Chapter Three
THE LAST HOURS AT HOLDWORTH
By the first light of another grey morning, I was standing beside Hector's bed and shaking him into reluctant wakefulness. "Cousin! Cousin! Wake up! Bad news--terrible news!"
He stared up at me pallidly, fearfully, and his lips trembled when he spoke: "What, Simon, what's afoot? Why so early?....I don't feel well; what's the matter?"
"It's John Stacey!" I said urgently. "He's escaped! Someone must have freed him from his bonds and the barn; I fear he has too many friends here....Worse yet; he and his friends have stolen your fine horse from the stable! They have stolen also your beautiful houppelande from where it was drying by the fire, and your good boots. And John--they say that John was vowing to hie him to the green wood. Some others are gone with him, and they say he is threatening dire vengeance on you and yours!"
Hector had sat up in startlement, but now he shrank back against the bedhead. He had looked pale at awakening, but now he was yellow with fear. "Oh, Simon, cousin Simon, I must get away from here; but Simon, how shall I go, when that villain has seized my horse? And my fine houppeland....Oh, I would that I had never come to Holdworth!"
I spoke slowly, hesitantly, but as if seriously: "Yes, indeed; greatly though it pains me to say so, you are not safe here. There is an old woman in the village who they say is a witch. I don't believe she can work magic, but she is known to see far into the future. She has prophesied that if a Waterton comes to Holdworth, a dire doom will fall upon him and his....Yet you and I, why, we're too sensible to heed such nonsense! Even so, you'll need to go quickly to the King, for both our sakes. When as roused and angry as now he is, John is capable of any violence!"
Hector looked positively green. He licked dry lips and asked urgently:"Yes, I must away; but how shall it be managed? I have no horse....no cloak...."
I pretended to ponder. "Well, as for a horse; we can surely find you a horse....Ah, I have it! You and I are much alike, you know. It is a blessing that, in my shaping, there was so much of my mother, of the Watertons. Why should you not borrow my horse, my good Firebrand; and why should you not borrow my scarlet surcoat? They are well known here in Hallamshire and even in the county of Derby. If you are thus mounted and thus clad, with a pair of my boots also--why! you'll be taken for me and neither John nor his friends will trouble you!"
He brightened at this idea, seized on it and worried at it. "Aye....but your servants? And my voice, it is of a higher pitch--a finer pitch--than yours...."
"Old Walter is awake and two others, but most of our servants are sleeping deeply after their carousal. And it is a grey, wet day again; you see how feeble the light is. Few will be abroad. If you depart soon and ride swiftly, none will see you or trouble you. You need not go out through the hall; there is a smaller door for servants just below the stairs, behind an arras. If you put on my cloak and if Walter brings round the horse, your leaving will not be noted. Yet youmust be swift!"
"Yes, you are right--yes indeed!" said Hector; and he almost leapt from the bed. There was a copper bowl of water on a stand nearby and a good linen cloth set beside it. Normally Hector's toilet would have been prolonged and painstaking. That day it was of the hastiest, for he was in too much of a fright to care about the niceties of his appearance. As I descended to give instructions to Walter, Hector was already dressing.
I had thought Hector would run down the stairs after me; but no, he was too nervous for that. Instead, he waited for me to take the scarlet surcoat and boots up to him. After donning them he followed me down hesitantly, hugging the shadows. He slipped through the little door after me with the furtive speed of a mouse evading a watchful cat.
Once outside, we perceived that the rain had ceased for a while. Indeed, though the air was heavy with moisture and the clouds dark and turbulent, there was even an early shaft of sunshine coming pale out of the east and causing the puddles to sparkle with light.
Walter was waiting already with Firebrand; and Hector, after a last anxious look round, mounted hastily. Thus assured of escape, Hector relaxed perceptibly. He seemed suddenly to become aware of the splendour of his scarlet garb and the excellence of his mount, wriggling his shoulders so as to cause the cloak to drape more picturesquely and smoothing back his hair carefully, before grasping the reins with self-conscious negligence. Somehow he reminded me of a cock sparrow preening himself after a dustbath--and indeed, he still looked so tousled that the comparison was apt. He gave a satisfied, self-conscious smirk and became condescending, chiding.
