The High Crusade

by Poul Anderson

  A long silence ended abruptly in such a storm of cheers that my own weak protests were drowned out. I thought the scheme altogether mad. So, I could see, did Lady Catherine and a few others. But the rest were laughing and shouting till the hail roared.

  Sir Roger turned a flushed face to me. “It depends on you, Brother Parvus,” he said. “You’re the best of us all in matters of language. You must make the demon talk, or teach him how, whichever it is. He’s got to show us how to sail that ship!”

  “My noble lord—” I quavered.

  “Good!” Sir Roger slapped my back so I choked and nearly fell off my seat. “I knew you could do it. Your reward will be the privilege of coming with us!”

  Indeed, it was as if the town and the army were alike possessed. Surely the one wise course was to send messages posthaste to the bishop, perhaps to Rome itself, begging counsel, But no, they must all go, at once. Wives would not leave their husbands, or parents their children, or girls their lovers. The lowliest serf looked up from his acre and dreamed of freeing the Holy Land and picking up a coffer of gold on the way.

  What else can be expected of a folk bred from Saxon, Dane, and Norman?

  I returned to the abbey and spent the night on my knees, praying for a sign. But the saints remained noncommittal. After matins I went with a heavy heart to my abbot and told him what the baron had commanded. He was wroth at not being allowed immediate communication with the Church authorities but decided it was best we obey for the nonce. I was released from other duties that I might study how to converse with the demon.

  I girded myself and went down to the cell where he was confined. It was a narrow room, half underground, used for penances. Brother Thomas, our smith, had stapled fetters to the wails and chained the creature up. He lay on a straw pallet, a frightful sight in the gloom. His links clashed as he rose at my entry. Our relics in their chests were placed near by, just out of his impious reach, so that the thighbone of St. Osbert and the sixth-year molar of St. Willibald might keep him from bursting his bonds and escaping back to hell.

  Though I would not have been at all sorry had he done so.

  I crossed myself and squatted down. His yellow eyes glared at me. I had brought paper, ink, and quills, to exercise what small talent I have for drawing. I sketched a man and said, “Homo,” for it seemed wiser to teach him Latin than any language confined to a single nation. Then I drew another man and showed him that the two were called homines. Thus it went, and he was quick to learn.

  Presently he signaled for the paper, and I gave it to him. He himself drew skillfully. He told me that his name was Branithar and that his race was called Wersgorix. I was unable to find these terms in any demonology. But thereafter I let him guide our studies, for his race had made the learning of new languages into a science, and our task went apace.

  I worked long hours with him and saw little of the outside world in the next few days. Sir Roger kept his domain incommunicado. I think his greatest fear was that some earl or duke might seize the ship for himself. With his bolder men, the baron spent much time aboard it, trying to fathom all the wonders he encountered.

  Erelong Branithar was able to complain about the bread-and-water diet and threaten revenge. I was still afraid of him but kept up a bold front. Of course, our conversation was much slower than I here render it, with many pauses while we searched for words.

  “You brought this on yourself,” I told him. “You should have known better than to make an unprovoked attack on Christians.”

  “What are Christians?” he asked.

  Dumfounded, I thought he must be feigning ignorance. As a test, I led him through the Paternoster. He did not go up in smoke, which puzzled me.

  “I think I understand,” he said. “You refer to some primitive tribal pantheon.”

  “It is no such heathen thing!” I said indignantly. I started to explain the Trinity to him, but had scarcely gotten to transubstantiation when he waved an impatient blue hand. It was much like a human hand otherwise, save for the thick, sharp nails.

  “No matter,” he said. “Are all Christians as ferocious as your people?”

  “You would have had better luck with the French,” I admitted. “Your misfortune was landing among Englishmen.”

  ’A stubborn breed,” he nodded. “It will cost you dearly. But if you release me at once, I will try to mitigate the vengeance which is going to fall on you.”

  My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, but I unstuck it and asked him coolly enough to elucidate. Whence came he, and what were his intentions?

