“The castle?” Anton asked.
“The rock the town is built on. But it is riddled with caves. Like a sponge. My father says the caves were used by smugglers, years ago. I used to play in them as a child.”
“Did you meet any smugglers?” Anton asked.
“Not until much later in my life,” Meg said. “The caves extend under the whole town. Some of the older buildings have cellars that open into them. They say there is a passageway under Eòghan’s castle that leads into the caves: he could escape in secret to a waiting boat, if ever the castle came under siege. That’s what they say.” Meg shrugged. “I almost got trapped in one of those caves once: the tide came in, filling the cave between me and the entrance. I had to swim to freedom. It was most exciting.” She smiled again. “I have not thought about that in ages. Coming down to the beach has made me feel like a child once more.”
“It would be wonderful to be a child again, don’t you think?” Anton asked.
“Sometimes the burdens of adulthood weigh one down,” Meg agreed, then struck by a thought she grinned. “Do you swim?” She gestured towards the rolling waves.
“Yes – but we have no costumes,” Anton answered, mock seriously.
“Do we need them?” Meg began undressing.
Anton pulled off his shirt, then stopped, staring distractedly at the cliff top.
Meg looked up to where he was gazing. “Is that not your friend up there?” she asked. There was something in the way she said it that Anton didn’t like.
“Varian,” he said.
“It looks like he is heading for Lovers’ Leap. Do you think he intends to jump?” she asked.
“I do not know: he has been rather melancholy of late. He fears his lover will abandon him for another,” Anton said.
“Is any love worth sacrificing your life for?” Meg asked.
“I must stop him!” Anton raced off across the sand towards the bottom of the cliffs. He skidded to a halt and hurried back to face Meg. “Excuse me, won’t you?” He dashed off again, slowing only to pull on his shirt and boots.
Meg watched him scramble quickly up what appeared to be a sheer wall of blackish rock. He reached the cliff-top some distance ahead of Varian: Anton would reach Lovers’ Leap ahead of the young man.
Meg sighed and picked up her shirt. She shook sand from it, and the breeze blew it back in her face. She cursed.
“It is a good day for it,” Anton said, without turning. He sat on the edge of the cliff, his legs hanging out into space. Down below, the water lapped gently around the half-submerged rocks. He looked down: it was a long way, but that was the idea.
“I’m sorry?” Varian came up behind Anton.
“It is a nice day for throwing yourself from the cliff here. A little breezy, yes. But not dangerously so. I have heard that the wind can sometimes blow you against the rocks when you jump: you might find yourself smeared down a hundred feet of granite. A bit messy,” Anton said, without turning.
“I can imagine. Is that why you came up here? To throw yourself off?” Varian asked.
“Yes, I think so. I shall not be a minute. Then you can have your turn. But first perhaps you will offer me some wine?”
Varian sat down next to Anton. “How did you know?”
“I heard the wine sloshing in the jar as you approached. And your speech is slurred.”
“Ah. Drink?” He offered Anton the jar.
“Thank you.” Anton took a pull on the wine, coughed.
“Not a great vintage, I’m afraid,” Varian apologised.
Anton passed the jar back to him.
They leaned forward, watching Meg struggle into her boots and stagger off through the loose sand to the path leading back to town.
“Do you not feel even a little guilty about treating her this way?” Varian asked.
“The woman deserves it. She showed no interest in my acting or storytelling, except to try and flatter me into submission. She wants only to make her true love jealous: all I am is something attractive to hang on her arm.”
“She thinks you attractive?” Varian asked.
“Be silent and pass me the wine, spear-carrier.”
Varian passed the jar to him. Anton discovered the wine tasted better the more he drank. He drank some more, than passed the jar back.
“Thank you,” Varian said. He shook the jar, frowned.
“I am afraid it is empty now,” Anton said.
“Oh, well...” Varian pitched it out over the edge of the cliff. It smashed on the rocks below.
“You should not have done that,” Anton said.
