The Firedrake (2 page)

“Ireland,” he said.

She shook her head.

He rode on. The people knew nothing beyond their fields. He was safe here. The Thuringians would not have come so far south. Such safety no man wanted, to be shut off. He smiled over that. He was still uneasy about the Thuringians. Another thing occurred to him. He had sent word by the merchants that he would be in Flanders by Christmas. He was unsure of it now. It had seemed time enough, back at Pentecost. Now he rode a wide circle, and he was far from the landmarks he knew. He supposed that if he rode west he would reach the river, and he could ride along it to the ford. But he had no idea how far it was to the river. Perhaps the river ended north of here. He cursed Heinrich again.

He came on another fortress and asked lodging. The man on the wall spoke no Latin. He motioned that Laeghaire should wait. After a moment another man appeared on the wall.

“God be with you,” the man said.

“And with you also. I want food and bedding for myself and my horses.”

“Come in We have room and we welcome travelers.”

He rode in through an old-fashioned gate. The gate was worked by hand. Two heavyset men stood by the ropes.

The man who had spoken to him greeted him with enthusiasm. “We have few travelers here—perhaps one or two a year. We are far from the road.”

Laeghaire muttered something.

“I’ll show you where to put your horses. Where are you from?”

“Thuringia.”

The little man nodded merrily. He trotted beside Laeghaire. Laeghaire took the horses into the barn and put them up. The little man talked to him all the time. “I am lord of this castle. Those are my fields out there, also. Not much—but they support us. I have nearly one hundred serfs. My liege lord is the lord of Swabia,”

“I speak High German,” Laeghaire said.

“Good. Come along and I’ll show you your quarters.”

They went up to the keep and climbed the stairs. The little man opened a door. The vast room was empty. It smelled of long moldering. “Modest, but. it’s all we have. Do you mind?”

“I’m pleased with anything. This is very nice.”

“And you’ll dine with us? Good. I’ll send a boy up to fetch you. Where are you bound?”

“Flanders.”

“Ah, such a distance. Your master has some great dealings with the Flemish lord, I suppose.”

“I have no master. I left the service of the Duke some time ago.”

The little man looked around. Presently he sat on the floor.

“Are you then in the service of the Flemish lord?”

“I hope so, but I won’t know until I get there.”

The little man frowned, “That is a great uncertainty.”

“Yes.”

“Are you Thuringian?”

“Irish.”

“Irish?”

“From Ireland. An island west of England.”

“You are a far-traveled man.”

“Well, yes.”

“I—Have you told me your name? I have a poor memory.”

“Laeghaire. Laeghaire from Tralee.”

“Tralee must be a fortress in Ireland.”

“A village. There is a monastery there.”

“You’re obviously a knight.”

“Yes.”

“Why were you in Thuringia? If you don’t mind. I’m sorry if I am too bold. Perhaps you are on some secret business.”

“I was paid to be in Thuringia.”

“Hunh.” The little man rose. “I’ll send the boy. Good day to you, Sir Laeghaire.”

“Good day to you, my lord.”

The door closed softly.

Laeghaire spat. He went to the high window. He looked out over a courtyard and the wall and the fields. The mountains grew up behind the fields. Perhaps, if Guillaume had no work for him in Flanders, he would go back to Ireland. He squinted slightly; the sun was just beyond those mountains. He thought of his brothers and his father. He was full of a sudden hunger to hear Gaelic. He turned from the window.

At supper, the little man was gay and full of questions. “How will you travel to Flanders, Sir Laeghaire?”

“West to the river, then north to the ford. There is a ford by Worms.”

“Have you traveled much in Germany?”

“Only in Thuringia and around there, my lord.”

The little man leaned back and shouted for more beer. The hall servants were taking away the platters. The beer came in a keg. The little man broke the top himself. His wife stood up. The little man nodded to her, and she left silently, with her women.

“You’ll cross the river at Worms?” the little man said. He poured beer into Laeghaire’s cup. The foam spouted up and poured off onto the table.

“Yes.”

A young man, the lord’s son, lifted his head. He had not spoken at all before. “There is a better ford, much farther south, and you could travel through France.”

Laeghaire drank deeply of the beer. “You grow good hops, my lord. You, sir, why should I travel through France?”

“Don’t listen to him,” the little man said. He put a cup of beer before his son and cuffed him lightly. “He’s traveled a little, on the errands of my lord, and he thinks he knows the world.”

“Nevertheless,” the young man said, “if I were an Irishman named Laeghaire, just come out of Thuringia, I would hardly stay very long in Germany.”

“Wolfram—”

“No,” Laeghaire said. “Let him talk. What have you heard of me?”

“Only that the Thuringian Duke has set his knights on you. They say you robbed him.”

“They say lies, then. He robbed me.”

Wolfram shrugged. “I only say what I have heard, sir. That’s what I have heard.”

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut until you’re sure of what you say. Are you a dog carrying lice from one man’s barn to the next?”

“I—” Wolfram bit his lips. He glanced at the little man. The little man stood, his eyes flying from his son to Laeghaire and back again.

“You carry lies like an old woman,” Laeghaire said. “And if I give you a tale, you’ll parade it back to the court of Swabia and pour it into their ears.”

Wolfram looked at his hands. His neck flushed.

“He owed me a small matter of fifty marks,” Laeghaire said. He looked quickly at the little man and back to Wolfram. He tapped his forefinger on the table. “Three years’ worth, he owed me. He wouldn’t pay it. So I took it. Ask those knights.”

