Then what? I can’t just march through the enemy camp and back across the castle drawbridge. But there may be another way, a way that could work and gain me re-entry to the keep. Several escape tunnels lead from the castle in various directions, and I have a good idea where at least some of these emerge. More or less. It was common knowledge among the ladies of Hohenzollern that one of the tunnels exits into the thickly wooded area about half a mile to the north west of the castle walls and just a few hundred yards from where I now find myself. If I can escape from this tent without drawing any notice, and make my way out of the camp unseen, I will have ample opportunity to seek out the tunnel under cover of the trees. Then it will be a simple matter of making my way back through the underground passageway into the castle. By now all those fleeing will have made their way through. I should have the route to myself.
It will be dark in there, but as far as I am aware there is just one straight tunnel leading to a storeroom under the stables. There is no maze of underground caverns in which to become lost. Icando this.
My course decided, I waste no time. The dagger slices through the canvas with ease and I peer out of the hole to survey my escape route. For once this day luck seems to be on my side. The rear of the duke’s tent gives on to open countryside. There are no soldiers between me and the stand of trees where the tunnel entrance is concealed. If I remain low, crawling along the ground if necessary, the meadow grass will provide ample cover. I should not bespotted.
But I must move quickly. Karl might return at any moment. My lord the duke could even decide to check up on me, though I doubt he will. He has other priorities. I pull my cloak around me, though in truth it is made of thin weave and offers little additional warmth. I tuck the dagger in a pocket in my cloak, draw in a deep breath, and wriggle through the opening I have fashioned.
Outside, I lie still for a few moments, hardly daring to breathe. I await a shout, the flare of a torch, the pounding of running feet to indicate that I have been spotted. Nothing. Just silence. I lift my head to look around me. One or two soldiers can be seen scurrying about their business within the confines of the camp, but out here, beyond the perimeter, there is no one. Still, I am cautious as I make my way across the meadow behind the tent. I remain on my hands and knees, opting for secrecy at the expense of speed. Even if my escape is discovered—whenit is discovered—it will be assumed I have fled away from the castle, seeking to put distance between myself and the tender mercies of the imperial forces. That illusion will not last long. I will be discovered with the children in the chapel, but by then my mission will be completed. I will have done all I am able to secure the safety of my adopted daughter.
After that my own fate is less certain, though despite my optimism as I formulated my plans I imagine the most likely outcome will be that the duke will reclaim me as his bride. My freedom will be curtailed thereafter. There will be no subsequent escape for me. Mercifully though the duke has given me no reason to suppose he will harm me. He will be angry, but I think not violent. At least I hope not.
I reach the trees and at last I dare to stand up. I look back across the meadow, regretting the trail of flattened grass I have left, though that could not be helped. A few minutes of helpful rippling by the fresh early December winds will do much to eradicate my tracks. The longer it is before my escape is discovered, the more chance I have of eluding capture for long enough to achieve my aim.
So far so good. I lift up the front of my heavy woollen skirts and head on into the cover of the trees.
The trail I left provides me with the clue I need to help discover the tunnel quickly. The undergrowth in the wood is trampled, the vegetation battered by the pounding of feet as our people made their escape not many hours ago. I find it simple enough to follow the track back to its source, a dark cavern between two upright rocks. There is hardly enough space for one person to push through, and I am astonished that so many have succeeded in making their escape this way. The evidence is clear though in the path worn through the woodland.
I peer into the entrance, and regret the lack of a torch. From just a fewfeet in I will have to find my way by touch alone. I estimate the length of the tunnel to be maybe half a mile, though of course that assumes a direct route. It will be slow going, in pitch dark, but the task will not improve for waiting. I grit my teeth and squeeze my body between the stones.
