By Sylvian Hamilton (32 page)

'But
Arlen is one of the king's favourites, high in the royal household.'
Straccan paused, considering. 'Julitta is the king's mistress. Is
that why Arlen wants him dead?'

'They're
in it together. They'll have Soulis's blood money, and favour and
reward from the French king too. Arlen's plan is simple. Once the
chase is under way, Julitta will entice the king into some romantic
greenwood glade, out of sight of the others. And then Arlen will kill
him, saying he heard his wife crying for help and thought she was
being raped; he didn't know it was the king until too late. He'd be
believed. With John dead, the French king's son Louis will have
England.'

'Never!'
Miles banged one fist into the other palm. 'He has no right to the
crown of England.'

'Neither
did the Conqueror,' said Blaise. 'But Louis has the pope on his side,
just as the Bastard of Normandy did. The French have papal blessing
for their enterprise against your king, because, so these letters
say, he murdered his brother's son, Arthur of Brittany, and has never
confessed nor done penance. It is King Philip's sacred duty to depose
an excommunicated ruler and lift the Interdict from his sorely tried
people.'

Straccan
gave a derisive snort. 'No one knows what happened to Arthur; and he
was a traitor too. God's grace, he was taken in armed rebellion,
besieging King John's own mother at Mirabeau.' 'Well, Prince Louis is
married to John's niece, Blanche of Castile,' Blaise said, tapping
one of the letters with his finger. 'It is intended he shall rule
England in right of his wife.'

'It's
a mongrel claim,' Straccan said hotly. 'And there's the little Lord
Henry who is rightwise king when his father dies. What do they plan
to do with John's children? Are they to be slaughtered, like the
young Scottish heir? King John must be told of this!'

'King
William also,' said Blaise, returning the letters to the casket. 'He
believes Soulis his friend.'

'We
should divide the letters,' Straccan suggested. 'You take those that
concern your king, and I'll take those that concern mine. It will
save time. I don't want to be kept dangling about the Scottish court.
I just want to take Gilla home.'

Larktwist
came in. 'The guard says Soulis is asking for you, Sir Blaise,' he
said.

'Come
to his senses, has he? Well, I suppose I must hear what he has to
say.' Blaise got up stiffly, swaying.

'Are
you all right?' Miles asked. 'You've gone a funny colour.' I’m
all right, just weary. What about you, boy? You took a bad fall.'

