[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (15 page)

'You've been robbed yourself?.' I asked instead, anticipating a reluctant denial. But I was wrong. As so often before, I had jumped to too hasty a conclusion.

'The stables were broken into one night last year and Master Herepath's bay was stolen.'

My attention quickened. 'Master Edward Herepath of Small Street?'

'Of course Master Edward!' The tone was short. 'That ne'er-do-well, Robert, never had the money to mount himself, and depended entirely for his horseflesh on his brother.'

'Was this theft before or after William Woodward's disappearance?'

My companion's head turned sharply towards me.

'Oho! You know about that, do you?' He shrugged. 'Well, and why not? 'Tis natural people still talk about it. A weird and terrible thing to have happened. And since you ask, there's no harm in telling you. Master Herepath's bay was stolen the very night that William Woodward disappeared.'

'The very same night?' I stopped dead in my tracks, although I was unaware of doing so until my new-found acquaintance twitched irritably at my cloak.

'Come along! Come along! It's almost dark and I don't fancy being abroad after dusk. Yes, yes! William Woodward and Edward Herepath's horse disappeared together.

A free, strong animal it was, too. Light bay with black points and a white snip between its nostrils.' I resumed walking like a man in a dream, trying to assimilate this new fact and what, if anything, it might mean; by which time we had arrived at the High Cross and the parting of the ways.

'I'll bid you good-night then,' my companion said, turning left into the lower half of Wine Street. 'And if you're wise, you won't loiter. The city's plagued with thieves and footpads during the hours of darkness.'

He had hurried away before I could question him further, but at least I knew where to find him. And I consoled myself with the knowledge that I should have got very little from him then, anxious as he was to seek the safety of his roof before any dangers of the night befell him. I stared at his retreating figure for a moment before turning my feet towards High Street and the bridge.

I was first conscious of danger when I was almost halfway across the bridge, approaching the chapel of the Virgin. To begin with it was no more than the rising of hairs on the nape of my neck. l stopped and peered backwards through the darkness, but there was nothing to be seen except the row of houses and shops on either side of me° Nevertheless, I freed my right arm from the folds of enveloping cloak and renewed a tight grip on my cudgel. At the same time, I realized how deserted the bridge was in comparison with the other streets of the city.

Here and there, a rushlight glimmered fitfully behind a window, but for the most part, the thrifty denizens of the bridge were saving their candles until later in the evening.

My friend from the livery stable had been correct, the weather was on the change; the dank mists of the past days were dispersing. A wind had arisen, tearing the pall of cloud to reveal, every now and then, a fugitive moon riding high in the heavens. In one of the gaps between houses, I caught a glimpse of the swift current of water, the reflection of a few lone stars caught in its ripples. The surrounding darkness was less dense than it had been, and shadows were more pronounced. Yet although I stood stock-still in the middle of the road, I could see nothing moving. With a shrug, I decided that my unease stemmed only from my imagination.

Foolishly, I had expected danger to come from behind: it had not occurred to me that any attackers might be lying in wait. I should, however, have thought of it, for there was no other route by which I could return to Redcliffe without going many miles out of my way. But it was only when I saw two bulky shadows fill the narrow gap between the chapel's outside wall and the house immediately facing it, that I realized my fears had been justified. It never crossed my mind that this pair of hired bravos could be intent on waylaying anyone but myself, and I was right. One of them raised a lantern to illuminate my face and immediately let out a yelp of triumph.

'It's him!' he exclaimed to his Companion. And to me, he added, 'You've been long enough returning.'
 

I stepped back a pace, clutching my cudgel in both hands. 'How did you know I was abroad?' I queried.

'We asked at Mistress Walker's for you.' I saw the glitter of an already unsheathed dagger.

