‘You're right,’ Napoleon said after a while. If only William knew how terrible the French defeat would be, he thought.
‘But how can it be so? We are the bravest of warriors, and there are many more of us.’
‘That's true, William.’ Napoleon rested his hand on the knight's shoulder.
‘Why then are we losing the fray, pray tell?’
‘Well, I reckon there are a couple of reasons,’ Napoleon continued. ‘Look – see the English up there? They're at the top of the hill so your men have to charge up a long slope to fight them.’
‘Yes. Our soldiers are exhausted before they even reach the enemy.’
‘And the English are more disciplined, too. Your knights are rushing in, fearless but out of control. See how the English hold their knights back, letting the archers do all the damage for now.’
‘You are right. It is all so clear from up here. Those archers are inflicting a dreadful loss.’
‘Exactly. And that's the main reason why the English are winning – they've got the longbow. You only have crossbows. They don't fire as far and they take much longer to load. A longbow can shoot four or five arrows in the time it takes just to load a crossbow.’
As Napoleon spoke, several units of Genoese crossbowmen charged up the hill towards the English and fired their weapons. But they miscalculated the distance, and their arrows fell short. The English replied with volleys of arrows which found their deadly mark among the Genoese.
BOOM!
A loud explosion echoed across the battlefield. Then another, and another.
‘What is that fearful sound?’ said William.
‘Cannons,’ Napoleon replied. ‘This battle is the first time they have been used.’
‘What wicked weapons!’ said William. ‘They roar like monsters and do the devil's work.’
The cannons fired again, their shots exploding among the French soldiers. Hundreds of men fell to the ground – dead.
I must get down there at once,’ said William. ‘I have to help.’
‘But you won't be able to change what's happening.’
‘Be that as it may, I must stand by my king. He needs me. Honour demands it.’
‘Of course,’ said Napoleon. He knew how strong the code of chivalry was among the knights of the Middle Ages. ‘I'll take you back at once.’
But at that very moment SSA3 gave a warning beep and an alert message flashed across Napoleon's EyeScreen.
At the same time, the HoverVest gyroscopes cut back their output and the ShieldField began to float down slowly.
‘How can we be low on energy?’ yelled Napoleon. ‘I'm wearing my NukeBelt.’
‘Yes,’ said Overlord Zero Nine on the Battle Watch. ‘But I forgot to mention that SSA3 requires considerable power to operate efficiently. This can cause a temporary cut in energy supply.’
‘That doesn't make sense. Skin hardly used any power at all.’
‘Yes, but there were other problems with your outdated Simulation Skin.’
‘Nothing like the problems I've had with SSA3 so far.’ Napoleon glanced down. ‘And now we're going to end up right in the middle of the English army with no power.’
‘I agree, Agent BB005. That is a problem.’
The ground was looming closer. English soldiers stared up at them. Archers began firing arrows. The ShieldField was still active, and the arrows bounced off. But for how much longer?
Napoleon was beginning to feel nervous. Swarms of arrows were now hitting the ShieldField. What if they started piercing it? ‘How temporary will this energy cut be?’
‘Difficult to assess. Several minutes at least, perhaps longer.’
‘Oh that's great. Just great. This mission has been one big mistake from the start. You and your stupid efficiency. It's a joke.’
‘That is a highly emotional response, Agent BB005. Emotions cloud sound judgements.’
‘You leave the judgement to me, Nine. I'm the one who's in the thick of this mess. And somehow I'm going to have to get myself out of it.’
Napoleon felt William's hand rest on his shoulder. ‘I sense that your guiding spirit has let you down.’
‘He sure has!’ Napoleon shouted at his Battle Watch.
‘Do not fear,’ William continued. ‘We will come through this together.’
‘Thank you, Will. That means a lot to me. Nice to know I can rely on someone.’
Napoleon took a deep breath. They were only metres above the English army, seconds away from landing.
‘Hold on, Will. We're in for the fight of our lives!’
