One of his grooms said a soft word, and all the men looked at Cara and the laundress. Guy straightened, turning. When he saw her, his face grew pleased, but he immediately looked down at the currycomb in his hand as if it held some vital mystery.

It was the first time she had approached him in public since their private speaking. His men grinned, and one of them pitched a pebble at Guy. It bounced off his shoulder. He lifted his hand and brushed at his sleeve absently.

Cara handed her present to the laundress. It was a silk lace. The maid went up to Guy and held it out to him. "From Donna Cara," she said simply. Cara thought she might have had the wit to embellish a little, but she was English.

He looked about at the men instead of at Cara. She held her breath, worried at the solemn set of his mouth. But then he reached out and took the lace, holding it between his hands. Amid whistles and mockery, he grinned at her.

Suddenly one of the grooms came under the gate and s.n.a.t.c.hed her about the waist. He pulled her back. Cara gave a shriek, resisting him, but it was not a very serious abduction, for Guy chased him off with a few hard cuffs and caught her back against his chest. He smoothed her hair and went down on his knee before her, pulling his good white gloves from his sleeve.

"Donna Cara," he said, "I give you these on condition that you will marry me. Will you agree?"

She felt everyone in the yard looking at her. One of Gian's men called to her in Italian not to be a fool, offering himself as a better choice. She gave him a glare and took the gloves. "Yea, sir. I agree."

Amid the clapping, Gian's men made ugly mutters. A sudden scuffle erupted, the English grooms converging, but as Cara gripped Guy's arm, a boy came running from the house.

"Make ready! My lord departs!"

Instantly the fight dissolved. Guy shouted for the saddles, hastening to the gray rouncy. The meal could not possibly be over. Cara feared that Gian and her mistress must have come to open battle. She caught the laundress's hand to run with her toward the kitchens, but already Gian appeared at the door, walking with such long and angry strides that his white cloak flared out in spite of its heavy embroidery and gold bosses.

He came under the gate, pa.s.sing Cara without a glance. Then to her horror, he halted, looking back at her.

With a slight move of his hand, he made his men go past. The yard was full of confusion. Cara looked desperately for Guy, but he was swinging one of the elaborate saddles onto a horse's back. And as she looked, she knew Gian saw her look, and cursed her own weakness.

He smiled at her in a kind way and stood beside her as if he had suddenly become patient with waiting. "Donna Cara. It is a pleasant evening to be abroad in the air, is it not?"

She made a slight courtesy, all she could manage on her weak knees. "Yea, my lord."

"A pleasant evening for lovers. But where is Allegreto?"

A flash of utter terror swept over her. She dropped her eyes. "I know not! I know not, my lord."

She should not have repeated herself. She should have said it with more surprise. She did not know.

Why should she know?

"Why should I know, my lord?" She spoke it aloud, an attempt at the cool tone Princess Melanthe would use.

"Indeed," Gian mused, "why shouldst thou?"

His thoughtful tone dismayed her. She made another courtesy, afraid to look up at him.

"He has been a little absent of late," he said softly. "He told me that he had a lover. I had thought-but thou wilt forgive me, Donna Cara, if I offend thy modesty-I was so dull as to suppose it must be thee."

She did not know what to do. She never knew what to do. All she could think was that she should never have let him trap her.

"Ah-but this is thy young man, is it not?" Gian asked in French as Guy led up his rouncy. When Cara answered nothing, her tongue frozen, Gian said to him, "My compliments to thee. A fair and chaste maiden for a bride."

"Grant merci, my lord." Guy bowed deeply. "Donna Cara does me great honor."

To Cara's vast relief, Gian mounted. As he settled in the saddle, he looked beyond her. The rouncy threw its head and danced a step, though Gian made no visible move.

Cara turned to see Princess Melanthe crossing the yard. Several of the other ladies hurried behind her, lifting her trailing skirts. She stopped beneath the gate. In the dusk her skin seemed white and cool, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising and falling evenly beneath the low neckline of her gown.

"I came to see you well, Gian," she said. "I would not have us part in anger."

"My lady," he said, "I would not have it, either, but you have tried me sore this night."

She tilted her head, smiling slightly. "I did not think you chose me for my docile nature."

"No more did I, but I would have you know who rules between us."

"Then choose your battles more carefully, my love. For I make my respects to the king tomorrow and leave for London before sunset-and to Calais from there. It will be a lonely wedding without a bride."

In the whole yard there was not a sound but for the c.h.i.n.k and soft breath of the horses. Such brazen defiance was beyond Cara's grasp-all the alarm and confusion that Princess Melanthe should be feeling seemed to be concentrated in Cara's trembling limbs.

"Then you have won, my lady," Gian said at last. "I'll be at your side. But take care that your victories are not often bought so dear, or you may find that you've purchased defeat."

She sank into a deep courtesy, spreading her skirts. The rings on her fingers caught light. "As you say, Gian. I look forward to your company on the road."

