Sword of shadows, p.12
Sword of Shadows, page 12
‘First,’ Crispin began, ‘I wonder if this is a typical day, where there are no guards at the gate, no guards in the courtyard, and no one to challenge visitors.’
Regis snorted, stabbed a sausage, and brought it up from the pan. It was still dripping with grease; he blew on the end of it and delicately bit into it with bared teeth. He snapped off the piece and chewed thoughtfully. ‘I tell you, Guest. We are out here in this cold, godforsaken wilderness, and not a soul in Westminster gives a damn for us. There was a time when Prince Edward sent his gold and his workmen here, but that day is dead. As dead as Edward. No one has spent so much as a farthing, and our pay is little enough as it is. If my men do not wish to man the gates when there is no threat from outside forces, then I do not command them to do so. They’re all out taking a long shit, for all I know.’
He wanted to kick the man. Wanted to grab his coat and drag him to his feet and spit in his face. To take one’s charge so haphazardly was unacceptable, as far as Crispin was concerned.
But he wasn’t a knight anymore. Nor a lord. Hadn’t been for a long time. He had no status, no name, no say in how this man chose to throw away his honor. He scowled instead and shoved his thumbs into his belt so that he wouldn’t be tempted to punch him. ‘My lord, whatever and however you execute your mission here is surely your business. Can any of your men recall with any certainty who came and went three days ago when Roger Bennet was killed? Can they recall at what time any of them arrived or left? For instance, the smith Menhyr Rouse claimed to be in the stables shoeing horses. Do you recall that?’
‘I do,’ he said, cheek bulging with sausage.
‘And do you recall if he stayed only in the stable?’
‘Yes. He had three horses to take care of, did his job in about four hours, and then left. Some of my men watched him. It was the most interesting thing that went on here. He never left the stable and he departed the castle about None.’
‘Did you note anyone else coming into the castle?’
‘No,’ he said, chewing. ‘But I was at the island.’
‘Doing what?’
‘None of your damn business.’
‘Tell me, Sir Regis, do you approve of Carantok Teague’s doings in the castle?’
Regis poked a second sizzling sausage with his now empty fork. ‘I don’t give a damn one way or the other. It’s foolish. But I tell you, Guest, if I got hold of a gold trinket from the earth, I’d leave this place in an eye-blink.’
‘Treasure is nothing to sneeze at.’
He chuckled. ‘So he claims.’
‘You have never seen any of it?’
He glanced lazily at Crispin. ‘No. Have you?’
‘Some of it.’
‘Would you spend your time traipsing all over the kingdom digging in the ground?’
‘I can’t say that I would.’
Regis fell silent, blowing on the steaming sausage.
Crispin kicked at the floor with his boot, looking at the tip. ‘Getting back to my earlier point, while you were doing … whatever it was you were doing on the island … did you note anyone arriving onto the island as well?’
‘You’d only notice a rider,’ he went on, eating the second sausage right off the fork. ‘They are the only figures you can easily see. Tall enough. Nowhere to hide. Those rolling hills can hide a man on foot.’
‘Yes, they can.’
Crispin waited, but Regis didn’t seem to have more to add. ‘I, er, suppose I can wait for the others …’
‘Wait all you like. As long as it’s in the outer room.’
Dismissed, Crispin crossed to the door and left through it. He sat by the fire for a time before his impatience took him to his feet and he paced, looking from fire to window. Where were these damnable men?
He couldn’t wait any longer. He decided to hunt for them, and failing that, would meet up with Jack and Master Teague again.
He mounted his horse and moved slowly through the upper ward. There wasn’t much to see. But when he turned at the shrill cry of a seagull, he noticed a figure up on the battlement. He was leaning there, looking out to the churning sea. The sounds of the waves crashing against the stony shore were loud here, the sound carrying up from below.
‘You there!’ called Crispin.
The man turned lazily toward him.
Crispin cupped a hand to his cheek and shouted, ‘May I speak with you?’
