The Harp and the Blade (15 page)

Piers damned the Abbot. “We’ve been enemies from the first, so I never tried to team up with him. I made a raid on his territory once when I first got in power just to let people know I was around.” He looked thoughtful as if contemplating the memory.

“Did you give him a lesson?” I prodded, being certain he had done no such thing.

“No,” he admitted grudgingly, “but that was before I had the following I have now. I’ll show him the next time I fight him.”

Thinking of Father Clovis and the other soldierly priests I’d dined with, I looked around at his frowsy, undisciplined outlaws and doubted him. Some were already nodding, and all would soon be asleep. I didn’t believe for an instant that any who might be on watch would make an all-night vigil of it, especially as I had noticed that the fellows who had got wind of me had never returned to their posts. If an organized body could have been made of those men it hadn’t been done.

Not that I disapproved. I was elated with the assurance that escape could be easily achieved by refraining from drink the next time they went in for it heavily. At the moment, however, I was very tired and sleepy myself, and I was wishing that Piers would let me rest.

But drink had expanded his natural tendency to brag, and I as the one person present who hadn’t heard it all before was his inevitable victim. “They all think I’m no smarter than the other outlaws,” he informed me, “but they’re wrong. I know what’s got to be done to hold my land just as well as any of ‘em. You’ve got to build stone forts. Not wooden halls with dirt walls around them that anybody can climb over, but high, straight-up-and-down stone walls. That’s the only way you can be safe from attack and have a safe place to attack from.”

“How many have you built so far?” I was mean enough to want to know.

“None yet, but I’m going to. Come to think of it, I guess I’ll start one tomorrow. How’s that for a good idea?”

“Excellent,” I granted, “but if you’re going to do that we’d better get some sleep.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He roared for somebody to keep the fire going and lay down where he was. I followed his example gladly, even though I didn’t anticipate a hard day of fort building. For, improbability granted, if Piers should happen to remember and persevere with his scheme, those men of his would abruptly leave him for a less ambitious leader. They weren’t spiritually geared for long-term hard work.

I yawned, scratched, and adjusted myself to the ground as comfortably as I could. Even for that country it had been something of a day, and I wondered at the turn of events. Was I ever, I wondered somewhat wildly, going to be permitted to leave, or was I forever doomed to be jerked back like a training hawk just when I was certain of freedom? Fortunately sleep stopped such futile speculations until I waked with a grouch, stiff muscles, new flea bites, and the taste of too much bad-quality ale sour in my mouth.

It was cool, early morning, and the fire had died to ashes. I shuffled over to benefit by what heat was left and stared at the recumbent figures distastefully. They might not look as savage as they had by firelight, but they looked a great deal fouler, especially the women. One, a hag at less than thirty, lay on her back not far from me, with a dirty breast swelling shapelessly from her torn bodice. A man from among a group of six rolled over and commenced copulating with the woman next to him. The little boy in the crook of her arm cursed the man for waking him and was smacked into silence.

I was appreciative of the causes that had contributed, but the fact of what they had become could draw no more warmth of pity than could a long-dead fish. They had become too alien and would so remain until law, if it ever did, should come again to restore a little of the pride in human dignity without which man is not. I spat and waited for Piers to wake.

W
ITH
them it was gorge or go hungry. There was no ale left, and Piers, who had seen to it that there was no ale left, was much aggrieved. He kicked the cask, hurt his toe, then took vengeance for it by booting a little girl who had the misfortune to be passing. She did no harm to his foot and screamed satisfyingly.

After a grumpy breakfast he decided to move south in hopes of intercepting men straggling back toward the Loire with what possessions they had been able to keep out of reach of the Danes. I walked with him at the head of the mob, and as we reached the road I noted with relief that the girl’s tracks showed she had gone on.

That was the only thing I had to be glad of for three days more. I might, indeed, have escaped any one of the nights, but I wasn’t going to leave without my sword, and Piers was too sober to make its retrieving possible. It was not only that it would have been stupid to go anywhere alone without a weapon in the country, but I valued that particular sword. It was an excellent blade whose weight and balance exactly suited me, and I strongly begrudged its use to a mean, shiftless braggart.

