by Dave Duncan
His side of the barrier was outfitted like a sage’s sanctum, crowded by two oaken chests, a huge desk, a couple of stools, a bench, two candelabras, and a row of no less than five lecterns standing tidily along one wall. Why five? Was this where the castle choir practiced?
No, the larger space beyond the bars was a dungeon, completely barren of furniture, but equipped with various iron staples along the three outer walls. Neil and Piers were sitting on the floor at the far end, tethered there by iron collars chained to two of the staples. They had manacles on their wrists and their only comforts were a slop bucket and two water jugs, set between them.
Eadig went over to the barrier and held his lantern high while he viewed the pathetic sight. Neil had a swollen eye. But what sort of sadistic jailer would make his prisoners sit on cold flagstones, without as much as a heap of straw to take the chill off? Summer heat never reached this far below ground. Both men looked frozen.
“Well done, Ereonberht.” Sir Neil sounded a lot humbler than usual. To be rescued by a Saxon brat would hurt almost as much as being captured in the first place. “You’d better not stay, though. He promised he’d be back.”
“Where are the keys, sir?”
“They took them with them. They might be upstairs, I suppose.”
A sage could open locks, but they didn’t teach varlets, squires, or even adepts that sort of spell.
“Didn’t see them, sir. That other room up there is warded summit horrible. Sage Durwin might be able to clear it, but not me. Let me look here.”
He hurried back to the two chests. Neither felt as if it were warded, so he opened them. One held only some writing equipment, spare candles and a tinderbox, while the other contained clothes, all of them black robes of various sizes. They stank horribly, so he shut the lids and went back to the jail wall. “Nothing there.”
“You’ll have to hide somewhere until morning,” Neil said, “then try to get out of the castle. Just walk out with your head up, as if you did it every day.”
“But have a story ready,” Piers said, “in case they ask, though sentries are usually more worried by people coming in than going out. You didn’t steal any of the constable’s silver goblets, did you?”
He was brave to be making jokes to cheer up the Saxon kid, but he wasn’t mentioning that the traitor sage knew that Eadig was somewhere in the castle, and would warn the guards to look out for him. It was going to be as hard for him to sneak out as it would be for others to sneak in.
Neil said, “Remember to look for Durwin at the west door of the Cathedral after mass on Friday morning. Tell him what’s happened, and remind him he is to ride back to Nottingham and report to Sir Vernon.”
Great! This was still only Wednesday, and was Eadig going to lope along the road beside him, while Bon Appétit remained locked up in the castle paddock?
But Eadig forget his own problem when his arm grew tired of holding the lantern high, and he lowered it. It was only then that he noticed the floor between him and the prisoners. Clearly marked in white paint on the dark slate, almost filling the whole space, was a pentacle.
He said, “Oh, my God!”
The brothers d’Airelle said, “What?” in unison.
“That’s a pentacle!”
“Even we warriors know that,” Neil snapped. “Enchanters mark their doors with pentacles.”
“But we never put them on the floor! That’s a sign of black magic, raising demons, Satanism.”
Piers said, “Listen! Someone’s coming.” But Eadig had already heard the drum’s urgent clamor.
chapter 12
eadig raced back across the room to the desk, set the lantern on it, and dived underneath. He scrambled back against the wall, making himself as small as possible, pulling his cloak around him, and tugging his hood up to cover his flaxen hair. Then he whispered, Hic non sum, and resisted a temptation to look at his hands to see if he truly was invisible. He was quite well hidden even without the spell, unless anyone deliberately came looking for him. The drumming faded away until it was no louder than the beating of his own heart.
Would the newcomers know that the lantern had been left upstairs and couldn’t have come down to the cellar by itself?
The staircase creaked as very heavy footsteps slowly descended and then were followed by more. The first man walked over to the gate in the bars, and waited for it to be unlocked. He was enormous to start with, and carried another man over his shoulder like a sack, so that he had to bend almost double under the low beams. The strain on his back must be horrible.