  That took a long time for him to make clear, because the very concepts were strange. I thought surely he was lying, but at least he acquired more Latin in the process.

  It was about two weeks after the landing when Sir Owain Montbelle appeared at the abbey and demanded audience with me. I met him in the cloister garden; we found a bench and sat down.

  This Owain was the younger son, by a second marriage with a Welsh woman, of a petty baron on the Marches. I daresay the ancient conflict of two nations smoldered strangely in his breast; but the Cymric charm was also there. Made page and later esquire to a great knight in the royal court, young Owain had captured his master’s heart and been brought up with all the privilege of far higher ranks. He had traveled widely abroad, become a troubadour of some note, received the accolade — and then suddenly, there he was, penniless. In hopes of winning his fortune, he had wandered to Ansby to join the free companions. Though valiant enough, he was too darkly handsome for most men’s taste, and they said no husband felt safe when he was about. This was not quite true, for Sir Roger had taken a fancy to the youth, admired his judgment as well as his education, and was happy that at last Lady Catherine had someone to talk to about the things that most interested her.

  “I come from my lord, Brother Parvus,” Sir Owain began. “He wishes to know how much longer you will need to tame this beast of ours,”

  “Oh … he speaks glibly enough now,” I answered. “But he holds so firmly to out-and-out falsehoods that I have not yet thought it worth while to report.”

  “Sir Roger grows most impatient, and the men can scarcely be held any longer. They devour his substance, and not a night passes without a brawl or a murder. We must start soon or not at all.”

  “Then I beg thou not to go,” I said. “Not in yon ship out of hell.’ I could see that dizzyingly tail spire, its nose wreathed with low clouds, rearing beyond the abbey walls. It terrified me.

  “Well,” snapped Sir Owain, “what has the monster told you?”

  “He has the impudence to claim he comes not from below, but from above. From heaven itself!”

  “He … an angel?”

  “No. He says he is neither angel nor demon, but a member of another mortal race than mankind.”

  Sir Owain caressed his smooth-shaven chin with one hand. “It could be,” he mused. “After all, if Unipeds and Centaurs and other monstrous beings exist, why not those squatty blueskins?”

  “I know. Twould be reasonable enough, save that he claims to live in the sky.”

  “Tell me just what he did say.”

  “As you will, Sir Owain, but remember that these impieties are not mine. This Branithar insists that the earth is not flat but is a sphere hanging in space. Nay, he goes further and says the earth moves about the sun! Some of the learned ancients held similar notions, but I cannot understand what would keep the oceans from pouring off into space or—”

  “Pray continue the story, Brother Parvus.”

  “Well, Branithar says that the stars are other suns than ours, only very far off, and have worlds going about them even as our own does. Not even the Greeks could have swallowed such an absurdity. What kind of ignorant yokels does the creature take us for? But be this as it may, Branithar says that his people, the Wersgorix, come from one of these other worlds, one which is much like our earth. He boasts of their powers of sorcery—”

  “That much is no lie,” said Sir Owain. “W
e’ve been trying out some of those hand weapons. We burned down three houses, a pig, and a serf ere we learned how to control them.”

  I gulped, but went on: “These Wersgorix have ships which can fly between the stars. They have conquered many worlds. Their method is to subdue or wipe out any backward natives there may be. Then they settle the entire world, each Wersgor taking hundreds of thousands of acres. Their numbers are growing so fast, and they so dislike being crowded, that they must ever be seeking new worlds.

  “This ship we captured was a scout, exploring in search of another place to conquer. Having observed our earth from above, they decided it was suitable for their use and descended. Their plan was the usual one, which had never failed them hitherto. They would terrorize us, use our home as a base, and range about gathering specimens of plants, animals, and minerals. That is the reason their ship is so big, with so much empty space. ’Twas to be a veritable Noah’s ark. When they returned home and reported their findings, a fleet would come to attack all mankind.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sir Owain. “We stopped that much, at least.

