In two days the army had gone on its slow way and I was alone again.
I was quickly growing bored, having read most of what interested me in the library and beginning to long for fresh meat and bread, as well as the company of some jolly peasant woman, such as those I had seen with the army. But I stayed there for the best part of another week, sleeping a good deal and restoring my strength of body, as well as my strength of judgement. All I had to look forward to was a long journey, the business of recruiting another company and then seeking a fresh master for my services.
I considered the idea of returning to Bek, but I knew that I was no longer suited for the kind of life still lived there. I would be a disappointment to my father. I had sworn to myself long since that I should only return to Bek if I heard that he was dying or dead. I wished him to think of me as a noble Christian soldier serving the cause of the religion he loved.
On the night before I planned to leave I began to get some sense of a stirring in the castle, as if the place itself were coming to life.
To quell my own slight terrors I took a lamp and explored the castle once more, from end to end, from top to bottom, and found nothing strange. However, I became even more determined to leave on the following morning.
As usual, I rose at sunrise and took my horse from the stable. He was in considerably better condition than when we had arrived. I had raised the portcullis and was packing food into my saddlebags when I heard a sound from outside, a kind of creaking and shuffling.
Going to the gates, I was astonished by the sight below. A procession was advancing up the hill towards me. At first I thought this was the castle's owner returning. It had not struck me before that he might not be a temporal prince at all, but a high-ranking churchman.
The procession had something of the nature of a monastery on the move.
First came six well-armed horsemen, with pikes at the slope in stirrup holsters, their faces hidden in helmets of black iron; then behind them were some twoscore monks in dark habits and cowls, hauling upon ropes attached to the kind of carriage which would normally be drawn by horses. About another dozen monks walked at the back of the coach, and these were followed by six more horsemen, identical in appearance to those at the front.
The coach was of cloudy, unpainted wood which glittered a little in the light. It had curtained windows, but bore no crest, not even a cross.
The regalia of the riders looked popish to me, so I knew I would have to be wary in my responses, if I were to avoid conflict.
I wasted no time. I mounted and rode down the hill towards them. I wished that the sides of the hill were not so steep here, or I should not have had to take the road at all. I could not, as it happened, make my departure without passing them, but I felt happier being free of the castle, with a chance at least of escape should these warriors and monks prove belligerent.
As I came closer I began to smell them. They stank of corruption. They carried the odour of rotting flesh with them. I thought that the coach contained perhaps some dead cardinal.
Then I realised that all these creatures were the same. The flesh appeared to be falling from their faces and limbs. Their eyes were the eyes of corpses. When they saw me they came to a sudden stop.
The horsemen prepared their pikes.
I made no movement towards my own weapons, for fear of exciting them. Nonetheless, I readied myself to charge through them if it should prove necessary.
One of the riders spoke sluggishly and yet with horrifying authority, as if he were Death Himself and that pike in his hand the Reaper's scythe:
"You trespass, fellow.
"You trespass.
"Understand you not that this land is forbidden to you?"
The words came as a series of clipped phrases, with a long pause between each, as if the speaker had to recall the notion of language.
"I saw no signs," said I. "I heard no word. How could I when your land is absolutely free of population?"
In all my experience of horror I had witnessed nothing to compare with this talking corpse. I felt unnerving fear and was hard put to control it.
He spoke again:
"It is understood.
"By alt. It seems.
"Save you."
"I am a stranger," I declared, "and sought the hospitality of this castle's lord. I did not expect the place to be empty. I apologise for my ignorance. I have done no damage."
I made ready to spur my horse.
Another of the riders turned his iron head on me.
Cold eyes, full of old blood, stared into mine. My stomach regretted that I had broken its fast so recently.
He said:
"How were you able to come and go?
"Have you made the bargain?"
I attempted to reply in a reasonable tone. "I came and went as you see, upon my horse. I have no bond, if that is what you mean, with the master of this castle."
I addressed the coach, believing that the castle's owner must sit within:
"But again I say that I apologise for my unwitting trespass. I have done no harm, save eat a little food, water my horse and read a book or two."
"No bargain," muttered one of the monks, as if puzzled.
"No bargain he is aware of," said a third horseman.
And they laughed amongst themselves. The sound was a disgusting one.
"I have never met your lord," said I. "It is unlikely that I know him."
"Doubtless he knows you."
Their mockery, their malicious enjoyment of some secret they believed they shared, was disturbing my composure and making me impatient.
I said:
"If I may be allowed to approach and present myself, you will discover that I am of noble birth…"
I had no real intention of talking with the occupant of the coach, but should I be able to advance a little farther I would gain time and distance…and with some luck I might break free of them without need of my sword.
"You may not approach," said the first rider.
"You must return with us."
I spoke with mock good manners:
"I have already sampled your hospitality too long. I'll impose upon it no further."
I smiled to myself. My spirits began to lift, as they always do when action is required of me. I began to experience that cool good humour common to many professional soldiers when killing becomes necessary.
"You have no choice," said the rider.
He lowered his pike: a threat.
I relaxed in my saddle, ensuring that my seat was firm. "I make my own choices, sir," I said.
My spurs touched my horse and he began to trot rapidly towards them.
They had not expected this.
They were used to inducing terror. They were not, I suspected, used to fighting.
I had broken through them in a matter of seconds. Barely grazed by a pike, I now attempted to ride the monks down.
I hacked at the cowled men. They did not threaten me but were so anxious not to release their grasp on the carriage's ropes that they could not move from my path. They seemed perfectly willing to die under my sword rather than give up their charge.
I was forced to turn and face the riders once more.
They had no battle skill, these people, and were uncertain in their movements, for all their arrogance. Again I received an impression of hesitation, as if each individual action had to be momentarily remembered. So clumsy were they that their pikes were tangled by a few passages of my sword.
I used the bulk of my horse to back farther into the press of monks. They offered the heavy resistance of corpses.
I turned the steed again.
I let him rear and strike down two monks with his hooves.
I jumped first one taut rope and then the other and was aiming for the grassy flanks of the steep hillside when the riders from the rear came galloping forward to cut me off.