by Mary Stewart
John realized, suddenly, that the high table was empty. The Duke had been carried out, and his courtiers had followed. As if at a signal, the boys and men who were serving left the hall and crowded into the kitchens to get food for themselves. Mindful of Margaret, he went with them. seizing the cleanest linen napkin he could find to wrap the food in. No one questioned him, or seemed to think it strange that he should want extra food.
Several of the boys, he noticed, had gone off still eating, their pouches stuffed with sweetmeats. In the hall the men were removing the tabletops from their trestles, and shifting them with the benches back against the walls. Dogs prowled everywhere, nosing for scraps. People were settling down to sleep more or less where they lay. No one appeared to notice when John, with the napkin full of food, and an earthenware jug still half full of wine, left the kitchen and slipped away.
No one was about except a man who seemed to be some kind of lamp lighter. He carried a long stick with a bowl at the end full of flaring tinder, and he was going from bracket to bracket along the walls of the corridors, lighting the torches for the night.
John hesitated. From what the steward had said that morning, and from the talk in the kitchens, he knew that the pages were not allowed in this part of the castle. He would have turned and gone back, and waited for the lamp lighter to finish his work, but the man had seen him. To John's relief the fellow merely grinned, eyeing the napkin and the wine-jug, then winked and jerked a thumb towards the first of the cellar doors.
"He's down yonder," he said, and went off, whistling.
He? John hesitated again, but he must either go on, or go back and risk being kept in the kitchen, or made to sleep among the crowd in the hall. He let himself through the door, and hurried on.
"He" proved to be a boy of about John's own age. He was sitting on the floor beside the door of the privy, hugging his arms to his body as if in pain.
John stopped. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," said the boy, muffled. He sat with his face turned away from John, The nearest torch was some way away, high on the wall and flaring badly, but John thought the boy looked very pale.
"What are you doing down here, then?"
"What are you doing yourself?" retorted the boy, with a flicker of spirit.
"I came to eat my supper in peace, that's all. The lamp lighter thought I'd come to share it with you. Do you want some?"
He held out the napkin. At the sight of the food the boy shuddered, and his face took on a sort of greenish tinge. "No. Take it away. Leave me alone, I'm all right."
This was so obviously untrue that John ignored it. "Have you been sick or something?"
The boy nodded, keeping his face turned away. John stood, undecided. He could hardly carry the food through to the secret room while the boy was there. Besides, he looked really ill, however much he denied it. John had already seen, in the rough life of the castle, how harshly the other boys treated anyone who admitted to any sort of weakness. He sat down beside the boy.
"Look," he said kindly, "you don't have to pretend to me. I won't tell. But if you're sick, then for goodness sake have some sense and see someone about it."
The boy shook his head dumbly. John, peering closer, caught, in the unsteady light, the glimmer of a badge on the breast of his tunic. It was a crown. Then he recognized the boy. It was the fair page in black velvet who had waited on the Duke that morning.
"Why, you're the Duke's page, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm Justin. Who are you?"
"My name's Hans. But what is the matter, then? If you've been sick–" He stopped. A dreadful suspicion came suddenly into his mind.
This boy would have had to taste the Duke's food and wine. John said sharply: "You must tell me what it is! Is it something you've eaten or drunk? If it is, the Duke will have to be told. You must know that."
"Yes, I know. It's not that." He looked up then, and as he turned towards the light, John saw that his face was badly marked, as if he had been in a fight. His lip was cut, and had bled freely down his chin, and the blood had dried there. There was a graze on one cheek, and one eye was rapidly blackening. It seemed likely, from the way he held himself, that he had been kicked in the stomach.
"You look as if you had been in the Crusades," said John, relieved. What he actually thought was, You look as if you've been in a rough-house, but this was how it came out, in the strange language that came so naturally to him.
"What happened to the other fellow?"
"Nothing much. There were four of them. I did try, but–" Justin put his head down again.
