‘Don’t move for a moment,’ I called down. ‘You may have broken bones.’Slowly he rolled to his back. I moved the sphere down into the hole and Piercollo sat up, then ran his hand down his right leg. ‘There is a small scratch,’ he said. ‘It is not much. Nothing, I think, is broken. Bring the light closer.’I did as he asked and slowly he stood. ‘There is no door,’ he called.
‘There must be.’Piercollo is not blind, Owen. There is no door.’Moving back from the hole, I made my way to where Mace was slowly adding fuel to the small fire. ‘He is all right,’ I told him, ‘but there is no way out of the cellar.’That makes no sense,’ muttered Mace. Leaving Ilka to tend the fire, he returned to where Piercollo waited. The sphere was less
bright now and my concentration was fading. ‘Is there anything down there you can use to climb out?’ called Mace.
‘Many boxes, but they are rotten. There is a broken table, and some weapons. No. Nothing I can use.’Wulf returned and stretched out alongside Mace. ‘There’s no stairs down. Nothing.’How are we going to get him out?’ I asked.
Both men ignored me. Mace sat up and looked around the hall. There was no furniture, save a broken chair covered in cobwebs and a few threadbare cushions thick with dust and mildew. Standing, he made his way to the far wall and lifted an ancient torch from its iron bracket. Dusting off the charred, loose strands from the tip, he held it over the fire and it caught instantly, flaring up with long tongues of flame.
‘Move aside,’ he ordered us and walked to the edge of the hole. ‘Stand back,’ he told Piercollo. Then he jumped into the cellar, landing easily with knees bent to take the impact of the ten-foot drop. A few sparks fell from the torch, but these he stamped out. With this new light we could see the full area of the cellar; it was no more than twenty feet long, and about half as wide. Weapons and armour had been piled around the walls – helms, bows, swords, daggers, axes. All of them jet-black and unadorned.
Holding aloft his torch Mace studied the ceiling, examining the remaining joists. They seem sound,’ he announced. ‘I don’t think they’ll give way.’ Moving to the Tuscanian’s pack he hefted it, then passed it to Piercollo. ‘Throw it through the hole,’ he said. The Tuscanian swayed to his left, then sent it sailing up over the rim.
Placing the spluttering torch in an upturned black helm, Mace moved beneath the hole, cupping his hands. ‘Come, my large friend,’ he said, ‘it is time for you to leave this place.’You cannot take Piercollo’s weight,’ the Tuscanian warned him.
‘Well, if I can’t then you’ll just have to sit down here until you grow thinner. Would you like us to come back in a couple of months?’Piercollo placed his huge hands on Mace’s shoulders, then lifted a foot into the cupped palms. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
‘Do it, you big ox!’
Piercollo tensed his leg, pushing his weight down on to Mace’s locked fingers. Mace groaned but held firm and Piercollo rose, his right arm stretching towards the rim of the hole, his fingers curling over the edge. I gripped his wrist to give him support while Wulf took hold of the Tuscanian’s jerkin and began to pull. At first there was no discernible sign of movement, but with Mace pushing from below and the two of us pulling from above Piercollo managed to get one arm over the rim. After that we dragged him clear in moments.
Mace sank to the floor of the cellar, breathing heavily. ‘One more minute and he would have broken my back,’ he said at last. Then he rose and, torch in hand, moved among the weapons.
‘A new bow for you, Wulf,’ he called, hurling the weapon through the opening. This was followed by several scabbarded swords, daggers and two quivers of black-shafted arrows. Lastly a small box sailed over the rim, landing heavily and cracking open.
‘Keep back!’ yelled Mace. ‘I’m coming up.’ Dousing the torch and stamping out all the cinders he leapt to grab the rim, then hauled himself smoothly clear of the hole. He was covered in dust and cobwebs, but his grin was bright as he dusted himself down. ‘Let’s see what treasure is in the box,’ he said. The wood was rotten, but what appeared to be bands of bronze held it together. Mace ripped away the lid and pulled clear a large velvet pouch. The leather thongs were rotten, the velvet dry and ruined, but something creamy-white fell clear, rolling from his hands to bounce on the wooden floor.