us as well. I’ll have all the monks solve this riddle. No food for them until they find the correct answer… or at least an elegant one, in the spirit of our school. The invincibles came through the gate on their splendid horses, their banners flied spectacularly in the silver moon shade, their faces were stern and arrogant, as befits invincibles. Then they saw the rock on which our heroes had once been breaking bricks. It was broken, and they asked what had happened… Then they saw the broken log and asked about it too… At that time, your horses broke through the wall of stables and began to chase fillies. Then, very unfortunately, the barrels of drinks gave a leak. You stallions deigned to drink all our wine, and the white one jumped on the invincible’s horse to mate…”
“Was it a mare?” Thomas inquired.
“No, but your stallion was so mad… sorry, so delighted with our wine that he did not mind the difference. The other horse tried to break away, but your stallion was much stronger. Besides, the invincible’s horse could not endure his weight, his spine broke…”
“Poor animal,” Thomas said indifferently. “And what about mine?”
“He fell asleep and snoring straight on the invincible’s crying horse. Due to that, we managed to catch and carry him in his sleep to the lib… the stable.”
Oleg listened to the noise and thundering sounds through the wall. “What’s about mine?” he asked anxiously.
The prior shook his head dolorously. All the monks standing at the distance behind him also shook their heads and left them shaking like that. “Yours goes on. Do you hear the thunder? It’s him running after the fillies, sheep, and she-goats, trampling hens and ducks. He peeps into windows, scaring monks and distracting them from godly reflection on the High… The invincibles hurried to mount the surviving horse together and ride away, because your cheerful stallion started looking at that horse too, and it was much smaller: white, slim-legged…”
“No,” Oleg objected firmly. “My horse is not that sort!”
Thomas gave him a once-over, as though seeing for the first time, and burst with derisive laughter. “You know little though you lived in caves! We found this horse several weeks ago. Where had he lived before? Maybe in Greece? Besides, in that very land where we… bought him, our merciful God had once in wrath… in righteous wrath, of course!.. destroyed two big cities for such tricks!”
Oleg kept listening to the crashes, croaks, and neighs. “I heard much of the monastic wines,” he said then. “We’d like to take some of it for the road, as befits true ascetics, to make the temptation of low flesh stronger, for us to fight it with all our might and have a more glorious victory!”
The prior backed and fell into the arms of his assistants. “You too?.. Nothing will remain of the monastery then!”
“Men are stronger than horses!”
Thomas also listened to the constant rumble, nodded to the prior. “You are right, holy father. We have many other things to fight. Sir wonderer, it’s time for us to leave, isn’t it? Alas, no knightly joust nor a good fight to amuse us here. The only hope is of some evil thing waiting on the road. We have nothing to do here. We ate and drank but… er… some fun we’ll have to find in some other place. And we will find it!”
The prior turned round and cried, “Pack up, for the great northern warriors leaving us, the precious tribute… er… gifts, food, and blankets. Now!”
The monks darted away in all directions. The prior turned round with caution and was led across the garden where Oleg saw a terrible picture of ruin.
“Where’s my horse?” Thomas asked with concern.
“The iron man’s horse is being woken up. They play songs over him, beat in tambourines, give him aromatic salts to smell…”
“Put your salts into ass,” Thomas advised. “Yours, not the horse’s! My friend can only be woken by this.” He slapped on his thick belt where a battle horn was hanging.
They followed monks across the garden. There were much more ruins, Thomas even gave a puzzled whistle. If he did not know it were two drunken stallions brawling at night, he would have thought the monastery visited by godly crusader knights in search of the Holy Grail.
The destrier lay in the middle of the trampled-down garden and snorted, his eyes protruding frightfully. The monks stood at a respectful distance, watched the monster with awe. Thomas brought the horn to his lips, his cheeks puffed out. A dreadful roar swept over the monastery. The window glasses shattered down with plaintive ringing. The old prior and his monks collapsed on the ground like overripe pears. The stallion’s left ear twitched in vexation, but the wild modulating snores went on.
Thomas cursed, took a deeper breath and blew the horn again, reddened, with goggled eyes. A deafening roar rent the air. Oleg jerked his head up and saw the monastic cupolas and stucco moldings collapsing. The destrier moved both ears in annoyance but his snoring only grew louder.
The knight glanced at the wonderer, saw his venomous smirk. Thomas frowned, raised his horn hurriedly for the third time. “Damn you, callous brute! To get that drunken while your master was… preparing for a hard battle! Pretty nice you’d have been under the saddle! Well, now I will get you awake, even if you become a stammerer…”
He put the horn to his lips, but Oleg seized his arm. “Wait! You’d only get him turning to other side. I’d better fetch him with a stick!”
Thomas gasped with great indignation, almost dropped his horn. “The knight’s warhorse? With a plain stick?”
“I can borrow a gilded one from the prior,” Oleg suggested readily. He took the horn from the knight, squatted near the stallion and blew almost in his ear. The destrier snuffed and flew up, as though hundred snakes bit him at once, his eyes wild and mad, his body trembling all over.
“Good morning, you drunkard,” Oleg greeted venomously. “When your master is in hangover, he has only hands trembling, as a hen thief’s, and you are shaking all over… Holy father, is my horse in the library?”
From the yellow field of sprawled monks who had just started to stir, a faint voice came, “Yes… There…”
“What is he reading there?” Oleg wondered. “Never saw him at it before… I need to take him away quickly. Why would I need a literate horse? I’d feel awkward riding him.” He went to the low yellow building. It was shaking, clots of clay dropped down from its walls.
“May your horse happen to be a Jew?” Thomas smirked after him. “I heard they are all literate!” He started to saddle his warhorse who stood reeling and watching him with bloodshot eyes. The thick mane was tangled, with luxuriant burdocks of rare eastern flowers of the Lord of Skies stuck in. The destrier reeked of alcohol, his left side looked all bare: the hair on it had got matted while he slept in the puddle of red wine.
They heard a menacing clatter of hooves from above. It was Oleg, descending by the broad stairs ahorse. His stallion had red eyes of keen reader, with bulging veins in them, but his steps were resolute enough, though deliberately cautious. Mounted Oleg looked heavy and gloomy, like a rock in the middle of a broad river. Behind him, two travelling bags were hanging on both sides of the saddle, along with the giant sword and even the bow and the quiver. The wolfskin jack was thrown open as wide as possible, baring the broad plates of muscle. The wonderer was girded by a wide belt studded with metal plates. On the right of it, there was a pot-bellied flask that attracted Thomas’s suspicious gaze at once. The knight even tried to catch the smell of it. “I’m ready,” Oleg said, cheerful as a woken-up hare. “Holy father, thank you for your bread and kindness.”
From the only spared building (though fresh cracks had already appeared on its walls) monks were carrying out the harness for Thomas’s horse and his saddle bags and bags of oats for both horses and food for two weeks journey. Oleg saw no wineskins.
Thomas climbed heavily on his horse who reeled, moved his legs apart clumsily, and shook his head. Three monks came running with the knight’s lance on their shoulders. Thomas picked easily the shaft that had been polished by his iron fingers, gave a dashing salute. “Thank you for your welcome! On my way back, I’ll surely come to be your guest again. With friends!”
Screaming, monks dashed away into the building. Thomas turned his destrier to the wonderer who was
