The Dragon At War

  "Er—yes," said Jim. He was still a little disturbed by Sir John's attention to Angie; and not too sure that the knight did not intend a further intimacy than Jim would have found comfortable.

  "Drink some wine, James," said Giles, pushing in front of Jim a cup he had just filled from his pitcher.

  "Oh, by the way," said Jim, late that evening, some little time after he and Angie had gone to bed and they were both relaxed and happy, "Sir John would like Giles and me to take a quick trip over to France; to look at what's going on in the way of getting ready for an invasion the French King is evidently at work on."

  Jim felt Angie stiffen under the coverings beside him.

  "Go to France?" Angie echoed slowly and icily. "When?"

  "Well," said Jim, as lightly as he could, "he was talking about our going pretty much right away—just a short trip, you understand—"

  He broke off, for Angie had sat upright in the bed, spilling bedcovers off both herself and Jim; and had begun to pound on his chest with both fists.

  "Ouch!" said Jim, catching her arms to stop her from continuing to do this. "You've put on more muscle while we've been here than you realize."

  "I wish I had twice as much!" shouted Angie furiously. "You're not going!"

  "But just a short trip—" Jim was beginning.

  "No! No! Not for a day! Not for an hour! Not for another minute! You're not leaving! No! No! NO!" she shouted furiously. "Notgoing!"

  "But let me explain," Jim pleaded, still holding her wrists. "There's danger of an invasion. It could affect us, right here at Malencontri. We could have French soldiers on our land, attacking our castle—"

  "I don't care! I don't care!" said Angie. "You just got back from one trip! And who had everything to handle while you were gone? I did. I had to be Lord and Lady too! I had to take care of all the things that you'd let run wild and put a stop to them. I had to order one of the men-at-arms whipped. You wouldn't. You didn't when you should. Yves Mortain came to me and told me that it had to be done. So I had to do it. Because you weren't here to do it. And that's not my duty. It's yours—as Lord of this barony! What if it had been somebody who had to be hung? How do you suppose I'd have felt about that, when it was your job?"

  "What had the man-at-arms done?" Jim asked.

  "I don't remember. What difference does it make?" demanded Angie. "The point is you weren't here; and here it's the fourteenth century. I've had to handle the castle and lands all alone. I've had to stop the fights between the servants. I've had to rule the serfs and freemen. I've had to make them all work, when they wanted to lie down on the job. I've had to do everything, my job and yours! While you've been off, having all sorts of fun no doubt, and never even bothering to think about your castle or your wife! We've hardly had a chance to say hello to each other, except for a few months after Christmas! And that was months ago. Why can't you stay around and take care of your responsibilities? Let alone take care of me. I need a little taking care of, now and then—if it'd ever cross your mind! You're off someplace with all sorts of other women around. You probably don't even think of me!"

  "I do too!" said Jim, incensed. "I think of you—at night, at morning, in the daytime, at all sorts of times! I do a lot of thinking about you. It's just that I'm not in a position to get in touch with you and tell you so. I did send you a message by Carolinus that I'd be delayed getting back."

  Angie's arms in his grip relaxed slightly, but only slightly—

  "You did?" she asked. "Carolinus didn't come to me with any message."

  "Maybe he was getting sick already," said Jim. "Oh, by the way, I haven't seen anything of Carolinus, since I left you with him after he'd first been brought in. How's he doing?"

  But the effort to change the subject was a sad failure. Angie had pulled her wrists free, lay down again and rolled over on her farther side. Her back was to him. She did not respond; and Jim knew there was no point in repeating his question—or any other for that matter. The Great Wall of Silence had been erected; and at least until some future time—hopefully sometime tomorrow—Angie would not be speaking to him.

  Jim sighed. There was a resentment kindling inside him. Certainly, Angie had a point. She had indeed had to carry a double load all the time he had been gone, every time he had been gone. Ideally, he should be around this place, twelve months a year. But that was simply not the way this feudal world worked for knights, particularly knights like himself who had picked up an added importance, one way or another. Chandos, he knew, was always on the move, as now, about some business connected with the affairs of the Crown.

