CHAPTER II
I came as ordered, with the approval of my abbot, who saw that here the ghostly and secular arms must be one. The town was strangely quiet as I picked my way through sunset streets. Folk were in church or huddled within doors. From the soldiers’ camp I could hear yet another Mass. The ship brooded mountainous over all our tiny works.
But we felt heartened, I believe, a little drunk with our success over powers not of this earth. The smug conclusion seemed inescapable, that God approved of us.
I passed the bailey through a trebled watch and went directly to the great hall. Ansby Castle was old Norman work: gaunt to look on, cold to inhabit. The hall was already dark, lit by candles and a great leaping fire which picked weapons and tapestries out of unrestful shadow. Gentlefolk and the more important commoners of town and army were at table, a buzz of talk, servants scurrying about, dogs lolling on the rushes. It was a comfortingly familiar scene, however much tension underlay it. Sir Roger beckoned me to come sit with him and his lady, a signal honor.
Let me here describe Roger de Tourneville, knight and baron. He was a big, strongly thewed man of thirty years, with gray eyes and bony curve-nosed features. He wore his yellow hair in the usual style of a warrior peer, thick on the crown and shaven below—which somewhat marred an otherwise not unhandsome appearance, for he had ears like jug handles. This, his home district, was poor and backward, and most of his time elsewhere had been spent in war. So he lacked courtly graces, though shrewd and kindly in his fashion. His wife, Lady Catherine, was a daughter of the Viscount de Mornay; most people felt she had married beneath her style of living as well as her station, for she had been brought up at Winchester amidst every elegance and modern refinement. She was very beautiful, with great blue eyes and auburn hair, but somewhat of a virago. They had only two children: Robert, a fine boy of six, who was my pupil, and a three-year-old girl named Matilda.
“Well, Brother Parvus,” boomed my lord. “Sit down. Have a stoup of wine—’sblood, this occasion calls for more than ale!” Lady Catherine’s delicate nose wrinkled a bit; in her old home, ale was only for commoners. When I was seated, Sir Roger leaned forward and said intently, “What have you found out? Is it a demon we’ve captured?”
A hush fell over the table. Even the dogs were quiet. I could hear the hearth fire crackle and ancient banners stir dustily where they hung from the beams overhead. “I think so, my lord,” I answered with care, “for he grew very angry when we sprinkled holy water on him.”
“Yet he did not vanish in a puff of smoke? Hah! If demons, these are not kin to any I ever heard of. They’re mortal as men.”
“More so, sire,” declared one of his captains, “for they cannot have souls.”
“I’m not interested in their blithering souls,” snorted Sir Roger. “I want to know about their ship. I’ve walked through it since the fight. What a by-our-lady whale of a ship! We could put all Ansby aboard, with room to spare. Did you ask the demon why a mere hundred of ‘em needed that much space?”
“He does not speak any known language, my lord,” I said.
“Nonsense! All demons know Latin, at least. He’s just being stubborn.”
“Mayhap a little session with your executioner?” asked the knight Sir Owain Montbelle slyly.
“No,” I said. “If it please you, best not. He seems very quick at learning. Already he repeats many words after me, so I do not believe he is merely pretending ignorance. Give me a few days and I may be able to talk with him.”
“A few days may be too much,” grumbled Sir Roger. He threw the beef bone he had been gnawing to the dogs and licked his fingers noisily. Lady Catherine frowned and pointed to the water bowl and napkin before him. “I’m sorry, my sweet,” he muttered. “I never can remember about these newfangled things.”
Sir Owain delivered him from his embarrassment by inquiring: “Why say you a few days may be too long? Surely you are not expecting another ship?”
“No. But the men will be more restless than ever. We were almost ready to depart, and now this happens!”
“So? Can we not leave anyhow on the date planned?”
“No, you blockhead!” Sir Roger’s fist landed on the table. A goblet jumped. “Cannot you see what a chance this is? It must have been given us by the saints themselves!”
As we sat awestruck, he went on rapidly: “We can take the whole company aboard that thing. Horses, cows, pigs, fowls—we’ll not be deviled by supply problems. Women, too, all the comforts of home! Aye, why not even the children? Never mind the crops hereabouts, they can stand neglect for a while and ‘tis safer to keep everyone together lest there should be another visitation.
“I know not what powers the ship owns besides flying, but her very appearance will strike such terror we’ll scarce need to fight. So we’ll take her across the Channel and end the French war inside a month, d’ you see? Then we go on and liberate the Holy Land, and get back here in time for hay harvest!”
