by Alex Myers
Griselle released her hold on Silence and gawped at Lord Wendell. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to say ‘My lord. That is most kind. But Earl Cador …’
Lord Wendell held up a hand. ‘Earl Cador and I fought together with King Evan in the battle against the horrible Norwegians. We each saved each other’s life a dozen times. He will not deny me in this.’
Griselle sniffled and dug loose a kerchief to blow her nose on. ‘Very well,’ she said, returning to some semblance of her normal self. ‘I will go with you. Silence may be a boy full of valour and courage, but he needs someone to watch over him.’
And so, within the week, they set out from Ringmar, waving farewell to the groom, to Cook, and to the seneschal and, accompanied by Lord Wendell and three guardsmen, took the road to Tintagel.
CHAPTER FIVE
The ride seemed astonishingly short to Silence. Tintagel, the castle, the court, his father the earl, all loomed so large in his mind, overshadowing tiny Ringmar; it seemed impossible that they could reach it so quickly. In a single day! But, lo, more gulls wheeled overhead, and the rich woodlands gave way to green heather-covered hills where grey and white rocks broke through the soil. When they stopped to water the horses, Silence could hear the distant crash of the sea, a ceaseless roar in his ears. And, oh, the salt in the air. Each screech of a seagull made him smile. He was going to court.
He flexed his fingers carefully, feeling the scabs on his arms stretch; the wolf’s claws had gouged deep, but Griselle had made a wonderful ointment and, though it burned, the wounds had started to close nicely. Clopper plodded along, up a rise, hooves scraping against bare rock, and when they reached the top … there it was. The long causeway of dark stone, the castle walls, thick and tall, here a tower rearing up as if to touch the sky. And – magical! – a long bridge that stretched behind to connect the castle to an island, where another massive stone building squatted. And beyond all that, the sea, a lighter grey than the stones of the castle, seething and foaming and crashing and retreating.
There was so much to take in. The cliffs that plunged down, steep and sheer, from the edges of the causeway right to the sea. The banners that snapped and stuttered above the castle’s gate: King Evan’s lion and Earl Cador’s crow. And a dozen beside this, that Silence did not know. The wind swept across him, glazing him with salt air, and Lord Wendell bellowed, ‘Magnificent, is it not? You can see why it is such a perfect spot,’ and he began to explain how the castle could be defended, how it was unassailable from the sea.
The horses’ steps rang out as they crossed the causeway and Silence could see guardsmen on the walls ahead. The barred gate stood open and Lord Wendell trotted ahead to speak to the captain of the guard. Silence saw the man nod and then give a little start before staring right at Silence. With a wave of his hand, he sent two men running from the gate towards the keep. And then Clopper carried Silence into the shadow of the walls, right up to the gate. The captain of the guard bowed and said, ‘Lord Silence, we welcome you back to Tintagel. I have let Earl Cador know you have arrived.’
‘Thank you,’ said Silence, feeling it odd to be welcomed back to a place he didn’t remember. He passed within the gate, the shadows growing darker around him, and felt a slight chill before emerging into the yard of the gatehouse.
‘We’ll ride down to the stables,’ Lord Wendell said and led them on a narrow path. To their left, the humped hillside rose up; to the right, the cliff plunged down to the sea. They wended their way around the curve of the hill and rode through a stone arch; Silence noted the heavy metal gate, now propped open, and the arrow slits in the wall above the arch. Through this gate, they entered the castle grounds proper. Outbuildings sat on either side of the path, which widened now to be a sturdy track, and Silence could see servants bustling around, chasing after a few stray chickens. Thick stone walls surrounded the inner yard and once they were past these, grooms emerged, trotting out and holding Clopper’s bridle as Silence dismounted. He turned and offered a hand to Griselle, who passed him the basket that held Mooch. The cat spat and hissed and Silence hurriedly returned her to Griselle before an errant claw could score another mark on his flesh.
