Deliver us from Evil (4 page)

'. . . a prowling wolf,

Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey,

Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve

In hurdled cotes amid the field secure,

Leaps o'er the fence with ease into the field!'

John Milton,
Paradise Lost

C

aptain Foxe joined them later that same night. His face was perfectly blank. He kissed his wife, and then his son; but he said nothing of what he had been doing, nor of what success his investigation might have had. He caught Mr Webbe's eye, though, and almost imperceptibly shook his head; Robert, observing this, doubted his father had discovered much. Mr Webbe, who rarely spoke a word when the spirit of the Lord was not upon him, only shrugged; he rose and. crossing to a dark corner of the room, rolled out a bedding mat. He had no need to ask if he could stay. He was an old acquaintance of Captain Foxe's; how old, Robert had never presumed to ask, but he knew the two men had served together in the army, and doubtless had shared much. For the purposes of his own curiosity, he wished that Mr Webbe would sometimes be less close; but it was the preacher's habit of silence, Robert knew, which did most to recommend him to Captain Foxe's good opinion. Mrs Foxe too, when she woke the next day, would be glad of Mr Webbe's company. For he was a good man; and gifted, she believed, with prophecy. He would help as he had already done, to guide her through the courses of her bereavement and grief.

Robert, as he lay in bed later, wished that he too could be so comforted. For unlike his mother, he had Found little solace in the scriptures they had read; he had seen the Devil's mark stamped too clearly on the world, and its print had seemed more terrible than any mark of God. That night, although he lay with his eyes closed for many hours, sleep would not come to him, and the shadow of darkness lay thick on his soul. He tried to picture Hannah in his mind as Mr Webbe had described her, one amongst the company of saints; but instead, he could see her only as a mess of stinking corruption, and her dead baby too, slung upon the dunghill to be the blowflies' meat; and he dreaded to think how feeble was life, that could be reduced so easily to rottenness. At length, he rose from his bed, for he had found it impossible to banish such imaginings from his mind; he lit a candle and turned to his Greek, but as he read, he came to a passage describing the fall of Troy, and how Hector's baby child had been flung from the walls to be fed upon by dogs, and he could not bear to read the poet any further, and so he tossed the book aside. He rose to his feet again, for he knew that he needed to escape the closeness of the room and walk his nervous humour away. As he crossed to the doorway, he wondered if his parents at least had obtained their rest, and he turned back to look. His mother was asleep, and he was glad to see it, but the place beside her was empty, and he saw that his father's riding-boots were gone. Robert was not alarmed, for it was often his father's habit, when oppressed by a matter of business, to sleep barely at all - and the business before him now, it seemed likely, was as great as any he might ever have confronted.

As he returned to the doorway, Robert noticed that Mr Webbe's place was empty as well, and when he looked through the window at the stable doors, he saw that two of them were hanging open, and the horses were gone. Folding his cloak about him, he hurried outside. The snow was no longer falling, and the clouds had been blown away so that the sky was lit a crisp, cold blue by the blaze of the stars. Robert gazed up and down the village road, but he could neither see nor hear his father, although the snows gleamed as blue as the sky and the crunch of his own footsteps was loud in the air. He walked down the road until he was past the village, and approaching the wood; an owl called out once from the bare boughs of the trees, but otherwise the world seemed wholly embalmed beneath the snow. Robert reached the first line of trees, and called out his father's name; then Mr Webbe's. Again, no reply but the screeching of the owl. Robert sighed and turned - he was growing cold. He began to walk back.

Then, as he left the trees, he heard the distant sound of hoofbeats ringing through the air, and stared back down the road. From the shadows of the village, he saw a horseman emerge. The rider was cloaked in black, with a hood pulled close so that his face was obscured, and his horse, like his cloak, was a deep, coal-black. At the first sound of the hoofbeats, Robert had begun to run along the road; but when he saw the horseman, he immediately shrank back into the trees, and the nearer the horseman approached the faster he retreated, stumbling through the undergrowth, his heart beating louder and louder in his ears. At the point where the road first plunged into the trees, the rider reined in his horse. The path forked there, Robert knew - there was a track to the left, which led to Wolverton Hall. He dropped to the ground and froze, sheltering behind the branches of an old toppled elm. Then, slowly, he raised his head above the trunk again.

The rider was still sitting perfectly motionless, a cowled silhouette against the burning stars. Robert imagined all the wood must be pulsing with his heart, so loudly was it beating now, and he placed a hand on his chest to try to calm himself. As he did so, the rider looked round. He sniffed the air; the hood he wore fell fractionally back, and the light of the stars caught his face. He wore a thin beard and moustache, much like Sir Henry's; but in all other respects his face was like no one's Robert had ever seen before, and the merest sight of it filled him with disgust. It was deathly pale, with not a hint of colour in either the cheeks or lips; the mouth was thin and very cruel; the nose nothing but nostrils, the flesh around the bones having rotted utterly away. But it was the eyes which revolted and astonished Robert the most, for they were at once as piercing and silver as the brightest moon, and yet utterly dead, and he wondered what manner of thing might possess such a stare, and he shook his head, for he did not care to know. Then he shuddered, knowing that such eyes had seen him once before, and he prayed silently with all his soul that they would not see him a second time now, defenceless as he was, alone amidst the trees, on so cruel a night.

