Books: Highland Ballad
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Christopher Leadem >> Highland Ballad
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After a time he slowed to a walk. . .then finally stopped altogether.
He knew the man could not escape him. The thick and impenetrable door
sealed him in, and two of his own men guarded the long, unapproachable
corridor. No outsider would hear his cries, or come to his aid.
But this was not what made him pause. Things were becoming too
complicated, as the old man took more and more chances to protect
himself. And what if he failed? Who had been his `loyal right hand'
these many years, doing the dirty work, and taking all the risks?
"Toby Ballard," he muttered. "That's who. And likely to have my neck
stretched for the trouble." That very day he had killed a King's
messenger---the man Arthur had despatched---for which he might well
taste the gallows.
And there was yet one more bitter savor added to the stew: he had
developed a weakness for the girl. What he felt for his `little
prisoner' could hardly be called love, and he knew that in time she
would have to be done away with. But to be killed by him
, tonight, before his desire had been met and served..... He sat down
on a middle landing, neither high nor low, trying to work it all
through in his mind.
For the Lord Purceville had misjudged him. What this man felt for him
was not loyalty, but merely a primal respect for his strength, such as
any pack animal might feel. And now that strength had begun to fail.
Me, I sticks with the meanest dog, and when he's killed I go my own
way
. But who was the meanest dog now, and which side would prevail?
Arthur was dead, but the power of the Crown.....
These were the things he tried to weigh, knowing that very soon he
must decide. And then he must act.
Thirty-Four
The two men lay peering over the edge of a low, crumbling wall,
looking down a sharp slope at the garrison below. Row after row of
long, low buildings met their eyes. Behind the barracks, to the
watchers' left, were the stables for the horses; in front of them, the
night watch stood talking or drinking coffee before a blazing fire.
Two sentinels paced back and forth between cornering guardhouses, with
the pickets of the mounted patrols just beyond.
It was now full night. The rising moon was exactly halved, with long
bars of smoky cloud passing at intervals across it. The resulting
twilight was neither pale nor pitch, but a sporadic intermingling of
both. Whether moonlight or deepest shadow fell across the creatures of
earth, seemed entirely a matter of chance.
Neither help nor hindrance, Michael thought. But he expected no more.
Thus far their journey had gone without incident, though the real
difficulty and danger lay ahead. Yet the largest part of what he
fought in that moment was not fear, but a fatigue that bordered on
despair. It was a sore trial to have ridden so far, and lived in
darkness so long, only to arrive weary and unsure at the time of
greatest need, when courage and decisive action were most critical.
As he looked down at the garrison, and on to the Castle in the
distance, he felt again his own frailty and insignificance. Rustic
proverbs about weakness overcoming strength, and water (in time)
eroding the hardest stone, brought little comfort. For Mary and his
mother were imprisoned by the hands of men. Proverbs and faith would
not free them, only active human resistance. His heart beat heavily
against the cold ground. He knew what he must do.
"How do we slip past them?" he asked Purceville.
It was a formidable question. For behind the stables the stone rose
sheer, a bony ridge forming one margin of the high peninsula on which
the Castle was set: a long and difficult climb at best, to an
uncertain end. It also forced them to leave the horse behind, and to
abandon all thoughts of mounted escape.
To the fore of the compound as well, there seemed little hope of
stealth. The only road in passed directly in front of it, full in the
glare of the watchfire. Beyond it, to the right, lay only a narrow
stretch of rough greenbelt, then again the ground rose, rocky and
untenable. Perhaps they might creep along in the far shadows, where
the uneven turf met stone. But one false step, one noisy balk on the
part of the animal, already restive, and they were as good as caught.
Stephen stared directly at him. "We don't."
Michael felt his blood run cold. "Stephen! You're not thinking of
betraying---"
"Of course not. If I wanted to turn you in, and try to reach Earl
Arthur, I'd have only to raise my voice and we'd be surrounded at
once. I will admit that I'd thought of it. But your way has certain. .
. advantages."
In a brief moment of unobscured moonlight, Michael saw that the
Englishman's face had resumed something of its domineering cruelty,
and realized that the tables had been turned once more. But there was
something else at work there as well, some deep inner conflict, not
yet resolved. And he knew, for all the anger and fear that now welled
up in him..... He still needed this man's help. He forced his hand to
loose its grip on the pistol, and his voice to remain calm.
