Escapes!

by Laura Scandiffio

Douglas Bader was found by German soldiers who took him to a hospital to recover before continuing on to a prisoner of war camp. He soon learned that the Germans had heard of him, and were amazed that the RAF would let a legless man fly. They were so impressed by his determination that they even let him sit in the cockpit of a Messerschmitt 109! For a few seconds Bader toyed with the idea of taking off, but a German officer kept his pistol aimed squarely at him the whole time. Bader did convince his captors to retrieve his leg from the crash site and mend it, as well as radio England with a request for a new one. He secretly hoped that call would let everyone at home know he was still alive.

  At the hospital, a sympathetic nurse smuggled a note to him from the French Resistance — the underground network of men and women working in secret against the Germans who occupied their country. The Resistance would hide Bader if he could find a way out. He escaped out of the hospital window with a rope made from knotted bed sheets, and followed his French contact through the dark to a farmhouse.

  A German search party soon banged on the door. Bader slipped out to the barn and hid under the hay, lying still as the soldiers searched the barn. Then, to his horror, he glimpsed the steel of a bayonet piercing through the hay, moving closer with each stroke. When it struck his sleeve, Bader knew there was only one thing he could do. He jumped to his feet before the next stroke could hit home, his arms in the air.

  Bader’s new leg did arrive — dropped by parachute from an English bomber. But his German captors were so worried he would try another escape on the way to the camp that they took both his legs away for the trip! Bader spent the rest of the war as a prisoner in Germany. But he never stopped trying to escape.

  When Douglas Bader returned home after the war, he was asked to lead 300 RAF planes in a special victory fly-past over London, to commemorate the country’s triumph in the Battle of Britain. Londoners filled the streets to watch the sky darken once again — not with enemy bombers this time, but with their own beloved Spitfires and Hurricanes.

  Under Siege

  Oxford, England, 1142

  THE DISTANT POUNDING STOPPED. The hail of stones on the castle’s curtain wall had slowed and then ended suddenly. The king’s great catapults and army of slingers had withdrawn — for the moment at least. Deep within the castle walls, knights and foot soldiers paused at the sudden silence. A sense of relief swept through the garrison. They knew it would not last long, and archers scrambled to prepare for the next assault.

  Above them high in the keep, their lady, the Empress Matilda, pulled her robes closer around her and paced the floor to keep warm. The December wind seemed to pierce the stone walls, despite the heavy tapestries that blanketed them, and the fire in the great hearth could not be built up any further. Every piece of wood was precious now.

  For nearly three months she and her followers had lived as prisoners within her own castle, surrounded by King Stephen’s army, deafened by the battering of his siege engines. Looking around the crowded garrison quarters, she had seen the hunger in her men’s gaunt faces, the growing panic in their eyes. And now the castle’s great well was nearly dry. Where were her allies? They must come soon to break the blockade. If they didn’t...

  Matilda pushed the thought from her mind with a defiant toss of her head. Peering sideways through a narrow window, she could see Stephen’s flags, the glint of his men’s armor in the winter sun.

  Anger flared inside her. Who was he to call himself King of England? She had the stronger claim — the only claim — to the throne. She was the daughter of the late King Henry. Stephen was only his nephew. Her father had made all the powerful men of the country swear an oath of loyalty to her, and promise to recognize her as their next queen.

  King Henry had still hoped for a male heir — a grandson was his last chance. And so Matilda became a pawn in her father’s search for a powerful alliance. At twelve she was married to a German emperor in his thirties. After his death she was betrothed to the thirteen-year-old son of the French Count of Anjou. When at last her father recalled her to England, she had lived away longer than she had ever been at home. As she listened to the barons’ oaths, she realized her country had become a land of strangers to her.

  And where were those loyal barons now? When her father died, Matilda had been away in France, expecting a child. The barons who had never liked the idea of a woman ruling England jumped upon the chance. At their urging, her young cousin Stephen seized the crown.

