‘No, when the tide is right out they used to be about a man’s height above,’ answered the white-haired old man. ‘But if you are to try to enter the castle via the privy shafts, you’ll have to be a very strong swimmer. ‘The currents are strong, and violent waves pound the rocks on all but the calmest days.’
‘I’m a good swimmer,’ said Sir Richard. ‘I served my time as a page and then squire at a castle on a small island off the coast. We boys used to race each other to see who could swim around the island fastest—it’s a wonder none of us drowned. What I’m worried about is how we can get the maidens back if we manage to find them. Is there any way of getting from Skull Rock to the headland without the need for swimming?’
‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘when the rock causeway fell down it left that area higher. When the great tides of the equinox come, for a week or so in spring and autumn it is possible to wade out to the rock. Before the Evil Ones came, young lads would wade over at low tide to hunt the seabirds nesting on the rock. But—’ he wagged an ancient, wrinkled finger, ‘if the swell is high or the sea stormy, it’s powerful enough to sweep even a strong man off the underwater causeway. Girls with water-logged dresses?’ He shook his head feebly. ‘Very risky, very risky…’
* * * *
The next morning, all alone in the early dawn light except for the crying gulls overhead, Sir Richard and Lucifer stood on the tip of Devil’s Finger and stared across at the castle on Skull Rock.
Squatting gloatingly on its rock, the castle seemed to stare back.
‘If you think you’re safe, sitting there in smug self-satisfaction with your thick walls and your boiling sea of a moat,’ he shouted across at it, ‘let me tell you something: you are wrong!’
But it just sat there silently, brooding and gloating, and gloating and brooding.
All alone out on the wind-swept headland, Sir Richard stared across at the castle for a good while longer. His eyes were fixed on the faint red blur fluttering high up on the tower.
‘You are not having her!’ he shouted, shaking his fist at the fortress. ‘Do you hear me? Not having her!’
And with those defiant words still being carried across the boiling sea by the wind, the lone knight wheeled his black horse around and galloped off along the headland towards the rising sun.
By sundown that day, everyone in Hamlin had heard the news: the brave Chaucy warriors; Sir Richard Hastings, rescuer of damsels, slayer of dragons and doer of valiant knightly deeds; and Leofwin Gallagher of Hartfield, defender of the Faith, veteran of numerous victorious campaigns and faithful unto death, were to take on the castle on Skull Rock and its demonic occupants that very night. It had spread like wildfire after Gallagher told Merewen that morning, and it was now the talk of the town.
As for the man of the moment himself, Sir Richard Hastings, rescuer of damsels etc., he had spent most of the day trying to hide without looking like he was trying to hide. Every time he had come down from his chamber he had been accosted by well-wishers and admirers. So up there he had stayed, venturing down only briefly at noon to feed. But now that evening was coming on, he thought it would be wise to go out for a ride, get a little fresh air and exercise to help limber up for the effort ahead and clear his mind at the same time.
He exited his room and headed for the stairs. To his relief, the only person he met on his way down was Monessa, the demure serving-maid. She curtsied reverently and waited for him to pass with down-cast eyes, too in awe to look at the exalted hero. He managed to sneak through the Mermaid’s public room and out the backdoor to the stables without exciting much attention.
His desperate desire to rescue Rowena was pressure enough without the weight of public expectation being added on. The thought that he might never see her again was so unbearable that he was careful to push it down every time it arose, which was about fifty times an hour. If he had dwelt on what it would really be like to have the woman he hoped to marry kidnapped and carried off to some far-flung heathen land where she would be sold to some decadent prince like a pound of flour, all because he had been a careless, hot-tempered idiot who had been more interested in a spot of rust on a sword than her safety, he would not have been able to function.
Sir Richard felt deeply unworthy of all the praise that was being heaped on him by the folk of Hamlin. The way Merewen rattled on about what a great hero he was made him cringe. He had tried repeatedly to inform her that he was just a humble sheriff, a poor, lowly knight doing what any knight would do. But had she listened? Not a chance. If anything, his indomitable hostess had gained an even greater admiration for him. Not only was the knight a fearless and honourable warrior, but a modest one too!
He almost groaned aloud at the memory.
After a quick word with Tom the stable-boy, Lucifer was soon brought around saddled and ready to ride. Sir Richard swung himself up onto the big stallion and clattered out of the stable yard.
From the street he turned left, around to the side of Brightwater Cove across the bay from Devil’s Finger.
Sir Richard dismounted and walked the last half-mile home on foot to give the sweating, blowing Lucifer a chance to cool down and dry off after their long canter along the cliff tops to the head of the cove. Just before he entered the town, he stopped on the bank overlooking the pebbled beach to watch the waves dashing playfully onto the shore and the sun’s orange disc slipping down into the burning sea.
The rhythm of his horse contentedly munching on the salt-laden grasses growing amongst the tough seaside daisies, and the sound of waves rolling in and out was a soothing lullaby that calmed his fraught mind. The way in which Mother Nature could always be relied upon to follow the same cycle was a reassuring fixture in an often uncertain world.
