"I found a big old dead oak!" Samuel came into view, brushing bits of
dirt and bark from his paws."I'm 'ungry as th' devil. Toss me that
other turnover, Salome, if you ain't wolfed it down already."
Wordlessly Marianne gestured toward Muryet, who had "wolfed down" half
of the turnover; the rest was lying, neglected, on a checkered
handkerchief. Samuel bent over the squirrelmaid and took her chin into
his paw, peering into her face."Wot's ailin' you now, Miz Muryet?"
Muryet drew away."I don't feel well." Her voice sounded flat. "I'm going
to lie down. Leave me in peace, will you . .."
Salome bit her lip, and chanced a glance at Marianne, who pretended to see nothing; but she did not say a word. When the silence prolonged itself, Salome knew that Marianne, regardless of her anger, would not disclose anything to Samuel.
The young maids rose and followed Samuel,
leaving Muryet lying in that clearing, the folded picnic quilt
draped over her.
Samuel led them over to a great fallen oak. The recent rainstorms had
battered away at its coat of bark; but the wood seemed to be intact.
Salome stepped forward for a closer look. "Look, there's lots of branches
that've been snapped apart - chopped apart, more like. Th' Abbeybeasts
must've found this tree before, an' gotten fuel from it."
Marianne took a look and dismissed the idea."Th' Abbeybeasts use axes,
like th' one Master Samuel 'as - those look like they've been sliced
off with a knife o' some sort!"
Samuel shouldered his axe. "Mighty clever creature that would 'ave t'be
- must've snapped a dozen knives that out o' th' way, you two."
Forgetting about Muryet for a moment, Salome gave him her most ingratiating
smile."Yore bound t'lose that dagger if you carry it about while you're
choppin'.Come on, Big Brother, let me hold it."
Samuel made a face. He surrendered the dagger to her."Here, you can 'old
it for a bit, but call me Big Brother once more an' I'll run you
through with th' thing!"
Salome ran her paw along the edge of the blade, which had become, in
her fancies, the sword of Martin. True, the poor Mother Abbess was most
likely becoming senile at an early age; but there could be no harm in
imagining that she had been speaking the truth about a Warrior and a
star-sword. The Badger King was approaching now -Bear the Fighter, he
was called, if she remembered correctly. Well, he certainly did look as
huge and fierce as a bear - but there was nothing ungainly about his
swordplay. How big he was, yet how agile and dangerously graceful! She
couldn't name any of his moves - perhaps because of the fact that those
moves were all sorts of fancy thrusts and flourishes, Salome's own idea
of swordplay. And as she lifted her "sword", Salome was surprised to
find that, although she was an amateur, she followed every move without
effort.
At last, Bear the Fighter rose, and awarded her with one of his rare
smiles.(Salome was certain that stern, silent Badger Kings were seldom
seen smiling.) "You have done well, little maid," he rumbled, using the
same polished, ridiculously proper prose that the Abbess and Sister
Jane spoke with. "Take this blade to Mossflower, and place it in the
paws of Martin the Warrior, who will defend the good creatures from the
evils of Kotirsshadow." (Whatever that was, but it had been in
Marianne's song.)
Bear the Fighter's eyes were very sad."I have grown old, little maid.
Soon there will be nobeast left to rule my mountain, for my only heir,
Sunface (that was the name, wasn't?) - er . ..well, something has
happejed to what exactly, but whatever it was, he's gone
now.I leave you to bring Martin here, so that he may guard
Salamandastron. Soon I will be crossing through the gates of Dark Forest."
Of a sudden, the plaintive, on-my-deathbed look vanished from Bear's
eyes, replaced by a scowl."Wot in all Mossflower are you bawlin 'for,
Salome?" Salome blinked in startlement, and realized that her eyelids were
had set the axe aside, and was staring at her.
Salome sniffled, and managed a smile. If only Samuel could have seen poor
Bear the Fighter, preparing to draw his last breath."Just thinkin'
about Pappa. He was a nice old sort - better'n most, at least. It was 'im
wot gave you th' blade - er, wasn't it?"
Samuel, evidently relieved that Salome had managed to pull herself
together, continued with his chopping."Aye, when you were naught but a
kit."
Samuel worked for a time, and then went to check up on Muryet. He
carried the axe with him - Salome knew that he would not set it down
for fear that he would ache twice as badly when he resumed his chopping.
Samuel was away for so long that Salome began to think that he had
decided to rest after all.
Marianne refused to speak to Salome, and Salome to her, and an awkward, uneasy silence prevailed. At last, Marianne drifted off to sleep, reclining against
a tree stump. Salome decided that she might as well practice her
Martin-the-Warrior swordplay with Samuel's dagger, seeing as he wasn't
around to forbid her.
First, she gave it a thorough polishing - spitting on the blade, then
rubbing it with a leaf till it shone as bright as a done
this, she rose and gave the dagger a .few "elegant" twirls, before
throwing it. Instead of hissing through the air like a javelin, as she
hoped it would, it hurtled across the clearing, spinning wildly, and
lost itself amidst the foliage. Hurrying over to the spot, Salome went
down on all fours, and began to paw through the grass and heaps of
fallen blade was nowhere in sight.
"Oh, Hellgates!"
Salome returned to the clearing and sat down, trying to convince
herself that, if Samuel did not strangle her to death first, he would
search for the dagger himself. Aye - perhaps the dagger was in plain
sight;Samuel's eyes were much better than hers. It was not pleasant to
think of what he would have to say to her - about being a silly,
careless little oaf - but, so long as the dagger was found, it would
not be much worse.
With these thoughts, Salome managed to fall asleep.
OOOOoooooooOOOOoo
"Salome . ..Marianne.. .Salome! Wake up! Get up, for God's sake!"
The two young maids opened their eyes, and saw Samuel standing there,
clutching the limp, motionless bundle that was Muryet; those gaunt limbs
dangled uselessly, almost skimming the ground. Blood had drenched her
habit, and, upon the front of Samuel's tunic, reddish-black stains were
spreading themselves. Samuel cast a desperate look in the direction of
the wagon, but was forced to discard that idea.
"Don't stand there like oafs, you two," he gritted."Get walkin'- fast -
back t' th' Abbey th' same way we came, an' try not t' make a sound!"