"Fill buckets," said Sir Mortimor. "Line them up close above the entrance and five men stand ready to pour."

A long iron rod was produced, and two men used it to push the top of the kettle forward so that it swung on its gimbals, tilting enough so that the first man to hold a bucket under its lip was able to fill it without a problem. He carried it to the front battlements.

He was succeeded immediately by another man with an empty bucket, and the process continued until at least a dozen buckets were lined up just below the crenelations of the battlements.

Another man ran up from below.

"Sir Mortimor," he panted, "Beaupre sends to say that he does not think they will get through the outer door in any time soon. Their battering ram strikes all over the surface of the door rather than repeatedly at one place on it. He ventures to guess, with your permission, Sir Mortimor, that they are finding their footing uncertain on the steps in the darkness."

"Good," grunted Sir Mortimor. He waved the man away. "We will furnish them light to work by. Tell Beaupre that."

He looked back at the activity on the roof.

"That's enough straw!" he said. "Be ready to throw it over. Get it as close as possible before the door, itself. It will spread and scatter enough falling down. Bucket-men, and all. Throw the straw!"

He took two enormous strides forward himself, scooped up a huge armful of it in his long arms and tossed it over. All around him everyone was doing the same, including the men who had been standing sentinel by the battlements around the back part of the castle. Within less than two minutes, all the straw was over.

"Oil!" snapped Sir Mortimor.

The men who had been appointed to handle the buckets seized them and began dumping their contents over the side, crowding each other as they did so to get as directly above the doorway as possible.

"Now," said Sir Mortimor, when the last bucket had been poured. "Torches!"

The torches around the roof were seized and carried to the same point from which everything else had been thrown and dropped. Jim and Brian crowded close to the battlements a little off to one side and saw light suddenly blossom in front of the castle doorway-not at the door itself, but at least one or two steps down. The straw had taken fire immediately and the oil was feeding its flames.

"Slingers!" Those on the roof who were slingers had already dropped their straw and filled their slings with missiles. They were whirling their slings ready to throw. Now they stepped forward to the battlements, and as yells and screams came up from below they launched the missiles downward.

An almost equal roar of excitement rose among those at the top of the tower, with a single voice shouting out above the rest.

"They run!" cried a voice.

"Let none escape!" trumpeted Sir Mortimor. "Slingers, see to it!"

Watching, Jim saw the last two flaming figures scrambling down the steps to fall and lie still. In front of the door, but not too close to it, the straw still burned brightly, with dark areas here and there among it where a body had fallen on the flames. The dropped battering ram they had been using-a squared-off piece of timber, with the bottom edge of its striking face slanted back from top to bottom to compensate for the fact that they were ramming it upward because of the slope of the steps-was outlined by fire.

"More oil on that stick of theirs," said Sir Brian. "More straw too, if necessary. It must burn."

He looked around for the man who had brought him the message from below earlier, and found him now, hovering almost at his elbow. "Tell Beaupre to send any extra slingers and archers he has up here.

Tell him he may keep half a dozen of them only."

"Yes, m'lord."

The man went downstairs at a run.

A swelling hubbub could be heard from the buildings of the village where the rest of the attackers were; but none of them stepped outside the structures to where they might be in view of slingers from the tower.

"Well, gentlemen," said Sir Mortimor, looking over to Brian and Jim. "Shall we indulge ourselves with a drop of wine?"

Brian and Jim both murmured polite formulas of acceptance and followed him down the stairs to the floor below-Jim still a little dazed, in spite of his several years now of medieval experience, by the ruthless killing of the battering ram's handlers. He pushed it from his mind as Brian and he arrived at the floor below. It was probably that extremely carrying voice of Sir Mortimor's, he decided, that caused things to start being prepared as if by magic; but servants were already putting out three mazers filled with wine on the table by the time they reached their floor level behind Sir Mortimor. And just then another servant came with cheese, bread and cold meat from the kitchen level farther down. Enclosed here, it seemed to Jim strangely stuffy after being on top of the tower. It had been a cool night, up out in the open, but not unpleasantly so. It was probably the tension and the sudden change to indoors, to say nothing of the clothing and armor he had put on, that gave him the feeling.

Also, of course, each important room had its own fireplace; and there was one here. The fire had been allowed to b.u.m down, but it was still throwing out some heat. Jim was startled, however, to see Hob's face appear suddenly upside down, just within the upper edge of it. Hob smiled happily at him and disappeared again.

Luckily, Sir Mortimor's back had been turned to the fireplace when this happened. Come to think of it, though, Jim told himself, Hob would probably not have shown himself if anyone but Jim or Brian had been looking in that direction.

