The Silk Weaver's Daughter (10 page)

“Wreckers? I’ve never heard of them. What are they?” Pierre queried.

“They are cruel, hard-hearted vultures. They have no pity on the poor travelers at sea. They’ll deliberately put up lights on the rocks, so the ships’ officers think everything is fine. It causes a shipwreck, of course, and then the wreckers take the spoils off the ship. They don’t give a damn about the poor folks drowning right in front of them. They are a wicked and heartless bunch. And these highwaymen aren’t much better.”

“Yes, Jacques did warn me about them.”

“Well, we’ll keep a sharp lookout for the next few miles. Once we are in Ashburn, it’s not so bad. By the way, these pistols are only good up to about eighty yards so don’t start shooting the minute you see one of them fellows. They usually come in pairs so I’ll tell you when I want you to fire. It’s not in my nature to kill them. Let the sheriff take care of that. I always alert him if I see any, and simply knowing we have arms usually puts a stop to whatever they’re planning. You understand?”

“But, of course, Luc. You well know what you’re doing and I do not. Up until this summer, my life was peaceful. I certainly didn’t foresee all this trouble. You have met my cousin, Jacques. He loves adventure, but me—I can well do without it.”

A slight movement drew their attention to the rise in front of them. There on the hill, the shadow of a man on horseback stood out against the blue sky. Then slowly the shadow split, revealing two individuals. As he saw Luc straighten up, Pierre’s heart gave a sudden lurch. Jacques had been right about England. Their troubles were not over yet.

Chapter 14

“T
here, up on the hill, Pierre,” Luc pointed. “That’s two highwaymen. In another few minutes, we’ll start shooting. Better let your family know.”

“There are highwaymen on the ridge,” Pierre called down to Claudine.” Get your pistols ready.”

“Alright then,” Luc yelled. “Fire!”

Five shots rang out and echoed through the low hills. As suddenly as the two horsemen had appeared, they took off over the ridge and disappeared from sight.

“I think it’s going to be okay now,” the coach driver exclaimed. “They prefer a surprise attack, and it’s the poor, unarmed travelers they go after, especially if they’re alone. They know we’ve got firepower now, so they’ll most likely leave us be.”

“Zut alors,
that was exciting. What type of people are these ‘highway men’ anyway?’ Pierre inquired once his heart had slowed down, and he could breathe again. “I had never heard of such criminals until Jacques mentioned them.”

“What? You’ve never heard of your famous countryman, Claude Duval?”

“No, I’m sure I haven‘t.”

“He’s considered the most dashing of all the highwaymen,” Luc began, looking pleased to be telling a story. “A fellow by the name of William Pope wrote a book about him not long ago. You should read it when you get to London. It’s quite famous.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need a few English lessons before I do that.” Pierre laughed.

“Anyhow,” Luc continued, “this Duval lived in Normandy. He was working in Rouen as a groom, when a group of English royalists hired him to tend their horses. During the time of the commonwealth, most of the English nobility fled to France, as I’m sure you know?”

“Yes, I have heard that.”

“Well, after Oliver Cromwell died, parliament recalled Charles II to restore the throne; this French fellow came to England with one of them noblemen. By then he was quite the gentleman. He had picked up all their ways. He dressed in high fashion and was most gallant with the ladies. Somehow, he drifted into a life of crime and became known as the ‘gentleman highwayman.’ Apparently he was an expert card player and gambler and lived a life of wine, women, song, and thievery.”

“Is he still around then? Maybe that was him?”

“No. Unfortunately, for him, he got drunk in a London pub one day. They managed to capture him, and send him to Newgate Prison. Now there’s a hellhole to be sure. I’m not sure if there was ever a fair trial, but they hanged him in any case. It all happened about fifteen years ago, so you won’t meet Gentleman Claude out here on the moor anymore unless it‘s his ghost.” Luc laughed and gave the horses the whip, as they headed down the ridge and out of the moor.

The remainder of the trip to Exeter passed by without event. They stopped at a town called Ashburn, and while Luc changed the horses, the family sat by the small river and ate the lunch Martha Bourdon had provided. Pierre found it quite peaceful there and, for the first time that week, he relaxed. Since there was still some time after they ate, he and Jean Guy walked around the town, looking at the woolen mills along the river, and the fine merchant houses on the main street.

“I could live in a town like this,” he stated. “Perhaps England won’t be so bad after all. If we find we don’t like living in London, there’s nothing to stop us from moving on in a few years. How do you feel about the city, my son?”

“I’m not so sure I’m going to like it. I didn’t like La Rochelle much, and London is even bigger and dirtier, so Marc tells me. I have been thinking that once you and Maman settle in, I might like to go to the Americas. Maybe with Marc. He believes there’s a lot of an opportunity for young people there. Land is still cheap.”

“Why, Jean Guy, it’s nothing but wilderness. It would never occur to me that you would want that sort of life. Well, something to think about I guess. However, we’ll give it a few years, eh. You won’t be sixteen until next spring. Now, it looks like Luc has the horses ready, so we’d best find the family and be on our way.”

They stopped overnight at both Exeter and Yeovil, where they stayed in coaching inns. The food was cold and greasy, and the beds full of fleas; but at least it served as a rest from the constant bouncing of the coach on the rough track. They found it refreshing to lie in a bed and stretch their legs after the long hours on the road. Nevertheless, on the third night, they were pleased to arrive in Salisbury and find a newer and more luxurious inn.

Pierre agreed with Luc that they should stay at the legendary George Inn, where a few decades earlier Oliver Cromwell had spent some time. They found the food excellent, and the rooms and bedding were spotless and new. It gave them all a chance to have a bath and a decent night’s rest. He could tell that Claude, as well as the little ones, had gone through as much as they could stand for now. Surprisingly, Louise looked rather wan, as well. Strange she doesn’t travel better, he thought. She always seemed so strong back on the farm.

