"Except for tournaments," Chris said sourly.
"Pretty much. And even there - all that plate armor, over the chain mail - that's all because of arrows. Arrows will go clean through an unprotected man, and they'll penetrate chain mail. So knights need plate armor. Horses need armor. But with a volley like that . . ." Marek pointed to the whistling rainfall of arrows and shrugged. "It's over."
Chris looked back at the tournament grounds. And then he said, "Well, it's about time!"
Marek turned and saw five liveried pages walking toward them, along with two guards in red-and-black surcoats. "Finally I'm going to get out of this damned metal."
Chris and Marek stood as the men came up. One of the guards said, "You have broken the rules of tourney, disgraced the chivalrous knight Guy Malegant, and the good offices of Lord Oliver. You are made arrest, and will come with us."
"Wait a minute," Chris said. "We disgraced him?"
"You will come with us."
"Wait a minute," Chris said.
The soldier cuffed him hard on the side of the head, and pushed him forward. Marek fell into step beside him. Surrounded by guards, they headed toward the castle.
Kate was still at the tournament, looking for Chris and Andre. At first, she thought to look in the tents ranged beyond the field, but there were only men - knights and squires and pages - in that area, and she decided against it. This was a different world, violence was in the air, and she felt a constant sense of risk. Nearly everyone in this world was young; the knights who swaggered about the field were in their twenties or early thirties, and the squires mere teenagers. She was dressed in ordinary fashion, and clearly not a member of the nobility. She had the feeling that if she were dragged off and raped, no one would take much notice.
Even though it was midday, she found herself behaving the way she did in New Haven at night. She tried never to be alone, but to move with a group; she skirted around the clusters of males, giving them wide berth.
She made her way behind the bleachers, hearing the cheers of the crowd as the next pair of knights began to fight. She looked into the area of tents to her left. She did not see Marek or Chris anywhere. Yet they had left the field only minutes before. Were they inside one of the tents? She had heard nothing in her earpiece for the last hour; she assumed it was because Marek and Chris had worn helmets, which blocked transmission. But surely their helmets were off now.
Then she saw them, a short distance down the hill, sitting by a meandering stream.
She headed down the hill. Her wig was hot and itchy in the sun. Perhaps she could get rid of the wig and just put her hair up under a cap. Or if she cut her hair a little shorter, she could pass for a young man, even without a cap.
It might be interesting, she thought, to be a man for a while.
She was thinking about where to get scissors when she saw the soldiers approaching Marek. She slowed her pace. She still heard nothing in her earpiece, but she was so close, she knew she should.
Was it turned off? She tapped her ear.
Immediately, she heard Chris say, "We disgraced him?" and then something garbled. She saw the soldiers push Chris toward the castle. Marek walked alongside him.
Kate waited a moment, then followed.
Castelgard was deserted, shops and storefronts locked, its streets echoing and empty. Everyone had gone to the tournament, which made it more difficult for her to follow Marek and Chris and the soldiers. She had to drop farther back, waiting until they had gone out of a street before she could follow them, hurrying ahead at a near run until she caught sight of them again, then duck back around a corner.
She knew her behavior looked suspicious. But there was no one to see it. High in one window, she saw an old woman sitting in the sun, eyes closed. But she never looked down. Perhaps she was asleep.
She came to the open field in front of the castle. It, too, was now deserted. The knights on prancing horses, the mock combats, the flying banners were all gone. The soldiers crossed the drawbridge. As she followed after them, she heard the crowd roar from the field beyond the walls. The guards turned and shouted to soldiers on the ramparts, asking what was happening. The soldiers above could see down to the field; they shouted answers. All this was accompanied by much swearing; apparently, bets had been made.
In all the excitement, she walked through, into the castle.
She stood in the small courtyard known as the outer bailey. She saw horses there, tied to a post and unattended. But there were no soldiers in the bailey; everyone was up in the ramparts, watching the tournament.
She looked around for Marek and Chris but did not see them. Not knowing what else to do, she went through the door to the great hall. She heard footsteps echoing in the spiral staircase to her left.
She started up the stairs, going round and round, but the footsteps diminished.
They must have gone down, not up.
Quickly, she retraced her steps. The stairs spiraled downward, ending in a low-ceilinged stone passage, damp and moldy, with cells along one side. The cell doors were open; no one inside. Somewhere ahead, beyond a bend in the corridor, she heard echoing voices, and the clang of metal.
She moved cautiously forward. She must be beneath the great hall, she thought. In her mind she tried to reconstruct the area, from her memory of the ruined castle she had explored so carefully a few weeks earlier. But she did not remember ever seeing this passageway. Perhaps it had collapsed centuries before.
Another metal clang, and echoing laughter.
Then footsteps.
It took her a moment to realize they were coming toward her.
Marek fell back into soggy, rotting straw, slippery and stinking. Chris tumbled down alongside him, sliding on the mush. The cell door clanged shut. They were at the end of a corridor, with cells on all three sides. Through the bars, Marek saw the guards leaving, laughing as they went. One said, "Hey, Paolo, where do you think you are going? You stay here and guard them."