The two guardsmen looked at each other.
Finally the second one said, “My luck’s been terrible. Another player will lessen the odds of me losing.” He reached over and took the wooden cup from his comrade. “Go ahead, Honored Sir, pick your main number, and I’ll cast for you.”
“Seven,” Pádraig replied, thinking, If I can establish a bond of sorts with them, it’ll make it that much easier to escape if I get the chance.
* * *
Having ridden straight through from the North Head garrison, with only a brief stop for a late midday meal at the Black Swan Inn, about three quarters of the way on the Coastal Road, Siollán arrived at the fortress in the middle of the evening watch. Being the capital of the Northern Shires, there were probably three times as many members of the security forces than there had been at either Fort Callainn or Fort Árainn, and five times as many as at the garrison at North Head. Consequently, his uniform allowed the young bowman a certain amount of anonymity.
When he and Brian got to the stables, he told the head groom that he had just ridden in from North Head and asked for a stall assignment.
With all the comings and goings, the groom hadn’t bothered to ask what Siollán’s business was at the fortress or how long he expected to be there. The man simply pointed to a vacant stall and said, “Take that one. Any special diet?”
“No, sir,” the bowman replied.
* * *
After taking care of his horse and tack, Siollán made his way across the ward to the garrison’s mess hall.
Just outside the fortress, he had hidden his pack and bedroll in a copse of pines about a furlong into the woods. Although he figured he could probably have gotten a bunk assignment as easily as he had a stall for Brian, he didn’t want to be seen in any one place for too long a time period and have to answer too many questions. He reasoned that the less time he spent around people, the less his chances were of being discovered as not being there on official business. Consequently, he had chosen the cold of the forest over the warmth and closeness of the soldiers’ dormitory in which to spend his nights.
After getting his meal from the chow line, he sat by himself at the end of a long table in the back of the room, watching the other soldiers from the relative dimness, hoping that he wouldn’t spot a familiar face.
Three other soldiers had been behind him in the chow line. Having gotten their meals, they showed up at Siollán’s table and sat down, leaving two spaces between him and them.
The young bowman returned the nod with mixed emotions. On the minus side, he didn’t really relish engaging in conversation with anyone. However, the threesome did provide him with cover, as he checked out the other soldiers coming in. He figured he could easily make his exit unnoticed, in case he spotted someone he knew.
Although he didn’t get drawn into an extended conversation, he did appear cordial when asked his name, what he did, and where he was from. The answers were: ‘Brian, bowman, and North Head.’ In addition, he volunteered that he would be there at Fortress Béarra for only a few days before returning to his garrison.
While eating his bowl of pottage and washing it down with cider, Siollán watched the doorway, only half listening to the other three soldiers. His mind was occupied primarily with trying to figure out how he would manage to get into the dungeon to see if Pádraig were being held there.
Getting in is probably no problem, he thought. The tricky part is going to be getting in in such a way as to not give anyone cause for alarm and getting arrested and incarcerated myself.
“Come on, I’ll give you a farthing,” Eirnín, one of Siollán’s supper companions, entreated his comrades.
“No way,” came the answer from one of the others. “I’m not touching that.”
The third shook his head vigorously. “Not even for a ha’penny.”
“Aw, c’mon. Just spell me for a couple of days a week, each of you. What do you say?”
“You heard what we said,” the second soldier answered. “No!”
The third agreed. “Absolutely no. You drew the assignment; you do the job. Besides, this evening was only the first time. You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it. It’s nasty. C’mon, lads, help me out, here. How about once a week for a penny, then, huh?” Eirnín asked, almost begging. “Will you do it once a week for a penny each?”
“No!” the other two shouted in unison, then rose from the table and left with their bowls, spoons, and tankards.
“If I may ask,” Siollán piped up, “just what were you trying to get them to do, Eirnín?”
