Chapter Eighteen #3
As his companions rolled the bones and won money from each other, the young guard watched the man at the gates as he lay in a heap, begging weakly for help.
The young guard had been raised by his widowed mother and had been taken to church regularly where the priests had instructed the faithful to be generous to the poor.
As he saw it, leaving a man to die like a dog was not generous and the more he watched, the guiltier he felt. Finally, he could stand it no longer.
Going down the narrow spiral stairs to the ground floor, he made sure his companions were busy with their game before going to the great iron gates of Braidwood and peering at the injured man through the gaps in the iron grate.
Unhinging the big iron bolt and releasing the big iron pin at the bottom of the south gate, he pulled open only one gate and peered outside.
The poor man was lying in the dirt, weeping.
When he saw the young guard, he gasped and extended his hand, begging for help.
The young guard reluctantly took his hand with the intention of dragging him inside the gate but his compassion was his undoing.
The man outside of the gate was not injured at all.
Armand le Foix was quite well and when the young soldier latched on to him, he pulled as hard as he could on the young man and yanked him outside of the gate.
A dagger between the young guard’s ribs and he breathed no more.
Le Foix was up, waving to his comrades who had been waiting against the riverbank on the opposite side of the road.
Their wait had been long and they had been partially submerged in the river to stay out of sight of Braidwood’s guards, but they were ready to move when le Foix gave the signal.
Soon, a horde of men were racing towards Braidwood as le Foix opened up the gates wide. The Armagnacs poured in.
The guards playing Bones on the ground floor of the gatehouse were the first to die.
Le Foix’s French companions made short work of them.
They then raced across the drive and through the lovely gardens, heading for the house in the darkness, when one of the sentries in a south-facing tower happened to see the tide of men and noticed the open gate. The alarm quickly sounded.
As the sound of a heavy iron bell began to sound throughout Braidwood, the servants who had been traveling between the kitchens and the manse emerged from the doorway that linked the house with the kitchen, realizing that a host of men were rushing at them.
Startled, they ducked back into the house and tried to bolt the big door but the Armagnacs were more powerful than the house servants and breached the house at the dining room entry point.
As the sleeping soldiers from the bunkhouse were roused and grabbed their weapons, running for the house, the Armagnac invaders bolted the dining room door from the inside to prevent the Braidwood soldiers from entering.
Now, they had free run of the house, at least for a time, and they intended to take advantage of it.
Unfortunately, Collins was the first servant they came into contact with.
The man had leapt from his bed because he’d heard the alarm and now he was faced with more than a dozen heavily armed men he didn’t recognize.
He was angry more than fearful, hoping that he might perhaps be able to ascertain what treasures these men were after and give the occupants of the house, sleeping upstairs, time to escape.
He put up his hands in a supplicant gesture.
“I am the majordomo of the house,” he announced. “Whatever you wish, tell me and I will do my best to get it for you if you will only leave us in peace.”
Le Foix was edgy, feeding off the excitement of having breached de Russe’s manse. He marched upon Collins and shoved the man in the chest, sending the old servant staggering backwards and falling to his knees. Le Foix stood over him.
“When is de Russe returning?” he demanded.
Collin’s wasn’t sure what the man meant. He eyed the host of unfriendly faces around him, shadowed by the darkness of the room.
“Which de Russe?” he asked.
“Bastian.”
Collins cleared his throat nervously. “I am not entirely sure,” he said. “He has gone to Wallingford Castle. You would find him there.”
Le Foix’s eyes narrowed. “We saw his army leave earlier today,” he said, watching Collin’s expression turn curious.
“Aye, we have been watching this place since yesterday, hoping de Russe would leave. We were fortunate in that we did not have to wait long. Why did he go to Wallingford? Did he go there to stay?”
Collins shook his head. “He went to discuss business with Suffolk,” he said, not wanting to divulge too much to the man with the very heavy French accent. “If you want Sir Bastian, then he is not here.”
Le Foix shook his head. “I do not want Sir Bastian,” he said, looking around the room. He noticed the floor with its Roman tiles but his gaze returned to Collins. “Where does the man keep his possessions?”
Collins was confused. “He took his weapons with him,” he said, unsure what the man was asking. “He did not leave anything behind.”
Le Foix shook his head. “Not his weapons,” he said. “His possessions. Money and other personal effects. Did he take them with him?”
Collins shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I was not involved with what the man took with him to Wallingford.”
Le Foix sighed heavily, turning to look at the men behind him. They were prepared to tear Braidwood apart in their quest for riches as well as the Maid’s relic. After a moment of gazing at his anxious men, le Foix scratched his head and returned his attention to Collins.