Sackett's Land (1974)

by L'amour, Louis - Sackett's 01

  Fitfully, I slept. When day came at last I found myself in a small hollow. The tile flooring was above me, and the place where I had slept was open to the sky, except for a few branches spreading above it.

  Prodding around with my stick I came up with more broken tile, some odds and ends of pottery fragments, and a piece of broken statue: the severed part of a hand.

  It was to this place I wanted to return. There was every chance that I might find there some things of value.

  The next day I went early to the common room. With ale before me, I listened to the idle gossip. Luke Hutton, the highwayman, had been hung by his neck in York, some months past, but there was still talk as to who he actually was. He had been a scholar at Cambridge, and some even said he was a son of the Archbishop of York.

  There was talk of recruiting for the wars in Ireland, and of the fighting there. But Essex had not yet gone over, waiting, it was said, for provisions.

  Meanwhile, talking with diverse persons, I bargained for items I would take to the New World. Beads of glass and sharp knives, needles, bolts of highly colored cloth. I wished not to be heavily loaded, to have only what was necessary. I talked with men who knew about sailing westward, and there were a few who had traded across the Atlantic for many years.

  One was a man from Bristol who scoffed at the “discovery” of the New World. “Our people have been fishing off the Banks for many years. We often landed on New Found Land, or the mainland shores, to dry fish or smoke them. But it was a harsh and savage land and who cared about it? We saw no gold. We saw only rocky coasts or long sandy shores with forest behind them.”

  It was exciting to listen to such men, and to hear the news. A witch named Doll Barthram had been hanged in Suffolk. We had heard talk of her even back in the fens.

  Twice there were meetings with Captain Tempany. He listened to my list of purchases, added a suggestion or two, then commented, “We’ve little time. There’s a ship’s captain newly come to Plymouth who says the King of Spain will soon send a great fleet against us. We must be well out to sea before they come, or we’ll be taken.”

  “Is your ship not armed?”

  “Armed? Aye, she’s armed, but what can six guns do against a fleet? No, no. I would prefer to slip down the river in the dark. There’s nought to be gained by fighting, for even if we ‘scaped we’d likely take a shot through the rigging or hull. Stand by now, for wordwill come quickly and move we shall, on the instant.”

  Tempany hesitated, rubbing his jaw. “There’s another thing. You’ve heard of Nick Bardle?”

  “A hard man, they say.”

  “Aye. A thief and a pirate, and whatever is evil and wrong. Well, he’s moored close by my ship and I like none of it. He’s a man will bear watching. Mind you, he’d think twice before troubling me, unless he could steal a bit of my cargo and make a run for it.”

  He drummed on the table with his fingers. “Know you aught of America?”

  “I’ve read Hakluyt, and I’ve heard talk.”

  “You know more than most. The Spanish have settled in what they call Floridy. There were some French, but I think they’ve been driven out or killed by the Spanish. Raleigh settled some colonists with a man named Lane to head them, but they came back, first chance. Grenville left fifteen men … all vanished. Killed by Indians or Spaniards, no doubt.”

  “Or picked up and gone elsewhere.”

  “The Indians … well, you must be wary of them, lad. Today they will trade, and tomorrow if the notion takes them, they attack. If one gives you his word, it counts for something. But he speaks only for his own people.

  “They’ve no sense of property. Not as we have. In a village each man uses what he needs. When they see something they want, they take it and go.

  “Above all, go with no notions about gold. The Spanish found it in Mexico, but the French have not found it anywhere. The gold is to be had in the trading for furs, skins, freshwater pearls, fish and potash. Some of their hardwoods burn with a fine white ash, and there’s a need for potash.”

  “What should I deal in?”

  “Furs. You’ve only a little stake, so trade with care. Only furs, and only the best. Take second-grade furs and that’s all you will ever get. The Indians are not fools. They’ve lived by barter all their lives, and they know what they want.”

