the horses through a shady patch of forest where the footing was tricky, Eadig said, “Shouldn’t you be up front with that stuck-up Norman?”
I grinned to hide my own annoyance. “You employ redundant vocabulary. Normans are stuck-up by definition, and Saxons by definition should never say so. Besides, I think he’s an Angevin, not a Norman.”
“Out of the same slop bowl.”
“But the meatier end, these days, since the king is Angevin. So what do we know about Sir Neil d’Airelle?”
“Nothing.”
“Not quite nothing. All kings, Eadig, are starved for information. They cannot be everywhere, and King Henry, may God preserve him, rules the biggest realm since Charlemagne’s. So all kings have confidants, men they trust, persons they can send out to do something or investigate something and report back. Almost always these familiares are noblemen, but King Henry is unusual in that he sometimes trusts commoners with such tasks.”
“Ah! Like this Sir Neil!”
“Right. And I should have realized that sooner. Neil d’Airelle is not much older than I am—no more than twice your age.” Eadig stuck out his tongue at me, but that was probably how Sir Neil would judge their respective ages. “So it’s quite likely that this is his first independent command. How did he catch the king’s eye, do you suppose?”
“Killing a lot of men in battle?”
“More likely taking important prisoners who fetched big ransoms. That’s certainly possible, but courage isn’t the first thing a king looks for in a familiaris. Discretion is, I should think . . . Strength and stamina, yes. If this mission is really urgent, then that may be why His Grace has sent a younger man and a slim retinue. They seem to have been traveling very fast.”
“Or it may not be urgent at all,” Eadig said scornfully. “His Nibs may be somebody’s grandson, some old codger who’s been pestering the king to promote the boy.”
Although I had met King Harry only once at that time, and knew little about him, I doubted that he would put up with pestering from anyone. I did know that he was fanatically fond of the chase, so Neil d’Airelle might be a hunting buddy. He had shown considerable equestrian skill in the way he had controlled his stallion in the academy yard.
“It’s a fair guess, though,” I said, “that this is Neil’s first independent mission, so he’s determined to prove himself.” That was what I should have seen sooner. An older man, a nobleman who had demonstrated his worth in the king’s service, might not have been quite so quick to take offense at my impertinence. On the other hand he might just as easily have ordered his men to bend me over a wall and give me a memorable thrashing.
I thought it over for a furlong or two.
“So Sir Neil’s task is either urgent, or he is determined to treat it so,” I said.
“But why did the king order him to detour around by Helmdon to pick up an enchanter?”
A penetrating question! And a green, untried Saxon enchanter at that? Henry had many others in his service. He might just be trying out a couple of promising recruits, Neil and me both. I wasn’t going to suggest that, even to Eadig.
When I didn’t answer, Eadig said, “Could it be he’s being sent to arrest someone who employs a house sage?”
“Possible,” I said, although serving a royal warrant was a duty of the county sheriff. Men who could afford in-house enchanters usually maintained retinues of knights or men-at-arms also, so resistance would represent armed rebellion. Sir Neil and his gallant little band seemed far too few to counter that.
“Neil’s scared of magic.” Eadig waited for comment, but I didn’t offer one, so he pushed on. “At least he’s not familiar with it, because your talk of prophecy scared him.” He thought for a long moment. “And he expects you to be his servant and do what he says, except tha
t he doesn’t know what orders to give you?”
“You’re exactly right there! And I sassed him. Suppose his mission is very secret—which might explain why the king chose to give it to an obscure courtier, who won’t be recognized—and then I start bragging that I knew he was coming, to the point where I already had my horse saddled. There went his secrecy! So I got off on the wrong foot with him, and it was my own stupid fault, and we’ll have to be on our best behavior until we can make ourselves useful.”
At which Eadig pointed out what I already knew very well: that I wouldn’t be able to make myself useful until I knew what we were supposed to be doing.
“So just let’s enjoy a fine ride on a wonderful summer’s day and thank the Good Lord that we don’t have to break our backs like those poor wretches over there.” I pointed to where some distant peasants were laboriously harvesting barley—each man stolidly scything his own long strip of field, his wife and often children following him, binding, gleaning, and stacking the sheaves.
