The King's Exile (Thomas Hill Trilogy 2) (26 page)

‘And yourself? You were in the thick of it, I’m sure.’

‘As a matter of fact, my dear, I did very little. Hardly needed at all. More of a strategic role, I fancy. Barely wetted my sword.’

‘Or swords, Charles.’ Adam had seen him dispose of the Viking. ‘And you are too modest. That axeman could have caused trouble.’

‘Axeman?’ Mary looked at him enquiringly. ‘I do hope he didn’t inconvenience you.’

‘Oh, not at all, my dear. He was a clumsy oaf.’

‘But not too clumsy to have made a hole in your breeches, I see. I couldn’t but notice it when you turned around. Quite large, I fear, and rather revealing. Perhaps a gentleman should wear undergarments in battle. They might save his blushes.’ Mary smiled but her voice was weak.

Charles, who’d had no idea that part of his backside was on public view, went bright crimson, and retreated briskly towards the wall.

‘Now, Charles,’ laughed Adam, ‘nothing to be ashamed of. It could have happened to anyone and I’m sure you didn’t turn your back on the enemy. Have you counted the casualties?’ he asked when Patrick reappeared.

‘I have, sir. We found eighteen of the enemy dead. No wounded.’

‘None?’

‘None. Black platoon did not care to take prisoners.’

Adam blanched, but, breeches forgotten, Charles was much cheered by this news. ‘Eighteen dead, eh? Out of no more than twice that number. A good day’s work. Unnecessary violence I deplore, but when necessary it should be swift and decisive.’

‘Of our own men, two are dead – the man hit in the head and the sentry – and we have seven wounded. Two from wood splinters, two hit by musket balls and three with slashes from blades. One may lose an arm, another a leg. The others will heal,’ said Patrick.

‘We were fortunate, then. I will arrange for our men to be buried properly and we will dispose of the other bodies. I will come and see the wounded when I have attended to Mary.’

‘One more thing, sir,’ added Patrick. ‘One of the dead is Daniel, the orphan who went missing last month. He must have run off to join them.’

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ said Mary. ‘He was no more than a boy.’

‘And I,’ agreed Adam, ‘but it might have been Daniel who led them to us. Now, Mary, I shall take you to your bed and you are to stay there until I say otherwise.’ He picked up his sister very gently and carried her to her bedroom.

Charles, squeezed into a borrowed pair of breeches, assisted Patrick and Thomas with the wounded. Bottles of rum were circulating freely. Already, jokes were being told and stories exchanged. How extraordinary, thought Thomas, listening to them: no more than an hour passed and brushes with death reduced to ribald humour and vain boasting.

The two dead men had been taken to the small graveyard beside the servants’ quarters. Of the wounded, a shin bone had been shattered and an arm badly gashed. The two men struck by flying splinters had suffered the murderous things being pulled out, one from his upper arm, the other from his stomach. The others – one musket ball and two slashes – were not serious. Adam knew that they had escaped lightly.

‘Their women will stay with the slaves, Mr Lyte,’ said Patrick, ‘and I will take care of the others. I fear we shall need Mr Sprot.’

‘I will find him when I ride to Bridgetown to inform the governor of the attack.’

‘You should post sentries, Adam, and keep the women and children here,’ advised Charles. ‘They may come back.’

‘Oh come now, Charles,’ exclaimed Adam, ‘surely we’ve seen the last of them. We gave them a good hiding and they won’t want another.’

‘I daresay. But we don’t know how many more of them there may be. Better to take no chances.’

‘Very well. We’ll post sentries and keep the women and
children here tonight. But breakfast first and I’ll do the cooking.’

Half an hour later, the three men were seated around the Lytes’ table with plates of bread, eggs, cold chicken and mutton chops, and big wooden tankards of beer. Adam was a cook with a generous eye to quantity if not quality. ‘I wish the silly girl hadn’t disobeyed my orders and run out to the wounded men,’ he said when they had finished. ‘Couldn’t you have stopped her?’

‘I was too slow. And there was much going on to hold my attention elsewhere,’ replied Charles.

‘She’s a courageous lady,’ Thomas said quietly.

‘She certainly is,’ agreed Charles. ‘Brains, beauty and bravery. Perkins is a lucky man.’ He paused. ‘What about Patrick?’

‘He did well. He dreaded having to kill someone, especially an African, but thankfully it didn’t happen. Thomas too. He rescued Mary and two men. You don’t have to wield a sword to be brave, or even two.’ He rose. ‘Now I shall go to Bridgetown. The men can go back to the fields this afternoon but they should be armed.’