John heard a small sob, and the muttered word, "coward."
"Of course you're not a coward! Anybody would get clobbered if four bullies set on him. What had you done?"
"Nothing. Only–I'm no good at sports and all that kind of thing. The Duke chose me because I'm neat with my hands, and quiet, and because I can sing. He likes music. I didn't ask to be chosen. They call me girlish, and make mock of me. Then this afternoon I missed the quintain three times running, and they said I had to be disciplined."
"Who? The master-at-arms?" John could not help feeling thankful that he had decided to miss the "sports" that afternoon. (But maybe I'd have marked them, too, he thought grimly.)
"No. Oh, no. After he had gone," said Justin.
"I see. Well, look, even if it means telling on them, you'll have to see a physician. You needn't tell him who it was, if you're afraid to. But your father's bound to find out, isn't he? I suppose he's here?"
"No. He was taken prisoner by Count Sigismund. He hasn't been ransomed yet."
"Even so, someone's bound to guess what's happened. You can't keep out of the Duke's way for ever. As soon as he sees your face, he'll guess. The lip's swelling already, and that eye's going to be a real beauty. I didn't see you in the hall tonight, did I?"
"No. It wasn't my turn. It was Denis's. But now he's off duty, and I have to take the Duke's posset in to him. If only Denis could do it for me tonight, then perhaps by tomorrow I'd look all right, and the Duke would never guess."
He looked beseechingly at John. "You seem kind. You're not like the others. Would you find Denis for me, and ask him?"
"Wait a moment." John's heart had begun to thump. "You have to take what in to the Duke?"
"His posset. The drink he takes late at night before he sleeps. I ought to be there now, but I dare not let him see me. He'll find out who did it, and he'll punish them. And then they'll kill me, or make my life horrible–"
"Look, stop worrying, will you? I'll see to it for you, I promise. Where's Denis likely to be?"
"In the antechamber by the Duke's private stair. He'll be asleep by now, I expect."
All the better, thought John, but he did not say it aloud. He persisted with his questions, though Justin looked as if he might be sick again at any moment. "And the Duke's drink? How do you make it?"
"Denis knows," said the boy faintly. He rested his forehead on his knees again. John caught a few phrases... "Golden cup... pan for heating the milk...the wine he likes...the spices and herbs will be ready..."
Oh, will they? thought John–But there was no time to wonder what would happen once he was in the Duke's private rooms and face to face with the job of mixing a posset–whatever that might be. He said quickly: "All right, I'll see to it. But if I'm to get into the private rooms to find Denis, I've got to look as if I have some right there. We'd better change clothes. Quick, I'll help you. Mine'll be warmer for you, anyway."
He was stripping off his own tunic as he spoke. The other boy, half-dazedly, did the same, and soon John, neat in black velvet with the ducal crown on his breast, was helping Justin into his own warm tunic. As he buckled his belt back on, a thought struck him, and he quietly slipped the dagger from its hangers and tucked it into the napkin with the food. It wasn't likely that anyone would be allowed to carry arms into the Duke's presence.
"Now, do you want me to help you back into the hall? Or shall I send someone to
you here?"
But Justin, full of relief and gratitude, would not hear of it. All he wanted, he said, was for John to go quickly, and find Denis. "I'd rather you went straight away, truly! I'll just go back in there for a bit, and wait till I'm better."
So John pulled him to his feet and helped him into the little room. There was a shelf above the door, and here John reached up to push the bundle of food. No time to take it to Margaret, but she would hardly need it yet.
"Look, I've hidden the food up here. If you do want some, help yourself, but don't take it all, will you? D'you want a drink of wine?"
"No, thanks."
"Then I'll take the jug with me. It'll look as if I'm running an errand. Stay there till you're better, and don't worry. I'll be back as soon as I can." He shut the door on the sick boy, then ran as fast as he could back towards the part of the castle where he knew the Duke's private rooms to be.
