At the Edge of the World (14 page)

37

W
ITH TROTH
in the lead, me following behind, we ran hard. The ground between the moat and the church being level, we reached the church walls quickly. No arrows were shot, which, I could only pray, meant that we were as yet unnoticed.

Once arrived, we pressed against the rough, stone church walls, and began to edge around. As we went, I could hear shouts, cries, and blaring horns from the castle side, but we could see nothing. I kept thinking of Bear.

We reached the base of the tower, and—as far as I knew—had still not been observed. Pushing forward, we came to the hole.

Once there, while trying to regain our breath, we squatted down and studied what to do.

The hole was some two feet wide, perhaps two in height. That is, large enough for us to pass through, as long at it became no smaller within. But when I squatted down to look inside, I found the hole blocked. With Troth looking over my shoulder, I used my sword to poke about.

To my relief, I found that the hole was stuffed with little more than leaves and silt. Working hard with my sword and hands, I was able to scoop it clear to some depth.

“I’ll go first,” I said. “I’ll tell you if it’s safe.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“You must flee,” I said, and before she could return an answer, I handed her my sword, and plunged headfirst into the hole, arms first to feel my way, my feet kicking me forward.

It was dim within the hole. The stone surrounding me was hard, rough, and cold. Such light as there was seeped in from behind. Happily, the farther in I went, the more the hole widened. As I slithered forward in snakelike fashion, I came upon more dirt, which I was able to push behind me, even as I wriggled on.

I pressed forward for what must have been some five feet—the thickness of the tower wall. Before me I saw dim light. Just when I thought I was clear, my fingers, which I had extended as far out as I could reach, touched metal.

It was too dark to see what it was, but when I worked my fingers about, it felt as if crossed bars had been set across the inside opening as a kind of net. I squeezed forward, grasped the bars with my one free hand, and shook them. The bars were somewhat loose, perhaps rusted from water flow. Encouraged, I rattled them with greater violence. The bars gave way, falling in with a clatter.

Kicking and pulling, I eased out of the hole. Once free, I stood on the stone floor and glanced about. The room was square, stone-walled, suffused by dim light, which seeped down from a stairwell in one corner. Circular steps led upward.

At the other side of the room was a large door fitted with elaborate iron fastenings, including a handle. Near the door’s base were holes, perhaps for the flow of water. There was nothing else.

On my knees I called to Troth through the hole. “Come through,” I called.

“Take the sword first,” she called.

Within moments, I had the sword, and Troth was with me. She wasted no time, but went directly to the wooden door and jerked the handle. The door would not budge.

“We can try that way,” I whispered, nodding toward the steps.

The narrow steps wound tightly upward. As we climbed—I first, with sword in hand—we pressed against the cold, inner wall. After some forty-or-so high steps, we reached a new level and another door, a small one. We paused to listen. From the stairwell above we could hear sounds, even excited voices, but we could not make out the words.

Troth went to the small door and shoved. It creaked open. Cautiously, she pushed it further, then peeked out. She made a hand gesture that I understood to mean
safe,
then passed on through the doorway.

I followed.

We found ourselves upon a narrow balcony enclosed by an iron railing. Thirty feet below us was the high altar, upon which stood a stone cross. To the right of that, a baptismal font. Above us, a stained glass window, rich in blues and reds. Before us, the stone-paved nave opened out. As far as we could see, all was deserted.

We could also see the principal doorway to the church—the one we were supposed to open—off to one side at the far end, quite opposite where we stood. I took note of the wooden crossbeam that kept it closed. It was large, and from the look of it, heavy.

I also saw an alcove midway along the length of the church’s nave. A Lady chapel perhaps. And, in the very middle of the nave, a low stone platform, upon which a chest had been placed. The chest was wrapped about with chains. I had no doubt. It was that for which Dudley lusted: King Edward’s treasure.

I leaned over the railing. Below us I could see a door in the wall, near the baptismal font. I supposed it to be the door we could not open.

But the narrow balcony—upon which we stood and which ran round the altar—had a ladder at its farthest end. Built into the wall, it reached the church floor. Since we needed to get down to the nave, we’d have to use it.

I nudged Troth and pointed to the ladder.

Halfway to the ladder, we heard a great bang, followed by agitated voices. Not knowing where the noise was coming from, we stopped. A glance at the church’s front entry-way revealed nothing. When the voices grew louder, I guessed they were coming from the tower door. Sure enough, the next moment we saw two soldiers—one old, the other young—run the span of the nave below. One was armed with a sword.