  The more he thought about it the more his resentment grew. After a moment he got up, dressed and went downstairs. As he had suspected, Sir John and Sir Giles were still at the table talking and drinking. Jim had left them early, on the plea that he had not seen his wife in a long time; and after some jokes that were not much broader than he would have encountered from his male friends in the twentieth century, they had said good night and let him go.

  Now, when he returned, they had the good sense not to question him. Giles shoved another full cup of wine in front pf him. And Jim drank deeply from it.

  He continued to drink deeply. In fact, he got drunk. He had a vague memory of being carried up the stairs by a couple of panting servants; and not worrying at all about the fact that one of them might slip and all three, including himself, go plunging off the unguarded side of the stone steps that wound up the circular wall of the tower—down several stories to bloody death.

  They even took him clear into the solar, undressed him, put him in bed, and covered him up. All the time this was going on, Angie lay where she was, on the other side of the bed, in complete silence; as if no one was within forty miles of her—including Jim.

  This was the last thing he remembered. He woke to a splitting headache, a touch of nausea in the pit of his stomach and light coming through the narrow windows that indicated it was much later in the day than he was used to getting up. Both he and Angie had fallen into the medieval habit of rising with the sun, if not before it. His mouth was dry, he had a terrible thirst—and then he noticed that the bed beside him was empty. Of course, Angie would have gotten up, dressed and left some hours ago.

  The thirst was overwhelming. He struggled to his feet and stumbled over to the table holding pitchers of drink, yearning for water. At the last second he remembered that drinking the local water would make him sick. So, carefully averting his head from the smell and sight of the pitcher of wine that was there, he located the pitcher containing small beer and poured some into a cup.

  It tasted terrible, but it was wet. For a moment he was not sure that he could keep down what he had just swallowed; then it turned out that he could; and he drank some more. Gradually and thirstily he worked his way down until he had the pitcher almost empty.

  He dropped into a chair at the table, with a cup holding the last of the small beer, and tried to pull his wits together. To make the trip to France in the face of Angie's absolute opposition was impossible.

  On the other hand, he was in direct fief to the King. He would not be at all surprised—in fact he would be surprised only if the contrary were true—if Sir John was not carrying a paper stamped with the Royal Seal, that put him, with Giles, under Sir John's orders, Sir John would probably prefer not to order him to France if he could help it. That was not the way to get the best out of whomever you sent on such a duty. He was trying first to get Jim's agreement to go willingly. Plainly, Giles had already agreed to go.

  Jim felt caught between two fires. Two impossibilities. Angle's refusal to let him go; and Sir John's hidden, but doubtless present, authority that could make him go whether he wanted to or not. The worst of all solutions would be for him to let himself be ordered with Angie still persisting in her opposition.

  It might be that she would cave in, once she saw that he had no choice. But, knowing Angie, that was no certainty. Also, he would not feel he had the freedom of action in France, if he
went there under orders but against Angie's wishes. Only if he went there of his own free will could he be confident of doing as Sir John would expect, as he saw fit in whatever circumstances he faced.

  He finished off the last of the small beer. He was still thirsty. But downstairs, there were duties waiting for him that he should have been at several hours ago. He dressed and went down.

  The Great Hall, as he had expected, was empty. Judging by the light coming through the window slits here, it must be nine A.M. at least.

  Since the thought of breakfast did not appeal to him, he did not sit down at the high table himself and call a servant, but simply passed on through the hall and was just about to emerge from the door when he was waylaid by the blacksmith.

  "M'Lord—please, m'Lord—" The blacksmith tugged at a forelock that was the scanty remnant of his brown-gray hair, and made an attempt at a bow.

  Jim stopped, suddenly very conscious of his aching head and queasy stomach. But—noblesse oblige. Or, in other words, always keep on good terms with the servants, if possible.

  "Yes?" he asked.

