Timeline - Crichton Michael (мир бесплатных книг txt) 📗

" 'Tis true," he said, nodding unhappily.

"Yet how different is the circumstance, if I show you favor now," she said. "The same tongues that wag will soon whisper that I too was party to my husband's untimely end, and such tales will quickly reach my husband's family in England. Already, they are of a mind to retake his estates. They lack only the excuse to act. Thus Sir Daniel keeps a watchful eye upon all I do. Good knight, my woman's reputation is easily defiled, never to make repair. Our sole safety lies in my unbending hostility toward you, so I pray you tolerate what slurs may vex you now, and think instead upon your coming reward."

Chris's jaw dropped open. She was behaving with exactly the same intense intimacy - the warm glance, the low voice, the soft caresses on the neck - that she had used with him. Chris had taken it to mean he had seduced her. Now it was clear that she had seduced him.

Sir Guy was sulky, despite her caress. "And your visits to the monastery? I would you visit there no more."

"How so? Are you jealous against the Abbot, my Lord?" she teased him.

"I say only, I would have you visit there no more," he said stubbornly.

"And yet my purpose was strong, for whoever knows the secret of La Roque commands Lord Oliver. He must do as he is asked to gain the secret."

"God's truth, Lady, yet you did not learn the secret," Sir Guy said. "Does the Abbot know it?"

"I did not see the Abbot," she said. "He was abroad."

"And the Magister claims to know not."

" 'Tis so, he claims. Yet I will ask the Abbot again, perhaps tomorrow."

There was a knock on the door, and a muffled male voice. They both turned to look. "That must be Sir Daniel," he said.

"Quick my Lord, to your secret place."

Sir Guy moved hastily toward the wall where they were hidden, pulled aside a tapestry, and then, as they watched in horror, he opened a door - and stepped into the narrow corridor alongside them. Sir Guy stared for a moment, and then he began to shout, "The prisoners! All escaped! Prisoners!"

This cry was taken up by the Lady Claire, who called out in the hallway.

In the passage, the Professor turned to them. "If we're separated, you go to the monastery. Find Brother Marcel. He has the key to the passage. Okay?"

Before any of them could answer, the soldiers came running into the passageway. Chris felt hands grab his arms, pull him roughly.

They were caught.

30:10:55

A solitary lute played in the great hall while servants finished setting out the tables. Lord Oliver and Sir Robert held the hands of their mistresses, danced as the dancing master clapped time, and smiled enthusiastically. After several steps, when Lord Oliver turned to face his partner, he found that her back was turned to him; Oliver swore.

"A trifle, my Lord," the dancing master said hastily, his smile unwavering. "As your Lordship recalls, it is forward-back, forward-back, turn, back, and turn, back. We missed a turn."

"I missed no turn," Oliver said.

"In deed, my Lord, you did not," Sir Robert said at once. "It was a phrase in the music which caused the confusion." He glared at the boy playing the lute.

"Very well, then." Oliver resumed his position, held out his hand to the girl. "What is it then?" he said. "Forward-back, forward-back, turn, back…"

"Very good," the dancing master said, smiling and clapping the beat. "That's it, you have it now…"

From the door, a voice: "My Lord."

The music stopped. Lord Oliver turned irritably, saw Sir Guy with guards, surrounding the Professor and several others. "What is it now?"

"My Lord, it appears the Magister has companions."

"Eh? What companions?"

Lord Oliver came forward. He saw the Hainauter, the foolish Irisher who could not ride, and a young woman, short and defiant-looking. "What companions are these?"

"My Lord, they claim they are the Magister's assistants."

"Assistants?" Oliver raised an eyebrow, looking at the group. "My dear Magister, when you said you had assistants, I did not realize they were here in the castle with you."

"I was not aware myself," the Professor said.

Lord Oliver snorted. "You cannot be assistants." He looked from one to the other. "You are too old by ten year. And you gave no sign you knew the Magister, earlier in the day… You are not speaking sooth. None of you." He shook his head, turned to Sir Guy. "I do not believe them, and I will have the truth. But not now. Take them to the dungeon."

"My Lord, they were in the dungeon when they got free."

"They got free? How?" Immediately, he raised his hand to interrupt the reply. "What is our most secure place?"

Robert de Kere slipped forward and whispered.

"My tower chamber? Where I keep Mistress Alice?" Oliver began to laugh. "It is indeed secure. Yes, lock them there."

Sir Guy said, "I will see to it, my Lord."

"These `assistants' will be surety to their master's good conduct." He smiled darkly. "I believe, Magister, you will yet learn to dance with me."

The three young people were dragged roughly away. Lord Oliver waved his hand, and the lutist and the dancing master departed with a silent bow. So did the women. Sir Robert lingered, but after a sharp glance from Oliver, he too left the room.

Now there were only servants, setting the tables. Otherwise, the room was silent.

"So, Magister, what game is this?"

"As God is my witness, they are my assistants, as I have told you from the start," the Professor said.

"Assistants? One is a knight."

"He owes me a boon, and so he serves me."

"Oh? What boon?"

"I saved his father's life."

"In deed?" Oliver walked around the Professor. "Saved it how?"

"With medicines."

"From what did he suffer?"

The Professor touched his ear and said, "My Lord Oliver, if you wish to assure yourself, bring back the knight Marek at once, and he will say to you what I say now, that I saved his father, who was ill with dropsy, with the herb arnica, and that this happened in Hampstead, a hamlet near to London, in the autumn of the year past. Call him back and ask him."

Oliver paused.

He stared at the Professor.

The moment was broken by a man in a costume streaked with white powder, who said from a far door, "My Lord."

Oliver whirled. "What is it now?"

"My Lord, a subtlety."

"A subtlety? Very well - but be quick."

"My Lord," the man said, bowing and simultaneously flicking his fingers. Two young boys raced forward with a tray on their shoulders.

"My Lord, the first subtlety - haslet."

The tray showed pale coils of intestines and an animal's large testicles and penis. Oliver walked around the tray, peering closely.

"The innards of the boar, brought back from the hunt," he said, nodding. "Quite convincing." He turned to the Professor. "You approve the work of my kitchen?"

"I do, my Lord. Your subtlety is both traditional and well executed. The testicles are particularly well made."

"Thank you, sir," the chef said, bowing. "They are heated sugar and prunes, if it please. And the intestines are strung fruit covered with a batter of egg and ale, and then honey."

"Good, good," Oliver said. "You will serve this before the second course?"

"I will, Lord Oliver."

"And what of the other subtlety?"

"Marchepane, my Lord, colored with dandelion and saffron." The chef bowed and gestured, and more boys came running with another platter. This held an enormous model of the fortress of Castelgard, its battlements five feet high, all done in pale yellow, matching the actual stones. The confection was accurate down to small details, and included tiny flags from the sugary battlements.

"Elegant! Well done!" Oliver cried. He clapped his hands with pleasure, delighted as a young child for the moment. "I am most pleased."