Chapter 20
It was a night that was sometimes almost light and sometimes almost pitch-black. Clouds had moved over the sky since the afternoon, though they were not in a solid mass. Sometimes the moon and stars beamed down; sometimes they were obscured.
Idris Parry made his way uphill with dawdling steps in the direction of home. He kicked a few stones as he went and then remembered that he was wearing his new boots and had been warned to take care of them. He stopped to take them off and hang them about his neck by the laces. He felt more comfortable in his bare feet, anyway.
How boring it was to be nine years old! He wished he was old enough to join in all the excitement with Rebecca. It was not fair that only men were allowed to go—and Mrs. Evans. He had considered going himself—he had just been watching all the hushed excitement of the gathering—but a boy his size would be spotted in a moment, even on the darkest night, and he would be sent home. Or, worse, his dada would be called and he would have his trews pulled down and his backside walloped in sight of everyone else. In sight of Rebecca.
Rebecca was Idris Parry's idol. Before going to the meeting place, Idris had hidden outside the old gamekeeper's hut, where he had waited patiently for over an hour until Rebecca had come and fetched his bundle before riding off with it, On the first night Idris had been fortunate enough to see Rebecca return to the hut, still wearing the disguise. Perhaps he would not have known her identity otherwise.
Now there was nothing to do but go home and sleep for the rest of the night while Rebecca and his dada and most of the other men from round about were out having fun.
But Idris stopped suddenly and crouched down at the side of the path. His ears sharpened and his eyes darted about. He had spent enough nights outside, trespassing and poaching, that he knew when there was someone else out too and close by. There was someone now. He had been walking carelessly. He had to look about to get his bearings. He was close to the lane leading to Mr. Williams's farm.
It did not take Idris more than a few minutes to move around silently until he saw who it was. It was one of the special constables from Tegfan. Idris had seen him there with the others, talking with the earl—with Rebecca. What a joke that had been! But what was the man doing here? Was he hoping to catch Mr. Williams going out with Rebecca? Dada had said that Mr. Williams could not go because his legs were bad.
And then Idris heard footsteps coming from the farm and ducked down well out of sight. If it was Mr. Williams, then he was too late to go with Rebecca anyway. But it was Mr. Harley—up here courting Miss Williams, although she liked Mr. Rhoslyn better.
And then Mr. Harley stopped and spoke quietly. "Are you still there, Laver?"
"Yes," the constable said equally quietly.
"I have to hurry back to the house to alert Wyvern," Mr. Harley said. "Perhaps he can round up more constables in a hurry. I don't believe I am mistaken. It must be tonight.Follow her if she leaves the house. Don't let her out of your sight. I'll wager she will try to warn someone or, better still, try to go after them to warn them. I'll catch up with you as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir," the constable said. "Two people went down a while ago—a man and a lad. It would seem a strange time to be going out to be sociable."
"Yes, indeed," Mr. Harley said. "I'll be back, Laver." And he strode off downhill.
That would have been Dada and Mrs. Evans going down, Idris thought. But who was going to leave the house? Who was going to lead Mr. Harley and the constables to Rebecca and her followers? Miss Williams? But Miss Williams did not hold with the gate breaking. Of course, she was sweet on Mr. Rhoslyn, and Idris knew who Charlotte was. Was Mr. Harley using Miss Williams to lead him to Rebecca?
Rebecca would be sent to the other side of the world for the rest of his life and would be chained and whipped and made to work harder than hard if he was caught, Idris had heard his dada say. And the same thing would happen to Dada, though not for quite so long a time. And to Mr. Rhoslyn and Mr. Harris and Mr. Owen and Mrs. Evans. Idris felt panic like a heavy and giant hand against the back of his neck.
And then Ceris Williams appeared. She had a shawl clasped about her shoulders with one hand while the other hand held up her skirt at the front so that she would not trip over it as she hurried along, head down. She sped downward, bathed in moonlight as one of the gaps in the clouds spread overhead. The constable moved like a shadow after her.
Idris's mind had calmed. He knew where Rebecca and the other men were going. He had heard Charlotte tell them in a low voice which direction they would be taking. Idris was not sure of the exact gates, but he could guess. He could get there before the pursuers. He could save them in time.
