Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (39 page)

Charity's face twisted. She gasped, "Oh no. Guy is
dead
?"
The Captain's hard brown eyes flickered from her droopingly sodden
cloak and hat, to her muddied boots. "You, madam," he said with a curl
of the lip, "are at liberty to go. Men, forward!" The troopers turned
their mounts. Charity's frightened eyes flew to Mitchell. He said low
and urgently, "You're our only hope now, Madame Mulot," and leaned to
throw an arm about her and kiss her. She responded, but was slightly
taken aback, under the circumstances, to feel his hand at her bosom.
Something hard dug into her. She felt a chill of apprehension, then the
troopers were coming between them and she had to rein back. The
soldiers and their prisoners moved on. She waved in response to the
shouted farewells and waves that were directed at her. Then the bridge
was very empty, and she and Lion were alone.

Dully, she tidied the laces at her bosom, unobtrusively
tucking Diccon's precious notebook more securely into her camisole.

"That bastard!" grated Lion furiously. "Pardin, ma'am, but
that there Sanguinet wins every time. I see him push my master down and
down till he wasn't nothing but dirt. Now he's won again. It ain't
right!"

Charity thought wretchedly, "What shall I do with him? Without
all of them?" And she said, "He's indecently rich, Lion. Much too
powerful. How he would laugh." Her shoulders pulled back. She said
vibrantly,"He
shall
not win! That evil man must
not harm our dear land! Lion, you and I must go on! We must get to
Brighton somehow… we
must
!''

"We will, missus," he said stoutly. "Don't you never worrit."

Nonetheless, they started off together in a mutually dismal
silence, each aware of how slight were their chances. After a while,
Charity reined to a halt in a pleasant copse of young birch trees.
"Perhaps," she said, "if we were to go to the authorities in Oxford,
we—" And she stopped, her heart giving a scared leap.

Where they had come from, she could not tell. How they could
have been so swift and soundless was astounding, but lean men with dark
hair and still, bronzed faces formed a wide ring about them. Several
wore colourful scarves around their heads, and gold gleamed in their
ears.

Lion muttered, "Gypsies. Gawd! They'll be arter our horses for
sure."

Two of the men stepped forward. One was not much more than a
boy, with wide, intelligent dark eyes and a proud lift to his strong
chin. The other… Charity gave a sudden squeal of excitement and slid
from her saddle.

"DiLoretto!"

"Signorina!" The Italian swept her a flourishing bow.

"We again have meet. They circumstances they not-a so good,
but"—his shoulders shrugged in that all-embracing gesture she
remembered so well—"we make better, eh?"

Tears trembled on her lashes. She said unsteadily, "How
glad
I am to see you. But my brother and—they have been taken away and, oh,
it is all so dreadful! If only you could help, but we are running out
of time, and—"

"Madame," he interrupted this desperate muddle, "tell me only
this. Have you in your saddle, or about-a your person, perhaps, the
crown of Charlemagne?"

"No. Gerard took it to the Regent last week."

"Mama mia!" DiLoretto struck his forehead with his clenched
fist, so hard that he staggered back a step. "I must tell this to my
Diccon.''

"Then Diccon is alive? Thank God! Where?"

"To the west. Five miles, about. He is not-a very alive,
signorina. We go quickly, now."

"No, no! We cannot. DiLoretto, listen to me! My brother
and—and Mr. Redmond and their friends have been arrested. Even now they
are being taken under heavy guard to Oxford. Our only hope would be to
get them away before they reach the town. Oh, please,
can
you help me?"

DiLoretto looked at her thoughtfully, then he said, "Beside
myself, this young-a man is called Daniel. He does not speak, but he
will know."

Daniel watched Charity, his head tilted to one side. After a
minute a broad grin spread across his dark features.

Thus it was that a short while later, a troop of soldiers
escorting six prisoners across a bridge that spanned the swiftly
flowing Cherwell River unexpectedly became embroiled with a noisily
squabbling band of gypsies.

The Captain in charge of the troop, his glossy whiskers
twitching with vexation at this interruption of their majestic
progress, roared an order for the ragtag band to clear the bridge.
Instead, three caravans trundled up the far side and began to vie for
the right-of-way. The argument became fierce. Voices, including that of
the Captain, rose. Noses were pulled. Fists flew. Suddenly the bridge
was a turmoil of flying fists, rearing, nervous horses, and angry
soldiers.

