“Where has he taken him?” I asked.
Hasling shrugged. “Where, indeed? He has told no one. And when they ask, Genester says the Earl is poorly, but will improve with rest and care … No visitors, no disturbances, just rest.”
” ‘No visitors?’ “
Corvino snapped his fingers. “Hah! Give me a day, two days even, and I will know where they have gone. There are no secrets from me in London!
“If he traveled, being ill, it was by carriage or by wagon. And how many carriages have there been in London in the last few years? And how many of those would he have access to? And which of those were not otherwise in use at that time? Give me the time, and—”
“You have the time,” I told him, “what I want is the where … and quickly.”
When he was gone, Hasling looked at me curiously. “You make friends, Barnabas. It is a fine thing to make so many friends.”
“They are good men.” I leaned forward. “You should have been with us to see the New World. It is beautiful! There are fields, forests, mountains, streams!”
“You did well?”
“I did, and shall go back, too. It’s a fair land, Coveney Hasling, and perhaps it is there I will stay.”
“But the savages?”
I shrugged. “I will be friendly with those who are friendly, and I will fight those who wish to fight. I would trade with the Indians, but I see the danger in it. Yet when two peoples come together that one which is most efficient will survive, and the other will absorb or vanish … it is the way of life.
“The Indian must not lose pride in what he does, in his handicraft, for if he loses pride he will no longer build, his art will fail him, and he will completely be dependent upon others.”
Hasling nodded. “It is well to think of these things, yet I believe few will listen … or care. The problem now, when you discover where our friend is, is what you can do.”
“I shall fetch him and take him where he can have proper care.”
“You must beware. Rupert Genester has friends at court, nor is he a fool. Suppose you fetched the Earl away from him and he dies on your hands?”
It was a thought that had not come to me.
“Do you see what I mean? Genester would then have attained both his desires. The old man would be dead, and you would go to prison, a kidnapper.”
“Nevertheless, he was my father’s friend. It is a weakness of my family that we do not forget our friends. I cannot let him die so. He must be among friends.”
“Look,” Hasling said patiently, “please understand. Since you have been gone, the situation has changed. Not only is your friend ill, but Rupert Genester has advanced himself. He is skilled at flattery, he knows for whom favors are to be done, and he has worked himself into a secure position at court. He belongs to no group, no clique, no party, yet has done favors for all, so each one can hope that, when Genester inherits, he will betheir friend,their partisan.”
Hasling paused. “He has closed all doors for you. Not intentionally—for he did not believe you would return, until theJolly Jack came with news of your escape.
“Nor can Brian Tempany help you. He is in deep trouble because of talk that Genester circulated. The Queen ordered your arrest. Tempany himself may be arrested at any moment, and be assured, my friend, if you go to prison you will not emerge.”
“There is a ship for the Low Country in the morning,” Jublain said, “and I know its captain. We can be aboard before daybreak, and down the river before it is realized we are gone.”
“It is a good thought,” Hasling said. “The temper of the Queen will change. She is an uncommonly shrewd woman, and will not long be fooled by Genester.”
Yet I was worried. I had heard many a tale of what men of influence had been able to bring about in getting rid of enemies, and the Queen only knew what was told her. A good woman, a fine woman, and an excellent Queen, yet she could not be everywhere at once, could not investigate each storyshe was told. She relied upon advisors, and they had their own loyalties.
Rupert Genester had such friends as I would never have, and others who were loyal to him because of his birth and background. He was an aristocrat, a man apart.
“All right,” I said at last, “the Low Countries, but we shall make one stop first.”
At that moment, Corvino entered. With him was Peter Tallis.
“It is good to see you,” said Tallis. “And the charts? Were they of value?”
“Very much so. What I wish to know is where the Earl has been taken. Someone has said that it was to the seashore.”
“Then my information may be correct,” Tallis said. He paused. “Do you know a deep valley to the South of London?”
