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  “It’s too dark to tell. We’ll look again in the morning, but I think it’s only a dead sheep.”

  The total silence that followed suggested that he was the only one who did.

  The castle infirmary was one of the larger sheds, having room enough for four beds, three chests, and a table. As soon as candles had been set in the sconces and I had located the rags that served for bandages, I began by plugging Kendryck’s nose to stop the bleeding, and then fashioned a sling to support his useless arm—nothing difficult so far.

  “I’ll give you a potion to deaden the pain,” I said. Dwale, maybe.

  “Oh, no you won’t. It’ll put me to sleep and I’ve got plans for tonight.”

  Alwin arrived with clean clothes for the casualty, accompanied by a dry William. Alwin insisted on helping the patient strip off his tunic and shirt. Broken ribs were not an injury I had ever treated before, but I knew the principle and the problem was easily located at a swelling welt on the right side of the knight’s chest. When William saw that, he ostentatiously inspected the knuckles of his left hand for damage. There did not seem to be any.

  I bound up the ribs as tightly as I could. “I think they’re just badly bruised, but I suggest you refrain from strenuous exercise for the next week.”

  Kendryck tried to shrug and winced. “I’ll make her do all the work, then.” Alwin helped him dress.

  I was left with no further excuse for delay. Telling my helper to tidy up after me, I set off to report to the marshal.

  Doctoring Kendryck had taken longer than I realized. Servants were converting the great hall from dining room to dormitory, so it seemed that I would miss supper. I was told that Sir Hugh was with the count, but no one offered to knock on the door for me, so I did it myself and was told to enter.

  The parlor was much changed from when I had seen it that morning. Now it was back to its usual purpose. Rolf ’s deathbed had been removed, the other furniture rearranged, fresh rushes spread on the floor, and the air smelled pleasantly of lavender and wood smoke. Count Richard and the marshal sat at a small table, dawdling over a generous spread, but a third stool stood empty beside them, which was encouraging.

  I touched a knee to the floor.

  “Welcome,” the count said. “Come and sup with us.”

  Saints! Last night I had bunked with the stable hands. Since then I had identified two deaths as murder, pulled off a major incantation, treated the victim of that enchantment, and now I was breaking bread with nobility. “I am honored, my lord.”

  Lord Richard grunted to imply that I should be.

  Sir Hugh said, “Wine . . . no, wait.” He filled his own goblet from the wine jug, drained it, and then filled mine.

  “Sir, that wasn’t necessary!”

  The count said, “I am ashamed to admit that I agree with Hugh that you deserve that reassurance. Too many of your calling have died within my doors. Tell him, Hugh.”

  The marshal was holding the remains of a goose leg. He finished chewing and swallowed. “If that’s a sheep down among the rushes, it’s the biggest sheep since Jason and the golden fleece. It may not be a human body, but I think it is, and I am willing to bet that it’s the remains of a boy called Colby.”

  “Sage Archibald’s varlet,” the count added. “He disappeared about a week ago. He had only been here a month or so and was reported to be extremely homesick. We assumed he’d run away.”

  No trenchers here! I had been provided with a shiny metal plate, which at the time I thought must be silver. Looking back, I am sure now that it was only pewter, but it impressed me. I began loading it with cheese, bread, cold roast goose, onions, and pickles. “Homesick enough to take his own life, my lord?”

  “Granted that self-murder is a very great sin and we wish him no ill in the next world, we must hope so. But a sage’s lad followed so closely by two sages . . . now I fear he may have been the first victim of the same killer.”

  “I fear so also, my lord. The incantation I performed was designed to seek out evil, and although the wording did not allow me to name the evil, surely murder must be the worst. I had hoped the spell would lead me to the killer of your brother and your sage. But instead it led me to another body. So I believe that the third death must be connected.”

  My listeners exchanged glum glances at having their fears confirmed.

  “Have you established how Sage Archibald died?”

