Poul Anderson - The High Crusade

VIP免费

2024-12-20 0 0 215.77KB 71 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

THE HIGH CRUSADE

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this

book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely

coincidental.

permission of the author and his agent.

thereof in any form.

A Baen Book

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, N.Y. 10471

Distributed by

SIMON & SCHUSTER

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N.Y. 10020

Printed in the United States of America

To JENS CHRISTIAN and NANCY 1IOSTRUF- as well as PER and JANNE- gratefully

and hopefully

Prologue

As the captain looked up, the hooded desk lamp threw his face into ridges of

darkness and craggy highlights. A port stood open to alien summer night.

'Well?" he said.

"I've got it translated, sir," answered the sociotechnician. "Had to

extrapolate backward from modern languages, which is what took me so long. In

the course of the work, though, I've learned enough so I can talk to these ...

creatures."

"Good," granted the captain. "Now maybe we can discover what this is all

about. Thunder and blowup! I expected to come across almost anything out here,

but this-!"

"I know how you feel, sir. Even with all the physical evidence right

before my eyes, I found it hard to believe the onginal account.

"Very well, I'll read it at once. No rest for the wicked." The captain

nodded dismissal, and the soeiotech departed the cabin.

For a moment the captain sat motionless, lookin at the document but not

really seeing it. The boo itself had been impressively ancient, uncials on

vellum between massive covers. This translation was a prosaic typescript. Yet

he was nearly afraid to turn the pages, afraid of what he might find out.

There had been some stupendous catastrophe, more than a thousand years ago;

its consequences were still echoing. The captain felt very small and alone.

Home was a long ways off.

However

He began to read.

Chapter I

Archbishop William, a most learned and holy prelate, having commanded me to

put into English writing those great events to which I was a humble witness, I

take up my quill in the name of the Lord and my patron saint:

trusting that they will aid my feeble powers of narrative for the sake of

future generations who may with profit study the account of Sir Roger de

Tourneville's campaign and learn thereby fervently to reverence the great God

by Whom all things are brought to pass.

I shall write of these happenings exactly as I remember them, without

fear or favor, the more so since most who were concerned are now dead. I

myself was quite insignificant, but since it is well to make knowu the

chronicler that men may judge his trustworthiness, let me first say a few

words about him.

I was born forty years before my story begins, a younger son of Wat

Brown. He was blacksmith in the little town of Ansby, which lay in

northeastern Lincoinshire. The lands were enfeoffed to the Baron de

Tourneville, whose

ancient castle stood on a hill just above the town. There was also a small

abbey of the Franciscan order, which I entered as a boy. Having gained some

skill (my only skill, I fear) in reading and writing, I was often made

instructor in these arts to novices and the children of lay people. My boyhood

nickname I put into Latin and made my religious one, as a lesson in humility,

so I am Brother Parvus. For I am of low size, and ill-favored, though

fortunate to have the trust of children.

In the year of grace 1345, Sir Roger, then baron, was gathering an army

of free companions to join our puissant King Edward III and his son in the

French war. Ansby was the meeting place. By May Day, the army was all there.

It camped on the common, but turned our quiet town into one huge brawl.

Archers, crossbowmen, pikemen, and cavalry swarmed through the muddy streets,

drinking, gaming, wenching, jesting, and quarreling, to the peril of their

souls and our thatch-roofed cottages. Indeed, we lost two houses to fire. Yet

they brought in unwonted ardor, a sense of glory, such that the very serfs

thought wistfully about going along, were it but possible. Even I entertained

such notions. For me it might well have come true, for I had been tutoring Sir

Roger's son and had also brought his accounts in order. The baron talked of

making me his amanuensis; but my abbot was doubtful.

Thus it stood when the Wersgor ship arrived.

Well I remember the day. I was out on an errand. The weather had turned

sunny after rain, the town street was ankle-deep in mud. I picked my way

through the aimless crowds of soldiery, nodding to such as I knew. All at once

a great cry arose. I lifted my head like the others.

Lo! It was as a miracle! Down through the sky, seeming to swell

monstrously with the speed of its descent, came a ship all of metal. So d~4ing

was the sunlight off its polished sides that I could not see its form clearly.

A huge cylinder, I thought, easily two thousand feet long. Save for the

whistle of wind, it moved noiseless.

Someone screamed. A woman knelt in a puddle and

began to rattle off prayers. A man cried that his sins had found him out, and

joined her. Worthy 'though these actions were, I realized that in such a mass

of people, folk would be trampled to death if panic smote. That was surely not

what God, if He had sent this visitant, intended.

Hardly knowing what I did, I sprang up on a great iron bombard whose

wagon was sunk to the axles in our street. "Hold fast!" I cried. "Be not

afraid! Have faith and hold fast!"

