Merlin's Mistake Read online

  “No,” said Diccon. “But of late we have begun to fear that we may have as great an evil—or perhaps a worse one—in these parts.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A few years ago an outlaw named Rufus, a great redheaded man, and two of his sons took refuge in the fens. Other like-minded ruffians joined them until he had a band of some fifteen or twenty. For some time now they have been raiding, robbing, and burning on the far side of the marshes. But within recent weeks men of his have been seen near here.”

  “And has naught been done about him?”

  “Sir Roger of Reith, who lives south of the fens and from whom we hold our land, has gone looking for him several times. But the marshes are no place for knights on horseback, and even we who live so close to the fens are not sure exactly where Rufus’s camp is.” Then, seeing an anxious look on his wife’s face, he added, “Not that we have anything to fear from him. Though we are all freemen in these parts, we are not rich enough to tempt him.”

  But while he spoke stoutly, it seemed to Brian that he was somewhat uneasy and he immediately began to talk of where they would sleep, offering his guests his own bed. Brian would have none of this, though, and it was finally agreed that they would sleep in the byre. Diccon came out with them and saw them comfortably settled in the hay of the loft before he retired.

  Tertius had been strangely silent ever since they arrived at the stead, eating almost nothing, and Brian noticed that Maude had been watching him closely. When Brian questioned him, Tertius was short with him, saying that he was just tired. But when Brian woke during the night, he heard Tertius tossing and turning, and in the morning his eyes were dull and he was shaken by such chills that even when they covered him with their three cloaks, he still did not feel warm.

  Brian reported this to Diccon and his wife, and they came out to the byre with him. By this time Tertius was flushed and hot instead of chilled.

  “’Tis the ague or quartan fever,” said Nan. “It is common in these parts. But I have a decoction that will help him.”

  “Of what do you make it?” asked Maude.

  “Of feverfew,” said Nan. “It is the best of medicines for fevers of all sorts.”

  “I have used it too,” said Maude. “But I have always preferred elixir of willow bark.”

  “Oh?” said Nan with interest. “I have never tried that. Perhaps we should make some and give him both.”

  Again Diccon offered Tertius his own bed, but Tertius refused and, since the weather was warm and the loft airy, they agreed it might be better to leave him where he was.

  “Don’t look so worried,” said Tertius when the two women had gone off together. “I’ll live in spite of their medicines. Though I shouldn’t joke about it because willow bark contains salicylic acid, which will help bring down a fever. In any case, as you can see, I won’t lack good nursing.”

  In this Tertius was right, though it was principally Maude who took care of him, with a gentleness that was strangely at odds with her usual brusqueness: bringing him medicine and food and putting cool, wet cloths on his head when his fever rose. He was ill for more than a week. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fever left him and, though he was quite weak, it was clear that he would soon be well.

  “Is Tertius better today?” Amy asked Brian as they sat on a bench outside the farmhouse.

  “Yes, he is,” he answered. “He should be up and about in a day or so.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I like him.”

  “More than you like me?” he asked teasingly, for he had spent much time with her while Tertius was ill.

  “No,” she said seriously. “But almost as much. And I like Maude, too.”

  “And we all love you, Amy. Though that’s not surprising. Do you know what Amy means?”

  “Of course. It means me.”

  “Well, yes,” he said smiling. “But the name comes from the French, aimé, and it means someone who is very much loved.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s nice. How did they know about me?”

  “Who?”

  “The French.”

  “I’m afraid they don’t. I’m afraid there are other Amys besides you.”

  “And other Brians and other Maudes?”

  “Yes.”

  She thought about this for a moment. “Well, I still like all of you best.” Then, “Is Maude very old?”

  “Pretty old, I think. Why?”

  “I just wondered. Sometimes she looks old and sometimes she doesn’t.”

  Maude came out of the house at that moment with a bowl of soup for Tertius, and they both looked at her. It was true, Brian thought. Though she had spent many nights tending Tertius and looked tired, her face seemed less lined than it had and her hair less gray.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why are you staring at me that way?”

  “Sorry,” said Brian. “I didn’t realize I was.”

  She frowned at them suspiciously, then went on to the byre.

  “Perhaps,” said Amy, “some people get younger every day instead of older.”

  “Perhaps,” said Brian. “Shall we go for a ride on Gaillard?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  That evening as they sat about the fire after supper, Brian again studied Maude. Catching his eye, she scowled at him and he looked away, puzzled. For in the short space of that afternoon, it seemed to him that she had aged again and looked once more as she had when they first met.

  The next day Maude let Tertius leave his bed and sit for a while in the sun and, by the end of the week, she pronounced him well enough to travel. When Brian looked questioningly at him, Tertius said, “I’ve been feeling well enough for several days now.”

  “In that case, we’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “We’ll miss you,” said Nan. “All of you.” For when Maude had not been tending Tertius, she had been with Nan; and, in spite of the great difference in their ages, they had become good friends.

  It rained hard most of that day, but late in the afternoon it cleared. That evening Nan prepared a more lavish supper than usual for them, and they sat over it until quite late, eating nuts and fruit afterward and drinking homemade cider. They talked again about the Knight with the Red Shield, and Diccon suggested that they cross the fens and see whether Sir Roger knew anything about him. They also talked of Rufus and his outlaws who had been strangely quiet of late.

