I did not attempt to slip away, into the Redweld forest, until three days later. Anne had mysteriously taken to her apartments, with much excitement and animation, to embroider in secret. Wherefore, I know not, but she punctuated my dismissal with a mischievous wink and a sphinx-like smile ere she barred the door to my inquisitive eyes.
She had enlisted the help of three other ladies, the wives of household knights, as well as the five ladies' maids; in short, she had cloistered every single one of Nørrdragor's female inmates, herself included, into her solar. I knew only that they were thus sequestered and accoutered with needles, thread, yards of fine silks and sundry damask swaths. I knew not what her motives were or why she prevented my inclusion, but Christmas was not so far off that I discounted the thought that she might be embroidering gifts for us all.
I abandoned my useless conjecture and decided rather to take advantage of her distraction by bolting into woods at the earliest chance. I covertly snuck into the courtyard after donning a dull brown working gown, the better to discourage attention and thwart prying eyes, but the long sleeves of my kirtle did very little to mitigate the bone-jarring cold, therefore I marched back upstairs, with disgruntled strides, to retrieve my thick cloak.
It was a beautiful, russet, woolen cape with an oversized hood that was lined with luxurious, vermillion fox fur and trimmed in lush, almost black, sable. It had been a gift from Anne and I treasured it dearly for the remarkable warmth it afforded in the most inclement of weather. I had also grabbed my herb basket in the event that I was stopped and subjected to an inquisition. My ready answer would be that I intended to collect greens and herbs or, supposing I was waylaid on my return, had already done so and was now returning, by which point I would display a full basket.
Upon reaching the bailey again, I heard the distinct clamor of swords and raised voices coming from the direction of the tilting yard and headed thither to investigate. I rounded the corner of the knights' quarters and observed a group of men, mostly knights and men at arms, gathered around a dueling pair and laughing boisterously while some placed bets — including, by the look of it, the little castle cleric.
My eyes sought Lucian out almost immediately. He stood out singularly like a magnificent destrier amongst a pack of mules. Ha! I giggled, realizing that Caine and Carac too were amongst the group and that I had just as much as compared them to mules. I found the analogy befitting, Lucian's that is, for he was both frightening and beautiful. I could therefore appreciate his allure in the same moment I detested it, and myself for finding him thus.
"Move your feet wider apart and turn your right foot out a little more, Frederick!" Lucian was barking orders at Godwin's squire who was, I now noticed, sparring with Carac: a veritable giant in comparison.
Poor Frederick, I mused. I bethought myself almost empathetic to the poor little devil, but since he liked nothing more than to lord it over Thomas and I, I shrugged and decided to enjoy his discomfort.
My gaze was soon drawn back to Lucian who now stood lazily to the side; he was near enough to issue instructions to Frederick, but still maintained sufficient space betwixt himself and his pupil so that he was no hindrance to the pair of duelers. He wore only a linen shirt, as per usual unaware of the cold, that laced a little at his chest but concealed none of his granite-hewn physique. I stood transfixed — like one of the giggling, silly milksop maids. The thought irritated me.
Aye, he is pretty enough, I conceded. But he is still no less a surly arse!
"Adjust your sword! Protect your hand, lest you want it sliced from your wrist," Lucian snarled in annoyance.
Freddie, as Thomas and I were wont to call him for we knew how he loathed it, had lunged forward in a moment of rash eagerness, but Carac had arrested the younger man's blow with a mighty stroke of his own. Carac immediately deflected left, taking advantage of Freddie's blade that was still impaled in the dirt, to swing his sword across his body in a powerful arc and thereby mitigating a counter attack by placing his sword between himself and the squire. Carac then slammed the broad, unsharpened side of his weapon against Freddie's unshielded belly; an oversight I'm sure Frederick now regretted as he'd left the right side of his torso completely unprotected when he'd twisted to the left. The lad was wearing chainmail, but I knew, judging by the walloping he was receiving, that he would be riddled with bruises come suppertime.
"You are dead...yet again!" Carac's grin was as wide as if he were a hound in the chicken coop. I nearly laughed at seeing how furious young Frederick became.
"Concentrate! You need to work on your agility; you move about as swiftly as a bowl of gruel." Lucian walked forward and then, to emphasize what he'd said, slapped the flat side of his longsword against the back of the squire's leg.
I had only been here a short while, but had since counted one and twenty bruising hits. I watched eagerly as the next round of drills and instruction began.
"Bend your knees a little more, keep your elbows in a little closer to your body and, for God's sake, stop stretching your sword out; find your balance!" Although Lucian's voice was evenly modulated, I heard each word as though I were right beside him instead of hiding at the other end of the courtyard; for my hearing was that of a jackrabbit.
I caught myself admiring the effortless way he demonstrated to Frederick how best to wield his sword, each stroke adroit and powerful, and then I scowled — vexed anew; because my features, I was certain, had just been pulled into a look that was tantamount to adoration. That would not do! He deserved no such thing from me.
