It rained in the night, putting out the fires the marauding warriors had started and Thomas awoke in the early hours, cold and shivering. Rolling from his pallet bed he pushed himself upright, staring out of the window at the night sky and the baron's laughter drifted into his mind and the words, ‘Kill everyone and everything,’ rang clear. He swore and cursed the man-monster. Then, closing his eyes he somehow opened an inner pathway and fell back into himself. It was sudden and unexpected and before he realised it, he was reliving his past. Lira came to him and then Olivia. Dardo and Dody floated before his eyes, then Master Gallus, Nelan and baron Ozhan and even the hunchback made a sudden appearance, offering another purse of gold coins for a street fight. Now the broken puzzle that was his mind was reforming into clear cut memories.
Suddenly even more rain lashed down and thunder drummed out bringing him back from his thoughts. Lightning flashed nearby illuminating the smouldering landscape, and his blood ran cold remembering every single cry for help, every heart-rending scream and every terrible murder. He swore again and wished the lightning would strike him down for not aiding the helpless and dying and he felt like a coward – but slowly and surely his memory returned, piece by piece.
Taking a deep breath he sighed as the storm eventually passed and the moon shone bright in a clear sky. He turned to the full-length polished metal mirror by the bed. ‘It’s me, Thomas Flynn, I’m back. I recognise me,’ he said finally, and the raw power of his emotions almost frightened him.
*
That morning the baron awoke and rolled to his feet, striding across his camp, casting his eyes over a stolen black stallion, along the line of its back, the length of its neck, and the shape of its head. ‘It will bring about two hundred in silver,’ he said looking pleased.
‘He's a fine animal, over eighteen hands high,’ said one warrior running his hand over the beast’s flanks. ‘His coat has a healthy sheen and his skin is supple and strong.’
‘Its front conformation is good too, the point of its shoulders in line with the knee and hoof,’ said another.
‘I need a new mount,’ said Ozhobar moving around the horse, stroking its long nose and looking into its bright, brown eyes. He checked the legs. They were powerful and the horse had recently been re-shod. He watched the swelling of its rib cage. It was slow and even. ‘Whoever had you before certainly looked after you,’ he said patting the stallion’s flanks, ‘I’ll do the same.’
‘Doesn’t it bother you riding a dead man’s horse?’ asked a third warrior.
‘Of course not,’ said Ozhobar, ‘That’s why I cut off the man’s head with a blunt knife. I love the horse.’
Forty warriors cheered in unison, throwing their arms into the air. The baron laughed. ‘Think yourselves lucky that it wasn’t one of your horses I wanted,’ he said with a good humoured smile, gesturing cutting his throat with an imaginary knife.
The warriors laughed, cheering again. Their camp-fire was almost dead when a warrior added thin pieces of kindling and blew the flames back to life. A large copper pot filled with horse-meat stew was then hung over the flames on a bracket of black iron, and another warrior added fresh vegetable to the mix, and as it came to the boil the aroma was more than inviting. The men ate, drank and made merry, finally falling asleep around a spreading oak, their bellies full to bursting. Ozhobar however, was planning his next raid on the community of Nottingham. He sat with his map perched over his knees trying to figure out his next plan of action.
His eyes wide, his forefinger moved slowly around the map tracing meadow and field. He traced further, until his finger stopped at a farm situated by a wide military road and then he tapped the location twice. ‘There,’ he said in a husky whisper. ‘Tobin’s farm. I want that land.’ Few could understand his thinking, and even fewer could follow the twists and turns of his tantrums. Most didn’t even try, but no one ignored him. If they did it was at their own peril. And since no agreement could be reached with the farmers and landowners he fully intended to take back by force what he thought was his by birth-right.
*
One day later, and ten miles along the military road at Tobin’s farm with dusk deepening, the blacksmith was unaware that Ozhobar and his forty warriors, all armed to the teeth were watching him. He stood stock-still outside his cabin unblinking, his gaze fastened on the night sky. It was a beautiful cloudless evening and the warm air still. He stood there for over half an hour, his eyes searching the heavens, but as the sky darkened the scent of new mown hay and summer flowers disappeared and he grew tired. He stretched, yawned and went back inside and up to his bedroom, lying down on his pallet bed. Exhausted, he fell into a deep sleep full of hurtful dreams watching his wife die of the plague repeatedly.
