Billy on a round cob trotted into the yard, and Olivia ran for her horse. She unlooped the halter and Goodman Barker gave her a leg up. “God go wi‘ ye, miss.”
Goodwife Barker hurried over to them, her face creased with anxiety. “Now, our Billy, y’are not to go to the castle. ‘Tis bad enough our Mike’s there, puttin’ himself in danger and all for nowt. Jest get Miss across the down and over the river.”
Billy looked a trifle disgusted but he shrugged in half acceptance. “Come on, then, miss.” He kicked the cob’s round flanks and the animal broke into a lumbering trot. Grayling followed with a prancing step.
Olivia brought Grayling up beside Billy’s cob as they left the cart track at the end of the farm and turned onto the lane. “Your father said it would take us an hour to get there, Billy?”
“Oh, Pa’s not much of a rider,” Billy said scornfully. “It might take ‘im an hour, but I reckon we can do better than that, miss. We goes this a-way.” He turned his horse to push through a hedge and they were in an open stretch of land where the trees were scrawny and bent by the wind’s frequent onslaughts.
“ ‘Tis called Bleak Down,” Billy told Olivia. “There’s no villages around ’ere, the wind is powerful fierce in the winter.”
By mutual consent they put their horses to the gallop and rode neck and neck. The wind whistled past Olivia’s ears, caught her thick black hair, pulling it loose from its ribbon so it flew out like a raven’s wing behind her. Her heart seemed to race in rhythm with Grayling’s beating hooves across the rough turf.
Was it already too late for Anthony to get a message to Wind Dancer? He had told Adam that the ship must be in position by ten. She would already be sailing into the mouth of the cove, under the cannon. Anthony must have some way of signaling her to leave. But there would be soldiers stationed on the clifftop, waiting…
There would be a way… a way… a way… The refrain filled her head, blocking out all other thought as she clung to the pony’s mane, keeping low on Grayling’s neck to encourage her speed. A narrow ribbon of dark water loomed suddenly in front of her.
“We ‘ave to ford the river,” Billy shouted, not drawing rein. “ ’Tis low at this time o‘ year. Jest follow me.”
Grayling followed the cob into the water. They didn’t slacken speed and Olivia’s skirts were soaked as the cob kicked up water ahead of her and Grayling leaped through the spray. But there ahead of them now loomed the great mass of Carisbrooke Castle up on the hill, the giant keep on its high motte towering from the northwest corner.
Olivia thought rapidly. The king’s chamber was, had been, in the north curtain wall. Anthony and Mike would be waiting with their horses somewhere close to there, somewhere right under the battlements. It was madness! she thought with a surge of fury. Other people had tried to rescue the king and failed miserably.
But then, Anthony was not other people. If it could have been done, he would have succeeded. If the king were there, ready to do his part, he would be away to France within the hour.
“Leave me here, Billy,” she instructed crisply. “I’ll go the rest of the way alone.”
“Eh, I could ‘elp a bit, miss,” he said hopefully.
“Your mother wants you back. So go. I don’t have time to waste.”
“Ma’s jest a worrier,” he said.
“With good reason. Now go!”
Her voice was fierce enough to send even the reluctant Billy back the way he had come.
Olivia headed for a line of trees that marched along the spine of the down. The moon was obscured by clouds for the moment, but the trees would conceal her approach if the moon suddenly shone clear.
Just where would Anthony be? The gatehouse was very close to the southern end of the north wall. There would be soldiers patrolling the ramparts. She could see the flicker of torches on the battlements. Her heart pounded so fiercely she thought she would be sick. And yet her head was clear and cold, her thinking sharp and bright as an icicle.
As she guided Grayling at a walk under the line of trees, she heard the whicker of a horse. Immediately she drew rein. Grayling lifted his nose and gave a curious snort at the presence of his own kind.
“Where are they?” she murmured, her ears straining to catch a sound. Faintly she heard the muffled shuffle of hooves, and then the faintest chink of a bridle. They were coming from a group of trees that stood very close to the battlements.
Olivia dismounted and led Grayling towards the trees. She had no idea what she would find. It could as easily be a party of Lord Granville’s troopers as Anthony and Mike.
There were three horses tethered in the copse, placidly cropping the mossy grass. Three horses, positioned for a quick getaway.
Olivia tethered Grayling close to them and then crept on tiptoe out of the copse. The moon came out as she emerged under the grass-covered curtain wall beneath the north battlements. She could see the king’s barred window high up beneath the rampart. There was no light in the window. Torches still flickered on the battlements above.
If she hugged the wall, she would be concealed from a watcher on the ramparts. She moved at a crouch, making herself as small as possible, towards the wall beneath the king’s window.
The clock in the castle chapel struck eleven, its gong chiming out across a still night. Olivia’s heart jumped.
And then the night exploded. There was a crash of a cannon; sparks flew into the air, a shower of orange and red. Muskets fired in rapid succession and then there was a whoosh of orange flame from the battlements. It looked as if the entire castle was on fire.
And then Olivia saw them. The two black shapes pressed as she was against the wall. They were immediately below the king’s window. Anthony’s tall, dark-clad figure was unmistakable. He wore a black cap pulled down over his bright head, and he seemed to blend into the night, a shadowy part of the night and the wall itself.
Now it sounded as if a pitched battle was being fought within the walls overhead. Men were shouting, torches wavered, flames rose, crackling and smoky in the night. Anthony had said he would create a diversion, but this was a full-scale war.
Olivia raced towards Anthony. She called his name, confident that in the chaos above, her own small voice would not reach the battlements.
Anthony spun around. A knife was in his raised hand. Then the hand dropped as he saw who it was. Olivia stopped, bent double as she tried to catch her breath. Anthony made no attempt to press her to explain herself, and his steady quiet, the aura of calm, had its effect. When she spoke, she spoke clearly and to the point.
“He’s not here… the king… he’s not here.” Olivia pointed upward to the window. “They moved him this morning.”
Anthony asked no questions. He seized her hand and ran with her, crouching low to the ground, into the shelter of the trees. Mike raced soundlessly beside them.
“Well, that was a waste of some splendid fireworks,” Anthony declared coolly as they reached cover. “Gordon and his men did a magnificent job.”
“Aye,” Mike agreed. “We could ‘ave got five kings away under that cover.”
“Your ship,” Olivia gasped. “Wind Dancer…”
“What of her?” Anthony demanded, his calm suddenly banished.
Then almost immediately he was in command of himself. He said quietly, “Take a breath, Olivia. Tell me what you know.”
“They have stationed cannon on the headlands above Puckaster Cove, in case your ship comes into the channel.”
“Yarrow,” Mike said disgustedly.
Anthony shook his head. “You can’t blame him, Mike. I’d rather he told what he knew than risk hurt.”