The Hollow Hills - Mary Stewart [15]
"If you were attacked out of revenge for the part you played at Tintagel, then presumably they will attack me as well. If you were attacked for the message you carried to me, I want to know why. If they were plain thieves, which seems the most likely, then they may still be hereabouts, and I must get a message to the troopers down at the barracks."
"Oh. Yes, I see." He looked disconcerted and slightly ashamed. "But it's true, my lord; I don't know who they were. I -- it was of interest to me, too. I've been trying to think, all this time, but I've no idea. There's no clue that I can remember. They didn't wear badges; at least I don't think so..." His brows drew together, painfully. "I'd have noticed badges, surely, if they'd had them?"
"How were they dressed?"
"I -- I hardly noticed. Leather tunics, I think, and chain-mail caps. No shields, but swords and daggers."
"And they were well mounted. I saw that. Did you hear their speech?"
"Not that I remember. They hardly spoke, a shout or two, that was all. British speech, but I couldn't tell where from. I'm not good at accents."
"There was nothing you can think of that might have marked them for King's men?"
This was probing too near the wound. He went scarlet, but said levelly enough: "Nothing. But is it likely?"
"I wouldn't have thought so," I said. "But kings are queer cattle, and queerest of all when they have bad consciences. Well, then, Cornishmen?"
The flush had ebbed, leaving him if possible more sickly pale than before. His eyes were sullen and unhappy. This was the wound itself; this was a thought he had lived with. "Duke's men, you mean?"
"They told me before I left Dimilioc that the King was to confirm young Cador as Duke of Cornwall. That's one man, Ralf, who will have no love for you. He won't stop to consider that you were the Duchess's man, and were serving her as you were bidden. He is full of hatred, and it might extend to vengeance. One could hardly blame him if it did."
He looked faintly surprised, then in some odd way set at ease by this dispassionate handling. After a bit he said, with an attempt at the same tone: "They might have been Cador's men, I suppose. There was nothing to show it, one way or the other. Maybe I'll remember something." He paused. "But surely, if Cador intended to kill me, he could have cut me down in Cornwall. Why come all the way here? To follow me to you? He must hate you as much."
"More," I said. "But if he had intended to kill me, he knew where to find me; the whole world knows that. And he'd have come before this."
He eyed me doubtfully. Then he appeared to find an explanation for my apparent lack of fear. "I suppose no one would dare come after you here, for fear of your magic?"
"It would be nice to think so," I agreed. There was no point in telling him how thin my defenses were. "Now, that's enough for the moment. Rest again, and you'll find you feel better tomorrow. Will you sleep, do you think? Are you in pain?"
"No," he said, not truthfully. Pain was a weakness he would not admit to me. I stooped and felt for the heartbeat in his wrist. It was strong and even. I let the wrist drop, and nodded at him. "You'll live. Call me in the night if you want me. Good night."
***
Ralf did not in fact remember anything more next morning that would give a clue to the identity of his attackers, and I forbore for a few days from questioning him further about the contents of Marcia's letter. Then one evening, when I judged he was better, I called him to me. It had been a damp day, and the evening had brought a chill with it, so I had lit a fire, and sat with my supper beside it.
"Ralf, bring your bowl and eat beside me where it's warm. I want to talk to you."
He came obediently. He had somehow managed to mend and tidy his clothes, and now, with the cuts and bruises fading, and with colour back in his face, he was almost himself again, except for a limp where the wound on his hip had not yet mended; and except, still, for his silence, and the sullen shadow of wariness in his face. He limped