The Hanged Man

Chapter Twelve

I believed them. Now, Ireland is a wild country, and how many miles have to be travelled, east to west, north to south, beset by how many dangers, I have no idea, but I was sure in my own mind that had William Woodward been taken there, he would not have wandered beyond the eastern seaboard or the confines of the English Pale. And it was these areas which had been scoured by Padraic Kinsale and Briant of Dungarvon, all to no avail. I considered the possibility that they were lying, but dismissed it: they had, as far as I could see, no reason to do so.

They had no interest in the affair except a desire to oblige Alderman Weaver, to whom, no doubt, they owed some kind of debt. William Woodward must 'have needed succor and, furthermore, as he had managed to change his clothes, someone had to have knowledge of him; and if that someone lived in Ireland, surely Padraic and Briant would have flushed him out.

I decided there was no point in lingering. My informants had told me all they could and I had much thinking to do. I rose to my feet and bowed briefly to the two shadows in front of me. 'Gentlemen, thank you. You have told me all I wanted to know, and I shall not trouble you again.'

I was about to move away when one of them, Padraic I think, laid a friendly hand on my arm. 'A word of advice, chapman! Guard your back. Someone may resent you asking questions.'

The other man nodded. 'Disinterring old bones is a dangerous pastime. Take care.'

I repeated my thanks, this time for their solicitude, assured them I could look after myself, and took my leave, my passage to the door unmarked by silence or hostile glances. I had been accepted as harmless by the ale-house inmates. But once outside, in the gathering dusk of a late January afternoon, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. I had been more nervous than I had realized.

Phrases chased one another around inside my head; 'stirring up a hornet's nest', 'raking over dead ashes', 'disinterring old bones'. Maybe the Irishmen were right: perhaps I should look over my shoulder a little more often.

The thought, however, was ousted almost immediately by the need to reform my ideas concerning the possible whereabouts of William Woodward for those five months he was missing the previous year. If he had not been in Ireland, where had he been? Who had abducted him, and for what reason? Where had he been left for dead and who had come to his aid? My head was beginning to ache. A squall of icy rain blew in off the quay, making me shiver.

The sudden whiff of rotting fish turned my stomach and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead, reminding me yet again that I was still not as well as I should be.

My inclination was to go home and let Mistress Walker fuss over and feed me, but I balked at the thought of coming face to face with Lillis, who must by this time have returned from the Brimbles'. So, in spite of the increasing darkness and cold' I persuaded myself that another look at the cottage in Bell Lane, where William Woodward had lived, was not only necessary but also could not wait until morning. I wrapped my cloak more securely about me and, mindful of the recent warning given to me by the Irish slavers, grasped my 'Plymouth cloak' even more tightly in my hand.

Stalls and shops were beginning to close for the night as goods were removed from display and taken inside. Candles were lit in lamps and wall-sconces, and cressets hissed at their reflections in puddles underfoot. A few traders had already put up their boards and the streets were wearing a deserted air. Lights flared suddenly in windows, behind horned panes, and cobbles grew ever more treacherous as daylight waned. Twice I nearly slipped as my foot encountered some piece of slime which had missed the sewer in the middle of the street, and both times I just avoided falling. Common sense urged me to turn back towards the bridge, but once more, the thought of Lillis made me press stubbornly forward.

As I passed along Small Street, I saw the glow of light from Master Herepath's house, and the idea of Cicely Ford, snugly within, made me breathless. My heart beat faster at the remembrance of her gentle face and quiet, dignified way of talking. It was with difficulty that I overcame my inclination to linger, like some love-sick youth, in the forlorn hope of seeing what might be her shadow outlined against the lighted panes. I forced myself to walk on, around the comer, into Bell Lane. Candles were lit in all the houses but one, which stood shuttered and empty, and which I guessed to have been William Woodward's cottage; or, to be more exact, Edward Herepath's cottage, which he had not yet rented out again.

Glancing round to make sure that I was unobserved, I tried the latch; but although it lifted, the door would not yield. I noticed a keyhole and realized that it was securely locked, but what else had I expected if the house was unoccupied? And why, indeed, had I come looking for the cottage at all? Hadn't it simply been an excuse for walking down Small Street so that, just for a moment, I could feel close to Cicely Ford? I was suddenly filled with contempt for my callow behaviour and hastened on along the lane.

I was so absorbed in my self-disgust that I walked straight past the entrance to Broad Street and suddenly found myself beyond St John's on the Arch, in Tower Lane. As, with a muttered curse, I pulled up short, I became aware of the muffled shifting of hooves and the snuffling of horses, accompanied every now and then by a soft whinny of pleasure. Glancing to my left, I saw the open gates and courtyard of a livery stable. At the same moment a man appeared, carrying two pails which he dropped with a clatter on the cobbles. They were plainly both empty, and I judged him to have been feeding and watering his charges before locking them up safely for the night.

