The Siege of Salwarpe

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Then we’re lost,’ said Reynold. ‘And what’s more, we’re trapped here, where Hugo can send to pick us up as he pleases.’

  Ursula gave him an indignant look. ‘Do you think Dickon would betray us? None saw us come, and none will see us leave. Dickon, can you get us to the bottom of the cliff?’

  ‘Why, my little maid, we can but try. But have you thought as how the men in the boat will see you clear in the dawn, when you climb the cliff?’

  ‘In the dawn!’ Reynold swore. ‘Are we to wait till then, to be picked off with crossbows as we climb a cliff to a place where the defenders will rain down arrows on us? If the people in the castle don’t know we’re coming, they’re sure to mistake us for enemies …’

  ‘We are in your hands, Master Dickon,’ said Benedict, as quiet as usual. ‘You will tell us what to do.’

  The old man rubbed his chin and looked sideways at Reynold. He spat near that gallant knight’s mailed foot, and then slapped his thighs.

  ‘Aye. Ye’d best lay yourself down and rest a while. You can’t climb that cliff in the dark. No-one could. Not even the maid here.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s true,’ said Ursula.

  ‘There’s another reason for waiting a while,’ said Dickon. ‘The tide’s in now, which means that Hugo’s boat can move about freely. They’ve eight strong men aboard, and if they set their minds to it they could overtake one heavy-laden punt afore you could spit out a Hail Mary. We’ll wait till the tide’s going out, when they can only move in the channel. We’ll set out in the dark, afore dawn, going across the marshes. The punt-pole will take us where oars would not, sithee. I know every inch of the way. With luck they’ll not see us or hear us till we get to the cliff.’

  ‘Do we have to cross their path at all?’

  ‘Aye. There’s only one place you can land a boat and climb that hill, and that’s where the channel comes in. We must try to reach that point before dawn, and wait there till sunrise. Sometimes the mist hangs about the estuary all morning, but I think there’s a change coming in the weather … maybe it’ll lift with the dawn. One thing. Ye’ll have to travel without your armour. Three heavy men, a maid and a dog. …’ he shrugged. ‘Ye’ll have to sit as still as mice while the cat’s watching … or else ye’ll drown us all.’

  Benedict took off his helmet, wriggled out of his chain mail tunic and unbuckled the heavy, padded jerkin beneath. He held up his sword in its scabbard, with a questioning lift of his eyebrows.

  ‘I’d sooner ye didn’t,’ said Dickon.

  Benedict threw that down, too.

  Reynold’s face was dark. ‘Does a knight go into battle without armour? I shall retain my sword, even if you choose to disgrace your knighthood by throwing yours away.’

  Benedict said, ‘I thought it was our heads that were needed on the hill-top, not our swords.’

  With a bad grace, Reynold also divested himself of his armour.

  ‘I will take it back to the mainland and bury it where I can retrieve it later,’ said Dickon. ‘Mayhap I can even bring it out to ye another dark night, and leave it at the foot of the hill.’

  ‘Will you not come up into the safety of the castle with us?’ said Benedict. ‘Surely you will be safer, there.’

  ‘Nenni,’ said Dickon. ‘I be afeared of heights. The little lass knows.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ursula, caressing the old man. ‘I do know. But I wish you would try, just this once, Dickon. If Hugo finds out that you have tricked him, and been the means of Benedict’s getting into Salwarpe … what then?’

  ‘Why, then I’ll take to the punt and hide in the reeds till he be gone home again. Ye cannot tear Dickon from his roots, mistress. Now rest ye awhile. I will take the horses back to the mainland, with the armour. I have a cousin lives not far away to the east. I will have his lad bury the armour, and hide the horses on his farm. I will leave the dog with ye, and he will give warning should any man approach … though it is not likely any will venture on the marshes at this time of night. If any comes, ye must take to the punt and hide in the rushes till they be gone again.’

  So saying, the old man pushed Ursula towards his bed and went out into the night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ursula shivered, huddled next the dog in the prow of the punt. The night was at its darkest, but the whisper of the tide going out suggested that time was rapidly passing.

