The halls were like cathedrals, the courtyards vast and the ramparts as if built for giants, but the frozen castle was peopled only by echoes. No light shone, no sounds of a household, even one at sleep, met the ear. Only a rustling of an unfelt breeze through the deadened ivy about the gate welcomed them.
“And yet we are not alone,” Stephan whispered as they passed through yet another churchlike hall. The doors and passageways were of such a size that they had even their mounts with them, though the steps and scant furnishings indicated owners of earthly stature. Michi nodded; they had been tailed by a furtive shadow since entering the castle. When it was pointed out to Gaspard, the magus called to the shape: “Siocán, come forward!” After a moment a small form detached itself from the deep shadows about a column and moved slowly forward: like a young dark-haired lad, only smaller, crested in crystalline wings, and naked in the cold. “What is this place?” Gaspard demanded.
Siocán stood hunched, glancing furtively about. His voice was little more than a whisper. “His castle, kind Man,” he said. “The Horned Man. My mistress he has taken.” Michi interrupted: “The Huntress? Where is she now?” Siocán answered that she was further within, and they continued forward.
They found neither the Huntress nor the Horned Man, but instead another magus. Though the man was bathed in a magical light, his face was obscured by a swirling darkness that revealed only a single huge, penetrating eye. “You are a prisoner of this realm. Give me the fraction now or be destroyed here,” he commanded. “We know of no such thing,” Gaspard replied. “If that is your answer, so be it,” the magus said, and then the Horned Man made his appearance. He stood half again the height of a tall man, on furred legs ending in cloven hooves. His head was crowned with a massive rack of antlers, and though its form showed elk-like in silhouette, even as he passed through the magus’s light his face remained shrouded in darkness, as if a shape in the night. Only the reddish glow of his eyes and the misty huff of his breath could be discerned.
The Horned man raised a hand toward Michi, and the latter was instantly encased in a sheath of ice a hand or more in thickness and as hard as granite. Gaspard called upon his magic and Stephan, upon Renfrogne, charged the magus, but one by one they were each of them encased. Madeleine appealed to the Horned Man—“why do you do this man’s bidding here in your own realm?”—but though he cast a dark look toward the magus, nonetheless she too was imprisoned in an icy grasp.
The dark-shrouded magus approached Gaspard, melting a gap in the ice to pull free the purse with the black gem. “This is Callidus’s!” the magus exclaimed. “Where is yours? Where is the Triamore fraction?” When Gaspard wouldn’t cooperate, the magus briefly examined the others. “We’ll start with this one,” he said, indicating Cyril. “He reeks of fear.” There was a rustle among the vines about a nearby column as they twisted themselves into a slender, woman-like form. The Horned Man released Cyril from his ice and the woman of vines pulled him away. The magus and the Horned Man followed.
Gaspard drew heat to melt the ice away from himself. He was about to free the others when the woman of vines returned. Just as she was about to call the alarm, Siocán emerged from the darkness, casting a glamour that lowered her into a sleepy trance. Gaspard freed his comrades. “We must find Cyril!” Stephan said. “But surely the Horned Man will freeze us again just as quickly,” Madeleine responded. “Maybe the Huntress can deal with him,” said Michi. “The little guy can lead us to her, and then she’ll help us get Cyril.”
Cautiously, wary of any more hidden guardians, they crept further into the castle. They found the Huntress in a high chamber, frozen as if of stone. “How do we free her?” Michi asked. “Do you not know?” Siocán replied. Stephan turned upon the pixie. “Tell us how to free her or I’ll kill you!” he said, roughly grabbing Siocán. “I have no key!” Siocán replied desperately. “Only the Horned Man has the key—or the Black Annis!”
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
The weeks around Michaelmas, 1198
The letter was delivered by a lad from Liege. An Imperial messenger on his way to Bruges had left the letter with a merchant headed for Arbois, and he in turn had had his boy deliver it to Bois de Haillot when visiting the nearby manor. It was a large parchment, its wax seal as heavy as it was ornate.
