Three Treasures

by Jack Elwin

CHAPTER 12 BELIAL’S BAND AGAIN

  HOW LONG I lay there I don’t know, but the sun was still shining when I woke. I could feel its warmth on my face, which puzzled me as there also seemed to be rain falling. And then I realised that someone was pouring water on my forehead, and I became aware of a throbbing in my brain. I closed my eyes and put my hand to my head—and withdrew it at once as I felt a very tender swelling and sudden pain.

  I opened my eyes and saw the very last person I would have expected: it was none other than Nicholas Dashwood.

  ‘Thank God you’re alive,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘What’s happened? I was being attacked by highway rogues—your friends, I think. Have I been shot?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘but you’ve been hit on the head.’

  ‘God, yes!’ I said. ‘It’s coming back to me. Two men on horseback, with handkerchiefs hiding their faces, demanding my money. No, that’s not right—they threw it on the ground.’ Suddenly I was fully awake. ‘My horse—and the saddlebag—where is it?’

  ‘Is that your horse?’ he pointed.

  I raised myself on one elbow—and nearly lay back again, for I felt giddy. Then my head cleared again and I saw a little way off my horse calmly cropping grass at the side of the road.

  ‘Help me up,’ I said, and Nicholas took my arm to steady me. I stood for a moment to recover, but the Judds are a tough race and I was young and fit and insisted on trying to walk. I staggered a few steps, helped by Nicholas, then shook him off and managed to go on my own towards the horse. I called to him gently, and he allowed me to come up to him and stroke his neck. Then I fumbled with the saddlebag and looked inside: it was empty.

  I led my horse back to where Nicholas was standing staring at me, with a leather bottle from which he had poured the water over me still in his hand. I saw that he too had a horse with its reins slung over a nearby bush. My mind was clearing and I remembered all about Nicholas’ involvement with the man called ‘Horney’ and the plot against Mr White.

  ‘It’s gone—they’ve taken it,’ I said, and as I noticed he didn’t question what I was referring to my suspicions deepened. ‘How is it you came to be here?’ I asked.

  ‘I... I was afraid you might be in trouble. I... I found you lying here.’

  ‘What made you think I might be in trouble? You know the men who attacked me, don’t you. They’re your friends, aren’t they?’

  ‘No, or I—in a sort of way, I think—if it was they.’

  I sat down on a stone, still holding my horse’s rein.

  ‘Explain what you mean,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry, most terribly sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t know they would harm you, truly I didn’t.’

  ‘What did you know? How are you mixed up in this?’

  ‘It was Mr Whittle. He told me he hoped to get his dowry money back. He said there was a chance, a good chance, he thought, of it being found. When I said that seemed unlikely, he said that you, Mr Judd, knew where it was hidden, or at least knew someone who would find it, and that you were going next morning—that’s today—out towards Weymouth to fetch it. And then he wondered, assuming you did find the money, whether I would reconsider the arrangements made before, and maybe marry Elizabeth after all.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him I wasn’t sure, I would think it over. It was all speculation anyway. She’s a nice enough girl and all that, but—I don’t know. I think she isn’t really game enough for me. I like a girl with a bit more spirit. Though I suppose I would marry her if...’

  ‘What? If he paid you enough?’

  ‘Yes, in truth I suppose it does comes to that. After all, what does one marry for except for money? And I’m pretty desperate for cash at the moment. One wouldn’t bother with marriage otherwise.’

  ‘You still haven’t explained how I came to be attacked, and how you came to be here.’

  ‘Just after I’d been talking to Mr Whittle two fellows I owe money to cornered me and demanded I pay up. I really was afraid, because they’re leaders of the Band. Oh, I shouldn’t have told you that. We’re sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘That’s Belial’s Band, I take it?’

  ‘So you know about it—I had an idea that you did. Anyway, to gain time I said the marriage might be on again as Mr Whittle had said his money was be about to be recovered, or so he thought. They asked how that could be, so I had to explain that you were coming out this morning to look for it, and were supposed to have a good idea of where it was.’

  ‘But, heavens above! it was a very long shot, the merest chance, that I’d be able to find his money. He had no right to be raising your hopes like that.’

  ‘Well maybe I had got the wrong impression. But anyway I expect I made it sound more certain than it was just to convince those fellows. And it worked, for they let me go then, and I felt I’d been clever to get out of an awkward hole. But when I thought it over afterwards I began to wonder whether they would try to get hold of the money somehow before it reached Mr Whittle, and if they might try to waylay you.’

  ‘Which it seems they did. So what did you do about it?’

  ‘At first I thought I’d just keep out it. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I didn’t know they were going to do anything bad. But at last I thought I’d better just ride out this way in case they were up to anything, though how I could have stopped them I don’t know. Anyway, I didn’t see them.’

  ‘But they saw me,’ I said. ‘They must have followed me out of town this morning and hidden somewhere, behind that thicket probably,’ I pointed to the clump of stunted trees and bushes from which the men had ridden. ‘They could have seen me searching, and may have waited there for an hour or two, knowing I would be coming back this way. Why, they probably saw me come up with Malachy Moore, the man who found it for me, and saw me take it from its hiding place. Then all they had to do was to wait for me to come past. So, what did you do when you didn’t find them?’

  ‘I came upon you lying here. God! I thought for a moment you were dead.’

  ‘You didn’t take part in robbing me?’

  ‘Heavens no, sir! I swear to God I didn’t. I only told them about your going to look for the money to get them off my back. It was only afterwards I began to wonder if they would try to rob you.’