"Well, cousin Simon, really I cannot congratulate you on your turbulent household. Things will be very different, I assure you, when my father Sir Hugo takes control here--very different....However, I will trust you may yet seize that rogue John and retrieve my horse and cloak; I am sure you recognize your duty and will make every endeavour to do so. In the meantime, I thank you for the loan of your horse and this surcoat. They'll do well enough, till I have my own again; and of course they will be returned to you at the earliestopportunity. Be sure also that I will speak in your favour when I have the ear of the King!"
I doubted both of these promises. Whatever the Watertons had, they held onto; and, in the unlikely eventuality of Hector's gaining the ear of the King, it would be in Sir Hugo's interest or his own that he would speak, not mine.
Instead of responding, I said urgently: "Then, for both our sakes, you must hasten, Hector! The King must by now be returning toward London; you must hurry south to meet him. And remember: if you are challenged in the next fifty miles, give my name and not your own. Say only that you are riding southward; do not say you are riding to the King, for that would give you away. Remember also that John must be in hiding nearby. He is a fierce man and dangerous, as you know. Watch out wherever an ambush might be set; watch for pursuers also, for John may yet perceive our deception. Your life depends on your watchfulness! Ride swiftly, and Godspeed!"
At this reminding of possible dangers, Hector paled anew. He turned Firebrand about, drove in his spurs and, with the most perfunctory of farewells, rode away as if the Devil himself were at his heels.
We watched him from sight, then I turned to smile at Walter. I found that he was already laughing heartily.
"My, what a scare you've put into him!" he chuckled. "I hardly believe he'll stop till he's in Cheapside! Indeed, Master Simon, your schemes are working well! Yet you must take care also. You must hasten directly to meet John in Loxley Chase, ere Cerdic and the others see you, for I trust them not at all! I'll follow when I can. You must not return to the hall, even for your sword. I'll bring that and your gold, trust me! Go now, for I hear sounds of awakening!"
Thus, though Hector had left on horseback and I did so afoot, for us both the setting forth from Holdworth was covert and swift. There was such need to beware of being seen that, as I followed the field paths away toward Loxley Chase, I took no thought to gaze back toward the home I was leaving. In any case, the rain was again coming down so heavily as to deter any sentimental lingerings.
Our rendezvous was an abandoned charcoal-burner's hut, set among trees by the banks of the little River Loxley. Two horses were tethered outside it, John's own grey and the black stallion on which Hector had yesterday arrived at Holdworth. Within I found John, relaxing by a little fire. As I entered he rose, grinning from ear to ear.
I threw my arms about him and hugged him. "John, John, you were magnificent! My father would have been proud of you!"
"Nay, Master Simon, it was a pleasure. Yon Hector looked proper taken aback--we've put a right good scare into that young coxcomb! First time since Shrewsbury that Ah've had a real good laugh! Well, if that Sir Hugo is to have this land, Ah'll be leaving Holdworth without more ado; and there's a few other lads will be riding north with me. They'd sooner work for my girl and me up at Malham than swink for that mean old devil!"
I laughed. "Excellent! It'll all help convince poor Hector that you're somewhere in the greenwood, waiting for him!" And I told him the story of the witch's curse that I'd so hastily invented.
To my surprise, John took it seriously. "You know, Master Simon, I don't reckon the Watertons are going to be so glad, in the years to come, that they've seized this manor. Curse or no curse, they'll find no content here, you'll see. Ah'm no witch nor warlock neither, but Ah'm sure of that. Well, time will tell."
We breakfasted together on some hunks of wheaten bread and a crumbly Dales cheese. Between bites, John spoke consideringly. "Mayhap I'd best change my name, as well as my residence; and I'd best urge those that go with me to do likewise. I doubt whether Sir Hugo's arm can reach so far as Malham; they're good folk up there and won't relish interference from such as he! Still 'tis best not to put ourselves at hazard without good cause!"
"Aye, you're right, John: and the more mysterious your vanishing, the more anxious Hector and Sir Hugo will be!"
We laughed again together at the prospect of their further disquietude. Then John, eager to be gone before the rain ceased and the fields became busy, said an affectionate farewell. As I waved a last salute and watched him ride away, I must confess that my eyes were moist; such friends as he are rare and to be treasured.
