The long-awaited Monday of the revolution had finally come.
It was the night of June 20, 1731 and even being one of the darkest and darkest nights, it was incredibly hot.
On that night exactly one hundred men gathered together in one of the city's old armouries, which during the night was usually locked and guarded, but that day fell the summer solstice.
And as the solstice was considered by the citizens to be one of the most important events, the guards had limited themselves to padlock the door and as soon as possible going to celebrate in some town inn.
On the other hand, that armoury despite being large enough to hold a hundred people was almost considered "abandoned".
In fact, there were only a few dozen rifles and five muskets on the heavy oak racks as well as a few old pistols.
In any case too few for an army but enough for a revolution.
In addition, the armory in question was isolated in the countryside and the weapons that were there were potentially abandoned.
It was not in good condition, much of the brick roof had collapsed leaving the numerous revolutionaries illuminated by light of the silver stars.
They knew the plan well: they knew that they would have the go-ahead until they reached the northern part of the city, where a few dozen royal guards separated the town from the distant castle.
Nobody should have fired nor show any sign of violence, on the other hand the weapons were only used for the advance, to strike terror and only to be used in extreme emergency.
In this way, the royal guards, failing to hold up hundreds of furious revolutionaries, would soon call for help every other guard available in the area and therefore including the prison guards.
Once she was sure everyone had left the prison then Brooke would take the first step by freeing the prince and taking him out of the city where a carriage would take him to the port of Brighton by the next morning.
There at dawn the first ship would sail to France taking Henry to the port of Le Havre on French soil.
Still there, a carriage would have picked up the man and would have taken him in a short time to Paris, to the court of his maternal grandfather.
All Brooke was sure of was that once in French lands it would be impossible for the princess to capture her half brother again or even punish him.
This was their only hope, they couldn't do otherwise.
The armoury was located only four kilometres from the south side of the city and from there it would take a few time to reach the first security check.
In any case Brooke took with her one of the guns that were in the armory and wedged it in the middle between her waist belt and her black cotton pants.
She was the usual Brooklyn who, through a short red lace, kept her curly high hair closed on her head, that she was wearing thick and perhaps too disproportionate jackets and that she was not afraid of anything, not even death.
Francis was at her side which was why she feared nothing, he was proud, he was happy and his arms no longer bled since the murder of his father.
The young man was relieved and he was actually the opposite of her.
He was very careful that every jacket and pants he wore was the exact size, he was fussy but he was afraid, much more than Brooke, he feared death.
Francis looked at her, smiled, his friend was determined, she was not afraid and despite being smaller and frail than many other men Brooklyn had courage to spare.
-Are you afraid? - the young woman asked smiling as she noticed that he was staring at her insistently.
Francis wanted to seem strong but he was a bad liar, so she understood her friend was actually dying of fear.
That night was beautiful, in the grass around them thousands of fireflies shone brightly flying through the air, spinning, dancing in the dark night.
Behind them hundreds of people, in front of them the distant lights of a city.
Brooke could see in the dark night the fireflies illuminating Francis's face, his freckles, his pale face and his dark eyes, up to his wavy brown hair.
She smiled softly.
That night it was still uncertain what would happen, whether everyone would get out alive or not.
They carried in their hands some burning torches, which with their light illuminated the entrance of the city.
Francis had a particular beauty that evening and Brooke was completely attracted by him.
She felt as their future was uncertain that she had to do something.
-Excuse me for this...- Brooklyn warned grabbing the sleeve of his friend's jacket, drawing his attention to her.
-What?- the marquis asked intrigued by the strange attitudes of the other and thus bringing his face closer to her listening to what she had to say.
Brooklyn looked at the young man's brown eyes illuminated by the many lights of the city for a long time, his fear mixed with pride and enthusiasm, in that moment she realised she could not do it.
She couldn't kiss him on the mouth, she didn't have the strength, she knew how he would react, Brooke knew he felt no attraction toward women, so fast and secretly she left a weak, quick kiss on one of Francis's freckled cheeks.
The young man was amazed, struck, almost taken by a particular blush.
-What was this kiss for?- he asked quickly moving his face away from Brooke's.
-It was a kiss of good luck- her smile showed Francis her white teeth -you know, one of those things you do before going on an adventure- she admitted showing a lot of enthusiasm and throwing herself back and forth on her own feet.
-Before going to die...- Francis smiled ironically exchanging a look of understanding with his friend.
He looked at her dark face lit by the city lights, the blue eyes of hers.
