‘Unsheath your weapons! Place them at your feet!’ he cried.
I shook my head. ‘My blades stay where I can reach them!’
I sniffed again and found danger. There were armed men in a state of high alert. But I sensed discipline too. They were obedient and awaiting orders.
There was no reply, but I heard murmurs from above. My refusal was being debated.
Seconds later there was a clank of chains and the portcullis began to rise. Thorne leaned across and whispered in my ear. ‘It could be a trap,’ she said.
I nodded but did not reply. Could we trust this knight? I wondered. I sniffed – this time a long-sniff, attempting to read the future, especially the threat of death. I sniffed for Thorne. She would not die here. I felt sure of it.
The heavy wooden door swung inwards, groaning on its hinges. About ten paces beyond the door stood the knight; behind him there was another closed portcullis. He was still dressed in chain mail but no longer carried the sword. He beckoned us forward, and Thorne and I stepped through the doorway, advancing about five paces. As we came to a halt, the portcullis behind us started to descend. I glanced back and saw that the inner door remained open.
‘You are welcome to my home,’ Sir Gilbert said, his voice mild and courteous. ‘I bear no arms within these walls and I ask that you do likewise. Remove your blades and lay them at your feet.’
‘Your customs are not my customs,’ I replied. ‘My habit is to keep my blades within reach at all times.’
‘I offer you refuge but it must be on my terms!’
I drew a throwing blade and pointed it towards him. No sooner had I made that threat than two bowmen moved into position behind him, their arrows pointing through the bars of the portcullis. I glanced to my left and right. There were arrow-slits in the stone walls. We were being targeted from three sides. Arrows fired from longbows had great velocity and force. They could even puncture armour. But despite the extreme danger I remained very calm as I analysed the situation and considered my options.
‘Before an arrow reaches me,’ I threatened, ‘my blade will be in your throat.’
That was true. To slay the knight would be as easy as flicking a fly from my brow. He was less than a second from death. We could also slay the bowmen behind him. I could not be sure of killing the men behind the arrow-slits, though. And even if I was successful, we would be trapped in this gateway with a portcullis on either side and no means of escape.
‘Then all three of us would be dead,’ said the knight. ‘It would be a waste, and so unnecessary. You rescued my son, and for that I am grateful and will hold to his word. I offer you refuge within these walls. Food, drink and clean clothes await you. Just put down your weapons, I beg you, and all will be well.’
Our eyes met and I read his intent – he meant every word – so in answer I knelt and began to take out my blades and lay them down on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation Thorne did likewise. When I returned to my feet, Sir Gilbert was smiling.
‘Is that all?’ he enquired. ‘Have I your promise that there are no weapons in the bag on your shoulder?’
‘It contains no weapons – I give you my word,’ I replied.
‘What does it contain?’
‘Something that must remain in my presence at all times. If you like I will show it to you later. But then you will wish you had never seen it.’
The knight raised his hand and the bowmen behind the inner portcullis stepped to one side; it began to rise. He gestured for us to follow him and we stepped through into the castle yard. To the left, in the wide area furthest from the inner tower, the estate workers were gathered with their families, cooking over braziers. They were accompanied by sheep, cows and goats; they had evidently brought all their livestock within the walls for safety.
There were few soldiers to be seen, but the eight archers remained by the gate, arrows now returned to their quivers. Then I noticed a figure in the distance: he was garbed in the black cassock of a priest and was frowning as he stared towards us. He was someone who would certainly not greet us with open arms.
We followed Sir Gilbert into the inner tower. A female servant waited just within the entrance. She was matronly, getting on in years, and was dressed in a grey smock with mousy hair pulled back into a tight bun.
‘This is Mathilde,’ said the knight. ‘She will take you to your room. When you are washed and dressed appropriately, she will bring you to the banqueting hall.’
With those words, he smiled, bowed and left us.
‘This way, please,’ Mathilde said, scurrying off down a corridor. I noticed that she avoided our gaze, no doubt fearing the evil eye. She opened the door to our quarters and left hurriedly.
Thorne’s eyes widened in amazement at the opulence of our surroundings; she had known nothing before this but witches’ hovels and the dwellings of the poor. The room was large and hung with tapestries which seemed to tell a story: a knight was fighting a huge fanged creature in the middle of a fast-flowing river. No doubt it was Sir Gilbert defeating the worme. I quickly glanced about me: there were two beds, two upright chairs and a table bearing a large pitcher of water. On each bed was draped a pale-green dress.
‘Dressed appropriately!’ I said, raising my eyebrows and smiling at Thorne. ‘Have you ever worn a dress such as that before?’
Thorne shook her head. She wasn’t smiling. ‘We have given up our weapons, and now must dress like foolish women of the court. There are no bowmen here to enforce Sir Gilbert’s will. Why should we obey?’
‘It will do no harm, child, to see how others live. We should wash the stink from our bodies and dress in clean clothes for a while. Soon the kretch will arrive, so enjoy this brief respite. In any case, no doubt the boy will approve of the dress!’
Thorne blushed to the roots of her hair but was too embarrassed to make any reply, so I turned away and laid my straps and sheaths down beside the bed. I took off my dirty clothes and washed myself while Thorne sulked. That done, I donned what seemed to be the longer of the two dresses. When I’d finished, Thorne grudgingly began her own ablutions. At last she faced me, wearing her green dress.
‘What a pretty lady you are,’ I mocked, ‘and more than ready to take your place at court!’
Thorne’s mouth twisted in fury and she ran at me, nails ready to rip my face off.
I took a step backwards and smiled, holding out my hand to ward her off. ‘I’m only jesting, child. Don’t take offence. Wear your best smile so that we can charm this knight and bend him to our will.’