Maude had been talking to Lamorna. Now she broke off, and she and Tertius exchanged glances with Brian.
“The dragon’s horn?” said Brian.
“Yes.”
“Has anyone else drunk from it recently?”
“Why, yes,” said Giles. “It’s strange that you should ask that, for we haven’t used it for years. But a knight came through here a week or so ago, just before all the trouble started. He had been riding hard, was very hot and thirsty, and since he was the first visitor we’d had in some time, I gave it to him to drink from also.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No,” said Giles. “I never asked, and he never told us. But he was a very gallant knight.”
“Did he, by any chance, carry a red shield?”
“Why, yes,” said Giles. “Now that you mention it, he did.”
“Are you sure about that?” asked Lamorna.
“Of course I’m sure,” said Giles. Then, as Brian looked again at Maude and Tertius, “Do you know him?”
“No, but I’ve been looking for him. In fact, that’s my quest. Do you have any idea where he was going, where I could find him?”
“Yes,” said Giles. “He was going home. He said he had not been there in more than ten years, but he had heard there was trouble there.”
“Trouble?”
“Something to do with one of his female relatives. His cousin, I believe.”
“She was in some kind of danger?”
“No. I think she was making the trouble, up to some kind of mischief.”
“Oh,” said Brian. “Do you know where it is? His home, I mean.”
“Well, when he left here he rode that way,” said Giles, pointing southwest. “But I’m afraid …”
“I know a bit more than that,” said Lamorna. “I asked him if it was a long journey, and he said it was. That his castle was the last one in England.”
“The last one?”
“I think he meant that there was nothing beyond it but the sea.”
“Thank you,” said Brian, handing the great drinking horn back to the giant. “If you don’t mind, I think …”
“But you can’t go yet,” said Lamorna. “You haven’t had your pasties.” And she set them on the table.
They were golden brown, the crust light and flaky; and, impatient though he now was to be off, Brian finished his to the last crumb.
“I wish you did not have to leave,” said Giles as they mounted their horses. “And more important, I wish there was something I could do to help you.”
“You have,” Brian assured him. “For the first time, we know where we must go.”
“Really? I’m glad. And I hope your quest is successful.”
“It will be,” said Lamorna. “Though perhaps not in the way he thinks.”
“She’s always saying things like that,” said Giles. “And she’s usually right. It’s what makes people think that she’s a witch.”
“Which of course is nonsense,” said Lamorna. “It’s only common sense. You’re a determined and very likable young man,” she told Brian, “so why shouldn’t you be successful?”
“But why won’t it be in the way I think?”
“Because that’s the way quests are. We rarely find what we expected. Or, if we do, we find it in an unexpected place. Isn’t that true?” she asked Tertius.
“I suspect it is,” he said. “Not that I’ve done much thinking about it.”
“Haven’t you? I have the feeling that you’ve done a lot of thinking about a great many things. And that’s why your quest will be successful, too. As for you, my dear,” she said to Maude. Then, as Maude looked at her fixedly, “Oh. Very well. If women don’t keep one another’s secrets, who will?”
“Will we see them again?” asked Giles.
“We’ll make it our business to,” said Lamorna.
“Then that’s that,” said Giles. “Good-bye for now.”
“Good-bye,” said Brian.
Maude had already turned her horse and was riding back up the hill, and as Brian followed her he wondered unhappily why it was that everyone seemed to know things he didn’t. How did Lamorna for instance, not only know that Maude had a secret but apparently what it was? He, who had been with Maude for weeks, knew little more about her now than he had when they had first met.
They rode southwest all afternoon, halting at dusk in a clearing near the bank of a stream. They built a fire and while Brian and Tertius unsaddled the horses, Maude went to the stream to get some water. Brian was examining Gaillard’s hoofs when something—not a noise, but rather a sudden silence—made him look up. Maude, rigid, was standing on the far side of the clearing. And facing her, not a dozen yards away, was an enormous black boar.
For a moment they all stood frozen: Maude, Brian, Tertius and the boar. Then, as Brian drew Starflame, the boar charged.
Waiting until he was almost upon her, Maude dodged, twisting sideways away from him. And as she did, her feet slipped on the dry leaves and she fell heavily. The boar missed her by inches, turned with surprising speed and paused again, its head held low, its white tusks gleaming.
“Ho!” called Brian, running toward it. “Here!”
The boar hesitated, its red eyes going from Maude, now on her knees, to Brian.
“Here, I say!” shouted Brian, stamping his foot. Responding to his shout or to his movements the boar charged again; this time not at Maude, but at Brian.
Poised and sword in hand, Brian waited for it. He had been boar hunting several times with Sir Guy and, though he had never killed one of the great beasts himself, he knew how it should be done: the butt of the spear held firmly against the ground, the point presented so that the charging animal impaled himself on it. But he did not have a spear.
The boar was almost upon him now, so close that he could see the coarse bristles erect on its back and smell its rank, sour smell. Then, as it drove at him, he pivoted on the balls of his feet, swinging sideways out of its path and bringing Starflame down on its neck.
