the Walking Drum (1984) Read Free Page B

my skull.
    Young though I was, I knew the dangers a coward can offer, for his fear will often drive him to kill more quickly than if he were a brave man. Walther and his crew were cowards, and whatever must be done must be with care, for among them were a few good fighting men.
    The crew liked me not at all. Occasionally, they vented their fury with words, but I ventured no replies, biding my time. I think they feared me because of my sudden rise and my decisive move against the man who had taken my knife. They feared what they did not understand.
    Twice, they captured fisher boats, attacking lustily with swinging swords when the odds were seven or eight to one. And then, off the Mediterranean coast of Spain, they made a grand capture, and the fault was mine.
    The sky had been blue that morning, and the air breathless, the sea smooth as glass. While busy splicing a line, I felt a sudden dampness. Suddenly, we were shrouded in fog, moving like a ghost ship through the mist.
    A few minutes before the fog closed down I had glimpsed a merchantman sailing a course parallel to our own. Now, after a few minutes within the fog, I heard a faint creaking as of rigging, the slap of a loose sail, and a gurgle of water about a hull.
    For what happened I have only myself to blame. I hated Walther and all his bloody, misbegotten crew, yet there was in me the blood of corsairs.
    Walther came to stand beside me. "You heard something?"
    "A ship," I said, "and not one of your scrawny fish boats but a fat, rich merchantman out of Alexandria or Palermo."
    The glitter of greed was in his eyes. He touched his fat lips with his tongue. "They would be strong," he muttered, "we could not-"
    "Why not?" I spoke with contempt for such fears. "Only one man was on deck when the fog closed in, and half the crew may be asleep. There was a storm last night, and they would be tired. Before they could organize resistance it would be over."
    For once greed overcame caution. Grabbing a crewman, he sent him for others, and at his order I began to edge the vessel closer. Fifty men gathered along the bulwarks, keeping themselves out of sight.
    Water slapped her hull, rigging creaked. We shipped our starboard oars, and the watchman on their deck came quickly to his ship's side, alarmed by the sound.
    He saw us; his mouth opened to scream a warning, but an arrow transfixed his throat, and then our men were scrambling over their side. There was shouting then, a clash of arms, a scream of mortal agony.
    That was the moment I had chosen to shear off and escape, but the chance was lost in the instant of birth, for Walther was beside me, a sword point in my ribs as if he had guessed my intent. I dared make no move.
    The surprise attack had been a complete success. The merchantman's crew awakened only to die; moreover, the ship was well-found, with a rich cargo of silk and cinnamon. There was gold and silver coin ... and a girl.
    She struggled to the ship's side, the prisoner of Cervon, a huge Gaul, the largest man in our crew. Beside her an older man pleaded and argued with the Gaul. Her eyes, wide with terror, looked across the rails of the two ships into mine. She could have been no more than sixteen and was very beautiful. Her eyes met mine, pleading and frightened.
    "Stop him," I protested to Walther.
    "He captured her. She is his." There was envy in his tone, for he hated to see such a girl in the arms of another. It was an envy to be used.
    "You would waste such a girl? That is no shepherd's daughter! Would you throw away a fortune for a moment in the scuppers? Can't you see? This girl is worth more than all the loot combined! Think what her family would pay!"
    Greed won where any other argument would have failed. The Gaul was pressing her against the bulwark and fending off the older man with one hand. Even at this distance it could be seen that her flesh was soft and her dress woven with threads of gold.
    A fortune-hungry and jealous man, Walther seized the chance.