A Violent Man ( the story of Thomas Flynn )

by Michael Siddall

  He leaned forward, kissing the child softly on the forehead. ‘I'm blessed,’ he said, and then a loud rap on the back door startled them, making them all jump.

  ‘It’s a little early for callers,’ said Lira looking curious.

  He strode to the door, swinging it open. His eyes widened. It was Hobar and the hunchback. ‘May we speak to you in private?’ whispered the latter.

  Thomas gathered his thoughts quickly. He coughed nervously. ‘Umm, it’s a little early in the morning for peddlers to be calling at my door,’ he said stepping outside into the courtyard. Lira craned her neck trying to catch the conversation, but he slammed the door shut behind him.

  Furious, grinding his teeth he snapped. ‘Hell’s teeth, what are you two doing here? I told you not to let anyone know of our acquaintance.’

  ‘We had to come. A duel has been arranged for tomorrow night and we had to let you know,’ said Hobar breathlessly.

  ‘Who do I fight?’ asked Thomas calming slightly.

  ‘A man named Farris,’ announced the hunchback.

  ‘Ever see him fight?’ Thomas enquired.

  ‘No, but they didn’t bring him all the way from London to lose, and they say he sliced and diced the last swordsman easily, humiliating him, mercilessly toying with him, cutting him over and over again before the death stroke was given. Then he took the warriors ears and nose as trophies,’ said Hobar.

  Thomas was silent for a moment. ‘Then the man has a great big hole in his armour,’ he said finally, looking steely eyed.

  ‘How so?’ asked the hunchback.

  ‘When I fight, I fight for a quick, clean kill – not to fool around. Farris' weakness is his vanity. He has to make himself look good,’ said Thomas.

  ‘Oh, I do hope you’re right.’ said the hunchback sullenly.

  ‘I am right, and I say this humbly. I know my craft. I'm the best there is, and will ever be, and long will I be remembered for my skill if nothing else. What time does the match take place?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Midnight,’ whispered Hobar.

  ‘And how much is the purse worth this time?’

  ‘Five hundred silver coins, with an extra one hundred if you kill Farris within the first ten strokes,’ said the hunchback rubbing his hands together greedily.

  ‘Then I'll see you both tomorrow, just before midnight. Now be off with you. And the next time you need to be in touch, find a different way of contacting me. Don’t ever come back here,’ said Thomas looking into the hunchbacks glittering eyes.

  For a heartbeat the hunchback and Hobar stood stock-still and then they spun around and disappeared from the courtyard. Thomas relaxed, turned around and opened the back door, stepping inside.

  ‘Who were those men?’ Lira asked impatiently.

  ‘Just peddlers trying to sell their wares,’ said Thomas dismissing the question.

  ‘Very strange,’ she said looking surprised.

  He coughed. ‘Umm, yes.' He disappeared back upstairs to avoid her pursuing the issue.

  Later that day, Thomas walked through stands of oak, alder and birch alone and his mood was calm because trees were his favourite things. The ground beneath his feet was muddy from the recent heavy rain and his booted feet squelched as he trod the wide pathway, scaring away the birds from the branches above him. However, as he walked his thoughts turned to the coming fight and he felt alone and friendless, due to the fact that he dare not tell anyone what he was doing

  The Dog and Duck was losing money at an extraordinary rate and the only way of saving their livelihood, and indeed their home was to fight for money – something he would never have considered a year ago. And even though he was a mercenary and a killer of men, he still considered himself honourable – even though his recent exploits seemed less so. But now his choices were few.

  He walked on past the old Abbey, waving to the friars working the fields and it made him feel even guiltier. Brothers Alf and Mathias were weeding the graveyard as usual, and the enormously fat Friar Hugo was still busying himself rebuilding the dry stone walls, comically wobbling his way from one section of the wall to the next, breathing heavily with his large sandals flip-flopping beneath the folds of his habit. What a simple life they lead, he thought.

