by Anne Carsley
His eyes on her were bold now and faintly hungry, but his manners were impeccable. Julian knew that he thought her to be George’s paramour, and the thought stung her pride. “My lord has been most kind to me. We will wed soon, and I think he will allow me to visit Redeswan. Tell me, Sir Guy, what have you heard of my estate and those on it?” She had the sensation of being watched, but the walls were of solid stone and the door securely closed. If there were a peephole in the tapestry, as so often occurred, they were speaking softly enough not to be heard.
Guy put both hands on his hips and moved away from the fire. “The court is a dangerous place now. The queen’s health is everyone’s concern. She has made her will but plans for the babe she will bear. The fires blaze continuously though Philip himself has suggested moderation. The life of the Princess Elizabeth is said to be in mortal danger.” He swung back to her, and this time there was no mistaking the boldness in him. “Redeswan is forfeit to the queen, lady, what little there was. I asked after you and was told that your fate was an example to others. It was said in such a manner that you might as well have been dead.”
Julian grew more uncomfortable. Surely George must return soon. “Will you not wish me happiness, Sir Guy?”
“I am a soldier, Lady Redenter, a soldier of Her Majesty the Queen until I die. I am not one for the subtle.”
“What do you mean?”
He set the goblet down and started for the door. “I must find Lord George and give the messages, then ride on with my other commissions.”
“Answer me!” Julian’s voice rose to full volume as she darted in front of him.
Sir Guy was angered in his turn and discretion left him. “Lord Attenwood will not wed you, Julian. He is betrothed to the heiress whose land marches with his. Lady Augusta Nymour, recently returned from Ireland since her father died. The queen holds her as ward and has given her blessings to the marriage, which will be celebrated in London in the month of May. I carry her words to Lord Attenwood; this is one of the ways the north will be bound to our queen.” He watched the blood leave Julian’s face and the pale skin grow paler still. “You did not know? I thought you taunted me for my earlier caution.”
“He told me he would. He told the queen when she let him take me.” Julian spoke half to herself. There was no denying the fact that Guy spoke the truth. Every line of the earnest face gave proof of that. No wonder he had regarded her as he did. But why had Attenwood lied? She was certainly in no position to demand anything of him.
“He has not been to London for many months and has not had audience with Her Majesty since well before the king left. That is the reason for the message I carry. His petitions have been many and determined. Lady Nymour is a great heiress.” Guy handed her a sweet cake and a fresh goblet of wine. “Drink and eat. You will feel better. Julian, I am sorry.”
She thrust her hands deeply into her sleeves as a sudden wind seemed to come from the corner though nothing stirred there. Her eyes shone up into his that were now only concerned. “Do not be.” In several quick sentences she told him Attenwood’s tale about his supposed rescue of her. “It has all been lies and to what purpose?” She would not speak to this man about Attenwood’s interest in men; that of all things could not be voiced. Impulse took her and she said, “Sir Guy, help me to leave this place. I was brought here under a false aegis and have no loyalty to its master. I am not his paramour, believe me.”
He drew himself up. “I could never do that. He is the servant of Her Majesty, and all must give way to that virtue. I cannot help you.”
He might as well have said that he did not believe her and who could blame him? “Would you let me ride back toward London at least part way with you so that I would not have to go alone? I can get out of here, I know I can, and meet you in the woods after your work here is done. At least help me that far!”
“I cannot.” He walked rapidly toward the door, and this time she saw that he meant to go through it.
Attenwood had shown himself a liar several times over; the incredible thought took her, and she forgot herself for a moment. “Hold, Sir Guy! Answer me one other question and I will trouble you no more. What was the fate of Charles Varland? Where does he lie buried?”
“What game do you play, Lady Julian? You must have heard that he was gravely wounded and thought dead on the field of battle. He was brought back and found to be alive but only barely. They threw him in the Tower and planned a commoner’s death, but his mind gave way and he was moved to a better residence—though under strict guard—at the special command of the king himself. The queen would not go against her husband’s order though his death is urged daily.”
