Believe or Die (25 page)

“You have something to say Peter?”

“Aye Captain but it don’t sit well with me to do such. I was bid keep quiet on the matter see, don’t like the notion of betraying a confidence, even that of a dead ‘un.”

“Who are you talking about old friend?”

“Young Shalley. Do you think I’d be betraying the lad’s trust by telling you what I’m pondering on?”

“Whatever it is Peter, it can’t hurt him now.”

“No, I reckon not. Well, ‘twas something that happened betwixt Tatchell and the lad. Just after Marston Moor it were. By the Lord, that were a bloody day and no mistake!”

“Aye, a lot of good men fell. Such is the price of fighting tyranny I am told.”

“Maybes. But most men look on such horror as a duty, a thing that had to be done. Then when the battle is over, they spew their guts up, think on what they’ve done and what might yet be to come. Killing, leastways the killing such as we’ve all seen, is a grievous chore ordered by God to cleanse the land. It ain’t something to be savoured, to be enjoyed.”

“Tatchell did so you mean? Well, I am obliged to say he seemed to like his work. The man’s mind is clearly twisted. He seems to believe that by murdering anyone who thinks differently from him, he will receive the blessing of the Lord. Believe as I do or you must die, such is his creed, and it has sent him mad. But what is this to do with Shalley?”

“Tatchell wasn’t just a-loving all the bloodshed Captain. His excitement after the killing weren’t like the nerves we all get, like you was a fiddle string all-a-quivering and you can’t lay still. No, with him, it took the form of a new married man who can’t wait to bed his wife!”

“Are you being uncommon polite Peter? You speak of newly weds when you are mayhaps speaking of a man deprived of female ‘companionship’? Is it the needs of the whorehouse you are intending?”

Doggett looked down and frowned, clearly unsure how to make his message clear.

“You are saying that killing made Tatchell eager for carnal knowledge? Blood made him desperate for a whore? Is that the way of it?”

Doggett spat viciously to one side and glanced nervously at Mead.

“He wanted to lay with someone right enough. Anyone so I’m told! But it weren’t no whore. The likes of Annie’s girls held no interest for him!”

Mead reined up abruptly.

“Shalley? Tatchell wanted to ravish the boy?”

“Tried more than once. The lad confided in me and I warned the bastard off. Shalley made me swear to secrecy and then Tatchell disappeared.”

“Sodomy is a sin the Bible tells us. He would have been strung up if discovered. Is that why he fled I wonder?”

“Maybes. But how can you fathom the reasoning of a madman Captain? I reckon there’s likely more of his ilk in this land than the Lord Protector and his cronies would care to admit. Maybe he had help to get spirited away.”

“Such things are not to my taste, yet who am I to judge another man,” sighed Mead.

“I’m a simple man Captain, I have to tread the path my conscience orders me to take and hope I’ve got it right.”

“Oh I don’t think you a simple man Peter, you have wisdom, much knowledge, and you think a great deal.”

“Think too much I reckon, makes my cursed head hurt so it does!”

Mead rode on in silence trying to absorb Doggett’s information. So, Tatchell was a pederast, let that be taken for a fact. He was also clearly insane, that also was a demonstrable fact. Had he been behind Shalley’s death to ensure the boy’s silence? No. He had had ample opportunity before disappearing to do so yet he had not. Also, he was, according to all known information, busy killing other innocents elsewhere when the youngster went to meet his Maker. No, Shalley’s death was clearly a deed carried out by another, probably, nay, almost definitely unconnected with Tatchell. And yet? Coincidences bothered Mead. Confusing thoughts and notions bubbled around his mind, swirling and colliding as he tried to discern a plan, some design in the puzzling maze. One name kept percolating to the top of his thought process – Ketch. But just how did his former commander, reprehensible though he be, fit into the scheme of things? Perhaps Mead would gain this knowledge from the tongue of the madman they sought even now, just before Tatchell was allowed to die – very slowly. If the ‘Angel of Death’ did indeed exist, he would have to await Mead’s pleasure before taking Ephraim Tatchell.

The next day saw them arrive at Bourton-on-the-Water, which was really two separate hamlets divided by a shallow river. It was a pretty place, its golden hued stonework glowing warmly in the sunlight. Yet over this idyllic setting hung a distinct feeling, a miasma, of fear, terror and death.

“He’s here,” stated Mead.

