Page 29 of By the Sword
Alone in the pitiless dark, his heart thumping behind his ribcage, Jonathan took a long, slow, shuddering breath and bit his lip against the sudden fierce and terrible pain in his left shoulder. One sound and he would betray not only himself but the stranger who had rescued him.
He put a shaking hand to the injury, his fingers feeling the warm stickiness of blood. Clutching his left arm to his chest, he closed his eyes, trying to control the pain and nausea and muster his thoughts but the walls of the dark cupboard closed in on him and he slipped into blessed unconsciousness.
He came back to his senses, lying on a none-too-clean floor. Above him, the carcass of a pig swayed from a hook and he smelled blood and offal. The blood could be his but the other noxious odours were those of the Shambles. A bearded face came into view and strong hands hauled him into a sitting position.
‘Ye can’t stay here,’ the man said. ‘The soldiers have already been and I’ve a wife and bairns upstairs. Have ye friends in York?’
Jonathan found his voice. ‘Petergate. The house of…’ The instinct of his profession overcame his fuddled senses. ‘Just get me as far as Petergate.’
The bearded face nodded. ‘Aye, I can do that for ’ee. It’s gone dark so we’ll be safe enough. Now on your feet.’
Despite being a good head shorter than Jonathan, his saviour was solid and took Jonathan’s weight with ease. Winding their way through the backways and alleys of the city, they made faltering progress to Petergate.
‘Just around the corner is the Minster. I’ll leave you ’ere,’ the man said. ‘The wife’ll be wondering where I’ve gone.’
‘Thank you,’ Jonathan muttered, struggling to keep a grip on consciousness. ‘I owe you my life.’
‘Aye, well I’ve no love for them troopers, particularly not when they take to shootin’ unarmed men in’t street.’
He melted away into the dark. Jonathan leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and determined not to faint. It was just a little way to the tenuous safety of William Rowe’s house.
***
Kate sat back in her chair and smiled affectionately at her brother-in-law as William Rowe poured another glass of wine and belched with satisfaction.
‘Damned good meal,’ he said. ‘Made all the better for your company, my dear.’
Kate laughed. ‘Don’t tell me that. I know you relish escaping from Suzanne for a few days. I’ve probably ruined your plans for a game of cards tonight.’
‘Aye well, mayhap you have,’ William agreed. ‘But the truth is we’ve all missed you, my dear. The farm’s doing well. Young Phillip’s done you proud.’ He looked at the dark sky outside the window. ‘Now when’s this cousin of Richard’s turning up? Lookin’ forward to meeting him. Does he play cards?’
‘He does and rather better than you I suspect, William.’
‘Never. Don’t ’ee durst tell thy sister but I’m a dab hand at cards.’
Kate smiled and William continued. ‘So these Thornton relatives of yourn have been hard done by?’
Kate shook her head. ‘They’ve nothing left but a run-down estate and their pride. The price for supporting the King has been heavy.’
William nodded. ‘Aye, well, they’re not alone there, lass. There’s many here in Yorkshire that have suffered the same fate. What is it, Mistress Gates?’
William’s housekeeper hovered in the doorway.
‘Please, sir. I’d not disturb you but there’s a man in my kitchen asking for Mistress Ashley.’ Indignation flashed into the woman’s face. ‘Bleedin’ all over my clean floor he is.’
Even as William rose to his feet, Kate had already left the room, running down the corridor and the stairs to the kitchen.
Her heart stopped at the sight of Jonathan. He stood by the door to the courtyard, or rather leaned against the wall, holding his left arm, his face ashen and, as Mistress Gates had observed, dripping blood from his left hand onto the immaculate floor.
‘Kate. I’m so sorry…’ he began but did not finish as he slid down the wall to the floor, leaving a trail of blood against the whitewashed wall.
Her hands flew to her mouth and she stifled a scream.
‘Is he dead?’ Mistress Gates enquired.
Her voice jerked Kate out of her state of immobility and she knelt beside Jonathan, her hands hovering helplessly over his shoulder where the jacket was blackened and sodden with blood.
‘Good God, lass. Who’s this?’ William, puffing heavily, had followed Kate into the kitchen.
