Conflict and Courage Read online

  Anne’s mouth drooped. The farewell hour was close.

  Understanding what Anne was going through, Lysbet acted, “I’ll go and get the children so that you can spend time with them. When are you going to tell them?”

  “Not until I must,” she answered. “I want these last few hours to be filled with fun, not tears. Also, the guards might suspect. Are the packs ready?”

  Lysbet nodded. “Will you attend the feast?”

  “No, old Dr Arthur had given me some pills. When they hit my system the resulting bout of sickness will cause even Sam Baker to excuse me.”

  She smiled impishly at her friend. “If I plan it carefully I might be able to be sick right in front of him. Wouldn’t that be a picture?”

  “It would be better if you were sick all over him but I suppose that’s too much to ask for.”

  “I can try,” answered Anne with a brightness she did not feel.

  * * * * *

  When Gerry arrived outside Anne’s dimly lit apartments late that evening, the feast was well underway. Sounds of drunken shouting and raucous laughter could be heard from the main hall. To his surprise, the guard who usually stood outside the door of Anne’s rooms was nowhere to be seen. He did not learn until later that Michael Wallace, Pierre Duchesne’s stalwart sergeant had arranged his disappearance and the man was lying, in what appeared to be a drunken stupor, in a dark alley some two buildings away with a large bruise on his forehead.

  Gerry looked around the courtyard. It was deserted. He knocked softly at the door. A nervous looking Lysbet opened it immediately and he sidled inside. The outer room was in darkness.

  “We’re in the bedchamber,” she whispered, lighting a small candle, “we had to drug Joseph, he made such a fuss, threatening to report us and shouting and yelling. Anne was so upset.”

  Gerry was taken aback. Joseph was a sturdy eight year old and this would certainly slow them down. He had intended to carry young Gavin, leaving Lysbet to lead Anne’s two.

  “I didn’t realise things had gone quite so far in Cocteau’s indoctrination process but we’ll manage somehow. You’ll have to carry your own lad and Cherry can hold on to your skirt.”

  Anne came out of the inner door, crying, her arms round Cherry who clung to her mother as if she would never let her go.

  Gerry went into the room and picked up Joseph, hefting him over his shoulder with a grunt of effort. When he had arranged the cloak round him he re-entered the outer room.

  “Time to go,” he said. Anne leant over Joseph’s face to give him a goodbye kiss then bent down to Cherry. Her voice wobbled as she spoke to her youngest daughter and kissed her in a gentle farewell.

  “Do what Lysbet and Gerry say and help look after Joseph.”

  Tears were streaming down Cherry’s face.

  “Give my love to Jessica.”

  “I will,” Cherry struggled to get the words out.

  “I love you so much kitten,” Anne continued, echoing her husband’s pet name for his daughters, “and I am sure we’ll see each other again one day. Now you must be very brave and go with Gerry and Lysbet.” She stepped back and gave Cherry a little push.

  Cherry stumbled towards the door. Gerry was already there. Lysbet snuffed out the candle so that, as he opened it, not even its feeble flicker shone forth.

  “Hold on to my skirt,” ordered Lysbet. Cherry did and glanced back. Mother and daughter looked at each other one last time and Cherry held out the tiny posy of flowers she had gathered earlier.

  Anne took them, inhaling their fragrance and watched as they passed through the door, Gerry closing it behind them.

  Anne walked blindly back into her bedroom, feeling as if her heart would break. She walked to the drawer in which she kept her undergarments and placed the flowers deep inside. She kept the dried blossoms for the rest of her life.

  Outside, the fugitives stood in the darkness.

  “Are we going by the kitchen passage?” asked Lysbet.

  “Yes, the one that leads to the corrals at the foot of the cliffs,” whispered Gerry. “I came up that way, it’s deserted.”

  They were not challenged. Michael Wallace, standing hidden in a doorway at the opposite end of the courtyard from Anne’s rooms, watched them, his first task to make sure they got to the passage undetected. He had another sworn man at the foot of the passage who would make sure the five had a clear run through to the corrals and out of the immediate area.

