The Iron Tempest (46 page)

Then, a few miles later: “If I were the only one injured I might be able to pardon myself, though it would be difficult. No. Even then, I’d not want to. But how much less forgiveness do I deserve for hurting Bradamant as much as I have? Even if I could forgive myself, I’d still have to avenge the wrong done to her. And how can I avenge her other than by dying? And I want to die, indeed I do. Since that’s the only thing that’ll give me relief, it’s no problem. My only regret is that I didn’t die before doing her so much harm. Oh, why couldn’t I have perished in Theodora’s dungeon? At least I would’ve earned Bradamant’s pity. But now, when she learns that I showed more affection for Prince Leon than her—as she’s certain to discover sooner or later—and of my own will deprived her of me so that he could have her. . . well, she’ll have good reason to hate me whether I’m dead or alive.”

He went on more or less in this vein for days as Frontino wandered here and there. The horse would stop to eat, drink and rest, but his miserable rider never once dismounted but only moaned and wept and tore at his hair and beat sonorously at his armored breast. He was often chased from a hamlet by people complaining of the noise.

Finally, as he was passing aimlessly through a sunny field, Rashid fell from his saddle and collapsed on the ground beneath the huge, twisted black tree. He was awakened by Frontino’s gentle nuzzling and discovered that he still held the animal’s reins. He raised his hand and released them.

“Oh, Frontino,” he said, “I wish it were in my power to give you even half the reward you deserve. If I could, you’d need not ever envy the place Pegasus has among the stars. Neither Arion—born of Neptune and a Fury—nor Castor’s Cyllaros merited greater praise than you—and even if they did, they couldn’t boast of the honor and reward of being loved by that woman who is more beautiful, noble and valiant than any other, who considered you so dear that she fed you with her own hand. You were dear to my lady. . . no—I haven’t any right to say that she’s
my
lady. She’s no longer mine. I’ve given her to another.”

Frontino whickered sympathetically, but his master didn’t respond so he wandered a little, nibbling here and there at the dry grass, following the shade of the great tree as it swung from west to east. Occasionally he returned to the man, but though he prodded him gently with his soft muzzle, there was no response. Days went by and the loyal horse refused to stray far from Rashid, never failing to return every hour or so to see if the knight would respond and stand again. Finally, after a week had passed, there were voices and the sound of other horses.

“I know this man,” said Leon as he dismounted.

“Yes, I know you do,” replied the woman.

He approached the fallen knight and knelt beside him. The man’s face and hair were wet with tears. His hands were covered with the marks of his teeth where he had bitten them savagely; his lips had been bitten through and were covered with thick, black scabs. The prince gently put his arms around the knight’s neck and half lifted him.

“Sir Knight?” he asked and was overjoyed to see the eyes flutter and the tip of a tongue lick tentatively at the swollen lips.

“What is it that brought you here? Would it help to unburden yourself to me? There’re few ills in this world that’re so terrible that a man can’t extricate himself from them if he just makes the cause known—and as long as you’re alive you must never give up hope of discovering that cause.”

By way of answer he only received a protracted groan.

“I’m afraid he’s dying,” Leon said to the woman, who was busy unpacking a bundle from her saddlebags. “He’s dying of some great, unbearable grief. What could’ve been so terrible that it would drive a man like this to such despair?”

“I’ll have some food and drink ready,” she answered, “if you can awaken him.”

“Sir Knight,” he continued, “it hurts that you chose to flee from me. I thought we were friends. And I
am
your true friend. Not just because I’m bound to you by a debt of honor—I was your friend even when I had good cause to consider you a mortal enemy. You ought to know I’m ready to help you with everything I own—even my life.”

“No,” croaked the knight through his ruined lips.

“My lady!” Leon cried. “He’s awake! He’s spoken!”

“Good,” she said, coming to his side. “Here, we’ll see if he won’t try to eat something.”

She dipped a little bread in a cup of wine and held it to the knight’s lips. The wine dissolved the blood and the mixture ran in a thick black stream down his unshaven cheeks and chin.

“Is he eating it?” the prince asked.

“Yes, a little.”

