Chapter 1 3
A Hunter’s Folly
†
Froggy and Lizbet departed early into the woods to set up a fire to produce the musket balls. Richard had told them Scranton would be coming to watch them, a fact that pleased neither of them.
Lizbet, returning to the clearing with her arms full of dry firewood, found Richard and Scranton already crouched down next to Froggy who was feeding the fire with a steady supply of wood. Avoiding Scranton’s unpleasant stare, she dropped the firewood next to Froggy and sat herself down near the fire.
Eventually happy with the fire, Froggy added the charcoal and covered it with another layer of dry wood. The fire soon lit the charcoal and the character of the flames changed, the wood smoke lessened, and the charcoal began to give off white wisps as it burnt. Lizbet felt the heat from the blaze on her cheeks and she knew the fire was ready.
“Right then,” Froggy announced, giving the fire an experimental prod with a stick, “I think we are ready.”
The lead went onto the charcoal and they all watched as it began to liquefy, turning into a bright molten silver. Lizbet put the skillet over the fire. Scranton scowled at her, but she ignored his disapproving looks. Froggy checked the securing wires on the mould and settled it on the skillet, satisfying himself that skillet and mould were both level. Lizbet and Froggy worked together and, with practised skill, filled the mould and lifted it away from the fire to cool. Scranton had observed the whole process with nothing short of contempt on his face.
Froggy handled the still hot mould with the blacksmith’s leather gloves and unwound the retaining wires to let the freshly made lead balls tumble from the mould. If Scranton was at all impressed that Froggy and Lizbet had just made more ammunition in one go than a flintlocker could make on his own in two days, he didn’t show it. Using a stick, he rolled one of the lead pellets towards him and cast a disdainful look over it.
“The sprues are a little thick. It’ll make them uneven and effect their flight, I should think,” he finally pronounced.
Lizbet looked at her feet. Froggy’s hands balled into fists inside the leather gloves, but he said nothing. It was Richard who spoke.
“We are grateful for your expertise,” he said. The lead balls were sufficiently cooled and he picked one up. “We might be able to adjust the mould to change that. We’ll use these later and you can judge the results.”
Scranton’s pinched face wore a thin smile as he received Richard’s praise.
Shortly after, Richard and Scranton, with the latter talking constantly, left. Froggy and Lizbet watched them retreat from the clearing.
“Why does the Master put up with him?” Lizbet said once they were out of earshot .
“Lord knows,” Froggy said in agreement. “Master will have his reasons, you can be sure.”
†
The noise was the first alert that they had. Twenty horses at least, stamped and rattled their way into the yard at the inn. It was a group of mercenaries, and it soon became very apparent that their captain was letting his troop rest for the night with express orders to enjoy themselves. Half a dozen of them were already in the taproom, and with ample coin they were on a determined and dedicated path to get insensible as soon as possible. Two extra staff had already been deployed by the enterprising inn owner to make sure as much ale as possible was exchanged for coin. A card game between another group was taking up all of one of the larger tables, and serving staff carrying platters of cooked meat and pies were elbowing their way as best they could through the packed room.
Jack’s face had already soured when the blonde lass he had been seen with seemed to have scented a profit and was attached to the knee of one of the mercenaries playing cards at the table.
Richard leant his head close to Jack’s. “Double the guard on the wagon, and let Lizbet sleep in your room tonight.”
Jack inclined his head in acknowledgement, but his eyes were on his lost conquest, laughing and helping to refill her new man’s cup .
“Please don’t tell me a romp in an inn has finally made you sentimental?” Richard asked, following his brother’s gaze to where they rested on the girl.
Jack took his eyes from the girl and turned his cold blue stare on his brother. “I’ll make sure the guard is doubled,” was all he said as Richard, rising from the table, left him alone with Andrew.
Lizbet put down a large bowl of pottage on the table between Jack and Andrew and, placing out bowls, began to serve. She missed nothing and nudging him with an elbow asked, “and where’s your new lass tonight then?”
Jack, ignoring her comments, pulled his bowl towards him and dipped an exploratory spoon into the grey stew. Jack’s eyes met Andrew’s.
Andrew smiled. “It’s poor fair for a man,” he said.
“Woman, I’ve still got teeth. I’ve a mind to use them occasionally.” Jack, already in a bad mood, discarded the spoon in the bowl and pushed it away. The thin liquid slopped over the rim.
“It’s all they have. It’s not my fault. That lot over there bought all the meat there was to be had,” complained Lizbet as she moved to serve Andrew.
Andrew put his hand over the top of the bowl to stop her.
“Not you as well,” Lizbet grumbled, dropping the serving spoon loudly back into the pot.
“Didn’t you spot some pheasant as we rode into the village?” Andrew said to Jack.
“I did,” Jack said, nodding in agreement.
