“Why, this is wonderful news,” Alice said. “Don’t you see? The Virgin is giving us our chance. I’ve been praying to her all during the feast. Now she’s seen to this.”
“No, no,” Henri said. “Your plan is madness.”
“We must flee,” Cord said. “The longer we wait the more chance we have of getting caught.”
“We must first free Sir Lamerok of Dun,” Alice said. “Otherwise I am not going. What are your decisions?”
Once more Cord and Henri glanced at each other.
“You could use your sap on her,” Cord suggested.
Alice stepped back, her hand on her dagger hilt.
“No,” Henri said, shaking his handsome head. “If we want her along we must rescue this Scottish knight for her.”
“But that’s impossible,” said Cord.
“Not if the Virgin Mary helps us,” Henri said.
“How would we do it?”
Alice told them. She ended with, “By the time you’re done, I’ll met you outside the castle with Sebald. And I’ll have Reynard’s armor for you, Cord.”
“Richard won’t agree to any of this,” Cord said.
“Oh, but I will,” Richard said.
They turned around in surprise and found Richard by the nearest bedpost, his face puffy and his eyes bloodshot.
“I didn’t yet do homage,” Richard said, “nor did I take an oath of fealty. That was a mistake on Sir Guy’s part.”
“Are you certain of this?” Cord asked.
“Squire Richard Clark pays his debts,” Richard said solemnly.
“Then we must hurry,” Henri said. “Time runs against us.”
“Agreed,” Alice said. “We’ve much to do before the night is out.”
“So then the dog boy whined: ‘You kicked me in the butt.’ I told him that of course I had, for he’d been a lazy lout.” With the punch line given to his joke, Philip slapped the table with his huge hands and roared with drunken laughter.
The rest of the bleary-eyed, shiny-faced throng roared along with him. Even Sir Walter, the bailiff and Hob laughed, all friends of Cord. The night was late and the amount of godale and wine consumed was vast. The inside of the red pavilion was one huge fume of alcohol mixed with roasted meat smells and the spilled, minuscule spatters of starlings, sparrows and jays.
Many of the weaker men were already slumped over, snoring, their faces in gravy-stained bread or their hair doused with beer. Torches burned thickly, adding to the heavy fume. Pale-faced Sir Guy sat at the head of the main table. He laughed in his thin way, although he’d drunk very little. Even so, he was near collapse.
“You should retire, milord,” wrinkled little Aldora whispered. She sat at his elbow, a bit away from the table. Only she among the male throng was sober. Only she retained her wits. Her glances of disgust were well hidden, although she often touched her bone torc and mouthed the names of Taranis, Teutates and Esus.
“No, no,” Guy whispered. “I must mingle with my men, with my knights and retainers.” He lifted his wine goblet to his lips. It trembled ever so slightly. “Oh, Aldora, all that you’ve prophesied has come to pass. You are my blessing. You are the reason for my luck and my life.”
“Your lordship is most kind,” Aldora whispered. “But let us not forget the ones below who have made all this possible.”
The wine goblet clunked onto the table. Guy’s strength had fled him at the mention of
them. They
terrified him.
Aldora smiled secretly as she patted Guy’s horribly thin hand. “Drink up, milord. Feast with your grunting warriors.”
“I should retire,” he told her.
“Whatever your lordship thinks is wisest,” she whispered.
“Milord?” Philip shouted, yet another tankard of godale in his hands. “Why do you make to rise?”
“I grow weary,” said Guy. “I must retire and go to sleep.”
“Nonsense, milord!” shouted Philip. “We must toast you!”
“Aye!” chorused many.
A ghost of a smile flickered across Guy’s pale lips. “Toast me?” he asked.
“You are our baron,” Philip shouted, rising unsteadily to his feet. He lifted his tankard high, sloshing godale over his sleeve. “To our noble baron. May Guy live a long and prosperous life!”
“To Guy!” roared those who were still awake.
Guy turned to Aldora with a smile. He saw her frowning as she touched her bone torc and whispered one of those dreadful names. He shivered with fear.
She looked up, and asked, “How much longer, milord?”
“Soon,” Guy whispered. “We’ll retire soon. Let me finish this last drink.”
“Very well,” Aldora whispered. She’d grown bored with their drunken antics. There was also a premonition, a feeling within her that all wasn’t well. She wanted to speak with Gaston, or even with that braggart Reynard.