The man nodded and slowly made his way down. When he reached the courtyard, he sauntered toward Crispin. He was dark-haired with a trimmed beard and wore a leather tunic with metal studs. He walked up to the horse and even allowed it to nuzzle his hand. ‘You’re that man with Teague, aren’t you? Crispin Guest, isn’t it? I saw you when you found Roger.’
‘Yes. And you are …?’
‘Thomas Dunning. Guardian of this stunning castle.’ He waved his arm dramatically, showing the courtyard beyond.
‘How long have you been posted here?’
‘Too damned long. Two years, if you must have a timeline. Why does a man of London find himself in the wilderness of Cornwall? I wouldn’t wish that on any man. Even a one-time traitor.’
Ignoring the remark, Crispin pressed on. ‘Three days ago, when Roger Bennet was supposed to be leaving the castle, did you see anyone enter?’
‘I saw a woman. A comely thing, too. Blonde, willowy. I watched her for some time.’
‘And did she come to the island?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see where she went from here?’
‘No. I was watching the other one.’
‘Another woman? Where?’
‘Not certain if it was a woman. I caught sight of a figure in a cloak and hood, moving across the plain of the island. I was on the battlement and watched for a time. If they aren’t on horseback, it’s hard to keep them in sight. The land dips, you see. Outcroppings that look perfectly flat aren’t. Sheep start to look like people. Hard to tell. It’s an odd place. I don’t care for it. I hate the smell of the sea.’
‘So this person might have met up with Roger?’
‘Don’t know. Didn’t see.’
‘And the blonde?’
‘Lost sight of her.’
‘Did you see when she left?’
Thomas yawned and stretched. Crispin supposed he’d used up the man’s interest. ‘No. It’s the hills, you see.’
‘Would you—’
‘That’s all I know, Guest. I’m hungry.’ He walked away, heading toward the men-at-arms’ lodgings.
Crispin watched him go and threw his arms up in frustration. He wondered if either of the other men could have seen more. But since they seemed to be invisible – and he swept the courtyard with his gaze with an exasperated sigh – he clucked to the horse to move it along, clopping over the flag-stoned courtyard and beyond to the wilderness of the island.
He let the beast walk in a measured gait along the path, and on a whim, urged him downward toward the cliff edge. He wanted to look at the sea, to examine the beach below.
He dismounted when he reached the edge, leaving the reins trailing, and the horse got down to the business of gripping the grass with his big, square teeth and snapping it away from the turf, chewing.
Crispin looked out to the north and to the gray-blue water, churning in swells that seemed to meet the cloud-shrouded sky. Below was a cove of gray sand. They called it the Haven. Surely it was so to a sailor, for the land curved, making it a safe cove, and the waves proved gentler. He saw a stone wall far below that stretched over the shoals. He recalled Teague had called the wall the Iron Gate, where the soldiers of the fortress defended the Haven from the land.
The chalky cliff beneath him swept out like a foundation, and in one place there was a dark arched opening. He had heard there were caves here. This was likely one of them. The shore birds wheeled and spun overhead. Gulls, terns … even a kestrel darted from the cliff face and out over the shore. He watched them for a time before the cliff edge made him uneasy and he walked back to the horse. Once again, he looked upward to the hillocks of the island. There were the ruins of stone structures here and there. Duke Gorlois and then Uther Pendragon must have had a marvelous castle here once, with many outbuildings and prosperous trade. But there were only sheep grazing now. They moved in sluggish flocks up this hill and that. ‘Sheep instead of soldiers,’ he said to the wind. ‘At least you could eat a sheep.’
He mounted again and suddenly felt a prickle at the back of his neck. He turned, eyes searching. Green, rock, sheep, low derelict building. And yet, he had the distinct feeling of being watched. The horse stamped as he turned it in a circle. High on the saddle, he felt he could see far, but it must have been his imagination.
Leaving his musings behind, he climbed the long trail to the chapel, a stone building with a simple porch at the west.