“Why not?”
“Someone might come along and cut themselves on the pieces.”
“Someone who jumps off the cliff you mean?” Varian suffered a giggling fit. “I think I may be drunk,” he said.
“Do you know that they call this place Lover Leaps?” Anton asked.
“Should that not be Lovers’ Leap?”
“No. The first time it happened, apparently, only one of the lovers leaped. They stood here, side by side, ready to jump. Then at the last moment, the girl decided it was not such a wonderfully romantic idea after all. He went flying over the edge, and she just stood there watching him fall. Hence: Lover Leaps.”
“How awful. He died on the rocks below, and his love decided he was not worth leaping for?” Varian asked.
“Worse than that, he did not die. He was horribly broken on the rocks below, but he survived. He lived out the rest of his days as a helpless cripple, knowing that she had not jumped with him. She eventually married the physician who attended her ex-lover.”
“What a terrible tale,” Varian said, sadly. “Is it true?”
“Not a word of it!” Anton grinned. A salty breeze blew in off the sea and he shivered. He rubbed his hands together and peered at the water below. “Do you want to go first?”
“Well – actually, I have rather gone off the idea. I think some of the effects of the wine have worn off. I do not feel quite so brave at the moment,” Varian admitted.
“Hmm. The wind seems to be getting up a bit too: it is probably not a good idea to do it now anyway.”
“We could come back tomorrow, about the same time,” Varian suggested.
“We could indeed. Tomorrow I will bring the wine,” Anton said.
“Then I will bring a picnic lunch.”
They turned and headed back towards town.
“Did she really believe I intended to throw myself from the clifftop?” Varian asked.
“I think she rather hoped you might.”
*
“It is the fiery pit of the Underworld itself!” Anton proclaimed, gesturing broadly. “There is the smell of boiling sulphur and the sound of manifold screams. Why am I here? Who has done this to me? Who would consign my soul to eternal torment?”
“I would, if you will not be silent!” a voice shouted from the next room. “It is past midnight and some of us wish to sleep.”
“Apologies, neighbour!” Anton climbed down from the chair and set aside his play script.
Varian lay in Anton’s bed, shaking his head.
“You did not rate my performance?” Anton asked.
“I will let you know,” Varian said, drawing aside the bedclothes, “after you have performed for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I am your servant, sir,” Sheldrake said, bowing and backing out of Lord Eòghan’s rooms. He closed the door and stood facing it for a moment, his body shaking with anger. Sheldrake stiffened when he heard someone draw a sword behind him. He turned, keeping his expression neutral, his right hand close to the hilt of his sword, his left pressing a sealed letter tightly to his chest. He found himself facing Eòghan’s fool, armed now with a real sword instead of a wooden one.
“Still patrolling the corridor’s, fool?” Sheldrake asked.
The fool nodded.
“Excellent work. We should hate for any misfortune to befall our master, should we not?” There
was an edge of sarcasm to Sheldrake’s words. “Though I begin to wonder whether you might not prove a more effective maker of decisions here.”
The fool tilted his head to one side, puzzled.
Sheldrake smiled. “Yes, a fine Lord of the Region you would make my little friend.”
The fool returned his smile.
“You wouldn’t have me sending a messenger off to the King requesting the appointment of a new Captain of the Guard, would you?” Sheldrake asked. “Even a fool would recognise that we have a suitable replacement here already.”
“Who?” the fool asked, owl-like.
“Me, you fool!” Sheldrake bellowed, then glanced guiltily towards Eòghan’s door. “Of course, Lord Eòghan believes I am good enough to hold the post temporarily. He wishes me to continue to act as Captain of the Guard until a more suitable replacement can be found,” Sheldrake mocked. “Pah!”
“Pah!” the fool echoed.
Sheldrake chuckled. “I grow to like you more and more, my simple friend. Indeed, I would have you made lord, if I had not already someone else in mind for the role. Who do you think that might be?”
