The Firedrake (10 page)

“He doesn’t like the smell,” Karl said. “That’s a pretty boy, whoa now, whoa.”

“He doesn’t like me. He knows when he’s shod, he’s going to be ridden, and he doesn’t like being ridden. That’s why he threw the first shoe.”

He found the shoe and washed it in the water. Karl walked the horse around. Laeghaire went for a drink of wine. The smell of the burning hoof had brought the pain closer to his forehead. He looked out at the camp. Two boys carrying water passed him. He could see some of his men talking around their fire.

The shoe cooled and he began to nail it on. The stallion sulked. Karl patted him and talked to him. Laeghaire heard Karl’s voice change and looked up.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” he said. He had to twist his neck to look at William. William sat on a tall gray horse whose shoulder was no more than a yard from Laeghaire’s face. Laeghaire started to put down the hoof, but William said, “Keep on, sir.”

Laeghaire spat a nail into the palm of his hand and set it in a nail hole. He lifted the hammer. William made him nervous. He worked slowly.

“The whole camp talks about the newest champion,” William said. “I understand you proved your heavy arm.”

“I was drunk, my lord.”

“I hear different.”

Laeghaire put another nail gently through the hoof wall and twisted off the excess.

“I hear you came into an inn and saw fit to kill a man for no reason worth retelling.”

“I was drunk, my lord.”

“You had just come from me, and you were not drunk when I saw you. Or are you easy with your wine?”

“Very easy, my lord.”

“You will plead my pardon.”

Laeghaire. set down the hoof. He stepped back a little. “Néel was his own man.”

“No. He owed his knight’s fee to me. Now he can hardly fill it. He died last night. You owe me a knight’s fee.”

Karl said softly, “My lord.” He led the horse away. Laeghaire stepped back farther.

“I owe you nothing, Norman,” he said. “I am in the service of my lord of Flanders. Throw your mighty name at someone else.”

His head throbbed. William’s eyes narrowed with rage. This gave Laeghaire satisfaction. He crossed his arms. “I am a free knight,” he said, “and be you the Duke of Normandy or Jesus Christ Himself, you will not try your tricks with me.”

The gray horse wheeled. William’s fist sledged down. Laeghaire felt it club against the side of his head and he felt his bare back skinned on the stony ground. For a moment he could not see. He sat up. His head cleared slowly. He saw the forelegs of the gray horse in front of him. The hoofs almost touched his right foot.

He got to his feet. He saw the other men gathering around. The Flemings stood in the closest circle. One of them stepped forward and drew his sword. “Sir Laeghaire,” he said. He held out the sword.

Laeghaire flung out his arm. “Sheathe it.”

“No man can—”

“Sheathe it, or I’ll cut your throat with it.”

The man pushed back into the crowd.

“You’ll be in my anteroom as soon as you’re properly dressed,” William said. “And you’ll plead my pardon.”

He lifted the rein. Laeghaire caught the rein. He pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“My lord,” he said. “My good, Christian, knightly, sweet lord, before I plead your pardon, you will plead mine. You have my promise on it.”

William laughed. “There’s blood on your head, Irish.” He spurred his horse. The rein tore from Laeghaire’s fingers. He jumped aside. The men scattered before the gray horse. They turned to look after him. One man crossed himself.

“Leave me,” Laeghaire said.

The crowd lingered.

“Leave me. Where is my sword? Leave me, you oxen.”

They wandered off. But Josse came to him.

“You are all pride, Irishman. I wonder you aren’t dead.”

“Do you know who it was who offered me the sword?”

“Yes.”

“Take him my apology.”

“He’ll forgive you. Any man would.”

“Not his high and mighty lordship.”

“I meant him.”

“Josse, don’t be so tender with me, hunh?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Laeghaire caught his arm. “So am I, Josse.”

He went to his tent. Karl was oiling the armbands on his shield. He kept his head bent over it. Laeghaire sat down on the ground. His head was thundering. He stared at the shield, at the dents in the surface.

“I saw,” Karl said.

“What did you see, boy?”

“There’s water in the bucket, sir. You should wash your head.”

Laeghaire put his hand to his head. The touch of his fingers made him wince.

“What did you see, boy?”

He looked at his fingers, slick with blood.

“You were right. You were right. How could he have forgotten his honor?”

“His honor.”

“You are a knight, and he had no right to strike you, or to order you around.”

“Maybe.”

“And if he is overhuman, as they say, he had even less right than he had, which was none.”

“I think he had to do it.”

“But you had to do what you did.”

“Maybe.”

Laeghaire washed his head. The water turned filmy and pink.

“Didn’t you?” Karl said.

“I don’t know.”

“Would you do it again?”

“I don’t know. Yes. I would.”

“Are we going back to Flanders?”

“No. Get me my surcoat and mail.”

“Are you—”

“Do as I say. There are few things I regret. Leave it there. If I regretted having done what I did, I wouldn’t go up there.”

Karl went silently to the war chest. Laeghaire straightened. The blood flowed freely from the wound. It splattered his mail. When he put on the surcoat the blood spread over the shoulder bright as a badge. He buckled on his sword belt.

“I have your horse, my lord,” Karl said.

He went out. Karl held the brown stallion. Laeghaire looked at him. He mounted. Kari said, “Did you want the other, my lord?”

“Don’t be so innocent.”

Karl handed him up his helmet. He said, “Good luck.”

“I’m not going to a battle.”

He rode slowly through the camp. He saw them straighten and turn to watch him ride by. He held the reins loosely. His left hand rested on his thigh. The blood clotted again; he couldn’t feel it running along his ear.

