He stood tall, his voice loud enough to make her wince. “I am not acting anything. I am Andrew MacIntyre, laird of all these lands and the fair isles to the north of here.”
“Right. Course you are. Look, I bet I can catch you out. What year is this?”
“The year of our Lord 1190.”
“Okay then. If it’s really 1190, who’s the king?”
“William is once again king of Scotland though only after handing over a fortune to Henry last year like we still pay weregild to our tormentors, the deuced fool.”
“You know your history. I’ll give you that. Do they have some course you have to take before doing this?”
“Course?”
“You know, training you up so it’s all believable. I know it’s a game okay? There’s no need to keep pretending.”
“You still insist in this absurd nonsense of gameplay? I will prove this is real. Come with me.”
He marched to the door, waving impatiently for her to follow. He didn’t look back. He knew she would come after him.
*
Beth wasn’t sure where he was taking her but anywhere was better than being locked in like Rapunzel. She followed him to the end of the corridor as he turned, and then headed downstairs.
As she descended, she noticed a smell so bad it almost knocked her over. “What is that?” she asked, trying not to gag as they walked along the corridor and out onto the balcony beyond.
“What? There was only the great hall back there? What of it?”
“You didn’t notice that smell?”
He shook his head. “You are stalling. It will not work. Come see what kind of game you think this is.”
He marched across the courtyard leaving her to follow. The hall had smelt so foul she gulped at the fresh air like a drowning sailor washed onto a beach after a storm. It smelled as if the hall had been used as a bin and toilet all at once.
The courtyard was little better. To her left clothes were draped over thick bushes of holly to dry but there was little chance of that in such damp air.
The mud was churned up from the passage of many feet and it was imbued with stink that clung to her nose and the back of her throat. Walking through the filth in her medieval shoes was not easy but she was more glad than ever for the wooden soles. They stopped the worst of it soaking into her feet and helped the hem of her dress remain relatively clean.
The actor playing Andrew opened the door to a building set against the castle wall, standing for a brief moment under the pentise overhanging the entrance. “In here,” he said before vanishing.
It took Beth’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom as she followed him inside. She heard crying and moaning up ahead of her in the darkness.
“Where are we?” she asked, blinking and through the gloom spying low beds laid out in a row along the wall. A figure occupied each one, some still, some writhing and moaning in agony.
“The infirmary,” Andrew said, striding toward the nearest bed. “Does this look like a game to you?” he asked, pointing down at the woman laid before them, her face wrapped in clothes. What skin was visible was burning red and black.
An awful smell rose from the patient, far worse than that which came from the great hall.
Beth had to work hard not to gag as the woman shifted in place. Her mouth opened and a gout of blood spurted out like a fountain. “Rory,” the actor shouted. “Mary needs your aid.”
Out of the shadows a portly figure ran over, kneeling next to the bed, wiping blood from the stricken woman’s lips. “Stay still,” he whispered. “God is with you. Angels protect her.”
The woman coughed again, her back arching as she did so. Then she fell back, a final wisp of air leaving her lungs. She was dead.
“Gone,” Rory said, closing her eyes with his palm before getting to his feet. “May the Lord protect you and the angels watch over you.”
“But…but this is just a game,” Beth said, staggering backward toward the door. “She’s just acting, right?”
Andrew looked furious. “I’ve known that woman all my life.”
