Part 3 (1/2)

* * *Much later, Lymond appeared again, still in riding dress, with a steel helmet fitted closely over his hair. A heavy white cloak marked with some kind of embroidery in red hung over one arm.

”Mat, I'm off to Annan. I leave you in charge. If that English messenger gets into trouble, Jess's Joe will report to you. Take all the men you need to free him and get him to Annan. I shall be back before dawn. Then we move to the Peel Tower..

Turkey's hand automatically ma.s.saged his stomach. ”Fair enough.” He added bluntly, ”You'll not expect us to get you out of Annan if you fall into trouble?.

”My dear Mat, I can't possibly fall into trouble,” said Lymond. ”I shall be under the best protection. I'm taking Will Scott with me..

2. Pins and Counterpins

That evening at sunset the whaup and peewit lay quiet in Annandale and the black shadows of the Torthorwald and Mousewald hills marched east over moors p.r.i.c.kling with movement and furtive noise.

Darkness fell, and two hors.e.m.e.n slipped silently around the hills and made directly for the gates of Annan, capital town of the district and newly possessed and occupied by the English army of Lord Wharton. On the last rise the riders paused to look down at the red eye in the plain, the b.l.o.o.d.y glitter of the river and the drifting thickets of white smoke. The wooden houses of Annan were on fire.

A peal of laughter s.h.i.+vered the silence.

”O wow! quo' he, were I as freeAs first when I saw this countrie . .

The sound died away in the cold air, and there was silence again.

Will Scott, in no mood for verse, shot a look at the silver-tongued, malignant animal beside him and blurted a question. ”Why did you let me join you?.

Lymond's eyes were fixed on the burning town; his voice was entirely prosaic. ”I need someone who can read and write..

”Oh.''”Further. I'm anxious to meet and talk with an Englishman of the name of Crouch. Jonathan Crouch. He may be in Annan. If he isn't you shall help me find him and then, Aen.o.barbus, you shall have a diamond, a maiden and a couch reserved in the Turkish paradise. Meanwhile-.

”Are they expecting you,” asked Scott, ”at Annan?.

The half-seen mouth curled. ”If they are, I advise you to fly like a woodp.e.c.k.e.r, crying pleu, pleu, pleu. Lord Wharton has threatened to gut me publicly and the Earl of Lennox has a personal price of a thousand crowns on my head. No. I propose to appear in one of my twenty-two incarnations, as a messenger from the Protector, with yourself as my aid. My name is Sheriff: yours shall be-what?.

Scott had also read his poets. He quoted dryly. ”This officer but doubt is callit Deid..

”Apt, if pessimistic. You have nothing to do,” said Lymond, ”but look beautiful, honest and English and pray that one Charlie Bannister has arrived before us to smooth our way. Our John the Baptist. A poor soul, but even if he has barely one head, much less eighteen, he will do to vouch for us. We shall converse briefly with the gullible ones at the gate, encounter Crouch-I trust-and return. An innocent and worthy programme. Si mundus vult decipi, decipiatur. Come along then, Marigold. It's warmer down there!.

And the two figures swept downhill, neck and neck, the red crosses on their cloaks bellying in their pa.s.sing.

* * *”Halt and . . .” began the c.u.mberland voice, and trailed off for the second time; whereat Scott found in himself an unexpected impulse to hysteria.

Above the two horses rose the gates of Annan; around them pressed an escort of the outlying guard; before them stood the gatehousewhere the guard on duty was trying to extract their names and business under hara.s.sing conditions.

”Look,” Lymond was saying bitterly, ”at the dirt on your pauldrons. And your doublet..

declare . .

”Your sword's filthy. And your dagger: how d'you expect a rusty blade to bite?.

declare-I can't help that!” said the guard excitedly, abandoning formalities. ”Robin! Davie! Move a step and I'll spit you!.

”Well, if you do,” said Lymond resignedly, ”for G.o.d's sake use someone else's sword..

But when the captain came, a swarthy, middle-aged Bewcastle man, Lymond dismounted at once and introduced himself. ”You won't remember me; Sheriff's my name. One of the Bishop's men from Durham. Sorry to make a mystery of myself, but I'm supposed to tell you to your face: it's business of the red tod's cub..

The pa.s.sword worked its miracle. As Lymond spoke, the captain's face changed; the guards were dismissed, and in privacy he turned to the two newcomers. ”You've a message for their lords.h.i.+ps from the Protector?.

