Erasmus leaned down against the neck of the horse, ducking beneath a beam that crossed the alley between the buildings. People weren’t supposed to ride through the boardwalk alleys of the city, but he was fleeing the authorities already, so it didn’t really matter. Pedestrians shouted or screamed in surprise as he cantered past. He tried to keep his speed low enough that he wasn’t worried about trampling anyone, while still staying ahead of his pursuers. He glanced back.
One of the count’s men had commandeered a horse and was getting a little close. That simply won’t do. Erasmus turned his gaze forward again, then drew the backsword on his hip. With a flick of his wrist, a second story clothesline was cut loose from the wall.
Those are going to end up filthy, he thought, watching the line fall behind him. The memory came to him unbidden, like they usually did; he'd been carrying the laundry in from the line and tripped over the dog. The basket of clean, dry clothes had tumbled through the air and landed upside down in a lingering mud puddle. Elsie had been furious! She'd given him and the dog a dressing-down for the ages about their carelessness, then made him rewash the clothes. The dog got washed too, both as punishment and because it needed a bath. What was that dog's name? Dreadful! Elsie had named him that because he was always tracking in dirt. It was most of a century ago, now. A low-hanging beam nearly knocked his hat off, and Erasmus cut the reminiscence short. It just wasn't the time.
He cut another line as he passed. "I'm sorry!" he called, half an apology to whoever's clothes they were, half a prayer to the wife he'd buried nearly forty years ago.
The man behind him avoided getting tangled in the first line, but a tunic on the second caught him in the face, and he fought with it for a moment before he was able to see again. Erasmus took advantage of his momentary distraction and jerked his horse’s reins sideways, taking a sharp corner and disappearing from view. His pursuer lost time extracting himself from the laundry and determining which turn Erasmus had taken, so the adventurer kicked his horse with his heels, trying to widen his lead. I just need to hold out long enough for Dellromoz to get clear!
“My apologies!” he called, as his horse leaped a wheelbarrow filled with charcoal, while the man pushing it leaped back against the wall. This is getting too dangerous, he thought, I need to get out onto a wider street. He came to a “t” shaped intersection and turned in the direction he could see sunlight coming from. “Ya!” he cried, and the horse’s hooves thundered on the planks of the boardwalk as he sped toward the avenue.
Anselmo threw the damp tunic on the ground and gathered up the reins of his borrowed horse again, sweeping his gaze back and forth to locate the Popinjay. The thieving devil had galloped around a corner while he was distracted. He pulled the reins, and his mount trotted over to the intersection. To the left, a man with a wheelbarrow was staring down the alley away from him and shaking his fist in anger. “Make way!” Anselmo shouted, as he kicked the horse into motion and gave chase. He wouldn’t be shaken off that easily.
The unfortunate man with the wheelbarrow cursed at him as he went past, but Anselmo paid him no mind. Let him take up his complaint with Count Trevallion and see what that got him. He’d be lucky not to spend the afternoon in the stocks.
The Popinjay’s game had gone on too long, and one way or another, it would end today. The count wanted it finished, and Anselmo intended to be the one to finish it. He’d felt a measure of sympathy for the flamboyant vagrant before, but that was before the cur had made a fool of him and stolen that horse out from under his nose. If the thief was smart, he’d surrender to the watch before Anselmo caught up with him. As his father liked to say, “If a man injures your pride, the best cure for it is to injure his face.” He was a good man, when he wasn’t in prison.
Horse and rider burst forth from the dim alleyway into the brilliant sunlight shining down on the main thoroughfare. Anselmo spotted the Popinjay’s distinctive patchwork coat on a horse galloping up the street, followed by a few bullhides on foot. He and his mount dashed after them, determined to close the distance and be the fugitive’s undoing.
A gentle breeze buffeted Davina’s face as she looked out over the flattened post-tops of the palisade. The broad-brimmed hat the watch had issued her shaded her eyes from the spring sun as she leaned against her billhook, casually observing the comings and goings of the river barges below. The River Albi's channel ran close to the cliff face underneath the palisade, but the bank had been stabilized with stone blocks, and horses marched down the towpath across the the narrow stone strip, their burdens floating behind them.
She turned her gaze across the valley, where the ridge was covered in the bright green of spring growth on the larch trees. Her mother had been a forester, and she remembered walking that ridge with her, stopping every so often to measure the size of a craggy trunk, or to pluck an edible berry from a bush. A wistful smile crept across her face.
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Shouts from below interrupted her pleasant memories, and she turned to locate the issue with a frown. Her eyes widened as she spotted on the Popinjay, cantering up the street on a horse. He was being pursued by a crowd of riders, and they whistled and shouted as they came, trying to get the attention of the people in front of their quarry and enlist their aid. A few did notice them, and pushed a cart into the street ahead of the fleeing rider.
