Swords From the West (96 page)

"So," the stranger mused, "this Trigault is your Boar, with tusks? I warrant he sought then to wed you, so that Dion should be his in right and law!"

Flushing, the girl tossed her head. "So did he not, for he broke down the door and came in to me at night, and I struck him with a dagger that I had, so that he went away to stanch his bleeding, and Rob and I ran to Father Jehan, who gave us this hut."

"And Sir Boar, did he not follow?"

"Nay, perhaps he fears the curse of Father Jehan, or the arrows of the hunters."

"Seigneur!" Rob came hurrying up to him with a fresh notion. "Even if you are not, belike, my father, will you not abide with us?"

The tall wayfarer looked down at the boy thoughtfully, and Ellen spoke quickly:

"My lord-"

"Black Michael they call me. And I no longer have any man for friend."

Ellen considered him in surprise. This mindless man had riddles about him, for he was light of hair and brown of face, and not at all dark. He spoke harshly, and still his gray eyes seemed not harsh. He did not act as if he had lost his mind. She knew him to be a knight, even if the gold had worn from his spurs, for he had the voice and manner of one accustomed to command. Standing there with the fine war horse, he made the hut seem poor, as it was.

Black Michael brushed his hand across his forehead. "For five long years," he said softly, "I have had no merry Yuletide and there is a longing in me for the spiced wine, and the song and the merry heart of it."

"Good!" Rob leaped up eagerly. "Ellen will make the cake, and we have two candles."

A bleak look came upon the man's face. "This is a sorry hutch. I will find a better place."

He need not have said that, she knew. While Rob stared in dismay, she hid the swift hurt of his words. "There is a tavern in Dion village a short ride on."

"Nay," Michael checked her words, and paced the ground impatiently. "I shall try the castle, where Sir Trigault must have a jolly hall. But I will leave the packhorse in your shed."

"Sir Michael," she said bitterly, "we thank you for yielding the led horse to our poor hospitality."

"More than that, Ellen," he said thoughtfully, "if I come not back again, horse and pack are yours. You will find therein-a mirror and a rare fine dress of velvet."

Again she bowed to him. "I thank you, my lord, for the alms that I would burn before I touch."

"Be not so sure."

For an instant his hand stroked her bent head, and when she cried out angrily she saw that he was walking away hastily with the war horse toward the shed, with Rob following. For a moment she stared after him, and then ran into the hut.

He had spoken harshly to her, and yet her heart beat fiercely in her breast.

"Saw you it?" The boy came running in. "Ellen! He put on fine mail-yea, he took the great shield from its cover, and it was our shield. I saw the lion of Dion."

The girl took him on her knee, and pressed his head against her throat. "Rob, there be many devices of lions, and thou art a child." And as he wriggled rebelliously, she tightened her grip. "Hearken, Rob, 'tis wrong to hide it from thee longer. Thy father died in the war. They told me years ago but I wished not to tell thee, because-he will never come home."

That noon a throng gathered at the great tavern of Dion village to drink their holiday cup, and to gossip and to look at the stranger. For his horse stood saddled by the door, with the gray mantle thrown over him, and Black Michael sat in the high seat by the fire, drinking a bowl of hot spiced wine.

Word had got about that this strange lord had bested three of the Boar's men on the road, yet he said naught of it-in fact, he said no word at all-and he drank as comfortably as in his own hall. Moreover, at his knee stood Sir Errart's shield with the Dion lion, and upon the breast of his faded surcoat a ragged crusader's cross was still to be seen.

A little after noon a sallow youth came to the tavern, with a burly axman striding behind him. The youth called for no wine but stood between Black Michael and the fire while the axman loitered near. The company of men upon the benches craned their necks to watch, and the tavernkeeper hung about anxiously, for the youth was a swordsman and lieutenant of the Boar. He stared at the shield until Black Michael turned it toward him so that he could see the better.

"Know you this?" he asked.

"I know well," the sallow man sneered; "it is the shield of Errart of Dion, who is carrion in the ground."

Black Michael had noticed that this newcomer had a silver boar's head on the clasp of his belt.

"Nay," he said equably, "it is mine."

"And who art thou to bear it?"

