Hearts of Darkness (8 page)

‘Aye, so you found out three days ago.’ The captain lifted the bottle to his lips and took a mighty draught. ‘Doesn’t mean it wasn’t decided beforehand.’

‘But Josselin fled London only a week ago.’

‘Josselin’s been in there two weeks,’ Scotschurch replied, releasing
a great sigh of strong fumes. He noticed me flinch. ‘Strong drink protects against the plague,’ he mumbled. ‘Which be why I encourage all my men to consume as much as they are able. Four have died since we came here, and none of them drank sufficient.’

If the townsmen tried to deny us passage, then Withypoll might attack them. ‘Do they have arms?’

‘Aye, so they do,’ Scotschurch nodded. ‘And mad men commit mad deeds, but Arlington insists you must go to Shyam and so we will enforce it. My men will escort you to the barricade.’

I scowled. ‘You saw Josselin yourself?’

Scotschurch shook his bleary head. ‘Before we arrived,’ he answered.

‘You have men in the town?’

He shook his head again. ‘The townspeople are terrified that any man who enters will transport the Pest with him, and that includes my men. If I needed to gain entry I could, but I don’t wish to stir them up. Flanner is an unpleasant fellow.’ He belched again. ‘So I leave them alone.’

‘How do you know Josselin isn’t in there with them?’

The captain shrugged. ‘Because he is at Shyam. He cannot be in two places at once.’

‘The Mayor would deny us passage,’ I considered. ‘Suppose he denies us access for fear we would discover that Josselin is not in Shyam at all. Perhaps Josselin hides in Colchester. They talk of him as a hero in these parts. Of course they would shelter him.’

The captain plunged his thumb up his nose and stretched out his nostril. ‘Aye,’ he conceded. ‘Could be. I don’t know where he is, nor do I much care, so long as you fetch him out.’

‘Then we must search the town and make sure he’s not hiding,’ I insisted.

‘Flanner won’t like it.’ The captain pursed his lips. ‘But that’s for you and he to debate. Tell Benjamin you wish to enter the town and that he is to take you there.’ He held up the bottle, half full of what looked like claret. ‘I will write it down as an order to give to him.’

‘Who is Benjamin?’

Scotschurch scratched his groin and reached for quill, paper and seal. ‘You will find him on the shore.’ He took his time scratching out his command in loose, spidery hand. Then he waved a hand and settled back in his chair with his eyes closed. He lifted his leg and broke wind, emitting the foulest of smells. ‘Good fortune and farewell.’

Good fortune indeed if Josselin was hiding in Colchester.

I clambered back into the boat flushed with a sense of wild optimism. Josselin’s sole objective was to hide from Arlington. What better strategy than to persuade the townsfolk of Colchester to spread false rumour as to his whereabouts?

My excitement lacked contagion. Withypoll interrogated me with derision, snorting like a sneezy goat when I told him of my idea. He settled back, contenting himself with a long stare, huddled up beneath his jacket, shivering. Dowling sat silent, as he had been most of the day.

Back on shore I walked next to Dowling, seeking an opportunity to poke him in the ribs and discover what ailed him, but Withypoll stayed too close.

The first couple of soldiers we spoke to were too fuddled to
think. The third tottered about in an unsteady circle squinting into the distance against the sun, gaze fixed on someone in the distance. Following his stare I spotted the soldier we encountered before, the fellow with a sty so large he couldn’t see out of his left eye. He caught me staring and ducked out of sight.

‘Hoy!’ Withypoll saw him too and took off. We followed through the crowd, spotting the tail of his coat disappear up Magdalen Street. Strands of long, black hair bounced upon his head and flapped about his ears. He was the only sober soldier in the harbour, the only man capable of running without falling over.

‘Stop, Benjamin,’ Withypoll shouted. ‘Stop where you stand, else I shall slice off your ears.’

