part0021

They did not see Jack for a day. And, when he returned, he was pale and wore only a loose shirt. Only one of the track marks had broken the skin, the others had just left flat sore brands across his back. When Lizbet cleaned away the blood and dirt, the damage, although painful, was not as bad as she first feared. The real damage though was to Jack’s relationship with his brother; that he had suffered such a brutal and public humiliation from Richard, even if the delivery had been made indirectly, was tearing at his soul. Jack’s mood was dark, and his temper sore.

“I told the Master I would seek your forgiveness for what he made me do, and I hope I shall, in time, gain it.” Andrew delivered the words seriously, dropping to his knees before Jack, his head bowed. “I humble myself before you, and any penance you see fitting I shall accept. ”

Mat heard it before he saw it. The sound was like thunder and his eyes moved automatically to look at the clouds above him. That though, was not where the sound had come from. As he lowered his gaze back to the lane before him, he saw what was making the booming drumming sound. The cart, untethered from the horses and still laden with the wood cut for building a new firing range, was heading down the narrow lane towards him. The cartwheels fast in the ruts kept it on a downward track and the steep banks at either side left Mat little room for escape.

He threw himself to one side and hoped the cart would pass him, but as it did the rut nearest him deepened, the cart dipped towards him, and the side struck him squarely on the temple, felling him instantly.

The cart continued to rumble on until the road levelled out and, losing momentum, it rolled to a halt as the lane began to rise again.

Mat’s eyes looked towards the voice, unfocused, his lips parted. Richard, his head close to Mat’s ears, spoke softly, the words he said too quiet to be heard by the men behind him. A ringed hand swept gently across Mat’s face and closed his unseeing eyes, whose final sight had been the clouds racing across the sky above.

The first noise was the skittering of pebbles and the sound of boots on the road as Andrew came running down the hill to fetch up next to Marc and Pierre who stood holding their horses.

Andrew looked around the group, and took charge. “Pierre, take the Master’s horse back to the inn and fetch the rest of the men, then get the cart and put Mat on it. Now go.”

Andrew spoke quietly. “It was an accident. Let me see to him, Master.” When he didn’t get an answer, Andrew laid a gentle hand on Richard’s shoulder. If he was shocked by the reaction it provoked, it did not show on Andrew’s face.

Richard pulled from the touch as if burnt and was on his feet facing Andrew. Turning, Richard set off to walk back up the hill, leaving Andrew alone with Mat’s cooling body.

“I do not want company.” Richard’s words were quiet, and upon hearing them, Dan nodded and, heeded the warning, leaving the Master alone at the table.

Lizbet, followed by the Alaunt, moved through the tables and brought a fresh flask and a cup and put them down silently before him. Pulling the stopper from the earthenware flask, she filled the cup and set it near to where his hand rested on the table. Richard didn’t look up, his fingers stretched for it and took it into his keeping. A moment later it was once more on the table, empty. Lizbet filled it again, slowly.

A cat, the inn mouser and chief rat catcher, chose that moment to stroll into the room, proprietary, tail high and eyes observant. The Alaunt saw the cat first. Tail windmilling, paws spread, it barked at its feline foe, hackles raised and running the length of the black fury body.

Lizbet, two hands on Kells’ collar, swearing under her breath, dragged the excited and barking dog from the room. Moments later, Richard and the flask of aqua vitae had also disappeared.

Froggy sought out Dan’s company, finding him in the stables, a cloth in one hand, grease in the other, cleaning his mare’s saddle. The big man was quiet. Deep lines furrowing his brow, he acknowledged Froggy who hitched himself up on the end of a saddle rack.

Dan met his eyes. “I know. It’s no way to behave on the day of a man’s death. I’ve known Mat a lot of years and a bit of respect is what’s needed.”

In the inn, primarily fuelled by Thomas and Scranton, a heated and drunken debate was in progress about how the wagon had ended up rolling down the hill towards Mat. They might not be naming the Master as being wholly to blame for Mat’s death but that was the unspoken conclusion. Scranton and Thomas were raking the facts over and over until Froggy had felt his temper rise and he’d left.

“Is he? Why’s that then?” The tone in Dan’s voice told that he was not overly concerned with Andrew’s suffering.

“He feels he is to blame. He’d tried to fix the brake. If he’d done a better job of it then the accident might not have happened,” Froggy supplied, leaning his chin on folded arms and regarding Dan from under his bushy eyebrows.