Mitchell, recognizing one dark young face, caught his
brother's eye and mouthed, "Daniel!" Sir Harry, following his gaze,
brightened and nudged Leith. Mitchell drove home his spurs and his hack
reared, neighing in fright. The line of troopers broke.

"Stop!" howled the Captain. "Stop—in the name of the King!"

Instead, six superb horsemen galloped madly down the bridge
and towards a distant rise where a fair lady and a boy with flaming
hair waited.

"Shoot!" roared the Captain.

The troopers strove to obey, but were hampered on every side
by struggling gypsies. One man, more ambitious than his companions,
fought his way clear, musket in hand, and rode in pursuit, the rest of
the troop following belatedly.

The first trooper took careful aim and fired.

Bolster, bringing up the rear of the escaping band, felt his
mount stagger. He jerked his feet from the stirrups and was thrown
clear as the poor hack went down with a scream and a thrash of legs.
Harry Redmond, glancing back, saw Jeremy getting to his feet and three
troopers bearing down fast. With a whoop, Sir Harry swung around and
galloped back. Bolster reached up, Sir Harry leaned down; a heave and a
leap, and his lordship was mounted behind his friend. Another roar from
a levelled musket. Bolster jolted and clutched at his head. His grip on
Harry's waist loosened. Harry grabbed for him, but Jeremy was already
falling. He landed rolling, then lay very still.

Harry dared not stop again. His face very white, he gazed
back. "My God… Jerry… dear old boy…" He saw a trooper stop and dismount
beside that sprawled figure, and he drove home his spurs, suddenly
finding it difficult to see clearly. With grief a knife blade in his
breast, he rode on, whispering, "Dear old Jerry! Shot down by one of
our own lads… our own good men… My God!"

The sun became warmer in the afternoon, shining brightly on
the lush green of the meadows and waking glittering sparkles from the
stream that hurried through the woods. At the centre of the trees,
seven horses grazed in a small clearing. Their seven riders, disposed
about in various attitudes of weariness, felt slightly restored in body
by reason of the bread, cold roast beef, and cheese that Charity had
carried with her, but their spirits were low. They numbered several
deep and enduring friendships among them, but Jeremy Bolster was
beloved by all, and the silence was crushing.

Sir Harry, his back propped against a tree trunk, at length
voiced the thought that was uppermost in all their minds. "He's not
dead, of course," he said. "Old Jerry's indestructible. They couldn't
kill him at Badajoz, though they gave it a jolly good…try. And if Boney
couldn't snuff the straw-topped idiot, you cannot think that slimy
little Claude… could…" The words shredded and he said no more. Jeremy
had looked dead. There had been blood on his face as he fell, and he
had looked so terribly finished…

Huddled on the upthrusting root of a solitary oak, Charity
bowed her head into her hands. "First Diccon… then poor Guy. Then Major
Tyndale and the Reverend Langridge. Now… dear Jeremy. Oh—how could
they? How
could they
?" And she wept softly.

Leith said, "We cannot blame the troopers. They were only
doing what they conceived to be their duty.''

''I know." She sniffed and wiped fiercely at her eyes. "I'm
sorry. I shouldn't… but it's just… that evil,
evil
man!"

Mitchell drawled, "Those dutiful troopers of yours, Leith,
drove us in circles for the better part of an hour. I do not question
your refusal to return their fire, or your evasive actions, but do you
know where we are now? Damned if I do."

Devenish, who had been stretched out with his head on his
saddle, sat up and peered around. "We've been riding north, eh, Tris?"

"I'm afraid we have. It was the only way to throw 'em off."

"And west, dammit," said Strand.

"Oh, Lor'!" exclaimed Lion. "I'd s'posed them hills was the
North Downs."

Leith sighed. "I wish to God they were. They're the Cotswolds."

"And we've gone at least ten miles out of our way," said Sir
Harry, glumly.

Leith stood, stretched, then went to help Charity from her
impromptu chair. "Can you face more riding, dear?" he asked kindly.

