The blask rood

TEN

Sailing on a river is more tedious than navigation by sea. It is not without certain benefits, however. If the wind fails, you can always get out and walk along the bank and, if necessary-when confronted by strong currents, or a contrary wind-you can tow the boat. Also, since a river runs only where it will, there is less chance of losing your way. The Franks called the river Seine, and it was to be our constant companion for a good many days.

Roupen said that the next town we should come to would be Paris, which we would reach in five days. In fact, we reached it in four days. We paused only long enough to gather a few more provisions, and then set off again straightaway, for the merchants of Paris were a haughty, imperious tribe, and over-envious of the gold in our purses.

As we began to adjust to this new way of voyaging, I found the days most pleasant. Sometimes we walked, and sometimes we sailed; occasionally, we towed the boat with ropes tied to the bow. Even going with the current, it was hard work, but there were three of us to spell one another, so no one had to bear the brunt of the labour too long. Still, at the end of a day's towing, we were heartily glad we had only a fishing boat and not a fully laden longship.

The weather remained warm, for the most part, and exceedingly dry, as we slipped further and further into the heart of Frankish land. We passed through many settlements along the way: some large, with fine stone churches; most small-a scattering of huts on a muddy track beside the river, tiny fields, and a cattle enclosure or two. We bought supplies and provisions as required. Often, we bargained with the farmers themselves, or more likely, their wives, who were more canny in their dealings.

In this way, we got fresh eggs, milk, and bread, meat and cheese; and, as summer passed, fruit: apples, plums of all kinds, pears, and berries. On this honest fare, the sallow young lord began to regain his former health. His colour improved, and his strength increased; he still tired more easily than the rest of us, but undertook such chores as he was able with never a breath of complaint.

As Roupen's stomach could not take heavier meat, we fed him with fish from the river. Sarn grew very adept at catching fine brown trout which we enjoyed almost as much as the mackerel we got at home. Roupen appeared fascinated by Sarn's ability to tease the fish out of the dark water. He watched with such fierce concentration whenever Sarn threw out the line, that the seaman undertook to teach him. By way of exchange, the young man offered to help Sarn with his Latin.

The two of them became good friends. Sarn is of a cautious disposition; he gives away little of himself unless he is satisfied his gift will not be squandered, or belittled. He saw in Roupen someone who would honour his friendship; and the young lord found a steadfast companion who did not demand anything of him save simple kindliness.

Consequently, under Sarn's affable instruction, Roupen began to lose some of the stiff wariness in his demeanour. One day, he startled us all by laughing out loud at something Sarn was attempting to say. He threw back his head, clutched his sides, and shook with mirth, while we looked on in amazement as the veil of melancholy with which he habitually cloaked himself was suddenly ripped away, revealing a young man who, I suspect, had not known a moment's solitary delight in years.

His outburst intrigued me, but I did not like to embarrass him, so I waited until the next day to ask him about it. Sarn and Padraig were towing the boat, I was minding the tiller, and Roupen was braiding a bit of rope Sarn had given him for practice.

'What is it like for you at home?'

He thought for a long moment, and then said, 'It is like living in a church-a very great church, full of priests and penitents and pilgrims. In my father's palace, worship never ceases; indeed, prayers ascend on clouds of incense day and night, and the bells ring continually. From my father the prince, to the least stableboy – everyone says his prayers six times a day.'

'Some would consider that a very paradise,' I remarked.

'Perhaps it would be,' he allowed, 'if the whole world did not seek our destruction. Every hand is against us, and we are continually on guard lest our enemies crush us and scatter our ashes to the four winds.'

When I asked how his people had managed to make so many enemies, he explained that it was ever thus. 'The Latin church does not recognize our faith,' he said mournfully. 'They think us worse than infidels, and Byzantium will not rest until they have brought us under the rule of the emperor. Also, since we are first and foremost Christians, the Muhammedans harass and abuse us at every turn.

'It was for that reason my father sent the delegation to the king of the Franks. It was our hope that we might form an alliance with one or more rulers in the West who could use their authority to prevent the crusaders from attacking us. In return, we would offer to help them maintain the pilgrim roads and keep their pilgrims safe from thieves and Turks.'

'Did the king listen?'

