Even Geordie cheers up when a bonny servant asks. ‘Are ye hungry?’
Nydie nudges Will and Geordie shuffles his feet and stares at the ground.
‘Och well,’ she grins. ‘There’s been a slaughtering of beasts for the winter and I have blood pudding ready to eat and a fine mug of ale to go with it – but I see you’re no interested.’
Geordie barrels past Will and follows her into the cookhouse.
The lord and lady of the house treat Nydie and Will right good well, and even though Will knows it’s because Nydie is who he is, he doesn’t allow it to mar the time, which is all too short. They leave by late afternoon – already it’s growing dark – with full bellies, and boats equally full of men and supplies.
The wind begins to rise, whirling across the sea and chopping up the waves but they are near the castle now. Bethia is waiting and climbs down to the boat, although Will’s less than pleased to see the breeches have been donned once more.
She stops in front of him. ‘Please, Will, you must help me.’
But he won’t answer her, won’t even look at her. What is there to say? He will not leave his fellows, and especially his good friend Nydie. He does not believe her story about being forced into a marriage with Fat Norman. It’s a ruse to get him home. Father would not propose such a match, not for a bonny girl like Bethia and with a good dowry forby. There is, however, one thing he wants to know before she departs.
‘Why did you tell Lee where Arran’s men are mining?’
‘We must go,’ calls Geordie over the rising wind.
Will waves a hand at him to wait.
‘If they take the castle by force then you may be hurt, or worse.’
‘Thank you for looking out for me. You are a good sister, even if you can be annoying,’ he says, and squeezes her arm.
Geordie shouts again. She opens her mouth to speak, sighs instead, pats his hand and leaves.
The fellows lower ropes to haul up the supplies and soon he is occupied with them and forgets about Bethia. There’s some grumbling about the paucity of provisions, until Will tells them to look in the boats following. He feels better for his day out. Now he just needs to sort Carmichael out, once and for all.
Chapter Thirty
Countermine
Will and Nydie are much lauded for bringing the miners. Although there are only eight of them, they can do the work of many more Castilians, being used to tunnelling into hillsides to extract stone, and they counter-mine with such speed that Will’s team have to enlist more help to keep pace with the rubble removal.
A further delivery of food comes, as promised, the next night, but by day three they no longer want provisions from Erlishall because Melville is sick and thirty others besides. It is said the Mountquhanys deliberately tried to poison the garrison but he’s not so sure if the cause is the food from Tents Muir since he ate plenty of it, and he’s not sick. The fish on the other hand he didn’t eat – he shudders at the thought. It looked long caught with the eyes cloudy and gills slimy. He’d said as much to Nydie, but Nydie shrugged, saying they’ve eaten worse, and anyways what did Will know of fish when he can’t bear to touch, never mind eat, them. But he does know how to size the quality of goods; learnt that at least from Father. And now Nydie is sick again, and James Hamilton too. They’d lose a great deal if the Regent’s son should die, but more than that, he likes young Arran, feels protective of him after what he’s endured as a hostage, always with politeness.
Richard Lee unfortunately is not sick. The new, and hopefully final, tunnel is begun outside the fore-tower, based on the information Bethia provided. Lee is driving his reduced workforce harder than ever – even the miners do not go fast enough to satisfy him. The one benefit, Will thinks wryly, is that he himself has strong muscles now and his shoulders have broadened, although his jerkin is tight across his back. No one can call him a gawky lad anymore – or push him around.
They pause often in their work to listen, and increasingly there are sounds to be heard. Lee is now convinced the besiegers are at work making their way steadily underground towards the castle walls – and Will notices that Balnaves no longer complains about the countermining.
He awakens one morning, shivering. The wind is whistling through the vents, and, although the air may be fresh, he’d rather have warmth even if it does make the stink worse. He’s slept in all his clothes as usual. If Agnes were here she would likely take them off him by force and throw on the midden. God’s good heart how he wishes she were here. He sighs at the memory of her comforting presence, her pies and her warm kitchen. But there’s no time to get maudlin over Agnes and clean clothes. Walter Melville, James Melville’s brother, died yesterday, and five others the day before: twenty in all from bad fish.
Will gets up and goes to tend Nydie who has soiled himself again. When he’s fetched water from the well, he cleans and settles James with a sip of ale.
Nydie grasps his arm, as strongly as someone with no strength can, after all the vomiting he’s done, and whispers, ‘you are my good friend, my very good friend.’
Will tries to smile but it’s more of a grimace. He wishes Bethia had not gone, for she could minister to the sick. He hates mining but he’d rather have blistered hands than ones reeking of vomit and shit. It’s only because James of Nydie is his good friend that he tolerates it. He rubs his hands down his breeches, nods to Nydie and hurries down the turnpike to the mine, before Lee comes bellowing for him.
Night and day they work bent double, countermining with all possible speed. They’re helped by more miners, brought from Kirkcaldy’s lands this time. The tunnel is dug wide enough for one man to move down it at a time, crouched low, and no effort is to be wasted enlarging. For both diggers and those clearing behind them, all movement has to be planned, for they must turn sideways to pass one another. Will remembers Bethia screaming, and screaming, when he once shut her in an empty kist. He thinks how much she’d hate this. He doesn’t much like it himself, especially as the longer the tunnel gets, the harder it is to breathe. Mining, it seems, is only about reaching their attackers and chasing them away, not about creating ease of ingress and egress – or sufficient air vents.
The further they hollow through the rock, the louder the sound of their enemies working near. Lee tells them they must work silently, and they muffle their implements as best they can, but it’s hard to break through rock without making some noise. It helps that their attackers grow silent during the deepest hours of the night, when Lee has all his sappers at work, insisting all must lend a hand and even the lairds’ sons take their turn.
For the last section they grow even more careful; they can hear voices close through the rock beneath their feet. Will is there, his aching back all forgot as he leans over to listen. He can feel that the good Lord is with them, wants the Castilians to succeed. They chip, quietly and steadily, quietly and steadily. The voices seem close, close enough to touch the speakers.
Chapter Thirty-One
Breaking Through
They hear sounds of alarm; it seems they are discovered. Any attempt to stay quiet is given up and they excavate as hard and fast as they can. Someone has fetched Richard Lee and he squeezes past Will, directing them to attack the ground beneath, and not before them.
‘We must be quick,’ he hisses, ‘else they’ll have time to set explosives and blow us into eternity.’
Will shovels the rubble behind him to keep the area clear for the miners to work – there’s no time to scuttle back up the passageway with it now. A hole has appeared in the floor of the tunnel. Lee has a man shield the candles, whispering that he needs it dark to see if there’s torchlight shining through from below.