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Thomas’s voice cut through the darkness with anger. “You fool, we’re safe enough. They think the Devil’s snatched us away. Be quiet.” Edward wheezed from his spot on the ground. “Not scared. Just worn out. Are they gone?”
“Aye,” Thomas replied, scanning the surroundings. The murky dark offered no hints of light or sound. He reached out, feeling the wet tree trunk. Resting against it, he sighed. “Do you have any money?”
“Not a cent,” Edward muttered.
Thomas checked his own pockets, finding nothing. Their situation was dire. Their belongings were likely burning in the college. They were still within reach of those who’d kill them on sight, with no way to escape. Daylight would expose them if they stayed, and they needed to flee before then.
“If we wander now, we’ll end up back at the college gates,” Thomas cursed.
“It’s pouring,” Edward weakly remarked. “Can’t we find shelter?”
“Maybe,” Thomas grumbled. “But unless your charms and spells can whisk us away, we’re stuck here.”
Edward lamented his lost manuscripts and tools. “They’ll burn them all,” Thomas stated, his anger flaring.
Edward struggled to his feet, leaning on the tree. “Curse them all!” he spat.
Thomas, filled with hate for their pursuers, felt no remorse. His only drive was to outsmart and triumph over them. “Stop whining,” he snapped at Edward. “You’ve been cowardly tonight.”
Edward fell silent, recognizing a new side of Thomas’s character. His fear and surrender of the key had weakened their bond. “Complaining won’t help,” Thomas added harshly.
Edward’s voice softened. “I wouldn’t have been so harsh if you were sick. I’m in pain...”
Thomas’s expression softened slightly.
“I’ll overlook your behavior, Edward, because I care for you,” Thomas said, extending his hand to touch Edward’s wet silk mantle. Despite the heat, Edward was shivering.
“What should we do?” Edward asked, trying to control his chattering teeth. “If we could make it to Frankfort—”
“Why Frankfort?” Thomas interrupted.
“Well, I know an old witch there who was friendly with Master Lukas. She might take us in,” Edward explained.
“We can’t get to Frankfort or anywhere without money...it’s so dark!” Thomas exclaimed.
“And raining heavily! I’m soaked through...and my ankle...” Edward complained.
Thomas clenched his jaw. “We’ll find a way, despite the odds. Are we so easily discouraged?”
“A light!” Edward whispered excitedly. “I see a light!”
Thomas scanned the darkness and spotted a faint light with a misty glow, slowly approaching.
“A traveler,” Thomas remarked. “Will he see us?”
“He might offer help,” Edward suggested optimistically, “unless he’s from the college.”
“No, he’s on horseback,” Thomas observed.
They could hear the horse’s slow steps amid the rain’s drumming. The light from the lantern revealed a man holding it and a horseman whose bridle he held.
“I’ll talk to him,” Thomas decided.
“What if he asks who we are?” Edward whispered.
“Tell him part of the truth—we left the college after a fight,” Thomas instructed.
As the horseman and his companion neared, Thomas stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir. Do you know of any place besides Basle where we could find shelter?”
The rider, wrapped in a cloak and hat, initially looked wary, his hand hovering near his knife. But as Thomas spoke, the rider’s curiosity was piqued by Thomas’s attire and confident demeanor.
“We’d be grateful for any shelter, even in your barns,” Thomas said to the horseman. The horseman’s gaze shifted to Edward, who was visibly shivering in his silk clothing.
“Students from the college?” the horseman inquired.
“Yes,” Thomas replied. “I had a skirmish and injured a fellow, so I fled. My friend here chose to come along.”
The stranger urged his horse forward. “Certainly, you can come with me. There’s enough space.”
Thomas grasped Edward’s arm. “Sir, we appreciate it,” he said.
The servant’s lantern illuminated the muddy, winding path, the wet tree trunks, the gleaming leaves, and the large brown horse adorned in bright scarlet gear, with its rider wrapped in a cloak up to his chin. Edward observed them both in silence, while Thomas spoke.
