Trelawna sensed the gigantic figure approach from behind. He clamped her arms with his hairy paws, and she closed her eyes in revulsion as Zalmyra ran cold fingers across her cheek.
“I’m so glad you came to this place of your own volition, my dear. A willing sacrifice is much more acceptable to the dark powers.”
Trelawna tried to struggle again, but Urgol held her firmly.
“Your infernal husband,” Zalmyra added, “and I used that description advisedly, has destroyed everything I’ve sent against him. It has cost him dear — both in friends and in the ultimate salvation of his soul. But that doesn’t seem to have troubled him. Hence, I must provide an opponent that will really stretch his abilities. Take her!”
Urgol carried Trelawna through to a place more hideous than anything she had yet seen: a brick well lit by greenish fire, from the depths of which a cloying, sulfurous fog slowly rose.
“Welcome to my Pit of Souls,” Zalmyra said as Urgol tore off Trelawna’s clothing.
When she was completely naked, he spread her against one of two wooden saltires, which faced each other across a steel grille overhanging the well, and shackled her. Trelawna’s feet slid in a slimy detritus, which she felt certain was blood. She tilted her chin proudly as Zalmyra came close.
“My dear Countess Trelawna… I trust you are a God-fearing woman?”
“Certainly I am! And you will never take that from me, you witch!”
Zalmyra smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it. A martyr is a rare commodity these days.”
Trelawna bit on her lip, trying not to show the terror the word ‘martyr’ instilled in her.
“Mind, I don’t mean to put you on that high pedestal,” Zalmyra said. “What would Jesus Christ think… a common adulteress? But deep down, I believe you are essentially a good, kind person. Virtues which are saintly enough. And you were born of noble blood.” Zalmyra’s smile curved like a sickle. She produced a long, crooked blade. “The pumping hearts of peasant girls and harlots are useful to a degree, but the heart of a Christian noblewoman? Well, you can imagine the price I’ll command.”
Trelawna was determined to remain bold. No matter what torment they inflicted on her, she would beg nothing from these degenerate vermin, and yet she knew they were entirely serious. This was not just some pantomime to frighten her.
“Pegfal vus ga ravalax!” Zalmyra cried, raising her knife on high.
“Be warned, witch!” Trelawna stated defiantly. “Your son loves me.”
“So I’ve heard…”
“Kill me and he’ll despise you.”
“He already does. It’s something I’ve learned to live with. Stevros thralanto paiador! More-ud uvusona anaxus… ”
“Can you live with the knowledge that you’ll have killed your grandchild?”
Zalmyra ceased her chanting. She lowered the blade. Urgol stepped forward from the shadows. The vile twosome exchanged curious glances.
“It’s true, Duchess,” Trelawna said quickly, almost breathless. “I carry the Malconi heir in my womb.”
“Felix never mentioned this.”
“Felix doesn’t know.”
“Why doesn’t he know?”
“No-one knows. I didn’t mention it for fear the story would endanger my annulment.”
Zalmyra smiled cruelly. “You are lying, countess. I can see it in your face.”
“What you see in my face is the fear of a mother who may never see her child. Just as I see the fear in your face that you may never see your grandchild.”
There was a long, intense silence, before Zalmyra sheathed her blade. “It may be that you are more useful to us alive after all. Urgol, release her.”
The woodwose unshackled Trelawna from the saltire and thrust the ragged bundle, which was all that remained of her clothes, into her arms, before hustling her along the nearby passage. When he returned to the Pit of Souls a short time later, his mistress was as he’d left her, gazing pensively down the fume-filled shaft.
“We promised the dark gods a grand gift,” she said, “and we must give them one. But if a Christian noblewoman is unavailable, maybe a Christian nobleman will do instead. Where are my brother’s soldiers?”
“In the gatehouse, ma’am.”
“And where is my brother?”
“In his room. Bemoaning his fate.”
“As well he may. Bring him to me.”
“Your brother, ma’am?” Urgol sounded incredulous.
“Bring him! For the first time in his life, Severin has value to me.”
“Mother did that to you?” Rufio said.
Trelawna had found him in an upper gallery in the central keep. He was fully armoured and pacing, stopping every so often to peep agitatedly through one of the four arrow-loops that looked down towards the gatehouse. He was so preoccupied that at first he’d barely noticed the state she was in: bruised, tousled, streaked with tears and naked, apart from the dirtied rags with which she’d wrapped herself.
He remained distracted. “Well… I warned you to stay out of her way.”
“What?” Trelawna thought she’d misheard. She’d tried to keep her voice level as she’d explained to him what had just happened, but almost inevitably her eyes had overflowed, and her tone had risen until she was almost hysterical. And this was how he responded! “Felix… she was going to kill me!”
He began pacing again. “If she was going to kill you, you’d be dead. She was probably just trying to frighten you.”
Trelawna was lost for words — but she could not afford to blurt out that she’d only saved her own life by lying about being pregnant. She’d lain with Rufio once only — all those years ago during the first Council at Camelot. Since then, she’d been determined not to make love with him again until they were lawfully married. Besides, though it was unknown to both the men in her life, she had once subjected herself to examination by a village midwife, and had been told that it was never her destiny to be a mother.
“And this is all you’ve got to say about it?”
“What would you have me do, Trelawna? She’s our last refuge.”
“Oh, well… I suppose… nothing.” Trelawna flopped onto a stool, trying not to show how devastated she felt. In fact there genuinely was nothing she wanted him to do. She certainly did not want him to confront the witch — he was so weak that the truth would doubtless come out about their relations.
“I thought you’d be happy that someone so strong is protecting us,” he said.
“With a protector like your mother, who needs a foe like Lucan?”
Rufio looked disappointed — as if she was being ungrateful. She could have shrieked at him, but if that was the way Rufio was, perhaps she ought to be getting used to it? It was understandable that he was nervous, though it wasn’t endearing. She’d often told herself that men did not enamour her purely for their courage and daring, but increasingly she was having trouble with this. As she watched Rufio glance through another arrow-loop, she was reminded that he’d already stood up to Lucan once, and had survived without a blemish. Suddenly that seemed typical of him — when so many others had failed to survive at all. And yet, this unsatisfactory fellow, who wrote passionate letters seemingly at the expense of any other useful talent, was the only thing she had left in the world. And she did have feelings for him; she willed herself to believe that, as she crossed the gallery towards him.
“Felix… let’s just leave this place.”
“What?”
“Let’s just sneak away. Lucan won’t follow us forever. If we leave no trail, if we travel in disguise, he can’t possibly know where we are.”
“Give up everything, you mean? Our titles, our wealth?”
“None of that really matters…”
“Of course it matters. There’s no point having a life if it’s not worth living. Besides, it’s too late. He’s virtually at our door.”