by Sam Burnell
“Do you think it worth heading back to see if there’s any news of them?” Pierre asked, coming to sit next to Marc and Gent.
“That’s too long a ride for any man here to make, especially after we have just pressed ourselves so hard to get here,” Andrew replied. “We have our orders to wait here, and wait we shall.”
“I think something’s wrong.” Dan looked around the group.
“There could be a hundred reasons why they’re delayed. It’s not our business to second guess the Master,” Pierre said.
“I admit I am worried, but I don’t see what we can do,” Andrew said to Dan. “I can’t turn around and take the men and the cargo back the way we came. The Master would be furious if he met us on the road.”
Dan, looking at Andrew, made a sudden decision. “I’ll go back, see if I can find them on the road. It would ease my mind.”
“And mine as well,” Andrew said, clapping Dan on the shoulder. “Leave it until tomorrow.” Andrew’s boot kicked the keg of ale he had bought. “There’s quite a lot left in there.”
Dan rode away from the camp the following morning before the sun made it over the horizon, determined to make quick progress in the cooler part of the day. What he didn’t know was that ahead of him was Thomas Gent. Gent’s loyalties lay with Andrew, not with the Master. A man whose life revolved around the execution of orders and who believed completely in Andrew Kineer, he had been sent from the camp with express orders to stop Dan from returning to the Master. The journey had been long and hard and the band’s focus had been on the ale provided by Andrew so not one of them noticed that Thomas Gent had drunk little that evening, or disappeared shortly after midnight. Had they been asked, they would have supposed he was sleeping somewhere in the dark with the rest of them.
Thomas Gent took himself along the road carefully in the moonlight. It took him two hours before he found the place he was looking for. They had ridden through it the day before and the location suited his needs perfectly. The road along the track passed through a wide, dried up riverbed. During the cooler months, the wide shallow river would flow slowly towards the sea, but in the hot months it was empty of water, a dried and cracked expanse of mud. The riverbed was uneven, peppered with smooth river boulders caught tight in the dried silt, and it would slow a man as he sought to guide his horse over it.
Gent didn’t cross it. Instead he dropped from his saddle and walked his horse further up the bank and secured her in the folds of the olive trees out of sight. Returning, he took up position and waited.
Dan had left the camp early, the sun not yet over the horizon but the light from the early dawn was enough. He was riding hard and Thomas Gent, dozing lightly where he lay, his head pillowed on his arms, amongst the caper bushes, started when he heard the noise of Dan’s horse’s shod hooves ring out on the riverbed.
At Gent’s side, ready, lay the short bow and four arrows. Fletched with white goose feathers, their broad shafts ended with the weighty steel of a point designed to pierce metal plate.
Dan was looking down, his eyes intent on guiding his mare through the uneven dusty riverbed. With a tight hold on his reins, he moved her carefully through the easiest path. Dan was in a hurry, but not enough of one to risk his horse. Gent’s impassive face observed the broad back from along the length of the arrow shaft. Satisfied with his aim, he held his breath and released the arrow. The first arrow missed, skimming Dan’s shoulder, landing amongst the rocks on the dried riverbed, the metal point squealing across the sandstone boulders.
Gent automatically knocked a second and fired again before lowering the bow to observe his target. Dan’s horse had shied as the first shaft had passed it. Had it not, the second arrow would have smashed its way through his heart. As it was, it pierced only the muscle and cartilage in his shoulder. The reins dropping from his slackened hands, Dan rolled forward over the mare’s neck, landing with a dull thump that Gent could hear clearly across the distance. His head impacted against one of the exposed rocks and his mind was delivered to instant blackness.
Dan’s horse shied for a second time, dancing backward to avoid stepping on her rider. Gent continued to watch. When he was satisfied that there was no movement from the fallen man, he set off quickly to cross the distance between them.
When he arrived, Gent gave the inert form a kick, grunting in satisfaction. Dan lay on his side, propped against a river boulder. Blood welled from a cut on his head and poured from around the arrow shaft protruding from his back. Already some interested insects had begun to alight on his face, dipping their proboscises into the globular blood.