Jim wondered for a moment how the hobgoblin had managed to get from the fireplace in their bedroom to this one-then the obvious answer struck him. Of course. Hob had gone up their bedroom chimney, then over and down the chimney of this fireplace. He had probably been exploring every chimney and fireplace in the castle.

"Well, Sir Mortimor," said Brian, as they sat down. "I believe you said the only way your castle could be taken was by an attempt through its main entrance. Yet we have just had such an attempt made; and you had little difficulty repelling it. Surely, you have not much to worry about from these pirates?"

Sir Mortimor put down his cup, already a quarter emptied.

"Under any ordinary conditions, no," he said. "At least, not from a force as small and as ill-armed as this one. Against a larger, more determined set of attackers, with siege engines, with gunpowder or even bombards, possibly. But what I learned from the wars I was in on the continent was to be prepared for circ.u.mstances that are not ordinary."

"And you still would not welcome," said Brian, "my sallying with a few men to b.u.m their ships?"

"I am not about to lose one man I do not have to," said Sir Mortimor dryly. "This burning of their ships would not be the bloodless task you seem to think it, sir. Moreover, not to mince words, you are also wrong about this castle having nothing to fear."

"I but tell your own words back to you, sir," said Brian. "I repeat, you said that except they reached you through your main door they could never get in; and from what I saw tonight that they will never be able to do."

"In G.o.d's Name!" said Sir Mortimor, slapping his large palm down hard on the table top. "What you saw tonight was not what could be. Any place of strength can be taken, given either engines to break their way in, or enough willing men to keep attacking until the place is penetrated and reduced!"

He and Sir Brian were staring at each other; and Jim was sitting with all his muscles tight. When two men with the golden spurs (golden in name, at least) of knighthood started talking to each other in this bareknuckle fashion, in spite of whatever courtesies they larded their speech with, a fight with weapons was only inches away.

"We have neither of those here," said Brian.

"Now," said Sir Mortimor, "we have not. But you burn their boats and-as I told you-you will cut off their retreat. If they cannot leave, their only other hope is to take this castle. Such as these marauders do not go out to get themselves killed but to pick up loot. But if cornered, they will fight as well as anyone else. From being men unwilling to keep fighting, they will change to men willing to fight and die-aye, die!

As they are now, they have not the heart and guts to make it in my front door."

He and Brian were eye to eye, their faces less than the table's width apart.

"But give them no choice," Sir Mortimor went on, "and they will send men and battering rams against that front door until it goes down, no matter how many are killed. The weaker among them will be pressed into service first, and then those left who have become the new weakest will be the next to go, and so forth."

"There is a limit to how long men will continue doing that," Brian said.

"Not in all cases," said Sir Mortimor. "If there was a jihad, a Musselman Holy War, against us here, and those outside were fighters in that cause, I promise you they would simply keep coming. They would bring battering rams against that front door and those who brought them would die; and they would send more and those would die and they would send more and those would die. But in the end, they would break through into the pa.s.sage and the first of those into the pa.s.sage would die and those next to follow would die in the oil and flame and smoke-but the time would come when they would break through the inner door-and then we would die."

Jim felt an almost intolerable pressure on him to say something, anything, to interrupt the growing tension between Brian and Sir Mortimor, who were now leaning forward over the table toward each other in the heat of their dispute.

"I know very little about this part of the world, and such things," he interrupted, in as peaceable a voice as he could manage, "but I've got to confess I don't understand why those who attack us here should be left with nothing to do but a.s.sault the castle, if their boats are destroyed. I got the impression you believe most of them are Moslems; and certainly there can't be any lack of others of their faith in Episcopi. Why can't they simply go by twos and threes up to wander into Episcopi, find their fellow believers, and be helped to some ship that will take them homeward?"

"Indeed!" Sir Mortimor's piercing voice and angry gaze turned itself on Jim. "You do know little about matters here. In fact, sir, you know nothing! What makes you think that simply because there are others of their own faith in Episcopi, they would be safe there? There are too many of them attacking us to try to pretend to be anything but what they are. Only a few of these would need to wander into Episcopi, before word would reach the Christian knights who are my friends, telling them who these men are, and what they have been about-"

"I see," said Jim soothingly. "Well, of course-"

Sir Mortimor's voice drowned his out, going right on.

"Their fellow Musselmen would not wait for answer, but seize and hold these men and any others who came after them, while approaches were made to those I do business with-as to whether I would pay to have these condemned as pirates and turned over to judgment and death- and with them any other such who wandered in from then on, no matter how reasonable their story, or how innocent their appearance, would be put to the same fate. There are those in Episcopi, Christians and Musselmen both, who do business with me. Some hold my notes-of-hand for certain sums and want them redeemed-which they cannot be if I am killed and my castle looted. Also, they know I am in a position to repay any rewards they offer for such pirates being taken up and disposed of. Surely, Sir James, you are even more of an innocent than you proclaim yourself if you cannot imagine something like this happening!"