Dejected, the soldier shook his head. “We’ve got this prisoner down in the dungeon over in the keep. I have to bring him his meals from here in the mess hall every day. I was trying to get those two blokes to spell me at least one day each week.”
“The job doesn’t sound all that difficult.”
“Well, difficult isn’t the problem. While the prisoner’s eating his breakfast and supper, I have to take his chamber pot, carry it up to ground level, empty it into the cesspit, rinse it out, then bring it back to his cell. After that, I clear away his bowl, spoon, and cup.”
“And your friends wouldn’t do it? Not even for a penny?”
“Would you?” the soldier asked.
“Naw,” Siollán replied, his mind now working very quickly. “I’d want at least tuppence.”
“Would you, now?”
The young bowman scratched his head. “Only one prisoner, you say?”
“Yep. Just the one.”
“And you have to empty the chamber pot only twice a day?”
“Just at breakfast and supper time.”
Siollán stretched out his arm. “Tuppence per day? In advance?”
“Tuppence per day,” Eirnín agreed, grabbing the bowman’s forearm and giving it a pump. “In advance.” Releasing his grip on Siollán’s arm, he reached into his purse and pulled out three coins—two halfpennies and one penny. “You’re my new best friend, Brian. This is for tomorrow. Now come with me and I’ll introduce you to the cook who you’ll be getting the prisoner’s meals from. After that, I’ll show you which cesspit you’ll be using.”
They got up from the table and headed for the chow line.
Halfway there, the soldier stopped and whispered, “Oh, one more thing I should tell you, Brian. Don’t get any ideas about filching any of the prisoner’s supper. I have it on good authority that that particular meal is drugged.” He put a forefinger to the side of his nose and winked.
Alderday - Bear 52nd
Béarra Shire - Cathair Béarra
From the tower above the keep, five bells had just finished tolling (two sets of two peals, followed by a single knell), signaling the two-and-a-half hour mark of the morning watch.
Siollán, oak piggin in hand, crossed from the garrison to the well-head by the forge and filled the pail with water. Looking over toward one of the posterns near the keep, he spotting a four-foot silver-dust bush growing against the fortress wall, its glossy, green foliage with silvery-white speckles sticking up out of a snow bank that had blown up against it. The bowman crossed over to the shrub, secreting the bucket in the shadows behind it.
From there, he returned to the garrison and picked up Pádraig’s breakfast—a wooden bowl of porridge, a wooden spoon, a hard slice of rye bread, and a wooden cup of ale—and set the items on a wooden tray.
Whistling a cheerful tune, the bowman came down the stone staircase and entered the keep’s dungeon. All smiles, he held up the wooden tray, strode toward the bars of Pádraig’s cell, calling out, “Table for one, Honored Sir?”
Sitting on the edge of his cot, Pádraig stopped playing his tin whistle and his eyes grew wider, but he didn’t reply.
Immediately, both guards leapt to their feet to intercept the newcomer, drawing their short swords as they did so.
One placed his blade at Siollán’s throat. “Identify yourself!” the man commanded. “And where is E
irnín?!”
Siollán raised his free hand, resting a forefinger on the guard’s sword hilt. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, there, Guardsman! I’m Brian. Brian the bowman. And I’m substituting for Eirnín.”
“Since when?” the other guard asked.
“Since…now,” Siollán replied, gently moving the blade an inch or so away from his neck.
“How so?” the first guard demanded.
“Tuppence per day. Apparently Eirnín couldn’t handle having to empty the chamber pot.”
“And you can?”
“Um…Just which part of ‘tuppence per day’ did you not understand? Besides, I grew up on a pig farm. My sense of smell was numbed long ago. Believe me, a chamber pot is nothing compared to a swine yard.”
Both guards chuckled.
The first one lowered his sword, and said, “Eirnín should have explained the rules to you, Brian. You never approach the cell, unless one of us tells you that it’s okay. You place the meal tray on the guards’ table, and one of us will take it to the prisoner.”
