Chapter Twenty-Two
No one in the group had a hangover the following morning, as Snorrl conducted them through the rugged country that led into Little Men territory. Of course, thought Jim, Lachlan was not one of them this time. Jim and Herrac were in full armor, including lances; Dafydd rode behind them all with his long bow slung over one shoulder and a quiver full of arrows on his hip. Liseth rode on the other side of her father from Jim; or if the way became too narrow, she dropped a little behind. Snorrl, of course, ranged ahead.
They were all fully armed. Liseth even had a broadsword in its sheath, attached to a belt hidden, like the broadsword itself, in the folds of her outer dress and under her cloak.
It was unheard of for a gentlewoman to wear a sword. But Jim felt sure that she would not be wearing it without her father's knowledge and approval; and if he agreed to her carrying the weapon, then undoubtedly she had learned to use it.
In addition, she would also undoubtedly have a dagger hidden somewhere else about her. It was not only Scots like Lachlan who carried the skean du—or "black knife"—in their stockings. This last was a short but broad-bladed dagger narrowing rapidly to a needle point; a weapon that could be very effective at close quarters, as well as being invisible until needed in the ordinary course of events.
The thought of Liseth and a possible skean du in her stocking or boot reminded Jim of a new problem that had cropped up.
Last night at dinner, Brian had joined them, as he had been promised, helped down the stairs, much against his protests, by Liseth on one side and Jim on the other. In spite of the knight's objections, Jim noticed that the other had a tendency to lean fairly heavily on him from time to time; and guessed that if nothing else the several days in bed had had the effect of making him a little unsteady on his feet. The amount of blood in his body should by now have pretty well replenished itself. It was simply a matter of the slash itself healing safely; and it was still showing a remarkable ability to mend fast.
So, they had negotiated the stairs on the way down with no trouble, and Brian had been welcomed by all—including a rather distant and lordly welcome from Ewen MacDougall.
Whether it was the tone of this welcome, or a natural antipathy of some sort, MacDougall and Brian seemed to be automatically at swordpoints from the beginning. MacDougall talked deliberately about court doings and Brian had let him talk. Until he mentioned tournaments.
At that point, Brian had chimed in with a few reminiscences of his own about tournaments, mentioning rather casually that he had been fortunate enough to win this tournament and that tournament; that he had been honored with the chance once to cross lances with Sir Walter Manny, and on another occasion with Sir John Chandos. He wound up by asking MacDougall very casually if he had ever had the fortune to break a lance with those same two well-renowned gentlemen and soldiers, or others of equal fame.
He had obviously found the chink in MacDougal's social armor. The Scot Viscount had indeed been engaged in tournaments, though nowhere near as many as Brian—who, in fact, had been eking out the living of his very poor estate by his winnings in them. The winner of an encounter normally gained the horse, armor and weapons of his opponent, unless the opponent chose to ransom them back from him; and this source of income was about all his broken-down Castle Smythe had to keep it going.
Not merely that; but since MacDougall's tournaments had been all in Scotland, he could not name knights of such international reputation as Manny and Chandos, as opponents. As a result, for the first time since he entered Castle de Mer, he was being made to look less of the completely experienced courtier than he had been presenting himself.
Brian had kept a perfectly straight face while he was doing all this. MacDougall had given no sign that he was aware of being belittled. Also, no one else at the table, even Liseth, seemed to take any particular note of the fact that MacDougall was being put down by Brian. But everyone was, of course, aware of what was going on.
The end result, however, from Jim's standpoint, was unfortunate. That type of exchange between two medieval knights could lead eventually only to armed conflict between them. Jim hated leaving them behind, with no other company but Lachlan and Herrac's sons. Lachlan seemed as likely to encourage a quarrel as prevent it; and none of Herrac's sons had the age and authority to prevent open trouble between two such men of rank and reputation, if matters should get out of hand between Brian and MacDougall.
Jim worried. Brian was still in no case to get into a fight with another man who was in good health. Such an encounter could not only mean Brian losing face, but possibly being badly hurt, if not killed. Even if the encounter was disguised as a competition. The wound on Brian's side was not yet healed enough to endure the activities of a body in battle.
However, there was no help for it. Jim told himself he would simply have to wait until he got back; and meanwhile there was nothing he could do about it. However, telling himself this did not make the worry disappear from his mind. For Dafydd, he thought, undoubtedly it would have. But for Jim, the worry was there and it stuck.
In fact, it kept him company until they went over a little lip of land between some of the same sort of sharply vertical cliffs that he and the others had climbed, following their fight with the Little Men against the Hollow Men.
Abruptly, then, they found themselves moving down a slope into a very pleasant little valley that stretched for some distance, widening as it went, with something at the far end of it that could be buildings, and possibly tilled land. However, not fifty yards in front of them was one of the "schiltrons" of the Little Men—drawn up in ranks with spears leveled. Jim could still not help himself thinking of them as phalanxes—but he made a mental note to use the other word, here.
