by Dave Duncan
Indeed, I couldn’t recall packing anything much more dangerous than Eadig’s Mori vermes crow-stunner, which would be as useful against black magic as a quill pen in a sword fight. I had brought it because my years of living in a stable had left me with a strong aversion to rats.
chapter 5
i think that all of us, even the Angevins, were impressed by our first sight of Nottingham Castle, high on its rock. It is much more splendid nowadays, for King Henry has since enlarged it considerably. We spent that night there as guests of Baron Everard, the sheriff, who was apparently an old friend of Sir Neil’s father. I never got near him and had no desire to, for he was an elderly, unimpressive man with a permanently sour expression. Despite the lack of warning, though, he supplied an excellent meal and allowed us to bed down on the floor of the hall with his male staff.
As guests, Eadig and I were granted places near a wall, where the rushes were slightly cleaner and the chances of being kicked during the night slightly less, but lights out means nothing in summer. Although about forty men were already there, not one was even trying to sleep. Most were just sitting around talking, and the rest were playing knucklebones. I stretched out on my back to admire the hammerbeam roof and wonder if there was any chance of another conference with Sir Neil.
I had almost persuaded myself by then that we were engaged in nothing more than a training exercise. Neil and I would snoop around Lincoln for a week, find nothing, and head over to France to hunt down the king and tell him so. The only thing causing me any concern was the futhorc reading, Cyningswice. Then Eadig said quietly, “You’ve been made.”
I sat up and saw a man wearing the brown cape of a healer heading straight for me. I scrambled to my feet.
He was elderly, clean-shaven, and pudgy, with a prominent bald spot surrounded by iron-gray curls, but the effect was natural, not a tonsure. His eyes were bright and his mouth wore a welcoming smile. The robe under his cape was finely embroidered.
He offered a hand. “Sage Fulk.”
I took it. “Durwin of Pipewell.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What school?”
“Helmdon,” I admitted, embarrassed because professional courtesy dictated that I should have made myself known to him when I arrived. “Licensed sage. Who told you?”
Chuckling, he took my arm in a firm grip. “Well met, Brother Durwin. Come and share some wine with me, as sages have done since the days of Plato.”
His brown cape did not proclaim him as a sage, only as a healer, but perhaps he felt entitled to the greater title after a lifetime. And I was not in uniform.
“If I’m wanted,” I told Eadig, “I’m with the sage.”
Fulk led me out of the hall, under the wondering gaze of at least seventy eyes, and to a door marked with a pentacle. He whispered a password before opening it and leading me in. It was small, as castle rooms always are, and was clearly his sanctum, being crowded by an examination couch, shelves full of jars and bottles, documents chests, and astrological charts on the walls. Fresh rushes covered the floor. The two windows were mere arrow slits, angled downward through massive stone walls, but they had shutters to close in winter. They let in little air in the summer heat, although the walls themselves kept the place bearably cool. I guessed that this might serve as his bedroom when necessary, even if he owned a house in the town as well.
He pointed to a cushion on one of the chests and told me to sit. Then he produced a flask and two beakers. He settled on the wooden stool.
“Who told you that I am a sage, sir?”
“Call me Fulk.”
“Fulk, then.”
“No one. You’re not a warrior, and you’re not tonsured like a cleric. Your face is neither as weather-beaten as a peasant’s nor as pale as a clerk’s. Your hand is smooth, and you travel with a youth to act as your cantor.”
“Ah, sagacity but not black magic!”
He chuckled. “Besides, the last time Guy Delaney came through here, he was bragging to me that he’d found a young Saxon cripple who was going to be the finest enchanter in England. Or did he say Europe? Wæs hæl!”
I gave the standard response of, “Drinc hæl!” and we drank. I had no more than a fruit fly’s knowledge of wine in those days, but I could tell that his vintage was subtle on the tongue. I complemented him on it.
“Angevin,” he said. “The best. How is my old friend?”