He tried me to my limits of control by giving me what passes for friendship with such a man. That is to say he talked about himself continuously, and it was my business to chime in with applause at appropriate intervals. Volubility unalleviated by a sound worldly outlook, scholarship, or humor is a sin for which I have no charity. I don’t mind a man being a fool if he has but the grace not to rub it in. My chagrin was aggravated, moreover, by the fact that I could neither avoid his company nor voice any of the cutting remarks that crowded into my mind.

The other men were inclined to be sullen because I basked in the great man’s favor, and the women were inclined to be vulgarly arch for the same reason. The first I didn’t mind because I could pay no attention, but an aggressive wanton is harder to snub than a month-old puppy. Though not pure, I’m particular, and there was certainly no woman in that blowzy lot for whom I would have risked a quarrel. Two fellows did slash at each other to the delight of the young slut who had caused the contention. They left the loser unburied by the side of the road.

We never went more than a few miles in a day, for when nothing happened everybody got tired of walking. Then, too, they were living largely on game, and hunting took a great deal of time.

It wasn’t till the third day that they netted their first windfall. To my intense satisfaction as well as theirs, a group of their foragers had run across a wain loaded with wine casks. It wasn’t very good wine, but I was confident that Piers would oblige me by getting drunk on it. He started pouring it into himself at a great rate, and all but the youngest children followed his example. Drunkenness was attained all the more speedily for that they forgot all about supper, which had been in preparation when the wine arrived. I rescued a part of one joint of venison, but the rest of it was allowed to burn up.

In an hour the camp was a scene of rampant sordidness. No one sought privacy to urinate, vomit or fornicate, and there was much activity along all three lines. Men, women, and children in varying stages of inebriety and sickness fought and cursed according to their respective abilities. Of course, there was also considerable merriment in the form of songs, good-natured insults, and obscene practical jokes.

I kept out of trouble by playing my harp and staying close to Piers. Music has more power over the drunken than over the sober, and by playing gay tunes I was able to keep him in a good humor most of the time. As a result he was greatly pleased with me and shooed away any man or woman who showed an inclination to interrupt or otherwise annoy me. The drawback to the arrangement was that he kept filling my cup, and I did not, for once in my life, want to drink very much. Ultimately my only defense against his hospitality was feigning tipsiness on an amount I’d scorn to have affect me.

“Drink up!” Piers yelled, though I wasn’t two feet from him.

“Had enough,” I said thickly and yawned.

“Aw, you ain’t had enough to get a baby lit.”

“Haven’t had enough for you,” I said ponderously, “but I’ve had enough for me. I wish I could drink as much as you can, but I can’t.” I shook my head as if in wonder. “I never saw anybody who can drink as much as you can.”

He was delighted at this tribute to his prowess and immediately became sympathetic toward my frailty. “Everybody can’t expect to drink like I can.” He hiccoughed kindly. “Why don’t you go sleep it off?”

I rose falteringly. “Guess I will. Don’t see how you do it.” He laughed, and I made my uneven way to the edge of the firelight. Being on the opposite of the fire from the wine cask, the spot I had chosen was comparatively free from traffic. I sat down awkwardly, then sprawled to watch and wait.

It was some hours before Piers gave up, and I began to fear that he would drink the night out. He was, in truth, nearly as capacious a drinker as he thought he was, and he kept filling his cup as soon as it was emptied, which never took him long. Even in sottishness magnitude is awe-inspiring, and I half admired him as cup after cup found him on his feet, his zest apparently undiminished.

Eventually the only thing that could have helped me came to pass. All the rest had given in to the wine, but Piers and two fellows still worked at it, not certain of thought, speech or movement but undaunted. The smoke from the dying fire prevented a clear view of the cask itself, but I saw one of them walk toward it, then heard him swear plaintively.

