The Dragon, the Earl ,and the Troll by Gordon R. Dickson
"I think so, also, Brian," said Jim. "But I hate to think of our other old Companion waiting there in our kitchen to deliver some message to me. Yet I can't very well leave the castle and change to a dragon, then fly back to Malencontri and talk to Secoh myself—either there or wherever he's gone to from there."
"You think too lightly of yourself, James," said Brian.
"Not in this case," said Jim grimly. "And there's also the absence of Carolinus. I can't find him, to get help from him. I haven't seen him since he left me in the tower, and of course I can't call to him magically, the way I normally would, since the Bishop blessed the castle."
Jim realized abruptly that he was talking himself into leaving the castle, after all.
Brian looked sympathetic. Carolinus and magic were not in his area of technical authority.
"Well—no choice in the matter," said Jim. He glanced at his bare left wrist from sheer reflex. He had been here several years now, and he still could not get used to not having a wristwatch there.
However, it actually was not necessary. He had developed something of the same sense of time that most of the people around him seemed to have instinctively. He had a general feeling of the amount of time he had in which to talk to Brian before Angie showed up. Then he remembered Geronde.
"Geronde isn't coming by here to get you before going down, is she?" he asked.
"No, of course not, James," said Brian. "I was to go and find her when I thought she was ready, then we two would go down together. It was in my thoughts that you, Angela and I could go to her together."
He coughed, with a touch of embarrassment.
"I had not thought of Angela being with you," he went on, "and of course, here at the Earl's castle, she only has a single room. But you and I could wait without, and Angela could go in to her; so that neither of them would be uncomfortably waiting."
"Well, we can do that," said Jim. With the importance of this dinner, and the fact that Angie would be ready to go, Geronde would be quick to see the benefit of what Brian had mentioned—the four of them going in at the same time. She should not keep Jim and Brian waiting outside in the corridor too long before she and Angela joined them.
"While we're waiting," Jim went on, "perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me more about trolls, in general; since the one in the castle has become my problem, it might help if I knew more about the creatures."
"In truth," said Brian, "I know but little; only what is told in common tales."
"I understand," Jim said; "but you must remember that I did not grow up in England, and so I do not know such things."
"Yes," said Brian, "I had overlooked that." He paused a moment, then went on.
"What is said is that trolls are solitary creatures, only. They are found one by one, in secret spots of the woods, under bridges and such like. They fight each other to the death if two meet; and the loser is eaten."
"I have never seen one before," said Jim. "Are they all like the one we met under the castle?"
"As I think I said, James," Brian answered, "that one is much the largest I have ever heard of. But for that size, however, he appears much like any other such creature."
Jim paused, thinking. "So if they're strongly territorial," he went on, "that would explain the reaction of the one at the near presence of the other." Brian looked blankly at him.
"At any rate," Jim said, changing the subject, "I'll have to go talk to Secoh after all, clearly. So the problem is my having some freedom to slip out of the castle by myself when no one but a few servants will see me go. Servants, I can give some kind of a story to; but I wouldn't want to run into a fellow guest or anyone of importance on the Earl's castle staff who might wonder why I'm not at the dinner."
"Indeed," said Brian, "they will miss you at the high table."
"Not if they think they know why I'm missing," said Jim. "That's what I wanted to ask your help in, Brian."
"I will be glad to help in any way," said Brian firmly.
"Better wait until you hear what I'm going to suggest," said Jim. "See, I just need to get out in the woods far enough to be away from the Bishop's blessing on the castle—actually, just beyond the walls and on the tilting ground ought to be far enough; except that if I walked out that far and suddenly turned into a dragon or disappeared, someone on duty watching from the castle walls might see me do it, and there would be talk about why I left the banquet—particularly on Christmas Day. I'd better go into the woods. But that's not the main problem. The main problem is finding an excuse for me to leave the dinner after I've got there; and be gone long enough to fly to Malencontri and find Secoh, or perhaps manage to magic myself there, the way Carolinus does. I've got an idea how to do it, but it needs your help, Brian."
"Count on me for anything," said Brian. "What is it, James?"
"Well," said Jim, "I'd like you to do something for me—not right away, but, say, halfway through the dinner, after we've been there for the first two or three courses. You and Geronde will be sitting together, won't you?"
"We can," said Brian cautiously. "Normally, Geronde, who sees so few other ladies during the rest of the year, looks forward to sitting with some and talking; and I freely admit to liking the conversation of table-mates who are other gentlemen and tend to talk more of things in which a knight might be interested."
"Well," said Jim, "it really doesn't matter if Geronde's right beside you. Just that she's close, enough to see you do this. After you've had, say, the third course, I'd like you to pretend to be sick—ill, I mean—"
"Ill?" said Brian. In the competitive social world of fourteenth-century knighthood, someone like Brian did not admit to being hurt or ill unless the cause was obvious and the hurt or illness overwhelming.
"Oh," said Jim hurriedly, "just sort of groan and fall off your bench as if you had, er"—he groped for the best possible word—"swooned."
