CHAPTER TEN

They slept later than usual the next morning and when they finally broke camp, the sun was well up, almost as high as the treetops. They rode along the same aisle of trees that they had walked the night before and out onto the heath. To their left were the Standing Stones, looking smaller and less awesome than they had by moonlight.

Feeling the turf underfoot and seeing the wide, open spaces ahead of him, Gaillard tossed his head and strained at his bit. Brian turned the pack mule over to Tertius and, when he gave the great stallion his head, he went into a thundering gallop, stretching his muscles. They galloped for some time, finally pausing on the top of a rise. Behind them, running north and south, was the dark green of the forest. Ahead of them, as far as the eye could see, lay the heath. It was somewhat rolling, dotted with low, rounded hills and an occasional small lake. The only trees were thorn trees, stunted and wind-warped, and the only other things that grew there besides the rank grass were heather and fern. It was lonely, barren, empty country for nowhere was there a sign of human habitation.

All that day they rode across the heath, camping at night near one of the small lakes whose water was dark and tasted of peat. There was a rabbit warren nearby and, while Maude and Tertius built a fire, Brian went over to it with his bow and shot two rabbits. On his way back he stirred up a heath cock and, loosing at it without thinking, he dropped it as neatly as Long Hugh might have done. So that night they dined well.

The next day they rode on across the heath. But though it remained as empty and desolate as ever, about midmorning a strange feeling came over Brian: a feeling that they were being watched. As he checked Gaillard, he noticed that Maude had reined in her mare and was looking about also.

“Anything wrong?” asked Tertius.

“I’m not sure,” said Brian. He glanced at Maude, and she nodded.

“There’s someone about,” she said.

“What makes you think so?” asked Tertius.

She shrugged, still looking around her, then pointed.

“That hill to the left. In the gorse near the top.”

The hill was some distance away, four or five hundred yards. Shading his eyes, Brian studied it. And as he wondered how Maude could see so far with her old, bloodshot eyes, he saw a slight movement in the gorse.

“She’s right,” he said. “I’ll go look.”

“Wait,” said Tertius.

Reaching into his saddlebag, he took out a brass tube. It had a bit of polished glass at each end of it, like the glass of his spectacles. And it was apparently made of two sleeves, one fitting inside the other, for he pulled it out to twice the length it had first seemed to be.

“What’s that?” asked Brian.

“A spyglass or telescope,” said Tertius, raising it to his eye. “I had the goldsmith make it when he made my spectacles.” He peered through it. “It looks like one of the Old People.”

“The Old People?”

“They were here before the Saxons, before the Romans. Perhaps before the Beaker People. Here.” He handed Brian the brass tube.

Brian looked through it as Tertius had done and stiffened, for the hill seemed to leap toward him until it was only a few yards away. Steadying the glass, he directed it at the top of the hill and caught a glimpse of a thin, dark face framed by gorse; the black eyes looking directly into his own. Then it disappeared.

“A useful thing,” he said, handing the telescope back to Tertius. “He’s gone now, but I saw him. Friendly or unfriendly?”

“He didn’t look very friendly to me,” said Tertius. “But he may just have been curious. We’ll see.” Then, noticing that Maude was looking curiously at the spyglass, “Would you like to try it?” he asked, holding it out to her.

She took it tentatively, peered through it, and—like Brian—stiffened in surprise.

“You say you got it from a goldsmith?” she said, giving it back to him.

“I said I had him make it.”

“Are you an enchanter?”

“Far from it.”

“And you knew the White Lady’s signs. You’re a strange young man.”

“No stranger a young man than you are an old woman.”

“What do you mean?”

Tertius did not answer, merely looked at her, and it was Maude who dropped her eyes.

They rode on. Late that afternoon they came to a narrow place between two hills, both overgrown with bracken and heather. As Brian led the way through it, Gaillard snorted and shied. Brian leaned forward to quiet him, and a spear whistled from the underbrush, passing just over his head. With an exclamation, Brian drew his sword and sent Gaillard crashing through the heather in the direction from which the spear had come. But though he beat the bushes halfway up the hill, he found no sign of the hidden attacker.

When he returned to Maude and Tertius, they handed him the spear. The head was of flint, lashed to the shaft with sinew, but it was polished and sharp, a wicked weapon. They exchanged glances. Then, taking the spear in both hands, Brian broke the shaft over his saddlebow and tossed the two halves into the brush.

