“I tell you, his uncle, this, just as I would say it to Walid Pasha … or to the dead man’s father himself, should I be called upon to so do.”
” You then are acquainted with the father of the late Lieutenant Suliman, Master?” The captain’s tone was relaxed, conversational, but a barely perceptible aura of tenseness
surrounded him, radiated from him, and his right hand hovered near the access slit to a well-hidden envenomed dagger. H^s answer was a tired smile. “Captain, that secret was ill kept. I know who the young man was, and so too do the most of the original crewmen of this ship, though no one of the Westerners ever learned aught of it, you may be sure. I know just who and what you truly are, too, Captain, but that secret is no less safe than was the other. Why you are aboard in such guise I have no idea, but then the doings and schemings of such persons as yourself are not and should not be and have never been the affair of this lowly one.
“You have my sworn word that I will never betray you. If that is not sufficient to you, use that weapon beneath your hand. Otherwise, please grant me your leave to get back to my patients yonder.”
“We’re at least as safe here as we could be at Rutland or anywhere else, Bass,” began the third page of KrystaJ Foster’s letter. “Both King Arthur and King James are maintaining garrisons round about Whyffler Hall while the negotiations drag on, some of Hal’s episcopal guards are usually in residence, Geoff has somehow raised and armed and mounted and is now training (he claims) a ragtag bunch of rogues from both sides of the border. He seems almighty proud of them, though they look to me to be just another pack of savage, deadly border bandits. But both Sir Liam and dear Uri assure me that Geoff s vaunted ‘Whyffler Launces’ are brave, stout, reliable, first-class troops, and as they both and Melchoro, too, often ride out with them, they’re probably right about them. “I don’t blame you about that Rutland business, Bass. You only saw it briefly and in good, warm weather. Honey, believe me, winter residence was just impossible. We could have burned every tree for miles around in those fireplaces (and some of them looked as if they could have easily accommodated whole trees, too) without getting much of the bone-deep chill out of those high, drafty rooms. Most of that pile was built in the thirteenth century, Bass, for easy defense, not for comfort.
“When I found chilblains on little Joe’s hands and feet, I talked it over with Melchoro and Uri, then with Sir Liam, and we decided to come back up here to Whyffler Hall as soon as we could. If, as you indicated, Rutland seemed to offer more in the way of creature comforts than does your residence in Norfolk, then I can only pity you, poor dear, and hope that you soon will be free to join me, your son, and your friends here, in the north.
“I love you, Bass Foster, so take good care of yourself. No excuses, you are now a very important man to the kingdom, so let someone else take the chances and run the deadly risks; just recall what old Earl Howell told you—The Lord Commander of the Horse is not expected to lead cavalry charges any more than is the king; both are too important to the army and the kingdom to risk in open battle.”
“I so wish that dear, jolly Bar6n Melchoro would stay up here with us, but he is insistent on joining you down there in the south, so he and his retinue and some score and a half of now recuperated gallowglasses will ride out in the morning and bear this letter to you from your loving wife. (Sounds corny, huh? But it’s true.)”
The Duke of Norfolk’s “River Cavalry”—the fleetlet of small galleys, each mounting one of Pete Fairley’s new, powerful, fast-firing ten-pounder rifled cannon—had been the idea born of a weekend of drinking and scheming among Bass, Pete, Nugai, Sir Ali, Sir Calum MacLedid, Captain Sir Lucais MacantSaoir, and Dave Atkins, who had ridden down from York with Pete.
Dave’s first few months in this new, strange, primitive world had been unremittingly hard on him and his companion, Susan Sunshine, mostly because they had been suddenly and irreversibly cut off from the plethora of drugs that had sustained them in twentieth-century America. But they had survived the ordeal, and Dave now was one of Pete’s assistants in the huge Royal Manufactory at York, which turned out new and innovative firearms and stronger blends of gunpowder for the Royal Army, delighting King Arthur and utterly confounding the machinations of his enemies.
“The bottoms are available, y’r grace,” Sir Calum had said. “There be more than a score of them, mostly of a size. Fitted for twelve oars, a steering sweep, and a small lugsail, they are. Small labor would it be to add thole pins along the gunwales, rework the footings for quick stepping or unstep-ping of the mast, then lighten them a bit to give more speed and ease of handling.
“Y’r grace, it ain’t but the one way the thrice-damned Papal forces can resupply the City of Lunnun, invested and all like she be, and that be by the river up from the sea. Yes, they’ve tried it before and failed, but sure as St. Peter’s holy balls, they must try again, and with a stronger force.
“Thick as the mist lies on that river of times, a score or so of low, mastless row vessels could right easy come up so close ‘neath the hulks that precious few of their guns could avail them aught. And before they hardly knew, y’r grace’s fine, fierce galloglaiches would be swarming over the ship like so many rats, would have prized her to y’r glory and renown.”
Bass had shaken his head. “A brave, daring plan. Sir Calum, but far and away too risky. Why, man, you’d all be sitting ducks out there on that river, hostage to the slightest breeze that might whisk the fog away and expose you to the sharp-eyed gunners. King Arthur and I prize you and the gallowglasses far too much to take such a chance for so little gain. Bigod and his fleet have done good work in halting the Papal fleets thus far; no doubt they’ll do equally well when called upon again. I know that you and the men are bored. So am I, but there’s naught that can be done for it. Aside from the few remaining brigands scattered hither and yon, there’s just no one left in England for cavalry to fight. But . . . perhaps I could prevail upon his majesty to loan you gallowglasses to King James for a while, eh? His Scotch majesty is still having trouble with certain of his Lowlander lairds, they say. …”
Sir Calum sighed. “Unless y’r Grace go tae Scotland, his Royal Gallowglasses go not tae Scotland.”
Bass sighed. They had been over this ground before, many times.
But then Pete spoke up. “Bass, Sir Calum, he had him a good ideer, far as it went, but I think I can take it further. Lissen, I got me up to York some ten- and twelve-pounder rifles, breechloaders all of ’em and fitted with the friction-spring primers that Carey and Dan Smith dreamed up, too. They ain’t heavy, Bass, not put up ‘gainst reg’lar guns they ain’t, and they got real range—more range than any gun any ship’ll be likely to be mounting, and better accuracy than these folks has ever seen afore, I betcha.
“Bass, boy, you mount one of thesehere rifles in the middle of ever one of your rowboats, run in close to them big sailboats, see. You’ve seed the kinda guns boats use—cain’t hardly none of the big guns be traversed none, and if they tries to depress ’em too much, the friggin’ charges come a-rollin’ out the muzzles, most times.
“So if yawl get too close for their big guns to bear on you, but too far for the slingpieces and such like, you can perlitely shoot them muthas to pieces with my ten- and twelve-pounder rifles, then close with ’em when they got more to worry ’bout than boarders.”
Admiral Bigod had not been receptive in the least to the idea or the diversion of the breech-loading rifles—originally intended as chasers for his small but pugnacious fleet—until Bass had managed to persuade the seaman to observe the flotilla of galleys on maneuvers on the river. Then the admiral’s support became more than enthusiastic, and he had ridden roughshod over the objections of the more conservative-minded of his captains.
Now of one mind in the matter, neither the Lord Admiral nor the Lord Commander of the Royal Horse could see any reason to broach the plan to the king, so they concentrated on preparations and practice and maneuvers up to the very day that a coaster spotted the Papal fleet beating for Thames-mouth.