“The king is our hostage.”
“Give them what they want, cousin,” he urged.
Roger barely glanced at him.
“Fear not, cousin. I have a plan.”
“They say you are a great commander. Well, you surely know castle Dyfed’s reputation.”
“What of it?”
It was William’s turn to answer.
“The castle stands on a crag of granite, so you can’t sap its walls. Its only access by land is a narrow causeway so steep and rugged that horse can not charge and infantry not advance in formation, yet it will afford you men no cover against our shooters and canons. Not one in three will come to the foot of the New Wall, which forms the northern, first rampart. It is fifteen feet thick and fifty high with covered battlements. Some say that twenty men could hold it against an army. We have two thousand.”
Roger looked unimpressed.
“I do not see how you could storm or pass this wall. But maybe you will. It does not matter, we can afford to lose the harbor and outer barracks. You would still have the Old Wall between you and the inner courtyard. What if you pass it, you may ask? We could still retreat to the Old Bailey. That would be when we hang the king.”
“Is that it?” the black-bearded knight asked.
“You would be wise to deal with us.” Cabesat de Vaca answered. “You beat us, fair enough. Reinstate your cousin with you as his minister. Take back what he granted us these twenty last years, demand hostages and indemnities, revoke our privileges, anything. We all know that you would win in the end, starve us to death or lose ten thousand and take the walls. We know we can no longer against you. All we demand is to keep our lives and titles.”
“You are in no position to demand anything” Roger answered icily. “I give you one day to bend the knee and surrender the castle without conditions.”
On the ride back it seemed to the king that he was already dead. They shoved him back into his room.
“Keep your eyes on him.” Hubert ordered his brother. Philip sat on the only chair and began toying silently with a coil of rope. All there was left for Rolland was to lay on the bed, afraid and confused. Could Roger really hope to rescue him? Or was he willing to sacrifice and success him? Assuredly for a man like Roger or his father that Rolland would seem a small enough loss. Had he not failed his kin, bankrupted the realm, become the pawn then the hostage of the nobles? It made him cry to see how powerless they had made him, concession after concession, weakness after weakness, cowardice after cowardice. He longed for the lost glory into which he had been born, the comfort and wealth of his youth.
As he laid frightened his mind drifted forlornly toward these erstwhile splendors, his dear hounds and favorite horses, his trusty servants, his golden tapestries and exquisite furniture, his jewels and raiments, all stripped from him over the years. They had even taken from him the two fingers of his ancestor Saint Hugues de Normandie in a golden statue, and his vermeil crucifix, but he joined his pale hands and prayed nevertheless for safety and deliverance.
Finally, as the sun was lying low, somebody knocked at the door, thrice in rapid succession, then twice more slowly. At the first knock Philip had jumped to his feet, hand on his dagger, but he relaxed and turned the key. Behind the door his brother and Duke Hubert wore rough, black cloth over padded leather. There were eight soldiers with them, all strong and nervous. Four of them were heaving two large oaken chests, heavy as only gold can be, if there is enough of it to buy a kingdom.
“Time to go.” Hubert whispered. Philip nodded and they proceeded through a secret passage in the wall, to a dank cellar from where another gallery slowly descended in the dark.
“Where will the ship be?” William whispered.
“Behind the Bitches, just out of the camp's sight.”
The second Blount brother, who walked just behind Rolland and held one of their only two lantern, made a face.
“I only hope those Flemish don't betray us.”
“And what if the czar won't give us safe haven?” Meschines asked.
“Would you rather stay here and try your luck with Roger?” Hubert answered, which settled it.
“Besides, our brave king may still be worth something.” He snorted. “As an hostage, that is.”
They took a turn and ended face to face with an other group. Men shouted and chests fell on the ground ; Rolland heard swords drawn in the darkness. They the first man in the other party stepped in the light of a torch and they all recognized Roger.
“My lords” he said, rash as ever. In the dark his eyes glowed like a dog's. “All four of you. Good.”
“The Dutchmen !” someone spat
“You may find some small comfort in that your associate did not betray you willingly. They even fought my men – though not very well.”
Roger’s men seemed more numerous but in the dark, cramped passage, the fight could easily turn either way, and the rebels were desperate enough to take their chances. Then Rolland felt his heart sunk. From behind his cousin came a rustle of stone and metal. A dozen wicks flickered in the shadows over the glistening iron of arquebuses. Enough to kill half of them in a single volley.
“Look here.” Philip raised his lantern in the very front of Rolland’s face. “If you fire your cousin is dead.”
At that Roger flashed a wolfish smile.
“Yes,” he said. “And then I will be king.”
He lifted his gloved hand and the arquebuses roared.
Yep. Roger III is that kind of man.