-Thank you anyway- the marquis admitted gesturing to the young woman to move, to hide as the crowd of revolutionaries was starting to approach the customs that separated the town from the distant castle.
-Good luck- Brooklyn quickly patted Francis on the top of the shoulders before plunging into the crowd to escape and hide in the closest place to the jail.
-Thank you...- he whispered, even though he knew in the distance she could no longer hear him -I will need it-.
Brooklyn had found a convenient hiding place in a narrow and dark alley between one house and another.
She pushed her body as tight as she could to the humid wall and was silent, in this way it would have been more comfortable for her to observe whoever came and went from the prison and passed by among all the protesting people.
Brooke no longer knew what was happening, she could not see, she only heard hundreds of angry voices, phrases of hatred against the monarchy, she heard the screams of the guards who in vain stifled the protest, called for help, heard a shot, screams, blood froze in her veins.
She didn't believe the guards had enough guts to fire on ordinary civilians.
Anyway she had to act, soon.
She had noticed that several others had already arrived from the city jail to help the guards but she knew this was only temporary and would not last long.
She thus detached her body from the damp and smelly wall and silently, behind the huge mass of people, she took advantage of the fact that the guards had left the door ajar.
Brooke looked at the main hall of the prison, it was bright, lit with lights.
There was a heavy wooden table, on which documents lay sprawled.
There were some chairs moved in a hurry, most likely in running away.
There were mugs broken into a thousand pieces on the ground, golden beer was scattered on the floor of the room.
No one was there so she decided to take the quicker route.
The young woman opened the light door that led below, to the cells, which was also ajar and to observe where she was going she took the old torch from a ferrous hook on the wall, the candle still lit dimly.
The stairs of the city prisons were long, narrow, damp and partially smelled of wet moss and mold.
Brooke just hoped that no one would come up the moment she was going down or it would have been the end.
As she hoped, no one showed up, not on the stairs, not even in the first surroundings of the basement.
It was dark but small dots of light shone in the distance.
She disliked this sign, because she knew that where the light and heat were, other humans were likely to be.
She had to avoid being seen by all means, if she didn't want to be thrown herself in one of those cells or worse.
On the other hand, there was talk of adult men, she knew what could happen to a girl like her, even if in disguise.
Brooke reached out her hand in front of her and with it the iron cold flashlight.
She looked at her surroundings, it was cold, damp, it must certainly have been underground.
The young woman observed the great and ancient arches built in white tuff by now yellowed and observed the wide bars of the prisons.
It was amazing how they managed to ruin an ancient and beautiful place like that in such a way.
Those used to be in fact catacombs from the early period of Christian persecutions and now all the ancient beauty had disappeared to give life to a damp, dark and scary place.
Brooke knew that in order to find the prince she would have to walk most of the dark corridor to the side of the cells and probably get even closer to the human lights.
She stuck the flashlight closer to the rusty grates of the prisons, she observed the prisoners inside, noticed how each cell smelled of urine and secretions as well as humid air.
It was a sickening smell and that was a special prison, not dedicated to mere criminals but to political enemies.
She was walking and did not notice that she was now too close to the warm, strong candlelight.
-We must hurry- the voice next to her echoed as loud as possible, immediately bringing in all that light an innate fear and anguish in the young woman.
She had to find a hiding place as soon as possible or if someone had seen her it would have been a huge problem for her.
She quickly looked around, put down her lantern and luckily for her there was a crack on her right side, a small part of the wall that spaced one cell from the other.
She pressed her body against the wall it was damp, smelly, but Brooke would have endured it if that had saved her life.
It was an oppressive place, there, it was dark, so much so that it was no longer possible for her to notice anything.
She heard the crack of hard musket laces on the chests of the guards she smelled the strong, sickening smell of gunpowder, she heard the quick, heavy footsteps of the men's leather boots.
They hadn't seen her, giving the time to slowly grab the flashlight with one of her hands and get out of the place where she was hiding.
She heard a voice singing the text of the English anthem, it was a man's voice it was in tune, it rang, sweet, in the faint light of that corridor.
Brooke followed it, she had to do it, she was sure that voice belonged to Prince Henry, suspecting that no one else inside those cells was a monarchist.
She ran on the damp and smelly floor and risked falling several times but nothing could stop her anymore.
Brooklyn came to the cell, it was dark, it was not possible for her to see without the torch.
In a dark corner of the cold and wet floor was the figure of a man, he was completely naked, if not for a dirty and shabby rag covering his genitals.
He had lost so much weight that his ribs were evident under the pale skin of his chest.
His beard was as usual shaved daily, being one of the cheapest services, but his golden hair had grown out of all proportion, almost touching the man's butt.
