It was three more days before the gate at Wandsworth prison swung open and Doug stepped blinking into the early May sunshine. Julia threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
"You keep on leaving me. Whenever we're together you go again. You must stop doing this."
"I will. I promise."
They kissed in the sombre shadows of the gaol, then she led him away to the litter-strewn car park where a taxi was waiting.
Chapter 22: Devon, May 14th 1643
In the three weeks since the battle at Sourton Down, the Parliamentary army had set up base in the neighbouring county of Devon and used the time to regroup and train. John had been elevated to the rank of captain and given his own troop of horse to command. Many of the new recruits were untrained, used to hunting on horseback across the extensive West Country moorlands rather than the discipline and horsemanship of a cavalry regiment.
Cajoling and beating these new recruits into shape was time consuming and John had no time to visit Kate. His manservant, Ben, had joined a foot regiment and so was no longer able to deliver messages. John knew that the critical battle which would turn the tide either way was imminent. News had reached the Parliamentarian forces that the Royalists were receiving reinforcements from England and so it was decided that a stand would have be made to prevent the two armies joining up.
Early on 14th May, John was preparing his cavalry for more training when news reached him that the offensive was about to take place.
"Captain Trebarfoot, I need a word please. Will you step inside my billet?" requested his commanding officer.
"John, I have just been to a briefing with the Earl of Stamford and the other commanders. Today the army will march back into Cornwall and take up a defensive position at Stratton. It's imperative that we prevent Hopton's Royalists meeting up with reinforcements who are marching down from England commanded by Lord Hertford."
"But that's great news, sir. After Sourton the men are in fine spirits and in the past three weeks I've transformed my horsemen from country yokels into a proper fighting force. They're raring for a fight."
"I know. I've watched you. That's why I have a special mission for you." John felt pride swelling his chest. He was ready to prove that his men were a fine and disciplined fighting force. The Major lowered his voice and looked uncomfortable.
"You see, Captain, not all the cavalry is going to Stratton. Sir George Chudleigh is to lead the bulk of horse in a diversionary raid on Bodmin to distract Lord Hertford's approaching army."
"How many horse is he taking?"
"Five hundred."
"My God! That leaves us with no more than two hundred."
"Correct. And I want you to command them. You've shown yourself an excellent leader and I want someone with plenty of battle experience. You will be held in reserve. Our forces will be in a strong defensive position at the summit of a fortified hill. The main battle will be on foot as we prevent the Royalists from storming that position. It's only if they break through that your troop will be needed. It's not ideal fighting ground for cavalry so you'll have to use your wits."
John left the briefing feeling both elated but fearful. 'Elated' because he was to lead his men in battle, an accolade granted only to a few. 'Fearful' because this was not the type of operation for which he had prepared his men. They were trained for a classic cavalry charge along the flanks of the foot soldiers, cutting into their ranks and creating maximum confusion. This was a subversive operation, requiring individual action rather than the strength that came from riding in a troop together.
At nine o'clock that morning the main army began its trek to Stratton, twenty miles away, and John watched with diffidence as the five hundred horse under Sir George Chudleigh set off towards Bodmin. By ten, his own men were ready and mounted. As they departed, John felt a great pride at the sight of his troopers dressed in their buff protective coats and mounted on the sturdy horses which bred on the moorlands of his homeland. He took his position at the head of his men and set off to Stratton.
Stratton, May 16th 1643
The Parliamentarian forces were drawn up around an iron-age fort at the top of a hill. The eastern slope was thickly wooded providing cover for John and his two hundred horse who were positioned out of sight of the Royalist army. The Parliamentarians numbered over five thousand foot soldiers, easily outnumbering the Royalist force of two thousand four hundred.
The assault began at dawn on the sixteenth. The morning sky was overcast and a light rain fell on the opposing armies. The Royalist infantry fought their way resolutely up the steep slopes even though outnumbered by the Parliamentarians. However, their position became untenable when their ammunition and gun powder stocks began to run low. By mid-day, neither side had an advantage. John and his two hundred horse were still held back in the dense woodland, irritated that they had seen no action.
To try and gain an advantage, the Parliamentarian forces broke out from their stronghold and charged the attacking Royalist foot soldiers. The better trained Royalist infantry held their ground amidst fierce hand to hand combat and the surviving Parliamentarians were forced back up the hill, hotly pursued by the Royalists.
"Sir, sir," gasped the young messenger as he slithered to a halt in the mud by the side of John, who still waited at the head of his cavalry.
"Message from the Earl, sir. Attack now, sir. The Royalists are pushing our men back up the hill. You're to come in from behind, sir, and cut their lines."
John acknowledged the order and dismissed the breathless runner. He commanded his men to draw their pistols then, with a defiant roar, the two hundred horsemen charged onto the battlefield.
The scene that greeted them was chaotic. The Parliamentarian lines had broken and groups of Royalist infantry were forcing their way up the hill, supported by musketeers stationed at their flanks. Canon fire was being directed into the midst of the retreating Parliamentarians blasting bodies into the air and depositing smoke over the battlefield. Wounded men clutching gaping wounds crawled through thick mud in an attempt to flee the conflict.