Lucian adjusted the young man's hold on the longsword: 'twas named thus for the long cruciform hilt that could easily accommodate a two-handed grip and was best suited to hewing, slicing and stabbing at the enemy. I shook my head and concentrated once again on what was yet being said within the sparring circle.
"Patience, Frederick! You might only ever get one chance and your erstwhile blunders have thus far cost you your life...thrice!" Lucian moved away, inching backwards as he added a few last words. "Now keep Carac on point, and do not be hasty." He paused a moment, Frederick's tension a palpable force. "Engage!" said he at last. The two instantly resumed their battle games by circling each other like menacing cockerels.
I noticed how Carac watched the younger man with keen patience, his cunning smirk so intimidating that I nearly wept for the lad. Nay, not really. 'Twas just desserts and Freddie was in desperate need of being brought down a peg.
"Stop dancing around him!" Lucian pinched the bridge of his nose in disfavor.
"I'm trying to distract him," his pupil repined nervously.
"Well you look like you're prancing around a maypole!" Lucian muttered, which had Caine bursting into laughter behind him, obviously enjoying his brother's trenchant tutelage. "Keep your torso aimed at Carac, watch his movements and counter his attack; right before strikes!"
Eventually the anxiety became too much for the squire and he leapt at Carac. Their swords crossed, each blade bisecting the other midway, and Frederick began straining and pushing hard against Carac's superior strength without much result. The giant played with the squire a little longer afore twisting his wrist; so his sharp end abutted Frederick's flat side. Carac slid his blade up so that the weaker tip of Frederick's sword now lay against the strongest and thickest part of Carac's: near the hilt.
Using the added leverage of an elevated grip to overpower the younger man, Carac made as if to plunge his blade down into Frederick's ribs but stopped inches from that vulnerable quarry. The point, so to speak, was made; much to Freddie's everlasting chagrin.
"How many times must one man die!" Carac's heavy guffaws rumbled around the yard, as per usual joined by Caine's. Lucian came over to slap the boy on the back in commiseration; or at least I thought it might be, but there was no pity displayed across Lucian's apathetic visage. He seemed perversely, even from this distance, rather irked.
"Well, your technique is utterly..." Carac paused as he tapped his chin.
"Wanting?" Freddie offered miserably.
"I was going to say shit!" Carac chuckled. "I daresay, I've seen better control on one-legged drunk!" The other men joined his roaring merriment. "You need to find your flow and control the fight." A crestfallen Frederick merely nodded at Carac.
"Aye, and turn your environment to your advantage," said Lucian. "Carac easily maneuvered you around so that the sun was in your eyes instead of his."
"Yes, my lord." Frederick dropped his shoulders glumly.
"Chin up, lad." Caine had by now sauntered in to add his two pennies. "There's always the potatoes in the scullery that need hacking." He slapped the boy's back heartily. "That'll put your sword arm to good use!"
"And as I recall," Lucian rejoined, cuffing his brother therewith over the back of the head, "that was where you spent most of your days when you weren't tripping over your sword like a mewling leveret." The repartee between the brothers promptly set the men off again.
I myself snickered quietly, both hands over my mouth, and — I'm ashamed to admit — appreciated Caine's epic set-down, for he was always so cock-sure and full of unwarranted arrogance. But my future brother was unabashed and chortled like a loon, thence conceding the point with an amiable shrug. He was, strangely, never chagrined whenever he was bested in wordplay.
As I contemplated the hour, a little gust of wind came burbling around the building and brushed playfully up against my back, as if urging me forward, before flicking my hair casually into my mouth and eyes and carrying dried leaves into the would-be arena like a whirling dervish.
Without warning Lucian's head snapped up and his eyes collided directly with mine as though I had as good as shouted his name across the yard; which I most certainly had not! I felt the blood drain out of my organs and suffuse my pale, chilly cheeks with crimson heat ere I immediately turned on my heel and scuttled away like the devil himself was at my back.
It was apt, for some days I imagined they were one and the same: Lucian and Lucifer.
❆
I emerged from the postern tunnel with as much care as I had entering it, which is to say I held my breath nearly the entire way so that I might better hear any sneaky pursuers over the manic commotion of my protesting heart; if indeed there were any pursuers. There, fortunately, were not. I sighed and scrambled down the little incline, swinging my empty basket to and fro, while I picked my way towards the obscure path we'd followed before.
Glancing at the clear wintery sky overhead, I was relieved to note that the sun was still high. I would not be missed for a few hours yet and could be home before supper; with no one the wiser. Though I could ill-afford to dally, I did pick what fruits and herbs I found along the way — I must have an alibi after all.
Some wild garlic, field mustard, chicory and crab apples made their way into my basket, as well as some hazelnuts, rose hips, elderberries and blackberries, which I ate carefully lest someone see my black fingertips and thereby realize I'd been in the forest. I would thereby be caught red-handed...or black-fingered as the case would be.
