The Tower Grave

by J. E. Moncrieff

  “Archers,” he said, calling to Simon and Guy and raising his own crossbow. “We’ll hit one each, then drop your bows and rush them with John and Samuel. The rest of you with me upstairs; I want two crossbows up front - cocked and ready, then swords behind. Ok?”

  A series of grunts told Courtridge he’d been understood; then as Simon and Guy steadied themselves with their bows drawn and crept forward with Courtridge, he turned to them once more and nodded to the waiting crowd behind him.

  “On three,” he whispered to the tough bowmen next to him. “One, two, three.”

  All hell broke loose with the arrows as they took men from their seats and a swarm of black-cloaked figures silently raged through the rooms and stairs of the White Tower. John was barely at the top of the stairs before the two archers had slaughtered the remaining three men before them and sped back towards the stairs leaving a bloody mess in their wake. He surveyed the room as the others hit the steps and held his sword tightly as he looked at the young faces of the men around him. One guard, pinned to a door by an arrow buried deep in his shoulder was stirring to consciousness and was breathing as he slowly began to realise where he was. John ducked out of sight to avoid a confrontation and the need to kill another innocent guard, but glanced back as the wounded man spoke.

  “Peter? Peter? Are you alive?” he said through the grimace of his agony before gritting his teeth and shocking John by snapping off the end of the arrow and sliding his wound right over it. He growled in pain as he picked up a sword and stumbled away at the back of the hallway.

  John ran upstairs into a chaos he hadn’t expected as the camera at his chest took in the footage of the medieval treason and the vicious close combat that unfolded before him. The stairs ran red with the blood of a soldier killed as he defended the king, and the bodies of guards littered the room. Screams came from the chambers as the dark men emerged carrying two young boys. One of them, the eldest, who was barely a teenager himself, struggled violently as two men tried desperately to hold him high above their heads. John jumped at the hand of his teammate Jake as he watched the dangerous entanglement reach the stone steps.

  “They’re so young, Johnny” he whispered faintly and weakly as he watched.

  “We can’t let them do it,” John replied quietly. “You’re right, they’re just little kids.”

  “You know we have to. We can’t change history.”

  “But how can we just watch?”

  “I know.”

  John gasped as the eldest boy, King Edward, roared defiance and struggled free of the hands only to fall face first onto the stone steps leading down. He rolled only a few steps before he slowed down, but the awkward angle of his neck as his face hit the stone, snapped him like a porcelain doll and he slid to a stop; broken and lifeless in his night clothes.

  John looked away, unable to watch the horror unfold before him and Jake held his shoulder as Courtridge burst through onto the steps. His face was grim as he lifted his mask and gazed down on the broken boy. He swallowed once then pulled it back down roughly over his face as he spoke.

  “Pick him up and bloody get out of here you bastards,” he said firmly before turning to John. “My friend, I need you to carry the other boy. I know you’re reluctant to kill the soldiers and I need the bowmen and Samuel with me. Spence and Jake will stay with you. Would you?”

  John nodded as Simon the large archer handed the wriggling boy to him and ran down the stairs.

  “Don’t let him go, John,” said Courtridge before running ahead himself to lead the group.

  The entire band of men followed down the steep stairs at pace and burst out into the courtyard.

  “Keep calm, kid,” John whispered to the boy wriggling on his shoulder as he crossed the courtyard to the inner gate. As the first shadows carrying the dead King passed through the gate and into the street of the Tower, a voice sounded from behind them making John jump.

  “Halt!” screamed the desperate voice as John turned to see the guard from upstairs stumbling towards them. “Stay where you are, or die!”

  John’s heart sank at the courage and stupidity of the young man as he said goodbye to his last chances of survival.

  “Die?” Spence said next to him with amusement in his voice. John faced away from the guard as the vicious, bandaged knight walked behind him and pulled on the boy so he almost slipped from his shoulder. He felt the struggle renew energetically as the boy’s legs wriggled frantically in his arms and the guard shouted in panic once more.

  “Your Highness!” screamed the guard as the form of the boy suddenly dropped limp in John’s arms and the realisation dawned on him that the young prince had become another victim of their crimes. He closed his eyes in grief.

  A yell of rage told him the guard had the same feelings as Spence leaned close to Jake who stood with them.

  “Deal with him,” he said as he gently pushed John through the gate and into the street. They ran hard to the outer gate, joined by the two men from the walls and the gate men behind them. John turned to Spence.

  “What about Jake and the other one who peeled off into the darkness?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry about him, and wonder boy will make it out if he’s so special. Edmund wants Henry left inside. I don’t think he trusts him,” he said smugly.

  “I’m not leaving without my brother,” John said angrily.

  “Get the boy on the horse.”

  “I will kill you, Spence. Now keep that gate open.”

  John turned and passed the dead prince onto the horse beside him, turning away again as he saw his still, white face for the first time. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him with the face imprinted on his mind, and as the horse sped away, some of the shadows began to disappear quickly into the darkness. As though watching himself from the outside, his body moved backwards off balance and he felt Jake’s arms under his own as the reassuring voice sank into him giving him strength.

