Hawk Quest (28 page)

Hero shivered. ‘A pit where prisoners are consigned to oblivion.’

‘It was shaped like a beehive with a trapdoor in the roof twenty feet above the floor. No other opening, and my jailer always kept the hatch shut except at my daily mealtime. In the floor was a small hole dropping into a pit that served as a latrine and a graveyard. The skeletons of former prisoners lay scattered in this tomb, as I saw that evening when my jailer came to serve me my rations. This duty consisted of lowering a pail containing food and a lamp. As soon as I’d eaten, the jailer pulled the pail and light up again, condemning me to darkness until the next day. I used to draw out my meals just to savour the luxury of that little orange flame. Once I refused to send the lamp back up and for punishment the guard left me for days with neither food nor light. How many days I can’t say. Except for the routine of my daily meal, I had no means of measuring time.’

‘This is where you befriended the rat,’ said Hero.

‘I used to talk to him. He was a creature of such regular habits that if he was late appearing, I grew anxious. I’d worry that he’d died and I’d be left with no company but my own.’

‘Oh, sir!’

Vallon stared at a place beyond anybody’s sight but his own. ‘I managed to prise a flake of stone from the wall and used it to scratch a calendar. Weeks lengthened into months. My hair hung down my back and my fingernails grew into talons. Lice plagued me.’

Hero shuddered. ‘I would have gone mad. I couldn’t have borne such suffering.’

‘I came close to killing myself several times. I wondered then and wonder now how many of the bodies lying in the pit had taken their own lives.’ Vallon paused and then spoke in a firmer tone. ‘Since it was clear that no help would come from Aquitaine, I implored the Emir to ask for King Sancho’s intervention in consideration of the services I’d rendered him and his father. About seven months into my confinement, a servant of the Emir brought Sancho’s answer. The king no longer loved me or considered me under his protection. He’d received evidence that I was the one who’d invaded the Emir’s lands. Roland had poisoned his mind.’

‘What a viper! But why would they take his word above yours?’

‘Birth. Roland was the nephew of a duke. His claims would always carry more weight than those of a middle-ranking commander from modest stock. Perhaps Roland had convinced himself that his version of events was accurate. I’ve learned that a man who wants to deceive others must first deceive himself. I still don’t know the truth. I had no time to seek it out after I escaped.’

‘But you did escape. Thank God for that!’

Vallon kneaded his ribs. ‘Another month went by and then my regular guard was replaced. My new jailer was an older man with a weakness for wine. He performed his duties sloppily, bringing my daily ration any time it suited him. After one visit, he left the trapdoor open, and from that day on he never bothered to close it. Why take the trouble? It was as far out of my reach as heaven. That lapse gave me hope. The chamber above had a window that admitted enough light to take the edge off the darkness. I already knew that the chamber had a flight of steps leading up to a locked door. My jailer often left this door open while he served me my dole. During these intervals I sometimes heard sacks and barrels being shifted and loaded onto carts. It was clear that the outer chamber was a storeroom or warehouse leading into the castle yard.

‘How to reach it, though? The ladder was the only means and my jailers had lowered it only once since putting me into the pit. I decided to put my jailer’s negligence to the test. When he brought my next meal, I feigned sickness. He merely jeered and left. The next day I pretended to be unconscious or dead. He was a slipshod guardian, but not so lax as to descend the ladder on his own. He summoned two soldiers to guard the trapdoor while he climbed down to examine me. After nearly a year confined in that pit, I was so wasted that my jailer easily persuaded himself that I would soon join the bones in the tomb below. In fact, I worried that he’d make an end of me there and tip me down himself. Eventually he climbed out.

‘From the corner of my eye I watched him leave. He hauled up the ladder. I was sure that with the other soldiers watching, he’d shut the trap. He didn’t. He left the end of the ladder sticking out over the hatch before shoving it aside with one foot. I knew that its end was no more than a foot or two from the edge of the trap.

‘I’d better explain how the ladder was constructed. It was about
twenty-five feet long with a central shaft six or seven inches square, augered to take the rungs. As soon as I heard the bolts shoot home on the outer door, I set to work cutting my blankets into strips with my rock. It took me until well after noon to knot together a rope long enough to reach beyond the trapdoor. At one end of the rope I made a pocket to take the rock.’

