It was quite cleverly concealed, I could see now, by a thick stand of pine trees, similar to the one on the rock. Even now, with the deciduous portion of the woods not fully in leaf, I could not make out the castle at all, until I was nearly upon it.
I reached the barbican first. It was the approximate size of a large garage, with two arrow-slit openings flanking a large, eight-foot wooden door. The door had not been fashioned to appear “old,” but was clearly custom-made from very heavy timber, with crude iron strips holding the pieces together. Its hinges were as large as a man’s foot, and they were heavily rusted, as were the enormous latch and padlock that held the door closed. I stepped up to this entrance and tried the handle. The door, of course, did not budge. Indeed, it might as well have been part of the wall, so tightly was it shut. I pushed my fingers into the cracks along the top and sides, and felt no jamb — the door had to be at least three inches thick! I moved aside a few feet and reached up toward one of the arrow slits. I could touch it, I discovered, only if I jumped. So I ignored my aches and pains and leaped, catching hold of the opening. Finding some purchase on the mortared stones with my climbing shoes, I scrambled up far enough to peer through the slot — but alas, there was nothing to be seen but darkness. The only indication that there was a room there at all was the scent of dampness and mold.
I dropped to the ground and continued to walk around the building. My impression of the curtain wall’s great height had not been incorrect: it was twenty feet tall, and sheer, and no windows broke the uninterrupted surface. Only the towers and keep bore windows, and they were far too high to see into, except the few that framed a small rectangle of sky. Soon, I had made my way back to the rock on the north side, and I had seen no other point of entry.
It was at this time that I realized I was growing hungry, and that I had brought very little food with me — certainly not enough for a second night in the woods. The time was likely to be late afternoon, and the sun would not last long; if I wanted to leave for the house, the time to do so had come. I would eat some fruit and meat, and drink my water, and then begin to find my way back.
My pack, however, had been left behind, by the grotto. So I returned to the “toe” of the rock, clambered up once again, and walked in the afternoon sun to pick it up. I was astonished to discover that it was gone.
I closed my eyes, trying to remember precisely where I had left it. Unless my injuries had addled my mind, the pack had been lying on the northern edge of the grotto, in the shadow of the pine tree, half in and half out of the humus. I crouched at the spot and examined the ground: yes, the pack’s impression was still visible, and several smears of soil trailed six inches or so in the direction of the “ankle.”
When was the last time I saw it? I must have glanced down at the grotto as I was scaling the rock; surely I would have noticed had it been gone. It must have been taken while I was on the summit, perhaps during my few minutes of repose in the sun. Certainly, I was distracted by my discovery of the castle; the safety of my pack was the last thing on my mind.
What, then, had taken it? Though the forest had seemed to harbor very little wildlife, it seemed clear that the thief was an animal, drawn to the pack by the scent of food within. If this were the case, then the pack was probably not far away: the animal had likely dragged it to a sheltered area, forced it open, and taken the food, leaving the rest behind. Acting upon this deduction, I began to search the area, peering into each fissure on the rock’s surface, and then, when this tactic proved futile, making a careful circuit of the edge, to see if the pack lay on the ground below. I found nothing. I then climbed down off the “toe,” and made a careful examination of the surrounding ground, penetrating about fifty feet into the forest in every direction.
Forty-five minutes of concerted effort left me with nothing, and little sunlight remained for my journey back to the house. The time had come to give up the search. I drew a deep breath, and prepared to make my way out of the woods.
The most immediate consequence of my pack’s disappearance was the loss of my boots, which had been tied to one of its straps. I was wearing, remember, climbing shoes, helmet, and gloves. I had stripped off my fleece jacket, as well, and stored it in the pack; and while I still wore a long-sleeved climber’s shirt, the material was thin, and not very warm, out of the sun. I had to act fast, and find the road quickly.
It was then that I had an idea. The castle, mysterious as it was, had to have been built in a more or less conventional way. That is, supplies would have been needed: scaffolding, tools, mortar. The stones it was made of surely came from somewhere other than the woods — they had to have been purchased from a quarry and delivered by truck. So at some point, the woods must have been penetrable by such a vehicle. I knew, of course, that none of this area harbored old-growth forest. But there had to be a strip of land — a former road — where the forest was thinner than elsewhere. With this in mind, I once again walked around the rock, my eyes attuned, this time, to the ghost of a road.
And with the light dying behind me, I found it. It led east, a barely perceptible tunnel through the trees. Saplings had grown up through it, mature trees had fallen across it or leaned into it, but it was there, easy to miss unless you already knew it existed. Immediately I began to walk. The difference underfoot was obvious now: the ground was hard-packed and much drier beneath the leaves and branches, and the going was swift. In places, the road had veered to one side or the other, in order to avoid a particularly large tree or, in one place, a six-foot-wide boulder, presumably left here by the same glacier that had deposited the rock. But these diversions were minor, and the road righted itself easily after them.
The light in the forest, meanwhile, had dimmed to brown, then gray, and would soon be gone entirely. I picked up the pace, careful not to trip over some hidden obstacle, and just as I thought I could no longer walk safely in the dark, I found myself standing before a rise that gave way to gravel, and then pavement. I had reached Minerva Road.
As I stood on the road surface under a deep purple sky, all of the past two days’ anxieties and injuries came crashing down upon me at once, and I felt a deep ache over every part of my body. My journey had proved far more dramatic and upsetting than I had anticipated, and had left me with more questions than I had when I embarked upon it. I turned once more to the woods, to mark the entrance of the former road. It was obvious, now that I knew it was there — the road was flanked by the trunks of two maples, each leaning toward the other, forming a kind of natural gate. The weeds and saplings between them had caused their significance, upon my initial circumambulation of the forest, to elude me. I would not forget them now. I sighed heavily, then turned south and began, under the darkening sky, my final trek back to the house.
It was full-on night when I felt the crunch of driveway gravel under my feet, and made my way to the front stoop. There was mail in the mailbox; this I removed, and I laid my hand upon the knob, and prepared to go inside. A hot bath was on my mind, a nutritious meal, and a warm, comfortable bed. I turned the knob, walked into the house, turned on the light, and shut the door behind me.
I stood there in the hall, perfectly still, for several minutes, listening. For what, I didn’t know. In any event, there was nothing: not even a mouse or a rat, or a squirrel scampering across the roof. Only silence. After a minute had passed, I relaxed my muscles, let out breath, and headed for the kitchen. And at that moment, a tremendous clank sounded underfoot, and a thundering whoosh, and the house trembled, and I shouted, jumping into the air and dropping my mail all over the floor. I was pressed, terrified, to the wall, synapses popping in my head, when I realized that I had merely heard the furnace switching on. I slumped to the floor and rested my head in my hands. It had been a long two days.