Chapter 26      Bridris and a Glimpse into the Past

 

 

 

Alexander stopped his horse and eased back against the cantle of the saddle.  Cadmon, slightly ahead and to the left, had signaled a halt.  Everyone looked about with varying expressions of distress.  The ride from Oakford had not been difficult, and expectations of a comparable place to stay the night had been high.  After Cadmon directed them off the main road onto a little-used track, everyone assumed he headed for some accommodating fief or farmstead.  The sight which greeted them as they rounded a stand of big trees disheartened them at once.  There was a mutual sigh.

Bridris, as Cadmon named the place, looked smoky, ill used and dirty.  It was hardly a village at all, really not much more that a smudge on the road.  It smelled of rotted meat, pig sties and tanneries.  It had no stockade, which was probably prudent use of resources, for who in their right mind would want anything more of the place than to leave?

Alexander stared about in fascination.  He had never seen such a place.  There was absolutely nothing clean in sight.  The snow, where it had not been sloshed and muddied, had a dusting of soot.  Even the bark on the trees looked sickly.  Greasy smoke filtered into the sky from several huts.  A cruck barn, better built than the other buildings and probably dating from a time before the present inhabitants, seemed the center of social life.  A bloody carcass, a poached deer he presumed, was hastily hidden from view by a closing door.  More than a dozen men and a handful of women milled about in the muck in front of the barn, watching them with a mixture of insolence and suspicion.

Turning to look at Cadmon, he saw the knight watching him with a bemused expression.  "Well, squire," he said wryly, "I suppose you thought when you traveled with knights, you stayed in the best of accommodations.  Now you know the truth of it."

Alexander laughed once.  So did those behind who heard the jest, but the humor quickly waned.

"Let us go meet our hosts," said Cadmon.

They prodded their horses and approached the people of Bridris.

The inhabitants, at least the ones around the barn, judging by their features, appeared to represent two or three families, with a few odd eyebrows and noses thrown in, no doubt belonging to passing ruffians who had gathered about the place like stray dogs.  It looked like the sort of place which would accumulate the sort of people who stood before them, a sordid concretion of scraps and offal.

Cadmon stopped and addressed a burly man with just enough whiskers to make a passerby wonder if he had given up shaving or was simply growing a beard.  He was shaped like a barrel, and despite the handicap of his belly, looked very strong.  He was dirty and his expression glowered.

"Hello," said Cadmon conversationally.

The villain nodded.

"We need use of a barn for a couple of days."

The villain raised his chin a hair, clearly uninterested in keeping a band of knights and their support.  It would certainly hamper their poaching, and doubtless, banditry.

Cadmon reached into his tunic and withdrew a purse, distinctly showing the shape of coins inside.  He dangled it before the eyes of the crowd.  They responded, for the most part, with open-mouthed grins.  Alexander winced.  Only a few complete mouthfuls of teeth could have been collected from the lot.  What remained were ground down and mossy.  Whatever stone they milled their barley with must leave an awful chaff of grit.  If they stayed, he made a note to avoid the bread.

"Who do you ride for?" asked the barrel-chested villain.

"For the king," replied Cadmon, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword, which he had buckled on just before reaching the village.  The villain's eyes flicked to the sword and returned to the knight.  The fellow was cheeky.

A woman on the front line of the assemblage squeezed off one nostril and blew out a stream of disgusting material.  She snorted a couple of times and wiped her nose with her sleeve, turning the material after each stroke to expose a fresh portion of cloth to the protuberance.

The burly man waited until the noise subsided then asked, "And which king might that be?"

"There is but one rightful king of England," replied Cadmon, apparently having taken no notice of the demonstration.

The villain scratched his belly.

Cadmon did not say a name.  He played with the fellow, who also assiduously avoided saying a name, lest it be the wrong king.  There were at least three names to choose from -- John, Louis, and Philip.  The villain's eyes betrayed awareness of the test and played the game back.  Certainly, the village would have whole-heartedly supported whichever name Cadmon invoked, so what was Cadmon getting at?  For some reason, the true allegiance of these peasants interested him.  In his strange, unfathomable way, the three calls of knighthood -- loyalty, generosity, prowess -- ran deep and well anchored roots into his person.  He would not have been Cadmon without them.

