Uther strode in past the bowing man, shaking the wet off himself like a dog, and returning some half-heard sound in answer to the porter’s greeting. Then with a brief lift of the hand which set the emerald flashing again, he turned straight for the steps which led upwards on our right, and began quickly to mount them.

Ralf grabbed the torch from the porter’s hand as Ulfin and I pressed in after Uther. “I’ll light them up with this. Get the door shut and barred again. I’ll come down later and give you the news, Felix, but we’re all drenched as drowned dogs, and want to get to a fire. There’s one in the guard-room, I suppose?”

“Aye.” The porter had already turned away to bar the door. Ralf was holding the torch so that Ulfin and I could go past in shadow.

I started quickly up the steps in Uther’s wake, with Ulfin on my heels. The stairs were lit only by a smoking cresset which burned in a bracket on the wall of the wide landing above us. It had been easy.

Too easy. Suddenly, above us on the landing, the sullen light was augmented by that from a blazing torch, and a couple of men at arms stepped from a doorway, swords at the ready.

Uther, six steps above me, paused fractionally and then went on. I saw his hand, under the cloak, drop to his sword. Under my own I had my weapon loose in its sheath.

Ralf’s light tread came running up the steps behind us.

“My lord Duke!”

Uther, I could guess how thankfully, stopped and turned to wait for him, his back to the guards.

“My lord Duke, let me light you—ah, they’ve a torch up there.” He seemed only then to notice the guards above us, with the blazing light. He ran on and up past Uther, calling lightly: “Holá, Marcus, Sellic, give me that torch to light my lord up to the Duchess. This wretched thing’s nothing but smoke.”