Carefully, I moved the heavy bench under the window. I sacrificed my coat to cover the irons on my bed and give some shape of a man lying. My foot was on the bench when suddenly a key rattled and the door behind me opened.
"Ah!" It was Henry Croppie. "Caught!"
He sprang to seize me from behind, but his foot landed on the iron bars which rolled under him. His feet shot up and he fell.
Turning from the bench, I met him as he rose to come at me, and I hit him.
My fist was a hard one. It caught him on the nose and I felt the bone give way.
He went almost down, then lunged up, reaching for me with his hands.
Seizing one of his hands, I wrenched it quickly behind his back and shoved up in a hammerlock, an old wrestling trick. He started to cry out and I slammed him down upon the floor and knocked him out.
There was nothing for it. To try rushing away down the passage would but lead me to another heavy door, and to more guards. The window it must be.
Leaping up on the bench, I thrust myself through and pulled my legs up while behind me I heard grunts and spitting and coughing amid the rattle of chains.
I looked down, and the stomach went out of me. The wall on which I pinned my hopes was at least twenty feet down and scarcely two feet wide. I might drop and reach it, but the chances were greater that I would slip off. For a moment I hesitated. To slip from that wall meant a drop of at least thirty feet. I looked up.
The edge of the roof was scarcely four feet above my window top. Gripping the bars I turned my back to the outer night and stood up on the outside sill, shifting my hands higher. Gripping a bar with one hand, I reached up, let go the gripping hand, and caught the roofs edge. Very carefully I pulled myself up and over the edge, to lie gasping on the leads.
Sweat was dripping from me. I rubbed my hands as dry as might be and began to edge myself along the leads. It was very wet and slippery, and if I started to slide there was small hope for me but death on the rocks almost sixty feet below.
Edging along, I reached the far edge of the building. And there just below me was another leaded roof, not six feet down. I went over the edge and I ran along the peak of the roof for at least fifty feet. There was a small attic window and I tested it with my hands. The wood frame was old and crumbling and I managed to force the window, and stepped into what seemed like an empty room, musty with long dead air. A faint light came from another window. I crossed and opened the door into a hallway.
If I was still within the bounds of Newgate it must be the quarters of the gaoler. Yet I believed the building was one adjoining the prison. At the end of the hall the door was shut and tight. I could force it in the time allowed me.
Turning swiftly, I went down the hall to a window at the far end. In a moment I was once more in the cool night air with a faint mist of rain on my face, and I was on the leads of another roof.
Some distance off, on still another roof, was a lower window. I went swiftly along the roof. Time was running out and I must be away, to Southwark and the house of Brian Tempany where horses awaited.
From roof to roof I went, then to the window. It was slightly open!
Pulling it wider, I stepped in.
There was a sudden gasp.
I pulled the window shut, turning as I did so. Somewhere beyond the clouds there was a moon, and a vague light entered the room.
A girl was sitting up in bed, clutching the bedclothes to her. I made out what seemed to be a young and pretty face, tousled hair, and wide eyes.
"Please! Don't be frightened. I am just passing through."
"You are from Newgate," she said.
"I won't be long," I said cheerfully, "if I do not keep moving, or if you should scream to warn them."
"I shall not scream if you do me no harm," she replied coolly. "My father died in Newgate, for debt, and I have no love for them.
"Go down the stairs." She pointed. "The door opens on another street. Cross it and go down the side street. I wish you luck."
"Thank you," I said, and did as she suggested, closing the door softly behind me. Once in the street, all was dark and still. I ran, swiftly and on light feet.
Soon I crossed a square, then another. St. Paul's loomed. I slowed to a walk and crossed the street, moving toward the bridge to Southwark.
Tempany's house was dark and silent. For a time I waited in the shadows, studying it. There seemed to be nobody about, yet it might be a trap. It was unlikely that anyone would suspect that I would come here, yet on the other hand, they were none too sure of Tempany's loyalty, either, because of his association with me.