  ‘Strange friends you have,’ I said drily, ‘but as you know who they are they surely won’t get away with what they’ve done. Who are these men?’

  ‘But I can’t be sure they’re the robbers. I didn’t see them on the road and didn’t see them rob you. I couldn’t swear before a magistrate that it was their doing.’

  ‘But you know who they are: what are their real names?’

  ‘I don’t really know. They’re both sons of gentlemen with estates in Dorset, quite well-off, I think. I know it sounds silly, but really I know very little about them. We call them simply by the names they chose, “Lucifer” and “Horney”. .’

  ‘And this Band, what does it do, besides attacking honest travellers?’

  ‘Oh, please believe me, Mr Judd, it wasn’t like that at first.’

  ‘So just what is “Belial’s Band”?’

  ‘It’s meant to be a secret, but I suppose it doesn’t matter telling you now. We were just having a bit of fun, arranging cock-fights and gaming and things like that. We’re all known simply by names of Devils, from Doctor Faustus or the Bible, like Mephistophilis, Baliol, Belcher, Azazel, and so on. They call me “Old Nick” of course. But I’ve got terribly into debt with Lucifer and Horney, which is why they’ve turned rather nasty lately.’

  ‘And what was your part when Mr White was attacked?’

  ‘Oh God, of course, you know about that. You scared me when you and Mr Huatt said you knew who had done it. I told them to lay off.’

  ‘Why did you get mixed up in that business?’

  ‘I owed such a lot of money, I couldn’t tell ’em to go to hell as I ought. But I wouldn
’t have hurt the old man, I swear it.’

  ‘Yet you would have helped those who were prepared to kill him. What sort of a villain are you?’

  ‘Oh, Mr Judd, I’m truly sorry, indeed I am. And it’s true I only know them by their nicknames. We all kept our real names secret, though they knew mine of course. But it was part of the game to use other names. And that with Mr White—it started more as a joke than anything. But once it was started the thing got out of hand, and they wouldn’t let me back out. You’ll think I’m very evil, Mr Judd, but I am sorry.’

  ‘I’m glad you are, for you seem in danger of being involved in real wickedness. But it looks as if these men will get away with Mr Whittle’s money scot free. You don’t know their real names, you can’t swear that it was they who robbed me, and I don’t suppose you know where they live. And I didn’t see their faces, so I couldn’t swear to them either.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘At least you won’t be tempted to marry Elizabeth,’ I said. He looked down, a bit shamefaced.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, ‘I haven’t behaved well with her.’

  ‘I’m glad you admitted that,’ I said, ‘for it makes me think better of you.’ He gave me a quick smile, then looked down again, and I thought, ‘With a bit more self-knowledge you could be quite a decent fellow’. After a pause I said, ‘The only hope I can see of bringing these thieves to justice would be to follow them. Have you any idea where they might have gone?’

  ‘As I didn’t see them riding back to Dorchester the most likely spot would be where we sometimes meet for a randy or cards and such.’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘It’s not far from here—two or three miles perhaps. It’s a deserted farmhouse down towards Whitcome. Most of the cattle and sheep were taken by raiding parties of soldiers from Wareham or somewhere, and the farmer went off his head and hanged himself. So his wife moved out—I don’t know where to. It’s a lonely spot so I suppose she wanted to be nearer other people. But it’s just right for us, or has been.’

  ‘And you think that’s where your friends may have gone?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the most likely place around here. They’d want to go somewhere quiet to divide up the money I guess, and the farm would be just right for that.’

  ‘Have you a pistol?’

  ‘Two,’ he said, lifting his riding cloak to show me the pair of pistols in his belt.

  ‘Then we could go after them,’ I said. ‘I know they’re armed, but if we can surprise them we may yet get the money back.’

  ‘What about your head? Will you be able to ride?

  ‘My head will be all right. It’s aching like the devil and tender too, but I’m not dead yet. Will you come with me?’

  ‘That I will,’ he said. ‘Here, have one of these,’ and he held out one of his pistols by the barrel. So I thanked him and took it—and found it nicely balanced, a fine weapon decorated with silver.

  I put it in my belt and mounted my horse. I was a little giddy at first, but the fresh air soon helped me to feel better. Nicholas also mounted, and led the way along the Ridgeway to the east. We went up a gentle climb with a view of Dorchester far away to our left and bluish tinged hills beyond, and white sheep scattered far and near. After a little we caught a glimpse of the sea on our right, and then the view on both sides was restricted—by trees on the left and the hill on the right. Many of the barrows or burial mounds of the ancient Britons are hereabout, and I saw at least half a dozen in a row on the skyline.

  Suddenly there was the sea again far away on the right, with the grey hump of Portland rising from it, and we came to the crossroads where the road or track from Preston and Sutton Poyntz comes over the ridge and goes down to Whitcombe. It was not a part I knew, well away from my usual haunts, and I looked about with interest. We turned left along the rutted chalk track, where there were two very large barrows, one on each side, and over a slight rise before going steeply down into a little dip. Dorchester was no longer visible, for we were going down into a long secluded valley which stretched before us for several miles. It was a lonely way—we had passed no houses since we set off together and seen no travellers; all was gently rolling grassland as far as the eye could see, with occasional clumps of trees and in the distance larger woods showing dark on the far hills.

  Curving slightly left and right the track led us down very gently, then flattened out and curved more to the right. As we passed a slight rise to our right an old run-down farmhouse came into view, with a few barns and sheds nearby, their thatch in tatters. There were no animals to be seen, in fact no sign of life.

