The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [67]
“He lives,” Barnaby pronounced.
Elizabeth exhaled. “Merciful God. They were only doing their duty.”
Kate pushed disheveled hair from her brow, her color high in her cheeks. “What a pair of louts! Can Northumberland find no better than these to do his work?”
“Let us hope not.” Barnaby took Rog by his wrists and started hauling him toward the tower doorway. I gestured to Kate. “Come, help me.”
Urgency overcame us. With Kate and Elizabeth lending assistance, we dragged the larger guard through the door into a small round room, such as might be used for storage. A rickety set of stairs spiraled up toward a concave ceiling.
We lay the guards side by side. I went back to retrieve the sword. When I returned, Barnaby was using his belt to bind each of the inert men’s wrists together, palms facing. He took the handkerchief Elizabeth gave him, ripping it in half and stuffing the pieces of cloth into the men’s mouths. “Not much of a hindrance if they really want out,” he said, “but it should hold them otherwise.”
“I’ll see they don’t stir.” Kate took the sword from me. “If they so much as breathe too loud, I’ll skewer them like a Mayfair swan.”
Elizabeth had moved to the staircase. Barnaby stopped her, “No, this way.” He walked around the stairs to the seemingly solid wall. He reached down to lift a flagstone. I watched, amazed, as he pressed a concealed lever with his foot.
The wall opened outward, revealing an archway. Beyond, another narrow staircase wound upward into cobwebbed gloom. Elizabeth glanced from Barnaby to me. “It’s very dark.”
“We can’t risk any light,” said Barnaby. She nodded, went to the stairs.
I motioned Barnaby to follow. “I’ll be right behind you.” Then I turned to Kate. “Are you sure you want to stay here?” I tried to keep my tone neutral, unwilling to admit the personal concern I felt for her, which only a few minutes earlier had driven me at the guard with the intent to kill. I didn’t want to leave her here alone. And I did not like that. I did not want to feel anything for her, not at this juncture.
She gave me a knowing smile. “Still suspicious, are we?” Before I could respond, she set a finger on my lips. “Be quiet. I know I owe you an explanation, but for now rest assured that I can use a blade for more than peeling apples.”
I had no doubt she could, but no matter how well she might wield a weapon, she’d be no match for these two should they decide to break their bonds.
“Don’t fight them.” I looked her in the eye. “They’re the duke’s men. The punishment would be … severe. If it comes to it, make your escape. Find Peregrine and meet us on the road. We’ll find another way to get her out.” I paused. “Promise me.”
“I’m moved that you would worry,” she replied, still with that ironic smile. “But this is hardly the time to start doubting your allies. Go. You’ve more important things to worry about.”
I did not argue. Turning away, I stepped into suffocating darkness.
The passage containing the secret staircase was impossibly narrow, the ceiling angled low, barely high enough to accommodate a man. With my knees bent and shoulders hunched, my hair brushing cold stone, I wondered how enormous Henry the Eighth had ever navigated it. An unwitting gasp escaped me as the sense of space behind me was cut off.
Kate had depressed the lever and closed the false wall.
It was like moving up a tunnel. My eyes gradually adjusted. Rats perched on the steps, eyeing me without fear. Elizabeth and Barnaby climbed ahead, single file; I lost sight of them at each turn in the pike. The clammy air was wringing sweat from my brow.
Suddenly the staircase ended at a wooden door. Barnaby paused. “Before we go in,” he said, “Your Grace should know that Edward … he isn’t the prince we knew. The illness and the treatments have taken a terrible toll on him.”
She edged closer to me as Barnaby rapped on the door. In the hush, I heard her draw in a quivering breath. Barnaby rapped again. I gripped my dagger.
The door cracked open. A sliver of light cut across our feet.
“Who goes there?” said a man