  Then his thoughts turned to his mentor, the late Master Gallus, and they were tinged with sadness and regret. During their training sessions he had constantly told Thomas to use his great skill for truth and justice – and he had ended up being no better than a common street fighter, even though the means seemed to justify the end. Would Gallus understand my predicament, he wondered? Probably not. He could even hear his exact words ringing through the halls of his mind. What is wrong with you Thomas? What do you think you're doing? You're no better than an assassin is now. He could even picture Gallus’ angry red face, with those hard set, expressionless, grey eyes, and he felt ashamed for the first time in his life.

  *

  Exactly one day later at midnight, Farris whirled upon the apprehensive crowd, leaping into the air snarling with his sword drawn. Everybody scattered in panic. The Ringmaster stopped the proceedings with a loud angry bark. ‘Here now, enough of that. You're here to fight the swordsman Thomas Flynn, not scare the crowd to death. Go back to your corner.’

  Farris did as he was told.

  The dungeons were cold and Thomas felt a sudden chill. Then ponderously a heavy metal gate inched open and even more spectators passed through a bristling forest of men and women, emerging from a tunnel with walls of immense thickness. The noisy crowd of thugs, thieves and murderers were all baying for blood, calling out Farris’ name. Thomas climbed a broad flight of steps, moved across a great square drawn in blood and stood at the centre scanning the hundreds of bones laying everywhere. His opponent followed him grunting and snarling.

  ‘So glad you could come, and I don’t mean to be insensitive but, where’s the purse money?’ Thomas asked fixing Farris’ mad gaze.

  ‘Well, the money comes after,’ interrupted the Ringmaster.

  ‘After what?’ the hunchback asked.

  ‘After your man beats my man, Farris, but bear in mind that he's undefeated in eight contests,’ smiled the Ringmaster. ‘Come, have a drink and watch my man work – he’s good.’

  ‘You won’t have time for a drink. Kill Farris,' said the hunchback.

  It was just past midnight and Thomas was already impatient. He gave a cursory bow to his opponent and his face was grim. Now he strode meaningfully – his steely gaze unblinking – towards the huge, barrel-chested man with sandy hair and a chin beard that straggled like an old brush, and he moved with great energy. Drawing his swords he rose, twisting his body, both blades flashing towards the other warrior’s belly.

  Farris backed away, parrying the blows, his elbows dropping protectively to his sides, holding his blade double-handed. Then he ran forward, sending a wicked sweeping cut, which Thomas parried easily, but such was the power of the blow that the smaller warrior went spinning to the floor. He gasped and rolled to his knees, switching his grip on his left-hand sword, holding it like a dagger and waited. Then he surged upright as Farris danced clumsily towards him, and he slammed the blade into the big man’s ribs under his armpit, through muscle and bone and a hideous croaking scream ripped from his lips. He stumbled and fell to his knees. Thomas plunged his other blade into his belly, levering it up, and up again until his blade hit the man’s breastbone and lodged there. Blood sprayed from the wound, drenching him. Dragging his swords clear he delivered a final sweeping cut to the neck that removed Farris’ head from his shoulders, and the blow was so swift that it echoed with a hissing sound throughout the whole dungeon.

  Thomas stood silently for a moment, but no cheers chorused throughout the building. ‘As I thought – big, old, fat and out of condition,’ he said finally, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand. The hunchback stepped forward from out of the shadows, handing him a towel and he used it to clean himself.

  ‘You've
entertained us all today warrior, but could you not make it last a little longer next time?’ said the Ringmaster handing over the promised purse of five hundred silver pieces.

  ‘I don’t believe I can,’ said Thomas sheathing his swords, and he made his way towards the gatehouse door with his arm around the hunchback’s twisted shoulders. Both men smiled at each other as they left the dungeons, slamming the iron door behind them.

  Not so very far away, Lira was furious. Thomas had disappeared again, leaving her alone with the baby. She paced the bedroom floor, mentally estimating the time at well past midnight. Where is he, she thought? He had disappeared from the inn along with the last two customers – a spidery looking hunchback and a tall slender young man with close-cropped hair, and they seemed to be the kind of men to be afraid of, but then, she knew Thomas was afraid of no one.

  Just then, the bedroom door opened and she felt the touch of a cool breeze as he entered. He looked dreadful. His face was thin and drawn; his cheeks covered in brown stubble, eyes dark-rimmed and weary.