Benjamin ran on awkwardly, short legs struggling to carry his substantial bulk. Halfway up the hill he gave up and turned to face us, still grasping the barrel of his musket. His face glowed so bright I feared he might collapse at our feet. ‘What do you want?’ he panted.

Withypoll handed him the directive with moist palm. ‘You will escort us into the town,’ he said, prodding his sword into Benjamin’s belly. ‘Take us past the gates.’

Benjamin frowned, attempted to ignore the weapon, and took the letter.

‘Why did you run?’ I asked, wiping sweat from my own dripping brow.

‘I’ve had enough,’ he snapped, angry, still reading. Two more soldiers wandered down the hill, blank expressions on dull faces. Benjamin looked up and scowled. ‘Everyone is drunk and Scotschurch is the drunkest. None of us are allowed into the town. No one is posted to watch who enters or who leaves.’

‘Read the orders,’ Withypoll commanded, his body waving gently
from side to side. I wondered if he was about to drop dead on the spot.

‘Your company is here to make sure James Josselin doesn’t leave,’ I explained. ‘Now we’ve come to collect him. You will be sent home soon.’

Benjamin shrugged, a thoughtful expression clouding his eyes. ‘Not I. I live here. When the army leaves I stay behind.’ He glanced at Withypoll. ‘Why do you want to enter the gates? To go to Shyam?’

‘Lytle here persuaded your captain Josselin might be inside the town,’ Withypoll replied. ‘What do you think of that?’

Benjamin stared at me like I was a strange prophet.

‘Scotschurch said you arrived after Josselin entered Shyam,’ I said. ‘Maybe he didn’t go to Shyam at all.’

‘I didn’t arrive after Josselin,’ said Benjamin. ‘I was here already, but I didn’t see Josselin arrive. I heard about it next day. Josselin persuaded Flanner to allow him passage to Shyam is what they said.’

‘Would the townspeople protect him?’ I asked, excited.

‘Aye,’ Benjamin nodded, pensive. ‘He always was a liar. All this nonsense about wriggling through walls and withstanding torture. He was nine years old; he carried no special message. They tortured him, but he didn’t know what to tell them, else he would have told them in the twitch of a mouse’s whisker. The rest is nonsense and allowed him to take advantage of every gullible fool who heard the story.’

‘You were one of those fools, I suppose,’ Withypoll mocked him.

‘Not I,’ Benjamin replied, clenching his fists. ‘But I watched him at work. His family lived here for ten years while his father sought to regain his estates. It wasn’t until the Restoration that the family’s fortunes improved. James Josselin is the most idle man I ever met.
He thrived upon the generosity of those who believed the tale he cultivated.’

I wondered if Benjamin was religious. The overly religious accused every man of idleness, as I knew from personal experience. ‘He is accused of murder,’ I said.

‘I know,’ Benjamin replied. ‘And if you ask me do I think he is capable, then yes he is. He has no moral compass. If he killed a man, this is where he would come, knowing these people would protect him without question.’

I felt even more determined to penetrate the town walls, certain Josselin skulked in there somewhere.

Benjamin spoke louder, good eye open wide. ‘When the other strangers were admitted I asked Captain Scotschurch if we might enter too, but he refused me.’

‘What other strangers?’ Withypoll demanded.

‘Four men entered last week, none of them from hereabouts. They dressed strange, like dignitaries, but not English. Scotschurch wasn’t interested.’

‘Dutchmen,’ Withypoll exclaimed, a glint in his eye.

‘Perhaps,’ Benjamin replied. He blinked furiously and rubbed at the sty with dirty finger afore leading the way back up the hill. ‘That’s for you to find out.’

‘First we must fetch our horses,’ Dowling reminded us all. ‘You walk, Benjamin. We will meet you at Botolph’s.’

Back at the harbour our horses stepped nervous from foot to foot, surrounded by a gaggle of bleary admirers. Withypoll cut them short thrift. I looked back at the ship anchored out in the river, lonely and forlorn. Scotschurch didn’t drink to ward off the plague, else he would assume his responsibilities on shore. He drank to ward off the
fear, and allowed his men to do the same so they would not revolt. Pestilence had many ways to beat a man. The drunken wretches that pawed and slobbered at our legs were no less defeated, their muskets a stark reminder of their sad demise.

