Down: Trilogy Box Set (64 page)

Charlie was too scared to slow down but Eddie answered the call and fell back, but before he could reach the portly man Martin heard a cry and slowed.

“Don’t stop!” Tony screamed, one hand holding up his sagging boxers. “Stay with me!”

Torn by indecision, Martin picked up the pace again and kept moving forward.

Eddie reached his father who was lying on his side, his heavy body molding the organic forest floor. Blood was oozing around the arrow embedded in his thigh.

“Dad! Come on, I’ll help you up,” his son said.

Another arrow whizzed overhead.

“I’ve had it, boy. Save yourself.”

“No. I won’t leave you.”

“I said go! Mind your father. You’re the boss now, all right? Look after Charlie and tell your mother I love her. Now go, for fuck’s sake!”

Tears streaming, Eddie rose from his father’s side and took off running.

Soon he and the others heard a blood-curdling scream and Jack was gone. His severed head was kicked into the bushes as if it were as cheap a thing as an old football. The rovers quickly stripped him of his overalls and work boots then resumed their hunt for the others.

Despite being partially blinded by his tears, Eddie surged ahead of Martin and Tony and called out to his brother, “Charlie, Charlie, where are you?”

Martin could no longer see Alice and Tracy behind him. Despite Tony’s protestations, he refused to leave them to the same fate as Jack Senior and Jack. He stopped and reversed direction, calling for them to hurry along.

Soon, he understood why they had fallen behind. Tracy had stepped on a sharp branch and had punctured her bare foot. Alice was doing her best to move her along but the young mother was hobbled and crying in pain and fear. Just as Martin caught up to them he saw the rovers coming fast, crashing through the woods. There were at least four of them. Three were brandishing long, curved knives and one had a bow. On a full run, the archer nocked an arrow and began to draw the string. Though he was at least thirty yards away, Martin felt the archer’s cold eyes upon him. He wondered what it would feel like to be shot by an arrow. It was the kind of cool, dispassionate thinking for which Tony often derided him.

Boom. Boom.

The deafening blasts rang out in rapid succession.

The arrow sailed high and wide of its mark. The archer dropped his bow and clutched his bleeding chest before dropping to his knees.

One of the rovers cursed and grabbed his gunshot arm then shouted at his comrades. They left the fallen archer behind, turned tail and disappeared into a thicket.

Two riflemen stepped from behind a pair of large trees, not ten yards from where Martin, Alice, and Tracy stood in shock.

They were in their forties, clean-shaven, dressed almost identically in dirty-white and threadbare Oxford shirts, rough, cloth jackets, ancient-looking hide leggings, and worn, modern shoes laced-up with rawhide. Their rifles were muzzleloaders. One of them re-loaded and tamped the powder while the other, the taller of the two spoke.

“You’re safe now. They won’t be coming back.”

The riflemen slowly approached and Martin inserted himself between them and the women. “Who are you?” he asked, finding his voice.

The taller man responded incredulously, “The more interesting question is who the hell are you?” Before Martin could say anything, he told his partner, “Do you smell ’em, Murph?”

Murphy sniffed like a bloodhound and swore a low oath. “For Christ sakes, Jason. What gives?”

Rix, the taller man, said, “We’ll find out soon enough. Call your mates back so we can deal with the lot of you.”

“Why should we trust you?” Martin asked.

“’Cause we just saved your bacon?” Murphy said. “Good enough reason?”

Tracy sank to the ground, too overwhelmed to do anything but sob. Rix propped his musket against a tree and dropped to his haunches beside her. “Look, luv, I’m guessing you’re having the worst day of your life, and I’d emphasize the word, life, because I can’t explain it but I don’t reckon you’re dead. But you’re safe now. Me and Murphy’ll see to that.”

Tracy flinched at his odor but his benign eyes seemed to soothe her. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name, then?” Rix asked her.

“Tracy.”

He lifted his head to the other woman. “And you?”

“I’m Alice.”

“Will you tell us where we are and what’s happening to us?” Martin asked.

“We will,” Murphy said. “But first we need to get you lot back to our village.”

Persuaded, Martin cupped his mouth and shouted, “Tony! Everyone! Come back. We’ve found help. It’s safe.”

