by Simon Hawke
"A Saxon uprising did occur in this period," said Bobby. "I don't think there's anything that we can do to stop it. Irving knows that, too. It will provide him with an ideal opportunity to make his move."
Hunter nodded. "That makes sense. There will be the knights who've returned from the Crusades; they'll be loyal to Richard. My guess is he's probably contacted many of them and they'll be awaiting his orders to move. When the outlaws attack Torquilstone, they'll pin down John's strongest knights. If Irving shows up to help them, he'll have a Saxon army to follow him against Prince John. I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he even engineered Cedric's capture somehow."
"But he'll have to know that we'll be there," said Bobby. "How can he hope to join the action, knowing that temporal agents are waiting to take him out right then and there?"
"Well, obviously it will be taking a risk," said Hunter, "but if it was me, I'll tell you how I'd do it. I'd announce myself as King Richard, returned to end tyranny and oppression and all that sort of thing. Then I'd declare a blanket pardon for all the outlaws in exchange for their help. When it hits the fan, you might be able to draw a bead on him in the middle of it all, but he won't be alone. And he'll have all the outlaws watching out for him."
"That won't necessarily stop us from killing him," said Bobby.
"It'll make it hard as hell," said Hunter. "But just for a minute, suppose you do get a clear shot at him. If one of the outlaws doesn't stop you, how are you going to survive killing the king? Worse than that, you'll have an army of witnesses to testify to the fact that Richard died at Torquilstone. Be a little awkward if another Richard showed up after that, wouldn't it?"
"You think he'd gamble on that?" said Lucas.
"Why not? We're the only ones interested in preserving history. Irving's the guy who wants to change it."
12
De Bracy was losing his patience. "I am not here to bargain with you, Jew," he said to Isaac. He reached out and grabbed the man by his beard, giving it a vicious yank. Isaac cried out in pain. "I know you're a rich man, the banker of your accursed tribe. It is not as if I'm asking for the moon."
"I would sooner be able to give you the moon, Sir Knight," said Isaac, "than gather together the ransom you demand!"
"A thousand pounds in silver," said De Bracy. "Those are my terms. I will not bargain. I am a reasonable man. If silver be scarce, I will not refuse gold. Is your life not worth such a sum?"
"And what of my daughter's life?" said Isaac.
"You need not fear for Rebecca's life," said De Bracy, chuckling. "Brian de Bois-Guilbert's desire is for love, not death. She will be safe enough from violence so long as she pleases him. When he grows tired of her, I'm certain you will have her back."
"No," said Isaac, "I beg you, save her from such shame. I will do anything you ask; her dishonor would be more than I could bear!"
"You will bear much more before I am through with you," De Bracy said. "Look around you. You are in my dungeons now, not your house in York, where you are free to dictate terms to those from whose disadvantages you prosper. Prisoners ten thousand times more distinguished than yourself have died within these walls. But their deaths would be luxuries compared to yours. A man can be made to suffer untold pain and still be kept alive to suffer more. Do you see that range of iron bars above the glowing charcoal? You'll be stripped of all your clothes and placed on that warm couch. You will be basted like a roast, so that you do not cook too quickly. Is not a thousand pounds of silver a paltry sum compared to such a fate? Choose and choose now, for I an; running out of patience! A slow death upon the coals, or a thousand pounds of silver, those are my terms!"
"I will pay your ransom," Isaac said, "only preserve my daughter's honor and let her go free."
"I told you, Jew, I will not bargain with you! Besides, I have already given my word that Bois-Guilbert shall have her. I would not go back on my word as a knight, not for the sake of apathetic Jew."
"Then you will get nothing," Isaac said, staring at him with hatred. "Not an ounce of silver will I give you, unless I were to pour it molten down your avaricious throat! Do your worst. Take my life if you will and let it be said that the Jew, in spite of all his tortures, knew how to disappoint the Christian!"
"Very well, then," said De Bracy. "I will put your resolve to the test. You'll be whimpering for mercy within moments. Strip him!"
