part0020

The mood was sombre. Word, it seemed, had travelled swiftly amongst them that one of the marked flintlocks had been used in error. Andrew had asked each of them searching questions about whether they’d had access to those guns. With Lizbet absent, none of them wanted to play cards and they were a drunken and melancholy group that evening, especially Jack who had drunk far more than was usual and wanted no company, despite Andrew’s best efforts to get him to join the others.

Work was rapidly completed the following day on the second carriage for the bombarde. Pierre, when questioned by Richard, had admitted that the wood he had used had simply not been thick enough to take the force of the explosion from the barrel. It was, he had pleaded, not his fault. Building gun carriages was not something he had ever done before and he had adhered to Master Scranton’s plan. The Master had accepted his apology and Pierre had set to making a second on a much larger scale, the wood supports on this one being four times as thick. Also, Pierre’s design included far fewer joints so there were a vastly reduced number of weak points in the whole structure.

A day later the mood lightened a little. Lizbet was up and, although pale as fresh linen, she had accepted their kind comments with a smile and not one of them pressed her with tasks. She was again seated on the grass, perhaps this time a little further back from the bombarde, with Kells at her side, watching Scranton reload the cannon.

This time there was no debate about who would light the fuse, and Froggy, a smoking taper in his hand, stepped forward and pressed the hot end to the fuse. As before, the bombarde exploded almost immediately, however, this time, when the cloud of smoke dispersed, the barrel was still firmly in place on Pierre’s re-crafted wooden mount.

Pierre’s relief was palpable. “Thank the Lord for that!” He advanced towards the smoking gun intent on seeing if any of the joints had suffered on the framework.

Even Master Scranton looked relieved. “A good result. Now we can test it with shot,” he announced, turning to regard Richard with a smile.

The bombarde was cleared, and, under Scranton’s supervision, it was reloaded and this time on top of the packed powder was a stone shot.

Scranton talked all the time. “Please, Master Fitzwarren, come closer. I wish you to see how this is packed so you know that the same process will be used with the second type of shot I have developed.”

Richard moved closer, and Scranton, without even asking, grasped Froggy’s arm and used it as a support to lower himself down onto his creaking knees. “This is a conventional sized charge. The shot we have here are the same size.” Scranton indicated the two stone balls waiting to be loaded next to the cannon. Richard nodded, and Scranton continued. “I wish you to see that I am going to prepare both charges in exactly the same way, the only difference between them will be the type of shot used.”

Scranton finished and waved his right arm in the air. Froggy, his face set in a grim expression, obliged and lifted the little man neatly back up.

“Right, that is all set.” Scranton backed away several paces as did Richard, and Froggy moved forward and lit the charge in the barrel.

The explosion this time was of a different order. This time the charge was not just igniting, it was also propelling the shot from the barrel and the ground around them shook with the force of it. Froggy jumped and Kells howled.

Scranton was talking before the smoke had cleared. “Go on, find it,” he commanded.

It didn’t take long. Both of the shot balls had been treated to a coat of limewash to whiten them and make them easier to find. It was Dan, shouting from the field, who signalled that he had located the first cannon ball laid in its own small crater in the field. The spot was marked and Scranton, watched closely by Richard, prepared the bombarde again.

“This is the type of black powder we will use this time.” Opening a cloth bag, he showed the black pellets to Richard.

“Looks like rabbit shit to me,” Jack, standing and looking over Richard’s shoulder, observed unhelpfully.

The two kneeling men ignored him.

“I am using two thirds of the quantity I used last time. Do you agree?” Scranton asked .

“I agree. Yes, there is less,” Richard affirmed.

“Good, now watch,” Scranton instructed, completing the loading process.

Froggy hauled Scranton back to his feet and again advanced with the taper to fire the bombarde.

It was Dan again who found the second shot, and he was standing a good thirty paces further away than where a stick pushed into the earth marked the spot where the first stone ball landed.

Richard’s eyebrows rose. He advanced and flung an arm around the little man’s shoulders. “It seems, Master Scranton, that you need to come and tell me all about this. I am wholly convinced.”

Jack, looking at Scranton, thought bitterly that he had never seen the little weasel look happier than at that moment.

“Come on, hand it over, boys.” Mat’s mouth behind his scraggy beard had split into a wide, satisfied grin as he cast his eyes over his companions. He did not realise the error of his words until his eyes met those of the Master, who was not smiling at all.

Lizbet, who missed very little, saw the brief exchange and winced. This was a bet Mat was going to regret placing.

Richard did not reply, but the look on his face told the other he knew what he said was true .

“He was fairly warned last week. Men like Mat will sin again and again if it goes unchecked,” Andrew pressed.

“I know,” Richard accepted. “I live in simple hope that my words will be listened to.”

“And after what Jack did, Mat had plenty of reasons to expect to avoid punishment for his actions,” Andrew added.

Richard’s eyes narrowed. He had never entertained the thought of publicly punishing Jack for poaching.

“You should let me do it. You are his brother. His discipline you can delegate. The men would accept that, and so would he,” Andrew suggested. “William Marshall said it is never a kindness to defer discipline, and he was right.”

“Was he ever wrong?” Richard replied drily, and, picking up a whip, set his feet toward the yard where all the men were assembled waiting for him.

Lizbet was pushed inside so she missed the first part of the tongue lashing Mat received. However after hurtling up the stairs followed by an excited Kells and running into the Master’s room, she had a good view of the proceedings taking place in the yard. There was no need to worry about the Master finding her there as he was currently in the yard, sitting on the edge of the back of the cart, legs swinging in the air, while a very penitent Mat knelt on the ground before him wearing shirt and hose only.

