Athelstan stood, fascinated. He could tell from the way the royal beastmaster worked that animals escaping from the menagerie were not a rare event in the Tower. The mastiffs were called off and the moving wall of fire proved too much for Maximus. He roared one final defiance and allowed himself to be driven out of the inner bailey down Red Gulley towards his cage in St Thomas’ Tower. Athelstan was sure the bear would be safe. A king’s animal, not even Gaunt could order its destruction. Athelstan recalled that magnificent beast rearing up, the chain swinging about. How had he broken free? Athelstan felt his stomach pitch. He had seen that cage. Artorius had been very careful. Athelstan was sure this was no accident or mere chance. He was tempted to go down and see but realized the royal beastmaster would have the area tightly guarded while Athelstan could offer very little practical help. The friar walked back into the Garden Tower and re-entered his chamber, leaving the door off the latch. He closed his eyes and recalled Maximus’ cage. The sinuous chain tied to a pole, the gate to the moat tightly secured, the door he and Cranston had used to view the bear. Athelstan opened his eyes. He was sure Maximus’ escape was deliberate and he doubted very much whether Artorius was still alive. He paused at fresh cries and shouts echoing from outside. Had the bear escaped again or forced his captors back? The cries and shouts grew stronger. Athelstan felt his stomach tense. Had Maximus been released just to cause confusion and chaos? Was it the precursor for something else? Athelstan rose to his feet; he just wished Cranston was here.
‘Brother Athelstan! Brother Athelstan!’ The friar hurried to the door and flung it open. Rachael, red hair streaming, stumbled in a flurry of snow. Now and again she’d stop to help Judith: Samuel, Gideon and Samson followed, hastening towards the Garden Tower, gazing fearfully behind them. The Straw Men reached the friar, gasping and breathless.
‘Is it the bear?’ Athelstan asked.
‘No, no.’ Rachael pointed back. Athelstan followed her direction. He could now hear the crash and slither of steel, the cries of men locked in deadly combat. The tocsin on top of Bell Tower boomed out as the beacon fire beside it flared into life. Athelstan urged the Straw Men into his chamber.
‘Get your breath back,’ he advised and went out on to the steps. Other bells were tolling. Fires flamed against the dark sky. Men-at-arms and archers hurried across out of Red Gulley where they had been busy helping the beastmaster. The roar of the lions only deepened the death-bringing din now clear on the freezing air. Officers of the garrison hurried about dressed in half armour, clutching an assortment of weapons. Athelstan went back into the Tower, closing the door behind him. He told the Straw Men to remain where they were but, chattering with fear, they begged him to stay with them. Judith particularly was beside herself with fear, crouching beside Rachael, who put a protective arm around her companion’s shoulder and drew her close.
‘She’s terrified of bears!’ Samuel explained. ‘That’s why she ran away from her father. Brother, what is happening? What should we do?’
‘I need to find out what is wrong.’ Athelstan pointed to the ceiling. ‘It’s too dangerous to leave.’ He crossed to the door and turned. ‘What did you see?’
‘Some hostile force,’ Samuel declared. ‘They appeared as if from nowhere.’
‘I’d best go up.’ Athelstan opened the door. ‘I…’ He broke off as three archers, war bows slung across their backs, cresset torches in their hands, burst into the stairwell. They pushed Athelstan aside with shouts that the fortress was under attack and that the alarm beacon on top of the Garden Tower had to be fired. They clattered up the winding steps, Athelstan and the Straw Men hurrying behind, and reached the top. The archers flung open the door which swung in the freezing, pummelling breeze. The Tower top was sanded for better grip, the pitch-smeared beacon already primed and soon lit, the leaping flames providing a welcome burst of heat. Athelstan hurried to the fighting platform beneath the crenellations and peered over. The tower baileys were now caught up in confusion. He could glimpse the royal beastmaster trying to seal off all entrances to St Thomas’ Tower. To the north, however, around the Wardrobe Tower, hastily gathered members of the garrison were being driven back by a well-organized phalanx or schiltrom of men armed with shields and swords, a screed of archers around them. The fighting looked intense, the enemy bowmen loosing at any who approached while their main battle group steadily advanced.
‘They are fighting to reach Beauchamp!’ Athelstan cried out.
‘The prisoner,’ one of the archers muttered. ‘It’s the Upright Men; they are after Gaunt’s prisoner. God save us.’ He added bitterly, ‘Whoever she may be, she will be the death of many a good man today.’ Athelstan grabbed him by the arm; the archer turned. Athelstan could tell by the look in the man’s face that he had said too much.
‘Don’t worry.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘I will not report you. The prisoner? You have seen her?’
‘Brother, I trust you. I was in the escort which brought her from Dover. God save us!’ The man leaned closer. ‘Don’t you realize, Brother, those attackers are our brothers, peasants like me.’ He shook his head. ‘I have said too much.’
‘You have told the truth,’ Athelstan whispered. ‘God knows, my friend,
