HERO RISING
by
Jason Evans
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©20010-2011 copyright Jason Evans
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Table of Contents
Chapter One - London
Chapter Two - Sacrifice
Chapter Three - Calais
Chapter Four - Proclamation of War
Chapter Five - En Route
Chapter Six - The Rescue
Chapter Seven - The Raven
Chapter Eight - Plymouth
Chapter Nine - The Church
Chapter Ten - Hoodwinked
Chapter Eleven - Unexpected Hero
Chapter Twelve - Rouen
Chapter Thirteen - Grief
Chapter Fourteen - Francis
Chapter Fifteen - Escaped
Chapter Sixteen - The Sea
Chapter Seventeen - Faith
Chapter Eighteen - The Privateers
Chapter Nineteen - The Pact
Chapter Twenty - Boston
Chapter Twenty One - Grace
Chapter Twenty Two - Quebec
Chapter Twenty Three - To Love Again
Chapter Twenty Four - The Camp
Chapter Twenty Five - The Beginning
Chapter One
London
“WAKE UP YOU LUMP, GET UP!” raised the voice of a gruff stocky little man dressed in servant’s garb. Taking what looked like a wooden fishing pole into his hands he began poking Jonathan’s sleep drunk body cautious to stay a few feet from the bed, “There are things to be done Jonathan.” Jonathan’s initial response to Richard’s complaint was as it has always been; he began by grumbling something vulgar in a tone too low for the human ear to make out, and then continued on with the task of sleeping. Richard shook his head in frustration before continuing to poke Jonathan’s side, this time with increasing vigor. In response to this new treatment Jonathan grabbed hold of the fishing pole, ripping it out of Richard’s sweaty palms, before placing it tight against his side upon the bed. “NOW YOU’VE GONE AND DONE IT,” bellowed Richard, reaching to the floor for the pale of freshly drawn water he had intuitively placed by his feet when he entered the room that day. The water had no more than made contact with the top sheet of the bed when, in a tatter, Jonathan leapt up into the air with an expression upon his face resembling that of a robber caught unaware upon the master of the homes abrupt arrival. Half dazed and sopping wet Jonathan caught sight of Richard standing in the corner of the room with an empty pale in hand. Richard had a smile on his face a mile wide. There was no hiding the fact that he was well satisfied with himself.
Jonathan’s gaze, however, held a different message altogether. If his eyes were muskets Richard would likely have been blown clean through the door behind him. Nevertheless, the look of anger broadly spread across Jonathan’s face began to relax away. In spite of his displeasure with Richard, Jonathan’s heart was weighing heavy for other reasons of which Richard’s antics played a helpful role. With his heart pounding feverishly Jonathan flung away the drenched top sheet of the bed and sat up, swinging his feet around to the cool wood floor of the bedchamber. “The dreams are becoming fiercer,” he gasped while his body trembled, “So real... so utterly horrible! I need some more elixir Richard.”
The smug look on Richard’s face quickly faded into half annoyance and half concern, “Well sir... For all it’s worth I’m not wanting to sound like I do not give a shiite about your condition but at this moment there are more pressing things at hand than your nightmares.”
“To be sure, not a man alive would accuse you of lack of sympathy,” Jonathan snarled sarcastically, standing from the side of his bed as his anger for the morning shower began to return.
Richard’s cool whit and self-important attitude was something Jonathan had become familiar with since before he came into service as Jonathan’s personal servant. Jonathan’s father brought Richard home a few months after the death of his brother Devon. Richard had made up some sort of story about Devon asking him to come out from France in order to start a new life. Due to Devon’s unfortunate passing, so he said, he found himself on the streets of a new country with no money and no prospects for employment on account of his French accent. Jonathan did not believe a word of it, having been close to his brother and having never been told about the Frenchman, but his father was in crisis and needed a project to bury himself in. Richard became that project. It was not long until he had been invited to stay at the house and only a week later his father announced that Richard was to be in the permanent employment of the estate. For months after Jonathan watched Richard like a hawk as the new employee came and went from town in the most suspicious of manners. As far as Jonathan had been concerned Richard was no more than a common con man working an angle that would someday bring more pain to his father than he could accept. When he was no longer able to contain his mistrust towards the man he approached his father with his suspicions only to find himself bound to Richard even more than before. His father’s answer to Jonathan’s complaint was to make Richard his personal servant so Jonathan could keep an eye on him. Jonathan knew that his father made the decision out of frustration. Since Devon’s death things had not been the same between them. But out of respect for the man who had given him so much Jonathan accepted the burden.
“The only reason you breathe God’s good air is because of my father’s grief over Devon,” Jonathan shot at Richard, trying to contain his temper as best he could, “This disrespect is beyond reason. What is your defense this time as to why I should not have you flogged?” For a moment Richard’s gaze went from contempt, to distress, and then settled upon something in between the two. For as tired as Jonathan may have been with Richard’s service, Richard was equally as tired waiting after such a spoiled brat. Even so, he knew it was important enough to carry on with this charade in order to keep things between them from escalating out of control. Throwing off his wet nightshirt Jonathan motioned toward the door, “I think a good flogging may just settle things once and for all.”
