The Second Sleep

by Robert Harris

  ‘However,’ he continued with a grimace, as if it pained him to utter the words, ‘in view of your health, and the well-known character of Captain Hancock, and the fact that he is willing to give the court such a large guarantee of good behaviour, we are minded to grant bail’ – someone cried out, ‘No!’ – ‘on condition ye return here at noon next Monday, the fifteenth of April, and surrender to the court.’ He had to raise his voice to be heard over the growing outrage. ‘In the meantime, ye are to remain under the roof of Captain Hancock, except on Sunday, when ye are obliged to attend a service of the Christian faith and show due penitence by receiving the Holy Sacrament. Is that acceptable to ye?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And Captain Hancock – be in no doubt, sir, that if Shadwell fails to appear next week, not only will ye forfeit a thousand pounds, ye may be charged with aiding and abetting the escape of a wanted man. He is in thy keeping.’

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘Stand down, Mr Shadwell. The court is dismissed, and will keep’ – he had to shout to make himself heard – ‘and will keep good order!’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Return to the Devil’s Chair

  IT WAS TOO late to appeal for calm. The citizenry of Axford had seen the brand of heretic upon Shadwell’s forehead and that was sufficient trial for them. Like the blue fire in Shadwell’s demonstration, violence fizzled in the air.

  Hancock called to Fairfax, ‘Help me!’ and as the accused came down from the dock, plainly bewildered by this turn of events, the captain took one of Shadwell’s arms and Fairfax the other. But not even their combined authority could prevent some rough handling. People reached out to try to push him off his feet. Punches were thrown. He was jeered and flecked with spit. The sheriffs made no move to intervene; Sir William Trickett had already withdrawn. Hancock seized one young noisy fellow by his jacket – he was barely more than a boy, hissing and spitting like a cat – and flung him out of the way, sending him crashing over the benches as if he were a toy. After that the spectators drew back somewhat, and they were able to squeeze through the door and out into the square.

  Shadwell’s covered wagon was drawn up directly opposite the door, hitched to a team of four mules. Quycke reached down from the driver’s bench to haul Shadwell up beside him at the same time as Hancock hoisted him from behind. Once the old man was in his seat, he turned. ‘I haven’t had a chance to thank you, sir—’

  ‘Ride straight for the gate, Mr Quycke,’ said Hancock, cutting him off. ‘We’ll catch ye on the road.’ He struck the nearest mule on the flank. The wagon lurched forward. As it pulled away, he tugged his pistol from his belt and turned to confront the dozen spectators who had followed them from the courtroom. ‘Now ye’ll leave ’em be, d’ye hear me?’ He waved his pistol at them. ‘Else ye’ll have me to reckon with, and not one man jack of ye’ll ever sell me wool, or anything else!’

  The boy he had thrown to the ground was bleeding from a gash in his cheek. One of his companions, his elder brother by the look of him, shouted, ‘Ye should be ashamed of thyself, John Hancock, for freeing a heretic! By God, I’m not a-feared of ye!’ He thrust himself towards the front. Hancock cocked his pistol, took aim at him, and suddenly the whole mob seemed unstable, like the hillside above Axford, threatening to descend upon them.

  ‘Yes, he is a sinner!’ cried Fairfax, finding a voice from somewhere. He stepped between the crowd and Hancock. ‘And I am a sinner.’ He held his arms out wide. ‘We all are sinners, in the eyes of God! Remember Christ’s words: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.” Any man who dares to raise a hand against Shadwell or anyone else will have to answer to the Almighty. Are you willing to risk His verdict?’ Nobody moved. ‘Then go back to your homes,’ he said, with all the severity he could muster, ‘and pray for forgiveness.’

  For a moment he thought they might crush him. But angry as they were, they dared not lay a hand upon a priest. He held them penned by his outstretched arms as if by an invisible force.

  Hancock stuffed his pistol back under his belt, untied Sarah’s horse from the rail and held the bridle for her while she carefully placed her bag across the saddle. The instant she was mounted, he unhitched his own horse. Sweeping a final look across the mob, Fairfax risked turning his back upon them. It took him half a minute to untie May and swing himself up on to her, every second an agony of vulnerability, and then he was galloping after the others, through the gate and across the drawbridge. Once again he realised he had used the word of God to assist a heretic.

