Swords From the Sea (62 page)

Then Hugo laughed under his breath, but De Ferrand spoke hoarsely: "Art weary of life? Then give ear to this true recital of what took place on this island within the year-although you know it well.

"First," said De Ferrand, "there was the death of Viterbo, the merchant riding toward Venice. He came to his end upon the road within sight of the ferry. He was alone, going in haste at night, bearing, it seems, some moneys. The blow that slew him came out of the air, and he fell from the saddle with his skull shattered."

"A pity," said Bryn.

"Sancta Maria! 'Twas more a pity when the young Seigneur d'Estampes met his fate. He also was crossing the road of the island alone after sunset. Some woodcutters heard him chanting a love lay as he passed by their cabin. Deep in the shadow of the forest he went, when it came upon him. The louts heard his song end, and then a scream and a beating of hoofs that went away. After that they heard, far off, the scream of a horse. It was a day before we found the body of D'Estampes, and his nag. They had fallen from the high cliff and they lay there on the stones with their bones a-broken."

Leaning back in his chair, De Ferrand faced the crusader. "Now this Seigneur d'Estampes had a hardy soul in him. He was riding to seek a woman that night, and what could have driven him mad with terror within a moment, so that he drove his charger from the cliff?"

"As to this lord-God rest him-I know not," responded Bryn. "But no man could make a horse take such a leap."

"True!" cried the Burgundian. "To my thinking the youth did not lose his head. It was the horse, crazed with fear, that rushed over the cliff before the rider could see what was there and throw himself from the saddle. And the proof of this we found. In the sand of the road where it passed through the wood we found the tracks where D'Estampes's charger plunged into a gallop. A spear's cast behind this place we found fresh tracks of a beast shod with iron that came from no road. It had come down from the air. And these tracks did pursue the other, to the cliff's edge, where all ended."

Fingering the gold chain at his throat, De Ferrand sighed. "The third death was the worst. A fair wanton from the village was found in the spot where the merchant Viterbo met his doom. She was lying alone in the road, her skull crushed."

"Nay," rumbled Hugo, "the worst of it was the mark. Upon the foreheads of the merchant and the girl lay the prints of the iron hoofs that struck them down."

The pallid monk laid down his quill and got to his feet. "It is clear to us all," he said, "that the island of Ferrand hath been visited by the powers of darkness."

"Brother Jehan," muttered the master of the chateau, hath rare knowledge of Satan's brood. He is a very skilled witch finder."

"A foul fiend," resumed the monk, "a messmate of such vampires, infests this poor island. At certain times he has been seen. Once he appeared in the shape of a black, winged thing, flying over the tops of the trees."

Bryn felt a chill run up his back. He had a healthy dread of the powers of darkness. Nonetheless, he wanted to go down the road to seek for the girl of the tower.

"Have you naught to say?" demanded Brother Jehan.

"Messires," Bryn yawned, "such things may be, but they do not keep me abed o' nights."

"Par Dex," exclaimed De Ferrand. "'Tis you who are charged in these slayings. Read, Brother Jehan."

Taking up his parchment sheets, the monk repeated in his high voice, "Item-Rigolt the ferryman hath testified that, after bringing the man known as Bryn across the river, the aforesaid man shouted that he and his horse could fly over any river without need of a boat. Item-Jacques and Picard, being serving men of the castle, testify that they were walking in peace along the highroad when the aforesaid man, who had hidden himself from sight, whistled in a diabolical manner, and thereupon the black horse rushed at them. The said horse did strike the worthy Jacques with his hoof, breaking his bones sorely, and seizing Picard in his teeth to his great hurt. Item-As they fled to save their lives, upon this very spot where the merchant Viterbo and the wanton died, they saw the aforesaid man in talk with the forest girl Alaine, suspected of being a witch."

Brother Jehan took up a fresh sheet of parchment and read his fourth item. This was Bryn's tale of his night ride near Damascus.

"Upon this testimony," the monk cried, "is this man calling himself Bryn Briogan charged of night flying and commerce with Satan, and murder, and now is he and the black horse subject to the mercy or punishment of my lord Renault de Ferrand, govern-"

A shout of laughter drowned his words. "Rare and good, Brother Jehan," cried Bryn. "'Tis a grand hocus this of yours-'twould shame a Gascon jester!"

