push them open.
“Locked,” he whispered and he turned to the prisoners below them. “You,” he called out to the nearest, the one directly below the ledge of the stairway, “Call the guards.”
Hoping to receive clemency, he did as he was told.
“Guards!” he cried, “The wall is on fire!”
He was a veteran liar and his plea for help convinced the guards. The door was thrown open and a guard came out to investigate the strange report. But before he could see what was truly about him, Alfonzo was upon him, plunging his sword into the guard’s stomach. The luckless man fell lifelessly from ledge of the stairway, his sword pointing downward. His limp body fell upon the man who had cried ‘fire,’ and his sword pierced the man’s chest.
“The fate of a liar,” said Lorenzo, but he could say no more, for another guard rushed out to see what was happening.
The second guard suspected nothing, but ran into Alfonzo and met the same fate as his comrade. The third, however, was not so foolish. He pulled back into the room with the other guards, to await the attack. Ten guards were left in the room, with orders were to hold the post at all costs. Therefore, they stayed in the room.
“We are saved,” Alfonzo said, turning to those behind him “They do not flee. But they have the advantage, for we can enter only one at a time.”
“Allow me,” said de Garcia in his thick Spanish accent.
He stood across the room, looking into the guard room over the ledge of the stairs. He stepped forward to the fallen guards and picked up the topmost one, hugging him closely so that the dead man’s body covered the living man’s. Thus equipped, he walked slowly up the stairs and through the doorway. The guards came at him, but the armor of the dead man protected him, for their blades had to pass through the armor twice, as well as the body. They could not attack his sides, for Alfonzo and Blaine had stepped forward and were guarding his flanks. Thus prevented from blocking their entry, the guards retreated to the back of the room, pushing over the tables and chests to form a rude blockade.
By this time Lorenzo and one of the rebels had carried up the two other bodies: the first guard and the prisoner. Lorenzo held the guard’s sword, for de Garcia to use.
“Those who live by a sword die by a sword,” Lorenzo said. “But what will those who live by a dead body die by?”
“A sword, no doubt,” de Garcia answered his old comrade. “And so will you, for your body armor is wearing no armor but his meager skin and bones!”
“Then what will we do?”
“Throw it at them,” de Garcia answered. “It will throw them off if we bombard them with their fallen comrades.”
“Always the warrior, de Garcia,” Alfonzo said, “A fighter before a man. But in this you may be right. Are we ready?”
“As ready as death,” was the answer.
This dialog was whispered: the guards across the room could not hear them. Without warning, the bodies were flung at the unsuspecting guards. They hit lengthwise, knocking the guards to the ground. The rebels closely followed the bodies and fell upon the guards with their swords. The guards, however, were defeated by the sight of their comrades. Their mortality was paraded before them and they surrendered as soon as they were free from the bodies. Alfonzo led them out of their barricade and had them bound with the irons used for prisoners.
“What should we do with them? We have little time,” he said.
“If I may suggest something, master,” said de Garcia. “We should strip them of their uniforms, and chain them down below – in the lower levels – as if they were but common killers. If we dirty their hair and ruin their beards, they will not be recognized. It is time they saw what it is that they have done.”
Alfonzo nodded his head. “Perhaps it would be best, that they may repent. Make it so, de Garcia, take two with you,” and he pointed to two of Blaine’s men. They set to their work at once, preparing the guards for their imprisonment.
“We will be above,” Alfonzo continued, “These are the upper levels, and you should have no trouble following us when you are finished.”
“Yes, but now we must hurry,” Blaine answered, “Already I can faintly hear the rumblings of the catapults above. The impersonators have arrived and the escape is prepared. Now it is our turn.”
“To do what?” Alfonzo asked.
“You will see soon enough,” and they split: Alfonzo and the rest going upward; de Garcia and two of the men downward.
The upper levels of the dungeon were cleaner and brighter than the lower. Hurrying on, they reached the top of the dungeon in a few moments. The main part of the castle was all contained in the same massive tower: the dungeon below the ground and the Great Hall on it, with its adjacent kitchen and store rooms. It covered all of the first floor except a small entry room to the dungeon that opened into the courtyard. This was directly below the large window of the Great Hall, where the catapults had been placed.
There were only two guards in the entrance room, and they were preoccupied with a game of chance. Alfonzo and Blaine stole up behind them, slitting their throats before they could raise the alarm. Then, they were out of the dungeon and into the courtyard.
There, standing before them, were twenty catapults: each twenty feet long and five wide. The buckets were five feet in diameter. These were Gylain’s catapults, built to his own design. It was on them that he based the security of his castle. A few men guarded the catapults, but they were more interested in the clamor coming from the Great Hall, than in their duty. Thus, they sat in a group with their backs to the dungeon door. Alfonzo motioned to the others and crept up to their backs. He raised his sword and his hand, the latter as a signal. He brought them both down at once, and with a single motion the careless guards were put to sleep.
“I see your plans now,” Alfonzo said to Blaine, pointing to the buckets of the catapults. They were directly below the Great Hall’s window, facing the high outer wall.
“We must still aim them,” Blaine answered, and immediately they set to work correcting the catapults’ angles and direction.
“Surely, you do not mean for us to land softly on the ground?” Lorenzo asked.
“Of course, not. We have spread a heavy net between a circle on the other side of the wall. It can hold a hundred men and we do not have nearly that number.”
“A well-planned rescue, perhaps. Yet we cannot
“There are yellow streaks along the wall, if you look closely. Our men marked it earlier, while they were disposing of the wall and gate guards to delay the chase.”
“Ah, so there is! Good work, old friend.”
“No praises just yet, Lorenzo, for we have yet to escape.”
In a moment, the catapults were aimed correctly and loaded with the spring and lever that would release their loads into the air.
“This is not good, Blaine,” Alfonzo said, “For these catapults must be set off by a human hand, and whoever releases them will be stranded within the castle walls.”
“Someone will have to remain,” was the answer.
“But whom?”
“I will,” said a deep voice, shrouded with a thick Spanish accent. “I will remain behind.”
“De Garcia,” Alfonzo said. “I will not let you be captured again, to be brought back to your hellish prison.”
“I will not be told no in this, master. I am not worthy to even sacrifice myself for you. How much less am I to be sacrificed for?”
“I have misjudged you, de Garcia.”
“Perhaps; but only on the side of mercy.”
They had been out of the dungeon for ten minutes but had not yet heard the clamor coming from the Great Hall. Now that they were silent, they listened.
“What? Are they fighting inside?”
