They were standing in a small opening among the trees. The grass under their feet, the sunlight upon them and the tall elms all around them framed a picture that was almost too perfect to believe. Danielle, in her hose and doublet, looked as if she had just stepped out of a book of legends; and Dafydd, who stood with her, was hardly less imposing.
The bowman wore his bow and quiverful of long arrows—Jim got the idea that these two items were never more than an arm's length from him, even while he slept. Danielle, however, had left her own bow and arrows someplace else. She wore no weapon except the knife at her belt; although this, with its six-inch sheath outlining a near-equal length of blade, was certainly nothing to ignore.
"… After all," she was saying, "you're just a common bowman."
"Not common, lady," Dafydd replied softly. "Even you ought to recognize that, look you."
He stood over her, Danielle was tall, but Dafydd was a good deal taller. Jim had not really appreciated the Welshman's height, on seeing him seated in the inn. Grottwold might have been as tall; but beyond the overall inches, any similarity between the two men ended. Dafydd was as straight and supple as his own bow and his shoulders were as wide as the inn's front door. His face was of the sort usually described as "chiseled"—straight nose, square jaw, level eyes, but all without the heavy boning of someone like Brian. His voice was soft and musical; and he had been entirely right about himself as a bowman—or anything else. He was not at all common.
Jim, watching, found himself completely caught up in wonder at Danielle's attitude. How, he wondered, could she prefer someone like himself—that is, if Aragh was telling the truth—to this medieval superman? For the moment, he had forgotten entirely that he was in a dragon's body, not in his ordinary human form.
"You know what I mean!" said Danielle. "Anyway, I've had enough of bowmen to last me for a lifetime. Besides, why should I care about you, bowman or not?"
"Because I find you beautiful, lady," Dafydd answered, "and I remember nothing in all my life that I found beautiful that I did not want it; and, wanting, never ceased from striving for, until I gained it."
"Is that so? I'm not some bauble to hang on your baldrick, Sir bowman! As it happens, I'll say who gains me!"
"Indeed, you shall. But shall no one else while I live—as you may now know from my telling you of it."
"Hmph!" Danielle did not exactly toss her head, but Jim got the strong impression that for two cents, or its medieval equivalent, she would have. "I'm going to marry a prince, when I marry. What can you do against a prince?"
"Against prince, king, emperor, God or Devil—the same thing I would do against any man or beast who came between me and the lady I wanted. One or the other of us would go down; and that is not likely to be myself."
"Oh, of course not!" sneered Danielle.
She turned and marched away from Dafydd. Jim woke suddenly to the fact that she was coming straight for him and that in a moment he would be discovered. There was hardly anything to do but pretend he had just arrived. He stepped forward, out of the trees.
"There you are, Sir James!" Danielle called, happily. "Did you have a good night's sleep? How are your wounds?"
"Wounds?" echoed Jim. She had certainly not dignified his cuts with the name of "wounds" when she had cleaned him up yesterday. "Oh, fine! Yes, I slept like a log!"
"Dear Sir James," she said, reaching him. "I've been waiting for you to wake up so that we can talk some more. There were things I wanted to know, you remember. Shall we take a walk, just the two of us?"
"Well… sure," said Jim. He had come into these woods with the firm intention of settling any foolish notions Danielle might have about him. Face to face with her, he felt his confidence evaporating. "Oh, good morning, Dafydd."
"Good morning, Sir James," said the bowman, pleasantly.
Danielle already held Jim by the forearm and was leading him off into the wood at an angle to the route he had taken on coming here.
"I'll talk to you later in the day," Jim called over his shoulder to Dafydd.
"Indeed now, we shall, Sir James."
In a moment the small clearing was out of sight. Danielle led the way through the trees for some distance, but soon slowed her pace.
"Have you remembered anything?" she asked.
"Remembered?" Jim echoed.
"Of who you were, besides being Baron of Riveroak."