Cara folded and packed. It had all come much faster than she had expected. They were to leave, everyone to go home, and she was to be left behind.

With Guy, she told herself. But still she was afraid. The house was in confusion and disorder with Princess Melanthe's command to be gone by sunset, chests and trunks piling up on the wooden dock below the manor. When Cara had finished emptying the princess's bedchamber and seen the baggage safely aboard the waiting barges, her duties here would be completed.

She had no desire to linger until her mistress returned from the king's audience, having leave to go at once to Guy. He was to take the horses to some castle Cara knew not where, but not too far away; he had a letter commanding that he be given charge of the stables and stud there, a great advancement, he had told her, an unbelievable stroke of fortune. He had said her mistress must think a great deal of her, to give him such an elevated place after so little time in her service. They could marry immediately, thanks to her benevolence, without waiting for him to become established as he had feared.

Cara was not foolish enough to suppose that Princess Melanthe loved her so very well. Such favor did not come free. Cara had a charge on her-but only one, and not difficult. She was to make certain that, after Princess Melanthe and Gian had left the country, Allegreto certainly freed the poor chained madman in the abandoned brewery. When she saw that it was so with her own eyes, Cara was to write a letter herself to her mistress, and somewhere in it that letter was to contain three times the words by the grace of G.o.d, and then the princess could be sure.

Cara thought that when she could pen the last "G.o.d" of the three, it would truly be by His grace. She made a cross and said a prayer of thanks, begging Him to let her somehow free her sister, too. And she felt a strange certainty that it would be so. Allegreto had promised, and against all reason, Cara believed him.

But there was the way Gian had looked at her. She knew she had aroused his suspicions. If only he had not mentioned Allegreto to her. But surely, he would only think that she disliked him speaking of love with another, when Guy was so near.

She finished filling the chest, spread strawberry leaves and rose petals over the top layer of linen, and hastened downstairs to call a page to bind and carry it. The princess would expect the barges to be loaded by the time she returned, but there was nothing to stay Cara now that her part was done. She was to meet Guy at the smith, where all of the horses were getting their shoes set before the journey to their new quarters.

For a moment, on the stairs, Cara had a moment's vision of what life might be without the princess and Gian and Allegreto. Without thinking each thought in fear of their response, or listening each moment for some fatal word. At this time tomorrow, they would be gone. She would be almost alone in an alien land, but they would be gone.

A tremulous joy filled her. She took a deep breath, thinking of Guy with secret pleasure, and hastened down the curve of the stairs.

At the bottom Gian waited. He stood in the open door, looking out at the barges and the river. His cape swept about him as he turned to her, the golden bosses clinking heavily against one another. "Donna Cara," he said, smiling. "Well met! It is thou I came to see."

Chapter Twenty-six.

She had thought of throwing herself in the river. She had thought of calling out to the one boat they had pa.s.sed. She had thought of refusing to speak, pretending she did not recognize the place. She thought of everything, but in the end she only wept.

She could not lie. She had never been able to lie perfectly, and with Gian she was beyond even being able to think. Her sister, he murmured, and she babbled out what he asked to know. Guy, he said, and she went with him when he commanded it, without a word to anyone, without a scream or a plea, a rabbit carried helpless away by the wolf.

He would kill the poor mad knight who loved her mistress. She did not want to see it, and put up her greatest resistance at the old stone wharf, half-hidden in reeds. But he laid his fingers close about her neck and crushed her throat until she gave in to pain and fear. Gasping air into her bruised throat, she crawled out of the boat and led him up the path through the reeds.

The wicket door to the brewery pa.s.sage was unlocked, standing slightly open. Cara had a moment of wild hope. She drew a breath-a scream, a warning-but Gian's hand came across her mouth. He stroked his fingers over her neck, pressing lightly.

"Silence," he said into her ear. "Please me. That is thy only hope now. This open door-has he escaped?"

She shook her head.

"Then someone else is here. The princess?"

She wet her lips and made a small shake.

"Thy Englishman?"

Cara shook her head violently. Her nose seemed full of the scented oil that he used. Allegreto's voice drifted from the wicket door, far away and echoing, a faint derisive laugh.

His father did not move. Gian held her. He turned his head. Allegreto's lazy tones were beyond doubting, and yet Gian squeezed her throat and hissed, "Who is it?"

Then he suddenly shoved her down through the door. She fell onto her knees in the sloped pa.s.sage with a yelp, her palms sc.r.a.ping. Gian had already pa.s.sed her, dragging her up with him.

"Allegreto!" he shouted, a sound of savage anguish that reverberated down the pa.s.sage and rolled back from behind them. The brewery door hung a little open; he hurled it wide and stood upon the landing, staring down at the huge chamber: Allegreto beside the well, the mad knight with his fettered arm resting against the wall. The last of Gian's voice still muttered frenzy back from the hollow s.p.a.ces.

"Allegreto," he whispered.

