“Be brave!” Lady Margaret ordered the group of women in the gallery. “Be brave!” She put the musketoon on the table beside her, but Campion could see it was not loaded.

Muskets sounded in the gardens below. Enid screamed, making Lady Margaret turn furiously round. “Be quiet!”

The shouts of the victors echoed through the castle. The slaughter was nearly over. The garrison was being taken prisoner, stripped of its valuables and herded toward the stable-yard where the two traitors greeted their rescuers warmly. One man, from Captain Tugwell’s company, tore off his leather jacket and tried to swim the moat. Campion, standing at a window of the long gallery, saw the Roundheads run to the bank. They pulled pistols from their belts and used the bobbing head for target practice. A red stain appeared on the gray water. Others of the enemy were pushing into the church. She knew they would tear out the altar rails, thinking them Popish, and then wrestle the great, heavy altar into the center of the church. Once that was done and the decorations had been destroyed or defaced, it would be thought to be a house worthy of God.

“Campion! You will stand by me!” Lady Margaret beckoned peremptorily. “Enid! Be quiet! I do not wish to tell your mother that you were weak. Stand there, Campion.” Caroline, still in a night-gown over which she had put a cloak, stood on her mother’s right, Campion to Lady Margaret’s left. Lady Margaret put an arm about Campion’s shoulder. “They won’t touch you, child. I shall see to that. The name of Lazender will carry some weight, even with these scum.”

More shouts, closer now, and another rattle of musketry. Dogs barked in the castle. Men laughed. There was a scream from the kitchens. The smoke of the explosion smelled acrid in the long gallery. In the Old House the victors tore down curtains, ripped bed linen, fired muskets into furniture and pictures.

Campion was terrified, yet she dared not show it. She wondered, grasping for any straw, if Ebenezer would be kind. He was, after all, her brother.

Mildred, hair standing on her back, erupted through the door of the long gallery and ran straight to Campion. She stooped, picked the cat up and held it close to her breasts. She felt the seal. She fumbled with her left hand, pulling the seal up and over her bonnet, and then there seemed no place to hide it. She dropped it inside her dress, feeling it lodge where her white linen stomacher was tight at her waist. The seal. It had brought this horror to Lazen. She wondered where Toby was. She had not had time to say a prayer for him that morning.

Footsteps sounded loud on the great marble staircase, a single man running, and Campion desperately wanted it to be Toby. She wondered if she ought to run, to hide, maybe to try and make her own escape in the confusion, but she wanted it to be with Toby.