Daria was uninterested, simply waving it off at Gaspard and Madeleine. “Frederick Hohenstaufen Rex Regis Sicily,” Madeleine read. “Imperator Nomine tenus Romanorum. Emperor Nominee of the Romans. It is a letter from the Frederick, the man who will be Holy Roman Emperor!” The letter, signed in his very hand, summoned Daria to Swabisch-Hall, the seat of the Hohenstaufens and the site of many of Frederick Barbarossa’s courts. “To discuss your position and that of your order in my court,” Madeleine translated.
Daria could not be convinced to make the trip, so Gaspard and Madeleine set out within the week, taking Stephan, Michi, and Celestine, along with Cyril, Gigot, and Wart. The journey to Swabia would take several weeks.
The harvest was in its latter days as they left Bois de Haillot and entered Luxembourg. The weather favoured them but the luck of the road did not, and they passed Michaelmas in a German town many days behind their intended schedule. It was just a day or two beyond that when they met the magus.
“Well met!” he greeted them when he recognized one of his own. His name was Blaise and he had come from his covenant of Hölhe Glänzend south of Munich on his way to Ghent to purchase lab supplies. He travelled alone, with just three armsmen in trail.
They shared lunch and Gaspard and the magus discussed the news of their order. Blaise had heard about Etien’s assault on the covenant and cheered them on, but warned of another visit from the Quaesitori. Blaise’s armsmen sat sullenly apart. “If he is from Germany,” Wart whispered to Gigot, “why do his men mutter to each other in Italian?”
The lunch ended and Blaise rose to continue his journey. But as he returned to his men Gigot suddenly cried out and charged, drawing his sword. The foreign armsmen had weapons at hand, and Blaise was calling up a spell as he turned on Gaspard. But they had lost their surprise, and the combined force of Gigot, Stephan, and Michi quickly forced them into a defensive knot around their magus. Blaise produced a small block of wood, ornately decorated, and cast it on the ground before him where it burst into flame. Seeing an opportunity, Wart thrust one of the armsmen into the fire. But rather than burst into flame, the man disappeared in a green flash when the fire enveloped him. “The magus seeks escape!” Michi cried, leaping forward and striking the mage before Blaise could step into the fire. The blow cleft the magus’s skull clean in two, and the treachor fell to the ground. Their master defeated, the remaining armsmen were quickly overcome.
“A black gem!” Madeleine said, “Just like the magus who attacked us at the Robber Baron’s keep.” The irregular black rock, like a small lump of coal, hung on an ornate chain around the corpse’s neck. Gaspard took it from the body and placed it in a purse. “What did he want?” Michi asked. “I’ll ask,” Gaspard answered, calling to his magic. “Spirit of this slain man, I call you across the black gate. What is your name?” “Callidus,” came the whispered answer. The spirit was evasive, but when pressed confessed the nature of the black gem. “In the East was kept the head of Saint John. This is a fraction of it, but it carries great power.”
Three days later the party reached the town of Bad Füssen, nestled tight against the wooded hills at the feet of the white wall of the Alps. The season was late, and few guides were taking parties into the passes. A Swabian named Lenhard agreed to lead them by the high road, the weather still holding clear, to save nine days over the lower pass. They spent the first evening in a monastery on the brink of sheer valley—by the next night they would gain a sheltered shrine in the pass, and would be descending into Swabia on the third day.
“Nearly there,” Lenhard told them the following afternoon, “Another two hours, maybe three.” But he kept looking over his shoulder, where dark clouds were piling up. Within an hour the storm reached them, and they were soon engulfed in blinding sheets of snow and bitter wind. The light was failing, and the way back was six hours at least along the edge of a precipitous chasm. “We go on,” Lenhard pleaded. “There is shelter and firewood at the shrine—another hour perhaps!”
But the way was blocked. A wall of darkness loomed across the path. Thorns, thickly layered in windblown snow, forming a wall five paces high and extending as far as could be seen to either side. “Is this usually here?” Madeleine asked, but Lenhard only shook his head with a worried look. “Well if we stay here we’ll quickly freeze,” Michi said, and Gaspard cast a lance of flame to burn a hole through the thorns. The path continued beyond. “A faerie realm?” Michi asked, to which Gaspard simply shrugged.
The storm quickly fell away, though the air was if anything colder. The party crunched through a thin layer of frost and snow as stars found their way through the parting clouds above. Suddenly Stephan stopped with a gasp.
Ahead, limned in frost and moonlight, the trail was straddled by a castle of gargantuan proportion.