The rest of the men, silent and watchful, were arranged around the yard. Lizbet knew it had all gone too far now for Mat to be able to leave without a beating, that was for sure. The Master had promised punishment if his rules were flouted and Mat, a habitual gambler, had crossed the line once too often by betting on the Master’s endeavours. She had little sympathy for him either. Froggy had told him the Master gave him fair warning a week ago when he had placed bets on the outcome of a training bout between Andrew and Jack. Froggy was of the opinion the Master had been too lenient at the time.

As she watched, the verbal punishment ended, and Mat stood and shrugged his shirt off over his head, laying it on the top of a barrel in the yard before kneeling once again.

The whip cracked, Kells’ ears pricked up and he pushed his head past his Mistress. Lizbet, a firm hand holding him by the scruff of his neck, stopped him from jumping up at the window. A second lash. Lizbet, standing to one side of the window, saw the livid red line appear across Mat’s back. Mat, kneeling, took the lash, his body jerking to the pain of it, but he remained kneeling, waiting for the next.

Lizbet grimaced when the leather impacted on flesh for a third and then a fourth time. The whip spoke one more time. Mat lost his balance and found himself falling forward and, holding himself up on shaking arms, he vomited between his hands, saliva and bile running in sticky tendrils from his beard.

Richard, without a backward glance, threw the whip in the cart bed, turned his back on the assembled men and, without another word, left .

Lizbet, loosening her hold on Kells, let out a long breath. At least it was over. Already turning to leave, aware that the Master might return to his room, she stopped when she heard Andrew’s command from below.

“Hold him still, lads!”

Hands on the window frame she stared down into the yard. What was happening?

Jack, his shirt ripped to his waist, was on his knees and Thomas and Froggy had hold of an arm each, pinning him there. From the angle she could not see Jack’s face.

“The lads are going to let go, and I expect you to take this like a man, like Mat did.” Andrew’s voice sounded like it belonged in a pulpit.

Lizbet couldn’t hear what Jack said, but a moment later both Froggy and Thomas released his arms and head bowed, he knelt in the yard as Mat had done and waited for the lash.

Andrew wasted no time, and the strokes, hard and deliberate, were laid on at a pace Richard had not used. Jack had no time to recover from one stroke before the whip was reversed and laid on his back again. Lizbet had her fist in her mouth. She counted seven strokes, then an eighth was delivered and Jack fell forwards and lay sprawled on his front in the yard. The lash had broken the skin on one of the strokes and blood ran from his back.

Another stroke was delivered.

“Enough!” she screamed from the open window. Lizbet, eyes blazing, turned to run from the room and cannoned into Richard coming through the door.

If he was going to ask her what she was doing, she did not stop to give him the opportunity. Pushing past him, one hand on Kells’ collar, and dragging the dog with her, she took the stairs two at a time and ran for the yard.

“Stop!” Lizbet screamed, “Stop now!”

Andrew turned, the whip coiled in his hand, his face set and hard. “I do not like what I have had to do. I am pained as much as Jack is, but the Master will have discipline.” Then casting his eyes over the rest of the men. “Do you hear me? The Master will not tolerate breaches of the rules, not even from his own flesh and blood. So let this be a lesson, and heed it well,” Andrew pronounced, and then to Marc and Pierre, “Get him inside and get his woman to see to him.”

Richard, shaking hands on the window frame, heard the final pronouncement from the yard below and closed his eyes against the scene.

“I am lying still. If the devil himself was in the room now I couldn’t move to get away,” Jack mumbled, his face in the pillow.

Jack had been rolled onto his back when Froggy and Pierre had tried to help get him from the yard and back inside, and there was mud, and worse, stuck to the blood on his back .

“Jesus!” Jack groaned. He pushed himself up on his right elbow, grasped the cup from the table near the bed and emptied it for the third time. “Fill it again.” The empty cup rattled noisily back on the wood.

Lizbet had a flask and, unstoppering it, refilled the cup with aqua vitae. Jack emptied it straight away and, the flask still in her hand, she refilled it.

“Just be careful you don’t make yourself sick,” Lizbet warned.

Jack emptied it again and dropped back flat on the bed.

Lizbet shook the flask. He’d had most of it. She refilled the cup for him and resolved to wait a while before she started to clean his back again until the aqua vitae took a proper hold.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to judge whether he was asleep or awake when the door opened, and Richard, unannounced, stood in the room.

Lizbet was on her feet between them in a moment, a cloth stained red held out in front of her. “You’ll not come near him, you hear!”

“Get out!” Jack’s words were still clearly spoken despite the ministrations of the alcohol.

Richard looked between them for a moment, then, turning on his heel, he left, slamming the door in the frame behind him.

Andrew’s eyes were wide. “God forgive me! I misunderstood. I thought you meant for me to take his punishment upon myself. I hated it, but I did it. Jack’s a good man and I will seek his forgiveness.”

“I didn’t say punish him, did I?” Richard’s voice was incredulous.

Andrew laid his hand on Richard’s arm. “You told me you agreed with William Marshall’s words. I thought you had meant to discipline him.” Then when Richard looked at him blankly. “Poaching those birds could have brought your venture to an end. He needs to recognise that and accept his punishment.”

Richard was shaking his head. “I didn’t say …”

Andrew’s grip on his arm tightened. “It’s done. The men will respect you for it. Jack will as well, in time. Marshall told us the lessons we learn painfully are the most important.”