I broke the news of Guy’s illness. Fulk was clearly distressed to hear it, and we spoke awhile of my mentor and benefactor. The next topic ought to be my journey, destination, and mission, and I had been forbidden to discuss them.
“How long have you been sage here?” I asked.
“As long as I have worn my cape. Take your age, double it, and then add some. Being a house sage is a noble profession though.” That was a hint for me to tell him whom I served, but the pause was tactfully brief. “Except when there is sickness, of course. We had mumps come through here last year—laid the whole garrison low. Or puffed them up, I should say. Slew a couple of men, despite everything I could do.”
“I heard that it was in Northampton also.”
“Being a sage is no more secure than any other form of service, though,” my host murmured, reaching for the wine flask. “Consider Sage Bjarni of Lincoln, for example. Served the constable all his life, then suddenly shown the door, without a word of thanks.”
My scalp prickled. I was being offered advice, or a warning, and I wasn’t sure which. My tambour enchantment wasn’t indicating danger, so I pressed ahead. Fulk obviously knew something I did not and it had led him to guess our destination.
“That is true ingratitude,” I said. “Tell me more.”
“Yes, it seemed strange, for Lord Richard has always been considered a model knight.”
Neil had mentioned Lord Richard de la Haye as constable of Lincoln Castle.
“I expect we will hear the true story some day,” my host added.
“I hope so,” I countered. “I’ve never been to Lincoln. The big battle there . . . 1141, was it not? Before I was born. The town stayed loyal to King Stephen, as I recall.”
“But the castle changed hands several times.”
Was I supposed to hear a warning in that or was it merely pass-the-time conversation? “I hope it isn’t likely to do so again in the near future?”
Fulk laughed. “Hardly! Those were terrible times, what they now call the Anarchy. King Henry is a strong king, just what we longed for when men were building castles everywhere you looked. Lord Richard is probably getting too old. It happens to us all. Enjoy your youth and guard your health, Sage.”
“What of the sheriff of Lincoln, Sir Alured Someone?”
Fulk shrugged. “He’s new. I never met him. I can’t tell you anything at all about him.”
In that exchange of gossamer hints, Fulk had warned me that something odd had happened in Lincoln, and I had not denied that Lincoln was our destination. This was a breach of my orders, but also an invitation to him to tell me more. He probably did not have more information to share, and at that moment there come a tap on the door.
I said, “That is a summons for me, I expect.”
“Else a warning for me that my wife will be taking the meat cleaver to me if I am late going home yet again.” Fulk opened the door, and the messenger was indeed a page to tell me that my valorous leader wanted me.
Neil had been granted the honor of the guest room, which was reached by way of a spiral staircase with no handrail. Fortunately it was so steep that I could very nearly reach the steps in front of me without bending, and that gave me a sense of security, in that I could have grabbed one if my iron foot had slipped. I managed the ascent without stooping to such indignity.
I rapped on the door at the top, and was told to enter. I was impressed. The room was practically filled by a four-poster bed, but it had two large windows, one of them closed by a fretwork of lead holding diamond-shaped pieces of glass. I had heard of glazing, but had never s
een it before. Most of the glass was too thick or tinted to see through, so it admitted little more light than horn or oiled cloth would, but it might keep out the winter cold better. The other opening just had the usual shutters, which stood wide open that warm evening. There was also a stone fireplace, an oaken chest, and a well-cushioned chair. It was a homely, comfy room.
Sir Neil was reclining on the featherbed, stripped down to his shirt and britches, leaning back against a pile of down pillows, quaffing wine from a flask, and admiring his hairy shins. He did not offer to share his wine with me, but gestured for me to sit on the chest, which was better positioned for conversation than the chair. With a cushion, that would have been quite a comfortable perch. Regrettably from my viewpoint, the lid was engraved with images of saints and martyrs, which impressed me deeply.
“Well, Sage, what do you advise me about magic?”
I clutched my cane in both hands, rested my chin on my wrist, and tried to look wise.
