3
Almost as Henry Fitz-Matthew spoke, Bosc came trotting around the corner of the keep, leading Bay. Silvas didn’t have to look. He heard Bay’s shod hoofs on the cobblestones and knew that Bosc would be with him, scurrying to keep pace. Silvas watched the steward’s eyes. Fitz-Matthew hadn’t completely recovered from the shock of the Glade, and here were two new blows for him to absorb. He must have been told about Bay, Silvas allowed, though rumors could scarcely do justice to Bay, and there was no way that Fitz-Matthew could have anticipated Bosc.
“He’s no demon, Master Henry,” Silvas said steadily. Fitz-Matthew jumped as if he thought the wizard had read his mind. If so, let him keep his delusion, Silvas thought. It may make him easier to deal with later.
“I have n-n-never seen his k-k-kind before.” Fitz-Matthew stepped back, closer to his own horse.
“Not all that is unknown or different is evil.” Silvas loaded his words with what authority he could muster without preparation.
“And your horse?”
“Is a horse. Bay is quite a steed. You’ll not find his equal anywhere.”
“I can believe that!” Fitz-Matthew blurted that without a stutter.
Bosc handed Bay’s reins to Silvas, then ducked into the nearest gate tower, keeping Bay between Fitz-Matthew and himself as much as possible, hardly giving the stranger a chance to see just how different he was. Silvas smiled as the tower door slammed. Bosc would not discomfort himself by thinking of an outsider’s eyes staring as he ran back toward the stables. He took the circuitous route to spare himself, not the visitor.
“He comes from a distant land, Master Henry,” Silvas said. Fitz-Matthew was staring at the door Bosc had gone through. “Far beyond the land of the paynim even, where few crusaders have dared to wander.”
“And you have traveled to this distant land?”
“I have traveled to many distant lands,” Silvas said evasively. He mounted Bay. Fitz-Matthew mounted his own horse, and frowned when he saw just how far above him the wizard now towered.
“Shall we be going, Master Henry?” Silvas asked calmly. “I’d not like to keep your master waiting.” Once more he added just a hint of stress to your. “It would hardly be polite.”
“As you say, Lord Wizard.”
“Stay close as we cross the drawbridge,” Silvas advised.
Fitz-Matthew was plainly relieved to return to familiar surroundings. Silvas watched Fitz-Matthew as they rode, though without seeming to. His higher vantage allowed him considerable freedom, even though the steward kept looking up. It was an uncomfortable position for Fitz-Matthew. It reinforced the feelings of inferiority that everything about the wizard seemed to encourage.
I but do the will of my lord, Fitz-Matthew told himself. He was Sir Eustace’s voice in the village, throughout the fief, passing on his liege’s orders, often sitting in judgment in Sir Eustace’s court, with his lord’s full authority to settle disputes among his vassals. In one fashion or another Henry had served Sir Eustace all his life, and served his father before him. Sir Eustace’s father had died following the old king off to the crusades when Eustace was but fourteen years of age and Henry but five years older. Henry had been in service to the Devrys as long as he could recall, first scrubbing pots and running errands in the kitchen when he was so small that he couldn’t move some of the pots without help. Henry had later been page, squire, and man-at-arms to Sir Eustace’s father and then to Sir Eustace, though because of his birth Henry could scarcely hope to win the spurs of knighthood, certainly not in a place like Mecq.
Henry watched the wizard as closely as he dared. He hoped he would have a chance to warn his lord to be careful of this one. Sir Eustace could be abrupt in his words and judgments.
“Ye’ve traveled far?” Fitz-Matthew asked after they left the last of the village’s cottages behind.
“Far and long,” Silvas replied. “My life is one of wandering. My duty carries me to many places.”
“Duty I understand,” Fitz-Matthew said, as much to himself as to the wizard.
Silvas nodded. Fitz-Matthew had more questions, but every time he started to ask one, something made him put it off. The road up Mount Mecq to the castle switched back and forth. Even someone who traveled the road frequently did well to pay attention to the course. Henry accepted that as sufficient excuse for not continuing to question the wizard.