At that moment, a trumpet call was sounded and there was a commotion up above, the sounds of men yelling to each other. Andre de la Croix ran into the dungeon.
"Maurice, come quickly! The Saxons are attacking!"
" What? Are you mad?"
"It's true, I tell you! Listen. It is the outlaws. They have gathered in force and are even at this moment attempting to storm the castle!"
"What absurdity is this?" De Bracy said. "Why would the outlaws attack Torquilstone?"
"They cry for Cedric's freedom."
"The Saxon? I have but two Jews, I have no Saxon!"
"So Bois-Guilbert says. He commands the castle in your absence. They will not listen. Brian says that only force is good for dealing with them."
"How many of them are there?"
"A thousand, at the least."
"Brian is a fool. With such a number, they might well take the castle if they are determined enough. I will show them that Cedric is not here."
Isaac momentarily forgotten, De Bracy started out of the dungeons, on his way to the castle above. Andre followed him.
"I don't know what insanity has overtaken them," De Bracy said, "but these cells are all empty! See for yourself. I-"
At that moment, the sound of Cedric's voice was heard shouting from within one of the cells.
"What the devil?" said De Bracy. He flung open the tiny window of the door and peered inside. "Cedric!"
"Release me, villain!" Cedric shouted, launching himself against the door.
De Bracy slammed the window shut, stunned. He opened the window in the door of the next cell and saw Athelstane. In the adjoining cell, he found Rowena.
"Is this your doing, de la Croix?"
"I rode into the castle with just my squire," Andre said. "You know that. You, yourself, admitted me."
"But how in God's name did they get here?"
"There is no need to attempt to deceive me, Maurice," said Andre, smiling. "I am on your side."
"Don't you jest with me, de la Croix!" said De Bracy, grabbing her by the cloth of her doublet and slamming her into the wall. He felt the swaddling cloth beneath. "What's this?"
He ripped open her doublet with a quick motion, revealing the cloth. "You're wounded! No, you're…" He saw the bulges beneath the cloth and his eyes grew wide. In that moment, Andre stuck her dagger into his stomach up to its hilt. As De Bracy jerked, she leaned into him, placing both hands on the dagger. She twisted the blade and used her weight to drive into him, jerking the dagger up several times in a ripping motion.
De Bracy sagged to the floor and she pulled the dagger out of him, wiping its blade on his clothing. Clutching his stomach, he stared up at her in disbelief, making choking noises.
She glanced at him only briefly, to make certain that the wound was fatal, then she left him to die in his own dungeons.
The word spread through the outlaws' ranks like wildfire. Richard had returned. No one knew who had been the original bearer of the news, but Lucas was convinced that Irving had infiltrated runners into the attacking force. The news was passed rapidly. Richard, it seemed, had returned to England to take back his throne and to restore justice to the land. No one was exactly sure what "justice" was, but it was generally supposed that the Saxons were going to get a fair shake at last. Evidently, the king had met up with one of the outlaw bands and was even now on his way with a party of knights to join in the attack on Torquilstone. It was, of course, the sensible thing for him to do. Even the outlaws understood that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert were allied with John and, as such, posed a threat to Richard. The news that was greeted with the greatest
jubilation was that the king had decreed a blanket pardon for all the outlaws who would help him in his cause. Irving had done precisely as Hunter had surmised.
"You can bet that he won't make an appearance until he's certain that everyone has heard the news," said Bobby, sourly. "Well, that might make our job a little more difficult, but it still won't make it impossible. Before the day is out, we'll know which way this thing is going to go."
So far, it was going pretty much of its own accord. It was next to impossible to control such a large and undisciplined band of men. Outlaws from all over the countryside had arrived to take part in the revolt and they were out for blood. Finn, trying to do the best he could under the circumstances, was trying to direct the assault upon the barbican. It wasn't the ideal way to take a castle, but they were forced to follow the momentum of the attack and control its flow to whatever degree they could. Besides, the outcome of the battle was of no consequence to them. In that respect, there was a familiarity about the situation. It was like a standard temporal action. The soldiers from the future were fighting a war within a war. Irving was their objective. So long as they were able to take him out, what happened to Torquiistone didn't really matter.
