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About this Episode
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Transcript
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Finding great candidates to hire can be like, well,
trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Sure, you can post your job to some job board,
but then all you can do is hope the right person comes along,
which is why you should try Zip Recruiter for free.
At ziprecruiter.com slash Zip.
Zip Recruiter doesn't depend on candidates finding you.
It finds them for you.
It's powerful technology identifies people
with the right experience and actively invites them
to apply to your job.
You get qualified candidates fast.
So while other companies might deliver a lot of, hey,
Zip Recruiter, find you what you're looking for.
The needle in the haystack.
See why four out of five employers
who post a job on Zip Recruiter get a quality candidate
within the first day?
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That ziprecruiter.com slash Zip,
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After a few words by Gordon Randall Garrett,
this is a science fiction story.
History is a science.
The other part is, as all Americans know,
the most fictional field we have today.
He settled himself comfortably in his seat
and carefully put the helmet on, pulling it down firmly
until it was properly seated.
For a moment, he could see nothing.
Then his hand moved up and, with a flick of the wrist,
lifted the visor.
Ahead of him, in serried array,
with Lance's erect and penance flying,
was the forward part of the column.
Far ahead, he knew, were the Knight's Templars
who had taken the advance.
Behind the Templars,
rode the male knights of Brittany and Anju.
These were followed by King Guy of Jerusalem
and the host of Pau-2.
He himself, Sir Robert de Boigne,
was riding with the Norman and English troops
just behind the men of Pau-2.
Sir Robert turned slightly in his saddle.
To his right, he could see the brilliant red and gold banner
of the lion-hearted Richard of England,
ghouls in pale three lions, Pasantcau.org.
Behind the standard bearer, his great warhorse
moving with a steady, measured pace,
his cornet of gold on his steel-helmed gleaming
in the glaring desert sun, the lions of England
on his firm-held shield, was the King himself.
Further behind, the Knights of Spitalers
protected the rear, guarding the column of the hosts
of Christendom from harassment by the Bedouins.
Ah, lady, came a voice from his left.
Three days out from Acre,
Anziacos Zazzaras in Stila Lourdes.
Sir Robert de Boigne twisted again in his saddle
to look at the night riding alongside him.
Sir Gaiten de la Achtombe sat tall and straight in his saddle,
his visor up, his blue eyes narrowed
against the glare of the sun.
Sir Robert's lips formed a smile.
They're not far off, Sir Gaiten.
They have been following us,
as we march parallel to the sea coast,
so they have been marching with us
in those hills to the east.
Les Zazzaras, they are, Sir Gaiten.
They're jealous from Zorria,
and they set up traps in our path ahead.
Our spies tell us that the Turks lie ahead of us
in countless numbers, and yet,
Zephyr to face us in open battle.
Is it fear, or are they merely gathering their forces?
Both, Sir Gaiten, finally.
Zephyr is, as they would not delie
to a man's sotheism of force.
If, as our informers tell us,
they are uncounted to extrude the foyer,
and if, as we are aware,
our rear is being docked by Zbedouin
and the black horsemen of Egypt,
it would seem that Zaladin has at hand
more than enough to overcome us
with their altruly Christian knights.
Give them time, who must wait for their attacks, or night.
It were full hearty to attempt to seek them
in their own hills, and yet they must stop us.
They will attack before we reach Jerusalem.
Fear not.
We have guessed good, yet,
if you know, he then miso man, Sir Gaiten ground.
It is his elish heat that is driving him out.
He pointed toward the eastern hills.
The sun is yet low, and already is a heat is unbearable.
Sir Robert heard his own laugh echo holly within his helmet.
Perhaps to be better to be mad when the assault comes,
madmen fight better than men of cooler blood.
He knew that the others were baking inside
their heavy armor, although he himself was not too uncomfortable.
Sir Gaiten looked at him with a smile
that helped both irony and respect.
In truth, Zerneid, it is a brand that you fear
neither men nor heat, nor is your own blood too cool.
True, I ride with your Normans, and your English,
and your King Richard, or Zerneid's hat.
But I am a guest one, and I have no fieldy to him.
But to a side with the duke of Burgundy against King Richard,
he gave a short barking letter.
I fear no man, he went on.
But if I had to via one, it would be a Richard of England.
Sir Robert's voice came like a sword,
steely, flat, cold, and sharp.
My lord, the King spoke in haste.
He has reason to be better against Philip of France as do we all.
Philip has deserted the field.
He has returned to France in haste, leaving the rest of us
to fight the Saras and for the Holy Land,
leaving only the contingent of his vassal,
the duke of Burgundy, to remain with us.
Richard of England has never been on the best abdans
with Philip Augustus, said Sir Gaiten.
No and with good cause, but he allowed his anger against Philip
to color his judgment when he spoke harshly
against the duke of Burgundy.
The duke is no coward, and Richard Plantagenet well knows it.
As I said, he spoke in haste.
And you intervened, said Sir Gaiten.
It was my duty, Sir Robert's voice was stubborn.
Could we have permitted a quarrel to develop
between the two finest knights and war leaders in Christendom
at this crucial point?
