by Amy Wolof
“Merci pardon, madame,” he said, followed by something in French.
I looked at Aventis.
“Carnatus said we won’t hurt her. Thieves’ honor.”
I snorted. As we waited, we could hear doors clanging open, one after the other. How many were needed to hold a single man?
Finally, the last one was swept ajar, revealing our friend, the gaoler.
“Bonjour,” called Aventis, offering him the tray. “Food for your prisoner, yes?”
The man stepped back, reaching for his sword. But I flung it out of his hand with a single blow of my own.
“How—?” he began to ask, but Carnatus motioned—with his pistol—for him to turn and start walking.
We followed this man in his wig down a corridor filled with gloom. Unlit, empty cells seemed to span an infinite space. When we came to the last cell, I, along with the gaoler, peered through a tiny barred window.
I do not think I ever beheld such a sight. It was not the sparse room which made me cry out: nor its bleak stool, mismatched stone tiles, or white walls marred with stains. No, it was the prisoner, for, I swear by God, he might as well have been headless! Not only was his whole face locked in iron, but his entire head. Four welded bars—two on the forehead, and two on the chin—kept that cruel mask in place. The man’s only visible features were his two dark eyes and lips—the last behind a thin slit. It sickened me to discover that even his nose was sheathed!
Feeling my stomach rise, I was forced to turn away. My two friends took my place at the window. Aventis averted his gaze, while Carnatus, moved more by rage than pity, grabbed the gaoler’s throat.
“Hold,” Aventis ordered, and, with reluctance, Carnatus did. Plopping the man none too gently upon the hard stone floor, he leveled his gun at his head.
“Your keys, monsieur,” Carnatus roared. “Vos clés. À présent!”
“Oui,” cried the frightened gaoler as he threw a ring crowded with iron. “Mon dieu!” he then cried, “Que va dire le roi?!”
“What will God say?” asked Aventis. “Never mind the king!”
I shoved the man aside, grabbing the keys from Carnatus, and, by virtue of trying them all, found the one that unlocked this cell.
At once, I was inside, facing the hapless prisoner. He did not move, the eyes behind the mask dead. Had he really been held here for a full three years?
Not wishing to startle the man, I took a small step forward.
“Monmouth,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “James Scott, son of Charles. Your confinement is at an end. We have come to free you.”
I saw his eyes light faintly.
“I . . . I know you,” he rasped, clearly unused to speaking.
“Yes,” I said, “I am Megs. I followed you into battle, and from there to your capture. A very brave man, sir, lost his life in your service. So did hundreds of others. Judge Jeffreys showed no mercy on those you urged to rebel.”
Despite the weight of his mask, Monmouth stared at the floor.
“I am thoroughly ashamed,” he said. “My pride and ambition resulted only in death.”
“Yet no man deserves your fate. We mean to end the cruelty wrought by Louis and James. But first, I have a question: How to unweld that mask?”
Monmouth sighed and the sound echoed metallically.
“You cannot,” he said. “Any attempt will kill me.”
“What about him?” I asked, pointing outside to his gaoler.
“Saint-Mars? He knows less than I do.”
Now it was my turn to sigh.
“This presents a challenge,” I said. “You cannot be seen by others while you wear that . . . head-coffin.”
“I am doomed,” said Monmouth, and he sounded calm. “But that is all right. My hell is well-deserved.”
“I reserve such a hell,” I cried, “for those who did this to you!”
Aventis came into the cell.
“Aventis,” I pleaded, “you have studied greatly. Surely you have an answer?”
“I know many things,” he said, “but alas, am no metallurgist.”
We could dwell on the matter no further, for down that long corridor came the sound of tramping boots.
“The Musketeers!” I yelled, drawing my pistol. “They have noted the woman’s absence!”
“We must fly,” said Aventis. “If they catch us here, they will slay us like rats!”
He turned on his heel and ran, followed by Carnatus. I gave Saint-Mars a quick kick, and, as he groaned, seized his sword.
“Here,” I said, tossing the blade to Monmouth. “If I were you, I would take my revenge!”
