‘Actually, I don’t think this would be right,’ Petty continued. ‘It would not be a fair fight.’
Dancer smiled. ‘You should have thought about that before setting me alight.’
‘No, I mean your injury disables you. It gives me an unfair advantage.’
Dancer cursed Petty again. Tom could see his friend’s tactics. Infuriating the man might make his attacks more impulsive and less penetrating. ‘I have only one condition.’ Petty continued, his voice remaining calm. ‘If I win, you and your gang leave immediately without the map. And if I lose, you may get the map but you will leave everyone unmolested. No further violence, now or ever again. ‘
‘I have already said that.’
‘Yes, but I do not trust any oath you give to us, your enemies. I want you to swear this to your men. Now.’
Jack Dancer look puzzled but shrugged his shoulders, faced the gang and made his promise. Tom could see his discomfort and realised he would be unlikely to break the oath.
‘I also note you are armed. As you can see, I carry nothing. You will accept a bare hands fight?’
‘Oh yes, that suits me nicely,’ and Dancer drove his Rondel knife into the counter top.
Petty rolled up his sleeves. He took a swig of beer from a mug on the counter, then offered it to his opponent. This riled Dancer even more, shouting his refusal. Finally, the two faced each other, circling slowly. The crowd moved back, those who minutes earlier had cursed and threatened each other now standing side by side in rapt attention. Petty was on his toes, shifting his balance from foot to foot. The gang leader belied his name by moving more deliberately, rolling his shoulders. Tom could smell the smoke now noticeably drifting down the stair well.
Dancer lunged at Petty who swung back easily from the waist and evaded his grasp. As he swayed back, Petty punched the inside of Dancer’s damaged right wrist, making him wince and shake his head. They circled again and this time Petty aimed a kick at Dancer’s left knee but missed. Tom gasped as the man grabbed at his retreating foot but could not hold on. If Petty made a single misjudgment and the gang leader grabbed him, he would rapidly inflict terrible damage and the contest could be over in seconds.
Petty walked forward, offering himself to Dancer who swung his left fist, missed and overbalanced, falling forward. In a flash, Petty ran around his left side and punched him hard in the kidney. Dancer pulled up straight with a cry of pain, then paused, and let his guard drop.
Petty stepped back, keeping his fists up, his face expressionless.
Dancer spoke, his voice calm. ‘Now we’re fighting, I know you, brother. I’ve seen you grapple before and I said at the time, if I ever met this man again, I’d shake him by the hand. Best scrapper I’ve witnessed west of Poplar. You’re with the Adventurers, aren’t you?’
Petty didn’t move. He was trained not to be distracted and was in a world of his own concentration. Dancer knew it.
‘No matter, brother. I see you only have one thing on your mind – killing me. And that’s how it should be. But I wanted you to know, before you leave this world, that you’re something of a legend down the docks, and I’m proud to salute you.’
At this, Dancer put his fingers to his lips then held them before his face, like a blessing, before resuming his guard. Petty’s expression – as calm and hard as marble – did not change.
‘Dancer shouted: ‘Let’s finish this’ and backed away three paces. He suddenly charged Petty straight on, who skipped to his left and grabbed Dancer’s right wrist. He used the weight of the passing man to twist his grip with both hands, forcing a scream from his lips.
Despite the tormenting pain, the gang leader saw his chance and seized a handful of Petty’s hair and pulled with all his strength. He was forced to release Dancer who brought his knee up rapidly and smashed it into Petty’s face, making him stagger back, wiping the blood from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom noticed his father walking upstairs, carrying a torch to make his way through the gathering smoke. ‘Robert’s fighting for his life and father’s thinking about his pepper!’ he thought, in disgust.
Dancer watched his opponent bend down and rest his hands on his knees. He was struggling to breathe and a grin formed on Dancer’s face. Petty moved his head to one side to blow blood from his nose and Dancer saw his chance. He ran at Petty who remained crouching, but then placed his left palm flat on the floor, and using his straight left arm to pivot, he launched his body into a horizontal arc, parallel with floor.
