observed, and then through the gates, the tide should not be so far advanced as to prevent us getting to the mainland.’
Basil Nestorios pursed his lips. ‘It is already getting dark, though, and I think the tide comes soon after.’
‘Then let us not waste time debating,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘Follow me.’
He began to move through the narrow stone corridor, watching carefully for any means of exit or sign of movement from the guards. After a while he halted.
‘There is a small door in the inner wall just ahead. I think it must lead into the courtyard. There are neither bolts nor locks on it. Are you ready?’
The physician nodded quickly.
Eadulf moved to the door. There was a circle of metal that raised the latch by which the door was fixed. Eadulf reached out a hand and gave it a tentative twist. The latch lifted without any noise. He pushed it cautiously so that a crack to the outside appeared between the door and the jamb. He applied his eye and let loose a soft sigh.
The door did open into the inner courtyard. In fact, he could see the tall wooden gates that led to the exterior of the tower stronghold. Then he moved back and closed the door quickly and without noise, glancing to the puzzled Basil Nestorios.
‘There is a guard going round lighting the brand torches for the evening,’ he whispered in explanation.
The physician said nothing. Eadulf stood mentally counting the minutes until he felt the guard would have completed his task. There could be no more than half a dozen torches lighting the inner courtyard.
Carefully, he opened the door again and peered round.
The courtyard appeared deserted. The torchlight lit the area with an eerie glow. If the guards were patrolling it, the fugitives would be seen as soon as they emerged from the door. They would have to take that chance. Eadulf hoped that the guards would not be bothered about the interior of what appeared to be an impregnable fortress. After all, in their eyes, their prisoners were safe in the cells and there was no way out — unless the guard who had been escorting the physician was missed. They had to move now, for the longer they delayed the slimmer their chances of escape became.
Abruptly, there came the jangle of a distant bell.
Eadulf froze.
He heard Basil Nestorios exclaiming something in his own tongue that did not sound happy.
‘It’s Uaman’s bell,’ hissed the physician. ‘He cannot have taken the potion.’
‘Then it’s too late to do anything other than make for the gates. There are two iron bolts on them — see? I’ll take the top one, you take the bottom one, and don’t stop for anything.’
The bell was jangling urgently now.
Eadulf opened the door quickly and dashed across the courtyard to the gates. He felt rather than saw Basil Nestorios behind him. He grabbed at the top iron bolt and wrenched it back with a thud. The physician was almost in time with him. Eadulf pulled on the tall wooden doors just as a shout sounded behind him.
Eadulf hurried through the gap between the doors, closely followed by his companion. Then he skidded to a halt, eyes wide in dismay.
Outside, directly in front of him, stood a tall, broad-shouldered warrior, his sword already raised as if to strike. Eadulf stood frozen, petrified with shock as he recognised the features of the man in the torchlight from the brands in their holders on either side of the entrance.
‘Gormán!’ he gasped.
The warrior of Cashel’s eyes flickered over Eadulf’s shoulder and narrowed slightly.
‘Move, Brother Eadulf!’ he cried, his sword already beginning to swing.
Eadulf plunged forward, ducking in an automatic reaction to the shouted command. Then he swung round on his heel, nearly tripping himself in the movement. Behind him, as Basil Nestorios had also leapt aside, two of Uaman’s men had come through the gates, swords in hand.
Gormán’s slash caught one in the neck, either killing or disabling him. As the man fell sideways, his weapon dropped from nerveless fingers. The second warrior met Gormán’s next cut with a parry, and for a few moments blade clashed against blade. But the second warrior was no great swordsman, and the singing sword of Cashel’s élite golden-torqued warrior swept under his guard and caught him beneath the rib cage. With a grunt the man, still grasping his weapon, dropped to his knees, staring wildly before him. Then his eyes seemed to glaze and he fell forward on his face, dropping his blade.
‘Are there more behind you?’ cried Gormán.
Eadulf tried to find his voice. ‘Two or three,’ he croaked.
Gormán glanced at the physician. ‘Who is this?’
‘A fellow prisoner.’
They could still hear the jangling bell.
Gormán turned in the darkness and pointed to the shadows that denoted the shoreline.
‘The tide is coming in. We must get back. Do you know the way, Brother? The sand link to the shore is treacherous.’
The bell had suddenly stopped and an unearthly wail was sounding within the dark tower. It was scarcely human. Eadulf shivered. It was Uaman’s cry of rage.
‘That will bring his remaining warriors,’ Eadulf cried. ‘Let’s get to the shore where we will be safer.’ He turned and peered into the darkness. He was aware of the sibilant whispering of the sea on either side. ‘Straight ahead. Follow me.’
He walked forward, trying not to hurry and making sure each foot came down on firm sand before moving on. It took time. Halfway across, they could still hear the noise of shouting, a bell intermixed with screams. At one point, Eadulf dared glanced behind.
The burning brand torches, in their braziers hanging either side of the great doors of the tower, cast a light on the porch where they had left the two fallen warriors of Uaman. Another warrior, perhaps two — even three — were moving there, and he saw the crooked figure of Uaman himself, a thin, dark shadow, with his bell, standing framed in the doorway, screaming abuse.
‘They are coming after us,’ muttered Basil Nestorios, also glancing round.
Eadulf saw that Uaman was now leading the three warriors after them along the sandbank. All four carried torches to light their way and they thus had an advantage over their quarry. In spite of his dragging foot, Uaman was moving at an astonishing pace. It was clear that he had not taken the potion prepared by Basil Nestorios. Indeed, he appeared to be moving more quickly than his warriors. Eadulf increased his pace.
‘At this rate, we might make the shore but we will have to stand and fight,’ grunted Gormán, glancing behind.
‘Then we will stand and fight,’ replied Eadulf.
He realised that the incoming tide was now lapping at his feet. The water was coming in rapidly, but not rapidly enough, he thought bitterly.
A moment or so later, they were scrambling up on the firm bank before the dark trees. There they turned, preparing for the worst.
It was a curious, eerie sight that met their eyes. In the background the tall round Tower of Uaman rose on the island, dark and sullen, although its doors now stood open, still lit by the burning torches on either side. A shaft of silvery moonlight had somehow escaped between the low-lying clouds and danced with a thousand pinpricks of light on the sea. By this, they could see how quickly the tide was coming in. There was now little to be seen of the sand link to the island.
Uaman was not far from the shoreline now. Surprisingly, he was about ten metres ahead of his three warrior companions. His torch was raised in one dead white claw-like hand. It seemed his rage had taken the better of him, for he had no other weapon.
‘Look!’ Gormán suddenly whispered.
Eadulf followed the warrior’s seaward-pointing finger. Something dark was moving on the silvery waters of the sea, moving towards the strip of water that separated the island from the shore.
At first Eadulf did not understand what it was.
‘
A tidal wave, higher than the average man, came pouring through the narrows. Within a second the three
