As early as it was Sir Richard was there. “Where have you been?”

“Pardon me, Sir Richard, I was dressing the Duke.”

“Well, don’t stand there with your fingers in your ‘queue’, we have much to prepare.”

“Yes Sir.”

Richard began poking him in the chest with an index finger. “Can you ride a horse?”

“Sir, I rode Father’s work horses.”

“Good enough! Can you care for armor?”

Thomas’ chest was starting to hurt under the demanding finger. “ You had us clean the chain mail.”

Richard threw his hands in the air. “Hell’s Bells! How can he saddle me with a novice!” Back came the finger. “Can you cook?”

“No, Sir.”

“Do you have a bedroll?”

“No, Sir.”

“Can you load a pack horse?”

“No, Sir.”

“My God! How could he!” and off he went about the room, cursing his plight, banging things about, stamping his feet until a helmet fell on his unguarded foot. “Nom de Chien! Cochon Sale!”

Thomas stifled a snicker.

“What the hell are you laughing at!”

Then Thomas did laugh and Richard stumping about saw the humor of his tantrum. Thomas thought he might get a boxed ear, but instead he got a clap on the back that nearly flattened him.

“All right, Boy. Go and see my man. He’ll put you to work.” Richard gave him a little shove into the other room. There was a young man busy with the collection of material.

“Thomas?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m Jean,” and the two shook hands. “Don’t let him worry you. He’s really a fair and pleasant employer. How is your relationship with Cook?”

“Well, as far as she’s concerned I’m just my brother’s brother. But, William’s her pet.”

“Take William with you, Tom. Finagle all the food you can ,but be certain Cook knows it’s for horseback. Most of the time we’ll be in Inns or someone’s keep. On the road you can never be certain. White beans are good, a little flour, some rolled oats, salt pork. Are you getting the idea? Dry materials that won’t go bad. They are light to carry too.”

“ I understand, Jean.” And off he dashed to empower sweet-tongued William. It only took a second to engage the flatterer. He went to work immediately on the tough old bird of the kitchen.

“Mon Chou! You dazzle me with the fire in your eyes. How do you keep these soldiers from your bed? Does your silken red hair indicate the fire down below?” Thomas was stunned!

“What do you want now you silver-tongued jack-a nape? I haven’t time for your nonsense today. I am a busy woman.”

She snatched her hand away and swung the other to box his ear. Lithe William easily avoided the swing and grasped her around the ample waist. “Ma Petite!” and they both started to laugh. Thomas couldn’t believe it.

“Cook, Thomas is going on an arduous journey with Sir Richard- many days, untold hours through uncharted country of unknown enemies and treacherous friends. They need your invaluable guidance and unmatched generosity to select some lasting and nutritious food.”

Cook pushed the lad away, ”All right, Thomas. Don’t you be gone long or this 10 year old sex fiend will have offered stud service to the whole castle. If he hasn’t already! Come along.”

Back to the larder they went with one of the kitchen boxes. She knew exactly what Sir Richard would want. She had prepared him for many jaunts. Cook passed the articles to William and William passed them to Thomas who packed the box. Flour, salt, rolled oats, dried fruit -apples, plums, grapes in linen bags, salt pork wrapped in cloth, a sack of white beans, some dried biscuits later known as hardtack. It wasn’t much. These were emergency rations depending on where nightfall caught them. They had few ideas of what they might encounter on the road to Toledo.

Thomas hastened back with what he had gleaned. Jean explained how to pack them in the panniers for the pack horse-heavy stuff on the bottom; light on top. It might have sounded condescending as direction, but Jean had made it into an anecdote. Jean had laid out Sir Richard’s armor and weapons. Thom was set to the task of scouring and oiling the mail and Jean tended to the sword, knives and the new weapon, the crossbow which would hang from the saddle. They worked diligently and within the morning all materials not to be worn were stowed away for the pack animals. Thomas noted Jean had some items too. Would he get any tools of war?

“Do you have a bedroll Thom?”

“No, not yet.”

“ Take this piece of oiled leather and tightly roll up your covers in it. Tie it securely and we’ll attach it behind your saddle. Select some personal items of clothing. We’ll spend long hours in the saddle and you know that Spring is uncertain weather. Be aware in choosing, heat, cold, and wet. The days may be warm, but the nights will be cool and you know of spring rain.”

Thomas darted away again with the oilskin. He made his bedroll and packed a saddle bag with various clothes from home. The Duke’s uniform of pantaloons and stockings were staying in the castle. He found a leather hat without a claimant. It should protect him from heat, cold and wet. He thought he might oil it too. With a few appropriate clothes it didn’t take long. It was a good thing Mother had insisted. He flew back to the armory. Jean’s pile of materials had grown too. He had Sir Richard’s and his personal items ready.

“Let’s report.”

Richard was in the stable with the hosteler. Richard’s horse was the second best in the castle. The hosteler and the knight checked him over carefully. A lame horse was useless on a long journey. “Thor” was pronounced sound and in fine fettle. He was not above kicking and biting. Jean’s gelding was already pronounced fit and well shod. Two pack horses were tethered in the alleyway. They were large, well muscled and recently shod. The pages found Richard in good humor. They believed all was readiness.

“Boys, we leave tomorrow. Bishop Odo’s other selections will meet us on the road as far as I know. Thomas, what weapons do you have?”

“ I’ve my knife, a long bow and the stave you gave me.”

“Yes, carry them all-a bow and quiver on the saddle and carry your stave. Let’s go see the gear.” Across the yard they trod.

“Where in hell is the cooking gear? Are you going to eat this raw?”

“Sorry ,Sir. It’s in the back room, a trivet and some pots”.

“A trivet, my name is Trivett!”

“Are you a three-legged stool, Boy?”

“Look how tall he is, Sir Richard. He’s likely equipped with three legs!”

The two launched into fits of laughter at Thomas’ expense. Thomas lit his face fire red. ‘ I need a William answer to turn this off’, he thought. “Mais oui Messieurs. If you ever need some help with the ladies, call on me.”

All three laughed and Thomas choked future teasing.

“Well boys. I’ve been in touch with travellers to Spain. Our destination is a few miles further than the Spanish capital of Madrid. At the very least we’ll be on the road fifteen days- that is without

trouble. I’ve had Tim, the hosteler, prepare three extra horses as secondary transport, plus the pack horse. France will offer little travel resistance until we reach the Spanish border. The border is never secure and wanders back and forth through the Pyrennees Mountains. According to my informants the mountains are peopled by a hostile tribe called Basques. They repel all attackers and then retreat into their mountain hideaways.

A one day ride will take us out of Normandy. Maine and Anjou are secure of course, but then we are on our own. I’ve acquired a chart that King Henry had prepared of his Kingdom. We’ll stop here ,” as he pointed at the map with his finger, “at Dreux, Vendomme, Loches and then possibly Montmorilion, Limoges, Bergerac and Agen, but they are tentative. The Duke would rather we not shout our presence. We’ll make no contact with the barons and lords unless it is unavoidable. We will leave at daybreak. Have the horses saddled and packs stored.”

