Sword of Shadows, page 21
‘You’d be surprised at what I know.’ She grabbed it back and flattened it. ‘There now. Let’s take a look. I see there are notes on the margins. You didn’t make those because they look too old. Hmm. Perhaps you have got something here, Master Teague.’ She patted him on the back, which seemed to annoy the normally good-natured man. ‘My Latin isn’t quite as good as Jack’s, I’m afraid.’
‘Mine is sufficient,’ said Teague with a snort of impatience. He nudged her aside to retrieve the maps once more. ‘One of these is called “Merlin’s Cave”. And that sounds very promising indeed. It is this one on the left.’ He took up the pickax he had brought with him from the cart, rested it over his shoulder, and proceeded forward, keeping his dignity even as he slipped on the spray-glistened rocks and the rising tide flowed into the cave’s entrance.
‘Here now,’ said Jack, uneasy with the sea surging over his boots. ‘Are you certain this is safe?’
‘I haven’t the least idea,’ he said, getting his good humor back. He was smiling again, and splashing toward the dark maw without a seeming care in the world.
Kat had brought a shovel and used it to steady her footing. ‘Are you afraid, Jack?’
He gave her as fine a London sneer as he knew how to give. Lurching toward the cave, he fisted the pike he had grabbed from the cart and stomped after them.
When the waves receded, the rocks and pebbles slid under their feet with a clatter until the wave returned. They stood unsteadily as the waves rolled out again at the mouth of the cave. Jack blinked at the wind blowing in his face. ‘Where is the wind coming from?’
‘The cave opens from the other side, Master Jack. There is an opening through to the other beach.’
He didn’t like the way it felt or the way it sounded, thundering in his ears as it did. He glanced back at Kat but her eyes were shining and she shifted her gaze from the walls to the ceiling and back again.
‘Don’t naught scare you?’ he growled.
She laughed. ‘Very little. But don’t you find this intriguing, Jack? Crispin would.’
‘We don’t like all the same things,’ he said, with a significant look in his eye … that she didn’t miss either.
But she said nothing and moved farther in, lifting her skirts to climb over sharp, jutting rocks. The floor was wet and filling fast from the constant barrage from the sea and the tides. And as they turned the corner, there was the opening, like a wide arrow slit on the other side, well up ahead, bringing in light and more pools of water.
‘It is said,’ said Teague, ‘that Merlin, taking the infant King Arthur away with him from the arms of his mother Igraine, that he passed through here and magically opened the other side to escape the knights sent after him when King Uther changed his mind. They didn’t know it was open and he took a boat and stole away with Arthur. Such a thrilling tale.’
‘Aye. But … where’s the sword, then?’
‘Patience, patience …’ He strode forward through the water, using the pickax to steady himself on the slippery floor. He opened his map; as far as Jack could tell, it was merely an astrological chart with what looked like a plan of the island with marks at various spots where, he assumed, Teague had dug, and lines drawn over it like a sailing chart.
‘According to this – and with that helpful rhyme on my charts – it should very well be here.’
Looking around, Jack scoffed. It didn’t look to him that there was any place to stash gold or jewels, let alone a sword, and anyway, weren’t they going to be underwater soon? The walls were curved, carved out by the sea itself. Some of them were smooth, and some jagged where pieces, no doubt, dropped off. But with the light from the other end, there didn’t seem to be much else to the walls. No secret entrances. No deep niches to hide something. It was likely already gone if it ever was here.
He watched as the water rose up to his ankles. ‘Then, where do we look?’
Teague surveyed the walls, consulted his charts, and raised his head again. ‘I think we should check the walls. Make certain there are no secret niches or hidden doors.’ Teague climbed over a rocky outcropping and stepped nimbly to one of the walls to examine it in the dim light.
Sighing, Jack moved to the opposite wall and tried to see. He ran his hands over the smooth stones, wondering what he was supposed to be searching for, when a shadow overtook him. ‘What do you want?’
Kat stood beside him, searching the walls and not looking at him. ‘Only to talk to you, Jack,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know why you hate me so much. I don’t think I’ve done any harm to you.’
