"Ah! Then let us inside, and drink a cup!" said Brian exuberantly, flinging an arm around either one of them and starting toward the Great Hall.
They went along with him, his arms still on their shoulders; and, if he leaned a little heavily on them from moment to moment, neither Jim nor Dafydd mentioned it.
The high table in the hall had no one sitting at it. As Jim sat down with Dafydd and Brian, he turned to Brian and asked him about MacDougall.
"Where is he, with all this going on?" Jim asked.
"Up on the roof of the tower, or looking at the country from the battlements—with Liseth," said Brian.
The last two words were said with a peculiar emphasis and Brian emphasized it with a brief wink on the side of his face that only Jim could see. Jim opened his mouth to ask about this, but Brian had already turned and was shouting to the servants for wine. There were cups on the table but all the pitchers were empty.
Jim's sense of foreboding came back again, more strongly. He had not told Brian of his plan with Liseth to draw out the MacDougall, so Jim could study how to act like him; and he could think of no other reason why Brian should find something secret and amusing in the fact that Liseth was with the MacDougall, when the last time Jim saw the two of them together, Liseth was seeming to barely endure the presence of the Scottish Lord.
But the opportunity, if he had had one to ask, was already gone; and evidently from the way Brian had conveyed the news, he had not planned to discuss the matter in front of Dafydd. Again, why this should be so, Jim did not understand.
He wondered if the uneasiness was beginning to cause him to find meanings that were not there, in things that otherwise would be perfectly ordinary. It could be so. But something inside him refused to believe that explanation.
It was only later, when their table had been joined by two of the de Mer sons and these were deep in the process of questioning Dafydd about fights he had been in, that Jim felt his sleeve plucked by Brian and, turning to look, saw the other beckoning him to slip away from the table.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jim followed Brian with uneasiness. There was no particular definite reason for this; but the feeling of foreboding he had felt on leaving the camp of the leaders of the Hollow Men had never quite left him, and now Brian's unusual action reinforced it.
Brian led him off through a doorway into the corridor that had led to the room where he had met with the leaders of the Borderers earlier. But they did not go as far as that particular room. Instead, Brian stopped and waited for him in the corridor itself, as soon as they were about a dozen or so feet from the doorway and well out of earshot of what was being said at the high table—and therefore, Jim thought, undoubtedly out of earshot of anyone who might overhear them.
"James," said Brian in a hollow voice as Jim came up to him, "I am undone!"
The word "undone," which in the twentieth-century world from which Jim came would only have meant that Brian had somewhere about himself become unbuttoned or unzipped, here had a particular portentous ring—and, Jim had learned, a rather portentous meaning.
Here it meant that the person's plans, whatever they were, had all gone astray and he saw nothing but disaster staring him in the face. Certainly, besides saying this, Brian also looked it.
His face had become almost tragic in its unhappiness.
"Brian!" said Jim, sincerely touched. "What's wrong?"
Brian put a hand on Jim's arm.
"James," he said, "I am in love."
"Why, yes," said Jim, slightly at sea as far as his understanding was concerned, "and the Lady Geronde Isabel de Chancy is well someone that anyone could be in love with. Why should that trouble you?"
"But it is not her I love—any more," said Brian.
"Who is it, then?" asked Jim. A sudden terrible suspicion struck him. "Not—
"Yes," answered Brian, without waiting for him to complete the question, "that angel on earth. Liseth de Mer."
"Brian," said Jim. "You're not serious!"
"On my soul be it," said Brian, placing his hand on his chest over the place where he imagined his heart to be—actually he was rather far to the left.
Jim was caught wordless for a moment. He had never encountered Brian Neville-Smythe in this particular state. In fact he had never had anything much to do with medieval men who spoke of love seriously at all. There was a certain amount of playing with the word under courtly conditions, or by the minstrels, but the general attitude of those around him had always been that no one, except a few rare people like Herrac, took it seriously. But here was Brian, looking almost ready to swoon with emotion.