”On the heels of one only,” said Lymond. ”You've spoken with Charlie Bannister?.

”The Protector's man? No..

”d.a.m.nation!” Scott shortsightedly found some amus.e.m.e.nt in Lymond's anger. After a moment he went on. ”The fool must still be on the road here-I hope nothing's come to him. I started from Leith yesterday with a message-round like the Odyssey. He was due to leave just after and come straight here. . . . It doesn't matter. I'm behind time,” said Lymond busily; ”and I've got a message for one of of your men: Jonathan Crouch. That's all..

Drinks had been brought; the captain's eyebrows rose above the rim of his cup. ”Crouch of Keswick? Then you can forget it. He was lifted in a skirmish two days ago..

The wine went down Lymond's throat like a drain. ”One message less, thank G.o.d. Who got him?.

”Whose prisoner is he? I dunno. They're welcome,” said the captain with relish. ”Drive you funny in the head, Crouch would. Tongue like the clatterbone of a goose's a.r.s.e. Are you going?.

Lymond was certainly going, and so, he hoped, was Will Scott. Thecaptain was quite ready to speed them cif . . . provided they spent ten minutes first with the joint commanders.

”A few minutes either way won't hurt you; and Wharton'li have my skin if this man Bannister doesn't arrive and I let you go too..

Cheerfully, Lymond continued to make for the gates. ”What Wharton wrn do to you will be nothing .o the Protector's delight if I spend half the night here. I've told you already. I left long before Bannister. We won the battle on Sat.u.r.day: that's all I know..

The captain, unmoving, blocked his way. ”Come along, man. Don't let me down. If you've nothing to say you'll be out in a nice.” There was a half-formed suspicion in his mind, and to object again was clearly unsafe. Without further demur, Lymond remounted and, with Scott, followed his guide through the main streets of Annan.

It was difficult riding. The young horses trembled in the pa.s.sing glare from burnt thatch and timber. Acrid smoke rolled and hung about the narrow road and caught their throats; the streets., deserted of people, were littered with charred wood and rags and smashed pottery. Scott wondered, with an interest nearly academic, how Lymond was going to extract them from this.

Farther on, when the fires were more infrequent and stone-built houses loomed ahead, a man accosted them. The captain was wanted at the gate.

Captain Drummond was a careful man. He was about to ignore the summons when Lymond spoke, solving his problem. ”I don't suppose Lord Wharton's son Harry is anywhere about? I once knew his sister, and I'd like to meet him. He could perhaps direct us to his lords.h.i.+p as well..

It was a happy suggestion. The captain, clearly relieved, spoke to the man who had waylaid them, and in a few minutes they were joined by Henry, younger son of Lord Wharton, commander of the English army on the west. Drummond explained and left with his man, and young Wharton turned to Lymond and Scott. ”Of course, I'll take you both there. It's the middle house in the square through there.” Restless, energetic, at twenty-five already a leader of horse, Henry Wharton led the way, beginning a long, newsy conversation about his family, which Lymond appeared to be sustaining surprisingly well. But Scott, some of the detachment worn off, thought: By G.o.d, he'll never make it. .

The pend leading to the square was dim. On it lay the s.h.i.+fting blackshadows of the tall buildings fringing the fires; the darkness was full of movement and the three horses, scared, huddled close.

As the shadows closed about them, Lymond launched himself on Wharton. There was the beginning of a cry, and then nothing but the cracking of hoofs as the other horse s.h.i.+ed at the struggling shapes. It was then that Captain Drummond, released from his errand, cantered cheerfully up at the rear and made to join them. Then he said sharply, ”What's happening there?” and peered into the alley.

Scott saw the whistle in his hand just in time. Instinctively, the boy's hand went to his belt. He found his dagger, stood in his stirrups, and thrcw. The captain gave a brief cry, and fell to his horse's mane, and from there to the street.

It was suddenly very quiet. Wharton's horse stood nose to nose with Lymond's bay, snuffling gently, and there was an extra dark shadow on the road. The Master's voice said tartly, ”Dropped off to sleep?.

”Oh!” Scott dismounted in a hurry. Young Wharton was, he found, lying face down in the road, a cloth stuffed in his mouth and bent arms savagely clinched by Lymond.

”Where's Drummond?.

”I knifed him. He's lying in the road..

”Then get him out of it, for G.o.d's sake. We don't want a public wake for him. Take two of the horses and tie them up here. Drag the captain to the wall. Is he dead?.

”I don't know,” said Scott self-consciously.