The Highwayman's Footsteps (25 page)

Our journey would be long and tedious. I wished only to reach our destination. We could not hurry, however, as we must keep our horses fresh. We would need their strength when the time came. And so we rested every hour or so.

After some three hours spent travelling west, we came to a small village. Here, we knew, we had to take the road north over the moors. Now we must pray for our safety – a sudden fog, a fall, a band of footpads, any of these could be our doom. There would be no one to help us.

We turned our horses and took the lane that we saw before us. Behind us, to the south, the sky gleamed like burnished steel where the weak sun was hidden. In front of us, the clouds lowered themselves onto the hillsides, settling like a thick fog. Rain began to fall more heavily now, as the moors folded us into their shadows.

The ground was wet here, wrinkled with streams springing from the earth and pouring down the steep hillsides on either side of us. The path took us along the line of a valley and the slopes steepened until they loomed over us.

Down to our left, we saw the ghostly ruins of a huge abbey, with three rows of arched and empty windows. “Rievaulx Abbey,” said Bess. I had heard of it. I would not have liked to visit it by night, imagining the ghosts of monks wandering restlessly through its cloisters. We stopped to look, but the horses did not like this place, and champed and stamped until we moved on.

We did not wish to spend a night on the moors, and so we pressed on as fast as we safely could. We passed almost no one. The occasional shepherd or goatherd stared at us in suspicion as we trotted by; an old woman carrying a basket stepped aside as we approached, nervous perhaps in case we meant her harm; once, another rider came towards us and we readied ourselves in case he had ill intent, but he tipped his hat to us and we to him, and we were alone once again.

I had no fear of the moors now, and they were welcome to their secrets. Only living people held fear for me, and there were few enough of those in these bleak hills. But as darkness fell on that first night, and as we found ourselves suddenly on levelling ground, the hills and lowering cliffs behind us, my heart began to beat faster.

We spent the night in a simple tavern on the banks of the River Leven. The innkeeper's wife brought us a steaming pot-boiled hare, accompanied by sea kale boiled white and carrots stewed in a thin pale sauce. I tasted little of it, though I remembered to thank her and commend her for her cooking.

She must have taken kindly to the two of us – decent and well-spoken young men as we seemed to be, for she then offered an excellent gooseberry trifle with a custard so smooth and thick that my parents' French cook would have been proud to serve it. We declined her claret, thinking to keep a clear head for the next day, and preferred to drink a pale, malty ale instead.

We slept, of course, in the same room, but I went outside to see to the horses to allow Bess privacy while she prepared for bed. An ostler slept above the stable, and I thought of Mad Dog Tim as I spoke to him. But this one – Joseph was his name – seemed keen and honest, as far as I could tell. He did not have a shifty look and he called me “sir”. For my part, I smiled at him as I spoke, for I wished him to like me and to care well for our horses. A smile costs nothing and seems to me a proper way to behave to a person of any deserving sort.

Only since leaving home had I begun to think how one should behave. At home, I had had no call to think.

I
will not pause to tell of the next day, except to say that we covered some forty miles and by nightfall found ourselves, cold, tired, and with aching legs and weary horses, on the edge of Durham, skirting the river which almost surrounds it. Thinking to find ourselves a comfortable bed, we came to a bridge, crossed the river and proceeded into the city under the glowering shadows of the castle.

Early evening as it was, this was the time when gentlefolk would be in their houses, dining, away from the noisy masses. Workers hurried home or lingered on corners, shouting greetings or insults to each other. I counted at least three beggars slumped in doorways and one hobbling along on sticks, his legs bound with grimy bandages. Suddenly a door opened beside us as we passed and out stumbled three drunken women, their dresses awry, their hair spilling from their mobcaps. One vomited onto the pavement, held by the other two.

The smell of the river, of dankness, dead fish and rotten matter pervaded everything. We urged our horses onwards, taking little care to avoid trampling the drunken women.

