Time Trap

by Deborah Chester

  Both Sir Olin’s and Frederick’s eyes grew large. “Lord Gerrard’s treasury?” said Sir Olin.

  If he’d been a dog his tongue would have lolled out. Even Frederick’s eyes were gleaming. Noel remembered Theodore’s comment that Sir Olin was not a wealthy man.

  Sir Geoffrey stood silent. He swallowed several times as though struggling to control his emotions.

  “And,” continued Noel, “the Lady Sophia is safe and with Lord Theodore even as we speak. Should she not escape unlawful confinement to be with her rightful protector?”

  Sir Geoffrey frowned. “He is nearby?”

  “Yes.”

  Sir Geoffrey swung away with a gesture of frustration. “Jesu mea,” he said to himself. “What trouble will he cause for us now?”

  “All he can,” said Noel. “Depend on it.”

  “Hmm,” said Sir Olin, his gaze darting between their faces. “Hmm. It would seem there is much to discuss. I would see Lord Theodore.”

  Noel kept his own attention on Sir Geoffrey, and saw the quick changes of expression registering there. The young knight had himself under control at last, icy and aloof, and he was once again acting in Sir Magnin’s interests rather than his own. Noel was not happy to see the change. He still didn’t know what was wrong with Elena, and he wasn’t sure Sir Geoffrey would tell him now.

  “Well?” said Sir Olin. “I assume you have a signal that you can send to Lord Theodore?”

  “Wait,” said Sir Geoffrey hastily. “I beg you to consider the terms—”

  “I am considering your behavior as well as Magnin’s terms,” said Sir Olin with asperity. “Remember, monsieur, that I was seigneur here when Magnin was only a babe clinging to his mother’s skirts. I am considering all I have seen and heard.”

  “No signal,” said Noel. “This is not neutral ground as far as I’m concerned. Not neutral enough to guarantee Lord Theodore’s safety.”

  The wooden end of Sir Olin’s pike thudded into the floor.

  “Nom de Dieu—”

  “Sir,” broke in Noel to stop the explosion. “No offense to you, but with this hothead around…well, you understand.”

  The wrath faded from Sir Olin’s face. “Yes, I do,” he said thoughtfully.

  Sir Geoffrey lifted his head proudly. His face had gone stiff with anger. “I must repeat my earlier caution to you, Sir Olin. Constantinople is far away. Sir Magnin is near. He has offered you friendship in return for your fealty. He has offered you generous terms of alliance. The more we unite the stronger we shall be. We can have independence from the Byzantine stranglehold. No more foreign governors appointed at the emperor’s whim. No more calls to arms for causes that do not affect the Peloponnese—”

  “No more protection from the Turks,” said Sir Olin gruffly. “Don’t repeat your speech. I said I would consider Sir Magnin’s offer—”

  “Father, no!” said Frederick.

  “Silence,” snapped Sir Olin. “I will also consider what Lord Theodore has to say. That is only fair.”

  Sir Geoffrey scowled. “If you grant Lord Theodore asylum, then you are Sir Magnin’s enemy.”

  Sir Olin scowled back. “Heavy words, monsieur. Are you certain you want to force my hand?”

  Sir Geoffrey glanced at Noel, who shook his head. Sir Geoffrey flushed, but before he could speak further, Sir Olin gripped his shoulder and steered him from the hall.

  “Patience, monsieur,” said the older man. “You are young and fiery. So is your master. But I have lived a long time and survived many campaigns. I did that by keeping my head and deciding wisely. Give me until the tournament. Then Sir Magnin will have my decision.”

  Sir Geoffrey replied, but his voice was too low for Noel to hear. When the two men were gone from sight, Noel walked over and picked up his sword. Sir Geoffrey’s weapon still lay upon the floor. Noel picked it up as well and extended it to Frederick, who took it gingerly from his hand.

  “I’d better return this before Father sends him across the drawbridge.”

  “Wait,” said Noel, reconsidering. “Let me.”

  Frederick frowned. “I doubt that is wise.”

  “I’ll return it.” Noel took the sword from Frederick’s unresisting hand and strode outside into the welcome sunshine.

