Sean Dalton - Time trap

Sir Geoffrey bowed. “As you command.”

“Harlan, make certain my little shadow hears of this,” said Sir Magnin with a smirk Noel did not trust. “I want him at my side in a small audience with Lord Theodore before we dine. Oh, and Lady Sophia may be present also.”

The official bowed reverently. “It shall be done, my lord.”

“Good.” Sir Magnin gazed into Noel’s eyes, his own brimming with amusement. He burst out laughing again and walked away, shaking his head at the servant who tried to offer him his tunic.

Noel stared after him, and Elena came to his side.

“I must speak to him,” she said in a low, frustrated voice. “You, Sir Geoffrey, you did not even give me introduction-”

“Why should I?” said Sir Geoffrey irritably. “Something is afoot. What trick have the two of you invented?” His eyes swept from Noel’s face to Elena’s. “I swear to God, if you have led me false-”

“If we have led you false,” broke in Noel, tired and more worried than he wanted to admit, “it’s him we’ll have to fear, not you.”

Sir Geoffrey ignored him and turned to the old man. “Lord Harlan, what amused him so? What is amiss?”

The official bared the few rotten teeth remaining in his mouth. “I am not at liberty to say, sir knight. Go and do as you have been commanded. When our guest is presentable, see that he is brought to the small antechamber behind the audience hall.”

Cutting Noel a sly look, the official placed his clawlike hands importantly upon his chain and shuffled away.

Noel went to sleep in his bath and nearly drowned.

Attendants jerked him out by his hair and pummeled him until, gasping and sputtering, he coughed up the water he’d inhaled. The tub was made of wood and large enough for several people to bathe in together. The water looked reasonably clean, and a blushing little maid in a headdress and saffron gown had scented the water with an aromatic mixture of herbs that she crushed with a marble mortar and pestle. She also added the juice of lemons and heated, fragrant oils. The steam soothed Noel’s senses, and the warm water was heaven on his bruises.

When he’d been dried off, massaged, and had his ribs bound tightly, Noel put on hose of scarlet, shoes too short, and a scratchy tunic of blue that bore someone’s coat of arms. A brazier fire kept the small stone room warm. Torchlight blackened the walls from iron sconces bolted into the stone, and cast a ruddy, flickering light over everything. His attendants did not talk, and their grim faces made him as uneasy as did the royal treatment he was receiving.

He kept thinking of Sir Magnin’s laughter. It had been the wrong reaction. He knew he’d been found out, but he wasn’t sure how. Nor did he understand why Sir Magnin was toying with him in this way.

The gold seal of office, naturally, had been scooped away by a servant as soon as his clothes were stripped off. His money and dagger were long since gone. All he had left was his LOC, and when the maid tried to take the copper bracelet from his wrist, she had received a slight electrical shock that obviously puzzled her but convinced her to leave it alone.

“Food, my lord?” she said softly. She clapped her hands, and a page entered with a laden tray. The maid directed him to place it on the wooden clothes chest, and while she busied herself pouring wine into a metal goblet, the other attendants filed silently out.

Noel took the cup with caution, half expecting the sour bite of retsina, but it was a full-flavored bordeaux, as fine as anything he had ever tasted.

“French wine!” he said in surprise. “Excellent!”

She bowed, a smile curling her tender lips. “Of course, my lord. We are civilized here in Mistra. The cellars hold the finest in French and Italian wines.”

He drank deeply and let her refill his cup, then watched as she removed covers from dishes and set about seasoning them with herbs shaken out from small bottles sealed with cork stoppers. Oregano, basil, rosemary, cinnamon, a meager pinch of salt, and the juice of lemon were combined with dishes of steaming food. Noel’s mouth watered. It was all he could do not to snatch a platter for himself and dig in.

There was something about time travel that burned excessive amounts of calories. Noel always found himself ravenous when he reached his destination. Today there had been no chance to eat. Now, rested and feeling better, his headache nearly gone, he could barely keep himself in his chair.

She drew out a tiny box carved from streaked olive wood and shook it so that the contents rattled. “Peppercorns. Do you care for ground pepper, my lord?”

“Yes,” he said and bit off the urge to tell her to hurry-She served him rice first, a pilaf flavored with tomato and cinnamon. Next came flaky, tender fish, grilled and delicious. He wolfed his way through roasted kid, served with chunks of onion, pepper, and eggplant. At the finish were flat cakes coated with honey and filled with raisins, a precursor of sorts, he supposed, to baklava. When she brought forth a bowl of figs, dates, tiny yellow plums, and oranges, Noel had to stop. He was too full to continue.

She poured him more wine, although his head was beginning to spin.

“It was a delicious feast,” he said, growing sleepy again. “You are called…?”

“My name is unimportant,” she said, blushing. “And it is customary to serve a feast to a man who-” She broke off, and her dark eyes grew troubled.

Noel felt a coldness stab him deep beneath the well-being brought on by the bath, food, and wine.“-who is condemned?” he finished for her.

Her eyes lifted slowly to his. She nodded. “It is Sir Magnin’s pleasure to treat noble prisoners well.”

“I thought,” said Noel grimly, standing up to pace about the small chamber, “that I was to be ransomed, not executed. Is there a way out of this place?”

“Oh, no. There is only this door, and a guard stands without.” She came to him and placed her hand upon his chest. “There is not much time left before you go before Sir Magnin. All in this room is here for your enjoyment. Even I.”

She stepped back from him, her face aflame, and her slender fingers fumbled determinedly with her headdress, until it came off and her brown hair spilled upon her shoulders.

Without the headdress she looked even younger-hardly more than a child-and deliciously tender, gentle, and appealing. But there was knowledge in her eyes that made them old, and with it lay fear.

Noel frowned at her a long moment, then put his hand upon her cheek. She closed her eyes and nuzzled his palm. For a moment he was tempted, then he jerked back forcefully enough to make her eyes fly open.

“I displease you?”

“No!” he said too vehemently. Anger pushed through him, and he paced about the room, raking his fingers through his hair and making certain he avoided looking directly at her.

“Another can come if you-”

He whirled to face her. “No! What is your name?”

She looked frightened. “I am not permitted to say it.”

“Why not?”

“I do not know why. The seneschal gave strict orders. They will cut out my tongue if I say anything I am not permitted to.”

‘That’s barbaric. They wouldn’t-“ He broke off, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. She was evading his gaze. She fidgeted nervously with the headdress in her hands.

In two steps he reached her and gripped her by the arm. She gave a frightened little cry.

“You’re lying,” he said. “No one has threatened to cut out your tongue. I’m not even certain you were sent here to-”

She fell at his feet and gripped the hem of his tunic. “Oh, please, my lord! Please do not betray me. The guard thinks I was sent in Katrina’s place by the seneschal. Please, my lord, have pity on me.”