Free Hangman Blind by Cassandra Clark

desire.
    She informed the kitchener in charge and it was agreed that the boy should be released from his other duties for a time. ‘I expect to be away first thing tomorrow morning,’ she told them.
     
    A scene of such sweet harmony had brought a smile to Hildegard’s face as she set off across the bailey, and she felt so well pleased that even the piercing rain could not dampen her spirits. She merely tightened the linen kerchief she had on over her snood and pulled up the hood of her cloak until only her eyes were visible, then, hitching her hem out of the mud, she fixed it in place with a couple of turns on her leather belt until she could get back indoors.
    Such was her inattention to her surroundings as she did all this that when she reached the door she thought would lead to a passage into the Great Hall she found herself in a part of the castle she had never seen before.
    A stone-flagged corridor ran straight and empty for a few yards then descended by six short steps to a further door studded with brass nails. Rather than turn round and go back into the rain again she decided to press on, and soon she was at the door and grasping the large ring-handle to let herself through. Believing it to be a short cut to her destination, she was surprised when she found herself in what could only be the undercroft.
    A labyrinth of stone pillars rose before her out of the darkness. They were made visible only by a faint glow that came from the far side of the cavern. The muffled sound of men’s voices bellowing some ale-house chant floated from the same direction. Assuming it was the sound of revellers in the Great Hall, she stretched both hands in front of her to counter sudden obstacles, and set off into the void, one step followed by another, gingerly, carefully, aware of the danger of an uncovered well or a sudden drop to an even deeper level of the cellar, but confident that she had found the short cut she was looking for. From all sides came the scent of spices and the stored fruits of summer: apples, pears, quinces and dried fruits, too, apricots and lemons, and a sweetness like oils from a warmer climate, all packed and bottled and trussed in the shadowy arcades between the pillars.
    Eventually, unscathed, she reached the light that outlined the door into the hall and pushed it open with a feeling of relief. For a moment she was blinded by a blaze of light. It came, however, not from the many cressets and candles that lit the hall but from a single brazier, wild with flames, set in the middle of a small yard. Stone walls rose up on four sides, without a chink, to the height of the battlements. Acrid smoke was drifting through the rain and filled every nook.
    Sprawled around the fire, faces crimson in its lurid light, were four men-at-arms. They were bristling with weapons and – hardened to the weather – ignored the rain that was now drilling spikes into the ground from a slit of sky high above. Instead, they gripped flagons of foaming ale in their fists with evident satisfaction. When Hildegard burst in on them they were in the middle of some raucous chant, mouths open to reveal blackened teeth, eyes small with drink. The blazons on the surcoats of the three nearest were not the red and gold worn by Roger’s men but the blue marsh dragon of Sir William. The fourth man wore no blazon at all.
    This one, dark haired like the others, was sitting facing the door astride the keg from which they all drew their ale, and had the attitude of being the man in charge. He was the first to see her and the instant she appeared his mouth froze, half open in surprise at what must have looked like an apparition. Her dark cloak and concealing hood may have alarmed him but he was not too drunk to forget his training. He responded with alarming speed.
    Dragging a short, wicked-looking blade from the scabbard at his side, he leaped to his feet at once. The others, noticing something amiss, broke off in mid-chant and followed his gaze.