Lord Wendell led the way across the yard, towards the great wooden doors of the keep. Silence swivelled his head to look around; the stables were immense! And the kennels – he could hear the dogs yipping from here. And over there … a dozen or so boys were up on some sort of cart, holding lances and learning to joust. He wanted to run over and join them right now. He hurried to keep pace with Lord Wendell and Griselle jogged along beside him, brushing ineffectually at his jacket (‘You can’t see the earl covered in horse hair!’).
Guards bowed them through the doors and then they were in the great hall. Griselle had described it to him countless times, but now he could see it for himself. The massive hearths, as tall as a man, where flames guttered and sent flickering light out. Rushes were strewn across the floor, so their footsteps rustled and crackled as they walked through. Arms and shields hung from the walls, as did rich tapestries, though they were mostly ornamental, patterns of vines and flowers. A priest sat near one hearth, teaching a group of younger children; all of them stared at Silence as he passed by. At another hearth, servants sat on a bench, each working at some chore: sharpening knives for the kitchen, mending the bottom of a pot. Little dogs picked through the rushes at their feet and Silence watched as one darted out quickly, catching a mouse in its teeth and carrying it proudly back to the hearth.
Then they were through the hall and into a passageway. Doors stood open and Silence peered in as they passed; Lord Wendell provided brusque narration: the steward’s chamber. The map room. The lady’s cabinet. And, at last, the earl’s receiving room. It was far smaller than the great hall, but an impressive room nonetheless. One hearth, blazing away, and windows letting in not only the grey light of day but also the sight of the ocean, rolling ceaselessly. On the inside wall hung a shield with Cador’s crest, the crow looking so real that Silence thought it might lift off and take flight. And straight ahead, as Lord Wendell ushered him through the door, on a raised dais sat his father, Earl Cador.
It was not a throne he sat on, but a dark wooden chair, draped with a velvety deer skin. But he sat in it as a ruler would, his hands planted on the arms of the chair, his back very straight. Since Silence had last seen him, his father’s hair seemed to have darkened – it was no longer the golden blond of Silence’s but the tawny colour of honey. His father’s cheeks were freshly shaven and Silence could clearly see the grim line of his lips, the clenched muscle of his jaw.
All three of them stepped before the dais and offered the earl deep bows, or a curtsy in Griselle’s case. Mooch just hissed and howled.
‘Let the damned cat out,’ Cador said, his voice gravelly and low.
‘Of course, my lord,’ Griselle said and untied the lid of the basket. Mooch burst forth and darted to the darkest corner of the chamber.
‘So you have brought me my son,’ Cador said, turning to face Lord Wendell.
‘Yes, my lord.’ Wendell bowed again. ‘I would apologize for my impertinence in doing so, but I don’t think an apology will be necessary, once you have heard my tale.’ He gave a pause, waiting for a sign from Cador. At last, the earl offered a dip of his head, though his eyes remained a dark, brooding hazel, and his mouth a grim line. Lord Wendell cleared his throat and told the tale of the wolf.
Through the recounting, Silence stood still. The fire crackled behind him, but the heat that rose up in him was not on account of the flames; it was a different sort of fire, one of pride and hope – would this story convince his father that he was worthy? And then as Lord Wendell continued to narrate, the heat in Silence became one of anger and doubt – why wouldn’t his father look at him, even when he held his arm out to show the claw marks? Why wouldn’t his father smile, even when told that the little girl was safe? Wendell finished the story and bowed again, then said, ‘You see, my lord
, your son is most worthy to come here, to be at court, and to train to be a knight.’
Cador nodded and pursed his lips. Far below, waves crashed against slate cliffs, and outside the windows, seagulls wheeled and screeched. At last the earl said, ‘Thank you, Lord Wendell. That is a tale of bravery. No doubt you will want to see to your own son now.’
If the dismissal was brusque, Lord Wendell gave no sign of offence, only bowed once more and backed out of the chamber, closing the door. When it clicked shut, Cador stood from his chair and stepped down from the dais. He took Silence’s hand and examined the scabs on his arm. ‘Did it really happen?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, m’lord,’ Silence said, staring into his father’s eyes.
‘Just as Lord Wendell told it?’
Silence thought that Lord Wendell had mostly got it right. ‘The wolf was not the size of a large pony. Perhaps a small pony,’ he said.
