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Unfortunately, Orfeo had been so preoccupied with the task of pressing upon Fernand Arrigo's dull mind the necessity of giving a diplomatic account of what had happened in the cell that he had not efficiently memorized the route by which he had been brought to the kitchens. He quickly found himself confronted with a series of archways which he certainly had not come through before, and could not then find an upward-leading stair which would take him in the direction he wanted to go. The corridors were ill-lit in the extreme, having only single candles placed at intervals of six or seven yards, and one or two of these had gone out. There were no windows in this low part of the fortress, which was let into the crag itself.
Orfeo was annoyed with himself when he found that he was lost, but by no means anxious. He knew that if he only kept walking, turning corners at random, then he would be sure eventually to meet some servant who could give him directions.
But when he finally heard voices, and went towards them, he found himself in a very gloomy place indeed.
Two men were talking together in a covert which had no light in it, and which had presumably been chosen because of that fact.
Because he was in his stockinged feet Orfeo made no noise as he approached, even though he was not at first disposed to conceal himself. As he drew nearer, he became very glad of this, because he caught several words of conversation which converted his intenton to ask for directions into a determination to wait and hear what else was said.
Alas, he had come too late to hear the greater part of the exchange, and there was little more to be discovered. But there was a final instruction given by one man to the other which he 71
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heard quite clearly, and which worried him intensely.
"Remember," said that man, in a voice which was as hard as stone, though not unmusical. "You must kill Calvi, but take Cordova alive if you can. He may be more useful in that condition, and his disappearance will suffice for our effect. Remember how to write the word, and inscribe it as I showed you, in Calvi's blood."
"It will be done," said the other, and immediately began to walk away. He came directly towards the place where Orfeo had halted, but Orfeo was able to step back into an alcove which was utterly dark, so that the other passed by without suspecting that he was there. He carried no candle, plainly knowing his way well enough to find it even in near-darkness, and Orfeo could not see his face.
The other man had turned away too, and had gone in the opposite direction. Orfeo had not seen his face either, nor had he recognized the voice—both of which facts he regretted, in view of what he had heard. He had, apparently, discovered a plot against the one man in Zaragoz he could confidently reckon a good one, and yet he had no idea at all who might be involved in the plot, or how it was to be put ito execution, or when.
After a moment's pause, he continued on his way, trying to retrace his steps to more brightly-lit corridors.
He went more carefully now, because he was anxious not to be found too near the place where he had overheard the end of the conversation—but he need not have worried, for it was fully ten minutes before he found an upward stair and a way into the part of the castle where the floors were carpeted with wooden tiles and the walls decked with hangings. Once there he had no difficulty in finding a maidservant, who took him back to the place where he had been lodged for the night.
There, to his astonishment—waiting for him amid the mess of spilled food—was Tomas diAvila, the son of the Duke.
"It appears," said Tomas, "that there has been an accident."
"The boy who was bringing the food was unfortunate enough to slip, my lord," said Orfeo. "He was hurt when he fell against the wall, and the man-at-arms with him permitted me to carry him to the kitchen."
"You did not need his permission," said Tomas. "You are no prisoner here, though it was so late when Sceberra left you last 72
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night that he thought it best not to have you moved to another room."
"The man did not know that, my lord," Orfeo told him, mildly,
"and therefore I begged his permission. I am sorry that your other...guest...should have lost her breakfast."
Tomas frowned, but only replied: "The lady will not go1
without."
There was a pause then, while the Duke's son cast about for something else to say, and Orfeo realized that Tomas had not come to these quarters in order to see him, but on some other errand—perhaps to visit the mysterious Lady Serafima. Seeing that this offered him an opportunity, he said: "May I ask a favour, my lord?"
After a moment's hesitation, Tomas said: "By all means."
"I understand that the steward has been asked to find other accommodation for me within the castle, but my belongings are still in the servants' quarters at Rodrigo Cordova's house. I am well content with those lodgings, and if your lordship does not require my presence here until the Night of Masks, perhaps it might be simpler if I returned there."
The youth was slightly surprised by the request, but by no means dismayed. From his point of view, at least, Orfeo's continued presence in the castle was obviously to be reckoned at best an irrelevance—and in view of the morning's events, perhaps something of a minor nuisance.
"You are not a prisoner," he said, as though repeating the words to remind himself. "You may certainly return to Don Rodrigo's house, if that is your wish."
"Thank you, my lord," said Orfeo, with a bow. He paused only to collect the garments which he had left off in his hurry to be dressed, and to put on his shoes. Tomas diAvila waited while he did so, but seemed relieved when he bowed again and took himself off.
He was stopped at the gatehouse of the castle, and the officer of the watch seemed inclined to hold him there while his story was checked, until there appeared—still about the business of delivering breakfasts, to judge by the leather bucket which he carried, containing loaves of bread and a corked jug of w i n e -
none other than Fernand Arrigo. Arrigo confirmed that to his certain knowledge the player was a free man, and he was allowed 73
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to leave.
