Fair Blows The Wind Part 7

The afternoon was late when I left the stream and went up to the moors above. Long into the night I walked, then seeing a vast wood before me, I went into it, deep within it, and lay down at last, covering myself with leaves, and there I slept.

Again I was adrift, homeless, alone and hungry. And now I was hunted as well.

If they found me, boy though I was, I would die.

9.

I awoke in the cold dark and lay still, confused. I had fallen asleep with my mind filled with thoughts of my boyhood. Now I was a castaway, lying on leaves in a Carolina forest with a stranger for companion and naught but enemies about.

I sat up slowly, trying to make no sound. Turley lay still, resting quietly. He, too, was no doubt accustomed to sleeping in the worst of circ.u.mstances.

My sword was at hand, and my other weapons. One by one I checked them, all the while listening. It was with difficulty that I shook off the memories of that long-ago night and that wild flight to escape the British soldiers. Yet I had escaped. A week later, starving once more, I had come upon the old man whom I had seen at the inn, the one who had smiled pleasantly and left, driving his cart with its donkey.

But no more of the past. Now was a time for thinking; now was a time to plan. In my hidden boat lay treasure, far more than I had ever expected to possess. By all the laws of salvage, it was mine, yet it was not truly mine until I could get it safely abroad and in a secure place.

I was beginning to understand that the finding of treasure was the smallest of problems. The greatest problem was to keep it. To do that I must keep its location secret until I could find a way to transfer it to England. All of which would take planning and foresight.

That I had possession of the prize both Don Manuel and the big man now his captor were seeking made it no easier. Once the San Juan de Dios was discovered, the vessel would be looted of its remaining treasure, and I had no doubt they would suspect me of having what was missing and come searching for me.

Moreover, they would not be long in finding the s.h.i.+p, so the time left to me was short, indeed. Nor did I wish to take Silliman Turley into my confidence. Many a man has been murdered for less than I possessed, and I had no idea how far Turley could be trusted.

Yet with all my thinking of the gold and the getting of it, my thoughts were shadowed by the memory of Guadalupe Romana. She was in their hands, and she had no knight errant to come riding on a white horse to save her. That she was a clever girl I was prepared to admit; that she could deal with the big man I doubted very much. He had a quality of ruthlessness about him that showed no leavening of mercy, consideration, or kindness. He knew what he wanted and he intended to have it, and he was the type of man to whom no particular woman is important. To such a man, women are something to be taken and then cast aside. Feminine wiles would mean nothing to him.

Softly, bitterly, I swore. Turley awakened and lifted his head. "You are thinking of the girl?" he suggested.

He sat up, brus.h.i.+ng leaves from his hair. "It is ever the way. Seven times out of ten, when a man curses there is a woman involved. What is it now?"

"She is their prisoner. I must think of some way to free her."

"And then what? You will only have her on your hands. No, my friend, let her bring trouble to them; they will rue it soon enough. Why, you could do them no more harm than to leave a woman amongst them!

"She will divide them, split them, create havoc among them! They will argue over her, because of her, and about her. Some will betray others because of her, some will die because of her. By all means, let her remain where she is. They will be destroyed by it."

"She's a fine girl."

"Ah? Would she be as fine, or you so anxious to aid, if she were ugly? I think not. Worry not about the la.s.s, Captain, and you'll save yourself much and cost them more. And do not forget it. There is evil yon."

I felt so myself. Yet why did that big man seem so familiar? What was there about him, that teased my memory? And the other man also, the one who had been lying on the ground, his back to me?

"She hoped I would help her. She expects it of me."

"No doubt," he replied grimly. "Do not they always?" He shook his head. "What do they see in her, anyway? She is but a woman."

"A woman is sometimes enough. But there is more, or so they believe. They take her to Spain to win from her the knowledge of where some Inca gold is hidden."

"Ah? Now she begins to make sense! Gold, is it? And Inca gold, too? How comes the la.s.s by such knowledge?"

"She is but Spanish in part, and the other part of royal Inca blood. As you know, the Spanish demanded a great ransom for the Inca, whom they had seized. Then when they had the gold, they killed him anyway. What they did not know was that much gold was still on the way, and when they killed him, that gold was hidden. She, they believe, knows where.

"Also, it is believed that in the mountains there are strongholds where the old Incas still carry on, where the old G.o.ds are wors.h.i.+ped and the old ways continue. And there should be much gold there, too, for it is a metal born of the sun, which is their G.o.d."