Then Sage Quentin arrived with a lantern and a bunch of keys. Being tall himself, he had to stoop to avoid the beams, and he was tiny compared to the first man. The gate swung open.
“Dump him in the corner over there,” Quentin said.
“That’s Francois!” Sir Neil shouted, scrambling to his feet in a clatter of chain. “What have you done to him?”
“He was stupid enough to argue with Odell, here. Never a wise thing to do. He’ll have a serious headache when he wakes up. If he doesn’t wake up, it won’t matter much anyway, not where he’s going.”
The knight and his squire murmured prayers and crossed themselves in a rattle of chains. The giant Odell went where the sage had pointed and unloaded Francois as if he weighed no more than a feather bolster, but laid him gently on the flagstones, and lowered his head carefully, as if wishing not to hurt him further.
“Now you can go and wait upstairs,” Quentin said. “If we need you, we’ll call. You did well. I am pleased with you.”
The giant uttered a grunt that sounded like pleasure at being praised, and shambled over to the staircase. He was still bent far over, and now dangled arms like twin oak trees. He was the biggest man Eadig had ever seen, seven or eight feet tall maybe, broad and thick, like a tun barrel on legs. The stairs groaned as he went up.
Eadig shivered and hastily repeated his Hic non sum incantation in case the shiver had lifted the spell.
Another man came down and placed something on the desk. Then he went over to the dungeon, and so came into Eadig’s view, and predictably it was Corneille, the adept with the thick black beard. The one who had put the constable to bed. The sight of him reminded Eadig that his own cape was hidden in his pack. He certainly hoped it still was, because the traitors already knew he had witnessed their attack on Neil and Piers, so they must be eager to catch him. If they had discovered he was more then just a page, they would try even harder.
Corneille said, “So! Sir Neil d’Airelle and his brother, Squire Piers, doughty warriors fresh from the court of King Henry and well suited for our sinister purposes. I have the honor to be your host for this evening’s ordeal. Warriors, do not take offense at my humble garb. I assure you that I am a fully qualified Satanist, although in order to better serve our baleful purposes I prefer to dress as a humble adept. We foresaw five of you heading this way, but only four arrived in the castle. I suspect there’s another one lurking around the town. Meanwhile, where did Ereonberht go, Neil?”
Both Neil and Piers were on their feet now. The chains from the collars were attached to staples set waist-high in the wall, so they could stand, sit, or lie down, but they weren’t going anywhere. There were enough other staples to tether a dozen prisoners, although not all of them were fitted with chains and collars.
“You address me as ‘Sir’ Neil.”
“No, I don’t. Answer my question, Neil.” Corneille was enjoying himself.
“No. You listen to me. I assume that you have rummaged through my pack and found my warrant with the king’s privy seal on it. So now you know that I came here in his name, and you have assaulted my squire and myself and injured one of my men. This is treason. You will hang for that, even if you escape the worse penalties imposed on traitors.”
“Shut up. You told the constable that you had been visiting family, so you are no ‘perfect gentle knight’, just a common liar, sneaking into the castle under false pretenses.”
&
nbsp; Eadig thought, Ouch! Neil did not answer, and he probably found the enchanter’s accusation about as welcome as a death sentence. Knights valued their honor above all, even life itself. Of course being caught out in a lie was much worse than the actual lying, but the fairy story had been Durwin’s idea, so Neil would consider this humiliation was what he had earned by listening to clerical trash.
Corneille chuckled at the silence. “You came in response to Sir Courtney’s letter. We know all about that. He died the very night he sent it, poor old fool. Odell never questions an order. He’s as strong as a bull and very useful. If I called him back down and told him to kick you to death right now it, he would do it.”
“Your threats don’t frighten me, Enchanter.”
“And they shouldn’t. I have no intention of killing either of you. You will be too useful to us in other ways.” He turned to his accomplice. “While we’re waiting for the others, let’s begin with the summoning.”