The mounting tension between Brian and Sir Mortimor had been broken; but Jim found himself personally in an uncomfortable spot. Now, instead of Sir Mortimor crowding Brian to the point where a fight between them was inevitable, Sir Mortimor was crowding him to the point where, if he wanted to go on calling himself a knight, Jim must react as Brian might have, unless he could think of something very quickly indeed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

He had gotten out of a sticky situation once, when he had first met Brian, by talking about Social Security numbers. Possibly, thought Jim, something else in the way of twentieth-century concepts might work now. He smiled amiably at Sir Mortimor.

"I'm indebted to you, Sir Mortimor," he said heartily. "Indeed I am very glad to hear you tell me this.

I've been concerned these last few days over the meteorological situation at this castle of yours, here; the dangerous possibilities that are always there whenever a large low-pressure cell approaches an even larger high-pressure one. But what you say rea.s.sures me."

Sir Mortimor's lips, which had begun to curl into something very closely resembling a sneer with James's first few words, froze, then gradually collapsed into a baffled stare. Brian was staring at him with equal blankness.

"As you know," Jim went along cheerfully, "events have fallen out so that I have ended up being involved with magic. So the concern was unavoidable. But, naturally, I didn't wish to concern you or Sir Brian with any matters meteorological or astrophysical, unless absolutely necessary."

Sir Mortimor's stare sought Brian's face. Brian frowned back at him severely.

"Sir James is a mage," said Brian frostily. "I had thought you understood that, sir, since he mentioned his work in that art prevented him from taking part in any gaming."

"I knew of his deeds, of course, but I had thought then he spoke only in regard to his changing into dragon-shape."

"It is far more than that," said Brian. "The rules of his Order are extremely strict. For one, he must sleep every night not in any bed, but on a pallet of penance he carries everywhere he goes."

It was Jim's turn to stare. He had never imagined Brian had put this interpretation on his carefully deverminized, decontaminated, traveling bedroll. Sir Mortimor's face had gone ashen. He turned to Jim.

"Sir James!" His voice was lowered. "I crave your pardon if some hasty word of mine may perhaps have sounded improper or unrespectful; but I only knew of your deeds-your deeds as a knight, that is-I had no real notion of you as also a mage..."

It would have been impossible for Jim to have imagined such a thing a few moments before, but the tall knight was actually stammering.

"You mustn't call me a mage," said Jim hastily. "I'm really only experienced in lower levels of magic.

Only the very top levels of magicians, those like my Master, Carolinus, should be addressed as mage. As for any hasty words from you, I have heard none, Sir Mortimor. In any case, tut! We are all three knights, here together. Pray let us forget this business of my magic, except as I referred to it a moment ago-a problem now settled. I shall speak to you, sir, as a knight; and I will be gratified if you will speak to me as merely another."

"That-that is most gentle of you, Sir James," said Sir Mortimor. "You must understand how, living here away from normal European society, and being rather a rough fellow to begin with, I have become even rougher, and I do not guard my tongue the way I should. It is so difficult these days to get your orders executed properly. I have fallen into the habit of being more outspoken to my equals than I should be, to anyone except those of lesser worth. I will be most grateful to you, Sir James, if you will correct any tendency like that in me, which you see or hear in the future, so that I may amend my ways at once and make proper apology for them."

"Tut," said Jim again, at the moment totally unable to think of what else to say.

The color flowed back into Sir Mortimor's face.

"I am most grateful to you, Sir James-well, d.a.m.n your black liver and lights!" These last words were delivered to Beaupre, who had come up the stairs during the knight's final words and was standing by his elbow, silent and waiting. "What kind of trouble are you bringing me now?"

Beaupre showed no more sign of being affected by Sir Mortimor's outburst than if he had been carved out of stone.

"Your pardon, my Lord," he said in exactly the same tone of voice Jim had heard him use every time he had spoken, "but there is some activity down in the village, which may be connected with our just driving off those who had attacked the front door. The fire from the straw and the oil in front of the castle has now burned down, and all is darkness before the door. I could let one of our men out the small panel in the door; or go myself, and creep a small distance down the slope to see what I could hear and find out about what they may be doing, or beginning to do."

"Ignore it, Beaupre!" said Sir Mortimor. "They will do nothing until daylight at least, when we may see them trying to find a safe way from the village to the door. But not in darkness. Not tonight"

Beaupre hesitated.

"You may go!" said Sir Mortimor. Beaupre disappeared down the stairs. Sir Mortimor turned back to Jim.

"You are, indeed, satisfied, Sir James," he said, "that I meant no ill will? Then or now?"

