Believe or Die (24 page)

“I’ll tell you what it is Wil. I had not allowed for a war between your countymen and mine. Such a conflict offers up both risks and opportunities. I must know where your loyalties lie.”

“What mean you exactly Sir?”

“If it comes to it, are you prepared to fight men from your own homeland?”

“I have no homeland.”

“Ah, that is how I feel too. If I have to, I will draw my sword against a Hollander or an Englander with equal speed. But be assured I intend to do everything I can to ensure such a situation never arises. However, there are risks aplenty abroad and we must be aware of them.”

“You lose me again Sir.”

“It will take time for our enterprise to become established. I have various sources of information organised, but no immediate sources of income. Therefore, we need to make a few bold ventures fairly soon to put some coins in our coffers. This war gives us such an opportunity I believe. Both English and Dutch fleets will be attempting to harry or seize each other’s merchant ships. For mark it well Wil, this war is all about trade and control of the seas. When it starts, normal life in both countries will become disrupted. Shortages will occur.”

“Shortages that
we
could rectify? You speak of smuggling do you not?”

“Supply and demand Wil. Supply and demand.”

“How then do we proceed?”

“I see it thus. For my part, I shall establish the situation and possible nature of supply problems here in the Netherlands. That done, I shall employ a couple of small, fast vessels crewed by men who know their business.”

“And I?”

“Go you to England and see what THEY will be needing, set up some contacts and mirror what I do here. Then return so we may refine our plans. When all is ready, you will play the merchant in England and I in Holland.”

“It all sounds very neat and tidy Sir. Will it really be that straightforward?”

“Of course it won’t! But I believe the notion to be practicable and it will, if it succeeds, be most lucrative. More importantly, it will get us started in our new lives. Come, let us drink to it.”

Ale and Jenever appeared and they supped in silence for some time each wrapped up in his own thoughts. Wil ordered more gin and downed it quickly. De Rood peered over his mug, a questioning look in his eyes.

“There is one thing I must raise Sir.”

De Rood drained his mug and shook his head.

“Always the ‘one thing’! Speak then! You are concerned about a plausible tale to tell to explain your presence in England? Worry not, we will devise one, you will not be hung as a spy I promise you. Is that what is on your mind Wil?”

“No Sir. If I am to return to England, I must beg leave to fulfil a duty before I return once more to you here. I give you my word that I shall do all that you ask of me in the organising of matters across the channel, but that done, I must ask that I be allowed to undertake a task of my own before coming back. In truth it may take a little time, but it must be done.”

“You express yourself forcefully Wil Pitkin. You would delay our glorious adventures for your own personal purposes? Explain yourself Sirrah!”

“There is a man I must kill and I will have no rest until the deed is done.”

“Is the death of this one man so important to you that you are prepared to vex me so?” said De Rood with quiet menace.

“I regret it is Sir. And if you will pardon the impertinence, it was you that kept the hatred alive in me all this time, right from the time you suggested it when I was mixing the lime back in Sale.”

De Rood stared hard into Pitkin’s eyes and was met by a look that equalled his own in cold, unfeeling venom. He spread his hands in resignation and poured them more gin.

“Very well then, I see it must be so. This being the case, we must begin work on your deceptions immediately. Thus you can sail all the more quickly to England, kill your man, and THEN, if it be convenient to you, you may begin your real work for me!”

The war had done strange things to the people of Britain. Before it, few if any villagers would have strayed more than a mile or two beyond their hamlets, and then probably only on market day. But after it? Those who had joined the Army, be it that of King, Parliament or Covanteer, those who had marched the length and breadth of the land, many of them had been profoundly changed. For a great many, particularly those who had wanted no part in the conflict to begin with, the priority was to get back to some semblance of the peace they had once known. Some however found themselves to now be possessed of a gnawing restlessness. Their experiences made it all but impossible to return whence they had come. Richard Mead felt it now as he plodded north with his comrades. But his was not the kind of inability to settle that was caused by curiosity, wanderlust and a desire to see what lie over the next hill. His was the fidgeting of a soul that had been strained over tight and a mind that felt too close to the abyss.