Griselle said, ‘It was the size of a large pony. I saw it. They brought it to Ringmar in a cart.’
‘Enough, woman,’ Earl Cador said. ‘I told you my child was not to come to Tintagel. That you were both to stay at Ringmar and not entertain guests.’ The earl strode across the chamber, over to the side of the hearth, then back to the dais. When he drew near to them, he lowered his voice. ‘How are we to disguise his Nature here at court? It is easy in the woods, with no one around. But here?’
Griselle knitted her fingers together, pressing her hands to her bosom. ‘I daresay, my lord, that it looks stranger to keep your son from court than to allow him to stay here. Look at him! He is in the bloom of youth. He is strong and hale and looks every bit the same as you did when you were a boy. People will wonder what is wrong with him if you don’t allow him to stay.’
Cador paced across the chamber again and again. Mooch crept out from her hiding place and rubbed up against Silence’s shins. Silence stooped down and rubbed the cat’s chin, eliciting a purr. Then Mooch hopped up on the dais and sniffed at the pelt that was draped over the chair before beginning to knead at a corner of it. ‘Come here, Silence,’ Cador said; Silence turned and crossed to the hearth, standing in the fire’s flickering aura. Cador studied his face, turned him around and around, took his hands in his own. ‘You wouldn’t know,’ he murmured. ‘You wouldn’t know.
‘My hold of Cornwall rests on you being a boy,’ he said at last. ‘I will let you stay here at Tintagel. I will let you train as a page. But you must be on your guard at all times. No hint of your Nature can escape. You must never strip your shirt off or change your garments in front of the others. You must never tell anyone of what is beneath your clothes. You will share a chamber with Griselle. That will not be so odd for the earl’s son to do.’ He nodded and let his hand fall from Silence’s face. ‘It is an affront to the virtues of knighthood, to honesty, to let you undergo this training. But what choice do I have?’ he murmured, his voice low, as if he were talking to himself. ‘And Griselle is right. To keep him from court will bring forth as many rumours as allowing him to stay.’
With a sigh, the earl crossed over to one of the windows and gazed out at the sea. ‘I wish Roswyn were here. She would know what to do.’ The waves pounded at the rocks below and Silence marvelled that the keep didn’t shake with every blow. ‘I miss her every day,’ Cador said, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I think of what might have been, if she had lived. I might have a dozen sons, or at least one, and you as a daughter.’ He sighed.
‘You might marry again, my lord,’ Griselle ventured.
‘I might. There have been inquiries. But any child I bore would not allow me the fief of Cornwall. Only Silence can do that.’
Silence stood stiff and still as a statue, thrilled and horrified at his father’s words. Hearing them and realizing that he was just a thing … a placeholder … a piece on the chessboard. He might be a son now because it was necessary, but had things been different, he would be a daughter. Now he could train to be a page, but if this proved inconvenient, back to Ringmar he would go.
‘Well,’ said Cador, still staring at the sea, ‘the steward will settle you in your chamber, and you can begin your training tomorrow. Master Waldron oversees the pages.’
The following morning, Silence met the sworn enemy of many a page: the pell. Up early (indeed, he had scarcely slept a wink between his own excitement and the strange noises of Tintagel), he evaded Griselle’s comb and found a knot of pages in the great hall. Snores and whispered conversation and the rumble of benches and tables being moved surrounded them; many of Cador’s men slept each night in the hall, and the air hung foetid with their many exhalations.
Silence stood at the edge of the group of boys. They all wore the same long tunics of dark brown and the same leggings of slightly lighter brown beneath as they crowded around a burly man. He, too, wore a dark brown tunic over his muscled shoulders; a belt cinched at his waist supported a long knife on one side and a full sword on the other. Even more captivating was the man’s face: over one eye, he wore a patch and beneath that patch a long seam ran the length of his face, just missing his nose and then splicing through his lips. It was the oddest face Silence had ever seen.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said as he drew near the group.
‘You’ll be Silence, Earl Cador’s son,’ the man said. His sundered lips formed the words strangely, but clear enough, and he didn’t wait for Silence to affirm or deny his statement. ‘I am Master Waldron. In charge of pages here at Tintagel. You’ll learn our ways soon enough. We earn our breakfast with chores.’
