Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls (45 page)

Reigin added a touch of condescension to his voice. ‘Why does there need to be a reason  my Captain?’

Bach looked irritated beyond words.
Why didn’t the soldier stand to attention when he was addressed by a superior?
‘There always needs to be a reason
Wolver.
’ To which the huge soldier replied, taub-brew half way to his mouth.

‘I seem to remember you wanted to have the prisoner occupied, that is reason enough Captain.’ He took a long swig and eyed his superior keenly. Bach’s response was predictable. Not wanting a further confrontation with the difficult soldier he tried hard to find the reply satisfactory, and suddenly realised that indeed it was.

‘Perhaps I have misread you
Wolver
, but now I see that you have listened to me. The prisoner
is
doing something; I was thinking of something more useful like cleaning, but she is occupied I agree. Tell me man, just what will you have her do with these sacks when she has them up there? He had noticed that there were already several sacks sitting on the steps to the parapet door.’ Reigin raised his hands in a shrug.

‘Well captain, I had thought I’d get her to bring them all down again.’ He took another swig and this time was careful to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Bach smiled evilly, and nodded.

‘Very good, at last I think we see eye to eye
Wolver.
It is gratifying to know that you have taken note of my words last time we spoke. Please continue.’ He turned abruptly and walked off. He was at the huge oak doors and had almost disappeared from view when Reigin spoke once more.

‘I had no intention of doing anything else Captain.’ He gave a salute which was more mockery than anything else, smiling up at Sylvion who smiled back. She placed her sack along with the three others already sitting one each to their own step, hard up against the sheer vault wall.

She would not let Reigin assist her, for Grundig was always hovering about during the daylight and any suspicion that the two were working together on some mysterious activity would have been a disaster, for whilst friendly, he was fiercely loyal to the powers which ruled. He had lived his whole live thus, and neither Sylvion nor Reigin believed he would not report any strange behaviour directly to the odious Captain Bach. It took her most of the morning, but finally there were almost a score of sacks filled with the special fire charcoal sitting high up close to the parapet door. Exhausted, she sat for a rest and a drink at Reigin’s rough suggestion, for Grundig was in the vault, and grumpy as well, for he was less understanding than Bach, and could see no sensible purpose in her task.

‘Don’t you go ordering me to bring them down from up there for I’ll not be doing it you hear? And they were for the fire for the next two days, now you’ll need to bring more up from the store, and I’ll not be doing that either. If you wanted jobs for her
Wolver,
I could have informed you of more than she could do in many days around this place.’ He went sullenly quiet then and busied himself with tending the wall lamps and torches and other menial tasks. Sylvion was led down to the store by Reigin who had her bring up half a dozen more sacks for the fire. Knowing the use to which this fuel would be put he tried a simple experiment and threw a full sack onto the fire in the cauldron and they both watched as it burst easily into flames, for the sack cloth was dry and easily consumed, whereupon the charcoal inside fell out onto the fire and was readily set alight.

‘So far so good,’ Sylvion whispered, and Reigin nodded.

Over the next two days, Reigin found several huge spools of thick hemp rope in the lower level store rooms and managed to move them to the Vault one night in almost complete darkness where they were safely hidden in the crawl space beneath the floor. He also managed to relieve the stores of twine and needles and some canvas, a little thicker and heavier in cut than the beautifully woven banner material, but sufficient for the task Sylvion had planned. His final acquisition were two heavy cloaks and a two pair of woollen gloves, for Sylvion had imagined that whatever cold they had felt on the parapet roof would be many times worse high up in the ice chilled wind above the land. Sylvion moved charcoal sacks about to the point that Captain Bach and Reigin in pretence, would chuckle at the futility of it all. She spent some lengthy time poring over Grundig’s history of the Vault and discovered the crucial fact that the prevailing wind was always more gentle and from the North East some few days after the full moon.

