by Ken Johns
She could not risk turning to look, because her crossbow might make a noise on the underside of the cart, or worse, she might fall. It was already awkward enough. She just had to hope it was dark enough to mask her.
The light under the cart increased. They must be approaching the gate. Mila felt the cart slow to a stop and matched it, ceasing all movement when the cart came to rest. She relaxed, slowly bending her knees to let them rest on the ground.
“What business have you in Sussbury at this hour?” asked the gate guard.
“Firewood,” said the driver, “for the tournament on the morrow.”
More light began to spill in under the cart as the cart behind her approached. It had a torch mounted similarly to the cart she hid under and it felt like a follow spot dialing into her face. Surely the second cart driver must see her. She had to risk a move.
She slowly shuffled farther under the cart. She could only move forward a little before she reached the axle. She relaxed again and lowered her knees to the ground. They never made it. Instead her crossbow strap bit into her ribs and held her up. Shit. The crossbow itself was caught on something attached to the underside of the cart. Of course, that was when the cart started to roll again.
It dragged her forwards, but she was able to get her weight back onto her legs before she lost her balance. She crept forward with the cart. Once they were clear of the gatehouse and moving through the sleeping town, she reached up behind to figure out what she was caught on. Ouch. Something poked her forearm. Mila twisted her neck.
Something bit into her ear and she stifled most of the “Shit!” that erupted from her mouth, but the damage was done.
The cart stopped. Her crossbow came free, and she fell on her knees. She saw the cart driver’s feet hit the ground as he jumped down on the right side. Mila glanced up at the underside of the cart as she crawled out the opposite side. Nails.
She gained her feet and ran into the shadows between the two closest houses. Once in the darkness, she crouched, froze, and cupped her bleeding ear. The driver circled the cart once and looked under it before he climbed back onto his bench and continued along the street.
Mila felt her own blood warming the skin under her ear. She pulled the neckline of her dress up and held it on her ear. It wasn’t the most absorbent cloth, but it helped a bit. Once the pain was under control, she gingerly felt the ear. The cut was on the back and shallow, not through the cartilage. John had once told her that head and facial wounds always looked worse than they were because they bled more. Small comfort, but she decided not to worry. She had to keep moving. Jess needed her.
Mila stepped back into the street. The cart was still visible about a hundred yards ahead. She caught up to it and resumed her place in its shadow. If this load of wood was for the tournament, then it had to be bound for the castle. It had worked once—maybe this was her ticket into the castle too.
The cart rumbled along and took a right turn at an intersection. She was surprised that the houses did not show more light from within. She expected to see candlelight, or firelight, but only occasionally did she see a glow in a window. For the most part the streets were dark except for the light cast by the cart’s torch. The cart took a left turn, and Mila got a sense that the town was laid out on a grid, much like a modern town.
The street they were on opened out onto a large square. The town’s cathedral took up one entire side. The other three sides were bordered by two-story houses that had tables or shelving in front of them: shops closed for the night, most likely.
Mila bumped into the cart. It had stopped while she was looking around the square. The driver jumped down and started walking back toward her. The cathedral was closest, and its front door was open. She ducked and ran, as quietly as she could.
When she reached the entrance, she risked a glance behind her. The driver had no interest in her. He had walked straight past the end of his cart and across the square to one of the shops. He banged on the door. It opened to his knock, and a warm light and the sound of people talking spilled out into the square. The door closed quickly, and Mila was alone.
So much for her ticket into the castle. She crossed to the dais in the middle of the square. A short flight of steps brought her up onto a stone platform with a well in its center. She turned in a slow circle. The castle should have been visible, but she couldn’t see it. She climbed up the side of the well and balanced on the stones. The extra meter of elevation was just enough to reveal a single stone tower.
Mila jumped down carefully. It would be just her luck to fall into the well after having made it this far. She left the square and walked toward the tower she’d glimpsed. The streets were mainly deserted, but she hid in the shadows whenever she heard horses approaching. The ground began to slope up, and she knew she must be going in the right direction. When she’d seen it from the treetop on the first day, the castle had appeared to be on a hill. In addition, all the horse traffic she’d seen so far had been either coming toward her or passing her from behind. Where else would people be coming and going from at this time of night? It had to be the castle, because the cathedral and the town square were behind her.
Mila was avoiding the real problem. Her stealth, luck, and detective work had gotten her to the castle. But even if she could get inside, she still had no idea how to free Jess. Who goes on a rescue mission with no plan? Dammit. She was so out of her league.
The road bent to the left, and there was the castle’s barbican gate. And almost immediately in front of her was a horse-drawn cart at the end of a long line of horse-drawn carts. Mila walked back around the bend into the shadows. She found an intersection and followed the cross street until it was intersected by a street parallel to the one with the line of carts. She followed the parallel street back toward the castle until it ended at the wall. A space between a house and its stable allowed her to work her way through until she could see the line of carts. She stayed in the shadows to watch and listen.
