"Gentlemen?" queried Kay sharply. He would be referring only to the knights and squires, Jim knew.
"Six-tenths of them, perhaps," said Brian. "But few of them gentlemen you would sit to table with. They are ruined or sinful men, hedge-knights and outlaws—the scraping of the world's drain ditches."
"But armed and able to fight, I trust?" asked Bedivere. "It were a shame to put to flight no more than a rabble."
"Oh, armed, experienced, armored, and some with squire or page," said Brian," and such as will fight hard, because for those like theirselves, it is win or die—and having nothing left but their few mortal years they value life."
"A considerable number," said Bedivere thoughtfully.
"Come, Sir Bedivere!" said Kay to him, "to attack us? They must be mad, were they twice as many."
"Any such attack will go as God wills," said Sir Bedivere. "And while I think no Knight here would fear death in battle, the arm wearies with killing; and we are not what we once were, in especial without Arthur the King or Lancelot to lead us. You remember how it was with us who were with Arthur in the next to last battle with Modred, the battle at Dover, where he had much greater numbers, but the King, beyond himself with might and passion, his white beard flaming in the sunlight, himself drove them back—and we his Knights followed. But we no longer have him, nor the brightness of Lancelot to set us alight."
"Lancelot will light no lights in his hermit cell, let be how light the lady!" said Kay, with a somewhat coarse laugh. But then he crossed himself. "If sobeit he is still on live—nay, nay—" he added swiftly, for Sir Bedivere's face had darkened and hardened. "I mean no disrespect to his memory. In all but one thing he was the most noble of Knights!"
"Well you may say so," said Bedivere.
"But you, Sir Brian." Changing his attention and his subject somewhat hastily, Sir Kay returned to Jim's friend. "From what you tell us of those armed against us, you must be old in fighting. But, without offense, Sir, may I ask how sure your estimate of this rabble raised against us may be? Have you seen much of battle? Or for that, of spear-runnings?"
"Of battle, only once, and for little time, Sir. But for spear-runnings, since my boyhood, they have been my great desire and delight," said Brian, "and I have had some small success in them."
Jim now knew enough of knightly manners to know that it was now up to him, as Brian's friend, to set the record straight.
"I do not remember, in my time," he said, as slowly and impressively as he could, "the tournament at which Sir Brian failed to carry away the crown." (He had only seen one, actually, at the Earl of Somerset's Christmas party of the previous year.)
"Ah, indeed?" said Sir Kay. His voice dropped a note or two. "Of course, those would all be tournaments in the land above, would they not?"
"They were," said Brian, "and doubtless not to compare with those found here in Lyonesse. Yet I pray you, Sir Kay, if you would do me the honor, you and I might break a spear or two so that you can judge for yourself how much I know."
"Sit down. Sit down!" said Bedivere. "With foes at our border is no time to be playing amongst ourselves with sharpened lances!"
Both Brian and Kay sat back down on their stools. Wine was poured into cups. There was a little silence.
Jim was tense. It was Arthur who, in the Legends, focused the concept of chivalry to these men. Underneath, in many ways, they were still savage; and Sir Kay seemed all too ready to make trouble.
"What, then," said Sir Kay, breaking the pause once more, "from your experience, Sir Brian, would you say is the most important skill of all in spear-runnings?"
It was clearly a testing question.
"Sir," said Brian, "I would say that it is the skill of a good agreement between the man and his horse."
This clearly unexpected answer startled Jim with the way it abruptly cleared the small invisible thundercloud of growing antagonism at the table. Both Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere leaned forward with a sudden, wholehearted, eager interest, Sir Kay's ready animosity forgotten.
"Why do you place that foremost among all other such skills?" asked Bedivere.
"Because, Sir," said Brian, "if that a gentleman be lacking in it against an opponent whose mount is one with him, not all the other skills put together will avail."
"But surely, Sir," said Sir Kay, and there was no edge to his voice at all now, only open inquiry, "all of us have that skill—so all are equals?"
