Yury Nikitin - The Grail of Sir Thomas

“So superstitious?” the witch wondered.

“He also believes in dreams and sneeze, in a black cat, a woman with empty buckets, a priest on the way, and Friday, the thirteenth…”

Thomas sniffed angrily. He feared no visible enemy: God was his witness, as well as the Saracens he’d defeated. But the faith tells us to be afraid of the invisible enemy, the Archfiend!

The witch snapped her fingers, raised her hands. Two big broad cups fell from above, the witch caught them deftly, lest they touch the ground. The brims of those cups were a dim shimmer in the firelight. Thomas detected that both were bound with old silver.

Oleg took a cup from her, smirked, glanced at Thomas. Then looked at the cup again, shook his head when his eyes met the witch’s. She waved aside with negligence: drink, don’t make difficulties! Look at your friend who doesn’t mind anything…

Meanwhile, Thomas drained his cup and poured some rough wine from the jug: the boar was sprinkled with eastern spices, so the knight’s mouth was burning. He tossed off, then tasted some mead (he’d got to know its taste and charm in Kiev), gulped it down with some more wine and filled the cup again at once.

Oleg had no wish to speak in front of merchants. They are listening, glancing at each other. In their trade one may drink, even get drunk, but for the one who loses head his first trip as a merchant will be his last. And those were tough, experienced trade wolves. Even too tough for such a simple market trip from one princedom into another.

Anticipating the witch’s new question, Oleg asked them respectfully, “Oh, you have made a really long way! You’ve seen countries far away and people overseas! You’ve beheld with your own eyes what we only know from songs, which the new faith orders to name byliny. Please tell us about the wonderful things you’ve seen in your last voyage!”

Flattery makes even the wisest one stupid. For some reason Rod left this to be a human’s vulnerable place, one of many. The merchant’s sharp eyes went oily and dull at once. Stroking his luxurious beard, the eldest one said grandly, “We’ve seen tall towers of Bagdad and the sea as blue as sky. We’ve seen sands and strange animals. We’ve beheld the world where winter brings no snow, where people are black like tar or coal! We’ve seen mighty tribes in which even chieftains walk around naked and eat humans…”

The witch shook her head. “How awful! Thou must be lying! Where can such beasts live?”

“Faraway… But the greatest wonder happened on our way back, across the scorching sands. Our party was few, as we’d sold everything save three horses, not to mention two carts with gifts for our kin… The road was said to be safe and empty, so we let our guards go. There were just a couple of versts to the city, and we rode, happy with our close return to Rus’…”

He sighed, wiped his forehead. A ghost of fear flickered in his eyes, as he went through something hard again. “And when we already could see the city walls, some robbers attacked us out of the blue. Two dozens of them against the three of us. Each of us can stand up to two, or even three if he gets angry, and that’s not a boast, but the third of us was ill then. We carried him in a cart, and in two we could not…”

“Come on!”

The merchant said with delight, “That would have been our end if not the marvelous warrior who came at the very last moment! He was like a menacing lightning in God’s hand. His stallion was black, with mane and tail flying in the wind, the sword in his hand shone like the brightest star in the sky of Bagdad. When he dashed on the villains, the ground moaned and a flock of black crows soared behind…”

“Which crows?” Thomas didn’t get it.

“The clods of earth thrown up by his stallion’s hooves! The warrior uttered a scary shout. Many villains collapsed, and the rest had their legs turned water. And when the warrior came on them with his sword raised, only five dared to attack him.”

“Come on,” Thomas asked impatiently.

The merchant took a breath. His chest straightened proudly, as if it were him fighting those villains. “He threw all five down with three strikes! I don’t know how he managed it, but I saw three terrible blows, after which the grass in ten sazhens around was splashed with blood and the villains lay like slashed ram carcasses. The hero did not bother to dismount. Just smiled, wiped his sword, and turned his horse. In vain we cried after him, wanted to pay homage, offered money and rich gifts for our miraculous rescue! He didn’t even say his name. Fortunately, one of us had seen him before and recognized him!”

Thomas asked with respect, “So who was that marvelous warrior, as much modest as he is valiant? The world has few knights endowed with such wonderful virtues. I thought all of them used to sit at the Round Table.”

The merchant said solemnly, “It was Michael Uryupinets himself!”

The wonderer gave an understanding nod. He seemed to have heard of this valiant hero. The merchant crossed himself piously, Thomas did the same. Both looked at each other with patronizing negligence: what can be expected from a fool?

Actually, each of them looked a boor from the point of view of another: one made a cross from the right shoulder, while another from the left. They did not know that the first one would later be called an Orthodox and the second one a Catholic.

* * *

With drunken surprise, the merchants peeped into the winebowls that never grew lighter. Finally, the youngest man turned one over: a scanty splash of brew came out and vanished before it could reach the ground. At once the winebowl got empty, even dry, as if it were held over the fire. The ill-starred merchant failed to shake even a single drop out. He got it in the neck, and the second winebowl was now handled with care: they all but bowed to it.

The boar managed to sate everyone, so quickly it gained new meat on: juicy and odorous, already roast and larded with garlic and onions. The eldest one appeared to be the most enduring: he ate and drank for twelve, loosened his belt, then took it off. His friends leaned back one by one, fell drunkenly asleep, one began to snore with a bone in hand. The witch took the bone out carefully, put into the bag on her belt. Oleg saw it and nodded. She slipped up. Did not consider the merchants have not the same toothless gums as hers. Her yellow stubs of teeth would only take off small fibers of meat, but men’s strong teeth, in search of marrow, have grinded what the boar can’t be resurrected without. She’ll have to look for a stronger spell, as getting a new pig is more difficult. And she may fail in it: the ancient skill of sorcery is going, and it will never return.

When the eldest merchant gave up, fell on his back and began to snore, only Thomas and Oleg remained by the magic tablecloth. The witch ate almost nothing, while the knight and the wonderer satiated themselves in a manly way, unhurried and sedate, with a skill to get their fill in advance, like old wolves do.

The witch looked sideways: no strange ears, just merchants sleeping heavily. “So who’s watching you?”

“They were,” Thomas corrected proudly. “Now devils watch them . And put firewood under their pots.”

“Put where?” the witch didn’t get it.

Oleg explained condescendingly, “It’s from their doctrine of afterlife. Never mind.”

“Oh,” the witch drawled. “Some new faith? Well, there were plenty of those… Off chance this one won’t last too. You’ve crushed some foes, but what about others?”

“No others,” Thomas replied angrily, wounded by what the witch had said about Christ’s holiest faith. “We’ve crushed those godless villains.”