part0015

Lizbet and Froggy had the fire set by the time Richard arrived. The flames had receded and, in the centre there was a glowing pit of orange and red shifting colours fanned by the breeze. Lizbet pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks glowing pink with the heat. Richard knelt down next to Froggy and watched. The small ladle they had used to melt the lead had been replaced now with an iron bowl that Froggy had nestled into the coals. To fill the mould that Richard had made would take more than the small ladle they had used before.

“It’s not ideal,” said Froggy, beginning to add lead strips to the bowl. “We can ladle out so much from the bowl, but we’ll never get to the bottom of it, so we have to melt more than we need.”

“I’ll have to think about that.” Richard’s hand pinched his chin in thought. “Let’s see how we do anyway.”

Lizbet dropped the iron skillet they had brought over the hot embers. The framework was high enough to hold the freshly made mould over the flames to warm it without it’s getting too hot. Too hot and the lead would not cool properly, too cold and they risked fracturing the mould as the molten metal was poured in .

Froggy poured the lead into the mould and three pairs of eyes watched his steady practised hand tip the smoking silver stream into the mould.

They ran out before the final row was filled. Richard held up his hand to stop Froggy from melting more.

“It’s enough. We can see how well it has worked. There’s no need to melt more. We can work out the quantities later.”

Froggy, using the thick hide gloves he had purchased from a blacksmith, pulled the skillet away from the fire and they waited for the mould to cool.

None of them had foreseen that the huge iron mould would remain searing hot for quite so long, and it was some time before Froggy, still gloved, undid the retaining wires that held all the sections together.

Lizbet clapped her hands together as the first freshly formed musket balls fell from the mould. “They are just as good as the ones we made with the proper mould.”

“You sound surprised.” There was a slight acid note in his voice, as, with a stick, Richard rolled one towards him. She was right, once the sprue was snipped away, the ball was as good as any Lizbet and Froggy had been making.

“I just think that the men who made the guns would have had more of a notion about how to make musket balls than you would, that was all I meant.” Lizbet edged one of the still warm lead spheres towards herself, a look of approval on her face .

“Your confidence is ever heartening,” Richard said sitting back on his heels.

“What’s he mean?” Lizbet said to Froggy, shooting him a confused look.

“No idea, lass. Get them clippers and let’s get these cleaned up,” Froggy said and they set to work, snipping the sprues away and putting the unwanted lead back into the bowl for the next time it went into the fire.

“That’s a damn sight quicker.” Froggy was holding up one of the musket balls in front of his face and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“So how many do you think you could make in a day?” Richard put the question seriously.

Froggy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “If we had enough lead to keep going, we could easily fill that ten times, even given the long time it takes to cool. And each time we fill it, we get…” Froggy’s brow furrowed as he looked at the mould and began to count the entry points the lead was poured into.

“You’re brain is fuddled, Froggy. There’s twenty five,” Lizbet cut in.

“Quite right, and if we used it ten times…”

Lizbet cut him off. “I’m not stupid, you know. Two hundred and fifty if Froggy here has melted enough to fill it each time. And if he hasn’t, then it’ll be a few less.”

Richard threw one of the balls up in the air and caught it as it dropped back to earth. For once he looked happy.

Lizbet used a vinegar scrub on the rings and thin strips of read mace. Pushing the thin rasping strands through the gold fretwork, she cleaned the dirt from the gold until the rings shone bright.

Happily she held one up for inspection. They were heavy rings and all of them bore some deep scratches of wear. The dirt embedded in them had made them dull, but now, cleaned, the scratches were no longer noticeable dark lines; the rings looked new. There was no one around and Lizbet slid them onto her hand. Far too big, they hung on her fingers, but still Lizbet thought her hands would look nice with a line of rings upon them.

Sliding them back into her palm, she set off to take them back to the Master in his room.

Lizbet knocked before pressing the handle and opening the door, jumped involuntarily when she found it wasn’t the Master on the other side of the door. It was Andrew and he seemed equally unhappy to see her.

“What are you doing in here?” Andrew said, his eyes narrowing

Lizbet’s hand closed defensively around the three rings she’d cleaned, unwilling to leave them now the Master was not here. “Master had work for me, and you?” was all she said.

“I was just looking for the Master.” Andrew lay unfriendly eyes on her.

“Aye, well he’s not here right now,” Lizbet replied coldly. She did not drop her gaze from his. Behind Andrew, a book lay open and she was sure she’d seen him looking through the pages when she opened the door.