‘Which was yesterday,’ she informed Reigin. And so they were prepared. ‘All we need now is some food and drink and lots of luck.’ They were standing on the battlements and could see that the moon had begun to wane, for a tiny shadow made a dark crescent on one edge. ‘How long will it take them to break through the portcullis and the oak doors once they get suspicious Reigin? What is the least time we can expect, if all goes in their favour?’

Reigin had thought quietly for some time before replying, for he knew that his estimate was crucial. When he did, he spoke slowly, allowing his thoughts to fill the air around them.

‘If we pretend that the doors are jammed, then we can’t get to the portcullis in any event, Bach will know that. They can’t open the portcullis and so can’t get to the doors. He will expect me to be working on fixing the problem. We can drop a note down to him and you can still appear as you always do, standing and watching, or help in making some noise on the doors as though we are trying to remedy the situation. If he gets suspicious it will take at least a day, maybe more, and to breach the portcullis and then break down the doors will take many men another day. I think we’ve got three days.

‘We can do it in two!’ Sylvion said, and punched the big man on the arm. He hardly noticed. ‘Tomorrow night we seal the vault and then we are committed. Do you agree Reigin?’

‘My lady...I’m sorry Sylvion, it is for you to decide. I will follow your lead.’ Reigin spoke gently but she was not satisfied.

‘No Reigin, I want you to agree on the timing. Your life is forfeit in my name if we fail, and I want you to feel that you had a choice. You can change your mind now if you think that it is too mad, for I know it seems so.’ She turned and faced him, all seriousness and intent. His reply was immediate.

‘Sylvion there is nothing to think on. We start tomorrow at the end of the guard. I choose it and I look forward to it. I rather like the idea of flying, even if we come to ground a little harder than we leave!’

Sylvion slept fitfully that night for she was full of anticipation, and a thousand problems presented which she hadn’t thought of.
How heavy was the cauldron? Could they lift it? Was there enough heat in the open air to heat and fill the huge canopy above them? What if the wind was from the West? How far could they travel and could they be followed?
Half way between sleep and wakefulness she could resolve none of this, and so tossed and turned till the morning. Reigin as usual, slept lightly but soundly, as though he had no concerns at all.

During the day as the fateful hour approached when they would seal the doors and start on making her plan come true, Sylvion spent some long hours on the parapet watching the soldiers below and thinking of her love, Rema Bowman, for he was never far from her thoughts. She wondered where he was and what troubles he had encountered because of her. Was he even alive?

‘We will meet again my love,’ she whispered fervently to the wind and prayed that her words would carry to his ear wherever he was. ‘Whatever troubles we have at present will one day be a memory, I swear it Rema. I swear it.’ She did not notice that at that moment Reigin had come and stood behind her and he heard her prayer and earnest oath. He listened carefully and wondered about this man Rema, whose name had often fallen from her lips. He realised though, that she had revealed little of him beyond their great love for each other, but he was strangely intrigued, for she was such a small and diminutive woman standing as she was before him, and yet her force of character and enthusiasm for life despite the bleakest of situations made her seem his equal in every area, and indeed he knew she was quicker of mind if not of sword than he would ever be.

So how great must this Rema Bowman be?
He wondered if they would ever meet, and what might be the outcome when they did?

A span after sunset Reigin lowered the portcullis and curtly dismissed the four guards. The huge barred iron barrier settled into the bored holes in the stone floor with a solid clunking sound. It stood three cubits outside the huge oak doors, at the end of a small stone entrance tunnel, and so prevented any access to them, allowing a defender to have a double defence, the portcullis, and the doors which themselves were thicker than a large man’s handspan, and were reinforced with many horizontal braces. Each door was held up by four forged iron hinges which were riveted to the timber planking at numerous points. Because the doors opened inwards the hinges could not be removed by an attacker for they were on the inside. Reigin and Sylvion made sure that the doors were securely locked and the three heavy oak beams which sat in heavy iron catches to brace both doors together were in place.

‘We have three days, but we must be gone in two,’ Sylvion stated purposefully. ‘If they breach the entrance before then I fear Reigin that your life will be short, and mine will become far harder.’ Reigin smiled easily however for he knew no fear.