"What is your plan?" he said, as evenly as he could.
"To walk right past them---myself on horseback, you tied to a length
of rope behind. I'll say I've caught another prisoner, and am taking
him to my father for interrogation."
Again Michael forced back his emotions. "And what if one of those men
knows of the rift between you, or Ballard is there himself?"
"Those `men'," said Stephen with disdain, "are the King's soldiers.
They know nothing of the inner machinations. The ones who do my
father's dirty work---those either cruel enough to like it, or weak
enough to be bullied into submission---are stationed with him in the
Castle. And if Ballard should be there, I will have him arrested and
put in chains. You forget that in the King's army I am still a
Captain." Stephen paused. "And if you have a better plan, Highlander,
I should very much like to hear it."
Again Michael felt the sense of helpless inevitability that had
assailed him as the women were taken from him. He railed against it,
cursed it, hated himself for beginning to yield. Fate's endless trap
opened yet again before him. . .to what end
?
But no matter how he searched and fought, he could see no other way.
This time, at least, he would force one concession. He drew out the
pistol, and rested its cold muzzle against the Englishman's chest.
"Purceville. Will you swear to me now, on your life, that no matter
what happens to me, you will get Mary out and away from here? I mean
just and only that. In the eyes of God, and on peril of your life, do
you so swear?"
This time there was no hesitation. "That I do most solemnly swear."
"All right, then." Slowly he lowered the pistol, and handed it to
Purceville. "Let's see if you've got any of your father's gift for
deception." Their eyes met, though coldly, and both understood.
Together they crept back from the wall, then rose and moved to the
deeper shadows of a weather-worn tree, where they had left the horse.
Michael himself cut a length from the coiled rope, untied the knots he
had put in it for Mary's rescue, and fastened one end to the saddle.
"All right," he said. "Bind my wrists, before I change my mind. And
see that the knots are tight. If anyone examines them, I want it to
look real."
Purceville did as he asked, exactly, then remounted. All done in
silence, and without once looking into his face.
In silence also did he spur his mount, and lead the bound man, none
too gently, down the hill and onto the road that had swallowed the
women. And on to the garrison of men.
Thirty-Five
The Lord Purceville leaned back heavily against the cold stone wall,
eyes wide with a fear that was altogether new to him. His own
breathing as they reached the upper stories had become tight and
irregular; and now, though nearly twenty minutes had elapsed, his
chest had still not relented its angry rebellion at such use.
For he was no longer young, and his body's weight had begun to
overmatch the inherent strength of his limbs and heart. And this same
heart, which had served him so long and so well as to be all but
forgotten, now labored heavily to compensate. And while he was
probably in no danger of a seizure, what he had seen in Arthur, and
the long suppressed fear that his physical hardihood would one day
desert him, combined to race dark imaginings through his mind.
And where the hell
was Ballard? That they must kill the orderly was clear, but it must be
done in such a way..... Damn him! His sudden appearance had undone a
scheme so perfect it would have solved everything. "Everything!"
But his wrath was wasted here, and he knew it. He let his great body
slide down to the hard, unyielding floor. And for all the anguish it
cost him, he knew he must remain there until the furor of his body had
lessened, and his thoughts become more tenable. Then he would act with
swift resolution. Or so he imagined.
For Ballard, in his ponderous and short-sighted way, had reached a
very different conclusion. Though unable to weigh the full
consequences of such a choice, he had decided that the days of his
master's dominance were numbered, and that it was time to abandon him.
"I'm me own master now," he said aloud. "Now I
decide who lives, and who don't."
So rising slowly, with plans of his own passing through him in the
dark, he descended the remaining steps, and approached at last the
final landing---the broad level space before the massive door.
He heard a sudden start in the gloom, and strained his eyes to see.
The single lamp was now smoking so badly, and cast such a wavering
glow..... He saw the orderly, crouched like a frightened child at the
foot of the impenetrable door. The Lieutenant took a breath, then
chose his course.
"Peace, Master Cummings," he said to him. "I haven't come to kill you.
Stand against the far wall if it will make your mind easier. I'm going
to let you out."
"But you. . .you murdered
him." Almost a sob.
