The crystal cave - Mary Stewart [42]
I went down with a man's heavy body on top of me, pinning me to the muddy grass. A splayed hand came hard down on my face, choking my cry off short. Just near me was a quick footstep, the rasp of drawn metal, and a man's voice saying, urgently, in Breton: "Wait. Make him talk first."
I lay quite still. This was easy to do, for not only had the force of the first man's attack driven the breath right out of my body, but I could feel his knife at my throat. Then as the second man spoke, my captor, with a surprised grunt, shifted his weight from me, and the knife withdrew an inch or two.
He said, in a tone between surprise and disgust: "It's only a boy." Then to me, harshly, in Welsh: "Not a sound out of you, or I'll slit your throat here and now. Understood?"
I nodded. He took his hand from my mouth, and getting up, dragged me to my feet. He rammed me back against the wall, holding me there, the knife pricking my collarbone. "What's all this? What are you doing bolting out of the palace like a rat with the dogs after it? A thief? Come on, you little rat, before I choke you."
He shook me as if I were indeed a rat. I managed to gasp: "Nothing. I was doing no harm! Let me go!"
The other man said softly, out of the darkness: "Here's what he threw over the wall. A bag full of stuff."
"What's in it?" demanded my captor. And to me, "Keep quiet, you."
He had no need to warn me. I thought I could smell smoke now, and see the first flicker of light as my fire took hold of the roof beams. I flattened myself back even further into the black shadow under the wall.
The other man was examining my bundle. "Clothes...sandals...some jewelry by the feel of it..."
He had moved out on to the towpath, and, with my eyes now used to the darkness, I could make him out. A little weasel of a man, with bent shoulders, and a narrow, pointed face under a straggle of hair. No one I had ever seen.
I gave a gasp of relief. "You're not the King's men! Who are you, then? What do you want here?"
The weaselly man stopped rooting in my bag, and stared.
"That's no concern of yours," said the big man who held me. "We'll ask the questions. Why should you be so scared of the King's men? You know them all, eh?"
"Of course I do. I live in the palace. I'm -- a slave there."
"Marric" -- it was the Weasel, sharply -- "look over there, there's a fire started. They're buzzing like a wasp's nest. No point in wasting time here over a runaway slave-brat. Slit his throat and let's run for it while we can."
"A moment," said the big man. "He may know something. Look now, you -- "
"If you're going to slit my throat anyway," I said, "why should I tell you anything? Who are you?"
He ducked his head forward suddenly, peering at me. "Crowing mighty fine all of a sudden aren't you? Never mind who we are. A slave, eh? Running away?"
"Yes."
"Been stealing?"
"No."
"No? The jewelry in the bundle? And this -- this isn't a slave's cloak." He tightened his grip on the stuff at my throat till I squirmed. "And that pony? Come on, the truth."
"All right." I hoped I sounded sullen and cowed enough for a slave now. "I did take a few things. It's the prince's pony, Myrddin's...I -- I found it straying. Truly, sir. He went out today and he's not back yet. He'll have been thrown, he's a rotten horseman. I -- it was a bit of luck -- they won't miss it till I'm well away." I plucked at his clothes beseechingly. "Please, sir, let me go. Please! What harm could I do -- ?"
"Marric, for pity's sake, there's no time." The flames had taken hold now, and were leaping. There was shouting from the palace, and the Weasel pulled at my captor's arm. "The tide's going out fast, and the gods only know if she's there at all, this weather. Listen to the