I gave him 'good-evening' and he grimaced.

'It's going to be a cold night, friend.' He sniffed. 'It's drying fast, and I smell frost in the air. We've seen the last of the rain for a day or two, I reckon. Can't say I'm sorry. The dampness doesn't suit me. But I don't like the cold, neither. I'm away home as soon as I've locked up here, and if you've any sense, you'll do the same. I live in Wine Street. Stay a moment and I'll walk along with you.'

I shook my bead. 'I missed my turning. I'm retracing my steps to Broad Street. I've lodgings in the Redcliffe Ward.'

‘I'll still come with you. It's not very much out of my way.'

So I waited while he locked and bolted the big gates from inside before emerging from a wicket, which he also locked, going back twice to make sure he had done so.

'You're very careful,' I remarked as we turned into Broad Street.

He dragged the hood of his cloak over his head. 'You need to be nowadays, so many thieves as there are about. I don't know what the country's coming to,' he continued in a grumbling voice. 'It wasn't like it when I was a lad.' It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that his father had probably made just the same complaint, but I stopped myself in time. Why waste breath in argument with a stranger, and one, moreover, I should utterly fail to convince? For judging by the thinning of his lips and the sour lines of his face, he was a man obsessed by the little unfairnesses of life, embittered by its petty irritations.

'You've been robbed yourself?.' I asked instead, anticipating a reluctant denial. But I was wrong. As so often before, I had jumped to too hasty a conclusion.

'The stables were broken into one night last year and Master Herepath's bay was stolen.'

My attention quickened. 'Master Edward Herepath of Small Street?'

'Of course Master Edward!' The tone was short. 'That ne'er-do-well, Robert, never had the money to mount himself, and depended entirely for his horseflesh on his brother.'

'Was this theft before or after William Woodward's disappearance?'

My companion's head turned sharply towards me.

'Oho! You know about that, do you?' He shrugged. 'Well, and why not? 'Tis natural people still talk about it. A weird and terrible thing to have happened. And since you ask, there's no harm in telling you. Master Herepath's bay was stolen the very night that William Woodward disappeared.'

'The very same night?' I stopped dead in my tracks, although I was unaware of doing so until my new-found acquaintance twitched irritably at my cloak.

'Come along! Come along! It's almost dark and I don't fancy being abroad after dusk. Yes, yes! William Woodward and Edward Herepath's horse disappeared together.

A free, strong animal it was, too. Light bay with black points and a white snip between its nostrils.' I resumed walking like a man in a dream, trying to assimilate this new fact and what, if anything, it might mean; by which time we had arrived at the High Cross and the parting of the ways.

'I'll bid you good-night then,' my companion said, turning left into the lower half of Wine Street. 'And if you're wise, you won't loiter. The city's plagued with thieves and footpads during the hours of darkness.'

He had hurried away before I could question him further, but at least I knew where to find him. And I consoled myself with the knowledge that I should have got very little from him then, anxious as he was to seek the safety of his roof before any dangers of the night befell him. I stared at his retreating figure for a moment before turning my feet towards High Street and the bridge.

I was first conscious of danger when I was almost halfway across the bridge, approaching the chapel of the Virgin. To begin with it was no more than the rising of hairs on the nape of my neck. l stopped and peered backwards through the darkness, but there was nothing to be seen except the row of houses and shops on either side of me° Nevertheless, I freed my right arm from the folds of enveloping cloak and renewed a tight grip on my cudgel. At the same time, I realized how deserted the bridge was in comparison with the other streets of the city.

Here and there, a rushlight glimmered fitfully behind a window, but for the most part, the thrifty denizens of the bridge were saving their candles until later in the evening.

My friend from the livery stable had been correct, the weather was on the change; the dank mists of the past days were dispersing. A wind had arisen, tearing the pall of cloud to reveal, every now and then, a fugitive moon riding high in the heavens. In one of the gaps between houses, I caught a glimpse of the swift current of water, the reflection of a few lone stars caught in its ripples. The surrounding darkness was less dense than it had been, and shadows were more pronounced. Yet although I stood stock-still in the middle of the road, I could see nothing moving. With a shrug, I decided that my unease stemmed only from my imagination.

Foolishly, I had expected danger to come from behind: it had not occurred to me that any attackers might be lying in wait. I should, however, have thought of it, for there was no other route by which I could return to Redcliffe without going many miles out of my way. But it was only when I saw two bulky shadows fill the narrow gap between the chapel's outside wall and the house immediately facing it, that I realized my fears had been justified. It never crossed my mind that this pair of hired bravos could be intent on waylaying anyone but myself, and I was right. One of them raised a lantern to illuminate my face and immediately let out a yelp of triumph.

