The Dragon Knight

by Gordon R. Dickson

  Jim was still thinking this when his opponent, having dodged one of his sword blows, suddenly reversed directions, stopped, came forward, and kneed Jim cruelly in the crotch. Jim fell to the ground in agony. His opponent fell on top of him, his sword now shortened, so that its point glimmered a few inches above Jim's face.

  "Surrender!" the man yelled. "Yield, or I'll cut your throat!"

  Even through the haze of pain that enveloped him at the moment, Jim belatedly recognized that, wearing armor as he was, he would of course be taken for somebody worth holding to ransom. Come to think of it, with Malencontri in his holding, he probably was. However, before he could answer, the matter was settled for him.

  There was an audible thud, and the broadhead of a clothyard shaft suddenly emerged from the man's chest, sticking out several inches. The man choked, fell off Jim, and lay still.

  Jim's first thought was that somehow, miraculously, Dafydd had overcome his broken collarbone and was pumping arrows into the fight with almost the rapidity of bullets from a fully automatic weapon of Jim's time—something only Dafydd would be able to do.

  Then Jim became aware of two other things. The attackers had broken off the fight and were now running for the security of the forest edge behind Castle Smythe. Through the open spaces their leaving made, Jim could see not only that Aragh and Sir Brian were still on their feet, but that beyond them a number of brown-jerkined archers were coming toward the castle; running forward, pausing to draw bow and shoot, running forward once more and pausing to shoot again, and so continuing directly toward the spot where all the fighting had been going on.

  Brian loomed suddenly over him, took one of Jim's hands in the firm grip of his own and helped him to his feet.

  "Are you wounded, James?" queried the knight.

  "Not… wounded, exactly," grunted Jim, still bent over like an old man. He was making a mental note now—as he had once made a mental note after discovering that even a dragon could not fly with impunity into an armored knight on horseback charging with a lance at rest—never to make the same mistake again. As long as he lived, he would never assume, simply because an opponent was unarmored and lightly weaponed, that it would be safe to get close to him simply because Jim himself was in armor. "Who's helping us?"

  "I believe," said Sir Brian, "it is Giles o'the Wold and his men, come to meet his daughter and Dafydd, and also offering me his help in this time of need."

  Now Dafydd and Danielle had also emerged from the woods and were coming toward them; Dafydd still with his sling and Danielle carrying her bow down but with an arrow still notched to the string. Jim was walking around in circles, trying to straighten up.

  "You're sure you're not wounded, James?" asked Brian concernedly, following him along. Jim shook his head. "In that case, what has happened to you?"

  Jim told him, in simple, plain, Anglo-Saxon words.

  Sir Brian broke into a roar of hearty laughter. Jim glared at the knight in very unfriendly fashion. He would have thought the occasion called for a little sympathy, rather than this robust humor at his expense.

  "Come, James," said Brian, slapping him on the shoulder. "You'll not die from it!"

  He caught the eye of one of Jim's own men-at-arms who was standing not too far off.

  "You!" Sir Brian said. "Sir James's palfrey is just over there. Run see if there is not some wine in the saddlebags."

  The man-at-arms turned and set off, in fact, at a run. It had taken Jim some months to get used to the fact that, in this world, whenever any superior sent an inferior on an errand, the inferior did it at a run—even though he might be a fully grown man, or she a fully grown woman. Stranger still, was the realization that Jim came to accept eventually, that if someone of superior rank should send him on an errand, he also would be expected to run. In fact it was a highly structured world. Inferiors invariably stood in the presence of a superior, even if the inferior was simply the second son of the Lord of the estate and the superior was his older brother.

  He had begun to feel a little better, when the man-at-arms came running back with the wine flask that Jim had drunk from earlier. Sir Brian had him swallow a fair amount of the straight wine; and Jim, after a few moments, found that either it did make him feel better, or else it helped him to imagine he was feeling better. Gradually he was recovering, and in the process straightening up, so that he did not advertise his mishap to everyone within sight.