  ‘Wait here a moment,’ I said. ‘Is that the place you spoke of?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘and there’s no cover: they’ll see us coming.’

  ‘Then let’s turn back behind this little hill and go across the meadow, so that we have the barn between us and the house.’

  So that is what we did, riding in a wide curve to the right and approaching the out-buildings before we came to the house. We then dismounted and hitched our horses to a broken-down fence, and walked warily, pistol in hand, along beside a rough stone wall. A horse whinnied in one of the out-buildings, and I could only hope that it would not put the enemy on guard. At least the presence of a horse suggested that the robbers might indeed be hereabouts.

  We paused at a corner from which we could see along the front of the house. Several of the windows were broken and weeds were growing through the gravel path near the front door.

  We crept along close to the house wall, trying to keep off the gravel so as not to make a noise, and stood by the front door which was swinging inwards, half off its hinges. For a moment we stood listening, but I could hear no sound except the creak of a wind-blown shutter somewhere upstairs.

  ‘Where are they likely to be?’ I whispered to Nicholas. ‘Where do you usually meet?’

  ‘In the cellar. That’s where we’ve made a meeting-room.’

  ‘Lead us down there then,’ I said, ‘but whatever you do make no noise.’

  It was fairly easy to move silently along the stone-flagged hall past the main stairs which no doubt led up to bedrooms and attics. At the far end was a stone staircase which led down to the left. The steps were worn and hollowed in the middle, and the walls were bare stone and damp. We stopped half way down to listen, but there was still no definite sound, though a sigh seemed to come from the house as though it was a living thing, or maybe contained living things, and I thought I would not like to be there at night alone in the dark.

  At the bottom there was a short passage lit by what feeble light came down the stairs and through two doorways, one each side, presumably leading to cellars. Both had heavy wooden doors which opened into the passage, and to the side of the stairs was a pile of broken boxes and other rubbish. The cellar on the left was empty except for a couple of old casks, but the one on the right was sparsely furnished. There was some rough matting on the stone floor, a table covered with a brown blanket and eight plain chairs. Daylight filtered through a dirty window high up at the far end, though there was nothing to see beyond the bars but a stone wall. The cellar walls were of dirty whitewashed stone crudely decorated with pictures of devils and flames in red and black; the roof a barrel vault of brick. A fireplace was in the right-hand wall, and in the far corner a pile of sticks and logs. On the table was the stump of a candle stuck in a bottle.

  I saw all this in a moment, and then noticed on the floor near the fireplace a piece of cloth which might have been from the bag that had held Mr Whittle’s treasure. I pushed past Nicholas and bent to pick it up, and as I did so the door behind us slammed and there were the sounds of bolts being thrust home at top and bottom. We lifted the latch and flung ourselves at the door, but in vain. It was made of stout boards and we could neither open nor break it.

  ‘Is that you, Lucifer?’ shouted Nicholas. ‘Let me out, will you—it’s me, Nick.’ But there was no answer, nor even the sound of foo
tsteps, so we did not know if whoever had shut the door was still there or had gone away.

  I looked round the cellar again. It was about twenty feet long by ten or twelve wide. The floor and walls of stone and the damp smoke-stained roof of brick allowed no hope of escape; the only possible way out might be the window.

  ‘Give a hand with this,’ I said, taking the blanket off the table and flinging it aside.

  Nicholas came slowly away from the door. He seemed dazed by what had happened, but helped me drag the table to the end of the cellar under the window. I climbed up and looked out. The rough stone wall was about two feet away, and evidently lined a rectangular pit outside the window which let light and air reach the cellar. Craning my neck I could see a fringe of nettles and long grass and a little patch of sky. I shook each of the five window bars, but they were firmly fixed in the stonework and would not move or bend.

  ‘No hope of breaking out here,’ I said.

  ‘The devils,’ said Nicholas, ‘the cursed bloody devils!’

  ‘You’ve certainly got plenty of devils here,’ I said pointing at the pictures on the walls. ‘Are these your handiwork?’

  ‘Not me—Azazel did most of ’em, I think. They were meant to give the right sort of feeling when we meet.’

  I jumped down from the table and went to look in the fireplace, and while I was there examined the cloth I had noticed at first. But it turned out not to be from the treasure package after all. The grate was full of cold wood-embers and ashes, but I knelt among them and looked up the chimney. I could see no light up there, and it was too narrow to climb.

  Nicholas sat on one of the chairs and put his head in his hands, but I went back to the door and rattled the latch again. Still there was no sound from outside and the bolts held firm.

  ‘How far can you trust your friends?’ I asked. ‘Do you think they’ll come to let you out after a time, or will they just leave us here to rot?’

  ‘God, I hope not,’ he said. ‘I thought they were a jolly crew till all that about Mr White came up.’

  ‘What really was your part in that?’ I asked.

  ‘It started off as a sort of jape, as I said,—“wouldn’t it be amusing to take Mr White”. They were going to bring him here and ransom him, or sell him to one of the King’s generals. It wasn’t that we were out-and-out Cavaliers; it was more that we didn’t like the strict ways Mr White tried to enforce. Horney doesn’t mind who wins the war as long as he’s got money to spend—and we thought we’d get some money out of it.’

  ‘What were you going to do with Mr White?’

  ‘Tie him on a horse and gallop out of town while everyone was going to repel the enemy. It was my job with Belcher to raise an alarm. Belcher blew that bugle. But the people found out too quickly that the alarm was false, Horney and the others didn’t have time to get away with Mr White.’

