Ivanhoe Gambit

5

The last day of the tournament was traditionally set aside for the melee, a mock battle staged for the benefit of the spectators. The melee held a great attraction for the masses, for it had all the elements of a real war. Once again, there was a great deal of milling about until Prince John showed up with his entourage, then the marshal began to organize things.

As the victor of the joust, Lucas was to captain one side while de la Croix, who took the second best honors, led the other. There were more entrants into this event than there had been in the jousting, not so much because it was less challenging as for the reason that with so many men upon the field, the fall of one was made less of a spectacle.

Predictably, Bois-Guilbert was among the first to enter on the side of de la Croix, as he was anxious to have another crack at the knight who had humiliated him the previous day. The bulk of De Bracy's Free Companions also took the side of de la Croix, while De Bracy himself was forced to watch the action from the stands, his shoulder bandaged and his pride a little hurt. There was no shortage of men to fight on the side of the white knight, however. Athelstane of Coningsburgh and several other Saxons entered the event on the side of the challengers, as did several Normans who wanted to try their hand against the mercenaries. When it was made certain that the numbers on both sides were even, the heralds announced the rules of the passage at arms.

Since the weapons to be used were real, whereas the battle was a mock one, there were certain prohibitions involved for the sake of preventing the melee from turning into a blood bath. Swords were to be used for striking only. Thrusting was forbidden. Maces and battle axes were allowed to be wielded with impunity, but daggers were forbidden. An unhorsed knight could, if capable, continue to fight on foot with someone in the same predicament, but then he could not attack or be attacked by a mounted knight. Any knight who was forced, by his opponent, to the opposite side so that some part of his arms or person touched the palisade was considered vanquished and his horse and armor were forfeit to the victor. If a knight was unhorsed or struck down and unable to get up, it was permissable for his squire to run out and drag him out of harm's way, but in such a case, he also lost his horse and arms. The melee would cease when Prince John threw down his truncheon. Any knight breaking the rules was to be stripped of his arms upon the spot.

All things considered, it was still possible to get hurt in such a donnybrook, which fact did not escape Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who was intent on embedding his battle axe well and truly in the white knight's cranium. The memory of their joust was still fresh in his mind and he still felt the burning shame of it. Everything about the white knight made him furious. The man would not reveal his face or state his name; he clearly showed himself to be a Saxon by declaring war upon the Norman knights and that a Saxon should prevail over a Norman… And on top of everything, he had chosen a Jewess as his queen, an open insult to every Norman lady and, yes, even to the Saxon wenches, as well.

Still, in spite of himself, Bois-Guilbert had to admit that the Jewess had been breathtaking. The Templars were not a celibate order; they granted themselves liberal dispensations. Bois-Guilbert was possessed of a hearty sexual appetite and, Jew or no Jew, the woman was a tasty morsel. Her lack of social standing made her quite vulnerable, a fact of which she was no doubt aware. She had absented herself from the day's festivities, leaving the Saxon girl, Rowena, to reign in her place as she had done at the previous night's banquet. Either the Jewess had chosen not to come in order to avoid any discomfort or someone had spoken to her, telling her she was not welcome. It irked Bois-Guilbert. On one hand, he was angry with the white knight for honoring a Jew and, on the other, he was irritated at her absence, since if she was not around, the chances of his getting between her legs were somewhat diminished. He was determined to take out his frustrations upon the man who had caused them all.

When both sides had taken their positions, the head marshal cried "Laissez aller!" and the fanfare sounded. Lances lowered, both sides thundered toward each other, crashing together in the center of the meadow with a clangor loud enough to be heard a mile away. There followed a cacophonous din, a pandemonium of metal upon metal as the knights hacked and flailed at each other with a vengeance, raising a thick cloud of dust that blew over the stands, adding the cursing and the coughing of the spectators to the general uproar.

