Then there was a sudden crack, the noise like a whiplash in the stillness of the night and he jumped at the sound, swinging around. Laughter echoed from the shadows as a man stepped forward quickly, punching him hard in the face with a clenched fist and he dropped to his knees, bright lights shining before his eyes, a great buzzing in his ears.
‘Hells teeth man they said you were tough,’ said the attacker hauling him up the gallows steps by the collar with his right hand. The thick fingers of his left hand reached into the pocket of his old black coat, producing a small leather pouch, which he shook joyously. ‘Not tough enough to stop me hanging you for the princely sum of two hundred silver pieces.'
Thomas was choking. ‘Have we met before?’ he asked, trying to rid himself of the dizziness swamping his mind.
‘Indeed we have not,’ said the man, releasing him at the top of the steps.
Thomas rolled to his knees, his gaze unblinking, fastened on the man’s hooded face. 'May I enquire then as to our quarrel sir?'
‘You have made many enemies these last months and they are powerful men, willing to pay handsomely to be rid of you,’ said the broad shouldered young man lowering his hood, revealing his wild blond hair, green eyes and pockmarked features. ‘I’m Dardo, the one about to take your job and reputation at the Lazy Rat.’
Thomas surged upright swiftly, a sword flashing into his hand, the point pricking the man’s belly. ‘You’re lucky not to be dead. Never talk about what you’re going to do, do it,’ he said his voice icy. His throat was dry, his heart hammering in his chest.
The young man’s strong face trembled and he blinked hard. ‘I have a passion for life, even though I was paid to take yours, but that’s what I was told to do,’ he said sullenly.
Thomas looked into the man’s face, seeing no hatred there. ‘Do you always do what you’re told?’
‘Mostly,’ the other nodded, ‘if I’m paid to.’
‘What were you then before you decided to become an unsuccessful assassin?’
‘A farm worker, working the fields, caring for sheep,’ admitted the young man.
‘Hence the broad shoulders,’ said Thomas, sheathing his sword. ‘I’m going to let you live and keep your two hundred in silver, but it’s going to cost you.’
‘Cost me?’ asked Dardo.
‘It’s going to cost you a good meal and fine wine at my favourite inn. It’s my night off,’ said Thomas rubbing his aching jaw. ‘That’s one hell of a punch you threw.’
‘Seems fair,’ agreed the other. ‘And I floored you with a left-hook.’
‘Tell me lad, are you any good with a sword or bow?’
‘No, just my fists.’
Thomas strode off with Dardo following behind. ‘Well then, I’ll make it my task to teach you both.'
*
Three days later, after an uneventful but tiring journey, Cyrano dismounted his horse, tethering it loosely to a hitching post and he entered the inn known as the Lazy Rat, making his way past a raucous crowd of revellers. His face pale and gaunt from his long ride, his eyes darted nervously from side to side as he strode through the warm, brightly lit, crowded room. He stopped suddenly, pausing briefly. Listening through a great confusion of noise he heard the smashing of crockery coming from a back room, and as all eyes rounded on the loud clatter an iron hand gripped his throat, dragging him into a shadowed corner.
‘Give me some money you old bastard,’ whispered a filthy, gap toothed robber, pushing his meaty face nose to nose, his breath fetid and rank. ‘You look too rich for your own good.' He thrust a needle sharp dagger up under Cyrano's chin pricking the skin, drawing blood.
Cyrano coughed his eyes wide. ‘How… how much would you like?’
‘My affections are easily and cheaply bought,’ said the fat faced man with a sneer, hawking and spitting on the sawdust-covered floor.
The world is full of robbers and murderers and the one thing they all seem to have in common is very little imagination, thought Cyrano. He gasped breathless with fear. ‘Name your price.'
‘Give me your purse old man or I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear. Come on, I’ll leave you with change,’ said the robber.
Cyrano reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his purse and the robber snatched it. A third man stepped forward quickly from out of the shadows, grabbing the robbers knife hand, punching him hard in the face with a clenched fist that smashed his nose to a pulp. He dropped like a stone. ‘Earn an honest crust with hard work, perseverance and discipline because you have no talent what-so-ever for thieving,’ snapped Thomas. His sarcasm was lost on the man. He was out cold.
