by Isaac Asimov
“If we have to, we’ll hike in ourselves,” said Wayne. “Right, Ishihara?”
“If you wish.”
“And then we just stand around?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Jane looked at Ishihara. “Tell me if you know where MC 6 or Hunter is.”
Ishihara turned to look at Wayne. “What should I do? You instructed me not to discuss this subject with her or in front of her.”
Wayne grinned. “Go ahead and answer.”
“I do not know where MC 6 is,” said Ishihara. “I may know where Hunter is but I am not certain.”
“Nice try.” Wayne snickered. “You can’t order him to tell you something he doesn’t know.”
“That’s not the point,” said Jane. For the moment, she decided not to sound too eager to learn what Ishihara might know about Hunter. “Do you guys have a plan or not?”
“I’ve calculated that MC 6 will return to his full size in the tor,” said Wayne. “I’ve instructed Ishihara to prioritize spotting him.”
Jane decided to risk reminding them of the troops. “Does that include people outside the tor? Say, shepherds like Emrys, or traders coming to and from the tor?”
“I have looked at the people we have passed on the road,” said Ishihara.
“How about those riders?” Wayne asked. “The guys with the spears? They were too far for me to see clearly.”
“None of them is small enough to be MC 6,” said Ishihara. “One of them is large enough to be Hunter.
With the movements of the riders, I was not able to ascertain this for certain, even at the maximum magnification of my vision. A man the size and build of Steve rode very close to him.”
Jane said nothing. She had recognized Hunter. At least she now knew what Ishihara had seen. The reason he had not mentioned it in her hearing before was that Wayne had instructed him not to do so.
“You’re sure that MC 6 is not riding with that outfit?” Wayne asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. For now, we’ll let Hunter waste his time with them. We’ll focus on finding MC 6 first.”
Jane said nothing more.
Steve and Hunter found the camp on the far slope. A single large command tent stood at the top. Two unhitched wagons stood next to it, full of closed wooden crates. Small campfire sites, cold at the moment, dotted the area, surrounded by small bundles of furs and cloth bags.
Cynric met them there and showed them which campfire belonged to their squad. He also pulled some old blankets out of a crate in one wagon and gave them to Steve and Hunter. The other squad members had not come back yet.
After Cynric walked away, Steve sighed and looked up at Hunter.
“What is wrong?” Hunter asked. He set his blanket down on the ground..
“We’ll be sleeping out under the stars. It was cold last night. Even next to the fire, we’ll be cold.”
“I noted the temperature last night. It should not be harmful to you.”
“No … but it’ll be uncomfortable.” Steve grinned. “Don’t worry about it. I just hope it doesn’t rain.”
“I suggest we walk up to the village. The sun will not go down right away. Maybe we can buy some additional bedclothes for you.”
“Okay.” Steve glanced up. The sky had more clouds than before, but he did not smell rain.
They walked back up to the village and strolled through the streets. Hunter found a stall selling furs and bargained down the price on a coverlet of rabbit pelts stitched together. Steve slung it over his shoulder gratefully.
Hunter noted when the other green recruits in the village left again. He and Steve followed them back to the camp, where the campfires now burned. Some men passed bread to each squad; pots of mut ton already boiled over the fires. A brisk breeze blew across the twilit countryside.
9
AS STEVE AND Hunter sat down around their campfire, Cynric finally introduced each squad member by name. Inthe gathering darkness, he directed one of the men to ladle mutton out of the pot into wooden bowls already filled with chunks of bread.
“Cynric,” said a young man named Cai. “What will we do tomorrow? More of the same?”
“More of the same.” Cynric looked around the group sternly. “You have much to learn before you can keep an angry Saxon from killing you.”
“Will it be different when the veterans arrive?” Cai asked. “Will we ride with them?”
“Our troop will remain together,” said Cynric. “Lucius will lead us. When the veterans first begin to gather, they will not bother to ride, except on their own. Once the bulk of them have arrived, we will practice maneuvers with them.”
“When will we go out on campaign?” A taller young man named Cadoc looked up from his bowl.
“No one can be sure,” said Cynric. “It depends on what word Artorius hears from scouts and returning veterans. He won’t plan a campaign until he knows something about the enemy.”
None of them spoke.
“You can be sure we’re going somewhere,” Cynric added. “Spring always brings a new campaign for Artorius. You need not doubt that.”
The other men nodded.
Cai chewed on a piece of bread for a moment and glanced at Steve. “I’ve never seen a man of your appearance before, yet you speak our language well. How did you two come to join us here today?”
“It’s a long story,” Steve said cautiously. He was not sure how much detail Cai wanted.
“We met in Gaul,” said Hunter casually. “My wife and I hail from Linnuis, but we fled the Saxons on board ship across the Channel.”
“I have known men from Gaul,” said Cadoc. “None looked liked you, Steve.”
“I come from the eastern end of the Roman Empire,” said Steve. He glanced at Hunter, who watched him silently. Steve decided he was free to improvise. “I traveled to Gaul as a servant to another horse breeder. We met Hunter and I began working for him, instead.”
