Interesting Times

generally by agreement,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “Oh.”
    Cohen looked at the forest of lances and pennants. Hundreds of thousands of men looked like quite a lot of men when you saw them close to.
    “I suppose,” he said, slowly, “that none of you has got some amazing plan you’ve been keeping quiet about?”
    “We thought you had one,” said Truckle.
    Several riders had now left each army and approached the Horde in a group. They stopped a little more than a spear’s throw away, and sat and watched.
    “All right, then,” said Cohen. “I hate to say this, but perhaps we should talk about surrender.”
    “No!” said Mr. Saveloy, and then stopped in embarrassment at the loudness of his own voice. “No,” he repeated, a little more quietly. “You won’t live if you surrender. You just won’t die immediately.”
    Cohen scratched his nose. “What’s that flag…you know…when you want to talk to them without them killing you?”
    “It’s got to be red,” said Mr. Saveloy. “But look, it’s no good you—”
    “I don’t know, red for surrender, white for funerals…” muttered Cohen. “All right. Anyone got something red?”
    “I’ve got a handkerchief,” said Mr. Saveloy, “but it’s white and anyway—”
    “Give it here.”
    The barbarian teacher very reluctantly handed it over.
    Cohen pulled a small, worn knife from his belt.
    “I don’t believe this!” said Mr. Saveloy. He was nearly in tears. “Cohen the Barbarian talking surrender with people like that!”
    “Influence of civilization,” said Cohen. “’S probably made me go soft in the head.”
    He pulled the knife over his arm, and then clamped the handkerchief over the cut.
    “There we are,” he said. “Soon have a nice red flag.”
    The Horde nodded approvingly. It was an amazingly symbolic, dramatic and above all stupid gesture, in the finest traditions of barbarian heroing. It didn’t seem to be lost on some of the nearer soldiers, either.
    “Now,” Cohen went on, “I reckon you, Teach, and you, Truckle…you two come with me and we’ll go and talk to these people.”
    “They’ll drag you off to their dungeons!” said Mr. Saveloy. “They’ve got torturers that can keep you alive for years! ”
    “Whut? Whutzeesay?”
    “He said THEY CAN KEEP YOU ALIVE FOR YEARS IN THEIR DUNGEONS, Hamish.”
    “Good! Fine by me!”
    “Oh, dear,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    He trailed after the other two towards the warlords.
    Lord Hong raised his visor and stared down his nose at them as they approached.
    “Red flag, look,” said Cohen, waving the rather damp object on the end of his sword.
    “Yes,” said Lord Hong. “We saw that little show. It may impress the common soldiers but it does not impress me, barbarian.”
    “Please yourself,” said Cohen. “We’ve come to talk about surrender.”
    Mr. Saveloy noticed some of the lesser lords relax a little. Then he thought: a real soldier probably doesn’t like this sort of thing. You don’t want to go to soldier Heaven or wherever you go and say, I once led an army against seven old men. It wasn’t medal-winning material.
    “Ah. Of course. So much for bravado,” said Lord Hong. “Then lay down your arms and you will be escorted back to the palace.”
    Cohen and Truckle looked at one another.
    “Sorry?” said Cohen.
    “Lay down your arms.” Lord Hong snorted. “That means put down your weapons.”
    Cohen gave him a puzzled look. “Why should we put down our weapons?”
    “Are we not talking about your surrender?”
    “ Our surrender?”
    Mr. Saveloy’s mouth opened in a mad, slow grin.
    Lord Hong stared at Cohen.
    “Hah! You can hardly expect me to believe that you have come to ask us… ”
    He leaned from the saddle and glared at them.
    “You do, don’t you?” he said. “You mindless little barbarians. Is it true that you can only count up to five?”
    “We just thought that it might save people getting hurt,” said Cohen.
    “You thought it would save you getting hurt,” said the warlord.
    “I daresay a few of yours might get hurt, too.”
    “They’re peasants,” said the warlord.
    “Oh, yes. I was forgetting that,” said Cohen. “And you’re their chief, right? It’s like your game of chess, right?”
    “I am their lord,” said Lord Hong. “They will die at my bidding, if necessary.”
    Cohen gave him a big, dangerous grin.
    “When do we start?” he said.
    “Return to your…band,” said Lord Hong. “And then I think we shall