Dan was the Master’s man, and Froggy knew he would never hear a word said against him. The tone in his voice told Froggy that he considered the line of conversation closed.

Lizbet’s hands were clamped over her mouth. The scream she had made had Froggy running across the yard in a moment. Lizbet, seeing him, flung herself against him and Froggy closed his arms around her.

Froggy pushed her behind him, and with a knife in his hand, advanced on the wood pile. What he found on the other side though needed no knife. Lizbet’s Alaunt, Kells, lay in a pool of congealed blood, its throat sliced through. Froggy turned back and folded his arms around the crying girl and led her from the yard.

Jack knelt down and looked into the glassy eyes of the hound. He slid his hands across the dog’s body, cold, but still soft, and underneath, between the dog and the ground, he could still feel the last of the dog’s warmth. He’d not been dead long then, less than half an hour at the most.

Picking the Alaunt up, Jack carried him the short distance and lay his body in the folds of green bracken near the edge of the wood. The carrion would have him now, and he’d be gone in a few days. He felt little for the dog, but for Lizbet, at that moment he would have killed anyone.

“Lass, come here.” Jack put his arms around her and pulled her into a quiet, silent embrace. Lizbet felt numb. Her head against his chest, she wrapped her arms around him and wept.

Jack finally found his brother sitting alone in the churchyard, his back to a stone marking the final resting place of a long dead member of the village. Jack dropped to sit opposite him, his legs crossed on the grass. It was the first time they had spoken since Andrew had applied the lash to him in the yard.

Jack expected Richard to say something when he found him, and when he didn’t, he said bluntly, “You do know they all think you killed the dog?”

Richard, with his knees drawn up, forearms resting on them, looked at Jack levelly. “I didn’t kill the dog.”

Jack cut him off. “I don’t care what you meant, ’tis done. I have learnt my lesson well, make no mistake about that.”

Richard dropped his head back to his knees; there was little he could say to appease his brother’s anger with him. Anything he could say would sound like nothing but a poor excuse, and it was too late. Jack had suffered the humiliation in front of the men. They knew now just how much esteem he held his brother in and there was nothing, nothing at all he could do about that.

“It was the break on the cart that was at fault. Why didn’t you listen to Andrew? If you’d bloody well had it fixed, this wouldn’t have happened.” Jack wanted his brother to very much know where the blame for Mat’s death lay.

Jack saw the pain in his brother’s eyes and ignored it. “Andrew said it kept coming loose. He’s taking it badly as well. He’s blaming himself for not having checked it again, or for having fixed it badly last time.”

“Good, it’s not right for him to have to shoulder the responsibility for this. He’s a good man, and bless him, God fearing.” Jack stood smoothly and looked down at his brother. He suppressed the urge to extend an arm to pull his brother to his feet – those days were gone. Instead he said, “Come on, you need to face the men, and Andrew. ”

“I wasn’t going to. Then Andrew was about to set himself to look for you. He feels Mat’s death is his own doing and I’d not let you accept that from him. The fault was yours. That you don’t have Pierre’s and Lizbet’s blood on your hands as well from that gun that exploded is only by sheer luck,” Jack said bitterly.

Richard looked up at him from where he still sat on the ground. “And, of course, my own treatment of you has not helped my case either, has it?”

Jack took in a deep breath. “Next time you want to teach me a lesson, use your own hands and not those of another. What you did was bad enough, but to mire Andrew in it was shameful.”

Mat was buried with little ceremony in the churchyard. Richard paid for the service and the church dues and the internment was quickly and efficiently performed. It was summer, the temperatures hot, and everyone was aware that Mat would be better under the soil as soon as possible.

By the end of the funeral service, they wanted little more than to move to the inn and remember Mat in words that were not mumbled in Latin and punctuated with the heady smell of incense.

As they emerged into the light from the church, Andrew turned to Richard, a hand on his arm, and said, “Let me say a word, if I may?”

“Lads, the Master has provided coin for food and ale, and it would be a credit to a good man’s memory to spend an afternoon in remembrance of Mat. Let’s give him a proper send off, and remember him as he would wish to be remembered.”

There was a general nodding of heads, and Andrew, throwing an arm around Marc and Froggy’s shoulders, announced, “Then we shall lead the way, and Mat, should his soul still tarry, will be heartened by our thoughts and words of him this day.” With that, he headed the march that led them all from the church back to the inn.

The long tables had been pulled together and food and ale had been laid along the length for them when they returned to the inn. They all took seats apart from Richard who seated himself apart from the rest. He knew this day they would want to talk of Mat, of what had happened, and if he sat at the table with them, he would stilt their conversation.