Must it be always dark and raining when I came to this house? I entered the paved court and suddenly saw a thin thread of light from a window. Someone was here. Should I go directly to the stables? Or should I rap on the door? Yet who would be here? Tempany was gone; so was Abigail.
At the door I tapped lightly, and almost at once there was a response from within the house. The door opened and a tall figure loomed. It was Lila, Tempany's housekeeper and sometimes maid to Abigail.
"Ah? It is you is it?" she demanded accusingly. "If you have come for horses they are there, in the stable."
Lila was a big woman, strong as an ox and just as formidable. But she was expecting me. She led the way to the kitchen and waved me to a table. She had a pot on, and she filled a tankard with ale. Then she put food on the table, working swiftly and smoothly. I fell to, hungry as a maunder's child, and the food was good. Nay, it was excellent.
She went into another room, and when she returned she had a black cloak, voluminous and warm, a hat, and a sword, as well as a brace of pistols and a bag of silver. "You'll be needing these. Peter Tallis let me know."
Overwhelmed, I could only thank her.
"Bother!" she said sharply. Then she turned on me. "How's my young lady? Have you seen her at all?"
"She's at sea, bound for America," I said, "where I hope to follow."
"You'll take me with you?" she asked, suddenly.
I could only gulp, then swallow. "What ... what did you say?"
"You must take me to America," she said. "I will not be left here with herself off across the world needing nobody knows what, and she alone with all sorts of man-creatures and no woman by. She wouldn't let me go, but you will. Take me, Barnabas Sackett."
"Take you?" I repeated the words stupidly, appalled at the thought of traveling so far across the country with this large woman, not fat mind you, but broad in the shoulder and beam, and strong. "What of the house? Did not Captain Tempany leave you in charge?"
"That he did, and a lonely life it is, so I sent for my brother, and he has come along. He will stay whilst I am gone."
"A brother?" Somehow I had never grasped the idea that there might be another such. One I could accept, but two?
"Aye." He came in from the hall then, a man as big as two of me and with hands like hams. "I'll guard well the house, Sackett, as well as if it were my own, and you be takin' the lass here. She'll be happier in America with her mistress, for she's done nothing but worry since they left."
"You don't understand," I said patiently. "We go where there are savages. To a wild land. I do not know how I am even to get there myself, let alone take a woman with me."
"Wherever a man can go, I can go," Lila said calmly. "And whatever the hardships, I'll put up with them. My folk were fisherfolk and well I know the way of boats and sails. I can do as much as any man ... as any two men."
"As for the savages," her brother said, "if they molest my sister, God have mercy on them, for she will not!"
No protest I could utter stirred her resolution one whit. She would go with me, and not only that but she had already packed and had our horses saddled.
Still arguing, I got to my feet, belted on the sword, and took what she had handed me. I donned the cloak.
"It may be months before I see Abigail. We must somehow cross the sea," I said, "and sail along a dangerous, unknown coast. And if we find her
we shall be very lucky indeed."
"We will find her, worry none of that," Lila said.
"There will be storms and danger. There will be bloody fighting. And the law is upon my path, Lila."
"I shall be no burden," she replied calmly. "And I can cook better than the sort of victuals you'll be after having."
"Come then, Lila, and if you cannot ride all night, do you stay behind."
"I'll ride the nights and days through," she said firmly.
And so she did.
Chapter 8
North and westward we fled through the wind and the rain, driving along lonely lanes, plunging through the darkened streets of villages, our black cloaks billowing out behind like wings of great bats, the hooves of our horses striking fire from the cobbles.
Out of the night and into a village, then on again. At dawn we rested our horses in a grove beside the way, and sitting under a tree, ate a bit of the food Lila had put up, and it was good food, tasty and lasting. Meanwhile the horses grazed.
"Be they hunting you then?" she asked, looking at me from under her thick brows, "like Peter Tallis said?"
