by Alys Clare
To good effect, she thought, carefully feeling the flesh all around the bites and finding very little heat.
Then the mood changed.
She had begun on the re-bandaging, padding out the linen strips with folded cloth to protect the healing wounds, when suddenly he yelled right in her ear, ‘Hurry! HURRY, damn you!’
She was afraid, but she was also stung to anger. ‘I am trying to help you, you fool!’ she shouted back. ‘Sit still, stop yelling at me, and I shall finish all the sooner!’
She heard him muttering to himself as she wound the last strip and tied off the ends. She stood up, the bowl of dirty water in her hands, and walked across to the sink. She tipped it away, and then he was standing right behind her and she felt the point of a blade on the side of her neck.
‘Leave that,’ he said, his voice low with menace. ‘Listen, for you must do exactly what I tell you.’ He dug the cold metal into her skin, and she thought she felt a drop of blood well up. She felt her heart thumping hard in alarm.
‘Tell me, then,’ she said.
‘Put on your cloak, then leave by the door at the front,’ he commanded. ‘Do not call out, do nothing to alert anyone out there of what is happening. I shall be beside you, and we will pretend that you are helping me because I am wounded.’
Clever, she thought.
‘I shall have my knife just here’ – swift as a snake striking, he moved his hand to the area over her ribs – ‘and I shall drive it into you if you betray me.’ He gave her a shove. ‘Now, pick up your cloak.’
She did so, swinging it around as she put it on and wishing it had heavy stones in the hem with which to knock him off his feet.
‘Out.’ He pointed his free hand at the door.
She walked ahead of him, heard as he closed the door after them.
‘Back the way we came,’ he said softly, resting one hand on her shoulder as if for support, the other at his waist, as if clutching at himself in pain. He was on her left side and she could feel the knife, poised over her ribs. If it was long enough – she hadn’t nerved herself to look – a good, hard thrust would reach her heart.
‘Get going,’ he said.
She obeyed.
In the taproom of an inn on a busy river quay not far away, the white-haired man pushed food and drink across the battered wooden table towards his companion. He waited until the younger man had drunk, then leaned close and said very quietly, ‘What news?’
The younger man smiled grimly. ‘I know where they are. Not precisely, but near enough. I have seen them, all three together and once the son on his own, and I believe I have identified the settlement in which they are hiding.’
‘Good,’ the white-haired man said. Then, his face tensing, ‘What of—’ He stopped.
‘I did not see her with them,’ the younger man said.
‘Could they have found a secret place nearby?’ the white-haired man said. His fear was evident in his staring eyes and the beads of sweat on his brow.
‘Let us hope so for your sake,’ the younger man muttered under his breath.
He was fighting to hide his contempt. Men such as they, rooted so deeply in the faith, had no business reacting with such terror. It was undermining; unmanly; entirely unworthy.
The white-haired man’s lips were moving swiftly in a fervent, silent prayer. The younger man picked up his mug of ale, drank again and then turned his attention to his food.
SIXTEEN
He marched her back along the riverside path and up the track that skirted the Rosewyke woods. There he took a little path that opened off the main track, and they went in under a tangle of undergrowth into what was virtually a tunnel. In shadow, with dying, dusty, brittle vegetation catching in her hair and making her flesh itch, Judyth lost all sense of direction and it was a surprise when they emerged only a hundred paces or so from Gabriel’s house.
She must have made some small involuntary movement, because suddenly the point was sticking into her side and he hissed in her ear, ‘You are tempted to call out, to warn those within or to plead for their help. But if you give in, my knife will act far more swiftly than anyone in there.’ He jerked his head towards the house, now looming up right in front of them.
Judyth walked on.
Up the steps to the entry porch. The man’s fist thumping on the heavy oak door. Thump, thump, thump.
Judyth heard brisk, light footsteps crossing the flagstones of the hall. Celia, she thought, for the steps did not have Sallie’s steady, purposeful tread.
Celia flung the door open, and her face lit in a smile as she saw Judyth.
‘Judyth, what a pleasant surprise!’ she said. ‘We are all in a fluster this morning, I’m afraid, and—’
But then she must have seen something in Judyth’s eyes. She shifted her intent gaze to the man, and said, ‘Who is this?’
