by Laura Locke
“My fees are nominal and if your needs are many, I’m sure I can allow a discount.”
The captain nodded. “I should think twenty or more horses will need to be shod,” he surmised.
Richard named his fee which seemed to satisfy the captain as he nodded and gestured for Richard to move along and set up. Richard could hardly believe his good luck. He would get more business with this one stop than his father’s shop would encounter in perhaps three months’ time. He was very grateful to Lieutenant Barnard for the opportunity.
He moved the wagon to the appointed position and began unloading his equipment. It wasn’t long before various soldiers began to approach, their horses in tow. Richard rigged a sturdy rope between two trees where the horses could be secured until it became their turn. Richard set about his work, whistling as he built the fire in the forge. He used a bellow to feed air into its core, ensuring that the flames would burn down to the hot embers required in the shortest amount of time.
He noticed the captain had put him out of ears’ reach of the soldiers’ conversations. Perhaps the captain was a bit wary, but Richard was glad for the precaution because it eliminated any possibility of accidental indictment. Warmth from the forge allowed him to remove his jacket and set it aside. Rolling up his sleeves, he pulled the heavy hammer from his box of tools and began forming the iron shoes. A fine figure of a man, Richard had built impressive muscles over his years of training with his father. They stood him in good stead now, as he had a full two days’ of work ahead of him.
Some of the soldiers gathered around him to watch. He knew not whether they were preparing for battle or simply stationed in case one began, but he realized he formed the sole source of entertainment as they passed their day.
It was late in the evening of the second day before Richard finished his assignment. He crawled into his wagon to sleep through the night and the next morning loaded his cooled equipment and approached the center of the camp, looking for the captain.
“I see you have completed your work,” the captain said as Richard approached.
“Indeed, sir, I have. I’ll be on my way.”
The captain pulled the pouch from his pocket and tossed it to Richard. “That will cover our agreed-upon price. Do you seek further work?” he asked.
“Indeed, sir, most definitely.”
“But I shall do you the favor of sending you to yet another encampment where they too, may make use of your services.”
“You are most generous, sir.”
The captain gave Richard directions as he set off, setting his cap on his head and the jingle of coins cheering him heartily as he left. He took his time travelling the rest of the day, not knowing for sure when he would happen upon the objective encampment. He wanted to arrive early in day, giving him the advantage of being able to begin any work they might have immediately.
As the sun began to set, Richard looked for a place to camp for the night. He spotted a farm in the distance and fortunately, the farmer was only too happy to be accommodating.
“Aye, I’ve a mare ye can shoe,” the farmer nodded.
Richard shod his plow horse and the family compensated with a dinner invitation and the use of their barnyard as a camp for the night. He left before daylight, but not until the farmer’s wife hurried to give him a small woven basket of fresh eggs from their hens. He thanked her and set the basket on the floor beneath his wagon seat.
Chapter 5
It was the beginning of a wonderful day. The trees had begun their color change and everywhere he went, Richard spotted the signs of harvest. It had been a fine summer and the fields were rich with crops, begging to be taken in for the winter. He saw a dozen opportunities where he might have found a need for his services, but he couldn’t do the odd job and lose the chance that the regiment may have moved on.
Richard eyed the basket of eggs on the wagon floor next to his boot. It had been some time since he’d enjoyed a fried egg. Feeling self-indulgent with the jingle in his pocket, he pulled the wagon over alongside a bubbling creek and climbed down, intent on building a small fire and frying his lunch. His attention was focused on his efforts and he didn’t hear the horsemen ride up. It wasn’t until his horses began pulling nervously at their reins that he looked around and saw them.
He counted five men and each of them as brawny or more as himself. He had no weapon with him and surprise was on their side, so he prayed silently and quickly that they were friendly.
“Identify yourself!” barked the biggest of the group. Richard estimated him to be well on his way to being seven feet tall, with a head of coal black hair and a full beard to match.
Richard rose from his fire to his feet. “Richard Wellchester, at your service, sir.” He touched the rim of his cap in respect. There seemed no point in alienating this monster of a man.
“Aye, Richard Wellchester, are ye? And where might ye be bound?”
Richard didn’t hesitate. “No destination in mind, sir. I’m a traveling farrier and wander the roads, looking for horses to shoe at the farms I pass.”
The man glowered, signaling to one of the others to look into the back of the wagon. “Go and have a look Dugan,” he ordered.
“Aye, Rufus,” Dugan replied as he pulled a broadsword and slashed at the straps of the tarp. The covering fell downward about the wheels, revealing everything that lay within. He looked back at the black giant, Rufus. “Aye, looks to be the truth.”
Rufus never moved his eyes from Richard as he asked, “What have ye of value? And mind ye, it will go badly for ye if ye lie.”
Richard was trapped. The wagon couldn’t be moved while the tarp was wrapped about its wheels. “I’ve a basket of eggs from a farm behind me, my blacksmithing tools and a small pouch of money.”
A white-toothed grin broke out on the black giant’s face. “Ye are smarter than ye look, Richard Wellchester. Toss me the pouch.”