A long silence ended abruptly in such a storm of cheers that my own weak protests were drowned out. I thought the scheme altogether mad. So, I could see, did Lady Catherine and a few others. But the rest were laughing and shouting till the hall roared.
Sir Roger turned a flushed face to me. “It depends on you, Brother Parvus,” he said. “You’re the best of us all in matters of language. You must make the demon talk, or teach him how, whichever it is. He’s got to show us how to sail that ship!”
“My noble lord—” I quavered.
“Good!” Sir Roger slapped my back so I choked and nearly fell off my seat. “I knew you could do it. Your reward will be the privilege of coming with us!”
Indeed, it was as if the town and the army were alike possessed. Surely the one wise course was to send messages posthaste to the bishop, perhaps to Rome itself, begging counsel. But no, they must all go, at once. Wives would not leave their husbands, or parents their children, or girls their lovers. The lowliest serf looked up from his acre and dreamed of freeing the Holy Land and picking up a coffer of gold on the way. What else can be expected of a folk bred from Saxon, Dane, and Norman?
I returned to the abbey and spent the night on my knees, praying for a sign. But the saints remained noncommittal. After matins I went with a heavy heart to my abbot and told him what the baron had commanded. He was wroth at not being allowed immediate communication with the Church authorities but decided it was best we obey for the nonce. I was released from other duties that I might study how to converse with the demon.
I girded myself and went down to the cell where he was confined. It was a narrow room, half underground, used for penances. Brother Thomas, our smith, had stapled fetters to the walls and chained the creature up. He lay on a straw pallet, a frightful sight in the gloom. His links clashed as he rose at my entry. Our relics in their chests were placed near by, just out of his impious reach, so that the thighbone of St. Osbert and the sixth-year molar of St. Willibald might keep him from bursting his bonds and escaping back to hell.
Though I would not have been at all sorry had he done so.
I crossed myself and squatted down. His yellow eyes glared at me, I had brought paper, ink, and quills, to exercise what small talent I have for drawing. I sketched a man and said, “Homo,” for it seemed wiser to teach him Latin than any language confined to a single nation. Then I drew another man and showed him that the two were called homines. Thus it went, and he was quick to learn.
Presently he signaled for the paper, and I gave it to him. He himself drew skillfully. He told me that his name was Branithar and that his race was called Wersgorix. I was unable to find these terms in any demonology. But thereafter I let him guide our studies, for his race had made the learning of new languages into a science, and our task went apace.
I worked long hours with him and saw little of the outside world in the next few days. Sir Roger kept his domain incommunicado. I think his greatest fear was that some earl or duke might seize the ship for himself. With his bolder men, the baron spent much time aboard it, trying to fathom all the wonders he encountered.
Erelong Branithar was able to complain about the bread-and-water diet and threaten revenge. I was still afraid of him but kept up a bold front. Of course, our conversation was much slower than I here render it, with many pauses while we searched for words.
“You brought this on yourself,” I told him. “You should have known better than to make an unprovoked attack on Christians.”
“What are Christians?” he asked.
Dumfounded, I thought he must be feigning ignorance. As a test, I led him through the Paternoster. He did not go up in smoke, which puzzled me.
“I think I understand,” he said. “You refer to some primitive tribal pantheon.”
“It is no such heathen thing!” I said indignantly. I started to explain the Trinity to him, but had scarcely gotten to transubstantiation when he waved an impatient blue hand. It was much like a human hand otherwise, save for the thick, sharp nails.
“No matter,” he said, “Are all Christians as ferocious as your people?”
“You would have had better luck with the French,” I admitted. “Your misfortune was landing among Englishmen.”
“A stubborn breed,” he nodded. “It will cost you dearly. But if you release me at once, I will try to mitigate the vengeance which is going to fall on you.”
My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, but I unstuck it and asked him coolly enough to elucidate. Whence came he, and what were his intentions?
That took a long time for him to make clear, because the very concepts were strange. I thought surely he was lying, but at least he acquired more Latin in the process.
It was about two weeks after the landing when Sir Owain Montbelle appeared at the abbey and demanded audience with me. I met him in the cloister garden; we found a bench and sat down.
