In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,130
duration of their stay. Lord Dafydd was helped out of the litter, groaning in genuine agony over the stench of the seneschal’s breath as he was offered more assurances of expert medical attention.
Gallworm, as the seneschal was addressed by Brevant, was ordered to escort their honoured guests to the great hall, where the governor was waiting to greet them. The hunchback bobbed and nodded, crabbing backward with a shuffling gait, beckoning the others to follow.
Henry took Ariel’s arm and gave it a squeeze for courage, then followed Brevant’s lead across the footbridge, careful to place their steps where the captain’s weight proved the warped and pitted boards could best bear the strain. Entrance to the tower itself was gained through climbing a steep flight of covered stairs. The paved platform at the top was perhaps ten paces square and fell directly under the eyes of a dozen sentries posed on catwalks above. Three doors opened off this platform, the one on the left led to the adjoining towers and barracks, the one on the right to the cookhouse and laundry. The middle was the largest and opened onto a second stone platform that overlooked the great hall.
Half—nay, a third the size of either Amboise or Pembroke, the audience chamber was smoke-filled and poorly lit, stinking of mouldy rushes and unwashed bodies. Descending onto the floor was like walking down the ridges of a spine into a whale’s belly, with the arched beams closing like ribs overhead and a narrow, rectangular shape that made the walls seem to crowd in on both sides.
At the far end was a raised dais, and on it, a single high-backed chair, large enough and ornate enough in carvings and design to resemble a throne. Seated there, clad in his capacious black robes of authority, was the governor of Corfe Castle, Guy of Gisbourne. Thin and ferretlike in appearance, he sat perfectly still as his guests approached; only his eyes flicked from one face to the next, from one cut of tunic to the next, satisfied to see his own finery would not suffer by comparison. His hands, with every one of his ten fingers bejeweled with rings, rested on the broad arms of the chair. One foot was stretched slightly forward of the other, the sharply pointed, exquisitely tooled leather of his shoe extending from beneath the hem of his robe. He wore a plaited sallet on his head, black with gold fancywork, crowning hair that was long and smooth and ended in a perfect curl just above the collar. His face was as narrow and pointed as his shoes, with a long hooked nose and eyes that were so slitted against the effects of the smoke and gloom, they could have been any colour from brown to black to palest blue.
“Ah. Lord Henry and Lady Ariel de Clare, I presume? What a pleasant and unexpected surprise to learn you were in the vicinity. But why did you not come instantly to the castle instead of taking up lodgings in that squalid little inn? I confess, I am somewhat puzzled … and offended … that you did not.”
“The slight was not deliberate, I assure you,” said Henry. “In truth, we had expected to spend no more than a single night in the village, as haste is our most pressing concern. But then our man was taken by a fever and—” He shrugged and smiled dismissively. “Such go the way of all good intentions, I suppose.”
The hooded eyes slid past Henry’s shoulder to where Lord Dafydd stood between Sedrick and Eduard. “We have an excellent physician here at Corfe. If your men would care to follow Captain Brevant, I am sure his wounds can be tended at once.”
“My thanks,” Henry said. “The fever has broken and the arm appears to have set without mortification, but I am sure he could benefit greatly from a leeching, if your man has the facilities …?”
Gisbourne smiled. “I assure you, we have the finest facilities for prolonging … or expediting life. Now please—” He clapped his jeweled hands and called forth a pair of varlets waiting nearby with chairs. “Come and sit by the brazier where it is warmer and tell me all the news of your uncle, William the Marshal. God abide me, I met the man not two summers ago when he came to oversee some communication or other with the two Scottish brats the king had trusted to our care. In truth, they were not so much