He laughed alone. The monk's eyes blazed with wrath, and in a moment Bryn understood that this was no jest.

Putting his hands before him on the table, the crusader thought quickly. He read only fear and curiosity and hatred in the faces about the table. Witchburners, these Burgundians were; and he knew that his doom was at hand. They would put him to the question soon, under the water sack or upon the rack. And he would not have that.

So he kicked his chair behind him, hearing it strike against the legs of a man. He leaped away from the table to the wall where he had set his sword and belt. Seeing a shield, he caught this up, smashing it into the face of a servant who sought to grapple with him. Turning with his back to the wall and his sword bare in his hand, he shouted above the tumult, "Come on, ye hearth cats-will ye taste good steel?"

"Have done!" De Ferrand commanded. "I will speak with this man alone, and do ye leave the hall."

When the last of them had vanished through the hangings-Bryn heard them muttering and arming themselves outside-the Burgundian came close to the crusader. He had not unsheathed his sword. "I grant you a truce," he said softly. "You were mad to draw weapon like this."

"Say what you will," Bryn answered, leaning on his sword, "I will not yield me to the rack and question. If I am to meet my death, I will have it here."

"Fool! A crossbow bolt in the ribs will put you down. Mark you, I am governor i' the Duke's name, with the right of hanging miscreants. You have set your head nicely i' the noose-"

"Lies and weird tales have done for me."

De Ferrand pulled at his ringlets thoughtfully. "I am not sure. For I may pardon you."

Bryn waited in silence.

"You are a bold fellow, Bryn-a nimble fellow with a good sword hand. I do not think you are the night rider that hath ravaged the roads. Nay, I suspect another."

He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper: "These slayings do not bear the mark of a bold fellow like you. But a young witch haunts the wood by the ferry. Aye, she flits about in these bright nights. Now who would slay a village wanton but another woman? And who could beguile D'Estampes like a fair woman? This wild thing they call Alaine is a witch, who serves Satan."

"Nay," growled Bryn, "is it like that a girl's arm could shatter a skull?"

"She hath unholy weapons to her hand."

"What bargain will you make?"

Again the seigneur looked up and down the hall. "You were seen in talk with Alaine. She will be afoot a night like this, and I doubt not you could find her by the wood. Your horse will be given you. Bring her with her limbs bound to the tower postern-it leads to Iny chamber-before sunrise, and you shall go free. I swear it, by the saints."

"And if I do not?"

"All boats on the island are locked and guarded until sunrise. And after that I will make sure that you do not gain a ferry. If you do not bring yourself to the chateau by high noon, Bryn, you will be hunted down by dogs and bows."

Bryn mused a while, and nodded. "Fetch Malik to me, saddled."

They left the hall by a small door that led into an empty passage. Bryn strode close behind his host, wishing to keep him within sword's reach.

But they met no one at the foot of the tower stair, and De Ferrand opened a postern with a key. Bryn peered out into the darkness beneath the trees and saw the white blaze upon Malik's forehead. He heard the other's voice at his shoulder: "Remember you have sworn-"

"To seek for the girl Alaine," murmured Bryn, "and to find her if I may.,,

Carefully the crusader set his trap. Near the tower, he loosed Malik, then settled himself to watch.

Slowly the moon settled toward the castle ridge behind him. Then a whistle sounded.

Keeping out of the patches of moonlight, he made his way through the trees.

Ahead of him the horse stamped restlessly. He could make out the loom of the black body and the gray form of a girl, motionless and listening. In two long leaps Bryn was upon her, even as she sprang away.

She twisted and strained like a wildcat in a net.

"Faith," he said, "methought you had changed into a troll. Now will you be still and listen to a Christian word?"

Steadily she looked at him, as a child looks at a strange thing.

"Is your name Alaine?"

She nodded, without speaking.

"And they do tell in the hall how you are a witch-"

"May God shrivel their tongues! 'Tis a black lie."

Her soft voice rose angrily, and Bryn grunted assent. "They are a loutish lot, these Burgundians. They have written down that I am a foul fiend-" he laughed, and told the attentive girl of the scene in the castle hall, and his bargain with Dc Ferrand. "Faith, he awaits us in his tower. Now, Alaine, I hold you and I can bind you within my mantle and carry you-

"Try! I will get away."

