The Wine of Dreams (33 page)

“Is there not?” Valeria countered, still staring at him curiously. “You have
the odour of a liar about you now, for which I don’t blame you in the least.
You’ve tasted the wine, have you not? You’ve savoured its promises.”

“The merest sip,” Reinmar assured her. “I got nothing from it but bad
dreams.”

“Poor boy,” she said, sarcastically. “Your left hand hardly knows what the
right is doing—but you would do far better to throw in your lot with us than
with von Spurzheim. Perhaps you have, but don’t quite know it yet. Are you in
love, perchance?”

Reinmar had no idea what reply he ought to make to this, although he was
determined not to give way. He glanced at Albrecht, hoping to judge the old
man’s opinion, but Albrecht had sunk into his rickety armchair and already
seemed lost to the world, save for the hungry expression that came into his eye
as he contemplated the kettle and the frying-pan. In the end, Reinmar was saved
the trouble of answering by the sound of a thunderous knocking at the door,
which must have been made by the hilt of a sword rather than a mere fist.

“That will be von Spurzheim’s men,” Reinmar said, jumping effortlessly to the
conclusion. “They must think that I have had time enough to judge the situation,
and have come to arrest you.”

So saying, he went to the door and opened it, although it would have been
perfectly adequate to shout an invitation to enter, because he had not barred it
when he came in.

He threw it open gladly—but the gladness shrivelled and died on the instant
when he saw who it was that had knocked.

Brother Noel stood on the threshold, accompanied by Brother Almeric. The
knocking had indeed been made by the hilt of an unsheathed sword, which Noel
still had in his hand. It was stained with blood.

Reinmar leapt back to give himself time to draw his own blade. Mercifully,
this operation went smoothly, and his prospective opponent had been
inconvenienced by the narrowness of the doorway as well as his own surprise.
Brother Almeric, who was unarmed, had stepped back rather than forward, and by
the time Brother Noel had moved into a striking position Reinmar’s guard was up.
There was a brief moment when Noel seemed to be on the point of lunging forward,
but then he thought better of it. Perhaps he had observed that Reinmar had been
properly trained in the use of his weapon, or perhaps he was mindful of his own
tiredness.

“You are full of surprises, Master Wieland,” the monk said, as he moved
slowly, keeping the tip of his sword raised, as if to threaten Reinmar’s throat.
“Have you come to spoil our plans all over again?”

Almeric was not so well composed, but he made no attempt to take a position
beside his companion. “Kill him,” he said. “What are you waiting for?”

“Forgive my friend’s impatience,” Noel said, his eyes still fixed on
Reinmar’s face in a hawk-like manner. “He is unused to violence. Like the men
you attacked and slaughtered in the underworld he has been a lifelong devotee of tranquillity and patience—but
he becomes fretful when things go awry.”

“But you are not unused to violence,” Reinmar guessed, stepping backwards
warily in response to Noel’s forward movement.

“I came late to my vocation,” Noel admitted.

Valeria spoke over Reinmar’s shoulder then, her lips no more than a few
inches from his ear. “Put up your swords and close the door,” she said, in the
manner of one well-accustomed to being obeyed. Reinmar was about to object that
the matter was not so simple, but the monks reacted more swiftly. Almeric came
in and closed the door behind him, but did not bar it. Noel dropped the tip of
his sword, although he did not return it to its sheath. Reinmar hesitated for a
moment, but the odds were obviously not in his favour no matter how poor a
fighter Almeric was. He lowered his own blade, but he kept it in his hand, ready
to raise it again if he were threatened.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Almeric said to Valeria. “We tried to approach with all
due discretion, but the two watchers were widely-spaced and overly vigilant.”

“They were one too many,” Noel added. “I wounded one, but both are riding to
the town as we speak. Time is short, but I think we can guarantee you safe
passage if you come away now.”

“Have you brought wine?” That seemed to be Valeria’s only concern.

“Of course, Lady.” Noel immediately reached into his pouch and brought out a
crystal flask. Valeria relaxed as she saw it, as if a great anxiety had been
lifted from her—but Reinmar saw that Albrecht tensed, as if confronted with a
danger he had not expected to face.

