CHAPTER XXIII

The throne room of the King of France was smaller than that of Westminster Palace, but the opulence of its decor was second to none. Intricately carved columns of oak supported a gold-encrusted ceiling frescoed with cherubs. Candelabra of cut crystal adorned every cove along the walls and lit the room brightly.

Louis XI sat on a throne of mahogany cushioned with lace pillows. Pierre de Brezé and François Lascombes waited as the king considered his choices.

“My lords, the Duke of Burgundy must never again be permitted to side with the English against us,” said Louis at last. “It is our principal concern in these matters. Too often, the English have arrived on our shores and shed our dearest blood. I swear I would sooner die than to bend my knee to an English king as my grandfather did.” He clenched his fists as he spoke.

“As you say, Sire,” agreed Lascombes. “But we cannot miss this opportunity. The English throne could remain weak for another generation.”

Brezé cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can accomplish all we need.” The king nodded for him to continue. “I’m sure that the Earl will agree to anything that we ask, in return for our assistance.”

“We agree,” Louis said after a moment’s reflection. “Summon Margaret of Anjou to us.”

Lascombes bowed his head and left.

Warwick had arrived at the French court a month earlier and had waited impatiently for an audience with the king. When Louis had finally seen him, it was without the pomp and honors with which he had greeted him the last time he came, as ambassador from Edward. But then he had not come as a beggar. The king had made him no promises, except to consider his request for aid.

“My lord de Brezé, what think you of Warwick’s strength in England? We would not wish to send our troops on a fool’s errand.”

“Majesty, he still commands significant resources, and could if needed gather a strong puissance were he to land in England with some hope of success.”

“By that, I assume you mean if he is well supplied by us.”

“Indeed, Highness. He is not so popular that the nobility will blindly follow him. And we have already seen that they will not accept him as king.”

“We may need your help to convince Margaret to accept our conditions. She values your counsel.”

“As you wish, Your Highness, but I should point out that Margaret is not easily convinced of that which she disapproves.”

“We do not think that Margaret is in a position to defy us. But if she is ruled by us,” Louis continued, “we all stand to gain a great deal.”

“I will do as you say, Your Highness.”

Lascombes returned with Margaret, the exiled queen of England and native daughter of France. The years of exile and Louis’ pitifully inadequate financial assistance during that time had not lessened her will, nor did she hold herself any less majestically. She had raised her son, now sixteen, with the knowledge that he was the rightful heir to the English throne, and had done so with barely enough money to feed him, much less train him to be a great ruler. She wore her graying hair in a single braid that was wrapped tightly to the back of her head.

“Your Highness has sent for me?”

“Rise, Margaret of Anjou, we are glad to look upon you again.”

“I thank Your Grace, though I wonder that it has taken this long for your invitation.”

Louis smiled. He knew she had a right to be upset, but he was not inclined to waste precious resources supporting a queen in exile. However, now that he smelled an opportunity to use her to his advantage, he would tolerate her rebuke.

“Our time serves us now to be more attentive.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I have heard that your great enemy, the cursed Earl of Warwick, has been granted an audience. I am curious to know what such a traitor can hope to gain from the French people.”

“Has it not occurred to you that perhaps he can be of great service to us both?”

“The only service that I wish of the earl is to see his trunkless head at my feet.” Her hatred had caused her to temporarily lose her civility.

Louis paused for a moment as she regained her composure. He had known that his plan would be hard to sell, but upon her cooperation depended the success of his hopes. He stood and descended from the dais.

“We ask only that you hear us and tell us what you think. Will you agree to that?”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” She had little choice.

“Good, good. Warwick has asked for our aid, which we are not inclined to give except in return for great services to us and France. You both have been wronged by the Yorkist pretender and as such have a great deal in common. Instead of enemies, you should become friends.”

Margaret crossed her arms defiantly. “While we have both been wronged, it is at Warwick’s hands that my son was deprived of his birthright. I cannot ever forget that. If I may be so bold, what can he offer you in his present state?”

“He can be the tool by which your son’s birthright is restored.”

“I am skeptical, my lord. How would this be accomplished?” Louis smiled and sat again on the throne, knowing that he was now more in control.

“We will offer the earl our support only on condition that he recognize our cousin Henry, your husband, as his lawful and rightful king, and your son as heir to the English throne. Would that not accomplish what you have hoped for?”

She knew only too well that even if Warwick were to defeat Edward in the name of the Lancastrians, her husband would be a puppet at best, and she and her son were being shamelessly used by Louis to attain that end.