We made good time on the dry ground. Long before sunset we came in sight of the castle and churches of Northampton, and that was when Squire Piers moved aside and reined in until we came by. Then he rode alongside me, two stony eyes flanking a steel nose.
“Sir Neil is worried that we are a large party to impose on the constable without prior warning. He orders you to find accommodation for yourself and the boy in one of the local monasteries. You are to be at the castle gate at sunup to continue our journey. You are not to wear your capes in the town, and you must not discuss your mission with anyone.”
“Enchanters are rarely welcome in monasteries,” I said, “and I would not impose on the holy men under false pretenses. Even if I tried, I might not succeed, for I am known in Northampton, and my iron foot makes me distinctive. I come here sometimes to purchase medical supplies. I have friends who will gladly put us up. They will not pry and we shall not discuss why we are here.”
He scowled at this upstart Saxon again being difficult, and rode off to confer with his knight. When he failed to return with more orders from Sir Neil, Eadig and I held our mounts back until we no longer seemed to be associated with the king’s company. I wondered why Neil did not want to be seen associating with an enchanter. Was it only a fighting man’s distrust for learning? If magic would be needed for his mission, why, why, why had the king enlisted an unknown like me, instead of sending one of his tried and true enchanters?
After we had dropped back far enough to be out of sight of our noble bodyguard, we came to a shallow gully that still had a trickle of water in it. Stepping-stones alongside the road showed how deeply it would flow in winter, and I knew that fording it could be tricky at such times. I reined in and suggested that we let the horses drink. Then I dismounted, so Eadig did the same, looking at me quizzically.
“Last night,” I said, “I tried an enchantment I have never attempted before, Battre le tambour. It’s a single-voice chant, not a derelict that we have been trying to cure of trip wires. I found it in one of the grimoires I brought back from Barton two years ago. Commentaries added by users suggest that it works well and is long-lasting, but is not suitable for warriors. I felt a strong acceptance, and so far I have encountered no ill-effects, except I did have a nightmare just before dawn this morning. If you’d like to try it also, this might be good place to do so.”
“‘Beat the drum’?” Eadig said cautiously. “What’s that mean? What drum? What’s it supposed to do?”
“You know that creepy feeling you get once in a while, a sense of being threatened? The text is an appeal to guardian angels to warn you of approaching danger. That’s why warriors shouldn’t use it—they must spurn danger lest their comrades think they’re scared. If you’re not armed and armored, being paid to risk your life, then running for cover may not be too stupid. The reason I have never chanted it before is that I have never felt the need to. There’re no lions lurking around Helmdon, not even a thirsty footpad willing to kill innocent passersby for a copper groat. Having made the acquaintance of Sir Neil d’Airelle this afternoon, I suspect that my life is about to take a turn into harm’s way, where the odd nightmare may seem a cheap price to pay for some advance warning of real danger. It’s entirely up to you.”
Eadig said, “Yes, please!” and held out a hand.
I untied the laces on one of my saddlebags and found the scroll I wanted right away, because I had tied it with a fancy bow. Eadig studied the text for a few minutes. I scanned the road in both directions, seeing no one approaching. Then he began to chant. He managed it all the way through without a stumble. He had the potential to be a great enchanter, and I hated the thought that he might be dragged away to waste his talents as a farmer’s bookkeeper.
“Feels good,” he remarked offhandedly, and rolled the parchment up tight again. “Thank you, master.”
Northampton streets were a maze, narrow and winding, and summer heat had made them even more noisome than usual. They needed a week’s steady downpour to clean out the ordure, but they were unlikely to get that for a month or two yet. A steady crush of homeward-bound laborers and servants slowed our progress, and Eadig’s continuous grumble about the stink did nothing to make us popular. I feared that someone would scoop up a handful of grunge and throw it at him, for if one did, a dozen others would join in.
