by Simon Hawke
"Then he will set me free?"
"He means to set your spirit free," Sir Brian said. "There is to be a trial and you are the accused."
She looked up at him, startled. "Accused of what? I have done nothing."
"The charge is sorcery," said Bois-Guilbert.
"Then I will trust to God to see me delivered," said Rebecca, "for I am innocent."
"You are innocent, indeed," said Bois-Guilbert. "Innocent of the ways of the world. You are closer to your God than you know. The trial has not been held yet, but rest assured that the outcome has already been decided. You have but one chance to avoid the stake. Demand a champion."
"I do not understand."
"If you demand a champion, then according to our ways, and the ways of chivalry, your fate will be decided in a trial by combat. Choose me as your champion and I will fight for you with my last breath."
"And if you lose?"
"Then I lose my life and you will be burnt at the stake," said Bois-Guilbert. "But I will not lose. No man will take from me that which I have gone to so many pains to obtain. You are mine, Rebecca. You must choose me. It is your only hope."
"Then I have no hope," she said.
"Think well on this," said Bois-Guilbert. "There would be no purpose served if you threw your life away. If you do not choose me, who else would fight for you? Who cares what happens to a Jew?"
"God will care for me," she said.
"Your death would be a tragic waste," said Bois-Guilbert. "Think on the agonies of death by fire, Rebecca. I pray that you will change your mind."
* * * *
The men did not have long to wait. They were not sure exactly how the pick-up would be arranged, but when the contact came, it proved to be a surprise. And it stood to reason. There must have been someone keeping an eye on them, someone who had taken the tremendous risk of undertaking his mission with implant removed, so that he could not be scanned. He was a captain in the Observer Corps. They knew him as Alan-a-dale.
"So it's almost over," Alan-a-dale said to them when they returned to camp.
"Almost?" said Finn.
"Well, the hard part's over," said the minstrel, winking at them. "Irving's dead."
"Son-of-a-bitch," said Finn. "You're a ringer."
"Only for a little while longer," said the bogus minstrel. "The name's Bannerman. Captain Richard Bannerman, Observer Corps. And I must say I'm very much relieved to see you men have pulled it off. I was just about resigned to spending the rest of my days back here. Who knows, if Irving had succeeded, I might have been better off."
"So what happens now?" said Lucas.
"I've already contacted the mission commander," Banner-man said. "Since we have no idea what really happened to King Richard, we're going to have to proceed on the assumption that he's dead. I doubt Irving would have let him live; it would have been too risky."
"Suppose he turns up after all?" said Lucas.
"Well, he might," said Bannerman, "although it's one hell of a long shot. He won't, I'm sure of that. But if he does, well, there's already going to be one King Richard on the throne of England and he'll be a member of the Referee Corps. If anyone else shows up claiming that title, it will be our job to dispose of him."
"So the ref's going to have to die at Chaluz," said Finn.
Bannerman was silent for a moment. "I'm afraid so. Perhaps we'll be able to fake it. But, if not, well, what's one life to preserve the course of history?"
"It's been more than one life already," Lucas said.
"I know," said Bannerman. "If we can pull it off without him getting killed, believe me, we'll try. But he knew what the mission entailed when he took the job. There's a lot more to being a ref than just deciding point spreads."
"I think I'm better off just being a simple dog soldier," Finn said. "What's the drill for us now?"
"You and Priest will simply disappear," said Bannerman. He smiled. "Little John is going to be grieving for Robin Hood. He's going to take off on a bender somewhere. When he returns, he'll be the real McCoy, suitably conditioned to recall events in which he did not take part. And Ivanhoe will turn up again, at the appropriate time. There are still some details to work out."
"So the legend of Robin Hood ends right here," said Lucas. "I'll be curious to learn how history explains it."
"That's where you're wrong," said Bannerman. "Both Poignard and Robin Hood will return. Poignard is, so far as we know, of no great significance to history. As for Robin Hood, well, the legend about him has always been a legend. We don't know exactly how he died. The real Locksley will return and those who thought they saw him die will help the legend grow. Just between you and me, I wouldn't be surprised if Marion turns out to be the end of him at last."
"That wraps up the adjustment then," said Lucas.
"Well, not quite. There are still a few loose ends, not the least of which are Andre de la Croix and your friend, Hunter."
"He's long gone," said Finn. "You guys will never get him."
Bannerman smiled. "Perhaps. If we don't, I won't really mind. After all, without him, we could not have done it. We really need people like Hunter."
"Come again?" said Lucas.
"Surely, you don't think he's the only one," said Banner-man. "We've had quite a few deserters from the Temporal Corps. It's not exactly common knowledge, as I'm sure you'll appreciate. We can't broadcast the fact that there are temporal renegades spread throughout all of time. Deserting isn't easy and those who try are punished quite severely, which fact I hope you men will keep in mind. Still, quite a number have succeeded, as has Hunter. We didn't even know about him until he surfaced during this operation."
"What do you plan to do?" said Finn.
"Apprehend him, if we can. I don't think we can, though. Still, people like your friend Hunter are very useful to us. In order for their existence to remain relatively safe, they must constantly strive to preserve the timeline. The underground—"
"The underground?" said Finn.
