Circle of Pearls

by Rosalind Laker

  Despite the haste with which the soldiers were carrying out the executions, the first man managed to shout a few words with his last breath. Michael heard them clearly as they ran across the water. ‘God Save the King!’

  At the second gibbet the girl fainted and did not see the other man meet his end, proclaiming the same loyalty to the King. It was clear to Michael that the soldiers knew she was not shamming, for they stood around her in attitudes of consternation, hands on hips and shuffling their feet. A sergeant knelt and scooped his hand through the dewy grass to wipe the moisture over her brow. She revived almost immediately and shrank away from his touch, struggling to her feet without assistance. Then a trooper stooped to tie her skirts about her ankles with a length of cord, a customary concession to the modesty of those women who feared exposure of their nether parts after death as much as the rope itself. The noose was placed about her neck and she was lifted bodily on to the wagon. Michael felt protest rising in him to such an extent that his hand had balled against the wall and the tendons tightened in his neck.

  ‘No!’ His roar shut out to his own ears whatever last cry the girl made before the rope jerked.

  Joe threw himself up from the pillows, sleep flying from him, and leapt from his bed. ‘What’s up?’ he yelled. ‘Are we trapped?’

  Michael moved away from the window, shaking his head. ‘There’s been a triple hanging. Royalist conspirators against Parliament. Poor wretches. There was a girl too. Very young.’

  ‘What ’ave you done to your right ’and?’

  Michael saw the knuckles were bleeding from the force with which he had slammed his fist against the wall at the moment when the girl died. ‘My futile act of protest,’ he pronounced bitterly.

  Joe went to his stock of linen, replenished at the marketplace, and proceeded to bind up his master’s hand. He thought to himself that it was as well that his employer’s son was still handicapped or heaven alone knew what misguided chivalry the young man might have attempted.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this place,’ Michael exclaimed irritably as Joe tied a knot to finish off the binding. ‘Let’s get on our way. We can breakfast somewhere else along the road. I’ve no stomach for more food here.’

  When they were ready to leave, Joe hurried ahead to the stables while Michael went to the office where he settled his bill with the landlord’s wife, who sat there at a high desk.

  ‘I trust everything was to your satisfaction, sir,’ she said amiably.

  ‘Yes, indeed. Er — who were those who were hanged just now?’ he enquired casually.

  ‘I don’t know. There’s hangings all the time for one thing or another.’

  ‘Doesn’t it interfere with your business?’

  ‘No, sir. You see, nobody is left swinging there as in some places, so there’s no whiff after a while, if you get my meaning. There are a couple of doctors in the town who have opened a hospital for the sick, and they have a number of medical students there. These young men take the hanged away real quick. They’ll be at the gibbets already I shouldn’t wonder.’ She leaned an arm on the desk, cheerfully confidential. ‘As a matter of fact, it does a tavern a power of good to be as near to gibbets and we are here. We get large crowds coming on special occasions.’

  ‘It was a military hanging of civilians today,’ he persisted, hoping to jog her memory about anything she might have known and momentarily forgotten.

  ‘Ah.’ She sat back in her chair, tapping a finger against her cheek, ‘It comes back to me now. My husband came late to bed last night when I was almost asleep and he said something about hearing there was to be a hanging of some folk suspected of sheltering the late tyrant’s son.’

  ‘I saw by the posters last night that he is still on the run.’

  ‘We’ll get him. No fear of that. He’s surely in disguise by now, but nothing can hide his height. I’m told he’s two yards high and a few inches over.’

  ‘I’ve heard that too.’ He picked up the change she had taken from her desk drawer and placed in front of him.

  ‘You can’t be far off the same.’ She cocked her head to one side, looking up to the crown of his hat.

  ‘Two yards exactly,’ he replied. ‘Good day to you, madam.’

  ‘Good day, sir.’ She craned her neck to watch him leave. Could he possibly be Charles Stuart? He was dark and spoke like a gentleman in spite of his ordinary clothes. But no, that was not possible. No such fugitive would stay in a tavern where someone might recognize him. She had no idea what the Stuart looked like, but there were many who did. As she continued doing her accounts she thrust the suspicion from her, but it continued to dance at the back of her mind.

  On the road Michael and Joe had crossed the low bridge over the river before finding the gibbets directly ahead of them. The soldiers had gone, but the medical students were there as the landlord’s wife had predicted. All three of the hanged had been taken down. Since only the corpses of felons could be legally used for dissection, the eagerness of doctors and their students alike for fresh cadavers was notorious, but as yet only the two dead men had been loaded on to the waiting hand-cart. The students were in a close and talkative group around the female corpse, which was lying on the grass.

  Wanting to know what was happening, Michael spurred his horse and rode to the spot. He reached it in time to see the students propping the limp form into a sitting position against a tree. One of the young men was bare to the waist, having wrapped his shirt about the female’s neck, and was putting his coat on again.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Michael roared in outrage. ‘Have you no respect for the dead, you vultures!’

  Their animated conversation stilled at once, all of them tetchy about their reputation, and they turned to regard him with marked hostility. One addressed him belligerently, thumbs looped in belt, feet set apart.

  ‘We’ve no cause to account to you for our actions, stranger, whoever you may be. But since you have chosen to thrust yourself into our affairs I will tell you that when we came to this girl we denoted signs of life still in her.’

  ‘Alive!’ Michael gasped incredulously. ‘But surely that’s impossible? I saw her hanged with my own eyes.’

  ‘These were slow strangulations. A man has to leap from the cart if he wants a really quick end. Haven’t you read how one of the conspirators of the Gunpowder Plot did that to hasten his demise?’

  ‘Well, yes, since you mention it. Do you mean that you cut her down in time?’

  ‘We did. Maybe she fainted a second before the vital moment and a lack of struggling saved her. Remember that there were no kind friends or relatives present to jerk the legs of those hanged today and shorten their last sufferings, which again was her good luck. If you want another reason, perhaps she is a witch and used her arts to protect herself until we should do the rest!’ The student’s eyes narrowed mockingly as he watched for a superstitious drawing back by this stranger, but no movement was made. ‘As you can see for yourself, we succeeded in reviving her and have sat her up to help her breathe more easily.’

  Michael dismounted and moved quickly to the girl as if having witnessed her death he had the right to be first at her rebirth. She was making faint breathy sounds and he could not begin to imagine the agony, both physical and mental, that she must be suffering. ‘You must get her to a hospital bed at once! Unload the hand-cart and lay her on it. I’ll help you.’

  The students exchanged significant looks, impatient with this stranger who had chosen to interfere. Although they were supporters of Cromwell and the Commonwealth themselves, they had no truck with fanatics. Their mutual guess was that the intruder was a soft-headed Puritan out to concern himself with everybody else’s business.

  ‘She’ll recover, given time.’ The student who had given his shirt for her neck had stooped to remove the cord from her ankles.

  Michael went nearer and leaned over her to smooth back some of her hair, which in its disarray half covered her ashen face. ‘What’s to b
ecome of her?’

  At his touch she opened green eyes stark and unfocused in pain and shock and fear. Briefly her gaze cleared enough for her to see a stranger’s face, full of concern, looming over her. Then all faded again. There was such torture in her neck that she felt maddened by it, all thoughts in turmoil, every nerve screeching. It seemed to her that shadows were moving away from her and she could hear men’s voices. Why, then, could she not hear her own screams of agony, which she believed herself to have been uttering ever since she realized she was still alive and lying on the grass. Someone at hand shouted out clearly. She supposed him to be the one who had brushed back the hair from her eyes.

  ‘Wait! Where are you going? You can’t abandon her here!’

  The students, trundling their loaded cart from the grass on to the rough road, laughed among themselves and shouted back at Michael. ‘We’re only authorized to take the dead. Not the living.’

  ‘She needs nursing.’

  ‘Not by us. Make arrangements yourself!’

  ‘What about your commitment to the sick?’

  ‘She’s still a condemned felon. We’d be breaking the law.’ They went jovially on their way, well pleased with what they had achieved, even though it meant one cadaver less for the dissecting table. By now Joe had drawn up by the verge and had witnessed the latter part of what had been happening. He had been ill at ease ever since he had seen his master being drawn into some kind of dispute and now he was positively frightened.

  ‘Come away, sir! Now! At once! Them students will be boasting about what they did ’ere today as soon as they gets into company. We don’t want you talked about.’

  ‘We can’t leave her here! Throw out those barrels from the cart and then come and help me lift her into it.’

  Joe forgot himself completely. ‘Are you barmy?’ he yelled in fright, getting red in the face. ‘We got away from that sergeant and kept out of trouble all the way! Now you want to plunge us into fresh danger when we’re almost within sight of ’ome! If we’re caught with ’er, they’ll only string ’er up again and us with ’er!’

  Michael swore. ‘Get down and do as I say. If you don’t I’ll knock you from that seat and leave you here!’

  For the first time since starting the perilous journey from Worcester Joe’s spirit almost broke. Just when he was almost able to see Sotherleigh’s stables on the horizon, buoyed up by the priority claim he intended to make over the charge of the two horses he had acquired for his master through his own wits, everything had been put in jeopardy. He was sorely tempted for a brief, head-spinning moment to whip up and drive off, making his own way and leaving Michael to do as he pleased. But common sense prevailed. His master had the swifter horse and would catch up with him at once.

  He jumped down from the cart and rolled the barrels into the ditch on the other side of the road. Then he ran to help, not because he was any more willing, but because it was a case of survival in getting away as quickly as possible. He took the girl’s feet while Michael leaned down to pick her up with his good arm about her waist. Supporting her with his left hand, he made sure her head and shoulders were resting against his chest, his chin helping to hold her head steady. It was an awkward way to carry her, but one that should cause her less pain in being moved. Joe had taken an instant dislike to her for the new danger into which she had plunged them. He had always liked the parable of the Good Samaritan, attendance at Sunday church being compulsory under the Commonwealth, and had imagined he would play the same role should such circumstances arise, but he knew that was not the case now. Helping his master to escape was one thing, but risking one’s neck for another that had been stretched already was a different matter entirely.

