The Dragon and the Gnarly King Page 6

  "Still…" began Jim.

  Brian stared at and through him for a long moment. Then he relaxed and smiled.

  "No, no," he said. "It could not be possible." He smiled reassuringly. "In any case, I have already agreed with them. No, I see what this is—and a very clever scheme it is, too. This business of a King's Officer looking for me is merely a plan of my employers, to get the word out about the country, that there are those already moved to rebel against being over-taxed. That is all it is. That is all it can be." He sat back in his chair, completely relaxed, and took a deep drink. Jim looked at his friend with a calm face, but with despair in his heart. At a loss for words, he got up and walked to the arrow-slit nearest him to look out and gain a moment of silence in which to sort out his thoughts.

  For all Brian's dismissal of the idea, Jim thought, he was running the risk of being charged with treason. There was no treason in his heart, of course, but that would not matter if someone convinced the King otherwise.

  Like a bolt from the blue, it suddenly came to Jim that if Brian were to be suspected of treason, so would be his close associates—Jim and Angie, for instance. That was the way minds worked at the Royal Court. And if that happened, arrest would come like lightning out of—well, that same clear sky.

  Could that have something to do with why this knight had gone to Castle Smythe, and then come here? Jim looked more closely down into the courtyard.

  "What do you know?" he said. "The man's leaving, and his men-at-arms with him."

  "You say so?" He heard Brian's heels hit the floor behind him as the other jumped to his feet and took a few swift steps to the other arrow-slit. "By God, you're right!"

  Gazing down on the courtyard, they could see the last of the Royal men-at-arms riding out through the open gate, over the drawbridge.

  "Well, that's that!" went on Brian, turning from the arrow-slit and going back to the bed. Jim heard him pouring either wine or water—probably wine—into his cup. Jim turned back himself.

  "It's a lot quicker than I expected," said Jim. "I wonder—"

  He never got around to expressing that wonder out loud, however, because just at that moment the door opened and Geronde came in, closely followed by Angie. Jim rose from his chair, vacating it for whichever woman would take it over. Angie held back, and Geronde—as guest—hesitated only a moment before sitting down in it.

  "How did you get rid of the man so quickly?" Brian asked.

  "He had already asked if Jim were here," Angie answered, looking at Jim. "John Steward had already told him that you'd last been seen leaving the Castle in your dragon body. The knight asked me if you were engaged in one of your famous adventures with Brian, going on to say that he had just come from Castle Smythe, and Brian had been gone, too; so it had occurred to him that maybe the two of you were off together."

  "What did you say?" asked Jim.

  "I said I didn't know, of course," said Angie. "I told him you never told me about those sorts of things until they were all over—"

  "And I," interposed Geronde, "said that Brian was just the same way. He never told me anything about his great adventures or feats of arms until they were all over. Then I went on to tell him that I was to marry Brian shortly, and he wished me a long and happy marriage."

  "So," said Jim, "he seemed convinced by that?"

  "As far as I could tell, yes," said Angie. She turned to her friend. "What do you think, Geronde?"

  "Oh, he believed every word of it!" said Geronde. "After all, the husbands are damned few that tell their wives why they're going to be gone—any more than fathers tell their daughters."

  "In any case, he gave up with that," said Angie. "He said that he had come by only to give you an order from Sir John Chandos in the King's name—"

  She produced a piece of parchment that had been sealed with a large black seal, now broken. She passed it to Jim, who unfolded it and looked inside.

  He could read twentieth-century printed Latin and, to a fair extent, speak Church Latin. But the stylistic flourishes of the fourteenth century—particularly the club ascenders, those tall verticals on such letters as "k" and "i" and "h"—stuck up before his eyes like the spears of a miniature army, and to him the whole page looked like a scribble of lines painstakingly drawn by somebody of kindergarten age. He passed it back to Angie.

  "Can you read it?" he said.

