The quartermaster was impressed, and, asking no questions, assigned Mack to a high-peaked tent a little off to itself, since he had not associated himself with any of the factions. Wasyl, who seemed to have appointed himself servant and general factotum to Mack's certain but unspecified importance, went ahead to make sure that all was ready. When Mack arrived at his new quarters, he saw that a nice table had been laid for him, and there was a cold fowl and a bottle of wine and a half loaf of good wheaten bread. Not scorning a second lunch, for the tavern keeper had been niggardly with his gobbet of venison, Mack tucked in, meanwhile listening to Wasyl prate of the affairs of the day.
"Pope Innocent the Third," Wasyl went on, "is a pure man in his singleminded desire to free Jerusalem from the Saracen. Yet might not even his motives be suspect due to his overweening desire to bring the Greek Christians under the rule of Rome?"
"Interesting point," Mack said, finishing the bread and starting on some candied sweetmeats he found near-by.
Then there is the question of Alexius the Fourth, as he is sometimes called, though as yet he has no kingdom, the son of the deposed Isaac the Second Angelus. They say he has promised to bring Constantinople under the sway of Rome if he becomes king. So he is seemingly allied to the side of piety.
Yet it is true that his principal backing comes from Philip of Swabia, no friend to the Holy See, a violent man with ambitions as large as his domain is small."
"I see what you mean," Mack said, though he was making little sense out of the dissertation.
"And finally we must consider the position of Villhardoin, leader of the military expedition, a man both feared and respected, respectful of religion but not himself pious. A good man, one might say. Yet Villhardoin is noted for the extreme shallowness of his political opinions and his indifference to commerce. All he cares about is the clash of edged weapons. Is he the man we need to lead us?"
Mack wiped his mouth and looked around for a place in which to take a nap. The indispensable servant had provided a fine cot with comforter and newfangled pillow. Mack got up and walked toward it.
"My lord, I am your man," Wasyl said. "Will you not take me into your confidence, tell me who you favor and from whom you bring a message? I will fight and connive in your interests, lord. Do but tell me what they are."
Mack wished he could say, because he figured he needed people on his side in this contentious place.
But he didn't know at this point what was the stronger party, nor on which side right lay, nor what he should do that would further the progress of mankind and preserve the city of Constantinople.
"Good servant," he said, "all will be vouchsafed to you in good time. Believe me, you will be the first to know where my sympathies lie. For now, go about the camp and see what rumors are extant, and then come back to me in an hour or two."
"I go!" Wasyl said, and left. Mack stretched out and was asleep almost immediately.
CHAPTER 3
Mack awoke with the feeling that there was someone in the tent with him. It had grown dark. He must have slept for hours. Someone had provided a lighted candle in an earthenware bowl. Wasyl, no doubt.
Its flickering flame threw wild shadows on the walls of the tent. They looked almost like a man; a fantastic man with black and gray garments, piercing eyes, floating hair; the kind of man you wouldn't want to meet at night. It was strange how close to the real thing was the apparition. Mack reached out and touched. The shadows gave under his fingers and felt for all the world like flesh and bone. Appalled, he shrank back.
"I didn't think you were real," Mack said.
"Nor am I, entirely. But then, neither are you. For you are not who you say you are."
"And your
"I say not who I am, hut you know who that is."
The apparition stepped into the light, revealing himself as one whose features Mack had reason to remember, since he had spied on his movements for several days before his accomplice, the Lett, had hit him over the head in the alley in Cracow.
"You are Dr. Faust!" Mack breathed.
"And you are a damned impostor!" Faust said in a grating voice.
For just a fraction of a second Mack quailed before the fury of that accusation. Then he pulled himself together. Those who do wrong have a code, too, just like those who do good, and like them they needs must strive to keep up their self-esteem, even their aplomb, in difficult times as well as good ones.
Now was an extremely difficult time: It was very embarrassing to be caught in an impersonation, and worse to be face-to-face with the man he was pretending to be. It was the sort of situation that would cause a lesser man to pale and squeak, "Sorry, sir, I didn't know what I was doing, I'll give it up immediately, just please don't have me hung." But Mack had not embarked on this role to give it up lightly. And so he strengthened his spirit, remembering that one who would play Faust on the stage of the world needs a little of the Faustian spirit if he's to get anywhere.
"We seem to be at cross-purposes here," Mack said. "I doubt not that you are Faust. Yet I am Faust, too, on the authority of no less a person than Mephistopheles." .
"Mephistopheles was mistaken!"
"When the great ones make mistakes, those mistakes become law."
Faust drew himself to his full height, which was rather shorter than Mack's, and said, "Must I listen to this casuistic palaver from one who speaks in my name? By the powers, I'll have vengeance if you don't vacate immediately and leave this game to the player for whom it was intended, namely, me."
"You think highly of yourself, that much is evident," Mack said. "But as to who was chosen, it seems to, be me. You can argue till kingdom come and you won't change that."
"Argue? I'll do a lot more than argue! I'll blast you with spells of greatest puissance, and your punishment will be most hideously condign."
"Will be what?" Mack asked.
"Condign. It means fitting. I intend to give you a punishment worthy of your transgression."
"You know a lot of words honest folk never use," Mack said hotly. "Now listen to this, Faust, I defy you utterly. And furthermore, I have the Powers of Darkness behind me all the way. The fact is, I make a better Faust than you!"
Faust felt rage turn his eyeballs into reddened jelly, and he fought hard for control. He wasn't here to get into a shouting match. He wanted his rightful place in the Millennial contest. And it seemed that threatening Mack—against whom he could do nothing anyway—was a waste of time. "I'm sorry I lost my temper," Faust said. "Let's talk reasonably." "Another time, perhaps," Mack said, for just then the tent flap was drawn back and Wasyl entered. He looked suspiciously at Faust.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"An old acquaintance," Mack said. "His name doesn't matter. He was just leaving."
Wasyl turned to Faust, who noticed that the plump, clerkly young man had a naked dagger in his hand and a nasty expression on his face.
"Yes," Faust said, "I was just going. Till next time…" He made himself say it. "Faust."
"Yes, till next time," Mack said.
Wasyl asked, "Who's the woman outside the tent?"
"Oh, that's Marguerite," Faust said. "She's with me."
"See that you take her with you," Wasyl said. "We don't want any stray strumpets crumpling the wicket."
Faust held his tongue, for he dared not reveal himself without first conferring with Mephistopheles. The great demon would not take it kindly if anyone aborted his contest. Faust stepped outside and started walking. Marguerite, who had been waiting beside the tent flap, caught up with him and said, "So what happened?"
"Nothing, yet," Faust said.
"What do you mean, nothing? Didn't you tell him who you are?"