The Dragon Knight

by Gordon R. Dickson

  There were six horses in the courtyard. Jim had not been in this world long enough to become a real judge of horseflesh; but he had picked up enough to know and recognize large differences between animals. There was no mistaking which were the riding horses and which were to be the baggage animals. The baggage animals were smaller, more roughly coated, and looked underfed. Of the riding horses, two were good and one was an excellent beast, already equipped—as were the other two—with saddles and bridles that Brian and Giles had also evidently bought this day.

  Unfortunately, the other two riding horses, while they did not look as if they had been underfed or mistreated in any way, were very ordinary horses. Not up, according to Jim's limited judgment, to the level of a gentleman's or lady's palfrey. Rather the sort of beasts that might be given to men-at-arms to ride.

  "This," said Brian, patting the saddle of the best riding horse, "is yours, m'Lord."

  The title at the end of the sentence tipped Jim off just in time. It was not because of his money that the best horse was to be his to ride. Nor was it because he was the leader of the expedition. It was simply, once again, a matter of rank. He outranked the others, therefore he had to have the better horse. It was the John Chester situation cropping up again.

  But there were all sorts of things wrong with his being given the best horse to ride. This past winter, under Brian's teaching, he had learned to use a knight's weapons while fighting on his feet. But he still knew next to nothing about using them while fighting on horseback.

  If the three of them ran into trouble, which was more than likely under the conditions of the time and place of their journey, that one good horse should be between the knees of someone like Sir Brian or Sir Giles, who could be useful with it. James's best use in a case like that would be either to simply get out of the way, or to try to keep one attacker busy so that Giles and Brian could deal with the rest. But he foresaw trouble in putting this point across to the other two knights.

  Since there were more important things to be talked about, such as the spy having finally made his connection with Jim, he decided to let the matter go for the present. Possibly a way would occur to him to politely urge one of the others—Jim secretly favored Sir Brian, whose abilities with weapons he knew—to take the best horse. In any case, he had been brought out here to have the animals shown off to him; and it was up to him to respond appropriately.

  "Excellent!" he said. "Excellent! You did much better than I'd expected. Especially that first horse!"

  The others beamed; and Brian shouted for stableboys to come and take the horses to the stable.

  "It was all Brian's doing," said Giles. "Never have I seen sweeter throws. But, let us upstairs where we can talk about it. I think some wine is called for, do you not Brian?"

  "I do, Giles. I do," said Brian.

  The stableboys having arrived at a run, Brian turned over the lead reins of the horses to them, with a few fierce admonitions to be sure they were all taken care of. The three went inside, crossed the common room, and mounted the stair.

  The other two were evidently in high good spirits, Jim noted. And both his congratulations outside and their cheerful spirits were certainly justified. In this strange town, and with his limited knowledge of all things medieval, including the bargaining that must go into the buying of horseflesh, Jim had to admit to himself that, left alone, he would have been lucky to buy the equivalent of one of the baggage horses, and probably he would have ended up spending all of his money to purchase that one animal.

  But, once in the room, a further surprise was in store for him. Reaching both hands into the purse that hung from his sword belt, Brian brought out two bulging fists, and dumped on the table a pile of money.

  As the coins danced and chinked against each other, Jim stared at them in astonishment.

  "But there's more here than I gave you when you left!" he said.

  The other two burst into uproarious laughter, slapping each other on the back, delighted with his surprise. At this moment the woman bringing the wine knocked at the door and immediately walked in, as was apparently the custom on both sides of the English Channel. Quickly turning his back on her to hide the money, Brian hastily swept it off the table and back into his purse again.

  She looked at them strangely as she put the wine on the table, then lit up as Brian gave her what was clearly more money than she had been expecting. She curtsied and went out.

  The two knights seated themselves at the table and poured wine cups full. Jim joined them and imitated their example.

  "Tell me what happened," said Jim.

  They laughed again, slapping each other on the back in further exultation.

  "As I said below," said Giles to Jim, "was all Brian's doing. Tell him, Brian!"

  "Why, none of the English here with horses worthy of sale—and Saint Stephen knows that the local people have none," said Brian, "would sell four legs of anything to us."

  He paused to drink deeply from his wine cup.

  "As is not surprising," he went on, "seeing such horses are not replaceable, except by ship from home. We tried hither, we tried thither; but not a seller could we find."

  He paused, obviously for dramatic effect.

  "Go on," Giles urged him impatiently.

  "Then a stroke of luck came upon us," went on Brian to Jim. "We found Percy, the younger son of Lord Belmont, who had a full string of horses just by ship from England, which he was about to take with him to his father and his father's retinue. My Lord Belmont has already taken a small but comfortable holding for his entourage, some five miles beyond the town. Sir Percy and the beasts were fresh off the boat; and we met him before his father had had a chance to see him, or them."

  Once more he paused, obviously again for dramatic effect. Once more Giles urged him on.

  They were acting, thought Jim, with inward amusement, like a pair of well-rehearsed amateur comedians.

  "Well…" began Brian, drawing the word out with malicious humor. The delay was too much for Giles.

