Scabbard's Song (19 page)

flung at him, was convinced that this country of which the boy spoke had to be Far Cathay, and so was not surprised by its wonders. The names Guthrum, Da-tichett, Uan Muhuggiag, Carthaga, Bhantan - he took to be regions of that country. It was as he had always thought, Far Cathay was a colourful, marvellous place, where people did things differently and where strangenesses - to Bakbar - were commonplace and ordinary to its citizens. Soldier was trying to decide why he had suddenly been thrown back into his own world. Surely there had to be a reason? What was it the Berber had said? He was a scholar as well as a warrior? Well then, since they were in the wise mans tent, why not give him a puzzle to solve? Sir, said Soldier, may I ask you a question? Surely, replied Bakbar, turning his attention back to his main guest. Is it of a personal nature? No, no. It is a riddle. Bakbar laughed. Not the riddle of the Sphinx? What walks first on four legs, then on two legs, and finally on three legs? You surely know the answer to that one? Everyone knows that. Not I? piped Musket. What is it? A demon beast? Some might say so, Soldier replied. It is man, of course. He crawls as a baby, walks upright when he is grown, and takes to using a walking stick, his third leg, when he is old. How clever! cried Musket, clapping. Now tell him our riddles, Soldier. Tell him about the unborn babe. Yes, tell me about the unborn babe. Well, sir, said Soldier, there is a golden unborn babe in the house of a stranger. Bakbar frowned. That is itl No more? Its all we have, said Soldier. Can you think what it might be? Bakbar put his powerful mind to the test. It might be, he said, eventually, that the unborn babe is an egg of some kind. The boy might be better placed to say what kind of egg. But as for myself, I cannot think who is the stranger. Or what is his house. An egg! cried Soldier. Yes, I think you have hit on it. But, as you say, who is the stranger? I know not, sighed Bakbar. Never mind, we have part of the riddle solved, perhaps. Shall I give you another? It is the final one of three. Actually, it was the first, but we have solved the last, and the middle one we have already discussed. Here is the third riddle: the silver container of the song of an eternal prisoner. Can you apply your learning to solving this mysterious puzzle? I would be most grateful for any help you can give me, sir. Bakbar bowed his turbaned head in thought. When he raised it again there was a wisp of a smile on his face. His eyes revealed the inner feeling of triumph. Now, this enigma needs first to be examined by looking at the word song. What creatures are there that sing? Birds, of course. People. Which of these could be eternal prisoners} Both or none. Therefore the singer has to be someone, or something, specific. One of a kind. What other singers are there, who are unique? In nature? The wind . . . It is the wind! cried Musket. The wind it is! No, said Bakbar, indulgently, it cannot be the wind, for the wind is free. We even use the term free as the wind. It has to be something which is chained, which is bounded and kept within certain walls . . . The sea, murmured Soldier with great satisfaction. You are speaking of the ocean. Bakbar nodded, smiling. Very good. The sea it is. And what object is there, what natural thing contains the song of the sea? A sea shell! yelled Musket. It is a shell. Yes, yes. If you put a shell to your ear you hear the song of the sea, the eternal prisoner. What you must seek is a silver sea shell. Soldier reached out and grasped the hand of the Berber and shook it vigorously. My dear sir, I thank you for solving my puzzles one only partly so, it is true, but perhaps there is a cultural barrier to you understanding that one completely. After all, if the stranger in that riddle is not known to these shores, then you will have no knowledge of him. I shall ponder on that one myself and am sure to come up with the answer, eventually. Now, sir, I am fatigued. I would be grateful for a bed. The boy . . . Your son, said Musket, significantly. Yes, yes, of course my own dear son also looks very tired. They were shown corners of the tent on which carpets and mats had been laid to a thickness which made a good bed. Soldier bid Bakbar and his daughter a very good night and thanked them for their generous hospitality. Bakbar told him that Berbers, and indeed the Arabs of this land, could do no less. It was written that travellers, strangers in need, must be given food, drink and a place to rest their heads in safety. Sleep would not come to Soldier. There were many noises without. He could hear the snuffling of the camels, the restlessness of the dogs. Chickens occasionally clucked on their perches. The breeze was swirling through the palms, whose leaves rustled like stiff parchment. Even the stars seemed to jingle gently in the heavens. But it was not these sounds which were responsible for his insomnia. It was the