In her desperate hope Cara had been glad to see the doors ajar. Allegreto, who could frighten demons-but he did not move. He sat on the edge of the well, his eyes on the water. An orange rind dropped from his motionless fingers. It fell far down below his feet and hit the water with a faint plink, a bright patch floating on the surface of a huge black moon.

Gian said softly, "Look at me."

Still Allegreto did not move. He closed his eyes.

"Not even this?" Gian said. "Not even this that I ask thee? My son." His teeth bared. "My son. Look at me." Allegreto turned his face upward. He saw Cara. A faint sound, like a dreamer's whimper, came from his throat.

"Now stand up."

"My lord-"

"Do not speak to me. I do not wish to hear thy voice. Stand up."

Allegreto raised himself. He wore a sword and dagger, but he touched neither. He stood up, and then, as if his limbs failed him, he fell onto his knees.

Gian turned to Cara. With a courtly gesture he directed her down the stairs. She went in helpless tears, the only sound in the great chamber. He brought her before his kneeling son.

"Donna Cara-look upon a great love," he said. "For thou, he has betrayed his father. For thou, he has slain himself."

"Oh, no," she mumbled. "No."

"No? Is it not for thee? But it must be. He looks at thee- thou art somewhat fair, no great beauty, but such sweetness, such innocent light-and his heart turns to treachery. But what has he bought with it? Thy safety, thy life ... ah ... those poisoned mussels, that he told me you were so clever as to save your mistress from. By hap you did not save her? I have been a little stupid. I have loved my son, and been stupid."

Allegreto was silent, his eyes glazed dark and empty.

"But haps I will forgive him. Perhaps someone else has been more false even than he. My betrothed was in such concern to haste me toward home." Gian turned his back on his son and walked to where Princess Melanthe's knight stood watching. "I may thank what wit I retain, I suppose, that I am not chained up like this poor hound, to await her pleasure. Does she love him?"

He observed the knight, who looked back with a grim and even stare.

"Does she love thee?" he asked in French.

"She is my wife."

"Nay, but does she love thee?"

"Ask her."

Gian tilted his head. "She denies thee. And yet-thou art here, instead of under a pile of dirt where I would have thee. She forgives Donna Cara for poisoned mussels, because she can buy my son's service by it. She has lain in bed beside thee, and feared for thee, and lied for thee!" He put his fists to his head. "Melanthe!"

The knight moved. His steel fetter caught light, a flash and slam, the chain hitting the end of its length a bare instant before it would have struck Gian's temple. The sound went around the chamber in discharges like hands clapping.

Gian recovered from his recoil, standing beyond the other man's reach, his hand on his sword.

"He is mad," Cara said desperately. "My mistress says that he's mad. She is to marry thee. Don't kill him."

Gian's attention came to her, and she regretted speaking. She thought of the stairs so close behind her, of Guy at the smith, waiting for her, and new tears blurred her eyes.

"Why, Allegreto, what a kind heart thy maiden has. Did I say she was not worthy of thee? She is too good for thee."

His son said nothing. He stayed on his knees, his gaze on the stone pavement. Gian walked around the well and stood before him.

"There, I will not run the poor hound through, dost thou see, Donna Cara? I cannot resist a lady's pleading. Verily- verily, thou art far too good for my black-hearted son."

Allegreto was trembling, breathing as if he would weep and could not.

"Look at him. So frightened. Shall I forgive him, Donna Cara? His life is in thy hands."

"Oh, yes! Forgive him!"

"Come, rise, my sweet son." Gian touched his shoulder. Allegreto jerked as if he'd been p.r.i.c.ked. He rose to his feet, but there was no reprieve or relief in his face. He seemed to have gone beyond any thought at all, closing his eyes when Gian took him by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to each cheek.

Gian stepped back, shoving his son hard away. Cara screamed, watching in disbelief as Allegreto reached and failed and fell, his arms outstretched toward his father. He disappeared at the edge. A moment later the water broke in immense echoes.

She ran forward without thinking, looking over the edge. His head came up, his shoulders, the water surface shattered into silver and jet. She grabbed for the bucket and rope that hung from the huge crane, but Gian jerked her back. He crushed both her wrists together in his hand.

Allegreto held his head out of the black water, pushing his hair from his eyes. He looked up at them. The blankness was gone from his eyes. Water plashed softly as he kept himself afloat.

Gian walked to the edge, still holding Cara. She struggled, terrified that he would throw her in, too, but he did not. He only stood, looking straight down the wall into the water. Allegreto swam toward them. His upturned face looked deathly white against the dark liquid. He put his hand on the wall, searching it.

Gian shook his head. He pulled Cara with him, walking around a quarter of the well, still staring down the edge. Allegreto followed, as if a magnet drew him. His hands slid on the well-dressed stone, finding no hold.

She realized that Gian was making certain he could not. Slowly he circled the whole well. When he came to the water bucket and rope, he picked up the bucket and set it beyond reach of the knight, who watched them from his bolted chains.