So, there was a brief flurry of activity, as Angie gave last-minute instructions to the wet nurse who had the baby in the next room.
"—And don't let anyone in but one of us three, until I'm back!" she said over her shoulder, coming out from behind the tapestry that covered the doorway to the other room. "I'm ready."
The last two words were addressed to Jim. They went out, heard the door barred behind them; and Jim nodded to the one of his men-at-arms he had left on duty outside.
Together the three of them proceeded down the main stairway to the floor level where the Great Hall abutted on the main tower. They entered to find the banquet already underway. The servants were hurrying around the tables with an endless number of serving dishes to be presented on bended knee, particularly to those of higher rank or more importance; and the musicians were playing merrily in their gallery halfway up one of the walls of the hall. Jim noted that among the sackbuts, lutes and tabors was an Irish harp, and felt a longing—probably a vain one—that sometime during the dinner it would play a solo.
But the musicians were all pounding, blowing and sawing away together and probably would continue doing so while the dinner lasted.
The Earl's steward captured them and led them into the hall.
Here they were separated.
Brian was taken to one of the two tables that stretched the full length of the hall, and Angie and Jim were taken on to the high table, set crosswise to the other two at the head of the hall. There, already, sat the Prince, the Earl and the other important guests.
Jim had been by no means sure that he and Angie would be seated there. It was true he was a Baron. But fourteenth-century England was a land where a Baron could be someone important, or almost a nobody.
The yearly income from a gentleman's lands could, depending on a variety of circumstances, run from less than fifty pounds a year—that was the reason Brian was so active all the time in tournaments, trying to win armor and horses he could sell to keep his own small holding going—to five hundred pounds a year, the sort of income that placed a Baron on an equal financial footing with the more aristocratic, and even some royal, inhabitants of the kingdom.
In fact, Jim himself was definitely in the lower third as far as income went. Only the fact of his being a magician, and his notoriety as the Dragon Knight who had rescued his bride-to-be (the ballad makers had loved the fact that they were not yet married—it made it more of a romance) from the Dark Powers at the Loathly Tower, were reasons to give him more attention than most Barons at his income level.
He also thought it likely that he and Angie owed their seats at the high table to the influence of the Bishop and Chandos, if not to Carolinus himself—although it was not like Carolinus to make use of whatever influence he had, in that way.
Jim woke from his thoughts to realize the Bishop was still waiting for some further response from him.
"How may I serve you, my Lord?" he asked hastily.
"With a full account of what you know in this matter," said the Bishop. He added, a little less sternly, "And your own opinion and advice where I ask it, of course."
"Of course, my Lord," said Jim.
"Well, then, Sir James," said the Bishop, descending from the more churchly level of address for the slightly more familiar use of Jim's knightly title, "I understand you went searching for the giant under this castle and actually encountered a Fiend."
"Actually, a troll," said Jim. "Very large and unusually strong for his kind; but, you know, trolls are only Naturals and not inherently wicked, so you probably wouldn't want to think of him as a Fiend."
"I am aware of the Holy Church's definitions in such matters, of course!" said de Bisby stiffly. "But it is hard for me to think of such as a troll—or perhaps one of the Djinni, which the Infidel, Saladin, sealed up in vessels and threw into the depths of the ocean, to keep them from disturbing mankind—difficult not to think there is at least a touch of the Fiend in such as they. A troll who eats human flesh—hah!"
"The sharks of the ocean also eat human flesh, my Lord," said Jim diplomatically, "but you would hardly call them Fiends."
"I am not aware of any declaration by the Church on that matter," said the Bishop. He added wistfully, "Still, perhaps in the case of trolls, it might be possible that such a creature could have been contaminated by the power of Satan, so that it might be considered partly a Fiend. If so, it would be my duty to attempt to destroy it by all means possible—from my good right arm with mace in hand, to use of the powers entrusted to me by the Church."