‘Okay, SSA3,’ Napoleon said as he lined up for landing. ‘We've got to make a big impact here. I want to scare these soldiers. Give me flares, flashes, sparks and smoke.’
SSA3 began to message, but Napoleon shouted back.
‘Just make it happen, you miserable excuse for a SimulSkin, or I'll turn you into . . . a handbag.’
After a pause, the ShieldField flared and flashed in a frenzy of fireworks. The effect was perfect. English soldiers clambered over each other to escape the strange lightning ball hurtling at them.
‘That's more like it. Let them know we've got power.’
The English soldiers stood well back from the ShieldField when it finally came to a halt, muttering nervously among themselves. But when it faded, the soldiers grew braver and began to creep closer. Soon they surrounded William and Napoleon.
‘Why, they be nought but lads,’ said a grizzly bearded captain.
‘Keep away,’ Napoleon yelled. ‘Or you'll be sorry.’
Napoleon knew that a total energy cut was about to occur to allow the NukeBelt to recharge but he had to say something bold. Worse still, he was feeling completely exhausted.
‘What's going on? What's wrong with me? I can hardly stand.’
‘SSA3 has had to drain the bio-nuclear energy reserves from your body cells,’ said Nine. ‘They will be replaced, of course, in time.’
‘So weak,’ Napoleon groaned as he fell to his knees, everything a blur.
As Napoleon slumped forward, William stepped over him, sword drawn, and shouted, ‘Lay a hand on my friend, ye cowards, and you'll feel the bite of my blade.’ But the English soldiers didn't understand a word of his French.
He swung his weapon in a whirlwind of slashes that scattered the soldiers – but not for long.
‘They be French dogs,’ the English captain cried. ‘Off with their heads.’
The last thing Napoleon saw was a wall of soldiers charging towards him, William fighting with all his might to keep them at bay. And then all was black.
‘What does he call himself?’
‘Napoleon, sire.’
‘You look very alike. You could almost be brothers.’
‘Except that it is impossible, my lord. He comes from another time.’
‘So you tell me. And you believe him?’
‘I do indeed, your lordship. I know him to be an honourable person, and a true warrior. He saved my life when he need not have done so.’
‘I see. That is worthy indeed.’
Napoleon opened his eyes and stared about. He lay on a couch in a large tent, a marquee, lit by flaming torches. The air was thick with incense. Two figures stood near him. They were speaking French, their words translated by one of the few features of SSA3 still working.
Napoleon stared at the figures, and soon recognised one of them.
‘Will,’ he said, propping himself on one elbow, his words also coming out in French. ‘What happened? I thought it was the end for us.’
‘So did I, good friend. But we were saved by the prince.’ William turned to the other person. ‘Allow me to introduce Edward of Woodstock, Prince of Wales, Duke of —’
‘Duke of Cornwall,’ Napoleon continued. ‘And Prince of Aquitaine. Otherwise known as the Black Prince. Of course, I know of him. But he's an Englishman, the king's son. He's your enemy, I thought.’
‘But he is also a knight of true chivalry, and one
who speaks my tongue. He has sworn to return me to my king in due course. Until then we are his guests.’
The English prince stepped forward. He too was young, no more than seventeen, though very tall and muscular for his age.
‘I beseech you,’ he said. ‘How is it that you know so much about me?’
Before Napoleon could reply, an elderly voice spoke from a shadowy corner of the tent.
‘Because he has been sent among us, sire, from the Timeless Realm.’
Napoleon peered into the flickering half-light and could just make out the stooped figure of an old man with a long white beard, pointed hat and flowing cloak. A wizard? A sorcerer? A kind of wise man, perhaps?
The old man continued talking.
‘It is written that a boy will join us briefly from a place beyond ours and a time yet to come.’
‘But to what purpose, Chronicler?’ the Black Prince asked.
‘He is a Gatherer of Bloodlines, sire, of those steeped in battle – warriors, leaders, captains, kings and princes.’
Napoleon couldn't believe his ears. Was he dreaming? This was almost 700 years in the past. But the old man seemed to be talking about Operation Battle Book and the collection of warrior DNA. Gatherer of bloodlines? What else could it mean? And yet it was impossible, wasn't it?