  They waited in the reeds, hearing nothing but the suck and gurgle of water in the mud around them. They had to locate the guard boat before they could move out of the reeds.

  The dog was pointing into the mist, the hairs on its neck bristling. The dog was well-trained, and would not bark when cautioned against doing so by Dickon, but obviously it scented danger.

  Through the mist before them they received further news of the guard boat. The chink of mail, the creak of a timber … and now and then they caught the glimmer of light from a lanthorn swinging at the mast.

  The punt also carried a lanthorn, but it was not lit.

  Something brushed at Ursula’s cheek. She looked up, to see the dim figure of Dickon stiffen to attention, too. The wind had changed with the coming of the dawn.

  This meant that the mist would lift, and they be exposed to full view very shortly.

  Ursula felt rather than saw Benedict turn his head, as if to ask Dickon what they should do. But Benedict did not speak, or even move his arm. For that Ursula was grateful. Any sudden movement, and they would be shipping water. If she rested her hand on the side of the punt, her fingers would be in the water.

  There was a new, longer sucking sound. Dickon had withdrawn his pole from the mud, where he had been holding the punt steady … and was leaning forward to place it into the mud once more, further along … and withdrawing it, dripping … and then in again … tirelessly sending the punt forward. …

  Ursula’s head swivelled. They were shooting across the channel under the very nose of the guardboat. They would pass within feet of it. And if the mist should lift at that point …!

  Dripping pole and surge of punt … a drag, a pull and a lift … and still the mist was about them, but beginning to swirl here and there in ominous fashion … and to become lighter … surely that was not the lanthorn on the guard boat, but the sun rising?

  Then the pole was set more surely into the mud, and the punt began to shoot along even faster as the channel became narrower and more shallow, approaching the bank … and the tide ran out fast, as it always did at this point, directly under the cliff …

  And now they were brushing through the branches of a willow that grew at the base of the hill, and …

  A shout from behind …!

  Ursula looked back, to see the whole of the estuary laid out in shining colours with the lifting of the mist. The guard boat was close, far closer than she had thought it would be. It was close enough for a man with a crossbow to pick them off one by one. But you could not shoot with accuracy from a boat which was rocking. The foolish landsmen who manned the guardboat had all crowded to one side to peer at the punt and its occupants.

  ‘Now I could wish for my chain-mail back again,’ said Reynold.

  Benedict stood with care and leaped for the shore. The dog jumped at his heels. Reynold lurched forward, steadied by Ursula.

  Dickon was crouching in the punt, rigid with fear. His chin was on his shoulder, and his hands still clasped the punt-pole.

  ‘You must come with us,’ said Benedict, holding out his hand to Dickon. ‘They will kill you, otherwise. You cannot get back into the rushes in time …’

  ‘I cannot climb,’ quavered Dickon. ‘I cannot look down …’

  Above them the cliff towered sheer. It was at first sight a mystery how anyone could climb it, unless they had ropes.

  ‘Then this will be the first time,’ said Benedict, splashing into the water to take the pole out of Dickon’s hands and snatch the pigeons and the lanthorn from the prow. ‘Come, or you will endanger the maiden.’

  ‘Take my
hand,’ said Ursula, grabbing Dickon’s arm. ‘And don’t look down!’

  ‘The punt …!’ cried Dickon.

  A bolt from a crossbow spanged into the water nearby and showered them with spray. Reynold started up a narrow track to the right, barely more than a cleft up the rock.

  ‘No, this way!’ cried Ursula. ‘That is a blind alley.’

  ‘My punt!’ cried Dickon, in agony, as he was dragged away.

  Benedict had secured the punt’s rope to the bole of the willow. Now, using his great strength, he tipped one end of the punt under water, so that it slowly sank out of sight.

  Ursula started aside as earth spat at her from the bank. An arrow had missed her by no more than six inches. Then she was hauling Dickon up and into a scrubby area, where the eyes of the marksmen on the boat could not pick them out.