My horse fidgeted, skittish and tense, and I had to pull hard on his reins to stop him dashing south along the river bank. We pushed through the swaying masses, out into clean space away from the harbour. The bells of St Leonard’s pealed as we passed the church, as if signalling us to retreat. Another cart trundled westward, tarpaulin covering a heavy load.

Benjamin stood waiting at Botolph’s Gate afront of two
sombre-looking
fellows with hands on hips. ‘They want to see the captain’s orders,’ he said.

‘Captain’s orders and King’s orders.’ Withypoll swung himself to the ground. ‘Open the gate or I’ll open your guts.’ He pushed one of them back against the thick stone wall. ‘In the name of Charles the Second.’

‘Mayor Flanner said none may enter,’ the older man said, dancing on his toes with one arm held up against Withypoll’s blade.

‘Make your choice,’ Withypoll leered, his nose still red. ‘My blade or Flanner’s.’

For a moment it seemed like the sentry might take him on, encouraged by Withypoll’s wan complexion and stooped gait, but then Benjamin placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. The old man caught the warning in his eyes and dipped into his pocket to retrieve a heavy key, with which he opened the grand doors.

We hurried over the threshold as Death turned its head slowly towards the light, momentarily distracted from the scenes of torment. The two guards hurried after, eager to close the door behind us. What sort of
townspeople were these who left their brethren to fall upon the ground?

We emerged on foot opposite a low, green field, overgrown and deserted. The site of Botolph’s Fair, if my bearings proved right, now covered with empty tenter frames. Colchester was famous for its wool, but no one would be buying Colchester bays again for a while. Yet these two fellows looked fat enough.

I couldn’t resist asking. ‘How do you survive behind the walls?’

‘Taxes,’ one replied. ‘There is a tax levied on every village within five miles.’

Benjamin scanned the surroundings, lips drawn tight, face white. Then we followed our guides to a small crossroads; ancient, square-towered churches on three corners, like some sort of celestial vestibule.

‘Mayor Flanner will not be happy,’ the younger man whispered to Benjamin, watching Withypoll stagger down the empty marketplace. Assuredly he would not. Withypoll walked like an obstinate corpse.

Low, flat, marble steps led into the bowels of the crooked Moot Hall. An enormous, wooden coat of arms hung from the uneven roof above grand, oak doors. A row of chimney stacks stood leaning at strange angles.

One guide pointed afore the two hurried away back the way they’d come. ‘You’ll find Mayor Flanner in there.’

The entrance led to a wood-panelled hall. From our left came a faint, scratching noise, sound of quill on paper. It stopped suddenly. Footsteps sounded sharp upon floorboards.

A middle-sized man of ordinary build stared at us with cold blue eyes. ‘Benjamin!’

Benjamin bowed his head afore Flanner’s trenchant stare. ‘You don’t have the authority to keep them out, Flanner.’

Flanner smiled, crookedly. ‘You have come to find James Josselin, but you will fail.’

‘It is the King’s mission.’ Withypoll smiled back unpleasantly. ‘To prevent us would be treason.’

‘Treason.’ Flanner repeated, standing well back from Withypoll. ‘Then I will show you about the town before you leave.’ He stepped past us and back out onto the street.

‘The Dutch Quarter first,’ Withypoll called.

Flanner turned to confront him. ‘Why?’

Withypoll stepped towards Flanner and laid a hand upon his shoulder. ‘All you good country folk adopt a simple outlook on life,’ he said, as Flanner shrank from his touch. ‘Josselin is a full-grown man, yet you poor bumpkins cannot see beyond the boy. Why would I waste my time explaining to you that Josselin stabbed a lord through the chest? That Josselin is a traitor who spoils our parley with the Dutch? Yet I have pledged an oath to the King in the service of my country, so must pursue the truth anyway, whatever inconvenience it may present to the Mayor of Little Bumpkintown.’

