Highwayman: Ironside (5 page)

"I'm
warning you, Lyle," Maddocks snarled. "Return the items forthwith."

Lyle
laughed. "I'm right! You should have been protecting him. Stone me, sir, but such a thing will not go well for your prospects, eh? But why would they appoint you personally? The Major-General's private mastiff sent on an errand such as this. A tad beneath you, is it not?"

"How
long do you think you can last?" Maddocks called suddenly. "Out here on the road."

"Long
enough," Lyle called back, moving Star to mirror his opponent so that they circled one another like a pair of ban-dogs in a Southwark pit.

"Goffe
has made me your nemesis, Lyle. I am his chief huntsman now. The snare closes around you, never doubt it."

"And
yet I will ever wriggle free."

"To
what end?"

He
had often wondered upon that question. The war was over. The old king dead and gone, his son hiding away in France. The bastions of the Royalist cause; Prince Rupert, Lucas, Montrose, were scattered to the wind, or rotting in mocked graves. The Scots cowered to the north and Ireland was subjugated. It was what Lyle had prayed and worked towards his whole life. Complete victory. And yet, the sweet taste of a true republic had quickly soured. "There is no end as long as tyrants stalk the land. We fought and died to throw off the yoke of one, and were straight-way given another. Goffe is no better than Laud or Strafford."

Maddocks
spat. "Major-General Goffe is invested with the Lord Protector's authority. He is a righteous man. Anointed by..."

"By
God?" Lyle shouted across the grove. "Do you not hear yourself, Maddocks? The Divine Right of Major-Generals!" He shook his head in disbelief. "What did we fight for all those years? You and I, side by side, taking back these isles inch by bloody inch, and for what? A king in all but crown. A nation carved up and served in slices for Cromwell's friends to feast upon. A land ruled on the private whims of generals."

Maddocks
seemed to be grinning behind the iron bar. He levelled the sword, pointing it like a steel finger at the outlaw. "You were Cromwell's man once, Lyle. Do not play false with me. You were content enough with your lot until it no longer sat pretty with your feeble sensibilities."

The
image of the colonel across the grove seemed to dim then, as though his darkening silhouette became part of the elm-thrown shadows, and other shapes slithered over Lyle's mind. Other men, womenfolk and children, running, screaming, weeping. They were shrouded in a mist that was red as an April dusk, a shade ever branded upon his memory; blood and fire.

Ireland.
That was where it had all started. He had been there for some months, serving Ireton, mopping up the last remnants of resistance at Carlow, Waterford and Duncannon as the New Modelled Army rolled over the land like an inexorable storm cloud. The battles had been hard fought and well won, and he had thanked God daily for His providence. And then came the massacres. There had been plenty of blood spilt already, for the Confederate War had raged since before even the English struggles, but Lyle had not borne witness to it, and he had learnt quickly that tall tales were the currency of soldiers and civilians alike. Yet at Limerick his eyes had been prized open like clams in a cauldron. He had seen things - done things - that even now he could not begin to reflect upon, lest bile bubble to his throat. So many innocents had died, all for a greater good that he increasingly found impossible to espouse. What still astonished him was his own arrogance. The conceited nature of a young, brash, infamous soldier that told him to confront his commander as if his voice could possibly be heeded. He had considered himself friend to Henry Ireton, a brother-in-arms, and that had convinced him to speak his mind. How foolish he had been.

Maddocks
attacked. He spurred forth with a sudden kick that had his horse bellowing and his opponent reeling. It was all Lyle could do to urge Star into a run, and he managed to raise his blade in the nick of time as the pair met in the open ground, suddenly close enough to see the whites in each other's eyes. The weapons met high with a clang, pressed in, flashing in the moonlight as they filled the deep forest with the song of swords. Lyle looked into Maddocks' face to see his old comrade's rictus grin, lips peeled back in a grimace made all the more horrifying by the black eyes that were screwed narrow with determination. Lyle twisted the blade to free the deadly embrace, felt the tip of the colonel's sword bounce off one of the shell guards protecting his hand, and was immediately thankful to have obtained such a weapon, even as he was forced to parry two more strikes from the formidable opponent. He managed to sway back to avoid the third short thrust and steered Star out of range.

"You
are a mad cur, Lyle," Maddocks rasped as the horses wheeled about. "Foolish, blinkered and vain."

"Better
a free fool than chained."

"Chained?
That horse bolted a long time ago." Maddocks swiped the air with his heavy sword. "It'll be the noose or nothing for you."

Lyle
laughed. "Then I choose nothing."

"The
choice is not yours to make."

The
colonel came again, bolting impressively forwards from a standing start, but this time Lyle was ready for him. He squeezed his thighs lightly, flicked the reins, and Star slewed away, leaving Maddocks' mount to charge into the cool air in his wake. He turned, even as Maddocks rallied for another assault, slicing his own arc above Star's tall ears in an ostentatious blur. "You may chase me, Mad Ox, but you will not take me alive! I'll fight Goffe's creatures as long as I draw breath!"

"The
war is over, Lyle," Maddocks countered.

Lyle
shook his head as he rolled his shoulders for the next engagement. "Not for me."

"It
was Ireton killed her, Samson," said Maddocks, his tone softening a touch. "His orders. Not Goffe, not Cromwell."

"But
Ireton is dead."

"Then
the debt dies with him."

Lyle
dipped his head as he kicked. "No."

