The first companies of merchants I had been told had been little better than brigands. Made up of ne’er-do-wells, vagabonds, and thieves, they robbed and pillaged as they traded. Order entered the enterprise; the fairs were organized, and companies of merchants became a recognized institution.
The inn was large, but when we crowded into it, forty strong plus our five women, the room was no longer spacious. One third of our men were with the animals in the meadow or on guard about the walls. Other travelers were present. A friar on a pilgrimage, the prioress of a convent with a small escort and two nuns, a pair of soldiers returning from the wars, and a cattle drover who had just sold his stock.
It was hot and stuffy inside. The wet clothing of our men steamed. The room itself was none too clean, but the food was, and there was plenty of it.
I approached Safia as she sat resting. “To bring you to this? I am sorry.”
“I have known this before, Kerbouchard. Not here, but in Persia, in my own land. Do not worry, all will be well.”
The door opened suddenly and we all looked up. Quickly, I looked down again. Several soldiers had come into the room, and the officer commanding the soldiers was Duban. I glanced about for a way to escape. There was none.
In a moment he would see me.
He turned his eyes and stared directly into mine. And in his look there was recognition.
26
He crossed the room, and I arose to face him. As I stood, Johannes placed his sword upon the table before him. as did Guido. Duban did not fail to see them.
“You have friends,” he commented. His eyes were not unfriendly.
“Good friends,” I replied. “And you, Duban?”
“I am a captain. I serve and am served. It were a better thing if you did not stop here this night. There is a small inn at the entrance to the pass. I would advise it.
“Duban, I am now a merchant, and a merchant travels with his hanse. Your prince threatened me. He imprisoned me, but I am a patient man.”
“You do not search for Aziza?”
“No.”
His eyes searched my face for the truth, and it was there if he was the man to see it.
“Your prince has chosen to be my enemy. So far I am not his. But tell him this, if you will: that if I become his enemy, I shall not rest until he is dead, but he must await his turn. I have an older enemy.”
“You are a bold man, Kerbouchard, a fit son for the father.”
I bowed. “I have far to go to equal Jean Kerbouchard, and far to go to find him. Meanwhile I am your friend.”
Duban held out his hand. “Farewell, then. May fortune favor your sword.”
As he walked away from me there was a sound of sheathed blades; then for a moment I thought them sheathed too soon, for the door of the inn opened and Aziza entered.
She was not alone. With her were several women and a half-dozen eunuchs. She was beautiful, a little rounder, and possibly even lovelier than I remembered, but her face had a stillness I did not remember.
Duban had no opportunity to warn her, and her eyes met mine across the room. Met mine, hesitated briefly, then passed on. Aziza had made her peace with her new life and had forgotten the Castle of Othman.
And I? Well, not exactly. I remembered the Castle of Othman. This tribute have I always paid to women. I have not forgotten. What greater tribute than to remember a woman at her loveliest? And in her moments of enthusiasm?
When I seated myself beside Safia, her eyes twinkled slyly. “She was, well, restrained.”
“Why not? I am a vagabond in dusty armor, and she the wife of a prince.” Pausing a bit, I added, “I hope all the women I know do as well.
“Safia, I think no man should ask more than the moments. He should accept what the gods offer and make no demands upon the future.”
“I think a day will come when you will make demands, Kerbouchard.”
On that I had no comment, for the future is the future, and I place no trust in the reading of the stars. And do we not all look for the time when there is one girl, or for women, one man, who does not pass on?
Safia? She alone was unreadable, beautiful again, and a mystery forever. She was soft and lovely as a houri out of paradise, yet quiet, with much of the queen in her presence. There was steel in her, a command of herself and those about her such as I had seen in no other woman. For the first time since the death of her Bengali prince, she was now cared for, protected, and I believe she liked it.
On the next morning as we rode away, I turned in my saddle and glanced back at the sullen gray walls of the castle. On the west side of the tower I could see some blue domes and near them a flat-roofed dwelling.
Farewell, Aziza, farewell … what was it my acquaintance in the Cadiz tavern had said so long ago? Yol bolsun! May there be a road!
How passed the days? How the weeks? Northward we moved, ever northward, occasionally pausing at fairs, occasionally trading at castle or town. Twice were we attacked by brigands, and once there was a swift raid when a Raubritter swept down upon us.
We lost a man that day, but we had seen them coming and had twenty bowmen waiting in a ditch and behind a hedge. Seven attackers left their saddles at the first flight of arrows, and then we closed with them.
The Raubritter, a huge man in black armor, charged my part of the line, and I rode to meet him. He dealt me a mighty blow on the helm that swept me from the saddle, the first time I had been unhorsed. Shocked and raging, my head ringing from the blow, I sprang at him. He missed a hasty stroke, which left him off-balance, and I jerked him from the saddle. On the ground, blade to blade, we fought on the wet sward, rain falling upon us.
He was a strong swordsman and sure of victory. My Frankish upbringing had taught me much, but the Moors were adept at single combat, and soon I was pressing him hard. He thrust at me in a feint, then flicked his sword up at my eyes and nicked my cheekbone, showering me with blood.
Our blades engaged, then disengaged, and I thrust at his throat. My blade laid open his face, and with a quick twist, not bringing the blade back to guard position, I cut across his throat, but only a scratch.
My head was throbbing from the blow I had taken, and my legs, strong as they were, were tiring. He missed a strong blow at me, and I cut back with my Damascus blade, which was steel that was truly steel, and the edge bit through his helmet. He staggered back as a final thrust finished him.
Turning, I saw we were surrounded by our men, and they gave me a round cheer.
My legs were trembling, and Safia came to stanch the blood from my cheek, where ever after I would carry the scar. The blood worried me less than the realization that had he dealt me such a blow with a sword like mine, I would now be lying dead upon the wet grass. I had been careless, dangerously careless.
With the Raubritter dead we attacked the castle, rushing upon it before the drawbridge could be lifted. It was my first opportunity to see how my companions functioned as a fighting unit, for compared to this our other fighting had been mere skirmishes. Sweeping through the castle halls, they put to the sword all who resisted. We found several village women who had been captives there and freed them. We left the pigs and fowls for their enrichment but thoroughly looted what else there was of value. The Raubritter had long terrorized the country around, and the villages greeted us as saviors.
Day after day we moved north. The fair at Montauban lay behind us, and the next was far away. We would cross the Seine, von Gilderstern told us, at Mantes. It was a place I knew, for William the Conqueror had been killed there when his horse tripped on a burning brand. William had massacred the male population of the town, which he then claimed for his own.
We camped on the Vilaine not far from Rennes on a pleasant night with scattered stars. Looking about me I thought, This is my land; these are my people.