“His men called him King John. They say that he ruled over England when men wore armor and fought with swords. In the time of Saladin. His brother was a very famous warrior, Richard the Lion-Hearted.”
Sam cursed and said, “John Lackland! The blackhearted pussyfooting Prince John! So rotten that the English swore never again to have a king named John! I’d sooner have a scoundrel like Leopold of Belgium or Jim Fiske after my hide!”
Thirty minutes later, Sam was shoved into an even deeper gloom. This time, the message came by word-ofmouth grapevine. Thirty miles downRiver, a huge fleet was sailing toward them. This consisted of sixty large single-masters, each carrying forty warriors. The leader of the armada was a king of an area which had been just outside the destruction caused by the meteorite. His name was Joseph Maria von Radowitz.
“I read about him in school!” von Richthofen said. “Let’s see. He was born in 1797, died about 1853, I believe. He was an artillery expert and a good friend of Fredrick Wilhelm IV of Prussia. He was called “The Warlike Monk’ because he was a general who also had strict religious views. He died when he was about fifty years old, a disappointed man because he had been dropped from favor. So now he’s alive again, young, and no doubt trying to impose his Puritanism upon others, and killing those who don’t agree with him.”
An hour later, he got word that King John’s fleet had set sail.
“John’s force will get here first,” he told Bloodaxe. “They’ll be faster because the wind and current will be helping them.”
“Teach your grandmother to suck eggs,” Bloodaxe snorted. “So what do you plan to do?”
“Smash the Englishman first and then destroy the German later,” Bloodaxe replied. He swung his ax and said, “By the shattered hymen of Thor’s bride! My ribs still hurt, but I will ignore the pain!”
Sam did not argue. When he was alone with Lothar, he said, “Fighting against hopeless odds until you die is all very admirable. But it doesn’t pay off in preferred stock. Now, I know you’re going to think I’m as spineless as a cockroach, Lothar, but I have a dream, a great dream, and it transcends all ordinary ideas of faithfulness and morality. I want that boat, Lothar, and I want to pilot it to the end of The River, no matter what!
“If we had a fighting chance, I wouldn’t suggest this. But we don’t. We’re outnumbered and have inferior weapons. So I’m going to suggest that we make a deal.”
“With whom?” von Richthofen said. He was grim and pale.
“With John. He may be the most treacherous king in the world, although the competition is fierce, but he’s the one most likely to throw in with us. Radowitz’s fleet is bigger than his, and even if John somehow managed to defeat it, he’d be so weakened we could take him. But if we ganged up with John, we could give Radowitz such a beating he’d take off like a hound dog, tail closed down like a latch.”
Van Richthofen laughed and said, “For a moment I thought you were going to propose that we hide in the mountains and then come out to offer our services to the victor. I could not stand the idea of playing coward, of leaving these people to fight alone.”
“I’ll be frank,” Clemens said, “even if I am Sam. I’d do that if I thought it was the only way. No, what I’m suggesting is that we get rid, somehow, of Bloodaxe. He’ll never go along with taking John in as a partner.”
“You’ll have to watch John as if he were a poisonous snake,” the German said. “But I see no other way out. Nor do I think it’s treachery to kill Bloodaxe. It’s just insurance. He’ll get rid of you the first chance he gets.”
“And we’ll not really be killing him,” Sam said. “Just removing him from the picture.”
Clemens wanted to talk more about what they should do, but von Richthofen said that there had been enough talk. Sam was putting off the taking of action—as usual. Things had to be done right now. Sam gave a sigh and said, “I suppose so.” “What’s the matter?” Lothar said.