Thank you again for your awe inspiring comments. What a joy it is to see them when I can pull away from a hard day at work!
Goodness how time flies... onward we go...
Souders looked toward the fires burning in the distance while standing on the parapet. He had started with over 100 men: former soldiers — deserters — men with nothing left to lose, farmers, tradesmen, and a few members of nobility: men pushed too far and to the brink. The skirmish with the musketeers and the red guards had reduced his fighting power by nearly a third. He had known the risks, but the plan was in place: threaten the king to make changes for the good of the people, and then he would release the queen. The people of France were struggling to feed their families, to sow their fields, to fatten their cattle and sheep. The taxes the king had placed upon his people were slowly killing them all. And the long-term effects of such taxes would only lead to devastation, whether it was five, ten, fifteen, or a hundred years into the future.
Souders knew his opponents were fewer in number. The men guarding the carriage had done a fine job protecting the queen, but Souders and his men had the advantage of positioning and numbers. But, as he looked across the field toward the fires that burned, he quietly wondered how long that advantage would last. How long could he and the others withstand a siege? How long would it be before more soldiers arrived from Paris to save their queen? Souders clenched his jaw and rubbed the back of his neck. How long would it be before the king made his announcement that the taxes would lessen, that the people could relax knowing that they could care for their families and their homes.
"The front gate has been reinforced and the men are in position," Gully said as he approached. A short man with a bulbous nose, bright hazel eyes, and nutmeg colored hair stepped toward the wall and leaned against it. "What do you think they're planning?"
"A siege," Souders said. "The cardinal has been on watch for hours."
"He was supposed to have been in the carriage with the others —"
"He was," Souders said with a look of disappointment. "Stephan didn't recognize him and tossed him out before it could be stopped."
"The musketeer?"
Souders shrugged. "An annoyance, but nothing more. If needed, we'll toss him from the parapet and use him as an example of what is to come should the king not take us seriously." He crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. "The gunpowder?"
"Ready… the men are just waiting for your signal." Gully scratched his grizzled jaw and looked toward the men in the courtyard. "If we can keep the cardinal and his men at bay… we may not need to use it."
"We'll need it," Souders said. He looked to his right and then his left, where his men stood with their muskets.
Several monks worked in the courtyard. Evening duties that included managing the fires and assisting the crippled, deformed, and mentally deficient return to their rooms after a long day caring for animals, and preparing the soil for next year's garden.
The open flames that hung from the exterior walls and burned vibrantly. Souders looked at the stockpile of gunpowder near the gate. It had been placed on the back of a wagon. The plan was to open the gate, light the fuze and push the cart onto the path exiting the monastery. The goal was to stop those who dared from entering. It was a temporary solution to a much bigger problem. Souders had planned to escape out the back should Richelieu charge.
"What do you want us to do?" Gully said.
"We wait," Souders said and took a deep breath.
He looked to his right just as a lantern was pulled from the wall near the gate by one of the permanent residents of the monastery. The older man had a large hump on his shoulder that forced him to walk with a hunch to his back and his boots scuffed the ground. His thick, short gray hair spiked upward and caused his head to look twice the size it should have.
The old man stumbled toward the center of the courtyard and lit the night fire. It was a nightly routine, and his smile grew in size as he took several steps back and watched the flames suddenly roar and then slow to a steady rhythm. The pyramid of logs shifted and settled into position as the fire within its form glowed. The old man turned and craned his neck painfully looked upward when he noticed several men look toward him and laugh. They pointed their fingers, made derogatory remarks, and a few spat.
It was a moment of torment, a moment that carried memories that were older than the men who pointed and teased. The old man swallowed, looked away, and wiped his face with the cup of his hand. The monastery had been his home, a place of protection, and he been free from such actions. His home had allowed him to escape the ridicule he had suffered as a boy.
Souders watched him turn, and with his arm raised, carried the torch back toward the sconce by the gate. Souders stepped forward, his eyes wide, his pulse racing, and suddenly he shouted, "NO!"
The old man looked once more at them, at those who mocked him. He quirked his lips into a smile and tossed the torch toward the wagon.