  Michael listened and hearing no shouts of alarm, made his way out of Fort by the main gateway as if he had just come off duty and was going down the hill to experience the delights of the rough town that had grown up at its foot. He walked casually and recognising him, the gate guards passed him through with a wave and some friendly banter.

  “Going to try one of the women in the encampment mate? There’s better up here.”

  “Aye,” replied Michael, “just thought I’d take a look.”

  “Try the King’s Arms. Good grog. Give the Lord’s Castle a miss, all they serve there is watered piss.”

  “Thanks,” answered Michael and strolled down the hill as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He had something else to do before he might experience the dubious delights of the pubs of the town.

  Out of sight of the guards, he checked that no one was looking then ducked off the road and half-ran towards the wharf. When he reached the pier-head he caught the eye of one of the loafers, incidentally a grey-haired ex-arsonist called Sigvard. He was one of those who lived in the hovels by the waterside and hired themselves out by the day to whoever needed a set of unskilled hands.

  Sigvard saw Michael approach, caught his eye and nodded. Michael responded in like manner then studiously looked away and walked towards the inn. When the main warehouse facility went up in flames a short time later, Michael could now honestly say the fire had nothing to do with him. The man known as Sigvard had charged a lot of coin to provide his fiery service. He would keep his mouth shut because Michael Wallace might well need his services again someday and Sigvard had an eye to the future.

  Gerry in the lead, the five escapees entered the dark passageway. It was unlit, Gerry’s doing, he had snuffed out the torches on his way up. Lysbet especially found the going difficult in her long skirts but they hastened downhill, stumbling over the uneven ground. As they exited a faint smur of rain began, which grew heavier as they passed through the miserable livestock standing huddled against the fences and began to climb towards the dugo bushes.

  By the time they reached the bushes where Louis and the Lind were waiting for them, it was pouring hard.

  “Nobody will see us now,” said Gerry.

  Lysbet stifled a half-scream as Louis loomed out of the dripping darkness.

  “Hush,” said Gerry in a stentorian whisper, “he is a friend,” and he looked up at Louis, “we’re all here lad … yours?”

  The remembered struggle ensued as they forced themselves through the bushes and out the other side. The branches sprung back in place. Then Lysbet and Cherry were staring open-mouthed at Ustinya, Aglaya, Alesei and Baltvei. They all wore rope-riding harnesses hurriedly made by Louis whilst he, Aglaya and Ustinya had waited for the other two to reach them. Alesei and Baltvei had arrived that morning with reports that Maurice was recovering and that neither Qenya nor Vsei were worried about him. They would lie low and move north when Maurice was able to ride without too much pain.

  Gerry bent down and laid the unconscious Joseph on the ground, rubbing his arms. The boy was heavier than he looked.

  Lysbet looked about ready to drop with exhaustion. Louis took Gavin from her; the wee lad was awake and beginning to squirm around.

  “We’d better not wait. Let’s mount up and ride through the dark, get as far away as we can before dawn.”

  “Agreed,” said Gerry. He coughed, “now, who do you want where?”

  “You’re the only one who has ridden before,” said Louis.

  “Horses lad, quite different, but I’m
sure I’ll manage.”

  “You’ll manage all right. In fact, you’ll have to and take the smallest boy in your arms, sit him up in front of you. He can hold on to the pommel strap. You ride Aglaya and I’ll pass him up to you. The wee lass on Baltvei and Alesei can take Lysbet. I’ll manage this one,” he added pointing at Joseph. “Strange how he can sleep through all this.”

  “Drugged, I’ll tell you about it later” whispered Gerry, “now let’s ride, I really want to be miles away from here before the Lords wake up to the fact that we have gone. I’ll tell you what happened as we go.”

  They mounted without too much trouble after Louis and Gerry had slit open both Lysbet and Cherry’s skirts so that they could ride astride and both Alesei and Baltvei hunkered down so that the tyro riders could mount. The two gasped as the Lind rose to their full height. Lysbet especially seemed nervous about being perched so far from the ground although Cherry didn’t seem to be as bothered. Gerry took a look at Aglaya, eyebrow raised in challenge, daring her to do the same hunkering-down manoeuvre then placed Gavin on her back. The boy giggled. One fluid leap later he was up behind him, his legs gripping Aglaya’s side as only an accomplished rider could. Lysbet and Cherry on the other hand did not look nor feel at all secure and Lysbet was holding on to the rope harness like grim death, a terrified expression on her face.

