by Speer, Flora
“When something tugged on my line after an hour or so, I thought I had caught a fish,” Gilbert continued his story. “I was so hungry that I was prepared to eat it raw, but when I pulled the line up, I found a little cloth sack tied to the end of it, and a note tucked inside.”
“Someone sent you a message?” Magnus prompted when Gilbert paused.
“Written on a folded-up piece of cloth,” Gilbert said. “I think the prisoner tore off pieces of his shirt and used them in place of parchment. And I think the message was written in blood.”
“What did it say?” Lilianne asked.
“'Prisoner. Dungeon. Help,'“ Gilbert recited. “I can't tell you how excited I was to make contact with another person, though I was sorry it was another prisoner and not someone who could help me escape. Anyway, I had a few scraps of parchment that Uncle Erland had left behind, and a quill and half a bottle of dried-up ink without a bottle stopper. I spit into the ink bottle and when the ink was wet enough, I sent a message back, saying that I was a prisoner, too, and I was starving.”
“So, the other prisoner shared his food with you,” Lilianne finished the story.
“Yes. He didn't have ink, and I couldn't think of a way to send my bottle down to him without spilling all of my ink, so we couldn't say much to each other, though I did share my bits of parchment with him. I think he wrote with a straw or a sliver of wood,” Gilbert said. “The few messages I received from him didn't look as if they were written with a quill.”
“Merciful heaven,” Lilianne murmured in astonishment at Gilbert's tale.
“I don't know why he was cast into the dungeon,” Gilbert went on, “though it was almost certainly done on Uncle Erland’s command. I don't even know my benefactor's name. But if there's a chance we can release him, I think we ought to try.”
“Yes,” Lilianne said without any hesitation. “We will free him and take him away with us. Magnus, I see you are about to object. I don't care if this prisoner is a murderer, or a lunatic, or even a heretic. He saved Gilbert's life when our uncle would have let my brother die. We must help him!”
“Have you forgotten that Norbard is searching for us?” William asked. “If he mounts a full search of the manor, the search will include the dungeon. We can be sure the men-at-arms know where the dungeon is, because according to Gilbert's account the prisoner is being fed, even during Erland's absence. If we try to release him, we may all end our lives in the dungeon!”
“What if Erland has cast some innocent soul into confinement?” Magnus asked. “It's what he did to his own nephew, so why not to some other blameless person? The prisoner could even be another child. As eager as I am to depart from this cursed place, I refuse to desert someone who has helped a boy in trouble.
“Gilbert, show us the stairs to the dungeon,” Magnus ordered. “Braedon and I will see about rescuing the prisoner. William, you will escort Lilianne and Gilbert away from the manor and try to meet Captain Piers, as we originally intended. We will catch up with you later.”
“No!” Gilbert cried. “I am the one the prisoner helped. I must be the person to set him free. As lord of Sainte Inge, it is my right – and my duty.”
Magnus regarded him in silence for a moment, his shadowed eyes searching Gilbert's thin, upturned face.
“If all of King Louis's nobles were as honest and loyal as you,” Magnus said, “you could force your king to cease his intrigues and there would be no need for spies on either side of the Narrow Sea.”
“All of King Henry's nobles would have to become equally honest and loyal,” Gilbert responded.
“True.” Magnus uttered a low laugh, just before another spasm shook his large frame. He drew a long breath before speaking again. “We know the prisoner is in a cell located directly below the tower, with a window slit that opens on the same side of the tower as Gilbert’s window. There can’t be too many cells fitting that description.”
“There are only four cells in the entire dungeon,” Gilbert said. “There's a small anteroom at the top of the stairs. On the next level down is a large room with a firepit, a big metal table, and some nasty-looking instruments. I don't like that room.”
“Where are the cells in relation to the large room?” Magnus asked.
“Below it,” Gilbert said. “All of them open directly off the staircase. There’s a landing in front of each door.”
“According to Lilianne we go up from here to reach the cells.”
