Gideon the Cutpurse (18 page)

* * *

They remounted Midnight and began the journey back. Before long the great oak tree came into view in the distance. Above it hovered a curious black cloud, which was moving swiftly in their direction. It was the rooks. Soon all they could hear was their raucous cries.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
The great black birds passed right over their heads in a dense flock, and a feeling close to dismay came over Peter. What were they flying away from? Gideon pulled sharply on the reins and dismounted. Peter followed suit. The giant oak tree and the broken carriage beneath, silhouetted against the empty fields, were scarcely visible. Gideon reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small brass spyglass, which he put to his eye. He screwed up his face in an attempt to focus on the broken carriage.
"I cannot tell for certain what I see," exclaimed Gideon, heaving an exasperated sigh.
"Can I have a look?" asked Peter. Gideon handed over the spyglass to Peter, who strained to keep his hand steady, supporting it with his other arm.
"My hand keeps wobbling. I keep missing the cart."
Peter trained his gaze toward the oak tree until something caught his eye. Then he let out a gasp.
"What is it that you see?" Gideon shouted, seizing hold of the spyglass again and directing it toward their companions.
"How many of them are there?" asked Peter after a moment.
Gideon's lips moved as he counted silently. "Five. And a boy," said Gideon. "I believe they are tying the parson to the tree, but I cannot be certain from this distance. I can't see the others."
"You don't think they'll hurt them? I mean, they wouldn't touch Kate and Hannah and Jack, would they? They'll just take the diamond necklace and the parson's gold and go, right? It's only money that they're after?"
Gideon would not answer but stood staring at the distant oak tree. A wisp of wood smoke curled up from behind the carriage. Then he took hold of Midnight's reins and, patting him on the neck, led him quietly to a thicket of young birches. Between the thicket and the broken carriage was open land without a scrap of shelter. Peter's mouth became dry with fear.
Gideon reappeared next to Peter. "They are armed and we are not," he said. "Save for my knife. But there are too many of them to risk an attack. I do not doubt that the Tar Man or Ned Porter--or both--pushed these footpads to strike here and now, a good league from the nearest aid. When they find that we are missing, they will surely question my whereabouts and yours. I pray with all my heart that our companions have had the good sense to tell them we have ridden on ahead, for at least then we might have the advantage of surprise."
Gideon suddenly picked up a large rock and flung it with all his force into the bushes behind him. "Have I learned nothing these past five years! I knew he would send them! I knew it! He is like a cat before the kill: He cannot deny himself the pleasure of toying with his victims. He is not content to hunt me down. He must attack and rob those who help me! Did I ever have a more foolish and reckless notion? To leave the party thus exposed, for all the world to see...like lambs to the slaughter! The Tar Man will allow the footpads to keep their loot for
I
am the prize his master bids him seek. I promised to help you and Mistress Kate, but I have done naught but drag you further into danger!"
Gideon picked up another stone and smashed it so hard into the trunk of a tree that it cut deep into its bark. "Damn his eyes!" he shouted, and strode away, unable to contain his rage and frustration.
Peter sank to the ground and put his forehead on his knees. He was rattled by Gideon's outburst; his face was pale and his hands clammy. If Gideon did not know what to do, then he certainly did not. He closed his eyes. After a quarter of an hour he heard Gideon's footsteps and felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Do not be afraid--it is what they count on. All is far from lost. The footpads have made a fire. I'll warrant they are making camp for the night. We shall wait for cover of darkness and then we shall see what we can do."
