by Jeff Guinn
“I suppose she’s right. She’s old enough to be left by herself for a while,” Alan muttered, and so all four of us adults took the two-mile walk across hills to the barn. We brought a single lantern, but didn’t need to light it. The moon was half-full, the stars twinkled, and by now we knew the way very well, even in the dark. As we walked, we talked quietly about the protest, and how wonderful it would be to see thousands of people joining together on behalf of Christmas, and this discussion put us all in better moods.
“Exactly one week from now, we’ll be back in the cottage celebrating Christmas with extra enthusiasm,” Alan predicted. “The protest will go well, our message to Parliament will be clear, and the holiday in England will be saved. Just wait and see.”
When we reached the bottom of the steep hill with the barn above us, we lit the lantern so that if someone was waiting for us there he or she would see us approaching and not be startled when we arrived. Halfway up the slope we could see the silhouette of the barn against the night sky, and in the doorway there was also a lantern casting a small glow.
“Whoever it is, is waiting,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s hurry and deal with this problem, whatever it might be. I really don’t like Sara being alone back at the cottage. I don’t care if she’s thirteen.”
“Remember to be cautious,” Arthur warned. “Pull the hoods of your cloaks around your faces. Wait to see the candy cane before you go all the way into the barn and reveal yourselves.” But as we reached the crest of the hill and a small, dark figure also wrapped in a cloak stood in the doorway, I knew who it was even before she pulled her beloved candy cane out of a pocket and waved it at us.
“Janie, you weren’t at work today,” I whispered. “Is something wrong?”
“Come inside, Layla, so we can talk, and bring your friends with you,” she replied, and turned back into the barn, her small lantern barely radiating enough light to see where she was going.
“It’s Janie,” I said to my three companions. “It’s all right.” We pulled our cloaks away from our faces and filed inside. It was very dark in the barn. Beside me, I could sense rather than see Arthur taking flint and stone from his pocket to strike a spark and light our lantern, too.
Then there was rustling behind us and to either side, and Janie said, “I have some people here, too.” The clicking of stone and flint echoed in several places, as did the louder clack of musket hammers being drawn back. Lanterns flared with sudden light, and Arthur, Elizabeth, Alan, and I saw we were surrounded by at least a dozen members of the Trained Band, each of them pointing his gun directly at us. The four of us were not armed. There were too many of them to fight, and they were all around us, so we couldn’t run. Directly in front of us, Janie stood beside two cloaked figures, both very tall, one of them thick-bodied and the other thin as a wraith. The heavy one threw off his hood, and I saw it was Mayor Avery Sabine, whose expression was disapproving and solemn. Then the thin one pulled back his hood, and I looked into the leering face of Blue Richard Culmer.
“Ah, Missus Layla Nicholas,” he hissed with sarcastic courtesy. “You avoided becoming my guest in London five years ago. I’m so pleased to greet you now, and also your friends. No, sir!” he barked as Arthur moved to step between us. “You will stay still, or these men will shoot you down where you stand. I don’t know your name, or that of these others.”
“The second woman is named Elizabeth Hayes,” Avery Sabine told him. “She works for my wife as a maid. The fellow with his arm around her is her husband.”
“I’m Alan Hayes,” my friend said bravely, his voice trembling a little. It is very frightening to have guns pointed at you. “What is the meaning of this? Mayor Sabine, why do you threaten peaceable citizens?”
“You’re hardly peaceable,” Sabine replied. “You and your fellow conspirators, here, planned to incite a terrible riot in my city on Christmas Day. It was your intention to destroy property and set fires and encourage other citizens to join in the violence. Well, you’re caught.”
“Who told you such lies?” Arthur demanded, but, my heart sinking, I already knew.
“Why, Janie?” I asked.
She stood behind Sabine and Culmer and had a sad smile on her face.
“From now on, I’m to be the upstairs maid instead of toiling in the washing shed,” Janie said. “That will make every working day like Christmas for me, Layla. And I never said nothing to this man about any violence. I told him the whole thing was to be peaceable, like.” She turned to Sabine. “Your honor, may I go now? Your missus wants me at work quite early tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes, go,” Sabine muttered. “Wait, here’s a coin for you. Now, begone while we finish our business here.”
