Spectre of the Sword (40 page)

“My son,” he finally
said softly, so no one could hear him clearly. “They have my son.  I was given
no choice.”

Rhys just stared at him.
“Your son, Richard?”

Lawrence nodded,
averting his gaze. “He is seven years old now, fostering at Kenilworth when the
king’s agents seized him.  So I did what I did to save my son. You would have
done the same.”

Rhys began to feel some
of his rage ease. “Then help me now and let us go save your son together,” he
hissed. “Help me get Elizabeau out of this place. It does not have to be this
way, Lawrence.”

“Aye, it does,” Lewis
stepped forward, wiping the blood from his nose where Rhys had punched him.  It
was apparent that his patience was waning. “Since this outpost is under my
command until de Lacy’s return, it is my directive that you and your lady shall
suffer the same fate.   Lower your weapons and I will give you and the lady the
last two hours until dawn together.  Refuse and I shall have my men overwhelm
you both and kill you where you stand.  I am at an end with my mercy, du Bois. 
Make your choice.”

He had the manpower to
do it; Rhys knew that.  He could feel Elizabeau’s against his back, trembling,
and he knew that he could not stand by and watch her hacked to death by
careless broadswords.  His hands suddenly began to shake and his head to swim,
knowing that, for the moment, they were defeated.   He had to buy some time to
figure things out; even two hours might help him figure out a way to get them
out of this predicament.  And he did not want to lose that chance, not when it
was the difference between life and death for Elizabeau and their child.

With a heavy sigh, he
abruptly lowered his weapons and extended them, hilt end, to Lawrence. The
white-haired knight paused a moment before taking them, suddenly feeling a good
deal of defeat himself.   He felt as if he had done something truly horrible,
which he had.  But it had been necessary.

“Rhys?” he asked as he
turned away.

“What is it, Lawrence?”

The knight turned
slowly, gazing at him with his white-blue eyes.  The words spoken were softly
uttered. “I lied. Richard is safe and sound at Kenilworth.”

The soldiers swarmed on
Rhys and Elizabeau and dragged them off into the night.  On the third floor of
the keep, however, Radcliffe was not so lucky.  A jumpy soldier mistook his
surrender for an offensive and drove his blade straight into the man’s chest.

Edward died with
Elizabeau’s name on his lips.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ludlow, like most
fortresses, had more than one entrance.  It was a small gate near the kitchen
yards for servants and peasants to pass through, where business was conducted. 
It was also usually heavily fortified.  Called the postern gate, Ludlow
possessed not one but two.  As David and Geist scouted the walls of Ludlow,
they both came to the same conclusion.  Whatever chance they had of getting the
lady and Rhys out of that place would have to happen on a much smaller scale. 
They would have to slip away through the smaller gate with less chance of being
caught.

But there were problems
aplenty. If Lawrence truly was a traitor, then he would know David on sight,
which would make it difficult for David to make it into Ludlow unnoticed. 
Geist had been around Lawrence for several months but did not know the man
well, which would make it easier for him to move about without attracting a
great deal of attention.  His heavy accent was another matter but Geist was
certain that he could convince them that he was a mercenary from Saxony.  He
even had a nice lineage memorized.  But David talked him out of the mercenary
idea and convinced him that he should pose as a priest. Priests were
unthreatening and rarely questioned.  For lack of a better argument, Geist
agreed.

So they had taken
precious time to return to the nearby town of Ludlow and scavenge the area until
they came up with some rough garments and a little donkey that some farmer
obviously used for a beast of burden.  The little animal was laden with
kindling and other materials, but David stripped it off the animal’s back and
quickly yanked the animal into the shadows.   While Geist peeled off his armor
and donned clothing that looked more like a peasant than a monk, David made
sure the donkey was as prepared as he could get it.

So they returned to
Ludlow with less than two hours before dawn.  The plan was for Geist to enter
Ludlow as a traveling priest and unbar the postern gate that was nearest the
kitchens.  At the moment, it was soundly locked.  David would have his charger
waiting by the gate for a swift getaway, but he planned to be inside the gates
come sunrise.  He wasn’t sure how to conceal his identity until Geist pointed
out that he could dress as a farmer or peasant and enter unnoticed.  But if the
lady was going to be put to the block at sunrise, then security would more than
likely be tight and David was going to have to think quickly on his feet to
avoid being shut out altogether.

A little more than an
hour before dawn, Geist rode to the great portcullis of Ludlow and announced
himself.  The men at the gate were suspicious of him and at one point, turned
him away.  But Geist was able to convince them that he was exhausted, and ill,
and simply wished shelter for the remainder of the night.  So the soldiers let
him in and one followed him to the stable, where he was to rest and feed his
donkey.  Geist was quite congenial as he removed the rough-fashioned saddle
from the animal’s back and began wiping it down.  When the soldier, bored with
the latest addition to Ludlow, yawned and averted his attention for a moment,
Geist whacked him on the head with the butt of a dirk he had tucked into his
belt and the man fell like a stone.

As Geist gazed down at
the fallen soldier, a thought suddenly occurred to him.  It was a brilliant
idea, in fact. Several minutes later, the soldier was stripped of his clothing,
bound hand and foot, and buried under a pile of dirty straw.

David took the soldier’s
clothing gladly. The man was taller than he was, but David was broader, making
the clothing and armor a bit tricky to maneuver.  The helm covered his entire
head plus the bridge of his nose, making it almost impossible to recognize
him.   As Geist explained the layout of the ward, including what looked like a
common area where he saw some soldiers manipulating a great stone block into
place, David pulled on the remainder of his stolen armor and the two of them
slipped in through the postern gate and into the shadows of Ludlow.  