  And now to be trapped like this! She bristled at the thought.

  Then she smiled bitterly — they wouldn’t have a woman, but look at the state of the country under Stephen! These were lawless, dangerous times. Barons declared their loyalty to the king, but it was mere words. They raided the countryside, seized lands, took what they liked, and then retreated into their castles.

  Stephen may have acted boldly when he snatched the crown, Matilda mused, but he was too mild-mannered, too forgiving to keep the barons in line. When Stephen did not punish them, they smelled weakness.

  It had been easy to lure many of the barons back to her side when she sailed to England to challenge Stephen. But she knew they would switch sides again when it suited them. They would be watching for any sign that she or Stephen was gaining the upper hand. No one wanted to be caught on the losing side — and their new leader would be certain to reward their loyalty generously.

  Matilda’s eyes shone with defiance as she watched the royal troops outside. Whatever happened, she told herself, she must never show weakness.

  Beyond the castle’s curtain wall, across the wide moat, the king’s army was a hive of activity. For weeks, the noise of hammering had filled the air as carpenters built a siege tower to soar into the sky. From it Stephen’s men would be able to spy on the garrison inside the castle.

  Further back other men were repairing a shed on wheels. Under its cover, miners would crawl close to the walls and dig under the stone, hoping to weaken the wall and bring it crashing down. Here and there assaults were being planned, as teams with crossbows or slingshots prepared to storm the castle walls.

  And in the midst of it all sat Stephen, on horseback, watching. His gaze now and then returned to one of the castle walls rising out of a huge mound of stone and earth, and the massive ten-sided stone tower that stretched high before him.

  A weary sigh escaped his lips. The castles of England, once built to help the king impose his rule across the land, were now being used against him. The kings before him had laid down two rules — no baron could build a castle without the king’s permission, and the castle’s keys must be surrendered when asked for in the king’s name.

  Now Stephen’s barons sneered at these rules. Ever since Matilda’s ship had brought her back to England’s shores, she had given the rebel barons a cause around which to rally. She egged on their treachery, urging them to fortify castles to stand against the royal army.

  Stephen bitterly remembered the day when at last, like a man shaken from sleep, he had been roused to anger. But was he too late? By then nearly all of southwestern England had fallen into Matilda’s hands, her knights controlling a strong belt of castles that stretched from the port of Bristol to her headquarters at Oxford.

  After raising an army of loyal subjects in the north, Stephen had begun a grim march — laying siege to Matilda’s castles along the way. Some garrisons he had terrified into surrender. Others he had found empty, the soldiers having fled when they heard he was coming. These Stephen burned. Castle by castle, the royal army closed in on Matilda’s stronghold at Oxford, cutting her off from her helpers.

  Near the end of September, as the feast of Michaelmas approached, Stephen’s army had paused before the Thames River. At the head of his troops, Stephen gazed across the water at the city of Oxford. It was well protected by the deep river. To one side a timber palisade guarded the city; on the other rose its castle and soaring tower.

  Stephen hadn’t waited for long before the enemy showed itself. They came running out of
the city gates, toward the Thames. Some shouted insults across the river, others shot arrows over the water. With the river lying between them and the invaders, Matilda’s troops felt invincible.

  Stephen had seethed with rage. He turned to his advisers. Was there no way across?

  One showed him the shallowest point of the river, but warned that even it was very deep.

  Stephen wasted no time. He boldly plunged in, leading his men into the deep water. The army waded across, then swam when the water rose over their heads. Their heavy chain mail dragged them down as they struggled to hold their flags above the water.

  Streaming up the opposite bank, they charged. Matilda’s men were quickly overwhelmed, and ran back through the city gates.

  Stephen’s troops followed in hot pursuit, pouring through the gates in a fierce column. Once inside, they spread through the streets, throwing firebrands among the houses, capturing as many of Matilda’s followers as they could find. Their new prisoners were put in chains — they could be traded for a ransom later.

