The Rogue Knight (23 page)

“That bad, eh?”

“It’ll pass,” he said.

It hurt her to see strong Richard this way. His burly, big-nosed looks always cheered her. He usually whistled and winked at everyone as he went about his duties. Of all the people at Pellinore, he came closest to being like the knights in the romantic stories of chivalry.

“Would you like me to read to you?” Alice asked.

“Thank you, but no,” he said. “What I’d really like is some wine.”

The pain must be really bad
, Alice thought
. He’s usually not this insistent. How can I get his mind off it? A game! Which game, though?

Alice, like many medieval noblewomen, was better at most board games than men. Chess, the noblest board game of all, was a passion with her, just as it was a passion with Sir Walter’s eldest daughter.

Alice glanced at the chessboard set up by the fireplace. Baron Hugh had often been found there, chin on fist as he contemplated his pieces. Model knights rode horses, all the details carefully carved onto the walrus ivory that had been imported from Cork, in Ireland. Cork was an old Viking town, she knew, settled by Norsemen. Both kings held swords, the queens held drinking horns, while the bishops held their croziers close to their chests. Alice recalled her father’s chess set that had been imported from the East. The Mohammedans despised women, she’d heard, and she believed it because her father’s set hadn’t had a queen, but a
phez
, a councilor, instead. Nor did her father’s old set have bishops, but the
pil
, an elephant.

Alice was so good at chess that it had fallen to her to teach the game to Richard. Unfortunately, he had no real facility for it. That wasn’t unusual in younger men. Alice had read the
Song of Roland
. It depicted one aspect of knighthood perfectly. According to the song, after Charlemagne and his knights had stormed Cordova, they’d rested under the trees. The older knights pulled out their wood-inland chessboards, while the younger men played backgammon. So it was in most castles, the older knights having the greater patience to play chess.

Richard enjoyed backgammon much more than chess. People wagered on it more, and backgammon included the rolling of dice. Dicing! Now Richard loved that more than any game. Alice knew ten different games of dice, some using three or even six dice to play.

“I know,” Alice told Richard, “how about some dicing?”

Interest flickering across Richard’s round face.

“We could even gamble,” she said.

He gave her one of his familiar grins.

“But only for small sums,” she said.

“Yes, fine,” he said, his voice sounding more like the Richard she knew.

“I have some dice in my clothes chest,” Alice said, rising.

“There’s no need for that,” Richard said. He reached under a pillow and pulled out two ivory dice. Then he reached under a different pillow and pulled out a small clay dish and a host of thin wooden pins. There were red, blue and small gray pins.

“Pounds, shillings and pence?” Alice asked.

Richard nodded.

“We’ll only play for pence,” Alice said.

Richard picked up the dice and rolled. He grinned and made his wager. Alice made hers. Richard rolled again, twice, thrice and then lost his bet. He grumbled, but Alice noticed that the pain had left his eyes.

The wooden pins marched back and forth. When he won, Richard laughed. When he lost, he grumbled or cursed under his breath. Then he hit a losing streak and his curses became louder and cruder.

“Richard, please,” Alice said once.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Richard said, scooping up the dice and rattling them. “Place your bet.”

Alice did, a smaller one than before.

“No more than that?” Richard asked crossly. “You’ve got to give me a chance to win back what I’ve lost.”

Alice shook her head.

He blew into his cupped hand. “Come on,” he said under his breath. “You’re my dice, so you’ve got to help me.”

Alice couldn’t help but smile at his antics.

Richard threw the dice into the clay dish, noted the number, then picked them back up and shoved more pins onto the betting pile.

“Richard! Is that wise?”

“Are you betting?” he snapped.

She noticed the sweat on his forehead and the glassiness to his eyes.

“Very well.” She matched his wager.

He rolled again, stared at the losing number, then flopped back onto the pillows and let out a stream of loud and obscene curses.

“What blasphemy is this?” Father Bernard thundered.

Alice and Richard turned in shock to see Father Bernard beside them. His normally pleasant features were twisted with anger. He reached in and snatched up the dice.

“Don’t you know that these are the Devil’s tools?” he asked.

Maybe it was the fever, but Richard said, “What utter nonsense, Father. Dicing is the game of God.”

