D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

Ignoring Bart’s muttered protest, I agreed. ‘We don’t know how well armed they’ll be,’ I said.

The captain drew a flintlock handgun from his saddle holster. Having checked its mechanism, he dismounted. ‘Don’t worry about us, Master Treviot. My lads handle their swords well and we’re protected.’ He tapped his breastplate. ‘We’ll also have the advantage of surprise. My hope is we can round them all up inside the building. If any run out of the back they’ll find themselves caught between your men and mine. I’ll give you a few minutes to get your party in position. When you hear my trumpeter give one long blast on his instrument that will be the signal that we’re going in.’

We skirted the buildings at a distance of about a hundred yards. We found the track the guardsman had mentioned and took up position where it entered an overgrown orchard.

‘This undergrowth should stop anyone trying to escape us,’ I said.

We formed a line between the nearest trees on either side and stared at the wall of mist.

Walt said, ‘Anyone running from the house won’t see us before it’s too late.’

‘True,’ I replied. ‘Of course, we won’t see him either.’

He stamped his feet. ‘Let’s hope for some action. The damp’s getting into my bones.’

‘You’re really keen for a fight, aren’t you?’

‘After what these cowardly pigs have done I certainly am. Don’t you want to settle scores, Master Thomas?’

‘I suppose I’d rather leave the fighting to the experts,’ I said. ‘I don’t want any of you to get hurt.’

At that moment the shrill blast of a trumpet pierced the autumn calm.

‘No more talking from now on,’ I ordered. ‘We mustn’t give away our position.’

And so we waited, screwing our eyes for any sign of figures emerging from the thinning mist. We waited. And waited.

After what seemed an age, Bart whispered, ‘Perhaps they’ve already gone.’

The same thought had struck me. I felt sure that Belleville would not have warned Black Harry – not after the very real scare I gave him. And yet …

There was a loud crash as somewhere a door was thrown open. Then confused shouts.

I drew my dagger and flexed my legs, ready to spring forward.

The clamour ceased. Then there came another sound. Running footsteps. A man broke clear of the mist. Then another.

With a snarl, Walt sprang forward, brandishing a club. He swung the weapon and caught the fellow a blow between the shoulders that sent him sprawling. Walt stood over his victim, club raised, ready for any reaction, but the man stayed where he had fallen.

Meanwhile, the second fugitive reacted quickly. Seeing his companion down, he veered sideways, making for the trees. Long grass and briars were his undoing. He stumbled. Before he could regain his footing, two of my men leaped upon him.

‘Keep watching!’ I shouted. ‘There may be more!’

But no other gang members appeared. After a couple of minutes, I went over to inspect our captives. I hoped I would find myself looking down at Black Harry. I was dis-appointed. One, a wispy-bearded fellow, lay at Walt’s feet, unconscious. The other, a younger man, lay squirming and screaming oaths.

‘Tie their hands,’ I ordered, ‘and bring them along. Let’s see what’s happening in the building.’

We went in through an open door and entered a kitchen. Following noises coming from beyond, we entered a long, barrel-vaulted room that had obviously been the nuns’ refectory. It was bare of all furniture and in the middle some of the guards formed a circle around two men who were sitting on the floor with their hands tied. We dragged our unconscious prisoners in and threw them down alongside their colleagues.

‘Well, that wasn’t much of a fight,’ the captain observed with a smile. ‘I thought you said this Black Harry was a fierce opponent.’

I looked at our surly captives. ‘But he isn’t here,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you’ve found all of them?’

‘I’ve got two men searching the place thoroughly but we haven’t seen anyone else.’

I went over to one of the villains and prodded him with my boot. ‘Where’s your leader?’ I demanded. ‘Where’s Harry?’

The man gave a black-toothed grin. ‘Miles away. You’ll never catch him. He’s much too clever for you.’

The man’s arrogance set a match to the cannon of my anger. The feelings I had held in check for the last hour exploded within me. I turned to the captain. ‘A sword please, if I may.’

With some reluctance he drew his hand-and-a-half blade and passed it to me. I wrapped my fingers round the hilt and felt the weapon’s precise balance.

‘Master Treviot!’ The captain laid a hand on my arm.

‘No, don’t try to stop me. I’ve come too far and suffered too much to be balked now by dunghill flies like these. One of them is going to give me the information I want – or remain silent for ever. I walked along the row, prodding each prisoner with the sword’s point. ‘Which of you cowardly lorrels is going to tell me where Black Harry has gone?’

A stocky man with a scar across one cheek was the first to reply – but not with the answer I wanted.

He glared sullenly. ‘Call us cowards, do you? Standing there threatening men who can’t fight back.’

‘Cowards I call you and cowards you are!’ I shouted. ‘You murder women and children and peaceable priests.’ Images flashed through my mind of good people wantonly, brutally, mercilessly attacked by this fellow – Holbein, his children, van der Goes, and Adie, especially Adie lying now at the point of death. Even with a sword point in his belly, the wretch showed no trace of remorse or even fear. He lay there snarling like a cornered rat, and his arrogance fuelled my rage. For the first time in my life I felt bloodlust – and it tasted good. If it had been Black Harry sprawled on the floor at my mercy I would have thrust the sword through him without a further thought. As it was I leaned forward and the sharp point pierced the leather jerkin.

Now he squealed.

‘Master Thomas!’

I heard Walt’s anxious voice and waved aside his unspoken protest. Fortunately, my fury had not taken complete possession. The corner of my mind that was still functioning calmly reminded me I wanted information, not vengeance.

‘Where is Black Harry?’ I lifted the sword and held it, with both hands, about twelve inches above the man’s body. ‘No? In that case …’ I brought the sword down. It pierced the flesh of his upper leg, pinning it to the floor.

‘Stop!’he screeched, writhing in agony.

‘I didn’t quite catch your answer.’ I tugged the blade free and moved its point to a spot just above the villain’s heart.

‘I daren’t,’ he squealed. ‘No one betrays Black Harry.’

‘You’d rather die for him, then? Very well.’

‘Don’t!’ he cried, ‘You can’t! You wouldn’t! Captain, call the madman off!’

‘You’re quite right,’ I replied. ‘Normally I wouldn’t kill you. But today I’m not feeling normal. I’ve been driven out of my wits by a coven of bestial hellhounds who beat to death a young man in Aldgate, and took small children hostage, and left them to starve to death, and murdered their father, and burned down a priest’s house, killing everyone in it, ravished a defenceless woman and drove her to take her own life, and committed I know not what other inhuman acts. So, today, yes I would do something that, at any other time, I would regard as beneath contempt. I would kill a defenceless, squirming creature who doesn’t deserve the dignity of being called a man.’ It was no less than the truth. In those moments I was not myself. I had descended to the level of the men I despised.