Chapter Nine

 

 

AS MAGGIE AND I entered the room, Billy’s slack-jawed expression quickly gave way to a wide leer. He stood up from the bed with a jump and made a little bow of his head. “Ma’am!”

“Marguerite,” I said, “This is Billy Chard—a friend.” Maggie gave me a confused look, undoubtedly curious about the nature of my comrade. “Billy, why don’t you go downstairs for a spell. Marguerite and I have... things to discuss.” Billy said nothing but grabbed his hat and, giving me a wink, laid his forefinger aside his nose as he went out the door.

“Friend?” said Maggie. “He looks like a footpad.”

“He is a footpad. Dangerous people for life in dangerous times. He’s also my army, for the moment.”

“Don’t you wish to embrace me?” She looked hurt at my coldness.

I tried to soften what must have been now a longstanding mask of grimness. “Forgive me, Maggie, forgive me. I look at you and still cannot believe my eyes that you’re here. But, sweet Jesus, it’s great folly for you to have followed me. You don’t understand the situation I find myself in, and now I must look after you as well.” I did want to embrace her, to gather her up and melt into her bosom. But already, a hundred questions were running around my head and every one needed answer. “Maggie, sit down on the bed.”

I dragged a stool over and sat in front of her, grasping her hands. “Now you must tell me how this all came about. Who has told you how to find me?”

Her face was already beginning to flush scarlet. “You believe I needed help to find you? It was not difficult to pick up your trail. I merely described you to the coachmen, said you were ‘Monsieur Falkenhayn’, and made it to Rouen a day after you left that place. Not very many ships going to Plymouth and it was a simple matter to find out which one you had embarked on. As luck would have it, another was leaving in two days. And I was on it.”

I shook my head in exasperation. “But why, for the love of God? I’m on the run, pursued by the army, and I’ve only been back one week. What did you hope to accomplish, woman?”

She pulled back. “I hoped to accomplish nothing. I wanted only to find you and to be with you. I told you that myself before you left. I said don’t leave me in Paris. Did you doubt my resolve?”

“I did, Maggie, I did. And I wish to God you had thought better of it.”

She fixed me suddenly with a cold eye. “I’ve come all this way to help you... to be with you. Don’t you dare try to send me away.”

“You have a stout spirit to have gotten this far. But I can’t lie about how dangerous it is even now. And I can’t tell any more about the business without putting you in harm’s way.”

She leaned forward again and seized my wrists in both hands. “I’m already in it. It’s my fight too, and I possess the stomach for it. I was not about to sit in Paris while you lead the rebellion. Sit and wait for God knows how long.”

I pulled back at her words. A good guess on her part? Or had my enterprise already been discussed far and wide? “What do you know of a rebellion here, Maggie?”

Her face flushed again, her brown eyes shining as she answered. “It’s the talk of all the court. That our agents have been sent here to light the fire, to bring down the Tyrant. That is when I understood why you had left me.”

I stood up and walked to the window. “Does no one know the meaning of secrecy anymore? For the love of Christ!”

“It is knowledge shared only in small circles there in the Louvre, not general news, my love.”

I turned back to her. “And do you not think that Cromwell has eyes and ears in the court? By God, he does. And now they know all.”

She threw her hands up and brought them down on her lap. “It wasn’t I who spread the word! How dare you cast blame on me when all I wanted was to be with you.” She ripped at the purse that hung from her waist, snapping the leather strap. “Here is the letter from your brother. Or do you want me to send that back too? He didn’t even know if I would find you, but wanted to take a chance nonetheless.”

I had forgotten the letter. I reached out and took the little square packet from her shaking hand and broke the wax seal. It was indeed my brother’s hand, and I began to read. He addressed me merely as ‘Sir’ and proceeded to relay news of various business transactions and a goodly dose of how the weather was and if it would be an early springtime. It was signed ‘William’. I held it out towards Maggie.

“Did he say anything more? Just this?”