“It’s a dreadful night to be out,” Thomas remarked.
“I’ve been in town,” the stranger replied casually, “buying silks for my lady. And you—so you injured a man?”
“He’s not dead,” Thomas clarified, “but we can’t go back to the college.”
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The horseman had a soothing voice that seemed unconcerned about the conversation’s direction. “Where are you headed?” he asked.
“To Frankfort,” Thomas answered.
“The Emperor’s there now, but he’s bound for Rome soon,” the horseman mentioned. “Have you met the Empress?”
Thomas pushed aside the overhanging branches. “No, we haven’t.”
“She was in Nola a year ago,” the horseman continued, “a wonder of the world, they say. But I suppose you’re not going to Frankfort to see her.”
“Indeed not,” Edward finally spoke up.
“I figured as much,” the horseman replied, falling silent.
They emerged from the woods onto a grassy slope, rain pelting their faces. Following a winding path uphill among scattered rocks, their progress slowed. They didn’t speak until they reached a gate in a tall wall that loomed out of the darkness.
The servant handed the lantern to his master and rang the bell beside the gate. Thomas could sense the enormity of the castle concealed in the night, a residence fit for nobility. The gates opened, revealing men with lights. The horseman rode in, followed by the two students.
“Inform my lady,” the horseman instructed one of the men, “that I bring two guests seeking her hospitality.” Turning to Thomas, he added, “I’m the steward here; my lady is kind-hearted.”
They crossed a courtyard and approached the square door of the castle’s main tower. Edward glanced at Thomas, who remained quiet and subdued. Their guide dismounted, handed the reins to a servant, and gestured for them to follow.
The door swung open, revealing a vast chamber that encompassed the entire donjon. Torches flickered on the walls, casting eerie shadows across the room. Men in varied attire, some in lustrous golden and blue livery, others in armor or hunting gear, populated the space. A few pilgrims with the emblematic cockle-shells adorned their hats mingled among them.
The steward led the way, garnering only minimal acknowledgment from the occupants as he made his way through. They ascended a steep, damp staircase lit dimly by a solitary lamp in a deep-set window niche. Edward, drenched and shivering, watched as the steward removed his wet mantle, leaving damp trails on the cold stone steps. Thomas noticed this detail, though its significance eluded him.
Reaching the top of the stairs, they paused on a small landing. Thomas inquired, “Who is your lady?”
“Jacobea of Martzburg, the Emperor’s ward,” the steward replied, revealing himself as a young man dressed plainly in deep rose attire with high boots and a short sword.
As they entered the immense chamber, Edward whispered to Thomas, “Is this the lady we encountered today?”
“Indeed,” Thomas murmured in response. “Yes, it is.”
The chamber was vast, its bareness emphasized by the shifting candlelight hanging from the ceiling. A large arched window and a massive fireplace dominated the walls. Tapestries in dull purple and gold adorned the brick walls, while painted beams stretched across the lofty ceiling. A slender white boarhound lay asleep in the center of the hearth, adding to the room’s vastness and shadowy ambiance.
Amidst the shadows, Thomas discerned the figures of two ladies seated in the window-seat. The steward approached them, and the students followed suit. One lady reclined with a small grey cat in her lap, dressed in a brown gown with gold thread. The other, in a green dress, sat on crimson and yellow cushions, busy with needlework.
“This is the chatelaine,” the steward introduced, gesturing towards Jacobea of Martzburg. She turned to regard the newcomers, her presence commanding attention. “And this is my wife, Sybilla.”
Both women scrutinized the strangers, their expressions unreadable in the dimly lit chamber.
“These are your guests until tomorrow, my lady,” announced the steward, breaking the silence.
Jacobea leaned forward with a slight flush of surprise. “Well, why, you are welcome,” she said in a gracious yet reserved manner.
