Timeline - Crichton Michael (мир бесплатных книг txt) 📗

He turned to the Professor and gestured to the model. "You know the villain Arnaut lies fast upon our castle, and I must defend against him?"

Johnston nodded. "I do."

"How do you advise me to arrange my forces in Castelgard?"

"My Lord," Johnston said, "I would not defend Castelgard at all."

"Oh? Why say you that?" Oliver went to the nearest table, took a goblet, and poured wine.

"How many soldiers did you require to take it from the Gascons?" Johnston asked.

"Fifty or sixty, no more."

"Then you are answered."

"But we made no frontal attack. We used stealth. Craft."

"And the Archpriest will not?"

"He may try, but we shall be waiting. We shall be prepared for his attack."

"Perhaps," Johnston said, turning. "And perhaps not."

"So you are a cunning-man.. .."

"No, my Lord: I do not see the future. I have no such abilities at all. I merely give you my advice as a man. And I say, the Archpriest will be no less stealthy than you."

Oliver frowned, drank in sullen silence for a while. Then he seemed to notice the chef, the boys holding the tray, all of them standing silent, and waved them away. As they departed, he said, "Take good care of that subtlety! I wish nothing to happen to it before the guests see it." In a few moments, they were alone again. He turned to Johnston, gestured to the tapestries. "Or to this castle."

"My Lord," Johnston said, "you have no need to defend this castle when you have another so much better."

"Eh? You speak of La Roque? But La Roque has a weakness. There is a passage that I cannot find."

"And how do you know the passage exists?"

"It must exist," Oliver said, "because old Laon was architect of La Roque. You know of Laon? No? He was the Abbot of the monastery before the present Abbot. That old bishop was crafty, and whenever he was called upon to give assistance rebuilding a town, or a castle, or a church, he left behind some secret known only to him. Every castle had an unknown passage, or an unknown weakness, which Laon could sell to an attacker, if need arose. Old Laon had a sharp eye for the interest of Mother Church - and a much sharper eye for himself."

"And yet," Johnston said, "if no one knows where this passage is, it might as well not exist. There are other considerations, my Lord. What is your present complement of soldiers here?"

"Two hundred and twenty men-at-arms, two hundred fifty bowsmen, and two hundred pikemen."

"Arnaut has twice as many," Johnston said. "Perhaps more."

Think you so?"

"In deed he is no better than a common thief, but now he is a famous thief, for marching on Avignon, requiring the Pontiff to dine with his men and then pay ten thousand livres to leave the town intact."

"Sooth?" Lord Oliver said, looking troubled. "I have not heard of this. Of course there are rumors that Arnaut intends to march on Avignon, perhaps as soon as next month. And all presume he will threaten the Pope. But he has not done so yet." He frowned. "Has he?"

"You speak truth, my Lord," the Professor said promptly. "I meant to say that the daring of his intended plans draws new soldiers to his side every day. By now, he has a thousand in his company. Perhaps two thousand."

Oliver snorted. "I am not afraid."

"I am sure you are not," Johnston said, "but this castle has a shallow moat; a single drawbridge; a single gateway arch, no deadfall, and a single portcullis. Your ramparts to the east are low. You have space to store food and water for only a few days. Your garrison is cramped in the small courtyards, and your men not easily maneuverable."

Oliver said, "I tell you, my treasure is here, and I shall remain here with it."

"And my advice," Johnston said, "is to gather what you can and depart. La Roque is built on a cliff, with sheer rock on two sides. It has a deep moat on the third side, two gateway doors, two portculli, two drawbridges. Even if invaders manage to pass the outer gateway-"

"I know the virtues of La Roque!"

Johnston paused.

"And I do not wish to hear your damnable instruction!"

"As you will, Lord Oliver." And then Johnston said, "Ah."

"Ah? Ah?"

"My Lord," Johnston said, "I cannot counsel if you circumstance to me."

"Circumstance? I do not circumstance, Magister. I speak plainly, holding nothing back."

"How many men have you garrisoned at La Roque?"

Oliver squirmed uncomfortably. "Three hundred."

"So. Your treasure is already at La Roque."

Lord Oliver squinted. He said nothing. He turned, walked around Johnston, squinted again. Finally: "You are pressing me to go there by provoking my fears."

"I am not."

"You want me to move to La Roque because you know that castle has a weakness. You are the creature of Arnaut and you prepare the way for his assault."

"My Lord," Johnston said, "if La Roque is inferior, as you say, why have you placed your treasure there?"

Oliver snorted, again unhappy. "You are clever with words."

"My Lord, your own actions tell you which castle is superior."

"Very well. But Magister, if I go to La Roque, you go with me. And if another finds that secret entrance before you have told me of it, I will myself see that you die in a way that will make Edward's end" - he cackled at his pun - "appear a kindness."

"I take your meaning," Johnston said.

"Do you? Then see you take it to heart."

Chris Hughes stared out the window.

Sixty feet below him, the courtyard lay in shadow. Men and women in their finery drifted toward the lighted windows of the great hall. He heard the faint sounds of music. The festive scene made him feel even more morose, more isolated. The three of them were going to be killed - and there was nothing they could do about it.

They were locked in a small chamber, high in the central tower of the castle keep, overlooking the castle walls and the town beyond. This was a woman's room, with a spinning wheel and an altar off to one side, perfunctory signs of piety overwhelmed by the enormous bed with red plush coverings and fur trim in the center of the room. The door to the room was of solid oak, and fitted with a new lock. Sir Guy himself had locked the door, after placing one guard inside the room, sitting by the door, and two others outside.

They were taking no chances this time.

Marek sat on the bed, staring into space, lost in thought. Or perhaps he was listening; he had one hand cupped around his ear. Meanwhile, Kate paced restlessly, moving from one window to the next, inspecting the view from each. At the farthest window, she leaned way out, looking down, then walked to the window where Chris was standing and leaned out again.

"The view here is just the same," Chris said. Her restlessness annoyed him.

Then he saw she was reaching out to run her hand along the wall at the side of the window, feeling the stones and the mortar.

He stared at her, questioning.

"Maybe," she said, nodding. "Maybe."

Chris reached out and touched the wall. The masonry was nearly smooth, the wall curving and sheer. It was a straight drop to the courtyard below.

"Are you joking?" he said.

"No," she said. "I'm not."

He looked out again. In the courtyard, there were many others besides the courtiers. A group of squires talked and laughed as they cleaned the armor and groomed the horses of the knights. To the right, soldiers patrolled the parapet wall. Any of them could turn and look up if her movement caught their eye.

"You'll be seen."

"From this window, yes. Not from the other. Our only problem is him." She nodded toward the guard at the door. "Can you do anything to help?"

Sitting on the bed, Marek said, "I'll take care of it."

"What the hell is this?" Chris said, very annoyed. He spoke loudly. "You don't think I can do this myself?"