John gave the order to break formation and charge the Royalists from behind. The cavalry drew their swords and entered the fray. But the horses had difficulty holding their ground on the steep and treacherous slopes. Riders were quickly pulled from their saddles and forced to engage in hand to hand combat. The advantage of the surprise attack was lost as horses fell and riders in their heavy coats were easy prey to the Royalist infantry.
Soon the Parliamentarians were in full retreat as the Royalists mounted a three-pronged attack on the summit. John and the remainder of his troop mounted a rear guard action to protect the retreating foot soldiers, but when they reached the summit they discovered that the bulk of the Parliamentarian force had already fled, leaving cannons and ammunition behind.
As the Royalist forces surrounded the top of the hill and began slaughtering the remaining Parliamentarians, John spied a narrow corridor back into the woods. With five remaining troopers, he seized the opportunity and galloped for cover.
The Parliamentarian defeat had been comprehensive. As John made his way through the woods, watching out for groups of Royalists who were bent on further revenge, he realised that Parliament's cause in the West Country was now finished. Once the two Royalist armies joined up there would be no way the Parliamentarians could defeat them. So this was the time he had waited for. With confusion in the county and people on the move, he would seek out Kate and hold her father to his word. Then they would move to one of the big cities still under Parliamentary protection, Plymouth or Exeter. He would be welcomed there and they could start a new life together. He would get word to Kate that she must prepare.
Chapter 23: Penhallam, May 17th
A light breeze drifted through the open window at Penhallam teasing the candle flames which cast gyrating shadows across the kitchen walls. Julia and Doug struggled listlessly with a light meal – each preoccupied with their own thoughts.
"Am I insane?" asked Doug, p
ushing his fork to one side of his half-eaten meal. "I've always prided myself on being rational. It's the way I work – using deduction and logic. Now here I am about to watch some ghosts reconstruct a murder."
"So why do you want to do this?"
Doug stared disconsolately into his wine.
"I don't believe we have all the answers. I accept that there are things we don't understand – things that don't have a scientific or logical explanation. But that doesn't make them any less real. For example, Sarah, your daughter. I believe she's absolutely real to you but I can't touch her or speak to her so it's a different kind of reality. Maybe that's the problem. None of us knows what 'real' is anymore."
Julia turned and stared out of the kitchen window at the fading light which cast heavy shadows across the garden.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about Sarah."
"It's alright. I don't mind talking about her. It keeps her alive. Maybe that's what these memories of yours are doing, keeping something alive that should be at rest."
"Harry said something similar," replied Doug. "He told me there was some evidence that paranormal activity is the result of what he called 'unfinished business'. Something in the past which wasn't completed and so the memories keep replaying until they can reach a natural ending – a bit like a damaged CD."
"Do you think there's unfinished business here at Penhallam?"
"That's what I'm hoping to find out tonight."
"How will this re-enactment help?"
Doug pushed his plate away and sighed.
"I don't believe ghosts exist in a physical sense. But perhaps they're like memories that take on a tangible form in our minds – a way that we have of connecting with the past."
"Why do you think these memories survive?"
"Maybe it's because they have something to say to us today. I think it's possible that we inherit memory passed on through generations. After all, we inherit traits like physical features and personality – why not memory? And maybe that memory helps us to deal with the present. Perhaps that's what Freddie meant when he said 'the future lies in the past'."
At midnight they ventured out into the courtyard carrying folding chairs. Julia also took a flask of coffee and some sandwiches. They had turned off the downstairs lights in the house but a single lit window from upstairs provided some illumination in an otherwise inky black night.
They set their chairs up and waited. The timeless call of an owl drifted on the breeze before the night reverted to a profound silence. Julia took hold of Doug's arm and pulled herself closer to him. She checked her watch. It was half past midnight.
Doug tensed.
"What's the matter?"
"Up there. Kate's window. I'm sure I saw a light flicker."
"I can't see anything. You're imagining it."
"I saw something. Look, there it is again."
She felt his body go rigid. His eyes were bulging.
"What is it, Doug? What have you seen?"
Kate stood back from the window holding only a candle so that she couldn't be seen from outside. Some of the guests were leaving now. The raucous laughter. The sound of horse's hooves on the cobbled courtyard and her father's voice shouting coarse salutations as they left. He had won friends that night. Her humiliation in front of his guests had been intended to prove his commitment to the King's cause and his dedication to the Catholic Church. Word would soon be abroad that Arthur Penhallam was no ditherer. He was a true Royalist and, as such, would expect to be rewarded handsomely by the King when this brief insurrection was over. He would ask for the Trebarfoot's estate. That would make him the largest landowner in the county and it would amuse him to see the haughty Trebarfoots ruined.
She looked again at the crumpled note that Beth had smuggled in with her food.
'Kate, my darling. It will be tonight. We must flee. Be ready for me at one o'clock. I pray that we can leave without your father finding us. Wait by the window and bring only a small bag.'
