They waited in silence. They heard no footsteps. But suddenly there was the sound of a key turning in the lock.
Slowly the door creaked open.
There stood a beautiful young woman in a long white robe.
A locket on a fragile golden chain nestled at the woman’s throat. Her small feet were bare. A long, heavy braid of yellow hair, bound with golden thread, hung over one shoulder to far below her waist. Her eyes were wide and frightened.
This was the last thing the companions had expected.
Can this be Manette? Lief thought in amazement. Can it be that she still lives? Is her love for Bede so strong that she remains with him, even now? Can it be that Bede himself…?
You will quickly tire of her. Why, only last year you were dallying with her sister…
So Bess had said to her son. Had she been wrong?
Barda was the first to recover.
‘We are travellers, caught in the storm,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘We beg for shelter.’
‘We are not prepared for visitors,’ the woman murmured rapidly. ‘I fear we cannot—’
She caught sight of Lief, and gasped. Her hand flew to her throat. Then she glanced quickly behind her. Soft music had begun, drifting from somewhere within.
The woman bit her lip, and pulled the door wider. She watched silently as the companions moved inside. Then she closed the door behind them, turning the key in the lock once more.
The entrance hall was huge—as large as the entrance hall of the palace in Del. Hundreds of candles burned in great metal rings hanging from the ceiling. Streaks of emerald gleamed in the carved rock walls.
‘Follow me, if you please,’ the woman said.
She turned and led them through the hall. At the far end stood two tall doors. The woman put her hands to the doors, preparing to push them open.
‘Wait!’ whispered Lief. ‘Please tell me! What is your name? What are you doing here?’
The woman turned. Her eyes were dark with misery.
‘My name is Kirsten,’ she murmured. ‘And I am here because once I loved too well.’
Before Lief could speak again, she pushed open the doors.
17 – The Castle
The companions moved into a vast room that was bathed in light. Its rocky walls gleamed green. Its stone floor was covered with exquisitely embroidered rugs.
A great fire blazed in a fireplace set into the wall that faced them. To the right of the fireplace was a vast table draped with a stiff, white cloth and laden with food and drink.
And in the very centre of the room, on a heap of cushions that gleamed with every colour of the rainbow, lay a young man, hung about with gold and jewels.
The man had a small harp in his hands. He was playing softly. Emeralds glittered in his ears. A circlet of emeralds crowned his shining hair. Golden chains festooned his neck and his slender wrists. Beside him lay several pens and a scattered sheaf of papers.
As the companions entered the room, the music stopped. The man raised his head and fixed them with burning eyes.
Then Lief knew he had been right. There was no doubt that the man lounging before them was Bede.
‘He does look like you, Lief!’ Jasmine breathed. ‘Why, you could be brothers!’
Lief did not like the thought. He stepped forward.
‘Do not approach him!’ Kirsten hissed behind him. ‘Kneel! Kneel, I beg you!’
Her voice was so full of terror that Lief did as she asked. Barda and Jasmine hesitated, then kneeled beside him.
‘What is your will, my lord?’ Kirsten asked.
Bede did not look at her. ‘Bring food and drink,’ he said, barely moving his lips.
‘Yes, my lord! Oh, but do not stop playing! Your music is so sweet!’ Kirsten scurried to the table and began putting wine and fruit on a silver tray.
Bede plucked softly on the strings of the harp. Sweet music filled the room. But he did not take his eyes from his guests, and neither did he speak.
In moments Kirsten was back. She kneeled in front of Bede and put a silver goblet of wine on the floor beside the sheaf of papers.
‘Ah, you have finished the words of a new song, I see!’ she said. ‘Is it your song for today? The one I am to copy into the book?’
Bede bent his head in a slight nod.
Timidly Kirsten picked up a paper.
‘How beautiful!’ she murmured, looking at it. ‘Would you sing it for us, my lord? I long to hear it.’
Is she trying to distract him? Lief thought. Or is it part of her slavery that she must flatter him in the way he likes best?
His mind was teeming with questions. Kirsten was plainly in Bede’s power. She was terrified of him.
But did he control her by sorcery, or by some other means?
And how had she come here at all? It was her sister, Mariette, to whom Bede had lost his heart. Where was Mariette now?
Kirsten was coming towards them, carrying the paper and the tray. Lief reached out to help her, but she shrank back, her eyes wide with warning.
‘Sing, my lord!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘We will follow the words most carefully.’
Slowly she sank to her knees, and put down the tray. She placed the paper on the ground where they could all see it. All the time her eyes were beseeching Lief, Barda and Jasmine not to move.
There was a short pause, and then Bede began to sing. His voice was sweet and mellow as honey. The music of the harp was like the soft rippling of a stream.
Lief listened, transfixed in spite of himself. It was only when Bede finished the song, and began at once to sing it again, that he began to follow the words.
He looked down at the paper lying on the rug in front of him.
Lief glanced at Kirsten. Her eyes were swimming with tears. Her hands were tightly clasped, the knuckles white.
Only then was the spell of Bede’s voice broken. Only then did Lief realise how cruel were the words sung in those honeyed tones.
He felt Jasmine and Barda shifting uneasily beside him, and knew they saw it too.
Bede was taunting Kirsten, rejoicing in his power over her. No wonder she wept, remembering a time when his singing had filled her heart with joy.
Lief felt cold with fury. Why do we kneel here? he raged to himself. Why do we not leap on him now, and force him to take us to the Sister of the North?
But he did not move, for in his heart he knew why. The room was thick with evil and menace. Delicate as Bede chose to appear, he was plainly powerful. Very powerful.
If they were to survive, and find the Sister of the North, they had to soothe him, flatter him, make him feel safe. They had to be cunning, and stealthy. They had to play his game.
Bede at last fell silent. He raised his eyes from his harp, and looked straight at Lief. His gaze was intense and full of meaning.
Lief smiled, raised his hands and began to clap. After a moment, Barda and Jasmine joined him.
Bede did not smile. He did not move, bow or speak. When the applause at last died away, he bent his head to his harp, and began to sing the song again.
Lief bent as if to pluck a grape from the tray.
‘Kirsten,’ he whispered. ‘Where is Mariette?’
Kirsten stiffened.
‘Is she alive?’ Lief breathed. ‘Is she here?’
Kirsten nodded, very slightly. Her lips formed the word, ‘Captive’. Her eyes were full of anguish.
And there is my answer, Lief thought, glancing at Jasmine and Barda, who were watching intently. Bede controls this woman by a mixture of sorcery and threat. She is bound to him by fear for Mariette’s safety, as well as her own.
‘We can help you,’ Barda muttered, leaning forward as if he, too, was choosing something to eat.
‘No. He is too strong.’ Kirsten’s voice was like a sigh. ‘His power is boundless… terrible…’
Clumsily she began to pour wine. The jug clattered against the silver goblets as her hand trembled.
Lief looked over her shoulder at Bede. The man’s eyes were closed. He was still singing his new song, softly, slowly, as if entranced by the beauty of his own voice.