Wintour out in the lead, with the Wright brothers close behind. It was a suicidal enterprise and Wintour was the first to fall, clutching his shoulder as he went down. Both of the brothers fell soon after; the last to fall — Kit, he thought — made a desperate attempt to crawl to his brother before being struck by another ball.
Quick watched as soldiers entered into the yard and cautiously made their way to the door, some of them checking on the condition of their fallen foes as they did so. The Wright brothers must have been dead, as they were left where they lay, but Wintour was pulled to his feet and dragged back through the gate. Wintour would live to regret his survival, thought Quick, as he finally spurred his horse away from the house and its doomed inhabitants.
He rode away from the sound of muffled gunshots coming from inside the house, content at a job well done. But he should have known better than to let his guard down, for he had travelled no further than a half mile from the house when his path was crossed by a party of horsemen, who seemed determined not to let him proceed. He laid a hand on the woollen blanket lying across the front of his saddle and took comfort from the two holstered pistols concealed beneath.
“Sir, you come from the direction of Holbeach,” said one of the men, though whether this were intended as a statement of fact or a question, Quick was not quite sure. He decided on the latter, as the fellow had an interrogative manner about him — his eyes roving inquisitively, and his thin lips framing a tongue untainted by any flavour of sympathy. In short, he looked accustomed to asking questions of his fellow man and receiving answers.
“Indeed I do,” answered Quick. “But it is not a place I would recommend to the casual visitor at this time.”
“There are times when a man needs to travel towards the sound of guns,” came the response, the man briefly standing on his stirrups so as better to hear the crack of musketry still coming from the direction of the house. “And I would say from the look of you that you have soldiered yourself. Flanders perhaps?”
“Aye, I have seen service. But a man is always wise to put such excitements behind him while he still can.”
“There are many who would agree with you sir. Might I ask your name?”
“Indeed you might but I would expect yours in return.”
“A fair bargain, and as a show of good faith why don’t I offer mine first. I am Jonathan Noyce, a servant of King James, whose royal person was so rudely endangered not two days past.”
Quick knew of the man — his reputation as the country’s most successful priest taker was second to none — the mere mention of his name was enough to put the fear into any Catholic. “In which case Holbeach is most likely to be your destination. From what I have just heard, there are enough Papists hiding there to keep you in business for some time to come.”
“You are well informed sir, but alas you remain a well-informed stranger, for your side of the bargain has yet to be met.”
“I am Peter Quick, one time soldier, as you so correctly surmised, but now making ends meet in the wool trade.”
“You had cause to be at Holbeach?”
Quick shook his head. “I had hoped to discuss this year’s fleeces but found the house besieged and was informed by a soldier that the traitors responsible for the attempt on the king’s life were holed up within. In the circumstances it did not strike me as the most profitable port of call for a man in my trade.”
“And I trust you are no friend of the Catholic?”
“I care not which religion a man chooses to secure his entry into heaven but when it comes to assassination and treachery in the name of God, then that is a different matter.”
Noyce had spent the whole time studying Quick. “You certainly do not meet the description of the men we are seeking. In which case we shall let you pass. We shall not rest until we have brought each and every one of the plotters to justice. No matter where they hide, I shall find them. But be warned, sir, this is no time to be seen expressing sympathy towards Papists.”
“Your words shall be heeded, sir. As for your searches, I wish you well and would now be pleased to be let by. I have lost business already today and can ill afford losing any more.”
As Quick rode away the relief of evading capture quickly evaporated, and to his alarm there remained an ominous sense of entrapment. It took him only a little time more to realize that his involvement in the affair was far from over. With the tenacious Noyce now on the plotter’s trail, it could only be a matter of time before those not killed or captured at Holbeach were taken, and any incriminating materials in their possession recovered. Paramount among these concerns were those blasted priests and the plotter’s treasury. If Noyce and his men reached them before he did, then all his efforts thus far would be in vain. He had no option but to ignore his own advice and ride towards where the sound of their guns might soon be heard.
“All of this is your handiwork?” asked Quick of their new surroundings. The move had been as sudden as it had been unexpected. Once satisfied that the way was clear, Owen had led them in an early dawn dash from their hiding place to the nearby kitchen, where the removal of the stone slab beneath the cooking hearth revealed the entrance to a tunnel.
Owen’s shake of the head was barely perceptible in the lamplight. “I cannot claim credit. This is an old drain, built to carry water from the moat which once surrounded the house. They filled in the ditch long ago but this was left behind.”
Out of sight, out of mind, thought Quick; if only the same rule applied to them. The moat may have long gone but the tunnel was still damp, and in places water trickled through the green slime covering the walls.
Owen knew full well that if they were to stand any chance of escaping the house, then the tunnel was their only hope. With Noyce on the job it would be only a matter of time before their hiding place was discovered and, with or without him on their scent, Quick was only too happy to leave the confines of those dreadful walls. They continued their passage for what seemed an age, before the closely bonded bricks gave way to timber walls. “I dug this part,” said Owen. “Surfacing at the end of the original drain would place you in open ground, so I extended it.”
They had not been in the wooden portion of the tunnel long when progress came to a halt. Owen climbed a short distance up a ladder and opened a trapdoor just wide enough to let in a chink of light and to allow him to check the way out was clear.
The trapdoor was concealed within the earth floor of a smithy. The blacksmith was absent, but the coals in his forge were content enough to give off a gentle glow without him. Owen closed the hatch while Quick took in his surroundings. Dozens of horseshoes, great and small, were hanging from nails in the beams above their heads; the middle of the floor was occupied by an anvil resting its heavy weight on a block of wood, and the many tools of the blacksmith’s trade were scattered about.
Placing the bag of coins on the anvil Quick crossed to a window and, peering out, was relieved to see nothing more than an empty yard, overlooked by a few ramshackle sheds. The tunnel had put a good musket shot between them and the house, but he would have been even happier to see a pair of horses tethered close by. The best hope seemed to rest with the long building on the other side of the yard, which from the halved doors looked to be a stable.
“There are still two men in the house,” said Owen.
“I think there will be a good few more than two in there now.”
“I mean the priests, Mr Quick. The men who accompanied me in the flight from Holbeach House.”
Quick let the sacking drop back across the window. “Do they have coin, or any other materials of importance with them?”
“They have nothing but food and drink with them, and precious little of that. All of the money was left in my charge. Its presence seemed to make them uncomfortable.”
“They would learn to feel more at home with it as bishops,” said Quick, trying not to let his relief at the answer show. “But there will be no chance of promotion now. You know as well as I that they will be taken before long. We must look to our own salvation, which I fear is far from assured.”
Owen was standing beside the anvil and casually brushing his fingers across the crescentic ridges created by the coins in the bag. “Could we not buy their liberty? This was intended to finance a rebellion, to pay for the taking of lives. Could it not be put to a better use and pay for their lives?”