The door to her room opened. She hurriedly hid the note in her pocket and turned to see Robert standing in the dim light. He was dressed ostentatiously in the extravagant clothing of a cavalier. He wore a white ruffle over a crimson tunic and his dark hair reached down to his shoulders.
"Kate, beware. Father's drunk and he's in a rage. Mother's already felt the force of his fist. It'll be you next. I've come to warn you."
"Then help me, Robert. I fear for my life."
"He doesn't listen to me, Kate. You know that."
"You're weak, Robert. I'd rather die than suffer the indignity he subjects me to. Won't you please do something?"
"Kate – forget about John. That's the best advice I can give you. The Parliamentarian cause is lost. He'll die – if he's not already dead."
The door slammed shut and she was left alone, overwhelmed by her misery. She sat on the bed, looking with hate at the cold and controlling eyes that held her captive. Filled with revulsion, she rose from the bed and stared out of her window, waiting for a glimpse of John. As she peered into the darkness beyond, she felt a presence and a warmth that was unfamiliar in this hostile environment – a feeling that she was not alone – a manifestation that extended beyond the present into a future that was hidden from her eyes. She reached out, to touch, to see – but then it was gone and she shivered in the sudden cold.
The clock struck a half past midnight. Just half an hour to go. Then came the sound of her father stumbling down the corridor towards her room. She mustn't let him ruin the plan. This could be her only chance to get away. Maybe it would be better if she submitted – get it over with. Then he would leave her. But it would be a terrible betrayal of John and their life together.
The door swung open. He stood there, a flagon in his hand – wine dripping from his flaccid moustache.
"You need teaching a lesson, my pretty maid. Try to argue with me in front of my friends, would you? People who we depend on to keep us on these lands. I'll show you what happens to those who cross me."
With that he started to undo the thick leather belt that hung round his oversized tunic.
"No, Father – not that please. Ask whatever you want but not that," implored Kate.
He grabbed her arms and bound her wrists to the bed posts. Then, with the force of an ox, he ripped the gown from her body and lashed her exposed skin with the leather belt.
Doug let out a scream and grabbed his chest. Julia threw her arms around him and broke his fall to the ground. He was still calling out, writhing on the stones, his eyes closed. Suddenly, there was somebody else there – somebody helping her – somebody calming her.
"It'll be alright. Just hold him. He'll be alright in a moment."
In the dark she could make out a man, slight and with a soft voice.
"Hold him. Talk to him. Let him know that you're here."
Doug began to convulse.
The belt lashed into Kate for a third time. She screamed as the leather cut deep into raw flesh.
"Whore, Bitch!"
The door was thrown open. Robert burst into the room with a knife raised above his head. His father turned, sputum frothing from his mouth.
"So you got some balls after all, young fella."
"Leave her. She's had enough."
"You're either with me, lad, or you're agin' me. There ain't no in-between."
And with that he seized a lead candlestick and lashed out at his son. Robert ducked and moved to the side. His father turned and raised the candlestick over his head. Robert took advantage of the delay to lash out, plunging the knife deep into his father's left arm.
Arthur Penhallam let out a cry and brought the candlestick down onto his son's head. Blood splattered across the wall and Robert fell inert to the floor.
Arthur grabbed at the wound on his arm and tried to stem the flow of blood. Kate lay bound to the bed, the pain from her lashes causing her body to writhe.
"I'll deal with you later. I'll deal with you both. You'll wish you were dead," he
yelled as he staggered back down the corridor.
Doug was lying on the ground breathing deeply.
"We must take him inside – call an ambulance." said Julia anxiously as she mopped his brow.
"Not yet," replied the stranger. "We must wait. He has to know the truth – just as I must."
She turned and studied his face.
"I know you. You're Freddie. How did you get out? I mean you're supposed to …"
He didn't answer. His gaze was drawn to Kate's window.
"He'll be here soon."
"Who'll be here soon?"
"John."
Kate was roused from her stupor by a tapping sound on the window. Robert, motionless on the floor, a pool of blood by his head.
The top of a ladder appeared and then a face – streaked with mud and blood.
"Oh my God, Kate! What has he done?"
John Trebarfoot was through the window in a flash and quickly untied Kate's bonds. She gasped with pain as he pulled her into his arms. Tears trickled down his dirt-stained face as he glimpsed the raw wealds that covered her back.
"The bastard! I'll kill him."
"No, John. That would be a mistake. We'll be hunted down. We must get out. But we have to take Robert too."
John's eyes fell on Robert's prostate body.
"What happened?"
"He tried to stop him beating me. For the first time, he stood up for me."
"We can't take him. I've only got one horse."
"Father will kill him."
"He'll slow us down, Kate. We must go before we're discovered."
The sound of further shouting downstairs and the noise of furniture being overturned was enough to convince her. John climbed onto the ladder first then helped Kate step out from the window. In the shadows, she could see the silhouette of Black Thunder tethered to a tree.
They managed to sit Doug up against a wall. He was breathing more easily now and was conscious of his surroundings.
The Voice Within Page 18
