Chapter XV
Of course I could not accept any such offer. Quite apart from difficult questions of consecration, I hope I know my humble place in life. Anyhow, at this stage it was mere talk. We had too much else to do, to offer God more than a Mass of thanksgiving.
We let nearly all the recaptured Wersgorix go. On a powerful far-speaker, Sir Roger broadcast a proclamation to Tharixan. He bade every large landholder, in those areas not yet ravaged, to come make submission and take several of the homeless ones back with him. The lesson he had taught was so sharp that for the next few days it swarmed with blue visitors. I must needs deal with them, and forgot what sleep was like. But for the most part they were very meek. Indeed, this race had been supreme among the stars so long that only their soldiers now had occasion to develop a manly contempt for death. Once these had submitted, the burgesses and franklins quickly did likewise — and were so used to having an all-powerful government above them that they never dreamed it might be possible to revolt.
Most of Sir Roger’s attention in that period went to training his folk in garrison duty. The castle machines being as simple to operate as most Wersgor equipment, he had soon had women, children, serfs, and aged manning Darova. They should be able to hold it against attack for at least a while. Those who seemed hopelessly incapable in the diabolic arts of meter-reading, button-pushing, and knob-twisting, he put on a safely distant island to care for our livestock.
When transplanted Ansby was thus able to defend itself~ the baron gathered his free companions for yet another expedition into the sky. He explained his idea to me beforehand: as yet, I alone had any fluency in the Wersgor tongue, though Branithar (with Father Simon’s assistance) was instructing others apace.
“We’ve done well so far, Brother Parvus,’ Sir Roger declared. “But alone, we’d never hurl back the Wersgor hosts being raised against us. I hope by now you’ve mastered their writing and numerology. At least well enough to keep watch on a native navigator and see that he doesn’t steer us where we would not go.”
“I have studied the principles of their star maps a little, sire,” I answered, “though in truth they do not employ charts, but mere columns of figures. Nor do they have mortal steersmen on the spaceships. Rather, they instruct an artificial pilot at the start of the journey, and thereafter the homunculus operates the entire craft.”
“How well I know that!” grunted Sir Roger. “’Twas how Branithar tricked us hither in the first instance. A dangerous wight, that, but too useful to kill. Glad I am not to have him aboard on this voyage; and yet I’m not easy in my heart at leaving him in Darova…”
“But where are you bound, sire?” I interrupted.
“Oh. Aye. That.’ He knuckled eyes sandy with weariness. “There are other kings than Wersgor. Lesser star-traveling nations, who dread the day when these snoutface fiends will decide to make an end of them. I shall seek allies.”
It was an obvious enough move, but I hesitated. “Well?” demanded Sir Roger. “What ails you now?”
“If they have not yet gone to war,” I said weakly, “why should the advent of a few backward savages like us make them do so?”
“Hearken, Brother Parvus,” said Sir Roger. “I’m weary of this whining about our own ignorance and feebleness. We’re not ignorant of the true Faith, are we? Somewhat more to the point, maybe, while the engines of war may change through the centuries, rivalry and intrigue look no subtler out here than at home. Just because we use a different sort of weapons, we aren’t savages.”
I could scarcely refute his argument, since it was our only hope except for a random flight in search of lost Terra.
The best spaceships were those which had lain in the vaults of Darova. We were outfitting these, when the sun was darkened by a still greater vessel. As it hung up there like a thundercloud, it threw dismay among our folk. But Sir Owain Montbelle came running with a Wersgor engineer in tow, snatched up myself to interpret, and led us to the far-speaker. Standing out of sight of the screen, with sword drawn, Sir Owain made the captive speak with the master of the ship.
It proved to be a merchant craft, paying a regular call at this planet. The sight of Ganturath and Stularax turned into holes horrified its crew. We could easily enough have blasted the ship down, but Sir Owain used his Wersgor puppet to tell the captain there had been a raid from space, beaten off by the Darova garrison, and that he should land here. He obeyed. As the ship’s outer portals opened, Sir Owain led a swarm of men aboard and captured it without trouble.
For this, they cheered him night and day. And he made a brave, colorful figure, always prepared to fling a jest or a gallantry. Sir Roger, toiling without pause, grew ever more uncouth. Men stood in awe of him, and some little hatred, since he drove them to such exertions. Sir Owain contrasted, like Oberon versus a bear. Half the women must have been in love with him, though he had songs only for Lady Catherine.
The booty from the giant ship was rich. Best of all, however, were many tons of grain. We tried some of this on our livestock on the island, which was growing thin on the detested blue grass. They accepted the feed as eagerly as if it were English oats. When he heard this, Sir Roger exclaimed, “Whatever planet that comes from is the one we must capture next.”
I crossed myself and hurried elsewhere.
But we had little time to lose. It was no secret that Huruga had dispatched spaceships to Wersgorixan immediately after the second battle of Ganturath. They would take a while to reach that distant planet, and the emperor would need a while more to raise a fleet among his widely scattered domains, and thereafter it would take time for the fleet to get back here. But already days had fled from us.
To head the Darova garrison of women, children, aged, and serfs, Sir Roger appointed his wife. I am told that our chroniclers’ practice of inventing speeches for the great persons whose lives they write is unscholarly. Yet I knew those two, not just the haughty exterior but (in glimpses, for it was shy) the soul. I can all but see them, in a buried room of the alien castle.
Lady Catherine has hung it with her tapestries, spread rushes on the floor, and left the walls darkened in favor of sconced candles, that this place might seem less eerie to her. She waits in garments of pride, while her husband bids their children farewell. Little Matilda weeps openly. Robert withholds the tears, more or less, until he has closed the door on his father: for he is a de Tourneville.
Slowly, Sir Roger straightens. He has stopped shaving, for lack of time, and the beard curls like wire on his scarred hook-nosed face. The gray eyes look burnt out, and a muscle in his cheek will not stop twitching. Since hot water runs freely here from pipes, he has bathed; but he wears his usual rough old jerkin and patched hose. The baldric of his great sword creaks as he advances toward his wife.
“Well,” he says awkwardly, “I must begone.”
“Yes.” Her back is slender and very straight.
“I believe—” He clears his throat. “I believe you’ve learned everything needful.” When she does not answer: “Remember, ’tis most important to keep those students of the Wersgor tongue hard at their lessons. Otherwise we’ll be deaf-mutes among our foes. But never trust our prisoners. Two armed men must always be with each one of them.”
“Indeed.” She nods. She is uncoifed, and candlelight slides along the coiled auburn hair. “I shall also remember that the pigs don’t require that new grain we give the other animals.”
“Most important! And be certain to stock this stronghold well. Those of our folk who have eaten native food are still in health, so you can requisition from Wersgor granaries.”