‘Who tolls that bell?’ Fitzgerald yelled, then repeated in a higher register, ‘Who tolls that bell?! I ordered it never to peal.’ He peered over the cart horse’s back and shouted to the rider approaching at a faster pace. ‘You there – stop that damned bell!’
The rider ignored him.
‘Damn you,’ Fitzgerald screamed, ‘do you not hear me? Do as I order, still that bell.’
Gabriel swept his hat from his head and grinned. ‘I hear you, but I like its sound.’
Everyone moved and all at once. Events merged, actions were taken simultaneously, each step part of a whole in a frenzy of motion, a blur of concerted effort to escape, to attack.
The bell tolling…
Drummond and Masilda erupting from Ralph’s home. Drummond, without hesitation, firing his pistol at a Fitzgerald man running towards him, missing his mark but swinging a cudgel in his left hand at the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling…
Lester moving, his pistol in his hand, deciding Gabriel posed the greater threat, aiming, spinning away when a musket ball buried itself in his shoulder…
Masilda dropping her musket, reaching behind her to produce two knives…
A roar rising, villagers bursting from their homes, carrying whatever weapons they could lay their hands on…
Fitzgerald stunned, shouting, ‘Get back to your homes! Cease this now! I order you…’
The bell tolling…
Everyone moving…
Firearms popping, blades unsheathing, villagers hauling black riders from saddles, beating them with clubs, brooms, iron pots, even chairs…
Fitzgerald’s screaming grew shrill. ‘Stop this now! I am your lord…’
The bell tolling…
…and all at once…
Flynt slamming his shoulder forcefully against Henry, sending him flying from the cart to land heavily on his back…
Moncrieff dragging Will to the ground, covering him with his body…
Flynt jumping from the cart, swinging his boot into Henry’s face, repeating the action when the man seemed to come at him, rendering him insensate…
Gabriel whirling to face a rider heading his way, firing, dropping him from the saddle…
The bell tolling…
Everyone moving…
Lester raising himself to his feet, his right arm dangling uselessly but another pistol already in his left…
Gabriel tackling another black rider, ducking under a sword swing and firing his second pistol…
Lester focusing on Flynt, drawing a bead, his eyes hard behind his spectacles…
Flynt, his hands still bound, ducking behind the cart as the ball buried itself in the wood…
The bell tolling…
…and all at once…
Lester searching the ground for the pistol that had fallen when he was wounded. Finding it. Stepping towards it…
Flynt lunging from behind the cart, head down, throwing his shoulder into him, pitching him backwards but also losing his own footing, landing on his knees, his arms still pinioned, the pistol a few feet away from them both…
The bell tolling…
Everyone…
Fitzgerald still foaming, men and women screaming and yelling…
…moving…
Masilda calling out to her son while running across the green towards Moncrieff, still shielding him…
…all at…
Samson surging ahead, all four paws leaving the ground to leap at a black-clad man trying to intercept Masilda, his teeth clamping around his wrist, the man wrenching his arm away and running off…
…once…
The riders in disarray, having no expertise in quelling such a rebellion, and their leader, still screaming for a halt to the rising, of little use. There were few of them still standing, the others lying immobile or groaning on the earth or fleeing. Fitzgerald swearing with considerable fluency, taking to his heels…
Moncrieff seeing him go, shooting to his feet, barely glancing around him as he took off in pursuit…
Lester springing to his feet, the bullet wound hardly bothering him as he lunged forward to snatch up the pistol. Flynt could do nothing to stop him…
‘Don’t do it…’
Gabriel standing on the far side of the cart, his arm steadied on its sides, a pistol held in a steady hand…
The bell ceased tolling.
Lester had frozen, his hand only inches away from the butt of his weapon, his eyes fixed on Flynt. ‘You are not my target, Cain.’
‘If you come for one, you come for both. Such is friendship but then, you never had a friend in your life, did you?’
The man remained hunched, his eyes narrowed behind his spectacles as he made a swift calculation. ‘You expelled both pistols,’ he said.
‘I relieved one of Fitzgerald’s men of his.’
‘I didn’t see that.’
‘Not my concern.’ Gabriel spoke as if they were having coffee at Nando’s.
Lester’s hand still stretched to the pistol. ‘I thought you had given up the way of the sword for hire.’
‘I had.’
