Bill 2 - on the Planet of Robot Slaves (21 page)

“Not that I'm keeping score, but...”

“Bill!” a familiar friendly voice called out and Meta pushed her way through the troops. There were shouted complaints as she walked on someone's spurs, then knocked aside a corpulent chainmailed knight. Warm muscular arms engulfed Bill, burning sensuous lips crushed his and his blood pressure mounted to match his rising body temperature.

“What hite this fair maid?” Arthur's voice spake from a great distance and Bill surfaced to make the intros.

“Meta, Arthur. Arthur, Meta. Arthur is king around here.”

“Shake, Art. I like your pad. And thanks for sending the troops to our rescue. If there is anything to do in return — just ask.”

The king's eyeballs grew red with lust as he clasped her hand, shouldering Bill aside. “There be one thing,” he said hoarsely.

“Arthur, you must introduce me to these delightful people.” The words were commonplace, yet dark with menace. The king dropped Meta's hand as if it were a hot poker, turned and bowed.

“Guenevire, my queen, what dost thou here so distant from your privy chambers?”

“Keeping my eye on you.” She kept an eye on Bill too, looking him up and down and smiling.

“I'm Bill, this is Meta,” he said to the ravishing redhead.

“My pleasure, queen,” Meta said insincerely. “When we get to know each other better you must let me know who dyes your hair...”

“Hearken to me, all ye here!” Arthur called out quickly before things got even more out of hand. “All assembled here to bid welcome to our guests, salved but recently from pagan hands. Kind guests to greet Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain, Sir Mordred...” and a lot more like that. Not to be oneupsmanshipped, Bill introduced his lot, ranks, serial numbers and all. Plenty of handshaking went on after that and Bill was more than glad to grab the glass of wine the waiter brought to him. A number of toasts followed, and to hold the wine down they were served sweetmeats. Which turned out to be sugar-glazed sparrows. Which wouldn't have been too bad if they had taken the feathers off first. Then the knights trampled out to change armor, the ladies went off to powder their noses. The freed prisoners dropped into chairs around a large, round table that had been pushed up against the wall during the festivities. Arthur rapped on the table with the handle of his dagger.

“Ye meeting will come to order. Newfound military friends, 'tis not by chance we gather here today. Merlin shall spake to you of what befell, befalls and shall be befalling. Merlin.”

The spattering of handclapping died away as Merlin climbed to his feet.

“Now look you,” he said, a touch of the Rhondda to his words. “Good King Arthur has had it up to here, and above, with the pestilential Roman Legions. This kingdom does fine, taxes roll in, so do a few serfs' heads when the taxes are late — but that's what feudalism is all about isn't it? But I digress. Without outside interference we could grow our corn, brast a few skulls in the tourneys, the peasantry would tug their forelocks and all would be right with the world. But it is not. Every time things seem to be going right — here come the legions again. They besiege the castle, fire off their ballistae and arbolasts and generally play silly buggers until they get tired and go home. Which is fine for them. I suppose it keeps their simplistic economy turning over, bread and circuses and all that crap. But what about us? Taxes go up as we have to buy more oil for boiling. The work on the bridges and nunneries has to stop when we haul the stonemasons back here to repair the walls. And do you know how long this has been going on? Since the dawn of history, that's how long.”

“And soon shall end, that I have swore.”

“Right, Arthur, end, sure, where was I?” The interruption had put Merlin off his mellifluous stride. He knocked back a beaker of mead, hummed a few bars of “Men of Harlech” to clear his throat and managed to work up enthusiasm anew. His voice bellowed forth until the corbels rang.

“But no more! Arthur, the king, as you have just heard, is fed up to here with the situation. Spies have been sent forth. The ones that weren't caught and crucified have returned. Here is what they have discovered.”

The silence deepened, every eye on him now, even Arthur's; he had heard the story before but was still entranced by Merlin's magic words. Meta, nose well powdered, slipped in through the door and joined the ranks. Another sip of mead and Merlin was off and running.

“They are pagans all, but this we have always known. Divining the future in goat's guts, burning incense to Mercury and Saturn, seeking fertility with sacrifices to Minerva, paying homage to Jupiter and all the other pantheonic puke. But, boy bach, I ask you — which god is missing? I see only bafflement in your eyes denoting either bad memory or a rotten classical education. Then I will tell you. Mars is missing!”