  This was just as well because Danielle and Dafydd were upon them, now flanked by Giles o'the Wold himself—and Jim knew Danielle. She would have no inhibitions about inquiring as to what had happened to him; and would probably laugh just as uproariously as Brian had on hearing what the cause was.

  As it happened, Danielle did not get a chance to ask any questions after all; because Sir Brian spoke first.

  "Welcome friends! Welcome, and my thanks!" he said. "Without the help of all of you I don't know how Castle Smythe could have been saved!"

  "It couldn't have," said Aragh, who had just now joined the rest of them.

  "Indeed, Sir Wolf," said Brian, "I think you may be right. Nonetheless, it is saved; and this is a festive occasion. Let us all repair within my castle, where I can feast you and entertain you in proper style—"

  He was interrupted by a large, rather fat man, in clothing that was a walking structure of grease stains, and who carried a strange knife in his hand, one that was either a very odd axe or a rather ornate cleaver.

  "What—?" began Sir Brian irritably, as the other man plucked at the elbow of his sleeve and whispered in his ear. "There must be—"

  He stopped speaking, and allowed himself to be drawn off to one side by the man with the cleaver. From a little distance the rest of them could see a sort of violent, whispered argument going on between Brian and this man, who was plainly one of his people from the castle.

  "Winning a battle may be one thing," said Aragh grimly, "feasting your guests, something else."

  "Hush," said Danielle.

  The truth suddenly burst upon Jim's mind. He should have realized it before this. It was the most ordinary sort of hospitality for the owner of a castle to invite inside those who had just helped him save it from raiders. But the truth would be that there was not the wherewithal in Brian's castle to put forth the kind of feast he had in mind. Jim was fairly sure that the knight drank small beer and ate coarse bread as an ordinary dinner repast by himself, right along with the rest of his people in the castle.

  Jim knew how indifferent Brian was to his hard life, ordinarily. He would think nothing of such a diet for himself. But when it came to entertaining guests, it would be a totally different matter. His family pride, let alone his own, would be shamed utterly if he had to bring guests into a ruined hall and feed them the sort of rough fare that kept him alive from day to day. Jim had an inspiration.

  "Sir Brian!" he called, "if I could interrupt your talk with your man there for just a moment—"

  Brian turned an unhappy face to him, muttered an order to his retainer to stay put, and came back to the rest of them, trying to smile as he approached.

  "I just had an idea, Brian," Jim said. "I didn't get a chance to tell you sooner; but after you left so suddenly and I had to follow after you, the Lady Angela made me promise that I would bring Danielle to her immediately. 'Without any delay,' she said, as soon as Danielle and Dafydd should be met with. I wouldn't miss this feast of yours, myself, on any account, but I can hardly disobey my Lady. Though it seems equally impossible to take away, not only myself, but one of the other guests, perhaps two of the other guests. I was at my wits' end just now; and then this idea came to me."

  "James, I'm sure—" Brian began, unhappily, but Jim hurried to cut him short.

  "But listen to this notion of mine first, Brian," he said. "Why shouldn't you just change the location of your feast to my castle? You can use any of my castle stores for the moment; and simply replace them whenever it's convenient for you. That way all of us will be together, there. Not
only that, but Angie herself will be able to be one of us; and she'd never forgive me if she wasn't."

  The look of unhappiness on Brian's face slowly drained away, to be replaced by one of growing joy.

  "James," he said, "this is good of you. No. I really can't allow—"

  "I know it's an imposition," said Jim hastily, "in fact, I fully realize how rude it is of me to keep your guests from your castle on this occasion. But perhaps, just this once, you could make an exception?"

  "Jim," said Brian, shaking his head, "I don't know what to say. But—thank you, thank you. Yes, I will accept your kind offer; and we will move to your castle for the feast. And I pledge my honor as a knight that you will be repaid every—"

  "Never mind that," said Jim, turning away and starting to lead the way toward where the horses were. "We don't need pledges from each other, Brian. Surely we know each other well enough by this time to simply take such things for granted. Now, let's get back to Malencontri."

