At first she thought it was a well. A circular wooden cover lay in the grass among the docks, no more than a few broken pieces of wood, long forgotten. She stepped to the edge and looked down. It was the blackest hole, a void, a nothing in the nothingness of pitch. It could have been a hole into hell, into the black Styx that divides life from death.
She knelt down on the edge. ‘Hallo-o-o?’ The echo of her voice returned weirdly distorted. It seemed that something shifted and stopped, like the fleeting movement of a wild animal. She called again. ‘Frank? Are you there?’
Her voice came back with all its uncertainty amplified.
A scuffle in the depths of the black hole made her dip her head to hear more clearly. But there was nothing but silence.
‘Frank? I’m a friend. I know you didn’t murder Robin. Frank? Speak to me.’ Her words were thrown back, mingled without sense, confused and fading.
When they died a sound like a wounded monster wound its way to the top of the shaft.
‘Help me. I’m dying.’
Dying.
‘I will help.’
Help, came the echo.
‘Wait! Are you alone?’ His voice came back frightened as well as full of pain.
Alone.
‘I’ll have to get help. Are you wounded?’
Out of a cacophony of echoes came a groan. ‘My legs! My back!’
Legs. Back.
‘I’ll get help.’
Help.
‘Who are you?’
You.
‘Hildegard of Meaux. And you are Frank Atkinson and I believe you are innocent.’
From out of the depths came the clear words.
‘Bless you, lady, I am almost done for.’
Done for.
Hildegard stood up and ran as fast as she could - back along the path, over the rough ground, through the trees, picking up the river path on the other side and, finding no sign of the two windlassmen, she rounded a corner and ran on into the street.
They were walking briskly up ahead.
‘Stop!’
They both turned. When she ran up she said, ‘You must have a powerful thirst to be so quick off the mark!’
She could not see in the poor light which one replied but one of them said, ‘We knew you’d come running-scared if we left you.’
‘It’s not that. I’ve found him! Frank. I know where he is and he’s injured and I need your help at once. Can you get a rope from your yard?’
It had involved forcing the lock on the gates to the masons’ lodge but Ulric seemed to have no problems with that. They accompanied her back along the river bank, through the copse and onto the rough ground, moving at a run, eager to see if what she said was true.
‘He must be down that old surveyor’s shaft,’ Ulric said.
Breathless, Col panted, ‘My grandam used to warn us about that. Bottomless it is. They say that bishop had it dug before they laid foundations for the cathedral back in the time of the old kings.’
They reached the edge of the shaft and looked down into it.
‘Give him a shout then,’ suggested Ulric as if suddenly frightened of committing himself to the rescue by submitting his own voice.
Hildegard knelt down on the edge and peered into the void.
‘Frank?’ The name echoed back to them like a voice from a crypt. ‘It’s me. I’m back with help. Can you hear me?’
The echo added its emphasis as before and from the same confusion of reverberations the same growl wound its way to the top. ‘Get me out of here!’
Hildegard turned to the men. ‘Good job you’re both strong lads. What I suggest is, you lower me down first to see how badly injured he is and to make sure the rope’s tied safely on him. We don’t want him falling twice over.’
They uncoiled the rope and she tied one end round her waist and, while the two winchmen held onto the rest of it in a reassuringly confident manner, she sat on the edge and with feet pressed on the opposite side began to inch slowly down the shaft.
It was a nerve wracking procedure because she had no idea how deep it was nor whether the rope would be long enough. Half way down she encountered a lot of crumbling earth, made loose by the roots of a bush working its way into it. Then gravel and then, suddenly, she was sitting on the ground with something living and animal-like pressing against her.
‘Frank?’
‘Me.’
‘What’s this about your legs?’
‘I can’t stand. I think I’ve broken them.’
‘Anything else broken?’
‘Only my heart.’
‘We’ll deal with that later.’
‘I should be dead. A bush broke my fall. But for that I’d be...’ He began to weep.