‘I have a knife, madam,’ the man said quietly, the smile belying the sinister words, ‘and its point rests over your friend’s ribs.’
‘What do you want?’ Celia asked. She had gone very white, and Judyth hadn’t missed the quick, agonized glance she shot at her, but she sounded calm.
‘To speak to the doctor,’ the man said.
‘He will see you!’ Celia’s response was a cry of protest. ‘Treating sick and injured people is what he does – there is no need for this, for threatening my friend with a knife!’
But the man was pushing them inside, one hand still holding the knife against Judyth’s side, the other tightly gripping Celia’s shoulder. ‘Get in the house!’ he hissed, and he closed the door after them.
Celia shrugged him off and strode ahead, across the hall, left through the parlour and on into the library. A fire had been lit; responding to its warmth, Judyth realized how cold she was. Those few moments had apparently given Celia time to collect herself, and when she spun round to face Judyth and her captor, her expression was severe.
‘If you are one of the fugitives who have been hiding in our woods, then you should be aware that right at this moment my brother is outside looking for you,’ she said in a cool voice. She was staring at the man, but her eyes kept flickering to Judyth. She is afraid, Judyth thought. She hides it well, but it is in her eyes.
‘Then go and call him,’ the man said. He nodded towards the window, with its view over the path up to the house and the thicket of fruit trees and bushes that separated the grounds from the river, and the woodland stretching in a broad band to the south. ‘Stand just there. Summon the doctor. Any hint of a warning, and you know what I will do.’
Celia gave him a look of such disgust that Judyth was half-afraid he’d stick the knife in her out of sheer anger. She risked a glance at him. His attention was fixed on Celia. ‘I have to do this!’ He hurled the words at her. ‘You do not understand.’
‘I most certainly do not,’ Celia agreed.
She gave him one last, condemnatory glare. Then she walked over to the window, opened it and called out loudly, ‘Gabe! Gabe!’
There was no response. She turned back to the man. ‘He can’t hear,’ she said, ‘I shall have to go and find him and—’
But just as Judyth’s heart lifted in hope – for if Celia had to go outside to fetch Gabriel, then surely she would find a way to make him aware of the danger – Gabe’s deep voice yelled, ‘What do you want? I’m busy!’
Judyth saw Celia slump a little; she had clearly been holding on to the same faint hope.
‘Come up to the house, will you?’ Celia called back with just the right note of irritation. ‘I need you for something.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ Gabe shouted. Judyth thought it sounded as if he was closer now.
‘No!’ Celia cried.
And the three of them waited. They heard Gabriel call out to someone. One of his outdoor servants, Judyth thought, no doubt helping with the search Celia mentioned.
They heard him marching across the hard ground in front of the house. Heard his booted feet climb the stone steps, heard his hea
vy tread echo in the hall. Judyth found herself repeating silently, be careful, Gabe. Please, please be careful.
And then as Gabriel came striding into the library, despite the fact that a frightened and very determined man had a knife to her side, straight away Judyth felt safer. And, just as always happened at the sight of him – no matter how well she hid it, no matter how she denied it to herself – her spirits sang with happiness.
He looked hot. His shirt was open and she could see his well-muscled chest. His long hair was awry, as if he’d been wrestling with branches and undergrowth. The heavy gold ring in his ear glittered in the firelight. He had a sword in his right hand, its point raised and directed at the man, and a heavy stick thrust through his belt. He looked wild; alarming; and again she was aware of the instinctive knowledge that told her he was dangerous; that he would not hesitate to act with the ultimate violence if he knew it to be right, irrespective of whether or not the action was within what the law allowed …
She watched as Gabriel took in the scene in one swift, raking glance. He looked at his sister, still standing by the window; he looked at her, and at the man holding her so tightly. She saw a flash of fury in his eyes, quickly covered up. He said mildly to the man, ‘How’s the leg?’
Celia gasped. ‘Gabe, you know this man?’
He shot a quick look at her. ‘Yes,’ he said shortly.
‘Then why in heaven’s name are you—’
Gabriel held up his hand. His eyes held his sister’s, and she seemed to understand whatever message he was trying to impart.