In their first rush together, not a few knights were unhorsed and some lay still upon the field of battle, whether dead, wounded or merely stunned no one would know until their squires rescued them. It would have taken a brave squire, indeed, to rush out into such a press. Most of them waited until the dust had settled somewhat and the numbers thinned. Other knights struggled to their feet and took to bashing at each other, able to tell for which side they fought by the battle cries they voiced. Those on the side of de la Croix shouted out "Tiens a ta foy!" or "Hold to your faith!", the motto on the red knight's shield, while the white knight's men, to Prince John's great consternation, were instructed by their captain to cry out "De par le roy!” or "In the king's name!"

Lucas had less difficulty in the melee than did all the other knights. His nysteel armor allowed him to move far more freely than the others could and his helmet, though damaged from his joust with de la Croix, was still capable of filtering out much of the dust. While all around him knights sweated in their suits of armor, breathing in dust while risking heat exhaustion, Lucas felt relatively cool and unencumbered. As he lay about him with his sword, he found himself thinking that the melee was a good metaphor for the U.S. Temporal Corps. Soldiers on both sides battling it out while observers or, as in this case, marshals kept score. And even scorekeeping was a chancy proposition in this instance, as one marshal discovered who saw Philip de Malvoisin pressed against the palisade by his antagonist. The marshal pronounced Malvoisin vanquished and the attacker turned away to find another to defeat, whereupon Malvoisin promptly took advantage of the interposition of another mounted knight between himself and the stands to smite both marshal and victor with his mace.

As the spectators strained to follow their favorites, the air became choked with dust and bits of plumage shorn from the helmets of the knights. The deafening sound of metal upon metal was falling off somewhat as arms grew tired and the number of antagonists grew smaller. Many knights had now been pronounced "dead" by the marshals and they had withdrawn. The field was liberally littered with dead, dying and wounded men and even a horse or two and there were but a few combatants left. Now the squires began to risk running out upon the field to drag away their fallen masters.

Bois-Guilbert, de la Croix and Malvoisin were the last remaining knights on their side, while on the other there were the white knight, Athelstane of Coningsburgh and an unknown knight dressed all in black upon a jet black stallion. His shield was black as well, bearing no device. He was not well liked by the spectators, who had observed him to hang back from the fray, fighting only when pressed by another knight and, even so, doing nothing more than making a defense. He was booed by the spectators as he simply sat astride his horse and watched while Malvoisin and de la Croix pounded Athelstane into the ground and then turned to join Bois-Guilbert in doing battle with the "nameless oak." Many of those watching called to John, shouting at him to throw down his truncheon and end the contest, since it was obvious that the white knight would be overwhelmed and the crowd was sympathetic toward him. They did not want to see their favorite beaten to a bloody pulp by superior odds, but John held off, watching and smiling.

"Mark Bois-Guilbert," he said to Fitzurse. "The Templar has a score to settle and I'll wager our white knight will not live out the day."

Indeed, the Templar was pressing his attack with a fury, hammering away at the white knight for all he was worth with his battle axe while both de la Croix, on horseback, and Malvoisin, on foot, stood by to finish him off.

Lucas was doing his best to parry as many of the blows with his sword as possible. They could smash away at the nysteel until doomsday and make only the most superficial dents in it, but he was anxious to keep up appearances. He had seen de la Croix and Malvoisin team up on Athelstane, with the red knight attacking him on horseback and Malvoisin standing by to complete the job the moment Athelstane was unhorsed. The Saxon now lay senseless, possibly dead, some few yards way. Now Malvoisin stood ready, waiting until Bois-Guilbert and de la Croix managed to unhorse him so that he could take his shot. John showed no intention of stopping the contest until he was stretched out full length upon the field.

It was at that point that the black knight chose to make his move. He spurred his horse and rode up alongside de la Croix, smashing the red knight in the side with his mace. The red knight tumbled to the ground, stunned by both the fall and the blow. The black knight then dismounted and advanced on Malvoisin. They met mace to mace and it took but a moment for the black knight to bludgeon Malvoisin into oblivion, using his advantage of size and strength to slam away at his adversary until Malvoisin dropped like a stone. That done, the black knight turned to de la Croix, but seeing Marcel dragging the red knight away, he took his own horse by the reins and led it from the field of battle to the cheers of the Saxons, who seemed to have forgotten his failure to help Athelstane.

