Timeline - Michael Crichton [114]
The three young people were dragged roughly away. Lord Oliver waved his hand, and the lutist and the dancing master departed with a silent bow. So did the women. Sir Robert lingered, but after a sharp glance from Oliver, he too left the room.
Now there were only servants, setting the tables. Otherwise, the room was silent.
“So, Magister, what game is this?”
“As God is my witness, they are my assistants, as I have told you from the start,” the Professor said.
“Assistants? One is a knight.”
“He owes me a boon, and so he serves me.”
“Oh? What boon?”
“I saved his father’s life.”
“In deed?” Oliver walked around the Professor. “Saved it how?”
“With medicines.”
“From what did he suffer?”
The Professor touched his ear and said, “My Lord Oliver, if you wish to assure yourself, bring back the knight Marek at once, and he will say to you what I say now, that I saved his father, who was ill with dropsy, with the herb arnica, and that this happened in Hampstead, a hamlet near to London, in the autumn of the year past. Call him back and ask him.”
Oliver paused.
He stared at the Professor.
The moment was broken by a man in a costume streaked with white powder, who said from a far door, “My Lord.”
Oliver whirled. “What is it now?”
“My Lord, a subtlety.”
“A subtlety? Very well—but be quick.”
“My Lord,” the man said, bowing and simultaneously flicking his fingers. Two young boys raced forward with a tray on their shoulders.
“My Lord, the first subtlety—haslet.”
The tray showed pale coils of intestines and an animal’s large testicles and penis. Oliver walked around the tray, peering closely.
“The innards of the boar, brought back from the hunt,” he said, nodding. “Quite convincing.” He turned to the Professor. “You approve the work of my kitchen?”
“I do, my Lord. Your subtlety is both traditional and well executed. The testicles are particularly well made.”
“Thank you, sir,” the chef said, bowing. “They are heated sugar and prunes, if it please. And the intestines are strung fruit covered with a batter of egg and ale, and then honey.”
“Good, good,” Oliver said. “You will serve this before the second course?”
“I will, Lord Oliver.”
“And what of the other subtlety?”
“Marchepane, my Lord, colored with dandelion and saffron.” The chef bowed and gestured, and more boys came running with another platter. This held an enormous model of the fortress of Castelgard, its battlements five feet high, all done in pale yellow, matching the actual stones. The confection was accurate down to small details, and included tiny flags from the sugary battlements.
“Elégant! Well done!” Oliver cried. He clapped his hands with pleasure, delighted as a young child for the moment. “I am most pleased.”
He turned to the Professor and gestured to the model. “You know the villain Arnaut lies fast upon our castle, and I must defend against him?”
Johnston nodded. “I do.”
“How do you advise me to arrange my forces in Castelgard?”
“My Lord,” Johnston said, “I would not defend Castelgard at all.”
“Oh? Why say you that?” Oliver went to the nearest table, took a goblet, and poured wine.
“How many soldiers did you require to take it from the Gascons?” Johnston asked.
“Fifty or sixty, no more.”
“Then you are answered.”
“But we made no frontal attack. We used stealth. Craft.”
“And the Archpriest will not?”
“He may try, but we shall be waiting. We shall be prepared for his attack.”
“Perhaps,” Johnston said, turning. “And perhaps not.”
“So you are a cunning-man. . ..”
“No, my Lord: I do not see the future. I have no such abilities at all. I merely give you my advice as a man. And I say, the Archpriest will be no less stealthy than you.”
Oliver frowned, drank in sullen silence for a while. Then he seemed to notice the chef, the boys holding the tray, all of them standing silent, and waved them away. As they departed, he said, “Take good care of that subtlety! I wish nothing to happen to it before the guests see it.” In a few moments, they were alone again. He turned to Johnston, gestured to the tapestries.