  As he passed the walls of the prison, he looked up. A fourth corpse, that of the tomb robber, Porlock, was hanging naked in its iron cage, the white flesh partly hidden by a swirling black cloak of crows.

  By the time they caught up with Shadwell’s wagon, it was already lumbering past the furthest edge of the common land. It was a cumbersome contraption with a heavy white canvas roof stretched across metal hoops, water barrels and toolboxes attached to the back, and a profusion of pots and pans, buckets and shovels dangling from the sides that banged and clanked whenever the wheels struck a rut or a stone.

  Fairfax slowed his horse, stood up in his saddle and twisted round to look back towards the town. Hancock did the same. There was no sign of any pursuit. Rather the traffic was all the other way, as people began to head back to Axford in good time before the curfew. Apparently satisfied that they were safe, at least for the present, Hancock resumed his seat, spurred his large chestnut mare and went ahead to walk alongside the wagon, leaning over to talk to Shadwell.

  Sarah dropped back to ride alongside Fairfax. ‘That was bravely spoken.’

  ‘It served to carry us through the moment, though I doubt I could play the same trick twice.’ He strained his gaze ahead, trying to overhear what Hancock was saying. His view of Shadwell was blocked by the canvas cover. ‘And what madcap scheme comes next, I wonder?’

  ‘Who can tell with John? I warned you what would happen if we joined ourselves to him.’

  ‘You did. The fault is mine. What a trap we have made for ourselves.’ And then he added bitterly, ‘Had I foreseen three days ago when I left Axford what lay at the end of this road, I would never have set off upon it.’

  ‘Well I for one am glad you did.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ll be safe whatever happens, with a wealthy husband to protect you. And if Hancock has the power to spring a heretic from prison, I am sure he will be secure as well. But can you not see that I have lost myself entirely? Renounced my past and ruined my future, lost God and Church – and all for what? For an impious curiosity!’

  It took her a few moments to summon a reply. ‘Well, I will say this for the captain – at least he does not lack for courage!’ She spurred her horse and rode ahead, overtaking Shadwell’s wagon and putting a hundred paces between herself and the rest of them. Damn her, thought Fairfax, although he regretted his harsh tone and had to suppress an impulse to go after her and apologise.

  Presently Hancock finished his conversation with Shadwell and pulled up his horse to let the young priest draw level. ‘So, Fairfax, the old man tells me ye went up to the Devil’s Chair today and found human bones.’

  ‘I did. What of it?’

  ‘Have ye not noticed the sky?’

  ‘The sky?’ He had been too absorbed to pay it any heed. But now he saw that it was just as it had been on the Tuesday afternoon when he first left Axford for the valley – entirely pewter, without a glimmer of a sunset, and with the same curious pregnant silence in the air.

  ‘There’s like to be another storm,’ continued Hancock, ‘and Shadwell’s of the opinion we ought to find your bones and mark the place while the land’s still firm, lest the rain wash away all trace.’

  ‘But will it be safe in such poor light?’

  ‘There’s still three hours till nightfall, and we have each other for protection in case of devils.’ He grinned. ‘D’ye think ye can find the spot again?’

  ‘
I’ll not forget it in a hurry.’

  ‘Good man.’ For the first time Hancock looked at him with something approaching respect. ‘I know a way through the woods that will bring us out close to the tower, and spare us the need to go near the village.’ He spurred his horse and returned to talk to Shadwell.

  Quycke flicked his whip and geed the mules up to a trot. Gradually the last vestiges of cultivation began to slip away. The road dipped and they were alone on the wild moor with its desolate dark green undulations and streaks of yellow gorse, devoid of life or movement apart from the occasional wild Wessex pony galloping alongside them. Miles in the distance Fairfax could see low clouds dragging heavy showers like steel flails across the ground. He wished he had brought his cape. He tried to imagine the landscape as Shadwell had envisaged it in Antiquis Anglia, a place once teeming with buildings, but the effort defeated him. This land was immemorial. Even the ancients, with all their industry, would have been unable to do much more than scratch a road across it.