Her old friend Pierre de Brezé, knowing at that moment that the king had anticipated Margaret’s need for friendly advice, quickly stepped forward.

“Majesty, if you would permit me?” Louis signaled his assent with a nod. “My lady, let me add my endorsement to His Highness’ gracious offer, and I am pleased to know that you will soon retake your place as England’s queen as God in Heaven has ordained.”

Margaret considered his words. Was this how he truly felt, or was he also a pawn of the king? She knew that Brezé was not so practiced in the art of deception as was the king, but there was a sadness in his voice. Finally, she responded directly to Louis.

“Your Highness, I must see the earl myself before agreeing to this plan. I must know his soul. It is my son’s life that we risk in these matters.”

Louis smiled. “A wise request. We will arrange the meeting for tomorrow. You may return again in the morning.”

Margaret bowed and left.

“My lord de Brezé, what support can Edward expect from among the nobility?”

“Of the great magnates, only that of Warwick’s brother, and his own brother, the untried Duke of Gloucester. It is not an enviable position.”

“Strange how these enemies have traded brothers,” mused the king. “Perhaps the time is ripe for us to obtain a lasting advantage over the squabbling English, and we may even, at the same time, extricate the thorn of haughty Burgundy from our side at last. Monsieur Lascombes, draw up terms of alliance between us and Warwick, and take care to include the certain downfall of Burgundy in our terms of treaty. It is our most cherished demand.”

“It shall be as you say, Sire.”

Louis allowed himself a smug moment. Could it be that before the year was out, he would have a pliant and weak king on the English throne, and that Burgundy would once again pay him homage as all vassals should to the king of a united France? It would be the culmination of his dreams.

*

The following day, Margaret arrived back to the royal palace. The Earl of Warwick greeted her in a royal waiting chamber where Pierre de Brezé was also present.

“Majesty, though you have good cause to hate me, I beg forgiveness and a moment to prove my worth.”

“It is right for you to kneel before your queen, my lord. But you are too late to gain advantage by the act. We are banished from our own land by your rebellious acts, and have no boon to give.”

“It is for that very reason that I beg a moment of your time, Highness, for it is my greatest desire to right the wrongs that I have wrought on you and your family. Your Highness, I was misled by the House of York, for which I am truly regretful.” That much, at least, Margaret could believe. “I am now willing to make amends. Between us we can and will reverse our fortunes.”

“My lord, we both know that this attempt at reconciliation is motivated entirely by your present state. If we were to accept your apology, what would keep you from your treacherous ways once we are back in England?”

“My lady,” interjected Brezé, “there is a way for the earl to show his sincerity in this matter and give Your Grace the assurance that she needs.”

“You have always been dear to our heart, my lord, and we value your advice. Tell us what you suggest.” Brezé bowed his head in thanks.

“My lord of Warwick must make an offer to Your Highness that shows his devotion and sincerity. An offer that cannot be withdrawn or besmirched were the earl to regain his former prominence. A gesture, if you will, that would be blessed by the Holy Church, and therefore sacred.” Margaret’s interest was piqued.

“And you have a proposal for such an offer?”

“My lady, the earl has a daughter still unmarried and, as I have heard, virtuous beyond question. Is it not so, my lord?”

“As virtuous as any in the kingdom, my lord,” interjected Warwick. “I’ll swear to that by all that’s holy. Her name is Anne.”

“And the young Prince of Wales is in need of a wife, is it not so, my lady?”

Horrified as she was by the suggestion, Margaret could not dismiss the idea. If the earl were to regain his estates, Anne stood to inherit a vast fortune. Warwick had no sons, only two daughters, the eldest of whom, Isabel, had recently wed the Duke of Clarence over the objections of Edward. Upon the death of Warwick, English law would split his estate between the two daughters equally, and even half of such an estate would give her son the wealth he would need if he were king. Moreover, as Brezé said, such a marriage would make the earl less inclined to turn his back on them once he was restored to his former power, being content instead with the knowledge that his grandchildren would be rulers of England. Warwick was weighing his options as well.

“What say you to this proposal?”

“If His Majesty the Prince will have her, then with all my heart the union has my blessing.”

“My lord. You will have our answer in the morning. Now, there are details that we must discuss with my lord de Brezé.” Warwick kissed the queen’s hand and left.

“We tell you frankly, Brezé, we fear this union,” said Margaret. “Upon our soul, it does not sit well. But for our son’s sake we must take this risk.”

“My lady, soon your son will be back where he belongs. As for the earl, once you have reclaimed the throne, you will have your destiny back in your own hands.”