“Me, you fool!” the fool bellowed, mimicking Sheldrake’s voice perfectly.
Sheldrake laughed. He stepped forward to ruffle the lad’s hair, but the fool stepped back and raised his sword.
“You would challenge me for the title of Lord, would you? Very well, defend yourself!” Sheldrake drew his sword. “Do you know how to use that thing, boy?”
“Allow me to demonstrate,” the fool said.
Their swords clashed. Sparks flew in the dim light. The two swords engaged again, their flat edges rasping one against the other. They circled, each taking small, careful steps, staring directly into each other’s eyes, trying to anticipate the slightest flicker of movement.
“Can you keep a secret, little man?” Sheldrake asked. “This letter will never reach the King: it will never be sent! Do you think I would so easily give up my position? Do you think I killed the Captain of the Guard simply so I could see another man brought in over me? Never!”
“Never!” the fool echoed. The fool suddenly lunged forward, his sword flashing left and right in a series of unexpected moves which Sheldrake could only block whilst giving ground.
“That’s right. I will not have my ambitions thwarted at this early stage,” Sheldrake said. “Not when I have so far to go.”
“How far?” the fool asked.
Swords struck again and again, light dancing on their edges. The blades rasped together then, sliding until they were locked at the hilt. Their faces were inches apart, and Sheldrake laughed. The heavier of the two, he used his advantage and pushed the fool suddenly, sending him staggering back.
They stood at opposite sides of the hallway, both breathing heavily, sweat stinging their eyes.
“This is becoming tiresome. Will you admit defeat?” Sheldrake asked.
The fool lunged towards him.
“I thought not,” Sheldrake muttered. He side-stepped at the last minute, tripping the fool, who fell sprawling.
The fool scrambled to his feet and advanced on Sheldrake, glaring from beneath ridged brows.
“Captain of the Guard is not my ultimate goal,” Sheldrake said. “It is merely a staging post. I want all of this.” He waved his sword in an all-encompassing gesture.
“All of this?” the fool echoed.
“Aye. I’ll have this castle, this county, and the lovely Lady Julianne for my wife. And do you know how I’ll come to it?”
The fool swept his sword quickly across the front of his body, striking Sheldrake’s sword from his grasp and sending it clattering across the floor. “You talk too much,” the fool said.
Sheldrake dodged right and left, trying to find a way past the fool, backing all the time towards an open door at the top of the stairs. “Ah, there you are, my lord!” Sheldrake said loudly, looking over the fool’s left shoulder. “Your fool was just demonstrating his abilities with a sword.” Surely the fellow was stupid enough to fall for such an old ruse?
Unfortunately, he wasn’t. The fool grinned and shook his head. He lunged.
Sheldrake gripped the door handle and swung the open door hard. It connected with the fool’s head with a satisfying thunk. The fool staggered, dazed. Sheldrake grabbed him by the collar of his jerkin and pushed, sending him tumbling down the stairs.
Sheldrake retrieved his sword and went down to where the fool was struggling to his feet. He looked down at the little man.
“I’ll soon have Eòghan lying at my feet,” he said. “I shall take from him the same way I took from Captain Torrance. I will watch his life drain away, and then I’ll have his seat in the great hall. Is that not a lordly ambition, fool?”
The fool stood and stared at his opponent: his sword flicked sideways, cutting a stripe across Sheldrake’s chin.
Sheldrake swore and stepped back. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and looked down, shocked at the sight of his own blood.
The fool stared at him, his face ghostly white, seemingly terrified of retribution.
Blood dripped from Sheldrake’s chin. He smiled. “It is but a scratch,” he said. “Your thrust found its mark by lucky accident, I was not giving the fight my full attention. I thank you for such a timely warning: I must take care not to be overly confident at this early stage.
“You have nothing to fear from me, little fool.” Sheldrake sheathed his sword. “We are no threat to one another, you and I: you have no hidden ambitions of your own, you are a simple and honest fellow who only desires food and warmth for the winter. You shall have them when I am lord of this castle. You will continue to be well-treated here, you have my word.