"Oh, yes. They have an organization of sorts. Quite fascinating, actually. We have established that there are points in time which they have pinpointed for rendezvous purposes. It's quite a sophisticated network. In order to protect themselves, they police themselves and the timeline, as well. It's ironic, really. They think that they've beaten the system and are out of it, yet effectively, they still work for us. We find them very useful."
"I wonder what Hunter would make of that," said Lucas.
"I doubt he really cares," said Finn.
"Well, Lieutenant Delaney, and Lieutenant Priest," said Bannerman, smiling, "if you're quite ready?"
"You mean we're leaving now?" said Lucas.
"If you like. I've got a plate hidden not too far from here. No tracer function, naturally, but I warn you, should you get any ideas, I'll have both of you covered every inch of the way."
"I'll bet you will," said Finn.
"God, this is really it," said Lucas. "After this, we're just going to be plain old citizens."
"Not me," said Finn. "I never got used to being an officer, but who knows? I've been busted down before. I think I'll just stay a soldier. It's all I know. And, when it gets right down to it, it's all I really want. The straight life would bore the hell out of me after this."
"He may have a point, Mr. Priest," Bannerman said. "You can, of course, retire now, with the full pension of a first lieutenant in the Temporal Corps. But ask yourself, what will you do back in the straight life? I suppose you'll be able to get by on your pension, but won't life seem just a little . . . well, ordinary?"
"I'll settle for ordinary," Lucas said.
"Then I won't try to talk you put of it," said Bannerman. "But the Corps could use men like you, who have proven themselves in the field. With each mission served in the past, with each successful adjustment completed, more anomalies arise that must be corrected. I'd be very surprised if something up ahead was not affected by what you men have done right here. After an assignment such as
this, should you elect to remain in the service, we couldn't possibly return you to the regular Corps."
"Oh?" said Finn.
"Since you intend to re-up, Captain, your commission is in the Time Commandos now. From now on, it's just adjustment missions for you. More pay, more perks, more risk. It's a highly irregular unit, but from what I know of you, I believe you'll find it to your liking. In the Commandos, there's room for mavericks like you."
"We'll see," said Finn.
"Well, if you want to spend the rest of your life laying your ass on the line, as Hunter would say, it's okay with me," said Lucas. "Count me out. It's back to 2613 and the easy life for me."
"And you're more than entitled," said Bannerman. "But if you should ever change your mind—"
"I won't."
"—there'll still be a place for you. You can re-enlist in the Commandos with the rank of captain anytime."
"Don't hold your breath," said Lucas.
Bannerman smiled. "I won't. At any rate, you men have some R&R coming, courtesy of the Temporal Corps. Six months paid vacation, anytime, anyplace."
"No strings?" said Lucas.
"None, Mr. Priest. You have carte blanche."
"It'll cost you, then."
Bannerman grinned. "We can afford it."
Chapter 14
Andre woke up to the sound of music, but it was music unlike anything that she had ever heard. The recorder did not sound strange to her, but the instruments of the symphony orchestra that supported it in the concerto by Bartok both mesmerized and frightened her. Her fear and lack of understanding were compounded by the fact that the sound came from all around her, yet she saw no musicians. Had she been transported to some faery land? Had she died?
She sat up slowly, then stood upon the floor, looking all around her. Where was the music coming from? What strange instruments produced such sounds?
She was in a woodsman's cabin, but this was the abode of no ordinary woodsman. This cabin had a floor and shutters. . . . She opened one of the shutters and saw that it was night outside. Night! And yet it was bright as daylight in the cabin. It was warm, although she could see no fire. In the center of the room, there stood some strange black apparatus with an appendage that stretched out of its top and through the ceiling. It squatted on four legs like some evil gnome. It was from this black thing that the warmth emanated. She reached out and touched it, then jerked her hand back quickly. It had burned her. It was like touching fire. She backed away, moving toward the bed once more. She sat down, mystified.
Suddenly, she moved quickly toward the door and flung it open, thinking to escape the evil place. The sorcerer stood before her.
"Going somewhere?" Hunter said.
She backed into the room. "I am damned, then," she said softly.
Hunter raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"
"I have escaped from the clutches of one wizard only to fall into the hands of another," she said. "This is what comes of serving the devil's own. There will be no escape for me. My soul is forfeit. What do you want of me? Am I to suffer your revenge for killing the other wizard? I do not even know how that happened. I cannot think. It is all too much to reason out. Do with me what you will and make an end of it."
"Are you finished?"
"I have nothing more to say."
"Well, that's good. Sit down. Please."
She sat.
"First of all," said Hunter, "your soul is not in peril, at least, not from me. I serve neither God nor the devil, I serve myself. If you prefer to think of me as a sorcerer, go right ahead, I won't stop you. It so happens that I'm not a sorcerer, or a wizard, or a warlock, or anything else except a man. I realize that may be hard for you to accept right now, but try."