Those words chilled me. There were soldiers with guns, Blue Richard Culmer with his evil smile, and no witnesses. Perhaps Alan, Elizabeth, Arthur, and I were all to be shot. Culmer, watching me intently, guessed what I was thinking.
“There will be no executions here tonight, missus,” he said. “I have other plans for you and your friends. How foolish you were, what amateurs! Did you really believe you could confide your plans to so many people and not have one of them, at least, betray you? If you’re the best defenders Christmas has, no wonder the holiday is going to be gone forever! You trust people, Missus Nicholas, and that’s always a fatal flaw.”
“I’m the one who planned this, Culmer,” Arthur interjected. “These other three only did what I told them. They’re frightened now by you and these guns. They’ve learned their lesson. Let them go.”
Culmer laughed—at least, the cackling sound he made was probably intended as laughter. “Oh, no, Mister—what is your name?”
“Arthur.”
“Well, Mr. Arthur, you and Missus Nicholas and these Hayes people are going to be helpful to me, which means helpful to England. Even traitors like you can be of use.”
Arthur bristled. “I’m no traitor to England, Culmer, now or ever. You’re the traitor, terrorizing anyone who doesn’t act exactly as you demand. And I don’t care what you might have been told about plans for Christmas Day. Violence was never part of them. That’s your way, not ours.”
“Oh, sometimes cracking heads or smashing windows is effective, but I have other ways, too,” Culmer replied. “You’re about to find that out. You meant your Christmas riot to symbolize resistance. Now I will use you to symbolize the futility of resisting. Men, get out rope and tie these people up. Then let them sit down on the floor. There’s hay strewn all about, so it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable. We need to settle in. The night is still long, and we must wait until daylight.”
“I can’t stay here all night,” Avery Sabine protested. “I have many important things to do tomorrow, and I need my rest.”
Culmer waved his hand. “Go back to your home and your bed, then. Mind you don’t tell anyone about what happened here tonight. We want everyone to be surprised tomorrow.”
“Surprised by what?” Arthur asked.
“You’ll see,” Culmer said. The mayor hurried out of the barn, and we could hear him stumbling down the steep hill. Avery Sabine was not a graceful man. Then Culmer watched as a few of the Trained Band set down their muskets and tied our hands behind us. We were forced to sit down. Elizabeth was crying a little. The sound of her sobs seemed to soothe Culmer, who lit a pipe and sat with his back to the bale of hay I presumed Father Joel used as an altar.
“I hope you’re not uncomfortable,” he said sarcastically. “We’ll be here until dawn. You’ll understand why after that. Meanwhile, you may talk quietly, but if I even suspect you are trying to loosen your bonds and escape, I’ll have one of you shot in front of the others. Four would be better for what I have planned, but three will do. Perhaps you might sing some Christmas carols to pass the time.”
Alan squirmed over to Elizabeth’s side. Because his hands were tied he couldn’t put his arm around her, but he leaned so that their shoulders touched.
“Don’t be afraid, love,” he said soft
ly. “I don’t think they’ll do anything too terrible to us.”
“You don’t believe that for a moment, and I’m not crying about our predicament,” Elizabeth replied. “I’m afraid for Sara. She’s all alone at the cottage, and both her parents are prisoners.”
Panic shot through me. I had forgotten about Sara. I wondered how long she would sit up waiting for us to return. Maybe, after hours and hours, she would come to the barn herself to see what was delaying us. Culmer might take her prisoner, too! “Don’t mention Sara,” I hissed to Elizabeth. “If Culmer overhears, he might send his men to arrest her, too, just to make you and Alan feel even worse. She ’s Sophia’s best friend. I don’t think Margaret Sabine will let anything bad happen to her. But don’t talk about Sara now!”