He found the cart in the distance and saw Jack and Carantok Teague milling about it. Jack looked up suddenly and saw him, too, and gave him a wave. Unconsciously, Crispin moved the horse quicker and arrived beside them.
‘Master Crispin,’ said Teague, somewhat out of breath. ‘You have come most timely. Look here! Look at what we have found.’
The sword? He dismounted quickly and came alongside the cart. Teague was lavishing tenderness over some strongbox. ‘Look!’ he said, opening the lid. Gold, silver, and bronze coins, more jewelry. ‘You are an accomplished hunter, Master Teague. I commend you. No wonder you have a charter from the king.’
‘We’ve been searching about the outside of the chapel,’ said Jack. ‘But Master Teague found a secret place behind the altar.’
‘Behind the altar? Master Teague, I am impressed.’
‘Oh well …’ Teague blushed a dark red and dithered at his gown. He was pleased with himself, and rightly so.
‘How did the investigation go, sir?’ asked Jack.
‘The constable knows little. But one of the men-at-arms, a Thomas Dunning, seems to have seen Derwa come to the castle. He did not see her leave, but also saw another figure. Man or woman, he did not know.’
‘Oh! That’s something, isn’t it.’
‘It is. Whenever I can find the other men, I shall have to ask them, but they were nowhere to be found. Even the porter was absent from his post.’
Crispin felt that prickle again and suddenly turned. And yet, there was no one along the plain.
‘They should be ashamed,’ Jack was saying, as angry as Crispin was for their lack of discipline. ‘And they don’t care a whit that one of their own was killed.’
‘It’s curious. I should like to gather them, talk to them. Something is amiss here.’
Jack laid his spade in the cart. ‘I thought it was a jealous husband what killed him.’
‘That may well be, but the lassitude of these men in doing their duty … It does not sit well.’
Jack touched Crispin’s sleeve and dragged him away from the fussing Carantok. ‘Master,’ he said quietly, ‘while we were at our business and right under our noses, mind, I saw another set of muddy footprints in the chapel. Sir, it wasn’t there before, I’m sure of it, for Master Teague and I with our digging had made the first set of footprints.’
‘Another set? Show me.’
Teague was busy looking over his parchments and barely acknowledged Jack and Crispin enter the chapel. Jack pointed down to the floor. ‘See here, sir. Now look. This set changes direction at the window.’
Crispin followed it, touched the mud at the sill, and pushed the window open wider to look out. There was a messy set of footprints below in the mud, as one would make jumping out of a window.
‘When did this happen?’
‘Not more than mere moments ago, sir. I don’t mind saying it gives me the shivers that someone was right here watching us, almost breathing down our necks without us knowing. I dread to think what they could have done to us.’
A cold hand seemed to clutch at Crispin’s heart. That certainly could have happened. And hadn’t he felt the strangeness of someone watching him too?
Crispin stomped out of the chapel and circled it, looking for any indication of someone without. He could see no one along the plateau. But that did not mean that no one was there.
‘I don’t like this place, Jack. It is too strange.’
‘Aye, sir. It is that.’
‘Gentlemen!’ said Teague.
Crispin and Jack exchanged a silent commiseration. Neither of them needed to say that they would not mention the incident to Carantok Teague. They rounded the chapel’s corner. Jack’s horse had gotten loose and had wandered down the hill. He trotted down to fetch the beast.
Crispin decided to take a look in the chapel once more. Strange that there should be such a hidden place for treasure, but he supposed Teague knew his own business well. Odd to go about the countryside – the world, even – in search of lost troves. Why would one lose treasure? But, he supposed, should something happen to Crispin or Jack – God forbid it – Isabel might not know of their own treasure that master and servant had carefully hidden away for their retirement. It might not be found for generations. Perhaps Teague had discovered such things on his travels. He made a note to himself to tell Isabel when they returned, just in case.
He made another circuit of its outer walls, another glance out to the swaying grasses of the plain, and then back to the front at the west door.
