The High Crusade

Chapter X

At last it came time for the conference. Since most of his important followers were occupied with the study of enemy materials, Sir Roger made out a full score for his party by taking their ladies along in their finest clothes. Otherwise only a few unarmed troopers, in borrowed court panoply, accompanied him and me.

As they rode across the field toward that pergola-like structure which a Wersgor machine had erected in an hour between the two camps, of some shimmering pearly material, Sir Roger said to his wife: “I would not take you into peril like this if I had any choice. ’Tis only that we must impress them with our power and wealth.”

Her face remained stony, turned from him toward the vast, sinister columns of grounded ships. “I will be no more endangered there, my lord, than are my children back in the pavilion.”

“God’s name!” he groaned. “I was wrong. I should have left that cursed vessel alone and sent word to the King. But will you hold my mistake against me all our lives?”

“They will not be long lives, thanks to your mistake,” she said.

He bridled. “You swore at the wedding—”

“Oh, yes. Have I not kept my oath? I have refused you no obedience.” Her cheeks flamed. “But God alone may command my feelings.”

“I won’t trouble you any more,” he said thickly.

This I did not hear myself. They rode ahead of us all, the wind tossing their scarlet cloaks, his plumed bonnet and the veils on her conical headdress, like a picture of the perfect knight and his love. But I set it down here, conjecturally, in light of the evil luck which followed.

Being of gentle blood, Lady Catherine controlled her manner. When we drew up at the meeting place, her delicate features showed only a cold scorn, directed at the common foe. She took Sir Roger’s hand and dismounted cat-graceful. He led the way more clumsily, with stormy brows.

Inside the curtained pergola was a round table, encircled by a kind of cushioned pew. The Wersgor chiefs filled one half, their snouted blue faces unreadable to us but their eyes flickering nervously. They wore metal-mesh tunics with bronze insignia of rank. In silk and vair, golden chains, ostrich plumes, cordovan hose, slashed and puffed sleeves, curl-toed shoes, the English showed like peacocks in a hen yard. I could see that the aliens were taken aback. The contrasting plainness of my friar’s habit jarred them all the worse.

I folded my hands, standing, and said in the Wersgor tongue, “For the success of this parley, as well as to seal the truce, let me offer a Paternoster.”

“A what?” asked the chief of the foe. He was somewhat fat, but dignified and with a strong visage.

“Silence, please.” I would have explained, but their abominable language did not seem to have any word for prayer; I had asked Brarnthar. “Pater noster, qui est in coelis,” I began, while the other English knelt with me.

I heard one of the Wersgorix mutter: “See, I told you they are barbarians. It’s some superstitious ritual.”

“I’m not so sure,” answered the chief dubiously. “The Jairs of Boda, now, have certain formulas for psychological integration. I’ve seen them temporarily double their strength, or stop a wound from bleeding, or go days without sleep. Control of inner organs via the nervous system… And in spite of all our own propaganda against them, you know the Jairs are as scientific as we.”

I heard these clandestine exchanges readily enough, yet they did not seem aware of my awareness. I remembered now that Branithar had seemed a little deaf, too. Evidently all Wersgorix had ears less acute than men. This, I learned subsequently, was because their home planet had denser air than Terra, which made them wont to hear sounds more loudly. Here on Tharixan, with air about like England, they must raise their voices to be heard. At the time, I accepted God’s gift thankfully, without stopping to wonder why nor to warn the foe.

“Amen,” I finished. We all sat down at the table.

Sir Roger stabbed the chief with bleak gray eyes. “Am I dealing with a person of suitable rank?” he asked.

I translated. “What does he mean by ‘rank’?” the head Wersgor wondered. “I am the governor of this planet, and these are the primary officers of its security forces.”

“He means,” I said, “are you sufficiently well-born that he will not demean himself by treating with you?”

They looked still more bewildered. I explained the concept of gentle birth as well as I could: which, with my limited vocabulary, was not well at all. We must thresh it over for quite some time before one of the aliens said to his lord:

“I believe I understand, Grath Huruga. If they know more than we do about the art of breeding for certain traits—” I must interpret many words new to me from context — “then they may have applied it to themselves. Perhaps their entire civilization is organized as a military force, with these carefully bred super-beings in command.” He shuddered at the thought. “Of course, they wouldn’t waste time talking to any creature of less intelligence.”

Another officer exclaimed, “No, that’s fantastic! In all our explorations, we’ve never found—”

“We have touched only the smallest fragment of the Via Galactica so far,” Lord Huruga answered. “We dare not assume they are less than they claim to be, until we have more information.”

I, who had sat listening to what they believed were whispers, favored them with my most enigmatic smile.

