The High Crusade

Chapter XX

Sir Roger had established himself on the planet we named New Avalon. Our folk needed a rest, and he needed time to settle many questions of securing that vast kingdom which had already fallen to him. He was furthermore in secret negotiation with the Wersgor governor of an entire star cluster. This person seemed willing to yield up all he controlled, could we give him suitable bribes and guarantees. The haggling went slowly, but Sir Roger felt confident of its outcome.

“They know so little about the detection and use of traitors out here,” he remarked to me, “that I can buy this fellow for less than an Italian city. Our allies never attempted this, for they imagined that the Wersgor nation must be as solid as their own. Yet isn’t it logic, that so great a sprawl of estates, separated by days and weeks of travel, must in many ways resemble a European country? Though even more corruptible—”

“Since they lack the true Faith,” I said.

“Hm, well, yes, no doubt. Though I’ve never found Christians who refused a bribe on religious grounds. I was thinking that the Wersgor type of government commands no fealty.”

At any rate, we had a little while of peace, camped in a dale beneath dizzyingly tall cliffs. A waterfall rushed arrow-straight into a lake more clear than glass, ringed with trees. Even our sprawling, brawling English camp could not hurt so much beauty.

I had settled down outside my own little tent, at ease in a rustic chair. My hard studies laid aside for a moment, I indulged myself with a book from home, a relaxing chronicle of the miracles of St. Cosmas. As if from far off, I heard the crackle of fire-gun practice, the zap of archery, the cheerful clatter of quarterstaff play. I was almost asleep, when feet thudded to a halt beside me.

Startled, I blinked upward at the terrified face of a baronial esquire. “Brother Parvus!” he said. “In God’s name, come at once!”

“Ugh, uh, whoof?” I said in my drowsiness.

“Exactly,” he groaned.

I gathered my cassock and trotted at his heels. Sunlight and blossoming bowers and birdsong overhead were suddenly remote. I knew only the leap of my heart and the realization of how few and weak and far from home we were. “What’s awry?”

“I know not,” said the esquire. “A message came on the far-speaker, relayed from space by one of our patrol ships. Sir Owain Montbelle desired private talk with my lord. I know not what was spoken on the narrow beam. But Sir Roger came staggering out like a blind man and roared for you. Oh, Brother Parvus, it was horrible to see!”

I thought that I should pray for us all, doomed if the baron’s strength and cunning could no longer uphold us. But I was at once too full of pity for him alone. He had borne too much, too long, with never a soul to share the burden. All brave saints, I thought, stand by him now.

Red John Hameward mounted guard outside the portable Jair shelter. He had spied his master’s strickenness, and dashed thither from the target range. With strung bow, he bellowed at the crowd that miffed and muttered: “Get you back! Back to your places! Cod’s death, I’ll put this arrow through the first by your — lady sod to pester my lord, and break the by — our lady neck o’ the next! Go, I say!”

I brushed the giant aside and entered. It was hot within the shelter. Sunlight filtered through its translucency had a thick color. Mostly it was furnished with homely things. leather, tapestry, armor. But one shelf held instruments of alien manufacture, and a large farspeaker set was placed on the floor.

Sir Roger slumped in a chair before this, chin on breast, his big hands hanging limp. I stole up behind him and laid my own hand on his shoulder. “What is the matter, sire?” I asked, as softly as might be.

He hardly moved. “Go away,” he said.

“You called for me.”

“I knew not what I was doing. This is between myself and — Go away.”

His voice was flat, but it took my whole small stock of courage to walk around in front of him and say, “I presume your receiver inscribed the message as usual?”

“Aye. No doubt. I’d best wipe out that record.”

His gray gaze lifted toward me. I remembered a wolf I had once seen trapped, when the townsfolk closed in to make an end of it. “I don’t want to harm you, Brother Parvus,” he said.

“Then don’t,” I answered brusquely, and stooped to turn on the playback.

He gathered his powers, in great weariness. “If you see that message,” he warned, “I must kill you for my honor.”

I thought back to my boyhood. There had been various short, pungent, purely English words in common use. I selected one and pronounced it. From the corner of an eye, as I squatted by the dials, I saw his jaw fall. He sank back into his chair. I pronounced another English word for good measure.

