a groom. The horses were richly appointed, with saddles covered in red velvet trimmed with silver. Strips of red cloth ran down the flanks.
'Those aren't farm horses,' Marek said. But he didn't see the riders anywhere.
'What do we do?' Kate said.
Chris Hughes was following the boy toward the village of Castelgard when his earpiece suddenly crackled. He heard Kate say, 'What do we do?' and Marek answered, 'I'm not sure.'
Chris said, 'Have you found the Professor?'
The boy turned and looked back at him. 'Do you speak to me, squire?'
'No, boy,' Chris said. 'Just to myself.'
'Justo myself?' the boy repeated, shaking his head. 'Your speech is difficult to comprehend.'
In the earpiece, Marek said, 'Chris. Where the hell are you?'
'Going to the castle,' Chris said aloud. 'On this lovely day.' He looked up at the sky as he spoke, trying to make it appear as if he was talking to himself.
He heard Marek say, 'Why are you going there? Are you still with the boy?'
'Yes, very lovely.'
The boy turned back again, with a worried look on his face. 'Do you speak to the air? Are you with sound mind?'
'Yes,' Chris said. 'I am with sound mind. I wish only that my companions might join me in the castle.'
'Why?' Marek said in his earpiece.
'I am sure they shall join you in good time,' the boy said. 'Tell me of your companions. Are they Irisher, too? Are they gentles like you, or servants?'
In his ear, Marek said, 'Why did you tell him you are gentle?'
'Because it describes me.'
'Chris. `Gentle' means you are nobility,' Marek said. 'Gentle man, gentle woman. It means of noble birth.
You'll draw attention to yourself and get embarrassing questions about your family, which you can't answer.'
'Oh,' Chris said.
'I am sure it does describe you,' the boy said. 'And your copains as well? They are gentles?'
'You speak true,' Chris said. 'My companions are gentles, too.'
'Chris, goddamn it,' Marek said through the earpiece. 'Don't fool with what you don't understand. You're asking for trouble. And if you keep on this way, you will get it.'
Standing at the edge of the peasant huts, Marek heard Chris say, 'You just get the Professor, will you?' and then the boy asked Chris another question, but it was obscured by a burst of static.
Marek turned and looked across the river toward Castelgard. He could see the boy, walking slightly ahead of Chris.
'Chris,' Marek said. 'I see you. Turn around and come back. Join us here. We have to stay together.'
'Most difficult.'
'Why?' Marek said, frustrated.
Chris didn't answer him directly. 'And who, good sir, may be the horsemen on the far bank?' Apparently, he was talking to the boy.
Marek shifted his gaze, saw mounted riders at the river's edge, letting their horses drink, watching them go.
'That is Sir Guy de Malegant, called `Guy Tкte Noire.' He is retained in the service of my Lord Oliver. Sir Guy is a knight of renown - for his many acts of murder and villainy.'
Listening, Kate said, 'He can't come back to us here, because of the knights on horseback.'
'You speak true,' Chris said.
Marek shook his head. 'He should never have left us in the first place.'
The creak of a door behind them made Marek turn. He saw the familiar figure of Professor Edward Johnston coming through the side door of the monastery wall and stepping into sunlight. He was alone.
35:31:11
Edward Johnston was wearing a doublet of dark blue, and black hose; the clothes were plain, with little decoration or embroidery, lending him a conservative, scholarly air. He could indeed pass for a London clerk on a pilgrimage, Marek thought. Probably that was the way Geoffrey Chaucer, another clerk of the time, had dressed on his own pilgrimage.
The Professor stepped carelessly into the morning sun, and then staggered a little. They rushed up to his side and saw that he was panting. His first words were, 'Do you have a marker?'
'Yes,' Marek said.
'It's just the two of you?'
'No. Chris also. But he's not here.
Johnston shook his head in quick irritation. 'All right. Quickly, this is how it is. Oliver's in Castelgard' - he nodded to the town across the river - 'but he wants to move to La Roque, before Arnaut arrives. His great fear is that secret passage that goes into La Roque. Oliver wants to know where it is. Everyone around here is mad to discover it, because both Oliver and Arnaut want it so badly. It's the key to everything. People here think I'm wise. The Abbot asked me to search the old documents, and I found-'
The door behind them opened and soldiers in maroon-and-gray surcoats rushed them. The soldiers cuffed Marek and Kate, knocking them away roughly, and Kate nearly lost her wig. But they were careful with the Professor, never touching him, walking on either side of him. The soldiers seemed respectful, as if they were a protective escort. Getting to his feet and dusting himself off, Marek had the feeling they had been instructed not to injure him.
Marek watched in silence as Johnston and the soldiers mounted up and set off on the road.
'What do we do?' Kate whispered.
The Professor tapped the side of his head. They heard him say in a singsong, as if praying, 'Follow me. I'll try to get us all together. You get Chris.'
35:25:18
Following the boy, Chris came to the entrance to Castelgard: double wooden doors, heavily reinforced with iron braces. The doors now stood open, guarded by a soldier in a surcoat of burgundy and gray. The guard greeted them by saying, 'Setting a tent? Laying a ground cloth? It is five sols to sell in the market on tournament day.'
'Non sumus mercatores,' the boy said. 'We are not merchants.'
Chris heard the guard reply, 'Anthoubeest, ye schule payen. Quinquesols maintenant, aut decem postea.' But the translation did not follow immediately in his ear; he realized the guard was speaking an odd mixture of English, French and Latin Then he heard, 'If you are, you must pay. Five sols now, or ten later.'
The boy shook his head. 'Do you see merchant wares?'
'Herkle, non.' In the earpiece: 'By Hercules, I do not.'
'Then you are answered.'
Despite his youth the boy spoke sharply, as if accustomed to commanding. The guard merely shrugged and turned away. The boy and Chris passed through the doors and entered the village.
Immediately inside the walls were several farmhouses and fenced plots. This area smelled strongly of swine. They made their way past thatched houses and pens of grunting pigs, then climbed steps to a winding cobblestone street with stone buildings on both sides. Now they were in the town itself.
The street was narrow and busy, and the buildings two stories high, with the second story overhanging, so no
