Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall Read Free Page A

liked the idea of jumping from one to the other.And there was a chimney ahead as well, among the trees. He could see the smoke and smell something cooking which made all the juices in his mouth rise up and shout, “Hunger!”
    I will ask politely, he thought. If they are Christians they will feed the starving.
    Slithering down the bank he hopped across on the stones. Another time he would have gone back again for the fun of it but hunger made him follow the path to where it joined a lane. There was a whole village ahead he could see now, low houses clustered round a green with a church tower peeping over the top. He knocked at the door of the first cottage which stood on its own.
    A woman peeped round the door, gave one look and slammed it in his face. He could hear her yell to someone inside. Two men appeared, one from each side of the house armed with pitchforks. They were shouting, “Here’s the villain,” and more people, men, women and children began emerging from their cottages.
    The figures dotted the green like a festival day but they were not happy, they were not dancing. They were running towards him and brandishing sticks and stones.
    “A crust of bread,” he began to say as the pitchfork men grabbed him, one each side. He looked hopefully towards the women and children for signs of charity in their faces. A tiny boy snatched up a stone from the road and threw it with astonishing aim. Daniel was so surprised to see it coming that he didn’t dodge it and it hit him above the left eye.
    “Belay that,” shouted one of the pitchfork men to the child. “We’ve got him safe. You could have hit us.”
    Daniel heard the voice but for a moment he was stunned and saw nothing till he felt his arms being pinioned to his sides.
    Many more voices were yelling round his head.
    “We should string him up now.”
    “Put him in the stocks.”
    “Take him to Sir John.”
    “Someone run and tell Turner we’ve got the man fired his stack.”
    “Are we sure? He’s not dressed as a Scots soldier.”
    “Look at his flaxen hair and the wound on his shoulder where Mr Robert winged him.”
    “Has he got anything to say for himself?”
    Daniel felt his cheek slapped. He blinked and saw red fierce faces crowding close.
    “Speak up then. You went looting from the Scots army. You stole a chicken.”
    “Ay and when Master Robert shot at you, you hid and came back in a fury and fired the stack. That’s a hanging offence that is.”
    “Can Sir John deal with him?”
    “Why not?”
    “The Scots’ Commander is the law now. He’ll not punish his own for firing one of our stacks.”
    Daniel heard the maze of words but the pictures in his head were confused. The words didn’t fit them. There had been fire – that was true enough. He could see the picture where flaring straw was running along the ground. A gust of wind had brushed his cheek at the same time. But that picture had stopped, perhaps when he turned to run away. There was also quite clearly – though it had been half dark at the time – the shape of the fat boy slithering down the tree trunk. He liked children and in the pale blob of the boy’s face he had felt the eyes looking at him, but he didn’t know if it was a kindly look or a hostile one. What had happened then? The boy had vanished. Was that before or after the fire picture?
    A woman’s voice said, “Why don’t you answer, you Scots villain?”
    That at least was not right. They were angry because they thought he was from Scotland. He tried to find the face that had spoken so he could beam at it and reassure the woman. He wanted to tap his chest but his arms were fastened to his sides with a piece of rope. He nodded his head at the many faces around him.
    “English,” he said with confidence. “English army.”
    The reaction of the faces made him wonder if he had said the wrong thing. He had been dressed like a soldier. He had marched like a soldier once and carried a pike. But when Nat had told