“I’m so thankful we’re staying over an extra night,” Claudine mentioned to him in their room that evening. “We all need a rest, and it will be nice to see a little of the city. We’ll not get this way again anytime soon.”

Listening to his wife, Pierre felt it was well worth parting with a fair amount of his gold to see them all looking a little brighter. “You’re right. I’m afraid we’ll be busy for the next few years just getting by. I pray we will be able to make a good life in London eventually. Then you and I will travel, my dear.”

The following morning they set out to explore the charming, medieval city. They went first to the Guild Hall and had a look at all the newest patterns of lace. Claudine asked how she could join the guild in London, as she thought since she and the older girls were skilled at lace making, they could augment their family income that way. They then spent an hour or so exploring the magnificent 13
^th
century cathedral. By the time dinner was over, they were thankful for another night’s rest in the inn’s comfortable beds.

In later years, when Pierre would recall the long, arduous journey from France to England, he remembered the Salisbury visit best. Not so much for the cathedral although, with its lovely stained glass windows and soaring spire, it certainly impressed him. Nevertheless, it was all too reminiscent of the eminent Catholic churches of France for him to enjoy. It reminded him too much of why he had left his home.

No, it would be because of the strange and wondrous sight of the stone henge eight miles to the north of the city, and the events that took place that day because Luc had suggested the diversion.

“In case you never get this way again, Pierre, you should see this, and it won’t add much time to the trip. It’s a sight you can hardly credit, believe me. Your cousin asked me to take him up there earlier this month”

“I’m not surprised,” Pierre answered. “He’s always interested in seeing anything out of the ordinary.”

Therefore, on the fifth day of the journey from Plymouth, they turned north and headed towards the Salisbury Plain, the ground on which stood a strange circle of monolithic, upright stones. Luc had arranged for an early start, so the sun was still high over the eastern horizon, but it was already warm. It was the first exceptionally hot day the family had encountered in England.

They had been travelling about thirty minutes, when Luc stopped the coach at the side of the track, bordered by a farmer’s field on one side, and a wooded area of scrub brush, on the other. “We’ll have to climb to the mound from here,” he explained. “It’s rough going through the bush, but it’s not high. I think even the ladies can manage it. Everyone fine with that?”

“I think so,” Pierre replied. “I’ll tell the others.”

While Luc unhooked the horses from the carriage, and tied them to a tree so they could graze, Pierre jumped down and opened the coach door. “Luc says we have a small climb through the bush to see the stones, but it’s worth the effort,” he told his family. “We all better take a look at it now as we’re not likely to get back this way again.”

Claudine and the twins jumped out of the coach, but Louise sank back against the cushions. She looked pale. “Oh, Papa, now we are travelling like this, I’m queasy again. It’s comforting to sit here with no motion for a change. May I please stay and rest?”

He looked at her with some alarm. We must get her to London as soon as possible, he thought. I hope she’s not getting the ague. That can be a killer.

“All right then, daughter. It may be too rough for Andre and Jeanette anyhow, and I don’t think any of us feel much like carrying them in this heat. You keep your eyes on them now. Don’t let them wander out of the coach.”

Louise smothered a small yawn. “I’ll watch them. They can play with the box of toys Monsieur Bourdon gave them.” Smiling up at him, she once more reclined against the pillows.

The small path up the slight slope of the mound was overgrown with gorse and wild rose bushes. They pushed their way carefully through them, but it was impossible not to be scratched. Suddenly they spied a gap in the brush and the party stepped out on to a large flat space. In the centre of the square, stood around twenty or so gigantic upright stones. They were at least twenty feet tall. There were a few, which had fallen, as well as some placed horizontally on top of the others. Pierre could see that originally it had been almost a perfect circle.

“Zut alors,”
he exclaimed, as he stopped in his tracks astounded at the size of the stones. “How could they possibly get here? Those things must weigh several tons. What is this? Some sort of temple? It looks rather pagan to me”

“No one knows for certain,” Luc said. “They call it The Henge. It goes way back in time even before the Romans came. They make mention of it in their histories. A few years ago, a writing man, by the name of John Aubrey, came here to explore. He was doing a book about it. He thinks the Druids first worshipped here. That flat rock in the ground was likely used for human sacrifice. It’s thought they would choose the palest child in the community; supposedly to honour the family.”

“My word, it’s horrible to imagine people went along with that sort of thing.”

“Even in this day and age, there are whispers of the things that go here; things like Celtic rituals and devil worship. Especially around midsummer’s day when the first rays of the sun hit the stones. Some say at that hour, you could walk into the rocks and simply disappear.”

Pierre felt a chill run down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to rise. “You mean devil worship is still allowed?”

“No, no. They outlawed it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it still goes on secretly. In fact, it’s not many years back that they hanged a few women around here, who were involved in black magic. Just let me show you something.” He thrust out another item he had carried up from the coach. It was a thick wooden stick with a forked end.

“What have you got there? I’ve been wondering why you brought it along,” Pierre said.

“They call it a dowser. They say it has magical powers. See what happens when I move it towards the ground. If there’s water under, the force will be so strong it pulls the forked end down.”

Another cold chill went down Pierre’s back. “Well, I’d rather not test it out, if you don’t mind. I don’t like this place. Jean Calvin always warned his followers to stay far away from witchcraft, and now I can see why”

He looked to where his wife and children stood silently, looking at the stones as if they were mesmerized. “Not that I’m sorry to have seen such an amazing sight, and I can certainly see why Jacques enjoyed it. He’s a great adventurer. But I think I’ll feel better when we get my family away from here.”