A Tale of Two Castles (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

T
he dog's back legs were hobbled. The chain around his neck had been tied to a rope, which had then been looped over the finial, a spike atop the merlon. A bowl of water lay near his head. I crouched by him and held out my hand, which he licked. He struggled to stand but toppled, though his tail continued to wag, slapping the ground so enthusiastically it lifted his entire rear.

“Nesspa?” With my purse knife I cut the cloth that hobbled him and lifted the rope off the merlon.

His golden coat was knotted here and there. I had to brush away his eyebrow hair to see an eye, which turned reproachfully up at me.
Can't you tell I'm drinking?

When he finished, he stood, legs trembling until he found his balance. His back was almost as high as my waist.

“Come!” The dog trotted ahead of me without tugging. What a smart beast!

I shouted, “Your Lordship,” although no one could hear me up here. We started down. Halfway, he must have sniffed his master, because he began to pull. I held on, barely succeeding in staying on my feet.

The gatehouse tower stairs took us down to the passage that led to the outer ward. This was the castle's main entrance, wide enough to admit four horsemen abreast. As I ran, I saw rose petals beneath my feet.

Ahead, their backs to me, a knot of people and the count blocked the passage.

Nesspa was pulling hard enough to yank my arm from my body. “Your Lordship!” I cried, and let the rope go.

The dog cleared a path through the crowd. I followed more slowly.

“Oh! La!”

“Nesspa!” The count let go the chain of his substitute dog—Sheeyen again—and crouched.

Nesspa leaped up, again and again, to lick the ogre's face.

“Nesspie, where were you? Are you hurt?” The count's big hands felt the dog all over.

Sheeyen sniffed Nesspa's rear quarter.

“Who found you?” He looked up, saw me, and beamed his rare, sweet smile.

A man took Sheeyen's chain and tugged her away.

Might the return of Nesspa, His Lordship's protector, thwart the plans of someone here or someone arriving?

Princess Renn leaned over to pat Nesspa's head and placed her free hand on the count's sleeve. For the feast she wore an orange cloak trimmed with royal ermine and an orange cap. “
Eh
lodie, where did you find him?”

Was she angry at me? She had wanted to find Nesspa and have His Lordship's gratitude.

To let her know I hadn't tried to outdo her, I said, “I wasn't searching. I was on the wall walk, practicing for the entertainment. He was tied there.”

She didn't appear angry. “You are lucky. Jonty Um, isn't she lucky?”

“I'm lucky.” He frowned, while continuing to pat Nesspa. “We searched the wall walk.”

I wondered if he himself had searched or his servants had. I looked away from the reunion. My masteress would want me to see everything. Behind the princess, a woman hovered, a woman in middle age, tall but not so tall as Her Highness, the woman's cloak simple but falling in the loose folds of fine wool. The princess's maid, I decided.

A princess's maid could go unchallenged wherever she liked. She might have stolen Nesspa.

Count Jonty Um stood. “Misyur . . .” He beamed down at the man holding Sheeyen. “He's unhurt.”

“I'm glad, Your Lordship.”

Was this a friend of the count's? I scrutinized the gentleman: wide forehead, uplifted eyebrows, soft chin, swarthy skin. Warm smile, but that might mean nothing. Prosperous in a blue silk cap.

“Sir Misyur,” Princess Renn said, “might we add something to the feast to celebrate?”

Ah. Sir. This was His Lordship's steward. A count's steward would be noble, a knight or better.

His friendly smile widened. “What do you think, Your Highness?”

“A frumenty with flerr sauce. Jonty Um and I love it so. My father as well.”

A frumenty was an ordinary custard, but flerr berries grew only on high mountain bushes that rarely flowered. Their taste was said to be sweeter than honey, more mellow than hazelnut, and more perfumed than muskmelon.

Sir Misyur's smile faltered. “The kitchen will do its best.” He led Sheeyen across the inner ward in the direction of the stable.

I heard hoofbeats from the outer ward.