The air above the castle was a hailstorm of arrows. Most of the cloth-yard shafts failed to find a mark, but given such a profusion of arrows, the archers took their inevitable toll. Anyone who risked showing themselves upon the battlements stood to become a pincushion in short order. Each lattice and aperture became a target for the bowmen and the Norman men at arms returned the fire with their crossbows at their peril. Finn's men were moving forward under the protection of mantelets and pavisses, which provided at least some protection from the arbalests being used to defend the barbican. Once that was taken, then the other outlaws could move forward for a mass assault upon the outer walls and postern with rams and scaling ladders. It would be a bloody conflict with heavy losses.
Above the din of battle, a trumpet call was heard and, from across the meadow, a formation of knights approached at full gallop. In their vanguard, a knight wearing the three lions of Richard Plantagenet rode beside his banner.
"He must have completely lost his mind," said Bobby. He removed one of his warhead arrows from his quiver and fitted it to the bow. "This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. The moment he gets in range, I'm going to let him have it."
"I don't know if that's wise," said Lucas. "Maybe we should wait until he gets into the thick of it. If he falls in the middle of the battle, it might not be as noticeable."
"I really don't give a damn," said Bobby.
"Don't be hasty," Lucas said. "There are outlaws all around us who are very pleased to see this man. Remember, he just pardoned all of them. They're not going to take it too kindly if they see you drawing a bead on him. The idea is for us to get the job done and get back alive."
"Maybe. But it might be best just to take our chances. Finn's right. Our job is to take him out and then let the refs worry about fixing things up."
"All right. So we'll take him out. But let's not rush it and blow the deal. Has it occurred to you that he knows we're here? Do you think he'd be so stupid as to make such an obvious target of himself?"
"What are you getting at?"
"What I'm getting at is that there's no guarantee that the guy wearing Richard's armor is really Irving. He might be one of the others and the man in Richard's armor just a decoy to enable him to get past us."
"The man's got a point," said Hunter. He had come up right behind them and now he beckoned them back under the cover of the trees. They went a short distance away from the drawn lines of the outlaws and found that Hunter had brought his chronoplate with him, along with some other equipment. "Okay, I'm going to make it fast, so listen up. I just hope to hell you guys have been cleared on these weapons at some time, because I haven't got the time or the inclination to start giving lessons right now. I brought back a couple of Swedish "K" grease guns. Lucas, you hang on to my Colt, I've brought back another. Bobby, here's a. 45 for you, too. If things get really hairy, I brought back a few pyrogel grenades, Mark Fours. Here's a bunch of magazines-"
"Are you kidding?" Bobby said. "This stuff's prehistoric!"
"Not in the 12th century it ain't, pilgrim. Listen, I had a hell of a time just getting those grenades. What do you want, a GE/Krupp four-barrel pulser? I almost got myself fried getting my hands on these. TC ordnance isn't exactly just lying around for the taking, you know. I'm not putting my ass on the line for anybody. If you can't do the job with this stuff, you just can't do the job, so hang it up."
"Okay, okay," said Bobby. "So what's the plan?"
"The plan is to move fast as hell," said Hunter. "Lucas is right. You don't know which of those jokers is Irving, so Bobby, old friend, you just take one of these pretty little Swedes and you open up on all of 'em."
"If Irving's wearing nysteel, a submachine gun isn't going to do the trick. It might beat his armor all to hell, but it's going to be pretty iffy."
"Right. But you can bet your ass it's going to knock him down," said Hunter. "It'll kill anybody who isn't wearing nysteel. The guy who gets back up is your man. Then you can use one of your fancy arrows on him. Right?"
"Great," said Bobby. "Give me that thing." He took the grease gun and quickly checked it.
"You all still got the PRU's I gave you?" Hunter said. "Where's Delaney?"
"He's up with the assault force," Lucas said. "Yeah, we've all got'em."