In haste, we threw ourselves flat upon the balcony floor so as to be unnoticed. But we could see the soldiers go to the main door. At first I thought they meant to open it. It appeared, however, that they were only making certain it remained closed. The task done, they headed back the way they came, only to momentarily disappear from view. In quick time, one of the soldiers emerged—the older one. He ran, empty-handed, back in the direction of the tower door.

One soldier remained. And he—I realized—must have kept the sword.

Since it was clear that if we used the ladder we would be observed, we remained where we were, stymied. I made bold to lean out over the balcony, and looked back toward the door that we’d been unable to open before. What I discovered was the door had been left ajar—no doubt by the soldier we had just seen.

I reached out, touched Troth, and motioned for her to follow. We hurried back as we came, down the steps, then slipped through the open door. By so doing, we found ourselves on the floor of the church. I pointed toward the alcove where the young soldier must be praying. Troth nodded her understanding.

I darted forward and crouched behind the stone altar. Troth joined me.

“If we rush forward at the same time,” I whispered, “that soldier won’t be able to stop both of us. I’ll engage with him while you get to the door.”

“Crispin,” she said, “he has a sword.”

By way of answer, I held up mine. “He’s young,” I said. “No bigger than me.”

She said, “He’s a soldier.”

“Troth, think of Bear. We have to hurry. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

Heart thumping, I took a deep breath, gripped my sword tightly, and sprinted loudly toward the main door. Halfway there, the soldier poked his head out from the alcove. When he saw us, the look on his face was one of surprise. It lasted only a moment. Sword in hand, he jumped out in front of us. “I … I command you to stop!” he stammered.

“Troth!” I shouted. “To the door!” and placed myself between her and the soldier, my own sword raised.

The soldier made a movement toward Troth, only to stop and turn about when I shouted, “Give way!”

Sword extended, he advanced on me. He had a pale, youthful face, eyes large with fright. Unsure of himself, he was panting for breath.

Desiring to draw him from Troth, I took a step back. Even as I did—from the corner of my eye—I saw her slip past.

The soldier, grasping what we were doing, spun about, and went after Troth. She had reached the door. Her hands were on the beam, her back to the soldier.

“Troth!” I screamed.

Turning, she saw the young soldier just as he was about to bring his sword down and leaped away. The soldier swung again, violently, wildly. For a second time she managed to elude him. Rushing forward, I cried “Here!” to draw the soldier’s attention. The soldier whirled about anew—as if he knew not which way to turn—to now confront me with his sword. Once more I tried to lead him away by backing up.

This time, however, knowing that our aim was to unbar the door, he did not advance but stood his ground and began to bellow to his companions, “Give aid! Give aid!”

38

I
T WOULD BE
, I knew, just moments before others came to help him.

Troth gestured, telling me to
advance to the side.

I crept forward as she bid, my heavy sword in both hands, shifting it back and forth.

The soldier, unable to watch the two of us at once, put his eyes solely on me—the sword bearer.

His face glistened with sweat. He was breathing hard. He started to step forward, only to hold back.

Knowing he was waiting for his companions, and feeling the pressure to draw him, I crept closer. Instead of holding the sword with two hands, I used just one so I could extend my reach that much further. It was enough to rub against the soldier’s blade. The rough, grating sound made me clench my teeth.

Grimacing, he advanced, swinging his sword out with all his strength, albeit uncontrollably. Sensing a rash confidence on his part, I yielded a few steps, trying to act as if I were overawed. Tempted, he came forward, moving even farther from the door. When I continued to step back, he came with me like a fish drawn on a line. Now and again, our swords touched—a sharp, teasing ring.

No doubt believing he’d gained the advantage, he began to press me harder, using his sword to force me into a further retreat.

Troth—I could just see—was getting closer to the door.

The soldier pounced, and in so doing, struck my sword with so much force it was all I could do to keep it in my grasp. Sensing my weakness, he waited not at all, but struck again and again, crashing his sword hard against mine.

It was then that Troth dove forward and reached the door. Using both hands, she shoved up on one end of the crossbeam, got it over one of the iron holds, and let it drop. It fell with a crash, but it still barred the door.

The noise alarmed the soldier so, he hesitated in his attack on me. Though he still held his sword out, he darted a look back. At that instant, I gathered all my strength and swung my sword against his. In his moment of distraction, I was able to shake his hold. Desperate, I struck again. That time I hit the side of his arm. He yelped with pain. Blood began to flow. With a clatter, his sword dropped. Scrambling to pick it up, he slipped on his own blood and went down on his knees. Thinking I would surely strike, he lifted his arms over his head.

Instead, I used the moment to leap to the door where Troth was struggling to lift the other end of the crossbeam. With two
of
us hoisting, it rose up enough so that we could pull it free. It fell with a crash. Even as it did, we pushed against the doors.