Jean dismissed Thomas and he hurried away to catch his brother on his way to mess. He knew all was secretive, but William had served at the war council and knew an expedition was to be expected. They filled their mess tins with generous helpings and made their way to a quiet area so William could hear the plans. The younger listened intently. However, young man that he was, and tease of Cook that he was, he was very close to tears to find Thomas would be away for a month at least. Thom had to think fast. What to do?

1. ‘Have Sir Richard step up William’s hand-to-combat training with a responsible knight.’

2.‘Issue him some hardware- short sword, lance, armor.’

Not bad for a start.

“William, let’s go and see Sir Richard.”

As it was early Richard hadn’t left his little office. He was due to attend on the Duke to receive final instructions. The boys knocked tentatively.

“Come.”

“Pardon, Sir Richard.”

“Come. Out with it.”

“Sir, my brother and I have been considering my absence and wondered what training would be forthcoming while we are gone.”

Richard tapped his teeth with his knife. “Are you accusing me of forgetting my assignments?”

“Oh no Sir! We -uh- we just wanted to know to whom he should report.”

“Are you certain that’s all?”

“Oh yes Sir.”

“William report to Rupert. He will continue your hand-to hand combat lessons. He is an expert. He will introduce weaponry in seven days integrating it with basic grappling. Tim is to introduce you to riding. Try not to break your fool neck before we return. Remember you won’t be riding plough horses.”

William’s face was brightening.

“Anything else you think I have missed?”

Might as well shoot for the moon. “Sir, do you think it would be acceptable to have Mother and Father visit on a Sunday to see what William is doing?”

“Gadzooks! Is this some kind of nursery? My God! Give me help!”

“But can they?”

“Merde! Yes! Yes! bring the whole damn family!”

“Merci, Sir Richard.”

Out the boys rushed. They began to snicker. “Doesn’t he love to stew!”

“Thomas!”

They wiped their faces. Devoid of emotion they reentered the den of Sir Richard.

“Where is the list of our gear?”

“It is not made, Sir.”

“Make it and leave it on this table.”

“Now?”

“Nom du chien! Did you think on the Spanish border?”

“Yes, Sir Richard.”

Well after nightfall by candlelight two brothers made a comprehensive list. Swallowing a yawn, William capped their exertions. “I’ll bet the bugger can’t even read.” Both broke out in laughter and left the accumulation on his desk. They headed for their pallets. Thom was expected to aid Jean before daybreak.

“No, No! I packed my bedding!” Thomas cried. Surprisingly, there it was. He had taken the bedding for his bedroll. No time to worry about a gift horse. They had no need of Mother’s lullabies tonight. An hour later warm bodies inserted themselves into their bed—Marie and Angelic!

Tired though he was, Thomas slipped out of the room well before dawn. He made straight for the stable and entered with Jean and Tim. Tim cleaned the stable, Jean laid out the gear and Thomas watered the horses at the horse trough by the well. When he returned with his retinue, Tim had given each steed a pail of oats and some timothy hay. As the horses ate the three harnessed them. Three horses received the high pommelled riding saddles. Two got the pack saddles for their equipage and Sir Richard’s second horse was free of encumbrances. Thomas tended his two beasts. The one he intended to ride was a docile creature, but the pack horse had devilment in his eye. Thom recognized a perverse personality. Not nasty but full of hellery. A few harsh words prevented the odd nip. Half the gear went on this animal. Jean’s beast of burden got the armor, accouterments of war. The pack animals were haltered and tied outside. The riding animals were bridled and left in the alleyway. In came Sir Richard.

“THOMAS!”

“Yes Sir.”

“What in hell is this?” and he pointed outside. There was Thomas’ pack horse with pack saddle on its belly. Gear was strewn underneath. Thomas was mortified and he swore the horse was grinning.

“I! I!”

Jean began to laugh. “Don’t worry. The old bugger has taken a big gulp of air when you went to buckle the cinch. Always punch him in the ribs before you tighten it up.” The two righted the saddle and repacked the panniers. They were still ready as the sky reddened in the east forewarning a drastic change in the weather. Thomas, the farmer, knew the signs of wet weather. He hoped to be undercover before the spring rain struck.

The gate was opened and Sir Richard led his charges out- Jean and his pack horse and Thomas and his two horses, a conniving horse and Sir Richard’s spare. Just outside the castle walls the fireball of the sun bit into the eastern horizon. Thomas had been so involved in the preceding week he hadn’t had time to appreciate nature. The present warmth even at the coldest hour had invited the bird population into early flight. A flock of robins were exchanging song and likely claiming territory. A falcon was pasted against the fiery clouds of dawn. A fox flashed across the road mindful of horses and riders. All was well with the world.

For two hours Thomas was happy to be free of the castle, back with nature atop a great horse. He could have burst into song if he wasn’t so shy, so he hummed to himself. As the sun rose, however, so did the humidity. Thomas was forced to remove some clothing. By midday, after six hours of riding, the excitement and fun has already dissipated in the grand adventure. He was further from home than he had ever been. He was sweating profusely. His rough peasant clothing was not the best for a saddle,

particularly, clothing wet with sweat. The high pommel chafed . Large raw saddle-sores developed on his inner thighs. The salty sweat penetrated the broken skin. Finally, Jean was sent to a tiny establishment for wine, bread and cheese. They left the saddle, hobbled the horses beside the road and sat under a tree. Thomas was in agony. He tried walking around his sores. Oh, to be back with Will! Jean and Richard took pity on him. They provided an ointment from their stores, a sort of millennium first aid kit. Then the woolens stuck to the sores. They watered the horses in a nearby stream and Thomas doffed his cod piece and leggings. The cool water was a blessing. Then he applied more salve. He searched his store of clothing for something less abrasive. He tore up his linen shirt and wrapped it about his thigh and groin. Off they went with Thomas standing in the stirrups. It was a difficult way to ride particularly at a trot. Sir Richard wasn’t in that big a hurry. He and Jean had not been riding that much of late. They reached Dreux on the Normandy border in early afternoon and Sir Richard was quite willing to stop. A thunderstorm was brewing as Thomas suspected along the western horizon as a cold front burrowed underneath the humid water-laden air. They saw to the horses. The innkeeper stabled them all. Jean and Thomas saw to the unsaddling , the watering and the feeding. Sir Richard didn’t trust the innkeeper. Thomas went back to a stream and washed his wounds thoroughly again. The innkeeper, when he was aware of Thom’s problem, said he had the answer. He brought out a pot of goose grease into which his wife had placed certain herbs and plants. He swore it would heal anything. It sounded like witchcraft. “We’ll cover it with cobwebs” Richard said, “Put it on my bill.”

The mistress prepared them a country meal- turnips, cabbage, pork and bread with two bottles of red wine. The food was palatable, but the wine was rejected by the scion of Trivett vineyards. “It gets better the more you drink.” said Sir Richard. Thomas pushed his aside and took his home-made medication and retired to the stable to stand watch. He flipped out his bed roll onto some straw and liberally applied the ointment. It bit a little on the raw flesh. Then he worked on his clothing preparing for tomorrow. As he finished, the storm struck. Torrents of rain lashed the building. Lightning and thunder were simultaneous and constant. The horses , especially Richard’s Arab crosses were ready for flight. The stable was lit like daylight. The winds threatened the roof. Thomas swore it was lifting. He got between the Arabs and petted and whispered to them. Their ears perked as they listened to his soothing voice in the cacophony of the storm. They calmed somewhat and Thomas’ nemesis pack horse by its very demeanor exuded strength to the hi-breds. The stable didn’t look that good, but it held its ground in the face of the storm. It was weather-tight.