"Not I, my friend. It was that bastard, Purceville, who done it before
I could stop him. And that'll be an end to my faithful service, I
promise you. After all these years' blind obedience, I see him now in
his true colors. I tell you, I've had enough."
He came forward with the ring of keys in his hand, as the other moved
distrustfully away. He inserted the iron shaft, turned it in the lock,
and pulled open the door with a seditious crack like the unsealing of
a coffin. Then stood away.
The orderly eyed the opening, torn between desire and fear. Then began
to inch toward it with his back against the stone, arms spread
plaintively behind him.
"Be cautioned," said Ballard as he drew closer. "You must walk past
the guards at the end of the corridor as if nothing has happened, then
lie low till I've had time to deal with the Master. His men are
ruthless, and the Lord only knows what they'll do if they
suspect....."
The young man looked back at him, confused, then suddenly burst
through the opening and out into the corridor beyond.
Ballard sealed and locked the barrier once more. And thinking of the
girl, so utterly helpless in the cold dark cell, he smiled.
Thirty-Six
Perhaps a mile from the garrison, the bony ridge to the left of the
road began to decline and pull back, leaving in its place a high,
grassy plateau. This continued largely unbroken to the Castle, due
north, ending to westward in a stark precipice that fell for a
thousand feet into the churling seas below. At this same point the
road began a long, slow loop to the right, at length bending back to
meet the fortified drawbridge at the Castle's eastern gate.
Here Stephen turned off the weathered track, moving up into the
lateral plain. Michael plodded on behind him, still bound, his wrists
raw and aching. So convincing had Purceville's performance been before
the garrison---so rough and disdainful his treatment of the
prisoner---that Michael himself was not certain how things now stood
between them. But a short distance from the precipice the Englishman
checked his horse and dismounted, approaching him.
"I underestimated you," said the Highlander. To this the other did not
reply, but sternly set to work loosing the bonds.
"This much I did for you," said Stephen, as the last knot fell away.
"What I do from here on is for myself, and for the girl."
"I ask no more." Nothing was said about the pistol, which the
Englishman did not return. For Michael knew that the time for weapons
and fighting was passed. Now there was only the Tower, and the sea.
The two mounted, and rode the remaining distance carefully, the horse
weary and unsure beneath them. And soon the hard dark walls of the
fortress were sharply outlined against the tattered sky beyond.
Drawing closer still, Stephen guided the reluctant animal to the very
edge of the cliffs upon their left. Far below the seas crashed
sullenly against the unyielding stone, or hissed dark warnings upon
the sands of a shallow inlet. Michael strained his eyes for any sign
of the waiting skiff, but distance and darkness defied him.
And soon the great, cornering Tower frowned black and menacing before
them. They dismounted, feeling small, perhaps a hundred yards away, in
the hollow beneath a wind-riven oak.
Together they advanced on foot, through the cold stubble-grass, until
they were halted by the rounded bulge of the Tower itself. Immediately
to the right of it a dry, deep-cloven moat had been cut into the stone
foundation, encircling the Castle on its three exposed sides. The
fourth, to westward, was protected by the fall of cliffs behind.
But the Tower itself needed no such fortification. Two hundred feet
high, its thick and unscalable walls showed no opening for at least
half that distance, and then only a staggered spiralling of high
narrow windows for archers. The only other feature it showed beneath
the crowning battlements, were the lizard- and gargoyle-headed
drainspouts, which in centuries past had been used to pour boiling oil
down upon the heads of would-be attackers, along with a volley of
arrows and a shower of stones.
Craning his neck to look up at it, Michael saw neither light nor
sentinel, either in the Tower itself, or upon the high, adjacent wall.
For none were needed. Sheer physical impassability guarded this
bulwark turned prison, where there could be no thought of rescue or
escape. The Berserkers themselves had not been able to storm its
fastness, and they were five centuries gone and forgotten.
Here at the last, Michael realized the full desperation of his scheme.
It would take a near perfect throw to reach the upper windows with one
of the projectiles in which he placed such hope. And as Stephen had
said, they didn't even know which cell the women were in. He could not
look at Purceville now, who surely must be sneering at his `faith' and
naiveté.
