by Mary Stewart
Again the soft chuckle. "Oh, yes, Crispin, will fall heir to much else besides the dukedom! When he has followed his father, why, then, ah, then, the dukedom will be mine, with all the wealth and power my magic masters promised me! And you, my poor wolf, will be hunted to death in my forests, by day and by night..."
The wolf howled. The sound was much nearer.
Margaret listened fearfully for the noises that would tell her he was crossing the moat. But the lighted window may have warned him. He did not come, and presently the enchanter went back to the table and to his brewing.
Again the soft chanting. She risked another look. He had lighted the burner, and pushed the trivet over it. On this was standing the flask of liquid that he had been mixing. It was a deep reddish-purple in colour. Almeric stirred it with a long, pale stick that might have been made of ivory or bone. Margaret thought that he looked anxious. She watched, ready to duck back again behind the folds of leather. But he was intent on the flask as it heated over the yellow flame.
At length, after what seemed a long time, steam began to rise from the flask, grey steam that curled thinly up. The liquid bubbled at the edges. Margaret could smell the sweet, pungent scent of it. It caught at her throat, so that she was afraid that she might cough. The enchanter reached to a small bag of soft leather that hung suspended from a cord round his neck. From this he took, so carefully that she knew it must either be very costly or very deadly, a small pinch of powder between thumb and forefinger.
He sprinkled this on the surface of the liquid.
Immediately the smoke changed colour. It went white and thick, then green, green as a slimy pool. The smell changed, and became sweet and light, like lime flowers. Almeric twitched the flask aside from the flame, and set it down on the table to cool. Margaret drew back out of sight. The enchanter came across to the cupboard, and opened the door again. He was moving things about on the shelves, looking for something.
She knew that the open door of the cupboard would hide her from him. She parted the leather and peeped again. The flask of liquid stood there, no longer smoking. It was darker, surely, almost black, like strong medicine, or poison...
A movement in it caught her eye. She watched it, puzzled. What could there be in that hot liquid? Then she realized that it was a reflection.
She could see, mirrored small in the curved side of the flask, the tall figure of the enchanter, turning from the cupboard with a goblet in his hand.
And he could see her. As she shrank back again that gentle, terrifying voice spoke, with a new note in it:
"So? Whoever you are who has come into my parlour to watch and to spy, be welcome. There is a lot you can tell me before you drink this drink for me. Come out of your comer, and let us talk."
"Now," said the enchanter, "who are you?"
"If you please, my lord, my name is Gretta, and I–I was exploring."
"In the cellars? I would have thought so young a maid would have been afraid of what she might find here."
"What she might find here?" faltered Margaret. She could not help a guilty glance at the apparatus on the table, and she saw his eyes narrow, as he replied:
"Why, yes. Spiders and rats and toads and suchlike horrors."
"Oh," said Margaret.
"And in the dark, too," added Almeric gently.
Even though he looked and sounded so like Wolf-Mardian, Margaret did not need to remind herself to be afraid of him. She jumped as his voice changed. "Come now, we will have no lies. I can make you tell me the truth, be sure of that. Come here."
There was nothing for it but to obey him. She went towards him, unwillingly. She stopped a yard away, but his hand shot out and he gripped her by the arm, drawing her right up to him.
His hand was very cold and his eyes looked angry. She felt herself shiver.
"Now, tell me again. Who are you and what are you doing here?"
Again, and nearer still, the wolf howled. Margaret looked down at the floor, so that he would not see her expression. She said quickly: "I am the Lady Grisel's granddaughter. I–I am not afraid of spiders, and I detest the games the other girls play, so I went exploring. I found the secret door, and there was this room. I–I tried to open the cupboard, but it was locked. I thought it would be fun to hide here. I had some marchpane, so I sat to eat it, and I fell asleep. Then I heard you coming, and I was frightened. I've run away on my own before, you see, my lord, and they caught me, and I was beaten, so–"
"As you should be beaten again," said the enchanter, smoothly. "But you are a pretty maid, and it would be a pity to hurt you. So, since you have found my secret, you shall stay here with me, and help me do my work."
