Where the Path Leads-Chapter 16

Into the Lion’s Den

As they stood on the banks of the castle stream and looked up at the manor house, Emily wondered if homes mirrored their owners. What did these grim, implacable stone walls say about the Seneschal? And where was Sophia behind this unwelcoming exterior?

            “Having second thoughts?” Will asked.  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

            “No,” she lied. “Let’s go.” She wanted to get in there before her courage failed her.

            Will was delivering a pair of shoes his father had made for Morwen, but once inside he planned on taking a detour. He tried to talk her out of going in with him, but she was adamant. It was her fault that Sophia was in trouble and she wanted to make it right, though neither of them knew exactly how it would go.

            Because it was only a manor house and not a castle, there was no portcullis or drawbridge, but there was an arched entryway with a guard.  Will knew him, of course, and they exchanged pleasantries, Will showing him the shoes and the two of them laughing over how big Morwen’s feet were and the steward’s penchant for owning many pairs of shoes. Will casually asked if the Seneschal was at home and was told that he was not.  Will expected that he was taking his midday supper at the castle. As Will kept the guard  occupied, chatting, Emily slipped unnoticed into the courtyard beyond.

            She realized how daring it was, because anyone might walk into the courtyard or see her from within the manor house. The Seneschal was already angry because of what she’d told Isaac and Cyril; entering his house uninvited would only offend him further. Breathing quick and shallow, she crouched behind a hitched wagon in the courtyard, rubbing her sweaty palms on her tunic. The cart horse waited stolidly, turning its head once to look at her askance.

            This courtyard was nothing like what she’d seen at the castle. Not only was it much smaller but it was strangely deserted, no horses neighing in the stables, no meat cooking over open flames, no laundresses or gardeners, just a stone courtyard quiet as the grave with an empty wagon hitched to a resigned looking cart horse that stood like a statue.

            Will left the guard and went whistling across the courtyard. Without turning his head he whispered as he went by, “Wait for my signal.”

            He went to the back of the manor house, having told Emily that the way into anywhere was always through the kitchen. Not only did he know the cook but he was an especial favorite of hers.

            “When she lived in the village, she used to pull my ear every time she saw me and tell me what a smart boy I was, that I’d make a respetado of myself someday,” he said.

            “Why would she think that?”  Emily didn’t realize how it sounded until after she’d said it.

            “Because whenever I’d see her, I’d say, ‘Good day, Mistress,’ and I’d quote some high Anglais that Tado Lawrence had taught me, like ‘Recuerdas cuando sendero de la vida es empinada para mantener tu mente ni siquiera,’ Remember when life’s path is steep to keep your mind even.”  Will smiled.  “She was much impressed and acted as if I were already a scholar. Don’t worry, she’ll let me in.”

            Still, even Will had a hard time persuading Bertha, so cowed was she by the Seneschal and by Morwen. Both were hard masters. Only by assuring her that Morwen wanted the shoes very much and by giving her a marzipan pastry he’d gotten from Maria was he was able to connive entrance into the house. 

            The sunny morning had turned cloudy, and the cavernous kitchen was cast in shadows, its only light coming from a fire burning in the center of the room, a cauldron suspended over it. Bertha stood at a massive oak table chopping onions, and she was wiping her watering eyes with her apron when Emily stealthily slipped in behind Will. The rich aroma of meat stewing made her mouth water, and she glanced longing at loaves of bread stacked on shelves, as she hurried through.

            The hallway off the kitchen led to a great room on the ground floor, which they avoided, taking instead a stairway that spiraled upwards inside one of the turrets. As they climbed the small, triangular steps which curved around the outside of the tower, they heard someone coming down. Will quickly waved her back while he waited.

            She heard him talking above her.

            “Cedric! What are you doing here?”

            Will sounded relieved. 

            “Last I knew, you were picking rocks in the fields alongside your father.”

            “Hired me out,” came the voice of a small boy. “It’s harder here ‘an pickin’ rocks.”

            “Oh, surely not. At least you get fed,” Will said, jollying him.

            “Sometimes.  What brings you here?”  

            “Shoes to deliver. Look Cedric,” Will lowered his voice, “do you know where they’re keeping the weaver?” 

            After a pause, Cedric whispered, “You mean the witch? Cook says she can turn children as misbehave into toads or lizards.”

            “Is she . . . up there?”

            Emily imagined him pointing to the floor above. 

            “Cook made me take her bread for supper.”

            Emily wondered how much Sophia was getting to eat–or how little.

            “Is that all?” said Will.

            “More’n I get, sometimes. But what I wonder is, if she be a witch like they say, can’t she conjure up her own food?”

            Emily frowned, clenching her fists.

            “Did Cook give you the key to her chamber?” Will spoke still lower.

            Cedric must have shaken his head. “Even Cook don’t have it, only Morwen. Cook said just to slip it under the door. I hafta go wake Morwen now, for supper. He al’ays takes a rest before eating, but he don’t like gettin’ waked. Swears up a storm and tries a hit me.”

