I CROUCHED IN a copse, enveloped in my cloak, and watched my house. The moon was still high and bright and I had waited until the last of the lights had been snuffed out. My horse I had tied up some distance away on the edge of the wood and I had walked onto my land, skirting the barns and cottage and flanking my way so that from where I hid, I could see the rear courtyard and pump. And there I had waited as the night grew old.
Israel Fludd had raped my wife and stolen my home. Yet I swear I had come to accomplish something other than revenge. I had come to regain something that was mine, something that could be regained. For underneath the tiles in the buttery, I had secreted a leather wallet before my last campaign. Inside it were letters of exchange, drawn from the Amsterdam goldsmiths and worth some five thousand gold ducats—a few thousand pounds at least. The fruits of my years in the German wars. Once redeemed, I could at long last do some good for Arabella and the children. But I needed no one to tell me what rashness my plan was.
The kitchen casement window lock was still broken after all these years, and I felt the frame swing inside as I pushed. With little elegance, I pulled myself up over the sill into the pitch black room and brought my knees up before slowly dangling my legs inside. I listened, my arse still balanced on the window frame. And then I was down, on my feet, and in my home once again. I waited as the pitch gave way to shadows, and then objects, as my eyes grew accustomed. I could just make out the little iron-strapped door that led to the buttery and I quickly crept across the kitchen.
The smell of musty wine and ale and old crockery filled my nose as I entered the buttery, moonlight spilling a shaft across the floor. I remembered which tile hid my prize and counted in from the outside wall. Dirk in hand, I stooped and worked out the tile from the floor. After what seemed an age, I felt a jiggle of movement and levered the blade underneath. The clay stone came up into my hand and I then reached down a foot or so into the damp earth below. It was still there. My fingers wrapped around the crusty leather and I drew it out of its tomb.
Thrusting the wallet into the little satchel about my shoulder, I replaced the tile as it had been. I brushed dust and dirt over the floor to conceal what had happened. A light startled me as soon as I re-entered the kitchen. Before I could make the window, a man filled the doorway. He held a horn lantern with one hand and a long cavalry pistol in the other.
“You’ve picked the wrong house to rob, thief,” he said, almost amused, as if he had caught a child stealing pies. He took a pace forward and I stood fixed, my mind calculating whether I could make the leap before he got his shot off. “You were as quiet as a rat but not every man sleeps even at this hour. And I have very, very good ears.”
He did not know me. How could he? But I had seen him before. It was the man I had seen in the square. It was the face of Gideon Fludd. But this man had long blond hair and it now struck me that though William had told me that Israel and Gideon were brothers, he had neglected to tell me they were twins.
“Do you know whose house you’ve broken into, little man?” Israel Fludd raised the pistol a bit higher. He was fully dressed, shod in his riding boots, and it was clear he had not been napping when I arrived. As I stood there, the anger grew. Anger because I had failed and because he had caught me.
“I do know. I am in my house, sir, and I have come for what is mine.”
Even in the dim glow of the lantern, I could see a look of confusion cross his face. This quickly gave way to a smile and an intake of breath as the realisation broke upon him.
“Of course! The great Malignant has returned! Now the mystery of yesterday’s visitor becomes clear. The foolish woman said you were some foreign fellow. You’re a bold one, I give you that.”
He stepped fully into the kitchen and I backed up a step. “I shall enjoy handing you over, sirrah, and this time you won’t escape the Lord’s justice. Get on your knees and be quick about it!”
I made up my mind there and then not to be taken alive. And if I was to suffer my end this night I would take him with me. I still gripped my dirk but there was little chance of getting to him without getting a hot pistol ball in my chest. He started babbling that a great burning brand was coming soon to scorch and cleanse this land of my kind. My left foot bumped against a milking stool and I knew I had but one opportunity to save myself. I started to bend my knees to obey his order, but as I went down, I snatched the stool and in one motion flung it high at his head.
Even as it left my hand, I was head and shoulders down and moving forward to take him. The pistol fired as soon as I leapt, but the sound and flash was not followed by pain. He had missed. And then I was upon him, throwing both of us down to the floor. He was half my age and even as I pinioned his right arm, he gripped my knife hand with his left. Straight away I could feel his strength beginning to overcome mine.
I sought to break his grip and plunge my blade into him. But the dirk was slowly turning in towards my own chest. I released his arm and seized his long golden locks at the top of his head. And I lifted and struck his skull upon the stone tiles. Again and again. His grip on my wrist faltered, and I dropped the dirk and tore another fistful of his hair, both of my arms yanking and then bashing his head upon the floor as I straddled him. The lantern, sent spinning, but still alight, shone against the far wall, and so I could not see his face. But I remember crying out, “This... is for... Arabella!” as I pounded and I heard the bones break in his head. My hands were wet and warm with his blood. Fludd had now let go of me, but still I beat his skull like some washerwoman on her rock. At last, I let his head drop with a sickening sound and feel, like a sack of pottery shards being set on the floor. It was only then that I heard his serving woman calling out from somewhere in the house.
