Ranger's Apprentice The Early Years 2: The Battle of Hackham Heath

It was dark and clammy and damp in the tunnel.

Even though Halt wasn’t a tall man, he found he had to stoop as he made his way along, and his shoulders brushed the rough, unlined clay walls on either side. The flickering lamp held by the miner who was leading the way cast a dim yellow light, shot with grotesque shadows.

‘How far down are we?’ Crowley asked from behind him. The thick, heavy air in the tunnel seemed to muffle his voice, although Halt could hear a note of nervousness in it. Crowley, like Halt, disliked cramped and confined spaces like this, preferring the clean open air of the forest and fields above ground. How miners could work in these conditions was beyond Halt’s understanding.

The miner turned back to face them briefly. ‘About five metres,’ he said. ‘We’ve been slanting down since we entered the tunnel. Not far to go now.’

At his words, Halt felt the massive weight of earth and clay above them bearing down on him. His chest constricted and he had difficulty breathing. He felt his heart begin to race and paused, breathing slowly and deeply, allowing his tensed limbs and body to relax. The sooner they were out of here, the better it would suit him. Crowley, not noticing that Halt had stopped, bumped into him from behind and muttered an apology.

‘Mind this shoring,’ the miner said gruffly, indicating the timber frames that supported the walls and roof of the tunnel. ‘Knock one of these loose and you’ll likely bring the whole thing down on us.’

The two Rangers started moving again, taking exaggerated care not to bump against the timber beams. In the distance, Halt fancied he could hear a faint clinking sound – metal on rock. For a moment he thought he might be imagining it, but the miner confirmed it for him.

‘That’s the lads at work,’ he said. ‘Hear them? They’re widening the gallery under the walls.’

He set off again and they followed, anxious not to be left out of the shallow pool of light cast by the lamp. The clinking grew louder. It didn’t sound as if anyone were wielding their picks too vigorously and Halt remarked on the fact.

The miner laughed grimly. ‘You don’t go bashing away in earth like this,’ he said, ‘else you’ll have a collapse on your hands. Slow and steady does it.’

Ahead, Halt could see a small circle of yellow light. As they proceeded, it became larger and brighter. Eventually, they arrived at a widened gallery, set at right angles to the tunnel. It was heavily braced with timber shoring and ran four or five metres to either side of the tunnel, forming a T-shaped intersection.

The roof was higher here, at least a metre higher than Halt’s head. He sighed with relief and stood upright, easing his cramped back and shoulder muscles. He heard Crowley do the same.

‘Are we under the walls?’ the Ranger Commandant asked.

The miner nodded, pointing to a massive piece of granite protruding through the clay roof of the tunnel to one side. The rock was squared off and had obviously been shaped by man’s hand. Timber beams were set in place all around and under it, supporting it.

‘That’s part of the foundation for the wall there,’ he told them. He held the lamp higher and they could see that the line of shaped rock continued along the gallery where they were standing. More timber shoring held it firmly in place.

The clinking sound, which had become appreciably louder since they’d entered the gallery, stopped now and a stooped figure emerged from the shadows to their left. There was really no need to stoop here, Halt thought. There was plenty of headroom. But perhaps it was a habit borne of long practice and many years spent underground in mines and tunnels.

The newcomer stopped and nodded a greeting to their guide. Then he took a few seconds to glance curiously at the two Rangers. He knew who they were – all the miners did – but below ground he was more accustomed to seeing other miners and diggers, clad in leather aprons and hoods to protect their clothes from the mud and dirt of the tunnel. These two, in their grey and green mottled cloaks, with their weapons belts around their waists, were a novelty down here.

‘Morning, Alwyn,’ he said now. ‘Morning, Rangers.’

Halt and Crowley mumbled a reply, although how anyone could keep track of the time of day down here, Halt had no idea.

‘Morning, Dafyd. Are you done?’ their guide asked.

The newcomer nodded several times. ‘Just about. A little more digging and shoring up – say another fifteen minutes. Then we can start bringing in the combustibles.’

The gallery they were in had far more supporting timber than the tunnel they had traversed to get here. Halt assumed that was because the tunnel itself was low and narrow, and roughly oval in shape, providing natural support for the walls. Here, where the open space was wider, there was a need for more frames and beams to support the ceiling, and the massive foundation stones of the wall above them, which the digging had undermined along the length of the gallery. As he thought of that, he felt his chest constrict and a moment of unreasoning fear swept through him. If he didn’t check that quickly, he knew, it could turn to panic – blind, debilitating panic. Once again, he forced his tense body to relax, beginning with his fingers, hands and arms, letting the calming feeling spread through his body. He breathed deeply, slowing his breathing rate. He felt his heart hammer less stridently in his chest.

‘Don’t know how they get used to this,’ he muttered to Crowley.

Alwyn gave a short snort of laughter. ‘Spend your life in the mines and you get so it doesn’t bother you.’ He gestured around the shadowy gallery where they were standing. ‘I started going below the ground when I was ten,’ he said. ‘This is like a big open meadow to me.’

 ‘Some meadow,’ Crowley said, shaking his head. Alwyn raised his eyebrows. He knew that most people were fearful when they were in tunnels, but he and his men were used to it. So long as the tunnel was properly dug and firmly reinforced, there was no danger. He indicated the ground under the foundation stone.

‘We’ll pile brushwood and firewood and combustibles there,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll set it alight. As it burns, it’ll destroy the framing and support beams so they collapse. Then nature will take a hand and the part of the wall directly above will fall into the tunnel. Once it goes, the surrounding structure will collapse with it.’

‘Who’ll light the fire?’ Crowley asked. He and Halt had been tasked with destroying Castle Gorlan but he hoped that responsibility didn’t extend to personally lighting the fire. Alwyn quickly dispelled that fear.

‘Best I do it,’ he said. ‘It’ll get pretty dark and smoky in here once the fire’s going. Easy to lose your bearings and blunder around. I’m used to it so I’ll do it.’

‘Good,’ said Crowley, the relief all too evident in his voice.

‘It’s quite spectacular,’ Alwyn told them. ‘Mind you, for a long while, it seems nothing’s happening. Then the wall starts to subside, cracks form through the masonry, and the whole thing comes down.’

‘I think I’d rather be on the surface when that happens,’ Halt said.

Alwyn regarded him without humour. ‘That’s definitely the place to be. Now we should get out of the way and let the crew bring in the firewood and put it in place.’

Halt and Crowley exchanged a look. These men knew their job, they realised. There would be little purpose in staying to watch once they began building the fire. In cases like this, delegation was to be encouraged.

‘Let’s get back to the surface,’ Halt said, and Crowley indicated for Alwyn to lead the way.