by K. M. Grant
“You saw him?”
Kamil nodded. “He sent me here from his prison in Austria to give you this as proof that he lives.”
Gavin held out his hand again. “Richard is alive,” he said. “Richard is alive.” He seemed almost incredulous. Kamil watched him and kept the seal just out of reach. “Give it to me now,” Gavin said. “God be praised! I could never have hoped for this.”
But Kamil still held back. Oh, Allah was still looking after him! The fulfillment of Richard’s request could surely negate the prayer.
“This seal for the red horse,” he said quietly. Gavin did not seem to hear him, so Kamil repeated his demand a little more strongly. He must do this right. He must not lose the red horse again.
“This seal for the red horse,” he repeated once more. He could tell that Gavin was not listening, so he said it again even more loudly. Everybody must hear this. There must be no misunderstanding. Gavin’s arm was still outstretched, and Kamil allowed him to touch the seal now. “For the red horse,” Kamil said one last time. He waited for a second, then let go.
Gavin took the seal and held it up. The engraved wax dangled luminous in the firelight, and Gavin’s eyes were bright with tears. Kamil leaned back, and the braid of Hosanna’s hair swung gently. He watched as relief flooded Gavin’s ravaged face like waves smoothing sand. Only then did he himself relax. “We have a bargain,” he said, and his heart began to sing.
It had grown dark, and neither man had noticed Marissa, dressed in rich yellow velvet and with her fair hair spinning down her back, walking up from the end of the hall in a pool of candlelight. She looked very different from the scruffy girl Hosanna had rescued on the bridge. Marie walked slightly behind, her eyes always assessing Gavin’s state of health. But as they approached he leaped up and strode down the hall toward them, his voice stronger than Marie had ever known it.
“Come,” he called to her. “King Richard needs us. We must go and fetch Will and Ellie. All will yet be well, but I need you to help me to organize the provisions we will need for a journey.” Marie ran after him, and Marissa was left to face Kamil alone.
“A seal for Hosanna?” Her fury shook the rafters. “I heard you, Kamil.”
He barely looked at her. “A king’s seal,” he said. “King Richard’s. The count of Hartslove exchanged it for the red horse. We made a good bargain. The horse for a king. It absolves me from your amen.”
“The horse is Will’s.” Marissa’s eyes were daggers. “Or even mine. After all, I saved both you and Hosanna from the moat. Without me you would both be dead. How could you demand such a price?”
“It seemed a fitting price.” Kamil could not quite look Marissa in the eye. “Gavin is Will’s brother. He has the right. Hosanna is mine.”
Marissa took a step closer. “How can you take such a horse in this way? You demean yourself.”
Her voice jabbed like a needle, and Kamil wanted to thrust her away, to ignore her, to pretend he had never met her. After all, what was she? Only a Christian girl. She knew nothing. He would leave now. His job was done. Pushing over his chair, he made his way swiftly to the stables, hating Marissa for following him as he walked along the row to Hosanna.
The horse was restless despite his exhaustion. The grooms had changed his blankets, so he was comfortable, but he could not settle, and when Kamil approached, he pushed against his stable door. Kamil began to soothe him, but Marissa frowned. “I’m sure he knows that Will is in real danger,” she said. “He can sense it. The seal you brought will frighten John. Anything could happen now.” Her voice accused him.
Kamil slid the bolt, went inside Hosanna’s box, and locked it behind him. “You are very concerned about Will,” he said. “When are you to be married?”
Marissa flushed. “When he comes home,” she said, but added bitterly, “He will never be happy without Hosanna.”
“He will have you.” Kamil clenched his fists. This girl was intolerable. He leaned against Hosanna’s shoulder. “He can surely spare the red horse.”
“You know he can’t,” said Marissa. “And Hosanna will not be happy without him. Look how he frets. It is as if he knows you are going to take him away from where he belongs. I bet,” she said slowly, suddenly inspired, “that if you try to take him away, he won’t go.” Kamil’s hands ceased to stroke. “Yes,” said Marissa, sensing a crack in Kamil’s stony reserve. “I bet he won’t go. Take him out and see.” She unlocked the stable door. “Go on.”