An hour later he awoke with a start, wide eyed with terror, his heart beating fast. The baron was standing over him. Tobin fought to focus on the flat brutal face that was only inches from his, when he was grabbed by the throat with iron fingers and hauled upright. ‘You have no time to sleep old man,’ said the baron with a hiss. ‘In fact, you have no time left at all. It’s run out.’
Ozhobar’s towering figure lifted him from the bed, his feet hanging and kicking the empty air wildly as he choked. He dropped the blacksmith to the floor and swivelled around ordering the other to follow him. ‘You know why I’m here, don’t you?’ he said his voice low and icy.
‘Yes. You’ve come to kill me, so just do it and get it over with,’ Tobin replied with fear shining in his eyes, knowing that in this moment of sheer terror his life was at an end.
‘I am going to kill you, slowly and painfully. Then my men and I are going to eat you,’ whispered Ozhobar.
Dread and despair washed the colour from Tobin’s face. It resembled a death mask with stark eyes that stared in disbelief and sank deeper into his skull. He seemed frozen and a cold, sick, terrifying feeling burgeoned in his stomach overwhelming him. His legs disobeyed him and he couldn’t move and his heart pounded in his chest like a ten-pound hammer. ‘Death… death comes to us all in one form or another at some time,’ he said finally.
Ozhobar nodded grimly. ‘You’re right blacksmith, but it can be very cruel and painful and I can be very inventive,' he countered his tone still a whisper. He strode from the cabin, out into the darkness of the night where his warriors were waiting with brightly burning torches. All were wearing stark white masks, which were hideous caricatures of their own ugly faces. They had formed a circle and each had a hammer in their hands and an evil smile on their face.
Tobin finally emerged meekly following the baron, whose men grabbed him by the arms and slung a linen bag over his head, tying it around his neck. He began to struggle and a man stepped forward and smote him hard on the back of his head dizzying him. He staggered and fell to his knees as laughter rang in his ears. Then another man placed a broadsword in his hands and hauled him upright, steadying him.
‘This is my version of Blind Man’s Bluff,’ said Ozhobar laughing feverishly. He nodded to a man who slammed his hammer down onto Tobin’s foot.
The blacksmith dropped the sword, screaming like an animal as the pain shot up his leg filling his whole body. Another man slammed his hammer down onto the other foot. Then another and another, until the very air about them was filled with screams that echoed throughout the night.
After several hard blows Tobin fell back to his knees and Ozhobar kicked him full in the face with his booted foot, mercifully knocking him unconscious. A man dragged a chair from inside the cabin, hauled him upright and sat him on it, tying his hands behind his back. The baron filled a wooden bucket with water from the well and poured it over his head bringing him back to his waking nightmare and he screamed repeatedly as the horrific pain of his crushed toes filled his body and mind.
‘You're alone and you're going to die alone. Then I'm going to rape your daughter, kill and eat your grandchild and no one can stop me. Are you listening old man? Are you?’ said Ozhobar with a snarl, punching Tobin full in the
face with his fist. Then the torture began all over again with hammer after hammer beating on Tobin’s body, striking him from head to toe until he finally lost consciousness.
Another warrior threw more water over the blacksmith, reviving him and he screamed. ‘No more, please… no more… kill me but don’t hurt my daughter and grandchild… they mean nothing to you.’
Ozhobar smiled his merciless smile. ‘But they mean everything to you, and that's why I am going to rape and kill your daughter, and gut your grandchild like a fish.’ He turned quickly, slamming a dagger into Tobin’s chest, driving the blade up to the hilt into the blacksmith’s heart and he died screaming.
The baron dragged the blade clear, wiping it clean on Tobin’s blood stained tunic. He laughed, his eyes pulsing with living colour, and each of his warriors could feel an icy chill emanating from them. Kneeling by the corpse he whispered, ‘I really am going to do all that I have said, and more.’ With that he forced himself upright, swinging away, climbing up into the saddle of his new stallion bidding his men to do the same – and they rode off into the darkness of the night laughing and cheering their devil-possessed master.