“It will kill you, sir. If treason is really festering in Lincoln, your plan is hopeless.”
His eyes narrowed down like the slits on a jousting helm. “You had better justify that remark, Durwin of Helmdon.” “Gladly, Sir Neil. About half an hour ago, the sheriff’s house sage, Sage Fulk, accosted me in the hall and invited me to drink wine with him in his sanctum.”
Neil glared. “I gave you strict orders—”
“Which I obeyed, sir. He identified me as a sage just by looking at me, and I was not wearing my cape.” I saw no reason to mention Fulk’s story about Guy Delaney. “I accepted his invitation, of course. We talked. I did not tell him where we are headed, but he guessed. Without prompting by me, he mentioned that Lord Richard de la Haye recently dismissed his long time sage, named Bjarni.”
“Why?”
“For no known reason. In other words, sir, Sage Fulk was warning me that there is something odd going on in Lincoln Castle. He has heard rumors, and now the king is sending a troop of men-at-arms there, with an attendant sage.”
“You think that Lord Richard may have dismissed his sage for dealing in treasonable matters?” At last, perhaps, Neil d’Aire-lle was starting to realize that he might be out of his depth.
“In that case Lord Richard should have cut off his head, sir. At the very least, Fulk was warning me—and therefore you— not to trust Constable Richard. We should probably assume then that Sheriff Alured de Poiltona is also in on the treachery, yes? Otherwise the king would simply write to the sheriff and tell him to deal with the matter.”
I gave him a moment, then continued. “So . . . assume for a moment that Constable Richard is plotting treason. He has been bought by King Louis or he supports the rebellious Archbishop Becket. His very first concern will be to deal with his own house sage, who will detect his change of loyalty at once. Were I that man, I would either stop him by myself, or at the very least I would report his misconduct to the sheriff, or even the king’s regent, the earl of Leicester. Either action would be a betrayal of my lord, of course, but surely petty treason is a lesser crime than high treason? So we must assume that Lord Richard has now hired a new sage, and they are both engaged in some deep, dastardly plot against the king.”
Sir Neil nodded glumly.
“Again, if I were that sage and cooperating in my lord’s perfidy, then I would make sure I was put in charge of security, and I would inspect every visitor very carefully. Even if a guest had been invited to come and join the plot, I would not trust him until I was sure of him. If anyone dropped in unexpectedly, I would be on him like a hungry flea. The longer the conspiracy has been underway, the greater the risk that the authorities have heard of it—as they now have, you say—so the tighter they must set their precautions. You must expect this to be true in Lincoln.”
Neil scowled and drank from his bottle. “I told you, most of my men know nothing of my real purpose.”
“They know that you rode to the sea as if Satan’s own hounds were after you, managed a very fast crossing, and have ridden directly here, more than halfway across England. Your men are even now lounging around downstairs chattering with the baron’s men, and no doubt grumbling about how hard they are being treated. They will do the same in Lincoln.”
“Good point. I must warn them not to talk about our journey.”
I shook my head. “And I, as the nefarious chief of security, am at once suspicious of this unnatural reticence, so I enchant their ale or mead to make them babble their stupid heads off. Or I do it to you. It would be easy: Adept Eadig could fix it for me. Your plan will not work, sir! If you barge in on Constable Richard as you are planning, and there is indeed a conspiracy, you won’t see another dawn.
“Or else,” I added before he could protest, “the enchanters will boil your brains to make you harmless. You will forget your toilet training and ever after be happy to play with kittens and marbles.” He stared at me in horror. “That is possible?”
“Given enough enchanters cooperating, almost anything is possible. If you think the rack or thumbscrews are painful, I could convince you otherwise—me as a traitor’s accomplice, you understand, not me personally. Honest, godfearing enchanters do not meddle in black magic. But honest, godfearing men do not go around murdering people, either, and there are lots of murders.”