He timed it perfectly, delivering a scything kick deep into Dancer’s left knee joint. Dancer screamed as his knee collapsed but, as he fell, he made a grab for Petty and hung on. He was now in a rage of pain and fighting on animal instincts. They were both on the floor scrabbling and kicking. Tom could see his friend was tiring and willed him to get off the ground.
Dancer used his brute strength to get an arm lock around Petty’s neck who was soon gasping for breath. The veins on Dancer’s forearm bulged as he strained to crush Petty’s windpipe. Now he had the upper hand, the gang leader forgot about his agonising wrist and shattered knee. All his concentration focused on that headlock, his neck tendons bulging and the sweat rolling off his face. Petty’s face went purple as the man tightened his grip, and slowly his legs stopped kicking. His resistance was fading and his grip on Dancer’s forearm loosened.
‘That‘s quite enough. Let him go.’
Jack Dancer looked up from Petty’s face. ‘What…what are you doing?’
Ralph Tallant had emerged from the pepper store, standing on the stairs, wreathed in smoke. In his hands, the map of China was burning bright.
‘It’s all over. You can go. We’ve lost it all.’ he said in a flat, faraway voice. Dancer removed his chokehold and Petty’s body slumped to the floor.
‘How much pepper do we have upstairs at the moment, Tom?’
He looked at his father, confused. ‘I could not tell you, having more important things on my mind,’ looking at the lifeless form of Robert Petty on the warehouse floor.
‘Oh you should always know what’s in your stock. Remember what I have told you. You never know what might be there.’
Was Ralph trying to give him a coded message? His father must be finally cracking under the strain, but then he realised. The precious map had been hidden in the pepper store, where the fire was now raging. No wonder he was in shock. After all he had endured, he was to lose it after all.
‘Anyway, ‘tis of no matter, it will all be ash soon. As will this…’ and he looked at the map, its dry paper now enveloped in flames.
‘No!’ Dancer was struggling to get to his feet He could not put any weight on his injured knee but held on to the side of the counter to pull himself up. ‘What are you doing?’ he screamed.
It had taken only seconds for the chart to be consumed with fire. It was now beyond any rescue, and Ralph changed his grip to hold it by one of its mahogany handles.
The chart had become a flaming torch which he pointed at Jack Dancer.
‘It may have been the source of our wealth but it’s become the cause of our misery. Perhaps it’s for the best, but it is a thing of such beauty…’ and, in the light of the flames, Tom could see tears coursing down his father’s face.
‘No. That’s my money. Gone!’ Dancer screamed. He pulled himself along the counter and, trailing his broken knee, lunged forward to grab Ralph.
Tom was about to fling himself onto Dancer’s back and haul him down, when the gang leader stopped stock still, in front of Tom’s father, and his head dropped. He crashed to the floor, revealing Dirck standing over him, the long Rondel knife in his hand, covered in Dancer’s blood.
Tom saw the knife was missing from the counter and turned to his father who had dropped the remains of the blazing map. The gang leader was lying on his back, a lake of blood pooling beneath him. He bent down and examined Robert Petty. There was no sign of life. He shuffled over to the gang leader who was breathing raggedly with a deep wound in hi
s chest.
Dancer lifted his head, trying to speak. Tom bent to listen.
‘Sweet Jesus…to be done over by a sneaky Dutch shit.’ The man’s laugh turned into a coughing fit. ‘Always thought that map was cursed. Been nothing but trouble’
‘Who was going to pay you? Your brother George Tansy?’
‘Oh you know about him, do you? He doesn’t like you at all…I agreed when he said you had a Dutch mother.’
Jack Dancer was starting to fade. His eyes became glazed and his strength ebbed as he dipped in and out of consciousness. He lifted his head again to speak, his voice now barely a whisper. Tom put his ear next to Dancer’s mouth and remained until he could no longer feel his breathing. He then sat up, transfixed by the grin on the dead man’s face.
