The Door in the Wall (10 page)

That evening there was no gathering about the fire. Everyone was restless. The hounds were still uneasy, walking about, cocking their ears at the least sound.

Lady Constance took one of her women to examine the stores. Robin was afraid she would discover how low the water was in the well. Instead, she seemed confident that there was sufficient.

“How fortunate we are that there is plenty of water,” she said. “Sir Peter says that our well has never failed.”

Denis looked at Robin, knowing that he shared the secret.

Denis, knowing Robin’s plan, was in a fidget to be through with his duties and find William the Farrier’s son and borrow his clothes. He would probably be with his father at the forge, repairing pikes and lances and heating oil for pouring onto the enemy in case they should pierce the outer castle wall.

Robin put on his warmest under tunic and carefully put away the little harp and all the parts and tools so that they would be safe. He looked at it regretfully, hating to leave it.

Then, when all was ready except changing his clothes, he sought out Brother Luke, for he knew that the friar would give him help and encouragement.

Dressed in the patched and ragged smock, his legs wound about with bits of rag to hold the ill-fitting hosen, Robin tried to sleep away the early part of the night, but excitement kept him wakeful. Even when he dozed, he was aware of what he was about to do. He counted over all the things he must remember. He must go softly with the crutches. He must remember the leather thongs. As Brother Luke had told him, he mustn’t forget oil for the rusty lock of the door in the wall. He must keep D’Ath quiet.

Just before dawn Brother Luke touched him.

“Come, my son,” he whispered. “We shall say the office before it is time to set forth on thy mission.”

When the prayers were finished, Robin pulled on the faded hood, tucked the leather thong inside it, and followed the friar. D’Ath rose from sleep to follow after, but Robin touched his head and whispered a command for him to stop.

“D’Ath, stay you here,” he said, wishing very much that the dog could go with him.

They went down a half flight of steps and across the hall of the keep to the winding stair, making their way quietly among the sleeping servants. They went very slowly, for Robin’s crutches tapped an alarm when he made haste, and the least misstep would have sent him clattering down.

There was still fog when they came into the open, but it had begun to drift and there was a gray dawn just beginning to break.

“Who goes there?” demanded the sentry at the door, but seeing Robin and the friar, he allowed them to pass, thinking they were bent on some holy errand.

Robin shuddered.

“Art fearful, my son?” asked the friar.

“Not truly,” answered Robin, “though ’tis weird in the fog.”

“Aye, ’tis an eerie feeling to be out in the cheerless dawn, not knowing at what moment an enemy may appear out of the fog,” agreed Brother Luke. And at that moment a face did appear, but it was only one of the guards, who thought the two were on their way to the chapel.

They reached the sally port in the north wall without meeting anyone else. Brother Luke dripped oil into the lock before trying to open the door.

Robin listened.

“Hark!” he whispered. “I hear the Welsh sentry outside. We can count the paces and can tell how far away he is. One, two, three, four—” They counted forty paces. “Now!”

Slowly the door opened and Robin slipped outside.

“Benedicite,” whispered the friar in blessing, and closed the door.

Quickly Robin moved away from the door and the wall. In a moment he was at the edge of the deep ravine. He could hear the river far below but could not see it for the fog.

Now began the dangerous descent. Carefully Robin tested each clod of earth, each bit of stone, before trusting his weight to the crutches, praying the while that the fog would hold. Sometimes he slid on his haunches, sometimes seedling trees held him till he was able to find sure footing.

“If I should start a stone rolling,” he thought, “the whole Welsh army will be upon my neck.”

It seemed hours to Robin that he was sliding, groping, laboring down the treacherous cliff, but it was only a few moments, for the light of morning had scarcely changed when he reached the bottom and found himself at the edge of the river.

He stopped only long enough to fasten the crutches onto his back with the leathern thong and to wind his hood into a kind of hat that perched on top of his head. Then he plunged into the icy water, not allowing himself to consider whether he had the courage to do it.

When first the water closed over him Robin thought he could not bear it. The crutches were awkward. His chest felt tightly squeezed, and as if sharp knives pierced him. He seemed unable to breathe, and his head felt ready to burst. But he struck out fiercely, and after a few strokes
began to breathe more easily. Warmth crept through his body and a feeling of power, as if nothing could be too difficult for him. He swam strongly across the swift current toward the path he had seen from the top of the tower.

What if the enemy should be camped on the other side? Suppose they wouldn’t believe he was the poor shepherd he pretended to be? Suppose he found it impossible to get up the bank on the other side?

“Anyone could not do it,” he said to himself stubbornly, and thrashed his arms more fiercely.

At last he felt the stones of shallower water under his feet, the bank appeared mistily green, and he was able to hold himself steady with one hand while he untied the crutches and set them under his armpits. The bank was not very steep after all, and in a moment he was at the top, ready to go on. His teeth chattered in the rising wind.

His feet felt as if they had been frozen. His hands were so numb with cold he could hardly hold the crutches to steady them as he walked. He paused long enough to let down the hood into its proper shape. The warm wool felt good, although it was wet along the edges. Then he looked about for signs of the path. It had shown so clearly from the top of the tower. He moved along the bank a few paces where generations of peasants had worn a “highway,” and soon came to the path. The fog was lifting somewhat with the wind, and Robin, looking back once, caught sight of the castle he had left behind. He even caught a glimpse of the sentry along the narrow ridge just where he had so lately escaped by the door in the wall.