Even in his constraint, the duke raised his steel, plunging it into Saint-Mar’s neck.
“Be judged without mercy!” I told the dead gaoler. “For you have shown none here.”
I led the duke outside and set off to find my friends, now engaged with Musketeers. Seeing Aventis threatened by three of them, I cocked my pistol and shot one through the arm. Ducking behind the open door, I tensed for an answering shot. None came, and I realized why: these so-called “Musketeers” did not carry a musket! Utter French nonsense, but so much the better for us.
“Pistols, gentlemen!” I cried from where I crouched. Using the door as cover, I reloaded swiftly, then stepped out to fire. Another Musketeer fell. “These fool are without!”
Aventis smiled, aiming his pistol to blast a guard. Carnatus took up his own and managed to fell two foes. Soon, the air was heavy with powder and I began to cough.
“Careful!” I shouted to Monmouth, who was doing his best with a sword. He did inflict some damage, and I was happy to see he did not yield his ground.
“Carnatus!” I yelled through smoke and fleeing Musketeers. “Look!”
I pointed toward the wall, where, amidst the powder, he saw something heavy and iron.
“Bravo, Megs!” cried Carnatus, dashing to my side.
We both saw more foes on the way, pouring out of a building which must have been their base. I counted ten . . . twenty . . . and five. Even three men with pistols could not withstand such a number!
“Quickly,” I told Carnatus and led a charge toward the cannon.
“What goes in first?” he asked, glaring at ammunition sprawled all over the ground.
“From what I remember at Sedgemoor,” I said, “first you put in the powder, then the wad of hay, and finally, the ball.”
“Let us hope you are right,” he replied.
Together, we turned our new weapon, aiming it at the Fort. I threw in the powder and wad, while Carnatus lofted the ball as if it were a leaf.
“What is this for?” he asked, picking up a rammer.
“You use it to pack the barrel,” I said, and with that, I did. Borrowing my friend’s flint-and-steel, I lit the long fuse at the touchhole.
“RUN!” I yelled to Carnatus, and we both raced off.
BOOM! Fort Royal’s cannon destroyed five of its own men. The Musketeers heading for us looked shocked, though, to their credit, most did not retreat.
“Aventis! Mask!” I called, and they joined us.
We all circled the smoking cannon.
“Again!” Aventis ordered, prompting Carnatus to pick up a second lead ball.
This time, Aventis took charge of the powder and wad, while I, bowing, bequeathed my flint to Monmouth. I now knew enough now to put my hands over my ears, but the shudder of this blast nearly knocked me out of my boots.
“Three more down!” cried Monmouth, and I could have sworn that under his mask he smiled.
“There is but one more cannonball,” said Aventis. “We must make it count, then effect our escape.”
We all worked together as we fired for the last time. The weapon did its work well, cutting down a further four foes.
“To the wall!” Aventis yelled. “First myself, then Carnatus, the Mask, and Megs.”
I watched him jump over and swing down to the rope, descending hand-over-hand. Carnatus was next, causing our
lifeline to judder. I looked at the duke: could he even see what to grasp? He could and felt for handholds quickly. When he was sufficiently distant, I took my place as first (or last, if one were Aventis), thrilled that during this trek, our direction was down.
“All on?” Aventis shouted from somewhere beneath me.
“Yes, sir,” I called. “All’s well up here.”
But I had spoken too soon: those dam’d Musketeers were relentless! I could hear their shouts and see them peeking over the wall. They had courage, I’ll grant them that, for they threw themselves down and clutched onto our rope. I felt the twine sag dangerously. Using one gloved hand, I loaded my pistol and carefully aimed a shot—above. I was greeted by the sight of two guards tumbling head over heels toward that clear blue sea.
“Give me a clear shot!” roared Carnatus, and I ducked my head.
Again, two forms, blue coats flying, fell eerily past. Surely, after such losses, our foes would retreat from the field!
To my surprise, they did not.
Another went over the wall, then used our rope to come down and place his boots on my head!
