The Seventh Thief - Chapter 6

It was early evening as the crowd gathered round the gallows, while being held back at a respectable distance by a set of guards in the local count's livery. Pikes were jabbed out and sharp orders given to the soldiers as the onlookers were waiting for an execution to take place. Standing in the cold and feeling the wet mud grasp onto the boots, they saw a cart drawn out with four soldiers and a figure firmly bound.

It made a slow progress to the scaffold where the prisoner was roughly hauled out and carried up the steps. At the top, a priest fiddled with his robes while clutching his worn copy of the bible. As the prisoner was stopped in front of him, the crowd watched as he gave absolution to the man. Ather a few words in latin were spoken, the prisoner was passed across to the executioner, a burly man dressed all in black who guided the prisoner to his final standing spot. The local captain stood at the top and unfurled a scroll and began reading from it. The crowd fell silent, although they knew what was coming, but it was not often that such theatre was played out for them.

"For the crime of theft and burglary against the Count de Rochard, and for the attempted murder of the soldiers of the Count de Rochard, this man, Fernand of Loire has been found guilty. The penalty is death." He turned and nodded to the executioner, who began to hood the man.

The crowd jeered as the man struggled slightly, but without success as he was firmly held in place by two guards. With the hood firmly in place, the rope was then neatly fastened around the neck and the guards moved back. As if knowing that this was the end, the figure stood still in his final moments. A second nod from the Captain and the level was pulled, dropping the man.

As the body jerked and twisted in the breeze, the crowd cheered glad to see that, for them at least, justice had been done. After a short length of time, the figure had stopped struggling, the body was cut down by the guards and flung back onto the cart to be taken away for disposal in a lime pit for paupers. The crowd dispersed, their bloodlust satiated and went back to their daily routine.

"You know, I never thought he would be caught." From afar, two men had been watching from the shadows of the nearby houses. Unnoticed, or perhaps ignored by the peasants, they bowed their heads slightly as if to respect a comrade.

"You knew, otherwise you would never have asked me here." Dressed in plain travelling clothes, both were armed marking themselves out as servants to no-one. "He was one of the best at breaking in silently and carefully and he never took chances, how did he end up in a fight?"

"I don't know, but I need you to find out. This isn't the place for such a discussion and there is more I need to tell you."

"Isn't there always."

The two men turned away and walked back to the inn they were staying in. Heads bowed and both lost deep in their thoughts, considering why they were there. Entering into a warm glow from a large fire, they took seats at a wooden table at the far end of the room. On seeing them, the proprietor shooed the serving girl across, while gathering up a pair of rough cups and platters for the order he hoped would be forthcoming.

From the corner of their sight, they watched as she approached the table and the elder of the two gentleman looked up, not glaring, but a commanding presence giving her pause. The younger of the two looked back to the rough surface of the table, still head bowed and lost in some thought or proposition. She gulped and stepped forward to them.

"What would it be sirs?" With no response from one, she lowered her gaze and looked in the direction of the elder man.
"Two plates of whatever stew you have, some bread and some wine." His gruff voice seemed to throw her slightly and he put some coins on the table. "Be quick about it and then see we are not disturbed while we eat." She curtseyed quickly and went back to prepare their food.

"I always think better without an empty stomach, don't you?" Turning from the serving girl he looking at his friend. "Do you have nothing to say?"

"Plenty, but I have to ask some questions first. You, Edward Chretion, have never misled me truly until now. Why am I here, what is going on, and why does a King's Man need my help?" The younger man looked up, fixing his gaze and looking for answers.

"Because you, Pascal of Loire, also swore loyalty to his Majesty and I'm too old for what needs to be done." A small hidden gesture and both lapsed into silence as the serving girl returned with their food.

"Thanking you sirs." she curtseyed again, pick up the coins and returned to the counter where she handed them over.

Both men started eating, aware of their hunger from the journey they had made reaching this town. It had been several days hard ride from their last meeting place to make it here and, to all accounts, they were too late seeing the execution of a man they had both known.

After both had finished their food they settled forward, both with a cup of wine and ready to talk.