Cyrano dropped to his knees, hands steepled in front of his face whimpering. ‘Oh, thank you for saving me.'
Thomas held out his hand to him, hauling him to his feet, leaving the robber where he lay. ‘You’re my guest tonight and I bid you a warm welcome. Come and join my friend and I and we'll enjoy my only night off.’
Cyrano followed him closely through the crowded bar to a corner table where Dardo was smiling. ‘You’re good Thomas, very good, the best there is,’ he said.
‘I think that’s a fair estimate of my talents. I’m highly strung but a thoroughbred – faster than the wind, stronger than a bull and fearless,’ snorted the warrior.
Cyrano’s eyes widened.
Dardo laughed. ‘Modest too.’
‘Sit you down,’ offered Thomas, ’and have a goblet of the finest wine in all the land.’
Dardo was already very drunk, light-hearted and loose-tongued, but liked for his unmistakable comic company. He sat staring happily at the newcomer. ‘This… this is my very good friend Thomas Flynn and he adopted me tonight,’ he slurred, stripping off his shirt, throwing it across the room at a welcoming looking whore. She smiled at him with obvious intent. ‘Umm, er, well, will you excuse me friends,’ he said rising from his stool, and he ambled over to the wench and sat down, wrapping his long arms about her. They began to kiss and cuddle.
Thomas fixed Cyrano's gaze. 'You’ll have to excuse my new found friend; he uses the English language as appropriately as a wooden cudgel. In fact, for someone who has no stammer he does it rather well. So, what brings you to the Lazy Rat?’
‘You,’ said Cyrano, his voice low and deep.
Thomas shrugged. ‘Why?’
‘I need help to clean out the thugs and thieves from my inn and I need the best.’
‘The mercenary, Vodas, is the best.’
‘He's old, his sight failing.’
Thomas had a steely glint in his eyes. ‘He’s still the best.'
‘I want you,’ said Cyrano, ‘and I’m willing to pay whatever it takes to get you.’
Thomas cocked his head thoughtfully to one side, raising an arm to catch the innkeeper’s gaze, and Forin strolled over to their table after collecting empty goblets on a tray. He stood staring at the pair impatiently, tapping his foot restlessly. Thomas ordered some food for himself and Cyrano, flipping the innkeeper a silver coin, who in return reached into his pocket, producing three copper coins in change. Wordlessly he strode off into the kitchen closing the door behind him.
Thomas spun his head to Cyrano, fixing his gaze again. ‘I’ll come and solve your problems, but I want fifty in gold in my hand, two in silver per night and three if I have to fight.’
The other smiled and sighed. ‘I can live with that. It’s costing me a fortune in damages each week anyway.’ The two men shook hands and sat back smiling at each other as Forin came back through the door with two meat and potato pies, and once again the meat was unbelievably tender. They ate in silence.
After an hour Dardo had had his fill of the young wench and was on his way back to Thomas’ table when a small stocky villager stood up, turning suddenly, colliding with him. ‘Watch where you’re going you clumsy dolt,’ the villager shouted.
‘Sorry,’ said Dardo amiably, moving past the man, ‘but you did bump into me.’ As he walked on the villager’s foot struck him on the be
hind, launching him from his feet and he fell against a chair, striking his temple, almost knocking him unconscious. Shaking his head he rolled to his knees, hauling himself upright. ‘You… you are an arrogant individual my friend, for a man with a haircut like a badly thatched cottage. Are you sure you have that wig on the right way?’ he stammered aloud, rolling his hands in front of his face boxing fashion.
The villager pulled a knife from inside his boot. ‘I’ll gut you like a fish you son-of-a-whore,’ he said lunging forward.
Dardo sidestepped, grabbing the knife wrist with his right hand, jerking the man forward quickly, and his own momentum sent him crashing into the tables. The villager rolled to one knee, slamming tables aside. Climbing to his feet he flashed the blade wildly from side to side. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ he said.
Dardo laughed, wobbling, his eyes glazed. ‘You tire me brother and I’m the worse for the drink. I can see two of you. Luckily, I have a fist for you both.'
