Cauldron of Fear

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  'Well, pretty one, whatever is the matter?' Ellen asked, giggling. 'That surely is no way for a lady of breeding to behave in public! I shall have to take my crop to your sweet bottom, I can see that now!'

  But Sarah did not hear the implied threat, nor would she have cared if she had, for her treacherous body had taken on a life of its own, a life that defied and superseded all the logic, learning and inhibitions she had striven so hard to encompass throughout her young life.

  As lights began to explode before her eyes and a roaring of wind and waterfalls thundered and echoed in her ears, she was dimly aware of just one thing and an image of Ross, his erect penis standing before him like a pikestaff, swam before her, taunting her with the one thing she now craved and which, apart from the unfeeling substitute that filled and stretched her, she knew her mistress would not let her have, quite possibly ever again!

  The sudden crackle of musket fire was followed almost instantly by what sounded like an angrily buzzing bee, passing so close to Toby's head that he felt the wind from it. He ducked instinctively, but his reaction would have been far too slow to save him had the shot been on target.

  Behind him a tree branch exploded into a thousand spiralling fragments and at the same time one of the troopers gave an anguished cry, clutched at his chest and toppled slowly from his saddle, a dark patch of crimson already spreading over the front of the brighter red of his uniform tunic.

  'Down men! We're being attacked!'

  Even as he slid from his saddle and threw himself beneath the fronds of the nearest bush, Toby could not help but laugh at the stupidity of the young captain's cry. One man already down and another ragged volley of shots was more than enough to render his observation superfluous.

  All around him, it seemed to Toby that horses were rearing and whinnying, men diving for cover, leaves and twigs flying as more musket balls slammed their destructive paths through the foliage. From close by two muskets opened up to return fire, but the shots were hurried, badly aimed and in any case, Toby realised, none of them knew from exactly which direction the sudden attack had come.

  Another shot, this time the report higher, sharper, as Thomas Handiwell fired his pistol and then, for several seconds that seemed to stretch into hours, everything fell silent once again. From behind a gnarled tree to Toby's right he heard a muttered oath, followed by a raucous cough.

  'Keep your heads down, lads!' This time it was the lilting Irish brogue of Sergeant Riley that gave the order. His voice sounded calm, almost detached. 'Reload quickly and wait for the order. No sense in wasting good powder and shot on ghosts. Johnson, where do you think you're going, lad? Get back behind your tree, before one of them blows your fuckin' head off!'

  'I only wanted to see how Hollis was, sarge,' the man named Johnson cried. 'He's just lyin' there, look, in the middle of the track, right out in the open.'

  'Look harder, Hollis, m'boy,' Riley retorted. 'Ye'll see the lad's dead. There's a hole in his chest youse could put yer hand in.'

  'Ah shit!' This was yet another voice. Toby wriggled into a better position and peered out from beneath the curtain of leaves. Glimpses of scarlet showed where three of the soldiers had taken cover and he could see the corpse of the unfortunate Trooper Hollis laying sprawled at the side of the track, about twenty paces in the direction from which they had come, but the rest of the small party were now invisible.

  'Toby - Toby Blaine, are you all right, lad?' Thomas Handiwell sounded close, but Toby could see no sign of him.

  'Y-yes,' he stammered, forcing the word out with some difficulty. 'Yessir, I'm fine.'

  'Good, well keep your head well down and don't try anything silly. Captain, can you see anything?' There was a long pause, before captain Hart finally replied.

  'N-no, nothing, Master Handiwell,' he called, his voice sounding very shaky. 'Perhaps they've gone, d'you think?'

  'They've not gone yet, sorr,' Riley growled. 'I kin see a movement away to the left, up in the treetops. There's at least one of them up there and probably more on either side. Sean Kelly, are you awake there, ye skillipin' liddle bog trotter, youse?'

  'Would I be after sleepin' on a fine day such as this, sergeant darlin'?' Another Irish voice, this time from somewhere behind Toby. 'And what would it be that ye're wantin' of me, seein' as how we seems to have a liddle time on our hands here?'

