A slim young man with dark, close-cropped hair approached him, and around his waist was a sword-belt from which hung two short-swords similar to his own. Thomas could also see the hilt of a throwing-knife in the man’s knee-length boot. The newcomer smiled. ‘Very impressive,’ he said, ‘the way you quickly dispatched the mercenary, I mean. I don’t know another man who could have done the same, other than me. Would you be interested in a wager?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘I am always interested in a wager.’
‘Then this one should be right up your street,’ said the other stepping closer, whispering in the warrior's ear.
‘You don’t say. Really!’ said Thomas with a gasp, looking dumbstruck. ‘When and where would such an event take place?’
The man leaned in closer, whispering again. Thomas’ face lit up like a candle. ‘Really!’ he said again. ‘Then how much is the wager going to cost me?’
The young man held up five fingers of one hand, making a zero with the forefinger and thumb of his other. ‘Fifty silver pieces,’ he said fixing Thomas’ gaze.
Thomas ignored him at first and then smiled, imagining the winning of a wager at probably ten-to-one-odds. ‘We can start any time you like friend, but don’t tell anyone else about this. Oh, and by the way, what’s your name?’ he asked.
‘I'm Hobar and I'm at your service.’
*
Striding through the city much later that day, Thomas stopped at a tavern for a brief meal and then walked the two miles to his allotted destination, where he met Hobar and another man who was thin faced and stick-like – almost spidery with a hunchback. His clothes were no more than rags.
Thomas nodded his welcome. ‘Right, well I’m all ears friends,’ he said to the both of them. ‘We can make a lot of money between us if you can set up that piece of business you mentioned earlier. Can you?’
‘I can set it up. But what’s in it for me?’ asked the hunchback.
‘I'm in it for you, and I'm the one risking my life. Look, we’ve all been down the long hard road, and I for one would like it a little easier,’ announced Thomas.
‘Have you been in the dungeons before?’ asked the hunchback
‘No, but I'm willing to take my chances,’ replied Thomas looking a little uneasy.
‘You look a little past your prime,’ said the hunchback, running his fingers down the swordsman's scarred arms. ‘Besides, I already have a fighter willing to risk the dungeons.’
‘Hobar spoke of your fighter. I’ve come across him before and he laid down for me when I threatened to cut off his ugly head,’ countered Thomas.
‘Look friend, every city has a tavern, and every tavern has a bar with someone who thinks he’s as tough as an iron nail, but they all come to me when they need the stake money for a fight. But if my fighter is a loser, then I end up a loser – understand?’ said the hunchback.
‘I don’t want your money. I have fifty silver pieces. You bet it all, and if I lose, you lose nothing. But if I win – we all win,’ said Thomas, his eyes fever bright.
The hunchback wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘I really do hope this works. Otherwise we're all going to be dead men if you don’t win. And my life's a wager I’m not willing to pay,’ he said looking worried.
Chapter 12
‘Well, well, my old friend the hunchback with another potential winner,’ said the Ringmaster. ‘Who is it this time, your wife? We've had everybody else. Your brother, your mother and every other,’ he ridiculed loudly.
The gathering crowd laughed and then jeered the three men. Hobar laughed without humour. ‘We’ll wipe the smiles from your faces this time,’ he announced looking confident with a seemingly permanent sneer.
Thomas stepped forward, taking off his old, black, leather tunic, revealing his amazing physique with the many deep scars, which sent his body into spasm on cold winter nights. The crowd stilled quickly. Dressed only in black hose and leather boots, Thomas’ dark eyes scanned the full length of the dungeons. Many flaming torches were hung in iron brackets around the cold grey walls, lighting the great catacombs and there were bones hung in chains everywhere. The dungeons were now obsolete, but the stench of death fused with coal oil lingered heavily in the still air.
An iron door at the far end of the main chamber flung open with a loud crash and a silver haired warrior answering to the name of Eldar entered. He too was wearing black leggings and boots, nothing more. He ambled over to the hunchback laughing. ‘Your warrior is a little old for this, isn’t he?’ he said pointing a thick finger at Thomas.
