"Yes."
"Think of one such place."
There was a moment in which nothing happened. Then Carolinus winked out of existence and almost immediately winked in again. The Earl was looking surprised, having become seated in his chair without having sat down. A fawn-colored leather bag was on his knees. He stared at it.
"Brian," said Carolinus, "your forty pounds are in that bag. My Lord will give it to you."
Brian stared at the bag for a moment, and then stepped forward to the seated Earl, who mutely handed him the bag. In the silence of the Hall the chinking of its contents as it was lifted could be clearly heard. Brian's face lit up. He carried the bag back to his own chair.
"Sir Simon," went on Carolinus, still in his calm, slow voice, but louder, "you have been awake for some time, since I healed you. Stop pretending, get to your feet and take your men-at-arms back to where you and they came from. Take your dead with you. My Lord Earl, order it so."
"Go, Simon," said the Earl.
Simon stood up. For a moment his eyes met with Brian's. Brian beamed on him, but Simon did not smile back. He turned and walked slowly toward the front door of the Hall; and his men picked up the bodies of their comrades and followed him out of it.
"My Lord Earl," said Carolinus, "return from whence you came."
The Earl winked out.
"My Lord Bishop," Carolinus' voice seemed if anything to be slowing down, though it still rang as loudly in the Hall. "We are all indebted to you; and in especial, me. But I must go elsewhere now. May I send you back by Magick to your own place, now?"
"Cannot I be of some help to you, yourself, Carolinus?" The Bishop looked worried. "Surely you need care—"
"I thank you. I do indeed require some attention; but I must find it elsewhere after parting from you. You will help me most if I may send you safely home."
"Then do so."
—And the Bishop was no longer with them.
"Now—" said Angie, starting toward Carolinus. But before she had taken a step, Carolinus suddenly changed. His eyes closed and he slumped in his chair, at the same time he seemed to fall in upon himself. It was as if everything about him shrank, becoming fragile and very, very old.
"I'll take care of him," said Kineteté, stepping in front of Angie and going to the chair in which he now more lay than sat.
"We have to get him upstairs, to bed—" Angie tried to get back between Kineteté and Carolinus, but it was too late. "Don't you understand? He's exhausted. We need—"
"Exhausted in more ways than you know," said Kineteté, weaving her hands in the air inches above Carolinus' motionless form. "And in need of more than you can give him here in the way of care. It's my fault. I let him talk me into this last burst of energy—stand aside!" she snapped at Angie. "This is something I understand and none of the rest of you do! I take him now, without delay. He always would try too much. With luck and grace, you may see him again—"
She and Carolinus disappeared.
Angie, Jim, Brian, and Dafydd looked at each other.
"God send we do," said Brian.
Chapter Forty
"At last," said Angie, coming into the Solar and throwing herself into a chair, "the Celebration banquet's ready. Ninety percent of it cooked and the rest only needs warming before being served. It can go on the table anytime in the next four hours without harm."
"Mmmp," said Jim, busy drawing something on a piece of paper.
"I do wish, though, Brian and Geronde hadn't decided to go for a ride without telling me, and Dafydd decide to test out some new arrows in the wood. Anyway, as soon as they get back, we can start. The servants can hardly wait to eat with us in the Great Hall—what're you doing?"
"Oh, this?" said Jim, self-consciously. Brian in particular had signaled, hinted, and all but commanded that the rescue of Robert and Carolinus, to say nothing of their victory over Sir Simon and Cumberland, should be celebrated. Jim had not expected Angie to walk in on him, busy as she had been at getting the meal ready.
"Drawing circles," he said. He lifted the sheet of heavy, greyish paper. "I was trying to visualize something being outside of everything, and the circles were to help. See?"
"Why did you want to do that?"
"Don't you remember how Carolinus told the Earl that there was a whole other area of magic beyond ordinary magic, that only a few top magicians knew about—those few like him and Kineteté who'd reached the point in their magical studies where they were face-to-face with it—and how it was as likely to hurt as help?"
"Of course I remember. But you don't have to worry about anything like that yet, do you?"
"I don't know. Twice I've had enough magic energy in my account to take us back to our own world, and both times we didn't use it—and then it got spent on other things. How would you like to be able to escape to our own century, anytime, at the drop of a hat?"
Angie stared at him with sudden shock and concern.
"Don't look at me like that," he said. "Of course we'd take Robert's best interest into consideration before doing anything like that. But you know I've been worried about people starting to see through me—and that the Castle staff already—"
"I wish," said Angie, "I really wish you'd get this idea about the servants out of your head—and all these other ideas connected with it—"
"It's not something to be just forgotten. How would you like to lose all of our friends at once, and still be stuck here? This business with Robert and the Gnarly King was proof enough we can't survive here alone. And if the servants are beginning to see through me, how much longer can it be before our best friends as well are going to see the truth, even though they may not want to?"
"Jim, this is downright ridiculous! This whole wild idea you've got is built on something you think you've seen and heard in the Castle people. If you believe that, ask them how they feel about you; ask them—"
"And I told you—"
He was interrupted by the wild screech of a voice from the tower-top overhead.
