We were entering the outskirts of Southwark’s sprawl south of the river now, and ahead I could see the smoke that lay over the city like a blanket designed to conceal the behaviour of the inhabitants from God’s appalled gaze. Hal turned and stared at me several times, and I could only hope that he wouldn’t realize I was all but unarmed, for a pistol at any distance is a terrible, inaccurate weapon.
The wind was a devil shouting in my ears. I could feel every hoofbeat through my backside. I tried to stand up in the stirrups like a real horseman, but even then the brute managed to slam the saddle into my arse as he took a little leap over a stream in the road. My face was fixed into a rictus, my teeth clenched, eyes staring, as I realized that Hal was going to fight. He had whirled his horse around, and now he rode straight at me, his sword whirling in his fist like a windmill in a gale. It glinted evilly, and I felt my scalp crawl with fear at the thought of what that might do, were he to strike me.
I tried to crouch lower, as though I could climb into the horse’s neck, but then terror made me cast aside foolish cowardice. This was a time for serious action. I hauled on the reins to make the brute turn around so I could ride away, but the hard-mouthed monster refused to pay me any attention. He appeared to have got it fixed in his head that I wanted to run at Hal, and the devil take any other command. I bleated, gazed at the ground whizzing past me so close, and gave up on the thought of dismounting at that speed.
There was nothing else I could do. I pulled the pistol from my midriff, checked the dog’s jaws still gripped the piece of fool’s gold, that it was resting on the wheel, and pulled the trigger.
It is a strange thing, but sometimes when you fire a pistol, you are convinced that you will hit the target. But you jerk the gun, or you don’t hold it in a firm enough grip, and there’s a roar and belch of smoke and flame, and when it is all clear, you look at the target and see it is entirely free of injury. Other times, you let it go off without care or thought and see a hole the size of a farthing appear just where it ought to, much to your amazement.
Today was a new experience for me. I had never released a bullet from the jerking, unstable back of a horse before. As the gun bellowed, I was instantly blinded and choked by the swirl of greasy, foul smoke laden with sparks of burning powder. I felt the scorching of embers on my cheeks and hurriedly closed my eyes, but having inhaled, I could do nothing but gag. At the same time, I was to discover, I had managed to capture the full and undivided attention of my mount.
He had been running happily, no doubt imagining that he was a free beast roaming the wilds of Surrey like a lion, when the gun went off somewhere near his right ear.
If you have experienced a gun’s shot beside your ear, you will know that it can startle and alarm. There is the report, then a loud hissing and whistling, accompanied by a near total deafness. As I closed my eyes, he bolted. Now, it is one thing to cling to the back of a horse in a gallop, and quite another trying to hold fast to the brute when he is terrified out of whatever wits he might once have possessed. And, I discovered, although I was competent with the former, I was not with the latter.
There was a curious series of sensations, beginning with a series of jerks and culminating in a strange feeling of lightness. Suddenly, I wasn’t being beaten about the arse. I was as free as a bird – with the disadvantage that I didn’t know how to land. The horse had thrown me.
I was aware of a sudden, slamming shock that went through my body, then someone took a maul to my shoulder and struck my back and buttocks repeatedly. When I could at last open my eyes again, there was a loud singing as of a thousand birds tweeting over me, and I could see little bursts of stars. When I wafted at them with a languorous hand, they appeared to dart aside, and I was left bemusedly staring after them.
‘Are you all right?’
I looked up into Humfrie’s concerned face. And then up into Moll’s. My head was in her lap once more. I gave her my broadest smile.
‘He’s well enough,’ she said.
I had no memory after loosing my gun at Hal. All I could recall was that greasy smoke cloud and the stinging of the grains of burning powder and quickly closing my eyes.
‘Where is he?’ I demanded now, sitting up and moaning as the movement made my head hurt. It felt as if Hal had been at it with a blunted axe.
‘He made off. Your shot went wide, I suppose,’ Humfrie said disappointedly, ‘but it did scare his horse, and sent him flying off towards the Thames. His horse liked your pistol as much as your own mount.’
