The Dragon Knight

by Gordon R. Dickson

The man put down his quill pen with care and followed Sir William out of the room.

  Sir John's eyes left the door as it closed, and came back to the three men before him.

  He had the lean body of a teenager in good shape; though Jim would have guessed him to be at least in his middle thirties; if not into his early forties. There was a sort of languid grace about him, but nothing of the fop, or the sort of pretentiousness that Sir Mortimer Verweather had shown downstairs. Rather, it was like the intimidating relaxation of one of the large and dangerous members of the cat family.

  Jim found himself studying the man, fascinated. When he had been a graduate student, there had been no known picture or description of Sir John Chandos which agreed with the man he was facing, now. That this man was not only intelligent and capable, but accustomed to command, radiated from him like heat from a fireplace.

  He did not invite them to sit down. Nor did he offer them the wine cups that stood available on the table.

  "Gentlemen," he said, still in that soft voice, "wars are not won by fighting, alone. In particular, this war; where the main object is to recover safely our sovereign Prince, whom may God protect. It is in one of the other necessary ways that I require the services of all three of you. Although you, Sir Brian, may find that your part may require somewhat more in the way of combat than that of these other two knights."

  Sir John looked at them each in turn, his eyes moving from one to the other as if he would judge and weigh them with his glance. His eyes were brown flecked with gold, as was the dunning dark brown hair upon his head.

  "To bring our Prince home safely," he went on, "we must undoubtedly meet the forces of King Jean of France in battle. We will win or lose that battle as God wills. Nonetheless, the actual immediate recovery of the Prince will be in great measure up to you three gentlemen and some others."

  He paused, as if to give them a moment to digest this information.

  "None of you, I'm afraid," he went on, "will have had experience with work of this sort. But you must understand that the stability of this kingdom does not rest merely on charging with sword and lance at full gallop against the first enemy in sight; but on many things done quietly, and often, by necessity, secretly. Which means that they are not spoken about by those engaged in them, either at the time of their doing, or afterward. I will require that type of silence from all three of you, most particularly with regard to any connection between your actions and myself and the crown of England. Do you understand me, gentlemen?"

  They all said they did. Jim was a little surprised to find his voice as respectful as those of the other two. He had not expected to meet this kind of authority in any knight or noble of this world.

  "Very well, then," said Sir John. He glanced down at one of the papers in an untidy pile on the table by the wine pitcher. "What I tell you now must remain forever untold. We have certain advisers in France who can supply us with information which you will need to carry out the work I'll give you; and whose lives may depend on the closeness of your mouths."

  He glanced up at them for a moment with a slight frown, then looked back at the paper.

  "These advisers are friends of ours, who in France are thought to be wholeheartedly in the service of the French Crown," he went on. "Some may say that the work they do is not work for gentlemen, and that this must also be true of the work on which I send you."

  He looked up at them again, but this time without any frown.

  "I tell you that such a judgment lies," he said. "Rather it is work that only true gentlemen can do; since it calls on everyone concerned to fight, not easily and in the open, but with difficulty and in darkness. Your job, Sir Giles and Sir James, will be to actually recover the person of our Prince from wherever the French king may have him held prisoner. Yours, Sir Brian—"

  His eyes moved to Brian.

  "—will be to come to the aid of these gentlemen if and when they need you, with what small force with which you may be provided. You will therefore follow them, by markings and indications they shall leave as to their routes, at perhaps a day's distance behind; and rendezvous with them at Amboise, which is deep in France. Then you will make such plans to rescue the Prince as you may think necessary. Is this understood?"

  "It is, Sir John," said Sir Brian.

  "You, Sir Giles, and Sir James," Chandos continued, "have been chosen for the actual work of rescue because of certain special… talents that you each possess. You each know what these are, without my mentioning them; and if either of you does not know of the other's talent in this respect, then it may remain that way, unless at some time you wish to exchange confidences on the matter. Enough to say that the Earl of Northumberland has spoken at length to me about you, Sir Giles; and you, Sir James, are already well known from your bicker at the Loathly Tower, in song and story, to all England. The three of you will leave on tomorrow's early tide for the port of Brest in France. Can you both read and write?"