And with that, he began to send the assembled pages out in twos and threes. Silence spotted Young Wendell in the midst of the pages and hoped they wouldn’t be paired together. Some were sent to the kitchens, some to the stables, others to the kennels, all places Silence was eager to explore. ‘You two,’ Master Waldron said, pointing at Silence and the page next to him. ‘Bring a tray to the gatehouse.’
Silence nodded to the boy next to him as Master Waldron moved on to give instructions to others. ‘I’m Silence,’ he said.
The boy was shorter than he was and slighter, too; he barely seemed old enough to be a page, with long eyelashes over blue eyes, and a tumble of brown curls that Griselle would love to comb neat. ‘I’m Alois,’ the boy said, his voice high and clear. ‘Second son of Baron Hasting. And you’re the son of the earl.’
‘Hurry now!’ Master Waldron chided.
Alois startled at his voice and jogged off, Silence trailing along. ‘I am,’ Silence said, ‘but I don’t know anything, I’m afraid. I’ve never been to Tintagel before.’ They dodged through the servants and guardsmen still waking up in the hall, dodged out of a side door and into the cold morning air. Gulls screeched overhead and the sea roared as always.
‘I’ve been here one year,’ Alois said. ‘Aren’t you old to be a page?’
‘I’m thirteen,’ Silence said, honestly. He didn’t know how old a page ought to be, but Alois’s face told him he was very old indeed.
‘I’m nine. By the time I’m eleven, I’ll be a squire.’
‘Everything grows at its own pace,’ Silence said. It was a phrase he’d heard from the seneschal, who would mutter it when a litter of puppies was runty, or when some row in Cook’s garden couldn’t be coaxed to life, or when some vine grew out of the forest and threatened to creep all over the stable’s roof. Did he miss Ringmar? No.
They had reached what must be the castle’s kitchens; the smell of bread mingled with the smoke that rose from the stone building’s sturdy chimneys and the closer they drew, the more Silence could smell a rich and heavy grease. There were two doors to the kitchens, and Alois pointed to the left-hand one: ‘Food for the hall comes from over there. Food for the yard, from this one.’ He pulled open the door, and air, almost unbearably hot and smoky, billowed out over them. ‘For the guardhouse?’ Alois said timidly, his little voice almost swallowed up.
‘Out of the way,’ came the answer, though they were hardly in the way. Servants clattered
pots and cooks wielded spoons and finally a middle-aged woman shoved a tray into Silence’s arms, returning a moment later with a similar one for Alois. ‘Off with you,’ she said.
They hurried as best they could across the yard, past a smithy where a fire already roared in the forge, sending shimmers through the air, through the inner gate and out along the narrow path to the larger gatehouse, where the guards welcomed them and relieved them of their load, tearing into the loaves of bread and plates of apples stewed with mutton. The pitchers that had weighed down Silence’s tray were emptied in a trice, and soon he and Alois were returning, their steps a little lighter. The dawn sunlight glanced off the wet cliffs, scattered and sparkled on the ocean’s surface, and Silence marvelled that he was here, drawing deep breaths of salty air.
‘Hurry,’ murmured Alois, ‘or Master Waldron will have our ears.’
‘How did he get that scar?’ Silence asked.
Alois just shook his head. ‘No one’s dared to ask.’
Back to the great hall and the pages enjoyed their own repast: bread and dripping and watered wine. Silence sat next to Alois and, much to his dismay, Wendell settled on his other side. ‘My father said that the earl didn’t want you here.’
Silence drew his shoulders back. He longed to give Wendell a good hard shove and call him a liar. But what he said was likely true. Earl Cador did not want him here. He counted out the knightly virtues in his head, took a swallow of watered wine, and said, ‘Your father was most generous in bringing me to this hall. He felt my actions merited such a reward and my father, the earl, agreed with him.’
Beneath the surface of the table, Wendell punched Silence’s leg, hard. ‘If you think being the earl’s son will make it easy …’ he hissed.
