by K. M. Grant
Ellie too was planning, and equally frustrated. She had been so happy yesterday, when she discovered Will’s cellar was empty. It never occurred to her that his absence might be temporary. But after her evening encounter with the sergeant, her nerves were fraying again. De Scabious was returning. This dreadful wedding loomed so close. But if Will had escaped, where was he now and how long would it take him to get back? Maybe—and Ellie’s legs felt weak at the thought—maybe he had escaped just after de Scabious left, but something had happened to him. Or maybe he had got back to Hartslove, but Gavin had refused to help him.
“Or maybe I imagined it,” she said to Old Nurse as she stared gloomily out of the window.
“Imagined what, dearie?”
“Imagined that Will was not in the cellar,” replied Ellie impatiently. “I mean, it was dark.”
“But you felt the tunnel entrance,” said Old Nurse, dropping her voice and tapping Ellie on the shoulder to remind her not to speak too loudly.
“Yes, I did. I really did. I really did, didn’t I, Old Nurse?”
“That’s what you told me.” Old Nurse remained placid. “And you’re not given to fancies.”
“Then why does nobody come to help?” Ellie despaired. “Soon it will all be too late.”
Old Nurse made no comment. She let Ellie’s frustrations run their course before suggesting that they stitch some of her most precious possessions inside her cloak so that if rescue did come, she could be sure of leaving nothing behind. Ellie agreed at once. At least it was something to do. She was still wearing the green jasper necklace, but out of her pocket brought Gavin’s battered wooden dog, which was now missing an ear. Old Nurse fetched needles and thread and began to sew.
The sun was still high in the sky when there was shouting from the battlements. Ellie rushed to the window, hoping against hope to see the Hartslove standard. But all that greeted her was the constable’s high voice calling for the sergeant and the sight of her tormentor, not astride a graceful chestnut stallion, but sitting in an ungainly heap on an ugly roan palfrey. Ellie gasped, then, her hand over her mouth, she flew down the tower steps and into the courtyard, searching frantically among the returning horses for the familiar red color and white star. None of the soldiers would meet her eye. Careless of her dignity, Ellie eventually ran to the constable and shook his leg.
“Where is Hosanna?” she demanded. “Where is Hosanna?”
De Scabious’s tongue flicked over his lips, and he rolled uneasily in his saddle. “Have you no welcome for your bridegroom?” he wheedled.
Ellie shook his leg harder. “Where’s Hosanna?” she repeated.
“Hosanna?” The constable was deliberately vague. “Oh, Hosanna! That dratted horse of William Ravensgarth’s?” He tried to sound as if he had never heard the name before. “Hosanna,” he said, “is, quite simply, dead. He slipped and fell. The roads really are shocking. Anyway, there was nothing to be done. A butcher dealt with him, my dear. Never mind. He was really quite unsuitable as a warhorse for a knight in the late twelfth century. We have to progress, you know. We need bigger, stronger animals these days.”
There was a moment’s complete silence as Ellie tried to take in what the constable had said.
“You have killed Hosanna?” It started as a disbelieving question, but as Ellie said it again, and saw the nervous tick in the constable’s eyes, it began to change from a question into an unearthly wail. “You have killed Hosanna,” she repeated softly, then louder as her voice crept up. “You have killed Hosanna.” Again and again she forced out the words—impossible words, but the only ones she found she could utter—until she was shouting them so loudly that they filled her head, pushing out everything else.
Unable to make out anything very clearly amid the hubbub, Will, nevertheless, heard Ellie’s cry and, breathless with foreboding, jumped to clutch on to the grating. But it was no good. He could see nothing and threw himself against the wall, hammering it with frustration. It was only when the soldiers fell silent, terrified and appalled by Ellie’s ceaseless lamentation, that everything became apparent, and Will felt as if the blood were draining from his body. It was at first impossible to move; then he too began to shout and to bang his fists against the door. He must have misheard. Surely he must have misheard. Ellie could not be saying what he thought she was saying. He roared and howled until his fists were bloody and his throat raw, begging to be let out. From high up in the tower, Old Nurse dropped everything and began to lumber down the stairs.