“No.”

It was only then that the scent of apples wafted up to me from the paper.

I grabbed the tinderbox off the little table on the other side of the chamber. Sparking it up, I lit the lamp that stood nearby. Maggie rose from the bed and followed me, despite her rage, curious about my frantic reaction. I gently held the opened letter just above the flame of the lamp, slowly moving it to and fro, the page rapidly heating. And sure enough, like the biblical handwriting upon the wall, words in pale sepia magically blossomed on the page, written in my brother’s hand and between the lines of his black-inked nonsense about the weather. I heard Maggie’s subdued rush of breath as she stood at my side. And I read the real message that now stood out boldly.

 

Brother:

The woman who bears this letter claims to know you. From our short conversation I do not doubt this. As you did not tell me where you were bound, I could not share this intelligence with her and if she has found you it is only by the grace of God. As we two may not see each other for some time yet to come, I seized upon the opportunity to pen these words. And they are heavy ones, I must tell you. I have learned that the estate of Israel Fludd has already been settled and that his will was most specific in the disposition of his land and chattels. He has left all to your Arabella. There, that is it then. She has regained the Treadwell home for her and the children, and the babe to come. This is a blow you must bear up under, my brother. Seek solace from the gentle lady who bears this note, one who claims great love for you, sir. And, if it is not too late, and God’s hand still rests upon you, I beg you to return to France with all speed. That is where your life must take you. Farewell.

 

I placed the letter on the table and sat upon the stool. I felt very empty and very foolish for my pride. Arabella knew how to look after herself in time of war. How else had she managed without me for all those years? I was a cuckold who had assumed his wife had been taken against her will. I recalled her words to me not one week ago: Leave well enough alone and all will be well.

Why had I not listened with both my ears that day?

You do not ask me, husband, whether it was by my will or against my will?

I felt Maggie’s hand upon my shoulder. “What’s wrong? Tell me what he says.”

“Wrong? Nay, it’s good news about my wife. She has come into some money, it seems.”

“I do not understand.”

I rubbed my forehead and stood. “It’s not important. We have more pressing troubles here and now. Such as what we’re to do with you. You can’t wander around the town, alone and unescorted.”

She grabbed my arm and turned me towards her. “Then you will need to escort me, damn you.”

I grasped her gently by the shoulders. “Look at me! I’m being pursued by someone. Someone in the army. He knows I’m in Exeter and... I have slain his brother.”

She didn’t bat an eye. She reached up and stroked my shaggy beard. “We’re here to fight, you old fool. Not run. Tell me what I have to do but don’t tell me to leave you again.”

I was tired. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and I pulled her into my chest as if to squeeze the life out of her. “I’m running out of schemes, Maggie. And time as well.”

I felt her squeeze me back. “You are Richard Treadwell, not Andreas Falkenhayn. And you have work to do here. Let me be your helpmate.”

I was silent as she embraced me, until finally I heard myself say aloud, “Very well. Tell me where you’re lodged.”

“I am at the coaching house, near the bridge at the south gate.”

“Then I shall take you back there now. You must stay inside until I have a better idea of what is happening in the town. I have a meeting with the others tomorrow night. But you must stay out of sight, for now at least. Understood?”

“Tell me what I must do and I will do it.”

 

 

HOW COULD I not have spent the night in her arms once I had brought her back to her chambers? I had precious little else to hold up my spirits while my enterprise crumbled around me with each passing day. Billy had shrugged when I told him she was my mistress who had followed me from Paris. “Better than a black dog,” he said. I suppose little about me could surprise him at this point. I told him to stay around the inn and watch for the militia. “Aye, and then do what, Mister Eff?” he had said cheekily. I told him just to keep out of trouble and that we would meet up in the morning. “At least one of us will have a good night!” he called back to me as he walked down the stairs to the tap room.

