The Heart of Darkness

by Odelia Floris

  ‘Are you lost?’ she asked quietly.

  The head was ducked more violently this time and accompanied by a ruffled flapping of the black wings and a ‘Caw! Caw! Caw!’ That was almost a screech.

  She chuckled. ‘A fine, sleek-feathered raven like you does not get lost, does it?’

  It bobbed its head and blinked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right!’

  The raven spread its wings and threw back its head. ‘Caw!’ it cried again, and shot a look at the watching maiden.

  ‘Alright, perhaps you would like me to join you, so here:

  I weep for you, I wait for you,

  I yearn for your strong embrace and your boundless grace.

  And when the west wind blows,

  I say tell me pray, tell me pray,

  Have you my true love seen this day?

  O have you seen those angel eyes?

  Another young feminine voice joined the song from the darkness below:

  When my feet are bleeding and I cannot take

  Another step on this weary road,

  And the moon lifts her pale silver face above the mountaintop,

  I say tell me pray, tell me pray,

  Have you my true love seen this day?

  O have you seen those angel eyes?

  The two maidens were joined by a third young singer:

  When I reach the dark waters of the silent lake and can go no further,

  And the wild swans pass overhead,

  I say tell me pray, tell me pray,

  Have you my true love seen this day?

  O have you seen those angel eyes?

  A fourth and a fifth joined:

  When the sun is asleep, in my heart a ceaseless vigil I keep,

  And when the velvet darkness steals o’er the land,

  I say tell me pray, tell me pray,

  Have you my true love seen this day?

  O have you seen those angel eyes?

  For I wait for you, I weep for you,

  I yearn for your strong embrace and your boundless grace.

  Rowena thought she heard one more voice join the last chorus, a far-off deep, masculine voice.

  And when the five maidens had finished their song, the male voice continued, coming ever nearer. The song drifted up to Rowena, still perched on her window ledge and looking at the now contentedly-silent raven. The voice seemed strangely familiar.

  Rowena could scarcely believe her ears. Surely it could not possibly be? It just had to be a dream…

  O she’s as fair as a flower, she’s as fresh as a daisy in the dawn,

  O she’s bright as a morning in May!

  And when I saw her tripping down the lane,

  When I saw her skipping down the road,

  Singing tra la la lee, O sweet diddle-dee!

  I called to her, I called to her: ‘pretty sweeting,

  O darling, darling dear!

  Won’t you come and be my lady fair?

  I will lend an ear to your every care

  And kiss you every day of the year!

  Do you hear, pretty sweeting,

  O do you hear, darling dear!’

  The cheerful voice was now right at the prison gate, and the dearest, most hoped-for sight came into view of the delighted and incredulous young captive, who could only stare in open-mouthed amazement with eyes that glistened with tears of joy.

  Sir Richard’s shirt was so badly torn it revealed far more than it covered, and he was smeared in dirt, slime and blood from head to foot. But in spite of all that, he had the biggest grin on his triumphant face she had ever seen him wear. He leaned against the barred gate and linked his arms through as he continued singing to the speechless maiden perched on her high ledge:

  Said she: ‘O sir, I am going to the fair

  To sell my ribbons and my laces,

  So nay, nay, nay to your all graces and your love-sick faces’.

  O fie, fie, fie!

  She’s as fair as a flower, she’s as fresh as a daisy in the dawn,

  O she’s bright as a morning in May!

  And she left me standing in the road all alone

  While she went tripping and skipping on her way to the fair,

  Singing tra la la lee, O sweet diddle-dee!

  When the laughing knight had finished his song, he held out his arms to Rowena. ‘I have just nearly killed myself getting up to your high tower, so aren’t you going to give me something more gratifying than that stare?’

  ‘Oh Sir Richard!’ she cried, jumping down and running over to him. ‘I can’t believe you are really here!’

  He clasped his fingers around the hands she had placed in his. ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Never, never have my eyes met a more longed-for sight! I can see you have braved many terrible dangers and hardships to get this far; you are the truest and bravest of heroes!’

