"We don't know as they're lies," Nyle said defiantly. "We don't know nothin'. Lord Caedmon may well have gone mad. Folks do. We don't-"

Baldric muttered something else; Luke thought he heard the words "... hang him anyways."

"He's to stand trial," Nyle insisted. "Orrik promised."

"Not if he turns up danglin' from them rafters in the mornin'." Baldric snickered.

Luke looked up at the beams that supported the roof of the storehouse and remembered the morning they'd found Vance, dead and bloated and crawling with flies. He'd wondered at the time why Vance would hang himself when he'd been a.s.sured of a fair trial by his Saxon peers. I'll tell you everything, a grateful Vance had promised. I'll tell you why we done what we done.

Suspicion tickled Luke's scalp. When Luke first threatened to hand Vance over to Alberic's hangman for torture, the bandit had asked for Orrik... He'll see things are done right.

Was it possible the bandits had ambushed Luke and Alex on Orrik's orders-or more likely, in exchange for Orrik's silver? The Saxon bailiff had been outraged at the prospect of a Norman master, and Luke was certain he wouldn't stop short of murder to achieve his ends.

If Orrik had arranged for the attack, he would want to keep his involvement a secret at all costs, knowing how the Normans would punish him if he were found out. Vance would have to have been eliminated before he could testify at the hallmoot.

Luke hadn't suspected Orrik of killing Vance at the time, because he wasn't anywhere near Hauekleah that night... or was he? According to what the Widow Aefentid had told Faithe, Orrik often spent the night with her on the way home from his trips. Her inn was just on the other side of the woods. Baldric could easily have ridden there and reported Vance's capture to Orrik. Who was to say the bailiff hadn't sneaked back to Hauekleah in the dead of night, hanged Vance, and returned to the widow's inn, only to drive his new cart back in the morning as if he hadn't been here in days? Baldric might have helped him execute the ugly deed, or perhaps he'd merely stood guard; Orrik was strong enough and vicious enough to hang a man all by himself, especially if he knocked him unconscious first.

Luke shook his head, disgusted with himself for not having figured it out sooner. Of course Vance's "suicide" was Orrik's doing; it was the only explanation that made all the pieces fall into place. Perhaps if he'd come to this conclusion sooner, he'd not be waiting here for Orrik to come back in the middle of the night and attempt the same thing with him.

He brought his ear close to the door again. "I'm tellin' you, Sir Luke wouldn't take his own life!" Nyle was saying. "'Tis a mortal sin, and anyway, he ain't the type for it."

Baldric just laughed, as if tickled by his brother's naivete. Indeed, Nyle was good-hearted, but rather simple, and far too trusting.

"Nyle, you go home," Orrik said. "Baldric will keep guard tonight."

d.a.m.n. Nyle would have been far easier to manipulate than his brother.

"But... Lady Faithe told me to-"

"She's changed her mind," Orrik said smoothly. "She sent me to replace you with Baldric."

Luke doubted that, but Nyle accepted it without question. He bid his brother and the bailiff good night, and then Luke heard his footsteps retreating up the garden walk.

When it was quiet once more, Orrik said, "I'll be back around matins. With rope."

Baldric chuckled.

"He's a shrewd b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Orrik warned him. "Don't you talk to him, and don't open that door for any reason, do you hear me?"

"Of course not." Baldric sounded genuinely offended.

Orrik lowered his voice ominously, so that Luke had to strain to hear it. "Because if he isn't here when I get back at matins, 'tis you they'll find hanging from that ceiling in the morning. And don't doubt that I'll do it."

"I won't open the door, I swear it!" Baldric promised. "And I won't listen to a word he says. He'll be here."

"See that he is."

Orrik's footsteps faded away.

Chapter 22.

Luke took advantage of the last few moments of light to survey his surroundings. He kicked sacks and rolled barrels aside, looking for anything heavy or sharp, anything to use as a weapon. No doubt Orrik had searched the storehouse before they'd left him here; nothing of any use was left behind.

He stamped a foot against the earthen floor. It was packed almost as hard as stone from decades of having heavy goods piled atop it, but he might be able to dig beneath the wall... that is, if he had a tool to dig with, and a day or more to accomplish the task.

He went up to the door. "Baldric!"

No answer.

"I'm thirsty. There wasn't enough wine in that skin. My throat's parched."

Silence.

"Be a good fellow and bring me some water."

Nothing. Baldric was having none of it. He was smart to be cautious, for Luke had no interest in a.s.suaging his thirst; it was freedom he sought. And he had every confidence that he could take Baldric easily. Clearly, Baldric knew this, too, for his entreaties were met with stony silence.

"I understand," Luke called through the door. "Orrik doesn't want you opening this door. But I really am desperately thirsty. I'll tell you what. I've got a purse full of silver in my tunic. You can have it if only you bring me a cup of water."

A long pause, then: "How much silver?"

"My purse is bulging with it," Luke lied; he had naught but a few pennies on his person. "You should take it now, before Orrik comes back. That way you won't have to split it with him. You'll have it all to yourself. And all I ask is a bit of water."

Luke wasn't under the illusion that Baldric would actually bring him any water, but the opportunity to steal a purseful of silver might be worth the risk of opening the door. The knave would probably arm himself first, but Luke had disarmed his share of men.

"Nay," Baldric finally said. "Ain't worth Orrik's wrath if something goes wrong."

Luke continued in this vein for a while longer, despite the silence from the other side of the door. He finally gave up when it became apparent that Baldric had no intention of responding to him anymore.