He stepped into the cold porch and looked up to the rafters. Spider webs and the casings of old insects hung there. A nest was tucked up in the corner with a few feathers dangling from the matted wad of grass, twigs, and wool. He pushed open the door and stood in the entry. He somehow felt the loneliness he hadn’t in the deserted castle. A chapel, though small, was still a house of God, and when that was abandoned, there was no hope left. Still, there was a chaplain who came and went. He lived in the lower ward on the mainland. Perhaps he felt how lonely it was and did not wish to be an anchorite in such a wilderness.
The chapel was modest in its simplicity. Plaster walls, its paint chipped and faded, the plaster itself grayed from smoke, seemed the only color in the place. The window he had left open seemed to sway in the salty wind. And he told himself he should close it. He walked forward to do so, pulling it shut.
In the grayness of the nave, with its shadowed corners and gloomy ceiling, the worn and cracked rood screen shielding the chancel from the nave, a dark color of something at the foot of the altar caught Crispin’s attention. He made his way past the open window, up the two steps of the sanctuary, and peered around the wooden screen that had gone unpolished for some time.
It took a moment for his mind to make sense of what he was seeing. For curled against the altar lay a man. Under him, like a rug, was a puddle of his own blood, very dark, and very still.
THIRTEEN
Jack pushed the heavy oak door to the chapel with his shoulder just in time to hear Master Crispin say, ‘Good Christ,’ and cross himself. ‘Put everything aside for now, Jack. We have bigger problems.’
‘What’s that, sir?’ Jack moved along the nave. His master knelt just behind the rood screen. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Thomas Dunning is here. One of the men-at-arms. And he is quite dead,’ he pronounced.
Jack straightened. ‘What?’ He rushed up the steps and stood over his master, crossing himself. ‘But how – what – we were only just here!’
‘We are cursed, Master Guest. Cursed.’ Carantok Teague was standing in the doorway, face white.
‘Well, nothing has happened to us. I think, rather, that the men-at-arms at Tintagel might be cursed.’
‘Oh, blessed saints!’ wailed Teague.
Master Crispin didn’t believe in curses, but Jack did. There was magic and faery folk and all manner of evil in the world. But if you prayed hard enough, the Almighty would protect you. He cast his glance toward the dead man. Well, perhaps some did not pray enough.
‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t started digging here …’
‘Master Teague, have you reason to believe you have created the circumstances where these seemingly unrelated murders—’
‘Can’t you see, Guest? It’s all my fault. Because of me!’
Suddenly, the man was a gibbering fool and Master Crispin was forced to stride across the nave and grab him. He slapped him once to strike the hysteria from him. Teague stared at his master uncomprehendingly for a moment before he slumped in his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Teague. When it looked like he was in his right mind again, Master Crispin released him.
‘It is I who am sorry … for striking you.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, sliding down the wall. ‘You did what you had to do. I had lost my head.’
‘You are not responsible for this. Only the guilty party or parties are. You must not blame yourself. Instead, pray for God’s mercy and that we are spared long enough to solve these crimes.’
‘Yes. Yes, I will. And for you, Master Guest, for you are His emissary, doing His will. In my greed, I did not offer to pay your proper fee for your tracking business. And this I will. Never fear.’
Well, that was something at least, thought Jack. His master turned back to the corpse and bent over him.
‘What do you see, Jack?’ asked Master Crispin.
‘He’s a right proper mess. Someone stabbed him in the gut, sir. One … two times. Must have been able to get in close, for I do not see any marks of defense on him or under his nails.’
‘Yes.’
‘And he’s warm, as you said, sir. But getting colder.’
‘And it all happened so quickly. I had only just talked to this man. He must have followed me almost in my own footsteps and I never saw him. How could I have missed him?’ Master Crispin flicked his eyes toward the window that had been open.
‘God’s blood! You think the murderer’s out there?’
‘Not only had Dunning shadowed me, but so did his murderer.’
Without waiting for his master to reply, Jack threw open the window, leapt up and out of the sill, and stood again where he and Master Crispin had stood mere moments ago. He could see no one. Maybe it was ghosts … or demons.