Standing a few paces before the front rank of the schiltron was the Little Man whose bushy face Jim recognized as being that of Ardac, Son of Lutel. The same leader he had met at the time of their mutual fight with the Hollow Men. Ardac kept his eyes on Jim, more or less ignoring the others as Snorrl led them all up to him.
"Magician," Ardac said, as Jim and the others halted before him, "you are not unwelcome, you and your friends. But you come here more frequently than we like strangers to visit our land."
"It's a matter of absolute necessity that brings me," said Jim. "I believe we've got a chance at a great accomplishment to discuss with you. One you'll find most welcome, as we find it welcome."
He reined his horse a little to one side so that Ardac had a full view of the other humans with him.
"Do you know everyone here?" Jim went on. "You remember Dafydd ap Hywel, who fought with us—"
"We remember Dafydd ap Hywel for more reasons than that," said Ardac. "But continue."
"You know Snorrl, of course. You know Liseth; and surely you also know Herrac—Sir Herrac de Mer, father of Liseth de Mer."
"We know them all," said Ardac. His eyes lingered for a second meeting with Herrac's and then came back to Jim. "We still have not heard why you come into our land again."
"I've just said," answered Jim. "We've a prospect which I think you'd want to discuss with us and your other leaders, whoever they may be. May we go to them, or dismount and wait here for them? Or in some ways set up a meeting where we can talk and explain what we have in mind?"
"We shall see," said Ardac. He turned around, stepped back and spoke to one of the soldiers in the front rank. The soldier, still carrying his spear and shield, left the rank at a run, circling the schiltron and going back, still running, toward the shapes in the distance that might be houses.
"There will be a wait," said Ardac. "You may dismount and make yourself comfortable on the ground here if you wish. We also will wait."
He turned to the ranks behind him and shouted a single word. Jim was not quite able to make out whether it was the way it was uttered that kept him from understanding it, or if it was in a language he did not know.
The soldiers of the schiltron laid down their shields and swords and sat down t
hemselves, cross-legged, still in their ranks. Dafydd and Liseth, Jim noted, were already dismounting. Herrac and he followed suit. They also sat. Ardac had already seated himself, only half a dozen feet in front of Jim.
"Word has come to us," Ardac said, "that one of your number who fought with us against the Hollow Men was wounded. How is his health now?"
"He's healing—very fast," said Jim. "It was a bothersome rather than a dangerous wound, after all. Something sharp cut a long slash along his ribs on one side."
"I am pleased to hear it," said Ardac. "Of our wounded, one died and the rest are recovering."
"I'm very pleased to hear that, too," said Jim. He was doing his best to bring a less formal and more friendly atmosphere into being between him and this leader of the Little Men. "I was impressed by the way you all fought in that encounter with the Hollow Men. I think no one else could have done as well."
There was the beginning of a sound from the throat of Herrac, beside Jim, the sound cut off before it had more than a chance to get started. Ardac's eyes swung to the huge knight, and for the first time a faint smile parted his bewhiskered lips.
"You would say that men of your own kind would have done as well or better, Sir Herrac de Mer," he said to Herrac. "I will not argue the point with you. This is a matter of opinion. Let us each keep to his own. Does that suit you?"
"It suits, Ardac, Son of Lutel," said Herrac. His voice was as neutral in tone as Ardac's had been. Abruptly, he smiled slightly also. Ardac reached out a hand.
Wordlessly, Herrac reached out his own long arm and took the small fist in his larger one for a moment. Then they let go.
"If your reason be good, Sir Herrac," said Ardac, "you are welcome on our land, even if you come alone."
"I thank you, Ardac," said Sir Herrac. "That is courteous of you."
"We do not deal in courtesy here," said Ardac. "We have friends or enemies. I have just named you as one of our friends. That is all. Neither courtesy nor anything else is involved."
"I understand," said Herrac, nodding his head slowly, in such entirely reasonable a tone that Jim could almost see Ardac's stiffness thawing slightly before his eyes.
Snorrl had flopped down on the ground when the rest of them sat. He lay now on his side, had closed his eyes and was apparently deeply asleep. They waited. No one said anything, and the sun was warm. Jim felt an urge to drowse off himself; and only brought himself back to full alertness by reminding himself of the seriousness of the situation.
Ardac had called them friends. Nonetheless, the schiltron in front of them barred their way any farther into the valley as well as the stone face of a mountain might. They were accepted onto the land, but not into the homes of the Little Men, very obviously.
After what seemed a long time, but was probably only about half an hour, Jim saw a movement in the farther reaches of the valley. Movement which approached them, and finally resolved itself to four teams of eight armed Little Men, each team carrying by poles on their shoulders a sedan chair in which sat another Little Man, obviously much older, white of beard and dressed in white robes.
Still, with these loads, the bearers ran—although they seemed to either keep in step so well, or otherwise match their footfalls so that their running hardly jolted their burdens. Just how it was done, Jim was not able to figure out; even when the four older Little Men had been brought right up to the front of the schiltron and their sedan chairs put down on the ground by the bearers.