  Sir Geoffrey was already mounted. Noel called out to him, and Sir Geoffrey turned his head. His eyes narrowed.

  “You forgot this,” said Noel and handed the sword up to him, hilt first.

  Sir Geoffrey hesitated only a moment before his gauntleted hand gripped the hilt. He swung it up, and Noel saw in Geoffrey the desire to decapitate him. Noel tensed, but kept his gaze locked on the knight’s. Sir Geoffrey sheathed the sword violently. His mouth twitched with visible resentment, but he said nothing.

  When he reached for the helmet that hung on a chain attached to his breastplate, Noel gripped his stirrup.

  “Please,” he said, keeping his voice low so Sir Olin and the others watching would not overhear. “What happened to her?”

  Sir Geoffrey snorted. “What game do you play with me, sorcerer? You bring back my sword, which probably now has a spell cast on it, and you persist in this pretense of ignorance.”

  “Damn you,” said Noel angrily. “No one’s casting spells. If you don’t trust your sword, throw it in the moat. How can you people go around believing such stupid superstitions? Can’t you just answer my question?”

  “If a girl is as full of life as a mountain stream,” said Sir Geoffrey passionately. “If she has a heart like the wind and glows like sunshine upon the sea, then overnight turns to wood, what is anyone to think?”

  “Maybe it’s grief,” said Noel with more sharpness than he intended. “Grief over her brothers—”

  “She does not care about her brothers, you fool! She doesn’t know.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe she witnessed the massacre—”

  “No,” said Sir Geoffrey. “She stands in a daze, staring at the mountains. She speaks to no one. She listens to no one. She is dead inside, witless or possessed. And you did it to her, you—”

  “Why the hell should I?”

  Sir Geoffrey glared at him. “There is no logic to the works of Satan. Stay away from me, sorcerer. I vow the next time we meet I shall kill you, and no man will stay my hand.”

  Fitting on his helmet, he lowered the visor with a clang and galloped across the yard to the drawbridge. Well after the hollow thud of hoofbeats upon the bridge faded, Noel stood there frowning. Elena possessed…poppycock. A wandering hypnotist might put her in a light trance, but Noel wasn’t sure hypnotism was known to the charlatans of this century. Besides, it made no sense.

  Had Leon done something to the girl? Why should he bother? Had Sir Magnin tortured her? Had he taken advantage of her infatuation and hurt her; had he broken her spirit?

  Rage boiled in Noel at the thought. He—

  A hand settled upon his shoulder. “Sir Geoffrey’s warnings notwithstanding,” said Sir Olin, “I doubt you’ve come to bewitch us, eh?”

  Noel pulled his attention to the here and now. “Of course I haven’t,” he said shortly. “I’m just a traveler caught up in this mess by chance.”

  “By God’s will, monsieur,” said Sir Olin in reproof. “There’s no such thing as blind chance.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Go out and bid Lord Theodore to come inside for talk. There are four days until the tournament. We have little time to lay our plans.” Sir Olin frowned, looking troubled. “And I would not put it past young Geoffrey to shorten the time he gave me. Now that he knows Theodore and Lady Sophia are here, he is bound to—”

  “Sir Magnin doesn’t exactly play by the rules, does he?” said Noel.

  “No, that he does not. The whoreson ought to be taught a lesson. Parbleu, we may just have a way to do it. Frederick!” he bellowed. “To horse, lad!”

  Frederick came running. “Yes, Father?”

  “To horse! Waste no time. Ride to Geraki and tell Peter Phrantze
s what’s afoot.”

  “But he wants independence,” said Frederick, wide-eyed. “He is married to Sir Magnin’s sister.”

  “He also fears the emperor,” said Sir Olin. He rubbed his hands together. “After all, he’s applied to Andronicus for the adjoining estate to his east holdings. He can hardly afford to offend the empire.”

  Noel smiled. “A poor time for a brother-in-law to go rampaging.”

  Sir Olin smiled back. “Aye. If Lord Theodore were dead or captive, it would be different for all of us. I cannot stand alone, you see. But I would talk with him, monsieur. Go and tell him my castle is open to welcome him and his lady.” Sir Olin rubbed his hands together again and chuckled. “Especially his lady.”