“One more drink, milord,” Aldora said, putting a servile tone in her voice. “But then we should retire. For we must make certain that those two dogs you put in the dungeon today die this very night.”
“Yes, yes,” said Guy, who had seen Aldora use her dagger once already on a sacrificial victim. The pagan rite both terrified and pleased him. He both yearned and hesitated to go. First, he must finish his wine. Yes, first he must do that and have more camaraderie with his men. Oh, this was such a grand feeling, to be the one they toasted. He’d never realized how good it felt to be the lord, the one truly in command. It had been so different at Castle Gareth. Here...here they loved him.
“Another toast, milord,” said Philip.
“Yes, another toast,” said Guy.
“But this time you must drink up,” Philip chided.
“I will,” Guy assured him. “I most surely will.”
“Then we must be going,” Aldora whispered at his elbow.
“Surely not until we’ve made our toasts,” said Philip.
A loud chorus of yells backed Philip. While the knights and retainers feared small Aldora, especially after Gwen ab Gruffydd’s words, they also hated the hold she had over Guy.
“Just a few more toasts,” Guy told her.
“But of course, milord,” Aldora said, sensing her mistake. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Philip shot her a triumphant grin. She swore that she wouldn’t forget it.
***
Cord went down the spiral stairs, holding onto Richard’s stretcher. Behind him followed Henri, staggering under their heavy burden.
“Easy,” Richard said from the cot.
“Quit talking,” Henri snarled. “It makes you heavier.”
Cord paused and was almost pushed off balance. “Hold on,” he called.
“What is it?” complained Henri.
“Someone’s coming,” Cord said, seeing candlelight flicker off the walls.
“Whose there?” called a man.
“It’s I, Cord. Who are you?”
“The Chief Falconer.” The wizened old man came into view. He held a candleholder, the yellow flame bright in the darkness. “Lady Eleanor sent me. She wondered what took you two so long.”
Cord snorted, although his belly shriveled up. “You should ask Richard why it took us so long.”
Richard glanced from Henri to Cord to the Chief Falconer. “Well…you see….”
“He wouldn’t wake up,” Henri said.
“That’s it,” Cord said, nodding vigorously. “He was out cold. We had to sprinkle water on his face.”
“And slap him,” Henri said.
“Hard,” added Cord.
“Really hard,” Henri said.
“Yes,” Richard said dryly, “so hard that when I woke up I almost killed the minstrel. He’ll have an ugly bruise in the morning.”
The Chief Falconer grinned.
“Now how about moving along,” Cord said. “I’m getting tired holding up Richard. He’s not light, you know.”
“How fares the Lady Alice?” asked the Chief Falconer, stubbornly keeping his position.
“She’s asleep,” Henri said.
Cord said, “She can’t take many cups of wine before tumbling over.”
The Chief Falconer nodded wisely.
“I told Reynard to watch her,” Richard said. “Sir Guy’s orders must always be obeyed.”
“Lady Eleanor wished to know if he wanted any refreshments?” the Chief Falconer said.
“No!” said Cord.
The Chief Falconer frowned at Cord.
“What he means,” said Henri, “is that Reynard told us he doesn’t want more wine or beer. He’s afraid he’ll fall asleep otherwise.”
“But he hasn’t had any beer or wine all night,” the Chief Falconer said.
There was a short, painful pause. Cord’s mouth hung open. He didn’t know what to say. He wondered if he should let go of the stretcher and try to knock out the wizened old falconer.
“Well,” Richard slowly said, “I suppose what you mean is that he wasn’t
supposed
to have any. Believe me, he’s been drinking plenty.”
“Ah,” the Chief Falconer said.
“But don’t say anything,” Richard said. “I wouldn’t wish any trouble upon him.”
“He might take it ill, too,” said Cord.
The wizened old man nodded in understanding, finally turning around. “I’ll light your way.”
“Thanks,” Cord said. “I’ve almost stumbled already.” He was amazed at how one became almost
used
to lying on the spur-of-the-moment. Maybe they were going to do this after all.
Eleanor greeted them as they entered the Great Hall. Cord noticed the Chief Falconer subtly nod to Martha.
“We’re off to the pavilion,” Henri said.
After they rushed through the Great Hall and descended the tower stairs, Richard said, “You must hurry.”
“We are hurrying,” Henri wheezed.