  He gave a satisfied but rather embarrassed nod. ‘You are very kind, but you have not been rescued yet, so you may want to reserve such lofty praise for later.’

  She frowned worriedly at this reminder. ‘The key to this gate is with the jailer—I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘That does not matter because—’ he paused for a moment while he reached into his shirt, ‘I have this.’ He held a rusty, bent hairpin aloft.

  Her frown deepened. ‘If that is all you have to offer, I think you were very wise to advise me not to praise you too soon.’

  ‘Ah, but you do not know all of my tricks yet,’ came the smug reply.

  Her rescuer proceeded to insert the rusty hairpin into the lock while she looked on with an unflatteringly doubtful expression.

  ‘I’m beginning to think the ordeal has sent you mad. What are you doing?’

  ‘Just a little trick a thief once showed me…’ he muttered, fiddling intently with the rusty pin.

  After a few breathlessly anxious moments, there was a sharp click from within the lock and the door swung open.

  ‘Sir Richard, you are a genius!’ she cried, flinging her arms around his neck.

  ‘Ow!’ yelped her rescuer, taking an unexpected step backwards.

  She took a step back of her own and frowned up at him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s my shoulders,’ he gasped, wincing painfully. ‘They got badly bruised and grazed when I climbed up the sewer.’

  She dusted herself down distastefully. ‘Argh, you could’ve warned me!’

  ‘No, it was disused—but thank you for your kind sympathy.’

  Rowena could not help laughing at his sulky look. ‘Sorry, dearest! You are quite right.’ She stood on tip-toe and tried to place a kiss on his cheek, but could not reach high enough. ‘Oh wretched shortness!’

  He lowered himself until his face was level with hers and meekly offered her a sweaty and grime-streaked cheek.

  A firm kiss was unreservedly delivered. ‘There.’

  Looking more than satisfied, Sir Richard scanned the dark room. ‘Are there any more captives with you in here?’

  ‘Yes—’ She looked around in puzzlement. ‘They were right here just before you arrived…’

  A pale, thin maiden dressed in a dirty blue gown stepped fearfully forward from a dark corner. ‘Who…are you?’

  Sir Richard turned to the lady and bowed. ‘I am Sir Richard Hastings, the sheriff of Chaucy. I have come to release the captives held here.’

  With her eyes glowing with a strange radiance, the pale, waif-like young lady walked slowly up to the dark knight and reached out a pitifully thin hand to touch him. When her hand met the resistance of his chest, she lifted her eyes up to him in wonder. ‘So you are real after all…’ she whispered.

  He gave a sympathetic but bemused smile. ‘I assure you, sweet lady, I am most definitely real.’

  But the pale lady continued staring up at him as though he was the most magical being she had ever set eyes on. ‘A brave knight…a rescuer…’ She breathed the words uncertainly, as though she was saying them for the first time and hardly dared
to hope that they were true.

  ‘Yes, Celestria, it really is true,’ said Rowena, who then turned to the corner from whence the blue-clad lady had come. ‘Isolda, Mary, Nimue, it is safe to come out!’ she called to the three pale figures huddled fearfully in the darkness.

  Another blue-clad brunette maiden who looked almost identical to the pale, thin Celestria emerged hesitantly, closely followed by a gaunt but rather more robust-looking maiden dressed in the simple brown woollen gown of a peasant, and with a long, thick braid falling down her back.

  ‘Nimue, where are you?’ Rowena called impatiently.

  A tiny whimper came from the darkness, where a shadowy shape huddled on the floor was just visible. ‘I c-can’t!’ a small girlish voice sobbed weakly.

  ‘Come, we need to go!’

  ‘No, I can’t do it! You go on without me. I will only slow you down,’ came the weak, pathetically fearful wail.

  ‘I’m afraid the poor child has been in here for longer than the rest of us, and has grown terribly frightened of the thought of leaving the dark certainty of these four walls,’ Rowena explained to the puzzled Sir Richard.