They rode more warily after that, avoiding narrow places and thick cover, keeping to the open. And that night, camping in a rocky valley, they kept a fire burning and took turns standing watch.

The next morning they made an early start, and by that afternoon, though the country through which they rode remained as desolate as ever, it became flatter and they caught glimpses of green to the south. They turned that way and, coming to marshes that bordered a sluggish river, went east again, riding parallel to the river.

As the sun slanted down and their shadows became long, they began looking about for a place to camp.

“What about that hill?” asked Brian, pointing to a grass-covered hillock of strangely regular shape.

“I don’t think it’s a hill,” said Tertius. “I think it’s a howe or grave mound.”

“Whatever it is, it will shelter us from the wind,” said Brian.

They unsaddled on its lee side, facing the marshes; and after caring for their horses, they built a fire and had their supper. Since they had seen no enemy signs during the day, they set no watch; but Brian sat late over the dying fire, listening to the sough of the wind through the river reeds. It was an overcast, starless night, and finally his eyes grew tired of staring into the darkness and he slept.

A shrill sound woke him. It was much like the scream that they had heard in the forest, but this time it was nearer at hand, only a short distance away. Brian leaped to his feet, reaching for his sword—and it was not there!

As he fumbled with the empty sheath, bewildered and uncomprehending, the sound came again, and then he realized it was Gaillard neighing. Running to where the horse was tethered, Brian saw the great white stallion rearing and shaking his head, while a strange, slim figure clung to his halter. Hearing Brian’s footsteps, the stranger dropped the halter and turned to flee, but Brian seized him, wrestling him to the turf. Though smaller than Brian, he was wiry and strong, and it was several minutes before Brian could pin him down.

Maude and Tertius were awake now also, calling to him.

“I’m over here,” he shouted. “Bring a light.”

Maude and Tertius came hurrying to him with a brand from the fire, and all three looked down at a man whose face was the twin of the one they had seen watching them from the gorse: thin and dark and with streaks of blue paint on his cheeks and forehead. His black hair was long and unkempt, and he wore a sleeveless sheepskin tunic. A stone axe hung from his belt, but there were bronze bracelets on his bare arms; these and the way he glared up at them despite his fear seemed to indicate that he was someone of consequence among his people.

“Some rope,” said Brian, pulling him to his feet.

Tertius cut a length of rope from his horse’s halter.

“The mule is gone!” he exclaimed. “And the saddlebags with our provisions!”

“That’s not all that’s gone,” said Brian grimly. “They took my sword, too.”

He tied the dark man’s hands together and led him back to the fire, setting him against a rock.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What’s your name?”

The dark man bared his teeth at him in a wolfish grin that was a mixture of fright and fierceness, but he did not answer.

“He doesn’t understand,” said Tertius.

Maude had been putting wood on the fire, building it up to a roaring blaze. Now she came over and stood looking down at the prisoner.

“I think he does,” she said. Drawing a small dagger from somewhere inside her ragged garments, she kneeled and pressed its point against his throat. “At least, he understands this, don’t you, my poisonous pet?”

The small, dark man tried to draw back, but she advanced the dagger, keeping it pressed against his throat.

“Yes,” she said. “He understands. Now what’s your name?”

“Migbeg,” he whispered.

“Very good,” she said. “A fine Pictish name. Now tell us how many men you have out there?” She pointed to the darkness and held up her left hand. “Five? Ten?”

Staring at her in terrified fascination as a cornered rabbit might stare at a stoat, he raised his hands, dropped them, and raised them again.

“Twenty!” said Brian in dismay. “I could hold them off, even at night, if I were properly armed. But with my sword gone …”

“I don’t think we need fear an attack, at least tonight,” said Maude, still holding the prisoner with her eye. “After all, we have a hostage. Perhaps you’d better tell them that, Migbeg. Tell them,” she jerked her head toward the surrounding darkness, “that if they attack,” she gestured, “you die!”

Again Migbeg tried to draw back from the point of her dagger, but could not because of the rock behind him.

“You wouldn’t really kill him, would you, Maude?” asked Tertius.

“You think not? What do you say, Migbeg?”

They read the answer in his face.

“See?” said Maude. “He knows. Very well, then, my pretty poppet. Tell them!”