In places Silvas could see the scars where brute force had chipped away the native rock to put in the narrow road. At the switchbacks the rock had been used to build retaining walls to support the upper portions of the turns. In places the way was steep, but mostly the grade was gentle. The builders had taken what advantage they could of natural ledges. The curtain wall of the castle was right above the top leg of the road. Soldiers inside could rain rocks, arrows, or spears down on any attacker over a considerable distance.
“It’s a good location for a fortress” was the only positive thing Silvas could think to say about it. “Is this the only access?”
“Aye, unless ye kin walk straight up like a fly,” Fitz-Matthew said with a pride that betrayed how few castles he had seen.
Even before they reached the gate, Silvas decided that site was the only advantage the castle could boast. One wall overlooked the only route up the hill, if Fitz-Matthew was right. Another wall looked down on the gap that carried the Eyler and the road that paralleled it. An ambitious thane might defend that pass without many men, if he truly had the will to, Silvas thought. But without its hilltop location, the castle would be unable to withstand determined assault. The curtain wall was only eighteen feet tall, and not thick enough to withstand the battering that a first-class catapult could inflict. But no catapult could be brought to bear against the hilltop.
Inside the walls, there was only a small bailey with wooden outbuildings leaning against the curtain wall. The keep was of the same mountain stone as the outer wall, but it was no grand tower, only forty feet in diameter and not much taller. Castle Mecq had never been intended as anything more than it was—the sole seat of a minor knight with a minimal establishment. Silvas spotted only three men on the walls, and two of them were above the gate.
“The pass below is the only connection to the demesne of the Duke of Blethye?” Silvas asked casually as they entered the bailey.
“Not the only connection, but the only near one,” the steward replied. “There’s another route eight leagues to the east, beyond Mount Balq. That pass is good enough for riders, though slow, but very difficult for wagons.”
Fitz-Matthew rode right to the entrance of the keep and Silvas followed. Ten stone steps clung to the keep’s wall—one last defensive gesture. The steward whistled loudly, and a young boy ran out of the stables at the far side of the bailey. The boy stopped short when he saw Bay, and hesitated long enough for Fitz-Matthew to yell at him.
“Come on, boy. No time for gawking. Take care of Marivel and our visitor’s steed.” Fitz-Matthew and Silvas dismounted. The stable boy came toward them, but not as quickly as before. He took the reins of the steward’s horse, keeping that animal between him and Bay. The lad looked up at Fitz-Matthew again, as if hoping for a reprieve.
“Bay is a gentle beast, lad,” Silvas said, smiling reassuringly. “He’ll be no trouble at all.”
“Aye, lord,” the boy said unsteadily, staring at Bay over Marivel. He glanced quickly at Fitz-Matthew again, then walked around the head of Marivel, closer to Bay. Silvas handed him the reins.
“His own groom is no larger than you, lad,” Silvas said. Bay let his head down, low enough for the stable boy to pat his muzzle. The boy did that cautiously, and seemed relieved that Bay didn’t bite the hand off.
“Now off with you, boy,” Fitz-Matthew said roughly. “He’s just a horse, even if he is large.”
Silvas followed Fitz-Matthew up the stairs into the keep. The inside was everything the wizard expected—dark, smelly, and cramped. The great hall occupied the entire entrance level. Stairs led up and down along the wall to other levels. A long trestle table reached almost to the single door. At the other end, a short cross table was elevated only a few inches above the longer board. The few arrow slits in the walls didn’t allow much light to enter. Most of the illumination, poor as it was, came from torches along the walls, flames that added more soot and smoke than light. Chickens and dogs seemed to have free run of the great hall, and the straw that covered the floor was none too fresh.
Silvas halted just inside the door and looked around. Soot stains climbed the walls above the torches. The ceiling was almost a uniform black. Silvas finally let his eyes rest on the one man sitting in the room, at the center of the head table. That had to be Sir Eustace.
“The Wizard Silvas,” Fitz-Matthew announced loudly.
“Bring him,” the figure at the table said. Fitz-Matthew gave Silvas a nervous look.