.
Chapter 15
Lira awoke from her dream screaming, wild eyed with terror, her father’s face floating before her eyes, begging for mercy and forgiveness. There was a light of sadness in his eyes. Throwing back the linen sheets she jumped from her bed, staring down at her hands and they were trembling. Her eyes were large, dark, and haunted because the dream had been so vivid and clear, and she realised that somehow she had telepathically witnessed her father’s horrific murder. She screamed again and fainted, falling to the floorboards.
When she came back to consciousness, Dardo and Dody were knelt by her side and the former had an arm about her waist, holding her upright. He was fanning her face with his hand, trying to get her to breathe deeply. ‘We heard you scream. What happened?’ he asked.
‘Something terrible has happened to father,’ she said choking back the tears, but somewhere deep inside she was screaming.
Dody put his arms around her too, cradling her head. ‘It was just a bad dream,’ he said. ‘Your father's alright I’m sure of it.’
‘No! Something terrible has happened to him, I can feel it!’ she snapped back, her face pale and shocked, a look of grief shadowing her eyes. She began to sob against Dody’s shoulder. ‘He’s dead, I know he is. I just know it.’
He kissed Lira on the forehead, forcing himself upright and he fixed her gaze. ‘I’m sure you’re wrong, but I’ll make my way over to Tobin’s farm and check on him to make certain he's alright,’ he said smiling at her weakly.
She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. Thank you,’ she said trying to find solace in his smile. He reminded her so much of her husband Thomas. He was kind, caring and courageous as was Dardo, and she couldn’t wish for two better friends.
No more than five minutes later, Dody had bridled and saddled his stallion and was on his way down the long dusty road in a sustained forced gallop towards the blacksmith’s farm, guiding his horse through grasslands and a grove of trees beside a fast running stream, until he came to the long military road that led all the way to the farm. At the end of that road he climbed the slope, passing under the spreading oak until he came to the house.
The early morning sun was just clearing the western hills and an eerie white mist drifted just above the ground, swirling in murky trailers around a chair and a bloodied body. Dody’s face hardened. Sitting his horse in silence he stared at the corpse, his eyes wide. Heeling the horse forward he dismounted and walked the few paces to the chair. He touched the corpse. It was stiff and cold. He stared hard at the bloodied linen sack covering the face and knew it was Tobin without even removing it. His whole body was a bloody mess of deep cuts, bruises and broken bones.
Great God in heaven, how can I report this to Lira? The blacksmith should have lived to be a very old man, he thought, and he choked at the gruesome sight. A long sigh escaped from his throat and he swayed forward, very nearly falling over. He felt violently sick and sobbed.
Suddenly, Dody felt as if he wasn’t completely alone. Then a voice that he recognised called to him from behind. ‘Don’t cry boy, it won’t serve any good purpose. Death is ugly, but Tobin is with his maker now and will never grow old and infirm. We'll remember him always with affection as the strong handsome man he was.’
Dody spun around, glancing up to see Thomas stepping out from the shadows of the farmhouse doorway. ‘Oh, thank God,’ he said with a sigh, ‘you’re back.’ He fell to his knees feeling completely numb.
Both men spent the next few hours reverently praying while burying Tobin’s shattered body in a shallow grave, dug in a sea of buttercups beneath the spreading oak. Then at dusk with the onset of night after their task had ended they sat in Tobin’s cabin and ate and drank in silence, staring mournfully at each other. ‘Where have you been?’ asked Dody at last. ‘So many people have died of late and we thought you were one of them.’
Thomas lifted his tankard of ale, half draining it and he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘I’ve… I’ve been so near, yet so very far away,’ he said looking thoughtful, his voice a husky whisper.
Dody looked quizzically at him. ‘Is that a riddle? If it is, I have no idea of what it means.’