As he descended the path which spiralled around the crag Orfeo was overtaken by a detachment of eight soldiers, who were urging their horses down the hill at what seemed to him a precipitate speed. No doubt the beasts had taken the path at a canter a hundred times before, but he nevertheless formed the impression that they were being taken along in haste. He immediately became anxious lest they have the same destination as he, and he looked down the rock to see whether they came full circle around it, and if so, how many times.
He was glad to see that they eventually appeared on a part of the path below Don Rodrigo's house, and had obviously not paused there, but he did not let relief slow him down. If what Arcangelo had said was true, there was another path connecting the castle to Don Rodrigo's house, inside the mountain. That route could presumably be trod in either direction by those bent on treachery and assassination.
Even though his road was downhill all the way Orfeo did not find it comfortable. His excursion in stockinged feet had not hurt his feet at all, but some of the water which the unfortunate boy had spilled had splashed into his shoes, and the dampness soon soaked through his stockings. But this was only a further encouragement to hurry, and by the time he arrived at Rodrigo Cordova's house he felt that he was not a moment too soon.
He quickly found, though, that he was by no means soon enough, for when he inquired at the lodge whether the owner of the house was at home, he was informed that Rodrigo Cordova had ridden out immediately after dawn, having business in his vineyards, which lay to the north of the town.
Orfeo was more dismayed by this news than he showed, and asked to be allowed to go to the room where his things were. The gatekeeper, knowing that he had been taken away on the previous night by Sceberra's men, was apprehensive, but was persuaded to go with him to the house to find Don Rodrigo's steward.
The steward Cristoforo accepted hi
s account without question, and let him go to the room where his pack was. There Orfeo changed into his travelling clothes, and buckled on his sword.
He considered, briefly, telling Cristoforo what he had heard, and asking that a group of Cordova's own men should ride after 74
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him with a warning, but he dared not do it. For one thing, he had not the slightest idea who might or might not be involved in the conspiracy. For another, he did not want the word spread around that he knew anything of it, lest he be imperilled himself—he was now prepared, despite what he had told Semjaza, to involve himself in this tangled afair so far as to give a warning to a man he liked, but he was not prepared to have it broadcast to all and sundry that he had taken it into his head to meddle in a matter which plainly did not concern him.
Accordingly, he begged Don Rodrigo's steward for the loan of a horse, on the grounds that as he must stay in Zaragoz for a few days waiting for the Night of Masks, he would like to see something of the realm. The steward, presuming that his master's order to see to Orfeo's needs had not been cancelled by the previous night's events, reluctantly agreed, and took him to the stables. There the loyal and careful Cristoforo conscientiously picked out a horse so old and sad of eye that its loss would be no grave matter.
It was not the steed which Orfeo needed, but he held his tongue, feeling that it would be for the best to get on his way as quickly as possible. He knew, in any case, that if the riders from the castle were upon the errand which he had heard discussed, he would need a horse with wings to catch them. He could only hope that the difference betwen a fast steed and a slow one would not be vital.
He obtained directions from the steward regarding the location of the Cordova estates, and found them simple enough to cause no difficulty. The main north road from the town went directly through those lands on its way to the foothills of the Irrana, from which he had lately come by a nearly-parallel route.
He rode down the hill as fast as he dared, cursing the indirectness of the road. No one stopped him at the town gate, for which he was very grateful, considering how much time he had already lost.
He pressed the old horse as hard as he could, and was pleased by the way that it responded now that its path was straight. Though no one now would choose to ride it into battle it must have been a warhorse in its day, for it had a proud step and a good heart.
Slow it might be, but unwilling it was not.
He passed several groups of men upon the road, making their way to the town with handcarts and donkey-trains. Once he believed that he saw one of the men who had attacked Arcangelo near the 75
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crossroads to the east, but the man hardly glanced at him as he rode by, being intent on some heated discussion with his fellows.
There seemed to be a good deal of discussion going on, and Orfeo wondered whether news of the remarkable happenings at Cordova's house had already flown so far as to feed the gossips of the whole realm.
Twice he paused to ask how near he was to Rodrigo Cordova's land, but the men he asked were as vague as peasants everywhere in judging distances, and had not the imagination or the calculative power to tell him how long an ordinary horse might take to go there at a tired trot.
As it turned out, the sun was past its zenith when the road began to wind through valleys whose slopes were terraced for the growing of vines, and where countless little streams and rivulets carried the water which was the Iifebood of the region towards their confluence with the Eboro.
At last the labourers in the fields were able to confirm that he was now on Cordova land, but when he asked where he should look for Don Rodrigo they merely shrugged their shoulders and pointed vaguely in one direction or another, entirely without conviction.