"They think the coins I sold were part of King John's treasure, lost in the Wash. It did no good to tell them nay."
"We go to Bristol?"
"I did think of it. But now ... no. I am for Ireland now, to one of the fishing towns."
She was silent for several minutes, and then said, "Do you know Anglesey?"
"I do know of it."
"I am from there."
I was astonished, for I had no idea her home was anywhere but London, and said as much.
"My father was a friend to Captain Tempany, and worked for him. Before my father died he found me a place with him. You wish to go to Anglesey?"
"I do, and to Ireland from there, and from Ireland to America."
"It is an old old way," Lila said, "but traveled often of an olden time."
A mist lay upon the grass and wove itself in cobwebby tendrils among the dark trees. The dawn was touching the mist with pink, but very lightly yet, as the hour was very early.
"I spoke hastily when I said I knew Anglesey," I explained, "I have not been there, but my father was, and he told me much of it ... an island of bards and witches, where the Druids were a time long since."
She gave me a straight and level glance from under her dark brows. "And live yet, if you know to find them."
"Druids?"
"Aye ... and the bards, too."
She was a strange woman, this Lila. Looking at her brooding face, I was minded to think of the story of Boudicia, of huge frame, the fiery Celtic princess who with flaming red hair and spear led the Iceni against the Romans, the Iceni, some of whom it was said had been among my ancestors. But who could tell? That was long ago.
We rested there, while the dawn painted the clouds with a deft brush. The warmth felt good to my muscles, and at last I got to my feet. "It is time, Lila. We have far to go."
She mounted with ease, and we rode on, again keeping to the lanes and byways, avoiding the traveled roads.
We walked our horses now and again not wishing to attract attention by seeming pursued. We walked, trotted a bit when the way was easy, now upon the open moor, then under the shade of old beeches.
At dusk of the second day we came up to Cricklade, following the old Roman road, at times a mere path, often a lane, yet running straight as the eye can see. We walked our horses beyond the town to Ashton Keynes where the Thames winds about, a small stream there, of no size at all.
There was an inn, and it looked neat and clean. "We'll try to sleep inside this night," I said. "I shall have a room for you if there be one, and I'll make do below stairs in the common room."
A room there was. To preclude curiosity, I said, "The girl is tired, strong though she is, and I'd not have her worn out for meeting the man she is to marry." Lila looked at me, but said nothing. "I am her cousin," I explained, "and she's betrothed to a lad in Shropshire. A sturdy one, too!"
"Aye." The innkeeper looked at Lila and shook his head approvingly. "That he'd better be."
There was some idle talk, and the innkeeper's wife showed Lila to a room under the eaves, small but tidy, and I rolled up in my cloak by the fire when the guests had gone and it was bedding time. It was a small place, and there was but one other there, a short, stocky man with a pleasant smile and a careful eye. He worried me some, for he asked no questions nor made comment, but listened to all spoken as he smoked by the fire.
When I was rolled in my cloak he said, "You've good horses there."
"Aye," I said, not wishing to talk.
"They've come far," he said.
"Aye," I repeated.
"And they'll be goin' farther no doubt. 'Tis in my mind that you should have fresh horses, sturdy ones, too."
Now I was alert, for this was leading somewhere if only to a horse trade. The man was no fool, and such worried me.
"Mine are strong," I said. "They are good for the distance."
"No doubt," he said, "but what if they're in for a run now? How long could they last?"
"As long as need be," I said, "and so they must. I've no silver for others.
They'll go the way," I said, "and to the green pasture when the run is over, to rest awhile."
"Aye, but you'll still be needin' others, or I miss my thought." He leaned over and knocked out his pipe at the hearth's edge. And then, low-voiced, he said, "You give your friends a de'il of trouble, man."
"What do you mean?"
"Would the name of Feghany sound true? Or that of a man named Peter?"
"There is a Peter in the Bible," I said.