Frank’s exit from the shaft involved a lot of groaning and stertorous breathing from above. Down inside it was even blacker when Frank’s bulk blocked out the paler light of the night sky at the rim. She sat in darkness for a moment until he was levered out. It was full night up at the top. The silvery April twilight had been erased some time ago leaving only starlight in a bright road across the heavens.
Sounds floated down to the bottom of the shaft but they were too confused to identify. Then came a long silence. With a shiver of fear she realised she was trapped down here. Recklessly, she had put all her trust in the two windlassmen and another man accused of murder. They could leave her here. What was she to them? No-one would know she was here unless an inquisitive person such as herself thought to wander into the scrub.
Something hit her in the face. It slithered round her neck like a snake. A snake? She flinched back with a yelp, recovered her wits and reached out to grasp what she was pleased to discover was the end of a rope.
Winding it round her waist, she tied a knot that would hold, and called up to the men. It was somehow worse being dragged to the top because all the forces in play wanted to pull her down again but the rope was used for hauling heavy stone up the side of the steeple and easily took the strain of a human body - as she was already aware.
Moments later she was scrabbling at the rim of the shaft where the long grass was flattened. Strong arms hauled her over the brink to safety.
Ulric grunted, ‘He’s delirious. Babbling like a mad man. We think he’s got a fever. What do we do with him now?’
They all turned to look at the man lying on the ground. He was groaning and muttering something they could not make out through the veil of pain that distorted his words. While she was down the shaft Hildegard had been working out what to do next. It was no good handing Frank over to the serjeants unless he had some proof of his innocence to offer them.
At first she thought it would be a good idea to ask the tavern-keeper at the Cat, who seemed a pragmatic type, to take Frank in and give him a bed until matters were more certain.
Then it seemed a bad idea when she imagined the in and out of so many people to his private quarters, wife, female servants, you name it, she told herself. News would be round the town in a flash.
Now she said, ‘We’ll need something to carry him on as he says he can’t walk.’
Col disappeared into the trees without a word. Ulric took off his cloak, threw it down so it covered the injured man, and followed him. When they returned they had two stout saplings roughly trimmed. The cloak was snatched off Frank and thrown over the poles. It was tied on with lengths of the rope that had brought them both to the top.
‘Shift him onto that, Col. By the shoulders.’
With more sweat and curses they managed to drag Frank onto the stretcher. He lay as helpless as a broken-winged bird.
Gasping through pain he said, ‘Thanks, fellas. I owe you. You’ll have a barrel-load of hail marys from me if I get through this.’
‘A barrel-load of ale would do us, bro.’
‘Aye, and save your prayers for yourself,’ replied Ulric, gruffly.
When they lifted him off the ground he groaned but managed to gasp, ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Straight to the serjeant,’ quipped Col. ‘Claim our reward. Where else?’
‘I wouldn’t care.’ Frank gave another groan as his body jolted onto the stretcher.
Hildegard led the way and acted as look-out. Not all the town thought well of the injured man.
When they reached the lane end they came to a stop. ‘I can assure you,’ she said, ‘it will be best. She will not say no.’
There was no-one in sight and she indicated to the winchmen that they could emerge from the shadows. At a brisk rate they carried the now almost unconscious Frank down the street to the doors of the house of the Benedictines.
‘Made it,’ muttered Ulric, setting down his end of the stretcher in unison with Col. ‘We’ll scarper now if you don’t mind, domina.’
‘Not a word,’ warned Hildegard.
‘And undo all our good work? Remember us in your prayers, if you will.’
Sister Elwis lived up to the opinion Hildegard already had of her and after listening to a brief explanation she gave a quick glance left and right along the street and opened the door wide. ‘Can he drag himself inside?’
Frank, urged on by the two women, somehow managed to half crawl, half slither over the threshold. As soon as the door was shut Hildegard gave a sigh of relief. ‘Safe enough for now.’
‘Let’s have more light and see about these legs of his,’ suggested the nun. ‘I shall wake one of the sisters. I’m sure between the three of us we can get him onto a mattress and out of sight should the serjeants come knocking.’