Swords From the Sea (18 page)

"Do these Easterlings cherish you, Mistress Joan?"

"My father ever dealt with them fairly, for such was his way. They have been kind to me. Aye, they be not evil-minded, though foul of feature. But command them I may not, for they be changeful and timid as the wild creatures in whose skins they clothe themselves."

"Faith-" Thorne smiled ruefully-"they appear to be Christians in one respect. They hang their foes to the yardarm as readily as any shipmaster."

Joan shook her head.

"'Tis their way of burial. They leave their dead fastened to the branches of trees, fully clad, with weapons bound to them. So they made shift to do with the thieves of the pinnace, before they towed the vessel out and set her adrift."

Through Thorne's brain passed the thought that this was not the method of burial Peter would prefer. It was clear to him that Peter and himself stood near to the edge of a grave, of whatever nature it might prove to be. Yet his curiosity was all for the maiden and the fate in store for her.

"What plan have you, child? " he asked. "How will you contrive to leave the Ice Sea and return to your home?"

She seemed surprised that he took thought of her.

"Why-the skiff may put in at the Wardhouse before the ice floes gird us in."

But she added, less cheerfully-

"I have no kindred awaiting me."

The armiger was not minded to dally over the situation.

"Who is the chief of these folk? Have him in, and let him speak his mind. If it is his intention to compass my death, I will e'en take him with me to the nether world." Placing his back against the fireplace, he waited until the girl, after a moment's hesitation, called softly.

"Tuon, hulde na."

And after a moment there appeared in the doorway the same Lap who had rowed out to the Edward. Tuon's stocky shoulders were covered by a wolf skin, and the empty muzzle of the beast leered at them over the broad, greased-coated muzzle of the savage whose yellow, pointed teeth resembled the fangs of the wolf.

Even his hands were covered with fur mittens, and Thorne reflected that these Laps must have been the beasts that Peter glimpsed on the lookout height. He suspected that beside the warmth of the furs, they availed themselves of these strange garments to hunt down other animals, remembering the Lap that, dressed in a deer's skin and antlers, he had taken for a stag the day before.

Tuon walked forward warily, peering about him as if entering a cage.

"Put down your weapons, sir."

Joan pointed at Thorne's pistol and sword.

"Nay, I'll yield me to no savage. Let him take the weapons, an' he will."

Tuon sidled closer, several of his companions following him into the hall. Thorne was aware of a strong animal scent, of foul flesh and sweating hair. His gorge rose and he clapped hand to the hilt of his sword, having no mind to be made prisoner by such as they. Joan's dark eyes widened in alarm, and Tuon, sensing the rising excitement of the Christians, became uneasy.

At this instant Peter awoke. He sat up, stared at the strange beings who were moving toward Thorne in the vague light of the hall, saw the slender girl in the sea cloak, the fire ruddy on her tawny hair, peered at Thorne who stood as if turned to stone.

Springing up, he drew a blanket over his head and rushed toward loan Andrews before Thorne could speak. Arriving, as he judged, before her, his eyes being swathed in the cloth, he fell on his knees.

"A' -'s mercy, if thou be'st troll or Ellequeen, spare an honest shipman. Thou'st put my mate under a spell, so that he speaks not nor moves an eye. Have mercy on a sorry wight that never harmed hair of thy head."

The spectacle of the giant seaman muffled in a blanket aroused the interest of the Laps. It was clear to them that he intended no violence to the maiden they had taken into their protection; in fact, they must have suspected that he was performing some ritual.

No arrow was loosed at him, and when he withdrew the blanket cautiously he found Thorne smiling at him broadly, and loan Andrews broke into a rippling laugh at sight of his red and foolish countenance.

Laughter is a key that unlocks many a black mood. The Laps had mirth in them, and Tuon grinned fearsomely. And this served to change Peter's mood in a twinkling. He cast down his blanket with an oath and spread his stocky legs, clasping his great fists.

"So ye would bait Peter Palmer? Put up your fibbers and I'll best the lot of ye scurvy dogs."

"Let be!" cried Thorne. "Here is no troll maiden, but a child out of the Scot's land."