            “Let me come with you,” Will said. “We’ll go together and I’ll give him these shoes. Maybe then he won’t get angry then.”  Will spoke louder, probably for her benefit.  “Come, show me where his chamber is.”

            When she heard them coming down the stairs, she hurried all the way back down, searching for a place to hide. She ducked back into the dark hallway they had come through just as Will and a very small boy emerged from the staircase and headed across the great room to another set of steps on the other side of the room. Maybe he was leading the boy away to give her a chance to find Sophia, or perhaps he hoped to get the key from Morwen’s chamber.

            When they were gone, she hurried up the spiral steps to the third floor.  This hallway was also dim, lit by only two thin slits of windows in the walls at either end. There were only two doors, both closed. Emily crept noiselessly in her calfskin slippers towards the first door and listened. She could hear nothing within. Quietly she tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. The second door was all the way at the other end of the hallway and she approached it with her heart pounding, listening hard at the door for a long moment. Finally she was rewarded with a soft shuffling sound she recognized as the heddles on the loom moving up and down. She turned the handle on the huge carved oaken door but it was locked tight. The sound of the heddles ceased, and a moment later she heard a whisper near the bottom of the door.

            “Who’s there?”

            Even though she was full of trepidation her heart leapt. She knelt down to the space between the bottom of the door and the stone floor.  

            “Sophia, it’s me. Are you all right?”

            “Emilia!  By all that’s sacred, what are you doing here?”

            She slipped her hand into the space. “We’ve come to get you out, Sophia. You shouldn’t be here. This is all my fault.”  Their fingertips touched and tears stung her eyes.

            “Emilia, you shouldn’t be here. Please, go.”

            “We . . .can’t leave without you.”

            After a moment’s pause, Sophia whispered,

            “How did you get here?”

            “Will.”

            “Both of you must go at once. If you’re found, the Seneschal will make an example of you.”

            In this place where ordinary people had no rights, she could only imagine what that meant.  She shivered, but insisted, “We won’t leave you here.”         

            “There’s no way, not without the key, and even then . . . .“

            “We’ll get it. Wait . . . somebody’s coming,” she hissed, standing up quickly and looking around. There was only one set of stairs up to the third floor.  The hallway was bare of furniture and both rooms were locked.  Where was she to hide?  She had passed the wall tapestries before without noticing them but now ducked under one. Within seconds, steps sounded on the stone floor.

            Will followed Cedric into Morwen’s chamber. It was almost unheard of for a servant, even a steward, to have his own chamber. Most house servants slept on benches in the great hall or on the floor of the kitchen or wherever, but Morwen was a smooth talker who had insinuated himself into the Seneschal’s favor. The room was small, to be sure, but it had a big bed with a well stuffed mattress and Morwen took a nap every day after the Seneschal left to have supper at the castle. A midday nap was also an unknown luxury to most, but while the master was gone, Morwen did whatever he wanted.

            The two boys entered the chamber quietly, Will searching the room for the keys, Cedric keeping an eye on the snoring Morwen. Will put a hand on the steward’s shoulder and gently shook him.

            “Sir,” Will said softly, “it’s supper time. And I’ve brought your new shoes.”

            Morwen snuffled and rolled over, his stringy black hair falling back from his sharp features.

            “Be gone, boy. Leave me be.”

            Will ducked just in time to avoid Morwen’s arm which reached out to sweep away the annoying intrusion. As he did, he spied the keys on a large ring lying on the floor on the other side of the bed. There was no way of knowing which was the one to Sophia’s third-floor room, so he’d have to take them all. Maybe if he distracted Morwen with the shoes, the steward would forget about the keys.

            “Sir, it’s Will the cobbler’s son. I’ve brought the shoes you ordered from my father. Please sit up, sir, and I can put them on you.” He walked around to the other side of the bed. While Cedric pulled on Morwen’s arms, Will pushed from behind to help him sit up.

            “May the wrath of the Absolute crush you and your kin,” he spat, “you annoying pests. I’ll have you cast into the dungeon for the rats to eat.  A man needs his sleep.”

            “He’s like this every day,” whispered Cedric, just as Morwen yanked a hand away from the small boy and cuffed him on the side of his head.  Cedric cried out and backed away, but Will had succeeded in pocketing the keys. He was anxious to be gone before Morwen looked for them, though he hated leaving Cedric to deal with the difficult steward.

            “Sir, I’ll leave these shoes for you to try on when you’re fully awake. I’ll just be outside.” Cedric gave him a desperate look, but Will nodded reassuringly. “My father made them as you ordered. I’m sure you’ll find them satisfactory,” and he began to back out of the room. The last he saw, Morwen had finally opened his eyes and was throwing one of the shoes at Cedric, who managed to duck just in time. Once outside, he ran hastily back to the stairwell.”     

She heard the grinding of a key in a lock and the creak of the door hinges and was out from behind the wall tapestry in an instant, and the three of them were embracing.