Father Bernard turned scarlet. Alice tried to signal Richard, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Don’t we rely upon Providence to determine the outcome of a thing?” Richard glanced from Alice to Father Bernard. “After Judas Iscariot hung himself for betraying Jesus, didn’t the Holy Apostles cast lots to determine whether Justus or Matthias should take his place?”

Father Bernard made a squeak of outrage.

“Or what about Jonah and the Whale, Father? It was by lots that the sailors knew to heave Jonah overboard and save themselves from God’s wrath.”

“Silence!” Father Bernard thundered, pointing a shaking finger at Richard. “I heard you swearing! Don’t you know that Hell will be populated by those who swear because of dicing?”

Richard dropped his gaze.

“That’s right!” Father Bernard said. “And look! I see gambling pins! You wager money on this Devil’s game.”

“We’re sorry, Father,” Alice said.

“And you, a lady,” Father Bernard said. “You
know
better.”

“Yes, Father,” Alice said. “I was only trying to take Richard’s mind off his pain.”

“Pray to God then,” Father Bernard said, at last lowering his voice.

“I will, Father,” Alice said.

He nodded curtly.

“I’m sorry too, Father,” Richard said.

“Good, that’s better,” said Father Bernard. He ran a hand over his long fleshy face and made a visible effort to soften his features. “I know you’re a good lad, Richard, but your swearing and especially your gambling must stop.”

Richard hung his head, having heard this from Father Bernard many times before.

Father Bernard finally threw up his hands in exasperation. “What am I to do with you? Young people! You’re playthings for the Devil. Here I come to cheer up Richard and I find him gambling.” He studied the repentant squire. “How
do
you feel, my son? I mean your injuries now.”

Richard raised his head, glanced once at Alice and then told Father Bernard, “I’m burning up, Father, and I can’t sleep.” He began a curse but bit his tongue. “I’ve slept too long and lain abed more than I ever have. I’m bored, Father, and that seems to double the pain.” He wiped his forehead. “What I really need is more wine.”

“No, what you need is something to do,” Father Bernard said. “Doesn’t Holy Scripture teach us that idle hands are the Devil’s workshop? I know you’re feverish, Richard, but if there was something that you could do…. Ah, maybe sharpening and polishing swords, or cleaning Baron Hugh’s suit of chainmail. You could do that while abed.”

Richard shook his head. “The baron’s hauberk is spotless, Father, as are the swords. Even the daggers are sharp enough to shave with.”

Father Bernard laid a gentle hand on Richard’s arm. “Yes, you’re a good squire. I’ve never known you to be lazy or to skip your duties.”

Alice snapped her fingers. “I know. I’ll round up Henri. He can play a song for Richard, or show us tricks.”

Mild interest filled Richard face.

Father Bernard nodded. “Yes, a good idea, Alice. You find Henri while I pray for Richard’s rapid recovery and then listen to his confession.”

Alice arose, smoothed out her dress and hurried down the stairs. She was mortified to have been caught dicing and gambling. She knew Father Bernard seldom gossiped and hoped he’d keep this to himself. She was in enough trouble as it was. If Lady Eleanor or Lady Martha heard about this they’d spend the next several days giving her homilies about the evils of gambling and how a lady was to be pure and of good character. She could endure that, but then she couldn’t use that time to plan and execute her escape.

The good thing about Father Bernard catching them was that maybe Richard would forget about the money he’d lost to her.

Henri, where was he? The minstrel had tried to woo her when he’d first arrived, but then he’d tried to woo every woman in the castle. She was certain there had been nothing truly romantic in his wooing.

There was something odd about Henri, something haunting. He both attracted and repelled her. What made her shy away from him was the way he looked at her. It wasn’t lust. She could endure that. It was the way his eyes seemed to mock her, to look into her soul and see how ugly it was.

She spotted him. He stood by the stable, juggling rag balls for a group of children. Some of the biggest boys were almost as tall as Henri. The minstrel
was
small, but he moved in such a graceful and liquid way. At times Alice couldn’t take her eyes off him. His dark good looks with his thin mustache and quirky smile, ah, so different from the blond warriors of Pellinore.