  Eventually a line of hills appeared to coalesce ahead out of the murk. The road started to climb, and they passed from moorland into woodland. As soon as they crossed the treeline, Hancock squeezed past the wagon and rode ahead to catch up with Sarah Durston. Fairfax watched him gesticulating to her in the shadows, presumably explaining his plan. It seemed to him full of hazards. He wondered if she might have the good sense to leave them and take the road back into Addicott. But they passed the fork he had missed on his first afternoon and she continued to ride with Hancock. It was not in her nature to turn around.

  The mules struggled to drag the wagon up the rough incline. Their pace slowed. Fairfax dismounted to give May a rest and walked beside her. He recognised they were on the same path on which he had encountered Keefer pushing his handcart. In the semi-darkness of the forest he found it hard to calculate their direction. They seemed to be curving from the west towards the north and he guessed they must be working their way around the outer sides of the cauldron of hills that enclosed the valley. Unseen creatures rustled in the undergrowth. He could hear the hollow drilling of a woodpecker. A pair of parakeets chattered close by, then stopped. There was a profound silence. And then came the boom of an explosion in the quarry, near enough to tremble the ground. May reared up in fright and jerked at her bridle, wrenching Fairfax’s arm, and as he struggled to pull her down, he saw Sarah Durston’s mount go up on its hind legs and send her flying backwards. He let go of May’s bridle and ran towards her.

  She lay motionless, curled up on her side next to the road. Hancock was still dismounting as Fairfax reached her and dropped to his knees. ‘Sarah?’ Her face was white. She seemed not to be breathing. Dear God, he prayed, let her not be dead – let her not be dead, and I shall abandon this cursed quest and obey the teachings of the Church. He hooked his arm around her shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position. Her head lolled forward. He feared her neck was broken. He took her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him. Her eyes stared frantically into his. Her mouth flapped open, fighting for breath. He put his arms around her and drew her to him. She wrapped hers around him. He could feel the shudders running through her body, spasm after spasm, until at last, with a sound like the whooping cough, she sucked in air.

  A hand clamped hard upon his shoulder. ‘That’s enough, Fairfax. Let me attend her.’

  Hancock squatted on his haunches and shoved the priest aside. But when he reached out his arms to take her, she pressed her palm to his chest to fend him off. ‘No, John,’ she gasped, turning away. ‘Let me breathe.’

  After a few moments, Hancock stood. He could not bring himself to look at Fairfax. ‘No bones broken by the sound of it,’ he said in a thick voice. ‘She’ll be right enough when she recovers her wind. I’ll just wait with her. Get her horse, would ye?’

  As Fairfax moved up the road, Shadwell clambered down from the wagon. ‘Is she injured, Father Fairfax?’

  ‘No, Dr Shadwell – she seems merely shaken, thanks be to God.’

  Her grey mare was calmly chewing at the undergrowth. He held out his hand and made a soothing noise. The horse turned to look at him without interest. He noticed the saddlebag lying in the ditch. The instant he picked it up, he heard the rattle of broken glass. He undid the straps and emptied out the fragments on to the roadside. None of the pieces was larger than his middle finger. Behind him he heard Shadwell exclaim, ‘A disaster!’

  Fairfax muttered, ‘Better broken glass than broken bones.’

  ‘Not so, Father. Bones can mend. Such glass as that is irreplaceable.’

  ‘There’s plenty more of the same at Durston Court.’ He began to edge the fragments into the ditch with the side of his boot.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Shadwell. ‘I cannot bear to see it treated so!’ He got down on to his hands and knees and began to collect up the debris, laying it carefully on the shawl. ‘Oliver – help me.’

  Quycke came up and kneeled beside him, and together they proceeded to gather up every shard, however small. Fairfax watched them in wonder. Why? It was not as if the thing was repairable. He is quite mad, he thought, and we have all gone mad with him.

  ‘Fairfax, what is this?’

  He turned to find the captain with Sarah. Her step was unsteady, her face as pallid as a corpse’s, her riding habit streaked with mud, but she was walking unaided.

