As Jack and his mother walked over the bridge to the upper compound, Jack said: “What was my father’s name?”
“Jack, the same as you,” she said. “They called him Jack Shareburg.”
That pleased him. He had the same name as his father. “So, if there’s another Jack, I can tell people that I’m Jack Jackson.”
“You can. People don’t always call you what you want them to, but you can try.”
Jack nodded. He felt better. He would think of himself as Jack Jackson. He was not so ashamed now. At least he knew about fathers, and he knew the name of his own. Jack Shareburg.
They reached the gatehouse of the upper compound. There were no sentries there. Jack’s mother stopped, frowning. “I’ve got the oddest feeling that something strange is going on,” she said. Her voice was calm and even, but there was a note of fear that chilled Jack, and he had a premonition of disaster.
His mother stepped into the small guardroom in the base of the guardhouse. A moment later Jack heard her gasp. He went in behind her. She was standing in an attitude of shock, her hand up to her mouth, staring down at the floor.
The sentry was lying flat on his back, his arms limp at his sides. His throat was cut, there was a pool of fresh blood on the ground beside him, and he was unquestionably dead.
III
William Hamleigh and his father had set off in the middle of the night, with almost a hundred knights and men-at-arms on horseback, and Mother in the rearguard. The torchlit army, their faces muffled against the cold night air, must have terrified the inhabitants of the villages through which they thundered on their way to Earlscastle. They had reached the crossroads while it was still pitch-dark. From there they had walked their horses, to give them a rest and to minimize the noise. As dawn cracked the sky they concealed themselves in the woods across the fields from the castle of Earl Bartholomew.
William had not actually counted the number of fighting men he had seen in the castle—an omission for which Mother had berated him mercilessly, even though, as he had tried to point out, many of the men he saw there were waiting to be sent on errands, and others might have arrived after William left, so a count would not be reliable. But it would have been better than nothing, as Father had said. However, he estimated he had seen about forty men; so if there had been no great change in the few hours since, the Hamleighs would have an advantage of better than two to one.
It was nowhere near enough to besiege the castle, of course. However, they had devised a plan for taking the castle without a siege. The problem was that the attacking army would be seen by lookouts, and the castle would be closed up long before they arrived. The answer was to find some way to keep the castle open for the time it took the army to get there from its place of concealment in the woods.
It had been Mother who solved the problem, of course.
“We need a diversion,” she had said, scratching a boil on her chin. “Something to panic them, so that they don’t notice the army until it’s too late. Like a fire.”
Father said: “If a stranger walks in and starts a fire, that will alert them anyway.”
“It would have to be done on the sly,” William said.
“Of course it would,” said Mother impatiently. “You’ll have to do it while they’re at mass.”
“Me?” William had said.
He had been put in charge of the advance party.
The morning sky lightened with painful slowness. William was nervously impatient. During the night, he and Mother and Father had added refinements to the basic idea, but still there was a great deal that could go wrong: the advance party might not get into the castle for some reason, or they might be viewed with suspicion and be unable to act surreptitiously, or they might be caught before they could achieve anything. Even if the plan worked, there would be a battle, William’s first real fight. Men would be wounded and killed, and William might be one of the unlucky ones. His bowels tightened with fear. Aliena would be there, and she would know if he were vanquished. On the other hand, she would be there to see it if he triumphed. He pictured himself bursting into her bedroom with a bloody sword in his hand. Then she would wish she had not laughed at him.
From the castle came the sound of the bell for morning mass.
William nodded, and two men detached themselves from the group and began to walk across the fields toward the castle. They were Raymond and Ranulf, two hard-faced, hard-muscled men some years older than William. William had picked them himself: his father had given him complete control. Father himself would lead the main assault.
William watched Raymond and Ranulf walk briskly across the frozen fields. Before they reached the castle, he looked at Walter, then kicked his horse, and he and Walter set off across the fields at a trot. The sentries on the battlements would see two separate pairs of people, one on foot and one on horseback, approaching the castle first thing in the morning: it looked perfectly innocent.
William’s timing was good. He and Walter passed Raymond and Ranulf about a hundred yards from the castle. At the bridge they dismounted. William’s heart was in his mouth. If he messed up this part, the whole attack would be ruined.
There were two sentries at the gate. William had a nightmarish suspicion that there would be an ambush, and a dozen men-at-arms would spring out of concealment and hack him to pieces. The sentries looked alert but not anxious. They were not wearing armor. William and Walter had chain mail under their cloaks.
William’s guts seemed to have turned to water. He could not swallow. One of the sentries recognized him. “Hello, Lord William,” he said jovially. “Come courting again, have you?”
William said “Oh, my God,” in a weak voice, then plunged a dagger into the sentry’s belly, jabbing it up under the rib cage to the heart.
The man gasped, sagged, and opened his mouth as if to scream. A noise could spoil everything. Panicking, not knowing what to do, William pulled out the dagger and stuck it into the man’s open mouth, shoving the blade into his throat to shut him up. Instead of a scream, blood flowed out of his mouth. The man’s eyes closed. William pulled the dagger out as the man fell to the ground.
William’s horse had sidestepped away, frightened by the sudden movements. William caught its bridle, then looked at Walter, who had taken the other sentry. Walter had knifed his man more efficiently, slitting his throat, so that he died in silence. I must remember that, William thought, next time I have to silence a man. Then he thought: I’ve done it! I’ve killed a man!
He realized he was no longer scared.