“No…no problem.” Siollán crossed to the table and set the tray on it. Seeing the iron chamber pot sitting outside the cell by the pass-through door, the bowman pointed to it and told the guard, “Ahh, time to earn my daily tuppence.” He started toward the cell.
“Hold up, there, Brian!” the second guard ordered. “Didn’t you understand what, ‘You never approach the cell unless one of us tells you that it’s okay,’ means?”
“S…sorry.”
The guard signaled to Pádraig and said, “You know the drill, Honored Sir. Please stand by the far wall, facing away from us.” When the young wizard had complied, the guard gestured Siollán toward the cell. “Now, you can get it.”
Siollán, crossed to the bars, picked up the chamber pot, and headed for the dungeon exit, saying, “See you in about a half hour or so.”
Another question from the second guard, still holding his drawn short sword, brought the bowman up short. “Just how did you know that the prisoner was an apprentice wizard?” he asked, suspiciously. “He’s not wearing his red mantle.”
Thinking quickly, Siollán asked a question of his own, in an attempt to cover his slip-up. “Are you new to the service? How many people brought the prisoner in?”
The two guards glanced at each other, and the first one replied, “About a half dozen. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?”
The young bowman shook his head slowly, as if the guardsman’s answer disappointed him. “And how many people do you suppose those half dozen told? Another half dozen each? And that second half dozen? And so on?” He shook his head again. “By the day after tomorrow, even the horses in the stable will be talking about the apprentice wizard you’ve got down here in the dungeon.”
“Point taken,” the guard admitted.
Before taking his leave, Siollán stopped, turned to Pádraig, and said, “Enjoy your breakfast, Honored Sir. I’ll have you know I fixed it myself.”
The young wizard replied, “I appreciate that, Soldier. Thank you.” He also understood the bowman’s subtle message: ‘This meal isn’t drugged.’
Once outside the keep, Siollán retrieved the piggin and crossed through the postern to the keep’s cesspit just beyond the outer wall. The guard at the gate, detecting the odor and realizing where the bowman was headed, gave him a wide berth.
That particular culvert serviced the chambers of the royal family and their guests, with the discharge chute from each privy emptying into a common sluice that drained into the cesspit. Careful to stay clear of the sluice’s large maw, the bowman proceeded to empty the chamber pot. He had to admit to himself that the smell of the swine yard was much preferable to the odor around that pit.
After rinsing the chamber pot a few times with the water from the bucket, he returned to the ward through the postern, once again leaving the piggin behind the silver-dust bush.
* * *
Siollán reached the dungeon just a few minutes after Pádraig had finished with his meal. The guards had already cleared the tray and utensils from the cell.
“I hope you enjoyed your breakfast, Honored Sir,” Siollán said to the apprentice wizard, as one of the guards exchanged the tray for the chamber pot.
“I did, indeed,” Pádraig replied. “Thank you, Soldier.”
The young bowman nodded at the prisoner and the two guardsmen, saying, “Well, see you all at midday.”
* * *
Just an hour into the afternoon watch, a cheerful Siollán once again entered the dungeon with a wooden tray. On the tray was a wooden bowl containing a ploughman’s lunch and a wooden cup of ale.
“Good afternoon, all,” he said, crossing directly to the guards’ table and setting the tray on it. To Pádraig, he continued with, “Ploughman’s lunch, Honored Sir. Dark bread, cheese, and I was lucky enough to get you a few chunks of smoked pork, before they were all gobbled up.”
“Thank you, Brian,” the young wizard told him. “You’re very kind.” And, he thought, thank you for letting me know that this meal, also, isn’t drugged.
“Well, from what I hear, you’re a very special prisoner. One of the things Eirnín told me was that you were to be treated with the utmost respect. Enjoy your meal, Honored Sir.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Turning from the prisoner to the guards, Siollán asked, “Do I wait for the tray?”
“No,” the first guard replied. “You’ll clear it with the supper dishes.”