  The rest of Matilda’s force fled with their lady in a desperate retreat to the castle, where they shut themselves inside. And left Stephen with no choice but to do this the hard way.

  Once the heavy doors closed behind her, Matilda had felt safe in her stronghold. Inside the high stone keep, she was confident she could withstand anything Stephen brought against her. She knew the three enemies of people under siege — hunger, thirst, and fire. Her castle had ample supplies and a deep well, and its towering stone walls would not burn.

  Let him come, she thought. And her knights braced themselves for the assault.

  They did not have to wait long. First a rain of stones slung against the walls, then showers of arrows from a host of cross-bows. Stephen’s methods were simple: surround the castle and bombard it nonstop.

  Matilda’s knights fought back. They rained down stones and quicklime on the attackers from the top of the castle, and aimed their bows through the arrow-loops that slit the stone walls. They kept a strict watch for any scouts or assault teams who might try to crawl up the mound at the castle’s base. And they waited anxiously for the siege engines they knew the King could bring to batter the castle defenses. Monstrous catapults that hurled rocks into or over the walls. Battering rams to break down the doors.

  While her men held the king’s army at bay, Matilda plotted her next move. She could take her time. She knew sieges moved slowly — weeks, months could pass with both sides in a standoff. There was plenty of time for reinforcements to arrive. Time for her half-brother, Earl Robert, or her husband to come to her aid. Months ago, Robert had sailed to France to convince Matilda’s husband, Geoffrey of Anjou, to join her cause. But she had heard nothing since. Where were they?

  Robert was always one to play for time, Matilda reasoned. He’d wait for the right moment. But deep down she knew that any help from her husband was doubtful. They were not close. Still, he might act for their son’s sake, if not hers — to protect young Henry’s birthright in England!

  Just hold out, she told herself. Help is on the way.

  Stephen knew that laying siege to Matilda and her knights would be a long, ugly struggle. Matilda was no fool and had surely stocked the castle well with food and supplies. But Stephen had already learned that as long as she was on the loose he would have no peace. It seemed he had spent most of his reign dashing from castle to castle, laying siege to rebel after rebel. No sooner was one rebel army defeated than another reared its head, defying him to attack. This time he would not budge.

  Messengers arrived, breathless with news. Matilda’s allies had joined their forces about 15 miles down the Thames at Wallingford. Then word came that Earl Robert had returned from France and attacked Stephen’s garrison at Wareham. The royal troops inside the castle were “shaken and terrified by the Earl’s siege engines,” they said. The castellan had asked Robert for a truce so he could summon help from the king.

  But Stephen refused to be lured away from the Oxford siege. “No hope of gain, no fear of loss will make me go away,” he declared, “unless the castle is surrendered and the empress brought into my power.”

  Nothing would drag him from his goal — to capture Matilda and end the war.

  Staring at the dying embers of her small fire, Matilda could no longer ignore the doubts that plagued her mind. The siege had entered its third grueling month. Winter deepened.

  She and her knights were famished. Scarcely eating, they tried to make their meager supplies last as long as possible. When the well dried up, they drank wine. Now that was nearly gone.

  Day by day, Matilda’s fears had mounted. Now she was certain. No help was coming. And outside, an army of more than a thousand enemy knights surrounded the castle, battering it with stones. It was only a matter of time now before her garrison would be forced to surrender.

  Unconditional surrender. It was an outcome Matilda had never dreamed of. Now she imagined the long line of defeated knights streaming from the castle, Stephen’s trumpets sounding in victory. And she pictured the part that tradition held for her — to walk out barefoot and in tears, her hair loose around her shoulders, begging Stephen for her very life.

  No, she thought, rising and crossing the room. She was too proud to play that role. She must escape, before the walls crumbled and the starved garrison fell to the King. But how?

  Stephen had posted guards all around the castle walls, with orders to keep a strict watch day and night. No one must be allowed to sneak out. How could she get past his watchmen? And even if she could, the whole of Stephen’s army lay around the castle, his soldiers blocking every route.