So there it was. To have come so far, and overcome such obstacles,
only to be defeated in the end by cold, indifferent stone. His whole
soul longed to cry out her name in passionate summons. . .but he dared
not. For though the walls were blind, surely there were ears within to
hear his desperation, and descend upon them like angry birds of prey.
Feeling utterly lost, he lifted the great coil from his shoulders, and
let it fall in a useless heap to the ground. And hung his head, unable
for a time to continue.
But when he raised it again, unvanquished, his eyes caught a gleam of
something bright and solid in the grass, as for a moment the moon
shone down clear and unobstructed. He moved closer, before the pale
light could hide itself once more. Was it possible.....
The ring! He lifted it gently, as if it were a thing of smoke which
might dissolve upon his touch. But the slender band remained.
"What is it?" asked Stephen.
"A sign," replied the Highlander.
And with these words all the hope and urgency of his task returned to
him. "It is my mother's. . .it is Mary's
ring, cast down as a marker from one of the cells above." He turned
again to face the Tower, careful to stand in the exact spot where he
had found it. "The way the windows are staggered, it could only have
come from the uppermost story. Would that make sense, based on your
knowledge of the Tower?"
"Yes," said Stephen, understanding. "And it would suit my father's
temperament as well. He'll have done everything possible to
intimidate....."
But Michael was no longer listening. Instead he ran with sudden
resolution, back to the startled horse, and removed the saddlebags.
Returning again, but this time not so close, he tried to gauge the
height and distance exactly, then poured out his bundles on the
ground.
* * *
The two women sat huddled together in fear, at the farthest point from
the wretched, inadequate door. For as Ballard suspected, they had
heard every word of the murderous doings beyond it, including Lord
Purceville's promise that they would not live out the night.
Of all the moments Mary had yet endured, this was undeniably the
darkest. To hear one's death sentence pronounced is a trial few can
face. To hear the words spoken by her own father, the man who had
brought her into the world, who should have loved and cared for her
above all others. . .was a horror so black it nearly clove her heart
in two. She hunched together, pale and shivering with fright---unable
to act, or even to think.
And yet it was only in that, most desperate of corners, that the true
strength of her spirit revealed itself. Her slow-awakened courage,
pushed to its final need, became galvanized at the last, not a
momentary surge, to be swept away as soon as anger left her, but a
permanent foundation, underlying all. The will to live, and to resist
the evil that would snuff out that life, rose so strong in her that it
was all she could do not to cry out in rage.
Clenching her jaws to keep the lower from trembling, she broke away
from the helpless embrace and began to move across the floor on all
fours, searching for the blade that she had earlier discarded.
With this, Anne Scott too seemed to gather herself, and perceiving her
niece's intention, began to search for the knife as well. All done in
the poor and inconstant light from without, and with the urgency that
only threat of death can bring.
It was no easy task. For the uneven paving stones held many cracks,
with scattered straw overlying all. But at last Mary's hand touched
steel, and her fingers closed around it.
A moment later two sounds were heard, one almost in answer to the
other. First came Ballard's heavy tread upon the threshold of the
landing. Then somewhere in the distance, a startled horse gave voice
to its weary confusion.
As if with one mind the women sought each other out. Then locking
arms, they turned all senses outward, poised for instantaneous action.
Together they heard the rough speech of the men outside the door, at
the same time wondering with secret hope what rider had approached the
outer walls, where none had come before.
"Where have you been?" growled Purceville angrily. "What did you do
with him?"
"Mister Cummings met with an accident. He was in such haste to bring
help to his dying master, that he missed his footing and fell headlong
down the stairs. Broke his neck. An ugly accident, but natural
enough."
"Good," said Purceville more calmly. "Good work." But Ballard would
have none of it.
"So the death of these two we can explain," he said flatly. "But how
are you going to explain throttling them bitches?"
"I'm not, Lieutenant
, and I suggest you watch your tongue." He paused, perceiving for the
first time the danger of the man before him. Not even his son knew
more..... "We throw the bodies out the window, then have them
collected by Simon's men and hurled into the sea. Arthur's escort will
be too unnerved by his death to remember why he came here tonight, if
they ever knew. Then tomorrow we put two other women in their
place---my former mistress and her mother---who'll say only what we
tell them to say. All done as neat as neat."