“Wait a minute,” Richard instructed in a consolatory tone, “There is no sense in involving the Arch Bishop. It’s not like he holds you in very high regard. Besides, we don’t have time to play this game. The lady desires a meeting with you. She said to tell you that it was of the utmost urgency.”
At this news a grim smile formed upon Jonathan’s face as he looked once again into Richards’s eyes. Questioning him now with a snappy attitude, “Why did you not tell me of this news sooner?” Then shaking his head as in disbelief before waiting for the man’s defense, “The things I have to put up with… It’s not easy Richard. It’s not easy at all.”
“No…not easy,” Richard replied under a low sarcastic sigh.
Throwing off the remainder of his wet cloths Jonathan playfully asked of Richard the last piece of information he wanted to know, “Usual place?”
The lady was Jonathan’s weak spot, and though Richard knew it to be true, he did not contrive her urgent desire to see him in order to escape a flogging. Jonathan had made such threats so many times it was now commonplace within their conversations though not once had Richard ever seen a flogging stick. With regards to the lady, Richard played a key role in this aspect of Jonathan’s life. Having been sent by his father to study religion under the watch of his uncle, Jonathan had to keep his female friend a secret. This secret was something both he and Richard shared as Richard has been the sole messenger between them since the day they met. On this particular occasion Richard knew more about the urgency of the meeting than he was willing to let on. Though he had been with Jonathan for some time, he knew his arrogant, self-centered side all too well to trust him with anything that could hold personal consequences. Rather, he would play it safe and let Jonathan find out on his own. Beyond that there were other deeply personal reasons for Richard’s silence which he would not speak of to anyone outside his own immediate family.
Noticing the meager beginnings of the day growing in the window, and realizing the sun would soon be upon them, Jonathan hurried Richard out the door with one last question, “And what of my uncle, the Arch-Bishop?”
“Quite asleep sir”
Jonathan smiled once again as Richard’s answer could not have been more agreeable to his current purpose. With that little piece of reassurance Jonathan shut himself in his room locking the door so as to keep prying eyes out. Rushing over to the bed he threw himself upon the floor before reaching up underneath the mattress and franticly tearing upward at the strapping until his hand finally met with its target. Quickly he worked at a mass of knotted cording until it released a small leather pouch containing a few steel keys. At the foot of the bed lay an old wooden trunk with a large brass lock. With the speed of familiarity Jonathan maneuvered one of the keys into the lock quickly removing it and throwing the lid of the trunk back upon the foot of the bed. Inside the old trunk was a handful of religious documents, a number of variously valued coins, a small painting, and both britches and shirt of the like that would be worn by a commoner. Some treasure, Jonathan thought as he pulled the shirt and britches out of the trunk. “Some treasure indeed,” he repeated under his breath with a slightly mischievous smile on his face.
Jonathan had been lectured frequently enough to know that both his father’s wealth and his countless adventures had earned him a wide spread reputation at Lambeth Palace, complete with a permanent barring to the palace grounds unless under escort. Dressing as a commoner was the only way to experience the freedom of moving about without being recognized as the Arch Bishop’s nephew and this freedom was worth more to Jonathan than all the gold in the King’s treasury. The trick, however, was getting off the grounds without being seen. A task that was not as easy as it sounded, and for Jonathan, frequently ended with disastrous results. He would have to be extra careful this time being the first attempt since the last time he had been caught. It took all of two weeks for the thorn punctures across his rear to heal. But to Jonathan the chance of escaping his tutorage for time with Anne was always worth the risk. While dressing in his disguise Jonathan realized it had been nearly a year and a half earlier, whilst on one of his adventures, that he first met Anne. The memory of that day was warm lifting his spirits for a moment before being replaced in his mind with Richard’s message. She needs me urgently, he though, knowing for Anne to send such a message, whatever was going on would have to be quite serious.
As is the situation every morning, the streets of London were bustling with commotion long before sunrise. Common women would gather in the marketplaces with their carefully packed bundles of home wares in the hopes of selling them so as to provide a meager meal on the supper table. At the same time, the cities wealthier families left it up to their servants to run around gathering fresh ingredients for the preparation of their lord’s more indulgent meals. Besides the general market, many of the other shops would also be open in order to service the needs of both wealthy and poor. The disparity in the city did bother Jonathan a bit, but that was the world he lived in, and his preoccupation with himself did not leave time to think of much more than what he wanted to do next. At this point that would be getting to Anne as quickly as possible. Once off the palace grounds disappearing in the traffic of people going about their morning business would be an easy accomplishment, however, getting off the grounds would prove most difficult. On past excursions the task was as simple as taking an extended walk across the place grounds and purely by accident ending up on the city streets. But those days were long gone. More recently the palace has become the site of numerous protests on issues ranging from Methodist ideals to Parliamentary influences. In response to these annoyances the Arch Bishop ordered a sizable increase in the guard which had the consequence of transforming his once beautiful palace home into what could only be described as a prison. At least is seemed like a prison for someone with Jonathan’s appetite for long distant outings.
