Swords From the West (20 page)

"Hark ye, Eric the Landless," said Odo grimly. "I seek one to lead the charge to draw the onset of the Moslems-for they will come against the leader. If I should be unhorsed, the battle would go badly, for my men are new to this land and the Saracen. The peril is great, yet this armor is good, and I will give thee a score of stout lads to shield thy back-and a score of gold byzants to fill thy purse."

The mild blue eyes of the Viking dwelt on the Norman curiously.

"The risk is yours," he responded. "And I have a duty at the camp. I am thinking that the Arabs may reach to the camp seeking loot, for that is their way."

The thin lips of the Norman curled. Only a victor in battle, he thought, could gain and plunder a hostile encampment. "Thirty pieces-of Venetian weight," he offered.

Something troubled the Viking. For a moment he brooded.

"I am thinking all this is not good. Perhaps there is a sign between us. But to wear the garments of another man is not good. Hark ye, Duke Odo! Do you hear a whetting of sword edges, and a rushing of ravens' wings? There will be a breaking of shields and a snarling of wolves and sorrow after the next sunset."

Arnulf crossed himself, but Odo smote his hand upon the table. "'Tis someone without!" Steps sounded on the ground and a woman's voice cried out. The Norman commanded, "Enter!"

The entrance flap was lifted by a man-at-arms and Ilga stepped into the candlelight. Throwing back the hood of her robe, she hastened to the table and held out a slender arm to the Viking.

"Messire, thy pardon," she whispered, curtseying to the duke. "0 come back to the tent, Eric. My father cannot rise from his bed, and he cries for water, the fever being upon him."

Her eyes were bright with anxiety. A child, Arnulf thought, frightened at the sign of death. He had watched her on the road, listening to Eric's droning talk of northern trolls and elves. Surely she loved the yellow-haired giant, as she loved the great horse that carried her and the hound that ran by her. And because she was frightened, she had come to find him here.

Duke Odo spoke before the Viking. "Nay, little Ilga, water we have not, yet here is Cyprian wine, and cool." Motioning Arnulf aside, he handed her the flagon on the table.

"I thank thee, my lord," she cried softly. "My father said thou wert an ill man to meet with, but surely thou art of heart, to give this to him."

A ghost of a smile touched the Norman's lips. "I give to the daughter, not the father."

Silent, she looked at the two men. Eric, hands clasped on his ax shaft, did nothing, and she bowed again, slipping from the pavilion while Odo watched, still smiling.

And Arnulf-who knew his master's whims-said to himself that the lord of Bari desired this brat of the Jerusalemite; and what Odo desired, he took. Ilga being gentle born, and Sir Guy still living, Arnulf felt that Odo might venture too far, unless the disorder of the march and fighting should place Ilga in his hands.

"Now I see Eric the Landless," murmured Duke Odo, "that thou art no man of thy word."

As at the sight of the fine mail, the Viking's eyes quickened. "That is ill said. Nay, it has not been said before," he responded in his deep voice. "And how is it true?"

"Upon joining my company, thou madest pledge to stand shield to shield with my men, at need. Now when the battle is near, thou art a coward and foresworn-bound to the tents by a woman's girdle."

Swiftly Arnulf moved behind the Viking, his fingers on the dagger at his hip. Eric's blue eyes had clouded, and his face was bleak. Odo's thrust had touched him.

What Arnulf did not know was that Eric all his life had been a leader of men-in the voyages over the gray waters of the north, and in the great palaces of Constantinople where he had ruled the warriors who fought the wars of an emperor for pay. A Viking must hold to his service, and his sword.

"That will not be said of me," Eric answered grimly. "I will wear your gear-" with his ax head he pointed at the gleaming helm-"on the morrow, and sit in your saddle. And 'twill say nothing of that to any man. But there is this to be done. Before darkness, there will be weapons drawn between us, and the death of one of us."

"Granted," Black Odo nodded.

"But when I take your place," Eric went on, "by your own hand safeguard the girl Ilga from danger. For I pledged her father I would ward and shield her from harm, while he lies sick."

"I swear," assented the Norman quietly, "that no Moslem living shall lay hand upon Ilga of the Mount while I live."

"Swear upon the Cross."

Odo picked up his sheathed sword, holding the hilt high, and laying his hand upon the crosspiece. And suddenly Arnulf laughed.

