by Simon Hawke
Andre sighed, shaking her head.
"You think I'm mad," Hunter said. "Listen to me. When the first crossbow was made, it was said that the world was coming to an end. How could the society of man survive such a devastating weapon? Yet, a thousand years from now, there will be weapons so devastating that they will make the crossbow seem like the wooden club of the simple savage."
Hunter took out his. 45 and held it up so she could see it.
"This is one such weapon. And there are others, far more powerful than you could imagine in your wildest nightmares."
Andre stared at the gun. "It does not look very formidable," she said. "What use would it be against a crossbow or a sword?"
Hunter smiled. "Watch," he said. He cocked the weapon and aimed it at a bottle on the shelf. He fired and the bottle shattered in an explosion of glass and whiskey.
Andre turned pale. "Sorcery," she whispered.
"No," said Hunter. "In a way, it is something like a crossbow, in that it shoots a projectile. The crossbow shoots a bolt or quarrel. This gun," he showed it to her and, in spite of herself, she leaned forward to look at it more closely, "shoots a tiny piece of lead. It has functioning parts, just like a crossbow, only there are more of them and they take a great deal of skill to make."
He removed the clip and he began to disassemble the gun.
"You see, there are many parts to this weapon. I will explain in the simplest way, just so you understand the principle. When I pull back on the slide here, it brings the bullet into position. The gun is now prepared to function. When I gently squeeze the trigger, it acts on these other parts here, so, and this hammer falls on the end of the bullet. This little metal piece here, the firing pin, strikes the primer, which causes the powder in the case to ignite. This creates a tremendous force which pushes the lead out of the case and down this barrel here with very great speed, causing it to fly out of the gun here, like an arrow leaves a bow, only far faster than the eye can follow. The sound you hear is caused by the force created when the powder ignites, and this same force causes the slide to be moved back again, bringing the next bullet into position. You can feel this force when you shoot the weapon. Would you like to try?"
"You would trust me with this magic weapon?"
"I'll be right next to you," said Hunter, smiling. "If you attempt to use it against me, I have enough skill to take it away from you before you can employ it."
"How do I use it?" she said.
He cocked the gun, having reassembled it, then stood at her side, carefully placing it into her hand and showing her how to take the proper position. She aimed, long and carefully, then gently squeezed the trigger. The. 45 bucked in her hand and the bottle shattered. She almost dropped the gun.
"You see?"
"It will shoot again now?" she said, her voice unsteady.
He took the gun. "Yes. But first I will remove the cartridges so you can hold the weapon safely and examine it." He did so and handed it back to her.
"Look at it. Feel it. It is only a tool, and nothing more. A dangerous tool, to be sure, but made by men, skilled artisans, not sorcerers. Can any artisans you know make such a weapon?"
She gazed at the gun with awe. "No. No artisans I have ever seen possess such skill or knowledge."
"Now perhaps you can accept the other things I've told you," Hunter said. "I know it all sounds unbelievable, but nevertheless, it's all true. I am a soldier from that future time. The man you killed was also from that time. He was an evil and misguided man, insane. All of this will be very hard for you to understand and the story will take a long time to tell. I have much to tell you, about myself and the life I lead, about the mastery of time. You have much to learn."
"Why?" She had a confused expression on her face. "I try to understand all this, yet it eludes me. I only know that the things I've seen, the things of which you told me, seem like the fragments of some dream. How can they be real? And yet, how can I doubt my own senses, unless I have gone mad?"
"You will understand, in time," said Hunter.
She shook her head.
"Look," said Hunter, "sit down. I know this must be hard for you to deal with. You're doing very well, under the circumstances. You're quite a woman. That, in itself, was a surprise." He grinned. "Imagine how I felt when you fainted and I put you to bed and started to undress you. I first thought you were wounded and I meant to treat you. There was no hair on your chest, but young boys are often hairless and you appeared to be a pretty young man, not yet old enough to grow a beard. But then I discovered otherwise."
"I see," said Andre, tensing.
Hunter chuckled. "No, I did not take license with your body. My word of honor."
"Why do you offer to teach me, then? You think to make me your concubine? I will not-"
"Peace," said Hunter, holding up his hand. "My intentions toward you are strictly honorable. I hope to make you my friend. But first, I intend to save your life."
"And is my life endangered?"
"I'm afraid so," Hunter said. "You see, I am not alone here. In this time, there are others who came from the future to defeat Irving-the 'wizard' whom you killed. They must now take steps to erase all traces of their presence here. The fact that they were here, that they can master time, that is secret knowledge. Irving meant to take the place of Coeur de Lion and to set into motion events that would affect the time from which we came. That had to be prevented."
"Did I not kill him?"
"Yes, you certainly did. And later, I'll explain to you just how it must have happened. Yet now, another Richard must arrive. A Richard who will act as we know the real Richard will have acted, because we know all the events of his life. It is our history. And we must make certain that our history remains unchanged."
She sighed and shook her head again. "Once more, you mystify me. How can I ever hope to understand all this?"