"The girl then is a prize. I can see ... yes, of course. And you, Captain, have an interest in her also? Well, well, Captain, keep your eye upon the gold. It never fades in beauty. Women? They do fade, and they also grow crusty with age, and shapeless. No, the gold is the thing. Women are forever young when you have gold enough."

He was silent. I thought of what I might do. To get Guadalupe Romana away from her captors would be no easy thing, but what to do after that was even more of a problem, for there would be no use in freeing her only to condemn her to a life in the forest. Somehow I had to contrive not only to free her but to see that she found her way home.

Worried as I was about my hidden boat and its treasure, there was nothing I could do about it for the moment, so I led the way down through the trees toward the pirate camp ... if pirates they were.

It was quiet in the woods. Along the sunny side of the trees near a small creek the birds were singing, and I heard a loon call across the sound somewhere.

Turley put a hand on my shoulder from behind. "They'll be a-watchin', Cap'n. They surely will. You fall into that fat man's hands and you'll live long enough to regret it."

We waited, listening. Hearing nothing, we moved along. Suddenly we stopped, for there lay the camp. Don Diego and Don Manuel sat in close conversation. Conchita was at the fire, preparing something ... coffee, if my nose was true.

My eyes searched for the Basque, for I thought him a true man, but he was nowhere to be seen, nor Felipe. Several of the pirate crew stood about, all armed but negligent. They probably had no experience of Indians yet.

What were we to do? The fact that I could not see the fat man worried me, for he was the one I wished most to keep under observation.

Guadalupe was seated near a tree, close to the trunk of it, almost indiscernible from where we stood. She held a mug in her hand, and from time to time would sip from it. I doubted she was woolgathering; I believed her attention was probably upon escape ... or something of the kind.

She was sitting half-faced toward me and most of the others were facing away. The impulse came upon me suddenly, for if we were to help her she must know it. Deliberately, I stepped out from the brush where we were concealed.

Her mug was lifted toward her mouth, but stopped an instant, then continued. Yet I was sure she had seen me, and I stepped back under cover. A moment later she stood up and stretched, yet in such a way that both hands extended before her, palms out and toward me. It might have been coincidence, but I was sure she was warning me back with her pus.h.i.+ng gesture. She stretched again, then sat down again where she had been.

"Now what was all that about?" Turley asked.

"She knows I am here, and she was warning me to stay back. So, at least, it appeared."

He was skeptical. "Mayhap. If that was what she did she was most shrewd about it, and I doubt a woman would think so cunningly."

"She would," I said.

"We'd best lay low, then." He peered around. "The less we move the less likely we'll be seen." He peered about. "We've a good spot here, and should lie ready until they are all within sight, yonder."

"It may be a long time," I said.

"Aye," he agreed. "Do you sleep. I'll wake you an hour or so from now, or if there's movement yonder. Then I will sleep."

In the brush where we had sheltered there were several deadfalls and a place where the brush parted overhead and sunlight came through. There was gra.s.s there and the logs allowed for concealment behind them, yet their camp was still within view.

Down behind one of the logs I settled, and drawing my cloak about me, I slept.

Again in my sleep I went back to my boyhood. What was happening now that inspired these dreams? Or the halfawake pondering on the past? Why now, after all this time, should my thoughts be going back to the days of my first flight?

After my escape on Vypont's horse there followed days of running, hiding, begging for food, working a bit when I could, my clothes going to rags once more, and still no way before me except to keep moving. Then I came upon the kindly faced old man whom I had seen so long ago in the tavern before meeting the Vyponts.

The cart stood beside a lane. His donkey was feeding upon gra.s.s at the roadside. The old man had a fire going and I walked across the field toward him. He saw me coming, but went on with his business, and I suspected he had been troubled many times along the lanes and byroads by those who would rob or annoy him.

It was only when I stopped beside the cart that I could be sure. He looked up and smiled. "You have come a long way."

"I have. And you also."

"It is my way. Once I was ... no matter. For these fourteen years past, this has been my life."

"You are a peddler?"

"Of cloth and trinkets, needles and pins. I am also a tinsmith, and I collect herbs from along the lanes and sell them in the villages or cities."

"You do well at this?"

"It is a living. It is enough. I am free. The nights are long and quiet, the mornings cool and bright, I live with the sun, the moon, and the stars. The air is fresh where I am, and there is no one to hurry me or to demand this or that of me."

"It seems a good life."

He looked at me. "You are hungry?"