Thomas and Cyrano watched with great interest but took no part in the fight. Thomas in particular was curious to see just how good Dardo was with his fists, as he himself had certainly been stunned earlier with nothing more than a good, stiff, left-hook. And the farm boy didn’t even carry a blade. Either he’s very confident and capable or just a fool asking for trouble, thought Thomas.
The villager lunged again. Dardo sidestepped in the opposite direction, throwing a vicious right uppercut that lifted the man clean off his feet, knocking him out completely and he dropped like a stone to the floorboards with a heavy thud. Another man stepped forward with a stern stare that would reduce a rabid wolf to foaming jelly. Shaking his head, he hefted the unconscious villager over his shoulder, carrying him from the inn muttering colourful profanity as he left. Forin was protesting; trying to calm the other customers as Thomas vaulted over his table. ‘I think you did rather well, unarmed against a man with a blade,’ he congratulated.
Dardo smiled. ‘I told you I was a good fighter. Can I fetch you some more ale?’
Thomas nodded. ‘Aye and one more for our guest. I think it’s been a long time since he’s tasted ale this good, although he tells me he’s had more than enough of our kind of entertainment in his tavern.’ He strode back to where Cyrano was and sat down. ‘The lad’s good, he reminds me of me when...’
‘How soon can I expect you at the Dog and Duck?’ interrupted Cyrano fidgeting nervously.
Thomas leaned back in his chair, stretching. ‘I’ll be with you no later than sunset, three days hence.'
Cyrano smiled, nodding, taking out his purse. ‘Fifty gold pieces you said, yes?’
Dardo came back to the table with more ale and saw him counting out the money.
‘What are you going to do with all that gold?’ he asked in a loud voice.
Heads turned, ears pricked up and eyes shifted to the three friends.
‘Maybe you should let the whole tavern know of my good fortune,’ said Thomas. ‘I don’t think everyone heard you the first time.’
Dardo swung around. ‘Why do you want everyone to know?’ he slurred.
‘I was being sarcastic. I was trying to make the point that it’s not a good idea to speak loudly about money in a place like this. We’re probably surrounded by robbers and cut-throats,’ said Thomas.
Dardo swung around again. ‘Where?’ he asked putting his clenched fists up in front of his face.
‘No, my friend, I said we could be surrounded by robbers, not that we are.’
‘You… you don’t need to tell me twice,’ said Dardo tapping his nose.
Cyrano finished counting out the money, drank his ale and gave directions to his inn. He bid his hosts farewell, and as he made his way back through the crowded room towards the door he stopped and turned, gazing back at Thomas with a sobering stare. ‘You know, with your reputation, I thought you would have been much bigger,’ he said walking out into the cold, misty night air.
Chapter 2
Two hundred and fifty miles to the north in Nottinghamshire, a slender, dark-haired young man stood shadowed in a doorway where children had tried to knife the mouldings, and he fought to hold down a rising tide of desolation and despair, his hard but handsome face and even harder steely blue eyes reflecting the pain and sorrow he felt. He was bleeding badly, the flesh of his hand stripped to the bone. Pausing at the door in front of him he knocked, and within moments an elegant young woman answered it. Her kindly eyes were deepest blue also, and her long hair shone like spun gold.
‘Who are you and what can I do for you?’ she enquired, noting the man’s bloodied hand. She had a gentle smile.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked. ‘It’s been a long night and I would appreciate your attention doctor.'
‘Of course… of course,’ she said stepping aside. When he had entered she closed the door, leading him up three flights of stairs through a corridor to a long narrow room with several pallet beds, bidding him to lie down and she began examining his injury. ‘How did you come by this wound,’ she whispered as if someone might hear.
‘Ozhan was kind enough to give it to me for not paying a wager,’ he said gazing up into her beautiful face, ‘and then he set fire to my house, killing my servants without a conscious thought. The man is pure evil with a diseased mind and soul so black that they would obscure the darkness of hell if it exists. He’s the devil himself I'm sure.’
The young doctor took a sharp intake of breath at hearing the name.
‘I’m grateful for your hospitality. I wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t fled my home two days ago. The baron pays those who fulfil his desires, while those who fail die. He’s the bringer of death and destruction,’ said the young man.