Thomas struggled to find his words, inwardly cursing the twist of fate that had brought him to rely on her hospitality. “We are departing the college,” he explained, avoiding direct eye contact. “And tonight, we could find no shelter.”
The steward chimed in, “I encountered them and thought it best to bring them here.”
“You acted wisely, Sebastian,” Jacobea replied. “Please, gentlemen, have a seat.”
It appeared that she would leave it at that, but Sybilla, the steward’s wife, interrupted with a smile as she looked up from her needlework. “Why did you leave the college on such a wet night?”
Thomas’s reply was blunt. “I killed a man—or nearly did.”
Jacobea turned her gaze to her steward, a silent inquiry in her eyes. “Are they not wet, Sebastian?”
“I am quite dry under this mantle,” Thomas interjected quickly, unclasping his cloak. “But he is not,” he added, indicating Edward, who stood apart, his eyes fixed on Jacobea.
“The rain has soaked me to the skin,” Edward admitted, his tone tinged with discomfort.
Jacobea, showing courtesy, remarked, “Sebastian, please take the young man to a chamber. We have plenty of empty rooms, I assure you. Provide him with dry attire.”
“My clothes are too large,” Sebastian replied indifferently.
“He’ll catch an ague,” Sybilla interjected. “Give him something that fits, Sebastian.”
Sebastian gestured towards the door beside the fireplace. “Follow me, sir,” he said to Edward, who nodded and ascended the stairs after him.
The chatelaine pulled a bell-rope, summoning a page in livery. She whispered instructions, and the page fetched Thomas’s wet mantle, set up a carved chair for him, and departed.
Alone with the two women, Thomas felt a sense of unease. He observed Jacobea’s attire, her delicate features, and the velvety shoes peeking from beneath her gown. His gaze then turned to Sybilla, noting her striking appearance—pale complexion, fiery red hair, and intense blue eyes that seemed too sharp and unyielding.
The room was steeped in silence, adding to Thomas’s discomfort as he sat there, feeling like an unwelcome guest in this grand but unsettling environment.
Thomas’s eyes kept returning to Jacobea, a mixture of pride and unease swelling within him as she remained silent, almost as if she had forgotten his presence altogether. He held back the words that threatened to spill from his lips, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks each time she shifted in her seat without acknowledging him.
After a while, the steward returned and settled into a chair between Thomas and his wife, seemingly without reason other than its proximity. He fiddled with the laces on his sleeves, a silent figure in the gathering darkness of the room.
An eerie aura enveloped Thomas as he sat there, sensing an ominous weight hanging over these seemingly tranquil people who exchanged no words. He clasped his hands together, fixating his gaze on Jacobea.
Finally, Sebastian broke the silence. “You’re headed to Frankfort?”
Thomas nodded. “Yes.”
“We are also, soon, aren’t we, Sebastian?” Jacobea interjected.
“You’ll be heading to the court,” Thomas remarked.
“I am the Emperor’s ward,” Jacobea replied.
The conversation tapered off into silence once more, punctuated only by the soft sound of Sybilla’s needlework. Thomas stole a glance at Sebastian and was struck by the passion etched onto his face, a stark contrast to his subdued voice—an enigmatic countenance that sent a shiver down Thomas’s spine.
“How quiet the castle is tonight,” Jacobea remarked, her voice barely audible in the heavy stillness.
“There’s plenty of noise below, but it doesn’t reach us here,” Sebastian replied.
A page returned with glasses of wine, offering them first to Thomas and then to the steward. The cold touch of the green glass sent a chill down Thomas’s spine, intensifying his sense of impending dread. Were these ominous feelings merely figments of his imagination, fueled by recent disturbing thoughts?
Jacobea mentioned the rain, reaching out of the window to feel its wetness. Sybilla remarked on the heat, creating a discordant contrast in the atmosphere. The page collected the glasses and exited the room, leaving behind a palpable silence.
Just then, the door near the fireplace creaked open, and Edward entered, adding to the eerie quiet of the gathering.