Spirit of the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  ‘What? Go on.’

  ‘He shot the whole family.’

  I was silent. Waited for more.

  ‘He asked for directions to Lord Copthorne’s house, the Big House. He armed his men, had them break in and round up the whole family. He ordered us to bring them into the yard in their nightclothes. Children, women. Then he took his pistol and shot each one. They had nowhere to run. He took the pistols off his men, so he could fire each shot. He took mine to shoot the youngest. Must have been only about four years old. That boy had such a look of puzzlement on his face.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nobody survived it, only the two elder Copthorne brothers who had been playing in the hayloft above the stables. Philip and Edward. We heard later that they saw it all.’

  Copthorne’s frenzied slaying of my father suddenly made sense. ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘No. I don’t think I —’

  ‘Tell me, damn you. I need to know.’

  ‘I couldn’t hold that gun no more. I threw it away. That night your father fell asleep in his tent as usual. His snores made us uncomfortable; that he could sleep so sound. Those of us that had been there could not meet each other’s eyes. We’d witnessed something we didn’t want to remember. In the morning I asked your father if he remembered the night before. “No idea,” he said. Can you believe it, afterwards he could not remember any of it. I couldn’t help thinking of those two young boys watching from the stables. Christmastide, and no-one to make merry with, their family rotting in the yard.’

  My heart twisted. My father had done that. I couldn’t grasp it. ‘Did you hate him?’

  ‘No. He saved my life. In a sword fight against a cavalier. But he was a different man when the drink was on him — angry, dark, bitter. Then it was best to keep out of his way.’

  ‘You say he shot all these people?’

  ‘We were at war, Ralph. I keep telling myself, odd things happen in war. Savage things. We turn from men into beasts. You have to forgive and forget, or you’d turn bedlam.’

  ‘That explains why Edward Copthorne said he’d hunt me down. I thought he was just crazed.’

  Cutch paused, raised his eyebrows, gave me his full attention. ‘He said that?’

  ‘After I killed his brother. What he said to me made no sort of sense at the time, but it does now.’

  Cutch crossed himself. ‘God preserve us all. Edward Copthorne’s the last of his line. I’ve seen him fight, you know. He’s got more than a touch of your father about him, himself. Ruthless. Too much war, I’ll wager; it sours you if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Do you think Copthorne’ll come after me?’

  Cutch evaded my question. ‘He’s probably been arrested or transported by now,’ he said carefully. ‘Better worry about Downall and his men instead. They’re closer to home. Come on, if you’ve finished eating we’d best bury this fire before someone sees it.’

  We threw the bones of the rabbit into the fire and kicked earth over the pit. When I’d done I stood a moment, looking at the smoking ground. It reminded me of the heat haze shimmering over the corpses in the field where my father died.

  I turned to Cutch. ‘I’ve tried to forget it, you know. Worcester I mean. But it haunts me, like it’s eaten deep inside me, the sight of those men lying on the field. Carrion crows pecking at their unseeing eyes. And all I could think of, was their womenfolk sitting waiting at home, still darning their hose, all unawares.’

  ‘Aye, I hope there’s an end of war between Englishmen.’ Cutch spat out a bone, helped me stamp the earth flat. We stamped harder and longer than was necessary.

  ‘Shall I reset the snares?’

  ‘If you like. This rabbit’s been tasty enough, but we’ll soon tire of it. If we’re staying here any length of time we’ll need bread, grain for brewing, warm clothing when the cold sets in, and something to trade. We sure as eggs can’t live the Diggers way, not if we’re going to survive here.’

  ‘It might only be a few more days.’

  Cutch gave a curt laugh. ‘Didn’t sound like they’d forget you that quick. Months might be more like.’

  ‘Defeatist.’

  ‘We’ll still need supplies though. A whetstone for sharpening. Soap. A cooking pot or two would be nice. And I fancy a new pair of breeches.’

  ‘What?’

  He grinned. ‘Only joking.’

  I pushed him on the shoulder. ‘I thought you liked living rough.’

  ‘There’s rough … and then, there’s this.’

