The Dragon At War

by Gordon R. Dickson

  "Now!" said Jim.

  But with that, a new source of opposition appeared.

  "Ye'll not be taking a sick man from us!" cried Elly.

  Jim turned his head to look at her and saw that from somewhere among her balloonist clothing she had produced a good-sized knife of her own which she now held at Carolinus's throat.

  "Sooner would I see him dead, than in the hands of those who cannot cure him!" Elly went on.

  It threatened to be a standoff. But a sudden inspiration erupted in the back of Jim's mind.

  "You think you can cure him?" said Jim fiercely. "Do you know that you, yourself, now stand on the very brink of death from being this close to him? You little understand what terrible illness you've exposed yourself to!"

  Using Morel's hair as a handgrip he forced the other over to the side of Carolinus's bed. "Look at him, Friar!" Jim said. "You know your Latin! What you're looking at is a man in the last stages of phytophthora infestans! You know what that means, of course?"

  "Er—y—yes. Yes, of course!" said Morel, his teeth suddenly chattering with fear. "Why didn't I see it myself? The nurses are doomed!"

  There was a shriek from Eldra, across the room. Elly's face went ugly with sudden fear; but she still stood fiercely with the knife in her hand and her arms folded.

  "You are a magician, not a man of medicine—" she said to Jim accusingly. But her voice was abruptly unsure.

  "I am also a man of medicine!" snarled Jim. "You know what those Latin words mean, Friar. Is it not the most deadly disease on the face of the earth—worse than leprosy?"

  "Yes—yes—yes…" stammered Morel, giving at the knees, and trying to back away from the bed but being prevented by Jim's standing behind him.

  Jim turned to Elly and Eldra.

  "You heard the friar," he said. "Let me tell you what's going to happen next to Carolinus; and to you—if you've caught it from him. There will start to grow ugly black fringes, like hairs, coming out on the skin all over. When you see those, you know you're already starting to rot inside."

  Eldra shrieked again. Elly's knife had disappeared.

  "Sir—m'Lord, magician…" stammered Eldra, "if we have caught it, can we come to your castle? Will you help us?"

  "I'll think about it," said Jim harshly. "Now, I'll keep hold of the friar here, just to be on the safe side, but you two go outside and start telling those people out there what they're up against—what may happen to them if they get too close to any of us."

  "M'Lord…" faltered Elly. "I cannot say those Latin words. Would you tell me once more?"

  Jim sounded out the various syllables of the words.

  "Fy-lop-era in-fes-stans."

  Elly's eyes lit up. Jim was satisfied. The medieval memory, which in all these people needed to be able to stick like glue to whatever it heard because of the general lack of ability to write, had just come through again. Outside, Elly would be able to parrot the sounds she had just heard, whether she understood them or not. She headed toward the door; but her sister already had it open and was out it before she disappeared through herself.

  "M'Lord," said Theoluf shakily, "I'm your squire now; and with you to the death. But the other lads may be as little willing as the scum without to be close to the mage; if he has such a dread disease and we cannot carry him by litter, just the three of us."

  Jim had not thought of that. For a moment he stood, still half holding up the sag-kneed friar by the bedside—and then a further inspiration came to him. He beckoned Angie over to him; and, holding the friar at arm's length with one hand, with the other turned her sideways so he could whisper privately in her ear.

  "Potato blight!" he breathed.

  "What?" said Angie out loud in a startled tone of voice. "Po—"

  "Shhh," whispered Jim. "Careful, don't say it out loud—even though those words probably wouldn't mean anything to these people either. I tried to think of some horrendous disease, the Latin name of which the friar wouldn't understand; but one he would automatically go along with. All I could think of was the Latin name for the disease that hit the potatoes in Ireland during the potato famine there. You remember? In eighteen hundred forty-six and eighteen forty-seven, Ireland's potatoes were ravaged by this disease—it's also called the 'late blight.' A million people are supposed to have died of starvation."

  "Oh," said Angie. "Yes. Of course."

