The Grail of Sir Thomas

the coast, but it was still far from the tower, so the guards only watched it, with sneers and condescension. Poor things they who spend their life catching fish, selling it in the market to get small coin, enough to buy bread and cheese… Thank Christ, we are no fishermen but skilled guards!

The fisherman reached for his cloaked mate, pushed him roughly. The other man gave a start, looked with surprise. The first fisherman roared, pointed angrily at the net dragged behind the boat. The second one adjusted his cloak, his shoulders shivered. The guard who had opened his mouth to cry the fishermen away couldn’t help a malicious grin. He winked to his partner who burst with laughter, as he recalled himself having got sunburnt some time ago and shivering in the torrid heat like in winter: a familiar thing!

The half-naked fisherman bellowed fiercely, his eyes goggled, as he pointed at the net. The cloaked one shivered, wrapped himself up, snapped back gloomily. The half-naked man almost broke into shriek, spitting, and the guards felt compassion for him. Why should one drag his boat along the strait if his net is full of fish? It’s not his fault that his stupid companion has such a piglet’s skin that gets sunburnt instead of swarthy.

The fishermen argued. The first one left his oars, shaking his fists angrily. The second one thrust him away, the half-naked man lost his feet in the rocking boat and fell on his back, his feet up in a funny way. The cloaked one stayed on the aft. When the half-naked man jumped up, swearing and shaking fists, the other one also stood up and turned out to be his height, though the half-naked fishermen looked, to the professional eyes of the guards, neither small nor weak.

They grappled near the aft. The half-naked man landed a blow that made his pal bend in waist. He all but flew over the board, but gripped the half-naked one by arm at the last moment. For a while, they tried to break each other. The guards saw muscles bulging on the half-naked man’s broad back, then the cloaked fisherman pushed his rival away again, stepped ahead. They stood face to face in the middle of the boat, devouring each other with eyes, cursing, and blaming for their coming back without fish. Almost at the same time, both of them leaned back, their fists darted forwards. An embittered brawl began. The guards heard muffled thumps.

A fight of two strong, beastly man is always pleasant to watch: it’s exciting, like a sip of heady wine. The two men in the boat ran wild quickly: the reckless sun would make anyone mad and eager to wreak out his anger on anyone. They neither yelled nor swore anymore but hurled their fists forward, trying to land a painful blow, to crush and destroy. The half-naked man got blooded, the guards hung over the board in excitement, oblivious of their bodies being in the bitter sun, out of salutary coolness. One guard bet two against one that the half-naked fisherman, though blooded, would overcome his cloaked mate: he had the muscle of a champion wrestler. Probably he had been a wrestler in circus until he got fired for bargaining with public.

The second guard hesitated. The half-naked one looks stronger, his muscle exposed, he fights like mad beast, but his rival seems to land more accurate blows. And under his cloak, he can have a knife, at least the one for cutting fish… And in that brain-melting sun, one would stab a knife uncaringly, only to see the blood of the other, hear him squealing, then rattling…

The boat was coming sidewise to the stone mooring, waves splashed against its boards. The boat rocked and swung, driven by the wind and water, raised by the tide that had covered the prominent bare stones, so the boat passed over them easily, with probably only a light scratch of its bottom on them.

The guards neighed like horses. The cloaked fisherman had blood gushing from his smashed brow: he often swept it off with hand, spreading it over his face, swore hoarsely. The half-naked man jumped on him, and both collapsed into the boat. Fortunately, they fell on the wooden bench that cracked apart. The fishermen rolled, grappling like two furious bears, into the other bench, and it went into splinters too.

One of the oars had floated away long ago, the other jolted blade-up in the water. When the half-naked man thrust his pal, the latter’s head crushed out the piece of wood with oarlock, and the second oar also went floating in the waves.

The boat was driven almost close to the wall rising from the water. If even the guards commanded to get away, the fishermen would not be able to do it without oars. They could swim after them, but the oarlocks were kicked out, as though by a hammer — what lusty fellows those fishermen were! — and the boat itself looked ready to go into splinters at any moment.

