"Venerable?" he asked. "Perhaps sanctified by some holy man?"
"By His Grace, the archbishop of Standish Abbey," Duncan said. "Which makes it only moderately sanctified."
"Still a splendid piece of work," the Reaver said affably, dropping it into his pocket. "I might get a copper for it."
"It's worth much more than that," said Duncan. "You'd be a fool to sell it for a copper."
Next the Reaver came up with a clinking doeskin bag. "Now this," he said, a grin exposing his snaggle-teeth, "is more like it." He opened the bag and poured some of the coins into an open palm, poking at them with a finger of the hand that held the bag.
"A goodly sum," he said, "and welcome to a man in as straitened circumstances as I find myself to be."
He poured the coins back into the bag and dropped it, as well, into the pocket of his jacket.
Opening the pouch wide, he peered into it, reaching in a hand to explore the remaining items.
"Junk," he said contemptuously and tossed the pouch aside.
"And now the sword," he said. "A blade carried by a gentleman. Much better, I suppose, than the poor iron that we carry."
He stepped to one side and drew the blade from Duncan's scabbard. Squatting down in front of Duncan, he examined it with a practiced eye.
"Good steel," he said, "and serviceable. But where is the gold, where are the jewels? I would have expected a scion of the nobility to carry a better piece than this."
"Gold and jewels are for ceremony," Duncan told him. "This is a fighting weapon."
The Reaver nodded. "What you say is true. Sharp and with a needle point. Very good, indeed."
He flicked the sword point upward, thrust it forward an inch or two to prick against Duncan's throat.
"Let us now suppose," he said, "you tell me what is really going on. Where is the treasure that you seek? What kind of treasure is it?"
Duncan said nothing. He sat quietly-quietly while every instinct screamed for him to pull away. But if he flinched from the pointed steel, he told himself, there would be no purpose served. Flinch away and one flick of the Reaver's wrist would have the point against his throat again.
"I'll have your throat out," the Reaver threatened.
"If you do," said Duncan, "you'll foreclose ever finding out."
"How true," the Reaver said. "How very true, indeed. Perhaps skinning you alive would be a better way. Tell me, have you ever watched while a man was skinned alive?"
"No, I never have."
"It is not a pretty sight," the Reaver said. "It is done most slowly, a little at a time. There are various methods of procedure. Beginning at the toes or sometimes at the fingers. But that is tedious work for the skinner, who must be very careful since the technique is quite delicate. I think I might prefer, if I were the skinner, to begin at the belly or the crotch. Although quite complicated, I think I would prefer beginning at the crotch. That is a very tender region and it usually brings fast results. If we were to do it on you, where would you prefer we start? We'll accord you the courtesy of making your own choice."
Duncan said nothing. He could feel the sweat popping out along his forehead and he hoped it didn't show. For this, he sensed, was not idle talk. It was not meant to frighten him into talking. This butcher meant to do it.
The Reaver appeared to be in deep thought, mulling over the situation.
"Maybe it might be better," he said, "if we did it first on someone else and let you watch a while before we started in on you. Perhaps that great oaf over yonder. He'd be a good one to do it on. He has such a splendid hide. So much of it and in such good condition. Once a man had it off him, he could make a jacket of it. Or that piddling hermit, tied against the tree. He would scream louder than the oaf. He would squirm in agony. He would scream and ask for mercy. He would call most piteously on the Lord. He'd put on quite a show. Although I am undecided. The hermit's skin is so wrinkled that it would seem scarcely worth the effort."
Duncan still said nothing.
The Reaver made a deprecating gesture. "Oh, well," he said, "it's too late in the day to talk about it now. To do a first-rate skinning job good light is needed, and the sun's about to set. First thing in the morning, that is when we'll start. So we'll have the full day for it."
He lumbered to his feet, tucked Duncan's sword beneath his arm, patted his bulging jacket pocket, and made as if to turn away. Then he turned back and looked at Duncan, grinning at him.
"That'll give you the night to think it over," he said. "We can talk again, come morning."
He shouted to his men. "Einer and Robin," he bellowed, "you stand first watch over this precious haul of ours. Don't take your eyes off them. And I want no marks upon them. I want no injury to their hides. I want the pelts perfect when we strip them from them. And should you fail-should you let them, by some mischance, get away, or should you, in your fumbling way, abuse them in any way at all, I shall have your balls."
"Reaver," said Duncan, "you are misinformed. There is no treasure. Our journey is not a treasure quest."
"Ah, well," said the Reaver, "later we can judge as to that. Although I fear, if you finally should convince me that I am mistaken, it may be difficult to stick your hide back on you."
He walked a few steps out beyond the edge of the grove to reach the beginning of the strand and again raised his voice in a bellow.
"Cedric, for the love of Christ, why so far away? I said set up the camp nearby."
From a short distance away Old Cedric's piping voice answered him. "Here there was a small patch of grazing for the horses-we'll want to keep an eye on them-and a good supply of down wood ready for the fire."
The Reaver grumbled underneath his breath, then said, "Well, I guess it really makes no difference. These ones are securely bound. The Devil himself could not work them free. They'll be closely watched and we are just a step away."
Einer, the one who had been made to change his seat to make room for Duncan and Conrad that night at the manor house, said, "We could drag them into camp. It would be a pleasure."
The Reaver considered for a moment and then said, "No, I don't think so. There'll be two men at all times watching over them. Why should we waste our strength? Besides, here they'll have quiet to get their thoughts together and know their proper course, come morning."
As he went down the strand, others trailed after him. Einer and Robin, two lusty louts, stayed behind.
Einer said to Duncan, "You heard what he said. We want no shenanigans. I am under orders to make no marks on you, but at the least tomfoolery I'll feed you sand until you choke."
Conrad asked, "You all right, m'lord?"
"No talking," Robin, the guard, told them, "You are to keep your mouths shut."
"I'm all right," said Duncan. "So is Andrew. I don't see Meg."
"She's over toward the left, not far from Daniel. They have him tied up between two trees."
"I said no talking," Robin screamed, taking a quick step forward, brandishing a rusty claymore.
"Easy," Einer cautioned him. "The Reaver said no marks."
Robin pulled back, let the claymore fall to his side.
"M'lord," said Conrad, "it seems we face great peril."
"I am sure we do," said Duncan.
The manuscript was still where it had blown, tangled in the tiny shrub, held there by the pressure of the wind.
15
There was something stirring in the clump of willows at the outer edge of the grove. Duncan sat bolt upright, staring at the spot where he had seen the stirring, or thought that he had seen it. Watching intently, he could not be sure. A fox, he thought, although it seemed unlikely that a fox would creep in so close. Or perhaps some other animal, some small roamer of the night, out to find a meal.