Delia was the first to wake the next morning. Arabel was in the adjoining bed with the children, all of them in dreamy repose. She wished she could have escaped into sleep longer herself but she was wide awake, her skin prickling from the coarse bedding. After a check for bedbug bites she got up and discreetly used the chamber pot in the corner then looked out the window. From the top floor of Wisdom’s mansion house the muddy Thames looked like a brown snake, frozen in curved locomotion. Wisdom’s barge was tied to its moorings. It hadn’t been there when they rode past the day before. It had arrived from London earlier, carrying a party of visitors. On the deck tiny figures made the casting motions of fishermen.

The door to their room had a heavy iron latch that she tried to lift. It wouldn’t budge. Her blood boiled at their imprisonment. If it hadn’t been for the sleeping children she would have banged the oaken door and hollered so she checked herself and merely seethed.

Under the circumstances she was glad to have something to occupy herself. Before retiring for the night she had asked the white-haired cook for some sewing materials to alter their clothes to deal with the absence of elastic, zippers and buttons. Sitting back on her bed she took stock of what she had to work with—an iron needle with a large eye, heavy thread, assorted lengths of hemp, and a pile of wooden buttons. She picked up Sam’s denims first and began to sew a button.

In the dining room Solomon Wisdom sat in his customary place munching on cold meat and bread and washing it down with ale while two groups of men huddled in their respective corners, whispering in their native languages.

Growing impatient, he called out to the two men to his left, “Come now, Prince Heirax, I haven’t all day.”

Heirax, the Macedonian ambassador to King Henry’s court, raised a finger and exchanged one more word with his colleague, a nobleman named Stolos.

“My offer is for all four of them,” Heirax announced. “One thousand five hundred crowns.”

Wisdom theatrically arched his eyebrows and addressed the three men to his right, “Gentlemen, do you wish to raise your bid?”

Navarro, the Iberian ambassador was rail-thin and feverish from a lingering bout of dysentery. The Macedonian bid seemed to stress his frail constitution and his retainers, de Zurita and Manrique, scrambled for a chair lest he faint.

De Zurita requested a drink for his master of equal parts water and wine and Wisdom’s man, Caffrey, slunk to the sideboard to prepare it.

Fortified by the drink, Navarro rasped in heavily accented English, “How can we speak of sums this large without seeing the merchandise?”

“As I clearly stated,” Wisdom said, “you will be able to see them after a price has been agreed upon. If they are not as represented—one comely, young, live maiden, two live children, one boy, one girl, and one older and fatter live matron—then you may withdraw your bids. However, you know me to be an honest broker, so you may be assured of my representations. You will also know that I previously acquired and did trade in a live maiden. I believe the French count who obtained her was most pleased with his purchase. It is a great curiosity that live souls have come of late to these parts. I cannot explain it but I have had the pleasure to become the exclusive purveyor of this exceedingly rare and singular merchandise.”

Navarro looked to Manrique, a small, dark man who turned away to check the weight of the purse under his cloak. He bent and said something to his lord. Navarro then asked, “And you say the maiden is fair?”

“Most fair,” Wisdom said.

“Then I bid two thousand crowns,” Navarro said.

The offered amount had now reached the sum-total for all of Wisdom’s flesh trade for five years and he took more drink to steady his nerves. “Excellent. And it’s back to you, Prince …”

A heavy banging against his front door stopped him in mid-sentence. He sent Caffrey to see who it was while Prince Heirax muttered something that Wisdom was sure was a Macedonian curse.

Caffrey returned with a wax-sealed envelope and whispered something in Wisdom’s ear. Wisdom broke the seal with a greasy finger, read the parchment and put it down, unable to hide a spreading and unctuous smile.

“Gentlemen, it seems the situation has changed. I have here a letter from Queen Matilda, herself. Yesterday, I informed the English crown of the new merchandise which had come into my possession and I have a response. She has submitted a bid of two thousand crowns.”

“This is what I have bid,” Navarro sniffed. “If I must, I will trump the lady by one additional crown.”

“Ah, but she has made her offer for the children alone,” Wisdom said grandly.