‘You planned to snag the ladder and pull it down,’ said Hero.

‘Not quite. The ladder was heavy and the trap too small to tip it through. The best I could hope for was to drag the ladder across the hatch and use it as a beam. Well, I tried a hundred times. Most of my throws missed the hatch completely, and several times the weighted end fell back and struck me. Remember that I was weak and I was standing in the dark aiming at a target not more than two feet square. On the few occasions when the stone did hit the ladder, it bounced off. Only once did it catch, but it sprang loose when I applied pressure. My neck and back ached from my efforts. I was almost glad when darkness put an end to them. I sank down against the wall in a wretched state. I hadn’t eaten for two days and I was quaking with cold. Summer or winter, my cell was always as chilly as the grave. I woke all night with the conviction that it would be my last and by degrees a sort of peace fell on me. The end was near and I almost welcomed it. In this mood of resignation I woke to see morning beginning to take shape in the trapdoor.’

Vallon shrugged. ‘I don’t even remember making my last throw. Only that when I pulled on the rope, it held fast. I yanked to free it and put a swift end to false hope. It held. I hung my weight on it. The ladder slid and then stopped. It had jammed against the trapdoor. When the rope didn’t give and wouldn’t give, I retreated to the wall of my cell and sat looking up at the line. Now that my chance had come, I didn’t dare take it.

‘The morning was well advanced when I forced myself to grip the rope. With my first attempt, I barely dragged myself off the ground before dropping back. I tried again, failed again. I grew angry with myself. Every moment I wasted was a moment nearer to the time when my jailer appeared. I told myself that I’d never get another chance – that if I didn’t escape now, I would be dead within days. Seizing the rope again, I managed to climb two or three feet before my strength went. I hung there, supporting my weight on a knot in the
rope until I’d recovered sufficiently to go on. In this way, inch by inch and foot by foot, I made my way up to the hatch.’

Hero clapped his hands.

‘I crawled out into the upper chamber. It was lit by one narrow window high in the wall. I climbed the stairs to the door. It was locked and bolted. I put my ear to it and heard nothing. I waited on the top step and was nearly asleep when the key turned. I hid to one side of the steps. My jailer drew the bolts and stepped through.’

‘You killed him.’

‘It was quick – quicker than the death he would have suffered at the Emir’s hand. I took his sword and knife, dropped him into my cell and closed the trap. Then I went out and locked the door behind me.

‘I was in a warehouse stacked with wine, corn and oil. At the far end a wicket stood ajar in a pair of heavy doors. I hadn’t seen the sun for almost a year and the light burned my eyes. When my blindness passed, I found myself looking across a busy courtyard. It was a cloudless morning. I thought it was early September; in fact it was almost October.

‘Two peasants leading mules came towards the doors. Parked behind the entrance was a cart laden with wine barrels. I rapped on the staves and discovered they were empty. I just had time to climb into one and pull the lid down before the carters entered.

‘They were in no hurry to get started. Eventually I heard them putting the mules in the traces. Before they’d finished, a soldier came in. “Is Yasin with the Frank?” he asked, referring to my jailer. I didn’t hear an answer, but there must have been some response because the soldier said: “That’s odd. I saw him come this way after morning prayers.” Then I heard him walking away up the warehouse. His footsteps faded away and there was a terrible silence that I was sure would be broken by a shout of alarm. Instead I heard his footsteps returning briskly. “When he shows up, tell him the captain of the guard wants to see him.”

‘The response was sweet. “We’re just off,” one of the carters said. “We’d have left by now if our escort had shown up.” I had to endure another wait before this man arrived. He was mounted. The carters climbed up and drove out into the court. They stopped at the castle gate and a sentry asked where they were going.

‘“Fetching wine from Penaflor,” the escort said. I knew the place. It’s a village about ten miles north of Zaragoza.