‘You’ve killed him, you poncy bastard. You’ve killed Jack.’ Billy Boy was beside himself with grief. ‘He was my father. He was our father. He put clothes on our back and food in our bellies. Now you see what happens when you take no shit, when you won’t cow-tow to the merchants and their like. When you’re Jack Dancer. They kill you with your own knife when you’ve laid it down,’ pointing at Dirck, ‘not man to man. Traitorous murdering whoresons, the lot of them.’
‘Do we let them get away with this? Do we?’ Billy Boy screamed the question the second time and there was a roar from the crowd now packed into the warehouse. Once again Tom saw the tide of battle turning against them. But instead of an enormous weariness, a boiling rage was building inside him. He saw the weary faces of his friends, and Robert Petty still motionless on the floor. They might have lost the map, and even the warehouse, and worst of all Robert, but he would fight them to his last breath.
Without warning, a group of apprentices broke ranks and charged at Mark and Dirck. The Dutchman had dropped the knife and started throwing broken furniture at the advancing mob. Mark was waving a thick piece of landing rope above his head, lashing out at the crowd.
Tom ran at Billy Boy. A large apprentice stepped into his path and he knocked him to the floor with a clubbing right fist to his chin. Billy stepped back and whipped a poignard from his belt. He slashed at Tom who ducked and weaved to keep out of Billy’s reach. Someone pushed past him and thrust a long pole at the young thief. Billy howled with pain and dropped his knife, a slashing wound in his forearm.
‘Thank you, Isaac’, Tom shouted over his shoulder. ‘I knew that halberd would save me one day.’ He glanced back and saw Isaac, grim faced and tear stained, jabbing his halberd, shouting incoherently at the mob - his master losing his senses, his warehouse burning down around him, his world crumbling.
The Apprentice Boys continued to push and gradually Tom, Dirck, Mark, Isaac and Sam were forced into a corner, guarding the body of Robert Petty. Mark’s eye was bruised and starting to close and Dirck was crouching low, holding his ribs.
There was a pause while both sides gathered their breath. Many were coughing from the smoke which had reached the ground floor. ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘Can’t you see the fire has spread? If we don’t all get out now, no one will survive this day.’
Billy Boy stepped forward, his injured arm hanging by his side. ‘Not bloody likely!’ he screamed at the gang. ‘Come on me boys, we’ve got them cornered now. Finish them off and you’ll be the talk of every pub in London!’
There was a ragged cheer and the gang ran at them again. Tom said a prayer as three of them barreled into him at the same time. They all crashed to the floor, kicking and punching. A finger scratched at his eyes and he bit it as hard as he could. Someone was beating his thigh while a punch in his side made him fight for breath. The weight of his attackers was crushing him and his will to resist started to drain as exhaustion set in. He had reached his limit. His head was swimming, and the sound of shouting faded. He could hear Dirck’s voice, screaming in Dutch, but then nothing.
* * *
Tom came to, he didn’t know when, to find he was no longer pinned to the floor by bodies. His side throbbed with pain and his mouth tasted of blood. He was aware of movement and talking in the room, and shouting coming from a distance.
He lay still on his back, staring at the ceiling. He blinked and Elizabeth came into view, looking down at him, her cool hand gently stroking his face ‘Thank God. We made it in time. You are alive!’ He smiled as her salty tears started to fall, stinging his scorched face.
Chapter 33
Bolton Hall
Tom sat in silence with Elizabeth in the living room at Bolton Hall. She held his hand as he gazed into the wood fire that was roaring in the grate, crackling and popping as the dried timber caught light. Outside, the sky was grey, the snow on the ground making the familiar garden featureless in the gloom. The door opened and he stiffened as Ralph and Beatrix walked in. His father seemed to have recovered his composure since the attack.
‘How are your bruises? Does your side still hurt?’
‘It’s starting to feel better. If not for Elizabeth, it could have been a lot worse. In fact, I doubt I would have survived.’
His mother shook her head. ‘I have still not heard the full story; how did you come to be there, Elizabeth?’
‘I visited Tom in the warehouse when they were preparing for the attack. I left various…provisions,’ and here she glanced at him and smiled, ‘but I left troubled. It seemed logical that any attackers would use the riots as cover, and I agreed with Sir Ralph’s assessment that matters on the street were coming to a head. So ‘what’ was going to happen seemed clear. And we knew that ‘why’ was the map. No, the issue on my mind was ‘who’?’
