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In abysmal self-revelation, he felt that he would not move a muscle to escape the doom of the others, if
such a thing were possible.
I thank the God you have revolted, Baron, that D Aulon left you at Orleans. This would have broken his
heart. I wish I had gone with him. I .am leaving at once. Do not try to stop me!
It is your privilege, L Aiglon. For our old friendship, you shall not be hindered.
Gwalchmai stopped and looked him steadily in the eye.
Baron, I spit on our old friendship! And suiting the action to the word, he entered his own room and
slammed the door.
He lit a candle and looked at himself in the mirror. He felt he must be changed beyond human
recognition. How could a man procure innocent souls for torture, death, and destruction, even though it
was unwittingly, without such debasement showing in his face? He looked no different to himself. Was it
possible that he looked no differently to others?
He thought: the most terrible thing of all is this. A monster need not be horrible in appearance. It can look
just like you!
He made a small pack of his spare clothing and belted on the sword of Roland and of Jeanne. -
He went out All was quiet It was not yet morning. He passed by De Rais* chamber and paused to listen
at the door. Behind it he heard the deep breathing of a peaceful sleeper, untroubled by conscience.
He took out the blade and stood there a moment with his hand upon the latch. Then he sighed and slid it
back into its scabbard.
You touched it. You carried it in honor. You held it with pride. I will not dirty it now.
Softly he passed down the corridor and let himself out at the postern gate.
The country he traversed was level for many miles and by daylight he could see far, but he never looked
back once at the accursed castle of Tiffauges.
26 The Traveler
Men are such romantics
Women know their daughters well.
The things they do, the thoughts they think.
The dreams they never tell.
They say a father loves a daughter most.
A mother loves a son.
We thought of that, at the King s court
Where we saw justice done.
Soldier Kingmaker never a wife
What did she really have from life?
Songs of Huon
From tune immemorial, a trail had been worn through the thick forests of Europe by the feet of those who
carried the amber south to the Mediterranean and the others who brought the bronze weapons and tools
north to the Baltic.
Towns sprang up where such trade routes intersected, only to disappear when the need for them
vanished. Houses sank into ruin and were overgrown again by the patient trees.
Bridges fell into the rivers and were not rebuilt. Again men used fords, for they had forgotten how to
make such prideful things as the ancients used.
The seas had become tamed and goods moved in ships instead of by packhorse or the backs of men,
and the trail grew narrow and winding. It never quite vanished, for there were those who preferred to
dwell in solitude and there were always travelers who used it, who for reasons of their own preferred to
avoid the well-trodden ways.
One of these pushed north on a gray December day. It was nearly night and snow was falling. He was
surrounded by forest and he was hungry, tired, and cold. Somewhere ahead, wolves were calling, but he
moved on the Amber Road as though he was contemptuous of them or had little care for his life.
There was nothing to mark the snow-covered trail, but his feet found it surely, although they sometimes
stumbled. He supported himself with his long staff and pressed on. As he did so, he limped.
A little after dark, when the wolves seemed very near, he came suddenly upon a woodcutter s hut, set in
a little clearing. He stopped and looked at the streaks of light showing through the shutters. He stood
there for a long moment, making up his mind to go on. A wolf howled. He sighed wearily, went up to the
door, and knocked.
A man called, Who is there? He did not answer, but stood patiently waiting. After a moment, he
knocked again.
The door was opened a crack and the woodsman peered out, ax in hand. He saw the traveler a tall
man, but bowed, clad in a long gray cloak and wearing a broad-brimmed gray hat, pulled down low
upon his forehead.
What do you want? The traveler said nothing, but stood there quietly.
The woman of the house stood behind her husband, a brood of toddlers clinging to her skirts and
another, whom she had been nursing, held in her arms.
He raised his head and looked at her. At the sight of the patch over his right eye, she gave a little gasp
and nudged her husband in the back. He frowned and she whispered urgently in his ear. He opened the
door a little wider, though somewhat ungraciously, and said, Pray enter and honor my humble house.
The traveler inclined his head without speaking and came in with the blowing snow.
There was an inglenook by the big fireplace, and the woman cleared the scurry of children out of it, took
the man s staff, and outer garments. He sat down and held out his hands to the warmth. He was very
weary and his hands trembled.
Now they could see that he was dressed all in gray, his tunic and breeches, his heavy shoes and
cross-gartered leggings.
She knelt before him and unlaced them and brought a sheepskin to wrap around his bare feet. He leaned
his head against the warm stones and submitted patiently. His long white hair fell to his shoulders and,
being wet, began to steam.
A little cloud of vapor hung about his head and the light striking through it appeared to the others in the
room like a glowing aureole. They looked at him in awe.
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