The man glanced at his kindred and back again.  "Aye, one rightful king."  He paused, then came to some kind of decision.  He decided to be candid.  "We are simple people here, sir knight.  We keep to ourselves and hope the world does the same."

Cadmon softened.  "We ride for John, villain.  What is your name?"

"I am called Morkin.  I, too, support John."

A faint smile tinged Cadmon's lips.

"It is safer I take the other's lead these days," continued Morkin.

Tiring of the conversation, Cadmon made no reply but studied the buildings around the tiny, snow-covered pasture at town center, where a dozen penned sheep pulled hay from a manger.  They had gray wool.

"We will use this barn," said Cadmon.  "Clean it out, please, bed it with fresh straw below and rushes, if you have them, in the loft.  Remove your deer, but leave a haunch.  We will also need dry firewood, hay, grain and water."  Cadmon settled back to wait, wearing a look of patience which would have become Job.

After a pause, the villain realizing the conversation was over, shrugged, and got everyone moving.  The mob milled about with surprising speed.  They evidently had fair practice in making hasty departures.  In less time than it would have taken Lovel to consume a beef heart, the work was done.  Cadmon, to the delight of Morkin's crew, dispensed a few silver pennies.

As Morkin and his crew ambled off arguing about the division of the coins, they entered the barn, horses, cart, men and dog.  In a short time, while Lovel explored the barn, they unpacked the cart, unsaddled and fed the horses, and started a fire crackling in a blackened spot of earth at the door of the structure.  The sky deepened.  Only an hour or so of daylight remained.

Alexander curry combed and brushed Cadmon's destrier while idly watching Stewart prepare the spit for the venison haunch left by Morkin.  Stewart cut several slivers of fat to flavor the roots in the big pot he had picked out with his girlfriend Mayda's help in Oakford.

There was a scuff at the door and Edward lumbered through, nearly running into Thomas.  The smith had disappeared soon after settling in.  He grunted something of an apology and continued inside, blowing steam like a horse.  His expression held a strange mixture of disappointment and jubilation.  Thomas noticed it and commented.

"Any luck at the forge?"

"What?"

"I saw you at the forge earlier.  Something need mending?"

"No.  Just a habit.  I visit the house of my profession wherever I go.  This place has nothing but an anvil and a clodman to pound iron around it.  Oakford had a proper forge, but nothing interesting inside."

"Do you look for something special?"

Edward eyed him suspiciously.  "The steel, Thomas.  I look at the steel."  He laughed enigmatically and turned away, leaving Thomas standing awkwardly.

Thomas shrugged and went over to where Stewart prepared supper.  The young knight wore a thoughtful expression.  So, Alexander mused, Thomas, you are equally informed about our worthy swordsmith.  What did you learn tonight?  That Edward visits forges.  Why?  A secret.  The smith's intensity warned of more than casual professional interest, but they would probably never know.  Only Edward knew.  Probably, only Edward cared.

Alexander shifted his attention outside the barn.

The people of Bridris kept to the far edge of their snowy green.  They went about their business, whatever it may be, but kept an eye on their visitors.  They almost seemed to stand an informal watch, for no sooner had one loiterer shuffled away than he was replaced by another, ogling the barn from another perspective.

"He runs his town like a little army," said Cadmon quietly.  "Posts his watches, runs his spies, gathers intelligence."

Alexander had not heard the knight approach.

Cadmon continued, "This is a ne're-do-well band, I fear.  Tonight, we are safe, but tomorrow, and the nights following, we must keep close watch.  They would kill us in our sleep and steal what was left if they thought they could do the job cleanly.  They are a flotsam mass."

"Boils in need of lancing," offered Alexander.

Cadmon gave him a curious look.  "How are your exercises and lessons bearing up?"

"I do exercises every morning, before we breakfast, and Aubrey works with me when we have spare moments."

"Your use of the quarterstaff has improved much."

"Thank you."