After an hour of incessant noise, the front moved on to bedevil the French. Behind, squalls of cold rain blew in from the English Channel. Thomas could almost smell the fish in the north wind that carried the rain. As the noise passed on, the horses settled and the rain on the roof lulled man and beast into lethargy. Thomas crawled into his bed roll after another dose of goose grease.

There was no sunrise on the morrow. Squalls persisted. “Old Trouble” awakened Thomas with his scrubbing of his feathery fetlocks on the manger. Thomas rolled out, secured his bedroll and fed his charges. Surprisingly, his groin and thighs felt much better. He led the six out to the water trough where they drank their fill.

Jean came to call him for breakfast. The mistress had prepared some heart warming porridge with a touch of beet sugar. There was milk and bread that Thomas appreciated. Richard had ordered some mulled cider that brought a glow to their innards. Thomas felt much better.

“How are your saddle-sores, Thom?”

“Much better, Sir.”

“Innkeeper! A word.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What are the herbs your wife uses in the ointment?”

“Oh Sir, it is a secret recipe.”

“Worth a pound?”

“For a pound she would sell me into slavery.”

The coin was flipped on the table.

“One moment.” Away he went to converse with a pound coin. Back he came.

“Sir, while the goose grease is still warm she adds many plants. She collects golden rod flowers and boils them with stems of yellow dock and plantain leaves. Fireweed gives it a sting, but promotes healing. Sometimes she adds inner bark of cherry if there is infection. She stirs the soup into the goose grease. It works!”

“Thomas, you write those down. We’ll make up a batch in Cook’s kitchen. I’ll settle the bill with yon innkeeper while you two saddle up.”

The pages cleared their plates and made a hasty retreat to the stable. Thomas applied another cover of home-made ointment. The lads searched out weather-proof gear. Jean had an oil skin. The long shirt was oiled leather. Thomas took out Mother’s raw home-spun shirt. The lanolin of the tight wool knit shirt would turn all but a torrent. Then they saddled, bridled and loaded the horses. Sir Richard came in time to mount his second horse and lead the little army from the inn-yard.

Even with the cold rain from the north Thomas had a much better day in the saddle. The old oiled leather broad-brimmed hat and home-spun wool kept him dry and warm. At every opportunity he bathed and applied a protective covering of goose grease salve.

On the second day they again made their destination in spite of the showers. Another little inn supplied the shelter and meal. It was much cooler but clear. Thomas’ chafing improved further.

Day three the drudgery of riding started to tell on Thomas. Eight hours in the saddle eventually became a bore. Even the new country and the vineyard specialties of the south couldn’t arouse him. So far, their food stores were intact. They had been able to buy their meals, breakfast and supper in the inn, lunch from a local shop.

After the storm the north wind blew for three days, but finally it blew itself out and warm winds came off the Gulf Stream of maybe the Saharan Desert. On the eighth day, four hundred miles from Rouen, they came upon the foothills of the Pyrenees. In the distance Thomas could see the mountains. How would they ever get over those jagged teeth? God’s grandeur- they were awesome to a flat-lander from Normandy. It was difficult to look anywhere else. They stopped at Tarbes for a midday meal. The people spoke a different language. The Normans were lucky to know one word in ten. Richard tried, Jean tried, but each without success.

“Thomas, break out our cooking gear.”

“Yes, Sir Richard.”

Jean gathered some wood along the hedge row and Thomas brought some of last years dry grass. Jean had his flint and in two strikes had the grasses lit. He began to build his fire with dry twigs to smaller branches. Thomas dug out the trivet, a pot, beans, and salt pork. A little water from the stream was soon boiling. Jean poured in beans for three. “It may take a while.”

Sir Richard made his way to the local inn in search of information. The approaching mountains looked formidable. Mt Perdu was dead ahead and rose forever. It was nearly 11,000 feet high. No wonder he was perturbed as sun glinted off the snowy peaks. It was not an easy job in Basque country. They trusted neither the French or Spanish and had had the occasional run-in with Vikings. He did get some wine and many sullen looks by the locals. He inquired of the proprietor- the best route, the distance, the time element, the possibility of hostilities, and the availability of a guide.

“Je ne comprend pas, Monsieur.”

“Get someone who does!”

Back he came with a red-eyed rat-faced individual that slid into the chair across from Richard. “You want information, Monsieur?”

“I will pay for what I need.”

“Mais oui, Monsieur, Qu’est-ce ces?”

“We are anxious to reach Madrid. We need to know the route, the distance, the dangers and the availability of a guide.”

“Monsieur,” he squeaked in anticipation, “ you know not what you ask.”

“I know that!” and he slid two coins across the table. They disappeared in a flash of hand.

“It is a difficult time of year, Monsieur,” he wheedled . “The snows have not melted. There is a major accumulation. Avalanches are not unknown, even mudslides in the melt. There are hostiles in those mountains who welcome no travelers. They would steal your eye teeth. As for distance- eighteen leagues will clear the range and leave you on the Spanish plain. The route through the passes are only known to the locals, men like me.” And he smiled his ratty smile.

Richard would rather have killed him than hire him. His voice, his actions, his being reminded the knight of slime. “How much would a good guide charge?”

“I am your only guide, Sir. I am your only chance to penetrate the mountains. My charges, however, are reasonable.” His sickly smile crossed his animal face. “Another ten coins like the first two would see you through your difficulty.”

Richard was taken aback by the fee, but he couldn’t let this rodent know. “What is our next town in the foothills?”

“Luz, Monsieur.”

“Very well, you meet us in Luz. We will consider your services and your price at that time. What is your name?”

“Henri, Monsieur.”

“Innkeeper, my bill.” ‘He understood that’, thought Richard. He paid and escaped the toothy rodent grin.

When he returned Jean had added some cubes of salt pork to the beans and brought out some of Cook’s hardtack. All three were eager for food by this time. The beans were still a little hard, but the hot juice surrounding them served to soften the hardtack. They were hungry enough to eat anything.

Richard told the lads of his encounter with Henri, the rodent. He hoped in Luz to find a more reliable looking guide for their fifty mile trip through the mountains.

“What happened to Bishop Odo’s men , Sir Richard?”

“Hmph! The priest he selected took Odo’s blacksmith and sailed from Cherbourg. He was about as accustomed to horses as you, Thomas. They will have a three day ride from the Spanish coast to Toledo. Let’s get this cleaned up and be on our way. Thomas you wash things up and Jean check our mounts.”

“Mais oui, Sir”

From Tarbes to Luz they continued to climb. The road twisted and turned about the highest mountains and ran up and over the smaller hills, but overall the altitude was increasing. It was colder and breathing was more difficult. They noticed it more after a life in sea level Normandy. The horses slowed noticeably and tired quickly. In the approaching dark they found Luz and a small inn. They stabled their horses and retired to the inn for a substantial stew with meat, carrots, onions and cabbage. Sir Richard questioned the proprietor. Comprehension was worse than Tarbes. It was a combination of French, Spanish, and Basque. Richard got nowhere except he discovered the source of the Ysabena River was only ten miles from town and it was a branch of the Ebro that emptied into the sea. Richard realized the river would provide a low land road . They just had to climb to the source and follow its descent. Two fangs of the Pyrenees, Vignemale and Perdu, surrounded the mouth of the Ysabena River. Hopefully the buyers would not be swallowed.