  'See those three big elm trees, Sean?' the sergeant called softly. 'See them over slightly to yer left? Well, that's where I'm thinkin' most of these sneakin' English backstabbers are skulkin'. See if youse can get yer idle arse around to the side of 'em and get yerself a clear shot.

  'I'm going to count to twenty, slowly - and then I'm going to see if I can't surprise that bastard up above there. The smug bastard probably reckons we can't see him, but he's showin' a bit of leg enough fer me to work out where his black heart oughta be.'

  Everything fell silent once again and only the slight rustling of foliage away from the direction where Sean Kelly's voice had come indicated that the trooper was moving to obey Riley's instruction. His lips moving silently, Toby began to count slowly, using his fingers to guide him through the numbers once he reached ten.

  Nineteen... twenty. Nothing.

  Twenty one... twenty and... two... twenty and...

  Crack! The loud report of Sergeant Riley's musket discharging made Toby jump, startling him so much that he felt himself lose momentary control of his bladder, but a strangled cry from the treetops that the Irishman had indicated earlier told that the shot had found its mark and the ensuing crashing and tearing of branches testified to an even greater accuracy than that.

  'That's one less, captain, sorr!' Riley cried triumphantly.

  'Good shooting, sergeant!' Hart exclaimed excitedly. 'Can you see any more of them?' Almost as the question was out another report, further away this time, followed again by a cry of pain and then answered by three or four more reports, though this time there was no corresponding shout to indicate that Sean Kelly had been hit by the return fire.

  'Ah shit!'

  'Sergeant?'

  'Those last shots, sorr,' Riley called back. 'They were from further across again. I don't think they hit Sean, but it means there's at least a half dozen of the sods out there and they're spread to both sides of the track.'

  'Then they have us fairly well pinned here, yes?'

  'Well, we can always fall back, sorr, unless they've got in behind, of course, but as to advancin', well, it'd be a foolish move, in my opinion. These buggers know the ground, too.'

  'Captain!' Thomas Handiwell's voice sounded strained and urgent. 'Captain Hart, call out and tell these people you are a commissioned officer in the service of your country!'

  'Ah, Master Handiwell, sorr,' Riley's voice came back again, 'I'd be after thinkin' they moight well be knowin' that already, sorr. Beggin' the captain's pardon, and yours too, yer honour, I think the best thing we can do here is to fall back, before they do get the idea of gettin' in behind us.'

  Chapter 19

  The sudden noise of the guns sounded frighteningly close behind her and Harriet leapt for the nearest tree and pressed herself against it, staring back down the overgrown track with terrified eyes. Instinctively, her hand slid inside her shirt, her fingers closing over the grip of the pistol, but even as they did so she knew she could never bring herself to use it.

  The first shots, which had sent several small flocks of birds flapping and squawking into the afternoon sky, were followed by an almost eerie silence; high above, the disturbed birds circled indecisively, but their indignation was no longer voluble, whilst the faint breeze was barely enough to stir the leaves in the trees themselves.

  Her heart pounding, Harriet moved around the tree trunk until its bulk was between her and the noise of the shooting. She knew that whoever it was they were not aiming at her, but she knew enough about stray musket balls to take every sensible precaution. After all, she told herself, was it not a stray ricocheting ball that had felled her fath
er and caused the seemingly endless years of misery and ill health he had suffered ever since?

  'Oh, pa,' she whispered, her lower lip trembling, 'why ever did I think I could do this? You have always thought me such a sensible and competent daughter, but how sensible is this now?'

  More shots rung out. One single shot, a second single shot and then a fractured volley. Somewhere in the distance Harriet thought she heard an anguished cry, but she could not be certain that her ears were not simply playing tricks on her. The only thing she could be sure of was that her potential rescuers, those on whom she depended for her very safety in this venture, had come under attack, for she was convinced they would not themselves start an engagement, not knowing that she was somewhere ahead of them and alone.