  Chapter Eight

  Jim and Angie had started a number of new customs unheard of before in castles like Malencontri. One of them had to do with seating small parties around one end of the high table, so that everybody could talk to everybody else comfortably; something not easily possible when they all sat side by side along one long edge. Their new way worked very well unless the number dining at the high table was so large that the whole table-length was required.

  In this case, happily, it was not. Jim, Angie and Sir Brian—in that order—were seated along the upper edge of the table, with Jim next to the table-end. Across from them sat, again in order from the table-end, Dafydd, Danielle and Giles o'the Wold. Occupying the table-end itself, on a bench which allowed him to lie at length, but at the same time have his head and shoulders above table level, was Aragh.

  Down below them was the low table that stretched the length of the hall, at right angles to the high table. Its upper end was just below the center of the high table, so that together they had the shape of a very large T. Along both sides of the low table sat the men-at-arms of both Malencontri and Castle Smythe, as well as the members of Giles's band who were participating in the victory feast.

  In either case, at low table or high, Jim's kitchen—with Angie in company with Danielle making frequent excursions to keep an eagle eye on its work—had done both Malencontri and Sir Brian's honor proud. Now, those at the high table, after a good two hours of eating and drinking, had finally reached the stuffed stage—a point where any physical activity was out of the question; and serious talking could begin. Aragh, who had gulped down above twelve pounds of boneless meat in what Jim estimated to be the first thirty seconds of his presence at the table, had been merely lying, lazily watching the rest of them during most of this time, only interjecting an occasional, acid comment.

  Now, as the men loosened their belts and the ladies their waistbands, and all leaned back against the newfangled seat-backs that Jim had caused to be attached to the benches that served not only the high table but the low, Brian worked the conversation around to the matter of the coming expedition to France.

  "… Lord James and I have determined to make a single unit of our forces and both travel and fight together," he was saying to the three across the table. "We wait only a few weeks for some good men who have promised earlier to serve me in such a case as this. In those weeks, of course, we will be training some of the untutored lads from James's holding, here. James will have his full levy; and I, of course, will bring all but a few of my men-at-arms, along with perhaps some of my other people who will wish to come. But it cannot be denied that we could also use some good archers."

  He looked across the table at Dafydd.

  "It would be a wondrous thing, of course, if you could join us, Dafydd," he said. His eyes shifted to Giles, "and you and as many of your lads as might wish to come."

  Giles's face darkened.

  "No," he said briefly, "I and any of my men would be fools to leave a life which is sure, only to go out and scrabble with half of England for whatever loot is left in the fought-over regions of France."

  "And as for me," said Dafydd mildly, "I and my people have little enough cause to love the king and princes of England that I should go to rescue of one of them. As for the making of war for its own use, you know my feelings on that. So there is all this against my going, even if I would consider leaving my wife for any cause whatsoever other than our own good."

  He looked fondly, if a trifle ruefully, at Danielle.

  "Even if she would allow me, I think," he added.

  "You're right!" said Danielle, "I'd not have you going off on any such business."

  "It certainly wouldn't be wise," murmured Angie, but with a note in her voice that caused Jim to look at her curiously. Angie was gazing down at her plate and toying with a few morsels that were left of the very rich dessert they had been served, and which it was quite beyond the capability of either Jim or Angie to finish.

  At the end of the table Aragh yawned hugely, showing his wicked, yellow, canine teeth.

  "You know better man to ask me," he said.

  "I didn't intend to, Sir Wolf!" said Brian, a little sharply. "In any case it's archers we need, not wolves."

  "If this was a world of wolves, there would be no wars," said Aragh.

  "Because you’d kill each other off first," said Brian.

  "No," said Aragh, almost lazily, "because there'd be nothing to be gained by such fighting. If your Prince cannot win a battle, of what use is he? Let the French have him."

  "We do not do things so." Brian's voice was sharp.

