Marguerite stood gazing about the chamber, awestruck. The webs were immense, and she could only wonder about the size of their maker. 'But I don't need the spider itself,' she protested gently, 'only the web.'
'Until we see the spinner, we cannot be sure of the product.'
Marguerite heard the crackling of a fire behind her. She turned, and saw that Ramus had already mounded kindling in the black hollow and summoned a flame. She wondered at his skill. Something nagged at the back of her mind, some inconsistency between the fire and the Vistana's statement, but she was too weary and cold to bring it to the fore.
Ramus took a blanket from his satchel and spread it near the fire. He bowed deeply, then motioned for Marguerite to sit. She smiled and complied. The gypsy added a small log to the fire, reaching across her, brushing her arm. He sniffed, then reached out and lifted the pouch from her neck. 'What's this?' he asked, wrinkling his nose.
'Protection,' she said. 'Zosia gave it to me. Don-skoy's cook. She's a Vistani too, or was. She's rather secretive.'
Ramus raised a brow, and Marguerite suddenly feit foolish.
'Anyway,' she continued, 'Zosia told rne this would keep the beasts of the forest at bay.'
Ramus laughed darkly. 'Somehow I doubt it.' He sniffed the pouch again and grimaced in disgust. 'Though it could deter anything with a sensitive nose. And it might also deter the spider.' He tugged at the string circling Marguerite's neck and broke it, throwing the pouch into the fire. The flames reared up, angry and green, then subsided and began lapping at the edges of the leather.
'Thanks a lot,' muttered Marguerite.
Ramus looked at her and smiled. 'Don't worry. I will see that you return to the keep safely. You should trust me, Marguerite. What other stranger has treated you so kindly?'
Marguerite did not reply. She wished she were home safe in her chamber, carrying the child of the lord she imagined Donskoy could become-surely would become, if she pleased him.
'Are you cold?' asked Ramus, putting his arm around her shoulder.
'No,' she said, withdrawing herself. It was like dragging her body through water.
'Then let us sit quietly. The spider will come if we remain still,'
Marguerite nodded, staring at the fire, in time, she became hypnotized by the flame.
A tap on her shoulder broke the spell. Ramus pointed toward the corner of the cavern. A creature as large as a dog was dangling overhead, slowly descending. It was white and translucent, glowing like the moon. Ichor dripped from its jaws as its legs touched the cavern floor.
Without bothering to rise, Ramus withdrew a dagger from his belt. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the blade soared toward its mark, planting itself deep in the spider's abdomen. The creature faltered, curling its legs around the dripping wound, mouth working incessantly. And then it was still.
Marguerite scrambled to her feet. Her heart drummed in her chest.
'You see?' said Ramus calmly, slowly rising to stand. 'A simple matter. Mow am I certain to whom the webs belong.' He walked to the spider and withdrew his blade from its body. Two legs wiggled, a final gesture. The Vistana wiped his knife on a rag from his satchel and returned it to its sheath.
Marguerite suddenly recalled her quest. She let out her breath and approached the webs, giving ample berth to the spider's corpse. She extended a hand overhead but found she couldn't reach. Ramus stepped up behind her, standing so close she could feel the brush of his clothing, and he reached up to procure a strand. Marguerite took it from him shyly, tucking it into her pouch. Ramus doused the fire, and they went out of the cave together.
'I suppose I should thank you,' said Marguerite.
'It would be appropriate, but I did not assist you to earn your gratitude.'
'Nonetheless,' said Marguerite, 'I am grateful.'
Ramus smiled. 'Your thanks are accepted.'
He whistled for his horse. When they reached the bottom of the slope, the beast was waiting. He returned his satchel to the saddle, then, as the woods were too dense to ride, they walked together. At length, they returned to the old vardo.
Marguerite stared at the firepit. The coals were still glowing, though Ramus had extinguished the flame before they left. She remembered the spirits, and could not resist voicing the question that teased her thoughts.
'While you played. .'
'Yes?'
'I observed something strange.'
'Something strange?I' Ramus echoed. His voice was teasing, almost daring Marguerite to continue.
'Yes. Three women. Specters.'
Ramus smiled. 'Your sight is keen for a glorgia.'
'Who were they? The spirits, I mean. And how did you summon them?'
Ramus walked to his horse and withdrew his violin from the saddle. 'You know how,'
Realizing his intent. Marguerite started. 'I have to return to the castle,' she protested. 'Don't summon them now.'
'If you don't wish to know the answer, you shouldn't ask the question.' Ramus lifted his violin to his chin, drawing the bow across the strings. Marguerite turned, looking at the wall of forest that lay between her and the keep. 'I have to go,I' she said, but her feet did not move.
'Don't be afraid.' Ramus continued to play.
The music slid into Marguerite's body, pulling her gently toward the gypsy. She heard Ramus whisper, 'You have nothing to fear. And much to learn about your lord, your land. Wouldn't you like to know its secrets?'
Marguerite opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. The spirits were rising before her, three women, returning. They caressed Ramus as before, sliding through the strings of the violin, then rising up to dance sensuously in the sky overhead. One of them beckoned to Marguerite.
Ramus ceased his playing abruptly, and the women vanished.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Marguerite regained her voice. 'Who are they?' she whispered.
Ramus stood across the clearing. His eyes burned into her. 'Members of my tribe.'
'Dead members?'
Ramus laughed darkly. 'Indeed. Thanks to your lord.'
Marguerite hesitated. 'My husband?'
He laughed darkly. 'Donskoy slaughtered them. He is a rogue and a murderer, evil incarnate. And you are his latest prize.'
'I don't believe you,' she said hoarsely. 'You are lying.'
'Am I?' Ramus stepped close. He seized Marguerite by the arms. 'Then you are a bigger fool than I thought. But not so great a fool as your lord.'
She tried to pull away, but he held her fast
His face loomed near. 'It is amusing to me. Amusing that a man who cares nothing for respectability, who knows it as a veneer that cloaks the dark perversions of half the nobles in his acquaintance-that this beast so ardently seeks a pure bride, and seeks thereby a pure get of his own. It's as though he thinks that by immersing himself in your purity he can plunge into the holy waters of heaven itself and make himself clean again-as if he could somehow bury himself in the sanctified soil of your body and be reborn anew. But he Is a fool, blinded by his own wickedness. You look heavenly, I'll admit, but you are neither a goddess nor an angel. Like Donskoy, you are just a fool, for you play the game with him.'
'And what are you, then, besides horribly cruel?' 'Perhaps a fiend, after all.' Ramus kissed her on the mouth, and despite her horror, Marguerite felt the heat swelling within her. She struggled.
'But I am a fiend you cannot resist,' Ramus growled, 'and a better match for you than he.' Marguerite wrenched herself free. 'You are wrong,' she hissed. UI can resist.' She turned away from the vardo, running toward the safety of the keep. He did not follow. Yet even as she raced through the wood, she heard his laugh ringing through the trees.
THIRTEEN