Lucas was left to battle Bois-Guilbert. "Die, Saxon pig!" screamed the Templar, hacking away at Lucas with all his might. He was becoming increasingly frustrated. The white knight had parried most of his blows, but some had gotten through and Bois-Guilbert simply couldn't understand why he had failed to draw blood. Whereas all around them lay knights who had been smashed and dented, leaving the impression that they had been dropped from some great height, the white knight's armor showed not a single mark of serious damage. It was infuriating.

Lucas, meanwhile, was beginning to grow tired. As the previous day's champion, he had had his work cut out for him, becoming the mark for every knight on the opposing side. While others had been able to pace themselves to some extent, he was constantly beset and not given even one moment's pause. His superior armor enabled him to survive unscathed, but he was still susceptible to the effects of all the pounding and he was exhausted. The timely intervention of the black knight had given him an opportunity to end it and he had every intention of taking advantage of it. He had only one shot, but one shot was all he needed. The Templar was obviously in a fine sweat from his exertions and that would serve very nicely. He waited for an opening and when Bois-Guilbert left him one, he gave him a casual swat with his sword. At the same time, he triggered the capacitor that discharged 25,000 volts at half an ampere through the blade and into the Templar's body.

The Templar spasmed and his horse broke wind prodigiously. Lucas took advantage of the moment to bash him once again, although it was more for the sake of appearances than anything else. Bois-Guilbert never even felt it. He tumbled from his horse, unconscious. Prince John threw down his truncheon in disgust.

Lucas, like the fused capacitor he ejected from his sword hilt, was completely drained. He wished he could have given Bois-Guilbert a lethal dose of electricity, but he was glad to settle for a TKO. He still had a part to play. Frying Bois-Guilbert would never do. What had happened had to appear to be the result of a sword strike, not a lightning strike. Just the same, he was thankful for the equipment designed to increase the odds of his survival. It was easy for a soldier from 2613 to succumb to the temptation to feel superior to a fighting man of the Middle Ages, since even the smallest modern man would be on a par at least with the largest knights. However, that did not take into account the fact that these were men who were accustomed to a harsher way of life, to more primitive conditions and, needless to say, to moving about in heavy suits of armor. These men were far from being weaklings. Lucas had taken quite a beating during the melee and much of it had come from Bois-Guilbert.

He was brought before Prince John, who was ill disposed to name him champion. The fact that Lucas had laid out John's best knights, not to mention doing so in Richard's name, did not endear him to the prince. John insisted that the white knight would not have defeated Bois-Guilbert had not the black knight ridden to his rescue. The black knight, therefore, deserved the honors. However, when the call was put forth for him, the black knight could not be found. John had him summoned three times and when he did not appear, he grudgingly acknowledged Lucas as the champion, at which point a great cheer went up from the stands.

"Come, Fitzurse, let's away from here," John grumbled. "This day has soured my stomach."

"How, Sire, have you not accomplished your purpose this day?" Fitzurse said. "The people seem well pleased. They have seen a good day's entertainment, the champion is one to their liking and if a Jewess was initially selected as the queen of this tournament, at least the mistake was rectified and the Saxon girl, Rowena, installed in the office. All in all, a good day for the Saxons, one which they'll remember. It will make the new tax perhaps a bit more palatable."

"True enough," said John, somewhat mollified. "Still, I dislike these tournaments. They are a waste of manpower. This one has cost me Front-de-Boeuf."

"True again, Sire," said Fitzurse, "but this, too, can be turned to your advantage. The fief of Ivanhoe, which you had reassigned to Front-de-Boeuf, is now once again available to be assigned to a deserving knight. Might I suggest Maurice De Bracy? He and his Free Companions would serve you better if his interests were aligned with yours."

John smiled. "You are worth your weight in gold to me, Fitzurse. An excellent suggestion. I feel much better now. Well, then, since this nameless knight has opened up the way for me to award a fiefdom to De Bracy, thereby strengthening our bond, it would be well to honor him at Ashby. See to it that he comes. I am curious to see his face. Oh, and see to it that those Saxon churls, Cedric and Athelstane, attend as well, since they seem to love him. Perhaps we'll have some sport with them, and at the same time enjoy the fair Rowena's company."