  ‘—supposing they had managed to drag him away from his defenders,’ I said. ‘But what would they have done with him if they had taken him?’

  ‘I’m afraid they were ready to hurt the old man, even kill him. Do believe me, Mr Judd, I was scared of what they might do and didn’t want to be involved, truly I didn’t. But they wouldn’t let me go—I belonged to the Band and I owed them too much money. I still owe ’em more than I can pay. And Horney quite frightens me. He—he can be violent when he’s angry.’

  ‘He might save you, I suppose, if he hopes to get what you owe him. It might even occur to him to try to ransom you. He might approach your father and demand money for informing him where he could find you. But in that case I would only be in the way and might be disposed of.’

  ‘You need not worry,’ he said, ‘father would never treat with kidnappers and thieves. He would see me dead first, I think.’

  ‘I hope he wouldn’t be as hard as that,’ I said, and thought of how Mr Dashwood had been willing to treat for the return of his wife’s jewels. ‘But you see the relevance of what I asked, for if your “friends” hope to make some profit from us they’ll keep us alive. But if they’re scared of being caught, and are content with what they’ve already stolen, they may leave us to starve, or come in and shoot us.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ he said, ‘and I did think they were my friends once.’ He turned away and buried his face in his hands again.

  ‘We must try to escape,’ I said. ‘I’m going to see if I can work those bars loose.’

  I climbed back onto the table and, holding two of the bars, pulled and pushed, using all my weight to try to loosen them. But after some minutes I had to give up; the bars had not shifted at all, and my head was throbbing. I sat down on a chair and looked at the wood-pile, wondering whether there were any pieces strong enough to use to lever the bars aside. There were plenty of sticks, but none strong or long enough for such a task

  I could see under the table something I hadn’t noticed before—a grating below the window at the bottom of the wall, about a foot wide and half that high. I dragged the table aside and knelt to examine it. It was either a drain or a ventilator, and I felt a draught of air coming in through it. It was of course much too small to climb through even if we had known where it led, but it gave me an idea.

  ‘I wonder,’ I said turning to Nicholas, who was still sitting, the picture of dejection, ‘could we set fire to the door and burn our way out?’

  He looked up gloomily.

  ‘We’ve nothing to start a fire with. I haven’t a tinder-box with me, have you?’

  ‘No, but we’ve got your pistols. They make fire with flint and powder.’

  ‘But even if you get a fire going, we’d be smothered with the smoke long before the door burnt through.’

  ‘We can get our heads down beside this draught and cover them with the blanket—with the matting too if necessary. The smoke will rise and go through the window or up the chimney, while we will still be able to breathe.’

  ‘You may set fire to the house, and then we’ll burn alive; or they’ll come and shoot us.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, losing patience with him, ‘but if we don’t do something it’ll be worse. I’d rather try burning my way out than wait to be starved, and as for shooting—I’m prepared to risk it. But I don’t think we’ll be in danger of firing the house, because all these cellars seems to be made of stone or brick, apart from the doors. Come on, help move some wood.’

  We carried sticks and logs from the pile to the door, and I arranged them carefully with a core of twigs and dry leaves, with larger pieces outside. Then I took Nicholas’s pistol from my belt.

  ‘Have you got more powder about you,’ I asked, ‘just in case they do come to get us if they smell the fire?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘there’s only what’s loaded in the pistols here.’

  ‘We’ll have to risk it then. We’ll still have one pistol to shoot with if we use the other to make a flame.’

  I tapped the muzzle of the pistol I held against a flagstone until I had managed to dislodge the bullet and wad and had a little heap of powder on the stone. Then I tore a couple of pages from the notebook I always carry, put a little powder in the pan of the pistol and pulled the trigger. The flint sparked beautifully, and the powder flashed, but the paper did not catch. So I tried again, this time sprinkling some powder on the paper, and this time when I pulled the trigger there was another flash and fizz—and the paper caught. With great care I nursed the flame and set fire to the heap by the door.

  It was soon burning well and the larger pieces of wood were beginning to flame. I piled more logs on the pile, trying to place them where they would concentrate the heat against the door—and started to cough. The smoke already seemed to fill the cellar, though it was thickest near the roof. I got Nicholas to help drag the table back over where the ventilator was, and to drape the matting over the top. Then we wriggled underneath with the blanket and, putting our heads by the opening, we put put the double-folded blanket over them. To my relief we were able to breathe air that was free of smoke.


  I made Nicholas give me the remaining loaded pistol in case our jailers came, for I wasn’t sure how he would act if he confronted them. I tried to listen out for any sound of movements, though it was difficult to do so under both the matting and the blanket, and with the crackling of the fire. One extra loud crack or maybe two made me look out, but there was no sound of people at the door, and I told myself that we would surely hear the bolts being pulled back if they did come. So we lay for what seemed a long time, listening to more crackling and hissing of the fire and feeling its heat on our legs.

  At last, when the fire seemed to be dying down somewhat, I slithered out to have a look. By crawling as close to the floor as possible I was able to avoid the worst of the smoke. The upper part of the door looked as solid as ever, though streaked with black, but the bottom was thoroughly blackened and partly burnt right through. I used one of the chairs to rake away the embers and, still lying down to avoid the smoke, I gave the lower part of the door a hefty kick. Then I had to crawl coughing back to the ventilator to breathe some fresh air.

