by Simon Hawke
Finn nodded. "We'll be even less popular tomorrow morning, when I start in on these rampant specimens of manhood."
"We may have some desertions," Bobby said.
Finn shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Because the only alternative to us is honest work."
"Good point."
"Robin!"
"I think the lady's calling you."
"Robin!"
Bobby sighed. "Lousy army."
Finn chuckled. "It's a living."
Cedric didn't make it easy.
Lucas was waiting for the right moment to confront him, but the old man began ranting about the "Norman dogs" the moment they left the castle. There wasn't a pause in his tirade until they had reached the edge of the forest. By that time, he had commented extensively upon the ancestries of all the Normans present at the banquet, excluding Andre de la Croix, who, conceded Cedric, was at the very least a better mannered knight than the rest of "those swine from Normandy."
"That despicable Templar is the worst of their lot!" said Cedric, showing not the slightest sign of winding down. "If I were a younger man, I would have it out with him upon the field of battle! Athelstane, you should have split his skull! No, no, it was well that you didn't. Never let it be said that a Saxon drew sword upon his host, no matter what the provocation! We must see to it that his skull is split at the very next opportunity, however. Would that the white knight had split it for him! Oh, how my heart sang when I saw how well he humbled them! Would that I knew who he was so I could hold a great feast in his honor!"
Seeing his chance, Lucas quickly said, "I can tell you who this white knight is, my lord."
"What, you know him?" Cedric reined in his horse and slipped a small golden bracelet off his wrist. "Good palmer, I will give you this bracelet if you name him to me!"
"Keep your bracelet, my lord. I will proudly do you this service without payment. This white knight was a Saxon who had gone off to fight for the Holy Land with Coeur-de-Lion."
"Ha! I knew he was a Saxon! I cannot say that I hold with any true Saxon going off to fight in foreign lands while his own nation is held hostage, but for the way he unhorsed those Norman bastards, I forgive him!"
"Then forgive your son, my lord," said Lucas, "for his nameis Ivanhoe."
"No! It cannot be! I have no son!"
Lucas pulled back his cowl. "I plead your forgiveness, Father. Can you find it in your heart to take your son back?"
"You!"
Rowena gave a small shriek and almost fell from her saddle. At that moment de la Croix attacked.
The first thing Lucas became aware of when he came to was that his head was throbbing. He put his hand to his forehead and was surprised to encounter a bandage. He was also surprised to find himself lying in a bed. He gradually became aware of his surroundings. He was in a small wooden cabin with a planked floor. There were shutters on the windows and these shutters were closed, but there was light inside the cabin. He moved his head slightly and saw a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was music in the cabin. A Bartok concerto for the recorder. He sat up quickly and immediately collapsed back on the bed with a groan.
"Take it easy there, pilgrim," said a man's voice. "You've had a nasty crack on the head and you've got a concussion."
Lucas looked up and saw the man bending over him. He looked like an old man at first, but then Lucas realized that what gave that impression was his extremely long hair, which was streaked with gray, and his long, full beard. The face behind the foliage was youthful and the blue eyes were clear and bright. The man wore a long, clean, beautifully embroidered velvet caftan. There were dragons on both sides of his chest, their tails curling down to his knees. When the man turned around to pick up something from the table, Lucas saw that the back of the caftan was embroidered with the words "Hong Kong."
"Here you go, pilgrim. Have some chicken soup. It's good for what ails you."
"Jesus, I'm hallucinating," Lucas said.
The man in the caftan pursed his lips. "Don't think so. I can fix that, though. I've got some dynamite acid here from 1969, that oughtta do the trick. But with you being in the shape you're in, I don't think a trip would be such a good idea."
Lucas sat up, much more slowly this time. The man sat down on the bed with the bowl of soup in his hand. He spooned out some of it and fed it to Lucas.
Lucas swallowed the hot broth. "Who the hell are you?"