"Perhaps here in your Lyonesse it is so," said Brian. "I would not doubt that. But consider, Sirs, when the spearpoint strikes, the winner is one who is able to put not only his own weight, but that of his horse, for an instant, behind the blow. I can only say that I have met few indeed in my own experience who could do so."
"But I say again," said Sir Kay, "you must be speaking of somewhat other than what is usually considered in this. Does not the weight of horse and man necessarily go behind the strike of the spearpoint?"
"Many assume so, but no. Not with all possible force, not without an exceptional, trained horse; and not without much training of man and horse together…"
Brian spoke on. He had been deeply concerned from the beginning of their friendship to teach Jim jousting, along with other weapon skills; and he had tried hard to do so. But he had never mentioned the unity of horse and man at the moment of collision until now; and Jim judged that it was subject matter for those much more expert than he would ever be—the graduate level of spear-running, so to speak.
His mind drifted off from the conversation. He wondered where Dafydd and the QB had gone when they disappeared. It struck him he was gaining nothing by sitting here while technical talk of spear-runnings whizzed about his ears. Taking advantage of a slight pause in the conversation, he stood up.
"If you will forgive me, Sirs," he said. "There is something I just remembered I should be about. I will hope to rejoin you a little later—no, no, Brian, there's no need for you to come, too. By all means stay and finish talking."
Brian settled back. Jim went. Before he had taken two steps they were deep in a discussion of how much there was to be gained by knowing the man you were about to joust with. Kay and Bedivere believed there was a great deal. Brian insisted the notion was exaggerated.
"—There is a gentleman of my acquaintance," he was saying as Jim walked out of hearing. "I cannot claim him as an especial friend of mine; but there is not denying he is a superb horseman and man of his hands. I have met him many a time and oft in the lists and outside them; but never have I been able to learn in those times of any weakness or bad habit in his lance or sword work. He gained the crown at one tourney when my girth broke as he and I rode against each other to see who should win the day…"
The words faded behind Jim. He had encountered this same thing in the land above, long since. The gentry could be as tedious as any professionals of his original world when it came to talking shop. Opinions and instances concerning hounds, hawks, hunting practice, and the use of weapons could end up dinning in the ear of someone who had not been raised to live with those things.
Jim roamed through the Gathering Place, noticed as a stranger, but no more than noticed; and as soon forgotten by those he passed. But he found no sign of Dafydd, David, the QB, or Pellinore.
The Gathering Place of the Original Knights of Lyonesse, aside from the Pavilion, had not seemed to have much in the way of walls, or even borders. But now he began to find that even what passed for borders were particularly unreliable, tables with stools seeming to straggle off into unoccupied forest in all directions.
He reached what he thought was an outer edge now; and started to circle around the whole Place—a clever way of seeing all and everyone there, he thought—until he discovered that what had been an outer edge of it some thirty steps earlier had only protruded halfway to the longer area he now walked into, with tables and straight-backed, martial figures talking at them.
But farther around, beyond this second area, the forest closed in again. No tables, no figures, no talking. He wandered int
o the trees a short distance, however, just to make sure he was not being misled by the immediate greenery and this really was the outer edge of the Gathering Place at this point.
But this time no outdoor furniture and seated Knights appeared, no one. Only on one yew tree he became aware of a squirrel, larger than the one he had seen on entering Lyonesse.
This squirrel clung easily to the trunk of the yew, at a point a little above his head—motionless, upside down, but watching him with up-arched neck and bright, black-seeming eyes. He wondered if it was one of the animals he had spoken to in the amphitheater, earlier.
"Hello there," he said to it.
It said nothing. Neither did it move, though he was within two long strides of it.
Jim's mind went worriedly back to the matter of finding his missing friends and Pellinore. The day was moving on, but he could do nothing until he knew what they had been up to. In spite of himself, a feeling of depression, of being hurried into what might well be the wrong action, was growing in him. Good fighters as these figures of heroic deeds long past undoubtedly were, their idea of armed combat was probably nothing more than a super-melee, each one fighting, berserk-fashion, against the enemy before him at the moment, with no overall direction.