'It's him!' he exclaimed to his Companion. And to me, he added, 'You've been long enough returning.'

I stepped back a pace, clutching my cudgel in both hands. 'How did you know I was abroad?' I queried.

'We asked at Mistress Walker's for you.' I saw the glitter of an already unsheathed dagger.

I risked a quick glance behind me, but there was still no one about. One of the men lunged and I parried the blow. I heard him curse violently, and it was obvious that he had not expected me to be armed with a stick. My assailants had anticipated, perhaps, a knife, such as some men carried for protection during the hours of darkness, but not a hefty cudgel. And a knife would have taken moments to draw, by which time they hoped to have dispatched me. I considered yelling for assistance — surely someone had to hear me in one of the shops or houses — but stupid pride would not allow it. How foolish men are when their courage is challenged! And how truly wise are women never to let such nonsensical notions get in the way of self-preservation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the second bravo try to slip behind me, and I turned to face him before he could strike between my shoulder-blades. I released my cudgel with my left hand and swung it with all the force of my right at his dagger-arm. He saw the move coming and ducked, but not quite fast enough. The heavy stick caught him a glancing blow on his right cheek, making him stagger back, yelping with pain. I was unable to calculate how seriously I had injured him because the first man had already closed in, trying for the kill before I had time to regain control of my cudgel. He had an arm about my throat and I could hear his breath rasping in my ear.

I dropped my stick with a clatter and flung up both hands to free myself from his grip, twisting and writhing until I was bent almost double, dragging him down with me across my back. I could feel his muscles straining as he tried to straighten up and plant his dagger in my chest.

He gasped out something to his companion, but I did not catch the words. The blood was drumming deafeningly inside my skull, and I knew that if I did not break his stranglehold in a second or two, I should lose consciousness and their work would be done. I was on my knees, still trying with all my might to prise his arm from about my throat, when I realized, with that animal instinct for danger, rather than by anything seen or heard, that the other man had recovered from the cudgel blow and was coming to help his fellow. I think I resigned myself in that instant to the fact that I was going to die.

I was unaware of the approach of my rescuer until a shriek like the wail of a banshee penetrated even my fading senses. My neck was released with a startled oath as my would-be murderer heaved himself to his feet. At the same moment, there was a rush of air as my abandoned stick was inexpertly and wildly sent flying in his direction, missing my kneeling form by inches and striking him, by the sheerest good fortune, full in the belly.

Winded, he keeled forward, the dagger dropping from his hand as he clasped himself below the belt and started to retch. Dragging in mouthfuls of air which seared my chest like fire, I forced myself uptight, and with my cleating vision beheld a small, whirling figure, hurling defiance at the two bravos and generally making enough noise to awaken the occupants of the neighbouring houses. Doors and windows were beginning to open, cautious heads peering out to discover the cause of the commotion.

'Help!' screamed Lillis. 'Murder! Murder! Murder! Somebody go for the Watch!'

My two assailants ran, the first man still bent double, clutching his stomach, but moving swiftly for all that, fear of capture making him show a clean pair of heels. By the time a small crowd had gathered around Lillis and me, he and his companion had vanished into the shadows at the town end of the bridge. There was little point in pursuing them, even had I wished it, for they would have disappeared into the maze of narrow alleyways surrounding the Backs, where such hired ruffians had their quarters.

Lillis fended off the growing circle of my well-wishers, many of whom were chorusing the usual litany about the dangers of the night streets and the general inadequacy of the Watch.

'Leave him to me. I'll see he gets home safely. He lodges with my mother.'

She picked up and handed me my cudgel, staggering a little under its weight. How she had managed to hurl it the way she did, I shall never know. Anxiety on my behalf must have given her the strength, just as it did when she slipped an arm around my waist and ordered, 'Lean on me.'

I laughed feebly. As we set off towards Redcliffe, with cries of sympathy, commiseration and admiration for her ringing in our ears, I asked, 'What made you think I might need help?'

She snorted. 'I didn't like the look of those two men who came inquiring for you an hour or more since. And when you failed to return, I got worried and couldn't rest. I grew more and more convinced that some devilry was afoot so, in the end, I came to find you.' Her breath caught in her throat. 'I was afraid I'd find you dead.'

'I very nearly was. You arrived just in time. Thank you.' She made no reply, supporting my flagging body as best she could until we reached the cottage, where Mistress Walker was keeping an anxious watch at the open door. She gave an exclamation of horror when she saw us and hastened forward to help me inside.

'What's happened?' she demanded, adding, without waiting for an answer. Sit down, lad. You look as if you're going to faint.'

And just to prove her right, I did.