“No,” I said. “I think not …”
“I know the area well,” said Ring. “When I was a younger man I often visited there.”
“There’s an old manor, a fortified place. It’s a couple of hundred years old—belonged to a rich, doughty old warrior, but a part of it is in ruins now. I hear Genester has taken the Earl there.”
“That could be,” Ring said thoughtfully, “I know the old place … fourteenth century or earlier. Rupert Genester had relatives who once lived along the coast there, and I know the George Inn.”
“I, too,” said Jublain. “I have been there.”
“My story is they have taken him there,” Tallis said, “along with two servants in Genester’s hire, and several guards to ‘protect’ the Earl.”
“Is it near the coast?” I asked.
“A few miles, but there is a river that can be navigated … at least that far. Below the Forelands. In fact, that may have been why the old place was built, to stop invasion along the river in olden times,” Tallis said.
“We’ll do it then. Jublain, you know the gig and the manor. Down the river within the hour, around the Forelands and up the river. Corvino will go with you.”
“He was my friend, too,” Hasling said. “I must be one of you.”
“No,” I said. “Does the Earl have a trustworthy friend here? One who has no use for Genester?”
“He does. I can take him to a most powerful man who will guard him well.”
“Then see this man, make the arrangements, and we will come, if God wills.”
“And you?” Hasling asked.
“I shall ride across country, with Ring to show the way.” I glanced over at Tallis. “I will need horses. Can it be arranged?”
“It can. I shall be with you.”
“No. Do you stay and dispose of my goods. We shall need money and a ship to the New World, for when this is over I fear there will be no place in England for me for some time to come.
“However,” I added, “there will be consignments of furs. Brian Tempany and I have talked of you, Peter. Are you with us?”
“We met, we talked, we agreed. I am with you indeed.”
A few more details and all was ready. I went to my room and buckled on sword and pistols, gathering the well-filled saddlebags.
Mag came to the door. “There’s some’at to eat there,” she said. “You’ll be needing it.”
“If they find this place, Mag,” I said, “you know nothing of me or any of us. We came here and stopped the night and then were gone. I kept to myself and acted worried. You were glad when I was gone.”
“If I were a man, I’d ride with you.”
I smiled at her. “Mag, if you were a man, we’d all regret it. Do you be the woman you are, and wait for that sailorman who’ll be coming back soon.”
I put a gold coin in her hand. “If any of the others come back and need help, give it to them.”
Only a short distance for Ring and myself to where the horses waited, then into the saddle, and a sound of hoofs on cobbles, and then we were off, guided down dark lanes by Jeremy Ring.
Two men with swords, daggers, and pistols, two men riding on a fool’s mission, to the aid of a man neither one of us knew. He had stood in battle beside my father, my father had spent blood
with him upon more than one field, but I had not seen him. And Jeremy Ring?
He rode because he was Jeremy Ring, a gallant follower of lost or flimsy causes, a poet with a sword, a man for whom life was a thing to be nobly used, not allowed to rust or wither and decay. He had missed his chances elsewhere, this one he would not miss.
At a pause atop a hill, our horses had time to breathe and catch their wind.
“Jeremy,” I said, “if we come through this, there’s the New World yonder. Will you be sailing with me?”
“Aye … Wherever you go.”
We rode on then, following a dim track into the night, and I thought of Abigail, waiting, and of our first meeting on the dark night after my flight from the theater.
I thought of her and our few talks aboard ship, of things longed for and sought, of things dreamed of and wanted.
Through a dark wood with a smell of damp earth and damper leaves, to the drum of hoofs upon the turf, and the low murmur of wind in the branches above.
Would the old man, the Earl, be dead? Did Genester actually intend to simply let him die? Or to hasten his death?
Chapter 20
Jeremy Ring was a better horseman than I, for I had walked more than I had ridden. Moreover, he knew the roads.