  Reynold was panting, his face mottled. Benedict breathed through his mouth and wiped a trickle of blood from the back of his hand. The climb was a steep one, but the path clear enough so far.

  ‘There is some cover for the next few yards,’ said Ursula. ‘And then there is a scree. The slightest false step and you will end up at the foot of the cliff, so follow me, but do not try to move quickly …’

  ‘A scree?’ said Benedict. ‘That means loose stones, doesn’t it?’ He grinned. ‘Give me five minutes, and I’ll delay those marksmen while you get across the scree.’

  He crept off up the hill, leaving his basket of pigeons and the lanthorn behind. A moment later he reappeared, with an armful of fist-sized stones. He slid down the track again towards the water, and presently they heard a commotion out on the water, as Benedict began to chuck stones at the boat. The landsmen were alarmed, as well they might be—conceiving they had been lured into an ambush.

  ‘Now!’ cried Ursula. She picked up the pigeons and, dragging Dickon, she set off across the treacherous scree. Dickon was quaking, and praying in snatches.

  Reynold followed at her heels, the dog bounding ahead. Reynold slipped, and set off a stream of stones. They rolled down the steep face of the cliff until they dropped into the water. They were over the scree and clinging to some scrubby hawthorns.

  ‘Which way now?’ cried Reynold.

  ‘To the right, and then back on your tracks, but …’ She had been going to say that they ought to wait for Benedict, but Reynold was off. Dickon had his hands over his eyes. He was trembling too much to move of his own volition.

  Then Benedict was with them, carrying the lanthorn and still smiling. He said to Ursula, ‘Can you manage the pigeons?’ Without waiting for an answer, he dragged Dickon to his feet, told him to keep his eyes closed if it made him feel any better, and swept on up the path.

  Round a corner they climbed, back on their tracks, and then a large boulder gave them protection from below, and a moment in which to breathe and look around. Benedict looked round the boulder and down. He drew back, wiping his hand across his forehead. ‘Christ!’ he said. ‘It’s a long way down. I begin to see what Dickon means …’

  ‘Not far now,’ said Ursula, casting off her cloak. ‘Another patch of scree, but out of their sight … then into the gully … Pray God the ropes are still there!’

  Benedict snatched up her cloak. ‘Do you need this any more?’ She shook her head, making sure her skirts were well kilted. There were sounds from below as of the guard boat being rowed into the cliff. Reynold reappeared, eyes wide.

  ‘We’re trapped. … it’s a dead end!’

  Benedict was lighting the candle in the lantern from his tinderbox, his hands steady. He seemed absorbed in his task, He wrenched out the sides of the lantern and wound the cloak round part of it till it caught fire.

  ‘I’m coming,’ said Ursula to Reynold. ‘It’s up the gully to the left. There should be some ropes dangling …’

  ‘There’s nothing, I tell you!’

  ‘Gently!’ said Benedict. ‘There’s plenty of time. …’ He began to swing the lantern and cloak by one end of the material. The flames hissed as he swung … and then he stepped out beyond the boulder, and swung once more. … and let his flaming missile go. … falling out and down. … onto the guard boat below.

  Screams and shoutings … splashings … confusion. …

  ‘Now,’ said Benedict, adding another smear of dirt to his forehead. ‘Let’s see what we can do to make ourselves heard up top.’

  Ursula was standing within the gully, looking up. There were no ropes dangling, as there used to be. ‘Someone must have seen the commotion from above,’ she said, as Benedict came up, dragging Dickon with him. ‘Surely they must guess who it is who comes this way!’

  ‘Did you have a favourite tune that you used to sing? Or whistle?’

  Ursula clapped her hands. ‘If only my mouth were not so dry. …’

  She began to whistle. Dickon had collapsed into a groaning heap at their feet, and the pigeons rustled and chirked in their basket. Reynold bit on his thumb-nail.

  ‘It’s not going to work,’ he said.

  ‘Stand forward!’ cried a voice from above. ‘Stand forward so that we can see you, and no tricks, mind!’

  Ursula stepped forward. ‘It is I, Ursula—with friends! Let down the ropes at once, I beseech thee, or we will all be lost!’

