The Raven's Head by Karen Maitland Page A

attention.’
    He twisted the heavy gold ring on his finger, so that the blood-red garnet rippled in the firelight. ‘I believe that if any man is to earn another’s loyalty and trust, he must first demonstrate his own loyalty and trust in that person. So we shall offer trust to one another, you and I. I will entrust you with an errand that requires great discretion and secrecy. If you succeed, you will have earned my confidence and gratitude, and I am always generous in showing my gratitude, as you will have observed from the purse I gave Gaspard. Perform this task well and I promise you that you will never again have to return to that tower to waste your life burrowing among dusty books.’
    ‘Anything, I will do anything,’ I blurted out. ‘What is it that I’m to do? Only tell me and it will be done instantly . . . I mean perfectly. I won’t fail you, I swear.’
    And in that moment I meant it. I was not going to be flogged. Instead I was actually going to be promoted. I felt almost giddy at the thought, imagining myself day and night at Philippe’s side, sitting at high table next to Amée in my new clothes – he’d obviously have to present me with new clothes: my limp rags weren’t fit even for the servants’ table.
    He laughed. ‘Patience. I will send for you again in a day or so and explain exactly what is required of you. In the meantime, tell Gaspard to wait upon me here. But, first, to seal our bargain, drink with me.’
    He lifted a flagon of wine from the table, poured the wine into one of his own pewter goblets and held it out to me. ‘Let us drink to your destiny. I predict it will be interesting, far more so than you could ever have dreamed.’

Chapter 10
     
    He should be discreet and silent, revealing to no one the truth of his works.
     
    ‘Boys, this is Regulus, your new companion. You are to look after him.’
    Six pairs of young eyes gaze solemnly at the white-robed figure and back again to the small child, who shrinks beside him.
    ‘But be warned. If I hear any idle gossip, or even a whisper, that you have spoken of things about which you have been told to keep silent, I will punish not just the offender, but each and every one of you most severely. For he who listens to idle chatter is as guilty as the one who utters it.’
    The White Canon allows the full force of his glare to fall on each of the faces in turn, noting those who quickly stare down at the rushes on the floor or dart an anxious glance at a companion. The boys believe he can see into their heads, which indeed he can, for though they would never believe it, he was once a child himself and he knows well what strange and foul creatures wallow in the filthy middens of a boy’s mind.
    Regulus clutches the wooden bowl, leather beaker and bone spoon he has been given. He’s been told that if he loses them he will go hungry and thirsty, for he will have nothing to put his meat and drink in. He wonders if he must carry them all day and what will happen if his arms grow tired, which they already are, because he is gripping them so tightly. The canon pushes him forward.
    ‘Felix, make room for Regulus at the table. I leave him in your care. See you instruct him well, for if he transgresses, it will be your back that will smart for it.’
    A thin, gangly boy of about eleven years with lank brown hair and bulging eyes shuffles his buttocks along the bench, leaving a gap between himself and the next boy. Felix beckons Regulus to the space with a jerk of his head. The little boy tries in vain to scramble over the bench and sit at the table, but though the bench is low, he is still gripping the bowl, beaker and spoon, which he is afraid to set down. The other boys giggle. Felix impatiently stands, grasps him under the armpits, swings him over the bench and plonks him down on it, as if he was an infant.
    ‘Put your bowl down,’ Felix instructs.
    But Regulus hesitates. He’s hungry and he’s afraid to let go in case they refuse to