‘Indeed he has become death itself,’ said the woman. ‘What’s your name young man?’
‘My name's Vant, what’s yours?’
‘I’m called Lira. Lay back on the bed and I’ll dress your wound.’
*
Tired and hungry, Thomas and Dardo moved on for the next three days without saying a word to each other. Now they rested their horses at the edge of a village, the houses abandoned and a fifty-foot wide river in front of them. They sheltered for a while in a deserted barn, then moved on again, passing a hunters log cabin built on open ground bordering the tree line of the hills, and for most of the daylight hours they rode, angling their journey ever northward, sleeping soundly beneath the stars at night.
The sun had almost set as they paused at the crest of a rise bordering Nottinghamshire to the south. Shrouded in mist there were oaks, elms and birch growing everywhere, so they pushed on and by dark could see Nottingham shining like a beacon in the moonlight. A whispering wind flowed over the whole landscape and the smell of grass wet from the recent rain made Thomas feel almost at home. His dark eyes scanned the city before leaving the hillside on the forest road, moving under the overhanging branches, watching the moonlight dapple their trail. There were few bird songs to fill the air, but the scent of the forest intoxicated him.
Dardo groaned and finally spoke. ‘How much further? My backside is on fire and I’m considering eating my horse, I’m so hungry.’
‘According to Cyrano’s directions we’re almost there,’ said Thomas.
Dardo stared at his friend. ‘Why do you do what you do?’ he asked, suddenly.
Thomas shrugged. ‘To eat, mostly.'
‘Are you ever afraid?’
‘Everyone’s afraid at some time in their life, but I try not to think about it, it’s hard enough trying to stay alive.’
‘Have you ever lost a fight?’
Thomas shrugged again. ‘Nobody ever really wins.'
Just then, a young boy with a sling suddenly darted from the shadows of the trees and let fly. The stone struck Dardo high on the head, staggering him and he fell from his mount in an unconscious state, striking the floor heavily.
Thomas gasped. ‘What the hell?’ He watched the boy reload in the blink of an eye, methodical in his every action.
‘Your money or your life?’ announced the boy.
Thomas laughed without humour. ‘How old are you lad?’
‘Old enough to take your money,’ said the youngster with a sarcastic grin.
‘Now that’s what I like about the young,’ countered Thomas, ‘their ability to go on flights of fancy.’
The boy shook his head angrily. ‘Your money or your life?’
Thomas’ smile faded. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be a highway robber, and if not, shouldn’t you be aiming an arrow at me, not a stone in a slingshot?’
Aren’t you a little old to be dressed as a warrior?’ countered the boy cheekily. ‘I’ll take whatever coin you and your friend have and then be on my way.’
‘My friend and I are poor and have no such coin.’
‘You look too well fed to be poor,’ the boy observed.
‘Only because the forest feeds us,’ said Thomas.
Dardo groaned, coming back to his senses. Sitting up he rolled to his knees. ‘The boy hit me with something,’ he complained, holding his aching head.
‘A stone, and a rather large one at that according to the red lump growing on your forehead,’ said Thomas, his voice deep and harsh. ‘I can’t believe that I’m being held to ransom by a boy of no more than twelve years old, with nothing more than a slingshot.’
‘And a bloody good aim,’ said Dardo coming to his feet, rubbing the wound.
‘Be silent,’ warned the boy, ‘and give up the coin so that I may be on my way, I’ve much to do.’ He hefted the sling as if ready to throw.
‘Ok, ok, you win,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t fancy a bump the size of a duck-egg on my temple. I’d never live such a thing down, particularly on the first day of my new job as doorman at the Dog and Duck.’ He put a hand in his tunic pocket, reaching for his purse.
The boy’s strong face trembled, his eyes dark and haunted. He gasped, lowering the slingshot slowly. ‘You’re the new doorman at the Dog and Duck inn?’
‘Aye,’ said Thomas, ‘do you know of this place?’ Before he could utter another word, the boy turned and fled back into the shadows of the tangled trees from whence he came.
A Violent Man ( the story of Thomas Flynn ) Page 2