"It is good to see you two gentlemen!" said Sir Mortimor, his voice ringing off the walls. "Particularly at this moment when the enemy is becoming troublesome. There could be no two chevaliers I would rather have with me at this moment than the famous Dragon Knight, victor over ogres and evil men alike, and Sir Brian, well known as the best lance in England!"
The statement was obviously for public consumption; and it was not without effect. Jim saw some of the paleness begin to disappear from the up-staring faces below them, and less of an atmosphere of panic seemed to pervade the area.
"A word with you gentlemen privily, first," barked Sir Mortimor, pushing past them and beckoning them to follow him back up to the floor above. Once out of the sight and hearing of those beneath them, he lowered his voice to a murmur that could not possibly be heard below.
"You are a Godsend at this time, sirs," he said in that low voice. His face and manner had completely changed. It was as if the dice game had never been and money was of no importance. In fact, though Jim found it hard to believe, there was something of the same happy excitement about Sir Mortimor that Jim had just seen, and was used to seeing, in Brian.
"Here is the situation," went on Sir Mortimor. "My men are good fighters—none better—but like all such common cattle, an unfamiliar situation takes the heart out of them. They become little more than sheep. They know how much those outside outnumber us; and now this business of burning through the outer door has made them feel helpless—with no hope but to wait to be slaughtered when the enemy finally breaks in. But they will rouse themselves and do what needs to be done—and indeed there is a great deal more that can be done and no certainty that this castle will be taken after all. But first, let me ask you again, Sir James. Would you be willing, for any way at all by which I may recompense you, to use your magic to help in the defense here?"
"As I said, I'm afraid not," said Jim. "I regret having to continue to answer you that way, Sir Mortimor; but I've got duties and obligations."
"I fully understand, Sir James," said Sir Mortimor. "In fact, I had not really hoped for that help from you. The aid you give simply by fighting with us is all but magic in itself. No doubt you felt the difference down below, the minute I announced my pleasure in your presence. They already knew who you were, of course, but I think they had not fully realized what paladins you are; and knowing that has enheartened them greatly."
"We will hope to live up to your expectations, sir," said Brian.
"I had no doubt you would in any case, sir," said Sir Mortimor. "Now, as to the situation. Let me give it to you in as few words as possible. Beaupré has privily assured me that they have made a roof over the fire they have built against my door, so although we will be pouring water from the roof even now, there is little chance the fire can be dealt with that way. Also, this roof is covered with fresh animal hides, which would resist even burning oil—though it would be hardly sensible to pour oil of any heat upon already burning fuel."
"This," Brian said, "we have heard Beaupré tell you."
"Yes," said Sir Mortimor. "The fire must be gotten rid of, however; and it is my intent to make a rush from the inside, by weight of men and bodies, unbarring the burning door and attempting to push it open. It may be the attackers have gone to some trouble to make sure that it cannot be pushed open; but if it can, that very opening will sweep the fire aside. So men can rush out and hold any attack at bay while some inside douse the fire with water; after which we retreat once more within the castle. The door is weakened, true. But if the fire were out, and no easy opportunity to light it again for an hour or so, it could be greatly strengthened from inside by our carpenter using wood that is already in the castle here in the shape of doors and furniture. This is my plan and I intend to use it; but I would welcome any advice from either of you."
He paused. Jim could think of nothing to say, but Brian spoke again.
"I have offered to lead a sally through your private escape way," he said. "May I offer to do it, once again. It seems to me that the best way of dealing with this structure outside, let alone the fire at the door, is to attack whoever is out there unexpectedly from outside, and not only free the burning matter from the door itself, but put to flame all the rest of what they have built, with fire from the inside. A relatively small force of men, moving fast, could do that, sir, and I would be honored to lead them!"
Sir Mortimor looked at him and slowly shook his head.
"We are not in that desperate a pass yet, Sir Brian," he said. "You must know as well as I do, that such ways as you speak about are the secrets of the lord of the castle only; and not to be easily shared with others. If need be, I will share it with men of honor like yourselves; but any others who go out with you must die before they come back in, to ensure that they do not pass on to others word of this way out of the castle."
Jim winced internally, but Brian seemed to take this in stride. Sir Mortimor went on.
"Once it were known," he said, lowering his voice still more, "there are many here—and not just the villagers—who would want to escape immediately, hoping to get away and hide themselves in the hills. Therefore, as I say, any you took with you must die. I do not know how you would encompass that; and even if you did, it would further reduce the force I have here to resist those who come against us."
"I see no other way," said Brian coldly. "My offer remains open, sir. You may take it up at any time in the future, if the situation here has not changed so as to make it impractical from my standpoint"
"I will keep it in mind," said Sir Mortimor, equally coldly; and for a moment they were back as they had been at the dice table. Then, to Jim's relief, the hardness of both their expressions cleared.
"It remains then," said Sir Mortimor, "to attempt what I had in mind, forcing the burning door from the inside. We will proceed with that."
"If you wish, then," said Brian, "I will be glad to lead the charge on the door."
Sir Mortimor grinned at him. A grim and martial grin.