She swallowed. Somehow this was a bit more frightening than his anger had been. "What work, my lord?"
He stooped his head forward, like a bird of prey. "Why, making medicine for our lord the Duke. This wolf-sickness is too slow; it is time to help our dear Duke on his way. Spells grow thin with time, little maid, and have to be renewed. So medicines must be brewed, too, from time to time, even for my Lord Mardian."
"For Mardian!" cried Margaret, caught off her guard.
It was a bad mistake. He did not speak, but stared at her in silence, while she felt the colour draining from her cheeks.
At last he spoke. "So. A pretty maid comes exploring, in the dark, to the secret room. A pretty maid who, it seems, knows more than she has told me. Well, my dear, you shall tell me now. Look at me."
She had to. She tilted her head up and met his eyes. And now, at last, she saw something that could never be confused with Wolf. Almeric's eyes were, indeed, the same colour as Mardian's, but where Wolfs were clear and deep and sad, the enchanter's were hard and shallow as agate stone. She saw herself reflected in them, small and distorted, as in the flask.
She had the strangest feeling that she was being drawn up, up, into them, as a wisp of steam is drawn up into the sun until the pool is empty, So her mind was being drawn up from her by the power of the enchanter's eyes. Soon she would have no strength left to deceive him. She would tell him all she knew...
From the bank of the moat outside came the howl of the wolf.
The enchanter's eyes went blank. As if he had loosed her from a chain, Margaret jerked herself free of his grip, and ran towards the window.
She jumped to the sill and shoved at the grating.
It fell out with a crash. But that was as far as she got. The enchanter was after her in two long strides, and dragged her back into the room.
He pulled her round to face him again. To her amazement, he was laughing. "So that's it, my innocent little maid! I knew there was something about you that even I, with my magic, could not put a name to. You belong to that fool Mardian, the beast who runs in the forest...Well, my pretty, he is running his last. It was foolish of him to use you. When he sent you here, he gave me a hostage. Or shall we say, rather, that he gave me the bait that will drag him here onto my hook?"
She could hear the sounds clearly from the moat. She struggled and kicked in the enchanter's grasp, and screamed, with all her strength:
"Run away. Wolf! It's him! He's here! Almeric's here! Run!"
The enchanter did not try to silence her. She could feel him shaking with laughter as he held her against him. She shouted again, but it was no use. Wolf was across the moat. He was coming at a plunging run up the bank through the long grass and the bushes. He was at the window. His great body blocked out the night. His fangs were bared and snarling, his eyes glaring like lamps, not yellow now, but red with a dreadful rage. He growled like an earthquake, and the great paws came scrambling over the sill.
"Run away. Wolf!" shrieked Margaret again.
"No," said the enchanter. There was a knife in his hand. He held it against Margaret's side.
She gasped and stood rigid. And now he did clamp his other hand tightly across her mouth.
The werewolf stopped dead, the snarl dying in his throat.
"No," repeated the enchanter. "Come in,
my dear Mardian. Come in, and come quietly. Now."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Duke was sitting beside a fire of logs. He had taken off his robe and crown, and was dressed in a loose-fitting furred gown and soft shoes. He was not alone. On a stool near his feet a boy sat, with his back to the door, playing a lute and singing.
The Duke seemed very tired. Far from being angry at his page's lateness, he took no notice of John at all. Nor did the singer, and for this John was very thankful, since he recognized the latter immediately. It was the page who had waited on the Duke at supper-time. Denis himself.
Once more he stood at a loss, his mind whirling as he tried to decide what to do. Denis must have noticed Justin's absence, and taken his place, perhaps to save him from punishment. So had the posset already been made? If so, the Duke would send him, John, straight away; or, more probably, question him as soon as he saw that the newcomer was not Justin, but a stranger.
If that happened, John would have to tell his story, whether Denis was still there to hear it or not. He was hardly likely to get such another opportunity to show Wolfs amulet to the Duke.