I risked a quick glance behind me, but there was still no one about. One of the men lunged and I parried the blow. I heard him curse violently, and it was obvious that he had not expected me to be armed with a stick. My assailants had anticipated, perhaps, a knife, such as some men carried for protection during the hours of darkness, but not a hefty cudgel. And a knife would have taken moments to draw, by which time they hoped to have dispatched me. I considered yelling for assistance - surely someone had to hear me in one of the shops or houses - but stupid pride would not allow it. How foolish men are when their courage is challenged! And how truly wise are women never to let such nonsensical notions get in the way of self-preservation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the second bravo try to slip behind me, and I turned to face him before he could strike between my shoulder-blades. I released my cudgel with my left hand and swung it with all the force of my right at his dagger-arm. He saw the move coming and ducked, but not quite fast enough. The heavy stick caught him a glancing blow on his right cheek, making him stagger back, yelping with pain. I was unable to calculate how seriously I had injured him because the first man had already closed in, trying for the kill before I had time to regain control of my cudgel. He had an arm about my throat and I could hear his breath rasping in my ear.

I dropped my stick with a clatter and flung up both hands to free myself from his grip, twisting and writhing until I was bent almost double, dragging him down with me across my back. I could feel his muscles straining as he tried to straighten up and plant his dagger in my chest.

He gasped out something to his companion, but I did not catch the words. The blood was drumming deafeningly inside my skull, and I knew that if I did not break his stranglehold in a second or two, I should lose consciousness and their work would be done. I was on my knees, still trying with all my might to prise his arm from about my throat, when I realized, with that animal instinct for danger, rather than by anything seen or heard, that the other man had recovered from the cudgel blow and was coming to help his fellow. I think I resigned myself in that instant to the fact that I was going to die.

I was unaware of the approach of my rescuer until a shriek like the wail of a banshee penetrated even my fading senses. My neck was released with a startled oath as my would-be murderer heaved himself to his feet. At the same moment, there was a rush of air as my abandoned stick was inexpertly and wildly sent flying in his direction, missing my kneeling form by inches and striking him, by the sheerest good fortune, full in the belly.

Winded, he keeled forward, the dagger dropping from his hand as he clasped himself below the belt and started to retch. Dragging in mouthfuls of air which seared my chest like fire, I forced myself uptight, and with my cleating vision beheld a small, whirling figure, hurling defiance at the two bravos and generally making enough noise to awaken the occupants of the neighbouring houses. Doors and windows were beginning to open, cautious heads peering out to discover the cause of the commotion.

'Help!' screamed Lillis. 'Murder! Murder! Murder! Somebody go for the Watch!'

My two assailants ran, the first man still bent double, clutching his stomach, but moving swiftly for all that, fear of capture making him show a clean pair of heels. By the time a small crowd had gathered around Lillis and me, he and his companion had vanished into the shadows at the town end of the bridge. There was little point in pursuing them, even had I wished it, for they would have disappeared into the maze of narrow alleyways surrounding the Backs, where such hired ruffians had their quarters.

Lillis fended off the growing circle of my well-wishers, many of whom were chorusing the usual litany about the dangers of the night streets and the general inadequacy of the Watch.

'Leave him to me. I'll see he gets home safely. He lodges with my mother.'

She picked up and handed me my cudgel, staggering a little under its weight. How she had managed to hurl it the way she did, I shall never know. Anxiety on my behalf must have given her the strength, just as it did when she slipped an arm around my waist and ordered, 'Lean on me.'

I laughed feebly. As we set off towards Redcliffe, with cries of sympathy, commiseration and admiration for her ringing in our ears, I asked, 'What made you think I might need help?'

She snorted. 'I didn't like the look of those two men who came inquiring for you an hour or more since. And when you failed to return, I got worried and couldn't rest. I grew more and more convinced that some devilry was afoot so, in the end, I came to find you.' Her breath caught in her throat. 'I was afraid I'd find you dead.'
 

'I very nearly was. You arrived just in time. Thank you.' She made no reply, supporting my flagging body as best she could until we reached the cottage, where Mistress Walker was keeping an anxious watch at the open door. She gave an exclamation of horror when she saw us and hastened forward to help me inside.