‘The only death I see is falling from the sky.’ She smiled at him, for the great strength of his character was an enormous comfort.

‘So we must prevent that Reigin. To work then, we have much to do.’

They had purposely allowed the cauldron fire to die down so that they might lower the canopy a little and not risk it catching alight, but it still gave enough illumination for their work. Reigin operated the simple but effective pulley system which was attached to a wall carrying several thick ropes up to the ceiling far above and which held the large iron ring on which the upper end of the banners all came together. His vast strength was easily enough to allow the canopy to be lowered so that Sylvion could release the banner rods from their wall restraints at their base and begin the huge job of sewing together the bottom part where the banners separated. She had estimated a distance of about six cubits for each banner, but when lowered it was closer to ten.

‘If we don’t sew together these lower parts we will lose too much air,’ she informed Reigin for the tenth time, and who seemed to understand now exactly what was required.  ‘It might leak a bit but it is so important that we keep the air captured for as long as possible.’ She now found that she was nervously reminding herself why, although she had planned the work and gone over it in her head many times. The banners were well joined by strong stitching from the top ring down to almost their base, but needed some separation there so they could be held back more easily to the wall by their individual brass rods. The lowered canopy draped the banners to the floor and both Sylvion and Reigin began the tedious task of stitching them all together using twine and large needles. They worked continuously, until their hands ached, and painful blisters rose upon their fingers. Sylvion lost count of the times she pieced her left palm and fingers as her needle suddenly passed through the fine woven cloth. She was amazed at its quality however. Grundig had told her that there was none finer in all the land, for the weavers of the Iridin had found a way to spin the flax ever finer, and the looms were specially designed to create an almost magical material which was strong yet light. Sylvion knew that mere canvas would have been far too heavy, but with this flaxen cloth they had a chance, for the hot air had to lift a considerable weight if they were to make their escape.

They rested in the early hours of the morning and went together and stood upon the parapet roof by the battlements, allowing their aching arms and fingers some respite.

‘Grundig’s history tells true,’ Sylvion spoke quietly, for sound carried further on the still night air. ‘The wind is from the north and east, and is gentler now. It will take us to towards Lockerby, perhaps we can steal a boat there and sail back to the mainland.’

Reigin said nothing as he thought on this, for he liked the water only a little more than Sylvion, and he knew they both had no clear idea just how to sail any craft at all.

‘I fear we will need to steal the crew as well,’ he spoke finally, and as she was not sure if he was jesting or serious, she let it pass.

‘We will solve that riddle when we see what presents to us,’ she said, ‘but for now our task is still large. The air is cold which is best, for I imagine that the hot air we capture in the canopy will lift us better if it is colder on the outer side, a bit like an air bubble in a pond wanting to rise to the surface.’ Reigin thought on this and suddenly had a vision of their fragile craft just like that, a tiny bubble in a vast ocean of cold sky, rising high to the surface, but he could not think on where the surface might be, or whether there was any air left to breathe when they got there.

‘Back to work Reigin!’ He realised that Sylvion was at the parapet door whilst he stood dreaming.

They worked feverishly until just before dawn, when exhausted they slept for a time, until suddenly being roughly aroused by the sounds of the guards banging on the portcullis outside the doors. They could not make out what was being called to them but it did not matter for they both knew that this was the moment in which they defied the king and set upon a path which would likely end in sadness or death for many who travelled on it.

Reigin had thought hard upon how he should make their situation seem innocent, and so gain as much time for their tasks as possible. He went quickly to the huge doors and removing one of the cross braces he too commenced banging loudly upon the oak. The sound from outside stoped immediately. Sylvion smiled.

‘They are thinking on why you would be banging like they are. They will assume there is some problem with the doors. Well thought Reigin!’ The banging started again and Reigin replied. It was the language of frustration, beaten out on timber and iron and whilst neither party spoke it well, it sufficed. Shortly after, the sounds from without ceased altogether.