Sword of shadows, p.19
Sword of Shadows, page 19
The horses seemed to hurry their pace as they neared the makeshift stables. The three dismounted, and not seeing a stableman – for there was none – Crispin led the others in unsaddling the horses, freeing them from their tack, and securing them in stalls with hay.
They entered the great hall and went directly through a door that led to a roofed passageway to the kitchens. Jack took things in hand by pushing forward and resting his hands on his hips as he looked around at the disarray. ‘What this needs is a good scullion.’ He began cleaning up, shifting wattled crates and wooden bowls aside, and checking the sharpness of the knives.
Kat made herself busy by feeding the fire at the hearth, placing a trivet near the flames and shoving a hanging kettle out of the way.
Crispin checked the pantry for food. It was a narrow room with a window at the far end. He shivered at a draft and realized the window was open. He pulled it closed and looked about on the shelves and hooks. He grabbed an empty basket and began filling it with what he felt Jack could prepare; butter, a dead rabbit, an onion, and some leafy greens.
When he emerged and presented them to an admiring Jack, he nodded and asked Kat to fetch them ale or wine from the buttery.
After first setting a large iron pan on the trivet, Jack commenced skinning and cleaning the rabbit and chopping the onion. Kat returned with a jug and three cups betwixt her fingers. She poured generously and gave the first wooden goblet to Crispin, then one to Jack, and kept the third for herself.
She hovered near Jack until he told her what next to do. All the ingredients went into the pan and sizzled in the butter with a billow of steam wafting up into the hearth’s flue.
Sitting back, Crispin drank his ale, watching his apprentice and his … and Kat create a meal. He almost felt like a lord again … except that he would never have been in the kitchens and fetching for his servants, though he had done his fair share of cooking for his lord, the Duke of Lancaster, when they were in the fields of battle.
‘It will be ready very soon, sir,’ said Jack.
Kat seemed to be keeping her head down and helping Jack where she could, staying quiet. Crispin knew she had begun life as a servant and had masqueraded as her betters. She had gotten so good at it that she seldom slipped into a lower accent, having mastered speaking with a palace tone, like Crispin. Why was he fascinated by such women? Was it some flaw in his character that he found most attractive women of low estate who climbed higher by sheer will and intellect? There was Philippa, of course, foremost in his thoughts and his heart. But there had also been, only briefly, Livith, a scullion. Then Julianne, a physician’s daughter. And how could he ever forget Alyson of Bath? A merry woman, she had even asked him to marry her. Perhaps he should have. Though he would have been her sixth husband … or was that seventh? He smiled as he drank, remembering her. The smile faded when he recalled Anabel, the tailor’s daughter. But the smile renewed again when his thoughts fell on sweet but lusty Avelyn, servant to a famed alchemist.
As for his noble betrothed of long ago … well. He thought he had loved her, but it was best not to think of her at all.
He sighed. There were ups and downs with such relationships, as brief as they were. But he never regretted them. Only Philippa. The one he should have married. The only other to have asked him … and the one to whom he should have said yes.
Kat brought the food on a platter and offered him a wooden bowl to serve him first. They didn’t bother going to the great hall. The kitchens were good enough for them.
Kat watched him avidly as she spooned the meat and vegetables. For once, there was no artifice to her doings. She simply served him, served Jack, and herself last, as if they had been doing so all these years. They ate in silence, each with their own thoughts. When he raised his glance, she was watching him, but flicked her gaze away when he caught her.
Crispin finished scooping up the last from his bowl with a wooden spoon, set it aside, and took up his goblet. Kat jumped up to pour him more ale. ‘Your thoughts on the matter are welcomed, Jack,’ he said, belly full.
Jack cocked his head and picked at the bones in his bowl. ‘Master Crispin, I tell you truly. I don’t know. If you believe it isn’t Jory Gloyn from Prasgwig – and there’s never been a more guilty man in my estimation – then I’ve got naught on my mind. Though the Penhalls … They are a strange lot. I wouldn’t put it past Jowan Penhall for the sake of his honor.’
