The room was not wide, but very deep, perhaps over forty feet in length, rectangular with two massive fireplaces on either end. They had entered near one end of the room where a desk and a few chairs were placed near the fire for warmth. At the far end of the room Peebles noticed a large four poster bed situated near the other fireplace, and this surprised him slightly. He hadn’t pictured the Earl sleeping in such comfort, or for that matter enjoying any comforts at all.
Sir Eadwulf moved quickly behind the desk and gestured to one of the chairs, and the General gratefully sat, happy to finally get off his feet.
“I’d be blunt with ye,” Eadwulf started without further niceties. “I need yor men to rid this land of Alfred...to make me King, as is me right. Ye be strangers to this land...wot matter to ye wot King ye serve eh?” The Earl asked and then paused for a moment. “I am prepared to offer ye titles and lands in northern England, with more coming in Scotland if ye can take and tame those wild highlanders. Ye can serve me just as well as ye could serve Alfred, who will na trust ye, as he does na trust me. Tis me strength which gives the King pause, and yors will receive the verily same reception.”
“And you will trust me?”
Eadwulf laughed. “Na, I’ll na trust ye either, but I will learn from ye, and ye seem well enough attached to Eve, the little one. Captain Lochlin will have her by now,” he bragged, noticing with satisfaction as the General’s jaw tensed. “She’ll be safe enough with me and live the life of a young noblewoman...tis a good life. She’d most like be verily happy, if...ye swear yor fidelity to me as yor one true King.”
General Peebles hesitated, saying nothing, which irritated the Earl, who expected an answer immediately. He looked at Sir Eadric, but the man remained expressionless.
“I’ll have to consider your offer. It’s a very attractive one I must say,” Peebles replied trying to sound nearly convinced, and if not for the death of Hamilton and the abduction of Eve, he may even have meant it...if Sir Eadwulf was a man of more temperate actions. They were here to change history, to put mankind on a new and accelerated path and removing King Alfred from the throne would certainly change history. But what little compassion Sir Eadwulf possessed made such a decision impossible and for all practical purposes Eadwulf was now a dead man, though it would be some time before the Earl realized this fact. The General only hoped that he would be around to see this vile man’s demise, and had to admit the Earl’s death would give him almost as much satisfaction as killing a Skawp.
“So be it, but ye will do yor considerin’ from me dungeon,” Eadwulf answered coldly, angry again. He did not understand these strangers. They just did not think like men. ‘Wot did the General expect him to do with the girl if he considered the situation wrongly? Death would be her end, so just wot was there to consider? Mayhap the General wold send the wee one to her death, though it twas more’n obvious that he loved her.’ Eadwulf felt a chill go up his spine at the thought. ‘Mayhap these men were hard men, harder than he had first taken them to be. But if’n they be hard, so much the better. They’d truly be of his ilk and wold soon come to understand the situation and be swayed to his side. Hard men will na be patient with Alfred’s prattling to be sure.’
“And General, I’ll be ‘spectin’ an answer in the morn,” Eadwulf said with a grim smile. “Dorn, the Captain of me dungeons, is na a patient man and will na be held off for long,” he added and then he dismissed Peebles with a wave and the General was taken away.
His guards led General Peebles back down to the main level and then into a much narrower stairway where they went lower and lower still. By the time they reached the end of the spiraling stone steps they were well below ground level; the walls and floor were slick with an oozing dampness. It was dark, cold and ominous, much less pleasant than those well lit, odorless dungeons portrayed in Hollywood. The narrow, thin corridors were right out of some terrible dream, but the rancid smell of the place convinced the General that it was real enough. The guards led him to a small, thick wooden door with a large iron lock and a small window which was crisscrossed by thick iron bands. One of the guards banged on the door once and a pale, scarred face appeared on the other side of the window.
“Pepper! Lord Eadwulf wants this one with the others,” the guard informed the creature on the far side of the door. “He’s na to be harm’d. We’ll come for him at first morn...then his fate tis up to the Earl.”