Daria was uninterested, simply waving it off at Gaspard and Madeleine. “Frederick Hohenstaufen Rex Regis Sicily,” Madeleine read. “Imperator Nomine tenus Romanorum. Emperor Nominee of the Romans. It is a letter from the Frederick, the man who will be Holy Roman Emperor!” The letter, signed in his very hand, summoned Daria to Swabisch-Hall, the seat of the Hohenstaufens and the site of many of Frederick Barbarossa’s courts. “To discuss your position and that of your order in my court,” Madeleine translated.
Daria could not be convinced to make the trip, so Gaspard and Madeleine set out within the week, taking Stephan, Michi, and Celestine, along with Cyril, Gigot, and Wart. The journey to Swabia would take several weeks.
The harvest was in its latter days as they left Bois de Haillot and entered Luxembourg. The weather favoured them but the luck of the road did not, and they passed Michaelmas in a German town many days behind their intended schedule. It was just a day or two beyond that when they met the magus.
“Well met!” he greeted them when he recognized one of his own. His name was Blaise and he had come from his covenant of Hölhe Glänzend south of Munich on his way to Ghent to purchase lab supplies. He travelled alone, with just three armsmen in trail.
They shared lunch and Gaspard and the magus discussed the news of their order. Blaise had heard about Etien’s assault on the covenant and cheered them on, but warned of another visit from the Quaesitori. Blaise’s armsmen sat sullenly apart. “If he is from Germany,” Wart whispered to Gigot, “why do his men mutter to each other in Italian?”
The lunch ended and Blaise rose to continue his journey. But as he returned to his men Gigot suddenly cried out and charged, drawing his sword. The foreign armsmen had weapons at hand, and Blaise was calling up a spell as he turned on Gaspard. But they had lost their surprise, and the combined force of Gigot, Stephan, and Michi quickly forced them into a defensive knot around their magus. Blaise produced a small block of wood, ornately decorated, and cast it on the ground before him where it burst into flame. Seeing an opportunity, Wart thrust one of the armsmen into the fire. But rather than burst into flame, the man disappeared in a green flash when the fire enveloped him. “The magus seeks escape!” Michi cried, leaping forward and striking the mage before Blaise could step into the fire. The blow cleft the magus’s skull clean in two, and the treachor fell to the ground. Their master defeated, the remaining armsmen were quickly overcome.
“A black gem!” Madeleine said, “Just like the magus who attacked us at the Robber Baron’s keep.” The irregular black rock, like a small lump of coal, hung on an ornate chain around the corpse’s neck. Gaspard took it from the body and placed it in a purse. “What did he want?” Michi asked. “I’ll ask,” Gaspard answered, calling to his magic. “Spirit of this slain man, I call you across the black gate. What is your name?” “Callidus,” came the whispered answer. The spirit was evasive, but when pressed confessed the nature of the black gem. “In the East was kept the head of Saint John. This is a fraction of it, but it carries great power.”
Three days later the party reached the town of Bad Füssen, nestled tight against the wooded hills at the feet of the white wall of the Alps. The season was late, and few guides were taking parties into the passes. A Swabian named Lenhard agreed to lead them by the high road, the weather still holding clear, to save nine days over the lower pass. They spent the first evening in a monastery on the brink of sheer valley—by the next night they would gain a sheltered shrine in the pass, and would be descending into Swabia on the third day.
“Nearly there,” Lenhard told them the following afternoon, “Another two hours, maybe three.” But he kept looking over his shoulder, where dark clouds were piling up. Within an hour the storm reached them, and they were soon engulfed in blinding sheets of snow and bitter wind. The light was failing, and the way back was six hours at least along the edge of a precipitous chasm. “We go on,” Lenhard pleaded. “There is shelter and firewood at the shrine—another hour perhaps!”
But the way was blocked. A wall of darkness loomed across the path. Thorns, thickly layered in windblown snow, forming a wall five paces high and extending as far as could be seen to either side. “Is this usually here?” Madeleine asked, but Lenhard only shook his head with a worried look. “Well if we stay here we’ll quickly freeze,” Michi said, and Gaspard cast a lance of flame to burn a hole through the thorns. The path continued beyond. “A faerie realm?” Michi asked, to which Gaspard simply shrugged.