“La! Jonty Um, your guests have arrived.”

“Nesspa, come.”

I followed His Lordship and the princess through the passage. We broke back into sunlight as the first wagon driver reined in his horses. Grooms took the bridles, and servants helped the guests step down.

A few people held squirming cats. I counted ten guests and three cats. I observed His Lordship for a frown at the cats, but his face had lapsed into blankness.

A second cart drew in. First to jump down was Goodwife Celeste's husband, Goodman Twah. With his assistance, she descended.

I positioned myself behind a groom. I'd thought them too poor and not distinguished enough to be invited, but if they were indeed poor, today their cloaks were not—marten fur fringing the collars of both, and Goodwife Celeste's was embroidered with green thread in a pattern of leaping cats. What did she mean by wearing a cat design?

She raised an arm to adjust her cap. Her fashionably long kirtle sleeve fell away, revealing a silver armband, and with it, her bracelet of twine.

A third cart rumbled across the drawbridge.

“La! Here's Thiel!” The princess left Count Jonty Um's side.

How could he be arriving, when he'd spent the night here? And how could he be a guest? Yet there he was, holding his cat Pardine as one might cradle a baby. The cat was decked out in a twine collar.

As usual, I blushed at the sight of him.

Gallantly, he let everyone descend ahead of him, seven men and women, three young children, and four cats. Two of the men stood as tall as he. Both were fleshier and older, but their eyes were gray, too, and their jaws strong despite plump jowls. Cousins? Brothers? Neither appeared wealthy, but their cloaks were respectable. By contrast, Master Thiel wore his usual threadbare tunic and no cloak. When he jumped from the cart, I saw he wore shoes today, poverty shoes, with a drawstring at the top, like mine.

Blushing, too, Princess Renn pranced to him. “Thiel! Such news we have! Jonty Um's dog has been found. Joy!”

“Great tidings indeed,” he said, smiling and moving Pardine to his shoulder.

“Come! You must congratulate him. He will want to hear from
you
.” She took the sleeve of his tunic and, like an excited child, tugged him toward His Lordship.

Why would a count care what a miller's son, a mere cat teacher, said? Why had Master Thiel been invited to the feast? Because of his noble blood?

Why had any particular one of them been invited? Had Count Jonty Um invited many more, and these were the only people who had accepted? Had they come as a confederacy against him?

“Your Lordship, I hope your companion has been restored to you in good health.”

“Welcome, Master Thiel. Yes, in good health.”

“Now Jonty Um is happy,” Princess Renn said, “and we all can be happy, too.”

Happy, I thought, except for the poaching, the thievery, and the hatred of the people of Two Castles. Happy, except for every cat wanting him to turn into a mouse. Strange happiness.

Chapter Twenty-One

I
hovered on the fringe of the crowd as five more carts arrived, each one met by the count with a single nod and a stiff smile. He would never win them over with those. The monkey would have done better.

The mansioners rolled in after the last load of guests descended. His Lordship didn't remain to greet Master Sulow, so I couldn't see what interested me most, the mansioners and the lucky apprentices.

In the great hall, King Grenville sat again at the dais. I knew he had left and returned, because his tunic was now blue. From here I couldn't see if this tunic was also soiled.

Once inside, we all bowed or curtsied.

“Rise. Rise. No need for ceremony with me.”

I rose and looked around. White linen tablecloths, candelabra on every table, each candle already lit—during daylight! Oil lamps glowed along the walls and marched atop a line of stanchions between the serving tables and the long guest table. Roaring fires blazed in all three fireplaces. Only the sun itself could have cast more light.

A dog and a guard were stationed at each fireplace. The guests spread out, forming loose groups in the open area between the end of the long table and the door. I stood alone, wishing I could eavesdrop, but people were speaking too softly.

Nesspa barked as loud as a box of breaking pottery.

Master Thiel shouted, “Pardine!”

The cat dashed my way, then swerved to avoid me, but I grabbed him by the nape of his neck, and he hung from my hand, peaceable as a fur sack—peaceable, but with a leather purse in his mouth.