The desertion of Philip of France has cost us dearly.
Could we permit the desertion of Burgundy, too?
You did what must be done in honor, the gaskin concluded.
But you have not gained the love of Richard
by doing so.
Sir Robert felt his jaw set firmly.
My king knows I am loyal.
Sir Gaiten said nothing more.
But there was a look in his eyes that showed he felt
that Richard of England might even doubt the loyalty
of Sir Robert devoid.
Sir Robert wrote on in silence,
feeling the movement of the horse beneath him.
There was a sudden sound to the rear,
like a wash of the tide from the sea
became the sound of sars and war cries
and the clash of steel on steel
mingled with the sounds of horses in agony and anger.
Sir Robert turned his horse to look.
The Negro troops of Saladin's Egyptian contingent
were thundering down upon the rear.
They clashed with the hospitalers,
slamming in like a rain of heavy stones,
too close in for the use of bows.
There was only the sword against armor,
like the sound of a thousand hammers
against a thousand danfills.
Stand fast, stand fast, hold them off.
It was the voice of King Richard,
sounding like a clarion over the den of battle.
Sir Robert felt his horse move
as though it were urging him on toward the battle,
but his hand held to the reins,
keeping the great charger in check.
The king had said, stand fast,
and this was no time to disobey the orders of Richard.
The sars and troops were coming in from the rear
and the hospitalers were taking the brunt of the charge.
They fought like madmen,
but they were slowly being forced back.
The master of the hospitalers
rode to the rear to the king's standard,
which hardly moved in the steel desert air,
now that the column had stopped moving.
The voice of the Duke of Burgundy came to Sir Robert's use.
Stand fast, the king bits you out to stand fast.
Said the Duke, his voice fading
as he rode on up the column toward the knights of Poit II
and the knights' tempelars.
The master of the hospitalers was speaking
in a low, urgent voice to the king.
My Lord, we are pressed on by the enemy
and in danger of eternal infamy,
we are losing our horses one after the other.
Good Master, send Richard.
It is you who must sustain their attack.
No one can be everywhere at once.
The master of the hospitalers
nodded curtly and charged back into the fray.
The king turned to Sir Baldwin Descareo,
who sat a horse nearby and pointed toward the eastern hills.
They will come from there, hitting us in the flank.
We cannot afford to amass a rearward charge
to do so would be to fall directly
into the hands of the sarsan.
A voice very close to Sir Robert said,
Richard is right.
It goes to the aid of the hospitalers.
We will expose the column to a flank attack.
It was Sir Gaten.
My Lord, the king, Sir Robert heard his voice say,
is right in all but one thing.
If we allow the Egyptians to take us from the rear,
there will be no need for Saladin and his Turks
to come down on our flank.
And the hospitalers cannot hold for long at this rate.
A charge at full gallop would break the Egyptian line
and give the hospitalers breathing time.
Are you with me?
I guess so, what is a zaking?
The King could not see everything.
There are times when a man must use his own judgment.
You said you were afraid of no man.
Are you with me?
After a moment's hesitation, Sir Gaten
couched his lance.
I'm with you, sir Knight.
Live or die, I follow.
Strike and strike hard.
Forward then, Sir Robert heard himself shouting,
forward for St. George and for England.
St. George and England.
The Gaskin echoed.
Two great war horses began to move ponderously forward
toward the battle lines, gaining momentum as they went.
Moving in unison, the two knights,
their horses now at a fast trot, lowered their lances,
picking their saws and targets with care.
Larger and larger, loomed the Egyptian cavalryman
as the horses changed pace to a thundering gallop.
The Egyptians tried to dodge as they saw too late
the approach of the Christian knights.
Sir Robert felt the shock against himself and his horse
as the steel tip of the long ash lance
struck the sars and horsemen in the chest.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sir Gaten too
had scored.
The sars and, impaled on Sir Robert's lens,
shot from the saddle as he died.
His lighter armor had hardly impeded the incoming
spear point, and now his body dragged it down
as he dropped toward the desert sand.
Another Muslim cavalryman was charging in now,
swinging his curved saber, taking advantage
of Sir Robert's sagging lance.
There was nothing else to do but drop the lance
and draw his heavy broadsword.
His hand grasped it, and it came singing from its scabbard.
The Egyptians curved, sword clanged against Sir Robert's helm,
sitting his head ringing.
In return, the knight's broadsword came about
in a sweeping arpe, and the Egyptians' horse
rode on, with the rider's headless body.
Behind him, Sir Robert heard further cries
of Saint George and England.
The hospitalers, taking heart at the charge, were going in.
Behind them came the Count of Champagne,
the Earl of Lester, and the Bishop of Bové,
who carried a great warhammer in order
that he might not break church law by shedding blood.
Sir Robert's own sword rose and fell,
cutting and hacking at the enemy.
He himself felt a dream-like detachment,
as though he were watching the battle,
rather than participating in it.
But he could see that the Muslims were falling back
before the Christian onslaught.
And then, quite suddenly, there seemed
to be no foe man to swing at.
Breathing heavily, Sir Robert sheathed his broadsword.
