He had expected that Giles's actions in France would have been the first subject of conversation. However, Herrac was evidently a host who had his own idea of how talk at his table should go. Consequently he engaged the three guests in conversation, himself, while his sons sat silent during the early courses of the meal.
He was a good conversationalist. But to Jim's mild puzzlement, Herrac seemed to want to say little or nothing about himself, his family and lands, or local matters. In fact, when Jim, out of sheer courtesy, ventured on these topics, Herrac deftly returned the subject of their conversation back to that of his guests.
They talked about the weather, both this year and last, about the differences between this part of England and that from which the three of them came, in the south; also, about the various ladies and activities of the guests, and about the ballad version they had heard of the battle of the Loathly Tower. This last topic gave Jim and the others an opportunity for which they were grateful, to point out where the version of the ballad the de Mers had heard was wrong.
The fact was that all the ballad versions were wrong. This, because there had been added to all of them whatever the maker of that particular version had thought would make it most interesting, as well as long and dramatic as possible. Nearly all versions, including the one the de Mers had heard, had Jim going to London and asking permission of King Edward to go out and attack the creatures of the Loathly Tower. Whereupon, the King had graciously given him permission to do so, with the implication that afterwards he would be rewarded.
As it had happened, this particular added part had been heard by the King, himself; and pleased his English Royal Majesty enough to make him convince himself that it was true. A result had been confirmation of Jim's possession of the castle and lands of Le Bois de Malencontri.
Another had been his award of arms to Jim. Though it was true that Jim could have created some arms of his own, on the basis of his claiming to hold the mythical barony of Riveroak, which had been the name of the twentieth-century college at which he and Angie had been graduate students and assistant teachers. But an award of arms from the King was a special honor and much to be preferred.
For this and other reasons, the matter of the King's permission was one part of the ballad that neither Jim, Brian, nor Dafydd bothered to correct. For all Jim knew, Brian and Dafydd might have, like the King, convinced themselves that it was the truth.
But there were other additions and even errors in the reporting of the ballad that could stand correcting; and these the three mentioned.
It was not until at last the food had been cleared away and they were well into the after-dinner drinking—which was beginning to look rather frightening to Jim, since it seemed that both Herrac and his other large sons could outdrink even such a notable imbiber as Giles had shown himself to be, in France. Jim was very glad, consequently, when the question of Giles's actions in France finally came up for discussion, as a result of a direct question from Herrac about them.
"Giles has actually told us nothing but that he was slain at a large battle somewhere in France and that the three of you brought his body back to the sea for burial," said Herrac, looking down the table a little severely at Giles—who avoided the glance. "I understand from what you gentlemen say that there was more to it than that?"
"A great deal more," answered Jim.
"Yes," said Herrac, his deep-set eyes still on the embarrassed Giles, "why did you not tell us the rest of it, Giles? I'm confident that there would be nothing unknightly or shameful about what you did."
"Far from it," murmured Brian.
"Well, Giles?" demanded his father.
"I—" Giles almost stuttered, "I was rather hoping—just hoping, you understand—that some minor balladeer somewhere might just be looking for something to make a new ballad about and choose it. That's all."
Hector let out a hoot of laughter from across the table.
"Giles thought they would make a ballad about him?" boomed Hector. "That would be something to tell the crows! Giles in a ballad!"
"Indeed," said the soft voice of Dafydd, "I know of many ballads made with less cause and with less of a subject to sing about."
"By Saint Dunstan!" said Brian, bringing his fist down upon the table with a crash. "And that is so! More so than most of the pretty songs sung about the land!"
"Hector," said Herrac, "leave the table."
"Father—" cried Hector, already crushed by Dafydd's and Brian's retorts; and now further stricken at facing the prospect of not hearing what the others would hear.
"As a favor to us," said Jim quickly to Herrac, "perhaps you would forgive Hector, this one time. It's difficult to realize that someone you grew up with can do mighty things in the eyes of the world. It is not easy for anyone to face such a fact, though often we all must come to it."
Herrac looked grimly at Jim, then twice as grimly at Hector.
"Very well," he said, "you may stay, Hector—but only because our guest requests it. Watch your tongue from now on!"
"Yes, Father," muttered the second oldest giant, cowed.
Herrac turned to his three visitors.
"You were going to tell us the rest of what had to do with Giles in this matter of his death in France," he said.
Once again Jim saw that his two friends were waiting for him to speak first.
"Sir Giles and I," he told the table, "had been chosen by Sir John Chandos to execute a secret duty in France. With the help of some French informer, or informers, we were to learn where the noble Edward, our Crown Prince of England, was held prisoner by the French First Minister; and rescue him from that place, to reunite him with the expedition that was even then being sent overseas from England to bring him safely home."
He paused, rather hoping that either Brian or Dafydd would take up the tale. But Brian studiously avoided his eye and busied himself with drinking from his cup whereas Dafydd merely waited calmly, his eyes steady on Jim.
