They turned off when there was a lane leading south again over the hills. Several horses had gone that way before them, and again their prints were almost hidden. By this time the horse was blowing and Robert let it walk for a space. There was a farm at the end of the lane.
“They are friendly here,” Robert said. “We shall get something to eat. You must be hungry, Cecilia.”
“So must you,” said Cecilia, realizing that the outlaws must have been attacked before they had a chance to eat breakfast.
Robert laughed. “I could eat this horse—except that we would never reach the Forest if I did. I think we must go to the Forest. It is full of hiding places. Everard has a hunting lodge there which I think we can make use of. Something tells me that if ever the Prince gets out of Towerwood’s hands, he will not blame me. I wish we could do more than hope Tremath can find him.”
“And we cannot?” Cecilia asked, thinking of Alex.
The horse stopped in the middle of the farmyard. Robert turned round, looking very sad and serious. “My dear Cecilia, it is possible we cannot save even ourselves. You must promise me, now, before we dismount, that you will run or ride away if I tell you to.”
“Because I am an Outsider? Yes, Robert, I promise.” Cecilia slid down the warm dampish side of the horse and stood in the snow, feeling very small and melancholy.
Robert dismounted too. “Not only because you are an Outsider,” he said sadly, “but because Towerwood is utterly ruthless. Do you know, Cecilia, he stood before his whole army and told me he had forced my poor mother to take poison? A man who can do that can do anything.”
“Oh, Robert!” said Cecilia.
The farmer came striding over on the slippery snow just then. “We hear that news too, my lord,” he said. “Best come inside, but we cannot have ye for long. Had orders again not to give ye help this morning.” Cecilia thought he did not look the kind of man who would willingly help anyone. He was tall and yellow and surly. She supposed at first that Robert must have paid him a great deal of money to be his ally; but, when they came inside into a warm whitewashed kitchen, and the farmer’s wife and children came excitedly around, she realized she was wrong. The farmer was Tom’s cousin and very glad to hear he was still alive. They were given breakfast, a homely ordinary breakfast which, apart from there being no tea, was very like the supper she and Alex had given Robert a fortnight before. She was sure Robert was remembering that, because he seemed embarrassed again.
It was here that they heard the story of the Prince being mad.
“Heard say last night,” said the farmer. “Messenger from Towerwood to Tremath. Telling everyone the Prince were mad.”
Robert stood up from the table so indignantly that the farmer’s youngest little girl began to cry. Cecilia hurriedly coaxed her to stop, not knowing what to think, except that she was terrified for Alex.
“Everard!” said Robert. “That old wives’ story again! Will you all do me the kindness to contradict it whenever you hear it. It is much more likely the poor boy is dead. Everard flies into rages because he is an only son and somewhat spoiled. He will grow out of that. It means nothing that his mother and father are first cousins. I will not have old women shaking their heads and talking of madness. As if any Prince has ever been mad!”
“Aye, my lord,” said the farmer’s wife, “we’ll give them the lie, never fear. Ye need madness in the family if it’s to take them this young, and we know there be none. Why else do they say in times of trouble that all are mad save the Prince alone?”
“And if Everard lives, he will prove that saying true,” Robert answered. “Come, Cecilia.”
They rode on again, this time boldly across country. The sun was well up now and the land glittered yellow and blue until Cecilia’s eyes ached. Beside them, the powdery snow flew up from under its hard crust in winking rainbows like a shower of ground diamonds. Cecilia rode astride, which was a great deal easier, and almost enjoyed herself. But whenever she felt too happy she made herself look over her shoulder at the bare rolling hills to see if Towerwood was following yet. She knew he would follow and hunt them down. Their position was nearly as hopeless as it could be. They would be tracked from place to place in the snow until they were run to earth.
“Robert,” she said, “why do you not come Outside again with me?”
She saw Robert hump his shoulders as he thought about it. “From habit, I think,” he answered. “But I will, as a last resort. Let us see what happens.”
