Count Brass smiled at him. 'You are indefatigable, Bowgentle. This, surely, was a local affair, was it not?'
'If your dreams of a united continent are still with you, then the affairs of Europe are local affairs.' Bowgentle stroked his chin. 'Are they not?'
Count Brass's expression became serious for an instant. 'Perhaps . . .' he began, but then shook his head and laughed. 'Oh, insidious Bowgentle, you still manage to confound me from time to time!'
But later, when they left the box and made their way back to the castle, Count Brass was frowning.
As Count Brass and his retinue rode into the castle courtyard, a man-at-arms ran forward, his pointing arm indicating an ornate carriage and a group of black, plumed stallions with saddles of unfamiliar workmanship, which the grooms were at that moment removing.
'Sire,' the man-at-arms breathed, 'there have come visitors to our castle while you were at the arena. Noble visitors, though I know not if you'll welcome them.'
Count Brass looked hard at the carriage. It was of beaten metal, of dark gold, steel, and copper, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, silver, and onyx. It was fashioned to resemble the body of a grotesque beast, with its legs extending into claws, which clutched the wheel shafts. Its head was reptilian, with ruby eyes, hollowed out from above to form a seat for the coachman. On the doors was an elaborate coat of arms displaying many quarterings in which were strange-looking animals, weapons, and symbols of an obscure but disturbing nature. Count Brass recognized the design of the carriage and the coat of arms. The first was the workmanship of the mad smiths of Granbretan; the second was the coat of arms of one of that nation's most powerful and infamous nobles.
'It is Baron Meliadus of Kroiden,' Count Brass said as he dismounted. 'What business could bring such a great lord to our little province?' He spoke with some irony, but he seemed disturbed. He glanced at Bowgentle as the philosopher-poet came and stood beside him.
'We will treat him courteously, Bowgentle,' said the count warningly. 'We will show him all Castle Brass's hospitality. We have no quarrel with the Lords of Granbretan.'
'Not at this moment, perhaps,' said Bowgentle, speaking with evident restraint.
With Yisselda and von Villach behind them, Count Brass and Bowgentle ascended the steps and entered the hall, where they found Baron Meliadus waiting for them alone.
The baron was almost as tall as Count Brass. He was dressed all in gleaming black and dark blue. Even his jewelled animal mask, which covered the whole of his head like a helmet, was of some strange black metal with deep blue sapphires for eyes. The mask was cast in the form of a snarling wolf, with needle-sharp teeth in the open jaws. Standing in the shadows of the hall, his black cloak covering much of his black armour, Baron Meliadus might have been one of the mythical beast-gods that were still worshipped in the lands beyond the Middle Sea. As they entered, he reached up with black-gauntleted hands and removed the mask, revealing a white, heavy face with a well-trimmed black beard and moustache. His hair, too, was black and thick, and his eyes were a pale, strange blue. The baron was apparently unarmed, perhaps as an indication that he came in peace. He bowed low and spoke in a deep, musical voice.
'Greetings, famous Count Brass, and forgive this sudden intrusion. I sent messengers ahead, but they arrived too late to reach you before you left. I am the Baron Meliadus of Kroiden, Grand Constable of the Order of the Wolf, First Chieftain of the Armies under our great King-Emperor Huon ...
Count Brass inclined his head. 'I know of your great deeds, Baron Meliadus, and recognized the arms on your carriage. Be welcome. The Castle Brass is yours for as long as you wish to stay. Our fare is simple, I fear, in comparison with the richness I have heard may be sampled at the board of even the lowliest citizen of your mighty Empire.'
Baron Meliadus smiled. 'Your courtliness and hospitality put those of Granbretan to shame, noble hero. I thank you.'
Count Brass introduced his daughter, and the baron advanced to bow low and kiss her hand, evidently impressed by her beauty. To Bowgentle he was courteous, showing familiarity with the poet-philosopher's writings, but in reply Bowgentle's voice shook with the effort of remaining polite. With von Villach, Baron Meliadus reminded him of several famous battles in which the old warrior had distinguished himself, and von Villach was visibly pleased.