In skittered Henri from some rat-hole no doubt.

“Henri, I’m surprised you came. I have made some inquiries and discovered notes of interest about our route. There is a river valley, the Ysabena, that empties into the sea. It doesn’t appear that the route may be as difficult as you led me to believe.”

“Oui, Monsieur, c’est vrai. The route is well-marked. It is the dangers you should fear. I will see you through them.”

“Welllll, what is your price now?”

“Sir, I can do it for seven coins.”

“Six.”

“Done.”

“You will check our gear with Jean and Thomas. We will not be short of provisions on this route.”

Henri, the rat, and the two pages left for the stable. Henri took particular notice of their belongings. He listed them methodically in his mind. “You should replenish your food supplies. We may be snowed in and have to find shelter on the mountain. I will see the innkeeper and make an order.” He was gone as quickly as he had come.

The pages retired both to the straw. They couldn’t trust Henri either. In the morning all were there including Henri. He had his order from the inn and the food stuff was added to the gear. Two new items were added, an axe and a coil of hemp rope. The man explained it was necessary for a fire above the snow line and the rope was invaluable in traversing mountains.

“Boys,” Richard whispered, “break out our weaponry.”

Luz was high enough that snow was falling when they went to breakfast. The pages sat at another table to escape Henri, while Richard paid him half his fee. The other half was due on safe delivery into Spain. By half-daylight they set off for the Ysabena in light snow. Thomas was again in his oiled hat and raw wool coat. The flakes were large and heavy and wet. There was little accumulation on the ground. They climbed. Henri to Richard’s chagrin was riding his second best horse. Another thousand feet they climbed and the chill deepened; the snow dried and began to have a measured existence. By the time they reached the river, the horses were above their fetlocks. The going was tough.

“Thunk,” an arrow embedded itself in Thomas’ pommel. He was amazed. “Attack!” he yelled. Henri turned his horse and rode at Richard with a half sword. Richard impaled him and kicked him away. The outlaws closed, but not before Thomas had loosed an arrow that found a Basque arm. The men were embattled. Richard fought two from the back of “Thor”. One received a shod hoof in the forehead and went down like a poled ox. Jean was throw from his horse and rolled head over heels to miss a sword thrust from an attacker. Four highwaymen surrounded Richard and Jean. They both were aground now and fighting back to back. Thomas was bowled off his horse by a leaping Basque. At the last moment he grasped his stave and maintained a firm grip. Sir Richard echoed in his head. ‘two hands, feint, block, feint, use both ends, get inside, rotation.’ His enemy had been assigned the boy. “Finish him quickly and help with the others.” Three were already down- Henri, the arrow and Thor’s hoof. The villain swung his blade two-handed in an overhead blow. Block. The sword cut into the ash stave. Thomas feinted a blow from the left. His assailant dodged right , into the other end of the stave. The blow had come from the snow up with Thom’s rotation. It laid a cheek open to the bone. The robber was surprised. This was not as easy as he supposed. He swung his sword horizontally. Again it found the stave this time held vertically. Before Thom had a chance to counter, the enemy lunged forward. Only nimble footwork of youth and a firm grip on the stave saved Thomas. Remembering William’s blow in training he brought the lower end of the stave violently horizontal catching his man fully in the groin. He uttered a grunt and fell to his knees. Before he went on his stomach, Thomas brained him with the upper end of the stave.

He now had his enemies sword, but wasn’t certain how to use it. There was the axe purchased in Luz. He took stave and axe and rushed to the assistance of Richard and Jean. Jean was bleeding from an

arm wound, but the two were holding their own against the four originals and one of the reserve. Thomas took a two-handed swing with the axe. It was like splitting firewood at home. It split the assailant’s cerebrum into left brain, right brain. The attack from the rear distracted at least two of the remaining four. Richard lunged at one and opened his abdomen. He became very busy trying to keep his innards from falling in the snow. Richard stepped into the second man inside his blade and brought his knife up under the ribs reaching for his life blood. In wide-eyed wonder the Basque dropped his blade. Jean was now on the offensive. His two opponents were fighting in retreat. One launched a mighty swing which Jean deftly ducked and put his blade through his opponent’s gut. It was now three to one for the Normans. The highwayman recognized defeat. He threw down his weapons. Jean was ready to dispatch him.

“Wait!” Richard cried. “We may need him to get us out of the mountains. Tie him up. Get the one with the arrow in his arm, Thomas. If he gives you trouble, brain him.”

Thomas took his stave. The man was ready to concede. Thomas, Sir Richard and sword man were unscathed. Richard ripped the arrow from the wounded man’s arm and he collapsed. Then he removed Jean’s upper clothing and found the source of his bleeding. He had a nasty gash on the upper arm.

“Get out your ointment, Thomas. Let’s hope it works as well on Jean. Did you pack a needle in our kit. Yes? We will sew him up.”

Thomas retrieved the needle and some thread. “Hold him Thomas.” Richard a rough and ready doctor sewed Jean’s arm back together. The original pain overcame any needle jabs. Richard tied some knots in his stitchery and slathered the wound with the healing potion.

At that moment the brigand with the arrow wound had awakened. He rushed Richard. Richard gave before the attack and falling backward placed two feet in the man’s stomach and propelled him skyward. He landed with a crunch, lumbar spine across a rock outcropping. He did not stir.

“We should have bound him. Remember that Thomas. Collect their weaponry. Break all bows and arrows with that murderous axe and pack the knives and swords. We’ll find a spot to dispose of them. Jean are you well enough to ride? We can’t take a chance of staying here. There may be more to this band. We’ve done in eight of nine.”

“Yes, Sir, I can ride.”

“Thomas, put a rope around that coward’s neck and give me the other end. He’ll lead us or die.”

The Normans mounted and Richard poked his captive with his sword. The stream though tiny at this point was too rapid to freeze completely. A blind man could have followed it by the bubble and gurgle of its voice. The Basque broke the trail of which the horses must be pleased. They had been spared any injury. Besides the Duke’s money, the horses represented a fortune to the thieves. The Norman’s transportation was secure.

As the adrenaline from the battle drained away the cold of the mountains penetrated. Jean, who had lost much blood, seemed sorely tried. Thomas ,who had slain two men, was still alert. He fretted about

his immortal soul. Was he bound for eternal damnation? Jean, between Richard and Thomas, began to sway in the saddle. He was either asleep or unconscious. Thomas yelled.

“Quiet Boy!” Richard hissed.

“It’s Jean, Sir. He is about to fall!”

“Take a piece of rope and tie him in the saddle. I’ll explain to this highwayman we need shelter. Now!”