When the curtain had fallen behind the Viking, the henchman stared curiously at his master. Odo rubbed his chin reflectively. He had got the Viking to serve him, but if Eric lived Odo would have a duel on his hands. Ordinarily the Norman would not shun that-he trusted his arm and his sword edge. Yet Eric was Ilga's watchdog, and Odo lacked not cunning.

"By the mother that bore thee, if so be thou knowest her," he observed pleasantly to Arnulf, "mark well what I say. Choose thee some ten bold rogues, and follow this landless wight in his onset. Follow and keep his back, until he is hard pressed-then draw away and let him go down. But if he is not slain, put thy knife behind his ear. If he lives, thou wilt not. Am I clear?"

Arnulf grinned, and touched the dagger hilt at his hip. He knew well where to find the ear hole in his masters' helm.

"And then," Odo mused, "stand thou guard over his body, saying that Duke Odo is stunned. Bear back the carcass-unhelm it not-to this pa vilion, after sunset. I will await thee here in other guise, and speak with thee then."

And Arnulf's bow was deep with respect. What a brain! Odo had arranged everything to his will. He would be in his pavilion, watching the battle, yet no man would know this. He might even play with the daughter of the sick Jerusalemite while everyone thought him in the saddle pursuing the Moslems, and afterward, in the pavilion-Arnulf's ready mind played with still finer fancies-Odo might change places with the dead Viking-might say, if he chose, that Eric had been slain for an affront to the girl Ilga. He, Arnulf would be witness.

Still amused at the baiting of the Viking, Arnulf went in the halflight before sunrise, to call Eric to be armed. He found the warrior in Sir Guy's tent-the sick knight awake upon his cloak, haggard and breathing swiftly. A guttered candle flared and smoked upon the ground and beside it the girl curled up on her pallet asleep. In both hands she held the Viking's fist. He nodded to Arnulf, drawing free his cramped arm slowly, so that Ilga only stirred and sighed and slept on.

But Sir Guy propped himself on an elbow and whispered:

"Remember thy pledge, Eric-my daughter will be shielded?"

"On the honor of Duke Odo," said the Viking, "she will be."

When the glare of sunrise struck into the valley, the hills took shape, the mists thinned away, and the Normans moved forward as Duke Odo had commanded, before the morning heat should be upon them.

They kept no order, being only to come to grips with the bands of Moslem horse already in motion toward them from the rocks of the distant well. The men watched in silence, being sore with hunger and wracked with thirst. Only when their leader trotted up to them did they shout hoarsely.

They had no slightest reason to suspect that this leader was not Odo-some of them indeed noticed that he carried upon his saddle horn a heavy ax instead of his sword, and that he did not speak to his knights as usual. Instead he sent Arnulf to bid them halt and form in a half circle, with the archers in front.

It surprised Arnulf that Eric should sit the gray charger almost as easily as his lord the duke. From foot to head he was now encased in loose chain mail, and over his head had been thrust the steel helm with only an opening as large as his finger for him to see through. On his left arm-looped by a leather band over his shoulder-was braced the long painted shield of Duke Odo.

When Arnulf urged him to form the mailed horsemen for a charge, he laughed inside his steel dome:

"Arrow fight before sword stroke. Watch ye, little man."

Amid drifting dust clouds three thousand desert men swarmed about the seven hundred Normans. They dashed forward in groups, round shields upraised, cloaks flying about them. And the long arrows of the Normans dropped them from the saddle.

The back-curving ends of the Christian arc were still too close to the ridge and Odo's camp for the Moslems to cut in behind them, and the darting charges of the excited Arabs failed to break the Christian line. The short Moslem bow was not effective at that distance, and the Norman archers began to enjoy good sport. As the Arabs rode over their dead, their fury grew, and their shouting became a pulsing roar-

"Allah l allah!"

The Norman horsemen, standing beside their stirrups, chafed and grumbled. They dared not ride to their leader to protest, although they were ill content to be out of the affray. "'Tis not our lord's way, to hang upon the leash."

It was not, indeed, Odo's way, and a rider galloped down from the closed pavilion-a man of Arnulf's who sought the armiger beneath the upraised standard. And Arnulf shouted against Eric's helm, holding up a gleaming signet ring. "The token of my lord the duke. He bids thee cease this play and go forward before the heat comes."