The governor said to me: “Our empire has no fixed ranks, but stations each person according to merit. I, Huruga, am the highest authority on Tharixan.”

“Then I can treat with you until word has reached your emperor,” said Sir Roger through me.

I had trouble with the word “emperor.” Actually, the Wersgor domain was like nothing at home. Most wealthy, important persons dwelt on their vast estates with a retinue of blueface hirelings. They communicated on the far-speaker and visited in swift aircraft or spaceships. Then there were the other classes I have mentioned elsewhere, such as warriors, merchants, and politicians. But no one was born to his place in life. Under the law, all were equal, all free to strive as best they might for money or position. Indeed, they had even abandoned the idea of families. Each Wersgor lacked a surname, being identified by a number instead in a central registry. Male and female seldom lived together more than a few years. Children were sent at an early age to schools, where they dwelt until mature, for their parents oftener thought them an encumbrance than a blessing.

Yet this realm, in theory a republic of freemen, was in practice a worse tyranny than mankind has known, even in Nero’s infamous day.

The Wersgorix had no special affection for their birthplace; they acknowledged no immediate ties of kinship or duty. As a result, each individual had no one to stand between him and the all-powerful central government. In England, when King John grew overweening, he clashed both with ancient law and with vested local interests; so the barons curbed him and thereby wrote another word or two of liberty for all Englishmen. The Wersgor were a lickspittle race, unable to protest any arbitrary decree of a superior. “Promotion according to merit” meant only “promotion according to one’s usefulness to the imperial ministers.”

But I digress, a bad habit for which my archbishop has often been forced to reprove me. I return, then, to that day in the place of nacre, when Huruga turned his terrible eyes on us and said: “It appears there are two varieties of you. Two species?”

“No,” said one of his officers. “Two sexes, I’m sure. They are clearly mammals.”

“Ah, yes.” Huruga stared at the gowns across the table, cut low in shameless modern modes. “So I see.”

When I had rendered this for Sir Roger, he said, “Tell them, in case they are curious, that our womenfolk wield swords side by side with men.”

“Ah.” Huruga pounced on me. “That word sword. Do you mean a cutting weapon?”

I had no time to ask my master’s advice. I prayed inwardly for steadiness and answered, “Yes. You have observed them on our persons in camp. We find them the best tool for hand-to-hand combat. Ask any survivor of the Ganturath garrison.”

“Mmm… yes.” One of the Wersgorix looked grim. “We have neglected the tactics of infighting for centuries, Grath Huruga. There seemed no need for them. But I do remember one of our unofficial border clashes with the Jairs. It was out on Uloz IV, and they used long knives to wicked effect.”

“For special purposes … yes, yes.” Huruga scowled. “However, the fact remains that these invaders prance around on live animals—”

“Which need not be fueled, Grath, save by vegetation.”

’But which could not endure a heat beam or a pellet. They wave weapons out of the prehistoric past. They come not in their own ships, but in one of ours—” He broke off his murmur and barked at me:

“See here! I’ve delayed long enough. Yield to our judgment, or we shall destroy you.”

I interpreted. “The force screen protects us from your flame weapons,” said Sir Roger. “If you wish to attack on foot, we shall make you welcome.”

Huruga turned purple. “Do you imagine a force screen will stop an explosive shell?” he roared. “Why, we could lob just one, let it burst inside your screen, and wipe out every last creature of you!”

Sir Roger was less taken aback than I. “We’ve already heard rumors of such bursting weapons,” he said to me. “Of course, he’s trying to frighten us with the talk of a single shot being enough. No ship could lift so great a mass of gunpowder. Does he take me for a yokel who’ll believe any tinker’s yarn? However, I grant he could fire many explosive barrels into our camp.”

“So what shall I tell him?” I asked fearfully.

The baron’s eyes gleamed. “Render this very exactly, Brother Parvus: ‘We are holding back our own artillery of this sort because we wish to talk with you, not merely kill you. If you insist on bombarding us, though, please commence. Our defenses will thwart you. Remember, however, that we are not going to keep our Wersgor prisoners inside those defenses!’ ”

I saw that this threat shook them. Even these hard hearts would not willingly kill some hundreds of their own people. Not that the hostages we held would stop them forever; but it was a bargaining point, which might gain us time. I wondered how we could possibly use that time, though, save to prepare our souls for death.

“Well, now,” huffed Huruga, “I didn’t imply I was not ready to hear you out. You have not yet told us why you have come in this unseemly, unprovoked manner.”

“It was you who attacked us first, who had never harmed you,” answered Sir Roger. “In England we give no dog more than one bite. My king dispatched me to teach you a lesson.”