On hearing this, Flynt glanced towards his friend, whose focus was intent upon the man standing so still with his hand hovering inches from the pistol butt, his expression colder than he had ever seen. Masilda watched as she squatted on her knees, holding her son close, one hand stroking his hair, his face, Samson circling them, ready to spring to their defence. The gunfire and angry cries had subsided and although activity around them remained, this conversation between two men seemed to be the only sound.
‘Submit, Lester, and you can walk away,’ Gabriel offered. ‘You have my word.’
‘You know the rules, Cain,’ Lester said.
Gabriel’s reply was businesslike. ‘I do.’
‘You know once a commission is accepted then it must be pursued to its conclusion.’
‘Yes.’
‘And even if I walk away this day, I will, must, return on another to complete the transaction.’
‘I know that, too.’
‘Then all you do is delay the inevitable.’
Gabriel did not respond at first. Then…
‘Not if I kill you.’
‘I believe that to be a pretence. Your pistol is empty.’
‘There is only one way to find out.’
Lester thought about it, his eyes darting towards Gabriel. ‘Your proposal is hardly sporting.’
‘Killing is not a sport,’ said Gabriel. ‘It’s sometimes a necessity, but it should never be a pleasurable pursuit.’
‘I agree. But you would at least grant me leave of a fair opportunity of defence?’
‘If I truly do practise some form of subterfuge, if this pistol be in fact empty, then you have more than a fair chance.’
There was some humour in Lester’s smile. ‘That’s true.’ His eye flicked to where Flynt still knelt, then to the pistol so near to his fingers. A split second would be all it would take for him to snatch it up. ‘I did what I could to keep you away from this, Gabriel, to separate you from this man. It was not my wish to have you involved.’
‘Yet involved I am, and…’
That was when Lester moved, his fingers wrapping themselves around the pistol and raising it in a move so quick, so precise, so fluid that Flynt barely saw it.
But Gabriel did. And he was quicker.
Lester didn’t fall when Gabriel’s ball took him. He straightened, swayed for a moment, the barrel continuing to lift, his mouth a tight line with the effort. Gabriel ran around the cart, his pistol wielded like a club. Lester, his eyes burning with an intensity Flynt had never before seen in a man, saw him move but did not amend his aim. The weapon settled on Flynt and there was nothing to be done, he was determined to fulfil his contract.
Then he coughed and his head drooped to his chest, where blood seeped through his waistcoat, like red wine spilled on a table covering. He blinked as if surprised, staggered back a few unsteady paces, his mouth opening but no words leaving his lips, just blood, dark blood, viscous blood, that streamed down his chin. His legs buckled and he fell first to his knees, his pistol arm now dangling at his side but still maintaining hold of the weapon as if it were somehow adhered to his hand. He tried to speak again but managed only a strangled croak before he pitched forward face first onto the ground.
Gabriel kicked the pistol away and stared down at the man for a moment as if saying a silent prayer.
Flynt gave him that moment even though he was aware the struggle was not yet over. Finally, he said softly, ‘I need you to free me, Gabriel.’
With a final look at Lester, Gabriel said, ‘Where is my knife?’
Flynt jerked his head towards Henry, lying unconscious behind him. ‘In his pocket.’
Gabriel found the blade and sliced the bonds at Flynt’s wrists.
‘You were late,’ Flynt said.
‘I took a moment to enjoy the show.’ He cut through the last bond. ‘That’s the second time I’ve had to do this. I think you must enjoy it.’
Flynt retrieved Tact and Diplomacy as well as his other goods from the unconscious Henry’s pockets. ‘Which way did Fitzgerald go?’
‘Heading home, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Gabriel. ‘Your friend Moncrieff too.’
‘Remain here, help the villagers control what’s left of Fitzgerald’s men,’ Flynt said as he thrust Tact and Diplomacy into his belt and began to stride towards Horse, pausing to ensure Masilda and the boy were unharmed.
‘Kill him, Jonas,’ she said. ‘He does not deserve to live.’
Flynt didn’t reply as he surveyed wounded and the dead laying upon the green, villagers lying among the riders. There had already been a considerable amount of blood spilled on this land. A little more wouldn’t make any difference.
‘You don’t want me to come?’ Gabriel shouted after him. ‘They are two to your one.’
‘This part of the fight is mine alone,’ Flynt said over his shoulder. ‘Anyway, the bastard still has my cane…’