A little after this, they took to a lane again to disguise their trail. Around a corner, between high bare hedges, they met a man, an odd, wild, ragged person with great long legs. His toes would have trailed in the snow on either side of his donkey if he had not kept his feet bent awkwardly backward. Robert reined in. Cecilia peered around him at the wild man’s thin face, which was much the shape of the sole of a boot. He looked up at her, as interested as she was, and smoothed his straggling steel-colored hair in her honor. It was Robert he spoke to.
“They are following you, my lord.”
“How near are they?” Robert asked.
The man stuck out his chin, the toe of his boot-face, and seemed to be watching something in the air. “Catching up, my lord. You have five miles or so to play with. They have bloodhounds with them.”
“Thank you, Aaron,” Robert answered and sounded very dismayed. “Then I need your advice. What shall I do with Cecilia?”
“Take her. You will need her help. Go south to the lands Outside where you are both safe. I need not tell you to find a river, my lord, to throw the dogs off the scent.”
“No,” said Robert. “You need not.” He began to ride on, but the man held out one long arm to stop him.
“I wish I had met you before,” he said. “The Prince is at Endwait, in a dungeon, I think.”
“Endwait! What barbarity! We will go there, then.”
The man shook his wild head. “You will not get there. My Lord March and his men are returning along the Endwait road. Go southwest, through the Forest. I will go to Endwait. Farewell.”
Robert rode much faster after that. Cecilia had to shout against the wind when she wanted to talk to him.
“Who was that man? How did he know we are being followed with dogs?”
“He is a wandering magician, a seer, and a teller of tales. If he offers advice unasked, as he did then, what he says is true.” Then they rode for some miles before Robert spoke again. “Endwait!” he said. “Everard’s father was killed there. That is cruel.”
By this time they were down from the hills. The lands around were cultivated. The snow was in ribs along plowed fields, with farms and cottages and ever more trees. Cecilia thought they must be coming to the Forest. Robert surprised her by telling her they were already in it.
“It becomes thicker in the south,” he said. “Here is another river.” He was finding every stream and river that he could and riding down or up them to cover their trail. The long edge of Cecilia’s habit was soaked with the splashing. They rode straight, otherwise, sometimes right beside farmyards. When people were about they stared, shading their eyes, but then usually they smiled and waved as they saw the Gairne orange.
The sun began to set. Cecilia was frozen and tired by then but she had still to endure the Forest. It was thick around them at last and the snow was thinner and damper under the bare branches. Cecilia found it terrifying. It was so black and white and so quiet. Everywhere she looked white arcades of snow wound away between black trees, and every noise was too loud. Their hoofs seemed to break the forest open with their din and yet she could hear every slight creeping rustle, every creaking branch, and every cry of every bird. A train of black things went rushing away to one side and she had to hang onto Robert for fear she should faint with horror. Robert started as well, but he said calmly: “Those were deer. This is Everard’s Ride and they are the Prince’s game.”
“I—I see,” said Cecilia. She wished they could ride as fast as the deer ran. The
ir horse was going slowly now. It was tired out and Robert was avoiding trees only by dragging its head away from them. They wound on, from glade to glade, down rides and past black holly-brakes. Cecilia took each bush for a monster, or worse, for a cluster of Towerwood’s men.
“Did you hear that?” said Robert. The horse stopped. Cecilia heard, in the empty soundless space, dogs baying, not far away. This time she was too frightened even to think of fainting.
“Cecilia,” said Robert, “you must ride away now. I will get down and chance my luck on foot.”
“No,” said Cecilia. “I will not. How can I ride away now when I have come so far? I have held you up by my foolishness. You could have been Outside by now if I had not slowed the horse down. The least I can do is stay.”
“You promised me, Cecilia.”
“That was this morning.”