He could do something for Rebecca after all.
He got to his feet and sped off across the hill, still in his bare feet. It was perhaps fifteen minutes later, far too late, that he suddenly realized that his mind had not been working clearly after all. If it had, he would have thought of tripping noisily and cheerfully after Miss Williams and chattering to her loudly while warning her quietly that she was being followed.
But it was too late. He sped onward.
And what was going to happen when Mr. Harley went looking for the Earl of Wyvern? But Idris could not afford to start worrying about that.
Rebecca was being extra cautious tonight. It had been arranged that the special constables in the area would be sent to hide out in certain tollhouses south and east of Tegfan. But the operation was not very well coordinated. Although all the landowners were cooperating together, none of them had been appointed overall leader. The constables" billets were scattered about, and some of the men liked to follow their own initiative rather than take orders from men who seemed to know no better than they did where Rebecca might turn up next.
So one never knew if one was going to ride up to a gate west of Tegfan only to find oneself peering down the barrel of a gun.
He had the safety of a few hundred men to consider—and at least one woman. He had seen Marged almost immediately tonight, though she had kept her distance and had not once met his eyes. He could not afford to think of Marged until the night's work was safely completed, or to consider whether he would take her home tonight. Or make, love to her.
He put the image of her and the decision to be made firmly from his mind.
All went well at the first gate. There was no one there except a gatekeeper with a heavy limp who informed Rebecca that she could have his gate and his house and welcome to them provided she did not lay a hand on him.
"Bloody gates," he said, shaking his fist at the one he had been employed to tend. "More trouble than they are worth. I take more abuse here than my wages make up for. And the house is so drafty that I might as well sleep in the middle of the road."
He caused a general burst of laughter from those close enough to hear when he offered to help pull everything down. But no one was fool enough to put a club or an ax in his hands.
The second gate was a different story. It was closer to Tegfan. The gatekeeper had lived in Glynderi for a while. Charlotte warned all Glynderi people to make sure that their faces were well blackened and that they kept their distance from the house until the keeper was gone. But that was a warning that was given each time to the people who would be working close to home.
There was another problem. The spies who had been sent on ahead to scout out the house and surrounding area, as they always did, came back to report that there were two constables with guns inside the house.
There was a murmuring among the men close enough to Rebecca to overhear the report. It seemed they would have to retreat and come back another night.
"We can find another gate, Mother," one of the daughters said loudly enough to put heart back into the men. "There are plenty of them close by."
"We have destroyed one gate tonight, Mother," another said. "It is enough to cause serious annoyance. We will follow you another night."
Rebecca raised her arms and silence fell. This was the moment for which Geraint had taken on leadership. Soon perhaps all the remaining tailgates would be manned by armed guards. If they turned back now, a few hundred unarmed men discouraged by two men with guns, then they were beaten. And yet the safety of every last one of them was in his hands.
"My children," Rebecca said, "we have been asserting our right to freedom—freedom of movement within our own country, freedom from oppression by the owners of the land, who would bow us down to the ground with the burden of taxes in various guises. There is a gate on the road below us that your mother finds disturbing. It will not be easy to remove because it is guarded by two men and two guns. Are we to be daunted?"
"No!" a few bold voices said quite firmly. They were followed by a chorus of agreement. If he had demanded it at that moment, Geraint knew, they would have rushed the gate for him, leaving a few dead behind them when they left again.
Rebecca did not lower her arms. "We will make a wide circle about this gate," she said. "No one is to be seen or heard. You will wait, out of sight and silent, my children, and let your mother do the talking. You will not show yourselves or put yourselves in any danger until I give the clear signal. This is understood?"
"Yes, Mother," Charlotte said while there was a swell of agreement from the men gathered around.
"Go now, then," Rebecca said. "My daughters will lead you. I will wait for ten minutes." She lowered her arms slowly and watched her daughters and her children move off into the darkness, all perfectly disciplined. This sort of situation had been discussed and planned with the daughters. Now was the time to see if it worked.
Charlotte was the one daughter who stayed close to Rebecca. And with them stayed the men—and one woman— from Glynderi. Marged was close by. Perhaps it was the most dangerous place for her to be, but Geraint felt the need to have her within his sight. He looked at her consideringly for a moment, but he knew it would be pointless to order her to go back.
