The Sapphire Rose
Page 72‘No,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘It’s time for us to go to the cellar, Colonel.’
They went through the trap-door and started down the ladder.
‘They started throwing those big rocks earlier than you thought, Sparhawk,’ the colonel noted. ‘That’s sort of a good sign, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow that.’
‘Wouldn’t that suggest that the army to the west is a relief column for us?’
‘The troops outside our walls are mercenaries, Colonel. They could be in a hurry to get through our walls so that they won’t have to share the loot with their friends out there on the other side of the river.’
The lowest cellars of the Basilica were constructed of gigantic stones that had been laboriously chiselled and then carefully laid in long, low barrel vaults supported here and there by massive buttresses. The weight of the entire structure towering above rested entirely upon those mighty arches. It was dim and cool and quite damp in these cellars lying even below the crypt where the bones of long-dead Churchmen mouldered in dark silence.
‘Kurik!’ Sparhawk hissed to his squire as he and Delada passed the barred gate of an area set off from the rest of the cellar where Sparhawk’s squire and Delada’s guardsmen waited.
Kurik came to the bars on quiet feet.
‘The mangonels have started,’ Sparhawk told him, ‘and there’s a big army coming in from the west.’
Kurik paused. ‘This isn’t really a very nice place in here, Sparhawk. There are chains and manacles hanging from the walls, and there’s a place towards the back that would have warmed Bellina’s heart.’
Sparhawk looked briefly at Delada.
Delada coughed. ‘It’s no longer used,’ he said shortly. ‘There was a time when the Church would go to any lengths to stamp out heresy. Interrogations were conducted down here and confessions obtained. It wasn’t one of the brighter chapters in the history of our holy mother.’
‘Some stories about that have leaked out,’ Sparhawk nodded. ‘Wait here with the guardsmen, Kurik. The colonel and I have to go and get into place before either of our visitors arrive. When I whistle for the attack, don’t wait around, because I’ll really need you at that point.’
‘Have I ever let you down, Sparhawk?’
‘No, as a matter of fact, you haven’t. Sorry I even mentioned it.’ He led the colonel deeper into the labyrinthine cellar. ‘We’re going to go into a fairly large room, Colonel,’ he explained. ‘There are all sorts of nooks and crannies along the walls. The young fellow who found the place brought me down here and showed it to me. He tells me that the two men we’re interested in usually meet there. You’ll be able to identify at least one of them. Hopefully, their conversation will identify the other. Pay very close attention to what they say, please. As soon as the conversation’s over, I want you to go directly back to your quarters and lock your door. Don’t open it for anybody but me, Lord Vanion or Patriarch Emban. If it makes you feel better, for a brief period of time, you’ll be the most important man in Chyrellos, and we’ll set whole armies to protecting you.’
‘This is all very mysterious, Sparhawk.’
‘It has to be for now, my friend. I hope that when you hear the conversation, you’ll understand why. Here’s the door.’ Sparhawk carefully pushed the rotting door open, and the two of them entered a large, dark chamber festooned with cobwebs. A rough table and two chairs sat near the door, and the thick stub of a single candle sat on a cracked saucer in the centre of the table. Sparhawk led the way to the rear of the chamber and back into a deep alcove. ‘Take off your helmet,’ he whispered, ‘and wrap your cloak around your breastplate. We don’t want any chance of reflection to warn anybody that we’re here.’
Delada nodded.
They waited. Somewhere far off in the darkness, water was dripping slowly. No matter how tight any drain may seem, there is always seepage, and water, like smoke, will always find the place it is seeking.
It might have been five minutes – or an hour – or even a century, when a muffled clinking came from the very far end of the vast cellar. ‘Soldiers,’ Sparhawk breathed to Delada. ‘Let’s hope the man leading them doesn’t bring them all inside this place.’
‘Indeed,’ Delada breathed back.
Then a dark-robed and hooded man slipped through the doorway, shielding a single candle with one hand. He lit the candle on the table, blew out his own and threw back his hood.
‘I should have known,’ Delada whispered to Sparhawk. ‘It’s the Primate of Cimmura.’
‘It is indeed, my friend. It is indeed.’
The soldiers came nearer. They were making some effort to muffle the clinking of their equipment, but soldiers as a group have never been much good at stealth. ‘This is far enough,’ a familiar voice commanded. ‘Draw back a little way. I’ll call if I need you.’
There was a pause, and then Martel entered. He was carrying his helmet, and his white hair shone in the light of the single guttering candle on the table in front of the Primate. ‘Well, Annias,’ he drawled, ‘we made a good try, but the game’s played out.’
‘What are you talking about, Martel?’ Annias snapped. ‘Everything’s going our way.’
‘Stop trying to be cryptic, Martel. Tell me what’s happening.’
“There’s an army marching in from the west, Annias.’
‘That other wave of Cammorian mercenaries you told me about?’
‘I rather suspect that those mercenaries have been ground into dog-meat by now, Annias.’ Martel unbuckled his sword-belt. ‘Hate to break it to you this way, old boy, but that’s Wargun’s army marching in from the west. They stretch out as far as the eye can reach.’
Sparhawk’s heart leapt with exultation.
‘Wargun?’ Annias cried. ‘You said you’d taken care of keeping him away from Chyrellos.’