Flanner’s sharp blue eyes settled upon Benjamin. ‘There were always those among us who envied James his situation,’ he said. ‘For some a bright star is something to be coveted. If the boy is courageous then so will be the man; that is evident.’ He pulled away from Withypoll’s grasp. ‘You gentlemen, I assume, have never met James Josselin.’

Withypoll waved an airy arm. ‘Nor do we need to. We found Berkshire’s body with Josselin’s sword protruding from his chest. Others saw him running with blood upon his hands. Seems he didn’t stop until he reached here.’

Flanner shook his head and pointed. ‘The Dutch Quarter.’

The houses seemed the same as any other, same half-timbered
structures with impenetrable, dark windows.

‘I don’t know what you expect to see.’ Flanner stopped. ‘Most of these people were born here, as were their fathers before them. The first arrived more than a century ago, chased from Flanders by the Spanish.’

Withypoll grunted and stalked up East Stockwell Street beneath the great shadow of the castle. ‘What do they do now they cannot make cloth?’ he asked.

‘The town is half empty,’ Flanner replied. ‘Many left before the Pest established itself. Those that remain keep this town going. The neighbouring villages provide us with monies by which we ensure everyone is fed, but still we must arrange to buy provisions. The town must be kept clean, the sick cared for, law maintained.’ He looked to the castle. ‘We have had to lock up six families so far, who tried to visit their relatives outside the walls. Such selfish behaviour puts us all at risk.’

Withypoll turned, blocking Flanner’s path. ‘What of the Dutchmen who arrived last week?’

Flanner halted in his tracks, face frozen. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Withypoll tilted his head. ‘And your mother was my father.’ He drew his sword. ‘You speak to me as if I am your enemy, when I come from the King. Lie and I will cut you from belly to chin.’

‘There are no Dutchmen here,’ Flanner insisted, yet his blue eyes darted from me to Dowling, seeking salvation. ‘Kill me if you will, it will not change the fact.’

Withypoll lifted the shining steel into the sunlight. ‘Benjamin saw them.’

‘I did not say Dutchmen,’ Benjamin protested. ‘I said they dressed strange.’

Flanner breathed deep and slow. ‘Those were churchwardens from the villages. They came with the taxes they raised.’ He glared at Benjamin. ‘Brave men to venture into Colchester, wouldn’t you say?’

‘They didn’t look like churchwardens,’ Benjamin said, blushing.

Flanner said nothing, just waited for Withypoll to lower his sword, staring with a burning hatred. Yet if they were churchwardens, why did he become so strange? Flanner lied to us about something.

‘We must go to Shyam,’ I said, watching his response.

‘No man may go to Shyam,’ he replied, still unbalanced. ‘They will admit no man. It is forbidden.’

‘Yet we will go,’ I replied. ‘We cannot leave Essex without finding Josselin. We must ask him some questions. If he is at Shyam, then we must go to Shyam.’

‘If you go to Shyam, you will die,’ Flanner replied, voice choked. ‘You don’t know what has become of that village.’

‘Yet you allowed Josselin to go?’ I said. ‘The beloved son of this fair town.’

‘Josselin is a great man,’ Flanner replied carefully, ‘and his situation is grave, very grave.’

‘Indeed it is,’ Withypoll agreed. ‘Yours besides, for if Lytle and Dowling here go to Shyam and die, and it turns out that Josselin was hiding here all the while, then both he and you, and anyone else found to be harbouring him, will be found guilty of murder and treason.’

‘Josselin is not in Colchester,’ Flanner muttered.

The sound of donkeys braying broke the silence. Flanner cursed and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that did not escape Withypoll’s attentions. The noise came from the east, round the base of the great mound upon which the castle stood majestic. We strode quickly through the streets, the sound of braying deafening to our
ears, until we came to the ruins of the East Gate.