Huruga: “In one ship? Not even your own ship?”

Sir Roger: “I do not believe in bringing more than is necessary.”

Huruga: “For the sake of argument, what are your demands?”

Sir Roger: “Your empire must make submission to my most puissant lord of England, Ireland, Wales, and France.”

Huruga: “Let us be serious, now.”

Sir Roger: “I am serious to the point of solemnity. But in order to spare further bloodshed, I’ll meet any champion you name, with any weapons, to settle the issue by single combat. And may God defend the right!”

Huruga: “Are you all escaped from some mental hospital?”

Sir Roger: “Consider our position. We’ve suddenly discovered you, a heathen power, with arts and arms akin to ours though inferior. You could do a certain amount of harm to us, harassing our shipping or raiding our less firmly held planets. This would necessitate your extermination, and we’re too merciful to enjoy that. The only sensible thing is to accept your homage.’

Huruga: “And you honestly expect to — A hatful of beings, mounted on animals and swinging swords — bub-bub-bub-bub—”

He went into colloquy with his officers. “This confounded translation problem!” he complained. “I’m never sure if I’ve understood them aright. They could be a punitive expedition, I suppose. For reasons of military secrecy, they could have used one of our own ships and kept their most potent weapons in reserve. It doesn’t make sense. But neither does it make sense that barbarians would blandly tell the most powerful realm in the known universe to surrender its autonomy. Unless it’s mere bluster. But we may be completely misunderstanding their demands … and thereby misjudging them, perhaps to our own serious loss. Hasn’t anyone got any ideas?”

Meanwhile I said to Sir Roger, “You aren’t serious about this, my lord?”

Lady Catherine could not resist saying: “He would be.”

“Nay.” The baron shook his head. “Of course not. What would King Edward do with a lot of unruly bluefaces? The Irish are bad enough. Nay, I hope only to let myself be bargained down. If we can wring from them some guarantee to let Terra alone — and perhaps a few coffers of gold for ourselves—”

“And guidance home,” I said gloomily.

“That’s a riddle we must think on later,” he snapped. “No time now. Certainly we dare not admit to the enemy that we’re waifs.”

Huruga turned back to us. “You must realize your demand is preposterous,” he said. “However, if you can demonstrate that your realm is worth the trouble, our emperor will be glad to receive an ambassador from it.’

Sir Roger yawned and said languidly, through me:

“Spare your insults. My monarch will receive your emissary, perhaps, if that person adopts the true Faith.”

“What is this Faith?” asked Huruga, for again I must use an English word.

“The true belief, of course,” I said. “The facts about Him who is the source of all wisdom and righteousness, and to whom we humbly pray for guidance.”

“What’s he babbling about now, Crath?” muttered an officer.

“I don’t know,” Huruga whispered back. “Perhaps these, uh, English maintain some kind of giant computing engine to which they submit the important questions for decision… I don’t know. Confounded translation problem! Best we delay awhile. Watch them, their behavior; mull over what we’ve heard.”

“And dispatch a message to Wersgorixan?”

“No, you fool! Not yet, not till we know more. Do you want the main office to think we can’t handle our own problems? If these really are mere barbarian pirates, can you imagine what would happen to all our careers if we called in the whole navy?

Huruga turned to me and said aloud: “We have ample time for discussion. Let us adjourn until tomorrow, and think well in the meantime on every implication.”

Sir Roger was glad of that. “Let’s make certain of the truce terms, though,” he added.

I was getting more facility in the Wersgor language with every hour, so I was soon able to elucidate that their concept of a truce was not ours. Their insatiable hunger for land made them the enemy of all other races, so they could not imagine a binding oath exchanged with anyone not blue and tailed.

The armistice was no formal agreement at all, but a statement of temporary mutual convenience. They declared that they did not at present find it expedient to fire on us, even when we grazed our kine beyond the force screen. This condition would prevail as long as we refrained from attacking any of them who moved about in the open. For fear of espionage and missile dropping, neither side wished the other to fly within view of the camps, and would shoot at any vessel which lifted. That was all. They would surely violate this if they decided it was to their interest; they would work us harm if they saw any method of doing so; and they expected us to feel likewise.

“They have the better of it, sire,” I mourned. “All our flying craft are here. Now we can’t even jump into our spaceships and flee; they’d pounce ere we could elude pursuit. Whereas they have many other ships, elsewhere on the planet, which may hover freely beyond the horizon and be ready to assail us when the time comes.”

“Nevertheless,” said Sir Roger, “I perceive certain advantages. This business of neither giving nor expecting pledges — aye—”

“It suits you,” murmured Lady Catherine.

He whitened, leaped to his feet, bowed at Huruga, and led us out.