But the Duke made no move. He sat with head bent, staring into the fire, seemingly lost in the music. John, whose hand was in the pouch at his belt, clutching the precious amulet, now let it drop back into its hiding place, and looked around him. He noticed two things: there was no cup on the small inlaid table beside the Duke's chair, and at the other side of the room, hidden from both Denis and his master by a tall carved screen, stood a table with all the apparatus for the posset, with a golden chalice standing empty and waiting.
So the Duke's drink had not yet been prepared. John tiptoed quickly across to the table.
Beside the chalice he saw a bowl of milk, and a copper pan with a long handle, for heating the milk at the fire. A tall gilded jug held wine, and there were a great many jars and carved wooden boxes. The spices and herbs, he thought uneasily, eyeing them, and wondering where, among all these complicated ingredients, Almeric's poison lurked, and how he contrived that the two pages should not suffer from it.
But he did not waste much thought on this.
He had had time to think now, and realized that he need not, in fact, mix the posset at all. The Duke was not likely to notice the drink when once he had the chalice in his hands. For there was one way in which John could hand him the amulet without even Denis seeing it...
The screen hid him from the others in the room. He took the amulet from his pouch and dropped it silently into the empty chalice. Over it he poured just enough of the wine from his own jug to hide it. The rest of the wine went into the copper pan. He did not touch the gilded jug, or the bowl of milk.
The song seemed to be coming to an end. Perhaps now Denis would be sent away. John lingered, shifting things about on the table, and making discreet mixing noises.
The last note faded. The Duke said: "Thank you," then, raising his voice a little, "Justin? Make haste to heat the drink, boy. It grows late... That last stave again, Denis, so please you."
The notes rippled. The boy's voice rose again.
There was nothing for it. He would have to pretend to mix the drink. John ran his hands quickly over his hair, gave a tug to Justin's tunic, then carried pan and chalice over to the hearth.
He set the chalice down. There was an iron trivet to one side of the fireplace, and on that he put the copper pan to heat. Keeping his face turned to the fire, he knelt there on the hearth, holding the pan by its long handle, and trying to control the sharp beating of his heart. The fire burned against his face, but he was shivering with nerves and excitement.
The wine in the pan was bubbling at the edges. John withdrew the pan from the flames and poured a little of the hot stuff into the cup.
His hand was shaking. Some of the wine spilled.
A string of the lute twanged harshly, out of tune. In the middle of a phrase, the music stopped. The Duke looked up.
Denis said breathlessly: "My lord! This boy! This is not Justin, and he's not one of the pages. I've never seen him before!"
The Duke said: "So? Who are you, boy?"
John set the pan back on the hearth, and got to his feet. He turned, with the golden cup held carefully between his hands.
The Duke looked him up and down. His eyes were cold. "Well?"
"My Lord," John began, hurriedly. "Justin was ill, and asked me to send Denis to you instead. But I could not see him anywhere, so–"
"I asked who you were."
"My name is Hans," began John, but the other boy interrupted him. He had jumped to his feet and gone over to the table, pushing back the screen.
"He's made your drink with his own wine, my lord! He hasn't used the milk, and the herb boxes and jars haven't been touched! Look, here's the jug he brought with him. It wasn't here before."
All at once the Duke did not look sad or tired at all. He sat up straight in his chair, and his eyes went to the earthenware jug standing on the table among the silver and gold and carved wood. Then he shouted aloud: "Guard! Ho there, guard!"
The door swung open. The two guards came running in. At a gesture from the Duke they closed in, one to either side of John, and held him fast.
"Don't let him spill the wine," said the Duke sharply.
John had not moved. It had all happened too quickly. The wine rocked in the cup, but it did not spill. The Duke put an elbow on the arm of his chair, and sat, chin on fist, regarding John in silence. It was a rather frightening silence.
John licked his lips. They were very dry. It was now or never, in spite of the presence of Denis and the guards. But before he could say anything the Duke spoke again, coldly. "Is it true that you are a stranger to my court?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Then I think you had better begin by telling me who you are, and where you come from. Who is your father?"
