by Chris Ward
‘My lady,’ Reigin spoke carefully for he did not wish to seem unsupportive. ‘I am sure you have an understanding in these matters which is well beyond mine, but it would seem that to do this, if indeed it is possible, we would require time and materials and a secure place to undertake such a plan, but we are watched continually... I am at a loss to see how it can be carried out.’
Sylvion took a deep breath. ‘You are right on all counts Reigin, but we can do it. Today we must appear normal, so tonight I will explain my plan to you in detail. Now you should open the doors and raise the portcullis for the guards must be waiting and Captain Bach will no doubt wish to inspect my incarceration. Tonight Reigin, I will explain all tonight.’
And so the day progressed like any other. She went to the parapet and stood alone in chains watching the men below work and parade about, and she heard Bach talking briefly with Reigin. Her heart though was soaring, for she could see what must be done and indeed how it could be achieved. It was madness, but it would work, she was sure of it. She spent the afternoon talking with Grundig and reading from his history, for in it she found some useful information which would assist in her wonderful plan. Reigin was aloof, but she sensed a great tension in him, for his intelligent mind was in some turmoil trying to make sense of his new position, and the assertion she had made about how they would escape the Vault. When night fell, and the doors were securely barred and they were alone once more, Sylvion, now free from all restraints, began to lay out her plan.
It took no more than three span, for as the candle, so marked, which burned evenly on the table before them reached the third red line, Sylvion stepped back and stretched. Before her, the table top was covered in rude charcoal drawings which described her plan. She felt elated, for whilst a part of her understood the possibilities for escape which, now that she had drawn it all out seemed simple to achieve, a still deeper part in her very soul knew that her lost kindpa would be proud of her. She could almost hear him saying, Well done my little Sylvion, you’ve understood my mad ramblings, and he would hold her close and they would laugh together in the pleasure of it all.
Reigin sat and rubbed his chin. He then stood and stretched before looking up at the vast canopy shimmering and moving above them like some trapped animal desperate to be set free.
‘You think that this, this collection of pictures will float us away... ‘ He paused for Sylvion’s plan seemed part madness, part sorcery, and yet she spoke with such conviction and belief that it would work, and she was a woman possessed with remarkable powers and insights... could it really work, or will we end up falling to our deaths, he wondered. He could think of nothing to say beyond a poor attempt at humour.
‘Grundig will be furious if he knew you were going to steal his precious banners.’
‘Grundig will try to stop us if he even so much as has the smallest reason to suspect we are up to something, so we must act in the manner I have stated. You understand me Reigin, we will get one chance at this. Everything depends on it.’ Sylvion spoke with an earnestness which could not be ignored and Reigin reacted instinctively by bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword.
‘My lady we will do as you instruct; have no fear, I will play my part.
‘The amazing thing is Reigin,’ she continued, accepting his statement with a smile, ‘we have it all here before us, all we need is more rope and I am sure you will be able to get that on some pretence. We need but two days to set it up and with luck and if the weather holds fair for a time we will escape like no other escape has ever been achieved. Once we have all the necessary equipment, we seal the doors like you do every night and we are safe for more time than we need, ...although there is one small problem...’ Sylvion’s face creased with a frown for she had seen suddenly the one great flaw in her marvellous plan.
‘And what is that my lady?’ Reigin spoke gently for he saw her distress.
‘The cauldron Reigin, I know we can lift it to the doorway to the parapet using the rope and pulleys used to hold the canopy up, but it must go through the doorway or we are lost. Come we must measure it, for this is the devil in my plan.’ She immediately took the candle and raced to the small hatchway leading to the crawlspace below the floor. She opened it easily and stepped down into the blackness. ‘Quick Reigin, fetch me a rod, something to measure the depth here.’ She looked around, ‘I know, use one of the brass rods which hold the banners to the wall.’ Reigin obeyed without question, and easily removed one of the many brass rods which passed through the seamed loops at the bottom of each banner, and which was then held by simple hooks to the stone walls of the vaulted chamber. It was about three cubits in length.