“This is my lord, Sir Eustace Devry.” The steward tried to cover his nervousness with volume. He gestured and Silvas walked slowly across the room toward the head table. The wood of the tables and of the benches that flanked the lower table were dark and shiny, polished by grease, dirt, and ages of use. Only the small head table had individual chairs, three across the side that looked down at the lower table and one on each end. The chairs were as greasy and old as the tables and benches. Sir Eustace sat in the center. That chair was somewhat larger than the others, but still of simple construction.
Your peasants could hardly live more squalidly than this, Silvas thought as he stared at Sir Eustace.
The knight did look as though he might once have been an adequate warrior. His arms still looked powerful, but the body had gone to flab from too many years of riding a table rather than a horse. The face was developing jowls that were imperfectly hidden by a scruffy beard. Eustace’s nose was bulbous and laced with thin lines of red and blue. He could be only in his early forties, but might easily have claimed another decade from his appearance. His hair was gray and thinning. His face was wrinkled, the skin drawn around his eyes, loose on his cheeks.
“You are the stranger who raised all this smoke in my village?” Eustace demanded as Silvas crossed to the table. The knight’s voice was unpolished and hoarse. He leaned back in his chair and stared openly at Silvas.
“My lord,” Fitz-Matthew said before Silvas could speak. He hurried around to his master’s side. “I was inside that pillar of smoke. There is a castle within, the likes of which you wouldn’t credit, it’s so grand.” Fitz-Matthew tried to whisper, but it was a poor effort. Eustace frowned at him and turned to Silvas again. Fitz-Matthew retreated to the wall several paces behind Sir Eustace.
“You claim to be a wizard?” Eustace demanded.
“I am what I am,” Silvas replied, nodding slightly.
“Where do you come from?” Eustace made no effort at politeness. His questions were all pitched as demands.
“I come from beyond your valley, Sir Eustace, perhaps from beyond your ken.” Silvas let a touch of amusement show in his voice, expecting it to rile the abrupt knight.
“If you fear to say where you’ve come from, perhaps you’re fleeing the justice of someone else you’ve angered.” Eustace gripped the arms of his chair.
“I fear no man,” Silvas said sternly. “I ride my circuit, doing the bidding of our Unseen Lord.” He controlled his voice like a musical instrument, pulling precisely the tones he wanted from it.
“We have our vicar to handle our souls,” Eustace said.
“Souls are not my province.”
“Then why have you come to my land?” Eustace shouted, almost rising from his chair. He stopped himself and settled back, releasing his tight grip on the arms of the chair.
“I was drawn here to provide what help Mecq needs.” Silvas made the statement neutral. He watched Eustace without permitting himself to feel either like or dislike for him yet. Silvas did not judge lightly. Sir Eustace clearly had the training of a warrior, not of a courtier, and his lack of manners was of less import on the marches than in one of the court cities. And even in London his demeanor would not be unique—or even uncommon.
“Just what makes you think that Mecq needs your help? And what sort of help do you think you can provide?”
Silvas opened his face in a cold smile. He knew the effect that smile had on some people. Eustace’s eyes narrowed, but that was his only visible reaction.
“I have spent my adult life traveling from town to village, providing the help of my calling.” Silvas spoke very softly, focusing Eustace’s attention on the words. “I have come to Mecq because Mecq has need of my talents. It isn’t important what I think Mecq needs. I don’t come to impose my opinions. I come to ask what Mecq needs. What would Mecq have me do for it? Once I know what you and your people need of me, I’ll know what I can do for you.”
“And what will this bounty cost us?” Eustace demanded, though he too lowered his voice.
“I accept neither fee nor maintenance from those I help,” Silvas replied.
“What do you take me for?” Eustace shouted. “I’m not an idiot babbling in a pigsty!” This time he did stand and lean toward Silvas. “You want me to believe that you’ll solve all our problems and take no pay for it?”