Mila had been standing in the shadows across the road from the barbican gate for far too long. The line of horse-drawn carts stretched along the road as the porter checked his list and admitted them one at a time, but people on horseback continued to bypass the cart line and ride straight up to the gate. These people reminded her of the wealthy couple that had passed her in the forest, with bits of fur and lace peeking out from under their riding cloaks. Each time one of these wealthy couples rode up to the porter, he had to stop what he was doing and see to them, so the carts waited. The privilege of wealth was clearly an age-old concept.
Mila took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. She had to move. Even though she had no plan, she figured if she just found Jess, then Jess could come up with their exit strategy.
She strolled down the line of carts away from the castle. She kept her eyes on the drivers. Near the end of the line, she found one who was snoozing in his seat. She stepped in front of his horse and faced the cart in front of it. It was larger than most and reminded her of a prairie schooner with its four wheels and large canvas cover. A loose flap revealed a space inside the cart. With one final glance to confirm the driver behind her was asleep, she climbed inside and pulled the flap closed.
When her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she could just make out stacked chests on both sides of a tiny aisle. She removed her crossbow and quiver and crawled forward to a spot where the aisle was wide enough for her to lay down. She shut her eyes and listened. She wasn’t really worried about being caught. The porter hadn’t been searching the carts, he’d just been identifying their owners and sending them in.
“Next!”
A man’s voice. Close. Mila’s eyes flew open. How long had she been asleep? Crap. The cart moved forward and stopped.
“This is the property of Sir Raymond,” said a second voice, even closer. It had to have come from the driver of the cart she was riding in.
“So, he is coming.” The first voice laughed at his own joke. “I thought Wessex might ha
ve scared him off.”
“Not bloody likely,” said the driver. “Sir Raymond don’t scare easily.”
“Wessex has never been unhorsed. He is unstoppable.”
“He has never met Sir Raymond, has he?” The driver snickered.
“You are a cocky one.”
“Look, friend. I have been driving all day. Is this leading to a wager?”
“Come see me later.” The first voice paused. “Straight in, turn right. Go all the way to the north wall. Sir Raymond has the spot just to the right of the circular tower. Got it?”
The cart started to roll. It lurched left and rocked right as the wheels climbed off the stone road onto the open field. Mila’s head bounced on the wooden floor, and she stifled a curse.
The torchlight of the outer bailey surrounded the cart and lit the interior, revealing the chests and crates she rode with. A corner of white linen peeked from under one of the lids. The well-oiled hinges opened easily to reveal neatly folded white robes. Mila picked them up. They reminded her of a nun’s habit but beneath them lay folds of blue silk. She set the robes aside and pulled out a magnificent dress trimmed with delicate white fur.
Mila held the dress up to the light. She absolutely had to try it on. She shrugged off her woolen traveling dress and stepped into the folds of silk, delicately pulling them up her legs. This would be perfect for sneaking into the castle. It must be the kind of dress that the wealthy ladies wore under their cloaks. She slid it up around her waist. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled it up over her chest then reached behind her. Crap! The bodice ribbon hung loose at one side. It would have to be laced through both sides and tightened… at the back… by somebody else. So that’s why fancy ladies needed help dressing. She had to see herself in the dress before she took it off. A breast plate with a polished surface hung on a stand in the corner near the front of the cart. She took a step toward it and kicked a sack of loose metal.
“Whoa.” The clatter must have caught the attention of the driver.
Mila lost her balance as the cart braked and toppled forward. She put her hands out to break her fall and landed in a push-up position on the rough wood floor of the cart. “Shit!” She was about to look at her palms to assess the damage when the driver stuck his head in through the front flap.
“Oy! Who are you, then?”
Mila glanced up at the driver. He wasn’t looking at her face. He was staring at her chest. The dress was bunched around her wrists on the floor. The fat little man was ogling her breasts. A creepy smile overtook his face as he began to climb in through the opening.
Her crossbow was well out of reach behind her and unloaded. If any of the chests around her contained weapons, she had no idea. She would have to bullshit her way out of this, but what could she say? Dammit. She just wanted to be clean. Was it too much to ask to put on a nice dress and feel like a princess?
That was it. Royalty.
“Arretez-vous!”
That stopped him cold.
French was the language of the ruling class in England. She was probably the tallest woman he had ever seen. Her acting teacher would have said live the moment. Own it. She drew herself up to her full height, shoulders back, chest out, and chin up. The dress still hung off her wrists and around her waist, and this cretin was getting a front row seat to her naked chest. She fought the urge to cover herself with the dress. Any sign of weakness would spoil the effect. She towered over him and, in her haughtiest French, she shouted, “Have you forgotten your place? Return to your horse at once.” He might not understand French, but he would certainly get the gist of her tone. “Or would you like me to tell the king?”
He seemed to recognize the word for king because he said, “Please forgive me, my lady. I beg you.” He averted his eyes and backed out of the wagon as fast as he could.