"To arms! To arms! Five knights in full armor and half a hundred men on horseback in light armor, coming fast against us, along the west road—"
The rest of the words were drowned out by the sound of hammering on the long strip of iron that was Malencontri Castle's alarm signal.
"Robert!" cried Angie, whirling about. "He'll be frightened to death!"
"Wait, Angie!" shouted Jim. "I may need you with me to hear what I order—"
But Angie was already out of the room, headed toward the separate chamber they had walled off for Robert and his nurse. Cursing, Jim went after her.
He came into Robert's room to find Angie holding the baby against her shoulder, patting him gently on the back as if she would burp him, and saying, "There, there…"
"But m'Lady—" the nurse was protesting.
"Nonsense!" said Angie. "He's just being brave about it."
Robert, looking bright-eyed at Jim over Angie's shoulder, took his thumb out of his mouth and crowed.
"Angie," said Jim, "he's fine, and I need you with me when I give orders for the Castle's defense, so you'll know what to do with your responsibilities."
"There," said Angie, handing Robert back to the nurse, "I think he's all right now." She turned with a cheerful smile to Jim. "Now, what was it you wanted?"
"Come on," Jim said.
He turned around and led the way out. They went down the passage and up the stairs to the tower roof.
It was empty. The metal alarm strip still quivered and swung slightly.
"What is this?" demanded Jim. He started toward the battlements to see for himself, but was stopped by a voice behind him.
"M'Lord!"
It was the voice of Yves Mortain, who had been promoted to Master of the Castle's men-at-arms, when their original Master—Theoluf—had been elevated to the rank of Jim's squire—an unusual but not unknown promotion, for an able common man, lifted from the ranks, particularly among fighting men.
It had bee
n Brian who had suggested Theoluf. Jim had not been in Malencontri long enough to get the younger son of one of his neighbors for his squire, the most usual course for a country knight. Nor was Jim really capable of training a young squire from the gentry. The boy would know more than he—and be little help. Theoluf had instantly proved many times more useful than any inexperienced teenager.
And Theoluf had suggested Yves to replace him. Yves, a narrow-bodied, black-haired man with a prowling walk, was not far from being a younger edition of Theoluf—a lean, hard-bitten veteran—and had been instantly at home in his new role.
Now, as Jim and Angie turned, they saw Yves had come up the stairs behind them. He was all but carrying an armsman young enough to have no more than a fuzz of beard on his chin and a look of panic on his face. The youngster was stumbling forward on the tips of his toes, because Yves had hold of the short hairs at the back of his neck and was using them to lift him into the toe-point position.
"M'Lord, m'Lady," Yves called as he approached them. "Of your grace, this is my fault. I had this wool-wit on watch, under my eye. But I left him here alone for a moment. And I have just found him in your Solar, to which he, without orders, ran, after giving the alarm, to warn you directly. I found him awaiting your return there."
He broke off as they all came together. He stopped and turned his captive by the hair so that he faced out through one of the embrasures.
"Now, pudding-head!" he said in a deadly voice. "What do you see out there? Tell us!"
The man-at-arms stammered wordlessly for a second, then found his speech.
"Six—"
"WHAT?" Yves hauled up on the back hair, producing a squeak from the armsman.
"Four—I mean, four only, of knights in full armor. That's all, Master, m'Lord, m'Lady—only four have the swordbelts of knights. Two others in like armor but with common swordbelts—squires, belike."
"And of the rest?" Yves' hard voice demanded.
"Twenty in light armor, such as armsmen wear, swords and spears. Ten mounted bowmen."
There was an ugly silence, and then Yves lifted on the hairs again.
"But there are no other fighting men, Master!" wailed the victim.
Jim winced internally. However, he had by now come to understand the sense behind the practice of not criticizing, or failing to back up a subordinate, in front of that one's own subordinates.
"I asked you to tell me what you saw!" Yves was saying. "There are twenty bodies a-horseback out there unmentioned. What of them?"
"Servants and pages!" gasped the ex-watchman. "Servants and pages with the extra weapons and baggage of the knights and squires!"
Yves released him at last with a shove that sent the youth staggering with enough momentum that he almost dived headfirst out the embrasure through which he had been looking.
"Bah!" said Yves, his tone suddenly almost indifferent, "and what if overnight in the darkness, those twenty should find armor and weapons within their baggage; and on the morrow we find ourselves facing twice as many fighting men?"
He turned to Jim and Angie.
"As I said, I take all the fault for this on myself, my Lord, my Lady. Do with me as you will regarding it. Meanwhile, if you would cast your eye over the wall here, you will recognize who comes."
"Why," said Angie, "the arms on that first shield—aren't they those of Sir John Chandos?"
Jim looked; the arms on the shield of the foremost knight showed indeed a golden triangle, occupying the center of the taller knight's shield, with its broad end against the shield's top and its point downward. All the rest of the shield surface around that upside-down, golden axe-head was a bright, light-hued blue. Azure, a pile or, as the heralds of this world would identify it.
Chapter Forty-One
They took Sir John up to the Solar where they could speak in privacy, Angie explaining on the way about the banquet, its reason for being, and how they could not start without Brian, Geronde, and Dafydd. The knights with Chandos, and certainly he himself, would of course sit at the High Table, too. But with a full hall, they could not invite in the squires and all those of lower rank, since the people of the Castle would be filling nearly all the space available.
