“All golden ages come to their ends,” my father said. “As you can imagine, there was a war. Even in the happiest of days, conflict is never far from men’s hearts.”
“What did they have to fight over?” Gwendolyn asked. “No sickness, and full bellies for all? What was so wrong that they had to fight over something or other?”
“Our histories are cloudy on that subject,” answered my father. “Much of what has been handed down to us of those dark times are subject to mythologizing, and evident distortion. They blame Jupiter, or Saturn, for seeking dominion over the Solar System. I am sure that histories written on Jupiter or Saturn will say that they only sought freedom from Earth. Who can say? So much time has passed.”
“How long ago was this?” Sir Rodney asked. “The bards only sing of such matters in the vaguest terms. Everything always happened 'very long ago' in their songs, with no specificity.”
“My books do not say for certain,” my father said, “but in the Shrine there is a clock. It is the mission chronometer, taken from Ship of the Six. It now stands in the city square. It has been counting the years continuously since the day that the Six landed. I saw it when I was there years ago. It must now read 6191. The priests of the Shrine said that the great war came in the year 2780 according to the clock from the Ship. So the war between the planets happened thirty-three hundred and twenty-one years before this day.”
“Such a long time ago,” Sir Rodney said, his voice suffused with bitterness. “And so very much lost since then.”
We came upon a small cleft where the road cut through a large outcropping of rock. The sides were remarkably smooth, cut during the days when Martian skill was far greater than it was today.
Suddenly, Sir Rodney turned and looked back behind him. His face bore a look of disgust.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“Trouble, as I feared.” Sir Rodney spoke urgently to Squire Edward. “Take a small cask of blackpowder, and cut the fuse to two fingerwidths. Just two! Hide in that outcropping over there. When I tap my sword, roll it amongst them.”
Squire Edward hurried off, gathered a powder cask and a bit of oil-soaked twine, and climbed up the rocks. Soon our small party was confronted by three Xanthean horse archers to the fore, supplemented immediately afterward by three more to our rear. We were trapped on the road. “Be ready with your swords,” the knight said to us. I drew my blade uncertainly. I had never used it in anger. It felt heavy and unwieldy in my hand. I was no soldier, and knew at that instant that I never would be.
A lean and hungry-looking Xanthean atop a shaggy horse spoke first. He scowled. “Give us your money, your weapons, and the woman, and we will let you live.” His offer to spare us was in no way believable.
Sir Rodney guffawed. “Our money belongs to us. The woman makes her own decisions as to whom she will go with, and I venture she prefers our company to yours. As for our weapons, you’ll have to take them from us.” Sir Rodney touched his gauntleted fist to his sword’s hilt.
“Suit yourself,” said the Xanthean, an unpleasant grin spreading across his weather-beaten face.
A moment later there was a massive explosion among the Xantheans behind us. My ears rang. The three horse archers to our rear were hurled from their mounts, their mangled body parts and horseflesh spraying the sides of the rockface. Sir Rodney shot the stunned Xanthean leader in the face with his musketoon before the man could recover from the shock of the explosion. The knight then spurred his horse onwards, drawing his sword, and with a deft stroke decapitated one of the remaining Xantheans.
I kicked my own horse. The last Xanthean loosed an arrow at Sir Rodney, which struck him in the side. The Tithonian recoiled in pain. I slashed at the Xanthean’s face, and hit him hard on his iron helmet. He struck at me with his bow. I blocked this with my arm, which went numb with pain. I raised my sword again to strike, but my father and Timothy had arrived. They dragged the man from his saddle, and finished him.
I turned to Sir Rodney, who was helped from his horse by Squire Edward. A black-flighted Xanthean arrow protruded awkwardly from his underarm. The dart had found the weakness in the knight’s armored defenses. It was embedded so deeply that it had to be mortal.
My father and I rushed over to him. Squire Edward propped his head up with his cloak. Sir Rodney smiled weakly and glanced at his lifeblood pooling on the soil beside him. “Well, Jacques, it seems that Mars will once again be red, at least for a little while.”
“Alas, good sir, that you should pass this way,” my father said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “We were but poor company for one so valiant. You saved us all.”
Sir Rodney laughed softly. “That is part and parcel of being a knight, you see, Jacques.” He looked around. “No more calling me ‘good sir.’ Enough of that. Call me Rodney.”
“Yes - Rodney,” my father said.
“Squire Edward?”
“Yes, Sir Rodney?”
“You have always been very brave, and a fine squire. You will make a fine knight. Therefore, you are no longer a squire. You are now Sir Edward. I would dub you in proper fashion, but I don’t think I can raise my arm.”
“Thank you, Sir Rodney.”
“Well then, time is fleeting,” Sir Rodney, his breathing ragged. "But about the end of your tale, good vintner of Ophir. It was a golden time, you said,” Sir Rodney whispered. “There is such a sweet sound to those words. It is our unhappy fate that it ended in fire. But if it was possible before, then it is possible again. Perhaps another golden time will one day follow this current one of iron and darkness.” The knight looked at me, his eyes full of sadness. “I think, dear Claude, that you should reconsider your desire for adventure. What you see here before you is the usual end of adventurous souls. Farewell.” His eyes closed.
So passed Sir Rodney of Gordium, a Tithonian knight and a proud son of Mars. We brought his body to the Shrine of the Six, where it was buried with full honors as befitted such a courageous man. Sir Rodney had completed his pilgrimage, at the last.
A Knight of Mars Page 3