shadow, hugging the wall of the building as he peered round the corner.
Duke Dondal sat on his horse, backed by at least two dozen men whom Errol recognized as from the palace guard. He was looking down his nose at the gathered workmen, who clustered behind the mason’s son
Cerrin. It looked very much as if he had been volunteered spokesman.
‘You’ll all of you come with me now to the castle. If you’re fit and strong enough to build follies for your lord and master, you’re fit and strong enough to carry a pike to war.’ Dondal’s face was red with the temper Errol remembered all too well from his time as the duke’s page.
‘Sergeant, round up these men, and any more you find about the place. Bring them to the castle. Captain, you come with me. I need to have words with Lord Gremmil about holding back on his responsibilities to the king.’
Errol backed away quickly, only just making it into the shadow behind the grain store door as Dondal galloped up the road accompanied by half of the soldiers. He went to his horse, pulling it as much into cover as he could, and yet still felt desperately vulnerable as he waited for his inevitable discovery.
And waited.
Long minutes went past. Errol strained his ears to hear any noise that would indicate a search was under way. Or that the sergeant had decided it would be easier to wait until his captain and lord were both out of sight, then perhaps settle down for a quick smoke before taking the men he already had up to the castle and hang the bother of searching for any more. But he could hear nothing above the low swishing of the wind in the barley.
Finally he could bear it no longer; he had to see what was happening. He edged along the wall and peered round the corner. Seeing nothing, he moved on, still keeping his back to the stone, to look round the next corner, where the workmen had been standing before.
They were still there, sitting on the grass looking miserable. One soldier watched them from his horse, puffing contentedly on a short pipe, but the rest were nowhere to be seen. There were two other grain stores besides the unfinished one and the one Errol was hiding behind, but from where he stood he could see the doors to neither of them. It was as if the soldiers had vanished into thin air or been swallowed up by the still-green crops. But he knew they were somewhere, searching. He had to get back to his horse and hope they weren’t being too thorough.
Errol felt the familiar but forgotten tingle as he began to turn, that sensation in the Grym. Too late he realized what it meant. A hand clasped his shoulder roughly, spinning him and making his head burst in waves of pain. He could hardly see, could do nothing about his knees as they folded beneath him, but he could hear the voice that spoke in rough city Llanwennog.
‘Here, what’s a lass like you doing here? Go on, get on home to yer mam. This ‘ere’s king’s business.’
The hands that had spun him round now grabbed the front of Errol’s too-long riding cloak and hauled him to his feet.
‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ Errol begged, but then the soldier’s words sank in. He’d called him a lass and said. ‘Get on home to yer mam.’ Could he possibly think that Errol was a girl? It was true his hair had grown long over the months since he had escaped from Candlehall, and his face had never been troubled by the need to shave. And his cloak was fine, its hems edged with embroidered silk in a flowery style that would suit a young merchant’s daughter, especially given its length. Underneath it he was
wearing a man’s clothes, but the soldier couldn’t see them. No one at the castle had said anything; none had ever doubted his sex. Lord Gremmil had found him naked and beaten; the castle servants had washed him; the physician examined him.
‘Go on. Get out of here. You’ve no hope moonin’ after any o’ these lads. They’re King Ballah’s men now.’ The soldier shoved Errol away, back
Learning to Kill: Stories