  ‘Where have you been until this hour?’ she asked a glint of madness in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, umm…’ breathed Thomas, looking as if he’d been caught red-handed in another woman’s bedroom. He went bright red, coughing nervously, ‘… er, well, you see I had a little business to attend to,’ he said finally.

  ‘Drinking business?’ she asked staring unapologetically at him.

  A long sigh escaped from his throat and he nodded slightly, stiffly. She drew nearer and he backed away in immediate panic, knowing there was no smell of alcohol on his breath. ‘I’m sorry for coming home late, but you know how Dardo rambles on. Can’t get a word in edgewise,’ he said defensively in a flat voice.

  Lira laughed mirthlessly, snapping angrily. ‘Yes, I know exactly what Dardo's like. I also know what you're like, of late. I saw you leave the inn with that hunchback and another man. What are you up to?’

  He shook his head stiffly, squinting, screwing up his face not knowing what to say. Suddenly he saw the future before his eyes. One day he would have to explain to her and his friends what he had been doing to earn enough money to keep the inn open. Lira in particular would not understand to say the least. He could hear her words ringing through the halls of his mind. You used to be an honourable man, the peoples guardian, their hero, but you cannot justify what you have been doing behind my back – and I cannot live with a man no better than a murderer…

  Instantly, he felt ashamed and decided there and then never again to engage in the hunchback’s activities, even if they were desperately short of money. Shaking his head again he returned to the present. ‘My love, I have not been up to anything and will not in the future either,’ he said.

  She remained silent and stood tapping her foot, watching him, studying his face, and the more she studied him, the more she was convinced he was telling the truth.

  ‘Promise me,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I do promise,’ he said clasping her hand, and within five minutes they were in bed fast asleep.

  *

  It was a morning shortly after the confrontation with Lira and Thomas had decided to visit the Abbot for his advice. Now he rode unarmed up the long dusty road towards the Abbey, dressed in his forest greens, and he could see brothers Alf and Mathias still weeding the graveyard. As usual, the enormously fat Friar Hugo was also still busying himself rebuilding the dry stone walls higher and higher, wobbling his way from one section of the wall to the next, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Nothing ever seems to change, he thought as he waved.

  The friars waved back and then carried on doing their allotted chores. Then on entering the Abbey gates he stopped to make way for a party of friars bearing baskets of fruit and bread and he nodded to them, heeling his horse aside to allow them to pass. They smiled back, nodding their thanks and went on their way silently to distribute the food to the needy, then suddenly the Abbot appeared from out of an arched doorway to Thomas’ left. He folded his arms into the wide sleeves of his habit, staring impassively at the swordsman. ‘Can I be of service to you, my son?’ he asked indicating to two wooden chairs by the doorway.

  Thomas climbed down from his horse and they sat in silence staring at each other. ‘I'm in desperate need of your council father,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, how many times a day do I hear those very same words?’ said the Abbot smiling.

  Thomas smiled weakly. ‘I dare say that you do Father, but when I tell you my problem, I don’t think it will be one that you come across very often – if at all.’

  ‘Then I shall sit here listening intently my son. I'm all ears,’ the Abbot replied.

  ‘Father, I'm a warrior by my very nature,’ said Thomas looking sad, ‘and I have a history of violence. I was also a mercenary as you well know, up until the birth of my first child: my beautiful Olivia, and although the last few years have been the best of my life – in some ways they are the hardest I've endured. Money is scarce, even though our inn is full most nights and Lira yearns for a second child, but it seems we are incapable of making the happy event happen. And worst of all – I miss the action and adventure of my past life.’

  The ancient looking Abbot unfolded his arms from his sleeves, placing a firm hand on Thomas’ shoulder, fixing his gaze. ‘Money is always scarce. God’s will is unknown to us all. And change is inevitable and not always easy to swallow my son. That's why life is so unpredictable. But the unpredictability is what makes it all worthwhile. At least, that's what I believe. If we each knew our destinies, maybe living wouldn’t be worthwhile.’