‘Their man looks like a mighty warrior and very fierce,’ whispered Hobar fixing Thomas’ steely gaze.
Four men covered the entrance to the dungeons, making sure that no one else came in, but more importantly, making sure no one got out without paying their wager. Spectators barked their bets back and forth as both swordsmen began to circle. It was now midnight and pitch-black outside. ‘You sure you want to do this?’ snapped Eldar.
Thomas nodded. ‘Lord make me fast and accurate,’ he whispered crossing his heart. He stared at his hot, sweaty, trembling hands. ‘Ah, indeed I do. See how my hands tremble with anticipation. My blood is up.’
The crowd fell silent, hypnotised by Eldar’s ungainly, clumsy movements, and he was so big that he seemed to struggle to stay upright. The Ringmaster, dressed in black velvet robes explained that there were no rules. They could use a weapon if they wanted, be it a sword or knife, or they could use their fists, feet, bite, stamp or knee the other anywhere and at any time, and their only objective was to survive to beat the other. The contest would only end when one of them was dead. Hobar and the hunchback were backing Thomas all the way with every silver penny they had, and hoped and prayed that he could eventually become ‘The Ultimate Fighter’.
Both warriors turned to the crowd, bowing to their peers, and in that single moment both men’s good humour vanished. Thomas drew his swords. Eldar drew his serrated broadsword – and both stared daggers at each other with looks that could kill.
Thomas attacked first, but the big man blocked the blow, sending a two handed sweep that almost hammered home against his head. Fortunately it missed. Thomas attacked again, and the other ducked under a slashing cut, ramming his own blade towards the warrior’s belly. That missed too, but Eldar laughed. ‘I’m the strongest here.'
Thomas nodded. ‘But I'm the fastest,’ he said, his left hand blade licking out, catching the lobe of the other’s ear. Eldar groaned, straightening up, cupping his hand over it and warm red blood bubbled through his fingers.
Thomas yawned, stretching. ‘Oh, come on, it’s only a tiny cut. It doesn’t need stitches,’ he said fixing his foe’s insane gaze.
‘You bastard,’ snapped the other, fear replacing anger.
Thomas took a step back, then leapt high, his booted foot cannoning against Eldar's face, catapulting him back into the crowd where he fell heavily and didn't rise, impaled by the head on an iron spike protruding from the dungeon floor. Thomas hawked and spat on the man's boot as a sign of disrespect. Then someone drew back the iron bolts on the entrance door and it groaned inward as the hunchback stepped into the fighting arena, raising Thomas' arm high. ‘The winner – and in quick time,’ he announced looking more than pleased. Hobar joined him, lifting Thomas’ other arm as the Ringmaster stepped from the shadows, placing his thick fingers into the pocket of his coat, drawing out a gold chain. It was an ancient, priceless piece, handsomely crafted. He draped it about the warrior’s neck.
‘What’s this? What are you doing?’ asked Thomas.
‘Eldar died bravely, but this is yours now,’ said the Ringmaster. ‘You've saved him from his own madness and despair. Hell’s teeth man, you're the winner – the warrior that all others must try to defeat now. Survive ten contests and you'll be crowned the Ultimate Warrior and have all the gold you can carry.’
Thomas was stunned. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he was handed a purse of gold and silver coi
ns to do with as he will. ‘What does the chain mean?’ he asked.
‘It means that you're on your way to becoming the greatest warrior who has ever lived,’ said the hunchback smiling broadly.
*
Two days later as the sun’s first rays flung wide the gates of dawn, Thomas, Dardo and Dody were high on a hillside overlooking Nottingham, and they had removed their silk shirts to allow the sun’s summer warmth to their skin.
‘What are you thinking Thomas?’ asked Dardo as he slid off a dry stone wall to sit beside the warrior.
‘I was thinking of climbing that tree, just for the sheer hell of it,’ he replied.
Dody laughed. ‘Wow, that’s strange. I was thinking the exact same thing.’