He found his way easily, by simply asking for Denis whenever he met anyone who was still awake and sober. But when he got to the big antechamber outside the ducal rooms he asked no more. He had his own reasons for not wanting to find Denis.
The antechamber was crowded with people.
Most of these–the Duke's gentlemen–were sleeping. But men-at-arms, fully armed and alert, stood by the walls. The fire had burned low, but torches cast a fair amount of light. The room was very warm. The walls were hung with thick curtains of arras, and the air was smoky with the torches and the dying fire. At the far end of the chamber a wide, curving stair led up towards the tower room where the Duke slept.
John paused in the doorway, looking around cautiously. To his relief he could not see Denis anywhere. Clutching the wine-jug, and hoping that he looked like a page who had been sent for in a hurry, he took half a step forward into the antechamber.
Then stopped short, as he caught a movement in the shadows on the private stair. His heart lurched as he recognized Almeric. The enchanter came softly down from the Duke's rooms, and started straight across the antechamber towards the door where John was standing.
John stood rooted, his mind in a whirl. If he went on, the enchanter might stop and question him. But it would be even more dangerous if Almeric should see him dodge back and hide...
"Mardian!" called someone softly. Over near the fireplace a man beckoned. The enchanter turned, and went across to speak to him.
John pulled at the heavy folds of arras beside the door. There was space between this and the chamber wall. He slipped quickly into its shelter. Now he could see nothing. He waited, listening. It seemed an age, but it was only a few minutes before he heard the rushes rustling as soft footsteps approached the doorway. The enchanter's robe brushed the arras. He neither paused nor glanced aside. He went.
John gave him half a minute more, then slipped out from behind the arras and ran across the room to the stairway. There were two guards at the foot. They made no move to stop him. One of them said, with a grin: "Late, aren't you? Don't blame you for dodging Lord Mardian. It's one of those nights, so look sharp now, or the Duke might have the skin off you, too."
John muttered something, and ran between the two of them, and up the curving stair to the landing outside the Duke's door.
This was the danger-point. To his immense relief, there was no sign of Denis here, either.
But there were more guards, one to either side of the big iron-studded door. And these two stopped him. Their spears flashed down to cross in front of the door, as one of them said: "You're not Justin. Who are you?"
The other reached out, took the jug from John's hand, and sniffed at it. "What's this? This isn't for the Duke, is it? Seems like the ordinary supper-stuff to me."
"Well, it is, but the rough red's better for heating up with the herbs and spices," said John glibly. He tried to grin, though he was very nervous. "I should know, I have to taste it for him."
The man handed it back. "Oh, aye, we know that. You're not likely to be carrying poison. But where's Justin? It's his night, isn't it?"
"Yes, but the Duke's asked for me. Seems I'm to be trained, too. I'm Hans," said John, as if that should explain everything. Then, on an inspiration, he added; "Lionel's brother. Didn't you know?"
"Lionel's brother? Now you mention it, you've got a look of him. All right, youngster, in you go. He's a bit glum tonight, I warn you, so let's hope for all our sakes that you can mix a good wine-posset."
The spears lifted. John went through. The door shut behind him. He had done it. He was in the Duke's private room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Margaret, left to herself, went back to sit on the windowsill. She nibbled the marchpane, watching the deepening colour of the sky and its reflections in the moat, and waiting for the "hour between the wolf and the dog," after which Wolf-Mardian had promised to come.
Now that the drawbridge was up, there was no coming and going along the road beyond the water; no sound at all, not even the hooting of the owl.
It grew darker. The room was still warm from the day's sunlight. She found herself nodding: she had not had much sleep last night. In the end, with the stillness, and the good meal, she dozed off soundly, and did not wake until some time later, when a sound startled her out of sleep.
Wolf? She leaned towards the window. It was quite dark outside. She could see nothing, hear nothing.