Before we had gone a dozen miles I was totally lost, Jeremy did so much weaving about. We had no wish to be followed, so he made sudden diversions down lanes between cottages or around barns and even through pastures, and several times we paused to listen.
“You know the way well,” I said, with a tinge of suspicion.
He chuckled. “I should, my friend, for I’ve worked the King’s highways upon more than one occasion. I would say that to you and no other, but the truth is in me tonight.”
The night was damp and cool. After resting the horses a bit we rode on, taking more time now that we were well away from London.
We came to a slope and, crossing a small valley, we started up a winding ridge toward a village above. “There’s a man here and a tavern,” Ring said, “a friendly man if you have a coin or two, who will switch horses and forget it.”
Seven Oaks, a sign said. There were trees, but I could see no oaks.
We had slices of cold ham and the end of a loaf and slept the night out. In the morning, on a pair of matching bays, we rode along the ridge to the eastward, skirting the knoll, then circling about, as Jeremy was of no mind to let them know our direction.
The sun was out and the day was warm, our destination still some distance.
We saw no one, nor wished to.
We stopped at last near an abandoned woodcutter’s hut, deep in the woods. There was a well nearby, and the ruins of some much older building. We tied our horses and waited for the dark. Through the thinnest of the foliage we could see the squarecut outlines of the manor, not more than a half mile off.
At dusk we mounted and walked our horses through the woods, keeping off the paths until we reached the bank of the river. The willows were thick along the banks. Dismounting, we led our horses down and let them drink.
Suddenly, we heard the faintest of sounds. Someone was coming along the bank just outside the clumps of willows, a bit higher up. It was someone who moved cautiously.
He appeared then, not far off, yet easily seen in the dim light. He paused, and I spoke.
“Ah?” It was Jublain. “I was sure you would be here.” He came toward us through the trees. “The boat is tied to the bank not a cable-length from here. Should we be closer?”
“Yes. Corvino is on the boat?”
“Corvino and Sakim. Without Sakim we would not have made it so soon. He is a fine sailor, that one.”
“Aye. Then leave him with the boat and do you and Corvino come with me.”
“There is a landing below the house. Should we come there?”
“Aye, and soon. What is to be done must be done quickly, smoothly.” For a moment I listened into the silence. “I will meet you at the landing. Come quickly.”
He turned swiftly away and, with Jeremy following, I led my horse back through the woods. Soon the manor loomed above us, and we could see the gleam of water on our right and the gray of a path that led down to the landing. Good enough.
We tied our horses well back into the trees, and waited for Jublain and Corvino. I had no worries about Sakim. He was perhaps the wisest of us all, and would not be taken unawares. We went up the path in single file.
The night had grown increasingly dark. Stars gleamed above although there were a few drifting clouds. It was damp and still. Picking our way over the fallen stones and the remnants of a wall we found a door. It was closed and locked. When I felt of the lock my fingers came away with cobwebs. An unused door, evidently barred from within.
Moss covered the fallen stones, vines hung from the walls. We rounded the house by a faint path.
Jeremy put a hand on my arm. “I like none of it,” he whispered. “The place smells of a trap.”
“Aye, but we came to help the Earl. Trap or no trap, we shall do it.’
“There are the stables,” Corvino whispered. “Do you wait now.” He was gone in an instant, back as soon. “There is a carriage outside, and a dozen horses within. Several of them are still wet with sweat. They have been hard-ridden within the hour.”
“A dozen? Perhaps four for the carriage, and eight for outriders or others. They are eight or nine. Perhaps ten.”
“It is a goodly number,” Ring suggested thoughtfully.
“Enough to go around. Come now, no jealousy! Each of you will have at least one, and two if you are lucky. Gentlemen, I think we are expected. Let us not keep them waiting. As my name is Barnabas Sackett, I hope that Rupert Genester is himself here.”
We started forward, then I stopped. “Jeremy? Do you and Corvino mind? Jublain and I will enter alone. Do you follow us. In that way we may not all be trapped at once.”