Dardo shook his head. ‘You two never cease to amaze…’ he said. But before he could finish his sentence, both men were on their feet running. And with breath-taking speed and skill they raced to the elm, up the trunk and swung out onto the thick branches, running along one of them, where they finally sat smiling at each other.
‘I win,’ said Dody breathlessly.
Thomas laughed. ‘Like hell you do. I win.'
Dardo rolled to his knees, hauling himself upright and he strode over to the spreading elm. He cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Hello up there! Are you coming back down?’
There was no reply. Dardo shook his head. ‘Is anyone going to answer me?’ he asked scanning the branches, unable see either of his friends. The next moment, Thomas and Dody lifted him forcibly from the ground with breath-taking speed, up into the branches with his legs flailing, and bounced him from branch to branch until he came to rest on the highest one. He shook his head trying to catch his breath. Silently parting the branches, both men smiled at him and laughed, but before any of them could decide what else to do, a noise nearby caused them all to freeze briefly. It sounded like someone groaning.
Instinctively, they ducked down among the branches and crept along in the direction of the sounds. Then with great skill they bounced nimbly from tree to tree like squirrels, using the branches as springboards, until finally, high up in a spreading oak, Thomas parted the leaves again and stared down at a badly injured man who was moaning and twitching fitfully, but before any of them could decide what to do, a man appeared on the scene. They remained motionless, watching the newcomer who seemed in a cheerful mood, humming happily under his breath. He prodded the other man with his booted-foot.
‘Chaney, wake up. It’s me, Ozhobar. You remember me don’t you?’ he said.
Chaney’s eyes were barely open and he groaned in agony.
Ozhobar cocked a mockingly sympathetic ear. ‘What, you don’t remember me? Well let me remind you who I am and what I want, my old friend,’ he said placing his foot on the man’s throat, pressing down. Chaney struggled feebly, fighting for breath, helpless to stop his tormentor, while the other cruelly took great pleasure in hurting him, leaning his full weight upon his rasping throat. ‘I'm the new baron and I want my money. Where is it?’
There was no reply. He leaned harder and Chaney sucked fiercely for breath.
Thomas and friends couldn’t stand to watch the man suffer any longer and swung down from the tree like three monkeys, landing in the grassy clearing. The baron was visibly stunned. Chaney made one final gurgling whimper and lay still.
‘I’m here, there and everywhere like an old, bad penny,’ said Thomas fixing the baron’s odd gaze. ‘So take your big clumsy booted foot off the man’s throat, before I show you my blades.’
‘Stay out of this, whoever you are. You're on my land and have no business here,’ snapped the other, angrily grinding his teeth.
Thomas let go of the long, whippy, branch he was clinging to and it sprang forward suddenly, crashing into Ozhobar's head, poleaxing him.
Dardo smiled. ‘Didn’t think you could hold onto that branch much longer,' he said.
Dody ran back to where their horses were tethered, returning moments later with a rope. Thomas bound the baron hand and foot to the tree, waiting for Chaney to regain consciousness, and then they all pressed on home leaving their senseless enemy bound and gagged. And as they walked it began to rain. But within minutes the hot summer sun burst down upon them again and clouds of mist arose from the woodland floor, mingling with the golden shafts filtering down through the trees. As they walked they listened to the birds singing, bees humming and watched frogs jumping, and each flower and blade of grass seemed to be bejewelled with sparkling raindrops.
Now Thomas’ mood lightened and he began humming a tune, cheering them onwards, back towards The Dog and Duck. ‘I think you had better come home with us, Chaney,’ he said, ‘and you can tell us what happened back there in the clearing.’
Too weak to talk, Chaney nodded.
Directly ahead of them lay a vast area of pasture and meadow on common land that had once belonged to the old Abbey, and even though here, no tree, path or landmark looked remotely familiar, Thomas knew exactly where he was.
The brilliant summer morning hummed to the bustle of diligent farmers and homesteaders working the fields, milking their cows and tending the orchards, while Thomas licked his lips at the thought of nut-brown-ale, strong wine and aged mulberry brandy. These were his bestselling products at their inn. No wonder Dardo drinks the profits, he thought.