Roupen shook his head sadly. 'The chance never came. We made proper representations to his advisors and courtiers, who accepted our gifts and promised to bring our concerns before the king, but the day of audience was always delayed for one reason or another. When the king finally deigned to see us, the sickness had done its work and there was no one left-except me, and I was too ill to keep my head upright, let alone hold lengthy converse with the king.' He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. 'By the time I was well enough to speak to him, the king had long since gone away with his courtiers to his hunting estates in the north.'

'At least you are alive to try again,' I pointed out. 'No doubt that is why God has spared you-so you can help your people.'

'Perhaps,' he conceded reluctantly. 'Although, I have never understood why God does anything. If the Lord of Hosts wanted me to help, my people, he might simply have allowed me to speak with the king as we had planned -' he paused thoughtfully, adding, 'and saved the lives of fourteen people into the bargain.'

'The ways of Heaven are mystery itself,' agreed Padraig. I glanced up to see that the boat was drifting near the bank. Padraig was listening, and offered this observation in all sympathy. 'I will pray that the Great King makes his purpose known to you in a way you will understand.'

We changed places with Sarn and Padraig, slipping our arms into the loops of the tow ropes and, with a long, steady pull to get the boat moving, started off again. The day was fair and the sun hot, and I soon found myself dreaming about what might be happening at home in Scotland.

I thought about you, dearest Gait, and wondered what you were doing at that very moment. I imagined you picking berries with Ragna, or chasing the geese with a willow switch. I thought about Abbot Emlyn, and it gave me some comfort to know that whatever befell us on this journey, he would be praying for us. This put me in mind of the true purpose of my pilgrimage-a thing which I had not shared with a single living soul, not even Padraig. I knew I would have to tell him one day soon, but thought it would not hurt to wait a little longer.

As it happened, that day was a Sabbath, so when we camped for the night, Padraig performed a worship service for us. I sat on the riverbank, listening to his clear, strong voice singing the ancient words in Gaelic while one-by-one the timid stars kindled and took light; I sat there thinking I had never heard anything so beautiful, and wished Rhona was with me to share it.

Although the days seemed to pass in lazy, almost effortless succession, we were all the time growing closer to the most difficult portion of our journey: the portage over the hills leading to the Saone valley.

Upon our arrival at the settlement which marked the end of the navigable stream, we found men who earned their living by hauling boats and passengers and goods from one valley to the other. For a fee, they were prepared to guarantee safe passage overland to the next river. As Roupen had dealt with these men before, he undertook to make the arrangements. Sarn was not content to entrust his boat to rough-handed strangers, so he accompanied the young lord to help him choose an acceptable carrier for our vessel.

They returned a short while later well satisfied with the arrangements they had made. 'The haulier will come with his wagon and oxen tomorrow morning,' Sarn informed us. 'We must have all our goods and belongings stacked on the shore so he can draw the boat out of the water.' He pointed to a place a little way upstream where long pine poles had been laid down side-by-side on a shallow slope of the bank. 'That is where we must wait.'

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.

Padraig and I obeyed at once. The haulier, groggy with sleep and rubbing his eyes, stumbled forwards complaining. Sarn, glowering and muttering in Norse, came next. Roupen, wary but silent, followed; as he stepped from the road to take his place beside me, I saw his hand twitch at his stomach, and his belt slid free. He dropped it to the ground behind him.

While the leader of the thieves kept watch over us, his men began tossing everything out of the boat. They worked with such deftness and quick purpose, 1 could see they were well accustomed to their labour.

They made a heap of everything they found, bundled it up, and tied the bundles behind their saddles, while we stood watching, powerless to prevent them. Then, when they turned their attention to the oxen, Dodu started forwards. 'No! No!' he cried. 'Take everything else! Take our food! Take our goods! But leave my beasts!'

'Shut up, you!' warned the thief. 'Get back!'

But the haulier paid him no heed. He rushed forwards, making for the place where the oxen were being untied. The chief bandit wheeled his horse; his arm flashed out and I heard a dull, crunching thud. Dodu moaned and fell sprawling in the dust. Padraig started to his aid.

Swinging around to face us once more, the thief said, 'You there! Stand still, or you'll get the same.'