He thought it had never taken him longer to ride such a distance. Even in the town the people turned to watch him. He wondered if they knew. The brown stallion walked with a long reaching stride. Laeghaire took the rein in his left hand and leaned forward to kill a fly on the horse’s neck. A smear of blood spread on the palm of his glove.

The castle gate was open. Fitz-Osbern stood in the courtyard, talking to a page boy. He turned and saw Laeghaire and walked over.

“Who are—Oh. So you came.”

Laeghaire dismounted.

“I came, my lord.” He threw the rein to Fitz-Osbern, who caught it automatically. Laeghaire went by him and up the outer stair.

The anteroom was empty. He stood, looking at the tapestry on the wall. The door opened, but it was a man in bishop’s robes. This man cocked an eyebrow and said, “Do you wait for my lord brother, sir knight?”

“Yes, my lord Bishop.”

“He is in his offices.”

“Then tell him I came this far.”

Odo went into the offices. He shut the door. Laeghaire studied the dried blood on the palm of his glove. He started to draw off the glove.

“By the splendor of God.”

William came farther into the room. He turned, went back and shut the door. He frowned.

“What do you intend to gain by this?”

“It occurred to me that it would surprise you if I came,” Laeghaire said. He took off his helmet.

“Then I expect a flowery speech.” William put his hands on his hips. He cocked his head a little.

“No, my lord.” Laeghaire looked around. He saw a bench and sat on it. He crossed his arms. “I keep my word.”

“So?”

“I made you a promise.”

William’s mouth thinned. “And if I do not debase myself before a blood-fouled wanderer, a gypsy knight and a stranger, then you will take my father-in-law’s army back to Flanders.”

“I said nothing of that.”

William thought. His eyes never left Laeghaire’s. “You damned man,” he said.

Laeghaire said nothing.

The Duke went around the room. He put out his hand to touch a part of the tapestry. He paused by the window. Suddenly he turned.

“I plead your pardon,” he said.

“And I yours, my lord.”

“For what do I plead your pardon? Hitting you, or saying what I said?”

“Saying that. Nothing more. What you meant to do.”

“You are a damned, damned man. Get out.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

He went to the door. William said, “Sir Laeghaire. The blow. Count it an accolade.”

Laeghaire went out. He laughed in the hall. He went down to his horse. Fitz-Osbern was in the shadow of the gate. Laeghaire mounted. He put on his helmet. He waved to Fitz-Osbern. The stallion tugged at the bit. Laeghaire took a strong hold on the rein. The stallion reared and Laeghaire spurred him. They bolted out the gate. The dust of the street billowed up under the driving hoofs. They charged across the half-empty market-place and out of the town onto the field. In the middle of the camp Laeghaire brought the stallion to a stiff-legged stop. He bent him in a wild, plunging circle. The men cheered suddenly. Laeghaire made the stallion rear and lunge three great jumps on his hind legs. He stopped the stallion and sat panting in the saddle. His men were all around him.

Jehan shoved through them. Jehan looked up.

“A berserker with a horse, too. Did he make you a count?”

“It’s between him and me. Where’s wine? Shall we get drunk? Wait until I get out of this mail.”

Four days later, after Mass, they all set out for Maine. They moved fast, as fast as they could with the foot soldiers. They reached a town called Bellême in three days, marched straight through the town, and met the seigneur at the gate of the fortress. Laeghaire saw William speaking to this lord, up by the gate, and heard nothing. William turned and called up his captains.

“We’ll camp here the night,” he said.

They dispersed their men to find campgrounds and water. Laeghaire went down with Karl to the common pasturage outside the town. He ordered his men to camp near it.

“What’s this all about?” Karl said.

“Who is the lord of Bellême?”

“Robert, I think his name is. He’s a great lord.”

“Whose man is he?”

“No man’s man.”

“Then that’s what. He doesn’t want them tricking him. Now he’ll have hostages of him.”

“Oh,” Karl said. He unbuckled the pack harnesses. “He’s a clever man.”

“That’s the truth.”

“What are we going to do when we get to Maine?”

“Ride against a village called Le Barb. The rest—they’re going to Mayenne. Or so he says.”

“Le Barb?”

“There’s a fort there. Get me some wine. I’ll make the fire.”

They rode on the next day. First William sent twenty knights back to Rouen with two younger sons of the house of Bellême. The land was hilly and they could not move as easily or as fast. William sent out his scouts ahead of him. They rode in a tight mass, with the scouts set out before them like the feelers of a bug.

Once they came on a village, and it surrendered to them as soon as the people saw how many they were. Laeghaire and his Flemings were in the front part of the army. They reined in and waited while Fitz-Osbern rode out to accept the surrender of the town. The Duke sat his horse at the head of the army. He talked with Odo, his half brother.

The sun was bright. Laeghaire turned his shoulder to the village. He hooked his right knee over the pommel of his saddle and stretched.

“Wine, my lord?” Karl said, and unslung the jar from his saddle.

“Good.” Laeghaire took it and opened it. He drank.

A horse gallloped by him, headed for the Duke. Laeghaire tossed the jar to Karl.

“My lord,” the rider said. He wheeled to a halt. “Are we going to plunder?”

Laeghaire turned and looked at the men around him. None of them seemed surprised. He heard their voices, muttering, just as before.

“No,” William said.

Laeghaire put his foot back into the stirrup and spat.

They rode through the town, but they neither pillaged nor burned, and out again on the other side. Soon after, Jehan rode up looking for Laeghaire and fell in beside him. “Surprised?”

“Who’s he to deny me my rights?”

“Nothing there anyway. By the way, you have two new members in your force.”