‘The cart moved off and descended the road from the castle. When we were well clear, I raised the lid of the cask just enough to see out. There was no chance of me making a dash for it. The road was busy and I was so feeble that the escort would have ridden me down before I’d got a few yards. We passed through Zaragoza and continued north. By now I was sure that the Moors had discovered my escape. The guards would soon work out how I’d left the castle and riders would be lashing their horses in pursuit. Every mile we plodded increased the chances of capture, but although the road was quiet, I was so stiff from my confinement that I didn’t dare risk breaking out.

‘Finally we stopped. I heard the carters call out and climb down. A little later a child brought fodder and water for the mules. Then everything went quiet. I lifted the lid. It was late afternoon and the first thing I saw was a hill terraced with vines. I looked the other way and saw a farmhouse with the escort’s horse tethered outside. Two children playing in the dust. A woman called and the children ran into the house. I struggled out of the barrel. My legs had fallen asleep and I rolled off the cart like a log. I dragged myself into the vineyard. When I could stand without my legs giving way, I made my way up the hillside.’

Hero saw Vallon’s head sink. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Hero reached out and touched his arm. Vallon raised his head. He looked old.

‘There’s not much left to tell. I calculated north by the sun and travelled by night. I didn’t see any sign of pursuit. I had no shoes and the ground cut my feet. I was starving. I raided a hencoop and stole some eggs. Even when I crossed into Aragon and ran into a Spanish patrol, I wasn’t safe. Aragon was at war with Castile, so I pretended that my wits were unstrung. I was in such a verminous and degraded state that the soldiers wanted no part of me and sent me on my way with a crust and a few coins. Somehow I crossed the Pyrenees.’

Hero looked quickly at Vallon and just as quickly looked away. ‘You found your way home.’

Vallon stroked his mouth as if a web were being spun across it. ‘Every step of the way I’d dreamed of my return. The grapes would be ripening, the bees stirring among the lavender. I’d push open the gate
and walk up the path and enter the door and hear from the hall within the voices of my wife and children. I’d step into their presence and my wife would look up from her needlework, the glow of the fire on her face. At first she wouldn’t recognise me, then alarm would change to dawning hope and she would stand up and straighten her dress and take a step towards me as if confronted by a ghost.’

Vallon laughed low in his throat. ‘I reached my home at dead of night with a storm approaching. Lightning shaped the walls out of the darkness. I approached the villa like a thief. The doors and windows were barred and shuttered, everyone asleep. I forced open a window and climbed in. The storm was drawing closer. I went into the entrance hall. A flash of lightning showed me a sword lying on a coffer. It was
my
sword, surrendered by me to the Emir of Zaragoza. I picked it up and climbed the stairs to my lady’s chamber.

‘I opened it. By now the storm was overhead. A barb of lightning revealed my wife lying against a man. The clouds burst and raindrops as big as grapes splashed on the roof. I opened the shutters and breathed in the dusty smell of rain falling on parched ground. I knew I’d never see my home again.’

Vallon’s features were set in a rigid smile.

‘I stood waiting. Wind came with the rain and rattled the shutters. Roland twitched awake. Thunder crashed and the room filled with blue light. Roland started up. “Who’s there?” he cried.’

Hero fingered his throat.

‘I didn’t answer. My wife woke and clung to her lover. I waited for the next stroke of lightning and that was the last thing they saw. I didn’t prolong their suffering. I ended their lives with two strokes.’

Hero was silent for a while. ‘What about your children?’

‘I was going to kill them, too.’ Vallon rounded on Hero. ‘Honour gone, prospects gone, everything gone. What would you have done?’

Hero swung his head.

‘I went to their nursery. The storm had woken them and their old nurse was comforting them, cradling the son who hadn’t been born when I left for Spain. Even my eldest didn’t recognise me and shrieked in terror. Their nurse had been my nurse and it was she who realised that this bloodstained ghoul was her master. She clutched the children to her and begged for mercy. She swore that my wife had thought I was dead. Roland had told her that I’d been wounded in action and
had died in prison. He’d helped commit my remains to the ground. I think he probably bribed the Emir to kill me, but the old fox must have decided to bury me alive in case I might serve some future purpose. The nurse told me that Roland began to visit my wife to console her in her grief. Their friendship deepened and … Well, who cares about that? I left my children unharmed, took horse and armour, and rode away. I travelled east, intending to cross into Italy. Three weeks later I met you and your one-eyed master.’