  "Good. Now go whisper in Theoluf's ear and explain to him that it's all a fake; that I'm simply using a disease for a vegetable that they don't even have here, yet. Then the two of you go outside; and you tell each one of the men-at-arms by whispering in his ear—individually. They may not believe Theoluf if he simply passes the message on. But they have to believe their Lady Angela de Malencontri et Riveroak. That gang outside will simply think you're giving the men special instructions you don't want overheard. Will you do that?"

  "Right now!" said Angie—and in the same instant she was gone through the door.

  It was nearly ten minutes before she reappeared, but this time she brought in four of the men-at-arms with a litter between them that they had made from two poles, probably taken from the people outside, since they were of dry and weathered wood; and fitted with several layers of cloth, securely tied to the poles to make a temporary litter-bed on which Carolinus could be carried.

  "Now," said Jim to the men-at-arms with the litter, "we want to ease Carolinus gently onto this. One of you take the litter at each end; and Theoluf, you and the others pick up the bed sheet by its corners. Then lift sheet, Carolinus and all onto the litter."

  So they did, with Jim and Angie supervising. Carolinus groaned softly, once, as he was being moved, but otherwise gave no sign of awareness. He still seemed to be either unconscious, or, at best, only semiconscious.

  They all moved outside, Jim still holding his poignard at Morel's throat. He closed the front door of Carolinus's cottage behind him, knowing that it would lock magically and automatically. The other four men-at-arms were in their saddles, now, and the ones who were going to carry Carolinus were seated, ready to take the handles of the litter as it was transferred to them.

  The vagabonds outside had drawn back from the entrance and opened a path of sorts to the wood, but they had not drawn back as far as Jim had hoped they would, nor was the path all that wide or open. They had simply moved those shelters that stood directly in the way—the shelters that Jim and his men had more or less trampled down with their horses' hooves on their way in.

  It had made Jim a little uncomfortable to simply break his way through even such temporary structures; but he knew very well that such was the fourteenth-century way of doing things by men of rank like himself. Not only his men-at-arms, but the vagabonds themselves, would have figured it for a weakness in him, if he had not.

  The little troop formed up, with Carolinus surrounded by extra men-at-arms. So that there was a double thickness of armed men between him and the vagabonds; counting those who were carrying the litter, each of whom had already tied his particular wooden pole end to the high cantle of his medieval saddle. Angie mounted, and Jim mounted with Morel astride the horse before its saddle.

  "All right," said Jim. "Move out now at an easy walk, so Carolinus is jolted as little as possible. Angie, you ride next to him so you can keep an eye on him—"

  This was something of a trick on Jim's part. But he wanted Angie as well as Carolinus surrounded by armed men. Angie moved accordingly; and Jim took up the tail of the procession with Morel astride the shoulders of Jim's horse and Jim's poignard still at his throat. Theoluf was at the head. They moved slowly out through the crowd.

  At first they were allowed to pass with silence; but a murmuring began among the vagabonds that began to escalate. Then suddenly, there was a cry of rage behind Jim; and he looked back over his shoulder to see some of them trying to open the door to Carolinus's cottage and failing. Of course, Carolinus's magical wards would still be holding it secure against anything up to and including a battering ram.
Jim smiled internally, and turned his attention back to their passage through the crowd.

  The vagabonds were now obviously very unwilling to let Carolinus, let alone Friar Morel, be taken from them. They were beginning to crowd in and close up the passage to the trees. The glint of knives was visible among them; and, as Jim watched, first one, then several, swords appeared and there was a general movement toward the small mounted group.

  "Ye've got no right to take him!" shrilled the voice of Elly suddenly behind them. "Ye're taking him to his death—and we could save him. Only we!"

  Jim felt a sinking feeling. Apparently the fear he thought he had infused in them by mentioning the Latin name of the potato blight was losing its terrors. He looked forward and saw that the end of their way out from among the crowd had now been closed off; and the vagabonds on each side were moving in. The voices around him rose in tone until they were in the center of a clamoring group and steel was showing on every hand.