All my fears and worries emptied into her as we tussled that evening, devouring each other as we had not for many weeks. But the whole of the time I held her, there was still the faint waft of distrust between us about what we each had revealed and what we had concealed. I finally drifted off, her head upon my chest, her long chestnut hair covering my mouth and chin. A deep sleep, undisturbed by my Beast, or nightmares, or any cares of the waking world. And come cock crow, we both awoke in the orange glow of sunrise, and she was upon me again. We lay there, afterwards, and slowly my reverie blew away and the stony truth of my situation invaded once again.

“Who was it that you killed?” she asked as we lay there.

“An officer of the Plymouth militia.”

“My God, Richard, why?”

“Trust me, I had little choice but to kill him. And his brother pursues me even now. Gideon Fludd, an officer of Parliament’s dragoons.”

She reached for my hand. “And what is going to happen here, in Exeter? Where are the others in the conspiracy?”

“You should not know these things. It doesn’t bode well, I can tell you.”

“Are you telling me it’s over before it has even begun?”

I swept the hair from her face. “Maggie, there’s more to it. This Gideon Fludd is not just a Parliament man. He is deep into bad things. Dark things. He has some power of the black arts... conjuring and such.”

Maggie giggled. “Surely not? You’re saying he’s in league with the Devil? What, a Parliament man—a Puritan no doubt—practising magic?”

“Maggie, I have seen—” and I had to pause, stumbling for the right words. “I have seen his creatures... his familiars. They’re stalking me; I know it in my heart. I’ve never been more sure.”

She reached over and squeezed me. “You’re sore vexed, my love. The weight of these last days has tired you. It’s no wonder you think you’re seeing phantasms. But nothing has happened yet, has it? Only children and old women believe in goblins and demons.”

I was sad for her in her ignorance. “I’ve seen such things in my life I do wish I had never seen. I am seeing them again now. You have to understand that there are things in our world that do not belong here, wondrous but terrible things. Billy Chard has seen the beast that follows us, he will tell you. This is no phantasm or fancy of the mind, my love. And I would spare you from it.”

“You’re frightening me.”

“I know. And you need to be frightened. Don’t underestimate this evil. Look, this evening I’ll learn whether I can continue with my plans. That is why I need you to stay here today—do not venture out. I will come for you this evening. Promise me you will not follow me. If events go ill, I won’t be there to help you. If they get me, for God’s sake don’t remain. Get on a ship for France without delay.”

She pulled herself up on her elbows and stared into my face. She was delving into my mind, I knew, and few women could accomplish that. She was one of them.

“If that is what you want, then I will do it,” she said quietly.

 

 

I RETURNED THAT morning to the little inn where Billy stayed, determined to obtain answers from Dyer and his comrades. But it would have to wait for the evening and Billy and I spent the whole of the day closeted in the little room, playing at cards and him telling stories.

“I’m hungry,” he said as he played with his hunting hangar while he kept watch at the window of the room.

“What, again? You’ve already supped,” I said. “You can eat again later.” The sun was just dipping into the west, its rays reflecting into the room, a myriad of dust particles floating through the beams.

“You don’t want me to go inside with you, Mister Eff? Meaning if they prove a rum lot you might want some help.”

“I need you to watch the outside and if you see any redcoats you’re to get to the back as fast you can and warn the rest of us. I don’t think these fools have the plain sense to post any sentries while we meet.”

“Aye,” Billy said as he slid the blade back into its scabbard and placed it upon the belt that trussed his leather jerkin. And he pulled his black cloak over all and went to lie on the bed and wait for the appointed hour.

There was silence between us then, both of us buried in our own thoughts and fears. And like a piece of driftwood that insistently rises to the surface, I could not keep Arabella from my mind’s eye, or Maggie. Maybe I felt that I deserved my fate. I had left my wife to the harsh contrary winds of war. Yet strangely, I admired her too, for surviving the tempest and getting the better of our enemies. What bothered me though, eating away at my guts, was the thought that maybe she wanted me to kill Fludd. Admittedly, she could not know that I was to turn up on her doorstep that day. But once I had, did a plan hatch in her head that I could speed a satisfactory conclusion to her situation? It was monstrous, I know, but I had lived in such a dark place for so many years that it was a suspicion that came naturally to me now.