‘Where is your employer?’ said Kat suddenly, wiping her lips daintily with the edge of the tablecloth.
Crispin had been so far into his thoughts that he nearly forgot about the man. He supposed he should have sent Kat for him to join their little feast. ‘Yes, where is he?’
Jack sprang from his seat and trod across the floor to the door. Crispin could hear him march through the covered passage and up the stairs. He might have imagined hearing doors opening, some voices and other movements. But presently, Jack reappeared, somewhat out of breath.
‘Master, Sir Regis tells me that Master Teague set out again to explore. Looking for …’ He glanced at Kat. ‘The … thing.’
‘Oh, the thing,’ she said with a smirking smile.
Crispin rose. ‘It’s best we go after him. Make certain there is no trouble.’
‘Do you think there will be, sir?’
‘I don’t know. But I have a strange feeling about it all.’
He thought about what to do about Kat, but she wasn’t likely to sit quietly in a room upstairs until they returned. She’d be off to her own mischief. Best that she come with them, even if she discovered what they were after. Better that she be safe.
That’s what he told himself.
TWENTY
They saddled their horses again and headed out on the road toward the chapel. Crispin rose in his seat, searching the landscape for the little cart.
‘There, sir!’ cried Jack, pointing. Well past the chapel on its rise, Teague’s cart stood out among the green plain. His shaggy horse browsed, unaware or indifferent to the sheep encroaching on the same pasture.
They rode out on the lane until it dissipated into a sheep track.
When they arrived at the cart, Crispin didn’t see Teague anywhere. He hopped off Tobias and walked around the cart and horse. ‘Master Teague! Where are you? Master Teague!’
The sea below was wide and blue. The view from the top of the mound showed him nearly the whole of it until its edge disappeared into the dusky distance. He felt the spray on his cheeks, heard the sound far below of the waves crashing against the shore, and sea birds, as always, winging and crying overhead.
‘Master Guest, I am here!’
Teague seemed to pop out of the ground like a rabbit. Crispin wandered toward the mound and saw that the man was standing in a ditch. No. It was something like an entrance to a tunnel. ‘Master Teague?’ He rested his hand on his sword hilt. His relief that he was unharmed didn’t affect his irritation. ‘I thought I made it clear that you were to cease these investigations.’
‘Oh, but I didn’t see the harm. I was quite alone.’
‘What makes you think so? There may be spies watching you even now.’
Teague closed his hand on the collar at his throat and swiveled about. ‘Spies?’
‘It may be, Master Teague. How can I protect you if you go on alone? We still don’t know why those men of the castle were murdered.’
‘But I thought it was because of Bennet’s doings, or possibly a love triangle that was the reason. Have you not found the killer yet?’
Then Teague’s eyes fell on Kat.
‘What is she doing here?’
‘It was unavoidable. I must keep my eye on her as well as you. Together, you are proving to be quite a handful.’
‘I do apologize, Master Guest,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t resist. Remember what we discovered in the chapel? In the sanctum it abides,’ he recited, ‘the undercurrents of time do guard the hollow of Caliburnus, until the King rises again. Well? You see?’
‘See what?’
‘What is here, Master Guest. Look. This hollow! In its sanctum!’
The idea of finding the sword Excalibur had never left him, and each mention of it pulsed his heart with renewed warmth. Teague gestured toward the tunnel, down the worn stone steps and into the dark hollow. ‘But what is this place? Surely you did not dig it out.’
‘No, come and see!’
He couldn’t help but come around the mound and follow the eager man down the hallowed steps. The cold blast of wind from the sea whistled through the curved tunnel, for it was open on both sides, with an arched ceiling, hollowed out of the solid rock. ‘But … this was here all this time?’
‘Yes, Master Crispin. And I fear – if this be the place – we might be too late.’ Teague laid his hand on the stone walls, fingers tracing strange markings.
He thought it was Jack at his elbow but it turned out to be Kat. ‘What is it we are looking for?’
‘You foolish woman,’ said Teague, and then proceeded before Crispin could stop him. ‘The sword Excalibur. It is this prize that we seek.’
