Next morning, we were ready. By midday we were still waiting; meanwhile, two more boats had arrived and both had been hauled out of the water and carried away, and still there was no sign of our haulier. Twice, I sent Sarn to look for the fellow to no avail. When he finally arrived, the day was hastening from us. 'Here I am,' he called. 'It is Dodu at your service.'
'We were told you would come this morning,' I snapped. 'We have been standing here all day.'
Dodu apologized and explained that on setting out that morning, he noticed one of the axles on his wagon had split and the repair had taken longer than he hoped. He would have sent his boy along to tell us, he said, but the child had injured his foot and stayed at home.
The haulier spoke plainly, his Latin the uncomplicated speech of a child. He smiled and spread his hands. 'Starting off with a broken axle would never do,' he said. 'Such things only get worse, never better.' I agreed with him, and he set about his work, humming cheerfully to himself and calling endearments to his docile pair of brown-and-white spotted oxen.
The wagon was little more than two sets of wheels on heavy axles joined by a strong iron chain which could be adjusted according to the size of the boat to be carried. Once he had pulled the boat from the water, we raised the bow of the craft by way of long poles, and attached the front wheels with ropes. The oxen, straining at their wooden yokes, pulled the craft higher up the bank, and we levered up the stern and attached the rear wheels. We then replaced all the goods and rigging back in the boat, and lashed the mast to the bow and stern. By the time we finished, the sun was well down and we were growing hungry. Nevertheless, I was anxious to get at least a little further along the trail before stopping for the night. So, we made a start.
As it had been dry for many days, the road the boatmen used was high and well-kept. We moved out from the trees which grew along the river, and started up a long, rising slope towards the crest of the first hill. The heat of the day was swiftly fading, and the calls of home-winging birds filled the air.
The oxen moved slowly, sturdy legs stumping, their heavy hooves raising little puffs of dust with every step. The haulier, goad in hand, walked beside them, coaxing them along with whistles and little clucking noises. He was a simple, humble soul-one of those who, not blessed with an overabundance of wit, nevertheless make up the lack with a pleasant, kindly disposition. Dodu was so good-natured, I forgave him his lateness and shortly felt the peace of the evening settle over me. We walked a while, and reached the top of the first hill. I looked back down into the valley the way we had come.
The river was hidden by the trees which formed a dark, ruffled line stretching away into the gathering twilight. The soft night air smelled of dry grass and sage; the scent of wood smoke drifted up from the valley. A stone wall separated the road from a small field. Twilight was deepening around us, so we decided to halt there for the night. Sarn made a fire, and Padraig busied himself cooking a porridge of dried peas and barley, which we ate with hard black bread.
After the meal, Padraig sang a song, and Dodu told us a story about a man from his village who found an image of the Holy Virgin in the moss on the side of his cattle byre. Everyone came to see this wonder, including the lord and the local priest, who declared it a miracle, and commanded that the image be accorded all respect.
The man's wife had gone blind the previous winter, he explained, and when the woman was brought before the cow byre, her eyes began to sting. 'Tears fell in a very flood,' the haulier told us. 'She cried out and wiped her eyes with the hem of her mantle, and when she raised her head, her eyesight was restored.'
Roupen listened, idly stirring the fire with a stick. 'Was anyone else healed by this miraculous image?' he asked, his face illumined by the glowing embers.
'Alas, no,' replied Dodu. 'Word spread far and wide, of course, and the sick and lame began to come in their numbers.'
'What happened?' wondered Sarn.
'It rained, and the image washed away. From that day to this,' he concluded, 'it has never been seen again.'
Sarn nodded sagely, and Padraig smiled to himself; but Roupen made a noise through his nose as if a bug had crawled into his nostril. The haulier turned his head to regard the young lord indignantly.
'What? Do you doubt what I say is true? I can show you the cow byre, and I can show you the woman!'
'I am certain you can,' Roupen said, still stirring the embers. 'I do not doubt you in the least. It merely seemed queer to me that God should trouble himself so with moss and mysterious images. If he wished the woman's sight restored, why did he not simply heal her? Better still, why-if he wanted to help the poor woman-did he allow her to go blind in the first place?'
'Who are you,' demanded Dodu angrily, 'that you know the ways of the Lord God Almighty?'
'I am no one,' replied Roupen, his voice sinking in dejection. 'Please, do not upset yourself over anything I have said. It is merely the buzzing of a gnat in your ear, nothing more.'
With that, he snapped the stick in half and tossed it into the fire. He drew up his knees to his chin, and sat staring into the fire, but said nothing more the rest of the night. Talk dwindled after that, and we fell asleep where we lay-waking at dawn to continue on. We made slow but steady progress throughout the next day, and had the road to ourselves, passing no one in either direction. We camped for the night beside the road as before, only to be awakened just before dawn by the sound of horses coming up the hill.
I heard the faint clop of the hooves and awoke at once. Padraig rose and stood beside me. 'How many?' he asked, peering into the darkness. 'Can you see them?'
'No,' I told him. 'Two or three at least, maybe more.'
The moon had set, and although I could hear the riders coming nearer with every step, I could not see them. 'Wake the others,' I told him. 'There may be trouble.'
The monk had just turned to his task when a voice called out. 'Ho! What have we here?'
The horses stopped. A few muted words were exchanged, and one of the riders came on alone. He emerged out of the night-a big, coarse-looking fellow with a frayed cloak over his broad shoulders. He sat for a moment looking down at us. I could see him taking the measure of our group.
'Hail and welcome,' I said, stepping boldly forwards. 'You are early to the trail.'
The man leaned forwards, patting the neck of his horse. 'It is a sin to waste the day abed,' he replied, grinning easily. 'This way, we also avoid the jostling crowds.'
'Since you are in a hurry,' I replied, 'please do not allow us to delay you. There is the road, and you are welcome to it.'
Still smiling, he looked across to the boat, and the oxen which were tethered nearby. 'That is a heavy chore,' he observed, 'hauling boats over hills. Perhaps we can do you a service.'
'We have no money,' I told him bluntly. 'We could not pay you.'
'Did I say anything about payment?' the man asked, as if aggrieved by my suggestion. 'I am certain we can come to an agreeable arrangement.' He made a motion with his hands, and his comrades came forwards. I heard the cold ring of steel as swords were drawn from hangers, and three more riders appeared, short swords in their fists.
Padraig, having roused the others, came to stand beside me. 'In the name of Christ,' he said softly, 'leave us in peace.'
The foremost rider's smile turned nasty as he drew his sword from beneath his cloak. 'We mean to lighten your load, friends, nothing more. Give us no trouble, and you'll get none. Get up, all of you! Stand over there.' He directed us a few paces away.