The Bishop's voice had mounted a little toward the end of this particular statement, and Jim thought he caught an echo from beneath the episcopal robes of the same eagerness to engage in battle that many knights like Brian exhibited. It seemed to him he remembered now that somewhere he had heard vaguely of a Sir Roger de Bisby, possibly a near relation of the Bishop's, who had demonstrated his courage and aggressiveness in the Low Countries—that area which in Jim's twentieth-century world had become known as Holland and Belgium.
"In fact," went on the Bishop again, before Jim had a chance to speak, "I myself will be glad to lead a stout force of men-at-arms down into that cellar and see the creature destroyed once and for all."
"I'm afraid the situation is such that you might have your endeavors for nothing, my Lord," said Jim, as diplomatically as he could. "I'm only an apprentice, of course, but I fear you might get down there and find nothing at all. If you come searching for the troll, he may well vanish; and you'll find nothing."
"He cannot!" said the Bishop. "I have blessed this castle and its immediate grounds. No magic—evil or good—can take place during these holy twelve days until I, myself, leave."
"Of course, my Lord," said Jim. "But, I seem to remember my master in magic, Carolinus, telling me that what Naturals have that allows them to do things we humans can't, isn't true magic. In fact it's something they don't understand themselves; and simply have no control over—such as being able to breathe water or air, wherever they happen to be. Or, as in the case of this troll, becoming invisible if a search party cornered him and he had no way to escape with his life. As I say, I'm only an apprentice. I could be wrong. My master could tell you surely."
"It is an evil strength!" growled the Bishop in a low voice. "—If true. I will indeed ask Carolinus. But there must be other ways, then, to rid ourselves of this troll."
"I don't believe it's so easy to find one," said Jim. "At the moment it seems the only answer is to find the other troll—the one that this castle's troll claims has been brought in among the guests here. Find it and get rid of it. Because by being here it challenges the sovereignty of the castle troll, who has kept all other trolls at a distance for eighteen hundred years… I assume my master told you about everything the troll told Sir Brian and myself?"
"He did," muttered de Bisby. "Well, then, let us lose no time finding this other troll."
"We're trying to think of how to do that right now," said Jim. "Clearly, the other troll's somehow appearing among us like an ordinary human being. Not even Carolinus has thought of a way to identify who's so masquerading among us."
"This, too, I cannot understand!" said de Bisby, in a low voice between his teeth. "The very thought that at this holy time in this blessed place, a troll could be among us in human guise! It revolts my soul!"
He glared at Jim. Jim looked apologetic and waited.
"Well, then," went on de Bisby after a moment, "can the castle troll find this other troll if he's let upstairs to search for himself among the guests? I myself would accompany him and reassure all, as he passed among them, that I would guard them from him unless one of them was indeed the troll he claimed to want. Indeed—" de Bisby's face lightened.
"Indeed, that sounds like the perfect answer!" the Bishop said. "Why didn't I think of that at first?"
"If you'll forgive me, my Lord," said Jim, "I'm not sure the troll would trust us."
"What do you mean?" The additional word "S
irrah!" was clearly trembling on the Bishop's lips, but he did not quite say it.
"He might be afraid," said Jim, "that he'd be slain while he was so searching, unsuspecting."
"He would doubt the word of a Lord of the Church?" de Bisby glared at Jim.
"I—I'm afraid so," said Jim. "Of course, there again you'd better ask my master in magic. Carolinus would be able to tell you more certainly."
"I shall do just that!" said the Bishop.
The angry frown had come back to his brow so plainly that Jim unconsciously braced himself as he would have, expecting a physical attack; although this was ridiculously inconceivable, particularly in view of the many diners in the hall at the present. No bishop would want to risk his dignity that way.
"Remember," said Jim, "he's just a troll and doesn't know any better."
The frown faded from the episcopal brow gradually, and the Bishop's face gradually returned to normal; and with an effort he produced a small, reassuring smile.
"In any case," he said, keeping his voice very low, "you have done well so far, my son."
"Thank you, my Lord," said Jim.
