steward frowned, then beckoned behind him. Twoheavily armed guards approached.
"We'll have to examine into this."
As the guards came close to Gerda, the steward looked closely at thebags on the table, then picked one up, opening it.
"Borowa," he muttered after looking inside and comparing the tally chipwith the count tablet. He weighed the bag in his hand. "Yes, it seems tobe about right. Certainly not overweight." He picked up another, thenstill another. At last, he looked up.
"Of course, I shall have to count all of these carefully," he remarkedgrimly, "but I see no coin from this Teron you have listed." He staredcoldly at Gerda. "And the tower lookout confirms that you had sevenbarges. That was a considerable amount. What did you do with thatmoney?"
"Why, I counted it. It was all there." Gerda shook his headunbelievingly. "My count agreed with that of my clerk, and I droppedtallies in and closed the bags again." He looked uneasily at the twoguards who flanked him. "Surely, you don't think I'd be so foolish as totamper with the Baron's taxes? Think, man! I know the Baron's ways!"
"I'm not sure just what I think--yet." The steward shook his head. Hepicked up one of the empty bags, opened it, and gave it a shake. Thesmall tally chip fell out and he picked it up, comparing it with thelist on the tablet. Frowning thoughtfully, he opened the other two bags.More small blocks of wood fell out. He looked at the bags, then tossedthem aside and looked coldly at the guard officer.
"It's witchcraft," cried Gerda. "I had nothing----"
"We'll see." The steward motioned at the two guards. "Search this man."
* * * * *
Dazedly, Gerda stood still, submitting as one of the guards went throughhis clothing while the other stood ready to deal with any resistance.The searcher made a thorough examination of Gerda's clothing, mutteredto himself, and went over his search again. A pile of personal objectslay on the table when he had finished. At last, he looked at theprisoner, then faced his chief.
"He has nothing on him, sir, not even a teloa."
"So I see." The steward frowned, then looked at Gerda.
"You may reclaim your possessions now, captain. Is there any chance thatyour clerk might have opened the money chest?"
Gerda shook his head. "I don't see how he could, sir, unless he had aduplicate key, and that's hardly possible. I kept the chest locked atall times, and the key never left my person."
"And there is no chance that any of your men could have hidden anythingon the way here?"
Again, Gerda shook his head. "None," he said positively. "I was behindthem all the way, and would have seen if any had made any unusualmotion."
"Very well." The steward clapped his hands sharply.
There was a clatter of arms, followed by the scuffle of feet. Across theroom, a door opened and a detachment of the castle guard filed in.Their leader stepped forward, saluting the steward.
"There is a river watch outside," he was told. "Disarm them, take themto a cell, and search them thoroughly. A considerable amount of coin hasbeen stolen. Report to me when you have finished."
"Yes, sir." The group filed out.
The steward turned to Gerda again.
"This matter must be examined carefully," he declared. "You may havebeen the victim of witchcraft, of course, though I doubt it, neverhaving witnessed such a thing. Or one of your men may have worked out acunning method of theft, an occurrence which I have witnessed manytimes. Or, there's the other possibility." He stroked his chin. "Afterall, you were the rearmost man, and the one none other would observe."
Gerda looked at him fearfully.
"This may become a matter for the Baron's personal attention," continuedthe steward. He looked sharply at Gerda. "How long have you been in theBaron's service?"
"Why, you know that, sir. Ten years, ever since I----"
"Yes, yes, I remember. And you know how hopeless it is to try to deceivethe Baron?"
"Yes, sir." Gerda swallowed painfully.
"But you still insist you had nothing to do with the disappearance ofthis money?"
Gerda spread his hands. "I can't understand it, sir. But I had nothingto do with it myself. As I told you, we collected it, listed it, countedit, and I put it in the chest and locked it up." He shook his headagain. "It's witchcraft, sir."
The steward leaned back, a slight smile playing about his lips.
"Witchcraft is good enough for serfs," he said smoothly, "but you and Iare intelligent men. We have had collection money disappear before, manytimes. Almost always, there has been the cry, 'It's witchcraft!' Andalways there has been a more simple, worldly explanation." He snappedhis lingers and a page hurried forward.
"A cup of wine," ordered the steward. "This questioning is thirstywork." He faced back to Gerda.
"Always," he repeated, "some explanation has been forthcoming. Usually,I have discovered the errant one--with the help of my guards, of course.And the criminal has been duly punished. But there have been some fewoccasions when the malefactor was so clever as to force the Baron'sintervention." He paused, leaning forward a little.
"And do you know what happened then?"
Gerda's throat was becoming dry. His mouth opened, but he closed itagain.
The page returned, bearing a large cup and a flagon of wine. Carefully,he filled the cup, then set it before the steward, who lifted it to hislips, drank, and set it down with a satisfied sigh.
"Thank you, boy. Here is one thing we can produce well in thesemountains." He wiped his lips and turned his gaze to Gerda again. Heshook his head slowly.
"The Baron can detect guilt or innocence in a moment. For a short time,he questioned the persons brought before him. He soon determined theguilty ones, and wrung confessions from their wretched lips. We thentook them away, and turned them over to the torturers." He raised thecup again.
"You know," he added, "I'm told that some of them lasted as long as tenfull days." He shook his head. "I could never understand how theexecutioners can put up with such noise for so long. But then, I supposeone gets used to most anything."
He looked toward the door. "Strange," he murmured, "I wonder what'skeeping Maro so long." He clapped his hands sharply once more, andwaited.
The page dashed to a door and disappeared within. At last, he came back,holding the door for the leader of the castle guard detachment, who cameforward to salute his superior.
"Have you found anything yet?"
"Nothing, sir. We have stripped them, but they have no unusual thingsabout them. And we have questioned them. None will admit to seeing ordoing anything other than normal duties."
The steward sighed. "Very well. Secure them, then. I'll call for themlater." He stood.
"Come, Nal Gerda," he ordered, "unless you have something further totell me of this, we must have an audience with the Baron."
* * * * *
Florel, Baron Bel Menstal, sat at his ease. Before him was a dish ofgood cakes, beside him, a cup and flagon of good wine. He lookedcontentedly around the apartment.
For fourteen years now, he had been lord of this castle. And forfourteen years, he had busied himself building his forces and increasinghis power and influence in the duchy. He had made himself feared andrespected.
During the past several years, his word had been of great weight in theDuke's councils. He was now one of the great barons of the realm. Hesmiled to himself.
As he had risen in importance, Orieano, the soft holder of the richfields to the west, had fallen. The man was getting old--even older thanthe Duke himself, and he was tired. And his daughter was the sole heirto that barony.
Again, Menstal smiled to himself as he thought of the daughter ofOrieano. Next month, at the fair, he would press suit for the hand ofthe heiress, and a few months after that he would have control of therich farm lands and the trading city.
The girl would probably protest, but that would do her little good. Heknew what fear could do. And he could rouse such fear as to render even
strong men but helpless masses of flesh. The beauteous damsel of Orieanowould be a simple task. None other would dare dispute his claim, and theDuke would come to support him.
And the Duke himself? Ah, well, perhaps it would be as well to allow himto finish his life in peaceful possession of his broad fields. Butcertainly, the son of Dwerostel would have no word in the control of theduchy. An accident could be easily arranged, and Flor, one-time woodsbeater and scullery boy of Budorn, would become the great Duke he hadlong planned to be. No, it wouldn't take too many more years.
He