  "M'Lord, if you would be so kind—" The blacksmith gave him an ingratiating, gap-toothed grin. "It occurred to me I might be of some small use in examining and fixing any little damage that the noble Sir John's armor might have suffered. I didn't want to ask him myself…"

  The sentence trailed off, leaving Jim to supply its unsaid finish.

  "I'll mention it to him," said Jim shortly and pushed past the man. A moment later he was out through the door and the sunlight hit him in both eyes like the blades of swords.

  He blinked, and stood for a few seconds, letting his gaze adjust to the brightness. Then, looking around the courtyard, he saw both Sir John and Sir Giles examining one of the horses that had been brought out from the stables for them. It was Jim's own Gorp—the closest thing he had to a real destrier, or war horse.

  A kitchen servant stood by the two knights, patiently holding a pitcher which undoubtedly contained wine, since both knights had cups in their hands. A couple of other cups were hooked to the servant's belt.

  Jim walked toward the three men and the horse, his head throbbing with the jar of each foot hitting the cementlike hardness of the pounded earth that was the courtyard floor.

  "Ah, Sir James," said Sir John as he approached, and both knights turned toward him. "A stablehand was just walking this magnificent beast of yours; and we stopped him to look the animal over."

  Now that Sir John spoke, Jim saw a diminutive stable servant that had been more or less hidden from his sight by the two knights and Gorp himself, holding the end of the halter around Gorp's neck.

  "So I see," said Jim as he met them and stopped. "Yes."

  Even through the fog of his hangover, he was keenly aware that a couple of knights like Sir John and Sir Giles knew very well that Gorp was no "magnificent beast." But at the moment his aching head was not up to coming up with a more satisfactory answer to Sir John's statement.

  "But what are you thinking of, fellow!" said Sir John, turning on the servant with a pitcher. "Standing there like a post without offering your Lord a cup?"

  The servant started hastily, jerked one of the empty cups from his belt, filled it and held it out to Jim with a "very sorry, m'Lord."

  Jim was too slow to stop him. Silently he accepted the brimming cup of wine, the very sight and smell of which threatened to make his stomach turn over—when he noticed that both of the other two knights were watching him keenly.

  Foggy-headed as he was, he suddenly became aware that this was another of those little tests which people of the class he had ended up in loved to indulge.

  They knew in what state he had gone upstairs to bed the night before. They must have a very good idea of how he was feeling right now; and, particularly, how he was feeling toward the idea of another cup of wine. There was nothing unfriendly about their interest; but it was part of the general pattern, along with the tournaments and the other rough sports of the period—a sort of general testing that went on all the time, of everybody by everybody. It was as if everyone wanted to make sure that the people around him or her still had all the strengths they had originally been given credit for. Whatever happened, he was going to have to drink this cup of wine.

  He could cheat by removing the wine as he pretended to swallow; but somehow he was ashamed to do this.

  He dared not close his eyes. He put the cup to his lips and simply began swallowing. For a moment his stomach hovered on the edge of revolt; but again, as with the small beer, the fact that he was pouring liquid into his dehydrated body seemed to save him. He drained the cup to the bottom and handed it back to the kitchen servant, who promptly refilled it to the top and handed it once more back to him.

  This time, Jim felt he had safely passed the test. He took a sip or two from the second cup, finding it not at all hard to get it down, and made himself smile at Giles and Sir John—who smiled back.

  "About the beast here," said Sir John, turning back to Gorp. "Is he schooled?"

  Jim felt a strong touch of embarrassment. Gorp was about as unschooled as any horse ever ridden into combat could be. But Jim's wits seemed unexpectedly sharpened by the sudden jolt of the near-pint of wine within him on top of the small beer—though that had had almost no alcohol in it at all.

  He backed off half a dozen paces and spoke to the stablehand holding the end of Gorp's halter.

  "Womar!" he said to the man. "Let him go."

  The stablehand dropped the end of the halter rope and Jim whistled.

