Chapter Three
We were hiking up the mountain. The choice to go afoot was one of the need for stealth outweighing the need for haste, for horses are conspicuous where poverty is rife; but the choice to go unarmored was one of the need for haste outweighing in its turn—though in truth some might well find armored men suspicious, where unarmored men would pass unnoticed.
The Saxon let me go ahead where the way was narrow, of his courtesy; yet when the way was wide we walked side by side like brothers. Indeed in this we were brothers, for the blight of the Demon Duke had to be destroyed, if the world were not to end in our own lifetime.
We came to the river, and went up its bank until we came to the ford, where a stone path had been made, and crossed it almost dry. We having walked by then many leagues, we camped for the night. We were still low enough on the mountain that a fire would not seem amiss, for many men hunted in this wood. As is my custom when on a journey, I bathed in the river before bedding down by the fire. After a few minutes of hesitation, the Saxon did the same.
“I greatly admire your physique, o Moor,” he commented.
“As I do yours, o Saxon,” I replied, “yet I am no Moor”—at which for some reason he grinned—“for my family is Christian these three generations.”
“So it was your great-grandfather who chose to be Moor no more?” he asked, and I understood his humor. It was full of such jokes, this Saxon tongue we spoke. “But I must in my own turn caution that I am but half a Saxon, for my mother is of Eire.”
“A fine people, the Eirish;” I remarked, “wise, and good warriors.” He stared at me in wonder. “Did you not know it, Sir Half-a-Saxon? Those same Celts who rule in Eire once ruled Iberia; we have some of their art and much of their law. But since I am no Moor—no more a Moor than you and yours—and you but half a Saxon, we must address each other somehow. As we are Christian men, let us use our Christian names.”
“Indeed yes. Then how are you called?”
“I am named for the Baptist, by which account the Saxons called me Jack.” I had found this odd at first, for surely the name of the Baptist was John in the Saxon tongue, but soon classed it with the other oddities of living among this strange pale-haired folk.
“And I for the Archangel: I am called Michael.” We greeted each other by name and shook hands.
By this time we were finished bathing, so we warmed ourselves by the fire. My legs were somewhat given to cramp, which must have showed in my face, for he asked me what was amiss.
“It seems that a fat posterior is good for riding a horse, but little help in walking uphill,” I said, grimacing. He denied that the named part was at all fat, but offered help.
“I have found that sometimes the stiffness of a limb can be pressed out with another’s hand,” he said. “Would you have me attempt it?” I agreed and lay down. I must say that I found his ministrations quite relaxing, and began to drowse, looking into the fire.
I woke when I perceived that something had changed. His touch on my rearmost sinews had gone from vigorous and medicinal to gentle and affectionate. The touch was surprisingly pleasant, but not at all one which would ease the tensions of the body; rather it was one to relax the mind.
Do not think me a fool. I had encountered such as him before, in my years of service. But we were brothers in arms, and though he pleasured his hand upon my body it did me no harm; nor did he press too far, or too deeply, if you understand me. I chose, therefore, to let it pass, and feigned sleep; and before long my feigning became truth.
At first light we arose, and ate, and broke camp. I suggested that, since our mission might well spell our deaths, and we would depend on each other for our very lives, and more importantly for success, we should swear a bond of brotherhood.
He agreed, not, I think, perceiving my other motive; for if he were my brother he would be less likely to attempt being my husband. But the reason I spoke was true also; so we lightly pierced our palms, letting the blood well up, and pressed them together, swearing the oath of blood-brotherhood as we did so.
And it was well done, I thought. We used each other’s names with greater ease, now that we were brothers. Yet what strange brothers were we! One blond as split pine, one dark as oak bark; one's eyes of August’s sky, the other’s of December’s midnight.
We went on along the trail that led up the mountain, and, we hoped, to the lair of the Demon Duke. We knew our mission to be nearly hopeless; yet if we were to succeed, uncountable lives could be saved. The ravages of this foul Duke had to be stopped, and if not by assassination, they must be stopped by open war.