  “A handful of beads for a fox-skin does not seem a very good trade for them.”

  “Ah, lad! He has plenty of fox-skins, but he has no beads such as ours. The scarcer the article the greater the value. You pay for what you want; so does the Indian.

  “Good knives, they have need of them. They’ll try for muskets, too, but do not be trading them. Arm them as well as us and they would soon have everything.”

  “They’d rob us?”

  “Of course, and so would a Dunkirker. Trust no ship at sea, lad. Given a chance there’s few of them will not turn pirate … or privateer, or whatever you wish to call them.”

  He motioned for a refill of our tankards. “We shall sail south, almost to the land of the Spanish men, then north along the coast, trading wherever possible. After that, to some islands off the north coast where fishermen have summer villages to dry and smoke their fish. There we’ll refit and buy stores.”

  Tempany hoisted his glass, looking from under bushy gray brows at me. “Lad, have you thought there’s more to Genester’s hatred of you than what happened in Stamford?”

  “Why should there be? We never met before.”

  “Agreed. Nor had he seen you or known of you, but think you now: once his anger was gone, would he have bothered unless there was something more?”

  “Impossible, Captain. He has wealth, position, all a man could ask. I have nothing but a will to do.”

  “Suppose you were a threat to his keeping what he has? Or gaining more?”

  “There is no way, Captain. To him I was just an oaf, a country bumpkin whom he believed to be making overtures to his lady.”

  “Until his anger led him to discover who you were.”

  “I am Barnabas Sackett, no more. I am a man of the fens, who, because his father was a skilled fighting man, holds a bit of land.”

  “And to whose father a promise was made.”

  “Oh? That! Captain, if indeed such a word was passed, it meant only that he might see me in some post where I could have a living.”

  “I agree that was the intention, lad, but things have happened. This man … he will disclose his name when he sees fit … lost a son when the Armada attacked. He lost a son in the plague. Suddenly he is no longer young, and finds as his only heir a man, a nephew whom he profoundly dislikes.”

  “Genester?”

  “Aye.” Tempany took a swallow of the ale and touched his beard with the back of his hand. “A night came when he was sitting about talking of antiquities, and one of the old friends shows two gold coins and tells their tale.

  “Suddenly, the elderly gentleman of whom I speak is hearing again the name of that stalwart who stood above him and fought off the attackers until help came.

  “He recalls the stern, honest quality of that man, and now he hears of that man’s son. A promise is recalled, and Hasling comments on your enterprise in coming to him, your knowledge of antiquities … which he probably overrated … and your difficulties with Genester.”

  “Still, I do not—”

  Tempany lifted a hand. “Wait. Hasling had his story to tell, and then I told mine, of the affair at the Globe and returning to find you at my home.

  “The gentleman of whom I speak decided the fates were guiding him to a decision. He enjoyed the way you escaped so handily. It indicated presence of mind, and your dumping of Genester on your first meeting brought him to chuckling and wishing he could have seen it.”

  “I had a good friend who impeded pursuit. Do not forget that, Captain. But for Corvino—”

  “Having such friends is a credit to you. I do not jest, lad. He wishes to meet you.”

  “It would be a pl
easure, Captain.”

  “Aye, but somehow Genester has discovered that. Perhaps from one of the servants. I do not know. Genester’s hopes center around the old man. He himself has little, so if the old man should choose to leave his estates to you—”

  “That is impossible, Captain.”

  “No, not at all. It presents the solution to a problem. He respected your father, and you have shown yourself to be a young man of wit, intelligence and decision, something he was himself, and which he admires. So, before you go further with this trading venture, talk to him.”

  “I shall, of course, but I would choose to make my own way, Captain. How many of the titled gentlemen around the Queen have done as much? Raleigh, perhaps.”

  “As you will, but meet with him, at least. I shall see him soon. In the meanwhile, be careful.”

