“And so they have,” she finished. “Brautus, just think—a knight under a curse, cursed by God Himself, or so Simon believes. Does that not sound like a Black Knight to you? And you saw him. Even under that silly robe, you can see how strong he is. And he must be a good fighter, or else why would he think himself cursed?”
“Because he’s so clumsy, he killed his own lord by accident?” Brautus suggested. “Because under that robe, he’s a leper? Because he roasts babies on spits and eats them on Ash Wednesday? Faith, girl, where is your head?”
“Brautus, I believe him,” she insisted. “Not that God has truly cursed him, no, but I believe that he believes it. And if he thinks the cure is at Charmot, so much the better. He will help us, Brautus; I know it.” She paused, still not certain she should tell him the rest. “I asked him.”
“Asked him what?” he asked with a frown.
“Asked him why he was cursed,” she answered. “I asked him if he was a killer, and he said yes, that he was. I asked him if he could kill again, if he had to do it, and he said he could.”
“Holy Christ,” he repeated. “This is my fault.” He pushed his porridge away untasted. “I should have let you marry the first little weakling the king sent to claim you and been done—no doubt he’d be dead and buried by now, and you’d be free.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.
“You were just so young,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you being some strange man’s wife, not yet… and now we’ve come to this.” His pale blue eyes looked tired and sad as they finally met her own. “You say this man admitted he was a killer, may God save us. What if he is a liar as well?”
“Then he is a liar. What difference will it make?” She got up from the bed. “He doesn’t even have a sword, Brautus; I’m not afraid of him. And if he will help us, if he will defend Charmot, I don’t care if he is a leper or any of those other things you said. And if he will not…” She didn’t even want to think of it. She wanted to believe as she had last night that her problems were solved, that she could finally stop worrying about the future, at least for a little while. Was that so much to ask? “If Simon is a liar and he will not help, how will I be any worse off than I was before? If some brigand comes and takes Charmot away from me, what will it matter if we have a liar in the catacombs?”
“What if this Simon is the brigand?” Brautus asked more gently. “What if all of his tales are no more than a trick to win entrance to the castle without a fight? What if he is the one who has come to claim Charmot and to claim you for his own?”
“No.” She shook her head, her back turned on her protector. “If he had wanted to take Charmot, he could have done it last night. If he had meant to make me marry him, or…” She broke off with a bitter smile. “Trust me, Brautus. He did not.”
“Then he is more the fool.”
“And glad am I of it.” She turned back to him with a smile. “You needn’t act as if his getting through the gate was all my fault, you know.” She took the bowl and spoon and sat back down on the bed. “You’re the one who let him and Orlando pass.”
“No, you don’t, my lady,” he scolded, taking his breakfast back. “I’m not so feeble yet that I will let you feed me.” He took a grudging bite. “I didn’t mean to let him pass, if you want to know. That was Malachi.”
“Malachi?” she laughed. “Brautus, Malachi is a horse.”
“When your friend Simon stepped onto the drawbridge, I didn’t think I would have to lift a hand to turn him away; I thought the horse would do it,” he answered. “He broke his reins and reared over him like he meant to stove in his head, wild as an unbroken colt.”
“I saw him rear up,” Isabel admitted. “But I thought you made him do it.”
“Not I—I barely kept my seat.” His eyes met hers again. “Then all in a single instant, he changed. He faced that Simon like… it was like he bowed to him.” His expression clouded, and she heard a tremor in his voice. “You are too young to remember, kitten, but his sire used to bow to your father that way, back in the days of our wars. It made me think perhaps this man was telling the truth, that he was Sir Gabriel’s kinsman indeed.” His face turned stern again. “But now I hear you tell this tale of a curse and a vision, and I think I must be running mad as well.”
“He is my kinsman, Brautus. When the time comes, he will defend Charmot.” She gave his hand a squeeze. This tale of Malachi made her even more certain she had made the right choice, even more certain Simon was exactly what she knew him to be, whether he knew it or not. But she knew better than to try to press that point with Brautus. “And if he won’t, you can kill him yourself.”
Simon yawned again, the strange characters of the ancient code swimming on the scroll before his eyes. After ten years of study, he could decipher much of the writing of the saints and wizards who had hidden the Chalice from the world, almost as much as Orlando could. But not when he was more than half asleep. “It must be nearly dawn,” he said, laying the scroll aside.
“Well past it, I would imagine,” Orlando agreed. They had decided to read what they could in the scrolls here in this chamber before moving on to the catacombs themselves. Hopefully they would find some clue to guide them through the labyrinth. But everything so far seemed to focus on the history of this lake and island and the rites of the people who had once lived there—fascinating reading, but not of much use to their quest. So far neither of them had found any direct mention of the Chalice at all. But the strong premonition they shared that it was here remained even so. “No doubt that silly girl will be down here any moment to lock us out for the day.”
“She isn’t a silly girl,” Simon said, a faint hint of reproach in his tone. “This castle and these catacombs are hers, and we are strangers. I cannot blame her for wanting to keep some kind of control over our study.” He picked up another scroll. “Besides, I like her.”
“I know you do,” Orlando retorted sharply enough to make the vampire look up. “And so do I,” the dwarf added. “That will be our greatest difficulty here, I’m afraid.”
“Why should it be?” Simon answered. “I don’t intend to bite her, if that is what worries you.”
“Just because you don’t intend to do it doesn’t mean you won’t,” Orlando pointed out with a wry smile. “But no, that is not what worries me, or not all.”
He put the scroll he’d been reading back into its stone coffin. “The Chalice is here at Charmot; we both believe it. Somewhere in these catacombs is the end of our journey, the prize of our quest. But Lady Isabel knows nothing of that, or only what little you have told her. Yet she allows you to stay.”
“And I, for one, am glad of it,” Simon said, rather annoyed. “Are you not?”
“Of course I am,” the wizard answered. “But I fear the lady’s reasons. She wants something from you, warrior, and I fear I can all too easily guess what.”
“She wants me to protect Charmot,” Simon answered. For the first time since it had happened, he let himself think back to the moment Isabel had seemed to decide to let him stay, the strange trance they had shared. “She thinks I am some Black Knight, a replacement for the giant we saw at the gates. She thinks her father sent me here to save her from… something.” He turned away, the drowsiness he always felt during the daylight hours making him feel slow and stupid. “I don’t know what she fears exactly, but I could tell she was afraid.”
“And you want to protect her, whatever it is—it is in your nature to protect the innocent, vampire or not.” He smiled. “And as you said, you like her.”