We camped in a wood near a lake as the sun slid behind stone and the day died down and ceased. I went off to the lake to bathe while Ganelon unpacked our gear. The water was cold and bracing. I splashed about in it for a long while.
I thought I heard several cries as I bathed, but I could not be certain. It was a weird wood and I was not overly concerned. However, I dressed quickly and hurried back to the camp.
As I walked, I heard it again: a whine, a plea. Drawing nearer, I realized that a conversation was in progress.
Then I entered the small clearing we had chosen. Our gear was spread about and the beginnings of a campfire had been laid.
Ganelon squatted on his haunches beneath an oak tree. The man hung from it.
He was young and fair of hair and complexion. Beyond that, it was hard to say at a glance. It is difficult, I discovered, to obtain a clear initial impression as to a man‘s features and size when he is hanging upside down several feet above the ground.
His hands had been tied behind his back and he hung from a low bough by a rope that had been knotted about his right ankle.
He was talking—brief, rapid phrases in response to Ganelon‘s questions—and his face was moist with spittle and sweat. He did not hang limply, but swung back and forth. There was an abrasion on his cheek and several spots of blood on his shirt front.
Halting, I restrained myself from interrupting for a moment and watched. Ganelon would not have put him where he was without a reason, so I was not immediately overwhelmed with sympathy for the fellow. Whatever it was that had prompted Ganelon to question him thus, I knew that I, too, would be interested in the information. I was also interested in whatever the session would show me concerning Ganelon, who was now something of an ally. And a few more minutes upside down could not do that much additional damage . . .
As his body slowed, Ganelon prodded him in the sternum with the tip of his blade and set him to swinging violently once again. This broke the skin lightly and another red spot appeared. At this, the boy cried out. From his complexion, I could see now that he was a youth. Ganelon extended his blade and held its point several inches beyond the place the boy‘s throat would come to on the backswing. At the last moment, he snatched it back and chuckled as the boy writhed and cried out, “Please!”
“The rest,” said Ganelon. “Tell me everything.”
“That‘s all!” said the other. “I know no more!”
“Why not?”
“They swept on by me then! I could not see!”
“Why did you not follow?”
“They were mounted. I was on foot.”
“Why did you not follow on foot then?”
“I was dazed.”
“Dazed? You were afraid! You deserted!”
“No!”
Ganelon held his blade forth, snapped it away again at the final moment.
“No!” cried the youth.
Ganelon moved the blade again.
“Yes!” the boy screamed. “I was afraid!”
“And you fled then?”
“Yes! I kept running! I‘ve been fleeing ever since. . .”
“And you know nothing of how things went after that?”
“No.”
“You lie!” He moved the blade again.
“No!” said the boy. “Please. . .”
I stepped forward then. “Ganelon,” I said.
He glanced at me and grinned, lowering the blade. The boy sought my eyes.
“What have we here?” I asked.
“Ha!” he said, slapping the inside of the youth‘s thigh so that he cried out. “A thief, a deserter—with an interesting tale to tell.”
“Then cut him down and let me hear it,” I said.
Ganelon turned and cut through the cord with one swipe of his blade. The boy fell to the ground and began sobbing.
“I caught him trying to steal our supplies and thought to question him about the area,” Ganelon said. “He‘s come from Avalon—quickly.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a foot soldier in a battle that took place there two nights ago. He turned coward during the fighting and deserted.”