Thomas had no problem making Jean secure. Richard with sign language, a drawing in the snow, maison and casa made the Basque aware of their present need. He brightened in awareness and then fell back into his sullen depression. Shortly, he pointed left and led them away from the growing stream. A hundred yards brought them to a black opening in the snow- a cave. It was just the thing. They lacked fodder for the horses, but surely they would be strong enough to reach the upper meadows. First they

secured their prisoner. Then Jean was brought in and ensconced in his bedroll. The horses were brought inside and hobbled. Richard found the store of dry wood left for travellers and built a small fire for

for warmth and cooking. Thomas led two horses at a time back to the stream for water and replaced their hobbles. He returned with water for cooking and more to bathe Jean. Out came the utensils. Richard did not trust Thomas to cook. First, he made some oaten cereal for Jean that he believed had some body to it. Thomas was set to feeding the wounded. Jean roused easily and with his good arm and Thomas’ help he gained a sitting position. Thomas fed him for a little while, but Jean felt capable of feeding himself. Richard browned some salt pork, cooked some carrots and onions. A little water from the carrots , a bit of flour were added to the meat juices. Then it was all combined as another stew. The prisoner wondered whether he would get anything I suppose. After Jean, Richard and Thomas had eaten. Richard took his sword and Thomas untied the Basque’s hands so he could eat. Not a word was exchanged. Richard gave Thomas the sword while the knight retied the prisoner. Jean, meanwhile, had dropped off to sleep. They decided to keep the fire going for Jean’s sake even though the cave had warmed noticeably. The horses gave off body heat and blocked the wind from the entrance. The smoke from the fire searched out its own chimney through the rock cover as the ceiling showed few smudges of previous fires. Thomas was sent for more firewood to replenish the store for the next traveller and feed their own fire. He took his axe and broke off the lower dead branches of pine and spruce. They were loaded with resin and burned fiercely. The page returned with four big arm loads of dry wood. As Richard fed the fire he had time to explore the cave. Richard discovered some wall paintings- people and animals. He realized they were ancient as some of the animals he had never seen .

“Thomas, you are very quiet. Is something wrong?”

“Sir, I am worried about my soul. I have never killed before.”

“Thomas, would you rather be the body asleep in the snow on the mountain top? I would worry about you if you didn’t have feelings about killing. No one should be elated by death. You should feel pity. However, when it is a choice of your life or your enemies, better it is his. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

After a brief pause Richard continued, “Thank you, Thomas. Without you today the tables would have been reversed. That treacherous Henri would be gloating over the Duke’s gold and our fine horses. Let’s look over the weapons we gathered. Maybe one would suit you. The others we will drop in a crevice somewhere. Then we will awaken Jean and treat his wounds. We will have to set a watch for our prisoner and to see if there is any pursuit. I will take the first shift. We must check the entrance to the cave and the prisoner’s bonds. Keep the fire burning low. No one should be out in this snowstorm and our tracks should be obliterated.”

Sir Richard selected the best weapon of the lot for Thomas. Then they awakened Jean and washed him with warm water from the fire. They avoided wetting the stitches and hopefully ,then, any further invasion by bacteria. Another coating of the healing salve was applied. It hadn’t infected Thomas so Jean should be safe. Thomas unrolled his bedding and was inside and asleep. He said later he tossed and turned for five seconds. The knight kept watch by night. Prisoner, wounded and boy slept the sleep of the innocent. Richard unintentionally spoke aloud, “God save us! The boy became a man today.” Much later he awakened Thomas and finally rested himself.

By morning the storm had abated. There were no tracks in the fresh snow. The spring sun had already begun its job of melt. A thick gruel was prepared and eaten. Jean’s wound was dressed. The horses were watered, saddled and loaded. The Ysabena was chattering over the gravel bed fed by the new melt. The travellers’ order was the same as yesterday: prisoner in the fore, Thomas in the van. Richard had warned him to be aware of pursuit and he looked back about every ten strides it seemed.

The Ysabena continued to widen. Conifers shed their new load of snow as the sun rose. It landed with watery plops on the granular neve below. High overhead, possibly the same thing occurred on a steep bank. One tree shed its white coat and terrier-like shook itself. Before the branches had stilled the fall had

started movement on the slope. Like a snowball rolling downhill it gathered attending flakes and speed. Within two hundred yard it had all the snow on the upper face in motion.

Down below on the banks of the stream were the four travellers and six steeds. Richard had their tethered prisoner on a forty foot lead. Jean followed by fifty feet. Thomas now leading three horses had fallen behind.

“Sir Richard.”

“Damn Boy! I told him to be quiet.”

He wheeled his horse. Thomas’ trouble-maker pack horse decided on a different trail. Sir Richard’s Arab was forced to take another. Thomas was in a perplexing muddle with lead ropes in every direction. Richard dropped the Basque’s tether and the two Norman’s retreated beyond the edge of the chute to untie Thomas from his horse formed cat’s cradle.

A strange roar was on the wind. The Basque began to scream and run. The Normans thought he was making a bid for escape. The roar engulfed them and peering upward over their shoulder they recognized the avalanche cannonading down the ravine. Thomas had already retreated from the tangle and the string of horses had turned. Richard and Jean spooked them ,and startled they forced Thomas up the trail. Richard and Jean spurred their mounts and leapt by the last straggling horse. A thirty foot wave of snow swept into the river valley. Only Richard’s second Arab was engulfed. A tumbling spruce hit the beast in the femur and broke it. Unable to move he was engulfed by the tide of snow and buried. The deluge ended quickly. Quiet descended as the echo faded in the heights. The Normans were in awe. They recovered and followed the end of the Arab’s lead. Dead!

The prisoner! Cautiously, Richard scouted the piles of snow, ice, soil and rock. He followed the edge in a semi-circle. There were no tracks escaping the avalanche. Obviously, the man and horse had joined the spirit world Valhalla.

“Boys,” he called softly. They came.

“The prisoner?” Jean inquired.

“God’s will.” And Richard shrugged his shoulders. “We must be down from these murderous mountains. We will continue to follow the river. We still have our supplies, but our mounts need fodder.”

Overcome by the power of nature they descended in quiet. Soon they had dropped another thousand feet. The snow cover to the south and at this altitude was much lighter. They struck a trail and made better time. Another thousand feet and twenty miles in five hours put them in a high meadow. Early grasses had started to grow. Richard called a halt.

“We will camp here in the shelter of the grove of trees. Hobble the horses, Thomas, unsaddle them and let them eat.”

Another meal and they crawled into bedrolls without setting a watch. Ten hours sleep healed. Thomas roused staring into strange eyes. He grabbed for a weapon, but realized it was a shepherd as surprised as he. Richard came to and made some signs to the man. He invited him for breakfast and with drawings and actions obtained some information. The major town of Zaragoza was one day’s walk. The shepherd had never been there, but he heard that it was a large town. They could buy supplies there. They ate and parted company. The Normans retrieved their horses and packed and were on the trail. They cleared the foothills at the village of Barbastro and found a tiny inn that had a meaty soup simmering. Richard cornered the owner and was becoming quite proficient in sign language and drawing. He did discover the word posada which would help next time. The Spaniard set them on the road to Tardiento as a night stop and then Zaragoza thirty miles beyond.

Again, they could pick up the pace. There was a primitive road that was quite acceptable for their now sure-footed horses.

