Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall Read Free Page B

him to leave his pike and put his own clothes on from his knapsack, had not some words been said about not being a soldier any more? Words were hard to remember but there was the picture to it. He could see Nat sliding their pikes down a bank to some water and they had sunk out of sight completely.
    “By the Lord, he’s a deserter. He must go before Viscount Conway.”
    “The army has retreated to Durham. Lord knows how far south they will go now.”
    “Take him to Sir John.”
    “String him up now.”
    “Let’s hear what he has to say.” His face was slapped again. “You fired the stack. Ah, here comes Turner and his boy. Turner, this is the man fired your stack. Speak up, villain!”
    Daniel struggled with his pictures. “There was a fat boy –”
    “Hah! That’s a lie. What would our boys get fat on?”
    The little lad who had thrown the stone was pushed forward. A man plucked up his ragged sleeve to show his arm. “There, that’s what our children are like. Skin and bone. A fat boy indeed! You set the fire.”
    Daniel began to wonder if he’d ever seen a fat boy. The fire must be true though because they were all talking about a fire. He had a tinder box in his knapsack but he wasn’t wearing his knapsack. He was good at making a fire in the hearth at home or a bonfire in autumn for the leaves from the parsonage trees. Was the fat boy a dream? He did have dream pictures. Nat told him when they were dreams but he was far from Nat and he didn’t know how he could get back to him.
    He was frightened and closed his eyes against the grim faces. Now he could hear horses’ hooves and felt a change come over the crowd.
    “Heaven be praised! Here’s Sir John – and Master Robert!”
    Daniel thought he might now be happy too till he heard the voice that went with the bang, the pain and dropping the hen. He had run from the voice, slithering down the stream bank and crouching till all the other voices that clamoured afterwards had gone away.
    “That’s the man,” the voice said now with the same sharpness as “Hold! Put that down or I shoot.”
    Daniel kept his eyes shut so as not to see the lips that made cruel sounds.
    Another voice spoke, mild but with authority.
    “Ay, Robert, but did you see him fire the stack?”
    “Indeed not, sir. I would have raised the alarm at once and it could have been saved. We only saw the flames rising into the air when we had given up the wild goose chase for Bella. But there was no one else around. He came back and did it deliberately out of revenge. He’s a robber and a fire-raiser and should hang at once.”
    “Ay, we all say that, Sir John. We got to make an example of him. He’s confessed to being an English soldier who ran away from the battle.”
    “Has he indeed?”
    Daniel opened his eyes and saw the man who spoke in an educated voice. He wore a fine large curled hat such as gentlemen wore and his eyes under grey eyebrows were staring straight at him.
    “You are an English soldier?”
    Daniel looked up into the eyes. They were straight honest eyes in a face that had no other distinct features but a small grey beard. An old man’s face, about the age of his own father who was nearly fifty.
    I must answer honestly. Nat said I was not a soldier when I put on my own clothes.
    “No, sir.”
    “He said he was just now,” several voices cried. “He’s a liar and deceiver. He made up a story about a fat boy firing the stack. String him up at once, Sir John.”
    “We are not savages. He must have a proper trial.”
    “What about the Scots army, Sir John?” cried one of the pitchfork men. “Folks say they’ve took Newcastle and are sending troops to seize all the land round here. If we hanged him quick the deed ‘ud be done and they could do nowt about it.”
    “They’ll fire the village if we hang a Scots spy,” a woman’s frightened voice cried out.
    “String him up, Father. He’s English. He doesn’t talk like a Scot.” The cruel voice spoke