Timeline - Michael Crichton [148]
Cautiously, she crept toward the ladder. Only when she reached it did she see two men lying among the sacks, snoring loudly, empty wine bottles at their feet. But neither gave any sign of awakening.
She began to climb the ladder.
She passed a rotating granite wheel turning noisily against another below. The grain came down a sort of funnel and entered a hole in the center of the upper wheel. Then ground grain came out the sides, spilling through a hole to the floor below.
In the corner of the room, she saw Marek, crouched over the body of a soldier lying on the ground. He held his finger to his lips and pointed to a door on the right. Kate heard voices: the soldiers in the gatehouse. Quietly, Marek raised the ladder and slid it over to block the door shut.
Together, they removed the soldier’s broadsword, his bow, and his quiver of arrows. The dead body was heavy; it was surprisingly difficult to strip the weapons. It seemed to take a long time. She looked at the man’s face—he had a two-day growth of beard, and a canker sore on his lip. His eyes were brown, staring.
She jumped back with fright when the man suddenly raised his hand toward her. Then she realized she’d caught her damp sleeve on his bracelet. She pulled it free. The hand dropped back with a thunk.
Marek took the man’s broadsword. He gave the bow and arrows to her.
Several white monk’s habits hung in a row on pegs on the wall. Marek slipped one on, gave a second one to her.
Now he pointed to the left, toward the ramp leading to the second building. Two soldiers in maroon and gray stood on the ramp, blocking their way.
Marek looked around, found a heavy stick used for stirring grain, and handed it to her. He saw more bottles of wine in the corner. He took two, opened the door, and said something in Occitan, waving the bottles at the soldiers. They hurried over. Marek pushed Kate to the side of the door and said one word: “Hard.”
The first soldier came in, followed immediately by the second. She swung the stick at his head and hit him so hard she was sure she had broken his skull. But she hadn’t; the man fell, but immediately started to get up again. She hit him two more times, and then he fell flat on his face and didn’t move. Meanwhile, Marek had broken the wine bottle over the other soldier’s head, and he was now kicking him repeatedly in the stomach. The man struggled, raising his arms to protect himself, until she brought the stick down on his head. Then he stopped moving.
Marek nodded, slipped the broadsword under his robes, and started across the ramp, head slightly bowed, like a monk. Kate followed behind.
She did not dare to look at the soldiers on the guard towers. She had concealed the quiver under her robes, but she had to carry the bow outside, in plain view. She didn’t know if anybody had noticed her or not. They came to the next building, and Marek paused at the door. They listened, but heard nothing except a loud repetitive banging and the rush of the river below.
Marek opened the door.
:
Chris coughed and sputtered, bobbing in the river. The current was slower now, but he was already a hundred yards downstream from the mill. On both sides of the river, Arnaut’s men were standing around, obviously waiting for the order to attack the bridge. A large number of horses stood nearby, held by pages.
The sun reflected brightly off the surface of the water into the faces of Arnaut’s men. He saw them squinting, and turning their backs to the river. The glare was probably why they hadn’t seen him, Chris realized.
Without splashing or raising his arms, he made his way to the north bank of the Dordogne and slipped among overhanging rushes at the water’s edge. Here no one would see him. He could catch his breath for a moment. And he had to be on this side of the river—the French side—if he hoped to rejoin André and Kate.
That is,