by Ken Johns
First things first, then. Mila stepped up to the back of the cage and walked close enough to study the lock. It was a sliding bolt secured with a padlock. Shit. That meant somebody had a key. One of the guards? Maybe, but how likely was it that she could convince Raymond to kill all the guards so she could search them for the key? Not very. And was this horror-hungry mob going to stand by and watch that happen? No. But what else could she do? It was her only move, and it was suicide.
As she was pondering, Mila drifted close enough to the back of the cage to reach out and touch the bars, and nobody said boo. A quick glance at the closest guards told her they hadn’t noticed. Jess hadn’t moved for a few minutes, and Mila had to know if she was still alive. If Jess were already dead… Stop it. She can’t be dead. Mila put her face to the bars and whispered, “Jess?”
Jess didn’t move. Maybe she hadn’t heard.
“Jess.” This time Mila spoke it. Jess just lay there. Mila thought she could detect the slight rise and fall of Jess’s ribs, but she couldn’t be sure with the bouncing cage floor.
“Jess.” This time Mila was certain she’d said it loud enough for Jess to hear.
Jess opened her eyes.
Mila’s throat constricted, and she swallowed hard. She had to keep it light, had to give Jess hope, a reason to hang on. “Suck it up, buttercup.”
Mila hated herself for quoting John. He used to say that to them when they were little and they had fallen down. But she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Jess stirred.
“So you did hear me,” said Mila.
Jess’s eyes finally focused. A smile slipped onto her lips, but it was immediately crushed by a scowl. “Mila!” she whispered. “Get out of here.” Jess tried to drag herself closer to the back of the cage.
“Shut up, bitch.” Mila smiled. “I’m getting you out.”
“Don’t be stupid. Run!”
“Oy! You there.” The nearest guard stepped toward Mila. “Not that close.”
Raymond placed himself between Mila and the guard, bumping him aside.
“Run!” Jess yelled. She grabbed her chest.
Raymond put his arm around Mila’s shoulders.
“You know this guy?” Jess said.
“We must go, Lady Mila.” Raymond began to pull Mila back from the wagon.
Mila locked eyes with Jess. “You hang on,” she ordered, but her voice cracked. “Okay?”
Jess was still staring at Raymond, still more concerned with Mila’s safety than her own. Mila’s face reddened. She wanted to scream and lash out. At anybody, but really at herself. Her sister was about to die and she was powerless to do anything about it. Every move she could think of would also end in her own death. Why was she so frightened? Why couldn’t she just…
The crowd bunched up in front of them as they reached the town square. The guards forced their way through and disappeared with the cage wagon.
Mila spun free of Raymond and glared at him. “Will you fight the guards for me?”
Raymond placed one meaty fist on his chest. “No harm will come to you.”
“What does that even mean?” Mila rolled her eyes and shoved her way through the crowd. Villagers, merchants, off-duty guards—it seemed like everybody had come out to see her sister’s execution. Even the nobles sat on their horses at the edge of the mob. They were all focused on a raised platform in the center. Mila didn’t dare glance toward it. She didn’t know how she would react to seeing Jess tied there. Instead she kept her head down and her anger focused.
She had to find John. He would know what to do, he had to. Even if he couldn’t fight, he would give her a plan. She checked each storefront she came to, then plunged into the next person who stood gawking at Jess. She shouldered as many of the bloodthirsty villagers as she could while she made her way around the outside of the square, searching for the inn with the hanging cock.
She had no idea if she could trust Raymond, but he did seem to be solving disputes behind her. From time to time she heard the villagers she’d bumped begin to shout and then suddenly grow quiet. She never looked back. Whether Raymond was calming them or killing them made no difference to her.
There it was, two doors away, a dead chicken hanging above a door. She put on a burst of speed and shouldered her way between two men. They shouted, but Raymond drew their attention.
As she arrived, John rushed out the door.