For all the fine manners and elaborately embellished statements, there was a certain tension in the hall. Bowgentle was the first to make his excuses, and shortly afterward Yisselda and von Villach discreetly left to let Baron Meliadus discuss whatever business had brought him to Castle Brass. Baron Meliadus's eyes lingered just a little while on the girl as she passed out of the hall.
Wine and refreshments were brought, and the two men settled themselves in heavy, carved armchairs.
Baron Meliadus looked over the brim of his wine cup at Count Brass. 'You are a man of the world, my lord,' he said. Indeed, you are that in every sense. So you will appreciate that my visit is fostered by more than an urge to enjoy the sights of a pretty province.'
Count Brass smiled a little, liking the baron for his frankness. 'Quite so,' he agreed, though for my part, it is an honour to meet so famous a servant of the great King Huon.'
'That feeling is shared by myself toward you,' Baron Meliadus replied. 'You are without doubt the most famous hero in Europe, perhaps the most famous in her history. It is almost alarming to find you are made of flesh, after all, and not metal.' He laughed, and Count Brass joined in the laughter.
'I've had my share of luck. Count Brass said. 'And fate has been kind to me in seeming to corroborate my judgment. Who is to say whether the age we live in is good for me, or I am good for the age?'
'Your philosophy rivals that of your friend Sir Bowgentle,' said Baron Meliadus, 'and supports what I have heard of your wisdom and judgment. We in Granbretan pride ourselves on our own abilities in that direction, but we could learn from you, I believe.'
'I have only details,' Count Brass told him, 'but you have the talent to see the general scheme.' He tried to guess from Meliadus's face what the man was leading toward, but the face remained bland.
'It is the details we need,' Baron Meliadus said, if our general ambitions are to be realized as swiftly as we should like.'
Now Count Brass understood why Baron Meliadus was here, but he did not reveal that; he only looked a little puzzled and politely poured more wine for his guest.
'We have a destiny to rule all Europe,' Baron Meliadus said.
'That seems to be your destiny,' Count Brass agreed. 'And I support, in principle, such an ambition.'
'I am glad, Count Brass. We are often misrepresented, and our enemies are many, spreading calumnies across the globe.'
'I am not interested in the truth or falsehood of those rumours,' Count Brass told him. 'It is only your general activities I believe in.'
'You would not, then, oppose the spread of our Empire?' Baron Meliadus looked at him carefully.
'Only,' Count Brass smiled, 'in particular. In the particular case of this land I protect, the Kamarg.'
'You would welcome, then, the security of a treaty of peace between us?'
'I see no need for one. I have the security of my towers.'
'Hmmm . . . ' Baron Meliadus glanced at the floor.
'Is that why you came, my lord Baron? To propose a peace treaty? To propose an alliance, even?'
'Of sorts,' nodded the baron. 'An alliance of sorts.'
'I would not oppose or support you in most senses,' Count Brass told him. 'I would oppose you only if you attacked my lands. I support you only in my attitude that a unifying force is needed in Europe at this time.'
Baron Meliadus thought for a moment before speaking. 'And if that unification were threatened?' he said at length.
Count Brass laughed. 'I do not believe it can be. There is none powerful enough to withstand Granbretan now.'
Baron Meliadus pursed his lips. 'You are right in believing that. Our list of victories becomes almost a bore t
o us. But the more we conquer, the thinner we spread our forces. If we knew the Courts of Europe as well, for instance, as yourself, we should know better who to trust and who to distrust and thus be able to concentrate our attention on the weaknesses. We have the Grand Duke Ziminon as our governor in Normandia, for instance.' Baron Meliadus looked carefully at Count Brass. 'Would you say we are wise in our choice? He sought the throne of Normandia when his cousin Jewelard possessed it. Is he content with the throne on our terms?'
'Ziminon, eh?' Count Brass smiled. 'I helped defeat him at Rouen.'
'I know. But what is your opinion of him?'
Count Brass's smile grew broader as Baron Meliadus's manner became more intense. Now he knew exactly what Granbretan wanted of him. 'He is an excellent horseman and has a fascination for women,' he said.
'That does not help us know the extent to which we may trust him.' Almost impatiently, the baron put his wine cup on the table.