The storm quickly fell away, though the air was if anything colder. The party crunched through a thin layer of frost and snow as stars found their way through the parting clouds above. Suddenly Stephan stopped with a gasp.
Ahead, limned in frost and moonlight, the trail was straddled by a castle of gargantuan proportion.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Lammas, 1198
Lammas day dawned cloudless and hot. At Prime Michi brought his horse from the stable and saddled up for more practice at the quintain. The animal was one of several taken in the battle, and Michi had named it Etien—more accurately, he had given the name only to the animal’s hindquarters, leaving the rest of it anonymous. Michi was a poor horseman by the standards of Stephan or Johannes, and was still much more formidable on foot, but he could be no knight if he could not ride.
The castle was alive with cheerful giggles and hearty back-slaps in anticipation of the day’s events, as Madeleine made a round of the doors and windows, pouring salt and posting other wards. At Terce she sought out Michi and dragged him into the solar for a bath. Gaspard was found hiding in a tree, and it took the efforts of Stephan and several of the turb to get him out.
The household gathered in the great hall at Sext, where Michi gave his oath before Stephan: “I here swear solemnly by Almighty God and His name fealty and due homage to the Holy Roman Emperor; to ever be a good knight and true, reverent and generous, shield of the weak, obedient to my liege-lady, foremost in battle, and courteous at all times. I swear too by all that is holy and dear unto me, to aid those less fortunate than I, to relieve the distress of the world, to champion the right and good, and to fulfil my knightly obligations. Thus swear I, Michael of Bois de Haillot.” And Stephan then made him a knight, and presented him with a new shield decorated with a colourful flaming sword.
The entire household then walked the half-mile to the church, where half the village was waiting about the steps. Stephan and Pere Hugo had brief words, then Morris came forward with Celestine, blushing under a weight of summer flowers, on his arm. The wedding ceremony, held on the porch under the hot sun, was brief, then all who could crammed into the church for mass.
The wedding feast kicked off at Nones, held in the castle bailey where just five or six weeks before the feast of Saint John had led to the betrothal. Madeleine had ordered fine cakes from Liege, and there were casks of wine from the Champagne and many a butt of ale from the village. The day was still hot and clear, but towering clouds were piling up on the western horizon.
At Vespers Michi and Celestine returned to the village, trailed by a parade of onlookers, to tour five or six repaired and rebuilt homes for the luck of the households and themselves. When they returned to the castle they were called into the great hall for the presentation of the dowry and wedding gifts: a brass-bound chest from Morris and an embroidered blanket from Beatrice and the household; a fine sword belt from Hugh; a pair of gold and pearl earrings from Isabel and an illuminated book of poems by Effugio from Richildis. And from Daria a gold cross with four rubies for Celestine, blessed personally by the Cardinal Bishop of Westphalia, along with the dowry of 30 shillings.
Shortly thereafter Michi and Stephan helped Gaspard investigate a man in verdegris armour, whom the magus had seen watching the castle from the forest. They found no sign of the onlooker.
At Compline Michi and Celestine retired to their room, a tower chamber off of Gaspard’s laboratory. The room had been decked out with garlands of lavender, rosemary, and thyme. In the bailey the feast continued, with courting couples—along with a few others—jumping the bonfire. Events were brought to a premature end by a torrential thunderstorm.
The castle was alive with cheerful giggles and hearty back-slaps in anticipation of the day’s events, as Madeleine made a round of the doors and windows, pouring salt and posting other wards. At Terce she sought out Michi and dragged him into the solar for a bath. Gaspard was found hiding in a tree, and it took the efforts of Stephan and several of the turb to get him out.
The household gathered in the great hall at Sext, where Michi gave his oath before Stephan: “I here swear solemnly by Almighty God and His name fealty and due homage to the Holy Roman Emperor; to ever be a good knight and true, reverent and generous, shield of the weak, obedient to my liege-lady, foremost in battle, and courteous at all times. I swear too by all that is holy and dear unto me, to aid those less fortunate than I, to relieve the distress of the world, to champion the right and good, and to fulfil my knightly obligations. Thus swear I, Michael of Bois de Haillot.” And Stephan then made him a knight, and presented him with a new shield decorated with a colourful flaming sword.