The four of us talked quietly a little longer. We thought it odd that Culmer was not questioning us about others involved in the Christmas Day protest plan. It was as though he didn’t care. Why? And why were we being kept in the barn until dawn? After a while, Elizabeth and Alan, exhausted by fear and stress, dozed. Arthur and I remained awake. Every so often I would glance over at Blue Richard Culmer, who leaned back against the hay bale smoking his pipe and never taking his eyes off of us. Finally, as the first faint streaks of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon, Culmer stood up, stretched, and nodded to one of the Trained Band. That fellow went to a far corner of the barn and, with some effort, picked up a heavy canvas bag that clanked as he carried it over to where we four prisoners sat. The clanking woke Alan and Elizabeth.
“Chains,” Arthur said grimly, and he was correct. “Now, I understand. Culmer means to make examples of us.”
“Exactly, Mr. Arthur,” Culmer snarled. “Men, secure them properly, and take no chances. Keep those ropes tight around their arms until all the chains are in place.”
It was horrible. The chains were very heavy. Manacles were snapped around our wrists, which were still kept behind our backs. Then lengths of chain were placed around all of our waists, with about two feet of additional chain linking us up one to another—me to Arthur, Arthur to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth to Alan. Finally, Culmer stepped up and personally secured a final shackle around my neck, much like a master will place a collar and leash on a dog. “Time to go to town,” he crooned, and tugged the length of chain attached to my neck. I was jerked forward and forced to follow him, and my three friends staggered along behind me in a grotesque parade. The Trained Band soldiers took up their muskets and fell in on either side of us. “Slowly, now,” Culmer cautioned as he led the way down the hill. “Don’t stand too close to the prisoners, lads. We want all their friends and neighbors to get good looks at them!”
Country people around Canterbury rose with the sun, so as we reached the main path toward town there already were many people moving along it. As we made our ghastly walk, I recognized quite a few of them—they were all participants in the planned protest. Now their eyes widened and their mouths fell open in shock to see their leaders in Blue Richard Culmer’s clutches.
“See what happens to Christmas plotters?” Culmer bellowed over and over as we made our slow, awful way into Canterbury. “All those who unlawfully celebrate Christmas face swift and certain punishment! Would you want this to be you?” People who had greeted me every day for five years turned away, trying not to look me in the eye. Culmer was using us to frighten the rest of the people into submission, just as he had used the smashing of cathedral stained-glass windows a few years earlier. And his plan was obviously working. No one called out comforting words to us; onlookers were too afraid for their own safety to offer any show of support.
Culmer led us into Canterbury through St. George’s Gate on the eastern wall, and the guards there snapped to attention and saluted him as we passed. High Street, the main city thoroughfare that was lined with shops, ran straight through the center of Canterbury and ended at the West Gate, with its two hulking towers, one of which housed the city dungeon. Culmer obviously intended to take us there, but along the way he wanted as many people as possible to see us in our chains. We tried to walk with some dignity, but with our hands chained behind us it was hard to do. Every so often Culmer would deftly tug at the chain linked to my neck, and I would stumble a little, and in turn Arthur, Elizabeth, and Alan would be pulled off balance and stagger for a few steps. Right through the central marketplace he led us, calling out for the Trained Band soldiers to make the crowd stand clear. As word of our procession spread, black-cloaked Puritans began to appear all along High Street, calling out insults to the four of us and jeering that Christmas was gone forever, and look at the dreadful fate we’d brought on ourselves by not accepting that! I was terribly afraid, though not for myself. I was thinking about Sara. When she woke and discovered that her parents and auntie hadn’t returned to the cottage, what would she do? The girl was so shy that she would probably not run to a neighbor and ask for help. Perhaps she’d make her way into Canterbury and her friend Sophia—what if my darling girl was seeing us in chains right now? I began desperately looking at the people lining both sides of the street, my head swiveling back and forth, and Blue Richard Culmer saw me and misunderstood.
“You’re feeling panic, I can tell!” he crowed. “Well, missus, not one of those people is going to help you, so there’s no sense searching for a friend. You have no friends left!”
We finally reached the West Gate, where the north tower served as the town prison. I thought Culmer would immediately throw us into cells, but he had other plans. Outside the tower were four sets of “stocks,” wooden stands with openings that closed around prisoners’ necks and wrists, forcing them into an awkward standing crouch until, finally, the stocks would be unlocked and they could move around again. Culmer ordered us locked into these stocks. Hundreds of people gathered about; criminals were usually put into the stocks for extra embarrassment after some particularly disgusting crime, like stealing from church coin boxes. Then Mayor Sabine appeared—I could only see him out of the corner of my eye, because the stocks were tight and I could not move my head.