We came at last to the academy, which had been jury-rigged by connecting three houses into a labyrinth of tiny rooms and passages. The main door was closed, indicating that no more patients would be seen that day, but I went around to the side entrance, where we were admitted as friends and colleagues. A couple of squires took charge of our horses. I introduced Adept Eadig, who had never been there before, and did not mention my promotion.
I had not been entirely honest with squire Piers. My friends in Northampton were the students and faculty of the academy, which was somewhat larger than Helmdon’s, but less renowned. They tended to be a little jealous of our reputation, inclined to consider us as poachers in their home waters. Nevertheless, they were always friendly enough on a personal level, and Dean Gilbert made us welcome.
My usual reason for calling was to trade herbs that we had collected near Helmdon for some that Northampton had obtained by trade, the town being located on the king’s highway. They obviously wondered why I had brought no wares this time and why I wanted to stay overnight. If Eadig and I were heading out on a long journey, why hadn’t we started early, to make more miles that day? They were too polite to ask outright. Dean Gilbert evicted a couple of varlets so we could share a small but comfortable room under the rafters, with two thickly padded pallets.
Despite what Sir Neil feared, enchanters are mostly a close-mouthed lot, for they engage in confidential activities for their clients—sickness and horoscopes and so on. I trusted our hosts completely, except in one respect. Although I could claim personal ownership of five of the grimoires in the Helmdon library, I would have needed a special packhorse to carry them around with me, for parchment is heavy. For the last two years I had been copying out the incantations I thought would be most useful for me in my career. To keep the skins from buckling up, as they tend to do in the damp, I had been tying them in tight rolls, rather than pressing them into the usual books with heavy wooden covers held in place by rope or brass clamps.
I had brought a satchel packed full of these scrolls, the equivalent of a thick grimoire. I had to leave it in our room when we went downstairs to eat, but I put a strong warding spell on it, so that any nosey parker who touched it would receive a nasty surprise. Spells are a sage’s sword and shield, and I already felt that I was going into battle half naked.
Supper that evening became a party, which was a normal result of strangers arriving with news. In this case we visitors had none, but the hosts did, thanks to highway traffic and gossip coming from the king’s castle. His campaign in Brittany was reported to be meeting with success—doing better than last year’s attempt to bring the Welsh to heel, which had been washed
out by endless rain. The castles he had built to contain the Welsh were now being besieged by them.
The rumors said he was also going to teach Aquitaine proper obedience, but the people of that vast duchy, which he had gained by marrying its duchess, regarded him as even more of a foreigner than the English did, and would undoubtedly resist his discipline—or, indeed, any man’s. King Louis of France, having at last begotten a male heir, was stirring up trouble in the other lands that King Henry held from him, like Normandy and Anjou itself. Even the King of Scots was starting to make rebellious noises, not to mention the Welsh. I was humbled by the thought that a king with so many problems had remembered the lame Saxon boy who had sworn an oath to him at Barton, two years ago.
Queen Eleanor was still in England, somewhere, and rumored to be with child again, which would be her tenth.
But no one around the table mentioned Lincoln or English trouble that might have caught the king’s attention. Dean Gilbert served excellent wine, and we ended with some rousing, mostly bawdy, songs.
When we retired to our garret for the night, I quickly sat down cross-legged on my pallet, for there was not much headroom in our attic. I lifted the warding on my spell bag and brought out my set of futhorc tiles, futhorc being the old Anglo-Saxon runes that hadn’t been used for a hundred years. Indeed, they had been dying since Augustine brought Lord Jesus and his Roman alphabet to England. I knew that Eadig could chant the Hwæt segst, because I had taught him myself.
“Are you up to this?” I asked, for we were both tired and must make an early start in the morning.
He nodded, grinning his boyish grin.
“You need to bone up on the text?” I had brought the manuscript, but he just shook his head and pulled off one of his stockings, which he used to blindfold himself.
I spread out the thirty-seven tiles on the floor between us at random: thirty-six rune tiles and one blank. Then I brought the candle close and said, “Ready.” He began to chant, but softly, so as not to disturb our hosts.
