by Park, Elsie
“You’re like a crossbow, you know,” Roland said, glancing at her.
Audri smirked. “You mean I’m strung tight, ready to kill anyone who crosses me?”
Roland laughed. “I so enjoy your wit, but no, that’s not what I mean. As we’ve discussed before, when knights say they hate the crossbow, it’s not because they consider it a dysfunctional weapon. In truth, they fear it because of the fatal damage it can cause, especially because it can pierce their tough armor. But instead of respecting it, they revile it. You’re like the crossbow; Festus hates you because he fears the damage you can inflict on him if he gets within your range. You’re strong in spirit, and he knows that. He ridicules you because he’s trying to break you down so he can make you into a pawn in his inhuman game.”
Audri snorted. “Festus fearing me is absurd. He’s a brute of the utmost capacity, answerable to no one . . . And I’m already a pawn. He knows I’ll never stray far from my mother. If it weren’t for her being here, I’d have run away years ago and never looked back.”
Roland set the crossbow on the table and observed her. “I’ve seen his fear, Audri. I’ve seen it in his eyes when you’re near. He’s afraid of your strength and tries to temper it by leveling you mentally and physically.”
Audri stared at him.
“He does the same to your mother. She has strength in her, but he’s cut her down for so long that she’s lost sight of it. Don’t ever let that happen to you.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, her chin trembled, and her lips parted.
Roland reached over and clasped her hands in his. He gave them a reassuring squeeze, knowing she was nervous about what lay ahead of them tonight.
He leaned toward her, and she met his lips halfway. The kiss was pleasant, sweet—intoxicating.
Sir Doyle left Guildon to meet the king near Stirling to discuss Guildon’s place in the battle and whether they’d be called to join the ranks. Everyone was on edge. Doyle’s absence, however, offered a good opportunity to carry out their plan for infiltrating the dungeon.
They decided the lengthiest meal, cena, would be the best time to sneak into the dungeon without encountering someone who would alert Festus. They ate hastily in the great hall and then left separately so they weren’t seen leaving together. After Audri had seen Roland make his excuses to Heath and exit, she stuffed two pieces of bread into the pouch at her waist and rose from the squire’s table. Gail stood up beside her, and they too left the great hall.
The trio met up outside Audri’s chamber before moving to the wide, spiraled stairwell that lead down to the dungeon. Audri had wanted to wear chainmail in case things went awry, but Roland thought it might raise suspicion. So they remained in tunics and chausses. Their only weapon was the sword Roland wore at his waist. They descended halfway until they heard the faint chatter of voices from guards posted at the dungeon door.
Roland turned to Audri. She was sure her face displayed the anxiety she felt coursing through her body, but she gathered courage and nodded that she was ready.
Roland firmly grabbed her upper arm and towed her down the stairs. She struggled against his pull. Gail followed several feet behind, wringing her hands and appearing worried.
“You mule-headed brat,” Roland yelled in an angry tone, his voice echoing off the stone walls and reaching the bottom of the stairs.
“Let me go, you brute!” Audri shouted back.
Rounding the last bit of stairs, they came into full view of the two guards. Having already heard the commotion, they’d dropped their meal onto the table by the door and stood fast, their hands ready at their sword hilts.
“I believe a night in the dungeon will sufficiently cool your hot head,” Roland said, still dragging Audri behind him.
“You’re mad!” Gail shrieked.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Audri yelled, pulling her arm to free it from Roland’s steel grasp, but he held firm. She’d probably have a bruise there in the morning, but they needed to make it look real. They stopped before the stunned guards, and Audri glared at Roland. “I am the ward of Lord Craven! Your ill treatment of me will surely bring his fierce wrath upon you!”
Roland let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Who do you think gave me permission to treat you thus if need be?”
“What?” Audri and Gail yelled together.
“That’s right, Festus himself bequeathed the permission to do whatever I deemed necessary to teach you obedience, and that’s just what I’m doing—starting with a night in the dungeon.”
