"Honored to make your acquaintance, Sir Mortimor," said Jim.

"Honored to make yours-" said Sir Mortimor in a remarkable ba.s.s voice, and paused meaningfully.

"Crave pardon!" said Brian happily. "Sir Mortimor, this is the right worshipful Baron, Sir James Eckert, the Dragon Knight, of whom you have heard me speak."

"You and others," said Sir Mortimor warmly. "It is a special pleasure to see you, Sir James. As Sir Brian says, you come at a good hour. Pray seat yourself with us and may I offer you some wine and meat?"

Jim was still a little bit queasy from the boat ride, but what Sir Mortimor was offering was ritual hospitality, which it would be insulting to refuse; and in any case Jim was glad to find himself welcomed so warmly. He joined the other two and they all sat down around one end of the table. It, like all the other furnishings Jim had seen so far in the castle, was of the barest, most utilitarian variety. Altogether Sir Mortimor's home reminded him of Malencontri, when he and Angie had first moved in. The previous owner of that castle had camped out in it, rather than actually living there; using it as a base for any number of outside activities.

Now he touched his lips to the mazer-the large square drinking utensil br.i.m.m.i.n.g with wine that was placed before him-and took a bite of the gristly meat-mutton, he decided from the taste of it-that a servant or one of the men-at-arms placed in front of him.

"May I ask," he said, as soon as he had managed to chew the piece of meat apart enough so that he could swallow it, "why you two gentlemen talk about my coming in good time?"

"Why, James, it could not be better," said Brian. "The chance of a lifetime. Have you never longed to cross swords with a Sallee Rover?"

Jim's mind went into one of its scrambles to make the proper connection with the term for a moment; then he remembered that a Sallee Rover was one name for a Sallee (or Moroccan) who was of a piratical nature. In fact, Morocco was generally considered to be nothing but a nest of pirates-at least by Sir William Brutnor and his friends, the gentlemen he had met on Cyprus.

"I have, I can tell you!" Brian was going on eagerly. "But never did I think I would have the chance. But here I was, guesting up this way; and word came that some were expected at the sh.o.r.e below this castle at any moment. Our good Sir Mortimor has on occasion picked up some of the eastern merchant ships; and it seems the owners of the goods carried in those ships have hired a couple of the fiercest of the Sallee Rovers to come hither and put an end to him and this castle."

Jim felt a pang of instinctive sympathy for the owners of the merchant ships. Translated, what Brian had just said meant that Sir Mortimor had been robbing some vessels to the point where their owners and shippers decided the larceny had to be stopped; and they had hired some of the more notorious Moroccans to do the job for them.

But of course, he reflected, there was no such thing anyway as justice upon the Mediterranean, any more than there was anywhere else upon the oceans of the world. The strong took anything weak enough to be taken, and fled from anything stronger enough to take them.

More than that, he had already heard that it was Sir Mortimor's way of making a living. He himself, he thought, had no interest whatsoever in getting into a fight with Moroccan pirates; but it was exactly like Brian to think of this as the greatest entertainment in the world. To say nothing of the fact that it would produce-if he lived through it-a story that he could tell back in England to the envy and admiration of all.

To be honest, Jim knew Brian well enough to believe that it was the excitement of the actual life-and-death encounter that sent Brian eagerly into these battles, rather than the wish to tell about them afterwards. But the tale of this fight later on would not be something without social value.

However, mentioning any of these thoughts aloud to his present two companions would not be the most politic choice of conversation. Jim smiled and made an effort to look not only interested, but happily so.

"Indeed!" he said. "And you say these pirates are expected at any moment?"

"We have a lookout on duty night and day at the top of my tower," said Sir Mortimor in that surprising ba.s.s of his.

Jim was ready to swear that the man was not speaking above his normal conversational tone; but the words seemed to bounce off the stone walls behind Jim and echo throughout the whole castle. Sir Mortimor had the kind of voice which could be perfectly understood by someone twenty feet away, even with an intervening crowd of other people talking at the top of their own voices in between.

"So far," went on Sir Mortimor, "none of them have reported what we expect, although sails are often seen. Of course, they are most likely to come in galleys, possibly with their sails down and on oars only.

But still, in this clear weather we will see them coming and have time to arm. Meanwhile, perhaps, you would care to join Sir Brian and me in a bout with the dice?"

