There was no time to be certain. Valdemar was going down the line, unlocking chains. The thought crossed his mind for a moment. What if Valdemar
left without unlocking his chains? He would be the only one left behind, or perhaps Eirik, Leif, and Ulf as well. But they were already free and rubbing their wrists where the iron bracelets had chafed their skin raw.
Gunnar came last. He had been the linchpin of his plan. If they meant to betray him now—he steadied himself. No, he shouldn't assume. And with Ulf and Leif free, he would regret leaving Gunnar behind. The feel of the iron being removed was all the answer he needed. And then they were gone. Plenty of time to escape, he reasoned. Plenty of time.
They had barely cleared the wall when he heard the cry go up. A smart guard would have made sure that they checked outside the wall. The worst-case scenario. They weren't far enough out to be sure of their escape, and it meant that they were the furthest thing from safe.
Gunnar felt the weight on his shoulders. He had put these men in the position they were now in. It was his responsibility to see them safely home. He slowed his run. The others noticed and turned, still moving.
"I'll stay behind. Someone needs to slow them. You go. Go home, don't worry about me. I'll find my own way."
He could see the looks on their faces. No, none of them liked it. But they would accept it, because he wasn't going to change his mind. Then, silently, one by one, they turned and took off.
Except Valdemar.
"We'll stand together," he growled. "Two are more distraction than one, after all. To glory!"
Thirty-Two
The first thing she noticed was the smell. Norwich was like very little she'd seen before. Malbeck had seemed like it was perhaps too big for her, when she had lived her entire life in the little isolated cottage. The other little villages and towns she had passed through on the way here seemed positively cosmopolitan. Bright and new and strange.
In her arrogance she had started to think that she had seen quite a bit. And she had, she had to admit to herself. She had seen quite a bit of the world. But this was something else entirely. She shook her head. What an idiot she'd been. The city must be the same, just a bit bigger, she repeated to herself. The assumptions that she'd made just showed how much of a country bumpkin she was.
This was something very different from the oh-so-'cosmopolitan' towns she had been through. There was a massive gulf between a town with a hundred families and a city with a thousand or more. The walls pressed in against her, and the smell of human bodies overpowered the smell of nature. Even the animals were more prevalent here.
And yet, in spite of the smell, it seemed to her to be the most fabulous place she'd ever seen. How was she supposed to compete with this? The place was so nice, after all. She took a deep breath. Nothing to lose her mind over, she chided. No reason to go crazy. And after all, she had work to do.
As she got closer to the castle, the crowds that had already been oppressive became thicker still, until there was little she could do to avoid the bodies pressed in thick. There were people talking, and she heard snippets of conversation.
"Right there," someone pointed at nothing in particular. "They killed a hundred people with their bare hands, I saw it meself!"
Deirdre didn't have to wonder who they must have been talking about. She knew a few people who were very definitely the type to kill a hundred people with their bare hands—but they were in irons, she added to herself. And a hundred people seemed extreme.
"—a breakout of the prison, but they caught 'em, sure as you can say. We'll still have our beheadin'."
Deirdre had stopped moving towards where they would no doubt have the entire thing set up, but the movement of the crowd naturally pressed her on, past the man and woman leaning up against the wall and chatting. Deirdre wanted nothing more than to stop and ask someone for the details, but she couldn't seem to find the space to stop and ask.
So instead she just kept moving, as best she could. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. There was nothing to be worried about. She was as anonymous as she could get in this crowd.
She felt the little bag she carried 'round her shoulder, slipped her hand inside. Her knife, smaller than some she had seen in the past month and a half but big for her hands, was still there. She wrapped her hand around it to calm herself, and pressed on.
The crowd didn't part for her. But with her shoulder, she managed to split people apart, managed to muscle through the castle gate. To her right there was a large gap in the crowd, and she could see that there were guards every few feet—not quite pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, but close enough that anyone who tried to get through would quickly come to regret it.
She swallowed hard. Whatever she was going to do, she'd have to deal with those guards, that much was certain. But how was she going to do it? She couldn't fight the way that Gunnar could. Nor the way that Ulf or Leif could, she noted. She had killed the one man, but it had been as much out of surprise as anything.
If he'd seen her as anything other than a defenseless woman, if she had seen herself as anything other than that, then he might have been able to respond as quickly as he had to the other two in the cart with her who lay there still, no longer drawing breath.
She turned to take in the rest of the courtyard as best she could. There was a large platform that had been erected near the middle. A big man, the size of Ulf or larger, stood there with a hood over his face and a large ax. He cut the very picture of Ulf, now that she noticed, with his massive ax. It couldn't possibly, though. Could it?
She dismissed the thought. No reason to assume that there was already something underway when she had no proof of anything. And besides that, she heard the crowd start murmuring, like a soft buzz. It got louder still, and then it was deafening. Deirdre leaned past the line of guards—one of them held out an arm to stop her moving any further—and saw that two guards walked down the line.
Behind them were two men in chains. Gunnar was one, and the other—
"Valdemar?" She spoke the name out loud, confused. If anyone had escaped, she had expected him to be one of the first out. He had been shrewd to say the least. Had played her quite well. He was smart enough to get away if he wanted to, which meant that he must have chosen to stay.
She tried to look behind, to see these men who had killed "a hundred" with their bare hands, but behind them were only two more guards, large poleaxes held straight up. If there was any trouble from either of them, then it would be an easy thing to bring them ready at an instant's notice.
Deirdre gulped down air. If she was going to do anything it had to be at exactly the right moment. Otherwise, her efforts would be for nothing. But she couldn't let him die. She wouldn't be able to live with herself. Her hand tightened on the knife. She would have an instant of surprise from the guards.