“But we have seen that the Yorkist pretender is an able general, and we cannot risk our son’s life, even for the throne.” It was the first time he had ever seen her close to tears. “And Warwick cannot assure us of victory. He may be so deluded, but we are not.”

“My lady,” he responded after a moment of thought, “perhaps there is no need for your son to be risked in such a battle. I will suggest to Louis that the invasion force be split in two parts, one under the earl’s leadership, and one under yours. The earl will go first to see what support he has, and if he is successful, you will follow later with the prince, but only after Warwick has secured a safe kingdom for you both.”

Margaret was delighted by the strategy. “It is very agreeable to us, my lord. Let Warwick take the risks and we shall enter triumphantly afterwards if he wins. Will Louis agree?”

“I will see that he does, my lady. He will accede to my superior understanding in these matters. He has too much to gain.”

*

The following day, Warwick, having already started planning an invasion fleet with Lascombes, was not pleased to hear about the king’s decision to split the small army. He would need every man. On the other hand, he was relieved to hear that the queen would not accompany them, as she would have been a terrible distraction. But the decision was made. A servant entered.

“Well?”

“My lord, Sir Hugh wishes an audience.” The man was a fool, thought Warwick, but he would provide much needed help in the coming conflicts.

“Very well,” he waved the man away.

A month in exile had made him irritable in almost all things, but it had not clouded his judgment. It would take at least another month to make all the necessary preparations, and the time would go by slowly. In the meantime, he had to take precautions that intelligence of these plans did not reach Edward.

Sir Hugh entered wearing the same clothes that he wore the day he arrived in this hated land. If the exile had been hard on Warwick, it had been horrendous for Sir Hugh and the rest of the earl’s retainers. They had been billeted as common footsoldiers with the private guard of the lord constable, and many were the times that he could have killed the first detested Frenchman he saw. Now, however, he had reached the end of his tolerance, and while he had no desire to alienate himself from the earl, he had come to make it clear that the status quo could no longer be permitted. But Warwick did not give him a chance.

“Sir Hugh!” he called jovially. “I was going to send for you. I have excellent news. We have all been treated deplorably, is it not so?”

“Yes, my lord,” he answered, disarmed by the earl’s manner.

“King Louis has given us what we sought, and soon we shall see the white shores of our own land again.”

“That is good news indeed, my lord.” Sir Hugh smiled.

“And you will be pleased to hear that we will fight to place your old master, King Henry, back on throne.”

This was a surprise indeed. Sir Hugh commended his own wisdom for the decision to remain on good terms with Lord Fitzwalter.

“When will the invasion begin?”

Warwick shrugged casually. “In a month perhaps. There is much to be done. But you will leave much sooner than that. I want you back on English soil within a fortnight, as there are several tasks that you must see dispatched in preparation of our arrival.”

Sir Hugh smiled again.

“I am your servant, my lord.”

That evening, Warwick received another visitor, one whom he had been avoiding since his last conversation with the king. But now was as good a time as any to reveal Louis’ plan to his son-in-law. Clarence had been hosted by an insignificant member of the king’s court, and had been living in a state of despair since his exile with the earl. He had never imagined that his brother Edward could have defeated the mighty Earl of Warwick, thereby making him a beggar instead of a prince. Warwick greeted him with the news of Louis’ assistance.

“Louis has asked a price for his assistance, however,” Warwick continued, “and though it is not what I wanted, you can surely see that we have little choice in the matter.”

“What has he asked?”

“That King Henry be restored to the throne and his son to his birthright.”

Stunned that Warwick had essentially bargained away what Clarence had risked his life to gain, he could not at first respond. He was furious, but he knew that it would gain him nothing to protest at this time.

“At my insistence, Louis has agreed that should the prince die without heir, you shall be next in line to the throne.” Warwick had hoped that this would appease Clarence enough to keep him from deserting them. “And of course, all of your lands and titles shall be restored to you immediately.” He leaned closer to the duke. “I know this is not what you hoped for, but at present, we must accept what we are given. No choice has been offered.”

“I see.” Clarence was now in control of his anger, and needed to be away from Warwick to collect his thoughts. “You have my support, of course. The thought of my little brother enjoying my domains, and my older brother controlling my life, is galling, and I’ll not abide it any longer. Let me know how I may be of assistance with your preparations.”

“I shall call on you shortly.” It had gone better than Warwick had dared hope, but he shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing how greedy the duke was. His wealth in England would be more than enough to keep him happy after they had accomplished their mission.