“Behold the Christmas criminals!” Sabine roared to the crowd. “This is what happens to traitors who plan riots on behalf of sinful holidays! These evildoers hoped to lead many of you into crime, but your mayor and Mr. Culmer have saved you! Look on them, and learn your lesson! There is no longer any Christmas in England, or in Canterbury!” Then Culmer directed the Trained Band soldiers to festoon the stocks with green boughs and holly, in a mockery of traditional Christmas decorations. There was nothing for Arthur, Elizabeth, Alan, and me to do but stand where we were locked in place as the sun traveled across the winter sky. All day, we were offered no food or water, and all of us were feeling weak when, in early evening, Culmer finally ordered us taken out of the stocks. Our legs were so stiff that we staggered as, at gunpoint, we were marched into the jail. Down stone steps we went, until, finally, we came to a heavy, barred door, which creaked ominously as it was opened and we were forced inside. The stone walls of this dungeon were damp and reeked of rot.
“There are empty buckets for you when you need to do the obvious,” Culmer said. “Bread and water will be brought in the morning. By then you’ll be so hungry, you’ll think you’re dining on fine holiday goose. In the meantime, why don’t you pray to Father Christmas? Perhaps he’ll come to save you.” Then Culmer stepped back and nodded to a jailer, who grunted as he swung the heavy cell door shut. The single lantern lighting the hallway was extinguished, and we were prisoners in the dark.
We were brought outside in the cold morning light. Our appearances, I know, were appalling. Our clothes were nasty and torn, our exposed skin was filthy, and our legs so weak we could barely stand as we were locked into the stocks.
CHAPTER Twenty-one
We only knew it was morning when two jailers lumbered If down the stone steps to our dungeon cell carrying a bucket of water and two loaves of stale bread. One stood outside with a musket and torch while the other unlocked the heavy door, growled “Break
fast,” shoved the bucket and bread inside, then slammed the door shut and locked it again. The only light we had came from the torch, and it was a relief when the second jailer jammed it into a holder on the wall outside the cell and we could see a little by the flickers it cast through the barred window. As the jailers went back up the steps without another word, we took turns having long sips from the bucket—the water was sour tasting, and I tried not to think of where it might have come from—and then Arthur insisted we each eat some bread. None of us felt especially hungry, despite the fact we hadn’t had a meal since noon the day before. Our troubles had overwhelmed our appetites. But Arthur pointed out we needed to keep up our strength, so we ate.
“I must know what’s happened to Sara,” Elizabeth moaned after she reluctantly gulped down a few mouthfuls of the awful loaf. “Surely someone has found her by now.”
“I’m certain the Sabines have brought her to their home,” Alan said reassuringly, though I could tell he was not as confident as he was trying to sound. “These people might have arrested us for trying to save Christmas, but they surely won’t punish an innocent child.” He chewed on his bread for a few moments and then asked, “What do you think they will do to us today?”
“Probably nothing,” I said. “Culmer knows it is much more cruel to leave us here for a while wondering about his intentions before revealing them. Meanwhile, we’d better save what’s left of the bread and water. It may be all we get for a while.”
I was right. No one came down the stairs to our cell. Sometime during the day the torch went out, and we were plunged back into total darkness. The hours crawled by. I knew Alan and Elizabeth were tormented by their fear for Sara, and I felt the same. Arthur undoubtedly was devising escape plans, though nothing of the sort seemed possible. There was only the one door to our cell, and the narrow stone stairway leading up from it was undoubtedly guarded at the top. None of us speculated what Blue Richard Culmer and the Puritans might have in mind for our further punishment. Anything was possible. They could twist the laws in any way they pleased to suit themselves. We talked very little, because we were so discouraged and also because Arthur warned there might be some jailer perched on the stairs hoping to overhear information about the protest plan that he could report back to Culmer.