If, over the years, I could have changed anything, then I would have changed the scene that I burst upon in that decrepit prison building. There are a great many men that I could cheerfully have substituted for my dear old friend and even collectively, they would not have approached his equal. My feeling of grief was heightened because of the mistaken identity, if the old man hadn’t clung to my simple gift of that accursed cloak he would have been unharmed.
~ ~ ~
At full gallop, I weaved through the milling courtiers and lingerers in the main part of the great hall and tore through the main door. I have an indistinct memory of some people calling after me and of several following, with their offers of help floating in the dust from my heels. Gault was at the Gaol entrance, arms folded across his significant bulk, and a belligerent expression on his ugly face, until he recognised me. When he did, it changed to one of disbelief, then fear as the realisation of treachery dawned within his dim brain.
Roughly, I shoved him aside, my speed overcoming his obesity. I yelled over my shoulder for someone to detain him for the King’s interrogation. I sped on, running along the corridor to the cell. Slipping on the heap of half-rotten straw, I plunged through the doorway.
‘Thank the gods you’ve come.’ said Deaks hoarsely. ‘He’s been asking for you...I think he’s nearly gone though.’
Old master Styg was lying on the floor with his head resting on a rolled blanket. The wretched blue cloak was wrapped tightly about him and a slowly spreading pool of slippery crimson was creeping across the flagstones beneath him. He smiled as I knelt by his side.
‘Hello old friend, looks like you’ve got yourself in a bit of a pickle.’ I said softly, my voice catching in my gasping breath.
As I spoke, my fingers began to probe beneath the cloak towards the site of the wound somewhere high in his back. The odour of death filled the air around us. The old man shuddered.
‘Ranulf...is it you?’ his hands feebly clutched at my wrist. ‘There’s nothing to be done this time I’m afraid.’ he licked his nearly white lips.
I groped behind me for the bottle of spring water and, splashing some into a beaker held it to his mouth. He tried hard to drink, but wasted much over his chin. A look of embarrassment crossed his brow and he mumbled an apology for making a mess.
‘Are you in pain master?’ I asked through a clouding of tears.
‘No, my friend.’ he shook his head. ‘There’s no pain. No real feeling at all.’
His old eyelids closed for a moment, as he fought to stay with us. A shudder swept through his body and a shallow cough brought a fleck of pink-stained foam to the corner of his mouth. His eyes struggled open as though the lids were straining at a great weight. He beckoned me closer,
‘I’ve something to ask. Give me your hand Ranulf. You are the only one who really knows about my good lady. I’m going to join her now so don’t be sad. I’m not afraid...I’ve heard her voice calling me.’ The eyes closed again and I hugged the little body close.
‘What is it master, what can I do?’
‘When it’s all done, I want you to see that I’m sent off in the old way, with the flame. I want there to be no chance that anything can hold me back from the.... from her.’
He coughed again, and with the groan of a stout oak, he passed across his last bridge with a peaceful smile on a face that, in death, had become younger by years.
I’m not sure how long I stayed there, it couldn’t have been very long I suppose, but a firm grip on my shoulder brought me back to the realities of the moment. I looked up into the wide eyes of a pale faced courtier. The smell of violence and death masked the stench of the cell and he held a perfumed kerchief to his pointed nose, but no amount of lavender water could smother that odour.
I laid master Styg’s head carefully onto the blanket, covering his contented expression with the cloak that had been his death warrant. I swallowed a sob that was building in my throat and stood to look around at the small room and the gaggle of silent, sharp eyed onlookers. At the back of the group of eager spectators were two members of Gault’s guard.
‘You two.’ I called to them. ‘Get a small cart so that we can move the master gardener from this place. And fetch the blacksmith to strike the prisoners shackles.’
‘Aye sir. Right away.’ they answered in unison.
Most of the onlookers began to melt away, their curiosity satisfied. The courtier that had tried to comfort me stood fidgeting and wringing his hands in his indecision, but he stayed next to me.
‘We will need the King to make a ruling on Gault our gaol keeper, he should be restrained comfortably until the Court wishes to hear him. Would you attend to that for us?’ I asked him.
Immediately, the slightly effeminate gentleman, flustered into action, pleased that he had something important and positive to do.
‘Glad to help, what...I will have my own men take him. We’ll lock ’im up in his own rooms. Be safe enough there.’ the words poured from his mouth in a staccato torrent as he backed his girlish frame into the now empty passageway.
I lifted one of the torches from a sconce and made my way into the passageway to take a closer look into the shadowed alcove almost opposite the cell doorway.