"Name's Hunter," said the man. "Lieutenant Reese Hunter, late of the U.S.T.C. Here, have some more soup."
"Where am I? What am I doing here? What happened?"
"Just relax and eat your soup, son. We'll take things one at a time, okay?"
Lucas nodded and opened his mouth as another spoonful approached.
"Answer to number one: You're in my cabin. We're smack dab in the middle of the woods here, you can barely get around without a machete. It's not that bad, actually, but we're off the beaten track and no one's likely to bother us. As for answer number two, what you're doing here is recovering from the answer to number three, which I can only take a wild stab at, but as near as I can tell, it appears that your head side-swiped a mace. I found you wandering around out there in shock and I brought you in and sewed you up."
"How'd you know I was a-"
"Whoever hit you not only busted you up pretty well," said Hunter, "they also smashed your implant. I'm a pretty decent surgeon, which is a lucky thing for you, and I removed it. I'll show it to you if you like, but the little suckers are tiny and your vision probably isn't going to be so hot for a while."
"You're an observer," Lucas said.
Hunter laughed. "Oh, no, not me. I'm through with that gig. I'm just a plain old citizen."
"I don't understand."
"I'm a deserter."
"I don't believe it."
"It's the truth. See, I just sort of… well, retired, you might say. I take it you're here on an adjustment."
Lucas nodded.
"I figured as much. There's some kind of circus going on back here, a real crazy merry-go-round. They've been sending people back and forth and back and forth, I mean, it's really frantic. At first, I figured maybe they were on my trail, but that just didn't add up, so the only other answer had to be a threatened timeline split. That's a bad deal, friend. Heavy business. Standard duty's bad enough, but an adjustment on a split, that could be a real killer. If you're smart, you'll just throw in with me and take a real long vacation. You're KIA now, with your implant out. They'll never trace you. I've got a pretty nice set-up here, all the comforts of home. I could do with some company. What do you say?"
Lucas looked slowly around the cabin and, at first glance, he took in the sound system, the microwave oven, the holovision and the cassette file, thousands of books, a reading lamp and chair, several Persian rugs, racks of pipes with tobacco humidors beside them…
"How on earth did you…" His voice trailed off as the answer became obvious.
"What, all this stuff?" said Hunter. "No sweat. I've got a chronoplate."
8
The sheriff sat at the table in his chambers at Nottingham Castle, scratching his head and frowning. He poured himself another goblet of wine to help him think. He was an extremely large man and very muscular, a giant by the standards of his time. He towered over the man who paced the floor in his chambers, but that did not change the fact that this man intimidated him. The sheriff scratched his square, clean-shaven jaw and his slate gray eyes never left the pacing man. Richard had changed since he had returned from the Crusades. The sheriff, who was senior to his king in age (or so he thought) by a good ten years, decided that fighting Saladin had matured Richard. Always fiery, fierce and impetuous, the Lion Heart was now tempered with maturity. He had developed cunning and a cold, methodical ruthlessness that impressed him greatly.
"Damn me for a dullard, Sire, I still don't understand," he said.
Irving, dressed as the black knight, although sa
ns his armor, stopped his pacing for a moment. He looked at the sheriff much the way a patient schoolteacher might gaze upon an inordinately slow pupil.
"All right, Guy. I shall explain it once again, but listen carefully this time. John has obtained a great deal of power in my absence. He now holds both York and Ashby and he has reassigned the lands of many of my faithful knights to his own followers. He has his own men at arms, whose number he has significantly increased, as well as the lances of De Bracy and his Free Companions. He also has the formidable Templar, Bois-Guilbert, in his good graces and Sir Brian has but to snap his fingers and the knights at the Preceptory of Templestowe will be at his beck and call. John has granted them complete autonomy within their province and they will be anxious to protect their interests against me. My differences with the Knights Templars and the Knights of St. John in the Holy Land will not aid my cause.