‘You are a seducer,’ he whispered harshly, looking back at Teague, who didn’t seem to hear them and was absorbed with his own investigation of the walls and crevices. ‘You tried it with me, you succeeded with … him,’ he said, thumbing toward Teague over his shoulder, ‘and you done it with my master. I don’t trust you or your motives. That’s why I don’t like you. You’re a thief.’
‘And so were you, once.’
‘And I don’t do it no more, do I.’
‘Because Crispin took you in. Who do I have to take me in?’
‘You’ll find some fool, no doubt.’
‘Jack, Jack. You don’t have to be jealous of me.’
He whirled around and glared. ‘I’m not jealous of the likes of you.’
‘Aren’t you? You and Crispin have a singular association … but so do Crispin and me.’
‘A farthing a dozen is what he has with you. How many men have you bedded?’ He presented his hand like a weapon and began counting them down on his fingers. ‘My master, that man,’ and he flicked his head toward an oblivious Teague, ‘the dead man Roger Bennet … and how many others? You’re nothing to my master. You don’t deserve him.’
Her face had gone pale and her expression blanked. For a moment, Jack felt the prick of guilt clawing at his chest. But he sniffed, thought of all the trouble she’d caused, and the guilt flickered away.
‘Well,’ she said, looking away and back to searching the walls. ‘You’ve certainly spoken your piece on the matter. I suppose it’s too much to ask for Christian charity … and forgiveness.’
The guilt was back and he rolled his shoulders with the discomfort suddenly upon him. ‘I … it’s my job, see? To keep him safe. Who else will do it?’
‘I wouldn’t harm him for the world. You must know that.’
The squirming in his belly wouldn’t cease. ‘Aye, I know.’
‘Then … can we call a truce, perhaps?’
She was holding out her hand to him. He decided – after all he had said, and perhaps rudely, too – that it would have been disingenuous not to take it. He pressed his hand in hers, gave it a shake, and released her.
Two blooms of pink burnished her cheeks. ‘There. We are now comrades in arms.’
‘Comrades up to our cods in seawater, more like,’ he muttered.
Kat suddenly turned to say something when Jack took a step back. But there was nowhere to put his foot. His other foot slipped on the slick rock and he plunged into a jagged pool of dark water.
It wasn’t deep but his bum and his chest were soaking in no time. He splashed about, trying to right himself. Kat leaned over the edge and reached out an arm to help him up. He yanked on it and she flew toward him. He put out his hands to catch her but she slipped past them and landed with a splash beside him.
She cried out and Teague was suddenly standing over the two of them.
‘Master Jack! What are you doing?’
‘Falling into the water, sir.’ He finally braced himself on a jutting edge of rock and maneuvered himself to his knees. But when he gained that angle, the sun from the far opening of the cave shone on something in the pool. It was something wooden that was shoved under the outcropping, effectively hiding it in shadow.
‘What’s this?’ Already wet from head to toe, he knelt and peered down beneath the rock crevice. Definitely something of wood, like a beam. A shipwreck? Surely not a whole ship in this strange little cave. Flotsam, perhaps, wedged under the stiff rock. Still, the strange look of it compelled him to grab it and yank. It wouldn’t move.
‘Let me help you.’ Kat was at his side and she grasped it as well. Together, they pulled until Jack felt it move.
‘Master Teague! Come help.’
‘What is it, Master Jack. Oh!’ He plunged into the water and got down to grab it when a mighty wave sluiced over them and pushed them all back.
Jack spit out the salty water with a grimace. ‘Master Teague, if we stay, we’ll all drown. I suggest returning when the tide is out.’
He could see Teague weighing it unhappily, but in the end – and with another crashing wave raising the water around them another few inches – he had to concede it. ‘You’re right. We mustn’t stay. But …’
‘Master Teague, it’s already been here for hundreds of years. A few hours won’t make any difference. And then my master can be here to help.’