  There was an oath from above, and then another voice broke in, giving orders.

  ‘Our sergeant-at-arms,’ said Ursula. ‘They must have fetched him to see who was trying to break in through the postern … as if anyone would!’

  ‘Why not? We came this way,’ said Benedict. ‘Was there a proper stair up the hill once?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Ursula. ‘Years ago … before I was born. But there was a landslip or something. …’

  Then at last a rope came slithering down the gully; knotted at intervals; it was possible, but not easy to climb. Ursula went first, to show them how to do it. There were about twelve feet of rope for her to climb, and then she was helped up onto a rocky platform outside the postern gate.

  Benedict shouted that they should haul the rope up next, which they did; to the end of the rope Benedict had tied the pigeon’s basket, and on top the basket balanced Dickon’s dog, barking with excitement and terror.

  Then Reynold, slipping and sweating. …

  And finally Benedict half climbed and half allowed himself to be drawn up, the rope wound round his chest, with Dickon over his shoulder. Dickon had fainted.

  ‘Ah, he never could a-bear heights,’ said the gate-keeper.

  Amid an excited group of people, the newcomers were pushed and pulled through the gate into the interior of the castle. Some tried to touch Ursula, some to revive Dickon, and some to calm his excited dog.

  Then the crowd parted to let through a tall man, wearing a golden surcoat over chain-mail.

  Ursula clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle hysteria. She had left her grandfather an old man with white hair; an upright old man, it was true, but a man who generally took his time about things. When no company was expected, Sir Henry was accustomed to wear an old brown fustian gown, and shabby leather hunting-boots.

  Now his hair and moustaches had been miraculously returned to their former gold, and his cheeks bore a freshness, a ruddiness, which was not natural, but which, at a distance, might pass for youth.

  His eyes, only, were the same. Slightly weary, heavily lidded, they bore the same look of faded blue patience as had always been turned on her when she reappeared from childhood escapades in a dirty condition.

  She straightened her dress and then went to him. She put both arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. His mailed arm came up to hold her close. Her eyes were bright and tearless. Usually she ran to him and clasped her arms round his neck. But not now.

  She felt old, and drained of her usual energy. She felt that she loved her grandfather very much—far more than she had ever realised.

  She supposed she might be growing up at last.

  ‘Child,’ he said. And that was all. It was all she
needed.

  She stepped back, but retained his hand in hers. ‘You did not know we were coming, and that my lord Aylmer is raising a force to relieve us?’

  There was a murmur of pleased surprise around her. No, they had not known.

  ‘We knew a pigeon had been despatched to us. It was shot down within sight of the walls. And then Hugo send a herald under a white flag of truce, to deliver a letter …’

  ‘It was not Aylmer’s letter, I’ll be bound!’

  ‘No, it said nothing about raising a force to relieve us. I took no heed of it, but …’ The blue eyes blinked. ‘I am pleased to see you, Ursula.’

  She pressed his fingers, which trembled within hers. He was having to make an effort to hold himself straight. The strain of these last few days must have been tremendous … and heaven only knew what lying message Hugo had sent! In a little while she would enquire, but in the meantime there were other duties to perform.

  Reynold de Cressi was bowing before her grandfather. Even as he bent his head, he sent Ursula a fleeting glance of complicity and amusement, which told her as clearly as if he had put it into words, that Reynold thought her grandfather a doddering old fool, so to ape youth.

  ‘This, grandfather, is one of my lord Aylmer’s most trusted knights. May I present to you Sir Reynold de Cressi, a knight renowned for his prowess in the tourney, and most humbly at your service.’

  ‘You are most welcome, sir.’ Did the old voice quaver? Perhaps. Reynold obviously thought it did, for he was not too careful about hiding a grin as he acknowledged Sir Henry’s greeting.

  Ursula looked round for Benedict. Needless to say, the man was showing signs of his rough passage up the gully. His black tunic was rumpled and stained. His hair was tousled, his face dirty, and there was an expression of terror on his face. He would back away from the introduction, if given half a chance.