In spite of this assurance Peter regarded Joan Andrews with misgivings while the others strove to talk with Tuon; and to the end of his time on the island gave her a wide berth. He never forgot that she had influence over the Laps, and by a process of reasoning all his own, was convinced that she must be a troll maiden out of the sea in human form.

Meanwhile Joan made a bargain with Tuon. The Laps were to have possession of the trade goods, all Thorne's stores and weapons except his sword. She was to be allowed to live in the tower, and the two Englishmen in the hall, and they were not to be harmed.

Thorne was not pleased, for it amounted to a surrender, but the girl pointed out that he was giving no more than the Laps would take in any case, and, besides, his only follower had assuredly yielded himself without any terms at all to her mercy.

"This island is theirs," she added practically. "'Tis true the Wardhouse was built by other hands long dead-perhaps by the Norsemen. But Tuon's men hold that it is theirs. They ask why you have come hither, if not to plunder or avenge the death of the pirates."

So Thorne explained the voyage and its purpose, and she shook her head gravely.

"I fear me for your comrades. There lies no passage to the eastward. My father often said that it is closed with ice that never opens. So the Easterlings told him."

For a space Thorne thought that this might bring about Chancellor's return, until he recalled the stubborn courage of the pilot-major and his settled determination to find new lands. There might be no northeast passage to Cathay, but Chancellor would press on as long as strength remained to him and his men.

Chapter XII

Snow

The days passed, and Thorne went more often to the lookout because it irked him to sit in the Wardhouse, where he felt that the very food he shared was taken from her bounty.

Moreover she had warned him earnestly not to venture abroad without her, and this went sorely against his pride. And there came a day when the hoarfrost was white on the ground. Snow fell that night, driving the Easterlings into the Wardhouse. Their hunger sharpened by the bitter wind, the savages fell upon Thorne's store of victuals. Only half warming the meat and fish at the fire, they gorged until their bodies swelled.

Thorne went out to the hill as soon as the snow ceased, after cautioning Peter against quarreling with Tuon and his men.

The aspect of the island was changed; the sun was invisible behind clouds and the gray light seemed to arise from the white ground under his feet. In spite of the brisk walk he was shivering when he reached the rocky height and searched the sea with his eyes.

No sail was to be seen and, peering to the eastward, he saw ice floes in the course taken by the Edward. This made it certain that Chancellor would not return to the islands until next season.

No animals were astir, and Thorne, who was not given to imagination, could not rid himself of the belief that invisible and malignant forces were closing in upon the island; elementals, his father had termed them.

Thrusting his numbed hands into his belt, he was setting himself to consider means by which they could live through the winter, when a clear voice hailed him cheerily.

"Ho, Master Thorne, you have disobeyed orders again. I' faith, you have led me a merry chase!"

The girl was climbing swiftly to the lookout, clad in a new manner, her small feet snug in deerskin boots, her slim body wrapped in a fox-fur tunic, and a felt hood drawn over her head. It was the first time he had seen a woman without a skirt that came clear to the ground, but loan Andrews was careless of her unwonted dress.

"Why, the lad is in a pet." She glanced searchingly at his drawn face. "The frost will harden in you, if you go not abroad in warmer garments than those. La, sir, such things may do well enough in London town, but not upon the Ice Sea. I will beg furs of good Tuon and sew ye a proper mantle."

"You need not, and-I am not angry, child."

"Child, quoth'a! You are a large lout for your age, Master Thorne, but you are not old enough to call me child. Nay, I think you very young."

So saying she beckoned him to a spot where the wind was warded by a great rock and, when he came reluctantly, sat close to afford him the warmth of her furs.

"Peter says that you were a gentleman at court. Is it true?"

Thorne found the girl difficult to understand; her gaze, as searching and guileless as a child's, was more disconcerting than the eyes, the bright and calculating eyes, of the ladies in waiting, for whom he had had a boyish awe.

"I can break me a lance in the tournaments, and keep the saddle of a horse," he admitted. "I can train a goshawk for hare or wild fowl."

"What else?"

"I have killed several in fair fight with sword and dagger."

"Any lout can do as much, if luck be with him. What else?"