"I must beg your forgiveness, Sir Mortimor," said Jim. "As Sir Brian may have told you, I am a magician, and under certain circ.u.mstances, my control and use of magic depends upon my abstaining from all pleasures involved with chance. Also, Sir Brian, I have news and word to you from the Lady Geronde, and from my own dear wife, the Lady Angela, which I must not forget to tell you at some other time. If you and Sir Mortimor care to dice, I shall enjoy simply sitting and watching."

"Sad, that; but I understand, of course," said Sir Mortimor, with something in his voice that seemed to Jim a little too much like the regret of a card sharp seeing a plump but innocent victim escape.

"Howbeit," he went on, "possibly better we acquaint you with what Sir Brian and I were just discussing; which is our matter of defense of this castle of mine when the marauders do land."

"I shall be happy to hear," said Jim.

"Come!" said Sir Mortimor, uncurling to his full height again and leading them away from the table, up the staircase and on to the very roof of the tower; a level circle of stone with its surrounding battlements like jagged teeth, and the opening of the light-and-air shaft in its center. There was another opening by the battlements facing seaward, which must be above the entrance pa.s.sage with holes in its ceiling.

There were as well five chimneys better than six feet tall; and a huge, soot-blackened metal kettle on wheels, with a sandbox-firebed underneath, undoubtedly to heat boiling oil for pouring on attackers.

Beside the kettle stood a framework in which was vertically suspended a circular round of what looked like bronze, some four feet across. It was not until Jim saw something like a sledgehammer leaning against one side of the framework that he recognized the apparatus as a large gong.

This gong stood midway between two men-plainly guards on lookout here, both of them gazing out at the waters of the Mediterranean. Jim, looking out himself, saw the white flecks of several sails at varying distances; but since the watchmen took no interest in them, they could hardly be the galleys of the enemy coming in.

Both these men looked about as Sir Mortimor led Brian and Jim upon the roof. Sir Mortimor flicked a pointing finger downward at the steps from which he had just emerged, and the two ran to them, disappearing from sight.

"They can learn about my plans," said Sir Mortimor to Brian and Jim, softening his voice as he led them to the battlements, well away from the ventilation shaft and to where no chimneys obstructed their view to seaward, "when I'm ready to tell them. Take a look, gentlemen. You see the situation."

Jim, with Brian, looked over the battlement and down at the beachfront below. The tower, in effect the castle itself, was no more than four or five stories high; but its slenderness, and its position perched on the spire of rock with the cliff behind and overhanging it, gave an impression of dizzying alt.i.tude; so that they seemed much farther up than they actually were. Added to this, the steep steps down to the almost as steep switchback path below it, then farther on down to the beach below, increased the feeling of height; so that it felt to Jim as if he was looking out from a precipice half a mile high.

That illusion, however, was at odds with the fact that he knew he was not actually that far above the sloping beach; and so the wooden buildings upon it gave the impression of being closer than they should be. It was as if he looked at these through a telescope at the same time as he examined everything else from the illusory height of the tower.

The stony, pebbled water's edge, at which the waves lapped, was at the greatest indentation of a small bay. The cliff behind the castle curved forward on either hand, like horns, reaching out to form two headlands.

The tops of these headlands were little higher than the castle roof, itself. As far as their tops could be seen, they were almost bare, except for some vegetation and a few sheep wandering about.

Out to sea, the Mediterranean was as peaceful as it had been since Jim had arrived here in Cyprus, its blue surface stretching to the curving horizon, with the sails Jim had noticed earlier apparently pa.s.sing each other and the sh.o.r.e on coastal business.

"I expect no less than two large galleys, each carrying a load of up to two hundred armed landsmen,"

said Sir Mortimor's voice in Jim's right ear. "These, together with the crew of the galleys, will bring to face us some five hundred fighting men. They will land, burn the village and kill any they catch, then attempt to come at the castle from above. But they will find that the overhang of the cliff behind it prevents them dropping anything heavy enough to do damage from there. Also, the gra.s.s is slippery up there and the slope is steep toward the edge of the cliff. They will lose a few men over the edge of the cliff merely by trying this."

"Will they have Greek fire?" Brian asked their host.

"Greek fire is a close-held secret still, in Constantinople," said Sir Mortimor. "They will not. No more will they have bombards of any kind, although they may have some gunpowder; and they may try to place that around the base of the tower and do some damage with it. But my lower walls are nowhere less than six feet thick and up to ten feet in places. Gunpowder has been tried before and done no real damage. They will burn the village below, as I say, and of course they will make a try up the steps and through the door of the main entrance."