Thomas said nothing more. He just threw his protégé a glance, finishing his drink as the other rambled on about all the troubled people of Nottingham – the kidnappings and murders – until he could stand to hear no more. ‘Bless me, nothing ever changes around here does it?’ he said at last. ‘You sound more like Lira and Dardo every day. Shut up rambling, it doesn’t do any good. My wife thinks I’m dead. My father-in-law is dead – murdered – and Ozhan is back, reincarnated in the form of his son, Ozhobar. That in itself is an information overload without your long-winded tirade.’
Dody said nothing else looking distinctly hurt by the cutting words.
Thomas saw the pain and suffering shining in his friend’s eyes and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings but I’m going to tell you something now that you won’t want to hear. You look very much like me, but you're not like me in personality. At your age I was much more aggressive and much more determined. Your father, Cyrano, God bless him used to say that you were just like your mother, and you probably are – and that's not a bad thing. But I have a destiny to fulfil and need the strongest people around me that I can find to help me succeed. Do you think you're one of those people?’
Dody nodded. ‘We're both stumbling around in the broken pieces of our grief, but we're both aware that our lives will soon change drastically and dramatically because of the events that are about to overtake us. I'm strong. You've made me strong and I'll never let you down, no matter what befalls us from this day forward, this I so swear with every fibre of my being.’
Thomas smiled. ‘I do believe you. Now let’s get out of here and go back to check on our loved ones before anything else happens,’ he said looking anxious. And just for a single moment he pictured his wife and child in his mind. It was the first time in a long time and he savoured the thought, sighing heavily.
Without another word he strode out of the cabin to his stallion followed by Dody. Both men mounted. Then they heeled their horses, riding out under the spreading oak and down the hillside, both men giving a final backward glance at the makeshift wooden cross that marked Tobin’s last resting place, and their eyes misted at the loss of a good friend.
Meanwhile, the baron's tyrannical rule was tearing the Realm apart, bringing about a catastrophe that was robbing Nottinghamshire of every hard working farmer, privateer and nobleman, because smugglers, slavers, swindlers and cut-throats were replacing them one by one. There was however, one man who would not allow this to happen any longer. Thomas Flynn was back and intended to save the world he loved so dearly at any cost, even though many doubts of epic proportions beset him, but at least now
he had solved the riddle of his own identity and intended to bring his own plans to fruition, none of which included Ozhobar and his band of cut-throats and thugs.
Thomas knew he had just the right mix of magic and mystery to stir his friends and colleagues into action against the baron, and this he would do without a second thought as soon as he could plan a meeting. Now they rode back along the military road until they came to the fast running stream and the grove of trees where the territory turned back into grasslands, and both warriors heeled their horses, heading towards home with the greatest of haste.
Later as they finally entered the streets of Nottingham after their long ride, it looked deserted except for the usual tramps, down-and-outs and prostitutes plying their trade in the recesses of doorways, and a cold wind was blowing from the north as both men, hooded and cloaked, rode through the winding alleyways and passages towards the Dog and Duck. Coming into Gallows Square just as the moon was hiding behind a screen of dark clouds both paused, gazing at several corpses hanging there. They shook their heads. ‘Nothing ever changes around here does it?’ they said in unison.
And even though the moon shone bright and clear, the distant rumble of thunder drummed out and a web of lightning flashed nearby as rain sheeted down suddenly. ‘Come and strike me if you dare,’ said Thomas baring his teeth to the heavens, ‘for I am back.’
Dody smiled at the comforting comment, letting the cold rain wash over his face. Then the storm passed as suddenly as it had come, leaving the bright moon shining. Tired, both men moved on until they came to the inn where they halted, dismounted and tied their horses to a tethering post, and old memories flared instantly lifting Thomas’ spirits. He just wanted to see his wife and child again.
The door was open and the candles in the windows lit, so he ran inside calling their names, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen. He called their names repeatedly but there was no reply. Then he noticed a piece of parchment with a knife through it, stabbed into the bar top. He strode over to it tentatively and pulled the knife clear, lifting the scroll and couldn’t believe what he was reading. His heart sank like a stone in water. Dody came in through the doorway, saw him reading the note and asked what it was. Thomas passed it to him to read. Dody gasped and there was a silence that stretched so long it might never end as each stared at the other.
A Violent Man ( the story of Thomas Flynn ) Page 22