"How do you choose your exercises?"

Alexander made a fist and examined it, as if the answer to Cadmon's question lay clenched in its grip.  Then he said, "I work at the positions you showed me."

"And?"

"Well, I try different things.  If I seem weak or unsteady doing something, I do it over and over again."

Cadmon nodded approvingly.  "Do you find progress?"

Alexander smiled.  "Yes."

"Good, then."  Cadmon made a last sweep of the village with his eyes, then turned toward the warmth inside, closing one of the two doors completely and leaving the other ajar to carry the smoke.  He halted and said, "I suppose you have wondered why I set so little of your training."  He rubbed dirt from his palms.

"I was not intending to ask, but yes.  Aubrey is fine, but...."

"Aubrey, is in fact, quite accomplished.  He bears much of the same technique as Thomas, though he has not the patience Thomas brings to the field.  He has much to teach you, and I will not interfere.  He is of your own age and place.  The teaching will go easy because of that.  Later, when your skills have reached competence, I will begin rehearsal with you in earnest.  And from time to time," he added with a teasing look, "I will offer odd bits of advice."

The knight smiled to take the pointedness from the remark, but the realization that he, Alexander, did not yet know enough to make lessons from his knight worthwhile unsettled him.  How long would it take?  He remembered his age and cursed it.  Was he just a joke?

"Be patient, Alexander.  It will come."

Alexander frowned with awkward pleasure.  Cadmon had the right words at the right moment, as usual.  He would die before he let his knight's expectations fall in the mud!

They moved toward the fire together.

"Stewart," said Cadmon, "can you make a feast of that haunch?"

"I can!"

"Good!" Cadmon smiled, and waved him to proceed.

The meal was done and stomachs felt full and content.  Pleasant odors filled the space of the barn and everyone drifted off to converse or play dice.  Lovel had latched onto Stewart, the keeper of the larder, and was busy begging for scraps from the dirty plates.  Stewart obliged the big dog, as it made his washing up much easier.  While this was going on, Thomas sought out the smith.  He found him alone by the remains of the fire.

In a quiet voice, Thomas said, "Edward, you have known Cadmon a long time."  It was the sort of obvious remark which invited furtherance.

At first, Edward seemed not to have heard.  He continued gazing into the embers, then he said with uncharacteristic quietude, "Yes.  A very long time."

Thomas did not answer, but let the silence extend.  He had learned that silence in conversation was just as potent a strategy as a patience in combat.

A few moments later, Edward said, "You would know more."

"Yes."

Another pause, then a half heard sound of decision.  "Thomas, you are a straight man and a skilled knight.  I will tell you.  Come with me to the door.  I tell only you."

He got up and moved his massive frame toward the half-open door and stopped full square in the opening with his arms folded belligerently across his chest.  He faced into the village center, at the sheep in their dark trampled spot in the midst of the dirty snow.  Thomas came to stand at his shoulder, where the smith allowed him an abbreviated view of the village between the door post and the smith's wild beard.  But Thomas was not interested in the view.

"Ask," said Edward without emotion.

Thomas took but a moment to gather his words.  The questions which had nagged him for days were easily within reach.  "We leave Norbury under nightfall," he began, "after having sent a decoy party to draw off anyone following us.  We take unused roads and tracks and camp in an open field.  Then we spend several days in a village inn.  When we finally depart, it is in broad daylight.  Now we find ourselves in the most out-of-the-way carbuncle on the rump of the earth."

"Go on," urged the smith, not unkindly.

"Well," said Thomas, sneaking a glance at the men at the other end of the barn and suffering an unexpected pang at the thought of Cyril, who would doubtless have been there had he not been so unlucky, "No one can say our party is a small one.  I mean, knights, squires, great horses, and a cart all in a string will attract attention anywhere."

Edward nodded, his wiry beard compressing fractionally against the coarse weave of his undyed woolen shirt.

"It seems to me we try for invisibility at one moment, then the next, move about as if we were on pilgrimage.  Are we trying to move unseen or are we not?  That is my first question.  And if we are not, then why not?"

"You could ask Cadmon."