"Well… who could I be?" Jim said. "I mean, just being Baron alone—"
"Come, Sir James," said Danielle, impatiently. "A gentleman isn't just his rank. For that matter, he can have many ranks. Isn't our Lord Duke also Count of Piers, Steward of the East Marches and lots of other things? And as for our King in England, isn't he also King of Aquitaine, Duke of Brittany, Duke of Caraballa, Prince of Tours, a Prince of the Church, a Prince of the Two Sicilies, Count this, Count that… and so on, for half an hour? Baron of Riveroak is probably the least of your titles."
"What makes you think so?" asked Jim, feebly.
"Why, because you've been enchanted!" Danielle snapped. "Who'd bother enchanting a mere baron?"
Her manner softened. She reached up to pat him gently on the end of his muzzle. To Jim's surprise, the touch of her hand was a very pleasant thing. He wished she would do it again—and a small twinge of jealousy toward Aragh stirred within him.
"There! Never mind," she said. "It's the enchantment that keeps you from remembering. Are you sure it didn't hurt?"
"Not at all," said Jim.
She looked dubious.
"We used to do a lot of talking about magic in my father's band, in the wintertime. There wasn't much else to do from December until March, once we got snowed in, but sit around the fire and talk. Of course nobody knew—but everybody seemed to think there'd have to be this one, sudden, terrible flash of pain when you changed forms. You know, the same way it would be if you were getting your head cut off, just before your head rolled on the ground and you were really dead."
"It didn't happen that way with me," said Jim.
"You've probably forgotten it—just like you've forgotten being a prince."
"Being a prince?"
"Probably," Danielle answered thoughtfully. "Of course, you could have been a king or emperor; but somehow that doesn't seem to fit you like being a prince. What did you look like?"
"Well…" Jim coughed self-consciously. "I was about as tall as Brian, say, and about the same weight. My hair was black and my eyes were green. I'm twenty-six—"
"Yes," said Danielle, decisively, "that's the right age for a prince. I was right."
"Danielle…" said Jim. He was beginning to get a little desperate. "I wasn't a prince. I happen to know I wasn't a prince. I can't tell you just how I know; but believe me. Take my word for it—I know I wasn't a prince!"
"There, there," said Danielle, "don't worry about it. It's undoubtedly just part of your ensorcellment."
"What is?"
"Thinking you know you weren't a prince. Undoubtedly, whoever ensorceled you didn't want you realizing who you really are. Let's not talk about it any more now, if it upsets you. Do you happen to know how you can end the enchantment?"
"You bet," said Jim, fervently. "If I can get Angela—my lady—back, I'll get out of this dragon-body in a hurry."
"Well, that's not hard, then. All you have to do is get your Companions together, go to the Loathly Tower, get this Lady Angela and send her back wherever she came from."
"How do you—?"
"I've been talking to Sir Brian," said Danielle. "How many more Companions do you have to get?"
"I don't know," Jim answered. "But you realize, once I get Angela free I'll be going back with her."
"Going back with her… ?"
"I love her."
"No, no," said Danielle. "You'll see, that's just another part of the enchantment. Once you're disenchanted, you'll see her as she really is; and realize you're not in love with her at all."
"As she really is?" Jim echoed, bewildered
. "Now look, Danielle, I know how she really is. She… I… we've known each other very well for a year and a half, now."
"That's what the enchantment makes you think. It came to me suddenly, last night. The reason you couldn't answer the question I asked you about whether she was as fair as I am was because, although you knew better, the enchantment was making you think she was. Nobody," Danielle insisted, "is as fair as I am. But I don't blame you for not being able to see that, while you're ensorceled this way."
"But—"
"Come, Sir James. You're going to have to face facts, eventually. Look me right in the eyes and tell me you really believe this Angela is as fair as I am."
Jim stopped, to keep from running into her. She had stepped around in front of him and was gazing directly into his eyes from less than a foot away.
He gulped. The absolute hell of it was, she was right. Much as he loved Angie, this suntanned figure of perfection would win any beauty contest between them in the moment of its announcement. But that was beside the point. It was Angie he wanted, not five feet eleven inches of—
"That's beside the point, Danielle," he made himself say. "It's the Lady Angela I'm concerned with; and I'm the one she's concerned with. Even if you could convince me things were different, I don't think you could convince her."
