Amanda turned her head early enough to see the flash of a blade in Bender’s hand come crashing toward them. Time slowed as his sword raised in the air, arced, and slashed toward Lord Nathaniel’s unprotected chest. She opened her mouth to scream. Another sword blocked the blow. The world spun around them in chaos, but only three people were visible to Amanda: her dear Nathaniel, Bender, and trusted Charlie.
Her childhood friend and protector strained against Bender’s sword, muscles tight and veins protruding. With a primal yell, Charlie shoved the blade away. Immediately Bender jumped forward again, furiously striking at Charlie, pounding sword against sword.
Bender looked feverish and fought like a mad dog. A line of drool dripped from his chin and he gasped for breath through his foamy mouth, sweat dripping off his face. His strikes were fast and frenzied and unrelenting. Moisture flung through the air as he whirled past. Amanda winced, wiping a drop from her lip; fear pressed her heart down into her stomach. Charlie returned blow for blow, his face a mask of concentration. She mentally thanked her father for quietly allowing those fencing lessons. But Charlie must have continued his training elsewhere. No one could hold up as he was doing otherwise.
“Look out, Charles!” Lord Nathaniel warned.
Charlie whirled around as a man behind him tried to crash an old crate on his head. Lord Nathaniel jumped into the fight, kicking the man and his crate backward into the crowd. He searched madly around him, eyes widening as he reached toward the nearest man, shoving him away from them while deftly pulling a long fisher’s knife from his boot. The man opened his mouth in protest, but the retreating crowd pushed him away and swallowed him in its current. Lord Nathaniel turned to face Bender, knife pointed in his direction.
Charlie came to his side, sword still raised. “Drop your weapon, Bender.”
Bender’s awful, maniacal laughter raised gooseflesh on Amanda’s arms. He raised his sword and with a battle scream ran at Charlie and Nathaniel, his sword swinging in all directions. Nathaniel parried his blows but was shoved backward and lost his footing.
Charlie returned Bender’s swings blow for blow, and they circled each other, swords moving with lightning speed. Amanda gasped as Charlie faltered, his foot catching and stumbling beneath him. Lord Nathaniel leaped forward into the fray just in time with a thrust of his knife along Bender’s right arm.
Screaming in fury and clutching at the bloody wound, Bender turned his rabid eyes to Nathaniel, sword raised.
“No!” screamed Amanda, but her shout was lost in the noise of the retreating crowd. She frantically searched for anything at all she might use as a weapon. Her eyes spotted the sharp remains of a broken pot, and she crept forward, looking for a moment of vulnerability.
Nathaniel blocked each thrust of Bender’s sword with a parry of his own. His knife considerably smaller, Amanda wondered how much longer he could continue. How easy it would be to lose a finger, or a hand.
She scrambled back as they came close to her; Bender was now facing her. He leapt forward, slamming his body against Nathaniel’s chest, causing him to stumble backward. Amanda steadied him, preventing a fall. But Bender used the moment to once again swing his blade toward Nathaniel’s open chest. Nathaniel held the blade back with his knife, but he grunted and strained against it.
Sweat poured off him, and his face was turning purple with the effort. Amanda didn’t think he could resist for long. His hand slipped a fraction, becoming wet with perspiration. The sword moved ever closer to Nathaniel’s neck. She raced in, broken piece of pottery raised, aiming for any part of Bender. When she was steps away, ready to strike, Bender shoved Nathaniel, pushing him to the ground, and turned on Amanda, sword raised, aiming for her heart. Nathaniel scrambled to his feet, horror on his face.
The world stilled, and Amanda watched the tip of the sword rip through her dress and felt the pressure of it on her girdle and stays. Someone yanked her backward to the ground beside him. As her eyes focused, her heart froze, and her breath stopped—Bender pulled his sword from the front of Charlie’s chest, and her beloved friend’s body fell limp to the stones. She gasped painfully, and her eyes jerked to Nathaniel’s form darting in. He thrust his knife upward into Bender’s chest and with a grunt, Bender landed on Charlie.
Charlie. I have to get to Charlie. Was he yet alive? Amanda rushed forward to help him, but Bender’s fallen body pinned him to the ground. With two hands, using her legs as leverage, she tried to shove Bender to the side.
“Move!” she cried in frustration.
But his frame was too large; she could not move him. Nathaniel’s hand, covered in blood, reached in and rolled Bender’s body to the side.
Together they leaned over Charlie, seeking any sign of life. Nathaniel put two fingers on his neck while Amanda rested her head on his chest, praying for a beat. After several moments of feeling nothing, they lowered their heads, defeated. Amanda laid her head on Charlie’s shoulder, away from his wound. Nathaniel, kneeling on Charlie’s opposite side, rested his hand on her shoulder. Then they heard a low groan.
“Charlie! Oh, Charlie!” Amanda searched his face and saw him take a shallow breath. “You are alive!”
