"If you wish. Very kind of you, m'—James," said Sir Giles, rapidly dressing. "Very good indeed, considering that I was merely born a selkie, whereas to understand magic, so I understand, takes great and terrible study. But if you wish, James"—he hastened to stop Jim, who was about to speak again—"so it shall be. And Brian, if my language was a little overrough just now when I was in the sea and you were above me—"
"Barked a couple of times," said Brian. "I heard nothing to be offended at."
"Good of you too, Brian," said Giles, completing his process of dressing. "Now, about the ship. It is really not badly aground at all, and it is not holed in the least."
"The shipmaster will be overjoyed to hear that," said Jim, "but—go on. What's the situation down there, then?"
"Why, we have simply run our bow up on one small spire of rock, as we might on a sandy shore," answered Giles. "It is an outward piece of a larger rock that goes down to the sea bottom; but we are not strongly fixed, for all that the ship seems solidly set. Still, a rising tide will not lift us off it, because of the way we are held. The only way we can get free is to back the ship up. But that can be done if we are men enough. If the shipmaster and his lads will give me a longer rope, I can swim out with it from the stem and tie it around another spur of rock not too far off and by using this apparatus they have on board for lifting weights and such—"
"Block-and-tackle," supplied Jim.
"No matter. Whatever the name. The sail will have to be lowered, for with the wind in this quarter it would work against our effort, pressing us farther on the rock. But if they will take it down and use the block-and-tackle to multiply their strength, and pull against the rope which is tied to the other rock, I am sure we can pull the ship loose."
"Then that we shall do," said Sir Brian decisively. "Let us be about it immediately."
The crew was moved from the bow of the boat to its stern. The sail was dropped; and a long, stout, hawserlike length of rope firmly attached to the stern, it having been explained to the shipmaster, who had returned to life on hearing that there was hope for his ship, what they intended to do. The three knights carried the other end of the rope far enough forward so that Giles could enter the sea once more and be turned into a seal again in privacy. The stout young knight once more disrobed.
"But how are you going to tie something like this to the other rock with no hands?" Jim asked him.
"I see no difficulty," answered Giles. "I will carry the end of the rope out in my teeth, beyond the farther rock; then around it, over it, and around that part of the rope which stretches from the ship, until I have made a knot, then simply pull the knot tight. It should slide up the other length of the rope; and fasten itself firmly to the anchoring rock. You will see," said Sir Giles, "there will be no trouble to it. It remains only for the seamen to put their backs in it and do their part of the work."
"Over you go, then," said Brian, for Giles was now once more unclothed. "We will wait for your return and see you dried and dressed after it. Then we will all return to the stern of the ship and give the shipmaster his orders."
It all went as Giles had explained. Jim had suggested, as they were returning, that they could help the crew pull on the loose end of the shorter, anchoring rope that was attached to the block-and-tackle, which was in turn attached to the cable Giles had tied around the other underwater rock. But this suggestion was brushed aside airily by Sir Brian.
"We are knights, and men of rank," said Sir Brian. "Were it necessary, we could help. But let them first bend their backs to it with a will. Surely they can do some such small thing as pulling a ship like this off a place as Giles had described."
Jim reserved his opinion, but let it go at that.
The seamen were already attaching a block-and-tackle and a shorter rope to the line. The block-and-tackle line they would be hauling on went around a sort of narrow drum, with a brake that could be operated by a foot-pedal by the most forward man on the line, to lock in position any gain on the hawser they might make. The shipmaster was busy questioning Sir Giles.
"And how exactly did you say the stem of the ship lies on the rock?" he was asking.
Giles described it in an almost kindly voice. It occurred to Jim that, living close to the sea as Giles had all his life, he had probably had something to do with ships and the men who sailed them before this.
"It is merely a speck of rock," he answered, "with a little trough in it, slanting upward; and it is in this trough that the stem of your vessel has pushed itself—but only by a matter of inches. The sides of the trough hold the keel in an upright position, but pinch it only on the end. Therefore the ship seems fixed. But it is barely so. A short pull backward will bring her off."
