He laughed suddenly. "Franco Pietro, eh? What a tragedy that would be!" With a gesture, he beckoned her. "Come, Elena. Your future awaits."
FIVE
"Sit!" he said, waving her to the place beside him on the dais. They stood upon a gallery overlooking the sea, with laden tables lining the row of open arches. Elena was vividly aware of her hair falling loose down her back. Her insides quivered from lack of sleep, making her brain dance with flashes of illusion in the corners of her eyes. Torches burned, but the growing light of dawn made them dim. As he bid her sit down at the head table, child-servants passed back and forth, carrying platters and trenchers, casting long sharp shadows across the tiled floor. The prospect from the gallery was magnificent, the sky ablaze with pink and orange, the sea a soft blue. The Raven himself was a figure cast in silver and black, lit by the golden beams. He made no move to eat or speak to her—he sat still, his hand upon his wine cup, watching the sun rise over the sea.
Elayne sat quietly also. There seemed to be no other diners but themselves. The white linen tablecloth swayed gently in the open air, brushing her hands in her lap. In spite of his stillness, she felt a sharpened vitality in him; a sense that he kept himself motionless by resolve, alert, like a hunter listening for the distant sound of the hounds.
As the sun rose slowly above the sea, Elayne saw his glance flicker aside from his fixed focus on the horizon. At the same instant, she became aware of another drift of linen at the corner of her eye; a cloth moving lightly—a table that had not been there— but as she turned toward it she saw that it was a man. He seemed to appear from the dawn breeze itself, tall and insubstantial, dark-skinned like the Moors, his long wrists as thin as a skeleton’s in the full white sleeves of his gown.
He made an elaborate bow, dipping his bronzed, bald head almost to his knees, like a court jester. He wore a white linen robe, cut simple and full, with a peasant’s rough cord knotted about his waist. The flourishes of his hands in his sleeves were overwrought, dramatic, his tapered fingers mercurial. They almost seemed to gossip, speaking a silent language of their own.
"Il Corvo!" he exclaimed, lifting his gaunt head on a slender neck and stretching out his arm, addressing the pirate with a bold ease that Elayne had seen no one else use.
The Raven nodded. He smiled dryly, tapping his wine cup with his forefinger. Elayne could not tell if he was annoyed or entertained.
"I bring tidings," the strange man said in thickly accented Latin. "I bring great news."
The quiet figure beside her made no move. But Elayne knew that this was what he had been listening for.
"Tell us," the Raven said.
"I have found it!"
Still the pirate did not move, and yet it was as if a silent quiver ran through him; or through the air itself. He took a sip of his wine and waited.
The stranger was in no hurry to explain what he had found. Instead, he began a discourse on his travels, beginning in Byzantium and progressing—with extravagant gestures to show the length and hardship of his journeys—to Jerusalem, to Damascus, to Athens, and thence to Alexandria in Egypt. He endured storm and wrack, he rode upon camels, he sailed the River Nile in leaking vessels, he walked the hot sands of the desert wilderness. "At length I came to Thebes of the Temples," he declared. "Thebes the Colossal, the Everlasting, the Divine."
He paused, staring into the distance, the tendons in his neck springing clear and taut against thin skin. His dark eyes widened, as if he saw it before him.
"There I went into the temples," he whispered. "The empty sand-filled temples of ruin. I looked upon the columns, the statues—stone icons of men as tall as this fortress." He looked sharply at Elayne, as if he had seen her doubt. "You may believe me, my lady. I am a native of that country. They were the ancient kings, like unto gods themselves, and their statues are immense beyond your cunning to imagine. Their temples are defended by curses that must be disarmed—it is a lifetime study I have made, so that I may enter them safely in my search. I am a magician. Any other man would not emerge alive—or if he be unlucky enough to live, his maddened wits will slay him soon enough."
Elayne glanced aside at the Raven, to see how he accepted this. He looked back at her blandly, giving nothing away.
"It has cost me greatly," the Egyptian magician said, gesturing wide. "In coin, a king’s fortune. In strain, it has cost me near my life—as you see by my withered frame."