"In a word," went on Jim, "with Sir Brian and Dafydd's help, we did just that; and rejoined the English forces just as they met the French forces under the King of France, with which they were to do battle. Unfortunately, the King of France's Minister, from whom we rescued the Prince, was one Malvinne, a very well-known and powerful magician—much more able in magic than myself. Malvinne, after our rescue of the real Prince, had made with his magic a perfect duplicate of the young man, and brought that duplicate to the battle to be fought between the English and French forces. Using this duplicate, he was claiming that our young Royal Edward had abandoned his heritage; and thrown in his lot with King Jean and the French host—so that he would be fighting against his own countrymen."
"Somewhat of this we heard," frowned Herrac, "but I interrupt. Go on, m'Lord."
"So with the three of us you see here and Sir Giles as well to make four," said Jim, "in addition to our personal levy of men-at-arms from Sir Brian's estate and my own—
From the corner of his eye, Jim caught sight of the grateful glance shot him by Brian, since Jim's way of phrasing the matter made it seem as if Brian's contribution had been the equal of Jim's.
"—And with these, acting independently," Jim continued, "it was decided."
"Sir James decided it, having the command in keeping," growled Brian.
"Well, well—in any case," Jim said, "there was a truce between the two armies until the following day. Our small group made plans to attack just as the truce ended. To attack, in fact, from behind the French lines, independently, King Jean of France and his personal bodyguard of some fifty to a hundred picked French knights in heavy armor. Now, with these were not only the magician Malvinne, but the false Prince he had made. This, to ensure that King Jean, Malvinne and the false Prince should be protected, no matter what else might happen between the French and English armies. If the French forces should seem about to lose the day, the bodyguard could protect those three in a withdrawal; so that there would be no danger of any of them being captured."
&n
bsp; He paused. The men of the de Mer household were transfixed, from Herrac on down, their eyes unmoving on him. Giles was also staring at him, also almost as if hypnotized.
"So, aided by some small magic of my own—"
"He made us all invisible, Father!" broke in Giles excitedly. "We went through the baggage lines behind the French with no one suspecting at all and approached the rear of the last, or third line of the French, on the right flank of which the King and his force sat their horses in full arms and armor."
"Giles," said his father, but in a kinder tone than he had spoken to Hector, "allow our guest to tell the story as he sees fit."
"Yes, Father."
"Well," went on Jim, "to make a long story short, just before charging, we removed our invisibility; since it would not have been fair or chivalric in actual combat to continue it. In full sight, we charged the King's bodyguard from the rear. Our only advantage was that they had not expected anything from the quarter from which we had attacked; and also it took them a few moments to realize and get ready to resist our charge."
Christopher coughed. He had obviously been fighting the urge to do so for some minutes; and the cough came out in a strangled gasp. The rest of the family glared at him. He blushed brightly.
"Therefore," said Jim, "we hit them as they were only half-prepared to receive us; and with the aid of Dafydd, here, and several other greatly skilled bowmen he had gathered from the rest of the English forces, we were able to penetrate through the bodyguard and take the King, himself, prisoner. Whereupon he surrendered; and called upon his bodyguard to throw down their arms and submit. Which they did."
Jim paused. The strain of story telling was greater than he had thought. He paused to take a drink from his wine cup, and found it surprisingly refreshing.
"Where was Giles in all of this?" asked his father. "What part did he take in your charge?"
"Giles was not with us," answered Jim. "Earlier, to protect the true Prince Edward, I had taken both to the ruin of a small, stone chapel some small distance off. There was a short way in among the fallen blocks, though no exit from it. But it was only wide enough for one person to come down at a time. I left the Prince there—very much over his own protests, I should mention—and with him, I left Sir Giles, to bar the short passage to the Prince if any should attack. At that point, none of us expected that the Prince, to say nothing of Sir Giles, would even be found there, let alone threatened."
"This was before you charged and captured King Jean and his bodyguard?" queried Herrac.
"It was," said Sir Brian, "but a short time before—no longer than a man might give to his morning prayers."
"Thank you, Sir Brian. Go on, m'Lord, if you please," said Herrac.
"Once we had captured the King, the magician and the false Prince," said Jim, "our most earnest desire was to confront that false Prince with the real Edward. Therefore, I sent one of our men-at-arms to fetch both Sir Giles and the Prince. He returned only a matter of minutes later at full speed, with word that Sir Giles was under most fierce and cruel attack by a number of knights in armor, all bearing black marks painted across their visor. This was something that identified them as being the personal knights of Malvinne, the magician; who, with his magic, had divined the whereabouts of the real Prince; and dispatched his own knights to overwhelm Sir Giles, and capture, or kill, the real Prince Edward."
"How many of these were there, m'Lord?" asked Herrac, frowning.
"Our men-at-arms encountered some dozen and a half," answered Jim. "It is true, because of the narrowness of the passage, that the Knights of Malvinne could only come at Sir Giles one at a time. But the minute he had defeated one, another took his place; and they were picked knights of great strength and prowess."
"Then what?" queried Herrac, almost as eagerly as one of his sons might have done.
"I sent immediately to rescue Sir Giles and the Prince," said Jim, "and they returned with the Prince unharmed, but with your son suffering from nearly twenty wounds; and so weakened from loss of blood, that it was plain he could not live. You will want to ask me how many knights he encountered at that time, and how he dealt with them?"