As he left, Clarence knew that Warwick considered him a fool, but if he had learned one thing during this atrocious exile, it was patience.

*

Lord Roos greeted Margaret in another of Louis’ waiting rooms. The planned invasion of England renewed his hope. He longed for the blood rush of battle once again. When he met the queen, he expected her to be as excited as he was, but instead, she was clearly agitated.

“Lord Roos, God willing we will soon retake our place on the English throne.”

“My prayers and hopes are with you, Highness.” Ignoring his response, she spun to face him.

“That cursed letter has still not been recovered from Fitzwalter’s daughter, and we cannot sleep until it has been. Can you understand that, my lord?”

“I can, my lady, and when we are back in England it will be my primary concern.”

“It must be more than that, my lord. We shall instruct the Earl of Warwick to release you from further duty after you have landed, and you will then make it your only desire in life to recover the letter.”

“My lady, would it not be advisable to ensure that we have regained the kingdom first?” He hated the idea of leaving the troops like a coward just when a battle loomed.

“Without that letter, the kingdom is meaningless. Can’t you see that even those noble families that have supported us will turn their backs if they see its contents? They need little enough excuse to hate us. We must see it destroyed before Warwick lands. He is sending a knight by the name of Sir Hugh to make his secret arrangements tomorrow, and we want you to accompany him. We have already informed the earl.”

“It shall be as you say, Your Highness.”

*

Two weeks after that conversation, on a dreary evening in London, Samuel and his friends greeted Sir Nigel in an alehouse that had served the members of the king’s guard since they arrived in the city. The knight removed his cloak and shook the rain from it before hanging it on a hook by the door, then kicked the mud from his soles.

“If this rain continues,” said Sir Nigel after draining his first tankard, “the roads will be in ruins again, and I would hate to have to assemble an army in such mud if Warwick were to invade.”

“Have you heard that he will?” asked Stanley.

“Oh, he will, my friend. Let there be no doubt about that. We would be fools to think that Louis will not leap at this opportunity. The only question is when and where.” Nigel was not alone in that opinion. In the recent months rumors had been thicker than flies on Fleet Street, some guessing that Warwick had already landed and was secretly gathering his friends, and others betting that it was Clarence who would soon be marching against his brother. The citizens of London were living on the edge, afraid that French mercenaries would soon be sacking their shops and homes.

Cheerful news did come to the people from Westminster Palace, however. The king announced that the queen was once again with child. They prayed that this time it would be a male child to bring some welcome stability to the succession, and therefore to the king himself. And for the first time in years, there had been no significant uprisings or disorder anywhere in the realm for the past five months, as the new Earl of Northumberland and Warwick’s brother, the Marquis of Montagu, exerted firm control over the northern counties, and the Duke of Gloucester patrolled the Welsh marches with equal diligence. But few in the kingdom felt that the calm would last.

Sir Nigel downed another tankard of ale and regarded Samuel, who had been withdrawn and morose since they arrived in the capital.

“I may have news for you, lad. I know it’s been long overdue.” Samuel looked up from his mug. For weeks, he and Oliver had waited for some word from Sir Nigel’s men, each day of silence another dagger in their hearts. They had gone about the daily chores of the guardsmen mechanically, hoping that soon they would be on their way to save their women, but the answer was always the same. “My men cannot be sure,” Nigel continued, “and I was hesitant to even bring it up, but I know that any glimmer of hope would be welcome. Have you ever heard of Lord Colinsworth?” Samuel shook his head. “I’m not surprised. His title is a lot grander than he, by all reports. There are farmers who command more wealth. A few weeks ago, a servant, his only one for all we know, entered town and drank his weight in ale at the local tavern, where, as fate would have it, one of my men was listening. I’m told he babbled for hours to anyone who would listen, and my man all but ignored him but for a quick reference to two sorry bitches that he had locked up in the castle.”

“Colinsworth?” It came from Oliver. “That’s where we were when you found us.”

“The same,” answered Sir Nigel. “If not for that fact, I probably wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Damn you,” Samuel startled everyone. “We were going to inquire there when you talked us into saving the king’s hide again. We could have found them months ago!”

“And you would most likely be dead if you had,” said Stanley. But Samuel was in no mood to be appeased.

“You don’t know that. You have no way of knowing what hell they may have been exposed to in the last three months.”

“On the other hand, you may have jeopardized their lives if you had moved too quickly.”

“They may already be dead, you fool!” Samuel shouted.