Chapter Thirty-Four
April 28, 1341
Sandra had first watch. She sat with her back against the door. Margaret slept stretched out on the floor, and John snored in the bed. She could only hope her babies were okay. Her eyes drifted to the gouges on Margaret’s chest, and she shuddered.
The noise of the crowd woke Sandra. She cursed herself for falling asleep. Why was there a crowd gathered outside the inn? Had the innkeeper turned them in while she slept? She stood and crossed to the window. There she saw a sea of people, but they were not looking up at her window. They faced the center of the square.
A squad of guards formed a perimeter and held the crowd away from a raised platform, where a muscular woman tied to a pole held everyone’s attention. The woman’s head lolled to one side, and her hair hung across her face. Her clothes had been removed and wrapped around her torso to stem the bleeding of a wound. Her hair was caked with blood. A pile of stacked wood surrounded the base of the pole. A guard stood nearby with a torch, watching a man dressed in golden robes. The man in gold held his palms to the crowd, gesturing for silence.
The figure tied to the stake stirred and raised her head.
Jess. The word jammed in her throat.
Jess’s left eye was swollen shut. Blood flowed from under her makeshift bandage. It ran down her thighs and dripped off her feet onto the wood beneath her. She was half-naked. Sandra spun away from the window, trying desperately to shut out the images of torture and rape that flooded her. She needed to think. Act. But she stood there, shaking.
“Juh,” she rasped. She swallowed hard. “Je…” Her throat constricted like a vice. “John!” The scream tore its way out. Sandra fell toward the bed. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him awake.
“What?” He opened his eyes and struggled into a sitting position.
He was in rough shape, but he was the only chance Jess had. Sandra pointed out the window. “Do something! They’re going to…” Her voice strangled to nothing. She sucked in a breath and clutched at her throat. “… burn her!”
John staggered to the window. His back seemed to swell as he took in the view. He straightened and picked up his chain mail. All signs of his dizziness had vanished by the time he’d donned the armor. His eyes focused and his nostrils flared as he grabbed his sword and headed for the door.
Sandra grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Don’t let that son of a bitch hurt my baby.”
John put his hand over Sandra’s. His eyes locked with hers as he pried her fingers loose. “I won’t.” He opened the door and was gone.
Sandra stared at the door. Had she just sentenced him to death? Despite his adrenaline-fueled recovery, he wasn’t ready to fight. He would trade his life for Jess’s in an instant, but knowing that didn’t ease her guilt. If she had to choose between him and Jess, she would choose Jess every time, but not because she loved John any less. He had to know that, didn’t he?
Chapter Thirty-Five
April 28, 1341
“John!” Mila’s smile felt so wrong, but just seeing him on his feet made her giddy. Maybe Jess did have a chance.
“Mila.” He hugged her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She pulled away. “Do you have a plan? What should I do?”
“Go up to our room.” He pointed above his head at an open window overlooking the square. “Shoot anybody who tries to light that fire.”
“What about the don’t kill anybody in the past rule?”
“Fuck it. All bets are off.”
Raymond came up behind Mila. She had to get upstairs, but she could
n’t just leave Raymond with John without some kind of explanation. “John, this is Sir Raymond. His wife helped me escape from the castle and told him he had to protect me. I don’t know whether to trust him or not. Maybe he can help you?”
“I’m going to get my daughter off that platform,” said John. “I’ll kill anybody who gets in my way. Is that what your wife had in mind?”
“I am afraid Lady Mila is mistaken. I have been tasked with keeping her safe. Alas, I cannot accompany you on such a noble emprise.” Raymond bowed his head, looking slightly embarrassed.
“That’s what I figured.” John took his hand back.
The crowd grew quiet.
“If you’re going to keep Mila safe, you need to guard the stairs.” He nodded to the inn. “Once she starts shooting, it won’t take them long to figure out where she is.”
“That, I can do. No one shall pass.” Raymond placed a hand on John’s shoulder and bowed his head. “Bless you, John. Your quest is righteous. Fight gloriously or die in the attempt. May God be with you.”
John nodded and waded into the crowd.