  We were both cushioned against the frightful vision of our poor folk being harried by unhumans, destroyed or enslaved, because neither of us really believed it. I had decided that Branithar came from a distant part of the world, perhaps beyond Cathay, and only told these lies in the hope of frightening us into letting him go. Sir Owain agreed with my theory.

  “Nonetheless,” added the knight, “we must certainly learn to use the ship, lest more of them arrive. And what better way to learn, than by taking it to France and Jerusalem? As my lord said, ’twould in that case be prudent as well as comfortable to have women, children, yeomen, and townsfolk along. Have you asked the beast how to cast the spells for working the ship?”

  “Yes,” I answered reluctantly. “He says the rudder is very simple.”

  “And have you told him what will happen to him if he does not pilot us faithfully?”

  “I have intimated. He says he will obey.”

  “Good! Then we can start in another day or two!” Sir Owain leaned back, eyes dreamily half closed. “We must eventually see about getting word back to his own people. One could buy much wine and amuse many fair women with his ransom.”

  Chapter III

  And so we departed.

  Stranger even than the ship and its advent was that embarkation. There the thing towered, like a steel cliff forged by a wizard for a hideous use. On the other side of the common huddled little Ansby, thatched cots and rutted streets, fields green beneath our wan English sky. The very castle, once so dominant in the scene, looked shrunken and gray.

  But up the ramps we had let down from many levels, into the gleaming pillar, thronged our homely, red-faced, sweating, laughing people. Here John Hamewaid roared along with his bow across one shoulder and a tavern wench giggling on the other. There a yeoman armed with a rusty ax that might have been swung at Hastings, clad in patched wadmal, preceded a scolding wife burdened with their bedding and cooking pot, and half a dozen children clinging to her skirts. Here a crossbowman tried to make a stubborn mule climb the gangway, his oaths laying many years in Purgatory to his account. There a lad chased a pig which had gotten loose. Here a richly clad knight jested with a fine lady who bore a hooded falcon on her wrist. There a priest told his beads as he went doubtfully into the iron maw. Here a cow lowed, there a sheep bleated, here a goat shook its horns, there a hen cackled. All told, some two thousand souls went aboard.

  The ship held them easily. Each important man could have a cabin for himself and his lady — for several had brought wives, lemans, or both as far as Ansby Castle, to make a more social occasion of the departure for France. The commoners spread pallets in empty holds. Poor Ansby was left almost deserted, and I often wonder if it still exists.

  Sir Roger had made Branithar operate the ship on some trial flights. It had risen smoothly and silently as he worked the wheels and levers and knobs in the control turret. Steering was childishly simple, though we could make neither head nor tail of certain discs with heathenish inscriptions, across which quivered needles. Through me, Branithar told Sir Roger that the ship derived its motive power from the destruction of matter, a horrid idea indeed, and that its engines raised and propelled it by nullifying the pull of the earth along chosen directions. This was senseless. Aristotle has explained very clearly how things fall to the ground because it is their nature to fall, and I have no truck with illogical ideas to which flighty heads so easily succumb.

  Despite his own reservations, the abbot joined Father Simon in blessing the ship. We named her Crusader. Though we only had two chaplains along, we had also borrowed a lock of St. Benedict’s hair, and all who embarked had confessed and received absolution. So it was thought we were safe enough from ghostly peril, though I had my doubts.

  I was given a small cabin adjoining the suite in which Sir Roger lived with his lady and their children. Branithar was kept under guard in a nearby room. My duty was to interpret, to continue the prisoner’s instruction in Latin and the education of young Robert, and to act as my lord’s amanuensis.

  At departure, however, the control turret was occupied by Sir Roger, Sir Owain, Branithar, and myself. It was windowless, like the entire ship, but held glassy screens in which appeared images of the earth below and all the sky around. I shivered and told my beads, for it is not lawful for Christian men to gaze into the crystal globes of Indic sorcerers.

  “Now, then,” said Sir Roger, and his hooked face laughed at me, “let’s away! We’ll be in France within the hour!”

  He sat down before the panel of levers and wheels. Branithar said quickly to me: “The trial flights were only a few miles. Tell your master that for a trip of this length certain special preparations must be made.”

