“I am afraid that we can but wait my Lordship.” Giles sadly informed him.
Godfrey thought to the fighting, the siege, the bloodshed, the ‘creatures’, the carnage and the waste of all of those lives.
They fought on for hours.
Sword and pike thrusts accompanied countless shot as the battle raged on, until eventually, as Giles so prophetically predicted, the tide indeed turned.
A couple of thousand creatures fell to the rage filled onslaught of the men defending the estate, until finally, none were left standing.
However, at least a couple of hundred men lay fallen along them.
Too many innocent lives wasted, too many souls taken away far too soon and for what?
A tear formed in his eye, remembering what Giles confided in him, his suspicions over how the infected came to be that way.
Thankfully, Elizabeth did not overhear the conversation, working busily to help tend to the wounded.
Though he knew in his heart, she suspected and feared this may be the case.
The sheath lay across his lap.
With one hand, he slowly slid the thin dagger from its insert, not looking as its sharp blade appeared.
With his other hand, he lovingly stroked his daughter’s hair, as only a loving father knew how.
Gazed at her face, her beautiful, angelic face, he closed his eyes, experiencing deep pain and sorrow as he remembered the times they spent together, remembering the joy he felt when Elizabeth confirmed she was with child, the pride and love he felt, holding his daughter in his arms for the first time.
He could hear the slight sighing sound of her breath as it emitted from her body gently, until suddenly it ceased.
His eyes closed tightly as he winced and started to repeat a mantra.
“Stay asleep my love, stay asleep my love.”
He knew Giles stood outside of the room, waiting his beckoning. He knew Jonathan was downstairs after he sent him away.
Jonathan offered to stand watch over Mary, knowing well Giles suspicions, but Godfrey was adamant it would be he, who would be at his daughter’s side.
Only mere minutes passed, before he heard a low groan emitting from his child’s throat and a rasping, gurgling noise, low but there.
His hand holding the dagger, rose slowly to the side of the pillow, which his beloved daughters head lain upon.
“Stay asleep my love, stay asleep my love.”
Elizabeth was downstairs now.
Jonathan informed him what happened with Hannah and Hugh, and he ordered him to locate the boy.
They searched the house and came upon him hidden in a large dresser in one of the upper rooms.
He did not witness what occurred, but could hear the pitiful crying of the man, as they dragged him along the hallway to the stairs, the moment his wife finally left him alone to be with their daughter.
The sound of her moaning became louder.
He looked down at her face. It appeared so white before, but now it was now crisscrossed with large darkening veins.
The tears ran freely running from his eyes.
“Stay asleep my love, stay asleep my love.”
He lifted the dagger slightly, so the point rested gently against her small ear.
“Stay asleep my love, stay asleep my love.”
Her eyelids fluttered and he noticed the dark specks of liquid, slipping from in-between her beautiful lips.
“Stay asleep my love, stay asleep my love.”
Her eyes opened at the same time as her mouth.
Her thickly veined arm slowly reaching to him.
Closing his eyes tightly, he thrust the thin dagger with all the strength remaining in his exhausted body.
“Stay asleep my love, stay...”
Hugh sat on a wooden chair in the middle of the room.
Jonathan stood nearby, around his feet, a small pool of water.
Elizabeth’s eyes followed the trail, leading to a half barrel of water near one of the walls. She glanced at Hugh, but the wretch’s hair and clothes were bone dry.
“Did not even make it to the barrel,” Jonathan stated, glaring at the seated figure, “Peter suggested we dunk his head as a last resort to see if it would make him speak, but the coward did not even make it halfway across the room without screaming and crying. I thought he was having a fit as he seemed to be convulsing that much. Damn near pushed me in the bloody thing, he was thrashing about that much.”
“Scared of water?” Elizabeth asked softly.
Nodding his head vigorously, Hugh kept his gaze at the floor.
She approached, placing her hand upon his head and stroking it gently.
“Then maybe you shall be lucky and be sent straight to the gallows,” she continued, still stroking his hair, before placing her hand under his chin to lift his face up to face hers.
“Or maybe you will be sent to the Americas. I am sure his Lordship has enough connections to make sure you spend the entire journey on deck, or maybe even be hung over the side. Would that be close enough to the water for you, boy?”
Jonathan stood by watching.
In all the years he knew Elizabeth, he never knew her to have one single, malicious bone within her body.
But now before him, stood a completely different woman.
Grief affects us all in different ways.
Looking up suddenly at the noise of the door opening, he saw within the doorway, Godfrey, his face ashen, his arms at his side with clenched fists.
Elizabeth turned, looking at him.
He shook his head, without taking his gaze from the man sat on the chair, held by the strong arms of Peter.
She ran passed him, tears streaming down her face.
“My Lord,” Jonathan said. “I am so sorry.”
Godfrey stared at him silently, a deep sorrow etched into his face.
“My Lord,” continued Jonathan, uncertain how to further break the heart of his friend, “there is more to the tale of Hannah than you know.”
Godfrey returned his gaze to the seated youth, head down, weeping so much, his tears formed a small pool on the floor.