The days passed and they soon neared the borders of Gloucestershire. The land itself was good from a farmer’s point of view announced Doggett, being well drained and with plentiful grazing. All were impressed by the golden hue of the local stone-built walls and houses. The weather was chilly but bright and there was little rain. Initially the people kept their distance but were not overtly unfriendly. Then a change of atmosphere became apparent to the riders. Caution and even fearfulness were only to be expected from a populace that had been pillaged, beaten and looted by both sides in a terrible and but recent conflict. Only now something else was becoming detectable, tangible even in the very air itself – terror.

At Eastwych they picked up the first real scent of Ephraim Tatchell’s trail. It wasn’t hard to do. The smell of a dozen corpses aided detection, dangling freely from a gallows as they were. Mead tried to keep his temper in check as he inquired of the locals as to the felons’ crimes. ‘Witches’ came the reply. Who had declared them so? The Witchfinder, Master Tatchell, he had made them confess to their sins and strung them up directly. Worth every penny declared the villagers. They had paid Tatchell? Only expenses they exclaimed and he had earned it by ridding the village of pestilence and evil spells brought about by those on the gallows. Poulton and Hitch circled the ‘tree’ and examined the corpses. They drew near Mead and quietly answered his questioning look.

“Hot irons and sharp blades Captain. Enough to make anyone confess to anything,” whispered Hitch. “These ‘uns died slow and hard.”

Mead nodded and swallowed the bile in his throat.

“Do you seek our Deliverer Sir?” inquired the local minister innocently.

“I do Sir,” growled Mead.

“I believe he travels north on God’s work. To Hallingbury I believe. Aye truly, he is well named; may the Lord bless him.”

“Named Sir?”

“Indeed Sir. Around these parts he is known as the ‘Angel of Death’. Truly he is the Lord’s tool in this wondrous work against Satan.”

Mead declined to comment and led his men away. They rode mutely for a while then Hitch broke the silence.

“Well I reckon it’s up to us to put a stop to Tatchell’s doings whatever Ketch’s part in this game is.”

“Amen,” said Doggett quietly.

“Strange,” commented Shalley. “You just can’t tell what some men are really like can you.”

“You seen him in battle boy, you know he ain’t averse to the killing,” replied Hitch.

“In war aye. For a cause that is just, fair enough. But like that back there? Torture and hangings, and him being of the tastes he has like, that’s all I’m saying.”

Mead was puzzled.

“‘Tastes’ Shalley? What mean you … Ben? Ben what’s amiss?”

Poulton had stopped and was standing in his stirrups looking behind them. His hand had strayed to the horseman’s hammer he carried, his favourite weapon.

“Had something akin to an itch on the back of my neck since we left Eastwych. Could be someone’s following us.”

“I’ll go look,” offered Shalley.

“Very well. Go only as far as that stream we crossed a mile or so back. Stay out of sight and do nothing stupid,” ordered Mead. “The light will be going shortly so do not tarry and meet us directly at the top of yonder valley.”

“Aye Captain,” grinned the young man reining his mount around. Mead grabbed the bridle.

“And Adam, do not be reckless. Be clever, be crafty, and be safe.”

Shalley nodded and as he passed the wagon, Doggett slapped a brawny paw on his shoulder.

“You heed the Captain boy,” he cautioned.

“I will Peter, I will.”

And with that the former trumpeter rode away to their left to circle back and scout the way he had been taught.

They waited at the end of the valley. And they waited in vain, for young Shalley did not return. None slept that night each blaming himself for letting the boy go alone, or indeed go at all; none more so than Richard Mead. It was the sort of task Shalley had done many a time during the war, done well and returned safe. That knowledge did not make it the slightest bit easier.

At sunrise they retraced their steps. Eventually they found his body. He had been garrotted. His horse was gone and anything of the remotest value had been stripped from his corpse. Robbers? Deserters? There was no way of knowing. The track thereabouts gave little hint as to the number of assailants save they were numerous. The ground also suggested that ambushed as he may have been, Shalley put up a fight. Alas his valiant struggle also obscured the direction in which the villains had fled. They laid their young comrade to rest in the dark, cold, ground and Mead spoke halting words that were meant to be of comfort. But his speech did no such thing. One word was uppermost in each man’s mind - vengeance! They continued their quest.