  “Aye, my lord. He was poisoned, but not with the same poison as Rolf. He was sitting at the end of the high table, so my first thought was that his neighbor, Father Randolf, must have done it, but I soon decided that this was impossible.”

  “I could have told you that!” Count Richard roared. “To suspect a man of God of such crimes is unthinkable. You will not get far if you waste time on fantasies such as that.”

  “No, my lord. Of course you are right. I soon realized that no poison known to my craft causes death so quickly, and he must have ingested the toxin before he even reached the hall. Father Randolf met him on the way here, when he was already confused by the venom. Without the priest’s help he might not have arrived at all.”

  “Randolf setting a fine Christian example,” the count murmured. “But I keep you from your repast. Eat up. Wine, Hugh?”

  For a few moments he and the marshal discussed the damage caused by the deluge, now apparently ended, while allowing their guest to eat in peace. Inevitably, they came back at length to the problem of the thing in the moat.

  “We’ll start at first light,” the marshal said, “and keep the rabble away until we know what we’ve found. I sent word to Randy, because he’ll want to be there. It will have to be done before the funeral mass, I’m afraid, but I’ll warn the gatekeepers to let him in.”

  “A body that has been in the moat for over a week may be unidentifiable. Pike and eels, not to mention maggots.”

  His Lordship did not have to mention that while I was eating.

  “That is so, but he was only a boy. There can hardly be two of his age missing. I hope the priest will not quibble about giving him Christian burial.”

  “I shall have a word with him if he does,” the count said darkly. “Three funerals in three days! Word will get out.”

  “That . . .” The marshal hesitated, glancing momentarily in my direction. “That might not be altogether a bad thing, my lord.”

  “What’ja mean by that, eh?”

  “Mean it can’t be kept secret any longer, Dick.”

  The count grunted, but he nodded, admitted to understanding the hint this time.

  Whatever they were discussing was clearly not intended for the Saxon lad, who was content to continue sampling the finer fruits of the rich. The wine was sweeter by far than the sample Guy had given me to celebrate my promotion, even if the bottler had reviled it. The cheese and white bread were superb, too. I had noted the marshal taking another goose leg from the heap, so I took a second for myself, and more onions too. Never in my life had I had eaten meat twice in one day.

  There were two questions I greatly wanted to put to the count. Either might give serious offense, but the first could probably be answered by no one else, so eventually I would have to risk it. Not yet, though. Finish the meal first!

  Seen at close quarters, the count’s axe-blade nose had probably been broken and expertly reset at some time in the past. I would certainly try healing spells on Sir Kendryck’s, but doubted I could ever do so fine a job.

  “‘Harassed,’ I think you said,” the count mused. “Did you mean just boyish bullying? Or worse?”

  “Worse, I fear, my lord,” Hugh said. “They don’t talk to me, of course, but my squires keep me informed of trouble. They told me after he disappeared that the other youths seemed to have accepted Colby quite well. There was some hazing, naturally, there always is. But nothing unusual. But . . .” Hugh grimaced. “He was a pretty kid.”

  “Who, then? Archibald himself?”

  The marshal chuckled. “Archibald’s tastes we
re quite orthodox, to an extreme degree. Let me ask around, Dick. I don’t want to go accusing anyone without cause.”

  “Of course.” Richard de Mandeville turned his piercing eyes back on me. “I would have you sing for my brother tomorrow.”

  “I should be honored to do so, my lord. I will try to be worthy of his instruction.”

  The old man nodded, staring into the past. “Rolf always loved music. Even as a child, he was always going around singing: lays, psalms, anything he had heard. Remember, Hugh? I will tell Father Randolf to call you forward, lad.”

  Hugh had spoken that morning as if he and the de Mandeville brothers were all about the same age, but graybeard Richard looked a generation older than Rolf had. Now he carried a burden he might never lose: his brother had come hastening to his rescue and been poisoned in his house. He roused himself.

  “Have you other incantations in your armory, Adept? Can you identify this monster for us?”

  “I hope so, my lord. I will need time . . . I feel like a squire called upon to lead an army.”