I pulled Padraig back. 'Just get on with it,' I growled. 'Take it and leave.'

Having secured the oxen, one of the thieves began leading them away. The others returned to their horses and climbed into their saddles. 'You see? We are happy to oblige.' Pointing with the tip of his sword, he indicated Roupen's purse on the ground. 'Now then, if you will kindly hand me that belt and purse, we will be on our way.'

Roupen made no move, but glared stubbornly ahead, his mouth clamped shut in defiance. So, the bandit chief called to one of his men who retrieved the belt, and then searched the young lord roughly from head to foot. Finding nothing else, he passed the belt and purse to his master, who snatched it up. The rogue wheeled his mount and started away. 'Kill them,' he called over his shoulder.

The thug swung towards us, brandishing his sword. I could see him trying to work out which of us to murder first. As Roupen was the nearest, and the weakest, he decided to begin the slaughter with him. I waited until he turned towards the young man, and then simply stretched out my foot and tripped him as he passed. The brute sprawled forwards on his hands and knees, but failed to release his grip on the sword. The blade struck the dirt, and bent near the hilt. Stepping quickly forwards, I stomped down hard on his forearm just above the wrist and heard a crisp snap. The brigand yelped in surprise and pain, as I bent down and snatched the weapon from his unresisting fingers.

'Get up,' I told him. He sat up slowly, scowling at me and rubbing his injured arm.

Sarn ran to the boat and looked inside. 'They have taken everything,' he called, 'even the water skins.'

Meanwhile, Padraig hurried to the haulier's aid, rolled him over and put his face near Dodu's nose and mouth. 'He is alive,' the monk announced. Then, feeling carefully around the injured man's head and neck, he added, 'There is no blood. I think he will live, but we must try to wake him.'

I joined Padraig to help with this task, and gave Sarn and Roupen the chore of tying up the thief. 'Truss him tight,' I told them. 'I want him secure for the next magistrate we meet.'

With Padraig on one side and myself on the other, we gently raised the inert bulk of the unlucky haulier into a sitting position. We were just steadying him when I heard Sarn shout. I looked up to see him rolling on his backside, his legs kicking in the air as the thug made for his horse. With three great bounds he gained the saddle, lashed his mount to speed, and raced after his now-distant comrades, leaving us to ourselves once more.

There was nothing to be done in the dark, so, as Padraig tended the goose-egg on Dodu's head, I built up the fire again and then we all settled down to wait for the dawn. Daylight confirmed that Sarn was right: the bandits had indeed robbed us of everything-except the boat, and that could not be moved without a team of oxen.

'How far is the next settlement?' I asked the haulier.

'Far enough,' he replied sorrowfully. 'Those oxen are my living. Without them I am destitute. Ruined!' He grabbed his head and moaned. 'I am ruined.'

'How far?' I asked again. 'Tell me, Dodu.'

He thought for a moment. 'If this is the first hill…,' he began.

'It is,' I confirmed. 'We passed no others. This was the first.'

'Then there are three more hills before the next settlement-a half day's walk,' he sighed, closing his eyes.

'Half a day ahead, and two behind,' I said. 'I guess we go on.'

'But we will get no help there. It is two farms and a pigsty only. They have nothing-not even a dog.'

'After that?' I said. 'How far to the next?'

'There are no others,' Dodu sighed, 'until you come to the Sa6ne. There is a mill, and the miller keeps oxen to turn the wheel.'

'How far is the mill?'

'Four days,' he moaned. 'And miller Babeau is a very disagreeable man.'

Leaving the haulier to his misery, I rose and went to the boat. I leaned my weight against the stern and gave it a push. The wagon wheels creaked as it rocked forwards slightly.

'What are you thinking?' asked Padraig. 'We cannot pull the boat all the way to the river.'

'We cannot leave it here,' objected Sarn quickly. 'If you do, you leave me behind as well. I will not abandon my boat.'

'Peace!' I told him. 'I am not for abandoning the boat. If we can haul it to the next settlement, you and Roupen can stay there and guard it while we walk to the mill.'

Padraig gazed down the slope before us, and up the long rising incline to the next crest in the distance. 'It grows no shorter for staring at it,' I told him.

'Then we had best get started.'