"Well, make your message then," said Danielle, taking her own bow off her shoulder and stringing it. "I've got thread and needle with me. The thread can be used to tie the writing around the bow shaft. Do you have wherewith and whereon to write?"
Jim had been rummaging in his saddlebags. If those who put in the bread and cheese and wine had not taken out other things at the same time—ah, they had not.
"I have," he announced.
He had taken a charcoal stick and a piece of thin white cloth along with him to Carolinus's; just to be prepared in case Carolinus should give him some kind of directions that he had felt would be better not trusted to memory alone. He pulled these out of the saddlebag now. Sir Brian, he knew—although the good knight would be embarrassed, if only slightly, to admit it—was hardly able to write. Jim, on the other hand, was a product of twentieth-century schools and universities on his own native world.
"What do you want written?" he asked Brian.
"Indeed, I will do it," answered the knight.
Jim recognized the figure underneath the horns as a rough representation of Brian's family arms: gules, a saltire sable, differenced by a hart lodged sable which showed his family to be of cadet stock to that of the Nevilles of Raby, Earls of Worcester.
With the point of his dagger, Brian neatly and economically cut off the corner of cloth on which he had drawn, and handed it, together with the unmarked cloth and charcoal, back to Jim.
"This," he said, "they will understand immediately. Three notes from my horn"—he indicated the cowhorn made into an instrument and hanging from a leather loop around the pommel of his saddle—"and they will sally."
"And just how are they going to know it's a true message they can trust?" asked Danielle.
"Hah!" said Sir Brian, suddenly brought up short. He thought for a moment.
"I have put my arms at the end of the message," he said, "as you can see."
"Anyone who knew your arms could do the same," said Jim, "assuming there's someone there in the courtyard to see the fall of the arrow—"
"There will be!" interrupted Sir Brian fiercely. "None of my people would be far behind those gates, with the enemy before them."
"Well, well, even if they see the arrow fall and pick it up, open the message and read it," Jim went on, "they'd still have a right to question whether it actually comes from you. Is there anything we could also attach to the arrow that would make them know that it came from you and nobody else?"
Sir Brian looked unhappy.
“I might once have slid my father's ring upon the shaft," he said. Truthfully, he extended his ten bare, brown fingers before them, "once it was never off my hand. Unfortunately it was—ah—left with the merchant in Coventry three years ago last Shrovetide, less a day."
Jim felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the other man. Pawnbroking was illegal in England, as almost everywhere on the continent, because of the rulings against usury by the Church. But it flourished, nonetheless; and many of its patrons were of the gentle class who found themselves hard up for one reason or another. Jim made a secret mental note to see what he could do about getting Sir Brian's ring back. It would not be hard, provided the pawnbroker had not already resold it. The real problem would be to find a way of giving it back to Sir Brian without offending the other knight by something that looked like an act of charity.
"I have it!" said Jim suddenly. "That kerchief of the Lady Geronde's that she gave you for a favor, Brian! All of your men would recognize that at a glance; and nobody could have such a thing but you!"
Sir Brian looked at him, suddenly pale and fierce.
"Never!" he said. "That favor will never leave me while I live."
"Indeed," said Dafydd, "it would only be for a little while, Sir Brian. Then you will have it back. Surely one of your men will put it in a safe place in the castle, while they await the sound of your horn. It will be as safe there as with you."
"Never!" repeated Brian. "I will see my castle in ashes first!"
"Come, Sir Brian," said Danielle in a gentle voice, "it's as Dafydd says. The favor will be quite safe, both on my arrow and with your men. And it is the only sure sign that the message comes from you alone."
"I cannot!" Brian flung himself half-aside from them. "I have said I will never let it leave me and I shall not!"
"All this fuss over a rag of cloth," growled Aragh.
"Aragh!" said Danielle, rounding upon him, "there are some times that wolves should be seen and not heard."
Aragh—who would have taken such words from no one but Danielle—put back his ears, dropped his head and lowered his tail between his legs. Danielle turned back to Sir Brian.
"Nonetheless, Sir Brian—" she was beginning; when he burst out, suddenly.
"You comprehend nothing, any of you," he said. "It is all I have of her, do you understand? It is all I have!"
"We know," said Danielle, still in that unusually gentle voice, "but do you think the Lady Isabel would want you to lose your patrimony, for want of letting go of her favor for, at most, an hour? If she were here, would she not rather command you that you attach it to my arrow as a signal to your men?"
She stopped talking. The silence stretched out. Gradually the tension leaked out of Sir Brian. He sighed unhappily, and fished inside his hauberk with one hand, at last pulling up into view a flimsy, saffron-tinted square of cloth with G.d'C. sewn into one corner of it. He kissed it; then, wordlessly, not looking at any of them, he passed the kerchief to Danielle.
"A brave decision, Sir Brian," said Danielle. "Your Lady will be proud of you. We will bind it most carefully with the thread to the shaft of my arrow, so that no harm can come to it in flight, nor from the shock of the moment when the arrow strikes point down into the ground inside the courtyard. And I am sure that all your men will handle it with due respect and gentleness."