“Tell me,” Godfrey instructed, in a tone Jonathan not heard from his friend before.
Moving through the carnage of the courtyard, Godfrey walked ahead of the two men holding the hooded figure of Hugh between them.
There were sounds of grunting and snivelling noises from beneath the hood, but no words were spoken, as they ensured the gag which quietened his mouth, held tight around his face.
He desperately tried to struggle, but the actions were fruitless against the combined strengths of both Jonathan and Peter.
Elizabeth remained in their bed chamber with their daughter.
Giles arranged, before Elizabeth made it to the bed chamber, the fatal wound he inflicted upon his daughter, cleansed as best as possible, before her Mother could see it.
She could not however, be shielded from the sight of her daughters contorted face and the criss-cross patchwork of blackened veins across her snow-white skin.
Striding across the courtyard to the remains of the gate, it felt like walking through a hellish abattoir, mounds and piles of bloody flesh and bodies covered the entire courtyard.
Giles stood in the middle of it, directing the men as best as he could, personally helping place the end of a pike into the heads of any of the creatures still moving.
Sighting Lord Godfrey, he beckoned him over.
Godfrey instructed Jonathan and Peter to take Hugh two of his most trusted men stood outside of the walls waiting near a cart and slowly made his way through the ocean of torn and dismembered flesh, trying to avoid standing in exposed innards, to where Giles stood.
“Your Lordship, my apologies, but in the matter of disposing of the bodies of these unfortunate wretches I suggest we dig a pit a few miles from here. It will take days due to the amount of bodies but I believe it would be for the best.”
Nodding his head silently in assent, Godfrey sile
ntly surveyed the carnage and wanton destruction of life, littering both his courtyard and ground beyond the walls.
Low groaning uttered forth from the mouth of a nearby.
Losing both legs, its burnt body twisted grotesquely, its hands gripped the bloodied stones as it dragged itself along the ground, its bloody entrails following in its wake.
Giles walked purposefully across to it, a pike raised in front of him.
Standing so close, he felt sickened and saddened, staring as it attempted to clench its jaws open and shut, it’s taut, charred skin preventing it from opening its mouth but a couple of centimetres.
Raising the pike high, he thrust it downwards, the metal spike penetrating the creature’s forehead above the eye-socket, causing the reddened orb to come free, hanging down its cheek, held only by strands of optic nerves.
With another hard push on the shaft, the creature ceased its movements.
He turned to Godfrey, who knelt next to what appeared a bundle of rags.
Before he could reach him, Godfrey beckoned over to Peter, stood talking the men stationed at the gate.
Peter quickly made his way over to where Godfrey knelt.
“There will be no pit for any of these souls.” Godfrey said, staring at the still figure beneath him.
“My Lord, are we to burn them instead?” Giles asked.
“No. I want each and every one of these souls buried.”
Peter and Giles exchanged puzzled looks.
“But, buried my Lord?” Giles asked. “That would take weeks at least and where would we bury them?”
“I have to agree my Lord,” Peter concurred, “there must be a couple of thousand bodies at least, without including the men who were slain fighting alongside us.”
Godfrey did not raise his gaze from the figure underneath him.
“I am not speaking of individual services for all. But once these poor men, women and children were alive like us. They lived and loved, they toiled, they prayed and played. We cannot mourn their passing with a service of words for each. But we will bury them as the good Lord would wish.”
Standing, he turned to face them.
“Peter, arrange for all of the cloth and wood which is loaded onto the ship to be brought back here. Wrap each corpse as best you can. If there are pieces which we know from not whence they came, then sadly these may be buried in a pit.”
“Giles, I have countless acres of land across this region alone. There is a massive area of land towards the town, which we have never had use nor need for, until now sadly. Peter will take you there with as many men as you need. You will all be paid handsomely for this.”
“My Lord,” interrupted Giles, surveying the scene around them, “I will not be the only man who has borne witness to this, who will refuse a shilling from you. My arms may not be as strong as most of the arms of your men, but they are willingly yours for your bidding.”
Godfrey smiled grimly and placed a hand upon Giles shoulder.
“You are a good man,” Godfrey said, smiling grimly and placing a hand upon Giles shoulder, “surely there will be reward aplenty for you before you reach heaven, for the deeds you have done in the name of all that is good.”
“Hire as many men as you can, who know how to put two pieces of wood in a good manner. Have them build coffins for every one of these poor wretches.”
Peter and Giles stared around grimly at the tableau of bodies strewn around the courtyard, nodding in silence.
“There are at least a good few carpenters in Chester. Have a couple of men ride there with haste and commission them in my name to build appropriate coffins for the good men who have lain down their lives this night.”
Godfrey headed to the gate, before turning to them.
“We shall bury them in a proper manner to mark our loss and their passing. If any widow wishes them buried elsewhere, then make it so and I will incur any cost. But what has occurred here this night, I wish to be kept amongst only those who were here. I will personally lead the parties of men who I will be sending out to find any more of these creatures lest it spreads.”
“You fought well my friend and after this nightmare is over I pray you join me and the others to raise a toast, in memory of these poor souls?” Peter said, placing his hand upon Giles shoulder.