“But now I must go and have this wound cleaned: who knows where that sword of yours might have found itself. Run along now.”
The fool hesitated for a moment, and Sheldrake feared that he might attack again. But he sheathed his sword and gave a courtly bow instead.
Sheldrake bowed in return and turned on his heel.
Anton watched Sheldrake leave: he knew he should have taken the opportunity to put an end to Sheldrake’s poisonous plot, so what had prevented him? Only the fact that he had never killed another man. Perhaps if Sheldrake had been threatening his own life, Anton might have made the fatal thrust. But now he would have to bring about some other end to Sheldrake’s murderous plot. And in the meantime, the fool must earn his keep by providing Lord Eòghan with eyes and ears while he slept; protection from the assassin’s blade.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You are in my way, sir,” Anton said.
Edison stood deliberately in Anton’s way, blocking his passage along the narrow cobbled street. When Anton moved to walk around him, Edison moved to block him again. The road narrowed here as it approached the bridge over the river and the manure collector’s hand cart was waiting outside an alehouse, so there was insufficient room to pass.
“I would speak with you,” Edison said.
“You have been drinking: perhaps it would be better to talk when your head is clearer,” Anton said.
“What do you want from me?” Edison asked.
“Only that you will let me pass by,” Anton said.
Some little way down the street, Megan Jarrett was pretending interest in a milliner’s window: she glanced towards the quarrelling actors and permitted herself a smile. She continued to appear interested in the hats on display, while watching the unfolding scene from the corner of her eye.
“Do you seek to take away everything I have?” Edison asked. “I break into a house, and I find you there before me, with the man’s gold already in your pocket; among the actors in our troupe there is talk of you taking my place as lead player; and when I seek out my beloved, I discover you have stolen her heart also.”
“I merely offer you a little competition: a complacent man rarely performs to the best of his abilities, while a man facing a challenge often surpasses his previous best,”
Anton said.
“I will not allow you to ruin what I have here,” Edison said.
“That was never my intention,” Anton said. “But I will, perhaps, help you appreciate what it is that you do have.”
“What a noble cause,” Edison sneered.
“I have only your interests at heart,” Anton said, smiling. “Now, will you let me pass?”
“You do not enjoy my company?” Edison asked.
“On the contrary, I find it most entertaining.”
“Do you mock me?”
“At every opportunity,” Anton said.
“I warn you, little one, that better men than you have challenged me and failed.”
“Do you threaten me, Master Edison?” Anton asked.
“I merely caution you not to engage in a confrontation that you cannot possibly win.”
“I thank you for your concern. However, I see little danger from the blowing of hot air.”
“Hot air, is it?” Edison said, his expression darkening.
“And the wine, of course.”
“Perhaps we should put an end to this here and now,” Edison suggested.
“I have sought to bring an end to it for the past several minutes. I bid you good day then.” Anton attempted to walk around Edison, but the taller actor placed a hand on Anton’s chest to detain him.
“I had in mind a more decisive ending,” Edison said.
Anton looked down. “Unhand me, sir.”
“Else what?” Edison said.
“Push me, and I may be forced against my wishes to help calm your temper,” Anton warned.
Edison laughed in his face and pushed him.
Anton took hold of Edison’s arm, and before the taller actor could react, heaved him head-first towards the manure cart.
Just as it seemed Edison would find himself face-down in the greenish ordure, the actor managed to grasp the sides of the cart and vault cleanly over it. He landed with a triumphant hah!
Anton applauded mockingly.
Edison drew his sword. “Let us finish this like men,” he snarled, advancing on Anton.
Still seemingly unable to take the situation seriously, Anton did not unsheathe his sword. As Edison approached, he ducked under the swishing blade, ran a few yards past him, and leaped lightly onto the low wall on the left-hand side of the bridge, his taunting gestures urging Edison to follow.
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