They
raced inward, closing the ground in a heartbeat, but this time Lyle released the reins, gripping with legs only, and unhooked the iron war hammer that hung beside his shin. It was two-thirds of a yard in length, the four-sided hammer counterbalanced by a lethally sharp pick, and he hurled it at Maddocks' horse. The big beast cried out as the heavy club slammed into its shoulder, and it lost its step enough to put Maddocks off his swing. The colonel's broadsword found nothing but clean air, and Lyle brought his own blade round to clatter the side of the soldier's head. Maddocks' helmet saved his life, but the force of the blow knocked him sideways so that he slid halfway off the saddle. The disquieted horse, still whinnying in pain, reared up, throwing him clear so that he finished in a heap of leather and metal in the centre of the grove.

Lyle
was upon him in moments, snatching up the war hammer as he moved to stand over his stricken enemy. He held it up as Maddocks stared forlornly back, wincing with each breath. "An outdated old thing, really. Made for smashing plate armour. Has its uses, though, I'm sure you'll agree."

Maddocks
spat a globule of blood that looked like tar in the night. "Get it over with."

"When
they killed her," Lyle said, "were you there?"

Maddocks
seemed surprised at the question, but he managed to shake his head. "I was not."

"I
never saw her body. Never had the chance to kiss her cold lips or put her in the ground myself."

"Alice
had a good burial, Samson," Maddocks said. "But you were on the run. A deserter."

Lyle
nodded. "It was my fault, I know. And the knowledge that I was not at home when the soldiers came has eaten me alive these four years. I was not there to protect her, as was my duty." He forced a smile that seemed so at odds with his feelings. "But that knowledge has driven me too. Given me purpose that had all but leaked away in Ireland."

"Just
kill me now, damn you!" Maddocks snarled suddenly, the wait for his demise crushing his spirit as he gazed up at the stars.

"I
will not," Lyle said. He went to gather up Star's reins and clambered nimbly into the saddle, putting the weapons away and offering a sharp bow. "You are bested, Francis, and I will best you again, and again, for as long as you hunt me. The war is not yet done. It is a war of vengeance, against those who wronged me, chased me away from my home and murdered my wife. A war against the Protector's creatures. It will never be done."

***

The Red Lion was a modest establishment just off the Portsmouth to London Road at a village called Rake. It had stabling for half a dozen horses, lodgings enough for the same number of travellers, and a decent sized taproom stocked with good local ale and a passable claret. It was also the perfect place from which a highwayman might launch his campaign.

"What
happened?" Eustace Grumm's voice came from the darkness as Lyle dismounted in the small courtyard outside the inn.

Lyle
peered into the gloom. He could see the reed-thin profile of his friend leaning casually against the red brick wall, soft candlelight streaming through the windows to highlight him a touch. "It was Maddocks."

Grumm
had a clay pipe clamped between his crooked teeth and he pulled it free, blowing a large pall of smoke as he spoke. "In the flesh?"

"Aye."

"Knew it were Goffe's men by the scarves, but I hadn't expected the Mad Ox to ride with them. You're sure?"

"I
knew from a long way off," Lyle nodded, whistling softly for the stable hand to collect Star. "Saw his crest."

"The
black lion?"

Lyle
tapped his shoulder. "Embroidered into his scarf, here."

Grumm
snorted. "Very nice. Must be doin' well for himself these days."

Lyle
nodded. "He is tasked with hunting me down, it seems. Major-General Goffe's right-hand."

Grumm
stepped out of the shadows, his eyes like white orbs in the night. "You spoke?"

"We
fought."

Grumm's
jaw dropped, but footsteps scraped on the yard's compacted chalk and both men turned to see a young girl appear from the stables. "Take yer 'orse, m'lord?" Bella asked with a mischievous grin.

Lyle
smiled as he handed her the reins. Her role in charge of the stables was a source of great pride, but many of her customers were also victims out on the road, and the irony was not lost on her. "I am glad you made it."

She
grinned. "Never in doubt. Those old buggers in armour never outrun me an' Newt." Her freckled nose wrinkled as she inspected Lyle's saddle, and she reached up to draw the double-barrelled pistol. "You didn't have the same luck though, I'm guessin'."

Lyle
took the weapon from her and turned it in his hand. The piece was caked in half-dry mud, from muzzle to butt, and would need a thorough clean before it would function. "Dropped on the road. I was lucky to retrieve it."

"Dropped?"
Bella echoed incredulously.

"Christ
above!" Grumm blurted as he squinted at the filthy weapon. "I knows why you bloody dropped it." He thrust a spindly finger in Star's direction. "That nag'll be the death of you, Major."

Lyle
followed the former smuggler's gaze. "Will you sing that same tired tune all your life, Eustace?"

"I'll
sing it every time he near kills you, aye!"

"There
was a moment," Lyle confessed, "after Maddocks and I exchanged fire, that I almost lost control. He panicked, looked to bolt. I could feel it."

Grumm
fiddled with his straggly beard. "Damn me, Major. If you're not fighting the toughest bugger in Goffe's retinue, you're wrestling with your own mount."

Bella
patted the horse. "Ah, don't mind him, Star." She glared at Grumm. "He's a sour old thing."

The
old man jammed his pipe stem back between his teeth. "Not so sour as that bloody animal."

Lyle
went to the horse, scratching the white diamond between its big eyes and receiving a soft nudge of its snout for his trouble. "He may be shy on occasion, but did you ever see a swifter beast? He's saved my skin more than times than I could count. I'll not turn my back on him now. Besides," he added, speaking into the animal's twitching ear, "we won, didn't we, boy?"

"Good
work, Samson," Bella declared happily. "The Mad Ox is a proper fighter."

"When
we rode together with the ironsides," Lyle said, tucking the pistol into his waistband, "he was one of the very best. Better than me, that's for certain."

"What's
changed?" Eustace Grumm asked.