Things still did not look too promising, Jim thought. His general impression of all four of the older men was that they were all glaring at him and the others; rather than merely looking them over. After a long moment the white-bearded Little Man on the right lifted his hand. He and the others reentered their sedan chairs. The carriers picked these up again; and carried them around to the side and back of the schiltron until they were about forty yards off. Far enough so that they could obviously talk amongst themselves without being overheard by the visitors.
Ardac went with them and once the sedan chairs were set down again, a consultation was evidently held between Ardac and the white-beards.
After a little longer, Ardac came back to Jim and the rest.
"Now," he said to Jim, "we will listen to you."
Jim took a deep breath.
"We have a plan," he said, "by which the Borderers and the Little Men working together can catch the Hollow Men all in one place for once and slay them all, so that not one is left to raise the others back to whatever sort of life it is they have."
"We know of your plans," said Ardac.
Jim looked narrowly at him.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"Because I told them to him," broke in the harsh voice of Snorrl. He was still lying lazily extended on the ground but with the upper eye visibly open. "What little I did not know I learned from listening to you when you slew all of that party on the road from Scotland except the one you took prisoner. There was also what I heard when you, Lachlan MacGreggor and the prisoner, were in a small hut on a sheiling."
Jim swung to face Ardac.
"If you knew all about this before we got here," said Jim, "why meet us this way and bring your—
He could not think of a proper word to indicate a rank he did not know. He merely gestured toward the men with the white beards—
"—out to meet us?"
"We do not know everything," Ardac said. "What we do not know and what we want to know, is why you should want us involved in this matter together with your tall people. We know more about this land and its people than anyone else. We know there are more than enough Borderers to win such a battle by themselves. Just as there are more of us than are needed to kill off all the Hollow Men in the place you have picked."
He paused.
"You frown a little," he said. Jim immediately straightened his face up. He had not realized that he had been frowning.
"You have only seen me and this schiltron," Ardac went on, "so you have no evidence that there are others beside myself, particularly since you have now seen me twice and no other schiltron-leader. But there are many schiltrons and many leaders. I am here this second time to meet you only because I was the one who had met you before. Now, why do you want to mix Little Men and Borderers together to make a force to destroy the Hollow Men, when it is not necessary?"
"I think," said Jim, slowly, "that it's very important that both Little Men and Borderers be involved in this as partners. For one thing, both they and you have suffered from the Hollow Men. But for another, there may come an even more important time some time in the future, when it will be necessary for all of you, and all of the Borderers, to join forces against some common enemy. If you fight together this time, then you will be able to point back to it when, in the future, you have little choice but to fight side by side."
Jim stopped talking. Ardac said nothing, but stood, apparently thinking. He made no attempt to take Jim's words back to the white-bearded Little Men waiting off in the distance.
"I'm not asking you to become close to them!" said Jim earnestly. "I'm not asking them to necessarily get close to you. I'm simply asking you both to fight on the same side for once; so that you know that it can be done—both you and they. I've no way of proving this to you—that it's important. You take my word for it or you don't."
"You're right," said Ardac suddenly and unexpectedly. "Your word is all we have."
He turned about without a further sound and went off to the white-bearded Little Men; and stood talking to them for some time.
Jim stood watching them from the distance. He felt a little irritated that these white-bearded leaders would not come forward and talk with him directly, but must relay what they had to say through Ardac. But at that moment, he heard a soft murmur in his right ear, low-pitched enough so that no one else there could hear it, which was the voice of Dafydd.
"They are not what you think, Sir James." murmured Dafydd, "those with the white beards. They are not rulers, they are onl
y older Little Men of wisdom with whom Ardac consults. On the basis of that consultation, he avails himself of their wisdom, and so makes his own decision—which the Little Men as a whole will afterwards follow."
"The Little Men as a whole?" muttered Jim, but carefully, without turning his head to show that he was talking to Dafydd. "But he said he was only a leader of a schiltron among many leaders of schiltrons. I got the impression that they were all equal, those schiltron-leaders."
"Indeed, they are so," said Dafydd, "but as I say, they are not like—"
There was a slight pause, so slight as to be almost a catch of Dafydd's voice. "—us. They are different, and have their own different way of handling matters, see you. If Ardac decides to fight with the Borderers as you wish, then all the other schiltron-leaders will be ready to fight with him. Just so, he would follow if another schiltron-leader made a decision. He and the others who lead groups of Little Men like this are the real leaders of the people. Though, in truth they are people that have no leaders in the sense we think and say the word. But over many centuries they have come to think much alike, and they trust each other to a greater extent than—"
Again the little hesitation in Dafydd's voice. "—we do."
"I see," murmured Jim.
He had just gotten the words out of his mouth, when Ardac turned away once more from the white-bearded elders and came back to him.
"We will fight with you against the Hollow Men, I think," he said, "provided all is in order. There is one question left to resolve. Who commands this battle where Little Men are concerned?"
"I—I'm not sure," said Jim. "I mean, it hasn't really been settled yet. Possibly I myself will be known as the commander, but wise and experienced soldiers like yourself and Herrac among the Borderers will certainly have a great deal to say about what is done—
The Dragon on The Border Page 25