There were sounds, a long way over to the right. Men were moving through the woods, slowly, calling out to one another as they went. Robert said: “Now will you ride away?” and slid off the horse. Cecilia, clutching his cloak, slid off too and came thumping down on her knees. Robert picked her up with a jerk. He was annoyed, and Cecilia knew he had every right to be angry with her, but she was still foolish.
“Let me come too,” she begged.
Far over on the left, there came another crowd of men. These had lights, flaring and jerking from tree to tree.
“It is too late now for you to do anything else,” said Robert. “We will leave the horse, since he might throw the dogs off our scent, and maybe we can slip between them on foot. But you must do exactly as I tell you.”
“Yes,” said Cecilia, very meek now she had won.
They began walking softly from tree to tree. Robert whispered that a sudden rush would give them away, since the men would looking for that. So they went slowly and steadily one behind the other, while to the right and left, the men walked level with them. Cecilia heard the commands called. She saw their dark shapes, flickering as trees came between her and them, and she saw more and more of those flaring lights. There were lights behind, too, and more commands. The dogs were there, behind them. Cecilia knew they would be seen any moment, or their footprints. She herself, in her lavender blue, did not stand out much against the snow, but Robert’s orange seemed to glow more brilliantly with every second the light faded.
From behind, there was a sudden terrible barking and yelling.
“They have found the horse,” Robert whispered. “But the hunting lodge is very near. If we can reach that we can hide there easily.”
Cecilia knew it was hopeless. They had seen their footprints and were coming faster, shouting hunting cries as if she and Robert had been beasts. The men on either side were moving inward toward them, calling across to one another. And there were men in front of them now. Cecilia guessed that these must have been to the hunting lodge and were now coming back to the others. Everyone seemed to have lanterns or naked torches. There were lights all around. She could see faces, spearheads, and shining breastplates. She and Robert stopped by a tree and waited. There was nothing else they could do.
“Robert,” said Cecilia bravely, “I am sorry. This is my fault. I am sorry I embarrassed you by coming too.”
“I am glad you are here,” Robert answered. “And remember that if you had not come I would have ridden my own horse, which would have been foundered by now.”
“But I made a scene,” Cecilia whispered. She felt she must talk in order not to think of the closing circle of soldiers. They were very near now.
“Not really,” Robert answered. Then he laughed. “But you surprised us all. Now, tell me, Cecilia—I must know, even if it is only to die with the knowledge—why do you always go out of your way to remind me of your humble origins? Why do you insist on being no lady?”
“Because I—because of my father and the Courcys.”
“Who are the Courcys?”
As the men steadily closed in, Cecilia talked, very hurriedly, to get it all in before the end, and told him how she and Alex felt about the Courcys. Before she had finished she could actually see Towerwood himself, walking under a streaming flare, with a bloodhound stretching its leash in front of him.
“I see,” said Robert. “You have explained more than you knew, Cecilia. You make me almost able to forgive Towerwood, because I think his family have felt similarly toward the Counts of Gairne. And, Cecilia, if we are anything to judge by, then the Courcys cannot be as black as you have painted them.” As he said this, he drew his sword, quietly and calmly.
“No,” Cecilia admitted. “They are not black at all, really.”
Conrad of Towerwood saw them as she spoke. He stopped, and the shout he gave to stop his soldiers was as fierce as a tiger’s roar. There was such horrible triumph in it that Cecilia forgot the Courcys and her father and even Alex.
The soldiers stood around in a close ring while Towerwood handed the bloodhound’s leash to someone else and stepped forward.
“Well, Howeforce, I have you at last. Give me your sword.”
“Who comes to take it, Towerwood?”
Towerwood folded his arms. “Not I, my lord.” Then he jerked his head at the circle of soldiers. “Disarm him. Tie him to that tree.”
Twenty soldiers rushed forward. Cecilia was suddenly engulfed in a crowd of hard bodies, grim dark faces and flashing sword blades. She screamed. A soldier tried to push her out of the way and that reminded her what Tom had said of Outsiders. She rushed in among them, then, fighting and punching her way toward Robert.
