Chapter Ten
“…the days, as they passed, introduced me to a fresh, new hell….”
The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara
Gerard had put Guy in the deepest depths of the Tower vault, down into the rooms that seeped of water and rot that permeated the ground from the Thames.
It was a hellish place and the lower levels were a maze of horror and darkness.
These paths of despair were used only for the very lowliest offenders, those to be locked away and forgotten by time.
Men came down here to be swallowed up as if they had never existed.
Sean had some difficulty maneuvering his massive body down the narrow, slippery stone steps of the lower level, made more difficult by the fact that his head was still swimming slightly from the blow to his head.
By the time he reached the bottom level, it was nearly pitch black and smelling heavily of decay.
He knew from memory there were four cells in this block, small rooms with no ventilation.
He lit a larger torch on the wall from the small one he was carrying, giving him just enough light to locate de Braose’s compartment.
Lifting the splintering plank that slid across the door to lock it, he pushed it aside and shoved open the panel.
The oak and iron door jammed and he was forced to thrust hard, twice, to unstick it.
The chamber smelled of death. It was a horrible scent.
Sean didn’t see Guy right away until he looked over into the corner and saw a body half collapsed, half propped against the stone.
He was frankly surprised to see de Braose’s dark eyes gazing back at him, wincing with the introduction of the light.
He took a step into the cell, lifting the torch for a better look.
“How badly are you injured?” he asked.
Guy blinked rapidly in the weak light. He could see de Lara, larger than life, dressed in full armor. “If you have come to finish what your comrade started, then know that I am no match for you. You can kill me if you have a mind to.”
“I have no mind to. How badly are you hurt?”
Guy wasn’t sure how to answer. He could barely move, but that wasn’t what de Lara was asking. “My right arm is useless.”
“Broken?”
“Aye.”
“Can you stand?”
“I have not tried.”
Sean reached down and pulled de Braose to his feet as if the man weighed no more than a child.
But Guy was gravely injured and groaned at the movement.
Sean could see that Gerard had done his work very well, for Guy was a mess.
His face was battered, his right arm broken, and there was no telling what other injuries lay beneath the torn and stained clothing.
“What are you doing?” Guy demanded, pain in his voice. “Put me down, de Lara.”
Sean didn’t reply. He hoisted Guy from the cell, listening to his grunts of pain. When they hit the slippery steps, Guy began to weakly struggle.
“Put me down,” he groaned. “Where are you taking me? If you are thinking to.…”
Sean cut him off then. “Keep silent,” he snapped lowly. “If you value your life, you’ll do as I say. You must play dead.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I said play dead,” Sean’s clear blue eyes blazed into Guy’s youthful features. “And shut your mouth. If you want to live, you’ll keep it shut.”
“I still do not understand.”
“You do not have to. But I ask that you trust me.”
Guy’s eyebrows flew up. “Trust you?” he repeated, outraged. “After everything that has happened, you are asking me to trust you? You must be mad.”
“Indeed, I very well may be. But your only other choice is to rot away in that cell. Is that what you wish?”
Guy opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He was cornered. “What are you going to do?”
“You must play dead, no matter what you hear and no matter what happens. You must play the lifeless, limp corpse. Your life depends on convincing others that you have met your end. Can you do this?”
Guy lifted his one good shoulder, a weak gesture.
“It appears that I have no choice.” His dark eyes cooled, grew shaded.
His mind was thinking many things, not merely of de Lara’s strange request. He was especially thinking on the last time he and the Shadow Lord had met.
“Where is Lady Sheridan? Is she all right?”
Sean had been collected and professional up until that moment.
But hearing her name was like a dagger through his heart.
He dare not allow himself to falter in front of de Braose.
Yet knowing that the young knight felt for the lady as he did, knowing that somehow he may have a kindred spirit in the man in their mutual concern for the lady’s welfare, he told the truth.
Besides, it was the very reason he was releasing Guy from his imprisonment.
“She is missing,” he said frankly.
Guy’s eyes widened. “But… the last I saw, she was under your escort. You had her, de Lara. What happened?”