She looked up at him and their eyes met for the first time. He saw the flash of her teeth in the darkness.
Damn the woman—she was enjoying this.
She should be afraid, she knew. And perhaps she was in a way. Certainly there was an almost tangible tension in the men gathered about Rebecca and Aled, the only two on horseback. A few hundred others had melted away into the darkness and were forming a wide and silent circle about the tollgate and tollhouse below—and about the two men with guns who were lying in wait for them there.
For the first time there was real danger. Some of them could be captured with those guns. Some of them would be killed. And yet instead of retreating, they were going to go forward.
But she was not afraid. Not really. Rebecca was sitting on his horse's back, quite still, quite calm and confident. And she trusted him. Perhaps it was foolish, this almost blind trust she had felt from the first moment, before there had been any question of more personal feelings. But she did trust him. And instead of fear in its most mind-numbing form, she felt exhilaration and the anticipation of adventure.
She met his eyes for the first time and knew, despite the mask, that he was considering speaking to her, advising her or commanding her to go back home, where it was safe. But she knew too that he would not say the words. He would know that she would refuse and that the necessity to exact obedience from all his followers would put him in an awkward position. And so he would not speak. They had met—incredibly—only twice before, but there were certain things they understood very well about each other. She smiled at him.
He had noticed her, he had considered her safety, and he had respected her right to decide for herself what she was going to do about it. It was enough. He had made clear that he wanted no continued involvement with her. But he had also proved to her that he cared. And that fact had been confirmed in just that one considering glance.
No, she was not really afraid. But she could hear her heart beating in her ears as she waited silently with everyone else. Even Rebecca and Aled did not speak to each other. Ten minutes seemed longer than an hour.
But they passed eventually. Rebecca raised one arm, bent at the elbow.
"We will move forward." he said. "But you will stop when I give the word, my children. Only your mother must be seen from the road below."
He was going to show himself. And there were men with guns below. And perhaps more lying in ambush. Did they know that there were not? But if there were, those men would have seen them by now and raised the alarm. Marged hoped he would keep back out of gunfire range. Her heart was beating harder and more painfully.
They walked silently for a short while until they approached a rise that Marged guessed would bring them in sight of the road. Rebecca raised a staying hand. And then rode on alone, slowly, to stop again at the top of the rise.
At the same moment clouds scudded by and the moon beamed down.
"Ho, there below!" Rebecca called, and held his horse quite still. He estimated that he was beyond the range of any shot from the house. He wondered if the people inside could feel the silence pulsing outside.
After his second call, the gatekeeper came out slowly and looked uneasily about him. And then he looked up and saw Rebecca on the hill. He took a step back toward the door.
"Stay where you are," Rebecca commanded him. "And call the others outside too."
"There is just me," the keeper called in a thin, nervous voice. "I have no family. And I have no quarrel with you, Rebecca."
"Call them out," Rebecca said. "With their guns. You are surrounded by three hundred men. It will be safer to surrender." In other parts of the country there were always guns among the rabble. It would be assumed that they too had guns. It was safe to expect that their bluff would not be called.
"There is no one else here," the gatekeeper said after one nervous glance over his shoulder.
"They have until the count of ten before I ask my children to close in," Rebecca said. "One."
The gatekeeper looked up and down the road and uneasily about at the hills.
"Two."
"There is no one with you," the man called. "And there is no one with me."
"Three."
They came out when the count reached six—two constables, each with a gun in his hand.
"Walk to the middle of the road and set the guns down," Rebecca said, "and then go back with your hands raised. One of you can then return to the house and bring out the other guns." He was guessing.
'There are no other guns," one of the constables called, his voice angry. He too looked around at the silent hills. "You are bluffing, whoever you are."
"Seven."
Four guns lay side by side on the road and three men stood with their arms raised above their heads when Rebecca's voice was in the pause between nine and ten.
Rebecca raised both arms and the gatekeeper's hands shook visibly. "My children," she said, raising her voice to be heard among the hills, "I see before me a gate that is obstructing the free passage of your mother and your brothers and sisters. And three men who have thought to defend it. They are doing what they are employed to do. They will not be harmed. They will leave the scene now, and you will come down, my children, when I lower my arms and destroy this gate and this house."
