“What?”
“People like us, bondmen, rising against their liege.”
“A group of farmers rose against the duke of Bourges,” I said.
The smith seemed satisfied. We crept a little farther. He tapped me again. “So, how’d it turn out for them?”
I pressed my back against the wall. “I think they were slaughtered to a man.”
“Oh.” The big smith grunted. His face turned white.
I mussed his shaggy hair. “They were discovered talking under the walls. Now shush!”
We continued, creeping along the east edge of town. In the crook of a ravine, we came across a shallow moat. It reeked, stagnant with putrid water and sewage. It was more of a large ditch; we could cross it with a jump.
At each point, I scanned the base of the wall for a sign of the tunnel once shown to me by Palimpost. None . . . As we moved along, the terrain grew tougher to traverse and the walls rose high above us, too tall for any kind of assault. That was good; no lookouts would be manning the walls here.
But where was the blasted passageway?
I began to get worried. Soon it would be light. Another day. There was the chance Baldwin would unleash his warriors to break our will.
“You’re sure you know what you’re doing, Hugh?” Odo muttered.
“Hell of a time to ask,” I snapped.
Then I spotted it: a formation of piled rocks concealed behind some brush on the bank of the moat. I sighed with relief. “There!”
We scurried down the embankment and straddled the moat. Then I pulled my way up the other side. I ripped through the dense brush and began to tear apart the pile of rocks.
The declining pile revealed the entrance to a tunnel.
“Never doubted you for an instant.” Odo laughed.
Chapter 112
THE CRAWL SPACE WAS AS I REMEMBERED — dark, narrow, barely enough room for a man to pass. And shin-deep with murky, foul-smelling water trickling down to the moat.
There were no torches to light our way. I had to trust my instincts against the dark, feeling along the cold, rocky walls. I knew each one in my party had his heart in his throat too. It was like crawling into Hell — cold, pitch-black, odiferous. Floating shit and other refuse lapped against our feet. Moments stretched along like hours. With every step, I grew less sure of the way. After countless prayers, I came upon a fork in the tunnel. One path continued up, the other went left. I decided to follow the path upward, since the castle stood at the top of the hill.
“We are all right,” I whispered. But I wasn’t really sure. The word rippled down the line. We climbed higher and higher, cutting through the mount on which Baldwin’s castle was built. Above us, Treille slept.
Suddenly a blast of air hit me from ahead. I noticed light slanting onto the wall. I quickened my pace and came to a spot I vaguely remembered. The dungeon. Where Palimpost had sneaked me into the tunnel.
I passed the word, “Ready your weapons.” Then, with a deep breath, I pressed at the stone in the cave where the light trickled in.
It moved. I pushed it a little more. The slab gave way.
Soon, all twenty men had pulled themselves out of the tunnel. By my reckoning, it was still before dawn. The relief detail had not come.
Two guards were asleep, their feet up on a table. One was that pig Armand who had delighted in torturing me when I was captive here. A third guard snoozed on the stairs.
I signaled Odo and Alois, and each silently crept behind one of the guards. We had to take them quickly. Any sound would be as good as an alarm.
At my nod, we were on them. Odo took the one on the stairs, and as he gagged on a loud snore, wrapped his thick, muscular arms around the man’s throat.
Alois cupped his hand over the mouth of one sleeping at the table. His eyes flew open. As he strained to scream, the woodsman slid a sharp blade across his neck. The guard’s legs stiffened and shook, more of a spasm than a fight.
Armand was mine. At the sound of commotion, he blinked himself awake, befuddled. Clearing his eyes, he bolted up to see his partners slumped to the floor and a familiar face grinning down at him.
“Remember me?” I winked.
Then I bashed him in the face with the hilt of my sword. He toppled backward, kicking the table aside, and landed, mouth bloody, on his back.
He reached behind him for an iron stake leaning on the wall. François, one of the Morrisaey woodsmen, stepped up.
