The Hollow Hills - Mary Stewart [37]
When we reached the ferry we found that our luck had deserted us as swiftly and as decisively as our guide. The cresset burned on its post at the strip of shingle where the ferry beached, but the ferry was not there. Straining my ears, I thought I heard, above the ripple of water, the splashing of oars some way out on the estuary. I gave a hail, but got no reply.
"It looks as if he expects to come back to this side soon," said Ralf, who had been exploring. "There's a fire in the hut, and he's left the door open."
"Then we'll wait inside," I said. "It's not likely the King's troops will set out before cock-crow. I can't imagine his message to Caerleon is as urgent as that, or he'd have sent a rider posting last night. See to the horses, then come in and get some rest."
The ferryman's hut was empty, but the remains of a fire still glowed in the ring of stones that served for a hearth. There was a pile of dry kindling beside it, and before long a comforting tongue of flame licked up through the wood and set the turf glowing. Ralf was soon dozing in the warmth, while I sat watching the flames and listening for the return of the ferry.
But the sound that roused me was not the sound of a keel grating on shingle; it was the soft and distant thudding of a troop of horse coming at the canter.
Before my hand could reach Ralf's shoulder to shake him awake, he was on his feet.
"Quick, my lord, if we ride fast along the shingle -- the tide's not full yet -- "
"No. They'd hear us, and in any case the horses are too tired. How far away would you say they were?"
He was at the door in two strides, his head slanted, listening. "Half a mile. Less. They'll be here in a few minutes. What are you going to do? We can't hide. They'll see the horses, and the country's open as a map in the sand."
This was true. The road down which the horsemen were coming ran straight up from the shore to the head of the ridge. To right and left of it lay the marshlands, glinting with water, and white with mist. Behind us the estuary stretched glimmering, throwing back the moonlight.
"What you can't run from, you must face," I said. "No, not like that" -- as the boy's hand went to his sword -- "not against King's men, and we wouldn't stand a chance anyway. There's a better way. Get the bags, will you?"
I was already stripping off my stained and ragged tunic. He threw me a doubtful look, but ran to obey. "You won't get away with that doctor disguise again."
"I don't intend to try. When fate forces your hand, Ralf, go with it. It looks as if I may get to see the King sooner than I'd hoped to."
"Here? But you -- he -- the Queen -- "
"The Queen's secret will be safe. I've been thinking how ' to deal with this if it happened. We'll let them think we've just come south from Maridunum, hoping to see the King,"
"But the ferryman? If they check with him?"
"It could be awkward, but we'll have to chance it. Why should they, after all? Even if they do, I can deal with it. Men will believe anything of the King's enchanter, Ralf, even that he could cross the estuary on a cloud, or ford it knee high at flood-tide."
While we were talking he had unstrapped one of the saddle-bags and pulled out of it the decent dark robe and stitched doeskin boots I had worn for my interview with the Queen, while I bent over the bucket of water by the door and swilled the weariness of the journey and the stench of the marshlander's hut off my face and hands. When fate forces you, I had said to Ralf. I felt my blood running fast and light with the hope that this stroke -- ill luck we had thought it -- might be the first cold, dangerous touch of the god's hand.
When the troop rode up, halting with a clatter and slither of shingle in front of the ferryman's hut, I was standing waiting for them in the open doorway, with the firelight behind me, and the bright moonlight catching the royal Dragon at my shoulder.
Behind me in the shadows I heard Ralf mutter