“Your honor lies in the well-being of your people,” I added. “You’re not fit to judge anything which can so shake you as this. Sit down and let me hear it.”

He huddled into himself. I turned a switch. Sir Owarn’s face leaped into the screen. I saw that be was also gaunt, the handsomeness less evident, the eyes thy and burning. He spoke in formal, courteous wise, but could not hide his exultation.

I cannot remember his exact words. Nor do they matter. He told his lord what had happened. He was now in space, with the stolen ship. He had approached close to New Avalon to beam this call but taken to his heels again immediately it was spoken. There was no hope of finding him in that vastness. If we yielded, he said, he would arrange the transportation home of our folk, and Branithar assured him the Wersgor emperor would promise to keep hands off Terra. If we did not yield, the recreant would go to Wersgorixan and reveal the truth about us. Then, if necessary, the foe could recruit enough French or Saracen mercenaries to destroy us; but probably the demoralization of our allies, as they learned our weakness, would suffice to bring them to terms. In either case, Sir Roger would never see his wife and children again.

Lady Catherine entered the screen. I recall her words. But I do not choose to write them down. When the record was ended~ I wiped it out myself.

We were silent awhile, my lord and I.

At last: “Well,” he said, like an old man.

I stared at my feet. “Montbelle said they would reenter communication range at a certain hour tomorrow, to bear your decision,” I mumbled. “’Twould be possible to send numerous . unmanned ships, loaded with explosive fused by a magnetic nose, along that far-speaker beam. Belike he could be destroyed.”

“You’ve already asked much of me, Brother Parvus,” said Sir Roger. Still his words had no life in them. “Ask me not to slay my lady and children unshriven.”

“Aye. Ah, could the vessel be captured? No,” I answered myself. “Twould be a practical impossibility. Any single shot which struck close enough to a little ship like that would more likely make dust of it than merely disable its engines. Or else the damage would be small, and he would at once flee faster than light.”

The baron raised his congealed face. “Whatever happens,” he said, “no one is to know my lady’s part in this. D’you understand? She’s not in her right mind. Some fiend has possessed her.”

I regarded him with a pity still greater than before. “You’re too brave to hide behind such foolishness,” I said.

“Well, what can I do?” he growled.

“You can fight on—”

“Hopelessly, once Montbelle has gone to Wersgorixan.”

“Or you can accept the terms offered.”

“Ha! How long d’ you think the blueskins would actually leave Terra in peace?”

“Sir Owain must have some reason to believe they will,” I said cautiously.

“He’s a fool.” Sir Roger’s fist smote the arm of the chair. He sat up straight, and the harshness of his voice was a lonely token of hopefulness to me. “Or else he’s a blacker Judas than he has even confessed, and hopes to become viceroy after the conquest. See you not, ’tis more than the wish for land which’ll force the Wersgorix to overrun our planet. ’Tis the fact that our race has proven itself mortally dangerous. As yet, men are helpless at home. But given a few centuries to prepare, men might well build their own spaceships and overwhelm the universe.”

“The Wersorix have suffered in this war,” I argued feebly. “They II need time to regain what they have lost, even if our allies surrender all occupied worlds. They might very likely find it expedient to leave Terra alone for a hundred years or so.”

“Till we’re safely dead?” Sir Roger nodded heavily. “Aye, there’s the great temptation. The real bribe. Yet would we not burn in hell, if we thus broke faith with unborn children?”

“It may be the best we can do for our race,” I said. “Whatever lies beyond our own power is in the charge of God.”

“But no, no, no.” He twisted his hands together. “I can’t. Better to die now like men… Yet Catherine—” After another stillness, I said, “It may not be too late to dissuade Sir Owain. No soul is irredeemably lost while this life remains. You could recall his honor, and point out to him how foolish it is to rely on Wersgor promises, and offer him forgiveness and great position—”

“And the use of my wife?” he jeered.

But in a moment: “It may be. I’d far prefer spill his evil brains. But perhaps … aye, perhaps a talk… I would even try to humble myself. Will you aid me, Brother Parvus? I must not curse him to his face. Will you strengthen my spirit?”