"Praise God and all saints!" said the shipmaster. "Do you hear that lads? A strong haul, but a short one. One good effort and we're afloat again! So, put your backs into it, if all is ready, and heave!"
Apparently all was ready, for the men spat on their hands, took up the rope, and all together moved back half a step, straining against the rope they held. The drum gave a half turn as the hawser straightened, lifting higher out of the water, so that it was closer to a straight line than the sagging curve it had held originally. Twice more they gained some distance on it this way. Still the ship itself had not moved. "On! On!" the shipmaster encouraged them. "Heave and haul, my lads!"
The men heaved and grunted. A few more inches were gained, but still the ship had not moved, and the line, stretching out until its farther end disappeared in the water, seemed as immovable as if it were a rigid rather than flexible thing.
"Perhaps we should beat them, and so get more effort from them," suggested Sir Brian thoughtfully.
"Perhaps we might," agreed Giles.
"No!" cried Jim; and the shipmaster turned to face the two knights, as if he would interpose his own broad body between the two of them and any attempt by them to reach the men.
"Nay, nay, messires," he said. "My lads do not lack for willingness. No offense, but you who are always on land have no idea of what it takes to move a ship this size even inches, were it caught only on the point of a needle. But we will do it!"
"We can do it, lads," he cried, turning to his sailors and snatching up the loose end of the rope or which they strained. "Come on, all together. With me, now—"
Hoarsely, he began to chant.
"No sea sarpent hath a Master …"
Six other voices roughly joined in with him, so that they chanted all together.
But ye sea-lads hath.
So ye sea-lads hold him fast there,
—Haul him in at last!
Heave and haul! Ye sea-lads all!
Heave, and haul him in!
Heave and haul! Ye brave lads all!
Bring ye sarpent in!
Nothing had happened during the earlier part of the chanting and heaving; but with the last line the boat gave a sharp jerk and shudder. It did not seem to have moved backward at all, however, but merely to have shaken itself in place. But the chant was infectious. Jim found himself snatching up a length of the line behind the shipmaster's thick body, and heaving with the rest, chanting with the rest. Then, behind him, Brian was heaving on the line, and then behind him, Giles.
The effort, the joined, musically-roaring male voices, bound them together and seemed to give them a strength they had not realized they had.
No sea sarpent hath a Master,
But ye sea-lads hath.
So ye sea-lads hold him fast there,
—Haul him in at last,
Heave and haul! Ye sea-lads all!
Heave and haul him in!
Heave and haul! Ye brave lads all!
Bring ye sarpent in!
Somewhere among all that sweat, and effort beyond effort, the ship suddenly shuddered and moved a little backward. A second later, it floated to the motion of the waves; and they all dropped the line exhaustedly, lapsing into silence.
"We are afloat!" cried the shipmaster. He
sank on both his knees. Joining his hands and raising his eyes toward heaven. His lips began to move as he prayed silently.
One by one, the sailors followed his example; and, looking around, Jim saw that both Brian and Giles were now also on their knees behind him.
Awkward, bemused, not really sure why he was doing it, Jim went down on his own knees, joined his hands, and stayed kneeling, although there was no prayer in him. Yet, somehow, he could not bring himself to simply go on standing.
After a while, the shipmaster rose; and they all rose. The master's voice was lifted and the men scurried about their duties.
A little over two hours later, the vessel was docked in Brest, and Jim, with Brian and Giles and certain of the seamen, went down the gangplank into the city.
Chapter Fourteen
The shipmaster had told them where to find the Inn of the Green Door and sent three sailors along to carry their belongings. It was pushing past midmorning here in Brest and it was warm. The sun beamed down out of a bright sky, and the heat did not improve the stench either of the harbor or of the streets through which they slogged.
