4 Under Siege (18 page)

‘All I ask is the chance to give the food to Alain,’ she went on. ‘And there is something else as well.’ Estelle lifted a small bottle out of the basket. ‘It’s Alain’s medicine. He has to take it every day.’

‘Then he should drink more of that and less of the wine,’ said the first guard, nudging the other. ‘He’s lucky that I didn’t crack open his skull last night.’

Estelle apologised profusely for the trouble caused and begged for a moment with her wayward husband. The guards explained that it would not be their decision. Agreeing to let her into the gaol, they told her that she’d have to persuade the duty sergeant to allow a visit to her husband’s cell. When they unlocked the door for her, she was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she kissed each one of them. They went off to finish their pie.

The duty sergeant presented more of a challenge. He was a narrow-faced man of medium height, with bushy, black eyebrows complementing his full beard. When Estelle told her tale, he was watchful and suspicious, demanding the name, address, age and occupation of the prisoner. She invented the details and waited as they were written down in a ledger. He tried to catch her out with some searching questions but she always contrived to give plausible answers. Fearing that she might be turned away, Estelle was relieved when he sniffed her basket.

‘Something in there smells good,’ he said.

‘It’s fresh bread, Sergeant,’ she replied, setting the basket on the counter. ‘Have some of it, if you wish.’

‘I will, Madame.’ He broke off a large hunk then pulled out the other pie. ‘This is too good for the likes of him.’

‘May I see Alain?’ she pleaded.

‘Two minutes – that’s all you get.’

Estelle fought hard to conceal the elation she felt. She watched the duty sergeant take a ring of keys from a wooden peg, then followed him along a gloomy corridor. When he opened a door, he locked it behind them. Estelle noticed that the three doors they went through in the main corridor could all be opened by the same key. Stopping outside a cell, he called in.

‘You don’t deserve it but your wife’s brought you some food.’

Daniel lay motionless on the floor, face buried in matted straw.

‘Can I give it to Alain myself?’ she asked.

‘No, I’ll do that.’ After unlocking the door, he snatched the basket from her and stepped into the cell. ‘Wake up, you drunken fool.’ He kicked Daniel’s thigh. ‘Wake up, damn you!’

When the prisoner remained quite still, the sergeant bent down to shake him vigorously by the shoulders. Daniel came to life in a flash, rolling over and pulling the sergeant to the floor. Before the man could even begin to protect himself, he was hit by a succession of hard punches to the face and body. All the wind was knocked out of him and he lapsed into unconsciousness. Without even pausing to thank or congratulate Estelle, Daniel pulled out the stout cord he’d tied around his body and used the knife he’d also smuggled in to cut it into pieces. When the sergeant was trussed up hand and foot, a piece of cloth was thrust into his mouth and held in place by some cord. Only then did Daniel turn to his accomplice.

‘Thank you, Estelle,’ he said, embracing her.

‘I owed it to you.’ As he picked up the ring of keys, she retrieved the basket. ‘The same key opens all the doors in the corridor,’ she recalled.

‘Rachel is on the first floor. Did you pass a staircase?’

‘Yes, I can show you.’

After locking the cell door, Daniel set off with Estelle at his side. They moved furtively, listening for footsteps and hoping that only a skeleton staff was on duty now that all the prisoners had left. They had to go through two doors before they came to a flight of stone steps. Daniel led the way, using the same key to open the door at the top. They didn’t need to be told which cell belonged to Rachel because she emitted a cry of absolute terror.

Pons had bided his time until everyone else had left and he used the interval to speculate on what he’d do to the prisoner when he made his move. Rachel tried everything to stop him. She pleaded, she swore, she showed defiance and she even threatened to scratch his eyes out if he came anywhere near her. But she knew she was no match for a man of such brutish strength. Pons had been in no hurry. Inviting her to watch, he undressed slowly and left his uniform on the chair. Trembling with fear, Rachel couldn’t bear to look but she could hear his hoarse breathing and his vile taunts. He reached for his keys and selected the one that would admit him to paradise. Licking his lips, he unlocked the door and pushed it wide open.