His frame was indeed spare, although Elayne would not have called him withered. He seemed more as one of those men who might eat all they could consume and still burn it away with the flame of his eager temperament.
"I found nothing in the temples," he announced. "Nothing that would interest the least boy sorcerer in the land. Their bones were picked dry long ago by others."
"I thought no others could dare to go in," the Raven said dryly.
"Oh, I am not the only magician who can turn away a Pharaoh’s cursed writ. You yourself could do it with some ease—I dare to say that even your gentle lady here, flying under the Raven’s wing, would be as safe as I," he replied, glossing any contradiction with a rolling presentation of his hands, at the same time that he managed to give an air of great compliment to his host. "But—" He paused. "There are other places of power in Thebes." He lowered his voice. "The tombs."
The Raven said nothing, but he listened.
"Even such a master as I was forced to become apprentice again in order to reach them," the magician said. "When I found the man who could make me an adept in the secret art of entry, I had to pay him dearly, with a hundred pounds of marcasite and cinnabar-—and then for a further compensation, to make him fulminating gold from aqua regis."
The Raven lifted his eyebrows. "Fulminating gold."
"A jeopardous undertaking, I know," the magician said, nodding deeply. "If it had erupted, I should not be standing before you now."
"Continue," their host commanded. Of all the food that lay before them, he had not taken a bite, nor invited Elayne to eat. She was hungry, but had more sense than to risk tasting anything on the pirate’s table.
"In the end, I was successful," the Egyptian said. "When he judged me skilled enough, he took me to the city of Hermoupolis, to the mouth of the tomb of Hermes Trismegistus."
The Raven made a soft sound, like a sleeper’s sigh. But he was not asleep.
"You will judge for yourself my tumult. Hermes Trismegistus, Lord of Wisdom, he who instructed Asclepius himself in the divine way. I will spare your lady the tale of my entry into that place. It is not lovely, nor fit for gentle ears. But I returned with treasure beyond compare. Not gold or jewels!" He flourished his sleeve. "Nothing so common. You of all men know what manner of treasure I describe."
"Tell me," the Raven said softly.
"Scrolls." The magician lowered his voice. "Still sealed with the device of his caduceus." He swept his hand wide, and suddenly he held a rolled paper. He strode forward and placed it on the table before them. Dust fell from it onto the linen; Elayne could smell the musty odor. On the clay seal, deeply incised, she saw the badge of an upright wand entwined with two snakes.
The Raven nodded slowly. "How many?"
"Twenty," the magician said. "And..." He began to nod also with his zeal. "A single tablet."
"Describe it," the Raven said sharply.
"It would seem to be made of onyx, though nothing I can use makes a scratch upon it. The inscription—" He became suddenly reticent. "But you must judge for yourself. I tell you verily, I cannot read it. It is in no characters that I know."
"The Black Tablet?" the Raven demanded.
"I know not. I would not take it upon myself to say. Those who do not wish you well have made me a bountiful offer, but I tender it for your examination. I brought it to you first."
For a long moment the pirate stared at him, as if he could see into the man’s brain. Elayne did not think she could have stood still under such a scrutiny. But the magician looked back, directly into the Raven’s eyes.
"How much do you ask?" the pirate said.
"I have brought the treasure first to you. We have dealt well before with one another," the magician repeated. "Ten thousand ducats of Venetian gold."
The Raven glanced toward his young steward, who instantly went about tasting and serving the meal that had been waiting. "Sit down to my table," he said to the magician. "I will examine them in my library later."
* * *
"You wish to accompany me?" The Raven slanted a look toward Elayne, offering her dried fruits and honeyed wafers from his own plate.
The breaking of fast was done, the torches and candles gleaming fitfully along the length of the gallery in the full light of morning. Elayne was giddy from lack of sleep.
"To your library?" she asked, hardly knowing what she said. The question ended on a yawn she could not stifle.
"I thought the Egyptian’s wares might interest you." He shrugged. "But it is true that they will be in my library, where I conjure Beelzebub for sport. You need not come, if you do not like it."