My feeble pipings went unheard. Then Red John Hameward, the captain of

the longbowrnen, leaped up beside me. A merry giant, with hair like spun

copper and fierce blue eyes, he had been my friend since he arrived here.

"I know not what yon thing is," he bellowed. His voice rolled over the

general babble, which died away.

"Mayhap some French trick. Or it may be friendly, which would make our fear

look all the sillier. Follow me, every soldier, to meet it when it lands!"

"Magic!" cried an old man. "'Tis sorcery, and we are undone!"

"Not so," I told him. "Sorcery cannot harm good Christians."

"But I am a miserable sinner," he wailed.

"St. George and King Edward!" Red John sprang off the tube and dashed

down the street. I tucked up my robe and panted after him, tiying to remember

the formulas of exorcism.

Looking back over my shoulder, I was surprised to see most of the

company follow us. They had not so much taken heart from the bowman's example,

as they were afraid to be left leaderless. But they followed-into their own

camp to snatch weapons, then out onto the common. I saw that cavalrymen had

flung themselves to horse and were thundering downhill from the castle.

Sir Roger de Toumeville, unarmored but wearing sword at hip, led the

riders. He shouted and flailed about

with his lance. Between them, he and Red John got the rabble whipped into some

kind of fighting order. They had scarcely finished when the great ship landed.

It sank deep into pasture earth; its weight was tremendous, and I knew

not what had borne it so lightly through the air. I saw that it was all

enclosed, a smooth shell without poop deck or forecastle. I did not really

expect oars, but part of me wondered (through the hammering of my heart) why

there were no sails. However, I did spy turrets, from which poked muzzles like

those of bombards.

There fell a shuddering silence. Sir Roger edged his horse up to me

where I stood with teeth clapping in my head. "You're a learned cleric,

Brother Parvus," he said quietly, though his nostrils were white and his hair

dank with sweat. "What d'you make of this?"

"In truth I know not, sire," I stammered. "Ancient stories tell of

wizards like Merlin who could fly through the air."

"Could it be ... divine?" He crossed himself.

"'Tis not for me to say." I looked timidly skyward. "Yet I see no choir

of angels."

A muted clank came from the vessel, drowned in one groan of fear as a

circular door began to open. But all stood their ground, being Englishmen, if

not simply too terrified to run.

I glimpsed that the door was double, with a chamber between. A metallic

ramp slid forth like a tongue, three yards downward until it touched the

earth. I raised my crucifix while Ayes pattered from my lips like hail.

One of the crew came forth. Great Cod, how shall I describe the horror

of that first sight? Surely, my mind shrieked, this was a demon from the

lowest pits of hell.

He stood about five feet tall, very broad and powerful, clad in a tunic

of silvery sheen. His skin was hairless and deep blue. He had a short thick

tail. The ears were long and pointed on either side of his round

head; narrow amber eyes glared from a blunt-snouted face; but his brow was

high. Someone began to scream. Red John brandished his bow. "Quiet, there!" he

roared. "'Steeth, I'll kill the first man who moves!"

I hardly thought this a time for profanity. Raising the cross still

higher, I forced limp legs to carry me a few steps forward, while I quavered

some chant of exorcism. I was certain it would do no good; the end of the

world was upon us.

Had the demon only remained standing there, we would soon have broken

and bolted. But he raised a tube held in one hand. From it shot flame,

blinding white. I heard it crackle in the air and saw a man near me smitten.

Fire burst over him. He fell dead, his breast charred open.

Three other demons emerged.

Soldiers were trained to react when such things happened, not to think.

The bow of Red John sang. The foremost demon lurched off the ramp with a

cloth-yard arrow through him. I saw him cough blood and die. As if the one

shot had touched off a hundred, the air was suddenly gray with whistling

shafts. The three other demons toppled, so thickly studded with arrows they

might have been popinjays at a contest.

"They can be slain!" bawled Sir Roger. "Haro! St.

George for merry England!" And he spurred his horse straight up the gangway.

They say fear breeds unnatural courage. With one crazed whoop the whole

army charged after him. Be it confessed, I, too, howled and ran into the ship.

Of that combat which ramped and raged through all the rooms and

corridors, I have little memory. Somewhere, from someone, I got a battle-ax.

There is in me a confused impression of smiting away at vile blue faces which

rose up to snarl at me, of slipping in blood and rising to smite again. Sir

Roger had no way to direct the battle. His men simply ran wild. Knowing the

demons could be killed, their one thought was to kill and have done.

The crew of the ship numbered about a hundred, but few carried weapons.

We later found all manner of devices stored in the holds, but the invaders had

relied on creating a panic. Not knowing Englishmen, they had not expected

trouble. The ship s artillery was ready to use, but of no value once we were

inside.

In less than an hour, we had hunted them all down.