"Indeed, that much is so," said Brian in a low voice.
He shook his head, and regained his composure by an obvious effort of will. He stood up straight and looked back at all of them.
"We will do what we have to do," he said, "but I promise you this. No enemies, were they double in number what we see yonder, will be able to keep me from my own courtyard within the hour."
"That also is so," growled Aragh, his tail untucking a bit and his head coming up. "I said a while back that I could reach their leader, even through those around him, and snap his neck. Shall I do that now?"
Brian shook his head.
"Do it, you might well, I doubt not," said Brian, "but come back out alive again—that is not so sure; and we may have need for you in the general fighting. Let justice come to Blackbeard, yonder, when the time shall be. For that matter, it is I who should have first chance at him—"
He checked himself.
"Forgive me," he went on, "in a melee who can choose who his opponent will be? Let anyone who has a chance at Blackbeard then, take him. I will only hope it is myself."
Even as he talked, Danielle had been busy using thread to bind both the message and the kerchief firmly to the shaft of the arrow. Now she bit off the thread.
"Ready," she said. "Shall I shoot the arrow now, or are there arrangements you want to make first?"
"Let us to horse," said Brian. "Other than that, there should be no preparation needed. We will hold ourselves in line just within these woods—" He swept his arm forward to demonstrate what he meant; and Jim's men-at-arms, who were already mounting, began to guide their horses into line just inside the first screen of trees. "—And once the arrow disappears from sight behind the battlements, we will charge!" said Brian. He was again in command of himself and everyone else. "No signal is necessary other than that. When I see the last of the arrow, I will ride—and all the rest of you do likewise. We must come upon those out there as unexpectedly at possible; not only to take them by surprise, but that they may think we are merely the advance guard of more to come!"
Jim had mounted with the rest. Behind him, he heard the twang of D
anielle's released bowstring. The arrow came into sight overheard, climbing in a high arc into the sky. It dwindled with height and distance until it was the size of a matchstick, until it seemed it would shrink to a dot and go out of sight entirely.
Then it began to lengthen and grow in size once more, dropping earthward. It fell so rapidly that Jim had the illusion that it was going to fall short and land among the men before the gate. But it did not.
A fraction of a second later it disappeared behind the gray stone walls of Castle Smythe; and at once they were all at a gallop together out of the woods, headed across the cleared space toward the gang of men before the gate, who now were beginning to swing their tree trunk against the gates.
The three notes of Sir Brian's horn rang out loud and clear.
Chapter Seven
Jim found himself pounding across the open space at the full speed of his horse with everyone else galloping beside him.
In spite of himself, he found it a heady moment. He felt a second's wonder that no one had suggested that he turn himself into a dragon for this part of the attack. Then it came to him that, in any case, he would have to learn this human method of fighting also; and the sooner he got started, the better. The fierce burst of joy he had felt, as Gorbash, flying into the men who had been ravaging the village outside the Castle de Chaney was not there; only his human adrenalin-triggered excitement. So the other had been purely the "dragon fury" identified by the old dragon who was the granduncle of Gorbash's body. But, at least he was not afraid—and that much was good.
Their approach was anything but noiseless. Not only was there the thunder of their horses' hooves, but most of the men-at-arms were also shouting war cries of one kind or another, as was Sir Brian himself. Jim had a glimpse of startled faces as the mob before the gate turned to face them; and those that had been drawing back the battering ram for another swing at the gates dropped it and fumbled at their belts for swords or other weapons.
Then the two groups came together. Certainly, it was an advantage being on horseback. Jim had the impression that he rode down at least three or four opponents before his horse was brought to a standstill so abruptly that he slid forward out of the saddle.
Sheer instinct, backed by his athletic training, caused him to land on his feet rather than his nose; and the lessons with Sir Brian automatically put him in a position with his shield up and his sword ready. For the moment he had his horse at his back, which protected him from that direction, and, taking advantage of that protected position, he waded into the two men with swords in front of him.
Both clearly knew how to handle their weapons, but neither had been a student of Brian's. Nor did either of them have shields. They were simply hewing away at him. Jim simply fended off the one on his shield side and thrust at the one on his right, and was almost surprised to see him disappear, going down before him. He turned toward the one on his left, but that man had already moved off and he found himself facing another opponent, who was whirling an axe around his head.
Jim dodged aside and the axe missed him. He thrust but did not see the result. The fight was becoming a blur in which he merely reacted automatically.
He caught a momentary glimpse of Aragh, who was not wasting his time on any one opponent, but gliding between them snapping right and left at whatever was within reach of his jaws. The power of those jaws was clearly awesome, for Jim saw them close, apparently fully shut, on the arms and legs they seized, which must have meant that Aragh's long teeth were penetrating right to, and even into, the bones of those he bit. Certainly, he left behind him men with an arm or leg suddenly become useless.