Sean’s emotions had the better of him and he struggled against the anguish that threatened. “I was ambushed after I left you,” he said truthfully. “I was rendered unconscious and the lady was taken.”
Guy’s big brown eyes widened with dismay. “Why are you not out looking for her? Why are you here wasting time with me?”
Sean’s jaw ticked dangerously. “I tell you this because I require your help,” he rumbled.
“In spite of my reputation, I cannot be everywhere at once. The lady is missing, presumably in danger, and as much as I loathe the idea I require your assistance. I will get you out of this place, but in return you must do everything in your power to help me find the lady. You are allied with her. You have many mutual friends and acquaintances. Perhaps one of them will know where she is. They will speak to you far more easily than they will speak to me.”
It suddenly all came clear to Guy. De Lara was taking him from the vault because he needed Guy’s help to find Lady Sheridan. He began to feel his sense of worth where a moment ago, he had none. Now, the mighty de Lara needed him.
“In spite of the fact that we both lay claim to her, you would ask this of me?” Guy repeated, somewhat guardedly. “Are you so desperate, then?”
“Nay,” Sean shook his head slowly. “I am only concerned with her welfare. I care not for our petty contention at this point, de Braose. All I care about is finding the lady safe and whole. I believe you are the one man who can help me accomplish this.”
“And if I find her and marry her? What then?”
Sean lifted an eyebrow. “I would ask that you not, but I cannot order or demand it. I will leave it to your conscience to do the right thing. All I care about is that she is found. Will you do this?”
Guy was seriously attempting to ascertain Sean’s motives in all of this. Either he was up to something, or Sean was the most selfless man he’d ever met. He wasn’t sure which but he was impressed with the man’s altruism nonetheless. Slowly, he nodded his head.
“I will.”
There was nothing more to say. The two enemies would, for the moment, work together for the common cause of Lady Sheridan.
Guy was easily half Sean’s size, so it was little effort for Sean to literally throw him over his shoulder and carry him up the stairs to the next level.
This floor of the vault was busier, however, and the master jailer focused his attention on the pair as Sean carted Guy through the area. He went to them.
“You found him, I see,” the burly, one-eyed man spoke to Sean. “Is he dead?”
“He is. I am sending the body back to his father as a message against all those who would oppose the king.”
Thankfully, the jailer didn’t check. He took the Shadow Lord’s word for it.
Sean continued to lug Guy through the vault, up the next set of stairs, and up into the gatehouse.
There were soldiers everywhere and smoke from the battle filled the air as Sean passed into the ward beyond.
Even though it was the north and east sections of London that were burning under attack, the wind had carried the smoke and ash to the Tower.
It was an eerie sight as the late afternoon sun turned red behind the clouds of burnt orange and black.
Guy peeped an eye open, noting the tense mood of the courtyard and the soldiers in battle mode going about their business. He could smell the smoke and knew, without being told, what was happening. The siege was well underway.
Sean pulled Guy into a shadowed corner against the wall.
It was apparent that he was searching for something, or someone.
Guy winced as his broken ribs brushed against each other, his torso wedged up against Sean’s massive shoulder.
After several moments of hovering in the shadows, the pair rounded the corner of the gatehouse and headed straight for a small, enrobed man pulling a donkey cart along the edge of the western wall.
Without a word, Sean lifted Guy over the side of the cart, burying him beneath the mounds of hay that filled it.
Guy sputtered as dried grass hit him in the mouth, but for lack of a better response, lay there as Sean and the tiny old man threw great piles of hay over him.
When they were finished satisfactorily burying Guy, Gilby peered out at Sean from beneath his hood.
“He is badly hurt,” Sean said quietly. “Take him somewhere safe where you can tend his wounds. Then send him back to his men. I don’t care how you do it, but get him there.”
“It will not be a simple thing,” Gilby said. “The gates are sealed.”
Sean lifted an eyebrow. “The gates are not the only way in and out of the Tower.”
“And if I need your help?”
Sean shook his head. “I am riding for the Marches in two hours. If you need help, you’ll have to seek it elsewhere. I cannot help you.”
Gilby’s brow furrowed. “Why are you riding to the Marches, man? London is under siege.”