Time pa.s.sed slowly. Night fell, plunging Luke's makeshift prison into complete darkness save for a ribbon of moonlight filtering in from the vent hole. As Luke paced restlessly, he wondered about Alex. Where had Firdolf taken him, and why had he been so hesitant to do so? Unless Luke could get out of this storehouse, he strongly suspected that neither he nor his brother would see another dawn.

He'd never hold Faithe again, never smell her enigmatic almond-thyme scent, never feel her laugh while he was inside her, never explain any of this. He'd never have the chance to make her understand, to make her love him again. All that would remain of him would be a tragic memory of the man who'd slain her husband then deceived her.

Somehow that tormented him even more than the notion of dying. As a soldier, he'd come to grips a long time ago with his own mortality. In fact, at one time he might have been able to give himself up to death and feel as if there was a certain justice in it, given the Black Dragon's many sins. But he wasn't the Black Dragon anymore. Through Faithe, he'd discovered that he could be like other men; he could live a normal life, could love and be loved. No longer did he feel a murderous monster clawing from within, trying to get out. He didn't deserve to die, not this way, and not without reconciling with Faithe.

A faint sound drew his attention to the back wall. He stood beneath the vent hole and listened. There it was again, a kind of sc.r.a.ping from outside, a soft grunt...

Whispering?

Yes, someone was whispering. It was a high-pitched voice; Luke's heart seized up. "Faithe?" he called softly.

"Nay, milord." A little face appeared in the vent hole. "'Tis I!"

"Felix? How did you get up there? Do you have a ladder?"

"Nay, milord. I'm standing on Alfrith's shoulders, and Alfrith's standing on Bram's shoulders."

"What if Baldric finds you here?"

"We sneaked around back. He didn't see us. I mean to get you out of there. The other boys said they'd help."

"Nay, 'tis too dangerous. Go home, all of you."

Felix shook his head resolutely. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this fix."

Luke actually laughed, so absurd was the notion of his troubles being the fault of this well-meaning child. "I'm perfectly capable of mucking things up all on my own, Felix. What are you doing?"

Felix had squeezed his little head through the vent hole and was in the process of jimmying his arms and shoulders through. "I've got something for you."

"You'll get yourself killed. Go back."

"Milord," he grunted as he wriggled through, "if you wouldn't mind catching me..."

Luke had little choice, as Felix was already halfway through the hole. Grabbing the child, he lowered him to the floor. He could scarcely believe he had fit through that narrow opening; for once his size had served him well.

Felix reached behind him and pulled something out of his belt, handing it to Luke with an expression of pride. It was a short pickaxe, the type stonecutters used.

"I found it out by the cookhouse," Felix explained. "'Twas the best I could do by way of a weapon."

"You did well." The pickaxe's iron spike could pierce a skull. "You're a handy man to have around." For all the good it did. Luke had a weapon, but Baldric seemed very determined not to open that door. "Now, let me give you a boost so you can get out of here."

"That won't be necessary, sire."

"You're not staying here, and that's-"

"Baldric!" came a boy's frantic cry from outside. "He's dead! Sir Luke, he's-"

"What's this?" Baldric exclaimed. "What are you little beasts up to? Begone, or I'll-"

"He's dead!"

"Who's dead?"

"Sir Luke! He's gone and kilt himself!"

Luke looked down at Felix, barely visible in the darkness save for his wide, toothy grin. "Your idea?"

"That it was."

"Get away from the door," Luke ordered him. "Take that rope and wait in the corner there."

The boy obeyed.

Luke stood to the side of the door.

"What makes you think he's dead?" Baldric demanded.

"We saw him! We climbed up to the vent hole-"

"You what? You little-"

"Just to see 'im," the boy said. "But he was sprawled out on the floor with his eyes half open and a dagger sticking out of his throat."

"He don't have no dagger," Baldric said.

"He must have had it hidden somewheres," said a second boy, sounding remarkably convincing. "Or else someone slipped it to him. But he's dead as a stone."

"As a stone," piped up another voice.

"There's blood everywhere."

"Everywhere."

"Christ's bones," Baldric growled.

"You don't need that knife," one of the boys said loudly, obviously for Luke's benefit. "I told you, he's dead as-"

"Hush!"

Luke heard a metallic jiggling in the lock and braced himself. The door opened slowly. A dark shape eased through. Luke made out an outstretched hand, the glint of steel.

Gripping the pickaxe by its head, Luke slammed the wooden shaft down on Baldric's arm. He dropped the knife and howled in pain. Luke grabbed Baldric by his tunic and yanked him into the storehouse, where he stumbled and fell. He tried to rise, but Luke was already on top of him, the pickaxe's iron spike pressing into the cur's throat.

Baldric sucked in a panicked breath and rasped, "Don't kill me!"

"Kill him! Kill him!" the boys chorused.

Luke c.o.c.ked his head toward the youngsters. "They think I should kill you."

"Nay, please. Please!" Baldric was trembling all over. "I'm begging you, milord!"

"Milord? Was I your lord when you tied my hands behind my back and locked me in here?"

"I'm sorry, sire, truly I am!" Baldric's eyes were filling with tears.

"Kill him!" the boys demanded, crowding the doorway.

"Perhaps I should hand you over to them," Luke suggested, to spirited agreement from his young audience. "That might be amusing to watch."

"Sire, please!" Baldric wailed. "What can I say? What can I do?"