This Owain was the younger son, by a second marriage with a Welsh woman, of a petty baron on the Marches. I daresay the ancient conflict of two nations smoldered strangely in his breast; but the Cymric charm was also there. Made page and later esquire to a great knight in the royal court, young Owain had captured his master’s heart and been brought up with all the privilege of far higher ranks. He had traveled widely abroad, become a troubadour of some note, received the accolade—and then suddenly, there he was, penniless. In hopes of winning his fortune, he had wandered to Ansby to join the free companions. Though valiant enough, he was too darkly handsome for most men’s taste, and they said no husband felt safe when he was about. This was not quite true, for Sir Roger had taken a fancy to the youth, admired his judgment as well as his education, and was happy that at last Lady Catherine had someone to talk to about the things that most interested her.
“I come from my lord, Brother Parvus,” Sir Owain began. “He wishes to know how much longer you will need to tame this beast of ours.”
“Oh . . . he speaks glibly enough now,” I answered. “But he holds so firmly to out-and-out falsehoods that I have not yet thought it worth while to report.”
“Sir Roger grows most impatient, and the men can scarcely be held any longer. They devour his substance, and not a night passes without a brawl or a murder. We must start soon or not at all.”
“Then I beg you not to go,” I said. “Not in yon ship out of hell.” I could see that dizzingly tall spire, its nose wreathed with low clouds, rearing beyond the abbey walls. It terrified me.
“Well,” snapped Sir Owain, “what has the monster told you?”
“He has the impudence to claim he comes not from below, but from above. From heaven itself!”
“He . . . an angel?”
“No. He says he is neither angel nor demon, but a member of another mortal race than mankind.”
Sir Owain caressed his smooth-shaven chin with one hand. “It could be,” he mused. “After all, if Unipeds and Centaurs and other monstrous beings exist, why not those squatty blueskins?”
“I know. ‘Twould be reasonable enough, save that he claims to live in the sky.”
“Tell me just what he did say.”
“As you will, Sir Owain, but remember that these impieties are not mine. This Branithar insists that the earth is not flat but is a sphere hanging in space. Nay, he goes further and says the earth moves about the sun! Some of the learned ancients held similar notions, but I cannot understand what would keep the oceans from pouring off into space or—”
“Pray continue the story, Brother Parvus.”
“Well, Branithar says that the stars are other suns than ours, only very far off, and have worlds going about them even as our own does. Not even the Greeks could have swallowed such an absurdity. What kind of ignorant yokels does the creature take us for? But be this as it may, Branithar says that his people, the Wersgorix, come from one of these other worlds, one which is much like our earth. He boasts of their powers of sorcery—”
“That much is no lie,” said Sir Owain. “We’ve been trying out some of those hand weapons. We burned down three houses, a pig, and a serf ere we learned how to control them.”
I gulped, but went on: “These Wersgorix have ships which can fly between the stars. They have conquered many worlds. Their method is to subdue or wipe out any backward natives there may be. Then they settle the entire world, each Wersgor taking hundreds of thousands of acres. Their numbers are growing so fast, and they so dislike being crowded, that they must ever be seeking new worlds.
“This ship we captured was a scout, exploring in search of another place to conquer. Having observed our earth from above, they decided it was suitable for their use and descended. Their plan was the usual one, which had never failed them hitherto. They would terrorize us, use our home as a base, and range about gathering specimens of plants, animals, and minerals. That is the reason their ship is so big, with so much empty space. ‘Twas to be a veritable Noah’s ark. When they returned home and reported their findings, a fleet would come to attack all mankind.”
“Hm,” said Sir Owain, “We stopped that much, at least.”
We were both cushioned against the frightful vision of our poor folk being harried by unhumans, destroyed or enslaved, because neither of us really believed it. I had decided that Branithar came from a distant part of the world, perhaps beyond Cathay, and only told these lies in the hope of frightening us into letting him go. Sir Owain agreed with my theory.
“Nonetheless,” added the knight, “we must certainly learn to use the ship, lest more of them arrive. And what better way to learn, than by taking it to France and Jerusalem? As my lord said, ‘twould in that case be prudent as well as comfortable to have women, children, yeomen, and townsfolk along. Have you asked the beast how to cast the spells for working the ship?”
“Yes,” I answered reluctantly. “He says the rudder is very simple.”
“And have you told him what will happen to him if he does not pilot us faithfully?”
“I have intimated. He says he will obey.”
“Good! Then we can start in another day or two!” Sir Owain leaned back, eyes dreamily half closed. “We must eventually see about getting word back to his own people. One could buy much wine and amuse many fair women with his ransom.”