  He controlled the slight edge that had crept into his voice.

  "Well, well," he said, after a second, his voice calm again. "I blame no one for not going who has no duty to go. For James and myself, it is a duty, of course."

  "Also a pleasure," put in Aragh. His golden eyes and the furry mask of his face gave a hint of wicked humor. Brian ignored him.

  "As for our need of archers," said Brian, "we should be able to supply that once our forces are gathered together on French soil. The gathering will attract many worthy people. The best of knights will not want to miss such an opportunity; and there will be free lances, as well as men of foot—crossbowmen, men-at-arms and archers who have been given leave by their feudal Lords to fight where and as they will. The best of them will be drawn to such a gathering; simply because they are the best, and will let pass no opportunity to be among others of their own skill and rank."

  "There are always those who choose to live by war and pillage, I know," remarked Dafydd, "but I know of none except knights who choose to engage in such bloody work for the sheer pleasure of it."

  "It is not so much a pleasure as a pride, in knight and man alike," said Brian. "Would the greatest crossbowman of Genoa sit at home there at ease; while men who are not perhaps as skilled as he are doing deeds of great worth, and being acclaimed where he is not? As I say, many will be there. We will have some of the worst, no doubt. But certainly, also, we will have the best."

  "Do you say so, now?" said Dafydd, toying with the meat knife beside his plate.

  "I have seen it myself," answered Brian, "on other such occasions; though it's true I've never seen any as great as this. But as you yourself will have seen, every fair of any size draws out the best archers from the country around to compete."

  "I’ve been in some small contests in archery, myself," said Dafydd, still playing with the knife. "You say both crossbow-men and men of the bow who are also men of great worth and skill will be there?"

  "You are letting him cozen you!" said Danielle to Dafydd angrily. "He is merely tempting you with this idea of great bowmen. You are so easily tempted to any trial between yourself and someone who thinks himself a better man than you."

  Dafydd pushed the knife away, raised his head, and smiled at her.

  "Indeed," he said, "you know me too well, my golden bird. I am, indeed, easily tempted by such things."

  His free hand
reached out and played for a second with the soft ends of the blond hair on the back of her head.

  "Fear not," he said, "for you I will resist all temptation. And that will always be true, mark you."

  "Your pardon, mistress," said Brian. "I own I was indeed trying to tempt your husband. But I now own that to have been an unworthy attempt; and I crave your forgiveness, and his."

  "Indeed, there is no need, Sir Brian," said Dafydd quickly. "Is there, Danielle?"

  "Of course not," said Danielle. But the tone of her voice did not quite match her words.

  That was, in fact, just about the last two words spoken at the table about the war. The combination of the heavy meal, plus the fact that the day had almost worn itself out, put an end to the grouping at the high table shortly after. Jim and Angie, like the others of this time and world, had come to see sundown as a signal to fold up for the night; just as they took sunrise for an alarm clock. Not until they were in their own solar chamber, however, did Angie drop a bombshell into their desultory and sleepy conversation.

  "She's pregnant, you know," Angie said.

  Jim paused in the act of pulling his undershirt off over his head.

  "What?" he said.

  "I said," repeated Angie, enunciating clearly, "Danielle is pregnant."

  Jim absorbed this in the process of finishing the pulling-off of the undershirt.

  "I didn't think Brian had any real chance of recruiting him, any way," Jim said, "but of course, with a baby on the way he's not going to leave his wife."

  Angie dropped her second bombshell.

  "He doesn't know."

  Jim stared at her, for a moment not understanding. Then he did.

  "Dafydd doesn't know his wife is pregnant?" he asked.

  "That's what I said," answered Angie.

  "I'd think the first thing she'd do would be to tell him," said Jim. "Isn't that the natural thing to do?"

  "Usually," said Angie.

  Jim finished undressing and crawled in under the pile of furs, watching Angie cautiously. He knew Angie. At the moment she was either very angry, or at least emotionally worked up over someone or something. Jim's instincts were betting on anger.