"Oh? Hmm," Danielle said, her fingers playing with the hilt of her knife. "Well, well. She and I can settle that little matter by ourselves when the time comes. But, Sir James, hadn't we better be heading back to the inn? The others will be wondering that you should keep me apart alone with you all this time."
"You're right," said Jim, and headed back with her.
It was not until he was a half-dozen steps along the way that he realized she had conned him again. Who was likely to wonder about his spending time with Danielle as long as he was still in the body of a dragon?
When they did arrive back at the inn, they found a table with benches—something like a picnic table—set up outside the front door. Brian and Dafydd were seated at it with leather drinking mugs and a bottle of wine before them. Aragh sat on his haunches at the foot of the table, his head well above the boards.
"Sir James!" Brian called, as Jim and Danielle emerged from the wood. "Come join us! We have plans to make for the retaking of my lady's castle."
Jim felt the pit of his stomach drop slightly. He had gathered earlier that Brian had definite intentions of evicting Sir Hugh de Bois de Malencontri and freeing his Geronde, but he had not bothered to think seriously about what the knight might do. Now, however, that they were down to the point of action, he recalled that the situation was somewhat unbalanced between their own numbers and those of the castle's probable occupiers. This discrepancy would not have bothered him so much if he had not gathered that Brian was the sort of individual who, having made up his mind to do something, was certain to do it.
He lumbered up and sat himself down at the open end of the table, opposite Aragh.
"Sir James," said Brian. "Oh, by-the-bye—would you like some wine?"
"Ye—No," said Jim, remembering his existing debt to the innkeeper.
"Very well. Sir James, I have some sorry news for us," Brian went on. "The good bowman here tells me that he sees no reason to join forces with us against Sir Hugh, his principles being—"
" 'Let be who will leave me be,'" put in Dafydd. "Not that I do not wish you well, whatever. But it is not a quarrel of mine."
"Likewise," went on Brian, "Sir wolf here considers the matter of my lady and myself to be no quarrel of his; and he has reminded me that his promise to join us extended only insofar as we have to deal with sandmirks."
"Oh."
"Therefore," said Brian, cheerfully. "Clearly, it is to be you and I alone against Sir Hugh and his men. For that reason, let us put our heads together, for we will have need of what cleverness we can muster."
"Well, there you have it, Gorbash," said Aragh, with grim relish. "That's what you get for thinking you're human. Only humans would consider taking a castle full of enemies, when there were only two of them and the castle is built to keep out an army."
"It's certainly not sensible, Sir Brian!" put in Danielle, who was standing by Aragh, petting him behind the ears. "You have to admit that!"
"Sensible or not," Brian resumed, his jaw muscles bunching, "my lady is held and I will loose her. By myself, if need be. But I believe I can count on Sir James."
"It's not Sir James' duty to free your lady!" said Danielle. "His duty's to free himself from his enchantment by getting the Lady Angela out of the Loathly Tower. In fact, it's his duty not to risk his life—and that rescue—by trying anything as foolish as taking Malvern Castle, two-handed!"
"I constrain none," said Brian. His burning-blue gaze swung around to lock with Jim's. "Sir James, how say you? Are you with me in this matter, or do I proceed alone?"
Jim opened his mouth to make his apologetic excuses. Attacking the castle with Aragh and Dafydd to help put matters, perhaps, faintly within the realm of success. Without them, such an attack would be nothing less than suicidal. Better to make the situation plain to Brian right now, than to have to back out later.
But, oddly, the words seemed to stick in his throat and would not come out. Jim was under no circumstances the bravest man around—and he was no better a dragon than he was a man, as far as courage went. On the other hand, there was Angie… for whose rescue Carolinus assured him he would need Companions—and if he let Brian down now, it was not to be expected that Brian would still come along to the Loathly Tower to help him. Also, there was something about the knight's determination… and something, as well, about this crazy world he was now in: unbelievable as it seemed, there was something in him—in the human, not dragon, part of him—that wanted to try taking Malvern Castle, even if he and Brian must make that attempt alone.