  ‘Oh milady! Didn’t know you were so fussy. We’ll soon be out of here.’

  ‘Guess we’ll spend a few days here, then go North. Out of this county, where Downall and his men can’t reach us.’

  I sat down heavily on a tree stump. My stomach clenched. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘But you just said —’

  ‘I know what I said. But I can’t leave Kate.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘What a mess.’

  ‘She’s a married woman, Ralph. Married to Thomas Fanshawe. What good will it do, hanging round here? You’ll just torture yourself.’

  ‘There’s Abigail and my mother. I’m supposed to be taking care of them. I promised Abigail her dowry. And I can’t leave Kate. Cromwell’s men won’t be kind to Royalist women. What if she needs me?’

  Cutch sighed in frustration. ‘It’s none of your business. Let her husband look to her. You know I’m right. You have to forget her, Ralph.’

  ‘I can’t. Don’t ask me why, but I can’t.’

  14 -THE NIGHT VISITOR

  A crack of a twig woke me, and I felt through the darkness for Cutch’s sleeping form and shook him by the shoulder. ‘Visitors,’ I whispered.

  He was on his feet in moments fumbling for his sword. There was no time to load a pistol, and we had no fire to light firepowder anyway. The soft crackle of leaves and beechnuts underfoot was closer now.

  I took my sword and stood behind the doorway, Cutch readied himself by the window, prepared to leap out. We peered into the blackness but could see nothing. Silence enveloped us. Then the noise again, very close now. A single person by the sound of it. Downall. Just outside the door. I leapt out, sword in hand. A scream as my hand went around the throat. Confused, I let go. It was a woman. Her cloak and skirts brushed against my knees.

  ‘Let go!’

  ‘Abigail! You fool. I nearly killed you.’ I took her hand, traced the sign for ‘the middle of the night’ on her palm, made a face.

  ‘It was the only time I could come. Downall’s back on the estate, and he’s watching us both to see if we make contact with you.’

  ‘You weren’t followed?’ She did not understand. ‘Come.’ I pulled her inside, where Cutch had lit a lantern. We sat round its meagre light, so Abigail could read our faces.

  ‘Nobody saw you come?’ I asked again.

  She shook her head, wrapped her cloak tighter. ‘Of course not. Jacob told me where he’d sent you. I came to see if you’d gone.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come out in the dark. You’re all a-shiver.’

  ‘I can’t stay long. Did you know Sir Thomas arrived last night? He came in the small hours.’

  ‘Sir Simon wasn’t with him?’

  ‘No, just a small retinue of servants.’

  My stomach dropped. Already.

  ‘He was horrified at the state of the house and grounds and rode over to talk to Constable Mallinson about the lawlessness in his absence, and whether he could regain any of his lost goods. After initial disagreements, apparently they were reconciled, so long as he agreed Downall would continue to manage the estate. Kate was furious about Downall, but there was little she could do, now the Master of the house is home.’

  ‘Is Sir Thomas trying to persuade Kate to go with him, back to France?’

  ‘Not any more. Constable Mallinson said that it would be better if he could be seen to be doing his best for the village — that way he might be able to persuade the Committee to let him keep his
lands. They’ve struck some sort of bargain. Now the King is out of the country, they just want things to get back to normal as soon as possible. Mallinson will put in a word for him with Cromwell’s new regime, if he employs certain people in the village. So no, I think Thomas is going to try and stay. He’s grown up — he’s more sure of himself. He wants to rid himself of his uncle’s rule, and do things his own way.’

  I wasn’t sure if this was worse news or better news. I tried to weigh up the implications. One thing was certain though, while ever he was there I would not be welcome at Markyate Manor, and it would make it nigh on impossible to get near to Kate.

  ‘It’s good news. I was dreading France,’ Abigail went on. ‘I would have had to go with her, and I couldn’t bear it. To be amongst strangers again. It takes me so long to get familiar, so I can read their lips. And I couldn’t manage another language, I just know I couldn’t. English is hard enough.’

  ‘So now he’s back, what is his precious Lordship going to do?’ I said scathingly.

  Abigail frowned. ‘Unlike some, he wants to mend the rifts in our neighbourhood, not stir up trouble.’