fact of being back in the world of his birth. How was he going to return to the world of Guthrum, Carthaga and his dear wife? Surely he would have to retrace is journey to that chasm? And then hope that being there, that bizarre darkness would descend again, enfold him and the boy, and transport them back. His heart was heavy with the dread that it would not work, that he was stuck here on his old earth. Until another curse or quirk of fate should fling him back again. He fell asleep. Wake up, wake up. Soldier opened his eyes. Musket was hovering over him, looking worried. What is it? said Soldier. I have only just this instant fallen asleep . . . Musket was saying, I couldnt wake you. Ive been trying for ever so long now, but you wouldnt wake up. Soldier sat up and stared about him. He was back at the chasm. The horse was standing quietly just a few yards away. The monitor lizard was basking on a rock in the sun, as he always did in the early morning, to gain the energy he needed to travel. Musket was hopping about, looking very agitated. The boy had lit a fire and a pot of water was boiling on the flames. Are we here? said Soldier, amazed. How did we get back? Get back from where? asked the boy with some irritation. We havent been anywhere. Did we not go down the mountain, after that darkness descended? We went to sleep, said Musket. I woke up and you stayed snoring. You kept talking in your sleep. I couldnt get you up. If you hadnt been chuntering on I would have thought you dead. Asleep, repeated Soldier, thoroughly relieved to be in this world and not in his old one. Then all that was I dreaming? Was it all a dream? How vivid it was. It was no ordinary dream, thats for sure. Something magical sent me into that sleep. But for what reason? Then he remembered. In his dream he had discovered the answer to another of his riddles, and a part-answer to the last of them. Some mountain demi-god, perhaps even a friendly demon, had sent him into that deep sleep. There he had made discoveries. Was Bakbar a real person then? Did he really exist, or was he a figment of Soldiers desire to find answers? Perhaps Soldier had made the discovery for himself, inside his own inner mind. Perhaps he had been capable of solving the riddle but had not trusted his own intellect. And Fianda? No, if Bakbar was not real then Fianda did not exist either, he thought sadly. Vanity had without doubt produced that lovely woman from the flimsy yearnings of his own mind. Men of a certain age still wonder if they are attractive to beautiful women, if they ever have been, and will go on flights of fancy to appease their vanity. That was where he had been, on one of those flights, telling himself through his dreams that he could still appeal to lovely young females. What, was he not a knight, still ruggedly handsome, still personable? Perhaps, but beautiful young women are attracted to beautiful young men, and he was not one of those any longer. Once, but that beauty had been left behind, happily along with a lot of anxiety and fears. Now he was mature, in body as well as mind. On the surface he was happy to be so, but obviously somewhere deep in his spirit he yearned to be young and appealing again. Are you going to just sit there and look stupid all day? asked Musket, standing with hands on hips. Are we going to march? Theres no need to be rude, said Soldier, coming out of his reverie. I will teach you some manners else. This threat did not impress the boy. By the time the sun was growing hot enough to dispel the mountain mists, they were on their way down the track to the plains below, following the monitor. Some parts of the journey seemed familiar to Soldier, but he dismissed this with the thought that many mountain trails looked much alike. They were all rocky, all dusty, with similar panoramic vistas. However, the closer he came to the bottom, the more concerned he became. Once there, in the foothills, he saw the river. It thundered down from above, gushing between boulders, tumbling out on to the plain. It was the same river he had seen yesterday, or last night in his dream the features were identical. When they reached this waterway and saw that it was, of course, impossible to cross in full flood, Soldier became alarmed. Why dont we use your last command to get the birds to take us over? asked Musket. We need to reserve that command for emergencies . . . began Soldier, then realised he was simply repeating history. Come, well find another way around. There are some women over there, Musket cried, pointing. Seven of them, with jars. They seem to be waiting for something. Maddeningly, the monitor lizard was not taking the lead here. It was crouched on all fours, staring at Soldier, as if waiting for his instructions. Its tongue flicked out, cooling its now hot body. Once or twice it looked back over its own shoulder, at the women, but by its stance seemed more inclined to favour the path by the river in the opposite direction. Never mind