And then there was Maggie. Was I being played again, and so very damned soon? Resourceful as she was, something was scratching away at the back of my head, whispering things I did not want to hear. Had she really found her way from France to Devon, all this way, without aid? Who else knew of her mission to find me? And it went around and around as I stared up at the cobwebs swinging in the rafters.

At length I got up and leaned against the wall near the window. How long I stood there, watching the empty street and rooftops, I know not. Eventually, the night came on, the light slowly retreating into twilight. I went to the table and reached for my blade, tucking it into my girdle. Resting against my hip, its presence gave me silent reassurance, like an old and trusted retainer who had lost his tongue. I reached over to the little shelf near the fireplace and retrieved my little French pistol, flipping the pan open to check the primer. I shoved it down into my girdle, the hammer and lock nestled against my belly. “It’s time, Billy,” I said.

We reached the Mitre tavern. Billy drew out his pipe and pouch and walked to the side of the house. He leaned back, crossed his legs, and proceeded to fill his clay bowl. I took a breath, pushed open the front door, and went inside. The tap room was awash with topers and beer while a great fire crackled in the hearth. I slowly weaved my way through the public, the stink and the smoke, towards the back and the private dining chamber. A crowded house has a mood—good or ill—and one easily read. Here were the merchants of the town, artisans, maybe a farmer or two fortifying themselves before the trip out of town. All was a jovial burble, though somewhat subdued, and an easy, downright lazy mood permeated the room.

And yet, and yet... It was a picture I had seen a thousand times, but something was amiss. Then, I hit upon it. There was not even one militiaman, redcoat or not, in the place. That was not the way of things. Still, I knocked on the door at the back, pushed it open, and stepped inside. There were seven men there, seated at a large round table, Dyer among them. And they all looked up at my appearance, and rose from their places.

The chamber was large, the only furniture being the table and chairs. Another door was at the back, presumably leading outside to the yard and privy. There were two windows on one side and a large brick fireplace on the other. And it was the most damn fool place to hold a conspiracy that I had ever seen.

Dyer smiled and beckoned to me. “Mr Falkenhayn, sir. Welcome to our little feast! Please, do come in and join us at table.” The others smiled too, nodding their approval. I shut the door behind me and took a place with them.

“Gentlemen,” I said, nodding my head and pulling back a chair.

Dyer poured me a tankard and pushed it my way. “Will you take some venison, sir?”

“I took notice that you place no one upon watch at the door.”

It was not Dyer, but another fellow who answered me. He was a prosperous sort, well dressed, a brocade hatband showing off his wealth. “We’re in no danger here in this place, rest assured. The landlord will always give us a signal if anyone suspicious turns up—like that fellow of yours who is lurking outside.”

As I turned, I saw Billy dart out of view at the window. I gritted my teeth. “A measure of prudence, if you will indulge me that. I have always found that a drop of caution goes a long way. Forgive me if you take this as a lack of trust.”

Dyer waved his hand, and went back to cutting me a slice. “Not at all, not at all. We have met here and dined for months, never anything amiss. Be at ease.”

I must admit, I was somewhat flummoxed as to how to begin the discussion. I decided to let my hosts take the lead, but as the minutes passed by, the business of rebellion never once rose to the surface. All was frippery: talk of weather, wives, and gambling. As the time passed, I saw that at least two of this dining club were deep in their cups, eyes wandering and heads drooping only to start up suddenly at the next joke or jibe. As they licked their trenchers clean and reached for the great wedge of cheese and another loaf, I could wait no longer. I asked Dyer in a low voice when he wished to discuss the preparations for our mutual enterprise.

“And what would you like to know?” he asked, not fussed in the least.

