The Dungeon

292 Pages·2002·0.857 MB·English

by  Lynne Reid Banks

THE
DUNGEON
Lynne Reid Banks
8

For my husband, Chaim

Contents
1 BRUCE MACLENNAN, Scottish laird…
2 THE JOURNEYTOOK many months.
3 HEATTACHED HIMSELF to the troop of…
4 THECHILD’Sname was Mudan,…
5 THE PRIVATEARMIES marched on…
6 AT LONG LAST they reached the…
7 THEDELAYINgetting home put Bruce…
8 BRUCE MACLENNAN RODE his horse…
9 MACLENNAN DETERMINED the best…
10 MACLENNAN HAD waited in the…
11 HE CAUGHT UP with his men.
12 BRUCE MACLENNAN climbed…
13 INTHE DEAD OF night,…
14 MaCLENNANWAS beside himself…
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Lynne Reid Banks
Credits
Copyright
Cover
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
T
BRUCE MACLENNAN, Scottish laird
and master of all that lay in his
sight, stood on the edge of a deep,
wide, square pit. It was dug into the
top of a crag that stood next to a river. The men
who had dug it were standing around it, filthy,
tired, and covered with sweat. There were over a
hundred of them, all tenants of the laird’s, and it
had taken them two months to level the hilltop
and dig the pit in one corner. All the work had
been done with picks and shovels, and the spoil
carried away in big baskets and cast down the hill.
From a distance it looked as if the hill had been
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decapitated, with the pale blood of the inner
ground flowing down its sides.
Bruce MacLennan stared down into the newly
excavated depths. At the moment there was just
a hole in the ground. But he could already see a
dungeon.
He could imagine it lined with big blocks of
stone. He could imagine iron rings in the walls, to
which prisoners could be chained. He could imag-
ine the huge wooden door with iron panels and
hinges and lock, and a heavy brass key. He could
even foreshadow a man, languishing down there
in the raw depths, his prisoner—helpless,
wretched, defeated—chained to the wall, not just
a symbol of conquest but a real man, one he hated
with his whole heart. Or what was left of it, for
this villain had destroyed all that was precious
and love-filled in the life of MacLennan, leaving
him a hollow man burning for vengeance, but not
headstrong enough to go after it until he was
ready.
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At the laird’s side stood Master Douglas of
Berwick. This man had led the building of
fortresses and castles in several parts of Scotland,
England, and Wales. Only Bruce MacLennan’s
considerable wealth had gained him the services
of this masterbuilder, who stood now at a rough
table that had been set up for him. He was poring
over a number of large pieces of slate, on which
were scratched drawings that he and MacLennan
had made together. He alone knew MacLennan’s
intentions and the extent of his ambition for this
project, just begun.
“Foreman!” MacLennan shouted. “Where the
devil are ye? Och, there y’are! Now then.” He
chose one of the slate plans and put it into the
work-stained hands of his main man. “Here’s how
the dungeon is to look when it’s finished, do ye
ken?”
The foreman took the drawing and stared at it.
It was a good drawing. He could feel he was look-
ing down into the finished chamber, as if he were
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