He looked directly at Herrac and then at the sons and then back to Herrac again.
"It is what I want to know," said Herrac in a hard voice, that for the first time used something like the full volume of his bass tones.
"They counted eight knights fully dead, and four so badly wounded that they could not escape, and later died," answered Jim. "This was the price your son exacted for what he paid to protect the Royal Prince; and indeed, he protected him so well that no attacking knight got within sword's reach of him."
He had reached the climax of the story. But it was obvious that those listening to him were now captured by it and wanted to hear more.
"Our men brought Sir Giles as gently as possible to the place where we held the King and his now disarmed bodyguard. There was little we could do for your son. He had lost too much blood and was still losing it—nor was there any way to stanch the flow from most of the wounds. Nonetheless, what could be done, was done—"
"There was a lady, fair beyond any fairness you can imagine," broke in Giles, "who was most gentle with me and said many kind things to comfort me; not only about my situation, but about my size and my—er—nose. Would that I could return to France and find her again!"
It was a measure of the hold that Jim's story had taken of his audience, that Herrac did not rebuke Giles for speaking up this time. However, Jim turned to him.
"It's just as well that you never do, Giles," said Jim. "She's a Natural; which is something other than human, something fairylike. Her desire would be only to take you back to the bottom of the lake where she dwells, and keep you there forevermore. There is more for you to do in this world yet, Giles, I think, than spend forever being pampered on the bed of a lake in France."
"Fresh water?" murmured Herrac.
"Yes, Sir Herrac," said Jim, "fresh water."
"Then you are indeed fortunate, Giles. You hear?" said Herrac to his son. "Have you thanked the good Sir James?"
"I've—I've had no chance until now, Father," stammered Giles. "Indeed, my great thanks, James. Not only for opening my eyes now to the danger that lay with me in that beauteous lady; but putting me in position to win some honor on that day of which you speak."
"Well spoken, if a little tardily," growled Herrac. "Giles, you have brought honor to the family name."
Giles blushed.
"So, Hector!" said Sir Herrac, turning to the other son. "What do you think now, of the right of your brother to have a ballad written about him?"
"Indeed, Father—" stammered Hector. "I only wish that in my life I shall have the chance to prove myself half as worthy of such a ballad."
"Good!" growled Herrac. "Now, my Lord and guests, enough of Giles's story, welcome though it has been. Let us enjoy the rest of the evening and talk of other things. How was it on your trip here?"
"Well," said Brian, "it is a pleasure just to be abroad in springtime, at last after the winter just gone by. But perhaps you can enlighten us about a strange and perhaps unholy thing we encountered on the way to the castle, here. It was five knights in armor—"
A certain rigidity seemed to Jim suddenly take all the de Mers.
"—Apparently, with lances," went on Brian, unheeding, "but mounted upon steeds that we could not see. They came at us with all intent to bicker with us; but Dafydd ap Hywel, here, drove them off with arrows before they closed. And when we came to where one had fallen from his horse, there was nothing there but the armor, the lance and some clothes. All else, horse and the man within the armor, had vanished."
He stopped speaking; and now both he and Dafydd, as well as Jim, noticed the change in the faces of their hosts. Herrac's and Giles's features were set like granite outcroppings of mountain rock; and those of all the other sons had paled.
Chapter Four
The silence stayed for a long moment aroun
d the table, during which the eyes of Sir Herrac were hard upon all his three guests.
"It seems," he broke the silence at last, "that we must speak of one of our local troubles after all, the which I would have preferred not to intrude upon your visit."
He paused for a moment, then went on.
"I am happy to learn that your encounter with these enemies of man and all Gods was so successful," he said. "Because those whom you met were not ordinary opponents, but something other than Christian souls. They are called the Hollow Men; and we have suffered much from them. They are wholly evil, unlike even the Little Men. In fact, they are the ghosts of some of those who have died in this area we have come to call the Border, from the German sea to the Irish sea.
"There have been Hollow Men here from the time of the Romans," he went on, "who built the wall of which all men know, between England and Scotland, down to the present. Of these, those who, because of some evil in their lives, have been forbidden entrance into heaven or even hell, have become what we call the Hollow Men. Indeed, even those who worship the old gods like Odin are shut out of Valhalla; while others like them are shut out from their own pagan afterworld, no matter what form it takes. In short, they are curst souls and will know no rest until Judgment Day."
"Nor will we who have to endure them know any rest until then," said Hector somberly.
This time his father did not rebuke his son, but merely shook his head.
A common impulse seemed to go around the table, causing them all there to fill their glasses or top them off, whichever was needed, and drink deeply for a moment. They waited, but Herrac said no more.
"What of the invisible horses, then?" asked Brian, once the glasses had all been set back down on the table.
"They are possibly ghosts as well," said Herrac. "The Hollow Men themselves have no form or body under ordinary conditions. However, if they can but fit themselves into clothing or armor, they seem to become again the men they once were, with the same strength and the same abilities. So discovers anyone who has to fight one of them. Yet, if your blade should cut into one, past the armor, it is the same as cutting empty air, for there is nothing there beneath."
The Dragon on The Border Page 3