A stinging slap brought Ellie to her senses. Deafened by the noise, de Scabious dismounted and hit her smartly across one cheek. She choked, but could still hear hammering and moaning. It was a second or two before she realized that the noise was not coming from her but from Will’s cellar. Her whole body shook as the living nightmare grew darker and deeper. Surely Will was not in the cellar? But it sounded like him.
De Scabious’s head was splitting. Ellie’s animal laments had turned into sobs, but now Will’s had taken their place. Finally his temper snapped. “Get Master William out of the cellar,” he shrieked. “I’ll teach him to make such a din.”
At that moment Old Nurse appeared. She thundered across the courtyard and made to take Ellie in her arms. But the girl seized her shoulders and shook them. “Old Nurse, Old Nurse,” she wept. “He’s killed Hosanna. He’s killed Hosanna.”
Old Nurse held Ellie as tightly as she could and added her own horrified chorus. “If this is true, you are a filthy, wicked man. A filthy, wicked man. May God damn you and yours to hell for eternity.”
De Scabious spun around. “You fat hellcat,” he snarled. “I’ll deal with you later.”
The sergeant was busy with his keys. As the prison door was unlocked Old Nurse could hear Will’s cries clear as day. Whatever Ellie thought, he was certainly in the cellar now. It nearly broke her heart to see him dragged out, blinking, into the daylight. He was almost unrecognizable, with his ragged clothes and stricken face. But there was nothing wrong with his lungs.
“What have you done with my horse, de Scabious? What have you done with my horse?” he yelled, kicking and twisting in the sergeant’s grasp. “If you have hurt him, you will die for it. I swear it, you’ll die. And when you’re dead, God will punish you, and your punishment will never end.”
De Scabious, keeping carefully out of reach of Will’s flailing feet, nodded to the sergeant, who threw Will to the ground and slashed the cellar key across his face. This achieved nothing. The pain and blood did not stop the shouting for even one second, so the sergeant punched Will’s stomach and back until his shouting became weaker and eventually there were just groans. De Scabious rubbed his hands together.
“Hosanna is dead,” he said, recovering himself as his head stopped ringing. “You had better get used to it. The butcher who slaughtered him was very efficient. I don’t believe the horse suffered, at least”—he couldn’t resist it—“not very much. That is the end of the matter.” He turned his back and began to walk away.
“The end of the matter?” Will hauled himself to his feet. “No, de Scabious. Do not think, even for a second, that this is the end. I will pursue you to the ends of the earth. I’ll find you and rip out your guts and serve them to the hounds. I’ll never forgive you. Never, do you hear me?”
He bent down, picked up a stone, and threw it. It hit the constable hard behind his knee. He yelped and swore, his little eyes like red gimlets holes and his hand on his sword. But Will would not be cowed, and his curses and Ellie’s now made a fearful duet.
“Keep Eleanor quiet, Old Nurse!” screamed the constable, who could take no more.
But Old Nurse joined in herself. “You are filth, de Scabious!” Her roar echoed round the walls. “Utter filth. You disgrace your name. If any of the soldiers here had any gumption, they’d leave you now, before the devil comes to claim you—because he will, you ugly piece of excrement, he will, and when he does, everybody with you will be damned.”
Her imp
recations grew louder and louder and more and more earthy until the constable was reduced to putting his fingers in his ears. “Chuck them all in the cellar!” He had to make his voice high as a banshee’s to be heard. “Chuck them in and throw away the key. Here, I’ll do that bit myself. Let them all rot. Even the girl. Just get them out of my sight. Go on, go on, get on with it. Don’t stand there like cabbages. Get them out of my sight. GET THEM OUT OF MY SIGHT!”
The soldiers surged forward as de Scabious grabbed the iron key ring from the sergeant. All three prisoners were bundled through the cellar door, and the constable, fumbling and blustering, ground the key into the lock before running jerkily to the well and throwing it into the bottomless depths. “There.” He skipped with demonic triumph. “That’s what happens to people who make me angry.” He bounced up and down on his tiptoes, then up the steps to the hall.
The sergeant hurried after him. He had never seen de Scabious quite like this before. “That will teach them a lesson, sir,” he said nervously, for he was not sure of his master in this mood.