‘I was not sure Sir George Tansy had the resources, the manpower, to launch the kind of attack you were expecting, so I thought again about Pym. Maybe I had been wrong? I did a favour for Lucy Carlisle recently, so now I sought one in return. Would she ask John Pym if he planned to attack the Tallant warehouse?
The following day Lucy told me Pym had no idea what she was talking about. An attack on private property, especially among the merchant community, was the last thing he wanted that night. They were planning a final push against the King and, for that, he needed all their supporters on board. Any suspicion the junto was using the street protests to cover ill-disciplined score settling would cause irreparable damage to his carefully created alliances. Indeed, not only was he against any attack, he would send a troop from the Trained Bands to stop any such thing happening in his name.
‘I knew something wasn’t right when I saw the Apprentice Boys in the Yard.’ Tom added. ‘Pym had expressly stated they should stand down on the night to ensure the protest was orderly.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Guarded by two of our servants, I came into London. The City was in turmoil but Pym’s people and the militia walked us through the barricades and blockades to Thames Street, which was a complete press of people. I was aghast when we arrived and saw your roof burning. But within minutes men from the Trained Bands had flooded the warehouse, ordering the Apprentice Boys to stand down. Without their support, the gang fled into the night. I will always remember that scene: Tom down, and poor Robert Petty…everyone else hurt and exhausted. I knew we had arrived with only minutes to spare. I was…’
There was a commotion in the next room, and raised voices. The noise increased and Peter strode into the living room, a flustered servant in tow.
‘The King has fled! He has left London.’ Peter shouted, waving his arms in the air. ‘Ran away to Hampton Court with his tail between his legs. We have won! We have won! I don’t believe it!’ Tom had never seen his brother so excited.
‘Peter! Are you sure?’ Beatrix asked as she stood and hugged her eldest son.
‘Well, I can well believe it,’ Ralph growled. ‘He’s abandoned his palace, Westminster and the Tower! Given them to Pym and his cronies. What idiocy! It makes you want to weep. He’s the King, for Lord’s sake!’ he snorted. ‘Peter. How are you? We’re talking about the terrible events in the city two days ago.’
Peter pulled up a chair and
joined them by the fire. ‘How am I? Exulting in the Lord’s victory! And this is only the start! It’s hard to take in, that this moment has finally arrived,’ And Peter’s flushed, beaming face stared at each of them in turn.
‘Terrible events? Oh, you mean the street protests?’ Peter continued breathlessly.’ It is regrettable people have been hurt but the riots were inevitable, I’m afraid, after the King trampled on the privileges of Parliament by marching into the Chamber. Tom, I hear we have you to thank for John Pym’s escape with the others?’
Tom waved his hand dismissively. ‘I asked Peter to come because I thought he might be able to shed light on who attacked our warehouse the other night.’
‘Yes, I did hear something about an attack.’ Peter said, calming down. ‘I was coming here to find out if the rumours were true when I heard the wonderful news about the King.’
‘The warehouse is badly damaged,’ Tom replied. ‘Thank goodness there was more snow later in the night or we’d have lost the roof. As it is, our entire pepper stock is ruined.’
‘That’s dreadful! Was anyone hurt? How did it happen?’
‘How did it happen? – that’s the question. We know a mob of Apprentice Boys were involved, so we thought you might have some idea, given your contacts. You’ve used them before to keep the pot boiling when pushing for Puritan reform.’
Peter looked puzzled. ‘Strange that I have not heard about it.’
‘Very strange, considering you arranged it.’
Silence again. This time shocked.
‘What on earth do you mean?’ Peter shouted.
‘Oh, come Tom…’ his father added.
‘Do you think a dying man would lie?’
‘Brother, you are talking in riddles. Are you drunk?’
‘What has a dying man got to lose? He may as well speak the truth. I mean Jack Dancer. That name must be familiar to you Peter. No? Jack Dancer, the gang leader who you were paying to steal the map?
The Wrecking Storm Page 17