Although he was impatient, he could do no more than follow the road, rarely able now that he had left the plain to see more than a hundred yards ahead of him.
So it was that he came upon a crossroads rather abruptly, and saw the crowd gathered there only a minute or two before he joined it.
He leaped from the saddle in order to shove his way through the throng, whose numbers were still being swelled by people running from neighbouring fields. He did not know until he had got past them exactly what he would find.
When he did manage to see what it was that was the centre of attraction, he could not judge how utter his failure had been, for Rodrigo Cordova was nowhere to be seen.
There was only poor Theo Calvi, who had listened to his songs with such keen attention. The youth would listen to music no more, for he had been injured beyond all possibility of recovery. His hacked and battered body had been propped up against the empty scaffold which stood by the crossroads.
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Beside him, on a boulder, there was written in blood—in a curiously childish hand—the single word: QUIXANA.
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Chapter Six
Orfeo rounded on the crowd, and began to shout at them: "Who saw this done? Who saw the ones who brought him here?"
No one replied, and they began to fall back, as if regretting that they had come at all. They did not know Orfeo, but he had come on horseback, and he wore a sword; they were afraid of him, and afraid to say whatever they knew—if, indeed, they knew anything at all.
"Where is Don Rodrigo?" said Orfeo, angrily. "Which way did they take him?"
Still no one replied, and now he saw that some of them were whispering, and that one or two looked darkly at him. They had no reason to think that he was their enemy, but he saw how very frightened they were. There was none among them who would know how to read, but still they knew what name it was which had been written in Theo Calvi's blood—and they knew, too, what reprisals the writing of that name might bring down upon the innocent and the guilty alike.
Orfeo realized that when this news spread it would send a wave of panic across the whole realm. If this really was the first blow in a campaign of terror to be waged by the enemies of the Duke then it was surely a foolish one—especially if those enemies had men within the castle who could easily strike a deadlier one. On 79
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the other hand, perhaps its real purpose was to spread alarm among the Duke's supporters, and give a licence to the Duke's soldiers and Sceberra's secret police to ride boldly where they would, over any man's estates, in search of treason and resentment. If Rodrigo Cordova were to be held for ransom, what would that ransom be, and to whom must it be paid?
Orfeo saw that the web of intrigue which he had been advised to avoid might well be more complicated than he had earlier suspected—and that he was now dangerously close to an entanglement from which it would be very difficult to escape.
But Rodrigo Cordova was a man he liked, who had made every effort to befriend him. And Theo Calvi had liked his playing.
He heard words sounding in his head, which said: Reckless man, beware! It was a chorus in which many voices seemed to join.
He looked wildly about, seething with frustration. The crowd was already breaking up, its members running to their homes to make what preparation they could for the dark time which was to come. None would say a word to him. But then he heard from behind him a strange whisper, which said: "Orfeo!"
He whirled around, and saw that Calvi still had breath in him, and had opened his eyes.
Quickly, he knelt beside the stricken man, wondering whether his wounds might possibly let him live. But Calvi was very nearly gone, and even the effort of speaking seemed likely to destroy him; nevertheless, the youth was trying desperately to speak, and Orfeo bent his head to make sure that he did not miss a word, however faintly pronounced.
"Go west," whispered the dying man. "Killed one.. .wounded others...slow them down...dare not leave them to be found...
West.. .watch for.. .blood..."
Though he fought hard to keep his eyes open, Calvi could not do it. Unconsciousness claimed him again, and though Orfeo knew that the wounded man was not yet dead, h
e also knew that he would probably never wake again.
Furiously, he rounded on the remaining onlookers again. He pointed at the nearest man, and said: "Do what you can! If he lives, there is gold in it for those who help him."
Then he pushed his way between them, and caught the rein of his waiting steed. The animal was tired and thirsty, but there was 80
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no time to lose. Even though the other company was slowed by a prisoner, and its members further inconvenienced by their own dead and wounded, it would not be easy to catch up with them.
As he urged the ancient warhorse along the road to the west he wondered what he could do if he did catch up, now that his original mission—to deliver a warning—had come to naught, but he did not pause to debate the matter with himself. He was in the affair now, and his wrath had been roused by the sight of poor Calvi, murdered to lend emphasis to a word scrawled by an illiterate—a mere move in some vicious game of trickery and treachery.
Orfeo had seen men killed before, some of them for reasons no better and no worse, but that did not make it easier to bear that he had ridden hard to try to save this boy, and had failed by a matter of minutes to reach him in time to warn him of impending ambush. If there was a chance of saving Rodrigo Cordova, then he intended to take it, no matter what the risk.
This road was like the one which had brought him into the realm only two days before—it was a meagre thing of ruts and animal-tracks, connecting paths which led to outlying farms and hamlets.
Though there were grapevines growing on the hillside terraces there were also reaches of clustered thorn-bushes, and scree-slopes which were useless for any kind of cultivation.