I shrugged. "I ate yesterday, and once the day before that."

"Join me. I eat what the way provides, and a little that I buy. Sit you down ... or if you will, gather a bit of wood for the fire."

Coming down the slope, I had seen a fallen tree, so I returned to it and gathered broken sticks, some bark, and whatever would add to the fuel.

He dished up a bowl of stew and handed it to me. "Try that," he suggested.

On the tailgate of his wagon there was a large book opened for reading. "What is the book?" I asked.

"Maimonides."

"You are a Jew?"

"I am English, but one finds wisdom in all languages. I read him often, for he has much to tell." He looked at me. "How do you know of Maimonides?"

"My father read him also. We had many, many books, and my father would often read to me. Sometimes we talked of them."

"I have few books now, but they are old friends." He looked at me sharply. "Where do you go?'

"To London, I think. I look for employment and to make a place for myself. I have much to learn."

"What is it you wish for yourself?"

"To become skilled with weaponry. The wars offer a young man his best chance, and I would have wealth."

"Wealth? Well ... perhaps. It has its benefits, but is an empty thing in itself."

"We once had a home. It is now in other hands and I would have it back. The walls have memories of my father's voice and the pools there mirrored the features of my mother. My happiest days were spent walking the cliffs with my father and hearing him tell the tales of Achilles, Hector, and Ulysses."

"Ah, yes. It is good to have roots. I had them once ... long ago." He paused. "Now I grow old. I am slower than I once was, and loneliness sits hard upon me. I go now to Yorks.h.i.+re, but after that, perhaps to the edges of London."

I said no word, waiting for what was on his mind. After awhile he said, "If you hurry not too much, you could come with me. You could learn my trade and more. Also, I shall meet soon with friends, and among them there is a gypsy."

"There were gypsies in Ireland, too."

"Aye, they are everywhere, but this gypsy ... he is skilled at all the arts of fencing. With whatever weapon you choose, he is a master. He has studied and taught the art in Venice, in Milano, in Paris as well as in London. Now he travels the roads."

"Why? A man of such skill-?"

"There was a duel. He killed a man of noted family and fled. Even now if they came on him he would be set upon and killed, or thrown into prison on some trumped-up charge.

"They did not know he was a gypsy, so they look not in the places where he is. Now he sharpens blades, shoes horses, and does odd things with metal. I will speak to him and he will teach you. Believe me, there is none better."

"How do you come to be a peddler? You speak as an educated man."

"Someday we will speak of that. I have education and once I had position. Now I am n.o.body, but I am happy."

I wanted to ask him more, but something in me warned against it, and I did not. That night beside the fire changed me. From being a fugitive I had found a place.

The following day, six miles further along the way, I met the gypsy.

What his name was, I never new. Nor why they called him Kory, which was not his name. He was a gypsy not of this land, but of Hungary, Rumania, or somewhere yonder.

His wagon was alone when we came upon it, and he was squatted by a fire, preparing food. He did not look around until the old man spoke, and then he got up in one smooth, fluid movement and stood facing us.

Kory was quite the darkest gypsy I had ever seen, yet his eyes were green, and all the more startling under the black brows and the dark skin. His cheeks were lean and cadaverous, his cheekbones high. He might have been thirty, to see him, yet from tales told by the campfire I knew he must be sixty or more. He moved with the grace and ease of a dancer, and when he saw the old man his face broke into a smile revealing gleaming white teeth, startling, as were his eyes, against the darkness of his skin.

"Ah! My friend! It is you! How long it has been!" He glanced quickly at me, seeming to take me in with a glance. "You have come to go with me along the roads?"

"We have." The old man put a hand on my shoulder. "Kory, I have no son. But if I had, I would wish him to be this lad."

The smile vanished. Kory looked straight into my eyes, and then he nodded. "You have come to me ... Why?"

"He brought me," I said, "for I would learn skill with weapons." I paused. "I wish to become the greatest swordsman in the world."

He stared at me, and he did not laugh. "It is a beginning," he said, "to want much. If one is to be, he should try to be the best." His expression changed.

"To be the greatest, you must become better than I."

"Only you could teach me that," I said, "for cannot the teacher always teach more than he knows?"

"Ah? It is good, that." He turned his eyes to the old man. "You have eaten? No? Then join me. I have more than enough for I knew I would have guests at the fire."

He turned to me. "We will need wood."

I turned at once and went looking and he stood watching me, his strange eyes following my every movement. I went up to the fence to go through it to the other side.