“Regardless of your belief, I do what I do because it is my sworn duty to our Unseen Lord.” Silvas remained calm. “I need no gold or silver from those I help. The power that lets me help you supplies all of my wants.” Silvas glanced toward Fitz-Matthew, who was doing his best to edge farther away. The steward seemed to have no thought of repeating what he had seen of the wizard’s home.
Eustace leaned farther forward, resting his fists on the table and putting his weight on them. But before he could say anything more, there was an interruption.
“Excuse me, but I just heard that we have a visitor.”
Sir Eustace and Silvas both looked to the side. The woman who had spoken had stopped midway down the stairs from above. She hesitated, then continued to descend, coming over to the head table. Eustace straightened up and softened the scowl on his face as the lady approached.
“This stranger calls himself Silvas. He claims to be a wizard.” Eustace faced Silvas again. “My wife, Eleanora.”
“My lady.” Silvas bowed to her as to an equal. She curtsied and smiled at him.
“If we had known of your coming, we could have prepared a proper welcome,” Eleanora said. She could be no more than half her husband’s age, if that. No great beauty, she was modestly attractive and moved with a certain grace. She had not yet been frazzled by life in such meager circumstances. Silvas responded to her easy warmth with a warmth of his own.
“You’re very gracious, my lady. But, alas, my comings are never announced in advance. I scarcely know myself where I’ll be drawn next.”
“It’s all so exciting,” Eleanora said, ignoring the irked looks of her husband. “I’m sure I’ve never met a wizard of power before. I saw your pillar of smoke over the village. It must reach clear to heaven. That is an impressive demonstration.”
Silvas’s smile grew. “It is but the link my master allows me to my home.” That statement seemed to transfix both Eustace and Eleanora for a moment. The lady glanced upward, unable to restrain herself.
“I have scores of questions to ask,” she said when she brought her gaze back to Silvas, “but I couldn’t, not while you’re standing here without so much as a drink to ease your throat. You will stay to dine with us this evening, won’t you?”
“It would give me great pleasure, my lady, but unfortunately, this evening is impossible. Another time I would be more than happy.”
“Then tomorrow for certain.” Eleanora’s back was to her husband. He was fidgeting, showing his impatience, but seemed reluctant to interrupt her.
“I will be delighted, my lady.” Silvas bowed, getting his acceptance in before Sir Eustace could veto the invitation.
“I am so happy,” Eleanora said. “I hope you will forgive my untimely curiosity, but I simply must ask one question now. What has brought you to Mecq? We are so far from everything here.”
“The marches are where I spend my time, my lady,” Silvas said. “I have come to offer what help I may to ease whatever problems your people have.”
“Oh, that is wonderful news. Obviously our most pressing problem is the sorry state of the river. We need water, good wizard. If you can find us a reliable source of water so our people can grow proper crops, you will have done us a very great service.”
“I suspected that water might be a concern.” Silvas delicately understated the obvious and showed no hint of the relief he felt that someone had specifically asked him to deal with the problem. “I could see that the Eyler is far below its proper level.” His oath was to proffer only the help people asked for. He could not interfere if his help was not requested.
“It seems that it has been like that forever, though of course it hasn’t,” Eleanora said. “I’ve only seen the Eyler fill its banks once, during a spring flood. The troubles started long before I came to Mecq as wife to Sir Eustace.” She looked at her husband. He had seated himself again and let his face go blank.
“My husband has often told me that the river hasn’t been what it should be since he was a small boy. His father led the attempts to dam the river so our people could have the water they need. It was difficult building the dam, and dangerous, and when it was finally finished, the Duke of Blethye came in with his army and forced the villagers to dismantle the dam stone by stone. Lives were lost when the water broke through. The king is too involved with foreign intrigues to pay proper attention to a dispute like this.”
“His Majesty has an empire to see to,” Eustace said gruffly. “He is my liege lord. I am his loyal vassal.”
“And the Duke of Blethye continues to wait for us to act again,” Eleanora said, with just the briefest glance at her husband. “He says he won’t abide any interference with the water supply of his vassals. Not that they need the Eyler. Blethye is plentifully watered by three other rivers, each carrying more water than the Eyler does at the flood, and smaller streams beyond counting.”