  Hugh chuckled. “Rank matters a lot less than fortitude, lad. I remember a stable boy, probably younger than you are now, who charged into the Battle of Winchester on foot armed with only a battle-axe, and brought down three mounted knights. I think he singlehandedly held up King Stephen’s forces long enough for the rest of us to get Empress Maud away to safety.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir, but don’t expect me to match that.” I hadn’t charged anywhere since I was nine.

  “You’ve met him—Alwin. He fights like a madman, as if he were immortal, and there isn’t a horse in Christendom he can’t handle. That’s why the lads put up with his odd ways. And if you are wondering whether Alwin abused Colby, I assure you that he has no interest whatsoever in children. Hairy chests are what speed his heartbeat.”

  “Let us know if there is anything you need,” the count said, as if he was about to depart. “This matter is most urgent.”

  Why? “I’d like to be there when you raise the corpse in the rushes, if I may. And attend Sage Rolf’s funeral. And . . .” Go for it! “There are a couple of things that still puzzle me, my lord. . . . They may be irrelevant, but may I ask two possibly impertinent questions?”

  Sir Hugh raised his eyebrows and drained his goblet.

  The count frowned and growled, “Ask them and I’ll tell you how impertinent they are.”

  The more I saw of these two, the more certain I became that Sir Hugh was not only the count’s right hand but most of his brain, too.

  “On Monday your house sage collapsed at dinner and died a few hours later. I suspect that you summoned your unfortunate brother by the use of the incantation Despero in extremis?”

  The little room seemed to go very still.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I was present when he heard you. He—”

  “Had a sort of fit. He told me when he got here. What of it?”

  “Why? I am aware, my lord, that a sage is a valuable retainer, but a man of your station could easily find a replacement in Northampton or London or many places. Why was Archibald de la Mare’s attack so important, so urgent, that you used a major incantation, which I assume you and your brother had been holding in reserve for years?”

  “Told you he was good.” The marshal reached for the wine jug.

  “Yes, it is impertinent. Is your second one any more respectful?”

  “It may be completely irrelevant. Your lamented and honored brother, my lord, forbade me to wear my adept’s cape on our journey, and kept his green one under his cloak. He insisted on detouring around Northampton. If he had enemies there . . .”

  Count Richard was shaking his head. “That is not irrelevant, but not what you think either. I see I must take you into my confidence and should have done so sooner. But no one, absolutely no one, must hear of this!”

  Worried now, I pledged my word.

  “Are you as skilled in astrology as you are in the other arts you have demonstrated?”

  “I have been taught the principles, my lord, but the answer is no, I have had no experience outside the classroom. Just as each knight may excel with a particular weapon, some sages favor some of the many arts available.” I, for example, dearly wished I had a set of futhorc tiles with me, but Guy had refused to lend me his. I suspected he had wanted to try my mended version of Hwæt segst for himself.

  The count shrugged. “Archibald was. Incredibly so! He foretold my son-in-law’s death before it happened, and my daughter and grandson’s return before she even made that decision. A month ago he warned me that I was in very serious danger. Not necessarily death, he said, but devastating.”

  The sage had not foreseen his own murder, but even skilled astrologers are often blind to their personal futures.

  The count folded his big fists together on the table and stared at them. “The day before he died, he told me that the trouble would come from the king.”

  The king? I had certainly not expected that. Sir Hugh was watching me closely.

  “King Henry is currently in this area,” the count continued. “He often comes here for the hunting, but he is currently holding a council in Northampton Castle. My son is one of his gentlemen of the chamber. His Grace disapproves of private castles, and it was only through Stephen’s good standing with His Grace that I dared request permission to repair some of my fortifications. He will likely want to see for himself what I have done and plan to do. I expect him here any day.”

  Saints preserve! My hand shook as I reached for my goblet. The king? Why hadn’t they told me sooner? This changed everything.