  "You see, James," Giles put in hastily, "Sir Percy had certain debts of which his father would disapprove—"

  "I will tell it, Giles," broke in Brian hurriedly. "Sir Percy had private debts that Lord Belmont would have been exceeding wroth about. In short, he needed money."

  "So you bought the horses from him?" asked Jim.

  "That was my first thought," said Giles, "but Brian, here, had a better idea. Sir Percy's debts were from the dice."

  "He was a gambler?" Jim asked.

  "A greater one I vow there never was," said Sir Brian. "The mere touch of the dice in his hand made his eyes light up. Though I did not see that until after I had suggested to him that we dice for the horses, their price against the beasts themselves; and the winner to take both."

  Jim blinked and hoped that that was all the expression he had shown. The sudden realization that Brian had been cheerfully ready to lose the relatively large amount of cash Jim had given him, in an attempt to win the horses they needed by gambling, hit him like one of Brian's blows on his helm during their practice bouts of the winter before.

  "At first," said Brian, "I lost, it seemed, on every throw of the dice I made. Percy was overjoyed."

  Jim's heart sank. In spite of his having guessed the outcome of this matter, the thought of his money being cheerfully gambled away when there was no possible means of replenishing it until they were back in England, left him with a cold feeling. But Brian went on.

  "In fact, finally the moneys I still held had gotten so low that I told Percy that I would cease gambling unless he was willing to wager double the amount against what I put forward, so as to give me a chance to recoup my losses."

  "Brian!" said Jim. "That was taking a chance! All he had to do was sit tight and you would not only not have horses, you'd be left without enough money to buy some anyplace else."

  "Not at all, James," answered Brian. "As I told you, the mere feel of the dice in his hand made his eyes light up. I
had the measure of the man. He could no more stop gambling than most men could pass up a lusty tourney, to sit idle in the stands, watching whilst others traded good blows before the eyes of all. Oh, he complained that this was not the way things were done; but when I pointed out that he had no choice in the matter, he gave in."

  "And then, you began winning?" Jim asked.

  "Well, no. At first, on every pass I continued to lose," said Brian.

  "Indeed," put in Giles, "I was thinking it had become a most serious matter. But—hah! I had faith in Brian. And that faith—"

  "—was justified," said Brian quickly. "In short, James, at the last I began to win. Percy sweated; and finally, when our funds on the table were equal again, in decency I had to go back to even stakes with him. But I had his measure now. A man who needs to win, never does. He was desperate to win. Therefore he lost. And lost. And lost. And lost… until I had won back not only all my money but all that he had with him as well."

  "Whereupon, with our regrets that his fortune had been so ill," said Giles, "we told him we must take our leave together with our winnings."

  "And he let you take his horses too?" Jim said.

  "What else could he do," said Brian, "being a gentleman? I did him some small favor, by buying the saddles and bridles from him and paying him back in money for these. Still, it is not to be denied that it was an unhappy man we left."

  In fact, Jim was feeling a good deal of sympathy, and a certain amount of guilt, toward the hapless Sir Percy, who now had to face his irate father without either horses or money. Obviously, however, his two companions did not share these feelings of his at all.

  "Is it not a day of great luck for us, James?" beamed Sir Brian. "I cannot, at the moment, remember, and Giles likewise, which Saint's Day this is. But I shall find out and mark it down for future notice when I have things of risk to consider; since obviously the good Saint aids me—whoever he may be—at this particular time. We should order up some more wine, I think. But first—"

  He dived into his purse again, once more spilled the money from it on the table, and pushed it in Jim's direction.

  "My Lord," he said grandly, "the money you entrusted to me, and a trifle more, as witness that your true and loyal servant Sir Brian has fulfilled his duty!"

  Jim looked at the pile of money almost with dismay. There should be some way he could take advantage of this moment, he thought—and then he had it.

  "Since this has been handled so well," he replied in roughly the same formal tone Brian had used, "I can see no better use for it than to leave it in such able hands."

  He reached out and roughly with the side of his hand divided the coins into two groups.

  "Do each of you take half," he said, "and keep or use it as necessary to our common need."

  Inside he felt a private glee. For once he had been able to take a social custom of the upper classes in this world and use it to gain his own end. One of the strongly ingrained elements of this society was generosity on the part of the superiors toward inferiors. Not only were the recipients inclined to be grateful; but it would be almost an insult for them to refuse such gifts.

  He had judged rightly.

  With happiness and properly expressed thanks, Brian and Giles took their individual piles of the money, making no attempt to count the coins to see if one pile's worth equaled that of the other, and stuffed the coins into their purses. Jim was thoroughly pleased. He had succeeded in doing what he had wanted to do for some time; which was to find an acceptable way of supplying the other two with pocket cash to get around in this strange country.

  "And now for the wine!" said Giles.

  Jim's two companions were clearly in the mood for a celebration. It was not exactly what Jim wanted—to meet the spy with two half-drunken companions. The spy would be giving them information they would need to remember. Also, Jim wanted them to hear what he heard, so that he could check his own memory against them.