"Why, I can put a shaft from a crossbow through the ribs of a running hart at a hundred paces."

Mistress Joan smiled behind the fur collar of her jacket. She had seen Thorne fail to do just that not so long ago, but she did not remind him of it. Instead her mood changed swiftly.

"Now, sirrah, tell me this: Was it courteous in you to run off and leave me beleaguered by the drunken Easterlings? They are near mad, with the spirits they have taken."

"Are they so?"

Thorne frowned, thinking too late of the brandy and beer. Tuon and his men had seemed little inclined to try these strange drinks, but now apparently they had done so, and the result was not pleasant to contemplate.

The fault being his, he was loath to admit it.

"I knew it not, Mistress Joan. 'Swounds, I grew weary of your following. A man may not think aright with a vixen's tongue going like a bell clapper at his ear."

The corners of her lips drew down, and she moved a little farther away.

"So my father used to say, when things went ill. Nay, Master Thorne, I followed you because I feared for-" she hesitated with an upward glance that judged his mood shrewdly-"I feared to be left by myself in the company of the Easterlings, and I am lonely, by times."

"In that case," assented young Master Thorne gravely, "you may walk with me as often as you are minded, aye, and talk also."

Around the corner of the rock, Peter, the boatswain, hove in sight, his head bent against the wind.

"Stand by, Master Ralph," he muttered hoarsely, "stand by to go about. Luck sets our way."

Thorne motioned to the Shipman to join them, saying that they owed their lives to Mistress Joan and it would be ill repayment of her courtesy to talk apart.

At this Peter pursed his lips and was heard to growl that there was no knowing whether the maid was friend or unfriend, and for his part he would liefer keep his distance from one who ran about with Easterlings and dressed like a lad-a mortal sin to his thinking.

"The beer is gone," he vouchsafed darkly, "ah, and the brandy. 'Twill be a dry winter for us."

"Gone?" cried Joan Andrews. "Then the Laps have guzzled it."

"As ever was. They drained the casks and now lie about the house like fish out o' water. Fuddled!"

He winked at Thorne and contorted his face in the effort to convey some hidden meaning unperceived by the girl.

"Scuppers awash! They screamed and danced and fit among themselves. You could stow them in the fire and they would not stir-all twenty of them."

And he touched his dirk on the side away from Joan, beckoning with his head to his companion.

"Stir a leg, Master Ralph. Blast my eyes but here's luck a-playing our game, and-"

He lifted a huge hand to his lips and mouthed in Thorne's ears: "Has the wench put a spell on ye? We can be masters in this island before the sand runs from the glass again."

Thorne looked at him silently. He and Joan had not been gone from the house an hour, and in that time twenty savages had downed two half barrels of brandy and beer. They were not accustomed to such liquor, and he wondered whether they would ever stand upon their feet again. Here, as Peter said, was a chance to make sure they would not. And yet he had made a truce with these same savages.

"Mistress Joan," he observed, "the boatswain here has a mind to rid us of the Easterlings while they lie befuddled. What say you? Are you for us, or for them!"

The girl lifted her head impatiently.

"You are both fools-faith, I know not which is the greater. Peter, have not the Laps eaten up the main part of your victuals?"

"Aye, mistress-" Peter was civil enough to Joan's face-"that they have. And they have e'en drunk up my beer."

"Now if you kill them, how are we three to get us food to live through the winter?"

Peter started to reply, and scratched his head.

"How will we live in any case?"

"With bows and snares and nets that they make, these savages will get us small game and fish. If you had slain them you would starve before another seventh day."

To this Peter had no answer, but waxed surly for being reproved in his folly.

He had hastened to Thorne after watching from the tower stairs until the Laps were past heeding his doings, and he had expected that the armiger would fall in at once with his plan. Now he stared at his young companion distrustfully.

Thorne's mind seemed to be elsewhere. His eyes narrowed and his lips close drawn, he was staring at a wrack of clouds out to windward. Peter shook his head moodily, marking the high color in the lad's checks, the splendid poise of the curly head.

Aye, the boy was rarely favored, being more than handsome, and this was why the maiden, who must be a sea troll in man form, had laid her spell on him. She wanted to have him for her own.