  “So when Sage Archibald was so mysteriously stricken,” the count continued, “my first thought was of King Henry, may God preserve him. He is notorious for his mobility. He rarely spends more than three or four days in one place, and his moves are totally unpredictable. He announces plans and changes them without warning . . . you are nodding?”

  “Um, I wasn’t aware of doing so, my lord. But I do see the danger. You were worried that Sage Archibald suspected a treasonous conspiracy and was silenced so that he could not sniff out the traitor.”

  “Exactly. Anyone planning to assassinate the king, God forbid, will have difficulty just knowing where to find him. The present council was announced well in advance, but striking at him in his own fortress of Northampton Castle would be close to impossible. Here in Barton he would be much more vulnerable. Remember that his great-uncle, the second King William, was struck down by an assassin’s arrow. If the traitor or traitors know that he is likely to come here, then their task would become much easier.

  “That was why I called for my brother. He agreed he would come at once. He came and met the same terrible fate as Archibald.”

  And now the burden fell on my shoulders.

  Implications buzzed like flies in a slaughterhouse. Even if no attempt was made, a nobleman honored by the arrival of his sovereign but then having to explain on his knees that he couldn’t guarantee his liege’s safety in his own house would face absolute ruin and possibly a few years in the Tower of London.

  Sir Hugh broke the silence. “It’s easy to see why Archibald and then Rolf might have been seen as threats to the traitors, but the boy Colby disappeared a week ago. He was a newcomer to the castle. I can’t see him being part of such a plot, or a threat to the plotters.”

  “I can,” I said. “Someone left muddy footprints on a downstairs window ledge of the sanctum. If Colby was spying on Sage Archibald, he may have overheard dangerous secrets.”

  Sir Hugh thumped a fist on the table. “By George, you’re fast, lad! And now everyone knows it. You’d better keep close watch on your own back from now on.”

  “We have a fine king,” I protested. “But who would want to harm him?” Must we return to the Anarchy? Chaos and civil war again?

  Sir Hugh snorted like a horse. “Louis of France, for one. Even the pope! Lad, the man is the most powerful monarch in Christendom.
He rules all of England and half of France—Normandy, Anjou, Aquitaine. Anyone with that much power has enemies.”

  “Or Bloody Becket,” the count growled. “That upstart treacherous clerk! That’s what the council is all about, they say—to bring Becket to heel.”

  The Archbishop of Canterbury? If any of this scandal had reached as far as Helmdon, it had not seeped down to the innocent boy who tended the academy’s horses. News of Crown and Church at loggerheads appalled me.

  “So I have answered your second question also, have I not?” asked the count.

  I pulled my scattered wits together. “Um, yes, my lord.” Rolf had not wanted to advertise that a sage was riding to Barton on a mission of such urgency that it justified traveling in weather any sane man would shun. And if he had passed through Northampton itself, he might have run into old friends, or his nephew, Sir Stephen de Mandeville.

  The count smiled bitterly and drained his goblet. “Then summon up all your arts, Adept, and track down this monster who has made my house an abattoir. Remember that this game is being played for very high stakes, possibly even your king’s life and the fate of half of Europe. Succeed, and I will be very generous. I bid you both good evening—and sound sleep.”

  We bowed as he rose and crossed the room to disappear into his bedchamber.

  Hugh sat down again and gestured for me to do the same.

  “I wish you had asked me those questions,” the marshal said. “He is more worried than I have ever known him, and that is all my life, nearly, for I was fostered here. It is the only home I can remember.”

  And now it was in danger.

  “Then tell me, Sir Hugh, who has recently come to Barton Castle? We are hunting a trained sage. He knows poisons. He is cunning, for he has overcome two of his own kind, and he must have entered the warded sanctum to obtain the poison that killed Rolf. He could be disguised as a knight, or a stable boy, or almost anyone.”

  “You think I haven’t wondered that? No one since the Colby boy, I am certain. Everyone else has been with us for many, many years, or at least many months—long before the council was called. Except you and your squire, and you were not here to poison Sage Archibald. I am certain of this: I know everything that goes on in this castle.” He poured out the last of the wine for me.