“You should be helping him,” Mila yelled at Raymond as she rushed into the inn.
Mila climbed the stairs, opened the door, and raced to the window where Sandra stood watching. “Hello, Mother.”
“Mila.” Sandra’s double-take morphed into a smile, accentuating the tear streaks on her dusty face, but the greeting was short as Sandra’s attention returned to the view out the window.
Mila pulled the crossbow and quiver off her back. She laid the quiver on the floor, pulled a bolt, and loaded the crossbow. She tried to nudge her mother to the right. “Mom.”
Nothing.
“Mom?”
Nothing.
Mila put a hand on her shoulder and pulled it backwards, forcing her mother to turn and look at her. “I need the window.”
“Of course. Sorry.” Sandra took a breath, swallowed, and nodded. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know.” Mila pointed at the door. Sandra picked up her sword and wandered toward the door. She seemed to be in a daze and probably wouldn’t be able to do much if somebody was determined to get in, but at least she was out of the way. Mila lifted the crossbow to her shoulder and took aim out the window.
The squad of guards that had escorted the wagon now formed a perimeter and held the crowd away from the raised platform, where Jess was tied to a pole. The bishop that Jean-Pierre had told them about stood with his palms to the crowd, gesturing for silence.
Not knowing if Jess was alive or dead, Mila had an overwhelming urge to shoot the bishop as he addressed the crowd. She swung her sights toward him, but somebody in the audience threw a rock toward the stage. It bounced off Jess’s chest, and she stirred. Jess was still alive. Mila’s chest shuddered. She gritted her teeth and sniffed back her tears. Then she puckered her lips and slowly let out her breath, tracing her aim back to the torchbearer’s heart.
Chapter Thirty-Six
April 28, 1341
Bishop Edward held up his hands and waited for the crowded square to quiet. The villagers pressed against the detail of guards surrounding the platform. At the back of the throng, the baron, Wessex, and the other guests sat on their horses watching him. Beyond the crowd, every shop window and doorway was filled with faces. Everyone was here. He could not have prayed for a better turnout. Here at last was his chance to demonstrate God’s will.
Finally, the crowd grew silent. Edward lowered his hands and folded them in front of his robes as humbly as he could. “Welcome. This is a joyous occasion. Tonight, we will together witness the salvation of a lost soul. Over the past season, many of you have spoken with the travelers that visit in the carriage. No doubt, they have shared stories with you about the way things are in their land. And quite naturally, you have wondered why things cannot be like that here.”
The crowd murmured as they stared at the witch.
“My children, I am here to tell you that you have been deceived. There is no such place.” Edward paused and pointed at the pathetic, bleeding woman. “These people are no different than you or I. They have been led astray, and now they lead you astray with that same evil.”
He paused to let them hang on the very word. Evil. Let them feel its danger. Someone coughed in the back, and a few people cleared their throats. That was enough of a pause.
“But no more! Tonight, we will rejoice while the purifying flames cleanse this girl and return her to the path of righteousness from which she has surely strayed.”
Somebody threw a stone. It bounced off the witch’s chest. Edward smiled inwardly as the witch winced from the impact. It seemed she could still feel some pain.
“Let us pray.” He raised his hands palms down toward the masses. “Each of you must reflect upon what is happening to this heretic. Here, you must see the work of our lord Jesus Christ.” He gestured to the witch with one hand as ominously as he could. “If you fail to learn from her suffering, then you too will be doomed to endure the same lesson.” The crowd gasped. Good, let them worry.
Edward knelt and assumed the silent prayer position with his eyes closed and his head down. He listened carefully to the crowd and prayed. Lord, help me choose the perfect moment to open my eyes and complete your service. As usual, he felt nothing, but when he opened his eyes, every face was fixed on the witch. Thank you, Lord. This was the moment. This would bring them back to him. It had to. He stood and nodded to the torchbearer.