John coming back? Yes, that must be it. The sound had come from beyond the door, in the big cellarage. She got up thankfully, stretching.
Then stiffened, straining to hear.
Not John. It was a heavier tread, and whoever it was cleared his throat; a man. The steward, then, or the cellarer come to tend the vats?
No, not the steward. He came straight for the secret door, and she heard his finger groping in the darkness for the knothole. The latch lifted.
No time to dislodge the grating, and clamber out of the window. And in the room itself there was only one place to hide. Opposite the door was the big cupboard, jutting from the wall. It was locked, but between it and the comer of the room was a deep recess where she could hide well enough, though any search of the room would be bound to discover her. She edged her way into the comer, past some ancient garments of leather that hung from a wooden peg.
They were stiff with disuse, and they smelled rather nasty, but once she had pushed through them and steadied them from rattling, they hung in front of her, like a rotten curtain.
Not a moment too soon. The door opened, and the newcomer entered. He had a lantern with him, which threw his shadow across the floor and up the wall. For a brief moment it showed sharply against the wall opposite Margaret's corner and she recognized it. It was the wicked enchanter, Almeric.
She should have known, of course. All of them should have known. It was the one thing none of them had thought of: that if the Duke thought this was Mardian, he would assume that "Mardian" knew of the secret they had shared as boys. He must have spoken to him about the secret room. Lame as he was, the Duke could not come here himself. But it was no longer Wolfs secret. It was Almeric's, too.
Margaret's heart was beating in fast, frightened thuds.
Why had Almeric come down tonight? Did he guess, or hope, that some day Wolf might come back to the place which once he had shared with his friend? Or had he discovered John, and somehow got their secret out of him? Or perhaps, since Almeric was, after all, an enchanter, he had found out everything by his magic art...
He was coming towards her corner. She held her breath. The soft footsteps stopped, and there was the sound of a key in the cupboard door.
The door opened, creaking. He began to lift things from the shelves, and carry them to the table. The yellow lantern-light cast heavy shadows. He had not noticed the traces–footmarks in the dust, crumbs from the meal–that the children must have left. He had not seen, against the darkness outside, that the window grating was not fast in its sockets. He was intent on whatever he was doing.
There were chinking sounds, and then something that sounded like st
irring, spoon on glass.
Through it all came the soft, sweet, yet terrifying sound of the enchanter humming to himself.
She could tell from the sound that he had his back to her. Very cautiously she parted the stiff folds of leather, and peered through.
The enchanter's tall form was bent over the table in the centre of the room. On the table stood the things he had brought from the cupboard, flasks and bottles, a leather bag tied with cord, a wooden box with a lock, and something that looked like a burner with a metal tripod over it. He had poured liquid into a big glass flask, and was stirring this.
The lantern was smoking a little; she could smell it, sharp and hot. It gave a strong, yellow light. She could only hope that if John came back now, he might see a crack of light above the door, and be warned. And if Wolf should come across the moat, he might be warned as well.
At that very moment she heard it; the long mournful howl of the great wolf in the night outside.
The enchanter heard it, too. He lifted his head. She ducked back, closing her peephole, but not before she had seen his face. He was smiling. He left the table and walked to the window. He passed very near to Margaret. The hanging leather garments stirred as his sleeve touched them, but he noticed nothing. He stood looking out of the window, and laughed again, softly to himself.
"Alas, my poor Mardian." The grave voice was gently mocking. Margaret's flesh crept. It was horrible to hear Mardian's own voice mocking his tragedy. "Come, then, my poor man-wolf. Come near, and let me talk to you. If I could but make you tell me where the amulet is hidden! The one thing that is lacking; the only danger... But soon this will cease to trouble me.
"The time is almost out, and then it will not matter that the Duke has ceased to hold 'Mardian' in his heart. Crispin will be mine, mine for long enough. I shall see that Duke Otho does not live out the moon, and once he is gone I can do what I please with the boy."