On this morning it took Jonathan ten minutes to make his way downstairs and into an empty back room without being noticed by the abundance of guards and staff whom roam the palace halls. He made such a habit of sneaking out he nearly had the process down to a finely crafted art form. Moving to the back of the room Jonathan carefully pushed a chair up against one of the many windows decorating the wall. From there he could see a tall dark green hedge directly against the back wall of the palace. What he would need at this point was to gain a few feet of height in order to adequately survey the grounds for guards, or anyone else who may bear witness to his escape. Jonathan stretched his body upward straining to see over the hedge while nearly tipping himself off the chair in the process. Steadying himself as much as possible he glanced about seeing no one within eyeshot. From his experience it was best not to sit and think too long before making a move. With this in mind he made the snap decision to go without the benefit of a second look. Slipping down from the chair Jonathan opened a large window from which he would venture out onto the grounds. What is beauty without the freedom to enjoy it? He thought to himself as he slipped through the window and began pushing his way through the thick bushes. Once in the city he would find Richard’s horse waiting for him neatly tied off in front of the Rockchester Pub as usual. From there he would be off to meet with the lady he loves in answer to her urgent call.
“YOU THERE… WHAT ARE YOU DOING BEHIND THOSE BUSHES? COME OUT OF THERE AT ONCE BEFORE I PUT A HOLE IN YOU,” thundered the voice of one of the palace guards. Immediately Jonathan was startled out of his thoughts. Seeing the guard’s rifle at the ready, and with two more close behind, Jonathan quietly slid the hood of his cape down over his brow in an attempt to hide his face while ever so slowly moving out of the bushes. British guards were known to have the nasty habit of shooting first and asking questions later. It was only by way of miracle that this one chose the reverse course. “Come closer and take off that hood,” the guard barked with a piercing intensity about his face. Jonathan knew from the numerous other times he had been caught knee deep in mischief the Arch Bishop was not going to take this lightly. At first he hesitated, foolishly thinking that just maybe he would be able to talk his way out of this, maybe claim to be a grounds keeper or something, but seeing the muscles in the guard’s forearm bulge and his trigger finger tensing, he knew he had better comply. Slowly he reached up pulling the hood off his head. The guard’s eyes immediately widened in surprise at the sight of him and then narrowed again settling into a look of anger or indifference.
“So you bloody think you’re gonna sneak out and gallivant all over London on my shift do you!” It was more of a statement than a question and Jonathan new better than to try to answer it. “I knew you was trouble when you first arrived at the palace... Making a Bishop out of you is he? Fine pupil you turned out to be eh?” The guard coughed the last of the words out with a sarcastic laugh as he continued, “Well it’s your neck or my hide so we will just have to see what your uncle wants to do with you this time.”
Taking hold of Jonathan by the collar the guard forcefully guided him around the building and in through the front doors of the palace. Somewhat sheepishly looking around the foyer Jonathan took in the fine British craftsmanship displayed across the walls and ceiling. For a moment he thought of how intimidating the palace had been when he first arrived a few years earlier. After his brother’s death Jonathan constantly found himself in trouble with the local authorities back home in Newport. Not being able to deal with the loss himself, Jonathan’s father sat him in the study straight after being returned home one day by the local constabulary. He had been missing over a week and during that time his father came to the decision that making a Bishop out of him would be the only way to save the dignity of the family line. Jonathan remembered very clearly the look in his father’s eyes when he notified him of his plan. His father was without a doubt at the end of his rope and Jonathan knew to refuse would mean consequences for both he and his father neither was willing to chance. At first the Arch Bishop was reluctant to having him at the palace, but then the idea of custom designing a Bishop to his liking, one that would always vote in his favor, grew on him quickly enough.
Two more guards from inside the palace received Jonathan. Taking positions on either side of him they led him to a large room at the end of the hall. Meanwhile the guard responsible for thwarting his escape attempt headed further into the palace in order to make the Arch Bishop fully aware of what had happened. Jonathan smirked to himself as the guards pushed him into a large room, themselves retreating back into the hallway before closing and locking the door behind them. If they had paid any attention to the room at all they would have seen the gaping open window Jonathan has slipped out of not ten minutes earlier. “You can always count on Britain’s finest,” he mumbled to himself in a sarcastic tone. At that moment it came to Jonathan that not only was the window still open but the very guards who had caught him during his first escape attempt were now standing at the front entrance of the palace conveniently out of his way. Without so much as a single glance back Jonathan darted out the window once again and as quick as a rabbit made his way across the grounds disappearing into the busy city street.
Strathcomb Tower was situated on the southern edge of the Thames River just beyond the town of Gillingham. It would take two hours on horseback to get there but Jonathan did not mind. Cherishing the beauty of the English countryside, he frequently found taking in the view along the way helped the time pass by much faster. Not too far in the past Strathcomb had been thought of as a vital strategic military post overlooking the English Channel. Whenever tensions flared between England and France, soldiers would be stationed at the tower day and night keeping watch for French ships making their way across the channel. By 1762 the Seven Years War was over, and with the many changes that occurred in the political landscape following the war, the tower eventually faded into obscurity. Without the proper annual maintenance the army had previously afforded it the tower slowly continued to decay under the strong winds which funnel up the Thames. What was once a strong tall military asset appeared now as an over grown broken down pile of rubble with what remains were left having long overgrown in bayberry and ivy. Instead of housing soldiers, Strathcomb now spent its remaining days as a noble sanctuary to the numerous robin and finch that could be found fluttering across the English countryside. In spite of this Jonathan loved the old tower so much that on many excursions he would spend his nights there. He even had a favorite spot atop its upper most level. In Jonathan’s mind the birds of the tower contained more passion and conviction in their song than did the most faithful of perish choirs. While listening to them sing even something as dry as scripture would come alive to him with such a clarity it rivaled anything that could ever be realized at Lambeth palace under his Uncle Frederick’s tutelage. It was out at the old ruins Jonathan would wonder how anyone could deny the glory of God. Back in the palace he was left to wonder how so many could lay claim to God while living in such derision. For him the old tower contained an endless spiritual energy that could be felt but not justly explained with words, and then there was Anne.