He was deep in his philosophic reverie when a little voice came unexpectedly from nearby. ‘Are you the brave knight who is going to vanquish the monsters?’
He could not help smiling when he looked down to find a girl of no more than ten looking gravely up at him, her hands folded neatly in front of her like a proper lady. ‘Yes, I am he.’
‘It is nice to meet you,’ said the little lady, curtsying primly. She then held out a tiny, dainty hand to be kissed. ‘My name is Daisy.’
Giving his most gracious and courtly bow, he gently took the little hand in his big one and kissed it. ‘Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Mistress Daisy.’
The little damsel smiled delightedly. ‘You are very gallant, Sir Richard.’
‘And you are very pretty, Mistress Daisy.’
‘Do you have a lady-love, Sir Richard?’ asked the little lady.
A cloud crossed the dark warrior’s face. ‘Yes, Mistress Daisy, that I do. But she was carried off by evil men who are holding her captive in the castle on Skull Rock. See here—’ He showed her the green swan pendant he wore. ‘My lady-love gave this to me.’
‘You must be very sad,’ said the little lady. ‘Will you let me be your lady until you get her back?’
Having such a tiny lady-love would be most unusual, but he could not possibly decline a gracious request from such an elegant and well-mannered little damsel. ‘Madam, I accept,’ he replied, bowing low.
Her smile grew even wider. ‘And now I must give you something as a token of my love.’ She reached into her pocket and took something out, which she then proudly presented to her knight.
He took the offered token and brought it up to examine. It was a bent, rusty hairpin. Sir Richard bowed even lower and more elaborately than before. ‘I thank you for your most generous token, Mistress Daisy. I will treasure it.’
The little lady gave a regal nod of approval. ‘Thank you. I will pray for your success.’ And with that, she walked primly off.
He watched her go with a bemused smile on his lips. He had never met such a well-mannered and lady-like little girl before. She really was charming.
When she had disappeared from view among the houses, the knight looked down at the token in his hand again. It was a poor
, worthless thing that was fit for nothing.
But while most other men would have tossed it into the sea without a second thought, Sir Richard did something different. He reached inside his doublet and carefully tucked the token into his breast pocket as though the bent, rusty pin was his most treasured possession.
* * * *
The wait was over. From his lookout high up on the cliff, Sir Richard could now see the rock emerging from the frothing, moonlit sea.
The local men had told him that when it was fully above water, it marked the tide’s lowest ebb. He and Gallagher had decided they would allow themselves one hour to get into the castle, find any captives and get them down to the water, ready to cross the causeway when the tide was at its lowest.
But they had no idea how many captives there were, or even if there were any at all. A ship could have already carried Rowena far away over the watery depths—Sir Richard quickly pushed the horrifying thought away. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Aye, ’tis time,’ agreed Gallagher, moving off down the narrow cliff path after his comrade.
A group of locals who knew had pointed out the way down to the sea below the Devil’s Finger. It was via the little path running down a place where the sheer rock-face gave way to steep, sandy soil.
When they reached the beach, the two men made their way along the small strip of sand which had been left high and dry by the retreating tide, right at the base of the towering cliff.
‘We need to leave our swords here,’ Sir Richard said to Gallagher, once they had reached the tip of the Devil’s Finger.
The sergeant began to unbuckle his huge blade. ‘Aye. This ledge just here on the cliff looks a good place to leave them until we return.’
Once the knight had safely stowed his sword, he began unbuttoning his leather doublet. ‘We need to leave behind everything heavy or likely encumber us in the water.’
He took the bent, rusting hairpin out before putting his doublet up onto the rock ledge alongside his sword. He then unclipped the chain of Rowena’s swan and threaded the hairpin on by the hole in its head, to hang alongside the green pendant.
Then the two men wordlessly waded into the rough, white-capped surf pounding the beach. The water’s bitter coldness took Sir Richard’s breath away. It was frigid. If they were in the sea for any length of time the cold would sap their strength and freeze their muscles, which in the turbulent seas surrounding the point would likely spell death.
It did not take long for the freezing water to reach up to the men’s chests. Every time a wave came it passed right over their heads. Soon their feet could not find any solid ground and they were forced to start swimming.
The powerful knight struck out strongly for the side of the castle on the leeside of the gale. The waters would hopefully be less rough there because the breakers would not be hitting the rocks head-on.
The currents were fearfully strong, threatening to drag the two figures, dwarfed by the gigantic cliffs and surging waves, off course and dash them on the jagged rocks rearing above the foaming sea all around. But, although the pull of the current and the buffeting of the raging sea were strong, the will and single-minded determination of the two warriors was stronger.
Ignoring burning muscles and overworked lungs that made every breath a stab of agony, the two men fought their way over to the castle.
When they reached it, they clung to the rock face at the base of the castle walls while they caught their breath for a moment.
‘I feel sick,’ Sir Richard spluttered. ‘I’ve swallowed enough seawater to float a ship!’
‘Aye, me too,’ gasped his comrade, only just managing not to be pulled off the rock by the vigorous swell.
Sir Richard jerked his thumb towards a point a little further along the wall. ‘That looks like the outlet just there.’