"You will," said Hunter. "Only now, you must understand that you know things you were never meant to know. You have seen things you were never meant to see. You are not alone in this, but many of the others who have been affected by our presence here are either dead or ways can be found to keep their knowledge from being a threat. You, on the other hand, have seen far more than anyone else. You have seen one Richard die and now you will see another Richard return. You possess a suit of armor such as no armorer of this day can make. Perhaps all this is insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but the soldiers from my time can't be sure of that."
"They will try to kill me?"
"Perhaps. That would be the simplest way. Or they may capture you and take away your memory."
"They can do this?"
"Easily."
"And I would forget everything? I would forget my part in this, I would forget the things that you have shown me, even though I hardly understand them all? I would forget Marcel-"
She shut her eyes.
"No. No, it must not be."
"It doesn't have to be," said Hunter.
"Why do you take my part in this? Are you not one of them?"
"I was one of them," said Hunter. "Now, I live life on my own terms. As for why I want to help you, well, there are many reasons and none. You interest me. I like you. I admire your spirit and determination. In a way, we are alike. You could not live by the rules of your society, so you made your own rules. You were born before your time and I was born too late for mine. We're kindred spirits, you and I. Thanks to you, a threat to my existence has been removed and I now have Irving's chronoplate-his apparatus for traveling from one time or place to another. I propose to take you with me."
"As your woman."
"As your own woman. The time from which I come does not hold women to be inferior to men. And you are the superior of most. In exchange for your companionship, on your own terms, I can offer you the world and almost all of time. I can show you these things I've spoken of. I can teach you how to understand them. I can offer you experiences that would defy your wildest dreams."
"I would like to see these things you spoke of," Andre said. "And I would like to see a world in which I did not have to act the part of a man to live life on my terms. You may be a devil tempting me into damnation for all I know, but this world in which I now reside has lost its sweetness. Yet, I cannot go. Not while Bois-Guilbert lives. If it costs me my life, I will bring him to justice before God for the murder of my brother."
"That's easily enough accomplished," Hunter said. "Take my gun and shoot the bastard.''
"No. With such an awesome weapon, his death would be too swift and I could take no pleasure in it. He dies by my sword, gazing at my face."
"Well, I won't try to talk you out of it," said Hunter. "Revenge is something I can understand. However, do you see that your being abroad now constitutes a risk, and that if you remain here after you have avenged your brother, they will surely find you? I assure you, you would be defenseless against them."
"Once I have avenged Marcel, if you are still willling, I will seek you out and gratefully accept your offer of escape, since I wish to survive and I am most curious to learn of these strange and wonderful things you speak of. Perhaps it will prove the end of me, but I have never been one to turn back from a challenge. I will go with you, but we go as comrades in arms and nothing more, else I do not go."
"Understood."
"Then I must leave you now to seek out Bois-Guilbert."
"If you will allow me-"
"This is a thing which I must do myself," she said.
"And so you shall. But there is no reason not to take precautions. There is still time in which we can be safe here. Let me seek out Bois-Guilbert. I have greater mobility than you and can do so quickly. Then, once I've found him, I'll take you to him. Past that, I promise not to interfere. Is it agreed?"
"Agreed."
15
"I've found him," Hunter said.
"What, so quickly?" Andre shook her head in wonder. "And this is not sorcery, you say. You vanish before my very eyes and then appear again as if by magic, and yet it is not magic. I wish that I could accept this."
"You will," said Hunter. "It won't take a bargain with the devil, either. There's a way to gain a lot of knowledge very quickly. There are others like me, in other times and other places. We speak in many different languages, yet we understand each other. We are a strong society." He grinned. "There's such a thing as an implant that can't be traced. You don't know what that is yet, but it will enable you to learn and understand. Meanwhile, there still remains the matter of your revenge."
"Where is Bois-Guilbert? Take me to him!"
"It's not as simple as that," said Hunter. "I found him for you. But he won't be easy to get at. He's very well protected. He fled to Templestowe with Rebecca of York as a hostage."
"The Jewess?"
Hunter nodded. "No doubt, he wanted to set up light housekeeping at the Templars' residence. The only problem is, there's a shake up in the works."
"A… shake up?"
"I beg your pardon. A series of radical reforms. Albert Beaumanoir, Grand Master of the Order of the Knights Templars, has arrived at Templestowe with the intent of showing his warrior priests the error of their ways. Consequently, it would look bad for Bois-Guilbert to co-habit with a woman at this time, and a Jew no less."
"So he is in disfavor with his superiors," said Andre. "How can this work against me?"
"Well, he would have been in trouble with the Grand Master if it wasn't for the fact that friends interceded for him. They convinced Beaumanoir that Sir Brian's been ensorcelled by Rebecca and the poor woman was made to stand trial for witchcraft. Naturally, they convicted her."
"The countryside teems with sorcerers these days," said Andre wryly.
"That poor girl has been made a victim, by Bois-Guilbert and now by Beaumanoir. She's to be burned at the stake. But she has appealed for trial by combat. Bois-Guilbert's advice, no doubt. She'd never have thought of it on her own."