De Scabious ignored him. He was trying to pick up a flagon of wine, but had to use two hands. Not bothering with a goblet, he tossed half the contents straight down his throat, giving himself the hiccups. Only then did he feel able to speak. “It was—hic—clever—hic—about the key, wasn’t it? I know we have—hic—another one,” he spluttered. I will marry that—hic—oh dam—hic—nation—that girl, whether she likes it or not. She can throw herself off the battlements—hic, hic, aah!—after our wedding night. But I will have her, do you hear, I will have her.” The constable was clutching his chest.
The sergeant felt it safe to wink with leery complicity. “The spare key is in the stables,” he said.
The constable grunted as sweat ran down his chins. “I knew it. Have a drink yourself, Sergeant.” He passed over the flagon, which the sergeant, who had smelled the constable’s breath on more than one occasion, caught up with false enthusiasm. “Drink, drink,” the constable urged. “Stick with me, and by next week, who knows? You may be a constable yourself.” The sergeant drank.
In the cellar Will, Ellie, and Old Nurse clung to each other, their relief at being together utterly destroyed by grief impossible to bear. They pitched and swayed as wave after wave engulfed them.
“My beautiful horse, my beautiful Hosanna. And I thought de Scabious could not hurt you. How could I have been so stupid?” Will tore his clothes in his agony.
“It’s not your fault,” sobbed Ellie. “Oh, Will. Oh please don’t let it be true.”
Old Nurse rocked back and forth, her arms ready to support, just as they always were. She too mourned Hosanna, but her grief for the horse was intermingled with frantic concern for the two people she loved as her own children. Gradually she brought them gently but urgently back to their own predicament.
“Master Will,” she whispered, for she was not sure if people outside were listening, “we thought you were not in here.”
Will took no notice of Old Nurse’s words at first. He was crouching down, his hands covering his face, scratching his cheeks in an effort to steady himself, hardly noticing the physical pain the sergeant had inflicted, so great was the pain in his head and in his heart. “Hosanna butchered. I see these terrible pictures in my head. I want to be sick, Old Nurse. The last voice he heard will have been de Scabious’s. Oh God! Some brute butcher with a blunt knife.” Will’s voice rose. “I shall go mad.”
“Master Will, you will not,” said Old Nurse sharply. “For Ellie’s sake. Hosanna may be gone, and that is damnable, but I know the constable. For all his threats and tossing away of keys, he will not have finished with us yet.”
“I don’t care about anything anymore.” Ellie slumped in Old Nurse’s arms.
“You will care if the constable decides to come for you,” said Old Nurse grimly. “My sweets, this is a terrible crime, but we must keep our wits.”
“Yes,” said Will, making himself stand up. He shook his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was hard as nails. “You’re right, Old Nurse. Killing Hosanna finishes nothing. Rather it begins something else. Vengeance. Vengeance for Hosanna. What do you say, Ellie?” He found her hand in the dark.
The girl’s voice was muffled, but her sentiments were clear enough. “Vengeance,” she said. “Yes, Will. I’m with you all the way.”
Will kept her hand, took Old Nurse’s, and led them the few steps to the far wall, then bent down and began to pull at the stones. “There is a tunnel,” he said. “A boy called Elric, son of Morwenna, the laundress, showed me. He crawled up from the village. This tunnel leads to a bigger tunnel, which itself leads from the village in the valley to the tapestry room in the tower. That’s the room where the sergeant had you brought yesterday, Ellie.”
She started. “How do you know?”
“I was there,” said Will. “I was behind the tapestry.”
Ellie could hardly take it in. “I knew there was some way out of here,” she said, trying to get her thoughts in some kind of order through the fog of Hosanna. “Gethin let me in, Will, and I couldn’t find you. It was horrible. But I found the beginning of the tunnel. It seemed too good to be true. I thought you had escaped back to Hartslove, and I was glad. But now…” Hervoice broke.
“This tunnel is our escape and the beginning of our revenge,” said Will, not allowing himself to take Ellie in his arms, which is what he badly wanted to do. In a world without Hosanna, she was even more precious. He blotted out any thought of Gavin. “Help me open it up properly. Old Nurse, you can listen at the door and tell us if you hear anything from outside.” He spoke mechanically. The only way he could make his brain or body work was to concentrate on his hatred.