The cart started to move. She shuddered as she reached for her JumpGear dress but then she dropped it back to the floor. A quick look in each of the chests revealed one filled with men’s clothes. She found chain mail, leggings and a simple tunic. It all fit rather loosely. She found an ornate sword and its studded belt. That went around her waist, to cinch the chain mail and hold up the leggings as much as anything. She had no idea how to use a sword. A chain mail coif helped to disguise her hair. She lowered it over her head and adjusted the hole to the front. Leather boots finished the look. She made her way to the back of the cart, grabbed her crossbow and quiver and lowered herself out.
She hit the ground walking and headed behind the nearest tent.
Chapter Twenty-Four
April 28, 1341
Reginald sat alone by the fireplace with his wolfhounds at his feet. His tournament guests continued to arrive, but he was content to let them address one another. The great hall was filled with knights and ladies, and their chatter and revelry was broken only by the gasping and clapping that occurred each time the servants paraded a new dish into the room. The din washed over Reginald but did not penetrate his demeanor. He scanned the room for Henri. The man had yet to report.
And then there was Evelyn. She had been away for so long he wondered if he would even recognize her. He still did not know why he had agreed to invite her to the tournament. Well, he could not very well invite her husband without inviting her. He needed Raymond’s reputation to attract the other knights to his tournament. And so he had offered his sister an olive branch. She had of course gracefully accepted the opportunity to return, but he could not help feeling suspicious. She had always made him feel this way and now, even before she arrived, his knotted stomach reminded him of her powers. Damn that woman.
He scanned the room again. She was supposed to have arrived by none, but vespers was almost upon them.
Henri approached the fireplace. The dogs lifted their heads. Henri stopped and bowed. “My lord.”
“What news?”
“One of the heretics is now secure in the dungeon.”
“And the treasure?”
“We did not find it, my lord.”
“Henri! I must have that silver.”
“Yes, my lord. I will send a search party at first light.”
“See to it personally.”
Henri bowed and backed away.
Bishop Edward drew Reginald’s attention as he made his way around the room, chatting with each guest. The man made a show of welcoming and blessing them, but his real interest lay in the gossip they always brought from court. The bishop approached as Henri left the hall. The dogs growled and stood up. They sniffed his robes and poked their snouts into his genitals.
“I wish you would teach these dogs some manners.” He pulled one persistent snout from between his legs.
Reginald smiled. “I’ve always found them to be excellent judges of character. Sit, boys!” The dogs sat but stayed between him and the bishop.
“Did the captain bring good news?”
“The guards have captured a heretic.”
“Only one?” Edward frowned. “When can I schedule the execution?”
“Do you not think it would be wise to talk to her first? See what she has to say? My God, man.” There would be no execution until Reginald had questioned the heretic about the lost treasure chest.
The bishop bowed his head. “Of course, my lord. I only meant I need time to prepare for the execution. The interrogation can proceed whilst we prepare.”
“The execution is a foregone conclusion?”
“A lesson must be taught.” The bishop’s eyes blazed in the firelight. “It is God’s will.”
The bishop was always a little frightening when he said God’s will. Reginald waited to see if he would start ranting on about God’s will, but he seemed to have finished. “The execution will be on Saint Philip and Saint James day. I do not want it interfering with my tournament.”
“Next week, my lord? I am not sure it would be wise to wait that long. The dungeon is a dangerous place. If something were to happen—”
“Let that be the end of i
t.”
“Yes, my lord. Saint Philip and Saint James day, an excellent choice.”
“I am so glad you approve.” Reginald returned to his fire and waited for the bishop to leave.
Bishop Edward stood outside the keep door at the top of the steps while he waited for the forester to climb up to him. One heretic burnt at the stake would be a good start. More would be better. The villagers would gape in awe at the sight of the cleansing flames eating away the evil that had possessed this unfortunate soul. Edward’s cheeks flushed as he imagined the smell of the cooking flesh and crackle of the fat dripping off the body onto the flames beneath it.
The forester arrived at the top of the stairs. “Your Grace. How may I be of service?”
Edward upended his purse and dropped three coins into the forester’s hand. “Prepare a pyre in the square.”
“When would you like it ready, Your Grace?”
Edward closed his eyes. He drew in a long breath, then smiled as he opened his eyes. “Perhaps tonight. One never knows.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The forester bowed and hurried down the steps.
Chapter Twenty-Five
April 28, 1341
Lady Evelyn paused at the entrance to the great hall. She had not set foot in the castle since the day Reginald had come of age. She had been his guardian for five years, but when he’d taken possession of their father’s lands he had banished her. Henri had escorted her to the edge of the barony and deposited her in the Abbey of St. Mary. There she had remained until Sir Raymond crossed her path. Raymond had been good to her, but his lands were small and far away across the channel in Falaise. Today she would begin expanding his holdings.
She straightened her back and lifted her chin as she stepped into the room. Two guards stood just inside the door. She recognized Eric and nodded to him, lowering her eyes. Eric snapped to attention, slamming his armored heel on the flag stones. Perfect. All eyes followed her as she strolled toward Reginald. The din died away as her green silk and ermine-trimmed gown drew stares, but of course that was why she had chosen it. The ladies envied her beauty, and the men lusted after it. She could not have hoped to make a better impression with her entrance.
