The Wersgor shied a trifle, as the huge black stallion and the iron tower astride it loomed above him. Then he gathered a shaky breath and said, “If you behave yourselves, I will not destroy you for the space of this discussion.
Sir Roger laughed when I had fumblingly translated. “Tell him,” he ordered me, “that I in turn will hold my private lightnings in check, though they are so powerful I can’t swear they may not trickle forth and blast his camp to ruin if he moves too swiftly.”
“But you haven’t any such lightnings at your command, sire,” I protested. “It wouldn’t be honest to claim you do.”
“You will render my words faithfully and with a straight face, Brother Parvus,” he said, “or discover something about thunderbolts.”
I obeyed. In what follows I shall as usual make no note of the difficulties of translation. My Wersgor vocabulary was limited, and I daresay my grammar was ludicrous. In all events, I was only the parchment on which these puissant ones wrote, erased, and wrote again. Aye, in truth I felt like a palimpsest ere that hour was done.
Oh, the things I was forced to say! Above all men do I reverence that valiant and gentle knight Sir Roger de Tourneville. Yet when he blandly spoke of his
English estate-the small one, which only took up three planets-and of his personal defense of Roncesvaux against four million paynim, and his singlehanded capture of Constantinople on a wager, and the time guesting in France when he accepted his host’s invitation to exercise the droit de seigneur for two hundred peasant weddings on the same day-and more and more-his words nigh choked me, though I am accounted well versed both in courtly romances and the lives of the saints. My sole consolation was that little of this shameless mendacity got through the language difficulties, the Wersgor herald understanding merely (after a few attempts to impress us) that here was a person who could outbiuster him any day of the week.
Therefore he agreed on behalf of his lord that there would be a truce while matters were discussed in a shelter to be erected midway between the two camps. Each side might send a score of people thither at high noon, unarmed. While the truce lasted, no ships were to be flown within sight of either camp.
“So!” exclaimed Sir Roger gaily, as we cantered back. “I’ve not done so ill, have I?”
“K-k-k-k,” I answered. He slowed to a smoother pace, and I tried again: “Indeed, sire, St. George-or more likely, I fear, St. Dismas, patron of thieves- must have watched over you. And yet-“
“Yes?” he prompted me. “Be not afraid to speak your mind, Brother Parvus.” With a kindness wholly unmerited: “Ofttimes I think you’ve more head on those skinny shoulders than all my captains lumped together.”
‘Well, my lord,” I blurted, “you’ve wrung concessions from them for a while. As you foretold, they are being cautious whilst they study us. And yet, how long can we hope to fool them? They have been an imperial race for centuries. They must have experience of many strange peoples living under many different conditions. From our small numbers, our antiquated weapons, our lack of home-built spaceships, will they not soon deduce the truth and attack us with overwhelming force?”
His lips thinned. He looked toward the pavilion which housed his lady and children.
“Of course,” he said. “I hope but to stay their hand a short while.”
“And what then?” I pursued him.
“I don’t know.” Whirling on me, fierce as a stooping hawk, he added: “But ‘tis my secret, d’ you understand? I tell it to you as if in confession. Let it come out, let our folk know how troubled and planless I truly am … and we’re all done.”
I nodded. Sir Roger struck spurs to his horse and galloped into camp, shouting like a boy.