He coughed, struggling for air, and Nathaniel’s eyes confirmed to her that he would not be with them long. She sobbed out, “Stay. You don’t deserve this. You are the greatest hero I’ve ever known.”
His eyes focused on her, and he smiled. And with that smile she felt such a strength of light and warmth, she almost smiled in return.
And then he rasped out, “Nathaniel.”
“I am here, good man.” Nathaniel squeezed his other hand.
Charlie looked at Amanda. “Nathaniel is Red,” he said meaningfully.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He struggled, forcing out his words. “You belong . . . together.” He looked at Nathaniel. “Take care . . .”—his body shuddered against the pain that must have racked his chest and he swallowed—“of my Amanda.” He squeezed their hands with surprising strength. Charlie’s eyes lost their focus for a moment as he stared into the sky.
“Charlie. Oh, Charlie, no!”
He blinked once more and turned to Amanda, eyes lucid again for a moment, and whispered, “For freedom.” And then his head tipped to the side and his arms fell limp. He was gone.
“No. Oh, no.”
Amanda’s tears wet his shirt, her head on his chest. Her body heaved and shook uncontrollably for the loss of her dear friend, for the horrors she’d witnessed, and for the sudden realization that they had lost.
Nathaniel put his arms around Amanda, lifting her. At first she resisted, but her fight was gone. She allowed herself to be pulled to his chest, feeling safe for the first time since she had left his arms. She continued to cry into his waistcoat, the two of them no longer aware of the field around them.
Bender’s drunken men had disappeared. The crowd had dispersed, and the last of the hussars picked their way through the bloody mass of the fallen. Some were dead, but most still lived, whimpering or moaning. Alive, dead, attached or no, humanity and pieces of it cluttered the earth. The injured tried to free themselves from the weight of other victims; men, women, and children imprisoned indiscriminately. Shredded pieces of liberty caps littered the stone. Splintered staves staked themselves into the ground, their banners trailing to the earth.
Twenty feet from where they stood, a large white banner, torn down the middle, attempted the clarion call, “Votes for women.” A fallen woman, dressed in white, clutched the staff with her white fist. Her eyes stared unseeing, and the bloody wound that now marked her dress drained into the stone beneath.
Windows shut and shuttered all around them. Within eight minutes of the start of the cavalry rush, the square had become nearly deserted, the cross on St. Peter’s Church paying tribute to the fallen. A group of magistrates, huddled at the back of the field, ignored the pools of blood, the yeomen cleaning their swords, a young lad crying out in a pitiful wail, and the many injured, moaning where they lay.
Nathaniel and Amanda stood, eyes closed, unmoving, Nathaniel’s arms wrapped tightly around Lady Amanda, cocooning her. At length her sobbing stopped, and yet they remained for a moment more, blocking the horror of what they must now face, blocking the despair that was sure to come.
They were interrupted by a gentle clearing of the throat. They opened their eyes reluctantly, pulled as if from a dream, to see Mr. Taylor. Amanda looked in confusion at her friend from The Manchester Guardian.
He bowed to them both and said, “Please forgive me, Red, Sparrow.” They both widened their eyes in surprise. “Yes, I know who you are. And the roles you have played in service to this people.” Mr. Taylor looked haggard, his eyes mere holes in his face, his skin dirty, his hands covered in blood.
Amanda looked away from his stained hands, fearful she might retch. She desperately tried to calm her stomach. Mr. Taylor swayed for a moment and Nathaniel reached out an arm to steady him.
“I am determined, my lord, my lady, to see that this carnage”—Taylor’s eyes flitted to the field and back to them—“this injustice of the lowest kind is not for waste. I will continue your work, my lady, but I propose something more.”
Amanda gaped at him. How could any human who had witnessed the events of that afternoon not give in entirely to despair? She tried to feel the tiniest portion of his hope herself and clung to it desperately.
“But we lost.” Her voice sounded plaintive.
And then Mr. Taylor smiled. His face and eyes lit up with the brightest hope. He held his hand to his heart and seemed to look through her eyes and into her soul. “No. We did not. And we must do all we can, my lady, all we can”—he rapped on his chest with each word—“to ensure that the events of today are not in vain. We must tell this story as far and wide as possible. The truth must be known.” He stood a little taller. “Good people died today at the hands of evil and ignorance while peaceably calling for liberty, good people who did not provoke violence, who did not defend themselves—nary a rock did they attempt to throw. And they were thrashed down in the most violent of manners. That message will resonate; carry itself across distance and through time. There may always be evil, it is true, but there can be no more ignorance. We must herald our cause so insistently that all of England shall hear it. We must.” And then his fire went out, and exhaustion took its toll. Mr. Taylor’s hands fell limp and his head drooped. “We must,” he said again. And then he slumped to the ground at their feet.
Nathaniel looked at Lady Amanda, his face streaked with new tears.