“Well then?” Andrew said, and leaning forward he grinned conspiratorially. “Have you got a bow? ”
Jack hesitated then pushing the bowl away, he said, “Lizbet get a pot and I’ll get something to fill it with.” Jack stood suddenly and turned his blue sapphire gaze on Andrew. “Shall we?”
Andrew rose smoothly from his seat returning Jack’s smile.
†
Jack had a short hunting bow, made from yew and strung tightly with twisted gut. The six arrows he carried with it were steel tipped hazel shafts all fletched with goose feather. The arrowheads were of the bodkin type, narrow and pointed and designed to penetrate mail but also ideally suited for bringing down pheasant without obliterating the bird. And pheasant was the quarry Jack had in mind. He had seen a field next to the forest full of them as they approached the village. He knew that as dusk fell, the birds would appear in the field to feed on insects in the long grass. In that special hour before nightfall, Jack would be able to shoot enough to fill the bag Andrew was carrying.
Andrew accompanied him and, after the arrows had met their marks, he went to collect the lifeless birds. There were four in the bag and they took them back to the inn where Lizbet dutifully gutted them and had them cooked.
Their meal would have been less pleasurable had Jack known that his shooting exploits had already been reported as poaching and men had been dispatched to arrest him. Jack was about to find out that poaching laws were the same here as in England.
†
The door to the room opened with a slam, banging back round against the wall. Lizbet jumped.
“Hey Alex, there’s one in ’ere and there’s no one with her,” the man swaying in the doorway announced to his companion who appeared at his shoulder.
“Well she’s got someone with her now,” Alex said, pushing his way into the room.
Lizbet was on her feet in an instant.
“You bloody well get out. This isn’t a brothel. Get out,” Lizbet shouted.
“Come on, lass,” Alex said. “You’ve no one with you. Col an’ me have coin.”
“Get out, now.” Lizbet was wearing a shift with a shawl tight around her shoulders and she pulled it tighter as they moved across the room towards her.
“Don’t you go complaining. We’ll not keep you long,” Alex announced. Grabbing an end of the shawl, he yanked it from her shoulders, leaving her standing before him in her linen shift.
Alex leered at her. “Come on, get the rest off. Let’s take a look at what I’m paying for.”
Alex had his hand on the front of her shift trying to pull it from her. Lizbet, both hands on his chest, was trying to keep him away from her, and heard the stitching complaining as he continued to try and pull the material from her body .
“Col, give us a hand here,” Alex called to his companion.
Lizbet shrieked and her nails left a parallel set of scrapes across Col’s face as he attempted to lift her shift up and over her head.
“You bitch!” The back of Col’s hand connected with Lizbet’s face and she was sent flying across the room, fetching up painfully against the bed frame.
“Aye, lass, get your backside on that bed,” Col growled. He took hold of her, pushing her down onto the bed, his body on top of her. Lizbet dug her heels in the bed and tried to push away, but a painful hold on one arm and another hand around her throat prevented her escape. The pressure on her neck increased. Then panicking, she realised her vision was dimming and she was about to black out. Lizbet tried to scream, but the noise wouldn’t pass the hold around her throat. She’d been here before and knew that if she fought on, it was just going to make it worse. She stopped struggling.
“That’s right, you just bloody lie still.” Lizbet heard his words in her ears and then his laughter. They were drunk. They probably wouldn’t take long.
Lizbet cursed Jack. Where the hell was he?
Col was too preoccupied with his own feral grunting to hear the noise behind him of Alex being neatly felled and landing face down on the floor. His attention rapidly changed focus when the blade of a lethally sharp poniard was stabbed into his exposed straining backside. Col screamed, convulsed and rolled off the bed .
Lizbet, flat on her back, shift around her waist and found herself staring up at Richard. Col was rolling on the floor cursing loudly. A boot heel to the back of the head silenced him.
Richard extended a hand that she took, and pulled her up from the bed; he looked less than impressed.
“Sorry!” Lizbet wailed.
“Come on, you can’t stop in here. The bloody door is off its hinges.” He pulled her after him.
Lizbet grabbed her shawl from where Alex had thrown it and, barefooted, followed Richard out of the room to the one he was occupying opposite.
Lizbet pulled him to a halt. “I can’t just leave them two in there. Jack’s belongings are in there. They’ll bloody wake up and take the lot.”
“I would say that might serve him right,” Richard replied, and then relented. “Get them, and bring them in here.” Richard opened his own room door and left it ajar.
Two minutes later Lizbet returned, her arms full, and dropped everything on the floor. Setting the latch back, she secured the door.
Lizbet sniffed loudly, and looked round. The fire wasn’t lit, but the room was still pleasantly warm. Grabbing Jack’s cloak, she made to settle herself down near it. She had barely had time to lay herself down when the door to Richard’s room crashed open, the latch popping from the frame as the big man pushed hard on the door.