"Well, Sir James… ?" said Brian.
"Count on me," Jim heard himself saying.
Brian nodded. Dafydd refilled his jack with wine, held it up to Jim and drank it off in silent toast.
"Oh, yes!" Danielle flashed, turning on the bowman. "And you were the one who would put yourself up against prince, or king or emperor, and were so sure it wouldn't be you who would go down!"
He looked at her in surprise.
"This is none of my concern, as I said," he answered. "How is it you're making a comparison between this and what I would do for you, in your own case?"
"Sir Brian needs help! Does Sir James hang back and say it's none of his concern? He does not! I wondered about your courage with all those fine speeches you've been making. I see I was right to wonder!"
Dafydd frowned.
"Ah," he said, "you mustn't go making talk like that. My courage is as good as any man's—and, in fact, I think better."
"Oh?"
He stared at her with a sort of slow wonder.
"You will be pushing me into this, now?" he said. "Indeed, I see you will."
He turned to Brian.
"What I said was no less than the truth," he told the knight. "It is nothing to me, one way or the other, about this Sir Hugh of yours. Nor am I some knight-errant, look you, to go rescuing maidens. That is for those of you who are liking such things. But for this particular maiden with us now, and no other, you may count on me, too, for what I can do to aid."
"Good man—!" Brian was beginning, when Aragh interrupted.
"You've got visitors, Sir knight. Turn and look."
Brian turned. They all turned.
Emerging from the trees opposite the inn were the first of a number of men, all in steel caps, brown, green or russet hose, and leather jackets with metal plates fastened thickly upon them, wearing swords at their belts and with longbows and quivers of arrows slung from their shoulders.
"It's all right, Sir Brian," said Danielle. "It's just Giles o' the Wold, my father."
"Your father?" Brian turned back swiftly to dart a suspicious glance at her.
"Certainly!" Danielle explained. "
I knew you'd need help, so I asked one of Dick Innkeeper's sons to ride secretly last night on one of his father's horses to summon him. I said to tell him you'd be glad to split whatever wealth was to be gained from Sir Hugh de Bois and his men in retaking the castle."
Chapter Fourteen
Brian stared at her for a second longer, then turned back to look at the newcomers, who were already halfway across the open ground to the inn. Slowly he got to his feet. Dafydd rose also, casually, his hand on his quiver. Jim found himself getting to his feet as well, and Dick Innkeeper materialized in the inn door, stepping out to join them. Only Aragh stayed seated, his jaws laughing.
The man in the lead was a lean individual who looked to be in his fifties. The ends of hair seen escaping from under his steel cap were iron gray, and his short, curly, jutting beard was pepper-and-salt in color. Beyond his air of authority, he seemed little different from the men behind him, except that the weapon at his belt was not the short sword the others wore, but rather a longer, two-handed weapon like Sir Brian's.
He came up to the ditch girdling the inn, crossed its bridge and stopped before the knight.
"I'm Giles o' the Wold," he said. "And these are my free brothers and companions of the forest. I take it you're Sir Brian Neville-Smythe?"
"I am," Brian answered, stiffly. "Master outlaw, I wasn't the one who invited you here."
"I'm aware of that," said Giles. Above his beard, his face was tanned to almost the color of old leather and the skin had gone into small, shrewd wrinkles. "My daughter sent for me—"
He glanced past Brian for a moment.
"I'll talk to you later, girl," he said. "Now, Sir knight, what matters who sent for me? If you need assistance, here am I and my men, and the price of our aid's not so high as to be beyond reason. Shall we sit like reasonable men and discuss it, or should my lads and I turn around again and go?"
Brian hesitated a second—but only a second.
"Dick," he said, turning to the innkeeper. "Bring another jack for Giles o' the Wold; and see what his companions will have."
"Ale," answered Dick, in a somewhat grim voice, "is all I have in such quantity."