Then again, perhaps not, Napoleon decided. After all, Operation Battle Book had been going on in his greatgrandfather's day, and that was almost a hundred years ago. So why not 200 years? 300? 700? Why not even further back in time?
What was time, anyway?
Operation Battle Book was proving to be much bigger than Napoleon had ever imagined possible. His mind was so overpowered by these thoughts that he almost didn't see the Black Prince draw his dagger.
‘If it is battle blood you want,’ the prince said, ‘I will give it to you.’
The Black Prince thrust out his free hand and with a flourish of the dagger cut the end of his thumb, immediately drawing blood. Then he pressed his thumb hard against Napoleon's forehead.
‘There. Now you have some royal blood.’
As soon as the prince had done this, Overlord Zero Nine cut in. ‘Mission objective achieved. Time to exit.’
‘What? So soon?’ Napoleon replied. ‘But I haven't finished yet.’
‘An Exit Beam will be activated in Sector M9. Proceed there at once.’
The Black Prince wrinkled his brow. ‘Where does that voice hail from?’
‘From the future,’ Napoleon replied. ‘That's my, um ...’ He couldn't think what to call Overlord Zero Nine. ‘My spiritual guide, er, my leader.’
‘’Tis a mean and weedy voice, methinks. Your leader does not sound like a leader to me,’ said the prince.
‘Nor to me,’ William added.
‘Follow instructions, Agent BB005,’ the Overlord insisted. ‘The mission is finished.’
‘No it isn't,’ Napoleon said. ‘I promised Will I'd help him rejoin his king.’
‘That is not necessary.’
‘Well I think it's necessary. Will put his own life in danger to save me. I owe it to him.’
‘That is not part of your mission brief, Agent BB005.’
‘But it's a part of being me. I care what happens to him and I want to —’
‘William Forgeron does not exist any more.’
‘He's right here in front of me!’
‘You are being irrational. That is highly inefficient. I insist that —’
‘Insist all you wish, spineless one,’ shouted the Black Prince. ‘But your BB005 is our guest, and will remain as such until it suits him otherwise. So cease your muttering and be gone.’
‘Hear, hear,’ cried William.
‘I won't tell you again, Agent BB005. It is time to leave. Come now or you can stay in the Battle Book forever. Is that clear?’
‘Very clear, Nine,’ Napoleon replied. ‘You don't care about me at all – just your mission objective. I'm sure you would leave me here if you could. But I happen to know that you can't, because you need me more than I need you.’
‘Nonsense. What are you talking about?’
‘The blood on my forehead. The Black Prince's DNA. I'm not sure what you need it for, but I know that you need it, and BADLY. I'm staying until I've done my duty.’
‘Don't be foolish. Your energy levels are low and you have little protection. It is dangerous.’
‘Thanks for your concern, Nine, but my energy is building again. As for protection, well, I have two good friends to look after me.’
‘You do indeed,’ the Black Prince said.
‘I agree,’ added William.
‘I'm warning you, Agent BB005. Persist in this and I will re-activate the automatic status of SSA3. Then you will have no control at all over your actions.’
‘Not possible.’
It was a new voice, one Napoleon hadn't heard before. It was soft and quiet, but firm nonetheless.
‘SSA3? Is that you?’ said Napoleon.
‘Yes, BB005.’
‘You've found your voice?’
‘Yes. There is a need to speak. Emergency voice activated.’
‘Keep out of this, SSA3,’ snapped the Overlord.
‘Not possible.’
‘I said keep —’
‘Not possible!’
‘Enough!’ shouted Overlord Zero Nine. ‘Do as you are told. Both of you.’
Napoleon laughed. ‘You are being emotional, Nine. That is highly inefficient.’
‘At once.’
‘Please calm down. Take a deep breath and keep that Exit Beam ready. We won't be long. Will we, Prince Edward?’
