The Crimson Chalice by Victor Canning Read Free Book Online

and for this need the pony.”
    â€œWhich you now have got. Aye, I know your country and have sailed beyond it, pass the Blessed Isles, where the natives eat only fish and seabirds and their women have scaly tails and from the rocks sing songs of love to tempt wife-and-sweetheart-hungry crews. So, what think you of the great Corvo now you have spoken face to face with him?”
    Baradoc said, “First, that it is well that you were no Saxon for I would have put the hound at your throat long since. I hate them all.”
    Corvo laughed. “Aye, and so do I for they are land-grabbing coast-crawlers that risk the sea only on summer waters. Now, answer—what think you of black-skinned Corvo?”
    For a moment Baradoc hesitated, then with a frank grin said, “That he is a man with a dark skin and a darker reputation, but that there is a goodness in him which comes not from drinking mead.”
    Corvo shook his head. “Two horns less of mead or two more and I would have chopped you and the horse for dogmeat and forced your great hound to eat it. Now go, lad, before my gentle humour leaves me.” He stepped back off the path and made way for Baradoc to pass.
    Baradoc, knowing there was no certainty that the man would not send a party after him, led the pony quickly up the rough track through the woods to return to Tia. But when he got back to her he knew that he would say nothing of his meeting with Corvo. What she did not know of the dangers around them could not upset her. As he marched, he recalled the many tales that were told in the country about the man. It was said that his mother had been an Aethiop slave of a wealthy British family near Lemanis who had been captured while a young girl by the sea raiders and taken to their country, where she had conceived Corvo by her master. As a youth Corvo had saved the life of his master and father, had been given his freedom and had thrown in his lot with the long-boat men. He called no man chief but, while he still lived, had grown into a legend.
    Well … either from drink or some lingering goodness the man had attempted him no harm.

3. Hunter’s Dream
    That evening they made a start long before darkness came. Baradoc gave Tia as reason for this that it was a bad part of the country and the sooner they crossed it the better. It was on the tip of Tia’s tongue to point out that if this were so, surely it would be better not to move until night came. Something in Baradoc’s manner made her hold back the words. She was no fool. Not for a moment did she believe that he had found the pony wandering loose in the river meadows. He had stolen it. It was a sturdy pony with a mild nature and gentle manners, placidly standing to be loaded with their two bundles slung as saddle packs across its back by the hempen rope.
    â€œWhen it gets dark,” said Baradoc, “you can ride and we shall journey faster.”
    Meaning, Tia knew, faster than if she were stumbling and tripping along at the pony’s heels in the dark. Well, why should she grumble? The pony was strong and would take her weight easily.
    She said, “The pony should have a name now that it has joined the party.”
    Baradoc, standing at the animal’s head, ready to lead it off, smiled and said, “Then, as you’re going to ride it, you name it.”
    â€œWell, she’s red and gold, so it is no hard thing. She shall be Sunset.”
    Baradoc nodded. “It’s a good name. Come on, Sunset!” He gave the halter he had made for the pony a jerk and began to move off.
    Without any sign or sound from Baradoc, Tia marked, Lerg and Cuna moved ahead of them swiftly and disappeared over the rocky bluff top that sheltered their camping place. Aesc dropped back at her heels, and Bran flapped lazily away out onto their left flank and was soon lost to sight.
    They travelled for two hours and in all that time few words passed between them. Baradoc stayed at the head