“I joy in the company of gentlefolk who can turn a sestina as well as break a lance,” he declared, “and such are rare in this uncouth borderland. I beg you, let me express my gratitude.”
“This is certainly no good place to go knocking about in,” said Holger. Probingly he added, “Some great purpose must have brought you here.”
“Yes, I seek a man. “ Carahue’s eyes were shrewd above the rim of his goblet. “Mayhap you’ve heard news of him? A big fellow, about your size, but yellow-haired. Most likely he’ll ride a black stallion and bear arms either of an eagle, sable on argent, or of three hearts sanguine and three lions passant or.”
“Hmmm.” Holger rubbed his chin and tried hard to appear calm. “I think I’ve heard something, but can’t quite remember. What did you say his name was?”
“I didn’t,” said Carahue. “Let his name be what it will, if you will indulge me in such a whim. Truth is, he has many powerful enemies, who’d be swift to fall on him did word get abroad.”
“Then you are a friend of his, sir?”
“Perhaps,” said Carahue gently, “it were best that my own reasons be hid too. ’Tis not that I distrust you, Sir Rupert, but there are ears everyplace, some not human. And I am a stranger, not only to this part of the world, but to this whole time.”
“What?”
Carahue watched Holger steadily, as if to catch any flicker of reaction, while he said, “This much I dare relate. I knew the man whom I seek centuries ago. But he vanished into realms unknown. I’ve learned that he came back once, “when le beau pays de France stood in danger, and routed the heathen invaders, then vanished again. But that was after my time. For when he had first gone, I fared out to sea in quest of him. A great storm cast me ashore in Huy Braseal, where I was received in her enchanted castle by a most fair damsel.” He sighed dreamily. “Time flowed strange in that realm, as ’tis said to do in Avalon or under Elf Hill. It seemed but a year to me that I abode with her; yet hundreds of years fled in the lands of men. When at last I got rumors of hosting throughout the Middle World, I stole the use of my lady-love’s arts magical and learned that the whirlwind would first break in these eastern lands. I learned too that O—this knight whom I would fain meet again, would be drawn back by force of that gathering storm, from strange realms to which he had been exiled. So I helped myself to an enchanted ship, which bore me in a night from Huy Braseal to the south coast of this realm. There I got a horse and wandered north in search of him. But so far God has not willed that I succeed.”
Carahue leaned back and drank thirstily. Holger scowled. By now he was quite prepared to believe such a tale. He’d experienced worse whoppers himself. But the Saracen could be lying... no, Holger had a notion he was telling the truth, as far as he went. The lean brown face was familiar. Somewhere, sometime, he must indeed have known Carahue. But as friend or foe? The other had carefully avoided committing himself on that point, and Holger didn’t feel it would be wise to ask. True, the Moor had spoken well of the man he sought, but that didn’t prove anything. Under the fantastic code of chivalry, men could sing each other’s praises while carving out each other’s livers.
The part about an acquaintance hundreds of years old was not unduly disturbing to Holger. He couldn’t feel more alone and homesick than he already did. And the idea explained some things. He, Holger, of three hearts and three lions, had been a knight whom Morgan enticed to her timeless isle of Avalon. Once he returned, when France needed him. She’d let him do so, probably not caring who won that war, and he’d gone back to her when it was over. Now again—But this time his return was from a farther place, and Morgan opposed him with all her obscure powers.
“I would not seem overly meddlesome, Sir Rupert,” said Carahue urbanely, “yet passing strange ’tis that you too should be questing along this uneasy bourne. Pray tell me, where lies your Graustark?”
“Oh, somewhat south,” mumbled Holger. “I made a... a vow. The swan maiden kindly agreed to help me fulfill it.”
Carahue arched his brows. Plainly, he didn’t believe a word of that. But he merely smiled. “Come, shall we take pleasance with a song or two? Perchance you know a ballade, villanelle, or sirvente which would fall sweetly on ears too long accustomed to howling wolves and rainy winds.”
“We can try,” said Holger, glad to change the subject.
They traded songs for some hours. This required plenty of wine, to moisten the throat and lubricate the brain. Carahue was delighted with a rough translation of “Auld Lang Syne.” He and Holger woke the household singing it when they helped each other, somewhat unsteadily, up the stairs and to bed.
17
HOLGER’S HEAD THUMPED next noon when he made his way to Martinus’ shop, and Alianora was considerately silent. They left Hugi and the horses at the inn, for the landlord had been giving them suspicious looks. He had probably had experience with guests who were long on nobility and short on cash.
The wizard beamed at them. “Ah, I think you’ve looked into the flowing bowl once too often, my young friend,” he chuckled, in the offensively patronizing manner of those who have not. “Eh, eh, boys will be boys, hey, my girl?” He picked up a bottle. “Now as it happens, I have here a very good and reasonably priced specific for bilious humours, bunions, rheums, leprosy, agues, plagues, and hangovers. Just toss down this tumblerful... There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The pick-me-up did, indeed, remove Holger’s pangs on the instant. He thought that if only he could get the formula and it worked in his universe, his fortune was made. But Martinus had turned grave again. The small man paced the shop with his hands behind his back, stared at the floor, and said low:
“I could not learn your identity, Sir Holger. A geas has been laid on every being which might have told me. That suggests you are indeed someone of importance. The enemy did not think of everything, however. I raised the fleet spirits of air, even called in Ariel as consultant, and they were still able to find where Cortana lies buried. The place is not overly far from here. But it’s no trip I’d like to make.”
Holger’s heart thuttered. “Where?”
Martinus glanced at Alianora. “Do you know the church of St. Grimmin’s-in-the-Wold?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “I ha’ heard tell o’ ’t,” she admitted.
“Well, that’s where the sword is,” said Martinus. “I imagine the Middle Worlders choose a site here in the east to get it far from its rightful owner, and St. Grimmin’s specifically to make his quest hard should he ever get on its track.” He shook his bald head. “I can’t honestly recommend you go there, young fellow.”
“What is this place?” asked Holger.
“An old abandoned church in the uplands north of here. Centuries ago it was raised as a mission, in the hope of converting the savage tribesmen thereabouts, and for a while it did have a congregation. Then a raiding chief murdered them all and the church has been in ruins ever since. They say the chief defiled the altar with a human sacrifice, so the building is no longer holy, but has become the biding place of evil spirits and bad luck. Not even the savages go near St. Grimmin’s any more.”
“Hm.” Holger looked at his feet. He felt as if a weight lay on him. Martinus wasn’t kidding.
For a moment he wondered why he should bother. Why should he even want to return home? What was there that drew him?’ Oh, yes, friends, memories, well-loved scenes, but to be completely honest, no one and nothing he would miss beyond endurance. War, hunger, drabness, depersonalization. Why, if he did succeed in returning, he might find himself at the same instant of space-time as he’d left. The conservation laws of physics suggested he would. And he and his fellows had been pinned down on a beach, knowing they were to die, hoping with a rapidly fading hope that they could stay alive just long enough for that one boat to reach the Swedish shore.