Another hour had gone by, and the morning was well advanced, before old Walter came to the hut. He was carrying over his arm an old brown leather gambeson, such as a mercenary soldier might wear, and over his shoulder was slung a satchel. By that time I was becoming tense and anxious, so that his arrival was a relief.
"Walter, at last! I was beginning to fear matters had gone wrong."
He smiled. "Aye, well, it wasn't so easy. First of all, t'hall and village are like an ant-hill that someone's stirred with a foot, all comings and goings and rushings about! Our folk, they've excitement enough and more--John's performance last night; the news about old Sir Hugo and his grabbing of Holdworth; and young Hector's riding away so early! They all think that was you, off to join Sir William somewhere. Yon guest of yours away too--they think he's scuttled back to Pontefract, being so scared last night--they're all chuckling about that. Then, to top it all, a troop of soldiers come to try to arrest you!"
I whistled. "What, so soon? They must have ridden early from Ashbourne."
,p>"Aye, they rose early; and they cut across t'moors, thinking to catch you. But you were earlier yet!" He laughed heartily, joyously. "And now they're off riding licketty-split after yon Hector--and he as scared as a rabbit already, and travelling so fast that they won't be catching him today, nor yet tomorrow neither! It's a right caper, it is indeed!"
Walter had brought a leather purse clinking with gold coins¬--nobles, half-nobles and florins. He insisted that I count them, though I had no least doubt of his honesty. There was more money, by far, than I would require--or, indeed, than I dared carry. I returned much of it to him, directing that he use it covertly to aid those of our people who fell into need.
"Aye, I'll do that and gladly," he answered. "But some of it I might use in other ways....Happen Ah can help t'Watertons into thinking John and his men are on t'moors or in t'woods, waiting to get at 'em. It'll do 'em good to stay scared!"
Soon I had exchanged my wet cloak for the leather gambeson and fastened my belt about it, attaching the scabbard to one side and tucking the leather purse, now much lighter, beneath it at the other. The sword gave to my appearance a formidability that was impressive, albeit quite false when I was so poor a swordsman. A flat steel helmet, acquired for me by Walter from some returned soldier in the village, enhanced my guise. As a horseman I could scarcely carry a bow and arrows; so, for my defence in need, I must rely instead on the throwing-knives. Four of these were in sheaths attached to a cloth belt about my shoulders under my jupon; three others were hidden elsewhere in my clothing; but six were in sheaths affixed to my belt and would be readily available at need. Walter eyed these curiously, for he had no concept of their purpose; but he made no comment.
That was a day of partings. Saying farewell to old Walter was as difficult as the farewell to John had been. He walked down with me to the Loxley's bank. Its waters were in spate and swift; the rain was again falling heavily. After my horse had forded the little river, I turned to wave a last salute to him. The greyness of the sky, the pouring rain, and that elderly figure waving back from among the trees combine to furnish my final memory of the home I was forever leaving.
Many years were to pass before I learned, from a chance traveller from Hallamshire, anything concerning the fate of Holdworth and the Watertons. We had frightened poor Hector so thoroughly that his precipitate flight continued for three whole days! He seems to have imagined himself unsafe until he had left, not only the Pennine valleys and moorlands, but even the bosky recesses of Sherwood Forest--so renowned a haunt of outlaws--far behind.
Hector must have been a better rider than I supposed, to keep Firebrand at such a pace for so long! Yet the King's officers found it no problem to follow Hector's trail, for the big white stallion and his scarlet-cloaked rider attracted attention everywhere. Eventually, four days after my last sight of him, they caught up with him. It was near a village called Clophill, south of Bedford. He was found sitting forlornly by the roadside. Firebrand had at last rebelled, thrown him and bolted; and poor Hector was bruised and weary.
When set upon a horse and told he was to be taken to the King, Hector was at first surprised and flattered, calling the officers "fine fellows" and commending their "proper courtesy to a gentleman." Only when the order of arrest was read to him did he realize his situation. He was in succession incredulous, indignant, and frightened. His protestation that he was not Simon Branthwaite, but Hector Waterton, did him no good; the King's officers were not north-country men and had never heard even of Sir Hugo, let alone of any son of his. Was Hector not wearing the surcoat of the Branthwaites? Had he not fled south before them? What nonsense; of course he was the man they sought!