The pale man opened the door, which was incredibly thick, about eight to ten inches, and apparently well hinged, because it swung easily, and without a sound.
“Ah, another giant man,” the pale man said, his face crisscrossed with scars, that Peebles barely noticed, his attention turning at once to the man’s missing eye and the bare socket which was displayed with obvious pride. The man called Pepper grinned at the General’s reaction showing a mouth half full of rotting teeth. He reached out and grabbed Peebles by the wrist and it took all the General’s self control not to lash out at the small, dirty man. Pepper pulled him through the small door. Peebles bent low to keep from banging his head and shuffled through.
“Master Dorn took a likin’ to me and let me keep me tongue, but donna think he twill be so merciful with the likes of ye,” Pepper cackled and ushered him into a surprisingly large room for such a small door leading into it. The guards followed close behind, spears at the ready, though they never touched Peebles with them. The room was dark, lit only by a pair of smoky torches, but the General’s eyes adjusted quickly enough to see the place was filled with many instruments of torture. Peebles recognized only the whip and the bellows with its hot iron, but the purpose of the room was very evident. Despite the veiled promises, Master Dorn did not appear as the guards led the General across the room and down a short set of steps to another, even darker hallway. Here, the ceiling was only about six feet high and the General was forced to walk with his head bent forward. They led him down the corridor, past numerous prisoners caged behind iron lattice works, before they stopped and removed the ropes from the General’s wrists.
“General!” Dr. Rice said and rushed toward the ironworks. His fingers gripped the bars but he deftly pulled them back as Pepper whipped around and struck out with a heavy wooden baton. Rice retreated from the bars a bit but was not cowed. “We’re all here General,” he continued despite the glare he was getting from Pepper. “Sadao and Moore are with me. Hersey, Newton, and Chuen are farther down.”
“We’re here General,” came a call a few cells down.
“Ye wilt all be deaden if ye donna shut yorn holes,” Pepper bellowed, his face growing very red in the torchlight. In his anger he shoved the General into a cell with all his might but was surprised when the big man barely budged. Peebles turned slightly and fixed his cold eyes on the dungeon keeper before turning and walking slowly into the cell. Pepper frowned at him for a moment then struck off to find his master, taking the guards with him.
Once the smelly little man was gone, Peebles turned and in the dim light inspected his new accommodations. The floor of the cell was covered with old, dirty straw, and stank of urine and human waste. The walls dripped with water from above, and the temperature had to be just above freezing. There was no toilet, no beds, no windows, and the only light came from the torches placed sporadically in the corridor beyond the iron gate of the cell. He shared his prison with Corporal Jefferies and Private Trotske, who were greeting him stalwartly, but as his eyes adjusted he noticed three other men as well.
Two of the ragged prisoners stood, only slightly stooped from the low ceiling and watched him with wide, wary eyes, clearly protecting the third man who lay prone on the filthy floor bleeding freely from his mouth and nose.
Peebles looked at Jefferies questioningly.
“He pulled this,” the Corporal explained, holding up a small, but sharp bit of metal, “and tried to take my clothes.”
Peebles studied the other prisoners for a moment. They wore no shirts or shoes, and their pants were little more than rags. Th
ey all were heavily bearded and exceedingly dirty and thin. He was sure that they’d been prisoners for many years. The two standing looked back at him, their eyes crazy with fear and longing. The General slowly removed his uniform shirt, then his undershirt, and threw it to one of the men. They immediately began to fight over it, until Peebles stepped in and stopped them even though it made his stomach turn just to touch them.
“Jefferies take off your shirt.” The Corporal did so, and quickly handed it over to the prisoners. Trotske did likewise and laid it over the man who was still unconscious then they all put back on their uniform shirts. It was cold.
“Who are you?” Peebles asked, but both men shook their heads and stared at the ground. The General looked over at Jefferies. “Do you think they’re Danish?”