  "Forward!" ordered Jim grimly.

  Up front, Theoluf echoed the command; and the men-at-arms drew their own swords.

  The crowd closed in. They were forced to halt. Theoluf turned to Jim for orders.

  "Cut your way through if necessary!" shouted Jim.

  But—before they could move, a sound rang out that froze everybody as they stood.

  It was the silvery peal of a trumpet. Not the mere raucous voice of a cowhorn, or even one fitted with a sounding nipple, but the pure note from the kind of rare musical instrument that was made of metal and used only by such as royal heralds and important officers of the King.

  It cried from the edge of the woods, a little to the right of where Jim and his small group had been heading. Looking, Jim saw three figures on horseback. One, slighter than the rest, bore a staff with a forked pennon on it and was just taking a bronze trumpet from the lips beneath his lifted visor. He was all in armor, fourteenth-century style, which was a combination of chain and plate.

  On the other side of the central one of three was a short, but broad, figure in the same type of armor, also with a forked pennon; but in this case the pennon was attached to the lance sitting upright in its socket attached to his saddle. In between was a tall figure with its visor down, wearing full plate armor—something very rarely seen. As Jim watched, the center figure raised its visor; and a voice that was familiar to Jim echoed out over the crowd.

  "In the King's name!"

  Chapter Five

  The openly waved swords and knives of the vagabonds had disappeared suddenly. Jim released Friar Morel, who jumped down and ran to join the vagabonds at the cottage door. The friar gone, Jim reined his horse about and rode directly toward the three figures on horseback, and the rest of his small group followed him.

  The vagabonds scrambled aside, abruptly silent. Even Elly's voice was still.

  As Jim got closer he recognized the shorter, wider figure—and the figure just then raised the visor of his helmet, revealing the luxuriant curling blond mustache and magnificent nose of Sir Giles de Mer.

  It was the same Sir Giles that Jim, with Sir Brian and Dafydd ap Hywel, the Welsh archer, had just spent a month visiting at the de Mer Castle, up by the Scottish border. Jim stared a little to see the smiling face of the other man. Giles must have been almost at the heels of Jim, Brian and Dafydd all during their long trip home, if the short knight was here now. If that was the case, though, how had he managed to pick up his two companions?

  The armored figure with the trumpet was clearly a squire. The tall figure in plate armor Jim had already identified. He was as clearly in command; not only here, but of whatever military force was out of sight behind him in the trees of the forest.

  The military force could only be assumed to be there. But the virtual certainty of that, plus the trumpet blast and the sounding of the King's name, was enough to immediately change the attitude of the vagabonds. It would be good Norman practice to hang them all from the nearest trees, on principle; and well the crowd knew it.

  Jim rode up to the central figure and stopped.

  "Happily met again, Sir John!" he said. "I'd be glad to see Giles again, in any case; but the sight of you makes it doubly welcome. Can I take it that you'll be coming back with us to Malencontri, for whatever sort of poor entertainment my castle affords?"

  "It was there I was headed originally, Sir James," answered Sir John Chandos. Famous as he was, the man seated on a tall and powerful roan war horse before Jim had refused all offers of higher rank; and insisted on remaining merely a knight-banneret, like Brian and Giles. But the lean, regular features spoke of power and command, without any need for titles or blazonry.

  He smiled, now, looking at Angie.

  "Can I take it that this is Lady Angela, your fair wife?" he said. "Not only you, but she, has been spoken of at court."

  Jim looked at Angie and could almost swear that there was a trace of a blush on her face for a second.

  "I can only hope they speak well of me, Sir John," she murmured.

  "Be sure they do," the knight answered. He looked back at Jim, lowering his voice. "Those ruffians behind you know it not, but there are only the three of us. Perhaps we should move out as quickly as possible."

  "Absolutely, Sir John!" said Jim fervently. "Will you do us the honor to lead?"

