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

‘John, how…’

He waves the key at her, a cheeky grin on his face. ‘You need to hide?’

She nods.

‘Come on,’ he whispers. ‘I can show you the best hiding place ever. Even God won’t find you there.’

She slides off the bed and follows him, the wedding dress swinging in the draught as she closes the door behind her.

The streets are silent. They stay close to houses where the darkness is deepest. The cathedral rises before them, blocking out the starry night sky, and John leads Bethia across the broad expanse towards it. They creep along the side of its high wall until he stops, and Bethia trips over him.

‘Shush!’

He tugs her in behind one of several towers built into the wall and they crouch low, covering their faces. She can hear them now, voices loud and breathless as they climb the slope from the harbour. One of them starts to sing ‘The Frog cam to the myl dur,’ and the others join in, roaring out ‘Froggie was a courting, a courting.’

John covers his ears. ‘They’re not Frenchmen,’ he whispers.

‘Nor choristers!’

The men stagger past, swords clanking against their legs. Bethia and John slowly stand up, and then they are crouching again. There are men moving silently through the cathedral gates; dark shapes – their arms heavily laden.

‘It is the French soldiers,’ John hisses in her ear. ‘They are good thieves.’

‘Our town will soon have nothing left,’ Bethia hisses back. ‘But where are we going?’, she asks as they stand up.

‘You’ll see.’

She grabs his arm as they follow the soldiers, but he tugs her into Northgait, and around the back of a house. There is a guard on patrol but they crouch again, hidden by the darkness, until he passes. She stumbles over a bucket and John grabs her arm. They stand still for what seems a long time, but no one comes. John lets go and creeps away. She can’t see him.

‘John?’

He takes her hand hissing, ‘be careful of the rubble.’

She can see the darker outline of a mound piled higher than any midden before them. He leads her around it and into a byre, then points.

‘You can stay hid down there, for everyone has forgot about it.’

Her eyes grow large in disbelief. ‘The siege tunnel – don’t tell me you’ve been inside it.’

John blows air though his lips. ‘Me and the fellows have been down many times. We chase the ghosts away, and you can get into the castle easy. If the soldiers all weren’t so stupid, this siege would be over already.’

‘Oh, John!’

‘Come, it is the best place to hide – ever.’

She shivers as though someone is walking over her grave, and backs away. John takes her hand. ‘You will be surprised how big it is. They dug it wide, at least at the beginning. Come see.’

She shakes her head.

‘Shall we go home then?’

She shakes her head harder and he tugs on her hand, leading her inside.

The boys are so well prepared they even have a tinderbox and candles stored by the entrance, which is as well, for it’s black as Hades inside. She stumbles down the broad uneven steps as John holds the candle aloft, and marvels at how high and wide the tunnel is, especially given it was dug in such haste.

Further inside is damp and smells of mildew, and drips of water land on her head, running down the back of her neck. She shivers as she edges along, tripping over loose stones in the dancing light. The ground levels out and then suddenly there’s a wall of rock before them. The tunnel seems at an end.

She looks to John, who holds the candle high and points to a small hole in the rock directly above.

‘That’s the way in?’

‘It leads straight into the castle. Me and the boys have been along it.’

‘Oh John, you laddies were fortunate not to be caught, or killed.’

‘Hah!’ he puffs his chest out. ‘We are warriors, and it will take more than a few soldiers to catch us. The Castilians are stupid, they think God’s on their side so they don’t keep proper watch on their counter-mine; and the soldiers are stupid because they think the Castilians are clever, when actually they’re very sick, and those who aren’t are very lazy.’

‘You’ve been inside the castle?’

‘Only a littleways. They have had the pestilence and we didn’t want to catch it.’

‘Did you see Will, is he sick?’

‘No, we are clever warriors. We see no one and no one sees us. Are you climbing up or not, because the candle will burn out soon?’

She stands debating what she should do, clenching and unclenching her fists. If she goes home she’ll be married off and end up the property of the Wardlaws. She won’t do it. Not when she knows Father, without Mother’s insistence, would have been persuaded to wait. The siege may soon be over, but then again the Castilians have resisted every attempt to expel them – God surely is on their side.

‘Hurry up.’

She stares up at the hole in the rock. ‘You’re certain I won’t get stuck?’

He sighs long and loud, the sound echoing, followed by a silence so complete it is as though the stones have sucked the noise in. She knows he’s aware of her fear of confined dark spaces. Will once shut her in a kist and she couldn’t breathe.

John echoes her thoughts. ‘Remember when Father whipped Will for shutting you in that kist?’

‘I’d rather not think about the kist right now.’ But she hears the satisfaction in John’s voice at the memory of Will being whipped, and somehow it steadies her.

He insists she hold the candle and clambers up the rock face to show how easy it is.

‘See, place your foot here and then here,’ he says hanging over the edge and pointing. ‘It is only a short climb, so stop girning like a bairn.’

She cannot help but smile and sees, in the flickering light, John grin back at her.

‘Here, pass up the candle.’ He hangs over the edge so his whole upper body is mid-air and grabs it.

‘What’s that smell?’

‘The scunnersome thing is burning my jerkin.’ He beats at it with one hand and she hears him sigh, no doubt at the prospect of yet another thrashing for the burn hole.

She tries to climb, holding her skirts.

‘Girls and their stupid skirts,’ he says.

He drips some wax onto a rock and sticks the candle in it, which makes it difficult to see in the shadows, but frees his hands. Fortunately it’s a short climb, barely three times John’s height, and he reaches down, finds her hands and hauls her into the counter-mine.

It is so low she must bend double; this section was dug with little care and greater haste. He detaches the candle. They crouch and creep up the narrow trench carved down the middle. The tunnel climbs and curves, and she’s eternally grateful for the candle keeping the darkness at bay.

Suddenly there’s an opening on the right. She stumbles and nearly falls, but John tugs her into it.

‘What is this? Did they dig a second one.’

He shrugs but then she remembers Richard Lee’s earlier false starts as he tried to work out where the besiegers were tunnelling in. It must have happened again.

‘I can’t go any further,’ he says. ‘They’ll see the light if I go around the corner, and I will not douse the candle for then I cannot easily find my way back.’

She draws him to her, and hugs him. ‘You have been a loyal and true brother.’

They don’t speak of the brother who has been neither, but they’re both thinking of him.

‘When you get to the end, which is close, there’s a mound of rubble you must climb over to get out, but I’ll wait here for a wee whilie in case they’ve filled it in – which would have been wise,’ he mutters. ‘If you don’t soon return I will leave, but Bethia, be brave and climb quickly. I cannot stay long for the candle is near finished.’