"It never crossed my mind," said Jim.

"I am relieved," said Sir Mortimor. "Well, gentlemen, shall we sit and talk and drink a bit and then perhaps seek our beds for what rest we may have the remainder of this night? Mayhap we may need it tomorrow. One thought does occur to me, however, Sir James. If you will excuse me from any further offense I may give through ignorance, I do not suppose you would be willing to put your magic to use in the defense of my castle? I am not without certain resources. By that I mean that I would be more than willing to consider any price you might think right for your a.s.sistance in that direction-I mean to offer no offense in suggesting payment to a fellow knight, none at all. It is merely a thought"

"In any case," said Jim, "I'd have to disappoint you. As you just guessed, Sir Mortimor, my magic is not for sale."

"Oh, of course-" Sir Mortimor broke off. "So let us drop that matter, gentlemen, and talk of other things. Between the three of us, I am enheartened by the speed and easiness with which we repelled tonight's attempt on the castle's entrance. It may well be that whatever reward was promised or given these sea rovers was not enough to encourage them to a fully serious effort against the castle. There are fish in the sea and there will have been some food left in the village; but they will soon run out of provender; and it may be that after a few other small attempts, they may simply take ship and leave. I have known it to happen before."

"I told Sir James about the fishing you told me of and then took me out on," said Brian, avoiding Jim's eye with a faint pinkening of the flesh over his lean cheekbones, "and the pleasure in bringing to boat a fish of the size you had then spoken of. I would that he could have the experience as well. If these pirates leave, certainly it would be possible to take Sir James out and find him a like fish?"

"Easily, easily," said Sir Mortimor, taking a hearty drink from his mazer. "I have never forgotten my first experience in such fishing with an angle, myself, on coming to this island-more wine here!" He lowered his voice, which had been pitched up on the last three words, and went on. "Until that time I had boated only small fish, the kind that come like obedient dogs when you pull on the line. I would be happy to take you out, Sir James, as soon as we are no longer under siege."

"Thank you, Sir Mortimor," said Jim, "but we'll have to see about that when the time comes. Brian, you remember we must be about our business, and you have been some time on Cyprus, already."

"Surely, you could spare a few more days," said Sir Mortimor. "We deserve a certain amount of rest and enjoyment once these intruders are gone in any case. Tell me, Sir James-I honor your resolve not to sell the use of your magic, but surely if a magician should so choose, I should a.s.sume there would be a good deal of wealth to be gained by it? I have thought from time to time how useful it might be if I could work some magic myself; but I never had time to sit down and learn it. I imagine it takes a couple of weeks or more to really master a spell? But, on the other hand, once you have mastered it, I imagine it is no more than snapping your fingers; and then all things obey you?"

"Not exactly," said Jim, thinking of his hard work and the small progress in magic it had won him during the last several years, even with the help of Carolinus. "It's a little more difficult than just learning a spell."

"Say you so!" Sir Mortimor looked at him thoughtfully. "Not the sort of thing a gentleman could pick up, to an extent at least, in a few months? I must tell you, sir, that I am reckoned to be very fast with my hands. I have small tricks with which I have amused company before now, in which things seem to appear or disappear-like magic, but tricks only, of course-and my friends have often said that I might easily make myself a famous magician with a bit of effort. But you think it would require more than, say, a year or so of work-when I had the time?"

"I'm sure it would," said Jim firmly.

"Ah, well," said Sir Mortimor, but the polite belief he tried to put into his words rang false on Jim's ear.

"How many years does it take to make a knight, Sir Mortimor?" asked Jim.

"Eh?" said Sir Mortimor. "But you must already know that. A lifetime, from boyhood upward of course."

"That is why a magician must live much longer than any knight," said Jim. "Because it takes a lifetime for him, also, to make him a full master of his craft."

Sir Mortimor stared back at him, puzzled. Slowly, Jim saw understanding begin to dawn as the little frown line between his eyebrows erased, and something of a flush colored his face. But before he could say anything in answer, Beaupre was again at his elbow.

"Forgive me, m'lord," said Beaupre in the same unvarying voice. "But I have had the carpenter from the village listening at the escape panel in the front door; and he says that they are now pounding stakes in somewhere partway down the steps; and in addition they are building something, or some things, in the houses of the village. He swears he can hear his long-saw at work; and he begs permission to go out and listen more closely to what is going on."

"He is the only master carpenter we have," said Sir Mortimor irritably. "Is there not someone else who could go out and listen and be more easily spared if he did not come back?"

"I can send a man with good ears, who has some knowledge of the sounds in a carpenter shop, m'lord,"

said Beaupre.

"Then take care of it, Beaupre" said Sir Mortimor. "Take care of it yourself; and stop bothering me about minor matters like this."