Sir Roger invited the Jair admiral aboard our flagship. We used the Wersgor language, of course, with myself as interpreter. But I shall only render the gist of the conversation, not the tedious byplay which actually took place.

  A reception had been prepared, with an eye to impressing the visitors. The corridor from the portal to the refectory was lined with warriors. The long-bowmen had patched their green doublets and hose, made their caps gay with feathers, and rested their dreadful weapons before them. The common men-at-arms had polished what mail and flat helmets they owned, and formed an arch of pikes. Beyond, where the passage grew high and broad enough to allow, twenty cavalrymen gleamed in full armor of plate, banner and scutcheon, plume and lance, astride our biggest chargers. At the final door, Sir Roger’s huntmaster stood with hawk on wrist and a pack of mastiffs at his feet. Trumpets blared, drums rolled, horses reared, dogs gave tongue, and as one we made the ship roar with the deep-throated cry; “God and St. George for merry England! Haro!”

  The Jairs looked rather daunted, but continued to the refectory. It was hung with the most gorgeous of our looted fabrics. At the end of the long table, Sir Roger, in broidered garments, surrounded by halberdiers and crossbowmen, sat on a throne hastily knocked together by our carpenters. As the Jairs entered, he raised a golden Wersgor beaker and drank their health in English ale. He had wanted to use wine, but Father Simon had decided to reserve it for Holy Communion, pointing out that foreign devils wouldn’t know the difference.

  ” Was hael!” declaimed Sir Roger, an English phrase he loved even when speaking his more usual French.

  The Jairs hesitated, until page boys showed them to their places with as much ceremony as the royal court. Thereafter I said a prayer and asked a blessing upon the conference. This was not, I confess, done for purely religious reasons. We had already gathered that the Jairs employed certain verbal formulas to invoke hidden powers of body and brain. If they were benighted enough to take my sonorous Latin for a still more impressive version of the same thing, the sin was not ours, was it?

  “Welcome, my lords,” said Sir Roger. He, too, looked much rested. There was even a sparkle of deviltry about him. Only those who knew him well could have guessed what emptiness housed within. “I pray pardon for my unceremonious entrance into your domain, but the news I bear will scarcely wait.”

  The Jair admiral leaned tensely forward. He was a little taller than a man, though more slender and graceful, with soft gray fur over his body and a white ruff around his head. The face was cat whiskered and had enormous purple eyes, but otherwise looked human. That is to say, it looked as human as the faces in a triptych painted by a not very skillful artist. He wore close-fitting garments of brown stuff, with insignia of rank. But drab indeed they looked, he and his eight associates, next to the splendor we had scraped up. His name, we found later, was Beljad sor Van. Our expectation that the one in charge of interplanetary defenses would stand high in the government, proved well founded.

  “We had no idea the Wersgorix would trust any other folk enough to arm them as allies,” he said.

  Sir Roger laughed. “Hardly, gentle sir! I am come from Tharixan, which I’ve just taken over. We’re using captured Wersgor ships to eke out our own.”

  Beljad sat bolt upright. His fur bristled with excitement. “Are you another star-traveling race?”

  “We hight Englishmen,” Sir Roger evaded. He did not wish to lie to potential allies more than he must, for their indignation on discovering it might prove troublesome. “Our lords have extensive foreign possessions, such as Ulster, Leinster, Normandy— but I’ll not weary you with a catalog of planets.” I alone noticed he had not actually said those counties and duchies were planets. “To put it briefly, ours is a very old civilization. Our records go back for more than five thousand years.”

  Beljad was less impressed than we had expected. “The Wersgorix boast, a mere two thousand years of clearly established history, since their civilization rebuilt itself after its final internecine war/’ he said. “But we Jairs possess a reliable chronology for the past eight millennia.”

  “How long have you practiced space flight?” Sir Roger asked.

  “For about two centuries.”

  “Ah. Our earliest experiments of that sort were … how long ago, would you say, Brother Parvus?”

  “About thirty-five hundred years, at a place called Babel,” I told them.

