The Highwayman's Curse Read Free Page B

they looked as though they neither knew nor wished for soft comfort. One of them was much younger, of my age perhaps, his face smooth, though he looked as fierce and angry as the others.
    Another man I noticed. Red-haired and wild-eyed he was, his beard licking his face like flames.
    The hands on the reins were thick and gnarled and their horses were bedecked with weaponry: nasty-looking clubs and two long guns were visible. They rode well, one-handed, with long stirrups and longer reins, wheeling their ponies around roughly.
    If they decided that they did not like us, we would stand not a chance.
    We could rely only on the fact that we had a sick boy with us. Though, indeed, they might care nothing for such delicacies.
    From their faces, and the way they pointed at the boy, they cared very much. And it was clear the boy knew them. He began to whimper, struggling against Bess’s left arm which remained tight across his chest. One man said something but I could not tell what his words were. His accent was strange to me. Two men levelled their guns at us.
    Bess put her hand on her pistol. “No, Bess!” I warned. No good could come of such an action, not with their numbers. I was glad above all that these were not redcoats – I could not have answered for Bess’s behaviour towards them if they had been. Her hatred of the King’s army had no limits.
    â€œEnglish?” asked the leader. The idea did not seem to please him over much. Nor did it please the others.
    â€œDo you know this boy?” I asked, ignoring the question.
    â€œGive him here!” snarled the flame-haired man. He was built like a boulder, his huge arms bulging under his rolled-up shirtsleeves, his waistcoat barely containing his muscled frame. In his mouth, I saw a hole where some teeth should be.
    â€œWhat have ye done wi’ him?” demanded the one with the dark beard, who seemed to be the leader, though I could not be sure – the red-haired man too had the demeanour of a leader. “We heard tell o’ trouble and we have broken the Sabbath to come looking…”
    â€œWe found him injured. We rescued him.”
    But the boy did not aid our situation. He gibbered and held out his one good arm towards the men and anyone would have thought that he was terrified of us.
    â€œHe has a broken arm – we tried to help him,” Bess insisted.
    â€œAye, and where’s my grandfather? What have ye done wi’ him?” demanded the red-haired man, his accent thick but his meaning clear enough.
    Bess and I glanced at each other. The man with the dark beard snapped at us. “Tell us! Is he dead?”
    I nodded. His face twisted and there was a groan from one of the men.
    â€œWe found his body…” I tried to explain, but the boy wailed and pointed at me and a muttering rose among the men, gruff words growled, so that I caught no more than part meanings here and there.
    Bess and I moved our horses closer to each other.
    One part I understood, some words spoken firmly by a pale-eyed fleshy man with no full beard, only a few curly whiskers protruding from his hat. “No’ on the Sabbath.” And though I did not like his soft, round face, with its nasty thick lips and smooth skin, I gave silent thanks to God that it was indeed His day and that we might be safe from whatever these men planned for us.
    Very soon we were surrounded, the men moving closer until we could smell them, see their angry eyes. Still we did not touch our weapons. The two guns were pointed towards us, and I know another man was behind us. Two men leapt to the ground. They lifted the boy from Bess’s saddle and he cried out.
    Within moments Bess and I had been relieved of our weapons. I would like to say we put up a fight but we did not. In previous circumstances, we have fought for our lives but this was not such an occasion. We were outnumbered and we both knew that our only hope lay in doing merely what we