found a fiend under her bed.
Reprieving the fiend from ravishment, he said in a startled voice: “What’s that?”
I gazed where he was pointing, then stood up the better to see. The head and shoulders of what appeared to be a man, the rest of him trailing in the water, lay on the north bank just down river from us. “It’s a basking nicor!” Father Gaimar said in an awed voice.
“Let’s get away quick!” the third member of our party whispered.
Ignoring them, I let the boat drift until we were directly parallel with the figure. It didn’t move. “It’s a nicor, all right,” Gaimar said authoritatively. “Make for the other bank!” Notwithstanding the heat, I felt gooseflesh, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. “Nicors hang out in the sea,” I objected. “I never heard of one in a river.”
“It’s come up to catch fish,” he opined. “Row like the devil!”
“It’ll put a spell on us!” the other monk cried.
“Let me take an oar!” Gaimar urged, but I pushed him away. Their panic had had a steadying effect upon me.
“Why don’t you two holy men exorcise it?” I asked, half ironically and half wishing they could.
“I never got the hang of it,” Gaimar said, “but I’m going to learn if we ever get back safely.”
I had been studying the thing carefully. The hair was fair, which is true of nicors, and what of the torso could be seen was naked. Still there was nothing in his appearance to disprove he was human, either. “I think it’s a man,” I announced.
“It’s not!” the odd brother said angrily. “If you don’t want to row, give us the oars.”
I sat down and put the sculls between the thole pins once more. “I can’t and won’t leave without finding out whether that’s a man or not. If it’s a man, why, we can’t just go off without seeing what’s the matter with him.”
They didn’t agree and jumped me, trying to wrest the oars away. I stopped Gaimar by putting my foot in his stomach. His fellow struck me, and my reciprocating shove landed him on his back. I caught up my sword and drew it. “This can put a spell on you as quickly as a nicor,” I warned them. After a moment I laid the weapon on the thwart beside me and so began pulling toward the creature.
Had I not been myself somewhat nervous I would have derived more amusement from the sight of those bawdy monks kneeling and stumbling through the Latin of their prayers.
About ten yards from the thing I stopped. The river was too roiled from recent rains to let me see whether the lower extremities took the form of legs or not. The face was that of a man right enough, but it was so colorless that it might well have been something kept from the sun by deep water.
I almost weakened and consented to leave without pushing the investigation further, when to my excited fancy the face suddenly looked like that of the Saxon youth I had let Chilbert kill. “I’m going to find out exactly what’s what,” I told my wildly babbling companions. “You can come with me or you can jump ashore.”
They preferred the latter course, so I rowed them to the south shore and let them scramble up the bank and away. They had no intention of waiting to see what happened, either, but bee-lined home to the sanctuary of holy ground. Gaimar, it occurred to me as I pushed off, had at last found a spiritual use for the monastery.
Rowing backwards so that I could see better and be in a better position for flight, I approached the figure slowly. Reassured by closer inspection, I grounded the skiff near him and sprang ashore. His body was chill but not death-cold, so I rolled him over to get his face out of the mud. It was then that I saw his trouble, a deep gash in the shoulder. I examined it and whistled.
Unless I was much mistaken that wound had been made by an arrow, since pulled out. Bows aren’t used much for war purposes, although an occasional Dane is dangerous with the weapon. Leaving the man for a minute, I climbed the
Reprieving the fiend from ravishment, he said in a startled voice: “What’s that?”
I gazed where he was pointing, then stood up the better to see. The head and shoulders of what appeared to be a man, the rest of him trailing in the water, lay on the north bank just down river from us. “It’s a basking nicor!” Father Gaimar said in an awed voice.
“Let’s get away quick!” the third member of our party whispered.
Ignoring them, I let the boat drift until we were directly parallel with the figure. It didn’t move. “It’s a nicor, all right,” Gaimar said authoritatively. “Make for the other bank!” Notwithstanding the heat, I felt gooseflesh, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. “Nicors hang out in the sea,” I objected. “I never heard of one in a river.”
“It’s come up to catch fish,” he opined. “Row like the devil!”
“It’ll put a spell on us!” the other monk cried.
“Let me take an oar!” Gaimar urged, but I pushed him away. Their panic had had a steadying effect upon me.
“Why don’t you two holy men exorcise it?” I asked, half ironically and half wishing they could.
“I never got the hang of it,” Gaimar said, “but I’m going to learn if we ever get back safely.”
I had been studying the thing carefully. The hair was fair, which is true of nicors, and what of the torso could be seen was naked. Still there was nothing in his appearance to disprove he was human, either. “I think it’s a man,” I announced.
“It’s not!” the odd brother said angrily. “If you don’t want to row, give us the oars.”
I sat down and put the sculls between the thole pins once more. “I can’t and won’t leave without finding out whether that’s a man or not. If it’s a man, why, we can’t just go off without seeing what’s the matter with him.”
They didn’t agree and jumped me, trying to wrest the oars away. I stopped Gaimar by putting my foot in his stomach. His fellow struck me, and my reciprocating shove landed him on his back. I caught up my sword and drew it. “This can put a spell on you as quickly as a nicor,” I warned them. After a moment I laid the weapon on the thwart beside me and so began pulling toward the creature.
Had I not been myself somewhat nervous I would have derived more amusement from the sight of those bawdy monks kneeling and stumbling through the Latin of their prayers.
About ten yards from the thing I stopped. The river was too roiled from recent rains to let me see whether the lower extremities took the form of legs or not. The face was that of a man right enough, but it was so colorless that it might well have been something kept from the sun by deep water.
I almost weakened and consented to leave without pushing the investigation further, when to my excited fancy the face suddenly looked like that of the Saxon youth I had let Chilbert kill. “I’m going to find out exactly what’s what,” I told my wildly babbling companions. “You can come with me or you can jump ashore.”
They preferred the latter course, so I rowed them to the south shore and let them scramble up the bank and away. They had no intention of waiting to see what happened, either, but bee-lined home to the sanctuary of holy ground. Gaimar, it occurred to me as I pushed off, had at last found a spiritual use for the monastery.
Rowing backwards so that I could see better and be in a better position for flight, I approached the figure slowly. Reassured by closer inspection, I grounded the skiff near him and sprang ashore. His body was chill but not death-cold, so I rolled him over to get his face out of the mud. It was then that I saw his trouble, a deep gash in the shoulder. I examined it and whistled.
Unless I was much mistaken that wound had been made by an arrow, since pulled out. Bows aren’t used much for war purposes, although an occasional Dane is dangerous with the weapon. Leaving the man for a minute, I climbed the
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