Gent had a short rope over his shoulder. Without hesitation he looped it over one of Dan’s feet, tugging it hard to make sure the knot was not just going to pull a boot away. Satisfied, he tied the other end to the saddle and mounted. The horse, wide-eyed and nervous now, neighed and pranced in agitation. Gent, shortening the reins, turned her upstream and slowly guided her through the rocks, pulling behind her the body of her rider.
When he considered they were far enough from the track, he turned her towards the shallow bank and the horse, with her extra burden, dragged the body with her into the cover of the trees on the riverbank. The body was concealed by the shrub. Gent doubted he would be found by anything other than carrion. There was a knife in a scabbard attached to the leather of the saddle, finer than his own, and Gent took it. As he admired the blade, he smoothed a hand down the horse’s neck to calm her. Dropping from the saddle, he turned the knife over in his hand, feeling the weight of it. The blade, broad and strong, was well balanced. Gent continued to pat the horse even when he forced the blade into the life-giving vein at the bottom of her neck, stepping back smartly to avoid the spray of blood. Gent didn’t want anyone finding Dan’s horse.
Chapter 2
A Family Trial
Jack acquired a second horse for Richard, but they simply could not afford a third for Lizbet. Organising their departure and journey south, he adopted both a confident and efficient manner. Jack was neither belligerent nor angry, but took on a role of quiet competence. He was there to help his brother onto his horse and offer a supporting arm when he dismounted. When they reached a fording point he quickly clipped a lead rein to the other horse’s bridle, ensuring both horses crossed safely. Jack was quite aware that his brother was not engaged in the detail of the journey; Richard rode the horse blindly without seeing the path that lay ahead.
Jack was surprised, however, that his help was accepted wordlessly and without rebuke. Richard also didn’t complain at Lizbet riding behind him, even though Jack knew she was making his journey less than comfortable. They needed to make as much speed as possible in an attempt to overtake Andrew and the rest of the men.
†
Lizbet and Richard, sharing one of the horses, had watched as Jack rode back to join them from an inn, where he had been making enquiry to find out how far ahead their quarry was. The look on his face as he neared them was answer enough, and, sensibly, neither of them pressed him for news. Jack’s fears had been confirmed, they were five days behind Andrew, and he rode on at a slower pace. There was little point in continuing with the jolting speed they had been riding at.
Andrew was certainly now at the Italian coast where he could take a boat to Venice. They couldn’t catch him, not now, not before they made it to the citadel. Jack rode along in silence, resigned, and sharing with his brother a flask he had purchased from the inn.
†
Lizbet, on the ground already, watched as Jack extended a supporting hand up for Richard to take as he dropped from his horse. One of Richard’s feet landed awkwardly and his balance was hopelessly lost. Holding tight on Jack’s arm, he didn’t let go, and as he fell back pulled them both to the ground. Lizbet took a step back from them, braced for an explosion of temper from Jack, and was shocked when instead he erupted in laughter.
As they rode along side by side, Jack had been plying his brother with aqua vitae from the flask he had loope
d over the pommel of his saddle. Between them they had emptied it. Jack had thought maybe the rough spirit would help, and Richard had taken the flask and drunk heavily from it.
Lizbet’s disapproving face stared down at Jack when she saw that they had been drinking. “What were you thinking? He’s drunk as a monk!”
Richard was indeed laid flat on his back, observing her through partly closed eyes.
“God, stop scolding me, woman. Help me up?” Jack, laughing and on his back on the ground, held up his hand for her to take.
“It’s not funny!” Lizbet blazed at the pair of them. “Get up!”
Jack continued to laugh, and a furious Lizbet kicked hard at his feet with her wooden shoes. “Get up, you bloody idiot.”
Without warning, Jack hooked her feet out from under her and she fell forward, landing on top of him, yelping. Levering herself up on her hands, she scowled at Jack below her. “You’re bloody drunk as well!”