One of the guards sighed and pulled the rope forcefully: nobody was allowed to moor there. If the guards failed to drive them away, they were obliged to call for reinforcement. The massive door of the tower opened with a creak. A head in a gleaming helmet look out. As the guard saw the boat, the head vanished. At the next moment, he leapt out with sword and shield. After him, the next one came out, all clad in iron. He kicked the door shut behind him, leaned his back against it and fell drowsy at once, his head dropped and face twisted.

The new guards joined, with fascination, into watching the fight. Both bet their weekly salary on the fighters, but one, however, reached his crossbow without looking, set it against the ground, started to turn the winch slowly, drawing the steel bowstring. The metal pieces of the crossbow were red-hot, as well as the string, so the guard several times left the winch with a sigh, his eyes fixed on the fishermen.

The boat side crashed against the stone wall. The tide dragged the boat along it. Guards stretched their necks, bent over the border, one of them almost fell out, as the stone wall was rising over the water for a man’s height, even at full flow. They heard terrible rattles from the boat: the cloaked man pressed the half-naked one against the bottom, strangling him, the cloak almost covered both of them. The guards bellowed, clapped their rough hands on the stone border. Everyone was cheering up the fisherman he’d bet on.

Suddenly, the cloaked man got up and made a long creepy jump from the boat straight onto the stone wall. He pushed off the boat so mightily that it flew almost to the middle of the Golden Bay. The half-naked fisherman was also up at once, a bow in hands, a flash of iron arrowhead on.

Startled, guards had no time to draw swords before the fishermen clutched at the stone edge, pulled himself up, jumped down on their side at once. The first guard leapt forward silently, slashed with his sword. The fisherman jerked his head aside, annoyed. Surprisingly, the blade did not slice in, only grinded, as though against metal, and was almost twisted out from the dumbfounded guard’s hand. However, the sword cut the cord of the cloak, which fell down, and the guard almost dropped his weapon in astonishment.

A furious crusader knight in full armor! The guard had time to see eyes, as blue as the cloudless sky, through the visor before he had to back under a hail of terrible blows: the knight drew his huge sword in a flash. The guard felt his death close: against the knight’s two-handed weapon, his sword looked a puny twig.

Thomas slashed with all his might, attacked. The guard missed a terrible blow and fell, with bleeding head, over the border into the close waves.

Thomas turned quickly to the sea. The empty boat floated lonely on the waves, being filled with water through the cracks. Thomas’s heart froze with fear, but then he heard a splash, big hands emerged over the border, and the wonderer, soaked like a water god, jumped over it with a shout. “Why are you standing, fool? Run into the tower! One escaped!”

Thomas rushed, as though spurred, to the wide open door of the tower. On his run, he almost fell, stumbling over the crossbowman’s body with a long arrow in throat. In the doorstep, he slipped in a puddle of blood gushing out of the body of a big guard (almost twice as broad as he was tall) and hurried up, jumping over three stairs at once, then over two.

He heard a fast tapping of boots behind. The wonderer came up with him and rushed by, like a sea whirlwind, splashing water around, his wet shoulder brushed against Thomas. The knight looked with envy at his broad bare back, trickles of blood still running down it: left by the fresh liver they’d bought at the market and used for staining each other while they fought.

The wonderer vanished ahead. Thomas hurried upstairs, muttering curses. jumping over just one stair at once. He spotted fresh drops of blood. The wonderer’s arrow had injured that guard, the fourth and last one. Oleg had to come upon him before he could climb upstairs to warn his master.

The thought of the master, the dreadful Secret One, made Thomas feel creepy inside, his legs gave way. He tried running up over two stairs at once again, but got exhausted short after, because of the steel armor he had on, and dragged himself along from one stair to another, a sword in hand, another hand clinging to the rail.

Above, on the fifth floor, there was a short noise that died away at once. When Thomas dragged himself to the spot, wide streams of blood were running to meet him, two guards lay across the stairs. Thomas stepped over them and plodded on. There was a clang above again, a muffled shout. Thomas tried to run upstairs, as the wonderer had managed to, but sweat poured over his eyes, sledge-hammers seemed to be pounding in head. He