"I have my loyal followers," he continued. "I have Andre de la Croix in John's camp; I have you, Sir Guy, and your well trained men at arms, but we are still vastly outnumbered. I cannot afford to take direct action against my brother at this time. There are yet other forces about who seek to bring us down. The time to strike is not yet ripe. You and I must make it so."
"This much I understand," the sheriff said, "but I do not see the purpose served by the abduction of this Saxon and his party. Will it not serve to alienate the people from our cause?"
"Oh, think, Guy, for pity's sake!" said Irving. "To what end does de la Croix impersonate De Bracy? How do you think the people will respond when it becomes known that De Bracy, John's paid vassal, attacked a Saxon lord, carrying off not only Cedric, but Athelstane and Rowena, the last of the royal Saxon lines? For what reason did your men at arms who accompanied Sir Andre wear lincoln green?"
"It would make them appear as outlaws," Guy said. "But then, if you want it thought that outlaws did the deed, why dress Sir Andre as De Bracy?"
"Think, Guy! Must I explain everything to you?"
The sheriff put on a heavy expression of concentration.
"Stop that," Irving said. "You look as though you're suffering from piles."
The sheriff stopped frowning and shrugged.
Irving sighed. "Very well. I will explain it to you. And you will feel heartily ashamed for not seeing it yourself. Why is it that you have had so little success in bringing the Saxon outlaws to justice?"
"Because they are led by the cleverest shrew who ever-"
"Spare me. I have no desire to hear of your marital difficulties. They enjoy their liberty only because they know the forests better than your men at arms and because they are supported by the people, who see them as figures of romance."
"Yes, I've heard those silly songs about their robbing from the rich and giving to the poor," said Guy. "Alan-a-dale should be hung for his minstrelcy if for nothing else. Yet, those songs always fail to mention that these wolf's heads deduct a goodly percentage of their plunder for themselves."
"Be that as it may," said Irving, "the people love them because they rob the Normans. The Saxons are taxed into penury and they are grateful to see their oppressors suffer any disadvantage. Occasionally, these outlaws might beard some wealthy Saxon, but it is another thing entirely if it should become known that they have taken to working hand in hand with mercenary knights, abducting Saxon women and holding them for ransom. And rest assured, we will make it known. In such an event, the affection that the people bear these outlaws would begin to wane somewhat, would it not?"
"How does that help us?" said Sir Guy.
"It prepares the people to greet us with open arms when we come to free them from such tyranny," said Irving. "It also puts the forest outlaws at a disadvantage. They would have to prove themselves innocent. What better way to do this than to confront De Bracy?"
"But Sir Maurice will deny it all."
"Do you expect the Saxons to believe him?"
"So while De Bracy and his Free Companions are beset by outlaws, we move against Prince John with the odds for our success being much improved."
"There, you see? Was that so difficult to reason out?"
"But there still remains a problem," said Sir Guy. "Cedric and his party will know the truth of the matter."
"Will they?" Irving said. "Even as we speak, de la Croix delivers Cedric and his party to Nottingham Castle. The Saxons will be bound and blindfolded. They will have no idea where they are. Andre de la Croix, in the guise of Sir Maurice, will see to it that they are safely locked away within our dungeons. They will never know that it was not De Bracy who had taken them."
"But surely De Bracy will have some response when he is accused?" the sheriff said.
"What does that matter? By that time, it will be too late. Of course, there is always the possibility that the truth will eventually emerge. But then, the dead do not tell tales, do they? The prisoners will have to be dispatched when the time comes. It is regrettable, but their lives will have to be forfeit to affairs of state. We are fighting for a throne and the welfare of England is at stake. As for De Bracy, you leave him to de la Croix."
The sheriff shook his head in admiration. "You seem to have thought of everything, Sire."
"Not quite everything," said Irving. "At least, not yet. There are other matters I must see to presently, for which purpose I must now retire and contemplate. See to it that I am not disturbed."