Julian felt the glory blaze up through her body and permeate her whole being. She saw the shock in Guy Edmont’s eyes and did not care. This lie had been worse than all the others. Charles Varland lived and inhabited the same world with her. He lived and so did she. The light on her face reflected their passion and Guy’s own face grew warm.
Her fingers went up in the sign of the cross. “That I have lived to see this day.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The long table glistened with gold and silver, napery, candles in jewel-studded holders, as dish after savory dish flowed across it and wine succeeded wine. Guy and Julian sat stiffly erect while Father Robert dedicated himself to drink and monosyllables. George Attenwood sat at his ease, keeping up a string of comments on the extreme cold mingled with hunting talk of deer, boar, and wolves. There were, it seemed, many of all in the woods near the castle. Julian could not eat; her stomach twisted together, and she longed to shriek out her accusations at him. A man far less perceptive than he could feel the tension in them all and would mark it well.
George finished a bit of marchpane and leaned back in the ornate chair. “I have often wondered at the folk tales and their logic. It is said that ever the fair maiden lures the hunter, as she lures the unicorn, into destruction.” His mouth smiled at Julian. “A calumny of your sex, my dear. I believe there is a rare tapesty somewhere here which shows Diana, the maiden huntress, seeking the wild deer and being sent astray by a youth onto a path where the lion waits. I have only just thought of it. Rob, in what chamber does it hang?”
Rob poured more wine, and his hand shook as he conveyed it to his mouth. “I have no idea, I’m sure.”
The words just missed insolence, and George’s lips tightened. “We will find it tomorrow, then. Lady Julian and our guest will find it most interesting.” His gaze roved over them all again, and Julian was not the only one to feel the menace there.
Later Julian sat in the withdrawing chamber and tried to read the French romance she had started in a happier time, but she could not concentrate. The men conferred in another room, and Father Rob had slouched away to bed. The candles burned low, but she was not sleepy. The glory that suffused her being at the news of Charles had not dimmed, but now the other aspect of it caught her up. Only the power of Philip of Spain had saved him; much as she disliked the thought of the Spaniard, her heart rose glad and warmed to him for that mercy. But was it mercy or policy? Could one slay a madman? That cool intelligence, that sharp wit, and firm idealism—he but feigned, and well she knew it.
She put the book d own and rose, the long trailing gown tangling around her feet as she began to pace. There was little that she could do for herself and nothing for Charles except consign him to the capricious fates. The old battle fire of the Redenters in their impossible causes came now to their daughter. Guy Edmont would not help her, and who could blame him? George Attenwood had fooled Julian herself, and she had every reason to be wary. But there was another with whom she had laughed and probed and watched. He had reason to be loyal, true enough, but he, a priest of God, had loved once and still remembered how it was. Julian would try for his memory, and for its sake, he might help her to be free. This life would be unendurable. She could not be the mistress of a man she hated all the more for his lies.
The night was long drawn when she slip
ped out of the room and down the icy hallway to the general section of the castle where she had heard Rob say he had a chamber large and royal enough in which to hold his own court. It might be wiser to wait until she met him normally in the routine of Altyn, but something told her that George planned to take full advantage of her soon, and beyond that, it was as if the darkness that had been hidden from view in him would emerge. She could not wait, for sometimes days went by when she did not see Rob; there was no time.
Her feet were almost frozen in the thin slippers and the lacy shawl was no protection, but she hurried on, her skirts lifted so that they would not rustle. There were no guards, for none could enter or leave this war castle except by the one gate and it was heavily patrolled. Three huge doors rose up at a turn in the corridor, and one shone bolted at the end of it. Which one? She put a hesitant hand to the second and pushed. Nothing. It was locked from the inside, and there was no way to tell if this might be the one she sought. Even if she found Rob, he might still be drunk from all the wine he had consumed. Julian put such thoughts from her mind and pushed on the third door, which was across the hall. This time it gave, and she heard snores coming from inside.