‘Damned brute,’ I said. I looked about, but there was no sign of the knock-kneed nag.
‘He took off like you’d shoved a nettle up his arse,’ Humfrie said, and then, ‘Oh, sorry, Mistress. I meant no offence.’
Moll smiled at him and lifted my head from her lap. I tried to sit up. ‘Ow!’
‘You’ll be a little bruised,’ Humfrie said without sympathy.
‘I noticed.’
‘You were thrown quite a distance,’ Moll said. Ben was behind her, and now he sat in her lap. She put her arms about him. I was jealous.
‘We have another horse, though,’ Humfrie said. ‘You can ride that.’
‘Ride? Now?’
‘We have to get this lady safely to her husband, and the boy, too, of course,’ Humfrie said. He glared at me meaningfully.
I assume he was trying to tell me without words that we should hurry to protect the woman and boy, but in my mind there was only the thought of Hal riding at me with that damned great sword whirling fit to take a man’s head off. It was not a sight I wished to revisit. I opened my mouth, and he gave me a look that required no translation. There was a threat in it that involved a great deal of pain. It was pretty non-specific as to the form of pain that would be inflicted, but that was unimportant.
‘Help me up, then. We should be on our way as quickly as we may,’ I said, and drew an admiring little gasp from Moll as I made my way to the spare horse, trying unsuccessfully not to notice the splash of blood on the beast’s back where my friend from Seymour’s entourage had been severely punctured by Humfrie’s sword.
The ride to London was only brief, and as soon as we had clattered over the bridge, we made our way along the road to Whitehall. There, we found a stable and left the horses with a groom before making our way along the busy lanes to the house where Seymour lived.
I knocked, while Humfrie stood in the roadway with Moll and Ben, and when the door opened, I demanded to see Edward Seymour at once. There was some annoyance at my high-handed manner, but I was in no mood to be delayed. I stood tapping my toe while trying to keep an eye on the lane in both directions and failing.
‘So, you return,’ Seymour said.
‘No thanks to your guards,’ I said. ‘One was loyal enough, but he was slain instantly by the other and the man who calls himself Hal Westmecott.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Here are your wife and son,’ I said, and motioned them forward. As I did so, I saw a flash of something behind Seymour, and peered. As I did so, Ben pushed me to one side, and I was unbalanced. I had to take a step inside, and as I did, I realized what it was that I saw: the man calling himself Westmecott was there in the room.
‘What is he doing here?’ I shouted. As I did, Hal stepped forward. His sword was already drawn, and he looked daggers at me.
‘I told you he would come,’ he said. ‘He wants your money now for bringing her to you! Kill him and be done!’
‘He is the man who tried to kill Moll,’ I said. ‘Ask her!’
‘I was trying to defend her against him and his assassin,’ he countered. ‘Didn’t I tell you how he murdered your brother? This man cannot be trusted.’
‘That man claimed he was Hal Westmecott, and made me find Moll for you,’ I said, and as I said it, a sudden doubt occurred to me. After all, she had already been in Seymour’s house with him when I first met her.
‘Is it true that you murdered my brother?’
‘I … no!’<
br />
‘My man says you did.’
‘Did he tell you how he killed the executioner, Hal Westmecott? How he disposed of that body, how he disposed of your brother’s? He was here to catch your wife and son and deliver them to the Queen’s men!’
‘He is my servant,’ Seymour said with a curl of his lip.
‘Did you know he was getting paid to find Moll and your son? When you first saw me, when you had me on the floor of your house near London Bridge, when Peg had brought me to you, I was searching for Moll and your boy because he’ – I pointed a trembling finger at the fellow – ‘he had told me to find her! Was he your henchman then? Or did he come to you more recently?’
I thought I could see a small cloud pass over Seymour’s face, but he was determined enough. ‘You killed my brother, didn’t you?’
‘He attacked me in my own house,’ I said.
‘And you killed him.’