“No need to be so civilized.” The woodsman shrugged and hammered Armand to the floor with his club, stepping on his throat and pinning the struggling jailer’s airway with his huge foot. Armand gagged and choked, flailing his arms from side to side, but the woodsman’s step was like a vise. In a minute, Armand’s arms relaxed.
“Quick,” I said to Odo and Alois, “into their uniforms.”
We stripped the guards and donned their purple-and-white tunics. Then we put on their helmets and armed ourselves with their swords. We dragged the bodies back down the corridor.
Suddenly there was the creaking of a door opening above. Voices coming down the stairs.
“Time to wake up, sleepyheads,” someone called. “It’s almost light. Hey, what’s going on?”
Chapter 113
BETTE, THE DUKE’S COOK, HAD RISEN EARLY that morning. She had hurried down to the kitchen and by dawn busied herself with her usual task of preparing the morning meal.
She stirred the porridge until it was the perfect consistency. She took down a jar of cinnamon, a sweet new spice brought back from the East, and sprinkled it onto the simmering grain. She fried cured pork over the flame, and it gave off a delicious, fatty smell. She dressed the porridge with currants.
The two guards who stood watch outside the pantry, she knew, were about to end their overnight shift. Pierre and Imo, lazy slobs. This wasn’t exactly crack duty, guarding the royal kitchen when an army threatened at the gates.
Bette knew they would be dead tired, ready for a snooze, and that their bellies would be aching for something to eat. The early-morning cooking smells would lure them like a whore’s scent.
As the sun broke through the early mist, Bette tied up two burlap sacks filled with last night’s mess. Then she poked her head out of the kitchen.
“What are you making? Smells like Heaven,” Pierre, the plumper of the guards, said.
“Whatever it is, the duke seems to prize it.” Bette winked. “And there’s some extra this morning, if I can get a chore done for me.”
“Show us, cooky,” Pierre said.
Bette grinned and led them back through the kitchen. She showed them the two heavy pails of garbage.
“Empty them in the back,” Bette instructed. “Just make sure you captains of war don’t spill them.”
“Pile on those currants.” Imo grinned, hoisting his pail. “We’ll be right back.”
“Of course.” Bette nodded.
She looked out the window. An anxious tremor fluttered in her heart. This was a dangerous line she had crossed, but she had crossed it in her mind long ago. When the duke unceremoniously hanged her friend Natalie as a thief for taking a bit of salve from the physician’s chambers; and when her second cousin Teddy had his flock confiscated and was forced to tend them in the duke’s own pen. She would have gladly poisoned the prick herself, if Hugh had asked.
The two soldiers went in back and emptied the pails carelessly onto the garbage pile, drooling with anticipation of their forthcoming meal.
Behind them, two other soldiers dressed in purple and white stood up and grabbed them by the neck. Pierre’s and Imo’s eyes bulged as they were dragged to the ground.
Bette wiped her hands on a rag. Yes, it was a dangerous line she had crossed . . . but what choice was there?
She sighed. It was a crazy time when you had to choose between a madman and a fool.
Chapter 114
IN AN HOUR’S TIME, FOURTEEN OF OUR MEN stood about the courtyard, dressed as Baldwin’s own brigade.
> The rest kept from sight, concealed behind the dungeon door. Like Bette, three of Geoffrey’s friends had helped lure soldiers into our trap.
Odo and I stood guard at the dungeon door, looking for a sign that the duke was conducting business. Across the courtyard, two guards stood with halberds on either side of the castle entrance. Others crossed back and forth at a crisp pace, wheeling weapons and armaments down to the ramparts.
From down the road, we could hear our own men massing at the city walls — shouting and taunting, just as I had ordered them.
Finally I spotted Geoffrey entering the courtyard. He scratched his head, then flashed me a purposeful nod.
“It’s time,” I said, rapping at the dungeon door.
Odo slid it open. The balance of our party, some still in their own clothes, headed out. In the hubbub of people moving about, no one noticed. We made our way across the courtyard. We were joined by the rest of our ranks in Baldwin’s uniforms, loitering about.
