V Masters - The Castilians - A Story of the Siege of St Andrews Castle

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.

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.

Will, Lee and the two miners all squeezed tight together nudge one another; light is shining through from below. They enlarge the hole, cries beneath them growing loud, then fading. Lee kneels at the edge, and sticks his head through. Will can feel Lee’s body tense, ready to jerk his head out if necessary; he is a brave man. They wait, then Lee lifts his head out and smiles.

‘It could not be more perfect.’

They all shove their heads through in turn. Young Morrison, who’s crept along the tunnel to join them, wants to climb down and explore, but Lee forbids it. When it’s Will’s turn to look, he sees they’ve broken through more than the height of a man above their attackers. The tunnel beneath is spacious enough for six men to stand abreast and room to bring in horses, or ponies at least. He thinks how easy his task might have been if he’d had a pony and cart – and the space to use one.

‘There is nothing Regent Arran’s men can do,’ says Lee rubbing his hands. ‘You two,’ he nods to the miners, ‘stay here until I send down armed men to keep watch.’

When they emerge Balnaves, the Leslies and Kirkcaldy of Grange come running and cluster around Lee to hear the news.

‘Their tunnel is made worthless – we can fire down upon them, or tip cauldrons of boiling water or even just a loud halloo will send them fleeing; they can excavate no further,’ Lee says.

Balnaves claps his hands, Kirkcaldy claps Lee on the back and the Leslies cheer.

Then Balnaves is tugging on Lee’s arm, and Will sees Lee frown. ‘But surely they can still set explosives,’ Balnaves says.

‘They surely can, and light a fire under their wooden props too,’ says Lee disengaging his arm. ‘And it will cause the tunnel to collapse; but they never got far enough to reach beneath the castle walls, so only the ground before the castle would be brought down. Indeed it would be to our advantage if they did set explosives, for troops cannot easily storm the castle if the foreground is all broken up; it would be too treacherous.’

Richard Lee’s plan has worked perfectly and their attackers have failed. For once Dour Will , as his fellows have named him, is as jubilant as the rest, albeit exhausted. They pat one another on the back and declare that Lee is truly the king of siege engineers.

Even Nydie rises from his sickbed to join the celebrations, leaning on Will, while James Hamilton looks on, his face ashen. Regent’s son or no, he is smiling but then Will, and others, have taken the opportunity of his incarceration to teach him the new doctrine and the importance of reading the Bible.

Arran responds quickly after the failure of his plan, sending emissaries to the gate with a message offering terms if the Castilians will leave the castle, and release his son. They’ll be taken to Blackness Castle and held there, at least the lairds will. As the son of a merchant, Will reflects, he’ll probably be given more lowly imprisonment than a chamber at Blackness.

Far from seriously considering Arran’s offer, the garrison is gleeful. It’s yet another sign the Lord must be on their side, otherwise their besiegers would have got them out. The lairds send Arran’s emissary back with an instant refusal. In response Arran rolls the big guns out again, Crook-mow and Deaf Meg, and stations them by the trenches, aiming at the block houses and the Chapel. There’s much activity among the Castilians, re-energised after being freed from the slavery of mining. They are still well equipped, thanks to the large quantity of lead bullet and cannon balls Cardinal Beaton had stored in the months before his death when, as Leslie says, he was any day expecting an attack from his arch enemy, Henry of England.