Day of Deliverance (5 page)

Keep Your Head

Jack opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, staring into a bleak, grey sky. Suddenly, three large, golden lions floated gently across his field of vision. Jack blinked. It had happened. He was dead. He was in heaven; mystical golden lions were flying across the sky…

“Get up!”

Angus’s ruddy face loomed over him as he shook Jack by the shoulders.

Jack blinked again. Then he understood. He was staring at a giant flag that fluttered in a strong, wintry breeze just above their heads. The flag was split into quadrants – the upper left and lower right quadrants had dark blue backgrounds, each displaying three identical symbols that looked a bit like flowers. The other two quadrants each had a crimson background on which appeared the three golden lions – the lions that Jack had seen as they fluttered in the sky above him. Jack recognised the design of the flag from Miss Beattie’s book. They were English lions and French fleurs-de-lis. The English royal standard.

“I’ve no idea where we are, but there are loads of people down there…”

Jack pulled himself to his feet and rubbed his head. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

“What’s going on? What…”

But Jack was silenced by the view in front of him. It took
his breath away. They were perched on top of a vertiginous, crenellated tower which rose high above one side of a massive medieval castle. They could see for miles in every direction – a flat, sparse landscape of muddy fields, marshes and scattered woodland. There was no foliage on the trees and it was bitingly cold. The stonework beneath their feet was wet from a recent downpour. Below them – it must have been over a hundred feet below – a slow-moving river meandered gently through the countryside. Nearby, there was a fine stone church with flying buttresses and a distinctive octagonal tower. Jack could also see a large crowd of people stretching from the entrance to the castle, all the way back along a track towards a small village. Some people in the crowd were holding placards, as if they were at a demonstration. They were being chaperoned by men on horseback. It was difficult to make out what was on the placards, but there was one large one near the front that seemed to have a picture on it. It was bizarre, but Jack could have sworn it was a picture of a mermaid.

“Where are we? What happened?” Jack said, woozily.

“Don’t know. I think we passed out. My head’s thumping.”

“Something went wrong.”

“You can say that again. Tony and Gordon have disappeared, unless they landed somewhere nearby…”

“We’re on our own?”

“Looks like it… some sort of malfunction.”

“Are they dead?”

“No idea.”

Jack’s heart sank when the reality of their situation dawned on him. He gritted his teeth and swallowed.

“Well, we’d better get a grip. We’re paid-up members of VIGIL now. Have you looked at your time phone?”

Angus slipped his hand beneath his cloak, inside the doublet and into the breast pocket of his under-vest. He unzipped a padded pouch and removed the precious time phone. Cupping it in his hands, he flicked it open. A faint blue light illuminated
the device from the inside. They inspected the readout:

Jack gasped. “Taurus has dumped us back in 1587 all right…”

Angus looked over the parapet, “But this doesn’t much look like London. No red buses for a start.”

“Right. Maybe that’s why they tried to abort the mission? Maybe the Taurus put us here by mistake… maybe it even split us up and put Tony and Gordon in the right place?”

Angus groaned, “Well, what do we do now?”

“Is there a signal?”

“Be serious.”

They peered into the time phone again. The telltale bar that burned bright yellow when there was a time signal was greyed out – dead. The boys knew what that meant. They were stuck. They couldn’t communicate with home. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before they could get a signal.

“Well that’s great. We’re stuffed. Already,” Angus said, bitterly. “So much for VIGIL.”

“Here, let’s have a look at that readout again.”

Jack studied the readout and pondered its meaning. “Our location – Fotheringhay… and that date…”

Angus cocked his head. “Where is Fotheringhay, anyway?”

“It’s not a hard ‘G’ by the way. It’s a village in England. I think it’s in Cambridgeshire or somewhere. I’m sure this place is famous… but I can’t remember why.”

“Well, we can’t hang around here much longer. I’m freezing my butt off.”

Angus was right. The adrenaline had finally worn off and it was a bitterly cold morning. It might even turn into snow later. They needed shelter.

“Down there, I suppose?” Angus nodded towards a small arched oak door built into the tower.

“Probably. I don’t know what choice we have. Judging from that crowd, there seems to be some sort of big event going on in the castle. Maybe it’s a marriage or something. We should be able to sneak out through the crowd.”

“Then what?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. We probably need to try and hide somewhere until we get a time signal and can communicate with VIGIL. But you’re right, we can’t stay up here, we’ll freeze to death.”

