Аврам Дэвидсон - Peregrine - primus

It was, as it swept by, at least the second act of some odd and splendid pageant, and no doubt it made a great deal of sense to its participants: but its human spectators might have been trampled without moving, save for the movements their mouths made in dumbfoundered astonishment, had not the mules and donkey of the Sapodillan and the wiry mountain ponies of their pro-forma captors had the animal sense to remove themselves— and their riders—from the path of the on-rushing hunt ... if “hunt” it were indeed. For first came the hornblower, and though warm, warm was the hour of day, still had he his face muffled in his cloak; and there was an aurochs; and there were as before three wisants; and three darky men mounted; and for each and every man there was as before a horse; but the combinations were different this time by far.

The man whose loud-sounding horn was thrusting from his muffled mouth, he rode the aurochs. His three fellows sate upon the wisants.

“Essus Christus!” cried one.

"Negro, sedformoso!’’ cried the second.

"Immanuel Dulkarnahyeen!” cried the third.

And the horses thereof galloped freely following.

And all were gone before an arrow could be loosed or a slingstone slung. And the sounds of horns and hooves echoed and the

dust danced and the scattered pebbles rattled and tumbled a moment more. And all lay silent.

“Behold the Ram of God, Who taketh away the sins of the world." These words floated on the air and rang in all their ears, but when they came to discuss it all, none knew or could remember who it was who had said them. But, passing up the windy path a bit, there they saw a banneret a-waving in the mild breeze; and on its white background there was Ammon in black. The staff had been plunged into the barm-turf. They looked at it in silence, then Peregrine tugged it up. He shrugged. “1 have lacked me a staff and a banner,” he observed. Perhaps this will serve me as well another.”

Appledore shook his head at this. “What good thing ever came forth out of Egypt?” he asked. “Best leave it where it was.”

But the young man smiled and waved his new ensign in the wind.

t t t t

“In whose name do you guard these woods?” asked Peregrine.

“You might say that we’re a quadrumvirate,” said the slingster. The fair young woman made a sound which might be written as,

“Hmph!”

“A quadrumvir-et-ux-ate,” said the sallow slingster, correcting himself.

“I don’t believe I heard your names,” Peregrine said, indicating the slingster and the young woman.

“She’s Di and I’m Mel,” said Mel.

“I’m Peregrine and this is Appledore and Claud.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh, the pleasure is mine. Ours, I mean.”

“Good hunting in your native country?” asked Di.

“Sapodilla? Not very, I’m afraid.” He was about to give a brief description of how they sometimes hunted wild chickens with throwing sticks, but decided, suddenly, not to.

“Pity,” said-Di.

“Sapodilla, eh. Last pagan kingdom in Lower Europe,” said Bart.

“Yes,” said Peregrine. “Oh, some missionaries got through, a few years ago, but when the peasants heard them preaching premarital chastity, they quit listening. The peasants said that no one but a fool or a king would marry a virgin, not knowing if she might prove barren. Besides, they said it was bad luck to get blood on your—” He stopped abruptly, blushed slightly.

“Pity,” said Di again; but he was not sure which clause of his conversation she was referring to.

Yes, well,” the reddy man said, “we used to go religious missioning ourselves, but gave that up oh a long time ago; decided that the game wasn’t worth the candle. Played a starring role in that scene once, but no more. Sapodilla, hey. Must have been an older brother of yours chanced to come by this way a few years ago, told us somewhat of the scene back there. Looked a bit like you, though blond.”

“Blond?” Peregrine’s interest was quickened. “That must’ve been Austin. Where did he go, can you tell me?” Austin, nearest in age, had been his close friend, had promised to send word. But if word he had sent, word had not reached Peregrine.

The path, for a change, now turned downwards. Bart considered the question. Tell you? Well. . . we can show you—”

But his black-haired companion shook his head. “That would take us too far out of our way, then. Best tell him. —Lad, can you tie a square knot? You can, eh. What’s to remember in tying one?”

A bit puzzled, Peregrine found his fingers of their own motion beginning to fiddle with the end of the reins he held. And in a moment the answer came to him. “Right over left, left over right,” he said.

“Correct. Well, we leave you here. Steady on as the way goes, and then, lad, remember. And may all good things rightfully to be yours, be yours.”

The four waved, nudged their ponies, and, single file, in a second were gone, gone into thick woods along a trail so narrow that an unkeen eye might never have noted it.

“Odd,” said Appledore, “very odd. Though, else my magery is worthless, we shall see odder yet, for these be odd times. Ah, well. Let us amble onwards, keeping eyes open and ears a

pricked, and in hopes that the rest of the day shall prove somewhat less exciting. I had a wife once, who—”

“You had a wife!” This comment, or, rather, exclamation, came from a figure, until then unperceived, who stood by the side of the way leaning on an oddly-shaped length of wood which nevertheless seemed somewhat if vaguely familiar to Peregrine. The man wore a short tunic very much the worse for wear, and his eyes were bloodshot. “You had a wife! Listen, strangers, haul up your mounts and moor them to yonder tree, and let me tell you how I had a wife once. Moan, natter, sigh, morning till night, ‘O do not fear, gallant Ulyxes, come what may I shall ever be faithful to you. After all —who asked?

“And if I so much as wanted to go for a little trip night-fishing on the wine-dark sea, why who was that there on the seashore moaning and sniffling and wringing her hands and offering victims for my safe return? Right! ‘Listen, Penny, honey,’ I’d say, ‘I’m only going around the cape to catch a couple of squid,’ but did it help! ‘O do not fear, gallant Ulyxes, come what may, I shall be faithful to you.’Well, shit. . .

“Finally, I got my chance and beat it off to the wars and, let me tell you, man, I had a ball —because those gently-reared daughters of kings, try as you may to teach them, they never really do learn what a nice fancy fuck is like. Well, I figure, what the Hell, home is where the hearth is, and after all this time she must have taken at least a couple of lovers and learned a few things, no reason to be bashful with them the way she always was with me, her lawful husband. So I go home . . . and I go incognito . . . and I peer into the lofty hall—and what do I see? Place is what I mean like jammed with studs! I say to myself, ‘Hot dog!’ I figure I’ll go back down to the beach, then have myself announced by a herald, and give the studs a chance to split without any embarrassing scenes, and then, well, naturally, there’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight!

“But what else do I see, besides all the young bucks? I see my own lawful wedded wife is what I see, and she’s up to her old stunt at the loom—I mean, how many times have I said to her, ‘Nelly, we got servants to do the weaving, doll!’—there she is, the bucks and studs all eating up my groceries and guzzling and gobbling and belching and farting in the hall, instead of teaching her nine and sixty tribal lays in the scented bedchamber, and

because why? Because she’s at her frigging loom again, and chanting like a goddman invocation, ‘O never fear, gallant Ulyxes, come what may, I shall ever remain faithful to you!’ So says I to myself, neither time nor space nor infinite opportunity — this icicle, nothing will melt! So I like beat it back to my galley again, and ever since I been sailing back and forth across the dolphin-torn, the dong-tormented sea; and do you know what, kids? I don’t care if I never get back to Ithaca; that’s about my wife, Dad, and now let’s hear about yours.”