‘Leave it with us, my dear fellow,’ said Charles, patting his stomach. ‘You be off and tell Walrond to deal with these attacks once and for all and we’ll take care of matters here.’

Adam did not return until the next morning, having spent the night in Bridgetown. Charles had stayed to help Thomas and Patrick. If there was any impropriety in this, it had been overlooked in the interests of safety.

In addition to Sprot, Adam brought news. ‘Willoughby’s ship is in the bay,’ he reported, ‘and he’s been sending messages to Walrond. As we thought, he carries Charles Stuart’s commission to take over as governor.’

‘I knew Willoughby would come,’ said Charles.

‘Let us talk about it later,’ said Mary impatiently. ‘First Mr Sprot must see to the wounded men.’

‘I can take him to them,’ offered Thomas.

‘No, Thomas, you stay here. I shall do it.’ Mary was insistent.

Overdressed as always, shirt and stockings drenched in sweat, Sprot was delighted to be of service to the Lytes.

‘Thank you, madam,’ he said, with a grand sweep of his straw hat. ‘I have all my instruments with me and a good supply of bandages, hardly used. We shall need rum. Limbs, like branches, are best pruned when their owner is dormant. I will do everything modern medical practices advise and it will not on this occasion be necessary to request payment in advance.’

‘Well, that’s something anyway.’ Charles did not hold a high opinion of Sprot.

‘Come with me, Mr Sprot,’ said Mary, who could only hobble along on Patrick’s arm. ‘We’ll visit the slaves first. One has a shattered leg, the other a gashed arm.’

‘As you wish, madam. Lead on and I shall follow.’

‘There’s no need for you to go, Mary,’ said Adam, ‘you should be resting. I’ll go with Sprot.’

‘Nonsense. We’ll manage. This is a woman’s work. Come, Mr Sprot.’ And, leaning heavily on her escort, she led the beaming surgeon off towards the slave quarters.

‘So,’ said Charles, when they had sat down, ‘it’s Willoughby. I wish he’d come earlier. He might have prevented the banishments and sequestrations. We don’t need James Drax as an enemy but that’s what we’ve got. Still, it’s a relief. I am not an admirer of Walrond, to say the least.’

‘Nor I. But he has yet to be persuaded to recognize
Willoughby’s claim. Now he has power, he’s reluctant to give it up. Hardly a surprise, I suppose.’

‘If he does not receive Willoughby, won’t he be accused of disloyalty to the crown?’ asked Thomas.

‘That’s possible. And Willoughby’s a clever man. He’ll find a way to keep Walrond happy. And don’t forget he has a royal commission for other islands, St Kitts and Antigua among them. He won’t stay here all the time.’

‘Let’s hope he stays here long enough to bring some harmony. We don’t want any more attacks and we don’t want threats of revenge from dispossessed landowners. Willoughby’s commission will mean nothing to them.’

There was a scream from the direction of the slave quarters. ‘Ah, the leg, I fear,’ said Adam. ‘I do hope Mary will make certain that’s the only limb lost today. You can never be sure with Sprot.’

Happily, when Mary returned with Sprot, it was. They had left Patrick with the wounded. ‘He’s a strong man,’ said Sprot, ‘and I am confident that he’ll make a good recovery. I am quick with the saw and your men rendered valuable assistance.’

‘Good, Mr Sprot. And what of the arm?’

‘I was inclined to bleed it or remove it,’ said Sprot, ‘on account of bad blood. It’s a grave risk in such cases. But Miss Lyte insisted that we give the limb more time to heal, so I have applied a remedy of my own devising and bandaged the wound. It may serve, but you should summon me in the event of any deterioration in the condition of the man.’

‘You may be sure that we shall, Mr Sprot. May we take it that the other injuries are also now attended to?’

‘You may, sir. They are comparatively minor, although the splinter wounds could yet fester. I have probed for fragments with
the Saviour as you may have heard, but if any remain you will need me again. I will attend tomorrow in the hope of seeing laudable pus, a sure sign of recovery.’

‘Our thanks, Mr Sprot. Now come inside and I shall see to your fee.’

‘Most kind, Mr Lyte, Miss Lyte.’ Ever courteous, Sprot tipped his hat to Mary. ‘An honour to be of service. But would you not wish me to examine your own injury, Miss Lyte?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Sprot. It’s only a graze.’

‘As you wish, madam.’ Sprot was clearly put out.