There was a kind of relief, at last, in telling the simple truth. "You would not know him, sir. It is true that I don't come from this dukedom, but this does not matter, truly. I'll tell you everything, but you will understand it better if first of all you will let me give you the message that I bring from the Lord Mardian."
The Duke frowned. "From Mardian? Why, he was here only a few minutes ago. What nonsense is this? What sort of message? He sent you with that jug of wine?"
"No, I–I brought the wine myself." John hesitated, wondering how to go on. It was hard to think, with the men's hands gripping his arms, and the Duke's icy grey eyes boring into his.
Wolf had insisted that the amulet must be put straight into the Duke's hands, in private. Could he really hand it to him here, in front of the guards and the boy?
Then he jumped as the Duke said, to one of the guards: "Go and send to find my Lord Mardian, and beg him to come here."
"No!" cried John.
The man checked, halfway to the door. The Duke signed to him to stay where he was. "I thought so. What sort of message do you bring, that Mardian could not give me himself? Or that you dare not repeat in front of him?"
There was obviously no help for it. "The message is in the wine," cried John.
"I'm sure it is," said the Duke drily. "A message from Count Sigismund, perhaps?"
"No, no! If you would only take it!" But when he tried to thrust the chalice forward towards the Duke, the guard's grip tightened on his arm, so roughly that he cried out.
The man said hoarsely: '"There's something in the cup, my lord! You can see it, under the wine!"
The Duke's brows went up, though he did not look surprised. He had not glanced at the man.
He kept staring at John. "The message, no doubt? Well, Hans, you have brought it here. Now deliver it in a seemly way."
"Sir?" stammered John, not understanding, but beginning to feel really frightened. The guard still held him so that he could not move.
"Perhaps you had forgotten," said the Duke, "that my pages taste my wine before my cup is given to me? Yes, I thought you had. Let him go." This to the guard, who
released John's arm.
"Now, drink," commanded the Duke.
John's heart was beating wildly, but through the fear came relief. He had quite forgotten the tasting. At least he could prove that the wine was not poisoned, and then, surely, the Duke would ask to see what was within the cup? Without a second's hesitation he lifted the chalice to his mouth.
But before the wine could do more than wet his lips the Duke spoke again, one word, and the cup, struck from John's hand by the guard, went spinning to the floor. The wine splashed out across the boards. The amulet flew, ringing, into the firelight.
There was a sudden, complete silence. The Duke, still as death in his chair, stared down at the amulet. The singer, the two guards, never moved. Then the Duke's hand crept up to touch the golden token that hung still at his breast.
He looked up at John.
"Sir," said John breathlessly. "That was the message. May I talk to you now, please?"
The Duke did not once interrupt as John told his story. At a sign from him, Denis had picked up the amulet, and all the time John talked the Duke held Mardian's amulet in his hand, turning it over and over, so that the firelight caught the lettering: OTHO–FIDEUS–OTHO. The guards had moved away, and stood beside the door.
John came to the end of his story. "And my sister's down there now, in the secret room that Wolf showed us. Wolf–Mardian–promised to come back there every night if he could. He might be there now. If you would only come down, my lord..." He swallowed. "You see, he has to stay a wolf till daybreak, but if only you were there, and could wait till dawn, and would stop anyone killing him or harming him, you would see the change, and know it was all true. I don't know what will happen, my lord, or how Almeric's spells can be broken, but it must be true that they can be broken somehow, or why have my sister and I been brought here, and why has everything happened like this?"
And he looked round at the gaping Denis, the waiting guards, the firelit chamber with the spilt wine on the floor.
There was a pause. The Duke had not once taken his eyes from John's face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or if he believed a word of the story. John found that he was trembling. If the Duke did not believe him, if Wolf did not come, who knew what kind of harsh fate might be waiting for Margaret and himself? They had been brought here to break the spell; if they did not succeed, would they ever get back safely into their own world and their own time?