John reached the front of the crowd as the torchbearer stepped toward the edge of the woodpile. A crossbow bolt ripped into the man’s arm, pinning it to his ribcage. He cried out, dropping the torch and staggering off the platform onto the dirt behind the perimeter guards. The closest guard glanced behind him to see who had screamed. John stepped around him. When the man returned his attention to the crowd, John took his head. The crowd gasped and backed away. The next guard along the perimeter drew his sword and came at John. He took his arm. The man fell to his knees, clutching the gushing stump. The element of surprise was spent. All he had left were his reach and his rage. John ran for the stairs.
The remaining guards abandoned the perimeter and converged on John. The man unfortunate enough to be closest swung his sword. John blocked the attack and stabbed the man in the face. A scream erupted behind him. John swung around in time to see a guard let go of his sword to clutch at a bolt in his neck. The blade glanced harmlessly off John’s shoulder as it clattered to the ground. John pushed the dying man aside as another soldier rushed to engage him.
After Mila shot the torchbearer, she watched John decapitate the nearest guard. But there was no sign of Raymond. He had ignored her and must be cowering in the inn below her. Mila reloaded. She had to help John.
Mila couldn’t possibly miss. She just had to make sure she missed John. She aimed at the guards closing in behind him and released her bolt. It hit a guard clean in the neck as he swung at John.
Mila reloaded as fast as she could.
She watched John work his way toward the stairs, taking out each guard he encountered. She shot as often and as safely as she could. He was like a machine—Jess’s own personal angel of death. It wouldn’t be long now.
Movement on the platform. The bishop inched toward the fallen torch.
“Dad!” It was Jess. She collapsed after the costly scream. The bishop reached for the torch.
Mila loaded her last bolt.
The bishop picked up the torch and walked toward Jess.
Mila fired over John’s head and her bolt disappeared low into the bishop’s flowing robes. The bishop spun around and glanced toward her window. Mila waited for him to topple over, but he did not. He threw the torch into the wood under Jess. Dammit. She’d missed.
The torch landed near the bottom of the pile and the flames appeared instantly, eating their way up the dry pyre. The bishop retreated to safety behind Jess’s pole.
“Dad,” pleaded Jess.
“I’m coming!” John ru
shed the stairs.
Five guards stood between him and Jess. If he didn’t get through them quickly, he would be too late. The man at the bottom of the stairs sliced down at him. He deflected the blow to the side and skewered him. The rest of the guards had taken up defensive positions on the stairs. John shook his head and glanced toward Mila.
She was out. How could she tell him? She held the quiver upside down.
Jess let out a shriek as the flames licked up against her feet. She writhed against her bindings, trying desperately to pull her feet up the pole.
“Hang on!” John picked up a second sword from the nearest corpse and ran toward the stairs.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
April 28, 1341
Reginald wished he were a fighting man. Father would have spurred his horse and driven through the crowd toward the fight. All Reginald could do was watch helplessly as the heretic with the sword cut down his men. Wessex stared at him.
“Shall we ride to their aid?” Wessex drew his sword. He obviously assumed Reginald would rush into battle at his side.
Reginald glanced behind them. Evelyn sat there watching him. She had always believed him a coward.
The crossbowman’s window was just across the square. That had to be where the rest of the heretics were hiding. Perhaps he could reverse this disaster.
“No, Wessex. I need this man captured. We cannot fight him directly without risk of killing him. But perhaps there is a way he would give up willingly.” Reginald gestured to his guards. “Get inside that inn. Bring me whoever is shooting out of that window. Now go!” Reginald smiled as his guards pushed through the crowd. “Put away your sword, Wessex. We will have him shortly.”
Mila gaped helplessly as the flames licked at Jess’s feet. She’d missed the bishop. The only shot she’d missed was the only one that mattered. Why was it taking John so long to get up the stairs?
The crowd parted below her as four guards made their way toward the inn. She tore herself away from the window.
“Mom, they’re coming for us. We need to get out. Now.” She ran toward the door. Margaret took Sandra by the hand and followed. Mila rushed down the inner stairs and almost collided with Sir Raymond.
