“It is too dangerous to risk. Even we, the forest dwellers, had a difficult time entering the tunnel. To leave would be impossible, for you cannot know if the soldiers are near until you open the hidden door, and then they are upon you. Besides, the only reason the guards are away from here is that Ivona is impersonating the Queen of Saxony.”
“Then it is not the queen herself?” Celestine asked quietly, though it was not possible to tell if it was from relief or disappointment.
“No, only Milada’s daughter. Come, we must be on our way.”
“Are there many guards above?” asked Alfonzo as he took a sword from one of the men.
“We cannot be certain, but we counted a hundred earlier. They should all be in the Great Hall, now, our informants tell us. They feast with the queen.”
“And if not?”
“Then we fight.”
“So we will,” Alfonzo murmured, “Follow me.”
Blaine looked at him with wondering eyes.
“I am well, Blaine. We both know this castle, but I know its soldiers better.”
“I follow, sir. My only thought is for your health. Yet I see that you are well.”
Lorenzo and Vahan Lee were already unchained, the former wielding his sword confidentially, the latter awkwardly. Celestine, also, had taken a blade and stood among the men.
“Vahan and Celestine, take the rear,” Alfonzo ordered and it was done.
Behind Alfonzo, the small company went up the stairway to the next cell. The cells in the dungeon were on top of each other, without a hallway or passage other than the spiral stairs that ran up the center. The doors that separated the cells were merely bars in a frame and thus could be seen through. They were always locked. Halfway up the dungeon one cell was converted to a guard room – the headquarters of the jailers – below which the desperate criminals were kept.
The prisoners were stacked on top of each other according to the various degrees of their offenses. It was an earthly Hades, where the tormented souls are stacked in various degrees of suffering. Those suffering less could peer between the bars of the door and jeer at those below them, who did likewise to those below them. Even in their horrid situation the prisoners found joy in mocking those in worse straights than themselves.
In preparation for the arrival of the queen, all prisoners were chained to their walls to prevent outbursts with the few guards on duty. Blaine came forward and unlocked the cell door with a small pick. The group continued to the cell above them. There were several desperate looking men chained heavily to the wall. One of them – a dirty fellow with a wild beard and muscled frame – looked at them as if recalling events through the mists of time. Just as Alfonzo reached the stairs to continue upward, the prisoner called out, “Master Alfonzo, have mercy.”
Alfonzo turned to look at him, his goatee untrimmed and his face haggard from the torture. For a moment, Alfonzo could not recognize him through the troubles of the years. Then, with a mystified look, he left the stairwell and walked over to him.
“Not all who say to me, ‘Alfonzo, Alfonzo,’ will be forgiven. I remember clearly what you have done, de Garcia. I do not forget traitors, least of all those who betrayed my dearest friends.”
“You speak the truth, master,” the prisoner moaned, his face fallen and his spirit broken. “Yet have mercy upon me, for I am wretched and perverse. I have fallen from your trust, and therefore I cannot ask you to release me. All that I ask is your forgiveness, that I might die in peace.”
“Arise,” Alfonzo said to him, “Take off your chains and follow me.”
“Thank you, master!” cried the man, and he bounded up as one of the men released his chains. It was evident that he had worked himself hard during his prison stay, for he was still in the same physical perfection of his youth.
Next to de Garcia sat another prisoner, equally dirty and forsaken.
“Master, have mercy upon me, too,” he called out.
Alfonzo turned to him and he continued.
“I am not as wicked as de Garcia, Alfonzo. For while he betrayed, I only deserted with small, useless intelligence. If you released de Garcia, surely you will release me?”
“Which is easier to say,” Alfonzo asked, “‘Take off your chains and follow me’, or ‘Your sins are forgiven?’ Yet how can the sins of a man be forgiven when he will not even ask for it?” He turned to his men, “Come, let us go. De Garcia, follow behind.”
They continued to the next cell with the cries of the prisoner following their ears. Yet not one of them turned to look at him: he was entirely forsaken. The next dozen cells were populated with prisoners of treachery and violence. They did not release them, though the prisoners clamored after them with cries for mercy. At length, they stopped to collect themselves in the cell below the guard room.
“When they brought me down,” Alfonzo whispered to his followers, “This was the greatest concentration of guards: between the lesser and the greater criminals. Prepare yourselves for action.”
Alfonzo crept up the stairs, the others behind him. Even the prisoners kept silent and did not warn the guards – though revenge was their only motive. Alfonzo came to the door and put his hands silently to the bars, trying to push them open.
“Locked,” he whispered and he turned to the prisoners below them. “You,” he called out to the nearest, the one directly below the ledge of the stairway, “Call the guards.”
Hoping to receive clemency, he did as he was told.
“Guards!” he cried, “The wall is on fire!”
He was a veteran liar and his plea for help convinced the guards. The door was thrown open and a guard came out to investigate the strange report. But before he could see what was truly about him, Alfonzo was upon him, plunging his sword into the guard’s stomach. The luckless man fell lifelessly from ledge of the stairway, his sword pointing downward. His limp body fell upon the man who had cried ‘fire,’ and his sword pierced the man’s chest.
“The fate of a liar,” said Lorenzo, but he could say no more, for another guard rushed out to see what was happening.
The second guard suspected nothing, but ran into Alfonzo and met the same fate as his comrade. The third, however, was not so foolish. He pulled back into the room with the other guards, to await the attack. Ten guards were left in the room, with orders were to hold the post at all costs. Therefore, they stayed in the room.
“We are saved,” Alfonzo said, turning to those behind him “They do not flee. But they have the advantage, for we can enter only one at a time.”
“Allow me,” said de Garcia in his thick Spanish accent.
He stood across the room, looking into the guard room over the ledge of the stairs. He stepped forward to the fallen guards and picked up the topmost one, hugging him closely so that the dead man’s body covered the living man’s. Thus equipped, he walked slowly up the stairs and through the doorway. The guards came at him, but the armor of the dead man protected him, for their blades had to pass through the armor twice, as well as the body. They could not attack his sides, for Alfonzo and Blaine had stepped forward and were guarding his flanks. Thus prevented from blocking their entry, the guards retreated to the back of the room, pushing over the tables and chests to form a rude blockade.
By this time Lorenzo and one of the rebels had carried up the two other bodies: the first guard and the prisoner. Lorenzo held the guard’s sword, for de Garcia to use.
“Those who live by a sword die by a sword,” Lorenzo said. “But what will those who live by a dead body die by?”
“A sword, no doubt,” de Garcia answered his old comrade. “And so will you, for your body armor is wearing no armor but his meager skin and bones!”