  Sir Roger nodded when I had passed this on. “Very well, let him do so.” His sword slithered from the sheath. “But I’ll be watching our course in the screens. At the first sign of treachery—”

  Sir Owain scowled. “Is this wise, my lord?” he asked. “The beast—”

  “Is our prisoner. You’re too full of Celtic superstitions, Owain. Let him begin.”

  Branithar seated himself. The furnishings of the ship, chairs and tables and beds and cabinets, were somewhat small for us humans — and badly designed, without so much as a carven dragon for ornament. But we could make do with them. I watched the captive intently as his blue hands moved over the panel.

  A deep humming trembled in the ship. I felt nothing, but the ground in the lower screens suddenly dwindled. That was sorcerous; I would much rather the usual backward thrust of a vehicle when it starts were not annulled. Fighting down my stomach, I stared into the screen — reflected vault of heaven. Ere long we were among the clouds, which proved to be high floating mists. Clearly this shows the wondrous power of God, for it is known that the angels often sit about on the clouds, and do not get wet.

  “Now, southward,” ordered Sir Roger.

  Branithar grunted, set a dial, and snapped down a bar. I heard a clicking as of a lock. The bar stayed down.

  Hellish triumph flared in the yellow eyes. Branithar sprang from his seat and snarled at me; “Consummati estis!’ His Latin was very bad. “You are finished! I have just sent you to death!”

  “What?” I cried.

  Sir Roger cursed, half understanding, and lunged at the Wersgor. But the sight of what was in the screens checked him. The sword clattered from his hand, and sweat leaped out on his face.

  Truly it was terrible. The earth dwindled beneath us as if it were falling down a great well. About us, the blue sky darkened, and stars glittered forth. Yet it was not nightfall, for the sun still shone in one screen, more brightly than ever!

  Sir Owain screamed something in Welsh. I fell to my knees.

  Branithar darted for the door. Sir Roger whirled and grasped him by his robe. They went over in a raging tangle.

  Sir Owain was paralyzed by terror, and I could not pull my eyes
from the horrible beauty of the spectacle about us. Earth shrank so small that it only filled one screen. It was blue, banded, with dark splotches, and round. Round!

  A new and deeper note entered the low drone in the air. New needles on the control panel quivered to life. Suddenly we were moving, gaining speed, with impossible swiftness. An altogether different set of engines, acting on a wholly unknown principle, had unwound their ropes.

  I saw the moon swell before us. Even as I stared, we passed so near that I could see mountains and pockmarks upon it, edged with their o*n shadows. But this was inconceivable! All knew the moon to be a perfect circle. Sobbing, I tried to break that liar of a vision screen, but could not.

  Sir Roger overcame Branithar and stretched him half-conscious on the deck. The knight got up, breathing heavily. “Where are we?” he gasped. “What’s happened?”

  ’We’re going up,” I groaned. “Up and out.” I put my fingers in my ears so as not to be deafened when we crashed into the first of the crystal spheres.

  After a while, when nothing had occurred, I opened my eyes and looked again. Earth and moon were both receding, little more than a doubled star of blue and gold. The real stars flamed hard, unwinking, against an infinite blackness. It seemed to me that we were still picking up speed.

  Sir Roger cut off my prayers with an oath. “We’ve this traitor to handle first!” He kicked Branithar in the ribs. The Wersgor sat up and glared defiance.

  I collected my wits and said to him in Latin, “What have you done? You will die by torture unless you take us back at once.”

  He rose, folded his arms, and regarded us with bitter pride. “Did you think that you barbarians were any match for a civilized mind?” he answered. “Do what you will with me. There will be revenge enough when you come to this journey’s end.”

  “But what have you done?”

  His bruised mouth grinned. “I set the ship under control of its automaton-pilot. It is now steering itself. Everything is automatic — the departure from atmosphere, the switch-over into translight quasi-velocity, the compensation for optical effects, the preservation of artificial gravity and other environmental factors.”