Black Michael smiled his wry smile. "And have you not heard," he asked, "how at times the dead walk the earth, bearing their scars home?"

The swordsman stepped back a pace, fingering the hilt of his weapon. "John o' Ghent am I," he whispered, "and I have stretched out better men than thou. Tell thy name or taste-of this!"

But as he moved to draw his sword, Michael reached out and caught his wrist. John o' Ghent wrenched his arm, yet could not pull free. And before his mate could lift his ax Michael spoke:

"Go you back to the castle and tell the Boar, your master, that I will visit him when an hour hath gone by."

John o' Ghent considered this in silence, and Michael released his wrist. After a muttered word together the two visitors withdrew. Michael watched them from the door and summoned the staring landlord.

"Taverner," quoth he, "I would take my supper with me to the castle. Roast me the quarters of an ox, Taverner, and roast me some sheep. Fetch me a keg of Burgundy and a hogshead of ale with it."

"An' it please you, my lord, how-"

"And sleds to carry them up. For, Taverner, I have a whim in me. This night I shall sup in the castle hall, and my friends shall be with me, yet my foes shall eat in Satan's cellar."

As Michael stripped the mantle from his charger and mounted, white faces pressed against the windows. He rode off, humming to himself, toward the gray stone tower of the church. Then he turned and trotted up a lane until the cottages fell behind and the wood closed in again.

Two men were following him, cutting through the brush. At a bend in the road he reined in, and walked his horse back upon them.

"Well," he said, "what now?"

They looked like hunters, and one carried a bow unstrung, while the other wiped the sweat from a broad red face. "We come for no ill," quoth he, "nay, master, we would warn 'ee, for all thou be'st mad as a starving wolf. Go not to the castle yonder or-or thou'lt have steel i' thy back."

"Then," quoth Michael, "have I need of one to stand at my back."

"Faith, master," the red-faced hunter shook his head, "an' we did that, the Boar would wring our giblets-eh, Giles?"

Michael glanced at the silent archer. "You are Giles the bowman," he said, "and friend to Sir Errart's children. By that same token, I bid you come with me."

Then he nodded at the red face. "And you run back to the village. Rouse up any weapon men who served Sir Errart. Bid them arm and come to the castle gate in an hour, and wait me there. Fetch Father Jehan with you."

The man scratched his head, then he grinned. "Aye-aye, the lads will come with good will to see thee mauled by Sir Trigault, who will make short work of thy madness. Father Jehan, now he can serve to bury thee."

Whereupon he turned back, running, and Michael leaned upon the saddle horn.

"Giles, I mean to take this castle from Sir Boar. They told me that Sir Trigault hath no more than fourteen men with him. Is it true?"

Giles nodded.

"These fellows would not know Sir Errart if they saw him?"

"Not they."

"Then lead the way."

In a moment they passed a stream, and the wood thinned. A field of untrodden snow appeared on the left, and Giles pointed beyond it with his bow. Michael saw between clumps of pine a steep slope that ended in a height of rock. Upon the rock stood the gray walls of a small castle, and above the walls the red-tiled summit of the donjon tower. A strong place, Michael thought, a friendly place-and he liked it well.

"Go ye up, Giles," he said slowly, "to Sir Trigault. Say this to him-that he hath taken the estate of Dion unlawfully. That is one. He hath cast out the lawful heir, Robert of Dion. And that is two. And he hath laid his unclean hand against the maid Ellen of Dion. Which are three charges. Bid him remember them, one-two-three. I affirm it, and I will support my word with my body. And I will await him here."

Within half an hour Sir Trigault rode from his gate. That morning he had heard of the drubbing given one of his lieutenants, Grigol, on the road; John o' Ghent had told him of this stranger's boast in the tavern. The Boar ruled the countryside by fear, and if one defied him, that one must suffer for it.

Although he knew the challenger waited alone, he took no chance of a trick, and he left six of his men-at-arms at the gate that closed behind him. Most of his men were out in bands on the road, and so he rode down to the field with his two lieutenants and six men.

Trigault reined forward and halted. He wore good chain mail, and carried a shield. The bristling beard that covered his chin had been brushed up at the sides, so that with his small, quick eyes he resembled the boar'shead skin that lay upon his round steel cap.

