John leaned forward, and spoke briefly, under his breath, to the Duke. The Duke smiled, and without hesitation lifted the cloak of royal scarlet, lined with fur, which his gentlemen had thrown round him against the chill of the night air. He handed it to John, who ran to where Wolf stood, and threw it over him, so that only his head showed.
The cock crowed again. They had put the torches out a while ago. The stars were fainter. The sky was changing colour. The nighttime clouds thinned, became grey smoke, broke up like ripples on a quiet shore.
And over the ripples, brushing their edges with gold, washing through and over them with waves of light, came day. And then, at last, the sun.
It shone full on the terrace, right in the eyes of the assembled people. For a few moments they could see nothing, then, all in the blink of a dazzled eye, it happened.
The chains fell, clanging, from Almeric, from Wolf...
There was no Wolf. Where Wolf had stood there was Mardian, tall and upright, clothed in the dignity of the royal mantle. A pace from him, like a reflection seen in a glass, stood the false Mardian, his hands clutching in sudden terror at the little leather bag that was hung round his neck. It could be seen that the chains, in falling, had torn the soft leather, and there, trickling and then pouring from the bag, came a white powder as fine as sand. It ran down his robe, over his feet, over the hands that, scrabbling to stop it, clutched and curled like claws.
He was mouthing something that did not sound like words at all. The powder spattered on the dewy grass. Where it fell, the dew began to smoke.
For a few moments of time the two Mardians stood there, face to face. Then the enchanter, throwing up his head, gave a great cry that changed to something like a howl. As the company stared in horror, he seemed to shrink, then to shrivel and fall on the grass at Mardian's feet.
"Seize him!" commanded the Duke. The men-at-arms leaped forward, but found themselves grabbing at empty air. There was nothing but a patch of burnt grass with a pile of clothes, and the enchanter's long knife. Down below in the moat something splashed, swimming. A grey shape slunk ashore on the far bank, and fled away into the darkness of Wolf Wood.
The astonished silence was broken by a sudden clamour. Prince Crispin, newly risen from bed, with a dozen or so companions of his own age, came racing and clattering along the terrace. They were dressed for riding, and carried bows and spears and hunting horns. "To the hunt!" they shouted. They crowded excitedly to the battlements, pointing and exclaiming.
"There! Did you see it? No, not there, farther over. There he is! The wolf himself! We shall have good sport today! To horse, to horse!"
Their shouts died to muttering, and the muttering to silence. No one was taking the slightest notice of them. For there, in front of the chair that had carried him for five weary years, Duke Otho stood upright and smiling. At his feet knelt Mardian, his hands between those of his friend. Then the Duke raised him, saluting him with a kiss, and solemnly, as if it were a ceremony–which of course it was–hung round Mardian's neck, once more, the amulet marked FAITHFUL.
At this a great shout went up. Men who only half understood, but who had seen enough to know they had witnessed wonders, clasped one another and laughed and shouted. The Duke and Mardian stood holding one another's hands, and smiling.
"Father!" cried Prince Crispin. "Are you cured?" Then, when no one answered or even looked at him: "Will someone kindly tell me what is going on? Mardian? What's happened, Mardian? Mardian!"
But Mardian could only shake his head, for once again–but with very different tears–he was weeping.
FAREWELL
The children walked out across the drawbridge.
Below them the moat glimmered in the rich light of late afternoon. They were sleepy from the feasting, and half dazed with happiness and the splendour of the celebrations in the castle.
They reached the roadway. Ahead of them rose the trees of Wolfenwald, green in the sunlight.
They turned to look back.
Mardian was standing at the other end of the bridge, in the centre of the great gateway. He lifted a hand in salute. Behind him the castle stood, sunlit and solid, fluttering with flags and alive with music and rejoicing. The Duke's standard flew from the tallest tower.
From the direction of Wolf Wood a voice was calling them by name: their father's.
"Margaret! John!" And there he was, coming down the road towards them. "Time to go!" he called.
They ran to meet him. The tarmacadam of the road was hot, sweating in the heat. The sun flashed from the windscreen of the parked car.
Behind them the ruined castle lifted its empty turrets to the afternoon sky.
Mary Stewart, A Wlk in Wolf Wood
(Series: # )
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