It did not take long to clear the stones, and Ellie at once felt her way a round the hole. It took her only a second to point out the obvious.
“We can get through here, Will,” she said, “but not Old Nurse.”
“You must leave me, then.” Old Nurse’s answer rumbled out without hesitation. “I can look after myself. Don’t you fret.”
“I will never leave you, Old Nurse,” Ellie said flatly.
“My sweet, my life has been the best anybody could have.” Old Nurse fumbled over and patted Ellie’s arm. “Don’t spoil it for me now. If you remain here with me because I am too fat to escape, I will die the unhappiest death imaginable. You couldn’t be that cruel. And who knows, my angel, if you and Master Will get out, you may rescue me yet. Now, be off with you. I have plenty of thoughts for company, particularly as I haven’t yet devised a good enough punishment for de Scabious. That will keep me warm for a long time.”
“Old Nurse is right,” said Will. He found the old woman’s hand again and pressed something into it. “I made this knife out of a pottage pan. It is small, but it is very sharp. Old Nurse, you have been like a mother to us.” He tried to make his voice sound normal but felt he might never sound normal again. “Better than a mother. You have never failed us. We will try not to fail you now, but we may, and if we do, I hope this makeshift knife is of some use. Let’s pray for each other, and may God have mercy on us and none whatsoever on Piers de Scabious.”
He slipped the other homemade dagger into his own tunic and rejoiced when it pricked his skin.
In the dark Old Nurse’s tears flowed freely, spilling into and over the deep crevices that lined her face. But she never allowed her voice to waver. “No time to waste, dearies,” she muttered. “Away with you.”
Before they could move, however, through the tiny grille came the sound of terrible quarreling and the sudden violent scream of a man in pain. The scream was followed by the scrape of feet and the crack of whip against skin.
“There, and there, and there!” The prisoners could hear the sergeant’s voice as he worked himself up into a towering rage. “You traitorous dog! A whipping is too good for you.”
Outside the cellar there was a scrabbling noise. Will, Ellie, and Old Nurse flattened themselves against
the far wall as a key was turned and the door flew open. In an instant Old Nurse was standing in front of the tunnel entrance, her bulk easily hiding it and her skirts covering the disturbed stones.
A moment later Gethin landed facedown in the dirt at her feet. He bunched himself into a ball, tensing for another whip sting. It never arrived, for the sergeant had finished with him and was looking for someone else. Ah! There she was. Knocking Will to one side, he grabbed Ellie. She struggled wildly as she was swept toward the door, and the sergeant swore and clutched her hair. He missed and instead caught the green jasper necklace, breaking the clasp. The circlet of stones tumbled to the ground, and in a moment Ellie found herself once again in the daylight, with the cellar door banged behind her.
The sergeant’s mouth was so close to her ear that the grease on his breath crackled. “I found Gethin stealing the spare key,” he said, the malice in his voice matched only by the malice in his eyes. “Luckily, I caught him just in time! Gethin!” he shouted. “Your punishment is that you can starve in there with a powerless earl and a fat old woman. Mind you, she’s so padded with lard, I’ll bet she is the last to die. But that doesn’t matter, since nobody is ever going to open that door again.”
Ellie clawed and scratched at the sergeant’s face. Her fury gave her such strength that she managed to rake his forehead with her nails before he wrenched her arms behind her and secured them with a rope. Then seething and smarting, he marched her over to the well, dangled the key in her face for a few moments, and dropped it in.
From the top of the steps, the constable was watching. All this was the fault of that wretched horse! If only he had not been obliged to get rid of it, he flattered himself, he might have won Ellie around as soon as it was obvious that the de Granvilles were finished. No girl, at least no girl in the constable’s acquaintance, had ever given up social advancement for something as ephemeral as love. But that horse. That damnable horse. De Scabious wished he had had Hosanna butchered, for all the trouble he was causing. He made no move to prevent his bride’s arms being bound, for she would have to learn who was master now. Nevertheless, when the soldiers began to taunt her, he hid behind the hall door.