The Corporal shrugged, but both men were there shaking their heads again, then one opened his mouth. Even in the dim light they could easily see the man was missing a tongue. The Americans gasped.
“Tis wot ye all be a gettin’ if’n ye donna shut yor holes,” grumbled a man loudly from just beyond the gate. The seasoned prisoners backed away without thinking, but the General and his men all turned to see who spoke. The man was large for the times, not quite fat, but well fed, and his shoulders were impossibly broad. His hair was long and tied back into a filthy ponytail. He wore a leather jerkin, but no shirt beneath and around his waist was a belt that held numerous iron tools of some unknown, but obviously nefarious purpose. He carried a heavy wooden baton, and glared in at the prisoners with barely controlled lust. “Eadwulf says to leave ye be, but yorn men be mine,” he informed the general with a nearly toothless smile and short, barking laugh. He eyed the new prisoners for another moment, hardly able to contain his excitement over the prospect of taming these giant men then he turned and headed off toward the warmer and better smelling parts of his domain. He hummed a tuned to himself as he walked, completely confident that these men would bend, then break, just like all the others. Pain, cold and hunger would wear down any man in time, and Dorn knew that he had all the time in the world.
“That would be Dorn,” Jefferies whispered.
“Dorn. God what a name,” the General answered quietly, and moved about in a vain attempt to find a place to sit that was not soiled in some way. Finally, he gave up and sat. No one talked for a time and he must have slept, which was surprising considering the circumstances, but the day had been a long and hard one. When his eyes finally popped open, he was instantly alert, aware of the danger. Jefferies was struggling with one of the prisoners directly at the General’s feet. It was a short struggle, since the man was obviously weakened by his time in captivity.
“Corporal,” Peebles said with impatience.
“He was creeping up on you,” Jefferies complained in his own defense.
“I was only comin’ to thank ye,” the man said in a frightened whisper.
Peebles nodded, a bit surprised that he could understand the man. “Corporal, let the man up. Who are you?”
“My name is Sir Ordmere, son of the Earl of Sussex, and cousin to King Alfred. I am a guest of Lord Eadwulf’s and have been for nearly two years now...I think.”
“You’re a hostage?”
The man nodded. “Sir Eadwulf needed me father and his southern armies to gain hold on the east, and to watch his back when he finally gets the courage to move against the King.”
“Your father is an ally of Eadwulf’s?” Jefferies asked surprised.
“Me father hates Eadwulf, but at the moment he has little choice, if he moves against ‘im he’ll likely lose his lands and his son,” he answered bitterly. Peebles sighed and wished that Rice were here in this cell to help make sense of such things.
“Eadwulf has offered a similar arrangement with a few of my men...” Peebles said and decided not to mention the additional threat to Eve just yet. He needed his men cool and calm.
“God help yor men,” Sir Ordmere replied sadly.
“How did he capture you?” Private Trotske asked, his voice barely above a whisper. It was clear that the other prisoners were growing very nervous as the conversation continued.
“I wasn’t,” he whispered back. “Sir Eadwulf took me sister when she and her party were off to Guildford to see her friend Lady Ælfgiva. After her capture I came in her stead...now we best be quiet. Dorn has an ugly temperament, and talking gets him riled.”
Peebles nodded, feeling great admiration for this dirty, smelly man in front of him. He wanted to do something to show the measure of his respect, but could think of nothing. Finally he reached out and touched Sir Ordmere on the arm.
“You speak wonderful English,” he whispered.
Sir Ordmere gave him a curious smile, for he had noted the strange accent of the new men, though he could not place it. “Thank you,” he answered. “I’m Anglish.”
They all settled down and went to sleep once more, only to be awakened again by Dorn and three guards at their gate.
