Sword of shadows, p.3
Sword of Shadows, page 3
‘Richard is not likely to offer forgiveness when his coffers are at stake.’
But the idea that this man might be lawfully or unlawfully cheating Richard out of funds tickled Crispin’s sensibility.
‘Very well, Master Teague. Gold goes to the king. The rest is yours.’
Teague sighed. ‘I’m glad you agree, Master Guest. It is a most fascinating vocation. I’m certain you will find it so as well.’
I’m sure I will, he thought, sitting again and drinking from his cup.
‘One must have help sometimes,’ said Teague. ‘This time, it’s you.’ He drank, eyes dancing with light over his cup.
‘I must admit, I am intrigued,’ said Crispin, thinking it over. ‘I do find history interesting and who wouldn’t like to discover treasure?’
‘You said you were good at finding treasure as a child,’ said Jack, taking a quick gulp of ale as he turned the rusted helm on the table before them. ‘How did you get started in this hunting?’
‘It started as you say when I was a child, Master Tucker, at my father’s own estate – mine now, of course. We have standing stones down in the meadow but within sight of the manor house. As a child, I was always intrigued by them, but my mother warned me to keep away. She said they were put there by the Devil. The local folk said the faeries put them there. But I have since learned that it was likely the ancient druw, as my people call them. You, Master Guest, might know them as the druidae as Julius Caesar himself called them. And there I found my first bits of treasure; bracelets and rings of gold made in a strange style.’
‘Eh?’ said Jack. He looked to Crispin. ‘What is that, master? The … droo?’
‘The druidae,’ said Crispin, fingering his cup, ‘were an ancient people of Gaul and Britain. They were pagan priests and teachers. But it was also said that they were sorcerers and soothsayers. Merlin was said to be one of the druidae.’
‘God blind me,’ muttered Jack. ‘Pagans?’
‘Yes,’ said Teague eagerly, taking a quaff from his cup. ‘They were said to perform human sacrifices. They built huge mannikins of wicker and put poor souls inside and lit them up. So it is said in Caesar’s writings.’
Jack put his hand to his mouth. ‘God’s blood!’
‘When Christianity came to Britain,’ said Crispin, ‘they were suppressed and finally either converted or eradicated.’
‘Oh, but Master Guest,’ said Teague with a merry tone, ‘it is said that they still thrive in the wilder places. Some of my own people claim to have seen bonfires deep in the woods. They believe that the druidae still do their rituals there, perhaps with the faery folk, for it is said that the druw are close to magic as no modern man could be.’
Jack flicked a worried glance toward Crispin. Crispin chuckled. ‘Don’t take Master Teague’s tales too much to heart, Jack. People see all manner of odd things in the woods and they are nothing.’
‘But master, remember when we were near them faery hills nigh Hailles? It made us feel all queer when we saw them. And we heard music from the faery folk.’
Crispin shook his head. ‘I think you are misremembering that, Jack.’ Jack looked to be about to naysay him when Crispin stood. ‘I think it time we get to our beds. We should arise early.’
‘I agree, Master Guest.’ Teague rose and Jack reluctantly followed.
They shared a room with two other men, one of whom was already snoring on his cot. Jack banked the fire and crawled into his narrow bed while Crispin and Teague shared the larger one.
When morning broke with dull sunshine through the clouds, they took a meal, bought provisions, readied the horses, and began on the road again.
It was slow going for days and days. Each night they stopped in a new village or town, rested the horses and themselves, and trudged on again at daybreak. On the twelfth day, it was raining when they finally reached the village of Treknow, a small outpost a few miles from the churning sea. The cart moved sluggishly through the mud and Jack and Crispin were soaked to their skin under their mantles and hoods.
The village was a scrappy collection of scattered houses and shops down two rows that wove along several crooked lanes, fields, a stone church, and the vestiges of a manor in the distance. Teague pointed out the hill where slate was quarried. ‘Has done for centuries,’ he said. And as Crispin watched, there came a wain full of slate pulled by several oxen. The large beasts in their yoke didn’t seem to mind the downpour as they clopped along the stony road and crushed the mud beneath large hoofs.