  "I have been taught my letters," said Sir Giles, twisting the right side of his mustache with a touch of pride, "and can both read and write some little Latin. Also I can use those same letters to write somewhat in English."

  Sir John nodded, pleased. He turned to Jim.

  "Yes," answered Jim.

  Sir John's eyebrows went up.

  "You speak as one oddly sure of yourself, Sir James," he said. "Am I to take it you write and read very well?"

  "I can write both Latin and English; and also French, come to think of it," said Jim.

  Sir John turned over one of the sheets on the table in front of him, so that its blank side was upward.

  "Fetch the quill from where Cedric left it, if you will, Sir James," said Sir John, "and write on this paper as I speak the words to you."

  Jim went and got the quill and, seeing that there was a small pot of ink also on the lecternlike piece of furniture Cedric had been using, he brought that back with him also to Sir John's table.

  He dipped the quill in the ink, wiped off the excess fluid from the nib, and poised the quill over the paper. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

  "Forgive me, Sir John," he said. "I had forgotten that perhaps my style of writing and manner of spelling might not be familiar to you. If you wish, I can print the letters, although it will be slower than if I wrote in script."

  Sir John smiled. Jim got the uneasy feeling that the knight thought he was trying to back away from too exaggerated a claim. However, Chandos made no comment, but leaned back in his chair.

  "Write this," he said. "There are five French ships on the sea—' "

  Jim printed the words in block letters on the parchment, leaving a good space between the words, so that there could be no doubt of what letters belonged to which word. He paused and looked up to hear the rest of what Sir John had planned to dictate, and saw the knight looking at him with his eyebrows raised once more.

  "You are certainly fast with a quill, Sir James," he said. "Rarely have I seen a clerk move one so speedily. I think perhaps I will look at this before giving you the rest of the sentence—it may not be necessary."

  He turned the paper around so that the letters faced properly toward him, and frowned at them.

  "You do indeed write oddly, Sir James," he murmured, "but if one makes allowances it is easily readable. But you spoke of two ways of writing?"

  "Yes, Sir John," Jim said. "I printed these words. Commonly, however, I and the people where I come from write rather than print when they wish to put information on paper—or parchment, as in this case."

  "I would see this other way of writing. You called it—?"

  "Script, Sir John," said Jim. "By your leave, I'll write the same words again in script below the ones I printed, so you can see the difference."

  "By all means. Do so," said Sir John, watching him narrowly.

  Jim turned the piece of parchment around and wrote the same words in as clear a flowing hand as he could manage. Then he turned the paper about so that it faced property for Chandos, wh
o looked at it.

  "This is indeed difficult, if not impossible, for me to read," said Chandos. "Though I make little doubt we have scribes who would be able to puzzle it out. But I must be truthful with you, Sir James, and say that you amaze me with the speed of this latter form of writing. It will not do in this instance, however. You had best write the first way—what was that called again?"

  "Printing," said Jim. "I printed the words the first time I wrote them for you."

  "The more I look at them, the more they seem marvelously clear, if a little oddly made," said Sir John. "Certainly it will be excellent for our purpose, which may require the passing back and forth of short, written messages. But for my own pleasure, would you also demonstrate your writing in Latin and in French?"

  "Gladly, Sir John," said Jim. He did so, using the same words.

  "Wonderful!" said Sir John, shaking his head in admiration over the other two lines, which Jim had also both printed and laid out in ordinary handwriting. "I cannot say that I can read either one of them in script; but I have no doubt that you yourself can. And possibly a cleric, and particularly a French cleric, could read them both; at least those lines done in the manner you call printing. This will be excellent."

