AllFreeNovel
Share Us
'The friendliest,' Duffy assured him. 'Get the beer.'
'My men are not to be served alcoholic beverages,' came a solemn voice from behind him. 'The Irishman turned, and sighed unhappily to see Lothario Mother-tongue frowning regally at him.
'Oh, they're your men, are they, Lothario?'
'Indeed. It's been several lifetimes since we last met, but I recognize the souls behind their eyes. Bedivere!' he cried, attempting to embrace Bugge. 'Ow, damn it,' he added, for Bugge had elbowed him in the stomach. 'Ah, I see. Your true memories are still veiled. That will doubtless be remedied when Ambrosius arrives.' He turned to the Irishman now. 'You may even be somebody yourself, Duffy.'
'That'd be nice.'
'It carries responsibilities, though. Heavy ones. When you're a martyr, as I am, you must count your life a trifle.'
'I'm sure you're quite correct there,' Duffy told him. 'But surely there's a dragon or something that needs killing somewhere? I don't want to detain you.'
Mothertongue frowned at Duffy's tone. 'There are matters awaiting my decisions,' he admitted. 'But you're not to give these men alcohol; they're clean-living Christians.. .underneath it all.'
'Of course they are.'
A cask of beer was carried out a minute or so after Mothertongue's exit, and Duffy filled twenty-two mugs. 'Drink up, now, you clean-living Christians,' he told the northmen, unnecessarily.
* * *
Chapter Nine
By late afternoon the northmen were snoring in the hay, exhausted by their journey and made drowsy by the three kegs of beer they'd emptied. Duffy, nearly asleep himself, sat at his customary table in the dining room and watched the serving women ply brooms, mops and damp cloths about the walls and floor.
Presently listless footsteps dragged up to the front door and Bluto slouched in through the vestibule. He saw Duffy and started laughing. 'Poseidon! You've taken a bath, I perceive, but you still smell like the canal.'
The Irishman smiled sourly. 'Go ahead and laugh,' he said. 'Those northmen think I'm God or somebody.' He waved in grudging invitation toward the other chair at the table. 'How was your day?'
'Oh, not good.' Bluto sat down heavily. 'Beer here, someone! A kid stuck his head in one of my best culverins and threw up.
'That'll surprise the Turks,' Duffy observed.
'No doubt. Listen, Duff, do you really think it's likely Suleiman will be coming here? It's awful far north, in Turkish terms.'
Duffy shrugged. 'Unless Suleiman dies - and is replaced by a pacifist Sultan, which is nearly a contradiction in terms - I'd say certainly, the Turks will try to take Vienna. After all, why. should they stop now? They've been moving steadily up the Danube: Belgrade in 'twenty-one, Mohacs, Buda and Pest in 'twenty-six . . .and it's not
as if Suleiman will be meeting a terribly-organized front. Charles is too busy fighting the French king, Francis, to send us any troops, and Ferdinand alone won't be able to do much. Pope Clement has sent the customary good wishes, and little else. And then we've got good old Martin Luther wandering around saying idiot things like "to fight against the Turks is to resist the Lord, who visits our sins with such rods." Two years ago I'd have said Zapolya was our firmest hope against them, and now of course he's signed up as Suleiman's lackey. Actually, the Holy Roman Empire, the whole West, has never been so ripe for overthrow.'
Bluto shook his head worriedly. 'Right, then, so they come. Do you think we can turn them back?'
'I don't know. You're the gunnery man. But I think if we do rout them it'll be mainly because natural circumstances have weakened them - the weather, overstretched supply lines, things like that. They'll be far from home, after all.'
'Yes.' The hunchback's beer was delivered, and he sipped it moodily. 'Duff, as my closest friend, will
'Hell,' the Irishman interrupted, 'you've only known me a month.'
'I'm aware of that, of course,' Bluto went on stiffly, making Duffy wish he hadn't spoken. 'As my closest friend, I'm asking you to do a favor for me.'
'Well, of course,' said Duffy, embarrassed as he always was by any manifestation of sentiment.
'If I should happen to be killed.., will you see to it that my body is cremated?'
'Cremated? Very well,' Duffy said slowly. 'The priests wouldn't like it, but I guess there'd be no reason for them to hear about it. You might outlive me, of course. Why do you want to be cremated?'
Bluto looked uncomfortable. 'I guess if you accept the charge you deserve the explanation. Uh. . .my father was a hunchback, like myself. The whole line may have been, for all I know. He died when I was two years old. A cousin told me the following story, late one night; he was drunk, but swore it was true, that he'd been there.'
'For God's sake,' said Duffy. 'Been where?'
