The entire company shook their heads as one. “There is no way out of that dungeon alone, lad,” Duncan said, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “It is a well-designed prison, to be sure.”
“But someone might have aided him,” the boy insisted.
“Who in that place would aspire to see justice served?” Edgar demanded. “If there was a man who believed in any thing other than his own survival in that place, he would have defied Sir Royce already.”
“And been slaughtered for it already,” agreed Stewart.
Anna paced anew, then turned to confront them. “What if one of the guards left the hall? What if he could be captured, and one of us take his place? Then we could aid Bartholomew.”
Duncan frowned. “He would not only have to leave the hall, but be out of sight of the sentries.” He shook his head. “They will not leave the keep.”
“We could draw them out,” Anna insisted. “We could set fire to something Royce values.”
“The mill?” Stewart suggested.
Edgar winced. “He will not see the blaze until the building is nigh destroyed, for the old village is too far away. I say it is not worth the sacrifice.” He raised a finger. “One day, we may have a good baron and be restored to our village, and then we will need the mill.” His words fell into silence, for with Bartholomew captive, none had much hope of that good baron appearing.
Anna sat down hard. “We cannot fail. Not now that the true son is returned.” The ring on the lace around her neck seemed heavier on this morning.
Father Ignatius cleared his throat. “Where are my keys?”
Duncan reached into his belt and offered them to the priest, his expression revealing that he had forgotten they were in his possession. Bartholomew must have granted them to him.
The priest fingered them, then held up one of the smaller ones. “This unlocks the portal near the chapel.”
The others straightened with interest. Perhaps they, like Anna, had forgotten about it.
“But Bartholomew used it. They will watch that path,” Anna protested.
The priest squared his shoulders. “I will wager that they will not kill a priest come alone to offer last rites to a condemned prisoner.”
All gazes turned to him. Anna bit her lip. “They might only hesitate.”
“It might be long enough.” Father Ignatius then removed two other keys and tucked them into the small purse that hung from his belt. The ring of keys he carried openly. He glanced down at the ring then blinked with feigned surprise. “The key to the chapel and its treasury appear to have been lost.”
Anna bit back a smile. She had not realized the priest could be deceptive.
Nor that he would take such a risk.
“Yours is a doughty wager,” Duncan murmured. “I am not certain I would take it.”
“But I will,” Father Ignatius said with conviction. He straightened, his eyes filled with fire. “I will.”
*
The guards tried to rouse Bartholomew, but he grunted in protest and remained rolled in Gaultier’s cloak. His face was well hidden, but evidently they were convinced by his garb that he was the other man. There were many jibes and jests, but finally they left him alone.
“He will regret that he does not see this one swing,” said one warrior.
“I wager that he regrets the wine yet more,” countered another. “Do you not smell it on him?” They laughed together and went to the dungeon to gather the prisoner.
Bartholomew waited until he was alone, then marched to the armory, keeping his hood high. It was just past dawn, the sky growing light with the promise of another fine day. The man on duty at the armory bowed, but did not turn from his post. Bartholomew nodded then strode past him, as if fetching a weapon.
He pivoted in the shadows to watch.
The guard’s interest was captured by the sight of the prisoner being urged to the summit of the curtain wall. Gaultier was hooded and staggered, making incoherent protests as they pushed him onward. Evidently the potion still held him in thrall. The guards were rough with him and he was struck repeatedly as he was led to his demise. They mocked him as the son of the true baron and tripped him more than once.
The sentry outside the armory chuckled.