She stared at Teague, looked at Crispin, and then burst into laughter.
‘And this is why you must never take a woman with you on your adventures,’ said Teague, with the sourest look Crispin had yet seen him wear. ‘They think every one of your journeys is foolish and imprudent.’
She covered her mouth, but there was still laughter behind her hand. Her bright eyes were turned toward Crispin. ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to offend you, Carantok … but truly? I cannot see that such a thing can be found after so long a time.’
‘Is that right?’ said Jack, his hackles up. ‘Then what about all them relics Master Crispin is always finding, eh? They’re far older than King Arthur. And they are found.’
Kat put her fingers to her mouth, resting that elbow on her other arm. ‘Well, you have the right of me, Jack. If the relics of our Lord can be found, why not this sword?’
It seemed that Jack suddenly realized what he had defended, and his triumphant expression was short-lived.
‘Well that’s done it,’ grumbled Crispin.
‘You’re truly looking for Excalibur,’ she breathed. And by her eyes, he knew what she was thinking.
‘And certainly you must know that I will not allow you to run away with it.’
‘Who? Me?’
‘Yes, you. I know how that grasping little mind of yours thinks.’
‘Grasping!’
‘Peace, the two of you,’ said Teague. ‘I know Mistress Pyke has a nimble mind. Perhaps she can help us after all.’
‘It’s a mistake,’ warned Crispin.
She pushed him hard out of the way and endeared herself to Teague. ‘That is a very generous attitude, Carantok.’
He blushed and fumbled a bit before he straightened and put his hand on the strange markings on the tunnel’s walls. ‘These, my dear Master Crispin, are rudimentary Cornish.’
‘Indeed.’ Crispin stood over his shoulder and looked. They were very rudimentary, for he could barely discern the letters. It could almost be a mistake … or random figures, so worn were they.
‘Merlin might have left this here.’ Teague’s fingers moved lovingly over them again. ‘But this indicates that the sword … is not here. Nor was it. I do not know what this place was. It might have been a burial crypt.’
‘Oi!’ cried Jack, leaping out the doorway. ‘They buried someone here?’
‘It doesn’t appear to be so. I see nothing to show it. No weapons, no jewelry. Of course, it might have been scavenged years ago. Though …’ He walked toward one of the arched entrances and looked it over. ‘It doesn’t appear that this was sealed. And every burial mound I have ever found was sealed. To protect it.’
‘Wait,’ said Jack, moving toward him. ‘You … you rob graves?’
‘Pagan graves, Master Jack. Lost souls.’
‘Still dead bodies, though,’ he muttered.
‘There is no dead here,’ said Crispin to reassure him.
Kat moved toward the etched markings and ran her fingers over them, studying them intently. ‘Merlin could have scratched this into the stone, you say?’
‘Oh, it is very likely, Mistress Pyke. Oh, the stories these stones could tell!’
‘Hmm. What was that quotation you said earlier, Carantok?’
‘I found it very nearby. It goes like this: In the sanctum it abides, the undercurrents of time do guard the hollow of Caliburnus, until the King rises again.’
‘What is “Caliburnus”?’
‘It is another name for Excalibur.’
‘Oh. That is very intriguing.’ She gnawed on a finger and wandered out into the sunshine, looking north over the blue-green sea. ‘Undercurrents of time.’ She walked away from the tunnel and kept looking out to the sea. ‘Until the King rises …’ She turned and looked east. Crispin joined her and gazed outward too. They were surrounded by sea. And with its churning waves eating at that rocky coast, someday it might be a true island, cut off entirely from the mainland. Only a narrow land-bridge connected this part of Tintagel to the jagged coastline of Cornwall now. But it was crumbling, even as they watched it.
She turned back toward that mainland, eyes searching, mind working. He wished he could peer into that mind of hers. It was like a set of cogwheels; each tooth fitting into the next and turning every wheel, like a mill, moving ever forward.
‘What is another word for “sanctum”?’ she asked of the wind. Though Crispin assumed it was him she was asking.