The squat wooden door opened onto a dank spiral staircase and the boys started to make their way down. As they descended, a slit window occasionally gave them a view of the large courtyard at the centre of the castle. It was busy. Servants tended tethered horses while breast-plated soldiers and finely attired gentlemen talked conspiratorially in small groups. A large bonfire was being built and in one corner a cluster of musicians played a depressing dirge.

“Doesn’t sound much like wedding music.”

“No, and there seem to be guards or soldiers around, so something’s going on.”

“And that flag,” Jack added. “I’m pretty sure it’s the royal flag, so maybe it’s a special occasion?”

“A royal visit? Now that would be something to tell Joplin – his goatee would drop off,” Angus said.

They pressed on and finally reached the bottom of the tower, which opened through a large oak door onto a
stone-flagged
corridor. After following the corridor for a while, they heard hushed voices. A thick curtain hung in front of them. They looked at each other. There was only one way to go. Angus tweaked open the curtain and they slipped through.

They found themselves to the rear of a dense crowd in a large hall. People seemed to be jostling for position. Something in front was commanding a lot of interest, so nobody seemed to
notice Jack and Angus. Soon, more people joined the crowd and they felt themselves being pushed further forward into the throng. There was woodsmoke in the air from log fires burning in the hall. It mingled with the smell of woollen cloaks – still wet from the early morning rain. Being tall, Angus had a chance of seeing what was going on, but Jack could see nothing – just the press of bodies in front of him. Pushing from behind propelled him forward and then, all of a sudden, he was at the front.

Below a great vaulted roof, a wooden platform had been constructed, fringed with black material. It looked about six or seven metres across and maybe half a metre high. It reminded Jack of the school production of
Hamlet
back at Soonhope, but it didn’t seem likely that these people were there to watch a play.

Quite unexpectedly, from one side of the hall three men appeared, walking slowly. They were dressed in fine clothes and they looked important – they could possibly have been lords. The man in front carried a slender white stick. A tall woman walked slowly behind them with her head down. Wisps of her
brown-auburn
hair showed from underneath her headscarf. She was clad from head to foot in black velvet and a golden cross hung round her neck. As she appeared, the entire hall went silent.

The woman mounted the steps of the dais and walked to a high-backed chair, which was also draped in black. In front of the chair was a cushion and in front of that a simple wooden block with a half-moon shape cut into its upper section. The woman sat on the chair and for the first time raised her eyes towards the crowd. Two large powerfully built men stood either side of her. They reminded Jack of Tony and Gordon, but they were dressed entirely in black, and they wore masks. Angus peered at Jack with a quizzical look on his face; he had no idea what was going on. But Jack saw the implement one of the masked men held and he knew straight away. Both of the man’s hands gripped the wooden handle of a large double-headed axe.

To their right, a clerk unrolled a parchment and started to read. The language was complicated but Jack caught snippets as
the charge was read out, “Stubborn disobedience… incitement to insurrection… person of Her Sacred Majesty.” The pieces of the jigsaw came together in Jack’s head. The place: Fotheringhay Castle; the date: 8th February 1587; the crime: high treason; the punishment: death by beheading. Now Jack understood the significance of the placards outside the castle. The crowd outside were making their feelings clear about the prisoner before them in the Great Hall. Jack and Angus were about to witness the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots – cousin of Queen Elizabeth I and enemy of the English state.

The executioner and his assistant knelt before the queen to ask forgiveness. From where he stood, Jack could hear her reply word for word: “I forgive you with all my heart, for now, I hope, you shall make an end of all my troubles.” Her ladies-in-waiting stepped forward to help her remove her gown. Beneath it she wore a satin petticoat – crimson – the martyr’s colour. Next, she took the gold cross from her neck and handed it to the executioner, who slipped it into his shoe, claiming the executioner’s right to the personal property of the condemned.

She knelt on the cushion and put her head on the block. Jack wanted to scream and turn and run. But the scene before them had a peculiar, hypnotic momentum and he was rooted to the spot, compelled to see the horror through to its conclusion. The white nape of the queen’s neck stretched over the coarse wooden block for all to see. It looked strangely fragile and slender. She stretched out her hands to either side in the pose of Jesus crucified on the cross. The executioner wielded the massive wooden axe. It glinted momentarily in the firelight and then wheeled downwards with terrifying speed. The noise that the axe made on impact was one that Jack would never forget.