Thomas shrugged, as if saying, if it came to that he would keep the question to himself.

"Thomas," said Edward, "what do you think his motives are?"

"It is hard to say, but it seems to me Cadmon is at cross purposes within himself.  I have been that way at times, but I am not sure Cadmon is aware of it."

"I assure you, he is well aware of anything we might chance to think upon," Edward broke in with a touch of defensive anger.  He softened immediately and bade Thomas finish his thought.

Thomas noted the inflection but said, "On one hand, Cadmon seems wanting to evade these men, but at the same time, he seems bent on allowing them to catch up.  The first strategy makes sense but the last, if I am not mistaken, strikes me as very odd."

The smith tilted his head a little toward Thomas.  "You are right.  Cadmon is at cross purposes.  From what he has told me, I can understand why.  The why of it must come from him, though.  It is not my place.  But, know you this.  Cadmon reaps justice on more than one hook."

"Then, he has a personal fight with those who pursue us?"

"Is that not obvious?"

"Why?  Because they tried to kill him?"

"No.  It runs much deeper than that."

"But you cannot tell me."

"No.  I am sorry, but no.  It is not my place."

Thomas thought a moment.  "If we knew, would we still support his effort?"

"More so, Thomas.  More so.  Of that, I am certain.  No decent man could help but show him the greatest kindness and hospitality.  You have lived most of your life in Lord William's house.  Have you ever seen him extend his hand as he has done for Cadmon?"

"No," answered Thomas thoughtfully.  The smith's words rang true.  Never had he seen Lord William more willing to help a man.  Not even the king could have received more solicitous treatment.

"Another question, then?" offered Edward.

"Another subject?"

Edward nodded, his beard audibly scratching the wool.

Thomas thought a moment while they watched a gangly boy cross to the sheep pen from the huts across the way.  He pitched some hay from a stack bounded by a picket, then trudged back the way he had come, leaving a double row of tracks.  Most of the tracks to the sheep emanated from their own cruck barn, but they, having displaced the original inhabitants, caused Morkin's people to tread another path from across the way.  The people seemed dirty and bestial, and he did not pity them or begrudge himself taking their warmest quarters.

Edward changed his position.

Thomas steeled himself for the plunge into the most intriguing aspect of their premier knight -- his past.

"Who is he?"

"Cadmon?" laughed the smith, his eyes briefly glancing at the younger knight.  "Cadmon."

Thomas waited.  The smith took his time, not from easy drama, but simply because the man liked to line up his words in advance so that when he began speaking, he did not have to seek and search about for what to say.

The smith sighed.  "I know him from the Crusade of the Kings, and precious little since.  That was over twenty years ago.  More.  A long time.

Thomas nodded.

Suddenly, there was a loud, human sounding howl from somewhere beyond the huts.

"God's bloody fist!" cried Thomas.  "What was that?"  The terrible sound was oddly familiar, but on the instant, he could not place it.  He instinctively reached for his dagger and prepared to rush out the door, but Edward never budged.

Edward laughed.  The whole barn was quiet, listening, and Edward laughed again, dryly.  Thomas turned to his friends.  All looked concerned, all except Cadmon, who frowned in a most peculiar way.

The sound repeated itself.

"It is a soul in torment, if ever I heard one," said Stewart.

"'Tis no agonized soul," said Edward, his face assuming a repugnant smolder, "but it is agony, I will grant."  He unfolded his arms.

All eyes turned to him.  Cadmon also turned, but his eyes held no curiosity.  Whatever it was, he already knew.

"It is a bear," growled Edward.  "The kind of game bear they use for baiting in the big towns."

Everyone paused, waiting for the sound to repeat itself.

Thomas dropped his eyes.  Yes, that was why the cry seemed so disquietingly familiar.  He remembered seeing a bear baiting once.  An old memory that filled him with distaste.  It had been on a hot Autumn day in Malmesbury, a market day, with all the shops open and wagons and carts and people laden with baskets milling about the town, in the shadow of the big abbey, selling everything imaginable.  Children played in the stream which ran beside the town, down the hillside, on the other side of the abbey grounds.  He was too old for such frolic then.  He was on the verge of manhood, and he could feel the transformation coming.