Lucas accepted Prince John's invitation. It would have been inadvisable to turn him down. He was tired and sore, but he had already missed one royal banquet; to miss this one would constitute an insult to the prince. Besides, it was a good time to establish himself in his new identity. The Castle of Ashby was the domain of Roger de Quincy, the Earl of Winchester. While de Quincy was crusading, John had taken Ashby over for his own purposes. When the absent crusaders returned to their possessions, they would find them confiscated by the king's brother, who had strengthened his own position considerably. It would be interesting to see what effect his arrival at the banquet would have.

He had known that Ivanhoe's lands had been granted to Front-de-Boeuf. Now John obviously intended to turn the fiefdom over to another of his toadies. What would he do when Ivanhoe showed up to claim his own? More to the point, what was Ivanhoe supposed to do? Lucas realized that his own position was becoming somewhat precarious. Ashby was the key. Whatever happened next, he was certain that it would occur at Ashby.

Hooker was not in sight as he approached his tent. With any luck, thought Lucas, he's gone to get something to eat. He was starved. Tired and hungry, Lucas entered the pavilion.

Hooker was lying face down on the ground. The black knight sat helmetless upon the wooden cot. He smiled.

"King takes pawn, Mr. Priest," he said. "It's your move."

As Lucas clawed for his sword, the black knight chuckled and disappeared into thin air.

Lucas was bending over to examine Hooker's body when he heard the sound of someone entering the pavilion, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Cursing himself for being caught off guard, he spun around, expecting to be attacked. Instead, he saw Finn Delaney and Bobby Johnson. And Corporal Hooker.

"Hooker!"

It was Hooker who had gasped. He stood looking down at his own dead body with a glassy-eyed stare. He had been garroted with a monofilament wire that had cut very deeply into his throat.

"Christ," whispered Delaney.

After the initial shock had worn off, Lucas understood. Somehow, something had gone wrong up ahead. Irving had discovered who they were. Maybe he had known from the very beginning, wherever in time the beginning was. Now he was playing with them and it was a grisly game. Somewhere in the not too distant future, Irving had killed Hooker and he had brought his body back into the past-their present-to tease them with the knowledge that he knew and that they were doomed to certain failure.

Hooker doubled over and clutched his stomach. He vomited. Delaney grabbed him, holding him and steadying him until the shaking and the heaves abated.

"Well, I guess that tears it," Bobby said, as soon as Lucas told him what had happened. "We've lost before we even had a chance to get started."

"Maybe," Delaney said. "And then again, maybe not."

"You mean maybe that's not me lying there?" said Hooker. He was trying not to look at the dead body, but his eyes kept straying back to it, as though the corpse exerted some sort of magnetism upon him. He was badly shaken and Lucas could hardly blame him. He could not imagine what his own reaction would be if he were confronted with his own corpse.

"Oh, that's you, all right," said Finn. "And I'll admit that you don't look too healthy, but that's not necessarily the way it's got to be."

"Are you telling me," said Hooker, "that that's not real?" He pointed to the body.

"It's real," said Finn. "It's a real possibility. Or, to put it another way, it's a potential reality."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm standing here and looking at the way I'm going to die!"

Hooker was on the edge of total hysteria. He was just barely keeping himself under control. Delaney took him by the shoulders and sat him down.

"All right. Take it easy. Take a couple of deep breaths. I mean now, boy, do it! Come on."

Hooker inhaled and exhaled heavily several times while Delaney stood over him.

"That's right, don't be afraid to look at it," Finn said. "Don't let it rattle you. He wants you to be rattled. That's why he did it."

"But I'm going to-"

"Don't talk, just keep taking those deep breaths. Again. Again."

After a few more breaths, Hooker relaxed a bit and nodded.

"You all right now?" Lucas said.

Hooker managed a very weak smile. "I'm not all right," he said, "but I think I can handle it."

"There's only one way we're ever going to make it through this thing," Delaney said, "and that's to act as though nothing is real as far as the future is concerned. Nothing. And that includes that." He jerked his head toward Hooker's corpse.