"As you command, Sire."
Irving left the sheriff and made his way to his private chambers in the castle tower. His remark to Sir Guy had not been merely an excuse; he needed time to think. He was growing worried. He reached his chambers and closed the door behind him, then shot the bolt. Wearily, he threw himself down upon the bed.
He had to tread with extreme care. If possible, he needed to take at least one of the adjustment team alive. That opportunity had not yet presented itself. He needed enough time to make the snatch, and to convey one of them to Nottingham, where he could use the fine equipment in the dungeons to discover the location of the adjustment referee. Once he accomplished that, it would all be over. But he had to be extremely careful. He had failed each time before. The men had died before divulging the necessary information.
His past was absolute. He knew that clocking back once more would not create a paradox if history remained unchanged. Yet, that was the very game that he was playing. He had to be supremely cautious, staying within the limits he had set for himself.
He knew that small actions taken in the past were canceled out in the flow of time. Any small ripple in the timeline became evened out through the inertia of the flow. Traveling back into the past and taking an action that would significantly change history, or clocking back to confront oneself would cause a more significant ripple in the timestream. At that point, the timeline would be split, creating an alternate timeline running parallel with the absolute past. Each such instance created yet another parallel timeline and, theoretically, this could go on ad infinitum. However, a split timeline had to eventually rejoin. This action would occur at some point beyond the action taken to create the split.
This was what Mensinger had cited in his famous work on "The Fate Factor." He had used the "grandfather paradox" to illustrate his point. The grandfather paradox postulated a fascinating dilemma, a riddle that had not been solved until Mensinger had proved the potential for parallel timelines. The paradox stated that if you went back into the past and altered the history of your grandfather, killing him before he ever met your grandmother, then he would never have met and married your grandmother. Your father, then, would not have been born and, consequently, you would not have been born. And if you were never born, how could you go back into the past to kill your grandfather?
Conventional wisdom had held that it was impossible to create such a paradox, at least until Mensinger had proved that it was. It had been believed that since you were born and since your past was absolute, something in the past would have prevented your taking your grandfather's life. However, given the potential for para
llel timelines, it was very possible, indeed.
Mensinger hypothesized that if you went back into the past to kill your grandfather and succeeded in so doing, the action would create a ripple in the timestream, a split in the timeline. Since there had to exist an absolute past in which your grandfather did not die, a past in which he met your grandmother, married her and procreated your father, which action led to your own birth; that past was absolute for you taking the action and could not be changed, since the past had to occur before you took action to change it. Once you took that action, a parallel timeline was created, one in which your grandfather had died. These two timelines, the one which represented your absolute past and the one which you had created by your action, ran parallel to one another in a linear fashion.
Yet, these two timelines had to rejoin at some point in the future. The danger therein lay in the fact that in the timeline in which your grandfather had died, there existed the distinct possibility that your grandmother would marry someone else. She could very possibly give birth to someone other than your father, which action progressively led to other events. Theoretically, wrote Mensinger, the timelines would become rejoined when the traveler to the past returned to the future (or the present) from which he came. However, he wrote, given some common degree of longevity on the part of the two grandmothers in the parallel timelines, when these timelines rejoined, there existed the possibility that grandmother would be duplicated, sharing with her twin an absolute past prior to the split. This raised all sorts of fascinating possibilities.
Mensinger's "Fate Factor" came into play at the point at which the split in the timeline was created. The moment that the action taken to create the split occurred, the future was in flux, creating an infinite number of potential scenarios. Any disruption in the timestream, like eddies caused by throwing a rock into the water, had to eventually respond to the inertia of the flow. The inertia of time, on the grand scale, worked to minimize the effects of such disruptions. This was the "Fate Factor." However, according to Mensinger, the grand scale in terms of time was not necessarily what would be defined as a grand scale in human terms. Disasters on the human scale were possible. Significant changes at the point of the rejoining could occur.