“That's right,” Gilbert said. “After we release the prisoner, we come back down the stairs, past the room we are standing in now, to a tunnel that begins at the bottom of the steps. From there it's only a short distance to the beach.”
“Don't imagine Erland hasn't posted guards to watch over his prisoner,” William warned.
“I think they’ll stay in the anteroom at the very top of the staircase, where it's warm and dry,” Gilbert said. “I know that's what I'd do, if I were guarding the dungeon. They probably only go down to the cell once a day, to leave food and carry out the slops.”
“If they bother to carry the slops out at all,” William amended.
“Do you know when the prisoner is fed?” Magnus asked. “Morning? Midday? Evening?” He looked from Gilbert to Lilianne.
“I don't know,” Lilianne said. “I wasn't even aware that we have a prisoner. Gilbert, can you guess the prisoner's mealtime by when he sent food to you?”
“They must feed him scraps from the midday meal, after it's over,” Gilbert responded. “It was always late afternoon when he'd tug on my rope and send up bread and cheese in the little sack I told you about. The food was always dry and moldy,” he added with distaste.
“Let us hope someone has delivered the prisoner's food and has gone away until tomorrow,” William said. “But we can't be certain the usual schedule was kept today. Whoever is delegated to feed him may have been delayed by the fighting in the hall.”
“We'll have to trust to luck on that,” Lilianne declared firmly. “Don't try to dissuade us, William. Gilbert and I are going to do our best to free the prisoner, whether you help us, or not.”
“I'm not trying to prevent you,” William said, “only to make you recognize the difficulties involved.”
“Gilbert, can you think of anything else we ought to know?” Magnus asked. “Or you, Lilianne?”
“No.” Lilianne shook her head.
“We'll have to break down the cell door by force, won't we?” Gilbert asked, his face creasing into an impish grin at the notion.
“Now, there's a risky action for people who are trying to leave the manor quietly,” William muttered.
“If we are going to do this, and I think we should,” Braedon said, “then, we ought to begin at once, before Norbard and his men finish searching the beach where we are supposedly hiding. When they don't find us, they may decide to look on the other side of the manor.”
“The stairs are just here,” Gilbert said, pointing. He turned and vanished into the darkness of the opening at the far side of the chamber.
“I do solemnly vow that if I ever see England again,” William declared, “I am finished with spying.”
“You will keep your oath only until Royce offers you another assignment,” Braedon told him, laughing. He clapped William on the shoulder. “Come on, my friend; let us try to help this poor, imprisoned guardian angel, whoever he or she may be.”
The spiral staircase was too narrow for more than one person at a time, and no railing protected the edge. The treads curved tightly around the newel post, making it impossible to see if anyone was coming down from the upper levels. But there was light coming through slits cut at intervals in the stone wall.
Lilianne's nerves were stretched taut with concern for her brother's safety, and with her own eagerness to free the prisoner and leave the manor before Norbard could find them. The dungeon stairs seemed to her to stretch upward forever before she reached a small landing. Magnus and Gilbert were waiting for her, with Braedon and Will
iam still mounting the steps below her.
“This is the lowest cell,” Gilbert said, pointing to the door that opened off the landing. “The others are farther up the stairs.”
“Is Gilbert’s guardian angel in there?” Braedon murmured. “Or is he kept in the topmost cell, so the guards don’t have to walk so far to reach him?”
“He's not here,” Magnus said, opening the unlatched door. “Dear Lord in Heaven, what a place!”
The cell was empty except for birds that were nesting on the deep sill of the one narrow window. Dust and bird droppings littered the floor. Shaking his head in disgust, Magnus stepped around Gilbert and resumed climbing the stairs.
“William, check the next cell,” he called over his shoulder. “I'll look into the fourth cell.”
“Meanwhile, I will check to see if anyone occupies the third cell,” Braedon said.
Magnus and Gilbert were already out of sight around the curve as Braedon crowded past Lilianne on the landing. She intended to join Magnus and her brother, but she paused when she realized that Braedon was having trouble with the thick wooden door of the cell he was to open.
