BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery) (21 page)

‘And who exactly is this Ravenbard? A new Napoleon?’ Blackdown scoffed. ‘Look what happened to the last one. I caught sight of the Scourge of Europe in captivity on the deck of His Majesty’s ship
Bellerophon
, cutting a sad figure and being stared at by hoards of people who paid to be rowed out to the ship to view him like he was a wild animal.’

‘Napoleon bit off more than he could chew,’ Lansdowne said dismissively. ‘His Russian invasion was gross folly, for one thing. He brought about his own downfall. One can learn from another’s mistakes. We are not after European domination like our fat little Corsican. Ruling Great Britain and its colonies will be a good start. The war has resulted in the strengthening of our navy. God bless Nelson and his tribe, for we already have world domination in our hands because of it. We plan to leave Europe to its age-old squabbles and concentrate on the new wealth and power provided by our expanding empire.’ He regarded Blackdown. ‘You can be part of this, Thomas. You needn’t die tonight. We need men like you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ravenbard asked it personally.’

‘Ravenbard knows of me?’

‘He knows many things, Thomas. If you join us you will become a man wealthier and more powerful than you could ever dream of. He has such a vision, and believes in it so completely, that we all feel sure he will deliver it for us.’ Lansdowne removed a black card from his pocket. ‘The Lupercal Club – do you know from where it derives its name?’ He turned the card over, looking at the embossed image of the she-wolf.

Blackdown nodded. ‘There is a bronze statue, believed to be the earliest representation of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, being suckled by a wolf. It was found in the Lupercal caves, so named after its discovery.’

Lansdowne nodded. ‘I’m impressed. You are not simply a soldier but prove to be an educated man. That is correct. This image represents that bronze statue, though you notice the two boys are missing. Ravenbard sees himself as the next great founder of a new country, a new dynasty and empire that will last thousands of years. The she-wolf is his symbol, and what better way to underline that than the Romanesque games played out in Devilbowl Wood? It may be interpreted as a Roman arena presided over by our emperor-to-be. And we find it symbolic, ironic and even amusing, that the symbol of the wolf is repeated in the beast that stalks the arena.’ He nodded at the door again as if to emphasise the point.

Blackdown shook his head. ‘It’s madness. There can be no revolution.’

‘No? You underestimate our membership. We are poised any week now to strike, to overthrow the Government and begin our takeover of the country. We have weapons, men ready to rise at our signal. Ireland will be the vanguard. You can be a part of that, at the invitation of Ravenbard himself, or you can decline and face the arena. The choice is yours, but I ask you to consider this proposal most carefully. It will not be offered again.’

Blackdown hobbled towards the corridor’s exit. ‘I don’t need time to consider. I refuse to be a part of this infamy. I would rather die first than betray my country. You may think you can blackmail and threaten people into submission, but it won’t work on me.’

Lansdowne shrugged. ‘Why, Thomas? Why do defend your country so? A country that has so cruelly thrown you onto a rubbish heap with the rest of its used soldiers.’

Blackdown turned. ‘It is my country.’

‘I know all about you, Thomas. I know, for instance, that you were dishonourably discharged from the army because you killed a fellow officer in a duel in Brussels soon after hostilities ceased. An officer who slandered your father and your family name, calling you both spies. You came home knowing full well what had been happening to your father, for you narrowly escaped prison and death because the ripples of his troubles reached out to encompass you. You may occasionally wear the uniform of a captain, but in reality you are reduced to the role of thieftaker, seeking out and bringing petty criminals to justice in order to earn a living. Did you think you could keep such a truth hidden forever, Thomas? Is this really the life expected of a gentleman of noble birth?’

Blackdown’s eyes narrowed. ‘We have no choice over our destinies. I take what is given to me.’

Lansdowne laughed. ‘How pitifully noble! But I disagree, for there you are wrong, man – so very wrong.’ He stepped closer to Blackdown, his hands held out in front of him. ‘Now is the time to grasp the opportunity presented to you. Now is the time to black the eye of the very people who dishonoured you, who caused you to sink to such low depths. It is time for your revenge.’

‘You forget that I am born of the very people you find so disagreeable.’

‘And yet with your links all but severed. Even your father has disowned you. But you would be very useful to us,’ said Lansdowne.

‘I’d rather die a beggar in the imperfect land we have than live as a Lord in a violent, bloody new republic after the fashion of the French.’

Lansdowne sighed. ‘So be it, Thomas. Die you shall, if that’s what you wish.’ He signalled for the men to come back inside and take hold of Blackdown.