"They named ye well, Sir Boar," Michael greeted him.

Chin thrust forward, Trigault roared at him. "What name bear ye?"

"I am Sir Errart of Dion."

For an instant silence fell, then John o' Ghent laughed aloud. "By God's mazzard, he lies!"

Michael's voice broke in upon him:

"Sure I have lied, and I am a great boaster in the world, and now I am playing a trick upon all of ye. But true it is that thou art guilty, thrice-one, two, three-and for every guilt a man shall fall to my sword. Trigault, thou art a foul fighter and now thy mind is to egg thy men upon me. Well, I will fight thee and these twain."

He pointed to Ghent and Grigol, who stood by their master. "No mercy," he added, "for now it must be to the death."

"Three against one?" demanded Ghent, incredulous.

"Aye, so," Michael dismounted and passed his rein to Giles the bowman. "Three rogues against one valiant trickster."

It seemed to Trigault then that the crusader was mad beyond doubt. Still, he had challenged him with his lieutenants, and the bowman could bear witness to that. He dismounted and tried the hardness of the snow, which being well packed gave good footing.

"Send back thy pack," the crusader advised him. "Three will I stand against, but not nine."

Trigault ordered his men back a few paces and waved Giles away, so that the four found themselves standing upon clear ground, with Michael a dozen paces from the Boar and his followers.

The watchers saw them draw the long swords-all but Grigol, a heavy man who carried a short ax and knife. Then Trigault whispered a word to his companions and they edged to right and left of him, to take the crusader from the side.

"On with it!" cried Trigault, striding forward.

As he drew near, the Boar shortened his steps and then stopped, to let his men come closer. And the instant he stopped, Michael moved. A step to the side and a leap and another swift stride, and he was before John o' Ghent, who flung up his shield as Michael slashed at his head.

But in the air the crusader's sword swept down, striking the man beneath the shield over the hip. Ghent bent forward convulsively, his shield arm dropping as the sword bit into his side. Michael took one more step to the side and slashed at his head. The steel cap spun off into the snow, and Ghent's body went down like a sack.

"One!" cried Michael, stepping aside as Trigault rushed over to him and cut at him savagely. Michael's shield caught the blade with stunning force, and the Boar barely parried his return stroke.

The crusader's long blade swept in and back so swiftly that Trigault grunted and protected himself with shield and blade, while from the corner of his eye he saw Grigol circling to get behind the crusader.

Michael had kept sight of Grigol, and once more he leaped. Back this time, turning as he did so to face the axman. But he slipped as he struck the hard snow and went down on his knee. Grigol and Trigault rushed in upon him savagely.

Being nearer, Grigol was the first to strike, bending forward and grunting as he swung his short ax down at the crusader's head. Michael flung up his shield, and the ax crashed upon it. Without trying to rise from his knee Michael lunged his body forward. His sword thrust up, past the other's shield, and the point of it caught Grigol under the jaw. The steel went up into the man's brain, and his body hung limp.

Steel crushed upon Michael's side, hiring into his mail, snapping a rib and sending a flash of agony through him. Trigault's blow had fallen upon his back just as he had lunged against Grigol, and the blade had not struck fair-the point of the sword raking his ribs.

Setting his teeth, Michael staggered up, throwing his shield around to meet the Boar's second blow, then wrenched his own sword free of the dead Grigol.

"Two!" he cried, thrusting the point of his shield at the Boar's snarling face, and slashing beneath the shield. The Boar sprang back, covering himself again with his weapons, and panting.

"And thou art-the third."

Trigault's blade rang against his steel cap, and it flew off. Michael shook the drip of blood from his eyes. Bending his knees, he put all his strength into a sweep of his long sword. His blade fell fair on Trigault's shield, and the thin steel buckled and cracked.

Michael hewed down at the Boar's broken shield until the bones in the arm beneath it snapped, and the man whined with fear. Back he stumbled, cries coming from his open mouth. "Jacques-Le Baux-aid-" And Michael's sword hissed down at him, and down again and struck fair beneath his jaw. The Boar's body jerked forward and fell upon the snow.

His men, who had come up, stood in their tracks staring down at him-all but one who ran at Michael's back. An arrow flew and struck this weapon man, who sank to his knees.