'Just
bruises. May I come with you?' 'Curious to see the great warlock?
Come on, then.' Straccan yawned hugely, 'I can hardly keep my eyes
open,' he said. 'Lie beside your little lass,' said Blaise gently.
'You can surely rest awhile, now all is well with her. The boy and I
will see what our captive warlock wants.' The vault under Skelrig was
like any other, dark, damp and smelly. 'Get lights,' said Blaise. The
guard brought two crusies and hung them on hooks in the wall. They
cast a wan and spluttery light over the soiled bloodstained prisoner,
who sat cross-legged on the wet stone floor and scowled at them.
Miles looked curiously at him. There were dark blotches in his cheeks
and his face looked oddly lopsided, one eyelid drooping, one corner
of his mouth pulled downward. There was plentiful 218 219 grey, even
some white, in his rumpled hair. He looked, Miles thought, thoroughly
nasty but not dangerous. 'You have no right to hold me,' Soulis said.
He spoke with slight hesitation as if he had trouble managing his
tongue, but his words were clear enough. 'What authority have you
here? I have done you no wrong and I am not your enemy.' 'As to
that,' Blaise said, looking hard at him, 'a traitor is every true
subject's enemy, and a warlock is the enemy of God and all mankind.'
'Traitor, warlock? What nonsense is this? You're mad! I am a friend
of King William and, believe me, you will pay for this outrage,
whoever you are!' 'I am Blaise d'Etranger." 'Ha,' sneered Soulis
with vast contempt. 'That old heretic! I thought you were dead long
since.' 'Not yet, Lord Rainard. Do you want food or drink?' 'No.'
'There is no leech here to tend you, but I will take the arrowhead
out if you wish.' 'Don't touch me!' Spittle ran from the sagging
corner of his mouth, but he seemed unaware of it. What do you mean to
do with me?' 'We will take you to your friend, King William, with the
proofs of your treason and sorcery.' 'There are no such proofs.' 'We
have your letters,' said Blaise calmly. 'And the statements of the
Lady of Arlen, and your man de Brasy.' 'Forgeries! Lies! I give you
one last chance. Release me, or, I swear, you will wish you had never
meddled with me.' 'We'll waste no more time down here,' said Blaise
to Miles. 'It's a bit chilly and does my rheumatism no good. He has
nothing to say worth hearing.' They unhooked the lamps and opened the
vault door. 'Wait,' de Soulis cried. 'Is it day or night?' 'It's all
the same down here,' said Blaise. 'But you'll see the sun again, My
Lord, I promise you, from the scaffold.' 'I shall be laughing when
you cry mercy,' said Soulis viciously. 'This coming night my demon
will rock your reason from its pedestal!' 'What did he mean, about
his demon? And what's happened to his face?' Miles asked, when they
had bolted the vault door and were climbing the steps. T think he's
had a stroke. It smites upon one side only; folk call it the
half-dead disease. It has damaged him and he is weaker than he knows.
If he has some evil in mind or hope of escape, he'll be helpless
alone. Lucky for us his bowmen turned against him. As for his demon
... I wonder ...' Frowning, Blaise leaned against the stone sill of
an arrow loop and looked out at the clouds and bare hills. 'I think
I'll just ride out to the stones again now, and have a look round.'
'You can't,' Miles protested. 'You've not had the clothes off your
back, nor any rest since we got here.' 'It's not far, boy, and I can
ride well enough. I'll not be long.' 'I'll go with you.' 'You won't.
There's nothing you can usefully do. I just want a good look at the
place in daylight, to see what's lying around. You'd get in the way.'
'I won't. I'll stay wherever you tell me while you get on with
whatever you want to do. But, I mean no offence Sir Blaise, you are
tired and, well, not as young as you were. I'm going with you. That's
it, and all about it!' 'Damn your impudence!' The stubborn old man
glowered at the stubborn young one. Miles shrugged and looked
belligerent. After a moment, Blaise laughed. 'Very well! But you will
do exactly as I tell you. If I say silence, you won't utter. If I say
stay, you won't budge. But if I say go, then, boy, promise me, you
will obey me.' 'I promise.' 'Well, if you're coming anyway, go and
find the biggest hammer in this place.' 'Hammer?' 'Just bring it
along.' 220 221 'Where is Sir Richard?' Miles asked, as Larktwist
helped him on with his boots. 'Sleeping like a baby. Got the little
girl in his arms, both of them in dreamland, and that dumb lad has
curled up in the straw alongside.' 'He's a good boy,' said Miles.
'Give me my leather hood, and here, can you get that buckle round the
back? Thanks.' He stamped his feet comfortably into his boots and
settled his sword belt. 'Where you off to?' 'Sir Blaise wants another
look at the stones.' 'Rather you than me.' 'Bring the hammer,' said
Blaise. They left the horses hobbled at the foot of the low hill and
climbed, batting at flies and thrips, to the Nine Stane Rig. Just
before they reached it wan sunlight escaped through a split in the
clouds, and Miles's spirits, depressed by the dismal place and
memories of last night, lifted a bit. In sunlight, the stones lost
much of their brooding menace. They had seemed vastly tall in the
mist and darkness but were now seen as grey-blue granite flecked with
quartz, nothing like the reddish local stone and not much taller than
a man and a half high. Eight were roughly similar in height, depth
and breadth. The ninth, the King Stane, taller and tapering, had
fallen long ago into the circle and lay pointing to the west. The
grass inside was trampled and in one place dark with blood. The
brazier, toppled by the bowmen in their flight, lay on its side,
coals spread across the charred turf. Fragments of glass phials lay
in an oily stain. Bending to sniff cautiously at it, Blaise saw
something else lying in the grass: a broken neck-chain from which
hung several small reliquaries. Each bore the incised name of a
different saint. Twisting the lid off one, he emptied a scrap of bone
into his palm. Was this Soulis's armour against whatever demons he
hoped to summon? Stowing the necklace in his belt pouch, Blaise
stooped to the crushed cage and ran his hands over it. I I The
headless carcasses lay in a sodden heap, just as they had last night.