  ‘Hey, I wasn’t —’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Ralph, I’m your sister. Don’t try to fool me. At least it means Downall will be too busy kow-towing to Thomas Fanshawe to waste time searching for you.’ She stood again, brushed the bracken off her skirt, leant her back against the wall.

  Cutch caught her eye. ‘How’s your mother?’

  ‘Distraught of course. Worried to death about Ralph. Wondering how she’ll manage with no man’s wage. Downall has put the word out that if you show your faces again, you’re to be arrested. There are notices up with your descriptions in Wheathamstead, St Albans … all the villages nearby.’

  Cutch looked to me, it was not what we wanted to hear.

  ‘Ralph,’ burst out Abigail, ‘please, stay away. Go to some other town, find work there. You’ll be safer, and when this has all blown over, I’ll write to you and you can come home. I need to keep my work at the Manor, and if you cause any more trouble there, Thomas Fanshawe will see that I’ll lose it. And then what would Mother do?’

  ‘You’re telling me to get out of your life? Your own brother?’

  She stood. ‘It’s not like that, you know it’s not. It’s just … it would be best if you went away for a while.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Abigail turned to Cutch. ‘It’s Kate, isn’t it?’

  Cutch nodded.

  She sighed. ‘Please, Cutch, you’ve got to help me to persuade him. We just want peace. And Jacob’s father won’t consider me, not whilst Ralph is still an outlaw on his patch.’

  So my feelings didn’t matter. It was all about her and Jacob. ‘What does Kate think?’ I asked. ‘You haven’t told me what she thinks.’

  ‘She’s pleased.’ Abigail looked at me defiantly. ‘The master has told her he will rebuild the house. Make it a grand house again, like it was in her mother’s day. That he’ll refurnish it and restore it to life. And when he came back from meeting Constable Mallinson,’ she said, ‘he’d brought a beautiful glass vase, found it at the market. It used to be the one that sat on the dining table, before Grice and the Roundheads came. Thomas had filled it with full-blown roses from the garden. I’ve never seen Kate’s face so raw with pain. It brought her to tears.’

  I turned away. The needle in my chest was so sharp I could hardly breathe.

  ‘I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but better for you to know how things are.’

  ‘A few roses won’t make any difference to Kate,’ I said.

  Abigail read my feelings in my face, but I saw her harden her expression. ‘Sorry Ralph, but I have to go. Nobody knows I’m here. I wheedled your whereabouts from Jacob, but Kate thinks I’m sleeping, and I need to be back in time for my early morning duties if the master is not to dismiss me.’

  ‘The master,’ I said. ‘S’truth, it’s “the master” now.’

  Abigail reached out to touch me but I shrugged her off.

  ‘Try to persuade him,’ she said softly to Cutch.

  ‘If you’ll permit me, Miss Abigail, I’ll bring the lantern and walk with you a mile or two until you’re safe on the road,’ Cutch said.

  ‘Thanking you,’ Abigail said. I heard the relief in her voice. I knew she found darkness difficult.

  A few moments later and I was the one alone in the darkness with just my thoughts.

  The silence closed round me like a shroud. What was it all for? All that fighting, and Thomas Fanshawe was going to walk back in to his house and be the lord of the manor just as before. And Kate. I never thought I cared a fig for luxuries, that they were irrelevant. But now I cared about having them. Not for myself, but for Kate. It should have been me bringing her roses in a glass vase.

  I had never thought of myself as jealous, but the thought of Thomas buying gifts for Kate made me want to smash something. Women loved fine silks and beautiful surroundings, and it hurt me that I would never be able to provide them, that Kate would always need to look to someone else. Someone rich like the Fanshawes, not a poor farmer like me. It made me feel less like a man, that I could not give her what she needed. Prosperity showed the world you were someone. What was I? An outlaw in a filthy hovel. Diggers dreams were useless when the woman you loved did not share them.

