We withdrew underground at the agreed-on moment, as shown on captured Wersgor timepieces. Even so, we felt the earth shudder, and heard the dull roaring, as their ground installations and most of their ground machines were destroyed. A single shot was enough. The survivors thereof stormed in blind terror aboard one of the transport ships, abandoning much perfectly unharmed equipment. The lesser sky-craft were even quicker to vanish, like blown sea scud. As the slow sunset began to burn in that direction we had wistfully named the west, England’s leopards flew above England’s victory.
Chapter XIV
Sir Owain landed like some hero of a chanson come to earth. His exploits had not required much effort of him. While buzzing around in the middle of the Wersgor air fleet, he had even heated water over a brazier and shaved. Lithely now he walked, head erect, mailcoat shining, red cloak aflutter in the wind. Sir Roger met him near the knightly tents, battered, filthy, reeking, clotted with blood. His voice was hoarse from shouting. “My compliments, Sir Owain, on a most gallant action.”
The younger man swept him a bow — and changed it most subtly to Lady Catherine’s, as she emerged from our cheering throng. “I could have done no less,” murmured Sir Owain, “with a bowstring about my heart.”
The color mounted to her face. Sir Roger’s eyes flickered from one to another. Indeed, they made a fair couple. I saw his hands clench on the haft of his nicked and blunted sword.
“Go to your tent, madame,” he told his wife.
“There is still work to do among the wounded, sire,” she answered.
“You’ll work for anyone but your own husband and children, eh?” Sir Roger made an effort to sneer, but his lip was puffy where a pellet had glanced off the visor of his helmet. “Go to your tent, I say.”
Sir Owain looked shocked. “Those are not words to address a gentlewoman with, sire,” he protested.
“One of your plinking roundels were better?” grunted Sir Roger. “Or a whisper, to arrange an assignation?”
Lady Catherine grew quite pale. She took a long breath before words came. Silence fell upon those persons who stood within earshot. “I call God to witness that I am maligned,” she said. Her gown streamed with the haste of her stride. As she vanished into her pavilion, I heard the first sob.
Sir Owain stared at the baron with a kind of horror. “Have you lost your senses?” he breathed at last.
Sir Roger hunched thick shoulders, as if to raise a burden. “Not yet. Let my captains of battle meet with me when they’ve washed and supped. But it might be wisest, Sir Owain, if you would take charge of the camp guard.”
The knight bowed again. It was not an insulting gesture, but it reminded us all how Sir Roger ha transgressed good manners. He departed and took up his duties briskly. A watch was soon set. Thereafter Sir Owain took Branithar on a walk around the blasted Wersgor camp, to examine that equipment which had been far enough away to remain usable, The blueface had — even during the past few busy days — picked up more English. He talked, lamely but with great earnestness, and Sir Owain listened. I glimpsed this in the last dim twilight, as I hurried to the conference, but could not hear what was being said.
A fire burned high, and torches were stuck in the ground. The English chieftains sat around the trestle table with alien constellations winking to life overhead. I heard night sough in the forest. All the men were deathly tired, they slumped on the benches, but their eyes never left the baron.
Sir Roger stood up. Bathed, clad in fresh though plain garments, a sapphire ring arrogant on one finger, he betrayed himself only by the dullness of his tone. Though the words were brisk enough, his soul was not in them. I glanced toward the tent where Lady Catherine and his children lay, but darkness hid it.
“Once again,” said my lord, “God’s grace has aided us to win. In spite of all the destruction we wrought, we’ve more booty of cars and weapons than we can use. The army that came against us is broken, and only one fortress remains on this entire world!”
Sir Brian scratched his white-bristled chin. “Two can play that game of tossing explosives about,” he said. “Dare we remain here? As soon as they recover their wits, they’ll find means to fire on us.”
“True.” Sir Roger’s blond head nodded. “That’s one reason we must not linger. Another being that it’s an uncomfortable dwelling place at best. By all accounts, the castle at Darova is far larger, stronger, and better fitted. Once we’ve seized it, we need not fear shellfire. And even if Duke Huruga has no means left him whereby to bombard us here, we can be sure he’s now swallowed his pride and sent spaceships off to other stars for help. We can look for a Wersgor armada to come against us.” He affected not to notice the shudder that went among them, but finished, “For all these reasons, we want Darova for our own, intact.”
“To stand off the fleets of a hundred worlds?” cried Captain Bullard. “Nay, now, sire, your pride has curdled and turned to madness. I say, let’s get aloft ourselves while we can, and pray God that He will guide us back to Terra.”
Sir Roger struck the table with his fist. The noise cracked across all forest rustlings. “God’s wounds!” he roared. “On the day of a victory such as hasn’t been known since Richard the Lion Heart, you’d tuck tail between legs and run! I thought you a man!”
Bullard growled deep in his throat, “What did Richard gain in the end, save a ransom payment that ruined his country?” But Sir Brian Fitz-William heard him and muttered low, “I’ll hear no treason.” Bullard realized what he had said, bit his lip and fell silent. Meanwhile Sir Roger hastened on:
“The arsenals of Darova must have been stripped for the assault on us. Now we have nearly all which remains of their weapons, and we’ve killed off most of its garrison. Give them time, and they’ll rally. They’ll summon franklins and yeomen from all over the planet, and march against us. But at this moment, they must be in one hurly-burly. The best they’ll be able to do is man the ramparts against us. Counterattack is out of the question.
“So shall we sit outside Darova’s walls till their reinforcements come?” gibed a voice in the shadows.
“Better that than sit here, think you not?” Sir Roger’s laugh was forced, but a grim chuckle or two responded. And so it was decided.
Our worn-out folk got no sleep. At once they must start their toil, by the brilliant double moonlight. We found several of the great transport aircraft which had been only slightly damaged, being on the fringes of the blast. The artisans among our captives repaired them at spearpoint. Into these we rolled all the weapons and vehicles and other equipment we could. People, prisoners, and cattle followed. Well before midnight, our ships had lumbered into the sky, guarded by a cloud of other vessels with one or two men aboard each. We were none too soon. Hardly an hour after our departure — as we learned later — unmanned flyers loaded with the strongest explosives rained down upon the site of Ganturath.
A cautious pace, through heavens empty of hostile craft, brought us over an inland sea. Miles beyond it, in the middle of a rugged and thickly forested region, we raised Darova. Having been summoned to the control turret to interpret, I saw it in the vision screens, far ahead and far below but magnified to our sight.
We had flown to meet the sun, and dawn glowed pink behind the buildings. These were only ten, low, rounded structures of fused stone, their walls thick enough to withstand almost any blow. They were knitted together with reinforced tunnels. Indeed, nearly all that castle was deep underground, as self-contained as a spaceship. I saw an outer ring of gigantic bombards and missile launchers poke their snouts from sunken emplacements, and the force screen was up, like Satan’s parody of a halo. But this seemed mere trimming on the strength of the fortress itself. No aircraft were visible, save our own.