“Then let us get mounted, Charlie Watts! We have ten miles to travel at speed.” She ran over to their horse, which was still tied to the tree, and hauled herself onto its back. Charlie cracked a broad smile and ran over to her; he leapt onto an upended log and then onto the horse’s back, wrapping his arms around Gwendolyn’s waist.
Suddenly Gramps burst into the clearing on the back of Searcher and trotted over to them. “Both ready?” he asked.
“We are,” they replied in unison.
“Then keep close behind me, we will.. “ Gramps instruction was cut short by a shout from the trussed up solider that had now fully regained his senses and was struggling against his bonds.
“By my oath you will hang for this, all of you! I am for Sir Robert and he is your Lord, you cannot defy him. Release me now and it may go easier on you.”
Gramps was taken by surprise, as if he had forgotten the man completely. He whirled around in the saddle of his horse drawing the short bladed knife as he did so. He urged Searcher over to the man and stopped the horse, a few feet away. For an awful second Charlie feared that Gramps was going to kill the man. Instead, Gramps flipped the knife over in his hand so that he was holding the blade, and then he expertly threw it so that it stuck into the trunk of a small tree, next to the man’s face. It buried itself deeply into the bark and quivered for a few seconds. The man glanced at it and then back at Gramps.
“If you are thinking that I was aiming for you and missed, you are mistaken,” said Gramps, looking unsympathetically at the man. “You can release yourself when we have gone. Do not cross my path again and do not seek to follow us or I will make sure that your days reach an end far sooner than they should.”
With that he drove Searcher out of the clearing and Gwendolyn followed closely behind with Charlie holding on to her tightly. As soon as they emerged from the glade, on to the road, they turned for Sherebrook and urged their horses into a gallop.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Longhaired Nick loped along the damp tunnel that ran under the bailey village and terminated in a small room that was directly under one of the western towers of Sherebrook Castle. From the room was a flight of six steps that led up to a small thick oak door that was about a metre high. The door opened directly into a small copse at the base of the tower. The door was hidden from view by trees and, on the outward side, had a thick iron gate closed over it. The door could only be opened from the inside
-it opened into the room, and then the iron gate could in turn be opened. There was no danger of the gate being opened from the other side because the stone jamb of the doorway was built smaller than the gate to prevent access. The tunnel was meant as a means of exit only. Except, of course, on this occasion, when Longhaired Nick was opening the door to permit the entry of Sir Robert of Gloucester and his men.
“The Lady Matilda has already gone with the king to his audience chamber,” said Nick breathlessly and excitedly.
The endgame was in progress and the vile creature saw himself reaping the rewards of his treachery very soon.
“Then lead the way, spy. Quickly.” Sir Robert’s mood was agitated and aggressive, he had the adrenalin of battle running through his veins and he too saw his future in the balance. Success would mean being one step forward to taking the throne. Failure could well mean the gallows
-then his rotting corpse providing crow food and swaying in the wind for weeks.
Nick turned on his heels and began tracking back along the dark tunnel; the only light was a flaming torch in a metal wall bracket at the other end which he had lit it when he came down the spiral stone step. Sir Robert followed closely with a dour look set hard on his harsh face. After
them came three knights who were careful not to let their swords crash against the wall. A fourth knight stayed and guarded the tunnel entrance. The abductors reached the end of the tunnel and silently climbed the circular stone staircase that led into the inner courtyard of the castle. Nick lifted the flagstone carefully so that he could just peer out at ground level and he saw that the courtyard was completely clear, as Sir Richard Baldock had instructed.
Nick lifted the flagstone completely and leapt out with the speed and agility of a funnel web spider leaping on its prey. He was followed by Sir Robert and the knights. They all followed Nick as he silently led them across the small courtyard and into the side entrance of the main tower keep. Nick led them along the same passage down which he had chased Charlie weeks ago. Then they slipped behind the heavy tapestry that hid the door to the secret stairway. They climbed the steps and soon were right outside the door to the king’s audience chamber. Sir Robert steeled himself and silently drew his sword from its scabbard. The other knights did the same. Longhaired Nick stepped to one side in the narrow passage and Sir Robert took a firm grip of the door handle. Then, after a few seconds of gently testing the handle’s responsiveness, he heard the signal he was waiting for and threw the door open, bursting into the hall closely followed by his knights.
THIRTY-EIGHT
King Stephen and Matilda, the Lady of the English People, stood and faced each other in the main hall of Sherebrook castle. They were quite alone because, as agreed, the guards had stayed in the antechamber of the hall. The main doors were closed and locked.
“Where do we begin?” said Matilda firmly and without a trace of respect in her voice.
She found herself barely able to contain her hatred of Stephen who she saw as having stolen her throne. She believed the crown to be her birthright, as the daughter of the old King Henry, and that Stephen had just had the good fortune to be in the right place at the right time and to also have been male, of course. She gave no thought to who was better suited to be monarch of England. Stephen had proved to be a good king, compassionate and humane, with a firm understanding of what it took to organise a kingdom that would prosper and be respected throughout Europe. His only mistake was in giving a few barons more largesse than he should.