After a few minutes, Rashid had eaten several pieces of the wine-soaked bread and his opened eyes had regained some of their luster and focus. Leon started to question the knight again, but the woman placed a hand gently against his chest and held him back. Oddly, he felt as though the strength of an ox lay behind that easy gesture.

“Wait a bit,” she said, “until after we’ve all eaten.”

She spread a robe across the dusty grass beside the prostrate man, who was now propped into a half-sitting position against the saddle Leon had removed from the knight’s horse. Onto this she placed a surprising variety of edibles, all taken from a wicker hamper that Leon would have been prepared to swear could not have held half so much. They dined on breads, cheeses, sausages, cold chicken and cold boiled meats, pickled vegetables, fruits and nuts. There were even half a dozen bottles of very good wine. Leon had not been aware that he was so hungry, but at the first taste of the food his mouth flooded with hot, sweet saliva and he ate so lustily he forgot for the time being the presence of the man he had been hunting for a fortnight. Rashid, too, ate. At first sparingly and with disinterest, but—perhaps inspired by the prince’s gluttonous example—eventually with some substance. The woman ate nothing.

Finally, Leon leaned back and belched. “Well, my friend,” he said, “if you won’t voluntarily tell me what your problem is, you’ll force me to resort to force, flattery, bribery or guile, if that is what it’ll take to help you escape from it. If I fail, then you may die, but let’s don’t think of that until you’ve at least given me a fair chance to see what I can do.”

Rashid could not listen any longer to the man’s pleas. They were meant with honest kindness and Rashid’s heart was made of neither iron nor flint. He realised how spiteful and mean it would be to not tell the man something at least.

He opened his mouth three or four times but nothing would come out. Neither Leon nor the woman said anything, for fear of upsetting the balance of the moment.

“My lord,” he said finally, “when you know who I am you may be more willing than I am to see me die. I’m the man whom who hate more than any other on earth.”

“No, you’re not,” the prince protested. “I may’ve once, briefly, when I first saw you destroying my father’s and my armies, but I’ve told you that hatred no longer exists.”

“No, you don’t understand. My name is Rashid.”

“
Rashid!
”

“And I have hated you, too. I went to Bulgaria with the sole purpose of killing you and your father, rather than see Bradamant given to you by Haemon. But because man only proposes while God disposes, it came about that your great chivalry made me change my mind. You saved my life at the risk of your own and that made me not merely put aside my hatred, but it won you my undying loyalty.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“How could I? Especially after you begged me to help you win my Lady Bradamant, which was just as if you had asked me to tear my heart from my body. All right then, you now know that I placed your good ahead of my own. I’ve given you what I promised. Bradamant has been made yours. Take her in peace. Your happiness is more important than mine, since, deprived of her I am also deprived of life. I can no more remain alive without her than I could without a soul. Besides, you couldn’t legally marry her while I remain alive, for we have long been betrothed and she cannot have two fiancés at the same time.”

Leon was so astonished by this unexpected speech that he could not think of a thing to say. He remained where he was, as motionless as a statue—rather like one placed in a church in fulfillment of a vow. He had never before heard of such great chivalry and believed that he would never live long enough to again hear its equal. The knowledge that the unicorn knight was in fact Rashid in no way lessened the affection he felt for the man—indeed, it increased tenfold. It would never do, he realized, for it to ever be said that a Moorish knight was superior to a Greek in matters of chivalry, even if he outstripped the prince in every other regard.

“Sir Rashid,” he said at last, “on the day when you overthrew my army, if I had then learned who you were, I would’ve hated you—but I would’ve been no less captivated by your stupendous valor, courage and virtue, just as I was when I didn’t know your identity. It still would’ve driven the hatred from my heart anyway, replacing it with the love I now have for you.

“I won’t deny that I once hated the very name Rashid, but you mustn’t think the hate I felt then went any further. Even if I’d learned who it was I was helping escape from Theodora’s prison, I would’ve done the very same thing that I’m now prepared to do on your behalf.”

“What can you do for me now?” asked Rashid, “except kill me?”