"But—" almost stammered Jim, unable to think of anything else to say, "you are pledged to the Lady de Chancy."
Brian dropped his gaze to the floor.
"Alas," he said.
"Alas?" said Jim. "Brian, I've known you for about two years, now. You're my best friend, and we've been together under all kinds of conditions; but you never gave me any impression but that you were deeply in love with Geronde Isabel de Chancy."
Brian heaved a deep sigh.
"Indeed," he said, "I believed so. Had I not come to this place, I might still be believing so. For she is a fair lady, that lady whose favor I've been carrying all these months and years since her father left for the Holy Land on crusade. But, she is no more than a candlelight to a star when compared to Liseth de Mer."
Jim was beginning to sort out his thoughts.
"When did you fall in love with Liseth?" he asked.
"The first time I saw her," answered Brian.
"But you're only telling me about it now?" asked Jim. "Why?"'
Once more Brian looked down at the floor.
"I did not admit it to myself," he said, raising his eyes to Jim, "until I saw her treating kindly that popinjay from the Scottish court. Oh, I know it is naught but play-acting—she herself has told me so, when I at last ventured to speak to her of my love. But all the same…"
"What did she say when you spoke to her of your love?" asked Jim.
"She laughed," said Brian tragically. "Laughed."
"She was probably trying to give you a polite way out of it, by pretending to make a joke of it," said Jim, rather heartlessly.
"I have no doubt that that was her intention," said Brian, "for with all the other virtues she is the soul of kindness and gentleness. Moreover, she knew that I knew my love for her was fated never to be returned."
"You knew that?" said Jim. "And yet you spoke to her?"
"I had to," said Brian. "I would have burst, else! Or I would have run wild and passed my sword through that MacDougall, even though I later learned he was no true rival."
"Well…" Jim hesitated. "Why were you so sure your love was fated not to be returned?"
"How could it be otherwise?" said Brian. "She comes of an honorable family and is honorable herself. As I myself am honorable. And as you have mentioned, I am pledged to the Lady Geronde Isabel de Chancy. Pledged upon my word of honor. My life must be that I go back and someday marry her—but I will do so now knowing that I have left behind me the only one I could ever truly love—Liseth."
There was a moment of silence. Jim was busily trying to think of the proper thing to say. Brian evidently felt no need for words.
"Men have on occasion not married the ladies they were pledged to," said Jim.
"Not honorable men!" said Brian, drawing himself up. "No! I am chained by my own word. As I am a gentleman and a Christian, my word shall never be broken!"
"Well," said Jim, "what of the feelings of the Lady de Chancy if she learns that you have this love for Liseth?"
"Oh, she will learn of it," said Brian, "for I am duty bound to tell her of it."
"Brian!" said Jim, closing his eyes and clutching at his temples—a theatrical gesture he thought that he would never in his life perform naturally. Now, much to his own surprise, he found that he not only did it almost automatically, but that it gave him a moment of temporary relief.
At all costs, he was telling himself, he must talk Brian out of this nonsense.
"Have you thought how unhappy the Lady de Chancy will be, if she is told that you are marrying her out of a sense of duty, instead of true affection?" he asked.
"It will make her unhappy, true," said Brian, "but in honor, how can I do less? Just as in honor I can do nothing less than wed her and never see Liseth again."
"Now look here, Brian—" began Jim, and then broke off as he realized he hadn't quite formulated what he wanted to say.
"Yes, James?" asked Brian, looking up at him.
"Think, Brian," said Jim, in the most reasonable tone he could manage. "What color hair has the Lady Liseth?"
"Blonde. Surely you have noticed that yourself," said Brian, looking at him a little surprised.
"I had. I just wanted to make sure you had," said Jim. "Now tell me what color is the hair of the Lady Geronde Isabel de Chancy?"
"Why blonde, also," said Brian. "Why these questions, James?"