Silvas glanced toward Eustace, waiting to see if he would inject another comment, but the knight remained silent.
“So,” Silvas said finally, “the ideal solution would be one that provided Mecq its water without drawing Blethye back through the gap.”
“Or even better,” Eustace said suddenly, “a solution that destroyed Blethye, body and soul, damn his eyes.”
Eleanora and Silvas both looked at Eustace. He was staring at the table in front of him, one fist softly thumping the surface. After a moment Silvas turned back to Eleanora.
“I look forward to dinner tomorrow, my lady,” Silvas said. “But for now I must take my leave. I have work to begin.”
“Do you have any idea how long your work will take?” she asked. “How long it will be before our people have the water they need?”
“I will act as quickly as I may on that, and on whatever else is asked of me, but such a powerful effect requires study first to find the proper way.”
“I am sure you will do what you can,” Eleanora said. “It is so wonderful to have hope at last.”
“Hope?” her husband asked sharply. He finally looked up. “How do you find hope in empty air?”
“Now, my lord,” Eleanora said. “We have a guest.”
Noisy footsteps clattered on the stairway from above. A girl, perhaps sixteen years old, came into the great hall. She didn’t stop until she reached the landing and turned. Then she looked at the group of people as if seeing them for the first time.
“Oh, I didn’t know we had company, Father.” But she didn’t look at Eustace. Rather, she locked her eyes on Silvas. And the tone of her voice put the lie to her words.
“This is the wizard Silvas,” Eleanora said. “He raised the pillar of smoke in the village. Lord Silvas, this is Maria, my husband’s daughter by his first wife.” There could be no more than five or six years between Eleanora and Maria in age, and they looked nothing at all like each other. Eleanora had coarse flaxen hair and light brown eyes. Maria had dark brown hair that was glossy and fine, and her eyes were a very dark bluish-gray.
Silvas bowed his greeting as Maria walked toward him. The girl was attractive in a wholesome country sort of way, though Silvas thought that she might well look plain in a more regal setting. He closed his eyes for a second, as if to banish such thoughts. Maria’s skin had lost none of its youthful glow and softness yet. There seemed to be light in her eyes. There was really no physical comparison, but something about Maria’s eyes called Carillia to mind, just for an instant.
“I was on my way through to the scullery,” Maria glanced toward her father and Eleanora but quickly returned her gaze to Silvas. She took another step closer to him.
“I didn’t know we had company,” she repeated. Her features were delicate and pleasant, her smile warm. But Silvas thought that she might yet have trouble finding a husband. If she wasn’t betrothed by this time … Sir Eustace could hardly provide the kind of dowry that might win her a fitting mate, not from a fief like Mecq, and without dowry Maria might easily end up in a nunnery. Unless Mecq itself became her dowry at the death of her father. A question worth considering, Silvas thought, but not one he could politely ask.
“Well, we do have company.” Her father apparently could not avoid brusque speech, but he did try to smile over the words to his daughter. “If you’re going to the scullery, then on with you, go.”
“Yes, Father.” But Maria made no move toward the stairs leading down to the windowless level below the great hall.
“The wizard was just ready to leave,” Eustace said, staring at Maria.
Her “Oh?” had too much feeling. Eleanora and Eustace both stared at the girl. She hardly noticed them. She was still staring at Silvas.
“He’s coming to dinner tomorrow,” Eleanora said. Maria’s face reddened as she realized what the others must be thinking of her.
“Till then, ladies, it has been my pleasure.” Silvas divided one bow between them, then directed another to Sir Eustace. “Your leave, sir?”
Sir Eustace nodded and gestured vaguely toward the door without looking at the wizard. Silvas bowed again and strode across the room. He didn’t need to look back. He could feel the eyes of the others following him: Henry Fitz-Matthew, still by the far wall; Sir Eustace, who undoubtedly still wore a scowl; Eleanora, who had asked him to tend to Mecq’s water supply; and most definitely Maria. The girl’s stare was almost like a pair of hot pokers pressed against the back of Silvas’s head.