The road to the tower was nearly overgrown with coarse grasses and floral weeds; however, Jonathan maneuvered it as if every step had been traced out before him. He had been a visitor to the tower so often he could find his way in the night without the assistance of a guiding light. As he maneuvered up the road on the horse he had borrowed from Richard he could see three other horses tied to an exposed beam near the entrance of the ruin. She’s always been alone, he thought to himself feeling his nerves unsettle, it could be danger. Jonathan reached for the dagger he had fixed to his belt before leaving his bed chamber a few hours earlier only to find an empty sheath. Thinking back to the bedchamber he realized that in haste he had tied the sheath to his side without checking to see if it contained its blade. Looking again at the three horses Jonathan knew this mistake could possibly cost him his life, not to mention hers if she was not already dead. The worst of thoughts filled his mind before his delusional sense of invincibility took over. The element of surprise will have to do, he thought while dismounting his horse. Jonathan quickly surveyed the ground for something to use as a weapon, something he could use to kill a man, or two, if need be. He had hoped for something metal but the English military had done an impeccable job of clearing the old site of anything that could be useful to an invading force. All he managed to find was a club shaped piece of wood that had at one time been a part of the upper northern wall of the tower. With this in hand Jonathan crept slowly forward towards the enlarged doorway which served as the entrance, pausing and listening intently with each step for signs of life.
“Well if it isn’t the Arch Bishop’s thief come to steal from the peasants coffers,” announced a female voice from above Jonathans head.
Startled, he jumped back looking upward to see the young shapely figure of a most beautiful woman standing at a hole in the wall not ten feet above him. Focusing in on Anne, while realizing she was in no real danger, Jonathan could feel the tremors that had shot across his body begin to subside. Nevertheless, his hands continued to shake a little as a low level of anxiety remained. Fine hero I am, he thought, his self criticism pulling at his head bringing it downwards. Looking down at the ground he stomped his foot in protest just long enough for his heart to dislodge itself from his throat making it possible for him to speak. Lifting his head once again to the woman he pinned after Jonathan’s more playful side took over. “Thief of the peasant’s coffers,” he began, “Is that what you have heard my fair lady? In all noble honesty I decry it is only the heart of the princess I see before me that I do desire to steal!”
“And what would your God say of such a thing, noble Bishop? Answer me this.”
“My God would say that a man who finds a good wife is blessed indeed; besides, need I remind you I have not yet been given the title of Bishop.”
“And I have not always been regarded with such stature as you bestow upon me my good lord, but do come in and tell me more about this God of yours who condones the theft of princesses.”
With the ritual banter complete Anne turned away from the hole in the wall disappearing into the tower. Proceeding through the entranceway Jonathan was met by two large rough looking men dressed in the uniforms of British soldiers. One of the men stood a clear foot taller than the other while both of them towered over Jonathan. The taller of the two was layered with such proportions of muscle even his uniform strained to keep it all in. The other was nowhere near as well appointed yet thick enough to still warrant caution in the toughest of men.
“What exactly were you gonna do with that?” the shorter of the two snorted through an exhaustingly practiced English accent, pointing at the make shift club still clutched in Jonathan’s hand.
“I guess this was for you,” Jonathan returned brazenly as he looked them both up and down.
A little taken back by the absurdity of the gesture the shorter man looked towards his partner. For a moment the two of them stared silently at one another in disbelief before erupting hysterically into laughter. I’ll show these buffoons a thing or two about respect, Jonathan’s mind threatened as his insecurity attempted to get the best of him, but before he could move, the strong sound of a woman clearing her throat descended from above causing him to pause. With a startle the two men in uniform straightened their posture, their laughter melting away into a cold distant type of silence that reminded Jonathan of the palace guards on midnight watch.
“What took you so long?” Anne asked rhetorically. Though she intended on sounding strong and confident her tone betrayed the uncertainty hidden behind it. Catching the doubt in her voice Jonathan attempted to speak only to be cut off as Anne started again, “Never mind just come up so I may speak with you.” Pausing for a moment while looking at Jonathan, and then the other men, she spoke once more, adding in a strong demanding voice, “and you mustn’t doddle!”
The look on her face no longer displayed any semblance of the playfulness Jonathan had been engaged with outside. Whatever the reason was for this meeting the stress it caused Anne was clearly outlined by her tone and punctuated by the visible tension in the muscles that lined her neck. What started out that morning looking like a wonderful rendezvous with the woman he adored quickly transformed into confusion and concern. Bounding over a few small piles of broken debris Jonathan darted up what was left of the stairs eager to get a better handle on the situation. As he rounded the top of the stairs Anne came into view anxiously pacing across the weather beaten floor of the towers upper most level. Her distress was discernable even in her stride though in Jonathan’s eyes it took nothing away from her beauty. He contemplated the golden sheen of her hair as the sun cast its rays through numerous holes in the wall raining glimmering beams of light upon her head. Snapping out of his momentary daydream Jonathan once again took in Anne’s distress.