Reinmar considered the possibility of attempting to break the flask. Noel was
distracted and the weight of his blade had dragged its tip further down. The
opportunity was there to knock the bottle aside and start a brawl—but Reinmar
did not know whether he would be one against two, three or four, and if Noel was
telling the truth about both sentries having gone for help no reinforcements
would arrive for a quarter of an hour.

Valeria took the decision out of his hands by seizing the flask from the
monk’s hand. She wrestled the stopper free, then raised the bottle to her lips
and drank, deeply and avidly.

Valeria’s greying hair still had more than sufficient darkness in it to
reveal that it had once been jet black, and the manner in which her fine skin
sat neatly upon the bones of her face implied that she must have been
exceedingly handsome in her youth. As soon as she had lowered the rouge-stained
rim of the flask from her lips the turgor began to return to her cheeks. Her
forehead became smooth and pale. Her hair darkened by degrees until it was as
evenly black as a raven’s wing. Her eyes brightened until they were actually
luminous, their irises flooded with radiant blue. Her lips became fuller, and
the false colour seemed to fade into her flesh. The teeth that she was no longer
ashamed to show became much whiter and more even.

The greatest change of all, however, was not in her appearance but in her
presence, which seemed so greatly magnified that it filled and dominated the
room.

Only a few moments before, Valeria had been one human being among five, a
mere element of a greater company in spite of her assumption of dominance. She
might have stood among a crowd of thousands now without seeming a mere particle
of no unique interest. As soon as the wine of dreams had taken effect she became
the obvious centrepiece of the assembly, the pivot around which everything else
was arrayed, and upon which all attention had to be focused.

Reinmar felt that he could understand why a person—especially a woman,
given the ordinary way of the world—might risk a great deal in order to obtain
that kind of presence.

Valeria held out the half-empty flask to Albrecht—from whose point of view,
Reinmar knew, it must seem half-full.

Albrecht hesitated.

Reinmar was tempted to say “Don’t”, as his father would certainly have wanted
him to do, but the advice died on his tongue—not because he was afraid to
voice it in such company but because he was afraid that it might not be the
right advice. Albrecht knew far better than Reinmar did what price he might now
have to pay for a draught of that quality, and death would only be a part of it—but what life had Albrecht left to lose?

Unwilling as yet to settle his hesitation, Albrecht took refuge in a question
addressed to Brother Noel. “Was it Wirnt who summoned you?”

“No,” Noel said, keeping his eyes on Reinmar. “ft was another messenger who
came to tell us that the lady would meet us here, and to inform our friends as to the increasing strength and defensive
disposition of von Spurzheim’s forces. Do you know what this imbecile has done,
my lady?”

The “imbecile” he meant was, of course, Reinmar—but Reinmar made no
immediate protest.

“Albrecht says that he found the source,” Valeria said, absent-mindedly, “but
that he was allowed to escape with his life.” She seemed intoxicated by the
return of her strength, and she was studying the length of her right arm with
obvious approval.

“Is that what you told them, Master Wieland?” Noel asked. “Did you tell them
what a hero you were, because you killed a few old men who had never learned to
wield a weapon skilfully and lacked the strength in any case? I suppose you
think yourself a master of improvisation because you ran amok in our storeroom,
and a master of deception because you stole the one remaining measure of the
unadulterated nectar. You think yourself privileged by fortune because you
escaped from the valley unhurt and because I have not run you through, although
I have had every chance to do so. But what, if we examine the case more
carefully, have you made of yourself by ignoring the offer we made to you? A
thief, a murderer, a coward and a fool. Lady Valeria, we must be away from here
before the Reiksguard comes thundering along the road.”

“Yes,” Albrecht put in, “go, Valeria, before you bring the witch hunter’s
wrath down upon us all.”

Valeria did not appear to be listening. She was looking at Reinmar too. “Did
you really take the nectar?” she asked.

Reinmar wanted to lie, but when he opened his mouth no sound came out.
Valeria put her right forefinger into her mouth and sucked it for a moment or
two. When she took it out again she reached out and touched it, still moist, to
Reinmar’s lips. He wanted to draw back, but he could not do that either. Her
bright blue eyes held him in thrall, and he knew that if she ordered Noel to
strike him now, he would not be able to parry the thrust.