But the blow had failed to sever the head from the body completely and the executioner repeated the procedure. His job completed, he lifted the head from the floor and held it high crying, “God save the queen!” There was a ripple of noise through the crowd. The executioner was only holding Mary’s auburn wig
and the head, shaved to a grey stubble, had dropped to the platform and rolled forward before coming to rest not two metres from where Jack and Angus stood. Its pale eyes, still open, stared straight at them.

Escape

The bonfire in the courtyard was blazing and the crowd watched as Mary’s garments were dispatched onto it. All clothes stained with her blood were to be burned to prevent them from being used as the holy relics of a martyr. Angus turned to Jack and spoke for the first time since witnessing the horror of the execution. His voice trembled.

“You’re going to have to explain to me what we have just seen…”

“But not now; we need to work out how to get out of here.”

“What about one of those?”

Angus nodded at the line of horses along one side of the courtyard. A number of them were saddled, ready for the gentry and noblemen. Many of those attending had been called at short notice to witness the execution, and some of them had ridden all through a rain-soaked night to arrive in time.

“I forgot you could ride.”

“Of course I can ride – I live on a farm.”

Jack wasn’t sure this was something he wanted to hear. “But I can’t.”

“Easy – you just sit on the back. The horse does the rest.”

“That’s what I thought you might say. Anyway, those horses don’t belong to us…”

Angus shrugged and turned back to the fire. Its warmth was little comfort.

“We need to do something. This crowd’s starting to thin out – soon we’ll be noticed. I’ve already had some funny looks.”

They glanced around furtively. Across the other side of the courtyard, next to a large, arched doorway, they spied a group of men together with some servants. Jack jumped out of his skin when one of the servants seemed to point him and Angus out to an older, official-looking man. A moment later, three guards appeared from the doorway brandishing halberds. They advanced towards them.

“I don’t like the look of this.”

“Neither do I… we shouldn’t hang around.”

Without hesitation, Angus sprinted towards one of the tethered horses. He untied it, and, with impressive athleticism, jumped up onto its back.

There was a cry from the approaching soldiers.

“Spies! Stop them!”

Angus wheeled the horse round, “Come on – get up or we’re done for.”

“But…” Jack had no idea what to do; he’d never been on a horse in his life.

“Give me your hand.”

Angus reached down with a swarthy arm and hauled Jack up towards him. Jack jumped and a moment later, to his great surprise, found himself sitting high up on the rear of the horse, behind Angus.

Angus wheeled the horse round and kicked in his heels. The poor beast reared up… for a moment Jack thought he was going to slide off – but then they rebalanced and the horse shot off at a gallop towards the castle gate. The remaining people in the courtyard leaped aside as Jack and Angus careered forward. Jack shut his eyes and clung on. There was more shouting from behind them. He braced himself. Was he about to get an arrow between his shoulder blades? Angus was going fast and they raced through
the open gate and charged on along the lane that led up towards the village. Jack twisted round to see whether they were being followed. For a moment he saw nothing, but then a posse of four riders raced through the gate in hot pursuit.

“They’re after us!” he yelled.

“Hang on!” Angus spurred the horse again and it pounded onwards. Jack felt he was going to be thrown off at any moment.

The village of Fotheringhay was small, but the dramatic events of the morning and its main street was swarming with people, animals and carts of all sorts. Angus slowed down a little and miraculously they managed to slalom their way through the throng. As they reached the far side of the village, Jack snatched a second look behind. The pursuing horsemen were still there – and they were getting closer.

He thumped Angus on the back. “They’re gaining!”

The river came back into view on the left of the track. It was slow-moving but brown and swollen from the winter rain. Ahead, a wide bend in the river carved into the bank, forming a raised embankment of loose mud and gravel, high above the water. Angus veered towards it.

“Hold on!” he shouted. In a second, they were airborne as the horse soared from the earth embankment and plunged into the icy water. The cold took Jack’s breath away. But the water only came up to their thighs and soon the horse found its footing on the bottom of the river. Angus made noises of encouragement – spurring the beast on. As they approached the opposite bank the current eased and the water became shallower. The horse sensed safety and pressed on energetically. They had made it.

Angus halted and wheeled them round. Opposite, their pursuers had arrived at the same spot on the high earth embankment. Immediately two of the pursuing horsemen attempted the same stunt. But the first horse slipped. Its rider became unseated and fell into the mud, sliding headlong into the torrent. The second horse somehow became entangled in the first and its rider was also thrown free. Soon both riders and horses
were in the river, being swept along with the current. The two remaining horsemen waited at the top of the embankment. They were not about to risk the same fate and they peered across the water in frustration as Jack and Angus turned and galloped away to the woodland beyond.