  Then Nicholas took a turn at kicking and wrenching at the door, and succeeded in breaking away a large enough portion at the bottom for a person to squeeze through. But the stone floor was still too hot to touch. We enlarged the hole a little more, and then I laid the matting doubled on the floor to protect myself from the hot stones, lay on it on my back and eased my way through the gap. I stood up and pulled back the bolts and opened what was left of the door, so that Nicholas could spring out over the embers.

  ‘I’ll go first’ I whispered. ‘If you see or hear anything, touch me on the shoulder.’

  He nodded without speaking, and we stood listening for a moment, but heard no sound except some crackling from the cellar. The smoke was already thick in the hall-way and came billowing after us up the stairs—surely the smell at least must fill the house. We ran to look in the ground floor rooms—a large kitchen and a parlour, both empty. Then half choking in the smoke we dashed up the main stairs, I holding the pistol at the ready—yet no enemy appeared.

  We reached the upper landing, from which several rooms led off, and rushed from one to another. The first room we looked in had a rather fine four-poster bed but little else in the way of furnishing. Then we came to a room at the front of the house. As we entered it the evening sun was sending in the last bright beams before it set, and one of them fell across a body lying on its back beside a table, with one arm stretched out and holding a pistol.

  ‘My God!’ exclaimed Nicholas, ‘that’s Lucifer, and indeed he did look somewhat devilish, with dark hair and bluish cheeks, his face long and handsome in a coarse sort of way.

  Then as we moved further into the room we saw beyond the table another man leaning back in a chair, the arms of which had prevented him falling sideways, though he lolled to his left.

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Nicholas again, ‘that’s Horney.’

  This was a larger man with a small pointed beard and greasy black hair, and I recognised him as the man who had led the attempt to capture Mr White, the same hulking fellow I had glimpsed in the dark alley all those months ago. He looked as if he was asleep or drunk until one noticed the patch of blood on his chest. His pistol lay on the floor beside him.

  ‘And here is what caused their deaths,’ I said, pointing to what was on the table—the bag that had contained Whittle’s treasure and a pile of gold coins.

  ‘It looks as if they were quarrelling over the spoils,’ I went on. ‘They must have both fired at the same instant. Perhaps what I thought was the fire cracking was actually the pistol shots. Mr White foretold this—he said his attackers would be caught in their own snare.’

  But Nicholas said nothing. He seemed to be struck dumb by the shock of what we had found. But of course, unlike me, he had known these men, if not as friends, at least as drinking and gaming companions. He stood staring at the bodies, his rather fleshy red face the picture of horror.

  I began to gather up the gold, but still he didn’t move as I put it in its bag and turned to go. Only when I laid a hand on his shoulder did he seem to come out of a trance.

  ‘I didn’t know it would come to this, God knows I didn’t. God help me, and I’ll never touch dice again!’

  ‘Don’t promise too much,’ I said, ‘but certainly choose better companions. But come now, we must go.’

  ‘We... we can’t leave them like this,’ he said.

  ‘Why not? We can’t move them. We could tell the magistrates—perhaps we should, though how we can explain how we came to be in this house to find them I’m not sure.’

  ‘But they’ll just rot here,’ he said.

  ‘They’ll rot anywhere, here or in a churchyard, what’s the difference? Or maybe burn.’ For I had begun to notice the crackling sound of fire, and hurried to look though the door. The smoke now hid most of the stairs and I feared it would overcome us if we tried to go down them.

  I turned back into the room and slammed the door.

  ‘Come on, Nicholas,’ I shouted, and, when he made no move, ‘Come on you fool, we must get out, the house is on fire!’

  I opened the window, and at last he did move and joined me in peering down. I seemed a long way to the ground, too far to jump without injury. But there was thick creeper growing all over the wall. I dropped the bag, hoping it wouldn’t burst, then got over the sill and began to climb down. Suddenly the branch I was hanging on to broke away from the wall, and I fell the last eight feet or so, landing beside the bag, fortunately on soil rather than the nearby flagstones.

  Next moment Nicholas fell beside me, and we lay for a moment taking in deep breaths of fresh air.

  ‘I wonder where they left their horses,’ I said. ‘We can’t leave the poor beasts to starve or burn.’

  ‘They’ll be in the stables, I expect,’ said Nicholas, ‘this way.’

  I picked up the bag, which fortunately seemed intact, and followed him around the side of the house. Smoke was pouring from a stone-lined hole beside the wall there, and looking down I caught a glimpse of the window bars of our cellar.

  We found two horses in the stable and led them out to the yard gate.

  ‘What shall we do with them?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know whether those friends of yours had families or relatives who ought to have them, do you?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘as I told you, I don’t even know their proper names.’

  ‘Perhaps we should have searched their pockets for some note or letter which might have told us,’ I said, ‘but we didn’t have time, and it’s too late now. I know a farmer in Monkton who’s had several horses stolen, but I fear these wouldn’t be much use for pulling a cart or a plough. Let’s set them free. They’ll have plenty of grass around here, and in these times it won’t be long before someone finds them and makes use of them.’

  We led them through the gate so that they could run where they pleased, then went to find our own mounts. We rode on to Whitcombe and the Wareham to Dorchester road. There we turned to look back, and saw that the farmhouse was now well alight. Smoke was rising in a great pillar above it, and we could see yellow and blood-red flames licking out of some of the windows.

  ‘I didn’t think our fire would burn the house down,’ I said.

  ‘How could it, when the cellar was all of stone and brick?’

