told, and he appeared to believe me. "Then
there is no more to say. You were not to know he had gone into the
taproom."
"No,"
I whispered softly.
"What
were you talking of when I came?"
"Why,
nothing." The blood stung my cheeks at the memory. "He asked who I
was and what I did, no more."
"Did
he ask what kin you are to me?"
"I
would not tell him that. You said..."
"Peace,
peace!" His fat hand patted my shoulder. "He asked me who you were
after you had gone. Why did you not say directly that you are my sister?"
"Because
I am not directly your sister," I retorted with bitter simplicity.
"Pooh!"
Antonio snorted and bridled, for all the world as though he had never boxed my
ears for daring to call him Brother. "You can speak of it when nobility
questions you."
"I
did not think he was noble. He was dressed like a soldier."
He
snorted again. "You cannot judge a man's true station, girl! Did you not
see the whiteness of his hands? No one less than a lord could keep 'em so
smooth. And that ring he wears never came from a gimcrack peddler. We have been
talking with nobility, I swear!"
The
prince of darkness, I thought absurdly.
"And
he talked like a lord, all fine and haughty." His eyes glittered
resentfully. "No common soldier would give orders in such a style."
"But
if he were so great, he would have been at the duke's feast tonight," I
pointed out.
Antonio
waved the thought aside. "Belike he did not choose to go or else left
early. These court revels go on all night; they will not be half-done yet. But
look—" He picked up the cup from the floor. "I have brought you some
cordial to drink. Celia would have my blood if she knew of it, but it is my
guess that you will not sleep without something in your belly. Drink it up, and
I will take the cup so she will not know."
The
drink smelled bitter, and I did not really want it, but the tiny conspiracy
against Celia warmed me. Emboldened, I took the cup in both hands and smiled at
him.
"Did
you make a good profit on your wine, Brother?"
He
gaped for a moment and then went off into a roar of laughter as though I had
said something witty. "Yes," he gasped at last, "an excellent
profit—a purse of silver, and all for one paltry flask of wine!" He patted
my shoulder. "What a jest if he does not like it—the more fool he, for
buying it untasted!"
That
explained his good humor, I thought with relief. He was never so happy as when
he had beaten some rival in the way of bargain. If only the mood would last
until morning...
"Come
on, girl." His voice took on a tinge of its accustomed roughness.
"Drink your cordial and do not keep me here all night."
He
levered himself to his feet and stood over me, looming beside the bed while I
drank. The menacing shape reminded me of Battista, and I hurried to have him
gone so that I hardly tasted the drink. The sharp tang of cloves was in my
mouth as I lowered the cup and handed it back to him.
"You
drank that like a practiced toper! Lie down now"—his tone held an odd
trace of relief—"and go to sleep. I will tell Celia what has chanced in
the morning."
I
nodded drowsily. I had thought I was too excited to sleep, but the taste of the
cordial was thick in my mouth, and my eyelids felt so heavy that all my
crowding thoughts were suddenly unimportant. My eyes were closing before Antonio
reached the door, and I could not make out whether the shadows that passed him
and came towards the bed were real or part of the dream that came so swiftly.
I
woke in a room I had never seen before.
I
was lying on my back on a bed harder and narrower than my own, in darkness
which threatened to close in on me. Somewhere a torch burned, throwing flickers
of gold on a ceiling that was ribbed like a stone cage, and two shadows were
bending over me. I tried to lift my head, but pain went coursing so sharply
through it that I groaned softly and closed my eyes again.
"She's
not dead." A man's voice spoke above me, sounding almost triumphant, and I
wondered
there is no more to say. You were not to know he had gone into the
taproom."
"No,"
I whispered softly.
"What
were you talking of when I came?"
"Why,
nothing." The blood stung my cheeks at the memory. "He asked who I
was and what I did, no more."
"Did
he ask what kin you are to me?"
"I
would not tell him that. You said..."
"Peace,
peace!" His fat hand patted my shoulder. "He asked me who you were
after you had gone. Why did you not say directly that you are my sister?"
"Because
I am not directly your sister," I retorted with bitter simplicity.
"Pooh!"
Antonio snorted and bridled, for all the world as though he had never boxed my
ears for daring to call him Brother. "You can speak of it when nobility
questions you."
"I
did not think he was noble. He was dressed like a soldier."
He
snorted again. "You cannot judge a man's true station, girl! Did you not
see the whiteness of his hands? No one less than a lord could keep 'em so
smooth. And that ring he wears never came from a gimcrack peddler. We have been
talking with nobility, I swear!"
The
prince of darkness, I thought absurdly.
"And
he talked like a lord, all fine and haughty." His eyes glittered
resentfully. "No common soldier would give orders in such a style."
"But
if he were so great, he would have been at the duke's feast tonight," I
pointed out.
Antonio
waved the thought aside. "Belike he did not choose to go or else left
early. These court revels go on all night; they will not be half-done yet. But
look—" He picked up the cup from the floor. "I have brought you some
cordial to drink. Celia would have my blood if she knew of it, but it is my
guess that you will not sleep without something in your belly. Drink it up, and
I will take the cup so she will not know."
The
drink smelled bitter, and I did not really want it, but the tiny conspiracy
against Celia warmed me. Emboldened, I took the cup in both hands and smiled at
him.
"Did
you make a good profit on your wine, Brother?"
He
gaped for a moment and then went off into a roar of laughter as though I had
said something witty. "Yes," he gasped at last, "an excellent
profit—a purse of silver, and all for one paltry flask of wine!" He patted
my shoulder. "What a jest if he does not like it—the more fool he, for
buying it untasted!"
That
explained his good humor, I thought with relief. He was never so happy as when
he had beaten some rival in the way of bargain. If only the mood would last
until morning...
"Come
on, girl." His voice took on a tinge of its accustomed roughness.
"Drink your cordial and do not keep me here all night."
He
levered himself to his feet and stood over me, looming beside the bed while I
drank. The menacing shape reminded me of Battista, and I hurried to have him
gone so that I hardly tasted the drink. The sharp tang of cloves was in my
mouth as I lowered the cup and handed it back to him.
"You
drank that like a practiced toper! Lie down now"—his tone held an odd
trace of relief—"and go to sleep. I will tell Celia what has chanced in
the morning."
I
nodded drowsily. I had thought I was too excited to sleep, but the taste of the
cordial was thick in my mouth, and my eyelids felt so heavy that all my
crowding thoughts were suddenly unimportant. My eyes were closing before Antonio
reached the door, and I could not make out whether the shadows that passed him
and came towards the bed were real or part of the dream that came so swiftly.
I
woke in a room I had never seen before.
I
was lying on my back on a bed harder and narrower than my own, in darkness
which threatened to close in on me. Somewhere a torch burned, throwing flickers
of gold on a ceiling that was ribbed like a stone cage, and two shadows were
bending over me. I tried to lift my head, but pain went coursing so sharply
through it that I groaned softly and closed my eyes again.
"She's
not dead." A man's voice spoke above me, sounding almost triumphant, and I
wondered
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