Yury Nikitin - The Grail of Sir Thomas

Thomas said with dignity, “Sir wonderer, I don’t think Sir God would have won no game if he really sat down to play with the vile devil. But I think He’d not even sit down near him in the latrine. Sir Satan might have been cheating. Though no, that’s too… As it was when Sir Satan used to sit on Our Lord’s right and was not yet the sort he became on earth.”

He crossed himself piously. Oleg laughed. “Oh yes. He’s lived on earth among people for a while, and he who lies down with dogs, gets up with fleas.”

Thomas looked puzzled. “Do you want to say Satan became that vile after he mixed with people? Though… why not? Man is no angel but he’s craving for light, and devil in his spite was getting lower and lower until he became worse than man. Then he also began to provoke man into becoming worse.”

“Exactly. And games remained his domain.”

“So I clashed him! As befits a valiant knight: in my opponent’s field, and I also left the choice of weapons to him. I played that impious game, won, swapped my prize for drink, as it’s dishonorable to buy any good thing for such money, played again and won again! So I treated those men to drinks… That was how I put the devil to shame.”

Oleg twisted his head with delight. “Great! This doctrine… or faith will go far if it allows such an 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.”