“Ouch!” I protested, struggling to free my sword.
He unleashed his own, and what followed was my steepest conflict. Some sixty-five feet from the ground, I slashed up at my opponent, only to do no damage.
“Come down here, you coward!” I cried. “I cannot fight your feet!”
He lowered himself until we were shoulder-to-shoulder, both clinging to the same rope. But how to get in a blow when we were so damnably close?
“Finish him, Megs,” yelled Aventis. “The rope cannot hold us all!”
I set myself in motion: swinging to the right, I took the Musketeer with me, which took him by surprise: his blade jerked down, and, as I swung back, I stabbed him straight through the chest.
“Have a care!” I yelled, as my vanquished foe fell headfirst. I heard the rustle of branches as he landed among the pines.
“Excellent,” called Monmouth. “If I were in charge of an army, I would name you its general!”
I smiled, then wondered if our wood stakes—even with their fasteners—could support even us four. With no more shouts from above, I let out my breath and focused on that white wall. I noted that our rope was fraying; that a knot or two had come loose; that some of our stakes had begun to droop from their screws.
Still, I told myself, as we reached the cliff’s lower third: We can make it. We are close to the Côte d’Azur. Despite my fear of heights, I looked down at the water below . . .
And found myself heading toward it! Our rope had been a good soldier, but, after so much weight, it fell like Jeffries at Sedgemoor. I was still gripping its length as it sagged and whipped past my face. Could this be real? I thought. To come so far to this island; to actually free our prisoner, and, when we did, to kill him!
Blue water was coming closer. When I hit the sea, it felt like a wall of brick even though I plunged through it. Below the surface, I thought I saw other forms, but they were obscured by rising white bubbles. I even spied some fish, startled by our appearance, who knifed off to safety and coral. What I couldn't see was the bottom—that must be far below—though the temperature was quite pleasant—perfect for a swim.
Alas, I had never learned this skill and so sank toward the unseen floor. How I hated the water, I thought. What had it ever given me, besides sickness, a shipwreck, and now, a watery death?
My mind was starting to fog as I drifted toward some coral. Hullo fishies, I thought, waving. Little tiny fishies caught in a languid sea . . .
Then I felt a touch—on my forearm. I was being dragged upward, finally breaking the surface in my own splash of bubbles.
How sweet was that first breath in the warm, clear air! How happy I felt, even in the arms of the sea!
“A-Aventis,” I coughed, for it was he who held me. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
He nodded as he held me up, helping me to tread water. I saw we were not alone, for there was Monmouth, struggling to stay afloat despite his iron vise; and two Musketeers, who, despite their wounds, paddled back to the island. But where, in this wide blue vista, could Carnatus be found?
Aventis had the same thought.
“Monmouth,” he said, “you must look after Megs while I search for my friend.”
“Of course,” said the duke as Aventis dove out of sight.
“I am sorry,” I sputtered as Monmouth took my arm. “I cannot swim.”
“You must learn,” he said, with a hint of his old pride. “I was in the navy.”
“I too was at sea,” I said, “defying your father, I fear.”
“Ha.”
In truth, I only spoke to distract myself from Aventis who plunged somewhere beneath us.
As we waited, my strength increased in direct proportion to my worry. Even if Aventis found Carnatus, did he have the strength to drag up the giant? Or would our friend’s bulk condemn them both to drowning?
Just as I prepared to hurl myself below, I saw something float to the surface: first, a scarlet cloak; then, a drenched hat and its plumes; and, at the last, yellow breeches.
Buoyed by Aventis, Carnatus floated on his back, and Monmouth, with me in tow, splashed over to the new arrivals.
“Aventis!” I cried. “How in God’s name did you lift him?”
Aventis blinked in the sun.
“I thank God he was still awake,” he said. “In fact, he lifted me up at least three-quarters of the way. But then . . .”
He turned his head sadly to the unmoving Carnatus.
“He must breathe,” I said, my voice shaking. “Aventis, what do we do?”
He answered by paddling toward our friend’s chest and pounding it with his fists.