‘I’m going to get out of this, Lansdowne,’ he said, ‘and when I do I’m going to make you pay for what you have done. It has been clear to me for some time now. I know you are the one behind the false papers purporting to my father’s guilt as a French spy, accusations that would help bring about his downfall and the gradual dismantling of the Blackdown lands; lands that have since been bought up through the blackmailed Lord Tresham on behalf of your beloved Ravenbard.’

‘Perhaps you are right, perhaps you are not, it is a moot point now anyway,’ he replied.

‘And you had my brother killed. And for that fact alone I shall kill you, Lansdowne. Make no mistake.’

He grinned in response. ‘See? I am quaking in my boots, Thomas. Take him away,’ he ordered the men, ‘and prepare him for the parade.’ He saw Blackdown’s confused expression. ‘Before you all enter the arena you must be paraded before those who will place their bets on the outcome, who will wager upon which man will make it the furthest or last the longest. Like two cocks being held up to an appreciative crowd before they are set to fight, you will be displayed before those who will witness your death and derive much pleasure from it. Time to say goodbye to our little furry friend behind these bars, Thomas, but worry not, you will be meeting him again shortly. I am afraid it will be for the last time.’

‘Don’t bet on it, Lansdowne,’ Blackdown returned. ‘No pun intended…’

Lansdowne studied Blackdown’s hardened face. There was something about it, cut deep into premature lines etched by tough experience; a resolve that reached out of the man’s seemingly present hopeless situation to start a small shiver of concern rippling through him. It did not last long. ‘Get him out of my sight,’ he said, and Blackdown was bundled swiftly if not awkwardly away.

Blackdown was taken back to his cell, but instead of being fastened back to the wall he was allowed to stand free. He watched as Callisto and their soldier companion were released. Callisto’s body tensed as he was told to get to his feet, a pistol aimed squarely at his broad, bare, blood-spattered chest. For a moment the giant’s eyes burned with intent, as if he were about to launch himself at his captors, but Blackdown caught his attention and gave an almost insignificant shake of his head. Callisto understood that Blackdown intended them to bide their time, and demurely let the guard lead him to stand against one of the walls. The guard ordered all of them to stand in a line.

Presently a large bowl of cold water was brought in and placed at their feet.

‘Wash,’ the guard ordered. ‘You have but a few minutes and we will be taking you from here, but our guests don’t want your stink clogging up their sensitive nostrils.’

The ex-soldier had been whimpering softly, blood still trickling from his severed tongue. But now he stood straight-backed and resistant.

‘Do as he says,’ advised Blackdown.

The guard grinned as the three men bent to the bowl and began to splash water over their faces. ‘We’ll be back presently,’ he said, leaving and locking the door after them.

Blackdown placed a hand on each of his companion’s shoulders. ‘We can escape this madness, but we have to choose our time carefully. Play along with their game for now.’ He stared into Callisto’s saddened eyes. ‘They will pay for taking out your tongues,’ he assured, but Callisto’s expression looked doubtful. ‘You know this beast, Callisto,’ he said. ‘Do you know of its weaknesses?’

Callisto shook his head gravely, implying that he knew of no such weakness. The ex-soldier looked terrified at the turn of their conversation, unsure what they meant but drawing enough to feel suddenly fearful.

‘They mean to have us killed,’ said Blackdown bluntly. ‘But we will not let them have the pleasure, eh?’

Callisto grunted and tossed up his hands in dismay.

‘I need you to stand firm, Callisto,’ Blackdown said. ‘I need you to put your trust in me.’

The prize-fighter’s eyes squeezed shut and he drew in a calming breath.

‘What is your name?’ he asked the ex-soldier.

The man bent to the floor and scrawled his name in the dirt. JACK.

‘Jack,’ said Blackdown. ‘Well, Jack, we’re in one hell of a prickly situation here, but you need to stand tall, too. We’ve faced tougher opposition than those vagabonds, have we not?’ The man nodded. ‘We have faced the French and all they could throw at us, eh?’ He nodded again. ‘And did we falter?’ The man shook his head. His back stiffened, though his eyes were like sunken windows to his shattered emotions.

The door opened again and three guards entered, each with a pistol. The prisoners were made to form a line, Callisto at its head, Jack in the middle and Blackdown bringing up the rear.

‘Remember, stand fast,’ Blackdown whispered to Jack.