Peter took the spyglass and peered at the distant oak tree. The carriage hid the footpads from view, and apart from the occasional flicker of movement there was no indication of what was happening to their friends--so close and yet so out of reach--on the other side of this vast, empty field. Gideon tethered Midnight to the trunk of a tree, and then tried to persuade Peter to sit and rest while he had the chance, for they would soon need to have all their wits about them. So, for a while, they sat side by side under the shelter of the whispering birches, Gideon chewing on a piece of long grass and Peter obsessively looking through the spyglass at the plume of white smoke that rose up into the sky from behind the carriage. They did not speak as they watched the darkness slowly dissolve the ribbons of scarlet and gold that stretched across the horizon.
"Come," said Gideon, breaking the silence at last. "We passed some reeds a way back. There must be a spring nearby. Let us find Midnight some water."
Gideon untied the horse and they walked, retracing their steps to the reed bed. It was becoming cooler now. Peter rested his hand on Midnight's neck; occasionally he stooped down to pick him handfuls of dandelions and choice green grass, and as the horse chewed his offerings, Peter could feel his hot breath on his outstretched palm. There was something about the presence of the animal--his warmth, perhaps, and the familiar smell of horseflesh--that made Peter feel a little less afraid.
The ground grew marshy as they approached the reeds and they soon found a small bubbling spring that fed into a pond. They watched Midnight drink eagerly, standing knee high in the muddy water. The light was fading fast but Gideon took care to scan the landscape through his spyglass in case they had been spotted by unseen eyes. "It belonged to my father," said Gideon, indicating the spyglass. "He gave it to my eldest brother, and when he died it came to me."
"Was that when most of your family caught the scarlet fever?"
"No, not then. I have no recollection of my eldest brother. He died some years before we moved to Abinger. My mother never liked to talk of it. I believe it was some kind of accident. I do know that my mother never recovered from the shock of it. He was her firstborn--it must have been a grievous loss to bear."
Gideon pulled out an object a little larger than the size of his hand from his jacket. Its polished surface gleamed.
"What is it?" Peter asked.
"Can you not guess? It was carved by my father's own hands from the horn of a ram when I was but an infant. It was on account of my namesake. Listen."
Gideon put the object to his lips and blew very gently--a series of clear, soft notes came from the horn.
"Who is your namesake?" asked Peter.
"Do you not know your Bible? Have you not heard of Gideon and the Midianites?"
Peter admitted that he had not.
"It was Gideon who led the Israelites against the Midianites--"
Gideon came to a halt abruptly in midsentence. "I believe my father's horn has provided us with a solution to our dilemma! Yes, by heaven! Now I see what we must do!"
He smiled triumphantly at Peter, who was puzzled but glad that Gideon seemed to have a plan of some kind.
"If I tell you the story of Gideon, you will understand," Gideon said. "The Israelites were far outnumbered by the Midianites, who were defending their camp with a large army. Yet God spoke to Gideon and told him to pick only a small number of his best fighters for the attack. Do you know how God told him to make his choice?"
Peter shook his head.
"Drink some water, Master Peter."
"What, now?"
"Yes."
"All right..." Peter lay on his stomach at the side of the pond and hoped the murky water was safe to drink. He plunged his head into the water.
"No!" exclaimed Gideon. "My namesake would not have chosen you. This is how a soldier drinks."
He bent his knees and, keeping his back straight, lowered himself to the ground while he cupped his right hand, which he carefully dipped into the water. Then he stood up and lapped up the water from his hand, looking around him all the time for any signs of danger.
"That is how Gideon chose his men: He bade them drink. Those who drank without regard to possible danger were left behind. The few who remained alert and watchful while drinking from their hands, he chose for the attack.
"God told Gideon to wait until the middle of the night before bidding his men encircle the camp. This Gideon did, and then, on his order, the Israelites, each of whom carried a trumpet and a flaming torch inside a jar, made a terrible noise, blowing their trumpets and smashing their jars and shouting. The Midianites were so maddened and confused, they began to kill one another.
"Now do you understand what I mean us to do?"
Peter nodded and smiled.