Unable to escape, Rachel flung herself at him and began to beat his chest. He overpowered her with ease and stole a first kiss from her. Fondling her breast, he pushed her against the wall and began to tear at her clothes. It was when his hand explored her thighs that she let out her scream. He clapped a hand over her mouth.

‘You’ll be screaming with pleasure soon,’ he told her. ‘You’ll be begging for more.’

Rachel sank her teeth into his hand and drew blood. Pulling it away, he howled in pain then slapped her vengefully across the face before flinging her roughly on to the floor. The next moment, he heard footsteps running along the corridor and turned to see a man hurtling towards him. Daniel didn’t wait for introductions. Diving at Pons with all his might, he pushed him so hard against the wall that the man’s head was split open by the rough stone. The turnkey was completely dazed, swaying about with a hand against the wound. Daniel seized the opportunity to help Rachel up and pass her to Estelle.

‘Take her down the corridor, Estelle,’ he said.

Rachel was amazed. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘I’ll explain,’ said Estelle, leading her away.

As his head cleared, Pons was ready to fight. He’d been deprived of his pleasure and violently attacked. He wanted retribution. Lunging at Daniel, he tried to grip him by the throat but he was too slow and clumsy. Daniel evaded his grasp and pummelled him with both fists, drawing gasps of pain and gouts of blood. It was no time for a long fight. Every second was vital. Set on murder, Pons grappled wildly with him, forcing him against the bars and trying to break his back in a bear hug. Daniel responded instinctively. With a surge of strength, he swung his opponent round, banged his forehead time after time against the iron bars and, before the turnkey could recover, slit his throat from behind. There was still work to do. Hand over the man’s mouth, Daniel held him tight as Pons struggled desperately to get free, bucking, twisting, clutching at his throat and whimpering like a child as his lifeblood gushed away down his bare chest. When the turnkey was finally released, he slumped to the floor with a thud.

Raymond Lizier was beginning to lose hope. As he sat on the cart with the reins in his hands, he became increasingly dejected.

‘They’re not coming.’

‘Give them time,’ said Welbeck.

‘They should have been out by now.’

‘Calm down, Raymond.’

‘Something’s gone wrong. Estelle has been caught.’

‘We saw her being let into the gaol by those two guards.’

‘Yes,’ said Raymond, ‘but we don’t know what happened once she was inside. Suppose they didn’t believe her?’

‘Suppose they locked her up. Suppose they tortured the truth out of Rachel. If you’re determined to fear the worst,’ said Welbeck, ‘suppose that neither they nor Alain will come out alive.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘You’d never make a soldier, my friend.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Patience is everything. You need to keep your nerve as you wait for the enemy to come. You’re like a hunter, stalking a prey. One false move and you lose your chance. Take heart, Raymond. Have trust.’

‘But so many things could go wrong.’

‘Try not to think about them.’

Raymond looked up at the sky. ‘If we wait much longer,’ he said, anxiously, ‘then it will be daylight.’

It was not long after dawn and there was sufficient gloom to give them a degree of anonymity as they waited at the rear of the prison. Lille was already wide awake and early customers were making their way to market. A cart trundled past. Raymond tensed as two mounted soldiers rode towards them. His fears were unfounded. After tossing them a glance, the soldiers rode on. While Raymond continued to fret, Welbeck kept his eyes fixed firmly on the back door of the gaol. When he saw it open, he gave Raymond a sharp nudge.

‘Now!’ he ordered.

Snapping the reins, Raymond set the horse in motion. As they got nearer, he was able to see the figure standing beside the door and he felt that his worst fears had been realised.

‘That’s one of the turnkeys!’ he said in alarm.

‘No,’ said Welbeck. ‘Look at his face – it’s Alain.’

To conduct the two women to the rear exit, Daniel had put on the uniform discarded by Pons. It was too large for him but nobody would notice that from a distance. He waited until the cart drew level with him before he opened the door and ushered the two women out. Daniel locked the door behind them. Overjoyed to be free at last, Rachel needed a moment to adjust to her freedom. Her gaze then alighted on Welbeck.

‘Henry!’ she cried, grabbing his hand. ‘You came for me!’

