“They must have been discovered,” Alfonzo cried, “Quick, into the catapults!”
They scrambled into the buckets of the catapults – except for de Garcia, who remained on the ground. Then, just as the last of them came over the edge, the sound of breaking glass came from above.
“Look out below!” roared the voice of the blond Fardy, and an instant later some thirty people came crashing down, landing upon the buckets of the catapults.
Chapter 39
“Come, your highness,” Gylain was saying to the impostor Queen of Saxony, “The catapults will be here soon, but we must feast before we inspect them. The food is now ready, I believe.”
“Yes, sir, the feast is prepared,” Leggitt answered his subtle question.
“Then to the Great Hall we go,” and Gylain turned and led the way to the castle door, where the party dismounted.
“Leggitt will take your horses to the stables for you,” Gylain told them.
“I would not impose upon you the care of our mounts, so we have secured the use of a livery in the southern section of the city. If you would take them there I would be most grateful,” Ivona said. Then, glancing over to Willard, she added, “All of our mounts, that is, except the knight’s. He does not part from his.”
“Very well, we would be pleased to serve you in this. Leggitt, make it so.”
“Yes, my lord, it will be done.” Leggitt took the white mare by its reigns and led it toward the outer gate. The other horses were led by the stable hands. “This is the last Gylain will see his horses,” he whispered to himself.
Behind him, Gylain and Nicholas Montague led the queen’s entourage into the Great Hall.
“Where would you like your soldiers to dine?” he asked the queen.
“At my side, and I should like to sit at the window that over looks the catapults, if I may.”
“So it will be written, so it will be done,” and now they were within the Great Hall and saw the feast spread before them. It was no less luxurious for its hastened preparation.
The castle was made of a single tower, and at its base – where stood the Great Hall – its diameter was three hundred yards. The hall itself was not this wide, for there were rooms on all sides except the wall nearest the outer gate. Its ceiling reached upward two hundred feet, growing narrower as it rose. There were three chandeliers hanging above, each thirty feet across. Just as there were servants’ quarters along the outside of the lower level of the Great Hall, so there were royal quarters along its upper level. A hallway connected these rooms together and overlooked the Great Hall through a long window that stretched around the room.
Gylain’s throne was directly opposite the outer gate and thereby directly opposite the window the queen sat by. He abandoned his custom of eating from the throne, therefore, and took his place at her table. He sat down across from the queen, with Montague at his left side, across from Willard and Horatio. Horatio sat as upright as any man. It startled Nicholas Montague.
“I trust your journey was enjoyable?” Gylain asked the queen.
“Mostly, but I will not complain about those parts which were not so.”
“No, please do. I will have them taken care of.”
“How kind,” Ivona smiled. “The worst was when we were chased by pirates between the coasts of France and Atilta. I do not know who they were, but they had six well-built frigates. They forced us from our planned course. Instead, we landed in Thunder Bay.”
Gylain was incensed at this, for in spite of his precautions, the rebels had found a way to harass the queen. “I will have my navy look into it,” he answered. “Where did they come from?”
“The north.”
“Have no fear, then, Cybele. I send the harbor fleet now, to destroy them.” He stood and beckoned for Leggitt, who had just returned from taking the queen’s horses to the livery. When he came up, Gylain said to him, “Send the harbor fleet to the northern coast. The queen was attacked from that quarter.”
“Yes, my lord,” Leggitt carefully replied, “But the northern coast is uninhabited.”
“Of course, the Vikings made sure of that years ago. Jonathan Montague should return soon; send him out again as he comes in.”
“Very well, my lord.” Leggitt turned and left the Great Hall, still famished from his vigorous preparations.
Gylain turned to the queen once more. “And Lord Milada welcomed you, I am sure?” Gylain smiled slyly, thinking of what Milada would soon become.
“He did, and his beautiful daughter,” Ivona smiled back.
“Is she indeed beautiful? I have heard but never seen.”
“She was the gem of the forest, as they say.”
“Truly? Yet I cannot imagine her beauty surpassing your own.”
“We were equal.”
“What does your knight say about this: are they equal?”
“No,” Willard returned bluntly. “Ivona is much the victor.”
Gylain raised his eyebrow at the hooded man. Ivona laughed outright, much to his surprise.
“I thank you for your concern for my safety, Gylain. I did not bring a large fleet, but I will send for them upon my return. Still, I am glad to see that my interests are important to you,” Ivona said with a smile, though Gylain did not then realize its true purport.
“Your interests
“Yes. I suppose I am like a child to you, am I not?”
“Something much more than that, something closer and more important.”
“More important than a child? Your allies are truly allies,” she laughed. “I have heard that my sister still lives in Atilta,” she made the conversation come about. “I would like to meet her, if you would tell me where she is.”
Gylain turned his face from her for a moment, torn between his desire to deal honestly with her and his desire to please her. He compromised, saying, “I do not believe that she is
Ivona saw his discomfort, and – not wishing to play her hand of gathering intelligence too heavily – graciously changed the subject.
“I have often wondered,” she said, “How you manage such a large maritime economy, without any substantial native production?”
This question put Gylain on more secure footing: his answer was long and detailed. It was also irrelevant. Meanwhile, Montague conversed with Willard.
“You are the queen’s knight?” he asked Willard.
“Perhaps, and you are Gylain’s?”
“No, I am only his servant. He needs no knight.”
“It is the same with the queen,” Willard growled back, looking fierce in his dark robe. Horatio sat beside him, his face unveiled and frightening to those who opposed his blood brother. Montague was visibly shaken by the bear’s presence, though he soon recovered himself. In his lifetime he had encountered many terrible beasts, not least among them his own younger brother.
“An interesting mount, to be sure,” Montague said. “What are you called?”
“Willarinus of Saxony,” he watched for Montague’s reaction.
“I am Nicholas Montague,” he answered, remaining unmoved. “As I was saying,” and he looked at Horatio fearlessly, “You have a most unusual steed.”
Horatio growled lowly, as if sensing he was derided.
“Better an unusual steed,” Willard answered, “Than an unusable creed.”
“I use my creed quite well,” Montague laughed.
“That is the rumor in the countryside. Your infamous deeds inflame the hearts of many.”
“Perhaps,” Montague said politely, “But I am sure you are far more infamous than I.”
“Not nearly, for I could never aspire to that lofty ideal. But tell me, Montague, what comes first, the creed or the deed?”
“Does it matter? As long as there is rotten wood, to Hades with the fruits and the roots.”
“Eloquently put,” Willard answered, subduing his flaming heart. “Eloquently put, indeed.”
He would have said more, but he was interrupted. The doors of the Great Hall were flung open and a tall,
