Cwyd nodded. "Admittedly, when Threlka is beaten for her faults, there is often a peculiar aftermath! Nonetheless, the basic concept is sound. Your mistress has the look of costive asthenia, as if she were an arsenic-eater."
"I think not," said Aillas.
"In that case, a thrashing or two might well release the bile into her blood, and soon she would be skipping and singing and larking about with the rest of us. Threlka, what is your opinion?" Aside, he told Aillas: "Threlka is a witch of the seventh degree, and is wise beyond most others."
"In the first place, the girl has a broken leg," said Threlka. "Tonight I will mend the break, and then she will know less dole. But singing and larking? I think not. She is fey."
"Sound opinions," said-Cwyd. "Now then, Aillas, let us deal with your horses, while the storm still gathers strength. Tonight it will be a mighty display, and conceivably a single silver coin is poor recompense for the misery I am sparing you."
"This sort of afterthought often spoils a promising friendship," said Aillas.
"No matter how reasonable its basis?" asked Cwyd anxiously.
"Trust, once established, must never become the plaything of avarice! This was my father's wise dictum."
"The proposition seems generally sound," admitted Cwyd. "Still, it must be remembered that ‘friendship' is temporal, while ‘reason' transcends both human caprice and time itself."
"And ‘avarice'?"
Cwyd pondered. "I would define ‘avarice' as a consequence of the human estate: a condition arising from turbulence and inequality. In none of the paradises, where conditions are no doubt optimum, does ‘avarice' exert force. Here, we are men struggling toward perfection and ‘avarice' is a station along the way."
"That is an interesting point," said Aillas. "Am I correct in my belief that I have felt the first drops of rain?"
The horses were stabled and fed generous wisps of hay. Aillas and Cwyd returned to the main room of the cottage.
For supper Threlka set out a savory soup of onions, greens, barley and mutton, with milk, bread and butter, while Aillas contributed what remained of the potted goose, as well as a goodly portion of cheese. Meanwhile the wind howled and roared and rain battered in a steady hard tattoo on the turf roof. A dozen times Aillas gave thanks to the providence which had afforded them shelter.
The same ideas had occurred to Cwyd. He said: "Hear how the storm yells, like a giant in pain!" And again, with russet eyes fixed knowingly upon Aillas: "Pity the poor traveller who must brave such ferocities! And all the while we sit snug before our fire!" And again: "In conditions like this the word ‘avarice' loiters sickly by the wayside while the concept ‘gratitude' marches forward in triumph, like Palaemon's conquering army!"
Aillas responded: "When storms rage, then is when folk become aware of their common humanity, and like you and Threika, they willingly extend hospitality to those unfortunate enough to be at disadvantage, just as you, in your hour of inconvenience, will hope for the same! In these cases, the thought of payment is cause for embarrassment, and the host cries out: ‘What do you take me for? A jackal?' It is heartwarming to meet such folk out here on the high moors!"
"Exactly so!" cried Cwyd. "Out here on the high moors where conditions are hard, ‘sharing' is the watchword, and each gives of what he has without stint! I open my larder wide and light my best and most cheerful blaze; you are of the same disposition with your superfluity of silver coins; thus we honour each other!"
"Precisely to the point!" declared Aillas. "I will reckon up my little store of coins and whatever I find to be superfluous you shall have! We are in accord; let us say no more on the subject."
When supper was done, Threika sat Tatzel in a chair with her leg propped upon a stool. She cut away the dark green breeches, which were now soiled and stained. "This is not a good color for healing. We will find you ordinary clothes, by which you will profit. You may remove your tunic as well... . Come, girl," she said as Tatzel hesitated. "Cwyd cares nothing for your breasts; he has seen them by the hundreds on cows and sheep, and they are all the same. Sometimes I think that modesty is merely a ploy so that we can pretend a difference to the animals. Alas! We are very much alike. But here! If you are uncomfortable, wear this blouse."
Threika cut away the splint and threw it into the fire. "Burn, wood, burn! Pain, in smoke fly up the chimney; disturb Tatzel no longer!" From a black jar she poured a syrup upon Tatzel's leg, then sprinkled on crushed dry leaves. She wound the shin with a loose bandage and tied it with a coarse red string. "And so it goes! In the morning you shall know no more weakness."
"Thank you," said Tatzel with a wan smile. "The splint was most tiresome. How may I pay you for your healing?"
"I want nothing but the pleasure of your smile," said Threika. "Oh, if you wish, give me three hairs of your head for remembrance; that shall suffice."
"It is not enough," said Aillas. "Here is a silver penny, worth a whole head of hair, and also useless in magic, should it fall into improper hands."
"Yes, that is wisdom," Cwyd agreed. "And now it is time to sleep."
All night long the storm wailed and roared across the moors, and only began to slacken with the coming of day. The sun rose in a cataclysmic welter of black, white, red, pink and gray; then seemed to assert itself and from a peculiarly black sky sent long low shafts of rosecoloured light across the moors.
Cwyd blew up the fire and Threika prepared porridge, which the group consumed with milk, berries and rashers of fried bacon provided by Aillas.
Threika removed the bandage from Tatzel's leg, and threw the bandage into the fire with an incantation. "Rise now, Tatzel, and walk! Once more you are whole!"
Cautiously Tatzel tested the leg and discovered neither pain nor stiffness, much to her pleasure.
Aillas and Cwyd went to saddle the horses, and Aillas asked: "If I were to question you about the lands I intend to travel, would you be happy if in gratitude I made you a present of several copper pennies?"
Cwyd mused. "Our conversations have raised a number of interesting points. I could describe every turn of a long road, reciting each of the perils to be found along the way and its remedy, thus saving your life a dozen times, and you would gratefully reward me with a bag of gold. However, if I casually mentioned that the man you wished to see at the end of this road were dead, you might thank me but give me nothing, though all went to the same effect. Is there not an inherent disequilibrium at work here?"
"Yes indeed," said Aillas. "The paradox resides once again in the distortions worked upon the fabric of our life by greed. I suggest that we free ourselves of this ignoble vice, and seek to help each other with full and wholehearted zeal."
Cwyd grumbled: "In short, you refuse to pay me what my information is worth?"
"If you saved my life even once, how should I pay you? The concept is meaningless. For this reason such services are generally held to be free."
"Still, if I saved your life a dozen times, as well as your father and mother and the virtue of your sister, and you gave me a single copper groat, at least I could put my belly up to the board and drink a mug of beer to your health."
"Very well," said Aillas. "Tell me all you know. It may be worth a copper groat."
Cwyd threw his hands in the air. "At least in dealing with you I exercise my tongue... . Where do you fare?"
"North to Dun Cruighre in Godelia."
"You have come the proper route. A day's ride to the north the moors end at a great declivity: the Cam Brakes. This is a series of ledges or terraces arranged like steps, which, according to myth, the giant Cam laid out to ease his way from Lake Quyvem up to the moors. On the first, or topmost, brake, you will find many ancient tombs; give them all due respect. This place was sacred to the ancient Rhe-daspians, who inhabited the land three thousand years ago. Ghosts are common, and it is said that sometimes old friendships are renewed and old antagonisms find vent. If you by chance see such ghosts, make no sound and give no interference, and above all, never agree to act as arbiter at one of their ghostly tribunals. Act as if you see nothing nor hear nothing and they will ignore you. There is my first information."