They all clapped loudly at this, not knowing why except it seemed to be a big point to Merlin. Then they quickly knocked back some wine as he went on.

“Mars, god of war. Certainly of great importance to this warlike tribe. My spies were too chicken to penetrate deeper into the country, to follow the Centurions when they made their secret way past the mountains. But I followed them there myself, for there are no secrets that can be hidden from Merlin! Disguised as an old man with a white beard I tottered after them until I discovered it, past the furthermost hill, at the cliff's edge where the plateau ends — there I found it!”

“The best part comes next,” King Arthur said, eyes glowing, fingers clutching the pommel of his sword in anticipation.

"Do you know what it was? I will tell you. It was the Temple of Mars! Carved into solid rock, with marble columns, figured lintel and an altar set before it upon which the sacrifices and offerings were placed. And the officers themselves carried the offerings, not a legionary in sight, which will give you some idea how secret and important all this is. When they had made the sacrifices they fell back, almost with fear — and lo! they had damned good reason!

“Night fell, although it was still day. Thunder rumbled and lightning crashed. Then a mysterious glow filled the air and it could be seen that the offerings were gone. And then, in a very impressive encore, Mars himself spoke. And that raised the hairs on the neck and emptied the bladder let me assure you. Nor was Mars content with a couple of prophecies or a weather report. That celestial sod ordered them to start the war again! That's where the trouble is coming from. Those lazy legionnaires and corpulent centurions are more than happy to sit around throwing slaves to the lions and getting smashed on cheap plonk. But, oh no, that's not good enough for Mars. Get the war moving he says, build ballistae, step up the draft, invade...”

Merlin was so carried away that he began to froth and vibrate. Meta sprang to his aid and, with Bill's help, settled him in his chair again and poured a beaker of mead into his mouth. Arthur nodded with grim understanding.

“There you have it within ye nutshell. We must do battle with the pagan gods if we are to free ourselves from this endless war.”

“Not a bad idea,” Praktis nodded. “And you have just the troops to do it. Armored cavalry, sudden attack, outflank the armies. Bam — the job is done.”

“Would it were but so, puissant Admiral. But, verily, 'tis not. My strong and fearless knights quail before the gods and seek shelter beneath their beds.”

Merlin had recovered and nodded his head furiously. “Superstitious saps, that's what they are. Full of noble words — Verily wouldst I lay down my life for mine liege lord! Verily my flabby buttocks! One lightning bolt from the temple and they would run a furlong. There is no help there. Craven and shivering — despite the fact that I offered them complete religious protection as well!”

Merlin seized up a leather bag and dumped its contents out onto the round table. “Look at this! Garlic by the ton. More crosses than you could find in a dozen monasteries. Crucifixes filled with holy water. Relics by the binful, saints' bones by the bagful, a piece of the True Cross, bilge pump off the Ark — everything. And what do they say when I show them this? I think I may have a previous engagement. None of them will go — not even the king.”

“Verily, I would sally forth on the quest were it not that the pressing business of rule doth stay me. Heavy hangs the head that bears the crown.”

“Yeah, sure,” Merlin muttered, far from being conned but careful not to sink into lese majesty. “So where are we now? We have a menace to the realm, identified and located and ready to be knocked out. By one old man? You must be joking. I got powers, sure, but I need brawn and a few battle-axes behind me.”

“Which is where we come in,” Bill said, aware now that their rescue had not been that altruistic.

“You've been peeking at my cards. I saw you land through my telescope — magic mirror that is. You were brought in by flying dragon and, being Welsh, I greatly appreciated that. I said, King, I said, those are the toughies we need. Strangers, not afraid of the gods.” He stopped and looked at them piercingly. “You are not superstitious — are you?”

“I'm a Fundamentalist Zoroastrian,” Bill said humbly.

“Get on with it,” Praktis snarled. “Let's hear the proposition first, then we get out of it afterwards.”

“There is no more to be said. Good King Arthur freed you from the Legions. You will be armed and you will follow me to the Temple of Mars where we will buy Mars off with an offering or two.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Cy sneered. “But what if we don't go?”

“That's easy. You go — back to the circus. And we will donate a few hungry lions to the festivities.”