The Lord Himself knows, I would have killed Israel Fludd sooner or later, but this was a matter altogether different. This woman had seen me yesterday. I retrieved my knife in my shaking hand and stood, leaning against the doorframe. The glow of candlelight spread into the hall and I crouched back into the kitchen, kicking the lantern across the room. I pushed myself back into the wall, not breathing. I heard her cry out as she saw Fludd lying there and then I glimpsed the woman, in her white linen shift, as she leaned over the body. I was on her in an instant, my right hand clamped around her mouth, and pulling her in backwards, against my chest. The candelabra crashed to the floor and I felt her harsh gasp against my hand as she screamed. And then I raised the blade towards her throat.
My head was shouting that I had to protect Arabella and the children, I had to. This thing had to be done. I hesitated, the tip already touching her skin. But I dropped the dagger, balled my fist, and struck her as hard as I could. And then a second blow that sent her sprawling. She didn’t move. Now I had truly thrown the dice. So long as she had not seen me, I might yet make an escape. But I had to make this all look the work of some housebreaker, some masterless apprentice turned thief in the night—and murderer. I approached Fludd’s corpse. Thinking to search his pockets for valuables, I found nothing. But his hand bore a signet ring which I tore off and pocketed.
I made my way into the hall, feeling through the darkness. I knew my house though, and reached the closet chamber at the front. The three windows afforded sufficient moonlight for me to rifle about the table and cupboards, and I seized two purses of coin, tearing up the room as I did so, pulling the rug off the table top and throwing drawers upon the floor. I shoved some silver into my satchel, and so too a good silver salter and tankard. In one of the cupboards, my hand fell upon a metal disc, too large to be a coin, and I picked it up. It was the size of my palm and rather thin, but heavy. I thrust it, sticky with blood, into the satchel and dashed out of the room back to the hall.
Out the back door, I was soon flying for the little wood a hundred yards away. My head reeling, I stumbled through the trees and down to where I prayed my horse still waited. It was still there, shivering in the night chill. I waded out into a little brook that ran through the copse, stooped down and s
plashed the freezing water upon my hands and then my face and head. I rummaged through the satchel, tossing away the pewter and silver but keeping the little purses of coin and the strange metal disc. Suddenly, I stopped and swore aloud. I had forgotten to retrieve my dirk from the kitchen floor. It lay there still, waiting to be found, its wooden grip stained in blood. But the blade bore no inscription, and not a soul knew that it was my weapon. I would have to leave it be.
Standing there, knee deep, I thought of Arabella. There was no doubt she would know in her heart the dreadful moment she was told, that it was I and no one else who had done this sorry deed. I prayed she would keep her wits if questioned by the militia. She would have to. And I would have to leave Plympton far behind, maybe forever. But not without seeing my son.
WILLIAM MUMBLED SOMETHING about skulduggery as he grunted and heaved me up through the casement into father’s old chamber. “By God, you look fearsome,” he said, finally getting a glimpse of my face. “Before you say a word, Richard, I need you to tell me you had nothing to do with Israel Fludd.”
I did not answer my brother but instead walked to the table and sat myself in father’s high-back chair, and removed the satchel from my shoulder.
“I feared as much,” he said quietly as he joined me. “The militia was here this afternoon spreading the news. Asking questions.”
My head snapped upwards at his words.
“They suspect Fludd had surprised some robber—or band of brigands. Had his brains beat out, they said. Tell me it was not murder, brother, I beg you.”
As I told him all that had happened, I watched his face grow darker by the minute. After I had described the flight back to Plympton, I paused a moment, and then I asked the fate of the servant woman.
“She lives. But more important, she did not see her attacker.” Then came that look I knew of old, the blank stare of condescension and judgement: “That should please you some.”
His barb should not have stung me so, but it did. “I could not have wilfully killed her, you must know that. He, on the other hand, took little of my conscience. But I tell you, William, I had no choice. I swear it.”
“No choice? You told me you would not go back there. And Arabella will not be deceived by this,” he said. I pulled out the mildewed leather wallet, opened it, and removed the parchment letters, each folded and still sealed with wax and ribbon.
“Take these,” I said. “Get one of your associates to redeem them when you can, though you may have to wait until this damned war with the Dutch has run its course.” My brother picked up the letters of exchange and tapped them in his hands.
“Dearly bought, these notes. Pray that the price increases no further.”
I reached back into the satchel, and pulled out the metal disc I had found on Israel Fludd’s table. I had wiped it clean of blood to find it covered with strange symbols, its purpose a mystery. I handed it to my brother. “Fludd was in possession of this medallion. Have you seen its like before?”
William examined it, his finger tracing over the etching. “Is it pewter?... no silver, I think. These writings here... this is... in Hebrew.” His brow creased a little. “Some phrase about God, I think. As for these symbols,” he said, tilting the disc so I could see, “unintelligible to my learning.”
“But what is its purpose? Do you see the little hole at the top? Is it a pendant?”
William shook his head. “Perhaps some Fifth Monarchy device.”
I pulled forth the ring, which had proved to be silver and equally strange in appearance.