“I’ll bid you good day.” Andrew pushed past her, leaving her standing watching the door swing closed and wondering.

They needed more supplies and made the decision to take the cart the five miles to the main town of Bendanaburg to collect what they needed. Lizbet wanted to come and rode her mare at the back of the group next to Mat.

The rain from the previous week had been so heavy that the stream they were to cross was still a foaming torrent. The fording point, with raised stones in the riverbed was knee deep, and the fast racing current was strong enough to take a man’s legs from underneath him.

“The horses can make it, and the wagon is high enough so the water won’t reach the bed,” Dan reported as he returned from the river.

“I’ll ride across. Sometimes it’s worse towards the middle,” Jack replied. Shortening his reins, he set the mare towards the river and helped her pick her way carefully across. Beneath the water the streambed was cobbled, worn smooth with the passing of the water and pressured by the current. The passage was treacherous. His mare took two steps into the water, then, ears flat and feeling the force of the water on her legs, she stopped. Jack’s legs pushed her on, heels persuasively making her step forward, and the mare, eyes still wide, obeyed the rider and moved further into the racing stream.

From the safety of the bank they watched his passage, and in a few more steps the horse began to free herself from the water, and picking her feet up bounded quickly up on to the opposite bank.

“Come on. If Jack can make it, we all can,” Dan declared.

Froggy took the wagon over next. The spoked wheels offered little resistance to the water and the passage across was an easy one, the yoked horse straining to pull the wagon clear of the water to join Jack.

Richard and then Dan rode across and then Mat, a firm hand on the bridle on Lizbet’s horse, began to lead her over as well.

Jack saw it going wrong before Mat and Lizbet’s horses were even hock deep in the water, shouting a warning that the wind whipped away.

Scranton, waiting impatiently behind, had pushed his horse forward and it had edged itself between Mat and Lizbet’s horses. It was forcing the small mare that Mat was leading to stumble away from the shallow area of the ford and it stepped straight into the deeper water.

Jack shouted again and Richard, seeing the same danger, added his warning as well. Mat saw their concerned faces, but he could not hear their warning, and when he realised what was happening it was too late. Scranton’s horse pushed between them, and the bridle he had hold of was pulled from his grasp. Lizbet’s mare took two more steps and plunged into the deep water. The vicious current pressed now up to its belly, pulling its legs from beneath it. The horse and rider fell sideways into the river.

Lizbet had been warned before crossing to loosen her feet from the stirrups and as the horse fell, she landed in the river. The mare, thrashing, rolled over next to her, the hooves flailing in the air uselessly as it sought to right itself. Lizbet was borne up for a moment by her skirts until the water wrapped its fingers around her dress and the sodden drapery weighed on her like iron pulling her under.

Clawing and fighting for breath, she once more forced her head above the surface for a futile moment before disappearing beneath the foaming water. The water rolled her over, forced her down and she felt her face being grazed against the riverbed. Her head banged with more sound than pain against a submerged boulder and her struggles ended.

The hand that found her wrapped her unfurled hair around a wrist and dragged her from the riverbed. Once at the surface Jack hauled her through the water towards the bank. Away from the centre of the river, he put his feet down and thankfully felt the rocky streambed beneath him. Coughing, water streaming from him, Jack staggered as he reached the bank, Lizbet’s sodden weight heavy in his arms now she was clear of the water.

A quagmire of mud and cow dung, pock marked with bovine footprints was the bank Jack dropped Lizbet on. Her eyes were closed, brown hair tangled across her face, blood running from a cut above her eye, and her cheek was raised and raw from the impact with the streambed.

“Lass? Lizbet? Lizbet?” Jack’s muddy hand pushed the hair from her face.

The girl’s body convulsed.

“Thank God.” Jack rolled her onto her side and held her as she retched, her body bent only on ridding itself of a stomach full of river water. Her hair clotted with mud, body shaking, face pressed to the wet riverbank, Lizbet could do little to help herself.

Jack heard them crashing through the woods before he saw them, and his shout brought them to him. The rain was still pouring from the heavens and there was little they could do other than load Lizbet into the wagon underneath the tarpaulin on the back and keep going. Lizbet’s mare was lost, and Jack, soaked, bruised and frozen to the core, rode on in silence. Scranton had returned to his position next to Richard in the lead and Jack could do little other than stare contemptuously at his back.