Then all at once, strangely, Jim found himself in a small open area of the general fighting. The invaders and his men-at-arms, plus some men dressed and armored like men-at-arms whom he did not recognize, and who he assumed must be part of those who had sallied from Castle Smythe, were fighting with the raiders all around him. But for some reason, at this moment, there seemed no one left over to attack him. It was almost ridiculous.
… a bass bellow of rage jarred him abruptly out of his moment of inaction. He turned just in time to get his shield up as a huge axe in the hands of the black-bearded leader of the group, himself, crashed its edge down the shield's outer face.
The metal held, but Jim was driven almost to his knees by the force of the blow. Somehow, he disengaged. This was that same "raggedness" of his shield-work that Brian had been speaking about. Jim had not yet picked up the ability to instinctively angle his shield to a coming blow, so as to cause the enemy's weapon to glance off to right or left, up or down. He merely shoved the shield out between him and his opponent, as if to push the other's weapon back.
Now, his shield had caved in, but protected him. However, his arm had paid a price for protection. It was numb from fingertips to shoulder, and the next blow of his opponent's axe swept it out of his now-feeble grasp. Jim suddenly found himself facing a man as large as himself and weighing at least fifty pounds more, with a much heavier weapon to oppose the broadsword that was now Jim's only defense as well as means of offense.
The axe swept down again, appearing to aim for his head; then, at the last moment, changing to a cut at his legs. Jim reacted instinctively. He jumped.
For once he could be as proud of the ability of his leg muscles as he had used to be. He went up in the air well over the axe, which whistled below him. The black-bearded man kept after him. He was evidently skilled with his heavy weapon; but equally plainly, he had sever encountered someone dressed in a knight's armor who acted like a jumping jack.
Jim dodged, ducked and leaped; and the other continued to miss him. Meanwhile Jim searched for an opening through which he could put the point of his own broadsword. But the other was too skillful to give him one. Jim was too busy to pay attention to what was going on in the battle around him; but his real worry was not whether he would be able to stop his present evasive tactics, and continue to search for an opening, but that eventually someone from the other side would come up and bury a blade in his back.
Blackboard, having apparently tried all the blows in his repertoire, once more tried the cut for the head that was merely a feint preliminary to a slice at Jim's legs.
Whether he had forgotten what had happened the first time, or thought that Jim was beginning to get tired and more likely to be caught by the axe's sharp edge, Jim never knew. What Jim did know was that he could keep this jumping up all day. He had often used jumping-jack exercises, in which he leaped into the air and while up touched the toes of his extended feet with his fingertips, to psyche out the members of an opposing team. And now he had gone up until his legs were level with the head of his opponent. For once, inspiration struck. He kicked out hard with both legs.
His opponent was momentarily lucky, in that the suit of armor Jim had inherited did not include steel over and around Jim's feet. Nonetheless, both the heels of Jim's boots caught him, one on each side of the jaw, with all the kicking power of Jim's legs behind them.
A second after, Jim landed lightly on the ground again.
Blackbeard would not have been human if that blow had not dazed him. When Jim faced him again, the man was still standing with the axe down; on his feet, but staring at Jim with unfocused eyes.
Jim, however, was too geared up to notice details. He only knew that he had been fighting for his life; and that his enemy was still standing before him with a weapon that could destroy him with a single blow. Without even stopping to think, almost by reflex action, he drove the point of his broadsword through the leather jerkin that was the only protection the other wore, into the thick body.
The blade went in with what seemed surprising ease; and the leader of the attackers tottered and fell.
Jim stood, staring down at him. He had slain men when he was in the body of Gorbash the dragon; but this was the first time when as a man he had killed another man; and Blackbeard was undeniably dead.
He came out of his daze in the nick of time to dodg
e a sword blade coming at him from his left. Once more, by reflex rather than by conscious thought, he spun away from the line of its blow and struck back. He missed the body of the tall, thin, almost white-haired swordsman who was now engaging him; but his blade came down on the other's arm and half cut it off. The man, not killed, but badly wounded, fell to his knees trying to stop the flow of blood from his wounded arm.
For a brief few seconds Jim had a chance to look about him.
The fight was still on; but it was not going well for his side. Neither Sir Brian nor Aragh were to be seen, but those whom he assumed to be Castle Smythe's people were hotly engaged; some of them with two or more defenders at once. Jim suddenly woke up to his obligations. His dented but still serviceable shield was only a couple of paces away. Surprisingly, the place where he had first encountered the leader of the attackers was still fairly clear. Jim could only guess that the leader had originally called to those with him to leave Jim to him; and the others had obeyed. After that, they had all been caught up in the general fighting, so that only the man whose arm he had just wounded had bothered to attack him.
He picked up the shield and took on one of the two men nearby who were attacking one of his own men-at-arms. The opponent began to back off almost immediately, sliding away through the press. Jim had encountered someone almost as agile as himself—not necessarily in the sense that he could jump as Jim could, but that he could twist and dodge as well, if not better. Jim, heady now from the fight, pressed after him with only one thought, to destroy him. Jim was in full armor and the other man had nothing but a leather jerkin and a sword. No wonder the other was running, thought Jim.