Elayne felt as if she were swimming through some fantastic dream. "I will come," she said, hearing her own acceptance as if someone else had said it.
"Good." His demeanor lightened. He rose quickly, offering his hand. His fingers closed about hers a little more eagerly than was courteous. But as soon as she was on her feet, he let go and strode away down the gallery, his cloak sweeping out like the wings of the raven he was named for.
Elayne glanced about her at the silent child-servants. The magician had departed some time before, to prepare his goods for viewing. She was left to follow in the Raven’s train, hurrying after with what dignity she could muster.
He did pause and look back for her at the head of the stairs. But as soon as he saw that she was coming, he passed ahead, moving as silently as a shadow, as ardently as a boy on his way to some glad game.
She nearly lost him several times as they wended among passages and stairs, through empty rooms, where the only sign of the way he had gone was a slight crack in one of the heavy doors. But he waited for her at the burnished brass door to his observatory, standing and looking back, his dark cloak hanging back over one shoulder.
"You are slow," he said, smiling. "Has no one taught you how to follow properly?"
"I am not usually so pressed," she said, still panting a little from hurrying up the last set of stairs.
"Pressed!" He shook his head. "I’ll teach you, sweeting."
"Teach me?" she replied carefully, taken aback by the endearment.
He brushed his hand over her cheek and hair, lightly, without touching it. "I shall teach you all manner of things," he said, his black eyes alight. He seemed to emanate his own dark flame, burning brighter as they drew closer to the Egyptian’s cache.
Elayne gazed after him as he pushed open the door and strode out across the etched wheels and curves on the gleaming white floor. A thought of Raymond flitted through her mind—he seemed a simple knight indeed in comparison to this pirate. Elayne did not doubt for a moment that the Raven could teach her all manner of things—the kind of things she had never been allowed to learn under Cara’s strictures. Her spirit rose fiercely at the thought, bounding like a hawk from the glove. Lifting her skirt, she hastened after him down the curved stairs into darkness.
The scrolls lay upon the same table where he had read her the cards of the Taroc, within the protective circle. But Elayne was not so unsettled now—she gave the mysterious blue lights merely a glance, and then turned to the center of the room.
The Egyptian magician stood silently by, his white garment dyed blue by the lights. The Raven was already occupied with the dusty treasure, but he looked up as she left the stairs, beckoning her nearer.
"I shall not need you for the moment," he said to the magician.
The Egyptian drew himself up, sweeping his arms behind his back. "I do not think it safe—" He paused. The Raven merely looked at him, one eyebrow lifted. With a negligent flick of his sleeve, the magician said, "For any other, I would not deem it safe. I do not recommend it to you, but if you insist upon my absence, it is upon your own head."
The Raven made a polite bow. "I do."
With a stately tread, the magician passed out of the library. When the sound of his sandals on the stairs had faded, the Raven gave Elayne one of his sudden, devilish grins. "An easy victory. I did not think to be rid of him for hours."
"He fears you would toss him from a cliff if he disobeyed," she said boldly.
"Not he! He supposes he could fly if I did." He tilted his head, observing her. "Do you think I have ever in truth had someone flung down?"
She looked down, her momentary boldness crumbling. "I don’t know," she said. In the blue half-light the sculptured planes of his face seemed like a marble statue. Elayne lost her nerve for saying more.
"Do you think I am a murderer?" he asked.
"I don’t know what you are," she said impulsively. "I don’t know!"
"But you are sure that I am dangerous."
She glanced up at him, and then bent over the scrolls, pretending to examine them, keeping her hands locked behind her back. Her brain felt as unsteady as a ship’s deck, tilting and spinning with exhaustion. It seemed madness, that he said such things. Yet it awakened something in her, a will for the wild sky that was nothing like her blissful love for Raymond.
"What do you think of them?" he asked.
Elayne straightened. She rubbed her nose, subduing a sneeze. "They are quite dusty!"
"Dust from the tomb of Hermes Trismegistus!"
"Who?" she asked.