FOURTEEN
Gideon's Strategem
In which the parson preaches a curious sermon and the party shows their bottom

It should have been a peaceful scene. The swallows swooped over a landscape turned pink and gold by the setting sun, crickets chirped in the long dry grass, and a warm breeze agitated the leaves of the great oak.... But peaceful it was not. The wrecked carriage sat like a giant carcass in the road, surrounded by scattered trunks, their contents strewn all about. Parson Ledbury was bound to the tree, a double length of rope wrapped around his broad girth. The driver and Sidney were tied to two wheels of the carriage. Kate, Hannah, and Jack sat huddled together on one side of the tree whilst opposite them Ned Porter and the foul thugs who held them at their mercy sat around a wood fire. Whenever the breeze changed direction, they were choked by smoke. Jack started to cough.
"Hush, Master Jack. If we keep quiet and brave all will be well," whispered Hannah. "Put your face in my lap so you cannot see the ugly, wicked brutes, and I will sing you a song."
Hannah tried to sing but her voice trembled so much she soon gave up and hummed quietly instead. She slowly stroked Jack's back, and gradually, soothed by Hannah's touch and with his head hidden in the folds of her skirt, Jack fell fast asleep. Hannah leaned over toward Kate and spoke into her ear.
"I think he is not quite well. He has a slight fever. I do not like him being in this chill evening air--"
"Who said you could speak!" barked the leader of the footpads, who was striding toward them. "One more word and you'll feel the back of my hand."
"I was only saying that the child--oww!"
Hannah cried out in pain as a handful of acorns smacked into her face from the other side of the fire.
"Leave her alone, you great bully!" shrieked Kate.
The other two footpads looked on and laughed. Now the leader began advancing angrily toward Kate. She clenched her fists and for a split second a surge of adrenalin made her believe that if he so much as touched her it would be the footpad who would come off worse. But the footpad grabbed hold of both Kate's arms as if they were two twigs and bent them behind her back until she cried out in pain. She struggled and screamed, but he may as well have been holding a kitten for all the effect her kicks and wriggling had.
"And the same goes for you, you meddlesome baggage," he growled. "If you can't behave, you'll get tied up like the rest!"
He held her against him and forced her to walk toward the others. She was dimly conscious of the parson shouting something to her and Sidney straining against the ropes that tied him to one wheel of the carriage, but it was none other than Ned Porter who came to her aid.
"Let her go," he said sweetly, his green eyes glinting in the light of the fire. "A gentleman of the road would not behave in such a low fashion, and while you're with me I'd prefer it if you didn't mistreat the ladies."
Ned gave a wry smile in response to the footpad's defiant stare and waited patiently, arms folded and buckled foot slowly tapping. Unable to move, Kate became suddenly aware of the rank heat of the footpad's broad chest. Through the fine cotton of her dress she could feel the thumping of his heart. Nausea and fear all but overwhelmed her. The footpad was like a pit bull terrier straining on its leash, and she could sense his intense dislike of Ned Porter. His grip tightened for a moment and then he shoved her roughly back toward Hannah and Jack. Ned acknowledged Kate with a slight nod of the head. Hannah grasped hold of her hand and squeezed it. Kate felt a trickle of cold sweat drip down her back, and closed her eyes.

* * *

The light was now beginning to fade and the fire glowed more brightly under the tree's canopy. Bound tightly to a carriage wheel, the driver looked blankly in front of him--either resigned to his fate or feeling too ill to care--but Sidney's face alternated between terror and fury. John, Ned's accomplice, took delight in putting his face right up against Sidney's and clicking his front teeth. He rubbed his hand, which still bore the traces of Sidney's lately lamented incisors.
"I hope I was tasty, for I was the last dish those teeth will ever bite into!" he said to Sidney, laughing heartily at his own wit.
Sidney's eyes narrowed and he struggled against his bonds.
"Sticks and stones, dear boy!" called out the parson.

* * *

It seemed to Kate that every second was a minute and that every minute was an hour. Kate wondered how long your heart could thump this frantically in your chest without it bursting.
Where have Peter and Gideon got to?
she asked herself constantly.
Why haven't they come?
Deep breaths, Kate, deep breaths.
It was her father's voice that suddenly came into her head. She made herself breathe slowly, in and out, in and out, and felt a tiny fraction calmer. It was what her father had said to her when she had telephoned home in the middle of the night and begged him to come and get her. She'd been in the last year of junior school, and her class was spending a week in an activity center in the High Peak. He refused, saying that he would be doing her no favors if he did. Some kids from a rival school had made life so miserable for Kate in particular (her hair had always drawn attention) that on the second night she escaped and walked through isolated roads in the pitch dark to find a phone. Don't act like a victim, he had advised. If you feel like crying, wait until they can't see you. There's a solution to every problem, he told her. Keep a clear head and work it out. You're a smart girl, Kate. Trust yourself, because you know that you can.... And so, with moths fluttering around the yellow light of the telephone box, father and daughter had talked through her dilemma. Half an hour later Kate broke back into the center with no one any the wiser.
The solution to that particular problem could hardly be replicated here, she thought, but the memory of it brought the shadow of a smile to Kate's face. Her father had made the two-hour round trip before breakfast in order to smuggle a special package past reception. Later that morning, miles from the nearest corner shop, big kids were queuing up to thump anyone who gave Kate Dyer trouble, in return for a share of the biggest stash of sweets any of them had ever seen.
Deep breaths,
Kate told herself,
you're going to be okay.
There had to be some way out of this situation, and she was going to find it. She sat quietly and took everything in.