‘I will gladly look at your wounds,’ he said, turning his full attention to the man and apparently ignoring Judyth’s presence. ‘You have only to ask, and—’
But the man shook his head, furiously, as if he was trying to rid himself of some disturbing, insistent sound that only he could hear. ‘No, no!’ he cried. ‘She has already tended to me.’ And Judyth suppressed a cry as he gave her a rough shake.
‘I thought you were good.’ The man’s eyes were locked onto Gabriel. ‘All of you – you, that big man, his wife. But—’ He choked, quickly recovered. ‘But you consort with those who want our blood.’
Judyth had no idea what he meant, and Celia looked equally bemused.
But Gabriel seemed to know.
‘You are mistaken,’ he said.
‘Don’t lie! You were seen, coming out of the lodging house. That damned Spaniard is a devil, like the others, and if you’re in league with them I swear I’ll—’
‘I am not.’ Gabriel’s voice was cold. ‘I tend him because I am a doctor and he is very sick. But I know what he is, and I know he and his companions have followed you from Hispaniola because you have something they want.’
‘You cannot know!’ The man sounded horrified. ‘You—’
But Gabriel interrupted. ‘Why are you here?’ Fleetingly he looked at Judyth, then as swiftly his eyes turned back to the man. Again, Judyth had the sense of violence barely controlled.
‘My father has fallen ill. I was planning to ask for your help but then we learned that you have been visiting the priests, and I—’
‘You became so enraged at my treachery that you decided to make me suffer?’ Gabriel suggested.
‘No!’ The single word was a cry of anguish. ‘My father urgently needs a doctor and you are the man I want, but I have to trust you!’
‘And so you hold a knife to someone I care about to make sure you can,’ Gabriel said.
‘I do what I must!’ the man shouted.
Then, as if the fear, the uncertainty and the despair had suddenly overcome him, he dragged back Judyth’s cloak, stuck the point of the knife right into the fabric of her gown – she gave a soft gasp of pain – and shouted, ‘You have no choice but to do what I say! Lower your sword.’ With obvious reluctance, Gabriel obeyed. ‘Good. Now keep it so, or I will—’
But he didn’t finish his threat. At that moment several things happened at once: Gabriel gave a long, piercing whistle, then made an urgent gesture towards Celia, and she leapt aside just as a big black shape materialized in the open window. A deep growl filled the air and the man gave a shrill scream of fear. For one instant Judyth felt the knife point press further into her – it hurt – then the black shape had the man on the ground, and he was curling into a ball, the knife flung away and both arms up over his face.
Gabriel strode over and retrieved the knife. Then he said, ‘Off, Flynn,’ and instantly the big dog abandoned the prone figure on the floor and went to his master. Gabriel reached down a hand and smoothed it back over the dog’s head and down over its muzzle, murmuring words of praise, and the dog licked him affectionately, ginger brows raised as if to say, was that all right?
Gabriel stretched out his arm and Judyth ran to him, sagging against him and weak with the aftermath of fear. He drew her against him, holding her tightly. He felt very solid and he smelt of outdoors. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and said softly, ‘Are you hurt?’
She put her hand to her side and it came away wet. ‘It’s not serious. I can barely feel it,’ she lied.
Celia was beside them now, mastering her distress and calmly taking Judyth’s arm. ‘Come with me,’ she said quietly, ‘and we shall attend to you while Gabe deals with that.’ She shot a furious look at the man still curled up at her feet.
But Judyth, her strength and resolve flooding back, gently disentangled herself. Standing tall, she said, ‘No, Celia. Thank you, but it can wait. I want to hear what he has to say.’
Gabriel picked the man up and dumped him down on a chair. He stood considering him for a moment. ‘I would bind you but for the wounds on your leg,’ he said. ‘My dog will make you stay where I’ve just put you. Flynn, guard.’ The dog came skittering over, claws fighting for purchase, and sat down right in front of the man. He shrank away, fear in his face.
‘He will not hurt you if you stay still,’ Gabriel said. Then, compassion in his face, he added, ‘Your recent experience has no doubt made you wary of dogs, but mine is not as savage as he looks.’