Much later that evening at the inn, Chaney groaned, hanging his head in despair. ‘What am I to do?’ he said holding his head in his hands. ‘Ozhobar will kill me for sure the next time we meet.’
Dody shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. It entirely depends on the company you keep, and right now you’re in the best company there is.’
Thomas and Dardo nodded, seating themselves for an early supper of honey-cornbread, cheese and goats milk. The other two men joined them and they ate and talked of the day’s events, particularly of the incident with the baron. Chaney had apparently made an agreement with the new baron to hunt on his land for the princely sum of five hundred silver coins per year, but this sum was never paid, and Ozhobar wanted what was his. He was also willing to kill for it.
After supper they all leaned back on their chairs listening to the light rippling notes of the flute. Then the harpist appeared from a back room and began to play too. Thomas yawned, stretched and relaxed, as did the others. ‘It’s been a funny old day,’ he said stroking the huge wolfhound that fidgeted and scratched for fleas beside his booted foot.
Chaney shivered. ‘That dog makes my skin crawl,’ he said fidgeting and scratching.
Thomas pretended not to hear. The dog after all had been his good friend Cyrano’s faithful mutt.
*
When Thomas awoke the next morning it was late. He drew back the curtains to reveal a beautiful summer’s day again. Where's Lira, he wondered rolling to his feet from the pallet bed, the other side being warm, but empty? He strode over to the window overlooking the courtyard and could see her hanging out the washing by the picket fence that framed a square of garden, at the centre of which a squirrel played happily. He stood for a moment gazing down at her. She looked like a princess in her white cotton and lace dress. ‘I think God blessed me when our paths crossed,’ he said to himself.
Somewhere outside a cock crowed shrill and hollow like a trumpet disturbing his thoughts. Lira turned around, somehow knowing he was watching her. She smiled, waved and blew him a kiss, her eyes twinkling. He pretended to catch it and put it to his lips. There was a gleam in his eyes. I was so lucky to meet and marry such a beautiful woman, he thought. She is a delight.
It was a bright, beautiful morning and the sun slanted down through the windows, making dark pools of bright gold on the bare floorboards, and bees hummed and droned in the herb and flowerbeds outside. Even the steady click of the old windmill sounded sleepy.
Thomas turned and began to dress in his forest greens. He fussed with his clothing, pulling on his tunic, straightening and smoothing it with his hard hands, then braided his long dark hair and felt an excitement that mad
e him stop and go back to the window to gaze upon the one he loved so dearly. He stood watching her perfect unfaltering movements as she hung out the washing, and then she proceeded gently up the path towards the back door of the inn, smiling sweetly, waving slowly. They had chosen to run the old place after Cyrano’s murder to keep his memory alive, and people felt safer now in his steely presence. The whole community had changed for the better and they owed him so much.
Lira swept their child indoors from the garden and her soft voice receded, leaving only the jingle of toys and silver bells. Thomas finished dressing and went downstairs. Home-made toys, rattles and straw dolls cluttered the floors and he strode over them, picking up an old, worn, stuffed dog, placing it carefully on top of a pile of toys in a space under the stairs.
She watched him do so and smiled. ‘That’s my favourite,’ she said softly, catching his gaze. ‘I treasured it when I was a child.
‘It’s Olivia’s favourite too,’ he said smiling back at her.
He walked over to the wicker bed and stood silently, his deep brown eyes holding to the child’s innocent gaze. The words that followed were always the same. ‘I will love and keep you for all the days of my life, and will sacrifice anything for you and my wife, so help me God,’ he whispered to the child, crossing his heart. Now the tempest that raged within him as a warrior and swordsman had simmered down so that he was a good father without hatred or prejudice, unlike his own parents. He wanted to duplicate Lira’s gentle style – if he could – but a long history of violence isn’t easy to overcome.
The four-year-old girl was dressed in a little yellow dress with black leggings. She smiled. ‘I will always love you too, daddy and mummy,’ she whispered.
A Violent Man ( the story of Thomas Flynn ) Page 17