The bridge deck there terminated a good ten paces, perhaps even fifteen paces, beyond the edge of the ditch in what appeared to be a high, blank wall of stone, so that traffic crossing the ditch had to turn sharply right at that point, immediately veering again to enter the protection of the curtain wall that shielded the approach to the main gates. Halfway between the edge of the ditch and the wall at the end of the bridge deck, however, a huge log, two long paces in diameter, had been carefully sunk across the approach and firmly anchored into the ground above the narrow edge of a long, deep pit, the high, vertical sides of which had been lined with logs to guard against subsidence. The pit had originally been dug as a sawpit for the dressing and shaping of the enormous matched logs that formed the foundation of the bridge deck, but it had been sited in that specific spot to serve another, more enduring purpose: the log across the end of the pit, between it and the ditch, was the fulcrum of the bridge, and the blank wall at the bridge end was merely the front surface of a massive counterweight that made it possible for the drawbridge to be raised and lowered with the help of an intricate system of windlasses and pulley hoists. The counterweight itself comprised several thick sheets of iron, hand riveted and bolted to the thick beams of the bridge deck’s end and then surmounted with great squared blocks of solid granite that were secured to the metal plates in turn by welded straps of iron a handspan wide and a thumb’s width thick. When the bridge was raised, the counterweighted end sank into the pit. Twin towers of massive logs flanked the pit right and left and contained the system of giant windlasses and torsion brakes that enabled crews of men to raise and lower the bridge by means of pulleys and enormous chains of iron links.
“You’re right,” I said belatedly. “Once that bridge is up, there’s no way across. The place is impregnable.”
“Aye. So what will you do if your brother Gunthar’s seized it?”
“He is my cousin, not my brother.”
“Cousin, brother, makes no difference to my question. What if he has taken the place?”
“He hasn’t.” I pointed to where a military standard was visible on the highest peak of the battlements above the main gate. “That’s still King Ban’s standard.”
He squinted at it. “How can you tell? It’s a length of soaked, bedraggled fabric beneath a Roman eagle standard on a staff. That’s all I can see, through this rain. It could be anyone’s.”
“No, because it’s pale blue and gold. Even wet and dirty, those colors are recognizable. And they’re Ban’s colors. He was always most particular about visible insignia, and he issued personal colors to each of his four sons with much ceremony as they attained manhood. Gunthar’s is pale green with a wide yellow border; Samson’s is two broad lateral bars, scarlet and white; Theuderic’s is bright yellow with a broad diagonal band of black, from right to left; and Brach’s is blue and white vertical stripes. Had Gunthar moved to usurp the kingship, his green-and-yellow banner would be hanging up there now.”
“Perhaps he forgot to change it. Could he do that, forget such a thing?”
I glanced at him, wondering if he was being facetious, but then I shrugged. “Gunthar is not the kind of man who forgets details of that kind. Appearances are everything to him, which is part of his particular … charm. You’ll understand when you meet him. What Gunthar chooses to show you and what you actually see are seldom the same thing.” I turned again to look at the rain-drenched blue-and-gold standard on the walls and shook my head, this time more decisively. “No, had Gunthar taken over already, he would want everyone to know it—immediately—and one of the most obvious ways to achieve that would be to hoist his standard, his colors, above his fortress for all to see.”
“He sounds like a wonderful fellow,” my companion drawled. “But speaking of things that are there for all to see, there’s not much to see here at all, is there? Were it not for that cluster of guards above the main gate there, I would have thought this place was deserted.”
I looked again, at the walls this time rather than at the bridge. There were some guards above the main gate, as he had said, but there was no one else in sight, and the so-called guards had not yet seen us, although we had been there long enough to examine their new defenses in detail. I felt a kick of sudden misgivings stir in my gut and sat straighter in the saddle, taking up the slack in my reins.
“You’re right. They’re too few, and negligent. They have not even looked in this direction since we arrived. We had better get down there.” I kicked my horse into motion and heard, rather than saw, Ursus’s mount fall into line behind me, and all the way from there to the final approach to the bridge I kept my eyes fastened on the men above the main gates.
They finally noticed us when less than sixty paces separated us from the end of the bridge, and then there was a startled flurry of movement, accompanied by a high-pitched challenge. I ignored it completely and kept moving, headed for the bridge deck, and the challenge was repeated. I called to Ursus to follow me and put my horse to the gallop, covering the intervening space in what seemed like a mere instant before I was listening to the thundering of our hooves on the wooden deck. A solitary arrow zipped past me, missing me by several paces before it disappeared in the muddy bottom of the ditch. As soon as we were across the bridge and safe in the shadow of the castle walls, concealed from further fire by the curtain wall in front of us and the overhang of the battlements on our left, I pulled my horse to a halt and we waited for the arrival of the defenders of the castle. Moments later we heard the main gates behind the curtain wall creak open and then came a rush of feet as the “guard” came running to confront us.
They spilled around the edge of the curtain wall and swept back toward us, surrounding us and brandishing swords and spears, all of them shouting at once so that no word of what they were saying could be heard. I sat motionless, my weapons clearly sheathed and untouched, my arms folded across my chest. Ursus, I knew, was doing the same, watching me sidelong and following my lead in everything.
I knew we were in very real danger, particularly since it now appeared that there was no one really in charge here. Any one of these people might decide at any moment to end this situation and make a hero of himself by cutting us down to annul the insult we had offered them by penetrating their defenses so easily. I did not dare to move, for fear of provoking a murderous response. But then came a bellowing roar from another voice behind the curtain wall, and around the corner lurched a man I recognized, albeit with great difficulty and only after scrutinizing him for some time.
It was my old childhood friend Clodio, who, for as long as I could remember, had been in charge of the standing guard at the castle gates. Ever an outwardly bad-tempered, loudmouthed blusterer, Clodio had always been more bark than bite, and he had taken a liking to me when I was a mere toddler staggering about the courtyard with a bare bottom. Throughout my childhood he had treated me with respect and a special consideration due, I now knew, to the fact that he was one of the few who knew the secret of my true parentage. King Ban and he had been boyhood friends and comrades in arms for many years, saving each other’s lives on several occasions, and in consequence he had always enjoyed the King’s special favor in times of peace, although, for some reason no one had ever defined or even divined, he had steadfastly refused to accept advancement beyond what he himself had decided was his natural station. Clodio, if ever I met one, was a man who had always been content and well pleased with his life, confident in himself and in the friendship, loyalty, and high regard of his king. It once amused me to think of the King as being loyal to Clodio, but it was simple truth, and Clodio’s loyalty to the King was so much a part of him that no one would ever have seriously thought to question it.