"So—" began de Bisby.
"My Lord Bishop! My Lord Bishop!" cried a sharp female voice from farther up the table to their right. Jim and the Bishop both craned out over the table to see. Agatha Falon was leaning forward and waving and looking at the Bishop.
"My Lady?" said the Bishop.
"Could we speak to you for a moment? My Lord Earl and I—could you give us a few moments of your time?"
Both the Prince—who was theoretically sitting in the center spot at the table—and the Earl were between them. The Bishop got up from his backed bench—it was no more than that, but it was padded, and a great improvement over the ordinary benches on which the other guests sat at the lower tables—got to his feet, and walked down to lean agreeably with his head between the space of Agatha Falon and the Earl. Seated on Agatha's other side, Sir John Chandos, politely ignoring her calling, continued to talk cheerfully with Angie, next to him.
The Earl said something in a rumble that was so low-voiced that Jim could not catch the words. However, the same information was shortly made obvious by the much more understandable and high-toned voice of Agatha Falon.
"We are having a debate, My Lord Earl and I," Agatha sang, "whether a true love can exist between those of somewhat different ages. Not only that, but if it may be true love at first sight."
"I would not consider myself an authority on love, my Lady," said the Bishop austerely. "However—"
"But you must have had to do with numerous couples where, say, the husband was somewhat older than the bride; and be in a position to testify—in my interest—that such distance in years need make no difference at all in feelings?"
Jim felt a plucking at the back of his cote-hardie. He had time for a mild twinge of irritation—only a mild twinge, nowadays, since he had run into this so many times before. But it had always seemed ridiculous that in this world, where somebody might split your skull with a battle-ax for looking cross-eyed at him, people had so many little small, niggling gestures. Servants scratched at your door before coming in—that is, if they didn't simply walk in without any warning at all—people of all ranks plucked lightly at part of your clothing instead of speaking up to you, or touching you in firmer fashion to attract your attention. But no. The next step up from plucking was the blow that challenged you to fight.
He turned now, expecting a servitor with another dish, from which he would be supposed to help, not only himself, but other nearby diners. But the Bishop was no longer in his seat; and the next person seated beyond him was the Prince, who did not seem to be eating at present, only drinking. That only left the middle-aged lady in the chair at his left.
But she had fallen asleep there a little while ago, and was now snoring lightly. Possibly she had been up all night at devotions, this being the last day of Advent, the day of Christmas Eve, in fact; and some of the guests were more ardently religious than others. Or, it could be she had drunk a little more wine than her body was able to handle. Jim turned.
It was not a servitor. Instead of a servant of the Earl's, Jim saw a figure in an expensive, forest-green, thick wool robe with hood, literally crouching behind his chair.
Then he recognized the robe and hood as being one of Angie's pieces of outerwear on their trip here. It could not be Angie herself, since she was sitting farther down the table, talking, with what seemed remarkable enjoyment, to John Chandos. Looking more closely into the hood, Jim saw the terrified face of the wet nurse who should have been upstairs in the tower, locked in the room with young Robert Falon until Jim and Angie, or Brian, returned.
"Forgive me, my Lord. My Lord, please forgive me!" whispered the wet nurse.
"What is it?" asked Jim, in a low voice, suddenly alert and very worried.
"My Lord, forgive me, but I thought I was doing the right thing—"
"What are you talking about? Out with it!" growled Jim.
"I know my Lady said not to open the door to any but the three of you," she said, "but this was a serving wench from Agatha Falon, who wished to give Lady Falon's young nephew a present; a ring of hers bearing the family crest. I was asked, only, to open the door enough so she could slip it in to me." The wet nurse looked almost ready to burst into tears. "I—I did."
"Yes?" said Jim. "What of it? Is that what's got you all wrought up?"
"Wrought up, my Lord?" the wet nurse stared at him.
"Upset. Disturbed!" said Jim impatiently.