Within seconds the darkness is total. It envelops me, oppressive, bleak, and very, very cold. I stretch out my hands beside me and find I can touch the walls on either side, just with the tips of my finger. The tunnel is narrow, and was clearly not designed for the mass exodus it has achieved this day. I shudder as I imagine the claustrophobic effect of this tiny space filled with bodies, people panicking, running for their lives. It would require but one among their number to trip and that unfortunate soul would be crushed by the feet of those behind. At least now there is only me.
I inch forward, my eyes trained on the blackness ahead. Although becoming accustomed to the lack of light I can pick out nothing, not even the vaguest of outlines. I listen too, my ears cocked for any sign of pursuit, or of life ahead of me. I could even now meet with some straggler seeking refuge beyond the castle.
There is nothing. I shuffle onward, cocooned in my own tiny world, a world of silence and absolute darkness. I’m startled when my right hand is suddenly clawing on thin air. I have lost my contact with the tunnel wall and I am grasping at empty space. A side tunnel? Please, God, no. I could so easily become lost in here, never to be found.
I stand still, fighting back panic as I stretch my arms out in all directions. The fingertips of my left hand are still touching the cold, damp earth of the tunnel wall, but there is nothing to my right. I shuffle forward. My right hand straight out in front of me, and soon meet with the clammy wall dead ahead. A bend in the tunnel, then. This implies a greater distance to travel, but is less worrisome than the prospect of negotiating my way, blind, through a network of passages. I will my heart to stop its frantic thumping and turn to face the onward path.
A few yards farther on I encounter another deviation to my route, this time a sharp bend to the left. I make the turn and inch forward. I am horribly conscious of the mass of earth surrounding me, I feel entombed, buried alive. My heart is pounding again, my breath laboured. The air in here is fetid, yet bitterly cold. The surface beneath my feet feels to be on a slight incline and I imagine I could be descending right into the bowels of the earth. I pause, concentrate on drawing in deep, even breaths. I must not lose my composure now, though panic is only just below the surface.
My right foot slips on a wet patch of clay and I almost stumble. There is no way to know where I am putting my feet, so I press on with even more caution. At this rate it will take me hours to reach the castle, but it cannot be helped. To turn back is even more unthinkable.
By now my absence may well have been discovered. Has the duke beeninformed? Is he even now commanding his men to give chase across the countryside? I have lost track of time, cocooned in this dark and silent catacomb, my only sensation that of intense cold. I cannot even tuck my frozen fingers into the folds of my cloak as I need to extend them to feel my way along the dank walls.
I shiver, gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering, and continue on.
I hear something. A faint scratching, somewhere in the murk ahead of me. Rats? I shudder but press on.
The sound reaches me again, closer, and louder. Heavier. Something a good bit larger than a rat is sharing this tunnel with me. Perhaps some tardy soul is even now making his escape.
“Hello? Is someone there?” I call out into the velvet darkness and wait for the answering voice.
Silence.
I try again. “Is anyone there? Show yourself.”
I remain still and quiet, listening intently. I pick up a soft sound, a footfall perhaps, but of one who has no wish to encounter anyone else in this dark domain. My companion is close, very close. I sense him. Moments later, I hear his breathing.
“It is safe, I am not with the imperial forces. Please, show yourself.”
I advance another cautious step, and another, my hands searching the gloom in front for something, someone. Anything.
A whisper, the merest breath of air. He is here, beside me, inches away yet still choosing to remain concealed. I turn to my right, still searching. I am seized and hurled bodily against the opposite wall. The breath leaves my lungs in a rush and I gasp, in shock, in terror.
The next moment he is upon me, hauling me to my feet only to plant a vicious blow to my ribs. I am sure my assailant is a male, though his larger, heavier bulk the only evidence I have to go on. I sag against the damp rock at my back, at the same time bringing my knees up in some sort of defence.
The only saving grace is that if I am unable to see him, he cannot see me either and he has now expended his advantage of surprise. I succeed in connecting my kneecap to his groin. He lets out a growl of pain, crumpling to the ground.
“Bitch! Fucking whore.”