"They will be at a sore disadvantage while they are at that," said Brian.

Sir Mortimor nodded.

"It will cost them heavily; but if they keep trying long enough, they may get through both doors. If that is the case, they will then overrun the castle and we shall die. Therefore, a decision will have to be made at the last moment-in fact I shall make it, myself, gentlemen. With all due deference to your own skill in warfare and with weapons, this is my castle and I will fight it the way I know best to do. If it seems they have survived breaking through the outer door and the boiling oil in the pa.s.sage, and done enough damage to the inner door so they will shortly be through, then we must sally."

"Hah!" said Brian.

"There is a secret way out of this castle that emerges some little way down the beach," went on Sir Mortimor. "Counting those of the village able to fight to any purpose, we will have inside with us here over a hundred and forty men. With a hundred of these, we can attack those who come against us from behind, or unexpectedly in the night, when they have withdrawn to rest, feeling that we who are penned in the castle can nowise escape from them; and therefore they can finish matters at their leisure. If we have the good luck to catch most of them asleep, or unexpecting-and, since they will be boat people, with legs not used to running up and down steep paths to attack or escape-we may do enough damage to convince them that we are a rescue party come from Episcopi, or somewhere else close. A reinforcement. So that they will break and run for their galleys."

"Pray," said Brian to the tall knight, "to which side of the castle does this secret way emerge?"

Sir Mortimor looked down at him with a wintry smile.

"There is no harm in telling you that much," he answered. "Though all else about that escape route is a family secret."

He waved his hand toward the close slope to die right of the castle.

"Some little distance in that direction," he said.

Brian considered the area.

"There are some large rocks at the foot of the steep slope on the beach no more than fifty yards from here," he said. "Give me three score of your men, and I will pledge to go out at night, or at some other time when they are busy, and burn or otherwise destroy their boats behind them."

"That is exactly what I do not want done, Sir Brian," said Sir Mortimor. "If the boats are not there for their escape, then they will be left with us-whether they or we like it or not. Recall they outnumber us now, nearly five to one. With their boats destroyed, they will fight to kill or be killed; and in the end they may well own the castle and all of us will be dead-"

A shriek, followed by a wild babel of voices, unexpectedly echoed up the air shaft.

"h.e.l.l, blood and weeping!" exploded Sir Mortimor, his voice echoing off both headlands. He took four enormous strides to the stairway entrance and vanished down it.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Left alone together on the roof, Jim and Brian looked at each other. "Brian," said Jim. "Now's my chance to bring you up to date on things. The reason I could follow you this quickly was because John Chandos showed up with the order giving me wardship of Robert Falon."

"That was fast, indeed," said Brian. "I have known such matters to take years. I had little hope. But it is good to see you here, James-doubly so, considering the circ.u.mstances."

"I'm not as happy about the circ.u.mstances as you are, Brian," Jim was beginning, when he felt Hob stir in the knapsack on his back and sit up. A second later, the hobgoblin's small gray head poked into sight at the comer of his right eye.

"By the way, this is Hob," said Jim hastily, "from the chimney of my serving room at Malencontri. Did you just wake up, Hob?"

"Oh, I wasn't asleep," said Hob. "We hobgoblins never sleep. We just dream without sleeping."

"A hobgoblin!" said Brian, staring. "What do you dream about, hobgoblin?"

"Oh," said Hob, "nice warm chimneys, good people with food down below, plenty of children we can take for rides on the-"

He broke off suddenly, staring back at Brian.

"I don't know you," he said, shrinking back behind Jim's head and clasping him around the neck.

"This is Sir Brian Neville-Smythe, Hob," said Jim. "My best friend. He comes to Malencontri all the time; and he likes hobgoblins."

"Likes-" Brian broke off abruptly. "Nothing against them, actually. You're the first one I ever met, in fact."

But now Hob was looking at Brian again, this time with fascination.

"Are you really Brian-I mean, Sir Brian Neville-Smythe?" asked Hob. "Was your hair almost white, when you were very young?"

"Of course!" snapped Brian. "As for my hair-yes, it was. Not that that is any matter for your consideration, hobgoblin!"

"Your father brought you to Malencontri with him on the way to Malvern Castle one time when you were very little," said Hob. "That was when there were some humans named Claive in Malencontri.

There was a lot of eating and drinking and singing and everybody forgot about you. I took you for a ride on the smoke. Don't you remember?"

"Ride on the smoke..." Brian frowned. The frown slowly cleared. "Yes, by G.o.d! I do remember. Yes!