Something sharp ripped across his thighs and, like Maude, he went down. When he struggled to his feet, the boar was lying dead a few yards away from him, its tusks half-buried in the forest mold, and Maude was looking from it to him.
“Why did you do that?” she asked angrily.
“Do what?”
“Call him that way!”
“Why? Because he was about to charge again. You might have been killed.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. What if you had been killed? Does that precious quest of yours mean so little to you?”
“No. No, of course not. It means a great deal to me. But …”
“You’re a fool!” she said fiercely. And leaving him standing there with the blood from his wounds trickling down his legs, she walked off into the forest.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brian’s wounds were not as deep as they looked. While Tertius was helping him wash away the blood, Maude returned from the forest. Shouldering Tertius aside, she examined the twin slashes, spread an ointment on them, and bound them with strips of linen that she tore from the bottom of her shift.
Though the wounds were not serious, they were painful, and Brian did not sleep well that night. But in spite of that—and in spite of Maude’s and Tertius’s misgivings—they made an early start the next morning and put in a long day in the saddle. They camped that night in a meadow. While they were eating, Brian saw Maude stiffen and begin going through her clothes. Then, rising, she went over to her saddlebags and began looking through them.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked. “Have you lost something?”
“Yes. A pouch.”
“What kind of pouch?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I just thought … could you have lost it yesterday when you fell dodging the boar?”
“It’s possible.”
“Was there anything valuable or important in
it? If there was, I could go back for it.”
“A full day’s ride? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous about it? And why are you being so surly? I’m just trying to help.”
“When I want your help, I’ll ask for it.”
“Very well,” said Brian, annoyed. “I’ll remember that.”
He was still annoyed the next morning, and his irritation was increased by Maude’s behavior. For she said hardly a word to him, rode behind him when they started out and kept to herself, on her own side of the fire when they camped at night.
For almost two weeks they rode south and west, at first through open farmland and then through forests and across chalky downs, coming at last to the coast where cliffs dropped sheer to the sea. Now the weather worsened. The wind shifted to the north and for several days it rained; a cold, steady rain that chilled them to the bone. When the rain ceased, thick fog rolled in from the sea and this was even worse, for they could ride only at a slow walk, picking their way through the murk. Then, just before dusk, the fog lifted and that evening, for the first time in many nights, they could see the stars and their fire seemed to have some warmth.
As was her custom, Maude sat on the far side of the fire and looking at her in the ruddy glow of the embers, it seemed to Brian that once again—as at Diccon’s—a change had come over her. Instead of looking drawn, tired and older after so much cold and discomfort, she looked younger. Putting it down to a trick of the light, he rolled himself in his cloak and went to sleep. But in the morning, when the sun was up, he studied her again. She had thrown back her hood while she ate, and her eyes were clearer, her face less lined and her hair less gray than he remembered.
“Do you think it’s possible for people to change?” he asked Tertius when she had gone off to saddle her horse.
“Not only possible, but inevitable,” said Tertius. “Our bodies supposedly renew themselves every seven years. What sort of change did you have in mind?”
“It wasn’t anything I had in mind. It’s Maude. Does she look different to you?”
“Different how?”
“I know it’s impossible, but … younger, less unattractive.”
Putting on his spectacles, Tertius looked at him thoughtfully.
“Why do you think it’s impossible?”
“You mean it isn’t?”
“You know what they say about beauty, don’t you?”
“No.”
“As a matter of fact, they say several things. That it’s only skin deep and that it lies in the eye of the beholder. In other words, perhaps it’s you who are changing, not she.”
“Why not? Stranger things than that have happened.” And rising, he went off to saddle his palfrey.
They rode on, keeping the sea always on their left. And now, though the days were getting shorter—for they were well into autumn—the sun shone more brightly than ever in the clear sky and it was as warm as early summer was in the north. Day after day they went on, through rolling country high above a deep blue sea where gulls and terns circled and soared and cormorants nested on the rocky islands offshore.
Though the land through which they were traveling seemed fertile, the few farms they passed were abandoned, and they met no one whom they could question. Then, late one afternoon, they came to a headland, a rocky promontory that jutted out into the sea. As they drew near it, they saw that there was a castle at its tip, the sea on three sides of it. And they also saw that there was nothing beyond it, that at this point the coast no longer continued on to the south or west, but ran north.
Remembering what Lamorna had said, Brian checked Gaillard and glanced at Tertius.
“Yes,” said Tertius. “I suppose you could call it the last castle in England. So it could well be what we’ve been looking for.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Maude, “and I don’t like it.”
“Why?” asked Brian.
She shrugged without answering. They were on a hill on the landward side of the peninsula, surrounded by furze, bracken and huge gray rocks. Maude looked about.
“There’s someone there,” she said, “watching us.”
Turning, Brian saw something move near the base of one of the rocks.