Dan was speaking before he was in the room.
“They’ve taken Jack. We couldn’t stop them,” Dan blurted .
“Who? Where’ve they taken him?”
“He was poaching pheasants, by all accounts,” Dan said.
Lizbet was on her feet in a moment. Dan’s eyes widened at the sight of her.
“Pheasants? I plucked them for him.”
“Where did he get them?” Richard demanded, already sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his boots on.
“I didn’t ask.” Lizbet was biting her lip.
“When Jack brought the pheasants back, had he been hunting alone?”
“No,” said Lizbet. “It was Andrew who was with him. Andrew goaded him into going in the first place.”
“Andrew’s more sense than to do that. Jack though, would lead a saint astray. For God’s sake! It’s like being in charge of a nursery!” Richard said though clenched teeth.
Everyone suffered that night and wished fervently they were elsewhere. Dan was dispatched quickly back to the camp and the men flung on jackets, saddled unwilling horses and rode with Richard to retrieve his brother.
The castle at Bertradaburg had as its overlord, or Freiherr, Henlyn Gelfrat, an imperial knight owing fealty as part of the Holy Roman Empire directly to Charles V. The legal system was fragmented and the Empire did not have the court system that England possessed. Cases were decided in the adhoc courts set up by Gelfrat and justice was dispensed as he saw fit. The main market was set for the first Saturday in the month, and Gelfrat and his advisors would hear cases brought before them, similar in many ways to the assize courts in England. However, justice was dispensed a sight quicker and those found guilty of serious offences would find themselves treading the boards to the gallows before noon.
It was to Bertradaburg to seek a meeting with Henlyn Gelfrat that Richard rode in stony silence with his men equally quiet behind him.
Two hours later, Marc saw the Master ride back into the yard and dismount. Pierre hurried forward and caught the reins that were thrown at him. Richard strode off into the inn leaving them staring at his retreating back.
“Well?” was all Dan said, staring up at Jack where he still sat on his horse.
“Well, what?” Jack spat back as he dropped from the saddle with a murderous look on his face. Turning his back on them, he led his horse from the yard.
Lizbet jumped so hard when the door was banged with a fist on the outside she pricked herself with the needle she was using. Dropping the sewing, she hastily made her way across the room and lifted the latch.
Richard pushed past, ignoring her.
Lizbet swallowed hard. As quietly as she could, she pressed the door shut and lowered the latch back into place. There were two loud bangs as Richard threw his boots at the wall before sitting back on the bed, knees raised, hands over his face.
Lizbet, still standing, froze. Well acquainted with his temper, she had no intention of being on the receiving end of it again. Barefoot still, she stepped carefully, praying the boards beneath her feet stayed silent. She nearly made it back to the corner where she had been sewing and where Jack’s cloak lay spread on the floor.
“Do you know how much I have just had to pay for four bloody pheasants?”
Lizbet froze, the voice was taught with anger.
“I’m sorry, Master.” Lizbet’s words were quietly spoken.
Richard breathed in noisily, a hand still covering his face.
Lizbet swallowed hard, caught like a rabbit in the open between the door and the corner of the room where she’d set herself to sleep. The door was the more desirable option, but noisier so Lizbet crept instead towards the corner.
“You are wise enough to know he’d not bought them. Next time tell me,” Richard said, then when she did not reply, he lifted his hand from his face, and raised his head, grey eyes holding hers in an unblinking stare.
“Yes, Master, I will. I’m sorry,” Lizbet said on a quiet breath. With relief she watched as he dropped his head back to the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“You know what Cicero said about fools?” Richard said sadly, the anger gone from his voice.
Lizbet shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.
“It is the quality of a fool to perceive the faults of others and forget his own,” Richard supplied when she didn’t answer him. “I’m angry at myself. I’m Cicero’s fool.”
The following day, Scranton wore a triumphant smile. Jack’s exploits the night before and his extraction by his brother had confirmed Scranton’s opinions of Richard’s bastard sibling. Rising early and preparing for a day with Andrew overseeing the building of a powder store, he found Richard already awake and sitting alone in the inn. The whore was predictably there as well, serving the Master. Scranton scowled at her as he seated himself opposite Richard and she returned his look in equal measure.
After some minutes he said, “I hear you had a troubled night?”
“Master Scranton,” Richard raised his eyes from where they had been regarding the table before him and looked at Scranton coldly, “my brother’s shortcomings are my business, I would thank you for remembering that.” Scranton paled, Richard continued. “I would also add that, if we encounter trouble on this route, the safest place for you to be would be behind my brother. You might want to remember that.”
Lizbet, still close enough behind Scranton to hear every word, had to bite her lip to stifle a laugh.