“Okay, then. Oh, since you two probably won’t be on duty when I come back with the prisoner’s supper, would you be sure to let your replacements know about me taking over for Eirnín? I wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstanding like this morning.”
“We’ll do it, Brian,” the second guard replied, as he picked up the tray with the ploughman’s lunch. After the bowman had left, the guard looked over at the cell and said, “Honored Sir, please stand by the far wall, facing away from me.”
When Pádraig had complied, both guardsmen crossed over to the bars. The first unlocked the small pass-through at the floor level, opened the little door, and the second one slid the tray through. The first guard closed and relocked the pass-through door, and the two guardsmen returned to their post.
“Okay, sir,” the first guard said, “you can get your food, now.”
* * *
After Pádraig had finished his meal and the guards had taken his tray, bowl, and cup, the young wizard crossed over to the corner where the chamber pot was located. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the guards were not where they could see him, then attempted to ascertain the boundaries of the spell that prevented him from using his magic. The drug from the night before had all but worn off, and Pádraig needed to try this before his drugged supper arrived.
Starting at the wall, he endeavored to conjure up a small energy spike. Initially, nothing happened, except for a very tiny flicker, which fell to the floor and fizzled out.
I might have the power to undo the magic-blocking spell, he thought. But unfortunately, not from within the spell itself. I’d need to be outside the boundaries of the spell.
Working his way down the wall as far as he could before coming into the guards’ line-of-sight, he tried again and again with the energy spike. Just before he ran out of room, he came to an indentation in the stone where a piece of one of the blocks had broken off, resulting in a slight cavity. Pádraig stuck his hand into the opening and tried once more. To his amazement and satisfaction, a spike appeared from his fingertips. However, no sooner had he moved his hand out of the depression, than the energy dissipated.
Hmm, he thought, and once more placed his hand inside the cavity. Clearing his mind, he tried to establish where the edge of the magic-blocking spell was. Slowly, he moved his hand out of the void and was able to feel the tingling of the boundary layer. It was right up against the stone wall, bridging the hollow, but not extending into it. Smiling to himself, the young wizard concentrated and att
empted to pull the boundary toward him.
He felt it move—first, a quarter inch; then, a half inch; finally, a full inch. Running his hand over the stones, he discovered that he had managed to move the entire magical boundary area an inch away from the wall.
Again, he stuck his hand in the cavity and conjured up a small energy spike. However, this time when he withdrew his hand, the spike didn’t fizzle until it contacted the repositioned boundary.
He tried again. Once he had raised the energy spike he withdrew his hand only a half inch from the stone wall. The spike remained on his fingertips, as he moved his hand back and forth between the wall and the boundary layer.
Better quit for now while I’m ahead, he thought, before Odhran, Neasán, or one of the other journeyman wizards detects my use of magic.
But Pádraig was pleased with himself; and, he figured that a little movement each day over time would go undetected and would eventually facilitate his escape.
Just as the young wizard pulled his hand back, and the energy spike faded, one of the guards approached the cell.
“Are you okay, Honored Sir?” he asked.
“Couldn’t be better,” Pádraig replied, crossing to the table in his cell, taking a ladle of water from the piggin and pouring the liquid into the hollow of his other hand. He replaced the ladle in the bucket, then rubbed both hands together, letting the water spill down onto the floor of the cell. “Couldn’t be better.”
* * *
That evening, Siollán retrieved the oak piggin and filled it up at the well-head. Again placing it behind the bush by the postern, he returned to the garrison and picked up Pádraig’s drugged supper from the cook in the mess hall, whom Eirnín had introduced him to the night before. After exiting to the ward, the bowman returned to where he had left the bucket of water and set the tray on top of it.
Once again, he trudged back to the mess hall. This time, though, he went through the chow line, picked up another wooden tray and selected a bowl of vegetable pottage with some fish in it, a chunk of rye bread, and a cup of ale.
The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 2) Page 21