"Sure looks real enough to me," said Bobby.

"Yeah, and it was real," said Delaney. "It was real when it died. But the minute our friend Goldblum clocked back with it, it ceased to be real and it became only potentially real." He glanced at Hooker. "Maybe you're going to buy it this way, kid. And then again, maybe you won't. Because by bringing this corpse back here, Irving has created a time paradox. What's more, he knows it. Think about this, now. He can't possibly know everything. He can't possibly have this whole mission knocked, because if he did, then why are we standing here and talking about it right now? If he knew it all, he could take care of us at any time."

"Well, suppose he can," said Bobby. "He just might be playing with us. With that damn chronoplate in his possession, he can damn well do anything he wants to. He can take us out any time he wants to."

"So why doesn't he?" said Finn. "Why hasn't he?"

"Maybe he will," Bobby said. "Shit, maybe he already has. Maybe he's going back into the past even as we're standing here. Maybe he's going to arrive at some point prior to right now and do us in."

"Then what will happen to us?" Hooker said. "If he pops back in an hour ago and kills us, what will happen to us now? How could we even be here now if he killed us in the past?"

"Hold it right there," said Finn. "Don't start getting bent all out of shape. That's exactly what he wants. Let's talk theory for a moment. Here's how we stand right now: assuming Irving travels back into the past, our past relative to where we are right this very moment, then he might succeed in killing us. If he does that, then the timeline will have been disrupted and there will be a skip in it. There had to be a past for us not to be killed in, otherwise we wouldn't be standing here right now. In the same manner, there has to be a potential future in which Irving can come back to this time to mess things up. From the perspective of the future that we came from, history has not been changed. At least, it hadn't been changed up to the moment that we departed for this time period. We've got to preserve the status quo from which we came. As it stands right now, the timeline from here on is in potential flux. Irving has confronted us with a potential future in which Hooker has been killed. We know that there is no absolute future. There is only an infinite number of possible futures. There has to be a potential future in which Hooker did not know that he was going to die. We have been confronted with that very real possibility. By confronting us with it, Irving has managed to rattle us, which is precisely what he intended. He has also managed to warn us."

"You mean it might still happen," Hooker said.

"It might," said Finn. "What we don't know is this: when this Hooker died," he indicated the corpse, "he might not have known that he was going to die. Meaning, this Hooker might not ever have had the opportunity to see his own corpse."

"On the other hand, maybe he did," said Hooker. "Maybe I did."

"That's right," said Finn. "But we don't know for sure. So you've got a choice to make right now, son. You can either resign yourself to this fate," he pointed at the nearly severed head of the corpse, "or you can determine that you're going to do everything in your power to prevent this from ever happening. And that means you're going to have to watch your back."

Hooker took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. "Yeah," he said. "But when?"

"I don't have all the answers, Corporal."

"Thanks."

"Sarge," he said to Bobby, "why don't you take the boy outside and let him walk around a bit? He doesn't look too steady. Go on, get him out of here."

"Come on, Hooker," Bobby said. "Let's go out and get some air. It's getting a little close in here."

He led Hooker out of the pavilion. Finn stood at the entrance, watching them.

"They can't hear us now, can they?" Lucas said, softly.

Finn turned around and shook his head.

"You know what I'm about to say, don't you?" Lucas said.

"You mean about the paradox?" said Finn.

"What paradox?"

Finn nodded, glumly.

"That corpse doesn't represent a paradox," said Lucas. "At least, not yet. You smoked the kid, Finn."

"I had to. I had no choice. Surely you can see that."

Lucas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Jesus. What a mess. You know, something sounded wrong while you were talking to him, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I'm still not sure I can follow it through completely, but then I'm just a simple dog soldier. So are you, for that matter. Or are you? You seem pretty well versed in temporal mechanics, even for a veteran with your experience."

"I'm not a mission plant, if that's what you're getting at," said Finn. "What you see is what you get. I'm a lifer, son. I've served a lot of time. I've gone up and down in rank like a yo-yo, mainly because I don't always play it by the rules, but…"

"But?"