them, muttered Soldier, darkly. Dont look at them. They are witches, every one. They dont look like witches. Witches are ugly and have long noses with warts and drips on the end. These look like pretty maidens to me. They giggle like little girls. Theres one smiling at us. What does a boy of your age know of maidens, or witches? It was a witch who changed me to a bird, I might remind you, snapped Musket. I know lots about witches. But nothing of maids. Do not look at them. They have the evil eye. Especially the smiling one. Glare at her, if you will. Show her that her advances are rejected. That we have no interest in her. But he himself could not resist a glance, and yes, there was Fianda, smiling sweetly at him. He turned back again, not wishing to be sucked into the vortex. If he went across and spoke to her, he was sure of the circular events that would follow. This was a whirlpool he did not want to enter. It seemed to him that there was a loop from which he must extricate himself. Determinedly he set out in the opposite direction, leading Thunder by the reins. The monitor seemed to approve and went on ahead, occasionally looking back to make sure his charges were in tow. Soldier ignored Muskets pleas to either slow down or change course. He knew the boy was annoyed that they had not made contact with the locals. Why didnt you ask them? grumbled the boy, trotting alongside him. You could have asked them. Too dangerous. They didnt look dangerous they were just girls. Women to you, boy. You never can tell though. The female of the species is always deadlier than the male. Look at snakes. What about them? Soldier couldnt think. Well, all right, look at certain insects. The bee. The male stings once, then dies. The female can sting you as many times as she likes. Thats what I mean. Some female insects eat their mates. You can see what I mean? Never trust a strange woman, boy. Oh, I wont. You wont give me the chance. And rightly so. Ah, here look a path back up the mountain. A greener path than the other. Not more climbing? grumbled Musket. I wish I could fly again. Soldier ignored the boy. He felt uncomfortable, recalling the events of the previous night encapsulated by his dream. Not only had he passed back into his birth world; he now remembered that in his dream he had made Musket his own adopted son. He stared at the boy, stumbling along beside him. Not a bad lad, of course, but not the son that Soldier had imagined he would one day have. His son, his own flesh and blood, would more than likely have features like himself and think like himself. This ragged urchin looked nothing like the son of any knight, of any prince consort, let alone that of Soldier. He looked like the son of a vagabond or beggar. One or the other was probably the truth. A scruffy young tyke with very few redeeming features. Thin-faced, thin-armed, thin all over. A bitter look to the mouth. A sly and crafty look to the eyes. Oh, without doubt these were the rewards of a starved and desperate early childhood, but they had fashioned the boy into an unappealing creature. Layana would certainly not welcome such a child into the family, would she? Queen of Guthrum? This her child prince, to be doted on? No, the thought was perishable. Theirs would be a golden child, of golden parents. Yet Layana had still not borne him a child. It was not through want of trying. And they were both growing older. A shocking thought came to Soldier. Was she yet too old to bear young? Perhaps adoption would be the oniy course left open to them. Then what choices would they have? There were plenty of splendid families with sons and daughters. But of course, most nobles want to keep their progeny, as heirs to their own titles. Perhaps he and Layana would have to settle for a boy or a girl like this? And better the devil you know, as the saying goes. I shall ask my wife, he growled. The decision will be hers. Musket glanced up at him with a quizzical expression. Ask her what? About you, sighed Soldier, tousling the boys mop of unruly hair. I shall ask about adopting you. The bitterness left the childs mouth. The sly, crafty look fled his eyes. All replaced by a wonderful freckled smile. You will, Soldier? You will? I said so, didnt I? The boy suddenly burst into tears, alarming the knight. Here, here, none of that. I am so happy. Well laugh a little then. I am too happy to laugh. All right then, weep if you must. The boy sobbed contentedly, the dust drifting up from the path and mingling with his tears, to form a muddy countenance. He gripped Thunders tail, allowing himself to be half dragged along. There was a sort of glow about him now, which had been absent before. He seemed less of a waif, more of a young man with a purpose. Soldier thought it was amazing, almost a miracle, what transformations a few words could make. Are you feeling less melancholy now? Yes, I thank you, Father. Here, Im not your father yet. We still need Layanas blessing. I know her, sire. She