She managed to smile, but she was thinking that Mitchell had
been very quiet and withdrawn ever since they'd left Coventry. He had
not approached her when they'd dismounted here, and it had been Justin
who'd lifted her down and who had insisted she have this most
comfortable of the "seats" they'd found. She had likely made a fool of
herself with a man who was notorious for his many lights o' love.

Lion came up, leading her saddled horse. Settling herself
after he threw her into the saddle, she wondered drearily if rakes were
rakes because they were incapable of enduring devotion. She looked
across at Mitchell, but he was engaged in an apparently grim
conversation with his brother and avoided her gaze.

When they were all mounted, Leith glanced around. ''Seven," he
thought,'' including a boy and a lady." He took out his timepiece. "Ten
minutes past two o'clock…"he announced soberly.

Charity thought an appalled, "Two o'clock…
Tuesday!''
She walked her horse to Mitchell and held out her hand. He took it, his
eyes sober, then glanced down at the notebook in his hand. He looked up
at her. She smiled, but he stared at her sombrely and did not return
the smile.

Again, they stayed clear of major roads, riding across country
for the most part, heading ever south and east. They soon discovered
that their clearing had been not far from Burford, their enforced
detour having carried them almost twenty miles out of their way. They
crossed the Thames above Abingdon and came at sunset into the high Down
country. They were entering Berkshire, the fields lush and green about
them, when Harry, glancing back, shouted, "Dammit! We're found again!"

This time their pursuers were greater in number, their
exultant shouts leaving no doubt of their identity. The chase was on
again. Leith led them at the gallop up hill and down, mile after mile,
trying desperately to elude the dozen or so who strove just as
desperately to come up with them. Through streams and across culverts
they went, leaping ditches and racing full-tilt down slopes they would
have taken with caution at any other time. After an especially mad dash
down a steep hill, a village loomed up, drowsing peacefully in the
sunset. Turning anxiously, Charity saw that the pursuit was far behind
now. Encouraged, she started to call to Devenish, who rode beside her.
By the warm crimson glow she saw that he was bowed over his horse's
mane, his eyes closed, his face twisted with anguish. "Dev!" she
screamed.

He looked at her dazedly. "Sorry… m'dear…"he gasped. A faint
twitching smile faded fast. "Can't… ride no more. Awfully… sorry," and
he slid from the saddle.

"
Tris!''
shrieked Charity.

Leith reined back, saw Devenish lying very still beside the
path and shouted "Lion! Hide him!"

The youth, who had brought up the rear beside Mitchell, was
already dismounting. Mitchell glanced down at Devenish, but rode on,
increasing his speed so as to catch up with Leith and Charity. He could
see tears on the girl's pale face. He thought, "Only five, now."

On they rode, a grim and subdued group, past villages and
hamlets preparing for the evening, with open doors allowing a brief
glimpse of cosy parlours or tables set for dinner in neat, whitewashed
cottages. Past great manors secure behind their gates and parks, with
lamps beginning to glow in many windows. Past fields and labourers
coming home, bowed with weariness, yet raising a hand to wave at these
five riders who came up so fast and passed with a thunder of hooves,
creak of leather, and the flapping of the lady's rumpled habit. And the
workers, returning to hearth and home, sat down to table and enjoyed
their meal in peace and comfort. While the five who rode pushed on,
desperate to elude the pursuers who clung so tenaciously mile after
mile, until it was dark and the rising moon often hidden behind
drifting clouds.

They passed a lonely graveyard, but Leith suddenly circled
around and led the way through the tumbledown gates and in amongst the
sagging headstones. And here, at last, he called a halt. They all
dismounted, Strand lifting Charity down, patting her shoulder fondly as
she sagged against him and leading her to where she might rest against
a marble slab. Harry and Mitchell came over and sat down beside them,
and Leith stood with his head slightly tilted, listening intensely.

''By God,'' he sighed at last,"I think we gave 'em the slip
when we turned west at that last crossroads."

For a moment no one responded, each of them so exhausted as to
find even words beyond them.

Leith sank down onto the marble slab and leaned back against
the headstone, closing his eyes. Charity huddled against her brother;
Harry, his head downbent, was breathing hard; Mitchell, elbows resting
on his knees, wondered dully whether he would be able to mount up again
and dared not close his eyes.