“But where is this land you come from?” Cai asked. “My grandfather served allover the empire and told me stories about his travels. Do you come from Egypt? Judea? The Parthian border?”
Steve looked at Hunter again.
“His family comes from farther east than that,” said Hunter. “From Sina, the land of silk.”
“Never heard of it,” said Cynric. “Not that I care.” He looked into the distance, where the sun had gone down. A faint glow over the horizon still lit the sky. “Well, men, shall we take our nightly stroll through the village?”
“You walk through the village every night?” Hunter asked. “Why?”
Cynric grinned. “For a goblet of mead, maybe. Or to meet a woman in a tavern. Maybe just for a walk.
It keeps these young farmers and shepherds in the saddle during the day, when they know they have a visit in the village at night.”
Steve caught Hunter’s eye. “We’ll join you.”
“Hunter, you can see your wife.”
“Perhaps,” said Hunter. “First, we have business in the village. A certain friend of ours may live in the village now. We will look for him.”
“As you wish.” Cynric shrugged.
As the squad walked back up to the village, Steve noticed that the other squads were doing the same.
Not everyone went, however; a few others stayed around their fires. Some of the men had already stretched out in their bedrolls.
The streets of the village had only a few people, just as the night before. Cynric sought out the most crowded tavern, though, calling out to friends he found there.
Hunter and Steve bought mead in dented metal goblets and stood among talkative, laughing men in the middle of the crowd. Steve saw that Hunter was looking around, so he did not bother; Hunter’s height advantage and better vision meant that he could do the job better and faster, anyway.
Steve found the mead interesting at first, but not really to his liking. He held the goblet and glanced back out the open doorway. A small group of other men sauntered past.
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Hunter continued looking around the crowd. Steve slipped away from him through the crowd, moving toward the door. The noise in the tavern covered his footsteps. With a glance over his shoulder at Hunter’s back, he set his goblet down on a small table and stepped back outside. He hurried down the street.
After the five earlier missions, Steve no longer worried about changing history through ordinary actions.
He did not believe that he would alter the fate of Britain or the shape of Arthurian legend by getting away from Hunter for a few minutes to explore the taverns on his own. At the same time, he knew he would feel more free to act spontaneously without Hunter.
Steve followed the men in front of him into another tavern. This place had about half the crowd of the last one, but the patrons here were also cheerful and talkative. Steve moved to the bar and ordered more mead. When he turned, he found almost every man in the place looking at him.
Slowly the tavern grew quiet.
Steve looked from face to face. For the first time, he realized that Hunter’s company had protected him.
No matter how curious or hostile the Britons had felt, none had confronted him in front of Hunter. The squad members had asked their questions politely. Now he was on his own.
A young man with shoulder-length, reddish-blond hair smirked at him over a goblet.
Steve decided to take the initiative. “Good evening,” he said pleasantly.
“So it is, stranger.” The other man snickered. “Who are you, then? Some Pict from the wilds up north?”
“Ha!” Another man sneered. “I say he’s a wild man from across the western sea.”
“I came from Gaul,” said Steve, forcing a smile.
“You’re no Gaul,” said the first man. “But you speak our language. What’s your name, then?”
“Steve.”
“Eh? What kind of name is that?”
“Well, it’s short for Steven,” Steve said lamely. “What’s your name?”
“I heard of a Stephen who followed Jesus,” said another man, quietly.
“What’s your name?” Steve asked the blond man again, still trying to sound cheerful.
The man ignored his question. “You were named for this Stephen?”
“It was the origin of my name,” Steve said hesitantly. He had been named after a relative in the immediate sense. More importantly, he realized that the men around him really wanted to know something about him. He would have to speak up to satisfy them.
“You are a follower of the Church, then.” The blond man cocked his head to one side, studying Steve’s face.
“Yes.” Steve did not know if Britain in this time had different denominations or sects, so he said nothing more. He also could not tell exactly what opinion the others might hold about this.
“What is your purpose here?”
“My friend and I have joined the troop of new recruits,” said Steve.
“That’s true,” a man called from the back. “I saw him riding back through the gate with a big, tall fellow.”
The blond man smiled, finally. “I am Bedwyr. I lead a scouting patrol.”
“Really? Do you live here year-round?” Steve felt a wave of relief at his friendlier tone.
Bedwyr slapped him on the shoulder. “Forgive our questions, friend. Artorius will lead us all out on campaign soon, but we are getting restless.”
Steve glanced around. Not all of the other men had accepted his presence; some still eyed him suspiciously. However, no one else spoke.
“Something wrong, friend?”
“I’ve only seen a few taverns in your village. How about showing me around a little?”
Bedwyr laughed. “Why, sure.” He threw back his head and emptied his goblet. “Come on, let’s go.”
Steve took another swig of his mead and set his goblet down. As he followed Bedwyr out of the tavern, he was glad to see that no one else joined them. He did not feel that he had been made welcome, exactly, but being treated with indifference was good enough.
Bedwyr started up the street, pointing to another small building with flickering candles in the window.
“That’s a good place for food,” he said. “Not so much for drinking.”