  “Let’s go, John,” it said. “It’s time to go home, brother.”

  John smiled as he was brought back to reality and he turned to see his friend standing next to him.

  “You made it, thank god. Where is Spence?”

  “He’s just gone with Courtridge. He’s gone, Johnny, it’s over. Let’s go.”

  Thoughts of his children, Sophie and then Jane filled John’s mind as Jake pulled him forwards, and he followed behind into the endless shadows of London towards their lodgings for the last time.

  Twenty-Six

  Filth splashed against Courtridge as he led three men through the pitch black streets away from the main roads of London. He had run from the Tower towards the North of the city and had then deviated from the main path into the darkness. Behind him, ran Spence and two of his most trusted men. He had assigned his most trusted men, his archers Simon and Guy, to stick to Spence since the beginning of the night’s work. They’d entered with him, cleared the way through from inside with him, and now ran alongside him to take his life.

  “Where the hell are we going?” complained Spence behind the group as his boot once again came loose in the thick, human slop below him.

  “Here, William,” answered Courtridge, turning around. “We are going here.”

  They stepped under a single, burning torch in an abandoned street and the soft glow fell over their features.

  “What is this place?” asked Spence cautiously. “What’s going on?”

  “This is where the games come to an end, William. You cannot betray me any longer, it’s over.”

  Spence watched nervously as both of Courtridge’s henchmen stepped into the light with their bows drawn. He shuddered and took a deep breath as the tips of their arrows glinted dangerously, pointing at his chest.

  “What are you talking about, Edmund?” he asked in panic. “When have I ever betrayed you? Edmund!”

  Courtridge laughed.

  “I’m disappointed in you, William. That you take me for a fool even now.”

  “I
do not, I swear. I am loyal to you.”

  “I may well have forgiven you for trapping Rougemont in the Tower and risking our whole operation, though I don’t know for sure. But you went behind my back. You nearly cost me everything, and one way or another I have lost the chance at the throne.”

  “I did it for you, Edmund. They’re not trustworthy.”

  “They are not trustworthy? Yet they got into the Tower, got caught, escaped, and still took part in our plot. But you? You didn’t stop at betraying me to set them up with your hired thug. I may have forgiven you for them, William, but to set me up? To have me caught? It’s too far.”

  “That wasn’t me!” Spence cried in reply. “How could I? I was there!”

  “You escaped and you locked us in. Only the so-called untrustworthy Rougemonts stood their ground and fought to keep me alive.”

  “I wanted us all to escape!”

  “Yet only you did?”

  “I didn’t know you weren’t behind me. I ran, I thought you were there and I got out. I’m sorry, Edmund.”

  “Bollocks. You locked the door you fool! You haven’t apologized since, not until you stand here with me now with your life on the line. Seize him, Guy. Bind him and we’ll take him in.”

  “Take me where?”

  “To the Tower, of course. I have a man in there now alerting the barracks.”

  “But why? What for?”

  “Treason, William. A messenger is attending now to warn them of your plot. Alas, it is too late to stop you, but now you are caught. I have you. You’re going in and you won’t get any ideas about talking, I’m having your tongue first.”

  Guy stepped behind him to take his hands and made Spence lash out in reaction. As his captor fought back, Spence slammed his elbow into his nose, feeling it crack, then dropped to the floor as the arrow left Simon’s bow and flew straight over his head into his own cousin. Guy splashed into the wet ground as Spence lunged upwards into a run. He caught Simon hard in the chest and took him down into the filth as he gazed at the arrow that killed his friend. As they rolled into the darkness, Spence stuck his knife deep into the big archer’s chest then scurried away out of Courtridge’s sight.

  “William?” the big Lord called in rage as the splashing footsteps faded away. “I will find you, get back here now!”

  “You’ll rot, Edmund,” he heard in reply from a point hidden in the distance. “York’s time is over, at least. Accept that, rejoice and forget me. But find me and you’ll die. I guarantee it.”

  And with that, Courtridge stood in silence as he watched his ticket to freedom evaporate into darkness and disappear with the sound of fading feet. In anger he resolved to stick to his plan and expose Spence, holding him responsible. He’d sent the letter, he’d alerted the barracks. He’d get his reward and he’d find Spence if it was the last thing he did. He turned on his heels, not looking at the bodies in the faint light below him, and splashed through the slush towards the De Lyons’ house.

  Samuel De Lyons watched the mysterious Rougemont brothers from a safe distance as he followed them through the dark streets of East London. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and living a lie for so long had taught him to spot other spies and traitors. It had taken him three years to infiltrate Courtridge’s circle as Samuel De Lyons and to become so close to the man he sought to deceive had proven his talent and expertise as an infiltrator. Yet the Rougemont brothers had managed to get into Courtridge and carry out the plot with him in only a matter of weeks. There was something odd about them, the way they spoke and the way they acted. He’d spotted it from the first day in court, and he had to find out what it was before he left for his own life and returned to his family.