Nothing.
“This cannot be!” I cried, nearly going under myself.
Numb, I thought of what to do to save a body from drowning. At sea with no boat, we could not turn our friend upside down or fill his body with smoke. Still, there was something else I had heard . . .
I retrieved Carnatus’s sopping hat, then plucked out the biggest feather—bright red—and brought it up to his throat. While I tickled him, Aventis resumed his pounding as Monmouth merely struggled to keep his head above water. I seized Carnatus’s wrist and held it: Thank God, he still had a pulse!
“Come, Carnatus,” I whispered, tickling away. “Surely you have not drunk your last ale or devoured your last bird. Are there no women left in England to be bedded?”
I did not know if he heard me, but Carnatus’s lids fluttered open, and he thanked us for saving his life in true Carnatian fashion.
“Bloody hell!” he yelled, coughing up water. “In the devil’s dam’d name, why did you try to kill me?!”
I could not help it: I leaned over that wet face and gave him a kiss on the lips!
“Megs!” he roared, then calmed. “I must say, I rather enjoyed that. Can we not repeat the act?”
“No,” said Aventis. “We must make for Cannes.”
“How?” I asked.
“It is far from a simple matter. Our party includes one person who cannot swim and another in an iron mask.” He addressed the duke. “Sir, I must ask you to lie on your back.”
Monmouth did so, kicking to stay afloat.
“Now, Megs,” Aventis told me, “join him and do the same.”
I obeyed, clutching the duke’s arm.
“Carnatus—here.”
Carnatus assumed his post at Monmouth’s other arm.
“Good.”
Aventis swam round me, and I saw his intent: the duke and I were to serve as a human life raft!
We began to make for Cannes with all the speed of a sea snail.
“At this rate,” I said, “when we reach France, Louis will have expired.”
“Amen,” muttered Monmouth.
“The thought of a meal in Cannes,” said Carnatus, “shall transform me into a sail.”
“Make it two,” I said, re
ferring to the latter. I glanced at Aventis who was kicking away gamely.
“Do you think we can make it?” I asked.
The French coast, from our position, seemed an ocean away.
“It is but a half-mile,” he said, “and, with a bit of luck, perhaps some boat will spot us.”
I nodded but started to tire from merely lying about.
“Kick hard!” I told Monmouth, and we both set to. Even with the four of us splashing, we made pathetic progress.
I turned to Aventis.
“We will not survive.”
“You must have faith,” he said. “God has taken us this far. Why would He forsake us now?”
I could think of many reasons: we were killers, robbers, and kidnappers. Still, I refrained from voicing my sentiments.
After another twenty strokes, Carnatus seemed all but done for.
“My friends,” he gasped, “I can traverse a country pond, but I fear the sea is beyond me. You must abandon me here.”
“Nonsense,” said Aventis, as fresh as when we had started. “Think of all the rich food which awaits us in France.”
Carnatus redoubled his efforts, as did we all.
One good kick . . . two . . . three . . . all performed on my back. Should I remove my boots? I wondered. Perhaps I should remove all, and plunge, unencumbered, down to the floor of the sea. The deep must be so tranquil. Nothing to disturb one but fishes; nothing to pain the limbs in that blue, weightless world . . .
“Megs!”
I awoke to this shout, accompanied by shaking. When I opened my eyes, Aventis was leaning over me.
“Enough!” I said, sitting up. “Not being a stew, I do not require stirring!”
Relieved, he smiled.
Looking around, I saw Carnatus, then Monmouth (his head wrapped in a coat) slumped inside a fishing boat. Straight ahead was the blessed beach at Cannes!
“Luck,” I said to Aventis as our small craft landed.
“Faith,” he replied, helping me onshore. He turned toward our rescuer, spoke French, and gave him a handful of guineas.
“He has agreed,” said Aventis, “never to speak of this. He only saw the mask while our friend was in the water.”
I glanced at Monmouth, Aventis’s black hood now draped over his face. As we climbed toward town, no one gave him a second glance, which gave me great relief.