Why not? thought Noel. He’d just captured this castle and the province it represented for his own.
Sir Geoffrey stepped forward. “I have brought the prisoner, my liege.”
Sir Magnin whirled like a dancer, panther quick, and regarded Sir Geoffrey with his intense black eyes. Beside Noel, Elena trembled visibly, still enrapt. She was panting as though she had run down the mountain. Noel put his pity aside. She was as vital and as physical as Sir Magnin. It was inevitable she be attracted to him.
Sir Magnin’s gaze shifted to Noel, who promptly forgot all about Elena and her fantasies. He was taken down from the horse. The ground tilted beneath him enough to make him stagger. He dragged in a swift breath to keep himself quiet.
“What ails him?” demanded Sir Magnin, striding forward. He grasped Noel’s chin with powerful fingers still slick with sweat and blood, and forced Noel to look at him. A varlet scurried forward with a torch. Sir Magnin’s eyes flew wide. He stared at Noel as though looking upon an apparition.
“What trickery is this?” he whispered.
Noel’s blood ran cold. So this was the end of his game. He imagined himself trussed to those posts and the whip whistling against his back.
“You look exactly like-” Sir Magnin cut himself short and frowned, his eyes boring into Noel as though to pry the deepest secrets from him. “Hmm,” he said at last. “No, I think not. Not quite, yet this is most peculiar.”
“What is it?” said Sir Geoffrey in bewilderment. “Do you say this is not Lord Theodore? The Byzantines did their best to conceal him by putting him in this coarse garb. Another even pretended to be him for a time. But we figured out the ruse. He carries the seal of office-”
“Does he?” Sir Magnin smiled, his good humor restored as though he had drawn on gloves to mask his claws. “Harlan, regard him and tell me if you are not astonished at the likeness.”
The elderly man in clerical black, the one who had ridden ahead of Lady Sophia a short time ago, shuffled forward with his chain of office gleaming across his chest. He put his skull-like face in Noel’s and peered at him. He reeked of camphor and pennywort.
“Indeed, it is most uncommon.”
“Look,” said Noel rather desperately as their faces began to spin around him. “This is the second time I have been mistaken for someone else. I don’t-”
“Injured,” said Sir Magnin. His gaze stabbed to Sir Geoffrey. “How? In last night’s battle?”
“No,” said Sir Geoffrey and explained in a low voice.
Sir Magnin’s laugh rang out across the courtyard. “Jumped his mule into the ravine, by hell and divinity! Did you think God would let you fly, Lord Theodore? Ho, I have not heard such a jest in weeks! You must have more courage than good sense, my lord. Is it true, what he says?”
Noel managed to pull himself together. “Yes, it is true,” he said quietly.
Sir Magnin’s wide mouth spread in a grin that sent a chill coursing through Noel. There was a rapaciousness to his expression, a ruthlessness radiating from him, even in laughter, that betrayed what manner of man he was beneath the finery and the good looks. Noel did not want to be this man’s enemy.
“I like the sound of this,” said Sir Magnin. “So you are a brave and clever man, are you? I will hear this tale. But not here and now. Get him cleaned up, Sir Geoffrey. We are not uncivilized. We can afford to be gracious to those whom we have defeated. Bring him to my table tonight.”
Sir Geoffrey bowed. “As you command.”
“Harlan, make certain my little shadow hears of this,” said Sir Magnin with a smirk Noel did not trust. “I want him at my side in a small audience with Lord Theodore before we dine. Oh, and Lady Sophia may be present also.”
The official bowed reverently. “It shall be done, my lord.”
“Good.” Sir Magnin gazed into Noel’s eyes, his own brimming with amusement. He burst out laughing again and walked away, shaking his head at the servant who tried to offer him his tunic.
Noel stared after him, and Elena came to his side.
“I must speak to him,” she said in a low, frustrated voice. “You, Sir Geoffrey, you did not even give me introduction-”
“Why should I?” said Sir Geoffrey irritably. “Something is afoot. What trick have the two of you invented?” His eyes swept from Noel’s face to Elena’s. “I swear to God, if you have led me false-”
“If we have led you false,” broke in Noel, tired and more worried than he wanted to admit, “it’s him we’ll have to fear, not you.”
Sir Geoffrey ignored him and turned to the old man. “Lord Harlan, what amused him so? What is amiss?”
The official bared the few rotten teeth remaining in his mouth. “I am not at liberty to say, sir knight. Go and do as you have been commanded. When our guest is presentable, see that he is brought to the small antechamber behind the audience hall.”
Cutting Noel a sly look, the official placed his clawlike hands importantly upon his chain and shuffled away.
CHAPTER 7
Noel went to sleep in his bath and nearly drowned.
Attendants jerked him out by his hair and pummeled him until, gasping and sputtering, he coughed up the water he’d inhaled. The tub was made of wood and large enough for several people to bathe in together. The water looked reasonably clean, and a blushing little maid in a headdress and saffron gown had scented the water with an aromatic mixture of herbs that she crushed with a marble mortar and pestle. She also added the juice of lemons and heated, fragrant oils. The steam soothed Noel’s senses, and the warm water was heaven on his bruises.
When he’d been dried off, massaged, and had his ribs bound tightly, Noel put on hose of scarlet, shoes too short, and a scratchy tunic of blue that bore someone’s coat of arms. A brazier fire kept the small stone room warm. Torchlight blackened the walls from iron sconces bolted into the stone, and cast a ruddy, flickering light over everything. His attendants did not talk, and their grim faces made him as uneasy as did the royal treatment he was receiving.
He kept thinking of Sir Magnin’s laughter. It had been the wrong reaction. He knew he’d been found out, but he wasn’t sure how. Nor did he understand why Sir Magnin was toying with him in this way.
The gold seal of office, naturally, had been scooped away by a servant as soon as his clothes were stripped off. His money and dagger were long since gone. All he had left was his LOC, and when the maid tried to take the copper bracelet from his wrist, she had received a slight electrical shock that obviously puzzled her but convinced her to leave it alone.
“Food, my lord?” she said softly. She clapped her hands, and a page entered with a laden tray. The maid directed him to place it on the wooden clothes chest, and while she busied herself pouring wine into a metal goblet, the other attendants filed silently out.
Noel took the cup with caution, half expecting the sour bite of retsina, but it was a full-flavored bordeaux, as fine as anything he had ever tasted.
“French wine!” he said in surprise. “Excellent!”
She bowed, a smile curling her tender lips. “Of course, my lord. We are civilized here in Mistra. The cellars hold the finest in French and Italian wines.”
He drank deeply and let her refill his cup, then watched as she removed covers from dishes and set about seasoning them with herbs shaken out from small bottles sealed with cork stoppers. Oregano, basil, rosemary, cinnamon, a meager pinch of salt, and the juice of lemon were combined with dishes of steaming food. Noel’s mouth watered. It was all he could do not to snatch a platter for himself and dig in.
There was something about time travel that burned excessive amounts of calories. Noel always found himself ravenous when he reached his destination. Today there had been no chance to eat. Now, rested and feeling better, his headache nearly gone, he could barely keep himself in his chair.
She drew out a tiny box carved from streaked olive wood and shook it so that the contents rattled. “Peppercorns. Do you care for ground pepper, my lord?”
“Yes,” he said and bit off the urge to tell her to hurry-She served him rice first, a pilaf flavored with tomato