“What is it?” he asked, not sure what worry to fix his attention on.
“I must leave,” she whispered in a sharp hushed voice as if she were speaking only for herself to hear.
Her response only added to the confusion of the situation both increasing Jonathan’s concern and leaving him slightly stunned. “Leave? But I just got here!”
At first the true meaning of Anne’s words eluded Jonathan. His mind was still fixed on figuring out what the men below had to do with her. It was clear she had sent Richard to arrange this meeting but now she was going to leave and with two unknown French men dressed in British uniforms. The more he thought about it the crazier it sounded. Before Jonathan had the chance to solicit any more information Anne raised her hand to stop him from speaking.
“You don’t understand!” she said firmly.
How could I understand unless you explain, the thought was painted with signs of Jonathan’s growing irritation.
“I must leave England!” Anne blurted matter-of-factly.
Leave England?, the words took on no recognizable meaning at all, why would the King’s daughter be leaving England?
Anne answered Jonathan’s thoughts straight off as if she had read his mind, “Being the illegitimate daughter of a King will not stand in the way of my harm if it was seen to serve the country’s interests.”
As the words rolled off of Anne’s tongue Jonathan could feel his pulse quicken and his palms begin to sweat. His heart rose once again lodging itself in that uncomfortable place just below his Adam’s apple. “Who are those men downstairs?” he demanded as he looked again for a suitable weapon, “Where are they taking you?”
“Jonathan, I go of my own free will so please calm down... I know this must come as a shock to you. It came as a shock to me too. The suddenness I mean. I thought it would only be right to let you know before I left.” Still in complete shock Jonathan just stood there only half aware of his surroundings and not quite taking in what Anne had to offer. “I cannot tell you the details,” she furthered, “All I can say is that it is urgent I go to France at once. I will be safe there.”
So many questions flooded into Jonathan’s mind he could hardly focus on a single one long enough to ask it. The French hated the English and would do most anything to get back at them after their defeat in the Seven Years War. The thought of an English princess in France seemed ridiculous to him. As far as he was concerned it wouldn’t matter to the French whether she was illegitimate or not if harming her gave them an opportunity to make sport of the King. All of a sudden Jonathan felt faint, but rather than having his knees give out on him he walked to the far corner of the room and sat down
The sound of hoofs advancing quickly towards the tower rose in the air bringing with it a new sense of alarm to everyone inside. With one look from Anne the two men downstairs darted out the door with their long rifles firmly gripped in front of them. Once they were off Anne turned her attention back to Jonathan. Crouching down beside him she whispered softly in his ear.
“My sweet Jonathan! I have felt for you since we first met and I always will. Now you must trust me as I have always trusted you.”
The difficulty for him was not in the trusting, but rather, in not knowing exactly what he was trusting her with. “Then tell me what is going on,” he whispered back in a half cracked voice.
“Someday I will. Someday soon,” Anne promised as she put her hand on his shoulder to push herself up.
The sound of laughter filled the tower as the two men re-entered the building with a third following close behind. Jonathan could not quite see his face from where he was sitting but his voice sounded quite familiar. It sounded an awful lot to him like Richard’s.
“How long until you reach home?” Richard asked the taller of the two men.
“Depends on the King’s navy,” came the response along with an air of concern, “they’ve been patrolling the Channel quite regular since the war.”
The French accent was beginning to become more pronounced in the man’s speech causing Jonathan to redden with anger as if it were the only rational response. “How dare you French bastards step foot on British soil,” he spat out, almost completely without forethought.
The particular Frenchman caught in Jonathan’s gaze looked up at Anne who had just begun descending the stairs. By the look in her eye he knew it best to bite his tongue rather than act upon natural instinct. Jonathan also fell silent in surprise at his own words.
“No need for introductions then, is there?” piped up Richard in a hopeful tone as he walked over to Jonathan leaning in closely in order to whisper a cautionary note in his ear. “There is much you don’t understand going on here and it would be best if you just played along until we were off.”
Jonathan winced as Richard’s grip on his shoulder tightened while he spoke and he knew the man meant what he was saying. For a few minutes longer the small room at the foot of the tower remained silent. The tension in the air was thick, and though Jonathan didn’t like it, he chose to keep his silence even after the others had resumed their conversation.
Jonathan had been born to privilege, which for the most part he took for granted. He had never traveled beyond the borders of England yet from his father’s estate he quite regularly snuck off to the nearby city of Cardiff. Cardiff was a port city situated on the Celtic sea offering Jonathan a second home as he found himself quite comfortable in the company of the many haggard old sea men lingering throughout the town. He was always fascinated by rough people and the tales they had to tell. When the vulgarity of weathered sailors and the privilege of English high society mixed he would often find himself in trouble. Richard seemed to be his father’s first response to the dilemma of having a disgrace for a son; the Arch Bishop was the second. Though Jonathan initially mistrusted Richard’s intentions he could not completely deny that the man had been a good companion since, saving his hide on more than one occasion. He also knew deep within himself that now was a time he needed to trust him without reservation. The look in the two Frenchmen’s eyes signaled that another outburst from Jonathan may exhaust their ability to do nothing. Turning his attention back to Anne he gently pleaded with her to either stay or take the time to explain things more clearly. Anne did not have the ability or time to do either. One of the Frenchmen went about preparing a small skiff at the water’s edge while the other accompanied Anne towards the shore line. Before Jonathan could get so much as a first and last kiss Anne boarded the skiff and they were off.