"Yes, well, there is a 'but,' Sergeant Major. I volunteered for the Corps. I didn't really have to. I finished in the top three percent of the Service Aptitude batteries. I chose the army anyway and I put in my time."

"Which qualified you for Referee Corps School," said Lucas.

Finn nodded. "I got halfway through before I washed out," he said. "I couldn't handle Econo-political Management and Arbitration. Way over my head. Well, maybe not over my head, but beyond my inclination. I did get through Temporal Physics and Trans-historical Adjustment and Maintenance, though."

"Which should have qualified you for the observers."

"It did," said Finn, nodding. "Only I didn't want it. You may think I'm crazy, but I missed this. Observing's not the same as participating, even though it pays better."

Lucas nodded. "I understand. I can't say I would have done the same thing in your position, but that's beside the point. The point is, you bluffed him. You made him think that we can still do something to get through this thing alive. Only we can't, can we?"

"Not necessarily," said Finn. "We still have a chance. We do. Hooker, I'm afraid, has no chance at all."

"I don't quite follow."

"Okay, I'll make it quick, they might come back at any minute. Time is fluid. The only thing that isn't is our subjective relationship to time. Time is like a river in that respect. Now you can take a boulder, let's say, and drop it in that river. It will create some eddies, but those eddies will have dissipated say, two hundred yards downstream. In order to significantly change the course of the river, or split the timeline, you're going to have to introduce a much more significant factor. Say, divert the river at one point and split it.

Now think of yourself as a molecule of water. Your relationship to that river is totally subjective, depending upon where you are in relation to its flow. If you move with the water to a point beyond which the river has been diverted, before it has been diverted, then that won't affect you. However, if I was to draw a cupful of water from that river, containing your little molecule, and pour you back in at a point upstream of the diversion, then that diversion could affect you."

"So we can't be attacked in our absolute past," said Lucas. "Irving can't kill me yesterday and expect that action to destroy me here today."

"That's right," said Finn. "You can't shoot five feet behind a clay pigeon and expect it to burst. What's happened to us has already happened. That's an absolute. Regardless of what Irving does in the past, it won't affect us right here right now. It will affect the past at a point at which the timeline will be split. From that point on, the future will be an entirely different scenario, depending upon when the timelines eventually rejoin. Irving can only kill us in a parallel timeline if he tries to attack us in our past. The point is, our job is to keep him from creating that parallel timeline. If he does succeed in causing the split, the future will be affected. And there's the danger. That game of Russian roulette the ref was talking about. His fate is sealed in that respect. If we succeed in stopping Irving, assuming that the real Richard Plantagenet is still alive and we can find him, then we have the possibility of our being able to clock back in to Plus Time with Irving, leaving the real Richard to sit on the throne. In that case, he'll have to be conditioned to forget all about Irving's intervention in his life. Not a problem. But then we'll have to clock back in at a point just beyond Irving's having gone back, so as not to create a paradox regarding our own experience. We will have restored the status quo of our own history. However, the possibility of that is almost nonexistent. I'll bet my life on the fact that Irving has killed the real Richard, in order to improve the odds of his success. In that case, we've got to kill Irving and let our ref become Richard, acting in a manner that will preserve our timeline. He will have to die, as Richard, in order to avoid a paradox."

"So where does that leave Hooker?" Lucas said.

"Hooker's finished," Delaney said. "We've still got a chance, because at this point, Irving has not confronted us with our own fates. Yet. He knows about Hooker. He knows about you. He may or may not know about me and Johnson. But the fact that we have been confronted with Hooker's corpse means that Hooker must die, because if he survives beyond the point at which Irving has killed him, assuming that it is Irving who's done it, then that will mean that he never died to be clocked back to right now. He will never have seen his own dead body. And that will change his experience. That will constitute a paradox and we, then, will have split the timeline. We have to make sure that Hooker is garroted."

"But we don't know when that's supposed to happen," Lucas said.

"That's right, we don't. With any luck, we won't be able to prevent it."

"You call that luck?"

"Compared to the alternative, yes."

"What alternative?"

"Well, there is the possibility that in order to avoid the paradox, we're going to have to kill him ourselves. And in that case, which one of us is going to volunteer?"