  He looked almost narrowly at Jim.

  "I take it the ability you show me here has something to do with that special talent I spoke of earlier?"

  Jim was tempted to answer that in his own place and time there were multitudes of people who could write as he had just demonstrated. Caution reined in his tongue.

  "If you will forgive me, Sir John," he said, "that is a question I am enjoined not to answer."

  "Ah," said Sir John, looking very serious. He nodded. "Of course. It will have to do with that talent of yours. I understand. We will say no more. There remains only a couple of other matters."

  He took from one finger one of the several rings that he wore on his hands and handed it over to Jim.

  "Sir James," he said, "you, as the gentleman of rank here, will wear this ring. When you get to Brest, you and Sir Giles will both take quarters at an inn with a green door. In fact it is referred to as the Inn of the Green Door, in the French tongue. You will find there is space available. Wait there until you are contacted by someone who can show you the like of this ring. I would suggest you wear it on entering the inn, then keep it visible until you see someone wearing its fellow. That man will have word for you on what your next move should be. Now, the only other matter is that of your device."

  "Device?" echoed Jim, bewildered.

  But Sir John had already turned toward the door and lifted his voice. He had spoken so softly until now, that it had not fully registered on Jim that he was a tenor. Now that he chose to shout, he was revealed to have vocal equipment capable of a remarkable carrying quality. Jim was suddenly reminded of the fact that up through something like the nineteenth century, infantry officers benefited from being tenors, since their higher-pitched voices could be heard by their men more clearly over the noise of battle and gunfire. Sir John had a tenor with the penetration of an operatic singer.

  "Cedric!" he called.

  The door opened almost immediately and the thin, balding man whose pen Jim had borrowed appeared in the opening.

  "Sir John?" he said.

  "Fetch Sir James's shield and the painter," said Sir John.

  Cedric went out, closing the door behind him.

  "The Earl of Northumberland," said Sir John, turning back to Jim, "on consultation with His Majesty, was pleased to tears that His Majesty had granted you a coat-of-arms. No doubt, you have arms of your own in the land from which you came. Nonetheless, it was felt that while you are one of us and in our England, you should by right have English arms. These are to some extent prescribed by law. In any case, a man of experience in the painting of arms has been sent down with the necessary information from London and has just finished displaying those arms on your shield."

  "My shield?" echoed Jim. The last he had known of his shield, it had been back at the inn under the surveillance of Theoluf, along with all the rest of the baggage belonging to the three men.

  "I sent John Chester back for it after I first spoke to Sir John," explained Sir Brian. "He told me that you were in conversation in the courtyard with Sir Giles at that moment, so not wishing to interrupt, he merely went upstairs, spoke to Theoluf, and took away the shield to bring it back here."

  "Oh," said Jim.

  The fact of the matter was, he had been carrying his shield cased ever since they had left Malencontri—that is, with a linen cover over it. He had never gotten around to putting any kind of arms on its blank metal surface before, though Sir Brian had assured him that probably he could put any arms he wanted on them without objection from others, unless he happened to duplicate somebody else's arms. The fact was, Sir Brian seemed a little bit puzzled that Jim had not immediately put onto his shield the arms he had undoubtedly possessed in that far-off land of Riveroak from which he had come. Jim's hesitation in this matter had been due to a sense of guilt over claiming both a nonexistent rank and a false coat-of-arms that he had made up on the spur of the moment when he had first met Sir Brian.

  While he had been thinking, the door had opened again and Cedric had returned, followed by a little man, arthritically bent-backed, who may have only been in his forties, because his hair was just beginning to turn gray and he still had most of his teeth; but who, in his general actions and the leatheriness of his skin, looked seventy.

  The little man was carrying Jim's shield, no longer cased but with its face turned away from Jim. Cedric went to the table, silently recaptured his quill pen and returned to his desk. The little man came forward, bobbed his head at Sir John, and then at the other three, and rested the shield on its point, with its face still turned away.