  Gorp looked around, mildly surprised. He spotted Jim; and, turning leisurely, plodded over to lower his head and snuffle at Jim's chest for the reward that usually followed his answering that whistle. At the moment, however, Jim had nothing to give him. Sugar was unknown, so the sugar cube he might have offered a horse as a reward back in the twentieth century was impossible. This spring's carrots were not grown yet and last year's were long gone. As were last year's oats.

  Jim patted and stroked the horse a little bit, speaking to him to try and make up for the lack of a gift, then stood back and gave him another order.

  "Up, Gorp!" he cried. "Up, boy!"

  Gorp went into his only other trick—which was to rise on his hind legs with his front hooves pawing dangerously at the air before him. It was a false but good imitation of a war horse fighting along with his rider. Then he dropped back to all four legs.

  "There. Very good, Gorp. Good horse," said Jim.

  After some more petting, stroking and praising he took the halter rope and led him back to Womar.

  "Indeed—" Sir John was beginning approvingly, when the howl of a wolf from some not too distant spot suddenly split the bright morning air, Sir John broke off speaking, Gorp jerked so strongly at his head rope that Womar almost lost his grip on it, and Womar himself turned pale.

  "The second time this morning, m'Lord," he murmured shakily to Jim. "Evil thing 'tis, hearing a wolf howl like that in broad daylight. Night's the time for wolf howls. Some evil's about!"

  Jim was suddenly aware of the eyes of both Sir John and Giles bright and knowingly upon him.

  "I wouldn't worry about it, Womar," said Jim, as briskly as he could. "I believe I know that wolf and why he's howling. If you'll saddle a couple of horses for these two gentlemen and one for me—not Gorp here—"

  "Gorp?" echoed Sir John, with the first note of surprise Jim had ever heard in the voice of that urbane and knowledgeable knight.

  "—Er, yes," said Jim to him, "the horse's name, you know. Well, go along, Womar, and saddle those horses as I said."

  Womar went off with unusual speed, towing along a Gorp who seemed only too happy to trot back to the comfort of the stables.

  Fifteen minutes later they rode through the woods to the little clearing where the stump stood, with its red cloth still stuck by one end into the split at the top of the broken wood. Jim dismounted, Sir John and Giles did also, Sir Giles with a somewhat puzzled look on his
aristocratic face.

  "Why are we here, Sir James?" asked the older knight. "There seems to be nothing of a wolf in the vicinity."

  "Oh yes, there is," said a harsh voice immediately behind them. "Turn around and you'll see me."

  They turned. Aargh was standing on all four legs facing them, not more than a dozen paces away. He was a dark-haired wolf, and nearly as large as a small pony. Altogether he made a rather impressive sight, this close and appearing apparently out of thin air without any sound or other warning.

  "Where—" began Sir John, and broke off—evidently aware he was betraying his surprise. Jim felt a twinge of guilt. Knowing Aargh's fondness for seeing others before they saw him, he had deliberately come in upwind, so that Aargh would have plenty of time to circle around behind them.

  "Aargh," said Jim, "you know Sir Giles. This other gentleman with me is Sir John Chandos."

  "Is he now?" said Aargh. "And what's that to me?"

  Chapter Eight

  "Sir wolf," said Sir John smoothly, having made a good recovery and speaking as urbanely as usual, "you've never met me before, of course. But it was I who requested Sir Giles and Sir James here to go to France last year to rescue our Crown Prince—that quest in which you yourself joined and played such an honorable part."

  "Keep your useless words to yourself, Sir Knight," growled Aargh. "I have never done anything honorable in my life and never will. I do things for only two reasons. It is necessary they be done, or I want to do them. All else is nonsense."

  "Might I ask you then, Sir Wolf," said Sir John, "what caused you to involve yourself with Sir James and Sir Giles in France last time?"

  "I wanted to!" Aargh snapped his jaws shut on the last word.

  "Then, may 1 ask," said Sir John, "is it possible you might want to assist these two gentlemen again in another such trip to that same country—"

  "No." Aargh's interruption was almost reflexive.

  "I see," said Sir John easily. "But if you would listen to some things I have to tell you, it's possible that you might change your mind?"