“What do you know? The goddam thing’s empty!” Considering the enormous amounts that had been drunk, plus the quantities that had been wasted through tipsy clumsiness, I was not surprised. Piers, however, was outraged. “It can’t be!” he declared.

“Well,” the other presented his grounds for belief, “you turn the spigot, and nothing comes.”

“Maybe you don’t know how to turn a spigot right,” the third man said hopefully.

“Hell! I guess I can turn a goddam spigot as well as the next man. It’s empty, I tell you! Shall we start on another?”

I held my breath, but Piers saw an insurmountable objection. “It’d be too much work getting it off the wain. Besides, I’m getting kind of sleepy.”

“Yeah, I’m about ready to call it a night, too,” one of the_ others confessed.

Piers lay down about thirty feet away from me, and I gave him a half hour or so to find the depths of sleep. The wine’s victory was all the more complete for being belated, and I saw as I stood over him that nothing short of violence could rouse him. I looked around. Nobody was paying any attention to me, though one man nearby opened his eyes. The sight of me seemed more than he could bear, for he closed them again and rolled over.

In another minute I had unbuckled my sword from around Pier’s waist. It surely felt good to have a weapon, particularly that one, in my hand again after so many defenseless hours. In a great rush of relief I realized I was free of those graceless churls, free of Piers and his inextinguishable boasting, and free, best of all, to go my own way, I felt so good about it that I almost let Piers off, but just in time I remembered the little girl he had kicked. Drawing back my foot, I gave him all I had. I didn’t hear any ribs crack, but he’d be sure to find them sore the next morning. At the moment, however, he only realized that something had waked him up.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, raising up on one elbow.

“Nothing,” I responded cheerfully.

“That’s good,” he said and went to sleep again. Humming to myself, I picked my way through the woods til I came to the road. The southern route was still closed to me, and by Danes perhaps as well as Chilbert, so I shrugged and stepped out north with humorous fatalism. I had become used to the knowledge that such things as where I myself wanted to go or what I wanted to do were now factors of negligible importance in my life. I didn’t like my predicament, but it hadn’t begun to pinch me yet, so there was no use in getting depressed about it.

I traveled briskly, thus keeping warm as well as putting distance between myself and Piers. I had little fear that he would bother to pursue me, as far as that was concerned, but there was no sense in making it easy for him if he should happen to. Two wolves, needlessly suspecting competition, looked up from the dead outlaw they’d been sharing and snarled at me as I passed; but otherwise nothing happened for several hours.

When the sun was high enough to give genuine warmth I sat down by a stream and finished the joint of venison, the remnant of which I’d taken the precaution of putting in my scrip. From that point on, I reflected as I tossed the bone away, I’d be living off the country. My immediate problem, though, was sleep, not food, so I followed the brook into the woods, looking for a likely place to rest. Not fifty feet in, but yet out of sight of the road, was a little open patch with the sun full on it, and I stripped happily.

“You should have stayed on Piers,” I told my fleas. “He would never have done this to you.” I dunked my greasy garments, scrubbed them with clay, rubbed them on a flat rock, rinsed them, wrung them, and spread them to dry. The water felt marvelous when I got around to immersing myself, and the clay took the grime from me. It was wonderful to feel the cleanness as I lay down, sunwarmed. I slept soon.

It was fine to wake as I did a couple of hours later, thoroughly refreshed and with the knowledge that for the moment, at least, everything was as it should be. I was in the shade by then, but the little breeze that ran over me from time to time was just the right temperature. The stream was casually musical and quiet about it, the forest was sultrily aromatic, and the trees individually were high-reaching and clean-cut. I was suicidally imbecilic thus to signal my presence in that pot of factions, but I started to sing.

After finishing the first song it struck me that I was in excellent voice, and others were rendered as they came to me. Finally I thought of a poem I’d written when I was quite a youngster, and out of pure, good spirits I boomed it forth at the top of my voice.

“I’m older than God, but gay and frisky.

I’ll never die,

Which may seem odd Till I tell you why:

I drained off my blood and put in whisky.

Yes, by damn!