“Be ye of good cheer,” King Arthur advised, pulling rank. “And be ye advised that ye honours list is going in soonest. Verily a knighthood or two, maybe a garter and a CBE, lurketh in ye future.”

They were less than impressed by the generosity of the offer. “We would like to talk this over among ourselves,” Meta said.

“Of course. Take your time. Take a whole hour.” Merlin put a sandglass on the table and turned it over. “The choice is yours. A journey to the temple — or back to the Big Top.”

“It's always bowb-your-buddy week,” Bill sniffed pathetically.

“It was the dog — if only I hadn't whistled to the dog,” Captain Bly whined.

“I could use some dope,” Cy susurrated.

“It's harvest time back on the farm,” Wurber whimpered.

Meta curled her lip in disgust and Praktis nodded agreement. “If I were still in command I would shake you miserable lot out of your depression quickly enough. But, being just one of the boys now all I can do is suggest that we stop weeping in our beer and find a way out of this.”

He looked out of the window and sought succor; but it was a straight drop to the rocks below. Meta tried the door but Arthur had locked it behind him when they left.

“Why don't we do just what they asked?” Bill said brightly, then cowered beneath the barrage of angry glares. “Listen — let me finish before you glare me to death. I was going to say that there was no easy way out of this castle. And even if there were the Legion is still there to cope with. So we go along with this screwball plan. We get weapons and all and slip out of here — along with one ancient Welshman.”

“I read you loud and clear,” Praktis chortled. “Henceforth you will be known as First Lieutenant Bill. We get well clear of the castle and the Legions, knock the old boy on the head — then trot off armed and free and on our own!”

There was a thud as the last grain of sand dropped through the sandglass and, at the same instant, the door rattled and opened. King Arthur entered.

“What sayest thou?”

“We sayest yay,” they saidest.

“If ye die it will be in the noblest of causes. Get thee hence to the armorers!”

They were fitted with armor, chainmail, helms, halberds, dirks, daggers, crossbows, swords, shields and relief tubes. “I can't move,” Bill muffled inside his helmet.

“As long as your sword arm is free it matterest not,” the armorer said, hammering a loose rivet into place on Praktis's helmet.

“I've gone deaf — knock that off!” the admiral howled, taking one staggering step then crashing to the floor. “I can't get up.”

“Unaccustomed as thee are to armor, perhaps less might be in order.” The armorer signaled his assistants. “Strip them down a bit so they can move.”

After about a ton of armor had been cast aside they could walk easily — though they creaked. The old oil can put that right and they were quaffing a bit of wine for the road when Merlin, similarly armored, came in riding on a donkey.

“Do we get to ride too?” Bill asked.

“Shank's mare, boyo, good for the muscle tone. We exit through this secret tunnel that will bring us out in the hills beyond the attacking Legion.”

“Sounds great,” Praktis said, and they all winked wildly at each other and chuckled behind their hands when Merlin turned away. Lit torches were handed to them, a barred door swung open, and they followed Merlin down the dank, water-dripping tunnel. And it was a long tunnel. They seemed to be staggering on forever, the air growing musty and foul, their torches going out one by one. When the last torch was flickering its last Praktis called out to Merlin.

“This is a silly question, I know — but when this torch snuffs it, how do we find our way?”

“Fear not — for Merlin is a wizard. The torch dies. But I have this magic crystal ball to lighten the darkness. Abra Cadabra!”

He removed the sphere from the bag fixed before him and held it high. It glowed weakly, then brightened when he shook it. Bill looked close, then whispered to Meta.

“Some magic. He's got a crummy old fishbowl full of fireflies.”

“I heard that!” Merlin shouted. “But it's more than you have, Snoopy, and it will get us out of here.”

The end of the tunnel finally appeared and they emerged into a shadowed glade. Filled with King Arthur's troops.

“An honor guard,” Merlin smirked. “To see that you all do the honorable thing and don't try to go AWOL before we reach the Temple of Mars.”

Their response was only silence and dark looks. He cackled with senile hilarity and led the way. The reluctant volunteers followed him and the troops followed them. They marched all that day, through forest, wooded canyons, dry river bottoms, along bubbling brooks and through glacier-worn foothills. It was a long hot march and at its end they dropped gratefully into the soft grass of a meadow as the sun slipped from sight.