Forcing His Way into the Baron's Castle

But Roger had already entered Brodick Castle.

Like most castles, within its earthen and stone walls was a hodgepodge of buildings of every kind.

The courtyard was about a hundred yards deep. At the far end, facing the castle gate, stood a massive keep. In the event of an attack, it would be the final defensive stronghold.

This most solid fortress towered above the entire rampart for observation. At the tip of its watchtower was a huge oil lamp used to guide ships at sea, though it had not been lit for years.

At the castle's rear flank was an iron gate barely wide enough for one man and one horse to squeeze through. Beyond it lay a rough little path along a steep slope.

This design was relatively rare, mainly intended for slipping out to seek aid or launch a surprise attack on the enemy during a siege.

To the left inside the castle stood a disorderly cluster of low houses, most of them wooden: a long stable, a kitchen, a bakery, several barracks for the castle garrison, and warehouses.

A well stood in the middle. On the right, taking up most of the northern half of the open ground, was a tall stone building.

It was clearly the residence of the Baron of Allen Island. Beside the tall building stood a somewhat shorter church: Brodick Church.

Roger's younger brother Louis had recently been studying Latin there.

A fine drizzle began to fall again, yet many people still moved in and out of the castle, or ran through the rain from one building to another. Among them were constables, tax officers, sheriffs, cooks, craftsmen, and servants.

At the moment, only Little Horseherd accompanied Roger. Baldhead and the other hooligans did not dare enter the Baron's castle at all, and obediently squatted beneath the outer wall to wait.

When Roger entered, the slovenly castle constable holding a spear and leaning crookedly inside the gatehouse cast him two disgusted glances, but did not stop him. No matter how revolting Roger was, he was still of the Campbell Lineage.

Roger ignored the strange looks around him. He paused to examine the castle, allowing the hazy images in his memory to slowly sharpen.

This castle had been founded by Roger's great-grandfather. At first, it had merely been a watchtower on the hillside by the harbor, used to keep watch over the port and the surrounding miles.

By the time Roger's grandfather died, it had become a comprehensive castle capable of housing hundreds of garrison soldiers and castle folk, serving military defense, governance, religion, taxation, and daily life.

By Roger's father's generation, Allen Island had gradually declined, and Brodick Castle, covered in moss and purple lichen, had begun to show signs of decay.

News of Roger's "raid" on Brodick had reached the acting lord of the castle through the sheriff.

The one left on Allen Island to manage the lord's affairs was John IV, also known as John the Fourth. He was the Baron of Allen Island's only son, heir to the baronial title and Allen Island.

Naturally, he was also Roger's cousin.

A flamboyantly dressed sodomite. That was Roger's first impression of this cousin in his memories.

A lean, elegant young man emerged from the Baron's residence. His features were delicate and refined, his beard shaved clean without a single trace. His dark blue silk doublet was trimmed with colored thread, and even the plain red eagle and black ship crest on his chest had been embroidered with gaudy silk threads.

The islanders privately called him White-faced John. A few particularly bold hooligans called him "Sodomite John."

Three years ago, White-faced John had married the eldest daughter of a wealthy Baron in Argyll. Yet the one following beside him now was not that tender, lovely noble daughter, but another fair-skinned pretty boy.

This fellow was an attendant sent by the Baroness's family.

Even from far away, Roger could smell the heavy rouge scent on the two of them. This cheap fragrance was even more unpleasant than the acrid stench.

"Good day, Young Master John." Little Horseherd hurriedly stepped back half a pace and bowed to White-faced John, who was striding toward them furiously.

White-faced John paid no attention at all to the insignificant Little Horseherd. He walked straight up to Roger and demanded, "Who let you, you bastard, come to Brodick?"

Roger narrowed his little eyes and glanced at the pretty boy with his nose in the air, then turned and spat a thick gob of phlegm beside him. "Instead of tending to that lovely wife of yours in your room, why meddle in this business? Are you willing but unable, and want me to lend a hand?"

Roger's reaction was half instinct born from memory. He had run wild and committed evil for many years; aside from his uncle Baron John and his father Sir Colin, no one on this island was worth his notice.

He and the pretty boy before him loathed each other, but most of the time the pretty boy did not dare provoke him. The pretty boy was merely nauseating, while Roger sent chills down people's spines.

White-faced John's soft, smooth cheeks instantly flushed crimson. He made as if to raise his hand and slap Roger, but the other pretty boy at his side hurriedly seized and held him back.

Roger raised his head and glared fiercely at White-faced John twice. Seeing the state he was in, Roger could not help letting out a cold sneer.

After years of scrambling and struggling in his previous life, he had seen plenty of such blustering weaklings. He had no desire to bother with him. He had only come to the castle to take a look around the church, so that he could give an account when he returned and make it easier to leave next time.

Seeing Roger brush past him with a face full of contempt, White-faced John turned toward the gatehouse behind him and shouted angrily, "Which bastard was on guard today? You dared let every pig and dog in!"

Hearing that, Roger stopped and slowly turned around. "Who are you calling pigs and dogs?"

When the pretty boy saw Roger's right hand already gripping the hilt of the knife at his waist, he immediately turned to Little Horseherd, who still had his head lowered, and lightly kicked him. "Stupid pig, why aren't you getting lost?"

Little Horseherd staggered from the kick, yet did not dare move in the slightest.

"Weakling." Roger removed his hand from the knife hilt. "Igo, get over here."

Like a man granted salvation, Little Horseherd hurried after Roger...

Standing before Brodick Church, a strange sense of familiarity washed over Roger. In the fragments of his memories, more than a third of the scenes had taken place around similar churches.

Like most churches, Brodick Church's main structure was built in the shape of a cross. But Allen Island had once prospered, so the church was actually larger than one belonging to a baronial parish ought to be.

The western end ran directly into the nave, forming the vertical stroke of the cross. The horizontal stroke extended from the altar toward the north and south wings, creating intersecting aisles.

Beyond the central intersection of this great cross, the eastern end of the church was called the sanctuary, mainly for the priest and his few assistants. In the main hall of the church were more than a dozen rows of benches.

At the easternmost end, in a small open area facing the coast, was said to be the tomb of Saint Molaise. Devout islanders often came to worship there, and generations of Campbells had also been buried there.

Beside the church's main hall stood several rooms where the clergy ate and slept.

Roger raised his hand and pushed open the half-closed church doors. Today was not Sunday, so the church was extremely deserted.

He looked around the entrance for a long time without seeing a single person. The priest and his assistants were all absent.

"Matthew!" Roger called out loudly, startling Igo at his side. Igo hurriedly stepped forward and grabbed Roger's sleeve to stop him. "Young Master Roger, have you gone mad? You actually called the priest by name inside the church."