  She hesitated, indecision pushing its way through the uppermost layer of trepidation, for if Thomas and the small group of soldiers were being attacked, there was little likelihood of them catching up with her in the immediate future; therefore, if anything went wrong, or the kidnappers refused to hand over Sarah once they had been paid their ransom, Harriet's position would be perilous in the extreme.

  How could she have been so foolish and so obstinate? It had all seemed so simple, but here now, alone and a long way from any help, she realised that this venture had been fraught from its very beginning. Whoever they were dealing with - male or female - they were both cunning and ruthless and had the confidence even to take on the state in the form of armed soldiers.

  'Cousin Sarah,' she whispered, biting her lip, 'I'm so truly sorry, but I cannot do this, I really cannot!'

  Harriet turned, seeking a way into the relative safety of the woods, desperate to find a refuge where she could lie low until it was safe to retrace her steps and, hopefully, rejoin Thomas and the soldiers. As she did so a sudden rustling to her left made her start backwards, but it was too late for the danger lay in a totally different direction and, as she made to run, from behind her the net snaked out, dropping neatly over her and dragging her struggling and screaming to the ground.

  Despite his youth and inexperience, it did not take Toby very long at all to work out that the young Captain Hart had almost certainly never been under fire before and that it was the Irish sergeant, Riley, who afforded the small party their best chance of retreating without further injuries or loss of life.

  Calling out softly, he instructed the remaining troopers to make sure they were reloaded and to wait upon his word, whereupon, he said, they would fire a volley that would have their unseen assailants ducking for cover. At the same moment Thomas Handiwell, Hart and Toby himself were to make a run for it, back down the track.

  Further volleys would enable the soldiers themselves to retreat in orderly fashion, he said, and Toby noted that his supposedly superior officer said nothing to disagree with this tactic. His heart pounding, bowels clenching and unclenching, Toby tensed himself.

  'Right-oh, lads,' Riley's lilting brogue came at last, 'on my word, let the bastards have it. And - fire, lads!' The muskets crackled and roared as one and Toby found himself on his feet even before he'd thought about it, but as he sprinted along, bent almost double, something made him forget about his own safety for just long enough to stop by the body of the fallen trooper, scoop up his musket and grab the pouch from his belt that contained his powder and shot.

  For a few seconds it seemed to Toby that everything hung suspended in mid-air, that he was surrounded by a curious blue mist and that the two figures of Thomas Handiwell and Captain Hart, as they went past him, were running in slow notion, their legs seeming to float just off the ground as they ran.

  He saw Thomas Handiwell turn his head towards him, watched the innkeeper's mouth open and shut and knew the man was shouting to him, but he could hear nothing save for a furious buzzing sound in his head. And then he was moving again, the sounds of crashing branches and snapping twigs all around him and finally he slithered into a shallow ditch, a few feet away from where Thomas was crouching behind a broad elm tree.

  'You bloody little fool!' Handiwell cried. 'You could have got yourself killed!' Toby rolled over onto all fours and raised his head to peer back in the direction from which they had come. Everything was quiet again, but a moment later more shots rang out and he saw two red-coated figures come hurtling towards him, only to stop short and duck behind trees on either side of the track.

  Immediately, Toby saw, they began reloading their muskets and he understood precisely what was intended. Without thinking he raised the commandeered musket, checked that it was loaded and primed and raised it to his shoulder, steadying himself on one elbow.

  'Do you know how to use that thing?' Thomas called across. Toby did not bother to answer, but concentrated his aim in the general direction of where the original firing had come and waiting to add his shot to those of the soldiers, when the moment came. He did not have to wait long.

  Shots from ahead were joined by shots from the two crouching troopers and, letting out a slow breath, Toby fired likewise. The recoil was a lot more powerful than he was used to from his father's musket and the barrel of the gun leapt in his hands, so he knew his shot had gone far too high, but the overall effect was more important than actually finding a target and he was rewarded, seconds later, by the sight of Riley and the other Irishman loping back past the first two soldiers.

  'Right then, lads,' the sergeant called out, already reloading his weapon. 'Same thing again, only this time me and Sean will duck aside into the bushes. If anyone starts to follow, we'll pot them.'

