Even then, the real knights would not be really happy with the act—it was just that a king could get away with anything.
For Jim to elevate a hobgoblin to the rank of squire would be going against the very grain of the institution of knighthood. It was a lifetime elevation in rank and, theoretically at least, could only be taken away by an exalted superior for a particularly unworthy deed. Making Hob a squire would seem a deliberate insult to knighthood and all it meant to the men who might have to defend their kingdom.
No, it just could not be done; and to be truthful with himself, Jim was not that unhappy that it could not.
But to simply, baldly tell Hob that, now, after his time and effort and hope of glory, would break his heart.
He had to think of some other way of handling it.
"Hob," he said, realizing that some little time had gone by while the other held his breath, waiting for an answer, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to think about that for a few days or so. It's a very weighty problem, you know, for a knight—thinking about taking on another squire."
"Oh," said Hob anxiously.
"Yes," said Jim. "Is the squire-to-be worthy of becoming a knight? That's the first question other knights ask each other, on hearing one of them has increased the number of squires he has."
"Oh," said Hob, now on a desperate note. "Couldn't—couldn't I just keep on staying a squire and not try to be a knight at all?"
"Well, of course you could," said Jim, "but other knights would think it odd. After all, being a squire is supposed only to be a training stage for knighthood."
"Always?" asked Hob.
"Pretty much so, yes. You see, even a squire is given many of the courtesies and responsibilities that go to a knight. He may not be worthy of a knight's belt and the golden spurs, but he's already entitled to a certain respect as one who may be. It's a rank of honor, you know."
"Yes, m'Lord, I knew that. I already knew it."
"Then you understand the weightiness of the problem," said Jim, frowning. "But that's not my real concern. I've got to figure out how I'm going to get along without having you with me."
"But m'Lord! I will be with you! I'll be right there whenever you want me!"
"I'm afraid not," said Jim. "You're forgetting the squirely duties and study and training you'll have to be busy with. You'll need to learn a lot of the things Theoluf already knew. For example, when John Steward goes to Kidderminster or Worcester with a wagon and some of the serfs to buy supplies for the castle here, you notice I always send Theoluf with him, if I can't go myself, so Theoluf can carry the purse for what's to be bought."
"I could carry the purse."
"Well, the point isn't so much to carry the purse, but to defend it against purse-snatchers and robbers. A squire with a sword is not the easy prey that robbers like best—particularly if he knows how to use his weapon. You'll have to learn that—and of course, that means you'll be busy doing so—"
"But Theoluf does that, m'Lord. So, still—"
"As well as sharing a lot of Theoluf's other duties," said Jim, powering over the interruption, "cleaning my armor and sharpening my weapons, checking Gorp's hooves for stones or to see if he needs new shoes. Checking and mending, if necessary, my saddle and travel gear and other knight's necessities, learning how to serve me at table as a squire should—"
"Pray forgive me, my Lord; but what about all the other servants and stablemen and all who've been doing all these things? Couldn't they just go on—"
"These are the Duties of a Squire!" said Jim sternly. "As well as things he must know how to do well if we are away from Malencontri. But what with all of them, plus your practice at the quintain and sword-practice with Theoluf or one of the other men-at-arms, and so forth, I'll hardly have time to see you—let alone have you with me all the time."
Jim dropped his voice half an octave to a note of sad conversation mainly with himself. "I don't know how I'll get along without you, especially on trips like this last one. I can't imagine where I'm going to find anyone else who can go anywhere smoke can go or find his way around chimneys—let alone ride the smoke itself long distances with urgent messages to my Lady from anywhere I happen to be in the world. Someone who could hide under my chain mail shirt and upon… I suppose I could look about for some other hobgoblin—"
"M'Lord!"
It was an actual shout from Hob. Jim stopped talking out loud to himself and stared at the other with what he hoped was a look of surprise.
"My Lord, I pray you—I most earnestly pray you not to be too hasty in this!" said Hob desperately. "I say no word against any other Hob. All Hobs are good Hobs. But, trust me, my Lord, that I—who know many of them personally—do not know of one who could begin to do what I have been able to do in service to you, especially when you are away from Malencontri. You can believe me, my Lord, I'm just lucky in being able to be the bravest, most helpful hobgoblin any could be to you. Would you see all my fine experience going to waste as a squire? I realize, now you speak of it, what a waste it would be. Why, I can—"
Hob was almost sputtering.
"You don't have to tell me, Hob," said Jim gently. "But I can understand how you may have had your heart set on being a squire; and I wouldn't like to be the one to stand in your way—"
"No, no! I mean—begging your pardon, m'Lord—no, no, not at all! It's the duty of all us Hobs to serve where we can be of greatest use. It's a great commandment laid on us—now that I stop to think of it. Believe me, m'Lord, you don't want a different Hob!"
"And you'd give up the chance of becoming a squire?" said Jim. "That is truly noble of you, Hob."
"You think so, m'Lord?" said Hob, straightening up, inflating his chest and adding a good eighth of an inch more to his height. "Well—but I mean"—his voice soared to the strangely artificial, stagy note Jim had heard from him, as he faced the knight who had come out of the Castle of the Queen of Northgales to bar Jim's entrance—"it is my pleasure so to do, my most puissant and noble Lord. Think no more on it. I am your Hob, forever! Lo, how I spring with light heart and fresh gamboling aloft here on this earth!"
He disappeared up the chimney.
"… And I won't never listen when I shouldn't…" His voice floated back down to Jim and Angie, growing fainter with distance.
There was silence. Only the sound of rain on the windows and the crackle of the burning logs in the fireplace. Jim looked at Angie and found her steadily regarding him. Some husbandly-developed alertness told him that they were now back to normal.
"You know," she said, "you're pretty good, sometimes."
"You too," said Jim.
Gordon R. Dickson, The Dragon in Lyonesse
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