  ‘I see.’ He walked over to the whimpering shadow cowering in the dark corner. ‘Don’t be afraid, little lass,’ he said gently to the trembling figure, crouching down beside her.

  The tiny shape, a musty blanket drawn tightly around her, shrunk further into the dark corner. ‘I’m too weak and too frightened. I’m not coming, I’m not!’ she sobbed.

  He laid a firm but gentle hand on her arm, which he was shocked to discover was almost skin and bone. ‘You are coming with me and that is that. I came here to release all the ladies held captive in this evil place, and I’m not leaving here until I have.’

  ‘But I’m not a lady,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m just a poor, orphaned beggar-maid who nobody cares about. If you’re not burdened by me you will all have a better chance of getting out of this prison alive.’

  He gave her blanket an insistent tug. ‘I care about you and I mean what I said. Now come!’

  ‘No!’ she wailed tearfully.

  ‘Very well, if you want it like that.’ And with that, he caught hold of her and lifted her up as though she weighed little more than a feather.

  The girl immediately started kicking and screaming, but was quickly silenced by Sir Richard clapping a large hand firmly over her mouth. ‘Hush! You’ll alert the guards and get us all killed.’

  The painfully thin girl, who looked no more than twelve or thirteen now that Sir Richard had brought her into the moonlight, put up a feeble but determined struggle against her unwelcome rescuer, wriggling and kicking like a wild cub. But she was no match for the powerful knight.

  Sir Richard carried her off with ease, and soon he and the four other pale, bedraggled maidens were making their way cautiously down the winding staircase.

  ‘Do you know the way out of this labyrinth of a fortress?’ Rowena whispered to him as she followed close behind.

  ‘I think so,’ he whispered back. ‘Most castles have a fairly similar layout of the keep and main gate. But I would have had a hell of a trouble finding the way up to your prison tower if I hadn’t heard you singing.’

  ‘Yes, I was singing to a raven.’

  He stopped and turned to look at her incredulously, but seemed to change his mind and started moving forward again without saying anything.

  What was another ridiculous-sounding thing when so many had already been come across on this strange and perilous adventure?

  Little Nimue had stopped her struggling and was now calmly letting Sir Richard carry her in his strong arms. Only an occasional whimper betrayed her presence beneath the blanket.

  When the grimy fugitive band reached the bottom of the stairs Sir Richard raised his hand, silently signalling everyone to halt. He then pointed through the doorway and held a finger to his lips.

  The jailer.

  Rowena had been dreading this moment. But when she listened carefully, she thought she could hear snores.

  Rowena and the four other maidens nodded to show they understood, and then moved off as silently and stealthily after their rescuer as they could.

  The stairway opened out into a large hall with bare stone walls and a high, partly caved-in roof. Sitting on a large block of fallen stone leaning his back against the broad pillar behind him was a large, balding man with a scraggly beard, snoring like a pig. A guttering tallow candle sat on the floor beside him and an evil-looking club rested near his hand.

  Keeping close to the walls to stay in the shadows as much as possible, Sir Richard led the fearful maidens slowly into the hall.

  Creeping quietly along past the noisily snoring jailer was a painful ordeal. Rowena could hear her heart pounding so loudly she was almost afraid the jailer would hear it, and hardly dared to breathe lest it wake him.

  The fugitives had got halfway down the hall when there was a sudden choking cough from the waif in Sir Richard’s arms. He clapped a hand over her mouth while everyone froze instantly, their eyes fixed on the slumbering jailer.

  The regular rhythm stopped with an abrupt grunt, and the jailer twitched violently. To the horror of the escaping captives, who all held their breath in agonized, terrified suspense, there were a few more grunts and twitches, and then the vile figure started to blink rapidly.

  Rowena took the hand of Celestria, who stood directly behind her, and prepared for a mad dash to the door at the end of the hall. But just as the jailer’s eyes looked about to open, the hall was suddenly plunged into total darkness.