  He followed them in the shadows but was strangely aware of his own. With every turn he felt a presence behind him, yet each time he looked there was nothing but the darkness that swallowed his hand in front of his face. He’d heard a splash and a scurry and had been burning with the instinct of danger, but took a chance and pressed on until the brothers finally stopped at the doorway to an old lodge and stable ahead. He stopped and watched them as they slipped inside and disappeared. He smiled as he spotted a faint torch-light glow emitting from a room above the stables and after a few moments, the sound of voices came to him dimly across the street. ‘The Rougemont hideout,’ he thought with satisfaction, and then he tip-toed across the street to slip silently through their door.

  “Don’t play around, Starkes. I need you here now!” shouted Spence as he tripped and stumbled through the eternal darkness that was Starkes’ cave-like hole. “Starkes!” he screamed impatiently then waited again for another few moments. “Shit,” he said angrily into the silence.

  “Calm down, William,” said the gentle but chilling voice of Starkes, so immediately close in front of him that it caused him to stumble backwards at the pungent scent of the breath.

  “Jesus Christ,” he swore, regaining his balance. “Why the hell do you do that? Why the hell do you even live in this piss-hole?”

  Starkes laughed.

  “Just one of life’s little pleasures,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

  “You know very well what the matter is. Courtridge wants my blood, as does the King. I will be fine, I can disappear after this; but not until I get the Rougemont bastards for twisting my life against me.”

  “And you are sure you didn’t bring this on yourself?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was made with Courtridge on the throne. Now those bastards have set me up and I’ve lost it all. I want their hearts, Starkes. Get me their hearts. But save the bitch, I want her whole.”

  “I’m no beast, William. Whatever business you have with Miss Du Lac will not be facilitated by me. I do have some honour.”

  “Ha! Any man who switches loyalties for gold has no honour.”

  “You think I am loyal to you?”

  “I pay you enough and you do my bidding. Now find me the Rougemonts.”

  “Well maybe you’re not paying me enough then. I obviously exceed your expectations. I have housed the Rougemonts and know exactly where they are. That fool De Lyons led us straight to them.”

  “Why are you watching De Lyons?”

  “Why are you not watching De Lyons, William? He’s an interesting character to say the least. Now, Rougemont…”

  “Yes, Rougemont, what are we waiting for? Take me to him and bring your men. I want their hearts!” Spence roared before lowering his voice. “And I want that bitch, Starkes. Alive and alone, do you understand?”

  De Lyons crept silently up the wooden staircase to the rooms above the stables. Hushed and hurried voices floated down to him with the soft glow of light from the door left ajar at the top of the stairs. Again saying nothing, he gently nudged open the door and stepped inside. He intended to be more robust with the unsuspecting family but the sight that met his eyes stunned him into silence. He looked in wonder as John’s manservant packed strange objects into a bag and Charlotte’s uncle, David he thought, loaded handfuls of wealth and jewels into countless bags before him. Beyond them, Jake stood with his arm around his fiancée as his brother held a brightly coloured moving slate in front of them to watch. He spoke almost without intention as his wonder and confusion finally overcame him.

  “Who are you people?” he asked in a daze, but was shocked from his trance as the family exploded in reaction.

  Their ferocity was instant and terrifying as all five of them spun to see him and scrambled for their weapons with anger and fear across their faces. Both Jake and John who had been wearing swords, now stood with them drawn and held inches from his face, while the servant had shown impressive speed in loading and aiming his bow.

  “Wait, please,” he said in a voice both deeper and gruffer than the tone they were used to from him. “I mean you no harm and I am not here to stir trouble. I just wanted to see for myself.”

  “See what, Samuel?” asked John harshly, showing a De Lyons a far more aggressive side to him
than he had seen before.

  “See what you were, John. You’re different, I know that. My work allows me such insight into things; such, truths. But I couldn’t place what you were. Years of experience and you had me beaten. Now, as I planned to leave and return to my true life, I had to know.”

  “Why are you here, Sam?” Charlotte asked kindly. “Is it Courtridge? Has he sent you?”

  “No, Miss Du Lac, he has not. He does not know I am here and he never will. He doesn’t know much, in all honesty, and I am acting for myself as I have always done.”

  Samuel relaxed as he watched them soften at his words, and though he felt he had their trust, he truly had no idea why.

  “Tell us the truth then, Sam,” John almost whispered at him. “Please, tell us the truth about the diary.”

  De Lyons looked between them one to another and realised that not only were they not what he had expected, they also knew far more than they should. More than they could possibly know, in fact. He hardened his expression in defence as he wrestled with indecision as to whether to trust the family.

  “We leave today, Sam, and we will never return. Ever,” John continued. “Knowing the truth about you will ensure everything we do from here is done right.”

  Samuel weighed them up and, reluctantly, he knew that the only way to find out about them was to come clean himself. Going against every element of his instincts and training, he sighed and began to speak.

  “My name is not Samuel De Lyons,” he said wearily. “I won’t tell you my true name, but rather that it is an identity I will revert to when I leave this city. I am not loyal to Edmund Courtridge. I am working an assignment as ordered by my master, and I have spent three years infiltrating and monitoring Courtridge’s posse.” He paused and waited for a reply but continued with a sigh as they stared back at him silently. “I work for a great man named Henry Tudor. You have heard of him?”

  They each nodded and smiled, confusing him further.