"Right willingly would I see you do so," he said, "and give you most hearty thanks. But my fellows fight best when they are under my eye and within arm's reach. No one but I can lead the charge on the door. What I would wish of you and Sir James is that you take charge of what I shall call the afterguard, those who stay behind while the rest of us charge."
He glanced at the stairway for a moment.
"Your appearance here, and my naming you to them, has heartened them mightily," he said. "But there may still be some faint hearts among them. If you stand with them, none will dare skulk off, hoping by hiding to at least prolong their lives by a few moments or an hour."
"It is a strange train you have about here, Sir Mortimor," said Brian. "Without offense, Sir Mortimor, I seem to gather that these men of yours are lions one moment and mice the next."
Sir Mortimor shrugged.
"What would you?" he said, still in a low voice. "It is their nature in these parts. They do nearly all things for profit; and if there is no profit, then they think only of their skins. Honor is but a word, except to those who are great men among them—as Sala-ad-Din was during the First Crusade, or Baybars, who won the battle at 'Ayn Jalut."
He turned abruptly and led his way down the stairs. Within moments he had separated out those he wanted to join him in a charge on the outer door, and those who would stay with Brian and Jim.
"Keep the inner door open for us, messires!" he called to Jim and Brian over the heads of those around him, as they clustered facing the opening revealed by that same door right now. He turned to face the open passageway and lifted a long sword in one large hand high over his head. "With me, children!"
He ran forward into the passageway and they ran with him. Jim and Brian, standing near the front of those who were left behind, watched as they swiftly approached the door, which was now smoking visibly around its bottom edge.
"Use your swords!" he shouted at those about him. "Lift the bar that way. It is too hot to handle!"
The foremost men obeyed. The heavy bar was pried upward out of the iron sockets that held it firmly to the stone on either side, and tumbled to the floor.
"Now!" roared Sir Mortimor. "Open it!"
The mice had become lions. Fearlessly, more than half a dozen men threw themselves bodily at the door, which must be even hotter than the thick piece of timber that had been barring it. They fell back, only to have others throw their weight against it, and gradually the door opened with jerks, obviously pushing a considerable load of the burning material piled up against it
A spear flew through the opening from the other side, and Sir Mortimor's long blade caught it in mid-air, cutting it in half and throwing the parts aside before it could pierce one of the packed bodies behind the knight. Bowmen and slingers at the back of Sir Mortimor's attacking group began to send their missiles in return through the opening, and no more spears came.
Meanwhile, bit by bit, the door was being forced outward, opening an ever larger gap as the fire beyond was pushed aside. Finally, there was room for a man to slip through—and one did, followed by others as swiftly as they could, while the rest shouted in wild triumph and threw themselves even more heavily against the burning door.
Suddenly the door gave all at once, its lower half breaking off, and a couple of men falling directly into the flames beyond. If they screamed, their voices were lost in the general uproar; for immediately the rest of Sir Mortimor's fighters were going out, either through the open gap or over the broken half of the door like hurdlers.
Clearly, there had been only a small party tending the fire and guarding it in the wooden passage that had been built almost up to the door. Those guardians were now suddenly in flight, with Sir Mortimor's men after them like hunting hounds who had already tasted blood.
The men with Jim and Brian stirred, talking, moving toward the passageway, now eager to be in on the fight.
"Hold!" shouted Brian.
They hesitated, then stopped; looking at him, and then quickly looking away again. Clearly they still wanted to rush to join their fellows around Sir Mortimor; but from the way their Lord had talked about these two knights, perhaps that would be imprudent. Brian now had his naked sword in his hand, holding it up over his head in plain sight; Jim drew his and held it up likewise. The two blades shone and the men stood still.
"Messires!" came the voice of Sir Mortimor. "Come forward to me—alone!"
The last word was added as, once more, the fighters around Jim and Brian began to move toward the passageway. But they stopped at the sound of Sir Mortimor's last word. Brian and Jim went forward alone.
"You see what they have built," said Sir Mortimor, sheathing his sword, as they came up to him. "A fine platform for using a battering ram, if the fire did not work for them, and a roof over all. I wonder that they should build so quickly—but then, they are seamen; and seamen are used to making such things, quickly, on order. Though Beaupré did say that the number of hides they have covering this structure suggests they flayed more goats than they would find in my village alone. What do you think of it, gentlemen?"
Jim and Brian looked about at it. Neither had anything to say. What they saw was simply a long, roofed shed made of wood and heavy cloth, stretching out and backward from the castle door on a level with the top step of the stairway. Its farther end was open; but there was nothing to be seen there but darkness, with stars above, and—far below—some flickering lights among the still-standing structures of the village.
"I will have my men start to tear this down, before those below can get more people up here. We will use the timbers to barricade the front door from the inside," said Sir Mortimor. "Also, we will take away the goat hides, so any future advance on the castle will not be protected from fire, Sir Brian, you offered yourself earlier. Would you go up and take charge of the watch from the top of the tower right now? Sir James, I have nothing to ask you at the moment. Perhaps you will think of something yourself—or you might even wish to join Sir Brian at the top of the tower. I will be up there shortly, as soon as barricading the door is well underway."