'True,' Count Brass agreed. He looked up at the large wall clock that hung over the fireplace. Its golden hands showed eleven o'clock. Its huge pendulum swung slowly back and forth, casting a flickering shadow on the wall. It began to strike. 'We go to our beds early in Castle Brass,' the count said casually. 'We live the lives of country folk, I am afraid.' He rose from his chair. 'I will have a servant show you to your chambers. Your men have been placed in rooms adjoining the main suite.'
A faint shadow clouded Baron Meliadus's face. 'Count Brass - we know of your skill in politics, your wisdom, your comprehensive knowledge of all the weaknesses and strengths of the European courts. We wish to make use of that knowledge. In return, we offer riches, power, security . . .'
'I have all I need of the first two and am assured of the third,' Count Brass replied gently as he pulled a bellrope. 'You will forgive me if I claim tiredness and a desire to sleep. I have had an exerting afternoon.'
'Listen to reason, my lord Count, I beg you.' Baron Meliadus was making an effort to appear in good temper.
'I hope you will stay with us for some time, Baron, and be able to tell us all the news.'
A servant entered.
'Please show our guest to his chambers,' Count Brass told the servant. He bowed to the baron. 'Good night, Baron Meliadus. I look forward to seeing you when we break our fast at eight o'clock.'
When the baron had left the hall following the servant, Count Brass let some of his amusement show on his face. It was pleasing to know that Granbretan sought his help, but he had no intention of giving it. He hoped he could resist the baron's requests politely, for he had no wish to be on bad terms with the Dark Empire. Besides, he quite liked Baron Meliadus. They seemed to share certain beliefs in common.
4
The Fight at Castle Brass
Baron Meliadus remained at Castle Brass for a week. After the first night, he succeeded in recovering his composure and never again betrayed any sign of impatience with Count Brass for his persistent refusal to listen to the inducements and requirements of Granbretan.
Perhaps it was not only his mission that kept the baron at Castle Brass, for it was plain that he gave Yisselda much of his attention. With her, in particular, he appeared agreeable and courteous to such an extent that it was plain that Yisselda, unfamiliar with the sophisticated ways of the grand courts, was not unattracted to him.
Count Brass seemed oblivious of this. One morning as they walked in the upper terraces of the castle garden, Bowgentle spoke to his friend.
'Baron Meliadus seems not only interested in seducing you for the cause of Granbretan,' he said. 'He has another kind of seduction in mind, if I'm not mistaken.'
'Eh?' Count Brass turned from the contemplation of the vines on the terrace below. 'What else is he after?'
'Your daughter,' Bowgentle answered softly.
'Come now, Bowgentle!' The count laughed. 'You see malice and evil intention in the man's every action. He is a gentleman, a noble. And besides, he wants something from me. He would not let the ambition be jeopardized by a flirtation. I think you do Baron Meliadus an injustice. I've grown rather to like him.'
'Then it is high time you involved yourself in politics again, my lord,' said Bowgentle with some fire, but all the time speaking softly, 'for it would seem your judgment is not as sharp as it was!'
Count Brass shrugged. 'Be that as it may, I think you are becoming a nervous old woman, my friend. Baron Meliadus has behaved with decorum since his arrival. Admittedly, I think he wastes his time here and wish he would decide to leave soon, but if he has intentions toward my daughter I have seen no sign of it. He might wish to marry her, certainly, in order to make a blood tie between myself and Granbretan, but Yisselda would not consent to the idea, and neither would I.'
'What if Yisselda loved Baron Meliadus and he felt passion for her?'
'How could she love Baron Meliadus?'
'She sees few men as handsome and sophisticated in Kamarg.'
'Hmm,' grunted the count dismissively. 'If she loved the baron, she'd tell me, wouldn't she? I'll believe your tale when I hear it confirmed from Yisselda's lips!'
Bowgentle wondered to himself if the count's refusal to see the truth were sponsored by a secret wish to know nothing at all of the character of those who ruled Granbretan or whether it was simply a father's common inability to see in his child what was perfectly evident to others. Bowgentle decided to keep a careful eye on both Baron Meliadus and Yisselda in future. He could not believe that the count's judgment was correct in the case of the man who had caused the Massacre of Liege, who had given the order for the Sack of Sahbruck, and whose perverse appetites were the horror of every whispering scullion from North Cape to Tunis. As he had said, the count had lived too long in the country, breathing the clean rural air. Now he could not recognize the stink of corruption even when he smelled it.