  15 - THE OUTLAWS

  Though Cutch tried to persuade me, I would not move on. I took my horse and spent long risky hours watching Markyate Manor from behind a brake of trees. On two occasions I saw carts arrive from the St Albans road; carts bearing a large polished dining table and chairs, some storage chests, and what looked like rolled tapestries. Other deliveries too, bolts of cloth, the rush-man with new rushes for the floors. In the fields around the Manor, men were hard at work, ploughing for the winter crops whilst my plot lay fallow.

  When I came back after one of these journeys I was morose and bitter, and Cutch shook his head. He ignored me, but went on emptying the snares and boiling up dock and nettle to make a meal without speaking.

  Finally, he spoke. ‘We’ve been here ten days,’ he said. ‘I’ve been counting. What are we doing, Ralph?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, we can’t stay here forever. The leaves are falling and there’s not as much cover.’

  ‘Why move,’ I said, ‘we’re safe enough here, aren’t we?’ And I continued to break up more kindling for our fire. Though I knew he was right, the leaf-fall was dense underfoot.

  ‘Then I might move on without you. It would be safer for us to move independently too.’

  I stopped what I was doing. He looked serious, and guilt hit me like a ball of shot. ‘You’ve had enough, haven’t you? Can’t say I blame you. I’d promised you work in the village and instead we’re stuck out here. You can go on without me, if you like —’

  A screaming noise made us swivel to look into the undergrowth. ‘It’s a deer,’ Cutch said.

  As we approached we could see it thrashing. One of the rabbit snares had caught round its hoof, and that in turn was caught around a thick coppiced branch that had been cut off close to the ground. It was a doe, light-boned and graceful. At the sight of us, its eyes rolled white with fear.

  ‘Shall I shoot it?’ Cutch had his bow ready.

  ‘No, wait,’ I said. I felt sorry for it.

  ‘You’re right. It would be too much meat for just us. And it seems a shame. She’s only a young one. Give us your jerkin, we’ll put that over her head, quieten her.’

  I unfastened my doublet, and wriggled out of the sleeves. The deer was still panicked and every movement cut deeper into its leg. I threw my doublet over its head, held it tight. Slowly the flailing legs quietened, until Cutch could get to the wire.

  He had to make several attempts to free the animal, and dodge its flying hooves. But finally the rabbit snare was off, and wrapped round its own peg to keep it from doing more damage.

  ‘Here, hold her head,�
�� Cutch said. ‘I’m going to put some feverfew on that wound.’ I lay on its neck to hold it still whilst he found the herb by the edge of the track and squashed it to bring the juice. Then I tied a strip of cloth from my shirt around it, clamping the feverfew over the wound.

  ‘Alright,’ he said, ‘You can let her go.’

  I pulled my doublet off her head and the deer scrambled up and leapt sideways, bounding away into the forest. All we could see was the strip of white cloth on her hind leg as her natural camouflage blended her into the trees.

  ‘You’ve done us out of a venison dinner,’ Cutch said. ‘I’m that sick of rabbit I could have eaten her raw.’

  ‘Sorry Cutch. It just didn’t seem right. You go on without me, find yourself a nice alehouse, get a decent dinner. I’m going to stay here. There’s my mother and Abigail to think of. I don’t trust Downall, or Thomas Fanshawe.’

  ‘No. It’s all right. I’ve sort of got used to you. And you couldn’t manage without me, could you? Like with the deer. You need me.’

  ‘Like a hole in the head. I’m not the one who had to mend the wagon wheel three times, and it’s still not fixed. You’re a crap wheelwright.’ But I was smiling. I’d thought he’d leave me.

  ‘Aye, you’re probably right.’ He exhaled a huge sigh. ‘I’ll stay on one condition,’ he said. ‘That I don’t have to eat another rabbit.’

  ‘Well it’s that, or nettle and berries, and the berries are all but gone.’

  He made a face. ‘I think we can do better than that.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking. The road. It’s only a half mile off. We can relieve a few folk of their excess provisions.’

  ‘Are you serious? I don’t hold with robbery. It’s against the Diggers’ way.’

  He sighed. ‘Not the flaming Diggers again. I’m sick of hearing about them. Forget them, they can’t help us now, but the highway can. Think of it like robbing the rich to feed the poor.’