“Come out,” he called, sensing that the figure crouched there in fear rather than menace. “Come out. We won’t hurt you.”
Slowly the figure rose, a dark-haired man in ragged clothes. He came no nearer but stood where he was, a dozen yards away, waist-deep in the bracken.
“We’re looking for the Knight with the Red Shield,” said Brian. “Do you know him?”
Watching him warily, the man shook his head.
“You’re sure?”
The man nodded.
“Then whose castle is that?”
“Whose is everything in these parts?” said the man in a harsh, rasping voice. “Hers, the Dark Lady’s.”
“The Dark Lady?” Again Brian glanced at Tertius.
“Don’t forget why he was going home,” said Tertius. “Because of his cousin.”
“You’re right,” said Brian, turning again to the black-haired man. “Thank you.”
“You’re going there, to the castle?” asked the man.
“Yes,” said Brian. “Why?”
Throwing back his head, the man laughed, a shrill, high-pitched laugh as wild as the calling of the gulls.
“Stop that!” said Maude sharply. “Why shouldn’t we go there?”
The man stopped laughing and looked at her anxiously. Then, as she edged Gracielle toward him, he turned, dived into the bracken and disappeared.
“Somehow I get the impression,” said Tertius, “that this Dark Lady is not well liked around here.”
“And of course you think we should find out why,” said Maude dryly.
“It’s not up to me. It’s your quest, Brian. What do you say?”
“After coming so far, I’m certainly not going to turn back now,” said Brian. “But the two of you needn’t come with me.”
“Quite true,” said Maude. Then, as he hesitated, “What are you waiting for?”
“If you’re not coming,” said Brian awkwardly, “I wanted to say good-bye.”
They both looked at him, Maude with some irritation and Tertius with amused affection.
“In case you’ve forgotten,” he said, “we’ve come just as far as you have. Let’s go.”
They rode down the hill and out onto the peninsula. The castle was farther away than it had seemed, and it was almost dusk before they were close enough to it to see it clearly. The bailey wall ran across the neck of the peninsula with a deep dry moat before it, these and the steep cliffs dropping to the sea on the other three sides making it almost impregnable.
They drew rein, studying it. There was something very strange about it, and it took Brian a moment to realize what it was. Though the drawbridge was down, the gates open and the portcullis up, there was no one about: no men-at-arms walked the parapet or stood guard at the gatehouse.
Tertius had taken out his telescope and was scanning the ramparts on top of the bailey wall, the arrow slits of the keep beyond it. He handed it to Brian, and Brian looked through it also. But even with the spyglass he could detect no movement, no sign of life anywhere.
“It’s either deserted, abandoned,” he said, “or it’s a trap.”
“It’s a trap,” said Maude flatly.
“Probably. Do we go in anyway?”
“If we don’t, someone will be very disappointed,” said Maude. “And of course we’ll never know whether it was or it wasn’t.”
Brian glanced at Tertius.
“If we agreed before that we’ve come too far to turn back,” he said, “why should we do so now?”
Brian nodded and they went forward across the barren, windswept ground and then across the drawbridge. The horses’ hooves echoed as they rode through the arch of the gatehouse. Then, as they reached the courtyard beyond it, the portcullis came crashing down behind them.
“That’s that,” said Maude. “Now we do know.”
There was no one in the courtyard, no sign of who had dropped the portcullis, but the door of the great hall on the far side of the courtyard stood open. They dismounted and went toward it, pausing on the threshold while Brian drew Starflame. Then they went in.
Though the sun had not yet set, the great hall was shadowy, lit only by candles on the high table. By this dim light they could see that the hall was empty except for three people who sat at the high table: two knights and a lady. The knights, one dressed in crimson and the other in blue, were young. The lady who sat between them was ageless.
The knights, heavyset and jowly, were eating, and they continued to eat as Brian, Maude and Tertius walked the length of the hall toward them. Only the lady, toying with a goblet, watched them. She wore black: a tightly fitting black dress with white lace at the throat. Her hair was dark and glossy, her skin very white and her mouth very red. She was very beautiful and at the same time as dangerous-looking as an unsheathed dagger.
Surprisingly, it was Tertius who spoke first.
“Well,” he said. “Greetings, Primus. And to you too, Secundus.”
The bones they had been gnawing still in their hands, the two knights looked at him, looked again and then looked at one another.
“No,” said the one in crimson. “It can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it is,” said the one in blue.
“I admit it looks like him, but he’s at Ferlay doing his service.”
“Perhaps he’s finished.”
“Then why isn’t he home? What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
“All right. I will. Tertius, what are you doing here?”
“I hate to interrupt,” said the dark lady, “but if the young man is a friend of yours, you might introduce him to me.”
“What?” said the knight in crimson. “Oh, sorry. Only he isn’t a friend. He’s our brother.”
“His name’s Tertius,” said the one in blue. “It means the Third. Primus,” he nodded toward his companion, “Secundus and Tertius. First, second and third. It was Father’s idea.”
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