Richard’s heart fell. He was vastly out-numbered but so far, it sounded as if they might let him live. If not, they would have done him in and scavengered his body. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed the leather pouch, tossing it toward Rufus, who pulled the strings and looked inside.
“That’s it?”
Richard nodded.
“The pay of a farrier will barely keep him alive, to my mind,” he said, removing a few coins and tossing them on the ground before Richard’s feet. “Anything ye want?” he bellowed to Dugan, who simply shook his head and motioned to indicate he thought the wagon contents useless to him.
“Aye, then let us away before he throws a hammer at us.” Rufus roared at his own black humor and the group rode away.
Richard’s celebration had lost its exuberance as he turned back to the fire, warming his hands and trying to remember just how much was left in the pouch. Once the men were out of sight, he quickly stepped to the money that lay on the ground and picked it up, counting it as he did. He’d lost more than three-quarters of his nest egg and he was filled with dismay. He’d learned a valuable lesson, though, and perhaps it was worth the price. The remainder of the money he secreted inside the grimy confines of the forge, keeping only two coins for his pocket so as to minimize his loss if set upon again.
“I hate the Scots,” he murmured aloud, breaking two eggs into the waiting cast iron skillet. He ate quickly, reassembled his wagon cover and crawled back onto the wagon seat. “It’s glad I am they needed no horses,” he added and tossed the reins until the animals began pulling.
True to the captain’s words, Richard came upon the second regiment about an hour later. He went through the same inquiries by their sentries and was taken to an audience with Captain Hanson of His Majesty’s Cavalry.
“So, Lieutenant Barnard recommended you, did he?”
“Aye, sir, that he did.”
Hanson massaged his meaty chin with the cup of his hand as he thought. “How much did he pay you?”
Richard told him.
“Let me see the coins,
” Hanson demanded.
“Sir, I was waylaid on the road by a rogue band of Scots and they took most of my money.” Richard felt helpless and small to have to admit to his carelessness.
“Scots, you say.”
“Aye, sir.”
“One of them a monster of a fellow, black hair?”
“Yes,” Richard nodded. “And a beard to match. One of the others called him Rufus.”
“That is him. They have been causing trouble hereabouts and are wanted by the King’s army. Which direction did they go?”
“Sir, they should be riding just a little to the south of where you are right now. I left only a few minutes after they did.”
Hanson barked a name and one of the others in his tent came forth while Hanson lowered his head and spoke to him in an undertone. The soldier left immediately, and Richard could hear him shouting names as he left the tent. It became obvious that they were putting together a search party.
“So, young Mr. Wellchester, was it?”
“Aye, sir that’s me.”
“It happens that we have need of your services. Pull your wagon to the east side of camp, closest to where the horses are kept. Examine each of them and report back to me when done. I want to know how many, what they require and how much you plan to charge.”
“Aye, sir,” Richard agreed and went back out into the bright sunlight. There were clouds in the distance and the wind was rising. He knew the horses would be skittish and quickly walked his wagon to the area indicated. He reported back to the captain an hour later. “Fourteen horses need shoes and one has gone lame. I’m not sure he can be saved, and he will certainly impede your progress if you set off down the road. I’m no horse surgeon, mind you, but he’s in pain and if it were me, I’d put him down.”
“I know the one you to whom you refer,” the captain said curtly. “Go ahead then, and put down the lame.”
Richard stood there a few moments longer, thinking.
“What is it, Wellchester?”
“Sir, I don’t own a weapon. All I have would be my hammer and that would be inhumane.”
The captain motioned at another of his men who came close to Richard and followed him out of the tent. The man made short work of putting down the lame horse and called for some of the soldiers to carve it up. It was not unusual for the troops to eat their steeds when pressed for food.
Richard’s stomach turned. He had too much of an affinity for the beautiful creatures to eat them. He set about unloading his tools and forge in a sandy area and began selecting the horses he would work on first.
It had grown dark by the time Richard had his temporary work area organized. This was hastened by the advancing storm which had then begun pelting the camp with large drops of rain. The storm came in from the northwest, bringing the cold air with it and Richard decided to wait until morning before building a fire in the forge. Once it was lit, he would be obligated to stay awake through the night to keep it going. Alternately, he decided to crawl beneath the tarp of his wagon out of the weather and get some sleep.
The rain hammered him, pushing the tarp fabric in a mold about his body. He lay there wrapped only in the jacket his mother had made for him, shivering in the damp.
“You there!” came a man’s voice nearby.
Richard lifted the corner of the tarp and peered out. A man stood, silhouetted against the camp’s bonfire but the outline of his stance seemed relaxed. “Yes?”
“You Wellchester?”
“Aye.” It was then that Richard noticed he begun to substitute the word “aye” for “yes.” His mother would have his head if she’d heard him do that.
“Captain says I’m to come for you. Follow me,” the man said gruffly, without compassion for the sodden fellow in the wagon.
Richard resisted only a split second, which was what it took for him to decide it was more dangerous to ignore the captain than to get wet. He followed the soldier toward the center of the camp where the captain’s tent’s interior was brightly lit. He was checked at the door and the flap opened so he might enter.