She peered through the crack and saw a tumbled area of books, guttering candles, what appeared to be several portraits in progress at one side, and a jumble of flasks, charts, and some vats close by. The smell was musky, almost heady, and reminded her of some medicines that Elspeth brewed in the basements of Redeswan. The light shone off Father Rob’s tonsure as he snored heavily, his head resting on the cluttered table.
“He is this way every night and much of the day. I could have saved you a cold journey had you mentioned that you wished to consult our worthy priest. Are you in need of ghostly counsel?”
The smooth voice made Julian jump. She pivoted to see George Attenwood standing at his ease only a few feet from her. One eyebrow was quirked up, and he was smiling with genuine amusement. Julian felt the suppressed fury in him, however, and knew that this was the moment of their confrontation.
“Or can it be that you seek to persuade that less than ardent gentleman of the court to take you away front my hospitality? Interesting, is it not? I wonder how you planned to leave the castle and meet him?” He seemed so casual, the tone so deceptive that Julian found herself wondering if he were actually saying these things.
She decided to gamble. “I could not sleep and wanted to talk of the faith with Father Robert. Have you not advised me of such?” Anything to get away from those impaling eyes! She knew that he had listened to all the conversation she and Guy had had, probably from a false panel set in the stone of the chamber or a peephole somewhere. It was hopeless, yet she had to try.
The mask slipped, and Julian looked into the face of a man who had absolute power and would not be thwarted. “I have something I want you to see. I think it will interest you greatly, for I have observed that you find the classical absorbing. After you view it we will talk. I can tell you are yearning to burst forth with accusations and the like. Such things bore me, and you had best hope that you do not.” He reached out a hand to touch her, and again she felt the recoil even before the emotion.
Julian tilted her head high and stared at him. Her voice was level as she said, “You are quite correct, Lord Attenwood. There are matters to be mentioned, but inasmuch as you are the host and guide here, I will be pleased to see whatever scene you wish.” If she yielded to the fear that swept her, Julian knew that the anger or revulsion that he kept leashed would burst out and the consequences likely unthinkable.
The pattern of the snores altered a trifle, and the chair scraped under Rob’s bulk as he shifted in his sleep. Attenwood glanced inside, and his expression grew wary. Julian laughed shrilly, letting the sound rise and float on the freezing air. He jerked around, and one hand went to his dagger. She laughed again and put both arms around herself to forestall the shaking that she hoped he would attribute to cold only. The chair creaked again, but the rhythm of the snores picked up in the same tempo. Attenwood pulled the door firmly forward and shut it, then advanced on Julian, his tread hard.
“Could we hurry and go? It is perishingly cold standing here.” There was normal irritation in her voice, and she saw that her arms where the sleeves of her gown fell back were prickled with gooseflesh.
He laughed softly but with a hint of eagerness that was almost sly. “Yes, of course. I am glad that you have a proud spirit. It always makes matters so much more amusing.”
“I trust there will be a fire?” She shook out her skirts and moved ahead of him so that he was forced to follow.
“You may count on it. Lady Julian.” He caught her full sleeve and guided her toward one of the smaller passages that led downward. “You may count on it”
Endless stairs and corridors later, George paused before an elaborately carved door which he unlocked with a brightly polished key taken from a chain around his neck. A torch flared dimly above them, and Julian could see that the passage ran downward as if to the sea. She was reminded of the Tower, and her shivers became more pronounced. George hesitated, then nodded his head and pushed the door open. He was so close that Julian felt his quick-drawn breath on the nape of her neck.