It had been a good year and traders from as far as London had come to sell their wares.  And there also, in a side lot, on the low land beside the stream, with the abbey overlooking it, several sunburnt, wiry men had constructed a theater of trestle benches rented from local houses.  Before the benches, they had let a heavy post into the ground.  Chained to the post by one rear leg, was a sickly brown bear.  The bear had huge patches of fur missing, dozens of scabbed over wounds and scars.  The skin over its muzzle had been torn, but had healed, with flaps of skin hanging loosely, exposing the yellowed teeth and swollen tongue.  Some time in the past, the bear had also been blinded by shoving a flaming torch or red hot iron into its eyes.  The burn scars were visible, for no hair grew there.  Instead, the eye sockets erupted with a constant flow of tears, which were lapped up by enormous swarms of flies.

A bucket of water had been placed just out of the bear's reach, and the animal smelled it, stretched itself until the chained leg extended flat with the ground, but it could not reach the bucket.  The crowd, paying a penny a head, howled with laughter and threw small stones and apple cores at the creature.  Thomas had paid his penny, too.  He had never seen a bear baiting before, though he had heard of them as events of great fun and sport.

The bear wore a crude muzzle of iron bands fastened by a chain around its neck.  Its pathetic contortions pleased the crowd greatly and the noise of the gawkers, mixed with the human-sounding wails of the bear, attracted still more people.  The sunburnt men collected silver pennies until they had to off load their purses into waiting boxes.  The crowd, impatient, began to shout for the real fun to begin.  Just when the jostling started to get out of hand, one of the sunburnt men leaped to the stake and shouted for everyone to be silent.  He was about to release the dogs!  The crowd cheered, then quieted, and the dogs, which had been yapping and barking the whole time, could only then be plainly heard.  The crowd wanted to see everything.  They craned their necks for a view.

By this time, the benches were full and small fights were breaking out between the standers and the sitters.  The sunburnt man said everyone would get to see if they backed up and formed a wider circle.  The sunburnt man said he would not loose the dogs until everyone had formed a goodly circle.  Reluctantly, the crowd obeyed, and they moved back slowly, like a spreading ripple in oil.

At last it was done and the sunburnt man walked over to a couple of wicker cages and flipped open the latch on one cage, but held the door closed while his partner, with practiced theatrics, leaped onto the bear's back and with consummate skill, in a heartbeat, loosed the chain holding the iron muzzle, which the bear immediately threw off.  By that time, the man had danced over to the water bucket, mocking the creature with sounds similar to the bear's wails.  The sunburnt man let the cage door fall, releasing one of the yapping dogs.

The dog knew its job, and immediately ran to the bear and bit the chained leg.  The blind bear roared, turned and snapped at the dog, but was unbalanced by the chain.  The dog took a largish circle, but the bear somehow sensed roughly where the dog was and kept its head facing the threat.  The flies, disturbed by the sudden movements, buzzed angrily.  The dog barked but did not make another attack.

The crowd shouted insults to the dog and the bear both and begged the sunburnt man to loose the other dog.  The sunburnt man grinned, but until the crowd had begged loudly enough, he refused to move.  At last, he bent to the screaming and unlatched the other cage.  A bigger dog, marked with old scars, bounded into the ring.

The two dogs immediately began working cooperatively, like wolves in a pack.  As one distracted the bear, the other dove in and took a nip.  Then the other would distract and so on.  Bloody spots began appearing on the bear's nose and ears, which drove the dogs to greater fury.  Frenzied, the big dog jumped at the bear and hung on to the flap of skin which had once been the bear's lip.  The flesh tore.  Blood poured from the wound.  The bear's demented mewing, the dogs' hysterical barking, and worst of all, the delighted roar of the crowd reached a sudden, unbearable crescendo.