'That's
odd,' said Miles, squatting by the remains.

'What?'
Blaise was walking from stone to stone, pressing the palm of his hand
to each one.

'No
foxes. You'd think they'd've been at this lot by now. No flies, even.
Come to think of it, there's none here in the ring at all, though
there's plenty outside.'

'Hmmm?'
Blaise wasn't listening. He crouched by one of the stones, his hand
splayed on the rough glinting surface, his expression absorbed.

‘
I
said, nothing's been eating these. No foxes.'

Blaise
looked at him and got up quickly. 'What did you say?'

He
came over to the heap of carrion and looked at it. 'No flies.'

'That's
what I said.' Miles looked worriedly at the old man. 'No foxes, no
flies, nothing. It's queer.'

'Will
you fetch my horse?' Blaise asked. 'Just lead him up here gently. See
how far he'll come.'

The
horses were in the usual cloud of flies, flicking their tails and
stamping. Sir Blaise's black gelding, an elderly dignified animal,
walked willingly enough up the hill as far as the reach of the
stones' shadows, where it stopped abruptly. Miles chirruped
encouragingly, but the gelding laid its ears back and showed the
whites of its eyes.

'Take
him round the other side,' said Blaise, squinting up at the pale sun.

On
the west side, the shadows lay inside the circle and the animal
walked to within a yard of the stones before balking. Blaise came out
and tried to lead it forward, but it pressed back hard on its hind
legs and would not move. Blindfolding had no effect; it still
refused. Blaise mounted and urged it on. The animal's skin began to
quiver, its legs trembled, it squealed and reared, and almost threw
its rider.

'There,
there, Saladin!' Blaise soothed it, turning the horse away from the
stones. 'Before you take him back down, smash that thing to pieces,
will you?" He kicked the stone trough. Miles grinned, spat on
his hands and raised the hammer.

'What
now?'

'Take
my horse down and wait there for me.' As Miles began to object,
Blaise went on, Tear lingers here, and he smells the blood. Horses
are wise enough to shun it. Go on with you. I shan't be long now.'

'Why
are there no scavengers?'

'The
place is polluted. It must be cleansed. Go on, take the horses. I'm
coming.'

Miles
led Saladin down to where its stablemate whickered anxiously in
greeting. But the big gelding was quite recovered and began cropping
the grass as if nothing had ever alarmed it. Presently the old man
came down the hill, and they headed back to Skelrig.

It
was about two hours before sunset, and the rain that had threatened
all day now began in earnest. Miles had been wetter this year than
ever before in his life.

'I
shall have to come back alone,' said Blaise as the tower came in
sight.

'We
can come again in the morning,' Miles offered, ignoring the old man's
last word.

'Tonight,'
said Blaise. 'And, bless you boy, but this time I must be alone.'

'Why?
What did you find back there?'

Blaise
looked very old and tired. His face was ashy and drawn, his lips
mauve. 'That is what Soulis meant. They didn't finish what they
started. They opened a gate, God help us, to summon something.'

'What?'

'A
creature, a being, you might call it a lord of hell.'

'Jesu
protect us!' Miles crossed himself three or four times and devoutly
kissed the Blessed Host which his uncle had given him and which he
wore round his neck. 'But it's gone, surely, back to hell!'

'What
is hell?' The old man murmured, as they approached the tower.
'Another place than this, a world where God's Writ doesn't run,
inhabited by beings we cannot comprehend. And sometimes perilously
close to our own. At such times--'

'
The solstice,' said Miles.

'Aye,
boy. At such times, my old teacher said, it is possible to pass from
one world to another, through a gateway such as Al-Hazred opened.'

'Back
there.'