It was a brooding, sullen party that arrived in Hallingbury the following day to discover more of Ephraim Tatchell’s ‘Godly’ work. No less than twenty souls had been ‘cleansed’ from the village. The killings were recently done and Mead and his companions quickly continued on the spoor of the ‘Angel of Death’. Arriving at Didcot, they found they had missed him by mere hours. And it was also here that they found they were too late to save Annie Trivett. Her ‘girls’ had been hung almost out of hand, casually, without any apparent notion that they had been real people at all.

Annie herself had been put to the ‘ordeal of water’. Deliberately clothed, doubtless on Tatchell’s instructions, in hugely volumous clothing before being cast into the village pond. Because of her garb, she had of course floated. Therefore, she was clearly not only a whore mistress, but also an obvious witch. Taken from the water, she had been led to a makeshift gallows. Her hanging bore all the marks of a slow, long drawn out affair. The villagers watched in bemusement as the recently arrived strangers dismounted and gently lowered her body to the ground. Bewilderment turned to nervousness as one of the men held her tightly in his arms, tears running unheeded down his face. At length the man looked up and the people’s nervousness turned to fear. His cold, hard, reptilian glare took in the throng.

“Round them up,” he hissed to his companions.

Instantly the other three were upon the crowd, heedless of their numbers, kicking and cuffing men, women and children alike to their knees in front of Richard Mead.

“You have been party to the murder of seven innocent women,” he snarled. “Now you are going to pay for it.” He lowered Annie to the ground and nodded towards her ‘girls’. “Untether those nooses and lower the girls. Do not cut the ropes.”

A few of the villagers began protesting but their whining was cut short by gauntlet and boot. The local council of half a dozen ‘worthy’ men were identified and in very short order they were dangling from the scaffold just as Annie’s ‘girls’ had but so recently been. It was done with such speed and lack of pity that the villagers could only gape in frozen horror. Then, under the unwavering pistol barrels of Hitch and Poulton, they were made to carry Annie’s girls into the Meeting House. The local preacher’s protestations were cut short by the flat of Mead’s sword.

“Burn it!” growled Mead and soon the Meeting House was ablaze.

Doggett brought the wagon up and Annie Trivett’s body was layed in the back. Mead looked down at her again and began trembling with anger.

“Burn it! Burn the whole cursed village!” he shouted.

His companions looked at each other nervously.

“Winter’s coming on Captain. There’ll be no shelter for the young ‘uns if we burn the place,” advised Doggett quietly. “Reckon we’ve done enough for one day. Doin’ more won’t bring her back.”

“Dogget’s right beggin’ your pardon Captain,” agreed Hitch.

“Aye,” nodded Poulton.

Mead glared at them with eyes red from tears, then a sudden wave of exhaustion flooded over him. The tension abated and was replaced by a cold, empty sensation. He leant his head against the wagon and thumped the frame.

“I feel something else is needed. I feel these ‘good’ people need to fully understand what they have done, or be let done here. I want them to remember this day!”

“I reckon they’ll do that right enough,” said Poulton gesturing at the gallows and the burning Meeting House. “This lot’ll be shitting themselves ‘case we ever come back this way again.”

Mead frowned up at Poulton then a cruel smile appeared on his lips. He mounted his horse and walked it slowly over to the whimpering populace. They cowered under his merciless glare.

“You thought Ephraim Tatchell was the ‘Angel of Death’. He was not. But now you have met him. You have met me. And I tell you this. I WILL BE BACK!”

Mead rode back and waved his men forward out of the village. Hitch and Poulton exchanged questioning looks but it was Doggett who asked the question.

“We ain’t really coming back are we Captain?”

“No, we are not. I never want to see this shitheap again. But they don’t know that do they!”

They buried Annie in a secluded glade some miles from Didcot. Buried her and prayed over her. It wasn’t just the habitually quiet Dogget who kept his own council as they resumed the trek north. Yet as they neared Bourton-on-the-Water, it was Dogget who finally broke the silence. Hitch was up ahead scouting. Poulton was at the rear watching their backs. The wagon had been retained for a while and then dumped in a copse with the nag being freed to find her own future. The horse looked at them for a while then plodded off back southwards. Mead’s dark thoughts were interrupted by Dogget’s clearing his throat.