“Richard?” Lady Eleanor asked.
“Yes, milady,” Henri said.
“How could Richard have asked you that?” Eleanor asked. “He’s upstairs and you’re down here.”
Cord stared at Henri in fear and amazement. Their own words had tripped them up.
Henri chuckled. “Milady, what I meant to say was that your noble son has requested Richard’s presence in the red tent.”
“Ah,” said Eleanor, seeming to lose interest.
Cord saw the Chief Falconer frown and whisper to Martha. Martha laughed, but the wizened old man persisted.
At last, Martha shouted, “What do you hold in the sack, dog boy?”
Cord opened his mouth to speak.
“We have material for a stretcher,” Henri said, clapping Cord on the shoulder and twirling his finger around his head. Several of the ladies laughed.
“Go on, go on,” Eleanor said. “We can’t keep my son waiting. He’s the baron now, you know?”
“Yes, milady,” said Henri. “He’s the Baron of Pellinore Fief!”
Cord lurched forward as Henri dragged him. Sticky fear-sweat trickled down his back. His legs felt leaden. “The Chief Falconer knows!” he hissed to Henri.
“Come along now,” Henri said, tugging Cord harder.
Ladies laughed once more.
Cord blinked sweat out of his eyes as he followed the small minstrel. He couldn’t understand Henri’s unconcern. He himself was ready to roar out in panic and drag out his knife to slay any who came too close. How did the minstrel do it?
To Cord the rest of the walk across the Great Hall seemed never ending. At last, they reached the stairs and began to climb, soon walking up out of sight of the ladies.
Henri immediately sagged against stone, peering at Cord in the semi-darkness.
“What’s wrong?” whispered Cord.
“I have to catch my breath,” Henri whispered. He took off his jester cap. Tonight, he didn’t have any small bells on the ends. Using it, he wiped sweat off his forehead.
“Don’t tell me that you were nervous,” Cord said.
Henri opened his mouth in a silent laugh. “Nervous! I could hardly move.”
“That can’t be true,” Cord whispered in bewilderment. “Back there you seemed unconcerned.”
“Only because I can act, my friend.”
Cord considered that. It calmed him to know that Henri was scared too. In fact, it bolstered his courage. “Let’s go,” he whispered.
Henri gave him a slight nod and straightened, taking the sack from Cord. “You go first. Remember, Reynard is waiting.” All nervousness seemed to have fled him, if he’d really been nervous at all.
Recalling the punch that Reynard had given him and the way the sergeant had manhandled Alice, Cord drew his dagger. The Toledo steel weapon was more like an ancient
gladius
than a dagger. The gladius had been the fighting sword of the long-dead Roman Legionnaires. Interestingly enough, the Romans had copied the gladius from the ancient Iberians of Spain. That was interesting because Toledo was a city in Spain, famed for the quality of its steel weapons. The Toledo steel blade was razor-sharp, and the bone handle perfectly fit Cord big fingers and wide palm.
He paused as he switched hands, wiping his sweaty right palm on his breeches. Soon he gripped his weapon again with his sword hand. He tried to envision his method of attack, knowing that the last time he’d seen Reynard the sergeant had been wearing chainmail. Could he thrust his dagger through the mail armor? Maybe. With the armor, Reynard had a terrible advantage. If the sergeant also wielded a sword….
“Give me the sack,” Cord whispered.
“Let me carry it, my friend. You need to worry about Reynard.”
“Yes, I know. Now give me the sack.”
Henri shrugged, handing it up.
The spiral stone stairs curved ever higher as they groped in the dark. Soon they saw the flickering shadows from the living quarter’s hall above. Richard’s snores were audible.
“Step no closer,” came Alice’s warning voice.
Reynard’s chuckle followed.
Cord paused for a half-second. Then rage rippled through him. The rage inflamed him with heat and drove away his fears. He barely controlled the battle cry that almost tore out of his throat as he charged up the stairs. He burst into the living quarters and took in the scene at a glance. Richard was sprawled on the big baronial bed, drunkenly unconscious. Alice was backed against the unlit fireplace. Reynard, his sword and scabbard in his left hand, stood two steps from her.