They swung open.

Ten armed soldiers—helmeted and in body armor—222poured out of the tower door and came rushing down the length of the church nave toward us.

Side by side, Troth and I ran out of the church.

Dudley’s troops must have seen the church doors swing open. By the time Troth and I burst from the building, they were already rushing toward us. Foremost, Dudley and his two lieutenants were charging on their mounts, their swords up. To my horror, I saw that Bear still had the rope round his neck and was being all but dragged forward by Dudley.

Troth and I leaped to one side just as the soldiers within the church burst out the door. When they saw what was coming at them, most rushed forward to confront the onslaught. Others raced to close the doors.

As I watched, I saw one of the church soldiers lift a crossbow and shoot at one of the advancing horsemen. The bolt struck the man with so much force he spun about and fell to the ground. His beast, in confusion, twisted about, colliding into the other horse, breaking the momentum of Dudley’s attacking troops.

The fighting at the church door was as fierce as it was tangled. Shouts and screams, and the constant clang of metal on metal filled the air. Men fell. The ground was soaked with blood. Even as we searched for Bear, Troth and I tried to keep free of the fierce fighting.

“There!” screamed Troth and pointed.

I saw Bear. He was on his knees, desperately trying to get the rope from around his neck, even while attempting to keep from being hauled about. He had lost his helmet. His body plate was askew. His garments were rent in many places. Though there were soldiers around him, no one was paying attention to him. But the rope still held, and, attached to Dudley’s horse, was yanked this way and that as the captain fought, utterly unmindful of what was happening to Bear.

“Stay here!” I shouted to Troth and dashed forward, sword in hand.

There were soldiers all around me, yelling and screaming. More than once I dodged a stroke from one side or another, I hardly knew which.

“Bear,” I screamed so hard it hurt my throat, trying to make myself heard above the furor.

He turned toward the sound of my voice. His eyes were wide with panic, his face filthy, one cheek gashed and bleeding profusely. His red beard fairly glistened with blood.

I reached his side. “Hold out the rope!” I shouted.

When he did, I struck, severing it. He fell, free, then made an effort to get back on his feet, only to stumble.

“Take the sword!” I yelled, thrusting it in his hand. He took it while I ducked my head beneath his arm, and strove to lift him. “Push up!” I cried. He struggled and finally rose up.

Clumsily, step-by-step, we tried to move away from the melee in the direction where I thought I had left Troth.

As I went, I shifted slightly and saw the fighting at the church. As I would understand only later, once Dudley’s forces had turned to attack the church, the garrison within the castle left the fortification, crossed the lowered moat, and were now pressing Dudley and his troops from behind. Moreover, with one church door closed, the fighting had become more desperate. The howls and shrieks of pain, mixed with the constant clash of metal on metal, produced an appalling chorus of butchery.

Troth saw us, and began to run in our direction.

There was a great shout behind us. I shifted about, and saw that the second church door had been closed.

“Retreat! Retreat!” I heard from Dudley’s men.

Even Bear turned his head.

Dudley’s men were trying to break away from the church before they became encircled and annihilated.

Next moment, I saw Dudley, still mounted, repeatedly slashing with his sword, forcing his way through the ring of garrison troops who were trying to bring him down with spears, glaives, and swords.

Suddenly, he broke though and galloped forward. Troth was running toward us—directly in his path. Dudley, red-faced with fury, swerved straight toward her—as if to trample her.

Bear saw the danger.

“Troth!” he screamed, and broke from me with sword in hand. Stumbling as much as he ran, he hurled himself forward to block Dudley’s way. The captain saw him. Instead of drawing back or away, he lifted his sword, prepared to slash Bear. It was then that Bear flung—javelinlike—his sword forward. It struck the horse in the neck. When hit, the horse jerked his head up, stumbled, and fell to its knees. The shock of the horse’s collapse caused Dudley to be thrown over its head onto the ground. The horse, recovering, whinnied shrilly, shook itself to a standing position, and, though bleeding profusely from its neck, bolted.

Dudley lay facedown upon the ground, unmoving.

Bear had also fallen to his hands and knees. With enormous effort, he scrambled for his sword that lay not far from where he was upon the ground. Taking hold of it with two hands, he used it as a prop to stagger up, then lurched toward the prostrate Dudley. It was perfectly clear what he intended—to kill the fallen man.

Troth raced forward. “Bear!” she screamed. “Don’t! You mustn’t kill!”

Bear, his sword poised over Dudley, hesitated.

Troth came to his side. She reached up and pulled his arm down. To my amazement, Bear let her. Indeed, she took the sword from his hands and with all her strength, flung it away.