“For one, numbers of men, horses, arms, powder stocks...”

Dyer laughed. Another gentleman, someone called Stubbes, a fat fellow in a yellowed collar, remarked, “That is more than one question!” and the others joined in the laughter.

“Gentlemen,” I said, smiling, “My intention is to journey to London soon and it’s vital that I brief Mister Jeffreys with exact details as to your preparations. Timing is everything.”

“Who the blazes is Jeffreys?” asked Stubbes, still laughing and looking across the table from face to face. He was answered by one of the drunkards. “It’s Colonel Gerard, you idiot! Have you forgotten already!”

And at that point, things unravelled fast. Someone stood up, started pissing into the fireplace and singing “The King will come Home Again,” and the others joined in with the exception of Mr. Dyer, who looked mildly embarrassed as he tried to reassure me about the undertaking.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “Don’t fret about the details. I can provide you a list of everything and everyone.”

I leaned forward, already worked into a lather by these simpletons. “A list? You mean you have committed these to paper? Your concept of secrecy, sir, leaves much to be desired.”

“Falkenhayn,” he said, waving me off, “You’re among friends here in this town. The troopers stay cooped up in the castle and don’t dare argue with a people they know to be loyal to the crown.”

I stood up and cursed aloud. Not at them, but at myself for hazarding all on this pack of ignorant knaves. How badly compromised the uprising now was I didn’t know, but anyone in Exeter would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to know of its existence.

“They’ll be no more talk of the enterprise here. If I’m to assist you we’ll meet next time outside—in hiding. No more public houses, do you understand, sir?”

Dyer pushed back his chair with a horrible screech along the floorboards. “Do not suppose to tell us our affairs! I don’t care whether you’ve come from the court or not. No matter what Lord Herbert has said.”

My throat began to tighten as he spoke. These country clowns were in so deep they were halfway to the scaffold without even knowing it. And I knew then the whole plan was a shambles, indeed it had probably been instigated by Cromwell’s spies to pull in bigger fish, like me.

“What was that?” said Stubbes, pointing to one of the windows. We looked over to where he was pointing, but there was nothing other than the reflection of our candles in the panes.

“What did you see?” asked Dyer.

Stubbes chuckled. “I don’t rightly know. Not your man, Falkenhayn, but someone else. It was there for but a moment. Looked like the ugliest little nigger child. Had his nose pressed right to the glass, eyes rolling around like a lunatic.”

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement at the other window. I turned my head to see the small black face of an ape peering into the room, its eyes locked firmly upon me. But the creature was near the top of the frame, looking in sideways and somehow clinging to the brickwork outside. And like that horrid black dog, it too had huge yellow eyes that betrayed an intelligence—and malevolence. A long spindly arm extended down the uppermost windowpane, its hand bizarrely elongated, ending in wicked ivory claws. And I swear I saw it point a finger at me.

I was on my feet in an instant, intending to rush out the back door and capture or kill it, but no sooner had I jumped up then the main door to the chamber crashed inwards. The latch blew halfway across the room and in poured half a dozen men, swords drawn and raised. We were betrayed.

Most men in such circumstances turn to statues. Dyer and his friends were no different. But I seized the table edge and flipped it outwards towards the intruders. Plates, cups, crockery and food went flying as the table upended, smashing on the floorboards. It gave me enough time to draw my pistol, cock the hammer, and level it at the lead man. None of the intruders were redcoats and in an instant I felt the hand of the Fifth Monarchy at work. The tumbling table barely checked their advance, and they pushed past a terrified Stubbes who had both hands raised and palms splayed. I fired my piece but was rewarded only by the puff and snap of the priming pan igniting. The main charge was fouled.