  'What about the horses, Sergeant?' Captain Hart shouted from somewhere behind Toby. 'We can't just abandon them - they're army property!'

  'Fuck army property,' Riley growled, just loud enough so that Toby could hear, though probably not so loud that Hart would understand his words. Louder, he called back.

  'They'll start to make their own way back, sure enough, sorr,' he said. 'Once everything goes quiet I'll whistle the beggars. Master Handiwell's horses will follow ours, more'n likely. More important you all get back well out of range in the meantime. Leave the rest to me and Sean. We'll be all right, don't you worry.'

  And somehow, Toby knew they would be.

  The two men quickly gathered in the net, imprisoning Harriet helplessly within its mesh and then winding a length of rope about her middle, pinning her arms even tighter to her sides. Realising the futility of struggling further, she stopped and stood staring defiantly out at them.

  'My name is Harriet Merridew,' she said as calmly as she could manage, though she was acutely aware of the tremor of fear in her voice. 'I have brought the ransom money as demanded, and I should like to see my cousin.'

  'Oh, you'll see her all right, missy,' the taller man said. He looked to be aged about thirty, while his companion, a head shorter than he, seemed to be scarcely out of his teens.

  'Then I suggest you take me to her without further delay,' Harriet said, trying to sound authoritative, though without much success.

  'All in good time, missy,' the older man replied. 'Artie, get a cord about those ankles and get her over your shoulder, lad. Time's getting on and the mistress wants her back and made ready by sunset.'

  Artie, the younger man, quickly stooped and looped a stout cord several times about Harriet's ankles, drawing them together and knotting the ends tightly. Then, with a strength that belied his youthful frame, he hefted her unceremoniously up and over his right shoulder, slapped her heavily across her upraised buttocks and began marching along the trail in his companion's wake.

  Harriet opened her mouth to protest at such summary treatment, but quickly closed it again, realising it would do her no good. Instead she let herself hang limply, while her fingers, hampered by both net and rope, began to seek the handle of her pistol.

  It was the better part of an hour before Sergeant Riley and Sean Kelly emerged from the woods, but they did have with them all the horses, including the dead trooper's mount, with his body tied across the saddle.

  'They weren
't interested in the horses,' Riley said to Toby, who had contrived to ride alongside him on the remainder of the return journey. 'Come to that, they weren't really interested in us, not once they'd convinced us not to go any further.'

  'Couldn't we have tried to encircle them?' Toby suggested, and Riley looked across at him and grinned.

  'Well, I suppose we could have,' he replied, 'if we'd had maybe a dozen more men and weren't too worried about losing maybe half of them as well. Like I told the officer gentleman earlier, those woods are their ground and they probably know every inch of it.

  'On top of that, me darlin', we had no way of tellin' just how many of the beggars we were up against.'

  'I thought I counted about six shots when they all fired,' Toby said.

  Riley nodded, knowingly. 'Me too, lad,' he agreed, 'but I'll bet you couldn't tell me if they was the same six muskets each time, eh?' Toby considered this and then shook his head. 'Well, there you have it,' Riley continued. 'There could have been as many as a dozen of them in there.'

  'But you and the other trooper got two of them,' Toby pointed out.

  'And they may well have got us before we got any more of them,' Riley retorted. 'If you ask me,' he added, dropping his voice to a whisper, 'this whole bloody thing was asking for trouble. The young captain had that half right, if nothing else. You go blundering into someone's back yard uninvited you shouldn't expect them to make you feel a whole lot welcome!'

  'Then what happens next?' Toby asked. 'Miss Harriet is still in there, somewhere.'

  Riley wrinkled his forehead and pulled a wry face. 'Not my decision, sunshine,' he said. 'That's for the officers to sort out. We're just other ranks, you and me. Keep our powder dry and our cocks washed and leave the thinking to those as are paid for it.' He winked and grinned. 'Oh, and by the way,' he added, 'I saw what you did back there. Very brave, son. Ever thought of joining the army?'