The guards, who had dropped their hands at their sides, watched the spectacle with curious amusement.
Roland turned to them, smiling with wicked pleasure. “Open up, guardsmen. I have a beast for your zoo.”
“You’re the beast!” Audri screeched. She pulled back again, struggling against him. She wondered if the act would be enough to convince the guards that Sir Roland had every right to enter the dungeon.
One of the guards smirked and retrieved a set of keys off a hook by the door. He placed a large key inside the padlock and turned it with a click. “It’s about time someone tossed that shrew in here,” the sentry mumbled as the door opened, creaking loudly on the great metal hinges. The helmed man motioned for them to proceed, and Roland pulled her into the spacious cavern. The guard grabbed a cold torch and lit it on the one burning in a holder near him on the wall. He handed the keys to his comrade staying behind before following the trio into the dungeon, the deadly crypt which locals and servants referred to as “The Oubliette.” The door was slammed behind them and locked, sending shivers through Audri’s body.
Audri had stopped struggling and stared at the scene before her. It was as if nothing had changed from all those years ago. They stood at the entrance of the main cavern, where a few torches burned, illuminating the many torture and interrogation devices lodged there. Smaller caverns could be seen around it with thick bars or wooden walls making them into cells. Most of them housed prisoners of varying health and grievances. Chains were bolted into every available wall space with several individuals attached to the ends of them. Moans of pain and sorrow, rattling chains, and words spoken in aggrieved mumbles filled the void. The air carried with it the stench of burned skin, rotting flesh, and human waste. Rodents scurried about, nibbling on corpses. Maggots congregated in the festering wounds of the injured. Flies were everywhere.
Audri wanted to vomit but forced her mind to the weightier matter, not allowing her revulsion to take over. She vowed not only to save her friends but to somehow help every soul imprisoned in this hole from Hell. No one deserved this fate, not even those guilty of a crime.
Then she felt it, so slight at first, and then strong enough to move the loose strands of hair by her face—a breeze. It wasn’t the dungeon stench it carried with it but the light scent of forest pine mixed into it that gave her an odd sense of encouragement.
“Which one of these charming cells should we put her in?” Roland spoke, his eyes searching the area. “Ah, that one over there is perfect. Fit for a fiend.”
The guard chuckled. “Very good, sir.”
Audri began resisting his pull again. She glanced at the prisoners as they passed by their cells. Some didn’t look up from their depraved state. Others eyed her with forlorn expressions. Isn’t that the old bookkeeper? She barely recognized the poor old man as he sat hunched in a putrid cell. She ached to give each prisoner a sign of hope, but she didn’t know what to convey—nor did she dare try for fear of her ulterior motive being discovered.
It wasn’t until they were at her soon-to-be cell that Audri realized why Roland had picked it. It was the cell encasing Autumn. What a good eye he has, to see her from back there! Autumn watched the procession, but was keen enough not to call out or suggest she knew them. But where was Andrew? Audri scanned the cavern. Has he already been put to death? Is he in a cell farther down? Is he dying of merciless wounds inflict
ed upon him?
“Get back, girl!” the guard ordered. Autumn moved back to the far corner.
“Get in there, wench,” Roland ordered Audri, letting go of her arm.
Continuing with the charade, Audri turned and delivered a hard slap to Roland’s face. “Pig!”
He grabbed her upper arms and brought her up against his body, their faces inches apart. “That, my dear, just earned you a day in the stocks.”
She spat in his face.
“And that just added some time on the rack,” he sneered, wiping the spittle off his cheek with one hand.
She glared at Roland, and he glared back, but underneath the outward gaze, his eyes reflected her own apology for the brutish conduct.
Roland turned her around and shoved her in the back, forcing her into the cell.
“I insist on staying with her,” Gail demanded as the guard was shutting the door. The man paused and regarded Roland.
Roland shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Let her stew alone and friendless in her arrogance.”
The guard shut the door and locked it.
“But—” Gail started.
