Chapter Four

Often, the implications of a situation are not fully comprehended until well after it has happened. Such was the case with Marion as she sat in the mews with the falling dusk around her. They had sat here the entire afternoon, her and Much, and now dark was approaching. Perhaps they would be able to escape from the confines of their hiding-place when the sun was finally smothered by night. She longed to escape the bird smell and cramp of the mews, and be able to face the consequences of her situation with her legs free beneath her.
She shifted, then stilled at the rustle of a guard outside the door. How stiff and cold her limbs were!
When the guard was past, Much leaned close to her and whispered, “Marion, I can no longer think – the ache has gone to my head.”
“I think, Much, that this would be an ideal time for you to have full command of your brain! I have no idea where we are to flee, and I do not think I will be able to sit still for very much longer.”
“Ah. Yes. You may have forgotten, but this morning I was a dead man, and I have consequently made no plan of escape. I have less ideas than you.”
God save them, they felt a miserable pair. Neither had a thought in their head other than to run like the devil when darkness came, and to where was anyone’s guess. Marion was just beginning to realize the severity of her actions, and Much was feeling the results of so nearly being a dead man, and now a wanted one. They huddled side-by-side in the cool evening, waiting for the night to descend onto them with any counsel it might hold.
They both drifted to sleep at some point, their heads pillowed on the masonry wall at their backs. When Marion woke, it was entirely dark, and the light of the half-moon could be seen shining faintly through the door. Pinpricks of pain tickled her legs and feet as she moved to wake Much.
When they had both pulled themselves to their feet and limped to the door, it was with only a vague notion of east in their heads, and little real direction. Marion had thought to ask Much if it might be feasible to stay at his father’s mill on the river, but that seemed a thing that he would have offered on his own, and so she was quiet on the subject. They made their way to the door, easing outside only when they had listened for some time for the guards that were posted throughout the village. One was directly across the narrow street from them, in front of the stables, but he paid no attention as they slid like rats through their own town. Their feet made little noise, aside from the slight shuffling of dust on leather, and they reached the edge of town with almost no trouble.
Only once did they come across anything that would give them a problem; this being the castle gates.
“I’m an idiot, Marion. I should be hung for my stupidity. I know the gates are closed at night, and it is certain that they would be with criminals on the loose. Why did we hide inside the gates rather than safely on the outside?!”
“Hush Much, we’ll alert the guards. You are not the only idiot; we’re both to blame for this. But honestly, there was nothing else to be done, for we couldn’t have hidden anywhere but inside, with Sir Guy after us. There was no chance of getting to the gate, and certainly not outside without risking our lives. We did what we were able, as we will now.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry – I just feel such an half-wit.”
Marion was searching the tops of the walls of the courtyard, and didn’t immediately respond. When she did, it was on a different subject.
“Sir Guy,” she said, “is a clever man, and he does not like to be embarrassed. He will not be happy if we get away, and so he has the castle well fortified against our escape.” She squinted, and it was clear that she simply let her thoughts run off her tongue. “He knows, of course, that we would not have been able to slip through the gates, and so are here on the grounds. There will be a guard at every corner. I need to. . . think a moment.”
She leaned back into the shadow of the wall. Much groaned a little.
“How are the guards? Do they thirst for blood as Sir Guy seems to? And are their orders to take us as prisoners, or as examples explaining how one should always obey their lord? Will they slit our throats at sunrise to stay any rebellious thoughts of the villagers?” Much’s eyes were wide, and the scant light threw his forehead into a mass of creases.
“I do not know their orders, Much,” Marion said softly, “ nor do I know their hearts. I’m afraid that I know not how much we should fear.” She soon realized that these words did no good, and in fact Much looked more frightened than before. Quickly, she added, “though, they do not appear cruel from what I know of them.”
Much glanced at her across the dark, and she thought that she would have to learn to filter her words better. Ill-chosen words of comfort can do more damage than threats.
The gate was a weak point in the strength of the castle, Marion had heard Sir Guy telling his uncle again and again. It was too short, and one day they would pay. Enemies could swarm over whenever they wished, with little hindrance. They must be made taller, he said, and so an elegant iron piece was made to top them. This made the gates look taller, but actually did little good, for the pretty scrolls of metal gave a much better grip than the smooth wood, once one could reach them.
There were two guards posted at the gate. Both were heavily built and lightly armored, and they never seemed to need to move. They had stood there all night with their broad backs against the wooden gate, shifting only occasionally move their weight back and forth. So few guards had been posted here because Sir Guy believed that the wooden part alone was enough to keep a woman inside, and with the added height of the iron and the strength of the wood, they were certainly safe. Sir Guy had altogether failed to realize what measures the two recently declared criminals would go to in seeking their freedom.