"Let me explain further", Edward started as Pascal began to speak. "The Count de Rochard has come under a certain amount of suspicion. He is barely related to the King, but close enough to warrant some attention. There has been some rumour that he is dabbling in things he shouldn't. Normally this would be just the usual courtly gossip, but when it appears he has had meetings with envoys from people outside France, we began to pay attention. Also, he has been spending a lot more freely than he should be able to. From somewhere he has suddenly come into a lot of money and is spending it freely. It has garnered him popularity from those receiving his largesse. Fernand was here to find out what was going on, just take a look as a favour to an old commander." Edward took a deep drink from the cup, emptying it, and refilled from the bottle. "He sent me one letter, that the Count had something called 'The Gilded Rose' which was the source of his money and that he believed he was in trouble and requesting assistance. By the time I received it and called on your help to meet me here, well you saw what happened."

Pascal swirled the remains of the wine in his cup and drained them swiftly as he ran through what he had just been told.

"So you want me to find out what it is, this Gilded Rose?". Edward nodded as he gestured with the bottle towards Pascal's cup.

Pascal shook his head at the bottle and asked, "So where do you expect me to find it then."
"I don't know, it could be anywhere in the castle, this town or even in the surrounding countryside, somewhere safe and well guarded."
"Then that's the best place to start looking for it. If it is as important as you say, the Count will be keeping close by it. Follow him, or those trusted by him, and find the Rose."
"Is there anything I can do to help."
"Find out when the next party of envoys is due here, the distraction will prove useful."
"I'll be gone a couple of days then, I won't find out here, but the nearby ports should be good for the information."
"So be it. Besides I've had a long ride here, I could do with a good sleep."
"Good luck, I'll go now. The room here is paid for for the next few days at least."
"Good luck yourself."

Pascal shifted back in his chair and got up, the wine had been strong and he stumbled slightly as he moved away. Waving off his friends hand, he headed up to the room they had rented and collapsed onto the bed. The sound of him hitting the loose mattress echoing through the floor.

Listening carefully, he heard Edward talking to the innkeeper and then heading out to the stables. Shortly afterwards, the sounds of a horse leaving the stables and riding off echoed into the room. He frowned, something seemed slightly wrong, Edward should not have been in that much of a hurry.

Pascal slipped silently from the bed, taking care not to make much noise. Carefully he pulled a wooden wedge from his pack and placed it under the door. Anyone trying to get in to the room in a hurry would run into some resistance and wake him. The window, he carefully set ajar and then settled down for a brief catnap.

Pascal woke up, feeling slightly disorientated from the sleep. His ears were twitching as his brain began to recognise what they were telling him. From downstairs came the sounds of the inn keeper talking to a set of people. A jangle of mail or weapon, echoing up through the floor, sharpened his attention on them.

Looking out the window, not much time had passed since he had settled down, maybe an hour or so judging by the passage of the sun in the sky. Glancing across, the wedge was still under the door, but in trying to focus on it, he realised his senses were not working as they should. As her tried to move out of the bed, he felt his limbs stiff and unsteady beneath him. Maybe he had been lying in a cramped position, or maybe the ride had exhausted him.

He slowly crawled off the bed and onto the floor, lowering himself to listen to the voices below. As they echoed up, he could pickup the innkeeper clearly chatting to the newcomers, guards by the sounds of it, on the state of the newcomer in the inn. Him. He was the centre of attention for the group of people down below. As he listened closer, for the while they were enjoying a drink and not expecting anything to happen soon. That would account for his headache then. A slight tampering of the wine and he wouldn't be going anywhere. He was glad he only had the one cup.

From the floor, he picked himself up and considered his options. Trying to head out the front was not going to happen. As for the window, well it was a drop down and it would be noticeable.

"What to do, what to do" , the thought echoed round his head

If he couldn't go through the front door as those below would be waiting for him and the window looked out into the main street as the villagers passed by, he decided to try a different room and see if he would have better luck. The stables were behind the inn and with luck he might find a window opening onto them. Not only would it be out of sight, but a smaller drop and he didn't feel in the condition for anything further.

Picking up the wedge he carefully opened the door a crack to look out. Expecting to see the corridor, the view of someone's back was not what he wanted to see. No wonder they were downstairs enjoying themselves, someone was up here keeping guard until such time as they came to fetch him. But this guard was obviously young and foolish, and was pacing up and down cursing pins and needles under his breath, from where he had slept awkwardly. It was followed by the sounds of him walking down the stairs trying to get some feeling back into his leg.

Seizing his chance, Pascal opened the door wider and looked round. The corridor was clear, but from below could be heard the sounds of the young guard being told to get back to his post, and if his leg was bothering him that much, it could be removed. He closed the door carefully behind him and tried the door opposite. It opened, as he quickly stepped through, looking around, at the sound of the the guard climbing the stairs.