“Aye, reckon so,” agreed Doggett.

“Scout it,” ordered Mead waving his men in differing arcs. An hour later they regrouped under the concealment of a stand of willows. Tatchell had been found. Without a word, weapons were drawn.

So engrossed was the ‘preacher’ in his haranguing of the crowd before him that he did not immediately spot the new arrivals. His arms waved frantically, his long, unkempt hair flailed about him and spittle sprayed from his mouth like a rabid dog. The riders moved swiftly approaching from four directions. Tatchell had a dozen or so hired thugs, ‘Disciples’ he called them, who suddenly became aware of the newcomers. They immediately assessed the weaponry and demeanour and began losing the cudgels and blades they held. These strangers clearly knew their business and had a clear intent in mind. Tatchell slowly came out of his trance and glared about him trying to focus his bulging eyes. Time seemed to be passing at the pace of a snail. Separated from his ‘Disciples’ he frowned in puzzled incomprehension as the four women he had been about to hang were freed. He sputtered white froth as one of his henchmen was run through as he reached for a concealed pistol and another all but decapitated by a horseman’s hammer. Then he became aware that his hands were bound and there was a noose around his neck. His remaining disciples fled for their lives and the villagers were pushed away out of earshot by Poulton and Hitch. Mead pulled a barrel over and sat in front of the still uncomprehending Tatchell. Doggett carefully adjusted the noose.

“You cannot kill me!” howled the preacher. “It is God’s work I do!”

“No, it is evil that you do and it is time to put a stop to it,” sighed Mead.

“I am the Angel of Death … ” roared Tatchell.

“No. I think I now hold that title. Yet before you die, I want some answers to a question or two.”

“You do not question the Lord’s servant. All must believe or die!”

“Well Ephraim. Consider this. The answers given by this particular ‘servant’ will dictate the manner of his death.”

“What mean you Sinner?”

“Quick, or slow – very slow indeed.”

“It matters not for I know that I will be reborn. Thus states the Good Book!”

“Which also condemns sodomy does it not? Under pain of death I seem to recall.”

“I have repented my sins and been forgiven!”

“Have you indeed?” remarked Mead and he nodded at Doggett.

Doggett heaved and Tatchell found himself on tiptoe gasping for air.

“You recall young Shalley Ephraim?” continued Mead.

“The pretty young boy?” croaked the preacher. “Aye, what of it damn your rotten soul to Hell!”

“He was murdered on our way here. Did you have a hand in it?”

“No I did not!” gasped Tatchell.

Mead pondered the man’s crimsoning features for a moment or two.

“I believe you. What then of our commander then Ephraim? What of Master Ketch? Why … ?”

“Ketch!” snarled Tatchell. “You speak to me of Ketch?” Then he stopped in mid-flow and, despite the rope, smiled as if he had just deduced something. “Is it Ketch who sent you to kill me then Captain?” “Maybe” nodded Mead feeling that he was finally getting close to something.

“Hah! Think you that I was the only man in God’s Army who had fallen from grace? Think you I was the only sinner?”

But at that very moment, Tatchell slipped over some final mental abyss. He roared with almost demonic laughter emptying his bowels and bladder as he did so. There would be no more information now, but then neither was it really needed. Yet Mead had wanted more from Tatchell, much more. He wanted this madman to pay for Annie Trivett. But the lunatic was now beyond even being aware of the exquisite tortures Mead had been devising for him, he wouldn’t feel a thing. Doggett readjusted the knot and Mead joined him on the scaffold. Together they threw Tatchell off the platform and heard his neck snap cleanly; a very quick death. Not what Mead had planned and certainly not what the creature deserved. They left him hanging and walked away. Rejoining Poulton and Hitch, they were surprised to see a rather sad smile on the pair’s lips.

“Well?” demanded Mead.

“Well Sir. You see that bunch of houses over yonder? Well, that there is called
Lower Slaughter
so the locals tell us,” said Hitch.

“And them ones over the other way, that’s called
Upper Slaughter
,” added Poulton.

“Slaughter eh? Looks like the Almighty is jesting with us boys, for there is surely more to come!”

“So Ketch wanted Tatchell dead to silence him?” frowned Poulton.

“Not just Ketch I’m thinking, probably others as well. No doubt someone who now holds office in a Puritan government. No blemish of character, nor even the merest rumour of such could be permitted.”