There was another wagon coming down the road from the other direction. From the colorfully painted sides it looked to be a pageant wagon with traveling players. Even as soggy as he was, Jack perked up on his saddle.
‘Master, do you suppose they are coming to this village to stay?’
Crispin blinked raindrops from his lashes. ‘If they are, I pray that the weather is more amenable to them.’
‘I should like to see them. I always like the plays the guilds put up in London.’
‘Let us hope so. It should be interesting to see what these travelers perform.’
At the mid of the village, they finally came to an inn, a robust structure of stone, with a sturdy story above the ground floor. Teague pulled his wagon into the large innyard and Crispin and Jack got their horses quickly into the stable, giving a coin to the stableman who took charge of the beasts. ‘Give them extra feed,’ said Crispin. ‘They’ve traveled hard.’
The three men hurried in out of the rain, just as the pageant wagon pulled into the innyard. Crispin had to admit to himself that he was just as excited as Jack at the prospect of the players performing. It would be a welcome diversion from the drudgery of the everyday.
Teague secured them a room and, because the inn was mostly vacant, they had it to themselves. They stripped off their cloaks and unbuttoned their damp cote-hardies – draping them before the smoky fire in their room – and moved downstairs to sit before the fire in the main hall, just as the players entered.
They, too, were soaked to the bone, and one by one, they unbuttoned cloaks and mantles. There were a few women traveling with them who looked to be musicians. Crispin eyed one shapely female as she took off her sodden mantle and cast it to a bench. It wasn’t until she turned around that he let out a gasp.
‘What is it, master?’ said Jack, face full of concern. When Crispin didn’t answer, he glanced toward the players with his own, ‘God blind me!’ on his lips.
Auburn hair, blue eyes … Crispin immediately recognized the clever burglar and swindler Kat Pyke.
THREE
Crispin rose, kicking back his stool.
‘Master!’ hissed Jack, tugging on his sleeve.
Crispin took the warning and slowly lowered himself to the seat. Jack pushed a horn cup of ale toward him and Crispin unconsciously picked it up and drank.
He had not seen her in over four years. She had been involved in murder and theft and had unscrupulously used her obvious beguilements to influence men to break the law for her, even murder, though she had claimed that had not been her intention. Yet Crispin, knowing all this, had succumbed to her charms anyway. He remembered her soft caresses, her intense kisses, and the wildness of her lovemaking. And yet, the moment she left him for good, he knew her unrepentance would lead her into still more trouble.
‘Don’t think about it, sir,’ muttered Jack under his breath.
The man was right. But he couldn’t help staring. And in his heart, he hoped she’d look his way …
And then she did.
Her eyes held no recognition in them, scanning briefly over him to skim the rest of the room.
He sat back and gulped his ale and grumbled to himself. So much for that. She didn’t even remember him. And he had thought … Bah! What did it matter what he thought? Until Jack spoke up. ‘She don’t seem to remember you, Master Crispin.’
‘I can see that, Tucker.’
‘Oh.’ Jack hunkered over his beaker and glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘It don’t matter, master. You don’t want to get mixed up with her again.’
When would the lad know when to shut it? ‘We have our own task to contend with,’ he said brusquely, hoping that would be the end of it.
Jack drank quietly with him, until Crispin rose and took himself outside to the privy. He shivered, having left his cote-hardie back in their room, but he hiked up his chemise to do his business when a shadow came through behind him. Suddenly, arms encircled him and a distinctly feminine form clung to his back. He turned and was about to object when lips covered his. He pushed and dislodged the interloper.
‘Crispin,’ said the familiar voice. ‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’
‘Kat,’ he breathed, exasperated. ‘When you saw me in the inn’s hall, I thought you did not recognize me.’
‘What was I to do? Wave my arm about and shout your name? Don’t be absurd.’ She hitched up her skirts and sat on the hole next to his. ‘Truly, Crispin. Sometimes you can be as puzzling as the fools I swindle.’
He glared at her.
‘Mind your aim,’ she said calmly, and he did, finishing quickly and securing his braes again.