They had judged the tide perfectly. The large shaft up the castle wall was clear of the sea, but not so high it could not be reached.
When Sir Richard and Gallagher had recovered a little, they swam along the rock face until they reached the drain, keeping a careful watch for the big breakers which rolled in regularly, lest they be dashed against the unforgiving stones.
Now directly beneath the opening, Sir Richard could see it was more than big enough for a man to fit in. There was a shelf of rock jutting out below that proved a very useful aid, allowing him to get his head and shoulders up into the drain.
Much to his relief, the only thing he could smell was the briny scent of the ocean and the fresh tang of sea plants, which he could feel growing thickly on the walls up to the high tide-line.
‘Yes, this looks good,’ he called down to the anxiously waiting Gallagher. ‘It does not seem to be in use, so I’m going up.’
‘Very good, sir. Shout out when you reach the top.’
It was pitch black inside the vertical tunnel and the sides were covered with slimy algae, but as the old man in the Mermaid had promised, there were enough grooves and pieces of stone jutting out to provide footholds. The going was desperately slow, but little by little the determined warrior pulled himself up by feeling for holds in the darkness.
By the time Sir Richard thought he must be nearing the top, he could feel sticky blood covering his smarting hands and shoulders where the stones had grazed off the skin.
His body was screaming out for relief when his hands suddenly met a wooden board blocking any further progress above.
Knowing that this must be the top, he mustered all his remaining strength for one final effort. Freeing his hands by bracing his back against one wall and his legs on the one opposite, he pushed the board with all his might.
It felt soft and crumbly with dry rot, but although it gave slightly, it would not yield.
Letting out a roar of furious desperation, the knight punched it violently. His fist went straight through, showering him with a cloud of rotten wood crumbs that he felt stick to his sweat-covered body. Several more punches and he was through.
A dim light shone from the opening, and when he dragged his agonized body out of the shaft, he found himself in a small room with a cross-shaped opening in the outside wall, designed for defenders to fire arrows through. The beam of silver moonlight shining in through the arrow-slit pierced into the dark interior and cast a perfect silver cross on the stone floor.
The bloodied knight had barely taken in these new surroundings when he suddenly collapsed on the floor,and the world went dark.
.19.
Hope is Faithful
FROM her lookout high up in the tower, Rowena scanned the foaming moonlit sea below. She had been intently watching two shapes bobbing in the raging waves as they moved closer to the rock of her prison fortress, trying to decide if they were seals, wooden logs or men. The sea was so violent that they surely could not possibly be men who were making their way through the waters so determinedly, yet the figures really did seem to have arms.
Then an especially large wave passed over them.
The unhappy prisoner rubbed her eyes in a vain attempt to sharpen her sight, but hard as she looked at the spot in the frothing surf where the two figures had been before, she could no longer see anything there.
They must have been seals after all.
She turned her eyes from the sea and let out a long-held breath that was part sigh, part sob. The dark prison, with its lone, barred window set high up in the wall, was becoming unbearable. The long days and even longer nights of her captivity had started to meld into one, and she had lost count of the number of days that had passed since she was carried off by the Evil Ones, for that was what she had named her captors in the absence of them revealing their identities or intentions.
The only break in the dreadful, fear-filled monotony was when the daily meal of stale bread and distastefully under-done turnips was hastily thrust in through the bars of the gate. However much she pleaded, the jailer who brought the food would not tell her what fate lay in store. His only answer was always a cruel, smugly knowing leer th
at was worse than any words.
With her hands closed around the bars and her face pressed up against their cold, unforgiving hardness, the young captive looked out over the raging seas once more. The strong, salt-laden wind coming off the sea cooled her hot cheeks and dried the tears of a heart overflowing with sadness as it yearned to be free. Free like the seabirds circling overhead as they rode the buffeting air currents unhindered, voicing cries which were no longer simply meaningless shrieks to the captive maiden, but cries of hope, of the hope that one day she would again be free like they were.
Rowena never thought she would say it, but she desperately missed Chaucy and all the new friends she had made there. And she never thought she would have reason to say this: Sir Richard had been right. He might not know much, but he did know about fighting, warfare and ambushes. She should have listened when he said it was a hare-brained idea. But there was no point in such bitter regrets now. Sir Richard was a brave man and there was no doubt he would have given chase. But no mortal could possibly get into this prison.
She leaned against the cold iron bars and closed her eyes. She was beyond human help now.
But the young woman was disturbed after only a short while by the cry of an unfamiliar bird coming from very near. She opened her eyes to find herself face-to-face with a large raven that had perched on the window ledge of her prison.
The bird’s boldness was astonishing; what could it possibly be doing?
Not wishing to frighten the strange visitor into flying away, Rowena kept still. ‘Greetings friend,’ she murmured softly. ‘What is it you want?’
The black-feathered bird cocked its head to one side and looked at her inquisitively with dark, beady little eyes. Then the raven opened its beak. ‘Caw, caw, caw!’ it called, louder this time.
The puzzled captive frowned at the raven clinging so bravely to her window ledge in the buffeting gale. It ducked its neat little head again, and still the beady black eyes were fixed questioningly on her.
The Heart of Darkness Page 28