They bombarded and made assaults at all hours, to keep the defenders from rest. In the dark of early morning Andre was leading a troop up to a partial breach they had made by mining the outer wall, when a foray from the castle met them. They fought with swords there in the darkness under the wall. It was a confused and ineffectual scrap, and Andre was calling his men together to retreat when he became aware that he had dropped his sword. He groped for it. For some reason his hands would not grasp, but slid stupidly among clods and rocks. Something cold and grainy pressed against his face: the earth. He opened his eyes very wide, and saw darkness.
Two cows grazed in the inner courtyard, the last of the great herds of Moge. At five in the morning a cup of milk was brought to the princess in her room, as usual, and a little while later the captain of the fort came as usual to give her the night's news. The news was the same as ever and Isabella paid little heed. She was calculating when King Gulhelm's forces might arrive, if her messenger had got to him. It could not be sooner than ten days. Ten days was a long time. It was only three days now since the town had fallen, and that seemed quite remote, an event from last year, from history. However, they could hold out ten days, even two weeks, if they had to. Surely the King would send them help.
"They'll send a messenger to ask about him," Breye was saying.
"Him?" She turned her heavy look on the captain.
"The field-captain."
"What field-captain?"
"I was telling you, princess. The foray took him prisoner this morning."
"A prisoner? Bring him here at once!"
"He's got a sabre-cut on the head, princess."
"Can he speak? I'll go to him. What's his name?"
"Kalinskar."
She followed Breye through gilt bedrooms where muskets were stacked on the beds, down a long parqueted corridor that crunched underfoot with crystal from the shattered candle-sconces, to the ballroom on the east side, now a hospital. Oaken bedsteads, pillared and canopied, their curtains open and awry, stood about on the sweep of floor like stray ships in a harbor after storm. The prisoner was asleep. She sat down by him and looked at his face, a dark face, serene, passive. Something within her grieved; not her will, which was resolute; but she was tired, mortally tired and grieved, as she sat looking at her enemy. He moved a little and opened his eyes. She recognised him then.
After a long time she said, "Dom Andre."
He smiled a little, and said something inaudible.
"The surgeon says your wound is not serious. Have you been leading the siege?"
"Yes," he said, quite clearly.
"From the start?"
"Yes."
She looked up at the shuttered windows which let in only a dim hint of the hot July sunlight.
"You're our first prisoner. What news of the country?"
"Givan Sovenskar was crowned in Krasnoy on the first. Gulhelm is still in Aisnar."
"You don't bring good news, captain," she said softly, with indifference. She glanced round the other beds down the great room, and motioned Breye to stand back. It irked her that they could not speak alone. But she found nothing to say.
"Are you alone here, princess?"
He had asked her a question like that the other time, up on the rooftop in the sunset.
"Brant is dead," she answered.
"I know. But the younger brother … I hunted with him in the marshes, that time."
"George is here now. He was at the defense of Kastre. A mortar blew up. It blinded him. Did you lead the siege at Kastre, too?"
"No. I fought there."
She met his eyes, only for a moment.
"I'm sorry for this," she said. "For George. For myself. For you, who swore to be my friend."
"Are you? I'm not. I've done what 1 could. I've served your glory. You know that even my own soldiers sing songs about you, about the Lady of Moge, like an archangel on the castle walls. In Krasnoy they talk about you, they sing the songs. Now they can say that you took me prisoner, too. They talk of you with wonder. Your enemies rejoice in you. You've won your freedom. You have been yourself." He spoke quickly, but when he stopped and shut his eyes a moment to rest, his face looked still again, youthful. Isabella sat for a minute saying nothing, then suddenly got up and went out of the room with the hurrying, awkward gait of a girl in distress, graceless in her heavy, powder-stained dress.
Andre found that she was gone, replaced by the old captain of the fort, who stood looking down at him with hatred and curiosity.
"I admire her as much as you do!" he said to Breye. "More, more even than you here in the castle. More than anyone. For four years – " But Breye too was gone. "Get me some water to drink!" he said furiously, and then lay silent, staring at the ceiling. A roar and shudder – what was it? – then three dull thuds, deep and shocking like the pain in the root of a tooth; then another roar, shaking the bed – he understood finally that this was the bombardment, heard from inside. Soten was carrying out orders. "Stop it," he said, as the hideous racket went on and on. "Stop it. I need to sleep. Stop it, Soten! Cease firing!"
When he woke free of delirium it was night. A person was sitting near the head of his bed. Between him and the chair a candle burned; beyond the yellow globe of light about the candle-flame he could see a man's hand and sleeve. "Who's there?" he asked uneasily. The man rose and showed him in the full light of the candle a face destroyed. Nothing was left of the features but mouth and chin. These were delicate, the mouth and chin of a boy of about nineteen. The rest was newly healed scar.
"I'm George Mogeskar. Can you understand me?"
"Yes," Andre replied from a constricted throat.
"Can you sit up to write? I can hold the paper for you."
"What should I write?"
They both spoke very low.
"I wish to surrender my castle," Mogeskar said. "But I wish my sister to be gone, out of here, to go free. After that I shall give up the fort to you. Do you agree?"
"I – wait – "
"Write your lieutenant. Tell him that I will surrender on this one condition. I know Sovenskar wants this fort. Tell him that if she is detained, I shall blow the fort, and you, and myself, and her, into dust. You see, I have nothing much to lose, myself." The boy's voice was level, but a little husky. He spoke slowly and with absolute definiteness.
"The . . . the condition is just," Andre said.
Mogeskar brought an inkwell into the light, felt for its top, dipped the pen, gave pen and paper to Andre, who had managed to get himself half sitting up. When the pen had been scratching on the paper for a minute, Mogeskar said, "I remember you, Kalinskar. We went hunting in the long marsh. You were a good shot."
Andre glanced at him. He kept expecting the boy to lift off that unspeakable mask and show his face. "When will the princess leave? Shall my lieutenant give her escort across the river?"
"Tomorrow night at eleven. Four men of ours will go with her. One will come back to warrant her escape. It seems the grace of God that you led this siege, Kalinskar. I remember you, I trust you." His voice was like hers, light and arrogant, with that same husky note. "You can trust your lieutenant, I hope, to keep this secret."
Andre rubbed his head, which ached; the words he had written jiggled and writhed on the paper. "Secret? You wish this – these terms to be kept – you want her escape to be made secretly?"