He frowned, thinking. ‘Refuge. Retreat.’
‘Haven,’ said Jack.
She whirled and stared at him. ‘Haven,’ she said. ‘Haven.’ Looking toward Crispin she then twitched her head at Teague. ‘Haven,’ she said with emphasis.
Teague’s expression slowly blossomed into amazement. ‘By all the holy saints,’ he breathed. ‘She’s right! Why have I never considered?’ He walked in a circle, talking to himself, arguing, agreeing, lifting an arm into the sky toward the east. ‘The King rises again …’
‘Master Teague,’ said Jack with an exasperated breath. ‘What are you talking about, sir?’
He whirled on Jack, grabbing his coat and hauling him in close, and in his excitement, dropping the honorifics. ‘Don’t you see, Jack? Haven!’ He dragged him to the edge of the hill that seemed to drop away but was just high enough to look down far below to the sea. He pointed toward the small crescent of beach and even smaller and narrow place where the sea met the bit of shore. ‘Down there. It is known as the Haven. It has always been thus known. And there are caves down there. Caves carved out by the sea! The undercurrents of time! Caves that have been explored countless centuries before. And nothing was ever found. But I have a hunch, an instinct where these things are concerned. And I think this is where we next need to explore.’
Jack pushed his hands off of him and yanked at his cote-hardie to take the wrinkles out. ‘I get your meaning, Master Teague. There’s no need to thrash me about, sir.’
‘My apologies, Jack. But can’t you see? We must go down there.’
‘Hold, Master Teague,’ said Crispin, raising a calming hand. ‘Let us consider. As you say, the caves below have been gone through for centuries, as this place, this tunnel has. What makes you think anything could still be down there? And … much as I hate to think it, we assumed the murders were about Roger Bennet and his amorous ways. But maybe this is not true. Maybe it was all about the hoards of treasure you have unearthed. That would certainly account for the death of Thomas Dunning. Though just how, I’m still not certain. But with the two deaths, I am leaning toward this other reason. And the only reason worth killing for is treasure. Perhaps this puts you in peril, Master Teague.’
‘Nonsense!’ He waved his hand. ‘If that were the case, shouldn’t it have become a problem well before now? This isn’t my first time here, Master Crispin. But I tell you what you can do. You leave the treasure hunting to me, and I shall leave the killer hunting to you, eh?’
Teague hurried away toward his cart, climbed on, and began busily turning it. Crispin sighed and looked toward the part of the castle they could see on the island, its crumbling walls, the portcullis that was still raised, and on to the sheep grazing along the hillside, the low huts of stone empty and devoid of human life.
If the murders were all about the treasure – and he wasn’t certain if he was willing to rule out the other just yet – then those in the castle were still suspect too.
It reminded him that he had yet to speak with the other caretaker. Just where could he find him?
TWENTY-ONE
Crispin was torn. He wanted to go with Teague and venture down to the beach to see these caves … but there was still a murderer at large.
Jory Gloyn was a thief and no doubt the village was meting out its justice. But what of Menhyr Rouse? He had not yet exhausted his enquiry into him. And the Penhalls. He trusted Jack’s work, but he wanted to talk to them himself, see them, test them. Any man who aspired to knighthood held dear his honor, and a man who dishonored his daughter might need to be dealt with.
As much as searching for Excalibur intrigued him, he knew that his responsibility lay with going back to Treknow. But what to do with Kat?
‘Jack, you and Mistress Pyke should accompany Master Teague.’
Jack turned on his saddle. ‘Eh? What are you going to do, then?’
‘I’m going back to Treknow for more enquiries.’
‘I’ll go with you, sir. It is my place to be with you.’
‘I need you to watch over Master Teague. And Mistress Pyke.’
‘Aw, sir …’
‘Jack. I need you to do this.’
His apprentice heaved a world-weary sigh. Crispin leaned over and patted his arm … and to speak confidentially. ‘Do not be so enamored of Teague’s doings that you ignore your surroundings. I haven’t ruled out a plot from the remaining men in the castle. Nor do I trust …’ He tilted his head toward Kat.