            “Quickly,” said Will, “through the kitchen.”

            Down the winding stone stairwell they hurried, their feet making shushing sounds on the cold stone floor.  Emily wished they could fly noiselessly through the manor house and that her heart would stop thudding as if it would come right out of her chest, fear coursing through her veins. 

            No one was in the great room, for which Emily was desperately thankful, but they stopped abruptly in the dark hallway leading to the kitchen.  Bertha stood with her back to them beside the fire, humming tunelessly as she stirred supper in the cauldron. It smelled deliciously meaty and oniony. 

            “I’ll distract her, and you two slip out. Don’t wait for me. I’ll follow,” he whispered.  Without waiting for their answer, Will walked up quietly.  “Mistress?”

            “Oh! Oh! May the Absolute pardon you, Will,” she said, clutching a hand to her ample bosom and letting out a deep breath, “you scared me half out of my wits, boy! I thought you was Morwen. He likes to sneak up on me and if supper’s not on the table when he gets here he . . . .”  Her voice trailed off.              

            “No, ma’am. It’s just me. I wanted to give you this before I left,” and he pulled a peach from his pocket, slightly bruised but edible.

            Her face softened and she tousled his hair.

            “You was al’ays such a good boy, Will Cobbler. Smart and good, and them’s a good combination.”

            “Mistress, would it be too much to ask for a bit of parsley from your croft. Ours plant died, you see, and I know what a fine gardener you are. Always the best croft in the village.”

            “Parsley, thyme, hyssop, what’er herb you want. Go pick some.”

            “Mum’ll be very grateful, ma’am, but would you come pick it for me since I don’t want to get the wrong thing. I once tried to make tea with wormwood; ‘bout scared my mum to death.”

            “Fortune save you, boy! All that book learnin’ and can’t tell wormwood from chamomile?” Then she clucked. “Steward’s comin’ soon so let’s be quick,” and she bustled outside to the kitchen garden with Will.

            When they were outside, Sophia and Emily hurried out and across the courtyard to hide behind the empty wagon, still standing there. The guard was still at his station, standing next to a small room built into the archway where he could retreat during bad weather. Emily wished it were raining now so he would go inside, but the weather was warm and he remained outside.  From their hiding place behind the wagon, they ran to the enclosing wall, huddling just outside the archway. Emily was breathless, as if she’d just run a long race, and her heart still pounded.  Sophia, who was normally so calm, looked agitated as well, her face flushed, a bead of sweat trickling down one side.  They were so close to being out of this hateful place, if they could just get past the guard. Where was Will? He knew everyone and always had an idea.

            They crept closer. Emily thought she heard sobbing coming from the guard’s room, then it stopped.

            “I’ll talk to him while you go through. Then I’ll follow,”  Sophia whispered.

            “No!”

            “Do what I say,” Sophia insisted. “Watch for your chance,” and without waiting for a reply she sauntered toward the entrance.

            The guard straightened and Sophia began talking to him in low tones. Emily couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the guard listened politely, his gaze sliding once or twice to the small room beside him. Was there another guard inside, she wondered, but no one emerged. She’d only seen one guard when they came in, and this was, after all, the manor house and not the castle. It was unlikely there would be two guards stationed here.

            When Sophia pointed at the ground, the guard bent over to retrieve something, and Emily saw her chance, dashing toward the entrance. It would have been wide enough for her to escape unnoticed if something black hadn’t flown out of the guard room like a raven and grabbed her arm with a vise-like claw. She screamed and Sophia spun around. 

            The black figure rasped, “Seize her,” and the guard immediately grabbed Sophia, who looked at Emily and her attacker with baleful eyes, but did not resist.

            The tall bony man with stringy black hair and a beaky nose held her upper arm in a painful grip as she struggled to free herself, a small, red-eyed boy standing beside him.

            “Ah, you’re fortunate, Cedric. If they had escaped, the Seneschal would have flayed you alive.” He didn’t sound like he was exaggerating. “As I suspected, evil comes in pairs, like shoes.”

            “You’re hurting me!” she cried.

            “How rude, to come unannounced and not wait for the Seneschal’s return.  And you, Mistress Weaver, leaving without thanking him for his hospitality?” His voice was razor-sharp with sarcasm.

            “Please, Morwen, let her go. She’s harmed no one.”

            “Tell that to the Seneschal. He’ll reward me handsomely for catching her in his trap.” He smiled maliciously.

            “Go find the boy,” he growled at Cedric, “and if you don’t bring him–and my keys–to me, I will flay you alive before supper.”  A tearful, worried Cedric scurried off.

Locked in a wardrobe in the Seneschal’s chamber awaiting his return, Emily had plenty of time to think about Sophia imprisoned again on the third floor, to wonder what had become of Will, and to worry about how long she must stay cramped in this small, dark space.  But most of all, she pondered what the Seneschal would do to her when he returned.