His outburst silenced the room around them, until Oliver finally intervened.

“Please, Samuel, this bickering won’t change anything. What has been done is done.” For a moment, Samuel did not seem to hear him, but after an awkward glance around the room, he slumped back in his chair. Conversations started up again around them.

“Sir Nigel, what do you propose we do now?” asked Oliver.

“Samuel, I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. When the time comes, you will not find fault with me, of that you may be certain.” Their eyes met. “At first light we will travel together to Colinsworth Castle, and by God’s breath, we will know the truth.” He looked from face to face, Stanley and Oliver each signaling their affirmation with a nod. When he looked to Samuel, he waited.

Samuel, getting an encouraging smile from Oliver, nodded once and drained his mug.

*

Colinsworth Castle stood on a low knoll, by a deep, narrow stream that formed a rough semicircle around its walls. The nearby country was flat with thickets of trees scattered for miles around. By contemporary standards, the castle was a small keep enclosed by a perfect square of high walls and a moat that did not abut the stream. The approach lane entered through a modest barbican, the narrow path blocked by a single portcullis, a heavy iron grate raised only to allow the occasional guest or servant to pass. The walls contained two towers, one guarding the entryway, and the other on the opposite wall next to the great hall. In between was a small courtyard that housed the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. Above the great hall were the master’s private rooms, which contained the only windows looking in both directions, allowing views of the surrounding fields, the produce from which supplied food for the castle.

Samuel and his friends arrived at sunset at a rise in the road that allowed them their first view of the castle from a safe and unnoticed distance. It looked like a good place to camp and study how to attempt an entry to that dark and lifeless place. The journey had taken an entire week, four days longer than it should have, over rain-ruined roads. But on this evening, the rain had let up and there were even stars to be seen.

With Samuel, Sir Nigel, Stanley, and Oliver were two of Sir Nigel’s retainers. The six of them huddled some way from the road behind a hedgerow that would have to suffice to keep them concealed, though in the daylight they could have been spotted by any passing traveler. They could not start a fire, but had carried with them an ample supply of dried venison.

“Well,” said Stanley, “now that we’re here, how do we get into that place?”

“I’ve always said that with a strong heart and clever mind, a man can walk through walls. And that place will be easier than most, I’d wager,” responded Sir Nigel. His retainers nodded in agreement, having seen him get into and out of places that they had never thought possible.

“I believe our hearts are in the right place. Perhaps you’ll tell us your plan,” Oliver said skeptically.

“I have nothing in mind at the moment, my friend. Observation is the cornerstone of planning. We may be here a while simply watching, but we will get in eventually, I promise you that.”

They all knew that Sir Nigel had unique skills in these matters, so there was little to be gained by further conversation. Samuel took the first watch. The starlit castle in the distance, he bundled himself against the cool night wind and wondered if Sally and Kate were within that dreary place. The vision of his father dying in the dark dungeon of Pontefract came to him like a knife to his heart.

*

During the next three days, some went to a nearby village to see what information they could gather, while others watched the activity within and around the castle, carefully making note of patterns of behavior that might aid them. Knowing that Samuel would be far too impatient for the latter duty, Nigel gave him and Stanley the job of gleaning what information they could from the village. While there was no alehouse in the usual sense, the blacksmith typically opened his home to neighbors and strangers who desired libation. One or two drinkers were always ready to talk an ear off in his front room. It was there that the two guardsmen, dressed as common travelers, presented themselves as pilgrims headed for Canterbury and the shrine of Saint Thomas. There was little chance that anyone would suspect that story, since thousands from all over the realm made the same trip every year.

The smith’s home reminded Samuel of any of a dozen similar ones in Northwood where he grew up. The furniture was sparse, with only three small round tables and several stools for the guests. The cooking area against the back wall consisted of a hearth with pothooks and a small bench where the cook could sit while stirring. The floor was dirt, packed hard as rock by years of everyday traffic. The blacksmith was affluent enough to have a milk cow, several pigs, and about a dozen laying hens, all occupying the same pen, which was encircled by a combination hedge and rail fence behind their cottage. A separate shed housed the tools and bellows of the smith’s trade.

“Will you be moving on today, or spending the evening in the village?” the smith asked Samuel after serving two large ales. The travelers glanced at each other, silently electing Samuel the spokesman.

“We’ve been a fair distance and need a bit of rest. We plan to spend a day or two to get our legs back beneath us.”

“The roads are hard on honest men, I know that,” he said. “I can give you a place in the shed for the night, but I’ll have to ask you for some honest work.” The smith was used to pilgrims wanting shelter and even food, and knew that all they could usually pay was a morning’s chores.