While the finger lingered on his lips he could not taste the wine of dreams,
but he could smell it. The odour eased into his nostrils, and into his brain. It
brought back the memory of both his dreams—not merely the dream of being taken
up above the town to watch its destruction by fire but the earlier one, when he
had fought a hostile wind to climb a mountain to a castle in the clouds, and there had been seduced by something quite
unhuman and yet more desirable than any human woman ever could be. He reminded
himself that that had only been a dream, whereas Marcilla was real, but with the
intoxicating scent in his nostrils he could not entirely trust his judgement.

Valeria was very beautiful now—more beautiful, certainly, than Marcilla.
But was she only human?

She smiled at him, and her smile was glorious.

She removed her finger from his lips, and he drew them in reflexively. He
tasted the dark wine as soon as it touched his tongue, but it was only the
merest drop.

“You may come with us, if you wish,” Valeria said. “Or stay, if you prefer.
There will be fighting, and a great deal of killing, but I want you to know that
that is nothing to do with us. Our part is very different, for we are scholars
and honest tradesmen. Don’t be frightened by what you have done, for it will
make little difference in the end. All significant choices remain to be made,
and you are still free.”

“He won’t come with us,” Noel said, harshly. “Like father, like son.”

“Don’t be unkind, brother,” Valeria said. “We know no more of the final scheme
than he does, and he may yet play his part far better than we.”

“Come away, my lady,” Almeric put in, his voice taut with alarm. “We have no
time.”

“Of course we have,” she told him, negligently. “We shall steal the horses on
which my dear cousins arrived, to prove our apparent wickedness—but you will
understand in time, dear Reinmar, what virtues are ours.”

Almeric was already hastening the rejuvenated sorceress towards the door, and
she consented to be guided although she still looked back at Reinmar. The monk
let her go in order to open the door and look out, anxiously scanning the trees.
“All quiet,” he said. “If there is another watcher still out there, he will not
dare come into the open. We must beware of crossbow bolts, but if we move
quickly we needn’t fear pursuit.”

“Fear pursuit?” Noel echoed. “We are not the ones who need fear pursuit.”
Valeria had already passed from Reinmar’s view, and so had Brother Almeric—but
Noel could not stop himself from pausing, as he left the room, to add to his
farewell speech.

“Thank you for the horses, Master Wieland,” he said. “Given the shortage of
our present supply, I think you’ll find the measure of the wine of dreams that
your great-uncle holds in his hand more than adequate compensation. You’ll
doubtless be contacted again about the one you stole.” Once he had finished,
though, he wasted no further time before disappearing, slamming the door shut
behind him.

Reinmar did not bother to go to the door to see which two of the three had
claimed the two fresh horses, or what recourse the other had instead. He stayed
where he was, staring at his great-uncle and the flask the monks had left
behind.

Albrecht refused to be ashamed. “Is it true?” the old man asked him. “Did you
bring wine out of the underworld?”

“The nectar of the gods itself, apparently,” Reinmar conceded. “I could not
be certain that spilling the contents of the jugs and bottles would render them
irrecoverable, but removing the most essential ingredient was bound to reduce
their supply.” He told himself that it was not quite a lie, but failed to
convince himself.

“And you hid it in the shop?” Albrecht queried.

“I hid it,” Reinmar admitted, refusing to confirm the latter part of the
conclusion to which his great-uncle had jumped.

“Luther will probably find it,” Albrecht judged. “As soon as he goes to sleep
he will be visited by a dream. If he does not, the two gypsies will. Reinmar,
you have not the slightest idea what you are doing. Do you think that everyone
else in Eilhart is as disciplined as your father, merely because they are
careful to maintain that appearance in public? Are you really so certain that
your father is exactly what he appears to be? Or the witch hunter? We are
dealing with the ultimate temptation, and you have just seen one of the rewards
that temptation offers. It is the kind of temptation that can all too easily set
man against man, husband against wife, and father against son. This is war,
Reinmar. Indeed, this is the ultimate war. Who can you trust with what you have
brought out of the underworld?”