“Too many men stand between us and the main gatehouse. We’ll never get out that way,” Cador said.
“It’s the curtain wall for us. Once over it, we can make our way down Beeston’s backside,” Mathew said, “steep as it may be.”
Venny nodded. “Most of the buildings are on fire. Nobody is going to be minding us.”
Hugh sneered, though for once not at Venny. “Some may be escaping with us.”
“I have something that should help.” Cador went back to the trunk and came up with two tunics with the FitzWalter crest. He gave one to Rhys and put the second one on himself, since they were too small for Mathew and too big for Venny, but just having two among them dressed appropriately might be sufficient to deflect anyone’s interest.
“To the wall-walk, then.” Venny moved to the door, and the others followed, to find the outer ward was in chaos. Perhaps when the barrage had first started, there had been some order to the men. But now, while many fought the fires with buckets of water, others appeared to be fleeing over the walls as Venny’s father had predicted, even as their commanders shouted at them not to leave. Dozens more were continuing the defense, having lined the wall-walk around the main gatehouse. They had to keep their heads down to avoid the arrows, and while Venny saw crossbows in several hands, they didn’t have anywhere close to enough of them.
Venny’s father came abreast. “I can’t drop myself off a curtain wall.” He stated this as a certainty, without complaint.
Venny didn’t think it was the time for talking, but the noise around them was so great, he didn’t have to worry about being overheard. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Perhaps I should stay behind. I can cover your retreat. After all, I’m only going to my death.”
Venny glanced at his father. “What? Why would this be your death?”
“I doubt King David, if this really is he, is going to be forgiving of a man who conspired against him.”
By now they were within twenty feet of the stairs that would take them up to the western curtain wall-walk, halfway between the main gate and the inner ward. They’d been heading this way because of the lack of activity in the area, since most of Mortimer’s force was centered near the main gate over a hundred yards away. The wooden roofs on both gatehouse towers were on fire, as was the healer’s hut, which they’d visited two weeks and a lifetime ago.
“Do you want the king to forgive you?” And when his father had no quick answer, Venny added, “Perhaps between now and when you meet the king, you can decide how you want your life to go. FitzWalter and Mortimer haven’t surrendered because of their pride. Is that your sin as well?”
Venny had never spoken so forthrightly to his father, but instead of fear, he felt a bit of pride himself at no longer hiding his thoughts.
“They’re over there!” A woman’s voice called from farther up the ward. “Cador!”
Cador turned at his name, and a moment later Constance appeared out of the darkness. He had time to spread his arms wide before she barreled into him. He caught her, and their arms wrapped tightly around each other.
“I was so scared for you,” she said.
His face was in her hair. “I know. I didn’t know what had happened to you either.”
Constance took a breath and pulled back. “Humphrey de Bohun got me out with his men.”
Cador’s eyes widened. “He didn’t betray the king?”
Ieuan came up behind Constance. “You are behind the times, my friend.” But even as he spoke, his eyes strayed towards the nearest building, which was on fire. “Come. Questions and answers are for after we escape.”
But Venny couldn’t swallow down the only question he had. It had been banging around in his brain for the entirety of their fortnight of captivity. “Is King David—”
A woman Venny didn’t recognize, who was dressed all in black like the others, tugged on his arm to get him moving and said in a strange accent, “Don’t worry. He’s the one who sent us.”
She had a wool hat pulled down low over her ears, but her heart-shaped face and wisps of blonde hair were visible beneath it—providing a stark contrast to her black male clothing and armor.
He was about to reply when an ear-shattering sound came from behind them, so loud Venny felt the earth shake from it. As one, they spun towards the gatehouse, which was downhill from their position. Or rather, it had been.
It was gone, and both towers that had supported it were completely destroyed, replaced by rubble and flames. Not only had the gate been blown apart, but all the men on it too. They lay on the ground, moaning and dying, some with arms or legs missing.
No weapon that Venny knew of could cause that kind of damage, with the possible exception of black powder. But when he’d glanced at the wall-walk earlier, before they’d started running, the men at the top had given no indication that David had sent a siege engine to the gate. The threat had been arrows only.
“That’s our distraction.” The woman pulled on Venny’s arm again. “Come on. We’re getting out this way.”
“What do you mean we’re getting out this way?” Again, it was Venny’s father who chose to argue, though Venny noted that he kept pace anyway, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the awful destruction they’d just witnessed.
Ieuan took in his appearance with a sweeping glance. “If you’d rather stick with the main gate, be my guest. Hopefully what we have in mind won’t be too bad, even for you.”
Side-by-side with the woman, Venny ran up the slope towards the ditch that protected the inner ward, and then they skidded to a halt on the edge. “Who are you?”
“I’m Sophie, and you’re Venny. I recognized you through my scope.” Venny didn’t know what a scope was, and his confusion must have showed on his face, because she added, “It’s like binoculars.”
He nodded but was still puzzled. “We have never met. How could you recognize me?”
Sophie gestured to Rhys, who pulled up too, breathing hard. “I had a look at your sketchbook. You’re incredibly good.”
Rhys smiled at the compliment. How could he not, even in the middle of a burning castle? Venny had just met the woman, but jealousy curled in his belly.