Davina watched as the Popinjay hauled back on the reins, his mount sliding to a stop before the cart. They whirled around, and with barely a pause, he urged his courser up a flight of stairs, onto the wallwalk! The horse seemed to be a reluctant participant in this maneuver, but the Popinjay managed to goad it into a canter again, moving down the fortified wall towards Davina.
“Halt! Dismount and submit yourself to His Majesty’s justice!” she shouted, sounding braver than she really felt. The Popinjay gave no indication he’d heard, and continued to bear down on her. She fixed a determined scowl on her face, then braced the end of her billhook against the planks of the wallwalk, holding the end down with her foot as she lowered the point toward the oncoming rider. He could stop, or he could ride off the side of the wallwalk, but he’d regret it if he tried to run her down!
She closed her eyes and braced herself for the hit as the horse’s hooves pounded on the walkway. She gritted her teeth, but she didn’t move. There was a clamor of horseshoes on wooden planks, the boards shook underneath her, and as she heard the horse scream, she screamed herself.
Nothing happened. She heard voices shouting, and could smell the horse, which let out a grunt. She opened her eyes.
The horse was standing in front of her, where it had slid to a sudden stop. Its saddle was empty. People were still shouting, so she turned around in confusion.
The Popinjay was running along the top of the posts, with one hand holding a basket-hilted sword in its scabbard on his hip. A rapier was tucked into a scabbard slung across his back, and it jostled as he hopped down from the top of the wall, having put some distance between Davina and himself. She hissed a string of obscenities, took her billhook in both hands, and charged after him.
His luck seemed to finally run out as a dozen men stormed up the stairs in front of him, but the old swordsman appeared unconcerned. He pulled the rapier off his back and held it in his right hand, then drew the backsword from its place on his hip with his left.
“Give up you old fool,” demanded a man wearing a tabard featuring the count’s heraldry, “we have you surrounded!”
The Popinjay chuckled. “It’s between the hammer and the anvil that slag is separated from steel,” he said. With that, he flew at them in a maelstrom of whirling blades.
Davina arrived only a few breaths later, as twelve men tried to attack the swordsman on a walkway only wide enough to accommodate two. The two men in front were unaccustomed to fighting together, and their swords fouled one another as they attempted to find an opening. The Popinjay took advantage of their clumsiness, his rapier coming down and smacking one in the head with the flat of the blade. The man dropped his sword and fell forward, disoriented from the blow and the hat that had been pushed down over his eyes. His compatriot pulled his sword back, but cut the fallen man’s arm deeply in doing so. The injured man howled and crawled backwards, clutching his bleeding arm, as men rushing forward to take his place tripped over him. Three fell off the wallwalk onto the ground below.
Davina shook her head at the would-be heroes and assumed the stance the watch commander had drilled into his subordinates. Knees bent, feet shoulder length apart, she thrust at the swordsman’s leg with her billhook. He dodged without appearing to look at her, then used his rapier to parry an overhand cut from the man who’d cut his fellow. The Popinjay stepped into the attack, and holding his opponent’s sword away with the rapier in his right hand, delivered a vicious kick with his left foot to the side of the man’s knee. He cried out and fell, but the men with him paid him no mind. They stepped over him and continued their assault.
Davina took another tack, and swung her weapon in a sweeping arc toward the Popinjay’s waist as he parried and deflected blows from the mob on his other side. He surprised her again, however, and leaped up onto the top of the wall to avoid her attack.
Now, he performed what almost looked like a dance, as he began to hop over or stomp on his opponents blades when he didn’t need to parry. Davina attempted a few more thrusts, but he was edging away from her, letting the growing crowd of excited amateurs block her way.
Suddenly, he froze. A crossbow bolt had appeared in his chest. His opponents murmured and fell quiet, their weapons stilled.
A man on the ground below was holding a crossbow, his eyes wide. “I got him,” he said, sounding more surprised than anything. Then he grinned. “I got him! You all saw, I got him! Whatever the count is paying for a bounty, it’s mine! I got him!”
The Popinjay swayed slightly as he lowered his weapons. He said nothing. Then his balance failed him, he staggered, and pitched backward over the edge. People began shouting again, there was a splash, and Davina looked over the edge of the palisade down at the river.
Waves spread out from where the swordsman had landed in the channel, and agitated people on the barges, the towpath, and inside the wall clamored for information about what was going on. Davina stood still, waiting to see if the Popinjay was still moving when he came back up. A minute passed, then two. Five minutes passed. The Popinjay didn’t come back up.
She waited for the watchhouse to send someone to relieve her so she could deliver her report. In the meantime, a couple dozen volunteers had organized themselves into search parties and began to float the Albi in small boats, looking for the sunken body with poles and boat hooks. Curious residents of the town came by to see for themselves what was going on. Some of them seemed happy about the news, others wept openly. A few clerics made their way down to the side of the canal, and a minstrel began questioning people about what they had seen, studiously writing down their accounts. A gnome in a straw hat sat in a passing barge, the fishing pole next to him forgotten as he stared at the murky water.