Richard was seated far enough away from him that Thomas knew he could not hear their words. “It could have been avoided. The man shouldn’t have died,” Thomas stated bluntly.

Thomas interrupted. “I accept that, but this was not a death brought about on the battlefield, was it? This was brought about by carelessness. You warned him often enough about the wagon brake. If he had heeded your words, then Mat would still be alive.”

“Now Thomas, that’s a rash statement and we cannot know for sure. I’m sure the Master did check it, and I wish I had done a better job of the repair.” Andrew’s voice was full of pain.

“He’s a temper on him and there was no need to take it out on the lass’s dog either.” Thomas was adamant that every one of them should see where the blame squarely fell.

Marc and Pierre remained silent, but exchanged uneasy looks. Jack had said little, but they noticed he did not move to defend his brother; intent only on emptying the cup before him and then the jug as quickly and methodically as possible. The mood was sombre and expectant. Something was about to happen.

Lizbet, sitting next to Froggy, saw the flask one of the tavern girls placed in front of Richard. It wasn’t full of ale, and she knew no good would come of him drinking it either. Making a quick decision, she took one of the ale jugs from their table and took it to him.

Lizbet’s eyes were reddened and sore; even she did not know who she’d shed the most tears for, Mat or Kells. When she put the ale jug on the table before him, she avoided his gaze.

She nodded and as he looked he saw her eyes fill up again, tears threatening to run down her cheeks. “I’ve never had anything someone didn’t try and take from me.” Pulling her hand from his, she made a quick move to take the flask containing the aqua vitae, but quicker than Lizbet he grabbed it, shaking his head at her. Lizbet, a look of resignation on her face, released her hold on it and returned to her place next to Froggy.

Richard sat immobile, elbows planted on the table, head resting in his hands. Jack, sitting next to Dan, watched him closely.

“My father…” Richard’s eyes looked at each of them in turn. “…would tup anything. However it is said that we should not be held to account for the sins of our fathers.”

Jack felt his stomach twist; he had not expected this. The men knew he was Richard’s bastard brother but no more. Was this going to be some sort of public apology? He bloody well hoped not .

“We are not in England, but the law there is well defined. If a man, or his family, acknowledges a bastard, then they can take their family name.”

The men glanced at Jack. They knew he was the Master’s bastard brother, so where was this going? Jack’s throat was tight; he didn’t know either.

“My father is not here, but I am. My name is Richard Fitzwarren, and it pleases me now to sit in the company of my sister.” Richard’s hand was outstretched towards Lizbet.

Jack’s eyes glanced blindly between the pair, and Lizbet, staring at the outstretched hand, realised she had no other choice but to place hers within its cool firm hold. As she did, a half smile played on his face, and leading her to the table, he sat her next to him. Lizbet, her face pale, sank onto the chair, her hands shaking in her lap. Richard resumed his seat and dropped his head back into his hands.

Lizbet sat, her back straight, her trembling hands held tight in her lap, and her gaze fastened on the table. She felt the eyes of all of the men on her and dared not turn and look at them.

Jack’s anger at his brother was fuelled now by drink and Mat’s death. Richard tried to push past him, but Jack caught him by the shoulders and pushed him hard against the wall of the corridor.

Jack’s words were quiet, and meant for his brother’s ears only. “Do you know what you have done?” With his hands still on Richard’s shoulders, Jack rammed him hard against the wall again. “Do you?”

Jack moved his face even closer to his brother’s. “Because of you I am a murderer. I have committed treason. Twice. I have been involved in burglary and traded in stolen goods. And now…” Jack took a deep breath. “…and now, not satisfied with humiliating me at Andrew’s hands, you have just added incest to the list.” Jack felt Richard’s shoulders shake beneath his hands, and realised he was laughing silently.

Jack’s hands dug into into his brother’s shoulders and pulled him forward before banging him back hard against the wood panelling.

“You should thank me. Just think how dull your life was before you met me. I’ll make sure you can add blasphemy and heresy to the list before we are done.” Richard, quicker than Jack and not quite as drunk as he had appeared, knocked his brother’s hands away, breaking the hold.

“She can be your Hera then, can’t she?” Richard said as he nimbly ducked under Jack’s arm, opened the door behind them in a smooth movement and slammed it, leaving Jack alone in the corridor.

“I’m not going,” Lizbet said for the third time.

