Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
'They tell strange things of the stables there, mistress Rees: know you
aught of them?'
'Strange things, master? They tell nought but good of the stables that
tell the truth. As to the armoury, now--well it is not for such as
mother Rees to tell tales out of school.'
'What I heard, and wanted to ask thee about, mother, was that they are
under ground. Thinkest thou horses can fare well under ground? Thou
knowest a horse as well as a dog, mother.'
Ere she replied, the old woman took her cake from the griddle, and laid
it on a wooden platter, then caught up a three-legged stool, set it down
by Richard, seated herself at his knee, and assumed the look of mystery
wherewith she was in the habit of garnishing every bit of knowledge,
real or fancied, which it pleased her to communicate.
'Hear me, and hold thy peace, master Richard Heywood,' she said. 'As
good horses as ever stamped in Redware stables go down into Raglan
vaults; but yet they eat their oats and their barley, and when they lift
their heads they look out to the ends of the world. Whether it be by the
skill of the mason or of such as the hidden art of my lord Herbert knows
best how to compel, let them say that list to make foes where it were
safer to have friends. But this I am free to tell thee--that in the
pitched court, betwixt the antechamber to my lord's parlour that hath
its windows to the moat, and the great bay window of the hall that looks
into that court, there goeth a descent, as it seemeth of stairs only;
but to him that knoweth how to pull a certain tricker, as of an
harquebus or musquetoon, the whole thing turneth around, and straightway
from a stair passeth into an easy matter of a sloping way by the which
horses go up and down. And Thomas he telleth me also that at the further
end of the vaults to which it leads, the which vaults pass under the
marquis's oak parlour, and under all the breadth of the fountain court,
as they do call the other court of the castle, thou wilt come to a great
iron door in the foundations of one of the towers, in which my lord hath
contrived stabling for a hundred and more horses, and that, mark my
words, my son, not in any vault or underground dungeon, but in the
uppermost chamber of all.'
'And how do they get up there, mother?' asked Richard, who listened with
all his ears.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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