After a suitable accommodation for men and beasts they reached Zatragoza by midday. As they rode into town, Jean and Thomas were astounded by a six man patrol of armed men. They were all black!

“Sir Richard?”

“Quiet, Boys! Later!”

The boys couldn’t help but stare, but the soldiers paid no notice. When they cleared the armed men Richard called the pages along side. “The Blacks are Moors. I fought them on a little excursion in Spain with Henri of France. They came out of southern lands, Morocco I think. It is very hot and burns the skin black.”

It may not have been true, but it satisfied the curiosity of youth.

They actually found a French trader in one of the inns. What a piece of good fortune! The man was familiar with the route and gave them solid directions. They were three to four days from Madrid. Toledo was a few miles beyond. The Frenchman ordered them a fine meal, the best they had had since Rouen. He taught them a few more words in Spanish to ease their passage: Food, stable and some numbers. Thomas of the photographic memory would recall them later as they were needed.

Three days later they were entering Madrid. Richard and Jean had been to Paris on several occasions, but for Thomas it was a revelation. The size of the city amazed. The architecture displayed the Moorish influence even then. The shops contained goods Thomas had never seen. He was full of questions and had no one to answer. They passed straight through and selected a posada on the road to Toledo. The inn supplied stabling ,bed, and food. By this time Jean’s arm was healing nicely. A couple of days in Toledo and the stitches could be removed.

It was a short ride on their fifteenth day to reach the iron/steel town of Toledo. A search of the posadas discovered Bishop Odo’s priest and blacksmith. They had arrived one day previous . Abbe Francis and blacksmith Albert had run into the storms that the horsemen had encountered. They had nearly foundered in the frontal thunderstorm. Then the three day blow from the north sent them skimming the waves on their way south. Both had mal de mer in the resulting rollers. Albert who had never left his forge had thrown up everything he had eaten in the last month. Pere Francis was less affected. It could have been because of his plea, “God save us!” that he made every five minutes. After the snow squall, they had broken into the warm air accompanying the Gulf Stream. They cleared the great rock Gibraltor without Moorish trouble and sailed north to Valencia. They had been able to hire transportation to Madrid and Toledo. Over land they had been three and a half days. The ocean voyage had been interrupted by light winds as the early vessels were unkeeled.

Richard related their journey, but made light of their troubles with Henri’s gang and the avalanche.

Pere Francis had spent the morning in conversation with the local church. He spoke Spanish fluently and ingratiated himself with the local priest. He had explained to the Spanish Father that they were a trade mission searching for the finest weaponry. They needed an introduction to the manufacturers which the Spaniard agreed to do. The local priest suggested two names, men renowned for the best steel and the finest finishes in Spain. He would speak to the entrepreneurs and inform his Brother tomorrow.

“Does he know we will be there too?”

“Yes, Sir Richard. I explained I had an artisan, a knight and two servants with me.”

“Good. I suppose, Albert, you are accustom to furnaces and the smell of coke. It is pervasive here is it not? We should rest briefly and then we will look around town. I suppose the west side of town would avoid some of the smoke. We will meet you here for supper, Father?”

“Yes, the Spanish priest will be here or he will send a message.”

All went well that evening and appointments had been made for the morning and the afternoon with the merchants. Early the next morning the Norman contingent met at the inn and walked to Juan Castille’s yard. Pere Francis became the leader and translator for the Normans. Introductions were made.

“Senor Castille we are from Normandy, a province in France. Our Duke William wishes to arm his men with the finest swords. We are a peaceful province, but we are surrounded by feuding families.”

“I understand.”

“Sir Richard is the Duke’s own armorer and would test your work for acceptability. Albert is an artisan accustom to working with steel. The younger men are aids. I am the dealer.”

“Si Father. I have many examples to show you. Most of our blades are twenty-seven inches long with hilt thirty-four. The overall weight is four pounds. Four pounds seemed the best compromise- heavy enough to ward off blows, but light enough to wield with dexterity. Each weapon comes with a leather sheath. The blade is hand forged and tempered - a carbon spring steel that your artisan may test. The handle is hardwood and shaped to the hand. This particular weapon is our “Crusader” Sword. Knights on their way to the Holy Land have visited me to select a “Crusader.”

He passed the sword to Father Francis who tried its heft. Priests were not above sword fighting in that period. He passed it on to Richard as the expert and he tried the weight, the balance and the thrust. He drew his own blade and compared the two.

“The steel is a combination of high carbon hard steel and soft steel in our secret process. It requires an appropriate proportion and forging of both types at extremely high temperature for an exact interval of time. Then we temper it with water and sometimes oil in the cooling process. Such tempering and precision requires perfection from my smiths. For them time is nothing; perfection is the key. Try it , Sir!”

Richard looked at Juan questioningly.

“Try it with your page.”

“I just made him my squire.” Jean beamed in appreciation.

“Squire then. Just don’t kill anyone in my shop.”

Richard proffered his own blade to Jean. Jean’s right arm was sound and the left healing rapidly. They circles and clashed. They circled and clashed. The swords rang together numerous times. Jean launched an overhead two-hander that Richard blocked easily.

“Halt! Check the blades.”

The Toledo blade was nearly unmarked, but Richard’s own sword was badly nicked.

“Let your squire try it.”

The two exchanged swords and began some light fencing.

“Halt! So, Gentlemen, what do you think?”

Jean was profusive; he didn’t have to make the deal. “This sword is an extension of my arm. To remove it is like losing a limb!”

“And you , Sir?”

Richard had to make the deal with Father Francis. “I cannot argue with your estimation of strength. It certainly marked this blade of mine. I am used to my sword and didn’t find yours as comfortable as did my squire. Is it possible to add a guard to the hilt? I enjoy some protection for my hand.”

“At no extra cost, Senor. And you, Sir, brother of the forge? What do you think?”

Albert took the weapon. He inspected it for flaws. He searched for damage. He tested the resiliency of the blade. With all his blacksmith strength he bent the blade, but the blade always returned to a true position. “This is a blade of the future!”

“Si, Si, Artisan. Of the future and of the past. My family, ancient Visigoths, have been making swords for nearly 2000 years. My family made the swords that Hannibal used to defeat the Roman bronze. The Romans learned. The generals came to Toledo to beg for our steel. The Muslims of the Crusades feared the sword that beat them. They revered the master, Cid Compeador, my ancestor, and the excellence of our product, the Toledan sword.”

“Blacksmith, you are a very proud man. How do we know you are an honest man?”

“Ask Sir Knight! Ask! Visit any furnace in Toledo. Ask any one! Who makes the finest blade in

Toledo? I speak from experience of 2000 years- 2000 years of oral history and success.”

“With all your professed perfection could you handle a large order?”

“A large order?”

“Yes, a large order. Suppose we ordered a thousand weapons- two thousand “Crusader” sword?”

“Father, Sir, Artisan, we are artisans of a cooperative guild. For the right gold we would turn this town to your order. I would supply the finest steel. I would be your quality control. No sword would pass without my personal inspection. No smith would try to trick me and I would not try to trick you. We have the honor of the business, the honor of the product and the honor of the town to uphold.”

“Senor, you make a very strong case for your product. First, may we see your works?”

“Certainly.”