The three men below looked about them uncertainly and then lowered their arms and turned to disappear into the hills on the far side of the road.
"Let them pass through the line unmolested," Rebecca called. After allowing them a few minutes to make their escape, he brought down his arms.
Everything went smoothly after that. The guns were gathered up by two men who had been directed to the task, and piled beside the road to be removed later. And the gate and the house were destroyed as quickly and efficiently as usual.
Geraint sat and watched. But a sound different from the usual hubbub of voices and tools had him turning his head sharply when the job was almost completed. It was the high-pitched, piping voice of a child calling him. Calling Rebecca. And then the child was beside him, reaching to clutch his boot and gazing urgently into his face.
Idris Parry.
Geraint leaned down. "What is it, child? What are you doing here?" He felt anger well in him.
"You have to leave," Idris called. He was gasping for air and his eyes were wild with excitement and panic. "They know where you are. They are coming for you. They will have you trapped."
Geraint did not doubt the boy for a moment. He knew from experience that children like Idris Parry saw and heard a great deal more than anyone else would ever guess.
"They are coming," the child cried, pointing back in the direction of Tegfan. "I ran on ahead."
Geraint did not waste time asking questions. He did not know quite who they were or how many there were. But they would undoubtedly have guns. His men would be in danger. He looked at Aled.
"Fetch this child's father," he said. "Quickly."
But Waldo Parry must have been close by and had heard his son's voice. He was grabbing him by both arms even as Geraint spoke, fury in his face and his whole bearing.
"He has come to save us all," Rebecca said firmly. "Treat him gently. But get him out of here. Fast."
He raised his arms wide and called for attention. It seemed that it would be impossible to achieve when the work of destruction was hardly completed, but such was the power of his presence, it seemed, that silence fell by some miracle almost immediately.
"There are armed men on the way, my children," Rebecca said loudly and distinctly. "Go now quickly and be careful."
Men scrambled away in all directions. Rebecca stayed where she was.
"Go!" he commanded Aled when his friend hesitated and then stayed beside him.
But there was someone else too at the side of the road, not running with everyone else.
"Go quickly," she yelled at him. "It is you they will want more than anyone."
He would have waited until the last of his people were safely out of sight. But he had to get her to safety. He spurred his horse, scooped Marged up when he was already in motion, deposited her on the horse's back in front of him, and galloped up into the hills, Aled close beside him. With any luck none of the fleeing men would run into whoever it was that was coming to catch them red-handed as they destroyed a tollgate. And even if any of them were caught, unless it was himself or Aled or one of the other disguised daughters, it would not be easy to prove that they had participated in the destruction.
The danger was not past, but he drew a deep breath of relief anyway and spared a glance for Marged, who was clinging to him with both arms. But a sudden thought had him reining in hard and turning in his saddle to look back down at the road, bathed in moonlight again. Damnation, but he had forgotten the guns. Perhaps it was just as well, though. He wanted nothing at all to do with firearms.
Aled pulled up beside him.
And in that moment, before they could turn and continue on their way, a lone figure darted out onto the road a short distance from the place where the gate and house had been. A female figure. She stood and looked about her, clearly bewildered, clearly not knowing where to go or what to do.
"Duw." Aled whispered. "Oh, Duw, it's Ceris."
And he was galloping back down the slope before Geraint had quite had the chance to comprehend what he had said.
"Ceris?" Marged sat up to peer downward. "Ceris?"
"She must have found out too," he said, "and came to warn us." He could not go back down there with Aled. He had Marged's safety to consider.
But it was all over in a matter of seconds. Aled was back down on the road, Ceris was swept up while his horse was still in full gallop, and they were back on the slope. At the same moment two figures appeared at the far side of the road, one of them bent to pick up one of the guns, and there was a shot. The horse came galloping on, Aled and Ceris still on its back, apparently unhurt.
Marged had a death grip on his robe and on the clothes beneath it, Geraint realized.
"They are safe," she said.
Aled came speeding up the slope. Ceris's face was buried against his chest. "Get out of here," he yelled. "What are you waiting for?"
After a few yards of galloping side by side, they took separate directions.