“You are most kind,” Samuel agreed to the terms with a nod. It would provide a good excuse for them to linger in the village. “If you please, who is the master of that castle?”

“Lord Colinsworth, though you’d hardly know it by the trips he takes. You’ll not find five of us here in the village that have seen him since last Christmas. The elder Lord Colinsworth died fighting for Lancaster and lost everything but that pitiful castle to King Edward, leaving his son with almost nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Not that many of us care what becomes of the new master. He was never one to show much concern for us, though we mourned the death of his father.”

“Surely the new master comes to town on the holy days?” Stanley asked.

“Not one since his father died. The castle gates stay down all the time.”

“How is it provisioned then?” Samuel was pleased that they had gotten the smith to talk about Colinsworth without raising any suspicions.

“Once each week, his steward comes to collect the lord’s share of our produce. If our services are needed, to shoe his horses or do some repair work, the steward summons us to the castle. Other than that, we see nothing of him and prefer it that way.”

“At least the crop looks to be a fine one this year,” said Stanley. The blacksmith nodded in agreement.

“It will be one of the best in memory, God willing the rain stops until the harvest. And the extra grain will help many in this village recover from near starvation, I can tell you that.” In good years, the payments to the lord of the manor did not increase, allowing the farmers to keep a greater amount of their own produce. It was the only time when their lot in life permitted more than a diet that barely sustained them, when more grain could be stored for use in the winter or traded at town markets for commodities that were otherwise rare in their lives, such as dried fruits, honey, and mackerel or cod.

The smith’s wife entered from the rear door hefting several faggots for the cooking hearth, which she dropped loudly for effect before the fireplace. Adjusting her bosom beneath a bulky dress, she scowled at her husband.

“If you’re done with your idle chat, there’s some pigs that need sloppin’ out there, and two of the chickens jumped the hedge again. I told you a dozen times that you need to tie that hole in the hedge together, but I might as well be talkin’ to meself. And you haven’t cleaned out the…”

“All right, woman. You needn’t nag the whole night long.” The smith knew that she wouldn’t stop listing chores until he started doing them. He smiled at his guests and pulled a wool coat over his head before heading for the door. Samuel and Stanley knew that helping the smith would be far more desirable than staying in the kitchen with his wife, and they both jumped up to accompany him.

*

As promised, after spending relatively comfortable nights in the blacksmith’s shed, Samuel and Oliver spent the first hours of each of the next three mornings performing routine tasks around the cottage. The animals were fed and the cow milked, and the two men made numerous small repairs around the yard. The smith’s wife was pleased with their work and fed them a hearty meal of vegetable and grain stew, with ale and heavy bread.

The friends took their leave on the third day and walked back to the edge of the woods near town where Sir Nigel and the others awaited their report. Not that they felt they’d learned anything that would be of vital importance to their mission, but it was hard to assume what would be of use to Sir Nigel.

When they were still a few minutes from the camp, they met Oliver waiting for them on a large boulder by the roadside.

“Any interesting information?” he asked after greeting them.

“I don’t think so,” Samuel said. He could see that Oliver was nervous. “Is there something wrong?”

“I think you’d better see for yourself,” he answered. “I just wanted you to know that I did what I thought was right.”

When they arrived at the camp, a small, practically smokeless cook fire was burning in a pit away from the road over which two rabbits were cooking on a spit. Sir Nigel and his two henchmen were warming their hands. Someone else was with them.

“Did you think that you would never see me again?”

“Christopher!” croaked Samuel in shock. “How…”

“It was my doing. lad,” said Sir Nigel. “My men informed me that he had returned to York and I told them to bring him here. I thought you’d be happy.”

“I suppose we can use the help,” Samuel said reluctantly. His lack of warmth was evident to everyone. He turned and moved away from the camp and the others, Christopher following.

“It’s just like you to sulk, brother.” Christopher joined him in the dark.

“The word comes hard to your lips, Christopher, but you never needed a brother anyway.”

“It comes no harder to me than to you. It wasn’t I who deserted the family for all these years.”

“But you did desert the family, on some damn self-righteous quest. And now Sally and Kate are paying the price. And Emma and the children have suffered as well.”

Christopher hung his head. “I admit my mistake. Perhaps I was trying to right the wrongs that I saw in you.” Samuel’s accusation had wounded him deeply. “But let me say that it’s kind of you to show concern for children that you did not even know existed until recently.”