“So the king really is alive?” Hugh asked, and for once Venny was grateful to his father for talking, since it covered Venny’s own uncertainty.
“Yes.” Ieuan was all confidence. “King David didn’t want to leave you in the hands of Roger Mortimer any longer than he had to, and he was sorry to leave you this long.”
It wasn’t as if Venny hadn’t believed the girl, but he’d needed to hear it again. The news had him feeling somewhat light-headed, while at the same time it was as if he was able to breathe for the first time since he’d sworn his allegiance to Roger Mortimer in Beeston’s chapel. The king was alive, and what’s more, had sent men to rescue them. They hadn’t been forgotten. He glanced at his father, who was chewing on his lower lip, surveying the ditch, and Venny decided not to interrupt his thoughts with gloating.
“So now what are we doing?” Hugh said. “I see no way out.”
“Don’t worry,” Sophie said. “We have that covered.”
Venny didn’t see how either. The bridge across the ditch extended towards the inner gatehouse but didn’t connect to it because the drawbridge was up. There was no escape that way unless Ieuan had somebody inside prepared to lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis.
Ieuan led them onto the bridge anyway, and then a light flashed in the ditch below them. Henry Percy’s white face looked up from the bottom of a rope ladder. Standing beside him was a dark-skinned man Venny could barely make out but for the whites of his eyes and teeth.
“We’re going down?” Venny looked at Sophie.
“Better than the keep,” she said.
“Is it?”
She tsked. “The keep isn’t going to do us any good. We’d still have an army between us and our men. If we were going to stay, we should have waited un
til our men defeated the garrison and gone out the main gate.”
“We didn’t want to risk losing any of you, however. Lord Callum gave us the job of getting you out of Beeston, and we’re doing it.” This came from another man Venny didn’t recognize, one Sophie had referred to as George.
Venny peered into the darkness below them, fearful his skepticism was showing and glad that it was dark.
Sophie probably sensed it anyway, and she nudged his elbow with hers to get his attention. “Don’t worry. We know what we’re doing.” She indicated that he needed to climb down the ladder. George had already gone down it, and having edged Henry Percy out of the way, was holding the bottom of the ladder with the black man.
“Down. Now.” Ieuan waved a hand. “Before anyone sees us, though I suspect nobody has eyes for anything but the gate.”
Venny shook his head, even as he obeyed, throwing caution to the winds along with his dismay, though it had been his idea to leave via the curtain wall. He turned around so he could descend the ladder, but was forced to sprawl ignominiously on his stomach on the bridge before he could get his feet on the rungs. Nobody laughed, and Ieuan even crouched to grasp his arm until he could get himself set. Venny supposed there were worse things than looking like a fool in front of a pretty girl, especially for a man who’d spent two weeks as a captive. But after two weeks of inactivity, he was weaker than he’d hoped to be.
He worked his way down the ladder until he was standing in the ditch. Henry Percy was there to greet him, looking much the worse for wear. He had been taken from them early on and appeared not to have been as well fed. Then the rest of their companions descended, Mathew coming at the last. Venny reached up to steady him when one of his feet slipped off a rung.
As Mathew dropped to the ground, Cador asked, “Why is nobody in the keep shooting at us?” He’d been standing side-by-side with his wife, both with bows in hand and trained upwards. Truthfully, it was a little late for that question, seeing as how they’d spent the last quarter of an hour descending into the ditch right in front of the towers.
“They’re all dead,” Ieuan said matter-of-factly. “We took care of them first. That’s where we found Henry.”
That was a daunting answer, but not an unwelcome one, so Venny tried another question. “What kind of weapon could take down the gate with one blow?”
“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” Sophie said.
“Please try.”
George shrugged. “We call it the Goose. It came from Avalon with us.”
Chapter Twenty-two
2 April 1294
Sophie
Without needing to discuss the decision, the former captives brought their platters of food into the makeshift infirmary and pulled up stools to sit around the beds belonging to Hugh Venables and Henry Percy. Once they’d navigated the mountain, the captives had been given the once-over by both Aaron, Samuel’s father and Dr. Abraham. Henry Percy and Hugh Venables were the only ones who hadn’t been released. Henry was malnourished and weak, but Hugh had been complaining of pain in his side.
As promised, once the fighting in the bailey was over, Samuel had lowered the drawbridge, allowing proper access into the keep, which included extensive food storage areas. Mortimer had been well-prepared for his war, and there was plenty to feed the men, even after a two-week siege. Meanwhile, the doctors in attendance had chosen the large hall in the outer ward as the most comfortable and convenient place for the wounded and injured to rest, and they were moving among them solicitously.
Venny took a goblet from the table where they’d laid the provisions and poured Sophie a cup of wine while she loaded a trencher with meat, potatoes, and onions. He’d stuck close to her from the moment they’d landed in the ditch, only leaving her side to see to his father. Venny had been solicitous of him too, though his eyes had maintained a wary look that was matched only by the one in Hugh’s own.
“Thank you,” he said as he sat beside her.
Sophie looked over at him. “What for?”