  ‘I think when we broke down the door the draught must have blown sparks and even flames into the passage. And we left that matting on the hot floor—it probably burned, and there was rubbish piled beside the stairs, do you remember? I expect it caught and then the fire spread to the rest of the house.’

  ‘God! and we might still be in there!’ he said with a shudder, and we rode on in silence.

  When we reached East Gate it was dark, for which I was glad, because I had become aware that we looked disreputable. Our faces were streaked with black, our hands were filthy, and our clothes torn and soiled. I did not know in fact how very bad I looked, for in
addition I still had blood on my forehead and several bruises.

  As we approached the gate I said to Nicholas, ‘Thank you for coming to rescue me. You couldn’t have known what your friends would do with what you told them, so mustn’t blame yourself. But I think what’s happened today has changed you in some way.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that, Mr Judd. You’re a gentleman. I think I must have changed. One can’t see what we’ve seen today without being... being...’

  ‘Shocked?’

  ‘... stirred to one’s very roots, I think. I know one thing for sure, Mr Judd, I shall never have anything more to do with Belial’s Band.’

  ‘I’m glad of that, for the devil is active enough these days without your help! One other thing,’ I added, ‘you can tell people what you please about this day’s doings, but if I were you I’d say as little as possible. We don’t want a lot of questions about the fire at the farm, especially if someone finds burned human bones among the ashes. There is nothing we could have done to save those two from their own wickedness, and your error in telling them about my errand is best forgotten.

  ‘I won’t tell a soul,’ he promised.

  ‘We can say that we were set upon by roughs—that is true for me at least, and with all the disturbance of the wars there are more of those about, so it’s believable enough. But the sooner we get clean and change our clothes the better.’

  We had some trouble getting the gate-keeper to let us in, and only when at last we managed to convince him that we were who we claimed to be did he admit us. I shook Nicholas’s hand and we parted.

  I believe that I too had changed as a result of what I had just endured, and through my earlier adventures. I was not only dirty and bruised: I had become involved in a dirty world and felt rather bruised in spirit too. Not only had the Puritan party in which I had been brought up failed me, but the violence and hatred between them and the Cavaliers were opening the way for all sorts of evils.

  Having mingled with soldiers on both sides I could not see much difference between them. The breakdown of trust between neighbours, and the replacement of the rule of law by arbitrary force, meant that many more villains like Nicholas’s ‘friends’ would throw off all restraint and make life a misery for simple law-abiding folk.

  I decided I ought to try in future to mind my own business and family, and keep out of a dispute which no longer seemed something I felt strongly about. I did not then understand how the warring factions were not going to allow anyone to avoid being involved, nor how my own cursed nose for trouble would make it impossible for me to stay on the side-lines.

  I tried to slip into the house quietly, hoping to clean myself up before Agnes saw me, though I rather guessed that by now she would have been used to me arriving home late and in a state of disarray. But she met me in the hall and sounded very angry.

  ‘Is this what you call keeping out of trouble?’ she demanded. ‘Look at the state you’re in! Oh, Micah, how can you?’

  Yet she fetched a bowl of water and tenderly washed the blood and dirt from my head, and helped me off with my clothes all the time berating me.

  ‘What shall I do with you?’ she asked. ‘Look at your doublet, it’s fit for nothing but rags—and your breeches and shirt—they’ll have to be thrown on the rubbish pile. You’ll soon have no clothes left! You’ve been in danger again. You might have been killed and made me a widow and left our little boy fatherless. You silly, silly man, I could kill you, oh!’

  And then the humour of what she had just said struck us both, and we fell about laughing, and hugged each other, kissed and made up. Mostly I kept silent and did not try to defend myself, for what could I say? Yet I couldn’t help thinking that my horse in the stable and Hester in the house were visible reminders of the rewards my adventures had already brought, and there would no doubt be more to come when I returned the money to Nathan Whittle.

  Washed, in fresh clothes, and sitting comfortably at my own table, I began to feel better, and as I told Agnes about my adventures she came close and clasped me to her. After a time I tried to tell her how my feelings for the rights and wrongs of the war had changed.

  ‘There’s a saying keeps running through my head, “A plague on both their houses”. I think I must have read it in the book of plays my old schoolmaster had. Anyway, that’s what I feel now about Cavaliers and Roundheads.’

  ‘How do you mean, dearest? Don’t you support Parliament against the King any more?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose if it came to the push I would rather Parliament won than the King. But I can’t see much difference between the people who support one side or the other. The soldiers on both sides are the same sort of men—just as bad, or as good, as their enemies. I would fight to defend you and Mark of course, and your parents and my uncle and aunt. But as for the bigger fight, I feel quite confused. I think I’ll try to keep out of it in future and not get involved.’

  But even as I said it I think I felt in my bones that I would not be able to avoid what was going on all over England then. The war had come to us without our asking, and would do so again. Besides, I have this little devil inside me that demands to know other people’s secrets, or to get mixed up in their affairs, or to push me into awkward situations. The thrill of this is like a drug, and succeeding in such affairs more than makes up for the dangers and discomforts.

  However, whether she believed me or not, Agnes kissed me again, and then surprised me by saying;

  ‘Micah, my darling, I don’t want to stop you being what you are, or doing what you want to do. But I do want you to come back whole, for my sake if not for yours!’

  Next morning I went round to Mr Whittle’s shop carrying the bundle with his money.

  ‘Can you guess what I’ve got here?’ I said.

