D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

The wagon jolted as we resumed our march.

The clump of trees lay to the left of the road and was obviously thicker than it looked at a distance. It was circular in shape and the ground within rose up to form a large mound. It was obviously a prominent and ancient landmark. In time past, I guessed, it had been a sacred grove where our pagan ancestors had once worshipped their fearsome deities. Please God, no such malign spirits still haunted this windswept terrain.

We turned aside from the road and the order was given to dismount. The men stretched and stamped or sprawled on the ground, while their horses thankfully cropped the sparse grass. I did not immediately join my resting companions. I was anxious to test Black Harry’s assertion that we were near journey’s end. I rode on and emerged from the trees. After a few more paces the ground began to slope away before me. I found myself looking down on a wide creek. In the middle of it was a narrow eyot. Moored in its lee was a sleek, two-masted ship.

So the villain was telling the truth, I thought to myself.

No sooner had I thought it than I was aware of shouts and screams behind me. I turned Golding’s head and cantered back along the track. The copse was now alive with struggling men and the sound of clashing steel. Instantly, Black Harry’s plan became obvious. He had led us into an ambush.

The scene was one of total confusion. It was obvious that our men had been surprised by attackers rushing down the wooded slope. Some were fighting on foot. Others were desperately trying to remount. My immediate impression was that there were not many assailants – probably fewer than half our number. But they had the temporary advantage of surprise. There was no time to consider how I might help. I simply rushed into the melee, wildly slashing with my sword from side to side. Before me the guard captain had his back against a tree and was feverishly defending himself against two of the raiders. I thrust the point of my rapier into the neck of one man and saw him drop to the ground, howling with pain. The captain made short work of the other.

‘The wagon!’ he shouted. ‘Get to the wagon!’

I wheeled Golding around and pushed my way past groups of struggling men to the edge of the copse, where we had left our prisoner. One of the guards was slumped over the rail. Another lay on the floor of the wagon in an ominous pool of blood. One of the attackers was bent over Black Harry, sawing at his bonds with a knife. My blade caught him a blow in the upper arm and he dropped his weapon. Cursing loudly, Black Harry kept on struggling with the ropes.

The captain emerged from among the trees, having regained his horse. He leaned from the saddle and grasped the rein of the draught horse. He pulled on it and the animal ambled forward, the wagon lurching behind it. Some thirty yards further on, he released his hold. ‘Guard that son of a she-devil!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll be damned if he’s going to escape us!’ He turned back towards the fighting.

I prodded Black Harry’s would-be liberator with my rapier.

‘Get down!’I shouted.

He turned to face me, his swarthy face glaring hate. ‘Heretic pig!’ he yelled, and stooped to regain his knife.

I was filled with passion of an intensity I had never felt before. It was a mixture of anger and elation. I think that, at that moment, I felt invincible. With all my force I thrust the weapon into his upper chest and felt it jar on bone. The man staggered and fell backwards out of the cart. He struggled to his feet and limped awkwardly away.

I jumped up and checked the prisoner’s bonds. As I did so, I said, ‘You’ve really sealed your fate now.’

He sneered. ‘It was sealed already. Better to die fighting than on a gallows.’

I turned my attention to the two guardsmen. The one on the wagon floor made no sound as I turned him on to his back. The reason was immediately obvious. His clothes were soaked in blood issuing from a dagger thrust to the heart that had penetrated cloak, jerkin and shirt.

‘All you have achieved today,’ I said to Black Harry, ‘is the waste of yet more lives.’

‘Heretic lives are worthless. As for my people, they die as martyrs.’

I turned my attention to the other trooper, carefully lifting him from the rail and placing him on the wagon bench. There was no obvious sign of blood and he groaned as I moved him. He blinked his eyes open and put a hand to his head.

‘Here, drink this,’ I said, putting a flask of ale to his lips.

‘Oh, something hit me,’ he murmured.

I picked up his helmet. ‘I reckon this saved you.’

He stared blearily down at the body. ‘Is that Jake? Is he dead?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Poor Jake. His wife’s just had her first bearn,’ he said, his speech still slightly slurred. He rubbed his eyes. ‘We were ambushed.’

‘That’s right. And it was planned by our friend here.’ ‘Whoreson churl.’ He drew his dagger. ‘Let’s slit his poxy throat now and have done with it.’

I laid a restraining hand on his wrist. ‘Few things would give me greater pleasure, but one of them would be seeing him writhing on the gallows. Let’s tidy up here a bit.’

Between us we moved Jake’s body to one side and covered it as decently as we could with his cloak.

By now the sounds of the skirmish were dying down. Looking back along the road I saw the captain’s men emerging from the trees pushing prisoners before them or helping wounded colleagues to walk.

I jumped down from the wagon as Morice and the captain rode up. ‘What are our losses?’ I asked.

‘Could be worse,’ the captain replied. ‘Two dead, three badly wounded. One of them probably won’t survive unless we can get him to a surgeon.’

‘Three dead,’ I said, indicating the body in the wagon. ‘What about the attackers?’

‘Four back there, dead or dying. The crows and foxes can have them for all I care. And we have six prisoners.’

‘Did any of them get away?’ I asked.

Morice said, ‘I spotted a couple limping off in that direction.’ He pointed towards the creek.

‘Then may I suggest we find them?’

‘Devil take them!’ the captain scoffed, ‘I’ll not waste any more time on them.’

‘The reason I suggest it is that Black Harry was telling the truth about the ship. It’s in an inlet about a mile along there. That probably means Brooke is on board. We might be able to take him. That would give us something to show for all our effort – and sacrifice. If some of his men have escaped us we ought to try to stop them giving the warning.’

‘I agree,’ Morice said. ‘Captain, could you spare a few men for a search party? It should be easy to spot any escapees. There’s very little cover in this bleak landscape.’

The captain muttered something under his breath but rode off to organise the search.

Morice turned to me. ‘Show me this ship.’

I noticed that he had tucked his left hand inside his doublet.

‘You’re hurt,’ I said, as I mounted the grey.

‘Broken arm, I think,’ he replied. ‘Some barbarian wielding a heavy staff. It gives me yet another reason for catching Brooke.’

We rode to the vantage point. The light was fading but it was easy to spot the barque, because lamps had been lit aboard.

‘Brooke is there. I’m sure of it,’ Morice said. ‘But how do we get to him? We have to stop him. We can’t just sit here and watch his ship slip away to sea.’

‘How long to full tide?’ I asked.

‘About an hour. He won’t wait beyond that, whether his accomplice reaches the ship or not, Oh, Jesu, this has. all been devilishly well planned.’

‘But how?’

‘Letters smuggled in and out of prison. Easy if you have money.’