He knelt and gently shook Mr. Taylor. “Wake up, Mr. Taylor. You must wake up.”
His eyes fluttered open.
Amanda also knelt and held his face in her hands. She looked into his eyes saying, “We will help you.”
At her words, he smiled and mustered strength from a seemingly forgotten reserve to stand on wobbly feet.
Amanda searched Nathaniel’s eyes as they both also stood. Was there hope? Was there yet something they could do? She saw the beginnings of a spark of light in the depths of Nathaniel’s gray eyes, and that spark lit one in her own.
“We must,” Amanda said.
Nathaniel nodded, and they turned to face the square, sobered again as the full effect of the afternoon once again became visible before them. Amanda shuddered but squared her shoulders. She gestured to Charlie’s body, swallowing her emotion, unable to speak.
Nathaniel pulled her to him. “I will carry him.”
“Thank you.”
Taylor walked with them down an alley. Carrying Charlie gently in his arms, Nathaniel banged on the nearest door, not expecting anyone to answer. He shrugged, and they kept walking. They trudged along for what felt like an eternity, and Nathaniel, weighed down by the weight of the body, shifted Charlie across his shoulders.
The wounded, struggling to leave, lined the street. Some slumped against the walls, eyes dazed. Some, crawling, inched along the pavement. Others lay face down, not moving from where they had fallen. Amanda could not bear to look, nor could she stomach simply walking past. She had never felt more helpless or hopeless.
They finally reached a home that opened up to them. Lord Nathaniel grunted, lowering Charlie’s body to the ground and said, “Would you please allow these good people some rest at your table? I must see to the injured in the square.” The kindly man who answered nodded and hurried them inside, gesturing to worn but blessedly comfortable chairs by his fire. He walked with the slowness of age, but an intelligent twinkle lit his eye.
Mr. Taylor fell into a nearby chair, eyes closing. Amanda reluctantly took the other chair, looking in question at Nathaniel. “I should come with you . . . help those people . . .” Her voice cracked, and she ducked her head as emotion surged to her throat, causing her physical pain. Then she jerked up in her seat. “Molly! Thomas!”
Nathaniel rested a hand on her shoulder. “I will find them. For many reasons, it is best if you remain here until I or your family come to fetch you.” He turned to their host and offered a bag of coins. “I thank you. Please see to their safety and comfort. I am afraid I trust few in this town right now. Please do not allow another in, unless it is someone from the Duke of Cumberland’s home or my own—I am Lord Nathaniel Halloway.”
The man’s eyes widened so large as to completely overwhelm his forehead. But he nodded. He refused the money, saying, “I will not be paid for doing what any respectable person should do.”
Lord Nathaniel looked about to insist but then nodded. He gripped the man on the shoulder and with considerable emotion said again, “I thank you.” With one more look at Amanda, Nathaniel turned and walked out the door, picking up Charlie again and heading back to the square.
Amanda felt alone without Nathaniel. She sighed, and her host’s well-weathered face showed concern. She attempted a small, tired smile. “We would all greatly appreciate it if you would keep our titles a secret.” She looked up, pinning him with what she hoped was a pleading stare.
He nodded and waved his hand. “Of course. I have no need for airs or noble acquaintance.” And then he leaned down and patted her hand. “Let me see if I can warm some broth for the both of you, though I don’t know if he’ll be taking any without my spooning it down his throat.” He inclined his head in Mr. Taylor’s direction; Amanda looked at the sleeping man fondly and then rested her own head against the back of her chair in blissful comfort. It was amazing what a worn chair could offer.
She closed her eyes but immediately forced them open as awful images played across her mind.
Their kind host returned with a cup of broth. She sipped, allowing the warmth to spread through her. “What is your name?” she asked him.
“I am Gabriel Munston. Please, call me Gabriel. Everyone does.” Amanda’s eyes started to droop, but she forced them open.
Gabriel’s eyes saddened in empathy. “Don’t like what you see when your eyes shut?”
Amanda shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “How can I ever erase such horror?” She covered her face with one hand.
“You don’t want to erase it, no,” Gabriel said. “Those people should be remembered.” Amanda looked up at him in surprise.
“May I suggest something, my lady?”
“Of course.”
“Take those memories. Accept them, acknowledge them, and then place them on your hero shelf.”
“I don’t understand.” Amanda blinked in confusion.
“Make a place in your mind for all the honorable people and memories in your life. The horror you saw was their tribute. Their suffering, a hero’s medal.”
Amanda nodded rapidly.
Gabriel chuckled and gestured to her broth. “Best get some warm nourishment in you as well. Don’t you worry. I’ll keep watch while you rest.”
Amanda smiled gratefully and drank deeply. Pondering Gabriel’s words, she replaced the cup on the table beside her, rested against the back of the chair once again, and sunk into blessed sleep, too exhausted even to dream.