Again Eric laughed in his dark dome. "Truly said I there was a sign between us. Let us try the sword strokes. Sound thy horns."

At the blare of the horns the Normans mounted, and walked their horses between the archers, who moved after them. Before the standard bearer rode Eric, holding back until the mailed riders had closed in and formed a double rank. Suddenly his eyes swept from flank to flank and he urged on the gray charger. Behind him massive hoofs drummed the hard clay and roared into a gallop.

The uplifted spears came down, the long shields were raised, and a war shout went up.

"Forward, with God!"

The Arabs had launched a counter charge, to strike the leading rank before it gained full headway. A thousand or more of the wild horsemen came on, their scimitars swinging by their knees, their horses maddened by blood.

But the first wave broke against the long Norman spears, and the lighter horses of the Moslems swerved or went down at the impact. A swirl and check-a brief clanging of steel-and the gray Norman line went on gathering pace. Again the spears were lowered as the Arabs closed in from all sides.

Eric, his ax-head resting on his shield arm, drove between two cloaked riders, took the lash of a scimitar on his shield and struck to the right. The curving edge of the ax sliced upward, beneath an Arab's jaw, and Eric freed the weapon by a jerk of his wrist that laid open one side of the rider's head.

A scimitar bruised the muscles of Eric's right shoulder, and again the ax slashed out, catching the new assailant beneath the arm. And part of the arm and shoulder flew off.

The Viking was little excited. The clash of weapons left him calm, and he struck out instinctively, knowing what the result would be, and always freeing his weapon swiftly. While the Normans lashed about them, shouting their exultation, he rode silently-a fighter plying his trade, a weapon man, killing where he willed.

Never before had he been so protected by steel. He felt an arrow jar in his left thigh, and reached down his left hand to break off the shaft. Twice something crashed against his solid helm, and he shook his head and went on.

So the hard-riding Normans broke the Arabs and followed up, until dark faces whirled past Eric again, and his ax rose and fell, scattering blood from its edge. And then his horse went down with a stagger and lurch-the length of a sword blade in its belly.

The Viking freed his feet from his stirrups and fell clear. He raised the shield over his head and shortened his grip on the ax. Dodging, hitting out as he ran, he fought for a way out of the press of rearing and circling horses.

Hands caught at his ax arm, but the Viking heaved back, and an Arab tumbled to earth before him, and lay motionless a second later with his skull crushed in and his brains scattered over the ground. Eric strode over him, ran for a moment beside his horse-glimpsed a rocky knoll through his eye-slit-and swung himself to the top of a four-foot boulder.

Arrows flicked past him and he swung his shield against the gleam of javelins. Arabs scrambled from their saddles to climb to the ground beside him, and shield and ax he battered them down.

They reached up to catch his legs, but that giant body in its chain mail was firmly rooted. Never, thought the Norman men-at-arms, straining to reach his side, had Odo fought with the sword as he now fought with the ax.

"Aid for good Duke Odo!"

He heard their shout, saw their long blades sweeping nearer.

"Good blows, ye men of the Cross! Good blows! " his deep voice boomed.

And then he saw no Moslems before him. Norman men-at-arms were sitting in the saddle beneath him, panting, resting their bloodied sword arms. They were looking at him silently. Many of them had hated, and almost all had feared Duke Odo. But this leader of theirs in the dull and dented helm, the chain mesh hanging in shreds from his right arm, and blood bubbling through the links on his chest and thigh-this man had led them through four onsets of the Moslem masses, and they were ready to follow him hereafter to Jerusalem or to purgatory. The valley was theirs.

Eric blinked at his men through sweat-tormented eyes, steam rising from his body, the lust of conflict like hot wine within him. The steel helm, heated by the sun's glare, irked him and he pulled with unfamiliar fingers, to tear it off. But it had been laced to his shoulder links by an expert hand, and he croaked for Arnulf to rid him of it.

A tall swordsman, black with dust, gripped his arm and pointed: "My lord, yonder is thy weapon bearer, and he is sped this life."

Eric looked down, seeing the carcass of his own horse and, a space in back of it, Arnulf's body outstretched. The Italian's head lay to the rear, face down, an arrow fairly through his throat. So Arnulf must have turned back, when Moslems surrounded the Viking, a moment before the charger was slain.