Ahead, we could see the huge square towers of the cathedral, looming over everything, and soon the cloisters were in front of us, solid, reassuring, and yet cold and stern. They were like a strict schoolmaster – you cannot approach him for comfort, and yet you know that somehow he has your interests at heart.

Near the cathedral, we found what we were looking for: a tavern with a stable. I did not trust the look in this ostler's eyes, though perhaps I say that only with after-knowledge. Leaving the horses with him, and giving instructions to care well for them, we approached the entrance of the tavern.

Noise surged through the doorway. The noise of angry men fuelled by liquor.

It is easy to say such things afterwards, but it seemed to me immediately that I did not like the look of the men we saw inside, though by then it was too late. Silence fell suddenly, as the men stopped their talk and stared at us with open mistrust. Perhaps we were too well dressed; perhaps simply we were strangers and strangers may spell danger if evil is being planned. A great deal of drink was being consumed by all, and the air was thick with cheap gin and tobacco and men's sweat.

We kept our bags slung over our shoulders and we stood close together.

A man was standing, red-faced by the fire. All looked to him when he spoke. “We want no strangers 'ere,” he said, his voice loud with liquor and anger, his eyes bright with some unknown fervour. “Ye be not welcome.”

“I am sorry,” I said, speaking as gruffly as I could, trying to appear older than my years, though even I could tell that the modulations of my voice marked me out as someone of higher birth than I wished to show. “We only want…”

But Bess interrupted me. I marvelled that she could disguise her voice so well. “Aye, two beds for t' night, an' we'll not disturb ye more.” She could have been a labourer on my father's estate.

There was a shifting in the room, a murmuring without visible source. Men looked at each other, scowling, looking for someone to make a decision. “What brings you 'ere?”

“We pass by. Family business. We go northwards, to Scotland,” said Bess, strongly, levelly. Someone spat on the floor.

For a moment, however, it seemed as though Bess's words had satisfied them. But nothing that she might have said or done could have prevented what happened next.

A man, bleary-faced, greasy-haired, rose staggering to his feet, peering closely at me. He raised his finger, pointing straight. “'Tis 'im. So 'tis.”

My heart began to thump, until I was sure that they could hear it.

“Who?” asked some of the other men. All of them stared at me, their anger burning into me, even if they knew not who I was.

Bess and I began to edge towards the door.

Then the leader, the man by the fire, demanded, “What sayst thou, Thomas? Who be this?”

Three of the men stood up now. Their arms hung loosely by their sides, hands open, ready. They were larger men than I had thought, burlier, like oxen, the sinews of their necks rigid and thick. I tried to watch them all, to see which might move first and fastest. Their faces were red and round, burnished like leather in the sun and wind and rain and years spent on the land. The strength of northern hills ran in their blood. Bess and I would stand no chance against them, whether or no they were drunk. I thought of the sword hanging at my side, but I did not move my hand towards it, though I dearly wanted to.

And now, with horror, as I looked more closely at the face of the man called Thomas, I thought I knew him too. Who was he? I knew him and yet I could not recall precisely. A man who had worked once on my father's estate, perhaps? Yes, that was it. That was it! He was a gamekeeper, who had been drafted to the militia perhaps a year before. I remembered that there had been some hard feeling, some sullenness amongst the servants that day, some voices raised behind closed doors. But the man had gone – he had had no choice. He had been named in the hated ballot, and the fact that he had a wife with three young children had made no difference.

His voice was rough with distaste. A wet pad of tobacco flew from his mouth onto the floor by my feet. “'Tis the sheriff's son. 'Tis de Lacey's boy.”

Then the wind of their anger rushed through the room and they seemed to swell and grow tall. Chair legs scraped on the uneven floor as they rose to their feet.

“Run!” cried Bess. We leapt towards the door, and I drew my sword as we did so, turning back once more, slashing it from side to side. One man fumbled with a pistol which had lain on the table, but dropped it with a clatter. Two of them stooped to pick it up. The men were slow to move, fuddled as they were by drink and warmth. But they were only moments behind us as we ran for our lives across the dark inn yard towards the stable.

