replied in an even voice. “With the help of Our Lady, we get what we want without a sword. There’s only base folk, and I bare my noble sword only for noble foes. For example, the thief of Holy Grail had his death of my bare hand… No, he was killed like a dog — by the stone I hurled at him. And now I came for the Holy Grail!”
Burlan’s eyes were the color of water running over the river boulders. His eyelids all but closed, as he narrowed his eyes in a predatory way. “If you come without armor, like a bird without feathers…
The warriors began to stir, exchanged glances, then started to approach in cautious short steps, their spearheads aimed at Thomas’s chest. Thomas was slow to respond, and Oleg (he stood by the wall) asked Burlan innocently, “The old gate or the new one?”
Burlan did not seem to get it. A warrior jumped up to him, whispered obsequiously in his ear. Burlan started, stepped quickly to the window, looked outside for a while, unable to believe his eyes, then went pallid, his fingers of both hands clutched the windowsill. There were still faint screams, shouts, a clang of steel heard from the yard. “What’s wrong with our gate?” Burlan demanded in a constrained voice.
“Rotten through,” Oleg replied uncaringly. “A blow and a spit reduced it to pieces. You’ll need a new one to crucify a man on! Surely, the times are hard…”
Thomas slapped on the table impatiently. “Sir Burlan! I want back the cup that was stolen from me. Immediately!”
The warriors along the walls exchanged glances. Burlan turned away from the window. His voice was still constrained, as though an invisible hand held his throat. “The cup was left for me to store. I have no idea why so much fuss about it: my chests are full of silver and golden cups, while this one is plain copper. But I was asked to keep it in my place. Asked by a noble man. And I will comply his request.”
“Where’s the cup?” Thomas demanded.
Burlan glanced over at the warriors who crowded at the door, blocking it. He gave a malevolent smile, his voice grew louder. “Straight behind this wall. On the shelf near the lamp. Take it if you can.”
The warriors gripped their swords, scowling at two unarmed travelers from under their helmets pulled over their brows. Behind them, some spearheads and spikes of helmets could be seen.
Thomas started to rise, red with fury. Oleg intruded quickly. “Your Grace, I have a lower rank… I’ll fetch it!”
As he stood near the wall pointed by Burlan, he bumped against it. There was a crash, deep cracks ran along the wall, huge blocks thundered out. Oleg stepped after them, leaving a cloud of dust in the breach.
Thomas gave a start but made himself stay at the table and adopt an air of boredom. Burlan grew as white as snow, his jaw dropped, his eyes goggled and glassy. Two of his warriors dropped their spears and ran away, shrieking.
They heard shouts and clang on the other side of the breach, then a hunched figure emerged there, in the crimson light of the fireplace. Oleg kicked aside a block of stone, as large as a bull’s head, his sneeze raised a small cloud of dust. He carried a copper cup, pressing it against his chest, shielded from small falling stones with his palm. With a humble bow, he put the cup in front of Thomas and bowed again. “Your Superiority, that’s your chalice.”
Thomas touched the salient side of the cup, greenish with age, with fingertips, said to no one in particular, “What the ways in this pigsty!.. Aren’t you going to feed your humble guests? Where would we have our next feast?”
Oleg dusted off noisily, slapped clouds of dust out of his rags. He heard a sad note in Thomas’s apparently cheerful voice but said nothing: no one had ever come back from another world to tell what is the food there like. Small stones glittered in his hair. The block he had kicked away was lying on the other side of the hall. Warriors glanced at it with fear: hardly any of them could simply move it.
Burlan turned his head with a screech. “Bring food for these… pilgrims… guests,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Carefully, Oleg sat down on the bench near Thomas. He moved slowly, like a clever horse among fragile dishes, even felt the bench before sitting. Burlan stood by the window but did not look in it anymore: his goggled eyes were glued to the breach in the wall, through which a man could pass ahorse.
Oleg made an inviting gesture. “Sir lord… Burlan or Burdan… or Buridan… would you have dinner with us?”
Burlan gave a start, took his eyes with effort off the gaping breach. Oleg waved at him welcomingly, and Burlan came to, in wooden steps, and sat down on the bench facing Thomas. As their eyes met, the last blood rushed away from Burlan’s face: the eyes of ragged knight errant shone like two stars of Bethlehem, bright red roses flashed and faded on his cheeks.
Behind Thomas, there was a breach where men rushed about, shouted, dragged someone from under the stones, then carried him away. The fallen torches smoked on the floor. A servant in a greasy, soiled apron came through the gap, stepping over huge stone blocks that lay as far as the hall. The tray in his hands quivered. When he put it on the middle of the table, Thomas winced: the meat was cold and the bread so hard that it could be used to break another wall.
“That’s on a fast day, eh?” Oleg sympathized. “It should be fish, grass…”
Thomas who had just stuck his teeth into the first slice of meat recoiled. “Sir lay brother,” he said with vexation, “your reminders are either too early or too late!”
The servant hurried to take the meat away. Thomas followed him with hungry eyes.
Oleg cried after him. “Fish for him!.. Fish!.. I saw a big fish here — it scratched itself against the fence when we passed… er… through the gate. Scratched and grunted!”
Burlan shifted his stunned gaze between Thomas and Oleg. Both had very serious hungry faces.
Oleg sniffed. “Good host would have something to wet our whistles,” he said with a jeer. “But you see, sir abbe, these people are starving!”
Burlan blushed with insult and blurted out. “Five barrels of wine of Cyprus here, across three halls! And in my cellar, I have twelve barrels of madeira, Cahors wine, and northern moonshine!”
“Thank you for information,” Oleg replied politely.
Burlan had barely bit his tongue, as he realized his mistake, when the strange vagrant bumped, like a blind man, into the wall pointed by the master, broke through with a terrible crash, made a breach from the ceiling to the floor. Huge blocks, each would do to smash a bear, rained down his head and shoulders, rolled down his back. He sneezed of dust and vanished.
Burlan was yellow like a dead man. Blue veins twitched on the temples of his head, his face fell, his nose sharpened. Soon there was some more thunder, an irritated roar, crash of rolling stones, heavy steps, then a terrible crash and thunder again, sounds of falling stones, frightened screams, a plaintive cry.
Fresh roast meat was brought in. Thomas gorged on it, as he suffered a beastly hunger. His fingers scratched against an empty tray before he knew it. The servants vanished. At once, there was the “fish” that scratched itself against the fence and grunted, and also the “fish” that flapped its wings in the reeds. Actually, Thomas could have real meat with no remorse: a traveler may lose a count of days or even the calendar itself, but the wonderer reminded of the fast inopportunely… Thomas’s hand stopped, he felt a surge of fury.
He felt the empty tray again, cast an annoyed glance at the servants. They started to rush about faster, serving roast swans, geese, ducks, quail, a roast boar by the way, a couple of baked turkeys with apples, some venison… When, finally, they brought some crucians fished in the pond, Thomas waved that away sluggishly: he was full up, and his friend would have to start from a roast bear or, at least, an ox.
In times a thunder was coming into the hall, broken with short periods of silence. As Thomas ate, he did not listen much, but then felt a vague surprise. Burlan had said the wine was just across three halls, hadn’t he? Then Oleg should break through only three walls… Or four?.. But there was much more crash, anyway. Could the poor wonderer get lost in the labyrinth of the castle halls and passages, so unusual to a Pagan like him?