The enchanters came back to the sanctum area, and Eadig was tempted to whisper his protective spell again, but didn’t because he wasn’t sure how many repeats it allowed him. The conspirators had no reason to peer under the desk—at least, he couldn’t think why they should want to. Unless he sneezed. Oh, why had he thought of that? Now he needed to sneeze . . .
After a tearful struggle, he didn’t.
And the conspirators didn’t look. Corneille lit a taper from the lantern and returned to the dungeon to light lamps. There were five of those, one hung right above each point of the pentacle, which confirmed Eadig’s conclusion that this place was used for the performance of black magic. Corneille carried two of the lecterns in there. The dungeon was now much brighter, which ought to make the sanctum area seem darker, and therefore Eadig even less visible. Maybe.
There was to be no demon raising tonight, though—just two chanters and no black robes. The men took up position under the two lamps closest to the prisoners, each with a grimoire spread open on his lectern.
The first spell was a solo, chanted by Corneille. Eadig recognized it as very similar to the one that was used at Helmdon on herb-gathering expeditions. When the leader—Durwin or one of the sages—was ready to return, he would summon the others to him. It worked, too. The compulsion to obey began gently and rapidly became irresistible. But it didn’t work that night, because Corneille was trying to summon Ereonberht of Nottingham. If there was such a person and he was safely home in bed, he ought to be well out of range. Otherwise, he would have a long walk ahead of him. The spell had no effect on Eadig son of Edwin, and certainly would have none on Ereonberht, his brother, who had never been to Nottingham and was now Brother Pious anyway.
Corneille felt the lack of acceptance and turned to frown at the prisoners. Neil was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, and Piers was copying him exactly. Seen like that, they could almost be twins.
“What’s his real name?”
“Whose?”
“Ereonberht is not his real name. What is it?”
Neil shrugged and said nothing.
“The boy has an adept’s cape in his pack, so the fifth man was a sage. He matters more. So what’s his name?”
“You really expect me to tell you that?”
“Yes,” Corneille said. “I am certain you will.” He nodded to Quentin. “Tormentum dolorque.”
Eadig shivered, and not just from the temperature. That was not the name of any spell he had ever heard of, but it did not sound good. The two enchanters found the correct page in their respective grimoires and turned their lecterns so they were facing the prisoners. Then they began.
It was a long chant. Corneille had a powerful, impressive voice and Quentin’s was adequate, especially down there in that cellar, which added excellent reverberation. The Latin was not a variety familiar to Eadig, so he couldn’t quite follow the spell on first hearing, but he made out that the victim was Neilus Airelli Eques, and he recognized both the names of several nasty spirits and quite a few human body parts. When the incantation ended, the two villains exchanged smiles, so they had sensed acceptance.
“The boy, too?” Quentin said.
“Certainly.”
So they sang the whole thing again, but this time directing it at Puer Petrus Airelli. While it was going on, the two victims contrived to appear unconcerned, even bored. They could have little or no idea what was in store for them, but by then Eadig did and he wanted to scream.
“Now,” Corneille said, closing the grimoire and leaning his forearms on it, “you came to Lincoln with a fifth man. A sage, right?”
Neil said, “Correct.”
“And he went to visit Healer Harald Larson, I suppose?”
Neil shrugged. “I never heard that name before. I have no idea where my philosophy advisor is, but I am sure he is obeying my orders. You will find him much harder to deceive than I was.”
“Not much of a compliment. What is his name?”
“Go to Hell and eat the devils’—”
Corneille pointed a finger at him and said, “Viscera!”
The knight’s voice broke off in a gasp of pain.
“Now you understand? His name?”
“Be damned!”
“Probably, but we shall be much happier there than you will be.”
Again Corneille pointed and commanded, and again Neil cried out. This time the torment went on longer. He doubled over, clutched his belly, then began to retch, rattling his chains. Piers tried to go to him and was stopped short by his collar. His brother dropped to the floor, screaming and vomiting by turns.
