The Tower Grave (19 page)

             
“There’s nothing there, it’s just a tight corner,” he whispered. “There isn’t a torch light until further down, and there is no sign of any guards.”

             
“Ok, let’s do it and get out of here.”

             
They shifted the two heavy, loose blocks together as quietly as they could, then John edged forwards to the newly re-opened hole.

             
“Johnny, let me go first, mate,” Jake whispered, putting a hand on his boss’ shoulder.

             
John chuckled quietly.

             
“Yeah, you reckon I’m gonna let you go first after you got all the swimming adventure? No, seriously. You’ve done a lot, Jake. It’s my turn to take a risk.”

             
“I just mean, you know, if anything happens. I might have a better chance.”

             
John fixed him with a face of mock-hurt.

             
“Don’t write me off yet, mate, I’m not that old. Anyway it’s clear. Just come straight through after me.” He smiled then and unsheathed the knife from his arm, holding it ready as he ducked his head through the low hole and slithered through into the tiny space the other side.

Jake
poked his head through as soon as John’s legs cleared the hole, and pushed his arms through as the older man stood up. Jake glanced up as John poked his head around the corner and jumped as he was struck from his feet with a shout and landed hard next to him on his back. He pulled his own knife and began to shuffle through the tight hole as quickly as he could as shouting ensued in the corridor and mailed hands reached down around the corner to John. He watched, still struggling to get through, as John kicked out and pulled the armoured man down onto his face. As his nose hit the stone with a sickening crunch, he looked around at Jake only inches away before the young agent drove a knife into his neck, killing him on the spot.

             
John managed to scramble to his feet as the next soldier came and barely avoided a metal punch before he was able to attack himself. Watching the struggle in the tiny space, Jake continued to wriggle his shoulders through as John overpowered the young guard and threw him to the floor only to be knocked back down by another several men raining blows down onto him. Screaming with effort and with his face covered with blood, John turned to Jake and watched him through the punches with a look of determination in his eyes.

             
“Go! You know what to do!” he shouted through blooded lips. “Go!” he shouted again through the noise as Jake ignored his first order. “You know you have to. Go.”

             
A bare hand stretched through the space and caught Jake’s shoulder by the material, pinching the skin. He reacted and bit down hard on the hand, drawing blood which filled his mouth.              The soldier let go with a scream and fell back into the crowd. The near-miss made Jake realise John was right and he locked eyes with him for a moment, fear and sadness contorting his face, as he forced himself to go against his strongest instincts and disappeared into the darkness with a growl.

             
With relief, John turned his attention back to the men on top of him and curled up into a ball defensively. He had no way out, he knew. He was captured breaking into the King’s tower. There would only be one outcome and he prayed he’d either be rescued or killed quickly.

             
“Walls, boats!” bellowed an authoritative voice in the crowd. “Man the walls! Make sure you get that traitorous bastard!”

             
John smiled to himself. Despite the numbers, they didn’t have a chance in hell of catching Jake and he at least knew his team would be warned and taken to safety. His last thought was of the faces of the guards when they lost his friend in the water. Then something heavy hit his head behind his ear and he slumped still, out cold.

             
A distant and echoing thump beat several times in John’s head as he felt an ache deep inside it. First he heard voices over the din of the noise; then his eyes opened to reveal shadows above him, roughly pulling his arms and legs down a long, tight staircase. His head, forgotten by them, screamed to him as it hit each step in turn.

             
Meeting the bottom of the steps he was slid along a rough stone floor by his feet and dropped at the foot of a table.

             
“I’m not expecting anything new,” sounded a rough, deep voice as heavy boots began to shuffle around the table legs. “Who is it?”

             
“We think John De Rougemont, Sergeant. Of course, we can’t be sure yet. None of the lads knew him by face and, well, now he’s a bloody mess.”

             
“John Rougemont, eh?” the gruff voice said as the shadow became a face and the large soldier leaned in close to John’s battered features. As his eyes adjusted in the dark, John recognised the image of Sergeant Sykes from their first entry to the Tower. “Yes he is a mess but that’s Rougemont alright,” he said. “Why is he here and not in the keep upstairs?”

             
“Sergeant Rogers sent us here, Sarge.”

             
“This man is a noble. This shithole is for peasants and villains. Nobles would only be sent here for interrogation.”

             
“I think Rogers intends that, Sarge.”

             
“Jesus Christ. Why? What’s he done?”

             
“Tunnelled to the inner wall from the river and tried to break in by the looks of it. Rogers reckons he was tipped off so we were waiting. That’s how we know who he is.”

             
“Fuck it. Alright, bang him up and look after him. Remember his status and his recent meeting with the Duke. I’ll find out what Rogers wants and question him myself.”

             
“Ok. Come on then, nobleman,” the soldier mocked as John was dragged down the dark corridor on his back. He saw Sykes’ grim expression as he disappeared from sight and was dragged further into darkness. He passed a number of pit-like cells as the smell of faeces intensified with the metallic tang of spilt blood. Some, above ground, stood only three feet high while others were set into the damp, stone floor itself. Most were empty apart from a shadow just visible to John as he was pulled by. Whether it was a person, an animal, alive or dead; he didn’t know. He simply closed his eyes in fear of what was to come. He was kicked into a dark room and pulled himself to the wall as a glove roughly tugged his head back by his hair.