The streets of medieval cities, Jim thought, had taken some getting used to, on his part and Angie's. On second thought, he was not used to them yet. His thoughts went off on a tangent.
The sailors carrying their possessions behind them were all very well; but they would be leaving once those possessions had been delivered to a room at the Inn of the Green Door. Jim found himself wishing that his new squire Theoluf was with him; but that had been impossible.
Both his men and Sir Brian's, in a single group, had had to wait for a later and bigger ship. Meanwhile, someone had to take command of them; and in this world, the command was always given to the person with the highest social rank. Or, if there were two of equal rank, the one with the greatest seniority.
Unfortunately, the only one they could leave behind with any rank at all was Brian's squire, John Chester. When Jim had first understood this, he had felt definitely uneasy at the thought of that innocent-eyed sixteen-year-old being in sole command of eighty-three men-at-arms, all older than he, some in their late thirties, with years of experience in warfare and savage living behind them.
His protesting would have done no good; and in any case there was no one else to take over if he, Brian, and Giles were to travel by themselves, as Sir John Chandos wanted. It was the only way for them to be as inconspicuous as possible. He had been tempted to protest John Chester's appointment. But nearly a year of living here had taught him that there were many things he simply had to accept.
John Chester was a gentleman. A very young and inexperienced gentleman, but a gentleman nonetheless. It was not right that he should be put under the command of a common man-at-arms, no matter how experienced the commoner was. Ergo, John Chester would have to learn to command, whether he was capable of it or not. Jim had mentally chewed his nails over the situation, until he had seen Brian talking urgently with his own chief man-at-arms in a low voice, at some distance from everybody else in the common room of the inn back at Hastings.
Suddenly understanding how these things might be worked, he looked around for Theoluf; and, not seeing him, went up to the room he shared with Giles and Sir Brian. The former man-at-arms was there. Theoluf got to his feet as Jim entered.
"Theoluf," said Jim, "I take it you're going to be second-in-command to young John Chester?"
"Indeed, m'Lord," said Theoluf, "I am a squire now and outrank any ordinary man-at-arms such as Tom Seiver, who commands the men of Castle Smythe."
"And, as I know," Jim went on, "you know how to keep a group of men like this in line and how to get them where you want them to go. You're not likely to let them get out of hand and start drinking too much, or fighting, or stray."
"No, m'Lord," said Theoluf with a grim smile. "Was m'Lord afeared that the men might not get wherever they're supposed to be going, with all their weapons and ready to fight?"
"Well, not exactly afeared, Theoluf," Jim had said. "I like John Chester, as you probably know, but he hasn't seen as much of the world as you and most of the men you and Tom will he taking with him overseas. He will face some decisions which may be a bit difficult…"
Jim's voice had trailed off. He had not known really how to approach this subject with Theoluf, in the terms it should be made according to the social rules. But the other man was already well ahead of him.
"I take m'Lord's meaning," said Theoluf. He gave another of his grim smiles. "Is a good young gentleman, Master John Chester. Let m'Lord rest assured that he will see John Chester and all the men at whatever appointed place is set, when the time comes. I and Tom Seiver will give you our heads on it, if it not be so."
"Thanks, Theoluf," Jim had said. "I trust you."
"No Lord or Master of mine," said Theoluf, "has ever found that trust misplaced, m'Lord. It will not be now."
Jim had returned to the common room below with a much lighter heart.
The thought returned to him now, as they tramped along toward the Inn of the Green Door. His own position here was not unlike John Chester's with the men-at-arms. Here he was, wearing the ring that would identify them all to whatever English spy was due to contact them in this place; and he was doing so only because he had the word "Baron" before his name.
Both Sir Brian, who knew him so well by this time, and Sir Giles, must surely have seen through Jim's ineptness at being a fourteenth-century man of rank, to say nothing of a fighting knight. Yet they had both seemed to accept his being so with no trouble. Possibly, it was that sort of double-valued thinking that allowed Brian to see his king as a drunkard and a thoroughly indecisive man; and at the same time give him credit for all the virtues a monarch could traditionally command.