"I will be glad to hold the tower," said Brian. "James, will you accompany me?"
"Yes," said Jim thoughtfully, as they turned away from Sir Mortimor, who had already started to turn away himself to give orders for the dismantling of the structure and the scattering of the burning embers of the fire. Jim and Brian went up the stairs, climbing them side by side, in silence. Once they reached the floor that held their own room, they both turned toward it without needing to say anything to each other.
"James," said Brian in a low voice, once they were inside with the door closed, "Sir Mortimor thinks only of holding his castle until these pirates grow tired of attempting it, and sail away. That is not the way to deal with a situation like this. He should be thinking of ways in which he can attack and defeat these who have come against him."
"If you say so, I'll believe you," said Jim. "I've got a lot more faith in you than I have in anyone else where it comes to fighting."
Brian looked embarrassed.
"That is a kind thing to say, James," he said. "I know not if I truly deserve it, considering that Sir Mortimor has had war experience; and I, in any real sense, have not. But I have had experience with castles attacked, and the attacking of castles, and I vow I am right. But it warms me that you should take my word for it so easily."
"It shouldn't," said Jim. "I wouldn't have ventured a guess that way myself; but the way you think sounds better to me than the way Sir Mortimor is obviously thinking. I'll think along the lines you've just mentioned, myself; and tell you if anything comes to me. Is that all right?"
"Nothing could be better, James," said Brian. "Now, shall we go up to the top of the tower?"
"You go ahead," said Jim. "I'm going to try to get hold of Hob, and see if he can't go out and spy over the enemy territory for us. I think if I call him through the fireplace that he's used to us being close to, he'll hear me; even if he's in another chimney. I'll join you at the tower-top as soon as I talk to him."
"Good," said Brian.
He went out.
With his going, the room suddenly seemed unusually empty. Jim looked around himself. It was a small room, not too clean, now lit—but poorly so—by the flames of what was unburnt of the fuel in the iron basket of the cresset on one wall. Beyond the wide arrow slit, or window—whichever it was—the blackness of night still showed. Yet it must be getting on toward dawn. Also, it was cold.
Jim looked at the fireplace. It, like the cresset, had burnt down to the remains of its fuel. There were some pieces of glowing wood; a few of these were putting out feeble flames, but not throwing much in the way of heat—an unthinkable situation in any inhabited room of Malencontri during cold weather. Equally, it was something he had never encountered as a guest in any other castle or ecclesiastical building where he had been a guest.
Happily, some extra wood had been left by it; although it was equally unthinkable that someone of Jim's rank should have to feed the fire in his own fireplace, except in an extreme emergency. Jim thankfully put it all on the embers; and they were hot enough so that the flames licked up freshly.
It would be some time before the cold stone walls warmed up, but the very sight of the fire was warming and he could feel some heat on his face as he leaned down toward the fireplace opening and called into it
"Hob!" he shouted. "Hob, would you come here, please?"
The words were hardly out of his mouth before Hob's face appeared upside down peering into the room under the top edge of the fireplace opening.
"M'lord!" he said, and popped out into the room, to sit cross-legged on a waft of smoke that seemed to pour endlessly forward from the fire, but vanished completely an inch or so beyond Hob, so that Jim did not even smell smoke.
"I suppose you know what's been going on, Hob." said Jim.
"Oh yes, m'lord," said Hob cheerfully. "I know all about what's been going on here and just about everythi
ng else as well."
"I see," said Jim.
"You're looking tired now, m'lord," said Hob, concernedly examining Jim's face. "And you've still got that sad look. I wish you'd let me take you for a ride—"
"I'm sorry," said Jim. "There just isn't time for that now. Look, Hob, I was going to ask you if you could leave the castle and go down and look around the village below, where those men are who're attacking this castle. Do you suppose you could do that—ride the smoke and just sort of listen at the walls and look around and things like that?"
"Oh, I've already done that," said Hob. "There's nothing to it. I go up on smoke here and ride it down there; and then I can go anywhere I want from their fires in their buildings, coming out the smoke holes at the top. They don't really have fireplaces there, m'lord. They've got sort of a hole dug in the earth and they build the fire in that. There's no stone floors there. Just dirt."
"That's excellent," said Jim. "In that case, you can probably tell me what they've been talking about."
"Talking about, m'lord?"
"Yes, I mean generally, the men down there, particularly when they aren't doing anything toward the castle, but are just sitting around by themselves. What do they say to each other and what do they talk about?"
"Oh, all sorts of things," said Hob. "Ships and fish and things to eat and just about everything. Of course, at night like this they talk a lot about demons. It's very scary. I've been very careful when I go out at night, but I haven't seen any demons so far."
"I don't think you will," said Jim. "Anyway, you're dark and almost invisible at night, and riding on some smoke you wouldn't attract attention anyway."
"That's good," said Hob. "The kind of demons they talk the most about are called Djinni—you know, like that dog that was pretending to be one?"
"Why do you say pretending?" asked Jim.
"Well, you remember," said Hob, "when you asked him to prove he was a Djinni, he just turned into a sort of fat man."