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Authors: Michael Arnold
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as the faintly Teutonic lilt of Rupert’s voice reached him through the crisp air. It was easy to see he had been badly beaten, for one eye was glued shut with crusted blood, while his lips were cracked and oozing. Despite his sorry state, the prisoner manageda grin. ‘Say your prayers,’ Forde rasped through broken teeth. ‘You have no hope. None. You are lost.’
Rupert sighed theatrically. ‘I doubt that, Thomas, really I do.’
Forde’s grin turned to a cackle that bordered on the hysterical. ‘There is a storm coming. It will wash you clean away.’
‘Fancy yourself Noah, do you?’ the prince mocked.
Forde’s good eye narrowed, flitting rapidly between Rupert and Stryker, but never settling. ‘I am nothing but a servant of God. Our ark is Parliament. We will sail clear of this tribulation while the king and his Cavaliers are purged by the Lord’s wrath.’
The prince nodded toward the assembled, and readied, musketeers. ‘Well, there’s only one place you’re sailing today, Forde.’
Captain Forde lowered his head. ‘If that is God’s will.’
Rupert stepped forward, suddenly riled. ‘It is
my
will, damn you!’
‘It will see you burn in Hell’s fires, Your Highness,’ Forde replied, as he lifted his chin again, grunting with the effort, to meet the young general’s stare.
Rupert shook his head. ‘Jesu, but you Puritans are tiresome. Stone me, but you are.’ He turned to the firing squad’s commander, a burly, coarse-whiskered sergeant in his forties. ‘Shoot the bugger.’
‘A storm brews, sir!’ Forde was shouting now, desperate to enrage the prince with his dying breath, as a dozen muskets were ranged upon him. ‘Mark me, it brews!’ He laughed, high-pitched and wild. Unsettling. ‘Our pieces are in place! At the very heart of your army. They move even now to undermine you!’
‘If you mean our dear friend Master Blake,’ Rupert spoke over the sergeant’s orders, ‘you might care to know that he rots in a cell even now.’ The prince turned away haughtily.
Forde’s laughter died away, but to Stryker’s surprise, his expression melted into a mask of calm. He smiled. ‘Blake?’
Forde shook his head as if attempting to rid it of bees. ‘He is nothing. You know
nothing
.’
The world exploded in flame and smoke. Captain Thomas Forde’s shattered body was lifted clean off its feet and sent crashing into the tree behind.
The silence that followed was shocking in its intensity.
As the thick cloud of gun smoke meandered into the dark sky, Rupert finally turned his back on the scene. ‘Such men frighten me you know, Captain.’
Stryker looked up at him. ‘They are zealots, sir. Nothing more.’
Rupert met his eye, concern tainting his handsome features. ‘But imagine, Stryker. Just imagine what men like Forde, men with such conviction, would be able to achieve with a truly charismatic leader.’
‘Forgive me, sir, but I’ll wager you cannot name a man like that in the rebel ranks.’
Rupert shook his head. ‘Not yet. But God help us all when they have him.’
CHAPTER 4
T he man sat at the window, staring out at dark clouds pregnant with moisture. The road below was quiet, the creeping dusk having driven travellers from England’s highways for the night. ‘You tore my shirt,’ he said matter-of-factly, not looking round.
‘Do you really mind?’ a gently accented voice responded from the recesses of the room.
The man smiled, fingering his collar’s damaged fabric. ‘No. I like my sport rough.’ Lithe arms snaked around his neck and he lowered his nose to take in the intoxicating aroma of her skin. ‘You are wondrous, Melisande.’
‘I am French. We have more passion than you English.’
‘I cannot disagree, my love.’ He inhaled the scent of her skin again. ‘You bewitch me,’ he said with his out-breath. ‘I am yours.’ When a response did not come, the man twisted round to meet the girl’s pale blue gaze. ‘What is it?’
She freed her
Rupert sighed theatrically. ‘I doubt that, Thomas, really I do.’
Forde’s grin turned to a cackle that bordered on the hysterical. ‘There is a storm coming. It will wash you clean away.’
‘Fancy yourself Noah, do you?’ the prince mocked.
Forde’s good eye narrowed, flitting rapidly between Rupert and Stryker, but never settling. ‘I am nothing but a servant of God. Our ark is Parliament. We will sail clear of this tribulation while the king and his Cavaliers are purged by the Lord’s wrath.’
The prince nodded toward the assembled, and readied, musketeers. ‘Well, there’s only one place you’re sailing today, Forde.’
Captain Forde lowered his head. ‘If that is God’s will.’
Rupert stepped forward, suddenly riled. ‘It is
my
will, damn you!’
‘It will see you burn in Hell’s fires, Your Highness,’ Forde replied, as he lifted his chin again, grunting with the effort, to meet the young general’s stare.
Rupert shook his head. ‘Jesu, but you Puritans are tiresome. Stone me, but you are.’ He turned to the firing squad’s commander, a burly, coarse-whiskered sergeant in his forties. ‘Shoot the bugger.’
‘A storm brews, sir!’ Forde was shouting now, desperate to enrage the prince with his dying breath, as a dozen muskets were ranged upon him. ‘Mark me, it brews!’ He laughed, high-pitched and wild. Unsettling. ‘Our pieces are in place! At the very heart of your army. They move even now to undermine you!’
‘If you mean our dear friend Master Blake,’ Rupert spoke over the sergeant’s orders, ‘you might care to know that he rots in a cell even now.’ The prince turned away haughtily.
Forde’s laughter died away, but to Stryker’s surprise, his expression melted into a mask of calm. He smiled. ‘Blake?’
Forde shook his head as if attempting to rid it of bees. ‘He is nothing. You know
nothing
.’
The world exploded in flame and smoke. Captain Thomas Forde’s shattered body was lifted clean off its feet and sent crashing into the tree behind.
The silence that followed was shocking in its intensity.
As the thick cloud of gun smoke meandered into the dark sky, Rupert finally turned his back on the scene. ‘Such men frighten me you know, Captain.’
Stryker looked up at him. ‘They are zealots, sir. Nothing more.’
Rupert met his eye, concern tainting his handsome features. ‘But imagine, Stryker. Just imagine what men like Forde, men with such conviction, would be able to achieve with a truly charismatic leader.’
‘Forgive me, sir, but I’ll wager you cannot name a man like that in the rebel ranks.’
Rupert shook his head. ‘Not yet. But God help us all when they have him.’
CHAPTER 4
T he man sat at the window, staring out at dark clouds pregnant with moisture. The road below was quiet, the creeping dusk having driven travellers from England’s highways for the night. ‘You tore my shirt,’ he said matter-of-factly, not looking round.
‘Do you really mind?’ a gently accented voice responded from the recesses of the room.
The man smiled, fingering his collar’s damaged fabric. ‘No. I like my sport rough.’ Lithe arms snaked around his neck and he lowered his nose to take in the intoxicating aroma of her skin. ‘You are wondrous, Melisande.’
‘I am French. We have more passion than you English.’
‘I cannot disagree, my love.’ He inhaled the scent of her skin again. ‘You bewitch me,’ he said with his out-breath. ‘I am yours.’ When a response did not come, the man twisted round to meet the girl’s pale blue gaze. ‘What is it?’
She freed her
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