“Wake up ye mealy, smelly cuss,” Dorn yelled and stormed into the cell. Peebles, Trotske and Jefferies were instantly on their feet and ready, but the master of the dungeons passed them by and moved directly to Sir Ordmere of Sussex. The guards, who were armed with long, wicked looking pikes moved into the cell to watch the other prisoners as Dorn quickly grabbed Sir Ordmere by the hair and pulled him out into the dark hallway. The gate swung closed with a clang without anyone doing the slightest thing to help the condemned man. Peebles, Jefferies, and Trotske immediately ran to the bars and looked out, but the other two prisoners just huddled together near the back of the cell. Rice, Sadao, and Moore were also at the bars of their cell, across the narrow corridor, no more than six feet away.
“Seems me Lord has need for ye na more, me pretty lad,” Dorn said, his voice echoing off the walls as the group headed up the corridor. “Bin waitin’ a spell for this day....”
The General looked across the hall to Rice. He was thinking fast now. He had only just met Sir Ordmere and said no more than a few words to him, but even so, he knew he could not allow the man to be killed, have his tongue cut out or any other gruesome torture Dorn might have in mind, at least not without making some sort of attempt to save him.
“We need out,” Peebles said simply and then began to study the gate closely. It was made of iron and very strong, but the frame was only embedded into deep holes in the rock and not secured with any strong sealant, such as concrete or the like, with time a man, any man could work his way out. But time was not on their side at the moment.
“The lock’s a very simple one, only one or possibly two, tumblers,” Sadao whispered from across the hall. “If I had a tool I could get us out rather quickly.”
Peebles thought only for a few seconds then turned to Jefferies, who already had the sharp piece of metal he’d taken from Sir Ordmere in his hand.
“Fortuitous that it came from him isn’t it?” the Corporal whispered then moved to the front of the cage and showed it to his best friend. He held it loosely in his palm for a moment and then carefully tossed it over. Sadao deftly snatched it out of the air just as a whip cracked in the far room. The sound was quickly followed by a howl of pain.
As Sergeant Lucas Sadao said, the lock was a simple one, but it still took him several minutes to finally make the tumblers fall into place. All the while the sounds of the whip and the screams of the tortured nobleman spilled down the stairs, making them all cringe. The lock finally released with a loud clang which made everyone but Sadao hold their breath for a long moment. The small sergeant immediately crossed over and began to work on the general’s gate.
“Let Jefferies handle this one, you and Sergeant Moore go and see if you can help that poor man,” Peebles ordered, the screams becoming unbearable.
Sadao nodded and the two professional commandos moved off with silent grace. Quietly they went up the small flight of stairs, pausing only to listen for sounds of approaching guards. They heard nothing but the crack of the lash and the screams, which
were growing weaker. They moved toward the sound, creeping ever closer, until finally they reached a stone archway. With the utmost care they peeked around the corner and saw a room that thickened the blood in their veins. Despite the fact that their sense of smell had become somewhat accustomed to pungent odors in the last month, the stench emanating from the room was nearly overpowering. Dorn and his assistant Pepper were no friends to soap and water but they were positively fragrant next to the reek of rotting skulls hanging from the rafters like gruesome Halloween decorations. There were others mounted on the walls, like animal trophies, where they were left to fester. Along with the skulls, various implements of torture hung from the ceiling, some were obvious, some less so, but all appeared to be very sharp and very deadly. Sir Ordmere hung from iron manacles against the far wall, and Sadao could tell even from a distance that the man’s back was already a bloody mess. The entire scene was illuminated only by a pair of torches placed on either side of the archway. Besides Dorn and Sir Ordmere, there were three other men in the room, two guards and the pale scarred man named Pepper. They all had their backs to Sadao and Moore, watching the whipping with raucous joy.
‘Careless, careless,’ Sadao thought and he took a brief moment to look around. The two guards who stood watching Dorn whip Sir Ordmere to death were armed with long spears that had large, wicked looking metal tips. The Sergeant also noticed several knives protruding from their belts. Pepper had a long, curved knife which might have been considered a short sword if it was just a bit longer. Dorn appeared to be armed only with the whip, but Sadao knew it was a formidable weapon in the hands of someone capable.
The Temporal Knights Page 41