The entire household then walked the half-mile to the church, where half the village was waiting about the steps. Stephan and Pere Hugo had brief words, then Morris came forward with Celestine, blushing under a weight of summer flowers, on his arm. The wedding ceremony, held on the porch under the hot sun, was brief, then all who could crammed into the church for mass.
The wedding feast kicked off at Nones, held in the castle bailey where just five or six weeks before the feast of Saint John had led to the betrothal. Madeleine had ordered fine cakes from Liege, and there were casks of wine from the Champagne and many a butt of ale from the village. The day was still hot and clear, but towering clouds were piling up on the western horizon.
At Vespers Michi and Celestine returned to the village, trailed by a parade of onlookers, to tour five or six repaired and rebuilt homes for the luck of the households and themselves. When they returned to the castle they were called into the great hall for the presentation of the dowry and wedding gifts: a brass-bound chest from Morris and an embroidered blanket from Beatrice and the household; a fine sword belt from Hugh; a pair of gold and pearl earrings from Isabel and an illuminated book of poems by Effugio from Richildis. And from Daria a gold cross with four rubies for Celestine, blessed personally by the Cardinal Bishop of Westphalia, along with the dowry of 30 shillings.
Shortly thereafter Michi and Stephan helped Gaspard investigate a man in verdegris armour, whom the magus had seen watching the castle from the forest. They found no sign of the onlooker.
At Compline Michi and Celestine retired to their room, a tower chamber off of Gaspard’s laboratory. The room had been decked out with garlands of lavender, rosemary, and thyme. In the bailey the feast continued, with courting couples—along with a few others—jumping the bonfire. Events were brought to a premature end by a torrential thunderstorm.
Feast of Saint John, 1198
Midsummer’s night—always a time of idle plays and japes, carolings, the making of fool countenances, smiting, wrestling, dice, football, blind-man’s buff, bowling, cockfighting, and baiting. This year the villagers had spent four days burying their dead and tending their dying, repairing their homes and hedgerows, and counting their losses in the fields. Little of the village had burned, and though the crops were trampled in places the damages were slight. It might be a hard winter, but famine was unlikely. And now that the shock of battle was passing, the feast would surely be one to remember.
The festivities began in the afternoon after mass. The bailey rang with shouts and laughter throughout the afternoon, with events moving to the village green for the evening bonfire. Stephan beat all comers—even Michi—at arm-wrestling, while Michi took honours at the footrace. Madeleine spent the first half of the day attempting to interest Celestine in Gigot. Gaspard set to entertaining children with stories of their exploits, augmented by his illusions, but the imagery frightened the smaller children and the effort soon failed.
Michi was comforting Gaspard when an idea struck him. “Why don’t you make me up ta look like the lady, there, and I’ll tell a few stories!” Gaspard complied, and Michi immediately set about the tables, mimicking Lady Madeleine’s voice as best he was able to any who would hear him. His comments and propositions hardly befit the lady, though, and it wasn’t long before Madeleine found him out. She marched him back to Gaspard. “You change him back this minute!” But Gaspard became confused, and soon it was Madeleine looking like Michi, and the latter still like the lady. Even more confused now over who was whom, Gaspard plied his magic once more and gave each the voice of the other.
Much bickering ensued, to the further confusion of Gaspard and great amusement of a somewhat tipsy Stephan. The spells would defuse by daybreak, but until then it was agreed that laying low would best serve everyone.
A tearful Celestine, her tongue perhaps a bit ale-loosened, found the ostensible Lady Madeleine in the library. “Why does Michi claim to be married?” she asked. “Everyone knows no faerie can enter a church—so how could he really be married to a Fey lady?” Michi, in Madeleine’s guise, could only dissemble in horror. “You don’t think—“ Celestine’s tears ran heavier. “You don’t think he prefers the company of boys?” The false Madeleine was rescued by the false Michi, who suggested it might be time for Celestine to retire. But that brought up a conundrum: Like most servants, Celestine slept in her mistress’s bed. Would she go to bed with Madeleine and wake up with Michi, or go to bed with Michi and wake up with Madeleine?