I thanked God for lazy ostlers. This one was eating his supper and had not unsaddled our horses. We grabbed them from in front of his eyes, leaving him wide-mouthed and stupid, and we flung our bags over the horses' withers. I was about to leap into the saddle when I saw that Bess's was indeed unfastened, and that she was fumbling with the girth. Silently urging her to hurry, I stood with my back to her, slashing my sword in front of us as widely as I could. A man tried to grab my reins, but one thrust of the sword put him in fear of his life and he leapt back.

I could not rest for one moment – as soon as one of them had been repelled, another two or three would leap forward. But none had a sword and the fierceness in my eyes was enough to show them that I would have killed them if they came too close. And, angry though they were, they were not fighting for their lives and they lacked vigour.

As I heard Bess shout behind me that she was ready, and as we both leapt into the saddles, I could see a man, the one who had seemed in charge, with a pistol in his hand. With practised fingers, he was loading and tamping down the powder.

Without waiting to put my feet in the stirrups, I pulled Sapphire's head in the direction of the yard entrance. Men stood there, some now with pieces of wood, one with a short knife, blocking our path.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the man cocking his pistol and raising it in our direction. I lowered myself as close as I could to my horse's neck, shouting to Bess to do the same, twisting Sapphire around as fast as I could, trying to keep moving, trying to stay in the mêlée of men.

One of them grabbed my left foot from behind, and I kicked out viciously, hearing a crack as my spur hit him in the jaw. Another man had hold of Bess's leg. She wheeled her horse around and I saw Merlin in his fear kick out at her assailant.

A pistol shot rang out and there was a yell, followed by furious shouting.

“Now!” I shouted and dug my spurs into Sapphire's sides.

We galloped for the gateway, straight towards the waiting men, holding our breath as we waited for the second shot. It did not come, for what reason I would never know and had not time to wonder.

The men leapt aside as we came close, though not before more than one had rained blows on us. One cudgel caught me on the knee with a crack that sent a spearing pain through my whole body. Another landed hard on Sapphire's back, causing her to buck and whinny. My leg dashed painfully against the gatepost as we passed through, but we were safe.

But as we clattered away from that dark inn yard, I heard a voice ring out, a voice full of fury and hatred. “The devil take the sheriff's son! May he burn in Hell's fire!”

The words fell around my ears, echoing their whispers like ghosts in the night, and a cold finger of fear crept down my back. My skin crawled under the power of his curse. Perhaps the man had God on his side? Perhaps I would suffer punishment for my father's wrongdoing? Did the Bible not say so? “And the sins of the fathers will be visited on their children.”

We escaped through the streets, turning this way and that, taking whichever street seemed broader, emptier, until we were sure no one followed us, and then we slowed to a trot and then a walk. We looked at each other and said nothing. We knew that fortune had smiled on us and that it could have been very different.

I did not tell Bess of my fears, not at that time. I tried to shake the dark words from me, to forget them. But I knew it would take more than a strong will to forget their menace. How could I protect myself against the power of the devil? There are things which are stronger than a man.

Bravery is easier by daylight.

W
e could not risk being seen by those men again, so we left the City of Durham as quickly as we were able. I think neither of us wanted to be amongst persons whom we did not know and could not trust. We had too much to hide and too much to lose. And so we rode as fast as we could to the nearest tavern outside the city walls. It was not far, a mile or two, but at least here we felt the empty spaces around us. The innkeeper was not pleased to be woken so late, but he took our money willingly and the room was dry and sufficient in furnishing.

I knew that I was now not far from my father's territories, some twenty miles north-west, and the thought of him subdued me further. And yet, excitement ran through me too, each time I thought of what we would do the next day.

We lay fully clothed on our beds and listened to the wind rattling the windows. Murky moonlight shafted through the open shutters; we wished for as much light as possible, in case of intruders. Our pistols lay beside us, loaded, primed and fully cocked.