"I would not expect you to," said Chandos as they climbed the tower stairs. "It is great courtesy in you to invite myself and my knights, when we have come upon you so unexpectedly. If we have happened on a privy occasion here in your home, I would not wish to intrude—"
He was not doing so at all, Jim and Angie told him.
"I am relieved to hear it!" said Chandos. "I am come too late with my word of warning, from what you tell me—but that is all to the good."
What word of warning, his hosts wanted to know.
"It is no great matter, in the light of what you have been telling me; but I am happy to have a chance to say it, in any case," said Chandos.
They had reached the Solar by this time and taken seats. Food and drink had already been placed ready for them by the servants of the Serving Room.
"As I said," remarked Chandos, after he had tasted some of the wine and nibbled on one of the finger foods called "hanged men"—although it took a stretch of the imagination to see anything human in their shapes—"I came intending to warn, only to find you far ahead of me. It is a pleasant excuse to visit, however—though I venture to think the Mage Kineteté could have made it unnecessary when she saw me at Court, three days ago."
"Kineteté at Court?" said Angie. "I didn't know she went there. So you know Kineteté?"
"I have met her once before, but briefly, and not at Court," said Chandos. "But this time she came to tell me the why of your disappearance with Sir Brian from the field in Cumberland, where we had that small touch of arms—as you may remember, James."
"Oh? Oh, yes," said Jim, suddenly uneasy. "What did she tell you?"
"Why, that magickal business of great import had suddenly required the presence of both of you elsewhere. I had imagined the reason had been some such matter, but it was well to know it—in especial from a Mage of such rank."
"Well, good!" said Jim, "I mean, I'm glad she did." Magical business of great import had been involved, of course—for the preservation of Brian's life.
"But you were going to warn us about something," said Angie.
"Yes," said Chandos, "but you now know what I would have told you. I wished to put you on guard against the Earl of Cumberland, to warn you he is your enemy; not on behalf of or because of, the Lady Agatha Falon, but because he has never forgiven you for defying him over the burial of your friend, Sir Giles de Mer, at the battlefield in France you know of."
"Sir Giles was of selkie blood," Jim said, "and had to be buried at sea. Because we went ahead and did that, he turned into a seal once he was back in the sea, and a Bishop's blessing has now returned him to man-shape. We had no choice."
"I should think he'd hate Prince Edward, instead. It was Edward that made him give up Giles," said Angie.
"He does. His hates are undying; and he never forgets anyone who opposes him. The Prince stands between him and England's crown—and it is a crown he covets."
Chandos got to his feet uncomfortably and walked to one of the nearby open windows in the round Solar wall.
"The worst of it is, I can do little more than warn you. You are one of England's paladins since your bicker at the Loathly Tower—and not easily disposed of without clear reason. But he will bide his time; and he is now urging war with France, in conjunction with John of Navarre and against the former Count of Valois—he who was chosen for the throne of France by the French magnates, over our Royal Edward. You will be called to our liege's banner if such war starts, and must obey. Cumberland will command any expedition that goes to France; and the war could give his chance to have you slain."
"Jim!" said Angie.
"So I thought I would come to suggest that you and your friends make haste to join me, if war seems close upon us," said Chandos. "I, also, will be in the field; as one of the war-captai
ns; and to some extent I could then protect you as a member of my personal force…"
He broke off, staring out the window.
Jim and Angie waited for him to go on, but he continued staring at whatever had caught his attention. Jim was about to speak up when Chandos found his voice.
"I find this somewhat hard to believe," he said. "But if you will pardon me, I would that you both looked out this window, or one close to it."
"The window?" said Jim. He and Angie both got to their feet.
"—You may remember," Chandos was continuing, "I looked out one of these windows on my last visit and saw… at any rate, at the risk of getting a name as a bearer of ill tidings, there is a matter that might concern you, taking place in your courtyard. No fire this time, but another fight is going on—though so close those watching are pressed I cannot say whether the fighters are servants or armsmen. Most curious. Such usually settle their disputes in some quiet or hidden place where their superiors will not discover them at it."
Jim and Angie both moved to a window next to the one out of which Sir John was looking.
"It's them again!" said Angie, "May Heather and Tom, and—oh, Jim, he's got her pinned down this time and he's really pounding her. He could hurt her badly! Why don't all those older ones watching stop it?"
"Excuse me, Sir John," said Jim, already on his way to the door. Angie was right behind him, with Chandos right behind her, as they made all possible safe speed down the stairs of the tower.
As they ran through the empty Hall, with its white tablecloths already laid and some mazers, pitchers, and platters already put out, Angie was doing her best to catch up with Jim. It was not that she could not run fast. Back in the modern world from which she and Jim had come, she had owned a very small silver cup for winning the women's hundred-yard dash in her senior year of high school. But it is difficult to show your best speed when you are holding up a very heavy, floor-length skirt with both hands, and your competition is free to swing his arms as he runs.
At least, she told herself, she was outrunning Chandos.