It struck Jim suddenly that possibly Brian was able to do this simply because the king was his King, and therefore special allowances—not to say arrangements—could be made mentally. Certainly it was a fact in the case of the Lady Geronde Isabel de Chaney, who was Brian's love. He could speak of her in one breath as if she was as unreal and super-perfect as the best product of a troubador's imagination; and a moment later talk of her as a very real and earthy woman indeed. He apparently saw no argument between these two points of view, held side by side. Isabel was his Lady. Possibly—just possibly—it was the fact that Sir James Eckert, knight and Baron de Malencontri; and the half-magical, thoroughly-untrained-in-all-things James, was Brian's friend, that made a special view of Jim possible.
Jim also wondered whether by this time Brian and Giles, who looked to be on their way to becoming friends themselves, had possibly done what Theoluf and Tom Seiver had done about John Chester. They might have made a sort of silent agreement to take care of Jim and steer him in the right direction, while carefully not allowing him to lose any prestige in the process.
His thoughts had finally lasted him until they were at the entrance to the Inn of the Green Door. They stepped into its large common room filled with long, picnic-rough tables supplied with benches on either side. The shade within was welcome after the mounting warmth of the day outside; but the smell of the common room was hardly better, if different from the reek of streets and harbor; and the landlord who came to greet them was a far cry from the one they had known at the Broken Anchor in Hastings.
His name was René Peran. He was a young man, but fattish rather than stout, with a stubble of dark beard that apparently had not been shaved too recently. There was as equally dark suspiciousness about his eyes. He gave the impression of mistrusting them on sight. Perhaps he did not like the English.
Nonetheless he went through the regular innkeeper motions of greeting them, but with patently false warmth. His manner seemed to say that they were unwanted interruptions in his work; and he would be glad to get rid of them and back to it.
He ushered them to an upstairs chamber that was, if not quite as big as the one at the Broken Anchor, almost as clean. The bed was not so much a bed as simply a platform of about the same
shape and size as the actual medieval beds Jim had seen; and as usual it was in the corner of the room.
There were also a table and a couple of stools. Grudgingly, it seemed to Jim, the innkeeper sent one of his servitors for another couple of stools, since Brian pointed out that there were three of them, and they might well have a visitor, at least one. The sailors settled their gear where they asked to have it put, and left, each with a small tip from Jim. He was quick to offer these tips, since he knew Sir Brian did not have much, if any, money; and he rather suspected that Sir Giles was in very much the same condition, from the fact that his talk of a servant who was supposed to be with him had never produced an actual person. While he was at it, Jim ordered up some wine.
The wine came promptly enough. Both the pitcher and the wine cups were far from what Jim would consider clean. He openly rinsed one out with some of the wine and wiped it with a clean cloth from his gear. He had come to do this frequently in this world; and Sir Brian, and evidently Sir Giles, accepted it as also having something to do with Magic.
But the wine itself was a surprise. When they sat down to it at the table, Jim was startled to discover that it was as good as anything he had tasted anywhere in England. It appeared to be a young wine, with a light red color and a fresh taste. He was tempted to remark on how good it was; but since neither Brian nor Giles made a point of mentioning it, he thought perhaps it was wiser to simply take it for granted.
"Well," said Sir Giles, drinking generously from his cup before continuing, "now we're here, what's first to do?"
"Wait, I should think," Brian said.
They both looked at Jim. He had been asking himself the same question; and now for the first time it occurred to him that perhaps after all he had advantages that the other two lacked in dealing with this situation. Sir John seemed to be, in this world, at least, in the position of being a sort of spy-master for the English. As such, he struck Jim as a cross between a man of his own historical period, who simply gave an inferior an order to accomplish something without going into detail about how it was to be accomplished; and a truly intelligent, thinking man of Jim's original century. Half-medieval, half-modern, in a sense.