‘What of me your lordship. Has my time come?’ Deaks said, finding his voice. ‘I ‘ad nothing to do with this killing, honest I didn’t sir.’ his dark eyes, wide with fear, looked like blackened holes in the glare of the lamplight
He was on his knees, his shirt and tunic had been lifted over his head to tend his wounds and he had pulled them further so that they twined about the manacle chains. ‘I didn’t see his face, but I saw ’is boots. Expensive they were, fine leather with embroidered yellow tops.’
‘Not another word, do you hear. You are safe enough. For the moment that is.’ I said, cutting his babble. ‘You’re to be my servant, if you want it.’
‘Aye, I’ll do that your lordship. I’ll do that right well.’ he said.
‘Good. Your first job will be to say no more about what you saw. The second is to call me sir, not your lordship.’
While he rummaged around with his clothing struggling back into them as best as he could, I held the torch high and moved back into the passage.
The alcove was not as shallow as I had thought, all the walls were solid, no sign of a doorway. The roof seemed normal, but that would have been an unlikely point of entry. Glancing down, I noticed a roughly brushed outline at the edge of the pile of old straw that I had swept from the cell. It didn’t take many moments to reveal the outline of what was a cleverly concealed trapdoor that had been formed in the stone. Inadvertently I had very nearly covered it with the old and rotten straw. The stonework had been made by a master-mason, for the joints were so close I could only just insert the blade of my short dagger. I didn’t dare lever it too hard, for fear of snapping the slim piece of polished, razor-sharp steel. But I could see where it had been moved. And now that I knew it was there, I could see it quite well.
‘What’s going on. What have you found sir?’ squeaked Deaks nervously.
‘Nothing to worry about.’ I called quietly and, as I stood up, I caught the noise of approaching footsteps.
‘We’ve got a cart sir.’ said one of the returning soldiers as he bobbed his head and touched his forehead. ‘We’ll have to carry the poor old codger out to it though.’ he gestured to a plank that his comrade carried. “We’ve brought a board to carry him on. Being a friend o’yourn, we thought it wouldn’t be right to drag him or carry him like a bag of logs.’
‘Well done, both of you.’ I smiled tiredly. ‘If you would carry him through and then take the body back to his house, I’ll meet you down there shortly. What’s your name?’
‘Barney sir. Short for Barnabus.’ the grimy face broke into a toothy grin.
With another bob of his head, the man organised the task and they shuffled awkwardly out with their sad load. No sooner had they gone than the burley form of the blacksmith filled the narrow passage as his rolling gait brought him toward us.
‘Good day to you young sir.’ he said as he approached. He put his tool bag down and took off his cap. ‘The missus and me were right sorry to hear about ole Styg. He was a good ole boy.’ his free hand absently crossed himself. ‘Now, what can I do for you sir?’
Briefly, I told him of the Kings warrant concerning the prisoner. ‘But before you attend to that, do you think you could lift this flag? I think it’s an old entranceway to a cave or passageway.’
Undisguised doubt crossed the man’s face like a shadow. He bent and examined the stone and the close joint, pulling his soft cap back over his thinning and scorched scalp.
‘I reckon as you could be right you know. You can see where the joint’s been cleaned out and that corner edge has been polished.’ he pointed to the nearest corner of the flagstone. ‘Reckon I’ve got just the thing in my bag young sir.’
From his bag he drew out a long, tapered iron spike. It fitted into the gap by the polished corner almost as though it had been made for the job. I took a step back, out of his way as he shuffled into a stance to get a good purchase.
‘Here goes then sir. I’ll give it a heave, see what happens.’
He breathed out, tensed his strong arms and, pulling firmly, he leaned back on the length of his lever.
The hidden door opened smoothly and easily. So easily that the burley blacksmith fell into a sprawling heap against the wall.
I held the torch high and peered over the edge. A narrow flight of stone steps led downwards to disappear into a wavering pool of shadows and darkness. The small hairs on my body prickled. I knew that I’d have to go down there.
Holding the torch above my head I started my way down the steps. As I descended, the light from the torch pushed back the darkness and shadows to reveal a broad cavern with a fine sandy floor. I could hear the steady dribble and drip of water from somewhere behind the lamplight but generally everything seemed quite dry. Looking carefully around, I saw that the natural cavern had been only slightly altered to become a passageway at this end. In the soft sand at the foot of the stair I noticed a host of footprints, most were trampled but others showed that someone had come along here many times, and had travelled in both directions. I followed the trodden path which took a straight line across the centre of the natural cave to arrive at an identical set of steps to those that I had just left.