Beside him, Sir Gaiton did the same, saying,
it will be a few minutes before the kind of groups tonight.
We may have routed them completely.
Why, but King Richard will not approve
of my breaking ranks and disobeying orders.
I may win the battle and lose my head in the end.
There is no time to worry about the future," said the Gaskin.
Let's devour a moment and relax,
as that you may be stronger, Gaiton.
Here, have an old Gings.
He took a pack of cigarettes in his gauntleted hand,
which he profored to Sir Robert.
There were three cigarettes protruding from it,
one slightly farther than the others.
Sir Robert's hand reached out and took that one.
Thanks, when the going gets rough,
I really enjoy an old King's.
He put one end of the cigarette in his mouth
and let the other from the lighter in Sir Gaiton's hand.
Yes, Sir Gaiton, after lighting his own cigarette,
old King's as the greatest,
they give a man real deep down smoking pleasure.
There's no doubt about it.
Old King's are a man's cigarette.
Sir Robert could feel the soothing smoke in his lungs
as he inhaled deeply.
That's great.
When I want a cigarette, I don't want just any cigarette.
No, I agree, the Gaskin.
Old King's is the only area cigarette
when you are doing idea man's work.
That's for sure.
Sir Robert watched a smoke ring expand in the air.
There was a sudden clash of arms off to their left.
Sir Robert dropped his cigarette to the ground.
The trouble is that doing a real he man's work
doesn't always allow you to enjoy the fine,
rich tobaccos of old King's right down to the very end.
No, but you can always light another later,
said the Gaskin Knight.
King Richard, on seeing his army moving suddenly
toward the harassed rear, had realized the danger
and had charged through the hospitalers
to get into the thick of the fray.
Now the Turks were charging down from the hills,
hitting not the flank as he had expected,
but the rear, Saladin had expected him to hold fast.
Sir Robert and Sir Gaiton spurred their chargers
toward the flapping banner of England.
The fierce warrior king of England,
his mighty sword in hand, was cutting down Turks
as though they were grain stalks,
but still the sars and horde pressed on.
More and more of the terrible Turks came boiling down
out of the hills, their glittering cemeter's swinging.
Sir Robert lost all track of time.
There was nothing to do, but keep his own great broadsword
moving, swinging like some gigantic metronome
as he hacked down the Muslim foes.
And then suddenly he found himself surrounded
by the sarsans.
He was isolated and alone, cut off from the rest
of the Christian forces.
He clenched quickly around as he slashed another sarsan
from paint to breastbone.
Where was Sir Gaiton?
Where were the others?
Where was the red and gold banner of Richard?
He caught a glimpse of the fluttering banner far to the rear
and started to fall back.
And then he saw another night nearby,
a huge man who swung his sparkling blade with power and force.
On his steel helm, gloomed a golden cornet, Richard.
And the great king, in spite of his prowess,
was outnumbered heavily and wood within seconds
be cut down by the sarsan horde.
Without hesitation, Sir Robert plunged his horse
toward the surrounded monarch, his great blade
cutting a path before him.
He saw Richard go down, falling from the saddle of his charger.
But by that time, his own sword was cutting into the screaming
sarsans, and they had no time to attempt any further mischief
to the king.
They had their hands full, with Sir Robert de Bewein.
He did not know how long he fought there,
holding his charger motionless over the inert body
of the fallen king, hewing down the screaming enemy.
But presently he heard the familiar cry of,
forst St. George and for England behind him.
The Norman and English troops were charging in,
bringing with them the banner of England.
And then Richard was on his feet,
cleaving the air about him with his own broadsword.
Its bright edge besmirred with sarsan blood,
was biting viciously into the foe.
The Turks began to fall back.
Within seconds, the Christian knights were boiling
around the embattled pair, forcing the Turks into retreat.
And for the second time, Sir Robert found himself
with no one to fight.
And then a voice was saying, you have done well this day,
Sir Knight, Richard Plentonet will not forget.
Sir Robert turned in his saddle to face the smiling king.
My Lord king, be assured that I would never forget my loyalty
to my sovereign and leech, Lord.
My sword and my life are yours whenever you call.
King Richard's gauntlet in hand grasped his own.
If it pleased God, I shall never ask your life.
An url dama waits you when we return to England, Sir Knight.
And then the king mounted his horse and was running full gallop
after the retreating sarsans.
Robert took off his helmet.
He blinked for a second to adjust his eyes
to the relative dimness of the studio.
After the brightness of the desert,
that the televicarian helmet had projected into his eyes,
the studio seemed strangely cave-like.
How'd you like it, Bob?
Asked one of the two producers of the show.
Robert Bowen nodded briskly and padded the televicarment.
It was OK, he said.
Good show.
A little talky at the beginning, and it needs a better fade-out.
But the action scenes were fine.
The sponsor ought to like it for a while, at least.
What do you mean for a while?
Robert Bowen sighed.
If this thing goes on the air the way it is, he'll lose sales.
Why, commercial not good enough?
Too good.
Man, I've smoked old kings, and believe me,
the real thing never tasted as good
as that cigarette did in the commercial.
End of, after a few words by Gordon Randall Garrett.
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