Though Count Brass was reticent in his conversations with Baron Meliadus, the Granbretanian seemed willing to tell him much. It appeared that even where Granbretan did not rule, there were discontented nobles and peasants willing to make secret treaties with the agents of the Dark Empire, in promise of power under the King-Emperor if they helped destroy those who opposed Granbretan. And Granbretan's ambitions, it seemed, extended even into Asia. Beyond the Mediterranean there were well-established groups ready to support the Dark Empire when the time came for attack. Count Brass's admiration for the tactical skills of the Empire increased every day.
'Within twenty years,' said Baron Meliadus, 'the whole of Europe will be ours. Within thirty, all Arabia and the countries that surround it. Within fifty, we shall have the strength to attack that mysterious land on our maps that is called Asiacommunista . . .'
'An ancient and romantic name,' smiled Count Brass, 'full of great sorceries, it's said. Is that not where the Runestaff lies?'
'Aye, that's the tale - that it stands on the tallest mountain in the world, where snow swirls and winds howl constantly, protected by hairy men of incredible wisdom and age, who are ten feet high and have the faces of apes.' Baron Meliadus smiled. 'But there are many places that the Runestaff is said to be — in Amarehk, even.'
Count Brass nodded. 'Ah, Amarehk - do you include that land in your dreams of empire?' Amarehk was the great continent said to lie across the water to the west, ruled by beings of almost godlike powers. They were reputed to lead lives that were abstracted, tranquil, and remote. Theirs, so the tales went, was the civilization that altogether missed the effects of the Tragic Millennium, when the rest of the world collapsed into various degrees of ruin. Count Brass had jested when he mentioned Amarehk, but Baron Meliadus looked at him sidewise, a gleam in his pale eye.
'Why not?' he said. 'I would storm the walls of heaven if I found them.'
Disturbed, Count Brass left him shortly thereafter, for the first time wondering if his resolution to remain neutral were as well advised as he'd believed.
Yisselda, though as intelligent as her father, lacked both his experience and his normally good judgment of character.
She found even the baron's infamous reputation attractive and at the same time could not believe that all the stories about him were true. For when he spoke to her in his soft, cultivated voice, flattering her beauty and grace, she thought she saw a man of gentle temperament forced to appear grim and ruthless by the conventions of his office and his role in history.
Now, for the third time since his arrival, she slipped at night from her bedchamber to keep an assignation with him in the west tower, which had been unused since the bloody death there of the previous Lord Guardian.
The meetings had been innocent enough - a clasping of her hand, a brushing of her lips with his, the whispering of love words, talk of marriage. Though still unsure of the latter suggestion (for she loved her father and felt it would hurt him deeply if she married Baron Meliadus), she could not resist the attention the baron gave her. Even she was not sure that it was love she felt for him, but she welcomed the sense of adventure and excitement that these meetings gave her.
On this particular night, as she sped light-footed through the gloomy corridors, she did not know that she was being followed. Behind her came a figure in a black cloak, a long dagger in a leather sheath in its right hand.
Heart beating, red lips parted slightly in a half smile, Yisselda ran up the winding steps of the tower until she came to the little turret room where the baron already awaited her.
He bowed low, then caught her in his arms, caressing her soft flesh through the thin, silken nightgown she wore. His kiss was firmer this time, almost brutal, and her breathing became deeper as she returned it, clutching at his broad, leather-clad back. Now his hand moved down to her waist, and then to her thigh, and for a moment she pressed her body closer to his and then tried to tug away as she felt a growing, unfamiliar panic.
He held on to her, panting. A beam of moonlight entered the narrow window and fell across his face, revealing frowning brows and heated eyes.
'Yisselda, you must marry me. Tonight we can leave Castle Brass and be beyond the towers by tomorrow. Your father would not dare follow us to Granbretan.'
The Jewel in the Skull Page 3
