Barbara Winslow, Rebel

by Beth Ellis

But their progress was doomed, nevertheless, to meet with yet another check that night.

They had turned into a quiet street, on the outskirts of the town, when they were aware of three men coming towards them, carrying amongst them a ladder. Captain Protheroe drew Barbara into the shade of a doorway, and they waited for the party to pass. They stopped, however, before a small house, and laid their burden on the ground; then lighting a small lantern they stooped over the bundle on the ladder, and busied themselves over it for some minutes with muttered curses and ejaculations. There was a silence and a mystery about their proceedings that excited the captain's curiosity, and he craned forward eagerly to watch them.

Presently they rose and rearing the ladder against the house, held it there, while the leader of the three, an old man, small and hunchbacked, clambered up and entered the half-opened casement of a chamber in the upper story. He disappeared for a moment into the room, then returning to the window, proceeded to haul up the bundle by a rope to which it had been fastened.

With a sudden quick movement Captain Protheroe put his hand across Barbara's eyes, that she might not watch them, for he recognised in a moment the thing they were hauling up so eagerly, he understood too well the meaning of that dangling shadow on the wall. A hanged man was a common enough sight in those days, but what meant these silent men, with that helpless body here?

The man in the chamber hauled up the corpse, until the helpless, drooping head was on a level with the window ledge. He secured it there, descended the ladder, and stepped into the middle of the road chuckling and rubbing his hands, to see the effect of his handiwork.

His accomplices stared at him curiously.

"Well, master," growled one, "there he hangs for sure, and we're well paid for the job. But what a murrain a man wants wi' a hanged corpse dangling outside his chamber, is more than my wits can tell."

The hunchback turned slowly and faced the speaker, and his face was as the face of a madman.

"Harkee, my man," he said grimly. "The wench sleeping in yonder chamber is my niece, was my niece, for she's none o' mine now. She was a devil with her whims and tantrums, but for all that, she should have wedded my son, for she hath a pretty fortune of her own. But she would none of him, calling him 'fool' and 'dotard' because, forsooth, he is not so quick in his wits as some. And he my son. But I kept her close, and she should have gone my way in time, when Monmouth's army came to town, and with him this cursed fellow. They met, I scarce knew how, and she drew him on with her devil's eyes. But I kept her close, so I deemed, till at length I learned the fellow had been in secret night after night to visit the girl, thus, by her chamber window. Then we waited for him, I and my son, and fell on him in her room. But he worsted us, two to one though we were, and my son a giant in strength; and he slew my son. He slew my son, and she laughed when she saw him lying dead before her. And he my son. Her lover fled by the window, and I saw him no more. After the battle I sought him high and low until I found him. I brought him to his trial, and saw him hanged for a rogue. But she has heard nought of him as yet. Presently will we rouse her, and see how now she greets this lover of hers."

The man told his story in a cold, even tone, and at the end broke into a sudden savage chuckle; the light from the lantern illumined his face, and his companions shuddered at the sheer brutality of its expression.