"Perchance a god, perchance a man—let us call him the patron saint of magicians and sages. He lived in ancient times."
"A pagan."
"Without doubt, a pagan."
"Did he write these papers?"
"That, my beloved, is the question before us." He stared at the table without touching anything, then turned and took down one of the blue lights from a shelf. He set the glowing flask upon the table. As he leaned over the Egyptian’s musty treasure, the shadows and light drew a glitter from his silver tunic.
Elayne watched him as he unrolled the scrolls one by one. She was learning to see emotion where he seemed to show none—he betrayed nothing in his face, but in the swift lift of his hand, the stillness of each pause as he examined the antique papers, here revealed a fascination as intense as the fiery lamplight. She could not tell what he saw there—only that it held him rapt.
She had thought Raymond handsome. But the Raven was something beyond handsome. Beyond gallant manners and teasing glances. He was like the old, old stories, like the unknown man who waited on a darkened hill, the mist around him, hand outstretched...
In the stories, if a woman went to him...she did not return.
But she wanted to go...
She wanted...
Elayne blinked, her head swaying. A long time had seemed to pass. She sat down in the opposite chair, looking at the items spread across the table. She did not dare let herself drowse again. A pair of brass boxes sat beside the scrolls, unopened. In the center of the table, still wrapped heavily in linen, lay a flat package the size of her open palm.
To keep herself waking, she stood up again and wandered about the library, staring at snakeskins and strange devices, contrivances of metal and glass, furnaces of stone with chimneys protruding from all sides.
"Take care," he said. "Not everything here is benign."
Elayne snatched her hand away from a sealed jar she had been about to tap—it seemed to contain a live toad. The animal stared at her phlegmatically, perchance alive, perchance stuffed; not divulging any secrets.
"So inquisitive!" He shook his head.
She turned back to the table, made heedless by the weary spinning in her brain. "You asked me to accompany you," she said. "What am I to do?"
He lifted his eyebrows. "Sit quietly?"
"I have never excelled at sitting quietly. My sister has often said
so."
"Ah, your sister," he said. Nothing more than that, but Elayne felt as if somehow another presence had entered the room.
He gazed at her steadily, with such a dark reserve that she felt blood rise in her cheeks. "Well, I will sit down," she said. She pulled out the chair and sat again, folding her hands in her lap.
"The picture of feminine obedience," he said. "Did you learn that of your sister?"
"Aye," she said, pursing her lips.
"Good. I would not like to think that you had wasted much of your life in that coy pose."
"Alack, you are difficult to please!" she said impatiently.
He startled her once more with his sudden flash of a smile. "Why, I only wish for you to please yourself—you are by far the more interesting that way."
"Hmmm," Elayne said, taking a deep breath to try to clear her brain.
"Hmmm," he replied, and went back to his scrolls.
She sat for a few moments, tapping her fingers against her lap, opening her eyes over and over as they tried to fall shut. She knew she must have some occupation or fall asleep. "May I open one of the boxes, then, to please myself?" she asked.
He looked up at her. "You have not changed an atom, you know," he said.
"What do you mean?" she asked, stiffening.
"You have always been so. A mobile spirit. Curious and inquiring."
"What do you know of me?"
"I read your cards," he said, dismissing her question. "Let me open the box, then, Pandora—to be safe."
If he said any protection spells or performed any rites of propitiation, Elayne did not see it. Instead, he simply drew one of the boxes toward him, took a knife as slender as a reed from his belt, and unpicked the ornate lock with the skill of a seasoned thief. The lid sprang open suddenly, making her jump.
"No demons," he said, glancing over the top at her. "Some pretty things." He pushed the box across the table toward her. "You may have them if you like."
She touched the box gingerly, peering inside. It was filled with a jumble of golden brooches and buckles. No dust dulled their glory—jewels winked and sparkled in the lamplight, tiny rainbows caught in the black depths of the box. "Benedicite!" she breathed, suddenly waking. She drew forth a breast pin shimmering with the red fire of rubies. "You do not mean to give me this!"
The Medieval Hearts Series Page 102