  "Let us say we will ride in company; and, with your permission, Sir James, perhaps the Lady Angela will agree to accompany me," said Sir John, bringing his horse forward and turning it about to line it up on the other side of Angie. "Will you do me the courtesy to follow with Sir James, then, Sir Giles?"

  "Gladly!" said Giles. "And glad I am to see you again, James!"

  "And I you," answered Jim.

  Giles and Jim, with Chandos's squire following alongside Theoluf, and the mounted men-at-arms behind, turned their horses around and led off into the woods, cutting back on an angle into the track that acted as a road between the Castle Malencontri and the Tinkling Water. As the shade of the trees fell upon them, the men-at-arms resheathed their swords. A moment later, the wood had swallowed them up.

  "How did you happen to appear just when we needed you?" Jim asked Giles.

  "The answer could hardly be simpler, James," answered Giles. "Sir John and I reached the edge of your domain. There we found a plowman who told us that you had just left for this place called The Tinkling Water. He gave us directions to get here; but faith, they were hardly needed. It was a short distance and a straight one."

  "I hadn't expected to see you again so soon, Giles," said Jim.

  "There are sad things afoot, James," said Sir John, but without turning his head. Obviously he had been listening, even while keeping up a conversation with Angie. "But let us not talk about them until we are safely in your castle and can speak privily among ourselves."

  He did turn his head now, to look at Giles; who was riding directly behind him.

  "Giles," said the older knight, "I would you not speak to Sir James of it, either; until we can be secret in our talk."

  "Certainly, if you wish it so, Sir John." said Giles.

  He turned a cheerful face to Jim.

  "I wagered you would not expect to see me so soon!" he said to Jim. "I had agreed with Brian to come down for the Christmas holidays, but not until then. Will you not be at the Earl's Christmas too, James?"

  "That depends," answered Jim.

  The truth of the matter was that he had dodged as much as possible those Christmas festivities, which both Brian and Giles clearly loved. They consisted of childish games, dangerous sports and a great deal of trying to get somebody else's wife in bed with you—with, on top of all this, a tremendous amount of food and alcoholic drink to be consumed. None of these things were particularly attractive to Jim.

  On the other hand, it was socially desirable that he and Angie show up eventually. He was still trying to think of a good excuse that would allow them to dodge it, this year, too.

  The thought made him pay attention with half an ear to what was going
on ahead of him. There, Sir John, in the best of courtly manners, was devoting all his attention to flattering, and—in a word—politely going through the motions of seducing Angie. Angie seemed to be fielding his courtesies fairly well; but Jim found his admiration for the other knight at war with his resentment at such advances being paid to his wife under his very nose. Yet, here, this was a common and accepted occurrence.

  But there was nothing he could do about it; and no immediate danger as long as they were all on horseback riding back to the castle. His hope was that Sir John was gentleman enough merely to play at the game, without trying to push it through to its logical conclusion. The instinctive feeling in him was that Sir John was, indeed, that sort. But he could not be sure; and his instinct did not completely relieve his anxieties on the subject.

  Meanwhile, Giles was chattering away to him.

  "—What ails the Mage, think you?" Giles was asking. "Though I had the honor of meeting him only briefly in France and up at our castle, I would be sad indeed to hear that he had been brought low by anything serious—or indeed dangerous to his life."

  "I think he's just been overdosed with medicines, that's all," said Jim, a little more shortly than he intended, because his attentions were still on Angie and Sir John. He made an effort to pull them back to Giles, and smooth out his voice.

  "There were two women back there who call themselves 'nurses,' " he went on. "They generally do midwifery and tend sick people around their neighborhood, I guess. I don't think they were really, seriously, in league with that rabble you saw outside. They were simply cramming one medicine after another down Carolinus because that was their way. But the end of that sort of treatment in his case could only be that he would die—he's an old man, after all—and they had to know that. Then the magic wards on his house and everything around Tinkling Water would be gone with his death; and the nurses as well as the vagabonds looked forward to finding good plunder inside that little house of his."