‘Hold your tongue!’ said the man at his back. ‘Lest you want it pulling from your mouth.’ With that he stuffed a wad of cloth into Blackdown’s mouth and fastened a gag around it. ‘That should keep you quiet. Why they didn’t take your tongue too is a mystery to me,’ he moaned. He prodded Blackdown in the back with the barrel of his pistol. ‘Move!’ he growled, and the three men were marched through the cell door and into the corridor beyond.

The rattle of their shackles and chains bounced off the curved stone walls as they hobbled down black tunnels, finally ascending stone stairs to a locked door at their summit. A plain candlelit corridor greeted them as the door swung open. Some way down its length they paused outside another door, guarded by two men wearing the uniform of the Blackdown Horse Patrol. One of them took the head of the line of prisoners and unlocked the door, holding it open slightly. He told the prisoners to wait, exchanged quiet words with someone on the other side and then signalled for the men to follow him, drawing his sabre as he did so.

The men lurched awkwardly into a large square chamber, lit by an array of guttering candles in gold wall sconces and an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling’s centre. The walls were of black marble run through with gossamer streaks of white, the floor laid with the same; Grecian-style pillars of white marble decorated plentifully with gold leaf rose from floor to high ceiling, on which was depicted the heavens, a multitude of cold stars blazing from a black sky and a bloated full moon dominating all.

At the room’s far end was a large throne-like seat, again crafted from marble and finished in gilt, huge swags of red tasselled curtains falling down like a scarlet waterfall from the ceiling to frame the throne. A slender figure, but for his necktie dressed completely in black and wearing a gold-coloured mask in the shape of a wolf, sat on the throne, one hand supporting his cheek as he studied the line of men brought before him.

As Blackdown’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he made out twelve men, six men sitting on each side of the throne, all similarly dressed in black, and all wearing masks – some crafted to look like creatures, bulls or dogs or deer, that almost covered every inch of their faces, while others wore simple affairs that covered the eyes and nose only.

They varied in age, as far as Blackdown could tell; some youthful and slim, others corpulent and aged. He recognised the form of John Strutt immediately – the man who had put him in Blackdown gaol. It was hard to disguise that fat body, he thought. He wore a mask of white, edged with gold, which hid his upper face. He still hadn’t figured out why Strutt had been keen to lock him away, only for him to be broken out again, unless it was to frame him for the murder of Addison and the guard. But if he were to die tonight, where was the necessity? There were still too many things about this affair that bothered him and didn’t fit neatly together.

Sir Peter Lansdowne stepped out of the shadows as the three prisoners were brought to a halt before the assembled men.

‘Gentlemen of the Lupercal Club,’ he began, ‘I offer you this year’s crop. On your right we have The Mighty Callisto. Have you ever seen such a giant of a man? Undefeated in the ring until only a matter of days ago. In the centre we have Jack Fowler, a soldier who fought with distinction in Spain and France for the 95
th
Rifles and who was also present at the burning of the White House in 1815. A man of supreme courage in the face of battle. And finally we have on your left Lord Blackdown’s son, Thomas Blackdown, once captain in the Guards, fearless, almost to the point of recklessness, a man covered in much military glory in Spain and France, but recently fallen on hard times. A man whose temper lost him his commission.’ Lansdowne walked up to the men, his heels clicking loudly on the marble. He stopped in front of them and turned to address the thirteen men sitting before him. ‘Each of these men is courageous and fearless. Each offers you something different. But who will come out on top tonight? Which of these brave men will surmount the difficulties and terror that lies ahead to become this year’s winner? Gentlemen, place your bets!’

Suddenly the room erupted into a wild exchange of voices, bellicose, insistent, arms waving expressively. The three prisoners glanced at each other. Jack looked about to faint. In the vocal confusion, Blackdown heard astronomical sums being placed as bets, the odds being given for each of the three men, but his attention was elsewhere, flitting about the room for a means of escape. He noticed two more exits discreetly hidden by curtains, and each had an armed guard placed by it. This was not the place or the time, he thought. And he had a feeling that time was running out swiftly.

Lansdowne brought the proceedings under control as soon as all bets had been placed and an unusual quiet fell over the room. So quiet Blackdown could hear the faint flickering of the candles. Lansdowne once again faced the assembled men. He bowed before the figure sitting on the throne.

‘My Lord Ravenbard,’ he said, holding the bow for quite some time before slowly rising to his full height. ‘Before we proceed with tonight’s entertainment, we have one last matter that you expressly demanded needed urgent attention.’ He sauntered over to the seated men sitting on Ravenbard’s right. ‘Gentlemen, we are about to enter a new and glorious phase, and I know all of you are committed wholeheartedly to the cause.’ He studied the masked men, some of whom nodded and made quiet grunting sounds in response. He began to walk past Ravenbard to the men sitting on the other side. Here he paused again and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at them. ‘None of you know by name who sits at your side. Do you trust them?’

