The crystal cave - Mary Stewart [43]
"They won't," I said. "They'll be too busy putting the fire out to think of anything else. It was well away when I left it."
"When you left it?" Marric hadn't budged; he was staring down at me, and his grip was less fierce. "Did you start that fire?"
"Yes."
I had their full attention now, even Weasel's.
"Why?"
"I did it because I hate them. They killed my friend."
"Who did?"
"Camlach and his people. The new King."
There was a short silence. I could see Marric better now. He was a big, burly man, with a bush of black hair, and black eyes that glinted in the fire.
"And," I added, "if I'd stayed, they'd have killed me, too. So I burned the place and ran away. Please let me go now."
"Why should they want to kill you? They'll want to now, of course, with the place going up like a torch -- but why, before that? What had you done?"
"Nothing. But I was the old King's slave, and...I suppose I heard things. Slaves hear everything. Camlach thinks I might be dangerous...He has plans...I knew about them. Believe me, sir," I said earnestly, "I'd have served him as well as I did the old King, but then he killed my friend."
"What friend? And why?"
"Another slave, a Saxon, his name was Cerdic. He spilled oil on the steps, and the old King fell. It was an accident, but they cut his throat."
Marric turned his head to the other. "Hear that, Hanno? That's true enough. I heard it in the town." Then back to me: "All right. Now you can tell us a bit more. You say you know Camlach's plans?"
But Hanno interrupted again, this time desperately. "Marric, for pity's sake! If you think he's got something to tell us, bring him along. He can talk in the boat, can't he? I tell you, if we wait much longer we'll lose the tide, and she'll be gone. There's dirty weather coming by the feel of it, and it's my guess that they won't wait. And then in Breton: "We can as easy ditch him later as now.
"Boat?" I said. "You're going on the river?"
"Where else? Do you think we can go by road? Look at the bridge." Marric jerked his head sideways. "All right, Hanno. Get in. We'll go."
He began to drag me across the towpath. I hung back. "Where are you taking me?"
"That's our affair. Can you swim?"
"No."
He laughed under his breath. It was not a reassuring sound. "Then it won't matter to you which way we go, will it? Come along." And he clapped his hand once more over my mouth, swung me up as if I had been no heavier than my own bundle, and strode across the path to the oily dark glimmer that was the river.
The boat was a coracle, half hidden under the hanging bank. Hanno was already casting off. Marric went down the bank with a bump and a slither, dumped me in the lurching vessel, and clambered after me. As the coracle rocked out from under the bank he let me feel the knife again against the back of my neck. "There. Feel it? Now hold your tongue till we're clear of the bridge."
Hanno thrust off, and guided us out with the paddle into the current. A few feet from the bank I felt the river take hold of the boat, and we gathered speed. Hanno bent to the paddle and held her straight for the southern arch of the bridge.
Held in Marric's grip, I sat facing astern. Just as the current took us to sweep us southwards I heard Aster's high, frightened whinny as he smelt the smoke, and in the light of the now roaring fire I saw him, trailing a broken rein, burst from the wall's shadow and scud like a ghost along the tow-path. Fire or no fire, he would make for the gate and his stable, and they would find him. I wondered what they would think, where they would look for me. Cerdic would be gone now, and my room with the painted chest, and the coverlet fit for a prince. Would they think I had found Cerdic's body, and in my fear and shock had dropped the lamp? That my own body was there, charred to nothing, in the remains of the servants' wing? Well, whatever they thought, it didn't matter. Cerdic had gone to his gods, and I, it seemed, was going to mine.
12
The black arch of the bridge swooped across the