For a moment Migbeg stared at her. Then, pushing the dagger to one side with his bound hands, he uttered a quavering call. Immediately there were answering calls from the darkness beyond the fire. Raising his voice, he spoke rapidly for a moment in a rasping, guttural tongue, ending on a rising, questioning note. There was a single, answering response from the darkness, and he nodded to Maude.

“Good,” she said. “Now the two of you can sleep in peace.”

“Why we?” asked Brian.

“Because I shall be keeping watch on our friend here.”

“You shall not,” said Brian. “If you like, you can keep the first watch. But you must promise to wake us and let us watch in turn.”

“It is me he fears,” said Maude, “far more than either of you. But if you insist … Very well.”

And so they took turns keeping watch, as they had their second night on the heath. The next morning they broke their fast on some bread that had been part of their supper the night before. Maude protested when Brian gave some to Migbeg, pointing out that it was all the food they had.

“We can’t let him starve,” said Brian.

“He won’t starve, missing a few meals,” said Maude. “He’ll just get hungry. But then so shall we, now that the mule and our provisions are gone.”

“It’s a grievous loss,” said Brian. “But since I still have my bow and, with luck, should get us some rabbits or other game, I do not mind it as much as something else.”

“Your sword?” said Tertius.

“Yes,” said Brian. “Hostage or not, I won’t feel easy till I’m armed again.” He had been looking up at the hillock behind them as he spoke. “You said this was a grave mound. Who would be buried here?”

“A king or great chieftain of some sort,” said Tertius. “I don’t think it’s one of the Old People’s barrows. Possibly a Saxon, but probably a Norseman.”

“Would he have been buried with his weapons?”

“Yes,” said Tertius. “As a matter of fact, several famous swords have been found in howes like this. Of course, this one may already have been opened and robbed.”

“Suppose we see. How does one get in?”

“Sometimes there’s an entrance and sometimes there’s not.” He too had been studying the mound. Now he pointed to a flat rock some fifteen or twenty feet above them. “Let’s try that.”

Grass grew around the rock and at first it seemed too large and heavy for even two of them to move. But, working a thick branch under the edge of it, they were able to lever it up a few inches.

“Yes,” said Tertius, peering under it. “There’s a hole here. This may be the entrance.”

Propping up the raised edge with stones, they were finally able to slide the rock to one side, exposing a square opening that slanted down sharply. It was some four feet high and Brian bent down to crawl into it.

“Wait!” said Maude from below them. “Don’t go in there!”

“Why not?” asked Brian.

“Because he wants you to,” she said, nodding toward Migbeg. “I saw it in his face as soon as you lifted the rock. There’s some danger in there. Something … What is it?” she demanded fiercely. “Tell me!”

But though she threatened him with her dagger, he only shook his head as if he did not know or did not have the words to answer her.

Tertius had been thinking, looking at Migbeg and then into the dark opening.

“Wait here,” he said to Brian.

Going down to the fire, he brought back a brand.

“Here,” he said, giving it to Brian. “Hold this in front of you and below your face.”

Bending down, Brian crawled into the hole. By the light of the torch he could see that the tunnel had been made by men, for it was roofed with slabs of stone. It was awkward going, bent over under the low ceiling but, when he was some ten or twelve paces down the passage, he saw another opening ahead of him. He also saw something else: some white bones lying just inside the second opening. He thrust the torch down to see them better—and it went out!

“Tertius!” he gasped.

“Come back!” said Tertius. “Quickly!”

Brian needed no urging. His heart pounding, he crawled back out.

“Who … or what was it?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

“What, not who,” said Tertius. “Some gas, probably methane or marsh gas.” Brian looked at him. “An invisible vapor or exhalation that comes from decaying organic matter. It’s sometimes found in mines where it’s called firedamp.”

“But how could it put out the torch?”

“Because a flame needs oxygen—air—to burn. As a matter of fact, under certain circumstances, methane itself will burn or explode. It has no odor and, if you had breathed enough of it, you would have died.”

“Oh. I saw bones at the end of the passage.”

“That was probably why Migbeg wanted you to go in. At some time, one or more of his people must have gone in and never come out again.”

“And there’s nothing we can do? No way …”

“If we leave the entrance open, the air will probably clear. But I don’t know how long it will take.” Again he thought for a moment. “There’s something else we can try. Help me bring wood up here.”

While Maude and Migbeg watched, Brian and Tertius gathered wood and built a fire at the entrance to the howe.

“What will this do?” asked Brian.