  ‘Oh my God!’ he exclaimed, ‘oh my God! My life’s savings!’ and sat down heavily behind his counter. He took out a large handkerchief and wiped his forehead and stared at the bundle, which I had placed in front of him, and than at me. ‘Micah, man, I said you would find ’em, and I was sure you would. But now you have, and I can see them before me, I’m quite overcome!’

  ‘Have a look and see if it’s all there. It’s had many adventures since you lost it, and so have I, but I hope nothing’s missing, except for one gold piece I gave to the man who found them.’

  With fumbling fingers he tore open the bundle and spilled out a pile of gold coins. Some of them rolled to the floor and I helped him pick them up. Then he put them in little piles and counted them.

  ‘They seem to be complete,’ he said at last, ‘all there, my golden lambs, every man jack of ’em!’

  He leapt up and came round the counter to embrace me, and actually did a little dance with me round the shop.

  ‘Tell me, Micah,’ he said panting for breath, ‘where were they? How did you find ’em? Tell me all about it.’

  So we sat down again, and I told him how I had been able to find the treasure with the aid of the Wise Man of Upwey. However, I did not mention how it had then been stolen from me, and how the thieves had killed each other because of it, nor did I tell of Nicholas’s involvement. This was because, as I had said, I felt it wiser not to make what had happened at the farmhouse public knowledge, and also because I felt that Nicholas himself should decide whether to reveal any of what he had done. For it had been both bad and good, honourable and less so. So much trouble had come from his telling his friends about my going to search; but this was counter-balanced by his care for me when he found me wounded at the roadside, and his help in coming with me to recover what had been stolen. Also, although I believed he had changed for the better, I did not want Mr Whittle to have any reason to approach him again about marrying Elizabeth.

  Mr Whittle was bubbling over with joy. I have never seen a man so transformed by good fortune. He let the gold coins trickle through his fingers as he thanked me again and again.

  ‘Do you know what these represent, Micah?’ he said, ‘—a li
fetime’s struggle and effort to rise in the world. Every year I’ve tried to put a little by for Elizabeth and for my old age. And now, thanks to you, I’ll be able to give her a good marriage and have something still put by. But you shall have your share, indeed you shall, Micah, I will not hear a word to the contrary.’

  Nor would he, in spite of my protests, for I did not want more than a token gift, perhaps to pay for clothes to replace those I had spoiled and any loss to my business by my absence. But Nathan insisted on giving me a substantial reward and yet more thanks.

  I left him then, and went straight to Tom Hartley to order yet another new set of doublet and breeches. I could see he was longing to ask what had happened to the others he had made for me, but I told him as little as I could, knowing that anything he learned would soon be all over Dorchester. The rest of the day I worked in my shop, except for a couple of visits around the town to deliver medicines.

  But although I had tried not to bring Nicholas to Mr Whittle’s attention, Whittle himself lost no time in approaching him. I thought it would be some weeks at least before the subject of Elizabeth’s marriage came up again, but no, that very evening Whittle’s servant boy brought me a note from him. He was requesting that I should accompany the boy back to see him, if I would be so kind, without delay. So, wondering what could be so urgent, and hoping he had not been robbed of what he had just recovered, I went round at once—and found Nicholas Dashwood there with him.

  ‘I am glad you have come so quickly, Micah’ said Mr Whittle. ‘I asked you because Mr Dashwood here insisted. I have explained to him how you have recovered my money, and so Elizabeth’s dowry can be paid in full, and have asked him if he would care to reconsider the idea of marrying her.’

  ‘Mr Judd,’ Nicholas broke in, ‘don’t think badly of me. I know I’ve been a fool, and treated Elizabeth—and Mr Whittle—abominably, and I want to do the right thing. But I’m all in a whirl. What we went through and saw yesterday—It’s been such a shock, it’s turned me right over, and I don’t know where I am. Or maybe I should say, I don’t know what I am. But I wanted you here to vouch for me, to say that I have changed.’

  ‘I think you must have done,’ I said, ‘but the point here is, do you really want to marry Elizabeth, and always have her with you at your side?’

  ‘I think so, and that’s in spite of not needing money now that my debts are cleared. But...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘...who really am I? Have I really changed, or will it wear off—the shock of seeing those two?’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about,’ said Whittle. ‘If you want her, she’s yours.’

  ‘What about the lady herself?’ I said. ‘How does she feel about it?’

  ‘She’s always been a good obedient daughter. She’ll do what I think best for her.’

  ‘Nevertheless I think she ought to be asked, and you promised me that she would be,’ I persisted. ‘May we call her?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he said, and opening the door called his servant-maid and sent her to fetch his daughter.

  While we waited for her to come there was silence for a moment, and then I said to Nicholas,

  ‘What was it you said to me yesterday about a girl’s spirit?’

  He looked a little shame-faced.

  ‘I know, Mr Judd. But I truly mean to be different, and I think Elizabeth might help me.’

  ‘What’s all this?’ asked Whittle, but before he could inquire further she came in.

  I could see that finding Nicholas there surprised her, yet she did not falter. In fact she seemed to have gained much in dignity and self-possession, but stood meekly enough while her father addressed her.

  ‘Now, Elizabeth, you know that I told you this morning that Mr Judd had recovered my money, and as a result you may make a good marriage. Well, here is Mr Dashwood, willing again to marry you. So now, my girl, what do you say?’

  ‘How have you persuaded him that I am worth the purchase price?’ she asked, no longer meek, but tossing her head with flashing eyes. This, I thought, is an Elizabeth Whittle I have not seen before. The same thought must have struck Nicholas, for he looked at her with a more lively interest, while colour mounted to his forehead.