Soul sickened, Thomas had pushed his way out of the crowd and stumbled up the hill toward the square, his senses stunned by what he had seen.  The bear's torment went on and on.  He heard pain, terror and frustration.  It stung like sleet in a gale.  He walked faster, shivering in the heat.  The sounds of the bear and its tormenters never stopped, but simply faded as he crested the hill and escaped into the din of the market.  He had seen several others on the way out who had shown, by their expressions, similar disgust, but most of the townspeople simply ignored the activity on the lowland and went on with their business.  The group that stayed and cheered bothered him most.

He had been eleven years old and he had never again sought out a bear baiting, not that small Cotswold towns offered much of that sort of thing.  He considered it fortunate.  He would have hated to see his friends and acquaintances transformed into demons cheering for a bear's torture.

Briefly, he wondered why he never dreamed of it and was thankful.

He shivered at the memory, then realized the sound had stopped.

"Some old bear," repeated Edward thoughtfully.  "Chained."  He folded his arms again and turned to resumed his conversation with Thomas as if nothing had happened.  The others shrugged and withdrew, muttering.  Thomas heard Beaumont declare he would ask the villain, Morkin, the next morn if he intended to hold a bear baiting.  He sounded interested.

When nothing more transpired, they drifted back to their original positions.

By the door again, Thomas said, "Nothing stirs the blood like an honest hunt, but I do not care for bear baitings."

"Nor do I," answered Edward, "but there was a time when I did.  Before the Crusade."

Thomas looked at Edward speculatively.

"You asked about Cadmon," reminded Edward, "and it is time you heard more than the vague accolades of his friends.

"He is a master warrior, Thomas.  A master in every sense.  He was born to it.  He has the instinct, the reflexes, the natural feel for battle, the way a prize hound takes to the chase."

Thomas nodded, fully taking in the meaning.

"When I knew him, long ago, he was a young man.  We met at Dover as we loaded into boats for the voyage to France and from there to Byzantium."

"You were a knight?" asked Thomas incredulously.

Smiling sardonically, Edward replied, "Does the title not befit me?"

Frowning, Thomas could not answer.

"Enough, Thomas.  Yes, I went to Crusade a knight, but I tired of it and when I returned home years later, I slipped from my mail into a leather apron.  Truly, young knight, spurs are not for everyone, and even monks have been known to abandoned their robes.  But we were discussing Cadmon."

Intrigued nevertheless, Thomas nodded.  What could possess a man to renounce his spurs?  He heard the words but could not fully conceive the idea.

Edward inhaled deeply.  "Ah!  That was a good meal.  I will say something to the youngster on it.  To Cadmon, though.  He fought whenever a chance appeared.  Melees, tournaments, single combats, raids.  Anything that put him on a horse in hauberk was fine by him, and he stayed in the saddle much.  By the time we set sail for Cyprus, he had earned a considerable reputation.  You see, he had a gift.  As you feel comfortable and at home before a hearth and a hearty meal, he felt the same comfort in battle.  He could feel what was going on around him, treat it as second nature, and that freed him.  Me, when I was in battle, I thought about things, looked for weaknesses in my opponent, planned strategies, kept track of my battle line, worried, put down my fear."

Thomas nodded, remembering his own baptism, fully understanding now what he would have only had nodding acquaintance with a few months before.

"He did not see battle as we did," Edward was saying.  "I do not think he ever really thought about his actions.  Somehow, he just knew without thinking, like a horse knows to gallop, simply moving as nature commands.  That was Cadmon.  Take that gift, add his skill and energy, his wit and grace, and you will know how he came to earn the reputation he had with us.  I doubt if he ever really felt challenged in his life.  He moved like a windstorm through the Arab knights and they grew to respect him more highly than even we did.  To them, he was some natural force seen as a man.  One of the jinn, I heard them call him more than once."

Thomas examined Cadmon from afar as Edward spoke.  Yes, all that he said fit.  He could believe it all, but there was more.  A great warrior did not command the loyalty of men like Edward through prowess alone.

"If I may ask, Sir Edward."

"Just Edward, please.  My knighthood is gobbed with rust and I do not lay claim to it anymore."

"Edward."

"Better."

Thomas halted in mid question, examining the smith's face for encouragement.  The beard scraped against the wool.