“Only a little!” Jack replied, sounding hurt at the accusation.
“Oh my Lord! What were you thinking?” Lizbet tried to pull herself away.
“I think that was the point, he’d rather not.” It was the first time Richard had spoken that morning and his voice sounded hoarse.
Jack pulled her arms from under her so she landed face down on his chest. “Hush your tongue. I’m not that drunk, woman.”
“I’ll not.” Lizbet, intent on righting herself, jabbed her hands painfully into Jack’s chest as she pushed herself back up.
“A moment, give me that.” Jack pulled an arm from under her again and she landed between them. Lizbet conceded and stop struggling.
“What are you laughing about?” Lizbet demanded.
“It looks like I’m right back at bottom again,” Jack replied, still laughing. “Why I ever thought it could be anything else I don’t know.”
“You’ll never be at the bottom,” Richard said quietly, his eyes closed and his words slurred.
“What did you let him drink so much for?” Lizbet thumped one of her fists into Jack’s chest. “You know what he’s like when he drinks.”
“He was sober when he did that to himself. I thought it might help,” Jack said defensively, then turning to his brother, said, “Did it?”
“Cicero’s fool, and one Bacchus would approve of,” Richard observed quietly.
“At least you’re speaking to me again,” Jack said. There was a trace of genuine relief in his voice. “He took both of us for fools. It was only this harridan he didn’t convince.”
“Not my fault you’re bloody fools, is it?” Lizbet turned her head to better observe Jack.
“I am glad we have something at last that we can genuinely share, even if it is defeat,” Richard said, closing his eyes.
“We are not defeated,” Jack said quickly, turning to regard his brother.
“What are we then?”
“Delayed! There’s a difference,” Jack stated.
Lizbet swivelled her head to better observe Jack. “Delayed! You actually believe you’re going to still carry this out?”
“Of course,” Jack replied, then when Richard did not answer, he added, “Why shouldn’t we?” Jack pushed himself up on one elbow, blue eyes tinged with the colour of tempered steel holding his brother’s, his gaze unmoving. “We can do this. Together.”
“I hear you.” Richard’s hollow eyes returned his brother’s serious stare.
Jack nodded, satisfied that his brother had understood him. “I am glad we’re in accord.”
“You’ll be more than delayed if you don’t get your backsides back up and on those horses!” Lizbet scolded.
“Whose side is she on?” Jack looked between Lizbet and Richard.
“The answer to that question is a painfully easy one. Ours, and that’s a devotion I believe we should both have to earn.” Richard, sounding a little more serious, regarded her through partly opened eyes.
Lizbet pushed herself back to her knees. “Aye, well, you’re drunk. I’m only here because you both owe me. Don’t you go forgetting that.”
Jack, squinting a little at the sun behind Lizbet, said, “She does actually bear a passing resemblance to you, it has to be said.”
“You think?” Richard replied, turning his head to better observe Lizbet.
“Oh yes, tongue sharper than any knife, definitely your sister.”
“Our sister,” corrected Richard.
“Now don’t start all that again!” Lizbet’s cheeks were flushed.
Jack rolled onto his side and grabbed Richard’s arm, a look of pure delight on his face. “Just imagine the look on Robert’s face when we introduce him to his sister. Can you imagine it? He knows he’s a bastard, and after Lizbet opens her mouth he’ll be left in no doubt as to where his mother came from!”
Jack fell back, arms wrapped around himself, howling with drunken laughter.
“As funny as that might be, Jack, it isn’t fair.” Lizbet scowled at him, her voice upset.
Jack had tears on his face. “I know, but I can’t help it!”
Lizbet had tears in her eyes, but not ones of mirth. Pulling off one of her shoes, she hit him hard on the shin with it.
“Ouch… Woman, what was that for?” Jack exclaimed, reaching down to nurse the bruised bone.
“For making fun of me.” Lizbet’s tears ran in two tracks down her cheeks.
Both men looked at each other.
“Lizbet, sorry.” In a moment Jack raised himself up and wrapped his arms around her.