With Anne gone all that remained was the hollow shell of an old military outpost. It was back in that old shell of a tower Jonathan left his heart as he mounted his horse for the ride home. The ride back to Lambeth was long offering Jonathan the much needed opportunity to put his thoughts together. It felt to him as though something life changing had just happened. The only problem being Jonathan had not been in the market for any sort of change. Even if he had been it would not have involved the departure of Anne from his life at a time when they were starting to see a future with one another. Nonetheless, there was no doubt change was on the rise. Even the once beautiful countryside had lost a bit of its glamour over the last hour.
Looking for answers Jonathan began to examine every meeting he had with Anne over the last few months leading up to this morning. No matter how hard he tried he could not find any indicators pointing to the events which had just unfolded in front of him. Then there was Richard’s involvement in it all. How is he connected to all of this? Jonathan wondered. The question glaring in his mind was a good one. After Jonathan had gotten over his distrust of the man they seemed to have bonded quite well over the last four years. At the same time it dawned on Jonathan that what he really knew of Richard’s past was limited to the small bits he had been privileged enough to draw out of him, which was not much at all. Without anywhere else for his mind to go, irrational thoughts of conspiracy began to fill Jonathan’s head taking over from where reason left off. Without warning he stopped his horse, staring at Richard until Richard himself noticed the loss of his traveling companion.
Turning in his saddle to see where Jonathan had gone Richard impatiently coaxed him on, “We must hurry! Your uncle is furious about this morning.”
“Yes... well, he will just have to wait,” Jonathan responded with firm conviction, “We have much to discuss and I will not travel another mile until everything that can be said has been!”
“Out here?” Richard protested searching for an argument that would satisfy the circumstance, “We have no time.”
“Then we will make time,” Jonathan affirmed while dismounting his horse and walking over to a large willow at the edge of the path. There he tied and secured the reigns before crouching down in a manner as if to dare Richard to move him.
“Obstinate bugger,” Richard muttered just loud enough for Jonathan to hear as he came down from his horse, walking the animal over to where Jonathan was waiting. It may have been Jonathan’s experience that he was the master and Richard was his difficult yet loyal servant, but this understanding had never been a shared one. “I could wind up dead by telling the likes of you anything,” Richard volunteered, his hands visibly trembling with either frustration or fear.
Not knowing for sure which of these it was, Jonathan assumed it to be fear and spoke up in his regular pompous English manner.
“As far as I understand it you are my servant. So then, how is it that you now speak as if I am lower than you, and with such disrespect?” Richard motioned as if to address Jonathan’s arrogance only to be stopped by an annoying flick from his hand. Jonathan quickly continued, speaking from the depth of his paranoid thinking, “In the short time we have been riding I have come to the bottom of your little scheme. I see now that Anne and you… and I will never understand why… must be lovers. You and her have concocted this whole flight to France story in order to escape her father’s wrath, which would surely come when he found out about your… and a man without title to boot… about your intention to marry his daughter. She may be illegitimate but she is also bound to his flesh and he would not stand for such a match.”
For a moment the two men sat there taking in what had been said. Richard found Jonathan’s rant frighteningly insane while Jonathan sat there well pleased with how brilliantly perceptive he had been. Placing a hand on Richard’s shoulder, Jonathan continued.
“I am willing to forgive you for your ignorance. Our Lord knows all you have done for me. But you will need to tell me where Anne is so I may send the guards to fetch her and you MUST promise to discontinue this absurd relationship.”
The sheer idiosity of Jonathan’s words angered Richard beyond repair. Out of respect for Anne he had promised no harm would come to Jonathan but it appeared quite clear to him now that there would be no way of reasoning with the man in any manner where he could trust him to keep what he knew quiet. There was too much at stake and Richard had never been the kind to take unnecessary chances.
“You fool,” he roared to Jonathan’s surprise, “you know nothing and I will see to it that it stays that way.” In an impulsive fit of anger Richard reached into his cloak producing a large dagger which he immediately raised above his head in order to strike. Before he could bring his arm down the air filled with a thunderous crack and Richard’s body fell to the ground with a thud.