We went out over the woods. You showed me where the hedgehogs were sleeping, and the bear's den where it was sleeping. And you showed me the magician's house-it was Carolinus's place, but I didn't know that till later. I do remember! So you're that hobgoblin?"

"Oh, yes," said Hob. "You were very little and your mother was dead and your father wasn't with you most of the time. Didn't the hobgoblin at Malvern take you for any more rides when you got there?"

"Never," said Brian.

"Well, he certainly should have," said Hob. "I would have."

"By St. Brian, my name-saint, I have never forgotten that! You were most kind to me, hobgoblin."

"Oh, no," said Hob earnestly. "I liked taking you."

"There, Hob," said Jim. "I told you Sir Brian liked hobgoblins. Here, he's an older friend of yours than he is of mine."

"It's-it's good of your knightlyness to remember," said Hob, still a little timidly, peering around Jim's head at Brian.

"Hah-well," said Brian. "I was a youngster then, of course. No idea of rank. Still, it was a moment I'll not forget. But Jim-what are you doing on a trip to the Holy Land, carrying a hobgoblin?"

"That was part of what I wanted to tell you about Geronde and Angela," Jim said. "This is the time to say it, before Sir Mortimor comes back. You see, Angie and I went over to Malvern to talk with Geronde as soon as we had the wardship in our hands; and Geronde told us as much as she knew about how I could go about finding you. I got here to Cyprus actually over a week ago; but n.o.body knew exactly where you were, and I was afraid that you'd already taken a ship for Tripoli, which Geronde says was to be your next stop."

"She was quite right, you know," said Brian. "I really didn't expect you to catch me, James-particularly not this soon. Otherwise I could have left word here that would have aided you in finding me. I take it that there were no important happenings either at Malvern or Malencontri since I left?"

"No," said Jim, "outside of Sir John Chandos's bringing the parchment on Robert's wardship. He had some men-at-arms with him and was headed for the Welsh border, as far as I could understand."

"I wonder what..." said Brian. "Outside of the building of the castle at Caernarvon, I have heard no news of Wales in some time. But, James, I still do not understand why you brought the hobgoblin."

Sir Mortimor's voice could be heard up the air shaft; and it seemed to be drawing closer, as if the knight was climbing the stairs back to them.

"It was Angela," said Jim hastily. "Both she and Geronde were more concerned than usual about this trip of yours. Geronde had said she'd gone as far as actually asking you not to go-at this time anyway."

"So she did," said Brian. "However, I saw no reason to put it off. Also, you must understand, James, with that much gold sitting around, there would be a danger it might be gone by the time she felt comfortable with my leaving."

"I understand," said Jim. "At any rate, Angie, in particular, wanted something from me. That was to know, and to know as quickly as possible, if anything happened to either of us. You've ridden on the smoke with Hob, so you must remember-"

"I do remember most clearly, now," interposed Brian.

"Then maybe you'll recall how, while you seem to be moving at a fairly slow speed on the smoke, actually you're covering a great deal of distance very quickly. Hob and I used his smoke for a fair amount of the time coming down here. We traveled by other ways of course, but we used the smoke too. The point is, with Hob, if anything happens to you or to me, he can get back to England in a hurry and tell Angie-who will tell Geronde; and if there is anything they can do, they'll do it-"

He broke off, for Sir Mortimor's head had just appeared above the opening for the staircase, and a moment later the tall knight was beside them.

"I tell you what it is, Sir James, Sir Brian," he said. "The fears these easterners have are enough to drive a man out of his wits. Can you imagine what all the trouble was about? A small brown dog-a small brown dog that was not to be found when we went looking for it."

"Brown dog?" echoed Jim.

"Exactly!" said Sir Mortimor. "Rare imagination! Couldn't be a dog in my castle. If one could get in, all the d.a.m.ned curs in the village would be nosing about here for sc.r.a.ps. Man or beast, it has to come in through the front doors. There's no chance for an animal to slip in. None. But here's my cook and half a dozen others, swearing they saw it-and of course, you know what they took it for? Or at least you know, Sir Brian. Sir James, you may be new enough here not to guess. They thought it was a Djinni. Anything in animal shape can be a Djinni as far as they're concerned. Everything's a Djinni. Ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous!" faintly echoed the two headlands around the little bay in front of the fishing village.

While Sir Mortimor had been talking, the two men who had been on lookout had come back up and silently taken up their post. The good knight lowered his voice to conversational level again.