The smith asked, "I guess you wonder why I am here."

"I wondered what hold he has on you that you ride with him after more than twenty years absence."

Edward stared into the village.  They were lighting lamps across the way.  Sheepgut windows began to glow a pale honey yellow and kindling smoke had begun trickling out the roof vents of several houses.  It would be dark soon.

"I owe him those twenty years, Thomas.  Were it not for him, I and two score others would have never seen England again."

"How came this debt?"  He was really intrigued, now.

"Cadmon stood in single combat for us with the best knight Saladin could muster.  We had been cut off, you see, after a charge into Saladin's camp.  Our Frank support turned back and left us hanging.  We collected on a promontory projecting into a deep ravine outside the city of Acre.  It was a good defensive position, but we were not going anywhere and the Arabs knew it.  They intended to wait us out, but Cadmon rode to the front and spoke to them in their own language.  How he learnt it, I will never know.  During our months in siege camp, I had seen him disappearing into the bazaar from time to time, but I assumed it was for the same reason as the rest of us."  Edward smiled inwardly.  These memories warmed him.

"However he came by their tongue, they were much impressed.  He told me later, he had engaged in a discussion about some fine points of their heathen religion and had come out of it with their agreement to trial by combat.  If he won, we could ride back to Richard's camp unmolested.  If he failed, though he could not make promise for the rest of us, he would give himself up to Saladin on the spot.  It was cheeky, even for him, but typical.  Saladin saluted Cadmon personally, and from that moment, I doubt if Saladin truly wished Cadmon to lose.  Saladin had great admiration for bravery and prowess, and Cadmon offered so much more.  The entire episode, I have reflected upon later, did much to bond Saladin to Richard, for he could not but admire a king who commanded such men."

Edward straightened his back, a stiffening from latent pride.  "I have never in my life met anyone so self assured as Cadmon.  The strange thing was, he never seemed to see it as anything special.  His attention always seemed fixed on something just over the horizon, never where he was.  Many envied him, but none of us could have harbored jealousy."

Thomas peered intently at Edward, who suddenly smiled.

Edward said, "It is rather obvious who won the combat, is it not?"  His beard stretched into a full grin.

Thomas laughed freely for the first time in days.  It felt good.

"Cadmon has changed, though," continued Edward, as if pronouncing a coda to the conversation.  "He is more inward than I ever knew him, and I do not believe it stems from his recent troubles.  The years have changed all of us, I suppose."

They lapsed into contemplative silence.  At the other end of the barn, the other conversation seemed to be winding down also, though in fits and starts.  As usual, Cadmon had apparently kept back from them, leaning against one of the cruck timbers, arms folded, while the other knights and squires argued about something which impassioned them.  Breath erupted in plumes from their tightened mouths.

"Sir Swordsmith," Thomas said expansively, "I owe you a debt.  But do not worry that I will reveal your secret, for I will not."

Edward looked as though he believed the words.

Thomas made a gesture toward the fire where Stewart tended the details of clean up.  With a look of amusement, Edward allowed himself to be guided by the young knight, who now felt a strange brotherly affection for the smith-who-was-once-a-knight.  The man appealed to him.

As they approached the remains of the haunch, Stewart eyed them studiously, and deciding they looked hungry still, brandished a knife and sliced off a chunk for each of them.

Taking the meat, Thomas had a brief, ugly memory of the bear's mutilated flesh.  He wondered where and when, under what putrid circumstances, the bear's life had finally ended.  Such creatures, like such men, deserved better deaths.  Better lives for that matter.

After his conversation with the smith, he felt bigger inside.  It was odd, but Cadmon's presence brought with it a raising of the eyes, a perception of a wider expanse, like a torch illuminating the darker recesses.  Thomas examined the knight with lowered eyes, and winced to find the contemplation being returned.  Cadmon nodded a greeting, evidently pleased by the unexpected camaraderie between Thomas and the smith.  Thomas managed a similar response and abruptly switched his gaze back to Edward.

"Caught you, did he not?"  the smith laughed softly.  "Do not worry yourself about it.  He has always been there first."