“I said no such thing. You, above all others, are clothed with gentleness and self-control,” said the brown-haired Fardy.
“Once again, you put others before yourself, brother, and I will not allow it! If I am more peaceful than you, you must be one brute of a man.” He struck his brother across the face.
“My conscience will not allow me to allow you to put yourself down in such a manner, brother. Do not take this personally, for it must be done,” and the brown brother returned the blow heavily.
By this time, both the blond and brown Fardys had arisen from their chairs and were facing each other. There was but one stairway leading to the second floor, a stone stairway that wound around the outside of the castle. The glass panels behind the bookshelves overlooked this stair.
Once the brown brother defied his blond kin to show himself less self-controlled, the latter prepared to show that he was, indeed, far his inferior in that regard. The black Fardy, always desirous of a peaceful solution, jumped from his chair to his brown brother’s side. Yet just as he did so, the blond Fardy reached down and pulled the rug from beneath them. The two brothers flew backwards and crashed into one of the bookshelves. It tilted precariously backward, then wobbled three times. It slowed slightly, until it became evident the shelf would not fall through the wall. The blond Fardy, however, feeling he had proved his inferiority, leapt forward to help his brothers. He tripped on one of the chairs as he came, falling headlong into the shelf. The added force was too strong: with a final wobble, it crashed through the glass behind it and onto the stairway below.
“Look out below!” cried the brown Fardy. But it was too late.
“They are throwing shelves at us!” roared out the voice of Hismoni, the captain of the guards.
A resounding crash was heard, as the shelves hit the stone stairway. A horrible scream followed: someone had come between the shelves and the stair.
The Fardy brothers rose and peered over the edge for a second, before chorusing in a hoarse whisper, “Dear God! What have we done!”
Chapter 30
An hour before this, there had been a clandestine meeting in the basement of the castle, in a room used as an armory. Twelve men were present, among them Hismoni, the captain of Milada’s guard; Thurston, Selmar, and Fritz of Alfonzo’s band, and several of the soldiers under Hismoni. Noticeably absent was Osbert.
“Now is the time, gentlemen,” said Hismoni, “The hour draws near.”
“Yes, when darkness falls, so will our lord,” added Thurston.
“He is not my lord,” Selmar said, “I serve only Gylain and I will not call that fool Alfonzo master any longer, in truth or in deception. The game is up.”
“But when do we get our reward?” Fritz asked a cloaked man who sat on a stool in the corner. His face was shrouded by the shadows of the low-burning candles.
“You will be paid,” answered the spy, “When my master receives Milada’s severed head. For the heads of any of the Fardy brothers that are taken, the price will be doubled.”
Hismoni rose to his feet. “What treachery is this? Are we to carry the heads through the forest, without a strong guard? If Alfonzo finds us it will mark our deaths, to be sure.”
“An assassin fears assassination, and a mercenary fears the same. If your party is not a strong enough guard, then you will have proved yourselves too weak for my master’s service. Besides, Alfonzo is this very moment deep in the dungeons of Castle Plantagenet.”
“Can it be?” Fritz exclaimed, “That he has finally been captured? Woe be unto us!”
“Bind your tongue, Fritz,” said Selmar, “It was his fate, and it is ours to make our fortune in his downfall. Do you still have a conscience? Of what are you afraid, of God or of man? Of God there can be no fear, for do not his self-proclaimed servants lead the way of wickedness? Of men, there is only Gylain to be feared.”
Thurston sat down beside his doubting companion, “Fritz, do not repent now, for your judgment will still come, but your reward will not – you will lose what you had before as well as what is yet to come. Think of the seeds we have sown. Think of poor Casper, who was chosen by yourself to take the blame for our actions. Do you not remember that it was you who soiled his boots that fateful night? He was innocent and still he lost his head. Blood is already upon your hands; it can only be washed off by more blood. Such is the way of the sword.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Fritz acquiesced, and he spoke against the plan no more. Such is the way of man, silence in wickedness and speeches in righteousness.
Hismoni rose and took charge, hoping to bolster the courage of his fellow traitors, that his fortune might be secured. Gylain knew Milada’s death would end the rebellion and he could well afford to make it happen.
“Arm yourselves,” the captain of the guards ordered. They did, each taking a sword in his hand.
“If you fail, you will find safety with Gylain, but not favor,” the gruff-voiced spy said. “I will be ready with horses at the rendezvous. When the deed is done, meet me there and we will flee together. But wait, you are sure that Osbert is safely away? If he returns in the midst of the action the tide may turn against you.”
“He has gone to the forest,” Hismoni replied, “We told him Admiral William Stuart was coming to the castle, and that he should meet him upon the forest road. He set off this afternoon, going toward Eden. He is a simpleton, and will reach it before he realizes our fraud.”
The shrouded man gave Hismoni a sharp look, and though only his eyes showed, they cut Hismoni deeply.
“Fear not,” Hismoni answered, “The Admiral is far from here: there is no way that Osbert could meet him upon the road.”
The shadowy man said nothing, only grunted to himself and fled the room, going to the point of the secret rendezvous.
From the castle basement the traitorous party made their way to the ground floor. Hismoni had used his power as the captain of the guard to ensure none would come across them. Once on the ground floor, they took the stone stairway that wrapped around the outside of the castle.
“Will we feign friendliness or merely attack?” asked Selmar.
“We will try to put their guard down, and say we heard they were in danger. But if they hesitate, waste no time in dispatching them. The force of the guard is small, but with the townsmen alarmed it will be hard for us to escape.”
“Yes, but luck and fate are with us,” said Selmar.
“I doubt it,” replied Fritz, “For our deeds are dark, and fate does not smile on such as us.”
“The only thing dark about us are your spirits, Fritz, so be of good cheer. Are you still afraid that God will rain down punishment from the sky and kill us at once? What a fool you are, my friend.”
At that moment, a loud crash was heard directly above them: the sound of breaking glass. They looked upwards, and Hismoni was the first to speak.
Just as the glass broke, he cried, “They are throwing shelves at us!”
Fritz looked up to see a heavy shelf falling at him. He screamed in panic. “Judgment!” he yelled. But then he was silenced. The shelf crushed him into the stairway.
“They know our intentions, men, so let us charge while we yet have time!”
Hismoni charged forward up the stairs, followed closely by his men. Each had his sword raised for combat.
Above, the Fardy brothers looked over the edge of the wall, their heads extended through the gap the shelf had made. When they heard Hismoni yell the charge, the blond Fardy said, “Brothers, they are attacking! We must have angered them intensely.”
“If only men were all as patient as ourselves,” answered the brown Fardy.
“No,” whispered the black Fardy in something slightly resembling fear. “No, they are the traitors.”