Her wish! It had been many years since she had even thought of it. Could this n.o.ble steed be the means of accomplishing that dream? Had it been sent by Heaven itself? Or was it perchance a gift from h.e.l.l?

She cared not. She vaulted into the saddle. The stallion shivered, laid back its ears, then calmed to her touch.

"Take me to whoever sent you," Cressilda said. "I would get to the bottom of this, no matter where it takes me."

The horse broke into a smart trot.

Chapter 8.

A warhorse? You say my lady departed on a warhorse?" Lord Sforza was said to be a little slow on the uptake, but he understood horses - and he understood people riding away on them, especially his wife.

The Court thaumaturge went through it all again. "Yes, my lord. It was a horse such as no one has seen before in these parts. Pure white it was, n.o.ble of aspect, fiery of manner. My Lady Cressilda saw it, and without a moment's hesitation she vaulted to the saddle. We know not where she has gone."

"You saw all this yourself?"

"With my very own eyes, lord."

"Do you think it was a magic horse?"

"I do not know," the thaumaturge said. "But I can find out."

The interview was taking place in his alchemist's studio in the high tower. The thaumaturge lost no time stoking up the fire under his alembic; when it was roaring he poured in various powders, and the fire flared up green and then purple. He watched carefully as variously colored smokes arose. Then he turned to Sforza.

"My spirit familiars signal me that it was indeed a magic horse. We have probably seen the last of our Lady Cressilda, for ladies who ride away on magic horses rarely return, and if they do, to be frank, sir, there's no living with them."

"d.a.m.nation!" Sforza said.

"You can lodge a complaint through my familiars, sir. There may still be a chance of getting her back."

"I don't want her back," Sforza said. "I'm more than happy to be rid of her. She's no fun anymore. I'm glad Cressilda is gone. What annoys me is that she got the magic horse. They don't come around very often, do they?"

"Very seldom," he admitted.

"And she had to grab it. Maybe this horse was meant for me. How dare she take the only magic horse that's been seen in these parts since time immemorial?"

The thaumaturge spoke soft words, but Sforza would not be consoled. He stamped out of the tower and down to the manor house. He was a scholar, in his own view anyhow, and it galled him that a matter as interesting as this had come and gone before he'd had a chance even to see it. What irked him most, though, was that magic horses usually carry with them the fulfillment of a wish, and he had missed that, too. It was a chance that would never come again.

Believing so, he was utterly flabbergasted when, an hour later, he went down to his stables to loiter, he saw there was another white horse there, one he had never seen before.

It was a stallion, and it was white. Though not quite as imposing as he thought a magic horse ought to be, it looked enough like a magic horse for him. Without another thought, he swung into the saddle.

"Now we'll see!" he cried. "Take me to wherever you take people under these circ.u.mstances!"

The horse broke into a trot, then into a canter, and then a full gallop. Now we're in for it, Lord Sforza thought, hard-pressed just to hang on.

Chapter 9.

It was early morning. The remaining pilgrims were in the inn, getting ready to eat their morning porridge and wholewheat bread while their servants were getting the horses ready for the day.

Azzie was brooding up in his room, Aretino with him. The turnout of volunteers for the play had been rather disappointing.

"Why are the others holding back?" Azzie wondered aloud.

"Maybe they're frightened," Aretino suggested. "Do we really need a full seven?"

"I suppose not," Azzie said. "We'll use what we get. Maybe we should stop here."

Just then there was a knocking at the door.

"Aha!" Azzie said. "I knew we were going to get more partic.i.p.ants. Answer the door, my dear Pietro, and we'll see who has come to us."

Aretino arose somewhat wearily, crossed the room, and opened the door. In walked a beautiful young woman, blond, with a pale complexion and grave, finely shaped lips. She wore a sky blue gown, ribbons of gold in her hair.

"Madam," Pietro said, "is there something we can do for you?"

"I think there is," the woman replied. "Are you the ones who sent the magic horse?"

"I think you want to speak with my friend here, Antonio," Pietro said.

After he had found a seat for her, Azzie admitted that yes, he had had something to do with magic horses, and yes, fulfillment of a wish did go along with each horse-and that acting in his play was the only condition for these gifts. He explained further that he was a fiend, but not a fearsome one. Quite a nice fiend, he had been told. Since this didn't seem to put Cressilda off, he asked her how she had acquired the magic horse.

"It just walked out of my stable and into my courtyard," Cressilda said. "I mounted and gave it its head. It brought me here."

"But I didn't send him to you," Azzie pointed out. "This horse was intended for someone else. Are you sure you didn't steal him, my dear?"

Cressilda drew herself up indignantly. "Dare you accuse me of horse theft?"

"No, of course not," Azzie said. "You're not the type, is she, Pietro? It must have been our friend Michael, having his little joke. Well, Cressilda, this horse does indeed introduce its owner to a world in which his or her dearest wish can come true. I happen to be short one or two players, so if you'd like to volunteer - seeing as how you have the horse already-"

"Yes!" Cressilda said. "Indeed!"

"What is your wish?" Azzie asked, expecting to hear the usual gushy nonsense about a fine young prince and a long lifetime of married bliss.

"I want to be a warrior," she said. "I know it's unusual for a woman, but we do have the example of Joan of Arc, and Boadicea before her. I want to lead men into battle."

Azzie thought about it, turning it over this way and that in his mind. It was not in his original plan, nor did

Aretino seem too eager about it. But Azzie knew he had to get his play moving, and he had already accepted the premise that he'd take more or less anyone who came along.

"I think we can do something for you," Azzie said. "I'll just need a little time to set it up."

"That will be fine," Cressilda said. "If you should see my husband, Rodrigo Sforza, by the way, you don't necessarily have to mention that I'm here."

"I am the soul of discretion," Azzie said.

When the lady had departed, Azzie sat down with Aretino to plot out a sequence. Before he could even begin, though, there was a darkening shape at the window and an insistent tapping at the pane.