“Secondly, your local priest has made arrangements for us to visit another producer. We are obliged to fulfill that obligation before we continue.”

“Certainly. That is honorable. Come we will watch my men.”

Father Francis remained behind. Richard paused beside him. “He is an awful braggart and a ferocious salesman, but he has the product to back it up.”

Albert paid close attention to the smiths. Timing seemed all important to the firing of the steel. Too hot and the steel melted; too cold and it failed to weld. The smiths chanted some verse and every time they reached a particular word the blade was removed. The same occurred in the tempering. If was an old smithy trick of precise timing. Albert knew he was beaten. He could not replicate the process. He needed the raw materials, the timing procedure, the removal of impurities, but basically he needed the experience. If he could work in Castille’s shop for a year he could learn, but there was no quick and fast answer. Better to pay the Spaniard’s price.

The trade delegation begged their leave. They returned to Father’s inn for lunch and discussed what William of Normandy would pay. They needed an acceptable method of payment too, for Castille and for the Duke. This was all supposition until they sat down with Juan Castille.

In the early afternoon they approached the second furnace and a burly smith with an almost recognizable face met them.

“I am Roberto. What is your interest?”

Father Francis as translator explained their search. Roberto moved to a rack and took down a sword. “This is our best sword at present. It has a twenty-seven inch blade and overall measure of thirty-four inches. Its weight is four pounds and is accompanied by a leather sheath. This is hand- forged tempered carbon spring steel perfectly forged together with a soft steel. The hardwood handle is an extension of your arm. Try it!”

“Is this called a “Crusader”sword?”

“Si, Senor.”

“How is it different from Juan Castille’s ?”

“Different?”

“Yes, different.”

“It is not different, Senor, Father. It is exactly the same.”

“Juan says he makes the best blade in Toledo. You say you equal it.”

“Senor,” he laughed, “You do not know that Juan is my brother! He is the salesman. I am in charge of production.”

At first Richard thought the Padre had played a practical joke. However, Father Francis had asked for the two best manufacturers in town. “Well, who do we deal with?”

“You had better deal with the salesman, Senor.”

They all had a little laugh at the situation. Albert tried for a few hints on forging, but was reminded of the secret process. They took their leave of Roberto and dispatched Thomas to Juan’s shop to carry a note for an appointment for the following day.

After finishing his task, Thomas spied a knife that he immediately coveted, not for himself, but for sibling William. He was drawn to the brilliance of the blade like a moth to a lamp.

“What is it young man?” asked Juan.

There was a communication problem. By pointing Thomas made him understand his interest. He was so excited he made Juan signify his price. Juan held up fingers; Thomas’ face fell. He reluctantly passed the knife to Juan. Juan passed it back to Thomas. Thomas refused and held out his empty hands.

“No money eh?” questioned Juan. He took Thomas’s hand and slapped dagger and sheath into his palm. Thomas scrambled to give it back, but Juan held his hands shoulder high in gesture. Then he mimed. He gave Thom a height and then with a flourish drew an imaginary sword.

Thomas laughed, “Je comprend. Sir Richard will pay when he buys the swords! Merci Senor Castille. I will treasure it.” As he clasped it to his chest. But Juan was not through. He took the knife again and threw it at the door. It spun a half turn and embedded itself. Thomas understood. It was a throwing knife of perfect balance. He retrieved it, sheathed it and concealed it in his shirt. He smiled profusely and vigorously shook the salesman/smith’s hand. What a treasure! For Thomas? For William? Or for Juan?

The next morning the trade contingent returned to the smithy. Thomas, Jean and Albert were free to visit the yard. Albert couldn’t get enough of the work and workmanship of the smiths. For Thomas and Jean it was something curious. Richard and Father Francis were confronted by the brother team, Juan and Roberto. The brothers were businessmen quite at home in a haggle. The priest and the knight were sold on the product. This deal did not seem to be setting off on level ground. It was an uphill fight the Normans fought. ‘How many gold pieces can I get?’ ‘How many blades can I extract?’ However, Father Francis hadn’t come to the battle unarmed. He had prices from Nimes, the French production center near the Mediterranean coast. A Viking trader had given him a delivered price for Viking weapons made in what is now Sweden. Neither sword matched the Castille brother’s. But?

First they settled on the “Crusader” weapon with the minor addition of a hand guard[at no extra cost]. Secondly, they decided on a number. The Duke would likely personally outfit two thousand men, so tentatively they suggested two thousand swords. Thirdly, they decided the delivery time. Since the sword was a popular model the brothers had two hundred on hand. “Eighteen hundred would take,” and Roberto ran his fingers through his hair and beard, “over a year. But we could ship them from Valencia in lots , 200 at a time. Every two months a Norman ship could visit and pick up your order.”

“That’s too slow!” Richard interjected.

“Do you want fast or quality?” Juan replied. “While your French blades are snapping ours will lastingly replace them. In eighteen months you will have two thousand men armed with the killing machine of the world.”

“That is acceptable” said the priest. “What method of payment do you expect?”

“Gold! We exchange our tempered carbon steel for your soft useless metal ,Gold!” he smiled.

“That I expected. I mean how would our exchange of gold for steel take place?”

The brothers looked at one another. Roberto answered, “ No swords leave our hands until you cross our palms with gold either here or in Valencia. You will select a sea captain of trust to carry the gold to Valencia and to transport our finished product home. It is not without risk. Dishonesty, Moorish pirates in the Mediterranean, and storms , for example, can upset the best laid plans We guarantee two hundred swords every second new moon at the docks in Valencia. We will wait three nights at the Anchor Posada after the full moon. The rest is your problem.”

“Fair enough.” Richard agreed. He couldn’t imagine Moorish pirates capable of a successful attack on a Viking crew. Those blond giants would cut fools who attacked to pieces.

“All seems in place.” conceded the Father. “Now we must settle on price.”

The brothers smiled and licked their lips. Francis and Richard looked like a roast beef dinner. The Normans raised their eyebrows in an interrogative gesture. The Spaniards eyed one another.

“Each sword ,” and Juan paused for emphasis, “will cost you --- two gold pieces!”

Richard exploded, “Two Gold Pieces! My God! Talk about Moorish pirates! Come Father! We’ll find another producer. Christ save us!”

The two brothers got the message in body language and smiled. They knew, ‘Not in Toledo, Senor!’, but they didn’t say it.

Father Francis let him storm. Richard stomped about the room. He cursed. He threw his arms about. Juan looked at Roberto. Roberto looked at Francis. They all had silly smiles on their faces. “And what in hell are you smiling about? Let’s go!” Father Francis ignored him and spoke to the brothers. There was a long exchange in Spanish.

“Well!”

“Sit, Sir Richard. We will negotiate.”

Richard flopped into the chair. The frown and pout encompassed Richard’s whole face. He crossed his arms and splayed out his legs. It was a marvelous act.

Father Francis smiled, “I think we can say ,Artisans, that Sir Richard didn’t appreciate your price.” The three Spanish speaking had a good laugh. Richard slouched even lower.

“Now ,Gentlemen, I’ve had prices from Nimes and Stockholm in the north. They are not asking for Norman blood to supply weapons.”

“Father, it all boils down to the worth of the product. Your men have assessed the sword. You know its worth. If you don’t buy, then someone else will.” He shrugged.