  “Grip with your legs and hold on to the long hairs on the neck ruff,” Louis advised, “we’ll start off slow so that you can get used to it.”

  At a mental command from Aglaya, they began to walk through the trees in single file. Louis turned to Cherry and Baltvei riding behind him.

  “Hang on Cherry,” he said, “don’t let go of the straps. We’ll start running a bit faster in a bit but Baltvei won’t let you fall.”

  “I know,” whispered Cherry, her white face staring at Louis, “Mummy said I have to be brave and I promised her I wouldn’t cry.”

  “That’s my girl,” said Louis with a smile. “Jessica is waiting for you.”

  “I miss Mummy,” her mouth trembled.

  Louis could imagine the farewell between Anne and her daughter. Cherry’s emotions were in a tumultuous state, she was only ten-years-old after all and she had been through a lot over the last year and a half. Having to say what might be a final farewell to her mother must have seemed like the final horror.

  He admired her stoicism.

  “Keep your chin up,” he said. “We are going to run all night and you mustn’t cry out.”

  “I won’t,” she answered. “I’ll save my crying for later.”

  “That would be best.”

  : Baltvei will look out for Cherry : ‘sent’ Ustinya : He say he sense her very clear :

  They moved off. Louis looked to see how the others were managing. Gerry rode Aglaya with the ease of one reputed to have been born in the saddle. Cherry was managing with little difficulty, a grin on her face, her troubles momentarily forgotten. Lysbet rode stiffly, the ride was hurting her and it most certainly wasn’t all that comfortable an experience for Alesei. His frequent acerbic comments to Ustinya rather bore this out.

  And so they ran on, silent as shadows in the night, the Lind weaving their way in and out of the trees with practiced ease. When false dawn appeared on the horizon they had reached one of the doms they’d passed on their way south.

  Even Gerry dismounted with a wince. “Out of practice,” he said as his foot touched the ground.

  Lysbet Quirke quite literally fell off Alesei’s back.

  Cherry remained on Baltvei’s back. Thinking there was something wrong, Louis placed the squirming Joseph on the ground ordering him not to move and approached her.

  She looked at the older boy shyly.

  “He’s talking in my head,” she exclaimed in joyous wonder.

  Louis smiled.

  “Talk back to him then,” he advised.

  “Oh I am,” she breathed breathlessly, “do I have to dismount?”

  “I should,” Louis replied, “we all need to rest, Baltvei included. He has been running hard all night.”

  She tumbled down from the saddle blanket and rubbed her eyes. “I am a bit sleepy,” she admitted and looked at her brother, who sat sullenly on the ground where Louis had dumped him. “Do I have to sleep over there with my brother?” she asked, “I’d really rather not. Joseph isn’t very nice when he’s in a bad mood.”

  “She can sleep beside me,” offered Baltvei.

  “Tend your mount first,” said Gerry, handing her a currycomb. “That’s the first rule.”

  She took it and began to brush the burrs out of Baltvei’s coat, watching Gerry and copying what he was doing with Aglaya as far as she was able. Baltvei seemed surprised at this unexpected attention but was enjoying the process. Louis dealt with Ustinya as usual and then both he and Gerry groomed Alesei.

  “We must all get some sleep,” said Louis.

  “Are we being followed?” asked Gerry.

  Aglaya answered him. “I think not. We run too fast for men and there is no Larg smell anywhere.” Looking at Joseph, she added, “that one is trouble. He needs a good clip round his neck-ruff.”

  The sleeping draught had worn off and Joseph had struggled for hours in Louis’s arms before relapsing into a sullen silence interspersed with more loud shouting and screaming.

  “I want to go back,” he kept insisting at the top of his lungs.