"In a moment—" said Jim. "Answer me first, is the Lady de Chancy short or tall—as ladies go?"
"Short," said Brian. "But—
"And the Lady Liseth de Mer—short or tall?"
"Short, also," said Brian. "Really, James, I don't understand the purpose of these questions."
"You'll understand in a moment," said Jim grimly. "Now, isn't it true that you have gone for several years loving Geronde Isabel de Chancy but being unable to marry her because her father, who is her guardian and the only man who can give permission, has gone off to the Holy Land and not been heard from since?"
"But I told you that, myself, many times," said Brian. "Of course, James, it is true."
"Very well. Now think a moment," said Jim. "Promise me you'll think over seriously what I am about to say to you."
"I will, James," said Brian. "Whatever you tell me, as my best friend and wisest counselor, can only be for my greatest good. I will think it over with all the power within me."
"Several years back you fell in love with the Lady Geronde Isabel de Chancy, who is beautiful, short and has blonde hair. For nearly four years now you and she have been unable to marry as you both greatly desire. Now, up here in this castle, you encounter another young lady who is short, blonde, and whom you undoubtedly find beautiful. Is all this true?"
"Every word of it is true," said Brian solemnly. His tone changed. "But I'm damned if I know what you're trying to tell me!"
"Just this," said Jim. "And this is what I want you to think over most seriously, both before you answer me and in the days to come. Is it possible that you, attracted as you are to women who are short, blonde and beautiful, fell in love with one who is a neighbor of yours; but was kept, to your own great unhappiness, from wedding her. Now, four years after you have waited and waited for marriage with this lady you love, you suddenly encounter another lady, short, blonde and beautiful, but free to marry. Is it possible, Sir Brian Neville-Smythe, that in some sort of desperation you have transferred your unavailable hopes for love from the Lady de Chancy to the Lady Liseth de Mer because she is available?"
Sir Brian looked at him hard for a long moment.
"Very well, James," he said fiercely, "I will think on that—now!"
He stood, accordingly, staring at Jim and saying nothing. The moments went by. Jim began to feel more and more uncomfortable but still Brian said nothing.
Finally, Brian's lips parted and he spoke.
"No, James," he said, "I have thought it over most seriously. The facts of the matter are that I was never in love with the Lady Isabel de Chancy in any deep sense. It was merely a passing fancy of the last three years—that and her being close where I could see her frequently. It is Liseth de Mer that I love with a great, true and pure love."
"Brian—" began Jim, exasperated; but Brian broke in on him.
"So, James," he went on as if Jim had not spoken, "what do I do?"
Jim heaved a deep sigh.
"Brian," he said, "I don't know. That is—I've no advice for you now. Give me until this business with the Hollow Men is over, will you? And I'll think about it. Meanwhile, you will not tell anyone else about this? And you will not lose your head and do any damage to Ewen MacDougall, meanwhile?"
"I promise, James," said Brian, "on my word. Save that he force a quarrel upon me, I will not even look askance at him, whether he is with Liseth or not."
"Good," said Jim. "Let's go back to the high table."
They did so. In the interval in which they had been away, Liseth and MacDougall had evidently come down from leaning on the battlements, or whatever else they had been doing, and were seated at the far end of the high table, talking in such low voices, that they could not easily be overheard.
Not that there was much danger, because the two de Mer sons, in this case Christopher and Alan, were both still asking questions of Dafydd, and when either of them spoke, they drowned out any other conversation that might be heard at the table. Jim sat down with Brian on Dafydd's side of the table, at the opposite end from MacDougall and Liseth.
True to his word, Brian did not even look at the couple, but concentrated his attention on the conversation between the two de Mers and Dafydd, and eventually began to join it with reminiscences of his own.
Jim sat, immersed in his own troubles. He had a busy time ahead of him, in which he would be involved both with the Little Men and the Borderers, in getting them to work together. From what he could see at this end of the table, Liseth at the other end seemed to be enjoying MacDougall's company quite well. In fact, almost too well.