'What's happened?' she demanded, adding, without waiting for an answer. Sit down, lad. You look as if you're going to faint.'

And just to prove her right, I did.

Chapter Thirteen

I was dreaming. I was standing in the courtyard of the livery stables, and Edward Herepath was leading out a light bay with black points and a white snip between its nostrils.

The farrier was standing alongside him. 'No, no!' he was protesting. 'Henry Dando won't let you ride it on Thursday. He says it must be Friday because that's when he saw you.'

Edward Herepath pushed past him with an oath and, as he turned in my direction, his face became that of a much older man who, although I had never seen him, I knew instinctively was William Woodward. As I stepped backwards to clear a path for him and his mount, I noticed a cloaked and hooded figure standing at the stable gates, featureless, withdrawn. William passed the man without greeting, yet somehow I felt that they had met before, as an almost imperceptible nod of recognition passed between them. And then I saw that William Woodward had once again assumed the face of Edward Herepath. In the same instant, someone - the farrier I presumed - took a hold of my shoulder and began to shake me...

Mistress Walker was standing over me, a rushlight flickering in one hand, and behind her I could see Lillis's face puckered with anxiety.

'What's wrong?' I mumbled.

Both women breathed a sigh of relief. 'You were moaning and groaning so violently, we thought you must be ill.' My hostess placed the rushlight-holder on the table and felt my forehead. 'It's all right,' she said to her daughter. 'There's no fever. He must have been riding the night mare.'

'I was.' I sat up in my truckle bed, struggling to free my senses from the clinging remnants of sleep. I looked directly at Lillis. 'And you?' I asked. 'You're sure you've taken no hurt?'

She shook her head, and even through the gloom I could see that triumphant little smile which told me I was hers now: she had saved my life. And, far more than what had happened between us the previous night, the evening's events had put me for ever in her debt. I sighed and leaned back once more against my pillow. When she brought me water from the barrel near the door, I submissively raised my head and let her hold the cup to my lips; nor did I object when she kissed me lightly on the forehead. I noted the swift and curious glance that Margaret Walker gave me, but she made no comment, an omission which I found disturbing. It implied a tacit understanding between the two women.

Satisfied as to my well-being, they withdrew once more behind the curtain and retired to bed. I lay sleepless in the darkness, a prey to misgivings and fears for the future.

If only it had been Cicely Ford who had come to my rescue, how happy I should have been then. But gradually, such ungrateful thoughts were replaced by the need to interpret my dream, for I knew from experience that somewhere in its jumble was a grain of sense. On only rare occasions in my life have I had what my mother would have called the 'sight', but whenever I am worried or perplexed, I have dreams which are so much confusion on the surface, but contain in their depths the seeds of truth. And whatever that truth might be concerning William Woodward's disappearance, someone had considered it worthwhile to have me murdered before I could discover it. Two ruffians had been hired to kill me and, but for Lillis's concern and bravery, I should now be lying cold and lifeless on the bridge.

I hurriedly put the thought from me and concentrated instead on my dream, going back over its events before it started to fade. Henry Dando! Who was he? I covered my face with my hands to block out the familiar shapes of the room, and tried to remember... Of course! Miles Huckbody's friend at the Gaunts' Hospital, who had mentioned seeing Edward Herepath. Now, what exactly was it he had said?

Miles had protested that Edward Herepath was in Gloucester the night William Woodward had disappeared.

"E were, that's true enough,' Henry Dando had answered.

'I saw 'im meself on the Friday morning as 'e were setting out. 'E were some way distant, but I recognized that bay of 'is that 'e were ridin'? Yet surely both Mistress Walker and Edward Herepath himself had insisted that he had travelled to Gloucester on Lady Day; in other words on the Thursday. Either one was lying and the other had been misled, or Henry Dando had seen someone else riding Master Herepath's bay.