The Walking Drum by Louis L’Amour

“They are not!”

“I am sure they are. However, you have a warm color, especially right now, and very, very beautiful eyes.”

“You make jokes.”

“No, you are beautiful. Your lips would be very soft to kiss, very warm, and I think—”

She got to her feet. “It is late. I think we should be moving on.”

“Of course.” Helping her into the saddle, I felt her arm stiffen. I mounted, and we rode on in silence. When next we stopped for air it was dark and the air was colder. “We are close now, Comtesse.”

“My name is Suzanne!”

“Yes. We are close now, Comtesse.” She lifted her chin at me; then we rode on until we came to the end of the long tunnel, and there was a stable there, too. Like the first it had been long unused.

“I do not know what lies outside. We must be prepared for anything.” I drew my sword.

“All right,” she said, “I am ready.” Reaching up, I took hold of the ring. For a moment, I hesitated, then I pulled on the ring.

As the door grated and swung slowly open, I stood with my left hand holding the bridle, my right hand gripping my sword.

34

The door swung on its counterbalance, and we stood in a vaulted, deserted room. All was dust, a few ancient boards piled against a wall, and cobwebs. The room seemed not to have been entered for years. There were arrow ports, and as we walked our horses across the room, I peered out. It was dark and still. The air from the arrow ports was cold.

The view was that of a narrow street, a crooked street where we could see but a few yards in either direction. Unbarring the door, we went outside, closing the door behind us.

The door had been so rigged that when it opened, the bar lifted automatically, and when it closed, the bar fell into place once more. Mounting, the Comtesse and I walked our horses along the street into the town.

All was dark and quiet. We needed shelter and a place where we could remain out of sight until the von Gildersterns’ caravan arrived if it was not already here. And we needed food.

We found an inn on the outskirts of town, one that gave indication of being well-appointed. The common room was crowded, and the host came to us at once. His glance was hard and suspicious.

“Is this the inn patronized by the Hansgraf von Gilderstern?”

His manner changed. “Hah? You are a friend of the Hansgraf? This is not the inn to which he comes, but I know him well. He came often to the inn of my father, beyond the walls. He will be here for the fair?”

“I am a merchant of his caravan. I left him at Montauban to meet my sister. We are to join him here.”

“Ah? You were not at St. Denis? We heard he was there.” He turned. “Pierre! To the yard! See to the merchant’s horses!”

He took up a massive ring and keys. “I have a fine room. I was saving it for the Hansgraf, hoping to get his business. I hope you will recommend us.”

“See that we are not disturbed, and notify us at once when the caravan comes to town.”

He led the way to a comfortable room with two beds and a large fireplace. He knelt and lighted the fire upon the hearth. He brought a pitcher and a bowl. “I would have known she was your sister,” he said. “You favor one another.”

“Merci. There could be no greater compliment,” I answered, smothering a smile at the shocked expression on the face of the Comtesse. “My sister is the loveliest of women.”

When he had gone she turned on me. “How dare he say such a thing! It is nonsense!”

“A good sign, I thought. People often fall in love with those who resemble them because they can imagine no beauty greater than their own. That may be why you are falling in love with me, because we resemble each other.”

“I am not falling in love with you.” Her tone was icy. “We are to sleep in the same room?”

“There is no other way. Had we asked for separate rooms, they would not have understood. It is not the custom for husband and wife, brother and sister, or whatever, to remain apart in strange inns. A woman by herself is in danger.”

“And am I not in danger here, with you?”

“That would depend, madame, on your definition of danger. Some people are afraid of one thing, some of another.”

“If you come to my bed, I shall scream for help.”

“Madame, if I come to your bed, I shall not need help.”

She removed her cloak with an angry gesture, and I took it from her and hung it on the wall.

“You were quick to tell them who you were, but why Montauban?”

“If one would remain hidden, Comtesse, one must be obvious, not mysterious. Had I not told them who I was and who you were, they would have been curious, which leads to imaginings. I identified myself as a merchant here to meet a known caravan. My identity is established, and we are no longer of interest.

“Moreover, I did not want us associated with the road from Paris. If soldiers come searching for us, the innkeeper might have mentioned that we had come by that road, and they might have come to ask whom we had seen on that road.”

“You are good at this. It inclines me to believe you have often been a fugitive.”

“Beautiful women are the wives or daughters of powerful men. Naturally, I have been a fugitive.”

“Do you make a practice of this? Of running off with strange women?”

“All women are strange until they become familiar, but I have forgotten other women. How could even a memory be left after having seen you?”

“You are lying.”

“Perhaps, but even a lie may carry truth. It is a paradox, but is not all life a paradox?” I paused. “Now shall we lie down together and discuss paradoxes, life, and strange meetings by the wayside?”

Before she could reply, our meal was at the door, and we ate in silence, as we were both tired and hungry. As the warmth of the fire and wine crept into our tired muscles, I thought of her home. “Tell me about Saone,” I said.

“It was built long ago on the foundations of an earlier Byzantine castle. It was to guard the southern approaches to Antioch. They built upon a promontory jutting out to the westward, with a gorge on either side. Two deep ditches were dug across the neck of the promontory, one of these to defend the approach to the gate, another to divide the castle into two sections in the event the first was taken.

“You know about such things, but the castles were built to defend land the Crusaders had won, and many of the Crusaders did not return to their homelands, but stayed to rule their vast estates in Lebanon.

“There are subterranean storage chambers for supplies; there are mills to grind grain, as well as wells and cisterns for water. The castles were sited so they could communicate with each other by signal fires, but if the distance was too great, they used carrier pigeons.”

“It must cost a fair amount to keep it all going.”

“We have income from a dozen villages and much land, but a few years before my father was killed he had to be ransomed from the Arabs, which cost many thousands in gold.”

“What will you do if you return to Saone? Will they not want you to marry?”

“I must, to hold the castle and the land, but there are others than Count Robert. He knows that, too, and will not want me to return to Saone except as his wife.” She glanced at me. “He will kill you if he finds us together.”

“What better place to die? In your arms, I mean.”

She was exasperated. “Are you never serious? You are in danger, far more than you believe.”

We slept in separate beds, but I was sure she had a knife and was prepared to defend herself, and I am quite sure she remained awake most of the night. I, on the other hand, slept deeply and well.

Knowing little about women’s thoughts, I have no idea how the Comtesse felt about me. She was, I suspect, ready to use the knife during the first hour and perhaps during the second. By the third hour I suspect she was wishing I would make some attempt so she could settle the matter and get some sleep. Her state of mind after that I would not attempt to assess.

When the sun came up, I went down to the common room and ate my breakfast, taking hers to her.

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