"Oh? Ah," said Brian, thinking it over. "Fall into a swound, eh? As if I had a vision, or some such?"
"That's it!" said Jim. "You fall off your bench and into a sudden swound, or something else that will attract all eyes to you. Then I'd like Geronde to hurry to your side; and if Angie isn't already on her way down from the high table also, Geronde should get her—and that'll give me an excuse to go down to you, too. Then we can all four go out together, with possibly a couple of servants carrying, or helping you walk, or some such thing."
"Leave in the middle of the Christmas Day banquet?" said Brian, staring at him.
"I know it's a lot to ask, Brian," said Jim. Once more he glanced at his unhelpful bare wrist. Angie might show up any minute now. The way things seemed to happen to the best of his plans, this once she might very well show up early. He wanted to get Brian's agreement to this first, then tell Angie and make sure Brian later told Geronde. But he did not want Angie to think that the swoon that Brian had fallen into was anything but pure pretense—her reaction could upset the applecart in any number of possible unexpected ways.
"After I'm gone," he went on to Brian, "you can go back to the banquet, of course, you and Geronde; and say that what happened was just something you ate earlier, or something like that. Angie will have to go back to the high table, in any case. I know it's a lot to ask. But if you'd be willing—"
"James," said Brian firmly, "I will do it. If it will help you, you can count on me for any assistance I can give."
Not for the first time, Jim found inside him the mixed emotions of a warmth at Brian's readiness—and a feeling of guilt; guilt that this kind of loyalty was not the sort of thing that he himself had been used to receiving and giving in the twentieth century; and which he doubted he had really shown at any time back here, toward Brian.
He tried to make himself feel better with the reminder that he had not had much opportunity to show an equal sort of commitment to Brian—except perhaps for the time when he had gone to help Brian rescue his Castle Smythe from sea-pirates who had come plundering inland and thought the half-ruined establishment
But that had been only one instance; and it was the sort of help almost any knight would expect from a friendly neighbor as a matter of course. Some day, he told himself, he must find the opportunity to make up to Brian this debt of loyalty that the other's kindness was building up in him.
"Good," said Jim. "I'm very grateful, Brian. As long as you can do that—"
That was as far as he got. The door from the hall to Brian's room opened without so much as a preliminary knock or scratch; not only Angie but Geronde came in.
Now that the two were dressed, they were both anxious to go down immediately. All four left, accordingly, Jim explaining on the way and Brian attesting to his approval. Angie looked a little doubtful to begin with, and Geronde seemed inclined to hunt for flaws and possible hidden dangers in the plan; but these eventually ran up against Brian's attitude, which could probably best be expressed in the words, It is my duty, and I will!
So it was that when they entered the hall, they separated in essential agreement. Brian and Geronde were taken to one of the lower tables; and Jim and Angie, as on the previous day, were whisked off to the high table.
On this particular Christmas Day, they were seated together, much to Jim's pleasure. The fact they were side by side meant that Angie must inevitably hear what Geronde would be telling Jim when she brought word of Brian—which, of course, other people at the high table were supposed to hear—and which made it that much more reasonable that Jim should get up and hurry down to Brian with Angie and Geronde.
As on the previous day, Agatha Falon was seated next to the Earl, dominating their conversation and flattering that noble, if not as young as he used to be, gentleman outrageously.
The Earl seemed to be lapping it up. He was already somewhat under the influence of wine—possibly because of discomfort from the ankle twisted in his fall from his horse earlier in the day. A knob-ended walking stick leaned against the back of his chair; so it was probably not only painful for him to get around, but possibly painful for him simply to sit at table and preside over the meal.
The same comfortably stout, aging lady who had sat at Jim's left before was there again. She was eager to fill Jim and Angie in on the high points to come of this particularly important repast.
They were to have a reenactment of the sea battle that had ended in a victory over the French navy at Sluys. Apparently the Earl, then a noticeable number of years younger and undoubtedly more active, had taken a heroic part. This reenactment would take place toward the end of the meal.
Meanwhile, as Jim and Angie had already noticed, there were jugglers out between the two long tables, juggling away; and acrobats were to follow them during the next courses. Meanwhile the musicians, perched in their gallery nest high on the right-hand wall, were sawing, pounding and plucking away, although most of the diners seemed to be paying no attention to them whatsoever.
The Irish harp was among them; but the tuneful, sad-happy notes of that instrument of which Jim was fond were lost among the noises of the other instruments. Jim sighed to himself—he had plenty of time to sigh; for Angie and the elderly lady had struck up a conversation across him and he was leaning back in his seat, so that they would have a clear view of each other as they spoke. He was, in fact, relieved not to have to make conversation.
Not only were the two women talking away happily, but they were eating and drinking at the same time. Jim was also eating—though drinking sparingly—but he was embarrassed to notice that Angie's medieval table manners were far better than his. Where and when she had found time to develop her expertise, Jim could not imagine. At home, in Malencontri, they had made use of spoons and forks rather freely, on the basis that Jim, being a magician, was likely to do anything, and Angie, as his wife, would be expected to follow suit. So, in fact, they had eaten very much as they had in the twentieth century, with some small concessions to the medieval way of dining.