  An hour later Noel sank breathlessly onto the knobby roots of an age-twisted olive clinging precariously to the bank of a gully and met Theodore’s intense blue gaze.

  “And that’s what happened,” he finished. “I’m sorry Sir Geoffrey knows you’re here, but there was no help for it.”

  “No damage was done. He does not have sufficient time to spread a warning to his master,” said Theodore.

  Lady Sophia smiled at Noel. “You did your best. I wish, however, you had brought us food.”

  Noel looked at her smudged, travel-weary face, and at Theodore whose red beard hid the ravages his eyes betrayed. Noel thought of his own hearty meal at the castle and felt guilty.

  However, he returned her smile and brought from his sleeve pocket two apples and a chunk of cheese.

  “It’s bad manners to steal from your host’s table,” he said, grinning as she exclaimed and grabbed the items from his hands, “but I managed to overcome etiquette—”

  “You are wonderful!” said Sophia, laughing. “I am ready to die for a morsel of cheese. How good it looks.” She divided the food between herself and Theodore and tried to coax her hawk into eating some of the cheese.

  While he munched his apple, Theodore paced back and forth. His head remained bowed in thought.

  “It’s plain that Sir Olin has his eye on your treasury,” Noel said to Sophia. “Mistra is rich, and he’s not.”

  She frowned. “That is my dowry. It is not to be handed over to any—”

  “Quite so, my dear,” said Theodore. “I think Noel fears another ransoming?”

  “Yes, maybe,” said Noel. “You probably know how far you can trust him or we wouldn’t be here in the first place. But if he’s smart he knows he won’t get a reward with you locked in his dungeons. He might get Sir Magnin to pay him for Sophia—”

  Theodore’s fists came up. “That cur!”

  “Easy. I’m only speculating. Remember that Sir Magnin doesn’t know where the treasury is,” said Noel. “That gives us an ace in the hole.”

  Theodore frowned. “A what?”

  “Uh, an advantage.”

  Theodore went back to pacing. “You may be sure he is searching for it. With time and perseverance, it can be found.”

  “But Magnin’s got a lot on his plate right now,” said Noel. “He’s trying to pull in more allies. I don’t know how long it will take for news of this to reach your emperor—”

  “A month at best,” said Theodore gloomily. “If a messenger has been dispatched at all. I, naturally, can send no one. By the time word reaches the court, Sir Magnin will be well entrenched. To lay siege to Mistra and its walls…” He shook his head.

  “All right, no help from the emperor,” said Noel. “A couple of cannonballs would do wonders to Mistra’s walls, but they aren’t invented yet, are they?”

  Everyone was silent. They stared at him blankly.

  Irritated at himself for that frivolous slip, Noel scowled. “Uh, taking the castle by force is too hard. Let’s think of a better solution.”

  “No,” said Theodore. “We shall fight. If I must, I can fill Sir Olin’s coffers from my own fortune. I must have an army, and he can help me raise one.”

  “That will take too long,” said Noel.

  Theodore stared at him. “What constraint does time have upon our actions? I do not understand your urgency in this matter. It is spring yet; we have until late autumn to mount a campaign. Sophia’s safety is no longer at risk and while I should prefer to settle this dispute without appealing to the emperor, if necessary I can call on—”

  “No, no, no,” said Noel, punching his fist into his palm for emphasis. “We have four or five days at the outside. You must have command of Mistra before the Turks come this far upriver.”

  Theodore sighed. “Noel, truly you are a wonder. The more I think on the matter, the less I fear their arrival. We have until autumn, and that is plenty of—”

  “You don’t have until autumn,” said Noel. He wanted to knock Theodore’s thick head against the tree. “What am I, Cassandra crying the doom that no one will hear?”

  “Do you have the sight?” asked Sophia, dusting cheese crumbs from her dainty fingers and clutching his hand. “Have you seen a vision? Did a golden light shine upon you? Did you hear a voice beyond all understanding? Did you see God?”

  Aware of Theodore’s jealous eye, Noel detached his fingers from her clasp and cleared his throat. “Uh, what I’ve experienced, uh, I cannot explain. There are no words to describe it.”