We went forward, up the few steps, and Jublain put a hand to the door. At my gesture, he opened it and I stepped inside. There had been no chain on the door, no bar. Truly, we were expected. Stepping inside, Jublain followed.
The great entranceway was dark and shadowed. Light showed beneath a door. I stepped quickly forward and in that instant the big door slammed behind us and torches flared into light.
We were in the center of a great hall and a dozen men stood about us, all with drawn swords.
One stepped slightly forward. “You do not disappoint me, Sackett. You come quickly to meet your death.”
“Of course. Did you expect me to keep you waiting?”
“They’ve barred the door,” Jublain said quietly.
“Aye, that makes it better. Not one of them shall escape us. And look, Jublain. The rascal with the beard. It is Nick Bardle himself, trying to patch up the mistakes he made.”
A move, and my blade was drawn. “I hope the Earl is still alive? Or have you murdered him?”
Genester shrugged. “He will die … Why hasten it? I want no marks uponhis body, but on yours—”
“Of course. Will you try to put them there yourself? Or will you sprawl in the mud again as you did in Stamford?”
His lips tightened with anger, and he took a half-step forward. I held my blade low, smiling at him. “You were a fit sight for a lady, sprawled in all your pretty silks in the mud! There was no occasion for it. The lady but asked for a drink.”
“I shall kill you now,” he said.
“Will you try it alone? Or leave it to this pack of dogs that follows you?”
Above me, faintly, I heard a scrape of something. A foot on stone? What was above? I dared not look up.
“Do not let him die too quickly,” Genester said. “But die he must.”
“And you, Rupert? Are you ready for the blade? I’ve chosen a resting place for it, right under that pretty little beard.”
“Take him,” he said, and turned indifferently away.
They moved, but I moved first. I was within a long blade’s reach of the nearest man a
nd, taking a quick step, I lunged just as his sword came up. There was a faint clang of steel, and my blade went past his and a hand’s length into his chest.
His eyes stared at me down the length of the blade, the eyes of a man who would die. I withdrew swiftly and then Jublain shouted, “At them!” And then there was only the clang of swords, the whisper of clothing and the grunt and pant of men fighting.
From above there was a shrill yell, then down a rope came Corvino, and then Jeremy.
A man rushed at me, swinging a cutlass, a wide sweep with a blade that might have been effective in a boarding operation. But not here. My blade was down and I cut swiftly upward. The blade slit through his shirt front and parted his chin—the very stroke I had planned for Genester himself.
At least two were down. I felt a blade nick my arm, the rip of my shirt. It was close, deadly fighting, with no time for fancy work here. I thrust, slashed, thrust again, moving always.
Corvino was down … no, up again. There was blood on his shirt. The torchlight wavered and shadowed and unshadowed us. Faces gleamed with sweat. It was wild, desperate, bitter fighting this.
A tall man lunged at me. I parried and he came in with his thrust and we were face to face, our swords locked tightly. It was Darkling.
My left fist came up quickly in a smashing blow to his belly and he gasped and stepped back. I followed him in, keeping our swords locked, and hit him again … my attack totally unexpected.
Darkling fell back again, disengaged and tried to come into position. But my own blade was far forward and, without drawing it back, I turned quickly left and cut across his face under his nose, then right, and under his eyes. Neither was deep, both were bloody. He fell back, shocked, and I let him go.
A blade ripped my shirt again and then we were forced into a corner, Jublain and I. Corvino was down or gone. Jeremy was waging a desperate fight with three men, his blade dancing, gleaming, thrusting. One man fell back with a cry, and Jeremy dropped quickly to one knee—or almost there—with a sweeping blow at the next man’s legs. Killing him as well.
Suddenly there was a banging upon the door, a shout, and Jeremy skipped quickly to one side and, fencing adroitly to hold the man off, managed to flip the bar from the door. Instantly it crashed open.
Sackett's Land (1974) Page 15
