first floor was a storeroom and armoury. By the time he reached the sleeping quarters on the second floor, he couldn’t hear any sounds from below. When the sergeant opened the door to the top floor, the first thing Hero saw was Vallon’s sword and Raul’s crossbow propped against the wall behind a table occupied by the off-duty guards. Vallon was seated on a pallet behind closely spaced posts that divided the room from floor to rafter. Raul sat slumped in a corner of the cell like a malevolent doll, shackled hand and foot and tethered by a chain to a ring in the wall. His eyes had closed into puffy slits and his bloated mouth stretched in a clown’s smile.
Vallon jumped up and grabbed the bars. ‘About time. Have you arranged our release?’
‘Listen to him,’ the sergeant said. He walked up to the bars. ‘The only release you’ll get will come at the end of a rope, but not before I’ve skewered you from arsehole to eyeball. Just one more night and then Drogo will be here with testimony to hang you. In the meantime, why don’t you watch us enjoy the supper your servant’s brought.’
Vallon kicked the bars and swung away.
The sergeant fiddled with a heavy wooden bolt secured by a crude tumbler lock. He opened the door and shoved Hero into the cell.
Vallon took his arm. ‘How did they catch you?’
‘They didn’t. I gave myself up.’
Vallon winced. ‘That’s taking loyalty too far.’
‘No, sir. I came to get you out.’
‘How?’
‘The food’s drugged.’
They watched the soldiers lay the table. The sergeant ladled stew and poured wine. He raised his cup to the prisoners. ‘Sure you don’t want any? It’s delicious.’
‘Whew. This wine packs a punch.’
‘It’s the German’s favourite brew,’ said Hero. ‘It might be too strong for Norman heads.’
One of the soldiers scowled. ‘I can outdrink any poxy German.’
‘I’ve seen him empty two bottles in one sitting.’
Vallon nudged Hero with his foot, warning him not to over-egg it. ‘What’s in it?’ he whispered.
‘Opium, henbane and mandragora. It’s a drowsy syrup used by the surgeons at Salerno.’
‘How long does it take to work?’
‘I don’t know. Constantine prescribed it for the pain in Cosmas’ chest — one spoonful to help him sleep.’
‘How much did you put in the wine?’
‘About half a pint.’
By the time the soldiers had finished the meal, they’d grown very mellow. One of them yawned. ‘I’m for my pit,’ he said, and lurched out of the door.
‘Me, too,’ another said. He rose and had to steady himself against the table. He eyed the door as if taking aim, launched off and found himself heading in the wrong direction. ‘Whoops.’ He corrected his course and tacked towards the door. ‘Whoops.’
When they’d gone, the sergeant fumbled for a chequers board. ‘Best of five for a farthing.’
Halfway through the second game, his opponent gave a breathy laugh and rubbed his eyes. ‘Blimey, the wine creeps up on you. I can see two boards.’ He sat blinking slowly, his head alternately drooping and jerking upright, slowly and inexorably sagging to the table.
The sergeant’s breathing grew harsh. With great effort he turned his head, some belated conjecture dawning. He swore and made an attempt to rise, the movement sweeping platters off the table. He almost made it to his feet before his legs buckled and he collapsed, banging his head on the bench and sprawling in a slack-limbed heap.
‘Christ almighty,’ Vallon said in a faint voice. ‘Now what?’
‘Which wall faces away from the city?’
‘This one.’
Hero crossed to a loophole, pulling the cloth out of his belt. He put his arm through the slit and waved.
‘I don’t know how much time we’ve got,’ Vallon said. ‘The duty guards sometimes come up.’
Hero put his finger to his lip, his mouth strained in concentration.
A vixen yipped.
‘That’s Wayland. He’s waiting below with a rope.’
Vallon frowned at the loophole.
‘Not that way,’ Hero said, and jabbed a thumb towards the roof.
Vallon smiled. He squatted. ‘On my shoulders.’
He straightened to full height and Hero wrapped his arms around one of the collar beams. Another boost from Vallon and he was lying across the beam. He swung his legs over and groped to his feet. Holding on to a rafter, he shuffled to his right and began wrenching out the spars threaded into the thatch.
Vallon jumped for the beam but couldn’t reach it. Raul had braced himself against the wall, trying to wrench out the ring anchoring his chain. Vallon lent his strength. There was a creaking and groaning and the ring tore loose. Raul made a stirrup with his manacled hands and hoisted Vallon up to the beam. He and Hero ripped the battens out and tore at the thatch, straw cascading over their heads until Hero, spitting and blinking, saw the sky.
‘Keep going,’ Vallon told him.
They continued demolishing the thatch until they’d cleared a space between rafters and roof joists.
‘Move aside,’ Vallon said.
He bent and sprang, hooking his elbows over adjacent rafters. He dangled, grunting with effort, then hauled himself up through the gap. He lay on the thatch, one hand hooked around a rafter, the other stretched down.
‘Give me your hand.’
He grasped Hero’s wrist and dragged him up. Hero thrashed until he managed to locate a joist and braced his feet against it. Vallon manoeuvred alongside him and they sat looking out from the city. The sky was beginning to clear. Moonlight rimmed the top of a cloudbank. From somewhere on the ground came a snatch of voices and a gust of laughter.
Hero ripped open the seam of his tunic and pulled out the twine. He tied a lead plug to one end and paid out the cord. He was beginning to worry that he’d miscalculated the length when he felt it go slack. A moment later he felt three quick tugs.
‘Wayland’s got it.’
‘Give it to me.’
Vallon hauled in the line. A rope came snaking up over the roof. Vallon gathered it in coils. It went tight and there was a dragging clunk from below.
‘Careful,’ said Hero. ‘There’s an axe tied to it.’
Vallon drew it up as if it were a cargo of eggs. The rope went taut and wouldn’t move. Vallon slackened off, then pulled again. ‘It’s snagged under the eaves.’ He jiggled and teased, but couldn’t free the axe from the overhang. His face gleamed with sweat. ‘Hold this,’ he said, handing Hero the section of rope tied to the axe. Carrying the free end, he went back down the hole and lashed it around the crossbeam, leaving a length hanging to the floor.
Once more he heaved himself up on to the roof. He rested until he’d regained his wind, then walked backwards down the fixed rope. When he reached the eaves, he leaned over at full stretch, feeling for the axe.
‘Give it some slack.’
Hero eased off.
‘Pull.’
Hero yanked and the axe came slithering up. Vallon hauled himself up the fixed rope, untied the axe and dropped it to Raul before climbing down himself. Everything was taking longer than Hero had expected.
‘Lie on your side and put your arms out,’ Vallon panted. He raised the axe and brought it down, severing the chain between Raul’s hands and feet. ‘Now your feet,’ he said, and brought the axe down again.
From his perch on the roof, Hero could see part way into the soldier’s quarters. One of the sergeant’s legs was in sight. He thought he saw it move. As he opened his mouth, Vallon shifted position, blocking his view.
‘Spread your hands,’ Vallon told Raul. ‘Don’t move.’
The axe descended and Raul sprang up. Vallon wiped his forehead with his arm.
‘Sir?’