The room was empty and had been recently cleaned judging by how spotless it was, a sharp change from his own room. As the guard took his position outside in the chair again, Pascal moved to the window and looked out into the back alley. Below was the stable roof a thatched affair, which would still hopefully support his weight. He eased the window open and carefully lowered himself down, not waiting to be caught and hoping his absence would be not be noticed for a while yet.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Gently landing on the stable roof and then climbing down. As he reconsidered it a few seconds later, that did not account for the weak spot he had found directly beneath his feet. With the wind knocked out of him, he was in no condition to do anything but sit and wheeze until his breath returned. He was still surprised at how quietly he had fallen and landed in a heap on the stable floor and on looking up, the hole through the straw could be seen where he had come through directly from the window above.

After a few moments, he also realised what else was missing. At that was the sound of panicked horses. Having someone come through the roof would usually cause a ruckus, but this time: nothing. Especially from the empty stall where his own horse was supposed to be. Something was decidedly wrong here and he wasn’t going to find answers in the inn. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find any answers at all.

The best place to look was undoubtedly the most dangerous; the castle. Somewhere in there was the Count and his secrets. If he was in danger, then it was also likely his horse would have been taken there to ensure he could not escape easily. It would also be the last place they would look for him, after all, who willing walks into danger when freedom is so near. A few hundreds metres to the outskirts and then several miles hiking to the next town and from then on, well who knew. But something was nagging at him, there was more to this than he had been told and he was still true to his oath of loyalty.

From above, he heard the cry from the guard. His absence had been noticed and now time was of the essence. The castle itself was nearby but the town gate would still be guarded, even though the town was built up to the wall surrounding it. If he stayed here and now, that would leave the problem of trying to hide somewhere he had no knowledge of, for several hours until sundown. At least then he would feel better about moving around in the dark. He needed a distraction, make them think he had gone over the wall and fled.

Moving quietly from behind the inn, the rest of the town seemed quiet, most of the villagers at work and not paying attention to the world around them. He headed to the wall and behind one of the houses near it out of sight of all and sundry. Tying a quick loop in a rope, the tossed it up with practiced ease and caught it over a jutting wooden post in the wall. He swiftly climbed up and looked around. From the top, he could not see anyone else around, but could hear a small commotion from the inn begin to spill out. Over the wall he could see a river running nearby. Perfect.

Sat atop the wall, he dropped the rope onto the other side, and quickly made his way down. At the bottom, he landed hard leaving two obvious foot marks and then quickly walked his way down to the river, taking small steps. Then he slowly retraced back, stepping back into his own marks until he reached the wall again. Then for the second time, he climbed back up. As he reached the top, he could hear the guards being called to close the town gates and that all should be on their alert. The guard, who had been outside his door, was nowhere to be seen and Pascal did not want to think what had happened to him. Leaving the rope dangling over, he jumped on to the roof of the nearby house, hoping that this time, it would take his weight. To his relief, it did leaving behind his supposed escape route for others to follow. And from up on high, he could carefully see everything that was going on. As long as no-one looked up, no-one would see him in the shadow of a chimney doing his best to be inconspicuous until nightfall.

Within a few minutes, a call went out from behind him. A guard on the wall had seen the rope and was shouting directions to others. To Pascal’s amusement, a group of them hurried out to go round and see if they could track him. A messenger was also dispatched to the castle, no doubt to give an update; long may they continue to follow his trail, wherever it led. It appeared to have worked as they noise from over the wall indicated they had gone to the river and were casting about to find which direction he had taken. He smiled at the curse being hurled unknowingly in his direction as a few of them were forced to wade in the icy water and look for his marks. A few more guards hurried forth from the castle. That should have been all of them, at least all that the Count should have been able to afford. Maybe there was truth to Edward’s story. From the noise, some were being dispatched upstream and some downstream to pick up the trail wherever, he was supposed to have made land. A couple of guards left behind in case, Pascal decided to come back over the rope in some elaborate ruse. If only, he had not already done so previously.

Pascal waited, shadowed on the roof and watching the action below. As dusk slowly arrived, a few lights were set out in front of the inn, giving a flickering light to the area and the sounds from the guards as they returned indicated their disappointed. The escapee had not been found, even his trail had gone cold and from above Pascal could hear them grumbling about what kind of devil could vanish like that. Pascal considered their words, he was no devil, but an honest kingsman. Well honest in his loyalty, although some of his actions were less so. But as the night drew in, it appeared that now would be the right time to find out what was behind this.