I marveled at how quickly summer was fading, though it only ever stayed a short while. The snow would arrive erelong, but till then I enjoyed the verdant beauty of the spruces, larches, pines and fir trees with earnest appreciation for there was a parched sort of winsomeness about the woods, if one were of a mind to admire the red and brown carpet of desiccated leaves and pines. I myself never tired of the maroon blush afforded by the ever present blood birch as it slowly dyed the forest in red.
At length I reached the towering walls and the strange, portcullised gatehouse. A crow sat watching me with interest from the branch of a nearby spruce, cocking its black, glassy eyes curiously as I passed beneath it.
"Nosey little thing," I berated it with a shake of my head.
Ho! What's this?! The pot calling the kettle black? was it's swift rebuttal, or so I imagined, but fortunately it deigned to take its leave. It cawed loudly and took flight, leaving me to my unsavory exploration.
When I had first seen the structure, the dearth of sunlight had shrouded the walls in a frightening, eerie gloom, but as I beheld it now I realized it was not the gloaming that had evoked the unease within me, but the walls themselves. It was as if a palpable, sinister miasma clung to the stone like lichen to ancient, decomposing bones. These walls held a sordid secret, I was sure, and I was determined to hear them tell it.
I had no key, but it required none. As I laid my bare hands across the damp, iron bars of the gate, I pondered my only option: I would attempt to operate the winch myself for there was no other way to enter, however, that was easier said than done. It took me nigh on half an hour before I had merely lifted the gate a few inches, but they were precious inches indeed. No wonder it had taken more than one stalwart man to see the job done. No slip of a girl should have accomplished what even I had just done...but I was not an average woman.
The iron stalactites, at the bottom of the gate, had lifted from their sheathes enough that I might squeeze through the gap of the tapered teeth at the very bottom.
I hunkered down to begin the task of wriggling my body through the space; one might remark that I was somewhat of a contortionist. It was a hidden talent of mine, I supposed. I bent my torso and stuck my head through the gap, mindful of the sharp edge grazing my ear. Next came my shoulders and arms and finally my legs: I did this with painstaking progress whereby I twisted myself into impossible angles, slowly maneuvering all the way through, the tightness at my hips and breasts not withstanding. At length, I reached the other side...whereat I gaped incredulously.
The walls were made of dry-stack, stone blocks, as was the outer facade, which meant that each masonry block was flush against the other and crafted with such deadly precision that it, therefore, provided no footing with which to climb up.
Only the portcullis was latticed and mountable, but hopeless therefrom as a result of there being an impassable fifteen or so feet of steep rampart above that. It was certainly a dreary prospect for a criminal indeed, but that was not the least of it, for I saw now what I had not been able to see from the other side of the gate: the interior seemed to be laid out into a manifold network of covered passageways.
It's a maze!
The huge, arched tunnels seemed to lead in all directions and some of the ceilings, in a few of the shafts, were inundated with gaps so that partial sunlight lit a few of the tall passages with dappled, filtered beams. I stood confounded and unable to decide which path to take. Realizing I had come so far only to be thwarted, my shoulders slumped. I could not, and would not, go further lest I be lost to the world as I endeavored to navigate my way through the dark labyrinth; possibly all winter.
I would need to come back with a lamp and something to aid me in retaining my situational awareness for I would need to know my location at all times.
A piece of chalk might thereby do the job? I thought as I leaned with my right hand against the wall that abutted the gate's barbican while I peered into the passageway closest to me.
"Ouch!" I ripped my hand away.
Something sharp had dug its way painfully into my index finger. I bent down to have a better look and then abruptly jumped back in horror. There, imbedded in the mortar, was a torn-off piece of somebody's blood-encrusted fingernail; in fact, there was more than just one. As my eyes adjusted to the shade, I became aware of more details.
There were long, deep serrations running diagonally and vertically across the stone. The marks reached all the way down to eye level and lower to where the jagged fingernails had become fixed, as if someone had desperately tried to scale the walls in an attempt to be free.
Why climb an insurmountable wall? I felt the cold fingers of trepidation cloying at my neck and decided it was time to leave; in any event, there was nothing more for me to see here until I had the aids I needed.
The crow once again made an appearance. I had by this time emerged from under the iron bars, but I now ignored it pointedly. It had evidently been keeping to the shadows, watching my doomed attempts with cheerful diversion. I stuck my tongue out at it, in much the same way Thomas might have done, and worked the winch back into it original state, listening as the great iron chains dropped the gate easily back into place. Would that the lifting had been as easy as the closing.
Grabbing my basket, which had not fit through the small gap, I charged down the path as the crow followed overhead. The hour it had taken to arrive at the labyrinth had seemed like mere minutes, but my jog back felt like an eternity. Eventually I made it back inside the bailey, my brow damp with exertion, and circled around so that I might enter the keep via the garden. Nonetheless, my egress was interrupted by a powerful frame blocking my way. I would have recognized it anywhere.
"Where have you been, Aria?" There was a dangerous edge to Lucian's question.
I had stopped breathing and could now hear my blood thrumming wildly in my ears. And I was sure he could hear it too.
⭐️🌟