Corneille lowered his arm. “The pain gets worse the longer I point,” he remarked casually. “The subjects can never faint, although they may tear off pieces of themselves. Eventually they go insane, laughing and asking for more, but we will be careful not to push you to that point.”
Neil struggled to his knees and reached for a water bottle. The collar had bloodied his neck and he had scraped his hands raw on the flagstones.
“Now you know why we didn’t feed you,” Corneille said. “I did bring a light snack along, for you to enjoy after we’re done with this part of the program. Must keep your strength up.”
He added, “So the sooner you tell us what we want to know, the sooner you get your reward. Stand up, you blubbering ninny.” Glaring hatred at his tormentor, Neil obeyed, although he almost had to climb up the cellar wall to do so. He had obviously soiled himself in his ordeal, and Eadig was certain that only the iron chains were keeping the brothers from killing their tormentors with their bare hands.
“What is the name of the sage who came to Lincoln with you?” Corneille asked. “And before you answer, I must warn you that from now on it will be your brother who suffers, not you.”
“Don’t say a word, Neil!” Piers shouted. “I can— Ugh!”
“Genitalia!” That word and a mere flick of Corneille’s finger was enough to make the squire gasp and stop talking.
“The name, Neil?”
“Go to Hell, shitbag.”
“As you wish.” The deadly finger pointed again at Piers, who grimaced and writhed, but for a few moments managed to do so in silence; then his gasps became screams. He toppled to the floor and thrashed there, his howls of agony drowning out even the rattling of his chain.
Eadig wondered how long Piers’s brother could just stand there and watch. It was several minutes before Neil raised a hand and the enchanter lowered his.
Piers stopped screaming and tried to protest, but he had bitten his tongue and his mouth was full of blood.
“The sage’s name is Durwin of Helmdon,” Neil said.
“And the boy?”
Eadig waited to hear, “He’s right behind you, under that desk.”
But he didn’t.
“Durwin always addressed him as Ereonberht, but we picked them both up at Helmdon, so the brat was probably lying when he said he was from Nottingham.”
“Shall we try summoning this Durwin now?” Quentin asked
.
Corneille sighed. “Better not. It’s late, he’s likely in bed. We don’t want him running naked through the streets, or going insane outside the castle gate because he can’t get in. We’ll collect them both in the morning.” He turned to gloat over his prisoners again. “You will have to stay there a while yet, warriors. When my friends arrive, we shall change your minds about a few things. After that it will be safe to strike off your bonds.”
Corneille came out of the dungeon and strode straight over toward Eadig, (“Hic non sum!”) but the drumming barely changed, for all he wanted was a basket that he had laid on top of the desk when he arrived. This he carried back to his prisoners, sliding it the last few feet across the floor, so that he need not go within their reach.
“That’s your reward. I thought you might be stubborn. That was why we didn’t give you anything comfortable to lie on. You’ll have to wallow in your own filth for a while. Tomorrow I will enjoy watching you scrub the floor for me.”
“One day I shall have the great pleasure of cutting out your tripes and making you eat them,” Neil said quietly. “That is a promise.”
“Not if I get to him first you won’t,” his squire mumbled, drooling blood.
The enchanter laughed and did not bother to answer. He and Quentin put the lecterns back with the others, and the grimoires back in the chest. Then they blew out the lamps, locked the gate to the dungeon, and departed.
Eadig stayed where he was while he listened to the footsteps overhead, and he thought he could make out Odell’s heavy clump going to the door with the others. The light from the trapdoor faded to black and he heard the outer door close. He relaxed in a rush then, as if he were melting.
He felt his way out of his dog kennel and stretched to ease his stiff limbs. He said, “Ain’t he a nithing!”
“You did very well, Ereonberht.” That was probably Neil. The brothers’ voices normally sounded very much the same, but now Piers’s would be muffled by his damaged mouth. “You are a very brave young man.”