Kamil stood back. Hosanna seemed keen enough to get out, but what would happen if the girl was right? What would he do if the red horse refused to cross the drawbridge or stood in the middle of the road, clearly reluctant to accompany him back to the coast? Kamil could see it all: the cruel disappointment, the laughter of the soldiers, Marissa’s triumphant smile. Damn her. He could feel the ground shifting under his feet.
“I know he won’t go, and I’ll be there to watch,” Marissa pressed on, waiting for the final hesitation that would tell her she had won.
Kamil’s face grew black as night, but he was not finished yet. “I have a different proposition,” he said, touching Hosanna’s scars. He thought quickly. “If I stay and fight with the count of Hartslove to rescue the earl of Ravensgarth, but in the process the earl of Ravensgarth dies, will the red horse be mine then?”
Marissa’s face lost all color. “He will not die,” she whispered. “That is impossible.”
“But if he does, will my bargain with the count stand?”
The girl faltered. “If Will dies because you do not fight as if he is your own brother, even to sacrificing your own life for his,” she said, “I do not believe Will’s horse will live happily with you.”
Kamil resumed his stroking. “It’s a bargain, then,” he said. “Now get out.”
The following morning, when the Hartslove soldiers prepared to leave for Hangem, Kamil, mounted on an eager Hosanna, was the first over the drawbridge.
13
As Ellie rested after her visit to the cellar, hopeful that Will had escaped and was now at the head of a rescue party, deep within the tower Will waited for something—he was not sure what. His first sight of the tapestry room had been delayed because a fresh rockfall had prevented even somebody as small as Elric getting through. Will was forced to wait as the little boy went back to the village to steal more tools, for the ones they had were too small for this new hurdle. They had soon set to work and cleared it, but it all took precious hours. What was more, Will could see that it would not be long before the whole tunnel collapsed. He made Elric promise that once he had rescued Ellie and got away—he would not admit that there could be any other outcome—the little boy and his friends would never use it again. Elric promised faithfully as he unpacked quantities of stolen food.
“You are a one-boy forage party,” Will told him as he tore into bread and cheese. “We could have done with you on crusade. Richard might even have knighted you.”
“What’s Richard like?” asked Elric, thrilled by the picture Will conjured up. “My da says that we hear of him, and we pay for him, but we never see him. He hates him, but he would have died for old King Henry, at least that’s what I heard him tell the priest. King Henry passed through here often enough, and once, when my da was young, he actually sat and listened to the villagers’ complaints. Why has your Richard never done that?”
“He has other concerns,” said Will. “Bigger ones, like Jerusalem.”
“But what bigger concerns can you have if you are king than your people?” asked Elric, puzzled.
“I know it is difficult to understand,” said Will, “but I promise you, Richard is a good man and a great king. Maybe his father was here more often because he didn’t go off to fight the Saracens, who are, don’t forget, Elric, God’s enemies. Most of them, anyway. And we had to get Jerusalem back.”
“But you never did, did you?”
“Well, no,” said Will, feeling pressured. “But we did our best.”
“
So if Richard comes home, will we have to pay more money for another crusade?”
“I don’t know.” Will was exasperated by his own confusion. “Look, Elric. All I know is that Richard is our lawful king. When he comes back, maybe you can talk to him yourself.” He picked up one of the candles. “Go home now,” he said. “You’ve been here long enough today. But thank you. I could have done nothing without you. I’m going to see if I can get all the way to the tapestry room now. It may be my only chance. Once de Scabious is back, who knows what will happen to me and Ellie.”
“Why don’t you come to the village with me?” asked Elric. “You might be able to get away to Hartslove and bring a whole army here.” His face glowed at the thought.
“It would all take too long,” said Will, who had been over that possibility a dozen times in his head while he was digging. “I simply can’t leave Ellie here with just Old Nurse. Now, it really is time for you to go home.”
