Sophie
Sophie had been climbing since she was a young girl, but she had to admit that she’d never done anything under the pressure she was feeling now, not even in competition. She’d won many of those competitions, but she’d never before had lives on the line. Unfortunately, as soon as she thought about what was at stake, her muscles tightened, and she forced herself to breathe again and to focus on the next handhold.
The truth she kept telling herself was that under other circumstances, this climb would have been a walk in the park. As soon as the fireworks started going off, the sky had been brightly lit. At that point, they’d left their resting place halfway up the mountain. If the watchers on the walls were looking at the sky, which they had to have been, their night vision would be completely shot. She hadn’t known what had possessed Chad to include fireworks in the airplane’s cargo, but when they’d done an inventory, and she’d showed David the packages, she’d seen his mind begin to work. David took no credit for the idea, nor did Chad, but he and Chad apparently had read the same books, since David had instantly understood the reference on the note Chad had left him.
Sophie herself avoided military fiction like the plague, but if a fictional story had inspired David to concoct their current scenario, she was all for it. The original intent had been to use the fireworks and the climbing gear only if Roger Mortimer’s total surrender or the sensible mutiny of Mortimer’s men failed to transpire. That neither of those things had happened, despite knowing David was alive, was befuddling to Sophie. To her, there was a significant difference between honor and pride, and what was happening here surely looked like Roger was throwing away the lives of men because he had too much of the latter.
Beeston Castle was built on a rock three hundred and fifty feet above the valley floor. The highest point, upon which the keep itself was built, was on the northwesternmost end, and the plateau, upon which the whole castle sat, sloped steadily downwards all the way from the keep to the main gate two football fields away.
The inner ward was surrounded by a stone wall, which topped an almost vertical rocky descent on the north side. This was the face the Royalists appeared to have conquered four hundred years from now to get into the rock-cut ditch that curved around the inner ward and separated it from the outer ward. Sophie and George had decided to attack the west face, however, and with hardly any ado, they arrived in the ditch at the western end. In a group, they crouched in a bit of vegetation that had been allowed to grow underneath the wall.
She had chosen the west side for two reasons: first, the climbers she was bringing with her were less experienced than Sophie would like them to be, and the slightly less steep ascent had been a less risky one for them; second, her people had modern gear. While the gear would have made mincemeat of whichever side she chose to climb, no matter how steep, it had allowed them to get this far with minimal fuss; and finally, although by 1643 the entire curtain wall had been completed, in 1294, a gap had been left in the inner curtain wall to allow access to a natural balcony.
Apparently, the defenders thought their keep was unassailable, and the lady of the castle wanted a place to sit where she could take in the view.
No kidding.
Sophie supposed she could understand the impulse. At the time Beeston was built, the castle was in the middle of Cheshire. Its closest enemy was Wales, and according to Meg, the castle had been a jumping off point for attacks on Wales. But nobody had actually thought that an army from Wales would ever reach this far into England. Thus, the castle was a home as well as a fortress and that meant it was trying to be too many things to too many people. At a minimum, it was just too big to defend from any kind of concerted attack—a fact Callum was counting on. And, undeniably, the nine people who settled into the ditch tonight had the ability to go over both the inner curtain wall and the outer one to reach the outer bailey without being detected.
“Is everyone ready?” Sophie looked into George’s face. Everyone but Andre, who didn’t need to, had put charcoal on their faces to darken their skin. However, the whites of their eyes gleamed at Sophie.
“We’re doing fine. Keep going,” Ieuan whispered. “I’ve let Mark know we’ve made it this far and that the drawbridge is up.” He tipped his head to indicate the bridge that should have spanned the ditch.
In the face of the assault, the men in the keep had chosen to barricade themselves inside. Callum had assumed that would happen, and it meant that reinforcements would not be coming to their aid from the outer ward. The defenders had assumed they wouldn’t need them.
Heh.
Men shouted from somewhere in the outer bailey. Another firework burst above their heads, and it was accompanied this time not by Callum asking for the castle’s surrender, but by flaming arrows. The arrows arced, reached their peak, and then descended into the outer ward. Three hundred yards was a doable shot for the elite archers in David’s army, especially when all the arrows were required to do was arc over the outer wall and land inside it. Child’s play, as evidenced by the accompanying screams.
“Don’t think about them,” Andre said, low in her ear. “Lead on.”
Sophie nodded and reached up for the first handhold.
The defenders would have assumed when they sited the castle here that the reverse pyramid shape of the wall would make this last stretch from the ditch to the balcony an impossible face to climb, but five minutes later Sophie’s climbing hook caught on the corner of the curtain wall, and she hauled herself over the edge and onto the grassy balcony.