  "I already have," said Angie. "It's from Sir John Chandos. He asks you to hold yourself in readiness. By order of the King. You're to join a force he's taking into the North Country, to face some enemies of England. It doesn't say just who the enemies are; but Sir John'll be here, according to this letter, in the next day or two."

  Chapter Five

  A day or two…" echoed Jim dazedly This was short notice indeed, particularly from a medieval point of view. On the other hand, superiors did not generally feel a need to consider that inferiors might need advance warning; and he was definitely the King's inferior—certainly in the sense of this letter—and, for the moment at least, Sir John Chandos' as well.

  He turned to Brian.

  "The North of England wouldn't be one of those places—" he broke off. "It wouldn't have anything to do with what you were talking to me about?"

  "No," answered Brian, "nothing has been said to me so far about the North of England."

  There was a noticeable silence in the room for several seconds.

  "Well," said Geronde, briskly, "we now know why the King's men came riding—it was to deliver this message to you, James." She stood up. "Now, Brian, you and I had best be starting back if we want to reach Malvern while there is light in the sky."

  "You aren't even staying overnight?" said Angie.

  "Oh, no," said Geronde. "It was never our intent. Brian is guesting at Malvern for a few weeks, just to reacquaint himself with matters there. He and I went for a ride because it is such a bright day. Once out, the day proved so fine that we simply thought we'd keep riding until we got to Malencontri and look in briefly for a chat. But we must both be back by suppertime. You still have wine, do you, Brian?"

  For a spur-of-the-moment visit, their coming had been singularly well prepared—with a pigeon-message sent beforehand. But no one mentioned this, though there were some unfortunate seconds of awkward silence before Brian answered.

  "As a matter of fact, I do," he said, looking interestedly down into his cup.

  "Well, Angela and I can give the order for the horses to be saddled and brought around; and you finish your wine and whatever words you still have with James. Then come down yourself. Angela and I will be either in the Great Hall or out in the courtyard. Come, Angela."

  She and Angie swept out the door, their skirts rustling on the rushes as they went. Brian looked into his wine cup regretfully, and then drank off what was left of it at a gulp. He put the cup down on the table.

  "You don't have to leave quite that quickly, do you, Brian?" asked Jim, pointedly seating himself in the chair Geronde had vacated.

  "I must. I must," said Brian. "Geronde is quite right. If we want to be well back at Malvern by the time the supper table is set, we should leave now. Sit as you are, James. There is no need to see me out."

  He turned toward the door.

  "But what I was hoping for," said Jim, "was that you and I could talk about what we might do, if by chance we found ourselves on opposite sides in some situation."

  "We would avoid each other, of course," said Brian. "Even if such a strange hap should come about, you and I can always find others wherewith to fight, besides our friends."

  "I'd hope so," said Jim, but his heart sank. Brian was clearly determined to see no view of the situation but the prospect of earning the eighty pounds he needed.

  "Besides," Brian went on, "I own I had come here with some hopes you might wish to join me, James. Would it not have been great pleasure for the two of us to fight together in such a sport of arms? But I understand how your orders from the King leave you no choice."

  In
spite of himself, Brian's face had saddened as he spoke.

  "To be truthful," said Jim, "I'm not as interested in being mixed up in this as you are, Brian—for good reason, of course, on your part. But, even with this letter, I can't help but feel I've let you down."

  Brian shook his head. He turned so as to pass around behind Jim's chair on his way out. Jim heard him move behind him. Unexpectedly, Brian's hand clapped down on Jim's shoulder and squeezed it with painful force. He spoke again, in a voice suddenly rough with feeling.

  "Never think it, lad!" he said, deep in his throat. "Never think that!" He released Jim's shoulder and went past him, out the door, closing it behind him.

  It was early bedtime before Jim got a chance to talk to Angie alone, privately, and at length. But he could hardly have picked a worse time.

  "What a day!" Angie was saying, as she fell into the large, soft bed in the Solar. "A nice quiet summer with you here at home for a change—and bang! In one day, an attack, the King's men looking for you, Geronde's father wants eighty pounds, and Brian's off to a small, but probably illegal, war to earn the money—with a King's man possibly already out to arrest him. Oh Lord, what next?"