  ‘When he thought me poor he cast me off,’ she went on, ‘so why should I think he wants to marry anything but money? No thank you, father, if I am to marry I shall look elsewhere for a husband.’

  ‘But Elizabeth...’ began Nicholas, but Mr Whittle interrupted him:

  ‘Do you defy your father? Where are your manners, girl?’

  ‘I have decided, father,’ she said, looking him boldly in the face, ‘I shall marry someone I respect or not marry at all. I shall certainly never marry this... this man.’ She managed to give such a note of scorn to her voice that I almost felt sorry for Nicholas, though I knew he deserved it. And although his recent experiences had, I believed, greatly changed him for the better, I still did not think he would be a good husband for her.

  I felt it was time I intervened.

  ‘Nicholas has asked me to confirm that he has turned over a new leaf. I do believe that he has, and has determined to lead a better life than he did in the past. But I still cannot commend him as the right husband for Elizabeth, and, Nathan,’ I said, laying my hand on his arm, for he seemed about to interrupt, ‘you must not condemn her to a life of unhappiness, however well-off she might be.’

  Mr Whittle stood for a moment, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, so that Nicholas had a chance to speak.

  ‘You’re right, Mistress Whittle,’ he said, ‘I have behaved badly, and I’m sorry. Sorry too that I didn’t realise before that you had so much spirit. I wish you every happiness—and may you find a worthier man than me, Thank you sir’—this was to Whittle—‘for your offer. But Elizabeth and Mr Judd are right, I’m not the husband she deserves. Good even’ to you.’ He gave us a little bow and walked out of the house.

  ‘God’s wounds and bloody Beelzebub!’ Whittle said in a low voice. I had never heard him swear like that before.

  ‘Come, Mr Whittle,’ I said, ‘your daughter’s happiness is the most precious thing you can wish for—far more than gold, so why not let her wishes be your guide? And if Denis Faire should be the man she chooses, do consider—he is an enterprising man who will be a credit to his father-in-law, whoever that may be, so if I were you I would accept him with open arms’

  ‘Maybe you’re right, Micah. She’s a determined young hussy, so perhaps I’ll have to let her have her own way.’

  She flung her arms round him and kissed him.

  I don’t know how Denis heard that the way was open for him to pay court, but he must have wasted very little time, for the next thing I heard was that he and Elizabeth were to be betrothed. Agnes and I were invited to the ceremony, when friends and relations gathered to witness the pair making their vows. In the customary manner he took her hand and said, ‘I Denis take thee Elizabeth to my espoused wife, and to faithfully promise to marry thee in time meet and convenient.’ She then made the same promise to him, except that she said, ‘... and promise to yield to be married to thee.’ We then congratulated them, kissed Elizabeth in turn, and had refreshments of cake and wine with much jollity.

  Their marriage followed after only three weeks delay. During that time I heard that Nicholas had volunteered as a soldier, much to the distress of his mother. He went to join the Earl of Crawford, whom Prince Maurice had left in charge of Dorset, and quickly distinguished himself in the skirmish at Poole when the Earl was ambushed and nearly killed. Later Nicholas, or Captain Dashwood as he had become, was wounded while going with the King’s forces into the far west, and came back home to help his father run their estate. Eventually he married a local landowner’s daughter, from Puddletown not far from Dorchester.

  Denis and Elizabeth were married in St Peter’s Church towards the end of September, using the form of service of the Book of Common Prayer, for it had not yet been banned by Pa
rliament. Bride and Groom looked very fine. Denis had bought new clothes, and the gloves which a bridegroom traditionally gives to his friends were made by his father-in-law.

  After the service we went to the Antelope Inn for the wedding breakfast. I helped to hold the cloth over the bride and groom while the cake was broken over it. Then all the unmarried girls present made their expected dash for the cloth and tried to grab a few crumbs, which they would put under their pillows that night in hope of dreaming of their future husbands. There was much laughter, and some rather broad jokes made by one or two of the older men.

  Mr Whittle made a speech, in the course of which he said:

  ‘I had my doubts, I don’t mind admitting, about the man my daughter was set on marrying. But she didn’t take any notice o’ me (laughter). I wonder where she got that obstinate streak from? Not from me, that’s certain (more laughter). Must ha’ been from her mother, God rest her soul. Anyway, now she’s got him, and it’s up to him to manage her if he can (laughter).

  ‘An’ now I want to mention someone without whom this happy day wouldn’t have come about—Mr Micah Judd.’ He went on to thank me in such fulsome terms that I was forced to interrupt him and say,

  ‘Nay, Mr Whittle, your daughter would have got her man without help or hindrance from me or you. All I have done is get back the means for you to send them off on their life together a bit richer than they expected, and for that let’s all give a cheer.’

  Here I must cease, though I have much more to tell—of that poor ‘Wise Man’, Malachy Moore, of the Weymouth plotters, and of the King’s murdered messenger. But all that must wait for another time.

  * * * * *

  For those who like to know the history

  The events of the Civil War mentioned happened much as described. Dorchester citizens did make great efforts to improve their defences, then lost heart (especially after William Strode’s depressing assessment and Mr White’s departure) and surrendered to Lord Carnarvon—only to be pillaged a day or two later by Prince Maurice’s men. The Prince went on to conquer Melcombe, Weymouth and Sandsfoot Castle, and Portland was captured by Mr Bragge’s trick as described. Micah Judd, Belial’s Band, and the finding of the treasures are fictional.

  * * * * *