Giles nodded and they cast a glance at the figure on the ground nearby. Peter felt nothing but deep, sorrowful sadness staring into the face of the thing.
A thing he once knew as his dear friend Robert.
The ride in the cart to the quayside was in silence, save for the snorting of the two horses pulling it and the muffled groans coming from two of the occupants in the rear.
Reaching the quayside, the driver stopped the cart.
Godfrey ordered one of the men to board Dignity and to lower one of the rowing boats and bring it to the water’s edge.
Leaping to the ground, Jonathan made his way to the rear of the cart.
The other man, sat keeping an eye on the two other occupants, arose from his position and leant over, holding his arm down for Jonathan to hold.
He stared at the hooded figure, sat upright against one of the sides, hands still firmly tied.
Jonathan stared at the other figure lain on the bed of the cart, wrapped up in sacks beneath two large full sacks.
“Still secure?”
“Aye Jonathan,” the man replied.
Jonathan nodded, staring across the darkness of the bay.
Eventually, the row boat from Dignity arrived, and was moored to the quayside.
Climbing from his seat, Godfrey made his way to the rear of the cart.
He stood watch over the two figures, whilst the other two men dragged the two heavy sacks from the rear and dragged them, one by one, placing them carefully onto the awaiting boat.
Returned after a while with the fourth man in their company, they placed large gloves on, before dragging the completely covered figure from the bed and onto the ground.
With even more care than the last two sacks, they dragged the sack across to the moored boat, placing it into its middle.
“Stay here.” Jonathan instructed, returning to the cart.
Climbing onto the cart, he stood next to Godfrey.
“Are you sure you wish this my Lord?” he asked.
Godfrey did not avert his gaze from the figure sat in front of him.
“The good lord may not forgive me for committing this act. But I could never forgive myself, if I did not.”
Jonathan nodded, leaning over and raising the figure to its feet, muffled moaning could be heard beneath the sack over its head.
Bringing the figure from the rear of the cart, they slowly made their way across to the waiting boat.
Godfrey addressed the three men stood alongside him.
“I cannot ask you to do this with me and I respect your decision if you do not. You have my solemn word that I will never hold it against any of you, and shall never raise the matter again.”
Without saying a word in acknowledgement, the three men, taking hold of the hooded figure, stepped into the boat.
Jonathan took a seat at the rear, as the other two men sat down and busied themselves with setting up their oars.
They looked at him and Godfrey nodded, before stepping into the boat and taking up the seat next to Jonathan.
The hooded figure rocked violently once they were underway, so both Godfrey and Jonathan leant forward, holding it tightly in their grasps as the boat made its way across the waters of the bay.
They rowed for some time, until Godfrey stared around to survey where they were.
Though in the darkness he could not be certain, Godfrey judged, by the distant lights on both shores, they were almost in the middle of the bay.
He ordered the men to stop rowing and to ready the sacks.
Leaning over, he pulled the hood from the figure now resigned to remain still.
With the hood removed and realising where they were, Hugh struggled again, find
ing himself manhandled by Jonathan and Godfrey until he lay upon a large square of cloth placed on the deck.
“Be careful we do not capsize,” Jonathan ordered, as the men rolled the cloth carefully around the two figures.
“Keep his head free,” Godfrey instructed.
Hugh’s eyes opened wide in sheer terror.
They can’t be doing this. They won’t do it. They are trying to frighten me as punishment!
Unable to see what the men were doing, his face pushed firmly into the cloth of the other bundle now tied to him, his nostrils were pervaded by an awful, stale stench.
Hearing different noises, he tried to turn his head, but the ropes tied tightly around his body, prevented him.
“The bags of stone are secure my Lord,” he heard one of the men say.
No, they can’t!
Feeling the persistent bobbing of the boat as the small waves rocked it, his mind screamed, hot urine seeping forth between his legs.
A strong hand gripped his hair, twisting his head to one side.
He found himself staring into Godfreys grim face, but an inch from his own.
“You caused not only the loss of Hannah, but you caused me to lose my child,” Godfrey said quietly, “because of you, I had to end my own daughter’s life.”
His eyes welling with tears of sorrow and anger, Godfrey let go of Hugh’s hair and sat back, his body shaking as he fought against the urge to weep.
For a moment, Hugh felt a huge, rushing feeling of relief.
Trying to scare me. He’s just trying to scare me!
He heard the nervous laughter escape his body.
I’ll be in gaol, but I’ll be alive!
Leaning across to Godfrey, Jonathan placed a hand upon his shoulder.
Godfrey stared at him through tear filled eyes, before suddenly, abruptly moving to the figure under the heavy cloths sack.
Tearing at the sack, he freed the hood, dragging it off.
The gag upon his mouth stifled Hugh’s scream of terror as he stared directly into the dark, crimson eyes of one of the infected.
Desperately, he attempted moving his head away, but the ropes holding him, were tightly secured.
Staring into the creature’s eyes, inhaling its vile breath so close, he felt his sanity slipping away, the trickle between his legs, now a torrent.
The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin Page 7
