Three Hearts and Three Lions (18 page)

“Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you what I’ve been able to learn,” said the magician. “Not before noon, mind you. These backwoodsmen keep ungodly hours.”

On the way to the inn they passed the church. Holger stopped his horse. He wanted to go in and pray. But no, he dared not with this disguise. More of the unknown knight? He must have been pious in his fashion. It was hard to fare back to darkness without having received the Host... Holger kicked Papillon into a trot.

By this time night had fallen and they groped through unlighted streets to the tavern. A plump, cheerful-looking man met them in the courtyard. “Lodging for yourselves? Aye, sir, I’ve a fine room which has even pillowed crowned heads.”

Which I hope didn’t lie uneasy because of bedbugs
, Holger thought. “Two rooms,” he said.

“Oh, I’ll snark in the stable wi’ the horses,” leered Hugi.

“We still want two rooms,” said Holger.

As they dismounted, Alianora leaned close against him. He caught the faint sunny odor. of her hair. “Why, dear lord?” she whispered. “We’ve slept side by side in the glens.”

“Yes,” he muttered. “But I don’t trust myself any more.”

She clapped her hands together. “Oh, good!”

“I—I—Hellfire! Two rooms, I said!”

The landlord shrugged. When he thought no one was looking, he was seen to tap his forehead.

The chambers were small, with no more furniture than a pallet, but seemed clean enough. Holger wondered how he would pay. He’d had too much else on his mind to remember he was broke. And Alianora, the woods child, might have forgotten about that aspect. Furthermore, gossip of his original entry would have spread through the town; someone would be sure to deduce that the dark-complexioned knight had gotten his face from Martinus, and perhaps that talk would reach the Saracen’s ears. Well, he’d just have to cross his bridges as he came to them.

He shed his armor and donned his best tunic and hose, but kept his sword by him. When he emerged, he met Alianora. He was rather glad the corridor was too dark for her to see his expression. “Shall we go eat?” he asked lamely.

“Aye.” Her words were a little choked. Suddenly she caught his hands. “Holger, what is ’t ye dinna like about me?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I like you very much.”

“But that I be a swan-may, wild and unchristened? I could change that,” she gulped. “I could learn to be a lady.”

“I—Alianora—You know I’ve got to get home. In spite of what they say, I’ve no real place in this world. So sometime I’ll be leaving you. Forever. It’d be hard on both of us if... if I took your heart with me, and you kept mine here.”

“But if ye canna get back?” she whispered. “If ye have to stay here?”

“That w-would be another story.”

“How I hope ye fail ! And yet I shall strive wi’ all my micht to aid ye home, sith ’tis your wish.” She turned from him, he could barely see how her head drooped. “Och, life is an unco thing.”

He took her hand and they went downstairs.

The taproom was long and low, lighted by candles and a genuine fireplace. In these troubled times the landlord was only setting dishes on the table for one guest besides Holger and Alianora. As they entered, the man sprang from his bench with a shout. “
Ozh
—” He broke off when the Dane came into the light.

“I mistook you, fair sir,” he bowed. “I thought you one whom I seek. Pray pardon, my lady and lord.”

Holger studied him. This must be the Saracen. He was medium tall, slim and supple, elegant in flowing white shirt and trousers and in curly red shoes. A scimitar hung at his sashed waist. Under a turban with an emerald brooch and ostrich plume, his face was dark and narrow, eagle-nosed, sporting a pointed black beard and gold rings in his ears. He moved with feline smoothness and his tones were low and cultured, but Holger felt he’d be a nasty customer in a fight.

“Peace on you,” said the Dane, trying to be polite. “May I present the Lady Alianora de la Fork? I hight, umm, Sir Rupert of Graustark.”

“I fear me I never heard of your demesne, good sir, but then I am from the far southwest and ignorant of these parts. Sir Carahue, onetime king of Mauretania, humbly at your service.” The Saracen bowed almost to the ground. “Will you sup with me? ’Twould pleasure me to, ah—”

“Thank you, gracious knight,” said Holger at once. It was a relief to have someone else pick up the dinner check. He and Alianora seated themselves. Carahue was a bit astonished at the girl’s unconventional costume, but looked delicately away.

He insisted on having samples brought of the landlord’s wines, sipped each, winced, and laid out the best accompaniment he could for each course. Holger could not resist saying, “I thought your religion banned strong drink.”

“Ah, you mistake me, Sir Rupert. I am a Christian like yourself. Once, true, I fought for the paynim, but the gentle and chivalrous knight who overcame me also won me to the True Faith. Though even were I still a follower of Mahound, I would not be so discourteous as not to drink to your most beautiful lady’s health.”

They had a friendly supper, chatting of inconsequentials. Afterward Alianora yawned and went to bed, the close air made her sleepy. Holger and Carahue were still wakeful and settled down to some serious guzzling. The Dane demurred at first; he didn’t like to be carried in every round. But the Saracen insisted on treating.

“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.

Hell, everything pointed to the other world’s not even being his own. He belonged here, in this Carolingian universe; the other had been a place of exile. In so many ways this was a better and cleaner abode—No, said his stubborn truthfulness, that wasn’t fair. This cosmos had its own drawbacks. But simply by virtue of being different, didn’t it promise him more adventure and opportunity than the best of the other earth?