King Henry was pleased by the arrest, but not much interested. In truth it was my father whom he desired to have in his vengeful hands, not a mere Branthwaite sibling. Now that he was calmer, the King knew he would attain little satisfaction, and politically might lose much credit, by wreaking public vengeance upon one who had not taken up arms against him. Instead the supposed Simon Branthwaite was discreetly tucked away out of view into a prison cell. In consequence, poor Hector had no chance to make his pleas in court, where someone might have recognised him. Indeed, several uncomfortable months passed before Sir Hugo learned of Hector's predicament and took action to save his son.
When King Henry realized he had been tricked, his anger was great; so all the Branthwaites had evaded him! Yes, Hector was reluctantly released; but only to find his former friends laughing at him behind their hands because of the fashion in which I had fooled him.
Moreover, the amusement of the court was adding fuel to the King's smouldering wrath. Under such conditions the Watertons could expect no favours from King Henry; instead, they must hasten away from court and lie low till his anger had subsided.
Yet they did gain Holdworth. With no Branthwaite to contest it, the justices inevitably found in favour of their claim.
However, the legend that John Stacey and his men were waiting vengefully in the greenwood was by then universally accepted. Old Walter did as he promised. There were a series of "incidents"--the burning of a barn, the raiding of a few grain stores, the vanishing of a few Waterton cattle (eaten, I doubt not, by hungry villagers!)--that combined to suggest a watchful, hostile presence in the lands about. Moreover, since any mischances--the crushing of a cart by a falling tree, an unexplained death, even unexpected failures of crops--were laid to the account of "John of the Moors", the legend grew steadily even without Walter's guileful help.
My story of the curse seems to have sunk deep into Hector's mind and to have been effectively transmitted by him to his father. As a result, it was long ere Sir Hugo would even venture near Holdworth. The clerk he appointed to take charge of our former demesne seems to have been of dubious morals, but timorous. Under his uncertain and lax rule, the villeins fared well but the Watertons profited little. Yet almost five years were allowed to slip by before Sir Hugo summoned up the courage personally to investigate why his pickings from Holdworth were so meagre.
At that juncture, chance stepped in to enhance the legend. When the old man was dismounting in the courtyard of the manor, he did so clumsily, catching his foot in the stirrup and falling heavily onto the stones. His arm was broken and he was badly shaken. Moreover, the incident frightened him, for he was superstitious and it seemed symbolic. There must indeed be a curse on Holdworth!
To underscore Sir Hugo's apprehensions, that night there came a summer storm of considerable magnitude. The manor's granary went up in flames. Had it been struck by lightning or was this the work of "John of the Moors"? No-one seemed to know and the latter theory found favour.
Next morning it was discovered that Sir Hugo's clerk had fled during the storm, taking with him much gold--or so it was believed. Had he gone to join John's band? So it was rumoured. The clerk was not apprehended, for heavy rain had caused the River Don and its tributaries to rise overnight; even the little Loxley had become impassable. For a week Sir Hugo, his arm painful in splints, was pent up fuming in Holdworth. Then it was discovered that his horse had mysteriously gone lame; the curse again, or the work of John's men?
Whatever the truth of the matter, Sir Hugo was deeply alarmed. He appointed our old bailiff, Peter, to the charge of the manor and was carried back to Pontefract in a cart. Within a year Sir Hugo was dead--poisoned, some said; the curse, said others.
By then cousin Hector had been accepted back at court. He was not eager to be reminded of his flight on that wet summer morning or of the humiliations that preceded and followed it. The imagined threat of "John of the Moors" long haunted him and the very mention of Holdworth was anathema. Upon Sir Hugo's death, Hector sold the demesne immediately to old Lord Furnival for what was, considering the Watertons' avidity for gold, a remarkably trivial sum. Never again did he venture into Hallamshire.
Thus John's prophecy proved correct; the Watertons found no content in, and little profit from, the seizing of Holdworth. About John himself, legends aside, I heard no more; yet the memory of his strength, devotion and affection remains alive in me. I can only trust that, with wife, children and friends about him, he lived contentedly and long in his upland farm.
foreword chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 (more chapters will appear in the future)
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