Cumberland would at least have a plan. The English, he recalled, had won at Crecy against the French, using the harrow formation—the archers, protected by ditches and stakes, on both wings, and dismounted men-at-arms—Jim could not see any of the Round Table Knights agreeing to dismount—in the center as spearmen. They had also made use of a favorable ground position.
Here, the question of a plan could not wait much longer. Nor could that of a leader for the fighters of Lyonesse; and though Jim found himself thinking very highly of Pellinore, he could not quite see him as the sort of magnetic general officer who might lead his fellow legendary Knights to victory, fourteenth-century style.
The fact of it was, he felt that he, himself, should be able to think of some way in which they could win against opponents that certainly must greatly outnumber them. The Earl of Cumberland had hardly a decent human quality to recommend him. But Jim did not need to see him in battle to know that the man was no coward. He had commanded—which meant leading in this age—before and would do so now. He would be ready to show the way; and none of those behind him would shirk having to follow.
Even if the Originals had the aid of all their descendants, and even if those, like the Originals, were fearsome fighters—which he secretly believed was not very likely, after meeting the Descendant of Sir Dinedan the last time he, Brian, and Dafydd had been in Lyonesse—they were going to be unreasonably outnumbered and overpowered, in any case. In this mulligan stew of magic and brutal, deadly weapons, he needed some knowledge of a way in which they could be led—what tactics, if any, they could be brought to follow.
But nothing came to mind.
He needed to talk to someone who could tell him more of what to expect from the Lyonesse warriors. What was wrong with him, anyway? Usually he could come up with an idea—but this time his mind might as well have been asleep.
Moved by a wild thought, he looked at the squirrel, who was still there, unmoved, watching him. On impulse he looked for a dead leaf, found none. He reached into his purse for the leaf Angie had given him. "Good magic," she had called it. It was worth a try in this land of magic.
He reached forward to the squirrel and slipped the leaf edgewise into the animal's slightly open mouth.
"Here!" he said, "take that to Merlin and tell him I need to know how to get to Avalon."
"M'Lord?" said Hob excitedly, on Jim's shoulder, "are we going to Avalon? The ballad singer who taught me—"
"Don't talk!" Still watching the squirrel, Jim cut him short.
The little animal had not moved. It was doing nothing about the leaf, either. It was not dropping it, but at the same time it hardly seemed aware the leaf was in its mouth. Even for a squirrel, it did not seem to have much intelligence.
Jim started to turn away, feeling empty inside. He should have kept Angie's leaf. He might as well head back toward the center of the Gathering Place. But before he was completely turned, he became aware that the squirrel was gone. He turned back instantly, but the trunk held nothing now. Strange… he had not seen it disappear, and it had still been within his range of vision.
A sudden touch of coldness, like an icicle slipped down the back of his shirt neck, took him.
What if it had been no living squirrel at all, but some creature or creation of either the Dark Powers or Morgan le Fey, sent to spy upon him?
If so, they might now believe he had some kind of working arrangement with Merlin; and that was why he had just sent the squirrel to the tree-bound seer. Squirrels denned in holes in trees well above ground, and such a hole in the tree where Merlin was imprisoned could lead all the way to the ancient magician. That suspicion might slow them down a bit—or it might make them move all the faster to settle things before he actually made a trip to the legendary land of Avalon.
He shook the thought off. Avalon would be unreachable, of course; and anyway, by now the squirrel would have dropped and forgotten the leaf—which at most could only be a reminder of the message, and useful only if it had understood him, which it probably had not.
"—James! James!"
Chapter Thirty-Six
James, I say! JAMES!"
Jim turned to see Brian hastening toward him.