‘Of course. Let’s get you out of there.’ He lowered the pickax and Jack grabbed hold of it with one hand. With the other, he grasped Kat’s skirts and dragged her with him. Sputtering, dripping wet, and shivering, they all made it out of the cave and were suddenly dismayed at how high the tide had come up on the beach. They waded carefully to the higher edge of the shoreline and hiked up to the waiting horses and cart.
Shivering, Teague suggested they return to the castle for dry clothes and the others agreed.
Jack looked back down once they were high enough on the bluffs. Merlin’s Cave was halfway submerged, and so would they have been, had they stayed. ‘God blind me,’ he muttered.
TWENTY-THREE
Crispin reached the outskirts of Treknow and paused. He looked over the little town, considering all the characters in play. Penhalls first, he decided. It would be good to get this over with.
He followed the road as Jack had described – how it turned on a bend. The slate mines were to the left of him, past rolling hills of green, and to the right, he followed the path till a farmstead revealed itself beyond the verge of the road. A gatehouse … unoccupied … a large stone barn, and a two-story manor house with a wide walled courtyard with a well.
He approached, ducked slightly to pass under the gatehouse arch, and dismounted in the courtyard. There was no one to attend to his horse, so he tied it to a rose bush near the entrance, ascended the few granite steps, and knocked on the oaken door.
He waited. No one answered. He knocked again and waited again to no avail. He tried the handle. Locked. Straightening his belt, he strode along the side of the house until he saw a door ajar and peered inside. The kitchens. A woman with sleeves rolled up over her elbows was tending to a pot over the fire. A mound of chopped vegetables and herbs lay on her worktable.
‘I beg your mercy, madam …’
She jumped back, hand on her chest. ‘Oh, how you startled me! What is it, now?’
‘I apologize for startling you. I am looking for your master, Jowan Penhall. But no one was at the front door.’
‘By the saints, what is this house up to? I apologize to you, good sir, for having to come this way to find aught. Bless me. Can I offer you refreshment, sir? A cup of ale?’
‘No, thank you. I am merely looking for Master Penhall.’
‘Well, he hasn’t gone into the village. You might seek him in the cheese hut, or out in the fields seeing to his cows.’
‘Then I shall.’ But before he turned away, he asked, ‘Tell me, on that terrible day when Roger Bennet was killed, was your master here or in town?’
‘And who might you be doing the asking?’
‘Forgive me again. I am Crispin Guest. My apprentice Jack Tucker was here …’
‘Oh, him. He was a most polite young man. He did you proud, sir. He asked much the same thing. Let me think.’ She put a finger to her lips and thought, before the kettle boiled over. She made a screech and took up the hem of her apron to swing the arm it hung on away from the fire. She took up the wooden spoon balanced across the pot and stirred the contents. ‘Where is my head today. I nearly spoiled the pottage. Now what was I saying? Oh, yes. Master Penhall had gone into the village.’
‘To do what?’
She shook her head and frowned. ‘I don’t know, sir. I have little to do with the likes of that.’
‘Could he have gone to the castle instead?’
She rested the spoon against her spotted apron. ‘Well now. I suppose he could have. But I wouldn’t know.’
‘Would anyone here know?’
‘Might be Kenal would know. He often escorts him as his footman. But he’s more used to working with the cows.’
Crispin smiled and fixed his thumbs in his belt. ‘Master Penhall seems to want a proper manor house and attendants.’
She cautiously glanced over his shoulder. ‘I tell you true, Master Guest,’ she loudly whispered, ‘he has airs, he does. But you can’t blame a man what wants to better himself. Nearly married his daughter to a knight, didn’t he?’
‘No, I can’t blame a man.’
‘Here I am talking to you of such. I was told about you.’
His smile faded.
‘You were a knight yourself, weren’t you?’ she went on. ‘Course, them that were born to it are different than them rising to meet it.’
‘I understand that Sir Roger dined here Monday.’
‘He did. I served a nice roasted pullet with a lovely currant sauce, and an elderflower cheese pie for afters. They made much of that.’
‘It sounds delightful. But what happened after the meal?’
‘After? Oh, might you be meaning the terrible row between Sir Roger and Mistress Janet?’
Crispin’s expression never changed, but this was news to him.