Wading out through the carnage, I wept with joy to feel the blessed

sunlight again. Sir Roger was checking with his captains to find our losses,

which were only fifteen all told. As I stood there, atremble with exhaustion,

Red John Hameward emerged. He had a demon slung over his shoulder.

He threw the creature at Sir Roger's feet. "This one I knocked out with

my fist, sire," he panted. "I thought might be you'd want one kept alive

awhile, to put him to the question. Or should I not take chances, and slice

off his ugly head now?"

Sir Roger considered. Calm had descended upon him; none of us had yet

grasped the enormity of this event. A grim smile crossed his lips. He replied

in English as fluent as the nobleman's French he more commonly used.

"if these be demons," he said, "they're a poor breed, for they were

slain as easily as men. Easier, in sooth. They didn't know more about

infighting than my little daughter. Less, for she's given my nose many hefty

tweaks. I think chains will hold this fellow safe, eh, Brother Parvus?"

"Yes, my lord," I opined, "though it were best to put some saints'

relics and the Host near by."

"Well, then, take him to the abbey and see what you can get out of him.

I'll send a guard along. Come up to dinner this evening."

"Sire," I reproved, "we should hold a great Mass of

thanksgiving ere we do anything else."

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "Talk to your abbot about it. Do what

seems best. But come to dinner and tell me what you've learned."

His eyes grew thoughtful as he stared at the ship.

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 Cod

approved of us.

I passed the bailey through a trebled watch and went directly to the

great hail. Ansby Castle was old Norman work, gaunt to look on, cold to

inhabit. The hail 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 Toumeville, 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 sony, 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 thi~s 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 cro~s

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 hail 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 wails 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 sony 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 demono1o~. 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 ~'ou not to go," I said. "Not in yon ship out of hell.' I

could see that dizzyingly tail 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 itselfi"

"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 s~uatty 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."

"Hrn," said Sir Owain. "We stopped that much, at least.

We were both cushioned against the frightful vision of ourpoor 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."

Chapter III

And so we departed.

Stranger even than the ship and its advent was that embarkation. There

the thing towered, like a steel cliff forged by a wizard for a hideous use. On

the other side of the common huddled little Ansby, thatched cots and rutted

streets, fields green beneath our wan English sky. The very castle, once so

dominant in the scene, looked shrunken and gray.

But up the ramps we had let down from many levels, into the gleaming

pillar, thronged our homely, red-faced, sweating, laughing people. Here John

Hamewaid roared along with his bow across one shoulder and a tavern wench

giggling on the other. There a yeoman armed with a rusty ax that might have

been swung at Hastings, clad in patched wadmal, preceded a scolding wife

burdened with their bedding and cooking pot, and half a dozen children

clinging to her skirts. Here a crossbowman tried to make a stubborn mule climb

the gangway, his oaths laying many years in Purgatory

to his account. There a lad chased a pig which had gotten loose. Here a richly

clad knight jested with a fine lady who bore a hooded falcon on her wrist.

There a priest told his beads as he went doubtfully into the iron maw. Here a

cow lowed, there a sheep bleated, here a goat shook its horns, there a hen

cackled. All told, some two thousand souls went aboard.

The ship held them easily. Each important man could have a cabin for

himself and his lady-for several had brought wives, lemans, or both as far as

Ansby Castle, to make a more social occasion of the departure for France. The

commoners spread pallets in empty holds. Poor Ansby was left almost deserted,

and I often wonder if it still exists.

Sir Roger had made Branithar operate the ship on some trial flights. It

had risen smoothly and silently as he worked the wheels and levers and knobs

in the control turret. Steering was childishly simple, though we could make

neither head nor tail of certain discs with heathenish inscriptions, across

which quivered needles. Through me, Branithar told Sir Roger that the ship

derived its motive power from the destruction of matter, a horrid idea indeed,

and that its engines raised and propelled it by nullifying the pull of the

earth along chosen directions. This was senseless- Aristotle has explained

very clearly how things fall to the ground because it is their nature to fall,

and I have no truck with illogical ideas to which flighty heads so easily

succumb.

Despite his own reservations, the abbot joined Father Simon in blessing

the ship. We named her Crusader. Though we only had two chaplains along, we

had also borrowed a lock of St. Benedict's hair, and all who embarked had

confessed and received absolution. So it was thought we were safe enough from

ghostly peril, though I had my doubts.

I was given a small cabin adjoining the suite in which Sir Roger lived

with his lady and their children.

Branithar was kept under guard in a near-by room. My duty was to interpret, to

continue the prisoner's instruction in Latin and the education of young

Robert, and to act as my lord's amanuensis.

At departure, however, the control turret was occupied by Sir Roger, Sir

Owain, Branithar, and myself. It was windowless, like the entire ship, but

held glassy screens in which appeared images of the earth below and all the

sky around. I shivered and told my beads, for it is not lawful for Christian

men to gaze into the crystal globes of Indic sorcerers.