This meant nothing to Matilda, she wanted the throne and the only clear way she could see how to get it was by removing Stephen by more subtle means than by simply waging war on his forces. War had created a stalemate, with neither side really gaining the upper hand; it was time for decisive action. For Stephen that meant negotiation and compromise, and, for Matilda, that meant the trifling matters of kidnap, imprisonment and the eventual murder of a king. Although she had never told anyone of her ultimate aim, she intended to keep Stephen as a prisoner and then, when the time was right, to have him assassinated.
“I suggest, my Lady, that we begin with what it is that you want in order to end hostilities. The strife between us is destroying England. I
want to know what you want to be given to encourage you to desist with your claim to the crown. I will not give up this throne willingly and we will, therefore, be destined to fight each other to a standstill.”
“I may overcome your forces, Stephen.”
“You may, that is true, but I think you will not. I will not leave England to the robbers that you call allies. The most corrupt and devious barons in the country are in your camp.” Stephen had unusual steel and strength of purpose in his voice.
It was generally accepted that the barons who supported Matilda were less trustworthy. Those of a more honest breed supported Stephen. It was not quite as black and white as that, and a few barons changed sides now and then, depending on who had the upper hand at the time, but in general they divided themselves into two clear camps supporting the leader who most appealed to their own personality.
“I would like a drink,” said Matilda. “It has been a dusty journey.”
“Of course,” said Stephen.
He walked to the table in the middle of the hall. Upon it lay two jugs of wine and two goblets. Stephen filled both vessels with a ruby red wine and picked them both up, handing one to Matilda as he did so. She took it without thanki
ng him and then took a few sips. She turned and walked towards the window at the end of the hall, keeping her back to Stephen. As she did so she secretly emptied the contents of a small silver box into her drink. It was a grey coloured powder, which fizzed on the surface of the wine for a few seconds and then disappeared, leaving no trace. She reached the window and drank in the sunlight that poured in through the opening. It felt good on her boil afflicted face. She secreted the small silver box back into a pocket in her robes.
Matilda turned around and looked at Stephen, she heaved a sigh.
“I too am tired of the fighting and would be prepared to compromise with you. You will not cede the throne to me, even though it is my birthright, and I have been unable to take it from you, therefore, I see no other course of action but to sue for peace.”
As she spoke she had turned and walked towards the king. Stephen had taken a few sips of his wine and placed his cup down on the table and Matilda saw her chance, the goblets were identical so she placed hers down next to Stephen’s. After a few moments she picked up the King’s
instead and continued to sip from it. She gave the appearance of being deep in thought.
“I think we should agree that we will find a way to bury our differences, agree to compromise, and seek ways that I and my supporters can contribute to the welfare of England and its people.”
“That is certainly conciliatory, and a plan that I can support Matilda. I have to say that I am surprised that you have revised your approach so drastically. The business of continual war is so wearisome and you and I have it within our power to bring the discord to an end.”
The king was genuinely delighted with the approach that Matilda was taking and he could see an end to the civil war that had bedevilled his reign. Finally, there was to be peace and an opportunity to work at building England into the country he wanted it to be: a fair, strong and a just place to live.
“I agree,” said Matilda. “Now let us drink to our new understanding.” She picked up the wine with the drug in it and handed it to Stephen.
He took it and said, “To our new understanding then.”
They raised their goblets and both drank deeply. Almost immediately Stephen felt strange, the wine caused a slight burning sensation in his throat and stomach, his vision began to blur, and then his legs weakened so that he felt unsteady and unsure.
He started to speak, “My Lady, I…” But then his words dried up and he sank to his knees, the goblet dropped from his grasp and the contents spilled out over the stone floor.
He looked up at Matilda who, rather than showing any form of concern, was staring blankly at him with a fixed, intense stare of grim fascination. The burning in his throat grew and he clutched wildly at his neck, trying to massage the pain away, with no success. His eyes were asking her what was happening to him but she walked past him to the tapestry that concealed the secret door. She reached behind it and gave the door a hard thump with her closed fist. Sir Robert of Gloucester burst in with his troops in tow.
They ran immediately to the stricken king, whose vision was now completely fragmented, he could see nothing but a swirling miasma of bright shapes moving around him. He was on all fours and was confused and disoriented. Sir Robert indicated to the knights that they should pick
the king up and support him by his arms, then take him back through the secret door, and down the flight of steps.
“The effects of the preparation will not last long,” hissed Matilda. “Move quickly!”
The two knights supporting the king half walked and half dragged him into the stairwell and then started manhandling him down the stairs. He was trying to resist but his limbs were powerless, he could not even feel them; it was as if they had been severed completely from his body.
Sir Robert and Lady Matilda followed close behind and the insect like form of Longhaired Nick brought up the rear. Nick’s heart was beating furiously, both with the enormity of the situation in which he found himself and with the nearness of his dreams of power, riches and position. These were to be his reward for his part in this day’s events.