“It won’t budge,” Braedon said. “Now, why do you think that is?”
“Because it's locked, of course,” Lilianne responded, pointing to the gleam of metal. “In addition to the usual sliding bolt, there’s a new brass lock keeping the door closed.”
“I do believe we have located Gilbert’s angel,” Braedon said, flashing his cheerful grin. “Move aside, Lilianne, and give me room to work.”
Braedon slid his eating knife out of its sheath at his belt. Kneeling, he inserted the narrow tip of the knife into the lock.
Lilianne was aware of Magnus returning from the last cell. Upon seeing what Braedon was doing, he put out a hand to stop Gilbert's approach and signaled for William to be quiet. In the stillness they heard a faint clicking sound. Braedon rose and sheathed his knife.
“My lord Gilbert,” he said, bowing to the boy, “would you like to be the one to slide back the bolt and open the door?”
“Yes.” Gilbert returned Braedon's smile and lifted his hand to the bolt. An instant later the door swung open and Gilbert stepped inside.
Afraid of what he might find, Lilianne followed at once.
The cell was in even worse condition than the one they had seen below, where birds were nesting. Moisture dripped down the rough stone walls. A bit of moldy straw was piled on the floor at one side, to make a most inadequate bed. A wooden eating bowl and a small, upturned pitcher sat beside the straw. Across the room an overflowing slops bucket lent credence to William's supposition that no one bothered to carry out the refuse.
The single window slit was so narrow that Lilianne wondered how the prisoner had ever managed to get his hand through it to reach Gilbert's rope, or to send food through the opening. But, the strip of white that swayed just outside the slit with its end dangling into the cell proved they had found the right place. Gilbert's makeshift rope still hung from the tower window to the cell far below it.
The air in the cell was unbelievably malodorous. Lilianne gagged when she took a breath. She swallowed hard and stepped forward, squinting a little in the dim light, eager to thank the prisoner who had kept Gilbert alive.
A skeletal figure stood pressing his back against the damp stone wall, staring at the visitors who came crowding through the door as if he expected them to attack him. From what Lilianne could see of him, he had already been subjected to violent treatment. The protective way he held his arms across his chest suggested broken ribs. Above his beard one cheek was badly bruised and swollen. The rest of his face was smeared with dirt and dried blood, his hair was matted and greasy, and it was obvious even from Lilianne's distance of several feet that he hadn't bathed for a long time. The man wore no boots, his dirty green hose were ragged, and in the torn edge of what had once been a white linen shirt, Lilianne saw where he had found the material on which he had written to her brother.
Gilbert, that proud and irritable young lord, walked straight up to the prisoner and bowed to him.
“Sir,” Gilbert said, holding out his hand, “I am the boy with whom you have been sharing your food. My friends and I have come to set you free.”
“Free?” The prisoner's voice grated, as if his throat were dry. The knuckles of the hand he reached to clasp Gilbert's were scraped raw. “Are you Gilbert, then? How did you get out of the tower?”
“My sister and her friends freed me,” Gilbert said. “We are leaving the manor now. Will you come with us?”
“I would,” said the prisoner, “but I fear I am too weak to undertake any journey. I'd slow you, and Erland would catch you.”
“Erland is away from home and won't be returning,” Lilianne told him. “We have three strong men who will be glad to help you. Please, allow us to repay your kindness to Gilbert. Sir, what is your name?”
“Who are you?” the prisoner asked, staring at her as if he had never seen a woman before.
“This is my sister, Lilianne,” Gilbert said. “She’s unusually intelligent for a girl, and she is absolutely right in this instance. You must come with us; I refuse to leave you behind. But we have to go immediately, because Norbard is looking for us.”
“Ah, Norbard.” Loathing filled the prisoner's raspy voice.
“I perceive from your tone that you know him and, therefore, you understand our need for haste,” Braedon said. Wrinkling his nose, he glanced around the cell. “I hesitate to ask, but is there anything here you wish to take with you?”
“No.”
“It would be helpful,” William said to the prisoner, “if you would tell us your name.”