“Why couldn’t Ketch do the deed himself?” Hitch wanted to know.

“Why have a dog and bark yourself?” shrugged Mead. “Anyway, by doing it this way, Ketch gets to tidy up all the lose ends.”

“You mean us.”

“We may have executed Ephraim, but Ketch can’t be sure how much we have learned of this sordid business. That will cause him to fret I’m thinking.”

“So he needs must kill us as well?” spat Poulton.

“I knew we were being followed!” glowered Hitch. “But wait, Shalley … ?”

“Aye, the lad must have stumbled into whoever Ketch sent after us. I’m of the opinion that these cutthroats were holding back until the job was done and was SEEN to have been done. Now with that accomplished, and us put under the ground, they’ll be away back to Ketch for their blood money.”

“So will he then kill them as well?” said Doggett.

“No need. They doubtless know only what they’ve been told and that won’t include Tatchell’s true colours. Most likely they will be mercenaries, hired swords, who have been told we are renegades and traitors. They may even be devout men under the belief that they do God’s work.”

“Seems to me there be an awful lot of folks who think they be doing the Almighty’s work for him,” commented Doggett.

“Aye, and now we all be marked men,” said Poulton.

“We are marked only as far as Shalley’s killers and Ketch himself are concerned. Ketch dare not risk issuing warrants of arrest so we are not outlaws and he will want only the very barest number of people involved in hunting us down. The more involved, the greater the chance of a careless tongue.”

“Are we to tidy up this affair on our own then?” asked Hitch hopefully.

“Aye, and we make a start with those bastards who murdered the boy!” agreed Poulton.

“That is the way I see the thing. But mind well, none must escape. I want them all and at least one needs to be alive long enough to talk to us. We need to know what arrangements have been made with Ketch.”

“And then Captain?” demanded Doggett.

“KETCH!”

The leader of Ketch’s assassins, one Buckly by name, glared at the one-eyed scout before him.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. They are set for the night drinking in the ‘Old Dun Cow” near the ford. Horses unbridled and ale a-flowing, they’ll not be stirring afore morning. They left that mad preacher a-dangling where they hung him.”

‘What of the preacher’s bully boys?”

“Scattered and fled as far as I can see. Nary a one to be seen.”

“The villagers?”

“Hiding behind locked doors and scared shitless.”

The leader nodded and waved the scout away. Come tomorrow they would ambush the traitors and be done with their commission. He mentally reviewed his orders so meticulously dictated to him by Master Ketch. Five renegades, well, four now, in the pay of the cursed Royalists. Sent by agents of the late King’s son to silence a mad preacher who knew more than he should about Royalist sympathisers in the county. The leader had been puzzled by that. Surely the preacher should have been interrogated for that information? But no, Ketch had insisted that the renegades were to be allowed to kill the lunatic before any action be taken against them. Why? Because, Ketch had ranted in a fit of righteous old-testament anger, the preacher, in his madness, had committed acts of abomination unto the Lord and was now a warlock. The populace must be protected from both the Royalist hirelings and the disciples of Satan. Also, Ketch could then ensure that everyone knew that it was King’s men who went around killing preachers who, however much they may have fallen from grace, should be dealt with as the Law proscribed. It would be useful propaganda. None of this made much sense to the mercenary leader but he had no intention of falling foul of the religious fanatics who now ruled the Land. And of course, he and his men were being well paid to kill these Royalist lackeys. In addition, they would receive pardons for various crimes committed including rape, looting and murder. In short, there was no choice in the matter. He had eight men with him and foresaw no difficulties in carrying out his instructions.

The ambush site was well chosen and the mercenaries were in position as dawn broke, a brace of pistols apiece and a good stiff ‘tuck’ to finish the job. The rebels were, in Buckly’s mind, already dead. An hour passed. Then another. Where were the scum? Buckly ventured a glance from behind his covering bushes. Nothing. Buckly cursed. If they didn’t appear soon he would have to go looking for them and that was not in the plan. Were they still drunk in the tavern? That could prove tricky. He didn’t want any witnesses. Across the sunken lane, he spotted four of his pistoleers peering out from behind the hedgerow. Angrily he waved them back and was about to settle himself in the greenery again when a movement, nay, almost a ripple of movements, fluttered amid the hedgerow followed instantly by a series of sharp bangs.