There was nothing to do
now but wait for sunrise and see how events would unfold.  They didn’t even
know if Rhys was alive or dead, or if the lady was even alive, but they would
know soon enough.  Both Geist and David carried a crossbow, concealed, plus
both whatever weaponry they could handle.  Their primary focus was on freeing
the lady, but if Rhys was still alive and anywhere in the vicinity, then it was
imperative they free him, too.  They needed his sword and David would not let
the man die without doing everything in his power to save him. Rhys was not
only a friend, but he had saved David’s life on many occasions.  The most
recent was the night they had sent the lady into hiding and Rhys had used his
crossbow to dispatch a warrior that had the upper hand on David when his
charger slipped in the mud.  David remembered that clearly.  Now it was his
turn to return the favor.

Everything was resting
on their hastily formed plan and David had been praying steadily on it for
quite some time.  He prayed that his brother would not arrive before he could
get to Rhys and Elizabeau because the fortress would surely be locked down in
that case, making escape impossible.   He prayed for another miracle in a week
that had already seen one.

God help them all.

***

The vault in the
gatehouse of Ludlow was dank and dark but for a small slit in the door that
allowed some light to come through.  There was a torch lit somewhere in the
corridor, enough so that Rhys could see Elizabeau’s face in the weak light. 

He had been gazing at
her for the better part of an hour, trying to figure out how to get them out of
the mess they were in.  As he inspected her features, the lovely lines,
delicately arched brows and pert nose, he was coming to feel like a tremendous
failure.  He had known at the inception of this mission that success had less
than even odds; still, he had truly believed that he would not fail. He believed
that he would see his mission through to success and emerge a man of stronger
reputation and wisdom.  As it was, he had failed in nearly everything.  He had
succumbed to emotion and reasoned things through with his heart and not his
common sense.  It made him ill to think on how horribly he had failed.  Their
current situation was proof.

So he struggled to
divert the negative thoughts weighing down on him.  They would not do him any
good; not now. He was at the end of the road as far as most would determine,
but he could not let it end this way.  He knew that he loved Elizabeau with all
his heart and the child she carried fortified him with determination such as
he’d never known.  When he looked at her, he saw more than just a failed
mission; he saw his life as he had never expected it to be.  He saw his wife,
his son, and he knew that he would protect his family at all costs. He would
not, could not give up, not until the last breath left his body.

“Do you remember the
night we met?” Elizabeau soft voice invaded his restless thoughts. “Do you
remember how I hid from you for over an hour?”

Rhys had been standing
near the cell door, trying to listen to any conversation outside in the
gatehouse.  He turned to look at her; she was seated on the cold stone of the
vault, her arms wrapped around her legs to stay warm.  The expression on her
face warmed his heart, causing the pains of desperation that he was trying so
desperately to stave off to throb in his chest. He ignored them.

“I remember,” he said
softly. “And you did not hide very well. I knew where you were the entire
time.”

She pouted like a child.
“You did not.”

“I confess, I did.”

She made a face at him.
“You think you’re so clever.”

He laughed softly at her
as she fussed; it was great fun watching her fuss and he moved away from the
door.  When he reached her, he extended his big arms. “Get off the floor,
angel,” he pulled her to her feet, sat down, and seated her on his lap. “You do
not belong on the dirty stone.”

She curled up on his big
legs, her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder.  For a moment,
they simply sat there, feeling each other’s life and warmth.  Neither one
wanted to think that this would be the last few stolen moments that they would
ever know of it. The mere idea was too painful to entertain. For Elizabeau, the
pressure was eventually too much to take and she ran her fingers through his
dark hair, burying her face in the side of his head.

“Please tell me that we
have not come to the end of all things,” she murmured. “Tell me we will live to
see the sun set.  Tell me that we will live to see our son born.”

He sighed faintly,
pulling her closer. “I promise that I will do all in my power to make it so, I
swear it.”

She had her face in
against his hair.  After a moment, he could feel her shaking with sobs.  It was
the first time since they had been locked up in the vault that she had
succumbed to her fear. She was struggling not to be obvious about it, but he
knew.  He kissed her forehead, feeling her shake.

“No tears,” he murmured.
“Tears are a sign of surrender and I refuse to believe that you have given up
so easily. That is not the Elizabeau I know.”

She struggled with her
tears. “I am not giving up,” she whispered, wiping at her nose. “But I will
admit that I am scared.  Rhys, I do not want to watch you die.  What if they
kill you first and I must watch? My God, I cannot imagine such a horrible….”

He cut her off with
swift, gentle kisses. “Instead of thinking of what might happen, we should
think of a way out of this. We must plan another escape attempt, something you
must be vastly experience at by now.”

His attempt at humor
brought a weak smile. “I haven’t been very good at it so far.”

He smiled at her. “Those
were all practice attempts. Now that we know what will not work, it should be
easier to figure out what will.”

“You make it sound
simpler than it is.  How on earth can we get out of this place?”

Rhys was silent a
moment, caressing her gently as he thought on his reply.  “We have not seen
Radcliffe since our capture,” he said quietly. “There is hope that the man has
eluded arrest.  Perhaps he is already plotting our escape.”

Elizabeau gazed at him
steadily. “Do you really believe that?”

“It is possible.”

She sighed with
disagreement. “He is more than likely dead or imprisoned as we are.  Edward
does not think quickly on his feet.  I know; I have been confined with the man
for months and he does not think well for himself. I do not believe you can
depend on him to help us.”

“Then what would you
suggest?” he asked, though he didn’t really mean it. “For I am considering
anything at this point.”