Read Online The Last Crusaders: The Great Siege by William Napier - Free Book Online
Authors: William Napier
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laughed. What a player he was. ‘Very soon, laden with treasure.’
‘And donkeys?’
‘And a whole train of donkeys.’
Little girls’ minds were so hard to fathom.
‘And monkeys,’ he added, ‘jewels, ostriches, and little blackamoorslaves, all sorts of things. But only if I go away first and seek my fortune. Then I will return, and find you, and we will all be happy as before.’
‘In the farmhouse?’
‘Yes. In the farmhouse.’
The girls wept and clung to him.
He was suddenly aware of Susan at his elbow. She still said not a word. She reached out and hugged her brother, one swift hug, and then took her little sisters by the hand, and led them away down the alley.
The boys followed at a distance.
They threaded through the old medieval streets of the city until at last they came to a low wooden door in a long wall. They knocked.
Nothing happened. They knocked again.
Eventually a bolt was shot, and a stern-faced woman appeared.
Susan tried to speak, they could tell from the heave of her shoulders, but not a word came out. The stern-faced woman looked her up and down without encouragement. Finally Agnes spoke, though they couldn’t hear her words. The woman questioned them for several minutes, not smiling once. At last she jerked her head and stood back in the doorway, and the three girls went in. The door was shut and bolted behind them.
There was long silence until Hodge said, ‘They will prosper there, master. Have no fear. They will be well enough.’
‘Till I return.’
‘Till we return,’ said Hodge. ‘You’d be lost without me.’
Nicholas looked at the stout servant lad and smiled faintly.
‘Come on, then. Let’s go and find that treasure.’
7
They walked south for days and weeks, begging and stealing. Still they grew thinner, the days shorter, the nights colder. Nicholas wondered if they would survive, even without the girls. Yet they must. They must make it to a port.
There was much to do before he died.
They survived through the winter, Christmas passing them by almost unnoticed. Thin and tough and cunning, they survived. It was early spring. And then they were caught stealing.
After a night in the pound, they were dragged aching and blinded by the weak daylight into a small cobbled market square.
Nicholas blinked and stared around, still feeling he might faint at any moment. If his wrists were not tied so painfully behind his back, he might reach up and touch the side of his head. His hair felt knotted, crusty with dried blood where the constable had clubbed him.
It was a grey morning, there was a light drizzle and it was bitter cold. Yet the market square was milling with people, as if for a fair. Some ate apples, keeping the cores in their pockets for throwing later. Children laughed and played with tops and hoops. A local butcher did a good trade selling hot roast pork. More people were leaning out from the upper windows of the handsome half-timbered houses that surrounded the square. Some of the finer womenfolk up there were already weeping and delicately touching handkerchiefs to the corners of their eyes. Others were sucking oranges.
A charcoal brazier smoked, an iron laid across it. A wooden wagon stood in the middle of the square, and nearby, a crude gallows.
Nicholas’s blood ran cold.
Here was the end of the noble name of Ingoldsby. Hanged in a town square in the rain for common thievery.
Someone banged a drum and the crowd fell silent. Nicholas and Hodge were dragged forward. Beside the gallows there stood the hangman in a crude cloth mask, two constables, and a local parson, looking both sorrowful and grave, a small New Testament in his hand. The local magistrate, his back to the boys, addressed the parson. The parson listened and nodded.
The magistrate turned.
It was Gervase Crake.
He smiled.
‘Bring forward the murderer!’
Another boy was dragged forward, filthy and in rags. They said he had murdered a little girl, drowned her in a ditch.
‘And donkeys?’
‘And a whole train of donkeys.’
Little girls’ minds were so hard to fathom.
‘And monkeys,’ he added, ‘jewels, ostriches, and little blackamoorslaves, all sorts of things. But only if I go away first and seek my fortune. Then I will return, and find you, and we will all be happy as before.’
‘In the farmhouse?’
‘Yes. In the farmhouse.’
The girls wept and clung to him.
He was suddenly aware of Susan at his elbow. She still said not a word. She reached out and hugged her brother, one swift hug, and then took her little sisters by the hand, and led them away down the alley.
The boys followed at a distance.
They threaded through the old medieval streets of the city until at last they came to a low wooden door in a long wall. They knocked.
Nothing happened. They knocked again.
Eventually a bolt was shot, and a stern-faced woman appeared.
Susan tried to speak, they could tell from the heave of her shoulders, but not a word came out. The stern-faced woman looked her up and down without encouragement. Finally Agnes spoke, though they couldn’t hear her words. The woman questioned them for several minutes, not smiling once. At last she jerked her head and stood back in the doorway, and the three girls went in. The door was shut and bolted behind them.
There was long silence until Hodge said, ‘They will prosper there, master. Have no fear. They will be well enough.’
‘Till I return.’
‘Till we return,’ said Hodge. ‘You’d be lost without me.’
Nicholas looked at the stout servant lad and smiled faintly.
‘Come on, then. Let’s go and find that treasure.’
7
They walked south for days and weeks, begging and stealing. Still they grew thinner, the days shorter, the nights colder. Nicholas wondered if they would survive, even without the girls. Yet they must. They must make it to a port.
There was much to do before he died.
They survived through the winter, Christmas passing them by almost unnoticed. Thin and tough and cunning, they survived. It was early spring. And then they were caught stealing.
After a night in the pound, they were dragged aching and blinded by the weak daylight into a small cobbled market square.
Nicholas blinked and stared around, still feeling he might faint at any moment. If his wrists were not tied so painfully behind his back, he might reach up and touch the side of his head. His hair felt knotted, crusty with dried blood where the constable had clubbed him.
It was a grey morning, there was a light drizzle and it was bitter cold. Yet the market square was milling with people, as if for a fair. Some ate apples, keeping the cores in their pockets for throwing later. Children laughed and played with tops and hoops. A local butcher did a good trade selling hot roast pork. More people were leaning out from the upper windows of the handsome half-timbered houses that surrounded the square. Some of the finer womenfolk up there were already weeping and delicately touching handkerchiefs to the corners of their eyes. Others were sucking oranges.
A charcoal brazier smoked, an iron laid across it. A wooden wagon stood in the middle of the square, and nearby, a crude gallows.
Nicholas’s blood ran cold.
Here was the end of the noble name of Ingoldsby. Hanged in a town square in the rain for common thievery.
Someone banged a drum and the crowd fell silent. Nicholas and Hodge were dragged forward. Beside the gallows there stood the hangman in a crude cloth mask, two constables, and a local parson, looking both sorrowful and grave, a small New Testament in his hand. The local magistrate, his back to the boys, addressed the parson. The parson listened and nodded.
The magistrate turned.
It was Gervase Crake.
He smiled.
‘Bring forward the murderer!’
Another boy was dragged forward, filthy and in rags. They said he had murdered a little girl, drowned her in a ditch.
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