As we approached the castle guards, one of them lowered his halberd in our path. “Only military personnel in the castle today.”
“These men have business before the duke,” I said, indicating those not wearing guards’ uniforms. “They have come from the woods and know of the jester.”
The guards hesitated. They eyed us up and down. My heart beat wildly. “We’ve come from the wall,” I said in a firmer voice. “Do you have the time to conduct an investigation when there’s important news to deliver to the duke?” Finally, eyeing our uniforms, the guard retracted the halberd and let us by.
We were inside the castle. I boldly led the group through the main vestibule toward the great hall.
To my surprise, the halls were not as busy as I expected. Most of the duke’s manpower was defending the walls. The times I had been here before, these same halls were crowded with petitioners and favor-seekers.
I led the way to the great hall. Two more guards stood at attention before the large doorway. The duke’s voice bellowed inside. My stomach churned.
“We are wanted within.” I snapped a nod to the guards. I wore the purple and white. We’d made it this far. No one made a move to block us.
Our ranks sifted into the duke’s large meeting room. It was just as I remembered when I had been a jester here, except that then, it had been packed with people conducting business; today, I saw mostly Baldwin’s retinue and knights.
Baldwin was slouched in his chair. He wore a military tunic with his crest and high leather boots. His sword was sheathed in an ornate scabbard.
The pig!
A high-ranking officer was concluding a report on the scene outside the walls. Two of my men remained behind, near the guards at the doorway.
“My lord,” the chamberlain said, “the rabble has made a petition for you to consider.”
“A petition?” Baldwin shrugged.
“A list of demands,” the new chatelain, who had presumably taken over for Norcross, explained.
My men circulated around the room. Odo and Alphonse took positions behind the duke. Alois and two others from Morrisaey edged near the chamberlain and the chatelain.
“Who brings these demands?” Baldwin perked up. “Our fucking jester?”
“No, my lord,” the chamberlain replied. “Your jester is nowhere in sight. Perhaps he is afraid to get out of bed. But it is as we spoke. Let them deliver their complaints. And you give them the impression that you will seriously take them into account.”
“Into account.” Baldwin stroked his beard. He turned to the chatelain. “Chatelain, choose your lowest, most unfit soldier, prop him up on a mule, and send him out to receive these grievances. Have him convey to the filth that they have his assurance it will receive our most urgent review.”
A few of the knights snickered.
The chatelain stepped up. “I beg you, sir, not to mock these men.”
“Your protest is heard. Now, hurry off and find this latrine-cleaner. And Gui, when your man is safely back, kill a few of them. Just to assure them we are placing their petition under our most urgent review.”
“But my lord, they will be protected, under truce,” the chatelain said hesitantly.
“Are you whining again? Chamberlain, do you think you could head to the walls and carry out this decree? My military man seems to have come down with a case of cold dick.”
“I can, my lord.” The fat weasel scrambled away.
About the room, everyone stood aghast at the chatelain’s rebuke.
“Now.” Baldwin stood, staring around the room. “Is there anyone else in here who has a similar plan?”
“Yes,” I shouted from the back of the room. “I think we should attack. Attack your enemies in the west.”
Chapter 115
BALDWIN POUNDED HIS FIST. “We don’t have any fucking enemies in the . . .” Then he fixed perfectly still. His eyes bulged like dark plums. “Who said that? Who is that man? Come forward.”
I stepped out from the crowd and let the military tunic fall off my shoulders. I stood in my checkerboard tunic and leggings. I removed my helmet. I watched his eyes home in on my face.
“You do now. . . .” I winked at him.
Baldwin’s face drained of color. Then he stood and pointed at me, saying, “It’s him. The jester!”
Soldiers went for their arms but were immediately intercepted by men in their own uniform, my men, pressing swords to their throats.
The chatelain made a move toward me, but Alois subdued him before he drew his sword.
“Seize him. Do you hear?” Baldwin ordered the guards behind his chair.