  Beljad gulped. Sir Roger continued smoothly, “This universe is so large that the expanding English kingdom did not run into the expanding Wersgor domain until very recently. They didn’t realize our true powers, but attacked us unprovoked. You know their viciousness. We’re a very peaceful race ourselves.” We had learned from contemptuous prisoners that the Jair Republic deplored warfare and had never colonized a planet which already had inhabitants. Sir Roger folded his hands and rolled his eyes upward. “Indeed,” he said, “one of our most basic commandments is, ’Thou shalt not kill.’ Yet it seemed a greater sin, to let so cruel and dangerous a power as Wersgorixan continue to ravage helpless folk.”

  “Hm-m-m.” Beljad rubbed his furry brow. “Where does this England of yours lie?”

  “Now, now,” purred Sir Roger. “You can’t expect us to tell even the most honored strangers -that, until a better understanding has been reached. The Wersgorix themselves don’t know, for we captured their scoutship. This expedition of mine has come hither to punish them and gather information. As I told you, we captured Tharixan with small loss to ourselves. But ’tis not our monarch’s way to intervene in affairs that concern other intelligent species, without consulting their wishes. I swear King Edward III has never dreamed of doing so. I’d much prefer to have you Jairs, and others who’ve suffered at Wersgor hands, join me in a crusade to humble them. And thus you’ll earn the right to divide up their empire with us.”

  “Are you … the head of a single military force … empowered to undertake such negotiations?”

  “Sir, I am no petty noble,” the baron answered with great stiffness. “My descent is as lofty as any in your realm. An ancestor of mine, by the name of Noah, was once admiral of the combined fleets of my planet.”

  “This is so sudden,” Beljad faltered. “Unheard of. We cannot… I cannot… We must discuss ..

  “Certes.” My lord raised his voice till the chamber rang. “But don’t dawdle overly long, gentles. I offer you a chance to help destroy the Wersgor barbarism, whose existence England can no longer suffer. If you’ll share the burden of war, you’ll share the fruits of conquest. Otherwise we English will be forced to occupy the entire Wersgor domain: for someone must keep order in it. So I say, join the crusade under my leadership, and haro for victory!”

  TO BE CONCLUDED

  Conclusion. The immense difference between knowledge and wisdom is one that the highly educated prefer to overlook. The simple barbarian, certainly, cannot compete with the highly sophisticated. Obviously not … it says here!

  Synopsis so far……

  The spaceship captain opened the translated chronicle and began to read. It might explain what he had found on this planet…

  I, Brother Parvus, a friar of the abbey at Ansby in Lincolnshire, do here record that in the year 1345 our baron, Sir Roger de Tourneville, was gathering at his castle an army of free companions to go join King Edward in the French war. Besides himself, the band included two knighted men, old Sir Brian Fitz-William and dashing young Sir Owain Montbelle. Half Welsh, but educated in courtly circles, the latter was a guest pleasing to Sir Roger*s wife Catherine, who in this remote and backward fief missed the graces of her own high-born Winchester

  family. Even her small children, Robert and Matilda, were scant con-solution for her husband’s well-meaning but rough mariners and frequent warlike absences.

  Our town was a broil of men-at-arms, archers, and cavalrymen when the Wersgor ship landed. A monstrous cylinder, it descended from the sky. As the people crowded around, a squat creature of blue skin and bestial face emerged from a portal and shot down a man with a fire-bolt. Despite their horror, Sir Roger and his English soldiers did not fee as expected, but stormed up the gangway into the vessel, where they attacked so wildly that only one alien survived. / was put in charge of interrogating this prisoner.

  He was quick to learn some Latin from me, and to say he was not a demon—a claim somewhat reinforced by the fact that he did not go up in smoke when l led him through the Pater Noster—but a member of a nonhuman mortal race, the Wersgorix. His own name was Branithar, Having explained his unique astrological concept of suns and worlds scattered through space, he boasted that his people had been expanding through the universe for the past three hundred years. Where they found a planet similar to their own, they exterminated or enslaved any primitive natives there might be— like ourselves—and colonized the place with a jew million only; jot each wealthy Wersgor desired enormous and luxurious estates. Branithar’s ship had been a scout searching almost at random for new territory. Its crew had meant to terrorize our neighborhood, load specimens of our soil and life aboard, and return home to report what they had found.