The town was dark, save for those few flickering lights from houses and the ones hanging from the front of the inn. The sounds of drinking and music echoing out as the locals rounded off another day. Pascal hoped he had remained unseen atop the roof and he had heard no call from the guards to tell him otherwise. The easiest way back down would have been to jump back to the wall, but with a guard stationed there, that was not going to work. Having been hidden by a chimney, he carefully looked round to see if a guard was there. True to his thoughts, a guard was still stationed around slowly walking back and forth and trying to warm himself every so often from a nearby brazier.

The chimney beside him was getting warmer and the sounds of cooking echoed up through it. Going through the house was not going to be an option. At this height, just dropping off, would not only be painful, but also potentially break some bones, something he could ill afford. Dropping to his stomach, he moved carefully to the edge of the roof. Hoping the guard would be occupied looking over the wall and not see him in the darkness, he moved down to find the edge. At the bottom, where he expected it, was the thick bar just under the eaves of the thatch. Appearing firmly embedded in place, he tested it, his hands reaching through the straw to grasp hold. It didn’t move and so he moved down until he was peering over the edge and could see down.

He stifled a chuckle as he realised that all the guard had to do was turn around and it would be over. He was there, less than 30 feet away, but completely oblivious and staring out into the dark. He moved a little further along until he was above a window and then slowly flipped himself over the ledge. As he swung off the roof, he reached his feet out looking for purchase on the window and found he had braced himself against both sides of the frame. Carefully lowering himself down, he managed to wedge himself. With careful application, he was sat in the window. The shutters were open, but looking in, it was apparent that any resident was downstairs. Lowering himself from the window ledge, he then dropped to the ground. It was several feet less than if he had dropped directly from the roof, but the impact still winded him. He felt his ankle give and he collapsed to one knee. He had obviously made some kind of noise because the guard above immediately called out expecting an answer. He picked himself up and hobbled away. Above the guard called out again and a light was shone into the area he had fallen. As he looked back, the guard was looking down, but after swinging a light back and forth a few times, the guard grunted and moved back to the warmth of his brazier.

As Pascal limped quietly down the wall, staying in the shadows with his ankle twinging with every step he took. Heading towards the main gate to the castle proper, he was looking for the guards he would expect to see even if the town was as friendly to their local lord as he knew.

What he wasn't expecting was for one of the guards to come walking down towards where he had landed. Hearing him coming, he looked round and slunk behind a pile of hay that had been untidily stacked nearby. The guard casually walked up, swinging a light in front of him and not paying much attention to his surroundings. As he passed by, Pascal could see that his steps were slightly unsteady. Given the execution earlier, it appeared there had been some celebration among the guards. Perhaps he did have more of a chance than he thought. As the guard halted under the wall, Pascal was already out of the hay and limping as fast, and as silently, as he could towards the gate the guard had come from.

The gate was lit up by two torches either side and was in plain site of the rest of the area. Behind him, he could hear the guard call out to his compatriot on the wall, questioning his call out earlier. A quick look around showed the village to be quiet with the only main noise coming from the tavern. The guard on the wall answered saying he thought one of the other guards was around. The response was negative, and that he had lost at dice that evening and so had the privilege of being on guard duty at the gate while the others relaxed. There was a pithy response from the wall, but Pascal ignored it. Having heard about one guard, he had already quickly headed to the gate and through it. If there was only one guard, he could be inside before anyone was the wiser.

As he headed through the gate, he could see the dark courtyard ahead of him, a few torches guttering in the breeze and their light spilling out to illuminate most of the area. Looking back he could see no-one, but could hear the sound of the guard returning. Slow heavy footsteps, of someone not wanting to return to their allotted role. Pascal contemplated, for a moment, disposing of the guard to make it easier to get in and out. But such an act would surely be discovered, and if the alarm was raised now, he would never leave this place.

He headed for the stables, unlit and quiet at this time of night apart from a few sleepy horses. From there he could plan where to go next out of sight of the guard and anyone who should cross the courtyard. Inside, he picked his way among the stalls, trying not to disturb the resting mounts. He carefully picked his spot and peered out into the gloom, aware of the sets of equine eyes carefully regarding him in the dark. One of them snickered slightly, and after a moment of quiet did so again. Glancing back at the distraction, he peered the the shape in front of him and a slow look of horror crossed his face.

He recognised that horse as it had obviously recognised him. He had seen it earlier that day under the saddle of his friend. By all rights, it was being ridden away at high speed by and on its way to the nearest port. If that horse was here, where was Edward and what had happened to him?