"Well, that is to be seen. I think it likely you are an elf-child and belike a witch who can vanish from mortal sight."

"Then," cried Alaine, "why did you come after me this noon?"

Bryn rubbed his chin and glanced at the lowering moon. "For the reason I have caught you this night-sure it is, Alaine, my eyes have never seen so fair a maid. If I cannot take you with me to my homeland, I will be forever alone and sorrowing."

"Sir Bryn, how could you leave the island? They have guards at the ferries."

He laughed, running his fingers through the coils of her hair. "Oh, I can find my way over the water, but you could not without me. Now let us be making a bargain between us. Not for gold or salvation would I take you to the castle-and, faith, I doubt if De Ferrand would hold to his word if I did-but you must bide and talk with me until the first of the sunrise. Will you do that?"

Quickly she looked up at him. "Aye, I will do it. But first, your horsewhere is he?"

Springing to his feet, the crusader whistled, and heard a faint stamp of hoofs under the shadow of the ridge. Putting on his mantle and steel cap, he hastened forward with the girl running at his side, entered the gloom of the ridge, and stepped out upon the highroad. Here Malik stood, docile enough.

Then the breath caught in his throat and he stared, voiceless, at the black line of the ridge above him, where the summits of the trees stood stark against the moon's glow. Above the trees, across the sky, leaped a phantom.

Clear against the silvered clouds Bryn saw the great black horse, and the rider with wings beating behind him, swooping toward him! Bryn flung himself into his saddle, while Malik stamped and reared and a girl's scream pierced the night.

Malik, mad with excitement, danced and reared. Bryn turned him to face the thing that leaped out from under the trees and crashed upon the road. He had no shield, but he leaned forward and struck at the onrushing shape. The steel blade clanged against metal, and as it did so something struck Bryn's head. A roaring filled his ears, and yellow flames sprang before his eyes. He rolled from the saddle and fell. Blood filled his nostrils, and he felt earth under his hands.

Hoofs thudded near him, and Malik's battle scream rang in his ears. His sword was under his knee and he caught it up as his head cleared and he was aware of monstrous shapes rearing over him. His helmet had been knocked off and warm blood trickled down his face.

Something lashed down toward him and he moved aside, springing to his feet and gripping the black form of the rider of the sky about the waist. The rider twisted, lifting his right arm for another blow, when his horse swerved and he came down.

Again Bryn was struck, and again a glancing blow on his shoulder; but the impact of heavy iron sickened him. The panting breath of the other through the slits of his closed helmet beat against his wet face. "If he is a devil," Bryn thought, "he is mortal, and one of us will have his death here."

As they strained on staggering feet, Bryn felt the huge strength of the man in mail. He saw a long arm rise against the sky, holding a weapon that seemed to be a war club or smith's hammer. But swiftly Bryn released his grip-flung up his right hand and caught the handle of the weapon.

Putting forth all the strength of shoulder and arm, Bryn bent back the weapon. With a curse, the man in mail let go his grasp and clutched at something in his belt.

As he did so, Bryn set his feet and swung the massive weapon. It crashed against the steel of the helmet, and the steel crackled and snapped. Again Bryn lashed out, and the face of the helmet shattered as the man reeled back. And Bryn struck a third blow that crunched upon bone and flesh. The dark figure fell prone in the road, stirring a little, and became a still shadow against the white dust.

Then a light flamed before Bryn, a voice cried out: "He is slain!" and Alaine knelt beside him.

"'Tis the devil is dead, not me," muttered Bryn. "For love of God, bring me water."

Catching up his battered helmet from the road, the girl darted away, and Bryn limped over to look at his enemy. The great body in black and bloodstreaked mail lay sprawled on its face. To the broad shoulders a pair of long swan's wings had been attached by straps. Now the wings were crumpled and broken. Bryn turned him over with his foot and bent to look into what had been his face.

Bryn pondered the broken countenance. "'Twas Hugo," he said at last. "Aye, the Genoese captain."

He heard Alaine returning, and he drank deep of the cool water she brought in his helmet.