  Sir Roger felt as skeptical of this wild tale as I. However, since other blue bandits might arrive from Huy Braseal or wherever they actually lived, he felt we needed knowledge of the captured ship and guns, and had’ been studying these. Branithar was forced to operate the vessel for us. It was so big that it could hold all the soldiers and the civil population of Ansby, with supplies and livestock. Sir Roger decided to utilize this capability. With such a comfortably housed, well supported force, in such an irresistible flying craftf he could end the French war, liberate the Holy Land, and be back with plunder and glory for even the lowliest serf— before hay harvest. Enthusiastically, his folk went aboard. I was one of a few clerics who accompanied them, with rather more forebodings.

  Branithar reused ship—then, suddenly activated an automatic steers-main and locked its controls. The ship left Earth itself at a speed faster than light. Branithar defied us to do our worst to him. He had set a course for his home base, the planet Tharixan, on the border of the Wersgor realm; nothing could release the homunculus operating our ship until we arrived. He counselled us to surrender at that time, and we must needs kept him unharmed as an interpreter.

  Sir Roger put a cheerful face on the matter which reassured most of his people. Lady Catherine and Sir Owain were among the few who saw through this; more and more, they turned to each other’s company for comfort. The leaders, and my humble self, used the time of the voyage to familiarize ourselves with the strange implements we found. Though these were built on esoteric principles, the actual use proved simple to anyone wont to wrestling with Earth’s hand-operated engines. I also learned somewhat more of the blueskins’ tongue, and more astrology. Their domain included about a hundred worlds, scattered across two thousand light years amidst a far larger number of stars useless to this form of life. Theoretically a republic, in fact the nation was a tyranny centered at its capital planet, Wersgorixan. There were three other star-traveling peoples known so far, but their power was insignificant and the Wersgorix forced them to remain weak.

  Tharixan proved a typical planet of our foes, thinly settled, with only three fortresses. When the locked controls released themselves, Sir Roger flew to the nearest castle, hight Ganturath. Its suspicious commander sent fliers up to board us while his great fire-bombards aimed at us from the ground; for this ship was not big enough to catty the genera-tots of those force fields which protected Ganturath from our flame weapons. Sir Roger shot down the fliers, and evaded the anti-spacecraft defenses by landing our vessel directly on the main keep, thus thoroughly wrecking both. His men rushed out and fell on the garrison. Since the Wersgorix had had no serious rivals for centuries—their conquests being mere slaughter of helpless savages—they had neglected the arts and equipment of hand-to-hand combat. We English soon overran them. Force screens did not stop material objects, so Sir Roger led a cavalry charge against the outlying emplacement and captured it intact, while the long-bowmen of Red John Hameward brought down those small unarmored aircraft which swooped low to shoot at us. 9Twas a glorious victory.

  Reluctantly, however, the baron yielded to the insistence of his captains that it was best we escape in the lesser spaceships we had seized before overwhelming force arrived from the other castles. But then we learned in horror that the navigational notes of the scouting expedition had been destroyed by a stray fire beam during the battle. Though Earth was not many days9 straight-line travel away, the sheer number of unmapped stars) through which the scout had zigzagged almost at random, and the blurring effect of cosmic clouds, made it impossible to find our way home without close directions. Branithar, an engine-room officer, had not paid heed to the course and could give us no hint. Thus Sir Roger had no choice but to rally us for further trials. The prospect was not uncheering to him and he heartened most others with his promise of gold, glory, and ultimate triumphant return. But Lady Catherine turned on him for his rashness which had brought us to this pass.