“Senors Castille, we want your product, we need your swords, but we can’t cripple our Duke either. It would be useless to purchase the swords and have nothing left to hire men. We’ll pay you a fair price. Judging by your raw product, supplies, and labor cost you would make a tidy profit at one piece of gold per sword.”

Now it was Roberto’s turn to demonstrate. The volatile Spanish temperament led to a better act than Sir Richard’s. Soon two were in a pouting slouch and two were involved in the give and take of a haggle. It appeared the pouters were not paying attention to the offer, counter offer discussions. After two hours of intense stressful negotiations the salesman and the buyer seemed to agree on one and a half pieces of gold. Juan glanced at Roberto for an almost imperceptible nod. Francis seemed drawn to the window behind Richard. He got an almost imperceptible wink.

“Done?” queried Francis.

“Done!” answered Juan.

All four shook hands and clapped one another on the shoulder. The deal was made. The ‘in stock’ swords would be purchased and carried home by ship with Father Francis. The first sea captain would be in Valencia on the new moon with three hundred gold pieces.

Juan was feeling effusive over the deal. “I have something for you gentlemen, and your two aides.” He presented them with four “Crusader” swords. It was not hard to see the delight in Richard’s eyes. He clapped the brothers, hugged them and shook their hands. The knight and Francis excused themselves momentarily and called their aides. Each, except Thomas, provided a small purse of coins that they had secreted on their person. Father Francis in his voluminous robe provided the main purse and the money was presented to the brothers Castille.

Roberto informed him the “Crusaders” were already loaded on a Castille wagon and could leave on ten minutes notice for Valencia and Father Francis’ ship.

“You were sure of yourself,” he laughed.

“No Father, confident in the product.” Roberto replied. “Come we will eat.”

“I will buy,” offered Richard.

“No Senor, My wife had anticipated the completion of our business. She has all prepared for your whole group and Juan and I. Naturally, we’ll have some good Spanish wine not that foot wash you pass off as wine in France.” He grinned.

“Ho, ho, don’t say that in front of Thomas or you’ll have to fight the boy. His father is a vintner of note in Normandy.” laughed Richard. He called their men and the troop of seven walked across the corner to Roberto’s casa. His wife was alight with welcome and fiery from her proximity to the fireplace. Roberto assigned them chairs and Father Francis recited grace.

Roberto poured each a glass of sherry to open the meal. One of his children served all a few pickled olives as an appetizer. Most of the Normans had never even seen olives before. They tried them tentatively. The strange taste caused a few faces, but they were wise enough to keep on eating. By the third olive somehow taste became a custom. Roberto’s wife came with hot spicy breaded catfish croquettes and her own special fish sauce [as many spices as she had to work with]. The two younger could have eaten a pail of those. She had been prepared to serve a vegetable paella but opted for a creamy crayfish and freshwater clam soup. None of the lesser lights had ever tried such a dish. The entree was a rainbow trout from the local streams with garlic and ham. When they had had their fill , the dishes were cleared and Roberto’s child came with cheese with honey sauce. Roberto poured the white wine. He couldn’t resist tweaking Thomas.

“Well Thomas, I suppose you rate this wine the best you have tasted” and he winked surreptitiously to the assemblage.

Thomas bristled, “ On the first vessel from Normandy to Valencia my father will feel obliged to ship you a vintage reserved for lords, ladies and kings. In fact, when you taste it, you may be drunk the rest of your life. I hope your brother will understand.”

Everyone guffawed and the meal settled into a exchange of pleasantries only interrupted by the translations.

“Juan, if we hadn’t made the deal what would you have done with our meal?”

“Why fed you , of course. This deal was never in doubt anyway.”

The priest just shook his head.

The Normans made plans. Father Francis and Albert would leave in the morning with Roberto and the wagon load of swords. The other three would follow with the horses. Two of the horses would be returned by boat and the knight , squire and page would ride north along the Mediterranean coast. Squire Jean and page Thomas were thrilled with their “Crusaders.” Richard promised some sword instruction on the way home. By midafternoon the Normans left their host and hostess and returned to their separate inns to pack their belongings for the morning.

The Toledo to Valencia trip was uneventful except for good fellowship of the group. In three days they reached the harbor. The captain had been fretting after a week of inactivity in port. He whipped his crew into a quick loading. “Horses!!! Are you out of your mind? I take no animals on my ship!” They tried to reason with the Viking, but in his present state of mind it was no use. They decided to sell the extra two. Thomas gave up his docile mare to ride old “Troublemaker”. Thomas felt obligated to the old biter. It had been the horse’s obstinacy that saved them from the avalanche. The other two pack horses were sold to Roberto and this time Richard got the better of the Spaniard. The captain lost no time in catching the tide and wind and the Norman trade delegation separated.

Richard was just as anxious to be home. They left Valencia and Roberto within the hour and were on the road north with lightened load and lightened heart. The towns raced by. Thomas rocked in a sleepy daze in the saddle as “Trouble” seemed to stand still for the scenery to pass. The only break was the promised sword play.

Sir Richard went to a willow bush and cut four straight gads approximately a half inch in diameter. The longer sticks reflected the thirty-four inch “Crusaders”. In the off hand, Richard liked what became known as the ‘Florentine’- a secondary shorter blade for work on the inside. He taught the terms. “En garde!’ warned Sir Richard and Thomas recognized his salute which he repeated. ‘Advance and retreat’ were obvious. When Sir Richard advanced ,discretion was the better part of valor, and Thomas retreated. ‘Attack, lunge and thrust’ were clear after repeated pokes in the vicinity of Thom’s heart by a flailing ‘single stick’ that lacked the hand guard. If he wanted to avoid more bruises to his chest, he had to learn to ‘parry’. Sir Richard had names for seven different parries that deflected the blade of your opponent. Once Thomas had mastered a parry or two, Sir Richard expected a counter attack or ‘riposte’. The ‘feint’ came naturally to Thomas. He wasn’t going to forget William’s attack with the stave. Sir Richard, the original inside fighter, liked the ‘fleche’ [arrow] attempting the ‘touche’ in the lunge

and then passing the opponent at a run and catching his enemy ,or Thomas in this case, in the midsection with his stick dagger that took Thomas’ breath away. The slashing of the saber action was easier for Thomas to counter. He had some experience in parry with the stave. He had some experience at countering or riposte too. Now he understood why Sir Richard gave them a staff to start. The lunge, thrust and ‘balestra’ were harder to counter. The point of the sword was all you were presented with. If fact, you lost depth perception. How far from your body was the tip of the sword? They broke a few sticks. They slashed a few hands. Welts were raised on the cheek and neck. When Sir Richard grew tired ,Jean took over and Richard shouted advice. “Parry, Riposte, Fleche!”

As the weather was warmer along the sea, these sessions left the boy bathed in sweat. The welts and bruises demanded more skill, quicker response, agility of movement and subtlety of action. “This is not a game!” Richard would yell, “Kill him!” Thomas and Jean renewed their effort. After repeated failure, Thomas started to make a few touches of his own even with Sir Richard. Thomas had youth on his side and absorbent gray matter between his ears. Time passed quickly and they rode long hours. They shortened the journey home appreciably.