“Yes you are.” Dan took her by the shoulders, turned her around and with a good push in the small of her back, sent her towards the stairs. Grumbling under her breath, Lizbet mounted the wooden stairs and made her way reluctantly to the Master’s room.

Lizbet had no idea what was going on. Richard’s drunken pronouncement had left them staring at her and she had refused to comment. If it was some kind of twisted drunken joke from the Master, it had not been a very funny one, leaving her shamefaced with her cheeks burning.

Reaching the door, Lizbet paused. She’d done this once before and ended up regretting it. She took a steadying deep breath and tapped firmly on the door. No reply. Lizbet tapped again.

Lizbet firmly pressed the door open and stepped inside. Quickly she scanned the room. The occupant was, it appeared, out cold, sitting at the table, arms outstretched across the wood, cheek against the cold surface, eyes closed. A cup lay on its side, the spilt aqua vitae still wet on the table, the smell stale and acrid.

Tentatively she lay the back of her hand on his cheek; he didn’t acknowledge her touch and the skin was cold. Pulling the counterpane from the bed, she draped it over the sleeping form and set to clearing the grate and setting a new fire. The kindling lit and the logs set to catch the flames. She rose, rubbing her hands down the front of her dress and turned.

Lizbet’s relief that he wasn’t about to lose his temper with her showed plainly on her face. “Come here.” She dragged a chair as close as she could get it to the fire and guided him into it. Dropping to her knees again, she set more wood to burn. “That’ll start to warm you soon enough.”

Richard had pulled the blanket tightly around himself, but still he continued to shake, and the hands holding tight onto the counterpane trembled. His bare feet were white with cold on the wood floor. Lizbet, still kneeling, reached out a hand and pressed it to one frozen foot.

“God love us, you do like to bloody suffer, don’t you?” she announced, standing, and then unnecessarily added, “Wait here, I’ll get something else to warm you through.”

She was back soon enough, with a warm brick from the bread oven on a tray, wrapped in sack cloth, and on the other end bread and ale.

Lizbet fussed about, and when she was satisfied the hot brick was securely wrapped, she put it under his feet. “There, now don’t fidget, if you do and your feet touch the brick, it’ll have the skin burnt off them in a moment.”

He placed his palms on the chair arms and slowly pushed himself from the chair, the counterpane slithering from his shoulders.

On the table sat an earthenware bowl full of musket balls. He took three and threw them in the air, effortlessly passing them through his hands. “A child’s trick, as you say.”

Richard took another lead ball and added it to those already in the air, and then another. Now five flew up in the air in front of his face. “And I’m not a child anymore, so more should be easy.” He fished out two more and now there were seven musket balls going round and around, his hands moving quicker to keep them in flight. Judging his moment, he added another two to the spinning circuit.

Lizbet held her breath as he took two more from the bowl, adding them to those already in the air. Now there were eleven, close and moving so fast. Lizbet couldn’t help herself and her hands involuntarily shot out to catch them. It was too many to keep going. The speed needed was not one a tired man would be able to keep up for much longer.

Suddenly he pulled his hands away, dropped back into the chair and the lead balls bounced off the table. Two landed on the edge of the earthenware bowl, breaking it in half, and the heavy round spheres, released, rolled across the table.

Lizbet swept the rolling lead into a trap between two books on the table and prevented their escape using the upturned broken bowl. Scooping up a handful that had fallen to the floor, she added them to the rest, her hands grey from the lead.

“I don't want you falling on them and making yourself even worse,” she said, rounding up the last one, still rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. Holding it out between them, she met his eyes and dropped it in with the rest. “Sometimes you are better fighting one thing at a time. I might look simple, but I did know what you were trying to say. It would have been a sight easier if you’d used words rather than breaking the pots.”

Lizbet picked another lead ball from the floor and standing again, let it roll around her palm. Her eyes on it, she asked, “Why did you say what you did? Did you feel so much that I was one of your burdens?”

“Sorry, Master.” Lizbet dropped the ball into the pile with the others, and rubbing her hands down her apron, she made to leave.

“Words spoken cannot be undone, nor do I wish them to be. The declaration I made will give you a future, a place, and I… we… owe you much.”

Lizbet’s temper finally snapped. Tears welled in her eyes. “Now what do I do? They are treating me like a bloody harridan.” She took hold of one of the musket balls and threw it at him. “I don’t want you to owe me anything, and we both know I’m not your sister.”

Richard swept the books from the desk, releasing the lead ammunition which rolled ponderously across the table until they fell to the floor with thunderous clatter.