  ‘You make it sound so simple Father Abbot, but my life at the moment is anything but. Lira and I are surviving, not living,’ said Thomas dully, flatly, but deep inside of him he was screaming for help.

  The Abbot smiled weakly. ‘Your life is complicated because you make it so, my son,’ he said. ‘A wise fish goes with the flow and swims downstream, not up. But you're a very complicated and special kind of man, born no doubt under the stars and a quarter-horned moon, always ready to fulfil a warrior’s destiny. And that's why you will always be able to shoulder the burden placed upon you, even when you think you cannot.’

  The Abbot gazed reproachfully into Thomas' eyes. He could somehow see and recognise the nightmare that was shadowing his days. ‘You will never live to be a ripe old age, but you will die trying to do what you think is best for all concerned. Besides, an early death is not as bad as we think. You will not grow old and infirm like me. You will always be remembered for the way you are now – young, handsome and strong.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true Father,’ said Thomas in a tight voice. ‘Maybe there is a reason for everything and a solution to every problem. I'm definitely trying hard to do what's best for all concerned.’

  ‘Has our little talk helped?’ asked the Abbot.

  Thomas nodded. ‘I think so Father,’ he said, quite unaware that his life would change dramatically and drastically in the next few hours.

  *

  The time for dinner came and went as Thomas made his way back along the dusty Nottingham road towards The Dog and Duck, and he found great solace in the bright sunshine – but then suddenly and without warning the thunder of hooves roused him.

  At first he couldn’t determine which direction the sound was coming from, but it seemed to fill the very air about him as it gathered momentum and the ground began trembling with a rumbling noise.

  His sixth sense warned him to get off the road, but he gasped as a great black horse galloped past – its mane streaming out; eyes rolling in panic – towing a covered wagon that bounced wildly from side to side, but there was no driver. The cart side-swiped his stallion and it reared up on hind legs unseating him, and he fell onto the hard ground hitting his head, knocking him out cold. Blood dripped and seeped into the ground from a small wound to his temple as he lay in the middle of the road.

  Chapter 13

  Thomas lay unconscious for quite some time. Then as he
stirred he felt something licking his face and he opened his eyes. It was a horse. Then a man’s voice sounded and the horse backed away as a powerful hand gripped his arm, hauling him upright. Thomas touched the large cut to his temple. ‘Ouch,’ he said stiffly.

  In the sunlight, the hunter’s hair seemed to glint with flecks of steel and his grey-green eyes shone like quicksilver. ‘You must have taken a hard fall my friend,’ he said holding the swordsman upright, but Thomas had no memory of the fall. Indeed, he had no memory at all. He groaned holding his head in his trembling hands.

  ‘Are you a stranger in these parts?’ asked the tall, slender hunter, dressed in forester’s garb of fringed buckskin.

  Thomas looked quizzically at the man, staring straight through him. ‘I am… am…’ he stammered. ‘I don’t know who I am.’

  ‘It must have been quite a fall to knock you that senseless,’ said the hunter. ‘Come. You can stay at my cabin until your memory returns. It’s sturdily built, warm and dry and I have food enough for two.’

  Thomas nodded his acceptance looking bewildered. ‘Is it far?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ replied the hunter, ‘only about a mile as the crow flies. Have you a horse?’

  ‘If I had it’s nowhere to be seen now,’ said Thomas, his dark eyes scanning the dusty road.

  ‘Then we’ll walk,’ said the other leading his horse with one hand and wrapping his other arm around the Thomas' shoulders, holding him upright.

  Leaving the Nottingham Road they took what had once been the Old Forest Road, walking swiftly towards the distant plains, striding under the overhanging branches, watching the sun dapple their trail while listening to the ceaseless melody of stream and river. Bird song filled the air, sweet and piping, and the scent of the forest intoxicated them both.

  Within ten minutes the hunter was striding through his vegetable patch with Thomas following. He tied his bay gelding to a tethering post, unsaddling it, and unhooked a leather rucksack from over the pommel. They entered his log cabin together. It was light and airy inside with dried animal hides curing everywhere and the smell was raw and stifling but somehow comforting to Thomas.