“They spoke well of you,” Wolfram said hastily.

“Oh?”

“They said you were a better fighter than all of them together.”

“Who said this?”

“I don’t know all their names. What does it matter?”

“Give me a name, boy.”

“Lorenz.”

“Ah.” Laeghaire sank back onto the bench and picked up his cup. “If you should… chance on Lorenz again, tell him his bit’s in good hands.”

“Is this code?” the little man said.

“He’ll know.”

“Code.”

“Have you been to Spain?” Wolfram asked.

“No. The Spanish hire no knights.”

“Why?”

Laeghaire wiped the foam from his upper lip. “Do you hire knights?”

Wolfram laughed. “I should like to go to Spain.”

“Perhaps you will.”

“No,” the little man said. “He’ll stay here, he’ll inherit my lands, like a good son.”

“You’re fortunate, then,” Laeghaire said. “To be heir.”

“Do you have brothers?”

“I had when I left Ireland. If they are still alive, I don’t know.”

“How many?” the little man asked.

“Two.” Laeghaire grinned. The little man reached across the table and took his empty cup and went to fill it. “We have Viking blood,” Laeghaire said, “and Ireland wouldn’t have held the three of us when we were younger. My father knew it.”

“Ah.” The little man slid the cup back to him. “You should have taken orders, then.” He climbed onto the table.

“I was four years in a monastery.”

“Oh? Why did you leave?”

“My mother died. I dislike monks.”

The little man frowned. He snapped his fingers. A hound jumped onto the table beside him. The man toyed with the dog’s ears.

“The Devil’s work. You ought to have stayed.”

Laeghaire shrugged.

“No offense meant, of course.”

“And none taken.”

“I can’t know the circumstances. Perhaps you were forced.” The little man patted the hound. “Still, more and more men are leaving the land. A terrible thing. Terrible.”

Laeghaire grinned at Wolfram.

“Only gypsies and traders travel. It’s a wicked life.”

“Father,” Wolfram said.

“A wicked life.”

“If you will forgive me, my lords,” Laeghaire said. “I’m very tired.”

“Of course. Forgive us for keeping you. But it’s so seldom we have guests, we want to hear everything at once. Don’t we, Wolfram?”

“Yes.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Laeghaire said.

“Oh, but you mustn’t. You should stay a while.”

“I have to be in Flanders by Christmas.”

“Christmas is a long way away.”

“It’s a long road.”

“One day won’t matter. Stay another day.”

Laeghaire thought of the long ride and of the Thuringians; Heinrich’s knights had come a long way and were all around him. Here he might be safe for a while. He shrugged. “A day, then.”

“Good.” The little man folded his hands. “We hear Mass in the chapel. I’ll send a boy for you.”

They were treating him better than a high lord, Laeghaire thought. He pulled the cover over him and straightened his spine. The moonlight struck in through the window. If he rose and looked out that window it would be richly silver beyond, past the wall. The mountains down there. South. In Ireland it was the sea. Wolfram might be sitting by his window now, looking at those mountains. Moonlight did strange things to eyes. Like looking at someone in profile. The eyes were like glass. Wolfram might be there, staring straight out at the mountains, with eyes full of the light from the moon, all clear and wild. Blind men stare that way. He shifted his hips over a ridge in the pallet. Blind men and prophets. But if he had been Wolfram, he would have challenged him, sitting there insulting him, calling him a dog and an old woman. Perhaps Germans didn’t think those were insults.

When I was Wolfram’s age I would have challenged me and killed me. In my father’s house? There are many mansions.

Mass. He had not heard the Mass for a long time. The forest was no place to hear a Mass. Trolls, the women said. Witches. Dwarfs. Christ stopped at the edge of the forest. He rolled over. He shut the moon out with his arms. The cover was thick. He slept.

After Mass, Wolfram sought him out where he sat mending harness. Wolfram sat down beside him and watched. Laeghaire threaded a thong through a hole in the strap and looked up.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“You’re going to Flanders.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I know the captain of the Count of Flanders’ guard, and he’ll give me a place, if they fight this season.”

“I’d think it more exciting to go wandering to places you’ve never been.”

“For a young man, yes.”

“You’re young.”

“Who are you to tell me I’m young? I was younger than you when I left Ireland, and I haven’t been five Christmases in the same place since.”

“Still, it would be terribly exciting.”

“Not alone.”

“Then take me with you.”

“Hah. So you’ve been a little while with the Count of Swabia, and you think you’d like to go elsewhere. Not with me, boy.”

“But you said you disliked being alone.”

“I never said so. You misunderstood me.”

Wolfram bit his lips. “Then let me ride with you just to Flanders. I’ll set out for myself after that.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You would slow me down. Go out alone, if you want.”

“How can I leave? My father—”

Laeghaire spat. Wolfram stopped speaking. He dug at the dirt with the heel of his boot.

“It’s a hard life, and your father knows it. All I’ve got is my horses and my armor. You’d be a fool to throw off what you have here.”

“What do I have here? A patch of dirt, a stupid fortress no bigger than a count’s cattle shed—”

“It’s better than what I have.”

“You have your reputation.”

“Who knows my reputation? Nobody but a handful of landless knights.”

“The Count of Swabia knows you.”

“This is foolish.”

“Then take me with you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“If you won’t take me with you, I’ll go alone.”