Well Dead

X. Reasoning on Pitch

Damp earth had closed in around the grave of Lukas the bondsman. The proceedings were by no means over then: it took Harun some time to get away from the assiduous Sir Christian, who tried by force albeit only by verbal one, to lure the pilgrim into his hospitality, if not in the castle, then at least in a shed or some other building near by, from where the pilgrim's spiritual glory could shine for a short while on Sevenport. But Harun was firm – meaning Harun had said nothing and Wenzel was firm on his behalf.

“Very well,” Sir Christian sighed in the end. “You know best what you must do. I must admit, I admire your resolution to keep your vows. I myself was on such a journey, long ago, too long ago. I bid you farewell then. If I must return alone to the castle, I must. But you have been an inspiration to me nonetheless, reminding me of things I had long since forgotten. I should take out my old pilgrim’s gown, when I come back to the castle, see, if it fits me still…”

At that, the devout pilgrim, with many apologetic gestures, bowed a goodbye and departed very, very hurriedly. A castle guard was seen to follow him in the direction of the castle, shouting: “Wait! Wait for me!”

*~*~*~*~*

“You… stay here! Look out if… anyone is... coming!”

Harun grasped his aching side and gasped. He never new a heart could beat so quickly! Surely that was faster than anatomically allowed. He took the last few stairs and started down the corridor towards Sir Christian's chambers.

“Why… me?” Wenzel looked a sorry state, too. He was not quite so unused to exercise as the scribe, but he had his thick leather armour and weapons to carry. He was sweating and gasping for breath. At the moment, however, Harun had no time for pity. He opened the door to Sir Christian's rooms and stumbled inside.

“You’re a guard, aren’t you? So…. guard this… door!”

“And if Sir Christian approaches?” he heard Wenzel from outside. “What shall I do? Defend his chambers with my life against their rightful owner?”

“Giving me a signal will suffice, thank you.”

Harun took a moment to lean against the wall and catch his breath. The two of them had run up the spiral staircase like hares before hunting hounds. There was no knowing how quickly Sir Christian might decide to translate his intentions into actions, and once he discovered that the pilgrim’s gown was gone… well, there were limits even to Sir Christian’s short-sightedness. He might actually put two and two together and realize who his devout pilgrim had really been.

Sir Christian's chambers were situated right beneath the roof of the keep. From below, Harun could hear the creek of the keep doors as the other castle occupants entered, returning from the funeral.

“Hurry,” came Wenzel’s frenzied whisper from the staircase. “For God’s sake!”

Harun couldn’t help it, he smiled and the question came automatically. “Whose?”

“Mine, yours…Anybody’s as long as you just get out of there!”

The scribe darted towards a chest in the corner of the room, beside a desk littered with religious writings of every kind. He threw it open, struggled out of the coarse, woolen robe and stuffed it into the chest, making sure it was at the very bottom.

“They are coming up! Harun, please hurry!”

Harun ripped his hat off, tossed it on top of the pile of cloths and shut the chest. Then he hurriedly stowed the pilgrim’s staff under the Lord’s bed, where he had found it. He jumped up and ran out, onto the landing. He wanted to shut the door, but Wenzel held him back.