  Matilda gazed at the frozen landscape outside. Icy winds swept over deep snow as far as the eye could see. And where would she go in that wasteland? Why, it was so cold this year the Thames was frozen solid!

  She drew in sharp breath as a sudden idea came to her. Perhaps the harsh winter could be a friend as well as a foe. But she would need help. In her mind she cast over the knights in her service. She would need to choose carefully — she wanted men who were wary, sensible, and absolutely loyal. No hotheads! Yes, three knights came to mind. She would speak to them at once. Alone.

  In the stillness of a pitch-dark night, just before Christmas, Stephen’s sentries paced at the foot of the castle walls, blowing on their frozen hands, stamping their feet to keep warm. High above their heads, a rope snaked its way out of a tower window, down the steep wall toward the ground.

  Unseen by the guards below, Matilda clung to the rope as it was lowered down the sheer wall. The wind lashed at her face and made her white garments flap. Suddenly her descent halted and for a nerve-wracking instant she just hung there, swaying. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip.

  Then she felt herself drop again. Willing her eyes open, she forced herself to look down. Below, one of her trusted knights was waiting for her. In his white clothes, she could hardly make him out against the snow. Good, she thought, their camouflage was working.

  The wind picked up, and sharp, wet snow stung her cheeks. But she didn’t mind. She knew a snowstorm would make it hard to see your hand in front of your face. It could be the stroke of luck they needed!

  Below, one of her accomplices held up his arms to guide her to the ground. When Matilda had first proposed this scheme, the knights had wondered if the hunger had gone to her head! Walking out through Stephen’s troops, dressed in white so they would disappear against the snow? It was madness! But Matilda was determined. Her subjects were familiar with her fierce will. Once her mind was made up there was no changing it.

  Above Matilda, the last of her escape party was inching his way down. As soon as he touched the ground, the four of them set out cautiously across the snow, toward the royal troops whose camps lay in every direction.

  Silently they tiptoed forward, threading their way through the sleeping army. No one stirred. Moving slowly through the blowing snow, Matilda and her knights circled around the tents of slee
ping soldiers and little pockets of watchmen.

  Matilda fought the urge to run, to dash through the encampment and be off! But she did not dare quicken her careful pace. She could barely see a few steps ahead in the storm. It would be too easy to stumble on an enemy foot or leg in the darkness. One false step would be their undoing.

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, Matilda spotted a sudden movement. She froze and signaled to her knights to stop in their tracks. A figure was moving toward them through the darkness. Matilda prayed they would be invisible through the swirling snow. As the figure drew closer, she could see it was a sentry. But could he see them?

  The sentry peered through the darkness, his eyes scanning back and forth in their direction. Matilda stood frozen in place, not daring to speak or move. The sentry blinked as if to clear his eyes, then started walking straight toward her.

  The knight at her side silently crouched down and began to creep in a circle around the approaching soldier. As the sentry came closer, his eyes widened — he had seen them! He opened his mouth to shout, but a firm hand clapped over it. While the knight held him from behind, Matilda and her two companions moved swiftly forward.

  Making a silent plea with her eyes, Matilda slipped a fistful of coins into the sentry’s palm, and placed her finger to her lips. He blinked and nodded slightly.

  The white-clad group moved on, faster now. Matilda could feel the wind pick up, and she knew the icy expanse of the Thames lay ahead. They were almost at the riverbank. A moment later Matilda placed a wary foot on the ice, and then her whole weight. It’s solid, she thought with relief. She and her knights spread out and crept forward cautiously, testing the ice with each step.

  Behind them the silence of the night was suddenly broken by loud shouts and blaring trumpets. Curse him, Matilda thought, the sentry must have raised the alarm! She pressed ahead as quickly as she dared. The wind swept around her as she moved across the frozen water, and she felt keenly how exposed she was — out in the open for everyone to see!