  In the morning, Nan insisted on giving them meat, bread and cheese to add to their stock of provisions. Since there was something in Diccon’s eye that warned Brian against offering him money for this and his hospitality, he took the silver brooch from his cape and pinned it on Amy’s dress.

  “So that you will have something to remember us by,” he explained.

  “You will come see us again, won’t you?” asked the child.

  “Of course,” said Brian.

  She held up her arms to him and he kissed her and, when she had kissed Maude and Tertius also, they all mounted. Diccon accompanied them for a mile or so, for he was going to help a neighbor with his haying. After they had said good-bye to him, they continued on eastward along the edge of the marshes.

  They were riding through rich bottom land, cut by dykes and ditches and with a few scattered farmsteads set on the higher ground to the north. Coming to a ditch that was wider than the others, they paused and glancing back, Brian stiffened.

  “Look,” he said, pointing.

  There, far behind them, a column of smoke rose in the still morning air; smoke thicker and blacker than that of any hearth fire. They exchanged glances.

  “You don’t think …?” began Brian.

  Tertius had taken the spyglass from his saddlebag and was looking through it. When he lowered it, his face was pale.

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s Diccon’s farm.”

  Without a word, they turned their horses. Throwing the pack mule’s leading rope to Tertius, Brian touched Gaillard with his heels and, with Maude close behind him, went gallo
ping back the way they had come.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They had ridden, slowly after they left Diccon, looking for the easiest way across the ditches and dykes because of the pack mule. But now, without the mule and with the black smoke rising ominously ahead of him, Brian rode as he had never ridden before; leaping the ditches and thundering across the meadows, constantly urging Gaillard on. And fast as Gaillard galloped, Maude on Gracielle kept pace with him.

  They jumped the last ditch together and, looking ahead, saw what they had feared. The thatch of the farmhouse, still wet from the previous day’s rain, smoldered in several places, sending up the thick column of smoke that had first caught Brian’s eye. But the byre, with the dry hay in its loft, had burned fiercely and all that remained of it now were the charred fragments of its beams. As they rode through the meadow, Brian noticed that the cattle that usually grazed there were gone. Then they were at the house.

  “Nan!” called Brian as he dismounted. “Amy!”

  There was no answer, and they hurried inside. The larger, front room was empty, the benches and trestle table smashed. And the smaller room in back was empty too. Again Brian called. There was a distant, answering shout, and he and Maude went back outside.

  Diccon, his face drawn, was running across the meadow toward them. Close behind him was an older, gray-haired man.

  Reaching the house, Diccon looked at Brian and he nodded.

  “They’re gone,” he said. “Your cattle, too. Was it Rufus?”

  “Who else?” said Diccon. He turned to his companion.

  “I’ll rouse what men I can,” said the older man. “Others will have seen the smoke too. And we’ll do what we can.” He started to go, then hesitated, looking at the smoldering thatch. “We can still save the house, Diccon.”

  “If Nan and Amy are gone, what care I about the house? Hurry, Andrew.”

  “I will,” said the gray-haired man, and he ran off, back the way they had come. His face set and expressionless, Diccon went to the woodpile behind the house and picked up an axe. By the time he had returned, Tertius had come riding up, leading the pack mule.

  “Rufus and his outlaws?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Brian. “They took Nan and Amy as well as the cattle.”

  “Why?”

  “They have taken women and children before,” said Diccon grimly. “Sometimes for ransom, sometimes for other reasons. My friend Andrew has gone to rouse our neighbors, but I shall not wait for them.”

  “You said you didn’t know where Rufus’s camp is,” said Brian.

  “I don’t. But I’ll find it.”

  “I’ll go with you, of course. Tertius, you and Maude wait here, and …”

  “No,” said Tertius. “I’m coming too.”

  “But you’ve been ill …”

  “We’re both coming,” said Maude. “We may not be much help, but we’ll be some. Now stop wasting time.”

  Brian glanced at the two of them. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll take the horses as far as we can. Diccon, you ride with me.”

  He mounted Gaillard, helped Diccon up behind him, and they cantered down to the river and along it until they came to a place where the muddy bank showed many footprints, those of men as well as cattle.

  “They must have crossed here,” said Brian.

  “Yes,” said Diccon. “There’s a ford here. We’d better leave the horses.”

  They dismounted and tied the horses to a clump of willows. Brian took his shield from the saddle and they followed Diccon down the bank and into the river. The water was shallow, no deeper than Brian’s waist, and there was a strip of firm ground on the other side. But beyond that, as far as the eye could see, were the fens; a green sea of sedge and reeds that grew tall as a man, dotted with open patches of marshy ground and pools of dark, stagnant water.

  Diccon led the way across the further bank, with Brian and the others following. The ground was wet and soft, so soft that their feet sank into it an inch or two and, when they had passed, the mud filled their footprints, leaving no sign. But Brian, used to tracking game in the forest around Caercorbin, pointed to traces of mud on some of the clumps of marsh grass and Diccon said, “Yes. They came this way,” and went on.