‘We fought. He was in my house,’ I repeated. I saw little reason to describe the bonds which had held the man when he died. That blasted knife should have been too blunt to injure him, I reminded myself, but I didn’t think that this was the right time to mention it. ‘He broke into my house after bribing my servant …’
I broke off. Suddenly, it had occurred to me that Anthony’s words had been curious in retrospect. ‘He said that Hal Westmecott had visited me,’ I said. ‘He saw your man, and said to me that he was Hal Westmecott, the executioner. But it wasn’t. It was this fellow. And why should he have told Anthony that he was Hal Westmecott? So surely he and Anthony had been working together? Anthony was planning with him! That’s it, isn’t it?’ I said to the man who claimed to be Hal. ‘Anthony was going to have you take Moll to him, so that he could curry favour with the Queen?’
‘He’s talking rubbish!’ he said. He spat on the floor. ‘Listen to him! He’d say anything to get himself safe! Why would I speak with your brother?’
‘He was against our marrying,’ Seymour said. ‘He wanted me to throw her over, but I refused. I wouldn’t give her up – or my boy.’
‘The question is,’ I said, ‘how far your brother would go to achieve what he wanted. He wanted power, I’ve no doubt, and money …’
‘He wanted to have the family name cleared. After our uncle had an affair with the Lady Elizabeth, our stock fell at court, and Anthony wanted to be back at the seat of power, always. Me, I was happy to make a life with my wife and boy. But Anthony would not have taken Moll and Ben to the Queen. He must have known what would have happened to them.’
‘The man who was with Moll and Ben at Clapham, and when we rescued them, was one of your men from that chamber when Peg brought me to you. He was an accomplice of this fellow Hal, or whatever his real name is, when he came knocking at my door. Then your brother broke in and attacked me.’
‘And you defeated him? My brother was a trained swordsman.’
‘Even a swordsman can be bested in a small room by a determined man with a dagger,’ I said, trying to look as ferocious as I knew how. ‘Why did your brother bribe my servant? He was asking about the executioner visiting me. He knew that man was pretending to be Hal Westmecott,’ I said, pointing at him again. ‘And that same man persuaded one of your henchmen to join him. It’s true, isn’t it, that your henchman persuaded you to bring him into your household only recently? I thought so. Because this fellow, Hal, wanted to find Moll as quickly as possible. He set me to find her, but thought you must know where she was. Why? Did you keep her from your brother? Didn’t you trust him?’
‘Anthony had indicated he might not treat her kindly,’ Seymour said. ‘I thought it better to keep her away from him. It was only after you appeared that it seemed a good idea to bring her to the protection of my father. And Peggy guessed, I think, that Anthony wished Moll harm, and stole Ben away for his own protection.’
‘But someone told Hal, or he guessed, and followed me and your man when we rode to fetch Ben. But don’t trust me: ask Moll. She was there when the other guard was murdered, when Hal took her captive with Ben and was bringing them back here – but not here, was it, Hal? You were going to take them to the Queen and claim all the reward for yourself, weren’t you?’ I said.
Hal suddenly pushed Seymour aside. His dagger appeared in his hand, and he thrust at me in an instant, and I felt the point sink into my breast. I gazed down at the blade with silent horror, as Humfrie sprang forward swinging his leather cosh. I saw Hal collapse, and then, as I brought my eyes up to stare at Humfrie, I felt myself slipping into a hole that appeared to have opened at my feet, and I swooned.
There are times when a fellow just wants to wake up without wondering what has happened to him. I’ve woken with bruises on my pate often enough to treat such injuries as part of the normal rough and tumble of my life. But there are other times, such as when I woke up on the floor in Seymour’s house and Moll treated me with such consideration, or when I woke up on the ground after Hal tried to kill me and the horse threw me, when I am aware of a degree of irritation that once more I’ve been wounded for no reason.
At least this time I could understand why Hal had tried to injure me. He was furious at my exposing him. No doubt he had been expecting to receive a small fortune from finding Moll and taking her to the Queen. That would have been a day of great rejoicing in his house … or in a tavern. He was obviously the sort of man who would have lost any money in a week of carousing with the whores of the lower alehouses of London, if I was any judge. And I was. I knew enough like him.