"But the magic—"
"Is not magic. At least, not in the sense that you understand it. To some savage who has never seen a suit of armor, a knight would seem to be a devilish apparition. Imagine, if you can, that you have never seen an armored knight. That you know nothing of the craft involved in making armor, that you know nothing of its properties. Having lived in a world in which a knight has never been seen, might you not assume, upon seeing one, that it was not even a human being you were seeing, but some terrifying creature whose flesh was metal animated by black magic? Well, as uncomplimentary as it may seem, in this case, I am that knight and you are that savage. What I do seems like magic to you because you do not understand it and you know nothing of the craft involved. I merely have more knowledge than you have."
He reached for a bottle of bourbon.
"Would you like some?"
"What is it?" said Andre, cautiously.
"A beverage. No mystical potion, I promise you. It's made from a mash of corn and malt and rye. It's called whiskey. The effects of drinking it are much like drinking ale, only this is a far more potent brew."
He held out the bottle and Andre took it carefully.
Her eyes bulged after the first swallow and she coughed. "By God! You drink this swill?"
"It takes some getting used to," Hunter said, "because of its strength. Once you grow accustomed to the taste, you actually enjoy it."
"It does give a pleasant warmth," said Andre.
"Just drink a little," Hunter said. "To one who's never had a taste before, the effects can be overpowering, like giving ale to an infant."
"This knowledge of which you spoke," she said, "you called it a craft. Yet, there is a craft to magic, is there not? It is one thing to craft a suit of armor, and yet it is another to bring forth music from the empty air and to appear and disappear at will. How can this not be magic? And this black apparatus which gives forth heat—"
"Is called a stove," said Hunter. "Look." He kicked open the door, showing the flames inside. "Nothing but a fancy fireplace, only a more efficient one. All it is is metal to contain a fire of wood and coal."
"But will the metal not grow red and soft from the fire's heat?" said Andre.
"Not if it's made properly," said Hunter. "The metal is thick and the fire is never hot enough to soften it. Simple, isn't it?"
"And this metal tube?"
"Is just a chimney to carry the smoke away."
"And the music?"
"That's a little harder to explain," said Hunter.
"I will attempt to understand."
"Well ... let me put it this way. There are musical instruments with which you are familiar, such as the wood flute and the lute, for instance. There are other musical instruments which you have never heard of. They produce very different sounds. Look here," he said, showing her the sound system. "All this is is a device that records the sound of music made by musicians. Just as a monk records holy works on paper, through the art of writing, so this device records sounds. It reproduces them."
"How?"
"How. Good question. How do you explain electronic recording to a woman of the Middle Ages? Well, for now, you'll just have to be satisfied with this: there is a method of preserving sounds made by a musician. The method of preserving spoken words is called writing. One speaks, another writes those words down and later, still another who knows how to read can reproduce those words by reading what was written. In a way, this is similar, but the knowledge involved is far greater. This is a . . . tool . . . which preserves sounds, just as writing preserves words. Only with this tool, there is no need of reading. The tool records the sounds and then plays them back to you. It can even reproduce the sound of your own voice. Perhaps I'll show you, later."
"This is not magic?"
"No, it is a simple craft, but men will not know how to make such tools for many, many years to come."
"Then how have you learned this?"
Hunter sighed. "I was afraid you were going to ask that."
"The knowledge is secret, then."
"No, it's not a secret, it's just... very difficult to explain."
"I would like to learn, if this is possible."
"Oh, it's possible, all right, but you're going to have
to be very patient. And forbearing."
"It will not endanger my soul to learn of this?"
"It will not."
"Do you dare swear this before God?" said Andre.
"I swear this before God."
Andre frowned. "I do not think a sorcerer can so swear. Very well, then, I will risk to listen."
Hunter sighed. "Where do I begin?"
"At the beginning, if this is not asking too much," said Andre.
Hunter shrugged. "What the hell? All right. I was a soldier."
"A man at arms?"
"A man at arms, if you will. Now shut up and listen. And don't interrupt. I was a soldier. I served in an army mightier than anything you have ever seen or heard of. An army that will not exist for centuries."
Andre started to speak, but held back.
"Thank you. I said you would have to be patient. Try to imagine what it must have been like for the first men to walk the earth. And the first women, too. They were simple savages, little more than animals. They had not yet discovered fire or clothing. They did not know how to build shelters, so they slept in the open or in caves. They knew only how to eat and kill and little else. For their weapons, they used simple clubs of wood or axes made of stone. Now, take such a man or woman and imagine what it would be like for them today, if they were to suddenly be transported to this time and place. They would see castles and not know what they were, since they did not know how to build with stone and wood. They would see a crossbow or an arbalest and think it was the work of the devil, for they would know nothing of the craft involved in making such weapons. They would see armored knights and take them for horrifying monsters or even gods."
Andre nodded slowly.
"Now, what if we were able, you and I, to have some mastery over time?" said Hunter. "What if we had a mode of travel that would take us not from one place to another, but from one time to another? What if I were to take you far into the future, to this very place, only a thousand years from now? You would be like that savage from the dawn of time, failing to comprehend everything you saw around you, for with time, man's knowledge grows ever greater. What would you see a thousand years from now?"