Cord steered around two drunken men who leaned against one another and stumbled through the yard. They sang a song and wept. Cord passed the main well but didn’t turn toward the gatehouse. Instead, he headed toward the pigsty and the lone shack beyond it. The shack was the hangman’s house, where lived his wife, his old mother-in-law and four dour children. Even tonight, the other castle folk wouldn’t associate with Jack Hangman. In fact, on a night like this they might take out their hatred and dislike of him and beat him up or slice his throat. The three of them had agreed that Jack had probably already barricaded himself in his shack and wouldn’t come out until morning. The trick would be to give him a reason to lift his bar and step outside so they could take his keys.
“I just thought of something,” Cord said, who heard the grunting of pigs.
“Speak up,” Richard said.
“We’ll have to take Jack with us, at least for a ways,” Cord said. “If Henri knocks him on the head and leaves him in his house, Jack’s wife and children will see that we’ve taken the keys. They’re sure to go running to Guy.”
“So when do I hit him?” Henri asked.
“Alice said Guy has given rigid rules concerning Sir Lamerok. The hangman will surely know all those rules.”
“Leave it to me,” Henri said.
Cord set Richard down, knocked on the house’s loose planks and then rotated his shoulders.
“Knock again,” said Henri. “He didn’t hear you.”
Richard said, “That’s not how you summon the hangman. Jack!” Richard bellowed. “Jack Hangman! Come outside!”
Cord heard the bar being lifted. The latch rattled and the door opened. Hunched Jack Hangman, clad in his yellow tunic and holding a lantern, peered at them. His keys dutifully jangled from his big leather belt.
“Squire Richard?” Jack squinted because of his woefully bad eyesight.
“The Baron wants you,” Richard said. “You’re to come with me.”
“What’s wrong, Jack?” a harridan’s voice shouted from within the house.
“It’s the Squire, mother.”
“You must hurry,” Richard said. “There’s no time to waste.”
Jack bobbed his nearly hairless head, stepping outside and shutting the door.
“Cover the lantern,” Richard snapped.
“Milord?” asked Jack.
“Are you daft, hangman?” Richard angrily asked. “I said cover your lantern.”
“But I’ll light your way, milord.”
“Dolt!” Richard thundered. “I don’t want the way lit. This is a secret run. Surely you understand that?”
“Of course, milord. If you’ll tarry a moment….” Jack opened the door to the loud complaints of the harridan and hurried within.
“I hate to be gruff,” Richard said. “But that’s the sort of language he’s used to.”
In moments, the door opened again and out came Jack with the lantern covered by a cloth. As Cord picked up the stretcher, he heard the heavy bar drop back into place. On a night like this, the hangman’s wife wasn’t taking any chances. Cord hurried toward the pigsty, his nose twitching at the stench. Its singular quality seemed to be that no one hung around the sty. Even for drunks it was too smelly.
“A moment,” Henri said. “There’s a pebble in my shoe.”
Cord deposited Richard onto the ground. Then he stepped forward, and in a comradely fashion, he put his arm around Jack’s hunched shoulders.
Jack winced under Cord’s big arm and gave him a startled glance.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Cord said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
“Ask me?” Jack asked in amazement.
Suddenly, Jack Hangman grunted as his head lolled forward. Cord gently laid him on the ground as Henri put away his sap.
“Prop him against the wall,” Henri said.
Cord dragged the hangman beside the wall. On the other side of the wood, he heard pigs grunt in their sleep. He took Jack’s ring of keys and stuffed them in his shirt. It wasn’t long before he held onto the stretcher again and hurried across the yard.
“Now comes the tricky part,” Richard said.
Cord ground to a halt, holding on tightly as Henri still tried to walk forward.
“What’s wrong?” Henri hissed.
“I just thought of something,” Cord said.
“Well stop thinking and start doing,” Henri said.
“No, this could help,” Cord said. “It’ll create confusion.”
“What do you mean?” Richard asked.
Cord quickly told them his idea.
Henri laughed sharply. “It’s a good plan.”
“I know not,” Richard said. “It’s risky.”
“This entire night is one big risk,” Henri pointed out. “I’m for it.”
“Very well,” Richard said. “But hurry.”
Cord ran to the kennel, bolting inside and waking up the huge brutes with a whistle. He briskly walked down the isle, opening gate after gate. The huge, mean hounds stepped out, peering at him in wonder.
“Leave her alone!” Cord told one hound, a big black brute with a spiked collar that sniffed the unconscious Sarah. The hound peered up at Cord.