"Well it don't sound such a sure thing to me," rumbled Ballard, whose
one thought amidst the closing web of treacheries was to have his way
with the girl, possibly even steal her away.
"So who bloody asked you!" cried Purceville, drawing a great pistol
from the inner lining of his coat. But the sudden outburst brought an
answering pain from his chest, and he fell back against the wall for
support. Yet he still had fire enough to point the weapon squarely at
his subordinate, who had taken a menacing step towards him.
"I catch my breath. . .then we go in, and do
it!" Ballard could only glare at him, his hopes for lust slipping
away.
The two women, holding whispered counsel of their own, had begun to
form plans for an ambush, when a second unexplained sound met their
ears. Soft, but infinitely nearer it came: some round and yielding
object had struck the floor gently, then bounded a short distance
further with a rustle of hay.
Again Mary dropped down on all fours, groping, but this time toward a
more definite source. Again her hand met something solid, which she
could not at first identify. It seemed to be. . .a ball of twine,
wrapped about some heavier object.
"Anne," she whispered anxiously, rejoining her companion. "It must
have been cast through the window. What can it be?"
Holding it up in what poor light could be found, the older woman made
out a tiny sheet of parchment wrapped beneath the first few strands,
on which some kind of message had been scrawled. She hurriedly worked
it out with her fingers, beginning to understand. Recognizing the word
`rope', as well as the hand which must have written it, she needed no
further explanation.
"It is your way out," she replied firmly. "Yours. Remember that, both
of you. And as you love me, do as I say. You must leave me behind
." With that she moved swiftly to the window, and wrapping the end of
the twine securely about her left hand, with her right cast the
remaining bundle as hard and as far as she could.
Michael, still at his distance, unsure of success, did not see her.
But Stephen could; and sensing the same urgency that had driven the
Highlander to sudden action, he called to him in a harsh whisper.
"Michael!"
The slender cord had unraveled perhaps half the necessary length to
reach the ground when, catching slightly, it pulled the remaining ball
back against the Tower wall. But the force of impact loosed the snag,
and the weight of the stone within carried it bouncing and unwinding
to the turf below.
Michael, coming forward, still had not seen his mother. But he saw the
shrunken ball of twine, reduced to almost nothing, and wasted not an
instant.
Seizing the end of the rope, which lay but a short distance off, he
tied the thinner cord firmly below the first of the spaced knots, then
tugged gently in signal. Only then did he look up to see the female
form leaning out, and with frozen breath, watched the life-line
beginning to ascend.
Anne Scott held the tensing line away from the wall for as long as she
could, till the growing weight of the rope forced her to bring it
closer to her body, praying that the twine would not catch and tear
against the stone. Mary stood guard behind her, the knife clenched,
trying to understand what was happening. Anne Scott stepped back. The
rope was in her hand.
".....I tell you I don't like it," snapped Ballard just beyond. "And
what if I told you I hadn't got the key?"
"I'd blow your God damned head off."
Searching the floor, the widow found the iron hoop through which
ancient shackles had once been passed. She put the end of the rope
through and tied it fast, tested it with a severe pull, then guided
Mary quickly to the window.
"Over the side with you, Mary," she whispered. "No time for fear.
Michael is below with your brother. Yes! Give me the weapon. . .now up
into the sill. That's it. Keep firm hold of the rope, and use the
knots to guide you down. Climb swiftly but carefully, then be gone,
both of you! I'll deal with this lot."
Hardly knowing what had happened, Mary found herself outside the
window, clutching a dark rope with all the desperate strength of
youth. She tried at first to gain some foothold, then in a moment of
panic, to reach up and climb back into the sill. But the groping hand
slid away, and the downward momentum twisted her body outward..... She
hung by one hand above the void, as a sudden wind ripped across her,
and the surf beat hungrily against the rocks far below. Fear choked
her nearly to paralysis. But there was something else, there on the
solid ground. Two figures stood, one of them.....
Twisting her body and using her legs for leverage, she turned again to
face the stone, and with her right hand, once more took firm hold of
the lifeline.
Not looking down, breath coming in gasps and limbs trembling, she
began to descend, her feet wrapped tightly, tensely sliding from one
catch-knot to the next.
When she dared to look again she was halfway down, and Michael was
standing beneath her, arms wide as if to embrace the sky.
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