We were hiking up the mountain. The choice to go afoot was one of the need for stealth outweighing the need for haste, for horses are conspicuous where poverty is rife; but the choice to go unarmored was one of the need for haste outweighing in its turn—though in truth some might well find armored men suspicious, where unarmored men would pass unnoticed.
The Saxon let me go ahead where the way was narrow, of his courtesy; yet when the way was wide we walked side by side like brothers. Indeed in this we were brothers, for the blight of the Demon Duke had to be destroyed, if the world were not to end in our own lifetime.
We came to the river, and went up its bank until we came to the ford, where a stone path had been made, and crossed it almost dry. We having walked by then many leagues, we camped for the night. We were still low enough on the mountain that a fire would not seem amiss, for many men hunted in this wood. As is my custom when on a journey, I bathed in the river before bedding down by the fire. After a few minutes of hesitation, the Saxon did the same.
“I greatly admire your physique, o Moor,” he commented.
“As I do yours, o Saxon,” I replied, “yet I am no Moor”—at which for some reason he grinned—“for my family is Christian these three generations.”
“So it was your great-grandfather who chose to be Moor no more?” he asked, and I understood his humor. It was full of such jokes, this Saxon tongue we spoke. “But I must in my own turn caution that I am but half a Saxon, for my mother is of Eire.”
“A fine people, the Eirish;” I remarked, “wise, and good warriors.” He stared at me in wonder. “Did you not know it, Sir Half-a-Saxon? Those same Celts who rule in Eire once ruled Iberia; we have some of their art and much of their law. But since I am no Moor—no more a Moor than you and yours—and you but half a Saxon, we must address each other somehow. As we are Christian men, let us use our Christian names.”
“Indeed yes. Then how are you called?”
“I am named for the Baptist, by which account the Saxons called me Jack.” I had found this odd at first, for surely the name of the Baptist was John in the Saxon tongue, but soon classed it with the other oddities of living among this strange pale-haired folk.
“And I for the Archangel: I am called Michael.” We greeted each other by name and shook hands.
By this time we were finished bathing, so we warmed ourselves by the fire. My legs were somewhat given to cramp, which must have showed in my face, for he asked me what was amiss.
“It seems that a fat posterior is good for riding a horse, but little help in walking uphill,” I said, grimacing. He denied that the named part was at all fat, but offered help.
“I have found that sometimes the stiffness of a limb can be pressed out with another’s hand,” he said. “Would you have me attempt it?” I agreed and lay down. I must say that I found his ministrations quite relaxing, and began to drowse, looking into the fire.
I woke when I perceived that something had changed. His touch on my rearmost sinews had gone from vigorous and medicinal to gentle and affectionate. The touch was surprisingly pleasant, but not at all one which would ease the tensions of the body; rather it was one to relax the mind.
Do not think me a fool. I had encountered such as him before, in my years of service. But we were brothers in arms, and though he pleasured his hand upon my body it did me no harm; nor did he press too far, or too deeply, if you understand me. I chose, therefore, to let it pass, and feigned sleep; and before long my feigning became truth.
At first light we arose, and ate, and broke camp. I suggested that, since our mission might well spell our deaths, and we would depend on each other for our very lives, and more importantly for success, we should swear a bond of brotherhood.
He agreed, not, I think, perceiving my other motive; for if he were my brother he would be less likely to attempt being my husband. But the reason I spoke was true also; so we lightly pierced our palms, letting the blood well up, and pressed them together, swearing the oath of blood-brotherhood as we did so.
And it was well done, I thought. We used each other’s names with greater ease, now that we were brothers. Yet what strange brothers were we! One blond as split pine, one dark as oak bark; one's eyes of August’s sky, the other’s of December’s midnight.
We went on along the trail that led up the mountain, and, we hoped, to the lair of the Demon Duke. We knew our mission to be nearly hopeless; yet if we were to succeed, uncountable lives could be saved. The ravages of this foul Duke had to be stopped, and if not by assassination, they must be stopped by open war.