“As I am temporarily without a squire . . . you, maid, will take her place in serving me until I see fit to release her.”
“I certainly will not!” Gail hissed.
“Oh really?” Roland shot back, lifting his brows. “Guardsman,” he addressed the sentry beside him, “prepare the thumb screw.”
“No!” Gail yelled, her eyes wide and fearful. “I . . . I will do as you bid, sir.” Her bottom lip trembled as she bowed her head in submission.
“Good.” He turned to the guard. “I am utterly fascinated by such devices that bring about compliance with a mere mention of them. I can see why Sir Doyle treasures them. If I need to utilize them on this hellcat,” he indicated Audri with a flick of his head, “I must see what’s at my disposal. Would you take me on a circuit of this insightful place?”
The guard’s eyes shifted uncertainly. Audri feared he’d say no, but then he nodded. “Yes, sir.” The sentry’s disturbing smile showed he would take great pleasure in it.
The three walked away, Gail giving Audri a furtive glance before continuing farther into the cavern. The retreating torch left her cell in semi-darkness, the only other light coming from another torch on the wall across from them. When they were out of earshot, Audri turned to Autumn and took her up in a tight hug.
Ignoring Gail, who shuffled with her head down several paces behind, the guard had Roland walk a step ahead of him, perhaps still leery of Roland’s proposed reason for being there. Roland needed to step up his act to convince the man he was a fellow dealer in cruelty. Only then might he show Roland the more intricate parts of the dungeon.
They had already passed through the main section where most of the prisoners were kept in cells, the area where they’d left Audri. They proceeded into the darker caverns that branched off in different directions, some to small areas used for storage and others to more spacious holes housing more mechanisms of torment. These caves were saved, it appeared, for the more sinister acts of cruelty. As they passed by a particular chamber, the guard’s torchlight illuminated the form of a limp body suspended off the ground several inches by a chain around its wrists. The chain was bolted into the ceiling. The body was bruised and bloodied, carrying the marks of a whip, sharp blade, and hot irons.
“What was his crime?” Roland asked as they stopped to look in.
The guard squinted into the chamber. “Oh, that one attacked Sir Doyle with a pitchfork.”
“Really! And what drove him to make such a foolish choice?” Roland asked with genuine curiosity. There had to be a good reason a poor villager would attack an armed knight, especially the feared Sir Doyle.
The guard smiled. “Doyle received word that this man and his wife were keeping Lord Craven’s share of their produce for themselves. So Doyle personally oversaw the tearing up of their garden. When the wife ran out and yelled at Doyle, he backhanded her ugly face, sending her to the ground.” The sentry snorted a laugh. “That’s when her husband tried to impale Sir Doyle with his pitchfork. Doyle dodged and drew his sword. He stabbed the peasant in the leg so he couldn’t walk then had him dragged to the dungeon and hung here to suffer for his crime.”
“Sounds like a suitable punishment for the idiot,” Roland lied with a sneer.
“I fully agree,” the guard nodded.
“And what of the wife?”
“She was allowed to remain in the village. Doyle told her he’d free her husband after she sent Lord Craven’s share to the castle. Of course, that won’t be possible until next year’s harvest. This man will be dead by then, but his wife will do as she’s told as long as she believes he’s alive.”
Roland numbly moved his head up and down.
“Tell you what,” the guard said, looking back at Gail and then to Roland again, “I’ll let you take a stab at him.” He waggled his eyebrows and smiled.
“What? Really?” Roland sounded excited but inwardly cringed at the man’s sadistic hunger. He had no desire to cause more pain to this poor soul who had already suffered so much. But he also knew this was a test. The guard wanted to see if Roland’s passion for torture was legitimate. He watched Roland with steady eyes. “Sure, why not?” he said to the sentry, after which Roland drew his sword.