“If I should’ve done this willingly then,” Leon continued, “when I was under no obligation to you, how much more willingly should I do this now that I know the truth. If I didn’t, I’d be the most ungrateful of men since you denied and deprived yourself of everything you wanted in this world and gave it to me. All right then, I give it back to you.”

“Pardon?”

“And with greater pleasure than with which I received it. Bradamant is more yours than mine. I love her for her virtues, but I have to admit that I wouldn’t kill myself—as you would—if she became another’s. Perhaps your death would free us to marry, but I’ll never consent to that. I’d rather lose her and everything I possess in the world than have it be said that I caused such a knight as yourself to suffer so great a heartache.”

Leon clasped Rashid’s hands and bent over the dumbstruck knight, as tears poured down his handsome face. “It tears my own heart into pieces to know that you, who could’ve disposed of me so easily, prefered to die of sorrow than to have asked me for help.”

Rashid opened his mouth once or twice to argue the point, but thought better of it. There was one matter remaining that he had to settle, however.

“Look here,” he said, “I won’t die, if that’ll make you happy. But how am I ever to discharge my debt to you? It’s two times now that you’ve saved my life.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.”

“Do you think you might be able to ride?” asked the woman.

“I think so, if someone will help me up.”

While the woman fetched Frontino, Leon replaced the saddle and helped his friend into it. It hardly seemed possible that it was the same man who only a few weeks earlier had overcome an entire army, and did what he did later disguised.

Following the woman, the two men rode for a few hours until she led them to an abbey, where Leon persuaded the monks to attend to Rashid. There they remained for the remainder of that night, the next day and the night after that. When Rashid awoke the following morning, he felt like a new man, leaping from his bed at first light, rousting a groggy Leon from the cot next to his.

“We can be in Marseilles by nightfall if we start now,” he said.

“Where’s the woman?” asked Leon.

“She’ll be around somewhere,” Rashid replied, but he was wrong. She was gone and none of the monks had noticed her leaving.

“Don’t you know where she’s gone?” asked Leon.

“How would I know?”

“She’s your friend, isn’t she?”

“No. I assumed she was yours. It was she who led me to you, after all.”

“I had no idea. I thought you’d come together.”

“Well, she’s gone now.”

“Yes, gone.”

“Without a word.”

“I’ve no idea what her name was, now that I think of it.”

“Never occurred to me to ask.”

“Well, there you are, then.”

They returned to Marseilles to discover that there had been developments. A delegation of Bulgars had arrived, expecting to find Rashid there so they could proclaim him before Charlemagne as their king. It’d taken all this time for them to have finally discovered the true identity of their savior. The astonished emperor was told how the Moor had single-handedly conquered Leon and Constantine, at the same time routing both of their armies. For this reason they had unanimously declared him their sovereign, even though he was not himself Bulgarian.

The ambassadors went on to explain how Rashid had been taken prisoner at Novigrad, had been tortured by Theodora and, after killing his keeper, had escaped. There had been neither word nor sign of him since, so the Bulgars had assumed their savior had returned to Frankland.

Their disappointment was bitter when Charlemagne told them that he had no more idea where their hero was than they did.

Hearing of all this from a peddler leaving the city, Leon and Rashid decided not to ride boldly into Marseilles as they had originally planned, but rather would instead make their entrance the following morning. There was no particularly good reason for doing this, other than perhaps their exuberant good humor.

Whatever their motives, Charlemagne—to say nothing of the remainder of his court—was astonished to see Leon Augustus suddenly appear before him. His inexplicable disappearance so soon after his triumphal answer to Bradamant’s challenge had been the subject of every conversation until it had been eclipsed by the arrival of the Bulgar delegation and its astonishing news about Rashid. He was dressed in the full regalia of the Greek empire, followed by his company, no less splendidly outfitted. As glorious as was this presentation, every eye was fixed on the prince’s companion. This was a giant of a man, clad from head to foot in armor decorated with Leon’s double-headed eagle emblem. What was most astonishing, and what caused a susurrant wave of conversation to sweep through the crowded hall, was that everyone immediately recognized that armor: battered, torn and dented, it was clearly that which had seen battle with Lady Bradamant two weeks before and the man in the armor was just as clearly the man who had then worn it.