It would be a royal kettle of fish if Liseth actually did fall in love with the courtly MacDougall. Even worse, if she told this to Brian; and as a result Brian actually did push the MacDougall to the point where the other challenged him, and they fought. Jim had really no doubt about Brian's ability to dispatch the other man—if Brian had just been completely well.
Since he had been sixteen, Brian had been making a living for his impoverished lands and castle by the one thing permitted to someone of his class—fighting. On top of that, he had the natural attributes of a fighter. His reflexes were as quick as Jim's; and Jim's, on the volleyball court, had been one of his two strengths—the other being his powerful leg muscles that allowed him to jump higher than most for the ball.
Also, the training Brian had gone through in growing up, and everything he had done since, had built onto a fairly ordinary-sized frame of bone some of the hardest muscle Jim had ever felt. Moreover, to top it all off, MacDougall was, if anything, smaller than Brian—and possibly weighed less. It would be doubtful indeed, if in the kind of slugging contest that sword fights between knights actually became, Brian did not cut the MacDougall to pieces, skillful though the Scotsman might be in certain ways or with certain weapons.
At this moment Herrac came in, and Jim started up from the table, to intercept the older knight and draw him aside just as Brian had drawn Jim, himself, aside. He wanted to discuss with the Lord of Castle de Mer all that had gone on with the Hollow Men.
They ended up talking in that same room where they had talked before. The one that Jim had come to think of as Herrac's "study." Certainly, it was a room private to the ruler of this particular castle. Herrac listened to all that Jim had to say, in silence. Not moving, or showing any particular expression. However, when Jim was done he sighed.
"Ten days," said Herrac, "is short enough time to make ready. It is even shorter if we are to make certain that the Borderers and the Little Men fight together. They may both have agreed to do so—but that is a far cry from their actually so doing, once blood is up and battle is joined. For one thing, how do we place them, one with another in line of battle?"
He hesitated.
"The Little Men fight as spearmen on foot," he said, "after the manner of the lowland Scots. While your Borderer feels best on horseback. But there is no room in those trees to get up any speed or unity for a charge on horseback."
"No," said Jim, "I
think a charge on horseback can be managed. Look here."
He drew from his most unfourteenth-century pocket a duplicate of the map he had given the leader of the Hollow Men. Only this map concentrated on the actual open space between the woods and the cliffs.
"Look," said Jim again, spreading the cloth map on the table before Herrac. "What I'm going to propose is that the Little Men make the first attack. The Hollow Men will not at first make the connection between the Little Men and the fact that I might have betrayed them, or that they are in a deliberate trap."
He paused to let Herrac absorb this idea. Herrac nodded thoughtfully.
"In the time it takes them to realize that they are under attack," Jim went on, "the Little Men should have driven them back some distance from the edge of the wood on most sides. Then, once the Hollow Men become adjusted to the situation and begin fighting back, the schiltrons should open up spaces between them and let the Borderers through, on foot or on horseback as they prefer."
He paused again.
"Go on," said Herrac.
"This should result in a situation in which the Borderers on horseback are fighting those of the Hollow Men who come to the meeting place mounted on their own invisible horses," Jim said, "and the Little Men should be dealing with those on foot. Together, Borderers and Little Men should finally form a ring that keeps closing in on the Hollow Men; until, toward the last, the Borderers should slip back and allow the schiltrons of the Little Men to close together and drive the last of the Hollow Men against the cliff and make sure of their death. What do you think of it as a plan?"
"Why, only one thing," said Herrac. "It will be hard to draw off any Borderer once he has been committed to the battle, but you have them withdrawing so that the schiltrons can close together."
"I think they will have their hands full with those Hollow Men who escape being caught in the closing ring and either try to escape or make it out into the open area of the clearing. The Borderers should make a second ring to take care of these, so that none escape."
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