Finally, the group was at the entrance to the secret passage and Stephen was forced down into the hole under the flagstone. He fell through and was powerless to stop the knights dragging him down the slippery circular stone steps. Matilda and Sir Robert followed next, treading gingerly to avoid slipping and crashing into the knights, last came Longhaired Nick who had carefully slid the flagstone back into place. Nick had to be there to close and lock the entrance to the passage once they had made their escape.
The plan was that there would be two more knights waiting for them to exit the passage. These two would have horses ready on which Matilda and Sir Robert would make their escape, accompanied by the band of knights who would have Stephen tied over the back of a spare horse. A cell had been prepared at the tower of London for Stephen and he would be taken there directly and incarcerated at Matilda’s pleasure. The rest of Matilda’s entourage would have already decamped and left Sherebrook and would be making their way back to London. As soon as the abduction was discovered, a force of knights and men at arms would give chase to the entourage. Stephen and his abductors, however, would have taken another route to London and would get clean away. That was the plan. And, so far, it had worked perfectly. They were all lost in their thoughts: Nick with his dreams of newly acquired position and grandeur, Matilda with the throne within her grasp, Sir Robert with his designs on the monarchy and the knights dragging Stephen with the gold and land they had been promised.
They reached the end of the passage and Sir Robert saw that the knight they had left to guard the entrance was not to be seen at his post. Damn the man, he thought, and made a mental note to have him flogged, at the very least, hanged, if he could get away with it. He checked himself; he had just kidnapped a king, he could do anything!
The group of abductors burst out into the sunlight, blinking to adjust their eyes to the sudden explosion of light that temporarily blinded them after the darkness of the subterranean passage. First came the knights with Stephen, then Matilda and Sir Robert and finally Nick.
As they blinked away their blindness they became aware of their surroundings and stared aghast at what they saw.
Gramps stood legs slightly apart and planted firmly on a small rise, ready for conflict, his sword drawn in one hand and a short fighting knife in the other. Sir Geoffrey de Lancie of Bagshotte was standing beside Gramps with a sword drawn in his right hand and a spiked metal mace in his left. They stood as firm as oak, with their forbidding stares fixed firmly on the motley group who had come to a sudden halt in their tracks.
THIRTY-NINE
The knights supporting Stephen immediately let go of him and drew their swords, all in one continuous movement. Stephen slumped to the floor in an ungainly feeble heap. Sir Robert whirled around in a panic, trying to assess the situation but saw immediately that they would have to fight their way out. He saw the body of the knight who had been left to guard the entrance to the tunnel. He could not tell if the man was dead or if he had simply been knocked senseless. Now Sir Robert too drew his sword; Matilda simply stared ahead at the figures of Sir Geoffrey and Gramps. The stand off was complete.
“Yield now and surrender the king to us, we need not have a bloody fight, it will be easier on you,” said Sir Geoffrey in a quiet voice but no one there doubted, for a second, that he was ready to wield his sword in an instant.
“I think you are over estimating your prowess, Sir Knight,” replied Sir Robert in a condescending voice. “I have three of my men here and myself. The odds are set against you. I suggest that it is you who should immediately yield lest we cut you down where you stand. Let us pass and you live to fight another day.”
A sudden movement momentarily distracted Sir Geoffrey and he glanced towards the entrance of the tunnel just in time to see the slithering black figure of
Longhaired Nick disappearing back down the passage. He made a mental note of the despicable creature’s participation in these events and made up his mind to deal with him once and for all, later.
“Let us pass now!” spat Matilda, through clenched teeth, her face slowly turning purple with rage and frustration, her boils dangerously
close to spontaneous explosion. They had come this far and now these two decrepit old fools were all that stood between her and her birthright.
Sir Robert’s knights started to shift uneasily, growing impatient. They realised that all the while they were in this stand off their chances of being caught were steadily growing. As if to confirm the fact Stephen let out a groan and seemed to be regaining some of his lost strength.
Then it all happened in an instant. Gramps rushed at Sir Robert’s knights wielding his sword in the one hand and brandishing the short dagger in the other. He hurtled right into the group knocking one to the ground with the weight of his body and catching another full in the face with his elbow. He smashed his sword down onto the helmeted head of the third and he let his momentum carry him right through the shocked knights. He shuddered to a halt and immediately whirled around into a low crouch, poised to spring again.
Taking his cue from Gramps, Sir Geoffrey also made his move. He charged Sir Robert, the two of them coming together with a clash of swords that rang like a bell sending its chime swirling and reverberating amongst the trees. Sir Robert was a strong and agile man whereas age had slowed Sir Geoffrey a little. Despite his great strength it was Sir Robert that got in the first blow. He parried a thrust from Sir Geoffrey and struck out at the old knight’s belly. The sword slashed right through his leather tunic but struck chain mail, which turned the weapon away from the flesh. They fought fiercely, Sir Robert having to avoid the sword and the flailing spiked mace.
Charlie Watts and the Rip in Time Page 22
