“Aye, but that’s the easy part. First we’ve got to get them out.” Again he puffed on his pipe thoughtfully.
“Well then. I’ve seen that tower from a distance, and know the castle by reputation alone. It was built centuries ago as a defense against the Vikings, and word has it it’s never been taken. It was built to withstand far greater force than any you or I could hope to bring against it.” The mariner paused, considering.
“Stealth, you say. And rope..... Aye. A grappling hook might be the answer, if the window weren’t as high as it’s bound to be, and you had all night to make the throw. But I suspect you don’t, and the weight of the attached line would make it all but impossible in any case.”
“I’d thought of that,” said Michael. “But I didn’t know what else to try..... Tell me the truth, John. Is it hopeless? I think another prison cell would be the death of me. But if there’s no other way. . .I’ll turn myself in along with Purceville, and try to reach the new Secretary---”
The fisherman shook his head. “No. Your kin have turned themselves in once already, and you see the result. And I did not say it was hopeless. You were on the right scent. You’re just not the crafty old hound that I am.” He gave the younger man a wink. “Where a rope won’t go, perhaps a bit of string will, to lead the way.”
Michael set his horse at an easy gallop, as the road leveled and he began the second, less arduous leg toward home. He felt heartened as his leg brushed against the saddlebag, and he thought of the bundles contained within. For the first time since the women had been taken from him, he felt a tentative hope. There was a chance.
The last daylight faded behind him; but now the feared night wind was less, and only urged his mount to greater speed. After a time he looked up at the waning, but still formidable moon, wondering if its light would be a blessing or a curse in the coming escape. For the hard clear skies of mid autumn had begun, with ten thousand stars looking down unobstructed. There seemed little likelihood of change by the following night. Perhaps the fog would be a factor, though the high promontory on which the Castle was set.....
It was no use worrying, he told himself, with less conviction than he wished he felt. Again he fought off the familiar sense of dread which had never fully left him since the morning of the Battle, but only varied in theme and intensity. Familiar too was the dull, oppressive ache of his affliction. How much longer he could deceive his body with the promise of future rest, he did not know. He was worn, both physically and emotionally, to the last thread of resilience. And yet he could not rest. Still one more journey must be undertaken, before he slept that night.
Perhaps an hour later he came at last into sight of the lonely homestead. When he circled at a distance, to interpose the chimney between himself and the moon, a faint trail of smoke could be seen rising from it, and this encouraged him. Someone remained within. Any trap set by the English, he felt sure, would be presaged by absolute silence and stillness. But this did not rule out the possibility of an ambush by Purceville, who had not yet made his intentions clear.
With this in mind, he dismounted several hundred yards from the house, and wrapping the horse’s reins about the branch of a sheltering tree, advanced on foot.