  That, at least, was the truth. His translator had a built-in protection device that caught words like fiber optics, microchips, interdimensional physics, and the like, and threw them into gibberish to avoid contaminating history with advanced technical terms. If he said computer, his listeners might hear spoon or something equally innocuous.

  They stared at him, however, with disappointment and skepticism. He realized he had to tell them something.

  “There was gray mist,” he said, “and a sense of being lost. I could hear nothing, feel nothing. After a while I could see nothing. But I was not…entirely alone. I remember…” He blinked, unconsciously rubbing his left arm above the bracelet. “I remember terrible pain. I remember being afraid.”

  Sophia touched his arm, stopping him from rubbing it. “What happened then? Did the vision come?”

  Noel sighed, pulling himself back from the memory, and met Theodore’s gaze. “You promised to trust me,” he said with all the persuasion he could muster. “You have to act this week, or it will be too late.”

  Sophia went to stand at Theodore’s side with her arm around him. They made a striking couple, with their handsome faces and blue eyes. They belonged at Mistra—that beautiful Frankish fortress overlooking its fertile valley, a place peaceful beneath the two-headed eagle banner of Byzantium.

  “Too late for whom?” she asked. “For us? For you? Be less cryptic, if you please.”

  Before Noel could answer, Theodore chuckled. “Cryptic is the way of prophets and oracles, my dear. Very well, friend Noel, if I am to use guile rather than force to retake my fortress, what do you suggest?”

  “Get Sir Olin on your side,” said Noel without hesitation, “along with as many of the other local nobles as you can muster. Get equipped with a horse and armor. Go to the tournament and—”

  “He will be captured!” cried Sophia.

  “Not if I ride nameless under Sir Olin’s pennon,” said Theodore thoughtfully. “Once the jousting has begun, the rules of chivalry demand that all comers may compete without fear of seizure.”

  “The rules,” said Sophia in dismay. “Sir Magnin does not follow the rules.”

  “Alas, that is true.”

  Thank you, Leon, thought Noel in exasperation. He said, “Yes, that’s a good point and something to keep in mind. But with everyone in the province there watching, do you think he’d dare try anything?”

  “Yes,” said Sophia.

  “No,” said Theodore.

  The two lovers glared at each other.

  “You must not fight him—” began Sophia.

  “It would be an ideal solution,” said Theodore. “The leaders of the province will be assembled. I shall ride in and make public challenge to Sir Magnin. He c
annot refuse—”

  “He will kill you!”

  Theodore’s expression grew chilly. “My lady’s confidence in my prowess overwhelms me.”

  “I do not doubt you, my darling!” she cried, clinging to his arm. “But Magnin the Black is champion of the province.”

  Theodore merely shrugged. “It is settled. I shall challenge him, one to one. The outcome will decide who governs Mistra and”—a muscle flexed in his jaw—“who weds Lady Sophia.”

  Noel raised his brows. “Strong terms.”

  “Do you see a better way to tempt him into fighting?”

  “No, but make sure you win.”

  Theodore grinned, but Sophia struck him in the chest without warning, making him flinch. He frowned at her. “What was that for?”

  She was tight-lipped and fuming. “So I am to be the prize, awarded to the victor like a piece of chattel—”

  “That’s what you are, mademoiselle!” said Theodore sharply. “When your father died, the stipulations of his will made me your legal guardian. Our betrothal gives me further rights to dispense your future and your dowry as I see fit.”

  “And I am to have no say—”

  “No say whatever.”

  She glared at him, spots of color burning in her cheeks. “Then our vows, our love are as nothing. You are not my champion, but my keeper. I wonder you bothered to woo me at all.”

  “And I wonder why you do not bother to look beyond your own selfish concerns to the larger picture,” Theodore retorted. “Mistra is the capital of the largest, and richest, province in Greece. There’s more at stake here than just—”

  “You talk of politics and I talk of love,” she broke in heatedly. “I see I mistook the former for the latter. I see I have been a foolish child.”

  “No, but you are certainly acting like one now.” Theodore gripped her by the arms. “You are willfully misunderstanding me. Try, Sophia, to see your future if I am defeated. As a prize, your future is protected. Otherwise, he can rob you of your lands, imprison you in a tower, and leave you to rot out your years alone—”