‘A terrible thing it was. Enough to char a Christian soul some of them words, I can tell you.’
‘And what of Master Penhall? Did he know about Roger Bennet all that time ago … before Monday, about Roger’s infidelities?’
‘I shouldn’t say. It isn’t for servants to say.’
‘But if you were to say?’
She smiled and shook the spoon at Crispin. ‘You’re a clever gentleman, aren’t you? Well then, if I were to say, I’d say he did. And he wasn’t best pleased. Angry like a storm he was when he first heard about it. Kenal told me that he threw the furniture and broke a pot. But he made Kenal promise not to tell Janet. Though the poor soul already knew. Everybody knew. She reckoned she’d marry him anyway. Noblemen are different from the rest of us.’
‘Some are not so different,’ he muttered. ‘Thank you, madam.’ He bowed, making her titter and throw her hand over her mouth.
He left and stood in the back courtyard, sizing up what must be the cheese hut. This great secret about Roger was no secret at all, it turned out. And Penhall was angry enough to turn over the furniture. Perhaps angry enough to kill … and he had the time to do it.
He strode to the cheese hut and opened the door. Just a woman tending to the cheeses.
Walking past the hut and the stone barn – and poking his head inside in passing just to make sure – he ventured around the corner of the barn and looked out to the hills. In the distance he saw the tangled forest where Prasgwig lay. But in the fields, cows grazed, heads bent downward toward the waving grasses. There were two men among them, standing with staffs. Crispin headed toward them.
They looked up when he neared and never moved from their spots. Crispin raised his hand in greeting. ‘Do I have the pleasure of meeting Jowan Penhall?’
The leaner man stepped forward. Crispin studied him, deciding that such a man could be limber enough to climb up to a roof, if need be.
‘I am Jowan Penhall.’
Crispin bowed. ‘I am Crispin Guest, Tracker of London. I believe you met my apprentice, Jack Tucker.’
Penhall scowled. ‘I met him. And I thought that was the end of it. I’m a busy man.’
Crispin made a show of admiring the cows and the manor house several hundred yards away. ‘Yes, so I see. It is just that I need to get the details fixed in my mind.’ He turned to the other man. ‘Might you be Kenal?’
‘Aye. Kenal Corneys.’
‘Excellent. Well, I don’t mean to trouble you for very long, Master Penhall.’
The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Well then?’
Crispin flicked a glance at Kenal. ‘Perhaps … you might wish to speak with me … alone.’
His breathing had become heavier. He jerked his head at Kenal and the man took the hint, plodding forward toward the house, but looking back suspiciously.
‘Say what you have to say, Guest, and leave us be.’
‘Very well. Where were you the day Roger Bennet died?’
‘I was here.’
‘That’s not quite true, is it? You weren’t here on your estate the whole time.’
He stared at Crispin for a heartbeat before he licked his lips. ‘That’s right. I went into the village.’
‘And did what?’
‘How can I remember? It was three days ago and I’m a busy man.’
‘You don’t recall why you would go into the village?’
‘I said so, didn’t I.’
‘And so it will be an easy thing for me to find witnesses who can attest to that.’
His eyes widened. The staff was lowered into both his hands, parallel to the ground. ‘Why would I need witnesses?’
‘Because, sir, I don’t think you went into town. I think you went to the castle.’
‘I didn’t,’ he said between gritted teeth.
‘I believe I can find witnesses in the castle to tell me otherwise,’ he lied.
Beads of sweat sprinkled his brow. He loosened and tightened his grip on the staff. Crispin was already measuring how far he’d have to step back to avoid it. ‘I … I …’
Penhall swung. Crispin ducked, and girded himself for its return, but when he looked up, the man was running toward the house.
‘God’s blood,’ he muttered, and took off after him.
Crispin pumped his arms, gaining on the man. What was he to do? Tackle him? He wasn’t a lord, not exactly. He didn’t think further of it as he leapt, hands grappling him and taking him down into the wet turf. They tumbled and rolled. Penhall struggled and punched, landing only a few, causing Crispin to grunt with the blows. He managed to roll atop the man and wrestle his wrists together over his chest.