“Got to love babysitting duty,” A British soldier mumbled with a humph, more to himself than anyone else, as he stepped out of the bushes just behind the spot where the two men had been sitting. Completely ignoring both men the guard walked straight past them and out onto the path they had been riding down only minutes earlier. “Don’t you think of going anywhere,” he barked back at Jonathan while swinging his rifle over his shoulders. Jonathan recognized the guard as George Blithe, the same guard who caught him in his escape attempt that morning. For a moment George looked down the path squinting as if he were trying to make something out in the distance. Once satisfied that nothing was there he cupped his hands raising them to his lips before he blew. The squeal which emerged sounded something like a wounded animal yet there was a definite pattern to it: long, short, long, short, short, and then silence. A few seconds later a second similar sound erupted, only this time from quite a ways down the path, followed by the emergence of another soldier who had been waiting in the bushes at the side of the road. “Learnt that in the Indian wars,” George stated with a grim smile as he turned his attention back towards Jonathan and Richard, “So I’ve found what once was lost. This time you’re not going to cause me any grief are you?” As he spoke he brought his rifle down from his shoulder in a single motion ending with it pointed at Jonathan. Satisfied with the fear stricken expression in Jonathan’s eyes he swung his attention over to Richard who was hunched over on the ground still very much alive. White from shock, Richard slowly rocked back and forth while launching his own assault in vulgarity. The shot had caught him in the left shoulder evidenced by the blood gushing through his fingers as he feebly attempted to lessen the loss with the application of pressure. “I don’t know why I have to bring you back alive,” George sneered, adding in a frustrated tone as to show his distaste of the man, “It would suit me just fine to bury you right here... Bloody traitor!”
The guard from down the path arrived in short order with two others close to the heel. The four of them had been dispatched to Lambeth only just recently and as Jonathan considered this fact he realized he could not come up with a single moment when there was not one of them watching him. At one time or another one of them was always watching him either straight on or out of the corner of their eye. His first thought was that his uncle had put them on him due to the tendency he had of wandering off and finding trouble. Now he wasn’t so sure. All four of the new guards, he thought, travelling together down this piddling of a path in order to fetch us as if they had known exactly where we were? As the paranoia of his thoughts unfolded they took him first to Anne and the rough looking men she had made off with in such haste. Yet it did appear that the guard’s attentions resided in this place and in this moment. Jonathan watched as two guards stepped over Richard lifting him to his feet under vigorous protest. For his efforts he was struck back down to the ground like a common criminal. “You will die soon enough…it matters not to me if you go with a few feathers in a ruffle,” one of the guards exclaimed in a gruff tone. In response Richard wiped the blood from under his freshly broken nose standing to his feet without assistance. The guard which had the pleasure of breaking his nose turned him around straight away, placing his hand in irons.
“That one too,” barked George with a smug grin on his face as he pointed towards Jonathan.
Half surprised and half enraged Jonathan jumped to his feet. “What is the meaning of this? Irons? Your pride will be the end of you man!”
“My orders are to return you to Lambeth - IN IRONS! Would you also require a little gentle persuasion like your friend or maybe a bit for your mouth in order to shut you up?”
Glancing towards Richard, Jonathan wondered what the man had gotten him into before slowly turning in submission. Though willing to give up his hands, Jonathan did not give up his spirit keeping a defiant scowl on his face as the cold iron snapped shut around his wrists. With that task complete the guards placed their captives back on their horses leading them out onto the path in the direction of the palace.
Richard was silent the entire ride back to Lambeth. He had been set upon his horse backwards so he would not be tempted to make a break for it although he seemed too consumed by his thoughts to muster an attempt. One of the guards tried to question him shortly after setting out but he gave up when even the threat of violence failed to evoke a response. At that point Jonathan wished he had the benefit of the thoughts running through Richard’s mind. Was he thinking about what he would say in his defense? Maybe it was how he was going to explain his attempted attack on Jonathan, or worse yet, was he thinking about Anne and all they had secretly planned together? Jonathan knew his paranoid thoughts to be impractical but they were all he could come up with at such a heightened level of stress and without the benefit of another plausible explanation.
Passing through the palace gates had a stirring effect on Richard, sitting up in his saddle to take in every detail of his surroundings. “If you love her at all you will not tell the King anything about the truth of today, do you hear me?” he demanded of Jonathan, his voice hushed so as not to catch the attention of the guards. As for Jonathan, he was still ignorant about what had really gone on at the tower leaving him without much at all to say to anyone. What he was sure of didn’t amount to a hill of beans. He snuck away that morning just the same as he had done on many other occasions, Anne was somehow involved with Richard, and Richard would have killed him if not for four palace guards conspicuously appearing in the right place at the right time in order to save him. What reason could there be to keep the day’s events to himself? But then there was the urgency in Richard’s eyes, pleading with him to do so. For this reason alone Jonathan relented rendering his silence as one more item added to the list of things about the day he did not understand. Jonathan knew there was more at stake here than his broken heart or his tarnished pride, at least there must be if any of this was to somehow make sense. At this point Jonathan needed all of the day’s events to somehow make sense more than he needed anything else.