Venny gestured generally to their companions, who included Cador, Rhys, Mathew, and Constance. Andre and George planned to join them shortly, but they were putting away the climbing gear. “Without you, we might have perished in the bailey.”
“You were getting yourselves out just fine without us,” Sophie said.
“Just say you’re welcome, my dear,” Hugh Venables said. “Allow us to be grateful.”
Sophie blushed. She’d always had a hard time accepting compliments. “King David wanted to give you every chance to survive, and I was the one who gave you the best chance of that.” She swallowed. “But you’re welcome. Truly.”
“Few women—” Venny paused, “—few people would be so capable.”
He wasn’t letting it go, and Sophie genuinely didn’t know how to respond, so she opted to divert him. “I’ve been climbing since I was a little girl. My father taught me.”
Venny’s eyes narrowed for a moment as he glanced at her. “Is your father here? Tell me you didn’t come from Avalon alone.”
Sophie opened her mouth to speak, her first thought to say of course she had and why did it matter anyway? But then she stopped herself. Venny’s concerned expression told her that he wasn’t questioning her ability to manage her own life. He was concerned about her well-being. She was a single woman in a place where such a thing barely existed. Every woman had a father, husband, son, or barring that, a guardian, in whose charge she ostensibly remained from birth to death.
“I am a ward of the king,” she said, finally settling on something she thought they both could appreciate and accept.
Venny’s expression cleared. “I am relieved to hear it.”
Hugh, who’d been listening throughout, canted his head. “In a way, we all are.”
Sophie took a tentative sip of wine, her eyes flicking from father to son. Something was going on between them that she knew wasn’t quite right, but couldn’t pinpoint. “I miss my father very much. You two are lucky to have each other.”
Beside her, Venny went very still, wary again, as he’d been off and on since she’d met him.
Hugh, however, popped a piece of potato into his mouth. “Fathers aren’t always good at telling their children how they feel about them.” He continued to chew with equanimity, though his eyes were on his food instead of his son.
Venny appeared to swallow down a laugh. “You have always been very good at it.”
Sophie froze, realizing her mistake. The tension in the air was so thick she could have cut it with a knife. Mathew made to rise, but Cador put out hand to him and shook his head.
“Clearly, I have not, and I apologize for that.” Hugh’s eyes came up. “It was you who held everyone together during a very difficult two weeks. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Venny’s jaw actually dropped. Sophie had never seen a person really do that before.
Hugh continued: “I’ll have you know that I said as much to Lord Ieuan. The word is that he is considering you for the position of captain of the king’s guard.”
“Is he?” Mathew grinned and lifted his cup in a toast to Venny.
But Venny’s eyes remained on his father’s face. Then he gave him a slight nod. “Thank you.”
As Aaron bustled over again to check on his patients, distracting Hugh, Sophie smiled and said gently, in a whisper for Venny’s ears alone, “Maybe Beeston’s walls aren’t the only ones to come down today.”
Then they heard a commotion at the entrance to the hall. Several guardsmen entered, carrying a man on a board between them. They placed him on a pallet close to the fire, only a few paces away from where Sophie sat.
At the sight of his bruised and battered face, filthy clothes, and stringy hair, she rose to her feet. “What happened to him?”
“We found him in the dungeon.” Callum strode across the hall. “So far he hasn’t had the wherewithal to speak.”
Venny, who’d fetched up beside her, gave a grunt o
f surprise.
Callum looked over at him. “You know who this is?”
“Of course, though he’s looking much the worse for wear. It’s Robert FitzWalter.”
“I didn’t recognize him.” Callum guffawed. “And here I was starting to feel sorry for him.” Still, he allowed one of the physicians to give FitzWalter sips of wine from a cup. He managed to swallow, and she heard him take an audible trembling breath.
Venny was much less forgiving. “Your men turned on you, did they?”
The wine in the flask had warmed FitzWalter’s complexion enough to speak. “It was Mortimer.” Sophie had the sense that he would have preferred to spit on the ground rather than say the name.
Callum grunted. “You two had a falling out, did you?”
“I argued that our only logical choice was to surrender, and he didn’t take kindly to the notion.” FitzWalter was coming more to himself.
“We noticed that too.” Callum stood with one arm across his chest and a finger to his lips, studying the treasonous baron. “I don’t suppose you know where he’s gone?”
FitzWalter managed a wry look. “Where do you think?”
Hugh spoke from behind them. “Balliol.”
FitzWalter shrugged. “Where else?”
“How did he get past your men?” Venny was skeptical.
“I know nothing about anything. The day after Bohun left, a pigeon flew in from Ireland, telling us that the revolt there had failed and that David lived. I told Mortimer we needed to rethink our strategy, and the next thing I knew, I was imprisoned.”
Sophie knew that FitzWalter was partly to blame for the war, but even so, she was horrified by his appearance. He’d been brutally beaten and starved. “You’ve been in that hole for two weeks? What happened to your men?”
FitzWalter gave a helpless shake of his head. “I don’t know. Mortimer’s men are loyal to him, and he swore he would return in force. Perhaps he told them I tried to betray him.” He managed to raise one shoulder. “I suppose, from his perspective, I did.”
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