“Mind out! Don’t you dare kill me! I am an Outsider! Out of my way!”
They let her through. Swords were hurriedly snatched away as she struggled past. She reached Robert. He was against a tree and without his sword now, but he had a dagger. He snatched that out of her way as she came.
“I shall embarrass you again,” Cecilia shrieked, almost laughing. “I am hysterical,” she thought, “like Charlotte Courcy.” She put her arms round Robert and screamed over her shoulder at the soldiers: “You dare touch him now. Kill me and see what happens!”
They stood back a little, doubtfully. Robert said sadly, “It will not last, Cecilia. You will only get hurt.”
Towerwood was shouting: “You fools! Pull that girl away.”
Nobody did, to Cecilia’s surprise. The soldiers did not seem to know what to do. Then Towerwood himself came, pushing his men aside. He took Cecilia by her shoulders and wrenched her away. As he carried her back past the soldiers, he commanded: “Now tie him up.” They had already bustled forward before he spoke. Robert was tied to the tree when Cecilia flung back her hair and looked.
“Now, Howeforce,” said Towerwood, “you shall die by inches. Every soldier will throw a spear or a dagger at you, but I shall have the final thrust.”
Robert did not answer. The soldiers came slowly nearer, some drawing daggers, some testing spear edges on their hands. Cecilia screamed. She raged. She was angrier than she had ever been in her life. She twisted out of Towerwood’s hands and turned on him. Most of him was hateful hard armor, but she could reach his fat cruel face. She hit him and scratched him, she pulled his hair and she called him names. He tried to push her away, calling out to the soldiers to stop her, but none of them moved a finger to help him. Perhaps they thought Towerwood should be able to manage a mere girl on his own, or perhaps they were glad to see their leader getting something of what he deserved. Whatever it was, they did not move.
“You great toad!” Cecilia screamed.
“Throw your spears—at Howeforce!” shouted Towerwood. “Confound you, girl!” With that, he managed to gather both Cecilia’s wrists in one hand. “You will pay for this, you thing from a gutter!”
Chapter 2
Kill
Everard wanted to go and find Robert at once. “Towerwood must be stopped,” he said.
But Lord Darron and Susannah had discovered that he and Alex had eaten next to no food for more than twenty-four hours. They would n
ot hear of it.
“You must eat first or you will faint on the way,” said Lord Darron.
“Alex would be ill,” Susannah told Lord Darron. “He often is.”
Everard refused to eat in Endwait Manor. Nobody blamed him, and when they discovered that the stables were empty, they all agreed to go down to the village and find food and horses there. They walked, leading the three horses. Halfway across the drawbridge, Everard stopped.
“Alex,” he asked anxiously, “have I any straws in my hair?”
Alex laughed. “One or two.” He helped pick them out, but Everard seemed just as anxious when they were gone. “You must not worry, Everard,” Alex said. “One has only to look at you to see you are not mad.”
They stopped at the first house they came to, a fair-sized cottage set back in a large garden. At the gate was a post with a cartwheel hanging from it, to show that the owner was a wheelwright. Lord Darron opened the gate and started up the neat path between rows of snow-covered cabbages.
“No,” said Everard, “I will go on my own. You come if you think I need help.”
The people who lived in the house must have been watching, because they came out of the front door as Everard reached it. The man stood in front, and his wife looked nervously at Everard from behind her husband’s elbow. Everard bowed politely and began explaining. The wheelwright backed away a little and the woman hid behind him completely.
“Oh, Alex!” said Susannah. “Go and help him out.”
“No, wait,” said Harry.
The woman ran out from behind the man, made a little curtsey, threw her arms around Everard, and kissed him. Then there was a lot of excited talk between the man and the woman, the woman holding Everard’s hand, pointing to him and then to the Manor and then to the others waiting in the road. The man talked to Everard. Finally, Everard turned and beckoned to the others to come. Everyone was smiling. The man himself came and showed them up the garden path.