  The interest of great men is flattering, but I had no faith in such matters. I had found no luck and no opportunity except that I made. Finding the gold—that was luck, but on the other hand, had I not been walking the Dyke home from work I would never have been where the gold was. It did not come to me. I went to it.

  “I shall be out of the way for two, maybe three days,” I suggested.

  He glanced at me, and I said, “It is a venture in antiquities, and may come to nothing.”

  “Luck to you, then. Be in touch with me when you return. I will arrange the meeting for then.”

  When he had gone, I met with Jublain and Corvino. “I shall need a horse,” I said.

  “A horse is easy,” Corvino said. “Why not three?”

  “What I do may come to nothing.”

  Jublain shrugged. “Much of what any of us do comes to nothing, yet I notice that whatever you do has at least an intelligence.”

  Quietly, I explained. “Do not think of treasure,” I warned. “It may be some simple thing. A pot, a Roman sword, an inscription. We may waste our time.”

  “If you go alone,” Jublain said, “you’ll fall into trouble. We shall ride with you.”

  We took only the food we needed, and digging tools. The latter we wrapped in a cloak and we rode swiftly. Out of town and long into the countryside, then into the deep woods.

  Suddenly Jublain said, “We are followed, Barnabas.”

  Glancing back I saw a lone horseman upon a hill. He was sitting very still, seeming to scan the country.

  “Just a chance rider,” I suggested.

  “Who turns when we turn? Who stops when we stop?”

  “All right then, be prepared.”

  Our horses were good, but I had no mind to trust to speed. I had walked through this country before this. The road ahead dipped low between a barn and a walled field. Beyond was a sunken road, a road that branched three ways. Between two of these roads was a brook.

  Swiftly we dipped into the sunken road. We took the middle one and, coming to the brook, went into the water and rode swiftly to the other road and into the woods. Turning from the road we rode into the forest, weaving among the trees, splashing through a marsh and soon came upon another trail.

  We went back, then, by devious lanes used only by farmers, into the deeper forest.

  Though I was sure I could ride right to the spot, it took me some time to find it. We dismounted and looked about. It was Corvino whose quick eyes made contact.

  “There!” he said. “Where the mound is! That is probably all tumbled rock underneath. See? It is not a natural mound, that one.”

  Jublain had not moved. Suddenly he looked over at me. “It is wrong … this,” he said quietly. “It is very wrong.”

  We looked at him, and he flushed a little. “You’ll think me a fool,” he said, “but if there is anything here, if there are old things, they lie as they have fallen … where they fell, when they fell.”

  Neither of us knew what he was talking about. “Is it because you fear the ghosts?” Corvino wondered.

  Jublain shook his head. “I know nothing of such things,” he said, “I should be the last to speak, but your Society … If this place were opened with care, if every thing were taken out and its position marked, could one not tell how the object was used? You spoke of pots … for the kitchen? Or for perfumes or powder or such things? If things are moved, how will they ever find out?”

  We stared at him, and I, for one, saw his point at last. It irritated me, because I began to feel he was right. I did not know exactly why, but …

  “You spoke of history, of these things being a part of history. If we take them all apart, then who will know how they once fitted?”

  “Ifwe don’t, someone else will,” I grumbled.

  “I think that remark has excused more sins than any other,” Jublain commented.

  I stared at him, irritated. “Since when did you become so sanctimonious? You have killed, looted. You’ve lived by the sword.”

  He shrugged. “A good point, and I’m caught upon it. I am a soldier, have on occasion been a brigand, but nonetheless—”

  “Dig!” I said, “I came not this way for nothing.”

  Corvino had crossed the hollow where I had fallen on my first discovery. “A corner was here, I think. Let us try.”

  Nobody said more, and we all dug, but reluctantly, I think.

  We found broken stone, another fragment of a statue, a bit of a robe this time, much dirt and debris, more fallen rock and finally a whole wall that had fallen in. Then much finer soil, dust that had blown in, the black soil of moldered leaves, some fragments of broken pottery.