I climbed up and pressed against the balanced trapdoor at the top, and like the first one, it opened easily to reveal the accommodation of a gentleman.
I must be in the Great Hall I thought, where several of the Royal advisors had the use of rooms.
There were some letters scattered on the top of a chest, the name on them didn’t surprise me. This was Devlac’s room.
Carefully leaving the chamber and its secret access as I had found it, I retraced my steps to the gaol, as I climbed the stair there were two heads silhouetted in the bright square above me. A hand reached in and took the cheap, smoky torch from me.
‘Am I glad to see you sir, we didn’t know whether to come and help you or not. It was so dark, no telling what beast may be lurking in those sorts of shadows.’ Deaks looked genuinely relieved and fussed around brushing straw-ends from my tunic.
‘I’ve taken the young lad off’n his leash sir. If he doesn’t behave...you call for me and I’ll have it back on ’im so fast he’ll not even have time to cuss.’ and with a beaming smile the big man rolled on his way.
I turned to Deaks, in the eyes of our law he would have the status of slave, but I loathed the term and all it meant, so in my eyes a servant he would be.
‘I’ll have to explain everything to you later.’ I told him. ‘Do your best to keep up. Stay with me at all times, do as you are bidden, and, for the moment, speak to no one.’
‘On my honour sir. You have my word.’ he whispered.
We marched away from the miserable place and made our way back to the Great Hall, this time by the main entrance. I went directly to the curtained doorway to the King’s day office. The guard opened the heavy leather curtain for me.
‘Stay just here Deaks. I will call for you.’
I was surprised to find that Alfred was alone, pacing the rug before the hearth. He motioned me to the fireside chair. It took only a few moments to bring him up to date with recent events, including the old, long forgotten, subterranean passageway. At the end he was a shade paler than normal.
‘I’m sorry to say that we’ve almost certainly lost the murdering swine.’
I stood up, but he waved me back down.
‘Only moments before you arrived, I had him taken to his room and a guard placed outside his door.’ he shrugged. ‘He’ll be gone by now of course. Away through his underground bolt-hole, like the deceiving rat that he is.’ Alfred prodded aggressively at the blazing logs in the hearth. ‘He did make a confession though, of sorts. He said that he’d got involved with a group of men, gambling with the dice and somehow, had lost heavily and owed them a great deal of money. He’d been blackmailed into what he did by none other than the now infamous gaoler. Who, he says, was also the ringleader of the dice games.’
In my mind, I could see it all happening. Devlac, finding that the cavern was clear, would have dashed through the passage, through the now empty gaol and would have got clear away. Those outside the Hall would not know the details of recent events so he probably managed to take a horse to make his flight even more effective. I could also see him ordering the release of Gault, again his arrest and detention would not be common knowledge to the gaoler’s guards. An untimely death would probably be the price that the gaoler would pay.
~ ~ ~
With a heaviness I made my way through the darkness to Styg’s tiny, isolated cottage. If I had old Sym I thought, we could stand a chance of finding the highborn scoundrel. But of course, by the time the hunting hound could be brought, the trail would have been confused and impossible for even his tender nose.
The prison guards that I had detailed to take the body and remain at the house were fidgeting about by the front door. By the light of a candle, I could see that they had laid the body out on the old man’s table in the bigger of the cottage’s two rooms. It was customary for folks to say their various goodbyes to a dead friend at a wake, where the main constituent was always a copious supply of ale or mead. I gave the guards a silver coin, with orders for them to take it to the wine shop and buy all who knew the old chap a jug of their fancy.
With the prospect of a good night ahead, the two men almost galloped away. The only time that the common folk broke from their labours was at wakes and parties at harvest time. Tonight promised to be a rowdy, good natured affair as Styg was known to everyone, without exception.
‘That was a bit extravagant, sir.’ commented Deaks frowning. ‘I bet that nobut a half-pennyworth reaches the throats of the good folks hereabouts.’
‘That’s my business.’ I answered, my temper sharpened by tiredness and what I now had to do. ‘Fetch me a torch.’
Deaks returned within a moment or two with, not only a torch but a pale cream coloured woollen cloak.
‘I fetched this from your rooms sir.’ he said holding the heavy garment towards me.