When the erstwhile Michi made another attempt to steer Celestine toward Gigot, Stephan intervened. “Why are you so concerned to see her into a man’s bed?” The false Michi was taken aback, but eventually, out of Celestine’s earshot, confessed her agenda: “Celestine’s abduction at Vikten was no coincidence. When we returned, Lady Daria told me that Celestine’s father belonged to a black mass. He conceived her under infernal guidance—for no other reason than to be murdered in a ritual. But her mother sent the infant away in secret with her maid, and they ended up here. Now it seems they know who and where she is!” The others were shocked, but Stephan pressed: “What does that have to do with Gigot?” “Celestine is of use only as a child—an innocent. Once she is married and no longer a maiden, they will not come after her. So we believe. Daria commanded me to arrange her marriage—and quickly.” The false Michi seemed close to despair. “But Cyril is too young and Johannes is too old. She has no eye for Stephan, and I cannot get Gigot to even see her.” Madeleine spoke next: “Why just those few—surely she could have her choice of the manor’s young men?” There was a lengthy pause. “Because her father was Robert of Poitiers. A nephew of Eleanor. Of Aquitaine. She is a bastard, got on Robert’s mistress, but she is of the blood of Richard Coeur de Lion. Daria will not have her marry a village boy, and neither will I.”
There was quite a silence. Then Stephan said, “And her eyes are only on Michi. The one she always goes to when she needs a cask lifted or a horse brought out. The one who cut her from the cross in the pit at Vikten.” He crossed himself as all eyes turned toward the false Madeleine.
“Michi is an accomplished warrior and a hero of Etien’s attack,” Stephan said after a moment. “With Daria’s blessing I could make him a knight, and no man could say I was wrong to do so.”
The false Madeleine looked over her shoulder, as if Fey spies might be about them even then. “Have you forgotten that I am already married?” But the actual Madeleine turned to Gaspard. “What of this faerie marriage? Is it real?” Gaspard shrugged. “There was a feast of some kind. It might have been a wedding. Somebody’s, I suppose.” “There you have it,” the false Michi said. “For no comprehensible reason the girl is in love with you, despite your faerie delusions. I know you have eyes for her. And now Stephan will make you a knight. What of it?”
The next day, flowers in hand, a restored Michi stumbled through his first day of courtship with a delighted Celestine.
The festivities began in the afternoon after mass. The bailey rang with shouts and laughter throughout the afternoon, with events moving to the village green for the evening bonfire. Stephan beat all comers—even Michi—at arm-wrestling, while Michi took honours at the footrace. Madeleine spent the first half of the day attempting to interest Celestine in Gigot. Gaspard set to entertaining children with stories of their exploits, augmented by his illusions, but the imagery frightened the smaller children and the effort soon failed.
Michi was comforting Gaspard when an idea struck him. “Why don’t you make me up ta look like the lady, there, and I’ll tell a few stories!” Gaspard complied, and Michi immediately set about the tables, mimicking Lady Madeleine’s voice as best he was able to any who would hear him. His comments and propositions hardly befit the lady, though, and it wasn’t long before Madeleine found him out. She marched him back to Gaspard. “You change him back this minute!” But Gaspard became confused, and soon it was Madeleine looking like Michi, and the latter still like the lady. Even more confused now over who was whom, Gaspard plied his magic once more and gave each the voice of the other.
Much bickering ensued, to the further confusion of Gaspard and great amusement of a somewhat tipsy Stephan. The spells would defuse by daybreak, but until then it was agreed that laying low would best serve everyone.
A tearful Celestine, her tongue perhaps a bit ale-loosened, found the ostensible Lady Madeleine in the library. “Why does Michi claim to be married?” she asked. “Everyone knows no faerie can enter a church—so how could he really be married to a Fey lady?” Michi, in Madeleine’s guise, could only dissemble in horror. “You don’t think—“ Celestine’s tears ran heavier. “You don’t think he prefers the company of boys?” The false Madeleine was rescued by the false Michi, who suggested it might be time for Celestine to retire. But that brought up a conundrum: Like most servants, Celestine slept in her mistress’s bed. Would she go to bed with Madeleine and wake up with Michi, or go to bed with Michi and wake up with Madeleine?