She approached him from behind. He spoke to the children, telling a joke, and then he seemed to stagger and almost trip and fall. One of the girls squealed with delight as Henri staggered past her, barely juggling the balls. It seemed that at any moment he’d either lose the balls or fall onto his face. As he did all this he told the joke even faster than before, as if believing that as soon as he fell they’d all leave. One of the boys stuck out his foot as Henri passed. The small minstrel neatly jumped it. Alice marveled at his balance, and at his game. The children were entranced. Henri finally righted himself, finished the joke and juggled each rag ball into his coat. The children clapped with delight. Alice joined them, impressed anew with the small minstrel.

Henri turned at the sound of her claps, and for a moment, it seemed he blushed. He bowed at the waist and swept off his peaked cap with its long ostrich feather. When he straightened, any blush that he’d had was gone from his darkly tanned skin.

“Milady, how can I be of service?” he asked.

The children groaned in disappointment, knowing no doubt that the entertainment was over.

Alice was sorry to interrupt their show, but she needed Henri. “I have a request,” she told him.

Henri’s face lit up as he slid closer.

Alice noticed his lilac odor, wondering what he dabbed on himself to smell so good.

Maybe Henri can help me escape
, she thought, not sure why she felt this, but certain about him just the same.

“Yes, a request,” she said, taking hold of his smooth hands. “I need your help.”

Henri wrinkled his nose. The bedridden squire stank. The baronial bed with its feather mattress, bearskin blanket, embroidered pillows and blue-hanging curtains stank. The rancid odor of sweat clung to everything.

He shrugged philosophically.

“Please, Henri,” Alice said. “Tell us one of your best stories.”

They had taken his shrug the wrong way. He smiled, and allowed himself to nod. Lady Alice clapped her hands and beamed at Richard. Richard didn’t smile back, the pain on his round face telling the reason why.

Henri couldn’t believe he sat here on the bed with the two of them. Alice curled her legs underneath herself and she had spread her dress in a circle. She sat straight, her long blonde hair fanning back over her shoulders. He longed to crush her lips against his, to rip off her bodice and fondle her luscious breasts. She’d be a sweet morsel. He tore his gaze from her long white neck. Like a vampire, he’d first concentrate there, although kissing instead of biting her neck.

Richard crushed cushions with his burly bulk, propped up against the headboard as he was. He breathed heavily and forever mopped his sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. With his splinted legs stretched out in front of him, he looked uncomfortable.

“Tell us an adventurous story,” Richard said.

“I know,” Henri said, feeling reckless and a bit sorry for these two. He knew about the seneschal’s orders concerning Alice. The whole castle knew. “I’ll tell you about the time I saw a unicorn.”

Alice made a face. “There are no such beasts as unicorns.”

“Yes there are,” Richard said.

“Have you ever seen one?” Alice asked.

“I have,” Henri said.

Alice laughed. “You, a minstrel, have actually seen a unicorn? I find that difficult to believe.”

“Your doubt is a challenge,” Henri said. “I accept the challenge.”

Alice shook her head. “Your task is impossible, sir. Unicorns are myths written about by artful liars.”

“Really?” Henri asked. “Then wait here until I return with my proof.” He rose, and despite their protests, he hurried down the stairs. He hurried to his bundle of belongings in the rear of the Great Hall. His dog guarded it, as one of Cord’s dogs protected his bundle. From his belongings, he took a long narrow package.

Why am I doing this
? He asked himself as he tucked the package under his arm.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe after all these years, he wanted somebody else to know why he thought life was a myth, an illusion. Maybe also because he sensed deep needs in them.

It wasn’t long before he sat again on the big bed. They eyed his long and narrow box. Richard even sat forward, his glassy eyes intent.

“What do you hold?” Alice asked.

“Proof,” Henri said.

“Of unicorns?” Alice asked doubtfully.

For an answer, Henri carefully opened the lid. Lying on a velvet cloth was a spiral ivory horn. He handed the box to a transformed Alice.

With her mouth open and her hands trembling, she accepted the polished cedar box and peered at the three-foot horn. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, daring to touch it with her fingertip. “Ivory?” she asked.

“Of course,” Henri said.

Alice handed the box to Richard. The squire couldn’t take his eyes off the horn. “How did the unicorn die?” Richard asked softly, sadly.

“Ah,” Henri said. “Now there lies the tale.” He surprised himself by saying that without the usual bitterness.

Both Alice and Richard looked up, obviously captured by his implications.

With a smile, Henri retrieved his horn, the very thing of myths, of illusions. He didn’t want to be cruel, but their awe showed him that they needed a bucketful of saltwater reality.