"Now, then," said Sir Roger, and his hooked face laughed at me, "let's

away! We'll be in France within the hour!"

He sat down before the panel of levers and wheels. Branithar said

quickly to me: "The trial flights were only a few miles. Tell your master that

for a trip of this length certain special preparations must be made."

Sir Roger nodded when I had passed this on. "Very well, let him do so."

His sword slithered from the sheath. "But I'll be watching our course in the

screens. At the first sign of treachery-"

Sir Owain scowled. "Is this wise, my lord?" he asked. "The beast-"

"Is our prisoner. You're too full of Celtic superstitions, Owain. Let

him begin."

Branithar seated himself. The furnishings of the ship, chairs and tables

and beds and cabinets, were somewhat small for us humans-and badly designed,

without so much as a carven dragon for ornament. But we could make do with

them. I watched the captive intently as his blue hands moved over the panel.

A deep humming trembled in the ship. I felt nothing, but the ground in

the lower screens suddenly dwindled. That was sorcerous; I would much rather

the usual backward thrust of a vehicle when it starts were not annulled.

Fighting down my stomach, I stared into the screen-reflected vault of heaven.

Ere

long we were among the clouds, which proved to be high floating mists. Clearly

this shows the wondrous power of God, for it is known that the angels often

sit about on the clouds, and do not get wet.

"Now, southward," ordered Sir Roger.

Branithar grunted, set a dial, and snapped down a bar. I heard a

clicking as of a lock. The bar stayed down.

Hellish triumph flared in the yellow eyes. Branithar sprang from his

seat and snarled at me; "Consummati estis!' His Latin was very bad. "You are

finished! I have just sent you to death!"

"What?" I cried.

Sir Roger cursed, half understanding, and lunged at the Wersgor. But the

sight of what was in the screens checked him. The sword clattered from his

hand, and sweat leaped out on his face.

Truly it was terrible. The earth dwindled beneath us as if it were

falling down a great well. About us, the blue sky darkened, and stars

glittered forth. Yet it was not nightfall, for the sun still shone in one

screen, more brightly than ever!

Sir Owain screamed something in Welsh. I fell to my knees.

Branithar darted for the door. Sir Roger whirled and grasped him by his

robe. They went over in a raging tangle.

Sir Owain was paralyzed by terror, and I could not pull my eyes from the

horrible beauty of the spectacle about us. Earth shrank so small that it only

filled one screen. It was blue, banded, with dark splotches, and round. Round!

A new and deeper note entered the low drone in the air. New needles on

the control panel quivered to life. Suddenly we were moving, gaining speed,

with impossible swiftness. An altogether different set of engines, acting on a

wholly unknown principle, had unwound their ropes.

I saw the moon swell before us. Even as I stared,

we passed so near that I could see mountains and

pockmarks upon it, edged with their o*n shadows.

But this was inconceivable! All knew the moon to be

a perfect circle. Sobbing, I tried to break that liar of

a vision screen, but could not.

Sir Roger overcame Branithar and stretched him half-conscious on the

deck. The knight got up, breathing heavily. "Where are we?" he gasped. "What's

happened?"

'We're going up," I groaned. "Up and out." I put my fingers in my ears

so as not to be deafened when we crashed into the first of the crystal

spheres.

After a while, when nothing had occurred, I opened my eyes and looked

again. Earth and moon were both receding, little more than a doubled star of

blue and gold. The real stars flamed hard, unwinking, against an infinite

blackness. It seemed to me that we were still picking up speed.

Sir Roger cut off my prayers with an oath. "We've this traitor to handle

first!" He kicked Branithar in the ribs. The Wersgor sat up and glared

defiance.

I collected my wits and said to him in Latin, "What have you done? You

will die by torture unless you take us back at once."

He rose, folded his arms, and regarded us with bitter pride. "Did you

think that you barbarians were any match for a civilized mind?" he answered.

"Do what you will with me. There will be revenge enough when you come to this

journey's end."

"But what have you done?"

His bruised mouth grinned. "I set the ship under control of its

automaton-pilot. It is now steering itself. Everything is automatic-the

departure from atmosphere, the switch-over into translight quasi-velocity, the

compensation for optical effects, the preservation of artificial gravity and

other environmental factors."

"Well, turn off the engines!"

"No one can. I could not do so myself, now that the lock-bar is down. It

will remain down until we get to Tharixan. And that is the nearest world

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

THEHIGHCRUSADEThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Copyright(c)1960byStreet&SmithPublications,Inc.Reprintedbypermissionoftheauthorandhisagent.Allrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbookor...

展开>> 收起<<

Poul Anderson - The High Crusade.pdf

共71页,预览15页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Poul Anderson - The High Crusade

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: