‘Someone failed to find the crossing point,’ Alec said. ‘I remember reading about it.’
‘That’s right.’ Adam Hart’s enthusiasm was evident. ‘Imagine, it’s a summer night, dark and misty and about two in the morning. Monmouth and the rebels have crept out of Bridgewater and followed the drovers’ roads five miles across the moor. They’ve greased the wagon wheels and muffled the horses’ hooves with rags, but even so, every sound must have seemed super loud. One cannon had a noisy wheel, so they abandoned that and also had to leave the ammunition wagon two miles from where the final battle took place. That must have been a major blow. The troops were poorly armed and badly trained and were about to face an army of regular soldiers who were well trained and supplied and disciplined. To make matters worse, by the fifth of July, many of those who had originally joined Monmouth’s cause had already deserted – taken up the offer of the King’s amnesty and quietly gone back to their homes.’
‘It wasn’t totally hopeless, though, was it?’ Alec argued. ‘If they’d managed to sneak up on the King’s army, they would have been at a massive advantage.’
‘True, but bad planning and bad luck scuppered them. The King’s army, apart from the cavalry which had billeted itself on the surrounding villages, was drawn up behind the Bussex and the Langmoor Rhynes, two of the older drainage ditches. They’d made their camp on higher ground, and most had gone to bed for the night; all except the Scots. Their commander was convinced that Monmouth would make a night attack, and he was right, of course.
‘Anyway, Monmouth and his men, some three or four thousand of them, made their way across the moor. They had one or two near misses, but they almost achieved their goal. What was left now was to cross the rhyne and take the fighting to the King’s men while they were still encamped. You can imagine the carnage, had that succeeded.’
Naomi, shivering, wished she could be imagining the carnage back down in the church, or even better in the local pub if it had opened yet.
Too early, probably, she thought ruefully.
‘But they didn’t manage to find the crossing points,’ Alec said.
‘Right.’ Adam sounded triumphant. ‘When the troop came to the first of the rhynes, the Langmoor, the local guide failed to find the crossing point. Was he a spy? Did he plan to lead them into an ambush? Or was it just too hard to spot in the mist and dark? I suppose we’ll never know, but the outcome was as bad as if he had deliberately misled them. Movement was spotted, a shot rang out into the night, and scouts ran pell-mell back to the King’s men camped at Chedzoy, crying out to “beat your drums, for God’s sake, beat your drums”. You can imagine the scene, can’t you? The dark, the frightened and untrained men and their skittish horses, and the King’s men scrambling from their beds.’
Naomi shivered again. It wasn’t that she was unimpressed by Adam’s presentation, but couldn’t they hear the rest somewhere warm?
Alec, however, was entering into the spirit of the account. ‘Didn’t Lord Grey manage to lose the other one?’
‘Oh, yes. Now he and his cavalry had been sent to find the crossing point over the Bussex Rhyne. You’ve got to remember, you’re looking for a shallow ford in the dark, in unfamiliar terrain. The crossing, the lower plungeon as they called it, was a point where the drovers’ road cut across the ditch, but in the dark, looking for an area of water that was less deep than the water a few feet either side of it? Grey was completely at a loss and, according to some accounts, he’d been too impatient to wait for the local guide. Some of the cavalry did make it across though, under the command of one Captain Jones, who had fought with Cromwell’s Ironsides and, it seems, actually knew what he was doing. He led his men against the one hundred and fifty of the King’s men who met his advance across the Rhyne. Jones survived the battle and it is significant, in a campaign that was marked by the vengeful nature of the aftermath, that his life was spared, largely because the King’s own men spoke of the great courage he had shown.
‘But, the truth is, three hours later Monmouth’s men had all been defeated and he’d fled the field. As I say, four hundred of them, many wounded and dying, were packed into this church overnight. The records say it was such a mess in the morning that the villagers were forced to scrub it clean and then fumigate, so you can only imagine the kind of mess they were sorting out.’
‘And Eddy was writing about this?’ Naomi asked, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. ‘Do you mind if we go down? I’m frozen.’
‘Oh, I am so sorry, my dear. I rarely feel the cold. My wife says it’s because I never keep still.’ He laughed. ‘Let’s go down then and I’ll tell you about Eddy’s book. Pity The Sedgemoor Inn isn’t open yet, we could adjourn there, but it’s about an hour too early for the time of year. No tourists to speak of in November.’
He led the way downstairs and Naomi concentrated on keeping her footing. The steps were worn shallow in the centre and rubbed smooth after centuries of use. To make matters worse, her feet were now wet. She clung to the rope handrail, aware that Alec’s hand was ready to catch hold of her if she fell and that Adam Hart had already bounded ahead. Not even a bony man to fall on, she thought wryly. She could hear his voice booming out, echoing in the church nave as he told Napoleon what a wonderful dog he was to be waiting so patiently.
‘Are you OK?’ Alec asked as they cleared the last steps.
‘Fine, just frozen through. I thought I was good with cold but today is just freezing.’
‘Bright and sunny though,’ Alec said. ‘That really blue sky you get sometimes in the winter, but the wind is too strong to feel the sun and the ground is so sodden. I think Bethan’s right; the wind does pick up all the wet and it does chill the air.’
She took his arm and could feel that he, too, was shivering. ‘What’s the church like?’
‘Rather grand. Big wooden pews and nice windows with pointed tops. What style would that be?’
‘Norman? Ask Adam, he’ll know. Where’s he got to, anyway?’
‘Um, he’s up in the pulpit,’ Alec said. ‘I think we’re meant to be his congregation.’
Taking Napoleon’s harness in her free hand and keeping her other on Alec’s arm, Naomi walked slowly down the aisle, listening to the particular soundscape of the building. The echo of their feet on the stone floor, Napoleon huffing and yawning, a blackbird singing despite the winter cold. She turned her head. ‘There’s a clerestory?’
‘That line of high windows? Yes.’
She nodded, satisfied. ‘I can hear a bird high up outside.’
‘Take a pew,’ Adam called out to them. ‘Sit yourselves down.’
She heard him descend the pulpit steps and Alec’s muttered relief. Instead, as they seated themselves in the front pew, Adam took up a position on the altar steps. He felt quieter now, Naomi thought, more thoughtful, and his voice was soft when he spoke again.
‘Eddy and I were friends for more than thirty years,’ he said. ‘When I first met him I was nineteen and Karen was ten. My younger sister used to babysit for her and I got to know Eddy and Martha through her. Karen was a lovely kid. Happy and open and very bright. She and Tina, my sister, they used to hire soppy films and watch videos far too late, but Eddy and Martha didn’t mind. They’d come home and all have supper together, then Tina would often stay over and Eddy would run her home the next day. Martha was in her thirties when Karen was born and that was more unusual then. Eddy would have been seventy-two next month, had he lived. It seems so wrong that he’s gone.’
‘You say you became friends. So, more than just brother to the babysitter?’
‘Yes. I wanted to study history or archaeology, I couldn’t make up my mind what, and you know Eddy taught History?’
‘Yes. Did he teach you?’
‘No, my parents sent me to a private school. Eddy taught at the local comp, but he talked to me, helped me sort out in my own mind what I wanted to do, and so I ended up doing a combined honours course, then switched to history in my f
inal year, but he was right. It gave me the perfect grounding for what I ended up doing, which is mainly document based research. I went on to do an MA in Museum Studies and specialized in conservation, but we corresponded all the way through university, and the more I learnt, the more equal we became, until, eventually, I helped Eddy get some of his work published and opened doors for him he couldn’t open for himself.’
‘And this book?’ Naomi asked. ‘Is it finished?’
‘Pretty much, or the first draft is. I’d taken over some of the editorial aspects. Eddy was wonderful when it came to collecting and collating material and bringing episodes alive; he was less interested in the indexing and the final preparation. I was writing a foreword too.’
‘And it had a publisher?’
‘Yes, yes indeed. In Dublin. They’re shocked by Eddy’s death but have agreed, since so much is already in place, that I can complete the process.’
‘And what, exactly, was the book about?’
‘Weeell. Eddy has already published a series of articles on the so-called Pitchfork rebellion, but from the perspective of the little people involved. A Victorian antiquary, in particular, by the name of Alfred Lorenz.’
‘Lorenz? He mentions him in the notebooks,’ Alec said.
‘Well, he wrote a rather controversial account in the eighteen sixties, apparently based on a box of papers he claimed to have discovered in a Bristol bookshop. Well, wherever he found them, the papers then disappeared for over a century. They finally turned up again in the collection of Frederick Lowe, a local historian and mutual friend of ours. I don’t even think he realized what he’d got. It wasn’t his period – he was an Anglo-Saxonist at heart – but he bought up anything that looked interesting and his wife thinks he acquired the papers in a house sale somewhere. Eddy and I were allowed to take our pick from his library after he died and between us I think we must have taken fifty or so volumes and a dozen boxes. The rest was donated to the reference library in Shepton. Anyway, the Lorenz papers came into Eddy’s possession and he started to research for the book.’
‘So, what did they consist of?’
‘Well, it’s an odd assortment. Maps – some contemporaneous with the rebellion. Letters, notebooks and a family bible from the Kirkwood family, who were quite prominent landowners at the time.’
‘He found a ring. A seal ring with a cedar tree. He thought that belonged to the Kirkwoods.’
‘Did he? I didn’t know about that. But the various accounts intrigued him and he started the book by writing about Catherine Kirkwood. She and a servant were supposed to have been sent off with the family jewels, trying to keep them from the King.’
‘The Kirkwoods backed the wrong side. I heard about that. The locals at The Lamb joked that Eddy was looking for the Kirkwood treasure.’
‘Did they?’ Adam laughed. ‘I suppose it may have seemed like that sometimes. Eddy could be a little obtuse. Treasure, to him, was information. I don’t think he literally expected to strike gold.’
‘Did he ever talk about family?’ Naomi asked.
‘No. He and Karen and Martha were all that I ever knew about. We never discussed anything like that. I don’t think Tina ever did either. It wasn’t that he told us not to, just that he never did.’
Susan was leaving for work and just about to get into her car when she saw him. She swore softly. ‘Brian, what do you want?’
‘I thought I might have another go at talking to you. I don’t think I got through the other night.’
‘Oh, I heard you all right. I just didn’t want to listen. I’ve heard enough, Brian.’
‘Really? You see, I don’t think you have. Susan, just hear me out for a minute. Please.’
She sighed. ‘You’ve got thirty seconds.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘Twenty seconds.’
‘OK, OK, look. It seems to me that we were good for one another, that it was outsiders who pushed us apart.’
‘Like Eddy?’
‘Well, he didn’t help. He was against me from the start. Against us.’
‘With good reason. He said you were a liar and a user and you proved to be both. You cheated on me from the first month after we married. You lied about your job, your income, your family, your women. So I think Eddy was right, don’t you?’
‘And I admit that and I’m sorry. For all of it. Susan, please, let’s give it another try. Please. We deserve another go.’
She scrutinized him carefully. ‘You’ve heard about the will, haven’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s no secret that Eddy left you his house, but that’s not it. I just want—’
‘Money. Nothing changes, does it? Goodbye, Brian. You’ve had more than your thirty seconds.’
‘Susan, please. A loan, then.’
‘You make me sick.’ She got into her Beetle and drove away, leaving him standing, not noticing the dark-haired man in the red hatchback who’d been watching it all.
Gavin got out of his car and wandered over to where Brian stood. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t help overhearing.’
‘Oh, is that right? Well, what’s it got to do with—’
‘I’m Eddy Thame’s nephew. I’m going to contest the will. I just thought that might interest you.’
‘Why should it? How does that help me?’
Gavin smiled; the words said one thing, the look in Brian’s eyes quite another. Human nature, he thought. Self interest was the one thing you could rely upon. ‘Let me buy you a drink,’ he said. ‘And we can see.’
Late morning found Naomi and Alec knocking on Dr Matthews’ door in a quiet road in the village of Walton, just behind the village church. The entire village seemed to be constructed of the same grey stone, and in the unexpectedly bright winter sun, blue shadows softened the marl, which Alec knew could be so stark and drab on dull days.
‘Mr Friedman, Mrs Friedman, please come in, come along through.’ He led them into a small living room at the front of the cottage. Lined with bookshelves and crammed with overstuffed furnishings, the room felt claustrophobic and, to Naomi, muffled and deadened. She sat down beside Alec on a two-seater sofa. Behind her neck a faint draft and a definite chill told her they were sitting with their backs to the front window.
‘Good of you to agree to see us,’ Alec said.
‘Oh, that’s no problem. Edward was a friend and a frequent visitor. A knowledgeable one too.’
‘Something of a scholar, we’ve been told,’ Alec said.
A slight hesitation. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose that’s true. He published a short article or so, I believe.’
‘You didn’t read any of them?’
‘Not, um, not my area. Eddy was a seventeenth-century man; my interests are mostly medieval.’ He laughed, briefly. ‘I’m afraid it takes me all my time to keep up with that.’
‘I suppose it must,’ Alec said. To Naomi’s ear he sounded puzzled.
‘So you didn’t know about the book he was writing?’
‘He was writing a book? Oh, good for Eddy. Oh, but I suppose it’s a bit late to say that.’
They fell silent, each with their own thoughts. Naomi, confused now by the different Eddy Thame that Dr Matthews and Adam Hart seemed to have been intimate with.
‘But he brought his finds to show you?’ Alec said, evidently feeling he was on firmer ground with this.
‘Well, yes. Anything he thought might be important. Eddy was excellent at recording what he found and he was very good at encouraging others to be as meticulous. Young Kevin, for instance.’
‘In his notes he mentions a seal ring, with a cedar tree. He associates it with the Kirkwood family?’
Matthews laughed fondly. ‘Ah, yes. Eddy’s treasure hunt. I’m afraid he became a little obsessed. It’s right for the period and could well have belonged to the Kirkwoods. Who knows?’
‘Kevin found coins at the same site,’ Alec said.
‘Ah, yes.’ Matthews leaned forward. ‘Now, they are interesting
. They shed light on just how fanatical and how convinced of victory Monmouth’s followers were. The notion that you could go ahead and strike commemorative medals under such circumstances, well, that speaks of certainty, unreasoning certainty.’
‘You believe they are genuine.’ Naomi was intrigued by the change of tone.
‘Yes. Yes, I do. There’s no reason to suppose fakery, and because of that they are intriguing, but in the scheme of things they are a mere footnote. A rather special footnote, but nothing more than that.’ He paused, and laughed. ‘It’s an amusing and somewhat sobering thing, though, to see medals with the head of King James III and it be the son of Charles II, and not the son of James II, as is usually the case.’
‘I’m not sure I follow,’ Alec said.
‘Ah, right. Well James, Duke of Monmouth, was the illegitimate son of Charles II. James II was the brother of Charles and he was the king at the time of the rebellion. He was a Catholic and the general public had become very suspicious of members of the Roman church, but anyway he was generally unpopular. His son, who would have become James III, never actually came to the throne, because only a couple of years after the rebellion, James II was deposed in an almost bloodless coup when we went and asked the Dutch if we could borrow a couple of their spare royals. Hence we ended up with the Protestant William and Mary of Orange.
‘Anyway, the medallions Kevin brought to me were inscribed King James III and the date is 1685. He is also described as being defender of the faith: i.e. the Church of England.’
‘Right.’ Alec still sounded doubtful. ‘So you don’t think Eddy was on to anything more than that? Just interesting but random finds.’
Matthews’ tone changed, almost imperceptibly, but Naomi noticed it and knew Alec did too. He tensed.
‘Look, I can understand the draw of the treasure hunt, but those incidents make the news precisely because they are so unusual. I’m not sure that Eddy believed it; I hope not, but I certainly never did. The Kirkwood treasure is a lovely story, but that’s all it is.’
There was little more to be said after that and they left a short time later.
Blood Ties Page 13