I’d not realised how cold it had become and shivering, I shrugged it around my shoulders, pulling it close. I took the brightly flaring torch and went into the tiny two roomed cottage. With a quiet goodbye to my old friend, I set the flames to devour the crackling-dry timbers of the master gardener’s home. As I left the heat of the already scorching room I tossed the torch into the small second room and stepped back into the chill of the night, now icy in comparison.
We moved back from the glare, a group of bystanders gathered at our backs. I heard Deaks spreading the word that there should be a lake of wine awaiting them at the wine shop and slowly the small gathering seemed to evaporate into the velvety darkness behind us.
The roof fell with a shower of sparks that seemed to climb and twine around the very stars. As the piercing flames settled themselves back into the hot embers, I turned away from the pyre with a heavy sigh, duty done.
Coarse hair pressed against my hand and a cold nose nuzzled my wrist. At my feet, looking up with the soft, deep eyes of friendship was my faithful Sym. Turning I found myself looking into the tired face of Edmund, his beard glowing red in the light from the fire.
‘I’ve just heard.’ said Edmund, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s a bad business and no mistake. I came to bring news of another funeral. We are holding a full military service for the Lord Osric tomorrow afternoon. The King wanted to know as soon as things were ready.’
He ruffled the head of the big dog. ‘I’ve brought him back. He’s been driving everyone crazy, howling and running around looking for you.’
We spent what remained of the evening in our old lodging, talking about times past and our hopes and plans. It was a relief to be open with Edmund, and tell him of my academic and foreign interests. While we chattered, Deaks used his contacts in the Household’s Kitchen to prepare a meal which he served to us with considerable skill.
Edmund had sent a messenger to my adoptive father, and it seemed that he would be at the ceremony tomorrow. It would be good to see him again.
It was quite late by the time we managed to get to sleep, but I was awake as dawn crept across the hills to the east. I dressed quietly and sent Deaks to the stable to bring out Pendragon and get him ready.
No one challenged me from the silence of the Great Hall as I made my way to Devlac’s old rooms. From the chest I chose one of the shirts that had been recently worn, and ripped a large square of material from it. I made my way back out through the main doors and, collecting Sym, made my way to the Garrison stable block.
By the time I reached the yard, Pendragon had been tacked up and was snorting twin plumes of vapour into the air from his velvety nostrils as he showed his impatience. I held the scented cloth to Sym’s cool nose and we set off, Deaks trotted along behind.
The horse kept pace with the questing dog with ease. Sym was slow to start, roving in widening circles, sniffing at the air. Eventually the amazing animal seemed to find what he was looking for and he set off at a loping trot along the new causeway road, towards the settlement known as Langport.
The settlement, not more than a dozen cottages, had grown around a busy group of grain and fulling mills. The mills, quiet at this hour, were powered by the single flow of two rivers that met in the shallow valley above the village. The area between the two rivers, immediately above the point where they met, was steeply banked and forested. It was in this direction that the road took us, crossing both rivers using shallow fords. But before we reached the second crossing, Sym swung off the track and headed into an area of closely growing hazel.
Within a few strides of leaving the road, Pendragon shied away from a crumpled heap at the side of the narrow coppicer’s path. I called to Deaks and told him to see what it was and continued after Sym, who was getting faster and had hardly missed a beat. The thick screening of hazel and willow bushes ended abruptly to give a small glade about a tall oak. Beneath one of the branches Sym had stopped and was sitting, sniffing at a body that was suspended from a length of stout cord. A horse, startled at first went back to leisurely cropping at the swathe of green grass. Deaks came up behind me, a blood stained, short dagger held gingerly in his fingers,
‘It’s...or rather it was, Gault.’ he announced holding up the wickedly slender dagger. ‘Stabbed in the back, by this’un. I’ll bet we’ll find the scabbard that fits it, on yonder cadaver.’ he said, pointing the sticky poniard at the gently swinging corpse.
Devlac’s body appeared to be unharmed, except for the rope marks. It seemed he had committed the final, mortal sin, of suicide. We cut the body down and with a struggle, bent and tied it over his horse. The councillor’s dead flesh was quite cold and the muscles were stiffening.
This I thought, had taken place very soon after their flight from Athelney. Quickly, we made a crude triangular shaped frame using the rough-cut timber around us and fastened the wider end to the front of the Devlac’s saddle so that the two arms passed around the animal’s quarters and rested on the ground. We strapped Gault’s bulk across the trailing rails of our frame and with the remains of his recent master draped across the saddle, the horse, ably encouraged by Deaks, steadily bore the morning’s quarry home.
I followed behind, feeling many more than my young seventeen years of age.