“Fiend!” hissed Cord.
Reynard turned, his eyes widening with surprise and then understanding.
Henri quietly closed the living quarter’s big oaken doors, dropping the bar into place.
With a
shing
of steel Reynard drew his sword, dropping the scabbard to the floor. “This is sweet, very sweet. I’m about to become the hero.”
Torchlight flickered off Reynard’s polished sword. He advanced with his body held sideways, his big sword held in the en guard position. The confidence shining off his face said it all.
A moment of fear and doubt entered Cord. Sergeant Reynard was a veteran of a hundred fights. He wore mail and had battle-hardened muscles. Worse, he was a master of the blade. Rage, however, coursed through Cord. If not for him Alice would have been raped this very night, maybe even killed afterwards to cover up the crime.
Alice slid behind Reynard, with a dagger above her head. Her face screwed up with rage as she drove the dagger at Reynard’s exposed neck. Something must have alerted the mercenary. At the last moment, he shifted his stance. Alice’s dagger sliced the side of his neck, but it wasn’t a killing blow. He cursed and slammed his elbow into Alice. She grunted and fell backward, the dagger clattering onto the stone floor and out of her reach.
Cord charged. Reynard, with bright red blood flowing down his neck, leaped to the attack.
Cord hurled the heavy sack. Reynard deflected it with his sword. Then he sneered at Cord. Cord crouched in the manner Hob had taught him. Reynard stamped his foot as he charged and rained in several swinging slashes. To the surprise of everyone within the hall, Cord met each ringing blow with the Toledo steel blade. Sparks flew. Steel rang. The shock of each blow coursed up Cord’s arm. He slowly gave ground. Reynard’s arrogance melted away. The blood also continued to drip from his neck and onto his polished armor. He finally growled in rage. Despite the strength of this arm, the speed of his assault and the greater length of his weapon, he couldn’t slip his sharp blade past Cord’s dagger and cut the swift dog boy in front of him.
Reynard took three steps back and half-turned. Alice had crept up behind him again. She hurried behind Cord.
Reynard breathed hard. “Who taught you how to fight?” he asked in wonderment.
“Hob did.”
Reynard wiped his mouth. “You’re good.”
“As are you,” said Cord.
“No,” Reynard said. “I’m better.”
Henri snapped his arm forward. The big sergeant barely dodged the spinning blade.
“Treachery,” said Reynard.
Cord barked laughter and slid forward. His beautiful blade had been notched like a saw, but the Toledo steel had proven its worth. It hadn’t shattered in his hands, even when battered by a heavy battle-blade.
“You’re losing blood,” Cord pointed out.
“I’m going to kill all three of you,” Reynard said. “But you first, dog boy.” He attacked with the point instead of the edge.
Henri’s second dagger spun out of the gloom and clipped Reynard on the forehead, although hilt-first rather than with the sharp point. Reynard blinked. With a ring of steel Cord parried the sword point out of his way. He then slid forward and stabbed low and brutally hard. His blade punched through chainmail and slid up to the hilt into Reynard’s belly. Reynard coughed sharply into Cord’s face, staring at him in shock. Then Reynard’s sword rang against the cobblestones. His knees buckled, but with both his hands, he hung onto Cord.
“You’re a bastard,” Reynard hissed.
Cord stared into the dying man’s eyes.
Reynard grinned, his teeth bloodstained. “But by damn you can fight.” Then his head slumped forward. His grip weakened and he slid down beside his sword.
Cord staggered back, shocked, numbed and dazed. Before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees, spewing his guts.
“Well done,” Alice said.
Cord lifted his eyes upon her. She gave him a wolfish smile, obviously pleased.
“You’re a warrior, a fighter,” she said.
“I’m a knight,” he whispered.
“At least you will be a knight once you’re dubbed,” Henri said, helping Cord to his feet.