“Tell me something,” said Steve, falling into step next to him. “You’re the only one who seemed to think my joining Artorius meant something. The others still aren’t so friendly. What’s different about you?”
“You mean, regarding you?” Bedwyr shrugged. “I spoke up first because I was the most curious about you. And Artorius needs every good man he can get.”
“So I have heard.”
“The Saxons don’t ride, but they come across the Channel like endless packs of wolves. Any man who will face them is all right with me. But you must understand that in these times, not everyone loves a stranger.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Enough of that.” Bedwyr pointed up in the moonlight toward the palace as they walked. “My barracks lie there, in the citadel. You can’t see it well in the darkness, but all of Artorius’s personal troop lives with him in that quarter. We are sworn to die for him if necessary.”
“Are you in his personal bodyguard?”
“No,” said Bedwyr. “You misunderstand. He has a personal household troop of about three hundred, depending on casualties from time to time. We live here permanently and accompany him on every trip he takes. His bodyguards are a special group of only twenty.”
Steve wanted to get inside the palace somehow to look for MC 6. However, he did not want to appear too eager for fear of making Bedwyr suspicious of his motives. He decided to approach the subject obliquely.
“How does a new man join the personal troop?” Steve asked. “To maintain the number around three hundred, men killed in battle obviously must be replaced.”
“A man’s loyalty must be proven. For instance, my father died fighting in Artorius’s personal troop when I was young. My mother sent me when I came of age.”
“So connections are important.”
“Yes, or special courage and sacrifice on the battlefield.” Bedwyr nodded.
“What about working in the palace?” Steve asked. “Artorius must have people who keep the fires burning and cook the food and clean up.”
“What of it? You came to fight.”
“Not for me,” said Steve. “I’m looking for a friend. A little guy. He’s coming here, but I don’t know if he’s already arrived or not. He wasn’t in Lucius’s troop, so I wonder if he’s working in the palace.”
“Ah. I understand now.” Bedwyr shrugged. “People like that, the servants … I pay no attention.”
“Who would know? Someone in the palace who hires the servants, I guess.”
“Yes.”
Steve waited, hoping Bedwyr would offer to help. When he did not, Steve decided to ask him outright.
Steve only hoped he would not offend the warrior in some unpredictable way.
“Could you introduce me to this person? I would like to ask about my friend.”
“Mm, well, how about another drink, Steve? Even this little village has more taverns than we’ve seen yet.”
“You can’t take a stranger to the palace?”
Bedwyr grinned. “You really want to find this fellow. Does he owe you money?”
“No, no.” Steve laughed. “But you’re right — finding him is very important to me.”
“I’ll talk to a friend,” said Bedwyr slowly. “But no promises. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’ll see who’s on sentry duty this watch. I know all those guys.”
Steve grinned in the darkness. This was progress, at least. In Bedwyr’s company, he couldn’t call Hunter directly, but he switched on his lapel pin so that Hunter could overhear him.
“How far is it to the palace?” Steve asked.
Bedwyr laughed. “In this village? You’ve seen it. Nothing is more than a few minutes’ walk.”
Steve knew Hunter wou
ld get the message from that exchange. They walked in silence through the streets. When they turned a corner, they left the taverns behind.
A single torch burned in a holder over the main entrance to the palace. Two bored sentries sat on stools, cradling their spears. They looked up with interest when they heard footsteps approaching.
“It’s Bedwyr,” he called out. “And a new friend. Good evening, Aetius. Wake up, Drustan.”
They both grinned. “What are you doing here, Bedwyr? The taverns are still open.”
“My friend Steve, here, now rides under Lucius. He seeks a friend who may be in the palace.”
Drustan frowned. “He can’t go inside at this hour. In the morning, maybe.”
“I don’t need to go inside,” said Steve. “My friend is called MC 6.”
“Strange name,” said Bedwyr.
“He may have taken another on his travels. Maybe I could describe him to you. He’s a little guy, slender and about so high.” Steve held his hand at MC 6’s height. “He probably doesn’t talk much, but he’s very agreeable. If you tell him to do something, he just does it. And he never hurts anybody — he won’t fight, but he’ll try to stop a fight between other people. Have you seen him?”
The sentries looked at each other.
“Well, there’s little Patricius,” said Drustan. “He’s only twelve.”
“I’m looking for a grown man,” said Steve. “Just a little one.”
“Medraut’s not too big,” said Aetius. “But he’s no stranger. He’s Artorius’s nephew.”
“One of the cooks caught him scrapping with another young rascal yesterday,” said Drustan. “Medraut picks fights all the time.”
“You sure he’s that little?” Aetius asked. “Maybe he’s gotten his growth since you saw him last.”
“Well … it was only a few months ago.”
“I fear we haven’t seen anyone like that,” said Drustan. “We would notice, I think. But maybe he works in the village somewhere.”
“Maybe so. Thank you.” Steve sighed. Hunter had certainly heard the entire exchange. MC 6 probably had not returned to full size yet. “Bedwyr, shall we visit another tavern? I’ll buy.”