  "Well," said Jim, sitting up in the bed, "now that you mention it—"

  "No, no, no!" said Angie, burying her head under a pillow. "Not now. Tomorrow, Jim!"

  "No," said Jim, "now. Tomorrow, Chandos may come. Tomorrow anything could happen. You might as well listen."

  He told her about his suspicions concerning the servants.

  "Nonsense!" she said. She had taken the pillow off her head when he started talking. Now she sat up in bed. "It's just your imagination."

  "I tell you," said Jim, stubbornly, "they're the first to see through me, here, and they don't like what they see. They don't like me—I'm almost certain of it. This concern of theirs is cover-up."

  "If you think so, ask them."

  "They'd lie to me—out of fear. Or politeness."

  "Ask May Heather. If she doesn't like you, she'll tell you so, and anything else you ask."

  "A thirteen-year-old girl? And new to inside the Castle? I couldn't do that."

  "Well," said Angie, "it's the best suggestion I can make, right now, tonight. Let's both sleep on it."

  Meanwhile, some miles away as his people trotted, pausing to investigate this and go a little out of his way to look at that, Aargh, the English wolf—another friend of Jim and Angie—paused to sniff at a faint whiff of a strange scent that had come to him on the evening air, before going on about a wolf's business.

  True to the promise in his letter, it was no later than the next afternoon that Sir John Chandos, with twenty lances, rode in. So numerous was his retinue, that Sir John did not object—and Angie was not slow to suggest—that perhaps they should bivouac outside the walls. No one in his right mind let a large armed force into his or her castle, unless they had to.

  Chandos understood, and accepted this with good grace, as did his men. The three younger knights with him were welcomed inside, even to being seated at the High Table with Sir John and their hosts. But experienced common soldiers like Sir John's men-at-arms expected to sleep out more often than in, and carried the makings of some kind of shelter that would keep them from the chill of the night and the morning dew.

  Philosophically, they lit fires in the cleared space and looked forward to the food and drink that would be sent out to them from the Castle. Meanwhile, Sir John, his knights, Angie, and Jim settled down to a lavish, if early, supper.

  "Being close," Sir John told them, once the preliminary courtesies and introductions had been made, "methought I would break my journey with you, since I have not seen you since last Christmas, and here is always a welcome meeting."

  This, of course, was no more than polite formality, for the ears of any servants who might be listening. Jim and Angie smiled and accepted it as such.

  Chandos sipped appreciatively from his mazer, a large, square-built wine cup that had no virtues, as far as Jim and Angie were concerned, except that it was large enough not to require frequent refilling. But it was what was called for for entertainment of honored guests. Having sipped, Sir John put it down again on Malencontri's best tablecloth.

  "I am once again on my duties about the Kingdom on behalf of his Royal Majesty," he said.

  "The Welsh border again?" said Angie, urging the process of pretense along. The last time Sir John had shown up with armed men, he had been heading in that direction.

  "Not this time, happily," Chandos said. "This is another matter. Alack, there seems no shortage of them."

  A servant came in and moved around the walls of the Great Hall lighting the cressets—open-weave iron baskets—already filled with dry firewood—to which he added a grease-soaked branch, already flaming at one end. The thin, dry willow stems set fire almost at once to the heavier pieces of wood in the cresset, adding light, as well as a certain amount of welcome warmth, to that of the three massive fireplaces, which had been kindled earlier. The illumination from the nearest cresset momentarily lit up the peaceful, handsome countenance of Sir John as the knight smiled engagingly at both Jim and Angie.

  "Matters certainly keep you busy," said Angie, after the servant had gone.

  "I'm afraid they do, Lady Angela," said the war-captain, spy-master, and Counselor to the King. "But such is life. And, to be truthful, I would rather be active than idle. Do you not find it so, yourself?"

  "I don't seem to have much choice in the matter," said Angie. "But, yes, I'd rather be doing something than nothing."

