“I apologize, Joe,” Clemens said. “Out of the mouths of babes and apemen. . . . You’re not so dumb, you’re pretty smart. Forget it, Joe. I’m sorry.”
Bloodaxe swaggered up to them but kept out of Joe’s reach. He grinned as he swung his ax. “There shall soon be a meeting of the metal!” And then he laughed and said, “What am I saying? Battle any more is the meeting of stone and wood, except for my star-ax, of course! But what does that matter? I have grown tired of these six months of peace. I need the cries of war, the whistling spear, the chunk of my sharp steel biting into flesh, the spurt of blood. I have become as impatient as a penned-up stallion who smells a mare in heat; I would mate with Death.”
“Bull!” Joe Miller said. “You’re jutht ath bad ath Tham in your vay. You’re thcared, too, but you cover it up vith your big mouth.”
“I do not understand your mangled speech,” Bloodaxe said. “Apes should not attempt the tongue of man.” “You underthtand me all right,” Joe said.
“Keep quiet, Joe,” Clemens said. He looked upRiver. Two miles away, the plains on each side of The River dwindled away as the mountains curved inward to create straits not more than a quarter mile wide. The water boiled at the bottom of the cliffs, which were perhaps 3,000 feet high. On the cliff-tops, on both sides, unidentified objects glittered in the sun.
A half mile below the straits, thirty galleys had formed three crescents. And, aided by the swift current and sixty oars each, they were speeding toward the three intruders. Clemens viewed them through his telescope and then said, “Each has about forty warriors aboard and two rocket-launchers. We’re in a hell of a trap. And our own rockets have been in storage so long, the powder’s likely to be crystallized. They’ll go off in the tubes and blow us to kingdom come.
“And those things on top of the cliffs. Apparatus for projecting Greek fire?”
A man brought the king’s armor: a triple-layered leather helmet with imitation leather wings and a nosepiece, a leather cuirass, leather breeches and a shield. Another man brought a bundle of spears: yew shafts and flint tips.
The rocket crew, all women, placed a projectile in the swivable launching tube. The rocket was six feet long, not counting the guide stick, built of bamboo, and looked exactly like a Fourth of July rocket. Its warhead contained twenty pounds of black gunpowder in which were many tiny chips of stone: shrapnel.
Joe Miller, the deck creaking beneath his 800 pounds, went below to get his armor and weapons. Clemens put on a helmet and slung a shield over his shoulder, but he would not use a cuirass or leggings. Although he feared wounds, he was even more frightened of drowning because of the heavy armor if he fell into The River.
Clemens thanked whatever gods there were that he had been lucky enough to fall in with Joe Miller. They were blood-brothers now—even if Clemens had fainted during the ceremony, which demanded mingling of blood and some even more painful and repulsive acts. Miller was to defend him, and Clemens was to defend Miller to the death. So far, the titanthrop had done all the battling. But then he was more than big enough for two.
Bloodaxe’s dislike of Miller was caused by envy. Bloodaxe fancied himself as the world’s greatest fighter and yet knew that Miller would have no more trouble dispatching him in combat than Miller would with a dog. And with a small dog at that.
Erik Bloodaxe gave his battle orders, which were transmitted to the other two ships by flashes of sunlight off obsidian mirrors. The ships would keep sails up and try to steer between the galleys. This would be difficult because a ship might have to change course to avoid ramming and so lose the wind. Also, each ship would thrice be subjected to crossfire.
“The wind’s with them,” Clemens said. “Their rockets will have more range until we’re among them.”
“Teach your grandmother to suck . . .” Bloodaxe said and stopped.