  She made rasping sounds in her throat as they laid her down in the cart. Michael folded his coat to make a cradle for her head and save her from some of the jolting she would have to suffer. Then he covered her up to the chin with the same blanket that had been used to cover him when he had been lying there. He saw she had fainted from the ordeal of being moved, but there was no time to try to bring her round. In any case, oblivion would be more merciful considering the rough ride for her that lay ahead. As great a distance as possible in a short time had to be placed between her and the gibbets. It was fortunate that nobody had come by after the medical students had departed, so that there had been no witnesses to their placing the girl in the cart.

  He remounted and set off at as fast a speed as he dared attempt, Joe whipping up behind. They soon met people on foot and a farm wagon here and there. Women gossiping over a garden gate were among those who turned to watch them passing by; where children were playing in the road their mothers would run out and snatch them on to the grass verges, fearful that the little ones might run under the hooves.

  Michael was no longer on unfamiliar territory. His mother had come from this part of Hampshire and a framed map showing her childhood home was on one of the landing walls at Sotherleigh. Not only had he looked at it countless times for as long as he could remember, having always had an interest in maps, but many times his mother had traced with a finger the villages and lanes and meadows that she had known in childhood. During the time he had been at home waiting to go up to Oxford, he had accompanied her several times on visits to a great-aunt who lived hereabouts. Now that every village was being sign-posted, he knew exactly where to turn off this road into a tangle of side lanes. He explained this to Joe while still keeping to the road.

  ‘Then why aren’t we turning off?’ Joe shouted, still hovering on rebellion.

  ‘I have to get to an apothecary. That girl will need something to ease her pain when she comes round or else she may start screaming involuntarily. That’s the last thing we want quite apart from it being our moral duty to relieve her pain as much as possible.’

  ‘Our duty! Yours, you mean, sir! I’m having nothing to do with this.’ After thus disclaiming all responsibility, Joe did not speak again, thinking he was not far from screaming himself in fright and exasperation, for he was still in the high state of terror he had experienced at the first mention of rescuing the creature from the gibbets. When getting away from Worcester he had been in charge and then it was a case of pitting his wits against others and getting the better of them, but now he felt as helpless as a hare being coursed by hounds. If it had not been for this girl they would have been jaunting happily along this road instead of fearing discovery from every passing traveller. They were not even able to seek evasion from pursuit down side lanes until they had run the gauntlet of riding through a town with anyone able to glance into the cart and wonder why that creature was lying there.

  It was not long before they came to a large village. Michael, who had had little hope of finding what he sought, was delighted and surprised when told of an elderly man who had once been an apothecary in Winchester. His son, now the owner of the shop, paid his father fairly frequent visits, leaving him a small supply of physics and ointments to enable him to deal with local accidents.

  Following the directions he had been given, Michael located the place he wanted in a narrow cobbled street. In the dark, aromatic interior he told the old apothecary that his sister had had a fall and was in need of something strong to take away the pain.

  ‘Perhaps she has broken some bones,’ the old man suggested. ‘I’ll set them for a fee.’

  ‘That’s been done,’ Michael assured him hastily, ‘It’s the aftermath that is causing her suffering.’ He came out of the shop with a bottle of syrupy anodyne.

  To Joe’s relief, when they left the village it was to branch into a side lane, which Michael seemed to know like the back of his hand, pointing out the landmarks of an ancient oak and a curious rock formation. Although he led the way, he frequently dropped back to ride beside the cart, keeping an eye on the girl. Suddenly she opened her eyes and her hand flew to the shirt wound about her neck as if for a moment she thought it was strangling her.

  ‘Stop, Joe!’ Michael ordered, dismounting. As the cart slowed
to a standstill he sprang up into it and dropped to a knee beside her.

  ‘Don’t disturb the binding!’ He caught her hands and held them within his own. ‘It’s giving your neck some support and that must do until we can get something better.’ She obeyed him, but was wild with pain, gasping and twisting. He uncorked the bottle of anodyne and poured some into a spoon. ‘Drink this. It will help you.’

  He trickled it into her mouth; her eyes bulged as she swallowed and she almost choked. Raising her up, he let his arm act as a splint for her neck, and she held her jaw with both hands as if in some vain attempt to ease the weight of her head on its injured stem. Her face was grossly swollen, her eyes bloodshot and barely visible in the pouching of her affected lids. Although it was obviously torture for her to swallow she took two more spoonfuls with a desperate eagerness, trusting in the relief it would bring her.

  Joe twisted round in the driving seat to look down at her. He thought her hideous and that her face in its puffed state was like those cut out of turnips for scarecrows. His loathing of her grew inside him like a blown-up sheep’s bladder and he turned away to munch stale bread and cheese, which was the first food he had had since the night before. Again if this wretched turnip-head hadn’t thrust her company on them he would have been enjoying a good roast dinner in a hostelry, for his master was not tight-fisted and they ate the same food. He had never been more homesick for Sotherleigh and never had it seemed farther away.