The Macedonians were furious and accused Wisdom of misrepresenting the nature of the auction but the broker held his ground. The two gentlemen took their leave in a huff, demanding to be returned at once to London.

Navarro was calmer and after speaking to his retainers put a different offer on the table.

“I must say, Solomon, that I did not have a clear vision for these children. I have little doubt I could find interested parties but I am certain there is a good demand in Iberia for a live maiden. I will give you seven hundred fifty crowns for her alone.”

“What about the matron?”

“I will take her off your hands but not for another crown.”

“I must have compensation for her.”

“Then just the maiden,” Navarro said. “Do we have a deal?”

“Very well,” Wisdom said. “I will delight the Queen by letting her have the children and a nurse. You shall have the lady.”

Navarro had Manrique count out the coins, subject to an inspection of the woman. He had one other condition. “Following our recent and unfortunate sea battle with Henry, we Iberians are persona non grata at court. We do not wish our presence here to be known to the emissaries of the queen so let us retire to a private chamber where we may inspect the maiden and complete our purchase.”

“Caffrey,” Wisdom said, “bring the gentlemen to my study and take the lady down to them. If they are pleased, send them off through the rear of the house. Count Navarro, your horses are in the stables, fed and watered. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”

When Caffrey unlocked the bedroom door, Delia was just finishing her alterations. Arabel stirred at the sound of the heavy latch raising.

“Get dressed,” Caffrey said, pointing at Arabel. “You’re to come downstairs with me.”

Delia demanded to know why he wanted her alone but Caffrey just repeated himself. Arabel rubbed at her eyes and began to tear up over the realization that some of her turbulent dreams had been true. She was still in this awful place. She protested in a quiet voice so as not to disturb the children that she didn’t want to leave them, but Caffrey was seething now and he withdrew a short knife from his belt and threatened to slit Delia’s throat if she didn’t hop to it.

“Just try, you filthy shit,” Delia said, rising, dropping some of her sewing on the floor. She was bigger than he was. When she’d first joined MI5 she had taken self-defense training but when Caffrey approached her with a raised blade she blanched and sat back down on the bed.

“I’ll go,” Arabel said. “How long until I can return to the children?” she asked.

“You’ll have to talk to my master ’bout that. I was told to fetch you, no more.”

Delia gave Arabel her clothes. Her skirt and blouse now had ugly but serviceable buttons and her bra was sewn closed in the front.

“Will you please turn around so I can dress?” she said.

Caffrey’s leathery face stretched into a gap-toothed, leering grin. “I will not.”

“Then I’ll dress under the covers,” she said.

When she was done she carefully got out of bed to avoid waking Sam and Belle and lovingly gazed at them before turning to Delia.

“Will you look after them?”

Delia took her quivering lips as a sign she believed she might not be coming back.

“Of course I will, dear. But you’ll return presently, I’m quite sure.”

“But if I don’t, will you tell them their mummy loves them?”

“I will, luv. Ten times a day. And I’ll look after them as if they were my own. If something does happen and we find ourselves separated, remember. We will be rescued. We will be found.”

John and Emily spent the night together trying their best to slow down time. By tacit, mutual consent, the evening was more domestic than romantic. They shared cooking chores and afterwards, she helped him tidy his flat. They cuddled on the sofa and watched TV, sticking to comedies. Before retiring to bed, she checked his wound and declared it clean as a whistle. They didn’t make love, not because they didn’t want to, but because she simply couldn’t accept pleasure into her life, knowing the ordeal Arabel and the children must be facing. She didn’t have to explain it to him. He understood.

Instead they lay there in the dark, talking about what they would do when this was over, how she would find a university job somewhere, anywhere, and how he would follow along and mold his life to fit hers. They didn’t want to give in to fatigue because with sleep, time would begin to fly and morning would come too soon. But sleep was inevitable.

He was back in Afghanistan and that horrible scream was in his ears.

In the distance the Taliban-infested farmhouse was flashing orange in the black, moonless night, lit by 30mm cannon rounds spitting from the Black Hawk hovering a click away. Explosions punched holes in the mud-brick walls surrounding the compound, taking out the snipers who were using them for cover but sparing the main house and hopefully the raid’s objective, Fazal Toofan, the high-value target John’s Green Beret team had been tasked to take alive.