"Most heartily do I crave the mercy of your pardon, James!" Brian said, reaching him. "Most thoughtless—most unmannerly of me—to lose my courtesies completely, in a conversation with two gentlemen, neither of whom we know; and let you start off on some task alone when I should be at your side—"
"No such thing, Brian," said Jim. "I was just hunting for Dafydd and the QB."
"Why, they and the lad David went off, even as we met with Sir Bedivere—a solid-thinking, worthy gentleman, though his ideas are somewhat out-of-date—and Sir Kay. But then, their armor, and weapons, also—however, I run on once more. Of course, your back was turned when our friends disappeared; and of course they made no sound doing it."
"I particularly wanted to ask the QB when we might get back together with King Pellinore and speak to all the Originals about getting ready to face any invasion from that small army we saw in the Borderland."
"James," said Brian solemnly, "it is not a small army."
"No, of course not. Just my odd way of saying things, Brian. But, you know, there was a squirrel here just now—"
Jim checked himself, looking at the tall yew tree.
"Well, there was a squirrel," he went on, "one that'd been watching me. Nothing important. I just thought I might send a message through him somehow—"
"Through a squirrel, James?"
But Jim's mind had gone back to being helpful again. Ignoring the question, he told Brian about how the QB had taken him to meet the wild animals of forest and plain.
"That must indeed have been a moment to remember," said Brian, a little wistfully. "Do not think I complain, James, but it has not been my good fortune to be engaged in anything so far on this voyage. Nothing, at least, of the sort that makes good telling around the fire on a winter's night. But indeed"—he brightened up suddenly—"did you know that King Pellinore has animals about his castle that serve like men and women?"
"As a matter of fact…" began Jim, "I did. They set a table outside for me; and some human servants brought out food."
"Did they?"
"Yes." Jim told him all about it.
"Well, well!" said Brian admiringly. "They did? I have always said that you will find better manners in your usual beast than you will in your usual gentleman. Certainly your well-trained horse or dog… but my own happenstance with these was no less wonderful."
"When did you have time to have it? When I went with the QB to meet with the animals in the woods you were asleep, and still asleep when we got back."
"Ah, yes, but I woke up betweentimes
. It has happened to me once or twice before, when I have gone somewhat beyond my usual time of sleep. I woke, James, suddenly; not knowing where I was for a moment. I wished very much to sleep again, but I could not seem to do so, so I got up and went out."
"All the way outside?"
"Outside King Pellinore's palace. I sat down on his bench—you recall that bench seat against the front wall of it? And sat, trying to think myself back into slumber, but without success. Still, I must have dozed for a moment—but do not think I dreamed this, James!"
"No. I won't. Of course not."
"I opened my eyes to see some of the small bears and otters you mentioned, James; one couple of each standing a little apart from the other couple, but all regarding me. It did not come to my mind at first that these animals were servitors of King Pellinore. My first thought was that they had just wandered in out of the woods, though I marveled to see them stand two and two like that—I was barely awake, for all I could not sleep, you understand—and I did not think to see if there was any other animal there with them."
He stopped, shaking his head.
"Go on," said Jim.
"Ah, me," said Brian, with sudden softness, "I shall never be able to bring myself to hunt a little doe again, no matter how hard the winter. But all at once there was this soft breath in my face, and a young fallow deer was before me, and the end of her muzzle was at rest on my shoulder… those gentle eyes looking at me—sorrowfully it seemed, almost—for that I could not sleep; and after a moment, she lowered her head and nudged me under my right arm, nudged me upward."
Brian sighed.
"It may be hard to believe, James; but I could no more refuse that nudge than I could have refused a polite request from a lady. Once on my feet, I felt her moving to nudge me from behind; and so she pushed me gently to the door of the palace, down a corridor and into the room where I had been sleeping, and so to my bed. I fell on it, ready to sleep now; and rest came to me like instant night. The last I remember were her great eyes, so gentle, still watching, looking down into mine, until I could hold them open no longer."
The Dragon in Lyonesse Page 38