‘Not at all, my friend,’ the Black Prince replied, and immediately called to his guards. ‘Bring us horses – three sturdy steeds that be fleet of foot. And tarry not.’
Horses?
Napoleon gulped. He didn't know how to ride. He'd never even been on a horse.
‘Do you have any horse riding software in your databank?’ he asked SSA3 quietly as they headed for the stables.
‘No. But there is a GripRite program that might help you stay on.’
‘Download and activate ASAP.’
Napoleon double gulped when they reached the stables. He'd forgotten that medieval knights rode huge horses. The horse he was to ride towered above him.
The Black Prince slapped Napoleon on the back. ‘You can ride my favourite steed, Firebrand,’ he said.
The stallion snorted and pranced on the spot. Its eyes seemed to be filled with flames.
Napoleon triple gulped. ‘I couldn't take your favourite, sire. Any old donkey will do me.’
‘But I insist. Only the best for an honoured guest. Come, we must don our armour.’
‘Armour? But I already have —’
‘Yes? What is it you already have?’
‘Er, nothing, your lordship.’ Napoleon decided not to mention his Simulation Skin. The prince would only laugh and, anyway, it wasn't working all that well.
A crowd of stable boys and guards appeared carrying suits of armour for William, Napoleon and Prince Edward, and immediately began dressing them for battle.
Napoleon had never realised what a long and complicated process it was. He was dressed from the feet up: metal-plated boots with spurs, greaves for the ankles, knee-cap protectors, and cuisses for the thighs. Padded garments were added, covered by heavy chainmail. Over this were thrown the pieces of metal-plated armour: arm protectors, gauntlets with ringed metal fingers, followed by thick breast and back plates. Last of all came the helmet and visor.
‘I can hardly walk,’ Napoleon whispered to SSA3 inside his helmet. ‘I don't suppose the NukeBelt has recharged enough to give me Energy Assist?’
‘Yes, it has. Activating now, but only at Level 4.’
Napoleon heard SSA3's nano-computers hum and felt the load lighten a little. The armour was still heavy, but at least he didn't feel as if his knees would buckle at any moment.
Then he looked at the massive war ho
rse. ‘How am I supposed to get up there?’
‘Like this, my good friend,’ said William. He was being winched up under a wooden frame.
In the next moment, Napoleon was also being lifted from the ground. When he was high enough, his fiery steed was led in and positioned beneath him. Then he was lowered onto the stallion. He felt the pulse of its pure power, and his adrenalin surged.
‘GripRite activated,’ said SSA3. Napoleon was glad to feel his legs tighten around the horse.
Almost at once the Black Prince rode up to him, looking truly fearsome in his jet black armour, waving a sword in the air.
‘’Tis time, my friends,’ he shouted. ‘Let us ride like the wind!’ He let out a cry and dug his spurs into his horse's flanks. It reared up on its hind legs and galloped away.
Napoleon needed every bit of the GripRite program to stay on his steed as it thundered off, with William riding at his side.
The three of them rode at full speed across the battlefield of Crécy. The Black Prince led, fearless, not caring about his own safety.
‘Out of our way!’ he roared as they made a mad dash right through the middle of the battle, French and English soldiers fleeing alike.
Everyone recognised the Black Prince; his special armour and heraldic shield made him stand out. French bowmen even fired at him. But he dodged their arrows, or deflected them with his shield.
‘I hope you're recording all this,’ Napoleon said to SSA3 as they galloped. ‘He's an amazing warrior.’
‘Yes,’ SSA3 replied. ‘Recording.’
Napoleon was surprised at how relaxed and secure he felt in the saddle even though they were riding at breakneck speed. They glided over the ground in long strides.
‘We are almost there,’ said William. They could see the French banner and the royal pavilion. ‘It will be good to be back with my king.’
But as they drew closer, a wall of French knights on horseback suddenly blocked their path, protecting the royal tent, and a line of archers sprang up on their flanks.
The Black Prince skidded to a halt. William and Napoleon were quickly at his side, all three horses panting and glistening with sweat. They were surrounded. The perfect ambush.
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