  Before the long night of Tharixan had worn away, an aerial armada reached us, summoned by fugitives from Ganturath who had gotten to a far-speaker on some estate. Because of the many prisoners we held, as well as uncertainty about ust the Wersgorix did not attack at once. Their leader, agreed to parley. My lord used the time thus gained to interrogate captives, prepare defenses, and let his men practice with the alien machines. Under threat of torture, Branithar proved a sullen but valuable help in all this. He was also learning a little English.

  Meanwhile, with myself for interpreter, Sir Roger more than half convinced Huruga, their leader, we were a punitive expedition sent by an older and stronger civilization. But the truce could not be expected to last long—especially since it had not been guaranteed by oaths on either side—and we needed more weapons ere the inevitable storm broke. Sir Roger smuggled a party of men under Sir Owain and Red John into the forest, with a small flying boat, some explosive shells, and a trebuchet to cast them. They were to flit to the next fortress, Stularax, burst in and plunder its arsenal.

  As the discussion with Huruga proceeded next day, word came that Stularax had vanished in a puff of fire. Evidently the Wersgorix had not exaggerated the power of their gunpowder as much as we had thought. What now had become of our raiders, and the arms they were to seize, caught in such a blast? Huruga refused to swallow Sir Roger’s claim that Saracens must be responsible. For the sake of the prisoners we held, he let us return to our camp, captured Ganturath. For the same reason, as well as because he needed his flying craft to hunt down this new menace, Huruga said he would attack us on the ground only, and use no explosives. Even so, his power was immensely greater than ours. “Yet Englishmen have ever fought best with their backs to the wall.” said Sir Roger.

  When the Wersgorix attacked, their heavy, armored war-wagons fell into our camouflaged pits. The lighter open cars were stopped by abatis, caltrop, bolt and arrow fire, and finally driven into retreat when our horsemen charged. The blueface infantry advanced doggedly, firing pellet weapons, taking fearful losses from our archers but winning at last to our breastworks. Here our men proved their superiors in close-order combat, and they were forced back. However, they had marked a safe path for the invincible heavy wagons. These advanced—but before they reached us, a shell burst out in the forest warned Huruga that such artillery could wipe him out if he overran us. He withdrew his forces and searched frantically for the hidden bombard. He failed to find it, since it was our trebuchet, whose wooden fr-wte did not respond to the Wersgor metal-sniffers. Sir Owain’s raiders had lobbed a shell or two at Stularax, been astonished when it disappeared, and hastened back to threaten Huruga with these potent forces. Having learned the truth, Sir Roger pulled all his folk into Ganturaitis bombproof shelters; Red John’s fire made havoc of the Wersgor positions, and Huruga retreated to the main castle on this planet, Darova.

  We could obviously not stay here, for long-range bombardment could destroy us, too. Furthermore, within a few weeks at most we could expect enormous reinforcements to come from Wersgorian, whither Huruga must have sent spaceships asking help. Sir Roger determined to seize Darova, which was built as an ultimate strong point, self-contained and unshatter able. We flitted thither in vessels and told Huruga on the far-speaker that he was under siege. He was quite content to wait, impregnable underground, until the armada came. But first Sir Roger harried the countryside—for which Huruga was responsible—and then sent thousands of captured Wersgorix on foot toward the castle. This was far more than Huruga could feed, since siege-craft was another lost art in this world of swift and devastating weapons. He surrendered, and we English were the conquerors of a planet.

  But we could never hold it against the power surely to be marshaled against us: not without help. Sir Roger left Darova manned by women, children, and aged, competent enough to handle the great automatic weapons. Lady Catherine was in command; though angry with him, she would not fail us. The main English force embarked on the many spaceships we now possessed, and which some of us had now learned to operate. We set off for the planet called Bod a. Its »people, the fairs, were among those who had long traveled among the stars but had been forced by Wersgorixan to stifle their ambitions. Without ever actually lying to these potential allies, Sir Roger gave them the impression that we were stronger and wiser than themselves; he declared a crusade against the cruel heathen Wersgorix, and called upon the fairs to join it.