“I was the one sold into servitude.” Samuel’s face reddened with anger. “And I had other sworn duties. You were given everything, and only had to be there for the family when they needed you, but you couldn’t even manage that.”

“Listen to yourself, Samuel. Was it so easy to dismiss your responsibilities to us simply because of your duty to the Percys, or was it really some demented need for revenge against Father that you visited on us instead? And don’t speak to me of your duty to the earl. You deserted him quickly enough.”

Samuel had no rebuttal. He had allowed his own insecurities and self-pity to keep him from his family.

“If you find me so repulsive, I’ll find my own way in life as I always have. You needn’t concern yourself with me after we correct the results of your actions.”

“If that’s the way you want it, Samuel, there’s nothing I can do.” He turned back toward the fire. “By the way, I have a message for you from Emma. She said to tell you that she hopes that you’ll remember your promise. She didn’t tell me what that means, but I expect that you’ll disappoint her again.”

Oliver had watched them intently from a distance, hoping against the odds that they could find some common ground. When Christopher returned, he could only shake his head sadly.

Later, when the cook fire had been extinguished, Sir Nigel told the men that he had finally devised a way into the castle, though even he was amazed at how difficult it would be.

“I’ve never seen a castle so tightly shut that wasn’t under siege,” he shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he knew we were out here, but from what Stanley and Samuel were told by the blacksmith, it seems that it’s always that way. I can’t imagine what he’s so afraid of.”

As Sir Nigel unfolded his plan, Oliver felt certain that they would not all return from the brooding castle on the distant knoll.

*

About an hour before first light, Stanley and Sir Nigel’s men secluded themselves where they could watch the castle and cover the escape. Oliver and Samuel, Christopher, and Sir Nigel headed for town armed only with short swords and hoping they would not need to unsheathe them. Sir Nigel’s information promised that on this day the steward of Colinsworth Castle would venture forth to seek the week’s supplies and hay for the lord’s stable. The hay was collected by a farmer who lived near the edge of town. They groped their way through the dark toward his cottage, and carefully crept across its crowded yard toward the hay wagon.

Christopher’s night vision made it possible. Without disturbing the animals, he negotiated a path to the loaded wagon, and the four burrowed in. It was full of loose hay and easily concealed them. In the musty warmth, they waited for the steward.

At about noon, when their patience was all but exhausted, they heard horses approach, felt a lurch, and were suddenly on their way to the castle. It became increasingly difficult to breathe through the dusty, shifting hay, but finally they felt the wooden planks of the castle drawbridge beneath them, and heard the unmistakable sound of the iron portcullis being raised. They endured another long wait in the courtyard before they were finally pulled into the stable. They had been fortunate.

“Let’s go!” said Sir Nigel. Throwing the hay from his face, Samuel and the others jumped down and hid around the stable. The horses were agitated but made little sound, and now, for the intruders, it was time to wait again, this time for nightfall.

By sunset, the hay wagon that had delivered them had not yet been unloaded, giving them reason to believe that very few servants tended to this castle. They gathered before the stable doors and peered into the courtyard. Christopher pointed out each of the guards that he could see, and then Sir Nigel motioned them to follow the wall around the kitchen to the tower over the barbican. Sir Nigel expected prisoners to be held there. It was usually the most secure place.

They found the steps that led to the allure where the guard was still standing. Sir Nigel peered from behind the wall that shielded the steps and measured the distance to his adversary. Signaling the others to be silent, he steadied himself, then jumped the guard and thrust his blade into his throat. There was a gurgling sound, and Sir Nigel lowered him silently to the ground. Motioning for the others to follow, he took the guard’s keys and entered the tower, quickly followed by the others.

Inside, a single torch lit a narrow hall and two doors, one with a barred opening, and the other without. He decided to chance a look into the room with the opening, for no other reason than it was safer than opening the other. He motioned Christopher, the closest, to take a look.

Christopher nodded and carefully looked through the bars, waiting for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Without warning to the others, he called Sally’s name in a loud whisper. A voice answered from within.

“Christopher?” And then louder. “Christopher, is that you?”

Sir Nigel frantically silenced them with a “shhhh!,” then tested the guard’s keys until he found the right one. Oliver pushed past the others and ran in as soon as the door was open. A moment later he came out with Sally in his arms, holding her tightly to himself. She seemed dazed at first, but at the sight of her brothers she began weeping.

Samuel squeezed her arm, then entered the cell himself. Coming back, his expression was desperate. Gently stroking his sister’s hair, he asked a heart-rending question.