             
“Don’t think that softie Sykes is going to look after you, French scum. My mate is dead because of your friend. When we catch him I’m going to slice him to pieces, and when Rogers finishes with you, you’ll wish you’d drowned getting in.” The voice chuckled as it drew further away behind him, and then his face was smashed back into the floor causing his teeth to tear into his swollen lips. He was let go and his head slumped as the door was shut behind him with a thud.

             
Jake tore his knees as he scrambled back down the tunnel as fast as he could and plunged straight into the icy water without much of a breath. He kicked his way down and wriggled through the hole much quicker than he’d gotten in. With the boat above him, he ignored it and swam left along the wall as far as he could before he was forced to rise and take a breath. Surfacing slowly, he kept his body under the cold water and let only his face appear to take in air. He could hear the muffled shouts of soldiers with their moving flames visible along the walls over-looking the river. From their actions, he was sure he hadn’t been seen, so he turned away from the Tower and swam with the current back to where Chris and his horses were waiting. As he finally spotted his young friend sitting nervously, looking out at the water, he wound his way to the bank and clambered out shivering.

             
“Jesus, Jake,” Chris whispered hurriedly as he finally identified the black, wet mass crawling out of the water. “Why are you swimming? Where’s John? What’s going on?”

             
He handed a robe to Jake, who shivered into it and tucked his hands in tight through the cold.

             
“John’s been captured and they’ll be after me. Chris, I need you to act quickly. Take two horses and ride as quickly as you can to the apartment. Gather everything and everyone and get out. Meet me back here alone in an hour once you’ve found new lodgings.”

             
“Where are you going?”

             
“It was a set-up. I’m sorting it out. I need the other horse and I’ll meet you here. I’ve got somewhere I need to go.”

             
“Not on your own.”

             
“Yes on my own. Now go. Go!”

             
Sensing the urgency, Chris jumped up to his horse and kicked in his heels. “One hour!” he called as he rounded the first corner at pace.

             
In the small ship-yard, Jake checked his knife, secured his robe and climbed onto his horse, kicking straight into a canter without hesitation. He easily wound his way through the tight, deserted city until he came to the familiar wooden safe-house of the treason-plot. Jumping down from his mount, he loosely tied his horse and banged on the door hard with his fist. He drew his knife as soon as it opened an inch and kicked it, forcing the old man off of the door and into the wall behind him.

“Where is he?” he yelled, i
gnoring the old man’s pain and forcing his way straight into the now empty meeting room. Swearing at the abandoned table, he pressed past the chairs and ran on into the lounge area where the old man called Phillip had briefed them.

             
Courtridge leapt from his chair looking concerned as Jake entered.

             
“Jake, what’s happened?” he said before spotting the bared knife. “What are you doing? Why are you armed?”

             
“Who was it you filthy twat?” he roared in reply. “Who the hell set us up?”

             
“Set you up? Jake, what’s happened?” Courtridge shouted back, showing his own annoyance at the accusation.

             
“The welcoming committee, of course, Eddie. We got through the tunnel and John was taken. He’s probably dead by now!”

             
“Oh my, I’m so sorry, Jake. It was nothing to do with me, of course it wasn’t. Damn the culprit for this I will see them cut, I swear it. We’re also a man down now, so it affects me as well. Jake, I can’t see anyone in our group doing this. Could it be coincidence?”

             
“I don’t think so,” Jake replied, calming slightly and re-sheathing his knife. “Will they kill him?”

             
“I doubt it. They may torture him though, which poses a problem for all of us.”

             
“Fuck, torture? He won’t turn, at least not for a while, but we have to get him out.”

             
Courtridge sighed. “Jake...” he began wearily as the door to another room opened and Spence entered, sneering.

             
“Well what is this? Rougemont returns alone. Success I hope?” he said.

             
“No, William,” said Courtridge. “John was captured.”

             
“Oh dear,” he replied unconvincingly as a smile spread across his face. “Yet you escaped, Jake?”

             
“I only just escaped and I only did because I had no other choice. Was it you?”

             
“Jake...” Courtridge warned.

             
“Was it you?” he repeated louder.

             
“Was what me, boy?”

             
“Did you set us up?”

             
“Set you up? Edmund, you cannot permit this.”

             
“William, answer him.”

             
He turned to Jake and smiled.

             
“Of course not,” he said. “But he clearly got what he deserved.”

             
“How could you, you prick?” Jake screamed as he leapt at Spence and knocked him to the floor. A number of other men from the meeting rushed from nowhere and pulled Jake off but failed to hold him as he lashed out with well-placed strikes. As the traitor backed away, one of the men moved in from the side and held a sword to Jake. He knocked it away with his arm without thinking and stepped inside the range of the blade, hammering the man from his feet with his elbow. Seizing Spence’s cloak again, he pulled him to the wall and drew his knife from his wrist before coming to a halt at a shout from Courtridge.

             
“Jake!” he roared, stopping him as he moved his knife hand to Spence’s throat. “There is an arrow aimed at your back. Put William down, sheath the blade, and sit down so we can talk about this, otherwise you will feel steel and wood tear your ribs from your chest. Do it and do it now.”