“It began in Cologne,” he said.

“The city in the Holy Roman Empire?” Alice asked.

“Yes, in that very German of cities which is on the mighty Rhine River,” Henri said. “Cologne, as you may or may not know, is one of the largest seaports in the world. There, I found seamen who had seen a unicorn. My love, my red-haired lady, had given me a quest. She wanted me to prove my love. She was a baroness and I a lowly squire. Yes, once I was a squire, intended to be a knight, small though I am. My lady taught me much about love, for she was trapped in a world not of her making and I, or so she said, was a release, a joy, a fragrant flower that always brought a smile to her lips. I begged her to flee with me, to steal away to a place where my sword-arm would carve us a kingdom. She told me to return with a unicorn horn first, as a sign that our love was meant to be.”

“These are true words,” Alice whispered, touching his arm.

Henri nodded.

“Are you certain that you wish to share such sorrow with us?” Alice asked.

“I said nothing about sorrow.”

“Your voice betrays you,” Alice said. “And the way you clutch the box as you speak of her tells me about much suffering.”

“Why do you tell us about her?” Richard asked bluntly.

Henri gave them his wry grin. “Is there any wonder here? Alice is trapped, as my lady once was trapped. And I, like you, Richard, was once a poor squire with little hopes of advancement. Maybe in seeing you two I recall what I once was. Maybe I’ve finally found similar souls as my own who can truly understand my tale.”

“You
are
a poet,” Alice said breathlessly.

“I was also a poet back then,” Henri said, winking. “For like the two of you I read many books on the romantic stories. So when my lady gave me this quest, I took it up with zeal, certain that soon she would be in my arms forever.

“Although I’d grown up in the hinterlands of Normandy, I knew all the old tales about my ancestors, about those grim warriors who came with Rollo to settle in Northern France. I also recalled the stories how the Vikings had sailed across the world, terrorizing everyone. Even when Rollo’s descendants had turned into Normans, the Viking urge couldn’t be stopped. For from Normandy didn’t the Normans conquer Sicily and even England and parts of the Holy Land? Yes, I’m sure you know all those stories too.”

Alice and Richard nodded. For part of the Norman-Viking heritage was knowledge of the wider world, at least to the edge of the Muslim world.

Henri said, “The Vikings of old sailed in their sleek dragon ships deep into far-off Russia where now the Mongols of Genghis Khan rule, a land of wide plains, impenetrable forests and huge rivers. The Vikings also sailed west, far west, to the Faeroe Islands, to Iceland and even to fabled Greenland.”

“The castle chessmen are said to be made from Greenland walrus tusks,” Alice said, interrupting.

Henri didn’t bother to glance at the board. “Do you know what walruses are?”

Alice shrugged.

“Are they like elephants?” Richard asked.

“You know what elephants are?” Henri asked Richard.

“I’ve seen picture of them in books about Alexander the Great,” Richard said. “Alexander defeated King Porus of India when he conquered the world.”

Alexander the Great was considered one of the great paladins of chivalry. While medieval men highly regarded him, they wrote about him as if he’d been a knight, fighting as a knight with stirrups and heavy armor. Much of their knowledge of Alexander was spotty at best.

“So what are elephants?” Henri asked.

“Huge beasts,” Richard said. “The Indians built castles on their backs where archers cowardly hid.”

“So walruses are what?” Henri asked.

“I’ve seen a walrus tusk once,” Alice said thoughtfully, “and I’ve seen an elephant tusk too. Walruses must be smaller than elephants.”

“Very good,” Henri said.

“Do the Greenlanders fight with walruses?” Richard asked.

Henri laughed. “Hardly that. Walruses swim in the water more than they slid across the barren rocks of Greenland.”

Richard blew out his cheeks in disbelief.

“No, don’t doubt me,” Henri said. “I’ve seen walruses, and even before that I spoke to the merchants of Cologne. Walruses are important to them. For you see, the tough skin of walruses make excellent anchor and sail ropes, highly prized by the Cologne merchants because of their market value. And the walrus tusks are ivory, as you already know.”

“It isn’t as good as elephant ivory,” Richard said.

“True, and I heard Greenlanders worrying about the same thing,” Henri said.

“Why were they worried?” Alice asked.

“Because there are very few goods in Greenland that the merchants of Cologne are willing to carry in their great
Koggens
,” Henri said.

