"We will give thy proposal a trial. What wilt thou use for cord?"
"Strips cut from the hem of my wife's gown."
"Indeed?" said Yolanda. "What makes you think, husband—"
"Enough!" roared Eudoric. "Your dress is nought but a mass of mud at best."
"Then you shall buy me another as good, once we are back in civilization."
"Eh?" said the ghost. "What is this about regaining civilization? If yon female imply that Armoria be not civilized, we will hold her imprisoned here forever and ay—"
"Please, Your Majesty!" said Eudoric hastily. "In the tongue of Franconia, 'civilized' means only one who speaks Franconian, regardless of his learning and manners. My wife meant no slight to Your Majesty's fertile realm."
Yolanda seemed about to speak again, but a murderous glare from Eudoric stopped her. The ghost said:
"Humph! That is as may be. Think not to bind one another with bastard knots, which fall apart at a tug! We know somewhat of knots, for in our youth we commanded a ship of our sire's navy. Oh, and one thing more: We heard the lady mention wizardry gear in her chest. Think not to fetch it into our demesne, to cancel our spells!"
"What would you do if we did?" flared Yolanda.
The ghost chuckled. "Thinkest thou we'll shoot off every shaft in our quiver in practice, leaving none for the battle? Do but try it, and we warrant on the word of a king that thou shalt not enjoy the results."
"What could he do?" whispered Eudoric.
Yolanda shrugged. "I know not. Wouldst take a chance that 'tis but empty bluster? He may slay us, but I fear not death."
Eudoric shook his head. "When there's no way to reckon the odds, I hedge my wagers with caution."
"Tradesman!" sneered Yolanda under her breath.
At last the bindings were tied to the ghost's satisfaction. The wall stopped whirling, and the entrance reappeared. The three prisoners were let out in turn. Returning from one such expedition, Forthred said:
"Master, we should unload the poor beasts. Leaving them tethered and laden will afflict them with sores. But I cannot perform that task alone."
"Later," said Eudoric. "And now, Your Majesty, I shall tell of my adventures in Pathenia ..."
When Eudoric had plodded through the tale for the fourth time, Yolanda muttered: "How the spook feels I know not, but I am bored to the point of screaming."
Eudoric smiled and started the story over again. When he had finished, the ghost said: "We thank thee; but is there no other tale that thou canst tell? This one groweth weary with repetition.'
"Alas, nay, sire," said Eudoric. "Aside from this one foray, I have led a sheltered, uneventful life." (Yolanda and Forthred hid their smiles; Eudoric was pleased to note that the ghost's abilities did not include the detection of lies.) "Have I mentioned the curious custom of the Pathenians, of making their homes in the shells of the gigantic snails that infest that land?"
"Aye, yea, forsooth and eftsoons! Thou hast told us of those snailhouses, not once but thrice! Get thee and thy companions hence, ere we die a second death from tedium!"
XIII – Heroes in Hiding
In Knokani, Eudoric addressed a shopkeeper. Not knowing the Armorian for "map," he said: "Tell me, goodman, hast a picture of the land hereabouts as it would look to a bird in flight?"
The merchant scratched his head. "Dip me in ordure if that bean't a strange thought! How could a man make such a picture, less he could fly above the land like a bird or a bodiless spirit?"
"It can be done, I do assure you. Men measure the distances along roads and fields and draw their lines accordingly. Have you no such charts to sell?"
"Nay, Master. What need have we for such, who dwell in Knokani all our lives and know the land like the palms of our hands?"
"But travelers like unto us would lack this knowledge."
The shopkeeper shrugged. "That's their plight. Belike they make such pictures in great cities like Ysness."
Eudoric sighed. "Well then, canst sell me a sheet a paper?"
"What's paper?"
"A new stuff used for writing; a kind of felt made of linen rags. If there's no paper, how about a sheet of parchment?"
"What's parchment?"
"A sheepskin treated to make a good writing surface."
"Oh, aye, sheepskins I have; albeit I know not if they'll serve your turn. The only wight hereabouts who knows reading and writing is the priest."
Eudoric left the shop with a roll of sheepskin, with the fleece still attached. "No map, Shorty?" asked Yolanda sharply in Franconian. Eudoric winced.
"They've never heard of maps. We shall have to make our own as best we can."
"That will merely tell us where we've been, not whither we must go. Meanst we shall wander about this countryside in circles until we perish of old age, or some peasant hears we're wanted by the King's men and sets them on our trail?"
"We are not wandering in circles," said Eudoric, stung. "I keep track of direction by sun and stars."
"But two days out of three are overcast. You should have thought sooner to fetch a map along."
Eudoric felt his temper slipping. "And when have I had time to shop for maps, what with you and the monster and the jester Corentin? Why don't you work your magic to find the right direction?"
"I could, had I the apparatus I left behind in Letitia. And methinks it bid fair to rain. Wilt make us sleep in that leaky little tent, though I awaken with Forthred's foot in my mouth and it give us rheumatics ahead of our years?"
"Sir," said Forthred in a low voice, "I beg your pardon, but people are staring at us. Were it not better to belay disputes until we be out of town? Ye ken how suspicious these villagers be of strangers."
"You're right," growled Eudoric. "Wedge this sheepskin under a pack rope and mount up."
Yolanda mounted, remarking: "Could we not for once enjoy the luxe of an inn? Foul though I know these wretched excuses for inns to be, after that tent 'twould seem a paradise."
"Nay," said Eudoric, swinging into his own saddle. "You know as well as I that, if we bed in a village inn, or even in a peasant's barn, we're like by morn to discover a squadron of King Gwennon's finest with blades to our throats."
She sighed. "Had I but known the hardships this flight entailed, I should have enjoined you to leave the Rock and suffer the monster to devour me."
"And had I known the sweet temper of my bride-to-be," snapped Eudoric, "I should have obeyed that command with a right good will."
For a while they rode in silence. Then a sound brought Eudoric round. Yolanda was weeping. Through her tears she blubbered:
"Oh, Eudoric dearest, why do I so misdemean myself? I'm sorrier than I can say. I hate myselt. It's as though some demon from time to time possessed me, making me savage the kindest and most patient husband any woman could ask."
She collapsed into sobs and outcries. Eudoric petted and tried to comfort her. When she recovered, she became positively angelic, insisting on doing more than her share of the work of setting up camp. She even undertook to cook their supper, although the product of her first attempt proved so inedible that even Eudoric, inured to rough fare, could not stomach it.
Next day, another village loomed out of the drizzle. Eudoric said: "I see what looks like a tavern. Let's stop for a bit of food and rest."
Beyond the front door of the tumbledown structure, a plank floor extended out a few paces, and overhead the eaves of the building projected an equal distance. Two small tables stood on the planking, at one of which sat three old men, drinking and gossiping. When Eudoric and his party took chairs at the other table, the three oldsters fell silent and turned to stare. The one on the near side of that table even turned his chair around to get a better view of the newcomers.