After the horses stopped George proceeded into the palace only to return with two more guards at his heels. These two showed no civility at all, yanking Richard down from his horse as if he were already dead. His wearied body hit the ground with such force it took three guards to get him to his feet again before dragging him inside. Jonathan motioned as if he were about to protest the barbaric treatment Richard was receiving but one icy glance from George was enough to keep him silent. Entering the palace doors Jonathan witnessed Richard being dragged across the ground like a tattered old sack in the direction of the palace’s lower level. Jonathan was directed to a seat adjacent to the door Richard had been led through. There he sat under the watchful eyes of George and another much older guard he was seeing this day for the first time. Leaning inwards Jonathan could hear the light murmur of voices emanating from inside the room. They began as light chatter before quickly transitioning into yelling and then settling on violent screaming. Jonathan’s pulse began to quicken at the sound. His body felt hot with fear for Richard as a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. His only wish was that his uncle would come and put an end to this torment but he knew within himself whatever was going on in that room was happening with his uncle’s approval. Jonathan’s whole body shuddered with each gut wrenching scream. It seemed to him like an endless horror, each terrifying sound created its own frightening picture in his head, one consecutively worse than the other. The guards outside the room were not at all indifferent to the screaming either, however, it was not disdain Jonathan perceived in their eyes. It seemed to him the louder the scream the more pleased they were. Through all his antics Jonathan had never before known the guards in the way he was beginning to see them now.
A few more desperate screams and the room fell silent with the exception of two voices once again murmuring something too quiet for Jonathan to make out. Suddenly the door burst open and one of the guards emerged with a piece of paper in hand. “Where is the Arch Bishop’s page?” he asked in a stern voice while shoving the paper towards George, “Give this to his Holiness and tell him it requires his immediate attention.” At once George accepted the paper turning with it in hand before walking off at a brisk pace. “It would do you some good to come in and see this,” the guard stated, motioning for Jonathan to follow him. Once inside the room Jonathan was struck by how large it was, encompassing a quarter the size of the area below the palace. It would be easy enough to lose someone inside a room of such proportions, but not Richard. The spot where he had been could not be overlooked. No more than five feet in front of him Jonathan saw a chair with what appeared to be restraints attached to the legs and arms. It was a large heavy chair covered in fresh blood. A few feet from the chair, lying motionless on the floor, was an object the size of a man covered with a blanket.
“Is he dead?” Jonathan’s voice cracked as he spoke. The events of the morning had taken place so quickly that Jonathan’s fondness for the man was not completely worn away in spite of the fact that he tried to kill him.
“No he’s just gone unconscious but for what it’s worth he had might as well be dead if what he says is true.”
Looking at the pool of blood at the foot of the chair Jonathan began to visibly tremble. The thought of himself lying beside Richard, gorged in blood and wrapped in a blanket, overtook his imagination. If there were any time in the world to pray Jonathan thought this may be it. Kneeling down on the floor his knees could feel the wet of Richard’s blood as it soaked through his pants. Looking up at the guard Jonathan prayed out loud in rapid succession asking God for anything that might stay the guards from offering him the same treatment. Huddled up on the floor he prayed like a mad man begging for the forgiveness of every sin he had ever committed, one by one he recited them. When all had been confessed he prayed for the all encompassing mercy of God, His Holy grace, and a miracle to save both himself and Richard.
George appeared at the foot of the stairs a good ten minutes after he had departed to fulfill his duties. His expression was somewhat warmer yet the frustration in his eyes had not fully dissipated. He was holding a letter in his hand much like the one he had been given yet this letter was sealed with the Arch Bishop’s crest. The captain of the guard took the letter, broke the seal, and began to read, reciting some portions out loud as orders to the other guards.
“Richard Hendley is to be placed in the cells at Canterbury until his execution not more than three days forth with. The charge is murder. Jonathan Cornwallis is to be confined to his personal living quarters at Lambeth palace... under guard.” Looking in Jonathan’s direction, a stern look upon his face, the captain of the guard continued, “... until twenty one hundred hours this evening where he will stand before King George for questioning.” When he had finished reading the orders he neatly folded the paper before stuffing it down into the breast pocket of his uniform. “It sounds like you got your miracle Bishop,” he offered Jonathan in a slightly affirming mostly sarcastic manner before turning straight around and walking out the door.
Two idol guards went over to where Richard lay giving him a kick to see if he had come too. When they were quite satisfied that he was still unconscious they picked him up, one on each arm, and dragged him out of the room. George motioned for Jonathan to follow him, which he promptly did, all the way back to his bedchamber. Jonathan was so relieved to have escaped the fate that had befallen Richard he did not even mind the sound of the key turning in the lock of his door.
Chapter Two
Sacrifice
Being more akin to a free roaming animal Jonathan did not find confinement in his room all too agreeable yet it certainly was better than the alternative. As he sat on his bed reflecting on one particular alternative, the one that had been displayed before him just moments earlier, Jonathan found his mind heavily occupied with thoughts of Richard. The beaten and bloodied remains of a man had been his closest friend and companion for the last few years. It was true they had their ups and downs but at the end of each day Jonathan was able to go to sleep trusting Richard was there for him, and he truly was. Many mornings came and went where it was Richard who sat and listened to Jonathan ramble on about his nightmares and any other whimsical thing he chose to speak of. The positive memories that had been compiled between them over the years began to flood into Jonathan’s head. At the same time there was still the cold hard fact that this man was now facing death for something to do with the most important woman in his life. The very woman Richard had introduced him to in the first place. No matter what angle Jonathan looked at it from the pieces were just not adding up. He did not know whether to feel sorrow or anger for the man but found himself feeling both in equal measure. But that is not all he felt. There was also a piercing pain developing in his head telling him he needed to take a break and allow the stress of the day to lessen its hold on him. In search of a suitable distraction Jonathan walked across the room throwing open a large window situated on the wall above his writing desk.