"This is a different Peter," he said dryly. "You're in sore trouble, lad, for they be askin' questions in Oxford an' Winchester an' Bristol, too."
"You were speaking of horses?"
"Aye."
"Take them up the road to Cirencester ... the old Roman road. Hold them there and we'll be along."
He reached inside his shirt and handed me a sheet of paper. "Read it," he said, "and then put it in the fire, yonder."
I read. Then I looked straight in his eyes.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
"We almost didn't," he said grimly. "We were looking for a lone man riding, and we'd men out at villages along every way northwest. Ah," he said, shaking his head, "that Peter! He should have been a general! He thinks of everything."
"But here? In this place?"
"I was in Cricklade when you passed through, watering my horses at the river, so I followed, saw you giving a look to the inn, so I came here before you."
"My thanks." I looked at him. "You've a name?"
"Call me Darby. They all do."
We slept then, and when in the cold light of another day my eyes opened, he was gone. The innkeeper was stirring the fire.
"Your cousin is awake," he said. "What a woman she is! Why, she'd make two of me!"
"And stronger than any three," I said. "I do not envy the lad. He'd better be one who keeps his eyes from the others or she'll have him over her knee."
He laughed. "Little thought he'll have for others with her to take care of," he said. "I'll put somethin' on for you."
An hour later, in a patch of woods and under the old beeches near the Thames, we traded horses with Darby. There were saddlebags on my horses, and a brace of pistols in case I had none.
"There be this, too," Darby said, and from a roll of skins he took my own sword, the blade of my father, than which none were finer. "How he got it from the gaol I shall never know!"
"Nor I," I said, "but I feel a new man now."
I put out my hand. "Someday, Darby, in America mayhap?"
"Na, I be a busy one here." He shook his head. "It has a sound to it, though.
America! I like it. Savages they tell me, and forests and land wherever you look."
"And running streams, Darby. Keep it in mind, if the worst comes. If you've a thought of finding me, follow a river to the far mou
ntains and ask for me there."
"Barnabas Sackett, is it?"
"Aye, and by the time you get there the name will echo in the hills, Darby. The Indians will know of it, if the white men do not. It is a fair land, Darby, but a raw, rough land that will use up men until it breeds the kind it needs. Well, I will be used, and I hope to have a hand in the breeding, too."
Westward we went, riding easy on strong, fresh horses, through Cirencester to Gloucester over Birdlip Hill, and when I dipped into the saddlebags there was a purse of gold there, a dozen coins, and some silver.
"May I have the other sword?" Lila asked.
"A sword?" I was astonished. "It is a man's weapon."
She looked at me coldly. "I can use it as well as any man. I've five tall brothers, Sackett, and we fenced with swords upon many an hour. Give it to me, and if trouble comes, stand aside and watch what a woman can do!"
"Welcome!" I said cheerfully. "I did not doubt that you could do it, but only that you wished to."
"I do not wish. I do what becomes the moment. If it be a cookpot, I cook. If it be a needle, I'll sew, but if it be a blade that is needed, I shall cut a swath.
To mow arms and legs and heads, I think, is no harder than the cutting of thatch."
In the Cotswolds and the valley of the Severan there were Roman ruins all about, nor was I a complete stranger to them for I'd been led their way by Leland's manuscript, and remembered much of what I'd read.
We camped one night in the ruins of a Roman villa, and drew water from a mossy fountain where Roman patricians must once have drunk. Where we lay our heads that night, Roman heads had lain, though in better fare than we. But now they were gone, and who knew their names, or cared? And who should know ours, ours who had but the green grass for carpet, and the ruined walls of a once noble house for shelter?
Lila was a quiet woman. She spoke little and complained none at all, yet she was woman-too much woman to go off to America with no man of her own. I said as much, and she looked at me and said, "A man will come. Where I am, he will come."
To the Far Blue Mountains (1976) s-2 Page 7
