The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(50)

“Well, gentlemen,” he said in French, “we have penetrated the enemy’s initial defences. I suggest we wait for nightfall, then try to advance further.”

“What if the Moors capture the town first?” Gabriel asked.

Danziger shrugged. “We will have to take that chance. God is on our side, is he not?”



The day dragged by in a haze of thirst and boredom. The Spanish soldiers came round with baskets of bread at noon, but with only a single jug of water between the five of them and no prospect of getting more, Ned could barely choke down his share of the half-stale loaf. At least as the afternoon wore on the sun began to sink below the western wall, throwing long shadows across the outer ward.

“I’ve been watching the guards,” Gabriel said softly, leaning his shoulder against Ned’s. “Most of them seem to be on the walls and the outer gatehouse; they can’t spare many for the refugees or the inner gate, so those men are on longer shifts.”

“So they’ll be weary, and bored,” Ned replied.

“Exactly.”

“So we wait until dusk, when their sight is dimmest; that’s a trick Mal taught me.”

“And when their thoughts, and those of the refugees, are turning to supper.”

“Still, how do we get through the gate?”

“I think we’ll need a diversion.” Gabriel beckoned Danziger over. “Can you ask Pierre and Raoul to start a fight on the other side of the ward? Perhaps when the soldiers next come round with food.”

Danziger nodded and grinned. “I’m sure they would be happy to have something to do.”

They didn’t have long to wait. The scent of onions and herbs drifted across the ward as a pair of soldiers carried out a cauldron slung on a couple of pole-arms balanced across their shoulders. The refugees began to get to their feet and close in on the food. Danziger nodded to his men, who pushed their way through the crowd.

At this distance Ned couldn’t see who threw the first punch, but soon there was shouting from the direction of the cauldron and the crowd shifted and swirled like a swarm of flies disturbed from a dungheap. He exchanged glances with Gabriel. It was now or never.

The guards on the inner gatehouse were already moving forwards to assist in subduing the riot. Ned, Gabriel and Danziger halted in the shadows until they were out of the guards’ line of sight, then slipped through the gate.

“What if someone asks us who we are and where we’re going?” Ned whispered.

“We kill them,” Danziger growled. “Now quiet!”

The vast inner ward – twice as long as the entire plot of ground occupied by Tower of London but somewhat narrower – stretched before them, with, to either side of the gateway, a large fortress with crenelated walls. Smaller towers punctuated the curtain wall at intervals, and newer-looking outbuildings were ranged across the open space. A large pen held horses rather than livestock for eating, though Ned had heard enough of Mal’s stories about sieges to know that they would serve double duty if need be. Christ forfend it should come to that, though.

“Look!” Gabriel pointed to an outbuilding from which men were emerging at intervals with baskets of bread and covered pots. Some went towards the main fortress to their left, overlooking the harbour, others into the low triangular tower to their right. “Looks like it’s supper time for the garrison.”

“I wish it were my supper time as well,” Ned muttered under his breath. Thankfully the others didn’t hear him.

“Which do we choose?” Gabriel asked. “Hennaq could be anywhere.”

“If I were expecting an attack from the harbour,” Danziger said, “I’d put my prize prisoner as far away as possible. I say we try the north tower.”

Gabriel ducked into the empty guardroom and emerged a few moments later with a basket covered in a napkin, a kettle and a couple of wine bottles.

“With any luck no one will notice they’re mostly empty,” he said, handing them round. “Come on, before the guards get back.”

Danziger led the way, striding confidently towards the north tower as if he belonged there. Ned hefted the empty basket onto his shoulder and followed. This was all going a little too easily for his liking.

It was hard to make anything out inside the fortress; no torches burned anywhere, and the light was fading fast. Daylight. Ned looked up. The fortress was open to the sky.

“You know,” Gabriel hissed, pressing his back against the stonework, “I don’t think there’s a building in here at all. Not like in an English castle. It’s just a series of angled walls for the defenders to man, and stairs up to the wall-walk.”

“So where’s Hennaq?” Ned whispered back.

“I don’t know. In one of those outbuildings, perhaps?”

Ned sighed. “I knew this was going too well. Which outbuilding? There must be at least a dozen just on this side of the ward.”

“I think we can ignore the kitchens. And the open one that looks like a smithy.”

Danziger re-joined them. “We should leave the ‘supper’ here; it’ll look strange if we carry it out again.”

Ned set down his basket. His stomach ached with more than hunger, clenched around a tight knot of fear.

“So we just wander around the buildings until we get arrested?”