  ‘Lady Durston – you should rest!’

  ‘I am fine, Christopher,’ she said in a thin voice. ‘A little winded – nothing more.’

  Hancock looked past him. ‘Why do they kneel?’

  ‘Her ladyship’s glass was broken in the fall.’

  She said, ‘It does not matter. Its purpose is served.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Hancock. ‘It has brought us this far. Leave it, Mr Shadwell, for God’s sake. We must get on. We are almost there.’ He took out his pocket watch. ‘It’s only just past seven. The sun will not set for an hour.’

  Fairfax threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘There is no sun! Lady Durston should return home and go to bed. For all we know, she may have done some damage to her brain. The prize is not worth the risk.’

  ‘I’m right enough. Let’s go on.’

  ‘But this is folly! By the time we find the tower, it will be dark.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Shadwell. He had finished collecting the debris and stood nursing it, bundled up in the shawl. ‘See there.’

  He nodded towards the trees on their right. They all turned to look. Above the topmost branches, some way off, yet vivid against the dull grey sky, was the unmistakable flat white concrete rim of the Devil’s Chair.

  They continued the rest of the way on foot. Hancock went first, leading his horse; then Sarah, limping slightly, holding on to her mare; followed by Fairfax, who kept close behind her in case she stumbled; and finally Shadwell and Quycke walking beside the mules. Sometimes the top of the tower was visible; mostly it was hidden behind the trees. There was no conversation. The birds were still. The tower seemed to cast some sort of spell that muted sound.

  Presently the road forked again. Hancock held up his hand to bring them to a halt and gestured to the right. Obediently they turned into the track, but the path quickly became too steep and rocky for the mules to drag the wagon. They tied their horses to the trees. Quycke fussed around Shadwell, insisting he don an oilskin greatcoat with a hood, then unlocked the boxes at the back of the wagon and took out various tools: four long-handled shovels, the same number of trowels, buckets and sacks, a sieve, and half a dozen bamboo canes with torn red handkerchiefs attached at one end. He distributed them equally – Fairfax received a shovel and a bucket with a couple of trowels in it – and they resumed their climb, Hancock once again in the lead.

  Gradually more of the tower became visible through the trees, and after a few minutes’ effort they reached the crest of the slope and emerged on to the right-hand arm of the chair. The hillside ran all the way around to form the back and the distant left arm, and from the seat the to
wer rose directly before them like some ruined pagan temple festooned with vines. They contemplated the vista in silence. Even Hancock seemed briefly awed. But soon he was all business again. ‘So, Fairfax, can ye remember where ye saw these bones?’

  ‘Yes, pretty well.’ He pointed with the end of his shovel. ‘About fifty paces behind the tower, where the land begins to rise.’

  Rather than work their way round to it, the easier way was to descend through the trees to the level ground. When they were halfway down, it started to rain. They could hear it dripping off the canopy of leaves above their heads, and once they reached the clearing there was no escaping it – the same soft, drenching mist that Fairfax had experienced on his first day in the valley. They skirted the base of the tower and he led them along the path he remembered, climbing again between the ferns and fungi and the mossy fallen branches. The ground was spongy. He stopped and gazed around.

  ‘It was somewhere here.’ He went on a few paces and used his shovel to poke the undergrowth. He began to feel uncertain. Everywhere looked the same. ‘Surely no one can have come and moved them?’

  Hancock said sceptically, ‘Or maybe ye imagined it.’

  ‘One must always mark one’s finds,’ said Shadwell primly. He had pulled up his hood and stared out at them from beneath it through his curious shaded spectacles. ‘It is the first rule of the antiquarian.’

  ‘Father Fairfax is not an antiquarian,’ said Sarah.

  Hancock said, ‘We’re wasting time. Let us each take a part to search.’

  They separated, and for the next few minutes the silence was broken only by the noise of their shovels hacking away at the undergrowth, interspersed by Shadwell’s periodic spasms of coughing. This exposure to the rain will kill him, Fairfax thought. He was finding it uncomfortable enough himself, his boots sinking in the soft ground, the rain running into his eyes, the shaft of the shovel slippery in his hands as he battered at the ferns.