George and Andre were beside her within the space of a minute. Every time another fire arrow went up, the sky became brightly lit, and she feared they would be seen, but all eyes were on the sky and the havoc currently being wreaked in the outer ward.
She couldn’t expect the novices with her to scale the wall as she had, so while George moved into the relative darkness of the inner ward to make sure they hadn’t been detected, she and Andre anchored the ropes that would allow the rest of their companions to climb up to the balcony.
Constance and Ieuan were the last to reach her, and they panted a bit as they crouched beside her in the shadow of the wall. Their climb had been made more awkward because of the quivers and bows on their backs. Like a footballer who could play multiple positions, Ieuan could do everything required by a medieval warrior—wrestling, swordplay, and archery. Though his sister was recognized as an expert shot, Ieuan had taught Lili, and Sophie had seen him shoot. He, like Constance, was better than good, and an arrow was quieter than Andre’s rifle, which would be used only as a last resort.
While Constance took a drink of water and some deep breaths to settle herself, Ieuan moved towards Samuel to confer. These two would be leading the two teams of men around the bailey to free the captives while Constance and Andre kept any attackers at bay from above.
“Are you ready for this?” Constance asked Sophie, who had her scope to her eye, tracing the tops of the battlements all around the inner ward.
“I’m not going to be the one shooting,” Sophie said without looking at her. “Are you ready?”
“Within the hour, I will know what has become of my husband. No matter for good or ill, the wait will be over.”
Sophie reached out a hand and squeezed Constance’s arm, but she didn’t say that Cador was alive or any other platitude. Constance was right that knowing was better than not knowing, and regardless of the outcome, one way or the other, before dawn it would be over. Growing up, Sophie’s mother had talked her through many girlhood stresses, all of which seemed quaint and meaningless now, with just that thought: in an hour, it will be over, and life will go on.
Ieuan looked back at the two women. “How many men do you see, Sophie?”
Sophie put the scope back to her eye. “There are two guards at the top of the tower overlooking the ditch.” She gave a low laugh she couldn’t help. “You had only one job …”
A second later George returned. “The main door is closed, and the portcullis is down.”
“Nothing has changed since we were in the ditch.” Samuel looked at Ieuan. “This is just what we wanted, isn’t it?”
“I don’t like how deserted this place is,” Ieuan said. “If Roger Mortimer is here, he’s being quiet about it.”
Samuel shook his head. “I don’t think he’s here.”
“You don’t think he’s here at all?” Sophie asked. “Or you think he’s in the outer bailey?”
“Oh, he’s definitely not in here with us, but I’m wondering if he’s out there either. Now that I’ve had a look at this place, it isn’t really a great spot to hole up in, is it? Roger Mortimer isn’t stupid. Let’s get the captives, get out, and regroup with Lord Callum.”
With a gesture from Ieuan, the remaining climbers gathered around, including the three men whose names were something like Tom, Dick, and Harry. He gave them each a last chance to express their thoughts and then said, “Quick and quiet, just like we planned.”
Constance nodded. “We have your backs.”
“Go, you three,” Ieuan said, referring to Sophie, Constance, and Andre. “We’ll wait until you’re on the battlement before we move.”
Her heart in her throat, Sophie followed Andre up the steps up to the wall-walk. The curtain wall was only two stories high here—maybe twenty feet above the inner ward, though it was obviously far higher than that above the valley floor.
Meanwhile, Ieuan led three of the medieval men towards the main gate, in the opposite direction from Samuel and George, who were starting at one of the far towers.
“They’ll be okay. You need to focus, Sophie.” Andre sidled along the wall-walk, his feet making no noise on the stones, towards the southwest corner, tracking the movements of Ieuan and his men on the ground below them.
Constance stayed at Sophie’s side. “Call ’em out as you see ’em,” she said in perfect American. Who knew where Constance had learned that particular phrase, but she had her bow up and an arrow at the ready.
If any of Mortimer’s men had been looking, Constance would have been unmistakably silhouetted against the sky, but just then another hail of fire arrows arced in the air. Sophie hadn’t been able to see the last few flights because of where they’d been crouched against the curtain wall. Now, however, a hundred arrows lit the sky and descended into the outer ward, where many of the buildings were already on fire, along with many tents. From her current position on the battlement, Sophie could see a chain of men hauling buckets from the well to the various buildings set along the western curtain wall. Her view of the eastern gate was blocked by the inner ward’s gatehouse towers.
Then Sophie turned away from the carnage and put her scope to her eye. “Your first target is at the top of the closest gatehouse tower, Constance. Take him out.”