  “I’ll deal with this,” said a grim Gerry, motioning to the others to go and sit with Lysbet and Gavin. “If necessary I’ll drug him again but let’s see if I can talk some sense into him first.”

  It took Gerry an hour of fast-talking before he reported back to Aglaya. “He’ll behave. The boy is scared and missing his mother although that’s not the whole story, not by a long shot.”

  As Gerry unrolled his bedroll, he mused aloud and to no one in particular, “I wonder what is happening to Anne back at Fort.”

  All but Alesei were fast asleep. He was on guard and chose not to answer.

  * * * * *

  Gerry’s absence had been noticed first, Lysbet’s and the children’s not until much later but it took Lord Sam Baker some time to put two and two together.

  Gerry was missed at early milking. It was he who, nine times out of ten, brought the cows into the barn and that morning when his co-workers had appeared, lo and behold, the animals were still milling around outside. This had made the overseer angry and he had sent one of the men to kick Gerry out of his bedroll so that he could give him a piece of his mind. The man had come running back reporting that the room was empty. As Gerry, at that point, was settling down into that self-same bedroll in the woods many miles to the north, this was not surprising.

  What the man omitted to tell him was that Gerry’s room was more than just empty of the missing cowman, but that it was empty. The overseer therefore, did not feel any need to report his absence to anyone in authority and ordered the man to get on with the milking and be quick about it.

  The overseer grumbled to himself most of the morning and so did the men as they struggled to extract the milk from a variety of cows that did not appreciate the fact that other milkers had replaced their gentle Gerry. His absence was not reported until mid-morning when, after another fruitless search, the overseer climbed the passageway to Fort to try and explain why the milk deliveries had been late that morning.

  Likewise, Anne had managed to keep the escape hidden from prying eyes and it was not until the children’s schoolteacher arrived to ask why they had not turned up for morning class, that their disappearance came to light. Not satisfied with her pleas that Lysbet had told her she might take the children out for a walk first thing to get some fresh air as they were not feeling too well, he had shouldered his way past and through to their inner room where he made the unpleasing discovery that they were not there.

  His shouts alerted the guards who, after a thorough search of the rooms, began a systematic hunt through the buildings. This search had just begun when t
he overseer arrived with the news of his errant cattleman.

  Still they did not connect the two.

  When questioned, Anne maintained that she knew nothing, that she was tired and thought Lysbet had taken the children somewhere, for a walk perhaps to let her rest. Then, as the minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of them, she rounded on the hapless lieutenant in charge of the searchers, demanding that he find her children and attendant, even going so far as to accuse him of hiding them from her. If the lieutenant’s baffled expression was anything to go by, Anne decided, through lowered eyelashes, this was the way to go. He didn’t know what to think.

  “Calm down madam,” he hissed in exasperation as Anne burst into tears, to the man’s horror the sobs getting louder with each breath until she appeared hysterical. Later, Anne marvelled at her acting abilities!

  The lieutenant did the most sensible thing he could, he sent a runner for Lord Cocteau who arrived posthaste. He had been dealing with one of the guards who had been found ‘presumably’ sleeping off the effects of an alcoholic overindulgence the night before and who had absented himself without leave from his duty post outside Anne’s apartments.

  “The children are missing and I can’t get her calmed,” said the lieutenant, frantic that this should happen during his shift. He well knew the importance of the child Anne was carrying and if anything should happen, Sam Baker’s revenge was likely to be brutal and painful.

  “Get the doctor,” ordered Cocteau to one of the guards at the door. “Then send a detail to get Ulla Pederson from my house and bring her here. Run her up the hill if you have to.”

  He left to oversee the search.

  By midday it was obvious that Lysbet and the three children had gone. Some off-duty soldiers remembered they had seen a small party moving in the courtyard in the dead of night, but had not reported it. Then someone remembered the fire at the pier-head. It had not been a large conflagration but an investigative party was sent downhill to ask questions. At the same time, five small boats that had been tied up beside the jetty the previous evening were unaccounted for. One was missing; the other four were found bobbing around a little way downriver. It was presumed that a careless dockworker hadn’t tied them up properly and they had come adrift during the night.