They moved toward me but in almost the same motion took hold of the duke. Odo was one of them. He placed a knife against Baldwin’s throat; Alphonse dug his sword into the middle of Baldwin’s back.
The duke’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. He looked at his knights, many of whom had scrambled for their arms.
“If they charge, you’re a dead bastard,” I said to him. “It would give me much pleasure.”
Baldwin looked about, his neck muscles twitching. Outrage smoldered in his eyes. All around, men loyal to the duke were held at knifepoint. Some knights drew their swords, looking to Baldwin for the word.
“Tell them, arms down,” I said. Odo pressed his knife and finally drew a trickle of noble blood.
Baldwin’s eyes flitted desperately from side to side as he estimated the probable outcome of any resistance.
“Trust me, liege, these men who hold you hate you more than I do,” I said. “I do not know if they will even heed me, they want to spill your guts so badly. But on the assumption that they want their children to live in peace more than they want your steaming entrails on the floor, I beg you, tell the knights to put down their arms. Otherwise, when I drop my hand, you are dead.”
Baldwin did not answer but continued to look about. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly. One by one, the knights’ blades clattered to the floor.
My chest heaved a sigh of relief. “Now we go outside, my liege. You’ll tell your men on the walls to lay down their arms.”
The duke swallowed, a lump slowly traveling down his throat. “You are insane,” he spat.
“And you seem to be a little foolstruck as well, my lord, if you don’t mind me saying.”
An amused snicker traveled across the room.
“You will be dead by nightfall.” Baldwin burned his gaze into my face. “Towns will come to my defense. To rise against a lord this way, you could only be the biggest fool in history.”
I looked slowly around the room. Odo curled back a smile, then Alphonse, then Alois.
“Perhaps the second biggest,” I replied.
Chapter 116
WE DRAGGED THE LORD BALDWIN OUTSIDE, forcing him at sword point to the castle gates.
Each soldier we passed looked on with dumbfounded shock. Some, no doubt eager to resist, looked to their liege for a sign, but at the sight of Baldwin’s beaten eyes, and the bailiff, chamberlain, and chatela
in trailing submissively behind, they held their weapons at their sides.
As we marched, stunned townspeople rushed to line the streets. They must have thought themselves hungover.
A few began to jeer. “Look at Baldwin. It’s what you deserve, you greedy hog.” There was laughing, and scraps of food and debris began to be thrown.
As we approached the walls, I saw that word must have traveled ahead. Soldiers were just staring at us, lances and bows held at their sides.
“Tell them the battle is over.” I pushed Baldwin forward. “Tell them to lay down their arms and open the gate.”
“You can’t expect them to stand by and let in that mob.” Baldwin sniffed. “They will be ripped to shreds.”
“Not a soul will be harmed; you have my word on it. Except, of course, you,” I continued, pressing the sword in deeper, “if you fail to comply. My guess is, not one of them would mind the sight of that very much.”
Baldwin swallowed. “Put down your arms,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Louder.” I prodded him.
“Put down your arms,” Baldwin shouted. “The castle is lost. Open the gates.”
Everyone remained still. In disbelief. Then two of my men ran and threw off the heavy beams that secured the gates. They flung the doors open, and a band of our men, Georges the miller at the lead, burst in.
“What took you so long?” the miller said, coming up to me.
“Our liege was so thoroughly set on hearing each last grievance, we lost track of time.” I grinned.
Georges ran his eyes over the captured duke. No doubt he had been thinking of this moment for a long time. “My apologies, lord. You raised our taxes. I think I owe you my last installment.”
With that, he spat a thick yellow wad all over the duke’s face. Georges’s eyes remained on him while the spit slowly trickled its way down Baldwin’s chin. “Now here’s my grievance.” He put his face close to the duke’s. “I am Georges, miller of Veille du Père. I want my son back.”
All around us, farmers and peasants spilled into the streets and climbed up the ramparts. Hesitant soldiers climbed out of the towers and ran terrified off the walls.