Mary sat down in the parlour with the men. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ she said when they were out of earshot. ‘The wretch wanted to bleed the arm. Bleed it, for the love of God. He said something about bad blood in the wound. What rubbish. The poor man’s lost quite enough blood as it is, without Sprot taking more. I forbade it.’

‘And I’m quite sure you were right, my dear,’ said Charles, although, in truth, he had no idea whether she was or not. He cared for neither Sprot nor medical matters, especially when they involved saws and knives.

Adam saw Sprot to his horse and came back to join them. ‘We got off lightly and I trust we shall not be called upon to do it again. It was quiet last night, I take it?’

‘It was,’ replied Thomas. ‘We posted sentries but there were no alarms.’

‘And now that you’re back, Adam, I shall take my leave,’ added Charles. ‘I must see that all is well at home. I’ll bring news if I hear any.’

‘We are both in your debt, Charles,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t know what we should have done without you.’

‘Nor I,’ agreed Adam. ‘I wouldn’t have liked to tackle that Viking myself.’

‘All in the course of duty,’ said Charles, adding with a bow to Mary, ‘and pleasure, of course.’

Adam shook his hand, and Mary reached up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Charles. Go well.’

For the love of God, tell Adam you wish to marry her, thought Thomas. Challenge him to a duel if you have to. With two swords.

By that evening, Mary’s wound was worse and she had a fever. Adam put her to bed with a sleeping draught and she was still asleep when Sprot bustled in the next morning. Thomas was sitting at her bedside, where he had been for most of the night.

Having checked on the wounded men, Sprot insisted on visiting Mary and was tut-tutting about not having been permitted to examine her wound the day before. ‘It is never wise to decline the services of an experienced surgeon when they are offered,’ he admonished them, ‘and one’s fee must reflect any difficulties occasioned by delay.’

‘Damn your fee, Sprot,’ barked Adam, ‘my sister’s leg is my concern. Kindly examine it and give us your opinion.’

Sprot peered closely at the wound, pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘It is as I feared, sir. There is no sign of suppuration. The wound cannot heal without laudable pus being expelled. It is essential to healing. There is no sign yet of the patient sinking into delirium but it will come as surely as night follows day. In such cases I have learned from long experience that it is the lesser of two evils to remove the damaged limb at once.’

Adam was horrified. ‘Are you sure, Sprot? The leg looks strong. Is there no alternative?’

‘I fear not, sir. The wound should by now be suppurating freely.’

‘I cannot believe that is necessary,’ said Thomas, with as much conviction as he could manage. In truth, he had no more idea about suppuration and laudable pus than he had about the workings of the heart. Like Charles, he simply did not trust Sprot.

Sprot peered at Thomas. ‘Have we met, sir?’

‘I think not,’ lied Thomas.

‘Well, sir, your medical knowledge may be superior to my own,’ observed Sprot, clearly offended that his opinion was being questioned, ‘but I doubt it. The leg must come off.’

‘Good God. Then it had better be done quickly,’ said Adam.

‘Very well.’ Sprot opened his satchel and took out a small hand saw. ‘The patient should be bound tightly and her arms restrained. We must keep her as still as we can during the cutting.’

Adam called for Patrick. ‘Patrick, it’s necessary to remove Miss Lyte’s leg. Bring a bowl of hot water, cloths, rope and brandy. And a bucket for the blood.’

Patrick too was horrified. ‘But there’s no poison, sir. The leg can be saved. Let me try my mother’s remedy, I beg you.’

‘There is no time for it to take effect, Patrick, even if it does have healing properties. Kindly do as I ask.’ The look on Adam’s face told Patrick that further argument would be useless. He went to collect what was needed.

While Adam and Thomas were tying her hands to the bedposts, Mary opened her eyes. Groggy from the sleeping draught, she did not immediately take in what was happening. The sight of Sprot, bloodstained coat removed and brandishing his saw, however, brought her to her senses. She screamed. ‘Adam, Adam, what’s happening? Why is Sprot here?’

‘Hush, sister. We need to act quickly.’

‘For God’s sake, no.’ It was a cry of anguish. ‘I forbid it. I will not have my leg off. Send Sprot away. Get Charles. Thomas will stay with me.’

‘Mary—’ began Adam.

‘
No
, Adam. I will not suffer it. Get Charles.’

‘Why Charles?’

‘I need him. Kindly send for him at once.’ Mary struggled but Thomas held her gently until she subsided on to the bed.

‘I will be here until Charles arrives,’ he said. ‘Mary will come to no harm in that time.’

Adam knew his sister. ‘Mr Sprot, be so good as to wait outside. I will fetch Mr Carrington. Patrick will give you food and drink.’