Kate
Richard arranges an escort to Blacklands by a dozen of his best knights. The horses stand massive in front of us, neighing and fidgeting restlessly. We’re supposed to be competent riders, but I’ve never ridden a horse before, and from the wary wide-eyed look on Jarrod’s face, I guess he hasn’t either, at least not successfully. But these people believe we rode horses as far as London, and probably for most of our lives.
It turns out easier for me as one of Richard’s strongest knights helps me to the saddle by lifting me effortlessly from the waist. Being female, no one it seems, expects perfection. All I have to do is sit oddly, both legs on one side of the animal’s broad back, and hold the reins without falling off. Yeah, right.
It turns out to be much more difficult for Jarrod. For starters, without his glasses his vision is a little blurred, and he’s clumsy anyway. He’s also been allocated a stallion! A handsome white and speckled grey creature. This is supposed to be a compliment, but I don’t think Jarrod sees it this way. When he tries to mount the massive white restless stallion, he goes straight over the other side, descending head first into the hard dusty earth. He stumbles near the stallion’s foreleg, making it shy and fidget. And it looks as if Jarrod’s bruised his shoulder in the fall. The poor thing.
Out of respect for their Lord, the mounted knights try hard not to laugh at this bumbling nephew, but I can hear their sniggers anyway. Only Malcolm makes a comment, and it’s a nasty snide remark about Jarrod’s incompetence. It makes me think of another bully in another time. I guess certain things don’t ever change.
Malcolm looks at me and my skin crawls. And even though I know I shouldn’t, but because I sense I’m looking at the face of an enemy, I decide to probe inside his head.
Malcolm is filled with resentment, envy, and surprisingly, even fear. Suddenly it hits me. Malcolm is Lord Richard’s eldest son. He stands to inherit Thorntyne Keep and all its estates, including the title. Now Jarrod’s come along, son of the eldest Thorntyne, who can lay claim to the lands himself. So Malcolm sees Jarrod as a threat.
He will have to be watched.
Malcolm’s eyes narrow, studying me. I’m careful not to make eye contact, especially while still in his head. Not that he can feel me, it just makes me uncomfortable. It adds an element of intimacy.
Jarrod’s next attempt is still pathetic, but at least this time he doesn’t fall off. He grabs the reins as if his life depends on his not hitting the ground again. His face deepens to colourful shades of red. Finally, with a lot of grunting and heavy breathing, he straightens and grips the horse’s reins. If we were in class right now, they’d all be cheering.
We approach Blacklands at dusk, as invited. The knights remain outside the gatehouse, clearly unsettled just being this close to the dark stone and timber walls. Only Malcolm is calm and relaxed.
The high gates suddenly swing open, though no one appears to be around. Jarrod and I dismount, leaving our horses with Malcolm and the other knights, walking into the bailey on our own. No one greets us, or shows us the way. The castle itself is complicated, with several connecting buildings, not, as most castles of the times, with one large keep. Much of it consists of timber, plaster and thatched roofs. Then I remember it was once a convent. Now it is lifeless and unnerving.
A door opens to the first building and Rhauk is standing beneath a high stone arch. Again, he is dressed all in black, tights, undershirt high up to his throat, tunic and boots. There are sprinklings of gold in a braid around the edge of his high-necked undershirt, and on his belt, which supports a buckle made completely of gold. It intrigues me. My eyes fasten on the shiny object. Closer I see it clearly, and my heart jerks, throwing me unexpectedly. The buckle is a maze of snakes, scores of them, weaving in and out of each other’s bodies, only their heads and beady eyes clearly visible.
I recall Jillian’s vision of the snakes around Jarrod’s upper body, and how Jarrod hates snakes. I watch Jarrod’s reaction. He sees them, squirms uncomfortably, probably remembering Jillian’s vision too.
We follow Rhauk down a covered cobbled walkway, up a spiral staircase, into a sparsely furnished room, except for a magnificent timber dining table at one end. There’s a fire in the centre that sheds warmth and light to the dying day. The smoke, I notice, isn’t as bad here as in Thorntyne Keep, so I follow to see where it’s going. There are air vents, long vertical slits in the roof, a mini-tower covering them, so smoke can escape, while rain can’t get in. It’s clever, considering chimneys aren’t invented yet.