“I suppose,” Elric agreed reluctantly. “I hope more rocks don’t cave in, though. Oh, and when you get to the room, you’d better watch for the old dogs. They lie in front of the fire.” He had just one more thing to say. “I know my da doesn’t feel any loyalty to Richard…” He hesitated. “But I think lots of people hate the constable, although they don’t dare say so. Maybe if they thought he really was finished, some of the villagers might help you.”
“Elric, if they would, it would be tremendous,” said Will, shining the candle backward for a moment. “That would terrify him because, you know, for all his blustering and his gallows, he’s just a coward.”
At the mention of gallows, Elric’s enthusiasm died. “I only said ‘might,’” he said. “People would be frightened in case the attack failed, and anyway, even if we beat de Scabious, what happens if Richard doesn’t return and John is king? We would all be strung up.” He shuddered. “I couldn’t see my mother hang, even for you.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” said Will with a mixture of understanding and exasperation at the boy’s nervy courage. “You have done enough already.” He squeezed Elric’s hand. “Get yourself home and wish me luck.” Then he vanished amid the echo of his first Paternoster.
Beyond the rockfall the tunnel dived steeply down at first, curling and weaving through the foundation rock of the tower. It was very damp, and occasionally, where the water flowed rather than dripped down the walls, Will paddled through mud. Although he could stand up perfectly straight, he had some difficulty keeping his feet, and above him the rock occasionally shuddered, making the hairs creep up the back of his neck. The tiny bones of mice and bats crunched under his boots, and he had to grit his teeth when the crunch turned to a squelch as rotting corpses of rats heaped the path. Soon the candle went out, and Will, shivering with cold and dread, threw it away. He lost track of his prayers; but it hardly mattered, for he could do nothing but struggle blindly on, trying not to cry out when he touched something he did not even want to imagine.
Eventually the tunnel flattened out, then began to rise again as it neared its end. So glad was he to see it that Will had to stop himself from rushing toward the small, faint haze that could only be the back of the tapestry. He stilled his breathing and sternly reminded himself that the horrors of the tunnel would be nothing compared with the horrors that would await him if he were caught. He crept closer. It was soon clear why the tapestry was there. The wall had crumbled away, and the tower’s occupants, too lazy to repair it, had covered it over instead. From the bristling web of sticky cobwebs spread thick and unbroken, Will could tell that de Scabious had never looked behind it. The only fingers that had disturbed it recently were those of small boys pulling out threads.
He approached cautiously and touched the tapestry gently. Immediately, an army of spiders swung crazily, spinning more and more silver tracery into the mass behind them. A cloud of gray dust billowed out, and for a moment Will thought he was going to sneeze. Bending double and clamping his hand over his nose and mouth, he held his breath. The sneeze passed, and sweating slightly, he took care not to touch the tapestry again. Instead, he looked for the place where the weave was thinnest and peered through. Just as Elric had warned, in front of the fire he could see two indistinct lumps of dog. There was a high-back oak armchair facing the hearth, in which, so Will rightly assumed, de Scabious did most of his plotting. Otherwise, apart from a small table laid with a jug and a tankard, the room seemed to be empty. A tiny window high up in the outside wall showed a charcoal sky. Opposite the tapestry was the door, which was open.
Will let his eyes travel slowly up and down, taking in every detail, but when they reached the fire again, he became rigid. One of the dogs had raised his grizzled head and was gazing directly at him. The dog’s nose was twitching, and its throat ticked with the beginnings of a growl. Its companion also opened a suspicious eye, but finding the effort too much, the dog licked its chops a few times and settled back to sleep. The first dog, however, was more tenacious. With a huge effort it got up, padded over, and sniffed about. Cursing his luck as the dog opened its mouth, Will shut his eyes, ready for the bark that would bring the soldiers running. But nothing happened. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring straight past some yellow fangs and down a pink speckled throat. The dog was yawning. Then it padded back to the fire, leaving a small streak of dribble on the floor.
Will began to breathe again, then got the fright of his life when the chair was suddenly scraped back and a figure, which he recognized as the sergeant’s, rose to its feet. The man had been asleep. He stretched, belched, then, warming his bottom against the fire, bellowed for Gethin. It took a while for the youth to appear, and in the meantime, the sergeant amused himself by turning the dogs’ ears inside out. When Gethin arrived, the sergeant slopped back into the armchair, laughing unpleasantly as the dogs regarded him with mournful eyes.
