“The vaults!” Gordon shouted above the din of battle, as they fought their way past a few of the invading Englishmen.
They raced into the cool, damp stairwell. Without its roof, the stone had been left open to the elements, and the stairs were damp and slippery with moss as they made their way into the vaults.
Magnus didn’t need to ask what Gordon intended. It was nothing they hadn’t done many times before. They’d worked for so long together, they communicated without speaking.
Gordon headed for the far wall that was directly under the precariously perched tower wall. “It may take more than one,” he said, removing a few small sacks from a leather bag he wore slung across his shoulder. He handed four of them to Magnus. “We don’t have much time, so fire them all at once. At the arch,” he said, pointing Magnus to the side nearer the stairwell. He used the torch to light two small candles he’d removed from his bag for such occasions. “I’ll tell you when.”
Gordon went to the far side of the wall, packing his bags along the arch near the top of the wall. Magnus did the same on his.
“Ready?” Gordon asked.
Magnus nodded.
Gordon wedged his candle between the bags and started to run. “Now!” he yelled.
Magnus secured his candle and did the same.
There should have been plenty of time to make it up the stairs and out of the tower before the first explosion. But something went wrong. Magnus was a few feet from the door—Gordon a few feet behind him—when the first shattering boom exploded beneath them, the concussion of sound and earth knocking him to the ground. The ground was still moving as the second one sounded.
He covered his ears and tried to get to his feet. The explosions were too loud. Too powerful. What the hell had happened?
He couldn’t hear a damned thing, but somehow he knew Gordon was saying something. He turned around, seeing him shout—“Run!”—but it was too late. The walls were coming down, and they were trapped.
He tried to fight his way to the entry, attempting to dodge the falling stone that crashed all around him. One big stone hit him in the shoulder, sending a crushing blast of pain through his entire left side. He staggered. His ears were still ringing, but he could hear Gordon shout behind him and knew he’d been struck, too. He turned around to try to help him, but at that moment the tower collapsed around them.
Magnus put up his arm, trying to shield himself from the rain of stone pelting him mercilessly, driving him to the ground.
He was certain he was dead. But somehow, when it stopped, the tower was gone, and he was still alive.
He extracted himself from the pile of rubble and looked around for Gordon, blinking against the acrid smell of the black powder and the heavy cloud of dust and ash swirling all around him.
Through the ringing in his ears he heard a moan. Gordon! He crawled through the pile of rocks toward the sound. At first he couldn’t see him. Then he looked down and felt his stomach heave.
His friend was sprawled out on the ground in a sickly position, buried under a pile of enormous stones, the largest of which—part of one of the massive pillars of the vault—had fallen across his chest, pinning him and crushing his lungs.
Magnus swore, trying to pull the rocks off. But he knew it was useless. It would take three or four men of Robbie Boyd’s strength to lift that pillar—and he had only one good arm. His left arm had been crushed badly, at the shoulder and forearm. He tried to cry out for help, but the others had to be too far away.
But he wouldn’t give up.
“Stop,” Gordon wheezed. “It’s no use. You have to go.”
Magnus didn’t listen. He gritted his teeth against the pain and redoubled his effort with both hands.
“Stubborn…” Gordon’s voice dropped off. “Go. They’re coming. You can’t let them capture you.”
Suddenly, Magnus was aware of the voices behind him, coming from the sea-gate. He staggered to the collapsed wall and looked over, seeing the English climbing up. They’d been slowed, but not blocked. In a minute or two they’d be filling the bailey.
He swore and returned to his friend. “Try to press up, while I pull.”
Gordon shook his head. “I can’t move.” He held Magnus’s eyes. “I’m not going to make it.”
The sickly liquid sound of his voice punctuated his words. Blood was filling his lungs.
“Nay,” Magnus said furiously. “Don’t say that.”
“You know what you need to do. I can’t do it myself. My hands are pinned.”
Oh God, no. He shook his head. “Don’t ask that of me.”