After passing through a patch of brush and willows Robin came out into a field. He still could not see very far ahead, but the path was straight before him, so he began to swing along as fast as he could, his crutches making great
sweeping circles, his feet covering the ground in tremendous strides. There seemed to be no one about, so he made haste without regard to noise, and gradually the numbness in his hands and feet began to ease. Across the field he went, swing-step, swing-step, swing-step.

The fog wavered and lifted, swirled about in sudden drafts, floated across the path in thin layers, showed a patch of blue sky for an instant and glimpses of trees ahead.

Suddenly a voice rang out.

“Who goes there?”

Robin stopped.

“ ’Tis but I, Robin,” he answered in a meek voice, and the chill that ran down his spine was not all from the dampness of his clothing.

“Robin who?” the voice went on.

“Robin—Crookshank, some call me,” answered Robin.

The fog parted, showing the fierce and scowling head of a man.

The guard drew near where he could see the boy.

“Aah,” he said. “Art tha’ but a shepherd boy, then?” he asked, seeing Robin’s poor clothes. “And hast fallen into the river? Come, then, lad, and warm tha’self by the fire. Be not frighted. We’ll not hurt thee.” He took Robin’s arm and tried to draw him toward the camp, which now Robin could see just at the side of the field, for now the fog was fast disappearing. But Robin held back and shook his head, trying to think what he must say and how he must speak.

“Nay,” he began, trying to appear stupid, “ ’tis na far to the cottage.” He edged away, bobbing his thanks, and went on as fast as he dared up the other side of the field and through the hedgerow. He did not stop until he was well beyond earshot of the men in the camp, then stood only for a moment to draw long, steadying breaths.

He chuckled at the way he had fooled the Welshman.

From that point on the path led through a wood and downward toward the valley of a stream which joined the one surrounding the castle. There were no cottages near at hand, but across the stream and beyond a low-lying field and a rising slope Robin could see the wood that extended to the edge of the village where the church tower stood. The sky now was filled with fast-flying clouds and the fog was gone. The stream was shallow enough for Robin to go across on foot and the little wetting he got was nothing after swimming the river.

The wood behind him hid Robin from the camp in the field, for which he was thankful, because the rising ground slowed his going, and he felt as if he were a fair target for arrows. It seemed as if he would never come to the top of the field and the hedgerow separating it from the forest beyond. When he reached the shelter of the great trees, Robin sank down into a bed of bracken to rest. He was very tired.

When breathing was easier and the pain of effort but a dull ache, Robin rose to go on. How much farther had he to go? Would John be there when he arrived? Would he be able to get help in time?

Even through the forest the path was well marked, because it was one that had been used for centuries. The peasants went over it to and from the villages to gather wood or to pasture the sheep.

In about an hour the forest began to thin, and Robin could see the blue smoke coming from the cotters’ chimney pots. Which cottage belonged to John’s mother? Robin remembered that John had said it was on the heath and near the church. He could see such a cottage from where he stood, so he made his way toward it hopefully. It was so exciting to be within sight of help that Robin forgot that he was tired and hungry, he forgot that he was still cold from his dousing in the river and the fright he’d had. He began to cut across the heath toward the cottage but had not gone far when John himself came out of the door.

Robin stopped.

“John!” he called at the top of his voice.
“John! Oh, John
-go-in-the-Wy-y-y-nd.”

John heard him and looked his way, then came running.

“Master Robin!” he exclaimed. “What’s amiss? How came thou here?”

Without waiting for an answer he grasped Robin’s crutches and swept him up into his arms, because he could see that Robin had come as far as he was able. It had been Robin’s plan to issue orders as his father might have done; to have been lordly and commanding. But it was such a relief to be cared for and to have the weight of his body taken from his aching armpits that he allowed John to carry him, and said not a word until he was laid upon the straw pallet.

An old woman stood by the fire stirring something in a pot. She looked at Robin but didn’t speak. A cat mewed and coaxed her, rubbing against her skirts.

“The castle is in danger!” said Robin at once. “The Welsh have taken the town and are at the gates of the outer bailey. The food is giving out. The water low in the well. You must get help. You must get it soon.”

“But how came thou here?” said John, amazed. “How didst escape the sentry?” John was already putting on his hood and fastening his leather jerkin.

He went on without waiting.

“Knowest what force the Welsh have?”

“No,” said Robin, “the fog has kept us from seeing. But whenever we tried to make a sally into the town, we were forced back.”

“I shall be gone straight away. Stay thou here for safety and to rest.”

John-go-in-the-Wynd was well named, for go he did, closing the door behind him almost before he had finished speaking.

Robin sighed. It was good to be able to rest.

“Come, now,” said the woman, as she took off Robin’s clothes to dry them. “Thou’lt be famished with hunger. I’ll bake thee a bannock.” As tired as he was, Robin grinned. She went to the cupboard and took out a flat cake which she put on a hot stone to bake.

Robin slept after the woman fed him and didn’t wake until the sun was low in the west. The sound of the door opening was what really woke him. It was John.

Robin was up on his elbow in a second.

“Did you not go then?” he asked in bewilderment. Then he realized he had slept and that it was late in the day. “Did you find help then?”