'I would sooner be able to give you the moon, Sir Knight,' said Isaac, 'than gather together the ransom you demand!'
'A thousand pounds in silver,' said De Bracy. 'Those are my terms. I will not bargain. I am a reasonable man. If silver be scarce, I will not refuse gold. Is your life not worth such a sum?'
'And what of my daughter's life?' said Isaac.
'You need not fear for Rebecca's life,' said De Bracy, chuckling. 'Brian de Bois-Guilbert's desire is for love, not death. She will be safe enough from violence so long as she pleases him. When he grows tired of her, I'm certain you will have her back.'
'No,' said Isaac, 'I beg you, save her from such shame. I will do anything you ask; her dishonor would be more than I could bear!'
'You will bear much more before I am through with you,' De Bracy said. 'Look around you. You are in my dungeons now, not your house in York, where you are free to dictate terms to those from whose disadvantages you prosper. Prisoners ten thousand times more distinguished than yourself have died within these walls. But their deaths would be luxuries compared to yours. A man can be made to suffer untold pain and still be kept alive to suffer more. Do you see that range of iron bars above the glowing charcoal? You'll be stripped of all your clothes and placed on that warm couch. You will be basted like a roast, so that you do not cook too quickly. Is not a thousand pounds of silver a paltry sum compared to such a fate? Choose and choose now, for I an; running out of patience! A slow death upon the coals, or a thousand pounds of silver, those are my terms!'
'I will pay your ransom,' Isaac said, 'only preserve my daughter's honor and let her go free.'
'I told you, Jew, I will not bargain with you! Besides, I have already given my word that Bois-Guilbert shall have her. I would not go back on my word as a knight, not for the sake of apathetic Jew.'
'Then you will get nothing,' Isaac said, staring at him with hatred. 'Not an ounce of silver will I give you, unless I were to pour it molten down your avaricious throat! Do your worst. Take my life if you will and let it be said that the Jew, in spite of all his tortures, knew how to disappoint the Christian!'
'Very well, then,' said De Bracy. 'I will put your resolve to the test. You'll be whimpering for mercy within moments. Strip him!'
At that moment, a trumpet call was sounded and there was a commotion up above, the sounds of men yelling to each other. Andre de la Croix ran into the dungeon.
'Maurice, come quickly! The Saxons are attacking!'
' What? Are you mad?'
'It's true, I tell you! Listen. It is the outlaws. They have gathered in force and are even at this moment attempting to storm the castle!'
'What absurdity is this?' De Bracy said. 'Why would the outlaws attack Torquilstone?'
'They cry for Cedric's freedom.'
'The Saxon? I have but two Jews, I have no Saxon!'
'So Bois-Guilbert says. He commands the castle in your absence. They will not listen. Brian says that only force is good for dealing with them.'
'How many of them are there?'
'A thousand, at the least.'
'Brian is a fool. With such a number, they might well take the castle if they are determined enough. I will show them that Cedric is not here.'
Isaac momentarily forgotten, De Bracy started out of the dungeons, on his way to the castle above. Andre followed him.
'I don't know what insanity has overtaken them,' De Bracy said, 'but these cells are all empty! See for yourself. I-'
At that moment, the sound of Cedric's voice was heard shouting from within one of the cells.
'What the devil?' said De Bracy. He flung open the tiny window of the door and peered inside. 'Cedric!'
'Release me, villain!' Cedric shouted, launching himself against the door.
De Bracy slammed the window shut, stunned. He opened the window in the door of the next cell and saw Athelstane. In the adjoining cell, he found Rowena.
'Is this your doing, de la Croix?'
'I rode into the castle with just my squire,' Andre said. 'You know that. You, yourself, admitted me.'
'But how in God's name did they get here?'
'There is no need to attempt to deceive me, Maurice,' said Andre, smiling. 'I am on your side.'
'Don't you jest with me, de la Croix!' said De Bracy, grabbing her by the cloth of her doublet and slamming her into the wall. He felt the swaddling cloth beneath. 'What's this?'
He ripped open her doublet with a quick motion, revealing the cloth. 'You're wounded! No, you're…' He saw the bulges beneath the cloth and his eyes grew wide. In that moment, Andre stuck her dagger into his stomach up to its hilt. As De Bracy jerked, she leaned into him, placing both hands on the dagger. She twisted the blade and used her weight to drive into him, jerking the dagger up several times in a ripping motion.
De Bracy sagged to the floor and she pulled the dagger out of him, wiping its blade on his clothing. Clutching his stomach, he stared up at her in disbelief, making choking noises.
She glanced at him only briefly, to make certain that the wound was fatal, then she left him to die in his own dungeons.
The word spread through the outlaws' ranks like wildfire. Richard had returned. No one knew who had been the original bearer of the news, but Lucas was convinced that Irving had infiltrated runners into the attacking force. The news was passed rapidly. Richard, it seemed, had returned to England to take back his throne and to restore justice to the land. No one was exactly sure what 'justice' was, but it was generally supposed that the Saxons were going to get a fair shake at last. Evidently, the king had met up with one of the outlaw bands and was even now on his way with a party of knights to join in the attack on Torquilstone. It was, of course, the sensible thing for him to do. Even the outlaws understood that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert were allied with John and, as such, posed a threat to Richard. The news that was greeted with the greatest jubilation was that the king had decreed a blanket pardon for all the outlaws who would help him in his cause. Irving had done precisely as Hunter had surmised.
'You can bet that he won't make an appearance until he's certain that everyone has heard the news,' said Bobby, sourly. 'Well, that might make our job a little more difficult, but it still won't make it impossible. Before the day is out, we'll know which way this thing is going to go.'
So far, it was going pretty much of its own accord. It was next to impossible to control such a large and undisciplined band of men. Outlaws from all over the countryside had arrived to take part in the revolt and they were out for blood. Finn, trying to do the best he could under the circumstances, was trying to direct the assault upon the barbican. It wasn't the ideal way to take a castle, but they were forced to follow the momentum of the attack and control its flow to whatever degree they could. Besides, the outcome of the battle was of no consequence to them. In that respect, there was a familiarity about the situation. It was like a standard temporal action. The soldiers from the future were fighting a war within a war. Irving was their objective. So long as they were able to take him out, what happened to Torquiistone didn't really matter.
The air above the castle was a hailstorm of arrows. Most of the cloth-yard shafts failed to find a mark, but given such a profusion of arrows, the archers took their inevitable toll. Anyone who risked showing themselves upon the battlements stood to become a pincushion in short order. Each lattice and aperture became a target for the bowmen and the Norman men at arms returned the fire with their crossbows at their peril. Finn's men were moving forward under the protection of mantelets and pavisses, which provided at least some protection from the arbalests being used to defend the barbican. Once that was taken, then the other outlaws could move forward for a mass assault upon the outer walls and postern with rams and scaling ladders. It would be a bloody conflict with heavy losses.
Above the din of battle, a trumpet call was heard and, from across the meadow, a formation of knights approached at full gallop. In their vanguard, a knight wearing the three lions of Richard Plantagenet rode beside his banner.
'He must have completely lost his mind,' said Bobby. He removed one of his warhead arrows from his quiver and fitted it to the bow. 'This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. The moment he gets in range, I'm going to let him have it.'