“Sally, can you tell us where Kate is?” She answered through sobs that made speech difficult.

“They took her…they took her away not long ago. I don’t know where.” Sir Nigel pulled Samuel away.

“We can’t stay here. There aren’t many other places for her to be.” He signaled to the others. “Come, quickly!” He led them back out onto the allure, past the dead guard, and down the stairs to the gatehouse within the barbican. He cursed their luck, for if Kate had been in that cell with Sally, they would surely have made a clean escape by now. Instead, they huddled before the portcullis.

“I’ll go with Samuel, the rest of you stay here and wait for our return. If we’re not back shortly, leave without us. My men will see you clear.”

“You’ll need me as well.” Christopher stopped him. Sir Nigel shook his head.

“If we don’t make it back, they’ll need you to lift the gate. Come, Samuel, someone will surely find the guard before long.”

Samuel hesitated for a moment, looking at Christopher as if he had never seen him before, then turned and left with Sir Nigel.

Sir Nigel and Samuel made their way past the kitchen again and found a servants’ entrance to the great hall. Standing in a vestibule where the servers normally arranged the food before entering, they heard a man’s voice but could not make out the words.

Sir Nigel pulled the drape slightly aside and they both peered in. There, at either end of a long dining table, were Kate and a man they assumed to be Lord Colinsworth. Kate pushed the food around her plate but did not eat. Colinsworth pulled meat from a suckling pig. There appeared to be no one else in the room but for the steward, who stood silently between them and the table.

Sir Nigel motioned for Samuel to follow, and drew his sword. Running straight to the steward, Nigel dispatched him with a single stroke while Colinsworth jumped from his chair, too frightened to say anything. Samuel moved quickly to Kate, who ran to his arms.

“I knew you would come, my love,” she laughed and kissed him frantically. At that moment, a guard entered the hall, emboldening Colinsworth.

“Take them, you fool!”

The guard pulled his sword and advanced while Colinsworth shouted to raise more of the guard.

“This way, lad. Quickly!” shouted Sir Nigel. Samuel and Kate ran to the door from which they had entered, Sir Nigel close on their heels. Once in the courtyard, Sir Nigel allowed the pursuing guard to come to within a few paces, and then suddenly spun and catapulted himself into their pursuer, the collision sending them both sprawling across the courtyard. Without armor, Sir Nigel was quicker on the rebound and leaped onto his adversary, who had only managed to get to his knees but could move no further before the point of a sword pierced his neck. Blood pumped from the wound. Without pausing, Sir Nigel ran toward the barbican, knowing that in moments the castle would be roused against them.

Christopher and Oliver were already turning the wheel that lifted the portcullis, and by the time Samuel arrived they had secured it high enough to allow the raiders to pass beneath. An alarm bell sounded and several armed men gathered in the courtyard waiting to discover the nature of the alarm. Sir Nigel knew they had run out of luck.

He ran to the gate where Sally and Kate had already been pushed beneath the teeth of the portcullis, and Oliver was just sliding under.

“I’ll stay behind and lower the gate. If I cut the rope, you’ll have time to get away. My men will be waiting for you.”

“They need you to help them find a safe way away from here,” Samuel said. “I’ll stay and cut the rope.”

“Samuel’s right,” added Christopher. “Even if we have a few hours’ start, you’re the only one who can find a safe place for them. But I’m the one who will stay.”

“For God’s sake, Christopher,” chided Samuel, “for once think about your family.” Colinsworth was already headed toward them with several men. “If you don’t leave now we’ll all die for nothing!”

Sir Nigel pulled Christopher through the gate. Samuel jumped up to the giant wheel that held the portcullis rope and hacked away with his sword.

“Where’s Samuel?” Oliver asked frantically.

“Come,” responded Sir Nigel, pulling them across the castle walk. “He’s purchased our lives with his own.”

Kate screamed his name and started to run back, but Sir Nigel picked her up and ran from the castle. Oliver followed for two steps, then stopped and dashed back, diving under the portcullis just as Samuel severed the last strands. It crashing down between him and his fleeing family. Colinsworth seized them both.

“Get this gate up and go after them!” yelled Colinsworth. “If they get away, it will mean the gallows for all of you.” He stared through the bars. “Take these two to the darkest hole you can find, and forget you ever saw them.” A quick death was too good for them.

Two guards pushed the friends across the courtyard. Samuel glanced sideways at Oliver.

“Why in God’s name did you come back?”

“I could not let you die alone.” They were led to the tower opposite the gateway and into the darkness below.