Robert held his breath. The rider pricked his horse forward a few paces and sat still again for a few moments underneath the trees. Still Robert did not breathe. He thought he would expire. Then the rider turned suddenly and, with a clattering of iron on frozen mud, the horse cantered away down the opposite lane - the lane which led towards Wolverton Hall. Robert waited where he was, sheltering behind the branches of the tree. Minutes passed until, very cautiously, he rose up to his feet. He looked about him; then he crept out past the trees and back on to the path. It was empty, although the trail of hoofprints was clear in the snow. Robert wondered if he should follow them. Not for long, though. He turned round and, his teeth chattering, began to run towards Wolverton, and the safety of his bed.

'. . . one of the banished crew,

I
fear, hath ventured from the deep,

to raise new troubles . . .'

John Milton,
Paradise Lost

‘
I

he next morning, when his father had still not returned, Robert went to visit Emily, and told her all he had seen. As he finished, she shook her head. 'No, no,' she complained, 'you are missing things out.'

'What things?' he asked.

'You said you had seen the horseman before. But you haven't said anything at all about that.'

'Oh.' Robert closed his eyes, then smiled guiltily. 'But
I
am not meant to tell you. Father swore me to keep it quiet.'

'Even with me?'

Robert smiled again.

Emily mimicked him. She paused. 'Anyhow,' she said, 'it is too late now.
I
know you have a secret, and if you will not tell me then
I
shall bother you until you do.'

Robert considered this point for a few moments.

Emily wrapped her arms round his neck. 'Well?' she asked.

'
I
should not,' he said at last.

'Of course not,' she replied.

'It was last week,' he said, after another pause. 'The Winter Solstice
..."
- he frowned - 'the feast-day of Yule.' 'Where were you?' 'Can you not guess?' 'Why should
I
?'

it
was on the fields below Clearbury Ring.'

'Clearbury Ring.' Emily hugged herself. 'Where your tutor was found.'

Robert inclined his head.

'What had you been doing there?'

'Riding.
I
was with my father. We were practising.'

'And so that was where you saw him?' Despite her solemn expression, Emily's eyes began to gleam. 'That was where you saw the horseman?'

'He was in his saddle
...
' - Robert paused - 'in his saddle,' he continued, 'not moving, just watching us. He was in black again, just like last night, with his hood pulled low across his face. That was how
I
recognised him yesterday night, when
I
saw him coming from the village - that was how
I
knew
I
had to run.'

'But why?' Emily hugged herself again. 'What had he done the first time, to frighten you so much?'

Robert wondered,
I
am not certain,' he said at last. 'He sat where he was for a long while - then he rode down towards us, and galloped past.'

Emily looked disappointed. 'And that was all?' 'Yes.'

'Where was the terror in that?'

'But you have not seen him, Emily. For if you had
...
' Robert paused. He remembered the crawling terror he had felt, like lice across his skin, and knew that he could never hope to explain.
I
did
not want to continue with the riding after that,' he said finally, 'but my father insisted - even though he seemed unsettled as well. And then, not long after, we heard shouting, and a man came hurrying down the hill waving at us. He was screaming there had been a murder, a body found in the centre of the Ring.'

Emily said nothing for a moment. Then she swallowed. 'Your tutor?'

Robert nodded.

'Who was the man who had come running down the hill?' 'Mr John Aubrey. A scholar, from Broadchalke, on the other side of Salisbury.'

Emily narrowed her eyes. 'And what had he been doing on Clearbury Ring?'

'My father asked him that immediately, of course.' 'And?'

'He said he was interested in ancient monuments.' Emily frowned. 'Why?'

Robert shrugged. 'Because
...
I
suppose that some people are. Mr Aubrey had gone to Clearbury Ring because he was looking for ghosts. They are meant to appear on the feast-day of Yule.'

'Why?' asked Emily again.

'Because the day was sacred to the pagans who iived upon the Ring. They killed people as a sacrifice to the anger of their god.' 'Ju.st like your tutor was killed.' Robert paused. 'Perhaps,' he said at last.

Emily stared at him, her eyes very wide. 'And Mr Aubrey . . . ' She hesitated. 'Does your father think he might be guilty of the crime?' 'No,
I
don't think so. No, no,
I
am certain he doesn't.' 'So who does he suspect?'

Robert's stare was unblinking. 'Only the one,' he said finally.

Emily leaned forward. 'And last night, Robert,' she whispered, 'the horseman you saw . . . you are certain - quite certain - it
was
the same man?'

Robert turned from her. He crossed to the doorway and gazed out at the road, as it wound through the village up towards the wood. He closed his eyes. 'Quite certain,' he said at last.

Emily joined him. 'When will your father be back?' she asked.

Robert shook his head.

Emily reached to hold his cheeks and met his stare. "The tracks you saw him leave,' she whispered with a sudden tense excitement, 'they will melt with the snow.'

Robert shrugged. 'Doubtless.'

'So . . .'

'So?'

'We should follow them now.'

Robert looked away again; but he did not disagree.

Emily pointed at the sun. 'Midday,' she said. 'It will not be dark for several hours yet." She took his arm. 'We shall not go far. We will only follow the tracks.'

'Only?' Robert made a face. But although he felt uneasy, he did not protest, and indeed the excitement of their quest, and his sense of its possible value to his father, made him hurry as he climbed with Emily up to the wood. He showed her the spot where the horseman had stopped. She studied it. 'Look,' she said, pointing. There was a trail of hoofprints, still clear in the snow. Emily took Robert's hand, then she glanced up at the sun again. 'Not too late,' she murmured. She began to run. 'Come on.'