“Get off me.” Lizbet tried to push him away, still sobbing.
“Come here, Lizbet, and I’ll tell you why that was so funny. It wasn’t a joke aimed at you,” Jack said, and despite her struggles he easily pulled her down next to him on the grass again. “Tell her then, of the family you joined her to,” Jack said to his brother.
Richard, leaning over, caught one of her hands and turning it over held it flat in his own. “I told you a long while ago your life was joined to mine and that looks like it has turned out to be true. I am Richard Fitzwarren, and the gentleman pinning you to the grass is my elder brother and heir to the title, John Fitzwarren.”
Lizbet swivelled her head to observe Jack. “Title?”
“Don’t get too excited, love,” Jack said, grinning.
Lizbet listened, opened mouthed, as Jack took up the story and gave her a history of their family past.
“I’ve heard of your father,” Lizbet said in awe at the end.
“Most people have. It’s an ability he has,” Richard remarked. “Although few, if any, have fond memories of the encounter.”
Lizbet lay back, staring up at the sky beyond the tree branches, thinking on what she had been told.
Jack propped himself up on one elbow and leant over her, blocking out the sky. “So, as you see, my brother’s declaration, despite what you might have thought, was a good one.”
Lizbet blinked away a few tears. “It shamed me, every one of them stared at me as if I’d just crawled from Hell. And the look on Master Scranton’s face!”
“And since when did you care about what Master Scranton thought of you?” Jack pointed out accurately. “Master bloody Scranton. He’s a man who has society well planned out. You might be from a bawdy house in Southwark, but he’ll have no choice now but to call you Mistress Fitzwarren if you meet again.”
Lizbet’s eyes widened at the thought. “Nooo!”
“I would take a guess that your name is Elizabeth?” Jack asked, after a moment.
Lizbet looked at him blankly.
“Lizbet is a child’s name for Elizabeth,” he continued by way of explanation.
“Is it? I’d never thought.” Lizbet looked confused.
“Mistress Elizabeth Fitzwarren.” Jack spoke her name for the first time carefully.
“Stop it, you’re not being serious.” Lizbet sniffed, and cuffed Jack round the ear.
“Oh, we are. Lass, you’ve just saved us from the rope, and you’ve mor
e sense in your young head than Scranton will ever have in a lifetime,” Jack replied. “So, sister, welcome to the family.” Smiling, he pulled her down and kissed her on the forehead.
Jack’s eyes were closed, looking for a moment as if he had fallen asleep, then he added, “We should swear our loyalty to you on our knees, but I hope you’ll accept it from me while I’m drunk and flat on my back. Let the manner of the delivery not lessen the meaning. Serva me, servabo te. Semper fidelis.”
Lizbet looked between them, but it was Jack she elbowed.
“You saved us, we shall save you. And to you, we will always remain faithful,” Jack translated, in a level and serious voice.
After a few minutes Lizbet spoke quietly in Jack’s ear. “Do you not think we should set off again?”
“Lie still, lass, there’s no rush anymore.” Jack’s eyes were closed. “It’s hot, the horses need a rest.” He paused and looked sideways to where Richard slept next to him. “And so does he.”
“Let go! You’re squashing me!” Lizbet complained, wriggling against his tight encircling arm.
“I want to know where you are.” Adjusting his hold on Lizbet, Jack settled himself back intent also on sleep.
Lizbet, though, lay awake, caught in Jack’s arm, her head pressed against his shoulder.
†
Jack woke before his brother, an hour later. “How are you feeling?”
There was a pause. “If anyone else asked, I’d lie.” Richard’s grey eyes met Jack’s blue ones and his gaze was frank and honest.
“That’s a good start,” Jack accepted.
“I trusted where I should not have.” Richard spoke with his head tipped back and eyes closed, the words not coming easy.
“We both did,” Jack said. “I’ve sworn an oath once already today. This one should not need to be spoken.” Reaching over, he took his brother’s wrist in a tight grasp. “Terrible apart and even worse together. Let no-one come between us again.”