The sound of cloth rubbing against cloth rippled through them as they shuffled at the unexpected and uncomfortable question.

‘How do you know you can trust them? You do not know who they are.’ Lansdowne looked at his feet. ‘But Lord Ravenbard knows everything about everyone present.’ He glanced at the seated figure, who nodded almost imperceptibly at Lansdowne. ‘It is in his interests to know everything. The venture on which we embark is a dangerous one, especially if we cannot trust the members of our very own club.’ He walked up to one of the guards and held out his hand. The guard placed a pistol in it. Lansdowne looked over the weapon and pointed it upwards, cocking the hammer. He took careful, measured steps to the men sitting on Ravenbard’s right again. ‘You all know the price for betrayal and falsehood.’ In an instant he levelled the gun at the figure of John Strutt and pulled the trigger.

The room lit up with the loud explosion and the bright flare of lighted gunpowder. Many of the seated men rose to their feet in horror. John Strutt groaned and slipped off his chair, a pool of blood spilling out to flow across the tiles. His fingers worked away on the marble tiles like fat, white slugs as Lansdowne strode up to the stricken man and bent down. He tore off Strutt’s mask.

‘Behold, a traitor to the cause. John Strutt!’ he cried.

Strutt lifted his head and moaned softly. Lansdowne motioned with a peremptory nod of his head for one of the other guards to step forward. He did so, removed his pistol and calmly shot Strutt in the head.

One of the seated men recoiled as blood and brains spattered his breeches. Silence fell over the room again.

‘Gentlemen, proceedings inside are concluded,’ Lansdowne said as if nothing untoward had happened. ‘Please take up your places for the rest of tonight’s entertainment and rest assured the sums of money laid down tonight will be put to the good cause.’ He turned to the prisoners. ‘Take them to the arena.’ But he held up his hand for Blackdown to remain behind. As the masked men began to file out of the room through the curtained exits behind him, Lansdowne leant close to Blackdown’s ear. ‘Confused?’ He grinned. ‘Strutt, it transpires, was a Government agent, sent to infiltrate our club. He is a dead agent now. His body will be found alongside evidence that will incriminate you as his murderer. He did, after all, imprison you, and your temper and need for immediate and often violent revenge is becoming well known. One can only suspect his real motives for putting you behind bars was to keep you out of the way and protect you. It was an action that forced him from his cover and sealed his death warrant.’

Blackdown lifted his bound hands, attempted to utter something through the gag, but he was whisked away by one of the guards. He heard Lansdowne chuckle derisively. He glanced back and caught sight of the wolf-masked man called Ravenbard sitting silent and alone on his marble throne, apparently watching him with interest as he was hauled away.

The three men were hurried through more dark corridors and out of one of the house’s many rear entrances. They entered a small courtyard surrounded by a tall red-brick wall. A black, windowless carriage stood in its centre, headed by four black horses, the light of the bright full moon causing the creatures’ hair to gleam like polished ebony. Without ceremony the men were led silently by their captors to the open door of the carriage. A man was standing by the door, his face encased in a white, almost featureless mask. But Blackdown frowned upon seeing the figure, for he thought he recognised him.

The white-masked man waved a finger for Callisto and Jack to be bundled on board the carriage, but beckoned that Blackdown be brought to one side, some distance away from the carriage. He waved again for the guard to leave them alone and turned his back on the carriage, facing Blackdown. Slowly he reached up and drew off the mask.

It was Lord Edward Tresham.

Blackdown was shocked, his eyes obviously betraying his confusion. Tresham lifted a hand. ‘Thomas, I have been given permission to speak with you before…’ He swallowed, cleared his throat, and began to untie the gag around Blackdown’s mouth. He let the cloth fall to the ground and Blackdown spat out the wad that had filled the inside of his mouth.

‘Uncle, what are you doing here? What is going on?’

Tresham held up a restraining finger. ‘Hear me out. We don’t have a great deal of time. I have persuaded Ravenbard to give me a few minutes to try and convince you one last time to join him. I don’t want to see you die. That was never the intention. You are like a son to me. You should never have come home.’

‘I cannot believe you are involved with this madness. Tell me you are being blackmailed still.’

He shook his head solemnly. ‘There is no blackmail, Thomas. I do this of my own free will.’ But his words did not carry conviction.