The first man came on, a big bearded fellow wearing a red woollen cap. I flung the pistol at his face. He caught some of it on his hilt as he raised his hand to block it and the pistol spun up and clipped his forehead. It checked him long enough for me to draw my sword and rush him. Only Dyer seemed to be putting up a fight. He too had drawn his blade and had just parried a wicked thrust at his chest. There was to be no quarter offered; they were here to kill. I jumped forward, left leg first, my blade hilt high and point down. I easily parried the bearded man’s chop and simultaneously pulled back my tip and thrust down into the top of his belly. His leather coat ripped and I felt the blade nick him, but it had not gone very deep. I lashed out with my right fist and took him on the jaw.

The other attackers pushed into the room, coming around towards the left, as I stood to the right. Except for Dyer, the conspirators were crying out for mercy and as I backed up towards the rear of the room (and the back door) I saw that those giving least resistance got little more than a clout to the head. I seized a kicked-over chair and brandished it as I made for the door. Dyer, defending against two, took a well-aimed blow to his collarbone from a cutlass, and sank to his knees. That was enough. I threw the chair, yanked open the door to the courtyard, and jumped outside.

Straight into the party of red-coated dragoons I had been expecting earlier. By the time I had counted five in front of me, I knew that my luck had run out. And then, a tall grey-coated man came forward. The man I had always known was behind the whole of this sad chase. Even in the poor lamplight, I could see that it was Gideon Fludd. He held one arm out low, palm outwards, as if to signal his men to hold back from engaging. I turned at an angle to cover myself from attack from the doorway, spread my feet and dropped into a high guard with my hangar. Gideon stepped forward, slow and measured, straight at me. His cropped blond head was practically white in the lamplight and his face was set as hard as old walnut. And when I looked into his eyes, I confess that the depth of his rage and hatred shook me. I could feel both courage and resolve draining through the soles of my shoes.

Gideon’s eyes glanced down at my hand. I was holding my right arm poised in front of my chest, a secondary guard from attack. And there on the third finger shone the silver signet ring, the object of his attention.

His voice was strong, but chillingly, empty of either hatred or tension. “You have something that is mine, sirrah.” He held out a thick-bladed rapier, lazily waving it at hip level, point down. “And you know what it is, don’t you?”

I wondered where Billy had got off to. He had manifestly failed his first command. Well, I thought, even if he had given the alarm, the odds were very poor anyway. I hoped that he had gotten clean away; this really was not his battle. Three men spilled out of the back door, and I saw Fludd spread his left hand towards them in a gesture of restraint. Perhaps I was about to gain what I had sought at the beginning of this fool’s voyage: a good death. I could never depart as Andreas did, rotting in his bed. This was the far better course. So I did something that Fludd probably had not expected. I ran straight at him.

He was surprised, but he was not confounded. No rustic at swordplay, he simply drew back his leading right leg and fell back with his weight on the left. He made a clean parry of my thrust, the two blades scoring each other loudly as mine ran up his, meeting his swept hilt. And I leapt back immediately; knowing the man closest on my right would take a swing. Sure enough, it came a second later and I twisted to parry this and then back again to take Fludd’s counterthrust once he had regained his balance. I moved rapidly to the right, feinting a throat thrust at one of the men and then spitting him in the stomach. Even as he dropped, I whirled and brought my sword up to ward off the blow I instinctively knew was already in full arc. The blow I managed to parry high, but the force knocked my own hilt back into my cheek and a jolt of pain ripped through my face.

These things take but the blink of an eye. I didn’t even get the chance to spin around again at the next attack. My vision became an explosion of sparks and light and the roaring pain in my skull told me I was too late. The blade or hilt—I didn’t know which—had struck my head clean and I slowly spun around like a puppet. I could not feel my hands—probably had already dropped my blade—and I saw the faces of my enemies swimming in front of me. My head arched up, my last view of the world. I saw the heavens whirling and my eyes took in a dizzy view of the peak of the gable of the Mitre Tavern. I swear I saw the black ape sitting perched there, watching all, two great leathery wings sprouting out of its back, waggling in anticipation.

And all light and knowing failed me as I fell.