“We’ve plenty of work to do,” Alice said briskly. She stood near her bed, taking off her dress. At Cord’s wide-eyed stare, she said, “I couldn’t change in front of Reynard. Now turn around you two, and gather your weapons.”
Cord turned, embarrassed, and stared at Reynard’s corpse. He had no interest in drawing his dagger from the dead sergeant’s belly.
“Take his sword,” Henri whispered, picking up and tucking his throwing knives back in his belt.
Cord took Reynard’s sword and scabbard, belting it on. He’d earned this. Only then, did he reach down and remove his dagger, quickly cleaning and sheathing it.
“Take the armor, too,” Henri urged.
“We don’t have time,” Cord said. “We have to hurry and flee.”
“We have time,” Alice said, striding into their midst. She wore her hawking outfit, boots, leather breeches and jacket. “We can’t leave Pellinore Castle yet.”
“What do you mean?” Cord asked in amazement.
“First we’re going to free Sir Lamerok.”
“You’ve gone mad,” Cord told her.
Alice laughed grimly. “Aye, I’m mad. I’m madder than a hornet and angrier than a she-bear whose cubs have been killed.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Henri asked.
“Haven’t you discovered the meaning?” Alice asked the small minstrel. “Don’t you understand what Sir Lamerok is? Can’t you see that I
must
free the noble knight from the dungeon?”
“
You
free the knight?” Cord asked in bewilderment. “How can
you
possibly free anyone? If you show yourself someone will ask where Reynard is and come up here to find out.”
“I won’t turn the dungeon key,” Alice said. “But it’s my will that Sir Lamerok is freed.”
“What’s she talking about?” Cord asked Henri.
Henri didn’t say anything. He was too busy studying Alice.
“Sir Lamerok is Guy’s special prize,” Alice said. “That’s why I’ll free him.”
“Preposterous!” Henri said. “For any of a hundred different reasons someone will soon come up here.”
“So quit arguing,” Alice said, “for my mind’s made up.”
“No,” Cord said.
“Impossible,” Henri added.
Alice folded her arms and stared at them.
“She isn’t serious,” Cord said, turning to Henri. “It’s impossible to free the knight.”
“I know.” Henri moved to the stained glass window. “Darken the torches, Cord.”
Cord plucked the two torches from their holders and gutted them in the unlit fireplace. Now, only a candle provided illumination. Henri picked up a hammer and tapped the glass along the edges.
“Break it in one blow,” said Cord.
Henri didn’t, but punched out glass along the sides as sweat oozed from his brow. Soon he settled the plate glass window into the room.
“It would be a crime to shatter it,” he told Cord.
Cord used a heavy leather cloth to break glass shards from the window frame. Then he tied his long rope to a stout wooden pole and set the pole against both sides of the open window. He glanced at Henri. Henri looked back at Alice. Soon so did Cord.
Alice stood with her arms crossed as she watched them.
“Are you coming?” Henri asked.
She said nothing.
“This is silly,” Cord said, rushing toward her. “We must flee.”
“We must take Sir Lamerok of Dun with us,” Alice said.
“Do you wish us dead?” asked Cord.
A moment of indecision swept across Alice’s face. “Either we will do this my way,” she said a moment later, “or I’m not coming.”
Cord threw up his hands. He asked Henri, “What should we do?”
“To try to free Sir Lamerok will mean our death,” Henri said.
“Yes. For how can we possibly take the dungeon keys from the Gascon mercenary?”
“I have a plan for that,” Alice said.
Henri snorted.
“Richard and I devised the plan,” Alice said, her face animated. “It’s sure to work.”
“You dream impossibilities,” Henri said with a sharp gesture. “The Gascon is not to be trifled with.”
“Wait a moment,” Cord said. “The Gascon doesn’t have the keys.”
“Of course he does,” Henri said.
“No, I saw Sir Philip and the hangman talking,” Cord said. He explained what he’d seen during the feast.