  They worked slowly, and with great care, breaking up each clod of mud, searching for whatever they might find. Jublain straightened at last. “Barnabas,” he said, “there is something here. The floor,” he pointed up, “is there. What we find here is under the floor.”

  “A cellar. A tunnel, perhaps,” I suggested.

  Corvino shook his head. “I think not. The place of the floor was built above this, built after it. What we are working now is the edge of an older ruin … before the Romans.”

  “Who was here before the Romans?” Jublain asked.

  I shrugged. “Arthur … you have heard of him? Arthur was here. He was a Celt, I think. And the Danes were here, they came and went. My own people were among those who were here. But … who knows?”

  We hesitated. I looked up at the floor, about five feet above where we now worked. “It may be for nothing, for no purpose,” I said irritably.

  Jublain leaned on his shovel. “We should leave it alone,” he insisted. “We know nothing of this. Perhaps if your antiquaries came here to dig—”

  “They might know little more,” I said. “Jublain, work on the floor above. Corvino and I will work down here. We will disturb as little as possible.”

  Suddenly a thought came to me. That rider who seemed to follow us: what of him?

  “Keep your weapons close,” I said suddenly. “I have a bad feeling about this place.”

  “Aye,” Jublain was grim. “Men have died here. See?” He indicated some charred and ancient timber he had uncovered. “Fire … and blood, I am thinking.”

  Corvino dug carefully in the corner, removing the dirt bit by bit.

  I watched, then returned to my own digging. The earth was black and rich … with the bodies of the dead? Who had lived and died in this place? Did they believe their world was all? Did they look with amused interest mingled with mild contempt at the past?

  Something rounded and smooth … something! “A skull,’ I said, removing it gently from the soil, “a skull cleft by a blow.”

  There it was, the bone parted from behind by a blow. I took it up, gently. Placing it at one side I slowly worked about, finding other bones, scattered finger bones, a pelvis … suddenly some metal studs from a belt or something, and then a small packet of coins. They were stuck together, but I lifted them out. There must have been a dozen, most of them gold. Two came free as I lifted them.

  One had a horse with its head looking back, tail flowing, and what might have been a chariot behind. There wa
s a worn figure, man or woman we could not tell. Another was of a seated woman, holding a staff, and some symbols or letters behind the staff.

  “There!” Jublain indicated them. “We have found what we came for. Let us go.”

  “You? The looter? You wish to leave now?” I scoffed gently.

  “It is you who have done this to me,” he said calmly. “You with your talk of preserving history. I had not thought of it before, but what do we who make history have left, if our victories and defeats are not known to our ancestors?

  “I think … I feel some lonely battle was fought here, and fought well, and men died for what they believed, perhaps surrounded in this place. Someday men may come with more knowledge than we and they will put the parts together. And out of it will come a story of heroes.”

  “You believe in heroes?” Corvino looked at him thoughtfully.

  “I cannot believe in anything else. A man needs heroes. He needs to believe in strength, nobility and courage. Otherwise we become sheep to be herded to the slaughterhouse of death. I believe this. I am a soldier. I try to fight for the right cause. Sometimes it is hard to know.

  “But I do not sit back and sneer in cowardice at those with the courage to fight. The blood of good men makes the earth rich, as it is here. When I die sword in hand, I hope someone lives to sing of it. I live my life so that when death comes I may die well. I ask no more.”

  “We will go,” I said.

  The coins I put away. We climbed from the hole and brushed away the dirt of our digging. Then, remembering what Jublain had said, I kicked with my heels at the edge and caved the earth into the hole. Then I threw in some broken branches and a few stones that lay about.

  “Let us go to our horses,” I said. “We can ride a little way before dark.”

  Together we walked back through the darkening forest, not talking, each alive with his own thinking. And so we came to the small clearing where our horses were, and they awaited us there. Eight men with swords. In my present mood, it was not too many.