  "By all means," he seconded Giles's suggestion. "However, I'd suggest that we all drink rather lightly. We have an important evening ahead of us. The spy who was supposed to get in touch with me did so, today, this afternoon. He'll be back at evening, here in this room, to talk to us all."

  This news, as he had guessed, caught their imagination immediately. All thoughts of a celebration were put aside. The time until evening passed in impatient waiting, particularly on the part of Brian and Giles, and discussion of what might be involved in the rescue of the Prince.

  The conclusion reached by all this conjecture was no more than a general agreement that the Prince must be being held secretly someplace, undoubtedly well guarded against any rescue attempt. Particularly since the French King Jean would realize that, by keeping the young man secure, he held a high card that could be played at whatever time was most useful. If the English army should end up by defeating all opposition and overrunning France, then the English might be bought off by a return of the Prince. Or, if the English were defeated a second time, decisively, then the Prince could be held to very high ransom indeed—including the English Crown giving up its claim to a great deal of France. Specifically, the old Kingdom of Aquitaine and the cities of Calais and Guines.

  But where the Prince might be held, and how strongly guarded, was something that could only be guessed at. They would have to await the coming of the spy who might be able to tell them more about these things.

  He came at last. It was still early evening—what Jim would have guessed as no more than seven or eight o'clock at night—but it seemed quite late to the fretting Brian and Giles. Jim introduced the visitor to his two companions; and ordered up enough wine to last them for some time, with cups for everyone. He then sent down the news that they did not want to be disturbed; and put his shield outside the door of the room as warning against any such intrusion.

  The spy watched him with an only half-concealed sneer as he put the shield outside.

  "Why the shield, mesire?" he asked. "It will only draw attention to us and our meeting."

  "Because I consider it necessary, mesire," retorted Jim.

  They adjourned to the table and sat down. The wine cups were filled in a somewhat strained silence. The spy was obviously looking both Brian and Giles over with a critical eye; and they were examining him with undisguised hostility.

  "It sits ill with me," said Brian, breaking the silence before Jim could start some sort of more reasonable conversation, "to sit at table with a man who will not tell me his name and rank. How do I know indeed that you are a gentleman?"

  "I have satisfied mesire, here," said the spy, nodding at Jim, "of my credentials, this afternoon."

  He looked directly at Jim.

  "Are you satisfied, mesire, that I am what I claim to be and at least a gentleman, since Sir John would employ none other in such an instance?"

  "Yes," said Jim, "Certainly. Brian, I'm sure our visitor here is a gentleman and I know him to be the one who was sent to meet us. It only remains for us to hear what he has to tell us."

  The spy looked back at Brian.

  "Satisfied, mesire?" he asked.

  "I see I must be," said Brian grimly, "but considering your activities you can understand how one like myself might doubt it."

  The half-sneer was now in Brian's tone. It was a tone of voice rare on Brian's part. But when roused, he could be as rough and deliberately offensive as any other medieval knight. Nonetheless the implication was underplayed enough so their visitor could have ignored it. He did no such thing.

  He was suddenly on his feet on his side of the table; and his fists crashed down on it as he glared at them all.

  "Before God!" he swore. "I will be treated as a man of honor, which I am! Were it not for special circumstances I would not be here this moment. I am a loyal servant to King Jean and would see all Englishmen like yourselves dead or in the sea, before you ever set foot in France. If it were not for special circumstances, I vow I would rather have you English at the point of my sword than across
the table from me. You have been a plague and a disaster upon our France. I would see you dead in the sea before any one of you set foot in this fair country. It is that snake—that magician Malvinne—that puts me into this moment's unhappy alliance with you. He, and he alone, is the only thing worse than the English; and has been the destruction of my family and the death of my father. It is my father's blood that calls for his confounding—and his death, could I but encompass it. Therefore I will do this much for you English. But that is all! I have no love for you. Nor for that worthless stripling you call a Prince, which you are here to take back safely to the cradle where he belongs."

  Now both Sir Giles and Sir Brian were on their feet.

  "No one speaks so of our Crown Prince to my face!" snarled Brian with his hand on his sword hilt, leaning across the table toward the other man. "Before Heaven, you will apologize now and here to him, for having uttered such words!"

  The visitor was still as a dancer about to leap, his hand also on his sword. His face was completely expressionless and his eyes never moved from Brian's face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Sit down all three of you," said Jim, who was now the only one not standing. The sound of his own voice startled him. It had a ring of authority that he would never have believed was in him. It did more than command, it took for granted the command would be obeyed.

  Slowly, after a moment, all three men sat down, wordless and still staring at each other, but seated again.

  "We are here," said Jim, "to see what can be done about a certain matter. Brian, Giles, we need this gentleman here. And you, mesire—"

  He changed his gaze to match eyes with the visitor.

  "You need us, or you would not have had to do with we English in the first place. What we are up against does not require that we have any great affection for each other, or for what any of us are or may be. It requires only an exchange of information!" His palm slapped the table. "For that reason we are met and for that reason we will set about doing what we are met for. Now—"