“Or, at least,” said Magnus, “give us a name by which we may call you, in lieu of your own.”
Lilianne suddenly realized that the prisoner was staring at Magnus, while Magnus was glaring back at the ragged man as if he were angry with him.
“Am I so changed that you don't know me?” asked the prisoner.
“We don't have time for games,” William said. “Am I correct that you haven't been fed yet? I notice your bowl is empty, so it's entirely possible that someone will arrive soon with food, and then we will have another fight on our hands. Prisoner, if you are leaving with us, come now, or stay behind.”
“Of course, he's coming with us,” Gilbert said. “We cannot leave him behind.”
“Certainly, we cannot,” Magnus said. He stepped closer to the prisoner, his manner so intense that the others backed away, leaving the two men facing each other.
“I am mightily glad to see you, Magnus,” the prisoner said. “Are you surprised to hear me say so?”
To Lilianne's astonishment, the ragged, dirty prisoner smiled and opened his arms. To her greater amazement, Magnus caught the prisoner in a tight embrace that made the other man wince.
“I feared you were dead,” Magnus said, his voice muffled against the prisoner's greasy hair.
“Not I,” the prisoner responded, laughing as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if he weren't in a filthy dungeon cell with a serious bruise and dried blood on his face and with life-threatening danger lurking just up the stairs. “I have more lives than any cat. You ought to know that by now.”
Magnus drew back, holding the prisoner by the shoulders to look into his eyes.
“You really believe that, don't you?” Magnus said.
“I'm indestructible,” answered the prisoner, still laughing. “I am also immensely valuable. Did King Henry send you to free me? Or was it Royce, acting in the king's behalf?” he asked in a mocking tone.
Magnus dropped his hands from the prisoner's shoulders. Lilianne saw how he continued to glare at the man, how tightly his hands were clenched, and how hard-set the line of his jaw was.
“My friends,” Magnus said through gritted teeth, “allow me to present Sir Desmond of Ashendown.”
“Desmond?” Lilianne repeated, scarcely believing what her own ears heard. “Has Erland been keep
ing him here in secret for all this time?”
“It does seem a long time to me,” Desmond said.
“Here’s proof that King Louis told the truth when he claimed to know nothing about a captured spy,” Braedon said. “And now we know why Erland laughed when he heard King Henry was negotiating for the spy's release. Desmond was Erland's prisoner, not the French king's. “My lord Gilbert,” Braedon continued cheerfully, “your insistence on rescuing your guardian angel has saved Magnus and me a lot of trouble. Here is the man we came to France to find and rescue. Now, all we have to do is get you, your sister, and Sir Desmond out of the manor and to our rendezvous location without being seen and without all of us being killed. Then, we'll have to pray that Captain Piers will keep his appointment with us. Once we are aboard the Daisy, we can sail off to England in expectation of a fine reward from King Henry,” he ended with a broad grin.
“In case any of you are interested,” William said from the doorway, “someone is coming down the stairs. Possibly, more than one person. Braedon, I fear our departure from Manoir Sainte Inge isn't going to be as easy as you hope.”
Chapter 16
“Go,” Desmond said to Magnus. “You have a woman and a child to protect. Leave me and close the cell door behind you. I'll be fine.”
“You don't have the wits of a new-born kitten,” Magnus told him.
“I’m as weak as a kitten, so I’ll slow your escape to the point where you will be in serious danger,” Desmond responded. His next words did not sound at all weak. They held the ring of stern command. “Leave, Magnus. You must take Gilbert and Lady Lilianne to safety.”
“Shut...up,” Magnus ordered in a slow, deadly tone. “I am in charge of this mission, not you. King Henry wants you rescued. I cannot imagine why he finds you useful, but he must have his reasons and I am sworn to obey him. Therefore, you will leave this cell with us, and you will remain with us until we reach England and I hand you over to Royce of Wortham. I will tolerate no trickery, no clever disappearance on your part, no attempt to subvert our efforts to rescue you. Do you understand me, brother? “