  "I would, too," said Jim. "But I don't seem to have much choice, either. In fact, as I look around me, nobody seems to have much choice, from the meanest servant to the highest Lord. We're all running full speed all the time."

  "It is life. What would you?" said Chandos. "I—aah, those small cakes of yours that I like so well!"

  May Heather had just come in, her lower lip caught between her teeth and all her attention on balancing a large serving tray holding the cakes to which Chandos referred. They were jelly-rolls, which Angie had introduced, along with some other twentieth-century eatables that were easy to make under fourteenth-century conditions. Chandos began to pick them up one after another in his fingers, eating them like miniature candies. May curtsied, with great care not to fall over, and departed.

  "Well," said Jim, trying for a subtle way to get the conversation into some explanation of the order from the King, "what's the news at the Royal Court?"

  "Ah, the news," said Chandos, stopping to wash a bit of jelly-roll down with a swallow of wine. "Well, first I should say that the Prince, young Edward, remembers you both most fondly. You and your various friends as well—I don't suppose you've been seeing any of those close Companions lately, particularly that wizard of a bowman. What was his name?"

  "Dafydd ap Hywel," said Angie.

  "That's right, I knew it was some such name. And, of course, the good Sir Brian and Sir Giles de Mer, and—oh, yes—the wolf."

  "Aargh," said Angie.

  "Also, come to think of it," said Chandos, "there was a time when we were besieged by Sea Serpents here, and you had in your courtyard a considerable giant. Would he be one of your close friends also?"

  "A friend," said Jim. "Rrrnlf, a Sea Devil, a Natural. Not as close as the others you were just speaking about."

  Actually, Rrrnlf had visited Malencontri only a few weeks past. He came to explain why he had not been able to answer a call from Jim, who during the spring had sought his help. Rrrnlf had always promised to appear immediately if he was called—from anywhere in the oceans of the world.

  He had a good excuse—he had come across a bottle at the bottom of the Red Sea and, handling it clumsily, had accidentally released a powerful Djinni—who then imprisoned Rrrnlf himself under an undersea mountain.

  This had been annoying, but no great problem to the Sea Devil; he was huge, powerful, and able to simply dig his way out from underneath the mountain. However, it took him
a little while; and so he had shown up here somewhat late.

  Curiously, while tunneling out he had come across another burrowing individual—man, or Natural, it was difficult to say which. The creature had looked more or less human, but was less than four feet tall. It came along with Rrrnlf on his visit, and said not a word the entire time—only stared at Jim.

  Rrrnlf had produced the little fellow from under his shirt—a rather ugly manling, wearing a kilt apparently made of leather, and somebody else's oversized shirt of the same material. The sleeves were not only voluminous, but so long they covered his hands, which seemed to be clutching the ends of the sleeves from inside.

  Rrrnlf had explained that he had found the small being tunneling, also, but making relatively slow progress because of his smaller size. Rrrnlf, a kindly type, had taken him along at the Sea Devil's own powerful rate—Sea Devils could scoop solid rock out of their way as easily as a human being could move piled-up dust. Since then they had been together.

  The little man did not respond when Jim spoke to him, but only gazed back with an open mouth, as if he could not believe what he saw. At least, that was what Jim thought the expression on his face meant.

  "Never says much," Rrrnlf had explained, gazing down at the small figure with something like the fond pride of a pet-owner… Jim pulled his thoughts back to what Chandos was saying.

  "—Yes, yes," Chandos was continuing. "Now, your archer friend, for example, I could use him at this moment if he should not be at too great a distance away. Do you suppose he would be interested in joining me, and those men outside, in a small matter of dealing with a threat to disturb the King's realm? He would be well paid."

  "I don't think Dafydd would," said Jim, shaking his head. "He's never shown any particular interest in fighting, except in his own defense; and, I don't know if you ever heard him express himself on the matter, but my guess is that, in any case, he wouldn't be particularly inclined to help Englishmen."

  "Hmm," said Chandos. "Not an odd attitude for a Welshman, I suppose."