He lies there for a long time, but Carmichael doesn’t return. Eventually he rolls onto his hands and knees, and, using the rough stone wall for support, gets to his feet. Leaning against the wall, he makes a vow: I will not allow Carmichael, or any man, to attack me again. He repeats it, aloud this time. Never again, not without putting up some sort of fight. The humiliation of defeat, without even an attempt to resist, is far worse than the pain of any beating.
When he eventually clatters into the courtyard he’s told to hush his infernal racket. They’re all there, standing still and listening, apart from Nydie, who’s shakily drawing water from the well. Taking the bucket out of James’s hand he winces as it swings into his aching belly. James looks curiously at him.
He’s directed to pour the water into a range of wooden bowls, which are dotted around the edge of the courtyard and in the gateway. A man is stationed by each bowl, staring down into it.
He looks to Nydie. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We think our besiegers may be trying something different – a mine.’
‘And the bowls of water, what do they tell us?’
‘If the water ripples then it’ll be from vibrations in the ground.’
‘From them digging?’
Nydie nods.
He is silent, absorbing the information. ‘Can we do anything to stop them?’
‘Oh yes, laddie,’ says Carmichael strolling over with a smirk on his face. ‘Our baby boy is going to be getting his hands dirty; very dirty and very sore.’
They start in the guard-room. The plan is to dig straight down, halting often to listen. They don’t know for certain if a siege tunnel has been started by Arran, but Richard Lee says it’s as well to be prepared. Lee came with the stores that King Henry sent, and may be of use in ending the siege, for he’s a clever man who understands siege warfare and has already made improvements to the garrison’s defences.
Will holds the pick ready in his hands. He’s never used a pick-axe before, but how difficult can it be? It’s just hitting the ground.
He raises it high above his head and whacks it down with all his might. His whole body reverberates. He drops the pick, hands stinging, tucking them in his oxters and bending double to contain the pain. It hurts so much he doesn’t care that Carmichael is roaring with laughter.
Richard Lee and Norman Leslie consult with one another.
‘Where does Lee come from?’ Will whispers to Nydie, as they wait. ‘He twists his words so I can barely understand him.’
‘His speech is most strange. He’s not from London. Perhaps Yorkshire or maybe Hereford – and he is of common folk, I heard tell.’
‘Do we have no sappers among us?’ Will hears Lee say, ‘Or at least a man, who knows how to use a pick in all the hundred within?’
Leslie shifts from one foot to the other. ‘I fear not. Seton here’s a merchant’s son and I doubt he ever dug a hole in his life unless to make a mud puddle.’
Will hopes Leslie and Lee can’t see him colour in the dim light.
‘He is but a scrawny chapman,’ says Lee. ‘And no more than a boy, despite his great height. You there,’ he points at Carmichael, ‘let’s see what you’re made of.’
Will sniggers at Carmichael’s expression.
‘But my father is…,’ he stutters.
‘It matters not whose son you are. There are too many fine fellows within this palace and not enough foot soldiers. We must all take our turn. And you,’ says Lee to Nydie. ‘I need every person here gathered in the courtyard now. Seton, is that your name?’
Will nods.
‘Go and help him.’
They rush out of the guardroom, remembering to duck their heads under the low arch and then stop for a quick consultation. Should they go together, it‘ll be quicker to split up, but will people listen to them? They hear voices from behind and shoot off in opposite directions.
Deciding aggression is the best approach, Will roars and points herding all before him. He’s pleased with the effect he’s having, as servants and hangers-on rush down the turnpike and out the wooden stairs. He must remember the feeling and build on it, learn to be a man of power.
Richard Lee selects the strongest looking among them and pulls them off into one group. Neither Will nor James are part of it; Will because he’s already failed and James because he’s still weak from his illness.
‘We must have men who know how to mine,’ says Lee. ‘Surely somewhere in this godforsaken land you mine for coal, or at least quarry for stone.’
Nydie drops the bucket he’s carrying. ‘My father,’ he says breathlessly, ‘Hugh of Nydie, has men who excavate, for we dig much stone from our land. The abbey at Balmerino was built from our sandstone.’
‘Well, we do not care for abbeys, but miners we must have,’ says Lee. ‘Leslie, can you find some way to get these men here, and any others from the lands of the many lairds herein, who may have mines or quarries. In the meantime we must somehow manage with who we have.’
Lee seizes the pick-axe and demonstrates how to swing it. It’s plain that most of those he’s selected are both unskilled and unwilling, but there are a few who know what they’re about. He sets to with a will and the others follow reluctantly. Soon there’s a small hole and he tasks James and Will with clearing the rubble. They’re to collect it in baskets, lift them onto their backs and dump it in the corner of the courtyard. The baskets are heavy, and after lifting only a few they’re sweating freely. The digging is to go on night and day until they establish where, and if, the besiegers are mining. Will doesn’t know how he’ll find the strength to keep going and is even more concerned about Nydie, who has gone pale as marble. But somehow they must.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Whiffle-Whaffle
Will works away clearing rubble but puzzling over what they’re doing.
‘Why do we not wait for our attackers to break through and then pick them off as they emerge? Then we would not have to expend effort digging, and surely it is better than both attackers and defenders meeting underground,’ he whispers to an equally baffled Nydie.
‘It would not,’ sighs Lee who has overheard them. He stops to speak and Will suspects it’s preferable, even for Richard Lee, to stand outside by their rubble pile than inside in the creeping dark, coughing on the soot from the smoking torches and watching a bunch of incompetents.
‘Arran’s intent is not to gain entry; the purpose of a siege tunnel is to undermine the castle defences and that is why we call it a mine. Our attackers will begin at a safe distance from the castle so they cannot be seen or fired upon, which is how we cannot yet be sure they are digging.’
‘How will it cause the castle walls to collapse, unless they mine close beneath the surface?’ Nydie asks.
‘No, that would not be wise – else they would find themselves buried alive if the wall collapsed unexpectedly. Once they believe themselves to be underneath the castle walls they’ll hollow out an area, which is supported by timber props to keep those digging safe, until all is ready. Then explosives will be laid and fires set below each prop and, when the miners are confident the fire has taken hold, they’ll flee out of the mine to safety. The conflagration will cause the tunnel to cave in and, if they’ve done their work well, the defensive wall above the tunnel will tumble down and the besiegers can take the castle.’
Will ponders Lee’s explanation. ‘But…,’ he says and stops as Nydie gives him a nudge.