King Grenville cried, “What's afoot?”

Princess Renn answered, “Just a cat, Father.”

I pried the purse from his teeth. Had Master Thiel taught him this trick? Was Pardine the only cat that knew it? Did Master Thiel indeed have my copper?

A red-faced Master Thiel hurried to me. He took Pardine, whispered in the cat's ear, and set him down. The cat walked away from us in a snaking line across the hall. Master Thiel stayed at my side.

“That's mine.” A man stood over me and held out his hand.

I gave him the purse.

The man was one of the two who resembled Master Thiel. He held the purse in a tight fist, and his voice was tight, too. “Father knew what he was about, Thiel.”

“Our honored father had the right to judge me, Frair, but . . .”

So this truly was one of Master Thiel's brothers who'd inherited the mill and the mule.

“. . . Pardine is just a cat and—”

“
Your
cat.” Master Frair's voice was harsh, a judge pronouncing judgment.

“My cat.” Master Thiel's voice was velvet over a knife.

I felt afraid until Master Frair strode off to his goodwife.

And Master Thiel smiled down at me.

I smiled down at my shoes.

“Thank you for the rescue. Pardine has been carrying off this and that from my brothers since he was a kitten.”

From his brothers and no one else?

“Why, you're the girl at Sulow's mansion, the girl who portrayed Thisbe. Have you found a situation here?”

I nodded, a half-truth. “My name is Elodie,” I said, since he seemed to have forgotten.

“Too bad, Mistress Elodie. You should be a mansioner. Sulow never has anyone good in the child roles.”

Lambs and calves! If only I were five years older. “Did Master Sulow decide to take you and Pardine?”

“He refused, and so I have no master.”

“Thiel!” Princess Renn cried. “Come see the monkey on the wall. It is Jonty Um as a monkey. What a pretty monkey he makes.”

I had forgotten to keep my eyes on His Lordship! The count stood safely with Princess Renn, Sir Misyur, and Nesspa, who'd curled up at his master's feet.

“Pardon me, Mistress Elodie,” Master Thiel said, bowing and leaving me.

When would he and I ever again converse?

As I watched the count and his companions, the princess ran her hand around the outline of the monkey and chattered and gestured energetically. Sir Misyur nodded along with her words. His Lordship stood erect, treelike, his expression unreadable. If he loved Princess Renn, I couldn't tell.

If he was enjoying having visitors, I couldn't tell that, either.

Master Thiel rocked back on his heels, hands behind his back, speaking, admiring the monkey, I supposed. Pardine padded to him and rubbed against his leg. He picked the cat up. Pardine and the ogre seemed not to notice each other, but Nesspa stood and shook himself.

I looked around at the other guests. What were the telltale signs of a poacher, a dog thief, a thief of castle sundries? I couldn't guess.

Serving maids entered with trays of tiny meat turnovers. I wondered if I should begin my cupbearing, but no one told me to, so I remained where I thought I should be, closer to His Lordship than to my post on the dais.

Goodman Twah and Goodwife Celeste moved between me and His Lordship. I went to her side. Why? Because I liked her, because I felt safe in her presence, because I could see the count from here, because I distrusted her. I distrusted them all, but she was the only one I could approach.

She must have sensed me, for she put her arm around my shoulder without looking down. Her hand tapped out a light rhythm. Mother used to mark nursery rhymes for me just this way, with a soft hand on my head or my belly.

Sir Misyur spoke into His Lordship's ear.

“Thank you all for coming,” Count Jonty Um boomed. He made an awkward try at a joke. “I cannot gather myself, so there could have been no gathering without you.”

“La! You are witty.”

A few people laughed politely.

“Where is the humor?” King Grenville said from the dais. “Renn and I were already here. He could have gathered us.”

Goodwife Celeste's hand stilled on my shoulder.

