The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [187]
He saw one of his men-at-arms fall, wounded by the same kind of bow that he carried. The man who shot him sprang from the rocks, and twenty others leaped out beside him. On every side, axes flashed and spears glinted and bearded men began to rush forward, yelling. John le Grant whipped out his sword. The men-at-arms furthest off were already struggling.
It was an instinct, to fight; but the truth was that it was hopeless. The surprise had been total. The terrain gave little foothold; the path had already been blocked. The Flemings closed ranks and did what they could. Nicholas bellowed exhortations and warnings and heard Father Moriz shrieking in German as well. ‘What are you doing? You are attacking the guests of Duke Sigismond!’
John le Grant spoke between blows. ‘We’ve been hunting on the Duke’s territory. They want to take and hang us in public as poachers.’ A bolt rang on his shield.
Nicholas said, ‘What do you think? I’d rather stand trial than die now, even if we hang from a roof at the end of it. Father? Ederic? Donat? Do we surrender?’
‘We surrender,’ said Father Moriz and, lifting his crucifix, walked forward declaiming. Nicholas swore and thrusting past, managed to share the first blow that sent the priest reeling. John le Grant, uttering Aberdonian and German profanities, contrived to take most of the second. A dozen men fell on them. When they were eventually dragged to their feet and disarmed, it seemed as if surrender had in fact been accomplished: the head of the Banco di Niccolò was in the hands of a group of powerful tousle-haired men whose felt hats bore the badge of a lion.
When asked what lord they belonged to, they laughed, and threw their captives on horseback and tied them. Then they set off in line.
The bound men were all bleeding. It was late afternoon and not warm. The guide had disappeared, and they had been separated from their packs and stripped of all that was valuable on their persons. John said, ‘Where are we?’
Nicholas said, ‘In the Tyrol.’ His head was ringing and one arm was quite dead and possibly broken.
John said, ‘Nicholas?’
Nicholas said, ‘It’s terrible, terrible.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ said John le Grant, with familiar feeling. The German priest looked at them both. John le Grant said, ‘He thinks he knows something we don’t. Nicholas, they aren’t the Duke’s men. They’ll take us to some brute-ignorant lord who will hang us.’
‘Maybe,’ Nicholas said. ‘Upside down, I believe. They tie whatever you’ve poached to your feet. Remember, you shot the hind and I picked off a couple of pheasants. Do you see what I see up there?’
The others fell silent. They had hoped for a town perhaps, where a ducal officer might have been summoned. Or even for a simple encampment, for much can be made to happen under cover of night. Instead, what straddled the pass was a fortress. An old one, its walls broken and cracked, but still high enough to thwart even an optimist. Within, from the sluggish smoke rising, there was someone newly in residence.
John said, ‘I’m going to do something. There won’t be a chance once we’re inside.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘And if you try it, I’ll kick you unconscious.’
‘You’ve got a plan. Tell it. You know your plans never work until I’ve checked them,’ said John le Grant. Father Moriz gazed ahead, looking solemn.
‘I haven’t time. Here we are,’ Nicholas said.
All the while they were being pushed through the gates, and untied, and beaten across the filthy enclosure to the dungeons, Nicholas thought of the fuss Julius would have made. He missed Julius and his outbursts, on occasion. John’s outbursts were, of course, not outbursts at all. Then their captors left, and the dungeon door closed and was locked, and everyone looked at him hopefully.
He said, ‘All right. I’ve got the dice. Let’s get comfortable. Then I’m putting up ten Rhenish florins as prize money.’
One of the young men-at-arms said, ‘My lord, how long …?’ and stopped when Ederic,