When the erstwhile Michi made another attempt to steer Celestine toward Gigot, Stephan intervened. “Why are you so concerned to see her into a man’s bed?” The false Michi was taken aback, but eventually, out of Celestine’s earshot, confessed her agenda: “Celestine’s abduction at Vikten was no coincidence. When we returned, Lady Daria told me that Celestine’s father belonged to a black mass. He conceived her under infernal guidance—for no other reason than to be murdered in a ritual. But her mother sent the infant away in secret with her maid, and they ended up here. Now it seems they know who and where she is!” The others were shocked, but Stephan pressed: “What does that have to do with Gigot?” “Celestine is of use only as a child—an innocent. Once she is married and no longer a maiden, they will not come after her. So we believe. Daria commanded me to arrange her marriage—and quickly.” The false Michi seemed close to despair. “But Cyril is too young and Johannes is too old. She has no eye for Stephan, and I cannot get Gigot to even see her.” Madeleine spoke next: “Why just those few—surely she could have her choice of the manor’s young men?” There was a lengthy pause. “Because her father was Robert of Poitiers. A nephew of Eleanor. Of Aquitaine. She is a bastard, got on Robert’s mistress, but she is of the blood of Richard Coeur de Lion. Daria will not have her marry a village boy, and neither will I.”
There was quite a silence. Then Stephan said, “And her eyes are only on Michi. The one she always goes to when she needs a cask lifted or a horse brought out. The one who cut her from the cross in the pit at Vikten.” He crossed himself as all eyes turned toward the false Madeleine.
“Michi is an accomplished warrior and a hero of Etien’s attack,” Stephan said after a moment. “With Daria’s blessing I could make him a knight, and no man could say I was wrong to do so.”
The false Madeleine looked over her shoulder, as if Fey spies might be about them even then. “Have you forgotten that I am already married?” But the actual Madeleine turned to Gaspard. “What of this faerie marriage? Is it real?” Gaspard shrugged. “There was a feast of some kind. It might have been a wedding. Somebody’s, I suppose.” “There you have it,” the false Michi said. “For no comprehensible reason the girl is in love with you, despite your faerie delusions. I know you have eyes for her. And now Stephan will make you a knight. What of it?”
The next day, flowers in hand, a restored Michi stumbled through his first day of courtship with a delighted Celestine.
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
Friday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198
Vraagen’s visage was a death mask, but more than just the way he moved with a semblance of life, a great fear seemed to flow from him like a miasma. Madeleine swooned, and Gaspard fell to his knees, clutching his face and screaming. The creature commanded Daria to be still, but it had no hold on her, and with a blaze of fire the maga scorched a broad circle into the floor. But Vraagen had been a magus once, and he rushed the circle before Daria could cast a ward upon it.
Stephan, bruised and cut, threw himself in the creature’s path before it reached the prima, while Michi blocked the course of the lesser creatures. The things fought with strength they had never had in life, but Vraagen’s power was not in melee, and Daria’s spells leached the force from its attacks. Soon the creature fell to its knees, and the fighters moved in quickly, dismembering the corpse. Daria stepped over and pulled the aegis token from its crumbling neck.
“He made me do it!” Gaspard cried, arms around his knees. Cyril tearfully relayed how he had met the creature in the hog wood on one of his pre-attack errands, and it had taken control of his mind. He had fetched Gasard to Bar du Sud under false pretences, all the while knowing what he was doing, but all the while unable to stop himself. There the creature had made the magus his thrall. “I stole the aegis token, and awaited his further commands,” Gaspard said. “He bade me hide my role from everyone, and I could not but comply!” “But why? What did it want?” Michi asked. “Vengeance upon those who interred it?” Madeleine responded. “He was of Daria’s house. The better question is why the Count’s soldier dug him up.”
In the hall, Juliana begged to be sent back. “If I stay, the Count will not have to trump up grievance against you. And if I do not return soon to the camp soon, I will be missed. Let me return with him—but we will meet again!”
Etien had lost three knights and dozens of men; those remaining were dissipating into the night, chased by mobs of villagers, and could not be rallied. By the time dawn arrived the Count’s camp was broken and his train headed for Arbois and back to Frois Pont. “He underestimated us and did not plan a sufficient assault,” Johannes assessed the situation. “He won’t do so again, but I doubt he’ll be able to raise a large enough force to return before the end of summer.”
End of Chapter Three
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