She finished and shook her skirts back into place. ‘Come. Let us leave this place. It stinks.’
She took his hand, trotted around the corner of the privy, and pushed him up against the wall. ‘That’s better.’ She hauled him in by his shirt and kissed him again.
He tore away, fastening a harsh glare on her. ‘Kat!’
‘Crispin! Why do you resist? You didn’t before.’
‘That was years ago.’
‘Oh.’ She drew back, putting a hand to her hip. ‘And you think of me no more?’
He shuffled, but paused too long.
‘You have thought of me!’
His cheeks burned and he turned away. ‘It’s not that. But it has been some years.’
‘And now here I am. And here you are. What are you doing here, Master Guest?’
‘Business. My own.’
‘Come now. What sort of business? Has it to do with that man I saw you with?’
‘Yes. And I see you have found your calling. A troupe of players, masking who you truly are.’
She chuckled. ‘Alas. I only play music.’
‘Music? I didn’t know you played.’
‘I didn’t. But I learned.’
‘You always seem to learn quickly.’
‘A woman in my position must. And so I play. I hope you come to watch us. We’ll be doing the story of King Arthur.’
‘How apt. I would be pleased for the diversion.’
‘The play … or me?’ She sidled closer. ‘I hope we can find some place to be alone,’ she said, edging still closer, laying a hand to his chest.
He glanced down at it, at the pale hand on his linen shirt. Which was creamier? ‘We’ll see,’ he said mildly. He hoped she hadn’t detected his heart skip a beat.
‘Oi, Master Crispin! Where did you … oh.’
She smiled at his apprentice. ‘Jack Tucker? Look at you. What a handsome young man you’ve become.’
He pulled uncomfortably at his collar. ‘Demoiselle.’
She looked from Jack to Crispin. ‘Well. We all have places to be. I shall see you anon, Crispin.’ She gave him a beguiling smile and flounced back into the inn.
‘So she did remember you.’
Crispin pulled at his shirt, straightening it. ‘Yes. She simply did not want to appear obvious.’
‘I need not remind you that—’
‘No,’ he said curtly, cutting him off. ‘You need not.’ He pushed past Tucker to find Teague back at the inn. The sooner this business was over with, the better.
It wasn’t long till they all retreated to their room to settle down for the night. And though Crispin was tired, he could not find rest.
In the dark of the night, he rose, slipped on his smoky coat, leaving it unbuttoned, and crept down the stairs to sit in the main hall.
There were servants and others lying near the fire on the floor or on stiff cots, the only light in the room from the glowing coals in the hearth.
He made his way quietly away from the others, and brooded in the corner, just close enough to reap the warmth from the stony fireplace. He hugged his coat about him and couldn’t help but let the varied parade of thoughts tramp through his mind: this venture to Cornwall in which he had no hopes of succeeding; the unexpected and not altogether unwanted appearance of Kat Pyke … which led him to thoughts of his lost love, Philippa Walcote, who had been married to another for so long that their bastard son was now twelve years old and called another man ‘father’.
What a strange life he seemed to lead. And how would it end? Likely in the care of his generous apprentice, of all people. A one-time cutpurse and orphan who had lived at the mercy of the streets of London. He chuckled, couldn’t help it. Maybe his old friend Geoffrey Chaucer should write a poem about it.
But then his thoughts took him to the old days when he and Geoffrey were friends in the Duke of Lancaster’s household.
That was certainly a long time ago, he mused.
‘The mid of night is a time for long-ago musings,’ said a voice at his ear, startling him. He jerked nearly to his feet until the man put a gentle hand to his shoulder. ‘No need to take up arms just yet, young man.’
‘I did not know you were there … or that I had spoken aloud,’ said Crispin, studying the stranger in the dim light. He was an old man with a careworn face and a gray beard flowing nearly to his chest. His gown was dun-colored and patched. A staff lay on a bench beside him.
‘You need not worry over an old man. Besides, I like to sit in the quiet of the dark … and think of old times.’
Crispin snorted. ‘It must be dark indeed to call me a “young man”.’