-Please, quit it with this light!- the man complained as soon as he saw the slightest candle light - I beg you!-.
The prince strongly covered his eyes, and it was sad for the young woman to observe how he had become unaccustomed to the sunlight.
She saw however in the clear eyes of the man the terror, the fear and so taken by the compassion Brooke just lowered the torch down to the ground.
And as soon as this was done the man finally removed his hands from his tired eyes.
-Are you prince Henry?- Brooke asked placing one of her hands on the handle of the pistol she was holding hidden under her jacket.
At those words the prince seemed to take a turn of sadness, looking down.
-I am nobody anymore- he cried slowly shaking his head and lowering his face -here everyone now calls me horrible names, they shave my beard every day, yes, but they give me a pittance to eat...-.
At those words Brooke pulled her pistol out of its hiding place, took aim, pointed the barrel towards the prince, who frightened took steps backwards, trembled, she fired.
A silence followed that scene, the padlock, together with the lock gave way to the blow, slowly and creakily letting the prison bars open.
Brooke quickly managed to dash into the dark and small cell, took the blade out of her pocket and grabbed a tuft of the man's long golden hair.
-What are your intentions with me?- asked him frightened, letting the young woman cut his hair.
Brooklyn was in a hurry, she didn't have too much time and she had to hurry, both in answering and in acting.
-I am here to save you- she answered with commitment putting her blade back inside the deep pocket of her dark pants.
Henry's blond hair was short now, but not too short, it managed in every way to reach and go down to his bare shoulders.
True, the cut wasn't the best in the rush but Henry had to be grateful anyway.
-This evening you will be picked up from the countryside to the north west, there a carriage will escort you to the port of Brighton- the young woman was silent for a moment, as she untied the lace that tied her dark and long cloak.
She untied it and quickly bound him around the prince's shoulders, letting him cover his back and his whole body and soon returning to speak.
-In Brighton, in the morning of tomorrow you will sail for Le Havre, you will return to France, to your mother's family- Brooke took out of her bag two large pieces of dry bread, filled with cheese.
-Here...- she handed it to the man, extending her hand as much as possible -it is a bread with cheese, I wish you like it ...-.
But before the young woman could finish her sentence, the prince greedily took the bread and cheese in his hands and furiously thrust it into his own mouth.
Brooklyn noticed how in all the beauty and nobility of him, Henry, in the grip of hunger, had started to eat that food with an almost animal-like manner.
He soon finished eating the bread and as he did it he raised his clear and charming eyes again to his saviour.
He was eager, desirous of something, of essential goods.
-Do you have water with you by any chance?- asked the man, inspecting the young woman's body with his eyes.
Brooke unscrewed the cap that closed the tight canteen covered in buckskin.
She quickly poured the cold water into the thirsty and dry mouth of the man, who, taken from a long abstinence and drinking with fury, dropped a lot of water on his chin and on the floor.
He wiped his thirst-quenched mouth, turned his eyes to Brooklyn, he was completely grateful, so much so that his eyes shone with satisfaction.
-What is your name my savior? Why are you doing all this for me? I beg you, tell me your name, I must find a way to thank you...- it went out quickly, almost stammering from the lips of the prince.
Brooke sensed, Henry was sincere, was serious about returning the favour.
He was a good man, she had to recognise this, even though he was part of the royal family.
Brooke looked away from him, checked that no one was going in their direction now and in fact they did.
Ten minutes had passed by now and nothing had happened.
-It is not so important for now...- commented the young woman -it really doesn't matter right now...-.
-Anyway, do you still remember how to speak French?- Brooklyn ventured helping the prince to get up and go out of the cell.
She noticed Henry nodded, well, it was for the best, he would have no problem communicating once in France.
-At the end of this corridor- Brooke pointed with her arm to a dark indefinite point in front of them -there is an exit leading to the countryside north of Warwick, at this point it should no longer be controlled- she finished speaking looking back into the grey and enchanting eyes of the man.
-Once you arrive there some envoys from the French royal house will wait for you with a carriage, get in there...everything else will be clarified later- Brooke concluded to speak, noticing how forcefully and joyfully the prince nodded with his head.
-Thank you very much- thanked the one and started running towards the long and dark corridor -Thank you seriously-.
Brooke watched Henry's tall body run away, becoming small and tiny and disappearing into the distance in the dark corridor.
She smiled faintly, she was happy, satisfied and wished the best for that good man.
-It's nothing...- she whispered to herself and if even knowing he could not hear her -don't worry prince Henry-.