Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 100, Nos. 4 & 5. Whole Nos. 603 & 604, October 1992

The seneschal laughed. “Georges Delfose is a wild man,” he said. “He’ll kill one of those pests if it takes him all day.” It seemed as if it might. The man was so comical that everyone laughed. He heard the laughter and his fury increased. None of his blows came within a foot of any of the rats but the rodents were as frantic as he was. Their raucous squeals mixed with his curses and the thunder of the club pounding the earthen floor.

A fourth rat crept from somewhere to see what was going on and quickly disappeared again. The marshal was nimble, strong, indefatigable, and thoroughly inaccurate. One final two-handed blow shattered his club. The seneschal ran in and grabbed the frustrated marshal. “That’s the third club you’ve broken in two weeks,” he said, “and you’ve never killed a rat yet. You stay with trapping them. Now go outside and let Mr. Schram get at them.” He half led and half dragged him out.

Alain walked into the bakehouse. Dust filled the air. The rats were quiet, but Alain could see two of them. One had been running between the oven and a large baking tray in the corner. It was by the oven now in plain sight, waiting to dodge another blow. Alain’s wrist came forward and his dagger accounted for one rat.

Behind him there were cheers. A small crowd of knights, squires, peasants, and servants had gathered to watch the marshal’s antics. Now they applauded the first kill. Louise was so excited that she lost all sense of being a young woman and became the girl he had first seen kicking at the rat which attacked her.

With the first sign of success, several servants volunteered to beat on the side of the bakehouse to scare rats into the open. A rousing hour and a half followed. At the end, seven rats had been killed and no more could be found.

There seemed little point to intruding on the count and Mandeville, so Alain waited out in the bailey, talking with Louise and the countess and the seneschal.

Louise showed him the stables where the knights’ steeds were being groomed. Most of the stalls were empty. “There are only six knights serving the count now,” the seneschal said. “Once there were half a hundred.”

The smithy was equally spacious. One smith and two assistants were at work. The count’s retainers formed a small community now. As the town had grown, the castle and its villages had become less important. But for Alain the castle held one thing the town could not match, Louise de Broux.

When the count and Mandeville returned, Louise changed again. Her artless chattering became witty. Her careless gestures became graceful. Her frank admiration of Alain’s skill with the dagger became warm appreciation as she told her father what had been going on.

The count was gracious in his thanks. As Alain and Mandeville prepared to leave, the count ordered his seneschal to give each a purse of money. “No guest ever leaves without a gift,” he said.

As they rode toward Liege, Alain noted the small farms they passed. “The count’s wealth comes from these serfs, peasants, and freemen,” he commented to Mandeville, “and they live in huts without windows and at most a table and chair or two within. I feel I should return the count’s gift to them.”

“Which ones?”

“That is the problem. I would probably cause jealousy and stir up trouble if I tried.”

“And the count would be mortally insulted. You are wealthier than he is anyway. Would you give your own money to them?”

“I see what you mean. Still, I don’t feel right about it. How did your talk with the count go?”

“He and his knights want nothing to do with witches. They’ll fight against the King of England or the Emperor of Germany, but they want no part of the Prince of Darkness.”

“Then we’ll go it alone.”

That effectively ended their attempt to enlist others. Church, town, and castle had refused to aid them. In high spirits they made their plans.

That Friday was overcast. Mandeville buckled on his sword. Alain, though he wore a sword, too, strapped four daggers on at convenient places. Things you can’t reach with a sword, you can with a well-aimed dagger. They set out shortly before sunset.

They reached the copse, a tangled mass of low bushes and half-grown trees. It looked dark and impenetrable. As they rode around it, however, they found several places where secret paths entered. The openings had been covered with branches in a clumsy effort to disguise them.

“There are several ways in,” Alain said.

“And ways out,” Mandeville added significantly. “But we can’t ride our horses in. If we leave them out here, we might scare the witches away.”

“And we’d find the horses killed, too.”

A small stream which flowed from the spring and eventually reached the Meuse River had wild bits of green growing along its banks. From place to place there would be large clusters of bushes and an occasional very old tree. About half a mile downstream there was a large clump of ancient yews which could hide the animals. They tethered them among the yews and returned to the copse.