‘This should do my lady.’ As he passed it to her, Sylvion looked up at Reigin and spoke with a gentle intensity which took him completely by surprise.
‘My name is Sylvion, and you shall address me by this for the present. Who knows what the future holds, and it maybe that my lady will be called upon once more; but for now we are equals and together we do this as equals. Sylvion...understand Reigin?’
‘Yes my...yes Sylvion. As you wish.’ As the huge soldier struggled for his words, once more bewildered by her sudden change of thought, she took the rod and measured from the stone floor below to the top of the oak floor on which he stood. She held her finger to the measure and then carefully instructed Reigin to help her out, taking care not to lose her mark. In a trice she was back by the fire and using a charcoal stick carefully preserved her measure by laying one end of the rod level with the table end and marking the table edge where her finger rested on the rod. Having transferred this measure to the table Sylvion braved the heat of the fire to measure the height of the cauldron above the floor, and this too she transferred to the measure on the table, adding it to the first measurement. She now had the full height of the cauldron, and her heart sank, for by her estimate it was too great to go through the doorway to the parapet. She forced herself to make a new mark on the brass rod for the full measure, and then with Reigin lighting the way they climbed the steps which wound around the vaulted chamber to the platform at the ceiling, from which a door led out onto the huge parapet roof. Reigin swung the door open and with the frozen air outside swirling down around them, Sylvion measured the distance between the jambs. She cursed softly, but with great intensity.
‘Too narrow by a handspan. It can’t be done.’ The frustration in her voice was palpable. Reigin nodded but did not speak. He closed the door, and taking the brass rod from Sylvion measured the opening in the stonework.
‘Not if we take the door out,’ he said, happy to have some contribution to the plan. Sylvion looked startled.
‘You can do that?’
Reigin inspected the solid oak frame which held the door. ‘With a few tools I’ll be able to do it,’ he said. ‘It will take some time but it can be done.’ Sylvion’s relief was obvious.
‘Thankyou Reigin. We will make a great team you and I,’ and she reached out and placed her hand on his and he felt her warmth and softness, and marvelled at how good it was.
They returned to the fire and this time sat together, the beautiful Sylvion alongside the huge soldier whose every sinew and well defined muscle in the warm firelight seemed to exude a strength beyond anything human. They talked long into the night about the plan until each knew what had to be done, and then the Wolver-no-longer, now Reigin, servant of Sylvion Greyfeld of the House of Hendon, and heir to the throne of all Revelyn, retired to his bed on the rough oak table on the far side of the fire cauldron. They lay quietly looking up into the ever shimmering canopy and wondered where it would take them, for their lives were committed to it, and all the legends and stories it depicted would travel with them, until they made their escape, or perished in the trying.
*
The voice of Captain Bach icily penetrated the chilled vault air, for the morning fire had not yet had time to warm much beyond itself.
‘Wolver, what is the prisoner doing?’ Having just completed his fir
st parade he had entered the chamber, and was now standing with an exaggerated authority and staring with amazement at the sight of Sylvion, shackled and somewhat dishevelled, struggling with a sack of charcoal half way up the stone steps to the parapet. ‘Why is she taking that sack up there?’ The Wolver, for Bach knew him as nothing else, was sitting comfortably by the fire with his feet up, and sipping a hot brew of taub, a drink which Grundig had introduced him to, consisting of three parts goat milk, a few spoons of sweet nectar and one part ground root of the taub bush, which was dark in colour and dissolved easily in hot water to give a sweet smelling somewhat euphoric drink with a consistency not unlike whipped cream.
Reigin, smiled slowly and set the large brew down. It left a distinct mark around his lips which Sylvion thought comical, but she hid her mirth well for she knew her act with the sack had to be convincing. ‘Captain she is taking the sack to the parapet.’
‘I can see that man, but why, there is no need for charcoal on the parapet!’
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, R
ema 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.