"It is good advice," said Andre. "If Bois-Guilbert appears in the lists as her champion, the matter will be decided by the will of God. Should Bois-Guilbert win, and there are few who could defeat him, then he could not have been ensorcelled, since God would have granted him the victory. Rebecca will be cleared of the charge of witchcraft and Sir Brian will be free to find another way to keep her. A sound plan."
"Only the plan has a hitch," said Hunter. "It seems that the Grand Master has selected Bois-Guilbert to champion the Temple. I guess they don't mind if an ensorcelled knight represents them."
Andre smiled. "Sir Brian has been neatly outflanked. If he loses, he forfeits his life and the charge is proven true. If he wins, as he must strive to do, since he will not want to give up life and breath for a lowly Jewess, then God will have overpowered the enchantment. Rebecca will die and Bois-Guilbert will have to go into retreat for purification. If he chooses not to enter the lists, then he is disgraced. He will lose his rank and armor and his dreams of leading the Knights Templars will come to nought. And if no champion appears to defend Rebecca, she dies at the stake."
"Isaac of York is desperately trying to find a champion to represent his daughter," Hunter said.
"There are few who would undertake such a cause, even for money," Andre said. "Brian's prowess is well known. Yet she will have a champion. I will appear for her."
"I was expecting you to say that," Hunter said. "But I just want you to be aware of the risk involved."
"There is no risk," said Andre. "With this armor made by those master artisans you spoke of, Brian will stand no chance against me. It will all go as before, when he should have died beneath my blade."
"Yes, well, that's precisely why it's risky," Hunter said. "The nysteel will protect you, but it won't make you completely invulnerable. You'll have to get it over with quickly. If you and Bois-Guilbert spend any time slamming away at each other, they're bound to notice that the combat is affecting his armor and not yours. Remember, they'll be primed for a witch burning. If you are seen to take his strongest blows with barely any visible damage to your armor, they just might decide that one witch has summoned another to defend her. And you can be brought down if they attack you in sufficient numbers."
"It is a risk that I will have to take," said Andre.
"I figured that you'd say that, too. So here, take this, then."
He handed her a PRU.
"The wizard's charm?"
"Call it a charm, if you like," said Hunter. "I control it now. Keep it as my favor when you fight with Bois-Guilbert."
"I will keep it."
"Just don't lose it."
"I do not accept a favor lightly," Andre said stiffly. "I will not lose it and I will try to do it honor."
Hunter smiled. "That's all I ask."
A great crowd had gathered at Templestowe to witness the witchburning and, with any luck, a lethal passage at arms, as well. A little sport before the roasting would be a welcome diversion, but no one truly expected it. All they had to do was look at Isaac to see that the man held out no hope at all for the deliverance of his daughter.
Isaac had offered up everything he owned in an effort to recruit a champion to represent his daughter, but there had been no takers. A fortune would be of little use if one did not live to spend it, and Bois-Guilbert was held in high esteem by those who had tilted at him in the lists and lived to tell the tale.
Only two knights were known to have bested him, Ivanhoe and Coeur de Lion, himself. Perhaps it was a lot of money, but to die fighting for a Jewess? Surely, it would be best to offer up one's life in a more fitting cause and one whose outcome was in some greater doubt.
Isaac wandered among the rapidly filling galleries, shredding his clothes and wailing. He called on God to visit whatever sins he had committed upon himself, rather than on his innocent daughter. There was absolutely nothing he could do except pray and he did not honestly expect his prayers to be answered.
A fanfare sounded and the gates of the preceptory were thrown open to the processio
n, which came forth beneath Le Beau-seant, the black and white standard of the Knights Templars. Bois-Guilbert rode just behind the standard bearers, looking proud and defiant in his brightly polished armor. Behind him, two squires carried his helmet and weapons, along with his shield.
His old shield had been rendered useless in his fight with de la Croix and there had not been time to obtain another from an armorer, made to his specification. In his flight from Torquilstone, he had grabbed the first shield that came to hand. It seemed unusually light, but he had tested it somewhat and was satisfied that it was well made and very strong. The only modification he had made was to have his skull-bearing raven painted over the uprooted oak.
Rebecca was brought out on foot. She wore a simple white dress, a stark contrast to the attire and livery of the Templars. Placed in the center of the procession, she was paraded past the galleries and the place of honor occupied by Beaumanoir, then brought to a black chair placed near the stake which would be her funeral pyre.
She watched silently as the members of the court took their places. The words of the heralds and the ceremonial accepting of the glove by the Grand Master, the charging of Bois-Guilbert with his pledge and vows, all were lost on her as her attention became focused inward. She was aware of the breeze upon her skin and she was acutely sensitive to the firmness of the chair upon which she sat. She felt the sun warming her face and wondered how much warmer the fire would feel when it began to eat away her flesh. She registered, to those who watched her, a calm, stoic acceptance of her fate. Yet, in fact, she had not accepted it, could not accept it. Intellectually, she realized that she was going to die an agonizing death. Emotionally, she was unable to deal with it. She knew only that she did not deserve to die and she could not understand why the court had thought she should. They had brought witnesses against her, people she did not even know, had never seen before. They had lied, perjuring themselves before God, ascribing to her all sorts of powers and evil deeds. Why? What purpose would her death serve?