  A marsh hawk flew overhead, giving its sharp, wild cry as they crossed the open ground, and a bittern boomed in the distance. When they reached the first stand of sedge, there were further signs; the tall grass was bent and broken, and again there were the footprints of men and cattle in the firmer ground. They pressed through the rustling, swaying sedge, following the trail left by the passage of Rufus and his men. Midges, flies and other insects rose about them in clouds. On the far side of the sedge, Diccon paused. Ahead of them was another open place with a pool in its center, its surface covered with green scum. But the soft mud around it was flat and smooth with no sign of those who had gone before them.

  “Now which way?” asked Brian.

  “I don’t know,” said Diccon. “I have come this far before when I was hunting ducks, but I have never gone further.”

  “Is that smoke?” asked Maude, pointing.

  Shading their eyes, Brian and Diccon peered across the marshes. Far off and somewhat to their left, beyond the pool and the sedge on its further side, patches of a darker green showed above the tall grass and reeds. And beyond them a few faint gray wisps drifted upward.

  “It might be smoke or mist,” said Diccon. “But since we have nothing else to guide us …”

  He stepped forward into the mud and sank into it up to his ankles. He took another step and was up to his knees and still sinking. He turned, trying to go back, but could not pull his feet out of the clinging mud.

  “Take my hand. Quickly!” said Brian. With Maude and Tertius holding him, he leaned forward and held out his hand. Diccon took it and, with great difficulty, they pulled him out of the quagmire and back to more solid ground.

  “There must be some way to go on,” said Diccon. “There must be! We know they came through here.”

  There was a faint rustling in the sedge to their right and a soft hiss. As they looked that way, the tall grass parted and a slim figure with long black hair appeared.

  “Migbeg!” said Brian. “What are you doing here?”

  Migbeg pointed back toward Diccon’s stead and fluttered his hand upward.

  “Smoke,” said Maude. “You saw the smoke.”

  He nodded. Then, in pantomine, indicated a big man with a beard.

  “Rufus,” said Maude.

  Again he nodded and, holding up both hands to show that the big man had ten men with him, he pointed to Diccon and made signs representing a woman and a child.

  “Nan and Amy,” said Maude. “We knew he had taken them. But where? Do you know where his camp is?” She sketched a shelter with her hands and looked at him questioningly.

  Once more he nodded and, gesturing to them to follow him, he led them around the pool to the right, keeping to the firm ground on the edge of the rushes.

  “I said I did not know what good it would do to have made him a friend,” said Maude. “But I was wrong.”

  “Don’t forget that Diccon is his friend, too,” said Brian.

  He had noticed that Migbeg carried a spear and that Sir Guy’s sword was thrust through his belt. But happy as he was to have a guide through the fens, he could not help wishing that Migbeg were not alone but had brought his men with him.

  Reaching the far side of the pool, Migbeg paused to make sure they were following him, then went on again. Through reed beds he led them, past other stagnant pools and around quaking patches of evil-smelling mud, always going south toward the heart of the marshes. Finally, coming to a stand of tall rushes, he stopped again. Holding his fingers to his lips, he worked his way through them so carefully that the reeds scarcely rustled. They went after him, trying to move as quietly as he did.

  They came out on the bank of a clear stream. Beyond it was an island of high ground. It was heavily wooded, and i
n the midst of it, shadowed by several swamp oaks, was an enclosure; a wall of posts with sharpened tops set closely together. Inside the palisade they could see the roofs of several crude huts. As they had hoped, Migbeg had led them to the outlaws’ camp.

  “Now what?” whispered Brian.

  “Even if we can get inside,” said Tertius, “I don’t know what good it will do. There must be a dozen or more of them. Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go back with Migbeg and get the others?”

  “Wait?” growled Diccon. “Nan and Amy are in there!” And, axe in hand, he waded across the stream and started up toward the palisade.

  “The two of you go back for the others,” said Brian, “I can’t let him go on alone.” And he hurried after Diccon.

  Together they circled the enclosure. There was a heavy gate set in one side of it. Touching Diccon on the shoulder, Brian pointed to it and to the thick wooden bar on the inside that held it closed. Diccon nodded.

  “Stand back,” he said, taking a firmer grip on his axe.

  Hearing footsteps behind him, Brian turned and saw that, instead of going back to the farm, Maude, Tertius and Migbeg had followed them. He frowned at them, waving them away, but they ignored him.

  Raising his axe high, Diccon brought it down between two of the posts, smashing the bar. Then he and Brian put their shoulders to the gate and pushed it open.

  On the far side of the enclosure were the huts whose roofs they had seen from the outside. In a pen near the huts were Diccon’s cattle, all except one. That one had been slaughtered and lay near the fire in the center of the camp. And gathered around it, watching a huge red-bearded man butcher it, were a dozen or more of the most villainous-looking ruffians Brian had ever seen.

  The bloody knife still in his hand, the red-bearded man leaped to his feet.

  “I’ve come for my wife and child, Rufus,” said Diccon. “Where are they?”

  Rufus looked at him with eyes like those of an angry boar. Then he threw back his head and laughed.