Roland didn’t know if the peasant was alive or dead, for he wasn’t moving and didn’t seem to be breathing, but it was hard to tell anything in the semi-darkness. Where could he stab him that would do the least amount of damage in case he still lived? Probably an appendage like the leg, but would the guard read through that weak choice to the truth? As he approached the hanging figure, he saw more clearly the telltale discoloration of the hands and feet that only occurred after death. Roland closed his eyes in relief at this sign.
With pounding heart and a dry mouth, Roland stepped within two feet of the body, the putrid stench of blood and filth overpowering his senses. If he hesitated too long, the guard would know he wasn’t up to the task, so without further delay, Roland brought his sword back and then thrust it into the man’s side, quickly pulling it out again.
No sound emanated from the prisoner’s lips, nor did any blood secrete from the wound as the body swung back and forth on its iron pendulum. The lack of blood served to confirm his prior observation that the man had died over a day ago. Still, he prayed God would forgive him for desecrating the corpse.
“Oh, too bad,” the guard said with disappointment. “I was hoping to hear him scream.”
Bile rose in Roland’s throat, but he swallowed it down. He wondered how Gail was handling this brutality. He risked a glance at her and perceived tears staining her downturned face. He turned back to the body, hoping this demonstration was enough to gain the guard’s confidence. He didn’t think he could go through it again, especially with someone he knew to be alive.
The display with the hanging cadaver worked, loosening the guard’s tongue, which brought about many tidbits of Doyle’s contrivances and habits. He gave them a more detailed tour of the remaining caverns, taking them around every bend and into every corner of the place. One dark area, however, the guard passed by quickly without so much as looking into it. It was a dark tunnel barred with an iron gate. The padlock hung open, but the rancid smell coming from the tunnel beyond squelched any desire to enter and explore it. The stench was the worst they’d experienced by far, and Roland was curious as to why the guard’s mouth, which had been yattering non-stop, was suddenly shut tight.
“What’s in there?” Roland asked the man. The guard didn’t stop to look back at it but mumbled something about a “corpse dump . . . haunted . . . off limits.” It was clear they’d not get a tour of that part of the facilities. Smelling the acrid odor again, Roland admitted his relief, thinking a dumping ground for the bodies wasn’t something he need
ed to know more about. A strong breeze from somewhere lifted his hair away from his face, triggering the fleeting thought that it was possibly a spirit of the dead passing by, cursed to remain trapped in this cavernous prison forever. Though he didn’t usually entertain the notion of trapped spirits, Roland shivered, moving away from the tunnel entrance.
The last room they came to sat behind a thick wall with a heavy, locked portal. The guard reached up and grabbed a key from a discreet hole carved into the stone wall at the right of the door. He unlocked it and pushed inward. It swung open to reveal a small cavern lined from floor to low-ceiling with wooden shelves containing scrolls, ledgers, and parchments. A medium-sized table supporting a scroll, ledger, quill, and a healthy supply of ink pots and blank parchment sat against the wall just inside the entrance.
Roland’s heart began pumping hard again as he scanned the space. This was it—Sir Doyle’s archives. It had to be. This was where Roland hoped to find the recorded truth of his parents’ deaths. But he couldn’t appear too eager to enter, or the guard would surely suspect something.
“This room seems a bit out of place in this dungeon of torture,” Roland commented with a casualness that defied his rapt attention.
The guard shook his head. “On the contrary, it’s not out of place at all. It’s where Sir Doyle records and keeps all his masterful dealings with the prisoners. He’s quite structured and precise about it, the recordings being listed according to date. In fact,” the guard glanced behind them as if making sure the three of them were alone, “I’m only showing it to you because I know you’ll appreciate it. It’s actually forbidden to all except Doyle and his most trusted men.” The man produced a grin, the expression stating his pride in being counted among them. Hmm, trusted but not above showing the prohibited room to impress a knight, Roland thought, tongue in cheek.
“Fascinating,” Roland said with a forced smile, his heart pounding in his ears. He turned back to view the room. How convenient that Doyle is so organized. That was probably Doyle’s only positive trait, and it would unknowingly aid Roland in taking him down.