From experience, there is a sequence of thoughts that strikes a fellow when he returns to consciousness after an injury. First, there is the moment of wondering where he is; that is followed by a quick recapitulation of the last waking moments and a mental check of all extremities and organs in case any are now missing; finally, he tests the environment with the ears to see if there are any hints as to what his reception might be on waking.
‘He’s awake,’ I heard. That was Humfrie’s voice, I knew, and I knew as well that there was no point feigning further unconsciousness. Running through my list of essentials, I remembered entering Seymour’s house and Hal’s attack; I recalled him springing forward like a bolt from a crossbow, and my falling. I could not discern any missing limbs or digits, and the sound of Humfrie’s voice led me to believe that I was not in danger of being attacked in the immediate future.
I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw made me whimper. My breast was enwrapped with a strip of linen, and a pad on the left of my breast was crimson with my precious blood. It was the sort of sight to make even a strong man feel weak, and after my troubles of the last few days, I was already weakened.
‘It’s only a scratch,’ Humfrie said unsympathetically. ‘He glanced off a rib. You were lucky.’
Lucky! He wasn’t sitting on the floor like a man-sized pin-cushion! It was easy for him to be so blasé, I thought, and as I did, I realized that my head was cushioned on a soft pillow. When I looked up, I saw it was Moll’s lap that was so softly accommodating. I smiled at her, and this time for once she did not seem to mind, but shook her head as though in amused exasperation at nursing me for a third time.
‘Are you feeling well enough?’ she asked.
‘Of course! I have never felt better,’ I said. I could not show myself to be weak and feeble in front of her. ‘Where is Hal?’
Humfrie indicated a figure in the corner of the room. Peering, I was relieved to see that the figure was swaddled in rope. It looked as though he was unlikely to be leaping upon me with deadly intent in the immediate future.
Seymour was sitting at a table with a goblet in his hand, studying me with a quizzical expression, and I could not help but recall that I had told him I had killed his brother. I gave him an anxious grin, but it appeared to serve only to make him more pensive, and not necessarily in a good manner for me.
‘You say you killed my brother?’
‘In self-defence. My servant, he was there, and he could …’
&
nbsp; ‘He would support you, his master, of course.’ He rested his chin on his free hand, like the devil assessing a new demon. ‘You say this fellow killed Hal Westmecott?’
‘He appeared carrying a rug to hide the body while I was there, so I think—’
‘Quite.’
My head was lifted and Moll rose. I rolled half over to climb to my feet, trying to avoid glancing at my fresh wound. My shirt was on the floor, and I picked it up and began to drag it over my head as Moll spoke.
‘He saved Ben and me. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have been brought here and taken straight to the Queen.’
‘There is that,’ Seymour said, but his expression gave me little comfort. There was not much of kindness or understanding in his eyes, or I’m a Welshman. ‘Very well, Blackjack, I will ignore your killing my brother. You have saved my son and my wife, and I know that Anthony was keen to take them to the Queen, so I can only assume that you were justified in defending yourself. But I don’t want to see you again.’
‘What of him?’ I said, pointing at the huddled figure in the corner.
‘Him? You need not worry about him. My brother disappeared. He probably swims the Thames even now. This man will join him,’ Seymour said with a kind of cold ferocity that made ice run down my spine.
My house, from the outside, looked undamaged. That was good news. I stood in the street for a few moments taking it all in. It felt as if I hadn’t been back in weeks, but it was surely only yesterday that I had walked from my door. So much had happened in so little time, and yet I had managed to return without too much injury.
I pushed at the door. It opened, and I saw that the lock had been broken, the staple in the door frame broken all to pieces. I was studying this, with anger at Seymour’s vandalism, when a furious barking erupted at ankle height. I gave an involuntary yap of my own and leapt, I judge, about a yard and a half into the air. When I landed, my legs were weak enough, after all my trials, to give way. I collapsed just as Hector was living up to his heroic name by launching himself at me. I had a vision of a red, gaping maw surrounded with perfectly white teeth, before Raphe appeared to rescue me. He flicked a wet cloth at the brute, and he receded, still snarling and grumbling as only a small dog with a vindictive nature can.
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