‘You’re sure?’ the man whispered.
‘I am.’
And imperceptibly he began to relax.
Gabriel turned to Judyth and Celia. ‘Please, sit down,’ he said, indicating the chairs either side of the hearth.
‘Now,’ Gabriel said, turning back to the man, ‘explain.’
It was all I could do not to hit him.
I told myself he was not in his right mind; that he’d been badly hurt by Hawkins’s blasted dogs, that he’d experienced horrors and privations I could only guess at, that danger and dire need were driving him on; that his father had been taken ill; that I should feel compassion for him and not fury.
But he’d marched into my house and cowed my brave sister into doing his bidding. He’d had Judyth Penwarden in a cruel, relentless grip. He’d had a knife to her ribs and he’d penetrated her flesh. He’d put fear in her bright silvery eyes. He’d used her to make me lower my sword.
All of which added up to the strongest reason in the world to punch him as hard as I could.
But I didn’t. I just said, ‘Explain.’
He looked up at me.
‘You say your father needs my help,’ I went on, ‘and he shall have it. But not yet.’
Still he did not speak.
I suppressed my irritation. ‘I know you and the others came here on the Falco, that three of you are dead, that you fled from some terror back in the Caribbean that frightened you more than the prospect of the voyage. I’ve recently come to suspect that you were held by the Spanish – by their priests – and that for some reason they are very keen to find you. I am quite sure they mean you harm.’ I paused, weighing my words. ‘You said earlier you thought I was good, and if by that you mean I’ll help you, then you’re right. I have been in the Caribbean and the Spanish Main and I would not betray any man to the priests.’
He went on looking at me for a few moments. Then he began to speak.
<
br /> ‘We were six to begin with,’ he said. ‘My father Simoun Wex, poor old Philpot and Job Allcorn, they were the old men, the survivors, and you’d not believe what they’d been through. Then there was Bartholomew Noble and me – Henry Wex is my name – the sons of the old survivors, only Bartholomew’s father died back on the plantation. And there was Puma.’
‘Puma?’ I echoed.
He flashed a quick grin, or perhaps it was a snarl; a savage expression made dramatic by some missing teeth. ‘We call him that. He’s undersized, skinny and lithe, and he said he was grandson of one of the original lot, and his father was dead, and his mother, who by the look of Puma must have been a woman from the mainland – Guatemala maybe, or Panama – and not a slave, and it was her that taught him about the magic.’
Magic.
Yes, of course there was magic. Not that I believed in it – or so I told myself – but others did. This man did. I glanced at Judyth, then at Celia. They met my eyes. Judyth was frowning, Celia had a look of deep interest.
‘What happened?’ I asked Henry Wex.
‘Philpot was the first to go,’ Henry said. ‘On the Falco, not long after we’d sailed. It was hell on that ship.’ For a moment he seemed to be absent, looking into the past. ‘We were afraid all the time, didn’t dare leave our stinking hole of a hiding place, and for all that we tried to use the barrel for our waste, that’s not easy to do on a ship bouncing about like a twig on a millrace. Anyway, Philpot, God rest him, was weak to begin with and my father only agreed to let him come with us because of the old allegiance. He was sick even before we left Hispaniola and he rapidly got worse. Wouldn’t eat, kept vomiting up what we did get down him, and in the end even sips of water came straight out again. Anyway, he died, and we had nowhere to put him, and he started to stink, and so we put him in the barrel.’ He looked at us, his eyes pleading. ‘Don’t think we wanted to, but he began to rot, see, and …’ He left the sentence unfinished.
‘It went on,’ he continued, more fluent now that he was deep into his tale, ‘that terrible voyage went on, and it seemed it would never end. We were soon thanking the Lord above that we’d brought Puma along, because he took to slipping out in the dead of the night and coming back with something he’d filched from the ship’s supplies. Usually something to eat, because hunger was a perpetual torment and we’d nothing to take our minds off it.’ He paused, and the distant look came into his eyes again. ‘You think your life’s hard when you’re a sailor, but when you’re forced to endure a long sea voyage shut in a stinking little space with nothing to do and your thoughts going round and round till they drive you mad, well, then you long for the past life that you thought could get no worse.’