The old man waved his hand. ‘At my age, everyone else is indeed “young”.’
Crispin had nothing to say to that.
‘You’re a stranger here. What business brings you nigh Tintagel?’
‘I … work for another whose business brings him here. I am from London.’
‘Ah! I haven’t been in London town for many a year. Tell me,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘Is it as fair and as bold as ever?’
Crispin could not keep the pride from his voice. ‘She is as bold and as buxom as always. The Thames churns, the ships sail, the streets hum, and the gates are tall and strong.’
‘Spoken like a kinsman of the old town. And you speak well and in a fine tone. If I did not know better, I would take you for a lord.’
Crispin’s cheer died. He frowned. ‘No, not a lord.’
‘Your tone has suddenly gone bitter. I did not mean to offend.’
Crispin rubbed at his cheek, felt the scruff of beard growing there. ‘I … apologize for my tone, sir. It seems the march of time will never erase my bitterness at my fate. My name is Crispin Guest, if it is at all familiar to you.’
‘Crispin Guest? Ah. Your name seems to spark a memory, though, as I said, I have not ventured to London in many a day. My place is here. But I seem to recall tidings of a knight … who is no longer a knight from treason … and yet lives.’
He grunted his reply. His gaze never wavered from the fire several feet away.
‘Surely it is not that long-ago event that keeps you from slumber. Only two things keep men from sleep: an impending battle … or a woman.’
Crispin chuckled. ‘The latter, I should think.’
‘Yes, the sweetest of embraces. I have not considered a love for many a year. That is a dance for younger men.’
‘I don’t feel so young these days.’
‘Nonsense. You are hale and virile. No wife?’
‘No.’ He tried to keep the bitterness from his tone this time. ‘I don’t think it is for me. I might have been a knight and lord, friend, but I am not wealthy as I used to be. Which is why I am not snug in London and must traipse over the countryside to godforsaken outposts … Oh, forgive me. I did not mean to insult your country, sir, if you are from Cornwall.’
‘I am, but I understand where it lies. Cornwall, in its isolation, its jarring coastline and angry seas, its desolate plains and deep forests are not fit for all men.’
Crispin angled to gaze at the old man in the dark. ‘But you love it, just the same. Your words tell me so.’
‘As any man loves his own country, the place of his birth. And mine was long ago.’ He fixed his pale blue eyes on Crispin. ‘And I have not introduced myself. I am Marzhin Gwyls, one of the caretakers of the castle.’
‘Indeed. My employer will surely insist we go there on the morrow. That is where our work lies.’
‘Well, you are welcomed, then. I will look for you.’
‘Tell me about the place. It isn’t like any castles I am used to.’
‘No, I imagine it isn’t.’ He moved, settled in, and Crispin saw him cradling a beaker in his gnarled hand. ‘The castles you’ve visited are inhabited by servants, knights, workers – the many who must upkeep such a place for their lord or king. Foodstuffs must be stored, animals tended. But there is no grand hall any longer at Tintagel, no great bailey full of activity and men. Tintagel is merely a ghost.’
‘How so? I thought – it seems I had heard long ago that Prince Edward of Woodstock took it under his wing as the Duke of Cornwall, as so many earls of Cornwall had done in the past.’
‘So it seemed. But the challenges of Tintagel proved too much for him as they had for others. It remains derelict, with the minimum of attendants. Caretakers like me – crumbled old men that we are – as well as a few men-at-arms, who are being punished by being sent to such an outpost, and a constable who watches over all; these are the only inhabitants. The rest are ghosts. There are few buildings with roofs, and those are taken up by the men I have mentioned. What could your employer possibly want to come here for?’
Crispin made a sound in his throat. ‘Perhaps he is chasing ghosts as well. Who am I to question it, when I was promised my pay?’
‘You are a practical man, then.’
‘I must be to survive.’
‘Then take heed, Master Guest. The men of the castle are not alone. For there are those outside the walls, too, who haunt the demesne. They are … undomesticated, unvillaged. What one might call wild. In another century, my people would have called them the druw, or as the Romans called them, the druidae.’