Her first impression was of an explosion of color and heat The huge chamber was filled with gauzy hangings, tapestries, life-size pictures, rugs of all shapes in every shade imaginable and blendings unthought of, statues of men and women together in strange poses, screens and collections of golden vessels. It was a storehouse of treasure, artfully arranged to overwhelm at first and then to lure the eye back to new freshness and marvels. Julian looked at the hearth, where a great fire blazed, and wondered at the absence of smoke, for a fresh earthy scent permeated the air. A few strides from the hearth was a collection of several golden trees with jewels for leaves and flowers, diamonds for the centers, and rubies of the deeper color. Further on she saw a standing suit of silver armor embossed with black and plumes of gray feathers rising from the helmet to curl downward.
“You are intrigued. Good. Yours is an eye to appreciate the tapestry of which I spoke. It is in here.” Attenwood might have been any proud host showing off his trove.
“Is it not time that you explained yourself, my lord?” She tried for composure but was forced to follow the pulling hand as he took her over to a screen of ivory and pulled it aside, leading her up three carpeted steps and into a smaller chamber which was hung in green velvet. There was a recessed area set deep in the wall and there hung a picture which was at once the loveliest and most repugnant thing she had ever seen.
It depicted a view of the heavenly city with kneeling saints and obedient angels before a throne where a presence was suggested by an artful mingling of purple and gold but no physical characteristics were given. Below was the earth in shades of brown and ocher, and here toiling man remained in one segment to struggle his life away. Here he wrenched and fought and repelled demons of such hideous visages that Julian could only think the artist had reproduced them as he saw them in truth. No act of ugliness was left untouched, though all was done in matchless power. Beside the throne of the grace was the Virgin and her Son, their faces twisted in bestiality. As you looked closer you saw that the city had a red haze over it. But the dominating figure that stood between heaven and earth was that of a young man in the full beauty of his youth, very fair of skin and hair. His cheeks were touched with pink, the sheen of health on his bare arms and legs. His stomach was flat, his member firm and erect. His nude body was all of beauty, and the sword he gripped in one hand seemed but to enhance it. He stood the length of the canvas, young warrior triumphant, the smile on his face proclaiming his pleasure and amusement.
“Who is the artist? It is magnificent! Matchless!” Julian stared at the canvas again, and her flesh went cold, for she knew the model. “Matchless and evil!”
Attenwood laughed beside her. “I will not dispute philosophy with you. This is my effort with which I have found some small degree of satisfaction.
Would you meet the model? Behold Michael, Archangel of God, Defender of the Gates of Heaven!” His voice rose and became hating, angry. “He has fallen on worse days, and this is all the more fitting, do you not find it so?”
He gestured toward a dark hole in the floor close by the picture and picked up one of the candle holders so that she might see into the depths. The hole was shallow and no more than the length of her own body. The cover for it lay near at hand to be replaced, and she could see that the prisoner who lay there was not used to any light, for his manacled fingers reached out to cover his eyes. The body was twisted and emaciated, naked and covered with sores; the hair and beard ran together and the jaw hung loosely as though broken and not tended. Chains held him in place, and the cries of rage that rose up when he saw them were those of purest hatred. Julian remembered the young lover as she had last seen him in his handsome arrogance, and her head tilted to the loveliness above which he, too, could see when permitted.
She could not watch anymore for very pity. Julian no longer wondered at the evil of man or his gods. This man seemed to epitomize it all. She cried, “What manner of demon are you, George Attenwood? I thought you kind and merciful, now you are from the very courts of the Evil One. Are you capable of no feeling, you who have such talent, such ability?”
The face that she had once thought stolid ran together in twisting lines, and the burning eyes were those of the predator. His mouth maintained the travesty of a smile, and excitement shook his voice. “I knew that you saw us that day and so did Michael there. He was jealous and thought he had the upper hand; he persisted although he knew that my fancy is ever short. I need heirs and did mean to marry you, one child and a brother for him, then the North Sea; that was to be simple enough. We came here and he grew importunate; I taught him a lesson, and he is still learning.”