I was feeling very happy about Eadig’s attack on the crow by then. Had it not been for that, I suspect, Sir Neil d’Airelle would have refused to believe me, and I might have had to watch him and his entire escort ride to their deaths in Lincoln. As it was, the results were likely going to be very bad.
After a long, hard stare, he took another draft of wine and wiped his mouth with his wrist. He was not drunk, but his head was not as clear as it should be. I could see him mounted on a sixteen-hand destrier and armed with a fourteen-foot lance being very good at skewering five-foot peasants, but cloaks and daggers were not his weapons.
“It might not be that bad,” I continued. “The villains may simply wipe all suspicion out of your mind, so that you will hurry back to His Grace and assure him that he has no cause to worry.”
To Sir Neil the prospect of deceiving the king was worse than anything, as I had known it would be.
“So what do you propose, Sage?”
At last!
“First, leave your train here. Go alone, with just your squire and perhaps one man-at-arms. We shall have to think up a way to explain why you are passing through, because Lincoln isn’t handily on a road to anywhere. Could you realistically have been making a social visit on Baron Everard here, and be looking for a boat out? Lincoln is on the Witham River, which is navigable to the sea. You can be hoping to sail to London.”
He thought about that, probably wondering how his peers would accept his going in without armed support: was that a laudable act of courage or being dishonorably sneaky? To men of war, reputation is everything. At last he nodded. “Continue.” “The baron here would give you a letter of introduction, no doubt, and you could expect hospitality until a boat was found. Meanwhile you inquire around, as does your squire.”
Neil nodded, warming to the idea. “And I could locate Sir Courtney!”
“Who’s he?”
“The old campaigner I mentioned, the one who wrote the letter to the king. He has some sort of job in the castle—drilling squires in the care of weaponry or something like that.”
“Very good,” I said, wondering if Neil could possibly be subtle enough to pull this off.
“I can reasonably take a page with me, too. That boy of yours will do splendidly. He could gossip with the other Saxon brats and the servants in a way Squire Piers and I cannot. If those people don’t have an inkling as to what is happening, then nobody does.”
Hell’s vomit! He was subtler than I had expected. Now it was my turn to wonder about honor—could I decently expose young Eadig to this sort of danger?
“I must think about that, sir. Sending children into harm’s way can seen as a breach of trust.”
“Which
matters more, your duty to the boy or your loyalty to the king?” He smirked as if he had caught me out.
“I cannot imagine them ever coming into conflict, sir. I am sure Eadig would jump at the chance of such an adventure, but dare you trust your own life and your mission to a child’s discretion? If he lets slip the slightest hint that he is a spy, then he will drag you and your squire down into the pit with him.”
Personally, I would sooner have trusted my life to Eadig than Neil himself in such a situation, but I had scored another point.
Neil scowled. “And you, Sage? What do you do in this—stay safe here in Nottingham and chant spells?”
“Certainly not. My leg limits the roles I can play. I cannot reasonably pretend to be a thatcher, for instance. But Lincoln is a large town. Although it has no academy that I know of, there are certain to be enchanters earning a living there, and they will have opinions about Lord Richard’s sage. I can easily claim to be a newly graduated sage looking for employment.”
Neil yawned. “I need to think about this. I’ll decide in the morning.”
I pried myself from the grip of the saints and martyrs, and took my leave.
chapter 6
early next morning, I was again summoned to the guest room, where I found Sir Neil occupying the chair and Piers shaving him. Viewing the two of them so close together and without their helmets, I could see the fraternal likeness quite easily. Then, just as now, it was common for a knight to take a younger brother or cousin as a squire.
Also present, looming large against the light and wearing a dark expression, stood Sir Vernon Cheadle, Neil’s deputy. Vernon was a big man with a big mustache—not a trim garnish like Piers’s or the king’s, but a massive black hedge across his face. Everything about him was large and heavy except his eyes, which were small and untrusting. He was not a man I should want as an enemy, and probably not as a friend either.