"Oh no," said the wet nurse, "the serving wench did only what she said. She passed just her fingers through holding a ring for my young Lord, then pulled her hand out. I closed and barred the door again so quickly I almost caught her fingers in it."
"Well, then," said Jim. By this time he was completely puzzled. "What's all this fuss about?"
"It was only afterward, my Lord, that I thought—you being a magician, and there being many things invisible—dangerous magic things might be brought to the place of one like your Lordship; and perhaps the ring had some evil spell upon it, or somewhat, and I had taken it in. The more I thought of it, the more I was afraid. Happily, Wilfred, your man-at-arms, my Lord—"
"Yes, yes," said Jim. "I had him standing guard outside in the corridor."
"Well," went on the wet nurse, "I called him inside to stay and unbar the door on my return. I took this robe of Lady Angela's—oh, I know it was wrong, my Lord, to lay hands upon it, let alone wear it—but I wanted to come down and tell you of this, without anyone knowing who'd brought you word."
"Why, I don't see how—" Jim was beginning, when he checked himself.
Suddenly, he did see how. There were two sides to what had just been reported to him. One was the fear of most of these people about magic and dark doings beyond their control; and their belief that they would be helpless faced with such things. The other was the fact that a gift like this from Agatha Falon, who had so far shown no interest in young Robert at all, was a little peculiar, to say the least. After all, there actually was magic in this world; and a ring might have something magic about it—magic that predated the Bishop's blessing of the castle, which only blocked the making of any new magic.
"All right," he said. "Go back up. I'll be there in just a moment or two."
The wet nurse slipped away. Jim looked up and down the table. The Bishop was still leaning into the space between the Earl and Agatha Falon; but not leaning too far, to the extent of impairing his churchly dignity. Angie was still in animated conversation with Sir John Chandos. That last was irritating—and not a small irritation, either.
Jim liked Sir John Chandos. More than that, he admired the man. Chandos had a brilliant mind, remarkably subtle for this time in history and under these conditions. Jim also recognized the fact that to date in their acquaintance, the other had said and done nothing that might not be interpreted as normal courtly courtesies toward Angie.
But Sir John was unde
niably handsome and impressive with his extra years, intelligence and position close to the Throne. Somewhere in that combination Angie had found a person she liked to be with and talk to. There was no harm to it; there was only the uncomfortable fact that what Sir John was doing was also an ordinary preliminary to that game of seduction in the guise of courtly courtesies that went on—it was not too much to call it rampantly—at gatherings like this; and something for which the Earl's Christmastide was famous in particular, along with its food, sports, tournaments and entertainments.
But all this was something Jim should worry about later, not now.
Jim took another quick glance around him. No one was looking at him.
Quietly, he rose and went off in a direction that might seem to be taking him merely to one of the castle's privies; but which would also lead him to the stairs of the great tower and a clear route up to the rooms he shared with Angie.
As he was close to leaving the hall, there was a change in its noise level. All of the instruments but the Irish harp had fallen idle; and the resonant, sad notes of its strings were beginning to lament beautifully above the sound of general conversation.
"Damn!" said Jim. "Now, of all times!"
Regretfully leaving the sound of it behind him, he hurried on out of the hall and away.
Chapter 9
"It seems all right to me," said Jim.
He was back up in the outer room of their two chambers, with the door once more barred, the wet nurse hovering at his elbow and young Robert peacefully asleep in the other room—after a stiff workout of waving arms and legs and making pleased sounds over his freedom to do so.
Earlier Angie had sworn the wet nurse to silence—thereby terrifying the teen-age girl, who seemed to feel she had been forced into responsibility for the equivalent of a Crown secret—and unwound Robert, as soon as they were in their room, from the long strip of swaddling that bound him tight to his backboard—a sort of short plank with the hole in it near its top, so he could be conveniently hung on a peg or nail when his nurse was busy—announcing grimly that babies needed room to move; and that from now on she, Angie, would decide how Robert would be kept.
The Dragon, the Earl ,and the Troll Page 9