But here there were no forks. Each person used the knife at her or his belt to cut up meat or other morsels—although much was ordinarily served in already bite-sized pieces—or other solid foods where you did not want the full piece on your trencher, the slice of thick bread that served as your plate. Their spoons were for use only in the case of liquid or almost liquid food—usually sauces, of which fourteenth-century cooks were particularly proud.
Jim had learned to handle his dagger at the table in fair fourteenth-century fashion; but the tricky part was that after you had carved off something eatable, or if the food was pick-up-able, you picked it up as daintily as possible with the tips of the ringers and conveyed it to your mouth that way. Getting your fingers too deeply into the sauce was frowned on; and servants came frequently with basins of water and towels so that you could wash off any resultant greasiness.
So, here was Angie daintily lifting a portion of meat or tart between the tips of her fingers, barely dipping it in a plate or bowl of sauce, as needed, and then conveying these tidbits to her lips smoothly and expertly.
They were indeed tidbits. Politeness also frowned upon large mouthfuls. Both Angie and the elderly lady picked up at a time only a sliver of whatever they were eating; but a remarkable number of these slivers managed to make the journey, with the result that they were both making a full meal out of what was offered by the table's servants.
Angie had always had a good appetite. Jim had discovered himself to be ravenous when he first sat down—these cold halls and rooms caused the body to demand fuel. Now, however, he had taken the edge off that; and also put the brakes on out of prudence. Just as he did not want to have too much wine in him, so he did not want to be loaded down with food an hour or so from now, when he would be trying to get out of the castle and into the woods, change into a dragon and fly back to Malencontri.
He also now took notice of another advantage in eating very small bites, as Angie and his left-hand neighbor were doing.
This was that such small amounts in the mouth left the eater free to keep talking. This was an academic point at the moment for him, since he was just as happy not to have to make conversation. In any case, he would have found it difficult to talk around either Angie, or his other neighbor, to anyone beyond each of them.
Eating and drinking and periodically dipping his fingertips in a ewer of scented water and then wiping them with a towel, Jim drifted off into a reverie in which he found himself rehearsing a number of different arguments which might convince Mnrogar to cooperate with Jim's search for the other troll in the castle.
Angie and the elderly lady were still continuing their lively discussion—in fact, for all intents and purposes he had vanished and there was nothing but an empty chair between the two women. His mind moved to the problem of the troll and the Earl as hereditary enemies. He built up a pleasant scenario, in which he brought the two, troll and Earl, together for a conference which he himself mediated… they resolved their differences, found they liked each other and agreed to own the castle jointly henceforward.
The Earl was just telling the troll that there was a wall with a secret peephole in a corridor of the castle; and he had a way to arrange all the guests to move down it one by one. The troll could therefore watch them through the peephole, smell them as they passed, and pick out the one that was a troll masquerading as a human. Needless to say, the troll was delighted with this—
The fantasy was suddenly interrupted by something like a wild howl from farther down the hall.
Jim came back to the present with a snap and stared in the direction from which the sound had come, along with everybody else at the high table and just about everybody else in the room, many of whom were standing up in order to get a better view.
Jim and the rest at the high table had the advantage of an elevation from which to look down on the source of this strange noise; and it was what Jim had secretly feared. Brian had overacted.
Over the heads of the people clustered around Brian in a small open circle—but not approaching him too closely for their
"It's Brian!" said Angie, looking at him with excitement and meaning.
"So it is," said Jim, his voice sounding stilted and unnatural in his own ears. "What could have happened to him? I wonder."
"Perhaps we should go down to him!" said Angie, jumping up from her seat. "I think—oh, here comes Geronde!"
Geronde it was, making good time. She reached the still-standing Angie with a fair amount of breathlessness.
"Angela, come help!" she said. "We were just talking about the Holy Sepulcher that my father was so desirous of seeing when he planned to go on Crusade; and Brian was about to say something about it, when he looked almost as if a vision had overcome him. He gave a great cry and fell!"
"I'll go right back with you!" said Angie.
"We'll both go," said Jim—loudly, for public consumption—and because Angie and Geronde had looked as if they were going to start out, forgetting all about him. "Perhaps this is something that magic will allow me to understand."
"I, too!" called a strong voice from the far end of the table. It was the voice of the Bishop. "If it was a Holy matter he chanced to have in mind when the vision took him, the Church is concerned and—"
"Hurry—" said Jim, under his breath to Angie and Geronde. They literally ran down the steps at the edge of the dais holding the high table and back along the lower table, Jim leading the way now and literally pushing his way through the crowd, the members of which gave way when they saw who he was.
Mindful of the Bishop rapidly approaching from the rear, Jim bent over the still figure of Brian, who lay motionless with his eyes tightly closed.
"A swoon, of course," he said out loud, for the benefit of the listening ears around. He surreptitiously nudged Brian's side with his toe. "I think he's coming out of it."