He stepped inside the door, looking around as he waited for someone to direct him.
“This the man?” Captain Hanson barked at him.
Richard’s eyes were drawn to the great, dark hunk of a man currently bound to the tent’s pole. It was indeed, Rufus, whose eyes shot fire across the distance between them.
Richard studied him long and hard, and then could hardly believe his own ears when he heard himself say, “No, sir. I’ve never seen that man before.”
Capt. Hanson didn’t disguise his aggravation. “What do you mean? Are you crazy, man? This man threatened to kill you and could easily do so with his bare hands. You have only to identify him and I swear to you, he’ll not trouble you again.” The captain stood, his hands clasped behind his ruby red jacket as his hair dripped rain onto its lapels. He was greatly aggravated with Richard—that much was apparent. “Or could it be that you are in league with him?”
Richard slowly shook his head, not looking at Rufus. “No, sir, I’ve never seen this man. Rest assured were he the same man who lifted my gold, I would only be too glad to turn him in. I lost most of my winter’s stake in that robbery.” He hoped the captain did not see his Adam’s apple jerk as he swallowed hard, wondering why he had just done what he done.
The captain stomped his foot. He turned his back to the lot of them, huffing and cursing as he paced. “Very well, Wellchester, for whatever reason you’ve chosen to lie but I cannot twist your arm. It seems, however, that we will not have need of your services. You are expected to vacate the camp immediately and you had better plan to stay off the main roads.” The captain’s face was flushed with anger and the words he spoke were coated in spittle that ran down his chin.
Richard nodded and turned to leave. As he bent to exit through the flaps, he caught a quick glance of Rufus. There was the faintest, ironic smile on his face.
Chapter 6
Richard cursed himself a thousand times as he walked back to his wagon. He walked about it in the pouring rain, fastening down the straps and then climbing up to the soggy seat, pulling his jacket tightly about him. He very much hated Rufus at that moment. He had no idea why he did what he had done, but it was now his with which to live.
His boots thickly encrusted with mud, Richard’s feet felt leaden with the cold. He hesitated only a moment before guiding the wagon back in the direction from which he had come, although riding wide of the camp itself. Although he could not see the men in the darkness, he could feel their glares upon his retreating back. The captain would be hard-pressed to detain his prisoner without some proof or testimony, both of which Richard took away with him. Even if Rufus had held the pouch, it would have taken Richard’s word that it had been his, in order to substantiate the crime and incriminate the thief.
The rain beat at him, washing the mud from his boots and as the horses plodded down the roadway, he knew he had earned their ire as well. They were tired and wanted a dry space beneath a tree and a bag of oats, neither of which he was prepared to offer them at the moment. He went back to the only place that was available to him, the scene of the crime next to the creek. He knew the distance was not terribly far and hoped by some strange stroke of luck, that the rain would have avoided that camp.
His wishes were thrown back in his face as they arrived at the creek spot. If anything, it was raining harder. Richard climbed down from the wagon seat and patted the horses before removing each of them from their harness and tying them beneath the white boughs of a pine tree. “I’m sorry, fellow, but it’s the best I can do,” Richard told the first. He found an alternate tree for the second and then dug around beneath the tarp to find a feed bag. They would have to take turns for there was only one.
Richard himself was exhausted and frozen to his core. He knew if he didn’t find some dry warmth that he would take ill and could be of no help to himself or the horses. The tarp would keep them dry, however it would not help with
the warmth. He did the only thing he knew to do.
Richard removed the tarp from the wagon and slowly and with great exhaustion, pushed the forge down the wagon ramp. He left it sit only a few feet away and quickly routed the dry firewood and charcoal he kept in the wagon bed, placing these into the forge. He managed to light it and the air he pushed inside with his bellows kept the rain at bay. When the forge had lit well, he closed the lid, creating a heating box which was very welcomed and even glowed in a beckoning manner. He did the best he could to isolate the rest of his belongings in the wagon bed and lay next to them, covered with the tarp in misery. The warmth from the forge wafted outward and Richard took advantage of that to quickly move the feed bag from one horse to the other and then resume his position beneath the tarp, removing his boots and leaving his feet exposed closest to the fire.
Within the half hour, Richard began to feel himself again. He was, however, exhausted and unable to recognize that he was falling asleep.
Richard dreamed of fire. He could feel it licking against his skin, leaving a trail of agony behind. He fought to stay in his dream world, but something pulled him out. As he emerged, he realized the fire was very real and screamed as he rolled from his position, beneath the flaming tarp. He dove over the side of the wagon which was now also in flames. Richard’s saving grace was the torrent of rain that washed over his skin before the flames could burn through. Screaming, and with nothing to cover his feet, he backed away from the wagon, furiously trying to remember where things were that he might rescue them before they were lost.
He managed to pull free the horse collars and shafts from the front of the wagon, dragging them away to safety. He even grabbed the basket of eggs—the only food he had left in the world. The horses were both highly agitated, fear reflecting from the whites of their eyes. He hurriedly untied one at a time and moved them further away, stroking their flanks as he tried to calm them while he watched his world go up in flames.