"Good. They're all slaved to this unit." He indicated the chronoplate. "I'll stay back here and try to keep my eye on you. Like I said, I'm not going to lay my ass on the line if I can help it. If I see you're in trouble, I'll yank you right back here. Likewise, if you're in a jam, the PRU will bring you right back to this spot, so we've got a double safety, your control and mine. Any questions?"
"No," said Bobby. "Let's do it."
"Get a move on. Those knights are coming on fast."
They moved back forward, Bobby using his body to shield the "K." As the knights rode up to the scene of battle, the barbican fell to the outlaws and the Norman men at arms began to sally forth from the castle to defend the postern. Hunter bent over his chronoplate and, seconds later, Finn Delaney stood in front of him.
"What the hell?" Finn said.
"I used the PRU to snatch you back here," Hunter said. He tossed Finn the other grease gun, then handed him a Browning nine-millimeter and a satchel of grenades. "Now listen up. We could be in deep shit unless we find Irving's chronoplate. You can bet your ass he hasn't got it with him."
"How the hell are we going to do that?" said Finn. "We haven't got enough manpower to institute a radius search-"
'"We don't have to. It's a gamble, but I think his plate is in Nottingham Castle. I scanned Hooker over there just before he died. I could still be wrong, but it's the best guess I can make right now. I'm going to clock you over there. Now there will be people in your way, but you've got them at a disadvantage now. You go through that castle and you find that damn plate. There's some plastique in that satchel. You find it and you blow it, got it? And then our friend won't be able to getaway."
"That's assuming that you're right and the plate is there," said Finn.
Hunter shrugged. "You got a better idea?"
"No. Okay. Clock me out."
"Good luck."
Finn disappeared.
Irving rode at the rear of the formation, his nysteel armor relacquered from its original black shade to one of green. Up ahead of him, the sheriff rode at the front of the formation, wearing the three lions of Richard Plantagenet. Some of the other knights had unlacquered armor, others, who held lands, wore the colors they were known by. Irving had no doubt that if the temporal agents were to strike, they would move first against Sir Guy. He would have to remain on his guard, watching out for them. Once he had them spotted, he could move to neutralize them. He kept his hand on his PRU. As they approached the battle, suddenly there erupted from the outla
w ranks a staccato clattering and Sir Guy and the two knights immediately to either side went down. Irving looked wildly about the scene. The formation was broken up when the first three knights were hit. Three more died before Irving had the man spotted.
It wasn't hard to spot him. He stood all alone, firing a submachine gun. A submachine gun! Incredible! They must have reached total desperation. All around the man, the outlaws were drawing back in panic, fleeing from the noise and the destruction that they could never understand. Even as he watched, more men went down in front of him as the man kept firing in short, steady bursts, and then bullets were ripping into him. It had all happened so fast, he barely had time to think. He hit the ground hard, caught his breath and struggled to his feet, thankful that he had kept his grip on the PRU.
"Bingo!" said Bobby, tossing the grease gun to Lucas, who came running up beside him. "The green knight! Cover me!" He nocked his warhead arrow and drew back his bow. "Game's over!" Bobby said.
As Irving got up, he hit the PRU and clocked himself back to Nottingham. He reappeared inside his chambers in the castle. The temporal agents were desperate men and they had resorted to desperate tactics. Well, the game wasn't over yet. He still had his chronoplate and that was where he had them, superior firepower notwithstanding. He could still outflank them. He quickly made the necessary adjustments on the plate, then clocked himself back onto the scene of the battle, in a different location, seconds before he had clocked back to Nottingham.
Bobby had drawn his bow and was aiming at the green knight, but even as he let the arrow fly, Irving disappeared. At that same instant, Irving appeared behind him. Even as the Irving Bobby was shooting at was clocking out, the Irving who had clocked in behind him plunged a dagger into him.
"Bobby!" Lucas shouted. He swung the grease gun around and fired, but Irving was no longer there. Instantly realizing his error, Lucas spun around and only had enough time to hurl himself sideways as Irving brought his sword down in a vicious arc. The sword missed him, but just barely.