William studied this too, but could only shake his head. “Similar strange devices, but different ones from the disc. But see here... it scribes a five-pointed star. And this phrase that winds between the points—TETRAGRAMMATON—it is Greek. It means... four letters.” He shook his head and handed the disc and ring back. “I’ll tell you true, it smells un-Christian whatever it is. My God, Richard, what have you dragged back here with you?”
“A conjuring device of sorts?”
“I have not the science to tell you. But I know these Fifth Monarchy men are a queer lot. Throw it away. It will only serve to incriminate you anyway.”
Brother Anselm’s warning sprang into my mind and I leaned forward with a start. It could be that there are those close to them that are invoking the Dark One... a powerful man is trying to change his fortune by other means. Maybe it wasn’t the exiles after all. I slumped back into the chair with fatigue and ran my hand through my hair. William arose and fetched a jug of wine from the sideboard to revive me.
“I had a dream the other night,” I told him. “My first night back in England. Father was there and spoke to me about many things. He told me that Roger had left for the plantations in Massachusetts.”
William suddenly looked up at me as he pushed a goblet over. “He has, Richard. Not even one month ago.”
I lifted the wine and took a long swig. It had been many a year since I had experienced dreams of foretelling. Now it was happening again.
“A compass,” I muttered aloud.
“What are you saying?”
I shook my head. “I have felt more than passing strange since I set foot here again,” I muttered. “Everything I once knew is gone. The country is dying, I can see it. You can see that, can’t you? Your precious Parliament seems to have lost control of the hounds.”
William grunted, took a sip of wine, and set his cup down again. “When the army threw us dissenting members out of Westminster four years ago, I thought we would be returned in a fortnight. I was wrong. The ones that remained in the Parliament were all lapdogs of the Army Council. Nothing good has come of them.” And then he smiled weakly at me. “But we must forbear it until better days are delivered to us. There is now a rumour that Cromwell will dissolve the Parliament completely and rule by the Great Council alone.”
I sat up in the chair. “He’ll take the crown for himself next.”
William leaned in towards me. “That is why you must return to France. The next ship, if you can. Get out of here before you are caught.”
“Not every man is content to wait like you, William. There are those of us who will carry on fighting.”
“Don’t be a fool. The army holds the entire country in its grip. Its spies are everywhere and I can tell you that the new secretary to the Council, this Mister Thurloe, is a most efficient intelligencer and schemer. They will play you until you have revealed all of your co-conspirators and then they will close the net. Mark me!”
“Then I need to strike at the heart of the matter—Oliver Cromwell himself. I won’t see my family suffer any further degradation in this land. If I cleave the head from the serpent than the rest shall die too.”
William sank in his chair, instantly older. “You’ve been in exile for six years. You haven’t any understanding of what’s going on here. Oh, aye, you see the effects of the medicine well enough, and dire they are, but what you don’t see is that it’s Mister Cromwell and God’s good Grace alone that are holding back the radicals from taking power. From what I’ve seen of some of those in the army, they make Oliver look like a Papist.”
My laugh was sour. “That’s rich indeed. No, the whole house of cards will fall tumbling down when Old Noll loses his head like the king lost his.”
My brother again fixed me with the look of a circuit judge and for a fleeting moment I saw my father again in front of me. “You don’t comprehend the truth of things here. Do you actually think it was my intervention alone that allowed your trial for treason to take such an unprecedented course? The Council was happy to condemn you outright and hang you straight away. But they gave in to your banishment instead. Did you think that was a democratic decision of Lord Fairfax and the others?”
I bristled under his harangue. “It was a trial by combat. I won it, by God!”
“Yes, you did, Richard. You did. And the Council was a hairbreadth from hanging you just the same.” He paused a moment. “I will tell you now, that which I conceal
ed from you these last eight years. It was Oliver who gave you your life. Oliver Cromwell himself who stood for your honour when the others bayed for your death. And Oliver got his way.”
I felt myself falling back into the chair, leaden. The world had indeed gone mad.
“And with your hands still bloody,” said William, “you would seek to murder the very man who spared your life?”
I couldn’t give him an answer. Finally, I whispered in a hoarse croak. “Let me see my boy.”
“THOMAS, MY VISIT must remain a secret, a very deep secret amongst the three of us here. You must not tell a soul, not even your mother or your sister, that you have seen me. One day I will be able to stay for good, but not now. Do you understand?”
My fourteen-year-old son nodded at me. “Yes, sir, I understand.” He then glanced over to William. “Uncle has told me you were banished because of the wars with the king. Because you are a king’s man. The boys at school say you are a traitor to the country—and to God.”
I walked him over to the armchair and sat him down. “All of us who fought did what we thought best for the kingdom. But many of us could not turn against our king, who is ruler by God’s will.”
“But uncle turned against the king.”
I looked up at William, who had a look that said ‘you’ve dug the hole, brother, now climb out’ and then faced my son again. “Aye, well... he did. He stayed true to his beliefs and I stayed true to mine. But see, we are reconciled again, are we not? One day all of England will be reconciled again.”
He stayed with me not above an hour, and told me of his mother, his school and his friends, and a little of life without a father but with an uncle and cousins who treated him well. And I was glad of it. And when William ushered him out of the chamber, my heart was heavy but full. I could now give a face to my son again.
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