The Belt of Gold Read Free Page B

porch and the single step, their leather armor creaking. The man with the red rosettes turned to one of his fellows and said, “Go in and get her.”
    That man started toward the door. Hagen took a step after him, and the other Greeks swung to face the big Frank, and the door flew wide open and Rogerius stood there.
    Shorter than Hagen, stockier, he filled up the doorway, and seeing his brother involved in this dispute, he put his shoulder to the door frame and looked the Greeks before him up and down.
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    Hagen reached behind him for his brother’s sword, the belt wrapped around the scabbard, and held it out to him. “These city people are after that girl in there.” He spoke Frankish.
    â€œOh,” Rogerius said, and glanced over his shoulder into the church. He slung the heavy brass-studded belt around his waist. “Well, that’s too bad.”
    â€œLook,” said the man with the red rosettes on his shoulders. “You two don’t know what you are doing. Don’t get yourselves into trouble here. That woman is no concern of yours.”
    â€œWalk,” Hagen said, and put his hand to the hilt of his sword.
    â€œI’m warning you—”
    â€œI’m warning you, fellow. I’ve been all the way to Golgotha and I have a lot of currency with God, and I don’t mind spending a little of it to rid the world of a few of you backwards-signing Greeks.”
    Rogerius was looking at him, his forehead creased; he did not speak the language as well as Hagen. Behind him, suddenly, the girl appeared.
    The Greeks saw her just as Hagen did, and as one man they lunged toward her. She was behind Rogerius, and when the Greeks jumped toward him, he stepped sideways, blocking their way. His sword leapt out of its scabbard with a clash of iron. Hagen swung around, putting the four Greeks between him and his brother. He whipped his long sword free, and as ever when he felt its power in his hands a heady passion filled him and he roared with exultation.
    The Greeks scattered, two to the left, two to the right. The man with the red rosettes cried, “Away! Stand off—” None of them drew a weapon. Still backing away from the two Franks, they circled off the porch and banded together again in the churchyard.
    â€œWe’ll get her later,” the fat man with the red rosettes said to the others, and herded them swiftly away. Looking back over his shoulder, he shouted, “And you, too, barbarians! Don’t think you’ve gotten away with anything.”
    Rogerius laughed. “What cowards.” His sword slithered back into its scabbard.
    Hagen watched the Greeks, who were leaving the churchyard; there were several horses tied to the trees a hundred yards away, in the opposite direction from the two Franks’ horses, and the Greeks mounted up and rode off at a brisk trot. Slowly Hagen put his sword up. He disliked drawing it without bloodying it; he imagined the sword to go hungry. Turning, he looked beyond his brother at the girl.
    She was gone. “God’s bones,” he said, and pushed past Rogerius into the church.
    At the side of the church, the girl was struggling to climb out the narrow window. Her cloak hindered her and she flung it down, and Hagen bounded across the church and caught her around the waist.
    â€œLet me go!” She twisted violently in his grasp and tried to hit him. He held her arms down against her sides; she was light as a child, and he held her without effort. She smelled wonderfully of roses. Rogerius picked up her cloak from the floor.
    â€œWhat is happening here? Hagen, put her down. She won’t go anywhere.”
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œPut her down,” Rogerius said.
    Reluctantly Hagen lowered the girl down onto her feet, and Rogerius hung the cloak around her shoulders again. She looked from one to the other of them. In spite of the thick paint on her eyes and lips and