The Grail of Sir Thomas

interpretation of knightly revels that outstrip even sailors on their loose. Have you bought horse for the money you won?”

“A horse is allowed,” the knight replied severely.

“Why?”

“From the height of his saddle, I’m strengthening the true faith. Such a horse can be no instrument of devil. Just look how handsome he is!.. Sir wonderer, are you sure we’ll have to ride through forest?”

“All Europe is covered with dark forest. And your Britain too. There are no Saracen deserts you’ve got used to. Wherever you ride here, you’ll have to ride in wild woods. But it’s autumn now, the roads already trodden. In spring there’s no way to walk, nor to ride…”

“Trodden by whom?”

“First by tramps like us: all sorts of beggars, knight-errants, outcasts and madmen, then by plain tradespeople.”

Thomas crossed himself. “Let it be forest then. I simply don’t like those shaggy men with knives, just like you, jumping out of shrubs. I give a start then, which is unworthy of a knight. Unworthy of me, as I have stormed the Tower of David, fought on the walls of Jerusalem…”

The forest was growing ahead: thick, wild, impassable. The path ducked under the low branches and vanished at once, as though in a badger’s barrow. Coolness was felt within hundred sazhens from the wall of trees. Their mighty trunks were dark, squat, gloomy. Even their dense crowns looked darker than usual.

* * *

They rode all the day long, only at noon allowed their horses a brief rest and had a snack themselves without making a fire.

“What’s the name of this country?” Thomas wondered.

Oleg was surprised. “What’s wrong with your memory? I’ve told you: Rus’.”

“I see that,” Thomas dismissed, “but it was Rus’ yesterday and even the day before… And whose land are we crossing today?”

Oleg hemmed. “You’ll get your tongue tired of asking that. You may ride a horse, crawl a snail, or fly a bird — anyway it will be Rus’ tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and the day after that. And princedoms… All of them belong to Rurikids. One brother has this one, another has that, the third one has the third… All taken together, they make Rus’. The Rus’ of Rurikids.”

Thomas was silent, looked disbelieving. At last he spoke with doubt, “Marvelous are the works of God… In our host, there was a unit of valiant Sir Rodoslav, a brave warrior and merry knight. His men were known for strength, discipline, martial skill. Everyone marveled that they stood any hardships without a grumble. Now I recall: they had the same arms and armor I see here. Does it mean they came from this land?”

“Probably even from this very city. Vyatichi, for instance, also had a part in those campaigns, but they use other kinds of equipment.”

Thomas was astonished. “Do Vyatichi come from here too? I’d have never thought so. I thought they were Vikings. They stood to the Duke of Tuleb’s left, covering the flank of King Henry Bluetooth. Brave and fierce warriors as well! Your works are marvelous indeed, O Lord!”

While saddling the horses, Thomas imagined the far way they had to make, all those woods, marshes, cities and villages ahead, sighed and said vexedly, “That’s what I can’t fathom: you are a wizard of considerable power and you don’t use it! Except when pushed to the wall. And even then you’d often rather die than use magic. For me, it looks like having two fast horses and walking on foot in their dust! You are already doomed to Hell’s fire! What’s more to fear?”

He expected no reply from the wonderer who used to avoid such talks, but now the sorcerer was in good spirits. He laughed. “I could say that’s a vow. It would explain everything to you, wouldn’t it?”

“Er…”

“Well, that’s really a kind of vow. Though not to demons: forget that. It’s a vow I made to myself.”

“But why?”

“How shall I put it… Just imagine: I also want to reach the kingdom of heaven. And I’m going the right way. But each use of magic is throwing me back into the darkness. Magic is impious… not quite in the way you see it, but you grasp the general meaning right. Magic is based on implicit faith, and I hate implicit faith. Magic is not less slavish than Christianity. Every time I save my bacon with magic, I feel disgraced. You are right: sometimes it’s better to die than be rescued by those you struggle against…”

Thomas looked with wide open eyes. “Then you have more knighthood than any paladin of the Round Table!”

“Thomas, actually I would endure any shame or disgrace, as I’ve endured many things before, but the use of magic tramples on more than life. It tramples with dirty hooves on the very purport of my being! On what I live for.”

It was like the sky opening over Thomas. The wonderer appeared to bear his own cross, which he, a knight and Christ’s warrior, could hardly imagine! I only saw and felt the very edge of it and I was dumbfounded. A dangerous man’s riding with me. Really dangerous…

By evening the breeze dropped, the fragrances of late herbs and fallen leaves hung in the still air. The huge crimson ball was subsiding slowly to the edge of the earth. Coal-black shadows moved on the dark-red ground ahead of the riders, grew longer, merged with the shadows of rocks, stones, and trees. The world was wild and unknown: only the two of them and their horses seemed alive in it.

The sky darkened gradually. At first there came a barely visible crescent, then a star flashed on, and another one. Now Thomas and Oleg rode under the deep-blue cup, its lip rested on the brinks of earth.

By night, in a sparse birch forest, they bumped into some merchants. Those had put their loaded carts in a circle, kindled a fire, fetched the brushwood: a thorough preparation for night, to avoid any surprise…

There was a big caldron gurgling and ringing its lid on a tripod, and some dark broad slices roasted on the barked twigs over the hot coals. The smell of roast meat with exotic spices burnt their nostrils. Thomas gulped saliva down noisily, and his stallion mended a pace at once, as if he wanted to eat the meat before his master did. “Greetings to you, noble sires,” Thomas proclaimed into the space: he obviously did not know how to address merchants. “Pax vobis. God bless you!”

The merchants watched them with interest. One stood up. “The same to you, if you mean it. I’ve never seen a priest in steel before! It’s night, so you may stay with us. We’ll protect you.”

Thomas went crimson and began to puff up, but Oleg said meekly, “Thank you, good people. We’ll spent the night with you.”

“Have you made a long way?”

“Very long.”

The merchants asked no more questions. If a man can’t or doesn’t want to speak, he should not be forced. One must not count money in the pockets of others, as many like to do. Neither one should pump others for what he wants to know. They’ll tell you if they like.

Thomas took some lard and a head of cheese out of his bags: it doesn’t befit to eat only the food of others and hide what you have. The merchants found a skin of brew, and it went from hand to hand around the fire. After the meal, they started a cautious conversation about who the travelers were and where they were heading for.

Questions were asked in a way that allowed to evade easily. You never know whom you may meet in woods, so you’d better hurt no one. It’s the time of trouble: princes lay hands on everything, foreign missionaries scour around, some trying to win people over to another faith, others persuading princes into close unions with either Kazimir or the Polovtsians, or whatever other dark and far-going aims they have. We merchants can’t always see our benefit at once, so we’d better offend no one but watch, listen, and sniff for whatever we can gain from all that stuff.

When the skin got half empty, they began a sedate and wise talk about how to make Rus’ better, how to live right, how to bring peace and order at last to the lands that had always been in disorder, where the order was only promised, to where long ago they’d even called Germans, in hope they would make order, but even Germans failed: it was Rus’, no Deutschland of theirs.

The wonderer squirmed, then asked, “Germans? Was Rurik a German?”

“A Kraut,” the merchant confirmed, then thought for a while, scratched his head. “Or a Yid. No way to know