“Set up a convection current. The hot air, rising, will draw out the air from inside. At least, I hope it will.”

Though some of the words Tertius used were strange to him, Brian remembered how the great fireplace at Caercorbin drew in smoke from all parts of the hall, and he thought he understood. They kept the fire burning for some time.

“Try it again,” said Tertius at last. “The same way you did before, with the torch in front of you.”

Once more Brian crawled into the opening. Though the passageway was still damp, the air did not seem as heavy and oppressive as it had before. And this time the torch did not go out. He reached the bones he had seen before: the skeleton of a small man about the same size as Migbeg. Beyond, inside the second opening, lay another skeleton. Moving carefully so as to avoid them, Brian crawled through the second opening.

The roof above him was higher there and he stood up. He was in a square chamber, some dozen paces across and, sitting in a thronelike chair in the far corner and watching him with dark, baleful eyes was a still but menacing figure.

For a moment Brian stood frozen, his blood running chill. Then, raising the torch, he saw that this was a skeleton too, but that of a big man clad in a ring byrny and with a strange, horned helmet on his head. What Brian had thought were his eyes were the empty sockets of his skull.

Coins, chains and goblets of gold and silver lay in a heap before the seated figure, but Brian scarcely looked at this treasure. For lying across the dead man’s knees was a sword.

Slowly he went forward.

“Sir,” he said, “I know not your name or quality and ask your pardon for breaking in thus upon your rest. But my need is great. Naught else of yours, no part of your gold or silver will I touch. But, because of my great need, I ask leave to take your sword, giving you my word that I will never dishonor it.”

He waited a moment, almost as if he expected a reply. Then, carefully, so as not to disturb those ancient bones, he drew the sword from its sheath.

In the distance, strangely muffled, he could hear Tertius calling anxiously to him.

“Coming,” he called in answer.

Stepping back, he raised the sword in salute to the long dead warrior, then slipped it into his own sheath. His torch was beginning to smolder and burn more dimly, but he backed across the chamber as he would have from a royal presence or that of some great captain and only turned when he reached the low entrance.

Tertius’s face cleared when he saw him.

“I was about to come in after you,” he said. Then, his eyes went to the sword. “You found one.”

“Yes,” said Brian. “As you said, it was the tomb of some long dead chieftain; a Norseman by his arms and helmet. There was treasure there too. I took none of it, but,” he glanced down at Migbeg, “there are others who might not hold their hands. So I think we should close it up again, leave it as we found it.”

“I agree,” said Tertius.

Together they levered the stone back over the entrance to the tomb, then went down to the camp.

Migbeg, with Maude guarding him, still sat against the rock, and both of them looked at Brian. As always, since Maude’s hood was pulled forward, it was hard to see the expression on her face, but that on Migbeg’s was a mixture of surprise and dismay.

“Well?” said Maude.

Brian drew the sword from his sheath. It was the first chance he had had to examine it, and he did so now with great interest. The hilt was of sea-ivory, checked and carved in ridges to ensure a secure grip, the pommel a great knob of amber. The blade was dark with oil or grease but, when Brian wiped it with a handful of dried grass, it remained blue-black, darker than any steel he had ever seen.

Tertius had put on his spectacles and in addition had taken out the glass he wore around his neck.

“May I see it?” he asked.

Brian gave it to him and together they bent over the blade. Despite the centuries it had lain in the howe, it was unmarred, with no sign of rusting or pitting, and both its edges were still incredibly keen. Down the center of the blade ran an inscription in strange, runic writing.

“Can you read it?” Brian asked Tertius.

“No,” said Tertius. “But it comes from the North and the steel is probably meteoric.”

“Meteoric?”

“Meteors have often been found in the North. They’re greatly prized because their iron has a high nickel content and makes a magnificent steel. You’ve done well,” he said, giving the sword back to Brian. “It’s a noble blade.”

Taking it, Brian stroked the hilt, then gripped it. It fit his hand as if it had been made for him by some master swordsmith. It not only fit, but felt as familiar as if it was, in fact, his own sword that had been waiting there in the howe for centuries for him to come and claim it again. Though a shade heavier than the sword Sir Guy had given him, it was slightly shorter and its balance was such that he felt he could wield it for hours and not tire.

“I’ve done better than well,” he said, raising it high and admiring its dark gleam. “It’s an even finer sword than my old one. I shall call it Starflame.”