Sir Misyur cleared his throat, and a dozen men and women ran into the hall from the inner ward and began to juggle oranges. I had seen juggling with wooden balls, never with oranges. Would they be eaten later or discarded?

“Elodie, how nice to see you,” Goodwife Celeste said. “Have you become ennobled since yesterday? Are you Duchess Elodie now?”

I shook my head, embarrassed. “I am to be cupbearer to Count Jonty Um, Princess Renn, and the king.”

“Cupbearer? Almost as much an advance as ennoblement. Congratulations! And you have changed masters from a dragon to . . .” I watched her swallow
an ogre
and replace it with “His Lordship.”

“You are resplendent, mistress. Have
you
been ennobled?”

She looked down at her cloak. “Borrowed finery. My daughter married well.” She indicated a youngish woman a little distance away, a woman of Goodwife Celeste's height and girth.

The daughter's cloak was faded and without fur. She must have lent the best to her mother. The daughter might have married well, but not well enough for two splendid cloaks.

The midafternoon castle bell tolled. The jugglers bowed or curtsied and ran out, leaving behind a faint smell of oranges. A servant, the ewerer, stood with a pitcher in front of the carved wooden screen that shielded the door to the kitchen. Another servant held a basin.

Princess Renn took His Lordship's hand, having to reach up, as a child must to hold the hand of its father. He smiled at her, a smile that seemed dutiful. They made their way to the ewerer, he shortening his stride, she lengthening hers. When they reached him, she held out her hands and scrubbed them as the ewerer poured. The water flowed over her hands and into the waiting basin.

His Lordship washed next and playfully sprinkled water on Nesspa's snout. Princess Renn sprinkled water on the count. His face reddened.

“La! You are so serious!”

The guests formed a line to wash their hands. I tagged along uncertainly and stood at the end. A cupbearer should have clean hands, no?

His Lordship proceeded to the dais with the princess and Nesspa. Each guest washed in turn, many setting down a cat to do so. When the basin filled, a servant emerged from behind the screen to replace it. Likewise, when the ewer spilled its last drops, a servant arrived with a full one.

Would the king be the only diner with dirty hands? Was he permitted, because he was king?

No. Another ewerer and another basin carrier went to him.

“Ah,” he said, sounding pleased. “I regret putting you to extra trouble.”

After washing, the guests took their seats. Each seemed to know his or her place. Master Thiel, holding Pardine, sat a few guests away from his brothers and their wives, all of them near the lowly end of the table, far below the salt. He began instantly to converse with the young woman on his right.

Goodwife Celeste, her goodman, and their daughter and son-in-law were situated in the middle of the table, even with the salt.

Fourteen people filled the high table benches: Sir Misyur, the princess's maid, and the most richly dressed and bejeweled of the guests. I identified the lord mayor of Two Castles by the brass chain of office slung across his chest. The mayor and one of the women each held a cat.

Was I supposed to begin cupbearing now or wait for some signal? The ewerer and basin holder left, and I felt alone and exposed. Several yards away, Cellarer Bwat hovered over a table laden with bottles and jugs. I wished he would say what to do, but he just stared pointedly at me, his face purple again.

He must mean I should go. I ran to stand between the king and Princess Renn.

Servants rushed in bearing steaming platters. Some deposited the platters on the tables and hurried back to the kitchen. Others positioned themselves behind the guests' benches at the lower table. Three stood to my right and three to my left behind the benches on the dais, my fellow cupbearers, I supposed.

None of them did anything except join Cellarer Bwat in staring at me. I looked down to see if I'd torn my apron.

Princess Renn said, “La!
Eh
lodie, now you must pour the wine.”

“Jonty Um,” King Grenville said, “you chose an idiot to pour for us. Though I taught her myself this morning, she learned nothing.”

“She will do, Your Majesty,” the count said.

“She is not from Two Castles,” Princess Renn said by way of excusing me.

My face burning, I reached between her and His Lordship for the wine bottle, which I uncorked in the fashion I'd learned. I passed the bottle under the king's long nose and the ogre's big freckled one, and poured.