“But…” Jack had no idea what to do; he’d never been on a horse in his life.
“Give me your hand.”
Angus reached down with a swarthy arm and hauled Jack up towards him. Jack jumped and a moment later, to his great surprise, found himself sitting high up on the rear of the horse, behind Angus.
Angus wheeled the horse round and kicked in his heels. The poor beast reared up… for a moment Jack thought he was going to slide off — but then they rebalanced and the horse shot off at a gallop towards the castle gate. The remaining people in the courtyard leaped aside as Jack and Angus careered forward. Jack shut his eyes and clung on. There was more shouting from behind them. He braced himself. Was he about to get an arrow between his shoulder blades? Angus was going fast and they raced through the open gate and charged on along the lane that led up towards the village. Jack twisted round to see whether they were being followed. For a moment he saw nothing, but then a posse of four riders raced through the gate in hot pursuit.
“They’re after us!” he yelled.
“Hang on!” Angus spurred the horse again and it pounded onwards. Jack felt he was going to be thrown off at any moment.
The village of Fotheringhay was small, but the dramatic events of the morning and its main street was swarming with people, animals and carts of all sorts. Angus slowed down a little and miraculously they managed to slalom their way through the throng. As they reached the far side of the village, Jack snatched a second look behind. The pursuing horsemen were still there — and they were getting closer.
He thumped Angus on the back. “They’re gaining!”
The river came back into view on the left of the track. It was slow-moving but brown and swollen from the winter rain. Ahead, a wide bend in the river carved into the bank, forming a raised embankment of loose mud and gravel, high above the water. Angus veered towards it.
“Hold on!” he shouted. In a second, they were airborne as the horse soared from the earth embankment and plunged into the icy water. The cold took Jack’s breath away. But the water only came up to their thighs and soon the horse found its footing on the bottom of the river. Angus made noises of encouragement — spurring the beast on. As they approached the opposite bank the current eased and the water became shallower. The horse sensed safety and pressed on energetically. They had made it.
Angus halted and wheeled them round. Opposite, their pursuers had arrived at the same spot on the high earth embankment. Immediately two of the pursuing horsemen attempted the same stunt. But the first horse slipped. Its rider became unseated and fell into the mud, sliding headlong into the torrent. The second horse somehow became entangled in the first and its rider was also thrown free. Soon both riders and horses were in the river, being swept along with the current. The two remaining horsemen waited at the top of the embankment. They were not about to risk the same fate and they peered across the water in frustration as Jack and Angus turned and galloped away to the woodland beyond.
The Fanshawe Players
The track became more gnarled and muddy the further on Jack and Angus travelled. It had been badly mauled by the wheels of carts and the hooves of horses, although they had seen nobody for at least two hours. A weak winter sun filtered through the oak branches above, but it brought no warmth and Jack’s legs remained horribly cold from the dousing in the river. He was also aching from sitting awkwardly behind Angus on the horse which had kept going despite all the abuse thrown at it.
“We should let it go. It’s not ours.”
“What? And walk?”
“Maybe… though we may risk being caught — who knows what would happen then?”
“Probably a quick beheading.”
“What do you think they wanted anyway?”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. But they worked out we were strangers…”
“The guy said ‘spy’. Why did he think that?”
“This is England, 1587, Angus. The queen has just ordered the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, her own cousin. Mary was accused of a plot to overthrow Elizabeth; but I think there are plots going on all the time. Probably everyone is paranoid and jumpy… and with good reason. I read that the execution is the last excuse the King of Spain needs to launch the Armada — you know, to try and get rid of Elizabeth and Protestant England for good.”
“Got to tell you — I’m not really bothered about all that. I want to get warm, get some food and wait for a time signal so we can make contact with VIGIL.” Angus dismounted and patted the horse’s grey flank. “Good boy.”
“You can get off now, Jack. I think this lad’s gone as far as he can.” Angus patted the horse again. “What shall we do with him?”
“Let him go — he’ll probably find his way back. Or someone will pick him up… he’s valuable.”
Angus slapped the rear of the horse and it trotted off back down the track. Jack looked around. The woodland was particularly thick here. There were a number of old oaks with impressively broad trunks. Even though it was winter and there was little foliage, they could not see through the woods more than about fifty metres in any one direction. It was eerily quiet.
“Hey, do your ears feel funny, Jack?”
“Sort of — but I think I know what it is.”
Angus put a finger in one ear and rubbed vigorously.
“That won’t help. It’s nothing. I mean literally nothing. There’s no noise. No ambient noise. Usually in towns and cities and even in the countryside where we live back home there is some sound or other — like from cars, planes, machinery and stuff. Usually you just don’t notice it, but it’s always there, in the background. Here, I guess there’s none of that. It’s perfectly silent. So it seems weird to us — almost sounds like there is noise.”
“Well ambient whatsit or not, we need to push on for a couple of miles and then maybe turn off the road and go deeper into these woods. Find a spot to hide and wait — maybe try and get a fire going as we wait for a signal, or until the emergency rations run dry. I’m hungry, but we’ll need to eke them out.”
They continued up the track, trying to avoid the worst of the puddles and the mud, but progress was slow and soon their boots squelched with muddy water. After an hour, Jack was ready to give up when they rounded a bend which curved down to a small clearing in the woods. There was a muddy crossroads and to one side there stood a wooden cart, a bit like a gypsy caravan. It was the first sign of life they had seen since Fotheringhay. They approached cautiously. As they drew near to the back of the cart they could hear a sound. Snoring.
Suddenly, a man’s face appeared from behind the canvas cover at the rear of the cart. It was a round face with red cheeks and it was cocked to one side. Rather oddly, the man was wearing a large, floppy jester’s hat decorated with bright red and yellow stripes. It even had bells on it.
“Fanshawe! Monk! Get up!” he shouted in a squeaky voice. “We have visitors.”
There was a commotion inside the cart and it creaked on its wheels. The donkey at the front chomped disinterestedly on the remains of the thin grass at its feet. Then, the faces of two other men popped out from behind the canvas cover. One was bald on top, with a fringe of straight black hair all the way round his head. The other was more distinguished-looking, and had a finely trimmed moustache and a pointed beard. He spoke in a rich voice and carefully enunciated each syllable.
“What have we here?”
Soon the strange trio of gentlemen were outside the cart and inspecting Jack and Angus with interest. The one with the jester’s hat was actually wearing a full jester’s outfit complete with diamond-patterned overcoat and pixie boots with bells on the toes. The bald one wore a simple brown cassock tied with a rope round his waist. The one with the beard — who seemed to be in charge — was dressed like a country gentleman with a doublet and hose, but he did sport a rather dashing green cloak.
“An audience perchance?” he queried.
Jack replied nervously, “Er, sorry, sir, we don’t have any money…”
“We’re on our way to…” But Angus didn’t know where they could be on their way to and looked at Jack for