  "Well, Master Arms-painter," asked Sir John, "are you finished?"

  "Finished indeed, Sir John," answered the little man in a creaky voice, "though the paint is still wet so that I would caution any of you gentles not to touch it for another hour or so. Shall I show the device?"

  "That's what you're here for, man," said Sir John, a little testily.

  The small man did not seem either intimidated or offended by Sir John's reaction. He merely turned the shield around to display its front side to them all.

  Jim stared. What he saw on the metal surface was a dragon rampant surrounded by a border, a very thin border, of gold, which looked like the actual metal rather than paint, for it did not glisten with the wetness that the other colors showed. The rest of the shield was a uniform dark red.

  "You understand that it's the law of England, and of all Christian, countries," said Sir John, "that one of your—er—talent, should always show some red upon his arms, so that any other worthy knight having cause of dispute with you, will be duly warned of whatever advantage you might have by cause of that talent."

  Jim understood immediately. He hardly knew enough magic now to make him dangerous under ordinary battle conditions—if you excepted the fact that he could change from a human being into a dragon—but it was not surprising that someone who could work any form of a magician's art would be considered to have what amounted to an unfair advantage over a knight who could not. It was rather a nice piece of caution, he thought, considering the fact that large knights might be considered quite fair in attacking a knight much smaller and weaker than themselves, as long as the one attacked actually was a knight and carried weapons. But he had learned a good many months back not to question the ways of this world, but to merely accept and fit himself to them.

  Some gesture of appreciation was required, however.

  He turned to Sir John.

  "I'm indebted to His Majesty and the Earl of Northumberland for this coat-of-arms," he said, "and also to yourself, Sir John"—he turned toward the little man—"and to yourself, Master Painter. I shall be honored to bear these arms granted to me by the King of England. Would you convey my deep appreciation and thanks both to His
Majesty and the noble Earl, if you should ever find yourself in a position to do so, Sir John? I would appreciate it most highly."

  "Indeed, I shall be glad to, Sir James," said Sir John. "You speak your gratitude in a manner most gentle, it seems to me; and I am sure the Earl of Northumberland and His Majesty will feel likewise."

  Over at the writing stand, Cedric cleared his throat. Sir John glanced at him for a second and then back to the three.

  "But I see time presses," he said. "I have much to do, getting all things ready and embarking as many of our forces as is possible. So, you may go gentlemen. With God's help we will all be reunited in France."

  Jim, Brian, and Sir Giles bowed themselves out of the room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dawn was just breaking.

  Jim stood by the port gunwale of the very small, definitely tub-shaped vessel on which they had labored through the night down the English Channel and along the coast of France. The shipmaster, in contrast to what Sir John had said about traveling on tomorrow's tide, had insisted that they take off instead on the late night tide that same day on which they had had their interview with Sir John Chandos.

  His reasons were very definite. On both sides of the Channel between England and France, shipowners and shipmasters were aware that England and France were about to be actively at war again. That meant that there would be a good deal of shipping passing southward. Apparently, on the high seas, every ship was a pirate ship if it saw another vessel which was smaller or looked to be easily taken; and this shipmaster, like most, was the sole owner of his ship. If he lost it, he lost his livelihood.

  Night, the shipowner and master had insisted, swearing by a number of saints to witness that his words were true, would be the only safe and sensible time to take three such men as themselves to Brest. In bad weather this would not be so; but both wind and a near-full moon favored them.

  The construction of the ship and the waters they were traversing, however, in spite of these good conditions, combined to make for a very choppy voyage. Sir Brian was sick almost from the moment they left Hastings harbor, though Sir Giles was fine. Jim had discovered at an early age that for some strange reason he was immune to seasickness; so he was merely concerned over how such a cockleshell as this could survive if any kind of a storm blew up. Luckily the weather during the night continued to be, as the shipmaster had claimed it would, almost too good to be true.