“Their what?” Alice asked.

“That’s the first thing I found out in Cologne,” Henri said. “I thought I’d have to make the journey in one of the old style dragon ships, not knowing that better and bigger ships were used these days. The Koggen is a hundred-ton ship, a huge trading vessel, like a castle that floats. No oars were used, just huge sails that propelled us ever farther north. The days soon grew colder and then longer because the sun took so long to sink into the horizon. The captain, a thin but shrewd German merchant with gray whiskers, told me that in winter it stayed night the entire day through, making up for the long hours of sunlight in summer.”

“Strange,” Richard muttered.

“As we left England behind us and sailed over the open ocean, I began to wonder how the captain knew where to steer,” Henri said. “The captain pointed out a red-faced man who usually stood near the brow, a woolen cloak thrown over his shoulders. He was a Norwegian pilot, a renegade who worked for the merchants of Cologne. The captain told me that by the position of the stars at night, by the various types of birds that flew in the sky, by the fish which the men caught or saw swimming beside the ship, by the currents which like rivers flowed in the ocean, by the driftwood, by the weeds floating in the sea, even by the very color of the water the pilot knew where in the vast ocean we were. For the pilot had been to Greenland before, and had talked with sailors who’d made the run many times. He knew the old legends, the old sea tales and all the needed signs that are handed down from father to son. Even clouds instructed this wizard of a pilot. Yes, I name him a wizard, for how can a man know all these things about nature except that he studied the ancient and forbidden lore of the Vikings. The captain whispered to me as we sipped brandy (for he liked my songs) that iceblink could also tell the pilot where we were.”

“What’s iceblink?” Alice asked.

“The captain said it was a yellowish glare in the sky which shines above an ice field.”

“An ice field?” Richard asked.

“Yes,” Henri said. “In the far North lies a land entirely covered by ice. The light above such land is different than that found above normal land.”

“The far North sounds like a terrible place,” Alice said.

“And yet that is where unicorns live,” Henri said.

Alice laughed uneasily, no longer sounding so sure that unicorns were a myth.

“After a long voyage,” Henri said, “where we passed mountains of ice that floated in the sea—”

Richard snorted rudely. “I have a fever, Henri, but my wits aren’t addled. Who ever heard of ice-mountains that float in the sea?”

“Doesn’t ice float?” Henri asked.

Richard shrugged.

“Of course it does,” Henri said. “Why then can’t a mountain of ice float in salt water?”

“What do you think?” Richard asked Alice.

“You swear before God that this is true?” Alice asked Henri.

“I so swear,” Henri said. “These mountains fall off the vast ice sheets that grow on this barren land. The sound of their falling into the sea, which I heard once, is a terrible thing. The sight of it fills one with fear. And the wave created by this falling mountain is almost enough to swamp small boats.”

“Maybe there really are such things as ice-mountains,” Alice said to Richard.

Richard shook his head in wonder.

“In any case,” Henri said, “we soon came to the east coast of Greenland. Never have I seen a more desolate and barren land. Green had nothing to do with it.”

“So why was it named that?” Alice asked.

“Because long ago its first settler, Eric the Red—”

“A Viking?” asked Alice.

“Yes,” said Henri, surprisingly tolerant of all the interruptions. “Eric the Red had been an outlaw Viking from Iceland. He first discovered Greenland and named it so. The reason, I learned, was so others would be encouraged to come back with him to settle it.”

“I want to hear about the unicorn,” Richard said impatiently.

Henri smiled. “I discovered it during their terrible hunt. Oh, it was a grim and merciless hunt, one that made the slaying of Old Sloat a small thing—even though that was a terrible feat in its own right.”

“What sort of hunt could be more terrible than slaying Old Sloat?” Richard asked.

“Why, the annual hunting of walruses,” Henri said. “But before I speak on that, I should tell you a little about Greenland and its people. The captain told me, as we spent grim days and nights dodging the floating ice-mountains, that in the old days the ice-mountains didn’t float down as far south. He told me that year by year Greenland grew colder. In the days of Eric the Red, Greenland had not been quite as formidable. The fjords didn’t freeze up as soon
,
nor in winter did the ice come down so far into the grassy fields near the sea. If you can believe this, the seawater began to freeze in late August, while by October the fjords were utterly icebound.”