“The constable returns tomorrow,” he said, “and you must get the stables ready for visitors. He has sent word that his wedding is to be very soon now. He has decided he can wait no longer. Have we enough stores?” Gethin muttered something. “Well, send down to the village,” said the sergeant, leaning back. “The peasants must provide what is due. Now. Send one of the maidservants for that girl. I’ll break the good news that before the week is out, she’ll be a married woman.”
Very slowly, Will leaned down and felt for a sharp stone. He had no idea what he would do with it, for he knew that even if he managed to kill the sergeant and spirit Ellie away down the tunnel, they could not leave, just the two of them alone, without Old Nurse, Sacramenta, and Hosanna. Nevertheless, he felt better with something in his hand. When Ellie appeared and was pushed over to the tapestry side of the room, Will stared so hard he was sure she must feel the force of his eyes in the back of her neck. He was shocked by how thin she was, but when the sergeant began to tease her, he was glad to see that her spirit was undiminished. Indeed, she seemed almost unnaturally calm. If the sergeant had hoped for hysterics he was disappointed, for she greeted the news of her imminent wedding with complete silence. Irritated, the man got up and raised his hand to her. Will gasped, but Ellie never flinched.
“I hardly think,” she said, “that even Constable de Scabious”—she made his name sound like a disease—“will want a wife with a black eye.”
The sergeant dropped his hand and glared at Gethin. “Send her back to her chamber,” he said.
Ellie left the room, keeping as far away from the sergeant as possible. If Will had put his hand out as she passed, he could have caught her arm. The desperate urge to whisper her name almost overcame him, but he held his tongue. There was too much to lose. He waited until she had vanished, hoping that the sergeant would leave the room, but he did not, and more soldiers came to join him. They would not be drunk tonight. There was too much to do before the constable’s return.
Will returned to the cellar, concentrating only on what his next move should be. Hosanna would be back tomorrow. Thank God. He scrambled through the
hole, neatly blocked up the tunnel entrance, and crouched in his usual corner. Sleep was impossible. A multitude of plans hatched in his head, all of which had to be discarded. How he needed Gavin now! If only he could know the Hartslove men were coming. But Will imagined that his brother had long since transferred his allegiance and that of his soldiers to John, and this was why de Scabious had confidently set a date for his farcical marriage. If my freedom comes at the expense of Ellie, Will thought in despair, it will not be worth having. When dawn broke, his plans were no further forward, except he knew that he would have to remain in the cellar now in case the constable demanded to see him as soon as he arrived back, and that it was time to ask Elric to steal something even more difficult than a crowbar. Will needed a sword.
The sun was halfway up a pale but breezy sky when the cellar door opened and the usual pan of pottage was dumped inside. A blackbird alighted briefly near the grating, twitched its tail cheerfully, and was gone. Will began to flex his muscles, first his arms, then his legs. The digging had kept him fit. As he loosened himself up, he could hear more soldiers than usual in the courtyard.
“Scrub those cobbles, you lazy rats,” the sergeant was bellowing with exaggerated impatience. “What have you all been doing, hanging around in the guardroom? I’ll have the fireplace in there stopped up.”
Soldiers shuffled past, complaining under their breath. On impulse and reckoning that Gethin would be too busy to collect it, Will broke the pottage pan to form two odd-shaped daggers. They were not strong but would be better than nothing. When he had finished, he hid them carefully behind some loose stones.
By noon, activity in the courtyard was increased by the chattering women heading for the kitchens. Pacing up and down, Will knew that whatever his plan was, it would have to be accomplished that night, when the constable would be tired and many of the soldiers would be drunk. Maybe he could use fire to cause a diversion and force the gates open. Maybe he could capture de Scabious and frighten him until he crumbled. Maybe then he and Ellie could seize a cart for Old Nurse and, with Hosanna and Sacramenta, gallop away. The plan sounded improbable, even to Will, but he could think of no other.