  The wick on the tallow lamp had burnt out! Rowena wanted to laugh with joy. While the jailer uttered foul oaths and curses as he crashed around looking for a new light, Rowena offered silent thanks for this miraculous delivery.

  Sir Richard took her hand and started leading her forwards, feeling his way along the wall in the blackness. With their hands joined, the rest of the maidens followed in single file.

  The escaping band moved as quickly as they could in the darkness without making too much noise, desperate to get out before the cursing, bumbling jailer could light another candle. Quickly reaching the opening on the opposite side, Sir Richard dived through it, pulling the maidens behind him.

  Rowena suddenly found herself outside in the silver moonlight, high up on the battlements with a strong wind tugging at her hair and gown.

  Sir Richard ran along to the tower at the end, where, breathing hard, he stopped and turned to the even more breathless ladies. ‘That foul swine will be onto us so we must get out fast. But there is one last thing I need to do. Watch Nimue for a moment, will you,’ he ordered Rowena briskly, setting the girl down beside her.

  The knight then kicked in the wooden door leading into the tower in front of them, and emerged a few moments later carrying a large barrel. He set it down and praised its lid up with the blade of his dagger. When he lifted the lid off the barrel, the pungently awful smell of pitch filled the air. Looking on in bewilderment, Rowena covered her nose with the wide sleeve of her nun’s habit.

  Much to the surprise of his audience, Sir Richard lifted the open barrel high above his head and tossed it off the battlements and onto the rush-thatched roof below. His purpose quickly became clear when he seized hold of the legs of a burning brazier lighting the ramparts and threw it after the pitch.

  Rowena watched with great satisfaction as the pitch splashed over the roof instantly caught fire and started burning fiercely. She was mesmerized by the sight of the bright orange tongues of flame licking devilishly around the barrel and dancing demonically over the thatch in fiendish delight.

  Someone shook her shoulder. ‘Rowena, I said we must go!’

  ‘Oh,’ she murmured, slowly realizing that Sir Richard was urgently trying to usher the four maidens towards a flight of steps while he held Nimue in his arms.

  She quickly came to her senses and hurried to the steps, which ran diagonally down the side of the castle walls to a small door halfway up. Celest
ria, Isolda and Mary were already hurriedly descending the narrow stone steps, keeping close to the wall and away from the sheer drop into the boiling sea far below. When Rowena started down after them, Sir Richard followed close behind her, holding Nimue tightly as she whimpered fearfully at the dizzying drop on one side of the rail-less flight of stairs.

  When everyone was safely down, the five maidens looked expectantly at Sir Richard, wondering why he was looking over the terrifying plunge into the dark foaming waters below rather than getting on with breaking through the door blocking their progress.

  He set Nimue down and shook his head. ‘No, not that way.’

  Rowena frowned. ‘What then?’

  He pointed to the sea far down below. ‘That way. The sea is deep enough here for us to jump.’

  There was a collective gasp of horror from the five young damsels. Nimue instantly disappeared beneath her blanket and shrunk down to the floor as far back from the sea as she could.

  ‘But Isolda and I can’t swim!’ gasped Celestria.

  Rowena peered fearfully over the edge, not daring to go too close lest she should fall. ‘I can swim a little, but the sea is so rough I will surely drown!’

  ‘I can’t swim neither,’ added Mary, looking at Sir Richard as though he had just suggested she cut her own head off.

  ‘But I can,’ answered an unperturbed Sir Richard. ‘And so can Sergeant Gallagher, who is waiting for us down below. Who is going to go first?’

  The four visible maidens shrunk back from him and shook their heads.

  Sir Richard looked at the tallest damsel. ‘Mary, I think you should go first. Gallagher will pull you around to the causeway. It is just under the gatehouse, so it is only a short way.’

  Rowena could see an orange glow coming from above the battlements, and smoke was starting to sting her eyes and throat. The fire might have been an excellent diversion, but it meant there was no way back now. Drowning in the sea was better than burning to death or being killed by vile, merciless villains or worse still, being imprisoned in a tiny cell for the rest of her life slowly rotting—if she didn’t go mad first.