It was a solemn group that returned from the town early that evening. With an insistence that was natural, Richard secured the services of one of the inn serving girls and had a warming tub filled with water set in a room at the inn.

Scranton sat next to Richard, and Dan watched him, wondering how long it would be before his temper snapped. Scranton had taken no responsibility for the accident that had sent Lizbet and Jack into the river and had lost the group a horse as well. He was sitting now next to Richard complaining, which was something he excelled at .

“The food is tasteless and dry. I wouldn’t pay for it. If I was paying, the landlord would be getting none of my money for such poor fayre. And the rooms are cramped. I’d not thought we would be stopping so long in such a poor a place as this. It is not what I am used to, sir,” Scranton finished.

“Consider yourself fortunate, Master Scranton,” Richard said, regarding him with cold grey eyes, “that I am not my brother.”

Richard had noted that the passage of the serving girl carrying warmed wine to Lizbet’s room had been delayed. Jack had stopped her progress, and she sat now on one of his knees. A hand to her mouth, she was stifling a laugh at whatever suggestions he was quietly making in her ear. The tray sat abandoned on the end of the table. Leaving his seat next to Scranton, Richard pressed his hand to the earthenware jug holding the wine; it was still warm.

He knew which room it was and knocked. Hearing the noise from within, Richard pushed the door open with his free hand, the tray balanced on the other. He heard the noise of shifting water and saw Lizbet immersed in warm water in front of the fire. Setting the tray on a table, he poured a cup of wine.

Lizbet sniffed loudly. She’d not heard him approach.

“Wine, mistress?” he asked in a voice she’d be forgiven for not recognising

“Put it on the table,” snapped Lizbet, lowering herself protectively below the folds of the warm water. A moment later an arm stretched over her shoulder and a cup of wine was held out for her to take. Lizbet was about to let loose a list of choice words when her eyes fastened on the hand holding the cup. The firelight played in the jewels on the three rings on the hand, rings she recognised. Christ! The Master! Lizbet swirled in the tub and a wave of water cascaded over the side to the floor.

“There’s no need to soak me, woman!” he said still holding out the wine, then he added, “It’s spiced and warm. Take it.”

“What are you doing in here?” was all she could manage.

“Just take it before I change my mind and drink it myself. Scranton is testing my temper and Jack is being insufferable and I’m not sure if I can listen to his tale one more time.”

“Jack is always insufferable,” Lizbet said, accepting the offered cup. “You should know that by now.”

Richard dropped to the floor, his back propped against the tub. “I should, you are right. He has the natural gift of the storyteller. Who am I to spoil his night? I am sure you are in agreement that he has earned the right to boast a little.”

“I cannot ever thank him enough,” Lizbet said, her voice hoarse and strained with fatigue.

“Oh, I am sure by the time he has reminded you of it for a few weeks, you’ll be feeling quite differently.” Richard raised the jug and drank from it. The wine was warm, heavily spiced and sweet with honey. Even when he’d swallowed it, his mouth was still full of the rich heavy flavour. “I’ll leave the jug on the floor for you, and if Jack will set his hands from the serving wench, then I shall send her up to help you.”

Lizbet twisted in the tub. Richard heard the displaced water slap against the sides.

“You’re not going to soak me again, are you?”

Lizbet’s voice was quiet, unsure, and he heard the nervous edge. “I don’t mean to talk out of turn, Master, but you know you asked me to clean your rings?”

Richard looked down at his hand. “I have them all back, so this isn’t a confession of theft. Go on.”

“I took them back to your room, and…” Lizbet swallowed hard, and hesitated.

“Just tell me. It’s something you think I need to know. I’ll not hold you to account,” Richard said.

“When I went in, Andrew was there. He’d been looking at one of your books,” Lizbet said quickly.

“You were right to tell me,” Richard replied.

After a long while, he added, “Lizbet?” over his shoulder.

There came no reply.

“Lizbet?” Richard said again. When she didn’t reply, he swivelled his head round. The cup he had given her was floating in the water spreading a red stain across the surface. Her hand, open, hung next to it, and Lizbet’s head, eyes closed, serene in sleep, rested against the side of the tub just above the water.

“Lizbet! Come on, woman, you can’t stop there like that.” Richard added a shake to a naked shoulder which regrettably settled her face even closer to the water .

“Damn you, woman!” Richard muttered realising he couldn’t leave her where she was.

Water sluiced from her body for the second time that day as he picked her up from the tub. The bed had been turned back ready, Richard laid her on it and flipped the cover over her wet body.