Page 73 of By the Sword
One by one they slipped away and now all Kate could do was watch on as Jonathan left her once more. He went to an uncertain fate and she wanted to remonstrate with him, beg him to stay by her side, pleading with him to surrender–anything as long as she knew where he was and that he was alive, but the words would not come out.
Instead, she had to content herself with a last, brief, loving kiss before the night swallowed him up and she and Nell were left alone in the empty courtyard.
They had work to do and after the last helmet and breastplate lay at the bottom of the moat, the two women sat in the kitchen absorbed in their thoughts and too tired to talk. Kate had not seen Tom since the men had left and she assumed he had gone back to bed but as she rose, at last, to go to her bed, he came in from the kitchen yard dirty and smelly and wearing a huge grin on his face.
She looked at him, wrinkling her nose with distaste. ‘Tom, where have you been?’
‘Hiding the King’s medal, as I promised,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I’ve put it in a place where they’ll never look.’
‘Where?’ asked Nell.
Kate’s nose wrinkled. ‘I can guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve hidden it in the refuse heap.’
The boy nodded and the women laughed in the knowledge that it would be the last time they would have cause to laugh for many days to come.
Chapter 24
Jonathan decided to head south again, back into the countryside he knew and where he could be assured of loyal friends and in the cold, dark hour before dawn, he led his horse across the deserted stable yard of the Black Cross inn at Bromsgrove.
Jonathan knew this hostelry well. He and Giles had spent many evenings in the congenial warmth of the front parlour under the watchful eye of the innkeeper, Joseph Bramble. Old Joseph had been dead some years now but his son, Harry, still ran the inn and Jonathan trusted Harry with his life.
The stable door opened on well-oiled hinges and he led his weary horse into the stable, securing it in the furthest stall, well concealed by the shadows. The other horses stirred and nickered but did not wake the stable lad, whose stentorian, drunken snoring came from one of the stalls.
He unsaddled the beast and checked it had food and water before looking around for a suitable place of concealment. Thebeams in the roof were strong enough to provide him with reasonable support if somewhat lacking in comfort. He climbed up one of the stalls and swung himself into the beams. Slats had been laid between the beams to provide some extra storage for hay and he took up a position where he could see the main door of the stable. Well concealed from a casual eye, he allowed himself the luxury of his first real sleep for days.
At daybreak, the stable boy came to life, waking Jonathan. The boy retched into the filthy straw and staggered out into the courtyard. Jonathan heard water being pumped and the sound of splashing before the boy began his morning chores. The presence of an extra horse did not seem to unduly alarm him and Jonathan’s faithful mount shared the morning’s rations.
As the horses below him munched their straw, Jonathan’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d not eaten in over twenty-four hours. He gritted his teeth and set himself to wait. It was well into mid-morning before a familiar face appeared at the stable door looking for the errant stable hand, who had fallen asleep again.
Harry’s sister, Sally, had been a cheerful, pretty girl with flaming red hair. If she liked a man she had been more than happy to share her considerable favours and Jonathan had been sixteen when Sally had cast her eyes in his direction. He had been only too happy to follow where she had led.
But those days were long gone. Although she was only a few years older than Jonathan, time had not dealt kindly with her, and he struggled to see a trace of the girl in the large, frowzy woman who stood in the doorway. Sally Bramble now had five children, all with different fathers, and presided over her brother’s taproom–a loud, cheerful and formidable presence.
‘Sal,’ he called down from the rafters in a low voice, not wanting to rouse the sleeping stable boy.
She started and looked up, reaching for a nearby pitchfork.
‘Who’s there?’
Her concern turned to a grin of delight as Jonathan slid off the rafters and landed ungracefully in the hay below. He stood up and brushed the straw from his clothes, shaking out his cramped limbs.
‘I’m getting old, Sal,’ he said ruefully.
Sal dropped the pitchfork. ‘We all are, love, but I’m right glad to see you.’ She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
Jonathan suffered her embrace. For all her faults she had a heart of gold, and he still had an enormous affection for her.
‘I need your help, Sal,’ he said.
‘Aye, I guessed that. I doubt that ’ee would be hiding in my roof in the hope that it was my body you were after,’ she said. ‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with that scrap at Worcester the whole county’s in a tizz about?’
He nodded.
‘Well, you’ve picked a fine time to be skulking in my stable. I’ve a troop of Parliament horse in the front room,’ Sal said, looking around as if she expected them to appear. ‘You need to stay put until it’s a little quieter. I’ll send my boy John out to you with something to eat and drink.’
As Jonathan looked up at his perch in the rafters, a movement in the hay made them both start. His hand went to the hilt of his sword and he swung around on his heel, brandishing the weapon. The stable boy, roused by their voices, cowered in alarm at the sword.
Sal laid her hand on his sword arm, forcing him to lower the weapon. ‘Don’t you mind Abel,’ she said and tapped her head. ‘He’s a bit daft but he’ll not give you away. Will you?’ She directed the last at the boy, who shook his head. ‘Now get back up where you came from and bide your time. That your horse in the far stall?’