The visit to Oxford was an unexpected treat for Amalia Janssen and her father. Sir John Rievers insisted on acting as their guide and taking them there in his own carriage. It was far more ornate and comfortable than the one they’d been given as a courtesy. He apologised that his wife was unable to join them but such an outing would place far too great a strain on her. Amalia was struck yet again by his unassailable buoyancy. In spite of his domestic concerns, he was jovial and light-hearted.

‘Oxford is unparalleled,’ he told them. ‘I know that you have universities in Holland but they are nothing at all like Oxford.’

‘Why is that, Sir John?’ asked Amalia.

‘You must decide for yourselves.’

‘I’m told that it has fine buildings,’ said Janssen.

‘Fine buildings, tall spires and delightful parks,’ said Sir John. ‘It has such an atmosphere of learning that you forget it’s also the home of ordinary people.’

‘How do they feel about having so many students there?’

‘To tell the truth, they’re not very pleased about it. Indeed, over the years, there’ve been some mighty battles between town and gown. Go back two or three centuries and you’d find something like open warfare in the streets.’ He chortled merrily. ‘Things are much calmer now. I doubt very much if we’ll see any blood on the cobblestones.’

Oxford enraptured them. Amalia and her father were so impressed by what they found that their mouths were agape for the first hour. The town was utterly entrancing. Imposing enough on their own, the various colleges were awe-inspiring when seen in concert. Churches, civic buildings, fine houses and coaching inns added to the architectural charm. Amalia particularly loved the winding streets, lined with their quaint shops, and the narrow lanes with their rows of tiny cottages. Their tour began with a gentle drive up the High Street then down St Aldates but they abandoned their carriage outside Christ Church and continued on foot. After a fascinating look at the interior of the college, they strolled across the meadows to the river. On such a bright, cloudless day, it was an idyllic scene and Amalia gazed her fill.

Punts glided past with the unhurried gracefulness of swans, their occupants reclining on cushions and shielding themselves from the sun with parasols. Perched on a branch, a kingfisher suddenly swooped down over the water, caught its prey and made off with it wriggling in its beak. Some people had spread a blanket on the grass so that they could eat a picnic. Amalia was bound to compare the serenity of it all with the hurly-burly of war on the Continent. Places like Blenheim, Ramillies and Oudenarde seemed a million miles away now. Out of the corner of her eye, she became conscious that Sir John was watching her intently and deduced that he’d seen once again the clear resemblance she bore to the lovely young woman who’d become his bride. When she turned to him, his smile was radiant.

After a bracing walk along the river, they dined at an inn before resuming their tour. There was something of interest at every turn. As well as having a detailed knowledge of the history of Oxford, Sir John had a fund of anecdotes that kept his guests laughing and took their minds off the fact that they’d been walking so long.

‘Why are there bars on the windows?’ asked Amalia, looking up at one of the colleges.

‘I should imagine that it’s to stop the students from falling out,’ said her father. ‘Is that not so, Sir John?’

‘It has a double function, Mr Janssen,’ replied the other. ‘It stops the undergraduates from accidentally falling out and it prevents them from smuggling young ladies into their rooms.’

Amalia coloured. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘You have a pure mind, Amalia. Though they are here to study, young gentlemen can be very frolicsome. Drink and female company are their twin delights. The story is told – I hope you won’t find this too indecorous – of a tutor who was very unpopular with his students. His room was on the first floor. When he heard a banging noise at his window one day, he saw, to his revulsion, that someone in the room above was dangling a chamber pot on the end of a rope. He opened the window, thrust his hand through the bars and grabbed hold of the handle, whereupon the mischievous young fellow in the room above let go of the rope.’ Sir John burst out laughing. ‘You can imagine how it must have looked. He could neither pull the pot in through the bars nor drop it for fear of hitting someone below. There was a further piece of tomfoolery, too crude to mention. Suffice it to say, that the chamber pot became heavier as a result.’ He put an arm around Amalia’s shoulders. ‘I hope that I haven’t offended you, Miss Janssen.’

‘No, Sir John,’ she said. ‘It must have been very amusing.’

‘A small crowd formed outside to watch it all.’

‘The young will always tease their elders,’ said Janssen. ‘I’ve had one or two tricks played on me by my apprentices but nothing as malicious as that.’